Spook
By Myriddin
So, I watched the pilot of Legends, Sean Bean's new series, and I loved it. Mr. Bean plays Martin Odom, a deep cover operative whose years of undercover work are causing an identity crisis, and his dedication to his work have resulted in a divorce and estrangement from his young son. The wheels in my head started turning, and we have this: Undercover agent Ned with NedxCat. I've never written NedxCat before, so I hope I do them justice.
Research that went into this one-shot: Sean Bean, whether American Colonials can have balconies (nixed in favor of window), what on earth a Glock was, Sean Bean, episodes of Legends, Covert Affairs and Burn Notice, Sean Bean, accents used in Game of Thrones, Michelle Fairley's background, the sociopolitical history of Northern Ireland, the correct spelling of Guantanamo, and Sean Bean.
I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. A Song of Ice and Fire is the property of George R.R. Martin and Bantam Books, Game of Thrones is the property of HBO, David Benioff, and D.B. Weiss, and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.
The autumn weather outside was cool and crisp, but with the furnace malfunctioning in the rundown building he lived in, the air was hot and stifling, bogging down with a heavy humidity in his cramped shoebox of an apartment. The living room was shadowed in the dark of the night, the monotonous, thick black only broken by the view from his twelfth-story window. The stars overhead were obscured by the dominating skyline of lights creating the impression of a Christmas tree shining in October.
The only sound disturbing Ned Stark's reflections was the low hum of the overhead fan, providing little relief as rumpled dark hair fell against his brow in a damp, tangled mess, his dress-shirt clinging uncomfortably to his sweat-soaked torso. He hated living in the city, the dirty, loud sprawling mess that it was. He had always preferred the handsome two-floor American Colonial in the suburbs he and Catelyn had lived in for most of their marriage. It was the place they raised their six children in, made a life together in for nearly twenty years.
A low, cynical laugh rumbled in his throat, no humor to be found in the sound as he took a deep drawl from the cigarette in his hand, breathing out into the night air from his place straddling the window frame. The Long Island home and everything it represented was out of his reach now. He had spent sleepless night after sleepless night, sitting at this window, precariously balanced on the faint edge between reality and dreams. Longing and aching, haunted by the ghosts and demons of his past.
He hadn't slept an entire night through peacefully since he was nineteen, fresh off of basic training and still innocent enough to think he could make a real difference in the world. The Army had shipped him overseas not long afterward, and it was there he had been tapped to participate in a special operation alongside his squad-mate and best friend, Robert Baratheon.
Proud of the achievement, and influenced by Robert's infectious enthusiasm, twenty-year-old Ned would have followed his commanding officer, Jon Arryn, to the ends of the earth. He'd idolized Arryn, a decorated and famed officer called the Falcon, who had been the one to recruit himself and Robert. Ned's naivete didn't last much longer.
A year later, Ned and his fellows returned to the States hailed as heroes, responsible for bringing about the fall of the Targaryen regime, and obedient enough to have turned a blind eye to the more questionable things done to achieve that victory. Ned had been irrevocably changed, even more when Jon Arryn turned out to be more than what he seemed. Captain Arryn wasn't his only identity, and Special Agent Arryn had apparently been vetting them for months out in the field.
Ned would never fully forgive him for the deception, especially after Robert, having developed a taste for the violence and adrenaline, wholeheartedly agreed to Jon's offer. Ned, recalcitrant as he was, knew brash and hot-heated Robert didn't have the subtlety or patience for undercover work, and it was only his desire to keep his friend from getting himself killed that led to Eddard Stark becoming one of the most talented deep cover operatives the United States had to offer.
Twenty years later, Jon Arryn was found murdered, and Robert couldn't settle himself at Jon's desk fast enough. He was more a bureaucrat than a soldier these days, one with his own agenda and ambitions, a puppet on strings for his Lannister in-laws. The Robert he once knew would have never allowed himself to be manipulated so thoroughly by dirty politicians, but Robert had never been the same after the death of Lyanna, a foreign woman Robert had been infatuated with during their overseas tour.
She had been reportedly abducted by Rhaegar, the heir of the Targaryen dictator, Aerys, and Ned found her alone in an abandoned church months later, heavily pregnant. He helped deliver the baby in the middle of a warzone, and bleeding out from complications Ned had no expertise to help, Lyanna had extracted a promise from him. It was no secret how Robert had congratulated the mercenaries responsible for what had happened to the Targaryen children (their names had haunted Ned for years- Aegon, Rhaenys), and though Lyanna's baby boy had come into the world the very image of his mother, it was obvious who his father must be.
To this day, no one, not even Catelyn, who had raised the boy as her own, knew the truth about Jon Stark (unfortunately named before Ned's hero-worship over the Falcon had faded).
Jon Arryn's death raised Ned's suspicions and fear, rendering him paranoid and stressed. His temper and his reluctance to open up to his wife did lasting damage to his already fragile marriage. The cracks had first appeared after he was away for nearly a year infiltrating and bringing down the Greyjoy militia, missing most of Catelyn's third pregnancy and Arya's birth. It took another nine years for those cracks to fully break, but break they did, and there was nothing Ned could do to repair them.
He frowned, mouth twisting in displeasure at his indulgence into self-pity as he put out the half-finished cigarette on the bricks lain below the window. He dipped his head and shoulders to duck through the window back into his apartment, clicking on the lamp in the corner to allow for illumination to fill the room and chase away some of the shadows. A melancholy, wistful longing filled him, for a similar light to chase away his own shadows, the shadows lingering inside him.
He snorted derisively, shaking his head to dismiss the thought. He'd had a light in his life once, the only real source of hope and good in his world, but he had lost her, and it was foolishly selfish of him to want to burden her with his darkness all over again.
He kicked off his shoes to begin undressing, and unbuttoning his cuffs, he paused at the splash of blood he found on the sleeve of his Oxford. He stared for a long moment, and then deflated with a heavy sigh, hating himself even as he resigned himself to the inevitability of how he knew he would be ending his night. He shrugged off the rest of his clothing and headed to the bathroom.
Catelyn had never liked the smell of cigarette smoke on him.
He showered quickly, and standing in front of his closet after drying off, a hint of color caught his attention, sticking out vividly in the lackluster tones of dress shirts and dark suits that made up his wardrobe. He reached out to brush his fingers over the faded brown leather of the jacket, mouth curving up with nostalgia, and he moved to pull it on before he remembered himself, his smile slowly disappearing.
Bile rose in his throat as he loosened the false back to the closet to slide out a shoulder holster and his favored Glock with extra clips. He fastened and secured both before slipping on the coat, feeling some of his discomfort ease as the smooth leather slid against his skin.
Adorning his glasses was easier. They had their advantage, drawing attention away from his eyes. His eyes were traitorously expressive, and though he could blank out his gaze as was required in his line of work, as full of thoughts and feelings as he currently was, one look into them could betray any deception in his expression. Deception had become as necessary in his life as breathing. Even Robert never found the time nowadays to see the truth in his former best friend's eyes.
Robert...he needed to stop thinking about him. Robert wouldn't be a problem anymore, not after tonight.
He straightened his jacket collar and studied his reflection in the mirror attached to the closet door. Unable to avoid meeting his own eyes in the glass, he flinched. Catelyn had once told him his eyes were a mirror to his soul. Gentle, she had called them.
Strange. Who had ever heard of a killer with gentle eyes?
xx
Catelyn Tully Stark lay reading in her bed, several pillows tucked around her to create the illusion of filling the empty space left on the queen-size mattress. She was startled into jumping when a soft rapping against the window filled the room, and her mouth went slack with surprise as she looked up to see her estranged husband's face framed in the glass.
She flew out of bed, threw open the window, and the incredulous reprimand she had planned died on her tongue at the forlorn look in his eyes. Despite herself, she opened the window and moved back to allow him to gracefully pull himself through.
She wrapped her arms around herself, struck by a sudden feeling of vulnerability in his presence. "The window, Ned?" she asked, exasperated and partially amused.
His resulting sheepish expression nearly overlaid the haunted look to him, but only nearly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake the children."
She shook her head. "Ned, you shouldn't here."
He flinched, but nodded his understanding. "I know. I just...Cat."
The way he breathed her name, hoarse and thick with emotion, reluctant tears beginning to well in his eyes, made her decision for her. Catelyn surrendered to the urge to comfort cultivated from twenty years of loving the man before her, cupping his face and tilting his head to encourage him to meet her eyes.
If he was less a stubborn man, he could have wept at the look of understanding compassion in her river-blue eyes. Her arms slipped around him and he allowed himself this indulgence, this salvation. He sank into her embrace, giving himself over to her.
"Cat..."
If Ned's thoughts had been clearer, he would have noticed how Catelyn barely glanced at the gun he secured and set aside, but he was lost in the moment, shedding his clothes as easily as worries and inhibitions, casting them away without a second thought. Her hands reached for his and she raised them to eye-level, pressing them palm to palm. They took in the differences, the calloused expanse of his leathery skin compared to hers, pale and slender. Their fingers entwined tightly in a simple, but intimate gesture, pulling one another closer to meet a tentative kiss, slightly awkward as it was their first in a year, but one that quickly grew in passion and finesse.
Ned sank into the sheer ecstasy of having her so close again, finding himself surrendering so completely in a way he hadn't allowed himself in years, giving over his body and mind to be hers as his heart has always been. Guilt, fear, insecurity...they all melted away at her touch, with the hesitant dance of her hands along his bare back, the pressure of them light and fleeting as a butterfly landing upon his skin. He trembled as her lips and fingers traced his scars, his hands shaking as he clumsily brought them down to lift the hem of her nightgown, baring her body to his eager eyes.
She took his quivering hands and kissed them, placing them at her hips. Her breath hitched at the brush of his calloused fingers against her bare skin. He nuzzled her neck and whispered against her skin, Cat. Sweetheart. So beautiful, accented with that Northern lilt he hardly used anymore, the product of his childhood as a military brat raised on a base in Britain.
It brought her back to the early days of their courtship when she was immediately charmed with the young American she met in Belfast, his soft-spoken, respectful ways had been so different from the rowdy boyos who frequented her family's pub. She had fallen for him quickly, hadn't hesitated to follow him across the Atlantic, going against everything her strict Catholic upbringing had taught her.
Here in the present, flooded with memory and feeling, she couldn't help but voice for him the truths she knew in that moment, Ned. Darling. My love. Please.
Together, they fell back onto the bed, letting their bodies have the reunion their hearts were still too bruised to attempt.
xx
Catelyn had always liked the rain. Contrary to what others would always say about rainy days, words they would use to describe it- bleak, monotonous, gray, dreary- she had always enjoyed the rainy days. She enjoyed the coolness the rain brought, the wet, rich smell of earth that always lingered after a shower, but most of all, she loved to listen to the sound it made, the rhythmic pounding of the droplets against the roof.
The rain was one of the only ideals she allowed herself to indulge in, simply because she was such a firm believer in the rain as a life-giving force. She liked the way the rain revitalized the life of nature around them, the grass, the flowers, the trees. She imagined the rain had the ability to wash away everything that was wrong or terrible in the world and leave the people fresh and clean and new. It was a childish belief, she knew, but she wished for it anyway.
She sensed him before she felt him, stirring in the bed and coming to here where she stood at the window watching the rainfall. A warm embrace enveloped her from behind, so easily she was made aware of the wiry strength of those arms she knew so well. She stiffened despite herself, and he immediately loosened his hold.
"Do you want me to go?" he inquired softly.
She caught the undertone of uncertainty in his voice, and she placed her hands over the arms around her. "I wouldn't send my worst enemy out in that storm. Besides, it's nearly six. You might as well stay for breakfast."
She stroked her thumb along the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse pick up at her words, felt him tense. She smiled, and tilted her head to let him see the curve of her lips. He relaxed with a relieved sigh, kissing the side of her head. He pulled her tighter against him, warming her chilled flesh with the heat of his body, and she, just for a minute, allowed herself to imagine that their lives were like they used to be, when love was all that mattered. The sound of the rain echoed against the roof, and just for a few moments, she was perfectly safe in Ned's arms and the rest of the world was far away.
But it couldn't last, and Catelyn knew that. "Ned..."
"I know." Those words were both tired and resigned, and he moved to release her at what he thought was her withdrawal, but she stopped him. Instead, she pressed closer, struck again by how warm he was, by the comfort and familiarity of his skin against hers.
"Why are you here, Ned?" she asked gently, not a trace of accusation to be found in her voice, but still he flinched, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her soft scent in an effort to ground himself.
"I...I needed to see you, Cat. I needed a physical, tangible reminder that for once, I'd done the right thing."
She reached back and rested her hand against the back of his neck, light scratching up and down with her nails in a caress that had always worked to calm him. He murmured contently and leaned further into her touch.
"There's so much I wanted to tell you, Cat, but I couldn't," he continued, "It wasn't because I didn't trust you." They both winced as they remembered that being one of the accusations she had screamed at him during that horrific fight resulting in their separation. "It was to keep you safe. I...I'm not what you think I am."
"I know." As he looked at her incredulously, she arched an eyebrow, lips curling with amused exasperation. "Honestly, Ned? I've never heard of a data analyst who carried a gun. I memorized your scars during that week we spend in bed in Dublin. I noticed whenever you came home with another one."
Ned smiled sheepishly. "I see. I suppose I shouldn't have underestimated you. Apologies, my love."
"Accepted." She sighed and grew serious once more. "What's changed, Ned? Why now?"
Ned swallowed hard, heart in his throat. "I...I did something, Cat. Something I can't take back, something the people I work for aren't going to be happy about. They're going to come for me."
Catelyn studied him for a long moment, blue eyes dark and scrutinizing. "You have to leave, don't you? And this thing you did, it was to protect us?"
Ned confirmed both counts, feeling both blessed to have such an insightful wife, but also cursing himself of letting himself forget it in the past. "Yes. And I swear to you, Catelyn, you and the children will be perfectly safe. I guarantee it."
His promise was passionate, powerful, weighted with a potent devotion that left no room for anything but utter belief in him. "I believe you." She hesitated, tilting her head back to nuzzle against him. "Will you come back?" she questioned softly, a waver present in her voice despite her best intentions.
"Of course I will." He kissed her sweetly, reassuringly. "I want things to be different this time, Cat."
She breathed in deeply, "I love you, Ned. I want you back here with me, with the kids. But I can't live like before." She turned in the circle of his arms to face him. "I need you to be the man you were before, the man I know you can be again. I need to know you'll be here."
He rested his forehead against hers. "I know, Cat. I know. You'll have that. I swear." He paused. "Cat, I should tell you...Jon-"
She stopped him with a finger against his lips. "Is our son." That much was true, Ned had forged the paternity test results himself, been there when Catelyn formally adopted him. But Ned was the only one left who knew the truth...Jon Arryn may have known, but he was gone now. Robert had found out, but- no, not Robert. Robert couldn't cause trouble anymore.
"Anything else doesn't matter," Catelyn finished firmly. Ned caught the glint in her eye, heard everything she wasn't saying, and he huffed out a chuckle. His clever, clever Cat.
She had always been observant- observant, compassionate and strong, those traits he had first noticed in her when he'd been in Northern Ireland aiding Interpol by gathering intel on a group of IRA extremists. He had always suspected she knew something about his reason for being in her family's place of business that night, the three men suspected of terrorist acts who liked to frequent the place.
She had sent interested looks his way all night, but only approached him after the men left and he had signaled his contact outside of their identities, watching them be arrested through the pub window. Catelyn had placed a frosted mug of Guinness in front of him, replacing the water he'd been nursing all night as if she sensed he was now off the clock, and asked to sit down. The rest was history.
"Alright," he conceded.
She smiled, twining her fingers in his hair to tug his mouth down to hers. She delighted in his happy hum as they separated, stroking her thumb along his stubbled jaw. "You can at least stay for breakfast, can't you?" At his ascent, she eyed him wryly. "Good. You can talk to your sons, then. Robb and Jon are both suddenly adamant they want to join the military after they finish school. I try to argue for college first, but they're stubborn. Either you knock some sense into them, or I'm grounding them until they're thirty. I don't care if they're eighteen and sixteen."
He groaned. Of course he agreed. It was the reasoning with obstinate teenager boys that caused the pained sound. But at the same time, he had to smile. It was incredible how well his sons had turned out, honest and brave, when the two men they were named for had made their lives on lies and manipulation. Given his occupation for the past two decades, Ned could only credit it to Catelyn's parenting.
Catelyn patted his cheek sympathetically. "Just think of yourself at their age. Like father, like sons."
Ned sighed. Like father and sons, indeed.
xx
Governor Tywin Lannister sat brooding at his office desk, a nearly-empty decanter of fine scotch at his elbow as he nursed his fifth glass. He had never been a man prone to drink, could only think of one other occasion when he had. Years before, when his wife Joanna had left him, appalled at his apparent disregard for the deformed monster she had birthed. It wasn't as if he had ever given voice to the desire he had to euthanize the ugly little thing, instead just wanting to give it up for adoption. Joanna hadn't seen it his way, turning her back on him and taking the monster with her.
He took another deep drawl of his drink.
His jaw clenched and he scowled as the door to his home office opened and his son strolled into the room, with that irritating swagger of his. He stopped in front of the desk, preparing to speak when Tywin rose to his feet and smacked the younger man across the face.
"F-Father?!" Jaime stammered, staring incredulously at the governor while clutching his cheek.
"You stupid, stupid boy," Tywin hissed, waving a handful of photographs in his son's dumbstruck face, "How could you have been so careless with these twisted indulgences of yours?"
Jaime blinked at the explicit pictures depicting him and his twin in compromising positions, and opened his mouth again, likely to defend himself, only to be cut off again when Tywin cuffed the side of his head.
"I could care less who or what you choose to dally with, but I told you to be discreet! Do you have any idea what this could have cost my presidential campaign?"
The Kingslayer, so nicknamed for his expert marksmanship and position as a government sniper of high-profile political threats, glowered at his father. With his ears still ringing, he wisely chose not to answer.
Tywin continued. "I've already arranged for you to start a courtship next weekend. I want your image all over the media escorting the Tyrell girl around the city."
Jaime quirked an eyebrow. "Margaery? Isn't she Joffrey's girlfriend?"
Tywin held up his hand for silence. "Your sister's spoiled son is no worthy heir if what I suspect about his paternity is true." He glared darkly at his son. "He's not a good enough match for that fool Mace to take seriously. You, however, are. You'll stay far away from your sister, Jaime. She'll need to go into seclusion soon, anyway. That will likely make the separation easier."
Jaime frowned, his forehead wrinkling with confusion. "Seclusion?"
Tywin poured himself another drink, regarding his son blankly. "Yes. Her husband was killed tonight. She'll need to withdraw from the public eye for a decent amount of time to appear properly mourning."
"Baratheon? What happened?"
"Ned Stark happened. Baratheon crossed some line, and Stark didn't take it well. Likely did something to threaten the family. Starks have always been fiercely protective of what's theirs. It's practically hereditary."
Jaime could only stare, bewildered, at his father. "Stark killed a Deputy Director, his superior. Why haven't I be sent after him yet?"
Tywin visibly gritted his teeth and he jerked his head toward the photographs. "Who do you think sent those? They're leverage. Stark could disappear if he wanted to. No one would ever find him. But he'd never abandon his family. I believe him when he says he has this and so more on our family. He's sent similar collateral packages to anyone involved in the Agency. He'll go free, and he knows it."
Jaime growled under his breath, one last spark of defiance flaring in his eyes, but Tywin was quick to smother it. "You will do as you are told, Jaime, or so help me, you will go to prison for what happened to Aerys Targaryen. An assassination unsanctioned by the Pentagon constitutes as a war crime. See if time in Guantanamo changes your perspective."
Rage filled Jaime's eyes as they bore into the man before him. "I can take you down with me. I can prove you ordered me too, and that you were behind what happened to the Targaryen children."
"With what evidence, dear boy? There is nothing left but your word that I covered up what happened. Cross me, Jaime, and so help me, I will see Cersei married off far away. You will never lay eyes on her again."
The light in Jaime's eyes flickered out and he nodded numbly. Tywin leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he had reprimanded his son enough to put him on the path of what was best for him.
After all, as Agent Stark seemed to know well enough, family always came first.