Evenfall (110 page)

"After the initial uncertainty in this position and city, I think... you've grown more comfortable. So, I'd prefer..." He looked over at Sin again, his expression serious but almost a little wistful. "It makes me wish you didn't have to go back."

Sin didn't answer at first. Instead, he put out his cigarette and stood up straight and looked over with intense brown eyes. "I don't want to think about this anymore." He abruptly pulled Boyd close, pinning him against his chest and crushing their lips together in a way that seemed to firmly put an end to the discussion or any possible ideas of reviving the topic in the future.

But the taste of Jessica's lip gloss remained strong enough on Sin that Boyd's first instinct was to recoil. He stopped himself before he actually pulled back but he couldn't help remaining a little tense. The idea of even indirectly being that intimate with Jessica was incredibly distasteful him. And even if Sin didn't want to think about it, Boyd knew he couldn't as suddenly ignore the conversation about Monterrey. He truly did wish that Sin didn't have to go back to the Agency; that he could just be normal and not have to be treated like he was a monster, that he could just have friends. Even if Sin could stop his thoughts with physical touch, Boyd could only do the same with concentration. With the taste of Jessica's lip gloss tainting Sin's lips and the thought of Sin returning to the Agency, he found that his preoccupation was making it difficult to properly respond.

Sin, however, either didn't notice his distraction or was too intent on shoving everything out of his mind to care. He pushed Boyd against the balcony and locked his hands around the railing, moving his lips against Boyd's mouth as he pressed their bodies together. Long, dark eyelashes rested against his cheeks and although it seemed as though he were trying to completely immerse himself in Boyd, his eyebrows remained drawn together and his body was very tense.

It wasn't long before Boyd pulled away. He rested his hands on the railing behind him, watching Sin with half-closed eyes. He didn't say anything at first but there was nothing in his expression that implied rejection. "We shouldn't stay up here too long," he said finally, softly.

Sin didn't look very pleased with this but he glanced down at the ground floor again and nodded, pulling away slightly. He ran one hand through his hair, aggravation evident in his movements, and cleared his throat.

"Fine."

Boyd looked at him. "Even as the guest of honor, you technically don't have to stay all night," he pointed out. "They know you're not used to this much attention, but even so it'd be better not to leave for a bit longer." He paused, reaching up to brush his fingers through Sin's hair with a light touch that was somehow comforting. He raised his eyebrows mildly and added as he leaned against the railing again, "And I'll be there to help or distract if you need it."

Sin gave a one shouldered shrug and his lips quirked up into a small smile. "I'm sorry I'm being like this. Thank you... for putting up with it."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Boyd said easily. He smiled back but it soon morphed into something a little more teasing. "Besides, haven't you noticed yet that I'll put up with a lot as long as it's related to you?"

"Hmmmm." Sin's mouth curled up even more until it resembled a sexy half-smile and he pulled Boyd against him again, leaning down to drop a lingering kiss against Boyd's mouth. "You better."

Boyd chuckled softly, sliding his hands down to rest on Sin's hips, his thumbs absently slipping beneath his pants. He leaned in to suck on Sin's lip ring, running his tongue along the metal and Sin's lip before he slowly pulled away, watching him. "Just so you know, I expect the same in return or I may grow bored."

Sin gazed at him for a long moment as if trying to decide if he was serious or not before shaking his head and reluctantly moving toward the stairs. "Let's get this over with."

Nodding, Boyd turned and headed for the stairs.

One of the staff members looked over as they came to the first floor; Boyd recognized her but could never remember her name. She smiled brightly when she saw Sin and said something to Johnny, who made her laugh with whatever he answered.

The party wound up going on until the first rays of sunlight began to stream through the clouds. It seemed that the staff was used to staying up, or 'breaking night' as they called it, and none of them seemed ready to wind down at all despite the hour. It was strange watching them all together, strange seeing how they acted around Sin and how several different people seemed to take turns vying for his attention. It was fascinating and slightly bizarre when taken into comparison with the way he was treated at the Agency and showed just how different things could have been for him if he'd never gone there, if he'd never been trained as an Agent. If people were so drawn to him now when he was aloof and intimidating, what would they have been like if he was slightly more approachable? Or maybe the aura of mystery and danger around him was part of the charm?

Whatever the case was, they seemed to genuinely enjoy his presence. Most of the people there insisted on giving him their numbers so that he could keep in touch and although for the most part he stared at them blank faced and made no effort to give his own, they seemed used to his behavior and weren't fazed. Despite that, it was obvious that Sin was comfortable with these people; or as comfortable as he ever would be with civilians.

On more than one occasion a smile crossed his face, a smile that had once been reserved exclusively for Boyd. He exchanged sarcastic jabs with Johnny and Estella, not missing a beat and proving how adept he'd gotten at interaction with them. For awhile it was easy to forget that he was an assassin and that these people were nothing more than means to an end for his cover. For awhile, as he sat there doing shots and seeming to enjoy it, it was like he really was Jason Alvarez. There were no signs of his mental instability, no signs of the danger that sometimes came along with his consumption of alcohol and no signs that he wasn't in his element among the young, drunken people who seemed so fond of him.

Boyd knew that Sin was accustomed to being around civilians but he didn't know if he would need his help as distraction after all at some point. Because of that, in the beginning he stayed in Sin's general vicinity and glanced over occasionally to check on him. But it became obvious soon enough that Sin was perfectly fine so he allowed himself to be pulled farther away and became more engrossed in the conversations. One of the waitresses, Lila, happened to be an art student and they had a long-standing friendly disagreement over what was the best media for drawing. From there, it somehow transferred into movies which became a larger discussion that morphed into other topics.

It was not in his natural personality to party or be in a crowd of drunken, laughing people for an extended period of time without feeling rather wearied by it. He stayed in the midst of it for awhile, knowing it was Kadin's personality to hang around, but eventually he took a moment to sit to the side and idly watch. He could tell by the way the people congregated around Sin that they were truly interested in talking to him. He was mildly impressed, he had to admit. Despite Sin's insistence that he'd never be able to be normal, that he'd never
been
normal, that he didn't know how to be around civilians, he was doing an excellent job. There was nothing suspicious about the way he acted; if anything, the occasional blank stares and intimidation just made him seem more like what one would expect of someone with Jason's background. After all, someone who had worked as a bodyguard in such prestigious positions could hardly be amiable all the time.

On the other hand... Boyd saw Jessica talking to Veronica and his gaze slid away. He turned to the bar and studied the bottles lined along the far wall. Now that he had a moment to think when people weren't talking to or directly around him, his mind inevitably drifted to things he'd been trying to avoid. As the night had worn on, he'd realized that although he'd thought he was fine with the way Sin interacted with others like Johnny and Estella, there was something that was... off.

He'd been to Lunar many times, he'd seen Sin interacting with the others and he'd heard stories, but he hadn't been surrounded by it so obviously and consistently for such a period of time. It was giving him more exposure to the way Sin acted around the others. He couldn't figure out at first what was bothering him but once he did, it surprised him somehow. It was a slightly shameful thought, but he had to admit that there were parts about this that he didn't like. He'd always wanted Sin to feel normal, to feel human because that's what he was and how he deserved to feel. He'd wanted him to understand that he was not simply a killer, that there was something about him that anyone could like and it was only the idiots at the Agency who didn't realize it. But now that Sin was experiencing that, Boyd couldn't help feeling a little... left out. It was stupid, but he didn't want Sin smiling for anyone else quite like that, didn't want him getting into quite the same sarcastic or teasing conversations with anyone else, didn't want him to be quite so outwardly amused around anyone but him. He didn't want anyone else to be able to touch him quite so casually. Or maybe he just wanted there always to be another level that only he was privy to; if Sin smirked around others then he would only genuinely smile around Boyd. If Sin snickered around someone else then he would only outright laugh with him.

He considered that as he slowly nursed a drink. He hadn't anticipated this feeling of isolation and jealousy; he hadn't expected to feel that territorial about Sin, to not want anyone else being intimate with him or for Sin to act the way around others that he did around him. It confused him to think about, because he'd always been pushing for Sin to be accepted as a normal person. That exact scenario was happening here, so Boyd should be happy.  Yet somehow it made it seem like the more successful his initial goal of proving Sin to be human was, the less important he himself would be to Sin. After all, what had been unique about Boyd had always simply been his fearlessness of Sin; once everyone else was the same, what was there really to set him apart?

The question stayed in his mind for several minutes and he still didn't have an answer. It started to meld with Jessica's earlier words, that someday maybe Sin wouldn't be as interested, and from there he thought about when they'd return to the Agency and whether they'd continue as they had been. Little bits of doubt and confusion started to slide their way into his mind, into things he hadn't thought about and he didn't want to continue to consider. He didn't really know what he was thinking but the contradictions were becoming too confusing for him to want to disentangle. Giving up, he finished his drink.

There was no use thinking about it; it wouldn't do anything but increase his confusion and end up frustrating and irritating him. It was better not to consider this too seriously and instead to just enjoy the party.

Chapter 35

The sun was so bright that rays had broken through the clouds, making him squint. Boyd remained leaning against the building, the wall hot enough to nearly burn his back even through his cotton shirt. His pose was languid, casual, and with the tilt of his head it would not have been apparent that he was actually watching a building across the street.

People passed him by without even giving him a second glance; he was one of a few dozen people scattered down the street also resting to the side as the sun slowly moved to its zenith. In a few hours, the city would sluggishly shut down for a bit while the majority of the people would retreat to the cooler confines of the shadows and air-conditioned buildings. For the moment, the markets were still filled with shouts, bargaining, and the general bustle of humanity.

A small, rather dirty boy suddenly came running barefoot out of the building Boyd was watching. Dirt stained his face and his shock of dark brown hair was matted and wild. He wore a stained white tank top and ragged shorts, and the sandals on his feet looked almost worn through. Boyd looked over to watch him as the kid sl
owed to a stop in front of him.

"Found them," he announced, self-satisfied.

"Hey, good job, Jorge," Boyd drawled easily with a lopsided smile, holding out his hand.

Jorge gave him a look and made no move to relinquish the property. Boyd raised his eyebrows but Jorge did not budge, only narrowed his eyes slightly. "Where is it,
gringo?"

Although Boyd had heard the term used simply to refer to foreigners, especially English-speakers, Jorge's tone made it derogatory. "That's not very nice," Boyd observed mildly. "I thought we were on good terms, Jorgito."

"Don't call me that," Jorge said
, his tone hard. "You're not
mi viejo."

"It's true," Boyd agreed, leaning against the building and looking idly around as if bored. "It'd be weird if I
was
your dad; we look nothing alike and I'd've been really young when I had you."

Giving Boyd an entirely unimpressed look, Jorge narrowed his eyes slightly. "We are finished."

"No," Boyd said patiently, the languid air of Reed's personality keeping him relaxed and unperturbed as he returned Jorge's gaze. "We've already been over this; one more stop and then you're done, remember?"

Jorge stared at him briefly before abruptly pivoting and heading down the nearest alley. He waited just long enough for Boyd to follow before he turned toward him again, dark brown eyes narrowed as he studied him sidelong. Noticing the calculated look and the fact that Jorge had not answered, Boyd gave him a pointed look and stopped walking. After a few steps, Jorge stopped, turned around and frowned up at Boyd. Neither said anything but there was a battle of wills that stretched the few moments out. Even in the shade of the alley it was hot and sweat trickled down their skin as they simply stared at each other. Finally, Jorge's eyes narrowed and he reached into his front pocket, pulling out two small black boxes that he dropped into Boyd's hand. Boyd quickly but casually hid them before anyone would be able to properly see what he had.

Jorge stared at him a moment in calculation before he turned and started walking again. "I want more money," he said seriously.

"Kid, you're already getting enough," Boyd said, lazily looking around the alley as they walked. He automatically noted where all the doors, windows, and fire escapes or facsimiles thereof existed. There was also a large pile of garbage nearby with an old, rusted garbage can that he could probably find a use for if he needed to run away or hide quickly.

"
Mi mano
gets more," Jorge said firmly.

Boyd blinked and looked over at him strangely; he hadn't exactly been distracted by noting the status of the alley but he was fairly certain he could not have heard that correctly. "Your hand does?"

Looking at Boyd in disgust, Jorge said, "
Hermano.
Brother.
No hablas Espaρol, huevσn?
"

Boyd almost smirked but he stopped himself; it wasn't every day someone decided to call him 'balls.' In the months Boyd had spent in Monterrey, he'd
learned
more of the language.
It was close enough to French that he found it to be easier than he expected, but slang was still something that caused him some confusion until he learned what it meant.

"I speak Spanish just fine," Boyd said with mild indignation just as he knew Reed would, even though he did not actually feel upset. "You're just throwing random shit in there. What, you want me spouting English slang too, little punk?"

"I would understand," Jorge said confidently, taking them across one street and leading them down another alley, which was extremely small.

Boyd made a face at him. "I liked that part when you first came over and you were pleased. Go back to that, it was cuter."

Stopping suddenly, Jorge turned around with a bright, charming smile and said, "Give me more money,
ese,
or I leave you here
."

"See, you only half listened
,
" Boyd pointed out reasonably, standing at slouching ease a few feet from Jorge. He quirked an eyebrow. "Before, with the niceness? The cute part was you not threatening or demanding shit; you were just helping out. What happened to that kid?"

Dark brown eyes glinted stubbornly. "You called him Jorgito and won't pay."

Boyd watched him, judging the amount of stubbornness and how upset he really was. He could read him well enough to know that at this point if he didn't give in a little he would just be making things more difficult for himself. He finally raised one hand in a gesture of surrender and shook his head. "Alright, alright, you're so pushy." He pulled several pesos out of one pocket and held it toward him. Jorge reached out but Boyd pulled his hand back and looked at him pointedly, his tone a friendly warning. "You're still gonna help me once more, right?"

Jorge scowled at him but couldn't reach the money. With narrowed eyes, he nodded firmly and the second Boyd had lowered his hand enough, he snatched the pesos away and already had them hidden somewhere in his clothing before Boyd could even follow the movement. "You learn faster than others,
gόero," he
said with something approaching approval.

Boyd raised an eyebrow. At least Jorge was calling him an American rather than a foreigner now. "Thanks. I think."

"This job is dangerous," Jorge said seriously, giving Boyd a scrutinizing look. He looked entirely older than the eight to ten years he probably had lived. Initially Boyd had noticed him because of that part of his personality, the fact that he was especially small, looked like he could be seven or eight, but the way he spoke and looked around placed him closer to ten or older. Right then that maturity was making itself very apparent; something about him showed that, rather like the children who had grown up in the aftermath of the bombs, he had seen more than children his age should. And he hadn't forgotten. "Those people, they don't like us talking. That's why you pay more."

"I understand," Boyd said, taking the comment seriously. "Thanks for the help so far but I just need one other thing. So let's go, huh? I don't

exactly feel like waiting around alleys where we can be jumped. And go back to being a cute little kid so no one looks at us strangely."

"A normal kid here would be more strange," Jorge said pointedly but he turned and started walking again anyway.

Boyd followed at a proper distance, keeping his pose casual and absolutely languid. There was nothing in his mannerisms to imply that he was in the midst of illegal activity as Kadin Reed, and certainly nothing that showed he was actually an Agent pretending to be a rebel activist. Although he looked relaxed and there was nothing calculating about him, he had actually been planning this for
a while
. While Sin had been training for the security position at the convention during the last two months, Boyd had been working very diligently on mapping out the city and in general thoroughly investigating any spots that caught his attention. He'd found a number of buildings and a few neighborhoods that he was certain Sin and he would be able to lose themselves in, either apart or together, for long enough to shake off anyone who may be watching them.

Through exploring the city he'd realized that there were more smuggling groups than the one he had found initially and they were all quite good at circumventing any security in Monterrey's borders. There were ways to sneak into the city that he never would have expected, including a few that circumvented the mountains and one that involved a nearby waterway that had been created for irrigation after the war in America.

A few nights were spent watching some secret passages before he'd realized that the smugglers were not the only ones who knew of them, though they were certainly the ones policing them and frequenting them most. And that was only the ones he could access; there were others he didn't dare touch because the area or people surrounding them would be too difficult to try to pass. In the more accessible, though still hidden, passageways, Boyd had noticed a trend.

Although it seemed that the adults of the area walked past the entrances without ever noticing, some of the children were aware. It was by monitoring a few of these passageways that Boyd realized the black market was even larger in Monterrey than he'd expected, and that he had to pursue this.

He'd waited, watching, until he saw a kid he thought he could trust enough to follow through with any promises. Jorge may be very intent on getting his payment, but considering the poverty he lived in and, as he'd rightly pointed out, the possible threat to his life, it really wasn't that much that he was charging. And Boyd felt that he could trust him; after all, so far the kid hadn't led him wrong, and he was straightforward enough that he didn't seem deceitful.

Jorge stopped at a squat, pale building that simply read '
Farmαcia.'
Boyd moved to stand to the side but Jorge tipped his head, motioning for him to follow. "They give me it only if they see you," he said simply and walked inside. Boyd didn't let his expression reflect the fact that he thought that was interesting. A small bell rang on the door as they entered and he had to blink a few times to readjust his vision; it was far darker inside than it had been outside and the a
isles looked almost smoky in the gloom. For a strange moment he felt a sense of dιjΰ vu; the store was set up almost identically to the first mission he'd been on, only this one didn't have a second story that housed wealthy, lazy rebel leaders and there w
as no broken meat locker to the side with men crouched around a table and map.

No one greeted them when they entered; the place seemed abandoned and the dust he saw on the shelving only emphasized the desolation of the area. He followed Jorge quietly, feeling... something as he looked around. He wasn't quite sure what the emotion was, but it may have been a vague sense of regret. He could tell by the handwritten, yellowing sheets of paper falling off the walls and the way the store was set up that this had been someone's dream, that this had been a family business. Once. Long ago.

This wasn't just a front to shady black market dealings; this had been someone's life before it all fell into disrepair. It made him wonder what had happened, where those people had gone, why this memory had stayed in empty shelves and little cartoons drawn on paper, why the building hadn't been remodeled and why no one seemed to care despite the fact that Monterrey was one of the most frequented cities in Mexico.

If even in a city known for its progress and business there could be a place like this, an echo of past lives that were truncated or skewed, then what must the other cities be like? The towns and villages? How much desolation was there in the world today, how much more now than had been even two decades ago before that first bomb exploded on foreign soil?

The thought was a little disquieting so he tried not to dwell on it. Even so, he couldn't help noticing that he had been in dozens of places like this since he'd started in the Agency but somehow he'd never really cared to think too clearly on the history of the place. He'd never particularly cared why this store had handwritten notes but the next had everything printed; he'd never cared that judging by a filthy, disintegrating doll discarded in the corner, a child probably once played here.

It made him wonder, briefly, what someone would think walking into his house back in the States. They would never be able to fathom what had happened in there, the history of the place, the sucking darkness of the shadows; to them, it would look like a place filled with such clean lines it did not look lived in and the fine layer of dust everywhere would simply emphasize how much it seemed uncared for. What stories could be told in this store? What emotions had saturated the area? Were the people even alive anymore or was this place a living memory for a dead story?

Jorge's sandals scuffed against the floor, a loud noise that echoed in the emptiness of the place and made the walls seem that much closer. Boyd noted that although the shelves were covered in dust, the floor had footprints all over.

It took them nearly a minute to walk all the way to the back of the building, which was surprisingly long for how small it seemed from the outside, and without a word Jorge led him down a set of stairs and into even further darkness.