Hey guys. . . This is actually intended to be a quick AU-oneshot I got stuck in my head when watching Mission Impossible….but hey, if anyone feels up to continuing, knock urselves out =)
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine
He calmly scans the crowd surrounding him, before giving a smile to his date and slinking off towards one of the balcony doors. As soon as he gets outside, he unobtrusively strolls to the far end and looks around, making sure no one is around. Depositing the champagne-glass he had been carrying around as a cover on the railing, he quickly pulls his belt from his pants and ties it around one of the pillars. Wrapping the long end around his right hand, he steps onto the railing and crouches down. A quick peek to the floor below reveals a single guard standing unobtrusively in the shadows. The slight bulk of his jacket reveals the location of his gun. With a quick prayer that his belt will hold, he turns, and puts his feet into the spaces between the pillars of the railing. Willing himself to not look down at the concrete terrace below, he drops down, and uses the belt to swing onto the balcony below. His intention was to surprise the guard and silence him with a quick blow to the trachea. Instead, he misjudged the speed with which he swung inwards and quite probably also his weight.
He feels the belt ripping right before he flies through the air and literally ends up at the feet of the guard (He figures the dude is still surprised, so that's gotta count for something). Acting on impulse, he remembers the very first fighting lesson he received. The message was simple. Hurt your opponent, as much as possible, in as little time as possible, using whatever means you can get your hands on. Well, the only thing he has right now is a small strip of leather in his right hand. He won't be able to reach his gun in time, and quite simply, he has no fucking clue how to use his kick-ass ninja skills while lying on his stomach.
So he does the only thing of which he has as always been accused of to do too little. He uses his head. Using his arms to propel himself up, he slams the back of his head right between the guy's legs, watching the two-metre tall giant crumble like a wet piece of paper. With a quick head-butt he is out cold, and the man who is responsible quickly drags him into the shadows and pockets the gun. The guard's tie is used for the feet, the belt to bind the hands behind the back.
The entire thing doesn't take longer than three minutes, four minutes tops. Nonetheless he hears a voice chiding him for the lost time in his head, it sounds suspiciously like Hummel. Drawing his gun and concentrating on the situation at hand, he slinks towards the glass doors, though he knows that if anyone had been inside, there is no way they didn't notice his less than elegant entrance.
Twisting the knob he is relieved to find the door unlocked and quiet like the wind he slips inside, closing the door and locking it from the inside. The room he is in appears to be some sort of Salon, with a billiard table at one end, a huge TV and a set of big leather couches. He can't help the appreciative whistle that escapes. Apparently this guy's got dough! No wonder, living in a crappy one-bedroom apartment would seriously suck if you are a Colombian Cartel leader.
Crossing the room in three quick strides, he listens and, when all seems clear, carefully opens the door. A dark hallway stretches in front of him, empty to both sides. He closes the door quietly behind him and makes his way towards the door leading to the vast underground tunnels you would never imagine from looking at the Satellite images. He swears loudly when he finds it locked. It will only be a matter of time until his absence is discovered. Pulling a small leather case from inside his suit jacket, he picks a small piece of wire and starts picking the lock. Thankfully it is not too difficult and within a few seconds he closes the door behind him.
His gun poised he slowly creeps down the stairs and into the darkness. After a few steps he waits for his eyes to get used to the lack of light. These seconds are the ones he hates the most, when everybody could just come and take him out, because hell, he's fucking blind! When he can see again, he sees that the steps are only small, and that the true entrance to the complex below is a trapdoor.
A tactical nightmare. But hey, he doesn't do this job for the women and the free booze (well, not only) but also for the thrill. With a sigh he figures, he might as well get it over with.
In one quick motion he pulls it open and lets himself drop to the floor, instinctively rolling to the side.
Turns out, this super cool move which took him weeks to perfect was pointless. The guard sitting a few meters away is fast asleep, snoring loudly and drooling quite unattractively. Briefly debating whether or not to risk waking him up by grabbing his gun, he figures there's a reason you're supposed to leave sleeping dogs fucking in peace.
Two hours later when he feels his blood dribbling into his eyes, he wonders how he could be so fucking stupid.
As it is, he continues on his merry way, using the map in his pocket to find his way towards the X. The total lack of guards strikes him as odd, but this job is fucking important, so he pretty much doesn't have much of a choice but to continue, even though he's liking this scenario less and less.
After another hour (seriously, how fucking big IS this complex!) he comes across a metal door, complete with digital lock and retina scan. Using a small screwdriver he quickly pries the main panel open and starts examining it. After roughly ten minutes of unplugging and replugging wires, the door opens with a light whoosh. He has finally reached the heart of this friggin' underground country.
It takes him nonetheless another half hour to reach the room where the intel's supposed to be, plus 15 minutes more to get into the room.
As he sees the quickly swishing laser beams surrounding the suitcase in the middle of the room, he chuckles. Honestly, when the fuck would the douche bags of this world learn that this cliché is seriously not hard to get through? If fucking Jennifer Garner can do it, a stud like him is hardly challenged. Digging the small mirror from his coat-pocket, he began to reflect the beams close to touching him. It only took him a few seconds to get across the room.
With an arrogant smirk, he reached out and flipped the case open. . .
It was empty.
He felt the smile leave his face. Fuck! Without a second thought he turned, prepared to make a mad dash for the exit.
"Well, what do we have hear. . ." And that's pretty much how he ended up in the situation he's in now, bound to a pipe in the same room where he was supposed to retrieve the intel, with blood slowly dribbling its way down from his eyebrow, courtesy of the charming gentleman holding the gun to his head.
"So, tell me, who are you!" The small, average looking man standing before him was somehow a bit disappointing. Hell, he was risking his hide again, to steal stuff from this dude? Seriously, if he had met the douche on a street, he would have simply clocked him and grabbed what he needed. Fucking spy-shit, why couldn't Schuester assign this shit to Finn or someone? The dude was so freakishly nice, Albezar would have simply handed over the copy, just to stop him from crying.
"Santa Fucking Clause!" Another harsh blow to the face.
"A boy named Sue!" Thud.
"Simon Garfunkel!" Thud.
"Fuck's sake, stop hittin' me, Beefy!" Thud.
"Stop!" Albezar had not even raised his voice, but his voice cut through his prisoner's shouts.
"Mr. . . .Brian Adass I believe is the name you gave when entering my property tonight."
"Nice to meet you, jackass!" A cold smirk stole its way onto Albezar's face.
"Well, Mr Adass, I would be simply delighted to know why you decided to conduct yourself in a violent manner towards by employees and gaining illegal access to parts of my property which clearly are not open to the public."
"Huh? Listen up, shorty, I don't have a fucking clue what you are talking about!" As the nickname registered, he was delighted to see Albezar tense. His brief glee was eliminated, when he received another painful blow to his torso.
"Mr Adass, seeing as you have gained access to this place and taken something that clearly does not belong to you, I am fairly certain that it can be assumed you know I am not a complete fool."
"Says you" He felt his ribs protest at the swift kick they received.
"Mr Adass, let's cut the games! Where is it!" It was obvious the gloves had come off at this point. Albezar's face was twisted into an ugly frown. Without thinking his bruised mouth let loose the first reply that came to mind.
"Dude, you gotta stop that, you'll end up with frown lines. . ." In his head he swore violently at Hummel.
"Enough. Get some supplies. . . I'm sure Mr Adass would like to receive nothing but the best from us." The grin on Albezar's face gave him the appearance of a hungry shark.
Suddenly one of the guards tensed.
"Sir, the outer perimeter has been breached."
With a sigh Albezar leaned back.
"Esteban, stay here, watch him. He moves, shoot his kneecaps." A snap of Albezar's fingers later, five of the six thugs in the room took off, with Albezar at their head to check the new situation.
He was tempted to try the strength of his binds. If he could get them loose, he could possibly get out of here. The only problem was the 200-pound gorilla with orders to blow out his kneecaps at the slightest sign of trouble. He was really fond of those kneecaps.
Suddenly he heard a scuffle in the hall. His guard shot him a look before moving out. All the prisoner could see was Esteban's lower body suddenly being yanked forward, before falling to the floor motionless.
Next he sees a goddess. He allows himself to let his eyes travel up from her feet, clad in blood-red stilettos, along her long loooooong legs, to her small waist, encased in a blood-red dress. The plunging neckline reveals just enough to make his mouth water and the expanse of tanned golden skin nearly has his tongue rolling out. The chestnut-curls and the fiery brown eyes only serve to make him so much more appreciative of her entrance on the scene.
"Aaaah, there you are!" He prepares himself to turn on the charm, when she walks straight past him and bends down, grabbing something from the floor. He sees a small earring sparkle in her hand, before she turns around, and is about to walk out.
"Hey!" he shouts. She starts and he wonders briefly who the fuck knocks out a 200-pound gorilla, but is too preoccupied to notice the guy chained to the wall a few feet away. She turns around.
"Oh. . . Oh! Oh, I do apologize, I must have been slightly preoccupied." With a calm smile she moves towards him and unties him, as though she frees prisoners from the secret dungeons of Colombian Drug-mansion in an evening gown every other day.
"Are you alright? You do look terrible!" She unties him and he carefully rubs his wrists to get the blood flowing.
"Thanks!" He briefly closes his eyes and pulls himself up cautiously, his ribs screaming in protest. When he opens them, he stares down the barrel of her gun.
"Oh fuck! Come on!" he swears. For a brief second he wonders where she hid it and whether or not it is normal to be jealous of a weapon which will most likely be used to end his miserable existence.
"Now, we have about ten minutes before Azebar and his merry men are coming back, if you want me to not kill you, you should give me a reason right now." Her tone never changes from the calm, polite one she used before.
"Uuuuh…" He's not quite sure what to do, this was certainly not a situation covered in his basic training. . . in those scenarios he had always been dead by this point.
"Name. Now." Aaah, familiarity. With a cocky grin he prepares to give one of his comebacks, when they hear heavy thuds outside the hall.
"Nevermind!" she turns and runs towards the hall, leaving him standing there.
When he hears shouting, he just reacts, grabbing the case still on the stand and sprints after her.
What he sees is not quite what he expected. Four guys attacked her, one is currently on the floor holding his knee, another is out cold. She delivers a round-house kick to the third, temporarily stunning him. As the fourth tries to grab her, he's there and slams the suitcase on the thug's head, knocking that one out too. With barely a glance, she has the fourth and last one down for the count with a few choreographed moves. She takes off, down the corridor.
"You coming?" She shouts. For a second he's wondering whether this is such a good idea, but the shouts coming from behind him quickly solve his dilemma. Together they sprint through tunnels and dash around corners. Her stilettos are long gone, one stuck with its heel in the chest of some dude trying to stop him, the other used to stun someone else. The case he was smart enough to grab was dropped a few turns ago, after having received too much bullet holes and dents to be considered usable any longer.
Finally they find themselves in front of a door, which, according to her, leads outside. Annoyingly enough this one is locked. Trying to save whatever shreds of his masculine pride are left, he motions for her to step back, before quickly stepping back and running at the door. With a jump, he tries to slam it open using his shoulder.
His entire body jars with the impact, and he finds himself sprawled on the floor, dazed and in more pain than before. The door did not budge an inch.
His rescuer looks at him with an almost pitying expression, before commenting calmly:
"It opens inwards . . .". As he still tries to wrap his head around that simple fact of life, she withdraws a hairpin from the artistic piece that is her hair and bends down to pick the lock, just as the shouts and thuds are getting louder behind them.
"Would you mind actually being helpful and giving me a little more time?" She asks annoyed.
With a huff (that totally would have worked for Jack Bauer), he pulls himself up (seriously, Schue owes him a loooooooooong vacation after this shit!). Looking around for some kind of weapon, his eyes land on the shimmering knives strapped to her shapely thigh. He hesitates only for a moment, before reaching out to grab one. He hasn't quite gotten that far, when he is again sprawled on the floor.
"What do you think you are doing?!?!?!?"
"Grabbing your knives! You want time, I need those knifes!" He shouts back.
"Nevermind, you pick the lock! Knowing you you'll castrate yourself before doing any damage. . . not necessarily a bad thing!" She turns and pulls a knife out, just as the first guard rounds the corner. The knife that is seconds later embedded in his left shoulder causes the others to hold back for a few seconds. Just enough time for him to finish opening the door. Throwing it open, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her with him, slamming the door shut after them.
He takes a deep breath, but before he can ask questions such as "Who the fuck are you?!?!?" she grabs his arm and takes off again. He can only follow, because hey, what the fuck else is he supposed to do?"
Next thing he knows she has taken out one of the guards closest to them, grabbing his gun and is making her way over to a Jeep, stealthily creeping along the ground.
He feels like he should probably do something productive, so he goes the other way around and takes care of another guard, before quickly swinging himself up into the passenger-seat. She's in the Driver's seat and is fiddling with the cables already. Somehow, he is not surprised by the fact that she's the one driving. The jeep roars to life and she presses on the gas, pretty much shooting them across the meadow they've somehow ended up in (he's gotta admit he's kinda jealous of the shitload of money a guy like Alzebar must make) and they are speeding off through the jungle. A bullet slams into the dashboard, and her glare reminds him that now is as good as any a time to earn his keep. With a sheepish grin he turns around and starts firing the gun he stole from the guard. A few minutes later she takes a swift left-turn and he is nearly thrown out of the jeep. It might have been that this was her intention, but hey, it's just a gut feeling.
He climbs back to the front and plops down next to her.
A few seconds of tense silence are broken by his voice.
"Now, who the fuck are you?" she snorts.
"Lovely. I save your life and the gratitude I receive consists of rude behavior and expletives."
"Now, not that I am not grateful, but . . .you screwed up my mission! I totally would have gotten out of there! Now I have fucking broken ribs and nothing to show my bosses!"
"I do believe I was not the one to break your ribs, nor do I have any inclination as to what you would like to show your bosses." Her reply is calm, but he hears the underlying edge underneath it.
He huffs.
"Alright, but still. Who the fuck are you?" There is silence for a few more minutes.
"You may call me . . . nightingale." Her reply is calm, clipped. She is still focused on driving through the jungle at remarkable speed, making turns and twists. Half the time he is fucking scared to only have gotten out of there for her to kill him in a fucking car crash. The irony of that isn't lost on him.
"Nightingale? What the fuck? What kinda lame-ass douche calls himself like a bird?". She merely raises her eyebrows.
"Rest assured, it was not my choice. Now, would you be so kind as to enlighten me of your identity?"
If he hadn't been hard-wired to notice danger, he never would have noticed the gun innocently aimed at his chest.
"Uuuuh. . ." He swallows.
"You are aware that if it was my intention to kill you, I could have done it myself a few hours ago or simply left you to your own devices . . ." She trails off calmly.
"Alright. Codename Diamond, I work for the CIA." He figures he might as well be upfront about it. It's not like he has a whole lot to lose.
"And what exactly Mr Diamond, brought you to Mr. Albezar's mansion? I can assure you, we are on the same side, if you truly are with the CIA."
Yeah, that's kinda the draw-back to this job . . .you never quite know who's on your side and who isn't.
So he figures he should stick to the simple version.
"He had something he shouldn't have had, and I was getting it back." Close enough. . .
Nightingale nods beside him.
"Very well. Now, Mr Diamond, I do believe I shall leave you to your own devices once more." She abruptly comes to a stop and quickly flashes the jeep's lights. As a response, he suddenly finds himself blinded by the light. When he is no longer blind, he recognizes a small landing strip with a helicopter, its rotor just starting to spin slowly.
"Rachel! For Christ's Sake, you are giving me wrinkles!" A blonde woman shouts, and his companion calmly gets out of the car.
"Now, Mr. Diamond, if you keep going North you will reach the main road in a few minutes. From here it should be no more than twenty miles to Calida, and to Bogota only another few days. Do try to stay out of trouble." Her dark brown eyes sparkle and he can't help but feel that she is constantly mocking him.
She goes three steps, before turning around again.
"And lest I forget, fear not Mr. Diamond, Mr Albezar is no longer in possession of things he should not be." In her hand she holds a small USB-Stick. With a wink she jogs quickly towards the helicopter.
He can't help but follow her form with his eyes, her red dress a stark contrast to the different greens surrounding them in the Colombian jungle. Her dark hair is tousled by the wind of the helicopter and her movements are incredibly graceful.
Sure, she left him in the middle of a jungle and pretty much ruined his chances of fulfilling his mission, but he can't help but feel that he'll see her again some day, and hell, she so wanted him.
While starting the jeep and quickly driving off in the direction Rachel pointed out, he can't help but mumble:
"Hell, Puckerman, your life might just have gotten interesting."
So, whaddaya think?