Aramis is an alcoholic. Sorry. (amongthebravest) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-11-16 18:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, aramis, sharon carter |
Who: Sharon Carter and Aramis
When: October 16.
Where: Starting at The Agency, then...
What: Ignoring their orders and saving the day.
Rating/Warnings: Low / Mentions of getting shot.
Status: Complete.
It was just a flesh wound. Really. The bullet simply ran along the outside of her left arm and tore the skin open a little. Not a big deal. And Remy had done a really good job stitching her up. The on-side Medic had said so, even if he’d gone a little over-board with the stitches. She wouldn’t have much of a scar, if any, so that was good.
But still, Sharon had been benched. She was injured, they wanted her to stay in for a while, focus on paperwork and not put herself in danger. Sharon had respectfully argued, but hit a brick wall. The case she’d been working on would have to wait another week, while she recovered. Sharon feared that her recon work would be down the drain, as this gave the guy a chance to change locations. Again.
With a sigh and a grumble, Sharon stomped back to her desk and flopped into her chair, folding her arms across her chest. Then she winced a bit, and unfolded them. Ouch.
Aramis understand Sharon’s pain. Literally and figuratively. And he knew that she wasn’t going to take sitting out easy, either, so he made a point to seek her out. Also, her text message had intrigued him. Finding her at her desk, Aramis raised his eyebrows and perched on the edge of it.
“I can’t believe someone would be foolish enough to mug you. If only they knew.”
"I gave him a chance." Sharon said, giving a gentle sigh and slumping back in her chair again. "I told him that no one had to get hurt. He didn't believe me." A little smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "They've got me on desk duty," she added, and the smirk faded.
"Ah, yes. Desk duty and I are very good friends. It's a love-hate relationship, wherein it loves me and I hate it." Aramis let out a wistful sigh.
"What about that case of yours? Are you going to lose much time?"
They’d talked about that before, hadn’t they? How much Aramis wanted to be where the action was. And Sharon felt the same thing, she couldn’t imagine how he’d survived weeks on desk duty.
“Right,” she said, and pulled a file from her drawer. She held it out to him. “...local drug dealer, ties to organized crime. I had plans to go take him in tonight, because he’s moving his operation tomorrow. Weeks of intel down the drain. Unless…”
Aramis had talked about it to almost everyone. He was grumpy and he wanted people to know it. When Sharon handed the file over, he took it, skimming it over.
"A guy like this probably has ... What? Three, five guys at most, with him at any given time? A good officer could probably handle two on a good day. A good agent, two on a normal day. Two somewhat invalid agents, one with special ops training and one with a wide knowledge of local crime, could take a total of six. Easy." He glanced up from the file with an amused smirk playing on his lips.
Sharon watched his face as Aramis looked through the folder. The grin came back to her lips, slowly, as he worked his way through the situation. He was absolutely right. Sharon could take down two or three on her own. Four or five might outnumber her, if they were all in the same location. But having him by her side? Even if this guy was surrounded by a small army, she was confident they could handle it.
“How’s your shoulder?” She asked, grinning. This was communication without having to say the actual words. Let’s do it. You and me. We can handle it.
He knew there was a reason he liked Sharon. "You know, today's the sort of day where I feel like I could down a group of guys with one hand tied behind my back."
Aramis slipped off the desk, and checked his watch. "I was thinking of taking an early lunch. If you wanted to join me? We could take a more ... Uh. Scenic route, as it were."
“You know, I’m starving.” Sharon said with a smirk, climbing up from her chair. She grabbed her gun belt from the desk and wrapped it around her waist. “And I’d really like a drive. A long one.”
“Oh, good.” Going to his own desk, Aramis grabbed his own gun (customized eerily like his musketeer pistol, with engravings of leaves and vines around it). Once he casually checked that it was loaded, he slipped on his jacket and grabbed his sunglasses. “Your car or mine?”
“Yours?” Sharon asked. She collected up her file, then grabbed her jacket and walked beside him toward the elevator. It only took a minute to get down to the garage. “...I’ll navigate.” She pulled out her phone to get directions.
Aramis nodded. As he stood in the elevator, he shot off a text to some people just to say he was taking an extended lunch and he’d be back in a bit. That covered his bases, right? “On a scale from one to drowning in paperwork, how much trouble do you think we’re going to get in?”
“Well, considering I’m starting at a three or a four after the mugging--they’re still investigating my use of force and injury--probably an eight. Maybe a nine.” Sharon shrugged her shoulders. “It’s worth it to not have wasted weeks of research because of a few stitches.”
“Use of force.” Aramis snorted. “That’s absurd. Would they have rather you get mugged, or hurt any worse?” He tutted his tongue, leading her toward his car. He even opened the door for her before he got into the driver’s seat. “All right. I’m pretty good at quick turns so don’t worry if you need to give me a last minute redirection. And, if you need it, there’s another gun in the glove box.”
“Preaching to the choir,” Sharon agreed with him whole-heartedly. She was trained to defend herself and others when necessary. And this was obviously necessary. So said the stitches along the outside of her upper arm.
“I think I’ll manage, but good to know.” She added once she was comfortable in the passenger seat. She pulled up the map on her phone and gave Aramis the first set of directions. Left, right, left, whatever. It wasn’t too far to the freeway, and only a few exits down, they didn’t have a long drive to get to the warehouse where they’d find the guy.
Easy enough. Aramis followed her directions without a problem, and he kept the radio on but just at a low volume so he wouldn’t go totally crazy with no background noise. Eventually he came to a stop a couple of blocks away, and he looked over. “Is that the place?”
“That’s it,” Sharon said, leaning forward to get a good look through the window. She was focusing up on the higher windows. Everything was dark, but there were no guarantees. “...my intel suggests that there will only be half a dozen guys in the building, all focused on the first floor. We could start at the top and make our way down,” not a good idea, as any commotion would alert those on the first floor to their presence, “Or sneak in through the back on the first floor, take out whoever gets in the way, and find the target.”
“Honestly, Sharon,” Aramis said, looking at the building as well, “this is your project. We’ll do it however you want to.” He was more than willing to let her take the lead on this, since the information he had was only what he’d read briefly in the file she’d shown him.
Sharon nodded once, then set about checking her weapons, and tucking them safely in holsters. Ankle, hip, thigh. She turned to Aramis once more. “We go in through the back, secure the target, take down anyone who stands in the way.” That was a good plan. She had a vague idea where the guy was gonna be, anyway. It shouldn’t be that much trouble. “You’ll follow my lead?” She asked.
It was just about go time. Sharon’s heart started pumping a little faster.
“I am entirely at your disposal.” Aramis went through the same motions of checking his weapons before he got out of the car. He waited for Sharon to move, then began to follow, keeping alert to their surroundings so he could cover her.
The pair moved easily and silently through the alleyway toward the back of the building, then hopped the fence. It was industrial and dark. The likelihood of cameras was low--probably the reason that the criminal element chose this particular neighborhood for their base of operations. The yard was clear of people, though there was a lot of debris from old car parts, out-of-use plastic vats gathering dust, other odds and ends that Sharon couldn’t quite identify.
Silently they moved toward the building. One of the windows was lit, casting a rectangle of light on the ground nearby. Sharon took point. She moved to the doorway and motioned for him to follow. They could burst through this door. Have the element of surprise.
It was very exciting. Aramis honestly wasn’t sure if he’d be able to control his trigger finger once things started happening, because he’d been dormant for so long. His eyes caught the light, too, and when he met Sharon’s motion he nodded his agreement. Aramis believed fully that the element of surprise was everything.
All in all the mission took about twenty minutes, start to finish. They cleared the building, apprehending eight individuals along the way. (Two of them were knocked unconscious in the fight, and three of the others were in need of medical attention.) The main target was handcuffed to a radiator while they waited for back-up to arrive. Sharon was riding high on the adrenaline of the night.
Sharon finished up on the phone with the operator who was sending reinforcements, then turned to Aramis with a bright grin. “...I can’t believe we did it.”
“Ye of little faith,” Aramis said. He laughed, though, throwing his good arm - gently - around Sharon’s shoulders. “My only regret is it didn’t last longer.”
“Next time.” Sharon grinned. Her good arm wrapped around his waist and she gave him a friendly squeeze. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership.” She said, sort of mangling the famous quote from Casablanca.