Oh, look, an Author's Note! I just realized I forgot this in the first chapter, but as I'm sure you've noticed by now, Alex's SAS codename is Kit instead of Cub. This is because (a) what with there being a Wolf in the unit, I automatically associate it with wolf cub, and (b) I was thinking to myself, hey, I wonder what other, non-K-Unit SAS people would call her when she's grown up? ...oh god. So, yes, I switched it to Kit, which has a marginally more acceptable form for female adults. And that's it, really! (And why yes, this chapter title is nicked from the Muppets, ta.)
before.
His hand brushed her face, blissfully warm in the freezing room. Or maybe she was the one who was freezing; it was hard to tell. He was talking, but it was hard to concentrate on his words. "This is not a game, young lady," she thought he said. His voice floated past her ears, indistinct as if spoken underwater. "No one will hold your hand if you fall."
She laughed, and spat out blood-tinged saliva. "Of course it's not a game. Games are for children."
She could feel the flat of his knife resting against her belly, cold and sharp. He turned it and put the barest slice in her skin, hardly more than a paper cut. "Ms. Rider, perhaps you have forgotten that you are still a child." He dragged the blade across her stomach, leaving a fine line of blood in its wake. "I assure you, I have not. Tell me what it is you are here for, and I will leave you at your ease. I am an artisan, not a," his words twisted in disgust, "child-torturer."
"Really," she spat out. "You're doing an excellent job fooling me, then."
The knife cut a little deeper. "I assure you, young lady, I'm as upset about this development as you are. I'm not a paediatrician." He scowled darkly at the wall before lifting his blade and plunging it into her. "You're a young girl. Young girls enjoy flowers and things, don't they?"
The wound was surface only, not deep enough to have hit any organs. Once she could breathe again, she gaped up at the man, unsure if he'd really just said what she thought he had, or if it was an effect of shock. "I suppose."
He nodded briskly, as if she'd confirmed something of importance to him, before dragging the knife out along a winding line, following some logic only he knew.
To distract herself, she pressed her fingernails into her palms hard enough to draw blood of their own. It wasn't much, but it helped. "Is that all you needed to know? Because I'd like to be on my way now – "
He frowned at her over his glasses. "If you don't have anything useful to say, don't say anything at all. I am trying to do you a service."
"Remind me to never look you up if I need a doctor," she muttered.
After what felt like hours but couldn't have been much more than five minutes, the door blew open, and a set of khaki'd soldiers filed in. The leader took stock of the room for any other, hidden occupants, before signaling to one of his soldiers to untie her. "What the fuck is going on here?"
Once she could move under her own power, she stretched out her arms, long since gone stiff. "I'm the agent who called you here." While the military unit was still working out if they believed her or not, she removed what appeared to be a small gem from her boot and gingerly set a foot down on the ground. "Tell MI6 I've retrieved their micro-computer. I'm going home."
after.
She woke in an unfamiliar bed, tangled up in sheets a touch too scratchy to be comfortable in a room that still smelled vaguely of stale air. She blinked up at the ceiling for a minute before the pieces fit into place.
Oh, she thought. MI6. Wolf. For a moment, she was tempted to turn over and go right back to sleep, but a sharp stinging in her abdomen reminded her that she had a few things to attend to. Underneath her shirt, the dressings had gotten appallingly messy. The knife cuts had yet to close up, still. She groaned into her pillow then pulled herself up. Work to do.
The strong smell of coffee that hit her as soon as she opened her door meant Wolf was up. She paused, wondering if either of them was really ready to deal with the other this early in the morning, but realized too late that she didn't have a choice anymore. Unthinking, she'd stepped on a creaky board, and Wolf was already glancing up from his paper.
She hung in place, not entirely sure what to do now she was here. "Morning."
"Kit." He made an abortive attempt to get up from the table. "There's cereal in the kitchen." He paused, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "If you want it."
It occurred to her – not exactly for the first time – that Wolf had no idea how to act around her when he wasn't making her life a living hell. She offered him a half-smile for the effort at being civil, even though she wasn't particularly interested in the idea of breakfast at the moment. "Um, thanks. Where do you –" She cleared her throat, one hand drifting thoughtlessly to her stomach to brush against the bandages. "Where do you keep your first aid?"
"In the – " His eyes snapped into focus on her. "What the hell do you need it for?"
She bit her lip and tried out an awkward smile in an attempt to defuse the situation before it could get difficult. "Just a few scrapes. It's not a big deal, just – " She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Right," he said and abruptly snapped from what she'd started to think of as Wolf-at-home to Wolf-the-soldier. "Sit down, I'll get the bandages and disinfectant."
"I could really do it myself – "
"That's an order, Kit." He didn't even bother to check if she'd obeyed, but that was definitely the man she'd trained with, and old instincts took over. When he re-entered the room and saw her sitting at more-or-less attention, she could have sworn he almost smiled. "What've you got?"
"It's nothing, really." Casually, she laid her palm against the table, hiding the pale half-moon marks still visible from her fingernails. She had no doubts about his field dressing competence (though Snake had them all beat by a mile), but something about baring herself to Wolf – literally – made her stomach churn uncomfortably.
Wolf crossed his arms.
She winced. Her weeks at Brecon Beacons had hard-wired into her to expect some sort of sabotage or pain from that look, even though he was technically offering the opposite this time. "It's on my stomach, mostly," she offered with reluctance. As he knelt in front of her and started pulling out supplies, she bit her lip. "Look, the person who did this, he wasn't used to – it looks a bit – " She floundered helplessly, not sure how to explain herself.
Instead, she gave up and pulled her shirt up just enough for him to have access to the knife wound. For a minute, there was silence as he worked, peeling the old bandages away and gently cleaning her skin. It would have been bearable, if she hadn't known what was coming.
A minute or two in, he sat back on his heels abruptly, expression stormy in a way that didn't bode well (usually, she couldn't help but think with a wince, for her). "What the fuck is this?"
"He didn't know what to do with me," she whispered. "So he… he thought I might like…"
Wolf laughed, the sound tinged with disbelief. Now that the old blood had been cleared away, the lines were fairly clear. Two wings, body, antennae, even the beginnings of wing design. The bloody outline of a butterfly etched into her skin. It had shocked her the first time she saw it, to the point of dry-heaving into the toilet. Now, she just tried not to think about it much.
"He thought you might like a little body art?"The words all but exploded out of Wolf, and she flinched at the noise. He held up a placating hand and took a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm just not used to seeing butterflies cut into – " Another breath, and he offered her the med kit. "You finish up. I have to make a phone call."
With all the practical experience she'd been getting since MI6 had recruited her, it only took her a few minutes to dress the knife wounds neatly and cleanly. But that meant she had nothing much else to do but listen to Wolf – fairly easy, since he wasn't bothering much to regulate his vocal level.
"Look, I just need you over here," she could hear him saying. "I mean, Jesus, Kit is… Just get the hell over here."
Quietly, she packed up the kit before heading her way back to the guest room. If Wolf was already calling MI6 to take her away, she might as well be prepared to go.
