Out of the Ashes: A Metahuman Files: Classified Novella Read online

  Out of the Ashes

  Hailey Turner

  Copyright © 2018 by Hailey Turner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by AngstyG.

  Professional Beta Reading by Leslie Copeland: [email protected]

  Proofing by Ann Attwood: [email protected]

  Edited by Jersey Devil Editing.

  To get your free copy of the Metahuman Files short story A Distant Devotion featuring Jamie and Kyle, sign-up for Hailey Turner's newsletter over here!

  Out of the Ashes is dedicated to

  Lily Morton

  Because true friends feed the plot bunnies with no apology.

  Thanks for being such an amazingly wonderful friend.

  Contents

  CLASSIFIED: SECRET

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  INDEX

  Author’s Notes

  Connect With Hailey

  Other Works By Hailey Turner

  CLASSIFIED: SECRET

  (TS/SCI-VRK-HELIX)

  MEMORANDUM TO: Amir, Nazari (MDF Director)

  FROM: Stirling, Ranisha (MDF Deputy Director)

  SUBJECT: Theodore Ainsworth

  CASE FILE NO.: 2286-02-5648-AT

  URGENCY: PRIORITY

  PLACE OF BIRTH: London, England

  NATIONALITY: British

  D.O.B.: September 13, 2245

  AGE: 41

  HEIGHT: 6’0”

  BUILD: Athletic

  WEIGHT: 210 lbs.

  EYES: Blue

  HAIR: Blond

  SUMMARY PROFILE: Distantly related to Sir [REDACTED]. Educated at Eton and Oxford. Owner of [REDACTED]. Known willing business affiliation with the Presnenskaya Bratva and Nikolaas Jansen a.k.a. The Dutchman (See, Case File No.: [REDACTED]).

  OBJECTIVE: Retrieve data.

  Recommendations are the same as those contained in the draft report you previously reviewed and the finalized version which follows.

  Full psychological profile attached.

  I will assume your concurrence to assign this mission to the MDF intelligence division.

  MISSION: APPROVED: ___X___

  MISSION: DENIED: ______

  1

  Washington, D.C.

  USA

  “I think you’re ready.”

  Agent Sean Delaney looked away from the latest series of finger-painting pictures on synthpaper adorning Dr. Elizabeth O’Malley’s office wall and met her calm, brown-eyed gaze with his own. “It’s been three months.”

  One thin brow arched upward. “Do you think you need more time?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not the shrink.”

  Sean clenched his hands into fists over his knees, out of sight of Dr. O’Malley’s view. His MDF-assigned therapist was active duty Army who split her time between Walter Reed Army Medical Center and the MDF when she wasn’t raising three young children with her husband. A well-regarded and well-known psychologist who specialized in trauma and PTSD recovery, she was extremely adept at her job and in high demand.

  The MDF had contracted her out late last year on an exclusive basis for an open-ended period of time. Since the end of November, after he was held prisoner and tortured, Dr. O’Malley had been the person Sean had seen most outside of his lover, Staff Sergeant Alexei Dvorkin. The intense therapy sessions had gone from once a day, every day, where she waited him out to speak, to gradually distilling down the hours and days to this moment.

  Three months. A total of eighty-seven days, six hours.

  Sean glanced at the chrono shining through the skin of his left forearm.

  And forty-two minutes.

  But who was counting?

  “You passed your field test yesterday. The supervising agent had only good things to say about your performance.”

  Friday had been a shit show, honestly, but Sean was very good at pushing through his own shortcomings to meet the end goal. Fake it till you make it, as the saying went.

  Sean nodded, uncurling his fingers to wrap them over his knees. “I’m glad.”

  Three months removed from the field hadn’t been easy to overcome, but he’d done it. If it felt like his progress was a lie, well, no one knew that secret. He suspected Dr. O’Malley might, though she hadn’t ever hinted one way or the other.

  “I wouldn’t advocate for your return if I thought it would be detrimental to your health, Delaney.”

  “The MDF wants me back in the field.”

  “What the MDF wants and what I will allow are entirely separate,” was her calm response. “I wouldn’t sign off on your clearance if I didn’t truly believe you could handle returning to active duty.”

  Sean nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  “Do you want to return to active duty?”

  The question caught him by surprise, despite knowing it was coming. They’d talked about his desire to leave and his desire to stay over the past few months without any pressure for him to make a decision one way or another. Sean had gradually worked through the realization that civilian life still wasn’t for him. That didn’t mean field duty was either. No one would think any less of him if he took a behind-the-scenes position in the MDF going forward, but to Sean, that felt too much like giving up.

  What’s more, he was a metahuman, and his power would always be needed in the fight against terrorists looking to create their own metahumans for criminal gains, and threaten civilians with Splice. Sean couldn’t, in good conscience, stand down. Not yet.

  Sean ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, the phantom taste of metal filling his mouth for half a second. Only recently was he able to eat his food with regular utensils without resorting to plastic ones, the feel of something metal in his mouth too close to the pliers Cillian Halloran had wielded with cruel disdain last November.

  “Yes,” Sean said slowly, looking over her shoulder and not her eyes.

  “You aren’t obligated—”

  “I want to stay.”

  His response came out with more vehemence than Sean realized he was capable of these days. Dr. O’Malley didn’t seem put off by his interruption; she only nodded slowly at his statement.

  “No one wants you to leave, Delaney.”

  In certain areas of his life, those words were true. In others, well, Sean had his doubts. He plucked at the crease in his suit pants, attention drifting around the bright, open office. Dr. O’Malley had a small collection of books on her shelf, encased within an environmentally-sealed plas-glass box to protect the real, fragile paper from the elements. The titles were classics from the turn of the century. He only vaguely remembered them from a long-ago English class during university.

  Everyone needed a hobby, she’d told him during their first week as doctor and patient. Hobbies kept people sane, gave them something to focus on beyond the stress of their job and the expectations everyone carried around on their shoulders. Dr. O’Malley liked reading. Sean’s fingers twitched against his knees, thinking about the acoustic guitar his brothers had gifted him for his 32nd birthday in late December.

  The one he’d owned since he was a teenager and a brief, founding member of the rock band Atomic Grace, had been destroyed when his old apartment was blown up. The sentimental value of that instrumen
t was irreplaceable, but the new guitar went a long way to easing the hurt of its loss.

  As the second born of four children, Sean hadn’t been close to his siblings or his parents for years. The change in family dynamic—of being wanted and reached out to and included—was still something he was getting used to.

  He hadn’t quite yet worked up the nerve to pick up the guitar and play it, though he kept it in tune. Alexei had asked him for a song once after the guitar found its way into their bedroom, but Sean had refused. The hurt look on Alexei’s face was still seared into Sean’s brain.

  Everything about Alexei was still seared into him.

  Sean swallowed a little before reaching for the water glass that sat half-empty on Dr. O’Malley’s desk. She had an array of drinks and snack choices for her patients, but Sean only drank water in her presence. The box of tissues near the little bonsai tree rarely went unused. Sean had cried over Alexei more than he’d cried for himself since these sessions started. The all-encompassing guilt he felt from their time together spent in the enemy’s hands had receded a little, but Sean doubted it would ever disappear completely.

  He was getting better at overcoming it, but it lingered, making him second-guess every word, every touch he exchanged with Alexei. What little intimacy they’d managed after escaping the trauma had morphed into a tension Sean didn’t know how to break.

  Mostly, he knew it was his fault, and he knew he should talk about it.

  Instead, he finished the water in his glass.

  “How are you sleeping?” Dr. O’Malley asked, changing the subject.

  Sean blinked, thinking of the hours he’d lain awake in the dark, lying next to a warm body, but neither of them touching. Of how he’d seen dawn from the wrong side too many times to count these days.

  Of the nightmares that never went away.

  “Fine.”

  Dr. O’Malley hummed thoughtfully, the warmth in her gaze neither judging nor pitying. It just was. It had taken Sean far too long to accept she would never find fault in any answer he gave her, to any question she asked.

  Sean kept quiet for the last fifteen minutes left in the session. Dr. O’Malley didn’t push him to speak, well aware of the mental block he’d lived with for a few days after returning from Boston last year. It took facing Alexei, seeing him alive and whole again, to finally break his self-imposed muteness. His early sessions spent with Dr. O’Malley were marked with days of not speaking. She had given him room to simply breathe and attempt to process what had happened to him in a safe space.

  Sean tried not to think about those days too much.

  When his time was up, Sean got to his feet, nodding jerkily at Dr. O’Malley. “See you Monday.”

  She shook her head. “Our Monday session is cancelled. I’ll see you on Friday for the joint session with Dvorkin.”

  Sean stared at her. “You never cancel our sessions.”

  “I’ve modified them as needed,” she reminded him gently. “As it is, I’ve spoken with the director regarding your and Dvorkin’s progress. So long as Dvorkin passes his field test tomorrow, expect to be called up. I can’t say any more than that.”

  Sean’s mouth was suddenly parched. The glass on her desk was empty and he wasn’t willing to refill it. The joint session wasn’t a surprise; they’d been having those since late December. The mention of a possible mission was enough to give him pause.

  Dr. O’Malley must have sensed that because she gave him a questioning look. “Would you like to stay for another hour?”

  Her schedule was always open to the both of them. Sean had her in his contacts and wasn’t ashamed to admit there were times he’d called her in the middle of the night, needing the steady sureness of her voice to talk him down from a panic attack. Alexei always waited for him on the other side of the bathroom door during those moments, never angry about the soundproofing Sean called up for privacy, but always there for him when it was over.

  Sean had done the same for Alexei, even if at times he didn’t think he had the right to anymore.

  “No,” Sean said after clearing his throat. “Friday. I’ll…we’ll see you Friday.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

  Sean nodded and escaped her office. Usually he felt relief once a session was over, but not today. Knowing the MDF director had a possible mission on the table for him and Alexei? That was enough to make his shoulders tighten. Shaking his head, Sean headed for the elevator, taking it down to the subterranean garage rather than his office.

  He’d been on mandatory medical leave until the middle of January, and since then, placed on limited desk duty. Alpha Team had been down to seven members since November because, like Sean, Alexei wasn’t cleared for field duty yet.

  Except that’s changed, Sean thought as the elevator arrived.

  “Destination?” Ceres, the MDF smart-building AI asked.

  “Sublevel 3,” Sean said.

  He picked up a few extra riders on the descent, though no one he worked with directly. Sean was glad for that respite and an easy escape off the base. The drive to the new apartment finally felt familiar these days. Jamie Callahan had bought the place for them in early December, Alexei making good on asking the other man for an apartment over the Thanksgiving holiday.

  Alexei had done most of the legwork in searching for a new place to live, but they’d picked out the final one together. They’d been trying to make a home of it over the last few months, with varying levels of success. Sean still missed everything he’d lost in November, but most days, living with Alexei was enough of a distraction from the memories.

  The new apartment was located in a trendy, up-and-coming neighborhood that was a far cry from the ones they’d lived in prior to moving. Jamie’s housewarming present, on top of paying for the apartment, was a trust handled through an attorney that would pay their property-taxes for the next sixty years. Alexei hadn’t let Sean protest the gift.

  Sometime later, Sean pulled into his designated parking spot and got out, locking the car behind him. He pocketed the code-keys and made his way to the private elevator, taking it up to their private level. It wasn’t the penthouse, but it was still high enough that it came with restricted access. Jamie had wanted to buy them the penthouse, but Sean had put his foot down.

  The small foyer between the elevator and the front door was watched over by an attending computer and security system that had been upgraded by Sergeant Ekaterina Ovechkina before they even moved in. Between Jamie’s money and Katie’s computer skills, the apartment was as secure as it could be.

  Until the next time someone blows it up, Sean thought morosely as he pressed his palm to the scanner on the control panel near the door.

  He shook that thought off as he stepped inside the apartment. It wasn’t his fault was a mantra Sean had yet to internalize. It still felt like it was his fault to some degree when faced with the reminder of his time as a prisoner of war in the shape of the man he loved.

  Alexei looked up from the recipe on the holographic display projected above his tablet, the scowl on his face disappearing once he caught sight of Sean. For a moment, Sean was pinned by the younger man’s attention, the warmth in those familiar gray eyes something he never wanted to lose. Sean shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a hook near the door.

  “What are you doing?” Sean asked curiously.

  “Was surprise. Not surprise anymore now you home early,” Alexei grumbled.

  The apartment was an open-plan type they both preferred. The main living area funneled into a hallway that led to the master suite with attached bathroom, a guest bedroom, a separate guest bathroom, and an office used more by Sean than Alexei.

  Sean headed for the kitchen, leaning up against the other side of the marble-topped island. He curiously eyed the bowl of mashed potatoes, grated cheese, and lumpy, rolled-out dough.

  “Are you making vareniki for lunch?”

  Sean had tried the dish back in November when Alexei’s mother had made s
ome for the Thanksgiving holiday. To say he’d liked it would be an understatement.

  “Is for dinner. Need to set.” Alexei scowled down at his attempt at a homemade meal. “Need to make first. Thought you come back later?”

  “Didn’t feel like working,” Sean said as he pulled out a stool from beside the island and sat down.

  “How test results go?”

  Sean shrugged, reaching across the island to steal a pinch of the cheddar cheese. “I passed.”

  “Is good news,” Alexei said, smiling widely.

  Sean stared at Alexei, noticing a streak of flour dusting one cheek. He thought about getting up and going over there to wipe it away with his fingers, but the hesitancy which had a stranglehold on his actions over the last few months kept him rooted in his seat.

  It wasn’t that Sean didn’t want to reach out and hold Alexei, because he did, he always would. It was convincing himself he had the right to that was difficult. Therapy had helped him come a long way in the last three months, but that one last hurdle still tripped him up. His actions had resulted in Alexei’s torture at Cillian’s hands, and while Sean objectively knew it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t believe it.

  And therein lay the problem.

  They hadn’t had sex since before Boston, though not for their lack of trying. Every time Alexei tentatively tried to initiate any bit of intimacy beyond platonic touching, Sean froze up. It left him feeling terrible afterward, when they’d lie together in the dark, the inches separating them more like miles in the wake of memory.