#ac:liberation

As if she had heard him, she hummed something inaudible under her breath, but clearly did not wake up from her slumber.

She rarely did.

Walking over to the desk, Gérald calmly put away the letters and the lodger that he carried, continuing on to the assassin he had come to cherish beyond words. Daring to brush a wayward curl from her face, he closed his eyes halfway as the by now familiar warmth bloomed in his chest.

”You are working much too hard, Aveline... Will you ever learn?”

His words were naught but a mumble, a plea that he knew she would never listen to. How he wished another life for her, one that did not include murders and hardships: this dangerous double life that would doubtlessly claim her life one day. Perhaps his as well.

No, certainly his as well. For when she died, a part of him would die with her.

Drawing a deep breath he carefully nestled his arms in underneath her, trying to make sure that it would balance out once he straightened. Only once he was certain that it would he braced himself for the weight and lift her up, wanting to have her rest in an actual bed rather than the questionable comfort of an armchair.

Aveline sighed at the shift of position, but as through a miracle she stayed asleep. Even as he turned to carry her to the bed her only actions were to prop her head against his shoulder, hum contently to herself, and keep dreaming.

He smiled faintly at the sight. The feeling of having Aveline in his arms was a dual one. Heaven and hell. Not only because he lacked the proper muscle mass to feel confident in carrying her around, but also because it made his heart ache with all the more vigour. Her smell mixed with each and every one of his breaths, her warmth a soothing balm next to his slightly colder body temperature.

Gérald knew nothing as bittersweet as the closeness he felt when carrying her the short distance between the armchair and the bed.

Despite the disadvantages he walked carefully, rather taking it too slow than too fast. Taking his time, rather than risk dropping her or otherwise wake her up — she needed the sleep, so badly. If the bureau was the one place she felt safe enough to doze off, if he was the only person who was allowed to carry her the way he did without her waking up, ready to defend herself at a moment's notice, then he would bit back the less chivalrous sides of his affection a thousand times over.

”Careful now,” he mumbled to himself as he manouvered around the office, keeping a close eye on the furniture. The last thing he wanted was to walk her into something.

However, Aveline must have heard him, as the next thing she did was shifting in his arms, resting her forehead against his neck instead of his shoulder, mumbling as she did:

”Always careful, monsieur...”

At first Gérald's heart skipped a beat in panic, luring him to believe that he had woke her up, and he froze where he was. But as the seconds passed and Aveline made no more inclinations that she was awake or even aware of what she had said, he slowly relaxed anew — and his heart beat harder for other reasons.

As Aveline's forehead nuzzling against his neck.

Swallowing discreetely, Gérald resumed his attempt to get her to a bed without waking her up, wanting nothing more than to put her down so that she may get some proper rest — and him some reprieve from the flutter in his chest.

Having reached the bed, he carefully put her down, always gentle and attentive to make sure that she would not be disturbed from his motions. Especially as he near toppled over when said motions had the weight shift without him being properly prepared for it.

Gérald prayed that the flutter of her lashes was due to a dream, nothing else.

Straightening up anew, he arranged the last details — such as putting a blanket over her to keep her from freezing — and took a step back. Giving himself a moment to make sure that she was comfortable, he then drew a breath.

”Rest well, Aveline,” he said softly, and turned to leave just as the corner of her lips curled into a miniscule smile, as if she was not asleep at all.

”Monsieur!” she feigned a gasp, feeling the tug of her lips as she fought not to break into laughter. His tone implied just how confident he was in her skills, and she could accept what few taunts and teases he threw at her, if nothing else because she loved hearing him confident enough to speak them. ”I am appalled! That is no way to speak to a lady.”

”Then it is lucky that I speak to the Lady, not just any lady,” he replied without missing a beat, the voice clearly containing a wry smile. ”There is an open window on the floor just above you. Use that and head for the conference room down the corridor. You'll find your target there.”

”What would I do without you, Monsieur?” she mused, a tinge of satisfaction settling like an ember in her chest at his responding soft laugh.

Shifting her pace just the slighest, she was able to grab hold of a hook protruding from the scaffolding, not hesitating even once when running in a wide arc only to push herself off the edge. For a moment the only thing between her and certain death was the wire that kept the hook in place: below her merely eight hundred feet of nothing but air and a few protruding beams from the scaffolding.

Chilly night air swirled around her, tugging at her clothes and backpack, until she twisted in the air — getting one second of looking down at the hundreds of thousands of lights from windows and street lights, making the city below look like a night sky — and landed one storey up from where she had been. The risk itself made her giddy, jolts upon jolts of adrenaline surging through her body and driving her on.

The thrill always excited her, always pushed her to test her limits.

”What was it that I said about being 'reckless'?” the other's voice stated dryly in her ear, and she snorted on a laugh.

”Don't be like that, Monsieur. This was the fastest way.”

”There was a ladder about fifty feet ahead of you.”

”No fun, and I would have had to backtrack. Now, open window?”

”It should be just ahead. Please spare my poor heart next time? I was about to get a heart attack when I saw you make the leap.”

”Don't you have faith in me?” she teased, quickly locating and heading towards the indicated window.

”You are reckless and stubborn and make way too many impulsive decisions. Of course I have faith in you.”

Rolling her eyes, she still admitted that she preened at his confirmation of faith. While she knew very little about the Monsieur, she had come to trust and respect him over the years, and his praise meant a lot to her.

It was remarkable how much someone's voice and choice of words could tell you about the person behind it.

Entering through the window, she made sure to recover a sliver of calm and attention to more than her thrill seeking tendencies. Her words lost some of their teasing hints and her motions, albeit smooth and graceful still, slowed and became silent.

”I'm in.”

”Good. You remember your instructions?”

”Clean kill, no witnesses, stay by the door so the cameras won't catch me on tape.”

”Couldn't have said it better myself. Don't worry about the cameras in the hallway: they're dummies. Communication's out until you're back outside. Don't leave me hanging.”

”Hanging would be my job, right?”

”Indeed. See you in a few, Lady.”

The line went dead and she drew a deep breath. Whilst convinced of her own skills, and grateful for getting to do her job in silence, the first moments of quiet always left her a bit lonely. She had gotten used to Monsieur's voice in her ear, and despite how they never held the line open during the actual kill due to safety and her concentration, she still missed it.

Moving through the corridor she let herself be swept away into the sounds of soft humming from electronics, of the ticking from a clock on the far side wall, of the faint remnants of fish from the kitchenette she had passed, the feeling of the wall-to-wall mat underneath her soles. And in the midst of all that, she focused ahead, zooming everything else out. The door to the conference room was ajar, two dozen feet in front of her, a silent clatter from a computer's keyboard disturbing what silence that could be had.

Reaching the door and glancing inside gave her enough sight to locate her target. Eyes on the screen and suit jacket over the back of her chair, the blonde woman paused her writing just long enough to correct her glasses and tap one nail against the surface of her desk before returning her fingers to the keyboard.

Lady drew one deep, slow breath, listening closely. Only when she was certain that no one else was in the door did she lift her gun, aimed, and fired.

The woman dropped to the floor with only a faint thud to tell about it, and Lady turned to leave without a second's hesitation. It was no more than a minute before she was back out on the scaffolding, heading towards the ladder this time — she had to show some respect for Monsieur and his heart, after all.

She had only just stepped out on it when there was a white noise in the earpiece, followed by the soft voice of the Monsieur.

”No trouble, I hope?”

”None. In and out without a sound. I am heading back down.”

”That's my Lady: elegant and deadly.”

”Flatterer,” she half chided, half purred.

”Only for you.”

It was impossible for her to contain a smile at that. Later, when she would have returned to her apartment and long since ended the playful banter that she somehow always managed to tangle up in while speaking to the Monsieur, said smile would still play on her lips. It would follow her through the shower, and the hastily made midnight snack, as well as through the preparations for the following day, all the way into bed.

And when she lay on the verge of being claimed by sleep, she would find herself already waiting for her next assignment. Not for the thrill of danger, or any sort of satisfaction with taking lives or stealing from whoever it may be, but for the knowledge that Monsieur's smooth, encouraging voice would accompany her through it all.