I know that it's been so long since an update for this fic, and I know this isn't a long enough chapter to compensate for the wait, but trust me that this fic is still going and will still be updated. Please let me know what you think – any and all reviews are appreciated. And I do apologize for even more copious amounts of angst in this not-so-thrilling chapter, but I do hope you enjoy it nevertheless!

Chapter Five – Overwrought Company

While Mary was off doing her 'errand,' Sybil took some time to do a little research on their target. As the point woman of the team, it was her job to research as much as she could about their target, and while 'research' often included some hacking, a Google search was where she usually started. And there was no shortage of information on the Internet about Rose MacClare, and even more about the Flintshire conglomerate.

It was important for extractors to know all they could about the mark: who they were as a person, how they acted when seen by the public and by people they knew, their line of work. A broad picture could be gained just by spending a few hours on the Internet, but when a more detailed picture was needed – and usually it was – then emails, private meetings, interactions with work colleagues all needed to be infiltrated. Rumor and media speculation weren't nearly enough to work with. Close observation of a person was needed to craft the best possible scenario for extraction and for forgeries when it was needed.

The official website for the Flintshire conglomerate presented itself as a company dedicated to 'working towards a better future' – a slogan which Sybil rolled her eyes at. It claimed its mission was to make energy accessible to all corners of the globe, particularly in third-world countries, as well as helping the agricultural economy on the Indian subcontinent. There was a photo gallery showing men in button-up shirts with rolled-up sleeves, squinting in the sunlight and surrounded by people from India or whatever country they were in. Sybil wasn't at all averse to helping people in need or aiding economies in third-world countries, but the way Flintshire presented itself as some great do-good company that was somehow going to eradicate poverty seemed like a false facade. If what Strallan claimed was at all correct – that their ambition was more than charity

Also on the website were measures of the company's vast wealth – the actual numbers stunned Sybil – and there was a list of companies Flintshire had acquired in the past, including the Duneagle company. That merger had been the subject of much controversy: despite being a small company, Duneagle had always been staunchly independent, and so many newspapers suspected foul play when Flintshire announced it was acquiring Duneagle suddenly. An investigation hadn't revealed much, but Sybil had to admit the whole thing smelled fishy.

Sybil then searched for information specifically about Rose MacClare. The more sympathetic news articles expressed doubt at her ability to manage such a large company, and the most scathing reviews condemned her as a spoiled bimbo who wasn't at all fit to carry on her family's legacy. Her days at university seemed to involve more dancing and dates than studying for her economics and business degree. In interviews about her role as heir to the company, Miss MacClare was often flippant about the company and her own family. To say she had even a shred of interest in running the company was a gross overstatement.

However, statements from the current head of Flintshire, Hugh MacClare, only tried to hide the fact that next head of the conglomerate was ill-prepared to take the reins. He kept asserting such things as, "Rose MacClare is dedicated to upholding the mission of Flintshire," and "She has plenty of potential, and I am certain you will see it when she takes over." Of course, anybody could see those statements were only for the sake of keeping up the image of Flintshire as a well-oiled machine, and it was clear that there was a real fear that it was soon to be run by an unprepared and extremely disinterested woman.

Even though she had broad picture of the company and of Rose MacClare, it wasn't enough information to form a plan of action with just yet. Sybil knew someone would have to get close to the company, to Rose MacClare and other important figures. That would also likely be her job; she had applied as an intern at Merton Banking in order to observe Richard Grey and the workings of the company – which of course had also resulted in her getting too close for comfort to Larry Grey. That was typically the job of the forger, as someone who took on the likeness of a person close to the mark, but since they had no forger anymore, it was now Sybil's job. As if she didn't have so much else to work with.

She was inside the warehouse Mary had found in the middle of Paris for them to use as their workshop. It appeared to be some sort of old stationary or print shop, a couple of the bigger machines still there and sitting in dust, but there were deck chairs and tables sitting on the wilted rooftop garden, which Sybil had pulled down the stairs to put inside. There was plenty of open space on the first floor, so she set the deck chairs and tables there, plugged in the modem, and started the research on her laptop. Mary, meanwhile, was off somewhere doing something which she had refused to disclose to Sybil, but Sybil had a good idea of where she was going.

Whether or not she would be successful remained to be seen.

Before she had left on her 'mystery' errand, Mary told Sybil to be careful of anyone who might be looking for them – the police, Foyle or Grey's henchmen, RAID – anyone who might try to break into the workshop. Even though the probability of them being hunted in Paris should have been small, Mary was apparently still worried that Tony Foyle and Larry Grey would still be on their tail. She had handed Sybil a handgun, saying to her "just in case," and left the warehouse before Sybil could inquire where in the world she had gotten a handgun. Or tell Mary that a single handgun wouldn't be much help to her if RAID decided to come rappelling through the windows with machine guns.

But Sybil still kept the handgun within arm's reach while she worked. So when she heard the doors behind her open, she whipped her head around, hand hovering over the gun, calling out, "Who's there?" even as she saw who was coming through the door.

"Relax Sybil, it's just me," Mary said as she strode in, obviously seeing what Sybil's hand was hovering over.

Sybil let her hand drop into her lap, standing up from her chair. "You could be an officer in disguise," she said sardonically.

She picked up the notepad on which she had been writing the information she had found online, intending to hand it right to Mary. But when she saw who had followed Mary inside she blinked in shock, dropped the notepad, and squealed aloud, "Matthew!"

Matthew, who had been glancing around the workshop in curiosity, barely had time to react as Sybil ran to him and practically flung herself at him. He caught her as he stumbled backwards, just barely regaining his balance in time, but he didn't seem to mind that Sybil had nearly knocked him over. He was smiling, obviously happy to see her – and Mary noticed.

He hadn't smiled at all before, she realized, not with her. He clearly hadn't been angry or disappointed to see her, but there had barely been even a hint of a smile the entire time they had been sitting together at the café. Mary hadn't expected him to be embracing her like he was doing with Sybil now, and she knew beforehand that Matthew would be glad to see Sybil – Matthew had almost been like the brother she never had.

But it still hurt to see him smiling with Sybil as though nothing had changed. Apparently he was only a stranger to Mary.

She turned her back to Matthew and Sybil and picked up the notepad Sybil had dropped on the floor. "Are these all the notes you made?" she asked, flipping between pages. There was plenty of comprehensive information on Rose MacClare and Flintshire, but it was only stuff that one might find on a wiki page, very little that could help them form a plan of action.

Sybil walked back over to Mary, wrenching the notepad back. "All I could do without hacking into somebody's email."

"I know, I know," Mary sighed. "But did you find anything specifically on Rose – what she's done for the company, what her relations are—"

"Flintshire really likes keeping a lid on anything she does, if she has done anything," Sybil explained. "It's like what Strallan said, she's really not interested in being involved. She's not on the board, she's never attended any expos or big meetings, and she's only really talked about when she gets into trouble."

Mary lifted an eyebrow. "What sort of trouble?"

"Not drugs or anything really bad, at least as far as I can tell. She goes to clubs a lot, dances and drinks and dates guys—"

"So everything that a normal person does," Mary remarked.

"And everything that the heir to the world's fastest growing conglomerate isn't supposed to do," Sybil added. "I think it's a little harsh, the way that the media treat her. I think she just wants to have a bit of fun."

Mary nodded, scanning over Sybil's notes again. "Did you find anything specific on how she sees the company? I know Strallan said she doesn't have much interest."

"I don't think she has any, at all," Sybil said. "In a couple of interviews she says she just doesn't really care, she doesn't want to think about the company at all, even though she might inherit it soon. And if she keeps on not caring about the company when she takes control, people are afraid it's going to stall the company's growth."

"Aren't there other people that can call the shots within the company?" Mary asked.

"Sure, but the MacClare family is the face of Flintshire, they're the ones at the top. If Rose doesn't act like a good CEO, the entire company is going to look bad to the public, and they might lose a lot of what they've gained over the past few years. At least, that's what the papers say will happen."

"Right," Mary said absently, still looking at the notepad. "So the worry for Flintshire is that Rose is going to give the company bad PR, unless Rose actually starts taking an interest in the running of things. But our job is to give her incentive to dissolve the conglomerate, which is also going to be really bad news for them."

Sybil smirked. "So either way, they're screwed."

"You seem oddly pleased about it," Matthew said, finally speaking up. He was standing off to the side, as though unsure of what he should be doing, or if he should even be there.

With a shrug, Sybil said, "They aren't exactly the most honest company, and like what Strallan said, them growing in power isn't going to do much good. At the rate they're growing, a lot of newspapers think they'll be controlling government policy within the next three years."

"Sybil, please don't turn into an anti-conglomerate activist now," Mary sighed, turning back to the computer and opening up a new window.

"I'm an anti-corruption activist, actually," Sybil rebuked in a half-sardonic tone.

"Is Flintshire corrupt?" Matthew asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they were accused of it," Sybil said. "But as far as I know, they're just extremely unregulated – which sometimes can be the same thing as corrupt."

"Sybil, we are not going to get involved in whether or not Flintshire is corrupt. They could be a bloody charity and we'd still have to do the job," Mary dismissed.

Sybil frowned, adding, "But it would feel a lot worse if we were taking down a charity, though. You have to agree."

Except for a barely audible groan, Mary didn't answer. Sybil peered at what was on the computer monitor that Mary was so focused on. "Is this really the time to be checking your email?"

"I'm not checking my email, I'm accessing the encrypted document Anthony Strallan sent us with all his contact information," Mary explained. The webpage she was at displayed her email inbox, but when she clicked on a file the decryption program on the computer immediately started running. "I need Strallan's phone number or his email address, whichever one he'll answer to sooner."

"What for?"

"I need a private plane to Boston," Mary muttered, eyes still locked onto the screen as the decryption program continued to run.

Sybil looked to Matthew, but obviously he was just as perplexed as she. Mary hadn't mentioned any plans to go travelling again; they had just gotten into Paris after all. Typical of Mary to not tell people important things.

"Boston? Why are you going to … ?" Sybil began asking, but it quickly dawned on her and she gasped. "You're not—!"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Mary interrupted. "But before you ask, no, you are not coming with me."

Sybil's face fell in an instant, turning cross a second later. "Mary, that's not fair—"

"You need to stay here and bring Matthew up to speed, get him settled in again," Mary cut in again. "I need to go to Boston."

"Sorry, but what's in Boston?" Matthew asked quietly.

Mary raised her eyebrows quickly, eyes darting between Sybil and Matthew. Sybil was staring hard at her, arms crossed and fingers drumming her sleeve like a teacher expecting a student to admit to some wrongdoing. Matthew was also looking at her, though not so intently.

"Tom Branson's in Boston," Mary explained, "and for this job we're going to need a forger who know's what he's doing."

Now Matthew's eyebrows shot up with surprise. "Tom? He's coming back too?"

"If he agrees to it, yes," Mary shrugged. "But I'm not all that certain he will."

Matthew nodded glumly, remembering the last time any of them had seen Tom Branson. It had not been a happy parting of ways, especially for Sybil. She had been extremely upset when Tom practically fled as soon as the team heard of their imminent arrests. All he had told her was that he'd be going to Boston – he had family there – but he hadn't given them an address, or even a phone number or email address. Initially that had been for security purposes, in case someone tried to trace him and arrest him in Boston, but even when things settled down no one had heard a word from him, not even Sybil.

"All I know is that he should be in Boston," Mary went on after a pause. "Unless he's gone somewhere else, it shouldn't be too hard to trace him."

"What if he has gone somewhere else?" Matthew asked.

"Then we have no choice but to find someone else to train. But we don't have that kind of time, and then there's the issue of liability …"

"So either we convince Tom to come back or the whole job is bust," Sybil presumed. "But if Mary goes, that will probably happen."

Mary's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Mary, you do realize that you've probably got a price on your head," said Sybil. "We were lucky not to be caught in Berlin, and if Strallan hadn't let us fly here in his own plane we might have very well been arrested at the airport otherwise." She seemed exasperated that Mary needed that explained. "Don't you think that if you try to fly to Boston you might be arrested? Police cars on the tarmac? Extradition agents waiting at customs?"

"Yes, I realize that, that's why I was going to contact Strallan and see if he can't get me a private plane. I'm not an idiot."

Sybil continued nevertheless. "And even if somehow you aren't arrested at the gate, Foyle or Grey might pick something up and try to capture you in Boston? You and Tom?"

"They won't arrest Tom, they don't know who he is," Mary attempted to assure Sybil. "Look, it's a risk I need to take for the sake of the job."

"Isn't that too big of a risk?" Matthew piped up. "Even if you do get a private plane, do you think that this Furle or whomever will try to track you?"

"Foyle, and no, I don't know if I'm going to be tracked or they've issued my arrest warrant in Boston," Mary explained. "But again, it's a risk that I'm just going to have to take."

"And if you do get arrested, then where will we be?" Sybil pointed out with a warning in her tone. "We won't have you, our extractor, and then we might not get our forger. If anyone goes, it should be me or even Matthew."

Mary shook her head. "Matthew needs to stay here and get used to the dream-sharing process again."

"Alright, then I'll go to Boston," Sybil said firmly.

"I think Sybil's right, she should go," Matthew put in. "Sounds to me like, that way, it involves the least amount of risk."

Sybil shot Mary a look as if to tell her, You know he's right. "Exactly."

And Mary knew that Matthew was right. She had known that it would be safer to let Sybil go in her place even when she realized that they would need to find Branson in Boston. Sybil might still be at risk for arrest, but she could slip past the authorities better than Mary could. It was Mary's own head that Foyle and Grey truly wanted. And Sybil was certainly the better candidate for convincing Branson to return to the team; they had had a good relationship within the team.

Perhaps a little too good.

But if Sybil went to Boston, Mary would be left alone with Matthew. Avoiding Matthew within the workshop would be impossible: it would be her duty to reintegrate him into dream-sharing, get him started on designing the levels for the dream, guide him through every little detail about the job … she be within sight of him for nearly every hour of the day.

And if she couldn't physically avoid him, avoiding the past would prove difficult. Mary wasn't ready to face the past, even though she knew she needed absolution. What if Matthew tried to bring it up at some point? Even if he didn't, the past would still be hanging over them, waiting to be mentioned out of the blue … and Mary wasn't ready for that moment.

Then again, she didn't have much of a choice: Matthew was right, it would be far safer to have Sybil to travel in her place. She knew they needed an expert forger and thief, and Tom was the best one they were going to get on short notice.

She exhaled tiredly as she said to Sybil, knowing exactly how her sister would react, "So I guess you're fine with going to Boston?"

Sybil's sudden, sharp gasp was one of girlish excitement. "Of course I am!" she exclaimed. "How soon can I get a flight? Do you think I'll need a fake passport?"

Mary began rubbing her eyes as she said, "God, Sybil, I don't know. The contact info is right there, you can email Strallan yourself. Sort out the details between the two of you."

"As soon as that ancient program finishes decrypting that file I will," Sybil said. She let out another little squeak of excitement, at which Mary rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Sybil," she muttered. "You're not much better than a teenager."

"Well, forgive me for being happy about seeing a friend again," Sybil shot back.

A friend, Mary thought. That couldn't be what Sybil really saw Tom as.

She looked away, catching sight of Matthew chuckling softly. "What's so funny?" she inquired in too snappish a tone.

The amusement drained from Matthew's face in an instant. "Nothing, I … nothing," he murmured.

Mary immediately regretted being so snappish; Matthew didn't deserve her hostility. He probably just found it amusing that Sybil was practically jumping with joy. Mary, however, didn't find it half as droll as he did. Sybil's excitement concerned her; this was a trip that was strictly for business … and she was afraid that Sybil wouldn't treat it as such.

She wasn't oblivious to her surroundings, even when wrapped up in work. She had sometimes caught a split-second look at Tom and Sybil, standing somewhere together, either in reality or the dream world … and Mary would catch Tom steal a glance at Sybil as she worked, and Sybil would flash a quick smile at Tom whenever their eyes met. She recognized Tom even when he was disguised, and once in a while Mary woul see them touch … Tom's fingers lightly brushing Sybil's arm, Sybil squeezing Tom's hand as if to make sure he was still there.

There were plenty of other signs too, both conspicuous and subtle ones, and while those signs pointed to the obvious, Mary didn't want to inquire into her suspicions further. Not because she want to give Tom and Sybil privacy, but because she wanted to firmly ignore what she had been seeing. She reckoned the other people on the team noticed it as well, but they never outright asked Sybil or Tom if … something was going on. It was a secret everyone knew about, never spoke of.

Mary didn't approve of a romance between two people on the team, and she knew if she caught Tom and Sybil snogging anywhere she'd put a stop to it, but that occasion had never come. She realized that Sybil had been heartbroken when Tom had left with hardly a trace, but time appeared to have eased the pain, and Sybil hardly spoke of Tom thereafter. Only now, with Tom likely to return to the team, was Mary concerned there would be a rekindling of romance.

"I imagine you and Branson will be happy to see each other," said Matthew to Sybil.

"Of course," Sybil answered, turning her head to him. "Well, I hope he'll be happy to see me. It's been a while since … since I've even heard him."

Mary could feel Sybil shooting a rigid glare at her back, but she didn't say anything back. Naturally Sybil accused Mary of sending Tom away, but to Mary, Tom had walked away of his own accord, for his own security. It was his choice to leave … somewhat. Mary had advised him, quite strongly, that he ought to leave as soon as possible when trouble started brewing. For that, Mary suspected Sybil had never totally forgiven her.

"Haven't you ever phoned him, or tried to find him at all?" Matthew asked.

"I did try, a long time ago," Sybil admitted.

"And he never called or emailed you?"

"Obviously not," Sybil muttered.

The computer pinged; the decryption program had completed. Sybil immediately opened the file. "Okay, I'm going to go and try him on his mobile first, that'll be quicker than an email. I'm going out to get some food too, I'm starving."

She went to the door, disposable mobile in hand. As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, Matthew started pacing the floor again.

"Sounds like things are going well already," he said dryly.

Mary arched an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you …" Matthew faltered for a moment, his brow furrowing. He was always careful about trying to choose the right words. "You and Sybil usually seemed to get along alright. Better than you and Edith did, at least. I just noticed that things seemed a little … tense?"

"Do they?" Mary was quick to reply. But this time she couldn't fake a smile and pretend that things were in fact alright or that she never noticed anything. It was plain to Matthew, and there was no way she could convince him otherwise.

"It's a bit hard to ignore. And I always saw Sybil as the mediator of the team. Always tried to keep everyone from fighting."

He was right about Sybil; the baby of the family, yet she was forever the one who tried to keep Mary and Edith from clawing each others eyes out, even as children. But even Sybil had her limits, and when she got snappish it was a little frightening. If she ended up starting a real quarrel with someone – which might happen soon with Mary – it could be disastrous, and Mary couldn't afford to have Sybil storm out like Edith had done in Berlin.

"It just gets claustrophobic sometimes," Mary sighed. "Since Edith's not here she's the only person I can argue with."

"Well if you're going to argue with someone, you might as well argue with me." Matthew spoke in an almost cheeky tone, and Mary could only blink in response. "Better than fighting with your family," he added.

"Like you know about fighting with family," Mary retorted. "You don't have any siblings, and I wouldn't fight with your mother unless I wanted to have my throat torn out."

Matthew chuckled, even though Mary hadn't been attempting to sound funny. "You're right about that, but … when I was working with team before, I always thought of Edith and Sybil like sisters. And Tom was a bit like a brother."

"Did you?" Mary murmured. She stifled the urge to ask, "And what about me?" She knew well how he thought of her – or used to.

Matthew nodded. "But I doubt it will feel exactly the same as it did before," he said, running a hand through his hair. "A lot's changed."

"Of course it has. What, did you think nothing has changed in two years? Like it would be going back in time?" Mary snapped suddenly. How could he be talking about the past with her like this, as if she had forgotten the mess the both of them had gotten into? Surely he wouldn't forget it – it was as much his fault as it was hers. "Matthew, this isn't going to be like before. You're here to do your job so we can at least go back to England, and that'll be it."

Matthew stared at her, with an expression of both disheartenment and resentment. He looked quite ready to jump down her throat or storm out of the warehouse. But he didn't do either of those things, and he simply turned away and started walking towards the door. Mary felt a pang in her heart, but her irritability outweighed any regret she had about snapping at him.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

"I'm going home," he said, sounding like a defeated soldier. "I'll be back tomorrow, as early as I can. Unless you have something for me to do—?"

"There's nothing. So just … just go home."

"Right then." Matthew shuffled out without another word, closing the door and leaving Mary alone in the warehouse. The sound of the door closing left an echo ringing through the room, and when it faded there was absolute silence.

Anger was coursing through Mary like a flooding river, but she couldn't tell if it was thanks to Matthew or herself. She felt her hands shaking and hot tears welling up in her eyes. Without thinking, she grabbed the computer and smashed it onto the floor. She heard something inside it crack, and she tossed it away from her.

I hate him! I hate him so much! God, I wish I never met him!

Crumpling to the cold stone floor, she curled up into a ball and sobbed.

When Sybil returned to the warehouse she found it locked up and all the lights inside shut off. She assumed Mary was back at the studio flat they were renting and decided to go back there too, texting Mary on her way to the Métro station.

U at the flat?

She got the reply just before the train arrived.

Yes. Have a headache.

Sybil was half-certain Mary was lying about the headache, though when she opened the door to the flat she saw Mary curled up on the sofa-bed with her face partially covered by the duvet.

"You alright?" Sybil asked softly.

Mary grumbled in reply. Her eyes were shut but she was clearly awake.

"I got some food," Sybil said, walking into the tiny kitchen. "It was an absolute nightmare having to ask where the cereal was. I think I kept saying something else because the store clerk kept giving me a weird face. "

"You never did study French seriously," Mary mumbled. "Granny was quite disappointed in you."

"Mary, our teacher was so horrid. She drilled us on verb conjugations like a military general. Are you hungry at all?"

"Just leave me alone, thank you."

Sybil poked her head back into the main room, ignoring Mary's demand. "I got through to Sir Anthony Strallan."

"Hmm."

"He picked up fairly quickly. I asked him about the private plane, and I only had to do a little explaining to convince him. He said he'd arrange for a plane to be ready by tonight, at an airfield near de Gaulle Airport."

"Hmm."

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," Sybil went on. "I'll fetch Tom and we'll both be back in a few days. You can count on me, Mary."

She went back into the kitchen and began putting the groceries away. "Did Matthew stay long?"

The pillow rustled as Mary shook her head. "He went home a few minutes after you left. I just stayed behind to do some work."

"How did you two get on after I left?"

It probably wasn't as innocent a question as Sybil had intended, and in any case Mary groaned in annoyance. "Sybil, I thought I told you to leave me alone."

"Alright, alright. I was just asking. Are you sure you don't need anything? I can go out and get some aspirin."

"Sybil, please …"

"Fine. Just sleep then. There's food in the kitchen when you want it."

Sybil stayed silent, and when she glanced at Mary a few minutes later she saw Mary fast asleep. She made herself some onion soup and ham and cheese on a baguette as she read a battered medical textbook. She would have done some more research on the computer, but it was nowhere to be found, and she didn't want to incite Mary's wrath by waking her up to ask about it. At least Mary had honored their agreement to sleep on the sofa-bed tonight; since there was only one queen-size bed in the flat they decided they'd swap between the bed and the sofa every night, since Mary would rather sleep on the roof than share a bed with Sybil.

It was almost eleven when Mary woke up, just as Sybil finished packing her suitcase. She lifted herself off the pillow, hair in a tangle, grumbling as she rolled off the sofa-bed and trudged to the bathroom. She emerged with combed hair and a damp face, watching Sybil roll her suitcase near the door.

"That for tomorrow?" she asked groggily.

"No, it's donations for the elves," Sybil snorted. "Of course it's for tomorrow, I'm leaving at six for the airfield."

"Right." Mary looked around, still in a half-asleep stupor. "I need something to eat, then I'm going back to sleep. I have to get to the warehouse early tomorrow."

"Does your head still hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"And where's the computer, by the way? Don't tell me you left it at the warehouse."

"It fell out of the bag in the Métro station and broke. So we need a new one."

"Brilliant," Sybil muttered as she climbed into bed. "Did the train run over the hard drive too?"

"Everything's backed up online, so nothing's lost." Mary opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Orangina.

"Do you need me to do anything while I'm gone?" Sybil asked. "More research?"

Mary shook her head as she took a swig of her drink. "Unless you happen to bump into Edith and convince her to come back too, there isn't anything you need to do."

"Alright. I'm going to sleep now. Good night."

Sybil was about to turn off the lamp by the bed and settle down when Mary spoke again.

"Just … don't get distracted. You need to get to Boston and bring Branson back as quickly as you can. That's all."

"I know that's what I have to do, and I will do it," Sybil insisted. "I won't be gone more than a couple of days. I promise."

"You'd better," Mary mumbled, loud enough for Sybil to hear and then roll her eyes at.

"Honestly Mary, I think I should be more concerned about being civil to Matthew for the next couple of days."

Mary gaped. "What do you mean by that?"

Sybil simply replied, "Good night." She turned off the lamp and wrapped the blankets around herself, ending all conversation for the night.

Mary's mouth hung open for a few seconds before scoffing and opening the cupboards, surveying what Sybil had bought. She wasn't all that hungry, but she had a bit of the leftover soup sitting on the stove, then climbed back onto the sofa-bed. She still felt incredibly groggy and was now actually trying to ignore a small ache above her brow, but she lay awake for a long time despite her weariness. It was the anxiety of waking up tomorrow and going back to the warehouse, seeing Matthew again and having to talk to and work with him, that kept her tossing and turning for a good hour.

Cursing herself for even considering bringing Matthew back into the team, Mary rolled over on her stomach, the springs of the sofa-bed creaking. How in God's name was she going to face the next few days alone with no one but Matthew? She would have borne Edith's company far better, or literally the company of anybody but Matthew. They had had their spat only a few minutes after Sybil left them alone, so how on earth were they going to deal with each other for the next few days. There was work to be done, and they couldn't avoid each other until Sybil got back with Tom.

As long as they never spoke of what happened in the past, perhaps she could bear it. As long as she kept her distance with him emotionally and he did the same, perhaps they would survive each other.

I know, a lot of angst and not enough action – but stick around for the next chapter and I know there will be some action scenes to come. Believe me, I don't want to see my own OTP arguing and being angsty, but for story purposes it's there.