I'm getting the strangest sense of Deja Vu...(Feli and Al)

[Feliciano Vargas]

Words: 868

Tags: Alfred F. Jones

Notes: Hurray! Feli gets a new friend/mortal enemy!

“Oh Feli… you look terrible!”

Feli winced, normally he loved Beck’s blunt personality, loved that he never had to guess what was going on beyond those hazel eyes of hers. But tonight the less attention she brought to him the better.

“I’m fine, Beck, really—“ he moved to wave her off, only to have her gasp and grab his arm. His bandaged arm.

“This is what you call fine?” She demanded. “Please tell me you didn’t get hit again—“

Feli, relieved, latched onto that excuse eagerly. He laughed and finally managed to slip out of her grip with a laugh. “Well you see… there was this cute girl and she was all alone and trying to carry so many grocery bags. She was in need, Beck! And the car was going slow, it’s just a few bruises and scrapes.”

Beck just stared at him, as though weighing his words before finally shaking her head. “Bloody hell, Feliciano! You got hurt skirt-chasing again!? Lud is going to give you so much hell when he finds out!” Still muttering under her breath, she started back to her station, Feli hot on her heels.

“You don’t have to tell him!” He said, brow knit worriedly as he tugged on her sleeve.

“I think he’d figure it out.” Beck retorted, though her stern look was faltering, just as it always did in the face of Feli’s puppy-dog eyes. She finally sighed. “But I won’t say anything.” Content, Feli beamed and nodded.

“Grazie!” He said, turning back to set up his own station. He hated lying to Beck, but he had no choice. She couldn’t possibly know what really lay under that bandage. Or what led up to it.

Even if he could tell her, Feli wasn’t sure he even knew what to say. It should have been an easy job. It had been an easy job, Feli corrected himself with a frown. The target had no idea that he’d fallen on the wrong side of the mafia. There was no increased security, no one patrolling the grounds. No one sneaking around the shadows except Feli… or so he had thought.

It hadn’t been one of Mecini’s men, that Feli knew for sure. But that only left two options… a rival assassin or… or the authorities. Feli felt sick just thinking about it. He hadn’t gotten a chance to look at the bullet after it tore through his bicep, but the gun sounded more like a SIG Sauer, which certainly seemed to lend credence to the second option. And if that was the case, than Feli had been within a breath away from being caught…. His hand shook as he began prepping his tools for the night. It had always been a possibility of course, every job that Feliciano took was one step closer to prison or the grave. He knew this, had always known this, but to imagine that he’d been that close to the end last night—Feli couldn’t bear to think about it. He couldn’t let that happen yet. There were too many people that he cared about, he couldn’t leave them… not yet.

He swallowed, determined to pull himself together. He couldn’t brood about might have beens all night. Tonight he was just Feliciano Vargas. It wouldn’t do to be anything but cheerful and welcoming. Hoisting a bright smile, Feli finished setting up and turned to greet his first round of regulars… except that wasn’t the first person his eyes landed on.

Feli’s first thought was… He’s tall! And it was certainly true. The stranger, stepping into his bar was certainly tall, and he walked with confidence, shoulders thrown back and head held high. Feli couldn’t help but wonder if he was taller than Luddi, It was tough to compare, unlike Feli’s German friend, the man didn’t quite have the muscles to fill out that frame, giving him a more lanky appearance than Luddi. He seemed far more relaxed too, no worried crease on that brow. Feli was content to just observe the stranger from afar.

But then the stranger smiled.

Feli liked that smile immediately, how could he not? It was the kind of smile that transformed his whole face, and his eyes danced like spotlights, even in the dimmed lighting of the bar. Feli couldn’t help but return that bright smile when their eyes finally met.

“Welcome to The Bunker!” He called, waving him over cheerfully. “You’re new! I can tell! I never forget a face, and I’ve never seen yours before! I think you’ll really like it here! We make the best drinks in all of London! One taste and you’ll be completely hooked!” He clapped his hands together, rocking back on his heels happily, any thoughts of the previous night banished by this intriguing new person. “It’s nice to meet you, by the way! My name’s Feli! Well, Feliciano, but no one ever calls me that! If you need anything, just let me know, okay?! It’s my job to make sure you have a great time here! You'll like it here! Everyone likes it here, you'll see!” He stopped himself then. After all how was he ever going to get to know this new person unless he let the man speak? "So, what'll it be?"

made by MISSO for KAT

[Alfred F. Jones]

feel the light shining in the dark of the night

Alfred needed a drink. Alfred didn't lose assets often, not even in Kiev. He was always careful, at least in this area. He took time to build his relationships slowly, developing the trust that was necessary for any promising asset. He earned their trust, their loyalty. Not always through his own personality, no, but loyalty could be bought. In fact generally speaking, loyalty was more reliable if bought. Alfred didn't deny that some of the best assets in the CIA had been those who were dedicated to democracy and life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, but most assets were not like that. People who were trying to please you lied to make you happy. People who wanted money from you actually tried to find information worth knowing. It took a long time to convince people to work against their own government. Several months at the least, but it could expand to several years. What distinguished Alfred in Kiev was his ability to shorten that process, to connect with and create reliable assets for the CIA. At the same time, Alfred actively sought out other ways to gather intel. With new technology, human intelligence was no longer the most efficient manner to gain credible information. Nowadays it was all about bribing people to leave their computers for just a minute, enough time for Alfred to stick a USB in and swipe all the data off of it. Not as fun, no, but just as important. Still, data couldn't replace human intelligence completely. People were sporadic, unpredictable in crucial moments. This was why the CIA was still relevant and hadn't converted over completely to the methods of the NSA. Alfred grimaced a little to himself. Shot before he could even get the intel. The man, codename Morning, had been sniped. Alfred had thought the area was clear, abandoned really. Their rendezvous was supposed to be a secret. Yet somehow they'd been discovered, and Morning was dead before Alfred had completely registered what had happened. Of course, by then, his training had kicked in and he'd been on the ground, gun in hand, but still. Alfred had fired after the sniper, but no shot was returned. After a few minutes, when Alfred had determined that the coast was clear and Morning was dead (perhaps, Alfred thought bitterly, they should change his name to Mourning now), he has picked himself up and immediately headed towards the building directly adjacent to them. Alfred was a good shot, and though the possibility of him having killed the sniper was slim, it wasn't simply something Alfred could leave up to chance. He'd hurried up, searching every empty room until finally, he came upon the single traces of a human being: blood, and the absence of dust. He'd called in the MI6 afterwards. They would examine the blood, see if it matched anyone in the database. There hadn't been any fingerprints at the scene though. Whoever it was had been careful for the most part. And seeing as Alfred had managed to get a shot in (a small consolation for a lost asset he supposed), it made sense that the culprit had fled the scene before cleaning up fully after himself. To be caught in such a scenario would not have boded well for him. At any rate, Alfred needed a new asset and just as importantly, he needed alcohol. Alfred was by no definition an alcoholic. He generally preferred soda and being drunk never led to anything good in his profession. Of course, that had been Kiev, where Alfred was watching his back constantly. London, Alfred had thought at least, would give him some well-deserved relaxation. Some boredom as well, but Alfred chose to focus on the better parts of London. That was what he'd thought, right until the moment Morning had been shot in the head. Alfred sighed as he stopped in front of a bar. It was a new place that Alfred had been meaning to test out, though not this early. Desperate times called for desperate measures though. With that, Alfred pushed the door open and let a smile fall easily to his lips. Back in it. If Alfred paused to think (and he had done this several times when he'd first started working for the CIA), it was somewhat disturbing that Alfred could so easily recover from the death of an asset. He felt terrible, of course. Part of his job description was to get the asset to security if necessary, even at the risk of his own life, and Alfred had failed in that regard. But the other part of Alfred's job was gathering intel, moving forwards with his mission regardless of the costs. So he allowed the memories of yesterday to fade away as he entered the bar. He'd scarcely taken a step in when an eager voice was calling out. Alfred's head swiveled in the direction curiously at a redhead who waved him down. The man was unbelievably excitable, and though Alfred was briefly surprised, that was soon replaced by a sense of warmth. Alfred worked best when he was surrounded by people, and he found himself filled with anticipation at meeting this bartender. The man babbled off his name, Feli. It was clear he loved the bar, and his enthusiasm was infectious. The smile on Alfred's lips grew wider and it certainly felt more genuine. “Rum and coke, thanks.” Alfred slid into the seat at the bar, looking at the bartender curiously. He looked young, around Alfred's age maybe. The bandage on his arm caught Alfred's eye...odd. Perhaps he'd been involved in an accident of some sort? Bars were notorious for fights. Alfred couldn't imagine this man in a tussle though...he seemed almost delicate. Too cheery and outgoing, though then again, you never knew. Alfred glanced around at the bar. It was fairly crowded, all things considered. “So this is the best bar in London, huh? A pity I didn't find this place earlier, seems like you've got a good thing going.” Alfred flashed the man a smile. “I'm Alfred, by the way. You can call me Al if you'd like. Just moved here a little while ago, so maybe that explains why it took me so long to find my way here.” @krimsomkitsu ■ 1045 ■ Let the games begin (finally)

MADE BY VEL OF GS