heartless ; 𝐭. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 , 𝟏

15 - no witness

august 2016

"WHAT THE HELL is the endgame protocol?" She muttered under her breath. Sat on the edge of a chair in the living space of the penthouse, Jack slid her elbows out to rest on her knees so she could rest her face in her palms, letting her fingers slip into her hair and grip it tightly in frustration. "How the fuck am I gonna get out of this one?"

She kept seeing the last hour on repeat, flashing in the forefront of her mind. Her senses were flooded with every memory from every moment she'd spent with him that night, from the musky scent of his cologne to the shuddering feeling of having his chest so close to hers while they danced. She couldn't stop seeing the way Tony's face fell as he confronted her, realizing exactly what she had been sent there to do.

In all her years on this wretched earth, she'd never experienced something so excruciating as what she'd been put through that night. She wanted to take it all back, to see him look at her with that look one more time, seeing her as someone he believed she was, no matter how big of a lie it turned out to be the entire time.

She wanted to feel like Jacqueline Kingston in Tony Stark's eyes, the exquisite woman he'd come to believe her to be.

Her subconscious scoffed, chuckling darkly. So this is what betrayal feels like, it snarled.

Betrayal. Something she'd taken part in giving out for years, but she'd never been on the receiving side. And oh, how it burned her insides, stung her and paralyzed her, refrained her from breathing. She felt the claws of pain dig into her chest, latching onto her in a place that she'd thought was numb and unfeeling for her entire life.

Jack shook herself out of this head space, suffocating in her own thoughts. Staring at the floor, she gripped her hair in her hands and groaned. She knew what—or who, rather—was coming now. Her assignment's timeline had expired, her two months were up. And Tony Stark was still alive. It didn't matter if he died in his civil war with Captain America, or if he happened to drop dead of his own accord. She was supposed to drive her dagger through his heart, she was supposed to succeed, Asset 53 did not fail, she had never failed.

But here she was, a failure with lingering thoughts and memories tangling in her head. An absolute useless lump of flesh. Hydra was coming for her now, she knew that as much. They would come for her, and quickly find out that she had failed. She could hide things from anyone, but not Hydra. She couldn't hide anything from her superiors, much less something as monumental as this.

Asset 53 may have been docile, but Jacqueline Kingston was not a quitter. She lunged off the couch as a plan began to take shape.

—————

It was raining when they came for her. They arrived at Stark Tower, prepared to storm the building and take what was theirs by force, but they were greeted silently, let in the building and led to the penthouse. When they entered the penthouse, they saw her.

Jacqueline wore a facade as she twirled her knife in her hand, a gentle smirk rising to her lips as she watched the agents come to a slow halt as they laid eyes on her. They had her surrounded. Helicopters had flown onto the landing pad on the roof, and several dozen more had come from the street entrance.

She knew what this particular face looked like. It was hers, but it also was nothing like her. The eyes were cold and teeth sharp, ready to bite anything that dare put a toe out of line.

It'll be fine, endgame protocol will reset and they'll be trapped in here, she told herself in an attempt to calm her nerves. You just have to stall for a bit.