One of the most satisfying experiences she’d come to appreciate was crossing things off her to do list. However, while Meg was ready and eager to fulfill her part of the mission as quickly as possible, she had to watch Cyrus run off after the crew’s perfect little angel as soon as the engines stuttered to a halt in Crash. So while the will was there, her partner wasn’t, and who could really blame her then for going about her own business in town? Not that she’d ever been particularly worried about that anyway.
Unfortunately, her having been granted the freedom of a little break from the rest of the crew also meant that certain strays were running wild just the same. Right when she was finally about to get the interesting bits of information out of the merchant in front of her, she could sense somebody else walking up to the stall. Only when an arm was flung around her shoulders without warning, though, and the obtrusive smell of cheap alcohol flooded her nostrils, she bothered to pass them a second glance and immediately had to muster all her self-control to maintain her professionally charming negotiation-facade.
“And a good-for-nothing nuisance, this one,” she added with a smile, though it seemed to die a little on her lips. “Would you excuse me for just a minute? This won’t take long, I promise.” Meg bestowed another glance from her almost too dark eyes on the merchant, before reaching for Beckett’s hand over her shoulder with her own to intently steer him away from the stand.
As soon as they were both out of sight and earshot, she wriggled herself out of the awkward embrace while bending two of his fingers a little further backwards than would have been necessary perhaps. Something threatening glistened in her eyes now as she glared into his misleading baby blue ones, not blinking even once. “I’m hoping for your sake you have a compelling reason to disturb my dealings like that.”
Anyone who claimed that years of violence numbed the body to pain was a liar — perhaps one could develop a sort of solidarity with pain, maybe even come to expect it and certainly, recover more quickly from it, but it would still throb and ebb from the source every time, would still sting and burn. Such was an unavoidable consequence of humanity, and in a world ravaged by war and ideals set to the drumming of blood, Beckett held his with the sort of reverence he would never allow to show past his guise of foolhardy antics and careless jokes.
So he let out a small welp as Meg bent his fingers backwards, not bothering to hide the wince of pain that crossed his features — though it was fleeting, quickly replaced by a familiar mocking grin. In one smooth motion, he took hold of the hand she had withdrawn, interlacing his fingers with hers with a grip that was only mildly meant to hurt, and drew their arms upwards, his other hand coming to rest upon her waist, as if they were about to slow dance.
And thinly concealed threat.
“Why, wifey, if you wanted to dance, you could have just said so,” Beckett drawled, peering down at her, eyes bright and glittering with an emotion that wasn’t quite friendliness, though there was no anger, either.
He leaned down then to speak into her ear, his lips close to, but not grazing, her skin. “Your obvious dealings. In divided settlement like Crash, don’t think that you can so easily go unnoticed, γλυκιά μου. No doubt the merchant will be looking for the nearest spy to sell the contents of your negotiations as soon as you turn your back.”
