whatever i don't even know. there's too many pronouns and 'ands'. whatever. for jade and christine because i love them and can dedicate them stuff if i want.
She hears about it on a Wednesday night when she's just leaving from work.
The office has been buzzing all day, something about a lot of activity around London – she tries not to get caught up in office gossip because despite holding some of the government's most notorious secrets, CIA operatives have a tendency to run their mouths about everything without ever actually giving anything away.
The London part gets to her a little though – she tries not to think about why and mostly succeeds.
That is, until she hears about the MI6 operatives who were called in as backup, and the subsequent shoot out that happened the moment they arrived on the scene. There hasn't been a word since – which is now hitting on the third hour mark – and they can't send in anymore operatives until there's clearance from the team leader, the team leader who she later finds out is none other than one Agent Townsend.
And the name rings her head, louder and louder until the pressure builds and it feels like she could shatter from one touch – fall apart like there was never anything holding her together in the first place.
She leaves the office and then she's home.
She doesn't remember how she got there.
x
It begins like everything in her life always does; born in chaos and then broken and re-broken and moulded until it has some semblance of order.
He pushes at her and she pushes right back and then keep pushing because that's the type of people they are; there's no such thing as easy for them. And when it is easy they make it complicated – they can't help it. With them it's always like this; there's a road in front on them, it's sits right in front on them, and heads straight off into the distance. It's freshly paved and perfectly smooth, so they throw a ten car pile-up on it, scrape off the pitch until the entire surface is uneven and put up barricades at the beginning of it – just so they can feel the rush when they finally get through the mess.
It takes them an entire year before they can be trusted not to kill each other if they're left in a room together.
It takes them another three years before they can be trusted not to maul each other's faces if they're left in a room together.
It takes them approximately six months after that before it all falls apart.
Then, if you fast forward two years, you'll find that they're still trying to glue all the pieces back together again.
But maybe that's what's always been the problem, that they keep trying to fit all the pieces back together again, when in reality the only way they're going to work is if they start over from scratch and make something new.
x
For the first hour, she runs completely on autopilot.
She changes out of her clothes into a soft worn t-shirt that's too large for her; it smells like aftershave and peppermint, but the scent's starting to fade and it needs to be washed soon.
She puts on the kettle for tea she'll never drink and starts to clean because it's what she does when she doesn't want to think.
It something see's been doing since she was a child; she was born with a perpetually loud personality with a sense of independence that was quite foreboding for a seven year old. She never did like to clean her room, and when she'd get into fights with her sister for stupid, petty little things, she'd run to her room and lock herself inside.
Her mother did always tell her she always felt too much; her emotions burned too bright and flared out so hot it would burn you if you got too close. That was always one of her biggest problems – she played fast and loose with her relationships, they happened in the blink of an eye, and ended ever quicker.
Now, when she looks back on most of them they're just flashes of memories, fleeting touches and phantom kisses that she barely remembers.
But back then, when she'd feel the anger seeping to her skin and the frustration clawing at her chest , she'd clean – because she's one of those people who leaves her clothes strewn over every available surface and has papers littered all over the floor. She can never find her shoes because one is always hiding and the amount of junk she has spread out on the left side of bed is ridiculous.
And it's only in those moments when she needs control she does it, because she needs the monotony, the simplicity of putting away things and knowing where they go so she can come back for them later. It's therapeutic in a way, and it's how she calms down when she feels it; her blood running too close to the surface, and her heart beating in an untimely rhythm. When her palms start to sweat and she can feel the knot in her stomach retying itself into impossible tangles that can never come undone.
This is what she does, she thinks folding one of the tops in the head on her bed, when she worries.
It's just how she deals.
x
They met on a Monday.
It was raining outside – and not just any rain, but a full-blow storm, lighting and thunder – the whole works.
That should've been foreshadowing enough for the two of them.
x
By the second hour, it's just hitting eleven and her entire apartment is spotless.
Abby's always been one for thoroughness with whatever she's doing. Her bathroom smells like Clorox and disinfectant, there's new sheets on her bed, she's washed all the dishes in the kitchen and vacuumed every single square inch of floor she could find.
And without something to distract her, the little thread of worry rears its head and begins to re-stitch itself.
One of the guys in Emergency Response owed her a favour, and if she'd asked him to contact her if any information about a certain agent passed his way – well, she wouldn't deny it, but she wouldn't admit to it either. But it's been hours since the news broke about the shootout, and she hasn't heard a peep.
Abby's not one to worry about most people; she knows her friends can take care of themselves and vice versa.
And then, one day she met someone named Edward Townsend and that changed.
x
The first year was the worst, mostly because they couldn't stand each other, so the fact that they had to spend most of their days together only intensified that. MI6 had needed a CIA correspondent, so they put her on loan for a year and shipped her off to England.
Where she would then meet her future partner for the next twelve months, who would then turn into one of the most important people in her life a few years later.
She was brash, and loud and spontaneous. He was cool, and collected and planned everything out in detail.
They brought out the worst in each other, but.
They also brought out the best.
And even though more than half of the time, she had to pray to a plethora of different gods to give her the strength not to strangle him to death, she had his back, and he had hers and they were kinda the perfect team. Except for the hating each other part, but they got over that eventually.
Well, mostly.
x
She's been staring at her phone for the last ten minutes and it's stupid – it's so stupid.
Every night one of them texts the other, it's a stupid little thing they've had going on for years. A way of saying 'how are you' and 'I'm here if you need me' and 'don't forget me' all wrapped into one nonsensical message about something insignificant like 'I tried to make instant noodles and burned them all' to which she'll get a response like 'how do you actually survive every day' and that's it. And just that little exchange will be enough to keep the dopey grin on her face for the rest of the day.
But today there's no text from him, and it makes no sense sending one to him for obvious reasons.
He most probably doesn't even have his phone on him, one. Not to mention that even if he did he wouldn't answer it when he was on an op anyway. And the last option, well the last option she won't think about too hard because if she does she'll realize she might never get a text from him and that –
That scares her more than it should.
x
By the time her correspondence is over, they've made some sort of truce. If you can call passive aggressively glaring at each other rather than overtly detailed descriptions of how they want to kill each other a truce, then yes.
He takes her to the airport because it's quicker than trying to catch a taxi, not to mention she gets a free ride out of it.
When they reach her gate they both sort of pause awkwardly because neither one of them really knows how this is supposed to happen.
"Well," he says and clears his throat, and that's pretty much her thoughts exactly.
"I'd say it's been a pleasure but you know," she says with a little smirk as he rolls his eyes at her.
"If you're ever back in England, don't call me."
But there's the barest hint of a smile on his face while he says it, and for some reason, it makes her stomach do a little flip – which she ultimately blames on the Chinese from the night before.
"Trust me I won't."
And then there's this little moment where they're just looking at each other and not smiling and it's most probably the longest they've ever gone without snapping each other and it's, well, it's kind of nice to be honest. But then, the final boarding call for her flight plays over the intercom and whatever tentative moment they'd had between them is gone.
"Townsend," she says, sticking her hand out.
"Abigail," he replies and they shake on it.
Then just like that, she's gone, lost in the crowd and he's already turned away.
It's purely coincidental however, that the moment she chooses to look back over her shoulder for him, she's just missed him doing the same thing.
x
Abby is sitting on her bed.
She's sitting on her bed and her phone's in front of her and she doesn't know what to do anymore.
Because it's almost midnight, she has no idea what's happening at this point and right now all she wants – all she wants is to know that he's okay. That he's out there somewhere maybe a little beaten and bruised but still breathing, breathing and alive.
x
They spend the next three years dancing around each other in the worst way.
Their flirting is explaining in detail how annoying, irritating and every other variable of the word the other is, and they see each other a few times throughout the year, but it's generally spent under a spray of gunfire and explosives; not the most romantic setting.
And on the rare times it's not and it's just the two of them, they just go out and do things.
Things as in alcohol.
Alcohol in sports bars where they argue with each other because Abby always purposefully chooses the side Townsend's against, just so she can rub it into his face when his team loses. Usually by the end of the night they're both spectacularly drunk and stumble their way back to his apartment where she ends up spending the night because she can't tell the difference between a dollar bill and her license so it's best she stays where she is.
Abby pushes him out of his bed, claiming that he's a gentleman and he needs to sleep on the couch. He grumbles incoherent things at her but goes anyway, although he takes all the blankets with him. In retaliation, she steals one of his shirts to sleep in because they're warm and they smell nice and before she knows it she's already sleeping.
And when she wakes up there's a glass of water and two tablets on the bedside table, and the smell of pancakes drifts through the apartment.
He's already made coffee when she heads outside , and he complains about her stealing all his shirts so she burns his toast which leads to him threatening to burn her pancakes and then they're bickering again and it's all terribly domestic.
But of course neither of them are actually aware that this isn't a thing people just do, and it obviously means something more than the two of them are trying to pretend it's not because they're both horribly, horribly oblivious when it comes to each other.
All their friends are actually making bets for when they cave.
Which happens approximately four months and three days after the last time they've see each other.
They're there arguing about something – because that's just what they do, and they're spewing insults at each other, hitting where they know it'll hurt enough, but then Abby says something like:
"Your face is dumb."
And because he's equally mature he basically replies with:
"Not as a dumb as yours."
And it's ridiculous and stupid and one hundred percent not funny, but they're both suddenly cracking up as if it's the most hilarious joke they'd ever heard.
"Your face isn't actually dumb," she giggles feeling drunk on giddiness and he's looks just as bad off as her if the way he's holding his stomach and wheezing lightly is any indication.
During the course of their fighting, they'd both unconsciously migrated closer until they'd both practically invaded each other's personal space, and now that they're both starting to calm down and return to their normal selves, she realizes just how close they actually are.
She can see the scar that rests above his right eyebrow, the way one eye is a little bluer than the other, the spattering of freckles across his nose and she just – stops.
His laughter quickly dies off when he realizes she's stopped but there's still a small amused smile and it's making the corner of his eyes crinkle in the most endearing way and she feels as if someone's just dropped a bucket of freezing water on her head and she's finally waking up.
"Yours isn't too bad either," he says softly and he's still giving her that little grin that makes her heart feels like it's trying to pound its way through her chest.
And then for a moment everything quiets down and something heavy settles in the air between them.
Neither one of them dares to move.
She can hear the blood rushing in her ears and her heart racing so fast and so loudly it's impossible that he can't hear it from where he's standing. But then there's his hand bumping lightly against hers making her glance downwards. Their fingertips brush lightly, so hesitant and barely there – so much so that if she hadn't looked down when she did, she would've sworn that it was just a breeze – and they linger there for a beat, a simple questioning touch which she answers by entangling them together.
Everything after that happens in a blur – his other hand is resting under her chin tipping her head back up and then he pulls her closer until their chests are touching. Just for a second she sees something flash in her eyes – hesitance or panic or something, but she's sure it's reflected in hers too, but then her eyes are closing and his lips and pressing against hers and everything else just kind of falls away.
x
She feels as if she's two seconds away from pulling out all her hair in frustration. Useless is not a term she's familiar with, but she knows it all the same.
"You have Carter."
"Hey Carter," she says slowly, "it's me. Have you heard anything yet?"
"We had some movement an hour ago but nothing substantial, still can't send anyone in yet. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Townsend's always been good with these types of situations."
"Yeah," she sighs, squeezing her eyes tightly, "he always has."
Carter says something else but she's not really listening to him anymore. He hangs up and she lets the phone drop out of her hand.
She leans forward and rests her face in her hands, trying not to let the tightness in her chest get to her.
x
What follows is five months, three weeks, and six days of chaos – but the good kind.
They get lost in their own little world, revolving only around each other. The two of them aren't really fans of PDA, in fact they never touch much when they're together, but sometimes someone will catch them just staring at each other and smiling, lost to everything happening around them. Rachel calls them adorable, Joe calls them nauseating and Matt doesn't say anything, just smiles at the two of them with a knowing look in his eyes.
And then Buenos Aries happens.
See, the thing is, everyone knows about Buenos Aries but no one actually talks about it.
And for the few who don't know what happened, all they know is that Townsend got into some serious trouble, and Abby saved him. And that eventually lead to the two of them breaking it off. Which sounds pretty strange, but if you really knew how the two of them operated then yes, it makes completely sense.
Because this is how it works –Townsend doesn't like people trying to save him, Abby sees it as her personal mission to save everyone who needs it.
But it goes deeper than him not wanting to be rescued by his girlfriend, it traces back all the way back to his childhood where it was just self-preservation back then - don't depend on anyone to help you but yourself. He didn't mean for it to carry over into his adult life, but old habits die hard. And Abby? Well, Abby just wants to save people who deserve it.
Of course, when they finally talk about it, she doesn't exactly expect a thank you, because it's not like she did it so she could rub it in his face later, but what she gets instead is a screaming match. But this one is different than the other times they've fought. Those times, no matter what they would always come to a truce some way or another, but this one just keeps going.
And going, and going and going.
They keep at it for three days, and everyone avoids them, lest they end up in the middle of the crossfire. And by the third day, they don't even know what they're shouting about anymore – the entire thing's escalated past the point of no return that seems like there's no possible way for them to stop until they've gotten the entire thing out of their system.
And they're standing on opposite sides of the kitchen table, and they're hurtling insults at each other when suddenly he just stops.
But Abby's still going because she can't stop – all of this is his fault, because she was just trying to help because she couldn't even think about losing him for one second and she had to save him because of course she's in love with the bloody idiot, and this hurts. It hurts her in heart and in her head and she feels it clawing its way into her bones and it poisoning her from the inside out and she wants to stop.
But she can't stop.
And it's hurting her that she can't, it's hurting both of them in fact because she sees it on his face. It makes something inside her break even after she continues to throw insult after insult at him, until there's tears running down her face and her voice is starting to go uneven. And he's still there, staring at her as if she's taken his heart and she's breaking it right in front of him.
And maybe she is. Or maybe she's not, and he's the one doing it to herself.
But either way, this is where they're standing, with hearts that are breaking, egos that are bruised and words that they're never going to be able to take back.
This is how they end; silence surrounding them but screaming on the inside.
He packs his bag and she watches from the doorway, not saying a thing because she doesn't think she can. He stops in front of her, and he looks down at her but she can't look back – she can't because if she does she's going to break into pieces and she's not sure she'll be able to put herself back together.
With a sigh, he bends and kisses her forehead softly.
There are no goodbyes, no words exchanged, just the sound of a door shutting closed gently and two people trying not to fall apart.
x
When she looks at her clock, it's 2:44 a.m.
She needs to be up in three hours, and she can't sleep.
She can't sleep because every time she closes her eyes she starts to think, and when she thinks she thinks about the last two years that have gone to waste, the time that they've throw away. Because if the last memories she has of him are going to be overshadowed for the two years they've spent trying to get back to how they were before well.
She doesn't want to think about it.
x
They don't see or speak to each other for nine months after that. It's not that they don't want to pick up the phone and call or hop on a flight and leave, but they're both still hurting and they need time. Because at this point, time is the only thing that's going to be able to fix the shitstorm they've left in their wake.
But then on Christmas Eve, she's sitting on the fire escape smoking a cigarette – a habit she's not proud of but something she picked up nonetheless. She only smokes when she's feeling particularly maudlin and she doesn't want to get drunk, because the hangover the next morning is never worth it no matter how much she tries to convince herself.
She's alone this year, because Rachel and Matt went off to Greece and Joe's been kind of distant lately and no one's really been able to get a hold of him. And the other person she'd be with at this time well, they're not exactly on the best terms. So maybe she's feeling a little lonely, and a little blue – it's not like you can blame her.
It's only when she's contemplating going to the Chinese place down the street down the road that's always open so can pretend to have some semblance of not being alone, that she realizes her phone's going off in her pocket.
Sighing, she stubs out the end of the cigarette and flicks it over the edge of the step.
The message is from a number she doesn't know but the area code tells her it's from somewhere in England. Her breath catches in her throat and she holds it there because it might not even be him, it could just be a coincidence, or a wrong number or –
Merry Christmas Abigail.
It's a known fact that there's only one person in the world who calls her by her full name.
She can feel the smile creeping across her face as she types out a message in response before heading back inside.
It's still 11:55 here. Try again in five minutes.
x
The thing is Abby is really bad when it comes to caring about people. It's not that she wants to be, or that she does it on purpose – it just something that happens.
She's the type of person who says they'll call back in five minutes and then never does, not because she's ignoring them but because something else came up and she pushed it to the side.
There's a reason why her list of people she's close is so short – she only has time for so many people, and she prefers to spend that time with people she actually cares about.
And then along came Edward Townsend, with his too blue eyes and stupidly perfect smile.
And he made her care about him.
And then he made her love him.
And then he broke her heart – but she broke his too and that's not something that's easy to forget.
No, it's not easy to forget at all.
x
It starts back with little messages that don't really mean anything but at the same time mean everything to both of them.
What's between them still isn't fixed, and maybe it never will be but that's okay. It's okay because it means they can start over, build something new and make it better than how it was before.
x
The call comes somewhere around four just about when she's feeling ready to give up and give into the exhaustion that's starting to step in.
Her ringtone slices through the silence in the air even though it's not even that loud. Her heart's hammering in her chest, her palms are starting to sweat and something akin to panic begins to form in the pit of her stomach because what if she answers the phone and it's not what she wants to hear, what if she answers and everything falls apart because she's lost him again, for good this time, what if –
She picks up the phone.
"Carter?"
"Look, everything's a mess right now and I can't give you any specifics but everyone got out alive."
The breath she lets out is too loud, and the rushing sound in her ears is making her feel lightheaded but nothing can drown out the overwhelming sense of relief that completely engulfs her. It's like she's been floating above the ground and gravity's finally pulled her back down and rested her feet firmly on the earth.
"I know some of them were pretty banged up, so I hope your guy's okay. I've gotta get back right now though."
"That's okay, thanks Carter," she says softly in a voice that she doesn't even recognize before hanging up.
And after that, she lays back down before falling soundly asleep.
x
She gets a text Thursday night when she's just leaving from work.
Letting out a sigh, she stops on the last stair to dig around in her back for her phone. When she finally pulls it out, her screen's lit up telling her has a new message but she frowns when she realizes it's from an unknown number.
What are you doing next Friday? –T
At first the words don't make sense, but then they do and she has to bite her lip to stop from breaking out into the ridiculously large smile that threatens to take over her entire face.
Depends. Why do you want to know?
She only has to wait two minutes for a response, and the one she gets makes her want to smile even more if that's even possible.
How does dinner sound?
And she doesn't even have to think twice about her answer.
It's a date. Pick me up at 7.
end.