HBIC

   “That sounds really nice!”

     Jett put down his plate and shifted to turn to her, “What does that mean? If you can gain their trust…?”

     His brow knitted as he felt a churn in his stomach, “So if you can’t gain their trust then the Government is a fallback?”

    “No!  No,” she said, horrified at how wrongly she’d conveyed what she was trying to tell him.  “What I meant is that— I don’t want to work there.  I don’t want to work for them.”

   “Oh, you know.”

   “Same old.”

    “I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d want to come over for dinner sometime.”

     The perfect thing, because Loralie was a perfectionist — to a fault. And here was a perfect example. “Alright,” he replied with a surrendering sigh, “I know. I believe ya.”

     “It’s not about how big, it’s about how much. How committed you show them you are to them — it’s not on us to decide what’s valuable and what’s not. That’s on the higher ups. They’re the ones with all the information, they’re the ones in charge, not us. You probably know better than anyone that their system is intricate and complicated, so things that seem unimportant now, might not be so later. I think a weekly report is probably the best way to go if you want them to know you’re serious. If you’re picking and choosing, they’re just gonna think that you’re deciding, which looks like you’re hiding shit and like you’re really on their side, not ours. I know who you are, but they don’t, and the people you hurt aren’t gonna come to bat for ya either. I’m guessin’ redemption can be a real shit fucking road.”      He pressed his lips together, turning his attention to his plate, “I really want this to work out.”

    “I can give you a weekly report.”  It lifted some of the tension in her chest that never seemed to go away.  She wanted to do this but there was so much she was uncertain about — what did they want to know, what was good enough, what was unimportant, how was she supposed to decide that — but she didn’t have to anymore.  She had a plan now.  Something solid that she could understand and follow.  “And I’ll give you everything else I already have that I wasn’t sure about.”

     Jett’s brows bounced in mild surprise as she handed him her phone, his attention dropping to its screen. “Thanks. This’ll be good.” His brow creased as he read it, because there was a certain discomfort to knowing someone of importance on their side had been compromised; no matter how much of a newbie he might’ve been.

     “Been meanin’ to ask you about all this… and this is great. But…” He looked at her, unable to hide the concern that pinched his features, “Why were you waiting so long to give me information? I didn’t wanna push… but… you know every little bit counts, right? So… you’re not… hiding some shit?” He paused, tacking on another comment at the end, “Presley shit was weird.”

    “I —” Every little bit counts.  But it hadn’t felt that way.  It hadn’t felt like a little bit would be enough.  Yet here he was, telling her what she probably should’ve known all along.

     Jett laughed when Loralie popped back up to get them the utensils she’d forgotten, his smile lingering when she reclaimed her seat. He took his set, the metal clanking lightly against the plate as he paused to answer her question.

     “Fine. Same shit. Nothin’ eventful. Almost feel like I should say thank fuck.” He peered over at her, brow perking mildly in curiosity, “Seems like you’re the one who has more to talk about. Practically bouncin’ out of your skin.”

    “I am a little bit, yes.”

   “I’m sure it’s fine,” Soph reassured her. “It was an honest mistake, right?”

    “Yes.  But you know how I feel about looking incompetent.  And over doughnuts?”

     “First thing ya go to is a fireman carrying you out, huh? Alright, alright, I gotcha.” 

     Jett lowered himself onto the blanket at her side, grinning when she blowed out the candle and turned on her phone instead. 

    She passed his plate of food over, realizing suddenly that she’d forgotten utensils in all her excitement and she was up again to grab them.

     “Don’t… really think of myself as all that romantic,” he offered with a slight curve of his lips, “There’s no comparison to be made. Except… well—” Jett couldn’t help chuckling softly, “You leavin’ a candle on a blanket on the floor. Tryin’ to burn the place down?” His features cracked into an impish grin as he reached over to playfully pinch her side, adding a prod to tickle her in the end. 

    “I think you are.”

   “That’s okay; I already ate.”

   “What happened?”

    “I was distracted and went to grab an order that I thought was mine but it belonged to someone else.”

     Jett drifted into the kiss and then she was turning back around to attend to the food, asking him to do the same with the wine. He pulled away from her, his fingertips grazing along her waist as he stepped to the side, opening a drawer to get the opener. Screwing it into the cork, he glanced at her, a tiny smile tugging at a corner of his lips.

     “You seem in a good mood.” He yanked the opener, the pressure releasing a pop as it detached from the glass, and began pouring them both a drink in the glasses Loralie had set out. Less for himself; he’d been doing too much of that recently.

    “I am.”  She removed the chicken from the oven and let it sit for just a minute as she put the other food on their plates.  With each one in hand, she led him out of the kitchen and to the living room where she’d set up a picnic on the floor like he had for her when he’d made omelettes.  Her set-up wasn’t quite as romantic as his — he’d bought her roses, and the night sky was projected on the ceiling — but she was still a little proud of the pillows and the blanket and the fresh smelling candle lit in the center.

     Jett entered the apartment, pausing to put his tools down by the door as the smell of roasting chicken spilled into the living room. His keys clattered against the bowl on the kitchen counter as he came up behind her, peeking over her shoulder to see what else she was up to.

     “Smells good.”

    Loralie turned, back pressing against the counter as she smiled up at him.  Her lips met his, then she was back to the task at hand.  "Good.  I'm glad you think so."

   “Oh— thanks.” Soph picked one out, popping it into her mouth. She’d already had breakfast, but she rarely turned down an offer — especially when it was this tasty.

    “I have an extra doughnut, too, if you want it.”

     “Don’t apologize,” he sighed with his own impatience and he removed a generous amount of silver to drop into their box for tips. Another glance in the brunette’s direction when she accepted the doughnut; away again to look at his phone, at the young woman who presented him with his box, at the contents when he flipped the lid over for a second time. 

     “Thank you.” He turned, nearly bumping into the brunette who’d taken his order, the shop becoming more packed by the second. Blues dropped to the atrocious pastry they called the special. “Anyone who enjoys them that much should work in a place like this.” Her outfit suggested she was hardly lower class, though not high… though debating his level of rudeness with a stranger was hardly something he intended to waste time on.

     He nodded in departure, holding his box above his head as another patron nearly walked into him, features tightening with annoyance as he weaved through people toward the exit.

    Loralie watched Kingston with confusion, unsure of how to react to whatever the hell had just happened.  She had whiplash from his impatience, to his more than generous tip, back to him saying she should work there if she liked them so much.  Gaze following him out the door, she tried to picture Bryce with him.  It was hard to imagine.

     “Loralie!” A double take at the woman coming out of a crowded bakery she was passing, and Soph slowed to a stop, a smile spreading across her features.

   “Hi!”

     “Thank you for the reminder?” The older man asked incredulously, “What a curious response.”

     Kingston flipped open the box to examine its contents — because people were liable to screw up if you let them — noticing they’d fitted an extra doughnut, arranged with wax paper to keep it from sticking to the others. Some horrific waffle looking thing that was too decadent to be put on top of a doughnut. Fried bread, and fried bread, and sugar, and sugar…      “I didn’t order this,” he removed it from the box, placing it on the counter in front of the cashier.      “It’s our special! We always give our most esteemed Agents the special of the day with whatever they order,” she smiled, straightening her posture with a perky smile.

     “I didn’t order it and I don’t want it,” he responded, closing his box before checking the next, “And this one is missing the three raspberry filled. Perhaps if you were less busy pushing your specials.” And for one of the supposedly best shops in the city, Kingston’s own patience was already wearing thin.

    I’m a curious person, she almost bit back.  But she knew her tone would come out unkind — because she was embarrassed, because she was angry at herself for being embarrassed — and she also knew that he could make her life difficult if he wanted to.

    The scene between Agent Benton and the service worker played out before her and she felt bad for the young girl.  Though, admittedly, some part of her sided with him because if she’d done her job right the first time, she wouldn’t be stuck there squirming under his gaze.     Doughnut girl glanced at Loralie.  Looking for help?  Support?          “I— I’m so sorry, sir.”  She took the second box back and frantically handed it off to a coworker that had come up behind her, presumably to see what was happening.  “This needs three raspberry filled, right away.”  Then her attention was back on Loralie again.  “Ma’am?  Would you like this... extra doughnut?  Would that— is that—”