Boston 12:30 AM
The night air was chilled on her skin, the smell of the sea drifting in the wind. Halle had somehow made her way back to Boston, back to her favorite city in the world. She looks over her shoulder as she walks into a pub. The door opens and several sets of eyes go straight to her. Her outfit is inconspicuous, as always. A pair of supple leather boots, snug jeans, a band t-shirt and a loose leather jacket. There were weapons hidden all over her body. Wrist sheaths for daggers. A back of the pants holster for her gun. A second gun hidden in a boot and yet more knives in the other boot. This was Halle O'Rourke and she never went anywhere unarmed.
They lose interest as she walks in, a nonchalant air about her. She looks like some of the other women in the bar, a girl tired after her day of shopping. She intentionally gives off an innocent feel. The last thing she wants is people taking note of her, of people remembering her and being able to describe her at a later point in time. A minute later a barmaid comes over to her, a bottle of beer in her hand, the Green Monster brew, her personal favorite and a hit amongst locals. "Courtesy of Gregory." She says as she gestures to a man across the bar, watching her as he languidly sipped his own drink. Already she had been noticed, that was most unfortunate.
"Give him my thanks." She picks the bottle up and twists the top off as she brings it up to her lips, pretending to take a sip. No alcohol for her, not out in public. Nothing that dulled the senses or altered awareness of her surroundings. That couldn't be afforded. The bell over the door bings as somebody else walks in. Somebody who looks out of place. Her eyes are immediately drawn to him and a scowl crosses her face as she makes him. It was Trey Calhoun, the agent who had been chasing her specifically for the past sixth months and her former handler. They'd been trying to bring her in for three years, ever since she'd gone off-mission.
Placing her bottle down on the table, she quietly gets up, knowing that he'll follow her. Following the signs, she makes her way back to the women's restroom, her boots padding softly on the hardwood floor as she goes. As expected, he follows several seconds after. Pushing open the door that leads to the women's restroom and stalls, she walks over to the side. It was clean, the smell of antiseptic in the air. Looking at the line of mirrors she does a quick check for feet to make sure nobody was there. The black tiled floor was clean, the green of the walls relatively unmarred. The sinks all had individual little soap dispensers, a homey touch showing that somebody tried to make the place inviting. Her back was against the wall and out of the line of sight of whoever would walk in next, she waits, knowing that he would come. The door opens and she waits to make sure it's a man's footsteps before launching into action. The second she has confirmation, she launches into action.
Slamming him up against the wall, she holds her arm up to his throat, cutting off his air. "Sixth months and this is the best you've got? Did you really think that I didn't lead you here? That I didn't know you were behind me the whole time?"
He smiles, his hands gently grasping her arm. "Can't...can't breathe."
"Good." Her purple eyes light up with anger, the words nearly a growl.
"Well. If you like it rough, I'll be sure to oblige." And with that he grabs her arm, turns her around and slams her against the tile wall. Leveraging against her with his right arm and the weight of his entire body, he reaches behind him to grab the cuffs that were hooked onto his belt.
She took his moment of slight distraction and used it to her advantage. Wrenching her arm out of his grasp, she slams her right elbow into his jaw, knocking him for a loop. Spinning away from the wall, she turns to face him. With an upward lunge, the top of her head connects with his jaw, knocking him even more out of sorts. She follows him as he falls backward down onto the floor, turning him onto his stomach. She yanks his right arm behind his back as she settles on his lower back, her knees on the ground on either side of him. Slipping a knife from her wrist sheath, she holds the edge of it to his carotid artery. "You were my handler for three years. I loved you. I like to think that you loved me back, that it wasn't all some damn charade. That love I once had for you, it's why I won't kill you. But rest assured with the knowledge that if you ever try to bring me in again, I will end your life and I will take down every support agent that you're stupid enough to bring with you." Applying just enough pressure to break the skin, she makes her point. "Am I making myself clear?"
"Crystal." He sputters the word, his voice hoarse.
"Good." Leaning down she whispers in his ear, almost in a lover-like fashion. "Let them all know that this is what happens when you excommunicate somebody who's more talented than anybody under their command and now angry to boot." She knew that her time was limited, that somebody was bound to have heard the commotion. So she delivers the coup de gras and slams his head against the tile floor, effectively knocking him out. Looking down to her leather jacket she pulls at the edge of it, tearing the seam of the shoulder. Next she runs her hands through her hair, making it appear even more disheveled. Quickly, she un-clips Trey's credentials and slips them into the back pocket of her jeans. In the next minute, the door opens to the sight of her sitting on the floor, appearing much worse for the wear. A line of tears slips down her cheeks as she looks up at the man who opens the door.
"Is everything okay in here, miss? What happened? Did this bastard...are you okay?" He appears quite worried, truly concerned as he comes into the bathroom, a look of fury in his eyes.
"I'm fine." She intentionally causes her voice to tremble. "I can take care of myself, it seems. I just...I need to go. I can't be here anymore." She slips an elastic off her wrist and pulls her hair back into a low ponytail. Walking quickly out the door, she makes her way out of the pub and onto the cobbled stone streets of the city, her breath fogging in the air. She pulls the credentials out of her back pocket and flips them open, staring nostalgically at the photo of the man she had loved so much.
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