As far as vacations went, this one sucked. Technically, it wasn't a vacation, but Nolan had been psyching himself up for his 12 hours of plane travel by pretending it was. On his way down to South America for the pick up, he'd been two rows up from a crying baby. Babies were cute and all, but on an airplane there was nowhere to go to escape.

Which, was sort of the whole reason why he was going for this pick up in the first place.

Lenna Kadick was about to be a Department of Defense asset. Some bargain had been struck that was made by bigger fish than Nolan, now it was his job to make the pick up and make sure it went cleanly. He needed to talk her around by the time they landed otherwise this bargain was moot.

He should ask for a raise.

Nolan had a dossier that told him what she might be like on the outside, but the memory manipulator worked best after he had a little skin to skin touch and a peek through the files in other people's heads. Then, with choice memories he could aim to re-write a little of her history to give his words more effect. It was a delicate balance. Too obvious, and they'd cry foul. Too light handed, and he might not win her over in the 6 hour flight back to NY.

He had a nice layover and a generous stipend for his overnight stay before he turned around and got right back on a plane with his seat planted right next to Lena's.

When it was time, he shuffled down the aisle and put his overnight bag in the overhead compartment.

Let the games begin.

Oh, if only it had been a game. A neat, simple, fun little game. Like Poker, or Checkers. Not Monopoly. Not the kind of game where your supposed friend backstabbed you and forced you to fight back. Then, when you learned why, and went to resolve the situation, you went directly to jail, did not pass go, and did not collect 200 dollars. Okay, in that light, maybe it had been like a game... Just a game that she had lost, and bad. Lenna had wanted revenge. She'd screwed up. Cut out all the exposition and the drama building up to it, and you could summarize it as that. She'd lost, been caught, and the next thing she'd known, she was heavily sedated and being lead by a hamfisted goon through security, and onto a plane. It had been betrayal followed by betrayal, and now she was paying the consequences.

In a perfect world, she would have had some control over the situation. Over the cover story. Over her life. But in her groggy state, all she could do was follow along, watching things play out as if through a veil. Like a cute little baby duck. The man was about a foot and a half taller than her, which put him at the 'hulking' status, over 7'. He made up for it by having the tiniest head she could have imagined, with itty bitty squinty dark eyes that did nothing for his caramel complexion or his curly black hair. He was like some dollar store Fabio from a Mexican soap opera, with scars on his knuckles and around the corners of his eyes, and he did not look like his freaking cover story! He was telling people he was her husband. Telling them she had a fear of planes, that she had taken something to help keep her calm, and that she would be fine. And he was supposed to be her husband. It was laughable, really, and if she'd been in charge, the story would have been better. But to reiterate the point, she was not.

Lenna had not even packed her own bag. What does a burned assassin need, anyways? Hadn't packed her own clothes. She was still wearing what she'd tried to off Cortez in, blue jeans and a black leather jacket. Combat boots. Necessities? Who needs them? They'd probably just thrown random clothes into a bag haphazardly, and called it good. Hopefully, the plane had alcohol, the only necessity she needed right then. If she had some of that, she'd be Fabio-Julio's problem, as opposed to him being her's. Such a nice change. Would he even allow that? He'd kept a heavy hand on her, and she knew what he could do with it. Dangerous mutant. Kill with a touch. Something about poison fingertips, or poison nails. Or poison breath. She really didn't care. It wasn't as if she was going to fight him. That would cause a scene, which would bring in authorities, and that was never fun for anyone involved. With her current luck, she'd wind up dead or worthless. Once a cover is blown, there isn't much one can do to fix it other than changing everything about one's self. And she'd done such a good job avoiding that, too. A scene could also mean involving innocent bystanders. Someone could get hurt in the crossfire. She wasn't a psychopath. She was a high-functioning sociopath. A product of her upbringing. And even she didn't like people getting hurt when they didn't deserve it. If they deserved it? Sure! Even better if she were paid to do it. People don't really pay to have someone killed if they don't deserve it somewhere, deep down. Or, they crossed the wrong person, did the wrong thing at the wrong time. In that case, all one could say is 'Sucks to be you!' But for your average, run-of-the-mill pedestrian, that didn't factor into anything. She saw herself as a mercenary, a criminal who killed for profit, and sure, maybe a bit of fun. But only when the person deserved it. Lenna took no joy from the death of innocent people. She wasn't that far-gone. And so, she didn't fight back when she was lead through the airport, past screens, and through security checkpoints. Because she didn't want to involve other people in her own mess... and also, because deep down, she didn't like her odds against a dangerous mutant, while heavily sedated. But the first one was more enlightened and noble to her, so that was what her mind focused on for justification for not grabbing the nearest pen and neatly inserting it into some vulnerable point on Julio's body, then breaking free.

They made it through security. They made it onto the plane. That's when things got interesting. Julio shoved her overnight bag, a nice floral carry-on with a handle and cross-hatched stitching, into the overhead. Then, he grunted at her, and sat in the seat behind her. What had the grunt been? A sentence? A direction to-- Lenna looked to the man sitting in the seat directly below the overhead compartment. He was in the window seat. The aisle seat was free. The man was nearly 6 feet tall, with dark brown hair that was almost black. He was tan, with hazel eyes, and something was strange about his ears, but in her foggy state, her trained mind only took in that he was of fairly average height for a man, had dark hair, hazel eyes, and needed a shave. If she'd been more attentive, Lenna might have been able to place why it was he struck her as a man of subtle conflicts. She might have noted the fight between wardrobe and facial hair, the blandness of neutral grey around him directly combatting the pierced and gauged ears that spoke of something more the opposite. Might have got a real read on the man, noted any ticks or social foibles. But nope. None of that. Lenna noticed his height, his hair, and his eyes. Subliminally, she might have thought he was kind of handsome, but that was besides the point, and beneath mentioning. What Julio had grunted at her finally registered. 'Sit there. Talk.' Apparently, this was her seat.

This was her seat. This was the next babysitter before she found out where she was headed. Maybe she'd wait on that drink. He might have something worth hearing. Despite her attempts at digging, Julio had not talked. Lenna sat down, awkwardly sliding into her seat. The sedative was good. The whole cabin spun briefly, but she could still function. She could feel the weight of her head.

Lenna smiled at the man. "Husband says to sit here, so sit here, I shall." She bit off a short laugh. Her voice was like honey. Chestnut honey, not generic. Generic honey is sweet and cloying, but chestnut honey is dark, with a strong bitter note. The woman wasn't even trying to hide her contempt. Her right hand tightened on the armrest. "My name is Lenna. You?"

The man behind her surely had some sort of weapon concealed, ready to handle her if she tried anything. It was tiring, and also entirely too sensible. The cornered animal is the most dangerous. This whole situation made her feel like she had little to lose. But unlike some dumb animal that struck at the first opportunity, she was getting a read on things. He'd never see it coming.

Assassins came in all shapes and sizes. From the little lolita to the corpulent corporal to 'my name is Lenna.'

From the slight stutter in her step to the hesitant slur of her words, one thing became immediately obvious to the training agent. Lenna was drugged. Like an animal too dangerous to be trusted not to hurt itself. Nolan supposed they should be thankful they weren't receiving her in a crate down in the hold of the airplane, but this wasn't a hell of a lot better. It was possible her state might help him slip in past her guard. Or, it was also possible that she was so outside of her normal mental faculties that whatever Nolan gave her would never take root and this whole trip would be in vain and they'd have to do this the hard way.

Nobody ever liked the hard way.

"Nolan. Guess I'll be your seatmate for a while." He smiled his most harmless and offered his hand for the shaking. His bare hand. On skin contact, if she'd allow it, he would gain access to the filing folder of Lenna's memories. He was careful, until then, not to put any memories into his voice. Until he figured out what parts were best to overwrite and which parts to play up, he'd just be a nice guy.

"Ya wanna make your husband super happy?" Nolan waggled his eyebrows at the woman and hit the call button. Once the stewardess got through the slew of people, Nolan had some ideas on gaining Lenna's trust depending on what he'd picked up. Upgrading them to first class and not Mr. Husband was always an option. But if she really seemed too dangerous, he'd start out with just ordering drinks, one for him and one for Lenna. Nothing says 'don't kill me' like a free drink, Nolan hoped.

There are a lot of things one can do in a handshake. Tiny needle filled with poison, various tricks of martial arts, etc. And mutations. On a normal day, a day when she wasn't drugged and wasn't distracted, focusing on finding a way out of the situation she was in, Lenna might have dodged the handshake politely, with some sort of subtle social play. She was having a bad day. It showed. Lenna shook the outstretched hand.

Her mind was an open book to him. Short of blocked memories, things even she didn't have access to, he'd be free the roam within the constraints and limitations he lived with. Lenna didn't have a clue.

Did she want to make her husband super happy? 'Not really' was the first phrase to come to her, sugar sweet, probably accompanied by a broad smile. But she wasn't trying to be a witch. "Not really," Lenna said sweetly. The smile on her face was broad. It seemed it was hard to break away from ones default witchy nature.

Her hand dropped to a button, the same type of button that Nolan had pressed to call a flight attendant. She was psychic, but she couldn't read minds so she had no idea he was planning to buy her alcohol. And she desperately needed a drink.

The woman's dark blonde bangs slid forward on her face as she leaned in closer to Nolan, and she graciously deigned him with a real response, voice low and conspiratorial. "What did you have in mind?"

She certainly was making it easy for the memory manipulator to quietly alter her memories. She hadn't even been gifted a script.

Did she want to make her hubb-o happy? Not really. Which was perfect in his book.

> "What did you have in mind?"

Well, for starters, he had a heap of Lenna's history running through his head. Nolan's eyes darted back and forth with his distraction. Oh. He'd known she was an assassin, but their intel was wrong on many counts. She'd started way younger, for one. And she hadn't been entirely under Cortez's thumb for her entire life, for twos... seconds?

Skipping past all the history for now and knowing he'd have to come back to it, Nolan went to look for his 'in,' something he could work with to strike up a friendship. Nolan was quite okay at becoming friends with people.

She liked... Casa Blanca. Baseball? He didn't have enough working knowledge to make that one useful. Cowboys? Oh! She liked to gamble. Nolan's smile spread. He could work with that.

"How much you wanna bet I can get us upgraded to first class?" He met her conspirator's whisper decibel for decibel. It'd be nice to claw their way up to the top of this teaming dung heap of humans. No one was happy on a plane, unless they were in first class.

Nolan pretended to appraise Lenna while taking a surreptitious glance back at Mr. Husband. Nolan trusted him to keep Nolan safe like he trusted a razor to gently exfoliate his tongue. The man was clearly here to put Lenna down should she get unruly. That was both good and bad: The Department of Defense wanted her as an asset. She was nice and expendable, but they really would rather choose when to expend their resources. If Nolan couldn't find a way to coerce her into the fold, she wouldn't be walking off this plane anyway. Therefore, Nolan deemed him... superfluous. Not at all SUPER, like Lenna.

"If I get us upgraded, you give me something." That waitress,
err, flight attendant sure was taking her sweet time. "If I fail, I give you something." Easy wager. Her offered his hand to shake on it.

First class, huh? Well. It'd beat the festering pile that was these accommodations. She hadn't even gotten her drink yet, and she'd been pressing that button off and on for, like, seconds. Any slower, and she'd start gaining lucidity. They couldn't have that.

"First class would be nice," she hedged, not giving him what he wanted. She smiled an inconsequential smile. What would she bet? What sort of bets was he taking? She would let him make his own wager. Lenna hardly thought that it was fair to expect her to give her hand away. It was a trash hand, but she would play the card she was dealt. And she would bluff. All he had to do was set the terms.

She watched him closely as he looked her over, and shot a glance at fake husband when he thought he could be subtle about it and not give himself away.

He gave himself away. If he won, she gave him something? If she won, he gave her something? Men. Lenna laughed, and shook his hand. "That sounds like a proposition." Her voice was wry. Well, what the hell? Losing could be fun. "Deal."

Was he propositioning her? Well, yeah. It was that or death and he did hate the waste of it.

"You're on." He grinned and shook her hand because the game was afoot. More memories poured in. Game's Lenna had played because that was what he'd been thinking about when he'd touched her. Nothing important. He tried to stuff those memories aside for now.

The wait- airline personnel sauntered right past their dual lit call buttons. Rude! "S'cuse me, darlin'." Nolan had to shimmy out of his seat with his knees brushing Lenna's in order to stalk down the aisle. He chuckled in a self deprecating way to ease the weirdness and then he was free to track that air lady down.

At the front of the plane juuuust behind the curtain that separated the little people from the big seats, Nolan caught the (Stewardess! They were called stewardesses!) stewardess' elbow. He pulled out his badge and packed his story with some inspiration he'd run across on his late-night news watching binge.

There had been a domestic situation, he'd seen the report and couldn't remember where it happened. That was fine. He put just enough of the newscast into his words that the attendant would remember having seen the story and would believe it as an outside source. According to Nolan, Lenna was a woman on the run from a very scary man. That's was true, though 'on the run' was maybe a stretch. 'Booted out' or 'tossed aside like an old rag' might have been more accurate, from what he understood. He'd get the full story from Lenna, by lip or from touch. For now, he was only worried about spinning his yarn.

And she ate it up. He was US law enforcement, and this was a special and sensitive situation that only she could help him with. Why wouldn't she want to help a poor, battered woman escape her abuser?

Nolan shimmied back into his seat and raised his eyebrows to Lenna by way of salute.

There were some hushed conversations and more than one attendant hurried to move some things around, but before long the original stewardess Nolan had spoken with came by with drinks. One for Lenna. One for Nolan. "We've had an unexpected opening in first class. These seats are next on the bump list, would you like to move or retain your original seating?"

Meanwhile security made their way onto the plane and were quietly helping Mr. Suspicious AF to exit the plane.

After momentary close proximity, Lenna watched Nolan go. Chasing stewardesses. He probably had a mutation that would aid in him getting exactly what he wanted. Or he thought a lot of his own charm. Likely, she'd lose. Sometimes, losing can be fun too. Better than dwelling on how very screwed she was.

She glanced at her big "husband". He glowered at her, and at his magazine. She was impressed. He could read! He wasn't very worried about what Nolan was up to. Kudos on him. It was probably going to cost him. Nolan had agreed that they were going to make hubby unhappy, after all.

A few minutes later, Nolan returned. He waggled his eyebrows... she arched one of her own ... and she hung started to transpire. It wasn't obvious at the start. Quiet conversations, things being shifted, and then their original stewardess returned with drinks for both of them! Vodka martini for her, neat. And they were being moved to first class, it seemed. Without her tail. Because security was escorting him out. Cortez would eat him alive for that.

Lenna nodded to the woman. Being bumped up to first class was fine. She waggled her eyebrows at Nolan briefly, a mimic of his little 'salute', and carried her martini carefully as they were moved.

The stewardess put a sympathetic touch to Lenna's shoulder. The woman even had sad, soulful eyes full of love and hope and understanding. Nolan drank about half of what was in his glass right then and there.

"I know what it's like. Things'll get better for you. You'll see." She smiled a prom queen smile. "Right this way."

If Lenna thought that was odd, Nolan had more eyebrow salutes to send her way, and hey! Drinking that much made it that much easier not to spill on the little people. The agent did a quick turn to give them all one last look. Mr. Suspicious was throwing elbows, but the security team had his elbows in hand so it really wasn't doing him any good. And the more he kicked a fuss about wanting to see his wife, the more forceful the guard bodies got to be.

Nolan saluted him with his drink. Not that he could see.

When he got to first class, Lenna had been ushered into the window seat, just as he'd asked. So that, you know, he could shield her in case the bad man came back at 40,000 feet. And also because it was easier to keep a dangerous person contained when she had to scoot and wiggle her way past. First class had infinitely more space, but this was still an airplane. Inifity times zero was still zero.

"To a new life." Nolan took his seat and raised his glass to Lenna's.

Glasses clinked, Lenna smiled thinly. "Happy trails," she said. They drank. Well, she did. He didn't have much left. His was more of a long sip. This wasn't a race. Was it? If AJ, she was losing. Maybe if it had been Jameson. Martinis were more a Bond girl thing. Her, she liked whisky.

Idly, Lenna wondered what Nolan had said to elicit such responses from the flight crew. She had a guess. If she had to bet on it, 'this man is a very bad man, abusive, want to protect her from yadda yadda ' was a likely con he could've ran. To be honest, the woman hardly cared. Hadn't much cared for her shadow. His loss was everyone's gain. It was insane, but this almost made Nolan a good guy in her book. Almost earned her trust. But she didn't know enough about him or what he wanted. He was a mystery. What you don't know can kill you. Suffice it to say, Lenna needed to get to know Nolan better.

The captain came on the intercom and gave his speech, ready for takeoff, this is your captain, listen to your flight attendants and so on and so forth. She fastened her seatbelt, and contemplated her next move.

She began thoughtfully, leaning in to speak just between them, easing up to the big stuff before he decided to take her up on that bet she owed him. Best to get a feel for the man Cortez had pawned her off on early on. To figure out where his morality lay. Before he tried to get a feel for her.

"So, this new life. What do you mean by that? Now that we're more alone," 'in the privacy of first class, without a dirty nasty thug shadow', she left unsaid. "I mean, you're obviously more than just a pretty face." That could mean a lot of things. Mutant. Criminal. Government. White hat criminal. Murderer. Lenna let him wonder what she wondered. He was likely a mutant. People don't often bend that easily, even to the best of cons. Not with that type of reaction, at least. The woman had practically cried.

What kind of people had Cortez signed her on with? Her wrist brushed against his, skin to skin, as she rested her arm on the center rest as she leaned.

She wasn't convinced right away, but there was some tension gone once the 'husband' was out of the picture. Nolan carefully buckled his belt, ever a rule follower when it was to his advantage. This was the thrill he chased. People were all complex puzzles and given enough tinkering, he could usually find the cypher. They clinked glasses and he finished his off and set the glass aside for pick up. Not his job.

He'd thought to give Ms. Lenna a bit of space and a moment to herself, but they were just hardly starting to move down the runway when she leaned over.

Nolan added 'impatient' to his mental list of Lenna's qualities.

"I mean a life in America where you can live the dream. Independence, a job, a home, a puppy? Though you seem more like a fish person to me." He joked because jokes were disarming and the last thing he wanted was an assassin all up in arms. Did she like animals? He'd have to check. That may have been the wrong tack.

Lenna moved her hand and they brushed skin to skin. She couldn't know what she was doing, but she may have puzzled out that touching Nolan's skin had some special effect on him. He inhaled at the rush of memories. Training, honing herself. In some ways she hadn't had a choice. In other ways, it felt good to do what you were good and practiced at.

"Cortez doesn't understand what he's wasted. He thinks he's sold your leash." Nolan moved his hand away to break the chain of memories before he started losing the messages he was meant to implant. She wanted to know who he was? "I'm here on behalf of the United States of America and the Department of Defense in order to evaluate whether we can use you, whether we can take the leash off entirely."

He hoped the full force of his earnesty would be enough to at least intrigue her. SUPER could use her, but only if she decided of her own volition. It didn't matter if her choice for now was "no," Nolan was hoping to use this time to strip away what she knew and believed so that, when they disembarked, any of Lenna's "no"s would all be "yes"es.

She wouldn't need a leash any more at all if she believed in who and what SUPER was. Those who were devoted made the best soldiers anyway.

The plane accelerated massively sending them both back into their over padded cushions without either breaking eye contact.

"If you'll allow me to explain who we are and what we do, I'd appreciate your time." Not that she had a choice, but the illusion was a nicety. They were still playing nice, afterall.

That wasn't the American dream. Or maybe it was. It wasn't her dream. Not quite. Independence, yeah, maybe. But then, to her they was being able to turn a job down while having an ample supply of employers. Which tied into job. Home? She liked to travel, not to be tied down. Which went against independence, a home did. He was being fair, though, trying a tactic with her. She couldn't fault him for it. It wasn't Nolans fault hermind wanted to rebel. She was just feeling contrary. A puppy, though. Really?

"Puppy kind of goes against independence, huh?" Lenna commented wryly. Crooked smiles, she had in spades.

Speaking of dogs... he mentioned Cortez. Said he'd wasted her, wasted what he'd had. A woman loves to hear that. Flattery, right in there with talk about leashes. She didn't get much time to dwell on it, because he'd moved on to drop a nice bombshell on the conversation. Who in the hell would deal with Cortez while working for the US DOD? WTF.

So, they wanted her on their side. Did they know what she did for a living? They did. Which meant they wanted to use her particular talents for themselves. This was like a Joe Ledger novel on crack. They wanted her... to be some sort of government agent. This was a recruitment. Suddenly, her bet with him seemed to have no chance of him putting her in an awkward situation, like she'd thought.

Was she intrigued by the idea of working for the US government? Maybe. It would offer none of the independence Nolan had spoken of, but at the same time, there'd be continuous work and more freedom than the alternative. Which would have been one person or another removing her as a problem. Problem solving. And it was better than fleeing and going into hiding.

The planes forward momentum pushed her back in her seat, but she kept staring at him. Was this for real?

He wanted to give her the recruitment speech. Lenna smiled at him, with teeth. "Explain away," She said.

Alright. So the puppy was a flop. The American dream seemed a flop too. He had to figure out the right leverage and in these cases, a threat was not it. Big bad dogs would be big and bad if pushed, but even attack dogs still appreciate tummy scratches. In all honestly, Nolan was convinced Lenna would be an asset. It was the belief that put him on a plane and that belief that made him the one to throw the pitch and try to scratch the itch.

Nolan just needed to find the magic spot.

He started with what he knew and believed in. Lenna could be an asset if she wanted to. They didn't want her, if it wasn't voluntary. He didn't have to list her accolades, but it was impressive that he could know as much as he did, even if it was boosted by a psychic bit of cheating. He didn't delve into anything too personal, though he would have loved to ask about the rooftop ninja showdown. He stuck to things that any intelligence office worth its salt should be able to know, plus or minus a layer of detail.

From there, he explained how mutants were making a prolific change on their world and nobody seemed to know what to do about it. For now, they were limited to observations and limited removal of blatant problems. She could take from that what she wanted considering her specific skills with problem removal.

They got to travel, they got to observe, they got to make decisions of their own agency on the field which was practically a miracle considering that they were a government agency. The rub was that they had to maintain their objectives and the agency's secrecy. So long as they maintained their secrecy, the level of freedom agents were given was impressive.

All the while, Nolan wove in memories between his words. Subtle interactions that could build Lenna's trust in the government if she happened to remember them, things that might help her feel inclined to like this offer.

"Here's where I need you to give me something." Nolan had the decency to look abashed. "Remember? From the bet?" There was no way she didn't. She wasn't dumb or drunk enough despite the depressants and alcohol she was on. Just watching Lenna's reactions to his words gave Nolan some insight into how the gears were turning behind those eyes.

"Give me a week. I'm a trainer for the agents. You can come into my gym and kick my *ss up and down for the next seven days. Or go to someone else if I ruffle you wrong. All I'm asking is that you don't go lone wolf. Give the pack a chance. One week. See if we can't fit."

What Nolan knew of her was impressive in scope. Not too impressive. But stalker levels. Either Cortez had spilled, the US government had been monitoring her and she had not been as covert as she'd assumed... or it was mutation-related. At this point, it hardly mattered. Somehow, the knowledge didn't scare her off. It actually made her feel more secure. Someone had done their homework.

What they did was interesting. Problem solving, and observation. There was travel, and user discretion wasn't taboo. Very surprising, that. It didn't sound like the severe bureaucracy most government agencies preferred. All they had to do was maintain their cover. Be professional. It honestly sounded like what she'd been doing most of her life. It made sense why they wanted her. She'd pretty much been raised for this sort of stuff.

It's hard to tell when a pro psychic is messing with your head. There isn't usually anything obvious. It's not like they hold a hand to their forehead and groaned like they were in physical pain. No glowing lights. No wavy green lines. Lenna didn't notice what memories were fudged with, or when. It was seamless. So seamless that she might even have considered saying yes to Nolan even without whatever he'd done. But with it, it was a certainty. He pushed the right buttons, so to speak. Even in spite of any mental resistances her own psychic powers might have granted her. Good

"I'm intrigued," She said thoughtfully. "A government position, huh? I've heard they're good to work for. Benefits. More steady than what I normally do. And far more legal. I'll give you your week." And just like that, they had turned a terrible situation into an opportunity. She wasn't Evil. Working for the US Government wasn't against her moral code, whatever that was. Mercenaries don't really care who pays their bill, so long as it's paid. This was all the things she had mentioned, and more. She could give it a shot. If it rubbed her the wrong way, there were always alternatives. But somehow, it didn't feel like there'd be much disagreement between her and this group. One word, mercenary, covered it all.