Frank Woods x Reader

Seventeen

A shot rang out.

With your eyes wide open, you stood there, hands shaking a little and tried to force yourself to stay calm.

Blood dripped onto the marble floor.

The man groaned.

"This was a trap...", you mumbled, lips opened a bit to let out a long, shivering breath.

Without answering, he fell back into the chair.

The gun dropped to the floor.

All of a sudden, the door jumped open.

Alarmed, you turned, gun raised.

Woods bursted into the room. As his eyes fell onto the dead man in the chair, covered in blood, the expression on his face changed. His head snapped around and as he noticed the gun in your shaky hands, he froze. His hands rose into the air.

"Easy, mushroom.", his eyes locked with yours to reassure you recognised him. "I'm not the enemy."

Your hands were shaking.

But as the old nickname left his lips, you had to huff and dropped down into the chair behind you.

"You didn't call me that in a long time.", you chuckled, exhausted, and smiled. "Mushroom..."

He relaxed.

"And after all this time it still calms you down.", he stretched out his hand.

You gave him the gun.

"Shit! I should have trained more. I'm a terrible shot."

His eyes wandered to the man. Agreeing, he hummed.

"Could be better.", Woods agreed. "But you need this to protect yourself."

With a few strokes, he wiped the gun on his sleeve. It wasn't dirty, only a few dark marks where the bullet had left. But he knew that it calmed you to know that it was clean. He had never understood why you were so bad at shooting, after all, even manipulators needed to kill someone from time to time.

But then he remembered Adler's first words as he had introduced you to Woods. Apparently, you had never failed a single mission and always managed to convince people only by winning their trust that violence was never the answer.

That did explain why you still panicked after killing someone. You had killed so little, you never got used to it.

Unlike Woods.

It was kind of a bitter sweet irony that in the end, you had fallen for a man like him, incredibly violent with a short temper. Killing was his business and if he was completely honest, it also helped him feel some kind of satisfaction.

It made him think that all the years as a homeless teen had been good for something.

No, you two truly were not a match made in heaven. A match made in hell, maybe.

But somehow it had always worked out. And he had to admit, he had more good than bad memories about the time with you. The problem was that the bad times had hit so hard that he was unable to get back on his feet and try again.

Even if it was something he might wanted to do.

"What are you thinking about?", you asked, rubbing your face and sighing.

He blinked.

"Nothing...", he eyed the polished metal from all sides. "Just... different times."

You smiled bitter.

"Not better ones? Worse ones?"

He shook his head.

"No. Just different."

He handed you back the gun.

For a moment, you let your thumb rub over the shimmering silver. Your own eyes looked back at you, tried yet at ease.

"I don't need this.", you got up, snatched the envelope and smiled. "I've got you."

Flattered, he smiled, but didn't comment on it.

You wanted to walk past him, but as your shoulder brushed against his, you stopped.

A deep sigh escaped you.

"I'm tired, old man...", you said, not looking at him. "I don't want to fight anymore. It's no use anyways."

His eyes narrowed. A low breath escaped him.

"Let's not talk about it.", he said and glanced over his shoulder, in hopes to meet your gaze.

But you just stared at the open door into the corridor.

"I don't mean the past. I mean the present. I'm tired of yelling at you. I'm tired of telling you you were a dick, because we both know. And I don't want to hear you bite back at me and say I was the one who backed out like a bitch. Because I know. And you do too."

For a moment, he didn't answer.

You could feel how his shoulders tensed only to relax again.

His fingers tightened around the grip of his gun.

"Fine.", he finally hummed. "As long as you're not asking me to be your friend, I'll try and be civil."

You nodded, lost in thoughts. Somehow, your chest felt heavier now.

"Let's just work together and then go our separate ways."

"Sure... because that's the logical thing to do."

You pulled a face, hurt. But you knew he was right. And you knew it was the only way that was left for the two of you.

He didn't notice.

"It is...", you mumbled. "It is for us..."

Silence spread between the two of you. For a moment, it felt like the walls of the room were starting to come closer, trying to smash the both of you until only one big mass of blood and sorrow was left.

Slowly, he turned to you. His mouth was already open, he wanted to say something.

But all of a sudden both of your communicators turned on.

A crackling sound filled your ears.

Struck by surprise, you flinched.

"I hope you two didn't fuck it up.", Mason's voice sounded. "Did he give you the information?"

It seemed like he was running, heavy breathing interrupted half of his words.

A soft gasp escaped you.

You exchanged a glance with Woods.

"Alex?", you frowned. "Where the fuck are you?"

Mason huffed.

"I was careless. Meet me outside the building, left main entrance. I'll wait at the private airport, a mile or so ahead. You two got fifteen minutes max."

Woods huffed.

"You're one to make demands!", he growled and grabbed you by the arm to get you going. "I'll tear your ass open for disappearing like that."

Mason chuckled.

"Feel free to do so. If I'm still alive till then."