Isn't it confusing, what first love does to a man?
Story where Alexine is Soldier Boy's first love and rekindle after many years apart.
[UNGOING]
[Warnings; smut, angst, torture, mention of torture, trauma, physical abuse, mental abuse, verbal abuse...
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The cold hum of the bunker reverberated through the steel walls as Alexine stood, staring through the reinforced glass window at the chamber where Soldier Boy lay entombed in the cryogenic mist. Her eyes, dark as espresso, reflected the sterile light overhead, yet they were full of a quiet, simmering rage. Her figure, slender yet strong, was draped in a simple, fitted black coat that mirrored her mood. She stood like a statue, perfectly poised, watching as the agents busied themselves in the room with furniture, turning the basement prison into something resembling a normal space.
Beside her, Grace Mallory shifted uneasily. The silence between them had stretched too long, weighed down by all the unsaid things—the betrayals, the half-truths. Grace's hands, leathery from decades of dealing with men like Soldier Boy, were stuffed into her pockets, her usual confidence shaken. Alexine could feel it in the air, like the charge before a storm.
But Alexine, with her jaw set and her sharp, hawkish gaze, was beyond tired. Tired of the schemes, of being a pawn in their endless chess game. She was no one's tool, least of all the CIA's. But she would play along, for now. She was on leave as a teacher, and now was once more a private contractor for the organisation. Her mission was clear, and it wasn't about their little power struggles.
The plan was to bring him back, to piece together the decades he had missed. To fill his mind with forty years of history, slowly and carefully. A task only she could perform with her abilities. A task she could have performed if he was free, but alas Butcher had betrayed him too. Nonetheless what Mallory didn't know was that Alexine had her own designs—plans far outside the CIA's grasp.
Finally, Alexine stepped into the room, the door hissing shut behind her as she approached the capsule. The air was thick with the chill of the cryo system, swirling around the figure inside. Soldier Boy lay still, his broad chest rising and falling slowly, his rugged face softened by the fog of neurotoxin that drifted lazily over his form. He was stripped down to boxers, his body etched with scars from battles long fought, wrists strapped down to ensure his stillness. The sight of him like this, bound and helpless, ignited something deep within Alexine. Not pity, but an unshakable sense of loyalty. She pressed her palm to the glass, feeling the cold bite of it seep into her skin.
His face, even in this state, was still impossibly handsome, though worn with years of war and violence. His once-vibrant green eyes remained closed, but she could already see the weight of memory behind them. She remembered the nights when he would call her, drunk and regretful, yearning for her company only to forget her by dawn. That was in the '80s, when she had been seasoned CIA agent navigating the strange, treacherous waters of America. Despite everything, despite the betrayals and the silence, she had always been there for him.
Alexine inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she reached beneath the cryo box and pressed the release button. With a soft hiss, the lid began to lift, and the fog began to clear. The moment his eyes opened, she was ready.
