It's after the mission, after your first real job - after you realize what, exactly, you've signed up for.
You're in your bunk, too early - everyone else is still up, but you can't be with them - with anyone - right now, because less than six hours ago, you shot someone you killed someone you looked down the barrel of a gun and pulled the trigger -
"Alfred?"
You jolt yourself out of the flashes and the violet and the smell of smoke. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, so you just look up at Neil's frame silhouetted in the doorway.
"We're doing a crossword out there, the boys are stumped and Harry thought you might be able to help out."
His voice is soft, like satin and warm sheets and the home you haven't had since you were 14, and you're grateful how he's making it sound like they need your help when he's really just checking in to make sure you haven't slit your wrists yet.
(It's always 'yet'. You've been living with 'yet' since you were seventeen years old.)
The light scalds your retinas as you follow Neil into the room where the others are gathered, crowded around a small sheet of paper that's been crumpled and crossed-out more than once.
"Oh, hey, Alfred, get over here." Tom says, gesturing you to the spot beside him. You sit on the hard chair warily, because even now these people are wild and dangerous and you're not completely sure how to act around them.
Harry scoots his chair in closer. "Okay, so the first question we haven't been able to answer - 'author of the work occasionally known as The Modern Prometheus'."
"Mary Shelley." You answer automatically - Frankenstein was your favorite book when you were twelve and a quarter; when you, too, felt a little like you were put together with all the wrong pieces.
"Too long." Tom replies.
"Try 'Shelley'."
"Well, damn. Okay, next one; 'previously named', three letters."
"Um, 'née'."
"God bless you."
"It's spelled 'N-E-E'." Aurora's voice wafts over the rest of the noise, and you turn to see her leaning against the wall with a small smile curving at the edges of her lips. "You speak french, Tom, you should be able to figure it out."
"Yeah, well, I can't know everything - although I can see how you might think so." He replies with a grin that makes Aurora roll her eyes.
"Okay, guys, focus." Harry gestures everyone back to the page. "'Vane letters', three letters long, starts with an E."
"ESE, or ENE." You say, and now they're starting to get smiles on their faces.
"'Oh, dear!' Four letters."
"Alas."
"'Roof overhang.' Four letters."
"Eave."
"'Fluctuation'. Nine letters."
"Variation."
"'Groom'. Five."
"Preen."
It goes on until every last box on the crossword is filled in, and you're fairly certain you can see the faint glow of the sun against the dark horizon.
"Alright, boys." Aurora's gaze followed yours, and everyone at once seems to notice the time. "Back to your bunks."
"Alright." Tom stretches to his feet with a groan, and Neil claps you on the back as he leaves. You shoot him a look that you hope says thank you, and he nods. Harry, stumbling over his feet like a drunk child, stops to drop his head down to your ear and whisper you did what you had to do, okay? You nod, clumsily, and then his hand disappears from your shoulder and you're left missing the noise they brought with them.
"You want to know what the first time I really killed someone was?" Aurora speaks up from where she's curled on a chair, once the others have gone from the room. She's fiddling with her hands, and when she looks up at you her eyes look like they're awake, too awake, have been awake for too long. "It wasn't supposed to happen."
You're listening, focused on her voice and the way her breath catches in between words.
"I was keeping watch while the rest of the team was sneaking into an officer's house to retrieve some files, it should've been an easy in and out. Except, it never is."
"What happened?" You think these are the first words you've said all night that aren't in response to a question.
"The maid came along." She takes a hitching breath that's half laugh, half hitching sob. "I did some digging, after - she had two children. Marie and François. They were sent to an orphanage.
"They told me the standard line - 'you did what you had to do to protect the mission.' And I knew that. I know that. But it's one thing to know that you only had one option, and another to accept it."
"I know." You say, and your voice sounds hoarse and shaky even to your own ears. You don't know what else to say, and the way she looks over at you, with strangely steady eyes, tells you she understands. You both have that broken piece inside of you now. You've both prioritized over people's lives.
She leaves, and you stumble to your bunk where Harry is already snoring on the top bed. You fall onto the sheets, not even bothering to take off your shoes, and you brace yourself for the nightmares.
They don't disappoint.