Evenfall (76 page)

"You did the wrong thing to the Agency," Sin replied, eyes flitting over Boyd's face. "But you did something good for me. They wouldn't have let me out until there was a mission that needed me, and with as slow as things have been, that could have been weeks, maybe longer."

Boyd smiled, a somewhat solemn expression. "That was the main reason why I did it. I didn't know how long the delay would be, but..." He paused, lifting a hand in a vague gesture before shaking his head. "Any delay would be too long."

Sin didn't answer but Boyd wasn't expecting him to. He turned back to the drawers, locating the silverware drawer he'd found earlier when searching for the can opener. He pulled out two spoons and as an afterthought a ladle.

"I don't think even I can ruin microwaved soup but I suppose we're about to find out."

Sin looked at the soup almost suspiciously. "What is this anyway? They order all of this crap for me."

"Vegetable beef," Boyd replied. He held up the loaf of bread and added as if it weren't obvious, "We're having it with bread."

"Vegetables, huh?" Sin looked into the bowl disapprovingly but said nothing else about it.

Boyd didn't answer but he shook his head slightly in faint amusement. He brought the bread, container of soup and the two empty bowls for them as well as the spoons over to the kitchen table, balancing everything carefully. Once it was all set down, he pulled out a chair and looked at Sin expectantly, who was still hovering in the middle of the kitchen.

Sin stared at the table as if it were some strange, alien creation and scratched the back of his neck before throwing himself down into the chair opposite Boyd. He propped his elbows up and stuck one of his fingers in the container, sucking the broth off. "Not bad."

"Have you never heard of spoons?" Boyd asked with an arched brow, nudging the utensil closer.

"Spoons are for the weak," Sin declared mildly although he picked up the ladle and dumped some of the soup into his bowl. He looked at Boyd through his hair and then poured the rest into the other.

Boyd looked down and noticed that his had more. Reaching over, he switched their bowls and pushed the fuller one to Sin. He looked up with raised eyebrows, as if challenging Sin to try to reverse his actions.

Sin made a face. "You're skinnier than me," he pointed out, but didn't argue.

"You need it more than I do." Boyd ripped off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the soup, watching as color spread across the white.

Sin snorted and looked skeptical but said nothing.

The rest of dinner passed simply, with the occasional back and forth.

As time passed, Boyd felt more and more comfortable with what he'd done. He'd started to worry for awhile that the repercussions would outweigh the good, which he only cared about if Sin had regretted that Boyd had gotten involved. Seeing Sin feel more at ease in his own apartment, free from the constant surveillance and able to relax in some fashion, made everything worth it. Knowing that he'd helped Sin when no one else had ever really tried, and that Sin appreciated it, made it even better.

Although it seemed the consequences were diverted for the moment despite the enormity of the stunt he'd pulled, even if it all came back to bite him later he wouldn't have changed anything. Seeing Sin slouched at the kitchen table, comfortable in his own home for probably the first time ever, Boyd knew he could never regret what he did.

Chapter 25

The days after Sin's release from the fourth passed in a blur. He thought it was strange since it did not typically take so long for him to shake off the effects unless he was incarcerated for a much larger period of time. The only explanation was that either they'd given him much larger doses than usual or that the drugs combined with his concussion were responsible for the majority of his sluggishness. Whatever the case was, he'd been unable to do much other than sleep and wander around his apartment for the first three days.

Although a support agent had brought him up several bags of food and other things the day after Carhart's visit, Boyd had continued to drop by every so often to ensure that he was improving in strength. He never stayed for long and they never spoke much, but Sin had found himself once again craving Boyd's presence. The feelings and confusion surrounding Boyd, which had mostly disappeared and turned to animosity after the mission in France, had returned in full force. Only, this time Sin did very little to fight or analyze it.

Sin accepted the fact that he wanted Boyd around and it no longer bothered him. The part of him that was angry, suspicious and emotionless screamed at him. That part told him he was being weak and foolish and demanded if he'd forgotten the remote and the way Boyd had treated him. There were times when Sin listened to that voice and felt the familiar stirrings of anger and resentment that had dominated him for the past several months. But then he remembered what Boyd had done for him and the suspicion, anger, and bitterness faded away.

If Boyd had forgiven him for all he'd done and said, he could do more than forgive Boyd in return. Boyd had proven himself to be more than trustworthy. Boyd had lied for him, risked his own freedom and life by defying Connors, stood up to his mother and to the entire Agency… what more proof did he need?

Sin spent his time wandering around his apartment, feeling liberated by the absence of the cameras and thankful that Boyd had thought to get rid of them. He didn't feel pressured to hide his physical pain anymore and that alone allowed anxiety that he hadn't even realized existed to disappear. He found it hard to believe that Connors had allowed it, that they'd given Boyd everything he'd demanded without questions or consequences, but he figured it had something to do with Vivienne's influence.

Whatever the case was, things were going a lot better between them now. They'd mostly gone back to the comfortable familiarity that had been between them before Thanksgiving, but something about it was different. The moment they'd shared before Carhart had walked in had confused him. Not only had he unconsciously touched Boyd but Boyd had allowed it and had seemed to even want to touch him in return. It was a drastic difference from previous incidents and Sin wasn't entirely sure what it meant. It nagged at him constantly, especially when Boyd was in his proximity, but he didn't do it again and they never brought it up.

Sin found himself not really knowing how to react to someone who had managed to get so close to him despite all of the things they'd gone through to get to that point. However, despite his confused thoughts and hesitation, he didn't show any of it.

When he wasn't silent, he found that something had subtly shifted between them. Maybe it was relief from having gotten away with this all with the Agency, but the freedom he felt in his apartment seemed to affect his interactions with Boyd to some degree. He didn't cut to suspicion and near rudeness as quickly and Boyd, who had once been so serious, was in a lighter mood, even showing more of a sense of humor at times.

It'd taken Sin most of the week to come to the point where he could freely admit those things to himself. By the time Saturday afternoon came, he found himself extremely bored with nothing left to analyze or do. He lay on the white carpet, staring up at the ceiling in silence or pursuing his manuscript of Paradise Lost for most of the day before deciding that he needed to do something else. He'd exercised for the better part of the afternoon but soon lost his focus as his mind began to wander.

He gave up on sit ups after awhile and sat on the floor, picking at the scabs on his lacerated hands and trying to ignore the fact that he wanted to see Boyd. The desire wouldn't leave and after while he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Boyd's number. It rang three times before Boyd answered. Even then, there were rustling sounds and a long period of silence.

"Boyd?"

"Ah," Boyd's voice said mildly after a moment, sounding faintly amused. "Sorry. I couldn't find my phone and then I dropped it. It was very dexterous of me."

Sin cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder and began to pick at his hands again. "You're too clumsy; I don't think this partnership can work anymore."

Boyd chuckled. "Well. If that's all you called to tell me, I think I'll go cry in the corner now..."

A smirk tugged at Sin's mouth and he stopped messing with his hands, opting instead to flop backwards on the floor. "Entertain me before you do that. I'm bored."

"I don't know," Boyd drew out. "Maybe I only feel like entertaining myself today. But just for you, I could play video games and set the phone next to me with the TV turned up loud. You could let your imagination run wild making up what each noise means."

"I could do the same for you but it wouldn't involve video games," Sin drawled. He made a face at himself and closed his eyes. "Anyway..."

There was a bit of rustling noise. "I can't tell if this is a break-up call or sexual harassment. Are you really that bored? Why did you call?"

Sin snorted softly before speaking again. "I'm bored. Go buy me reading material."

"Reading... Do you want me to get you so you can buy books?" He sounded confused.

"You get it. I never asked about my account."

"You should look into it. Interest has probably accrued a decent amount for you by now." There was a hissing noise, more rustling, and a loud clank.

Sin shrugged even though Boyd could not see him. "I guess. There's money
left over
from my father's account as well but I do not see a point, as I do not have need for money usually. Except for instances such as this one, when I am bored and have no reading material." He paused and asked almost as an afterthought. "What's that sound?"

"I'm making tea. So you're saying even though you probably have more money than me you still expect me to pay for all your entertainment?" Boyd tsked. "How unfortunate. I must not have read my contract thoroughly enough."

"I don't know how much money I have," Sin replied before adding, with a small amount of playful pleading: "Come on, Boyd."

"I don't know," Boyd drawled, dragging the words out. "I'm not certain yet this partnership is good enough for me to spend my hard-earned money on things I never benefit from."

"You'll benefit from it," Sin insisted, a smirk crossing his face. "I'll continue to be well read and we can enjoy literary discourse over cookies and tea. You're making tea already-- it's perfect."

"See, it's already starting. First you want my money for your books, now you want to drink all my tea. I suppose I will provide the cookies as well?" A sigh. "I'm beginning to think you like me only for my material possessions."

"I like you for many reasons. However, your wonderful sense of generosity is a bonus." As soon as the words left his mouth, a large amount of irritation spread through Sin. He didn't even have the drugs to blame his loose tongue on anymore.

Boyd chuckled and didn't seem to notice anything strange with the comment. "Now you're just trying to use flattery. I'm onto you, Vega. I've seen your tricks."

Sin resisted the urge to say another innuendo and replied sullenly. "I guess you don't have to go..."

"Alright," Boyd said after a moment, sounding amused and resigned. "You never told me what to get you."

"You pick."

"That could be dangerous, you realize. I could get you anything. Wedding gown books, a children's book about frogs... The possibilities are endless."

"It's okay. I trust you."

There was a long pause. "I can't disappoint you, then," Boyd said. "Give me a few hours and I'll be there."

"Excellent. I expect you here in three hours exactly."

Boyd snorted quietly and Sin could imagine the wry smile on his lips. "I'll be there," was all he said. The line went dead as Boyd hung up.

Sin flipped his phone closed and continued to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling once again. He wondered what books Boyd would bring him and found that although he'd mostly used it as an excuse to call Boyd, he really was looking forward to having something else to read.

When he'd been a child in his mother's care, he'd had little else to do with his time but peruse old copies of classic literature. There had only been a few books in the common room of the house and he knew them all by heart; among the fashion magazines and romance novels had been a collection of works by Dickens, Stevenson and Bronte, left behind by one of the girls who'd made it a habit of picking them up when she went shopping, trying to 'get smarter' as she'd always say. He'd reread them countless times while his mother had entertained in her bedroom, when he'd been desperate to distract himself from the things that went on around him.

Although it seemed odd, Sin thought that books had done more for him than anything else when he'd been a child. Through them, he'd broadened his thoughts, his perspective of the world outside of the small Hong Kong brothel he was born in and they'd taught him how to read in English when he hadn't ever even been taught to read in Chinese.

Even after his mother's death and his father had taken him far from Hong Kong, he'd continued his obsession with reading. It was actually his withdrawn, bookish qualities that had at first motivated his father to begin teaching him how to fight. It was his shocking ability to mimic everything his father showed him the first time he saw it that had encouraged his father to train him to be an agent.

"The best agent," he'd said. "Even better than me."

Sin closed his eyes and massaged his head, trying to block out the flood of memories that came with his father's phantom voice. There were things he didn't mind remembering, things he didn't mind talking about, but then there were the things that lived in the darkest parts of his mind that only showed themselves in his nightmares.

Those were the memories that he never wanted to recover, the ones that Lydia had determinedly tried to make him relive when she'd climbed on top of him and effectively signed her own death warrant. Although he'd had no respect for the woman as an agent, a doctor or anything else, he was positive that he wouldn't have reacted so violently, wouldn't have slipped into an uncontrollable episode, if she hadn't touched him at the exact moment that she'd asked him about his mother.

Sin sat up and stared into space for a moment, lost in thoughts about his parents although that was something he usually wanted to avoid. He remembered back when he'd first entered the Agency, back when certain memories were deeply repressed and in no danger of escaping. Back when he'd told doctors the truth because he hadn't remembered why the truth about his parents were better left a secret.

He wished he could go back to that time. He wished his memories would stop pushing to the forefront of his mind. He wished they would stay hidden where they belonged; in the darkness, with the shadowy thing that took over his body when he felt threatened and lost control.
He stood up with a frustrated scowl and ran both hands through his hair before moving over to the window, staring down at the early March frost; it seemed that there would be one last snowstorm before spring. To his dismay that simple thought automatically led to yet another memory of his father, one that involved early morning jogging during an ice storm, building up stamina for missions that would require him to run around in some of the coldest parts of the world.

"Russia," Emilio would say, "is full of frozen, heartless pricks. If you wanna beat 'em, you gotta be able to tough it out in their kinda conditions. So basically, you gotta know how to not bust your ass on a shitload of ice while half frozen and drunk."

Sin swore under his breath, trying to force the man's image away. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to think of it.

He didn't want to see Emilio's face glaring at him disapprovingly, an expression that just as easily melted away into a large, disarming smile. That huge grin had always haunted Emilio's face and he'd often teased his son for never cracking the smallest smile. Sin had never been good at it and he'd never bothered; in the past he'd never had a reason for laughter or smiles.

Despite their differences in personality, there were times when he loathed seeing his own reflection because it automatically reminded him of his father. He hated whatever course of nature had decided that their DNA should be so exact. While he had his mother's slanted eyes and full lips, he had his father's olive complexion and strange, green eyes.

It was a constant reminder of who he was, where he came from and what he was meant to be. He was supposed to be a sharper image of his father; a killer but without the weakness for women, drugs and alcohol. An assassin without flaws. Despite the fact that his father had been dead for fifteen years, the goals were deeply ingrained in him and the training that he'd endured since he was eight years old would always be at the back of his mind.

There were times when Sin wondered what Boyd's father had been like. He'd seemed to care about his family in the video Sin saw; like he'd really loved his son. Sin wondered what he would be like if his father had been Cedrick Beaulieu. What he'd be like if he hadn't been taught to kill.