Time has escaped me since I came back from my holiday so I'm not entirely sure if this chapter is on time or not, but me and my friends have a deal going so we have to update today (If you're interested in Sherlock and Once Upon A Time fics, go to MadSparrow and Prisoner Of Azkaban711, they should be posting today).I apologise for the short chapter, but in my defence the last chapter was horrifically long for me to write, I might be posting more than once a week with the next few chapters but I'll see how it goes.

Chapter. 20 – 6.42 minutes before Zach got shot.

"I hit a little snag down there." Martin announced, sounding extremely tested after clearing his throat to declare himself to the vaguely lanky boy who stood at the opposite end of the average sized control room, the two of them were around the same age but the one who Martin walked into had been hunched over onto the side of the expanse of window that consumed the far wall that wasn't blocked by controls looked older and worn down in his posture. Although all that might have been down to the difference in workload the four-eyed one had, not that anybody in the Circle, in America alone, had been having an easy time in the office lately but Martin had kicked his effort to the cause into a strenuous dedication over the past year, whereas his partner in it had been pushed to be this way since he'd first really made contact with the Circle.

"Don't take it personally...It seems everyone has done the same today." Preston stood straighter and held his hands behind his back, but looking through his glasses now he didn't take his eyes away from the scene bellow him where various opposing agents he'd been signing new threatening attempts off for years and thinking through long extensive conversations about their damage and how they should calculate their next move against them for were gathered.

"Did you send those people down there? I had Gallagher Girls with me and God knows this would all be easier if we were all on the same side...so dealing with it didn't exactly do much in getting them to trust me." Martin continued to snap, he was damn well annoyed with him and reproachful of what his partner might be about to do...it was the plan after all, not that that meant anything, but he hadn't actually agreed with Martin that they shouldn't follow the kill C.A.M orders. The tired indifference of Preston's demeanor was making Martin uncomfortable to say the least.

"Okay." Preston breathed, he couldn't quite see how Martin's dealing with whatever situation he was worried over was his fault, bellow them some of the best spies in the world were slumping uselessly amongst a bunch of Circle agents that had never seen who they answered to; more of them dragged the Gallagher Girls Martin had been accompanying into the room all the excitement seemed to be spiraling out inside. Preston promptly looked away from them; attempting to leave the horrified spitfire in the office he'd almost spilt blood in where it had happened. "How exactly is the way you reacted my fault?"

"You're avoiding the question." Martin pushed deadly. Preston turned, slouching, to face Martin and away from the rather pressing situation coming through the high window from bellow, now with his hands in his pockets.

"I did order those agents down there, Martin, because despite your priorities that you can't seem to contemplate past I do actually have responsibilities here."

"But I thought we agreed -!" Martin tried to exclaim, stepping forward impatiently, Preston only interrupted with disagreement but as calmly and as quietly as he always did.

"What exactly do you expect me to do?" Martin only looked at him ludicrously for a moment before giving out to a scoff that Preston didn't even seem to acknowledge.

"Well, not doing exactly what is least helpful would be a good place to start." Martin moved forward so they were equal by the window, strangely more comfortable around Preston this close up, his tiredness seemed to radiate from him – however begrudgingly so – and although Martin was convinced he was imagining things it was easy to pretend there was a softness in his partners eyes when he was barely a foot away from him.

"I do have an organisation to run, Martin." Preston responded, somehow managing to calm Martin's tone when it was his turn to speak next. "I've got to keep up appearances."

"So have you just been humoring me for these past few months? Aren't we on the same boat anymore?"

"Oh we never were Martin, when did I ever give you the impression?" Preston scoffed as if his notion had been completely preposterous but he straightened again, strangely sounding his next point to be a complete change of subject. "You're a good spy, Martin, but a sucker for hope."

"We're not spies though are we? We're freaking terrorists." Martin countered deadly with a sickness in his stomach at the fact; Preston tilted his head a little and raised his eyebrows to acknowledge the other had a point.

"I'm sorry but I'm not on the same boat as you, I can't be, I'm more following behind on a speedboat with my own priorities." Preston was looking back through the great pane of glass, or was for a second before he picked at the peeling paint bellow it as he talked.

"You're own priorities?" Martin asked with a gut full of trepidation, a lump in his throat from the sudden dread of Preston's monotone remark.

"This is a petty business, and for some reason we are expected to fight to stay in it," Preston looked back through the window, but Martin couldn't tell what he was looking at, strangely worried he might have been caught trying to figure it out when Preston glanced back. "It's also secretive, so accept that what I just said is all you're getting about it." Preston flicked away the flakes of paint from his hands and went back to acting like the window didn't exist after managing to tear his focus away.

"It can be a lonely business too." Martin muttered under his breath without thinking. Preston had heard him which was unsettling for a second even if anger wasn't clearly shown on his face; his expression was completely closed off and his eyes didn't seem to look past his glasses which meant he was feeling emotions and hiding them like Martin had seen him evolve into, so he wasn't particularly relieved at his lack of reaction to his comment. "Please don't kill Cammie, Preston, just please don't kill her."

"Relax, I don't have any intention of killing her." Preston remarked, turning completely away from the window now and leaning against it, his rolled up shirt sleeves fell a little towards his elbow. Martin did relax, his heart fell back to a relatively normal pace from the tango it had been thumping since Preston had announced his detachment from the aim of what the two of them were trying to achieve. "I don't have any interest in her at all. I'd get down there if I were you, the intruders aren't stupid, they'll have people coming – we need to terminate this base with all the capable agents we have left. We wouldn't want either side accusing you of lack of loyalty would we?"

Martin supposed Preston was right, and took a step away and back towards helping no one in particular where a fight was spurring down bellow. Preston rolled his sleeves back up and shuffled his feet slightly, it was unnerving for Martin to look at someone so casual during the situation at hand.

"Being a double agent is hard work, Martin, I've studied one for a long time...It's going to be dangerous." Preston had stopped looking at him and yet Martin felt slightly as if he was being threatened, that or Preston was talking about something else. The two had known each other for quite a long time now, and yet Martin felt like he knew Preston less than he had at the beginning, much less what half of his side of this conversation had meant in the long run of the mission their whole world was stuck in and he definitely didn't trust him.

"Understood...sir." Martin turned finally to leave, wanting nothing more but to burn the circle even if it meant him a long with it because he wasn't sure this sickness of himself in context to it would go away if he did survive but he had to be patient; he added the title with a dare of pretension, vague maliciousness in the sarcasm of the word which he probably wouldn't have dared if he weren't already leaving but it only left Preston to sigh, crack his neck and knuckles and get back to work until a fired shot rang out for him to decide it was time.

Thoughts for the loyalties of our little circular friends? What even are Preston's? I just don't make anything simple do I? Please Follow, Favourite, Review...all that jazz.