“So you’ve come to bother me again?” Hartley drawled, not bothering to get up from where he sat. A few feet closer wasn’t going to make much difference, especially since he knew how the conversation was going to go. It never changed. “That’s what, three times this week? You must really like me.”

Cisco frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s not- I just-” he stuttered, before stopping and shaking his head. “Stop doing that. You’re a prisoner. You’re supposed to be like… resigned to your fate!”

Hartley couldn’t hold back a snort of derision at that. “Sure, sure,” he said, waving a hand vaguely in Cisco’s direction. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Shut up,” Cisco snapped, just like he always did when Hartley started getting a bit sarcastic. Hartley could practically set his watch, if he had one in this ridiculous little prison, by Cisco’s responses.

“What scintillating conversation, but I’d never expect anything less from you. Or should that be less?” he said, eyebrow raised as he waited for Cisco’s response. There was a beat of silence and he frowned. This was not how it usually went, not the same conversation they always had. Something had changed.

“I wish I didn’t like you so much,” Cisco muttered a moment later, turning away, shoulders hunched.

It was said so quietly that Hartley almost didn’t hear it, even with the improved hearing aids Cisco had brought him not long ago. He jumped up, heart pounding, and strode to the cell door. He had to have misunderstood. He hoped he hadn’t.

“Say that again,” he said after a moment, watching the way Cisco’s shoulders tightened at the words. There was no reply, though, and he gritted his teeth, not sure if he was angry or frustrated. “Please.”

“Did you just say please?” Cisco asked, face full of disbelief as he turned to face the cell again.

Hartley made a face, wishing a little that he’d just kept his mouth shut. “Once in a lifetime opportunity,” he said, smirking to cover up how uncomfortable he was. He hoped it would be enough to distract Cisco, at least for the moment.

The soft smile that grew on Cisco’s face said not. “Sure, sure,” he said, mocking but still somehow more fond than Hartley would have expected just a few minutes before.

Without really meaning to, Hartley could feel himself giving a small answering smile. “Shut up,” he said, and just like that, something seemed to ease between them.

He wasn’t sure how it was going to turn out, or even what the next step was, but there was something for them to build on, some mutual feeling. It would take time and effort and a lot of convincing before Cisco would even just let him out of the cell, but for the first time, Hartley was sure it would happen.

(So, yeah. Violence/death/cannibalism.)


There existed once a people beyond the eastern hills. Which land? It matters not. That is not the point - listen. Be silent and listen. Do you understand?

Good.

As I said, they lived beyond the eastern hills. They were proud. Rightly so, for there were none better with horses, and travelers came from far and wide to trade for their gemstones, for their weapons. Horses they trained had no equal. They were rich and content, and so very proud. They were sure they were the best in all the world.

The world, as I am sure you are aware, child, is quite the large place. Stories traveled of the people beyond the eastern hills, who dared proclaim themselves the mightiest. It caught attention.

Once, there were those who would have said it caught the attention of gods. Perhaps they were gods; perhaps they were not. But the wore the mantle of god-kings, who destroyed far more lands than they ever ruled. You know the names? Say them.

Yes… Pestilence, Famine, War, and Death. The people beyond the eastern hills claimed they had no peers and no betters, and where does pride go?

Of course, it goes before a fall.

Sometimes, when the gods of destruction rained down their fury from horseback, they left survivors. Some they took as slaves, some they left to further the legend.

The people beyond the eastern hills had so survivors at all. Not the oldest of the wisewomen, not the youngest babe in arms. They had proclaimed themselves better than the gods and the gods struck them down for the daring of it.

War took many of the weapons, for there were none finer. Famine butchered the corpses for meat. Pestilence roamed his way through the houses and shops, seeking bright gems purely because they were beautiful. And Death… Death watched the horses, yet unbroken, panicking at the smell of blood.

“See something you like, brother?” Pestilence asked him.

“That one,” Death said, pointing at the only completely white horse in the pasture.

“Then that you shall have,” Pestilence told him.

When they left, animals had already begun feeding. The city burned. The next travelers spread the story, of the people beyond the eastern hills. They said the city was cursed – spirits wandered there, never at rest, screaming and crying for mercy. Families never reunited for no rites were said. Word spread of the gods’ anger.

Who were they, the people beyond the eastern hills? Ah, that is the point, you see. There is no record of them anywhere. They never existed, did they? They are struck from history. The weapons were destroyed long ago. The gems are lost. The bones have long turned to dust. That lovely pale horse – perhaps she bred and bore foals, who bred and bore foals. Maybe that is the only thing left of the people beyond the eastern hills.

Do you understand, child? You asked the mark I left on the world. I am history itself, and I choose who is remembered and who is forgotten. Leave me in peace now, and I might remember you.

(The age difference put me off of the pairing, and I still don't really like it, but this just popped into my head.)

What about the age difference? they say, There’s fourteen years between you. What about marriage? they say, as if spies and assassins do that. This is no way to raise a child. they say, as if there is another the two of them could stand. This is our happily ever after, Clint and Natasha say, So don’t judge.