✧ ✧ ✧
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇs
❝ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ. ❞
✧ ✧ ✧
YOU REACHED OUT A HAND
to grab the metal railing as you rounded the corner before starting up the glass steps. The S.H.I.E.L.D key card dangling from your utility belt created an audible smack as it hit against the top of your thigh with each rise of your leg; you made a mental note to request a re-do of your customized uniform – one that ensured that the garment wasn't almost entirely made out of latex.
Agent Smith – or Spencer, as you'd come to know him as – passed you as he walked the stairs in the opposite direction, sniggering as he watched you snarl and angrily rip the card from your belt, having finally had enough of the horridly annoying sound.
You tossed him the filthiest look you could muster up, along with a very impolite hand gesture, which only made him laugh harder and send an over exaggerated wink your way. That was the dynamic of the relationship you had built with him over the past couple of months; both of you would seize any opportunity you could to annoy the crap out of the other. In fact, you were ninety-nine percent sure that he was the one who had arranged for your uniform to be manufactured out of such god-awful material.
It was all in good fun, though; playful banter pushed aside, you both genuinely cared for and looked out for each other. And that was more crucial than one might think – especially in such trying times.
You and Spencer found solace in the fact that you were both stuck in the same dreadful reality – a world without Brendon Urie.
Even though you had busied yourself with focusing on getting a grip on your powers practically immediately after the funeral, there was no escaping the crippling ghost of grief. There was a constant dull ache inside of you that, despite what you were doing or who you were with, would not go away. It felt as if a vile concoction of anxiety, dread and anguish was coursing through the blood in your veins in a continuous loop, returning in stronger concentrations with every beat of your heart.
There were nights when it literally made you sick. Where you would stay hunched over the toilet bowl, expelling only small volumes of bile because what little food you'd managed to stomach throughout the day had already come up hours ago. And you'd stay there on the floor, not wanting to go back to bed because you knew that when your head hit the pillow and your eyes closed, all you'd see was his face.
Those nights were usually the nights you'd call Spencer, and he'd tell you that he couldn't sleep either and that he wishes that he had stopped Brendon from getting on that quinjet. Then you'd tell him not to blame himself, and that it wasn't his fault.
Both of you knew it was a lie.
Because it was his fault.
And it was your fault, too.
It was everyone's fault.
Because if one of you, just one, would've run faster or yelled louder or done something, then Brendon would still be alive.
Both of you knew it was a lie.
But you said it anyways.
Every time.
Because that's the thing about feeling guilty over a loved one's death; no matter how much you convince yourself that you are in some way to blame, there's always a part of you that wants – that needs – someone to try and convince you that you aren't. And that – that is crucial in the healing process. If there's someone else that still has faith in you, then there's a reason for you to collect all the broken parts and fix yourself up again.
That's why you were so thankful that you had Spencer – and him, you – because you helped each other heal, even if it was fraction by fraction. You weren't immensely close, the two of you. Those late night talks weren't too frequent and your conversations regarding the topic were few and far in between, but still, the two of you shared a warped bond that allowed a sense of camaraderie and a pillar of trust to form. You knew that in a few months time you probably wouldn't be as close as you are now, but the relationship's foundation was set in stone, and despite neither of you having verbally said it, you both knew that you would always be there for one another if the other needed it.
"What are you looking at, Smith?" you snapped, hatefully squinting at the man as you climbed the steps.
He scoffed and looked you up and down before declaring, "Nothing much."
"Funny," you cocked your head to the side as you poked your tongue at the inside of your cheek and pretended to think. Then, you shut him down with a single sentence. "That's exactly what Linda said when I asked her what she thought of you."
Spencer stopped dead in his tracks and watched you with a blank expression as you continued upwards, sniggering as you took each step.
"That was uncalled for," he said solemnly.
"Your face is uncalled for," you replied tauntingly, reaching for the door to the tech room.
"You're such a child," he groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically.
Looking over your shoulder, you stuck your tongue out at him, causing both of you to burst out laughing before you waved goodbye and stepped in to see Dallon.
The room was dark, with the only bit of illumination coming from the abundance of active computer and holographic screens. You took careful steps, looking down as you did so to make sure that you didn't accidently step on some important documents scattered on the floor or trip over some complex gadget.
"Dallon?" you called out to the techie, not able to see him in the bad lighting.
Soon after, a head popped out from behind a particularly big computer screen with a seemingly startled expression on its face.
"Oh, (Y/N), hey, um..." Dallon tripped over his words, hands rushing to get rid of the evidence of what he'd been busy with. "What are you doing here?"
"My watch is acting up," you explained, taking a big step over a piece of equipment you didn't recognize so that you could walk over to Dallon's desk. "Who were you video calling?"
Dallon's head immediately turned to look at his screen, and he realised that he'd forgotten to close the video call tab. Working quickly to make sure that you didn't peek over his shoulder to check who the last call was to, he pressed a key on the keyboard and wiped the tab from the screen.
"Oh, that was just-" the techie struggled to think of someone, eventually settling on: "my mom! Yeah, that was my mom!" He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.
"Uh huh," you frowned slightly and ran your tongue around the inside of your mouth; Dallon was acting oddly strange and jumpy, but before you could ask if he was doing alright, he jumped in.
"You said you're having watch problems?" he raised both brows and gestured to your watch.
Shaking your head lightly to refocus, you began removing your watch and nodded as you handed it over to Dallon. "Yeah. It's been dropping calls and displaying interference while I'm on missions."
"Huh," Dallon pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose as he examined the watch. When he came to a conclusion as to what the problem was, he gave you a small smile. "Just needs a software update. I'll do it and get it back to you within the hour."
"Great, 'cause Romanoff and I are heading out at sundown. Thanks, Dall," you pinched the techie's cheek affectionately and he smiled in appreciation before you started to walk off.
"Oh!" he called after you, prompting you to turn around, "I forgot to mention... Doctor Ross is looking for you. "
Shooting range. S.H.I.E.L.D HQ.
Swiping your key card over the sensor, you opened the glass door and entered the range, holding it open to allow two agents to exit.
They thanked you and you smiled politely before starting forward, taking slow steps toward the man you came here to see. His forehead was creased in concentration as he aimed the handgun at the target, determined to hit within the demarcated areas.
Much to both of your surprise, he managed to get shots that were quite close to perfect, and after staring at the target in shock for a second, he broke out into a triumphant smile.
"You've gotten better," you commented with a grin, now picking up your pace.
Aaron's head turned in the direction of your voice and when he saw it was you, he returned your grin with a much more charming one.
"Oh, yes, definitely," he breathed, sniggering under his breath as he pointed up, "I'm not hitting the ceiling anymore. Fury will be pleased to hear that."
"I'm sure he will," you giggled softly, moving to rest yourself against the wall, "Agent Weekes mentioned that you were looking for me?"
The doctor frowned for a moment as if trying to recall why exactly he had been; when he remembered, he snapped his fingers and perked up.
"Oh! Right! I was thinking of going to see my father in Alcatraz tomorrow – just to get some answers of my own – and I wanted to ask you if you'd like to accompany me," Aaron explained; you opened your mouth to respond but he cut you off with a raised hand and a nod of understanding, "But I then realised that it would be inappropriate to ask you to do that, considering he... you know, practically ruined your life... so, I mean, I wasn't going to ask. I'll manage by myself."
With a wheeze and a slight shake of your head, you spoke. "I have no problem with going with you, Aaron. Yeah, he did majorly screw up my life but..." you took a deep breath and shrugged, "you need the support, and I'm gonna be there for you. I mean, you'd do the same for me, I know you would."
Aaron smiled fondly at you before frowning in worry and reaching out to take your hand. "Are you sure? I didn't mean to put you in such an uncomfortable-"
"I'm sure. What time do we leave?"
✧ ✧ ✧
Alcatraz prison. San Fransisco, California.
There was a loud buzzing sound and a mechanical whirr as the steel gate opened up to allow entry into the prison. It was daunting, being in this place. The air was so thick with despair and heaviness that it made your skin crawl, and it was as if you could sense the presence of all of the horrific people who'd once been sentenced to life behind these bars, almost like they were now a part of the building itself.
Judging from the way he'd tensed up, you could tell that Aaron felt the effects, too. After tossing a fleeting look at you, he led the way into the expansive corridor, with you following close behind.
As soon as you stepped into view, your ears were filled with the repulsive sound of hundreds of scratchy, rough voices catcalling you. The prisoners rushed forward to the bars, trying to get as close to you as they could, while vile comments spewed from their mouths.
They couldn't reach out far enough to touch you, thankfully, but that fact didn't deter them from trying. You were most likely the only woman that they had seen in years – possibly decades – and their sexual desires had skyrocketed at the sight of you.
Aaron tightened his jaw and stepped in front of you in an attempt to shield you from their view but since the cells ran along the left and right sides of the corridor, it wasn't much help. Still, you appreciated the gesture and reached out to squeeze his hand to show him that you did.
In response, he intertwined his fingers with yours and gave a gentle squeeze back. The physicality of your and Aaron's actions simply spurred the inmates on, and their hollering only increased, both in volume and in vulgarity.
You blocked them out for the most part, not bothering to pay attention to what exactly they were yelling at you. But when they began making gestures was when you started losing patience.
One man in particular, a gruff-looking one with thinning hair, saw it fit to make a V with his fingers and stick his tongue in the middle – a motion that stopped you dead in your tracks.
Letting go of Aaron's hand, you took a slight step forward. Tilting your head to the right, you focused your gaze on his tongue and not a second later, it began freezing from the tip up, slowly, until it was completely covered in ice.
Then, with a sickly sweet, innocent smile, you snapped your fingers and the ice shattered, leaving the prisoner with a void where his tongue used to be. Aaron widened his eyes and let out a short, incredulous laugh, and you turned to smile at him before arching your brows and addressing the rest of the men.
"Anyone else?" you yelled out, holding out your hands. The silence in the air was cold. "No? Lovely."
Once again slipping your hand into Aaron's, you resumed walking, with you leading the way this time. The doctor couldn't help the smirk that formed on his lips as you did; confident (Y/N) was his favourite (Y/N).
You came to an armed door at the end of the corridor and quickly typed in the S.H.I.E.L.D access code to unlock it and allow you and Aaron entrance into the next block of cells – the more heavily guarded ones that housed high-profile criminals, such as Doctor Jacob Ross.
His cell was not too far away from where you were currently standing and as you started towards it, you felt your stomach twist as you began to regret coming here. A lot of what happened last year was due to this man's orchestrations, including a certain someone's death, and despite what you'd told yourself the day before, you didn't know if you could look at him without blowing your top and destroying the entire Alcatraz facility.
You fell a few steps behind Aaron, allowing him to be at the forefront yet again, and swallowed harshly as you looked at him. You were doing this for him. He'd helped you through every part of your trauma over the last couple of months, been there when you needed him and nursed you through countless panic attacks. The least you could do was support him while visiting his father.
Even if said father was a lying, psychopathic, evil son of a bitch whom you hated with every fibre of your being and wanted nothing more than to destroy.
Shit, that whole 'not blowing your top' thing was gonna be hard.
"Uh," you said softly, stopping a few steps away from the cell, "I think I'm just gonna... stay here."
Aaron, noticing the slight blue glow of your veins, nodded in understanding. "I think that's a good idea," he supported, "Won't be long, promise."
You gave a small smile and a nod and watched him walk off before letting your face fall and taking a couple deep breaths to calm yourself down. Sticking your hands in the pockets of your leather jacket, you closed your eyes and started to think happy thoughts, blocking out everything else.
Naturally, blocking everything out resulted in you not paying any attention to what was being said by both Aaron and his father. That is, until you heard your name.
"(Y/N), dear, are you going to simply stand in the shadows the entire time or are you going to come say hi?"
The sound of his voice made you sick, and you had to fight the urge to throw up as you opened your eyes and looked over at him. He was smiling at you – a knowing smile, a taunting smile.
Summoning your legs to move and not fail you by giving in, you cautiously stepped forward.
"(Y/N)," Aaron spoke, reaching out for you, "You don't have to-"
"No, boy, let her come," Jacob encouraged, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as he watched you come closer, "She has something to say to me."
Oh, yes, you did. You had so many things you wanted to say to him. But you weren't about to give him that satisfaction, so you remained silent.
Determined to get you to crack, he smiled evilly before opening his mouth again.
"I must say, it's very strange to see you without your bodyguard by your side. Where is he? Recovering from a bullet wound? On a secret mission in Peru? Oh," he chuckled, looking down at the ground and snapping his fingers before fixing his gaze on you and smirking, "that's right. It's neither of those, now is it? Ah, nevertheless – I heard he went out with quite a... bang."
There was a loud cracking sound as a shard of ice flew from your hand with such force that it pierced the Perspex of the cell, the pointy tip coming to a halt a mere inch away from Jacob's face; the Perspex had slowed down the shard's momentum and stopped it seconds before it could puncture the doctor's brain.
Your breathing was heavy and ragged, and you tore your gaze from the prisoner to look at his son, who was standing in shock, mouth agape.
"I'm sorry, Aaron," you breathed shakily, backtracking and shaking your head, "but I have to go."
_______________________________
Thank you for reading x
Note: Every time Aaron and (Y/N) have any kind of physical contact Brendon loses 5 years off of his lifespan and that's a scientific fact