Night's Omen

Skye tapped the business card of her contact against the coffee table of the posh hotel suite left to her. She was dressed in normal business attire - heels, slacks, blazer, blouse, hair wound back into a professional bun - but it did little to hide the girlish features she had. She was still petite, still vulnerable. That was why she had her carry weapon under her jacket, and of course, the ability to transform at will into a hyena at her disposal.

She'd never met with this contact before - he'd selected her from Crimson, but had been very specific that this was a side venture. She was fine with that, as Guild members often did things on the side for extra money, but the things that this man had told her about her mark were startling. She honestly didn't mind this venture as she went through the paperwork again and again, looking at photos and whatnot, evidence left behind.

There was a tap at the door, and she answered it, though only a note was provided by the bellboy. She flipped it open and read it. It stated simply the time and location of her hit. She closed the door and prepared herself.. This was going to be clean, easy, and efficient. Then she had to go home and be a wife again.

It wasn't at all odd for Nick and Skye to both be out on assignment, considering the fact that they tried to arrange it that way so they'd have more time at home together.  He didn't think anything of it that day, and obviously, neither did Skye.  Why should they?

He was on the way to his own job, a man who'd been snooping around in the sort of business he wasn't wanted in, and pilfering a share that wasn't his.  It wasn't a smart move, and Nick was supposed to 'remind' him of that.  Without killing him, surprisingly.  That meant he had to be careful, considering how fragile humans were, and not cause so much damage that the guy couldn't recover.  If he hadn't been offered such a high amount of money for it, he wouldn't have even taken a job that any low-level goon could have managed, but this guy wanted HIM to do it.  It was suspicious, so he was watching his back, but he hadn't noticed anything strange just yet.  He knew it'd take a hell of an ambush to get him, so he wasn't so worried about that.

Maybe it really WAS just a job. 

Skye was delighted to find that this was in full range from her hotel balcony. She sat down on the fixture, concealed by the thick stone poles and slab that decorated the ledge, and set up her rifle. It was close enough that she didn't even have to break out the massive gun, and was content with the smaller weapon and more compact tripod. She was in possession of a .50 if she needed it, but that wouldn't be necessary unless she was sniping a herd of elephants.

"Okay, Mr. X, where are you?" she said to herself, sighting out the room. She saw two men talking, one of which wore a red carnation in the lapel of his suit. Bingo. She loved how clearly her target was marked. This would be easier than she'd hoped.

Her finger squeezed the trigger, and at the last second, the man turned around, his face visible through her scope.

Nick.

Skye gasped and jerked at the last possible second, sending the bullet that had been made for his head go south, for his arm.

"SHIT!" she screamed. "SHIT, FUCK, SHIT!" She jumped up and ran inside, grabbing her bag and vacating the hotel room, rifle in hand. In the elevator, she punched the emergency button and quickly disassembled it, cramming it into her half-open case and shoving it into the bag. She got out on the closest floor possible and ran down the stairs as police ran up the other side to find out what the emergency was.

She rushed into the parking garage and ran for her truck. She needed to beat Nick home. NOW.

He absolutely hated this smalltalk with the target, like he really cared what the man's political beliefs were.  So long as he pretended he cared, he could get the man to a more...private location where he could make his employer's point known.  In the meantime, he was dressed far better than he liked, even to the point of wearing a red carnation in the lapel of his suit.  Dumbest thing ever, in his opinion, but he could laugh and play pretend.

A wolf in sheep's clothing was an understatement.

He had NO IDEA when he turned that he was quite literally saving his life by turning to glance in the direction of an especially loud young blonde.  He hadn't even thought about it, but tossed a glance her way to see what she was going on about, and that was all his would-be assassin needed to see.  He was completely unaware of just how much danger he was in until she squeezed that shot off.

There was no warning, no blast or scream, no attacker springing from the shadows.  Just a sudden, familiar pressure in his arm, the spurt of blood from the impact, and then pain.  He hissed, instantly grabbing his arm where it was currently bleeding as he ducked behind something.  His own target was completely forgotten for the moment in favor of surviving, and he drew his own gun as he peeked around the corner of his cover.  He didn't see anyone, though he knew the direction the shot had come from due to where he'd been hit.  That there was no sign of a shooter meant that it had been a sniping job, and that brought two lovely little ladies to mind.

There was no way it was Skye or Sitara.  Was there?  Not Skye, never her, but Sitara?

Fuck the assignment, he'd pick up on it another time.  He was getting the hell out of dodge before the police showed up.  He had to talk to Skye and get this bullet out of his arm, since talking to the police and paramedics would be a bad thing.  A very bad thing.  Thus, he practically ran to his own car and pealed out of there.  People were staring, but he didn't really care at that point.  What he DID care about was the fact that Skye's truck was still warm when he walked past it in the driveway and let his knuckles brush it.  She'd gotten home mere moments before he had.  Coincidence?  He'd find out in a moment.

He was cautious coming into the house, pushing the front door open carefully just in case he'd totally screwed up in his assessment and she was the one who'd shot him.  He was still bleeding, but it was going to slow down and start healing around the bullet soon, and that was a bad thing.  He'd have to deal with it later.  Getting shot in the head right then would be worse.

"Skye?  Baby, I'm home.  Where are you?" he called out.

Skye had gotten home before Nick had, though she didn't have time to change. She was sitting in the staircase, gun to her forehead - against her brow, not literally TO her forehead - when he came through the door. The house was dark, and how the shadows fell, she was still concealed by it as Nick came inside. She could feel rage bubbling up inside her - not that he'd done those things so much as the lack of communication about them. Did he not find it worth his time to tell her? He knew absolutely everything about her. He'd been her first EVERYTHING, and yet, somehow, he hadn't found her important enough to draw details of his past?

Skye swung the gun as he came close enough to her to catch it, and aimed to practically pistol whip him across the face. "Pack your things, and I am NOT fucking kidding," she growled. She was HEATED. Right now, she was hormoning out, one, and two, trying to deal with the fact that her husband had lied to her about VERY BIG THINGS, which meant that there might be OTHER BIG THINGS she didn't know.

She came off the stairs, all of her 5'6 unimposing frame suddenly that much more, facing Nick directly with that dangerous yellow glimmer in her eyes. She wanted to bite his fucking arm off, but she managed not to.

Nick wasn't a slow kind of guy, not mentally or physically, but he was very wary about approaching her.  His thoughts on whether or not he'd been shot by his own wife were becoming very clear, and his eyes narrowed somewhat.  He was so amazed at the sudden blow with the gun that he didn't even move, but took the blow directly in his jaw, which hurt.  She wasn't the only one who growled after that one, but his was shorter and louder.

"You shot me, and I'm getting thrown out?  What the hell is going on, Skye?" he demanded, meeting that yellow gaze of hers with gold.  Unfortunately, it didn't take much for him to slip that much.  He had NO idea what was going on, which was probably the worst part about it all, since there wasn't anything he could even say to appease her.  He didn't know what he'd done wrong, and couldn't see that he HAD done anything wrong.  All he saw was that his own wife had just tried to snipe him, and now she was freaking out and trying to throw him out of their home for no apparent reason.

Not good.

"Oh, I don't know, Nick, why don't you tell me?" she asked. She -threw- the file at him, sending papers and photos everywhere. "For once, why don't you TELL ME instead of keeping me in the goddamn dark like I'm some fucking China Doll?" It was coming out, now. "I told you everything about me, everything, and I can't believe that I thought that you were... UGH!" she screamed. She threw the gun into the living room, and heard it smash something inevitably expensive and irreplaceable as she pushed passed him. She couldn't even look at him right now.

"I don't know if this is because of my hormones or what, but I am so, SO fucking angry right now," she said, whipping around. She pointed at him. "For the first time in my life I feel like I don't know who the fuck you are, Nick. How the FUCK could you let me find this out like that? Huh? Can you even IMAGINE what that was like? You'd better be GLAD I moved at the last second, Nick, because I DON'T miss."

Skye was dropping the 'f' bomb an awful lot for a woman who both never swore and never raised her voice. She was hitting some world record volumes, come to think of it, enough that neighbors might actually hear some of her more shrill parts.

"Get your shit and get the fuck out," she said, turning and moving for a room that he wasn't in. He was clouding her head. She had too many emotions going on right now, too much shit building up. She needed to get away from him.

The very INSTANT he saw that file, those pictures, he froze and his jaw dropped.  He could see parts of images he never wanted to see again, and he stared for a second while she ranted at him.  He'd have preferred that she shot him in the head than have her leave him, especially over this.  Really, there were multiple reasons that he hadn't told her about some of the worse things he'd done, and one of them was because it had never come up.  He didn't WANT to tell her because he was afraid she'd do exactly what she was doing right then.  He knew he had issues, and it was something he'd learned to live with, but he couldn't ever tell himself that Skye would be okay with that knowledge.  Maybe it was because he wasn't okay with it that he was so sure that she wouldn't be, but having her reject him was right up there with his fear of her being killed or otherwise dying.  He hadn't wanted to tell her because he hadn't wanted her to hate him, but he'd screwed that up royally, obviously.  He also didn't want her to know because really, he didn't think it was something she'd ever want to hear.  Who wanted to hear about blood and gore, especially when Skye's life had been difficult enough already?  It wasn't a pissing contest, and he wasn't planning to explain to her what had happened to him.  All he'd said was that he'd been injured during a mission and that he was discharged from the military as a result.  That obviously wasn't all, but it was the basic gist.  He'd screwed up.

He actually flinched when she threw the gun and smashed something out of sight, and that should have been a sign that he was actually freaked out by all of this, because Nick did NOT flinch, just as Skye didn't miss.  He wasn't going to argue with her, either.  He knew it was his fault. 

"Skye, I'm sorry.  Really, I am.  I'm so sorry I didn't tell you.  I didn't think you'd want to know, and I didn't want you to hate me because of it all," he told her honestly, looking about as genuinely apologetic and...upset as he'd been in a long time.  He didn't get upset often, just angry sometimes.  Skye could manage miracles, it seemed.  She already had a guy who TOWERED over her completely apologizing and praying she'd forgive him, which was an impressive power in and of itself.

She froze, back turned to him, as he tried to explain himself. She wanted to believe him so much that it hurt her, and she actually felt winded for a minute. No, that wasn't just her. That was miniature-her in there. Seemed like Skye stressing and all the yelling hadn't done anyone any good, and she wordlessly sat down on the couch, putting her head in her hands as she tried to breathe off the sudden dizziness she felt.

"I want to believe you, Nick," was all she could say. She was quiet for a long time, there in the dark, head to her hands as she tried to calm herself down. "I want to believe you, but this is a big, big thing." She looked up at him, that eyeshine in her eyes catching the light from the kitchen.

"What would you do, if you were me?" she asked. Now there was the fifty thousand dollar question.

That WAS the fifty thousand dollar question, but not because he wanted to be hypocritical about it.  He thought he could forgive her just about anything at all, though there were some things that would piss him off worse than others.  Basically, the only thing he could think of that would really get him angry enough that he would throw a fit would be if she cheated on him, and he trusted her never to do anything like that.  Even the fact that she'd shot him hadn't phased him enough to keep him angry.  "Skye, there are very few things I wouldn't forgive from you, but I don't blame you for being mad.  I'm not lying, though."

He hadn't ever lied.  He'd left information out, but she also hadn't asked for details when he left them out, so was it entirely his fault?  Perhaps.  It was a few big things he'd left out, but it wasn't like those were easy things to slip into conversation.  "I would have told you, honest, but there was never a good time to say anything about it all.  You can ask me anything you want, always, and I'll tell you.  I've never lied to you."

He wanted nothing more than to go put his arm around her, especially with the way she sat there with her head in her hands, looking like she was about to cry.  He was worried about her, worried about the stress he'd unwittingly put on her, and he wanted to make her feel better about it all.  He just stood there, waiting for her to give any indication that she wouldn't freak out worse if he got any closer.  He felt out of place in his own home, like a monster who'd been lured out from under the bed into a brightly lit bedroom.

She was quiet for a long time, and finally she looked up again, and spoke. "Fine, Nick. If you want to play the omission 'I never asked' game, than go ahead. I get your reasoning, but I think it's a bullshit one. I told you things without you ever having to ask me," she said, standing. She brushed passed him.

"You stay here, tonight. I'm going to stay somewhere else." She paused at the door, and turned her head slightly, looking back at him over her shoulder, but not quite. "Oh, and Nick? Next time, when our marriage becomes a "don't ask, don't tell" arrangement, find the time to send me a memo."

SLAM.

Skye walked briskly to her truck, her heart somewhere in the region of her stomach. She didn't even make it that far, stopping to lean on the side of the house to puke in her rose garden. All of her nerves were raving in her body, and she certainly wasn't in the mood to try and hold down her light dinner which so obviously wanted to rejoin the earth at such a rapid rate.

Really, the problem with this whole argument was that he knew it was his fault, and his attempts at explaining didn't help in the least.  It just made her more angry, and for once, he didn't know how to handle the situation.  Normally, he'd have gotten angry at someone who was acting like this, and let them go.  Most things work themselves out easily enough after everyone cools down, but this wasn't that sort of a situation.  This was his wife, his Skye, and it was his fault she was walking out the door.

At first, he didn't move, just stared after her.  It wasn't until his keen ears caught the sound of her retching that he shot after her, and even if it got him punched or bit, he still reached out to pull her hair away from her face, then rub her back while she threw up.  There wasn't much else he could do until she was finished puking, and he assumed she was going to continue bitching him out, so he took the opportunity to throw a few things out there while he could.

"I'm sorry, Skye.  I know it was my fault and I was being a coward, and I'm sorry.  I should have told you sooner.  You can have the bedroom if you want.  You don't have to leave."  He didn't want that bed if she wasn't in it, anyway.  It had been years since he'd really slept alone, besides the occasional night that he dozed waiting for her to get home from a job, but that wasn't the same.  That was waiting for her, not knowing she was somewhere else because she was mad at him.  She could have the bed.  Without her in it, he didn't want it.

Skye wiped her mouth inelegantly with the back of her hand, and stared up at him, watery red eyes still burning from the agony that was vomiting. "I'm supposed to be mad at you. Why do you always make that face when I'm supposed to be mad at you?" she whined. She was obviously tired, tired enough that she might be willing to let the fight go. Puking had actually reminded Skye that she had bigger things to worry about now than who could slam the door the hardest, and she kicked herself. Most men would have taken her leave as a good opportunity. Nick was unyieldingly loyal, no matter how pissed off she was or what she managed to say.

"I'll stay, and you'll stay, okay?" she said with a sigh. "It's hard to hate you when you're so damn... you." She brushed some of her hair out of her face and looked up at her husband, letting out a low sigh again. Well, that was the most she'd yelled in a few years.

Interesting enough was that he didn't know what face it was that he made when she was mad at him, but her pointing it out made him assume that it was the same thing.  Based on his current situation, he was guessing that look was a cross between panicked and very, very sorry.  He didn't ever want her to leave.

God, he'd never been so relieved in his life than when she said they'd both stay, and that it was hard to hate him.  He knew that didn't mean he was in the clear, but it was a start, and it meant that he had a chance to fix things.  He'd be taking that chance.  "Thank you."

He wanted to pick her up, and did so, hoping she wasn't still mad enough at him to struggle, but he could see that she was tired, and he wasn't making her strain anymore.  He could pretend that his arm didn't still feel like it was on fire, and like he wasn't going to have to go cut the wound back open to get that bullet out.  Really, he knew that he was lucky she hadn't killed him.  He knew she didn't miss. 

He carried her through the house, faltering near the bathroom.  If it was him, he'd want to brush his teeth, but he wasn't going to insist.  Puke-breath was the least of his concerns, but this was where he set her down.  "I really don't want you to hate me, so we need to fix this.  Would you tell me what you were told, so I can tell you what's true and what isn't?"

He wasn't stupid.  He knew how things got twisted up sometimes, but he also knew that he was no saint in this.  He'd done a lot of things, and there were a few things just about himself in general that he hadn't told her.  Things he really didn't want to admit to himself, nevermind his wife.  Damn.

Nick knew Skye well enough, evidently. As soon as her feet touched the ground she went into the bathroom for her toothbrush, and started scrubbing away. She was happy she'd picked up that weird lemon ice flavoured toothpaste. She'd been seeing it at the store for a while, now, and she'd gotten the lemon for herself and the cinnamon for Nick. Skye hated cinnamon, but she liked it when Nick tasted like it. Inexplicable.

As she rubbed her face with the towel, wiping the water she'd splashed on it to cool herself off, she shrugged a little. "I probably have the file in my truck if you want to see it," she offered. "You can go get it if you want. It's sitting on the passenger seat. Actually, know, it's spread out. I threw it when I got in, heh."

She looked at him and smiled a little. "I guess it's a good thing I missed, huh?" She was trying to make light of the situation, but she felt like she was failing.