Chapter Text
Rick Flag’s door doesn’t latch all the way.
He wasn’t sure when he had noticed how it never swung shut on its own, how it always caught on itself on the edge of the frame when he was in a rush, but ever since he did it irritated him to no end. It wasn’t impossible to close, it only takes giving the door handle jimmying, some lifting of the frame, kicking his steep toed boots at a loose piece on the bottom. But Rick hated to take the time. He didn’t think it was much to want to enter and exit as a door should allow him to do. This meant that he slammed the door closed, breaking it down more and more each and every day, tugging the crooked frames to fit, slotting them together like two mismatched sets of a broken fucked up puzzle. Then, day in and day out, he would feed the festering irritation when the door continued to not latch when he tried to force it shut.
He considered punching out the screen this morning, the lip of the door catching on the splitting frame, crackling up the edges. It had been a bad day for no real reason and it of course had to start with his stupid fucking door. It was August and the mornings were hot and sweltering at Belle Reve, blanketing white hot morning skies blaring down the horizon. New assignments always had a way of ruining the day, especially when command came direct from Amanda Waller herself.
Rick bit back any curse he could mutter walking through the compound. He’d planned on getting a few hours of sleep after he’d finished responding to Waller’s impetuous emails, proving to the women that despite the weeks of radio silence, Rick was indeed alive. Not that he was the subject of her concern. June was gone. And, to Rick's relief, he had no idea where she had gone.
After the Enchantress had nearly decimated New York, keeping June happy was Rick's only job. Amanda Waller only checked in when absolutely necessary to ensure that June was accounted for. And she was. For a few good months, until she disappeared. Up and gone in the middle of the night, dangling metal hangers being all that was left of her. That had been weeks ago. Now Rick had done his due diligence, not as a soldier, but as a boyfriend. He had panicked, he had called, he had left a series of unrelenting voicemails and messages, all of which had arrived to a disconnected phone number. June was gone and she didn’t want to be found. Not by Amanda and not by Rick. Perhaps the biggest fuck you Rick Flag had ever received.
The point was that Waller didn’t consider Rick a necessary tool now. An assignment disregarding all care for life had been looming and Rick pushed down the dread of whatever war infested hell-scape Amanda Waller had set for him now that he wasn’t keeping the Enchantress in check. That was what happened when you fuck up. And in some fucked up mess of Rick Flag not being able to keep June in love with him for Amanda Wallers sake, he had majorly fucked up.
Waller's office was as devoid of life as she was. Personal affects were non-existent, and despite her urgent email requesting, or rather demanding, an audience with Colonel Flag, she didn’t bother to look up when he walked in.
“You wanted to see me, ma’am,” Flag spoke first. He wondered if he’d be able to gather any of his things before he was set to leave. He was sure the door hadn't shut on his way out that morning.
“Sit down, Colonel Flag.” Rick took the seat opposite her desk, sinking into the uncomfortable cushion. Waller finally looked up at him, crossing her hands over her desk. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t mistake my observation for sentiment, Colonel.”
"Wouldn't think of it, ma'am." He didn't think she was capable of it.
“Good. Because your grace period, at this moment, is finally over."
Rick frowned. "My grace period?"
“Following Dr. June Moone’s disappearance, Task Force oversight command extended you a provisional deferment. Non-operational status, limited communication protocols, administrative leeway.” Waller slid a folder across the desk, her expression impassive. “That grace period.”
Rick’s jaw ticked.
“She is no longer a viable asset,” Waller continued, “Moone’s civilian identifiers have been deactivated. Socials, passports, state records—flagged. You’re aware, I’m assuming, that her phone number has been disconnected. Our monitoring teams have confirmed she’s off-grid. No financial trails, no communication traces, nothing to indicate compromise by foreign actors.”
“She left on her own.” He knew that. Sucked hearing it out loud, but it wasn’t gas to the already dimming flame.
“She is off the board, Colonel,” Waller replied, voice flat. “And as of this morning, you will cease any further extracurricular investigation into her whereabouts. Effective this briefing, all Task Force X resources allocated toward Moone are retracted. All intelligence channels closed. Any additional search you attempt—formal or informal—will be categorized as an unauthorized operation,” there was a brief pause. “Do I make myself clear?”
Rick’s throat worked, heat pressing in under his collar. But he nodded.
“Crystal.”
“Good,” she said. “ARGUS has re-tasked your billet. Your designation is shifting back to operational command effective immediately.”
Rick drummed his hand on his thigh, attempting to not reflect his annoyance.
“Understood,” he asked, his tone unnerved and flat.
“Good.” Waller slid a folder across the desk, tapping a finger on the manilla. “Which brings me to your new task. You are reassigned to direct operational custody. Inmate Wren Yearly. Everything you need to know about her is in this file.”
Rick stared at the file. Was this a joke?
“No way.”
“Do not mistake this for a request, Colonel Flag,” Waller interjected. “You will be Yearly’s designated handler. Chain of custody transfers to you upon release from Belle Reve. Custody includes full authority to bind, restrain, or sedate per approved protocols when necessary—”
“I am not your god damn babysitter.” Flag hissed, an edge in his voice. Was this all he was good for now? Government threat babysitting gigs?
“What you think you are, what you think your value is, doesn’t matter here,” Waller replied sternly. “Wren Yearly is volatile, unpredictable, but with potential that I refuse to bury if I can squeeze it into something productive.”
“Of course, cause that worked out so well this last time.”
“If you can keep your feelings in check, Colonel, there shouldn’t be any issues.” The women's tone was flat and unimpressed. “Whether you like it or not, Wren Yearly is your responsibility now.”
Rick chewed his lips, a slew of insults scattering across his thoughts.
“And if I say no?”
“Then I send Wren back into a hole so deep she’ll never see daylight again. She’ll become a nameless face in the system. And you, Colonel? I’ll strip you down to nothing. You’ll be reassigned to a desk in some windowless Pentagon sub-level, a forgotten watchdog. I’ll let you sit and rot until you’re obsolete. Or worse—I cut you loose entirely. You see how well a soldier does on the outside with no orders to follow.”
Rick had gone very stiff. He had mused the idea of a choice, but in reality, he knew there was none. Amanda Waller would find some way to force him to submit, obey. The medicine went down easier when he just swallowed the reality of it. He was still a soldier. Following orders was second nature and when that was done, he’d move onto the next one.
“And if she resists?”
“Then you will refer to non-escalatory measures first,” Waller interrupted. That was new. “This inmate is incredibly susceptible to audible disruption and sedative deployment. If need be, you will use those at first threshold. If those measures fail and the entity breaches containment parameters you will activate REDLINE and neutralize.”
“Non-lethal as a last resort?”
Waller’s expression remained un-shifted.
“If termination is necessary to preserve human life and national interest, you will execute per protocol. ARGUS oversight will review the action post-event.”
Rick’s mouth twisted downward, hands falling at his sides.
“You’re not exactly giving me much latitude here.”
“Latitude would be an unnecessary liability. A liability, need I remind you, that you cannot afford, Colonel Flag.”
She slid the manila back toward him, the edge of the folder catching the desk with a soft smack. He toyed with a flippant answer. He decided against it.
“How long?” Short would be good. He could handle short. A day or two.
“Indeterminate. Until mission assignment, until the entity is neutralized, or until this office revokes custody.”
That wasn’t promising.
The solitary wing at Belle Reve was dim and suffocating on any given day. The corridors ran narrow, concrete poured thick and seamless. And the cells themselves were more or less boxes stacked along both sides of the corridor. Each one was barely wider than an outstretched arm, long enough to pace a few steps before turning around and the doors were thick slabs of reinforced steel, inset with a slit at eye level no wider than a hand. Waller strode ahead of Rick down the broad corridor, heels clicking like a metronome.
Rick couldn’t remember the last time he had been down in solitary. Before Task Force X had been created, he was sure. And even then, they’d never traveled this far down the corridor.
“Wishing you looked at the file, aren’t you?” The amusement in Waller's voice was the closest to human emotion Rick was sure she was capable of.
Rick pushed the curiosity aside and focused on the length of the concrete walls. He had been concerning himself with the necessity of checking those carefully manufactured files. He had avoided doing so, wanting to make his own impression of the situation. He judged himself for even considering that a reliable option. Not when they were trudging down the deepest parts of the Belle Reve, something told him Waller would have shoved this girl away no matter what if he had pressed his denial. He wouldn’t put it past her. He wouldn’t put a lot past Amanda Waller.
Waller stopped in front of a door reinforced beyond standard issue. Triple locks, double-layer steel. The slit at eye level had been welded shut.
“Ma’am,” one of them greeted, straightening his back as Waller approached. He didn’t glance at Flag.
“How is she feeling this morning?” Rick tried not to laugh at Waller’s attempt at concern.
“She’s been well-behaved,” the guard grumbled. “Not much noise so far.”
Amanda nodded, eyes falling on the door.
“Open it.”
The guard nodded and unlatched the locks brimming the frame. He cracked the door open and the sound echoed down the lengthy corridor, pressing his back firmly up against the adjoining wall once again, his voice booming aside the door.
“Inmate Yearly. On your feet. You have company.”
The door widened and Rick's steps stuttered across the concrete behind Waller, the only betrayal of his surprise.
The scrubs the women in the cell wore were standard-issue, faded gray and several sizes too large, hanging loose from her frame and pooled around her shoulders and wrists, swallowing her shape that was not at all threatening. Her hair, curled around her ear and tickling her cheeks, was a very rich dark brown color. Her eyes, dark and nearly black, were swallowed in tired purple circles and under the fluorescent light, her tawny brown skin took on a warm, golden tone, the hollows of her face traced with gentle shadow. Rick’s eyes fell on Waller's back like he was expecting her to turn and tell him this was all some sick joke.
“Colonel Flag,” Waller's voice echoed through the corridor. “Meet Wren Yearly.”
Rick blinked. Then blinked again.
“She was convicted on multiple counts of manslaughter and property destruction. Normally, someone like her doesn’t make it past intake before she disappears into a black site lab.” Rick's silence made Waller turn with the closest expression to amusement she could muster. “Now you really wish you looked at the folder.”
Rick gave a tight expression that dropped once Waller turned back toward the cell.
“On paper, she’s unremarkable. Foster homes. Juvenile records. A trail of bad decisions spanning over twenty four years, none of them bright enough to stand out,” Waller stated plainly. “Wren Yearly is unextraordinary. An ex reporter. She’s not the assignment. She’s just the host.”
Rick frowned. “Host?”
“She bonded with an unidentified alien symbiote during a containment breach three years ago. The entity is parasitic in nature, killing its host after merely a few hours, but symbiotic when it finds a viable host,” Waller's delivered coldly. “With Yearly, it’s found a permanent one. They call themselves ‘Venom.’”
“Venom?” That was…a name.
“It amplifies her strength, her speed, her reflexes. Protects her from all bodily harm, making her nearly impossible to kill.”
“Nearly.” Rick repeated. Waller nodded.
“High-frequency sound can tear it apart from the inside. Too much of it and it’ll separate from her completely. Fire works too. Crude, but effective.”
Rick looked back at the docile women standing idly at the center of the room, his eyes circling the large uncomfortable power dampener around the column of her throat. By the minute this job was feeling more and more fucking complicated.
“Wren,” Waller stared at the girl. “When was the last time you ate?”
Rick made a face. What kind of fucking question was that? From Amanda Waller of all people. He watched as the girl thought for a minute, fingers nimbly hooking together.
“Yesterday morning. I had porridge,” she replied. Her voice was soft, almost musical. Rick was having a harder and harder time believing the threat this girl posed with each passing second.
“Colonel Flag will make sure you get something in your stomach.”
Wren's eyes flitted between them. “He will?”
“On my orders he will.”
Rick had gone very stiff and very still watching Waller instruct the guard to remove her power dampener.
“Okay,” he muttered to Waller as the girl was unlatched from the obnoxious device. “What am I supposed to do with her? Take her out to eat and then what?”
“Your instructions are in the file back in my office, Colonel, I’ll be sure to have someone get that back to you. You’ll be issued sound tech and incendiaries before assignment. Until then your job is very simple.”
“Simple.” He replied flatly.
“Keep her entertained, Flag.”
With a sharp gaze Waller clicked off down the corridor before he had the chance to question her any further and he watched the girl step hesitantly out of the cell with the door being shoved closed behind her in one smooth motion.