RECANT (Part 3)

A WEEK LATER

From his viewpoint, Flynn was in bad shape, really bad shape. Even for a man who'd made life a living hell. And after seeing what seven long days of continuous fighting did to the spy, he didn't blame him either. Flynn could barely keep himself upright, which he knew was due to numerous counts of body blows. While in his blazing eyes, he noted the familiar signs of drugs coursing through his system. Something they'd administered against his will most likely. So yes, Garcia Flynn was in a bad state.

Even so, Wyatt shook his hands, then the rest of his limbs, loosening them to get the blood flowing. With breathing even and relaxed, he stepped onto the mat. Suddenly, Flynn sprinted towards him, leapt up, and came down with a blow intended for his jaw. In a jiff, he sidestepped the tall figure, barely blocking the man's sneaky left hook.

Wyatt retreated to the corner, spreading his legs to shoulder width, and placed a right fist and foot before the left, shrugging coolly at the hasty opening. So perhaps he underestimated Flynn's fitness and well-being, for he showed no signs of backing down, and neither did the crowd in cheering for his teammate. He huffed a sigh. Despite being seriously hurt, the man was still a raging beast.

"Guy's got a flawless winning streak." A former special ops soldier said at the start of the fights.

And now after six rounds both he and Flynn were the only two fighters left standing, exactly what Agent Christopher had asked of him.

Garcia moved then, light-footed and quick, coming in with a classic uppercut, which he avoided by stepping back. But the man quickly followed up with a right elbow to the chest. Losing his balance fleetingly, Wyatt recovered swift enough to block the oncoming left hook, and pushed him away with a foot to the stomach. Next, went after him, kicking at the side of his right knee. The spy countered it with his left foot before aiming for Wyatt's chest, who sidestepped the return strike and backed away.

Satisfied, both respited and moved to opposing corners.

Thus far, they were evenly matched in their attacks, and yet according to the hacker and his announcer, the men teased one another. Likewise, it was clear the soldier sought to leave their best fighter intact; would then also forfeit the match willingly. Whereas the taller man gave the impression they craved for, no matter the cost of his dwindling physicality. He was in it to win it. And the longer he continued to excel, the more the money would come pouring in. Still, they didn't appreciate Wyatt's lack of effort. No doubt, he was the healthier, fresher of the two, and the fighter knew it and acted as such.

He simply chose to play it down for some unusual reason, faring well to play on the hacker's nerves, too.

Suddenly the crowd died down to curious whispers.

The men came forward, meeting in the middle, but stayed out of reach. In the backdrop, they heard the hacker slamming his fists against his sparkling throne in anger. He wanted results not dancing warriors.

Wyatt smirked at the irony and commanded of Flynn. "Hey man, do me a favour. Withdraw already."

"What?"

"With. Draw." The soldier drew-out on purpose.

"I heard you the first time, Delta." Sudden fear lit up in Garcia's eyes. "Just, where's the backup dancers?"

"They're guarding Dynamite, what else."

He relaxed, now aware and certain that Lucy and Rufus were well out of reach. Though the drugs in his system elicited a visible tremor and tensed his form extensively. Wyatt flinched somewhat, disliking the idea of Speed coursing through the spy's body. And to make things worse, it was wearing off. Overlooking it, he circled to the left, keeping his eyes locked on Flynn's restless fists.

"So it's just us two grunts then?" The spy asked unsteadily.

"Hey! I would appreciate a little less chatting." The hacker demanded above the now chanting crowd. "And a little more fighting!"

"Whatever floats your boat crazy bastard." Wyatt motioned at his teammate and warned deadpan. "Just, don't go for my right hamstring. Okay?"

"Yeah? Well, my back's killing me."

The soldier stood up straight, expression serious as he did so and asked innocently. "You won't go for my shoulder, right?"

Concerned, Flynn stopped their circling. "Which one?"

"Left."

"Sure. As long as you don't aim for my knee again, we're good."

"So it really leaves us with anything from the waist up." Wyatt joked.

"Guess so."

"Fine by me."

The gathered warriors roared as one, urging the fighters to resume the match.

Feeling ever bit of his waning strength, Flynn jettisoned the corner of the mat, and descended upon his teammate with a quick left jab and right hook. Avoiding both strikes, Wyatt responded with a foot to Flynn's chest, shadowed by a swift roundabout kick skimming by the man's jaw. While during the evasion, he went after Wyatt's vulnerable leg, sweeping him off his feet. Though in no time, he was up again, jolting for Flynn and knocked him square against the chest. The blow tilted his body sideways and down to his left knee, opening up a gap for Wyatt to grab him around the neck with both hands. Slowly, he bent down, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear.

"Agent Christopher sends her regards. Now be a good boy and lie down."

Wyatt sensed how Flynn relaxed against his grip and heard a half-hearted snicker. Swallowing hard, he stepped away, lifting a foot to the weary man's shoulder, and rammed with intent.

The throngs of men went deadly silent as a loud, sheer smack resonated in the vicinity. Their giant was down for the count and a new but confused warrior towered over him.

Retreating, Wyatt gaped at the scene, then cursed under his breath. On his back and writhing somewhat, Flynn's lips were soaked with blood, showing his body had been struggling with multiple internal bleeding all along. He cursed again.

An unexpected boisterous commotion to the back drew everyone's notice. Men scattered in a frenzy. Flash bangs and smoke grenades glided through the air as Homeland's response team filtered into the warehouse in a heated rush. On cue, Wyatt turned on his heels, sprinted for the hacker, taking him and the chair down in one full swoop. Wood splintered around them as they crashed to the floor, the soldier placing the hacker in a proper hold and flicked a small detonator from his hand. It skidded over the floor, stopping within reach of the cowering announcer, who looked on in fear as Wyatt secured it and shouted out commands.

"Our informant needs medical attention now. And please do take care of this smuck."

"You won't get away with this." The hacker threatened once they boosted him to his feet.

"I got your stupid ass device." He waved it at him arrogantly. "No more poisoning the well like you did before."

"There's a safeguard in place." He offered weakly.

"I don't give a crap. You're done for Oscar Jovanni."

The man stared in astonishment before writhing against the tight hold the two men had on him. Even so, they hauled him away, Wyatt following closely behind as Oscar growled at him.

"You're dead, dude. I swear you're dead. I've seen your face. There's nowhere you can hide. My investors will find ya. I'll find ya! I swear I will."

"But we found you, didn't we. I don't think they'll like how easy it was, Jovanni. With their investments gone." Wyatt smirked, snapping his fingers together. "Just like that. You're in deep shit, kid. And what you did to Flynn just dug the hole deeper. Be glad I didn't do to you what you did to him. But the crazy thing is. I don't like him too much, so I'll let you scathe today. That's unless."

The hacker stopped the advance, jerking towards him in anticipation. "Unless I do what?"

"Do a hacking job for us, no questions asked. And just to be nice, I'll even sweet talk a deal for you. Like I said, the guy's a pain in the ass."

The DHS Agents tugged him forward once more, Wyatt smiling roguishly as the hacker considered the options.

"All right, I'll do it."

"You hear that boys?" Wyatt cheered happily. "We got ourselves a fish. Flipping fantastic."

A MONTH LATER

The long-awaited hope of his daughter and wife holding him close flooded his dreams. Instinctively, his arms curled around them pulling them tighter to his chest, gladly relishing their wholesome acceptance and precious adoration for him. But then a swift thought pierced the blissful occasion, and he woke with a startle.

Garcia Flynn blinked a few times before noticing the black snouts of a life-sized, stuffed creamy fox and a crimson hound staring up at him.

An irritated groan reverberated in his chest, finding the joke cruel, petty and a tad thoughtful. The stuffed animals were nothing like the endearing hug of his girls. Instead, it portrayed every bit of his sad life since he'd lost them. He groaned for a second time.

"I swear Wyatt's dead."

"It's Rufus actually."

"Now I'm really gonna kill him."

Jiya giggled at the jest and watched shyly as he struggled to sit upright in bed.

Even a month after the fights, his body struggled to acclimatize to being whole again. She grimaced, knowing how beaten up and ragged he was when she'd returned from her own hell a week after. The drugs had just left his system and his physical condition had left him looking like a mangled scarecrow. It was a horrible sight. And it terrified her to know how far the team had gone to get her back. But once she heard he volunteered willingly, to get the help required, she felt guilty. Which she later realized was false and unnecessary. Anyone in the team would've done the same thing for the other, and yes, it included Garcia Flynn as well.

He snarled as he caught her looking. "What?"

"Thank you." She whispered kindly.

"It's what the creepy uncle's for."

"I think you take it way too seriously. You could've died. And then what?"

"For starters, the lifeboat would be cosier. The bunker would be less livelier, but hey." Irked, Flynn tossed the stuffed animals out his room. "The hound's dead. Long live the queen. So why the sad face milady?"

"You're right. You're almost healed. I've recovered. And thanks to our deal with the sleazeball Jovanni, Rittenhouse is deeper underground squirrelling for resources. But hey, we got the lifeboat back. No place like home. Yay."

"Yeah." Flynn replied impassive. "So why the sad face?"

"You went through all that effort for someone you don't even like."

"Listen, whatever you may think." He placed his legs over the side of the bed, cursing the lethargy in his muscles and then looked to her. "It just so happened to be a two for one deal and let's look at it this way. No lifeboat – no stopping Rittenhouse. No Jiya – crappy bunker. Besides, there were too many Flynn's moping around. I had to do something."

"I agree one is more than enough thank you." She teased whilst vacating her seat.

"Now don't be so harsh. I am an acquired taste of course. It's not fair when everyone else is just as . . . vulgar. There would be no fun to be had on my part."

She chuckled, helping him get to a comfortable standing position and then stepped away. He thanked her with a curt wave and shuffled for the door.

"Oh yeah by the way." Flynn glanced over his shoulder. "Watching me sleep."

A wry smile curled his lips as he walked ahead and kicked at the smiling hound and sly fox discarded in the passage.

"Jeez, and you call me the creepy uncle. Get a life woman. And get this crap you call a joke outta my sight before I let loose the real hounds of war."