Hello all! Sorry it's been so long.
Just another disclaimer since The Golden Circle is out there in the universe: this story is not connected to the sequel in any way.
Enjoy, and as always, please review!
Dreams So Real
She was fighting with Jeremy – but from Nat's perspective.
He was coming at her, relentless, punches throwing left and right; she was barely able to block them. Ana hadn't taught her sister enough – why didn't she train her more in self defense?
She saw the knife he brought out from his pocket and pulled back, but he tackled her. She felt them fall, cushioned by the very soft grass.
She threw a punch or two but he blocked them, bringing his knife forward, stabbing her in the chest.
She cried out, her punches faltering in their power but never stopping.
"Lincoln! Natasha! Dammit-" Jeremy started but she punched his Adam's apple, shutting him up.
He fought back, restraining her arms, turning them over so he landed on top.
"Wake up!"
She struggled in his grasp.
"Jeremy, let me go."
"Wake up!"
Suddenly, she was herself, standing above him, gun in hand pointed right at his head.
"I never want to see you again, Jeremy."
"Please, wake up… oh, fuck it."
Jeremy was in front of her, punching her face, but to her it felt like a slap. And the sound of it had her blinking out of her state, her vision and mind hazy as the pain on her cheek broke through, waking her up.
She blinked again, opening her eyes to the present, the nightmare fading away. She gasped when she blinked Galahad into focus; his face above her, a split second later feeling the rest of his body on top of her with his arms holding her hands above her head, keeping her restrained.
"I'm sorry… but are ya awake?" he whispered, staring down at her, looking concerned.
She flinched and looked away as she struggled against his grasp, but he kept a tight grip.
"Are ya awake?" he repeated.
"Yes. Let me go," she seethed, and his grip released. She pulled away and pushed him as she rolled over the bed and onto the ground. She crawled on the scratchy hotel carpet, catching her breath as she sat up against the bed, closing her eyes. She was crying.
She caught her breath, looking over at him as he stood up from the bed and sat down next to her, his gaze unwavering.
She blinked a few more times, her final tears falling.
She stood up and wiped them away as she walked towards the nearest lamp, switching it on and filling the room with more light than the New York skyline gave.
She had already calmed her breath down, but she heard him still catching his breath. Was she fighting him in her dream? How long was it Jeremy in her dream, or Jeremy as him?
She heard him take in a deep breath, and she braced herself, waiting for inevitable questions.
"Was it… was Jeremy… was he abusive?"
She rolled her eyes, scoffing at the thought.
"Oh please, as if I would ever let that happen," she snapped.
He looked almost hurt at the comment, his eyebrows twitching, and she faltered, realizing her mistake.
"Galahad… who-"
As though their roles were reversed, she watched as his eyes grew dark and detached, and he shook his head.
"I didn't-" she started, but he interrupted.
"Yeah it figures, don't it? You know nothin' 'bout me, I know nothin' 'bout you. We don't even know each other's fuckin' names."
That stunned her into a thoughtful silence. She moved to sit on the bed, watching him closely as he stared out of the window at the New York skyline, still sitting on the floor.
She never gave a thought to fact that they'd only used codenames. She found comfort in the distance it created and just assumed he felt the same. He never really pushed her about her real name.
She wondered why they never gave their names. But to her… her codename was a cover, a blanket for her to burrow under and hide from Ana.
Just Ana.
Not Ana and Nat, like she had lived her entire life.
Just Ana.
But as Lincoln… she was herself. She was her job – nothing else to think about, such as the hole in her chest that Nat had left as she took her last breath.
She stared at him as he stewed on the floor. Somehow guilt crept in and she felt that she owed him something for interrupting his sleep. Something personal…
"My cover name, Natasha. It's… it's similar to a name of someone really close to me. I called her Nat. But I, uhm, well, let's just say I can't really handle hearing the name anymore. Hence my… reaction towards it," she said softly.
Galahad froze, his whole body tensing.
She looked over and met his gaze in the window's reflection.
He gave a short nod, and she gave one back, sighing as she stood up.
"We should get back to sleep," she said.
He nodded and stood up, heading towards the cot.
"No," she said abruptly, her mind making a snap decision before her brain could agree. They both froze and he stared at her, waiting for her to continue. She let out a breath, surprised herself by her sudden outburst.
"We both deserve a real mattress," she said softly, climbing into the bed and pulling the covers over her, turning her back to him.
She felt him pull the duvet cover back, the mattress moving as he climbed in next to her on top of the sheet she was sleeping under.
They both let out sleepy sighs, and the room was enveloped in silence as she kept her eyes open, staring at a painting of a meadow on the wall she was facing, seeming dark and sinister barely bathed in light.
"Stop thinkin', it's too loud," he said softly, his body readjusting against the pillows, pulling on the covers, still facing away.
She shook her head against the pillow, her lips relaxing.
After a while his breathing settled and he stopped moving.
He was lucky; sleep came easily to him.
Loud honking and sirens on the streets below stirred her awake. She kept her eyes closed, letting out a sigh as the events of the previous night replayed in her head.
How much did she say during the nightmare? How long was she fighting him before he finally slapped her awake? How was he okay with going back to sleep with her in the same bed? What if she'd had another episode?
"You're thinkin' too loud again," she heard a soft voice and her eyes shot open, meeting his gaze immediately.
They were facing each other on the bed, but had managed to keep their distance, sleeping on their respective pillows. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were still sleepy, but he had a slight frown.
"What's ya name?"
She blinked slowly, her brain still foggy with sleep. That is the only explanation she gave herself over and over again in the days to follow for what she said next.
"People call me Ana," she muttered. Then her eyes widened, mimicking his as they both realized what she had just told him and she turned her head to stare at the ceiling, taking a deep and grounding breath.
At least it wasn't her full name. But somehow, she still felt vulnerable. In a moment of weakness last night, she'd even told him about the name Natasha. Something was wrong. She was giving away so much of what she had worked so hard to keep hidden, she just didn't know what it was that had her telling him such sensitive information.
He had enough ammo to hurt her; she didn't want to give more. But it was too late.
She blinked, and furrowed her eyebrows. How was her name such a sensitive subject? How had it come to this?
He stayed silent for a moment before clearing his throat.
"But it ain't your full name is it…" his question trailed off and she nodded, turning her head to look at him again.
"Like I said, its what people call me…"
Why was he so adamant about her full name all of a sudden? Nobody called her that anymore – Dylan was the exception but even then she gave him crap about it. Natalia was the only one who called her by her full name. To everyone else, she was just Ana.
If she couldn't have her sister, then others – herself included – couldn't have her full name.
He sighed, and she frowned yet again. She thought he would rejoice, the way he bitched about knowing her name…
"Lincoln it is then," he muttered as he threw the covers back, getting out of bed. She stared at the ceiling as his feet softly trudged across the carpet, the bathroom door closing and locking.
She shot up in bed, looking at the closed bathroom door, refraining from throwing something at it.
What the hell was his problem?
She climbed out of the bed and grabbed her clothes for the day: soft leggings and a black polka dot tunic, figuring she could step into the closet as she dressed in case he came out – but she heard the shower turn on.
She shrugged, taking her time to get dressed, repack her suitcase, and use the closet mirror to put on her make-up to cover her dark under-eyes and add some white eyeliner to make her seem more awake.
The hotel phone rang loudly and she jumped, moving her hand away just in time to not mess up her mascara.
She raised an eyebrow, checking the clock on the bedside table. They had two more hours until they checked out…
She picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Natasha dear!"
She frowned as she brought forward a happy tone:
"Hello, Marsha! You looked wonderful last night, definitely made an impression!"
"Oh, indeed. So many friends asked where I got the dress and who helped me, but I must admit I was selfish; I only gave out your first name and said you were already too swamped with clients! I just want to keep you all for myself."
She blinked, torn by the comment. She wouldn't know but Marsha had just saved her a lot of trouble with diving further into a cover and wasting time styling other rich women. On the other hand, the way Marsha had said it, as though they were close friends – and even thinking back to last night, the way Marsha treated her so warmly, so motherly – the whole thing made her sick.
This woman was responsible for her sister's death. Or at least for her, Marsha was the best she could get with revenge – her son was already dead. She raised him: the man who took his mother's lessons about a Greener planet and reacted in turn, like a psychopath; with a twisted take on Darwinism and no respect for life. Well, respect for the rich and famous, at least. But no respect for the citizens that actually made up the world.
"Well, I must thank you for that. My schedule is about to get hectic."
"Purely selfish intentions my dear; which is also why I called you."
"I'm sorry, Marsha, but we're checking out in a few hours and on our way to the airport-"
"Ooh, 'we'! Such an amazing young man, I still love the fact I played matchmaker with the two of you. The way you kept staring at him – not that I blame you, hon – but… phew!"
She frowned. What was Marsha planning?
"Well I wanted to treat you two to breakfast, I've got a reservation at Serendipity in thirty minutes, and you must join me."
She refrained from a sigh. She thought she was done for now, but she guessed not. She had to get close, so she should be looking at this as good news.
"Of course we'll join you, and I've always wanted to visit that place! It's perfect."
"You must also be a fan of the movie."
"Oh, of course! John Cusack knows how to choose his roles," she said, wincing and slapping a hand on her forehead for such a lame reply.
"Plus, the name itself is perfect for the three of us. Me meeting you, you meeting darling Lee…"
She blinked at the name, still surprised at the cover name he had chosen. The way he had introduced himself with that name… it held meaning to him, just like Natasha did to her – even if it was a derivative of her twin's name.
"Yes, it is definitely, well, serendipitous, I'd say. A perfect ending to such a nice trip to the city."
Marsha let out a chuckle as Ana rolled her eyes.
"Alright, I'll have one of my cars pick you up in… say thirty minutes, and then he can take you to the airport. I'm already on my way."
She blinked at the statement, a grin forming on her face.
One of her cars. A perfect spot to plant their devices. Finally… some real progress.
"That sounds amazing, thank you! That'll save us a cab fare and a raucous, terrifying drive to the airport. "
Marsha laughed at that.
"The very reason why I have my own! See you soon, dear!"
"See you soon," she said as she heard the lock click and the bathroom door swung open. She hung up the receiver and stood up, ready to tell him about their new breakfast plans, but gasped.
"Oh, my god!" she cried out, taking a few steps towards him, but faltering.
He was fully clothed, in slacks and a white button down shirt. But what had her concerned was the large black eye was currently sporting. The black eye that she'd undoubtedly gave him in her fit last night.
She blinked up at him as he shrugged it off and walked around her to his side of the room, putting his folded pj's and his toiletry bag in his suitcase and zipping it closed; his movements were short, as though he was mad.
"Jesus, I'm sorry. That's why I-"
He turned to her quickly.
"It's fine, Lincoln," he snapped. "You ready to go? We can check out early, find a place at the airport to eat and fuel up."
She cleared her throat, shaking her head as she walked back to her suitcase, bringing out her make-up bag and turning around.
She was confused by his demeanor. He wasn't one to take the bruise as a strike to his ego – the blasé way he had approached for another round of fighting told her as much.
So why was he angry?
"Sit, there's been a change of plans."
He stayed where he was, staring her down.
"Marsha has invited us to breakfast. Sit down, cause I gotta cover that bruise up, there's no logical way to explain it."
Without a word he walked towards her and sat on the bed.
She opened her bag, finding her concealer and putting it next to his cheek. The shade was a little lighter than she'd of liked, but it would have to do.
She grabbed her extra beauty blender and got to work.
"Roosevelt was right when he said you were better at hand to hand," he muttered after a minute of silence.
She didn't reply, keeping her eyes on his cheek, avoiding his gaze. Was that supposed to get a raise out of her? It was kind of weak…
After a few seconds he tried again.
"Who's Jeremy?"
She froze for a beat, her hand with the sponge hovering over his face. She wanted to drive it into his eye, but refrained from doing so.
"Better stay still, I'd hate to ruin this shirt with concealer," she muttered. His eyes flashed as he grinned, but said nothing else. She frowned a little. This was personal information she wasn't ready to give up. Last night and this morning had been a fluke. It wouldn't happen again.
She finished up, using her fingers to blend it in as best she could, ignoring the small shivers that happened each time she touched him, but the job was done and the bruise was gone. Only if someone stared and got as close to him as she was now would they notice the make-up.
She tossed the sponge and closed the concealer, walking back to her suitcase to throw her make-up bag in, zipping it up again as she checked the time.
Five minutes until the car arrived. They should get moving.
"Marsha said she would be sending one of her own cars. We should plant our devices in the car and in her purse at the restaurant."
He nodded at that, and walked to his suitcase, checking the front pocket and bringing out the small box that held the listening devices with a direct connection to the Kingsman networks.
She brought up the handle of her suitcase, checking around the room and ducking into the bathroom to make sure she didn't leave anything behind.
He was already at the door, holding it open for her.
"I can only hope that this is already implied, but seeing as our driver is hired by Marsha, we need to up our act the second we get to the lobby," she said as she walked past, not waiting for him to close the door as she reached the elevators, pressing the button.
He stopped next to her just as it dinged and the doors slid open.
"Who's Jeremy?" he asked again as they descended.
She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath before turning her head to face him. He really doesn't give up.
"Well, let's just say he doesn't mean the same to me that Lee does to you."
He flinched at that, turning to face the doors as he cursed under his breath.
She barely slept after her nightmare. And she wasn't the only one that had them… he himself cried out for his mom, and said the name 'Lee' so softly she barely heard it. There was another name he called out for, but it was always murmured and barely heard.
"You asked," she said as she reluctantly stepped closer to him and linked their arms together, letting out a deep breath as the number above the door counted down from the third floor.
As soon as the doors let out a soft ding and slid open, she jumped when she felt his nose brush the soft spot on her neck under her ear, an involuntary warm shiver making her shudder. Dammit, he got the upper hand again.
He let out a chuckle as they walked towards the desk to check out, and then through the lobby doors and onto the bustling New York street.
The doorman smiled and held out his arm to a black town car parked right in front of them.
"Finch?"
She nodded as a rather large man stepped out from the driver's side door and rushed around to them. She almost drew back; surprised when she noticed it was the guard from last night, who she caught more than once staring at her. Galahad tightened his arm around hers as he walked them forward, smiling.
The guard gave him a nod, but turned and smiled at her, taking her suitcase first.
She felt Galahad's arm move to rest on her back and she looked over at him, seeing him frowning, as though maybe he also recognized the guard, who was now their driver.
The driver grabbed Eggsy's bag as well, putting both in the trunk and opening the back door for them.
She gave a demure smile, avoiding his gaze as she slid onto the soft leather seat, scooting over to make room for Galahad.
"That's-" he started as soon as the driver closed the door, but she shook her head, pointing to her ear. Even though they were going to plant their own listening devices didn't mean Marsha wasn't precautious enough to have her own.
"He looks so… tough for a driver. I bet people never honk at him," she said, finishing her sentence just as he opened the door and drove off, entering the slow moving New York City traffic.
Galahad scooted close, his hand snaking around to her back again. She turned to look at him and saw him staring at the driver.
She combed through her mind, trying to think of something…
Galahad cleared his throat, turning towards her, their faces too close together so she leaned back.
"Think we'll get through security in time for our flight?" he asked.
"Mrs. Valentine has a friend at JFK, you'll be rushed through. You still have to go through security, she can't pull that many strings," the driver said as he made a turn down a less busy street, picking up speed and expertly avoiding any potholes. As though he was more than just a chauffeur driver…
"Oh, Mrs. Valentine must have friends in high places for that!" she said, sounding impressed.
He looked at the rearview mirror, meeting her gaze which sent a cold shiver down her spine.
"That she does, Ms. Finch," he said, adding a hint of emphasis on her name.
She felt Galahad's hand tense on her back.
She cleared her throat, nodding again.
They fell into silence then, Ana keeping her gaze away from the front of the car. Something felt wrong. Something felt… off.
"Here we are," the driver said, slowing down. He jumped out of the car, opening her door. She grabbed her purse, stepping out and nodding at him, muttering a soft 'thank you'.
"Mrs. Valentine will call me; I'll be right around the corner when you are ready to leave for the airport."
"Sounds good, mate, thanks," Galahad said. The driver nodded at him, gave her a grin, and climbed back inside, driving off.
Galahad's arm linked in hers, leaning in close.
"We'll plant the devices on the ride to the airport. We'll need to be chatty."
She nodded as they walked towards the entrance to the restaurant.
"You ready?" he whispered as he opened the door.
She gave another nod before breaking out into a smile as the hostess approached them.
"As I'll ever be," she muttered under her breath while they wove around the tables.
"Natasha dear! And Lee! Such a pleasure for you to join me!" Marsha's voice rang out.
Galahad's arm shifted to grasp her hand, giving it a squeeze.
"The food better be good."
Dreams So Real by Metric