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girlsoloLike most things, B&E gets easier as you go. The second time tweaks you less than the first. The third less than the second. By the time you get to the fourth time, even if the hut belongs to a burning hunk of stoic manlove, you barely even feel it.
Kate tells herself that lie, that going back to the old Kate doesn’t bother her. That she’s not really going solo or Solo, she’s just having some fun. Fucking with some heads but not with bank accounts or lives. No one’s going to get hurt except maybe Kate when she gets sloppy or Will catches on.
He will. Maybe he drank the Kool-Aid. Maybe he’s not her Will. Maybe he’s not the guy whose last words she wouldn’t read or whose hand she held while he died or who she was boohooing over when he turned into a Cillobar. He’s still the Willmeister, the Z-man, Sherlock, the Boy with the Freaky Eyeballs (Who Lived). He’ll figure it out eventually.
Kate doesn’t have faith in much, but she has faith in Will.
If she tries to explain all of this to anyone (except Will), they’ll think she’s batshit. Certifiable. Maybe she is. Maybe if she has faith he’ll figure out it’s her, she should have faith that he’ll be here for her. Maybe.
She doesn’t.
So Hunka Hunka Burning’s getting a present. Question is, does he get the perfume that belongs to Crazycakes (Delirium, she found out from sneaking a look at the kitchen schedule and matching it up to her memories) or the feather that belongs to Trixa?
Kate makes a lap of the northeast loop of the paths off the Compound, while she’s thinking about it. When she gets to the juncture, she strolls west instead of south, hands in her pockets and putting on a hang dog expression all the way to Aidan’s place. She loiters there for awhile, making like she’s working up the nerve to go talk to him. He’s not actually home that she knows of, but he doesn’t need to be for people to buy what she’s selling: dashed hopes for something more than a one night stand.
Honestly, she doubts anyone’s paying attention to her. But if anyone is, people who can swear to having seen her hanging around Aidan’s place might come in handy. It’s not deliberate alibi creation. She just hasn’t made a decision yet and it’s a good way to pass the time.
And pick out tomorrow’s vic...tims... well, that settles it. If she’s doing this again tomorrow, then HHB gets Trixa’s feather and tomorrow’s two get the perfume and whatever she ganks from HHB.
Kate takes her time, waits for the sun to go down and the lighting to cast shadows she can move through. When she gets to Bohemia, she creeps this time. Returning to the scene of a crime’s a no-no, but Kate can pull it off. She’ll even pull it off big. Bid high or stay home, she told Declan. So, bid high.
When she’s sure she’s not being watched, Kate slips into the hut that looks more or less identical to Trixa’s with a lot less personality. It’s tidy instead of interesting. Clean instead of comfortable. Fuck, even the clothes are arranged neatly, hung all together, on the bedroom door.
Actually. She scrunches up her face. Seriously? It’s like a work uniform or something. Either that or it’s just really ... retro, and not in the good way. The ensemble offends her with its lack of style, lack of flare.
That has to be fixed. It’s a crime against all that gorgeous manhunk.
Kate pockets the tie and puts the jacket on over her shirts. It matches well enough. No one’s going to question it, even though it’s oversized. She has a chill. Or better, the jacket belongs to Uncle Ravi. It’s the last thing she has of his. He was her favorite uncle, cue waterworks, the only family she has.
Grinning, she takes the scarf she’d wrapped the feather in - bold fashion choice for a guy but workable, and loops it around the hangar. The little bundle with the feather hangs off the bottom. This time the cut-out ransom note reads:
Return to Trixa. The contents of this bundle are under pressure and can only be safely handled by the owner. Do Not Touch.
Kate has the feeling Trixa’s going to appreciate all this. But that feather’s too valuable. She shouldn’t have taken it. Hopefully, the note will keep it safe.
And keep HHB safe from Trixa.
Kate tells herself that lie, that going back to the old Kate doesn’t bother her. That she’s not really going solo or Solo, she’s just having some fun. Fucking with some heads but not with bank accounts or lives. No one’s going to get hurt except maybe Kate when she gets sloppy or Will catches on.
He will. Maybe he drank the Kool-Aid. Maybe he’s not her Will. Maybe he’s not the guy whose last words she wouldn’t read or whose hand she held while he died or who she was boohooing over when he turned into a Cillobar. He’s still the Willmeister, the Z-man, Sherlock, the Boy with the Freaky Eyeballs (Who Lived). He’ll figure it out eventually.
Kate doesn’t have faith in much, but she has faith in Will.
If she tries to explain all of this to anyone (except Will), they’ll think she’s batshit. Certifiable. Maybe she is. Maybe if she has faith he’ll figure out it’s her, she should have faith that he’ll be here for her. Maybe.
She doesn’t.
So Hunka Hunka Burning’s getting a present. Question is, does he get the perfume that belongs to Crazycakes (Delirium, she found out from sneaking a look at the kitchen schedule and matching it up to her memories) or the feather that belongs to Trixa?
Kate makes a lap of the northeast loop of the paths off the Compound, while she’s thinking about it. When she gets to the juncture, she strolls west instead of south, hands in her pockets and putting on a hang dog expression all the way to Aidan’s place. She loiters there for awhile, making like she’s working up the nerve to go talk to him. He’s not actually home that she knows of, but he doesn’t need to be for people to buy what she’s selling: dashed hopes for something more than a one night stand.
Honestly, she doubts anyone’s paying attention to her. But if anyone is, people who can swear to having seen her hanging around Aidan’s place might come in handy. It’s not deliberate alibi creation. She just hasn’t made a decision yet and it’s a good way to pass the time.
And pick out tomorrow’s vic...tims... well, that settles it. If she’s doing this again tomorrow, then HHB gets Trixa’s feather and tomorrow’s two get the perfume and whatever she ganks from HHB.
Kate takes her time, waits for the sun to go down and the lighting to cast shadows she can move through. When she gets to Bohemia, she creeps this time. Returning to the scene of a crime’s a no-no, but Kate can pull it off. She’ll even pull it off big. Bid high or stay home, she told Declan. So, bid high.
When she’s sure she’s not being watched, Kate slips into the hut that looks more or less identical to Trixa’s with a lot less personality. It’s tidy instead of interesting. Clean instead of comfortable. Fuck, even the clothes are arranged neatly, hung all together, on the bedroom door.
Actually. She scrunches up her face. Seriously? It’s like a work uniform or something. Either that or it’s just really ... retro, and not in the good way. The ensemble offends her with its lack of style, lack of flare.
That has to be fixed. It’s a crime against all that gorgeous manhunk.
Kate pockets the tie and puts the jacket on over her shirts. It matches well enough. No one’s going to question it, even though it’s oversized. She has a chill. Or better, the jacket belongs to Uncle Ravi. It’s the last thing she has of his. He was her favorite uncle, cue waterworks, the only family she has.
Grinning, she takes the scarf she’d wrapped the feather in - bold fashion choice for a guy but workable, and loops it around the hangar. The little bundle with the feather hangs off the bottom. This time the cut-out ransom note reads:
Return to Trixa. The contents of this bundle are under pressure and can only be safely handled by the owner. Do Not Touch.
Kate has the feeling Trixa’s going to appreciate all this. But that feather’s too valuable. She shouldn’t have taken it. Hopefully, the note will keep it safe.
And keep HHB safe from Trixa.
