Chapter Text
New York had been amazing for Sylvia’s career, but then the opportunity arose for her when the company expanded to DC and she was given the principle dancer position of their new studio, with new productions set for the Thanksgiving and Christmas periods. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say it was the position of a lifetime. After everything she’d experienced back home in England, she felt as though her luck really had changed. She’d loved New York for a lot of reasons, but she’d grown up in a small village and there were times she missed the quiet. Quiet was one thing New York was not. Of course, DC wasn’t a small village either, but there were plenty of towns to choose from to get the best of both worlds.
She gladly moved her whole life she’d been cultivating in New York after the company had been set up in DC for three months and settled right in with a whole range of new performers and directors, including amazing choreographers and a whole orchestra at their disposal. She never once questioned where the money had come from. Why would she? She was paid no differently from any other company she’d worked for, save for the cost of living differences between states. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that she could see and rehearsals were well underway one chilly afternoon and she was doing her best to give the performance of her life.
LA was a stain on Hal’s reputation, though a bullet to the shoulder blade had certainly softened what backlash he could have faced. He could easily have lost his job completely, or even ended up in prison for sharing intelligence with a known Drug Baron, despite him not knowing this at the time. His would-be assassin, Lt. Nick Frescia, received a sentence for the attempted murder of a DEA Agent, which was bolstered by the fact that he was knowingly helping his drug dealer school friend avoid jail. It was a shit show. Hal had needed months of recovery time and physical therapy, and he hadn’t been allowed to take on big cases for six months after his return to work.
Now was his chance to regain some of his hard-won reputation for being the best at what he does. He wasn’t about to settle for a paper-pushing desk job at this point in his career, despite what had happened. The case he’d been handed involved a multi-state dance company. Not his usual case type, but people could be creative when it came to drug running.
The fact that one of the studios was right here in DC was simply a bonus as far as he was concerned. If it had been back in LA, he probably would have passed the case back and had someone else take it on. He intended to never set foot in LA ever again.
His subordinates were placed exactly where he needed them around the outside of the theatre, prepared if anyone tried to flee out of a back door. No one would be leaving without being cleared by the DEA. This raid had to go like clockwork.
Having no idea what was about to happen, Sylvia continued with the performance, counting the steps until her solo piece. There was nothing better than a full orchestra playing whilst putting your heart and soul into your performance. It gave her goose bumps every time. Her solo was about to reach a crescendo, the string instruments echoing around the empty auditorium as they reached fever pitch. Nothing could spoil this moment.
The sudden crash as the doors to the auditorium were thrown open caused the orchestra to screech to a halt. The booming voice that followed caused her to tumble off her pointes and onto her knees, blinking wildly as men in uniforms descended upon the stage. The big letters in bold yellow read ‘DEA’. What the hell were they doing here at a dance rehearsal? She scooted back slightly at the sight of guns, confusion immediately descending into fear. She’d never gotten used to them in New York and they still scared her here. Several dancers tried to flee along with the director.
Hal had his gun drawn, though aimed towards the floor as he descended on the stage. “NOBODY FUCKIN’ MOVE!”
He climbed up onto the and waved a hand at her. “Who’s in charge here?!”
Sylvia blinked at him, still confused and scared, and her rump was sore from where she’d landed after falling.
Hal stared at her for a long moment, noticing the deer-in-headlights expression as she looked around at his colleagues rounding up the other dancers. He tried to remain professional in the face of what could only be described as breath-taking beauty.
He clapped his hands loudly at her, hoping to snap her to attention. “Hello? The director?”
Upon hearing the man’s exclamation, her focus turned to him, looking up into his eyes. “Uh… the director… but he’s…” she mumbled, voice cracking as she waved wildly behind her to behind the stage. She wanted to ask what was going on but she had a feeling this intense man wasn’t about to answer questions.
“GET AFTER HIM!” he yelled at several agents, who scampered to do just that.
The sudden bark in his voice as she told him the director had tried to flee caused her to shrink back a little. She’d lived alone in New York for several years after she moved from England and very little had intimidated her. But this man looming over her was proving to be more intimidating than walking home alone at 2am was. She felt judged and exposed, wearing a small floaty costume.
“You. What’s your name?” he demanded, almost standing over her.
She almost stuttered at his question. “Sylvia. Principal dancer. I’ve only been here a week…”
He’d been an agent long enough to know when someone was involved with drugs and when someone wasn’t, her British accent notwithstanding. But, he wasn’t about to risk his job on his assumptions.
“You got somewhere we can talk? I need to ask you some questions.”
She had no idea what he’d want to talk to her about. She didn’t even know why they were there or what they wanted with her director. She shifted to put her foot flat, standing slowly so as not to alarm the tightly wound agent. Standing up gracefully took practice, and with the extra scrutiny, it was doubly hard. She still managed not to stumble and twisted her hands together as he demanded they talk somewhere. She did not want to have to go to his office and risk being tarred with that kind of brush. If word got around that she’d been hauled in by a government agency, she might never work again.
“Uh, the dressing rooms are in the back. I have my own…” Was it wise to be alone with him? She didn’t know.
As they walked back to the dressing rooms, she tried hard to think why the DEA would be interested in a bunch of dancers. She’d long since been aware of the propensity for performance enhancing drugs and dancers taking drugs to increase their metabolism and reduce the appetite. She’d never partaken herself, but she knew such things went on. She’d never known it to be a big problem in New York and she hadn’t witnessed anything since being here. She entered her dressing room and moved to the dressing table, turning to face him.
“Why did you arrest our director?” she asked quietly.
“He’s peddling drugs,” he stated, closing the door behind him. He pulled out his ID and held it up to her.
She stared at him and then his ID, her mouth dropping open when he mentioned the director being an out and out drug dealer. Surely not? He didn’t seem to be under the influence of anything, not that she was an expert in such things.
“Please tell me you’re joking?” she said quietly.
“You’re telling me you’ve never seen anyone doing drugs here?” he questioned, sounding sceptical of her words.
She shook her head.
“Well, we have it on good authority it goes beyond him. You haven’t seen anything suspicious at all?”
“Not in the week I’ve been here… I’m not naive, I know such things go on in the industry. There had been small instances in New York, but never anything like this…” The studio had never been raided. “Mr… Agent Maguire, if I lose this job, it puts my VISA in jeopardy. I’d have to go back to England…”
She was starting to panic. She never wanted to go back there. Not where he could reach her… She still bore the scars from his attacks.
“You’re here on a VISA?” He sighed heavily. “Look, if you cooperate with us, nothing is going to happen to you. It’s not you we’re after.”
It wasn't the government she was afraid of. It wasn't even an American matter, and as long as she could avoid going back to England, she would be able to avoid ever needing to worry about him again. Cooperate. Cooperate how? She didn't even know anything. She hadn't really gotten to know the other dancers yet, and the Director had been fairly perfunctory with her so far.
Then his keen blue eyes noticed a faint scar on her arm. “You injure yourself?”
The worst ones littered her back, but thankfully her costumes covered them. She flinched slightly when he took her arm, but she didn't pull away. She hadn't been prepared to need to discuss her past with anyone, but clearly nothing could be hidden from this man.
She swallowed thickly and turned around, pulling her hair away from her back. "Unzip me..." She knew it was an odd request, but he'd surely understand as soon as he did.
Hal frowned slightly when she asked him to unzip her costume, but curiosity got the better of him, so he stepped forward and placed a hand on her slender shoulder, the sudden warmth from his large hand causing her to shiver slightly. He used the other to unzip the back of the costume, watching as the costume peeled away revealing the litany of scars across the expanse of her that resembled knife cuts. He sucked in a breath and let out a strong expletive.
She hadn't intended to tell anyone about it, certainly not so soon. No one here knew about what had happened to her, and very few people in New York had been given that privileged information. But this man literally had the authority to have her VISA rescinded. If she needed to tell him every facet of her life, including the fact that she had been guilty of stealing a chapstick from a corner shop when she was three, then she'd tell him everything.
She heard him swear when he finally saw the scars, his fingers slowly tracing each one that littered her fair skin, the warmth oddly pleasant. “Who the fuck did this to you?”
Then she felt his fury. It surprised her. She was used to sympathy and pity, but fury? That was new. "Uh, I think it might be outside of your jurisdiction. He's back in England."
“An ex? How long were you with him?”
She couldn't see the fury lacing his features, but she could feel the tension from the hand on her shoulder, even as the fingers tracing her scars were gentle. When he zipped her back up, she turned to face him again, her face flushed, feeling ever so slightly humiliated at having to be so vulnerable to a veritable stranger.
"Uh... Two years too long. It started as just general anger at me not getting parts he thought I should be getting. Then, when I got my first Principal role, the jealousy started. That's when the violence started. He avoided the face. Can't really cover a black eye with a costume. He also didn't care that my dancing partner was gay. The final straw came when this happened."
She tapped her shoulder, indicating her back. "He threw me into a glass cabinet. He got scared that I'd call the police and left. As soon as I was healed enough, I started the process of moving. My company was good enough to help me get fast-tracked, and I was in New York before he could decide to come back. Cowardly, I know..."
She watched him mutter and swear, biting her lip and wondering what he intended to do. There wasn't anything he could do from here, surely? She didn't even know where her ex was and she didn't particularly want to find out. She flushed slightly when he said that a man should never hit a woman. She agreed, but she'd known many men who didn’t. Thankfully, it hadn't happened any other time, but that hadn't stopped her from being worried about getting involved again.
“Trust me, no one is going to revoke your VISA, you have my word,” he said, softening his tone.
"You... you mean that? What about the company? What's going to happen to every one?" She wasn't sure if another Director would be sent.
“I think you should probably look into ways to protect yourself.”
Protect herself. She wasn't sure what he meant as she looked at her small, delicate hands. "I don't have much of a right hook, if that's what you're asking... But a pointe shoe to the nose will certainly break it."
It was the only damage she'd managed to inflict upon her ex. She also noticed that he hadn’t directly answered her question about what would happen to everyone.
She would absolutely be holding him to his word. This was her life, not to mention her career. "I still need to be able to keep a job. I'm not entitled to any government money. Are they going to close the company down?"
“I would think, given the intelligence we have, it’s most likely. I also think you should look into gun ownership if you don’t have one.”
Guns... She had to admit, she had yet to encounter anyone with a gun. Where she was from, people didn't exactly walk around with handguns strapped to them.
"Uh, I've never even held one. The only people with guns where I grew up were the farmers. Handguns aren't very common in Britain." (At this point, handguns hadn't been outlawed, but they weren't common.) Was it really necessary? Was DC that much more dangerous? "Do you really think I need to learn how to use a gun?"
“Well, I could take you to a gun range and take you through the basics? I know that doesn’t solve the immediate problem of work when they close this place.” He wasn’t sure why he just volunteered to show her how to use a gun, but he felt as though he needed to protect her. She’d been in his city for only a week and he was now responsible for ending her job.
Learning how to use a gun was one thing. She appreciated his offer, but in light of what was about to happen, she wasn't sure what she should do. "Even if it was only him? He doesn't own the place, he just runs it for the wider company. Wait... are they involved??"
“I can’t really divulge all the details, but it’s not just him. You must have money saved from moving?”
She sat down heavily on the edge of the dressing table, causing several bottles to rattle. "This could ruin everyone's careers."
Money. She had enough for a few months, but that would soon dry up. She didn't have any feelings for a Director or a company who could put people's lives in jeopardy just to make extra money on the side dealing drugs.
"When the Principal role opened up here, I jumped at the chance. I was sharing it back in New York, so this seemed like the best opportunity. My crystal ball was clearly foggy... I have enough for two month’s rent and bills.”
Hal sighed heavily again. This was the side of the job that most Agents, often including himself, never really thought about. Innocent people could get caught in the crossfire of a drugs bust.
“Well, what If I could get you something with the DEA? Admin work, secretarial, something like that?”
Was he offering to get her work? She wasn't sure why he would do that, though she could tell he knew she had nothing to do with any of this, he still didn't know her. "Does it pay the rent?" she asked.
She'd done admin work before between jobs. It wasn't exactly what she had planned to do coming here, but if it would keep a roof over her head, who was she to turn it down? In the short time he'd been in her presence, his face had changed. He'd come in stern and all business, his icy eyes almost going straight through her. But now, his eyes had warmed. It wasn't pity. Not really. It was... Something else.
“It’s definitely better than minimum wage, it should pay decently enough, at least until you can find another studio?” He pulled out a card with his information on it and offered it to her.
"I'm not afraid of hard work. I just don't want to mess it up." She needed permanent work in order to stay.
She wouldn't be able to go for citizenship for a few years yet. She took his card and looked at the information, then she noticed that his large hand had lingered on hers. Warm and safe. Was he usually so accommodating? His eyes were still on her when his hand finally retreated and she blushed at the gentle scrutiny.
"It can't be every day you encounter a battered woman from Britain," she said, trying to lighten things, though dark sarcasm sometimes didn't hit well.
She could see he was a good reader of people. It was part of the reason she'd not lied about anything. It wouldn't have done her any good, and knowing his connections, he would likely have been able to find out anyway. "Is this what it means to be rescued from a terrible drug lord by the dashing Agent?" She chuckled.
He chuckled back, looking down at his feet. He’d never been called dashing before and he wasn’t sure how to respond to it.
It was silly, but given that so much had changed in the literal blink of an eye, she felt the need for some brevity. "Sorry, I've only been here a week and I don't even know my way fully around the city yet."
When he smiled it reached his eyes. It was quite the change from the cold look he'd had on when he entered the building. Was she flirting? She was so rusty with such things, she didn't really know. Maybe? Maybe it didn't really matter. Kindness was kindness.
“Well, I could show you some of my favourite haunts, best food places to eat at, even late at night. You have any contact information I can take? I’ll need something for HR.” he offered.
"I'll have to remember that when I wake up at 2am, needing Chinese food." She smirked again, tapping the card against her temple. "In all seriousness, I could do with knowing how best to get around. What's going to happen now?"
She wasn’t always up late, but after a long night of rehearsals or two performances a day during the season, she would often be wide awake until the early hours, adrenaline still coursing through her. “Uh, I can write down my address… I keep my passport with me always, I never know if anyone will want to check my VISA.” She reached for her bag and pulled out her passport and a notebook. “What details do you need?” She wrote down her address, smirking at his offer of late-night meals.
She finished writing down her name and birthday, 17th March. She was 29. She had no family, and only a few friends in New York. She handed him the paper and shook his large hand. She’d caught a faint whiff of smoke on him, but it was so light it could have come from a colleague. She didn’t smoke herself, she’d seen her grandfather battle lung cancer and that had been enough.
She nodded at his words. “I suppose I’ll need to change and leave? Do I need to do anything else?”
She nodded when he told her he had everything he needed for now. She honestly wasn’t sure why he was sticking his neck out for her, despite the fact that his actions had cost her her job. She knew he was only doing his. She watched him leave and then rushed to get changed out of her costume. She’d ordinarily leave it behind as not all costumes belonged to the dancers, but given that the company was likely going to be shut down, she was going to take a few pieces for future auditions. They owed her that much for costing everyone their jobs. She tucked all her things away into her hold-all and left the dressing room, bumping into several other dancers on the way. Most were just as innocent as she was. The few that had colluded with the Director were in similar handcuffs in the auditorium and looking very sheepish. She glared at them as she made her way past. When she saw the Director, he had a bloody nose from being tackled as he tried to flee. She wanted to slap him. Hal nodded at her as she made her way out, waving at an agent who tried to stop her, as he was busy taking down notes. Neither had been what the other expected.