Chapter 14: No Rest for the Wicked

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Y/n POV

Paris, France 

I got out of the car as we parked outside of Olivier's(Lion's) ex-girlfriends' house. I was dressed in a formal SEAL's uniform, I figure my mask would be too unnerving so undercover was best. The street that we were on was very quaint. Sprinklers were watering yards, some children were playing soccer down the street, this is the life I think I would have enjoyed in a different universe. I walked around the car to join Lera(Finka) on the short walk from the curb to the front door. I didn't know if there were specific French military traditions in reporting a death to the next of kin, but I decided to follow American military ones. Always bring a partner and never leave until they have someone else to hold and I felt safe for them.

"Why a SEAL's uniform?" Lera(Finka) inquired as we approached the steps outside Claire's house

"I have an excuse in case my French isn't up to par and I already had the uniform from my time with the SEAL's," I explained shortly as we climbed the steps. "Let's get this done the S.A.T. operators and Valkyrie are waiting on us,"

"In a rush Y/n?" Lera(Finka) said disapprovingly as she knocked slowly.

"Listen to me closely," I said as I grabbed her arm firmly "We need to tread carefully, so much of this is top secret. I shouldn't even be here, but I couldn't stand to-" 

I was interrupted by the door start to open, I released her arm quickly and stood with my arms at my side next to Lera(Finka). A small child opened the door a crack, he had familiar brown eyes as well as scraggly black hair.  He looked us up and down in curiosity, I crouched on one knee.

"Hello little one, is your mother home?" I asked gently in French.

"Who are you?" He replied slightly fearfully

"I am Specialist Scarecrow, this is Specialist Finka we are part of Team Rainbow. Now can we please speak to your mother." I replied

He turned and walked inside, as I stood back with my hands on my sides. Moments later the boy reemerged with a short, very attractive brunette woman with tied-back hair, a simple white blouse, and long black skirt. She had the same slender face, nose, and ears as the boy. 

"Claire Martin?" I asked formally keeping my voice neutral as I spoke to her.

"Yes?" She said with fear in her eyes, I could tell that she knew what was coming. "Alexis go inside."

"Mother?" he questioned equally scared. 

 She got on her knees and put her hands on both of Alexis' shoulders and smiled "It's okay I just need to talk to the specialists." she said reassuringly. Alexis just nodded and went inside as Claire stepped outside, closing the door behind her. 

 We paused waiting for her to say something, but as she didn't I started the formal notification. "I regret to inform you that Specialist Olivier Flament passed away on late December, I'm afraid the exact details are classified," I said in a monotone but was unable to keep the tone for what came next "I'm very sorry for your loss."

 Claire began to tear up and put her hand over her mouth. I swiftly moved forward as her knees buckled and she began to sob. I wrapped one arm around her back and arms pulling her towards me so that she wouldn't fall. I didn't murmur in her ear to try to calm her down, I didn't rub her back, I just did what I could which was to be solid and not let her go. I looked at Lera and she looked at me, I could tell she had done this before. Lera suddenly looked into the window and I followed her gaze to see Alexi just staring at us, with nothing but sad curiosity and fear. This was the kind of fear that I don't enjoy this was the kind of fear that I tried to fight to prevent, the fear of a spouse not knowing if their valiant soldier was coming home, the fear of a child knowing that something terrible has happened. I have never reported to the family of a man who was lost in the line of action. Usually, it's carried out by MP's, but I had to do this. I had to look at the family in the eyes so that I could see the consequences of being in the life I live or being in my proximity. This is the price that is entirely too high that I wish I could pay, this is the price of being the Scarecrow.

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