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11. How we choose the framing of the scene

She doesn't say anything while he drives. She doesn't ask where they are going or offer suggestions or tell him what happened. Or stories, like she usually would, to fill up dead space. He is unaccustomed to her silence and it makes him worry. It's not like her. He tries to remember his first mission, or any other that strongly affected him, but cannot. They wouldn't let him keep such a volatile memory, he supposes. It would hurt his proficiency. Should he wish for those back, or is it better not to know?

When they've reached the next town over, he finds a hotel. It's nothing fancy, but it's what he can afford with the money they provided before he left. Though he isn't sure what the average rate for a night is these days, so maybe they could upgrade. She doesn't comment on his choice, just sits in silence while he parks the car and turns off the engine, her gaze directly ahead. Tentatively, he reaches over to touch her arm lightly, and she turns to look at him.

"We should go inside," he says quietly, feeling tongue-tied by her gaze.

She nods numbly, then climbs out of the vehicle. He follows, and they enter the lobby together. Both of them look like regular civilians, neither wearing clothes that are tattered or blood-spattered. He'd thought she might be, but doesn't see any evidence like that on her. Just a generally shell-shocked demeanor. She remains silent as he gets them a room and leads her upstairs. He supposes their lack of baggage and her behavior will be remarked upon, will be suspicious. But the job is done, and not near here, so it won't much matter if they're noticed. They just need to get through tonight, and hopefully tomorrow she'll be more herself. Then they can go back.

The irrational thought of never going back, of going somewhere, anywhere, with her flits through his mind, but he pushes it away. What would they do without their handlers, their missions? How long would they last in the real world? Besides, then they would be traitors. And neither of them could stand that, he thinks.

They reach the room and the key grates in the lock, but he gets it open. She walks passed him and goes to the bed, sitting down immediately. He deadbolts it behind them and moves over to the window, leaning against it, and assesses her carefully.

"Natalia," he says. Her eyes snap into focus and fix on his face. "Tell me what happened." Perhaps a direct order will be effective.

She nods slowly. "We were… I've been compromised," she admits, self-loathing in her tone.

"How?" he asks, gentler.

Her brow furrows and she stares at the ground. "The girl – she and I – we were friends. I don't… I haven't had that before. Her family was nice to me. Nice to the person sent to kill them, to hurt them. They invited me to be part of the family. To feel at home. To be safe there. It was… It was different. I… I wasn't prepared," she says haltingly. The last statement is firmer than the rest and she looks dejectedly at the pattern in the carpet at her feet. He doesn't say anything, not sure what to say, and the silence stretches on. When she finally looks up, there is a spark of anger in her green eyes. "What are you going to do about it?"

Somewhat taken aback, he frowns at her. "Nothing," he replies.

She jumps to her feet and approaches him, as warily as she ever has in the training room. "What do you mean?"

For the first time he can remember, he hopes he appears nonthreatening. "What would I do about it? I'm not your superior," he adds when she opens her mouth to speak. She shuts it again, looking perplexed.

"Then what are you?" she asks, deflated, shoulders drooping.

He chews on his lip uncertainly. "Your friend," he murmurs at last.

An odd look crosses her face, then she smirks at him. The expression brings him some relief, since it is the one he is most accustomed to seeing. "I don't have a lot of friends," she says thoughtfully.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Me neither," he admits.

She laughs, and he grins. "It's not really a part of our business, is it?" she acknowledges, shaking her head.

"No, it's not, Natalia," he agrees. She falls silent, clearly thinking of something. He waits, but she doesn't share. Finally, he clears his throat and cocks his head at her.

A faint smile comes to her lips and she shrugs. "I was just… Just wondering what to call you," she mutters.

The idea is not new, but he hasn't considered it before. They call him the Soldier, or the Asset, but mostly they don't call him anything at all. "I don't know."

"You don't?"

She seems startled by that, and he shrugs. "I don't remember much of anything before the first day I saw you."

The look of horror on her face melts into something more self-deprecating, and she lifts a hand to cup his cheek. "That was a sweet way to phrase it," she tells him.

He turns his head to press a kiss into her palm. "It's how I'll remember it," he answers.

The faintest hint of a blush warms her cheeks and she looks downward with a little smile. "Did you have lessons on how to be charming or is that just for us ladies?"

Tentatively, he puts his right hand on her waist and watches her reaction carefully. "Just you," he asserts, causing her to look back up at him.

She licks her lips self-consciously. "Yeah, well, they're not exactly my favorite lessons."

He pulls her closer and kisses her, unable to resist the temptation any longer.


Later, she is much more talkative. He thinks idly that she doesn't speak to her peers very often, so perhaps she saves everything up to talk to him. He's familiar with the feeling.

"You're very intimidating, you know. We were all scared of you when we first saw you," she's explaining.

He smiles, tracing her hair down her arm with a fingertip. With his right hand, of course; he tries not to touch her with his left. "Was I?" he asks.

Nodding emphatically, she props herself up on her elbow and looks down at him. "You're not the friendliest of instructors," she admonishes.

"Are you sure?" He lifts an eyebrow at her meaningfully.

"Well, not at the beginning. You've gotten nicer since then," she relents. She settles back, looking thoughtful.

"What is it, Natalia?" he murmurs.

She bites her lip, staring at the ceiling. "Why me?"

"Why you what?"

"There are other girls who are more beautiful, or more charming," she begins.

He lifts himself enough to kiss her, effectively silencing her. "You're the best," he says simply. "You always impress me," he adds when she looks doubtful.

"I bet you say that to all the ladies," she corrects quietly.

"Oh, Natalia, you're impossible to please," he says dramatically, eliciting a pleasant laugh from her. He does not think about when he'll be able to hear that lovely sound again. "Do you think they let me out just to train girls?" he continues.

"Out of what?"

He stills, surprised that it is not common knowledge. Should he not tell her? He wants to tell her. He's going to. It doesn't matter if she's allowed to know or not. "I am cryogenically frozen between missions," he says. The knowledge seems to upset her and he supposes he'd better not mention their other methods.

"That's awful," she opines angrily.

"I work when I am needed," he replies. "We have to make sacrifices to be the best."

She nods slowly, considering. "Did you – have you left anyone behind? Whom you miss?" she wants to know after a moment.

"I don't think so." It's not something he's thought about before.

"Will you someday leave me behind?"

Her voice is very soft, perhaps hoping not to be heard. He kisses her again, gently. "I hope not," he tells her fervently. "Get some sleep, Natalia. Tomorrow we will have to go back to base. And they can't know about – about anything."

She nods soberly, curling up against him. "I won't tell if you won't," she teases quietly.

He smiles, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Never," he promises.