5 Times Mat & Quentan Never Met: 4/5
This is by far my favorite of the lot. Although it deviates somewhat from the original idea, which was "Mat and Quentan meet when she kills him." Which I may yet write at some point, because I'm twisted like that. Or maybe this pairing is twisted like that. Hard to say, really, but it's still a whole lot of fun.
I'm a day off now, on account of the fact that I went to see PotC:AWE with none other than aestusargenteus and her family and a whole bunch of seventeen-year-olds with short attention spans yesterday instead of writing. I got to spar with her brother and scare the hell out of her neighbors. It was great. I also got to witness the miracle that is Baked Alaska, which remains all kinds of fascinating. An ice cream cake you bake. All kinds of neat. I'd try to make it myself, but I suck at making meringue. The lack of a decent mixer may have something to do with that, although as soon as I have a paying job and a settled place to stay, you can bet that'll be the first thing I buy.
Well, okay, the third. The first thing I buy will be lots of bookshelves, and the second will be lots of stands for my weaponry. Then I'll buy a mixer, but I am getting rather sidetracked. I believe I promised you a story. And, hey, this one's longer, as an apology for the delay.
Five Times Mat and Quentan Never Met:4/5
Travis Murdoch is a low-maintenance background kind of guy. Unfortunately, his protege is the FBPSI's whiz kid, and they only get sent out on the really high-profile cases. Arresting coven leader Quentan Hawthorne definitely qualifies. [Travis's POV.]
Title: Play by the Rules
'Verse: Silver Midnight, albeit an AU
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2548
Notes: So apparently Mat was raised in Faerie. I have no idea how that happened. But other than that, everything continues pretty much canonically. Also, I'm fairly certain that Murdoch's first name in his original incarnation was Tobias, but that got changed.
Decourdes snored very quietly, which was how Travis knew that she wasn’t actually asleep. When Decourdes was actually tired enough to sleep at the office - generally after one of her mad, three day straight all-nighters, which generally culminated in the effective and showy capture of the FBPSI’s current most wanted - she made no noise at all. Agents who intended to live past thirty couldn’t afford to make noise in the field, regardless of whether they were awake, asleep, or unconscious. Decourdes was thirty-two, and by far the best field agent they had.
Unfortunately, she was also the craziest. Decourdes had been through an entire department’s worth of partners, and most of them had requested transfers within three months time or threatened to quit entirely. Only one had stuck it out for a record six months, but Travis was fairly certain that was only because there had been a bet and a considerable amount of money behind that. Director Pendelton had denied all knowledge of its existence; possibly because he’d been glad not to have to find Decourdes a new keeper every quarter, and possibly because the Director (or so rumor had it) had contributed a significant amount to the betting pot.
Eventually, even Director Pendelton had to concede three things. One: Decourdes was absolutely and irrefutably crazy, and probably needed to be put through the psych evals more frequently than once every six months even if she did keep passing them with alarming ease. Two: while the federal government forbade any agent from working on their own for extended periods of time, the FBPSI had issues with such restrictions as a general rule, and pretty much did things the way it wanted to anyway, a fact Travis did not envy Director Pendelton for having to reconcile. Sometimes, it was better just to let things take their own course. Decourdes on her own was simply one of those unalterable, natural facts. Three: there was absolutely no one who could put up with Decourdes anyway, since she had an alarming tendency to do things no sane agent would attempt, much less survive, like go hunting rogue theriomorphs all by her lonesome, or mouth off at Elven lords, or run right into collapsing buildings, so she could cast a shield large enough to give the evacuees just that much more time to escape. Clearly, there was no use in trying to find her a partner.
There was a little coda to concession three, though, and Travis didn’t like it one bit. That coda was that there was no one except Travis Murdoch who could put up with Special Agent Matias Decourdes for extended periods of time. And that was only because he’d trained the brat, a fact he rued on a daily - occasionally an hourly - basis.
So. Since Special Agent Travis Murdoch had trained her, he also got to baby-sit her when Decourdes needed to be sent out into public for things that didn’t involve hunting things down and killing them or blowing them up in as messy and violent a manner as supernaturally possible.
If Travis had known she was going to be such a pain in the ass, he’d have failed her and then done his level best to sabotage his own career, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with her bullshit any longer, but he’d honestly found her amusing at the time. And it had been nice to have something to gloat about, since his protégé was definitely the best of her year. And the one after it. And the one after that. And, okay, maybe Travis had done a lot of gloating and this was his comeuppance, but it had seemed like a whole lot of fun at the time.
Travis let the files in his hand fall onto Decourdes’s desk with a thumping sound and waited patiently.
Decourdes continued to snore.
Travis knew full well that there was no way she’d have missed his approach, much less something falling next to her head - most agents were understandably twitchy about strange people being near their heads, necks, or pretty much anywhere in their personal space - and continued to wait. He’d learned over the years that being patient was sometimes the only defense against his protégé and occasional partner’s continued insanity.
Plus, it seemed to annoy her, and that was all kinds of fun.
“Did you rule out drooling as being too obvious?” he inquired mildly.
Decourdes sat up and stretched languorously. She pointed to the files she’d been using as a pillow, and said, “And damage government property? They fine you for that, you know.”
Accounting had had a special budget set aside for Decourdes’s ability to damage government property ever since her first year with the FBPSI. No one seemed likely to forget the incident she and Special Agent Phelps, a pyrokinetic, had had with the practice room. Travis wisely made no comment on Decourdes’s newfound respect for government property.
“We were supposed to have left a half hour ago,” he reminded her instead.
Decourdes looked interested. “Oh? Are we going somewhere fun?”
“You’d know if you’d bother to read the files I give you,” Travis pointed out, though he’d long ago given that up as a lost cause.
“I would,” Decourdes agreed. “But then how would I get you to give me that I-am-very-annoyed-with-you look?”
“I’m sure you’d find a way,” Travis said blandly. He picked up a file from the stack he’d dropped and smacked her over the head with it. Sometimes, dealing with Decourdes like she was a bad puppy who’d piddled on the rug was the only way to make her behave. Actually getting to smack her was just a charming bonus. “Quentan Michael Hawthorne of Star Shadow, age thirty-two. Parents: Michael and Natalya Hawthorne of Star Shadow, both deceased. Demon assassination. Raised by Peter Campbell, Lore Keeper of Star Shadow as the Heir Apparent until he turned fifteen, whereupon he took up the mantle of leadership as his father had before him.”
Decourdes looked grudgingly impressed. “At fifteen? Pretty heavy burden for a kid that age.”
“He seems to have managed alright,” Travis said blandly. “Star Shadow’s based out of Stirling Falls, and is also the strongest coven in the Triad Territories, mostly thanks to Hawthorne’s doing. He’s eliminated every threat to the area as soon as it’s shown up.”
“And in doing so, established himself as a threat, eh?” Decourdes grinned, wicked and bright and sharp. “I take it we’re going to teach him the error of his ways, then?”
“I’m going to arrest him,” Travis said firmly. “You’re coming with me because you know the area. You grew up around there, didn’t you?”
“I grew up in Faerie,” Decourdes corrected him. “Spent a lot of time running around the Triad Territories, though. My foster-brother had a thing for the human realm.”
That was as much as Decourdes ever said about her childhood. Travis was used to the half-truths, and ignored it. “Just don’t slow me down.”
Decourdes unlocked her desk and removed her weapons, deftly secreting them about her person. She tended to carry more weapons than even the most paranoid of agents, but then again, so did Travis. Being prepared never hurt anyone, and Quentan Hawthorne was undoubtedly not going to come quietly.
“Slow you down?” she demanded indignantly. “Old man, just who do you think you’re dealing with?”
“Old?” Travis snarled. Oh, it was on now. He’d bring Quentan Hawthorne in without her help or die trying.
Of course, Travis reflected, bringing Quentan Hawthorne in would be a lot easier if Decourdes wasn’t sticking her tongue down his throat.
It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Corner Hawthorne at a society party, sedate him, and quietly bring him in before anyone noticed. Even Decourdes could behave for long enough to pass for normal at a party, and Travis had surreptitiously taken a few pictures of her in the not-under-much-cover little black dress she was using as her undercover disguise. Blackmail was a whole lot of fun.
The only problem was, they’d gone in thinking that it was going to be a normal high society party. They’d overlooked the small fact that in the Triad Territories, no party was liable to be normal.
Facing an entire room of potentially hostile supernaturals was something that even Decourdes’s insanity had to balk at dealing with.
So the plan had changed somewhat. Travis had taken a seat at the bar, fully expecting Decourdes to join him while they hashed out a new plan. No such luck. Decourdes had gone straight for Hawthorne, practically glowing with barely suppressed Power and smiling flirtatiously at him.
“Well, well,” the coven leader had said. “A shiny new present, just for me.”
Decourdes’s smile had gotten a little wider. Sharper, too. The kind of smile she usually reserved for people who actually knew her. “Who says I’m for you?” she had asked.
Hawthorne had looked around the room. He was unquestionably the strongest witch in it, and they both knew it. “Are you going to tell me that you’re not?” he had replied.
“I’m going to tell you that I’d like to dance with you,” Decourdes had retorted, and things had abruptly gone downhill from there. Travis was fairly certain that the kind of dancing they did - some kind of vertical dryfuck, from the looks of it - was more suited to clubs than to parties, but it hadn’t really drawn any outward attention. He gathered that this sort of thing happened around Hawthorne a lot, and why wouldn’t it? He was a confirmed coven leader, experienced, and very, very dangerous. Lots of women found that sort of thing appealing. Hell, Decourdes found it appealing, and that was what worried him.
He had to admit, he was somewhat paternally concerned by her apparent interest in the man they were here to arrest. But he was also equal parts grossed out by the fact that she was making out with Hawthorne in a secluded corner of the room, so that probably evened things out somewhat.
“Who sent you?” Hawthorne whispered. Travis could hear him clearly through the communication crystal hidden in Decourdes’s earrings, just like he could clearly hear kissing noises. He wished, desperately, to either be deaf or to be able to drink neat vodka on the job.
More kissing noises. Then Decourdes said, “I’ll tell you…after.”
Asking what kind of after she meant would have been stupid. There was no agent more dedicated to the job than Decourdes, and if she thought that she actually needed to fuck Hawthorne to bring him in, then she would. (Actually, given Decourdes’s propensity for strong, ruthless men and the perverse, she’d probably enjoy it, which was a thought that wasn’t going to help Travis pass his psych evals at all the next time they rolled around.) Travis very carefully didn’t watch Hawthorne lead Decourdes from the room. He waited five minutes, and then he followed them both.
Tracking Decourdes down didn’t take much time. He knew her energy signature almost as well as he knew his own. He drew his gun and pointed it at Hawthorne, which was probably unnecessary, given that Decourdes was holding her own right under the coven leader’s chin. Still, one could never be too careful.
“I kind of wish you were assassins,” Hawthorne remarked. He sounded unbelievably composed, for a man who was half-naked with two guns pointed on him. Travis wondered if this sort of thing had happened before.
He also wondered how it was that Decourdes had also come to be half-naked. Her little black dress was on the floor. Travis wondered if she’d intended to fuck Hawthorne after all and then firmly shut that thought away. Some things just didn’t bear thinking on.
“So sorry to disappoint,” Decourdes drawled poisonously. “Is that why you went with me so easily?”
Hawthorne’s gaze went all the way down Decourdes’s body and back up again, lingering on her scars rather than her breasts both ways. Travis valiantly resisted the urge to shoot him in the head, even if it would have been fun. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d be the fuck-first-kill-later sort,” he said candidly. “You’re really hot, you know that?”
“Likewise,” Decourdes purred.
“Oh, Fates, I am not hearing this,” muttered Travis.
“You could leave,” Decourdes suggested.
“I am not leaving just so you can fuck him, Decourdes. We’re here to arrest him, in case you hadn’t forgotten.”
Hawthorne blinked at that. “Arrest me?” he asked. “You’re FBPSI?”
“Special Agent Matias Decourdes and Special Agent Travis Murdoch,” Decourdes supplied. “I’d show you my badge, but … Well. Mine’s hidden. Murdoch can show you his, though.”
“What are the charges?” Hawthorne asked.
“What, you want the list?” Decourdes retorted.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” the coven leader demurred politely.
Decourdes looked over at Travis. Travis sighed. “Conspiracy, murder in the first degree, monopolization of power and local businesses, weapons trafficking, spell crystal trafficking, information trafficking, data piracy, and also the purchase of forbidden codexes. And that’s just the stuff that’ll get you a life sentence. I haven’t even gotten to the petty crimes yet.”
“Ah,” said Hawthorne.
“At least you’re ethical about it,” Decourdes said. “Well, almost,” she amended, at a look from both men. “No embezzling, no drugs, that sort of thing.”
“Not enough of a profit in it,” muttered Travis.
“There is that,” Hawthorne agreed.
Decourdes gave Hawthorne a hard look. “I wager you do more good than ill here.”
“There are those that say that.” Hawthorne looked at Decourdes. It was a very predatory look. Travis had never seen anyone turn a look like that on Decourdes before; it was sort of novel. And scary as hell, since they were the ones holding guns on him. And also because Decourdes looked a little like she found that look a turn on. “Taliesin e’Chiom among them.”
Decourdes’s jaw tightened. Travis wondered why for a second, and then he remembered that Decourdes was elven-raised. She was very careful never to say which Clan had taken her in - was it the e’Chiom?
Oh, hell. If they took Hawthorne in and he named e’Chiom - whoever he was to Decourdes - the Agency would have to inspect him as well. And Decourdes wouldn’t stand for that, not if he was family. To call it a conflict of interests didn’t even begin to cover it. With Decourdes, family always came first.
“Does he now,” she said quietly.
“Every time I see him,” Hawthorne offered. “Which is more often than you do, I wager.”
“You’re a little too showy for me to bury,” Decourdes said softly.
“You’d do that?” Hawthorne asked.
“I’ve done it before,” she admitted, which was the one thing Travis never wanted to hear from her. All agents were tempted to bury a case or two, whether it was because they’d killed someone they weren’t supposed to have, or because they’d hadn’t killed someone they were supposed to have, but to confirm such a thing was tantamount to career suicide.
“For me?” Hawthorne asked.
“For him,” Decourdes shot back. “I’ll not see him burn for your sins, Hawthorne.”
“Nor would I,” murmured Hawthorne.
“Mat,” Travis said quietly. “You can’t do this.”
Decourdes holstered her weapon. “Watch me,” she said.
I'm a day off now, on account of the fact that I went to see PotC:AWE with none other than aestusargenteus and her family and a whole bunch of seventeen-year-olds with short attention spans yesterday instead of writing. I got to spar with her brother and scare the hell out of her neighbors. It was great. I also got to witness the miracle that is Baked Alaska, which remains all kinds of fascinating. An ice cream cake you bake. All kinds of neat. I'd try to make it myself, but I suck at making meringue. The lack of a decent mixer may have something to do with that, although as soon as I have a paying job and a settled place to stay, you can bet that'll be the first thing I buy.
Well, okay, the third. The first thing I buy will be lots of bookshelves, and the second will be lots of stands for my weaponry. Then I'll buy a mixer, but I am getting rather sidetracked. I believe I promised you a story. And, hey, this one's longer, as an apology for the delay.
Five Times Mat and Quentan Never Met:4/5
Travis Murdoch is a low-maintenance background kind of guy. Unfortunately, his protege is the FBPSI's whiz kid, and they only get sent out on the really high-profile cases. Arresting coven leader Quentan Hawthorne definitely qualifies. [Travis's POV.]
Title: Play by the Rules
'Verse: Silver Midnight, albeit an AU
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2548
Notes: So apparently Mat was raised in Faerie. I have no idea how that happened. But other than that, everything continues pretty much canonically. Also, I'm fairly certain that Murdoch's first name in his original incarnation was Tobias, but that got changed.
Decourdes snored very quietly, which was how Travis knew that she wasn’t actually asleep. When Decourdes was actually tired enough to sleep at the office - generally after one of her mad, three day straight all-nighters, which generally culminated in the effective and showy capture of the FBPSI’s current most wanted - she made no noise at all. Agents who intended to live past thirty couldn’t afford to make noise in the field, regardless of whether they were awake, asleep, or unconscious. Decourdes was thirty-two, and by far the best field agent they had.
Unfortunately, she was also the craziest. Decourdes had been through an entire department’s worth of partners, and most of them had requested transfers within three months time or threatened to quit entirely. Only one had stuck it out for a record six months, but Travis was fairly certain that was only because there had been a bet and a considerable amount of money behind that. Director Pendelton had denied all knowledge of its existence; possibly because he’d been glad not to have to find Decourdes a new keeper every quarter, and possibly because the Director (or so rumor had it) had contributed a significant amount to the betting pot.
Eventually, even Director Pendelton had to concede three things. One: Decourdes was absolutely and irrefutably crazy, and probably needed to be put through the psych evals more frequently than once every six months even if she did keep passing them with alarming ease. Two: while the federal government forbade any agent from working on their own for extended periods of time, the FBPSI had issues with such restrictions as a general rule, and pretty much did things the way it wanted to anyway, a fact Travis did not envy Director Pendelton for having to reconcile. Sometimes, it was better just to let things take their own course. Decourdes on her own was simply one of those unalterable, natural facts. Three: there was absolutely no one who could put up with Decourdes anyway, since she had an alarming tendency to do things no sane agent would attempt, much less survive, like go hunting rogue theriomorphs all by her lonesome, or mouth off at Elven lords, or run right into collapsing buildings, so she could cast a shield large enough to give the evacuees just that much more time to escape. Clearly, there was no use in trying to find her a partner.
There was a little coda to concession three, though, and Travis didn’t like it one bit. That coda was that there was no one except Travis Murdoch who could put up with Special Agent Matias Decourdes for extended periods of time. And that was only because he’d trained the brat, a fact he rued on a daily - occasionally an hourly - basis.
So. Since Special Agent Travis Murdoch had trained her, he also got to baby-sit her when Decourdes needed to be sent out into public for things that didn’t involve hunting things down and killing them or blowing them up in as messy and violent a manner as supernaturally possible.
If Travis had known she was going to be such a pain in the ass, he’d have failed her and then done his level best to sabotage his own career, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with her bullshit any longer, but he’d honestly found her amusing at the time. And it had been nice to have something to gloat about, since his protégé was definitely the best of her year. And the one after it. And the one after that. And, okay, maybe Travis had done a lot of gloating and this was his comeuppance, but it had seemed like a whole lot of fun at the time.
Travis let the files in his hand fall onto Decourdes’s desk with a thumping sound and waited patiently.
Decourdes continued to snore.
Travis knew full well that there was no way she’d have missed his approach, much less something falling next to her head - most agents were understandably twitchy about strange people being near their heads, necks, or pretty much anywhere in their personal space - and continued to wait. He’d learned over the years that being patient was sometimes the only defense against his protégé and occasional partner’s continued insanity.
Plus, it seemed to annoy her, and that was all kinds of fun.
“Did you rule out drooling as being too obvious?” he inquired mildly.
Decourdes sat up and stretched languorously. She pointed to the files she’d been using as a pillow, and said, “And damage government property? They fine you for that, you know.”
Accounting had had a special budget set aside for Decourdes’s ability to damage government property ever since her first year with the FBPSI. No one seemed likely to forget the incident she and Special Agent Phelps, a pyrokinetic, had had with the practice room. Travis wisely made no comment on Decourdes’s newfound respect for government property.
“We were supposed to have left a half hour ago,” he reminded her instead.
Decourdes looked interested. “Oh? Are we going somewhere fun?”
“You’d know if you’d bother to read the files I give you,” Travis pointed out, though he’d long ago given that up as a lost cause.
“I would,” Decourdes agreed. “But then how would I get you to give me that I-am-very-annoyed-with-you look?”
“I’m sure you’d find a way,” Travis said blandly. He picked up a file from the stack he’d dropped and smacked her over the head with it. Sometimes, dealing with Decourdes like she was a bad puppy who’d piddled on the rug was the only way to make her behave. Actually getting to smack her was just a charming bonus. “Quentan Michael Hawthorne of Star Shadow, age thirty-two. Parents: Michael and Natalya Hawthorne of Star Shadow, both deceased. Demon assassination. Raised by Peter Campbell, Lore Keeper of Star Shadow as the Heir Apparent until he turned fifteen, whereupon he took up the mantle of leadership as his father had before him.”
Decourdes looked grudgingly impressed. “At fifteen? Pretty heavy burden for a kid that age.”
“He seems to have managed alright,” Travis said blandly. “Star Shadow’s based out of Stirling Falls, and is also the strongest coven in the Triad Territories, mostly thanks to Hawthorne’s doing. He’s eliminated every threat to the area as soon as it’s shown up.”
“And in doing so, established himself as a threat, eh?” Decourdes grinned, wicked and bright and sharp. “I take it we’re going to teach him the error of his ways, then?”
“I’m going to arrest him,” Travis said firmly. “You’re coming with me because you know the area. You grew up around there, didn’t you?”
“I grew up in Faerie,” Decourdes corrected him. “Spent a lot of time running around the Triad Territories, though. My foster-brother had a thing for the human realm.”
That was as much as Decourdes ever said about her childhood. Travis was used to the half-truths, and ignored it. “Just don’t slow me down.”
Decourdes unlocked her desk and removed her weapons, deftly secreting them about her person. She tended to carry more weapons than even the most paranoid of agents, but then again, so did Travis. Being prepared never hurt anyone, and Quentan Hawthorne was undoubtedly not going to come quietly.
“Slow you down?” she demanded indignantly. “Old man, just who do you think you’re dealing with?”
“Old?” Travis snarled. Oh, it was on now. He’d bring Quentan Hawthorne in without her help or die trying.
Of course, Travis reflected, bringing Quentan Hawthorne in would be a lot easier if Decourdes wasn’t sticking her tongue down his throat.
It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Corner Hawthorne at a society party, sedate him, and quietly bring him in before anyone noticed. Even Decourdes could behave for long enough to pass for normal at a party, and Travis had surreptitiously taken a few pictures of her in the not-under-much-cover little black dress she was using as her undercover disguise. Blackmail was a whole lot of fun.
The only problem was, they’d gone in thinking that it was going to be a normal high society party. They’d overlooked the small fact that in the Triad Territories, no party was liable to be normal.
Facing an entire room of potentially hostile supernaturals was something that even Decourdes’s insanity had to balk at dealing with.
So the plan had changed somewhat. Travis had taken a seat at the bar, fully expecting Decourdes to join him while they hashed out a new plan. No such luck. Decourdes had gone straight for Hawthorne, practically glowing with barely suppressed Power and smiling flirtatiously at him.
“Well, well,” the coven leader had said. “A shiny new present, just for me.”
Decourdes’s smile had gotten a little wider. Sharper, too. The kind of smile she usually reserved for people who actually knew her. “Who says I’m for you?” she had asked.
Hawthorne had looked around the room. He was unquestionably the strongest witch in it, and they both knew it. “Are you going to tell me that you’re not?” he had replied.
“I’m going to tell you that I’d like to dance with you,” Decourdes had retorted, and things had abruptly gone downhill from there. Travis was fairly certain that the kind of dancing they did - some kind of vertical dryfuck, from the looks of it - was more suited to clubs than to parties, but it hadn’t really drawn any outward attention. He gathered that this sort of thing happened around Hawthorne a lot, and why wouldn’t it? He was a confirmed coven leader, experienced, and very, very dangerous. Lots of women found that sort of thing appealing. Hell, Decourdes found it appealing, and that was what worried him.
He had to admit, he was somewhat paternally concerned by her apparent interest in the man they were here to arrest. But he was also equal parts grossed out by the fact that she was making out with Hawthorne in a secluded corner of the room, so that probably evened things out somewhat.
“Who sent you?” Hawthorne whispered. Travis could hear him clearly through the communication crystal hidden in Decourdes’s earrings, just like he could clearly hear kissing noises. He wished, desperately, to either be deaf or to be able to drink neat vodka on the job.
More kissing noises. Then Decourdes said, “I’ll tell you…after.”
Asking what kind of after she meant would have been stupid. There was no agent more dedicated to the job than Decourdes, and if she thought that she actually needed to fuck Hawthorne to bring him in, then she would. (Actually, given Decourdes’s propensity for strong, ruthless men and the perverse, she’d probably enjoy it, which was a thought that wasn’t going to help Travis pass his psych evals at all the next time they rolled around.) Travis very carefully didn’t watch Hawthorne lead Decourdes from the room. He waited five minutes, and then he followed them both.
Tracking Decourdes down didn’t take much time. He knew her energy signature almost as well as he knew his own. He drew his gun and pointed it at Hawthorne, which was probably unnecessary, given that Decourdes was holding her own right under the coven leader’s chin. Still, one could never be too careful.
“I kind of wish you were assassins,” Hawthorne remarked. He sounded unbelievably composed, for a man who was half-naked with two guns pointed on him. Travis wondered if this sort of thing had happened before.
He also wondered how it was that Decourdes had also come to be half-naked. Her little black dress was on the floor. Travis wondered if she’d intended to fuck Hawthorne after all and then firmly shut that thought away. Some things just didn’t bear thinking on.
“So sorry to disappoint,” Decourdes drawled poisonously. “Is that why you went with me so easily?”
Hawthorne’s gaze went all the way down Decourdes’s body and back up again, lingering on her scars rather than her breasts both ways. Travis valiantly resisted the urge to shoot him in the head, even if it would have been fun. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d be the fuck-first-kill-later sort,” he said candidly. “You’re really hot, you know that?”
“Likewise,” Decourdes purred.
“Oh, Fates, I am not hearing this,” muttered Travis.
“You could leave,” Decourdes suggested.
“I am not leaving just so you can fuck him, Decourdes. We’re here to arrest him, in case you hadn’t forgotten.”
Hawthorne blinked at that. “Arrest me?” he asked. “You’re FBPSI?”
“Special Agent Matias Decourdes and Special Agent Travis Murdoch,” Decourdes supplied. “I’d show you my badge, but … Well. Mine’s hidden. Murdoch can show you his, though.”
“What are the charges?” Hawthorne asked.
“What, you want the list?” Decourdes retorted.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” the coven leader demurred politely.
Decourdes looked over at Travis. Travis sighed. “Conspiracy, murder in the first degree, monopolization of power and local businesses, weapons trafficking, spell crystal trafficking, information trafficking, data piracy, and also the purchase of forbidden codexes. And that’s just the stuff that’ll get you a life sentence. I haven’t even gotten to the petty crimes yet.”
“Ah,” said Hawthorne.
“At least you’re ethical about it,” Decourdes said. “Well, almost,” she amended, at a look from both men. “No embezzling, no drugs, that sort of thing.”
“Not enough of a profit in it,” muttered Travis.
“There is that,” Hawthorne agreed.
Decourdes gave Hawthorne a hard look. “I wager you do more good than ill here.”
“There are those that say that.” Hawthorne looked at Decourdes. It was a very predatory look. Travis had never seen anyone turn a look like that on Decourdes before; it was sort of novel. And scary as hell, since they were the ones holding guns on him. And also because Decourdes looked a little like she found that look a turn on. “Taliesin e’Chiom among them.”
Decourdes’s jaw tightened. Travis wondered why for a second, and then he remembered that Decourdes was elven-raised. She was very careful never to say which Clan had taken her in - was it the e’Chiom?
Oh, hell. If they took Hawthorne in and he named e’Chiom - whoever he was to Decourdes - the Agency would have to inspect him as well. And Decourdes wouldn’t stand for that, not if he was family. To call it a conflict of interests didn’t even begin to cover it. With Decourdes, family always came first.
“Does he now,” she said quietly.
“Every time I see him,” Hawthorne offered. “Which is more often than you do, I wager.”
“You’re a little too showy for me to bury,” Decourdes said softly.
“You’d do that?” Hawthorne asked.
“I’ve done it before,” she admitted, which was the one thing Travis never wanted to hear from her. All agents were tempted to bury a case or two, whether it was because they’d killed someone they weren’t supposed to have, or because they’d hadn’t killed someone they were supposed to have, but to confirm such a thing was tantamount to career suicide.
“For me?” Hawthorne asked.
“For him,” Decourdes shot back. “I’ll not see him burn for your sins, Hawthorne.”
“Nor would I,” murmured Hawthorne.
“Mat,” Travis said quietly. “You can’t do this.”
Decourdes holstered her weapon. “Watch me,” she said.