Hellfire

Chapter 1: Wilson, Gold and Swan

TW: Language. S**t, h*ll, bas**rd, da*m, a**, ar**, bl**dy. All will be used frequently throughout the story. Slight gore as of right now.

Anything bolded will be a flashback. Above is Rogue's TARDIS interior.

She hadn't been paying attention to where she was going and that proved to be her first mistake of the day. She was just strolling along, hands shoved deep inside her jacket pockets, head down and chin up, thoughts clouding her mind. What said thoughts actually were, she could make neither head nor tails of that. The only clear thing was that there were a lot of them and that they were the reason she ran straight into someone on the narrow sidewalk, nearly sending them both to the ground.

"Watch where you're going!" demanded the sharp Scottish voice of Mr. Gold, the town pawnbroker and resident devi and her personal rival. English former soldier and local asshole Elizabeth Wilson looked angrily at Gold, but when she spoke, her voice was calm and collected,

"Oh, hello, sir," she said, smiling politely. "I think, seeing as you didn't make a move to walk around either, you weren't paying attention yourself. You should be ashamed of yourself." Gold scowled.

"I won't take this sort of attitude from you," he snaps.

"Of course not," she sighed. "Listen, Gold, I was just on my way. So if you'd be so kind to piss off, I'd be much obliged. This is not how I wanted to spend my morning."

"I could say the same," Gold said, stonily. "I'd advise you not to run into me again, figuratively or literally."

"Of course, sir," Elizabeth said, faking seriousness. "Never again."

"I'm serious," Mr. Gold said, scowling.

"Well, so am I!" Elizabeth said, voice going high pitched. "Never been more serious, me." She mocked a salute, winked, and walked off, demeanor instantly going from the laughing mask to the real face, solemn and grim.

...

Elizabeth walked all the way back to her hiding place; or technically speaking, small flat in an apartment complex. She liked to call it a secluded hiding place, but it was neither a place to hide or secluded in any sense of the word. She had a neighbor across from her, a smiling woman named Mary Margaret Blanchard. They had never met formally, since Elizabeth long since decided to keep her distance to everyone.

Gold was a special matter. He was interesting and it kept her mind busy, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. Most people were an open book to her; she could read every paragraph, every line, every damn word without any struggle. But Gold... He was different. She could read the title and some of the chapters and a few scattered, meaningless words, but the true secrets of the book were hidden just beyond her sight.

Charming wasn't the right word to describe him, but the idea of figuring out what was going on behind his sharp gaze, crisp dark suits, and sarcastic smiles could be considered charming. It was, at the very least, incredibly intriguing, a wonderfully difficult mystery, and damn it all, she couldn't resist a good mystery, especially one no one had ever attempted to solve.

...

London, England, 1970...

"Who are you?" a red haired woman asked, running after a brunette up flights of stairs.

"I told you, no one," the brunette said, not stopping.

"Everyone's someone," the redhaired pressed.

"Look, love, I don't know who you are. You don't know who I am. Kindly shunt off!"

"Rude," the red head muttered.