Chapter Text
Before there was a knock on his door, John already knew that he would have an unwanted visitor that night. He could sense it in the air. A peach-laced floral scent with woody notes. Middle-aged, definitely a female, and with a good-paying job. Most ladies around that part of town couldn’t afford such a luxurious brand of perfume. Unsure of what to expect, John opened the door slowly. He came face to face with a petite, gray-haired woman, quite unremarkable in appearance. This just made him all the more suspicious.
“Good evening,” the stranger said as if she hadn’t just shown up at his home in the middle of the woods, late at night and uninvited. “It’s Johnny, isn’t it?”
“John,” he corrected, voice sharp.
“Just John, then.” The stranger’s lips twitched subtly. “I’m Colonel Grace Mallory. I thought maybe it was time we had a talk.”
It would be quite easy, John mused, to laser this frail-looking woman into a pile of ashes and sweep her off his porch. Then again, she may not be alone. He had learned to be careful when it came to leaving witnesses behind. The last time he let his emotions get the better of him, John got thrown into a quite bothersome murder investigation and ended up taking on a new identity. Again.
At least his handlers had bestowed him with a generic enough name. One that allowed him to go unnoticed almost everywhere he went. These days he was always John, though never Vogelbaum. Not anymore.
“Colonel, you said? May I see an ID?”
“Naturally.”
Grace Mallory pulled out a laminated card that included her name and rank, as well as a picture of her. In the upper left corner was written CIA, and that gave him pause. It seemed this time it was not the local police he needed to worry about.
“Wowza, who would have thought? A tiny old thin’ like ya,” John said, letting through that subtle southern accent he’d developed for this particular persona. “So sorry, ma’am. One can never be too careful ‘round these parts, ya know? How may I help you?”
“I rather think it’s us who can help you, John,” Mallory replied, and he could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she was not fooled by his everyday-joe act. “We’ve been watching you for some time.”
“Oh,” John said, eyebrows shooting up to the top of his forehead, “that’s… not a creepy thing to say. At all.”
He silently reviewed some incidents from the past few weeks. A big, hairy guy tagging along behind him whenever he went on his morning jog. An Asian girl staring at him a bit too intently while he was fishing around for the best Avocado at the supermarket. What appeared to be a French tourist stopping to ask him for directions, as if it was just every day that a European decided to go on holiday to Des Moines, of all places.
For some time now John had been aware that he was being followed, but by whom and for what purposes was beyond him. He’d had his suspicions and was relieved to find he’d been wrong. “So, those weird folks who keep taggin’ along whenever I go downtown are all you, guys?” He asked, going for nonchalance. “Well, ain’t that something. Thought I was getting paranoid for a sec there.”
Mallory looked unapologetic. “Ah, you could tell. How embarrassing. Perhaps my agents need a bit more training.”
“Perhaps,” John replied, smiling thinly.
“You’re a very resourceful man, I have to say,” Mallory continued. “You’ve got a full set of records as John Gillman. An ID, a passport, a birth certificate, even a driver’s license. After doing a little digging, it’s quite easy to find that less than a year ago you didn’t exist, though. John Baldwin, John Harrison, and oh, John Freeman, isn’t that creative? - also sprung out of thin air.”
John’s hands flexed at his sides.
“Oh, heck, where are my manners?” he said, taking a step back to clear the doorway. "Would you like to come in? I was just about to brew some coffee!"
“Of course,” Mallory replied. Right when she was about to cross the threshold, she stopped. “Oh, I should say. The information I manage is also in the hands of all my associates. Killing me won’t help you keep your secrets under wraps. Quite the contrary, actually.”
John stared into the woman’s sharp hazel eyes. Getting rid of her would be quite easy. If he put a hand around her neck and squeezed just so, he could break her like a stick. It wouldn’t even make a mess.
“Now, that’s just rude, ma’am,” he said, offering his most disarming smile. “I'd never raise my hand to a woman. Especially one of your advanced age.”
Mallory’s eye twitched, but otherwise, she failed to react. She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her. John closed the door and she followed him inside. He watched her through the corner of his eye as he poured coffee for them both. She took it black and with no sugar, which he found oddly fitting. John sipped at his cup and waited. The woman was watching him with a serenity that he found slightly unnerving.
“I’m here representing an independent group working under CIA supervision,” she said finally. “We call ourselves The Boys.”
“The Boys,” John repeated, blinking. “Uh, who came up with that?”
“I did,” Mallory shot back, unruffled. “We know who you are, John, and we are very interested in your talents.”
“My… talents?” John said, smile frozen in place. His tongue felt like it was made out of lead.
“You’re a supe, aren’t you?” There was an air of impatience around Mallory, now. As if she were getting tired of walking around the bush. “Don’t try to deny it, we’ve got a whole file on you. We know about Vought and the lab. About Compound V. We know about Jonah Vogelbaum and the others.”
There was a familiar prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes. John closed them, covering them with his hand. He took a couple of deep breaths, hoping it would go away. The air tasted like ashes and metal. It was a challenge to get the lasers under control but he did. He always did. He had a lifetime of practice.
“Fuck off.” John’s voice came out guttural and strange to even his own ears. He stared at Mallory through the cage his hand had formed. There was a curious look in her eyes. “You think you know shit ‘cause you read some file? You’ve no idea what happened in that lab. Not a goddam clue! ”
“You’re right,” Mallory conceded. “I don’t.”
John adverted his gaze, feeling his mouth twitching. “The fuck does the CIA want to do with me? If it’s a supe you’re looking for, go to Vought. They’ve got a whole fuckin' parade of 'em.”
“Would if we could.” Mallory leaned back, crossing her arms. “The government isn’t all too happy with Vought these days. They’ve gotten sloppy. There’s blood on their hands and it’s gotten to the point the bosses can no longer ignore it. The purpose of our group is to take the company down.”
“Take Vought down,” John repeated, blankly. He stared at Mallory for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “You want to take Vought down? You? Right, course you can. I mean, it’s just the most powerful, dangerous, and corrupt organization in the whole wide world. Easy peasy.”
“How skeptical,” Mallory said, seeming unconcerned by the mockery. “I assure you it can be done, although I can see why you wouldn’t think so. It's normal for you to be afraid of them, after what they did to you.”
It all happened in the blink of an eye. One second, John was sitting at the table, laughing at her and sipping at his cup of coffee, and the next one he had Mallory hanging by the throat, feet dangling a few good inches off the ground. She took him by the wrist, instinctively trying to pry his hand off.
“You’re real fuckin’ ballsy for a woman, you know?” John said, staring at her icily. “That file you have on me - does it say what I can do? It must. My handlers were so very diligent about documenting my progress.”
“Yes, it does,” Mallory said, and his grip tightened.
“And still you came here alone, no backup, and with that goddam holier-than-thou attitude. I can’t decide whether you're being mighty brave or just plain ol' stupid, Colonel Mallory.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Mallory choked out, “it’s a very fine line.”
Something about her answer must have pleased John, because he smiled thinly and then let go of her. Mallory stumbled awkwardly to the ground. She struggled to catch her breath, hand clutching at her throat. “Whatever makes you think I'd be interested in your itty-bitty venture?” John asked, hovering over her. Mallory raised her eyes to look up at him, defiant even then.
“Revenge,” she said, voice low and rough. “We figured you may want to take revenge. On Vought. On Vogelbaum, and Stillwell, and fucking Stan Edgar. On all those people who tortured you and experimented on you before you’d even learned how to walk. Even if you were to tell your story, you and I both know they wouldn't face any repercussions. They get to live their lives freely, as rich and powerful as they’ve ever been. Doesn’t that make you angry?”
John considered her from above, frowning.
“… it does,” he conceded. “Perhaps I just wanna forget about it, though. Perhaps I’m at a point where I no longer give a hoot ‘bout gettin’ even. Did it ever cross your mind, or anyone’s in that sweet little clique of yours, that I might just wanna be left alone?”
“I think…” Mallory said, fixing John with a hard stare. There were already red stripes forming along the skin of her throat. “… that you’ve just proven you are a man with a lot of anger inside. There’s a dark, ugly thing festering inside you, isn’t there? I don’t blame you. I would be angry too, if I were in your shoes. I’m offering you a chance to unleash that anger on the ones who deserve it.”
There was a strange, watery sensation in John’s chest – a sense of exposure he wasn’t at all used to. When he’d decided to build his new life at a cabin deep in the woods, far from people, and noise, and the hustle and bustle of the city, it was to keep this sort of thing from happening. To have people peering inside and getting a glimpse of the real him.
“You sure make a whole lotta assumptions, old hag,” John said, throat dry.
“Maybe. You haven’t killed me yet, though,” Mallory said, eerily calm. "And I know that’s not for lack of ability. I think I managed to catch your attention.”
“And if you had? What then?” John asked, his every word slow and precise. He noticed how Mallory’s expression relaxed ever so slightly.
“I’d ask you to come with me to talk a few things over.”
Ah, I see what you are playing at, John thought bitterly. He felt his lips pulling backward and struggled very hard to suppress his grimace. You really think I’d let you box me up that easily?
“No, thanks. Ah’m not interested,” John said, smiling brightly at his visitor. Mallory’s disappointed look, however brief, was slightly satisfying. He turned around and started picking up the dirty dishware from the table. “Well, it’s gotten real late. You just go and mosey outta here, would ya?”
“Well,” Mallory said, standing up. “It was worth a try.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small card. “You can reach me through this number if you change your mind.”
Then she turned around, heading towards the door. John stared at her retreating figure. Just before walking out, Mallory paused. “I’m sorry if I brought back unpleasant memories,” she said without turning to look at him, “have a good night.” She stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her.
John waited, perfectly still, but she did not reappear. After a few moments, he bent down and picked up the card she left behind. Agent Grace Mallory, it read - Colonel, CIA, Special Operations, and a number. He considered throwing it away but decided against it just as he was about to drop it into the bin. Instead, John put it in a small wooden box he kept in the living room. Hours after her departure, the flowery scent of Grace Mallory’s perfume persisted in his home.