Work Text:
Cold air hits your already chilled skin, forcing a gasp from your lips. You tremble as thick fingers yank you back by your hair, leaving you gasping for air. Hands twisting, turning, trying to find any way out of the cuffs neatly pinning them at the small of your back, you hear laughter above you.
“Are you scared yet?”
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. All you had wanted was the chance for progression. To move from a purely support role to something that mattered. To help the assets out there on the field. How were you supposed to know that your firm’s latest two hires, independent contractors with a reputation that is the stuff of nightmares, not legends, would turn out to be such utter psychopaths?
Your mind flashes back to the sweet blonde your trainer, Maria, works with the most. Softly spoken. Always talking about some new age health kick. You had thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what you had thought. Clearly, you were wrong.
Head plunging beneath the icy surface of the water, your legs thrash weakly against the belt that neatly ties them together, handcuffs biting into the delicate skin around your wrists. A hot trail of blood oozes from one wrist, dripping down into the water, staining it pale pink.
How long has he been at this now? Hours, that you are certain of, though how many you can’t hope to guess. You are starting to think that you should have stayed happy and content with your little cubicle instead of letting yourself dream of something bigger. Clearly you aren’t made for this kind of work.
Hands wrench you out again, dragging you up. This time, dark blue pinstripes come into view as he crouches in front of you, that placid little grin painting his lips. He tilts his head to one side, eyeing you with a cocky air of confidence that makes you want to reach out and punch it right off of his face.
What sort of a test is this anyway? It isn’t as if handlers are ever in the field. Well, other than the one time Marie went to help Ladybug after that little incident with the train… and that anniversary party that went wrong… and after the champagne incident, with all of those caskets… Okay, so maybe you can see the benefit of having at least basic field training. But this seems ridiculous.
Thick fingers trail down your blouse, his touch featherlight against each pristine button. You can’t breathe.
“Because you should be, luv. You know us by reputation, dontcha?” He pauses, waiting for you to respond. All you can do is nod. His smirk widens. “You know the damage we can do to someone who really pisses us off.”
His words stick in your head. You run back through every interaction you have had with the Twins, big and small. You didn’t hold the elevator for them that one time, too busy trying to juggle eight coffees to reach for the button again. Or there was that time when you used the last of the Earl Grey in the breakroom. Other than that… have you even exchanged more than a politely murmured good morning with them before?
Swallowing hard, you ask, “What did I do?”
His face does something complicated — guilt, frustration, remorse, that same smug neutralness that makes you want to slap him — before settling on a small, cocky smirk. No wonder they are in need of a handler. If this is what it’s like to have to deal with just Tangerine, there is no way anyone will want to deal with both of them.
“We don’t need a babysitter. So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take that pretty little arse of yours back to that bird of Bug’s, an’ tell her you don’t want the job after all. You don’t even want the trainin’. Hell, tell her you want back on your fuckin’ coffee round, or whatever the fuck it was you were doin’ around here before you decided to butt into our business. You tell her, an’ you make sure we never see your sorry arse around here again, unless it’s to ask if we want milk an’ sugar. Do you understand?”
He pauses, waiting for you to speak. You can see his jaw starting to twitch, his frustration quickly mounting. You take a shuddering breath, trying to clear the water from your lungs before the inevitable happens again. You meet his gaze, chin held high.
Do you really want to be a handler this much? Is it really worth putting up with assholes like this, just to get another few rungs up the corporate ladder? Your eyes linger on the sharp line of his smile, on the twisted scar disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, on the little wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Not by a long shot. Is this the kind of man you want to work with?
Slowly, you shake your head. His smile falters. “You don’t understand?”
Fixing a small, placid smile on your lips, you answer. “Oh, I understand. I’m just not going to be scared off that easily. LB warned me about you. Just you. He said Lemon was a sweetheart, but you…”
As you trail off, his eyebrows rise, mouth falling open. “LB? How fuckin’ close are— and what d’you mean, just me? What did that bellend have ta say? Go on, then. Hit me with it. I fuckin’ knew he had a problem with me workin’ here. And after everythin’ he put us through.”
Tangerine takes a step back, letting all four legs of your chair fall to the floor for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. He drags a second chair across, placing it on the opposite side of the metal tub you have been getting acquainted with up close and personal, turning it around so he can sit with his arms resting on the back, legs spread, facing you. “Go on, then. Let’s have it.
Water trips from your hair, soaking through your shirt. You’re starting to shiver, the frigid water combined with the cool room creating an overall thoroughly unpleasant experience.
It’s going to be worth it, you tell yourself, holding his gaze. “He said you were the man to convince. If I could get you on my side, it’d be worth more than any test Maria could come up with to see if I’d make a half decent handler. So go on. Give it your best shot.”
The longer you speak, the higher Tangerine’s eyebrow inches. Slowly, his lips begin to curl at the corners, his smirk widening, losing some of the sharpness. Something about him looks different; you try to place it. Eyes widen as it finally clicks. His smile reaches his eyes.
“That so?” he says. You nod, the corners of your lips twitching. “Pretty big words for someone who’s spent the last forty five minutes squealing like a piglet and tryin’ not ta piss yourself. You sure about all this, luv? If you wanna back out now, I won’t even recommend Maria fires your arse.”
“No way it’s only been forty-five minutes.”
He bursts out laughing. “Fuck, you wouldn’t last a day in the field. An’ they really expect someone ta trust you ta be backup? Fuck me.”
“There’s no need to be an arsehole.” You try to hide the scowl that threatens to break out across your face to little avail, judging by the knowing smirk on his lips. You shake your head again. “I can take it.”
He gives you an appraising look, gaze trailing over every inch of you. “You really wanna be a babysitter that much, huh?”
Your scowl deepens. Ladybug really hadn’t been kidding about him. Why couldn’t you have gotten Lemon instead? At least he’s meant to be more tolerable. “It’s not babysitting. It’s—”
“Keeping assets safe?”
“Making sure there is one more person who remembers there are still people at the other end of our earpieces.” His smirk falters. You press on. “I don’t expect you to just trust me, Tangerine. But I’d like you to give me a shot. Both of you. I want to help. I know it’s going to take some time, and some practice, and I’m not going to get it all right from the start. But I think I could be good at this. And so does Maria. So… do you think you could consider giving me a chance? If that’s not too much to ask?”
He stares back at you blankly, eyes searching every inch of you, studying you, taking you in. You brace yourself as he stands, fully expecting to be dunked beneath the icy surface again. Instead, he reaches behind you, hands falling to the cuffs, tightly cutting into your wrists. You look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “Does this mean…?”
The distinct sound of metal clicking echoes through the room. Your cuffs tighten. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let’s see if you can get yourself out of those cuffs first; I’ll be back in an hour. If you haven’t managed it by then, we’ll have another round of dunkin’. Good luck, luv. I think you’re gonna need it.”
You watch, mouth hanging open, as the door slams shut behind him. Hope blossoms in your chest. It’s a chance. He’s giving you a chance. A slim one, for sure. But it’s better than you expected by far. Your day is starting to look up after all. Now, if only you can remember what Ladybug said about getting out of handcuffs…