She bows her head towards him, smiling tightly, and begins again. 

Carter is a professional, is he not? Surely he won't be too distracted by her slowly intensifying dance moves, that increasingly show more and more of her flexibility?

At some point a girl brings in another tray of drinks and a box of snuff, which Raina takes with a warning look in her eyes, and presents to the men. Her hand lingers around Carter's as she twirls elegantly and starts in on a massage for his shoulders. 

Well, fuck. 

The drink hasn't touched him but it's hard to keep a story straight like this.

...He can work with that. 

He stares as he lets Usmaan talk about logistics. There's no way he's going to suspect anything right now, with Carter practically drooling, and that's the way he wants it. Sure, he can agree to that. He needs to know where the stuff came from so he can route it away - sure, 10% more for that sounds fine, it's not his money - yeah why not. 

He hopes mystery lady was listening to that conversation. It was probably important.

Americans.

Raina is listening intently but obviously letting none of it on. If they're speaking in English, there should be no chance of her understanding, would there?

She smiles wickedly as she feels him turn to putty under her hands. Her mother had always said she had healing hands. What a shame they've turned to taking life instead of keeping it. 

She leans over him and sits on his lap, curling her limbs just so, to make sure he's holding all her weight. He acts like it's nothing - not even in the way that most people are strong, it really might be nothing to him.

She stares up at him, innocent, and lets the covering drop from her face as she leans in to kiss his neck. He smells smoky, strong and sweet and complex in a way that goes to her head and has her leaning on him for balance more than she used to. 

She's good at multitasking. He wanted her tongue? Perhaps he'll have it, while she listens in on Usmaan's operations. 

Carter knows this is retaliation for saying distasteful things about her. He gets the sense that challenging her to dares would not end well for him.

What he should be doing is getting more information out of Usmaan. This is what her week's work has been for, to attract his attention enough to get into a room with him. They need a name, a location, something to work with. Her fingers pull his hair harder than they should: it's a reminder to stay focused. 

"Focused" is not the word he would use. 

His body sings under her like a live wire, tense and flushed, ready to spring - his breathing is harsh, pupils blown, fingers clenched on his chair hard enough to dent the fabric forever. 

He lets his head fall back to bare his neck some more, eyes drifting closed. 

It's the easiest thing in the world to start to slur his words a little, drawing Usmaan into more and more casual conversation - here, since he likes the bastard so much, he has a little of that good stuff from the states in a paper sachet - where the hell do they find these girls anyway - this is the kind of operation that could scale, if he's got the stones to get more shit faster -

...Americans have their good points.

The girl keeps looking over at him even as she climbs all over the American boy. Perhaps she thinks it will please Usmaan if she keeps him nicely distracted? He's not so cheap to buy, but she has her uses. Later. 

Yes, boy, he's been in this game a long time. One meeting and Carter can more than even he can possibly move. The Canal St boys have some high-up friends and more hot shit than he'd believe all of a sudden, it's not stopping any time soon. He doesn't know where they're hitting, not his end of things, but, he hastens to add, he knows exactly who does know, here, Carter should go talk to him, say Usmaan sent him, they all know me. Really Carter doesn't need to bother. The police won't give him trouble if he works for Usmaan, he can sort that out. 

And that's just enough to get them moving. Perfect. 

She lets out an unhappy sigh at Usmaan's ignorance, her eyes flashing at Carter when the crime lord isn't looking: 'Good, now get out of here'. She sidles in next to Usmaan, sliding a hand up his chest, hoping to take his atrention; the ambitious courtesan girl trying to win his favour.

All the girls here want to get out. Most of them come from trafficking (which is not their mission, Raina reminds herself) or do a little on the side for extra money. The good ones, the ones that are pimped out to Usmaan's friends and favourite political pawns, have the chance to move away if the men buy them up.

It's very risky, but if Carter can handle the arms side, perhaps Raina can make headway on the trafficking. It's not their mission. Her superior would be furious if it went badly. 

But if it succeeds... These girls can start thinking about life beyond their bruises and scars. 

If Raina gets far enough into the brothels. If she can convince Usmaan tonight, convince him that she's ambitious and power-hungry like the rest of their high fliers. 

Her hand drifts to his thigh, idly brushing crumbs of powder off his slacks. It's a teasing touch, laced with intention. 

He is, unfortunately, too busy being deeply unconscious. 

It wasn't just cocaine in there, it turns out. 

The girl moving away from him is like a bucketful of cold water. 

Right. Deep breath. He's not actually drunk. 

Mission success! That's more than enough to go on. He'll... sigh... compare notes with super annoying mystery contact, receiving no thanks obviously, work out where exactly these mafia-wannabe fucks are, let Langley know, take it from there. Washington wants the locals on-side, so he can probably talk pa into making it a cleanup job, and then he can bust the girls out of here, easy. Give him a month, tops. 

He looks over at her. "You all right, sweetheart?"

She stares at the unconscious crime lord and then looks back at Carter. 

"What. Have you done," she hisses out in a low breath, tapping the man's cheek to wake him up. He does not.

She whirls on him. "What the actual fuck are you thinking? When he wakes up he's going to realise what happened and the whole operation is blown to fucking pieces! You narcissistic SELF-CENTRED, conceited, pig-headed CUNT."

He smirks. "Settle down, ma'am. I carry him outside, get his buddies, guess some guys just can't hold their shit, y'all can look after him, right? 'Snot the first time for our pal here."

"The problem is not getting away! The problem is our integrity being ruined because you couldn't fucking keep it in your pants! Did it really make you that jealous? Grow up Carter."

She seethes at him, her fingers crinklimg like they itch to be around his throat (again, just not in such a sexy way this time).

"You've possibly compromised the rest of the mission, and all of my hard work from the last six months. Do you know how fucking long it took me to gather that information?"

Her voice is still pitched to be smooth and sultry so as to not attract attention, and it's weirdly terrifying to put the voice together with the incandescent rage of her words.

Raina leans over him threateningly. "Clean this up. We're going to my superiors tomorrow. I want you off this case. I'll do it all my fucking self."

With a final acidic glare, she sashays out. 

Her ass is rather shapely after all.

He comes to, blurrily. 

He's in some kind of alleyway, sprawled on the floor like a corpse-

-He was in there all alone, he has half a dozen enemies who'd pay to watch the light leave his eyes-

A flash of panic-

"Woah. Steady on, buddy. Here."

He has water, and a little brandy.

"Take it easy."

The American is looking at him with frank respect in this quiet alleyway.

"I gotta say, man, I've never seen anyone do three of those and still have a pulse. You good?" 

He drinks. Breathes. Looks a little unsteadily into Carter's earnest blue eyes.

Fuck, that could have been nasty. Good thing he's here with the world's dumbest American. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Dragged him out of there without even robbing him.

Usmaan gives him about a month around here. 

...Unless he does something.

He sighs.

"Thanks. Listen, man - I owe you. Come- all right, give me a minute. Yeah. You come with me, yes? I have things to talk to you about."

Thank God almighty for the boffins at HQ. Fuck knows what they put in there. 

"Sure thing, man. You need a hand?"

He saunters into the meeting place where he met mystery lady, grinning like the cat that got the entire dairy farm. 

"Morning, ma'am. You're welcome, by the way."

She stands up and doesn't look at him, doesn't say a word, just stalks out of the office and deeper into the coffee house warren. 

Hussein holds the door open so presumably he's supposed to follow. 

They go through three sets of doors, two tunnels, and up a flight of stairs before they reach a brass plate on a door which Carter's rough Urdu tells him says Detective Shoab Malik.

She enters without knocking - are they expected - and stands in front of a simple looking bald man in his fifties, who is typing a telegram out. 

Raina starts her rant without even waiting for acknowledgment. She complains about her months of work, Carter's pigheadedness, its implications for the rest of the mission. 

Malik's gaze has rested on her for nearly seven minutes until at last she pauses for breath. At this moment it turns to him, impassive, mildly interested, not unkind. 

He turns on the full-beam charm. Small professional smile, steady look, firm handshake.

He doesn't even glance at That Woman.

"Morning, sir. On behalf of the US government let me thank you for reaching out a hand to work with us. I apologise for the loss of cohesion on this mission, but after your operative unexpectedly vouchsafed to me that she was unable to establish contact with the target, I was obliged to improvise. I've established close connection with a key local figure in the black-market arms trade, and I have here a file-" he produces it from his briefcase as he speaks- "based on information he provided under oblique interrogation detailing the operations of the major local crime families, possible contacts, and upcoming plans."

Langley got a rather more detailed report over the phone, which means he hasn't slept at all, but it is going to be so worth it for the look on her face. Months of work to get close to this, huh?

"I also established an ongoing relationship with this contact and a personal recommendation to the figures noted in Appendix B, if there's anything else you'd like to know. Hope this makes up for the confusion, sir."

"I did not vouchsafe that I couldn't establish contact, it just seemed like a stupid idea to go in on a secondary relation as opposed to a primary contact! And the bond you established is after you drugged him! You created a liability out of huge risk just to satisfy your ego!" she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air.

She is fuming. Fists clenched, jaw tight, fiery eyes, and posture ramrod straight, the whole nines. "I won't work with him anymore." 

Shoaib straightens a pen on his immaculate desk, having leafed through the file briefly enough to assert Carter's operations. He clasps his hands together and looks calmly between the two.

"Am I dealing with children?" he asks mildly.

This sets her off again, saying she can't be an effective operative without knowing what her partner is doing, having agreed on some kind of plan before that and completely derailing it and potentially compromising her position-

He holds up a hand, and she falls silent. He scratches something out on the report, and hands the dossier back to her. "Agent Khan. Agent Agan. Do find a way to work together. I don't want any more paperwork."

He looks back down, a clear dismissal, and Khan damn near stomps her foot as she storms out of the office. 

Oh finally some sanity. He likes this man. 

It was obviously all "Agent Khan's" fault, but he gets it, got to let the baby have her bottle. He's listened to dad talk about rogue agents often enough to know the score there. 

"Acknowledged, sir," he says crisply, nods to the man, and discreetly and professionally follows her out of the door. He even waits until they're in private again to talk to her.

Then he grins a shit-eating grin. 

"Let's talk about how we can work together, Agent Khan. Is that your first name?" He's very professional. Only the look on his face marks him as anything other than a consummate spook. 

"Is Agan yours?" she bites back, striding purposefully through the halls. She's wearing low heels today, and they make an authoritative click as she walks, the crowd parting like the sea. Her shalwar kameez is an attractive pale yellow that brings out the warmth of her face, and is stitched with white embroidery.

"I make the plans. You follow. This is a Pakistani operation on Pakistani soil. That's how we work together." 

Oh he loves this so much can he please never leave this building. "Easy there, Miss Agent, you heard the man, gotta be diplomatic. You know how to do that? Like, I can be diplomatic here, and say sure, I'll follow your plans when they're good plans, Pakistani or not. Now you say 'Thanks for saving my ass and completing my mission in one day', and I say 'you're welcome'. Ready?"

She whirls, and she's forced him back into the wall with a surprising amount of grace. Her arm holds him at the chest, and if she slips it up she can easily choke him. She looks like she's considering it, too.

"Your stupid bull-headed approach worked today. Tomorrow, it will fail, and the consequences will come down on all the people trapped in that hell hole. Whenever you want to do something stupid, you tell me first. Understand?"

By the gods, he gets under her skin. She can't remember the last time someone had made her so angry. His stupid perfect white teeth and chiseled jaw and straight nose are so stupidly perfect she itches to punch them.

This close, the memories of last night come back to her. How he'd shivered at her lips on his skin, how his fingers had trembled the first time she touched him. How they'd shared breath, shared a second of electricity.

Fucking American. 

He should... hold his breath or something, so he doesn't breathe her in. Yeah. He doesn't do that. 

As though drawn by a magnet his gaze flickers down to where her hand rests on his breast, and he swallows hard. 

...So she wanted something done about the girls there too. Oh. Of course. He'd thought she was too ice-cold for that. 

Maybe little miss Agent has a heart after all. 

Maybe he can work with that. 

He's still going to have fun with this, though. He smirks.

"All right, done. I'll try and tell you next time I'm gonna save your ample ass and finish your mission for you. Do you one better, I'll let you in on what I got on where they're getting those girls from, see if we can give them some headaches there until we shut the whole thing down. I got a condition, though." He looks down at her, leaning forwards a little bit, so she can either back down and pull her hand away or realise how she can't hold him back.

He almost hopes she does try to choke him instead.