I'm not even going to try to explain myself. What happened with the other one was that I had no real direction as to where the story was going, and no real plot. So I kinda just...left it. BUT as I've recently been told to get off my butt and finish it (in so many words, thank you Dis da Geek) I decided to actually rethink the story and I now have a steady plot idea and am ready to get back into it. Though I had to restart the chapters and chuck some ideas from the other story because that was a loooong time ago and I can definitely write better than that now. So here's the first chapter and I promise I won't make you wait two years again. Ehehe.
I love you all!
Disclaimer: I only own Margaret
The Bank of England stood tall and proud in the thick fog that threatened to take over the city. It was still early in the morning and London had yet to awaken. A figure stood alone and imposing on the steps outside the large building, her face was riddled and pale with anxiety.
Her black boots clicked against the stone as she skipped down as fast as she could, pulling her grey cap over her dark green eyes. She blended into the fog rather nicely with her dark grey coat and hat covering her bright red hair. The small woman kept her head down as she reached the bottom step, quickly snapping her eyes back and forth down the mist filled streets.
Once she was satisfied that no one was following her, she turned, continuing down the sidewalk at a steady if not paranoid pace. Her eyes widened at the sight of two men in suits leaning lazily against the building walls a little ways in front of her.
Her foot pivoted and she whirled around, quickly changing directions only to be faced with two more suits, these two slowly making their way towards her. A screech rang out and she had just enough time to see a black car roll up onto the curb before something hit her sharply on the back of her head and everything went black.
BAM
"WHERE IS THE DISK!?"
Tired green eyes blinked lazily up at the ham-fisted suit that had slammed his hands against the small metal table in an attempt to frighten her. Red hair fell into those eyes as there was no hat to keep back the unruly curls.
"I thought I answered that question the first time yeh asked me. I dinnae have it."
"Then where is it?" the man hissed. He was losing his patience.
"That I cannae tell ya, and all this jumpin' 'round playin' bad cop ain't gonna make me talk neither."
By now the man was practically seething with rage. His face was red and his breathing was deep and ragged. The redhead grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She liked to pride herself on being as difficult as she possibly could. The door on the side opened suddenly and another man stepped through, looking rather insistent.
"Pattenson, I need a word with you, if you please."
Pattenson spared the woman one last glare before shuffling out of the small interrogation room after his partner. On the other side of the glass mirror, the two men stared at her as she absent mindedly braided her red curls.
"I told you she wasn't going to talk." the man who was not Pattenson said with a short huff.
"Well what do you suggest we do then? We can't exactly start looking until we have a general location and we don't even have that."
The two men shared a glance before looking back at the red haired woman who was now leaning her chair forward and back with bored, glazed look in her eye.
"I think we should call him." Not Pattenson muttered suddenly.
"Are you out of your mind!?" the other man nearly shouted, "He'll think we're complete imbeciles if we can't get a simple location from that woman!"
"I've reviewed her file, Pattenson. She's not going to talk to us anytime soon, so we may as well resolve this with any resources we have, and the only one I can think of is him."
Pattenson eyed his partner with a sharp searching look before letting out a deep sigh and pulling out his phone. He punched a few numbers into it and put it up to his ear, obviously waiting for an answer. As he waited, he sent his friend a short, sharp glare, to which the other man responded with a swift wink.
"Oh-oh yes, hello sir," Pattenson stuttered suddenly, "yes well, actually sir that's what this is about. No-no sir, no damage was done but…she won't talk sir. At least, not to us."
Pattenson was quiet for a time, simply listening to the person on the other end. He cringed every now and again as if the person were shouting at him but eventually he nodded, saying,
"Yes, alright sir I understand. Thank you sir."
He took the phone away from his ear and stuffed it back into his pocket before looking up into the expectant face of his partner.
"He's on his way."
Small bruised fingers tapped a disorganized rhythm onto the grey metal table and a sigh escaped the lips of the Scottish woman. She had been stuck in the drab little room for hours and she held no hope that she would be released anytime soon.
Her eyes flickered to the mirror on her right, eyeing it suspiciously. She was a veteran of interrogation rooms and knew that on the other side of that glass, the two men watched her. With a smirk, she raised her middle finger to the mirror, followed by a few more obscene gestures, which she found incredibly amusing.
The clean cut government official, who watched, unfortunately did not and a scowl formed on his face.
Just then, the large steel door that kept her freedom at bay creaked open. The large, gruff looking man she now knew to be Pattenson stepped through, handcuffs in hand and a snarl on his face. The woman's eyebrows rose catching sight of the cuffs, but she refused to show her growing anxiety.
"Oh, what're those for, ol' boy?"
Pattenson stayed silent, as he had been instructed by his companion, and crossed the room towards the woman. She bristled when the guard grabbed her wrist roughly, slapping one cuff on her and the other onto the arm of her uncomfortable metal chair.
"Oi, what's this for!?"
A quick smirk formed on the man's face but he did not answer, simply leaving through the door and slamming it shut behind him. A low growl escaped her and she began to tug on the handcuffs, trying in vain to escape them. Finally, she let out a sigh.
"Looks like I'll be havin' to do this the ol' fashion way."
Reaching her other hand into her curls, she produced a small black hair pin, a satisfied smirk now creeping up her face. Removing the tip, she started to bend the pin into the proper shape using her one hand and the top of the table.
Just as she was putting the pin in the lock, the steel door began to creak open once more. Her fingers froze beneath the table and her green eyes shot up, expecting to see Pattenson again. But the man who entered was most definitely not Pattenson.
No, this man was something else entirely, something she could not place. Despite being thinner than Pattenson, this man positively reeked of authority. The look on his face gave off a no nonsense sort of vibe and his long thin fingers were wrapped around the handle of his black umbrella like it was a sword. His auburn hair was slicked back and he pulled off the nose rather well.
"You expectin' rain?" she quipped, her Scottish accent rough and brisk in the presence of the stranger.
The tall man simply smiled a tight lipped smile before pulling a file out from beneath his coat. He idly flipped through it and she turned her attention, albeit discreetly, back to escaping the handcuff.
The hairpin bent in the lock, and she jiggled it, attempting push it upwards within the cuff and release the lock. As she worked, she happened to look behind the well-dressed man and noticed something. The door of the interrogation room, it was still open. The fool had forgotten to close it.
"Margaret Emaline Gladstone."
Her eyes snapped up to meet the man's, somewhat surprised. The man himself peeked over the folder to gauge her reaction, and smiled. If you want something done properly, he thought to himself, one must do it himself.
"Born in Edinburgh Scotland," he continued, "daughter to Aileen and Calum Gladstone, only child, parents died at age 17 in a….car accident."
Margaret scoffed and leaned back in the chair, inspecting her nails nonchalantly, but discreetly eyeing the strange, tall ginger with a wary glare. Her hand fumbled slightly with the pin but luckily for her, he didn't seem to notice, he was once again looking at the file.
"Tell us where the disk is, Miss Gladstone."
A small smirk etched its way up Margaret's face and she looked at the man through her lashes. While the man had much improved manners when compared to the two apes who had questioned her previously, he was still only after one thing.
"I already told yer blue eyed boys, I dinnae have it."
"That much is frightfully obvious," he drawled, placing the folder onto the table and pulling out the chair. He sat down and leant forward, glaring at the small woman.
"Where is it?"
Margaret simply smiled and patted the side of her nose with her finger. A glint of amusement flashed in her eye when the man's scowl deepened.
"You understand that you will not be leaving this facility until you give us the location of that disk."
"Oh aye," she grinned, "but I assure you, it's as safe as houses."
The man simply stared at her, his face serious and eyes hard. He leaned forward, hands intertwined. Margaret followed suit and met his gaze evenly, continuing her work on the cuffs beneath the table.
The man sighed and looked at his hands, "I warn you Miss Gladstone; if you refuse to cooperate I will be forced to-"
Click
The posh man froze, brown eyes trailing up to meet hers. Margaret grinned with her teeth bared. She pulled her legs up so that her feet were on the chair and in a matter of seconds, she pushed herself off. Her boots kicked off the chair and she vaulted onto the table, taking two long strides before kicking out, the toe of her boot connecting with his jaw.
He cried out, the chair crashing to the ground along with him, leaving Margaret with a clear path to and out the door. She hit the ground running and threw herself through the threshold.
"Idiots," she heard him shout, "Get after her!"
Margaret's boots pounded against the tiled floor, her breathing rough and ragged and she heard the distant thump of heavy boots behind her. Of course he had released the dogs on her. Margaret turned her head slightly to look back and counted no more than two large burly men, nearly at her heels.
Skidding around a corner, the small criminal leapt out of their grasp, only to see three more, brawny guards racing towards her from the opposite direction. Eyes widening at their proximity, Margaret reacted quickly, doing the only thing that she could. She ducked.
Without time to notice the change, the guards behind her toppled clumsily over her crouched form, flying into the men in front, sending all five guards sprawling to the floor in a confused pile of limbs.
With a sly grin, Margaret hopped up, jumping over the tangled bodies of the squirming men and continuing down the hall at a light jog. Oh this was too easy. Her feet picked up speed and she raced down hall after hall, all the while picking up confidence and speed.
Until she hit the waxed floor.
Her boots slid wildly under her, and she fought to stay balanced. Because of the speed she had been going, she could not stop as she skidded down the slick corridor, her hands reaching wildly for the wall or anything that would slow her down.
Her finger tips grazed the smooth, stone wall and she let out a sharp shriek as the end of the corridor came into view. An imposing grey wall rose up before her but her feet still slid mercilessly on the slick floor. Finally, her body crashed against the concrete wall and she was on the floor.
Margaret's back ached and she blinked, trying to banish the black spots dancing before her eyes. At last, her eyes focused and she could here the sound of heels against the floor. She tried to move but her body protested, so she lay there, trying desperately to move and the sound of footsteps grew ever closer.
Eventually, Margaret's eyes landed on a pair of expensive Italian shoes right next to her head. The figure crouched down and she found herself staring into the amused face of the man from the interrogation room. His smile was tight and fake but his eyes sparked with something Margaret couldn't place. She was proud however, to see a dark purple bruise forming on his jaw.
"What a merry chase you've led us on, Miss Gladstone." the man simpered, "but I assure you, it will not happen again."
"Aw," Margaret muttered, her voice hoarse, "where's the fun in that?"
A genuine chuckle escaped the man's lips.
"I can tell we'll have a delightful time together, Miss Gladstone."
"Margaret, please."
"Mycroft," he stated thoughtfully, pulling a syringe from somewhere within the depths of his suit jacket.
"Oh, lovely name." she commented, her eyes never leaving his face, "yours or the needle's?"
He smiled and slowly brought the needle to her neck.
"Goodnight, Miss Gladstone."
Margaret felt a sharp sting as the needle broke the skin, and only then did she begin to panic. Her vision began to go dark, but before Mycroft could remove the needle, she herself grabbed it, ripping it from her neck and throwing it away from them.
The Holmes brother called out down the hall and two of the goons from the hallway came into her ever darkening view. Grabbing her arms and lifting her off the floor, she struggled slightly, rather pathetically. She could feel the sedative working through her bloodstream and she glared at Mycroft, who simply raised an eyebrow, his face once again stony.
"I ain't gonna tell you a thing." She slurred.
"Well you never know with these things. I have been told that I can be highly persuasive." He replied, his face not changing.
Margaret scowled but finally, her vision went completely dark and her legs gave out under her. The last thing she saw before going unconscious was the smug look of Mycroft Holmes and she vowed there and then that she'd be the one to smack it off him.
Mycroft Holmes watched as the woman was dragged down the hall to a more appropriate holding cell. Obviously, he had underestimated her; well his men had underestimated her. With a scowl, he produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit on, inhaling the smoke so as to calm his anxiety.
He didn't dare show it, but he desperately needed what was on that disk. How she had attained it, or stolen it was beyond him. A weakness within the security services, he guessed. He would have to bring it up with the Prime Minister.
The woman was something else, Mycroft thought; her gruffness was not something he was used to. He was more concerned with the clean-cut world of high society. While his brother may involve himself with London's underground, Mycroft preferred…not to. But this woman was different.
As he walked back to the interrogation room, he thought back to her file. She'd been on the criminal radar of multiple countries since the death of her parents and not by accident, having been brought up in a vastly influential criminal family. Since their death, she had been on the run, from one family member to another, never staying in one place too long.
Upon re-entering the room, Mycroft grabbed his umbrella, which was leaning up against the wall as well as the file he had left on the table. Leaning against the edge of the table, he flipped it open, scanning through the notes on the woman.
"Impressive," he muttered to himself, eyes searching through the list made of her combat training.
A smirk worked its way up his lips as he thought of it, a master at multiple areas of hand to hand combat, ending up being taken down by a waxed floor. He snapped the file shut, dropping his cigarette onto the floor and crushing it with his foot. Mycroft Holmes swept out of the room, intent on retrieving the information he sought, one way or another.
So ya'll have to tell me what you think, because as I've said before in my other stories, I can never tell if my own writing is good or not. I hope ya'll don't hate me too much. I can only make it up to you in awesome chapters. Again, all my love to you guys.
~U-Hinged
