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[ At the tug, Hei's gaze dips, briefly, to her fingers. Yin has, he thinks, the most beautiful skin on her hands. Pale and smooth, and in the lamplight he can see a very subtle down of white hair on the tops of her forearms. Such thin wrists, exquisite. That's the word that comes into his head -- exquisite. Not a word that occurs to him often. In that moment, his decision made, the world seems clear and unstrained, cool as water. Completely simple. Hei's been giving himself a singular goal for years -- it's the way he's lived his life. Staying ten steps ahead of his enemies, living with eyes at the back of his head, safeguarding his own well-being above anything else. But that doesn't mean he's never capable of ... not sacrifices but concessions. His ability to not be anchored down by one person doesn't mean he doesn't -- worry for Yin. ]

[ Matter-of-factly, ]

This isn't about me. It's about making sure you're safe -- from anyone who tries to hurt you.

[ Including himself. He doesn't say that. But there's no need to. ]

[Yin's only goal was to be obedient, in the beginning. Then she gave herself a new goal - feel again. Now that she has accomplished that goal, simply being obedient unquestioningly is no longer an option. She takes a step back and shakes her head. She will defend herself against others at Hei's request, if it saves him some grief. But against him she will not. Yin shakes her head.]

[ When she shakes her head, Hei blinks once, eyes losing some of their mathematical focus. ]

[ He was expecting hesitation. But not an outright denial. It's so un-Doll-like that it leaves him grappling mentally as if under some unexpected weight. But Yin's been defying the limitations of Dolls for ages now. He's staggering, instead, under the weight of that unexpected -- subtle -- truculence. It amazes him sometimes, when he stops to think about it, that he'd started out wanting nothing from Yin but professional cooperation. She wasn't even Yin in the beginning, just a Doll, a voiceless stepping-stone to his plans for revenge against Amber, for combing through the Syndicate in his search for Pai. And now years later here they are, inextricably entwined, so that when one is hurt, the other flinches. Time is fucking hilarious. ]

[ Hilarious like gonorrhea. ]

You don't have to like it. You just have to do it. [ The words are flat and sharp, like a crunch of bone. (He'll say them to Pavel, too, at the end of the month. Has been saying them to himself -- for years and years -- as a maxim to overcome all difficulty.) It's not an ultimatum, or an order. If anything, the look on his face -- flat-eyed and pale -- makes it clear: This is for your own good. ]

[ Quieter, ] I'm sick of hurting everyone who matters to me, Yin. I'd rather stay here as City Dead, then let last night repeat itself.

[She shakes her head to his words. It's not the same as disliking it.]

I'm already City Dead. It makes more sense to put your life before mine. Otherwise, we'll both end up City Dead, and both trapped here. At least you can return home.

[Yin shows the big picture she's being staring at for a while now, so even if she could put aside her dislike for the idea, there's a logic she can't turn away from. For all of her emotions, there's a part of her that is still thinking of the best for the team. No. Just the best for Hei; it still seems illogical for both of them to end up dead.]

That makes no sense at all. [ He draws his sleeve away from Yin's clutching fingers and offers her a straight, flat look. His face seems to both soften and age at once, a combination that doesn't sit right on him. ] If you're City Dead, that doesn't make you less important. And there's no guarantee, that once you die here, you never leave. There are plenty who've left -- and come back different. Alive.

[ He's made too thorough a study of the Network's past entries to note any patterns. The City is disquietingly arbitrary. Some City Dead, it banishes to netherworlds of spirits and nothingness, with a careless sweep of disaster. Others, it tempts and teases with welcome oblivion, only to toss them home, then yank them back, all alive and heartbeaty. There's no way of predicting circumstances. Which is maddening to someone like Hei -- because control seeks structure. Science needs predictability. ]

But why is it okay for us to both be City Dead? [She didn't like it, she didn't get how it would be okay, and she certainly couldn't understand her life had equal value. She didn't think of their lives in weight. Not until now.]

[ Hei exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He feels empty inside, still and desolate. Half wants to open Yin up and crawl into her, to invade her sensorium, be in her mind. Show her how blurred and gray the world is in his eyes. Show her what he thinks about her. Hei deals with lives as currency and bargaining chips. But he also understands that there are many layers and variations to the word Alive. Looking at Yin, something curls dimly in his chest, a vague sort of feeling on the fringes of his awareness. (It's trust, maybe. He trusts her. Values her beyond her potential usefulness as an asset or ally.) ]

[ When he speaks, his expression is soft. Quiet. ]

Because it's just a word. It's your thoughts that make you Yin. Not labels slapped on you by the City.

[And it's the very words he says that make him Hei to her. It's those words that solidify her earlier determination and bring it back full-force. There's no longer any point in arguing it, debating it, or trying ti talk it out. There is no other option, no other possibility. When she looks up at him, her eyes are glassy, almost wet.]

I won't. [Anything else he could say would just make it worse. He might be cursed when he killed her, but he was asking her to harm him while she was in her right mind. She would have to watch, horrified, pained while she hurt him just to protect herself. There was no way to push her further, logic or not. It didn't matter anymore.]

[Hei did.]

[ Hei stares at Yin. Her eyes are glistening a little, though she isn't crying. Why would she be upset over something so matter-of-fact -- and operational necessity? It eludes him. Hei isn't intuitive so much as he is perceptive; but the results are the same. Not so when it comes to affections, though. He's an amateur at discerning signs of love -- or anything resembling it -- unless it's on-duty. Unless he's wearing a mask, playing an angle. Other people's minds and emotions baffle him, and he's found he's far more likely to step wrong with words than with weapons. ]

[ It's the same case here. I won't. Such a small statement -- but as enormous as a lock clicking shut. ]

[ Hei wants to argue with her. To impress upon her, the importance of defending herself. Because she matters to him -- matters enough for him to enforce her safety as a right, not a privilege. If he wanted to, he could lie, tug strings and yank levers in a play of complex emotional puppetry, to get the desired outcome. He could outright order her. But that's not fair to Yin. (And when did it start mattering to him, what's fair and what's not?) ]

[ He doesn't say that. His stare is cool, impenetrable, his face completely without expression. Half-turning to go, he says, ] Some things go beyond choice, Yin. You have to do them to survive. [ At the table by her doorway, he fishes a hand into his pocket. Sets down two brooches, heavy and glittering, with quiet clicks of metal on wood. ]

These aren't accessories, [ he says, by way of explanation, ] The one with the flower top is aerosolized hydrogen cyanide, three thousand parts per million. About what's delivered in a gas chamber. You spray it in an attacker's mouth, or even in his face, and he'll be dead in under thirty seconds. You don't have to worry about inhaling it. You don't breathe. [ Not cruel but factual. ] The second one is an explosive. Pull the pin, toss at the enemy. Make sure to give yourself time to get away.

[ His gaze dips to the sparkling weapons, then resettles on Yin. Quietly, ]

I know this isn't what you're trained for. Or what you want. But there'll come a time when none of that matters. Your only choice will be to act.

[Trained or not, Hei took an action she would otherwise be incapable of and simplified it, made it simple for such a slip of a girl to defend herself, there is no excuse. She doesn't even have to learn self-defense, just use an innocuous ornate item. Deceptively pretty, and they match with the majority of her small wardrobe. He's thorough.]

[But there's still a defiance in her. Still a large problem being overseen. She can agree in part and meet Hei half-way, because this is clearly something he wants. He didn't wait for Yin to agree with him before constructing these brooches. Not that he ever does.]

I won't if it's you. [There's a sliver of insistence in her tone. Her hair color, silvery and white, isn't just for the cold of snow, or the gentle shine of moonlight; it's a color that glints off steel.]

[ For Hei, forgiveness (or a semblance of it) is always more easily obtained than permission. Half the time, he doesn't bother with either. They're not what's relevant in the trajectory of his life. Safeguarding his assets -- and Yin is foremost among them, even if she overlaps into several other categories (partner -- anchor -- morality pet) -- is his main priority. For that, it's crucial to act, not waste time arguing. Hei isn't emotionless, but he's also not built the way most people are. If something -- moral or immoral --needs to be done, he'll carry out the task unflinchingly. Failure is not an option; it's a death sentence. ]

[ He watches Yin gather herself. Then she seems to grow still, steely. I won't if it's you. He opens his mouth to argue -- but the tactical side of him says there's no need. The City seldom curses him to stay in his true form. The last time, Yin hadn't even recognized him. If he attacks her again, there's an 80% possibility it'll be in the shape of something grotesque. If Yin defends herself against him in such a situation ... well. She doesn't need to know the truth. It's not a lie so much as a needful omission. ]

[ Calmly, ]

All right.

[ If you think that'll make a difference. She's too innocent to know the lengths rationalization can take you. Especially when you're faced with a difficult choice. ]

[Yin softens to that, a release of breath, a slope to her shoulders. Her never changing features relax. The argument is over. She does consider Hei might not look like himself, and if she can't recognize him - it terrifies her. Now it's about her irrational wants. But there's no point in debating that part of it. Cursed Hei won't be able to, or care to, alert her of the reality.]

[Only then does she accept the offered disguised weapons.]

[ Yin reaches for the weapons, and something loosens in Hei. It happens in degrees: his eyes half shuttering, the hard line of his mouth smoothing out. Her acceptance doesn't sweeten the atmosphere so much as quieten it. It's perceptible to him through the changes in the air (like, mysteriously, he's tuned to Yin's frequency, listening hard to the sonic emissions she radiates.) He knows he should leave now. Everything vital's been discussed. Done. Dusted. ]

[ But still, he stays, and the thought that blooms in his mind is sudden and sharp all at once -- he wants something out of this. (Wants Yin's safety, wants to see that soft look on her face blossom into something more peaceful; wants to see the evolution of it, to map out its trajectory and see where it leads.) It's a novel thing, to want; to know that that's in the cards, to know that his chest can still beat to the time of something fragile and slow. ]

[ He doesn't say any of that, though. Why would he? Instead he reaches out, blunt fingers curling around the slope of Yin's shoulder -- squeezing gently (Thank you? I'm sorry? I'll see you later?)-- before falling away. ]

[ Without a word, he turns and exits her flat. ]

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