Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2821553.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Major_Character_Death,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Hiddlestoner, Tom_Hiddleston_-_Fandom, Marvel_Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      Tom_Hiddleston/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Original_Female_Character(s), Original_Male_Character(s)
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-22 Updated: 2014-12-23 Chapters: 3/4 Words: 2645
****** Emma ******
by vampirewithbedsidemanners
Summary
     "You act like I'm human,
     You pretend like you care,
     But if you knew the truth of me,
     You would not be standing there."
***** Thursday *****
I shattered. That is what this is, surely. This is what little is left of my
heart ripping into pieces and crumbling in ash. This is what it feels like to
become the flame in my veins. The room around me, the soldiers in uniforms that
stand like statues watching me in silence, too stunned to move. Shock. This is
shock and loss and regret. This is pain.
“I AUTHORIZE!!! DEF-CON 1! I AUTHORIZE DEADLY FORCE!!!” I repeated over and
over, gripping the back of the chair in front of me. There was no one on the
other end to receive my orders, not anymore. Silent static hummed in between
each phrase, in the chasm of death and loss. There was nothing I could do from
there. My voice got smaller and smaller, room around me spinning in and out of
focus.
“Canna…” I choked out, feeling myself falling and not having the energy to move
my arms to catch myself. Hands grabbed me from behind, holding me up as my legs
gave out and I lost the ability to stand.
“Natalia… The General…” An operator from somewhere beyond the tight tunnel my
vision formed spoke. Shaking, I lifted my hand out and felt the weight of a
phone being pressed against my palm.
Auto pilot. That is what I need. Just auto pilot... I whispered in my head as I
pulled the phone to my ears.
“We lost it.” He yelled into my ear.
“Yes, sir.” Speaking pulled me back. I shoved a wall in place to dam the flow
of pain.
“Get it back.” His voice was a growl.
“Yes, sir.” My reply was automatic; quick, short, and direct. There was a pause
after my answer, and I could feel the anger dissipating through the phone;
dissipating into mournful realization, almost pity.
“Not you.” He finally got out, his voice back to normal and his tone laced with
years of stress and loss and understanding. It was a quiet, tired tone that
scratched at the wall that I was still building.
“Sir?” My voice did not waver as I broke my repetitive answers.
“You… Break. Take a week, stay in Moscow. You just lost your entire unit. Go
home. Take the time you need to pull yourself together.”
“I need to work.” I replied. Memories of Azkaban flashed in my mind; the
aftermath, the grief. I could see myself sitting in my empty apartment, legs
strewn out in front of me, greasy, dirty hair tumbling down into my face.
Sitting on the floor, back to the wall, bottle in one hand, picture in the
other...
“Home.” he ordered.
“... Interpreting?” I put something behind it. Maybe fear, maybe emotion. I
don't really know. There was a pause, a brief moment of silence as he weighed
my answer; the good and the bad and the possibility.
“Talk to Putin. Stay in Moscow. I want your gun.” He replied. Before I said
anything, there was a click and the long drawn out dial tone as the General
hung up.
Around me the room erupted into life. Soldiers yelled new information over
their computer screens, orders and death tolls and things I couldn't bring
myself to listen to anymore. Silently, I set my 45 on the table with my badge
and stumbled backwards. The lieutenants that were around me gave me reassuring
squeezes and compassionate looks that did nothing. The cold was consuming me
from the inside, freezing everything I was once. The soldier, the scholar, the
mercenary, the lover… Alive. I stumbled out of the room, past the monitors and
attendants and through the heavy iron door that was held open for me by someone
I didn't care to see who it was. It closed slowly behind me. From inside the
room, a voice yelled over everyone “Estimated Death Toll! 325,000!”. The door
shut with a heavy thud, cutting off the voices, the noise, everything.
***** Death *****
Death... It seems like sweet solitude now. The beckon of oblivion. A darkness
beyond pain, beyond suffering, beyond the red of the blood that stains my hands
and the words that rattle around in my mind. Beyond the red that flows through
me, fire against frozen skin that will not thaw.
3 days. Just 3. The sun rises in the morning, but I do not see it. The floor is
cold in the apartment, but it is nothing to the cold inside. Death toll...
325,000 lives... I failed them... the children in the school that waved at me
as I rode by; waved at their savior in the armed vehicle, the soldiers that
were there to free them... Protect them... 
Another memory, another face that is gone, another wave of pain that coursed
through me, curling me into a ball. I had no tears to give, no words to say. I
pulled the bottle to my face and drank, fighting fire with fire. It burned,
scorched... A numbing pain... For a second it dulled the river of red, just
long enough to pick myself up off the floor and stumble out of the baren living
room to the bathroom. Vomit... Shower...Drink... I pulled open the door,
leaving the lights off, and walked into the shower. clothing... I thought
helplessly as I slid down the wall, reaching out to turn the cold water on as I
went.
It doesn't smell as bad when there is nothing else but vodka and acid... I
realized as the cold water flowed over my body, into my hair.
"No. You need time off. Go home." That is what he said to me... Go home... This
is home; home is dead. Another wave of nausea took over me as the cold water
washed away the alcohol induced fog of my brain. I need sleep... 3 days is too
long... I vomited again, then pushed myself up onto my heels and under the
water. I pulled my soaked t-shirt off, leaving me naked, my knees swimming in
vodka and stomach acid, and my head tilted back under the water. 
I need to get up. I need to move... Soap... Start with soap... I thought,
reaching out for the bar that laid on the ledge. It was slippery in my palm as
I moved it over my body, between my legs and over my stomach and breasts. I
washed away the last 3 days of drinking and pain. One brick at a time. I
repeated in my head as I lathered up my hands and ran them through my
hair. Cold... Everything is so cold... I need to be... I stopped my train of
thought, pulling myself up and pressing my back into the wall of the shower.
The sound of the water running finally cut through my thoughts as my eyes
really opened for the first time since Thursday. I'm still drunk... I thought,
recognizing the tell tale signs of blurriness in the corners of my vision and
the tipsyness of my head.
I turned off the water, picked myself out of the shower, and took my first real
step in days. Everything was weak; my legs jell-o, my arms useless. The hard
tile of the bathroom floor dug into me as I impaled myself against its smooth
surface. I struggled up onto my hands and knees, then felt against the wall and
up on my feet. 12 steps, through the door... the mattress... I slumped over
onto the thin roll out mattress in the center of the room. Empty... Its so
empty... I closed my eyes against the dark of the room, letting sleep claim me.
===============================================================================
Sore. Everything. Head to toe. I cringed as I stretched my arms and legs out.
The bare mattress on the carpet floors under me was damp from my shower, and
cold. Everything was cold. The air, the floor, my skin, my heart. I rolled over
onto my back, opening my eyes to the dark of the room. Over the windows, black
out curtains hung blamelessly against the walls. I pulled myself up, my head
protesting with blinding pain. Numbness radiated through my body, numbness and
cold. My wall was tentative, but better with sobriety and sleep. I made my way
to the wall, flipping on the dim ceiling light so I could dress. Bra,
underwear, tank-top, dark skinny jeans, leather jacket and boots that come up
to my knees and I could move around, finally. 
Food. I walked out of the room into the dark hall, running my fingers against
the smooth wall as I made my way through the darkness. Food. I grabbed my bag
off the counter where I had dropped it 3 days ago and headed for the door.
Outside was cold, snow falling on the ground. I made my way out onto the street
where the fresh snow was already black sleet and down the road. On the corner
was the Liquor store I had bought the vodka at on the way back. It was small,
dingy, and smelt of cigarettes and booze. Most of the shelves were lined with
alcohol. The clerk behind the counter gave me short nod.
"Back for more?" He asked in thick Russian, his broad shoulders shaking with
silent laughter. I glared in his direction and he stopped, holding his hands up
in surrender to his own little joke.
In the back was a shelf stocked with nuts and crackers and jars of pickled
vegetables. I grabbed a bag of peanuts and a small package of crackers and
pulled 5 euros out of my pocket. The man looked up in feigned surprise as I set
the items on the counter along with the 5 euros. He rang up my order and handed
me my change as I scooped up my weak attempt at food.
I stepped outside, reveling in the cold. The nuts were stale and salty, the
crackers broken. I walked along the street, popping handfuls into my mouth, not
wanting to return to my apartment. My mind was thankfully blank as I walked and
ate. The food agreed slightly with my stomach but did nothing to fill the
emptiness inside. I tossed the packages in the trash and made my way back to my
empty apartment. I mounted the steps, walked through and found myself in the
darkness once more. Thoughts stirred in my mind, scratching at the wall, but
faded away as I made my way into the room.
Ill run, Ill read... Ill move on. I thought with empty determination, flipping
the light on and falling on my knees before my duffel bag. Sweat pants, a
hoodie, and running shoes. I pulled them on, leaving my jeans and leather
jacket in a pile on the floor. My limbs had stopped shaking, my mind reeling.
All the words that had been thrown at me had been silenced.
I stood before the mirror, earbuds in place and toothbrush in hand. The girl
staring back at me was thin, and pale with dark circles and tinges of red. The
girl staring back at me was cold, dead; there was no emotion in her face that
was just pretty enough to not be ugly, but not enough to cover the monster she
had become.
"Dive, thoughts, down to my soul..." I quoted Richard the III to the girl in
the mirror, with her long red hair and thin frame and dead eyes, as I pushed
play and walked out of the apartment. Shoes to pavement, thoughts to rest, each
step bringing me closer to forgetting. 
***** Time Turns *****
It has been six months since... I thought warily as I stood outside the capitol
building in my black slacks and blazer, looking every bit the intern I would
have made had I not joined. With a deep breath I made my way up the stairs and
through the door.
Emma Kaeden, 23, new office assistant. I repeated in my head as I handed the
wary guard my papers and proceed through the checkpoint. I walked past
everyone, pretending to look through my maps as I made for the elevator. Eyes
followed me as I passed, looking me up and down, appraising me as I was to them
without their knowledge... Resisting the smirk that threatened to curl my lips
I reached down and fiddled with the hem of my blazer, waiting for the elevator
to arrive. The eyes that followed me soon left, returning to their jobs, losing
interest in the new face. With a soft ping, the elevator arrived and I
clammered in, abandoning the grace I acquired through training to make my
facade more believable. I hit the buttons, waited for the doors to slide shut,
then stood, bringing myself back to my normal stature.
I am the assassin, the mercenary, the spy... I am the face in the darkness that
no one remembers... That is what I am, that is what I have always been. I am
the shell of a girl that once lived, a meat suit with nothing, wanting
nothing... This is where I belong; alone, working undercover, where no one
knows me and no one will remember.
 The elevator stopped on the top floor and I stepped out into the foyer. Two
guards stood at attention, regarding me mildly. Behind them were two great oak
doors that were cracked open slightly. With a short, acknowledging nod, I
walked past them and through the slightly ajar doors.
"Vladimir." I said cooly, shutting the door behind me.
"Anna... or is it Natalia still? I didn't really read into the orders too
much..." He said dismissively, waving a hand in a sit gesture at the empty
chair opposite the desk he sat behind. I walked over and sat down, crossing my
ankle across my knee.
"Emma Kaeden." I replied, letting my lip curl up in a soft smirk. Vladimir
folded his hands on the desk before him and fixed me with his business stare.
"So you understand the predicament, yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you understand your orders?"
"Yes, sir."
He looked me over and then let a tight smile cross his lips as he relaxed.
"Good, here is my calendar. Your desk is through there." He handed me a black,
leather, portfolio and gestured through the doors. "Get to work."
With that I was off. I settled into the empty desk in the room, set the folder
on the glass top, and fired up the computer on the desk. Im his fucking
assistant. I thought sourly as I opened the portfolio and started entering
appointments in his calendar. 
===============================================================================
 
"Ross!" The commander had called from across the barracks. I swung my legs off
the table and stood.
"Yes, Sir!" I responded.
"Sec needs you in his office."
"Yes, Sir!" I answered, the perfect soldier, and practically ran to the
generals row. Secretary Carter's door was slightly ajar, and he sat behind his
desk, weighing a manila folder in his hands.
"Ross, sit." He said as I knocked lightly on the door. I walked in and took the
seat before him.
"Vladimir has requested our assistance weeding out a security threat in the
capital. Apparently, someone in his office is leaking secrets to a third party.
The stability of Russia is of the utmost importance. So... You will be going
undercover as his assistant and interpreter."
"Yes, sir."
"You leave at 1700, tomorrow, out of Bosworth. Here." He handed me the folder.
"Dont be late."
"Yes sir." I took the folder and turned to leave, questions burning inside
me. I'm going back... back there.Images of moscow, the security ward, Putin
behind his desk telling me to go home. Last time I was in moscow, 352,642
people died, 300 of those mine. And now I was going back. I reeled.
"Oh, and Ross... Keep that bastard alive." Sec growled at me. I gave a short
nod and left in contemplative silence.  
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