Authors Notes: Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone. I hope this month has been treating you well although personally I cannot wait for all the stress to be over with. In the spirit of the season I made this chapter a little bit longer than the rest and even added just a smidge of fan-service for my few but cherished readers. May you all have a happy New Year as well. And now on to the story!
Location: Nevada
Kevin Washington considered himself a man more patient than most. One would not last long in his field if they were the type to get antsy, did not know how to mentally pace themselves, or could not handle being on the sidelines while others took action. Not that he was a passive man by any means. He knew how to take initiative, how to anticipate and intuit how an operation would go even on scant data, and he had even made a few life saving calls for some of his teammates. But those were the highlights of his job that required something to be done.
The truth was that missions were ninety five percent prep, planning, and waiting. The other five percent was bloodshed and it took a rare constitution to sit on the sidelines during operations when things went sideways and your people were killing and dying and you could do fuck all from your chair on the other end of the world. It wasn't for everyone, hell, sometimes after bad missions Kev even wondered if this job were truly for him as well. But day after day he kept coming back, so there must be some part of him made for this work. Someone had to do it after all.
So yes, Kevin was a patient man, calm and collected under pressure, but this...this was beginning to wear down on even his fortified constitution.
Morning had come and gone and now the heat of the desert afternoon was approaching quickly. Thankfully the wrath of the sun had not quite yet taken root in the underground garage where they all waited. Kev stood against one of the concrete pillars, trying not to sneeze at the dust while he did his damnedest not fidget and pace at the waiting. He discreetly stole a glance down at his watch. They were late. Late was never good. Late meant someone had died. There had been no contact for over an hour now and Kev was certain that he was not the only one getting nervous. He shifted his weight again, trying to work out some of the kinks of tense muscles and satisfy the desire to move and do something.
He and everybody else on this 'special' operation had been up beyond twenty four hours at this point. The initial contact yesterday morning, the rush to organize a mission with nearly no intel (and wasn't that nearly enough to make him pull out his hair), adjusting mission parameters to protect an unexpected VIP joining along, the aftermath...All and all, it had been a very stressful day and it did not look to be over anytime soon. Even if he had been given the clear to go back home to his girl Rachel and slip thankfully into bed, Kev didn't think he would be able to rest easy for a long time.
Boris and his team had gotten back just before dawn. Courtney had been running that half of the op while Kev had been working the other half overseas. His own operation had been smaller, but had a greater margin for tragedy. Kev hadn't been privy to all the details on her front but judging by the horrified reactions of his coworker, it was bad. Had his own op not run into a rocky patch with some potential signal interference, Kevin would have forgone his own monitor to spy over on hers. Based on what he could eavesdrop while he multitasked, the situation was worse than their intel had suggested.
Professionalism be damned, the moment Boris had returned Kev made sure that his team was secure in transport and had immediately left the ops room. Laptop cradled securely in one arm, Kev made his way down to the good Doktor's lair. He had barely made it several steps into the lab before he had immediately been driven out by the sheer vitriol in the room. Stunned, Kev had retreated back outside only to spot Courtney and several of the Dok's assistants loitering at the far end of the hallway. A sound of something slamming in the lab and a words that he could not understand enlightened Kevin as to why they were over there instead of inside.
Kevin was no linguist, but he could take a very educated guess at what the enraged German words rattling off the metal walls translated to. They didn't cross paths often, he and the Dok. Kev was fully made of meat and happy to stay that way thank you very much. The older man kept odd hours when he was working at headquarters, and half the time he was out of town for his little cyborg orphanage project. When they did have the chance to interact, over mission briefings or happenstance having them raid the cafeterias coffee pots at the same time, the Dok was always unfailingly polite. Even when he seemed frustrated or exhausted, not a cross word came from the older man.
Another string of rapid fire pissed off German had sounded out in the labs followed by several more crashing sounds had drove the man away from the door and over to his coworkers. Kevin had scooted past the flinching assistants to Courtney who had her face buried in a wad of damp makeup stained tissues.
"Hey." He had managed awkwardly. "You alright?"
Courtney had shook her head pitifully between shuddering breaths. Kev had shuffled his laptop to his other arm and hugged her awkwardly. This seemed to be the entirely wrong thing to do as Courtney's barely contained tears burst forth anew. She slowly sagged down the wall and Kev had sat with her.
"It's gonna be ok, you know. The Dok's got this." Kev had tried for upbeat reassurance, stealing glances between her, the closed door to the lab, and to the computer he had shifted onto his lap. Another crash from within the room had them all flinching again. He had wondered just how true his statement was if the Dok was this violently angry at the state they had recovered Raiden in.
"Y-you didn't see." She had finally managed to get out. "I, I d-don't..." Tears had stole away her words once more. Kev had sighed and pulled her closer to his shoulder which she gratefully leaned on. This was another part of the job, he mused. Courtney had been cool and collected during the mission, not a hint of wavering. Once mission time was over however, that's when the breakdowns happened.
Hell, even he had a designated supply closet that he would go shed a tear or two sometimes whenever the computers where shut down and he was no longer required to be cool and patient. It was the kind of baggage that needed to be sat down at work and not take it home with you, even if you had lost a coworker you considered a friend. You start taking that shit home and it was the beginning of the end of your career right there.
But for those times it hit too personal, that it was too close to simply be put down, it always helped to have someone else there to help you hold it for a while.
"Show me." Kevin had decided before he could think better of it. "You have your tablet, right?"
This managed to shake Courtney from her tears, even if only temporary. "What?" She asked, hoarsely.
Sparing a glance at his laptop to see if all was still well, Kevin had forged onward. "I know we butted heads at times, but he was my friend too. Still is, as far as I'm concerned." He had jiggled the computer on his knee slightly. The flight back would take hours still. And after that bout of tracking and interference the team had decided to run quiet. "So don't leave me hanging. This isn't some random client and I need intel if I'm gonna be able to help out any way I can."
She had given him a long considering look before nodding and fishing out her tablet and pulling up the footage from the rescue mission. For the next thirty minutes Kevin had watched the footage, becoming increasingly troubled by what he saw. The landing, the raid, the retrieval. It was...disturbing. After watching, Kevin had silently handed the device back to his coworker. She had stopped crying by then and simply sat watching the lab doors, which Kevin had realized had been quiet for some time now.
The lab assistants had long disappeared without him noticing. It was not often he became so absorbed in something that he was heedless of his surroundings. He had realized that he didn't care that he didn't notice. He was too busy replaying what he had seen over and over in his minds eye to pay it much thought. Courtney said nothing, she didn't need to anymore. Kevin had sat in silence right beside her, still remembering to periodically check for messages from his team.
Eventually the lab doors had opened softly and Boris had stalked out. Kev and Courtney had scrambled to their feet expectantly, Kev had nearly dropped his laptop in his haste. Boris had looked at them with an unreadable expression then turned to Kevin.
"ETA?"
"Hour and a half until arrival." Kev had responded immediately. He couldn't help but look to the lab doors and back to his boss several times. Courtney must have been doing something similar, a silent plea for any information but like him, unwilling to put that request to words.
Boris had sagged slightly under their expectant stares. For the first time Kevin had seen him, the normally lively Russian had finally started to look his age.
"Come." Boris had said, turning away from the lab doors. The two of them had followed after obediently, albeit reluctantly. "We can do nothing more here. It is out of our hands. Let us go wait for something that can be done."
They had followed him, each lost in their own thoughts, to the private entrance down in the garage. The following hour and a half had been some of the longest Kevin had ever experienced on this job. Repeated attempts at reestablishing contact had been no good. And as the sun rose higher in the sky and the hour and a half mark hit...then passed with no vehicle pulling in yet, it was safe to say that Kevin was certain that he was not the only one feeling impatient right now.
The two guards stationed at the private entrance to Maverick headquarters shifted quietly in expectation. Word hadn't got out in its entirety, but the buzz that something big was going on had definitely hit even the janitors ears at this point. The hive had been kicked, so to speak, and the guards were ready to sting at whatever would threaten this drop off that was so important that the boss was there personally.
Still in his dark gear from the mission the night before, Boris stood as still and as silent as the concrete he leaned against. The older man had his eyes closed, face seemingly peaceful, but Kev knew better. He had worked with the man long enough to know that a quiet Boris was an extremely unhappy one. The Russian tended to be boisterous even when he claimed to feel poorly. He only talked softly when deeply disturbed or truly enraged. Kev had only seen him like this a few times before but never so severe. And after the events of last night, he couldn't blame him.
By the entrance to the headquarters Courtney stood, typing away steadily at her phone. How she had managed to stand there calmly this entire time patiently, and in heels no less, was beyond him. The magic of women he supposed. She had her game face on, all business. Kevin figured it was in response to her breakdown earlier, a coping mechanism to get her through the rest of the day. There was only the tell-tale residual redness around her eyes that gave any indication that she was anything other than calm and professional. While he hadn't been crying, Kevin doubted that the troubled expression that he knew was written on his face could be masked so easily.
The sound of a motor in the distance pulled them all from their respective reveries and into a state of barely restrained tension. The sound grew louder then the pitched changed, less open air and more the echoing sounds of the vehicle entering into the garage.
"About damn time." Kevin breathed out a sigh of relief as he pushed away from the pillar.
"Indeed." Boris agreed, leaving his own spot to stand beside Kevin. Courtney slipped her phone away and joined them.
"It took long enough. So long without checking in though." She said, a hint of anxiety coloring her voice. "Something must have gone wrong."
That was on Kevin's mind as well. But that worry was put to rest as the black van they had all been expecting with the Maverick driver rolled up and came to a stop. The back of the van opened and the latest addition to their little family here at Maverick stepped out. With his hair starting to slip lose from his pony tail and long out of control five o'clock shadow, the Brazilian man nodded to his little welcome party.
'Samuel effing Rodriguez', Kevin wanted to laugh in disbelief. Two years and Kev still couldn't believe it. It was crazy how they had gone from enemies to allies, but Kev supposed, stranger things had happened before. Sam had actually been the one who approached them seeking help and possibly redemption. Apparently the good Doktor was the one to thank for the change of heart. The former Desperado agent had only come to him for cybernetic assistance and somehow the Dok had managed to get the man to agree to work for their company.
There was no getting the full truth of how exactly such a turn of events had occurred out of either of them. The Doktor would cite doctor-patient confidentiality and would shut down any approach to the subject. Sam would give a dramatic, heartfelt, yet blatantly sarcastic reason for his joining that would change every time the subject came up.
Kev and Courtney had tried to wheedle the information out of Boris, but he was not talking either. After nearly two and a half years of working together, everyone had eventually stopped asking. Although now that he thought about it, that was probably the smarmy Brazilian's plan all along. But the hows and whys of Sam's employment was for another time, there were kinda bigger things going on than Kev's unsatisfied curiosity.
"What the hell man?" Kevin could not help but exclaim as Sam took a moment to fix his hair once more from where it had become undone instead of reporting. "An hour late and no call? What gives? We've been sweating bullets here."
Sam gave him a deep frown then turned to lean back into the van. That was...odd. Usually the man was quick to fire back with a smart ass comment no matter what the mission consisted of or how it fell. After Raiden had left Maverick Kev had honestly missed a sassy agent to trade words with while working. Some of these other guys, while professional, didn't bring that same life to the job as someone who was as comfortable wielding words as well as weapons. The silent act didn't help Kev's apprehension about tonight's events.
"I am late," Sam said with a grunt of effort, pulling. "because of him." From out of the back of the van he pulled forth a violently squirming teenage boy. The kid was hogtied with what looked to be extension cords with duct tape wrapped around his head several times covering his mouth. For a moment Kevin was completely rendered speechless at the resemblance. It was one thing to see him over the computer screen during the retrieval mission, in person was another story entirely. Pale blond hair thoroughly mussed up, the lean face, blue eyes flashing with rage. 'Raiden's kid', Kevin couldn't help but let out a chuckle. 'Looks just like him.'
"Samuel." Boris said reproachfully. "Was this truly necessary?"
"Yes." Sam said with more irritation than Kevin had ever seen in the few short years of working with him. He dropped the John on the ground unceremoniously. John let out a slight 'oof' at having the wind knocked out of him then proceeded to stare at them with all the venom a fourteen year old could muster. Kevin poorly concealed a laugh with a cough. 'Oh yeah, that's Rai's kid.'
"I know you and Raiden have had your differences in the past but that does not mean you can treat..."
"No." Sam cut Boris off abruptly. The normally chill samurai uncharacteristically snapped as Boris was the only one the man showed a semblance of respect towards.
"Then why?" Courtney chimed in, still looking down at the boy.
"I did not do it out of vengeance. I did it because the little devil left me no choice." Sam closed the back of the van with more force than was necessary and gave it two thumps. The driver pulled away leaving the lot of them standing there aside from one.
"I am waiting." Boris said, apparently very much not in the mood for Sam's vagueness and predilection to verbal evasion.
Sam ran a hand down his face, exhausted and irritable from the long flight to and from New Zealand. "He is tied because he keeps escaping. I do not know how he keeps slipping...do not remove that." This was directed at Courtney who had knelt down and was trying to find the end of the duct tape to unwind it off of John's face.
"But..." She protested in confusion, hands froze mid gesture.
"He bites. Look." Sam pointed a metal finger to the scar that ran under his right eye and over his cheekbone. There was a suspiciously bite mark shaped bruise that was already blackening. Kevin fought valiantly to keep a straight face. Courtney retreated back to where she had been standing. "He has also stabbed me," Sam indicated an inch long wound on his right side, blood dried around the edges but a suspicious glint of wet deeper in.
Kev recalled that little event when he had been monitoring the retrieval mission. When he had seen a blade thrust out through the door and into his agent, Kev could have swore that he suffered a minor heart attack. For a moment he had thought they were too late and someone else had gotten to John first and that they had failed.
Kev had still been riding that adrenaline high from his chair as Sam had managed to snag the kid and haul him into the waiting vehicle. There had been little time to set John down and explain as Kev had then detected potential monitoring of their activities and the rescue team needed to keep their heads down. The sooner his unit got into the air and was headed back to The States the better. Sam was supposed to explain the situation to the boy during transit. Apparently that conversation had gone over poorly.
Sam continued on venting his frustration, picking up steam.
"He has bit me not only once. Repeatedly. He keeps escaping. On the plane I turn around for one moment to check with the pilot, one moment, and somehow he is free. He gets past the others and is trying to figure out how to use a parachute."
Kev couldn't help his eyebrows raising at this particular bit of information. Sam wasn't the type to lie for attention. In fact, he seemed to chronically understate things, and if the absolutely smug look John was shooting the samurai from the floor of the garage was anything to go by, the flight over was even worse than they were being told. Sam threw his hands up in the air and stepped away from the small group.
"We are late because he slipped free and ran off while we were transferring from the plane to van. There was no time to call. I had to...No. I am done." He crossed his forearms, repeatedly tapping the X motion of a man who was completely fed up with a situation. "You asked me to bring you the son of the White Devil, there is the little demon spawn. I will go get stitches and a shower. Then and only then will I talk to you all." Sam gave a curt nod to Boris who acquiesced the decision with a nod of his own. The newest member of their group stalked off into headquarters grumbling maledictions in his mother tongue leaving a ringing silence in his wake.
Not once in the time Sam had been working for Maverick had Kevin seen him so flustered. Not even during his fights with Raiden during that disastrous World Marshall incident did he seem anything but unflappable. It might have been a combination of stress and sleep deprivation, but Kevin was finding it very hard not be be amused by the whole ordeal. If anything, he now had some decent ammunition against Sam next time they argued.
Boris approached and knelt down beside of John, exhaustion and stiffness making itself known in the normally fluid motion for the man. He began working the duck tape slowly off the boy.
"Izvinite." Boris muttered as John winced from the all the blond strands being pulled out by the removal of the tape. As soon as the last loop of duct tape ripped free there was the sharp click of teeth snapping together as John did his best to try and bite Boris' thumb. The older man had anticipated such an action and had moved his hand out of the way in time. "No need for that John. We are here to help you."
"How do you know me? Who are you? Help me?" John struggled and thrashed the best he could tied up with the cords. "How can you say you are here to help me when that asshole that kidnapped me works for you?" His voice began to take on a slightly hysterical note. Kevin did feel for the boy. He had to be terrified and exhausted from the whole ordeal. They did just drop in on him from nowhere and pluck him from his home after all. It was not as if they could announce that they would be by, the information could have been intercepted and they might have been beaten to the punch. It didn't help that Sam liked to nettle at peoples nerves for his own amusement, Kev doubted that his playful approach would have been appreciated by someone who was under the impression that their life was on the line.
"Chill kid." Kevin stepped in to diffuse the situation before John hurt himself in his struggling. "We're the good guys, promise. We used to work with your dad. We are honestly just trying to help you."
"Bullshit." John spat. "That other guy tried to tell me the same thing. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that. What? You all think I'm eight? Just say, 'hey I know your dad' and I'll just do whatever you say? That's a crack up." John went back to trying to writhe loose.
"I am sure that this whole situation must have been very frightening, but due to circumstances you could not have been forewarned about our coming." Boris tried to reason and calm the struggling boy. "There were others after you as well and we could not risk missing you when we came to retrieve. It was surprise mission."
John was not listening. He struggled and squirmed against his restraints and looked to nearly have one hand free. Boris let out a great long suffering sigh and stood back up.
"We may need to sedate and explain situation when he is calmer." He told Kevin, who was beginning to be inclined to agree.
"I'm sure Sam's approach didn't help out much here." Kev pointed out. Perhaps he should have said something during the mission when Sam had sent those texts to John. Then again Kev had been too busy scanning for trouble. Before Boris could make a decision about what to do with the teen, Courtney stepped past the both of them.
"Let me handle this guys. You're only stressing him out more." She knelt down beside John who stopped struggling but glared at her with such deep distrust that Kev was struck once again about how much he looked like his father.
"Let me go." John demanded looking less than intimidating all bound up and on the asphalt. But damn if the kid didn't try.
"We will John, I promise we will. But first we need you to understand that we are not trying to hurt you. I apologize for Sam's rough treatment of you. He doesn't take things seriously and that probably didn't help with the whole kidnapping situation. We've been trying to work on stuff like this with him but hes not quite housebroken yet." The joke fell flat as expected but Courtney continued onward. "We are the private security company Maverick, your father used to work with us a few years ago."
Kevin saw the spark of recognition light up in John's eyes. The moment passed and the guarded look was back. "Prove it." John demanded. "Prove that you know Dad and are not just trying to trick me." Kev immediately reached for his phone and began scrolling.
"Prove it huh." Courtney mused thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her lips. "Lets see...You probably wont believe me if I tell you general stuff, the kind of things things you can read on someones file like their birthday or where they're from. How about things that only someone who really knew him would know? Would that convince you?"
"Maybe." John said guardedly.
"Ok, one: he's not too picky about food and will try anything at least once. Even if it is gross. We've tried a lot of strange local dishes together." John was thoroughly unconvinced and let that sentiment bleed through with his utterly flat look. Courtney continued on. "Two: heaven have mercy on you if you're a movie talker because your dad wont. He gets really heated about it." John was visibly wavering even if he wasn't quite ready to admit it just yet. "Three..."
"Three," Kevin interrupted kneeled down to show John the picture he had pulled up on his phone. "Three is, you know, actual photographic evidence."
The photo was an older one, taken back in 2017. While Raiden had been primarily stationed over in Africa with N'Mani, Maverick did occasionally send him off on tangential missions as he was their heaviest hitter so to speak. The mission had been a resounding success for Maverick and during debriefing, a rather exuberant Boris had captured both Raiden and Courtney in a hug. Kevin had barely had time to snap the picture off before he had been looped into it as well.
The picture depicted Boris caught mid exclamation, expression wide and joyful. Courtney had been caught between the two men and had looked rather put out by whatever mystery fluids that was still coating Raiden transferring all over to her favorite shirt. As for Raiden himself, he had the long suffering look that reminded Kev of a pet that patiently allowed itself to cuddled but would rather not be touched, thank you very much. Kev hadn't looked at the picture in years. He hid his twinge of regret and loss as he showed John the picture of his father.
Instead of being amused by the picture, Johns expression twisted oddly and he looked away from the phone. "When?" He asked, the follow up to the question never quite making it out as the teen struggled to find words. He didn't fight against the cords anymore. In fact it seemed like the will to struggle had just drained out of him.
"This? This was years ago back in seventeen." Kevin put the phone away, concerned at the sudden change. "You believe us now?"
"Yeah." John quietly said to the dusty asphalt. "I believe you now."
Courtney reached for the cords keeping him tied but paused and shot a questioning look to Boris over her shoulder. The man nodded and she and Kev proceeded to undo the knots and set the kid free. Kevin halfway expected John to bolt the moment he was helped to his feet but he remained where he was, rubbing the soreness out of his wrists and eyeing the guards with a subdued expression.
"No more fighting and biting, yes?" Boris stepped forward and placed a hand on John's shoulder.
"Yes, I mean no...No. I wont fight you all, but I'm still confused." John tripped over himself, the agitation and uncertainty practically rolling off of him. "You all keep saying that your trying to help me. Help me from what?"
"It is believed that you may be in danger so we were hired to retrieve and protect you." Boris explained tactfully, guiding John towards the entrance of the building and on inside. Kev and Courtney followed along.
"Protect me from what? Hired by who? Can you all please just tell me plainly what is going on." John looked at the waiting elevator like it was an open maw ready to snap him up but he allowed himself to be herded inside none the less.
"Apologies. It has been long night. I do not intend to speak riddles. It was actually your mother who hired us John. She contacted us yesterday and asked us to do this. I am old friends with your father so I immediately agreed."
Some of the listless look left Johns eyes, replaced by panic. He whirled around to the older man, stopping short of grabbing onto his gear. "Mom. She hired you? Do you know where shes at? She never came home last night. Is she ok? Is she here?"
"No child. She is not here. We have not had contact with her ever since she called and hired us. We are hoping to get in touch with her very soon."
"Don't worry John." Courtney reassured. "Your mom is sharp. She'll be ok. Until then we promise to take care of you and keep you safe."
"You all are still not making sense!" John raged, small fists balling up in anger. "Who or what am I being protected from?"
Kevin shared a look with Courtney and Boris. They hadn't discussed what all they were going to tell the kid, or even if they were going to tell him at all. Personally, Kevin thought they should keep the whole thing under wraps the best they could, no need to stress John out even more than he already was. Being in the dark seemed better than the truth of the matter. Courtney seemed to be of the opposite mind if judging by her discreet looks of pity and dread were anything to go by. Either way, it was not their call to make. The two adults and teen turned and looked to Boris for answers.
The old Russian sighed and weighed his words for several moments before speaking. "We cannot tell all as we do not yet know everything. We will keep you informed on what is most important as we find it out, yes? But for now all you need to know is that your mother hired us because she was fearful that you would be taken. Taken by the same people that had abducted your father three years ago."
The look of shocked horror on John's face was painful to witness. Just like those missions where everything went wrong, there was not a damn thing Kevin could do to help. Kev knew that he would be taking the mental image of the horror stricken boy home with him no matter how much he wanted to stay detached and objective. Just another thing to patiently endure from this very, very long day.
-0-0-0-
Samuel Rodriguez was not in a good mood. His normally breezy demeanor was replaced by a sullen darkness that he did not often let others see. The scars that marred his face seemed to deepen with the thunderous expression that he wore. Even his light footed stride was replaced by the heavy steps of a man that had been pushed far enough for one day.
The staff that happened to be in the hallways took one look at his face and decided to find other places to be. Normally Sam would not mind being cordial with his coworkers. Even after some of his more tiring missions Sam would usually invite conversation with those that were friendly to him. He certainly did not let them get closer than arms length, no that was a hard learned lesson of long ago, but he found that he was well enough liked to engage freely with most others. And he certainly he would hardly miss an opportunity to nettle those that did not want him around.
It was not his fault that he harassed them. If they did not want to be provoked, then they should not act so delightfully entertaining whenever he struck a nerve. But those individuals tended to be the minority here.
For a PMC company, those of Maverick Security Consulting were good people. Samuel had come across many PMC companies during his escapades across the globe, but those typically had the expected culture one would imagine from a group of professional mercenaries. All greed and testosterone. Whether it was blood or a profit they lusted after, it had felt like walking amongst starving wolves who were just waiting for one to stumble. Truly the only difference between most PMC's and crime syndicates were mere papers approving their activities. It was pleasantly not so here.
At first Sam had been deeply skeptical of the company's core belief of doing things cleanly. Of focusing on defense rather than offense. After all, he had seen plenty of what the company had in regards of the latter. Yet over these few years he had worked here, Boris had proven again and again that the culture of his company was of more noble character than the others. It certainly was the total opposite of those dark years he had spent lost under the control of Desperado and Marshall. Even the color scheme was the opposite. Sam rotated his right wrist, looking at his new and improved arm with its colored plating. A calm blue and white in stark contrast to the dark red and black he had been forced to wear.
Lost in thought, Sam stepped onto one of the elevators and muscle memory had the metal appendage pressing the appropriate button. Thankfully he was alone in the machine and took the moment of solitude to lean his head back against the cool metal and simply breathe. He was in no mood to deal with the friendly (or on occasion, flirtatious) staff. He was even less inclined to deal with the suspicious old timers who refused to warm up to him. Like him or hate him, Sam did not want any more to do with employees of Maverick today. Or anyone for that matter. There was much on his mind and he needed his solitude to sort himself out.
The elevator stopped at the appropriate floor and Sam let his feet carry him of their own accord to his personal rooms right here at headquarters. When he had first joined, he had been surprised, and somewhat suspicious at the level of hospitality extended to him. Typically in outfits like this, lodgings were reserved for more senior members who wished it. Here any active field agent or any member of the company that fell on hard times and needed a place to stay was more than welcome to stay for as long as they needed.
Sam was initially hesitant about getting too entangled (entrapped) into another company but he had been less keen on having to find a place to stay in the city after his surgical operations. Sam had more important things to do other than to manage bills, shop for groceries, or listen to his neighbors fight. Things like recovering both inside and out. Things like once more finding his way after being lost for so long.
Sam's pace quickened as he neared his quarters, heavy footsteps echoing loudly in the empty halls. The extra movement made the sting of his neglected stab wound bitch even more persistently for attention. A reluctant smile spread across the man's scarred face, causing the dark mood to lift ever so slightly. Sam could hardly hold a grudge for injuries that he would be the first to admit that he wholeheartedly deserved. He couldn't blame the kid for fighting for his life. Or his persistence in trying to escape and refusal to blindly accept whatever he was told. Perhaps Sam had been a little too ominous with those text messages.
Had the man not have been so unsettled by buried thoughts and memories resurfacing during that long flight back, he would have taken great amusement in how slick the little devil was. Perhaps even see how far the kid could get given a little head start. But as it was, seeing the feisty teenager had brought back memories of Sam's fights against the boy's father. This in turn brought back darker memories of struggles and choices, uncovering much that Sam had shoved aside and shut away to deal with another day. Apparently he had set it aside for too long and now it was time to pay up.
He keyed in his pass code and stepped inside his door. 'Home sweet home', Samuel though sardonically as he stepped inside with a flourish. A grand entrance onto the stage for an audience consisting of only himself. No personal effects decorated his space, he had never had any want nor need of such things. His quarters were strictly utilitarian and was content to keep it that way. Possessions held you back, got in the way. They made you hold on to memories through the physical weight of the item they occupied and in time insidiously the item replaced the thought you wanted to hold on to. Some things could never be recaptured. No matter how many mementos you collected.
No, the only thing he truly considered a possession worth keeping was his fathers sword. He unstrapped it from his side and idly observed it. Sam ran a thumb lightly over the handle where the Desperado logo had been branded on the weapon. There was no marks now, no indicators of possession. His sword had been freed. 'If only my own marks could be removed so easily,' Sam mused, looking over the blade.
It was not just a dead vessel for memories, nor was it a tool for others to use through him, but almost a living breathing entity with its own will. It was the only friend that he would ever need. Its restoration to his hands was a very much appreciated gift given to him from a certain four legged friend a few years back. While Sam was pleased to have his fathers sword back, he could not help but feel mildly insulted that Jack had not chosen to keep it.
"His loss." Sam said, placing his sword almost reverently on its stand. While it rested there, not even been drawn on this mission, Sam had much to do before he himself could rest.
The Brazilian man began the very tedious process of removing his armored exosuit. It was an improved upon version of his old one made to his very specific specification requests. It was another courtesy of the surprisingly generous company. Not to mention the delight of one mad doctor who had taken great pleasure in picking apart the ruins of his old suit and coming up with all the ways it could be improved upon. Samuel had been very pleased with all the upgrades. It was a far cry from his younger days of scavenging for sheet metal to use as armor to be sure.
The thin yet deceptively heavy segments of the advanced armor came off one by one. Disconnected, collapsed, and slipped off, the removal of the metal shell exposed the tan flesh underneath. Though harden muscle was well accustomed to the burden, having the weight off was a relief although it left him feeling uncomfortably bare. It was a foreign feeling to be vulnerable after wearing the exosuit for so long as a second skin.
Sam was quite certain that he had spent more of his life wearing armor than without. The Doktor had once proposed the idea of total cyborg conversion upon learning of this, but Sam had shut that down immediately. Should the worse happen, Sam hoped that he would accept it gracefully, but willfully choosing to shed off his flesh felt more akin to losing ones humanity rather than improving upon it. No, his armor would be far more than enough for him. It had kept him alive and (mostly) intact thus far, and he saw no reason to change this. It was as much a part of him as his sword was.
The final segment to come off was the headpiece. Sam pulled it up and away from his head, careful not to catch it on his hair. He rolled his shoulders and tried to massage the kinks out of his neck. He pulled off the band holding his hair and tossed it carelessly over one shoulder hoping to relive the tension that had set into his scalp. While perfect for battle, the suit was not exactly the most comfortable to sit around in on a fourteen hour flight and he was certainly feeling it now.
After setting the last piece down, Sam inspected the pierced torso segment with its blood encrusted edges. It had been a good hit, Sam admitted with no reluctance or ill will. He had not expected it in the slightest and had took the full brunt of the strike. Not as much power behind it that Sam was used to taking, but a good blade made all the difference in the world. Had he not have had his arms full of kicking and biting teenager, he might have taken the sword as a little souvenir. Perhaps as a payback for the bike theft to rub in Blondie's face later.
Or perhaps not. Having a set of wheels present was what had helped save him from dying out there in the badlands. Sam tossed the damaged segment of armor onto the table with the rest of the set. He would place it up properly on its stand later once it was repaired. Besides, after over twenty four hours of wearing it, many of those hours spent sweating in the back of an aircraft with several other equally uncomfortable men, it was in need of a cleaning. Not to mention that he himself was in dire need of a shower.
The well deserved stab wound sent another a lance of pain through him, almost protesting at being ignored in favor of his other bodily needs.
"Yes, yes. I know." He grumbled back to it, heedlessly leaving a trail of clothes littering the floor on the way to the showers. The water was turned on and while avoiding looking down at his chest, Sam stepped inside under the spray.
It was easy to forget, buried under his exosuit and even then under his clothes. But in the shower with nothing but the hot water covering him, it was impossible to ignore his scars. The Doktor had talked at length about artificial skin, and if that was unappealing, lab grown skin to scarlessly graft on instead. Samuel was simply not interested. Scars were a map of his life's history, and he would no sooner part with them than he would his sword.
Several gunshot wounds left their puckered scars around Sam's abdomen. It had been a miracle that the bullets had missed his liver. Straight raised scars decorated nearly the entirety of his body. The long healed cuts and stab wounds standing out a few shades lighter than his natural skin tone. A horrid swath of melted looking skin covered most of his left thigh, courtesy of the burning vehicle that he had been trapped in. That one had actually gotten infected badly enough that the man had been afraid he was going to lose the leg. The marks of the past decorating himself were mostly old news. Sam had a few noteworthy additions of recent years.
Marring his torso from nearly left shoulder to right hip was the long diagonal scar and single stab wound to the chest courtesy of the Ripper himself. A grand fight and one that he had lost fair and square. Those, they did not bother him. He had earned those honorably in battle. It was the others, his newest ones that he had trouble looking at. Over his ribs down each side and straight down his sternum were a series of more orderly surgical scars. They were so thin and fine compared to the rest of his collection that they were noticeable only if one was looking. Samuel did not like to look, he did not want the reminder that metal lurked under flesh and bone.
The loss of his arm was somewhat easier to deal with. He fought. He lost. It had been the price he had to pay for his failure. The thin sleeveless shirts he wore did little to hide the fact that his arm was artificial, and he kept it exposed with his armor as a reminder to himself.
'A reminder, or a brand?' The man snarked to himself as he rotated his shoulder, studying where flesh and metal met. Several years more of acclimation made the loss of the limb and its replacement with metal feel more natural. These scars from his latest cybernetic surgery were fairly new and it felt like they were being opened again right along side of his memories.
In his fight with Jack in Colorado those five years ago, Sam had taken far less damage than he had anticipated. Thus far, Jack's chosen method to dealing with the Winds of Destruction had been complete and utter dismemberment. Sam did not figure that he would be spared the same fate and had fully been fully accepting of the fact while waiting on that lonely stretch of road. He did not go into the fight expecting to lose, but had been all too aware that it was likely to be his end.
When he had slipped up in that crucial moment and had seen that sparking blue sword thrusting towards him, Sam had expected to die scattered amidst the sand and rocks. And he supposed he had died briefly. What he did not expect was to come to with a gasp and searing pain clawing his chest open.
"An insurance policy." Armstrong had called it. Sam frowned at the memory of the smirking bastard. Nanomachines placed in each of the Winds of Destruction members to activate and sustain them long enough to receive assistance should something injure them too severely. They were too valuable of an asset to not have some form of protection, had too much money sunk into them (as they had been reminded of often). Of course the senator was not exactly thrilled to share the source of his power. The expensive machines had been reluctantly given to them like a handful of coins begrudgingly gifted from a miser with untold wealth to prevent further cost to himself.
Of course, that had been of little use to the others, scattered into pieces here there and absolutely everywhere. But for Sam, and his single killing blow, it had been enough. Scrubbing at his scalp furiously, Sam tried to wash away the thought that he owed that bastard his life along with the rest of the sweat and grime that covered him. Under the hot water and soap he became clean, but his thoughts remained as muddied as they had been since he had started the retrieval mission.
With the utter chaos at Denver, the truth of Desperado terrorism coming to light, and (to Sam's complete non-surprise) the foiled assassination attempt over seas, there had been no way he could have received proper medical attention in the States. It was far from the first time he had to slink away to treat his own wounds, nor was it the first time he had been hounded while doing so.
It was the arm, he had eventually realized after being forced to flee again and again. World Marshall property with World Marshall tracking. He had removed it with delirious glee, set free from them at long last. Severely injured, on the run, with no finances or even a full set of functioning limbs, it had been no wonder the infection had set in.
By the time Sam had fully come back to his senses, weak and starving in some run down city in Mexico, his lungs had been completely ravaged by the pneumonia and the half healed wounds of battle. In his personal rooms here at Maverick, Sam's mind threatened to turn towards recalling the dark place he fallen into after realizing that his days of fighting and living by the sword were done. He shut off the shower and shook his head to clear the thoughts and water away.
Samuel did not know what exactly it was that possessed him to go to Nevada and meet with the head of the Maverick company. He certainly did not expect forgiveness. Perhaps it had been an execution he sought since despite his best efforts, he lacked the spirit to honorably apply the blade himself. His ancestors would have been ashamed.
He did receive plenty of blades of a sort, Sam mused with a chuckle as he he dried off and dressed himself in loose fitting jeans. Grabbing the first aid kit, he set heavily on the side of his bed and set to work on the mildly weeping wound with sutures. The mad German doctor at Maverick had taken just one look at the ruins of his lungs and had rather cheerfully said he could be fixed up with a new set in no time.
Sam shook his head, a rueful grin spreading over gritted teeth from the tug of the thread. That sly old Russian had caught him even before he had known he had been in the trap. That makes twice now he had strolled on up to leaders of men and had practically handed himself over to them. Sam had suspected indentured servitude upon hearing that the costs of his operation would be covered by the company, but Boris had quickly shut that notion down.
'Consider this a gesture of good will', the man had stated. The insistence that he could make the decision on whether or not to join the company only after he had recovered from the operation was the first occasion Sam got to observe the way Maverick was different from Marshall. What was the saying? One can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And caught he most certainly had been.
The handshake this time around was much more pleasant, Sam mused darkly grinning at the memories of the preceding occasion. Boris had offered his left hand without hesitation, and without the utter certainty that Sam would have to accept. It was an offer not a command, even though Sam felt as if he had little in the way of other options at that point. He had laughed, weakly and wheezing slightly, as he agreed and shook on the deal.
Instead of shackles and servitude, he was offered a new chance at life. A chance to find the way he had lost traveling down the twisted road he had been forced upon due to his failure. A chance to apply his blade with purpose once more. It had felt much less like a compromise on his soul to say yes this time, and more like an offer to perhaps find some form of salvation for his sins.
"Good luck with that." He murmured to himself pulling the last stitch taunt. "No rest for the wicked and all that..."
The suture was tied neatly and the excess cut. Not bothering to apply a bandage yet, Sam set the first aid kit aside to be put away later. The Dok would no doubt later scold him for treating his own injuries but the old man had bigger concerns on his mind right now. As did Sam. The need for food, for rest, to debrief with Boris, everything else that he needed to tend to was all pushed to the back of his mind to be done at a later time.
Sam had been lucky enough to receive quarters that had windows that looked out over the sun covered city. While he would have preferred one that faced out over to the east, he could not deny seeing the sun set over this desert land was something breathtaking.
It was in front of one of these windows that he kept a smaller mat placed there. Either no one had noticed its absence from the training rooms or no one had cared to confront him about his appropriation of the item. The material was of good quality and fairly new, but the smell of the mat reminded him of the old days in the dojo far more than a pillow ever could.
Sam sunk down into a meditative pose on the mat just as he had done hundreds of times before at his fathers side. Hands resting lightly on his knees, he inhaled deeply with lungs that still did not feel like his own, and exhaled slowly. Hunger, exhaustion, even the complaint from his wound faded away as he sunk deeper into the meditation that he had been putting off for too long.
Samuel had thought that he would work here at MSC only until he felt that he had paid off the debt that restoring his arm and his lungs would incur. But somehow along the way he had inadvertently made a place for himself. While trying to stay mostly detached, Sam could not deny that the competent and good natured people here had started to grow on him. To his own surprise, he had not yet cut ties with the group and disappeared over seas somewhere. The work here was noble enough for him to hide behind the illusion that he only stayed to redeem himself. He had many opportunities to use his blade. But never one to actually test it. Never a chance to test himself after being foraged anew since being destroyed twice over. Did he even know who he was anymore?
Sam had kept telling himself that this was his way now, but the truth was that he was simply following the guidance of others, rather than deciding on his own way. Not that he would necessarily walk a different path. These were good people with good causes, causes that he had fought for alone years ago. Boris did not send his men out to fight and die from the comfort of a well conditioned office, he was more often than not on site sweating and risking his life with the rest of them. But the fact was that Sam had been letting the decisions be made for him. He was being told to fight, rather than choosing to. It was almost as if he had been waiting. It had taken a surprise mission and a familiar pair of fierce blue eyes to wake Sam up to the fact that he had been lying to himself and being passive with his way these past few years.
Sam had thought he had matters of the past settled. He had thought had found a purpose worthy of his blade. But after reappearing back in his life out of nowhere, the thoughts of Jack and his victory where he himself had failed, had Sam second guessing himself all over again. The strength of convictions, the strength of ones blade...damn Blondie for giving him doubts once more. And even more so for not even realizing he was doing it.
It was only when the light began to make his eyes ache through the closed lids did Sam pull himself up from his meditation. He opened his eyes ever so slightly, the full power of the sun dimmed only mildly by thick eyelashes. Sam was only mildly surprised to see that he had been lost within his own thoughts for so long that the sun had begun to hang low in the sky. Turning away from the orange light washing over him he slowly and slightly stiffly stood up. The pain and needs of his body made themselves known once more now that he was not focused so deeply within, and they would not be denied any further.
The disquiet of his mind refused to be shaken off with meditation. Thoughts alone would not solve this turmoil in his soul. It is said that faith without works is dead. Action was the true decider after all. Sam wondered what actions and faith Jack had during those few years before his disappearance. Not the sterilized, impersonal accounts of the reports, but the reality of it all. Those lines of text could no more capture the truth of what had occurred any more than a description of a hurricane could fully express what it was actually like to experience the wrath of nature.
The strength of Jack's convictions had carried him through to victory those few short years ago, just as Sam suspected they would. And the path he had chosen after that had been strong enough to separate himself from these good people into a path of solitude and bloodshed that he had tried so hard to deny before. What powerful convictions indeed it must have taken to set him down that road. Sam would very much like to interact with him again. Whether it be words or blades, it did not matter. Perhaps in doing so he could find what was missing from his own life.
Perhaps only then could Sam find his way once more.
Additional Notes:
It was so difficult to get feedback from my Beta on Sam's segment. It was nothing but 'Yass! Gimme that sexy McThiccness!", "That has to be one helluva mat he's sitting on to hold all of that cake!", "Abs hhhhng." So you all will have to forgive any errors in that segment lol.
Translation note: Izvinite = Sorry