Of The Wolves And The Orphans

White Lies

"Hold still you infernal woman," Mathias mutters absentmindedly as he cleans the bullet wound. I hold the hem of my tank top up just under my bra line and lean away to give him access to the wound. Unfortunately, this is a very awkward angle and everything about our situation is uncomfortable. It is incredibly hot in this small room, despite the feeble attempts at aeration by the clanking, sputtering, and dying fan in the corner. My skin shines with sweat and sunburn. I can see the same sheen on Mathias's tanned arms and face. Clint's hair is spiked with and his shirt looks soaked.

I shift again, trying to find an angle that stops the itching of my peeling skin, tickle of trickling sweat, the aching of my muscles as I lean in the awkward angle, and the burn of the alcohol in the bullet wound. Mathias drops his hands and gives me an exasperated look.

"What!? Sorry! It stings," I shrug in defense. He just shrugs back and looks down to apply a fresh bandage and start clearing away the medical supplies. I take the moment to study his face. His lip is cut and a purple bruise marks his cheek bone, but other than that his face is flawless. He flicks his slightly curled, brunette hair out of his eyes. He looks so different than when I first met him. Then, he was groomed, styled, and sophisticated. Now, jeans hang from his hips and a white tank top shows off his chiseled muscles. His hair is messy, but I can't help but think how I like it that way. The way it flattens over his head and the curls around to frame his face. And then his lips, tan, like the rest of him, but just pink enough to stand out. I remember kissing them. I remember the feel of his fingers digging into my hip bones, my body flush against his, his touch igniting a burn deep in my body.

He looks up and I quickly blink away from his warm, hazel eyes. Now is not the time for those kinds of thoughts. He kissed you to get close to you, just like you kissed him so you could close enough to stick a needle in his neck. That's the life you live. Don't be a schoolgirl lost in a sappy crush. Once we get back to HQ, SHIELD can decide what to do with him. Then he won't be your problem.

I tug my shirt down and nod a quick thanks to him before standing and going to look over Clint's shoulder. It's been nearly forty-eight hours since our disaster infiltration. I woke up in our SHIELD safe house and we've been camped out here, recuperating, ever since. Clint, the least injured, has been communicating with SHIELD for orders on how to proceed and verifying the intel Mathias spoon-fed us. He told us that any incriminating evidence would be most easily obtained from the buyers rather than the seller. However, he told us basically the location of the Masteria's headquarters from where he runs his little empire. It is bunker right smack-dab in the middle of Russia. It would be a nightmare trying to conduct a bust on Russian territory. While we are not in an outright war, things aren't exactly chipper between U.S.-Russian relations. I, personally, would suppose the customers are our best hope and then we can gather enough evidence for a raid on Russian territory.

But this is all so sticky. First of all, there is Mathias... who, to put it simply, I wouldn't turn my back to if a gun was in his hand. I remember, after I woke up, apparently he and Barton had had a little chat. Barton told me his motives, or at least the motives he will divulge. Mathias said he "wanted out." He told us he would help us if he was granted full immunity after the Masteria was taken down. I suppose that's why it's taking so long for SHIELD to give us orders. They don't know what to do with Mathias. Not yet.

To me there is something nagging my gut. I know there's another angle here. There must be. All we currently know is he was a mercenary for hire and took any job he could find. After landing one with the Masteria, he climbed the ranks until he was the Masteria's right hand man and handled all of the dirty down business affairs, just like when Clint and I were staging ourselves as buyers. But even he never saw the Masteria. The man is a ghost, if he is even a man. He only communicates by burn phones distributed to his workers.