As soon as the heavy wooden door to our apartment shut, I was already spinning on the ball of my foot, slamming my solid fist into Ashton's defined jaw as he closed the door, not realizing what was happening until it had already occurred. My side was aching in screaming pain as the hook met Ashton's face but I didn't care. I just wanted to punch him. He did have an extremely punchable face.
Not that that was important.
Ashton pursed his plump lips, not even responding to the pop of his jaw when he rolled his neck in response. "I suppose I deserve that," he muttered, speaking in English for the first time since yesterday. For knowing six languages, Ashton was flawless with his English despite his faint French dialect. He had lived in Paris for four years but it was still unclear how much of that time he had been abroad. Regardless, he picked up the accent and abandoned his former one; whether that was Palestinian, Israeli, or both.
"No fucking shit," I grumbled while running my hand through my chestnut hair, turning and walking towards our bedroom. "Hit me all you want, but just know I'll hit you back just as hard at home. You're lucky your face needs to be intact to look normal, otherwise, I would have mauled you by now."
"I wouldn't expect any less," he quipped from the doorway as I kicked my heels off, setting them in the closet before padding my feet across the lush white carpet and grabbing a T-shirt from one of the dark mahogany drawers. I placed the folded cotton on the white comforter, reaching back to unzip my dress, the corner of my lip twitched on an almost microscopic level at the jolt of pain I wasn't expecting.
"Let me do it," Ashton said in the tone that wasn't exactly diplomatic. I don't think he ever was. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't pissed at Ashton because this was part of the job, but I wasn't happy. I don't think anyone is after getting strangled and their ribs broken.
Regardless, I dropped my hands and let Ashton unzip the black dress, his warm knuckles brushing my spine as he did so. The feeling of his skin brushing mine continued to trail down my torso before stopping at the end of the gold zipper, just above my ass. He took a step back, the colder air of the apartment pricking my skin as I shrugged the material off, bending down to slide the tight dress over my hips. I could feel Ashton's intense ocean eyes on my body but he didn't dare make a perverted joke like usual.
The heat stayed with me, the type of fiery glance that the person giving it had to want you to feel. And I felt it all right, right on my broad hips and my voluptuous behind. I rolled my eyes to myself just as I felt his gaze shift to my abdomen when I folded the dress and plopped it on the bed, picking up the white shirt and brushing past Ashton to go to the bathroom.
"Tomorrow we should probably have lunch together," I muttered, flipping the light on and examining the two-deep purple fingerprints on either side of my neck where Ashton's grip had been the strongest.
"Twelve?" He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest while leaning against the wall of the bathroom.
"Sure," I responded simply. We had to make sure our cover was consistent at work too. Married couples would stick together, especially when one is new to the country. It only makes sense for our first day of work.
"I'm sorry, Athena. I didn't mean to hit you that hard." Was I diluted for thinking he sounded sincere? I ran my tongue over my teeth while my pupils flickered to Ashton in the mirror but he was already looking directly at me. "To be fair, I didn't try to break your ribs either."
"I know," I told him. "It's been broken before. It's not exactly your fault. It's just a cover." But I'm sure he relished in every moment of it.
"Doesn't change the fact that I still did it. Since we're working together and all, I should probably apologize for waterboarding you too."
"Sorry I skinned your forearm and burned your hand," I apologized semi sincerely. I didn't trust Ashton but for the man I knew, he had a decent personality. Then again we were both mass murderers so I don't think that said much. "But I accept your apology but excuse me if I'm still in a pissy mood after having my ribs broken again."
"How did you break them the first time?" Ashton asked me in a softer tone. I pressed gently on the tender spot to see if they were actually broken but just winced at the pain. Most types of discomfort I could deal with but it was the memories triggered by my touch that made my face shrivel up in torment. "Let me do it," Ashton suggested for the second time tonight.
I didn't fight him because he would only insist. Ashton was the stubborn type and that was a fact. I turned around and leaned back slightly against the counter as Ashton stood in front of me. He crouched down on the balls of his feet and slowly pressed his thumb along my rib, the third one from the bottom on the right. I bit down on my tongue to focus on something else other than the gritty feeling in my torso. "It's not broken, just bruised. I can feel the scar tissue, thought," Ashton pointed out thoughtfully while prodding the blue and yellow bruise slightly bigger than a softball. He had to check because if it was broken I was in danger of puncturing a lung. Based on our experience, both of us could tell if a bone was broken based on the grittiness and the type of bruise. It took skill but there aren't exactly MRI or X-ray machines in the middle of the desert. "You should be okay in two or three weeks," he told me confidently while standing up fully, towering over my short five foot four frame. I had barely been allowed in the infantry division of the military. I made it by two inches. I hated being short; it always put me at a disadvantage in the field and a fight. Ashton was like a giant compared to me. Part of me was shocked he was in an elite military force while standing at six foot two. Then again, he had some incredible talents.
"How'd you break them the first time, again?" He asked me, not forgetting how I had ignored his question.
I simply shrugged. "Why is every one that calls you by your real first name dead? We all have secrets, Naifeh." Ashton's eyes hardened like the sternness of his sharp jaw, ready to defend himself from not only the mortal world but whatever was running through his mind. I could see the dark emotion swirling behind his eyes. It was ironic we could bring down a plane of eight hundred people without blinking yet the smallest thing could send us into a spiral. Torture me? Sure. Take my pride? Sure. Ruin my life? Fine. But touch the one button that makes me flip and it's over.
Sensitive creatures, we were.
I watched with guarded eyes as he raised his hands in defeat mockingly, signalling the end of that conversation. "Thanks for checking me out, even if you did cause it," I changed the subject, brushing past Ashton again to reach one of the white drawers in the bathroom. I realized Ashton had used my real first name and I had used his last and that was risky. I wasn't too worried, though. We swept the apartment for bugs almost every day. Besides, we were trying to keep the fact that we were spies under wraps. To most people, our identity wouldn't matter if they were already listening in on us. We just didn't want to paint targets on our backs if others in the business knew we were in the country.
I uncapped an empty aspirin pill bottle, slipping out the dog tags with my information printed in rows. Zelin, Athena E. 254-15-794, A Pos, No Preference. I slipped the cool metal necklace over my head, letting it rest between my cleavage as it hung down on my hot skin. "You know every public record says you're dead," Ashton brought up. It doesn't surprise me he looked me up. Every good agent does their research. "But on security clearance required government servers your DoD ID number still comes up as alive." That eight-digit number almost got me killed.
"Doesn't surprise me. Though they officially 'killed' me on the public record at sixteen in Seal training. Then they actually killed me in Syria, and then Saudi Arabia, and now I'm still on the run somehow. They probably think I'm immortal at this point," I mused with a cheerful glint in my eyes. Fuck the government. They screwed me over more times than I could count.
"Then why do you wear the dog tags?"
"Because I'm a vindictive bitch and when I die, I want to cause problems." My tone was harder than it had been all day, portraying how deeply I truly resented my former government. I hoped they burned.
"Whether it's the fucking Kremlin using my dog tags, MI6 with my tattoos, or the CIA with the code on the titanium pin in my right arm; whoever kills me is going to set all hell loose. An American spy, a terrorist, a traitor; it all depends on where I get killed. But I want everything to crumble around me. Let the government deal with the repercussions of abandoning loyal people. They wanted me dead so when I die, I'll let them deal with my body and the problems it causes. They fucking deserve it."
"After all the conflicts they've made worse, the problems they inserted themselves into, the innocent people they kill, and the loyal soldiers they give ultimatums of death than kill anyway; they deserve every ounce of inconvenience I give. So fuck them. When I die, I'm taking them down with me."
There was a familiar glint in Ashton's eyes where he knew it or not. Ashton knew exactly what I was talking about even if it wasn't the same situation. He left his country to fight for the side of his oppressor for the sake of money and keeping his family safe. I fought for a country that betrayed me and ruined my life more times than I could count. The spark in his sapphire pupils was the same one that started the fire. The fire that destroyed anything in its path purely for the sake of destruction and finding more fuel; money. Destroy the world's governments before they destroy you.
Anarchists.
We are anarchists in their purest form and I couldn't be more elated about finding someone else to laugh with me as the world smoldered.