She nods curtly. "That can be our cover then. You can be drunk and lost, and ill be helpless and paid for."

She rises into a low crouch, ready to move, her body primed like a coil about to spring. They've seen the shipment entrances on the way in. The guards aren't on a real rotation but they must be tired and have darkness on their side.

Khan motions with a hand signal to go. 

He can be surprisingly graceful for such a large man, slipping forwards fast enough to go unnoticed without making too much noise. 

They're past the dozing outer guard in a heartbeat, and he gets a glimpse of a space like a warehouse-slash-warren - big and cavernous, full of scaffolding and wooden walkways. 

Unfortunately, they've chosen to storm in just as a familiar face is heading around the corner, flanked by what must be half a dozen heavy-set men.

He's been talking business all damn day. It's not his place to ask questions, but this shit is weird. He does high-value goods and weapons, and the weapon supply doesn't make any damn sense - foreign stuff, all the same, flowing like water. The boys here jingle when they walk. The rest is even worse. It's all old artworks and shit, statuettes, temple stuff. He's not one to balk at that, but it's hard to move (at least until the handsome idiot came along) and it's not business as usual, which makes him antsy. 

He's complaining about this in a loud voice as he goes, so he doesn't see them for a split second.

He grabs Raina's waist in a grip like steel, jumps, catches a scaffold, swings them up with a heave, and in a second they're rolling onto a wooden platform above, his hand over her mouth. 

"Stay calm. Keep quiet."

She's unflappable even in the face of this, save for the slight tension in her form when he touches her. Her eyes, calculating, wander over his face as he looks around. 

He's remarkably strong. A few years ago, there were rumours about the Americans coming up with some silly chemical serum to enhance their soldiers, but it got lost in the mist with the end of the war and all the dividing up land and scraping together money. 

Perhaps it wasn't lost to the wind after all, but scattered far and wide enough to avoid suspicion. 

Khan likes it up here. Good vantage point, excellent cover, and convenient ways to get across the space without being spotted. She has many names in the agency, but one of them is the Kali Billi - the Black Cat. High perches and lying in wait is one of her signature moves. They can figure out what's happening and have a great escape route. 

She raises a brow at him imperiously, smirking even under his hand. 

He relaxes a little when it's clear that they haven't been spotted. 

Usmaan and friends don't seem to be moving, though. 

He studiously avoids looking at Raina as he takes his hand away. 

He feels ridiculous crouching here. He's too big. 

"You look like you're having fun," he says in a low mutter. 

She flutters a delicate grin in his direction. "Aren't you?"

There's a glint in her eyes as she surveys the space. She actually... Likes this stuff. The sneaking around, not being caught, finding information, the danger. Perhaps she's not as straight and narrow as she seems.

A few goons enter through a door at the back of the warehouse and exit a few moments later, locking the door behind them.

Delicious. Where there's smoke... 

Khan taps Carter on the shoulder and gestures to the little shed. Surely it's important. 

He nods.

They crawl. He can be stealthy when he needs to, but the problem is just his weight - he has to creep carefully over the stronger joists or give them away.

It does give him the chance to admire the way she moves, though. Lithe, like a panther... who is she...

She chooses that moment to glance back at him and flash him a look that is wry, knowing, and exasperated all at the same time. 

She supposes she can't blame him. He is behind her, after all. 

Quick and silent, she slithers over to the other side, very nearly leaving him in the dust. There's a very large drop down to the shed and there's no other platforms in sight. They might have to just risk it. 

He doesn't even think twice, just heaves himself forwards and over the side. Lands, flexes his knees, straightens up.

...Shit.

He's not supposed to give away how good he is, is he. Ah well. He was never any good at that part, he doesn't know why it's supposed to be important. 

He spins, shrugs, looks up at Raina, and opens his arms invitingly.

He absolutely does not smirk. That would be rude.

The scowl on her face could summon thunder. 

There's nothing for it. Ugh.

She drops straight down as a knife cuts air, nothing more than a slip of shadow in peripheral vision. The floor isn't too busy, and they've timed it just right to avoid any guards. 

She crouches down to pick the lock, making use of a few favourite hairpins designed specifically for this purpose. 

"At some point I want to know why exactly you have the strength of a bull and the speed of a parakeet running from a magpie," she murmurs, making short work of the lock. She darts a glance around to make sure they won't be interrupted, and pushes through. 

He makes sure to catch her very gently and hold her close, bridal style, just to tease her. 

...Fuck that might have been a mistake. Her skin is so warm and so soft where it touches him that it almost burns. Her scent, that impossible musk, it...

He coughs, sets her on her feet. Tries not to blush while she springs the lock.

"Fuck."

They've walked in, right into what seems to be a business meeting. They all stare at one another for a split second - three guards for three ballers, and they can't waste a single moment. 

Khan springs into action, and suddenly the way she moves makes sense. It's nothing he's ever seen before. She goes straight for the pimps, knowing there's enough risk there that the guards won't shoot and Carter will be enough to handle the rest. She moves like a snake in water, like a gecko on a tree trunk - impossibly fast, all her body leaning into every kick and punch and push. She uses their weight against them all and she's too small for anyone to really be able to see her in the half light.

She thinks it's going well for about three seconds, which of course, is her mistake. 

...Huh. He didn't think that kind of thing would work in a real fight. She looks too small to hurt a guy that size with her bare hands no matter how good she is. He figured she used a lot of knives. Shows what he knows, he guesses.

Anyway, the thing is that in a real fight theory goes out the window and fuck knows what's gonna happen, so people basically act on instinct, unless they're really really fast. Nearest guy's going for a gun so he grabs that hand, dislocates the shoulder, throws him into the second guy before number three can be in place to shoot so diving tackle, he rolls to his feet-

One of the guys Miss Agent left on the floor is still moving, and he has some kind of fucking sword thing he's swinging at her-

Again, he acts on instinct. 

He jumps, grabs her by the scruff of the neck and yanks her out of the way, twisting to take the sword-blow on his flank so hopefully it won't bite, kicks the Zorro motherfucker in the chin pretty hard, caves in some other guy's ribcage-

"Are you all right?" he snaps urgently, concern in his sky-coloured eyes even as the blood wells up at his side. 

Behind him is a corpse, still clutching an antique cavalry sword, head twisted back at a horrible angle, most of its face a red-and-white ruin. 

"What are you-" she hisses, halfway to shaking his hand off when she looks around and realises what's happened.

She looks scared and determined all at once. "You idiot. Oh my god, you fucking moron. Are you alright? Put pressure on it, here-" she unwinds a sash from somewhere (there are in fact knives hidden under it) and presses it against his flank, looking around for something to bind it in.

There are some groans from the floor and the place is a massacre so they need to get their information and leave before anyone comes knocking.

Her hands, stained with his blood, are cupping his face, checking his breathing, his pulse, his pupils and whether they're dilated or not. The adorable scrunch in her brows Is back, and this time, it's out of concern for him. "Does your freakish strength translate to accelerated healing?" 

He's grinning like an idiot, isn't he. Thank fuck she's all right. 

Freakish? He knows he's pretty good but-

the knives are so thin and they shine like mirrors, he has to remember the rules, don't thank her don't apologise don't scream-

He shakes himself, suddenly disoriented. He takes the sash and binds the cut tightly with hands that definitely do not tremble. 

He looks up to meet her eyes.

Oh. 

"I'll live," he says softly. He doesn't look away.

She pulls her hands back as soon as she realises she's marring his beautiful face with these crimson stains, even if they do make him even more handsome. Something about the danger of it. 

Yes she has problems she knows. 

"Keep watch. Run through escape routes. I'll try and find something for us to get on with so we don't leave empty handed."

She helps him up, wiping bloodsoaked hands on her dark tunic, and ruffles through the desk and cabinets for anything incriminating that might give them a location, a person to catch, someone to hook. 

He straightens up with some difficulty, wipes his face clean. 

Fuck that stings. It's OK. Chicks dig scars, right?

Escape routes: back the way they came, go deeper and hide, try to make it look like someone else did this, or head for the other delivery entrance to the east. 

"We could try pressing on," he says, managing not to sound like he's in too much pain.

"Can you climb?" she whispers back, shooting him a worried glance.

Back in the suburbs, she used to take care of the local ailments and aches and pains of the ordinary men who lived there. Before the Partition, of course. She's known for a while that this much blood isn't good for anyone. 

She really doubts he can throw her like a trapeze artist again. 

He nods, ashen-faced. 

Raina's search turns up a cache of identical automatic weapons, a stash of banknotes, a map of the city with circles in red, a list of addresses, a collection of photographs of depictions of Shiva, a set of razor blades, and a bottle of bleach.

Does the list of addresses match the map circles? She'll pocket one of the weapons; analyse the images of Shiva for anything strange or out of place. 

All of the addresses have matching circles, but there are many more circles on the map besides. 

The photographs are of many different kinds of image - statues, paintings, tapestries - but in every one, the same unfamiliar depiction, a curiously blasphemous quality: His third eye defaced with some kind of intricate device like a forceps. 

There's not enough time to get to them all. She'll pocket the map and leave the rest, gesturing to Carter it's time to go. It's only been a minute or two since the end of the fight but it feels like an eternity when she's this alert. 

She loops his arm around her neck, stabilising the unhurt side, and gives him a sobering look. "Stay with me, okay? I'm not done annoying you seven ways to Sunday yet." 

He manages a crooked smile. "Wouldn't dream of it." His gaze is a little unfocussed, his words a little slurred, but he can steady himself. 

His arms wrapped around her are strong, and warm. 

Time to go. He limps with her towards the door. 

Beyond there's a rickety hallway, gaps in the planking representing doors off to the side, and it twists upwards - towards an upstairs window, maybe, or a doorway to the rooftop. To the right there's a narrow, battered, well-trodden passageway leading in, and maybe a little way down, as though back to floor level.