[fic] the eagle - never meant you harm (1/2)
Title: never meant you harm
Fandom The Eagle
Rating: R
Word Count: 11,437
Characters/Pairing: Marcus/Esca
Summary: Marcus thought he knew who Esca was. A fusion of The Eagle and Jumper with elements from GI Joe.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Author's Note: This fic was written for a prompt at the_eagle_kink found here which requested a fic that was based off of this amazing fanvid by bachaboska whom I absolutely adore. ♥ I kind of jumped at the chance to write a fic based on her fanvid because the premise was awesome and the vid was so seamlessly put together and invoked all sort of plot bunnies. So now we're even on the whole inspiring each other to complete fanworks deal. ;D And of course, massive props to the OP who asked for it because otherwise I might not have gotten the kick to write this. And thank you to all of the lovely commenters who left feedback throughout the duration of writing; I truly appreciate each and every comment! :)
“What’s that?” Nick demands, jerking the postcard out of his hand, “Aw shit man, another postcard? This girl, man, I swear she has a thing for you. I don’t care what you say.”
Marcus grins, “It’s okay to be jealous. Feeling a little insecure?”
“Aw fuck you man,” Nick says, pushing at the side of Marcus’s head and dropping the postcard back into his lap, “I’ve got more girls throwing themselves at me than Bieber at a concert. I don’t need any help in that department.”
Marcus rubs his thumb against the edge of the postcard, listening to Nick do up his straps with sharp clicks. Nick slams the locker door shut and looks over at Marcus, “You know, I’ve always kind of wondered what the hell kind of name Esca was anyway. Short for something?” He grins, “Are you tappin’ some ethnic booty and never thought about mentioning it to your dear friend Nick?”
“Yo man, I told you-I’m not tapping that.”
“Why the fuck not?” Nick asks, hauling his rifle on his shoulder. When Marcus doesn’t answer, Nick reaches over and attempts to ruffle Marcus’s hair as Marcus swats his hand away. He grins, “Yeah bro, just think about that. Get your ass up Captain, we got a debrief in five.”
“Insubordination, Spence!” Marcus calls at Nick’s retreating back. Nick raises his hand in acknowledgement and disappears around the corner.
Marcus looks back at the postcard before exhaling and closing his eyes. Yeah, not tapping that, no matter how much he wanted to. Esca was probably half a world away and had likely forgotten all of the stolen moments, breathless laughter against sunwarmed skin-all of the stupid adolescent discovery that Marcus can’t help but associate with the four-by-six piece of cardstock that shows up in his mailbox every few months.
“Jesus Esca,” Marcus mutters, “You know just when to time things, don’t you?”
________
“Gentlemen,” Commander Stevens says, “I’m sure I do not need to impress on you the importance of this mission. This piece of equipment right here contains tens of millions of dollars worth of technology. It is absolutely imperative that the Eagle gets to Annapolis. You will ensure that this delivery is made. Have I made myself crystal clear?”
“Yes sir!” the men call out.
Stevens surveys them for a moment longer before dismissing them and handing Marcus the tablet, “Sign here Captain.”
Marcus scribbles his name across the line. Stevens is still looking at him when he’s done. “I hold you fully responsible for what happens to this package, captain.”
“Yes sir.”
When Stevens leaves, Nick whistles softly, “It’s like we’re delivering the atomic bomb or something.” He walks around the package, inspecting it from all angles, “Christ, you don’t think it contains an atomic bomb, do you?”
“No Spence, I don’t think they’re stupid enough to trust you with an atomic bomb,” Marcus says bending to pick it up. It’s surprisingly light-but Marcus doesn’t let that faze him. It could just as easily be samples of anthrax or something equally as dangerous.
“Let’s get going.”
________
It’s getting dark and Marcus feels a slight sense of apprehension as night draws closer. He keeps one eye out the window, half listening to the low chatter of his men over the headset as Nick taps out some song in his head on the steering wheel. The taillights of the humvee in front dips up and down as they bump along the mostly-gravel road. Nick glances down at the box wedged between their seats every once in a while, just to check that it hasn’t exploded.
“Alright,” Nick says finally, “Alright buddy, this silence is killing me. What I gotta do to make you talk to me?”
“You nervous?” Marcus asks.
“No man, but you’re making me nervous with all of this broody silence shit. C’mon man, you know something about the box that I don’t?”
“I don’t know anything more than you.”
“What the hell kind of name is Eagle anyway?” Nick asks, “Couldn’t they have just been upfront with it and called it some shit like probably going to explode if you go over a pothole, model three-oh-five, or hell, it’s okay to jostle me, version six.”
“Don’t go over any potholes,” Marcus says.
“You are the worst,” Nick informs him.
Marcus smiles and looks out the window. The sun has set
“Okay,” Nick says after a while, “Okay so. Captain. It occurs to me that even though you know my life story, down to the nasty details-”
“Please don’t remind me, Spence. I don’t particularly feel like recounting your prom night.”
“-down to the nasty details,” Nick repeats, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a heart to heart about your childhood, Aquila. Definitely not a fair trade. So let’s get on with it. Any repressed memories? Traumatic incidences?”
“You’re really grasping for conversation material here.”
“Answer the goddamn question. I bet you were a jock in high school, taking on all my fellow nerds-”
“With your Super Mario obsession.”
“Oh my god, Aquila, just tell me about your goddamn life.”
“What?” Marcus asks, “There’s not much to tell. Four generations of military officers and my dad was the first businessman. I never saw him around. Tutors and prep school-now I’m here.”
“Aw hell,” Nick says, “You never had a real prom?”
Marcus looks at him. “You get fixated on the weirdest shit.”
“I mean, prep schools-they can’t get social events right worth shit. Proms take place in skeevy hotel ballrooms. At least like, five percent of the girls have to be pregnant. Where the hell did your prom take place?”
“I didn’t go to my prom.”
“That,” Nick says, “Is really really sad. Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’re still a weeping virgin.”
“No,” Marcus says, trying not to think about Esca, “Did I redeem myself?”
“Depends,” Nick says, “Was she hot?”
Fucking hell. First the postcard and now this. He swallows and tries to focus on the taillights in front of them but an image of Esca forms unbidden in his mind’s eye. He sees the brightness of Esca’s smile, the span of his own broad hand over Esca’s heart and thinking foolishly that this was some form of forever. He remembers pressing his lips to the pulse in Esca’s neck, fingers curled against skin and thinking that he knew what love was.
Christ, this wasn’t the time.
“Sure,” Marcus says, and he tries to get his head in the game, “Watch the road, I think we’re coming up on an exposed turn here in a second.”
Nick glances at him but then looks back at the road. Marcus clicks on the flashlight briefly to check their position and then-
Something doesn’t feel quite right. Marcus peers out the window as he feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle, an anxiety worming up his spine.
“Hey, I think we should stop,” Marcus suddenly says, and then clicks on his transmission, “Alpha two to alpha one, do not proceed.”
“What the hell,” Nick demands, “We’ll be sitting ducks here. Have you gone insane?”
“There’s something wrong,” Marcus says, checking to make sure the Eagle is secured-
-and then it all goes to hell.
He sees it a fraction of a second before he hears it: orange and black ballooning in a deafening explosion-the silhouette of the humvee in front of them burning away like an overexposed photograph. Nick turns their humvee sharply and Marcus is thrown against the side of the car, ears ringing with the explosion. He can barely hear the shouts over the radio that filter through the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He’s stunned for a minute, eyes tracking the way that the fire leaps from the charred remains of the humvee in front of them. Nick is screaming something at him and he needs to get up, get up and check on his men-
A second explosion comes from somewhere behind them-gravel and twisted metal scattering like rain.
In a moment, Marcus is yelling into his headpiece, “Alpha One, Three, Four-status report!”
“Call for backup,” Nick shouts, trying to scrape their humvee past the burning remains of Alpha One, through the sheet of flames. The space is too small and they’re going uphill.
“ETA ten minutes for air backup,” Marcus says and he grabs the Eagle in one hand and a handgun in the other as he opens the door, “Fuck, if they have grenades we can’t just sit here. We gotta get to the cover of the trees. We just have to hold out for ten minutes.” He slaps a hand to his headpiece, “Alpha One, Three, Four-status report!”
Nick climbs out and they move towards the line of trees, ducking low. Marcus hears only static through his transceiver-Christ, how the hell did it break? There’s a sputter of machine gun fire behind them and he swings around, crouching low-god, if he left someone behind-
“What the fuck,” Nick says.
People have appeared out of nowhere-some are peering into the humvees still sitting on the road and others are prying open the burning vehicles.
“Guard this,” Marcus says, dropping the Eagle next to Nick, “And cover me.” He holsters his handgun and shoulders his rifle-if his men are still up there, he can’t leave them behind. He sights along the barrel, aiming for one of the men who is half bent into a Humvee, and shoots. The shot cracks loud and the man slumps face forward into the vehicle.
And then-there is a man next to him-he only sees the three stripes of white facepaint on each cheek and the mohawk as he swings his rifle around on instinct, feels the man grab his arm-
-he’s looking at the ground from fifteen feet in the air and falling-how the fucking hell?-manages to twist himself midair so he can hit the ground on the broad of his shoulder and roll into the momentum. It hurts like hell and he’s dropped his gun a good ten feet away. But this isn’t the time; he has to grit his teeth and suck it up because his men might still be alive and there’s only Nick with the Eagle somewhere in the woods.
He pulls himself into a decent crouch, using the bushes for cover. The man who threw him-Jesus Christ, from where? How the hell? Fuck, no time for that-was nowhere to be found. The men have assembled into a loose circle and Marcus counts them-maybe ten in total-and he lifts his rifle, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and aims.
He shoots, hits a man in the back of the neck and backtracks-they’re going to be looking for him based on the trajectory. What he isn’t ready for is the same man with the white stripes and mohawk materializing not even five feet from him.
“I thought I killed you already,” he growls-and Marcus knows better than to let the guy touch him this time. He doesn’t know what’s going on but he trusts his gut instincts. He shoots-the man disappears and reappears closer to him-and Marcus breaks into a run, weaving between the trees and looking for any sort of cover because he isn’t sure he can outrun-
The man appears right next to him and grabs his arm-and suddenly jerks forward. T1he outline of his entire body is wavering and Marcus takes the opportunity to get away. There’s a white-haired man dressed in black standing a few yards away, holding on to what looks like a whip. Marcus levels his gun at the man who looks back at him.
“Where’s the Eagle?”
“Give me one reason not to shoot you right now.”
“Boy,” the man says, “I just saved your life.”
Marcus doesn’t take his gun off the man.
The teleporting man lunges at the man in black and three wires whip out of the surrounding trees, trapping him. Marcus keeps his eyes on the man in black but watches the three people emerge from the woods in his peripheral vision.
“I admire your courage, but we are all on the same side.”
“Prove it.”
“My name is Roland. You were supposed to deliver the Eagle to me.”
Marcus keeps his gun steady. Roland reaches into his pocket-Marcus’s finger twitches on the trigger-and produces a set of credentials. Marcus’s jaw tenses as he looks around at the other three who are staring back at him. They haven’t drawn weapons so he moves toward Roland to read the proffered document. It’s an exact copy of the contract Marcus signed. He lowers his gun.
“Now,” Roland says, “Where is the Eagle?”
________
Nick is ten feet away from where Marcus left him. He’s face down on the ground and unconscious. Marcus had a moment of panic when he first saw the other man but Nick’s pulse was still strong. There’s an indentation in the dirt where the steel box had once been, but the Eagle itself is gone.
“I suppose I should have learned by now,” Roland says, “If I want a job done right, I should do it myself.”
________
Nick slumps against the side of the helicopter, holding an ice pack to the back of his neck. Marcus’s shoulder is stiff and it still hurts like hell but he’ll live. He has his rifle between his legs, eyes on Roland’s back as he paces the tiny space with his phone to his ear. He’s trying to pick out the words that Roland is saying but it’s hard to hear over the whine of the engine.
“Christ,” Nick says. There’s a purple bruise spreading across his temple, “They seriously came out of nowhere, man. I can’t think a single good point of entry-woods on one side and a cliff drop on the other side. Two explosions, front and back. We would have seen them if they came from the woods. It’s like they just fucking dropped out of the sky.”
Marcus doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on Roland.
“And this guy, I swear to god, he just fucking-popped up,” Nick says, and then his voice drops, “God Marcus, look, I’m really sorry.”
Marcus turns to look at him then, “Hey, it’s not your fault.”
“I should have been more vigilant. I should have seen him coming.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Roland interrupts, taking a seat across from them, “They’re called Jumpers.”
“You know what they are,” Marcus says. He isn’t surprised-he wants more information.
“I spend my life hunting them down,” Roland says. He drops his phone into his pocket and looks between the two of them, “Try to stop them before they can do any more damage to the natural order of things.”
“Wait,” Nick says, “What are we talking about? Jumpers? Can we please fill a brother in?”
“You should count yourselves lucky that your convoy wasn’t completely destroyed,” Roland looks at Marcus, “And two of them dead. I’m impressed that you fended so well for yourself when you had no idea what you were up against. You might make a decent paladin.”
“I’ve never heard of you,” Marcus says.
“I wouldn’t have expected you to. We’re technically a civilian branch. Paramilitary, if you will.”
“Who attacked us?”
“A team of Jumpers we’ve been tracking for a long long time. I specifically requested the best team special ops had,” Roland appraises Marcus, “I guess I wasn’t clear enough.”
Marcus pushes the anger down and controls the tone of his voice, “I’ve never failed a mission before today, sir.” Nick is sitting up straighter, a frown on his face. “I promise you that we will do whatever it takes to retrieve the Eagle.”
“I don’t think you understand the full extent of the situation.”
“Then tell me.”
Roland just looks at them. The helicopter is starting its descent-Marcus can pick out the lights of Annapolis in the window over Roland’s shoulder.
“What are Jumpers?” Nick asks.
“Abominations,” Roland answers, “Things that can travel from place to place with a single thought. New York one moment, Cairo the next.”
“Teleportation?”
“They can be in all places at once. They see a place, in a photograph, for a moment, and they can go there.” Roland looks from Nick to Marcus. “Can you imagine what it would be like, if everyone in the world had that power? It would be chaos.” They’re swinging low over the skyline now, shapes of buildings blurring against the night sky. “We Paladins hunt them in order to restore the order of things as they are supposed to be. All of them, they become criminals in the end, and we bring them to justice.”
“What is the Eagle?” Marcus asks.
“It was a code,” Roland answers, “A certain frequency that when broadcast, stops Jumpers from being able to jump. Broadcast it globally and you can trap them where they are, turn them back into people like you and me.”
“If you get the code-that means you can stop hunting.”
Roland smiles and the helicopter touches down on a rooftop. He gets up and Marcus stands with him.
“Let us join you.”
“You want to be a paladin?”
“We can get the Eagle back.”
Roland looks at him, then at Nick. He turns, “I’ve sent a driver to take you to the nearest hospital. You should check in with your commander.”
Marcus wants to follow and protest but Nick grabs the back of his jacket.
“Let it go, man.”
________
“Marcus,” Nick says the moment that the nurse leaves them alone, “That guy? Roland or whatever his name was? Total and complete whackjob. Are you serious about the whole Paladin shit? Are you not seeing the parallelism here? Are you not creeped out by this?”
“Thank you, Spence, I too took medieval history in high school.”
“No,” Nick says, “Normal people do not take medieval history in high school. Normal people trust their gut instinct when it tells them not to sign up for shit that would be way over their heads, lead by some nutjob who considers humans as things.”
“I’ve never failed a mission before, and I’m not going to start now.”
“Seriously?”
“Look,” Marcus says, starting to pace, “If my dad was here, you know what the hell he’d tell me? Told you so. Told you fucking so.”
Nick is quieter when he speaks, “Marcus, come on. One mission isn’t gonna ruin your career.”
Marcus stops pacing and looks at Nick. The television in the corner is on almost-muted enthusiasm and the tinny laughter of the anchorwoman grates on Marcus’s nerves. He breathes, in and out, and then says, “Look, a lot of people are probably caught in the crossfire of this thing. Give the paladins the Eagle-no more persecution. We’d be saving a lot of people in the future.”
Nick picks at a bandage on his arm, “You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?”
“No. Nick-I mean-you really don’t have to come with me.”
“Man,” Nick says, “I stick with you through thick and thin and you think I’d just abandon a brother like that?” He punches Marcus in the shoulder, harder than necessary, “You fucking crazy bastard.”
________
When Marcus opens the door to his debriefing, he doesn’t expect to see Roland sitting in a chair across from the commander. He throws a salute and closes the door after him.
“Take a seat, Captain,” the commander says. Marcus sits, keeping his eyes on his superior officer.
“I take it you’ve already met Roland.”
“Yes sir.”
“Roland has asked for your assistance in the retrieval of the Eagle.”
Marcus spares a glance at Roland.
“I told him we could spare you for a few weeks.”
“Sir,” Marcus says, “What about Lieutenant Spence?”
“I didn’t ask for Lieutenant Spence,” Roland says, “I only asked for you, Marcus Aquila. I have no use for anybody else.”
________
“The first thing that you should know about Jumpers,” Roland says as he drops two manila folders in front of Marcus, “Is that they are dangerous and unpredictable. You don’t know what angle they’re going to attack from, they attack too quickly for the untrained eye to follow. We’ve only found one effective weapon against them.” He sets a metal rod on the table and Marcus picks it up.
“There’s a series of charged capacitors in there that delivers a couple thousand volts of electricity, disrupting their ability to jump. Low current, since sometimes we’d like to them alive a little longer.”
Marcus turns the weapon over in his hands.
“They’re sneaky, they’re tricky. You have to be sneakier and trickier. Incapacitate them, then go in for the kill. You only get one shot, get them when they’re least suspecting it. Basic stuff-I’m sure you’ve learned all of this in training.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can test that out later,” Roland says and flips open one of the manila folder, “For now, a little background information.” Clipped to the top of the stack of documents is a photograph of a man with the same facepaint and mohawk that Marcus saw before-only framing different facial features. “We’ve only ever had two real threats-the rest of the jumpers are disorganized. Many of them think that they’re the only one with their ability.”
Roland taps the photograph with a finger, “We call this group the Seal People, mostly because the bastard who started the entire group was a Navy SEAL himself. He went rogue after he discovered his powers. Most people do. It’s unfortunate that we taught him how to be such a capable leader.”
Marcus flips through the files. Other photographs are clipped with the data collected on each person.
“This isn’t the full team, but it’s a vast majority of them. They’re ruthless, they kill on sight. You’ve already had a little experience with them. Trust me when I say that wasn’t the extent of their powers.”
“Taking out an entire convoy with barely a dozen men,” Marcus says, “I’m afraid to ask what the extent of their powers is.”
“It may surprise you to learn that the other threat is a single man,” Roland says, opening the second folder, “One of the best reasons why you should never let your guard down around a jumper, and perhaps the best example of how dangerous jumpers are to the natural order of things.”
Esca’s photograph stares up at him. Marcus feels like he can’t breathe.
“He calls himself Griffin, though we’re certain that was never his real name. This is a very old picture of him-we haven’t been able to get a more recent photograph of him. He’s very good at finding camera blindspots.”
Esca looks older in this picture than Marcus remembers-the angles of his face are sharper and there are hollow circles under his eyes. He looks leaner and fiercer than Marcus remembers-but beneath the changes, Marcus can see traces of the boy he fell in love with.
“Griffin is unfortunately, very good at taking down Paladins,” Roland says, and then pauses. Marcus keeps staring at the photograph-he hasn’t heard Esca’s voice in months and hasn’t seen him in years. But this can’t be his Esca, because his Esca is a freelance photographer, a goddamn free spirit who couldn’t be caught and not for lack of trying. “Is there something the matter, Marcus?”
Marcus tears his eyes away from the photograph to look at Roland. “Just. Surprised that a single man could present such a threat.”
Roland smiles. “You’d need to meet the Griffin to understand why. And I wouldn’t wish that upon you.”
________
Roland doesn’t have any space for Marcus at headquarters so they give him enough money for a room at a motel on the outskirts of Annapolis, across the bay. Roland gives him the keys for an old blue Ford truck that takes three turns of the key in ignition to start up properly and tells him to be back at headquarters the next morning.
There’s a sign on the reception desk that says that patrons have to pay five dollars for wifi access and Marcus pretends not to see it as he hands over the money for his room and asks, “There wouldn’t be a place where I can check my email real quick, would there?”
The woman behind the desk has her eyes on the bars stitched onto his jacket when she says, “If you want, you can use the other computer back here real quick.” She meets his eyes and smiles, leaning forward slightly so he can catch more of her cleavage, “The other girl just stepped out for a quick smoke-you can have it as long as she’s out.”
Marcus knows that she’s only flirting because of the uniform but he doesn’t really have a choice. He nods, smiling back and she opens the employee entrance for him.
“What are you doing here in Annapolis?” she asks as he pulls up a new window and logs into his email. She laughs a little, “Or is that classified?”
“Classified,” Marcus figures it’s the best way to get her to stop talking. The last email Esca sent him was a month ago-he spent a paragraph telling Marcus about the vodka in Russia and signed off with the normal -E. Esca uses a different email address every time he sends Marcus a message and he’s never replied to any of the messages that Marcus has sent in reply.
He hadn’t thought it was strange before-maybe he was a little frustrated and thought that Esca was just terrified of commitments-like getting a reply to an email meant that he was obligated to reply, like never leaving a phone number meant he didn’t have to answer to Marcus. And reading these emails now: Hi Marcus, I wandered a little too close to Prypiat and took pictures that I’m hoping someone will buy, Hi Marcus, someday you should see the sun set over Mumbai, Hi Marcus, I was in Boston this week and thought about taking the train out but I didn’t think you’d be home-he can’t reconcile any of these with the Esca that stared at him through that photograph Roland showed him.
Marcus hates Esca-he hates him for taking everything from him and never giving anything in return-just these stupid messages that Marcus always replies to and never gets an answer, he hates that his heart always skips a beat when his phone rings from an unknown number like he’s fucking fifteen years old. And he hates that he lets Esca do this to him, that he answers the phone for a casual conversation like everything is fine and he’s not hurt that Esca left and won’t come back, that Esca’s pretends there was never anything between them, that Esca takes and he takes and he takes and Marcus just keeps giving until there’s nothing of him left.
He answers the phone because he wants to hear the sound of Esca’s voice, because he’s a masochist and he keeps fooling himself in thinking that making Esca laugh is going to make him stick around a little longer. It’s a fucked up relationship, and he doesn’t hold any of the strings and he keeps telling himself that he’s not invested in it, that he’s going to find a girl and settle down and stop thinking about Esca, stop replying to his stupid emails, stop stop stop.
But it’s too much of a coincidence, Roland’s Griffin and his Esca and it feels like all of the years are being pulled from beneath his feet, all of the lies and none of it makes sense or everything makes sense and he types Esca, Please call me. -M and hits send before he can reconsider.
“Hey, my coworker’s coming back,” the receptionist says. Marcus logs out.
“Thanks,” he says and shows himself out.
________
It’s been three days since he sent the email. No calls have been forwarded to him in that time. Marcus didn’t really expect Esca to call.
“You’re going to have to be much faster than that,” Roland says, leaning on the railing overlooking the warehouse where they set up a makeshift arena.
Marcus whips the taser back and it reels back into the rod, “In a real fight, I would be using an M16.”
“In a real fight, a jumper would disappear faster than the bullet can reach them.”
The laser target jumps from position to position on the floor-Marcus watches it for a moment before it gets into range and he lets the taser whip out, claws scrabbling along the concrete ground exactly where the tiny dot is.
“I’m here to tell you that your training ends today. We received a tip on where the seals are located.”
Marcus jerks the taser back.
“You’re a pretty quick learner,” Roland admits.
“Fast enough for the Griffin?”
Roland laughs.
________
It takes nearly four hours for them to get to Colorado Springs and then another two hours of climbing northwest through the mountains in an armored car before they even start to get close to where the seal people are located. Marcus looks out the window into the darkness with his rifle across his lap and wonders what Nick is doing, if he’s angry that Marcus abandoned him to do this on his own. He’s probably filling out paperwork-and Marcus feels another surge of determination: he won’t have let his men died for nothing-he’s going to retrieve the Eagle and they will have died protecting the innocent unborn.
He’s not looking forward to when the mission is over and he has to tell the families.
“Hey,” the man sitting next to him says and nudges the M16 on his lap, “You actually ever use that?”
Marcus looks at the other paladin. He’s smiling a little bit and eyeing the gun like it’s beneath him.
“I served four tours in the Middle East. This has worked for me pretty well, thanks.”
“I guess you never really understand how much more useful one of these is,” the other paladin holds up the taser, “Until you actually go head to head with a jumper.”
“And with some of them, even these are pretty fucking useless,” the paladin in front says. She looks over her shoulder at Marcus, “I don’t know how you managed to impress Roland, but until I’ve actually seen you in combat? It’s gonna take a lot more than Roland’s word to earn my respect.”
“Yeah, and if we run into the Griffin, good luck trying to get out of that one alive,” the man next to him says, “Maybe you can try shooting at him.”
“Stop being a dick, Antonio,” the woman says, turning around.
Antonio falls silent, but he’s still smiling.
“I don’t get it,” Marcus says, “Why the hell is everyone so terrified of this Griffin?”
“Terrified?” Antonio asks, “Terrified, no. Angry as hell, yes. Justifiably cautious, yes. You wouldn’t be asking that question if you knew how many paladins he’s killed.”
It’s not his Esca. He doesn’t believe it’s his Esca.
“You think you’ve got him pinned one minute, the next he’s pulling one over you.” Antonio lifts his chin, shows a thick scar across the underside of his jaw that’s barely visible in the dim light, “A present from him, years ago. I was fucking lucky he missed.”
“He’s fast. The last time anyone alive has seen his face definitely has to be, what? A year ago?”
“Shin,” Antonio agrees, “And that was only because he was winded after dropping a fucking train on her.”
Not his Esca.
“So don’t get cocky, kid,” Antonio tells him, “These jumpers are nasty.”
Marcus reaches to make sure that the taser he holstered at his side is still there-and there’s a prickling at the back of his neck again. He straightens, mutters a, “Shit!” and then-
The entire car is tumbling from fifteen feet in the air.
The impact against the ground winds him and there’s a sharp pain from where the seatbelt cuts into his skin through his clothes. His head hits the back of his seat in the whiplash and he blacks out.
When he comes to, there is shouting outside and the sound of gunfire. This is a situation he’s used to-he unbuckles himself-the woman is gone but Antonio is still buckled in next to him. He half considers shaking Antonio awake but climbs out of the car instead. Instinct tells him to trust his M16 over the stupid taser that these paladins love so much and he runs on automatic, ducking low and looking for cover as he assesses the situation.
The shouting gets louder as he follows the tracks that the woman left behind-notices burn marks scored into the trunks of the pine trees, singed pine needles every few hundred yards. Taser marks.
“You can’t run forever,” Roland is saying as Marcus slips into the clearing where the paladins are located. A moment later, he’s seizing in agony as one of the tasers strikes him in the chest, an involuntary shout ripping from his throat.
And then it’s gone and the woman from earlier is peering down at him, “Jesus Christ, are you retarded? You don’t fucking sneak up on paladins like that.” She pries the wire loose and reels it back into the rod. Nobody else is paying him any mind. He gets back to his feet as she rejoins the rest of them, feeling stupid for the amateur mistake. He had underestimated this group.
There’s movement on the far side of the clearing and one of the paladins whips his taser forward-nothing.
There’s a shift of pine needles next to him and Marcus suddenly knows-he doesn’t have to turn his head, he just knows-
It’s Esca.
He’s thinner than Marcus remembers, all wiry muscle and silent strength underneath the too-big shirt. He stares at Marcus, and Marcus can feel his heart pounding-he wants to grab Esca and beg him not to leave again, he wants to tell Esca to go because he’s going to be killed. Esca doesn’t look away from Marcus’s face-even as the wire whips around Esca, five thousand volts conducted across his skin and making him cry out in pain.
“Kill him!”
Marcus has the gun, he can’t miss from this distance-he has a hundred things to say and no time to say them.
The moment of hesitation is all Esca needs-a flash of the knife, the wires fall away, and-
He is gone.
to part 2
Fandom The Eagle
Rating: R
Word Count: 11,437
Characters/Pairing: Marcus/Esca
Summary: Marcus thought he knew who Esca was. A fusion of The Eagle and Jumper with elements from GI Joe.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Author's Note: This fic was written for a prompt at the_eagle_kink found here which requested a fic that was based off of this amazing fanvid by bachaboska whom I absolutely adore. ♥ I kind of jumped at the chance to write a fic based on her fanvid because the premise was awesome and the vid was so seamlessly put together and invoked all sort of plot bunnies. So now we're even on the whole inspiring each other to complete fanworks deal. ;D And of course, massive props to the OP who asked for it because otherwise I might not have gotten the kick to write this. And thank you to all of the lovely commenters who left feedback throughout the duration of writing; I truly appreciate each and every comment! :)
“What’s that?” Nick demands, jerking the postcard out of his hand, “Aw shit man, another postcard? This girl, man, I swear she has a thing for you. I don’t care what you say.”
Marcus grins, “It’s okay to be jealous. Feeling a little insecure?”
“Aw fuck you man,” Nick says, pushing at the side of Marcus’s head and dropping the postcard back into his lap, “I’ve got more girls throwing themselves at me than Bieber at a concert. I don’t need any help in that department.”
Marcus rubs his thumb against the edge of the postcard, listening to Nick do up his straps with sharp clicks. Nick slams the locker door shut and looks over at Marcus, “You know, I’ve always kind of wondered what the hell kind of name Esca was anyway. Short for something?” He grins, “Are you tappin’ some ethnic booty and never thought about mentioning it to your dear friend Nick?”
“Yo man, I told you-I’m not tapping that.”
“Why the fuck not?” Nick asks, hauling his rifle on his shoulder. When Marcus doesn’t answer, Nick reaches over and attempts to ruffle Marcus’s hair as Marcus swats his hand away. He grins, “Yeah bro, just think about that. Get your ass up Captain, we got a debrief in five.”
“Insubordination, Spence!” Marcus calls at Nick’s retreating back. Nick raises his hand in acknowledgement and disappears around the corner.
Marcus looks back at the postcard before exhaling and closing his eyes. Yeah, not tapping that, no matter how much he wanted to. Esca was probably half a world away and had likely forgotten all of the stolen moments, breathless laughter against sunwarmed skin-all of the stupid adolescent discovery that Marcus can’t help but associate with the four-by-six piece of cardstock that shows up in his mailbox every few months.
“Jesus Esca,” Marcus mutters, “You know just when to time things, don’t you?”
________
“Gentlemen,” Commander Stevens says, “I’m sure I do not need to impress on you the importance of this mission. This piece of equipment right here contains tens of millions of dollars worth of technology. It is absolutely imperative that the Eagle gets to Annapolis. You will ensure that this delivery is made. Have I made myself crystal clear?”
“Yes sir!” the men call out.
Stevens surveys them for a moment longer before dismissing them and handing Marcus the tablet, “Sign here Captain.”
Marcus scribbles his name across the line. Stevens is still looking at him when he’s done. “I hold you fully responsible for what happens to this package, captain.”
“Yes sir.”
When Stevens leaves, Nick whistles softly, “It’s like we’re delivering the atomic bomb or something.” He walks around the package, inspecting it from all angles, “Christ, you don’t think it contains an atomic bomb, do you?”
“No Spence, I don’t think they’re stupid enough to trust you with an atomic bomb,” Marcus says bending to pick it up. It’s surprisingly light-but Marcus doesn’t let that faze him. It could just as easily be samples of anthrax or something equally as dangerous.
“Let’s get going.”
________
It’s getting dark and Marcus feels a slight sense of apprehension as night draws closer. He keeps one eye out the window, half listening to the low chatter of his men over the headset as Nick taps out some song in his head on the steering wheel. The taillights of the humvee in front dips up and down as they bump along the mostly-gravel road. Nick glances down at the box wedged between their seats every once in a while, just to check that it hasn’t exploded.
“Alright,” Nick says finally, “Alright buddy, this silence is killing me. What I gotta do to make you talk to me?”
“You nervous?” Marcus asks.
“No man, but you’re making me nervous with all of this broody silence shit. C’mon man, you know something about the box that I don’t?”
“I don’t know anything more than you.”
“What the hell kind of name is Eagle anyway?” Nick asks, “Couldn’t they have just been upfront with it and called it some shit like probably going to explode if you go over a pothole, model three-oh-five, or hell, it’s okay to jostle me, version six.”
“Don’t go over any potholes,” Marcus says.
“You are the worst,” Nick informs him.
Marcus smiles and looks out the window. The sun has set
“Okay,” Nick says after a while, “Okay so. Captain. It occurs to me that even though you know my life story, down to the nasty details-”
“Please don’t remind me, Spence. I don’t particularly feel like recounting your prom night.”
“-down to the nasty details,” Nick repeats, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a heart to heart about your childhood, Aquila. Definitely not a fair trade. So let’s get on with it. Any repressed memories? Traumatic incidences?”
“You’re really grasping for conversation material here.”
“Answer the goddamn question. I bet you were a jock in high school, taking on all my fellow nerds-”
“With your Super Mario obsession.”
“Oh my god, Aquila, just tell me about your goddamn life.”
“What?” Marcus asks, “There’s not much to tell. Four generations of military officers and my dad was the first businessman. I never saw him around. Tutors and prep school-now I’m here.”
“Aw hell,” Nick says, “You never had a real prom?”
Marcus looks at him. “You get fixated on the weirdest shit.”
“I mean, prep schools-they can’t get social events right worth shit. Proms take place in skeevy hotel ballrooms. At least like, five percent of the girls have to be pregnant. Where the hell did your prom take place?”
“I didn’t go to my prom.”
“That,” Nick says, “Is really really sad. Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’re still a weeping virgin.”
“No,” Marcus says, trying not to think about Esca, “Did I redeem myself?”
“Depends,” Nick says, “Was she hot?”
Fucking hell. First the postcard and now this. He swallows and tries to focus on the taillights in front of them but an image of Esca forms unbidden in his mind’s eye. He sees the brightness of Esca’s smile, the span of his own broad hand over Esca’s heart and thinking foolishly that this was some form of forever. He remembers pressing his lips to the pulse in Esca’s neck, fingers curled against skin and thinking that he knew what love was.
Christ, this wasn’t the time.
“Sure,” Marcus says, and he tries to get his head in the game, “Watch the road, I think we’re coming up on an exposed turn here in a second.”
Nick glances at him but then looks back at the road. Marcus clicks on the flashlight briefly to check their position and then-
Something doesn’t feel quite right. Marcus peers out the window as he feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle, an anxiety worming up his spine.
“Hey, I think we should stop,” Marcus suddenly says, and then clicks on his transmission, “Alpha two to alpha one, do not proceed.”
“What the hell,” Nick demands, “We’ll be sitting ducks here. Have you gone insane?”
“There’s something wrong,” Marcus says, checking to make sure the Eagle is secured-
-and then it all goes to hell.
He sees it a fraction of a second before he hears it: orange and black ballooning in a deafening explosion-the silhouette of the humvee in front of them burning away like an overexposed photograph. Nick turns their humvee sharply and Marcus is thrown against the side of the car, ears ringing with the explosion. He can barely hear the shouts over the radio that filter through the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He’s stunned for a minute, eyes tracking the way that the fire leaps from the charred remains of the humvee in front of them. Nick is screaming something at him and he needs to get up, get up and check on his men-
A second explosion comes from somewhere behind them-gravel and twisted metal scattering like rain.
In a moment, Marcus is yelling into his headpiece, “Alpha One, Three, Four-status report!”
“Call for backup,” Nick shouts, trying to scrape their humvee past the burning remains of Alpha One, through the sheet of flames. The space is too small and they’re going uphill.
“ETA ten minutes for air backup,” Marcus says and he grabs the Eagle in one hand and a handgun in the other as he opens the door, “Fuck, if they have grenades we can’t just sit here. We gotta get to the cover of the trees. We just have to hold out for ten minutes.” He slaps a hand to his headpiece, “Alpha One, Three, Four-status report!”
Nick climbs out and they move towards the line of trees, ducking low. Marcus hears only static through his transceiver-Christ, how the hell did it break? There’s a sputter of machine gun fire behind them and he swings around, crouching low-god, if he left someone behind-
“What the fuck,” Nick says.
People have appeared out of nowhere-some are peering into the humvees still sitting on the road and others are prying open the burning vehicles.
“Guard this,” Marcus says, dropping the Eagle next to Nick, “And cover me.” He holsters his handgun and shoulders his rifle-if his men are still up there, he can’t leave them behind. He sights along the barrel, aiming for one of the men who is half bent into a Humvee, and shoots. The shot cracks loud and the man slumps face forward into the vehicle.
And then-there is a man next to him-he only sees the three stripes of white facepaint on each cheek and the mohawk as he swings his rifle around on instinct, feels the man grab his arm-
-he’s looking at the ground from fifteen feet in the air and falling-how the fucking hell?-manages to twist himself midair so he can hit the ground on the broad of his shoulder and roll into the momentum. It hurts like hell and he’s dropped his gun a good ten feet away. But this isn’t the time; he has to grit his teeth and suck it up because his men might still be alive and there’s only Nick with the Eagle somewhere in the woods.
He pulls himself into a decent crouch, using the bushes for cover. The man who threw him-Jesus Christ, from where? How the hell? Fuck, no time for that-was nowhere to be found. The men have assembled into a loose circle and Marcus counts them-maybe ten in total-and he lifts his rifle, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and aims.
He shoots, hits a man in the back of the neck and backtracks-they’re going to be looking for him based on the trajectory. What he isn’t ready for is the same man with the white stripes and mohawk materializing not even five feet from him.
“I thought I killed you already,” he growls-and Marcus knows better than to let the guy touch him this time. He doesn’t know what’s going on but he trusts his gut instincts. He shoots-the man disappears and reappears closer to him-and Marcus breaks into a run, weaving between the trees and looking for any sort of cover because he isn’t sure he can outrun-
The man appears right next to him and grabs his arm-and suddenly jerks forward. T1he outline of his entire body is wavering and Marcus takes the opportunity to get away. There’s a white-haired man dressed in black standing a few yards away, holding on to what looks like a whip. Marcus levels his gun at the man who looks back at him.
“Where’s the Eagle?”
“Give me one reason not to shoot you right now.”
“Boy,” the man says, “I just saved your life.”
Marcus doesn’t take his gun off the man.
The teleporting man lunges at the man in black and three wires whip out of the surrounding trees, trapping him. Marcus keeps his eyes on the man in black but watches the three people emerge from the woods in his peripheral vision.
“I admire your courage, but we are all on the same side.”
“Prove it.”
“My name is Roland. You were supposed to deliver the Eagle to me.”
Marcus keeps his gun steady. Roland reaches into his pocket-Marcus’s finger twitches on the trigger-and produces a set of credentials. Marcus’s jaw tenses as he looks around at the other three who are staring back at him. They haven’t drawn weapons so he moves toward Roland to read the proffered document. It’s an exact copy of the contract Marcus signed. He lowers his gun.
“Now,” Roland says, “Where is the Eagle?”
________
Nick is ten feet away from where Marcus left him. He’s face down on the ground and unconscious. Marcus had a moment of panic when he first saw the other man but Nick’s pulse was still strong. There’s an indentation in the dirt where the steel box had once been, but the Eagle itself is gone.
“I suppose I should have learned by now,” Roland says, “If I want a job done right, I should do it myself.”
________
Nick slumps against the side of the helicopter, holding an ice pack to the back of his neck. Marcus’s shoulder is stiff and it still hurts like hell but he’ll live. He has his rifle between his legs, eyes on Roland’s back as he paces the tiny space with his phone to his ear. He’s trying to pick out the words that Roland is saying but it’s hard to hear over the whine of the engine.
“Christ,” Nick says. There’s a purple bruise spreading across his temple, “They seriously came out of nowhere, man. I can’t think a single good point of entry-woods on one side and a cliff drop on the other side. Two explosions, front and back. We would have seen them if they came from the woods. It’s like they just fucking dropped out of the sky.”
Marcus doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on Roland.
“And this guy, I swear to god, he just fucking-popped up,” Nick says, and then his voice drops, “God Marcus, look, I’m really sorry.”
Marcus turns to look at him then, “Hey, it’s not your fault.”
“I should have been more vigilant. I should have seen him coming.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Roland interrupts, taking a seat across from them, “They’re called Jumpers.”
“You know what they are,” Marcus says. He isn’t surprised-he wants more information.
“I spend my life hunting them down,” Roland says. He drops his phone into his pocket and looks between the two of them, “Try to stop them before they can do any more damage to the natural order of things.”
“Wait,” Nick says, “What are we talking about? Jumpers? Can we please fill a brother in?”
“You should count yourselves lucky that your convoy wasn’t completely destroyed,” Roland looks at Marcus, “And two of them dead. I’m impressed that you fended so well for yourself when you had no idea what you were up against. You might make a decent paladin.”
“I’ve never heard of you,” Marcus says.
“I wouldn’t have expected you to. We’re technically a civilian branch. Paramilitary, if you will.”
“Who attacked us?”
“A team of Jumpers we’ve been tracking for a long long time. I specifically requested the best team special ops had,” Roland appraises Marcus, “I guess I wasn’t clear enough.”
Marcus pushes the anger down and controls the tone of his voice, “I’ve never failed a mission before today, sir.” Nick is sitting up straighter, a frown on his face. “I promise you that we will do whatever it takes to retrieve the Eagle.”
“I don’t think you understand the full extent of the situation.”
“Then tell me.”
Roland just looks at them. The helicopter is starting its descent-Marcus can pick out the lights of Annapolis in the window over Roland’s shoulder.
“What are Jumpers?” Nick asks.
“Abominations,” Roland answers, “Things that can travel from place to place with a single thought. New York one moment, Cairo the next.”
“Teleportation?”
“They can be in all places at once. They see a place, in a photograph, for a moment, and they can go there.” Roland looks from Nick to Marcus. “Can you imagine what it would be like, if everyone in the world had that power? It would be chaos.” They’re swinging low over the skyline now, shapes of buildings blurring against the night sky. “We Paladins hunt them in order to restore the order of things as they are supposed to be. All of them, they become criminals in the end, and we bring them to justice.”
“What is the Eagle?” Marcus asks.
“It was a code,” Roland answers, “A certain frequency that when broadcast, stops Jumpers from being able to jump. Broadcast it globally and you can trap them where they are, turn them back into people like you and me.”
“If you get the code-that means you can stop hunting.”
Roland smiles and the helicopter touches down on a rooftop. He gets up and Marcus stands with him.
“Let us join you.”
“You want to be a paladin?”
“We can get the Eagle back.”
Roland looks at him, then at Nick. He turns, “I’ve sent a driver to take you to the nearest hospital. You should check in with your commander.”
Marcus wants to follow and protest but Nick grabs the back of his jacket.
“Let it go, man.”
________
“Marcus,” Nick says the moment that the nurse leaves them alone, “That guy? Roland or whatever his name was? Total and complete whackjob. Are you serious about the whole Paladin shit? Are you not seeing the parallelism here? Are you not creeped out by this?”
“Thank you, Spence, I too took medieval history in high school.”
“No,” Nick says, “Normal people do not take medieval history in high school. Normal people trust their gut instinct when it tells them not to sign up for shit that would be way over their heads, lead by some nutjob who considers humans as things.”
“I’ve never failed a mission before, and I’m not going to start now.”
“Seriously?”
“Look,” Marcus says, starting to pace, “If my dad was here, you know what the hell he’d tell me? Told you so. Told you fucking so.”
Nick is quieter when he speaks, “Marcus, come on. One mission isn’t gonna ruin your career.”
Marcus stops pacing and looks at Nick. The television in the corner is on almost-muted enthusiasm and the tinny laughter of the anchorwoman grates on Marcus’s nerves. He breathes, in and out, and then says, “Look, a lot of people are probably caught in the crossfire of this thing. Give the paladins the Eagle-no more persecution. We’d be saving a lot of people in the future.”
Nick picks at a bandage on his arm, “You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?”
“No. Nick-I mean-you really don’t have to come with me.”
“Man,” Nick says, “I stick with you through thick and thin and you think I’d just abandon a brother like that?” He punches Marcus in the shoulder, harder than necessary, “You fucking crazy bastard.”
________
When Marcus opens the door to his debriefing, he doesn’t expect to see Roland sitting in a chair across from the commander. He throws a salute and closes the door after him.
“Take a seat, Captain,” the commander says. Marcus sits, keeping his eyes on his superior officer.
“I take it you’ve already met Roland.”
“Yes sir.”
“Roland has asked for your assistance in the retrieval of the Eagle.”
Marcus spares a glance at Roland.
“I told him we could spare you for a few weeks.”
“Sir,” Marcus says, “What about Lieutenant Spence?”
“I didn’t ask for Lieutenant Spence,” Roland says, “I only asked for you, Marcus Aquila. I have no use for anybody else.”
________
“The first thing that you should know about Jumpers,” Roland says as he drops two manila folders in front of Marcus, “Is that they are dangerous and unpredictable. You don’t know what angle they’re going to attack from, they attack too quickly for the untrained eye to follow. We’ve only found one effective weapon against them.” He sets a metal rod on the table and Marcus picks it up.
“There’s a series of charged capacitors in there that delivers a couple thousand volts of electricity, disrupting their ability to jump. Low current, since sometimes we’d like to them alive a little longer.”
Marcus turns the weapon over in his hands.
“They’re sneaky, they’re tricky. You have to be sneakier and trickier. Incapacitate them, then go in for the kill. You only get one shot, get them when they’re least suspecting it. Basic stuff-I’m sure you’ve learned all of this in training.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can test that out later,” Roland says and flips open one of the manila folder, “For now, a little background information.” Clipped to the top of the stack of documents is a photograph of a man with the same facepaint and mohawk that Marcus saw before-only framing different facial features. “We’ve only ever had two real threats-the rest of the jumpers are disorganized. Many of them think that they’re the only one with their ability.”
Roland taps the photograph with a finger, “We call this group the Seal People, mostly because the bastard who started the entire group was a Navy SEAL himself. He went rogue after he discovered his powers. Most people do. It’s unfortunate that we taught him how to be such a capable leader.”
Marcus flips through the files. Other photographs are clipped with the data collected on each person.
“This isn’t the full team, but it’s a vast majority of them. They’re ruthless, they kill on sight. You’ve already had a little experience with them. Trust me when I say that wasn’t the extent of their powers.”
“Taking out an entire convoy with barely a dozen men,” Marcus says, “I’m afraid to ask what the extent of their powers is.”
“It may surprise you to learn that the other threat is a single man,” Roland says, opening the second folder, “One of the best reasons why you should never let your guard down around a jumper, and perhaps the best example of how dangerous jumpers are to the natural order of things.”
Esca’s photograph stares up at him. Marcus feels like he can’t breathe.
“He calls himself Griffin, though we’re certain that was never his real name. This is a very old picture of him-we haven’t been able to get a more recent photograph of him. He’s very good at finding camera blindspots.”
Esca looks older in this picture than Marcus remembers-the angles of his face are sharper and there are hollow circles under his eyes. He looks leaner and fiercer than Marcus remembers-but beneath the changes, Marcus can see traces of the boy he fell in love with.
“Griffin is unfortunately, very good at taking down Paladins,” Roland says, and then pauses. Marcus keeps staring at the photograph-he hasn’t heard Esca’s voice in months and hasn’t seen him in years. But this can’t be his Esca, because his Esca is a freelance photographer, a goddamn free spirit who couldn’t be caught and not for lack of trying. “Is there something the matter, Marcus?”
Marcus tears his eyes away from the photograph to look at Roland. “Just. Surprised that a single man could present such a threat.”
Roland smiles. “You’d need to meet the Griffin to understand why. And I wouldn’t wish that upon you.”
________
Roland doesn’t have any space for Marcus at headquarters so they give him enough money for a room at a motel on the outskirts of Annapolis, across the bay. Roland gives him the keys for an old blue Ford truck that takes three turns of the key in ignition to start up properly and tells him to be back at headquarters the next morning.
There’s a sign on the reception desk that says that patrons have to pay five dollars for wifi access and Marcus pretends not to see it as he hands over the money for his room and asks, “There wouldn’t be a place where I can check my email real quick, would there?”
The woman behind the desk has her eyes on the bars stitched onto his jacket when she says, “If you want, you can use the other computer back here real quick.” She meets his eyes and smiles, leaning forward slightly so he can catch more of her cleavage, “The other girl just stepped out for a quick smoke-you can have it as long as she’s out.”
Marcus knows that she’s only flirting because of the uniform but he doesn’t really have a choice. He nods, smiling back and she opens the employee entrance for him.
“What are you doing here in Annapolis?” she asks as he pulls up a new window and logs into his email. She laughs a little, “Or is that classified?”
“Classified,” Marcus figures it’s the best way to get her to stop talking. The last email Esca sent him was a month ago-he spent a paragraph telling Marcus about the vodka in Russia and signed off with the normal -E. Esca uses a different email address every time he sends Marcus a message and he’s never replied to any of the messages that Marcus has sent in reply.
He hadn’t thought it was strange before-maybe he was a little frustrated and thought that Esca was just terrified of commitments-like getting a reply to an email meant that he was obligated to reply, like never leaving a phone number meant he didn’t have to answer to Marcus. And reading these emails now: Hi Marcus, I wandered a little too close to Prypiat and took pictures that I’m hoping someone will buy, Hi Marcus, someday you should see the sun set over Mumbai, Hi Marcus, I was in Boston this week and thought about taking the train out but I didn’t think you’d be home-he can’t reconcile any of these with the Esca that stared at him through that photograph Roland showed him.
Marcus hates Esca-he hates him for taking everything from him and never giving anything in return-just these stupid messages that Marcus always replies to and never gets an answer, he hates that his heart always skips a beat when his phone rings from an unknown number like he’s fucking fifteen years old. And he hates that he lets Esca do this to him, that he answers the phone for a casual conversation like everything is fine and he’s not hurt that Esca left and won’t come back, that Esca’s pretends there was never anything between them, that Esca takes and he takes and he takes and Marcus just keeps giving until there’s nothing of him left.
He answers the phone because he wants to hear the sound of Esca’s voice, because he’s a masochist and he keeps fooling himself in thinking that making Esca laugh is going to make him stick around a little longer. It’s a fucked up relationship, and he doesn’t hold any of the strings and he keeps telling himself that he’s not invested in it, that he’s going to find a girl and settle down and stop thinking about Esca, stop replying to his stupid emails, stop stop stop.
But it’s too much of a coincidence, Roland’s Griffin and his Esca and it feels like all of the years are being pulled from beneath his feet, all of the lies and none of it makes sense or everything makes sense and he types Esca, Please call me. -M and hits send before he can reconsider.
“Hey, my coworker’s coming back,” the receptionist says. Marcus logs out.
“Thanks,” he says and shows himself out.
________
It’s been three days since he sent the email. No calls have been forwarded to him in that time. Marcus didn’t really expect Esca to call.
“You’re going to have to be much faster than that,” Roland says, leaning on the railing overlooking the warehouse where they set up a makeshift arena.
Marcus whips the taser back and it reels back into the rod, “In a real fight, I would be using an M16.”
“In a real fight, a jumper would disappear faster than the bullet can reach them.”
The laser target jumps from position to position on the floor-Marcus watches it for a moment before it gets into range and he lets the taser whip out, claws scrabbling along the concrete ground exactly where the tiny dot is.
“I’m here to tell you that your training ends today. We received a tip on where the seals are located.”
Marcus jerks the taser back.
“You’re a pretty quick learner,” Roland admits.
“Fast enough for the Griffin?”
Roland laughs.
________
It takes nearly four hours for them to get to Colorado Springs and then another two hours of climbing northwest through the mountains in an armored car before they even start to get close to where the seal people are located. Marcus looks out the window into the darkness with his rifle across his lap and wonders what Nick is doing, if he’s angry that Marcus abandoned him to do this on his own. He’s probably filling out paperwork-and Marcus feels another surge of determination: he won’t have let his men died for nothing-he’s going to retrieve the Eagle and they will have died protecting the innocent unborn.
He’s not looking forward to when the mission is over and he has to tell the families.
“Hey,” the man sitting next to him says and nudges the M16 on his lap, “You actually ever use that?”
Marcus looks at the other paladin. He’s smiling a little bit and eyeing the gun like it’s beneath him.
“I served four tours in the Middle East. This has worked for me pretty well, thanks.”
“I guess you never really understand how much more useful one of these is,” the other paladin holds up the taser, “Until you actually go head to head with a jumper.”
“And with some of them, even these are pretty fucking useless,” the paladin in front says. She looks over her shoulder at Marcus, “I don’t know how you managed to impress Roland, but until I’ve actually seen you in combat? It’s gonna take a lot more than Roland’s word to earn my respect.”
“Yeah, and if we run into the Griffin, good luck trying to get out of that one alive,” the man next to him says, “Maybe you can try shooting at him.”
“Stop being a dick, Antonio,” the woman says, turning around.
Antonio falls silent, but he’s still smiling.
“I don’t get it,” Marcus says, “Why the hell is everyone so terrified of this Griffin?”
“Terrified?” Antonio asks, “Terrified, no. Angry as hell, yes. Justifiably cautious, yes. You wouldn’t be asking that question if you knew how many paladins he’s killed.”
It’s not his Esca. He doesn’t believe it’s his Esca.
“You think you’ve got him pinned one minute, the next he’s pulling one over you.” Antonio lifts his chin, shows a thick scar across the underside of his jaw that’s barely visible in the dim light, “A present from him, years ago. I was fucking lucky he missed.”
“He’s fast. The last time anyone alive has seen his face definitely has to be, what? A year ago?”
“Shin,” Antonio agrees, “And that was only because he was winded after dropping a fucking train on her.”
Not his Esca.
“So don’t get cocky, kid,” Antonio tells him, “These jumpers are nasty.”
Marcus reaches to make sure that the taser he holstered at his side is still there-and there’s a prickling at the back of his neck again. He straightens, mutters a, “Shit!” and then-
The entire car is tumbling from fifteen feet in the air.
The impact against the ground winds him and there’s a sharp pain from where the seatbelt cuts into his skin through his clothes. His head hits the back of his seat in the whiplash and he blacks out.
When he comes to, there is shouting outside and the sound of gunfire. This is a situation he’s used to-he unbuckles himself-the woman is gone but Antonio is still buckled in next to him. He half considers shaking Antonio awake but climbs out of the car instead. Instinct tells him to trust his M16 over the stupid taser that these paladins love so much and he runs on automatic, ducking low and looking for cover as he assesses the situation.
The shouting gets louder as he follows the tracks that the woman left behind-notices burn marks scored into the trunks of the pine trees, singed pine needles every few hundred yards. Taser marks.
“You can’t run forever,” Roland is saying as Marcus slips into the clearing where the paladins are located. A moment later, he’s seizing in agony as one of the tasers strikes him in the chest, an involuntary shout ripping from his throat.
And then it’s gone and the woman from earlier is peering down at him, “Jesus Christ, are you retarded? You don’t fucking sneak up on paladins like that.” She pries the wire loose and reels it back into the rod. Nobody else is paying him any mind. He gets back to his feet as she rejoins the rest of them, feeling stupid for the amateur mistake. He had underestimated this group.
There’s movement on the far side of the clearing and one of the paladins whips his taser forward-nothing.
There’s a shift of pine needles next to him and Marcus suddenly knows-he doesn’t have to turn his head, he just knows-
It’s Esca.
He’s thinner than Marcus remembers, all wiry muscle and silent strength underneath the too-big shirt. He stares at Marcus, and Marcus can feel his heart pounding-he wants to grab Esca and beg him not to leave again, he wants to tell Esca to go because he’s going to be killed. Esca doesn’t look away from Marcus’s face-even as the wire whips around Esca, five thousand volts conducted across his skin and making him cry out in pain.
“Kill him!”
Marcus has the gun, he can’t miss from this distance-he has a hundred things to say and no time to say them.
The moment of hesitation is all Esca needs-a flash of the knife, the wires fall away, and-
He is gone.
to part 2