How are you all liking summer (or winter, on the other side of the world)? Cause I fucking hate it. I'm sweating everywhere.
I need reviews like I need a walk in freezer equipped with a bed and an iPad filled with music and a hundred books.
Bad Reputation
When she landed back in Los Angeles she waited until she was at the luggage claim before she brought out her phone.
Staring down at the blank screen, she took a deep breath before turning it on and switching the ringer off as a multitude of missed calls and texts came through.
She barely had a second to read anything before a call came in. She winced when she saw the number but answered it all the same. She had to - it was in her job description.
"Adams, hey! How're the kids?" she asked, taking a few steps away from the crowd around the luggage claim.
"Dammit, Lincoln, I'm single and you know it but that's beside the fucking point. A covert, off record, unmanned and unapproved SOLO MISSION!?"
"I told you time and again, Marsha is a threat! Dammit, this is Valentine all over again! You all are too blind to-"
"Lincoln, you were told to stand down - you disobeyed a direct fucking order!"
"I got an in! She warmed up to me right away. I'm a stylist; flashy, eh? She got my 'business card.' And with the terrible skirts and pantsuits she wears, god knows she needs it," she muttered.
"Come to headquarters, Lincoln. You're officially Grounded."
She clenched her fist as watched the her suitcase move past her on the luggage claim.
"What?!"
"You got us all into a load of shit with this stunt you pulled. You're grounded, understood? Report to headquarters ASAP."
"Can I at least go back to my place and-"
"No."
"But what about Apo-"
"A car is already waiting for you outside the terminal. Consequences will be worse if you don't take it."
"Fucking hell, Lincoln, seriously?!"
She sighed. It took him long enough.
She knew where to go when the cab dropped her off at headquarters. She was to stay in one of the many rooms left for agents when they were too harried after a mission to go home, or when they were needed on call 24/7 for a mission. Or, for her situation, fucking grounded. She felt like a kid with such a word, but it fit; a grounding of an agent meant that they were to stay at headquarters and not partake on any missions in anyway possible unless given distinct permission. It was the spy's version of a probation.
The room was to essentially be her prison until she was cleared for missions. And even then, she might not be allowed to go home.
"Adams, hey," she said as she grinned at him, "can you give me a minute to change?" she asked, pulling at her oversized white button down shirt which was tucked into her jeans. She still smelled and needed to wash her wound that she had haphazardly stitched herself on the cab ride to JFK.
He looked as though he was about to let out a scream of distress, but instead shook his head as he took in a deep breath.
"Dining room, now," he said, turning on his heel and walking away. She followed, staying silent as she walked behind him through the hall, then up two floors in the elevator and down another hall until they reached the Dining Room.
A man was already at the head of the table made of metal with a glass surface, sitting in the matching cushioned metal chair. The walls were painted navy blue, with modern lighting on the ceiling and abstract art lining the walls along with portraits of past American Kingsman agents.
She held her hands behind her back and gave a curt nod as she stood at the other end of the table.
"Washington, sir."
He stood up slowly, his olive skinned face showing his crow's feet around his eyes as he squinted at her, a deep frown on his face.
"Lincoln, take a seat."
She sighed and walked towards her chair, the second from Washington's at the head of the table. Adams stood by him, his clip-pad tucked under his arm.
Washington sat down after she was seated – he was old fashioned that way – his body screaming restraint as he crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the table.
"I presume Adams has already informed you of our disdain about your recent actions."
She nodded, putting on a solemn face.
She didn't mind being causal with Adams. He only acted like he detested it, she warmed him up soon enough and he bantered with her anyways. However, with Washington, no one dared to try something of the sort. The man screamed authority and he deserved it. He was an impeccable - if whatnot a scary and daunting - superior.
"Yes, sir."
He nodded.
"Thankfully due to your distaste of using bullets, and disabling any and all cameras within a three block radius, you saved us exposure and more importantly two very important casualties."
She sucked her lips into a thin line.
She didn't much appreciate Washington using her PTSD to diffuse the situation.
Ever since the innocent lives she took during V-Day, she would have flashbacks and even panic attacks whenever she held a gun with real bullets. It was lucky she was able to continue as an agent with the (mandatory) help of the official therapist, an owly old woman who was too kind and too impressionable after a few visits. The therapist recommended she be given specially made guns with rubber stun bullets and tranquilizer darts, her favorite being the latter.
"I had to shoot a tranq dart at the pretty boy twice. The model went down immediately," she said, looking at Adams.
He coughed, hiding a laugh, and Washington cleared his throat.
"Well, if you had actually had your tech on you and even back-up, you would've realized that the 'pretty boy' and 'model' were fellow Kingsman."
She faltered, and then sat up in her seat, shaking her head.
"Sorry, thought I heard you say-"
"You heard correctly, Lincoln. You tranquilized two fellow Kingsman agents from the UK branch."
She blinked and opened her mouth. She closed her mouth and then opened it again, hoping something would come out, but it was no use.
"Since the two agents were on a planned mission, they had the tech and recourses to realize who you were," Washington continued.
"Just in time," she muttered, recalling the bare bones fight with the pretty boy. Though he wasn't 'pretty' as much as he was-
"It seems the UK Branch had your similar intentions; they also view Marsha Valentine as a threat," Adams said, "And since both you and the male agent have made contact with the target, we will now be collaborating with the UK Branch."
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide.
"This has only been done three other times in Kingsman history; collaboration with other branches. The new superior and a select number of agents are coming to our headquarters for this long-term mission. In that select number, the two agents you took down are part of the mission, so you need to make nice as soon as they land," Washington said in a warning tone, staring her down.
She took in a deep breath.
"That's why you're gonna be the one to pick them up from the airport," Adams added, sounding almost too pleased of the fact.
She opened her mouth, faltering, but she shook her head.
"I thought I was grounded?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"I persuaded Washington to make an exception."
She shook her head, but he continued.
"Maybe next time you get the idiotic harebrained idea to execute a rogue mission, try not to get caught."
Washington stood up, and she followed suit, her hands coming behind her back again.
"Dismissed, Lincoln," he said sternly. "Other than the airport trip, you are restricted to the grounds upon further notice."
She wanted to protest, but heard Adams clear his throat. She gave him a quick glance before giving another curt nod to her superior.
"Yes sir."
She saw him out of the corner of her eye when he came in, but kept going at it.
He stood by the dumbbell rack, grinning his stupid grin with his arms crossed over his chest.
She finally gave up, adding a final roundhouse and upper-cut before dropping her hands and stepping away from the punching bag, using the back of her arm to wipe sweat off her forehead as she caught her breath.
He stayed silent as she unwrapped her hands and guzzled some water down. She walked over to her bag, throwing in the bottle and zipping it closed.
She then turned to him, hands on her hips, still catching her breath as she raised an eyebrow at him.
"Knew you had moxie, but not like that," he said.
Her face twisted as she let out a deep laugh.
"Moxie? Who the fuck uses that anymore?"
"I do, kiddo. And you've got it in spades."
She rolled her eyes as she dropped to the ground to do a post stretch, starting with the butterfly position, resting her forehead on the ground.
She sat up and saw he had sat down across from her, his hazel eyes smiling, his brown hair slicked back. He was still in his suit, his vest unbuttoned and his jacket draped over the dumbbells behind him.
"Maybe you should start calling me 'sport' and then buy a green lighbulb to stare at while you throw ragers at your mansion. You've already got the suits," she said as she turned a little to stretch out her legs and pull on her toes.
He showed no reaction to her Gatsby joke.
"Out of all the things that get on my nerves about what you did, you wanna know the one thing that trumps it all?" he asked.
She sighed.
"What?"
"That you didn't bring me for back-up."
She released her toes, turning to him. He gave a curt nod, looking annoyed.
"Dylan, I-"
"Should've asked me to come with you."
She frowned.
"Should've done a lot of things, Dylan. And you know, more than anyone here that Marsha Valentine has to-"
"Exactly! That's why you should've invited me!" he raised his voice.
She pulled back, and shook her head.
"I wanted to. God, I wanted to Dylan, but it was rogue. I'm surprised I wasn't fired! Even though I traced every single step, covered all of my tracks, I still managed to get made and mess it all up. If I'd asked you to come with me, you would've been reprimanded just the same, maybe even worse."
He stayed silent, staring her down.
She shook her head and stood up. She'd finish her stretches in her 'cell', also known as the room she would be staying at while she was grounded.
"At your six, kiddo," he said softly as she walked away. She stopped at the doorway and turned her head, not looking at him, but showing her smile.
"At your six, old man."
She left, bringing the strap of her bag further onto her shoulder as she walked to the elevator.
She dropped her resolve as soon as the doors closed and she started descending.
She had been a second away from calling Dylan at the airport after she faked a 'personal emergency' with Adams to get a weekend off.
Dylan, also known as 'Roosevelt', was the only Kingsman agent to actually accept her after she came on top in the interviews two years ago.
He'd been an agent for the past ten years, and they came close quickly; he taught her everything he knew, and she even had a few tricks up her sleeve that he adapted. They were always in perfect sync, and were usually assigned missions together since they worked so well, so fluidly, always getting the job done.
And he was always at her back whenever other agents spewed their chauvinism. He set most of the agents in their place soon enough, though there were one or two who still tried. She just ignored them, working to prove them wrong in the field.
But seeing his reaction back in the training room, knowing that he had wanted to be with her while she went against the rules and executed a mission on her own… she wished she could tell him what it meant to her without sounding like a sap.
True, they were close colleagues and even closer friends, and had become even closer after V-Day; they both lost someone close and dear. But knowing that he had her six, wanted to be at her six even when going against the rules… he was never just a friend.
He was her family.
The doors opened and she sped walk to her 'cell', dumping her bag on her bed and walking to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.
She stood up straight and tilted her head at her reflection.
She shook her head, turning away.
She messed up. She'd have to deal with the circumstances.
Didn't mean that she would take it in stride.
Bad Reputation by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts