Archive of Our Own ^beta

They thought he was weak. They thought he was broken. They’d run him through MRI and CAT scans, taken blood to analyze, and brought in a psychiatrist to observe him. “Depression” was the best she came up with, recommending that they: “Give him time to come to terms with his current situation.”

But he wasn’t depressed. And he wasn't defeated. 

He was waiting. He was watching. Counting the number of guards on their roster, the seconds, minutes, and hours between rotations, and the schedule of the drugs they administered, taking special interest in the ones that were unnecessary to his recovery.

The first week was spent in and out of consciousness, his body taking the time to heal despite his motivation to leave immediately. The following week was spent biding his time, planning his next move and acting as though he had given up. When he heard a group of soldiers outside his door preparing for a visit from Carmichael and Suzanne, though, he knew he had to make his move now or never.

Subduing the doctor and nurse on duty was easy enough, and the man posted outside his door wasn’t expecting the attack from behind. The service weapon was familiar in his hand, and, with a full clip, the other five came running down the perfect choke point. He’d already determined it was a soundproofed subterranean facility, so reinforcements wouldn’t be an issue, and the next rotation wasn’t due for 56 minutes and 43 seconds, so he took the time to change clothes, reload the gun, and swipe an ID from the nearest body.

One of the first things he’d learned—and not just from the CIA—was: “act like you belong, and they’ll think you do.” His posture went rigid as he exited the elevator and made for the employee parking lot, the key card got him through the unguarded doors, and he hot-wired the oldest, least technology-reliant car he found.

…

“When can I go home?” Claire asked one of the brutes watching her. It had been about two weeks since Suzanne patronizingly explained that she would be sent somewhere safe ”for her own protection,” but she knew what was really happening. She wasn’t an idiot. The only people she was in danger from were the people who put her here, and they made it clear that this was to be her prison until they decided otherwise. They treated her like a child: placating her with junk food, offering her cheap distractions, and making empty promises of a life that they could never provide.

The resounding silence in the house only reinforced her theory, but she pressed the point: “I asked you a question.”

She belatedly realized that a better question would have been: What home did she have left to go to? She had carved out a place for herself in London, Hong Kong, and even New York to a certain extent; but could she go back to any of those given everything that happened? Donald surely had safe houses all over the world, so maybe she could stay in one of those? She had to figure out how to get out of this house, first, though. Claire considered her options as they escorted her down the hall and the door locked behind her.

...

To say Claire was surprised at the balcony door being open was an understatement. Although the consistent guard rotation meant she was allowed to let in fresh air, she didn’t like the reminder that they were always lurking outside her bedroom. She turned to survey the room for an explanation and had to double take at the record now on obvious display: "Silver Bird." One of her favorites, but not one she’d listened to recently due to the memories it brought up.

She noticed the bright piece of paper tucked away next, comprehension dawning as she read the simple message: PLAY ME LOUD. She didn’t recognize the scrawl, but she understood the meaning.

This is just another Thursday , Six uttered in the maze. He threw her bull horns while being carried out on a stretcher. Silver Bird was presented as a gift to drown out the anticipated chaos. Hollow dread settled into her stomach as she set up the record player with the track that had apparently held as much weight to him as it had to her.

Please , she begged Six silently. Claire had numbed herself while in the CIA’s “care”, but, now ? Gunshots echoed around and throughout the sparsely-furnished house despite her efforts to block them out. Please, please, please. Don’t leave me here alone. She knew some of what he was capable of, but going against half a dozen men (that she had counted) who were prepared for an attack?

So lost in her own spiraling thoughts, it took her a moment to recognize that the shouts and shots had silenced. When her door opened in her peripheral vision, she didn’t dare hope, so she looked over bracingly… And there he was. The relief was overwhelming. He was here. He was okay. She was safe.

“Am I allowed to chew gum in here?” he asked flippantly. She cycled through too many emotions to process, but her body reacted on instinct, running towards the only family she had left. He made room for her immediately, pressing her tight against his side.

“I got you,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe, I got you.”

“How’d you find me?” she sniffed and wiped a hand across her face.

He thought of the logistical nightmare that hacking the hospital records, wiping his tracks, and switching cars three times on the drive down had been. Claire wouldn’t care about any of that. “Hey,” he said seriously, pulling her attention up. “I will always find you.” It was a promise, and a threat, and the truth all rolled into one. “ Always.” He would find her, he would save her…or he would die trying. “Hong Kong, Croatia, Virginia. It doesn’t matter who or when or where or how—so long as I have breath, I’ll be there if you need me.”

She nodded quickly and composed herself before she could break down again. “We need to leave?”

“Before reinforcements arrive,” he confirmed. “Why don’t you pack your stuff? I’ll find us a new car and come back to help you move everything.”

She stepped back further and watched him walk out. It didn’t escape her notice, however, that his gait was slow and uneven and his right arm stayed close to his chest. 

...

Six explored the house more carefully now that he knew any potential threats were neutralized. He looted each guard’s keys, cash, weapons, and tech, packed anything left on the kitchen counter and in the fridge into a soft-shelled cooler, and threw all medical supplies, toiletries, and miscellaneous necessities he could find into a spare duffle. He switched the license plates to a vehicle with a full tank of gas before plotting the best path to lead Claire out.

Claire had made full use of the CIA’s offer to “provide her with anything she needed,” so she could have filled an entire suitcase with clothes, accessories, and the record collection she’d demanded they replace. None of the latter held the same sentimental value of the ones Donald had given her, though, so she focused on the clothes and essentials she’d need to travel light. She’d managed to repack her backpack twice to fit more in it before Six reappeared.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” she pulled her bag off the bed and made to follow Six through the house.

“Here, let’s go out the back,” he gestured towards the balcony and offered his other arm out to sling one strap over his shoulder. “It’s closer to the car.”

She eyed him suspiciously for a second, but led the way, noticing how he deliberately stepped to the right out of the doorway despite needing to go left. It was clear why, though, when she caught a glimpse of someone who likely had more blood on the outside of his body than in it. She sucked in her lips and kept her eyes down until they reached the gravel driveway where a car was idling.

Six collapsed into the driver’s seat gratefully and she joined him up front. “Where will we go?”

“Right now…? Just, away. We need to put some distance between us and them. After that? I’m not sure. But, somewhere safe.”

“Does—did Donald have other…houses?” she asked once he’d settled. “Somewhere we could stay long-term?” She was shy, tentative, in her inquiry, and Six understood her guarded longing.

“I only know of a few, but I’m sure there are more. We’ll find one that we can call home.” The smile he was given for his efforts seemed like a small victory. “There’s food and water in the backseat if you want it.”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” she added, falling immediately into contemplative silence as they passed through the deserted gate. She didn’t know how far “away” meant, but assumed they’d be on the road for a while.

Six didn’t seem to mind the quiet, though, with his focus shifting intently between the path ahead and the rear view mirrors.