I have been working mad overtime the passed week or so to get Christmas shopping and baking done and have been working on this in the form of tiny snippets at a time, waiting for my oven timer to go off. (There was also a day at work that I was editing while trying to make salsas at work, but all that did was get pineapple and jalapeno all over my notebook.) I don't particularly like this bit, but it is necessary. However, my plan is to have a little part duex written, typed and delivered at some point Christmas Eve or Day. And, because I'm lovely, it will quite possibly be smutty.

I must dedicate this to the lovely readers, people who favorite/follow and review. And especially, to Miss Kassandra Black for reminding me why I write with her lovely reviews. If it were physically possible, there would be warm, yummy brownies waiting for you in your inbox.

If Ben was sure of one thing, it was his ability as a sharpshooter. In the few hours since the sun had set, he had picked his way towards the castle with half the ammunition another would need to fell the same number of soldiers as him. He hadn't, however, expected one of Logan's elite to be in his same league. The bullet deeply buried in his right bicep would attest to the fact. Ben shot him twice, left handed, out of spite.

"Finn!" Walter boomed, running to his friend. "Balls! I told you not to go and get yourself shot!"

The blonde scoffed. "Sorry to disobey a direct order." Looking around in the brief moment of reprieve, a flash of panic arose. "Where's Abigail?"

The old soldier nodded to the castle. "I saw her make her way to her mother's old room at the top of the grand staircase. I had to stay and cover the way. She's fine, Finn! Protocol is to fan out and take out as many as you can. Logan is fool enough to think he can protect himself. Ben!"

He was already running, ignoring the pain ebbing in his arm, making his way to the Princess. Panting and heaving, Ben took the stairs two at a time, as fast as his legs would carry him. He only stopped to take an occasional shot at any spotted members of the royal guard. Finally reaching the top of the staircase, he cocked his rifle and aimed. Taking only a moment to catch his breath, he approached the grandiose oak doors.

Ben was expecting several things when he kicked in the door. Blood stained carpets and tapestries, shouting, angry words, bullet holes and possibly getting shot again. Lots of violent imagery, he was prepared for. Abigail and Logan, sipping tea on a settee? Not so much.

The princess smiled behind her teacup, watching as the soldier lowered his rifle, confusion written over his face.

"One of yours, I presume?" Logan sneered. "Really, Abigail? Ruffians?"

Motioning for her companion to sit next to her, she placed the delicate porcelain on the table in front of her. "I should like you to meet my captain, Benjamin Finn. Benjamin, my brother Logan."

Dumbfounded as he was, Ben stood firm before the pair. "Princess, I believe the time for niceties has passed. Logan, I'll be taking you to the dungeons now."

Cold eyes rolled. "Is this necessary, Sister?"

A growl ripped from Ben's throat as his rifle took its earlier position. "Not only is this necessary, but this," he waved his rifle, "isn't a question. Up!"

"Do as he says, Brother," Abigail's voice was soft. "When you killed the good Captain Swift, you gave him reason to find any excuse to kill you. Should you refuse to follow him, it will be seen as treason and a threat against the Crown."

Logan eyed his sister indignantly, but her cool demeanor confirmed her words. "To think I had thought you were content to live comfortably in the castle. Had I known you wished for grandeur-"

"I left dreams of contentment on the floor with Elliot's body. I wished to marry him and live peacefully. I wished for those who reside in Albion to prosper and live well. It was become clear that these wishes will never come to fruition as long as you remain king. Now, if you would follow Captain Finn."

Ben's gun remained level with the fallen king's head, his finger hovering above the trigger. Trained on Logan, he followed him closely. "I'll return shortly, Princess. Walter is finishing with the last of the royal guard as we speak. There appear to be fewer casualties than we expected. Logan, it seems you had more rats than you thought." The barrel nudged the back of his head, urging him forward.

"I shall wait for your return in the war room," Abigail agreed. "If he should cause any problems…"

"I'll see to it he doesn't," Ben replied smoothly.

The men started down the long corridor toward the castle's atrium, silent save the echo of boots on the marble tiled floors. Even with the circumstances as they were, Logan's posture was flawless, his steps even and with purpose.

Ben found himself silently wishing that was just enough of a reason to kill him. The grout was dark enough to hide the blood stains…

"Tell me, Benjamin, when did you fall for her?"

Ben's eyes narrowed and he gripped his rifle tighter. "I beg your pardon."

"Abigail. I should think you were smart enough to know you weren't very good at hiding your emotion-"

He pressed the rifle to the back of his prisoner's head, the gun already cocked. "You won't get another warning, dolt."

"I should think killing me over a simple question wouldn't be taken kindly-"

The soldier cracked the butt of the rifle to the crown of Logan's head, rendering him unconscious. He had wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger. He had, in the secrecy of his own mind, dreamt of killing Logan. If it hadn't been for Abigail, he was sure to have fixated on the idea. But he knew if he pulled the trigger, she would always think of him as the man that killed her only remaining family on an impulse. He couldn't let himself be goaded into it. However, had he truly thought things through, he now realized he should have waited to strike him when they were closer to the dungeon.