A/N: I wrote this to wrong by Chris Grey.. Enjoy.
Jace's POV
Fuck.
This is so fucked up.
Jace lay bare-chested on the couch, thigh throbbing like hell. He'd managed to stop the bleeding, but every breath seemed to make it flare again. The damned bullet had gone through, leaving a hole that screamed every time he dared to move.
"First time getting shot in the thigh. Quite an experience." he muttered, forcing out a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze.
But the pain wasn't what bothered him most. It was her. The look on her face when he'd last seen her—Lila Rousseau, the little tigress who could bring empires to their knees—haunted him more than the bullet. She'd looked broken. Probably cursing herself for not killing him the moment she found out the truth.
He sighed, rubbing his face. This was a mission. Missions weren't supposed to feel like this. He was always the professional, cold, efficient, untouchable. But with her, the line between desire and duty had blurred into something dangerously intimate.
He loved the way she tensed when he got too close, the quick flush at the tips of her ears when he teased her, the way she bit her lip when thinking too hard. And her eyes, those brown molten eyes that made him forget he was supposed to be the enemy.
Jace grimaced as he shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make him want to scream.
"I might have fallen for a feisty little tigress." he murmured. "And I'm pretty sure she'll be the one to kill me next time."
How the hell could he get back into her good graces? There was only one option on that list—suicide—since he'd been the one to kill her father.
Should he visit her? No. She'd moved, or she'd shoot him on sight. Work? Even worse. And she definitely wasn't the damsel type, so the whole "hero saving the beauty" trope wasn't gonna cut it. Lila Rousseau was the danger.
"Gawd, this is harder than deciding what to eat."
He exhaled sharply. "Fine. I'll think about what to do when my thigh stops trying to kill me. Maybe call a medic before I bleed out."
He grabbed his phone and typed:
Hey. Tell your darling to send a medic to my apartment if he still wants this mission to go on, or imma die here.
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He groaned, snatching it up.
"Why the fuck do you have to call? My message didn't get the point across?"
"You asshat. Still as disrespectful as ever."
Jace rolled his eyes. "Did you tell your darling yet?"
Silence.
"Unless you actually want me to die, Theo."
"What's the fuss?" Theo's voice dripped with sarcasm. "What mess did you get yourself into this time?"
"I'm on a mission, dumbass. Sent it to you five minutes ago."
"I'll ignore the disrespect. How come you're injured? That's a first. Is the famous spy losing his touch?"
Jace heard the doorbell and winced as he limped toward it. "Can you shut up for one second? I'm trying not to bleed to death and your voice isn't helping."
"I'm offended. My darling loves my voice."
"Last time I checked, I wasn't your darling. Stop whining, old man."
"Respect me, you brat."
"Adios."
He hung up and yanked the door open.
---
A tall woman in a dark medic uniform stepped in, expression flat as if patching up spies was her daily routine.
"Name's Claire." she said, dropping her kit on the coffee table. "You're lucky the bullet didn't hit the femoral artery. Otherwise, you'd be painting the walls by now."
Jace grunted, lowering himself onto the couch again. "That's comforting."
Claire rolled her eyes and snapped on her gloves. "Try not to flirt with your medic, Romeo. Pants off—well, at least the leg."
He hissed when she cleaned around the wound with antiseptic. "Christ, woman, are you sure you're not enjoying this?"
"Stop whining. It's a clean through-and-through. You'll live." She threaded a needle, stitched with mechanical precision, and wrapped the thigh with sterile gauze.
"How long?" he asked.
"Two to three weeks before you stop limping. Six before you're back to running rooftops and breaking hearts. Don't push it, or it'll reopen."
Jace smirked through the pain. "That isn't really your business. So, I can't dance for now?"
She gave him a deadpan look. "Only if you're into near death experiences."
"That I am." Jace huffs
When she packed up, she added, "Theo said to tell you to stop being a dumbass and lay low."
"Tell Theo to mind his damned business."
"Tell Theo yourself." She slammed the kit shut and walked out, leaving him alone with the throbbing silence of his apartment.
Jace rested his back on the chair and continued staring into nothing, the room had gone still after Claire left, the only sound the low hum of the city outside. The antiseptic smell clung to the air, sharp enough to sting. Jace lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint flickers of the light above as if it'd help him forget the throbbing in his thigh.
Sleep didn't come easy. Not when pain kept pulsing like a heartbeat inside the wound. His thoughts kept drifting back to her.
Lila Rousseau.
He'd seen her angry before, seen her cold, fierce, deadly—but that look she gave him before walking away had been different. Shattered. Like she'd finally realized he wasn't just another spy playing games. He was the enemy.
Jace turned his head, groaning when his thigh protested. "You should've shot me when you had the chance," he muttered into the silence.
The silence answered.
Or so he thought. Until her heard her voice.
"You think I didn't want to?"
His body froze. That voice—low, steady, with that teasing edge she always carried like a blade.
His heart tripped over itself as his eyes flicked open, and there she was. Sitting on the table across from him, one leg crossed over the other, brown eyes glittering like whiskey in the half-light.
No blood, no bruises—just her. Beautiful and untouchable.
"You're not real." he whispered.
Her lips curved, but not in a smile. "I'm as real as your promises."
He tried to sit up, pain shooting through his leg. "You always were dramatic, Rousseau."
"And you always lie when you're cornered."
The sound of her voice dug into his chest like a knife. She stood, slow and deliberate, and every step she took toward him made his heart hammer harder.
He blinked, trying to shake her away, but she didn't fade. Not yet.
"You killed him," she said softly, tilting her head. "And now you bleed and call it even?."
Jace laughed weakly. "Even? No. Not even close. This is just consequences for my actions."
She crouched beside him, so close he could almost feel her breath on his skin. Her fingers brushed against his bandaged thigh, and even though he knew it wasn't real, the phantom touch burned.
"Tell me, spy." she murmured, "when did it stop being a mission?"
His throat tightened. He didn't answer. Couldn't.
Her gaze softened then, losing its sharp edge. "I should have ended you when I could."
He met her eyes, voice cracking between a laugh and a sigh. "Maybe I wanted to see you one last time."
For a heartbeat, she looked real. Human. Then, like smoke, she faded dissolving into the quiet.
The air felt colder suddenly. He blinked hard, staring at the empty space where she'd been.
"Figures." he muttered, forcing a shaky smile. "Even in my dreams, she leaves."
He lay back, exhaling through the ache, the ghost of her voice echoing in his head long after it was gone.
And before sleep finally took him, he whispered into the dark:
"If I see you again, I'll tell you everything… even if it kills me."