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tamingthemuseFandom: Taskmaster
Title: Safer
Characters: Sandi Brandenberg, Taskmaster (Tony Masters)
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse 158 barbeque
Word Count: 1226
Rating: PG
Summary: A sequel to "Mutual Destruction."
Author's Note: I wrote this because a) I can't get enough Tasky/Sandi, and b) I wanted to explain why Tasky chose to join the Initiative instead of the Thunderbolts that didn't involve him being a scaredy cat. :P
Sandi’s awakened the next morning by clanging pans and a muffled curse, and she snuggles down into her pillow with a murmur of protest. She must be dreaming again; either that, or a burglar has broken into her apartment to pilfer her cookware. But her pillow smells like him, and she remembers, and Sandi goes very still. Not a burglar, but a stranger just the same, at least recently.
The sounds are familiar to her now, too familiar, or they used to be. Tony’s the only man who has ever made her breakfast, and he doesn’t just slop some cereal into a bowl with some milk, either. He enjoys putting his hours of watching the Food Network to good use.
Too good to be true…
That’s what she’d told him in the beginning, and she was right then – and she’s right now, too, in spite of everything that has happened, in spite of everything that will happen. Oh, she knows how this is going to play out, too damned well. Sandi just wishes that he’d slipped away into the shadows without a word, like he’s so good at doing.
No, she doesn’t, not really, but maybe it would hurt less. Maybe that would be better than listening to him making breakfast, and sitting at the table and forcing herself to eat, and knowing the entire time that he’s going to walk away. Again.
Maybe she’ll be lucky, and maybe she’ll see him a few times before he skips out of town. And when he finally does leave – and he always does, always has to because a man like him can’t stay in one place for very long without attracting unwanted attention – Tony will promise to call, and he will too, if he isn’t arrested or killed first, and all she’ll hear on the other end of the line is her own longing mirrored in his voice. And, eventually, she’ll ask him not to call again, because she can’t bear it, and yet she can’t bear not hearing from him either. And every time that phone rings, her heart will flutter uncontrollably as she answers it, hoping, dreading, hoping some more… God, she can’t do this again. She just can’t.
But she’s not going to cry. Not this time.
(At least not in front of him.)
----------
Tony turns towards her when she slides into a chair, and Sandi imagines him smiling beneath the mask, on a face that is as unknown to her as the dark side of the moon, and yet infinitely more precious. “Something smells good,” she says dutifully, pretending that this is routine, pretending that it hasn’t been months since the last time she’s seen him here, pretending that this doesn’t hurt.
“Apple and brie omelets,” he replies, and then he rattles off the ingredients, and Sandi wonders how in the world he managed to find them all in her little kitchen.
Her mind wanders as she sips her coffee and watches him work, and for some reason she thinks of the first Agency X barbeque, back when Tony was still a regular fixture in her life. Tony wearing a ridiculous “kiss the cook” apron because it was the only one she could find, slaving over the grill and adding spices she’d never heard of before. Tony arguing with Alex over how the meat should be cooked, which had morphed into a semi-brawl, complete with spatulas and tongs and the leg of lamb, before she and Outlaw had stopped laughing long enough to settle them down. Tony rolling his sleeves up to his elbows in the hot summer sun, and Sandi staring, thinking that maybe the Puritans had been on to something.
Sandi’s heart flutters for a moment, and the ache in her chest physically hurts as she thinks of how much she still loves him, how much she still misses him, even though he’s standing only a few feet away. But he won’t be there for long. Never for long. Never long enough.
----------
He insists on serving her breakfast in bed, like he used to do, and she convinces him to join her, like she used to do, and they get distracted before the meal is over, like they used to do.
Sandi snuggles against Tony’s side, content for now, her cheek resting on his bare chest, listening to the slow thud of his heart. Mine, she thinks possessively, at least for now. Her fingers trace the scars on his abdomen, the ever-present reminders of close calls and even closer scrapes, as she waits for this perfect moment to end.
“I’m a wanted man, Sandi,” he murmurs at last, his words deep and rumbling against her ear. “They’re going to be looking for me.”
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to – she’s heard this before and knows that words and tears and pleas won’t sway him. Nothing ever does.
“I have three choices. The first is prison, but I’m not going back there.” He lifts one long strand of her hair, twirling it around his thumb as he speaks. “I can join the Thunderbolts, hunt down people who won’t register. Or I can join the Initiative as a drill instructor and train the new recruits, the ones who’ve registered with the government.” He pauses, probably waiting for her to say something, but she remains quiet. “I’ve been thinking...Sandi? Look at me.”
Sandi rolls over so she can gaze at the black void of his cowl, and her fingers touch the soft fabric, gently, and he doesn’t flinch, not this time, not like he used to, because…because he trusts her not to remove it, or at least he’s trying very hard to, and her heart contracts a little.
“The Initiative’s in Stamford. Not too far away. I don’t know how often I’d be able to leave, but maybe…” He twirls that strand even more now, not looking at her. “Maybe I could come and visit on weekends, you know? And it’s safer than the Thunderbolts.”
She laughs in spite of herself, even though her throat feels tight with some emotion she can’t quite define yet. “Tony, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take an assignment because it’s safe.”
“Yeah, well…” His fingers rest against her back for a moment, and then he caresses her shoulder. His touch is hesitant, as if he doesn’t know how it’ll be received. “I thought that you might appreciate that, if, you know, if you still...” Tony’s stumbling over his words now, and Sandi’s convinced that he’s still not looking at her, and she wonders how a man who can kill so easily can find talking about things like this so difficult.
“Yeah,” she murmurs as she laces her fingers through his. “Yeah, I still do.”
And Sandi’s not ready to believe that he’ll stick around forever, and Tony probably isn’t ready to do the safe thing forever, but as their thumbs brush together, it’s enough for her, for now, that they’re both willing to try.
also posted here andwritingbug
[week 27]
Title: Safer
Characters: Sandi Brandenberg, Taskmaster (Tony Masters)
Prompt:
tamingthemuse 158 barbequeWord Count: 1226
Rating: PG
Summary: A sequel to "Mutual Destruction."
Author's Note: I wrote this because a) I can't get enough Tasky/Sandi, and b) I wanted to explain why Tasky chose to join the Initiative instead of the Thunderbolts that didn't involve him being a scaredy cat. :P
Sandi’s awakened the next morning by clanging pans and a muffled curse, and she snuggles down into her pillow with a murmur of protest. She must be dreaming again; either that, or a burglar has broken into her apartment to pilfer her cookware. But her pillow smells like him, and she remembers, and Sandi goes very still. Not a burglar, but a stranger just the same, at least recently.
The sounds are familiar to her now, too familiar, or they used to be. Tony’s the only man who has ever made her breakfast, and he doesn’t just slop some cereal into a bowl with some milk, either. He enjoys putting his hours of watching the Food Network to good use.
Too good to be true…
That’s what she’d told him in the beginning, and she was right then – and she’s right now, too, in spite of everything that has happened, in spite of everything that will happen. Oh, she knows how this is going to play out, too damned well. Sandi just wishes that he’d slipped away into the shadows without a word, like he’s so good at doing.
No, she doesn’t, not really, but maybe it would hurt less. Maybe that would be better than listening to him making breakfast, and sitting at the table and forcing herself to eat, and knowing the entire time that he’s going to walk away. Again.
Maybe she’ll be lucky, and maybe she’ll see him a few times before he skips out of town. And when he finally does leave – and he always does, always has to because a man like him can’t stay in one place for very long without attracting unwanted attention – Tony will promise to call, and he will too, if he isn’t arrested or killed first, and all she’ll hear on the other end of the line is her own longing mirrored in his voice. And, eventually, she’ll ask him not to call again, because she can’t bear it, and yet she can’t bear not hearing from him either. And every time that phone rings, her heart will flutter uncontrollably as she answers it, hoping, dreading, hoping some more… God, she can’t do this again. She just can’t.
But she’s not going to cry. Not this time.
(At least not in front of him.)
----------
Tony turns towards her when she slides into a chair, and Sandi imagines him smiling beneath the mask, on a face that is as unknown to her as the dark side of the moon, and yet infinitely more precious. “Something smells good,” she says dutifully, pretending that this is routine, pretending that it hasn’t been months since the last time she’s seen him here, pretending that this doesn’t hurt.
“Apple and brie omelets,” he replies, and then he rattles off the ingredients, and Sandi wonders how in the world he managed to find them all in her little kitchen.
Her mind wanders as she sips her coffee and watches him work, and for some reason she thinks of the first Agency X barbeque, back when Tony was still a regular fixture in her life. Tony wearing a ridiculous “kiss the cook” apron because it was the only one she could find, slaving over the grill and adding spices she’d never heard of before. Tony arguing with Alex over how the meat should be cooked, which had morphed into a semi-brawl, complete with spatulas and tongs and the leg of lamb, before she and Outlaw had stopped laughing long enough to settle them down. Tony rolling his sleeves up to his elbows in the hot summer sun, and Sandi staring, thinking that maybe the Puritans had been on to something.
Sandi’s heart flutters for a moment, and the ache in her chest physically hurts as she thinks of how much she still loves him, how much she still misses him, even though he’s standing only a few feet away. But he won’t be there for long. Never for long. Never long enough.
----------
He insists on serving her breakfast in bed, like he used to do, and she convinces him to join her, like she used to do, and they get distracted before the meal is over, like they used to do.
Sandi snuggles against Tony’s side, content for now, her cheek resting on his bare chest, listening to the slow thud of his heart. Mine, she thinks possessively, at least for now. Her fingers trace the scars on his abdomen, the ever-present reminders of close calls and even closer scrapes, as she waits for this perfect moment to end.
“I’m a wanted man, Sandi,” he murmurs at last, his words deep and rumbling against her ear. “They’re going to be looking for me.”
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to – she’s heard this before and knows that words and tears and pleas won’t sway him. Nothing ever does.
“I have three choices. The first is prison, but I’m not going back there.” He lifts one long strand of her hair, twirling it around his thumb as he speaks. “I can join the Thunderbolts, hunt down people who won’t register. Or I can join the Initiative as a drill instructor and train the new recruits, the ones who’ve registered with the government.” He pauses, probably waiting for her to say something, but she remains quiet. “I’ve been thinking...Sandi? Look at me.”
Sandi rolls over so she can gaze at the black void of his cowl, and her fingers touch the soft fabric, gently, and he doesn’t flinch, not this time, not like he used to, because…because he trusts her not to remove it, or at least he’s trying very hard to, and her heart contracts a little.
“The Initiative’s in Stamford. Not too far away. I don’t know how often I’d be able to leave, but maybe…” He twirls that strand even more now, not looking at her. “Maybe I could come and visit on weekends, you know? And it’s safer than the Thunderbolts.”
She laughs in spite of herself, even though her throat feels tight with some emotion she can’t quite define yet. “Tony, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take an assignment because it’s safe.”
“Yeah, well…” His fingers rest against her back for a moment, and then he caresses her shoulder. His touch is hesitant, as if he doesn’t know how it’ll be received. “I thought that you might appreciate that, if, you know, if you still...” Tony’s stumbling over his words now, and Sandi’s convinced that he’s still not looking at her, and she wonders how a man who can kill so easily can find talking about things like this so difficult.
“Yeah,” she murmurs as she laces her fingers through his. “Yeah, I still do.”
And Sandi’s not ready to believe that he’ll stick around forever, and Tony probably isn’t ready to do the safe thing forever, but as their thumbs brush together, it’s enough for her, for now, that they’re both willing to try.
also posted here and
writingbug[week 27]
