Archive of Our Own

"You're to work with Theodore until I think you are not a liability."

Cassian's eyes light up with Azathoth's news, and he has to stop himself from jumping over the desk and knocking the older man out of his chair with a hug. Instead, he rocks back and forth on his heels and tightly folds his hands behind his back, biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling too big.

"Just so we're clear," Azathoth continues, leaning across his desk. His gaze pierces through Cassian's, as if demanding him to be still and listen. "I am taking a risk having you here. The targets and threats we are investigating and attempting to stop the efforts of will spare no effort to eliminate you, or any of us. Considering your father is one of my sponsors, should anything happen to you under my employment, it will be my head that'll be removed."

The thought of his father of all people beheading anyone makes Cassian snort, admittedly. He clears his throat the moment Azathoth's eyes narrow at him, even for a second, in an all too familiar 'watch your tongue' look.

"So, you will do anything Theodore, or I, assign to you, and nothing outside of that. If I catch wind of you doing otherwise, the moment I believe you could be compromising myself or anyone in this institute, I will send you home."

There's a lot he wants to say. He wants to protest, tell Azathoth he's more than capable of handling more work, that he needs more work than that. So what of the threats? They're people, he wants to say, and people can always be reasoned with. Even if the supernatural becomes involved, anything, anything can be dealt with through reason, he'll think of another way if that falls through, he's good at thinking on his feet!

But as if Azathoth's predicted all of it, he speaks up again.

"… I mean it, Hortensius. Your father is a friend of mine, in fact both are, and I would prefer keeping myself in their good graces. I will not fall from it due to your recklessness. I will reconsider giving you a proper position here once you've proven yourself."

"I will," Cassian blurts at the last part. "I'll prove myself, I promise, Sir. I'm no liability."

Whether he's convincing himself or Azathoth… well, he wants to think the latter.

The way Azathoth raises a brow at him indicates otherwise. Then he leans back in his chair.

"I'll be the judge of that. You may leave, now."

That is what brings Cassian to the open door of Theodore Viteri's office. While walking down the spiral staircase and down the hallway, he'd passed Na-Young and Nick chatting amongst each other, and when his and Na-Young's eyes made contact, she'd given him a big smile and a double thumbs up.

"You're gonna like Dr. Viteri," she'd exclaimed, "he's super chill and cool 'n stuff!! 'Grats on gettin' to stay, by the way- Oh, yay, we'll get to do lots together soon!!"

How Na-Young knew already, he didn't question at the time. He just gave her a smile and thanks. Nick hadn't said anything to him, only gave him a nod of acknowledgement and a gentle smile, before he'd turned back to Na-Young and continued their conversation.

The brief encounter made him wonder if they had to work under someone, too. I mean, come on, he thinks, they're only a year ahead of me, surely Azathoth doesn't trust them to work on their own, no? He means no offense to either of them, but he's well aware of Na-Young's track record of 'hit first, ask later', even more aware of Nick doing whatever she did after her. They're smart individuals (well, Nick is, he thinks Na-Young's skills lie elsewhere), but together, it's as if any form of intellect goes out the window. He's interacted with them briefly while doing free-lance work with the local police, and he likes them, but-

Those are all questions that he puts on the back-burner. When he blinks himself out of his thoughts, he realises he's been standing in Theodore's doorway for at least fifteen seconds, and the man hasn't even noticed.

So, he knocks on the open door to alert him.

Theodore's head perks up, rich green eyes slightly widened behind his glasses.

The first question that pops into Cassian's head is why he's currently looking at a man that has to be in his mid-twenties at the oldest.

The second question is, why is he hot?

"Ah, sorry!" He pushes his glasses up, standing from his desk and knocking over a paper cup of coffee on the paper he'd had in front of him. He hisses through his teeth, frantically picking the cup up before it can spill out any further, sighing with defeat at the now stained paper. "I- I was… distracted, as- You may tell, I didn't see you there- My apologies. Please, come in."

Cassian nods, muttering a "thank you" as he enters the office and closes the door behind him. He takes a moment to observe its messy state, having to stop himself from questioning aloud how Theodore finds anything in here. Papers and books are strewn across the wooden desk, and now there's coffee spilt on one of those papers. The floor itself seems fairly clean, say for the jacket haphazardly thrown into the corner.

This is an office not quite lived in yet, Cassian notes. Despite its disarray, there's really not a lot in here, barely any personal items of Theodore's.

I have to work with a man who's barely started here? Oh, so Azathoth can trust him with a position of his own, but not me? Talk about bias-

"I take it you're Cassian?"

Cassian blinks, then he holds his hand out to Theodore for a handshake.

"Cas is just fine," he replies, "thank you. And you're Theodore?"

"Guilty." Theodore shakes his hand, and Cassian expects his grip to be firm. It's gentler than he anticipates, which he could say about the man's entire demeanour, frankly. It makes him question the scar spanning from the inner part of Theodore's left eyebrow and down across the bridge of his nose. What, did he trip and hit his face on the corner of something?

"… Naya referred to you as 'Doctor'- You're a bit young for that title, are you not?" Cassian lets Theodore's hand go, straightening himself up to try in vain to meet Theodore's height.

His face reddens, and he leans back against his desk, taking a quick glance back to make sure the cup of coffee was in no imminent danger. "I get that a lot- But, I suppose so… um- I haven't had it for long, if that means anything."

"I wasn't questioning- I think it's impressive. And as Stavros's head investigator, I must assume you've earned that spot. It seems as if you're held in high regard around here…"

Theodore's face reddens more, and the way he averts his gaze makes Cassian question if he'd stepped on some kind of nerve. His shoulders tighten, and it's his turn for his face to turn hot. "I don't mean to imply that I don't trust or believe in you- Apologies."

"No, no- You're quite alright." He holds a hand up, returning eye contact. "I mean- If I were your age and told to work with someone who's barely older than some of his peers, I'd be the same. So, no offense taken at all. I get it."

At least he's aware of it, Cassian thinks. He hopes that thought doesn't show on his face, though the want to scoff rises to his chest. He redirects the energy with a small "mm", pursing his lips and drumming his fingers on his hip.

"Right, then," Theodore breaks the silence, pushing off his desk and walking around it. "I assume you don't need a long lecture on what to do and what not to do, Az- Stavros has filled me in on what you're capable of."

Az? Cassian's eyebrows raise. If they're on a first name basis- Okay, sure, he's called Theodore by his first name this whole time, but he knows better than to refer to their boss with the same friendliness. And with how Theodore no longer looks at him, instead redirecting his attention to rummaging through a drawer behind his desk? Maybe that explains the position Theodore's in, but that thought makes Cassian feel a little guilty. He's surely a smart man, if Na-Young holds him in esteem herself, and he totally hasn't won some… favour of Azathoth's to get to where he is-

"But one thing stuck out to me about you."

"Oh? What's that?"

Something is tossed his direction, and Cassian catches it to his chest with a yelp of surprise.

The object is metallic, weighted. The handle is rough, and when he properly looks down at it-

"Theodore-"

"Theo's alright!"

"Theo. Why am I currently holding a gun?"

Theodore tilts his head to the side, Theo, right, looking at him as if he's asked the simplest question in existence.

"Stavros told you the job is dangerous, no? You never know when you'll need it."

Now, Cassian can't hide the way his expression hardens, and he shakes his head, placing the Luger Pistol on the desk. "No, thank you. I'm an investigator, not a hitman- There is nothing that can't be solved with diplomacy."

"I have to disagree. There're a lot of people that'll refuse to listen to reason, you don't want to be unarmed when that happens."

"Nonsense- Everyone can be reasoned with."

He hears Theo take a breath, one of those "I'm trying to be nice but you're testing it" breaths he's familiar with. And he prepares for the ensuing argument, watching as Theo fiddles with his tie.

"… I'm afraid that's what I was referring to." Theo's voice softens. "From all I've been told, you've hardly engaged in combat."

"That's right- I haven't had to." A vague lie, Cassian remembers the one time someone punched him in the face. And that other time he kicked someone in the balls. First one, his fault, second one… also his fault, admittedly. "And I have no plans to do so in the future. As I said- I'm not a hitman, Theo. I'm not going to bloody my hands for Stavros's sake."

There's a sigh from Theo, one that Cassian swears is a pitying one. And in response, he slides the pistol towards Theo, then takes a step back from the desk, hands slightly raised.

"If he wants someone to kill for him, and if you want that of me-"

"No, no. I don't ever wish for someone's blood to stain your hands- It's a burden no one should have to shoulder."

The way Theo's voice tightens makes Cassian's hands lower back to his sides, and he takes a look at the scar spanning across his face once again.

In his peripherals, Theo picks the pistol up, and walks around the desk, stopping a few feet away from Cassian.

"In this line of work, it's an inevitability. I've done it- I've had to. When it's down to a matter of life or death, you don't want to be the one who's unarmed."

With his left hand, Theo gathers Cassian's wrists, pulling them forward so his palms are facing upwards, and so he can press the pistol into them and clasp his fingers over it.

It's a cold, killing machine in his hands, and one that makes his stomach churn just to hold it.

"… I'm never going to ask you kill someone for me, and I doubt Stavros will, too. This is a precaution, nothing else."

Then Theo lets go, and bumps his back against his desk.

Cassian looks down at the pistol in his hands, experimentally turning it around and inspecting it carefully. It's new, he notes, it's not seen any use yet.

He clicks his tongue, turning it so he's holding it by the barrel when his right hand returns to his side. "Fine, if you insist. But- I won't use it. I can't."

Theo smiles at him, and it's almost sad. Pitying.

"Alright. Just keep it on your person at all times when on the clock."

"Must I?"

"Consider it my first requirement for you."

Cassian rolls his eyes, turning away from him. "Right. Is that all you'll have of me, for now?"

"… yes- I suppose so. I'll let you know as soon as I'm able to give you some work-"

"Excellent." Cassian's tone is clipped, and he realises it then. He looks over his shoulder, debating if he apologises or doubles down. "… I'll be in touch with you, then."

"Right. Take care, Cas."

"… you too."

He's sure to close the door quietly behind him, and he's back to standing in the hallway. Not far down it, Na-Young and Nick's conversation continues, as lively as it had been before.

Now that he's thinking of them, he remembers seeing the rifles on their backs.

… no, I won't be like them, I'm no soldier, he thinks as he leans against the wall next to the door, taking another look at the pistol in his right hand.

It's as if he's holding an anchor.

Cassian's first proper job was from Theo, only three days after being assigned to him.

"I'm meant to be meeting with a man that my sister's curious about- But I believe you're, ah… better with speaking than I- And I've got so many papers I have to grade- Would you mind taking this one for me?"

"Of course", he'd replied, and he was honestly just happy that Theo was actually letting him do something.

He sits outside of a cafe. It's about noon, the Sun high in the sky and shining Her light upon everything. He's seen this part of the city be lively, and today's no exception. The cafe itself is bustling inside, the main reason he chose to sit outside. Just imagining being amidst that many people at once makes his skin crawl. He rests his chin in his palm, drumming his fingers on the table as he waits, idly sipping on an iced tea.

Theo'd said he'd communicated to their mystery man that Cassian'd be taking his place, so he just hopes he also included a general description. It wasn't like Theo'd given him one.

On his right thigh, the pistol Theo'd given him is hidden beneath his petticoat.

He's been sitting here for at least ten minutes, and honestly, his ass is getting uncomfortable in this chair. He makes adjustments to how he's sitting multiple times, all in vain to get a little more comfortable- Was he just early? Or is the other man running late? Again, does he even know he's here? Such poor organisation, Cassian thinks, could Theo really not have told him more? From how hastily Theo gave him the assignment, he has to assume even he had little details- So why is he doing this, exactly? He's bored, now, and honestly—

"Pardon me," a soft, masculine voice gets his attention. "You are here in Dr. Viteri's place?"

Finally, he thinks, looking up with a smile at the man.

He's older than Azathoth, no doubt. His clothes are proper, though Cassian wouldn't liken them to the outfits he's seen at his father's events. He wishes he could make out his frame, but with the layers of clothing, it's hard to tell, but with how the man's cheeks are somewhat gaunt, the bones of them defined, he has to assume the rest of him is as lanky. Yet for a man of his assumed age (in his 60's, Cassian thinks), his posture leaves no indication of weakening bones or muscle. Stars, Cassian thinks, his hair isn't even all that grey, not yet. His hairline recedes, yet there's a fullness- Maybe he's wrong with the age. No, he's never wrong.

He swears he's seen the placement of those moles on his face somewhere before.

"Mm!" He places his voice higher in his throat, pitching it up into his best, practiced, polite voice he can muster. "Yes, I am- My apologies, I was lost in my own mind for a moment, there- Cassian, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've not been briefed on you, just so you're made aware."

The older man takes a seat across from him, not before taking Cassian's hand for a handshake. Unlike Theo's earlier grip, his is much firmer, and lingers a second too long for Cassian's liking.

And Cassian notices one particular thing; the way the man's eyes scan over him, equally analysing.

Alright, I ought to keep my wits about me, then, he thinks, making sure to keep his pleasant, practiced smile up.

"Ignac." A lack of a family name. Fair, not as if I gave my own. "There is little Dr. Viteri told me of you, so worry not, we are on an even playing field."

"Indeed, indeed! Oh- May I order you something? My dearest apologies- I hadn't thought ahead to order you something, I'd not wanted to make any assumptions of your tastes."

Ignac hums in thought, then shakes his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You needn't trouble yourself, I am sure this will be brief."

"Ohh? Oh, I would not count on it- I quite enjoy a lively conversation!"

"I can tell."

Cassian expects the simple phrase to be condescending, yet to his amusement, it's almost fond.

"Now, then. It was initially Dr. Viteri who asked for me. Might I ask what called him away?"

"Oh, worry not- He simply had some unexpected commitments he had to, well, commit to."

"I see… admittedly, I'm surprised he sent you. I would've expected someone… else."

Someone older. Cassian forces a laugh. "Well, what can I say? I'm ambitious and he knows it. Trust me, sir, I'm not going to waste your time."

He takes another sip of his tea, soothing the beginning ache of his throat from his pitched up voice. "Speaking of! He asked for you on behalf of a journalist, I believe- Might you have any idea of why a reporter would want an audience with you, yet would send a detective on their behalf?"

His eyes are glued to Ignac's face, watching carefully for any movement of facial muscles, a shift in the eyes, anything. To his frustration, he gets nothing, only a rise and fall of Ignac's chest as he takes a breath to respond.

"The journalist wants a story, and they want the detective to get the details for it, I would assume. And considering they send a detective, they think I'm of a dangerous sort, so they send someone in their stead that can handle a potential conflict."

The answer is smooth. Cassian takes note of how Ignac's voice is purposeful, precise. Every word is thought of before it's uttered, but none of them take unnecessary time to be spoken. It betrays nothing of motive, and nothing of personality that Cassian can sink some claws into. Fine, I have to find a crack in the perfect shell.

"An astute answer! Oh, you stimulate my brain!" Who the fuck says that, Cassian? Come on! "Well, then! It wouldn't do me well to ask if you believe yourself to be involved in some dangerous business… how unfortunate for me."

Ignac simpers, and there, Cassian remembers the fondness of before. The simper is one of reminisce. Intrigue.

"Do you believe I am?"

Cassian grins, and he can't help himself from giving a more honest laugh. "I cannot tell, sir! You could be, you could not be! I am an unbiased party, try not to skew me one way or another! I mean to learn more of you, not to make any arrests or plan one. You needn't fear that I have an officer waiting in a bush nearby."

The simper turns into a smirk, and Ignac tilts his head a little to the side. An inquisitive look that lasers in a little too much.

"You've come on your lonesome?"

… that's a dangerous question. Cassian opens his mouth, masking his hesitation with a sip of tea. He pushes the straw away with his tongue, and finally answers.

"That's for me to know, and for you to figure out." He giggles, returning his chin to his palm. "Now, then- Your accent isn't of the local area- What brings you here?"

With the change of subject, Ignac's smirk softens, and he chuckles to himself, as if satisfied with Cassian's previous answer. "I've grown sick of seeing the same sights of my hometown. With the passing of my late wife and departure of my son, it's become eerily quiet."

The smile on Cassian's face drops with the new information. "Oh, goodness- I'm so sorry for your losses."

But like clockwork, he can't help himself from going further. "Were they sudden? The death of your wife and your son leaving? Do you think he could have come here?"

"I have my reasons to think so, but… I have not heard of him in quite some time."

Of? Not from? "Oh? How long has it been?"

"Since he was a toddler- I suspect he would be around your age, now."

… so his wife died, and his toddler son just, what, left? Perhaps a kidnapping? I doubt he would speak so casually of it if it's such a crime, though? He frowns as he mulls over those details, and he continues to observe Ignac for more of a reaction, and yet again, there's nothing for him to truly sink his nails into, not within his physicality.

"And your wife?"

"She passed not long after his departure. And, yes. It was a sudden loss- Arson, I believe it was."

Now the tone of Ignac's voice unnerves Cassian. It's so calm, speaking of these events as if they're a distant memory, and as if the implications of them aren't horrific. He shifts in his seat, and when he goes to take another sip of his drink, the taste of it isn't as refreshing or relieving as he hopes it to be. He purses his lips together, tapping his heel on the ground a few times as he contemplates his next line of questions. A son- Okay, if he's in the area, Cassian's sure he's seen him before? But the city's big, perhaps not? But the placement of those moles- It's familiar, he's had to seen him somewhere, if even in passing, no? But that doesn't make sense, none of this makes full sense, how did he even get here? It seems like Ignac himself knows-

And that's the troubling part. It's like he's already figured out the reasons behind both events, yet refuses to state them for a reason Cassian can't decipher.

"… arson, you say," Cassian asks, forgetting the pitch of his voice for a moment. "That's awful business. I'm quite sorry you've had to experience such tragedies."

Ignac nods in response, and there's a moment of silence between them. And when it's broken, it's by Ignac.

"You think I have some involvement in them."

Not a question, a statement of fact. Cassian feels the blood rush to his face, and he can't mask his reaction, his eyes going wide and his lips parting as he tries to say anything but an affirmation. He internally kicks himself when he sees a more proper expression on Ignac's face; one that tells him he just confirmed what he said, and that's told him everything he needs to know.

"… may I give you with some parting advice, Cassian?"

"Parting? Surely, you do not mean to leave now?"

"I do- Similarly to Dr. Viteri, I've other commitments to attend to, and as I told you, this would be a brief meeting."

Ignac stands, and Cassian does the same, just to not feel so small in comparison.

And in comparison to when he's standing next to Theo, the height of Ignac feels imposing. He's definitely shorter than Theo, at least by an inch or two, yet his presence suddenly feels much more threatening. Ignac steps around the table, and places a cold, yet strangely gentle hand on Cassian's right shoulder.

It's the gentleness that makes Cassian reach towards the gun holstered on his thigh.

"You're a bright young man, but you're not nearly prepared enough to be in this profession. Any man less merciful would've had you eliminated by now."

Fingers press into the nerves in Cassian's shoulder, keeping the entire arm still. He takes another look over him, eyes lingering on where Cassian's hand hovers.

"Tell Dr. Viteri it was a pleasure to meet you, and that if he wants more of me, he would benefit from seeing me face-to-face, rather than sending his student in his stead."

Then Ignac lets go, and walks away. Cassian watches him move down the sidewalk, his hands moving into the pockets of his suit-jacket. Just like before, nothing in his posture suggests nerves or a sense of danger, as if he didn't just do the equivalent of threatening- Cassian flexes his shoulder, and he feels his palm press firmly against the outline of the handle of the pistol.

He could pull it out and shoot him now- If he's a threat, which he's now convinced of- If he's not a threat to the institute, he's a threat to someone else, such as this mysterious son, or whoever took him here- And clearly, Theo and his sister know of him, and- And that means he's someone dangerous, he should've- Oh, Stars, he should've known that- He can shoot! If he just does it quickly-

What the fuck is he thinking?

He can't help it, he has to sit back down as the feeling in his knees goes slack. He pulls his hand away from the gun, and forces it onto the table, gripping at it for stability.

No.

He told himself he wouldn't shoot. Ever.

So he won't.

He'll deal with that man at a later date, he tells himself, looking down at the melting ice in his drink. He'll tell Theo what he got, and… and they can go from there.

He just takes the final gulp of what remains of the tea, idly it had something stronger within that could wash away his thoughts.

Five months later, a woman is shot through the head in front of him, during an attempted negotiation.

He screams at the sight, and as blood spatters across his front. He takes a couple staggering steps back in the empty street of the abandoned, razed town, his heart thumping against his ribs as the woman falls forward.

They'd just been conversing! He swears on it! And- Sure, she was getting hostile, and she'd been brandishing a knife at him, but- But that didn't mean she was going to attack! He had it handled! He knows he did!! She was- Upset, but-

He wildly searches for the origin of the shot, unholstering his pistol in preparation to fight whoever shot the woman- No, Stars, he can't shoot back! No, he can- It's fine if he does, right? A woman just got shot in front of him, a life for a life! That's fair, he thinks, but why-

He watches Nick tether down to them from an adjacent rooftop, rifle tucked under his arm. Smoke still curls from the end of the barrel. And while relief at the familiar face hits him first, it's quickly moved aside for panic.

"Wh- Why did you do that?! We- I had that handled, Nick! There was no need for escalation- Oh, Stars- Why?!"

Nick looks down at the woman's body, then he looks back at Cassian with a confused look. "You're… welcome? Uh- She was gonna stab you…?"

"No- I mean- Yes, she had the knife, but- There was no indication of using it!"

"… it was getting waved in your face, and she screamed, quote, 'I'll maim you for what your kind did to this city'."

"Her anger was misdirected, sure- But I was working on that, Nick- She was just- She blames the Gods, not me! It was-"

"Dude, she threatened to maim you. She blamed you."

Running footsteps catch both of their attentions, and both turn their heads to watch Na-Young sprint over, her own bayonet-clad rifle at the ready. She skids to a halt in front of them, and only a foot away from the body on the ground, and she looks between them. Cassian sees all of the questions run through her eyes, concern creating tension in her entire body.

Then she looks down at the dead woman.

And without asking any of those questions, she drives her bayonet into the body. Once, twice.

Each sound of a blade entering and exiting muscle and bone and flesh makes Cassian nauseous. He has to look away when Na-Young rips out the bayonet for the last time.

"You two okay??"

Before Cassian has the chance, Nick replies. "Yeah, we're fine. The lady here was, uh- Was threatenin' Cas with a knife, and- I didn't want her to, y'know, uh. Kill him. So… yeah."

"Oh- Oh…"

Na-Young turns her attention back to Cassian, and she puts her rifle on her back, stepping around the body, licking her thumbs and doing what she can to scrub the blood from his face.

"Dumbass! Y'know, you're supposed to fight back! Are you okay? She didn't actually hurt you, did she?"

She turns Cassian's head this way and that, then she lifts his arms up, bending down to make sure she's not missing any stab wounds on his person. Her hands briefly ghost over the sides of his bound ribs, and he jerks away before she can let them fully touch. She pulls her hands back quickly, muttering an apology, two, actually.

"I'm fine, Naya," he insists, "she wasn't- She wasn't going to actually stab me. I was- I was in the process of talking her down- And- I was in no imminent danger, I promise you."

Na-Young stands back upright, now with an equally confused expression as Nick's.

"But- She had a knife?" She turns towards Nick. "Right?"

"Uh- Yeah."

"Right." Back to Cassian. "So, uh- Cas? What made ya think she wasn't gonna, y'know, hurt you with it? Like- C'mon, you're smarter than that!"

Now, frustration bubbles in his chest, and he places his pistol back in its holster to free his hands, allowing them to move with his words.

"She was- She was emotional. We all say things we do not mean, do things we do not intend to follow through with- I don't think she meant me any harm- It was a threat, not a- Not a guarantee that she was going to actually follow through. Many bluff to make themselves look bigger- I had reason to believe she was doing the same."

Even as he explains himself, as he hears the words, he's not so sure of them now that they're said aloud. He sees Nick and Na-Young exchange looks, and Na-Young's expression turns from confusion to impatience.

It seems as if she, too, doesn't believe him.

"Okay, so- Somethin' we were both taught when the war was going on- If an enemy's got their weapon out? You gotta assume they're gonna use it on you- If you try and talk them down from it, that's just giving them every chance to hurt you before you can hurt them- And like- Even I heard some of the yelling, and if Nick heard it- Tell me the last time you shouted a threat at someone."

"That's irrelevant- If I believed every word yelled at me, I promise my self image would be thoroughly ruined- And if I hit someone before they hit me, there is a chance they were not going to hit me first, Naya- And then I wouldn't know if they were, I am the instigator!"

"Yeah, uh, that situation changes when that person's waving a knife in your face- If Nick didn't shoot her, you'd be- I dunno, hurt? Dead? Fuck being the instigator- Cas- Someone's got a weapon pointed at you and is threatening to hurt you- Yeah, okay, there's a slim chance that they're not gonna use it, but a way bigger one that they're gonna-"

"No- You don't know that! Not for certain! And if there is that slim chance- I cannot hurt someone if they've given me no reason-"

"She had a knife in your face and threatened you, that is the reason! If you're gonna wait for someone to hit you first- Why bother fighting back at that point, then, if you're just gonna let them-"

"I'm not- You misunderstand me!"

"No, I really don't think I do!"

"You do! The war is over, Naya, there is now room for reason! I am not one of the young soldiers you had to protect, you don't have to act like I am!"

Na-Young's eyes flash with a spark of anger, hurt. Immediately, he wants to apologise, guilt twisting a serrated knife into his stomach.

Nick puts a hand on her shoulder, then the other on Cassian's. He steps between them, his body angled to intercept Na-Young as an in-case. Nothing is said between the three of them. Cassian watches Na-Young's shoulders relax, and she leans into Nick's hand, huffing. The anger in her eyes gives way to the hurt, and it makes the urge to apologise strengthen.

"… you're gonna get yourself killed with that attitude, or worse," she says. Her tone tries to be sharp, but it's like she can't fully muster it. "Get your head outta your ass."

Then she moves Nick's hand aside, shoulder-checks Cassian, and storms off ahead of them. When she passes by, Cassian sees her knuckles whiten around the strap securing her rifle. Both of them watch her leave, and after a long, unknowing period of quiet, the sound of a flask being uncovered reaches Cassian's ears.

He turns, and watches Nick take a quick swig.

"You- You're drinking on the job?"

Nick shrugs. "Eh. Can't affect me much- Uh, or at all, so- Yeah. Guess I am. … uh- You want some?"

His voice is mellow, uncertain, treating Cassian as if he could break if it gets any louder, any more forceful. A weight pushes on Cassian's chest, an uncomfortable sensation that renders him unable to reply. He looks back towards where Na-Young went off towards, then back up at Nick.

"… she ain't mad at you," Nick adds, "promise."

"You don't have to do that."

"Huh?"

"Act like I'm-" He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'm not fragile, Nick. I'm not going to crack, I'm not going to break, I am- Fine. And I don't need you two treating me like I- Cannot fix a problem on my own. I'm not stupid. Everyone acts like I cannot handle anything- I didn't mean what I said- Believe in me, for even a second, I beg of you."

Nick rubs his neck with his free hand, casting his eyes to the side. He looks as if he's about to step towards him, but changes his mind at the last minute, instead quietly exhaling through his nose.

"I know- I do."

Cassian is about to follow after Na-Young, turning away from Nick, he hears the first "but". The lump rises back into his throat, burning it.

"She isn't wrong. You're gonna get hurt if you don't at least, like- Protect yourself. Just like- I dunno- Like, I've only known to hit first, so, uh- I know, I'm not super, super helpful right now- But- Uh. Yeah- She's worried is all. You're not the first guy she's met that's been like that- Like, y'know Avery- He's super averse to shootin' and hittin' folks, too. But he's-"

Right. Avery. Football star, former combat medic, future philosopher, perfect Avery. Avery, who always knows what to do, Avery who always knows what to say, Avery who is-

"-strong, and I'm not."

It's Nick's hesitation that confirms it, and Cassian's vision blurs. "No- That- No, I didn't-"

"Stop." His voice threatens to break, and he shakes his head, swiping a hand over his eyes. "Just- Stop. Please."

He starts to go ahead, until Nick's hand on his shoulder stops him, and pulls him back, both arms squeezing around his sternum.

Nick's warm, he notes. He always has been, he guesses. Warm, strong. He doesn't look it with that pilot's jacket threatening to swallow his upper half, but he's strong, and the hug in the moment reminds him of that. If he were an enemy, he could easily triumph in a fight, he's fast. Acrobatic. Versatile. Capable of a fight even when completely unarmed. He's seen him grapple with foes twice his size, someone of his own stature doesn't stand a chance.

And so is Na-Young. Head cheerleader Na-Young, who can punch a hole through a ripe melon with little effort. She's known for it, unlike Nick, she makes no attempt to hide her muscularity. She, too, is strong. And she's so unafraid. She didn't even wait for an explanation before stabbing a body, just to protect the two of them. He could at least tangle with Nick for even a minute, but Na-Young, he had zero chance, less than. She's relentless, action-heavy. He thinks it scares him, to a degree, how ready for a fight she is, how they both are.

War shaped them in a way he can't even begin to fathom. It brought them together, too, and for some reason he still can't figure out, they've made room for him in their chaos.

It just reminds him how out of shape he is, in comparison.

"We love you, Cas. We don't want you hurt. That's it."

The flask in Nick's hand is in reach. He takes it from him, flicks the cap open, and takes a drink from it. It burns on the way down, it almost makes him spit it back out. But he forces it to stay, and even welcomes one more long swallow as if to spite it, and quicker than he knows it should, it warms his cheeks and the buzz of it quells the static creeping into his mind. He caps it and leans into Nick's arms, listening to his steady heartbeat and letting it guide him back to the present, pulling them closer around his person.

"I know."

On any other day, he'd muster the heart to reciprocate the feeling out loud. This day, that courage doesn't come.

There's part of him that wishes his courage could extend past words, but when he thinks of that part of himself, he's reminded of the gun holstered on his thigh.

Maybe one day, he'll have the courage to wield it.

Maybe one day, he'll have all the courage in the world.

Close to Cassian's 19th birthday, he's stabbed a mayor to death.

It was self defense. And, to defend the barbaric action, he didn't even have access to Theo's pistol. It was hard to grab it when he was being held down on the table by his throat. The knife, rather the letter opener, had been in arm's reach, and it seemed quieter and easier to wield than the gun, anyhow. Sure, it was much bloodier, but there was a truth to the stabbings that Cassian didn't want to admit to himself yet. Jace had been there to bail him out, and now, he sits on the couch in Jace's cabin by the fireplace.

Even with the fire and the blanket wrapped around him, he still feels damp, cold.

The gun holstered to his thigh is the uncomfortably warm item on his person.

He's waiting for Azathoth to pick up the rotary phone, with little idea of where Jace wandered off to (if he went back to the town to sort things out, or if he simply went off to do whatever the fuck, he doesn't know), or where his adoptive son and Cassian's childhood friend, Xavier, went. He hasn't seen him the whole evening, and he has to admit, it's a little funny. The one time he could confide in a friend, someone his age, none of them are there. All he has is Jace, who has yet to explain himself for why he'd been there, and who has (thankfully) spared him from a lecture for the time being, and probably only because he isn't even there.

The knife was closer than the gun. That is the fact of the matter, yet he knows it'll be spun into him being stupid, reckless, even though the stupid automatic weapon was literally inaccessible when he needed it-

"Stavros speaking. Who is this?"

Here we go.

"… Sir," his voice comes out hoarse, "it's me- Cassian."

"Hm. If I recall, Hortensius, are you not currently wrapping up your investigation on Mayor Coldren?"

"I am calling to tell you about that."

"… alright? This could not wait until tomorrow morning?"

"No- No, it couldn't."

"What did you do?"

What did I do? He could at least feign some level of care about my wellbeing- Oh, whatever. "Before I start- I had no other option. It was him or me."

A pause on the other end. "Did you kill him, Hortensius?"

He thinks of the blood that clung to his hands. It's still on his old clothes, done away with somewhere in the corner of this living room (Jace said he'd take care of them, insisting he give his ribs a break). Some of it is still clinging to his hair, despite the efforts to wash it out, clumping in his curls in some cruel mockery of his effort. He takes a shaky breath, pursing his lips to stop them from quivering.

"… he was attempting to kill me, first. Aside from that, I have retrieved the documents and evidence of foul play you asked of me."

There's an even longer pause on the other end, and it is absolute torment for Cassian. He adjusts himself under the blanket, tucking his knees up closer to his chest. Even without the squeeze of his bindings and the bodice atop them, it hurts, and it feels tight. He's holding his breath, he knows the cause, waiting for-

"Hm. You've actually done me a favour, then. I expected Jace would have had to do it for you, but… this is a pleasant development."

"Wh- Then- Then why not ask him to do it?! I-"

I almost died, he almost exclaims. His free hand touches the base of his neck, and for once in his damn life, he wishes he had the bruises as evidence. For once, he wishes he could show what he'd been through: the scratches from the wood of the table, the bruise on his cheek from being backhanded so hard his vision went black for a splitsecond, the bruises on his waist-

"It is late. We can go over this tomorrow, when you have more of your wits about you."

Cassian wants to scream. Shout. Reach through the phone and slap Azathoth across the face. He grips the phone tightly, swearing it'll break under the pressure (it won't, but he likes to imagine he could manage it). It shakes, and the breath he means to be sharp is wavering and frail, instead.

"Good work, Cassian. I shall speak with you in the morning. Try and sleep."

And before he can get a chance to say something, the line goes dead.

That was the first time, in the year Cassian has worked with him, that Azathoth has referred to him by his first name.

A conversation, in which he expected to defend his case and beg for Azathoth's forgiveness, is over, just like that. He didn't even hear a hint of Azathoth masking anger in his words, if anything, he sounded almost pleased- A pleasant development? What did that mean?! What could be pleasant about any of this?! Was it a test? What, did he finally think him worthy?! At least Theo didn't do this to him, never expected that he-

He sets the phone down.

His legs, weak from running, wobble as he stands from the couch and sets the blanket on it.

They carry him to the small kitchen. He would be taking in more of it on a good day, but he thinks he's seen enough rooms for a night. Seen enough.

The one thing he sees, now, is the unfinished bottle of ale on the table Jace undoubtedly forgot about.

It's not like he's around to recall it, Cassian thinks, grabbing it and bringing it back to the couch. He essentially falls onto it, barely pulling some of the blanket over himself before he's pouring the ale down his throat.

It burns. It always burns, he's learned, but he only sets it down when he's just about ready to puke. By the time that happens, it's got a quarter of its original volume left, and he has to laugh.

"A toast, to my first murder! Congratulations, Cassian! At least someone's proud of you!"

He knows he can't possibly already be drunk, but he laughs until it hurts. At some point, he finishes the bottle, and he clutches it to his chest, his other hand resting over his eyes. It isn't long until the buzz of the alcohol rises into his face, and soon after that, the laughing to himself devolves into an embarrassingly loud crying fit. That, that hurts more, physically. Part of him wants to roll over and puke, the other part of him wants to find more ale to bring himself back to the careless feeling he'd just been riding on.

By the time he falls asleep, neither decision was made. The bottle falls to the floor in the middle of the night.

And when Jace finally returns, similarly drunk, a second bottle joins it, falling out of his hand when he decides to sit on the floor by the couch, falling asleep only when he was sure nothing would break that door down and sober him right back up, and require him to fight off anyone seeking retribution.

He thinks both of them have experienced enough death for a night.

And for Cassian, he hopes, rather lies, that this night would be the last that he'd have to bloody his hands.

It was near the beginning of the next year, almost at the mid-point of Winter, when Cassian attended an annual gala with Nick as his partner in crime.

Azathoth told him to stay away. Theo told him he believed in him, but had to bring someone with, so he did. Jace got angry, yelled, both of them did until the door was slammed by Cassian in anger.

Three of them, two family friends (if he could actually consider Azathoth one), and a stranger (practically), and only the stranger believed in him.

At least Nick, too, seemed to be on board.

It was an opportunity. One that they weren't getting for another full year. A gala, hosting nobles from across the continent (some Cassian remembers in passing from his youth, others he's never seen the faces of before, much less heard the names of), to celebrate the day this new family came into power. Thibault, the family name was, and they'd savagely taken over through means of a massacre on the previous family.

He knew the old family that lived there. He was 14 when the slaughter happened.

That had ended the two year ceasefire during the war, and forced it to go on for another three bloody years.

These people come together to celebrate the day they caused needless bloodshed, ended the peace that had been shakily established, and to praise some new lord he'd literally never even heard of before they took over?

Bullshit. It was all complete bullshit.

The entire night, Cassian's done well, he thinks! He's not insulted anyone to their faces (a complaint of one of his fathers), he's been polite and as innocent-eyed he can be, and he's been keeping a mental log of all the names he can attribute to faces. Mannerisms, gestures, anything. He's left Nick to his own devices, and he's passed by him a few times to make sure he's doing okay. To his amusement, he'd garnered the attention of a few attendees around their age, and he overheard some asking if Cassian was his boyfriend.

The answer of "it's complicated" made being here somewhat worth it.

Though, he did feel bad when he heard Nick trying to keep people entertained with stories of the war. The questions kept poking at him, and he'd make eye contact across the room (provided he was nearby), and would see Nick's patience gradually wearing down.

They'd be out of here soon, he'd mouth, and he'd go back to mingling, soothing his own nerves with a glass of champagne.

And that was the beginning of the downward trajectory the night went down.

To keep himself loose and looking as if he was happy to be there, Cassian indulged in social drinking. It was only one glass at first. Then two, then three. At some point, he'd forgotten how many he'd actually had, too focused on everything else to keep count.

His body, however, didn't.

He knew he'd reached his limit when he was laughing at, and with, the stupid conversations about weather and whatever was going on in the lives of these nobles he hardly cared about.

This is why he now finds himself in the backyard courtyard, sitting on the edge of the fountain and trying to cool himself off with the winter night air.

Even moving his head makes him dizzy. He tries to hum to stave off the nausea, debating whether he try ducking his head between his knees, or stay in the mostly upright position he's in at the moment. It was stupid, he knows it was- He hadn't meant to keep drinking, he was just- Trying to keep up with the crowd, trying to keep himself light, fun. He knows these types of people, he knows the second he lets the mask slip, they'll be on him like vultures- Questioning his motives, his placement there, and worse, why he brought some "nobody" with him.

And honestly, it was working to keep him calm.

The breeze that blows by is too gentle, it's not nearly enough to cool him off, and he swears-

There's not even a moment of consideration before he, willingly, tips backwards, and falls into the fountain.

Much better, the absolutely sloshed Cassian thinks with a smile. Carefully styled hair and fairly expensive outfit be damned- Everything be damned, this is great. And it's not like he plans on staying any longer, he can use this as the excuse! Say he needed to quickly return home because he was too drunk, drag Nick with him without raising suspicions, and track water all over that now vile house in some form of petty revenge. It's a build up, he tells himself, it's a sign for what's to come. Retribution, change.

He looks up at the Moon, full and basking the entire place with Her light.

If She wasn't going to do anything to control the chaos of the world, he would.

Then, there's the arrival of a face that blocks off his view.

Oh, come the fuck on, he has to stop himself from saying that, squinting at the sudden appearance.

"… well, now… I was wondering where you'd wandered off to."

The voice is slightly distorted through the water, but the face, and the Moonlight's glint off the bright green gemstones on various pieces of jewelry clue him in to this person's identity.

Before Aldric Sauveterre, a boy a couple years his senior that he's unfortunately known for a good portion of his life, has the opportunity to pull him out, Cassian gets to his feet, swaying as the world does a slight spin around him. Godsdamned alcohol, he grumbles in his head. The sway almost knocks his ankles into the ledge, and though he catches himself, it's enough to send him forward just so. And despite his intention to not be making any bodily contact with Aldric, he's caught by his sides, palms pressing right into his ribs.

"Careful now, beautiful. This is unbecoming of you."

"I am well out of wit and banter, Sauveterre." He reaches down to pry Aldric's hands off, stepping up onto the ledge and off, turning to fully face him. Now with his clothes and hair soaked, the wind is much more biting, making him involuntarily shudder. "I've overextended my stay, I'm aware, so don't worry, I'll be leaving here soon with my colleague. So there is no need for-"

"Oh, what's the rush? I actually don't think I've seen enough of you, tonight. Which is interesting, I wouldn't have expected to see you at all."

The distance between them is closed, Aldric grabbing Cassian's left wrist. "Why are you here?"

Cassian's eyes narrow, his pulse starting to quicken. "Business. Unhand me."

"For whom? Which traitor sent you and your guard dog in there?"

With a grunt, Cassian yanks to free his wrist, only making Aldric's grip get tighter.

"Considering you're little more than a lapdog for the current lord of this manor, I would really be careful with how you choose to insult others."

He wants that to hurt, and part of him wonders if he should raise his voice. Yes, brilliant idea, draw attention and likely have the entire situation turned on you.

Aldric raises Cassian's wrist, yanking it over his shoulder to completely eliminate any space between them, and make Cassian stumble and lose his balance. Now, their bodies are flush against each other. Another wave of unsteadiness rocks him, but it's nothing compared to the rising adrenaline pumping through him. He thinks there's a rising nausea that comes with it, though if it's the dizziness or the rising fear of the proximity, here, he doesn't know.

"And you said you're all out of wit- Clearly not, so you can entertain me a little further. What do you both mean to do here? What have you gotten out of all this?"

"Unhand me, or I- I will hurt you!"

"I sincerely doubt that."

His leg is swept out from under him, making him shriek. He's given little time to start analysing the situation and figure out a way out before his back hits the ground, left wrist now pinned over his head and to the cobblestone. Now, his heart slams into his chest, trying to break free from the confines of his ribcage and sober him up as best it can.

In the impact, the handle of the gun thrusts into his thigh.

"Go ahead, Cassian. Hurt me, create a scene. We both know you want to, great detective- You've figured it all out, no? That's why you're here? You know, I heard of your incident with Mayor Coldren- I wouldn't have taken you for the violent type."

The hand on his wrist threatens to bruise it against the stone. Aldric leans down, leering at Cassian in a manner that makes him want to scream for Nick's help, for anyone's help.

"Get the fuck off of me- I'll-"

"You've already made your threat. Commit to it."

While his right hand is still free, he quickly removes the pistol from its hiding place, and points it at Aldric's throat.

He blames the cold for how badly his arm tremors while holding it up.

Aldric's eyes flicker from the gun, to where it was originally holstered, then back to Cassian. He scoffs, his smile widening as he leans into the barrel of the pistol, tilting his chin up to allow Cassian full access to the targeted spot.

Fire, come on, Cassian tries to order himself, pointer finger trembling over the trigger, fire- Pull the damn thing- So what if you don't know fully what the Sauveterre's involvement in the previous massacre was, fire- It's him or you, it's him or you, just pull the trigger or else just pull the trigger just pull the trigger just—

It's hot in his hand. It refuses to stay still, even now as it rests on Aldric's neck. His shoulder strains trying to hold it up, and with his other wrist pinned the way it is, he can't properly sit upright, he's stuck on the ground and he can't move and he is trapped he's stuck and he has the means to get out but he doesn't know what to do he just has to fire he has to—

Instead, he removes the gun from Aldric's neck, and uses as much movement as his arm will allow to whip it across his face.

He wishes he could say there's blood drawn. The impact doesn't make much of a sound, it doesn't even really move Aldric's head all that much. His face does turn, and even with the limited light of the Moon, he sees a reddening mark blooming on his cheek.

And as if to rub that fact in his nose, Aldric laughs. It's piercing, mocking.

Maybe now is the time to scream. Or- No, you have the gun- Fucking point it and fire, he's off guard, somewhat? He's still on top of me I have to just pull the trigger- I think- I don't know, I don't know how this stupid thing works- But I have the weapon and he doesn't-

"… I'll give you this, darling." Aldric turns back towards him, loosening his grip around his wrist to allow Cassian to scramble out from beneath him. "You've at least grown some teeth for your bite."

He might as well be a deer learning to walk for the first time as he gets back up, with how much he trembles and nearly falls back down. The gun is heavy, weighing his entire arm down, and his breathing labours, eyes wide and stuck on Aldric.

So he sees when Aldric's gaze goes over his shoulder, and the way his shoulders slump dramatically.

"Cas- Hey!"

Cassian swears he could cry at the sound of Nick's voice. He takes a few careful steps back towards where he hears it, glaring at Aldric all the while.

"You're lucky," he mutters. "Next time, I swear to the Stars, I'll make you choke on your own blood. Do you understand?"

Aldric rolls his eyes. "Oh, please, we just went over this. You utter a threat, I tell you to do it, then you don't. If anything, you're the lucky one, I've some reputation to maintain, here."

He watches as Aldric wanders around to the other side of the fountain, producing a pocket-watch from his vest and flicking it open.

"I'm going to enjoy what is left of the evening. And, don't worry about me getting you in trouble, here, I'd like to continue this game we've got going on."

"This isn't a game, you-"

"To me, it is."

He perks at the sound of Nick's boots slowing from a jog to a stop, and he allows himself to turn towards him, keeping Aldric in his peripherals. Within them, he sees Aldric close the pocketwatch, and he hears him let out a smug "hmph".

"It was lovely meeting you again, Cassian. Until our paths cross again."

And just like that, he watches Aldric practically strut past Nick, only briefly pausing to give him a look-over, and then properly begin his way back to the mansion. Nick turns his head to watch him for about three seconds, then returns his attention to Cassian, quickly walking over.

"Hey- Who was that? You okay? Uh- I would've been out here sooner, but- Fuckin' people- Got caught up talkin', and- Shit, you're soaked- Wh-"

"I'm going to kill him."

Cassian wants to think he doesn't fully mean that. That it's a few words that he says to express his anger, and that now they're out of his system, he'll feel calmer again. He'll be back to normal. His hand tightens around his gun, the textured handle undoubtedly leaving marks in his palm. Nick takes a look at it, brows furrowing.

Without another question, he removes his jacket, pulling it around Cassian's shoulders.

"Sounds good, but uh- Maybe not now." Another look at the gun. "Y'know- Uh. The food in there's really, really not great? So… we can, uh- We can go grab somethin', yeah? It's gonna be quieter, I think- And, uh, y'know, have a lot less, uh- Sandwiches that barely make up my whole hand? And it's gonna be a lot warmer- Sound good?"

"I mean it, Nick," Cassian ignores Nick's attempt of distracting comfort, "I'm going to kill him."

Nick gently pulls him close, one hand cradling the back of his neck, the other going between his shoulders to rub a circle.

A grounding technique, Cassian thinks. He's at least trying.

"… okay," is all Nick murmurs back.

It's only after they properly leave for the night, and Nick goes through on his proposal of finding a better place to eat (a diner close to the stop they take off the train back to their city), that Cassian learns he couldn't have actually fired the gun when he wanted. Over a couple cups of coffee, one that Cassian asks to have an extra shot of whatever liquor would get him back to a "calmer" state of being, Nick asks to inspect the gun, and offhandedly praises Cassian for not keeping a bullet in the chamber when it's just "chilling on his person".

And at that diner, Cassian laughs so hard he swears he'll bust one of his ribs. He even asks Nick to loosen his corset because of it.

He has to laugh.

All of that- That whole display of pulling out the gun, having to lift a bit of his skirt to grab said gun, putting it against that bastard's throat, and it wouldn't have even mattered! Hell, he did the right thing using it as a bludgeoning weapon- Maybe he ought to stick to close quarters, if that's how it'll be! Clearly, he's so good at it, despite the lack of any actual skill and musculature! He says all of this to Nick at the table, and he awkwardly laughs along, clearly unsure of what to do, what to say to soothe his nerves. Any attempts he makes to distract him are shot down, and after his third attempt, he gives up, deciding to indulge Cassian in his tipsy rambling.

When Cassian receives another coffee with another shot in it, Nick switches the cups when he's looking away.

But of course, Cassian notices the difference. He notices all the small details, he reminds Nick, it's what he's good at, what he's good for.

As he told Theo, he's not a hitman, he's an investigator.

But maybe he can make a single exception. With all the names he gathered at that gala, maybe he can make a few.

They're responsible for a whole family being destroyed, and worse, I'm sure of worse. And no one is doing anything about it. Not even Azathoth.

It's only fair, he tells himself as he finishes that second cup. He says it aloud, too, and Nick just nods along, picking at what's left of the fries on his plate, and putting a few on Cassian's, in the hopes of him taking them.

By the time their time at the diner is over, Cassian's drunk again, an arm slung around Nick's shoulder as he rambles on and on about what he discovered at the gala, all the conversations that bored him, all that interested him.

For both of their sakes, Nick chooses to ignore when Cassian's ramblings become about Aldric, deciding that if he wants to learn more about the man Cassian so badly wants dead, he can ask when he's properly sober.

And part of him, a small part, anyway, hopes that the hatred is spurned on by the alcohol. Another part of him is glad that Cassian couldn't have fired the gun when he had the opportunity.

He lies to himself that when Cassian's sobered up and in his right mind, that hatred will have been flushed out of him.

He knows it won't.

Cassian is 20 years old when Azathoth finally promotes him to the head investigator of the institute.

Sure, he knows the real reason why. Theo walked out. Cassian's not entirely sure why he did, but he did. Nick and Na-Young are still in the hospital from a recent incident, as far as he knows, and Azathoth's desperate. He wants to believe it's in good part due to his own skill, and he thinks it is, rather, he knows iit. Azathoth would've had him fired by now if he wasn't contributing something to the institute.

But as it is, he's a replacement.

And he's alright with that. It gives him freedom to act as he needs to. He doesn't need to wait on direct orders or assignments, and the pay is enough to let him travel without fearing getting stranded in another country or neighbouring city.

And as the head investigator, he gets to pick his own targets.

There's a lot he's learned about people, over the past two years of being at the institute. What they fall for, what ticks them off, what gets them to attack, and what gets them to back off. One thing in particular that he's picked up on, especially with the targets and areas that Azathoth likes to have him and the others investigate, is that most of these people, men, like it when they think they're holding some kind of dominating power, whether it be physical or in conversation. They like having an aura of being untouchable, they wait until they feel comfortable to say whatever they want, do whatever they want with little repercussions.

People like that are easier to analyse, in Cassian's opinion. They slip up. They reveal things they wouldn't to others. They trust that Cassian, too powerless to act upon any threat, too pliant to say no to any requests, wouldn't hold anything they said against them.

The gun holstered to his leg had yet to see proper action. He's found ways to talk down opponents that wish him harm. Sometimes it's that easy, conversing has proven to work.

Sometimes, he has to let them have their way under his clothing, and he's learned to just deal with it.

If that's the weapon he has to employ, so be it. It's better than firing off a bullet.

This time, however, is an exception.

This time, he's speaking with a man that he made a note of at that gala. Meunier, that was the last name. He didn't care much for the first. He was slightly older than Jace, and spoke for what felt like hours on end about how great the new Lord Thibault was, how welcoming they'd been to him, and had offhandedly mentioned benefits that came with being in their good graces. When Cassian had pried, originally, he'd gotten nothing then, but he didn't need verbal confirmation of his suspicions.

He's learned that hunters, predators, have a certain lack of light in their eyes, until they've found a quarry.

The lack of light in Meunier's was enough.

He was no Aldric Sauveterre, but Meunier was of a lesser noble status than Sauveterre.

It'd cause a public stir if he were to suddenly die, but wouldn't quite rock the delicate boat of peace the factions were riding upon the way killing Aldric Sauveterre would.

He didn't have to do anything fancy to get an audience with Meunier. All he had to do was travel to the city his home resided in, one on the seaside, wait for a day he was out in a park, and pretend to faint in front of him.

And just like that, he found himself in that very home. It wasn't quite as fancy as the former Santana mansion had been, but he could at least appreciate it for what it was, architecturally. The paintings and various golden furniture pieces were a little gaudy (and to his annoyance, the amount of barely clad women he had in those paintings was staggering), it was just something he noticed. Something that amused him.

It was always the ones trying to claw their way up the ladder, when they had no reason to do so, that were so desperate to prove their wealth and their power.

Cassian tuned out most of their conversation. Meunier asked if he was alright, he thinks, and he'd offered him wine that he feigned to drink. There was absolutely no need for the older man to keep him around as long as he did, he could've just as easily sent Cassian on his way, and yet, he didn't. Even with the insistence that he was quite fine to be on his own, that he just had a dizzy spell and would be on his way, Meunier made excuse upon excuse to keep him there.

Over wine, as Meunier got more and more drunk, and Cassian faked his own lack of sobriety, he got bolder. Looser. The attempts to be gentlemanly and well-mannered soon began failing, and Cassian saw that light enter his eyes. He'd made some excuse to sit closer, and Cassian just had to ignore the wandering gaze as best he could. He continued to play along, asking questions about that lord he held in such high regard, asking what he knew of the family that had previously lived there. There was little reason to be tight-lipped in such close quarters, Cassian had argued, and Meunier agreed.

Then, he tuned back in, at the mention of a young woman.

Elianna, Meunier said her name was. It had essentially shocked Cassian back to the present.

"Pardon- Elianna Blackwood, you mean?"

Jace's daughter, who'd died not long after the massacre happened. Cassian didn't know what happened to her, he just remembered hearing the news that Jace had gone from being a husband and a father, to being alone.

"Why, yes- Ah, the Blackwoods- They're friends of your family, aren't they?"

"Yes, they have been- Why do you mention her? Do you know something of how she-?"

He clears his throat, looking away. "Oh, my apologies- I did not mean to make the conversation so, ah…- Forget I asked anything."

A hand on his knee fills him with the urge to kick. But he doesn't, forcing his tapping heel to rest on the ground.

"You know- She was the curious sort, a little like you, actually. But, ah… she was… bolder. Rebellious like her father, and his mother before him. If I recall, she actually tried to get some sort of revenge for the Santanas on her lonesome. It was… awful, what happened to her."

Dread settles in the pit of Cassian's stomach, and his eyes widen. Meunier sighs heavily, shaking his head and squeezing Cassian's knee.

"I understand that family to be allies to yours, but you must understand, Lord Thibault was ridding a family that wished for-"

"Do not speak of either family as if you knew them," Cassian snips, grabbing Meunier's wrist and taking his hand from his knee. "What happened to her- You know?"

The lack of an answer tells Cassian more than he wants. His jaw clenches, and he stands up, taking in the moment he can be taller. The mask crumbles entirely, now.

"What the fuck is wrong with that Lord? For all the praise you heap unto him, all this talk that the massacre was a necessity- Children- Innocent people died! And, I am sure worse fates have been suffered! I've done the research, Sir, and I am well aware of the children that have gone missing ever since Thibault came into power. I do not know the reasoning, not yet, but- How can you serve a Lord that participates in this?!"

When Meunier stands, he stumbles. Sure, he's taller than Cassian, but most people are, it's nothing that scares him much anymore. He doesn't step back, he doesn't shrink. He, instead, raises his chin with indignance when Meunier looms over him. The sudden shift in atmosphere is just fine, Cassian thinks. It was to be expected, and honestly, long awaited.

"This is none of your business, and you best watch your tongue when you speak of the Lord Thibault, Hortensius."

"Careful how you speak of me to my face. Lest you forget, my father is a Lord as well."

"Adoptive father. Without Octavian's generosity, you'd be little more than some harlot on the streets… oh."

Here we go, Cassian braces for whatever insult he's about to hear. He's sure he's heard worse.

"You speak of missing children… how do you know you are not one of them, my dear? How do you know, in all your research, that your own family does not engage in these activities you accuse the Lord Thibault of?"

Cassian only moves so he's to Meunier's side, and the second he is?

He takes the pistol from its holster, loads the chamber, and fires a bullet clean through Meunier's jaw.

Once Meunier falls to the floor, knocking the chair down with him, there's an awful choking noise he makes. Cassian winces to hear it while he puts the pistol back where it came from. He kneels down to be eye to eye with the man he's just mutilated, watching as he clutches at what is no longer there. It's an awful sight, truly, it is. There's blood all over the floor, and now that he's thinking of it, some has splattered onto his front. He doesn't care to describe the viscera and the gore from Meunier's face to himself. The image is seared well enough into his brain that he can move on from it.

He takes a fistful of the man's hair, and lifts his head up to make proper eye contact.

"I know you were a part of it, you rotten fuck. Die, and know that for all the praise and love you've heaped onto that vile lord, there will not be a single tear shed for your demise. Not from me, not from them."

With a simple flick of his wrist, he drops Meunier's head back to the floor, and stands up.

There is more he could say. He could list off the names of the others he remembers, he could tell the dying man his plans to exact retribution for those who can't. He could tell him everything he knows of the business Thibault engages in, and that some of the other high houses have begun to participate in to, for reasons he's still trying to figure out, that Azathoth is, too.

Instead, he takes the bottle of wine, the one he can be positive hasn't been laced with anything, and takes a long, deep swallow from it.

It doesn't burn as much going down, anymore.

When he leaves the home, the first thing he does is find a telephone booth somewhere in the city. It won't be long until authorities investigate the gunshot, and find what remains. He doesn't have a whole lot of time, but he doesn't care all that much. He takes the time to admire how the city, here, is cleaner than the one the institute resides in. It's been preserved, immune from the bombings of the war in the years prior. Unlike many of the cities he's had to visit to investigate, this one is still bustling, acting as if there never was a war to begin with. The people seem happy, blissfully unaware.

He wants to like it more.

The peace feels too unsettling for him to enjoy it.

The call he makes from that phone booth is to Theo, so he can tell him of what happened. He figures it'll be nice to tell someone else before reporting it to Azathoth, just so he can get all of the emotions out of the way. Which, he feels little of, he wants to, anyway.

Anger, sure. He feels the anger.

There's little else.

"… I'm just glad you're safe," Theo says after hearing him out, and Cassian can't help it.

He laughs, shaking his head.

"Oh, no- I fear not. But- I know I'm not, and… likely will not be for quite some time- As you said, all of this… death business is part of the line of work, no?"

"Cas…"

"Thank you, by the way. For believing in me from the beginning. I do, genuinely, appreciate it." Pause. "… and for what it is worth- You needn't worry about me. I'll be fine."

And before he can hear any response that might shatter the numb he's forcing himself to feel, he hangs up the phone, walks out of the phone booth before he can be tempted to call again, and takes a stroll down to the nearest bar. It's easier, he's found, to let the alcohol burn out any of the potential negative feelings he might be experiencing. Sure, he always hits the point where he's had too much to drink and all those negative feelings come rushing back, but while he's at that bar, still innocent in the public eye, he doesn't reach that point.

That night, in a motel room in a town about thirty minutes out from the city he'd practically fled, it hits him all at once, and he knocks himself out on the bed.

In his right hand, hanging over the side of it, the Luger Pistol dangles from his fingers, weighing his arm down like an anchor.