Chapter Text
The op is over, and it went perfectly to plan. The girl did extraordinarily well, even for a child so small; the Asset had doubted, despite his handler’s instructions.
She will be useful. If she is not, terminate her.
He had hoped it wouldn’t come to that; he is glad it did not. He would have killed her, of course, but he wouldn’t have felt right in doing so. There’s something about the two blonde braids that hang over her shoulder that reminds him of…
Glitching. He’ll need recalibration as soon as he returns to base.
But she was useful in getting him close to the target, and she did not cry when he executed the target in front of her, and she helps in the cleanup afterwards. When everything is done, she follows him without a word.
Warsaw’s Old Town may have been rebuilt to exacting standards after its wholesale destruction during the war, but it is impossible to build something to feel anything but new, and the Asset can still smell the paint on the castle, over 400 and also only 10 years old. The city is still shaking off communism; Solidarność posters hang on every street corner, and where they don’t, the kotwica has been painted instead. There are deep lines etched into the faces of the people walking by. Everyone too tired, too busy, too self-involved to bother paying attention to the stony-faced man walking by the too-quiet girl, both smelling rather strongly of bleach and vinegar.
Another smell. This one brighter, lighter, like cream and sugar and strawberries.
The girl’s shoe scrapes a little on the cobblestones. It’s not stumbling, just a momentary distraction. She straightens, her shoulders back and solid, as if she’s suddenly worried that it’s enough for punishment.
He glances at the direction of the scent – and without a word, changes direction towards it.
The girl follows, meek, holding her breath.
The scent is stronger in the shop; the Asset’s Polish doesn’t quite extend to what’s on sale, but it’s not like there are many options.
Two minutes later, they’re back on the street.
“Eat,” the Asset tells the girl, gruffly.
A moment later, she does, a tiny lick first, followed by larger ones. The cones are small, the rounds of ice cream smaller; he eats his in three bites, but she makes hers last all the way to the extraction point, and it’s gone long before their handlers are there to retrieve them.
The Asset doesn’t say anything about their detour in the debrief.
And neither does she.