His troop didn't leave until late, much too busy celebrating their victory. Every time they smiled at her, he wanted to throw things, to make them regret their ill-placed kindness. They had no idea what kind of treachery she was capable of. He knew her though, and soon enough, so would they. Once again he would be the clever leader who saw all, perceived all, controlled all. He watched the door shut behind the last of them, and then turning to her, dropped the bottle in his hand to the ground, enjoying the sound it made as it shattered.

"Yes, well, you have quite a lot to do, so I'll let you get to it." She turned behind her, surveying the damage of the night dismally.

"You really didn't need to break so much glass."

"You really didn't need to try to kill me."

He had her there. He walked out the doorway, leaving her behind.

She picked the shards up off the floor quietly, wrapping them in a spare rag. She paused, and then surreptitiously tucked the bundle into her pocket, just in case. It had come in handy last time. The wine that had remained in the bottle now formed a puddle on the floor, and as she looked at it, her reflection stared back glumly.

This was not how it was supposed to happen. Nevertheless, she would think of something. She always had. She tied her hair up, surveying the room again quickly, and then headed out to find the mop.

She hadn't even had the foresight enough to park the car far away, idiot girl. It was only a block or two off, it didn't take long at all to find. He frowned. For someone so clever, she really was stupid. One of his bags sat in the car. He grabbed it and then walked back, not wanting to bother with so menial a drive at the moment. He could hear her working in the dining hall as he walked up the stairs. Her presence burned him.

The drawers and wardrobes were all thrown open in the room, no doubt due to her attempt to steal from him, the lying cheat. She was a succubus, a siren, sent for the sole purpose of making him suffer. He fell onto the bed, groaning. His head still throbbed where she had bludgeoned him. How could someone so little be so unbelievably strong? He was just lucky she wasn't quite strong enough. He rolled over, kicking off his shoes. He'd make her straighten up his room tomorrow, there was no excuse for it to be in such disrepair. He glanced to his left and saw the briefcase, still unopened, laying on the floor. Curiously, he stood, striding over to it. He clicked the locks open, and then pulling the contents out, examined them individually.

She was obviously new to planning heists. She had packed an unreasonable amount of his own clothes for god-only-knows-what reason. Probably as trophies to celebrate. That was substantially creepy. She had been wearing his shirt when she came back. Perhaps she liked murder just a bit too much. He shivered.

She had also packed a great deal of dresses, and a library book (stealing from a library, that was new). For some reason, she had missed the entirety of the papers from the Quagmires. Idiot girl. Throwing the clothes aside, he took the papers in his hands, examining them. Was she really that stupid, or was this why she had come back? He flipped through them quickly, making a brief inventory of what they had collected. She obviously had no idea what these were, otherwise she'd have never left them behind.

"Are you looking for something?"

He turned around and stood swiftly, meeting her tired gaze.

"Just taking my things back." He spoke with a snarl. "You won't be seeing these again any time soon." He waved the papers in her face. She looked at him, exhausted.

"Keep them. I can't read them anyway."

He squinted his eyes in disbelief.

"You're a terrible double agent."

"I'm not a double agent."

"Oh really? You just happened to be working against the cause you claimed to promote? Tell me, what exactly did the Quagmires say that was oh-so-enticing enough to convince you to betray your previously so very noble ideals of not killing people?"

She looked tired, making a nice portrait of the way he felt.

"I'm not working for anybody. Everything I've done is of my own accord. Now please, I'm so tired, can I just get my things so I can go to sleep?"

He leered down at her, his teeth the stakes of a haphazard picket fence. He shoved her backwards roughly. "So, just come traipsing along, hoping for another chance, thinking you got away with it?" He pushed her again and her arm hit the wall. She didn't react, demurely stepping out of his way.

She sighed, rubbing at the part of her shoulder that had hit the wall. "I just want my clothes."

"Don't you mean my clothes?" He waved a handful of his shirts in her direction. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He threw them on the ground disgustedly. She stared at them blankly, and then turning, walked out the door without another word. Her lack of response only made him angrier. He wanted her to rave, to make her excuses, to explain herself. Anything was better than this faux-resignation.

For the first time in ages, he didn't know what to do. Slowly, he sank back onto the bed, feeling utterly lost.

..

...

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AN-

Thank you so much for all of your kind/upset comments! I love every one of them! Also I want to give a personal shout out to eternallost who has evidently made it their life's mission to make me cry with the amount of art they send me. Their work is beautiful, and you should definitely check it out. I'm at the end of finals, so hopefully I can get on a better update schedule soon. Thank you guys for sticking with me, y'all are Heathens and I appreciate you

Cheers