Knives Out [40% Complete]

[Emile Fawkes]

Prompt List

• Bet
• Lead
• Fight
• Break-Up
• Underground
• Christmas
• Wedding
• Writing
• Hide
• Kingdom

[Emile Fawkes]

B E T

Emile stood, the blade of his knife pressed dangerously close to his jugular as he scratched absently at where his facial hair had decided to grow back in, despite it having been less than forty-eight hours since his last shave. His blue-grey eyes weren't focused on anything in particular, or so it seemed, and then with the snap of his wrist, the knife released from his hand and shot forward, as though on a spring loader.

"Jesus Christ!" Desmond yelled in spite of himself. The beer he had in his hand was set free almost instantly as the bottle crashed to the ground at his feet.

"You flinched!" Ketevan yelled. She threw a fifty dollar bill down onto the small card table where they'd all put their money, unbeknownst to Desmond, who had become the center of their latest bet. They were on layover in between two missions, and while waiting to receive instructions, they burned off time the only way they knew how:

Destruction.

"No sodding way I flinched!" he yelled back. "That crazy fuck threw a knife," he said, waving, "this close to my fucking jacobs. You think I'm not going to flinch even if I knew you were betting on me?"

Harvey reached between the duo and collected his winnings, then grinned and put his arm around Kes, wrapping her in a head lock. "It's okay, buddy, I got your back." He rubbed his knuckles through her perpetually messy hair (seriously, no, did she own a brush?) and released her when she began stomping around, trying to hit his instep with her heavily booted feet.

"Head's up," Sam said, tossing another beer at Desmond. To his credit, he caught it, then dropped down on the bar stool and turned to keep his eye on the room - particularly, Emile.

"You're a fucking sociopath that you derive pleasure from that. You know that, right?" he prompted Emile, pointing at him with an index finger from the hand that firmly held the neck of the beer.

Emile just smiled. "I'll bet you a hundred dollars that I can hit that fly that's buzzing around in here in the next two minutes."

Desmond stared at him, his lips in a straight line, and then he dug into his pocket. "Make it sixty seconds or less and I'll double my bet," he said, slapping down two hundred dollar bills on the table where Harv and Kes were horsing around.

"You're on, pretty boy," Emile said, the glint in his eye every bit as wicked as the one from the knife he had already queued in his hand.

[Emile Fawkes]

L E A D

[Emile Fawkes]

F I G H T

Kes hadn't even seen who threw the first punch, but she knew that she was right in the middle of it, whether she liked it or not. She grabbed John's arm roughly, turning it into an awkward position and shoving him back as hard as she could - and since she was a Siren, that was pretty fucking hard. With her other arm, she guided James not-so-gently by holding her palm over his face and directed him into and over the couch, where he intelligently stayed down.

John, however, was back up, shouting obscenities and grabbing the knife that Kes had knocked out of his hand.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone stopped what they were doing at once. Declan had just come into the room, alerted to the scuffle by the yelling and sound of glass breaking when James had thrown the first thing he could find at John after the man had just gone fucking postal and come at him. Declan was so mad that it was tangible, his hands shaking as he walked into the center of the room and gently put a hand on Kes' shoulder, giving her the sign to step aside. The young Siren did without question, her eyes never leaving John.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. He was met with total silence, and it only made him angrier. "You're like a bunch of fucking children! What happened that's so bad that you two went at eachother like wild animals?" At that point, Liam had come into the room, stopping with a skid of his shoes and trying to assess what he'd walked into. Declan never swore, so it was no surprise that he had his gun in his hand. He'd been under the impression they'd been infiltrated - imagine his surprise when he saw his two friends about to rip eachother apart.

"John, put the knife down," Liam urged. He watched as his friend just blinked a few times and opened his hand wide, letting the blade clatter to the floor in the otherwise silent room. It was like he hadn't even realized he was holding it. He moved forward cautiously, his hand out as he approached to try and keep his friend's focus on the idea that he was non-threatening. He'd never seen John this mad before, and it did freak him out just a little.

James was standing, despite how badly his face was bleeding, and tossed a hand out to point at John. "Ask him!" he snapped. "He bloody well started it! I was just sitting here, and -"

Declan cut him off. "I sincerely doubt you were 'just sitting' there, James. You're an instigator, and we all know it. It's no excuse," he said angrily, looking pointedly at John. "But I want to know what the problem is."

Liam was, meanwhile, looking at John's phone, which he'd found on the floor and meant to hand to the man before John just stepped back, running his hands through his hair in a shaky manner. "Uh, I think I'm going to, uh, take John outside so he can cool off for a minute." Declan motioned for them to go, and then pointed at Kes for her to go grab a first aid kit to treat James' nose. John looked much better, but only because he'd totally taken James by surprise.

"I just made a joke about his wife leaving him if he didn't get home on time," James was saying, his voice riddled with confusion, as Liam held John in what was mostly a Vulcan death grip as he lead him out of the room and towards the patio.

"Dude, what the fuck," Liam demanded. He had tried to give John his phone back, only for the man to angrily throw it out into the darkness. They both heard the sound of it hitting the water, since the house was placed just at the edge of a lake, buried far enough into the forest that they wouldn't easily be stumbled upon by lost motorists or prying eyes otherwise. "Come on, man, talk to me. It's me. Liam. Your best friend. What's the problem? What's got you so spun up? You like James. He has your back, and you have his," he reminded him firmly.

"She's leavin' me, Liam," John said, voice defeated. "Evie's leavin'. She lost the baby. Called me an hour ago. She can't do it anymore. She said I'm gone too much. I was supposed to be home yesterday, for the doctor's appointment, and I couldn't because we had to do a run." He swallowed, obviously incredibly distressed. When he looked back at Liam, his eyes were watery. "She lost the baby," he repeated.

"Oh shit," was all Liam could say. He dropped down on a chair just about the time his friend did, and just tried to process what he'd been told. When he looked up, John had sat down, too, and had his head in his hands, scrubbing at his face and trying to swallow his emotions down. "I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry."

He looked up as he heard a noise, and saw Declan at the door. He shook his head ever so slightly to the man, indicating that now wasn't a good time. The older man nodded, then turned on a heel and went back into the house. He'd heard enough to understand the situation, and he hated that it was happening, especially to one of his own. He'd seen too many of his friends lose their families and more in this line of work, and he intook a sharp breath as he went to check on Kes and James. Maybe it was time to wrap up their group for good.

[Emile Fawkes]

B R E A K - U P

[Emile Fawkes]

U N D E R G R O U N D

[Emile Fawkes]

C H R I S T M A S

  He was so fucking tired; he could barely keep his eyes open on the way home. As soon as he got to the house, though, he went to unlock the door and spun the knob around before he'd even put the key in. That jolted him right awake, though it was with fear instead of excitement. He crept through the foyer, not even bothering to set his bag down, and reached into the drawer of the small table at the edge of the entry, pulling a knife out of it and gripping it tightly in his hand. He heard soft jazz music coming from the kitchen, and rounded the corner, prepared to throw the knife at whoever had decided to choose his house to break into. He didn't see his wife's car in the driveway, so he was praying she wasn't home.

There was no intruder, though. The sight of his wife standing by the kitchen counter with her nightly glass of wine and a magazine in her hand as she read some column on new medical advances lifted his heart up more then he thought it could go. He tossed the knife over his shoulder before she noticed him, then allowed the hand that held his duffel bag to open, causing it to drop to the wooden floor with a loud thump.

"Evie," he greeted her, his voice more of a low whisper then he meant it to be. It felt like his chest was aching at the sight of her.

Evelyn, who had been expecting John's mother Gemma, hadn't even noticed that someone had come into the house as she tried to finish reading the article before she spent the rest of her evening wrapping up Christmas presents with Gemma. Her mother-in-law's husband had passed away the year before, and when John was deployed, it was easier to pass the time together. They got on very well, so it wasn't like it was a burden. Then Gemma had called and said she couldn't make it, and Eve had forgotten to lock the door.

But when she heard her husband's voice? She dropped the wineglass in her hand, the shock of it causing her to freeze entirely. The magazine went to the floor, too, both of them forgotten as she saw her husband's well-built frame fill the doorway to the kitchen. She didn't say anything at all, just made a noise somewhere between a shout and a cry, and ran to him, wrapping herself around him like a child.

John, as tired as he was, still didn't have any problem intercepting Evie's jump, and he hugged her so tightly that he was almost afraid he'd hurt her, if it wasn't for the fact that she was doing the exact same thing to him. He kissed each of her tears away, one by one. "Don't cry, sweetie, don't cry. I'm home, I'm home," he said softly to her, repeating it over and over again as she bawled into the crook of his neck, wetting his green t-shirt.

"I missed you so much!" she cried. "I didn't think you'd be back for another two weeks, or I'd have cleaned up a little!" she exclaimed. She finally climbed down from him, long enough to take care of the mess she'd made in the kitchen before the wine could stain the white tile floor. As she did so, John fixed himself a glass of water, watching his wife's backside as she struggled to pick up all the glass.

"Be careful, love," he warned her. Sure enough, she cut herself, and he found himself cleaning the rest of the mess as she ran upstairs to get a bandage. When she didn't come back down right away, he went up after her, figuring that she'd just misplaced them. As he pushed open the bedroom door, she emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a thin red chemise and a little scrap of a tan bandage wrapped around her finger.

"Evie? What's taking you so lo - oh," he said loudly.

"I bought it before you left the last time, so it's sat in my drawer for the last five months just begging to be torn off of me." She fluffed her hair and flashed him another beautiful smile, taking slow, seductive steps towards him. Once she was directly in front of him, she pressed herself against his body and rolled up onto her tiptoes. "Merry Christmas, John," she whispered into his ear.

"Merry Christmas, indeed," he murmured happily.

[Emile Fawkes]

W E D D I N G

Standing there in a tuxedo with the sun glinting through the trees, Emile could only think back to his own wedding in Spain. He shifted uncomfortably, the warmth of the summer evening causing him mild discomfort. He hadn't prepared for how hot it would be; even in spring, the United States were utterly schizophrenic. The morning had been cold, though not as much as where he'd just come from (four fucking feet of snow in his driveway, he could hear Evie's voice taunting him as she always used to when he'd have to scrape ice off of her car), though he hoped that the evening temperature didn't drop, for the sake of Harvey's young bride. Her dress was exquisite, and she looked like a princess from a fairytale, but he doubted she'd be very happy if she had to wear a winter jacket over the yards of white satin and chiffon.

"Emile!" Harvey called, waving him back to the church. The ceremony had ended and they were about to go into the back, where the half-acre or so of land had been decorated and set up with the necessary accommodations for the medium-sized reception. Emile turned and walked back over to his friend, holding his hand out to give the newlywed a firm shake.

"I'm really happy for you, Harv," he said, his smooth British accent making the words sound more elegant than they were. "She's lovely."

"Did you actually get a chance to talk with her?" the blue-eyed man asked, unable to hide his excitement. "She's been asking about my 'James Bond' friend. I had to tell her we met on a job a few months back, so if she asks, just go with that." He hated lying to Heather, but the story was pretty believable, especially since as a Frost trainer, Emile did know plenty of the people who were in the US guilds, and consequently attending the wedding and reception.

"James Bond?" Emile echoed. "I don't think it'll be too hard. Shame I have to leave out all of the really embarrassing stuff, though. New identities and all that," he added. He smiled in spite of what he said, a disarming thing that took the edge off of the harsher reality.

"It's probably for the better," Harvey said flatly. He could only imagine what horrors Emile could cook up; a number of stories floated through his head, especially involving their post-mission drinking adventures. He'd never known that Desmond could drink that much, and when the man had posed as Harvey and gotten them all kicked out of a five star hotel (and as a result, gotten Harv's picture posted on a CALL POLICE ON SIGHT sign above the reception desk in the office), he'd reacted in the most appropriate manner he could think of by going through the man's phone and sending out a mass text to every woman the man had ever been with claiming that he had switched teams.

"Is this a private party, or can I join?" the melodic, unmistakable voice of Heather sang. She maneuvered around her new husband, wrapping an arm around him and giving his friend the once-over. "We're so glad you could make it, Emile," she said, her brilliant smile a mile wide.

It actually cut him a little deeply as he thanked her, if only because she reminded him of a shorter, American version of Evie. They would have gotten along, he thought sadly. She only stayed for a second before a petite Indian woman in a beautiful sari came to fetch her, informing her that the others were waiting for the speeches to start, and Heather turned and poked Harvey in the side.

"Five minutes, honey," she warned him. "You have all night to catch up with your friend." She smiled again and excused herself, then linked her arm with the woman, who Emile knew to be Sitara after a brief introduction, and vanished back through the church to the far side, where the doors opened up to the rear yard.

"Harv, she's amazing," Emile praised. "Evie would have loved to have been here. Any excuse to dress up," he mused.

"Tell me about it. I still can't believe she picked me," he said, a laugh following his words. He paused, seeing the expression on Emile's face that came with any mention of his ex-wife's name, and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You good, man?" he asked.

Emile nodded. "Yeah." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Harv, please take a few notes from my book on marriages. Keep her close. Keep her safe. Keep yourself safe, now that we can't all be there to save your ass," he added, laughing wryly. "But seriously, just... don't do what I did. Don't let other things be more important."

"You saved a lot of lives, John," Harvey said, using Emile's real name. "We all did."

He nodded again. "But it doesn't change the fact that I prioritized things out of order. I lost what was most important to me, in the world, and not a day goes by that I don't regret it."

Harv was taken aback by the man's willingness to admit fault in the events that had lead up to his divorce, but since he was the only person who even knew the full story, or that Emile had chosen to call the night Evie had left, he knew that the man was deadly serious and not to take his words lightly. "I'll make sure that she's always first, man. You don't have to worry about that."

Emile made a noise of understanding, then blinked rapidly and straightened himself out. "Come on, friend. It's time to go talk in front of all of your friends, which I know you're just dying to do. You still hate public speaking? I thought so. Don't worry, I won't heckle you. I'll leave that up to those two rowdy blokes I saw trying to do keg stands before the wedding even began."

"Trick and Fury? Oh god, don't even remind me. I'm sure I'll have enough babysitting to do tonight without Heather trying to drink everything in sight," he moaned. "No, seriously, she's like a closet lush. Okay, maybe not, but still. Let me explain to you about how she..."

And two men ascended the steps of the church and disappeared through the double doors.

[Emile Fawkes]

W R I T I N G

[Emile Fawkes]

H I D E

[Emile Fawkes]

K I N G D O M