⟾ 28 | THE OFFER

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LOUIS

Wednesday 7:34pm

_

SO, SHE WAS ALIVE.

She was still bleeding out, but I managed to get her to a hospital in time, where she was currently being attended to. To a stranger, she was delirious, making jokes about nearly dying instead of screaming in pain.

"Louis, it's hilarious!" She laughed from her hospital bed, "Millie stabbed me in the back metaphorically and literally!"

The nurses would look at me with utter confusion, and I'd just awkwardly laugh. I didn't want to be in their presence anyway. I was only there to wait for them to leave so I could be alone with [y/n], because I loved her and still needed the explanation for the stunt she pulled an hour ago.

When it was just us huddled in the small room, I pulled up a chair, sitting beside her bed and staring her down.

She stared back. "Hey Meat-Head."

"Hey," I said.

"Lou the Lemon."

"Mhm."

There was a pause, where she snuggled herself underneath her thin hospital blanket, the top-half of her head poking out to look at me.

"I don't suppose you'd still let me call you darling," she squeaked out, "darling."

I smiled softly. "I appreciate the names, [y/n], but you can't stall this time."

I knew her too well to miss her tricks. She was clearly trying to avoid the topic of conversation, but I wasn't going to let her get away with it, because she made me think she died. I just wanted the truth, that's all.

She gave me a nervous look, so I held out my hand, wiggling my fingers to let her know she could take it. I wasn't going to get angry at her. I was going to listen to her explanation and try to understand.

"You were being slow," she began to say, sliding her hand onto my palm, "so I decided to go to the South Tower to see if I could turn it off by myself."

I nodded my head, hanging onto her every word.

"But there were already people there, and I knew we wouldn't be able to take them," she sighed, "so on my way back, I devised a plan."

"A plan?" I asked.

She glanced away. "I was going to tell you to wait and let me distract them, but I didn't know Millie was going to show up."

Things were slowly beginning to add up, but there was still a giant piece of truth missing. I squeezed her hand, hoping she'd say it soon. She was clearly uncomfortable talking about it.

"And then that happened," she said, gesturing to her back, "so I knew I wasn't going to be able to do what I planned. So I had you do it. I faked my death, let you walk in first, so I'd follow after and catch them all off guard."

I blinked. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because I..."

She stopped herself, her eyes already starting to water with tears. Her lips quivering, she continued to speak.

"I just had to know you were telling the truth," she said, "when you said you loved me."

Oh.

"I know nothing about love, Lou, and it's made it so hard for me to trust you. My parents used to tell me they did, but when they thought I'd died, all they did was run away and live their lives without me."

I kept listening.

"But when you thought I was gone," she said quietly, "you said you'd come back for me."

I cut her off, placing my finger against her lips and willing her to stop speaking. She didn't need to explain herself anymore. I understood.

She didn't tell me, because she wanted to see how I'd react. She wanted to know if I was just putting on an act for show, and once she was gone, I'd snap back to 'reality' and move on without her. But when I said I'd come back, that's when she knew I never faked anything.

That it was all real.

That I loved her.

"I trust you," she whispered.

And that was enough for me. Hearing her say she trusted me was like hearing her say she loved me. I knew she did, in her own special way. She was never wired like that—to have all her feelings out on the table—so having her trust was the equivalent of having her heart.

"Don't cry, you lemon," she laughed quietly, "I'm not actually dead."

I chuckled, wiping my brimming tears with the back of my hand. "You look like you're crying too."

"I got stabbed in the back, that's why."

"I know that's not why you're crying."

"I'm not crying!"

"Yes, you totally are!" I laughed, "there's literally a tear on your cheek, [y/n]!"

She quickly brushed it off. "What tear?"

I wanted to stay in this moment forever, letting the sunlight fall over us as we laughed together for what felt like the first time, but the door to her hospital room was thrown open. Two men dressed in suits walked in, sunglasses propped over their eyes.

I stood up from my chair defensively, furrowing my brows. [y/n] looked about ready to hop out of bed and start punching someone.

"Agent Partridge," one of the men said, "your presence is required outside."

I pursed my lips. "Agent?"

"Yes sir."

I thought I'd been stripped of that title the day I was framed. Giving a reassuring look to my girl next to me, I stalked across the small room, following the two strangers out into the hallway.

They stopped outside the door, one of them reaching into their pocket to pull out their paging device.

"Message from the Higher-Ups," they said.

I took it from their hands, squinting my eyes to read the small lettering.


725,

Your presence is required at Headquarters. 8pm.


"What do they want?" I frowned.

The taller man explained. "They're giving you your job back."

What?

This was my chance. I could be an Agent again, living in luxury, doing a job I liked, and having my reputation saved at last. I wanted this. I didn't think they'd give me this chance, but considering that we just saved London, maybe it was already in the cards.

"Bloody hell," I grinned, "they want me there at eight?"

I turned to walk back into the room, excited to tell [y/n] the news, but one of the men's hands barricaded me from taking another step. I reeled back in confusion.

The man shook his head. "Leave the girl."

"I'm sorry?" I stammered, "why?"

"She's a marked criminal, and your position as an Agent prevents personal connections. Rule Seventeen, Mr. Partridge."

Glancing back at the door, I could see [y/n] through the thin glass window that separated us. She was still curled up under her blankets, but was blowing bubbles into her juice box as she waited for me to come back.

But I couldn't come back. Not if I took this job.

And I wanted this job.

"We apologize for any inconvenience," they said, "but it's the Agency or the girl."

In that moment, I felt no hesitation.

I nodded my head, handing them the pager. It felt unreal, feeling a whole different path of life slip out of my fingers and go down the drain. Strange, but it felt better. I knew what I had to choose. It wasn't even a question. I didn't need to think a single word about how this wasn't a mistake, and how I was making the right choice.

"Screw the job," I said, turning away, "tell them I've found someone better."

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