Author's NoteMany thanks to Person with Many Aliases for giving me ideas so I could focus my attentions elsewhere.

Discordant Beliefs

He'd been absolutely livid at the debriefing. A lot of the adrenaline and tension caused by fighting for one's life was gone, leaving only a smoldering fury at the circumstances. It didn't help that Garibaldi was less than complimentary.

Tara had accompanied Ace to the infirmary, leaving Joker and King with Garibaldi. Joker reported that all targets had been successfully neutralized. Neither of the other two had sustained any wounds or damaged equipment. Ace and King had taken a beating, though.

"Nice to know someone knows how to get things done," Garibaldi had said to Joker. King was still having trouble hearing, but if he concentrated on reading lips he could figure out what was being said.

"That's because your intelligence was great!" King said. "We knew everything about that Section One. Someone forgot to mention, however, that our own guys had Kalashnikovs, and they'd be shooting them at us!"

"Yeah, well, you were supposed to avoid them." Realizing how irate King was, he added, "Calm down a little. There's no need to shout so much."

"Oh, I am calm. I'm not talking loud because I'm mad, but I can't hear too well. D'you know why?" King asked. "Because a fucking grenade went off not ten meters from my head!" he shouted that last part. It made him feel a little better.

Garibaldi was taken aback by the outburst. He was quiet for a few seconds, then said, "That's very unbecoming from someone of your station, Captain." I'm not a captain anymore, and this isn't the army, King thought, but kept it to himself.

"Maybe you need to take some time off to cool down a bit. We can review the situation later," Garibaldi said, looking more composed.

"What I need is a sparring partner," was the retort. Joker eyed him warily. "Instead, I'll be in the weightroom," he finished and stalked off.

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It had taken a few days for his hearing to become somewhat normal again. The gash on his forehead had long since healed and his elbow was fine. Ace had taken the most abuse; the 5.45 rounds had torn her thigh up badly and she'd suffered a fracture in her upper arm, but she was recovering nicely. Physically, at least. If anything, she was even more dour and terse than usual, and that was saying quite a bit.

He had been really fortunate that she had walked in when she had. It had been foolish to think that one person could've covered two sets of stairs at opposite ends of the building, but it had been even more foolish to drop his team into a three-way in a rundown building. Poor planning.

Garibaldi had been willing to concede the point, after King had apologized for his outburst the following day. It had been poorly planned but well executed, a testament to their ability to adapt to changing conditions. As much as King didn't like the sound of that he had accepted the compliment just the same.

His training schedule paired him with Joker for range practice that day and the big man had asked him out for drinks that night. A courtesy to be sure, but Joker was surprised by King's acceptance. Hell, King was almost as surprised, but he really could use a night where he just hung out, drank himself stupid and talked about nothing in particular.

So that was how he found himself relaxing in a comfortable chair at a table at a local eatery on the outskirts of Milan. Strictly speaking, there wasn't much that was local to where they were housed, but this was close enough.

Joker had picked out a table against the wall with a good view of the entrance.

"Getting paranoid in your old age?" King asked him.

"Nah, just wanted this table for the view." He indicated several other tables between them and the entrance where a variety of pretty women were seated. King smirked. Joker always seemed to have one thing on his mind. In that way, he was no different from a lot of other men King had known over his life. King himself was no prude, far from it, but neither was he the sort to spend so many waking hours worrying about getting laid.

Joker ordered a pitcher of beer and a glass. King was somewhere between bemused and irritated at that. Bemused that the big man was going to drink that much – and beer, at that – and irritated that he hadn't thought to bring a second glass.

When he said as such, Joker responded with, "Sorry, man, I didn't think you were a beer guy."

"I'm not, but it's the principle of the thing."

"You got legs, and no one's broken 'em recently," he said with an evil grin. "Why don't you walk over there and order something?" he asked, indicating the bar.

In short order, King had gone to the bar and come back with his own pitcher and two rocks glasses full of some dark liquid.

"Startin' things early?" Joker asked, eyeing the liquor.

"The drunker I am," he said, taking a seat, "the easier you are to deal with."

"You're such a sweet-talker, man."

King had no reply to that. Nothing worth saying, at least. Instead he asked, "So is this where you normally hang out?" Somehow this seemed much more sedate than he had expected from a guy like Joker.

"Uhh, no. Usually I would go out to a dance club, but I thought it would be a bad idea to take you there." King just looked at him, saying nothing. "I'm not sure whether you had noticed, but a lot of the guys at those clubs are real dicks and I figured we'd have a much nicer night if you didn't beat anyone to death."

"Nicer but less interesting, to be sure."

"Heh, yeah."

"You dance?" Joker was a breed apart from most of the rest of them when it came to fighting styles. Ace was capricious and unpredictable. When you knocked her down she came right back up. Tara's movements were fluid and graceful. King himself was one part calm patience to one part explosive violence. Joker was the immovable object. He was a great grappler, impressively strong, but he didn't move much. Joker was the sort of guy who would block a blow or take it rather than get out of the way. It seemed to King that the other guy wouldn't be much of a dancer. He imagined the big man head-bobbing and swaying to music without actually moving his feet. It brought a smile to his face.

"Do I? Oh, hell yeah! I'm horrible at it, though," he said with a grin. "A woman once told me I had two left feet and a sense of rhythm to match. Then she married me." He took a big swig of his beer and smiled wistfully.

"What about you?" he asked King.

"Dance?"

The memory came to him, unbidden. Her voice, a demure alto, taking on a higher pitch of girlish glee, 'My brother? Dance? Ha! I'd love to see that!'

"I did, once. I haven't in a while. Time changes everything, huh?"

"I'll drink to that," Joker said, raising the liquor in a toast. "To who we used to be," he said, and kicked back the drink. King did the same with his, then poured a glass of beer. Joker's face went through several expressions as he pondered what he had just drunk. "Whiskey?" he asked.

"Bourbon. Maker's Mark."

"Pretty smooth."

"Yeah. I knew a guy who loved the stuff. It's not bad."

"American?"

"Yeah. It's from Kentucky. Middle of the country, maybe."

"Heh. No, I meant your friend."

"Oh. Yeah. USMC."

"Your friend wouldn't have anything to do with you carrying that old 1911, would he?" he asked with a grin.

King shrugged and said, "I like the .45s more than the 9mms." Joker chuckled at that.

King arched an eyebrow and said, "This from the guy who uses 300 grain .454 rounds?"

Joker laughed. "I like it because it makes big boom. And those are .460s, not .454s." King took another swallow of beer, the corners of his mouth threatening a smile.

"So how'd you meet your marine friend?" Joker asked, after a pause.

"It's a long story." Actually, it wasn't, but it was also the sort of story he really did not want to revisit just now.

"We got some time."

Irritated, King said, "I'll probably get drunk and fuck up the ending, so I'd rather not."

"Fair enough."

King took a long drink, savoring the taste and the memories it called to mind. It had been a long time since he had put back some beer. Joker asked, "You want another drink? I'll see if I can get the bartender to come by once in a while. We're gonna need a lot of drinkin' if you're lookin' to get your drunk on."

"Yeah. Do that." Part of the 'upgrades' that had gone into them included some sort of 'enhanced filtration' bits, probably liver, kidneys, maybe some other internals. The bottom line was that getting drunk required lots of alcohol. When they had been told that, it had become a fun challenge to push the limits and see how much it would take to get each of them drunk. King had a good background in the sciences and kept records for the experiment. The results implied a threefold increase in alcohol capacity. It would make for an expensive night.

King watched as Joker went to the bar and ordered two vodkas, neat. He exchanged some words with the bartender and tossed some bills on the bar, then returned with the drinks.

"You drink vodka, I trust?" he asked, setting one in front of King.

"Of course. The only thing I'm not too keen on is tequila. Unless it's Patrón."

"Well, then," he said, raising his glass in toast, "here's to not drinking tequila."

"You expect a toast every time we drink?"

"Nah! Eventually I'll run out of things to say and stop caring."

That point came about half an hour and six drinks later. They made some small talk about this and that.

"Didja see? The black and reds are doing really well this year," Joker said, with characteristic animation.

"Who did what now?"

"A.C. Milan?" King only shrugged in response. "Football."

"Oh. No wonder."

"Not a fan? That's practically unpatriotic!"

"Considering our line of work," King said, gesturing with a glass, "not caring about football is the least unpatriotic thing I do."

"Heh. Yeah, there is that. Either that or we're working to make a better Italy, if you believe the bullshit you read."

"Never believe the bullshit you read."

"Were you always such a cynic, or did you learn that in the army?"

"C'mon, man, you know life isn't all fluffy puppies and rainbows." Their conversation paused a minute as the bartender came by with fresh drinks.

"Yeah… that's something that's been bugging me, lately." King arched an eyebrow but said nothing. "You meant what you said about that army guy?"

"Selvaggio?" Joker nodded. "Every bit, why?"

"Because that other guy, not the shitbag I killed, but the blonde guy? He was a good man and I'm sorry I had to be the one to end him."

"Good man? How so?"

"Nice guy. Did what he was supposed to do. Played by the rules, except when it made more sense to break 'em. He was the sort of guy you'd want to come over to your house and watch your kids when you were out for the night. Cappin' him in the head made me feel like shit. Hell, talkin' about it makes me feel like shit."

"Not a fan of the PRF, was he?" The big man shook his head, regret plain on his face. "There you go. That was his downfall."

"But why him? Plenty of guys hate on the PRF for being terrorists. What was special about him?"

King shrugged and spread his hands. "I got no answers for you. I'm not sure Vinny does, either. When I was talking to him after I settled down, I got the feeling he was kind of apologetic, like he knew it was a shitty plan, but there wasn't anything he could do."

"Yeah. Maybe. Hey, something I been meaning to ask you." King looked askance. "So that senator guy liked little girls, but what else was so bad about him?"

King shrugged again. "All I know are rumors, including his sexual preference."

"Well that part was true enough"

"Yeah, but there's also a rumor about him being killed by some hardcore fundamentalist group from the Vatican, and we know how true that is."

"Point taken," he said, pouring another beer. King pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. Joker took a swig then asked, "You smoke?"

"Only when drinking," he replied with a smile.

"Oh. So what was he rumored to have done?"

"Pretty standard politician bullshit, actually," King said, ticking off offenses on his fingers, "Bribery, blackmail, tax fraud, assassination– "

"Really?" Joker interrupted.

"You remember that madam in Rome?" Joker returned a blank look. King took a drag on the cigarette and said, "Alright, so there was this controversy in Rome a few months back concerning a woman and her 'escort service.' The madam, Maria Ramos, had been implicated in a scandal involving some members of parliament. A few days later, as the media was doing its best to focus on that anti-gay rally, her body was found, cut to pieces and–"

"Raped."

"Was it on after the weather but before sports?"

"No. No, I remember that case for a totally different reason…" he said, staring off into space. King took a drink of beer and waited. Joker would explain himself in due time.

He waited until the bartender had come and gone to continue. "A friend of mine in the Carabinieri had gotten a hold of the coroners' report. He had an interest in the case, but I never asked why." King exhaled, the smoke diffusing slowly in the air, while Joker stared off in the distance, remembering. "So he sent me a copy of the report and asked me what I thought it said. Usually these things are pretty straightforward. I mean, unless there's a bunch of drugs mentioned or something – and I always have to look those things up, anyway – there shouldn't be anything special in the report that he shouldn't be able to read for himself."

He paused to finish his beer and look around before continuing, "So I read through it and it mentioned nothing at all about any semen or foreign blood found on the victim. In rape cases there's usually traces of something like that, but not that time. What's even stranger, though, is that the angle of some of the stab wounds implied the attacker was shorter than the victim."

"So you're saying she was attacked by a midget?"

"What I'm saying is the details in that case don't add up. When I told my friend that, he said, 'Yeah, that's what I thought, too.' But I don't recall her being very tall and the media claimed she was attacked and raped. There was no mention that her assailant was a short guy. And he'd have to be, noticeably short that is. He'd also need to be pretty damn strong. The notes the coroner had scribbled in the margins indicated that the depth of the cuts was significant."

"Supposedly, Senator Dini was the guy who gave the order."

"But who was it who did the deed?"

King shrugged.

"Reminds me of another rumor I'd heard," Joker said, setting his beer down, his countenance devoid of humor. "There was a rumor going around in the my company that the government uses cyborgs. For black ops and whatnot. I laughed it off, then, but that was before I'd met Mr. Gray."

"Cyborgs, huh? I'd believe it. The technology is probably there," King said with a smirk.

"Yeah, well… it's creepy." Joker said, then paused as if to say more. He didn't. King exhaled a cloud of smoke that seemed to hang in the air between them.

There was an uncomfortable silence as both men pondered what had been said. After a few minutes, and some fresh drinks, Joker changed the tone of conversation and soon enough they were talking about guns and cars, and other staples of manliness.

Like women.

"You think Tara's a natural redhead?" Joker asked.

"She's from Ireland. She could be. Find some pictures of her from before and that would settle it for certain." He paused to take a drink, then finished. "No, I don't."

"I wonder if she's got red hair everywhere." King had to smile at that.

"Of all the women in the world, that girl fascinates you because she keeps saying, 'No,' huh?"

"That might have something to do with it. And she's smokin' hot, don't forget that part."

"There's always Ace. The way she flirts, I'd be willing to bet she'd put her money where her mouth is. Or something else, for that matter."

Joker was already shaking his head. "No, thanks, man. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt."

"Really? Find something you didn't like?" King had always thought that Joker was the sort of guy who would go for just about anything female.

Joker drank some beer, thoughtful. He set the glass down, shrugged and said, "She's a dead lay. It's a turn-off."

"Oh? When did you get standards?"

"There are just some things I don't like, and that's pretty high on the list. Like cover-thiefing."

"Cover-thiefing?" King asked, bemused.

"Yeah. Like, when you wake up in the middle of the night all cold and whatnot, and you look over and see the woman in your bed all wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets and covers. I hate that." King laughed, as much because it was funny as because it was true. It felt good to laugh again.

"See that girl over there?" Joker asked, gesturing with his glass. By now King was feeling pleasantly inebriated, so much so that he was even starting to enjoy Joker's company.

"How could I not? You've been staring at her since she walked in. Think she's a cover-thief?" The woman in question was shapely, with dark hair and eyes and a green dress designed to display her feminine attributes to her advantage. She was at a table with another woman, a plain-looking girl with brown hair and too much make-up.

The big man laughed. "Look, man, I don't stare. I'm hardly that uncouth."

"Yeah, alright. So you gonna go talk to her or just ask me about her?"

"I think I'm gonna go find out if she steals covers or not. Now I'm drunk enough to get in a fight with her boyfriend, if she has one. But I don't see one and I'm not seeing a ring, either," he said, straining to get a better look at her. "But once I go over there, her friend is gonna wanna leave, so if you're lookin' to get some of that, now's the time."

"Heh. I'll pass, thanks." He was surprised to find that he was interested, but it would be safer for everyone if he just went home alone.

"You sure?"

"I tell you what. You go hit on that one," he said, indicating the brown-haired woman, "and I'll talk to the girl in the green dress." He would do no such thing, but he wouldn't need to.

"How about let's not and tell everyone we did," Joker said, standing. King had figured as much.

As they had been talking, another man had approached the two ladies and was doing his best to ingratiate himself. Based on what little he could hear of their conversation, it wasn't working. When Joker arrived, he greeted her as if they were old friends. It worked. Desperate to get away from unwelcome attention, the girl made a show of lavishing affection on Joker and introduced him as her boyfriend. Words were exchanged. Joker acted intimidating, which was easy, considering his advantage in height and build. Thwarted, the other guy left. King had to admit, Joker was good at pushing buttons.

They talked for a bit as King finished the last of the beer and asked for the bill from the bartender. At one point, the girls looked over at him, then Joker said something and shook his head.

It only took fifteen minutes or so before they were ready to leave. Joker came by to introduce his new friends. King offered pleasantries, then made his goodbyes. It had been a really nice night, after all, much better than he had expected.

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By the time his taxi dropped him off, he was sober enough to walk and desperately needed some water. King had instructed the driver to drop him a mile away from home, in a rural, residential district. Part of it was paranoia – not wanting the taxi driver to know where he was going – but part of it was him just wanting to take some time to walk and clear his head.

He had done a lot of that over the last two years. Long walks were a good counterpoint to beating on a heavy bag until his knuckles were raw and his arms felt ready to fall off. He covered the distance quickly, though, walking at a rapid pace.

The dorm was quiet as he entered. The only lights on were those in Tara's room. Joker would be out all night and Ace was probably asleep. His stomach made noises demanding food.

He made his way to the kitchen that adjoined the common room. As he greedily gulped at some water, he poked around in the refrigerator for something to eat. He was in the mood for something different tonight, something he hadn't had in a while.

Soft footsteps sounded from the hall just as he had decided on a snack of bagel and orange. King had since learned to distinguish most of the people who lived and worked in the dorm by any of a number of traits. Based on her gait, he could tell Ace had come up behind him. He sliced the bagel in half on the counter, speaking to her, "Sorry if I woke you up."

"I was already awake. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping," she said.

"Nightmares?" he asked, dropping the bagel in a toaster and turning around. She was standing in the doorway, dressed in pale yellow, silk pajamas.

She shook her head. King slumped against the counter. He'd almost forgotten how pleasant a sensation inebriation could be. "You smell like alcohol and cigarettes," she said.

"I taste like it too," he said with a smile.

She ran her tongue over her lips and ran her eyes over him before saying, "I bet."

Walked right into that, he thought to himself. He had almost forgotten how flirtatious she could be. He was spared further banter when the bagel popped out of the toaster. Methodically, he set to work buttering it. As he did so, he asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I want to apologize for my actions on our last assignment."

While he couldn't possibly figure what she thought she had done which would warrant an apology, he scooped up the bagel, orange and a napkin and moved to the couch to stare at the TV while he ate. "I thought you did well enough," he said, sitting and grabbing the remote. She followed and sat at the other end of the couch, her eyes on the screen. "Did you do something I don't know about?"

"It was my responsibility to keep the PRF men from reaching you. I failed in that. I am very sorry and I will make sure it never happens again." She sounded genuinely contrite. For a minute he was at a loss for words. It had been too much ground for her to cover and a foolish thing to expect her to do and Vinny knew it. The best thing would've been to face the Section One boys directly, or with the PRF, instead of fighting them both at the same time.

"It was a stupid plan, and Vinny knew as much. You did great," he said, around mouthfuls of bagel. She didn't really sound too concerned, so he figured that was as good a thing to say as any.

"Thank you. I will do better next time."

"Vinny sets up something stupid like that again and I don't think any of us will have to worry about next time," he said in disgust.

"Ours is but to do and die," she said, her voice distant.

Having finished the bagel, he snorted derisively. "I'll ride into the Valley of Death on my own terms. There's more to life than…" he said, letting his voice trail off as he remembered the last time he'd heard those words. It was something he and his sister had often said in their youth, an admonition against living one's life with too narrow a focus. He could almost hear her in his mind, There's more to life than revenge.

Her voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Than what?"

"Than following orders." He said nothing else, disturbed by the recent memory. He peeled the orange and ate it, paying little attention to the horrible, old movie playing on the TV.

There was silence between them for a few minutes, then she said, "I would have expected you to value obedience."

"I did at one time," he said, stuffing the last of the orange in his mouth.

"What changed?"

"I lost some faith," he said. When he had been younger, he had always thought he had known the score. Government good, terrorists bad. Sure, growing up in Milan had colored his perceptions, but he had still been basically convinced that the government still functioned with the interests of the people at heart. He had always supposed that the question of Northern independance was mostly political and would be worked out in due time.

Working for the PRF had changed things significantly, as had his firsthand glimpses of the corruption that could be found in the organization charged with representing the people. Nothing was simple anymore and the government seemed to be more concerned with the interests of the few over the interests of the many.

Everyone had flaws, problems. Everyone cheated on their taxes and disregarded the speed limit. But there was a lot more than simple misdemeanors going on here. It was the sort of thing that needed to be puzzled out over long walks, not discussed while in a drunken stupor.

"How– "

"I think I'm gonna get some rest, I'm kinda tired, what with my big night out," he said, standing. He really was in no mood to discuss this right now.

"As should I. I am sorry if I have bothered you."

"Nah, that's not it at all." These thoughts had been nagging him since his walk; her questions had just brought them into focus.

He discarded his orange peels and made his way to his room. She followed, saying nothing. All four of them roomed in close proximity to each other such that her quarters were just past his.

Something nagged at him, beyond the moral ambiguity of working for revolutionaries to force change in the government. Something related to the girl pacing him. Had she really wanted nothing more than to apologize?

When he arrived, he opened the door to his room and paused as she started to speak. As she wished him a good and restful night, an idea popped into his head. The words were out almost before he could stop himself, "You wanna come in?"

She hesitated a moment, but that was answer enough. He moved into the room and she followed, closing the door behind her.

Next: Like Sisters