Liars and Thieves

That gunshot hurt like a bitch.

This shit wouldn't be happening if he had just listened and got straight out of dodge when things started turning south but no, he had to take Lieberman's kids and make a whole mess out of it.

He should've just shot Frank the moment the retina scan cleared. Or Rawlins. Not making that kind of mistake again.

Billy tensed as a jolt of white hot burning seared through his bicep when he doused a glass of whiskey over it, banging the table with a sick grunt after the fact.

You hated whiskey.

He put a patch over the wound and downed some aspirin, easing off his office desk gingerly as he winced. He couldn't help but think about how badly he fucked shit up. He knocked back the amber liquid down the throat, resisting the urge to take a full swig from the bottle while he was at it. 

He hissed at the pain as he struggled to maneuver his jacket over his head.

Were you going to be more pissed he got shot, or completely furious that he had to be on the run now? Only time will tell.

He dropped his hidden blades in his go-bag, almost giving a slight chuckle through the pain as a thought came to mind.

Always have a go-bag.

Something almost resembling a smile crept up the corners of his mouth.

It's best he comes serving gifts, then.

Billy opened his safe and got to work, careful not to agitate his arm any further, dropping the money right with his blades. He almost bent down to zip up the bag, but then remembered he had more bills left. Shit.

Just another few bundles, and he would be good to go to hightail the fuck out of there.

He knew he was in a rush, but he wasn't going to head on his way without taking every last bit of money first. He knew better than to come back with "minimum performance" fruits of his labor and he can't have you on his ass anymore than you were already going to be.

He went back to toss the last of the bills and be on his merry way, but not before hearing some static from the radio he always kept running.

"Blackbird?"

A wad of static attacked his ears again.

"Belladonna to Blackbird, Belladonna to Blackbird do you read me?"

He grimaced. Burner phone.

With another hiss, he stretched his arm in his jacket and walked to his desk.

"Blackbird. Do. You. Read. Me?"

"I'm comin', I'm comin," he grumbled, dragging his heels behind him. So impatient. Bending over slightly to pull out one of the drawers, careful not to move his arm the wrong way and irritate it any further, he reached down. He pulled the drawer handle, careful not to yank too hard or else it made a loud clack, and found what he was looking for. There it is.

He reached down and carefully sifted through the burner phones, almost grateful it was without feeling pain, but found himself wincing by the dim lamp anyway. He dialed a number with his thumb and dragged the phone to his ear. The other end picked up with lightning speed quickness. Not even a full ring. He barely resisted letting a quaint sigh escape his lips.

He was due for an ear-full this time around.

"Yep?" he answered. He squeezed his eyes closed the moment the word flew out his mouth. Big mistake.

"Yup?" he heard you take a deep breath. "Yup?!?!? That's all you have to say to me!"

He looked to the side and let himself let out that sigh. So you are pissed at him.

Nothing to be unexpected.

"(Y/N)..."

"I just saw you on the news the other day! Tell me why the fuck you were on WHiH with something to do with Frank Castle!"

He didn't have anything to respond to that with.

"Hm?!?!" you hummed so loudly he almost had to pull his ear back.

"Well,” he took a second to grimace. “-I thought I had it handled."

"Handled?!?!?" you raised your voice. "This," he could feel you pointing between the phone and yourself, "-see this? This is why I can't with you two, you always get caught up in shit you had no business being in in the first place!"

He pulled the phone back from his ear and winced. You were much louder this time and he could physically feel you fuming from the phone, and if he were anyone else he'd  have the mind to know better to listen. He already told you that it must be in his DNA, not that you cared. Especially when you were pissed and most of the time rightfully so.

He was suddenly very glad you weren't here to see him take the bullet out with those dirty ass pliers.

He grimaced again. You had to be a few seconds away from jumping through the phone and strangling him. Or maybe maiming if you had the stomach for it. He almost had the mind to feel bad about it.

But you could never stay mad at him for long.

“Billy…," he heard your voice take a softer tone in his ear. "Please come home.”

He fell silent and closed his eyes. You always told him his decisions would end up coming back to bite him, but he let himself think he could have the good things in life. Feel a false sense of security, even. But no one could have it all.

But knowing that was the easy part.

“I don’t know if I can do that, sweetheart.”

"Tch," he heard you kiss your teeth (most likely in annoyance for the nickname) then your voice back to being as sardonic as ever. “You’re gonna have to if you don’t want me to hate you forever."

The corner of his lips quirked upward again. “You can’t hate me…you love me too much.”

You were silent for a moment before you ruptured the silence again. “Yea, but I can hate parts of you.”

You both knew what you really meant by that.

Billy walked back to the safe and caught the phone between his shoulder and ear. He sighed again. “Imma be there in a bit, alright? I just need to take care of something first.”

"By 'taking care' I hope you mean by getting a new passport."

"Already taken care of," he tossed the last stack of bills in the green bag.

"Then what else is there?"

“Settling--," he winced as he crouched down to his knees. Gingerly. "-scores…,” he ground out as he sealed the bag with a loud zip.

There was a palpable silence on your end, a silence in which he took the time to imagine you pursing your lips in distaste. “Now you know I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Ha!" he let out a wry chuckle as he pressed his shoulder in his ear more firmly. "Funny.”

“I’m being serious, Billy.”

"So am I," he lugged the bag over his shoulder with a low groan.

“If I see you on the news again, and this time because the NYPD is after you I swear to God—“

“Say whatever you want but at the end of the day you’ll still love me.”

You kissed your teeth. Couldn't refute that, huh?

“Jackass.”

He chuckled and caught himself smiling. Gotcha. “Don’t worry about the NYPD," he moved to turn the lamp off, "-be more worried about Homeland.”

"Seriously?” your voice shrilled out. “The feds? I already got on you about that and doing this illegal ass shit."

He scoffed. “Like you haven’t done any illegal shit.”

“Yea, but at least it can’t be traced back to me.”

"Well," he relaxed his shoulder and captured the phone in his hand once again and held it to his ear. "-not everyone can do things the gaudy, upper class way like you." Whereas he had to work with the wrong people and make the tough decisions.

"So you admit you were being a dumbass when you decided to take that interview?"

"Why are you on my ass about this interview?" He held out a hand in question as if you were there (old habit). He was simply giving his statement on the matter. "All I said was that Frank is a monster and he needed to be tracked do—"

"Being on the news is not a good sign Billy!"

He sighed and closed his eyes to the ceiling. "Babe—trust me, I get it—"

"Does it look like I give a shit about your scores to settle?!?!?" you yelled in his ear. "When have you ever seen me on the news? Or Ellie?"

"Ellie?" he scoffed at the mention of the name. "The same woman who is missing?"

"I'd rather be 'missing' than my face known to the general public!" You scoffed right back at him with a sarcastic drawl in your voice, "Plus, you know she's probably fine."

"How many months did you go without hearing from her again last time? I can't remember if it was the single digits or the double."

"William," you warned.

"Ooo," he acted scared and put a hand up. "The government name."

"Stop trying to be funny and come home."

"Trying?"

There was a beat.

"Stop trying to divert the conversation, then."

Speaking of divert, he needed to get going. He shouldered the bag again with a slight hiss before grabbing his silencer and heading to the window. 

"Divert?” His lips let out softly as he peered out. “You were the one that brought her up," he distractedly said as he nudged the blinds. He kept you talking while peering out the window, making sure he didn't miss anything on his way out.

"Billy," you sighed, the depth in your voice turning. "Just...," he heard the tiredness. "-please come home."

"I still got scores to settle, babe," he pulled back from the windows and decided to head out. Nothing outside. "Like I said."

"You dumb. Fucking. Son-of-a--"

"I know I am." He effectively cut you off. Switching hats again, he gave a smile to the empty room. If you were there, you would've thought he was being cocky, which in a way he was, but really he was smiling because he missed you. He almost said he did while he was about to walk out the door, but remembered himself; there was another line of static.

And it wasn't from his radio.

"Gotta go. Love you, bye."

"Billy--"

Silence.

He was going to hear an earful about hanging up in your face later but it was better he went through that than getting caught. He knew how to pick his own battles, even if you didn't believe it.

One, two. 

He counted the shots in is mind as he killed the two not too good at being Homeland agents with his pistol. Too bad they picked the wrong day to be in that line of work. How unfortunate.

Madani must be pissed.

If he were a good person he'd have the mind to feel bad about it, but in his mind he was just taking a page from your book.

Everyone has an agenda.

He journeyed down the stairwell in a silent, cat-like way, and made his way to scan the first floor. He knew there had to be more in here, the receiver in his hand had to be show for something and not decoration.

He heard a quick line of static cut out, almost indistinct radio chatter.

There they were.

One, two. He shot the two guys right ahead of him as he turned the corner.

And another one-two to be sure they were down.

He surveyed the hallways he passed as he made his way toward the back exit in front of the parking lot, pistol at the ready. 

Nothing.

He made his way towards the exit and found two more coming down the stairwell. He made that one quick.

Andddd one more at the exit.

Hm, he thought. Seven total.

He had expected more.

He simply shrugged and shouldered his bag again and made his way out of headquarters. The company he built from the ground up. The training center. His office. His guys.

All a waste.

He walked off and calmly pressed the detonater without looking back.

Goodbye Anvil, he thought as the bomb set off behind him, not caring if he felt a blare of heat at the back of his neck.

Frank Castle had ruined his life.

And he'll be damned if he let that happen again.

He made his way from the explosion, having set in his mind of what exactly he was going to do. 

Lives of liars and thieves.