Saturday, May 16th, Midnight
The car was quiet again as we left from Stan's, but this time Mitch didn't let me turn on the radio. Something told me he was still pissed about before. Maybe it was the brood of his eyebrows or the tenseness of his shoulders or even the scowl on his lips. I wondered which part of tonight he didn't like. Was it the fact that Stan sided with me, or was it the fact that I might very well die? Knowing how much we disliked each other, I highly doubted it was the latter. However, if the roles were switched and I had some girl I didn't know risking her life for my job, I'd be pretty pissed off, too. It's just more spilled blood.
But just because I understood why he was angry didn't make me feel bad about it. Anger didn't give him the right to act holier-than-thou.
"You know, it takes a lot more energy to be angry than it does to just let it go," I murmured in annoyance, my eyes focused on the empty road next to me as I leaned against the window. As expected, he didn't answer me. With a heavy sigh, I faced him as best I could. "How much longer before we're home? I'm exhausted." Another silence. "Seriously? You're ignoring me now?" I gave up trying to talk to him when I was met with the same response. It was going to be a looong mission if Mitch kept this up.
It was frustrating being around him. I'd met my fair share of hard-heads, but no one quite like him. He was stubborn and erratic and thought he was too good to be working with me. I had a friend in college who was a lot like Mitch—they both pushed everyone away, but I got through to him. Why couldn't I get through to Mitch? I thought earlier that I made some progress, but it seemed for every step forward, we took three back. I suddenly longed for the days when I had no idea who Mitch Rapp was, blissfully living out my life as though nothing could ever stump me.
The car jolted once then sputtered until the engine died, leaving us stranded in the middle of the road. I blinked, not totally sure what was happening. Or maybe I didn't want to believe it.
"Piece of shit," Mitch growled, smacking his hand against the steering wheel.
"What...what happened?" I asked. His eyes glanced once at me before he ignored my question and got out of the car. I threw up my hands in annoyance but followed him out anyway, watching as he lifted up the hood of the car. White smoke hissed out and he waved it away before leaning over and squinting at the innards of the vehicle. "Please tell me you can fix it." I was met with a gruff 'humph', and I suspected that it was the best answer I would get from him.
Since I knew nothing about cars, I stepped out of the way, walking to the side to lean against my door with my arms crossed. Mitch was elbow deep inside the hood, his brows held together so firmly that it created deep lines between them. I briefly wondered if they would stick like that with how often he brooded. But as much as I detested him, I couldn't deny his beauty.
His thick arms bulged under the black shirt he wore, and his jeans hung on his hips. Whenever he leaned over, his shirt rode up enough to flash me the dark hairs disappearing into the front of his pants. His long hair, partly sticking to his forehead, was almost frizzy. The night was humid and his skin glistened with sweat the longer he worked, walking back and forth from the drivers seat to the hood. He never once asked me to help, instead choosing to act as though I wasn't even there.
He tried to start the car once more, but it still wouldn't start, so he groaned quietly and fell back against his seat with defeat. It was nearly 1 in the morning and I could feel exhaustion beginning to settle in.
Leaning down in the open window, I said, "I remember seeing a motel about a mile back. Let's go there and sleep for the night. I'll call a cab in the morning." He responded with a sigh that told me he hated the idea but didn't see another option.
We gathered our things, clearing out the car, then began the walk backwards. We stayed at least 5 feet apart the entire walk, and the fact that he said nothing at all didn't help to speed that along. It was dark and the road we were on made me think of a murder scene from Chainsaw Massacre. To avoid freaking myself out, I lost myself in thought, trying my hardest to figure out why Mitch was the way he was. Maybe there was something in his childhood that turned him cold, or maybe the training he endured under Stan made him distrustful of everyone. I wondered how Mitch would've turned out if his fiancée Katrina hadn't died. Maybe he would have been married and raising kids by now. It was hard to imagine Mitch having kids, although I knew he would make a good dad. Perhaps a little short-tempered, but still good.
After 30 minutes of straight silence and not a passing car in sight, we came to the motel I'd seen. It looked even worse than I remembered and I regretted having said anything. I didn't mind a little filth, but when it looked like I was going to walk in and the door would fall off or the roof would cave in, that I had a problem with.
We walked into the front office where a balding woman stood behind the counter. She was older, perhaps in her late 60s, and she didn't seem very happy to be here. Although, if I worked here, I suppose I wouldn't be too thrilled either.
"Two single rooms," Mitch said. I felt relieved that I wouldn't have to share a room with him.
"Only got one room," the woman crackled, her voice frail as though she hadn't spoken in a week.
"What? How is that possible? Who else would stay here?"
With a slight glare, she replied, "Renovations. Do you want the room or not?"
Mitch actually had an internal debate with himself, weighing the pros and cons of sharing a room with me.
I rolled my eyes and pushed him out of the way with my hip. "We'll take it. How much for the night?" All through paying for the room, I felt Mitch's glare on the back of my head. I just tried to ignore it as the woman slid me two room keys. I thanked her and stuffed them both in my pocket, not even waiting for Mitch as I turned and walked in the direction of the room.
Once we were out of ear shot from the woman, I spun around and looked at Mitch. "What is your problem? Did I do something to offend you?"
Mitch barely glanced at me as he brushed past me. "I work alone. I don't need to be slowed down by you."
"What the hell makes you think I would slow you down?" I asked, having to speed walk to keep up with him. He walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets and didn't answer me, so I grabbed his shoulder before he could open the door. "Hey. I am good at my job, okay? So I haven't had the training you have. It doesn't mean I'm not as good." I was sure I wasn't as good, but I would be damned if I ever let him think it.
"No, you're not. Just the fact that you think so makes you likely to die. You're good at your job, but you're not good at mine. Don't fool yourself into believing you actually have a chance because you can't even imagine half of the things I've done." His face was so blank, so void of emotion and it made me lose my words as I stared back at him, my mouth pulled into a knot as I glared. "Open the door."
He did nothing but stare at me blankly for a few seconds while my mind caught up with the situation at hand. Why did he always have to be so rude? Had he never heard of a thing called positive reinforcement? I scoffed and shook my head as I pushed him out of the way to unlock the door. The card reader beeped, telling me I was granted access, and I stepped into the room without really looking at it.
"You know what, Rapp? You're-," I started.
"Are you showering first?" Mitch asked, his tone indicating he was getting very annoyed very fast. The thing about Mitch was he was extremely good at making you guess what he was feeling. If he didn't want you to know, you wouldn't, and he definitely wanted me to know.
"No, I shower in the mornings. And stop trying to change the subject."
Mitch rolled his eyes and turned his back to me. He walked quickly into the bathroom and slammed the door shut with a boom that made the walls shake and my fury spew.
"I'm not done with you!" I yelled a little louder than necessary as I stomped to the door. "You, Agent Rapp, are childish, you're mean, and you lack the basic manors of a decent human being! I cannot believe that-. HEY! Come out here and face me like a man, you obnoxiously infuriating bast-!" Before I could finish my insult, the door whipped open so fast that the wind blew my hair from my face, and on the other side, Mitch glared at me with bored eyes.
He was bare-chested, and the button and zipper of his worn black pants hung open. I could see the lining of his Hanes briefs from the top of his pants. His chest was smooth aside from the scattered scars decorating his body. There was a thin line of dark hair five inches long between his pecs and another line matching it leading down from his bellybutton. From the low hang of his briefs, I could just barely make out the tussle of hair that his happy trail vanished into. Spars hairs covered his dark pink nipples.
His body was certainly toned, much more so than I had thought. The man was built, sneakily so. It was the kind of lean muscle boxers and runners have, which made sense for what he did.
The second he opened the door, I stepped away from him, feeling the need to put space between me and the man who looked like he wanted to hurt me.
"I'm warning you," I said. "Try hitting me and you won't make it to tomorrow." It was an empty threat, but it made me feel better.
Shock flickered over his eyes for a split second before he stood up straight and put on a mask of indifference. "Is that really what you think of me? That I'd hurt you?"
I knew the right thing to say, the thing I should have said, but it came out all wrong as the cup finally overflowed. "You want to know what I think of you, Agent? I think you're one of the biggest assholes I've ever met in my life, and I've been face to face with plenty of assholes. I think that you have lost all capacity for emotion besides anger. And I can't stand being around you."
The moment I looked him in the eyes was the moment I knew I'd fucked up. They were furious, as usual, but once again, I saw the pain hidden deep inside them. He was quiet, his eyes blindly drifting downwards, and his silence scared me more than his outburst would've.
As guilt seeped into my chest, I took a step forward and said, "Agent Rapp, I-."
"No one is forcing you to stay. Feel free to leave," he said coolly. With that, he went back into the bathroom and locked the door.
There were two queen beds in the room, and I sat down on the edge of one of them, sighing heavily as I put my hands on my head. I was a terrible person. How could I be so cold? Even if I did hate him, it didn't give me the right to be a bitch. I was going to have a hell of a time making up for it since I was sure Mitch wouldn't make it easy on me.
I waited, bouncing my knee and chewing on my thumbnail, for Mitch to finish with his shower. It was a relatively short time, but it felt like hours.
The door opened and I jumped to my feet. Mitch walked out of the bathroom in dark grey sweats and a light grey shirt while toweling his wet hair. I was thankful he wore a shirt this time. He glanced at me before throwing the towel to the side.
"All yours." He gestured to the bathroom behind him and walked past me to the bed he wanted.
I followed him a few feet. "Rapp." Mitch fell onto his bed face down, turning his back to me.
"Turn off the lights when you're done."
"You have to let me apologize."
"Go to sleep, Walker. We're up early tomorrow."
"Why?"
"I'm taking you home."
"What?! Why?!"
"Because I can't stand being around you."
I sunk onto my bed, letting silence fill the room as I watched him with a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry, Rapp."