A/N: So, I've tried using 'British words' instead of 'American words', such as lorry instead of semi-truck, but I can't promise that I'll always remember to do that! Just a warning, in case I forget. :) The first 'mission' is more of an introduction to this story, to be honest, but I promise it'll (probably) get more action-packed in a bit!
"Who do you think he is?"
John stirred ever so slightly at the voice, frowning. "I don't know, really," replied another woman. She was prodding at his leg with something, but she wasn't being very gentle. Pain spiraled up his body and he restrained from making a noise, instead clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. He frowned, swallowing nervously.
Memories of earlier events caused panic to grip his chest and he quickly tried to force it away, without much luck.
"He looks like a waiter," an American accented voice mumbled. John faintly recalled the voice belonging to the man who had shot him and he shivered, remembering the pain. The throbbing had died down in his leg, but the more the person poked at the wound, the more it began to hurt.
"Jack, do you honestly think that Alec would give that key to a waiter?"
"Yes," Jack answered with a shrug, and the woman working on his leg giggled. Rose laughed softly, but didn't reply. Finally, he worked up enough courage to open his eyes just a little. He yelped as he met the brown of an admittedly handsome man, his eyes flying open all the way. Jack jumped backwards in surprise, yelping in return. Rose jumped to her feet, frowning. John forced himself to sit up, and immediately regretted it, wincing as pain shot up his leg again. Everyone in the room stilled, except for the woman by his leg. She was darker-skinned and her black hair was shiny and pulled up into a ponytail. She wore simple jeans and something that looked a bit like an pink undershirt. A white doctors coat was slung over his shoulder. She was wrapping bandages around his leg.
He realized with a twinge of embarrassment that he was no longer wearing pants.
The room became frustratingly quiet, every eye trained on him. He pursed his lips, willing this all to be a dream. His breath came out uneven. His fingers were digging into the floor, attempting to find something to grip, but was unable to do so due to the floor being metal.
"Uhm," was all he could say, drawing in a shuddering breath. It occurred to him that at the moment, he was trapped inside God knows where with three people who could all be potential serial killers. The thought made his heart start to hammer in his chest and he swallowed, his mouth going dry. The woman finished wrapping his leg and cut off the end bit, clipping the loose end to the rest of the wrapping. She sat back, examining her work for a few moments before shrugging and standing up, moving to the end of the room, where she grabbed a pair of light, pre-faded jeans and walked back to John, tossing them to him.
He caught them awkwardly and ended up dropping them, a blush rising to his cheeks. Jack snickered, looking away. Rose was grinning but she shook her head at Jack. "Don't be mean."
"I hadn't said anything yet," Jack argued. Rose giggled, pursing her lips to hide her smile and looking away. Frowning, John quickly pulled the pair of jeans on. He moved to stand up but the woman who had wrapped his head shook her head at him and he sighed, slumping back down. He felt awkward and nervous. And where was he, anyway? He wanted to ask, but the image of Rose shooting the man dead was still implanted in his mind and he couldn't shake it off.
He shivered at the memory and tried desperately to push it away, with failure. Sighing, he looked around the room slowly. Rose had sat back down on a cream colored couch which was pushed up against a steel wall. She was watching him with a curious look glowing in her eyes. She was still wearing the revealing black dress.
Jack was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He seemed to be paying more attention to the other woman though, watching as she proceeded to clean up medical supplies from the floor. Lights hung limply from the ceiling and he realized in a bit of confusion that the room was small and rectangular and they were moving; they were in a lorry. The only furniture the room contained was the couch that Rose was seated on to the right, a desk and a chair near the back, and by the left wall, counters and cupboards which had somehow been nailed into place to keep them up. The large door rattled as the truck drove on.
"So," Rose said suddenly, dragging him from his thoughts. She spoke in a way that declared that she was feeling just as awkward as he was. He glanced uncertainly at Rose, blinking at her. "Who are you? What's your name?"
John stared at her for a minute, debating whether or not to tell her. "Eric," he lied. He had no trouble lying to her. He was used to lying about all sorts of things, and lying about his name wasn't exactly a new thing. Usually, if he or Eric were in tight situations, they would simply use each others names.
Rose stared at him, frowning. "Eric what?"
"Day."
"Eric Day?" Jack cut in, raising an eyebrow. John snapped his head towards Jack, nodding. Jack frowned and stuck out his lower lip, shrugging.
"Do you work for Alec then, Eric?"
John glanced at the medical woman as she spoke, looking her up and down for a moment. "No," he mumbled, sniffing and sitting up again. He was a little afraid of what they would have done if his answer had been 'yes'. It didn't take a genius to know that these people were cruel, judging by the way Rose had killed the man without a second thought.
"Are you sure?"
John frowned. "Yes."
Jack took a step forward, dropping his arms to his side. "You better mean that. It would be a shame to have to kill such a handsome guy, even if you are an idiot."
John frowned, glaring at Jack as he strode to the counters, reaching up to the cupboards and pulling down what appeared to be wine bottle. "I went to Cambridge," he mumbled under his breath. Still, everyone seemed to hear what he had said.
Rose titled her head, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"Cambridge. University."
"You..." she giggled softly, trailing off for a moment. "You attended Cambridge and then... became a waiter?"
John blushed, shrugging. It wasn't exactly his fault. By the time he got out of university, he hadn't really had enough money to do much else. He didn't mention that he had in fact tried other jobs, but had never been interested in them enough to focus correctly. Jack eyed him oddly, then took the top off his bottle and took a swig of the drink. John drew his uninjured leg up to his chest, resting his chin on it and staring at the ground.
What had happened back at the party? Had everyone gotten away uninjured? Most importantly, was Eric alright? Depression swirled inside of him at the idea of Eric being dead or injured. He quickly shook it off. Eric was sneaky, even if he was an idiot most of the time. If Eric were in danger, he would know it, drunk or not, and he would get himself out as soon as possible. That was why Eric had never been arrested at parties.
John glanced up as Rose suddenly got to her feet and moved to the back of the lorry, towards the desk. Jack followed after her, still holding the bottle. He sat on top of the desk while Rose collapsed into the chair and they began mumbling quietly to each other. Swallowing and feeling a bit uncomfortable, he scooted over towards the wall, settling near the couch. He leaned his back against the wall and pulled both legs to his chest, ignoring the pain. He buried his face between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut tight.
A shuddering breath escaped his lips. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, he repeated to himself in his head, quivering. He could feel the need to cry in his chest, and he wanted to let it out. Just not here. Not now.
"Hey."
John glanced up at the gentle voice, his eyes narrowing. He didn't even try to make it subtle as he reached up to wipe tears from his eyes. The woman whose name he had yet to learn smiled down at him. She was holding something out to him. He glanced at it, and realized in surprise that it was a wrapped up peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "Unless you're allergic to peanuts. I can get you something else, if you want?"
For the first time since he'd woken up, John felt the ache of hunger in his stomach. He shook his head, eagerly reaching for the food. She sat down next to him, pulling out her own sandwich. "I'm Martha, by the way. In case you were wondering."
He nodded slowly, unwrapping the sandwich. "Thank you," he mumbled, placing the wrapping next to him. Martha nodded, pursing her lips. He took a small bite, glancing uncertainly at Martha. She laughed at his hesitance.
"I haven't poisoned it, don't worry."
He chuckled, taking a larger bite. He liked Martha, he decided. So far, she hadn't killed anybody, and she wasn't acting hostile towards him in any way. Then again, neither were Rose and Jack, but Jack had shot him in the leg and Rose had killed a man, which sort of spoiled his opinions of them.
"Are you okay?" She asked, biting on her lip. John glanced at her, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, that depends. Emotionally? No, not really. Physically, I'm getting better."
Martha flashed him a sympathetic look. "Rose and Jack really aren't bad people, you know..."
"She killed a man," John replied coldly.
"I know. I saw."
"What?" He looked at her, frowning. "How?"
"A camera," she said simply, but she didn't offer any more of an explanation. He sighed and decided to drop that.
"She killed a man," he repeated, "and wasn't even bothered by it."
"He was a bad person," Martha shrugged, taking another bite of her sandwich. John took the last bite of his own and glanced down at his hands. His gloves were not longer on. Martha must have taken them off him at some point. Sighing, he sat up a bit, peeling off his suit jacket and tossing it to the side. He undid his bow tie and threw that in the same direction, slumping backwards again.
"So?" John finally answered.
Martha stared at him for a few seconds, her brow furrowed. "He... he deserved it..."
John's gaze hardened and he glanced away, disgusted. "Did he?" He spat out. "Did he really? Did you even know his name? His relationship status? He could have had kids."
Martha didn't reply. She had looked away. John looked back at her, frowning, and he winced as he realized he'd upset her - the only person who had been properly kind to him so far. "I'm sorry," he sighed, raking his hand through his messy hair. Martha shrugged.
"It wasn't my choice, and it wasn't there's. It's part of their job."
John quickly took the opportunity to ask a question. "What is their job?"
Martha grinned at him, laughing. John arched an eyebrow, confused. "What?"
Whatever she was going to say, she was cut off, because suddenly, the truck jerked to a stop. John fell sideways, wincing at the pain in his leg. Martha jumped to her feet, swiftly moving across the room. As carefully as he could managed, John pulled himself up to his feet. He wrinkled his nose, standing still for a few moments as blood rushed through his legs. Finally, he took a step forward, and nearly fell. Jack, who had came up closer, grinned.
"Need me to carry you?" He asked, winking. Frustrated, John shook his head and turned away, standing up straighter.
"Stop it, Jack," Martha said as she walked back towards them. John rubbed the side of his arm, watching as Rose strode forward. The black strap on her thigh now had her handgun in it.
"Let's go," she said, a fake cheeriness to her voice. John trailed behind, keeping a slow pace so he didn't injure his leg any further. Jack lifted up the door and they all climbed out, each one of them landing easily after jumping; even Rose, in her high heels. John jumped down and staggered forward, gasping as pain arrowed up his leg. He nearly fell over, but Jack caught him around the waist, pulling him up and turning him around so that Jack's face was only a few inches away from John's.
"Nice fall," Jack grinned, patting John's cheek lightly. John shivered again under his touch, taking a nervous step back. Jack just shrugged, then started to walk away towards a door. John hung his head for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He still felt uncomfortable and scared around these people, and he doubted there would be a minute when he didn't. Martha was okay... but then again, John hadn't seen her shooting someone in the head. Yet, anyway. Sighing softly, he rubbed the back of his neck and took the moment to look around; not that there was much to look at. They had parked in a dirty, old alleyway. They were surrounded by buildings that looked to be abandoned from this side. Trash littered the ground and the area stunk.
He wrinkled his nose, shifting his feet uncomfortably.
"Come on!" Rose snapped crossly at him. He jumped in surprise, glancing up. They were standing by the door, Martha inside looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. Wincing, he stumbled forward, limping a little.
Once they were inside, John trailed behind, his mouth a little dry. He couldn't see at all. It was probably intentional that all the lights were off so that he couldn't see where they were going, but the darkness was making him nervous. He had always hated the dark.
Once, when he was little, he had run away from his mum in a store. She left, thinking he had run home, when in reality, he had hid in a shelf, buried behind stuffed animals. Eventually, the store locked up and turned the lights off and everyone left, leaving him all alone. He remembered that night better than any other childhood memory. He remembered how scared and alone he had felt, curled up in a ball under the front counter, crying his little heart out and waiting desperately for morning to come. He remembered the pain of feeling like he'd been abandoned. In the morning, when his mum had come back, worried out of her mind, he'd cried even harder and hadn't let her go for months. She had given him a stern lecture, but after that, she'd hugged him for fifteen minutes straight, him sobbing into her shoulder and hugging her so tightly, it was as if his life depended on it.
Ever since then, not only had he been terrified of the dark and being left alone, but he'd had a strong fondness for hugs, which sometimes bothered people.
"Hey, again."
John stiffened at the sudden voice, whipping his head around to stare at Martha. "Hi," he replied.
"How's your leg?"
He glanced down in the darkness to stare at him leg, frowning. He hadn't been thinking about it before, but now that he was, he could feel it starting to ache again. "Why do you care?" He mumbled, and instantly regretted it. Martha's gaze lifted to his face and for a moment, he thought she would yell at him. Instead, she sighed.
"It's my job," she mumbled.
Oh. John cleared his throat, nearly tripping over himself as they rounded a corner. "It's... fine, I guess. It hurts."
She was quiet for a few moments. "Yeah, it would. Sorry that Jack shot you."
"It wasn't your fault..."
"Uh..." a nervous laugh escaped her lips and John stopped walking for a moment. "Actually," she said slowly, sounding a bit embarrassed. "I was sort of the one who told him to shoot you."
John stared at her in the darkness, frowning. Great. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to feel angry or annoyed. In fact, he was almost amused. "Thanks," he croaked, and Martha laughed a little. He couldn't help but smile.
"Hey, speed up a bit, will ya'? Haven't got all day!"
His smile fell at Rose's voice and he closed his eyes, remembering his situation. "Martha..." he whispered quietly into the darkness, feeling fear crawling up his skin again.
"Yeah?" She whispered back.
"Are they... am I going to be allowed to... you know... live?"
Martha was silent for a few moments. Her hand wrapped against his wrist and she began dragging him down the hallway. "Martha," he whimpered, hating the way fear had flooded his voice. "Please."
"I don't know," she finally said.
"Don't lie to make me feel better."
"I don't," she sighed. "I really don't. We've never had this situation before, believe it or not."
"What situation?"
Martha looked at him again, biting down on her lip. "We've never had a civilian interrupt a mission - if a civilian is really what you are."
"Mission?" He repeated, frowning as she began to jog down the hallway. "What is your guys' job?" He hissed under his breath, hoping Rose wouldn't hear.
"Oh, come on," Martha snorted. "You have to have guessed by now. And don't you dare say the F.B.I, because you know that's not true."
"Spies only exist in movies," he blurted out, frowning. They rounded a corner again and then slowed to a walking pace. He could hear Jack and Rose talking ahead of them again. Jack said something and Rose burst out laughing. They really were human, weren't they? They weren't sociopath's, even if Rose had shot that man. Still, he couldn't shake off the fear he felt around them.
"There were spies in World War II," Martha reminded him, nudging his shoulder gently. John frowned, shaking his head.
"No, but... your kind of spies... those kind of spies," he corrected himself. "Spies that run around going undercover and wearing costumes and fighting and... like Chuck. Spies like that don't exist."
"Think again," Martha mumbled simply. John stopped walking once again, raising an eyebrow.
"So... you're actually spies?"
Martha didn't reply. Instead, she started to walk quicker, dragging him along with her. His breath hissed between his teeth at the pain in his leg. He staggered forward, nearly tripping over himself, but Martha kept him upright.
"Where are we going?" He mumbled.
Rose answered the question. "The lab."
He glanced at her in the darkness. Now that they had entered a new hallway, he was able to see just a little better. The base of the walls were lined with dim, red lights. Her blonde hair, once waved just perfectly, had become a bit of a mess. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach and she looked a bit angry. At the look on her face, John flinched, scared once again. This was really just an off day for him, wasn't it?
Eventually, after what seemed like forever of dark and silence, they came to a stop in front of a door. Jack pulled out keys and opened the door. Much to John's delight, white light flooded the hall. He relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief, following them into the room. Cautiously, he looked around, nearly expecting someone to be hidden in the room and pointing a gun at his head. Thankfully, there wasn't.
Instead, to the left, there was simply a white room, and in the middle of that room, was a single chair, and for some reason, that scared him more than a gun pointed at his head would. He swallowed, glancing at Jack and Rose. Rose and moved to the right side of the room. A glass wall split the room in half, and on the right side was a control panel and the room was darkened. Rose sat down in a swirly chair behind the controls and began to type something in. Jack closed the door behind him and then gripped John's upper arm. Instantly, John tried to jerk away, panic building in his chest.
An odd noise escaped his lips and Jack frowned. "Whoa..." he chuckled softly, "hey, you all right? Calm down, you'll be fine."
John didn't calm down of course. Not on the inside, anyway. On the outside, he stood straighter, and tried to keep a straight face as Jack led him towards the chair and pushed him down into it. Jack's eyes flickered with amusement. "How inappropriate would it be to straddle you right now?"
"Jack!" Martha and Rose both snapped at the same time. Jack only laughed and then, before John could move, cuffed John to the chair. He groaned and slumped down, his heart beginning to pick up pace once more. Jack moved back behind the glass, John watching with wide, scared eyes. A sympathetic look was flashed in his direction.
"All right, Eric, I'm just going to ask you a few questions. Answer them truthfully, please." Rose began typing into the the controls again and John shifted uncomfortably. This all seemed very cliché to him, but he nodded.
"Where are you from?" Rose asked, frowning at him.
John sat silently for a few moment, simply listening to his heart pounding in his ears. His hands had balled into fists and his jaw was clenched. What was this? Why was she asking him questions? "London," he finally answered, but his voice cracked.
Jack made a mark on something that John was unable to see.
"How old are you?"
He paused again, staring at Rose through the glass. She stared right back and he stiffened under her gaze. Why was this necessary? He shifted in his chair, looking down at his lap. "Twenty four..."
Rose was silent for a few moments, typing furiously at a keyboard. John swallowed, closing his eyes. "Do you would for Alec, Eric?"
"No." His voice came out as a whisper. He kept his eyes shut, his eyebrows furrowed. He was beginning to feel dizzy and his chest was aching.
"That's it, then. That's all I need. Everythin' he said was true."
He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. The room went quiet as he hung his head, gritting his teeth and trying to choke back the whimpers and sobs. There was the quick scuttle of feet coming towards him, but he refused to open his eyes, even as they uncuffed him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and burying his face in his hands.
"You okay?"
As soon as Jack spoke, something inside of John snapped. He sat up, eyes blazing with anger. "Am I okay, Jack? I don't know. Do I look okay? Honestly, look at me, and be a normal human being. Do I look okay? In one day I've seen a man murdered for God knows what, been shot in the leg, lost contact with my best friend, and had some sort of a test and I don't know why, because no one will explain! I'm alone and I'm in pain and I just want my life back, which is saying a lot, considering I hate my job. I don't want to be caught up in whatever this is. I just want to go home. So, no. Quite frankly, I'm not okay." He sat back with a heavy thud, his chest heaving from lack of breath. Everyone stared at him, looking a bit embarrassed. He raked a hand through his hair, messing it up even more and letting out a heavy sigh.
"Do you want an explanation?" Rose suddenly asked, an eyebrow raised.
"I don't know," he replied honestly, shrugging helplessly. He ran a hand through his hair and then pushed himself to his feet, wobbling unsteady. He nearly fell, but Jack caught him and held him up.
"If you want an explanation," Jack said, looking him up and down. "We can give you one. But you might not like the answer."
He raised an eyebrow at the man. "Are you going to kill me afterward?"
"No," Jack laughed. John stared at him for a few moments before nodding, and with that, Jack began leading him towards the exit, this time being much more careful with how he treated him.
They walked down the hallway for only a few minutes this time before coming to another room. Jack held open the door for them. Once inside, John couldn't help but smile. He'd been expecting something a bit different. Something more official, something more intimidating, and something... cleaner. Instead, he was faced with a relatively small room that seemed to only contain a desk, which was flooded with different objects. Maps sat on the right side and on the left, a computer monitor with a lamp dangling over it to provide light for the keyboard. There wasn't any room for much of anything, since papers and cases and contains were laid out across the desk. To the right of the desk was a small stand that was flooded with post cards. To the left, a bulletin board was attached to an old wooden wall. Photos and papers were pinned to it. Then, a little to the right of the board, a clock. Below that, a small sign that read 'staff only', and below that, and old looking paper with to humanoid figures on it, one blue, the other pink. A doorway was behind the desk, the room inside covered by bead curtains. He could just manage to see shelves inside, stacked with red binders.
"This it then?" He asked in amusement, turning his attention to Jack. Jack smirked.
"You'd think so," he chuckled, then made his way to the room behind the desk. Martha and Rose exchanged glances, then started towards the right of the room. Jack leaned into the room and pulled something on the inside of the door, and John let out a surprised gasp as the seemingly stone part of the wall opened. Martha gaze flickered to him as it did and she laughed at his reaction, a wide grin spreading across her lips. He flashed her a look of disbelief as Rose and Jack disappeared down the newly revealed hallway. Martha waited, a smug look plastered on her face. Shaking his head, John started forward, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Do you guys even understand the meaning of cliché?" He mumbled as he passed, and Martha laughed again, skipping to his side after she pulled the sliding door shut behind her.
They caught up to Jack and Rose quickly. They were headed towards an elevator. John's gaze lowered and his eye caught the gun still strapped to Rose's thigh. He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. How hard would it be, he wondered, for her to pick that up and shoot him in the chest? Or, the forehead, like the other man? Would she regret it afterward? Does she ever regret killing people? He figured that she was used to killing, but did it ever bother her? For some reason, he doubted it did, and that made him a bit sad.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ground as they walked into the elevator. It was a bit crowded, with John pressed awkwardly up against Martha and Rose squished against the back. Jack was pressing himself to the corner, yet none of them, except for John, seemed to mind. It seemed to take forever for the elevator to reach its destination, and the whole way down, everyone was silent.
He was relieved when it finally reached the bottom and they all filed out into a slightly larger room. However, the relief quickly diminished. There was something off, and all four of them knew it. John glanced at the three spies, frowning. They were all scanning the room. Martha looked a little worried and scared; he guessed that she wasn't someone who went out on missions much. She wasn't used to this. Jack and Rose had taken out their guns and were both creeping forward, frowns on their face. John followed, curiosity pricking at his skin as they climbed up the steps. What they met at the top made all four of them freeze, and John nearly stumbled backwards and down the stairs.
"Oh my God," he choked out, staring in horror at the dead and bloody body.
