Abin's missions get more frequent and more impromptu as the weeks go by — there are no more hours of discussion or heated debate. The sighs of relief when he returns begin to disappear, because everyone knows he'll return eventually. He is good at his job — so much so that Samantha and Andre have been largely taking a backseat in ops. But Fiona never stops holding her breath. She can't help but feel like she dragged him into this world, just like her mother did to her all those years ago.
She can tell he feels bad that he brushed her off that night of his celebration, although she's still not sure why. All she knows is that someone had left a fresh banana on her door handle the next morning. Later that day, she found out that there'd been a dozen of fresh bananas at one of Abin's raids and he'd brought them back for the base. Eleven of them sat in the canteen, shiny and ready for anyone to take.
"Are we rich yet?" Shailene asks as she leans against the table, taking a bite of the banana in a way that would terrify (or entice, if you're into that) any male onlookers.
Fiona's eyes are watering from the glow of the device in Left Behind's main operations room. She always thought she hated stealing from aristocrats to fund her school. Turns out what she really hates is stealing money to fund Left Behind. "Stop rushing me," she says, a little snippier than she means to.
"Jeez," Shailene says, slinging an arm around Fiona's shoulder. "Your boyfriend's safe, don't worry. His mission should be over in no time. It's an easy one today."
Fiona shrugs Shailene's arm off, a little more aggressively than she wanted to. "This isn't about Abin, who isn't my boyfriend, by the way. It's about you rushing me to get through heavily-encrypted servers where any one wrong move can land me in federal prison and completely blow our cover."
Shailene giggles. "I'd love to see you in prison. I wonder what your prison name would be. A green-eyed witch?"
Fiona cuts her with the strongest green-eyed glare she can muster while continuing to breach the national bank's servers. "You're distracting me. Don't you have better things to do?"
Shailene tucks a braid behind her ear, looking impish as always. "No. Just keeping you company while you pine after your not-boyfriend." Her expression suddenly changes mischievously. "Wait, can I take a stab at our angel if you're not interested?"
It takes some superhuman will to steady her senses and not grace Shailene's jab with a response. Shailene always says things like this to get under her skin. But she can't help but think back to the party and the way that Shailene held Abin's arm. Or how Shailene's lips parted next to his ear, revealing the perfect white teeth. Fiona can't help but remember their high school days, when her crushes were all infatuated with Shailene. Abin and Shailene would make a handsome couple. She feels her chest tightening a little bit.
Fiona doesn't respond to a single word of Shailene's after that. When Abin returns, out of breath but unscathed, she does her best to school her features into the most emotionless nod one could muster.
Today's one of Abin's few off days while the rest of Left Behind meets with prospective members at all sorts of clandestine locations in Boulder, usually at some of the Asian gang hangout spots.
Due to the illicit nature of Left Behind's dealings, it's usually easier to recruit career criminals, especially those who live on the fringes of the government's rule. So Shailene and others often venture out to the satellite offices of the Four Asian Houses of Sacramento. Like Samantha was hired from the League of the White Tiger, Sanjay, the leader of the explosives unit, was recruited from the Vermilion Wings Clan. Left Behind has always kept the Four Houses at arm's length, due to their tenuous relationships, but the Houses don't seem to mind the recruiting. After all, Left Behind's disruption of the government supply chains only increases the government's secret, but growing, reliance on the gangs for help.
Fiona stays behind because she can't bear to look at some young immigrant kids and tell them to join what is officially recognized as a terrorist organization. Even if she is one of those said terrorists.
The guilt drags on her and almost makes working out impossible over the roar of her thoughts. Is it better to live as a gang member or a terrorist? Thwack. Would these immigrant kids choose the LB life for the right reasons? Thwack. Or will some sign up just for the slim chance to sleep with Shailene? (It's happened before). Thwack.
As usual, she tries to ignore Abin's eyes while she trains. She's hyper-aware of the sweat glistening in the valley of her chest and how red she must be after the hours of kickboxing. But it's hard to ignore the pierce of his lilac eyes when he's the only other person in the room, and the only sound to distract her is the thwacking of her own blows.
Finally, she can't take it anymore. When she catches him watching her for the fifth time that hour, she turns and catches his gaze. "What are you reading?"
He's taken aback by her sudden movement, but it's too late to pretend that he was completely focusing on the text in front of him. Abin thumbs through a thick stack of scrolls in front of him, yellowed pages filled with vertically written Korean and Chinese that look too important to be used on any mission. "Tao Te Ching, the original writings of Lao-Tzu, partially translated to Korean," he says fondly, still flicking through the pages. "My master Ji-ham used to make us read this every day, before and after every meal."
Fiona looks at the text in amazement, wishing she could understand the slopes of the Korean characters she had once known. "What does this say?" she asks softly, pointing at a random verse in front of her.
Abin clears his throat as he begins to read. "Weapons are the tools of fear; a decent man will avoid them except in the direst necessity and, if compelled, will use them only with the utmost restraint."
Fiona has her eyes closed as she listens, swaying to the rhythmic sound of his voice. He stops and she opens her eyes. "Continue?"
Abin hesitates but finally looks back down at the pages. "Peace is his highest value. If the peace has been shattered, how can he be content? His enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself. He doesn't wish them personal harm. Nor does he rejoice in victory. How could he rejoice in victory and delight in the slaughter of men?"
The words echo with airy detachment in the empty training room, and Fiona opens her eyes to see Abin staring straight at the floor. "That was beautiful," she says. Abin could have read anything with that overwhelming steadiness of his and she would have felt the same way. But that was truly beautiful.
Abin is still staring at the ground, as though working through an inner dilemma. "Master Ji-ham used to read this passage to us, especially when teaching us the art of Scrollcraft."
"A decent man will avoid them except in the direst necessity and, if compelled, will use them only with the utmost restraint," Fiona repeats, finally understanding the gravity of his look. "That's what you've been doing, isn't it? You had to use it when the Sheltersuit forces were after you. You saved the children at my school."
Abin doesn't speak for a long time. Seconds that feel like minutes pass, before he lifts his eyes and meet's Fiona's gaze. They glimmer under the light. "But what about the orphanage? Or the factories?"
"Those were also necessary," she says slowly, picking her words carefully. "You know how Left Behind feels about those things."
"Do you believe that?" Abin asks urgently, and for once, she can really see the war that wages inside of him. Underneath the calm, there is an unhinged fear, something that he's letting consume him. And this passage has particularly triggered some sort of realization.
"I don't know, Abin, I really don't," Fiona says simply, aspiring for honesty. "But you do. And Shailene does. And Ragnar does. And I guess me too then, because why would any of us be doing this if we didn't think it was necessary?"
Abin stares at her for a long beat, as if trying to ascertain if she is lying to him or not. She doesn't know what he finds, what he can find. He seems to be having a conversation all alone. "I suppose so," he finally says.
There is something about Abin's tortured gaze as he sits cross-legged on the mat in front of his beloved text that saddens Fiona. She wants to reach out, say something, touch him, but he looks as though even a feather might snap him into some deep grief. Grief for what, she has no idea.
"I'm going to take a quick shower now," Fiona says, for lack of anything else to say. She waits for him to stop her, to say that there's another passage he wants to read to her or he wants her thoughts on whatever's going on inside of his head. Instead, he stares forward. Fiona gives a small smile that he doesn't see and heads to her hot shower.
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