Frank Woods x Reader

Fourteen

"Where the fuck is Mason?", Woods threw a glance down into the ball room.

You two were standing in the shadows of a marble railing, right where huge pillars, that reminded of the ancient Roman Empire, held the weight of the ceiling.

Below, people were dancing and feasting while an orchestra played music.

Chatter and voices mixed and filled the air like a thick veil of happiness.

It seemed like this was a good night.

But you couldn't help but feel disappointed.

With your arms crossed, you leaned against one of the pillars, back turned to the crowd and stared at a wall.

The moment with Woods had struck you more than you wanted to admit.

It had started so good, you thought something between the two of you could still be fixed.

Sure, you would've rather eaten rat poison than get back together with him, but an okay work relationship would have made this a lot more pleasant than fighting whenever he opened his mouth.

Your eyes wandered down the hallway, catching a few tipsy people giggling and disappearing into rooms to hide from noisy eyes.

"Adler would ring us if Mason is in troubled.", you walked past Woods but stopped at the top of the stairs. "If he's late we shouldn't waste time."

He eyed you for a moment. A soft breath escaped his bearded lips.

Somehow, him staring at you made you feel some kind of way. You couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

"I know red isn't my colour.", you rolled your eyes. "Now, would you do me the favour and cooperate for this mission?"

He took a deep breath and offered you an arm for support.

"I don't dance.", he warmed while walking with you down the stairs. "That's Mason's job."

You smirked.

"You don't get to decide that."

His lips twitched.

"You want to make fun of me in front of all these people. Typical of you."

While you tried to smile and seem as approachable as possible, he guided you through the ball room, his face as grim as it could be.

"Did you ever think about the possibility that I don't want the worst for you?"

He grabbed a glass of whiskey for himself and handed you one filled with red wine.

"No.", he took a big sip, his eyes scanning the room for Mason.

Sceptical, you eyed the glass of wine.

He noticed.

"What?", he asked, feeling a little attacked. "I had it for a second. I didn't poison it, stop looking like I'm the enemy."

You took a sip of the liquor.

"That's not it.", you said and locked eyes with him. "I'm just surprised."

"About what?"

"You remembered I only drink red wine."

His face froze.

"That was just by coincidence.", he finally said, and turned his eyes away.

It wasn't.

He knew exactly that you only drank red wine and some tequila when you wanted to party hard.

He also remembered that you were picky with your alcohol and only drank specific brands, not some cheap convenient store bullshit but also nothing too fancy.

Back in the day he had always made sure your favourite wine was stocked at home at all times, because he knew you hated to go to the store only to buy alcohol.

It made you look like an alcoholic, that's what you had always said and laughed it off.

But he knew that your family history was a big reason why you drank alcohol but never bought it for yourself. It was a way to self regulate the consumption so it wouldn't get out of hand.

Understanding, you hummed.

"Thank you anyways.", you said and started slowly walking around to make yourself noticed.

"You're welcome...", he muttered and turned his head to keep an eye on you.

His breath got stuck in his throat.

After all those years and endless fights he was still dumbfounded by the way your existence had power over him.

It wasn't just the way you looked, dressed in this fiery red, but also the way your head tilted to the side when your eyes spotted something that you deemed interesting.

Every single one of your steps was wisely placed, like a dance, careful but confident.

He knew the way your body moved all too well. If he would close his eyes and stand behind you he would know exactly where you would move, how fast, how slow, how careful, if you would turn slightly to the side or if you'd walk in a straight line.

Quickly, he tore his eyes off you.

Where the fuck was Mason?

His fingers reached into the back of his head to activate the hidden communicator.

"Mason, you copy?", he asked.

A crackling sound filled his ears. But nobody answered.

Cursing, Woods looked around again.

The dance floor was packed, too crowded to tell if Mason had gone undercover without saying anything. But even though he knew that man almost as good as a brother, he was nowhere to be found.

But he did find some else who was about as important as Mason.

The target.

"Goddammit!", Woods turned on his heel to rush to your side.

His hand reached out and wrapped around your arm.

A cold shiver crawled down your spine.

Surprised, you looked at him.

Your eyes locked and for the breath of a second, he seemed soft.

"Fine.", he said in a low voice and pulled you onto the dance floor. "Show me how to dance."

A bit overwhelmed, you put one hand on his shoulder and the other in his while his hand slid to your back.

"I thought you don't dance.", you leaned forward to close the distance.

He pulled a face.

"I don't. But the target is here."

You frowned.

"Where is Alex?"

He shrugged and guided you further into the middle of the dance floor, closer to a man who was dressed in a black suit and a tie, that had the same shade of red as your clothes.

"Hell do I know?", Woods almost stumbled over his own feet. "Him first. This is the only chance."

Understanding, you nodded.