by Abigail Roux
thought for sure he was going to head butt the other man and start an all-out brawl.
But instead of a violent meeting of foreheads, it was a violent meeting of lips
that shocked the observers. It was an open-mouthed, sensual kiss, and Carl stopped short and simply stared.
Remy released Shawn’s fist and wrapped both arms around his body as
Shawn tried to devour him right there against the wall. It was certainly a nice change of speed from the hitting. At least Carl knew he wouldn’t have to break up any fights.
Thiago got slowly to his feet and stared at the two men in disbelief. Carl
could sympathize. For perhaps the fiftieth time since their acquaintance, he found himself marveling at the odd relationship. He turned to gauge Brandt’s reaction and found the other man watching blankly.
Carl had been expecting trouble from that area. It was easy to see the
attachment Brandt and Shawn formed with one another, and Carl was concerned that
Brandt and Remy would be at odds when they all reunited. He was concerned until
they’d found Nikolaus, anyway. But now Remy was back, and unfortunately it
seemed that Carl was right.
“What happened?” Shawn demanded breathlessly, pulling Carl’s attention
back to the pair.
“I escaped,” Remy said with a shrug. Shawn stared at the other man with a
hard look that made Carl want to hide behind Brandt, and finally Shawn began to
shake ever so slightly.
“Don’t lie to me, lad,” Shawn growled dangerously, and even Remy’s eyes
widened a bit at the tone. Carl had never heard that tone of voice from the older man, and it was obvious Remy had rarely heard it, at least not directed at him. “No one escapes from Mac,” Shawn added in the same low, dangerous voice.
Remy’s eyes flickered around the room as if he was looking for aid, but no
one was going to speak against Shawn when he was actually fucking growling. Carl
took a step backwards and glanced around for the closest piece of furniture behind which to take cover.
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“You’re right,” Remy conceded quickly, his tone completely open and
conciliatory. “I’m sorry. I… I made a deal with him.”
Carl tensed visibly and he heard Brandt and Thiago both suck in deep
breaths of air. A deal?
“What kind of fucking deal?” Brandt asked almost angrily. Shawn being
angry was one thing. But Shawn and Brandt both angry? Carl looked longingly
towards the door and his newly purchased weaponry.
“Nothing like that! I didn’t give us away!” Remy said in an insulted voice.
“Then what exactly did you give him?” Shawn asked pointedly, his voice
still very lethal.
Remy looked back at him as if Shawn had just slapped him in the face. Carl
instantly felt sorry for the younger man. He’d been through God only knew what and had probably been expecting a warm welcome or a happy return. Instead, he’d been
attacked, attacked again, accused of betraying them, and then accused of being a
whore. Poor kid.
“Shawn,” Carl murmured hesitantly, thinking to avert a possible disaster.
Green eyes turned on him and Carl felt as if he had just been melded to the floor. His mouth snapped shut and he blinked at the older man innocuously.
“You’re hurting me,” Remy pointed out calmly, and Carl could visibly see
the façade sliding back into place. It had taken a while to figure Remy out, but Carl had finally done it. Whenever he felt threatened or didn’t know how to react to
something, he slipped back into agent mode and dealt with it that way. Carl was
impressed with the ability to morph, but at the same time it made him inexplicably sad. It must have been a lonely existence for the younger man, to be able to pull the curtain with such ease. Carl had never seen anyone better at it.
Shawn instantly released the hold he had on Remy’s upper arms and took a
step back.
“Do you want the full version or the abridged version?” Remy asked in a
businesslike manner as he rubbed his arm gingerly.
“Abridged first,” Shawn demanded. Carl couldn’t understand Shawn’s
behavior. He’d been devastated when he’d heard of Remy’s capture. Carl had heard
the heart wrenching sobbing coming from the next room earlier, and he’d seen Shawn begin to fall apart at the seams. Now here Remy was, fit and in one piece, and Shawn was inexplicably angry with him.
“John is working for the Archer,” Remy told them without preamble.
“What?” they all echoed simultaneously.
“He’s turned. John’s turned,” Remy said in the same no-nonsense tone as he
massaged his arm where Shawn had held him. “He said the Organization had marked
him in order to throw us off, so he could tail us if we escaped the blast. But he was
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working them, waiting for a chance to break and turn completely.”
“How do you know this?” Carl asked curiously.
“John told me.”
“And you believed him?” Thiago asked incredulously.
“John and I have the same philosophy on the truth,” Remy said matter-of-
factly. “Yes, I believed him.”
“And he just up and offered this information to you?” Shawn asked
sarcastically.
“No, Shawn, he did a lovely little choreographed number and tapped it out in
Morse Code,” Remy spat back at him.
Carl heard a little snort from behind him, and turned to glance
disapprovingly at Brandt. Shawn and Remy glared at one another and Carl sighed
heavily. Perhaps he would be breaking up a fight tonight after all.
“I don’t believe it,” Shawn stated finally, crossing his arms defensively and
staring Remy down. “John would never turn.”
“Think again, couyon,” Remy said softly, the anger in his voice suddenly
gone. If Carl hadn’t known better he would have said that Remy sounded almost sad.
“Anyone will turn, if they’re given the right incentive.”
Carl creased his brow in a confused frown. Had he really just said that? What
the hell was he trying to do?
“What do you mean?” Shawn asked dangerously.
“I mean he’s turned, Shawn! I don’t know why! I’m sorry, I know you
admired him, but he’s turned. He said something about the incentives being much
better and–”
Remy was cut off by Shawn slamming him against the wall with so much
force that the picture hanging beside them rattled and fell to the ground with a clank.
“What did you do?” Shawn demanded angrily. Carl tensed and waited to
pounce in case it got uglier, but instead of fighting back Remy simply went limp and stared into Shawn’s eyes as if he were mesmerized.
“I did what I had to do to get the hell out of there,” he answered quietly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I told him I’d take his deal, that I’d play his game. And the bastard just gave me my gear and said ‘on you go then, my boy,’”
Remy said in what Carl was sure was an imitation of Sir John McTiernan’s voice.
“He just let you go?” Thiago asked as he sat down on the bed and rubbed at a
carpet burn on his elbow.
“Mais oui. He told me the Archer would know if I went back on the deal. I
don’t know how, but I believe that, too. I think he’s watching us somehow, through
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&
nbsp; someone or something. But I think that….” Remy trailed off with a grimace and
lowered his eyes, and Carl saw Shawn’s fingers tighten around Remy’s arms.
“What was the deal?” Nikolaus asked, and Carl turned to look at him. He
had almost forgotten Nikolaus was there, the younger man was so quiet.
“The Archer wants us to join him.”
“What?” Thiago and Carl asked simultaneously once more.
“John told me that the Archer plans to take down the Organization,” Remy
responded slowly, his eyes never leaving Shawn’s as he spoke. “He wants the six of us to help.”
Shawn practically roared, and he slammed Remy against the wall once more.
“And you promised to what? Turn us?” Shawn demanded angrily, finally
losing control of his temper. “With your special skills of persuasion, perhaps? And what if we don’t turn with you, traitor? Are you supposed to kill us?”
Carl watched the agent seep out of Remy’s face as the blood drained from it,
and all that remained was the sweet, slightly oblivious young Cajun they all loved, standing there looking uncertain and betrayed.
Carl couldn’t take any more. Apparently neither could Thiago or Nikolaus,
and they all moved to break up the confrontation at almost the same time.
“That’s enough,” Thiago said in his own dangerous growl, and Carl
wondered what in the hell he’d been thinking earlier when he’d gone in to check on these two. They were scary as fuck; was he suicidal?
They pried Shawn’s hands from Remy’s arms and pulled him away, holding
him back in case he felt the need to do further damage. Remy slumped back against the wall in defeat, and Carl’s heart hurt for him all over again.
“It was my only option, Shawn,” Remy insisted softly, his voice barely
audible. “It was my only way out. I had to make him believe I would take the deal or he was going to kill me.”
“One lie,” Shawn murmured angrily through gritted teeth, holding up his
finger against the restraining arm Nikolaus had around him to illustrate the point in case Remy happened to miss it. “I told you from the beginning. One lie and it was over.”
“Shawn,” Remy pleaded, his body still attached to the wall as if Shawn had
glued him there.
“Decide right now where your loyalties lie,” Shawn ordered angrily.
Remy blinked at him, looking as if he’d just been asked if the sky was blue.
“With you,” he answered simply. “Always with you.”
Carl watched Shawn carefully, and he saw the color drain from his face as he
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heard the words Remy had just spoken. Carl wondered what Shawn had ever done to
deserve such loyalty. He certainly didn’t deserve it tonight.
It appeared that Shawn was thinking the same thing as he looked at Remy’s
bruised countenance.
Finally, he seemed to pull himself together, and he swallowed hard before
nodding tersely. Nikolaus and Thiago let him loose, and Shawn stood there staring at Remy.
“You’re bleeding,” he finally said in a confused, tired voice.
IV.
SHAWN had no idea what he was doing. Why was he so angry? Was it fear? Relief?
Exhaustion?
Could it be guilt?
That didn’t sit well with Shawn’s conscience, but he knew that was the
driving force behind his lashing out. Guilt.
The look on Remy’s face made Shawn want to shoot himself. The younger
man leaned against the wall, looking lost and heartbroken, and the blood running
freely down his arm where Shawn had squeezed made Shawn’s stomach clench
uncomfortably. He’d done that.
Remy looked down at the blood disinterestedly and clucked his tongue.
“Maudit! I just stole this shirt,” he murmured as he pulled at the sleeve and examined the growing stain. “Stitches must have come out.”
“I’m sorry,” Shawn whispered sincerely. Remy looked up at him, and the
blank look in the younger man’s eyes hit Shawn just as if it had been a club in
Remy’s hand.
“No worries. You had every right.”
Shawn looked around the room at the others. They all stared at him as if he’d
lost his mind. What had he been thinking? At first Remy’s nonchalant, ‘look at me, I’m alive’ attitude upon returning to them had angered Shawn to the point of
distraction, but what had really set him off was when Remy had said the word
‘escape.’
One did not escape from Sir John McTiernan. You either gave him what he
wanted, or you died refusing. Thoughts of Remy giving John what he wanted had
flashed through Shawn’s head so quickly that he’d seen red. Remy was lying to him.
Why? What had he done that he thought Shawn couldn’t handle? What had
transpired between him and John that would cause Remy to resort to that stone wall he’d thrown up? Though Shawn had seen it in use many times, especially during that
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one captivity they had suffered through together, Shawn had never been the focus of it. Never been the reason for it.
Shawn’s mind flashed back to the gentle kisses he’d shared with Brandt and
his body flushed with ice. What right had he to be angry with Remy? What right had he to blame Remy at all?
Shawn was the one keeping all the secrets here.
Shawn was so distracted by the various questions running through his mind
that he failed to register the most important thing Remy had said until well after Carl and Nikolaus had ushered the younger man out of the room and slammed the door in
Shawn's face.
V.
NIKOLAUS and Carl whisked Remy out of the room before Shawn could blow his
top again. They sat together on the bed as Remy told them about his ordeal with
McTiernan and his subsequent trek to Sydney as Carl stitched up the jagged wound
on his arm.
“I never dreamed John would turn,” Remy murmured after he had finished
his narration. “He’s fucking upper level, man. Echelon.”
Nikolaus kept his eyes carefully averted from the wound and instead
watched Remy’s face as he spoke. He didn’t seem to be all that upset about Shawn’s odd welcome of him, but Nikolaus certainly was. He was dumbstruck by Shawn’s
reaction to Remy’s return. What had the man been thinking? Had he not wanted
Remy to be alive still?
Sure, Nikolaus had been angry with Remy, inexplicably so when the man
had grinned at him and began talking like nothing had ever happened. Emotions did strange things to people, especially people as high-strung as the six of them were of late. And Shawn had certainly been upset. Perhaps the pendulum had just swung too far and caused him to rage like he had. Nikolaus hoped that was it, anyway.
“And you’re certain?” Carl asked as he dabbed at Remy’s arm gently.
Watching Carl tend to Remy’s wound with such care struck Nikolaus as odd for some reason.
“Very,” Remy responded with a curt nod. “John had no reason to turn me
loose like he did. He had no reason to…” Remy trailed off and his eyes widened
slightly. “Unless– oh, fuck. Unless they’ve used me as a tracer. Mon Dieu! Trigger, à l’aide!” Remy stuttered as he struggled to get off the bed.
Nikolaus watched in confusion as Remy worked himself into a near panic
and pawed at his own clothing and flailed around trying to disengage his feet from the bedcovers. Carl seemed to understand the urgency though, and he helped Remy to
stand and immediately began to tug at his boots as Remy attacked the fly of his own
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jeans.
“What are you doing?” Nikolaus questioned.
“J'étais inconscient, unconscious, oui?” Remy explained hurriedly, his words becoming hurried and his strange accent growing heavier and almost indecipherable as he spoke. “They would’ve known their only chance of finding you was to use me.
If John’s still working for the Organization– fuck! Maudit! How could I have missed that?”
“What? What’d you miss?” Nikolaus asked. He was too distracted by Remy
standing there in his ridiculous Superman boxers and speaking his Frenglish at warp speed as Carl knelt at his feet to be able to think clearly.
“They would have known he’d give a false location, no matter what they
used to extract the information,” Carl explained as he produced a wicked looking
knife from somewhere and tore into the sole of Remy’s boot with it. “And they would also have known that you would get us moving right away,” he said to Nikolaus as he examined the ruined boot, “so the only way to find us would be to set Dixie here
loose and follow him.”
“I wasn’t followed,” Remy stated with certainty.
Carl nodded as he performed the same operation on the other boot. Remy,
too, had a knife in his hand, and Nikolaus wondered where the hell it had come from.
Did they carry them in their underwear? Remy slashed through the waistband of his jeans and peered into the cut he had made before ripping the hem apart and looking at the tatters intently.
“So the only way they could have followed was by bugging him,” Carl
continued as he examined the other boot.
“Oh,” Nikolaus responded slowly as he realized what they were saying. “In
your clothing? But you said your shirt was new, right? Didn’t you switch out
everything?”
Remy threw the remains of the jeans down in disgust and looked at Nikolaus
abashedly. “No. I’m so fucking stupid! How could I not’ve taken that precaution?” he asked them in disbelief. “I bought a new shirt because the other one was bloody, but I didn’t even… it never even crossed my mind to– fuck!”