Abin's missions get more frequent and more impromptu as the weeks go by — there are no more hours of discussion or heated debate. The sighs of relief when he returns begin to disappear, because everyone knows he'll return eventually. He is good at his job — so much so that Samantha and Andre have been largely taking a backseat in ops. But Fiona never stops holding her breath. She can't help but feel like she dragged him into this world, just like her mother did to her all those years ago.
She can tell he feels bad that he brushed her off that night of his celebration, although she's still not sure why. All she knows is that someone had left a fresh banana on her door handle the next morning. Later that day, she found out that there'd been a dozen of fresh bananas at one of Abin's raids and he'd brought them back for the base. Eleven of them sat in the canteen, shiny and ready for anyone to take.
"Are we rich yet?" Shailene asks as she leans against the table, taking a bite of the banana in a way that would terrify (or entice, if you're into that) any male onlookers.
Fiona's eyes are watering from the glow of the device in Left Behind's main operations room. She always thought she hated stealing from aristocrats to fund her school. Turns out what she really hates is stealing money to fund Left Behind. "Stop rushing me," she says, a little snippier than she means to.
"Jeez," Shailene says, slinging an arm around Fiona's shoulder. "Your boyfriend's safe, don't worry. His mission should be over in no time. It's an easy one today."
Fiona shrugs Shailene's arm off, a little more aggressively than she wanted to. "This isn't about Abin, who isn't my boyfriend, by the way. It's about you rushing me to get through heavily-encrypted servers where any one wrong move can land me in federal prison and completely blow our cover."
Shailene giggles. "I'd love to see you in prison. I wonder what your prison name would be. A green-eyed witch?"
Fiona cuts her with the strongest green-eyed glare she can muster while continuing to breach the national bank's servers. "You're distracting me. Don't you have better things to do?"
Shailene tucks a braid behind her ear, looking impish as always. "No. Just keeping you company while you pine after your not-boyfriend." Her expression suddenly changes mischievously. "Wait, can I take a stab at our angel if you're not interested?"
It takes some superhuman will to steady her senses and not grace Shailene's jab with a response. Shailene always says things like this to get under her skin. But she can't help but think back to the party and the way that Shailene held Abin's arm. Or how Shailene's lips parted next to his ear, revealing the perfect white teeth. Fiona can't help but remember their high school days, when her crushes were all infatuated with Shailene. Abin and Shailene would make a handsome couple. She feels her chest tightening a little bit.
Fiona doesn't respond to a single word of Shailene's after that. When Abin returns, out of breath but unscathed, she does her best to school her features into the most emotionless nod one could muster.
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Today's one of Abin's few off days while the rest of Left Behind meets with prospective members at all sorts of clandestine locations in Boulder, usually at some of the Asian gang hangout spots.
Due to the illicit nature of Left Behind's dealings, it's usually easier to recruit career criminals, especially those who live on the fringes of the government's rule. So Shailene and others often venture out to the satellite offices of the Four Asian Houses of Sacramento. Like Samantha was hired from the League of the White Tiger, Sanjay, the leader of the explosives unit, was recruited from the Vermilion Wings Clan. Left Behind has always kept the Four Houses at arm's length, due to their tenuous relationships, but the Houses don't seem to mind the recruiting. After all, Left Behind's disruption of the government supply chains only increases the government's secret, but growing, reliance on the gangs for help.
Fiona stays behind because she can't bear to look at some young immigrant kids and tell them to join what is officially recognized as a terrorist organization. Even if she is one of those said terrorists.
The guilt drags on her and almost makes working out impossible over the roar of her thoughts. Is it better to live as a gang member or a terrorist? Thwack. Would these immigrant kids choose the LB life for the right reasons? Thwack. Or will some sign up just for the slim chance to sleep with Shailene? (It's happened before). Thwack.
As usual, she tries to ignore Abin's eyes while she trains. She's hyper-aware of the sweat glistening in the valley of her chest and how red she must be after the hours of kickboxing. But it's hard to ignore the pierce of his lilac eyes when he's the only other person in the room, and the only sound to distract her is the thwacking of her own blows.
Finally, she can't take it anymore. When she catches him watching her for the fifth time that hour, she turns and catches his gaze. "What are you reading?"
He's taken aback by her sudden movement, but it's too late to pretend that he was completely focusing on the text in front of him. Abin thumbs through a thick stack of scrolls in front of him, yellowed pages filled with vertically written Korean and Chinese that look too important to be used on any mission. "Tao Te Ching, the original writings of Lao-Tzu, partially translated to Korean," he says fondly, still flicking through the pages. "My master Ji-ham used to make us read this every day, before and after every meal."
Fiona looks at the text in amazement, wishing she could understand the slopes of the Korean characters she had once known. "What does this say?" she asks softly, pointing at a random verse in front of her.
Abin clears his throat as he begins to read. "Weapons are the tools of fear; a decent man will avoid them except in the direst necessity and, if compelled, will use them only with the utmost restraint."
Fiona has her eyes closed as she listens, swaying to the rhythmic sound of his voice. He stops and she opens her eyes. "Continue?"
Abin hesitates but finally looks back down at the pages. "Peace is his highest value. If the peace has been shattered, how can he be content? His enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself. He doesn't wish them personal harm. Nor does he rejoice in victory. How could he rejoice in victory and delight in the slaughter of men?"
The words echo with airy detachment in the empty training room, and Fiona opens her eyes to see Abin staring straight at the floor. "That was beautiful," she says. Abin could have read anything with that overwhelming steadiness of his and she would have felt the same way. But that was truly beautiful.
Abin is still staring at the ground, as though working through an inner dilemma. "Master Ji-ham used to read this passage to us, especially when teaching us the art of Scrollcraft."
"A decent man will avoid them except in the direst necessity and, if compelled, will use them only with the utmost restraint," Fiona repeats, finally understanding the gravity of his look. "That's what you've been doing, isn't it? You had to use it when the Sheltersuit forces were after you. You saved the children at my school."
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Abin doesn't speak for a long time. Seconds that feel like minutes pass, before he lifts his eyes and meet's Fiona's gaze. They glimmer under the light. "But what about the orphanage? Or the factories?"
"Those were also necessary," she says slowly, picking her words carefully. "You know how Left Behind feels about those things."
"Do you believe that?" Abin asks urgently, and for once, she can really see the war that wages inside of him. Underneath the calm, there is an unhinged fear, something that he's letting consume him. And this passage has particularly triggered some sort of realization.
"I don't know, Abin, I really don't," Fiona says simply, aspiring for honesty. "But you do. And Shailene does. And Ragnar does. And I guess me too then, because why would any of us be doing this if we didn't think it was necessary?"
Abin stares at her for a long beat, as if trying to ascertain if she is lying to him or not. She doesn't know what he finds, what he can find. He seems to be having a conversation all alone. "I suppose so," he finally says.
There is something about Abin's tortured gaze as he sits cross-legged on the mat in front of his beloved text that saddens Fiona. She wants to reach out, say something, touch him, but he looks as though even a feather might snap him into some deep grief. Grief for what, she has no idea.
"I'm going to take a quick shower now," Fiona says, for lack of anything else to say. She waits for him to stop her, to say that there's another passage he wants to read to her or he wants her thoughts on whatever's going on inside of his head. Instead, he stares forward. Fiona gives a small smile that he doesn't see and heads to her hot shower.
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A month after his initial success, Abin has successfully completed fifteen other missions. Ragnar deems this number, along with their new class of recruits, as another reason to celebrate. This time, the drinks are stronger, the music is louder, and the crowd is rowdier.
Fiona and Abin share a bottle in the corner of the room, away from the new recruits that they had no hand in picking. Or at least, Fiona sips from her glass while Abin just nurses it, unable to break his monastery ways.
Fiona can feel sideway glances and murmurs towards Abin from the new recruits. No doubt they've already heard of his exploits. She wouldn't be the least bit surprised if his deeds were the main recruitment propaganda this time around. She's noticed some of the more courageous recruits coming near Abin to take a better look at him, but none have been brave enough to open up a conversation with the lethal yet melancholic time-traveler. Seeing a mixture of awe, interest, and maybe even lust from a few of them, Fiona wonders if Shailene exaggerated any of his stunts.
One of the new recruits, a rather comely and scantily clothed woman, starts walking towards them with a determined look on her eyes and a sultry smile. Fiona spots a dragon tattoo that wraps around her left forearm three times, indicating her past life as an Azure Dragon escort — most likely Korean, just like Abin. For some reason, Fiona has the sudden urge to grip Abin's bicep, and squeezes it lightly to grab his attention. The new girl stops mid-gait, her flawless forehead wrinkling, and turns around.
"Have you been sleeping properly?" Fiona asks when he turns, noting the lavender hues under his usually bright eyes. He hasn't seemed right since their conversation in the training center. "You can always ask Ragnar to ease up a bit–"
"It's fine," Abin says sharply, withdrawing in that way he does. He takes a breath. "It's just nightmares." He says this nonchalantly, as if he doesn't want her to probe any more.
Fiona studies his weary face and wishes, not for the first time, that she could know what was plaguing him and find some sort of solution. She's used to logical sequences and heedy strings of code — surely, she could find some sort of bug, some way of helping him get the sleep that he deserves. Instead, she pulls out a small jar from her pocket.
"Some kimchi," she says, scooping some up into his plate. "It's probably not as good as what you usually have but I tried my best."
Abin looks at the soggy lettuce, wilting under the weight of the kimjang mixture. Left Behind grows some of their own vegetables under UV light, and its humble roots are obvious. Still, when Abin looks up, some part of Fiona warms up in a way that she's never felt. "Thank you," he says softly.
"You're welcome," Fiona says, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze.
"Why is it red?" Abin asks.
Her hand shoots up towards her cheek, before realizing that he's referring to the plate of kimchi. "What do you mean?" Fiona asks, slowly lowering her hand to her lap, hoping the crimson tint on her cheeks disappears before he looks at her again.
"I've never seen red kimchi," Abin says, picking up a piece of lettuce with his chopsticks, and slowly putting it in his mouth. "We usually use dongchimi."
"I guess they didn't use chili powder during your time," Fiona says, recalling a faint memory of her father telling her that kimchi wasn't spicy until the mid-Joseon period. Fiona studies his face, suddenly aware of the centuries between them. His frown turns slowly into a soft smile, and Fiona, for a split second, sees him for the 20-year-old boy that he is. He chews very slowly, enjoying the crackling of lettuce between his teeth.
He finally meets Fiona's stare, and nods approvingly. "It's really good, thank you."
They share a smile for a second more, no words necessary. Ding! Ding! Ding! Ragnar's tapping against his glass and it breaks them out of their daze. The room quiets instantly as Ragnar stands near the front of the room, looking every bit the military general he could be. In a past life, Ragnar had been a chemical engineer for the US government. Looking at his 6'3" frame and veiny neck, Fiona had a hard time imagining it. She tries her best to focus on Ragnar, and not the way that Abin was delicately consuming her kimchi.
"Welcome everyone, old friends and new," Ragnar booms, eliciting a few cheers around the room. The newbies are especially rowdy — Fiona supposes that you have to be particularly reckless and death-seeking to join a terrorist organization at this point in the game.
Ragnar lifts his arm and the whole crowd goes silent again. "As many of you may know, Left Behind has gone through its fair share of rough times. We're fighting a noble cause, but it's a thankless job." The lights suddenly go out and a screen flickers to life behind Ragnar, showing his and Shailene's FBI Most Wanted posters.
"Damn, Shailene, I can see why the FBI is going after you so hard!" someone whistles from the crowd. Probably Maynard.
Shailene winks towards Maynard's general direction without saying anything. Fiona groans internally.
Ragnar clears his throat as he flips to the next slide, which is a segment from the national news channel. The caption reads: TERRORIST ORGANIZATION DESTROYS SUPPLY CHAINS. It's a mission from a week ago, when they sent Abin out on a boat to destroy a government fleet. The news plays a simulation of what happened — a mega-sized and automated container ship, blasted into thousands of pieces. Fiona sees Abin tense up next to her.
"Terrorist organization DESTROYS supply chains," Ragnar repeats, as if to punctuate Abin's discomfort even more. "When really, they should be saying, 'Non-profit and activist group disrupt craters of frivolous foods for Sacramento politicians while the entire country suffers.' These shipping containers were carrying all sorts of exotic spices and fruits, for a political banquet next week." He chuckles a bit. "I guess that doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it?"
The crowd laughs and jeers along while Ragnar flips to the next slide. Another one of Abin's missions, where he implodes a weaponry distribution center. The crowd watches in awed silence as the grainy footage shows a magnificent building, obliterated within seconds. "DESTROY. Destroy. That's what the government wants people to believe, that we are here to destroy." Ragnar suddenly gestures to the back, directly at Abin. "Look at our pal Seraph. He's a Taoist monk from the 16th century, for God's sake. He does NOT destroy."
His words are drowned out by an echoing cheer — screams for Abin or his work of Ragnar's words, Fiona has no idea what they are for. But she knows that Abin is getting up in a rush and collecting his belongings, as if sick. The crowd has already forgotten him, going berserk and shouting as they egg one another on.
"Abin-"
He doesn't even look at her as he rushes off. A woman across the table leans forward, concerned. "Is he okay? Was it that sketchy kimchi that he was eating?" Fiona sees that it's the new girl—the one from the Azure Dragon Club. She would know kimchi on sight.
Fiona responds in the driest voice she has. "He is okay."
The new girl extends her hand, not quite getting the hint. "I'm Hani. I heard you've also got some Korean blood in you."
Fiona shakes Hani's porcelain-like hand briefly before standing up. "Fiona. And I'm really sorry, I have to go." Hani looks perplexed at her brusqueness, but Fiona's already looking beyond her, trying to spot the silver-haired boy.
Fiona gathers everything and turns in the direction he's gone in. He's already disappeared into the darkness, and Fiona knows that the rooms are blocked off right now as they prepare vacant spots for the newbies.
"We are fighting the good fight," Ragnar continues, as Fiona stares into the darkness and tries to ascertain if he likes left or right more. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Long live, Left Behind."
His words evoke another round of cheers, more aggressive and vivacious than ever this time. Fiona disappears into the shadows to look for Abin, but she can still hear the echoes of their words. Long live, Left Behind. Long live, Left Behind. It is a haunting chant and she's not sure she'll ever get it out of her head.