Why Fireflies Flash

When Did You Decide?

221B Baker Street

Hannah peered out into the sitting room from where she sat. The mid-morning sun peeked through the windows casting antic shadows across the room.

"Is this a usual thing? Breaking into the apartment above yours?"

Anabeth shrugged. "I have only lived here for roundabout two months. Besides, their fridge is bigger than mine."

Hannah shot her friend a death glare. "Full of body parts."

Anabeth rolled her eyes and pressed the lever down on the toaster. "In my defense, they were not there yesterday."

Hannah's greenish eyes lazed on Anabeth's stiff figure. It was hard these days to determine the difference between the Anabeth that tries to lock her feelings away and the one that was molded by the Corps. "Are you alright?"

A chair was pulled out across from the visitor. "Now, what makes you ask this time?"

Hannah shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's just the fact that it's been six months since you've been stateside and before that you were benched because of what happened in Brussels. You been working nonstop on this file; there isn't a check-in were the Company doesn't get any information. I guess I'm just worried you're overworking yourself. You've reverted back to Vulcan, and you're still undercover. It's starting to get, well, scary almost."

Quinn rolls her eyes again. "Hannah. I am fine. Do not worry over me."

"See, there you go. Anabeth Ryder would've said "Batsy, I'm fine. Don't worry." Something's bugging you."

"But I am not Anabeth Ryder. I am Anabeth Quinn."

"But you're undercover. You're supposed to act like Anabeth Ryder, the burlesque dancer who's pinning for her ex-fiance and gets laid like a hooker every night. You're supposed to feel, you're supposed to be human. Just pretend, will ya? For me? Pretend that you never met the likes of that bastard, pretend that your childhood wasn't lived in shadow of your parents! It's been sixteen-"

"I am not thirty-two, Wayne. I am only thirty, it has been fourteen years."

"Same difference."

"Look, Hannah, I love you. You know I do. But I do not feel like talking about this right now. Not with either denizens of this flat within hearing range."

"You never want to talk about it."

"Well, maybe there is a good reason for it."

"Oh?" Hannah raised a perfectly styled brow. "And what is that?"

"You would not understand."

"Try me."

Anabeth opened her mouth and shut it, looking like a fish. She racked her brain for anything that remotely made sense coming from Anabeth. But she couldn't. She really should have something by now. This isn't the first time this has happened. Hannah calls her out more often than not when they're on the same continent, let alone in the same room.

"Let me see your arm."

It catches Quinn off guard as she's still searching for an answer. "What? Why?"

"Let me see your arm."

Hesitantly, Quinn pulls both sleeves of her black robe up and holds out her arms, palm-side up, for Hannah's investigative gaze. The normally-black-haired girl zeros in on the round patch stuck in the crevice of her left elbow. It's ripped off instantly making Anabeth wince and shout out a loud "OW!"

"Just checking."

A light clicks on in Quinn's mind. "Ah." Her eyes close briefly. "Of course." Her now snide gaze levels with the green one across from her. "It is impossible to keep a smoking habit in London these days. Hence the patch. But I still can't believe you thought I would..."