Pairings: Gatlocke/Holiday

Summary: She can pretend to be better, but in the end, she's just like him. After the deaths of Agent Six and an EVO child named Rex, a jaded and weary Rebecca Holiday asks for help from the one person that could possibly save her sister. Sadly, he's too bored and insane to let it be just that simple.

Notes: Yikes, I've had this written for a while, figured I might as well post it already.

The car exploded with a deafening bang, spewing fire and smoke like some long dormant volcano. Shrapnel flew in all directions, crashing through the windows and walls of the small houses. Flames leaped up from the wreck, sparks of gold and red that rushed to consume everything nearby. People started to scream and flee from the scene, trampling over others on the sidewalk in their attempts to escape. It was a scene of mass hysteria, of fear feeding off fear until reason ceased to exist in their panic.

How boring.

Gatlocke yawned and calmly walked against the crowd, blasting several pedestrians stupid enough to get in his way. He so hated this routine work, it was far too predictable for man of his caliber. He would much prefer to be back in his desert, ambushing the unfortunate souls who were stupid enough to cut through his territory.

But even anarchists have to eat, a fact made damningly clear by the shortage of food back in the camp. He would have enjoyed pushing this chore back a week or two, but the pirates were starting to grumble about such inane things as starvation, exhaustion, and his personal favorite – dehydration.

He snorted, pushing his way into one of colorful shops that lined main street. Really, they lived in a desert. If they wanted water, there were plenty of mirages they could visit, but no, they needed the real thing. Some people were so picky.

They were just lucky he was in the mood for a nice glass of iced tea.

Whistling, he slammed down the door of the small cafe, barely noticing the sudden shrieks coming from the people hiding under the tables. Gatlocke quickly reached the counter of the small cafe, and leaned an elbow against it, smiling at the terrified cashier. "Hello there, dear, I'd like some iced tea, hold the sugar."

To the poor girl's credit, she didn't faint. Gulping nervously, she managed to stutter out, "D-do you have a v-v-valued customer card, s-sir?"

Gatlocke frowned. She cringed at the sight

"I'm sorry, I think I've left the card in my other pants," he said, a smile slowly growing back on his face. Yet before she could even sigh in relief, he brought two sharp blades at level with her face. "But I'm sure you can make an exception, just this once."

The whites of eyes were clearly seen when they rolled back in her head. Falling to the floor in a dead faint, he barely spared a glance at how she'd fallen. Still, he had to admit, she was made of stouter stuff than he would have given her credit for. Not that it really mattered now, anyways.

Gatlocke spun on his heels and raised his arms in celebration. "Boys, I think that's our cue! Loot the place!"

The pirates raised a cheer and rushed towards the counter, leaping over it and pocketing what they could. They made short work of the drink dispensers, not even bothering to use cups in their hurry to quench their thirst. Some carried big burlap sacks, and they proceeded to stuff them with the food and pastries that lines the display cases.

"Careful there, don't let the muffins touch the sandwiches," he warned, pointing at two of his men who were started to get a bit too rambunctious with their thievery. "Because I can promise you, if I 'ave to pick muffin crumbs out of my lettuce, someone's going to be paying for it."

His eyes darted between them. "And let's see, I'll probably going to blame – eenie meenie miney you."

They scrambled to apologize. "Of course, Gatlocke."

"Anything you say, Gatlocke."

"Oh, don't take it so seriously." He shook his head, turning to leave. "I wouldn't really punish one of you."

They calmed and sighed in relief.

"I would just punish all of you. It's much simpler."

And with that, Gatlocke stalked away, in search of some other place in this wretched town that served a good glass of iced tea. The streets were still in full riot mode, the people panicking as the first few of the houses caught fire. Really, looking at them, you would think this had never happened before.

He and the gang looted this particular town on a regular basis, as it was the one closest to their camp. The town had already tried to put a bounty on him, but they had rescinded it soon after they'd figured out he had been turning himself in every other weekend and escaping with the money. Now they seemed to be completely resigned to their fate.

There was a loud collective cry as one of the houses lit up like a straw bonfire, sending flaming rubble tumbling towards a panicking crowd.

Well, mostly resigned.

In any way, they should consider this latest attack as a push in the right direction. They were obviously still adjusting to his presence, so he just had to help them along by coming more often. Thus, by attacking the town, he was really doing his civic duty by preparing them for later, much worse attacks.

Sometimes he was so selfless. Humming a tune, Gatlocke patted himself on the back for a job well done. Now, if only he could find another cafe in this small town. Grabbing the arm of a civilian running past him, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to know another place that serves iced tea? Preferably with some lemon wedges, added right in there?."

The man cried out and snatched his arm away, running off in the other direction. How rude.

Raising a cannon, Gatlocke turned to aim at him, deciding to teach the man a quick lesson on manners. "One...two...three-"

In his concentration, he was completely unprepared for the truck that rammed into him.

There was a loud thump, and he was sent flying towards the curb. Quick reflexes saved him from being splattered across the pavement as he used his cybernetic arms to cushion some of the force. Yet, sheer momentum still sent him rolling, his cape wrapping around him, effectively binding his arms and giving him an inescapable likeness to a black and red burrito.

Dazed and disoriented for obvious reasons, it took him a while to fully untangle himself and face his attacker. By that time, his minions had already run out of the cafe and were attacking the white truck with crossbows and spears, hardly making a dent.

Gatlocke gritted his teeth as he saw the loathsome thing. Providence. They just had to put their hands into his business. Couldn't leave well enough alone, could they?

A figure started to step out of the van, gun raised, shooting the pirates away from the van. Many of the shots went haywire, spinning out of control, hitting street lamps and the like. But some did manage to hit his crew, however ineffective those sidetracked shots were.

It soon became clear enough to him that this interference was a strictly solo mission. No backup in sight, not even a helicopter or two just for kicks. Only one person in a Providence issue van.

Gatlocke started to run towards them, determined to find out exactly who would have such a grudge against his humble little anarchists. What kind of person would be so mad, so determined, so bold as to launch a direct assault against them?

As he got closer, he managed to make out the figure. A woman in a white lab coat, standing decisively against the truck, looking absolutely infuriated .

Oh, this made infinitely more sense.

Grinding to a halt, he called out to her in the smoothest way he knew how. "'Hey lady, there really are better ways to get my attention! A swimsuit would do just as nicely!"

A shot barely missed his skull, and Gatlocke darted forward to stop her. He quickly decided that no matter how nice her legs were, a bullet to the head was a bullet to the head, any way you slice it. He rushed forward, blades raised above his head, but she held her ground. Aiming the gun directly at his head, she forced him to stop inches before the barrel. He froze as he realized that getting his head blown off was a genuine possibility.

A hush descended over the pirates as they watched their leader being held at gun point. They stopping shooting, none stupid enough to risk hitting him, knowing that whatever trouble they'd in for not taking her down couldn't be worse than what Gatlocke would do if they caused his death. All held on to the conviction that someone like him would somehow find a way to return from the grave, if only to terrorize those who'd had a hand in untimely demise.

The two stood facing each other, and Gatlocke slowly raised his hands. "Seeing as how I subscribe to the notion that you should at least get to know a person before trying to kill them, I believe introductions are in order here. The name's Gatlocke, anarchist, struggling business-"

"I know."

He scowled at how she'd cut him off, but just as he opened his mouth to voice his displeasure, she started to speak.

"I need your help." Her words were hard, belying the steel in her eyes.

Gatlocke struggled to hold back his laughter. This was rich. A providence official asking for his help by threatening to kill him? What a classic.

As he managed to get a hold on himself, he smiled broadly. "Now, I'm not exactly an expert on normal behavior-

He mistook the scathing look in her eyes for disbelief. "No, really, I could hardly believe it myself, thought they were absolutely nutty when they told me, but really now, I don't it's considered normal behavior to ask someone for help when you're holding them up at gunpoint."

"Would you have listened to me any other way?" she said, arching a brow.

Gatlocke opened his mouth to retort but then stopped. She really did have a point there. "But, you see, normally people ask me through the right channels. Being attacked really isn't my idea of a proper business meeting."

"Aren't you an anarchist?" she said, looking amused that he would care so much for procedure.

"Exactly. What situation could possible force a lovely Providence agent like yourself to ask a proper scoundrel like me for help? Well, other than the obvious." He winked and chose to ignore the disgusted look she shot him.

"I'm not Providence anymore."

He blinked. "I'm sorry, but aren't you the one who arrived here in a Providence issue van, wearing a Providence issue uniform and is now holding a Providence issue gun to my head? See, in my world, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it is most likely-"

"An ex-Providence agent."

He beamed. "Now you're getting the picture here! This is really quite an unusual situation, Miss.."

"Doctor Holiday. Doctor Rebecca Holiday," she finished.

"Rebecca. Re-bec-ca." Gatlocke tested the name out on his tongue. It was a rather nice sounding name. Nothing like his own of course, but most people didn't get the luxury of choosing their own names out.

"You wouldn't happen to have a nickname or something? Rebs? Becky?" he asked, deciding he'd at least give her the chance to change it.

"My friends call me Rebecca. You can call me Doctor Holiday."

Ouch. Laying a hand over his chest, he pretended to look hurt. "Now, is that any way to treat a hostage? Providence these days, so unprofessional."

She scowled, gritting her teeth together to stop from launching herself at the insufferable madman. He just smiled, happy to see that even a trained Providence agent wasn't immune to his ways.

"So, Rebecca, from what I gather, you are an ex-Providence agent who happens to be a Doctor and yet, here you are, sticking up criminals in order to coerce them into helping you? I think there's only one real question here." Gatlocke straightened, and took a step forward. "Which one?"

The question seemed to throw her for a loop. "What?"

"Come now, is it Easter? Valentine's day?" he muttered, taking a step forward to look at her green eyes, crinkled up in confusion. "I suppose it could be St. Patrick's Day..."

Although Rebecca looked baffled at the question, she was bit more decisive at his intrusion into her personal space. Bringing the gun up, she forced him back. "My name is Holiday, I myself am not a holiday."

"Pity," Gatlocke said, not even flinching as he stared down the barrel of what was quite a large gun. He had gathered by now that she had no idea how to use it. He doubted she'd ever even held one before. Her hands were trembling just so, and she also seemed to have forgotten where the safety was.

The previous shots had been pure luck. Hmm. This certainly led more credence to the St. Patrick's Day idea.

"Might I ask why you're here? Don't you Providence types stay tucked up nice in safe in your big white base?" It was time to get some answers. Before he started to get, god forbid, bored of the situation.

"I quit Providence."

"See, this is another case of what you say being completely impossible for anybody but yourself to understand. I was under the impression that a person couldn't quit Providence." He thought to himself for a bit. "Yes, pretty sure there's a stiff 'no quitting' rule there."

As he waited for her to answer, or at the very least say some other cryptic mumbo-jumbo he was beginning to think was the only thing she could say. But she had fallen silent, looking guiltily towards the ground.

A twisted grin slowly grew on his face as he realized what was going on. "Oh, they don't know yet, do they?"

"Shut up!" Rebecca cried, pushing the gun closer to force him to shut his mouth, but to no avail. This was the most interesting thing that had happened to him in at least a week. Nearly topped by the flying armadillo he saw a few days back, but still.

"You've runaway, gone rogue," Gatlocke said, with no small amount of pride. He was beginning to have a new appreciation for the woman. It took guts to cut ties from a place like Providence. Well, that and luck, but seeing as how she was the embodiment of St. Patrick's day, that one was a given.

As his smile growing wider, he took a very deliberate step forward into her personal space and purred, "You know what? I feel like we have a connection. We're practically friends already, comrades in our hatred of rules."

"I'm not a criminal! I didn't leave because I didn't like the rules, I left because-" She stopped for a moment, looking like there was a weight being pressed on her. Regret and guilt were etched into the lines of her face, and her shoulders slumped as the memories came rushing back.

He watched her with interest as she tried to get the words out, wondering what could have made a woman like her abandon a cushy life at Providence to chase down outlaws.

"I left because they killed Re – an EVO."

For a moment he was puzzled, but he recovered quickly. "An EVO? Oh, you mean one of those monsters that have been running around. Nasty critters, those."

Her head snapped up and she looked furious. Rebecca gritted the words out."He was not a monster, he was an EVO. An exponentially variegated organism. And -"

He had to struggle to make out her next words. "And he was just a little boy."

Now that made him pause. Providence was killing children now? That was barbaric, even for him.

But it still wasn't surprising. "Isn't that was Providence does? Contain and kill, or something of the like?"

"It wasn't what I did. And that was the last straw." Somehow he got the feeling that she was hiding something. Exactly how important had that boy been? Had he been-

"Your son?" he blurted out. That would not do, not at all. He had plans, you see.

"No." she said, exasperated.

"Oh," Gatlocke sighed, relieved. But that she still hadn't answered his original question. "You seem to have things pretty wrapped up on your end, Becca. What do you need me for?"

He had long since given up putting his hands up against the gun, choosing instead to start pacing, circling her as she kept the gun trained on him.

"I need you to help me break into Providence and free my sister."

He burst out laughing, clutching his side. "Oh, that's a riot. Wait. You're serious. You can't be serious."

"I read your file. If there's anybody that could do it, it would be you," Rebecca said with no trace of humor in her voice.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, love. Except for now," he grinned, shaking his head. Invade Providence. That was nuts, even for him. "Besides, even if I did, what makes you think I'd do it for free?"

"Who said anything about free?" Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out two plastic cards. While doing so, she also neglected to keep the gun trained on him. He rolled his eyes and let the opportunity pass, knowing someone this inexperienced would leave plenty of openings later. Besides, he was eager to find out what kind of payment an operation like this would net him.

And so he was rather disappointed to find that the two cards looked liked perfectly normal IDs. "I don't know what you're pulling, Becky, but my going rate is a bit more than that."

"These aren't normal pass cards. They have the master code for the Providence security system. If you use them correctly, you'll be able to disable the entire system for weeks. They're my insurance that my sister won't be killed. And your payment," she finished, holding the cards up to the light.

Gatlocke's mind raced with all the things he could do with a completely offline Providence system. He could unleash chaos, steal as many nanites as he wanted and then sell them for ten times what his normal payment would be. "Okay, I'll admit it, that's a good deal. But there's only one problem."

She looked taken back. "What?"

He rushed forward, twisting her wrist just so. She winced, dropping the gun, which clattered to the floor. Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Smirking at the furious woman, Gatlocke leaned in closer and watched her eyes grow wide. As her breath hitched, he felt a thrum of success. Now this was more like it.

It was just too bad he had other things to deal with at the moment. Sighing, he quickly snatched the cards out of her outstretched hand. Shock flared in her eyes and he quickly stepped back before she could come to her senses.

"You see, I could just take the cards and get rid of you." Gatlocke couldn't help but laugh at how utterly surprised she looked. If she had let him finish before, he would have told her about his status as a scoundrel of the worst kind. And she claimed to have read his file.

He tutted, "Should 'ave known better than to show the goods before the transaction is done, love."

His pirates surrounded them, blocking any exit. Gatlocke watched her expression change from unease to rage, wondering what she'd do now. She'd remained wonderfully capricious so far, but she was still just a Providence agent.

Soon the bartering would start, and she would try to convince him that it was in his favor to help her, that it was for the good of everyone, yadda yadda, blah blah blah. Some people were just so predictable, he thought as he calmly stared back at the glaring woman. He stretched the smile out as he realized that she was much prettier than he'd originally given her credit for.

That little up close view had revealed some considerable...assets. He lowered his own guard for just a moment as he let his eyes roam over her again.

And that was all the time she needed. Her fist came flying out at him, knocking him straight on the jaw. She was by no means a weak woman, and the punch had enough force in it for him to start seeing stars. As he fell, she wrenched the cards from him, and tried to run, instead hitting a wall of black and red anarchists.

A hush fell over the area as he picked himself up. The pirates crowded together, certain that the next few minutes were going to be very, very bloody. The captain was by no means a tolerant man and his temper was legendary even among the anarchists. His manic exploits were the kind of things that could only be told at midnight around a dying bonfire, when they were all certain he was asleep or out eating innocent souls, whatever it was that he did to recharge.

They all flinched away as he straightened and faced the ex-providence agent. His face a mask of rage, Gatlocke spat the words out, "You're completely insane!"

All at once, his anger fell away, replaced by a big grin. "I like it."

For some reason, Rebecca looked even more scared now. He started to circle her with a predatory interest, asking, "Have you ever considered a career in the fast growing field of post-apocalyptic gangs?"

"I – I don't think I have," she said, completely thrown off balance by his behavior.

"Well, I think you're just what I've been looking for. I've been saying lately that we've needed some ladies in our gang, getting with the times and all that, right boys?" he called out, to a garbled response.

"Um, yea, Gatlocke."

"Of course."

"'ey, I'm not sure you've ever said that before-"

Gatlocke reached an arm out and started to choke the last pirate, stopping only when the man managed to say, "You...say it...all the time!"

As he let go, the man crashed at his feet, clutching his bruised throat. Spinning, he flashed a big smile to the lovely Doctor. "See, love? You'll be perfect with us."

Overwhelmed, she had the look of a person whose plan had gone horribly wrong and was now being forced to watch it go up in flames. She held the pass cards close, squeezing them as he took a step forward.

"I guess it's settled then, you'll join the crew, I'll take the pass cards and then when I have some time, we'll go and rescue this sister of yours. Then maybe she can come with us too-"

"I'm not becoming a pirate!" she cried, finally managing to find the words.

Gatlocke frowned. "Is is the masks? Don't worry, Rebecca, you're far too beautiful to put one of those on. I just make the rest of them wear it so I don't have to look at their faces. They're all really quite ugly, you see."

"No, I mean I'm not joining your gang. I just need you to help me save my sister, that's all." She seemed to be getting a hold on herself, slowly backing away towards the truck.

"I am still helping you. As long as you become an anarchist and join me." He frowned. Was it really so hard to understand? And here he thought Doctors were supposed to be smart.

"I guess I'll just have to find someone else." Rebecca had managed to inch away from the circle of pirates and started to make a run for her truck.

Now that just wouldn't do. Forming an energy cannon, he aimed it at the vehicle. Negotiations still weren't done yet, and he couldn't have her running off to some second rate businessman. Some of them could be seriously deranged. It was really all for the best.

Yet, just as he was about to shoot, the truck exploded.

The boom echoed through the air and several wayward bystanders screamed as burning pieces of the hull started raining from the skies. Rebecca Holiday watched her truck, the last vestige of her previous life, go up in flames. She stood still, barely able to register the fact that everything she owned in the world had been in there.

Scraps of paper, her only pictures of her sister from before it all, floated in the air around her. They burned up before she could even make a grab for them. Soot soon covered her pristine white lab coat, turning it gray and ashy, but she could barely bring herself care. When the full impact of what had just happened finally hit her, she spun and started to glare at the man currently standing behind her, a canon conveniently located in his arm. "You."

As Gatlocke watched her stomp forward, he tried to explain. "Now, that really wasn't me, I swear I wasn't really going to shoot it. Okay, that's a lie, I was, but I was going to shoot it in a couple seconds, not then! So, in a way, I was cheated just as much as you, really, don't give that look and if you would kindly put the gun down-"

He was saved from her fury by a sudden broadcast.

"Doctor Rebecca Holiday, you are under arrest by Providence. Put your hands above your head and calmly walk forward, where an agent will be waiting to process you."

Gatlocke gave her a smug smile. "See, it wasn't me, it was the horde of angry Providence soldiers." He pointed towards them, the several armored convoys and two helicopters currently circling the area.

"What – how? How did they find me?" she cried, panicking. The hand holding the gun starting to shake as she got a good look at their sheer numbers. He could practically see the gears in her mind turning as she calculated her chances. By the way her face fell, they couldn't be good.

"Come now, you can't tell me you didn't know that every Providence issue equipment has a tracking signal installed? That would be an awfully dumb mistake for you to make, Doctor." He crossed his arms, looking completely at peace with the situation. "And I don't mean to sound pushy, but I do believe I'm you're only out here. Join me or face them."

She glanced towards the incoming surge of soldiers, each armed to the teeth with rifles and machine guns. The helicopters had their search lights and through them, she could clearly see even more soldiers waiting to be deployed. Then she looked at him, staring intently as she decided.

He decided to put his two cents in. Leaning against the back of one of his vehicles, he mused, "Whadoya think those guys would to someone who 'as as much dirt on them as you, eh? Can't imagine it'd be pleasant."

Her face went through a myriad of emotions. Anger, denial, guilt, disgust and finally – acceptance. Or was that anger again?

"I guess I have no choice," she spat.

Maybe it was a mix of the two.

Gatlocke shot forward and clapped her on the back. "Now that's what I love! An optimist!"

She leaped away, glaring at his over-familiarity. She really was a feisty one. He paid it no mind, instead clapping for the other pirates to ready the escape vehicles. As they rolled up, he let loose two shots from his energy canon, hitting the helicopters, sending them pinwheeling downward. Best they have as little surveillance as possible.

One of the anarchists shot him a searching look before he scampered off to load the newly gathered supplies, questioning his motives. Was he going to double cross her later, steal the cards anyways, and then trade her back to Providence for a tidy profit?

Maybe.

He really hadn't decided yet.

As Gatlocke leaped onto one of the buggies, he reached out a hand to help the lovely Doctor on board. A hand that she not so politely ignored, choosing to ride in different car, one that happened to be as far away from him as possible. Probably a coincidence.

The buggies started up and raced onward into the sandy desert, outpacing the bulky convoys with ease. He fired a few warning shots at the few vehicles that choose to follow, knowing that they'd lose them soon enough. Settling into his seat, he dared to glance over at his newest and only pirate lady. Who was currently giving him the evil eye.

Oh, this was going to be fun.