[A/N: Hello my lovelies! Here is the next chapter for you all! I'm trying to spread out the episodes as much as possible to utilize the plot from the movie and the one that pertains to this book. As always, I hope you enjoy! -K 🖤]
[🌿This chapter contains swearing and angst.🌿]
***
The unmistakable sound of a door closing immediately caused me to open my eyes from an already restless sleep. I straightened myself, pulling my jacket from my legs, now sitting up with my palms on the floor.
From the sunlight pouring into the room from the blinds of the window, I determined that it was late in the morning, as the sun of Wednesday timidly reached through the blinds to lazily paint the floor and over my weapons with tendrils of soft light.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the apartment, the sounds reaching the farthest bedroom where I had been sleeping, or at least, trying to for many hours. My hand didn't have to reach far to grip my always ready pistol, now suddenly standing and breathing heavily.
Someone had broken into the apartment.
I rushed to stand, approaching the bedroom door and pressed my back flat against the wall next to the closed door. I grabbed the handle, silently turning it until the mechanism released. The door quietly opened and I peeked my head around the corner, using both hands to aim my pistol down the darkened corridor, but found no perpetrator in the dim hallway.
My jaw was clamped tightly, my muscles tense in aggression, frustration, and exhaustion. With stealthy steps and a whispered breath, I began to walk down the hallway. The doors to the other bedroom and bathroom were shut, just like I had confirmed before I secluded myself to the back room only a few hours prior.
There was a shuffling towards the kitchen and I gripped the handle of the gun tighter, continuing to approach the unfortunate person who decided that this apartment was their next target.
And now they were mine.
I exited the hallway and found the culprit, his hunched back facing towards me, investigating something in his hands intently. I noticed the straps of the object from whatever he was holding and gritted my teeth.
He had my fucking backpack.
Suddenly, he stood up straighter, revealing an all too familiar blue baseball cap on his head. He also happened to turn around at the same time, still holding onto my bag with both hands.
Our eyes met in a raging battle of two opposing sides. His investigative and concerned eyes were contenders against my own wrathful stare.
Santi raised his hands in surrender, but continued to hold onto the handle of my bag. "Hey, hey!" He snapped, his eyebrows displaying a scowl that was now on his face. "Put the gun down, (Y/N). Is this how you treat all your guests? If you even have any."
I walked towards him, still pointing the gun at him, pressing against his defined chest, noticeable under his dark t-shirt. "You're not a guest. You fucking broke in, Santi." I grumbled, reaching for my bag to which he pulled away from me. I glared into his eyes, hoping he would understand that I would gladly take out his already bad knees.
"Correction. I didn't break in." His eyes darted from the barrel against his skin to my obviously pissed expression. "Tom gave me a key, okay? Said you needed help moving some stuff to his house."
Tom and I had agreed over drinks last night, directly after Benny and I's fight, that I would move into his house before we left for the recon in South America. However, we didn't agree on him sending Santiago to help me, let alone today.
I didn't need his help anyways.
My eyes closed and I attempted to control my erratic breathing. "I gave that key to my brother, because I trusted him, and so he could stop by when he wanted. Not you." I dejectedly lowered the gun and fashioned it in the back of my pants, similarly to how I had greeted Tom just a few days ago.
"You don't trust me?" Santi chuckled, lowering his hands and still avoiding my desperate grasp in reaching for my backpack. "I'm hurt, really." He mockingly chided, placing a hand over his heart, or where I assumed it would be if he actually had one. "But seriously, you have a storage locker or something?"
I ran my hand over my face in exasperation, backing away from him slightly. "What the hell are you talking about, Santi?" I questioned, noticing how his eyes surveyed the apartment in confusion, almost like he expected it to be filled with items or pre-packed boxes.
"Where's your stuff?" He inquired, walking past the kitchen and into the empty living room. "Where's all the vinyl records? The books? What about those little figurines and trinkets that you collected?" He interrogated, taking his cap off to run a hand through his hair, an almost disappointed expression on his face.
I crossed my arms and watched him investigate the blank walls. "I don't do that anymore." I returned, a slight struggle to my answer. "Just ask Will. I'm sure he'd be better at explaining than me." I said under my breath, confident that he didn't hear me.
He immediately turned towards me, an unrecognizable emotion on his face. "But- But you loved those things. You loved those records and those books. Hell, I even thought the collection of trinkets was pretty cool, angel."
He was right. I did have a wide collection ranging from countless genres of music to uncountable authors, and many tiny objects that I found undeniable pleasure in creating a menagerie of sorts.
"Not anymore." I repeated, watching his eyes travel to the floor, attempting to figure out what happened and why all of my precious and treasured things were gone. "And don't call me that."
He scoffed, taking a step towards me. "Call you what?" He was still holding onto my backpack, almost teasing me that I hadn't successfully gotten it back from him.
"Don't call me Angel." I clarified, watching his hardened stare seem to soften in confusion. I ignored his expression and his following footsteps, now traversing to the refrigerator and opening it to discontinue the conversation.
I rummaged through what Tom had brought for me, taking out two Redbull energy drinks. "But that's always what we've called you." His voice was coming from the other side of the fridge door. I slammed it shut, then forced the cold can into his grasp.
"Not anymore, Santi!" I slightly raised my voice, rushing past him and resting my own drink on the counterfeit granite. I opened my hands onto the surface, my palms supporting me and I leaned against the surface.
The more history that he investigated and memories that he brought up, the more tumultuous of a hurricane he unknowingly stirred.
He was silent, aside for the opening of the drink that he had in his hand. "Thanks. I wouldn't have put it past you to let me die of thirst." After a chuckle, he began to drink gingerly.
"Because I'm a cold-hearted bitch, right?" I whispered towards him, not caring to look him in the eyes. I opened my own drink, but not having the energy to actually drink it.
I had gotten far in life, more specifically in the recent years, to pretend that everything was normal. And I was pretty damn good at it.
But Santiago could easily see past my façade and I hated him for it.
Scuffling footsteps neared me and Santi rested his can on the counter next to mine, our shoulders close enough to caress the other. "Look, (Y/N), I'm...I'm sorry. I feel like shit, okay? I should never have said that to you, and never should have called you that." He apologized, his eyes washing over my face as I ignored him. "Forgive me, please? I can't do this recce without you, knowing that you're pissed at me."
This was a welcome apology, even though I'm sure it was only to get back in my good graces and not suffering from my wrath.
"Fine." I sniffed, now drinking from the can swiftly. "But the next time you piss me off, I'm taking your ass to the retirement home." I returned with a small smile, now angling my face to meet his.
He was already smiling and he raised his eyebrows slightly. "Okay, I will keep the 'assholery' to a minimum." He was definitely lying. "So, you wanna tell me what this is?" He then questioned, now placing my backpack onto the counter between us.
"That's my bag." I stared blankly one plainly. "The one you were rudely rummaging through when you broke in." I explained, tipping my drink once again and watching his eyes flare.
"Okay, I didn't break in, (Y/N). I knocked, several times, and you didn't answer the door. So, I used the key to come in, okay? But what the hell is that on your bag?" His finger was pointing directly towards the faded names and permanent mockings that never seemed to wash away.
My eyes trailed from the bag to his expectant eyes. "It's nothing, Santi." I said lowly before quickly grabbing the bag and beginning to tread down the hallway to return it into the room where it should have been from in the beginning.
"That's bullshit." He hurriedly retorted, his heavy boots following my bare feet on the hardwood. "Who did that to your property? That's government issued, and that's a huge fucking problem." His voice trailed after me, not wanting to drop the conversation. "Why are there so many?"
"So many what, Pope?" I halted, turning to face him in the middle of the hallway, not realizing how close he was to me when I stopped.
His chest was hardly an inch away, both of us breathing heavily, and I couldn't tell if it was from us being aggravated yet again, or if it was because of our close proximity.
There was an expression in his eyes that I remembered seeing a few times before. It was rare and not always noticeable and distinguishable. But when I saw it, I couldn't help but feel like maybe he didn't hate me as much in the moment.
"So many vile names." He returned with a venomous tone. We were chest to chest in the dark hallway, as I forgot to switch the light on during the events since I had woken up. "Who put them on there? Why?" He continued to ask, his eyes studying my face, calculating my response and emotions.
"Because," I clenched my jaw, "Men are assholes." I resolutely stated, removing myself from his stare and continuing to walk towards the door at the end of the hallway.
He muttered silently and continued his pursuit of me. "Names, (Y/N). Give me fucking names. I can make a few phone calls and-"
"Oh, give me a fucking break, Pope!" I returned, turning around to see his shocked, pained expression. "Don't pretend like you actually care! Not after all this time. My brother isn't here, so drop this stupid act. I don't need another performance from you." I jabbed my finger into his chest roughly, meaning every word I said and fighting the emotions that I had spent years bottling.
I hurriedly turned around again, not wanting to witness his next expression or outburst. I finally reached the door, preparing to turn the handle and enter the last inner sanctum I had, my last piece of a refuge I had scavenged the world to find only to come up empty handed.
Santi removed his hat and relentlessly followed me. "What happened to you?" He question stopped me in my tracks as my back faced him, my hand paused in its traverse towards the handle of the door. "What happened to the girl who was excited to show off a new book or vinyl to me and the guys, hm? Or what about the girl who spent years carefully procuring her collection of glass and porcelain figurines?"
"Stop, Santi." I warned, hearing both of our voices begin to raise. He needed to stop trying to find her. Whatever hope he has of her still existing needed for be extinguished, because she was never coming back.
As always, he did the opposite of my requests. "What happened to her, huh?" He questioned, taking a step closer towards my already fuming figure. "What happened to our angel?"
I whipped angrily towards him again and shoved my hands against his chest, forcing him away. "She's fucking dead, Pope!" I harshly returned, watching his expression immediately change and soften, which pissed me off even more. I didn't need his pity. "I put her out of her misery after the world had it's fucking way with her." With another shove, I pushed him back farther. "And stop calling me that!"
Every mention of the past nickname and the memories associated with it triggered fleeting, reminiscent moments that I had spent years trying to distance myself from.
We were separated by a few feet now and I took another step back, running my hand through my hair, and breathing deeply to calm myself from the outburst and from his presence.
And of course, being the ignorant and rambunctious asshole that he was, Santi was returning back to where I had shoved him from. "I..." He looked defeated and more confused and bewildered than before. "What am I supposed to call you then?"
With a rough toss, I forced the backpack into his chest, to which he captured eagerly. "Check the backpack." I gritted, leaving him to stand in the hallway while I finally retreated into the back room to begin bagging up my weapons to take to Tom's.
I slammed the door behind me and covered my eyes with my palms, rubbing away the tears that I was trying to hide from Santi.
Many thoughts, from the past and the present, began to appear at the forefront on my mind. Honestly, fuck Santiago Garcia for his inquisition and his harboring of the past, my specifically, my past. Why was it easy for him to remember so much?
But why was it easier for him to forget what he did to me?
Being a woman in the armed forces unfortunately meant pressing down all forms of emotions and reactions for fear being ridiculed and relentlessly shamed.
And that's what I would continue to do.
Pope would not be victorious in drawing out my emotions. That would give him an advantage over me and he would never let me live it down.
I slid open the closet door and grabbed the respective bags and gun cases to begin storing the assortment of items away, preparing them for a journey to Tom's house, one that I would suffer along with Santi at the wheel.
"I'm not calling you Hades." He directed towards me from the door of the room, his eyes suddenly taking in the arsenal before him. "Holy shit..." He breathlessly awed at the unbelievable display before him, pausing when he saw a crumpled sweater and jacket against the farthest corner of the room. "Is that...where you sleep, (Y/N)?"
"Why do you care where I fucking sleep, Pope?!" I growled back, not turning to face him.
"I don't fucking care! I never have and I never will!" He angrily returned, allowing the room to permeate with tense and uncomfortable silence as I resumed to pack my guns away into their respective cases, trying to ignore him, his words, and the way he made my stomach turn in knots.
I finally stood, walking towards him and shoving a case into his chest. He prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue, staring down at me with irritation. "You give me whiplash, Pope." I truthfully stated, watching him grab the case from my hands.
I could have sworn that he cared a little, the slightest fraction, even when he was interrogating me about the history of my backpack. But he was a selfish prick and wanted the gratification and satisfaction of being a savior to someone he would target with his God-complex.
He wasn't going to be my savior.
Our fingers ghosted over the other as we exchanged the case.
I hurriedly pulled my hand away as he glanced down to where we had so rapidly brushed against each other. With a scowl he replied, "And you give me a headache, (Y/N)."
We stared at each other, both determined to successfully earn the commanding and dominant title between our silent feud. I noticed how he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, a quick action that I would have otherwise missed if I wasn't already looking at his lips.
Suddenly, his phone began to ring and he shuffled his hand into his back pocket, looking away for a moment. I smirked, even when his eyes met mine again, furious at his defeat.
"Hey," He stated into the phone, then grinning deviously at me. "Hey, Tom. Yeah, I made it here. Mhm, yeah. As a matter of fact, yes she did have her gun drawn on me." He titled his head and squinted his eyes. "She's being really difficult as usual."
He was quiet as he listened to Tom's orders and I could hear his voice slightly through the phone. Santi's expression soured as Tom began to scold him. I smiled sweetly, thankful for my older brother and his protective nature, as Santi began to roll his eyes in a sarcastic response to me.
"Yes, I am being nice. And I know, I'm helping her pack right now. She only has guns, Tom, it's not that big of a deal, well actually, it's a huge deal because she could take down a whole damn army with all this shit. We'll be there soon." He turned away from me as he carried the case, then ushered down where I could hear his voice disappearing, but faintly distinctive. "...And I checked like you said. No bed."
With a grumbling and muttering of low curses and threats, I balled my fists tightly, realizing that Santi had deceived me again and was actually on a recon the moment he stepped into the apartment.
I was the recon.
He played me yet again and I, once more, fell into his perfect planned trap.
While he distracted me with his words and his actions, he successfully ventured into the farthest reaches of myself that I had sworn to keep camouflaged from the public.
Never again would I allow him to get so close to me again.
I knelt onto the hardwood, carefully situating the open case for one of my most prized possessions. Having left small collectibles and gentle trinkets in the past, I opted for a heavier object that, unlike many people, had never failed me before.
With a silent grunt, I picked up the slightly heavy sniper rifle, a Barrett .50 Cal, and placed it into its even heavier protective case. Painted similarly to my preferred handgun, this rifle was matte black and outlined in thin red lines, accentuating every curve and angle of the weapon itself, also displaying my carved name onto the portion of metal closest to the trigger.
Hades.
The name that Pope admitted he would never call me.
Just thinking about him, his name, his face, his skills in perfecting a recon plan, his charming smile, his entertaining personality, everything about him made my hands shake with violent anger and trepidation.
"Alright, Excalibur." I whispered the affectionate name for this particular weapon, closing the case and snapping the plastic clips to be locked and secured. "Let's get our boys home safely." I sighed, hearing returning footsteps approaching from the hallway and rolling my eyes at the sounds of an annoying whistle of a melody. "All of them."