Chapter Nine

Vulnerability

Uploaded on 3/13/07

Several weeks passed since Boyd discovered the live feed to Sin's apartment and he only found himself straying to watch it a few times. Even then, he turned the computer off the moment he realized what he was doing and did not go back for several days afterwards. Ryan caught Boyd after the next debriefing and tried to wax poetic about Sin again but Boyd managed to evade him. The last mission had been brief and unexciting. It was a minor rebel group that didn't even have a properly assigned number and they were taken out by Boyd as usual. 53 moved while no one was looking and a several week lull ensued while Ryan struggled to find where they were.

And now, here Boyd was. The rebels were thinking ahead this time; 53 was hiding in the recesses of an old underground bunker with steel so thick that no signal could get through. Boyd was not even certain the GPS would be able to track him down there. The hallways were long and dark and every single noise echoed tellingly around him. He had to be especially careful when he walked and moved because even the slide of fabric against fabric could give away his location.

It took him awhile to discover where Warren Andrews (89's former second-in-command and 53's current leader) was hidden in the maze of hallways and floors. He managed to narrow it down to a corridor but the electricity was faulty this far underground and the lights were flickering into darkness more often than they were on.

Sin turned a little colder and quieter since their last contact with 89; he spent much of the time ignoring Boyd and when he did look at him it was with an intense undercurrent that Boyd did not think was particularly friendly. Boyd didn't know why Sin was acting that way but he didn't feel the need to stress himself out trying to understand the reason. Sin would do what he wanted when he wanted and that was to be expected. Boyd didn't think he would ever truly understand him.

However, they were actually working together for once and so far everything was going well. Sin was watching the outside of the bunker to see the movement of the people; where what group went and when, what would be a good time to infiltrate, as well as generally checking out the area. Boyd slipped into the base itself to observe the set up from the inside to get an idea of what may have changed from the blueprints and to see if there were any specific security vulnerabilities he could take advantage of the next day when they would actually carry out the mission. Since 53 was expected to be decently managed, Boyd and Sin were taking the extra precaution to be sure this went over smoothly.

Boyd spent nearly an hour inside the base, slipping from one shadow to the next in silence. He was very careful to tread so his boots made no noise and he actually left his trench coat behind for once in order to not be as recognizable from a distance in case some men from 89 were there. He wore a red armband over a dark green long-sleeved shirt and black fatigues, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail at the base of his neck. It was a little too cold to be wearing only that, but he had no other coat and did not have many options for clothing.

While he could have worn his usual, it seemed better to do his best to blend in. Many of the rebels in 53 wore forest colors and though they had the same armbands at 89, up close theirs had specific words written on it. Boyd's outfit would not pass scrutiny but all he really needed was to pass by unnoticed in case someone came upon him abruptly. To do that, he needed to not be the anomaly in all black. It was pure luck that he had the shirt in the trunk of his car; everything else he owned was black. In truth, he thought it was Lou's shirt but he was doing his best not to let his mind go down that path.

He heard footsteps treading heavily toward him, the scuffing of soles against concrete and it echoed so much that Boyd could hardly tell which direction it came from. He calmly reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small handheld radio that he found in one of the supply rooms. They were used as communication between the troops and Boyd knew from research that many of the newcomers were told to have one on them at all times so they wouldn't get lost or do something stupid.

Two men turned a corner and walked toward Boyd down the hallway. Boyd fumbled with the radio, turning it around and trying to click it on and off as if he had no idea how to work it. The men were talking quietly about something but the words bounced around them and Boyd was half-listening. It was nothing of consequence but he kept it all in mind anyway.

As they came up beside him, Boyd looked up, very startled and stood to attention with a salute. He happened to have the radio in the hand that went by his forehead and his thumb clicked it on. It blared static and he dropped it on the floor with a resounding clatter. "Sorry, Sir," he said, frazzled, and knelt down, fumbling with it again.

In his peripheral vision, Boyd saw one man roll his eyes and the other said in exasperation, "Carry on, rookie." They walked past with no incident and Boyd made sure to make noise fumbling and cursing softly with the radio until their footsteps were long gone. He flipped the radio off calmly and stood, sliding it back into his pocket and left the facility without anyone else seeing him.

Boyd made it out to their agreed upon meeting place and leaned against a tree, waiting for Sin to arrive. He stared down at the radio and idly played with it, not turning it on but examining it so he had an excuse in case someone walked by and wondered what he was doing. He stood silently, not wanting to betray the fact that he was an intruder just in case Sin had been discovered.

Meanwhile, Sin was walking through the woods silently, automatically avoiding anything that his boots would crunch underfoot. Despite the cold, he wore his usual outfit of a thermal long-sleeved undershirt and a t-shirt. The fact that both items were threadbare made the matter worse but he didn't seem to mind. His tactic, as usual, was entirely different from Boyd's and was a lot riskier. He made no effort to blend in, not that he would have been able to anyway with his height, clothes and shock of red hair, and wandered dangerously close to the bunker at times. However, he stayed in the shadows, lingered for brief times and remained undetected.

As he went farther away from the bunker, he heard a soft clicking sound and followed it, finding Boyd leaning against a tree toying with a radio. He almost found himself commending Boyd for his ability to blend in despite the fact that he obviously stood out but the thought disappeared as soon as it had popped into his mind and he looked at Boyd with narrow, unfriendly eyes. His coldness was his way of compensating for previous lapses when he'd been in Boyd's presence, lapses that had included near friendly conversation and the obvious way he was slipping when it came to the boy.

"Two exits other than the one you used," He said flatly. "One to the North and another to the East. They are guarded by two rebels, presumably new, at all times. Beginning at approximately 0900 hours they switch shifts every nine hours. It is done efficiently with no opening, however at half past the hour, 5 hours into each shift there is a thirty minute meal break for each man. When one leaves the entrance is guarded by one guard for this time and there are brief, 3 minutes openings at intervals as he paces back and forth to observe either side of the forest." He looked at Boyd almost coldly. "When you sneak in tomorrow, that would be the best opportunity."

Boyd nodded, not even looking up from the radio, though he'd felt the near coldness of Sin's presence without having to. He noted the term 'you' and was unsurprised to realize Sin had no intention of accompanying him on the mission the next day. Pushing himself away from the tree, Boyd slid the radio into his back pocket and wandered away from the base, assuming Sin would follow. He didn't speak at first so they could get a little further.

"I believe I have located the leader; there is a corridor on the main floor in the Southwest corner that seems likely to hold his rooms. It is in the best position to be defended and there is construction happening nearby to reinforce one of the doors. The lighting is faulty and every sound echoes considerably, but there are few checkpoints once one is inside the building. They put too much faith in the lack of entrances and the heavy guarding."

Sin nodded sharply and looked straight ahead of him. He recognized the fact that this was Boyd's most difficult assignment to date and he wondered if his partner did as well. He was expected to get through the security and succeed in treating with Andrews. If negotiation did not succeed and Andrews remained a hostile presence, he was to be executed. The chances of even speaking to the man without being shot were slim; escaping after execution was even slimmer. "If you are able to speak with Andrews, they will most likely immediately disarm you."

Boyd shrugged unconcernedly. "I usually steal my weapons from others anyway, so they will have very little to take."

Sin said nothing and they continued to their temporary base in silence. It was not more than a small, dilapidated wooden cabin deeper in the woods that appeared to have belonged to a hunter before the war. It had very little insulation and the floors creaked loudly in some places, but it was far enough from the bunker to avoid rebel inspection and close enough to serve their purposes.

It was dark by the time they returned but that was not surprising. It was mid October and the sun was setting sooner; the fact that the sun's rays barely shone through the thick, muddy clouds that permanently haunted the sky did not help matters. The temperature dropped dramatically at night and the thin wooden walls of the cabin gave very little relief from the wind, but despite that Sin stripped off his shirts and began his usual work out regiment as soon as they returned to the cabin.

Boyd settled into a corner, flipping the radio on and setting it to the side where he could listen to any information that may come across. Nothing would be broadcast from this end unless he held a button down, so he did not worry about accidentally letting them know he was listening.

He watched Sin for awhile through half-lidded eyes. He found himself idly thinking about things Ryan said, and when he saw the tattoo he remembered Ryan's expression and jealousy. He tried not to think about Sin in the room with those detectives, but it was in his mind, and he realized to mild disgruntlement that his care for Sin's wellbeing had never fully left. Enough that even with Sin's relative coldness, he was still mildly curious about the man.

"What exactly is your exercise regiment?" Boyd asked idly, his legs splayed before him. "Is it daily?"

Sin looked up at Boyd and did not pause in his push ups. He was quiet for a moment but then decided that there was no way this information could be used against him so he replied. "Three hundred sit ups, three hundred push ups every day, twice on days with no missions in the morning and at night."

Boyd raised one eyebrow, looking mildly impressed. "You must enjoy it. Do you always exercise in your room?"

Sin pondered the idea of enjoying it. He'd never thought about it before but he supposed that he did. It provided distraction from his conflicted thoughts, relief from the monotony of his apartment and a way to release the frustration and craving for violence when he was angry. "I've never thought about my enjoyment before." He was surprised that he'd said it out loud and once again, the fact that he had annoyed him. "I go to the gym occasionally but I prefer to exercise alone."

Boyd nodded and slid the red armband off. He leaned over and pulled his bag close, taking out a marker that he used to write on the armband. "I would suspect," he said a little absently as he stared at the band, strands falling out of his ponytail to partially cover his face, "many of the things you do continuously, without needing to force yourself into it and without feeling stressed in the process, are that which you enjoy whether you realize it or not."

Sin looked at Boyd again through the strands of red and black hair that fell over his forehead but he did not respond at first. He was curious as to what things Boyd did for enjoyment but he did not ask. "I suspect that you are right."

Boyd looked up at him from beneath his eyebrows, his hair half in his eyes and though his lips did not even so much as twitch there was something almost friendly about the expression. He said nothing, though, and just watched Sin for a moment.

When Sin glanced at him again, he held his gaze for a brief time. For that instance there was nothing hostile in his face but it was not long before the familiar closed expression returned and he quickly looked away.

Turning back to the armband, Boyd spent the next several minutes working on it, pausing to scrutinize it, and then writing again. When he'd spent the hour in the base earlier, he'd made sure to look at the armbands discreetly as he passed and he was certain he knew what to write and how to make it blend in well enough for his needs.

The rest of the night passed in silence. Sin continued to work out until he was finished, then stood and went to the shower without comment. Boyd worked on the armband until it was perfected, then moved to preparing for the mission the next day. This time, despite what he told Sin earlier, he thought he should bring a few weapons with, though they would be relatively innocuous and not something anyone would expect.

The door opened from the bathroom with a burst of heat and Boyd glanced up automatically. He actually did a veiled double-take when he realized Sin was walking around completely naked and appeared totally nonchalant about it. As the steam billowed behind him, Sin glanced briefly at Boyd but otherwise did not acknowledge his existence.

Boyd looked back down at the armband casually but watched him out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't that he particularly felt like being a voyeur, but Sin was too interesting a person to look away from. Now that his lower body was uncovered, Boyd noticed that Sin had tattoos on both ankles in the shape of shackles. He seemed nearly hairless; while his chest and stomach were completely bare, the few places that did have body hair appeared to be just as fine as his choppy black and red mane. Boyd could see a nasty scar starting on Sin's lower stomach by his pelvis, and arcing down just next to his genitals. He noted that Sin was quite large, and somehow it was unsurprising. Of course he would be.

Sin pulled his same clothes on from before; the same, Boyd noted, that he had worn since Boyd met him. Without a word spoken between them, Sin lay down on one of the two small beds and stared at the ceiling silently. Boyd almost expected him to curl on his side like he saw in the live feed, but Sin did not. After several moments of nothing happening, Boyd finally pushed himself up and pulled his hair lose from the ponytail. He pulled his boots off but did not bother to change or undress as he sat on his own bed. He shook his head and rubbed his fingers quickly through his hair, then lay down and tried to sleep.

---

He didn't know how long he was asleep before he heard it, or even if he was fully dreaming. He felt a little disoriented, but there was a sound that caught his attention. Opening his eyes, Boyd listened closely with his eyebrows furrowed down slightly in confusion. When he realized what direction it was coming from, he rolled his head very discreetly in that direction and peered through the darkness to try to discern what it was. It took him a few moments, but when he realized it came from Sin's bed, the surprise jolted him awake.

Sin was curled in a tight ball on his bed as though he were trying to protect himself, but despite this the muscles in his face and body were twitching oddly.

He was in a box. He was chained. He couldn't breathe.

A soft, incoherent exclamation fell from his lips and he unwound himself from the ball abruptly. He extended one of his arms away from his body and one hand dangled off the bed, the fingers twitchy and tensing.

It was impossible to defend himself. He tried to move. They stripped him. They were both there was there.

He muttered things softly in his sleep, his voice was distressed and the words were in Chinese.

He was helpless.

Boyd shifted and pushed himself up on one shoulder, his eyebrows pulled down as he stared. "Sin?" he asked loudly, hoping to wake him up. It almost looked like Sin was having convulsions. His voice rose in pitch, it grew more distressed.

Boyd sat up, looking at him with actual concern. Sin sounded terrified and Boyd was fairly certain he was hearing Spanish mixed with what sounded like Chinese, and for a moment he could only stare. He didn't know what to do; it was almost frightening seeing Sin, who was always so quiet and controlled and certainly rarely scared, actually lying in bed convulsing.

Boyd could not possibly leave Sin in such torment, not when seeing him like that was making his own heart hammer in confusion and alarm. Without thinking, he slid out of his own bed and stopped next to Sin's. "Sin, wake up," he said loudly, lightly touching the hand dangling in front of him.

The reaction was immediate.

Sin's eyes snapped open, they were wild, unfocused and held the much talked about madness that Boyd had yet to witness in person. In the space between one breath and another, Boyd found himself pinned against the floor with his arm twisted behind his back. Sin's face was less than an inch from his own, but there was no recognition in it at all.

Boyd tensed, staring at Sin with wide eyes. He did not wait to see if Sin would rip his throat out in his sleep; he immediately kicked up and twisted to try dislodging Sin. He wrenched his arm painfully in the process but ignored it.

Sin tried to keep him pinned to the floor; his movements were fast and violent, his face expressionless while his eyes burned with the same uncontrollable fury that was seen in both surveillance videos. He growled like a wild thing and they struggled, Boyd trying desperately to get away and Sin almost casually keeping him in place. Like a cat holding a mouse beneath its paw right before it rips its head off.

Boyd hissed, not bothering to waste his energy or breath on speaking to someone as out of his mind as Sin was. He kicked again, and this time it was well-aimed enough that it loosened Sin's grip for a moment. Boyd was up and running away to get out of his reach within the space of a blink.

Sin was up before he could get far and one disturbingly strong hand grabbed him roughly by the arm and jerked him backwards. It was so abrupt and brutal that there was a loud pop that sounded in the room and resounded all the way through Boyd's body. Boyd could not help a startled, pained scream; his whole torso erupting in agony when he felt his shoulder dislocate. Sin did not seem to notice or care. In the same movement that he almost ripped Boyd's arm off, he used the grip to casually throw Boyd violently across the room. Boyd slammed into a table so hard that it flew a few inches off the floor, hit the wall and fell over.

Boyd hit the floor hard enough that his vision clouded and he could not properly breathe. Everything that was on the table clattered around him in a spray that peppered his body. His bag dropped directly on his dislocated shoulder and fell over, spilling its contents. Boyd just managed to quiet another pained yell, though tears gathered in his eyes despite himself at the suddenly overwhelming pain from most of his body.

Barely taking the chance to gather his wits, Boyd immediately rolled onto his bad shoulder. Gritting his teeth while his eyes clouded with tears, he scrambled through the contents of his bag with his good hand, trying to find the remote for Sin's collar. He didn't want to use it, but it may be the only thing that would save his life.

He didn't even have a chance to find it before Sin was on him again; quick and ruthless like a predator stalking its prey. Hands powerful enough to rip Boyd limb from limb now wrapped themselves in a vice-like grip on Boyd's head and Boyd knew what that meant; he had seen Sin snap enough necks casually to know what was coming and that he had almost no chance to stop it.

"Sin!" Boyd yelled in the breath before Sin would kill him, and then, because he was desperate, "Hsin! Don't!"

Sin faltered abruptly and his hands loosened. An expression of sheer confusion crossed his face and he blinked down at Boyd, shaking his head as though he were trying to clear his mind of the cloud of insanity that had caused this. His hands did not drop entirely and they tightened again around Boyd, even as his eyes began to regain a shred of recognition.

It seemed as though he did not know why he was there, attacking Boyd. He did not know why he was about to break his neck. Despite the fact that the motive was unclear, it still remained obvious that for some reason he had thought Boyd a threat and he wasn't entirely ready to dismiss the idea.

When he realized he had Sin's attention, Boyd took the chance to grab the remote and held it between them. He tried to meet Sin's eyes with his own wide gaze, the tears making his eyes gleam. "Sin," he said hoarsely, his voice pained and shaking. "Don't make me use this. I don't want to use it, please. Just stop. I won't hurt you. Just stop."

Pale green eyes met golden brown and Sin's brow furrowed as he absorbed the words. His hands remained poised on Boyd, ready to snap his neck in an instant.

A long tense moment passed in which the only movement was their chests rising and falling with their breath. Sin suddenly moved so fast it was a blur and the weight of his body was gone as if it had never been there. He towered over Boyd, his body still tense and ready to pounce as his gaze focused on the remote in Boyd's hand. His eyes were confused, angry, and paranoid but they no longer held the terrifying, wild look.

Boyd heaved in a breath, trying to get his body back in command, and pushed himself up just a little. "You fucking idiot," he whispered, though his voice was more shaky than cruel, and he set the remote beside him.

Glancing up at Sin for a pointed look, even though he knew Sin was not watching anything but the remote, Boyd turned his attention back to the innocuous device. He forced himself to sit up despite how much it hurt, and with a pained hiss, he slammed his good fist down viciously on it.

As soon as Boyd's hand came into contact with the remote, Sin was on him again. Almost inhumanly strong hands wrapped around his throat and Sin's mouth twisted into an angry grimace as he squeezed.

Sin's thoughts were scattered, disoriented and angry. The situation was beyond his comprehension, he didn't know what was going on; he didn't even remember leaving the bed. All he knew was that Boyd had done something to cause this sudden attack. All he knew was that a partner he did not trust had the remote to his collar in his hand. His thoughts would not stray beyond that and weeks of paranoia and distrust were finally erupting within an already unbalanced mind.

Boyd had only just gotten his breath back before Sin was stealing it away again, and his heart hammered in terror as he realized he couldn't breathe. He still automatically struggled to fill his lungs, a choking sound coming from his open mouth as his eyes squeezed mostly shut. He did not look away from Sin's eyes, though and he watched him through his eyelashes.

He only had one good hand but he did not even bother trying to pry Sin's fingers from his throat. Instead, with two more violent expenditures of energy, he felt the remote crush under his fist. With his goal achieved, he dropped lifelessly to the floor and struggled even harder to breathe. His good hand was now bruised and a little bloody from a sharp edge of metal and he wrapped his fingers around one of Sin's wrists.

"I broke it," he whispered, his voice barely more than a hoarse release of the little breath he had left. "The remote. Look." He could barely keep his eyes open; his vision was going dark on the edges and all he could see was Sin's expression, angry and uncaring and ruthless.

He thought vaguely that this would be the last thing he would ever see, but at least no one would use the collar on Sin again until they managed to fix the remote. He should be angry that Sin was killing him, but his thoughts were muffled in cotton beneath the terror and he couldn't seem to think well enough to focus anymore.

It seemed to take a moment for Sin to comprehend the words but when he did, his eyes snapped from Boyd's slightly blue face and focused on the remote. It was smashed and covered with Boyd's blood. He yanked his hands away from Boyd's throat just as the boy began to go still and he scrambled backwards, staring at Boyd with eyes that were wide and almost vulnerable in their confusion. He opened his mouth to say something but all he could see was the blossoming bruises on Boyd's throat, face and the way his arm was hanging awkwardly at his side. All he could focus on was Boyd's cut and bloodied hand that he'd apparently injured while trying to destroy the remote, the only thing he had to protect himself against a man who had nearly killed him.

Sin's mouth closed and he panted softly.

Boyd felt the release on his throat vaguely, and though his body automatically drew a hoarse, deep breath, his mind wasn't quite aware enough to realize it. His body struggled to recover and for a long moment he wasn't even aware of anything but the fact that his lungs burned for oxygen. He rolled onto his good side, his hand curled at his throat and tears leaked from his eyes as he coughed, trying to draw breath at the same time. It made it harder to breathe and Boyd made a pained sound of distress as he tried to understand what was happening, awareness coming to him slowly.

After a few moments, he managed to get it under control; he breathed deeply, but it was a little shaky. Some paranoid part of his mind was terrified that each time his lungs collapsed they would not be able to fill again, so he tried to draw breath too quickly a few times and ended up coughing again. His hair was in disarray around his face and blood smeared from where he touched his throat with his bleeding hand. As soon as he was aware enough, he looked over at Sin with an expression that neither condemned nor condoned; he just watched him to see if he was okay, and to see if he would attack again.

Too many emotions coursed through Sin to properly catalog, but two were especially dominate.

He felt shame at having attacked someone weaker than him for what appeared to be no apparent reason. Judging by the fact that Boyd was not trying to hurt him, even when he had every right to, it seemed that he had just lost control. He vaguely remembered having a nightmare about his parents and he realized what had happened. His face burned and his hands tightened into fists. The second emotion was harder to identify, but he realized that it was guilt. He'd never felt guilt before and the fact that he did now was cause for more confusion and more anger at himself and this new weakness.

His eyes met Boyd's for a moment but he couldn't stand to look at him. He jumped to his feet and ran out of the cabin so fast that it seemed like he'd disappeared within the blink of an eye.

Boyd stared blankly at the door for a long moment, his mind still struggling to fully understand what happened in the last few minutes. He drew in a few shaky breaths and forced himself to his feet. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain that spread like wildfire through his system and staggered toward the wall with his good hand tenderly holding his dislocated shoulder.

Drawing a few more breaths to steady himself, he pulled his shirt up enough to bite it, and squeezed his eyes shut as he slammed his bad shoulder against the wall. He could not help a scream, but it was muffled through his gritted teeth and the cloth crowding his mouth. Tears leaked freely from his eyes now and he had to lean his forehead against the wall for several minutes before he could gain the energy or presence of mind to do much else.

It took awhile, but he gathered together a short plan for himself for the night that he could focus on to avoid the pain. He considered it all very clinically. First, he pushed himself away from the wall and closed the cabin door with his good hand. Second, he dug through his med-kit until he found a makeshift sling that he, thirdly, slipped on. Fourth, he took some painkillers. Fifth, he turned off all the lights in the cabin and secured the doors and windows. Sixth, he lay down in bed and tried to think about anything other than what his body felt like as he waited for the painkiller to fully take effect.

Seventh, and this one he didn't plan, he rolled onto his stomach, buried his face in his pillow, and cried, because he couldn't hold it in anymore. He cried because his whole body hurt, because he was almost killed and he actually thought he felt himself dying... And, somehow, because this involved Sin. He didn't know why that mattered, or what it was, just that somehow that was tangled in with everything else. He knew from the beginning that Sin might kill him, and that's why he wasn't angry with him. He didn't even think he was upset, but here he was crying, so he didn't know. Maybe he was. It was the pain, mostly. Everything hurt, and it hurt even more to know he didn't truly do anything to deserve it.

It was that and the memory of darkness stealing into his vision, the feel of hands gripping his throat hard enough to almost crush his windpipe and cold green eyes watching him mercilessly. It was in being so vulnerable and weak that he couldn't react and it was in the fact that he was held down. He hated being held down. And suffocated. Not being able to breathe, not being able to move, these were both things that had haunted him for a long time and they hit him both at once that night. He didn't even get the chance to prepare for it, either. He'd just tried to help, and here he was. This was why he didn't reach out. If he hadn't reached out, Sin would not have attacked. But he couldn't have lain there listening to Sin's torment. He had to react, even if it hurt.

That was why he cried: the inevitability of pain and the repercussions that followed.

Eighth, he fell asleep, but it was a long time coming and he kept waking up suddenly, dreaming there was a presence next to his bed and Sin or the rebels were trying to kill him. Through it all, Jeffrey was there in his dreams, laughing on one side of the table and whispering with a smile, "If the rebels don't get you, Sin will. If Sin doesn't get you, the rebels will. You'll die on this mission, aren't you glad?" And his mother was there, saying coolly, "I hope he does. I found a new son in the fall catalog but I only get the discount if I don't have one now."

Morning took a long time to arrive.

---

Boyd did not change the schedule for the following morning, even though Sin did not reappear. He wondered if he was gone forever, or if he was just waiting by the car as usual. It was clear Boyd was alone for this next mission, though, as Sin was already planning to send him in on his own and then matters were worsened the night before.

Boyd was slow to get ready, and took some painkillers almost despite himself. He wanted to be fully aware, and didn't want anything to slow his mind down, but he knew if he didn't take them that he would be too preoccupied with the pain to do much. He managed to find a turtleneck in with his clothes, a dark grey color, and he wore that instead of the green shirt because he needed to hide the bruises on his neck that he noticed in the mirror. Handprints on a person's throat did not exactly make him incognito and he needed to stay as unnoticed as possible.

Boyd infiltrated the base easily; Sin's observations the day before of the guards were invaluable. He was able to slip into the base in the three minute period and avoid nearly everyone. The few people he saw he was very casual around, and he was certain to salute every superior officer. He felt a little slow and clumsy, tired still from the lack of sleep but he couldn't delay the mission until the next day just so he could rest. It was imperative they catch Andrews before he defected to Janus; he was their strongest chance for an ally right now, and they needed it.

It barely took ten minutes to make it to the Southwest corner, and another five to wind through the hallways to the specific area he believed Andrews would be. Boyd was very careful not to belie the bruises and lameness of his arm. He could use it, but it hurt like hell and he was trying his best not to. He took the sling off, though, because it would have stood out too much. The radio remained tucked in his back pocket, flipped on with the volume set very low so from afar it would not sound as though he were masking his presence. Many rookies, Boyd noticed, did the same thing and it was one more way to blend in.

As he strode further down the hall he saw that although many doors were closed, there were a few that were open. He glanced in each, and found that most were empty, although halfway down the corridor he would need to use to escape through there were four men crowded around a table playing poker. One of them yelled loudly when his hand was beat, and the other three burst into raucous laughter.

That was unfortunate; they would be difficult to get past if he made any noise at all when dealing with Andrews.

As he went further into the base he listened intently to his radio. There was no alarm about an intruder, nothing amiss at all. Good. As he passed down another hallway, he knew he was in the right place. Something about the area just felt right, like this was where Andrews would be if anywhere.

A door was closed toward the end of the hall, but he could hear voices coming out of it. He did not slow his steps nor turn off the radio, but when he walked past he listened closely. He did not know what Andrews would sound like, and could barely hear their conversation, but he was certain from the tone of it that this was the place he wanted to be. He walked past, turned the corner, and walked with increasingly lighter steps, turning the radio down until the echoes disappeared and it sounded as if he strode far away. He flipped the radio off with one hand over it to muffle the clicking sound and stopped to listen. He could not hear anyone coming and did not feel anyone's presence.

He paused, considering the situation. As far as he knew, Andrews and 53 did not realize that he was here. However, if anyone defected from 89, there was the possibility they were aware Boyd would be coming. But they wouldn't know when that was, and Boyd did not think they were aware that Ryan had pinpointed their location. Even so, simply walking in with complete confidence would be foolhardy. So far, the mission was going smoother than any of the previous ones, and yet this should be the most difficult. That was dangerous in Boyd's mind, but he still could not deny the fact that nothing was exactly amiss. It was bothering him, actually; he remained on high alert, but there was nothing to be alert about.

Steps as silent as a cat's, Boyd slipped down the hallway back toward the room. He watched the hallway carefully and paused just on one side of the door to listen carefully.

"..stole another shipment coming in," a man's voice was saying in annoyance. "If those bastards don't stop soon, we won't have shit for winter."

"Increase the security on the route or get better buyers," another said as if the solution were obvious. "What the hell are you doing right now?"

"We are," the first man said, disgruntled. That was probably Jones, Andrews' second-in-command. "It's fucking Dansen, they think they're hot shit and keep sniping our shit."

"Well, fix it," the second man said firmly, with no patience. Boyd knew he must be Andrews. "How are we supposed to merge with Janus if we look completely incompetent? I meet with the French two days from now, and if we still have issues I'll know who to blame."

This is too convenient, Boyd thought. What were the odds he would get such helpful information the second he stopped to listen? He started to slide away when suddenly there was a loud noise and something was flying around him. Boyd didn't know what it was at first, but he threw himself to the side and tried to scramble away. His legs must not have been under him properly, because he slipped and hit the floor hard on the shoulder that Sin had injured the night before. He barely kept silent at the sudden pain that screamed through his entire torso, the bruises also adding their own complaints.

He bit his lip so hard it bled and managed to crouch just inside a nearby open door while making relatively little noise. He felt awkward and unbalanced, but was not thinking well enough to know why. He peered out as best he could from the shadows, and was able to just make out wooden shrapnel scattered across the floor and a huge hole in the door.

"Did you get him?" Andrews asked idly, and Boyd saw a man with dark skin appear in the hole, looking around.

"Well," the man said, looking down at the floor, "there's some blood."

Boyd looked down in surprise and noticed one black-clad thigh was shining wetly in the dim light. He let out a shaky, silent breath and placed his good hand firmly against it to try to stop the flow. His body screamed at him and now that he was over the shock and fully aware he was shot, his thigh joined the clamor.

The door opened down the way and the dark-complexioned man stepped calmly into the hallway. His hair was in cornrows and held back by a white band, his eyes dark and cold.

Behind him appeared another man, his skin the color of dark caramel. His eyes were lighter (Boyd knew them to be hazel from the stats) and he had dark hair that fell casually around his eyes. Andrews looked around idly, tapping a machete against his thigh along the flat of the blade. "Don't let him get away."

Boyd knew it was only a matter of time before they found him; hell, he was barely a few feet away. This was the first place they would look. He thought quickly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out what he needed. Jones had a gun, but Andrews only had a machete and if Boyd was far enough away, that meant he couldn't get him. He knew who he needed to go for first.

He waited just long enough for the footsteps he heard to draw up along the side of the room he hid in. Before Jones could even look around the corner, Boyd threw a small round pellet out into the hallway and looked away with his eyes squeezed shut. He heard Jones say, "What the--?" before the pellet hit the floor and released a bright flash of light that would briefly blind anyone watching.

Jones let out a loud yell and Boyd used the distraction to scramble into the hallway. Jones had his hand near his eyes and his grip on his gun was just light enough that when Boyd slammed his arm up, he shot the ceiling and it clattered from his hands. Boyd ran, swiping the gun clumsily from the floor with his good hand as he passed. He held the gun at his side, doing his best to ignore how much the jolt of running was bothering his bad shoulder.

With his bad hand, he popped open a small device he pulled out earlier, in which ninja wire was curled up like floss. The end of the wire was wrapped around a small rock that he put in his teeth, and he grit his teeth as he yanked back with his head while he pulled his arm away, sliding the wire out. His arm screamed at the movement but he tried to ignore it.

In the space of a few seconds, he was already twirling the rock around and throwing it at the machete. The pebble whipped the wire around the base of it and Boyd yanked hard while Andrews was still disoriented from the light. Boyd felt like his arm wanted to rip itself out again at the pressure but he was soon able to drop his arm to the side when the machete slipped from Andrews' fingers and clattered to the floor. Boyd was there within the second, stopped just behind and to the side of Andrews as he held the cocked gun against his head.

"Believe it or not," Boyd said softly, trying to control his breath as he caught it, "I'm here to negotiate. Call off your little friends and this doesn't have to get any messier."

Andrews held his hands up, staying very still. He said nothing at first and Boyd pushed the gun against his head a little and started to drag him back toward the room with the broken door. "Call them off," he said again, his voice falling into an order.

"Alright," Andrews said, walking backwards with him with his hands still in view. Boyd relaxed the pressure on his head just a little. "But they're already here."

Boyd barely heard the words before a hand wrapped around his free wrist and Andrews suddenly ducked. Boyd was yanked backward roughly in a replay of what happened the night before and the pain was so sudden on his still-sore shoulder than he couldn't help but yell. The gun fired uselessly into the air just above where Andrews' head had been. Boyd was suddenly slammed to the floor on his back by a foot on his chest hard enough that he lost his breath for a moment. A rifle hovered above his eyes and Boyd stared up into the face of the man he'd mocked on their last mission with 89.

"Remember me?" the man said sweetly and stomped hard on Boyd's stomach, right on one of his bruises he'd gotten from his collision with the table.

Boyd grimaced and aimed the gun he still clutched up at him, but before he could even pull the trigger someone slammed his arm down to the floor and held it there. He tried to kick up and away, but the man with the rifle just held his torso down harder while someone else appeared at his other side and slammed a foot down on his bad arm. Boyd gritted his teeth to keep from screaming and just stared at the man intently, nearly a glare.

"Don't hurt him too much," Andrews' voice drawled from the side, where he reached down and pried the gun from Boyd's nerveless fingers, "I believe he said he wanted to negotiate." He stopped above him, staring down while Boyd stared up. "Isn't that right?"

"It's hard to negotiate when held to the floor," Boyd said after a moment, trying to ignore how much he wanted to struggle away from being held down.

"Yeah," Andrews allowed with a shrug, "Would've been hard to negotiate with you holding a gun to my head too, wouldn't it?"

"I would have taken it away," Boyd said pointedly, turning his gaze to the man with the rifle.

"I'm not that stupid," Andrews said, crouching near him. "These boys, they told me about you. You waltzed right in and killed Jason, didn't you?" When Boyd didn't answer at first, Andrews lost his pleasant look and glared. "Didn't you!" He didn't even have to look for someone to come over and kick Boyd in the side.

Boyd winced but otherwise did not react. That received him another kick, but Boyd's expression remained decidedly neutral. "Maybe," he said after a moment, keeping his voice as calm as possible, "he should have negotiated before he imprisoned me."

Andrews stared at him for a moment, a strange expression on his face before his lips pulled to the side. "Heh. You could be right." He pushed himself up and stepped away, slipping one hand in his pocket while the other held the gun at his side idly. "That's why I won't be so stupid. I'll kill you before you kill me. And I'll be very thorough, don't worry. After that, maybe I'll send some of your parts back to your employers, let them know what we think of them coming in trying to take over. Maybe some other parts I'll give to the boys from 89, let them do what they will. Maybe," and he smiled at him coldly, "I'll even do that in a different order. What do you say? Should we cut you into parts before we kill you?"

"You'd be smarter to kill me," Boyd said, bracing his feet against the floor as he readied himself to fight back. He could feel blood still steadily leaking from his thigh, and he could barely feel his injured arm with all the pressure put on it. Maybe it was dislocated again; he couldn't even tell. He knew he had to do something quick though, because his vision was getting a little spotty. He hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before to deal with all of this and with the extra blood loss he was losing his ability to concentrate. "If you try haphazardly cutting parts off, I'll just get away and kill you before you can finish the job."

"So negotiations are off, I take it," Andrews said, watching him.

"No. But they will be if you start trying to kill me."

"Hmm, what a shame." Andrews turned, wandering away a bit. "Because I don't plan to stop."

Boyd was just about to push up and away when Andrews turned and shot him suddenly in the same thigh. Boyd was so startled that he yelled and the man with the rifle took the moment to flip the rifle around and hit him hard on the side of the head with the butt. Boyd's head whipped to the side, his neck pained at the motion and before he could recover his wits, someone slammed his legs against the floor. Pressure was put on his bullet wounds, causing his eyes to go wide and vision to dim, and he didn't even realize his mouth was open until the rifle was suddenly stuck inside. The metal had a strong, dirty taste against his tongue and Boyd gagged at the abruptness of it. He looked up at the man with slightly widened eyes, but he only grinned back down.

The moment seemed to last and somewhere within him Boyd could appreciate the irony of being murdered right after he'd just avoided it the night before. Apparently he was simply destined to die on this mission.

Boyd could not move even if they were not holding him down anyway. His leg hurt so much he could barely think and he knew that he was losing a lot of blood because his fingers were starting to tingle and his vision was definitely dimmer and falling black on all the edges. His arm was nearly useless at his side; he didn't think he could force himself to move it even if he had the chance just because that much pain would probably tax all his reserves. He was tired and exhausted and in pain and he knew when the inevitable was upon him.

He thought that, but even so as he was held there he suddenly surged up, trying to get away. They were welcome to kill him, but he'd be damned if he made it easy on them. He tried to kick away the pressure on his feet, but someone had their entire weight on it and moving his left leg at all was like slicing the bullets deeper into his body. His vision went white for a moment and he found himself breathing heavily through his nose but that didn't stop him. He tried his good arm, and with one vicious tug and twist, he was able to catch the person off-guard enough to get it free. He immediately gripped the rifle and tried to push it away, but the man only sneered at him and put more of his weight on Boyd's chest. He felt like he could barely breathe, or maybe his ribs would crack, but Boyd was able to get the rifle out of his mouth just enough to shove it to the side.

"You sonuvabitch," the man growled, and this time the rifle was pressed painfully against one closed eye. "I'll blow your fuckin' eyes out."

Andrews appeared above him, looking carelessly down at Boyd as if he were a mere bug beneath his shoes while Boyd stared at him with the only eye he could use. "Do it," he said to the man with the rifle, and Boyd winced as the man pumped the trigger and prepared to shoot. His vision was almost gone now, anyway.

There was a flurry of motion that Boyd could not follow through his hazy hold on reality, but he did know the rifle was gone in the space of a blink and the man who held it dropped to his knees with a surprised look. Boyd stared at him with darkening vision and to his surprise realized when the man fell to the floor that he was dead.

Sounds echoed around him, people yelling and guns going off. Stray bullets fled past him and Boyd struggled to keep his eyes open. The pressure was gone on one hand, the other, his legs, in successions as quick as the wind. His vision went purely black for a moment, but he could still hear as someone yelled, "Shoot him!" and "Kill him!", and then he realized his eyes had just slid shut. He struggled to open them again, and he saw a flash of red; Sin stood there in a moment suspended in time, his back to him while he stood calmly amidst the chaos. Boyd could barely see someone aiming a gun at Sin, no, it was at Boyd but Sin was in the way and then the gun tilted back up toward Sin's head.

Boyd's eyes fell shut again, the blood hot and endless from his leg. Even the sounds were getting muffled, as if wrapped in cotton and covered in a blanket, but he tried to claw his way back to consciousness. He opened his eyes barely enough to see just through his lashes and Sin was nowhere to be found. The place was empty and someone was standing over him with a gun aimed at him. He closed his eyes again, opened them, and the person was gone. Confusing flashes and he didn't even know if he was awake or asleep, if he was alive or dead.

His eyes fell shut for the final time and somewhere, vaguely, he realized that he had just dreamt Sin was there. His blood was a warm river against the floor, soaking into his pants and leeching away his life. He didn't have the energy to move. He never would again. He was alone and they had killed him or were about to, and for some reason he thought for a moment that the person who tried to kill him the night before had come to kill the people trying to kill him now.

What a strange thing to imagine right before he died.

---

Boyd became aware of reality in parts.

There was darkness and it was all around him. Slowly, he realized it was there and then the thought would not go away. He drifted with that for awhile, the darkness and he coexisting together; symbiotic, calm. After awhile, he realized that he heard nothing and that seemed strange. When he remembered that he could hear he realized he could feel.

Something light and soft covered him; he could feel it on his skin. He focused on that, tried to understand what it was. There was something beneath his head, too, and beneath his back. It took awhile, but the words filtered into his brain. Pillow and bed and sheets, and the image of a cabin came to mind.

He tried to understand what that meant and then he realized he was breathing. That should not be something he noticed, but there it was. His chest rose and fell and the soft sheet was rearranging itself around him each time.

His fingers twitched and then he felt the pain.

Everything hurt, but especially his left thigh, his left shoulder. His left side was on fire and he was floating above it, serenely until the fire sucked him in for the oxygen in his body and it was all he could feel. He tried to forget, tried to remember the darkness, but it was gone in the lightening of his vision as he remembered he had eyes, and eyelids, which were probably slid shut against light.

Boyd's eyes opened suddenly, and he stared at the ceiling.

He didn't know what to make of it for a long time, but then the word cabin with bed, pillow, and sheets, all combined, and he remembered the image of a cabin, and he remembered that he had a body, and he remembered where he was.

He struggled, didn't even look around like he should have before he showed he was awake; what if he was caught somewhere still? But he didn't think of the stupidity of his actions until he already forced himself to sit up, his breath hitching in pain and he finally looked around.

Boyd blinked in dumbfounded confusion when he finally took in his surroundings.

He was in the cabin outside 53's rebel base, just as he had been last night. Was it last night? He glanced at the windows, but the curtains were drawn. Even so, it seemed like it must be dark, but he went into the base when it was light. What time was it; how many hours passed? Was it more than a day?

Strangely, Warren Andrews sat in the corner. He was tied up, glowering around him and cloth was tied in his mouth so he couldn't make a noise. Boyd stared at him for a long moment, unable to even comprehend what he was doing there or why. So he looked away rather than overwork his mind trying to interpret the oddity in the environment.

Leaning against the wall was Sin, his arms crossed and expression blank. But he was staring intently at Boyd and he didn't even blink when Boyd looked over and met his eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, Sin intensely, Boyd too confused to even know exactly what was happening.

"Sin," Boyd said finally, blankly, unable to form any other words.

"Boyd," Sin replied softly. His nearly translucent eyes moved over Boyd's bruised body before meeting his gaze again. There was some strange emotion in his face but after a long moment it faded and he looked blank again. He looked at his prisoner. "I took the liberty of bringing him here for further... negotiation." He narrowed his eyes at Andrews and it was clear that he had immense dislike for the man although it was not immediately clear why.

Boyd looked at Sin a little strangely, his mind still a little scattered as he tried to think clearly. Why did it seem strange that Sin called him by name? Was that the first time he'd actually said his name..? He lifted one hand to his head as if to give it support as his mind tried to work.

He looked down at the sheet pooled in his lap. He blinked a little, trying to understand. He wore a loose pair of drawstring pants that he didn't remember putting on, and when he gingerly placed a hand to his left thigh, he could feel bandages beneath the cloth. He stared blankly at his leg for a moment then forced himself to push his legs over the side of the bed. His breath hissed out when he stood fully, but he otherwise made no noise.

His socks were still on, which was nice because otherwise the wood would have been cold beneath his feet. Walking over to Andrews, he stood above him and looked down expressionlessly. After a moment, he crouched slowly, his thigh clearly hurting him though he did his best to brace all his weight on his good leg.

"I'm going to take the gag out," he told Andrews calmly, "so we can have a civilized discussion. I hope you will refrain from taxing my nerves right now, because I'm a little woozy still and I frankly may react poorly to anything except a nice conversation." He waited a moment to be sure his point got across, and then he gently pulled the cloth from Andrews' mouth.

Andrews glowered at him for a long moment before flicking his eyes in Sin's direction. He flinched away from the man's steady gaze and looked at Boyd once again. "I won't agree to any kind of discussion until you tell that thing to leave," He snapped.

"See," Boyd said, in the weary tone of a parent speaking to a misbehaving child, "we're already having a disconnect, now, aren't we? How can we have anything if you insist on demeaning my colleague? You will refer to him as 'him' or 'that man' and not 'thing,' or I may lose my patience."

Andrews stared at him as though he were out of his mind. "Fine," He said from between grit teeth. "Tell that... man to leave if you want to talk. And untie me for God's sake. It's not like I can fucking move anymore." He sent another hateful look in Sin's direction.

Boyd raised an eyebrow, then leaned forward and started to untie Andrews. "I will untie you, but you'll excuse me if I fail to comply with your other request immediately. Why don't you forget about him for a moment?" His hands were surprisingly gentle as he unwound the rope, and everything about his demeanor seemed perfectly reasonable and even a little friendly. "Now, I can understand if you're feeling upset right now. You've had a rough day, as an understatement. Do you want to talk about that first?" Rather than sounding patronizing, he sounded as if he truly cared, or at least was not mocking him.

Andrews closed his eyes for a brief moment and sagged a little in the chair as the ropes began to loosen. "Believe it or not--" He said quietly, as though he did not want Sin to hear. "I have respect for you as a fighter and as an enemy just because you put up such resistance when he caught you." He opened his eyes and narrowed them. "But that... man, if that's what you want to call him, is an animal and I will not say anything while he is hovering near me. So if you don't wanna do it and you just wanna kill me," He spat angrily. "Do it and cut the crap. Shoot me in the fucking brain but don't leave me to that freak."

Sin smiled at Andrews coldly and said nothing.

"He's not an animal," Boyd said softly, reasonably, "he is just as human as you or I. And I truly don't intend to kill you, or I would have just pulled the trigger in the hallway rather than risk getting caught. Which I clearly did." He paused, leaning back a little with a wince when his thigh pulled painfully. "But if it bothers you..."

He glanced over at Sin, his head tilted to the side, his hair shifting in the movement. "Would you mind taking a break, Sin? I have a sweater if you need it; it's probably cold out." He tilted his chin toward his bag where a few items of clothing were strewn.

Sin studied Boyd's face for a long moment and for an instant, the strange emotion was there again and his brow twitched slightly, but it was gone immediately. "If that's what you want," He said slowly, not appearing to be very pleased with the idea. He looked at Andrews again and unfolded his arms before walking over to him casually. He crouched in front of the man and stared into his alarmed, hazel eyes before ripping the ropes from his legs, causing Andrews to cry out in pain. Another cruel smile played on Sin's mouth and he leaned in so close that his lips brushed Andrews ear. "Do anything stupid, say anything stupid, do anything remotely out of line... and I'll take my time ripping you apart."

He straightened up and looked over his shoulder at Boyd. "I'll be outside," He said flatly and left the cabin without the sweater.

Andrews exhaled slowly and his eyes flew to Boyd's face. "How can you ally yourself with someone like that?" He demanded. "He's a fucking savage. He slaughtered eight men protecting you. He could have simply incapacitated them but he--" His adam's apple bobbed and it seemed that he had real emotion over the loss of his men. "He broke my legs and carried both of us out as though we weighed nothing. As we left, I saw the bodies of the men he murdered getting to the back of the bunker. You got there without killing them, so obviously he did it for sport," He seethed.

"He took out nine more while he left and would have killed more had I not ordered them to stand down." His mouth tightened into a thin, white line. "And you're fucking telling me that he's a man? He's not human."

Boyd shook his head slightly, more a twitch than anything. It took him a moment to respond as he considered Andrews' words. Protecting him? So... clearly, that hadn't been a dream. But 'protecting'? When had Sin protected anyone? Unless it was like that video feed he saw; was it only because Boyd was held down and outnumbered?

He couldn't think about it now. He would wait until later, when he could also consider his bandaged thigh, and the clean pair of pants resting at his hips. And the expression Sin had earlier, when Boyd just woke up; for a moment, it almost seemed as though Sin were sorry or sad. It was gone as quickly as it was there and Boyd could not be certain he even saw it. But, later. All of that, everything with Sin was for later. For now, it was still the mission.

"I apologize for your men," he said finally and he did sound like he meant it. "But in his eyes, you were enemies. We are enemies, really. Even if I let you go, even if your men start a new group, there will always be Sin and those behind him. He is human, I stand by that, but he is also a very adept killer. And he will always be here." It was not a threat, it was a simple, reasonable statement of fact.

Andrews stared at him for a long moment as if choosing his words carefully. "Are you lovers?"

Boyd blinked, actually startled. "Why would you ask that?" He sounded truly curious.

"His reaction to seeing you bleeding and nearly killed was very... passionate. The look on his face was just downright terrifying. Anyone that moved in your direction after that, he ripped them to pieces." Andrews shuddered and shook his head. "I'm not trying to be an asshole, it just seemed a possibility."

Boyd stared at him. That was... interesting. "No," he said after a moment, though he sounded a little confused. "We're not. He's never acted like that before." He didn't know why he was being honest, but somehow it just came out. He paused, then pushed himself up wearily and looked around. "Would you like to sit on the bed instead? It may be more comfortable." Although he was still pleasant, something about his body language said that he was about to get more serious.

Andrews shrugged one shoulder. "That'd be nice."

Boyd reached down and managed to help Andrews over to his bed. It was awkward and took awhile since both were injured, but in the end Andrews was able to lean against the wall with his legs in front of him, and Boyd even handed him a painkiller with a glass of water. Sitting on the edge of Sin's bed, he watched Andrews calmly.

"Was it true," Boyd asked calmly after they were settled, "what you said about meeting the French in two days, and merging with Janus?"

Andrews drank his water and concentrated on the glass for a long moment. "Yes," He finally admitted. "We've been using Liberté as a go between for Janus, trying to set up meetings and introductions. Only recently have we gotten anywhere, the inner circle of Janus seems very leery about working with American groups, probably paranoid that they're working with the government."

Amusing; their name meant 'freedom' in French. That explained the idealism of that group right there and what they felt they were doing for the people.

Boyd's expression did not change, however. He simply nodded, taking this in. "How did you learn of Liberté or know of their connection to Janus?"

"It's common knowledge that the French are in with Janus, or at least it is in my world. Fucking frog eaters never liked Americans and they seem real gung ho about bringing down the US government, you know?" He snorted and shifted on the bed, wincing. "Not that I would complain, considering the state of things..." He trailed off for a moment and shook his head, as if trying to ignore the fact that he was currently telling an enemy this.

"Anyway there's a man, Thierry Beauvais, I was introduced to him through a mutual acquaintance while in Europe. He's a shady character, no one's really ever sure what side he's on but I guess he does whatever currently suits his interest. He's been our go between so far."

Boyd nodded again, taking the name into consideration. He would tell Ryan about that later, though he did not show any sign that he was interested. This man could be very helpful for them, though, if he had the sort of information that 53 was going for in order to merge with Janus. He may even know exactly where Janus main cells were.

"What do you know about Janus?" Boyd asked after a moment, sounding curious.

"Not much." Andrews waved his hand in frustration. "I know that sounds like bullshit, but it's true. They're fucking paranoid as all hell. I can't even get a phone number or an email address to contact anyone who is actually in that damn group. Thierry is down in Aussie land with them at the moment and I have a number to his hotel. I don't know if he's fucking stringing me along or not, so I have no real information. Honestly I don't trust that French fuck as far as I can throw him, but he's the only key to Janus I have right now. It's hard for groups like us to actually get involved with the main players in this war."

"I imagine so," Boyd said with a nod. "Janus seems to be incredibly secretive. That is likely what they owe to their success, though." He leaned back, watching Andrews amiably. "Other than Thierry, do you know anyone who would have contact with Janus?"

Andrews shook his head, dark hair falling in his eyes. "No. So you see, I'm not much help to you. Your friend murdered my people for nothing."

Boyd was silent a moment, surprising himself by truly feeling sympathy for Andrews and his men. Why did he feel all these emotions suddenly? There was something wrong with him. He leaned forward and spoke softly, sadly. "I truly am sorry. But you can make it so it did not happen for nothing.

"My employers are interested in learning more about the factions that exist right now as well as general intel on Janus and you are a powerful, intelligent man in charge of probably the most cohesive group in the area. If you work with us, we will give you some protection and ample supplies for you and your men before winter. That way," and there was a slight tilt to his lips that was somber, "Dansen will not continue to steal all your supplies. Beyond that and this may be the part you are most interested in, Sin will no longer be able to consider you or your men an enemy. That will be enough protection right there."

Andrews stared at Boyd for a long moment before looking away. "You know, believe it or not a lot of us 'rebel groups' are just people who lost everything in the bombings. I have kids under me who grew up with no parents and who just want to live a decent life. We resist the government because they show no interest in anything but regaining power. They don't care about the hungry or the cold, or at least they don't seem to. What I do, I do for the best of the people I'm with." He seemed as though he were trying to convince himself.

"I'll agree," He said softly. "But next time we meet, we do so alone without your friend." He looked up at him. "If we do not receive replies within two weeks, I will move locations and next time it will be harder to find us. I'll be your mole but only if you hold your end of the bargain. And if you keep your friend away from my people."

"I believe you," Boyd said honestly. He nodded and though his lips did not lift in a smile, he seemed friendly. "We will be in contact, but thank you for the warning. As for Sin, as long as you work with us, you should not have to worry about him. However, you have my word that I will do my best to protect you." He stood, and looked down at Andrews. "Would you like to go back to the base now or do you want to rest more? I imagine there is a medic there who would be able to help set your legs."

"I want to get back to base and see what damage has been done," Andrews replied.

Boyd nodded. "Understandable. One moment and I will have Sin help us. Don't worry," he added before Andrews could say anything, "I will come with."

It took him awhile to find Sin and even longer for Andrews and Sin to get along well enough to get everything figured out. In the end, Sin and Boyd just packed everything up in the car and had Andrews ride in back while they dropped him off near the base. Boyd handed Andrews the radio from the base so he could call for help to come get him, as they did not want to walk straight into the base after they had each infiltrated it. There may be a mess before Andrews was able to call off his people, and Boyd could not risk Sin's fury if something happened; it would destroy the tenuous agreement they had right now.

Andrews looked rather grateful to Boyd when he handed him another set of painkillers, and they left on a good note. Boyd got back into the car and even though it took some maneuvering to get his leg in properly, he was finally able to get settled and shut the door. It was lucky his left thigh was the one hurt and not his right, because otherwise it would have been difficult to drive. He didn't think Sin knew how to drive, though, and frankly he didn't want to see him try until he saw an official driver's license with his name and picture on it.

Once they were on their way back to the agency, Boyd found himself a little unsure of how to act around Sin. He didn't give himself the chance to think about anything before, but now they were caught in a small space, with Sin right next to him, and Boyd's body still aching from all the abuse it had been through in the last twenty-four hours.

He didn't really know what to think. So much had happened that he figured it would take awhile to fully process it all. While he was truly scared at one point when Sin was attacking him, now the most he could imagine feeling for him was wariness. Just to be on guard if it happened again, to know what to say to hold him off long enough to figure out how to get away. It would have been understandable if that was all there was, but now he had these other confusing things. The memory of Sin's back, standing still and strong in the midst of that chaos, and every time he remembered it he felt a vague sense of comfort. Like he was being watched over, and it was okay.

But this was the same person who tried to kill him for touching him in his sleep, and did Sin hate to be touched in general? He knew that he didn't take kindly to sexual advances, but he didn't know if Sin attacked him because he touched him, or because he was not in his right mind due to what apparently were nightmares. And then there was Andrews, describing the change in Sin's demeanor. That sounded like something similar to when the girl was hurt in that video, but what did Boyd and that girl have in common that others in the interim would not have? They were trapped and outnumbered, certainly, but Boyd had been before and Sin did nothing.

He didn't understand at all what was happening. What the hell was Sin thinking? One moment he is one second from actually killing him and then the next day he massacres a group of rebels who incidentally were about to kill Boyd. Did he want to be the only one who killed Boyd? That was a morbid, strange thought, but he didn't really know what else to think. Andrews had his theory, but that it was completely implausible, so it had to be something else.

Boyd glanced at Sin sidelong, mostly to gauge his mood and see if he should even bother speaking.

He'd been watching Boyd already and averted his gaze automatically when Boyd looked at him. He stared out the windshield for a long moment but occasionally looked over from the corner of his eyes. "What did you learn?"

Now that he was looking at him closely, with the light of the occasional streetlight and the moon, he could see that Sin did not look well. His eyes were hidden in dark circles and he looked incredibly pale. There was a fine layer of sweat on his forehead, and something about the way he sat led Boyd to believe he was injured somewhere and was trying to hide it.

When he spoke, he did not give away that he noticed Sin's discomfort at first; his voice was the usual calmly reserved tone. "They know nothing about Janus but have a French contact named Thierry Beauvais who is currently in Australia. Thierry has been a go-between for 53 and Janus, though Andrews got very little information from him so far."

Sin looked at him and made a face. "I am familiar with Thierry."

"Is that so?" Boyd tilted his head forward in a nod. "Well, that should make it easy to contact him. What is his background? Who is he?"

Sin paused for a moment and appeared to be thinking of a good description. "He's a fop."

Boyd blinked then turned back to watching the road. Honestly, he went how long without the idea of homosexuals appearing, and now suddenly it was all around him. He wondered briefly if Thierry had tried to seduce Sin, but the thought was gone almost immediately. Given what he had seen, Boyd couldn't imagine Thierry being alive if that were the case. "Well," he said finally, mildly, "I am sure there is more to him than his sexual orientation."

Sin snorted softly and was quiet for another minute. "He talks too much and he's cocky. He is probably less trustworthy than the leaders of Janus and it was very unfortunate that I was given strict orders not to kill him. I would have."

"Well, it's fortunate now as he may lead us to Janus. Do you have contact information for him? Perhaps we can arrange a meeting."

"I don't. He moves a lot and changes his number constantly. Owen will have to track him down, most likely. Last time it took three months to arrange a meeting with him even though we knew his exact location at the time." Sin glanced at Boyd for a moment. "If we do have to meet with him, it is best that you do the talking. He does not like me."

Boyd nodded. "That's fine. I would have assumed I would do the talking anyway."

He paused, and looked at Sin for a long moment with his eyebrows twitched down a little. Sin was being unusually cooperative and almost... nice. He was actually answering all of Boyd's questions, and was even asking a few himself. Beyond that, seeing how Sin acted around Andrews just underscored how different he was around Boyd. He also looked like he felt sick or was hurt yet he said nothing about it.

"Are you alright?" Boyd asked finally, a faint tinge of concern making it into his voice. "You look ill."

Sin gave Boyd a long, lingering look and shrugged. "I'm fine." He stared at him for a while longer before turning his gaze to the window again. He toyed with the zipper on one of the pockets of his pants and seemed to be struggling with himself about something. "I did not intend..." He trailed off and didn't finish his sentence.

Boyd watched him for a moment then turned back to the road. When he spoke finally, his voice was soft and tinged with an unnameable emotion. He certainly was not angry or upset, but it was almost a sad, regretful feel even if it barely made it into his voice. "If you're referring to last night, you were having a nightmare so I tried to wake you. I hope you don't think I actually meant you harm."

"I did at first," Sin admitted in a voice that was devoid of any emotion. He kept his face turned towards the passenger window and it seemed as though he were forcing himself to sound detached. "I have nightmares at times," He continued. "About things... I've done. Things that have been done to me. I did not intend to harm you. It's best not to touch me in my sleep."

There was another stretch of tense silence and Sin's hand curled into a fist. "If not for me attacking you, you may not have gotten injured on the mission."

Boyd watched Sin out of the corner of his eye, a little surprised that Sin actually said any of that aloud. Why was he so nice now? "I doubt I would have been fine," he said with some amusement, one side of his lips pulling over in a small smirk. "I seem to have a penchant for getting injured at least a few times each mission."

His brief smile fell and he tilted his head, quiet for a moment. "I am not upset. I knew you were not in your right mind; you were very upset and speaking what I think must have been Spanish or Chinese, or both. I should have thought before I touched you; that was unintelligent on my part." He looked over, speaking honestly. "So I'm not upset. A lot of it was that I did something stupid and you reacted. It is not unsurprising, and nothing to blame."

"It wasn't stupid," Sin muttered. He was quiet for a moment but then his head whipped around and he stared at Boyd in surprise. "I was speaking in my sleep?"

"Yes," Boyd said, the hint of humor returning. He looked over, his eyes a little bit brighter with amusement. "But hell if I know what you said. I don't speak either language."

He looked at Boyd from under his bangs and smirked. "I suppose that is fortunate if I ever speak in my sleep while having... another kind of dream," He drawled.

Boyd looked over, startled, and actually threw his head back and laughed. It was a warm, honest sound from deep in his throat and almost startled him with the suddenness of it. He hadn't actually laughed in quite some time, but imagining Sin trying to hide that sort of dream by claiming that what he said in Spanish or Chinese was totally innocuous was far too amusing for him to ignore.

"I'm fairly certain," he said, a grin lingering as his voice was lighter with amusement, "that the body language would give it away more than the words."

Sin looked surprised at the sound of Boyd's laughter and he stared at him oddly for a long moment before his own smile slowly spread across his face. However it didn't last and not long after it appeared, he pulled his mouth into a scowl and looked away again, although the amusement was still apparent in his eyes.

Boyd noticed Sin's attempt at hiding his smile and just laughed at him again, shaking his head and grinning for long after the moment had passed.

---

Live Feed

When Boyd got home that night, he found himself replaying Sin's smile and the bit of amiable amusement that had passed. It was strange that they were getting along so well, but he couldn't say that he disliked it.

The house seemed especially dark and empty and he found himself absently turning on more lights than he had in a long time. He made himself some jasmine tea and though he headed for his room to do some reading, he couldn't help remembering the sheen of sweat on Sin's forehead. Although Sin passed it off as nothing, he couldn't imagine that was the case for any symptoms to actually show on Sin. He seemed to be invulnerable; he could walk into that base and massacre dozens of men when Boyd could barely handle one or two. Sin could walk out without apparently a scratch, and Boyd could actually not even walk. The difference in their strength and tolerance was like the ground to the atmosphere, so he shouldn't worry.

But that sheen of sweat...

He didn't even realize he was headed for the computer until he found himself there, already booting it up without thinking. He blinked, stared at the screen as it loaded and decided maybe he should check in on Sin. Since he never took the flash drive out of the computer since the time Ryan gave him it, he didn't have a problem getting the live feed up again.

The room was there with the usual crisp whiteness but Sin was nowhere to be seen. Boyd found that curious; generally Sin was within view of the camera and he certainly had to be in the apartment as Boyd just dropped him off awhile ago and he was not allowed out generally otherwise. Unless he was exercising in the gym but this would be a strange time to do that.

As he stared at the screen, he realized he could hear a faint sound over the speakers. It sounded like someone was throwing up. Boyd blinked, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. He turned the volume up, and after a few seconds there it was again.

What the hell? That couldn't be Sin, could it?

He looked at the link again, and noticed that it said 'cam01'. If there was a 01, did that mean there were others? He tried 02 and was surprised to find Sin's bedroom that he could never properly see now in perfect view. He recognized it from the angle of the bed and the fact that it looked like it had never been slept in. A few articles of clothing were strewn across it and if Boyd was not already sure this was Sin's room, he was positive when he saw the same ratty undershirts and t-shirts that Sin wore constantly.

But Sin was still nowhere to be found.

His lips twitching down in the mildest frown, Boyd tried cam03 just to see what happened. The scene changed abruptly; this time, instead of being a high angle looking down, it was nearer to head level. He could see most of what looked to be a bathroom, with white walls and a tiled floor. Boyd was a little startled to realize that there were cameras that watched Sin everywhere.

Where was his sense of privacy if he could not even go to the bathroom without someone watching him? Did they fear he would kill himself in there? He could see a shower to the side, the sink at the bottom of the screen and the door in the back. At least the toilet seemed to be out of view, to give a little privacy. On the floor was Sin, wearing only pants and curled in on himself as he threw up. Boyd stared, mildly alarmed, and waited to see what was happening.

It appeared that Sin was clutching the sides of the toilet and was sick for several more minutes before flushing and finally climbing to his feet with apparent difficulty. His face appeared in view of the camera abruptly before he turned and staggered out of the bathroom.

Boyd watched the feed with slightly widened eyes. When Sin turned to leave with his shirt off, Boyd could clearly see that he had two bullet wounds on his left side. One was in his arm, the other in the side of his left shoulder, where the tattoo sat on back. Boyd stared, waiting, wondering where Sin was. It took him a second before he realized he could maybe open more than one camera at a time. He opened cam01 in a side window so he could watch both.

The camera was once again angled high up in a corner wall, but it was obvious that Sin was sweating profusely. His hands were trembling as he stood over the stove and turned a large, hunting knife over in the open flame from the stovetop. He clutched the side of the stove as he did so and actually looked in danger of toppling over, but he did not and he turned the knife over several times before taking it and a pair of pliers that lay on the counter back into the bathroom.

Boyd stared, actually leaning forward in his chair. Sin, that idiot! He patched Boyd up but not himself? Was it because Andrews was there? But he'd only brought Andrews with because Boyd was incapable of negotiating with him at the base itself. And even then, if he'd just told Boyd, they could have fixed him up far earlier. How long was he sitting there in pain? Suddenly, the fact that he was so nice to Boyd in the car seemed even more an anomaly. He should have been irritable, stand-offish, even cruel. But he was nice, and he smiled, and even made Boyd laugh.

Something in Boyd twisted; maybe it was guilt, or sadness or regret. He didn't know what it was, but he wished he could help Sin. Even if he rushed to the agency and made his way to his apartment, though, by the time he got there it would be over. And then Sin would want to know why Boyd knew anything was happening, and he would have to admit that he'd been watching him on the cameras. Right after Sin seemed to trust him even enough to be nice, how could he introduce something that would be such a cause of paranoia? And why did he even care what Sin thought of him, or if Sin decided to stop being as friendly? Even if it went back to the way the missions were before, it should be okay.

But it wasn't. Because watching Sin standing there, almost as white as the walls despite his usually tanned complexion, Boyd found that he felt... upset. Concerned. He didn't want Sin to be hurt. He didn't think he should care, but he did, and it was there, and he could not look away.

Sin set the pliers and hunting knife on the sink next to what looked like a bottle of peroxide. He looked up at the mirror and the pain was obvious on his face. His mouth was a tight, thin line and his eyebrows were drawn together. He turned slightly and observed the hole in his shoulder. It was crusted over with dried blood and gore, appearing to even be slightly infected. Sin winced and picked up the pliers, not even hesitating before he dug them into the wound and plucked out the bullet.

His face twisted in pain and he cried out softly, eyes filling with moisture. "Fuck," He whispered softly and seemed to brace himself before repeating the procedure with the wound in his arm. Fresh blood began to leak from both wounds and he let the pliers clatter to the sink as he panted softly.

He fumbled with the brown bottle and opened the cap before pouring the peroxide on his arm, making quite a mess in the process because of his shaky hand. He stared at his wounds in the mirror for another moment before grabbing the hunting knife and pressing it against both holes.

"FUCK!"

He cried out louder this time and a choked sound escaped his throat as the sizzle of burning iron against flesh echoed in the bathroom.

---

Boyd swallowed and leaned back in his chair. His eyes were glued to the screen and Sin's expressions. He was truly in pain, truly vulnerable in a way that Boyd had not really seen before. He was not bothering to hide it or pretend it wasn't there, and briefly Boyd wondered if Sin even knew the camera was there. Judging by the position, it must be in the mirror above the sink. That would make sense since he seemed to be looking into the camera to know where his wounds were.

He felt... sad. Sad that Sin had to do that on his own, that he didn't have anyone to trust, that he was watched so closely yet not really cared for. Why the hell didn't the medics help him? Was it Sin's choice not to call them? But how would they have treated him if he had? They probably would have purposefully hurt him just because they knew he couldn't fight back.

Boyd's eyes narrowed and mixed with the sadness, he felt anger and a sense of betrayal of humanity. Why the hell did everyone treat Sin like an animal, so subhuman? Why did Sin have to do this all on his own?

Staring at the screen with a mixture of anger and sadness, both slightly muffled but stronger than he was used to feeling, Boyd decided that he would do something kind for Sin the next day. They had the debriefing and Sin wouldn't be there, but since Boyd would already be at the agency he would just go visit him at the apartment. He also debated telling him about the camera, but that would have to wait until he knew exactly what the repercussions would be.

On the camera, Sin stood in front of the mirror for a moment longer, looking worn out and weak. His face twisted every time he moved his arm but he turned around and yanked the shower curtain open. He stepped up into the tub and then collapsed into it wearily, curling himself into a fetal position.

Boyd left the feed going long after Sin seemed to fall asleep, which happened rather quickly. He must have been exhausted and Boyd could not blame him. It took him awhile, but eventually he forced himself to close all the windows and go back to his room. His expression was back to blank and unreadable, but he was thinking about a lot of things. Sin, and the latest mission, and everything that revolved around both.

That night, before he went to sleep he dug through his entire room looking for something he wanted to give to Sin the next day. Even though it really hurt to try to use his arm, even though his leg gave out on him more than once as he stretched to reach some storage units when he didn't find it elsewhere, he made very little sound.

It took him a few hours, tearing his room apart and upsetting the order that had remained in there like bones stacked in a mausoleum, but when he finally had it he placed it in his messenger bag so he couldn't forget. It was almost four by the time he went to sleep and knowing that he had the debriefing right away in the morning did little to improve his mood. But he slept like the dead and almost didn't hear his alarm when it went off. Even with all that, he ended up being a little late.

He arrived at the debriefing looking, frankly, like shit. He wore a turtleneck again to cover the bruises on his throat, which had deepened to a furious violet-brown, but nothing could cover the ash white of his skin from all the recent abuse, blood loss, and lack of proper sleep. Beyond that, he had a healthy bruise growing on his right cheek from where the man hit him with the butt of the rifle when he was being held down. His right hand was cut along the side from where he slammed his fist into the remote and he was heavily favoring his left leg. His hair was in disarray because he didn't bother even combing it, and the pants he wore were still covered with some blood from the mission before last.

Boyd was looking down at his feet when he entered the room because his leg still didn't quite want to work right and with his exhaustion it had buckled on him a few times trying to get up the stairs. His messenger bag was hung over his good shoulder; the other arm he had decided he would not use unless absolutely necessary. He was already starting to say something softly by apology when he looked up and stopped short in the doorway, staring in surprise.

Sin was there, leering at Jeffrey with an expression that in no way gave evidence to the pain he must still be feeling from cauterizing his wounds the night before. Jeffrey stared back with a cold, angry look and Ryan was watched Sin with huge eyes. Owen was half-asleep as usual and Carhart looked over almost gratefully when the door opened.

"Uh," Boyd said, actually startled into silence. Sin had never come to the debriefings before and Boyd had frankly never expected him to. Combining that with all the confusion he had in his mind regarding Sin, as well as what he knew damn well Sin went through the night before but wasn't showing at all in Sin's mannerisms, and... Well. It was no wonder that Boyd stared at the room with a dumbfounded expression, though his eyes kept straying to Sin.

Sin dragged his eyes away from Jeffrey and looked at his partner with a smirk. "What did I tell you about being late?" He asked.

Boyd stared at him for a long moment, his mind working to understand what was happening. "You... never said anything about being late," he said, too startled to take the question as anything but serious.

Sin gave him a sidelong glance. "I did. I told you that it reflected badly on one's character and that it would make me exceedingly disappointed in you if you were ever late."

He turned his gaze on Ryan and gave the boy an arch look. "Can I help you?" He asked the wide-eyed boy flatly. Ryan responded with even wider eyes and several shakes of his head.

"God," Boyd said after a moment, staring at Sin as if he were a new life form. "You did, didn't you? That first day." He was too tired to do anything but say what came to mind. After a bit, he finally realized he was still standing in the doorway and he limped over to the side of the table Sin was on. He didn't feel like sitting anywhere near Jeffrey if he could help it. His leg muscle felt like they'd seized up over night and he made a note to stretch it later that. He probably shouldn't have taken painkillers that morning; likely they were not helping with his inability to process anything even mildly out of the ordinary.

Dropping slowly into the seat next to Sin, he leaned back in the chair and tried to ignore how uncomfortable he felt physically. He nodded at Ryan as he did most mornings now. "Good morning, Ryan," he greeted him in his usual soft voice.

"Hi," Ryan squeaked, never taking his eyes off of Sin.

Carhart stared at the scene before him with his usual gruff expression but it was obvious that he was pleased at Sin's participation. "You did not send a mission report so I am anxious to get down to the outcome of this mission." He looked at Boyd and Sin in turn. "Was it successful?"

Sin folded his hands in front of him neatly. "As successful as it could be," He replied blandly and unhelpfully.

Carhart stared at him for a moment before turning to Boyd expectantly.

Boyd nodded, taking the question more seriously. He noticed that Sin was back to his usual games, but it didn't bother him. If nothing else, he could only assume he was doing that in the presence of people he didn't know or like. "In the end, 53 was going through a middleman to contact Janus; Andrews said he knows nothing about how to contact anyone in Janus himself. They are extremely difficult to find any contact for even within the factions.

"Owen," and Boyd said the name a little louder, giving Owen a chance to start awake and stare at him blankly, "will want to look into the name Thierry Beauvais, a French man notorious among the rebels for having contact with Janus and a lot of information, but apparently it is unclear whose side he is really on. He was last known to be in Australia; this would be the person I assume Ryan referred to him contacting in the Oceanic Republic."

Boyd tilted his head forward and said after drawing a breath, "Finally, Andrews agreed to be a mole as long as we provide protection and ample winter supplies. If they do not hear replies from us within two weeks they will move and it will be more difficult to find them. He also requested," and Boyd glanced sidelong at Sin briefly before he turned his attention back to Carhart, "safety from Sin for him and his men, so I suggest any future contact either not involve him, or involve at least one other person accompanying him."

"Safety from Sin?" Jeffrey said a little snidely; though he asked the question of Boyd, he was watching Sin with cold suspicion. "What did he do? Don't tell me it was something unprecedented, such as, oh, I don't know, killing a few people in cold blood?"

Boyd stared at Jeffrey blankly but said nothing.

Sin snorted softly and splayed his fingers out in front of him. "A few?" His lips curled into a nasty smile. "Twenty seven and two broken legs."

Jeffrey's face twisted. "You're disgusting," he told him, cruel and serious. "I look forward to the day they realize you aren't worth it anymore and kill you like the diseased, stray mutt you are."

Sin leaned across the table and smiled his cold smile. "One day Jeffrey, it's going to be just me and you with no collar, no remotes and no witnesses." He raised an eyebrow and sat back.

"That day will never come," Jeffrey said with his own cold smile. "You'll be killed in the field or by any number of the people here who know what an animal you are, and good riddance."

"Do you mind not being an ass for one morning?" Boyd asked wearily from the side, his eyes half-closed as he tilted his head into his hands. Normally he would not speak up, but, again, the painkillers with the lack of sleep were taking away his reserved nature a little. "I didn't have my tea this morning and I am guessing most of us have more to do in our lives than wait for the next time to say something snide."

Jeffrey turned his attention to Boyd, the cold smile only growing. "Oh, look who has a backbone this morning. Putting on a show for your new best friend? And is that a bruise I see on your face? Looks like someone tried to shut you up the best way I can think of."

Sin's hands curled around the edge of the table and the sarcastic smirk melted off of his face, replaced by the calm, dead expression that normally graced his face right before he broke someone's neck.

Boyd noticed Sin's expression and spoke calmly before he could do anything. "Is that your analysis of the situation with my bruise? I suppose it is accurate enough. So could we move to your analysis of Janus and Thierry, be amazed by your brilliance, and go?"

Sin's heavy lidded eyes remained on Jeffrey for another moment, but he glanced at Boyd and relaxed again.

Carhart shot Jeffrey an irritated look. "In case you have forgotten," He began coldly, "Sin and Boyd are the lead members of this unit. If you cannot do anything other than encourage pathetic and useless arguments, you will be removed and replaced with someone who can. I actually believe you to be a major asset to this team so I would not be pleased with having to do that." He looked at Owen and then at Jeffrey again.

Jeffrey looked at Carhart with an expression that was actually suitably chagrined. He cleared his throat and pressed the papers into a better pile in front of him. "Well," he said more professionally, "Owen and I have been discussing the groups overseas, and currently there are a few that warrant extra attention. In China, the main player right now is Dǐ Zhì," he actually pronounced the Mandarin correctly, "who are rapidly gaining power and popularity. Owen can tell you more about that. The problem will be if Liberté in France joins with an as-yet unnamed faction in Russia that nonetheless has been gaining a lot of force. It may seem unreasonable, but Owen told me that there are rumors in the underground that the two are looking into a merger in order to possibly become decent competition for Dǐ Zhì." He paused, then looked to Owen. "The rest is best explained by him."

Owen was watching Carhart a little suspiciously; he was pretty certain he'd gotten involved in the lecture earlier, and he didn't know if that meant Carhart was tired of him always sleeping in these meetings, or if he was just asking them to get started with the analysis. After a moment, he spoke up. "Right, well. Apparently Liberté and this Russian group figure if they can protect Janus from the threat that Dǐ Zhì represents, then they'll gain major standing and maybe become a core cell. Also, down in the Oceanic Republic, I heard that there're a few movements starting up in Fiji and Samoa, but it's unclear what exactly is happening there yet." He blinked and fell silent for a second as he tried to remember what he was going to say. "And, uh. I guess I'll figure out about that Thierry guy."

Carhart nodded shortly. "Excellent. Negotiations with Thierry are typically extended and wearying so don't expect much on his end very soon. He is a major player overseas right now because for reasons that continue to elude me, he is one of the few billionaires left on this planet. He will work with whomever suits his interest, attracting people with promises of money and arms. We are still unclear of his motives at this time, but it would seem that he poses no real threat to us. He will either help us or refuse, as simple as that, but he normally wants some kind of incentive. He is one of the few, capable contacts when it comes to intel on Janus and other resistance forces so we do whatever is necessary to keep peace with him. Which means--" He flashed Sin a significant look. "Do not break his nose this time."

Sin gave him a mildly indignant look. "It was self defense. He put his hands on me."

Boyd glanced over, secretly wondering what that meant. It could have been something as simple as a finger on Sin's palm, or Thierry could have become a true fop and attempted a seduction. Boyd did not particularly care either way which it was, but knowing prior to meeting Thierry may give him an idea of what to expect from the man. Apparently, he would have several months before he had to deal with him anyway, if the past was anything to go by.

Carhart shook his head at Sin. "I don't care if he shoves his hand downs your pants and shakes hands with the man-- you're not going to lay a finger on him this time. Understood?"

"You are a vulgar individual," Sin muttered mildly.

"Dismissed."

Boyd stared at the table in front of him, laughing silently, his shoulders shaking a little. He was completely not expecting that comment from Carhart, nor Sin's calm reply, and the drugs in his system made it a little easier to smile, though he was trying not to. He felt a little off-kilter and unbalanced, and wondered vaguely if he must seem incredibly strange to those who were used to him being straight-faced and silent all the time.

Owen gave Carhart another weird look and disappeared before he could be told he was on probation or something else equally frightening. Like... morning shifts. Jeffrey had his papers in his briefcase and was out the door without so much as even a single snide look thrown at Sin. It was impressive, really; no doubt he left so quickly so he didn't give himself the chance.

Ryan stared from Sin to Boyd then back again. "Um. Okay then!" He smiled awkwardly and hurried out of the room, appearing embarrassed at his own speechlessness.

Sin stared after him. "What is wrong with that child?"

Carhart nodded at them and left without another word, following in the wake of Ryan as the door swung shut behind them.

"Nothing," Boyd said in response to Sin's question, though a bit of humor remained in his voice. "He was probably just... impressed by your presence."

"There's nothing impressive about it," Sin replied blandly and sat back in his chair.

"You came to the debriefing for the first time," Boyd reminded him mildly. "Therefore, your presence would be impressive to someone who was not expecting to see you." He paused, and tilted his head. The humor was gone from his mannerisms but he still seemed to be in a relatively good mood. "Who was here first between you two, Ryan or you?"

"I got here rather early," He replied. "I woke before the sun rose." He looked over at Boyd suspiciously. "Why?"

Boyd looked away thoughtfully, not bothering to answer. No wonder Ryan was so wide-eyed. He must have wandered into the room, straight into the path of his idol. It would have been worse if they were the only two in the room; Ryan would be too petrified to speak to him. Later, Boyd would probably have to ask for Ryan's side of the story. No doubt it would be a lot more colorful and inventive than Sin's.

Turning back to Sin, Boyd watched him closely for any signs of pain. He was a damn good actor, he knew that much from the fact that Boyd only knew he was hurt in the car due to the paleness of his skin. He wondered if he could have possibly gotten enough sleep last night if he was up that early as well as going to sleep in the tub as if he fell into a coma.

Sin sat quietly and waited for Boyd to say something. When he did not, he began to rise.

"Sin, wait," Boyd said suddenly, before he could stand. He reached over and put his messenger bag on the table with his good arm. "I have something for you," he said a little absently as he dug around inside. After a few moments, he located it and looked up to meet Sin's eyes. "If you don't want it, I don't care. I will take it back. I just thought you may be interested." He carefully pulled out a manila envelope that was rather full and set it on the table, sliding it closer to Sin.

Sin blinked at the envelope and didn't move for an entire minute. He squinted at it suspiciously and grabbed it gingerly, as though it could possibly be a bomb of some sort. After another long moment, he gave Boyd a contemplative look and opened the envelope carefully, pulling out a stack of papers that were covered in beautiful cursive writing.

He read the title and looked up at Boyd with eyes that were slightly widened and brighter than normal.

Boyd smiled a little at Sin's response, and his gaze dropped down to the manuscript in Sin's hands. "It's not the original Paradise Lost, obviously," he said softly, almost reverently. His hand rested near the manila envelope, and though he almost felt a little melancholy at the idea of giving up the manuscript, he did not regret his choice. More than anything, it was probably the history of the item that he would miss; both literally, as the manuscript itself, and of the memories of his acquiring it. "I used to spend a lot of time at the antique stores, because, well... My mother's job brought us a lot of money, but she was never around, and my father was a journalist who sometimes was lost for days to the city and his office. I spent a lot of time alone, studying usually, but sometimes I couldn't concentrate and needed to get out." He paused, wondering why he was even getting into that. He shook his head to himself, almost to rid himself of the extraneous thoughts, and continued in the same soft tone.

"But I had money, and sometimes I got bored. There were some beautiful antique shops that survived even the wars, and this particular one I visited often had very interesting imports. She got that one day and held it for me, not that anyone else would have picked it up. I don't entirely know the history, but apparently this was penned closer to 1700 rather than the initial publication of 1667, by someone who was looking at the original manuscript and tried to replicate it. It survived, somehow, through the centuries, and ended up in a bulk sale from some warehouse in London. I thought the penmanship was beautiful, almost like being able to see Milton's hand itself, so I've always kept it protected in an envelope and several layers of newspaper in my room."

He blinked, realizing how much he was saying. Clearing his throat, he looked back up at Sin's eyes and shrugged idly. "Anyway, I suspect you would enjoy that more than I would, as I've had it hidden away, and you actually have a tattoo from that book."

Sin's hands closed around the book and stared down at it in mild confusion, before looking at Boyd again. Once again his face was full of that strange emotion but this time he didn't hide it. "Why?"

Boyd tilted his head and watched Sin for a moment, taking the question seriously. His expression was hard to read, but he did not seem to be scrutinizing Sin so much as taking in every part of him as a person and truly considering it before he answered. He did not want this to be something that Sin thought he said just because; it was the truth, and it was important he realized that.

"Because you deserve it," he said finally, honestly.

Sin shook his head in denial but remained silent and looked down at his present again. His mouth curved up in the barest glimmer of a smile and he glanced at his partner again. "I'm going to go read this now."

"Alright," Boyd said with a faint smile back. "I, however," and he pushed himself up with a wearying amount of effort, "am going to sleep." He pulled the messenger bag slowly off the table and let it thump against his right thigh. "Ah, be careful, though. It's very delicate. I could probably try to have her fix it if something happened, but it is best if nothing does."

"Nothing will," Sin said and put it back into the envelope gingerly, holding the package protectively. He seemed at a loss of words and stood up, lingering for a long moment without saying anything at all.

Boyd paused as well, looking at Sin holding the envelope close like a little kid that never got a present. He supposed that was what he basically was, in a way, but he was happy that Sin enjoyed it. He smiled at Sin, a true smile that brightened his eyes considerably and lent warmth to him that usually was occupied by cool aloofness. He didn't really know what to say, so he watched Sin for a moment in silence.

Sin once again appeared to be struggling himself, having difficulty finding words for whatever it was that he wanted to say. His eyes were focused on the envelope he held but the confusion was evident in his face. "I'll see you next assignment," He muttered and strode out of the room abruptly.

Boyd waited until Sin was gone before he left as well. More than anything, he did not leave with Sin simply to avoid any potentially awkward silence as they strode the same way with nothing to say. He made his way slowly down to his car, deciding that he would talk to Ryan another time when he had more energy.

Driving back felt excruciatingly slow, but when he got home he was so grateful to see his bed that he didn't even kick off his boots. He just dropped on top of it, snuggled into the covers, and slept like the dead the rest of the day and mostly into the next night.

It was wonderful.

Continue to Ch 10 ~ Closer