Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For once, Sylvia was sure they'd found her someone actually competent.

A boy who had lied his way through life, now finding himself yet again without a name, but with a newfound purpose. He was eighteen years old, nearing nineteen. He was skinny, malnourished, a complete and utter mess. He was never even taught how to properly shave.

He would probably survive at least a few years out on the field. And considering his good looks, he would make good with honey pot missions.

The boy reminded her of an untrained dog, snapping at anyone who dared to come near him. There was an unrighteous anger in his eyes, begging to be sated. She had to remind herself, constantly, that he was a traumatized teenager, barely a man. He couldn't even legally drink yet, but that didn't seem to stop him. Norman seemed to be the one paying for his drinks, giving him a fake ID whenever they hit up the local pub not to far from the compound. She had to admit, the boy did have a high alcohol tolerance. Just another quirk in his long line of useful traits.

If she had one complaint, it would be that training him was a pain in the ass. He was constantly arguing with her, fighting her on every command. He especially complained during pain tolerance training.

"I don't want to," he shouted at her once. "Haven't I been through enough now?"

He's a teenager, Sylvia.

This is what she would've been like.

This is what they're all like.

Regardless of her mantra, it didn't make things any easier. She couldn't wait until he was out on the field, and those useful traits could finally be put to use.

But for now, she was stuck with a rowdy teenage boy, one that really needed some fixing. And if that fixing involved the harshest training she'd ever given, then so be it.

"Drinks on me tonight!" Norman said with a laugh. "They've got a special deal tonight thanks to the game, free food if you order more than ten shots!"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline," the rookie said. "Handler will probably kill me if I don't study up."

Norman playfully knocked him on the head.

"C'mon now, don't listen to everything she says. She's just a killjoy. Let's go have some fun, you deserve it," he said.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Fine then, but I still want to be back by midnight."

"You have my word," he said.

Norman drove him and three other agents out to the local pub. Norman was a regular there, and had racked up enough rapport to be on first name basis with the bartenders.

He knew the two other agents, but the third one was one he had never met before. She was a woman who looked to be in her mid thirties, and had just come back from a long-term mission in Ostania. She had rolled down the window, smoking a cigarette. He hated the smell of cigarettes. It made his entire body feel clogged.

When they arrived at the pub, Norman ordered them drinks. The rookie got his usual scotch, while the woman sat back and ordered nothing. She had a quiet, reserved air about her, which most people would find attractive, even for a woman who smoked. He had never really found anyone attractive. There was no point in falling in love if he was supposed to die in the end.

"You're the new boy, aren't you?"

"Hm?"

"Don't even have a name yet?" She asked. "Poor thing, I've heard so much about you."

"Like what?"

"How much your handler hates you," she said. "You we're talking about her earlier, weren't you? Is it Sylvia? She was always a tough woman."

He nodded.

"If I had been here when you were first brought in, I would've loved to take you under my wing," she said. "You're such a sweet looking boy."

"Trust me, I would love anyone else other than my Handler," he said with a laugh. He went silent. There was something about the woman, something about her smile, that disarmed him. He felt a little queasy, though maybe it was the smell of tobacco clinging to her clothes.

"I'd be willing to train you," she said. "Some late night lessons, if you will."

"Is that even allowed?" He asked.

"We're already criminals, what's a little bit of fun?"

She cocked her head to the side, tilting his chin up. Her hands her cold against his skin. It made him feel uncomfortable.

"Come on, don't give me that look," she said. "I'll shape you up into a fine agent, better than Sylvia could ever make you."

Her gaze lingered on his lips, her own curling into a smile.

"Ah, I suppose I should introduce myself," he said. "I'm Cassieopea."

"I'm afraid I don't have a name," he said.

"Why don't I just call you sweetheart?" She said with a laugh. When she saw the look on his face, she smiled and pat him in the back. "I'm only joking. You're just Rookie to me."

"Okay then," he said. "I'll be seeing you."

"How does tomorrow night sound?" She asked. "I have an apartment on South avenue. Here, let me write down the address."

She scribbled down the address on a napkin and handed it to him. He memorized it, then tore it up.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," she teased.

Handler seemed insistant on teaching him how to spar. They fought every day on a training mat, and he had to admit, she was good.

"But won't I have a gun?" he asked for the eighth time as she pinned him to the ground. He counted the seconds, one, two, three, until she let him up again.

"I've told you this before, you won't always have it. It's best to prepare for the unexpected."

He rolled his eyes and launched himself at her. She quickly knocked him to the side. He hit his head on the mat. He groaned.

"Can we be done for the day?" he asked. "I've got places to be."

"Really now? Do those places involve drinking yourself senseless?"

"I don't drink myself senseless," he said. "I always have three drinks at most."

"That's three to many," she said, knocking him on the head. "You're not even legally allowed to drink yet."

"I know, I know," he said. "Just let me be done, okay?"

"Alright then," she said. "You're free to go. Just take it easy tonight, okay?"

"Don't act like you care about me," he grumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said. "Goodnight, Handler."

He heard her sigh.

Cassieopea's apartment wasn't too far from the compound. He was able to walk there in fifteen minutes. He hoped to god that, whatever training she had in store for him, it was easier that the bullshit Handler gave him.

He knocked on her door, and she opened it almost immediately. She smiled at him. A wide, sweet smile that was sure to knock a lesser man off his feet.

"Nice to see you, Rookie," she said. "I was worried you wouldn't come."

"Me too," he said. "Handler sparred with me today, and I've still got a bit of a headache from it."

She laughed. "What kind of training have you two been working on?"

"Shooting, sparring, manipulative tactics, pain tolerance…" he trailed off.

"Her methods are never effective," she said. "She'll train you more on the theoretical than the practical."

"I don't know, she's pretty practical with it," he said, massaging his neck.

"You can't just learn through textbooks and manuals," she said. "You have to learn through the real world. And that's what I'm here to show you. Your Handler hasn't been out on the field in months, and I just came back. You're better off with me. So, shall we get started?"

He nodded.

"You can sit down if you'd like. It'll be better that way."

He sat down at the table. She lit up a cigarette.

"The key to dealing with pain is to ignore it," she said. "Focus on your thoughts, not the pain."

She took the cigarette from her lips and put it out on his hand. He gasped, trying to yank his hand away. Cassieopea kept it in place.

"Focus on your thoughts, not the pain," she said again. "This is how you learn."

After a few seconds, the worst of the pain wore off, and now it was just throbbing. A few tears pricked at his eyes.

"Now, now, don't cry," she said. "That isn't anything compared to what a gunshot feels like, or a real burn. It's just a taste of the real world."

"I've been in the real world," he said. "I was in the army for three years."

"Then what's gotten you so soft?" She asked. "A young man like you should know better."

"I guess you're right," he said. "It's just been a while since I was on a battlefield."

"And see, that gets you soft," she said, lighting another cigarette. "It's a shame this life chose you, you're such a pretty boy. But the world needs people like us. Without us, no one would get anywhere."

She rolled up his sleeve, putting out the cigarette on his arm. He yelped.

"That'll be easier to hide," she said. "And hey, make sure your Handler doesn't find out about this, alright? I don't think she'd like her agent messing around."

"But we're not messing around. We're training."

"Indeed we are," she said. "Let's just keep this a secret, alright?"

He nodded.

"Why don't you stay a while?" She asked. "I've got food, and some scotch. I got it just for you."

"Fine then," he said, glancing out the window. The sun was just starting to set. "Let's be quick about it though."

She smiled.

"Of course, Sweetheart."

Chapter Text

It had been two months since he'd arrived, and Sylvia had barely made any progress on him. He was still as stubborn as ever, if a bit more malleable these days.

At least the boy had stopped going out for drinks every other night. That had been far too heavy on WISE's budget.

But there was something different about him. She could never find him in the sleeping quarters, where he used to spend most of his time. She knew he would never try to run away, but it was still concerning how much time he spent out and about.

Regardless, she knew he was studying. There was always a mess of books on his untidy bed. Most of them had been gifted to him from her own personal collection, so that he could annotate them to his heart's content, but one of them was new. He had taken the dust jacket off, so she didn't know what the book was about, but he must've bought it himself.

Or someone else might've given it to him.

She couldn't even begin to fathom who.

He and Cass met every week, sometimes twice if she got impatient. They continued with his training. They sparred in her apartment living room. She let him win sometimes.

It was after one of those sparring sessions that they sat down together on her couch. She offered him a glass of wine. He took it willingly. It too sweet for him, but he didn't push it away. Cass was the first person who'd shown him kindness in years, he wasn't just going to throw that away.

"How are you liking that book?" She asked.

"It's rather interesting," he said. "Though I don't think I'll need to know how to seduce someone."

"Oh, you will," she said. "It won't take much — especially with that face of yours — but a woman still needs to be pushed."

"Handler did say that she wants me doing honeypot missions in the future," he said.

"And I'm sure you'll be good at them," she said with a smile. "I'm sure any lady would be lucky to sleep with you."

He felt his face go hot. "Yeah, I'm sure too."

There was an awkward bout of silence.

"I just want to say thank you, Cass," he said. "I'm glad I can have someone actually train me instead of wasting my time."

"I'd rather you be living than dead, so I guess it's for my own betterment," she said. "How's that burn, is it healing well?"

He rolled up his sleeve to show her the burn mark. She smiled.

"Scars are medals of honor, you know," she said. "I wear mine with pride. And you should too."

She leaned in close, so close that he could smell the tobacco on her breath. She brought his head closer to her face, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck. His heart pounded uncomfortably in his chest.

"I don't like this," he said quietly.

"It's part of your training," she said. "Show a girl you're scared and they'll never love you."

"I'm not scared."

"Really?" She asked. "Then let me kiss you."

He nodded, and she forced his head closer. She kissed him, and it made him feel like something was writhing inside of him. Disgust, mostly. And horror.

It's all a part of your training.

Handler would never teach you any of this stuff.

She pulled away after what felt like an eternity. He realized his mouth tasted like tobacco.

"There," she said. "Good boy."

No matter how much he brushed his teeth that night, he couldn't get the taste of her out of his mouth.

It had been three months since he'd arrived, and he was finally starting to make a bit of progress. He could actually keep her down for a second when they sparred.

Though, he really needed to improve his lying skills.

"Where are you going?" She asked him as he was about to leave the compound.

"I'm going to go get a sandwich," he said.

"There are sandwiches in the cafeteria," she said. "Where are you going, rookie?"

"Nowhere of your concern," he said. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't have you wandering off," she said. "What happens if you get killed?"

He rolled his eyes.

"That's not going to happen," he said. "You're not my mom, Handler, you don't get to control my life."

Internally, she was screaming. Externally, she grit her teeth.

"I'm an adult," he said. "Stop treating me like I'm your son."

Oh, now he'd struck a nerve.

"I'm only trying to make sure you don't end up dead," she said, voice nearly raised to a shout. "You know what happens to kids like you? They die. They all die pointlessly. So if you don't get your act together, you'll end up like everyone else."

For a brief moment, she saw something in his eyes. He slammed the door on her. She sighed.

Would there ever be a way to get through to him? Did he not realize that his life was on the line?

"Let him go."

She turned around to see Norman, an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

"All kids have to have a rebellious phase. He never really got to be a kid."

"I know that, I'm just…"

She didn't know what she was going to say. Was she worried about him? She couldn't worry about people like him. They always ended up dead.

But some part of her cared. Cared too much. She kept making that same mistake, over and over again.

She hated that part of herself more than anything.

Chapter Text

Cass cared about him.

She didn't care about him in the way a mother would a son, she cared about him like a friend, a comrade. She was actually training him, actually making an effort to connect with him.

She cared about him a lot.

That's why she was preparing him for the real world.

If there was one thing he didn't like about her, it's that she was handsy. She liked having her hands all over him. He knew it wasn't exactly for training, but he didn't care. It had been so long since someone had lovingly touched him. It had been so long since someone had loved him at all. Why should he have to care about Handler? Handler had done nothing but pester him.

Still, he felt bad for yelling at her.

He didn't voice this concern, however, as he and Cass trained again.

"You're getting stronger," she said. "You're so strong, Rookie. You'll probably do better than me when I was your age."

"Thanks," he said.

"Listen, I wanna know," she started, "have you ever even had sex before?"

"Huh?!"

"I mean, if you're going to be doing honeypot missions, you gotta have at least had sex with one person."

"I- I haven't," he said.

She paused.

"Oh," she said. "You're fresh."

Something about her voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"It really is such a shame, y'know," she said. She pulled the last cigarette out from its box, tossing it aside, then lighting the cigarette. "To waste such a handsome face on a career where you're always in the shadows."

"My life's always been a waste," he said. "I'm not even sure if I'm supposed to be alive."

She went silent.

"Cass?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," she said. "You're the nicest man I've ever met."

"You won't die, will you?"

"Why would I?" She asked.

"Everyone I've ever loved is dead," he said.

"I promise I won't die," she said. "I need to see that pretty face of yours every day."

He shook away the feeling that something was wrong. He trusted Cass.

"I think Handler's pissed at me," he said.

"Don't worry about her," she said. "Just keep your eyes on me."

She put the cigarette out on the table. At least it wasn't on his goddamn skin.

She kissed him, pushing him against the couch. He struggled for a moment, before another hand took the back of his head, clearly meant to soothe him.

"Stop," he tried to say, but any protests were stifled with another kiss.

One of her hands slipped under his shirt, feeling up the scar tissue on the left side of his body. He couldn't really remember how he'd gotten that scar, not now.

So this was what love felt like? Gross and messy?

He tried to pull away, but she pulled him back.

"I have to go," he said. "If I'm not back by nine-"

"Stay," she whispered in his ear. "Stay all night if you want."

"Cass-"

She kissed his again, shoving her tongue into his mouth. He wanted to gag.

This is what the real world is like. It's not kind or comforting.

Cass loves me. She's training me. She's not trying to hurt me.

Focus on your thoughts, not the pain.

He felt her hand drift downwards, towards his belt. He finally managed to pull out of the kiss.

"Cass, what about protection?"

She laughed. "Didn't your handler tell you? All female agents are sterilized."

"Oh," he breathed. "But-"

"Don't protest," she said, gently stroking his hair. "You're such a good boy."

He liked this. He liked this. He liked this.

So they fucked on her couch.

He didn't know why he felt so gross returning to the compound. It was nearing midnight. If Handler was still up, she would yell at him for being out so late. He would need an excuse.

As he ran through the list of possible excuses in his mind, from a less-than-brisk evening walk to actually telling her about Cass, he spotted her at the back entrance.

"Rookie? Is that you?"

He froze. She looked so strange in the light of the street lamp above her head.

"Sorry," he grumbled, trying to get past her to the door.

"Where were you?" She asked curtly.

"I don't know," he said. "Just taking a walk through the city."

Her expression softened a little. She believed him.

"You're from Luwen, aren't you? That place is small compared to here."

"Yeah," he said with a laugh. Maybe it was just the windchill, but he still felt Cass all over his skin.

Fuck. He wanted to throw up.

You liked it, remember? You loved it, and she loves you. She would never hurt you.

"Rookie, is everything alright?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm just tired."

"You should get some sleep then," she said. "We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"More training?"

She nodded. He groaned.

"Go hit the showers, and I'll see you at 6 o'clock sharp."

Cass would never make me wake up so early.

He scrubbed at his skin until he couldn't feel her anymore.