Warnings: no beta, OOCness, English is not my first language, inconsistent tenses, i am very bad at prepositions, sexual situations, mentions of alcohol
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
A/N: This fic was the result of listening to "I'm Not Calling You A Liar" by Florence + The Machine on repeat.
She didn't know what possessed her to seek him out every time, so once in a while, she would find herself breaking the locks of his doors and windows, slipping into his flat, his sheets, his heart, his life. Every time, she attributed it to mere curiosity. How was he doing? Was he eating well? Was he drinking himself to sleep again? Would he still look at her with eyes full of wonder? Could she still make him come undone with a mere touch?
Every time, she attributed it to mere curiosity, and every time, she refused to admit that she was lying to herself.
She would often find herself thinking about him—during times when there wasn't much going on, during those moments between sleep and wakefulness, during dangerous missions when she thought she would lose her life. He would come unbidden into her mind, like a ghost who latched into her, haunting her like past sins and regrets, never letting her have a moment's peace.
And she did sin against him. She used him, all the way back in that city that was eaten alive by death and destruction. She used him twice, but she hasn't in a long time, not since she used him again, this time as a distraction in that parasite-ridden village. She had multiple uses for him, but she didn't—couldn't—and her insistence to keep on seeing him when she didn't have any reason to terrified her more than any abhorrent creature humankind was capable of producing.
And that was what she regretted the most, because she knew how to stop his ghost from haunting her. All she had to do was say three little words, but the words won't come out of her broken mouth. Those words were like bombs within her just waiting to explode.
If she said them, would the explosion destroy her? Or would it destroy the facade that she wore as an armour and reveal to him the person trapped within, constantly yearning for his touch?
It wasn't like they were hard to say. She had said it plenty of times to unsuspecting people she had to manipulate for her job. But he was different. Saying those words to him would make them true, and maybe that would be the only time in her life when she would mean them.
Thunder rumbled in the sky, and the dark of the night offered her valuable cover, so she swung in the air, her grapple hook trained upwards. She made sure to land as noiselessly as she could on his balcony, even though the rain and thunder would mask whatever noise she made. But that was the trademark of a good spy, being so quiet that one would think she was never there. She then tucked her grapple gun at the waistband of her trousers, and squinted her eyes to better see in the moonless and stormy night.
There were no lights on so she reached for his glass door. Maybe he was already asleep. Maybe he was doing some overtime at work. Maybe he was out drinking with friends. Maybe he was spending the night with another woman.
Her hand wavered, but the lights suddenly went on, the curtains behind the glass door parted, and the door opened.
From within his apartment, a hand reached out, steadying her wavering hand.
"You're gonna get sick if you stay out there any longer," he said, pulling her inside. He locked the doors and drew the curtains close, then went to the bathroom.
She stood there on that same spot, not wanting to track rainwater all over his flat. She was getting steadily uncomfortable in her wet clothes when finally, a few minutes later, he came out of the bathroom bearing a large, fluffy towel.
"How long have you been out in the rain?" he asked. His hair was tousled and his clothes were rumpled, but his eyes were alert.
"Not long," she answered. The hands towelling her hair dry were gentle, almost lulling her to sleep. "How did you know I was out there?"
"Motion sensor with a silent alarm." He moved on to her face, and then her shoulders. "You need to take a shower. I've got some hot water left."
"My, my. Finally upgraded your security eleven years after I first broke into your flat, huh? I'm so proud of you, Agent Kennedy."
He draped the towel over her head and pinched her nose. "Go take a shower. I'll be in the bedroom."
And take a shower she did. The hot water slid down her back, and in the privacy of his bathroom, unwanted thoughts once again plagued her mind. Why did she come to him this time? For information? Sex? Or the desire for human connection that was forbidden to spies like her?
She stepped out of the shower, the steam from the hot water fogging up the glass walls. She patted herself dry and wrapped a towel—the same towel he left her earlier—around her body, and proceeded to his bedroom.
She found him sitting on his bed with papers and folders strewn around him. In his hands were a folder and some papers, and he was busy reading them until she came.
"Work?" she asked as she opened the door to his closet. Her clothes had their own space in his closet, but she still chose to wear one of his shirts. They were larger, much more comfortable, and most importantly, they smelled like him.
She let the towel fall to the floor. She could feel his eyes on her, so she grabbed the nearest T-shirt that she could find and shrugged it on. She forewent undergarments, because she suspected that she wouldn't have much need for them.
She strode towards his bed. She neatly piled up all the papers and folders to the side before sitting behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, hooking her chin over his shoulder.
"I couldn't fall asleep," he said. He turned to her and placed a kiss on her forehead, then flipped the dossier he was holding to another page. "Might as well do some work."
"It's almost one a.m. Let's go to sleep."
"You go to sleep. I'll go to the living room."
But they didn't budge. He made no move to walk away, and she remained plastered to his back, reading the confidential documents he was perusing. And he let her, because no information was classified for a spy of her calibre.
Such as the document he was currently reading. There was a headshot of a man and his name printed in bold, black letters. The sight of those made her snort.
"What?" he said, craning his head towards her.
Her eyes remained on the man's photo. "So that's the name he's using these days, huh?"
"Who, this dude?"
She scanned the whole document. "That's a pretty passable if sloppy cover."
He narrowed his eyes, looked at the paper, and then back at her. "So all this information is fake?"
She chuckled. "You guys are always one step behind." She tightened her hold on him. "I'll tell you everything I know about him if you go to sleep now."
He smirked. "Is that an ultimatum, Ms Wong?"
She took the dossier from him and placed it on the stack of papers she had arranged earlier. "It will be, if you don't go to sleep now."
Thunder growled, and in that split second when lightning flashed, she saw his bright blue eyes looking at her curiously.
"What?" she asked.
There was an amused smile on his face. "You're a bit different tonight."
She hid her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, inhaling his scent. "How come?"
"Normally you would have jumped me the moment you stepped out of the shower, but you didn't."
"So you're saying that I'm acting strange because I didn't climb onto your lap?"
"Maybe."
"What if I'm just tired?"
He tapped her hands, which were resting over his stomach, and she loosened her hold on him. He turned his body towards her so he could face her properly. They sat on the bed, facing each other, then he tucked her hair behind her ear.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked.
She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, but probably not in the way he was expecting or wanting. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his arms automatically wound around her waist. So close to him like this and she felt like all her defences were crumbling on their own, and all she could do was hurriedly and haphazardly put them back together.
She carded her fingers through his hair, messing it up than it already was. "I'm tired. I just want to sleep."
His hands ran up and down her back—the same hands that built and destroyed her. She was something unholy, yet whenever his lips, tongue, and fingers worshipped her skin, she was suddenly set ablaze with holy fire. And each time his warmth penetrated her, she became a divine being in paradise, hallowed by the litany that he prayed consisting solely of her name.
It was a two-way thing, this corruption; she sullied his good name, and he venerated her rotten existence. Pangs of guilt would wash over her whenever he looked at her with those gleaming eyes. She defiled him with every touch, yet every word he whispered into her ear made her feel like she was something she wasn't—like she was a person capable of benevolence.
"All right," he said, gently prying her arms from his neck so he could meet her eyes. "Let's go to sleep."
She moved away. She let him put aside the stack of documents on his bed, and then let him tuck her under his blankets. She let him gather her close to him, pressing her face against his chest, tangling his legs with hers. She let him kiss her forehead, let him bid her good night, let him be close to her in her most vulnerable state.
Why did she come to him this time? She was used to sleeping alone. Maybe she just wanted to sleep beside someone on this cold and rainy night. Maybe she just wanted to sleep beside him.
Thunder clapped, rain beat against his windows, and she fell asleep in his arms.
In the morning when she woke up, rain was still falling down in torrents. He was gone, and the other side of the bed felt cold. He was probably making breakfast, but who was to say that he wouldn't make her have a taste of her own medicine by leaving without notice?
She rolled over to the other side of the bed and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 07:03 a.m., it read. She got up from the bed and stretched. Her eyes fell on his dresser, where an old—ancient—disposable coffee cup rested, and nestled within it was a small bunch of withered roses. Beside the cup was the compact mirror she had given him in 2013, but whereas it used to contain a microchip that proved his and his partner's innocence, its false bottom now carried a folded ticket stub for a classical music concert—the first time they met up after the whole fiasco caused by her doppelgänger.
She caught herself smiling. The old coffee cup and roses were from their first ever "date." They have been in his bedroom since 2004, and she wondered if she had lived in his mind for just as long, if not longer.
The bedroom door opened.
"Look who's finally up," she heard him say.
She turned around and saw him still dressed in last night's clothes, although it seemed as if he had already brushed his teeth and washed his face.
He looked at the disposable coffee cup and withered roses, and she stepped towards him and brushed his stubble with a thumb.
"You were always so sentimental," she said.
He placed a kiss on her palm. "Can't bear to throw those away."
She thought about the teddy bear keychain attached to his apartment keys, about the zippered compartment on its back. He never once showed her what it now contained. She had already violated his life enough by refusing to leave him alone. He deserved to have his own little secrets.
He kissed her knuckles. "I believe you owe me some information."
She cocked her head to the side, affecting a pout. "Feed me breakfast first and I'll tell you."
He scowled. "That wasn't part of the deal."
"What deal?" She smiled innocently. "Did we shake hands on it?"
His scowl deepened, although there was no real displeasure from it.
She kissed his nose. "It's better to have a conversation on a full stomach."
He sighed in defeat. "All right, all right. You know I'll always do anything you say."
And in a way, he was right. She had him wrapped around her little finger, always there at her beck and call. She always disrupted the normalcy of his life, and he let her. She always left, and he let her. And then she would come breaking into his place and he let her. He let her do as she pleased, never once forcing her to do anything she didn't want, and she wondered, how long would he let her come and go? How long would she come and go? Surely there was an end to this game, and the only person who could end that was she.
"What if I told you to let me go?" she whispered.
His eyes widened, appearing panicky. He took a step back, creating a small space between them that might as well be a chasm.
"Do you mean that?" he said, eyes now dangerously unreadable.
"Would you?" She stepped forward, bridging the gap between them. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. "Would you let me go if I asked you to?"
He tried to look away but she wouldn't let him. He closed his eyes, letting his hair fall and hide his face. "If you really want me to—"
"Because I wouldn't want you to." She didn't let him finish his sentence. "Would it be too selfish of me to want to keep you for eternity?"
He breathed a sigh of relief before chuckling. Then their foreheads touched, his arms snaking around her waist.
"You know I'll always do anything you say," he repeated. "If you want me to wait for you for an eternity, I will."
Her arms wrapped around his neck. "But I don't want you to wait anymore. I'm tired of making you wait."
He lifted his head so he could look at her eyes properly. He smiled, shrugging. "I don't mind waiting. I've been waiting for you for a long time."
She had feet that kept running back to him, hands that always reached out to him, eyes that repeatedly sought him, and lips that forever craved him. He has haunted her for almost half of her existence, teasing her with a life that could never be hers.
Wasn't that why she kept on coming back to him? Not because he represented what she couldn't have, but because he was what she couldn't have, and humans, by nature, wanted what they couldn't have.
And there it was, the infallible sign that she was a human being—she hungered for the unattainable. She didn't have him, not entirely, not until she got over her cowardice and said the words that she should have said a long time ago. As long as she didn't admit it—to him and to herself—she had no claim over him, and she wouldn't have anyone to blame but herself if left.
"You shouldn't be waiting," she said. "Especially not for someone like me."
"Especially for someone like you." He kissed her cheek. "I'm a grown man. I can make my own decisions. And I choose to wait for you each time."
"Why?" Her voice was pained, as if she couldn't fathom why a man as wonderful as he would willingly let himself be strung along by what many people called the she-devil.
He smiled, almost grinned. "The same reason you keep coming back to me."
She pulled away from him, desperately looking everywhere but him. He took her by the elbows nonetheless, and his hands found to hers, guiding her back into his embrace.
"I…" she said. Was this it? Was this the moment when she would finally say the three words that had been clawing out of her throat? "I…"
In those few seconds of her struggling internally, he just stared at her. She couldn't help but think that he enjoyed the rare sight of her squirming, if the slight upward curl of his lips was anything to go by.
A taste of her own medicine indeed.
He kissed her forehead. "I know. I already know. You don't have to say it."
I know? She was imploding and for what? He already knew? "What do you mean you know?"
His thumb brushed across her cheeks and lips. "Whatever you feel for me, I assure you, I feel the same."
He cupped her face and she leaned in to his touch, saying, "I hate you."
She didn't mean it, not one bit of it, but it was so much easier to say. Maybe she resented him for representing what she could have been—someone who served the same master as he and fought by his side by night, and his inamorata by day—but she refused to switch sides just to be with him. She didn't want to give up her life and her job for a reason as shallow as to be with a man. Why would she? Would he give it all up for her? Would it be so bad to have a not-quite-enemy as her paramour?
"Well, I guess I hate you too." He leaned forwards, catching her lower lip between his mouth, nipping on it slightly, before covering her lips with his own. Her fingers wove through his hair, bring his face closer to hers, tilting his head so she could have him—all of him. His hands went under her shirt—his shirt—and grazed the bare skin of her back, electricity in their wake. "If that's what you meant by hate."
She chuckled and hid her face on his neck, her arms encircling his waist. "You deserve to hear it."
He kissed her cheeks. "Maybe I do. But I already know." He tucked her hair behind her ear, then kissed her nose. "You don't have to say it if you're not ready."
"How did you know?" Despite all her best efforts to conceal and deny how she truly felt, it wasn't fair that he already somehow knew.
But then again, he had known her for a long time, and she let him see sides to her that no one else in the world saw.
She once thought that a spirit, or a ghost, or a demon, or whatever unseen creature inhabited her body whenever she was with him. She felt things she shouldn't be feeling, did things she shouldn't be doing, and thought of things she shouldn't be thinking. He was her daydream personified, her deepest and darkest desires incarnate, and she became a different being whenever she was with him. Perhaps a tad less cynical and a touch more affectionate, and more like a human instead of a mechanical spy.
Maybe she wasn't possessed. Maybe it was a different side of her emerging—a side of her that only he was capable of coaxing out.
She felt his hands rest at the small of her back. He said, "I had my suspicions. And you're not denying them."
"What if it was just all an act? What if I'm just using you?"
"Then look me in the eye and tell me you're just using me."
She lifted her face from his neck to meet his eyes. It was staggering to see the faith he had in her, that after all the secrets and omissions, he still, despite everything, believed in her. He still wanted her, still allowed her into his life and his heart.
She could lie to his face and tell him that everything was just an act, but even unholy creatures like she had something they considered sacred and inviolable.
She tore his gaze away from him.
He smirked. "See? Just as I thought." He tilted her chin and forced her to look at him. "Hey. You don't need to say it. I don't need to hear it. Don't force yourself. You can say it when you're ready, and I promise you, I'll still be here."
"You might have to wait for a long time."
"As long as I spend that time waiting by your side, I'll be happy." A kiss to her lips, and then, "I'll wait for an eternity if that's what it takes."
"You won't get to live a normal life."
"What about us is normal?" He laughed. "I'm a federal agent. You're a spy. We usually work for different, if not opposite, sides of the war. The moment B.O.W.s entered the equation, I have given up on the thought of having a normal life."
Some lore dictated that one way to get rid of a ghost and let it move on was to help it accomplish one thing it couldn't when it was still alive. This thing could mean finding out its killer, helping it deliver a message, or uncovering the mystery surrounding its death. It could mean a lot of things, but for her, the only way his ghost would stop haunting her was if she let herself have this one thing that she had been denying herself.
To give in to her yearning or not? To finally claim what was hers for the taking or not? To accept the devotion that he offered or not? It was years and years of an uphill and losing battle, but she supposed that it was time to give up the ghost.
Just look at those eyes, that smile, that body, that face. She never stood a chance against him.
"We don't have to give up anything," he said. "We can carry on the way we are, and I'll be content with that. A phone call out of nowhere, you showing up unannounced…we don't have to change anything."
She shook her head. "You're wrong. Something has to change."
His arms wrapped tighter around her and he pulled her closer. She fit perfectly in his embrace, like his arms were made for holding her.
"What?" he asked.
She brushed his lips with her fingers before looking at his eyes with an earnest gaze. "A spy's loyalty doesn't mean much, but I'm not giving you my loyalty as a spy—I'm giving you my loyalty as your…" She frowned. She couldn't find the right word, and even if she did, she wasn't certain if she could say it.
He bit his lip. She could hear the teasing smile in his voice when he said, "As my what?"
She took a deep breath. "As whatever you want me to be."
He kissed her soundly on her cheek. "We don't need labels. I'm yours, you're mine. That's all that matters." The grin he gave her rivalled the brightness of the sun. "Does this make us finally official?"
She sighed. Making something official sounded like what young people did, not middle-aged people like them. "If that's what you wanna call it."
"Don't force yourself." His teasing expression softened. "When you're finally able to say those words, maybe I can show you what's inside that teddy bear keychain."
"Why? What's inside?"
"A ring for you."
Her eyes gleamed, and her breathing quickened with anticipation. She wrapped her arms around his neck and titled her face upwards, meeting his lips with her own. She leapt, quite literally, into his arms, encircling his waist with her legs. His hands supported her, and soon, he was the one craning his head upwards to kiss her. He carried her to his bed and laid her down on his sheets, his eager fingers going under the shirt she was wearing so he could explore and conquer.
She idly thought that she was right; she had no need for undergarments. Her cold skin was made warm by the fire at his fingertips. His touch ignited an inferno within her, and she completely opened up to him, from her mouth, to her legs, to her heart.
"I wonder when will I see that ring," she said as he disrobed her.
"There's no rush." He took off his clothes. "I've got an eternity to wait."
He hovered over her and she pulled him down, submerging him in the flood of her own desire.
Outside, the storm raged, and inside, they created a storm of their own.
A/N: don't worry guys they had breakfast after. mr kennedy wouldn't let his girl starve :)
Mini playlist for this fic:
1. "I'm Not Calling You A Liar" by Florence + The Machine
2. "More Than Words" by Extreme
3. "I Will" by The Beatles
ngl i really didn't want to post any aeon fic this june because it's pride month and i didn't want to post something about heterosexual romance. i mean all i ever write these days is aeon but i was listening to i'm not calling you a liar and my brain was like "oh wow this is aeon hold on lemme write this"