Chapter Text
Malibu opens her eyes slowly, the black centers constricting to the size of pinpricks in response to the blinding brightness. She can barely make out the bright white ceiling that the blazing fluorescent tube lights are attached to. Just as slow as her vision’s attempt at clearing, her senses begin to return. Whatever room she is in smells extremely clean and sanitized… clinical almost. Where was she…? She moves to sit up from her reclined position, paper crinkling underneath her weak body but a hand stops her.
“Easy, agent.” A soft voice says, keeping her held down.
Blinking quickly, she catches sight of a woman above her. The woman was on the thinner side, skin a beautiful dark color, hair even darker and sticking out in different directions slightly. She notices how the woman is wearing scrubs and a white lab coat. A doctor, maybe? “Where am I…?” Malibu croaks in a hoarse voice, head pounding painfully.
“You’re in the medical bay of the Statesman headquarters in Kentucky.” She says quietly, “My name is Ginger Ale. You were transferred here from London by the Kingsman agency after you received a head shot wound while out in the field.”
“I.. don’t remember..”
“That’s okay. It’s hard to remember anything after an injury like that.” Ginger helps her sit up on the examination table. “Thankfully we were able to identify your original location from your Statesman hat. Incredible idea to keep that despite your transfer to Kingsman, by the way.”
“Thank… you…?”
“I know you’re confused right now. Don’t worry. We contacted the Los Angeles offices where you used to be stationed when you were with us and they’re going to send us your files.” Ginger gives her patient an encouraging smile. “Then we’ll see if there's anything in there that will help us jog your memory, alright?” When she sees the young woman nod, she continues. “In the meantime, to help you have some grounding about yourself, you’re Agent Malibu, you worked for Statesman six years ago before you transferred to London to work for Kingsman.”
Malibu furrows her eyebrows. “Okay…” She states as if she doesn’t believe her. “Doing what?”
“You’re a field agent for our secret service.” This doctor called Ginger states.
“A field agent? That’s ridiculous honestly.” She shakes her head. “Sorry.” She hops off the examination table. “I find it hard to believe I was ever a secret service agent.”
“Not just a secret service agent! One of the best on the entire West Coast as the LA office states.”
“That has to be the biggest crock of-” Malibu begins but she’s cut off by the med bay door being pushed open.
A tall man, dressed in a white button up and a disturbing amount of denim walks into the room, a folder in one hand, his other tucked into his jeans pocket. “Ginger, I brought ya the files sent over from LA.” He holds them out to the woman.
“Thank you, Tequila.” Ginger smiles up at him as she takes the folder from his grasp.
“Tequila…” Their injured party mutters in a perplexed tone.
“Ah,” Ginger gestures to the man, “Malibu, this is Agent Tequila. Another one of our field agents.”
“Pleasure to meet ‘cha ma’am.” Tequila tilts his light tan Stetson cowboy hat and Malibu scrunches her nose slightly at the extremely prominent Southern accent. God. Cowboys.
“Right.” She raises her eyebrow and looks at Ginger when she holds the manila folder out to her in turn. She takes it slowly.
“See if anything in here will help you remember who you are.” Ginger smiles, her look ever encouraging.
Malibu opens the folder, sifting through the papers and photographs. She sees her agent file from Los Angeles, pictures of what looks like a younger her with a couple that may be her parents, documents from her training. But she doesn’t remember any of it. Towards the bottom of the stack is a marriage certificate, containing what she supposes is her signature alongside another, more masculine looking one. Underneath this document is a picture of her in a long white dress, kissing a dashing gentleman in a tuxedo, the two of them surrounded by people.
And suddenly it feels as if she’s been shot. Again. The papers spill from her hands as her vision is clouded with memories flooding her brain at warp speed. Chest heaving aggressively with her rapid pants, she scrambles to brace herself on something. Stumbling backwards, she plants her hand on the examination table, only to have it slip on that damn crinkly paper, causing her to fall on her ass on the floor covered in hard tile. She supports herself with her hands behind her, her breathing very quickly approaching a shift from panting to hyperventilating.
“Tequila!” Ginger says, moving quickly to take hold of the young woman’s arms. But anything they say is lost to the colossal flood blocking her senses.
“C’mon now, doll.” Tequila says, trying to gain her attention.
Malibu dry heaves as she remembers everything. “Thomas!” She cries out, the memory of watching her husband and partner in Kingsman be riddled with shots right before her very eyes all over again. And she remembers how it was all her fault, how she blew their cover during their mission by mistake, how he had put himself in front of her to protect her. She sees it again. The way he throws his body before her and accepts the hail of bullets instead of her. “TOM.” She screams, the high pitched panic in her voice obvious. The hot tears that rain from her eyes remind her of when she was showered with his blood on that day, causing her to almost throw up.
“Agent Malibu!” Ginger shouts over her panic, drawing the woman from her episode. She knows she has her focus when her fear blown pupils reach her face. “You’re not in France anymore. You’re here at Statesman in Kentucky.”
“Tom. Where’s Tom? I have to find him.” She tries to force her shaking body to stand, her voice weak and desperate.
“Your partner is gone, Malibu.. I’m sorry but the body was not able to be recovered..” Ginger says softly, resting her hand on Malibu’s elbow to keep her from moving so aggressively. “Your handler agent focused on getting you out and stable enough for transport to the United States..”
Malibu hangs her head, body shuddering with her sobs. Not only is it her fault he’s gone, it’s her fault that he won’t be able to be buried properly. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. One stupid slip in the field and she had her whole world ripped away from her.
“You’ve been through a lot, agent…” With Tequila’s assistance, Ginger helps Malibu back onto the exam table. “You’ll stay here in the med bay, receiving physical and psychological treatment until you feel you’re ready to make a decision as to what you want to do. Whether you want to stay with Kingsman or return to Statesman.”
Staring at the floor, she couldn’t believe what Ginger was saying. After everything she’s been through and they’re still expecting her to operate as an agent. She won’t. She can’t. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be the same.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malibu keeps her elbows on her knees as she listens to the lead Statesman psychologist, Dr.Tonic, speak to her. But it just sounds like a boring buzz in the background of her mind. “I’m not returning to the field.” She mutters at the usual point in his spiel.
“Then why don’t you go into the reserves? So that you’re with Statesman but they only send you out if absolutely needed.” He suggests.
She just shakes her head, not lifting her gaze from where it’s trained on the floor. She would focus on the carpet but at this point, after having sat on this couch three times a week since she woke up two months ago, she has the design memorized.
“Well..” He reads over the details of her file again, “This says before you became a field agent on the West Coast, you worked in both the automotive bay and the aircraft hangar for an extensive period of time. Why don’t we see if there’s any openings in the mechanics department here in the Kentucky offices?”
It’s at this new development of their normally routine conversation that she looks up. Maybe this was something she could do. She always enjoyed working in the shops. “Do you think they’d let me?” She sits up further, finally feeling like she has a spark of light. Although small and barely flickering, it’s there.
“I’m sure they would.” Tonic smiles, seeing her form and emotional state perk up slightly. “I’ll have Ginger come in and we can see about setting up a meeting for you with Champ, our director, to discuss available positions with him.” He stands from his arm chairs, setting his notebook and Malibu’s files on the coffee table as he goes. Once he walks over to his desk, he lifts his landline phone off its cradle, the cord following his movements. He dials Ginger’s extension, having a brief hushed conversation that Malibu can hardly keep up with. Within moments of Tonic hanging up their call, Ginger is entering the room, her trip short as she was only located on the other side of the med bay today.
“Malibu! Tonic tells me you’re thinking about going into the mechanics department!” The spritely woman says in excitement of the prospect of mental progress, making her flinch slightly. “Come on! We’ll go talk with Champ right now!” She holds her hands out, helping the agent out of her seat. “Thanks Tonic!” She calls behind her shoulder as she walks her out of the room.
“Don’t I need a meeting?... Or an… an appointment or something?...” Malibu says softly.
“This is such a major development for you, we’re not going to wait a moment!” Ginger enthuses as they enter the elevator. She presses the button for the top floor. “If Champ is upset, I’ll take the heat of course. If it makes it so you can begin to get back into the swing of things and begin to heal, it will be worth it.” Once they reach their destination, they approach the conference room at the end of the hall, entering through the double doors with Ginger leading the way. “Champ!” She says happily
Champ, the director of Statesman, looks up from the rest of the empty table, large glasses settled comfortably on his face, displaying that he is in a digital meeting with an invisible number of other agents and instantly, Malibu shrinks back behind Ginger, feeling guilty for their interruption of his business with something as trivial as her employment request. “Yes Ginger?” He smiles welcomingly nonetheless, gesturing for them to enter the room.
“Champ, this is Agent Malibu!” Ginger pulls the young woman in by her arm, despite her trying to keep her feet planted firmly.
“Ginger, I don’t want to bother him…” She whispers, barely audible.
“Ah!” Champ stands up, laughing heartily , “Our little snowbird!”
“W-What?...” She looks at their director, literally their boss.
“Snowbird. Because you migrated from us to Kingsman and back again, honey.” He explains gently, assuming that she’s not understanding because of her previous injury clouding her mind. “That headshot sure did throw you for a loop, didn’t it? Take a seat, darlin’.” He holds his hand out to the empty seat to his left and she slowly sinks into it, knowing that he had her take that seat because all of the other ones are probably claimed by the digital projections of the agents in the other offices that Champ sees behind his glasses. “So what can I do for you two?” He looks at Ginger when Malibu doesn’t speak, her nerves causing her to clam up quickly.
“Well sir, Malibu does not want to return to the field right away.”
“Ever.” The agent in question interjects.
“Right… um… ever..” Ginger continues, “So she would like to return to her roots in the company instead. We were just wondering if we had any positions available in either the automotive bay or the hangar.”
“Well let me look, ladies.” He chuckles softly as he sits back down in his chair at the head of the conference table, searching the employment positions by scrolling through the list in the lenses of his glasses.
Malibu watches as he focuses on the lenses, seeing him turn slightly to the empty chair to his right.
“Ah. Thank you, Whiskey.” Champ nods slightly to the empty chair, causing Malibu to blink at the space in confusion. She remembers enough about her times at Statesman, that she knows how their meetings operate. She’s sure he can see whichever agent he’s speaking to but she neither sees nor has ever heard of an Agent Whiskey. But whoever they are clearly gave Champ the information that he needed as he returns his attention to her once more. “We’re going to be havin’ an automotive bay foreman position openin’ up as one of ours is going to be transferrin’ to another office. Seein’ as you’ve worked in the department before, we’ll do some workin’ tests and see if you can handle the advanced position. If you’ll accept the test of course.”
Malibu nods quickly, sitting forward in her chair. “Yes.” She says eagerly, “Yes, I’ll do the test.”
“Then there we go.” He claps his hands together. “Ginger will set up the work test and we’ll go from there. Once you’re settled in the shop, you can focus on healing that little snowbird heart of yours, darlin’ and we’ll return to the topic of your field work in due time.” He holds his hand out to her which she takes, a bit of timidness gracing her features at the special attention she’s receiving from such a higher up. “Welcome home, Agent Malibu. We’re all thrilled to have you back with Statesman. Especially in one piece.” He smiles at her widely, “Now don’t go runnin’ out on us again, ya hear me?”
Malibu nods quickly for a second time. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” He booms happily, “Now go on outta here. Go with Ginger there and she’ll show you the automotive shops.” He lets her hand go after a light squeeze and she raises from her chair, hurrying back over to the entry doors.
“I told you it would be okay.” Ginger whispers to her new found acquaintance as she pulls the doors shut behind them.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malibu leans against the old beater pickup truck that used to be driven around the distillery property, having finished her test, wiping her filthy, greasy hands on a shop rag. Since the old girl didn’t run anymore, her test had been to at least get it started again. She looks up when she hears Ginger call out to her, approaching her work bay, Tequila and Champ in tow.
“If she could get this thing runnin’ again, I’ll go back to the rodeo. I swear to the good Lord above.” Tequila says as he inspects under the popped hood, as if he has any knowledge about what the bits and bobs do.
“Better get your clown makeup on then.” She holds the keys up between two fingers, tone confident and casual. She knows that mentally and emotionally, she’s been put through one hell of a ringer but she also knows that working with her hands is what she’s done since she was old enough for her father to put a wrench in her grasp. So this is the one place on the whole headquarters property that she felt at ease in.
“Now this will be interesting.” Champ chuckles quietly to Ginger.
Tequila takes the keys from her, a smug smirk on his face as per the usual. Going to the open driver’s side door, he jams the key in the ignition, giving it a crank.
But the truck doesn’t start.
“HA!” Tequila comes back out of the cab. “I knew it wouldn’t start.”
A pair of cowboy boots can be heard approaching the truck and the group from behind before the owner of the steps speaks up.
“Push the clutch in, dumbass.” A deep, baritone voice states simply.
Moving off from the side of the truck, Malibu catches sight of the newcomer as he slides into the driver's seat of the pickup. A dark Stetson hat and leather jacket, giant aviator sunglasses, an extremely prominent mustache. Another cowboy. She very quickly realizes that her time away made her forget how many cowboys were littered amongst the agents of Statesman. Apparently especially here in a godforsaken state like Kentucky. After spending most of her life in the heart of Los Angeles, California, she realizes she has not missed much here in the country.
This agent is the next to tempt her fate by twisting the key in the ignition.
Clearly he knows his way around a clutch enough though because on the first turn, the engine comes to life with a fierce roar.
Champ steps closer as the truck comes to a deep rumble of an idle. “Well I’ll be damned.” He says, putting his hands on his hips, watching as her mystery agent tests the headlights and windshield wipers. “What did you do to this thing, snowbird?”
She looks up at him, pulling her gaze away from the man sitting in the truck cab.“I took out the old engine and dropped a big block in it.” It was her turn to plaster a smug look on her face. “I also dropped the automatic transmission out of it and made it a manual, Just for the hell of it.”
“What made you decide to do that?”
“Just because I knew I could.”
“But I can’t drive a stick!” Tequila says, his tone reflecting his displeasure at this turn of events.
“And that made the hard work of it that much sweeter.” She smiles up at him, one hand on the hip of her dark grey mechanics jumpsuit.
“She’s a fiery little thing when she's operatin’ on all cylinders, isn’t she?” Champ grins down at the young woman. “You’ve got the foreman position, darlin’.”
“But she just replaced the engine. She cheated.” Tequila argues with Champ’s decision.
“The deal was she got it runnin’. She was never told how she had to do it.” Their director points out simply. “And don’t act like completely replacing an engine is an easy feat.”
“Especially when going from a small block to a big..” Malibu grumbles as she crosses her arms. She looks back when the driver's side door of the cab is closed.
"Agent Malibu, I'd like ya to meet Agent Whiskey." Champ holds a hand out towards the agent who had been the one to start the truck.
Ah. So this is Whiskey, the agent Champ spoke to the day she and Ginger so rudely interrupted.
"Nice to meet you, Whiskey." She holds her hand out to shake his.
Whiskey takes her hand, lifting it to press his lips lightly to it, his mustache tickling her skin. "Pleasure is all mine, darlin'." He drawls out.
Malibu forgets to filter her facial expressions for a split second and very briefly a scrunched nose cringe graces her face before she wipes it away. God. Everything about this cowboy shtick that every man in town has, with the Stetsons and the accents and the pet names, was really starting to get her hacked off. They can't ever seem to just use her name. Doll. Darlin. Sweetheart. Sugar. "Call me Malibu, please." She pulls her hand away from his lips before turning back to Champ. "I'd like to thank you for giving me the position, sir. I'll make sure to prove my worth." She shakes her boss' hand firmly.
"I have no doubt that ya will, snowbird." Champ smiles widely down at her, shaking her hand in return. "Your first project when you come in tomorrow will be Whiskey's Ford Bronco. It needs a tune up since it's been sitting in storage while he's been in New York."
"Yes, sir."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malibu looks up from her magazine as she hears echoing footsteps approaching her in the automotive bay. If it wasn't for the fact that she can see her late night intruder from her vantage point of the chair at the metal desk, she'd be reaching for the biggest wrench she could use as a weapon. She looks past her propped up feet to the cowboy holding two beers in his hand.
"Burning the midnight oil?" Whiskey asks, a grin on his lips.
"Draining it, actually." She looks over at where his Bronco is sitting on the car lift, the old oil dripping out of it into a drip pan on the concrete ground. She looks back to him when he holds out one of the drinks. "Thanks." She takes it from him slowly after closing her Entertainment Weekly in her lap. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" She twists the bottle cap open.
"Just thought'cha might like some company, sugar." He leans against the edge of the desk.
She hides her cringe at the pet name behind her beer bottle as she drinks from it. "I see. Well, unfortunately I'm not exactly exciting to be around as you can probably tell." She tosses her magazine onto the desk, lifting her feet down to the floor. “So what do you actually need?” She sets the bottle down before heading over to the Bronco as the oil finishes draining. Picking the old filter off the ground where she set it earlier, she tosses it into the plastic shop trash can.
“It’s just that Ginger told me you’ve never been here at the headquarters or even in Kentucky so I thought I would show you the sights sometime.” Whiskey watches her go over to the workbench, unpacking the new filter from its packaging box. “You know, the best views… best places for dinner.. and dancing..”
She raises her head slowly at his words, staring at the pegboard filled with tools on the wall. There it is. She knew exactly where this was going to be heading. "I'm okay. Thanks though." She states simply as she keeps her gaze on the tools.
"Now I know what you're thinking." He states, standing up from his leaned position. "It's not like that, darlin'. I'm just trying to be hospitable. I know you lost a lot. I just want you know I'm here if you need someone to-"
Malibu turns around quickly to look at Whiskey. "Listen up, cowboy." She snaps at him, the sarcasm laced heavily in the name, "No offense, but whatever your intentions are…. romance, a quick fuck, or even some bullshit Southern hospitality, I'm really not interested." She grabs the filter and heads back over to the lift. "Thanks for the beer though. Now if you could just go now, please. Your Bronco will be done by dawn." She looks at the undercarriage of the car but doesn't really see it as she listens to his footsteps fade away and the side door of the garage closes. As the midnight silence settles back into the air, she almost feels bad for jumping on him so quickly while she begins installing the new filter. Almost. She knows that he knows her grief. Everyone seems to know the story of the snowbird apparently. So if he can't understand the fact that her husband only died two months ago, that's his problem not hers. Suddenly she throws the tool clutched tightly in her hand. She hates how this man already, after a single day, seems to be acting as a flint rock shaving sparks towards what is left of the tiny pile of kindling inside her soul. Especially when she had been so ready to drown it in a drink and keep it snuffed.
Returning to her desk to pick up her beer, she sees that next to the bottle, he's placed his business card for her to find. Scribbled underneath the obvious landline digits is also a cell number. As she stares at the inked figures, she feels like this agent is both the flammable Whiskey and the lit match to bring her heart back to a blazing inferno.