Number Seven was awoken by the sound of running water. Sorrow had switched the lights on before going for her shower so there was very little chance of going back to sleep. He lay in the bed, stared at the fish tank, listened to the sound of the shower and tried very hard not to think about his bladder, or his morning glory, or the woman who was wet and naked in the next room.

The shower stopped and Sorrow re-emerged an impossibly short time later in a cloud of scented steam wearing a very small towel with a larger one wrapped around her hair.

He was staring. He was painfully aware that he was staring. He didn’t like to stare but she was making it hard not to. It had to be deliberate. The towel round her hair was twice the size of the one round her torso. That towel was presumably held up by previously unmentioned psychic powers because it certainly wasn’t physics.

'Good morning, liar,' she said.

'Charming. Good morning, temptress.'

'Temptress?' She looked down at the towel. 'I couldn’t see what I was doing for the steam.'

'That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. And which of my many lies are you objecting to?'

'Mr I sleep naked.'

'If you know that then you must have had a look or a feel while I was lying there defenceless. Shocking. And you a bodyguard,' he said.

He swung his legs round and rolled off the bed under the cover of the duvet and headed for the bathroom.

'You don’t actually have to get up yet. I have to check the perimeter and read the overnight reports before you’re going anywhere,' she called after him.

'Too late. I’m already up.'

#

Sorrow waited until she heard the running water from the shower then grabbed her make-up roll from her Bergan and advanced on the mirror. With Captain Torso safely out of the way she could tackle her face.

She rarely bothered with cosmetics and didn’t own many but apparently if she wanted to pass for an ordinary professional woman she needed to wear some. Cepha called it camouflage. Cutty said that the trick was wearing just enough make up so that people could tell she was wearing some. It made her look like she cared what people thought about how she looked. 'Appropriate gender signalling,' was what Cutty called it.

She glared at her reflection in the mirror with liquid eyeliner in hand. Under the eye was fine. Draw the line, lightly at first matching the line of the lashes. First the left eye, then the right. Muttering 'Sisters not twins,' under her breath.

Now the real torture. Time to do the upper lids and the wings. She closed the right eye most of the way and put the brush to her skin and realised that her eyelid was quivering and her hand was shaking. 'Gods damn it, woman,' she said to her reflection, 'You shot a man in the eye from 320 meters, with iron sights. You can wing your fucking eyeliner.'

#

Number Seven finished in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and his torso still on show. Sorrow was dressed and made up and she stood in front of the mirrored wardrobe combing her still damp hair.

'Isn’t there a hairdryer somewhere?' he said, standing behind her with his body in full view of the mirror.

'Don’t know. I haven’t looked. Never use the things. A bit of dry heat on this hair and I end up with a white girl afro. I look like the pasty wannabe from a Blaxploitation film.' She went back to combing and pretending that she wasn’t watching him in the mirror.

'I found this straight razor in the shower,' he said, brandishing the folded razor.

'Yeah that’s mine.' She took it from him and put it on the bedside table.

He made a show of checking her jawline. 'Strange. You don’t look like you need to worry about stubble.'

'I shaved my legs,' she said. 'I don’t like my leg hair catching on the fabric.'

'With a straight razor?' he said.

'Yeah. It’s a trophy. I took it off this horrible cockney death cultist. He’d dedicated it to a minor murder god called Red Jack. Every time I shave my legs I can feel him dying a little bit more.' She was grinning.

Seven sat down on the corner of the bed and watched her as she went back to combing. She was dressed completely differently from yesterday’s combats and tactical vest. Long wide legged trousers that flowed as she moved and a sleeveless corseted top with a racer back that showed off her shoulder blades. It looked like there might be some concealed armour in it but no-one would notice because the corseting was showing off her cleavage and it would be hard for the average heavy to look away from that.

She was glaring at him in the mirror. He must have been staring too long.

Seven got his suitcase out of the other end of the wardrobe. He took it back to the bed and opened it, presenting his back to the mirror.

#

Sorrow stared at the reflection of his back. If anything it was better than his front. As he opened the case she could see the muscles moving beneath the skin. She had a sudden mental image of her legs wrapped around his waist and her fingers clawing at those muscles.

It was definitely time to get her boots on. She should have had a colder shower.

She opened her Bergan and pulled out the other boots. The professional looking boots. The ones with heels, which made no sense to her. She was already just over 6 foot tall so it wasn’t like she needed the height but heels were part of the 'appropriate gender signalling'. The socks were already balled up inside one of the boots and ready to go.

She sat down across the bed from Seven with her back to him and did not turn round when she heard the towel hit the floor. She even managed to keep her eyes away from the fish tank. Mostly away from the fish tank.

Once she had her socks on and a quick glance at the reflection on the side of the fish tank revealed that Seven was wearing trousers and was putting a shirt on she slid her feet into her boots, lay back and kicked her legs in the air.

The boots were knee length because Sorrow was serious about ankle and shin protection. They laced up the front to adjust the fit and a zip ran the length of the boot to actually get them on and off. She yanked the zip on the right boot and cursed as it caught in her sock half way up.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

'Mother fucker,' she said. She freed the zip and a shadow fell over her. Seven was standing there, shirt on but still unbuttoned, with his hand out.

'Let me help,' he said.

She rested the heel of her boot on his palm. He slid the zip down to free it. Then smoothed the sock and the boot out before pulling the zip all the way up in one go. He bucked the ankle strap.

'Tight enough?' he said.

'Not bad,' she said.

The second boot was hanging off the toes of her other foot. She put the foot in his hand. He grabbed the back of her leg and slid her foot into the boot in a movement that probably shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. Again he slid the zip up and secured the ankle strap.

She stood up and the smooth fabric of the trousers fell back in place mostly covering the boots.

'Thanks,' she said.

'Any time.'

'Are you sure you don’t have a thing about feet? Or Shoes? Or Boots?'

'I have a thing about women,' he said.

'I’m off to check the perimeter. Put your chest away. You’ll start a riot if you go out looking like that.'

She grabbed her leather coat from the hanger, threw it on, yanked open the door, and bounded down the stairs. Seven stared after her.

#

At the bottom of the spiral staircase Sorrow closed the book case to keep her charge safe for as long as possible. She couldn’t keep him locked away all the time but she could limit his exposure and make sure that she was ready for whatever might happen when he wasn’t safe.

The protection team leader was an old friend, Sergeant Anaru Dean of the New Zealand SAS. The most unflappable NCO in the regiment. Often tapped to work with the Department because of his unrivalled air of calm and his weapons-grade, kiwi-accented sarcasm.

He was waiting by the front door wearing a long coat over his body armour. There was a concerned look on his broad face.

'Activity?' she said.

'Nothing local. Check your phone.'

'What now?' She dug the phone out of her pocket.

'Number Four disappeared during the night,' said Sargent Dean.

'Oh for fuck’s sake. How?' said Sorrow.

'She gave Jude the slip in the Beta safe house,' he said.

'Fucking spies.'

'Yeah that’s what Jude said. They’ve called in someone from psychometry to dowse for her and the DRG are running the CCTV footage. They’re testing their latest Facial Recognition software.'

'If she’s done a runner she’s guaranteed to be off the grid but it’s hard to duck a good dowser,' she said. 'Better have one of the boys guard the stairs while we do the check. Officer Dee is bound to check his yPhone soon and then he’s going to come charging down and start looking for trouble.'

The sergeant spoke quietly into his throat mic while Sorrow skimmed through the report on her phone. 'Sorted,' he said as he led the way out of the front door.

Outside it was frosty, quiet and still mostly dark. Sorrow’s breath turned to visible vapour as she breathed out. Sergeant Dean set off and Sorrow followed trying to look everywhere at once, trying to notice everything. She saw the sparkle of frost on the ground, heard the movements of small birds in the half bare trees. Smelled the sharp tang from an urban fox marking its territory in the alley along the side of the house. She sensed nothing suspicious. It felt safe. There was nothing to suggest that any enemy had been near.

They were three quarters of the way round the house when the Sergeant's radio crackled into life. She couldn’t quite catch what was said but she caught the look on his face even out of the corner of her eye. She ran back to the front door, Sergeant Dean in tow.

She was met as she came in by the man who’d been in the study, guarding the bottom of the stairs to the bedroom.

'What?' she said.

'He won’t tell me,' he said. 'He just keeps asking for you. He says if anyone else comes up the stairs he’s going to shoot.'

'You lot stay down here,' she said. 'If you hear a shot deploy the gas. If I don’t come down or give the codeword in 10 minutes deploy the gas. Sarge, you pick the codeword.'

'The codeword is heffelump,' said the Sergeant.

'You arse,' said Sorrow.

In the study the bookcase was already open. The moment she put her foot on the bottom step Number Seven called out from above, 'That had better be Sorrow.' It was hard to tell if he was more angry, worried or frightened but he sounded like adrenalin was doing most of his thinking.

'Of course it’s bloody me. And if you shoot me I will fuck your shit up,' she said.

She was tempted to take the steps two at a time and run into the room but charging at an edgy spy was a great way to get shot. She took it slowly. One step at a time. The metallic ring of each footfall echoing in the unnatural quiet.

She paused at the top of the spiral stair. 'I’m coming in.'

There was no reply.

Seven was standing in the corner by the door to the bathroom. He had finished dressing and the dark blue of his suit magnified the icy blue of his eyes. His gun was trained on her and those brilliant eyes were wide in shock. He looked terrible.

'We’re already looking for her,' she said. 'It’s just a matter of time…'

'What?' he said, there was confusion in his voice now and it fought fear and anger for space on his face.

'Number Four. That is why you wanted me to come up here? Isn’t it?' she said.

'Look at the bed,' he said.

'I’ll look at the bed when you put the gun away. I find it hard to focus on anything else when there’s a gun pointed at my face.'

He pointed the gun at the floor but made no move to holster it.

'Close enough,' she said. She turned toward the bed, one eye still on him. All she saw was the bed still unmade with the rumpled duvet half draped over it as if he had got distracted half way through making it. 'Ok, what am I looking at?'

Seven inched toward the bed, grabbed the corner of the duvet with his free hand and twitched it off the bed. There, in the middle of the mattress, was a drift of large black feathers.

'Jesus suffering fuck.' Sorrow went for a closer look. She was tempted to pick up a feather but the Department training kicked in. She reached for her phone.

'Evidence collection, Cherry Short Speaking.'

'Hey Cherry. What are you doing in this early?' said Sorrow.

'Couldn’t sleep. We’re still working on the results from Number Seven’s boot. Thought I’d come in early and get it done. Doesn’t look like there’s anything useful in there though. What do you need.'

'I need you to come and collect something from the bedroom of the Alpha Safe House.'

'Ooooooooh,' said Cherry, her voice rising through a whole octave as she drew the vowel sound out.

'Get your mind out of the gutter and get a move on,' said Sorrow, and hung up.

'Where did they come from?' said Seven the moment the yPhone was back in her pocket.

'Fucked if I know. We have boffins. Hopefully they’ll be able to work it out. I’ll check the footage from the CCTV in here but I’m guessing that’s just going to show us asleep. Cherry is coming over. You might want to put the gun away now.' She turned her back on him knowing that presenting herself as a target like that would piss him off.

She went to the top of the spiral staircase and shouted down. 'Heffelump. Everything is fine but we’re expecting a visit from forensics.'

'Heffelump?' said Seven.

'I let Sergeant Dean pick the code word. You might want to brace yourself. Cherry has a serious crush on you. Like, full on fan-girl serious. We can leave as soon as I’ve handed off the scene if you like. You’re looking a bit fragile for facing hurricane Cherry.'

'You said something about Number Four,' said Seven.

'Shall we discuss this downstairs?'

Seven looked at the bed again and shuddered. 'Yes, let’s.'

Sorrow leant over the rail of the staircase. 'We’re coming down. Someone stick the kettle on and break out the good coffee,' she shouted.

'Already on it,' someone shouted back from below.

'You’ve got to love the lads from the Regiment. Always have their priorities right,' she said.