The Mission: Part 5

  Pablo

  ?

  "Miles. Did you dress up?"

  Pablo grabbed the railing to step forward onto the landing to join Miles. This time the height was right, and he was able to see the top of Miles’s head.

  Miles turned to avoid eye contact. Probably to tell a blatant lie, "Nah, I—No."

  Pablo dropped his hand onto Miles’s head, flattening the fluffy hair that stood up. The strands had flecks of some dried shit on them that he had used for styling. Didn’t work. Just made his head a misshapen mushroom.

  "Did I fuck it up?" Miles asked, reaching up to fix it himself.

  Pablo knocked his hand away. "Don't touch." He sifted his fingers through Miles's silky locks, breaking through tangles and straightening them to a fluffy mane. Puffy and soft. Natural. The way it looked best. Too bad it was going to get covered up by the hood anyway.

  Miles’s hood was offset on his shoulder, his favorite black shirt which he only wore on special occasions peeked through. Once he cleaned up, he’d be looking right as rain. Fancy outfit, nice hair, wearing a smile as if he were a fucking prince. A disaster. Only one other person matched Miles’s get-up besides Pablo, who always made it a point to look nice, and that was Cass. What the fuck was that about?

  Pablo combed behind Miles’s ear, and Miles swatted at his hand playfully, chuckling. He was ticklish as ever. Good, because just below his ear, Miles’s neck was bruising, still swollen red from the metal pinchers. Kinda wanted to poke it and see if his skin was hot to the touch.

  “Are you done?” Miles shifted his feet closer together, rubbing his thumb, having a hard time standing still. Shit. Was this weird?

  Quickly, Pablo smoothed Miles’s hair to his favorite side, face growing hotter by the second. “There.” Didn’t know what he’d do if he made Miles uncomfortable besides create a new identity and move to a different city-state or country. What should his new name be? He’d been told he looked like a “Joe”.

  Pablo roughly lifted Miles’s hood over his head to undo any damage. It sat uneven, so Pablo pulled the fabric to make it symmetrical on both sides, “Wear your hood.” he added.

  Stepping away to give Miles space, Pablo rubbed his chin to show that his hands weren't keeping him there anymore. The tallow Miles used as gel was on Pablo's fingers. It was just a faint smell. Greasy, animal death was a scent he’d gotten used to. Now it was Miles.

  "Thanks, Pablo." Miles touched his hood, making sure Pablo put it on right or something, then slowly started toward the next set of stairs. He seemed okay. Pablo would have to keep Joe in his back pocket.

  Miles smiled for a second, but then it left fast, "Your, uh, hair is coming out of your thing. Fix that," he said. "I'll see you later. Maybe with these things, when you least expect it." He opened and closed the scissor-things then ran upstairs as though he were in a hurry. Thank steel Miles seemed his usual self.

  He was right, though, damnit. A loose curl had escaped Pablo’s cap and sat on his forehead. If only Miles had found real scissors, he’d be saving Pablo from this awkward hair length, but instead they were just glorified tweezers.

  Needed to get back to business. Had to move the barrels where it would be most effective at spreading fire. Pablo started down the steps, holding the cold steel railing, chest heavy and face too tight. He tried to relax it, but the grin wasn’t wiping off.

  Fucking Miles.

  Wait. He never got to actually talk to Miles about Emi. With all the shit that happened, the scissors took over any possible conversation they could have had. Miles was clomping up the steps, almost to the top. Pablo still had time.

  "Hey! Did you tell Emi?" Pablo's voice came out too loud, his nosy question echoing through the lobby.

  Tell Emi? Tell Emi?

  Miles quickly peeked over the railing, giving Pablo a weird look, then turned his attention to something on the second-floor. Damnit. Was someone else there? If it was Emi, Miles would never forgive him.

  Miles tapped the railing with his fingers, making it vibrate even to where Pablo held it, "If you're moving barrels in, I'd start with the east hallway." Then Miles climbed the last couple of steps without glancing back and disappeared.

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

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Miles's steps trailed across the ceiling. Pablo followed the sound with his eyes until he saw what Miles did. Or who. But it wasn’t Emi.

  Watching Pablo from the railing was another figure in grey. Masked as always. Zax. Could easily tell him from others because he was fucking tall and skinny, barely moving in the ominous way he was good at. Oh, and had a device strapped to his arm.

  How long had he been there? He kept his gaze on Pablo, presumably to say something, which was really goddamn creepy since the guy didn’t talk. So Pablo waited for him to motion. Do a little charades. Mime that he was going down invisible stairs and vanish.

  He finally gestured. Zax stuck out a long finger and pointed to the first-floor where Pablo was headed.

  Oh no. Pablo just dug his own grave and pissed in it, didn’t he?

  He followed Zax’s finger to where Emi stood behind a long counter that the rebels used to place their things, glaring at him. Fuck. She saw and heard everything, didn’t she?

  Zax was still watching like a stalky scarecrow bastard, so Pablo raised his hand to let him know he saw her. Then Zax gave him a thumbs-up and went off doing whatever he does.

  Emi stared daggers with a face more terrifying than Cass’s, a beast in leprechaun’s skin. Peering over at Pablo, Emi was talking to the Vocate as if she was talking about him. Tweedle doop and tweedle dimbus were up to something. How did he not know they were there while Miles was pulling off the world’s weirdest hostage situation? The Vocate was ticking incessantly at a letter pad. Green numbers were strung across a screen bolted to the counter, as if he’d typed it by smashing his head onto the keys. If only.

  Needed a better view to see what they were doing. The counter held supplies the team had thrown onto the surface for easy grabbing when they were ready to dash out the door. Sansi’s dirty, rabbit pelt purse was sitting beside both of Emi’s bags which were bursting with their infamous calling card and questionable material she'd found in the building. The rest of the countertop was covered in the Vocate’s tech tools. He wasn't even using them.

  Maybe Miles hadn’t caught on because he was too distracted, but ever since Pablo had found out that no one really knew about the mission besides the Vocate and Emi, it was pretty clear burning rations wasn’t their goal this time.

  Emi wasn’t watching Pablo anymore. She’d already turned away to view the screen of random numbers over the Vocate’s shoulder.

  “Hey,” Pablo said. Unlike the Vocate, Emi had usually acted with seemingly decent intentions. She might spill the beans, maybe.

  Emi quickly turned and eyed Pablo up and down as if she forgot he was there. She had her hood up. Must’ve taken her headband off at some point because her hair fell around her face. She wasn’t wearing a mask anymore, and her eyes were sunken in, easily owning the role of one of the walking dead.

  “Whatcha doing?” Pablo slid his arm across the tabletop, pushing dust around and lifting it into the air. The dirt stained his fingers, so he wiped them on Emi’s bag that was most in reach.

  Should’ve used something else. Emi looked as though she wanted to skin him alive and wear his carcass as Spring's next coat.

  "What do you want?" she snarled. Attractive. Never saw why Miles was head over heels for her.

  Figured she’d ask about his yelling at Miles, but maybe she truly didn’t give a shit.

  Emi’s swiper tool was lying among the tools on the table. Miles had a swiper too, with the letter “M” on it, but Emi wasn’t kind enough to make any for Pablo. That was completely fine. Pablo wasn’t sure he’d really want it engraved with the letter “P” anyway.

  Pablo picked it up. Running his finger over the steel edge, he felt the blade press into his skin.

  “Just wanted to know what you were up to,” Pablo said quietly, peering up at Emi for a reaction.

  THUNK.

  Pain rippled through Pablo’s arm. His wrist hit the countertop before he was able to think. Fuck. Emi was barely even looking at him. She pinned Pablo’s arm to the worktop, tore the swiper from his hand, then let go.

  “Hands off.”

  Goddamn bitch. If she and Miles weren’t a thing, Pablo would set her straight the same way he did the Vocate. Whatever he said about her decent intentions- Throw that out the window,

  "Fucking favored, Emi. You could have asked."

  Who pissed in her socks? Did Miles tell her about Cass after all? Figured she’d be crying or ditch them all to go pout instead of having a one-sided arm wrestling competition.

  "Has Miles told me what?"

  What? Did he say that out loud? She was examining him with that serious expression she gets when she’s high and mighty and better than you. Her usual look.

  Pablo must’ve been staring back at her like he was an idiot, because she slowly clarified.

  “Just a couple minutes ago, you asked Miles if he told me something?”

  Damnit. She did hear. Pablo yawned and stretched his arm out across the tabletop again. "He wanted to tell you how much it fucking sucks not knowing anything you two dumbleweeds are doing. Exact words."

  Emi rolled her eyes in a way that tried too hard. "Is that right? He should ask me himself, then.”

  “Yep. ’Cause you’re so easy to talk to.” Pablo muttered, quickly removing his hands from the counter in case Emi decided to show another sudden display of affection.

  Instead, she silently leaned her stiff ass against the tabletop, blocking his view of the Vocate and the computer screen, as if cutting him out and ignoring him. But Pablo wasn't done.

  “You and Th-Cody going to be done with that soon? We need to scat.” Pablo wasn't wrong. This is probably the longest they've stopped at a depot they intended to burn and were starting to overstay their welcome.

  Emi turned to face Pablo again. “Depends. Why are you here instead of helping Garrett with the barrels?"

  "Pablo has no empathy." The deep voice came from behind him.

  Garrett dropped a fuel barrel he was carrying onto the ground, making the floor rumble beneath Pablo's feet. DROPPED it. Implying the bastard had picked it up. Why was Pablo doing anything at all when they had a living, breathing forklift to use instead?

  The computer screen flashed white, then black. The Vocate threw his arms into the arm as if he were celebrating a victory at a sports game. "That's one."

  Emi glanced over at the Vocate for a split second. Exactly like before. She couldn't seem to take her eyeballs off the glasses-dweeb for some gross and unsettling reason. Then to Pablo again.

  "What are you still doing here? Go be helpful."

  Right. Pablo rolled his eyes at her, more theatrical to outdo hers. "Yeah, boss," he said. He hoped she choked on the sarcasm.

  Then Emi ditched the counter and stood so close behind the Vocate that she would've been able to hump him from the back of his chair. Fucking perfect. Just what Pablo wanted to witness after seeing Miles upset. Even if it was fake, it felt real. And here her tight twat was draped around a stooge that wasn’t good enough for Sansi either. These two could burn in the fire for all Pablo cared.

  Garrett rolled another barrel through the door, glared at Pablo, then went back outside to get another one. Yeah, yeah. They did have a couple more to move, so Emi wasn't wrong, but neither was Pablo. That bitch did not deserve Miles.

  Pablo checked the stairwell before following Garrett out of the airport to haul more barrels in. No one was looking back.

  *** Character-specific extras included in post author's note*

  Thank you for reading!

  [Extra] Pablo's Survival Tips:

  Rule # 18: Communicating like a gentleman: Step 1. Drop your expectations. Step 2. Even lower. There. Now you’re ready to talk to people.

  Rule # 75: Hair gel. If you’re using rendered animal fat as hair gel, keep your head away from open flame. Found that out the hard way.

  Rule # 164: Don’t poke a bear. Seriously. They may look cute and cuddly, but sometimes that bear knows five different types of martial arts and picks her teeth with knives. If you didn’t realize it by now, I’m referring to Emi.

  ***Author's Note:

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