Oliwia Rangel and Rafe O'Quinn were a fascinating pair. He was tall, lithe, and had an easy grace to him while he swaggered through the club, arm carelessly thrown over her shoulder like he owned both the joint and her. He was also dressed like a 'rough and tumble' soldier stereotype, complete with a frayed headband, artfully soot-stained cheeks, and a devil-may-care attitude.

She was short. Teeny. Perfectly proportioned, sure, but she still only came about halfway up his chest. She was dressed in a crisp but still clearly fake general's uniform, with a hard cap and everything, and looked ready to stab Rafe.

Why did I think the uniform was fake? Well, it had so many medals weighing it down that a decent magnet could have lifted her right off the floor. So… I at least hoped those were fake. The alternative was that I was stalking and planning to murder some kind of a super-soldier, decorated enough times that there was no way she couldn't put me under the ground within ten seconds.

I was caught completely off-guard by the fact that they'd shown up together. I even briefly contemplated that they'd just shown up as a pair because they worked together. Then Rafe paused and lifted his diminutive date by slipping his hands under her armpits. Ignoring the kick of annoyance she landed on his knee, he drew her into a kiss.

I flushed but refused to look away, head already buzzing with thoughts.

This isn't good.

I was supposed to go for one of them, not both! I mean, sure, both would have been ideal. But the plan here was to stage an ambush, not openly fight them.

How the fuck am I supposed to pull that shit off when there's two of them? Wait… did Amelia know about this?

"They're a couple?! How? Since when? Did you know? What do I do?!"

"First, don't panic. Pay attention to your date, give him your best smile, and say yes," Amelia snapped. From a quick glance, I saw she was bent over the secure scroll and tapping away on it rapidly.

"…you think?" Deacon finished.

I focused in on him, still a little flushed from spying on my targets making out, then awkwardly cleared my throat. I'd completely lost the plot of whatever he was talking about, so I defaulted to Amelia's instructions.

"Sure! Yes, that sounds great." Maybe I laid it on a little thick, especially with the chipper enthusiasm, but I was still thrown off when Deacon's entire face lit up.

"What the fuck did I agree to?" I hissed silently at Amelia inside my head. "Why does he look so happy?"

"Hmmm? Oh, you just agreed to go down and dance with him. He was promising to make it enjoyable for the both of you, and said he was fine if you said no 'cause of your arms."

My smile stiffened. My eye threatened to twitch.

"But!" I added before he could get a word out. Some joy drained out of his expression, which immediately made me feel guilty. "I'm… hoping to get a bit more rest first? The music and the crowd did a number of me."

"Of course!" The happiness came back in full. "Wait here. Let me get us some water and non-alcoholic drink options. Those should help."

He scurried off without waiting for an answer. I kept a nice little smile on my face so I didn't slump over and start groaning into my hands.

I did still have plenty of eyes on me, after all. They were being subtle, sure, but Deacon's coworkers were clearly curious about his date.

"Amelia… why did you tell me to say yes? He wants me out on the dance floor! You know, where all the humans are? Very touchy, pushy humans I might claw up into ribbons?"

I could do it, too. Every instinct told me so. I found myself unconsciously eyeing people sometimes, analyzing weaknesses and deciding where to strike to take them down in one move. It was as distracting as it was worrying.

"Cause ya need to go down there anyway. We're tracking those two, remember? Well, it would be nice if you could get close enough to slip one of those trackers I got for you onto them. Can't do that from the second floor."

"That was, like, a secondary objective."

"Sure, but only 'cause it could be tricky. Considering that our 'primary' plan relies on tailing them, and could fall apart if they have even a single vehicle, the trackers are better. Besides, you're doing okay, and you've got a date. Best try to enjoy it."

She was trying to sound teasing, but she just made me sigh.

I could hear a note of jealousy there. Just a tiny bit, but… yeah. I could tell she really wished she was the one in the club with me.

I'd refused that for several reasons. For one thing, we had no invitation to get her in. Then there were her atrocious self-defense capabilities. While I wasn't a whole lot better, I at least had my training, Stalker instincts, and several nuclear options.

Amelia did have her arms now, of course. But while those could do all sorts of damage and cause chaos in their own right, they weren't geared towards combat. Medics relied on their creations for protection, and Amelia was a bit cagey about whether she could even produce those.

Stolen story; please report.

Seeing as I had no good arguments and nothing better to do, I continued to keep an eye on the dancing crowd and my two homicide targets while waiting for Deacon. Though it wasn't really my thing, I could admit that the crowd looked… happy. Happy and completely free of all concerns.

It was probably a veneer of the bar atmosphere, but that didn't help with the pang of envy I felt. Mercs or not, here they were, drowning themselves in alcohol, company, and music.

I couldn't even do that.

Not unless I wanted to wake up to a bunch of people dead, shadows roaming all over the place, and another district lockdown.

"Here! You should like these," Deacon cheerfully declared. He placed a large pitcher of icy water on the table, along with several tall glasses of various drinks.

I tilted my head at those, because they were pretty much one-on-ones to some of the drinks I'd had earlier. I experimentally took one and sipped it. Sure enough, it was a perfect recreation of a citrusy drink Deacon had already served me.

My expression made the man break out into laughter.

"Oh! You make the most interesting expressions, you know," he teased. "Those are non-alcoholic versions of the cocktails we have on offer. Honestly, 'cause of how hard it is to replicate the taste exactly, most of them are more expensive than the original drinks. Still, we substitute them with the alcoholic variants sometimes, when a customer pushes and we know them well enough to know they're going to be a major disruption once they get completely wasted."

"So… if they would be a disruption, you slip them these?"

"Yeah. Finah's orders."

"What do you do if they're not horrible drunks?" I wondered aloud, taking another sip of my drink. Honestly, it was ridiculously good.

Deacon shrugged and looked sheepish. "We let them get wasted. It's not like they hurt anybody, and if we know them that well, they're regulars. Plus, if they don't cause trouble, that instantly puts them on our favorites list. If they get too close to passing out, or if they actually do, we have a bouncer collect them and bring them either here or to a private room."

"And what decides which of the two happens?"

Deacon's smile was a sly thing. "How likely they are to throw up. Those who don't end up here. Those we know are spewers get a private room, or just get shoved into a bathroom stall for employees. Let me tell you, we reformed a couple people by letting them wake up covered in their own juices."

I laughed, shook my head, and let him draw me into conversation again. It really was nice just to chat with him, even with increasingly sarcastic comments from Amelia in my ear.

My girlfriend was turning grumpy fast. She was clearly having a few regrets.

Still, I didn't let Deacon distract me from my task completely. I always kept half an eye on the dance floor, tracking Rafe and Oliwia's progress across it.

They danced. They argued. They looked like they might come to blows at one point, then suddenly broke into a violent make-out session. And then they drank. A lot. Honestly, the two were kind of a mess.

"What did you find out about those two, Amelia? Any updates on why they're suddenly together?"

"No, and that annoys me. The most I've found was a bunch of public arguments they had online. I now realize they've tagged each other in every single fucking picture they put up of themselves with dates. Some very racy ones, too. Which… now that I'm paying attention, yeah, is typically preceded by all the arguing. Ugh. How the fuck did I miss this? They don't have a single pic together!"

I tuned out all further grumbling as Deacon let out a deep sigh, screwed up his courage, and offered me his hand.

"So… about that dance?"

I hesitated. Maybe for a beat too long, considering how his expression fell.

Then I dropped my hand in his and stood up. "Yeah, I'm ready."

And I was. I didn't have the advantage of a buzz anymore, but I did feel pleasantly warm and full from all the non-alcoholic drinks and pleasant company.

I'd also enjoyed annoying Amelia with a couple comments on how she'd arranged everything herself and she couldn't have take-backsies. I'd probably pay for those later. But I was amused now, and that was all that mattered.

Deacon was once again exceedingly gentle. Tugging on my hand, he led me out of the lounge, down the stairs, past the apparent proprietress — who was still working, two hours after I'd seen her last, without a break — and onto the dance floor.

It was… confusing. Lights, press of bodies, smell… it all put me on edge. The eyes. The brushes of people's fingers. They had me wincing, shying away.

Straight into Deacon's arms, ironically, which only put a flush on my face.

I ignored the flash of annoyance with myself at toying with a guy that nice, and tried to at least make the evening pleasant for him. All the while, my new software catalogued the people around me and helped me keep track of the duo, who were back to dancing themselves now.

I managed to endure for over an hour, putting on a smile and very awkwardly dancing. And I didn't claw anyone up! Not even when someone groped my ass and sent both mundane and Stalker murderous urges surging through me. Which, admittedly, didn't spill out only because I couldn't spot any obvious culprit when I angrily spun around.

Deacon managed to calm me down, but I used the opportunity the best I could.

"Could we retreat to a bar for a bit?" I asked, shouting in his ear to be heard over the music. "I need something to drink, and I could use a break."

He gave me a cheery nod. But before he could take charge again, I took a deep breath and grabbed his hand. Pulling him through the crowd, I headed directly towards where I'd last seen the merc duo.

I'd only been able to catch snatches of them, and might even have missed those without my software. But said software led me straight to where they were sucking faces again, pressed against the edge of a bar counter. With my heart going a mile a minute, I stumbled over to them and slumped against the counter myself.

Then I pushed my arms harder than I'd ever even tried to before.

In less than a blink of an eye, my right hand dipped into a pocket concealed under all the fur, closed around a tracker, and shot out to stick the thing inside of one of Oliwia's pockets.

It happened so quickly, I seriously doubted anyone could have spotted it. Not with so many people pressed so closely together around us. Even with the help of cybernetic eyes, I was just that fast.

Of course, I paid for it immediately.

My right shoulder erupted in white-hot agony. The muscles attached to the Stalker arm felt like they'd been put through a wringer, stretched out, and then cut up. There was a burning line stretching from my clavicle to my shoulder, and from there down over my back and close to my spine.

I could only assume those were muscles I'd fucked over particularly badly. Even the bones on that side of my body felt like they were pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I sucked in a deep breath and let go of Deacon's hand to cling to the counter.

"Ames? What's wrong?" he asked in a hurry, hovering over me. That did draw the merc duo's attention, but they went back to sticking their tongues way too far down each other's throats quickly enough.

I could have grinned if I wasn't fighting to keep my face straight amidst all the pain. I hissed at Amelia, feeling the first curls of anticipation sneak through my chest.

"Mission accomplished."

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