The Contract

3: Past and Present

Three: Past and Present

"Henrick?"

"No."

"Halvard?"

"No."

"Henry? Harry? Harrison? Harold? Harvey? Honda?"

"Honda?"

"Just thinking outside the box. Haakon?"

"Will you quit it?" Snotlout snapped from the wheel of their SUV as they sped through the streets of Berk. "And what are you doing anyway?" Hiccup inspected the stocky young man and gave a lazy smile.

"Kids game," he explained lazily. "I think of a word and Astrid has to guess it. The only thing she knows is it is a proper name and it starts with an 'H'." There was a snort from Snotlout and he accelerated through a red light, almost flattening a women with a child in a buggy. Astrid yelped and slapped the driver's shoulder.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped. "We're supposed not to attract attention!"

"Huh-we're only dropping this murderer back at that dive when we should be taking him to Hopeless Jail!" Snotlout grumped.

"Not likely to sort out your problem if I'm incarcerated with the worst of the worst," Hiccup pointed out, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "It's next right, Snotknee."

"It's SNOTLOUT you skinny smug overconfident murderous little..." Snotlout yelled and earned himself another punch from Astrid.

"He's just baiting you-and you rise to it every time," Astrid hissed. "You're letting him find out your weaknesses!" Snotlout laughed scornfully.

"Don't have any, babe," he sneered. There was a quiet chuckle from the back seat and Astrid flicked up to meet the piercing emerald gaze from the back seat. Hiccup had exactly the same opinion of Snotlout as her from a fraction of the exposure to the stocky agent and Astrid found herself grudgingly respecting the hitman's analytical abilities and ability to assess character. And his dry wit. They turned and began to weave through the narrowing streets until they reached the alleyways behind the Dragon's Edge, pulling up behind the bins.

Hiccup lazily opened the door and slid out, his movements graceful and purposeful, Astrid leaned out of the window.

"Remember-we expect to hear from you by 0900 tomorrow-or this place closes," she warned him and his emerald gaze hardened.

"Don't worry, Miss Vain-I'm not going to ruin your perfect mission record by leaving the country," he told her coldly. "I gave my word and I will not go back on it. I'll be in touch." Then he slammed the door and stalked off down the alley as the car pulled away. Pausing until he heard the sounds of the engine fade completely, he turned to the back of the bar and the solid metal fire door, before flipping up a panel and stabbing in a code then pressing his hand against the palm reader. There was a clunk and he flipped the panel down as the door cracked open and he walked in, locking it tight behind him and clambering fast up the steep stairs three at a time.

He ended up in his small apartment above the bar, glancing around and checking that nothing was disturbed. With his photographic memory and the idiosyncratic arrangement of items, it was very easy to see if anything had been displaced during a search-but his little space remained private. Thinking hard, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it onto the sagging two-seater brown leather couch and slid his shirt over his head, walking towards the bedroom that was filled with a sagging single bed and a clothes rail. A box served as a drawer. He hung up his shirt and jeans then tossed his socks and boxers into the washing bag before walking to the tiny bathroom, flipping the light on and turning on the shower.