Page 16 of Not With the Eyes

"I would say you did everything right," Oberon said around a yawn, turning to sprawl on his stomach, reluctantly sharing the pillow. He meant to say something else, but suddenly it was too much effort to speak, or open his eyes, or…

He swore, for a moment, as he slowly drifted off, that he heard Scones whisper his name. Not his call sign, not any of his aliases, but his real name that he hadn't used in years.

Before he could determine if he'd really heard it or his mind was playing tricks, Oberon was finally fast asleep.

*~*~*

He woke while it was still dark, roughly thirty minutes before his alarm.

The first thing he noticed were the aches. Mild, negligible even, but certainly not aches he was used to feeling these days. He could feel dried come on his thighs. Next to him in the bed, Scones still slept, so still that if not for the slight rise and fall of his chest Oberon would have thought him dead. Bastard must have an utterly ridiculous resting heart rate.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He didn't know what was worse: that he'd fucked a goddamn Lachapelle or that he wasn't nearly as sorry about it as he should be. Try as he might to focus on who Scones was, who hismotherwas, his stupid, backstabbing brain just kept going back to ardent kisses and how nice Scones had felt wrapped in his arms as he fucked Oberon thoroughly enough to leave him feeling it the next day.

Swearing some more, because apparently that would help, Oberon climbed out of bed and went to grab a quick shower to clean up.

When he came out of the bathroom, Scones was awake and dressed, sitting at the table on the far side of the room going through various handguns. On the bed was a case that could only hold a rifle—a sniper rifle, a class all its own.

Oberon frowned. "Do you think we're going to run into the kind of trouble that requires sniping?"

"I don't go anywhere without it," Scones said, loading one of his weapons and sliding it into the shoulder holster he'd put on. "Doubt we'll need it, though. We go into the storage place, get my shit, and get out. Shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes, and I'm aiming for ten." He stowed another gun, thisone at his waist. "This stash should not be on anyone's radar, but I'm not banking on it, especially since…" His mouth twisted, and he didn't bother to finish the sentence.

Oberon didn't offer condolences again; at this point, it would just come off patronizing. "So we just… walk in, open the storage unit, grab five thousand guns, and walk out?"

Scones laughed as he holstered the last of his guns and stood, tucking spare ammo into a pouch at the small of his back. "Trunks, on wheels. Five of them. Three trips max. The guns are stowed and ready to go. This isn't the movies, where I have fancy metal racks filled with the damn things like some sort of museum showpiece for only myself to admire."

"I mean that would certainly be in keeping with your mother," Oberon said with a snort.

Scones's laughter faded. "Can't deny that. Hopefully by this point, though, you get I'm not my mother."

"I know," Oberon said with a sigh, though really what he knew was absolutely nothing. Well, he was a fucking fool, he knew that much. Last night never should have happened. He couldn't be sorry about it, though, not really.

"Don't worry," Scones said levelly, expression blank as Oberon looked up to meet his gaze. "No repeats, I get it. Never expected them. You wanted to sleep. I'm still a Lachapelle. I'm not going to whip out a fucking engagement ring or something, Oberon. Are you ready to get to work?"

Despite his voice and face giving nothing away, Oberon still had the sense Scones was hurt. That was stupid, though. What was there to be hurt about? It was only the most extraordinary circumstances that had brought them into each other's orbit, and soon they'd part again. Last night had been a quick, albeit extremely pleasant, fuck. One and done.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Time to get this the fuck over with so he could put his attention back where it belonged: on gettingthe sole remaining picture of himself that remained, deep inside G.O.D. territory. No more side quests. No more distractions.

Scones closed the case on his rifle, slung his overnight bag over one shoulder, and led the way out of the room.

Oberon slid into the passenger seat, twitchy and restless. "Am I the only one who feels like something is about to go seriously fucking wrong?"

"No. I just don't knowwhy, damn it. Nobody should know about this place."

Sighing, Oberon settled into his seat and waited in tense silence as they drove. The trip to the storage place was quick and easy. The gate opened for them without fuss, so Scones must have some sort of electronic pass. The rows upon rows of storage units were somehow ominous, the buildings white with bright orange doors and showy locks that weren't nearly as good as they wanted people to think.

Scones pulled up to one of the medium sized units, car facing the direction of the gates for a quick exit, and climbed out. He didn't close his car door, a move that Oberon copied.

Unlike most of the units around them, Scones's unit had an impressive lock. Scones frowned as he examined it.

"Something awry?" Oberon asked.

"No, which should be reassuring, but somehow it just troubles me more. Hang on, I want to check out the unit directly behind mine.

Oberon sighed. "I wish I could call you paranoid." He drew his gun and moved to the driver's side. "Go, then. I'll keep watch here."

Scones nodded, but instead of simply walking around their unit, since they were just one over from the end of a row, he climbed onto the trunk of the car, jumped and grabbed the edge of the roof, and hauled himself up in an absolutely unnecessary display of upper body strength.

"Show off!"

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