Chapter Text
"No," Sarah protested with a whine, her reluctance evident. "I'm not working with her." Her declaration reverberated across the room, aimed squarely at the interim Director of Leda. Positioned at the head of the expansive, rectangular table, he meticulously read from a sheet of paper outlining assigned mission pairings provided by the Director.
Seated beside the interim Director, Rachel maintained a stoic countenance, observing Sarah's petulant display with an impassive demeanour. However, beneath her composed facade, Rachel's posture momentarily faltered. Her shoulders sagged gradually, and her jaw tensed with restrained frustration.
The sentiment was reciprocal—Sarah was the least desirable partner in Rachel's eyes. The blonde woman harboured an utter lack of faith in Sarah, doubting her capabilities to handle even the most straightforward tasks, let alone entrusting her with a mission that would endanger their lives.
Rachel's jaw clenched painfully tight as she turned her gaze towards the interim Director, her eyes boring into him with unrelenting intensity, silently pleading for a change in their assigned partners.
However, the now-sweating man remained indifferent, steadfastly fixed on the stack of papers laid out before him. He made no effort to glance in their direction, disregarding the tumultuous actions of the wild-haired brunette who had risen so abruptly that her chair skidded back a few feet.
Without meeting anyone's gaze, she stormed out of the room in a huff, the door slamming deafeningly behind her.
The rain drizzled persistently against the car window, mirroring the tension simmering within the confined space. Sarah Manning glanced at the blurred cityscape outside, a thin smile playing on her lips. She was paired up with Rachel Duncan, a thorn in her side and an adversary in the world of covert operations.
"So, what's the game plan, Ice Queen? Going to charm our way through this mission?" Sarah tossed out, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she looked over at the short-haired woman who was driving.
Rachel arched an eyebrow, her gaze from the road unwavering. "One could argue charm is an effective tool, but I doubt it's in your limited skill set, Ms. Manning."
The jab hit its mark, and Sarah's smirk faltered. "Watch it, Rachel. We're supposed to work together, not against each other."
They reached a red light, so Rachel leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with calculated poise. "I'm quite capable of collaboration, contrary to your assumptions."
"Right. I bet you're itching to get your hands dirty, but heaven forbid you break a nail," Sarah retorted, her tone laced with disdain.
A tense silence settled between them until Rachel finally spoke, her voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. "Your insinuations are petty, Ms. Manning. My priorities lie in efficiency, not in superficial concerns."
The light turned green, and Rachel kept driving. Sarah clenched her jaw, the atmosphere growing heavier with their unspoken rivalry. She pulled her leg close to her chest, and the sole of her boot rested on the black leather seat. Turning her gaze back to the rain-streaked window, stewing in her own frustrations.
As the cityscape transitioned into the open road leading to the airport, the tension refused to dissipate. Sarah fiddled with the radio, trying to break the suffocating silence, but Rachel remained stoically silent.
Finally, unable to bear the stifling atmosphere any longer, Sarah sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to rile you up. It's just... this isn't how I imagined this mission going."
Rachel glanced at her, her eyes guarded yet searching. "We don't have to like each other, but we do have to work together."
"Yeah, I get it," Sarah murmured, deflating slightly. "Guess we'll have to find a way to make it through this without tearing each other apart."
Rachel's lips twitched in a hint of a wry smile. "Agreed. We can't afford distractions."
The tension thawed a fraction, a fragile truce settling between them as the car pressed onward toward their destination. The rhythmic sound of rain and the hum of the engine filled the space as they both grappled with the reality of their collaboration.
Despite their differences and the animosity lingering beneath the surface, a mutual understanding began to form—a realisation that they were both professionals with a job to do.
As the car cruised toward the airport, their gazes met briefly in a silent acknowledgement that, for now, their mission took precedence over their personal animosities.
The unspoken tension lingered, but an uncharted territory of mutual respect lay on the horizon—a territory where enemies might yet find unexpected allies in the dance of their dangerous profession.
As the plane ascended towards their destination in Switzerland, the spacious luxury of the first-class cabin enveloped Sarah in a wave of discomfort. She glanced around, trying to assimilate, but her unease was palpable.
Rachel, on the other hand, exuded an air of familiarity with opulence. She reclined in her seat, sipping a martini with practised grace, observing Sarah's evident uneasiness with a raised eyebrow.
"You seem to be adjusting to first-class quite well," Rachel commented dryly, taking note of Sarah's endless fidgeting.
Sarah scowled, feeling the weight of Rachel's judgmental gaze. "Yeah, well, not all of us are used to sipping martinis in the lap of luxury."
The blonde smirked, swirling the drink in her glass. "You'd do well to act as normal as you can. You're drawing unnecessary attention."
Sarah bristled at the implication. "Didn't think Leda had the budget for this kind of extravagance," she retorted, eyeing Rachel's pristine appearance in contrast to her own dishevelled state.
Rolling her eyes, Rachel sighed. "It's not about the budget, Sarah. It's about blending in. Clearly, subtlety isn't your strong suit."
"And being a snob is yours?" Sarah shot back, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
Rachel leaned in, her voice edged with curiosity. "How did someone like you end up in this business, Ms. Manning? You seem out of place." She dared not use the phrase 'assassin business' on a plane. However, she knows that everyone in this part of the plane, the passengers, were more up their own ass to pay attention to anything else going on around them.
Sarah's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Piss off, Rachel. You wouldn't understand the real world even if it smacked you in the face."
Rachel raised an eyebrow, her patience wearing thin. "Clearly, subtlety and manners aren't on your skill list either."
"Like I care what you think," Sarah snapped, crossing her arms defensively as she slouched deeply into the chair.
A terse silence settled between them, punctuated only by the hum of the plane's engines. Sarah stewed in her own frustration, feeling out of her element amidst the luxury of first class, while Rachel's composed demeanour grated on her nerves.
As the miles stretched between them and their destination, an uneasy détente lingered, both women grappling with their own demons and the uncomfortable proximity forced upon them by their mission. Rachel's disapproving gaze clashed with Sarah's defiant glare, setting the stage for a turbulent journey ahead.
Sarah never envisioned herself in this place. The realm of secrecy, shadows, and global threats wasn't where she imagined her life heading. Yet, somehow, it starkly contrasted the gritty streets she'd called home for so long.
Sarah Manning's story began as an orphan navigating the challenging labyrinth of the foster care system. Her life unfurled against a backdrop of transient homes and shifting caretakers until the night she turned eighteen—a milestone that marked not just adulthood, but a sudden, jarring transition.
It was on that pivotal night when the shelter, the only stability in her turbulent life, expelled her onto the streets with nothing but a black garbage bag clutching her few possessions. The weight of her meagre belongings mirrored the burden of newfound independence thrust upon her shoulders, a stark realisation that the safety net she had known was no longer there to catch her fall.
Her life had been a mosaic of transient moments—crashing at friends' places, stranger's homes, and wherever she could find a temporary refuge. Alleys, subway stations, abandoned buildings– Wrapped in a worn leather jacket that offered little defence against the biting cold, she endured countless frigid nights, each one a testament to her resilience.
Survival came in unconventional ways. A small phone kept charged with prepaid credits; sustenance earned through a blend of cunning maneuvers—conning men, dealing substances. She never indulged in the drugs herself; she merely acted as the intermediary, entrusted by Pouchy to deliver packages to specific meeting points and ensure the exchange of goods for money.
But it often came at a price—bruised, battered, and bloodied when transactions didn't meet Pouchy's expectations.
Her tango with the law wasn't unfamiliar. A defiant act of self-defence resulted in her arrest for assault and the inevitable charge of drug possession. Petty theft, too, was part of her repertoire, moments spent anxiously waiting in the back of stores, bound by zip ties, anticipating the arrival of law enforcement.
Sarah wasn't opposed to the art of thievery, a practised skill acquired during her ventures into stores. She always paid for something, yet always managed to depart with more concealed beneath her clothing, stashed in pockets, or tucked away in her bag.
However, an unexpected turn of events changed the trajectory of her life. An enigmatic figure known simply as "S" unexpectedly bailed her out of jail. Apparently, S had been keeping a watchful eye on Sarah, recognising potential within her—the innate ability to defy odds and survive against relentless adversity. Her agility and knack for manipulation were traits sought after by Leda.
S wielded her influence as a force of transformation. She didn't just recruit individuals in dire straits; she housed them, offered employment, and believed in their latent abilities.
Formerly, the helm of Leda was under the stewardship of Aldous Leekie, but after his assassination, S took the reins. Her origins remained shrouded in mystery—an Irish-accented enigma whose kindness stood in stark contrast to the cold demeanour of her predecessor.
Upon their arrival in Zurich, they promptly made their way to the hotel, a reservation meticulously arranged by the Leda staff in advance. Their responsibilities seemed straightforward—to arrive, accomplish the mission, and ideally return home unscathed. That was the presumption shared by the two women.
However, their expectations drastically shifted when they were unexpectedly designated as partners, a revelation unveiled at the seemingly endless table. Now, their primary concern was not only completing the mission but also ensuring they didn't end up at odds with each other throughout the process.
Rachel strode into the elegant hotel room, her patience thinning with each passing moment. The tension between her and Sarah had become an unwelcome companion throughout their journey, and the discovery of a single, luxurious master bed instead of the expected two doubles seemed to amplify the brewing conflict.
Sarah halted abruptly at the doorway, her expression morphing into a mix of anger and disbelief. "This isn't what Felix booked," she muttered, her voice edged with frustration.
Rachel rolled her eyes, already foreseeing the impending storm. "It seems to be what's available. Complaining won't magically conjure another room," she stated matter-of-factly, unimpressed by Sarah's explosive reaction.
"This is ridiculous. I'm not sharing a bed with you," Sarah shot back, her temper flaring.
Rachel exhaled sharply, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Fine, then sleep on the floor. But I suggest you grow up and deal with it because this mission won't wait for your tantrums."
Without waiting for Sarah's response, Rachel grabbed her suitcase and began to unpack, her movements precise and efficient. She paid no heed to Sarah storming out of the room, her frustration trailing behind her like a storm cloud.
The weight of the silence settled in the room, broken only by the sounds of Rachel organising her belongings. She couldn't fathom Sarah's melodramatic reaction to their accommodations, but she also couldn't afford the luxury of dwelling on it.
As Rachel unpacked, her mind focused solely on the mission at hand. The sooner they started, the sooner this chapter could be closed. She had no intention of letting personal animosities jeopardise the success of their assignment.
Sarah's absence lingered, the tension thickening in the air, but Rachel remained resolute. She would soldier on, with or without Sarah's cooperation, determined to fulfil their mission objectives, even if it meant enduring her partner's relentless hostility.
Rachel sat propped up against the headboard, the book in her hands an excuse to divert her attention from the brewing confrontation. She pretended to immerse herself in the words on the page, though her mind raced with the unspoken tension filling the room.
The click of the door announced Sarah's return, and Rachel resisted the urge to glance up, her eyes fixated on the book, the words blurring into a meaningless jumble. She listened to the sounds of Sarah moving about the room, changing into more comfortable attire, her movements a stark contrast to Rachel's calculated composure.
Finally, Sarah's voice cut through the silence. "Hey, mind if I grab a pillow from here?"
Rachel lowered her book slowly, meeting Sarah's gaze with an unreadable expression. There was a pause, a silent standoff as their eyes locked, a palpable undercurrent of unresolved tension lingering in the air.
Before Sarah could make a move, Rachel swiftly reached for one of the surplus pillows and hurled it towards her. The pillow connected with Sarah's chest, eliciting an unexpected "oof" from her.
"Thanks," Sarah muttered, catching the pillow before it fell to the ground. She retreated to the floor, arranging the pillow and the blanket she had found earlier to make herself a makeshift bed. Sarah has slept in worse places, on harder floors than a four-star hotel in Switzerland.
Rachel resumed her façade of reading, but her attention was drawn to Sarah's figure on the floor. She felt a twinge of guilt, a flicker of remorse for her own brash actions. Yet, beneath that, a sense of frustration simmered, a feeling that Sarah's dramatics were unnecessary.
The room fell into a heavy silence once more, broken only by the sound of Sarah settling in on the floor. Rachel couldn't shake the unease that hung in the air, the tension between them almost tangible.
As the night stretched on, the two women lay in stark contrast—Rachel nestled in the bed, pretending to read, while Sarah made herself as comfortable as possible on the floor. Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, a peculiar sense of camaraderie lingered beneath the surface, buried beneath layers of pride and rivalry.
With the weight of the day's events pressing upon them, sleep eventually claimed both women, each drifting off in their own space—physically apart yet inexplicably connected by the shared intensity of their conflicting partnership.