Marguerite Blakeney is clearly beyond scruples (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} blazeinhereyes) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valarlogs,@ 2019-01-04 20:02:00 |
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What: Undercover missions going very very wrong
When: 4 January 2019, evening
Where: Some fancy party for intelligence gathering to a safe house to
Warnings: Violence, blood
Status: Log | Complete
While one should always prepare to be shot at, Natasha hadn’t exactly expected this mission to involve gun play. A simple and quick infiltration through the front door as guests, Marguerite distracting the host (while plying him for information) and Natasha copied key computer files.
It all went smoothly until one of the other guests somehow recognized Marguerite. The shouting started, and then the gun fire. She’d bolted out of the library in time to watch Marguerite pull off some very impressive moves.
They’d rushed for one of the exits Natasha had marked, leaping through it as a hail of bullets followed them.
And everything was all right. Everything had worked out.
Except Natasha’s eyes couldn't miss the red blossoming on Marguerite’s chest.
It had been a few months since Marguerite had gone undercover. There had been the intel gathering she had done with Evie back in October, however as rehearsals had picked up and then a month of performances and the holidays? It had been a bit. Not that it was hard for Marguerite to slip into a role when helping Natasha.
She’d donned a wig and contacts and a dress (to fit the host’s particular type to make it easier to get information) and it had been going just fine. The host was giving her what she wanted while Natasha got the computer files she needed. There was just one small hitch in the plan.
A person Marguerite hadn’t anticipated seeing again. It had been over a year and a half since she had seen the man, and while she didn’t react in the slightest when she was ‘introduced’ to the man, it seemed St.Cyr recognized her despite the fact she currently had black hair and green eyes thanks to contacts.
Her cover was blown and despite the fact it was just supposed to be some fancy party of the well to do who had more money than anyone should have who did nothing with it despite their claims otherwise…. There was a lot of gun fire and Marguerite quickly caught sight of Natasha and followed after her.
There was chaos. A lot of chaos but she couldn’t focus on that. Vaguely she was aware of the image of St. Cyr with a gun but she couldn’t pay it mind. Adrenaline was pumping and they got to the door.
It was fine.
Only Natasha was looking at her chest and Marguerite just looked at the other woman in confusion, only then aware that her chest felt warm despite the cold and she moved to touch the area and realized that there was something wet and sticky on her chest. Adrenaline and shock were amazing like that. All she could do was stare at the blood on her fingertips, not seeming to really grasp what had just happened even as the adrenaline wore off and standing was not a thing that was happening anymore.
Oh, Percy was going to kill her. Natasha was a professional, who'd dealt with this kind of situation all the damn time. So she didn't show her panic; and there was always panic. Natasha had just mastered that years ago.
She stepped in quickly, getting Marguerite's arm around her shoulder just as she started to fall. If she let Marguerite fall, she wasn't so sure that she'd be able to get her out of here alive to tend that wound. "Walk with me. One step at a time."
No panic was a good thing. Honestly Marguerite wasn’t sure what to make of what had just happened. On the one level, she understood that she’d been shot. There was no other explanation for the blood and pain. Yet it seemed so sudden and unlikely (especially because of the St. Cyr of it all, leave it to that man to ruin things yet again) that her mind just couldn’t seem to wrap around the truth of the situation.
Blinking rapidly, the actress was aware that breathing was becoming more labored, difficult, but right. Walking and following Natasha’s orders of one step at a time. If she could just focus on each step that would be good. At least that was the theory. Truth be told, Marguerite really wasn’t wanting to think about any other possibilities of what might happen at the moment.
There were alarms going off. That was just great. Natasha switched to plan B, which wasn’t exactly the plan she’d wanted to go with but sometimes you had to go with the backup plan.
There was an entrance to underground tunnels nearby, and Natasha had to wrestle with the manhole cover and then wrestle with getting Marguerite into the tunnels. Once she’d cleared the trail and replaced the cover, Natasha half carried, half dragged Marguerite towards the nearest manhole to her local safehouse. “Hey. Hey, listen to me. You’re going to be okay.”
As soon as she got her inside the safe house she was cutting open her shirt. And ...shit. “Don’t die, don’t you dare die on me.”
It was probably a bad thing that Marguerite couldn’t tell if she was hearing the alarms or not since it also felt like there was blood rushing to her brain. Or that was just the stress. It was hard to say. All she knew was that she needed to keep moving and not stop. At least that seemed to be Natasha’s aim and well, this was more Natasha’s world. Marguerite had done her share of helping the Pimpernel in the Dreams but still...this was more Natasha’s world than the actress’ and so she’d follow her lead.
And that was how she found herself in a safe house. She couldn’t really remember the getting there. She was aware of being dragged along, of manholes and tunnels and assurances that she was going to be okay but it was getting harder to focus so there was that as well.
She vaguely remembered this feeling. The cold. The haze. But Percy wasn’t there this time.
“Percy…Armand...”
The comment was weak, confused. But she was vaguely aware of what Natasha was saying.
Don’t you dare die on me.
It was so strange how a simple phrase could lead to a spiral of memories and images.
The image of St.Cyr at the party yelling and pointing a gun intermixing with the court where he had slapped her and blamed her for the actions of his son that had led to his son committing suicide in front of all of them. Of the headless zombie attacking Pimpernel Outreach. Of him thrashing her brother. Of him throwing her in jail. Of holding Armand to her as their parents were executed and the man turning to them.
Learn from this.
Chauvelin.
Instead you die a traitor, and very much alone.
She wasn’t a traitor. Not here. Percy’s voice imploring her to hold on a bit longer, dying in his arms. His reaction to Moulin Rouge, of placing his hand over her heart to remind him that she was alive and well and only died on stage.
She couldn’t put him through it again, dying in his arms. But the loneliness of dying in childbirth in the dreams, her husband away on a mission…..
Dyin’ ain’t so bad, not if you both go together, only when one’s left behind does it get sad… Because of course lyrics and songs would swirl in her mind as well.
And what of her brother? They only had one another in the Dreams. Even as they been adopted, they had always been close and there was so much….
“I swear to you, I won’t die”
“How can you swear such a stupid thing, of course you will, we all will…”
No. She needed to fight. Breathing was beginning to hurt but she still tried to push herself up only to gasp in pain. Okay not so much that. She just...she wasn’t dying. Not again. She refused to.
Natasha nearly stumbled in her work; Marguerite seemed to be spiraling, muttering to herself, singing to herself in a distant, unaware way.
And she wasn't sure how to break her out of it, or if she should. If maybe it was better right now for her to be unawares, while Nat dug into Marguerite's chest for the bullet, while she cleaned the wound and sewed it and prayed that it was enough.
“Sing for me?” Natasha asked. A distraction, they needed a distraction.
Through the haze and fuzz of memories that jumbled together from so many dreams and life here, Marguerite heard the request to sing. Did that actually happen? Was it a good idea? It wasn’t like she was a doctor or a surgeon, so Marguerite honestly had no idea. But if Natasha wanted her to sing, then she would sing.
Why her mind landed on the scene it did, well….who knew. A combination of it being the last show she’d just done and the situation they found themselves in….. Maybe not the most reassuring or hopeful of songs, but Natasha hadn’t given her any hints. Though of course she needed to do the lead in.
“You’ll do no such thing! We’ve all worked too hard for tonight. Toulouse and the girls, it’s the chance for Christian’s music to be heard by the world, I can’t let them down!”
Her voice was strained (Natasha was digging around for a bullet after all and the strain of everything going on) and she paused for Zidler’s line in her memory before continuing on.
“Nonsense! And anyway, Natasha, is there a better ending for people like us?” People like her and Natasha who gathered information and threw themselves into it, people like her and Percy who did what they could to help others….funny how the lines were blurring once again between the role and who she was here even as specifics were different, “One last performance and the curtain falls…” A pause, “Sing a dirty song at my funeral.”
Again, not the best thing or scene for the current situation but it was where her mind had gone. She seemed to hear Zidler’s next line but instead of responding just went into the singing as she’d been told to do.
“Baby I have no story to be told
But I heard one for you and I’m gonna make your head burn
Think of me in the depth of your despair
Making a home down there cause mine sure won’t be shared…”
Even with the strain on her voice, there was emotion weak as she was feeling.
“The scars of your love remind me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all
The scars of your love they leave me breathless
I can’t help thinking
We could have had it all
Rolling in the deep
You had my heart inside of your hand
And you played it to the beat…”
Breathless was certainly part of how she was feeling and god the part of her that still worried she would end up dying here, this time without Percy, all the things they could have had but the time running out. And again with missing some of the dialogue but there were breaks in the music and she struggled for breath.
“As long as I live, I belong here…. You know I’m ill. Percy doesn’t know. Nor should he, I’ve hurt him enough, he doesn’t deserve anymore pain.”
She had felt so long that were she and Percy in different situations, they could have been Christian and Satine and so the slipping between role and herself continued. She wasn’t sick, it was just the line but the faces and names continued to overlap.
“My heroes had the heart
To lose their lives on out on the limb
And all I remember is thinking I wanna be like them
Mm hmmm
Ever since I was little
Ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it’s no coincidence I’ve come
And I can die when I’m done…”
True that part hadn’t been one that Satine had sung, instead being Christian but technicalities, even as her voice seemed fainted before picking up again as it was both a part she had sung and just stubbornness.
“Throw your soul through every open door
Count your blessings to find what you look for
Turned my sorrow into treasured gold
You pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow
We could have had it all
We could have had it all
It all, it all, it all
Maybe I’m crazy
Maybe I’m crazy
You had my heart inside of your hand
And you played it, you played it, you played it
To the beat.”
If the gasp and struggle were from the exertion of singing or what was going on in the room in the safe house, Marguerite couldn’t say but it was also reflex after months of rehearsal and performing to go straight into the last scene.
“Every choice I’ve made has led me here, to the mouth of hell. I can feel the flames at my back. Is there hope yet? Can someone take my hand and lead me to the light? Is there life beyond this living death?”
A pained gasp put an end to her going to the next line. God she hoped Natasha was nearly done and she could just sleep. Sleep and wake up later to be exact. But she was mostly focused on the pain at the moment.
Oh, this was going to hurt. Natasha didn't have time to worry about the fact Marguerite just went full Satine, but it would distract her from the burn of the alcohol for cleaning the wound, and the stitches on no painkillers. Or staples, as Natasha discovered in her little first aid kit in the safe house.
And there remained the very real fear that there was internal damage Natasha simply couldn't fix and only time would tell.
She did the math in her head; Logan and the Blackbird would be the fastest option, but even that would be two or three hours before she could get Marguerite to the Agency medical facilities...
The lines were appropriate, perhaps a little on the nose, even, but Natasha worked and worked. And it seemed like Marguerite was finished. Singing, at least.
"There. Got a temporary patch on you and our ride should be arriving soon." She wiped her hands on a cloth. "All done, and just in time for the finale."
Marguerite paused as Natasha said that the temporary patch was on and that a ride was coming. That was good, that was really good. Because while she technically could have mentioned Caroline or Freya, their abilities were their own secrets and even when facing death, Marguerite kept the secrets of others. So this would work.
Instead she just gave a tired nod.
“That’s good. Which finale would you like?”
Because while she could technically keep on with the Moulin Rouge finale, she’d been interrupted and was more than fine with switching shows as she had lost her rhythm. If Natasha was actually serious. It was hard to tell, even as it was helping to keep her awake at the moment which was probably important at the moment.
“Give me something hopeful,” Nat said, checking her comm device for a status of the Blackbird. “Something you wouldn’t mind an additional audience for if he moves his ass faster.”
“And by hopeful, you mean my character doesn’t die?”
What? Just because Marguerite was in and out of it and trying not to focus on the pain and everything that had happened didn’t change the fact that there was a reason she was known as the cleverest woman in Europe in all five sets of her Dreams. The actress tended to be very good at picking up on the things unsaid.
But okay. A show she didn’t die in. While there were shows she knew that she hadn’t been part of, often there were too many lines for her to make sense of. At least at this point in time. Or there were overlapping parts that made it less likely for her to choose. Like RENT. She could easily do the ending of RENT from when Mimi woke up (again, quite fitting all things considered) but seeing at how there were overlapping lines and songs by then...probably not.
It also ruled out both Newsies and Bandstand because of the lead ins to the final songs. Or she herself wasn’t part of the ending.
So what was something she could do in this state that was hopeful and she didn’t die? Well she supposed there was only one real answer. Which also gave Marguerite pause just because it only now clicked that in both Chauvelin recognizing her in the Dreams and then St.Cyr here, she’d been wearing a black wig. The things one thinks of while trying to stay conscious.
Right.. She was doing another finale for Natasha. Even if she had died in the last set of dreams, she hadn’t in the previous four, which the first of which was where this finale was coming from. Though admittedly again the first line she spoke wouldn’t quite make it clear if she was starting from a show or her mind jumping to random thoughts and concerns given the fact that she’d been shot and could probably still die if things went wrong.
Lady Blakeney, your husband would not have left you if he knew about your past.
“Does my husband know how much I love him?”
Marguerite, can you ever forgive me ever? For all these months never letting you see into my heart?
“But I did see.”
You did? Past all the ruffles and lace?
“I always recognized you, Percy. The measure of a man is on the inside.”
Yes, as is the beauty of a woman.
“Percy, is it time yet to leave the bride and groom alone?”
Let me look at you, there’s so much to say
“Oh how wonderful I look and you don’t turn away”
I can’t take my eyes from you
“God help me
But I want you even more than before
Now you’ve come home to me
Never again to hide
Now when I lie awake at night
There will be someone by my side”
Now you know
But then I guess you always knew
“I am so lost in love when I look at you.”
While it was still strange at times to think her life a musical that people saw and she had starred as herself in, Marguerite couldn’t deny that in her current state it was easier to remember the lines than if she tried to go back further in her memory for shows. So once she caught her breath it was onto the curtain call. Where admittedly the line she was singing had been Percy and the Bounders but that was irrelevant. Natasha wanted hopeful and it again was rather on the nose for what it was they were doing in the first place. So with the three time clap the cast had done in time to the music, it was into the music again.
“Someone has to face the valley
Rush in we have to rally
And win boys
When the world is saying not to
By god you know you’ve got to march on boys
Never hold back your step for a moment
Never doubt that your courage will grow
Hold your head even higher and into the fire
We go
In to fire
Onward ho!”
Which then led to coughing up blood and more pain. She really hoped that whoever Natasha had coming to get them would get there soon.
It was beautiful, and Natasha hoped it helped Marguerite.
Lights flared in the window, a gust of wind from some source making the curtains flutter. Something thudded on the roof, and moments later heavy footsteps came down the stairs.
Logan paused, staring at them. "...Showtunes. That's actually a new one."
"We need to get her out of here."
"I got her." Logan leaned over Marguerite and then gently picked her up.
It helped Marguerite in that it helped to keep her focused. Add in the extra meaning of why she was fighting so hard to survive, her husband and brother. It didn’t help in that she didn’t exactly have the energy for it, and then the fact it had led to coughing up blood. But that was life.
At least it seemed that whomever Natasha had called to get them back was there. Good. That was good. And it was Logan which was just amusing to Marguerite given the whole cupid’s arrow and killing him thing along with Rita Skeeter linking them together.
Only in Orange County.
“Hello, secret-husband.”
The movement caused her to wince before coughing again. Yeah, that could really stop any time now.
“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Logan said, carefully carrying her up the stairs towards the roof. “People are gonna talk. All those tongues waggin’, your husband might try to kill me.”
“I’d pay for that,” Natasha quipped.
It was a testament to Marguerite’s acting abilities that she was managing to keep most of the discomfort and pain from being visible beyond when she’d start coughing. At which point it was a moot point. But otherwise, she was managing to not show how much pain she was in from the movement.
“He might, but we all know I’m the lethal one.”
And it was a testament to her stubbornness that she was coherent enough to tease, even if her voice was weak at the moment.
Natasha settled into the pilot’s seat as Logan secured Marguerite on a pull down bed in the back, hooking her into an IV to help with the pain, and then a bag of plasma. “I think I can get her stabilized until we get back to the Agency. Damn good job with that bullet, Nat.”
It was a sad commentary on how much violence mutants went through, Natasha thought. But it was really handy right now. “One of my specialties.”
Marguerite certainly wasn’t going to complain. Admittedly as she was hooked up to the IV for pain, that meant that her struggle to stay conscious was a losing one. The joys of IVs used for pain, they had a tendency to knock people out. Especially given how exhausted Marguerite had been from the blood loss. Throughout it all, she’d been cold but the random songs and memories had distracted her.
Still, exhaustion was beating out the cold at this point. Even if she wanted to force herself to stay awake to make sure she saw Percy as there was that fear she would close her eyes and wouldn’t wake up - again - the battle was a losing one.