Author: Paint Me a Symphony PM
Tales about our favorite wolves. NEW scene. "Fate Intervenes" added. ###.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Drama - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,597 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 02-07-09 - Published: 12-28-08 - id: 4748632
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Story Title: The Pack
Story Summary: Tales from within our favorite pack of wolves.
Chapter Focus: #212 of 1,000 "Don't Hold Back"
Chapter Rating: T
Word Count: Over 150
Author's Starting Notes: I meant to post this one a while ago, but I forgot. So, here is the next one. This is the scene where Wesley's name is "pulled" from "Fate's" cloth.
Posted: 7th of January 2009
III: Fate Intervenes
Wesley turns from the room, death sentence in his hand, revenge and acceptance on his mind. Fox watches him leave. She forces her body stiff when a strange chill slithers down her back. She does not want him to go like this. She is positive that the second he confronts Cross, he'll be done for. Whether it be from the Fraternity, from life itself, or from her, she isn't sure; nor is she sure which is most unsettling.
"I don't think that's a good idea," she stresses. Her hands are tight around her midriff, holding herself together. Sloan grabs the papers on the desk, and hands them slowly to her. She looks down at the top page.
Wesley Alan Gibson.
"Your next assignment," Sloan says. She stares mutely for quite some time. This cannot be real, cannot be serious. An assignment like this is more than just Fate stepping in and trying to stop some crime spree from starting, or keeping back another revenge-driven assassin. It's pure torture. Before she knows she is doing it, she is nodding.
"Fine, she mumbles. She turns to leave the room. He does not let her.
"Fox," Sloan calls, stopping her, "You won't have much time. You must do it quickly and precisely. Don't hold back. We can't afford for something to go wrong."
She nods again.
"I understand," she tells him.
"I don't think you do," he disagrees gravely. He turns to look at her, "This is above and beyond what you've done before. You know his potential, and you know his weakness. You must do this."
"What gives you the thought that I won't?" she asks.
"I know you. I've seen how you act when around him. You're different almost like you're--"
"I'm not," she states, interrupting. She does not need to ask what he is thinking. It is clear as day on the older man's face everything he thinks about her.
"How can you be so sure?" he questions.
"How can you?" she retorts.
"Fate. There must be a reason you knew to step in and train him," Sloan says.
"No one else could have gotten job done," she says.
"They could have, just not with as little force as you used," he comments.
"Why use force when I don't have to? I save my aggression for my targets."
"Of that I do not doubt. But, I can't help but wonder if all your time together was simply preparing him, or if you were, instead, growing attached."
Her nostrils flared warningly.
"No more in this case than any others I have trained," she insists.
"There is no need to get all fired up. It is not too surprising for an assassin like yourself to fall weak," he says. Her eyes narrow on him.
"'An assassin like yourself'," she repeats, "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means nothing but someone in the game for a while," he assures.
"Why do I get the feeling that had to do with me being female?" she asks.
"Because, Kate, you doubt everyone around you from their guns to their motives. You don't fully listen, instead diving into the thrill and adventure the job entails. You never share your inner-fear and emotion out of a deficit created by your tragic past. The lapse of strength some twenty odd years ago makes you hunger for control. You seek it in plenty of ways, one of which is asking rhetorical questions to get the best of someone," replies Sloan.
Fox's jaw tightens even further. She turns around, stalking towards the door full speed.
"I'll see you when Wesley's rotting in the ground," she snaps, "And my name is Fox."
The door slams shut behind her. Sloan leans gently back against the table behind him. He breathes out easily, and reaches for the paper just a bit away. He turns it round reading a very different name than the one he just passed on. He shakes off the feeling of uncertainty, tucking the paper away. It isn't wrong per say; just Fate intervening.