I go to Judgement

Aiden has been looking for Rico for the past ten minutes. Their handler wants everyone gathered for the next assignment briefing. Of course, he has to wander off to God knows where in this maze of a building. She pushes her way through a heavy door into an alley between two wings. The walls manage to hide the cramped space between them away from the beating sun.

In the shadow, Rico leans back with his boot against the wall and a cigarette between his lips. Smoke coils up and collects into a cloud above him.

“Are you even allowed to smoke out here?” Aiden asks impatiently.

“’Haven’t gotten any complaints yet.”

She’s about to tell him to pack it up and come inside when her eyes catch on a silver glint in his hand. It’s a pocket ashtray. She’s seen him use it before, usually out on jobs, probably to avoid leaving a trail of discarded cigarette butts for someone to follow. But there’s no mercenaries or other treasure hunters following them here. Inside, it’s just a bunch of uppity pencil pushers blabbing about “provenance” and “acquisitions.”

Aiden nods her head, gesturing with her chin towards the ashtray, “you know no one’s lurking in the darkness out here but you, right?”

She expects him to say something about its practicality or about how years in the field make certain habits hard to let go. She expects him to look at her like he’s amused she’d even notice. But that’s not what happens.

He’s looking away from her, like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t quite want to give away yet.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, “That’s not why I use it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re an environmentalist,” he genuinely doesn’t strike her as the blue-bin-at-the-curb type.

“Well-” he pauses, uncertain, “I was smoking outside a little diner – this was years ago now. Food scraps and trash were all over the place. Then, a seagull dropped down in front of me and instead of picking up a fry or something, it swallowed a cigarette butt.”

“One of yours?” There is a hint of concern in her voice, but she wouldn’t admit to it if pressed.

“No, I’d only had the one I wasn’t done with yet. ‘Tried to chase the bird down to get it out of its mouth, but the damn thing flew off before I could reach it.”

His voice trails off, but there is enough evidence for Aiden to piece together the rest. She could let him off easy, let him keep a modicum of his dignity, but that was never truly an option. “A stupid bird ate some garbage, and that upset you so much you can’t bring yourself to ever toss another cigarette on the ground?”

“Yes.”

Several emotions fight their way across her face as she envisions him scrambling around a dingy parking lot chasing after a bird. It’s almost cartoonish, “So, the big, scary, killer cat-man is worried about a little birdie getting sick?”

“Aiden, please.”

Aiden has this look like Rico will never know what peace is ever again, “Oh my god. I have to tell Jamila.” She grabs his wrist and drags him back inside.

Aiden has been looking for Rico for the past ten minutes. Their handler wants everyone gathered for the next assignment briefing. Of course, he has to wander off to God knows where in this maze of a building. She pushes her way through a heavy door into an alley between two wings. The walls manage to hide the cramped space between them away from the beating sun.

In the shadow, Rico leans back with his boot against the wall and a cigarette between his lips. Smoke coils up and collects into a cloud above him.

“Are you even allowed to smoke out here?” Aiden asks impatiently.

“’Haven’t gotten any complaints yet.”

She’s about to tell him to pack it up and come inside when her eyes catch on a silver glint in his hand. It’s a pocket ashtray. She’s seen him use it before, usually out on jobs, probably to avoid leaving a trail of discarded cigarette butts for someone to follow. But there’s no mercenaries or other treasure hunters following them here. Inside, it’s just a bunch of uppity pencil pushers blabbing about “provenance” and “acquisitions.”

Aiden nods her head, gesturing with her chin towards the ashtray, “you know no one’s lurking in the darkness out here but you, right?”

She expects him to say something about its practicality or about how years in the field make certain habits hard to let go. She expects him to look at her like he’s amused she’d even notice. But that’s not what happens.

He’s looking away from her, like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t quite want to give away yet.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, “That’s not why I use it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re an environmentalist,” he genuinely doesn’t strike her as the blue-bin-at-the-curb type.

“Well-” he pauses, uncertain, “I was smoking outside a little diner – this was years ago now. Food scraps and trash were all over the place. Then, a seagull dropped down in front of me and instead of picking up a fry or something, it swallowed a cigarette butt.”

“One of yours?” There is a hint of concern in her voice, but she wouldn’t admit to it if pressed.

“No, I’d only had the one I wasn’t done with yet. ‘Tried to chase the bird down to get it out of its mouth, but the damn thing flew off before I could reach it.”

His voice trails off, but there is enough evidence for Aiden to piece together the rest. She could let him off easy, let him keep a modicum of his dignity, but that was never truly an option. “A stupid bird ate some garbage, and that upset you so much you can’t bring yourself to ever toss another cigarette on the ground?”

“Yes.”

Several emotions fight their way across her face as she envisions him scrambling around a dingy parking lot chasing after a bird. It’s almost cartoonish, “So, the big, scary, killer cat-man is worried about a little birdie getting sick?”

“Aiden, please.”

Aiden has this look like Rico will never know what peace is ever again, “Oh my god. I have to tell Jamila.” She grabs his wrist and drags him back inside.