A Little Dirt Never Hurt Anyone, Right?
Summary: You can't wait to show Six what you've worked on for the majority of your day, but he's not on the same page as you.
Warnings: Some big girl angst, harsh language/swearing, Six MAYBE is a little OOC, hurt/comfort
A/N: Here is another part of The Gray Scale, a collection series that I'm writing when I feel like it! I let the angst call to me on this one, I really needed to hurt my feelings... GET THIS MAN ON HIS KNEES OKAY - Birch<3
Wind chimes dancing lightly in the late afternoon breeze draw your attention to the front porch. The white farmhouse door is propped open to let in fresh air while you work in the kitchen, the cool air circulating around the house.
You did keep the screen door closed, however, as you didn't want to endlessly chase down bugs and whatever bird flew in. A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall tells you it's just after 5 o'clock.
The thought brings a smile to your face, and right on cue, you can see Six's old Chevy truck pulling up the driveway. Gravel spits and pops underneath the tires as you catch sight of his left arm hanging out of the window.
It was too nice of an afternoon not to enjoy the breeze, after all. Your smile widens as you stop working at the sight of the truck halting in front of the house, and you can just barely hear the engine cut out a moment later.
The truck is a bit rusty and has some chipped spots of paint, but every day you watch it successfully take Six down the road to the cattle farmer next door. The older gentleman needed help maintaining the farm, and he paid Six handsomely for keeping up with the farm equipment, moving the cows, and completing any odd jobs that always needed to be done.
It wasn't much, but the farmer was nice, and so was his wife. The farmer had immediately taken a liking to the former assassin, and the wife enjoyed sharing her recipes with you. They were kind to keep Six employed, and for the moment, life was okay after escaping the CIA with Claire in tow.
