Percy "Pinky" Pinkerton (pinkypinkerton) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-02-21 12:27:00 |
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The morning was crisp, sobering in a way which lounging in bed with coffee wasn't. He hadn't had too much to drink last night, but he'd certainly been drunk on something. Being alone with Jasper for an evening was a bit like standing so close to a painting that all that was visible were the brush strokes. No picture, figures or Renaissance Golden Spiral, just the indication of an oil glaze or the bleed of a soft watercolour. Everything outside of the moment was just blurred and dark in the periphery. It still existed, the entirety of the painting or the knowledge that there was more than this corner of the image never vanished. It just didn't matter then. But, stepping into the street was like taking a step back in the gallery: he could see the whole picture once more. And every time he looked at it, he was left feeling a bit uncertain as to whether or not he really liked it at all. This was a situation that he'd been in before. Drunk on the presence of a man with a wife; with a son, and feeling guilty every single time he left Howard's side and looked at the situation from a bit of distance. Of course, there were marked differences: Maria and Anthony had been innocent people, but he doubted he could say the same for whatever it was that Jasper's other life consisted of. No one was ever innocent in the world of shadowy corners, double (or triple) agents where loyalty was more important than morality. Pinkerton knew the game well. He knew it was just another painting intricate enough to get lost in; beautiful enough to get drunk on and so precious that no matter much you might want to, you can never quite let it go. Pinky jammed the end of his umbrella into the grey-brown slush in the gutter before stepping off the curb to cross the street. He felt in his pocket for a lighter once he'd reached the other sidewalk and stopped under an overhang to light a cigarette. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, making the bite of the air feel that much more deceptive. He didn’t mind the cold terribly. He’d been through worse conditions. Over the years, his operations threw him into all kinds of different extremes. January, 17th 1973. SHIELD had just received word that the KGB had hijacked a train in Poland and taken a few passengers hostage. Among them, one Howard Stark who'd been travelling under an alias to meet with Polish engineers. Obviously, the Ruskies getting their hands on an American weapon's manufacturer was trouble for everyone. It was only much later that Pinkerton learned that Howard hadn’t been in Poland on business at all. Or at least, not on Stark Industries business. He was meant to meet with a few agents from the state of Israel who’d been tasked with tracking down Nazi war criminals who still remained free, hidden in South America. But, that probably wasn’t the biggest lie that Stark had ever told him. That particular mission’s strike team had consisted of himself, Gabe Jones -- still fifteen years away from his first retirement, Agent 13 -- who may or may not have been involved with Jones at the time; other people’s personal lives always sort of muddled together in the retrospective, and Dum Dum Dugan -- who probably never understood the meaning of the word ‘retirement’ let alone strived for it. Hitching a ride with the CIA’s Operation Ivy Bells, the SHIELD team landed in the Sea of Okhotsk, and from there moved to the well-protected Soviet military base near-by where their intelligent told them Stark was being held. It took three long days without sleep or much to eat to properly infiltrate the base and locate where the hostages were being kept before the agents were free to move forward with the plan to get Howard out. They weren’t ready with their planned maneuvers, not nearly, but after the execution of a group of other captives, Gabe had feared if they didn’t do what they’d come to soon, Stark wasn’t going to last. In every tactical sense, the mission was a complete success and Howard had been extracted unharmed, and without the Soviets getting a clear idea who was behind the rescue. At the time, Percy had been happy to see Howard once more. Since the birth of Anthony, three years prior, they’d either put a lot more distance between each other or it had just developed over time out of sadness, fear and obligation. But whatever hurt existed and however deep it ran, it hadn’t stopped Pinkerton from trekking halfway around the world to get Stark out of trouble. It never stopped him when Howard called out of the blue, begging to see him. It didn’t matter how they’d parted ways or what their last argument was about. When the Kamchatka Peninsula was faced down for someone, nothing else seemed quite so perilous or impossible. |