Fire and Silk [A Ben Hardy/Four Fanfiction] ON STANDBY

2

         Not long after One's departure, I ventured around the HQ. I noticed the worn-out seats, the keyboards with scratches, along with a few pairs of boxing gloves slightly teared up: this place had history, and a lot of it. I wondered how many missions were planned here, how many people were mourned, well, especially Six I supposed, and more than ever, how long would it take for me to call this place home?

With faint footsteps, I directed myself to the back. I rapidly found a few camp beds and the showers. Nothing extraordinary, but it would do. With the information I had, I gathered that the team had their own homes, probably not too far from here.

After a long shower, accommodating myself to the rest of quarters and nervously playing with my hair for, like, twenty minutes or so, One finally came back to get me. He looked much better than earlier. The bags under his eyes were deep, but aside from that small detail, he looked ready to introduce me to the rest of the party.

"So, where we going, chief?" I asked, sitting down in the passenger seat, my "new" jeans rubbing the leather gently.

"Told you earlier, a bar."

I frowned, but he ignored me. I hoped one day he would confide in me the, however insignificant, locations we were heading to. On the way to the place itself, I couldn't stop moving. My nerves were wreaking havoc. I wasn't good at teaming up; even in high school, when we had to do group projects, I would hate working with other people : nobody is as good as me.

"What's up, Eight?" One inquired, visibly remarking my behavior. "Nervous?"

"Something like that..." I mumbled quietly.

My boss scoffed, surprised by my answer.

"I never thought a badass like you would feel anxious to meet people."

"Well, I'm a criminal: I'm not a good at people."

"Don't worry, we're all criminals."

I knew it was meant to comfort me, somehow perhaps One cared more than he showed, but it did quite the contrary. I didn't retort, I just wanted the night to be over so that I could get to bed and dream about anywhere but here.

Around thirty minutes after One picked me up, we arrived to a bigger town, contrasting with the shitload of small villages we had encountered on the way over here. One parked his car next to a bar called The Black Cat. Fitting for the day I had had.

"Before we go, anything I should know?" I questioned, my hand already on the handle.

One shrugged his shoulders and did a meh-not-really face.

"They're all assholes, I can't help you there." He said, but couldn't hide his apprehending smile; he was happy to be reunited with them.

With that said, he got out of the car, leaving me more than perplexed. I was anticipating the worst. Actually, that was one of my rules: never expect anything but shit to go wrong. I know, you wouldn't be the first one to call me a pessimist, but imagine really thinking that everything is going to go all right when you commit a robbery, or, let's say, abduct a powerful politician. How can an acceptable criminal, vigilante, missionary, or anyone you want, think like that? We have to figure out every little detail, and that includes Plan B, Plan C and Plan We're Fucked. In this particular case, my plan B was to get the hell out, but a little birdie told me that if I were to do so, One would not appreciate it much.