Work Text:
“Vicky! Good morning!”
Vicky grinned through red lined lips, actually happy to see Patricia that day. The girl was a great boost in general, enthusiastic but still competent. Usually Vic noticed the most subtle of changes, the sharp smell of something in the air, a glint in the eyes, but he was too distracted- “Patty! Good morning!”
It was 1946, and Vicky was just another secretary, post war, having served her, his time as a field nurse in that stupid uniform-
"Boss said he wanted to see you once you got in.” Patty mimed an extreme wince but they shared a look that any of the other (mostly male) office workers could easily write off or ignore.
The women all knew what Mr. Wilson was like.
And Vicky was his favorite.
“Ah.” Vic breathed, easily keeping his mask on. “Well I won't keep him waiting. Send the mail to my desk, please.”
Poised perfectly in an A-line skirt Vic stared down the singular wooden door. It'd be unlocked. If Wilson was in then it was unlocked, and waiting. You still had to knock because… his personal secretary wasn't the only one he liked throwing over his desk.
Adrenaline tickled at Vic’s brain. Before he even parked the car that day. It wasn't real. Before he even said his greeting to Patty. It wasn't real. Before he straighten out his already uncomfortably tight skirt-
It wasn't real.
Vicky knocked on the door and smiled toothily with no emotion. “Good morning, sir. I heard there's some issues with the shipment?”
Fuck the company.
It wasn't real.
The moment Vic entered the room and the moment he exited- he paid for that coverage, paid for the kill, paid for the clean up. He needed it to be during a week day, several low stakes legal issues to distract.
It was still Vic that slammed that crystal cigarette tray into the boss's skull, against his proposed plan and payment, then triggered the security alarm and screamed- self defense. They hadn't even been engaged publicly. Vic was just a secretary.
Vicky had been Wilson's favorite.
And the majority of Wilson's shares were willed to Vic.
----
“Did you- are you recording me?” Vic, occasionally Victor on paper, said to some familiar hitmen. “Trying to get some blackmail with me on my late fiance? Or perhaps my former life?”
A decade later he had walked into his own company, loyal workers staring at him (half stolen from his former job but most hired because he wasn't stingy or incompetent). Two familiar men from long ago were invading his turf.
“It's not like I've been celibate, and my social security number is still the same- do you really think my employees don't know my history? Hell! I still talk to my parents! They haven't called me Victoria in years!”
More excuses, Vox hadn't been listening and nowadays he was happy not to spare the processing power to hold those memories.
“Money? Seriously, I paid you for your services even when I didn't end up using them.”
They babbled, idiotic excuses Vox- Vic didn't even hear really, because all his memories of the night were just nonsense.
“You do realize I was already tried, right?” Vox cackled. “You do know what double jeopardy is? I was acquitted.”
He remembered them squirming. Watching the hope in their eyes turn to anger. He remembered pushing the security call button, never realizing it had been cut.
“It was a very clear cut self defense case, and no matter what bullshit you try to pull to frame me- they can't even bring the case to trial anymore.” Vox smirked. “Worst you can do is try to ruin my career but who would care between the Soviet cases or the Sheppard case? Hell, the segregation trials will drown you out no matter what side you are on-”
And Vic learned an important lesson on monologues whether you had the upper hand or not. ‘Cause a solid argument didn't stop crazy.
A bullet whizzed by his head, cracking the reinforced glass behind Vox. It splintered like frost. He had pressed the security button over a minute ago but hadn't noticed the duo shoving something into the door handles and getting them stuck together, only able to open a few inches even when his guards noticed something awry, hadn't noticed the cut wires under his desk-
Another bullet whizzed by his head before assailant number one launched themself at him. His back collided with the window and it shattered easily, already stress cracked.
Vic fell, a mere 3 floors into the main lobby, spine seizing, he couldn't move.
He watched as the insane duo pushed the fancy room TV to the window, then out it.
The seconds before impact were agony. The actual hit was a relief.