"Stop standing." In the murky shadows of a city night, Fae feels a tug on her sleeve and she lowers into a crouch, the heat of another body pressing up on her as Keno slinks to her side.

"You can command me around all you want back at the Tower, but here we play on my terms," he tells her, his voice a low murmur in her ear as two long fingers tap at the fabric beneath her chin. "Pull that up. The last thing we need is someone recognizing you."

Fae yanks the mask up, pulling the fabric until it rests just below her eyes. She feels the hood settle over her head, cocooning her in.

"What's the plan?" she whispers, watching as the kneeling man shifts, his long, angular face leaning forward, turning—watching, listening at the long unseen stretch of road behind the brick corner. In the distance something explodes.

"I've arranged for a meeting with our friend to go over some of his new inventory," he tells her, a thin, silver thing slipping out from his sleeve, twisting in his fingers.

Lockpick, she thinks watching as he runs it between his fingers.

"In that building?" she asks, nodding toward the hulking, empty structure across the way. It's dark and barren, glass strewn across the street and windows vacant holes, gaping out toward them in the hazy twilight.

"Right on, sweetheart." He straightens up a little and she moves to do the same, halting only when he holds a hand up. "Stay low for a moment."

They wait, listening, but there's only ambient, distant noise and the thief glances up and down the street once more before sinking onto his haunches, his back set to the wall.

"There are three things we need to come to an agreement about before we do this," He says, holding up his hand and ticking them off, one by one, with long, pale fingers. "One: when we get in there and case the place you stick by my side. No wandering off, no poking around. You see something funny, you tell me. Two: when I find a place for you to hide you stay there until I give this signal."

He reaches up and scratches the left side of his nose.

"No jumping out before, no seizing any 'opportunities.' If I don't make that signal you don't move. Third: if I tell you to run, you run. No stopping, no lingering behind, no rushing back to 'save me.' We don't play hero here. I say go, you go."

"I understand," she answers, a little peeved to be treated with these kid gloves but still so happy to be outside, happy to have a knife strapped to her leg, a quiver on her back.

"If everything goes to plan you don't need this," he says, reaching out and tapping her bow. "Stick with this." And his hand falls, his fingers pressing at the blade on her thigh.

Their eyes meet.

"Fitting in is the best way to stay alive," he says after a minute, "and no one around here carries fancy bows."

"You won't be complaining if we get ambushed," she retorts as he stands, a tall shadow in the flickering lamplight.

"Aye, sweetheart, I'll sing that bow a sonnet if things go sideways."

They flit like shadows across the street, slipping inside the steel and brick shell. Keno moves so quickly and Fae darts behind, trying to mirror his slick steps. He keeps low even as they enter the haven of dark shadows, and Fae catches the gleam of his blade in the light, a small, thin thing that slips in and out of view.

He moves them through each room one at a time, lingering close to the wall, pointing to faults in the floor; weak, fractured spots; and other broken things. When he is satisfied the building is clear they move back into the main hall, crouched low in the stairwell between two floors.

"Main level or top?" Fae asks, glancing up and then back down. Top level would make it harder for the man to escape, main would be more stable.

"Main," Keno answers. "There's a double wall in the room to the right that you're going to hide behind. We'll do business in there, with the streetlight. Where's your knife?"

She pulls it out and hands it to him, watching as he balances it in his fingers, feeling its weight and twisting it around once before handing it back to her.

"How much experience do you have with that?"

She throws the knife and it catches the chained links of the rusted chandelier on the upper floor, pinning the iron weight up onto the ceiling with the clink and groan of metal.

His teeth are white and pointed in his wide smile.

It's a blur of action after that until she has a moment to pause, waiting and watching from a little keyhole notched into the crumbling plaster, the double wall Keno guided her behind. Her face is pressed tight to the chalky surface and she knows when she pulls away she'll have a white print all up her face. She's glad Caj will be out, glad he won't see.

He wouldn't understand, she thinks, all pin-pricks of regret and defensiveness, her hand clutched around the knife.

I have to, I need to—

This is so stupid—

A man follows Keno into the room. Fae studies him, studies the broad shoulders, the tall height, the lurking darkness set around his face. Her fingers flex around the knife.

Not good.

His voice is the crunch of gravel as he and Keno trade words, the bulky sack hitting the floor with a rumble of unseen things and dust, drifting up. The thief has his back to her but slides, as she knew he would, slowly around, turning the man without him noticing, so his back is to Fae's wall and Keno's face is lit in the light.

"How many?" the man demands and Fae watches as Keno's brows twitch together before smoothing out.

"Hard to say until I see the merchandise," he answers, voice wry but in a way only one who really knows him would catch, and she watches his fingers drum at his side.

The man takes the hint, kicking the top of the sack off with a boot and the contraptions gleam in their case.

"Loaded with bolts, spring mechanism," the man drones. "Prototypes courtesy of a few friends in Quersido. You'll be seeing more of them soon enough."

"If I don't get to them first," Keno finishes for him, bending down to inspect the instruments. "Clever. Takes the strain out of archery."

"How many?" the man asks again as Keno picks some strange, bow-like contraption up, holding the wooden beam down its center in one hand, testing the string with another.

"How many do you have?"

"Fifty."

"Fifty sounds lovely," Keno answers, pointing the thing at the wall to the side of them, hoisting it so the butt of it rests on his shoulder. When he pulls the string the bolt looses, hitting the wall with a piercing crack.

"You have used one before," the man complains and Fae catches the scowl on his face as he turns to look at the mark.

The thief flashes him a smile.

"I've tried everything before. I'll take what you have here and then come collect the rest."

"Payment first."

"Partial payment first," he corrects. "A quarter the sum for this lot, three quarters upon safe delivery for the rest."

He tosses the bag to the man and it lands in his hand with a soft clink of coins. The arms dealer looks down at it, weighing it in his hand. Something prickles down Fae's spine as he looks back up at the thief.

"My friends told me about you," he says and Keno only cocks an eyebrow, waiting. "They told me what you are buying these for."

"And what does it matter to you?" the thief returns, an edge to his pleasant tone, his smile hardening.

The man shrugs.

"Nothing, but what it means for my bottom line."

Fae's hand grips her bow, her other fingers curled tight against the feathered tip of an arrow.

Keno bares his teeth.

"Exactly."

There is a moment of blindness, a moment between peering through the crack in the wall and wheeling around the other side of it where Fae can only rely on sound, can only rely on the sudden thundering of heavy boots, the swish of giant limbs moving fast. Her arrow is notched when she flings herself around the other side and it points instinctively at the path of the outstretched hand, calculating, estimating, releasing.

The grunt of pain breaks through the ambient noise, the swearing of words under a sharp breath, the hand pierced and clutched around a shaking wrist as the thief runs in from the front and Fae crashes into the trader from the side. The force of it knocks the man back off his feet, the enormous body rumbling onto the ground below. Bow left on the floor, Fae's hand scrambles for a loose brick and she feels the man's hand on her throat as she catches a rock, feels the thick fingers dig and squeeze.

Black spots. Shuddering breath. Twitching fingers. Flailing arms. The brick still clutched. The brick swinging down. Knees kicking. Gasping. Gasping.

A flash of wood crashes in right at the man's elbow. A loud snap. Air, air rattling through a shaking throat. Air, cool—cold, too cold—a stumble, hands splayed on the ground. Someone grunting. Someone gasping.

"Ben says hello," some deep voice rasps to someone else who kicks helplessly on the ground. "Ben says—"

Her fingers find the brick again, tighter now, stronger now, half from full breath, half from a sudden jolt of rage and she swings out, hitting his skull with a crack, cleaving him across the face again, ignoring the blow of a heavy arm, leaning into the third strike.

Something hits her again but it's a different body and it's throwing her down, pressing her to the floor and the room swims in her eyesight.

"He's down," the dark figure rasps above her, its usual slyness hidden by a choking croak. The shaking arms can only hold his lean upper body up above her and his dark hair hangs like water around his face.

"Keno," she gasps, her own voice mangled by the abuse, her hands shaking as she sets them on his upper arms, settling for a moment to check he's there. "Are you alright?"

He somehow manages to laugh, rolling off her and down into the dust.

"Where's the rope?"

She tries to heave herself up, fails, and then tries again, her throat and core burning in protest. The rope.... The rope is behind the wall, where they left it.

"He knew," she says as she drags herself over there, hand curving behind the ledge, grasping for it and pulling it out. "He never meant for the sale to go through."

"Aye." When she turns back the thief has curled up over his knees, his back an elegant curve in the moonlight. "I think I've been officially blacklisted."

"Welcome to the club," Fae says as she plops down next to him, kneeling over the massive, unconscious body. "If I put in a rush order, we should be able to get your honorary pin in a couple of weeks."

He laughs again, harder, arms hanging loosely from the perch of his legs, head hung low. Fae ties a double knot on the bind of the man's hands and then does the feet as well, just in case. The thief is still in the same place when she's finished and she turns, back aching, and leans, her spine to his, her head on his shoulder.

"You broke my fucking rule."

"You owe my bow a fucking sonnet."

The bones of the building shake as Keno roars laughter.

Their limbs are lead by the time they throw the arms dealer into a cell. Whilst there, they borrow a cloak and soldiers' armor so they can wander up through the tower without anyone looking too closely. Legs burning with the climb, Fae resolves to put new measures in place the following morning so that this exact scheme cannot work again for some less-than-friendly fiend. This jaunt with Keno has shown some serious flaws in her security.

"You're going to want to cancel your morning meetings," the thief tells her in a tired murmur. "And maybe invest in a couple of high collared dresses."

Fae winces, feeling the bruises already growing. She hasn't seen her reflection since it happened; she doesn't really want to.

"I guess I'm coming down with a wicked cold," she says, the words a hoarse whisper down the stairwell. "The remedy: warm tea and honey."

She hears him moan in longing behind her.

"Roll me under your bed and just slide me cups every once in a while."

The laugh hurts when it rattles up through her throat. They've reached the door and she fiddles with the key, so tired her fingers are trembling.

"We can throw some cushions into the hidden room," she tells him as the lock clicks and the handle turns. "At the very least, sleep the night. You're not in a fit state to scale that wall again—"

The fire flickers to life on in the hearth, but she is too far to have stirred it. The light catches the face of the man inside, the dark skin and green-flecked eyes which widen as they lock onto her face.

She learns all she needs to know about her appearance by the look on Caj's face.

She hears Keno murmur something suspiciously like "Oh shit," from behind her, but Caj is moving and he looks every bit the terror the city citizens make him out to be.

"What—" he hisses, peering into her face, fingers flying up then stopping, shaking, as he catches sight of her throat. "What—"

He's quick and sharp, one brutal hand striking out, clamping down on Keno's neck as Caj's face contorts, rage dug into every line, every glint of clenched teeth and gritting grimace. Fatigue is forgotten as Fae seizes that wrist, pulling back against the chords that strain on his arm and in his neck.

"No," she rasps but the thief's fingers jab at the inside of Caj's elbow, causing the straight line of his arm to bend, allowing the thief to twist in his grip.

"Caj, no—!"

She pushes into him and he abandons his assault to catch her, as she knew he would, gripping her to him, holding her up as she leans forward to force him back.

"You are— What— How did—?" he spits words, his grip tightening.

"We went to take in one of the Jarles contacts—the arms dealer here," she tells him. "It worked out, but he put up a fight."

The look on Caj's face is every awful thing Fae had resolutely ignored when she left the tower earlier tonight.

"We're fine—"

"You're not fine," he snarls and she feels his hands shake as they clamp down on her upper arms.

"Stop yelling at her and get her a wash towel and a warm compress," Keno says suddenly. He somehow stumbled over to a far corner where he stands now, at a safe distance, slumped with his hands braced on his knees.

Caj's face contorts once more but the expression cracks as his nostrils flare, a heavy exhale that could almost be smoke, and his grip loosens.

He helps Fae to the sofa before turning, heels clipping against the cold stone, and disappearing into her quarters. Fae catches Keno's gaze and the thief gives her a wan smile.

"I'd like it if you would bury whatever remains of my body up on the hilltops outside of the city."

Another painful laugh, and then an attempt at assurance but she winces through it and Caj has returned, towel in hand.

She reaches out for it but he doesn't hand it over, turning instead to Keno.

"Get out."

"Caj—"

"Get out," he repeats, his voice ice and warning, beneath it all a small mercy.

Keno lifts the helmet from the floor and Fae tries to stand.

"No," she says, her voice regaining power, even as her body fails her. "No, I—"

But Keno holds up a hand.

"I know the guard pattern," he tells her. "I can get back down with this costume."

"You're half dead—"

"But I'm very hard to kill," Keno cuts in with a flash of a smile. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart. This isn't the worst thing I've recuperated from."

Caj's frame is livewire, tautened by the endearment, but he holds still as the man slips out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

She turns back to set things right, to explain it wasn't Keno's fault—it was her fault—but the dark figure in front of her collapses to his knees, shoulders framed by firelight, and he leans over, a hand set gently along her neck.

"Lift your chin," he murmurs and she hears the anger simmering below it, shoved down but rumbling at a soft boil. The cloth is damp and cool when it brushes along her skin, skimming down the long column of her throat and then up, around the bridge of her brow, the line of her nose, slipping across the high set of her cheek and then down into the curve of it. The cloth is a patchwork of grime and blotchy red when he sets it aside.

"Caj—"

"Turn to the side," he says quietly and his hands settle on her throat. At first it's only the shimmering touch of his skin and then she feels it, the heat, simmering just beneath it, ebbing out and into the damage along her neck. It seeps in, relaxing taut tendons, unwinding stretched muscles and she falls back against the cushions, at once soothed but acutely aware of how little she deserves it.

That thought prickles selfishly at the corners of her eyes as she lays there, staring at the flickering fire.

"I fucked up," she whispers after a long moment.

He doesn't answer and part of her wonders if it's a punishment, a revocation of all that trust she earned, bit by bit, over the months.

"I'm sorry."

She feels his thumb run along the side of her throat but she doesn't deserve this kindness and her eyes burn with it.

"You should have taken me," he says after a time and she nods against his hands, conceding in the light of gripping fists and sudden blows that this was true.

"I just... I just wanted to be me again," she admits to the silence.

She feels his fingertips flutter, a quiet twitch.

"You're still you," Caj's voice murmurs in the firelight. "And I am still me."

A/N: THAT WAS CLOSE. This is why we have the buddy system, guys.

Fun poll: which is scarier, Ben being mad at you, or Caj?

Also: happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers!