Another weekend, another chapter. I've been at a pop culture/comic convention this weekend. Today my bestie and I dressed up as Sadness and Disgust from Disney Pixar's Inside Out. Including painting ourselves. You can check us out on instagram at I.C. Ananas

Chapter 36

"So, once Steph successfully leads the target out through one of the exits, it's up to the men stationed there to work quickly to secure him without alerting him to their presence before the cuffs are on his wrists," Lester explained.

We'd been sitting in the main conference room for an hour now while Lester and the guys went over every detail of a typical distraction job with a select group of Musketeers, including things to keep an eye out for, drinks I'm likely to order and how to make them virgin, effective bar patron cover, and discreet communications. We'd been over scenarios from previous distractions we'd done in Trenton and how they were handled, potential obstacles that would have to be overcome, and now Lester was moving on to the endgame.

This was the part that made me nervous. The Merry Men were tuned in to the way I worked, and had been around me in the field as well as just generally in life to be familiar with my methods and which way my instincts were likely to take me. And vice versa, to a certain degree. I didn't have that shared history with the Musketeers, and while the two groups working in tandem for this particular job eased my mind a little, there was still the uncertainty of how the Musketeers would react in any given situation.

I'd been trying to put my worries out of my mind, focusing on the details the Lester was giving, and reconciling them with my base knowledge of how distractions worked. This was informative for me as well as the Musketeers.

"Often," Lester continued. "In order to encourage the target to leave the venue with her, Steph will need to engage in physical contact: allowing an arm around her waist and the like. Steph will extract herself as quickly and seamlessly as she can as soon as they step outside, but keep in mind that this is the moment of most risk in the entire operation. Skips like this are usually highly reactive to sudden movements, and we tend to have two lots happening at once." He laid down the pen he'd been fiddling with as he spoke – an action that helped him focus – and leaned both hands on the table so he could eyeball the men sitting around it. He'd been so serious and authoritative throughout the entire meeting that I was wondering if Tank had actually sent me a life model decoy instead of the real Lester. He hadn't cracked a single joke since we entered the conference room. "If Steph is too abrupt, or the door guards are a second too early, or too late, we have a hostage situation on our hands."

A tense silence filled the room so completely that my muscles began to stiffen. I was gripping the arms of my chair so hard that my fingers were beginning to cramp. I was already acutely aware of this part of the job. I'd experienced it enough times that I was confident that with the right support I could get out of it unscathed, but I was still settling in with the Musketeers. If things went south, I didn't know their minds and methods well enough to be confident our partnership.

"How we navigate that situation if it arises, depends on a number of things," Lester said, the knowledgeable air of a school teacher about him. "Steph is very good at assessing the situation and getting out of the hold in the nick of time. She will attempt to broadcast her plan so that we can take action at the same time, but it does require thinking on your feet and knowing not only how you're most likely to react, but also how your partner is going to react."

"It's important to remember," Hank added, siting up a little straighter in his chair. "That although the main objective is to recapture the skip, ensuring the safety of all Rangeman parties involved is the top priority. If it comes down to a decision between protecting one of your own, and capturing the skip, you always protect your own."

Lester allowed a moment for Hank's statement to sink in before continuing with his blow by blow. "With the skip secured, two to three of the team haul ass to the station to get him processed, while the remaining members thank the owner of the establishment for their cooperation, and ensure that Steph is alright. This includes, but is not limited to checking for injuries, allowing an emotional debrief, and providing refined sugars in the form of donuts."

"Refined sugars?" Stitch questioned, eyeing Lester doubtfully. "You're suggesting we make it a priority to make a stop at a bakery?"

"Everyone deals with stress in different ways," Harry pointed out defensively, planting his elbows on the table on either side of the notebook where he'd been taking copious amounts of notes throughout the meeting. "Refined sugars may be frowned upon, but if it is what Steph needs to come down from a high stress situation, we shouldn't judge her for that."

"Reliance on food to calm down isn't healthy," Hawk countered.

Hal, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with an eye roll. "Steph, when you were in Trenton how often would you eat donuts and tasty cakes?" he asked.

I didn't know where he was going with this; how it could possibly help my case, but I answered anyway. "A daily basis," I confessed. "They made up about a third of my diet."

He nodded knowingly. "And how often have you eaten donuts and the like since arriving in Boston?" he questioned.

"I haven't had a single donut," I said, realising the truth as the words came out of my mouth.

"TastyKakes?"

"None," I confirmed. "They're not allowed in the building and I hardly ever leave it, so there's not a lot of opportunity for them."

"Have you consumed any baked treats since coming to Boston," Lester asked, and I got the impression that he was asking more out of curiosity than to help prove whatever point Hal was trying to make.

"I've had a few homemade brownies," I said, thinking hard about what I'd eaten up here. "And I occasionally have a slice of cake when I go to Uncle Suzan's. And…" I tried to think of anything else, but the only thing that stuck out in my mind was the time Harry had taken me to his pace for a peanut butter sandwich. "Nope, that's it."

The Merry Men were all staring at me aghast. I hadn't seen them all this shocked simultaneously since the time I'd announced that I was quitting the bounty hunting business. They'd thought me insane for giving up something I could excel at, but I was sick of being in life and death situations on a weekly basis and thought what I needed was some monotony. Turns out it was not only not what I needed, but also impossible for me to achieve. No matter which 'normal' job I tried, I'd ended up with explosions and crazy people assaulting me at every turn. I'd abandoned the endeavour after only two weeks.

"Seriously?" Hank asked.

"Seriously."

"Wow," Bones uttered. "That's amazing."

Hal cleared his throat, forcefully schooling his expression back into some semblance of a blank expression. "As I was saying," he uttered, drawing all attention back to him. "Steph used to live on sugars. She's clearly cut down on that significantly, but that doesn't mean that she won't need it after a high stress situation like this. In fact, it's likely that she'll need it more, because she doesn't have that store of sugar already there to fall back on."

As we were all processing that information – me included – Hawk stood and had a brief, whispered discussion with Lester, a serious expression on both their faces. He turned to face the rest of the table, meeting each of our gazes before speaking. "I think we've covered everything on the theoretical side of things," he said. "We'll break for the evening, but I want to see everyone in the gym at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow to run some scenarios in preparation."

The men wasted no time in clearing out of the room, the Musketeers in particular. Hal, Hank and Bones tossed a quick 'see ya later' over their shoulders as they sauntered out at the tail end of the group, and so I was left with Lester.

He grinned at me. "That went pretty well, don't you think?"

"You were very serious," I acknowledged. "And they seemed mostly receptive to the ideas you were suggesting."

"They weren't suggestions, Beautiful," he said, slinging an arm over my shoulder. "I was laying down the law. And being serious is the only way to connect with this hard asses. If you show even a hint of humour, they'll pounce on it like a weakness."

"That's not all they'll pounce on," I agreed. "What do you think of the Boston side of the team?"

Lester was quiet for a few moments as he led me out the door and down the hall to the elevator. Pressing the call button, he looked down at me and frowned, angling his body a bit so he could reach over to pull something off my shirt. Holding out his had in front of us, we both stared down at the peg. The second of which he'd found on my shirt in the four hours since he'd arrived. Shaking his head, as if to clear it of errant thoughts, he tucked the item in his pocket and finally answered my question. "They seem to be the least likely to cause major waves in an operation like this," he explained. "None of them really kicked up a stink about the donuts."

I narrowed my eyes. "You included that just to test them, didn't you?"

"I gotta make sure that you're being protected properly," Lester shrugged. "You've been up here a month, and they still haven't really cracked under the weight of your charm. I had to make sure that the men we're taking on this operation will do whatever it takes to make sure you're okay, even if it means stuffing sugary carbs down your throat."

Cringing at his phrasing, I countered, "I think I'd prefer if they didn't shove anything down my throat."

This caused the wide, mischievous grin that was Lester's trademark to spread across his face like wildfire. I was regretting my words even as the twinkle in his eye let me know how far in the gutter his mind was. "That's a real shame," Lester said, using his arm still on my shoulder to lead me back out of the elevator on the fourth floor. "Perhaps you could allow me to change your mind on the matter."

"Maybe I should call Bobby and get his opinion on the matter," I refuted.

"Bobby loves when I shove things in his mouth," Lester said easily, deliberately misunderstanding my statement. I meant that Bobby wouldn't be happy if he started shoving his things down my throat, because they're a couple. Not that Bobby would disapprove of things being shoved down throats in general.

"You know what I meant," I grumbled, stopping at my door and pulling out my key fob.

Lester still didn't drop his arm, nor did he wipe the grin off his face. "I know," he agreed. "But I like to see you blush." He pushed the door open for me, revealing the small entrance way to the apartment, and a familiar army issued duffel bag on the floor right where I usually kicked my shoes off. "By the way," he said. "This is my room allocation. No one was willing to put up with me, so I suggested I just crash on your couch. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head, stepping over the bag and into the apartment. "I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want your annoying ass in their private space for a few days," I said sarcastically.

"I'll have you know my ass is amazing," Lester said, following me in and dragging his duffel further away from the door, dumping it next to the coffee table where it was mostly out of the way.

Taking a moment to scrutinise said ass as he bent to untie the laces on his boots, I had to agree. "It is," I said.

"Hey!" Lester exclaimed, standing abruptly with his hands on his hips, a look of pure indignation about him. "I'm taken, missy. I have a boyfriend back home. You can't seduce me."

"I wasn't," I said firmly. Of course I wasn't. I knew how serious Lester and Bobby's relationship was getting. I wouldn't dare come between them. Not just because it would be weird to have that kind of relationship with one of my best friends, or because of how much damage it would do to our friendship. The thought of being with Lester made my chest tighten uncomfortably. "Lester, I would never do that to you. I promise. I wouldn't do it. I'm not a slut. I don't want you thinking that I would just- that I would-" I was starting to hyperventilate.

"Woah," Lester said, dropping his stance and closing the distance between us in three strides. He wrapped his hands securely around each of my shoulders, trying to get me to meet his eyes. "Slow down, Beautiful. Take a deep breath. I was only joking. I knew that you were just reciprocating my banter. It's okay. I know that you would never do anything to harm our friendship. Please don't cry."

But it was already too late. Big, fat, salty tears were sliding down my cheeks in waves. "I'm sorry," I sniffed, reaching up to swipe at the moisture on my face and dislodging one of his hands in the process. "I didn't mean- I just – I don't."

"Steph, it's fine," Les informed me. "I'm not worried." He paused. "Well, no. I am worried. But not about you coming on to me. I'm worried about you. Where is this coming from? We've joked around like this before and you've never reacted like this."

"I-," I stammered. "I don't know." But even as I said it, Joe's words from the food court were running through my head, loud and clear as if he were yelling them in my face. No one has that many men trailing behind her without offering them a little taste of the honey pot from time to time. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the words, but it only gave way to more. You're a slut and everyone knows it. "I'm going for a shower," I muttered, hurrying from the room.

Tense times ahead. Brace yourselves.