Work Text:
2013
Rick Flag is in a shitty dive bar in the middle of rural Georgia when he turns one hundred years old. He’s been stateside for exactly twenty seven hours and he’d booked it out of D.C as soon as he’d been dismissed for leave. Eleven months and three deaths. Not a bad deployment by his standards, but it was still shit.
He’d been tense the last few weeks since he got wind that General Ward was retiring at the end of the summer. Ward had plucked Rick out of his cage twenty five years ago as a fresh faced newly promoted one star. He’d pulled him from the hell of being a government lab rat and put him to work. Ward had used Rick to pull himself up the ranks and get three more stars on his shoulders. But now he was retiring, and the other end of Rick’s leash had been dropped.
He was not looking forward to seeing who was going to pick it up.
Because someone was going to. It was inevitable, Rick was too much of an open secret in the high levels of the military to be forgotten about and too much of an asset to be left alone.
There was a whisper going around that the lab wanted him back, Ward had even hinted at it the last time they spoke. He’d joked that they were missing their favorite toy. That prospect terrified Rick more than any of the others. He would die for his country on whatever field they picked and that was fine, he was a soldier, he’d always been a soldier. Probably always would be.
But being thrown back in that lab, to be killed in whatever twisted ways the scientists came up with over and over again with no purpose but pain and suffering. Well that scared the absolute shit out of him.
The clock on the wall turns to midnight and Rick downs the shot of whiskey in front of him. One hundred fucking years.
Happy birthday to me.
The bartender walks over to him. It’s just the two of them in the bar, and she’s cute, maybe 22 at the oldest. She walks with a bounce in her step that tells Rick she’s never been held down by the weight of the world. Lucky girl. She grabs the bottle of whiskey and Rick slides the shot glass across the bar towards her.
As the bartender pours another shot of whiskey she asks “So, what’s a nice thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Rick huffs a laugh, “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”
The bartender, Shannon, her name tag reads, rolls her eyes and smiles at him.
“I like to switch things up, we're a small town after all and if we stuck to tradition we’d all be bored out of our minds.”
Rick chuckles again and picks up the glass after Shannon finishes pouring. “That’s an interesting take,” he says and then takes his shot.
“I like to be interesting, I make better tips that way.” Shannon winks at him.
“Well, you’re probably not wrong there.”
Shannon motions to his shot glass with the whiskey bottle and Rick shakes his head. “I’ll take a beer, whatever’s on tap.”
“Sure thing sweetie,” Shannon says and puts the whiskey back behind the bar. “But you never answered my question.”
Rick watches her grab a beer glad and walk to the tap, “Seemed like a good place to stop for the night.”
“Just for the night?” Shannon sets his beer in front of him.
“Probably,” Rick says. He still feels too close to D.C, it makes his skin itch. He needs to go west.
Shannon fake pouts and rests her arms on the bar. “Well that’s a shame, if you’re only here for the night you won’t get to see what our little town has to offer.”
Rick snorts and takes a drink, “This town has things to offer?”
Shannon laughs and puts one hand to her chest like she’s offended, “Well I never!”
Rick smiles as he puts his beer down.
“Unfortunately you’re probably right, besides this fine establishment there ain’t much else.”
“You’re here,” Rick says.
Shannon smiles at him, “For now, but I’m back to Tuscaloosa in the fall. Last year of college. I’m going to be a nurse.”
“Congratulations.”
“Did you go to college?”
“Yes ma’am, West Point.” Rick takes another sip of beer. It feels like a lie, but it’s the truth. He was a West Point Graduate. But not the class of 2000 or whatever year Shannon was thinking. Rick had graduated in 1935.
“Oh, military man, you know, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I really love a man in uniform.”
Rick chuckles, “Don’t worry that’s not the first time I’ve heard it.”
Shannon bit her lip a little, like she wanted to say something more, but she was interrupted by the chime on the door. Rick watched as she pulled her gaze off of him to greet the new customer.
“Howdy! Wel-” The rest of her greeting was cut off by the blast from a shotgun. Buckshot tore into Rick’s back and the momentum from it knocked him forward into the bar.
Rick coughed and blood flooded his mouth. He groaned and tried to push back from his awkward position against the bar, but his arms were too heavy and he couldn’t quite right himself. His struggle knocked his beer over and it splashed across the bar.
He looked up and saw Shannon’s horrified face. She started to scream and the shotgun went off again.
The blast got her straight in the chest. She stumbled backwards into the bottles of liquor lining the wall, crashing into them and causing them to shatter under her weight.
With liquor pouring down around her and glass in her back and arms, Shannon slipped to the floor, panic and pain written all over her face. She made eye contact with Rick again, but there was nothing he could do for her. So he could only watch, blood dripping from his mouth, as the light faded from her eyes and her chest stilled.
Rick coughed again. Fuck, he really hated shotguns.
Heels clicked on the floor behind him, and he struggled to turn his head. Someone appeared in his right peripheral. A woman.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she said.
Rick lost his battle with gravity and his head slammed onto the bar. Blackness crept into his vision. He looked over at Shannon’s body again, remorse filling him.
Death took him.
✭✭✭✭✭
When he woke up, he was still in the bar, but he had been moved. Instead of being sprawled across the bar someone had laid him out on the pool table. The light above the table caused spots to dance in his vision as his awareness returned.
“That was quicker than I expected,” a voice said to his left. Rick turned his head towards the sound trying to blink the spots away.
It was the same woman. She was wearing a black suit and had an unpleasant expression on her face. Rick had a horrible sinking feeling in his chest that wasn’t from the buckshot. He knew who this was.
Amanda Waller.
Something must have shown on his face, because Waller smiled. On her it looked more like a terrifying show of teeth. “So you know who I am, good. I don’t have a lot of time so we can skip the introductions. Come sit with me.”
Waller gestured to the booth behind her and Rick awkwardly rolled off the pool table, his limbs still not operating at 100%. As he straightened up his back spasmed, the muscles not fully healed yet. He couldn’t have been out for that long then. He looked around the bar and noticed they were alone.
Idly Rick wondered, as he cautiously took a seat in the booth, if Waller had given him something to try to speed up his healing process. He knew the lab had tried to develop something during the time they had him, but hadn’t been successful. Then again, that had been over twenty years ago, they might have figured something out by now. The thought sent a shiver of fear through him.
Rick snapped out of his thoughts as Waller pulled a thick file out from her briefcase and let it slam down on the table between them. Rick swallowed as he saw the stamp on the cover.
Project Bethlehem
Rick had to suppress the full body shudder that loomed over him as all the memories from his time in the lab rushed to the surface of his memory. Maybe Waller had given him something, if she had that file. Thirty years of being experimented on and they’d named the project Bethlehem after the birthplace of the resurrected Son of God. It was a sick joke and if Rick had any faith left the name might’ve pissed him off. But after everything he’d been through it just brought fear.
Rick forced his eyes off the file and met Waller’s gaze. She was waiting to see what he’d do, a small smirk on the corner of her mouth. She fucking knew how much he was trying not to freak out or show just how much that file between them scared him.
“I had a conversation with General Ward two days ago,” Waller said and Rick’s stomach bottomed out. “He mentioned how you like to sightsee during your leave.”
Sightseeing his ass, Ward had told Waller that Rick took off and dropped off the grid everytime he was back stateside, lest someone tried to trap him and bring him back to the lab.
“I wanted to be sure that we would get a chance to talk, so I had one of my people tag your bike.” Waller watched him to see if he would react.
Rick could feel the collar clamping down around his neck, Waller wanted him now that Ward was out of the picture. And what Waller wanted, she got, everybody with half a brain knew that.
“What, you never heard of a phone call?” Rick asked, his voice hoarse. He felt like he was gargling nails.
“I like to make new acquaintances in person, and I like to see things with my own eyes.” Waller’s voice was flat, no inflection, nothing he could discern. She’d probably shot him herself. Wanting to be sure that his power hadn’t been exaggerated or misreported.
“What can I do for you Ms. Waller?” There he said it, fuck beating around the bush best to get this over with, he knew he wasn’t going to be happy whichever way this went.
Waller laid her hand on the file, “You know I run A.R.G.U.S, yes?”
Rick nodded.
“I have a need for a special unit leader for a team I’m hoping to form. I think your unique talents would make you the ideal candidate for the role.” Waller said unique with a particular emphasis that had the skin on his arms crawling.
“What kind of special team?”
“No need to worry about that now, but you will be well compensated and you won’t have to return to the desert once your leave is up.”
Rick watched Waller carefully, as far as job offers go, it wasn’t the worst one he’d gotten.
“What’s in it for me?” he asked.
“To start, a promotion. How does Colonel Flag sound to you?” Waller asked.
Pretty damn good, Rick thought to himself, but he didn’t voice the sentiment out loud.
“Not to mention,” Waller continued, “A.R.G.U.S employees receive bonus compensation on top of their government pay for every completed mission. You’d also receive a housing allowance and more leave time that you’re currently being granted. You’d almost be a normal person working a normal job.”
Rick couldn’t stop the cynical bark of a laugh that left his mouth. He would never be a normal person working a normal job, ever.
“Well,” Waller amended, “not a normal person or job. But more stable and you’d be working directly under me with a written contract and everything.”
“Contract?” Rick asked. He’d never been offered a contract since the one he signed before going to West Point.
“Yes Flag, a contract. You’d be a contractor working for A.R.G.U.S. Mainly in a special operations leadership role. You’ll be tested first of course, we’ll need to be sure you meet my standards.”
A fucking contract, like this was a normal job offer, like he had a choice in the matter at all.
“I want an amendment added to the contract.” Rick said. It was time to figure out where he really stood with Waller. She nodded at him, gesturing for him to continue.
“I don’t get sent back to the lab. Ever. While I’m under contract with you.”
Waller smiled at Rick again, like he’d said something funny.
“You have to pass training first.”
Rick could read between the lines. He needed to earn his loose leash first.
Yeah, he should’ve figured it wouldn’t be that easy. But training, training he could do, he’d fought in five different wars now, he could make it through whatever training Waller put him through. Easy. It was better than the lab, anything was better than the lab. Get through training and he never had to go back as long as Waller had him.
“Deal,” he said.
“Good boy,” she said, then reached her hand across the table. He met her halfway and they shook hands.
Waller let go of his hand and raised it up, waving to something behind him. Rick turned and watched four men walk into the bar. They had a stretcher, bags, and chemicals.
“Clean up,” was all Waller said when he looked back at her. One of the men approached and dropped a bag at Rick’s feet.
He recognized the duffle from his room on base housing. It had been something he’d left in D.C.
“I took the liberty of packing the rest of your things for you, since you won’t be returning to D.C.”
Rick felt numb, she’d gone through his things, knew all his secrets. Dread pooled in his gut.
“In two weeks you will report to Belle Reve prison in Louisiana. You’ll find the coordinates on your phone. Do not be late.” Waller stood from the booth and put the Project Bethlehem file back in her briefcase.
Rick remained in the booth and movement from behind the bar drew his attention. Two of the clean up crew had lifted Shannon’s body onto the stretcher and started wheeling her out.
“She didn’t have to die,” he said quietly, knowing Waller would hear him.
“You need to know the consequences of trying to run from me, Flag.” she said and Rick turned his head up to look at her. They locked eyes for a few moments and Rick couldn’t contain his flinch.
“Congratulations on your promotion Colonel, I’m looking forward to working with you.” Waller walked towards the door, stopping just shy of the exit.
“Oh, and before I forget,” she said, mirthless humor creeping into her voice, “Happy Birthday.”
Then she was gone. The stretcher wheeled out after her and Rick could only stare at Shannon’s lifeless arm hanging off of it.
Consequences. She’d killed a civilian as a precautionary warning to him. Of what would happen if he ever tried to leave or betray her and he hadn’t even told her he’d take her offer yet. There was never a choice to be made, Rick realized. Waller was always going to get him under her thumb.
He was going to be sick, but at the same time he felt nothing. Waller had scooped everything out of him leaving him a hollow shell. This was his future, working for Waller until she got sick of him. Then she’d tear up that contract and throw him back to the lab without a second thought.
So, he’d just have to make sure she didn’t get sick of him, at least not for a while, not until he had a better option. Rick stood up, grabbed his duffle, and walked out of the bar without a look back.
He went straight to his motorcycle and started it up. He had two weeks. Two weeks to recover from the desert and get his head on straight. Then Louisiana and training and a contract with guaranteed safety from the lab. He could do that.
He was a soldier, he had served his country his entire life. Waller, despite her differing methods, wanted the same things as him. He would make this work, he’d be fine and he’d stay out of the lab.
He’d be fine.
Rick pulled out of the parking lot and cruised to the highway. He would go west, for as long as he could stay awake. Then he would sleep.
And as Colonel Rick Flag sped down the interstate towards Mississippi he could only think one thing.
I just signed a deal with the devil.