After talking with Antonio for a while, the Spaniard remembered that he had some paperwork to deal with, since he was the one in charge of their last mission. He felt bad to have to let her by herself, but she assured him that it wasn’t a problem. Her shoulder pulsed painfully in the place where the stitches were when she told him that. It was a painful reminder of how close it was to her neck and how things could have ended in a tragedy.
So she gladly let him go, hearing his clear footsteps leave her room. [f/n], on the other hand, spend some time organizing her things, and, later on, studying. Demons and magical beings had a complicated political organization, each species with a different one with several little quirks and problems of their own. So, if they wanted to protect the humans, the agents should also have some knowledge about what or who they were chasing after, so it’d not slip out of their hands. And not offend anyone or anything while doing so.
But, after some time staring into pages and more pages of tedious material about treaties between goblins and vampires and the economical perspective it gave to the northern banshees, her eyes finally gave up. The girl was sleeping before she realized it.
She woke up a few hours later, feeling her muscles stiff since she had slept in a single position. Her stomach grumbled. Hungry too, then.
Without even realizing what she was doing, her feet made their way to the kitchen, taking her with them. Right outside the hallway, she listened to a piece of a song that floated weekly in the air, inviting her body to dance along.
I take your pain away”
The rhythm was so upbeat that she found herself nearly making pirouettes while entering the room.
The old radio crackled and sizzled, signal to noise and back to noise. Yet, it added charm to the music. She was swaying her hips back and forth while looking for something interesting to eat in the higher shelves, standing on the tip of her toes while doing it.
“Some people talk about ya
Like they know all about ya
When you get down they doubt ya
And when you dip it on the scene
Yeah they talkin' bout it”
“Aha, there you are.” She was almost reaching the forgotten bag of chips on one of the corners.
“ Whether you're high or low
Baby whether you're high or low
You got to tip on the tightrope
Now let me see you do the tightrope
And I'm still tippin' on it”
She nearly slipped, closing her eyes before the fall, only to feel two arms circling her, the warm breath of another being caressing her skin. She looked up, meeting two cerulean eyes staring back.
“You always knew how to make an entrance, [f/n]. Or should I say fall?”
She threw her head back, laughing, resting it against the crook of his neck.
“Oh, that’s so mean of you.”
He turned his face towards her, kissing her temple while smiling.
It felt… Familiar. It seemed as a gesture of a known lover. Or, even if it wasn’t, if felt like it should be. As if it was something she should know by heart. In fact, her chest ached as if it there was something missing.
But how could she miss something she never had?
He stroked her hair and, for a second, she forgot what she was, her part as a killing machine, on the agency, as a cold blood killer. [f/n] just let herself be, a content sentiment spreading through her and she melt into his embrace. The temperature of their skin evened, and it was so… Wonderful, somehow.
“You can't get too high
(You can't get too high)
I said you can't get too low
(We can't get too low)”
The singer nearly screamed in a high pitched voice, startling both of them. [f/n] straightened herself, a hollow sensation eating her insides just as soon as she was away from his arms.
“…That was… Hm… Thank you, Francis.” She said, taking the bag of chips with her, suddenly embarrassed.
“…Don’t worry, ma chérie.” But Francis wasn’t looking at her anymore; he was putting his apron on. The black one, the very same apron she said it made him so handsome. She gazed at him for a moment before she left the room.
“...I…” She turned around, waiting for him to say something.
…But nothing came.
“Do you mind?
If I play the ukulele
Just like a little lady
Do you mind?”
She took a deep breath.
It was time to train.
In the distance, he heard a known voice singing.
“Te amo con toda mi fe, sin medida
Te amo aunque estés compartida”
He chuckled humorlessly with that, observing the girl from the window as she played with the other members of the agency. She twirled between the arms of the cheeky Prussian and the amused Russian, while the others laughed as she dodged their blows, while managing to accomplish some of her own. She was a little beast with her blades in hand.
Divided, torn, shared. The world held many possible translations.
Nothing could be more truthful. She was divided, torn and shared by all of them. Between all of them. How sad, he thought while taking a drag of his cigarette.
…Decisions are sometimes so hard to be made.
He also watched as the Spaniard, hidden behind the columns of the courtyard, looked almost desperately hopeless at her. And, even without realizing, Francis was singing along, his thick French accent making the words foreign and strange. But, at the same time, they were familiar.
“Tus labios tienen el control” He whispered, taking another drag.
After all, jilted lovers and broken hearts were always familiar. Same old story. He smiled sadly, blowing smoke in the night’s air, which spiraled and crawled up, like it was reaching for the moon. He looked down, not seeing the end of the already lost fight.
Non, mon ami, it’s out of your grasp.
He watched as the Spaniard quietly finished his song, giving a desperate look to the only girl who could make him be that way: [f/n].
But, even if the others didn’t realized that, weren’t they all in the same page?
He repeated the verse of the music, rolling the sounds in his mouth and tongue, unraveling its hidden, nevertheless obvious, meanings.
“Te amo con toda mi fe, sin medida
Te amo aunque estés compartida
Tus labios tienen el control”
Yes, he thought while throwing the cigarette ember on the floor and stepping on it, quenching it, her lips had the control.
They’d all wait, held captive by those lips.
But that wouldn’t stop him from loving her, without any boundaries.
…Even if it was a shared love story.