*original author anon from initial comments with the op here, sorry for the wait but I am so glad the first filler has graced us with their awesome fill in progress. Once again this was an amazing prompt, so thank you for that! _________________________________________
“Do you really think I would put a loaded gun on the table where you could reach it?”
The answer was yes, apparently.
And while the searing burn in his chest certainly wasn’t pleasant - about as invigorating as the last time, right thigh, left shoulder, during an op gone sideways in Prussia - it did put more than a few things into perspective.
Namely that he had seriously misjudged one Miss Karen Page. And secondly, that he might actually not be able to talk his way out of this one before he bled out.
Fascinating. He always thought he’d die on the job. For the cause. He was prepared for it. Counted on it, if he was being honest with himself - which he always was. But being clipped by a fledgling secretary moonlighting as a wannabe crusader of truth and righteousness just wasn’t what he’d pictured.
Hubris. A voice whispered, sounding distressingly similar to Agent Romanoff. Willful self-confidence. A rookie mistake. Pride before the fall, remember? I taught you better than this, James. You threatened her. You threatened all of them. You thought she would fold. Like the others. But she was different, wasn’t she? You wounded her, but then you threatened her brood. And what happens when you turn your back on a wounded animal, hmm? It fights back. You deserve this, James. You got sloppy. People like us? We don’t have that luxury. Distraction? Carelessness? It gets you killed. You’ve been under too long, Agent. You should have asked for extraction – reached out – why didn’t you-
His head lolled, shaking it off as the echoes reseeded and a fresh trickle of his own red sluiced through his fingers. Watching her watch him as she trembled, finger on the trigger, a hair’s breath from ending it as the barrel of the gun quivered with her.
The shot had missed his lung.
Barely.
But in passing through, it nicked something else. An artery no doubt. Something people who weren’t part of S.H.E.I.L.D might call beginners luck. He sucked in a shallow breath, then another, ignoring the strangled whimper as the sniffling tang of tears wafted from the other side of the table.
He cocked his head, gaze turned inward as he tried to pin it down. There was something wrong – immediate - something he really should be getting out his phone and calling someone about. Only right now he was staring into the face of a child, horrified by what she’d done, but with hate burning high in her eyes.
He didn’t blame her. Much.
Sometimes when you go undercover, you go too far. You forget where the lines are. That’s why they’d called him. That’s why they’d needed him. A man who knew where the lines were, but could still stand to look at himself in the mirror in the morning if circumstances dictated that those lines be crossed. And they had. Repeatedly. But S.H.I.E.L.D still hadn’t pulled him. Even when the fallout from Mrs. Cardenas death had lured out the thus far unidentified ‘Man in the Mask’. Just like he knew they wouldn’t. He’d barely heard a word from his handler since he’d gone to ground in Fisk’s operation and that was how he liked it.
Hell’s Kitchen needed more than tough love if it was going to pull itself out of the gutter.
In the scheme of things, his presence here would barely cause a ripple.
[Fill] "Bad news (like a suckerpunch) - (1/?) - Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover
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“Do you really think I would put a loaded gun on the table where you could reach it?”
The answer was yes, apparently.
And while the searing burn in his chest certainly wasn’t pleasant - about as invigorating as the last time, right thigh, left shoulder, during an op gone sideways in Prussia - it did put more than a few things into perspective.
Namely that he had seriously misjudged one Miss Karen Page. And secondly, that he might actually not be able to talk his way out of this one before he bled out.
Fascinating. He always thought he’d die on the job. For the cause. He was prepared for it. Counted on it, if he was being honest with himself - which he always was. But being clipped by a fledgling secretary moonlighting as a wannabe crusader of truth and righteousness just wasn’t what he’d pictured.
Hubris. A voice whispered, sounding distressingly similar to Agent Romanoff. Willful self-confidence. A rookie mistake. Pride before the fall, remember? I taught you better than this, James. You threatened her. You threatened all of them. You thought she would fold. Like the others. But she was different, wasn’t she? You wounded her, but then you threatened her brood. And what happens when you turn your back on a wounded animal, hmm? It fights back. You deserve this, James. You got sloppy. People like us? We don’t have that luxury. Distraction? Carelessness? It gets you killed. You’ve been under too long, Agent. You should have asked for extraction – reached out – why didn’t you-
His head lolled, shaking it off as the echoes reseeded and a fresh trickle of his own red sluiced through his fingers. Watching her watch him as she trembled, finger on the trigger, a hair’s breath from ending it as the barrel of the gun quivered with her.
The shot had missed his lung.
Barely.
But in passing through, it nicked something else. An artery no doubt. Something people who weren’t part of S.H.E.I.L.D might call beginners luck. He sucked in a shallow breath, then another, ignoring the strangled whimper as the sniffling tang of tears wafted from the other side of the table.
He cocked his head, gaze turned inward as he tried to pin it down. There was something wrong – immediate - something he really should be getting out his phone and calling someone about. Only right now he was staring into the face of a child, horrified by what she’d done, but with hate burning high in her eyes.
He didn’t blame her. Much.
Sometimes when you go undercover, you go too far. You forget where the lines are. That’s why they’d called him. That’s why they’d needed him. A man who knew where the lines were, but could still stand to look at himself in the mirror in the morning if circumstances dictated that those lines be crossed. And they had. Repeatedly. But S.H.I.E.L.D still hadn’t pulled him. Even when the fallout from Mrs. Cardenas death had lured out the thus far unidentified ‘Man in the Mask’. Just like he knew they wouldn’t. He’d barely heard a word from his handler since he’d gone to ground in Fisk’s operation and that was how he liked it.
Hell’s Kitchen needed more than tough love if it was going to pull itself out of the gutter.
In the scheme of things, his presence here would barely cause a ripple.
If he lived past today, that is.