Characters/Ship: wjsn exy/bona Tags: prequel Permission to Remix: Yes
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This was a bad idea.
Jiyeon knows it as soon as their eyes meet, a split second of recognition in between the stray gunshots and Sojung spinning to notch an arrow to point at her through the doorway. They're in some abandoned building, halfway across the globe from the home Jiyeon can't go back to, but she had thought—foolishly—maybe she could pretend, if she just got to talk to Sojung one more time.
It's not exactly easy to pretend, though, when the first thing Sojung does is scream at her with all the fervor she reserves for the worst people on the planet, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Hey—" Jiyeon protests, jilted. "Easy. I could ask you the same thing."
Sojung doesn't move, face guarded. "That's classified information."
"Fine. Keep your secrets," Jiyeon says. Better to pretend that this is a coincidence, just a chance encounter, and not Jiyeon ripping her heart out for Sojung to see, if she bothered to understand.
Jiyeon keeps her voice light, mouth quirking in Sojung's direction in the hopes that it'll make her soften, lower that goddamn arrow. "You know, I never realized how sexy it would be to be on the other side," she says, gesturing between the two of them—or more accurately, her and Sojung's bow.
It's the wrong move. Some part of Jiyeon knew that, knew better, but it still stings to see that the reaction she gets isn't Sojung flushing with embarrassment, but rather with unmistakable anger.
"You think I'm not serious? I'll do it," Sojung grits out.
Sojung—she wouldn't. Or, Jiyeon's Sojung wouldn't. Jiyeon supposes she should have known that they aren't each other's anymore. They both did their part to make sure of that.
"Sojung," Jiyeon says, pleading. "It's me."
Sojung's eyes only harden. "Please," Jiyeon whispers, as a last resort.
"I don't have time for this," Sojung grunts, and in the blink of an eye she lets the arrow loose. Jiyeon doesn't have time to react—and luckily she doesn't, because it slices right past her, right over her shoulder.
"What the fuck?" Jiyeon says, stomping towards Sojung. But up close, the urge to shake her drains from her body. She stops short, frozen—paralyzed. The only thing she finds in Sojung's eyes is unfamiliar disdain.
Jiyeon never would have thought that seeing Sojung would carve her open, every time. But just her presence dredges up memories she can't forget: Sojung lying lifeless in the rubble of their city, in her arms; "She's not going to make it," in Dawon's voice, tinged with smoke and gunfire; the way everything went dull around Jiyeon, drowned out by her refusal to accept a world without Sojung as reality. In Sojung's final moments, Jiyeon hadn't stayed by her side, didn't hold her hand as death came to take her. In the white-hot center of her fury, all she knew was that she would destroy the world to avenge Sojung. She couldn't think. It didn't matter how many direct orders to stand down she would have to disobey, how much more danger she would have to put her team in.
The guilt never went away, even after seeing Sojung whole and healthy again. Especially after seeing her whole and healthy again. Jiyeon knew with a sinking certainty: you couldn't build a life on miracles, and she'd rather have Sojung hate her guts than dead. In the end, it wasn't a hard choice to make. It was the only one she could.
"You should leave." Sojung turns away from her, arms crossed. "You're not supposed to be here."
"What if I don't want to go?" Jiyeon says, bristling. Then, remembering she probably shouldn't fight fire with fire, "You can't blame me for wanting to talk to you."
"Unless you're planning on begging me to take you back, I don't see what else we have to talk about," Sojung says, sharp-edged. Brutal. Jiyeon didn't think she had it in her.
Sojung glances at back her. Laughs, sardonically, soft and bitter. "Yeah, I didn't think so."
That's just unfair. Jiyeon's heart burns, aches for a life that isn't hers anymore. "I saw what you said," is what spills out, a slice of hurt seeping through despite Jiyeon's best efforts. She did more than just see Black Widow's condemnment on the news, like everyone else—the hollow tone of Sojung saying to the press, "We want nothing to do with her. She's made her choice," has been burned into her mind for months.
"You used to defend me to all those stupid reporters. What happened?"
Jiyeon watches Sojung's throat move as she swallows, unsettled. "What do you want me do to, Jiyeon? Am I supposed to defend the most disgraced hero in the country?"
"I'm not—" Maybe it's the case that she's embraced that that's who she is, but it stings hearing it from Sojung. She could be a villain to everyone in the world, and it wouldn't matter, as long as Sojung saw her for who she really was.
Jiyeon's voice shakes. She's not sure why she ever thought she'd be ready to face this. "I'm just me."
"That's the problem."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know, Jiyeon! You're the one who left us," Sojung says. "Left me."
"You're the one who told me to leave."
It's punctuated by another gunshot that lodges itself in the wall, just beside Sojung's head.
"Who the fuck—" Jiyeon's instincts take over. She storms towards the window, shielding herself behind the wall, gun in hand.
When she glances out the cracked windowpane to survey the scene, she spots the fucker on top of the parking complex across from them. Idiot. They try a few more badly aimed shots before Jiyeon loses her patience and puts a bullet in their head. She waits a few seconds, until the silence settles, unpleasant and looming.
When Jiyeon looks back at Sojung, she isn't brimming with the anger she was before, isn't seething at Jiyeon for acting recklessly like she expected. She's slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Defeated. Jiyeon doesn't think she's ever seen her like this.
She remembers Sojung pulling her aside, when she was still hiding her limp, still insisting she was fine. Her grave voice, saying, "That can't happen again," as if Jiyeon could just—not lose her mind the next time she thought Sojung was dead, no fucking problem.
The words were an echo of all the poorly disguised rehabilitation meetings Jiyeon sat through in the aftermath, irritatingly so, and Jiyeon couldn't help but snap back, bitterly, "You too?" She wanted to scream, I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you. There was no coming back from that.
Jiyeon didn't say any of it. Couldn't. She swallowed it down, and of course—selfless, stupidly honorable Sojung, who always put her job above all other, she said, "I need you to take this seriously. You know we can't afford mistakes like that. You and me, we can't—" Sojung broke off, but Jiyeon could hear it ringing clearly in her ears, that whatever she felt for Sojung that pushed her to break all of Sojung's careful rules was one-sided. Would Sojung let her bleed out on the battlefield, if it meant the bad guys would be put behind bars, in the end?
And then, Sojung lowered her voice, as if to twist the knife deeper, "If you can't handle it, then—"
"Then what?" Jiyeon cut in.
"Then you have the same option as everyone else. You don't have to stay."
Jiyeon couldn't believe it. Couldn't stand it. She walked away without another word, before she did something worse, like explode on Sojung right there in the hallway. She couldn't believe this was the same person who held Jiyeon's heart in her hands, the same person who, on that night she had spent in Jiyeon's bed, she had whispered to, "Thank you," and meant it, for everything she couldn't articulate yet. And when Sojung whispered back, "For what?" Jiyeon pressed her hand into Sojung's. Said, "For giving me this. A place I want to stay." She had meant their team, but she had also meant Sojung.
And there Sojung was, shattering it all—all their history and all the implications from that night they hadn't confronted yet—with her stupid devotion to protocol. More than even the festering guilt from all the avoidable damage she had inflicted on her team—her family, that's what fucked Jiyeon up the most. Sojung telling her they didn't need her. Telling her to leave.
That was it, then: a few weeks later, she did.
Jiyeon should have known, really. When she finally found somewhere she belonged, she couldn't keep it. That's just who she was. She couldn't trust herself not to ruin it. In the aftermath, she had convinced herself that even Sojung didn't trust her not to ruin it.
"What I said that day— I never meant it," Sojung says, finally, looking back at her. Her voice breaks. "Can't you see? I can't do this without you, Jiyeon."
"You can," Jiyeon says. "You have to."
Sojung exhales, hard and long. "You don't give me much choice."
Jiyeon can see all the signs of Sojung about to fall apart. But—"You should go," Sojung says, voice watery. What Jiyeon should do is comfort her, make sure she doesn't break down in the middle of her mission.
But she doesn't. She does what Sojung asks of her, leaves knowing that for all her hopes that Sojung would be better off without her, she still somehow managed to find a way to make things worse.
[REMIX] all you had to do was stay (the hearts with teeth remix)
Tags: prequel
Permission to Remix: Yes
-
This was a bad idea.
Jiyeon knows it as soon as their eyes meet, a split second of recognition in between the stray gunshots and Sojung spinning to notch an arrow to point at her through the doorway. They're in some abandoned building, halfway across the globe from the home Jiyeon can't go back to, but she had thought—foolishly—maybe she could pretend, if she just got to talk to Sojung one more time.
It's not exactly easy to pretend, though, when the first thing Sojung does is scream at her with all the fervor she reserves for the worst people on the planet, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Hey—" Jiyeon protests, jilted. "Easy. I could ask you the same thing."
Sojung doesn't move, face guarded. "That's classified information."
"Fine. Keep your secrets," Jiyeon says. Better to pretend that this is a coincidence, just a chance encounter, and not Jiyeon ripping her heart out for Sojung to see, if she bothered to understand.
Jiyeon keeps her voice light, mouth quirking in Sojung's direction in the hopes that it'll make her soften, lower that goddamn arrow. "You know, I never realized how sexy it would be to be on the other side," she says, gesturing between the two of them—or more accurately, her and Sojung's bow.
It's the wrong move. Some part of Jiyeon knew that, knew better, but it still stings to see that the reaction she gets isn't Sojung flushing with embarrassment, but rather with unmistakable anger.
"You think I'm not serious? I'll do it," Sojung grits out.
Sojung—she wouldn't. Or, Jiyeon's Sojung wouldn't. Jiyeon supposes she should have known that they aren't each other's anymore. They both did their part to make sure of that.
"Sojung," Jiyeon says, pleading. "It's me."
Sojung's eyes only harden. "Please," Jiyeon whispers, as a last resort.
"I don't have time for this," Sojung grunts, and in the blink of an eye she lets the arrow loose. Jiyeon doesn't have time to react—and luckily she doesn't, because it slices right past her, right over her shoulder.
"What the fuck?" Jiyeon says, stomping towards Sojung. But up close, the urge to shake her drains from her body. She stops short, frozen—paralyzed. The only thing she finds in Sojung's eyes is unfamiliar disdain.
Jiyeon never would have thought that seeing Sojung would carve her open, every time. But just her presence dredges up memories she can't forget: Sojung lying lifeless in the rubble of their city, in her arms; "She's not going to make it," in Dawon's voice, tinged with smoke and gunfire; the way everything went dull around Jiyeon, drowned out by her refusal to accept a world without Sojung as reality. In Sojung's final moments, Jiyeon hadn't stayed by her side, didn't hold her hand as death came to take her. In the white-hot center of her fury, all she knew was that she would destroy the world to avenge Sojung. She couldn't think. It didn't matter how many direct orders to stand down she would have to disobey, how much more danger she would have to put her team in.
The guilt never went away, even after seeing Sojung whole and healthy again. Especially after seeing her whole and healthy again. Jiyeon knew with a sinking certainty: you couldn't build a life on miracles, and she'd rather have Sojung hate her guts than dead. In the end, it wasn't a hard choice to make. It was the only one she could.
"You should leave." Sojung turns away from her, arms crossed. "You're not supposed to be here."
"What if I don't want to go?" Jiyeon says, bristling. Then, remembering she probably shouldn't fight fire with fire, "You can't blame me for wanting to talk to you."
"Unless you're planning on begging me to take you back, I don't see what else we have to talk about," Sojung says, sharp-edged. Brutal. Jiyeon didn't think she had it in her.
Sojung glances at back her. Laughs, sardonically, soft and bitter. "Yeah, I didn't think so."
That's just unfair. Jiyeon's heart burns, aches for a life that isn't hers anymore. "I saw what you said," is what spills out, a slice of hurt seeping through despite Jiyeon's best efforts. She did more than just see Black Widow's condemnment on the news, like everyone else—the hollow tone of Sojung saying to the press, "We want nothing to do with her. She's made her choice," has been burned into her mind for months.
"You used to defend me to all those stupid reporters. What happened?"
Jiyeon watches Sojung's throat move as she swallows, unsettled. "What do you want me do to, Jiyeon? Am I supposed to defend the most disgraced hero in the country?"
"I'm not—" Maybe it's the case that she's embraced that that's who she is, but it stings hearing it from Sojung. She could be a villain to everyone in the world, and it wouldn't matter, as long as Sojung saw her for who she really was.
Jiyeon's voice shakes. She's not sure why she ever thought she'd be ready to face this. "I'm just me."
"That's the problem."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know, Jiyeon! You're the one who left us," Sojung says. "Left me."
"You're the one who told me to leave."
It's punctuated by another gunshot that lodges itself in the wall, just beside Sojung's head.
"Who the fuck—" Jiyeon's instincts take over. She storms towards the window, shielding herself behind the wall, gun in hand.
When she glances out the cracked windowpane to survey the scene, she spots the fucker on top of the parking complex across from them. Idiot. They try a few more badly aimed shots before Jiyeon loses her patience and puts a bullet in their head. She waits a few seconds, until the silence settles, unpleasant and looming.
When Jiyeon looks back at Sojung, she isn't brimming with the anger she was before, isn't seething at Jiyeon for acting recklessly like she expected. She's slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Defeated. Jiyeon doesn't think she's ever seen her like this.
She remembers Sojung pulling her aside, when she was still hiding her limp, still insisting she was fine. Her grave voice, saying, "That can't happen again," as if Jiyeon could just—not lose her mind the next time she thought Sojung was dead, no fucking problem.
The words were an echo of all the poorly disguised rehabilitation meetings Jiyeon sat through in the aftermath, irritatingly so, and Jiyeon couldn't help but snap back, bitterly, "You too?" She wanted to scream, I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you. There was no coming back from that.
Jiyeon didn't say any of it. Couldn't. She swallowed it down, and of course—selfless, stupidly honorable Sojung, who always put her job above all other, she said, "I need you to take this seriously. You know we can't afford mistakes like that. You and me, we can't—" Sojung broke off, but Jiyeon could hear it ringing clearly in her ears, that whatever she felt for Sojung that pushed her to break all of Sojung's careful rules was one-sided. Would Sojung let her bleed out on the battlefield, if it meant the bad guys would be put behind bars, in the end?
And then, Sojung lowered her voice, as if to twist the knife deeper, "If you can't handle it, then—"
"Then what?" Jiyeon cut in.
"Then you have the same option as everyone else. You don't have to stay."
Jiyeon couldn't believe it. Couldn't stand it. She walked away without another word, before she did something worse, like explode on Sojung right there in the hallway. She couldn't believe this was the same person who held Jiyeon's heart in her hands, the same person who, on that night she had spent in Jiyeon's bed, she had whispered to, "Thank you," and meant it, for everything she couldn't articulate yet. And when Sojung whispered back, "For what?" Jiyeon pressed her hand into Sojung's. Said, "For giving me this. A place I want to stay." She had meant their team, but she had also meant Sojung.
And there Sojung was, shattering it all—all their history and all the implications from that night they hadn't confronted yet—with her stupid devotion to protocol. More than even the festering guilt from all the avoidable damage she had inflicted on her team—her family, that's what fucked Jiyeon up the most. Sojung telling her they didn't need her. Telling her to leave.
That was it, then: a few weeks later, she did.
Jiyeon should have known, really. When she finally found somewhere she belonged, she couldn't keep it. That's just who she was. She couldn't trust herself not to ruin it. In the aftermath, she had convinced herself that even Sojung didn't trust her not to ruin it.
"What I said that day— I never meant it," Sojung says, finally, looking back at her. Her voice breaks. "Can't you see? I can't do this without you, Jiyeon."
"You can," Jiyeon says. "You have to."
Sojung exhales, hard and long. "You don't give me much choice."
Jiyeon can see all the signs of Sojung about to fall apart. But—"You should go," Sojung says, voice watery. What Jiyeon should do is comfort her, make sure she doesn't break down in the middle of her mission.
But she doesn't. She does what Sojung asks of her, leaves knowing that for all her hopes that Sojung would be better off without her, she still somehow managed to find a way to make things worse.