When she received the official, unofficial, 'tap on the shoulder' at the age of twenty-two, the future which flashed through Hermione's mind did not resemble her current reality.

She was twenty-seven, perpetually exhausted, and spent most evenings in her dimly lit London apartment surrounded by case files, a selection of plants all in various stages of despair, and a scattering of long forgotten cups and glasses. Hermione had graduate top of her year at King's College, having studied Russian and Politics whilst simultaneously developing the slight malaise towards her peers which would, undetected at first, continue to spread as she progressed through her years.

She should have predicted, in hindsight, that her particular academic achievements would make her a prime candidate for the British intelligence agencies, Mi5 being the one to eventually tempt her with their promises of challenging, tangible work. Important work. An offer pretty hard to resist, even for a woman who was perpetually a little suspicious of those who wished to utilize her brain for a purpose she was never entirely privy to.

On this particular evening, Hermione was sat on the window seat of her King's Cross apartment, watching the city anonymously tick along beneath her. Her five years of service had taught her to observe potential risks in every interaction, but the glass of wine currently cradled in her hand had provided a gentle graininess to those thoughts as she pondered all the potential ways in which the people rushing around below her might end up being a case file in her inbox tomorrow morning.

It's not that Hermione didn't like her job - it certainly had its moments. However, the longer she was dragged through the continuous churn of threats and retaliations, the more she felt that familiar sense of boredom creep in. The line between good and bad, whilst certainly not clear before, was now even murkier. She'd said as much during her yearly review with her boss, Minerva McGonagall. As usual, this was met with a tense couple of minutes of appraising silence, whereby Hermione shifted awkwardly in her seat and fleetingly panicked that this was finally the moment her lack of diplomacy would lead her to a lengthy secondment to the Archival Unit.

Luckily, Minerva's unreadable expression morphed into a tight but amused smile, which was then followed by a brief nod as she stood up and breezed towards the table which sat beneath a large window. Hermione watched as Minerva poured two glasses of water, and marched back towards her. "Yes, I rather expected this. I've noticed a bit of a... dip, in the quality of your reports lately -". Hermione felt herself move to express her indignation at such a comment, but was silenced by a raised eyebrow. "Now that's not to say your work isn't still of the highest quality, Miss Granger. It's more of a comment on the subject area you're currently assigned to. Intelligence analysis is an interesting and dynamic environment, but I believe that you require something a little more... stimulating, to really give you the opportunity to excel.".

Hermione watched as Minerva moved her chair back slightly, allowing herself access to the tablet that sat in her desk drawer and moving her reading glasses from around her neck and placing them on the bridge of her nose. Hermione cringed slightly, once again holding back comment as she watched her boss struggle to navigate the sensitive touch screen. Several minutes passed in silence until eventually Hermione felt her work phone vibrate slightly in her suit pocket. Before she had chance to reach into her jacket, Minerva began talking again.

"I recently had a request through from the Asset Unit. They were looking for a particularly resilient individual with a background in Russian and ex Soviet state politics. Obviously I am resistant to give you up, but they have assured me that you'll be returned after the twelve month placement is up.". At this pause, Hermione had suddenly realized that her face had morphed into a particularly excited expression, and she struggled to mask it with the look of neutrality which was so favoured within the agency. Minerva had caught this, and given her the slightest smirk.

"As I thought. I'd like you to complete any outstanding reports and have them submitted by the end of the week. You'll start your secondment in two weeks time, at the start of July. I suggest you use the time in between to thoroughly review the case file I've sent you, and to ensure you're fully rested. The Asset Unit is certainly going to give you the opportunity to develop yourself.".

And with that, Hermione made a swift exit before Minerva could, once again, ask her why she hadn't yet RSVP'd to the next departmental networking lunch.

Hermione had heard whisperings of the Asset Unit throughout her time with Mi5. Within the agency, it was known for its closed ranks and sensitive work. As far as she could ascertain, it's main aim was to procure and handle high risk sources; people who had previously been on the opposite side of the law, and for various reasons now found themselves under the control of Mi5. Asset Handlers were themselves a source of great mystery too, with many telling tales of a friend of a friend of a friend who once worked for the Unit and found themselves hauled up on the outskirts of a Colombian mafia den for the best part of a year. However, never one to trust hearsay, Hermione pushed these thoughts out of her mind.

She would approach this new role like she did everything else in her life; logically, meticulously, and a little bit obsessively. So, Hermione continued staring out of the window of her apartment, absent-mindedly swishing the red liquid inside her glass around and around. Her leg lay folded beneath her with her work tablet balancing on top, safely rigged up to the Wi-Fi which had been installed by the agency the week she moved in. The fact that she remained under the watchful gaze of work even within the cocoon of her own apartment made something tightly locked away at the back of her mind prickle slightly. Hermione took another sip of wine as she dragged her eyes away from the anonymous couple caught in a passionate, and somewhat inappropriate, embrace outside the pub across from her house. Shaking her head slightly, as if to clear the mild fog that had settled over her thoughts, she picked up her tablet and began to scroll her way through the case file of the woman that would be her primary focus for the next twelve months.

Bellatrix Black, forty-two, born in England, raised in Russia. All biological family deceased or untraceable. Arrested and charged by the British government for arms trafficking and sentenced to twenty-five years imprisonment. Having served twelve years, she had entered into an agreement with Mi5.

A picture of a younger Bellatrix lay nestled in between the reams of pages laden with the details of her extensive criminal past, as well as a multitude of psychiatric assessments from agencies across Europe. Hermione has been raking over this report for weeks now, and was certain that in two days time when she reported to her new line manager, she would be able to recite the whole thing from memory. She would be spending the first week of her new position undergoing extensive inductions and training, and then, finally, she'd be allowed to meet with her new asset. Hermione briefly mulled over the linguistic complexities of referring to human beings as "assets", but decided this particular moral debate was something she needed to drop down the list of her current priorities.

Distracted again by the amorous couple now sheltering themselves from the rain under a shared coat, Hermione drained the last of her wine and dragged her attention back to the patchwork timeline she had before her.

"Bellatrix, as much as I'm desperate to hear your thoughts on the many downfalls of How To Catch A Killer, I'm a little more concerned about getting you out of this meeting with all your limbs intact and a nice report on where next week's drop is expected, okay?".

Having finally untangled the earpiece from the microphone - everyone in this department seemed incapable of putting things away correctly - Hermione turned around to face a bored looking Bellatrix who was casually leaning back against the mismatched chair that lay slumped in the corner of the safe house. Her hair hung in loose, disorganized curls, dancing along the line where her shirt lay partially open against her pale chest. Bellatrix had paused in her inspection of a particularly troubling split end to scowl at Hermione's refusal to engage in her bored distractions.

"Fine then. Pass those here."

Without waiting for a response, Bellatrix stalked across to Hermione and grabbed the ear piece and microphone, smirking when Hermione rolled her eyes as the newly de-tangled wires once again knotted together.

"It's not like the powers that be give me much else to think about, hauled up in this depressing flat all day and night. I tried to go out for some bloody cigarettes last night and got forced back indoors before I made it down the street!"

Bellatrix rubbed absent-mindedly at the tiny GPS chip that lay underneath the skin at the back of her ear, a habit that had began to flare up every time she thought too much about her claustrophobic routine.

"We've talked about this. You leave the house after curfew, you politely get reminded of your contractual commitment. A contract that you willingly entered into, Bellatrix."

Hermione walked towards the disgruntled woman, extending her hand out impatiently. "You don't even know what you're doing with those, that's the earpiece you're currently trying to insert into your bra."

"Fine. God, if they must lock me me up in this god forsaken pit, couldn't they at least have given me a guard dog with slightly more enjoyable communication skills." Bellatrix huffed to herself, sliding the ear piece disinterestedly into it's proper place.

Ignoring her comment, as she seemed to have spent the majority of her time doing over the past three months, Hermione cast her eyes over the other woman and completed her mental tick box exercise for pre-deployment. With an appraising nod, Hermione walked over to her laptop to send a quick update back to the office. Bellatrix was due to meet with a small group of mildly important middle men in about fifteen minutes time, in a bar that Hermione privately thought was a little too cliche to be a hub of small scale arms importing.

"So, tell me what your objectives are."

Hermione leaned back onto the crooked table that sat in the corner of Bellatrix's studio flat, the dusty, generic atmosphere of the safe house a stark contrast to the restless, combative woman that stood before her. Already walking towards the door, Bellatrix turned her head to face Hermione.

"Go in, charm them all, drink some free whisky, find out about their terrible awful criminal plans, report back to my revered handler. Terribly exciting stuff."

Before Hermione could begrudgingly acknowledge the blasé summary, Bellatrix had picked up her jacket and left without bothering to shut the door behind her.

"Brilliant."

Hermione allowed herself to briefly close her eyes and take a steadying breath, before walking over to close the door and then settle in for another long night of having to listen to Bellatrix scheme and charm information out of another stream of oblivious, arrogant criminals. The hours passed, and by three AM Hermione found herself struggling to focus on the steady flow of largely mundane conversation that was coming from Bellatrix's microphone. She'd gotten the required information out of the unsuspecting men about an hour into the night, but now seemed intent on making Hermione sit and wait while she finished off her fourth, or was it fifth, whisky.

"Okay, wrap it up now Bellatrix. We're done here.". Hermione spoke into her laptop, knowing that her voice would be weaving its way into the mildly intoxicated woman's ear, but also knowing that such demands rarely resulted in a prompt response.

"Well," she thought, "Rome wasn't built in a day."

The past three months had been gruelling at best, and outright horrific at worst. For the first three weeks Bellatrix had refused to engage with her, instead spending every meeting pretending to rant like an insane person about conspiracy theories and schizophrenic monologues. One sessions reached a particular climax when Bellatrix attempted to elbow the security guard in the throat, and then stabbed a pen into the fleshy part of her own hand.

The following three weeks had required the raven haired woman to use a different technique when her theatrics had been met with, at most, an eye roll and a disinterested stare. She'd fed Hermione heart wrenching stories of her childhood as an abandoned destitute orphan, forced into a life of crime in order to make enough money to eat. This had caused a marginally more engaged response from her new handler, but was quickly shut down once Hermione presented twelve years worth of psychiatric reports as well as a detailed timeline of her childhood in Russia.

Having sat through no less than fourty-two meetings featuring various acts from her repertoire of manipulation, Bellatrix had strolled into the meeting room, rolled her eyes, slumped down into the hard plastic chair that she'd dragged carelessly from under the desk, and sighed dramatically. From that point, a slow truce had formed, whereby Hermione would give her an inch of agency authorised conversational exchange, often involving faux sociable topics such as the latest book she'd read or staff gossip she'd heard, before Hermione swiftly pulled her back onto the topic of work. Bellatrix was bored, and this, Hermione thought, was going to be their greatest obstacle.

In prison, she'd at least had the guards who she could toy with, or the psychiatrists who she could baffle. Hermione was impenetrable, to the point where Bellatrix regularly wondered out loud if the agency had carried out some dark psychological practice on her.

As had become habit during these regular evening deployments, Hermione was just about to open the communication line to inform Bellatrix that if her return to the safe house wasn't imminent then her return to prison would be, she saw the GPS marker start to move on the screen in front of her. Smirking in silent victory, an expression she would never allow when physically accompanying the woman, Hermione lent towards the microphone; "Thank you Ms Black."

"I told you not to call me that.".

Hermione laughed as the muffled yet disgruntled voice spoke out into the quiet flat.

"And a good seventy percent of the instructions I give you are similarly ignored, so let's not dwell on it."

Hermione closed the line, effectively cutting off the other women's chance at responding with a similarly curt reply. Bellatrix, whilst frustrated with her inability to quip back at the handler, found herself smirking as she strolled back home through the streets of East London.

As they'd done roughly twice a week since July, Hermione stood untangling the surveillance wires as Bellatrix sat disinterestedly in the dilapidated chair in the corner of the sparse flat. The two women had developed a strange type of routine, whereby Hermione attended to work in the agency during the day, and then went to Bellatrix's flat in the evening to review upcoming deployments and update her on any relevant developments. Much to Bellatrix's annoyance, and a point with which Hermione privately empathised, Bellatrix was only fed enough information as to ensure she could effectively carry out her deployment; she was completely in the dark as to the wider picture within the agency. Similarly, once Hermione had collated the intelligence reports and sent them off to the hub, she was only privy to occasional glances into the subsequence chain of events that were put in place. The lack of an overarching insight, or at the very least, knowledge of the final outcomes of her projects, was something that had consistently frustrated Hermione about her work with the agency. Sometimes it felt like she was simply throwing her work into a giant, mysterious void, without even the smallest of echoes to help placate her constantly ticking mind.

Had Hermione not spent almost every day in the company of the other woman, she perhaps wouldn't have noticed the way her assets dark eyes tracked her movement every time she thought the younger agent wasn't looking. Hermione was tired. She hadn't seen her, albeit small, group of friends in weeks, she'd almost forgotten how to work the oven in her own kitchen, and she was lucky if she could stay asleep for more than a couple of hours at a time.

Her hair had grown slightly longer than usual, and this resulted in the ends repeatedly tickling her collarbones as she tilted her head over the box of electronics. She irritably ran her hands through it, shifting it so it fell over one shoulder, and perhaps slightly hoping it would mask the feel of the dark eyes as they studied her features.

"You've usually impatiently come to grab these from me by now."

Bellatrix's focus snapped back onto Hermione's eyes, realising a little too late that the brunette was standing holding the surveillance equipment in her outstretched hands, the ghost of amusement dancing behind her carefully balanced expression.

Struggling to win back her confident composure, Bellatrix darted from the sunken chair and strolled over to the brunette, rolling up the sleeve of her navy silk shirt, which she hadn't realised she'd been absently fiddling with. Hermione appraised the other woman as she moved closer, retracting her hand which held the wires as the raven haired woman got within reaching distance.

"What is it? I'm not letting you out into the field if you're distracted. Talk."

Hermione continued to study the other woman with a mix of concern and frustration. Bellatrix remained oblivious to this due to the fact she was now stood before the agent, arms crossed, distinctly refusing to meet Hermione`s eyes as she resolutely rolled her own to the ceiling.

"Since when did you become my psych. Just hurry up and stick the bloody microphone on me."

"If you get hurt or blow your cover, it lands on me. I know you're knackered, I am too. But we're close to locating this shipment. There's probab-"

"Hermione, I honestly couldn't give a fuck if we find some pathetic little stash of weapons. I – no, don't give me your disparaging morally superior look – I'm not just tired, I feel like I'm… fucking… I don't know."

Bellatrix clenched her jaw slightly as she walked towards the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water. Hermione allowed the silence to hang between them, finding herself having to fight to hold her stiff agent posture.

"You've read my file, right? You know what I did before. What life I led. I'd been surviving on my own since I was a kid, if I wanted something, I went and got it. If I wanted someone, I went and got them. Until some low life traitorous scum handed me over to save themselves and now I'm living in some mouldy little flat having to suck up to disgusting little men for the pleasure."

Bellatrix hadn't realised her knuckles had began to turn white as they clenched the glass. Straightening her back and shaking her head briefly, as if somehow able to clear the thoughts from her mind, she turned back towards Hermione.

"Perhaps this little task isn't as exciting as you thought it would be, maybe you should ask that boss of yours to send you back to your old team."

Hermione scowled slightly, "How do you know about my old team?"

Bellatrix smirked at her, confidence pouring back into her composure as she walked towards the table, picking up the surveillance equipment and beginning to fit it.

"Your colleagues really do like to chat amongst themselves when they think no one's listening. What else do I have to entertain me?"

Hermione's scowl deepened as she suppressed an exasperated eye-roll. She was going to have to bring this up at the next morning meeting.

"And by the way, I think that Neville fool is on the precipice of asking you out for a drink. For the record, I think you'd make a lovely couple."

Hermione couldn't help but let out a laugh at both the ridiculous thought of her and Neville, and Bellatrix's attempt to imitate what she clearly believed to be female bonding.

"Thank you Bellatrix, I will be sure to keep that in mind when responding to Neville's advances."

Bellatrix took a few minutes to fiddle with the microphone, trying to get it to sit properly behind the button on her shirt, before lifting her head again and appraising Hermione with a raised eyebrow.

"I can't imagine this job leaves much time for dating?"

"No. It doesn't. Or much else, actually."

Hermione had responded before she could catch herself, too distracted by the flickering sparks of energy that had once again began to light up behind the other woman's black eyes.

"And that doesn't bother you? That you spend most of your time with an imprisoned international arms dealer, caged in a damp flat in East London?".

Perhaps it was the tiredness, or some weird attempt to subtly rebel against the institution that had absorbed her being for the past five years, but Hermione couldn't really find it in herself to put a stop to the conversation which was quickly veering into personal territory.

"No, it doesn't bother me. I chose this. I wanted a career, well, a life, where I made a difference. I know we're not exactly dealing with international terror plots or anything, but it still makes a difference. Those guns we're taking off the street, that's one less gun that's going to end up killing people. To me, that matters."

Hermione had found her voice trail off slightly towards the end, the heat rising slightly in her cheeks as she caught the intensely appraising eyes of the woman in front of her. "Plus, it's not as if I have a crowd of people waiting to spend time with me when I'm not hanging out with an international arms dealer in a mouldy East London flat, anyway.". She grinned slightly as the atmosphere lightened, some of the weight that hung with her previous words evaporating.

"Well, in that case, I'm glad I can be of service. Maybe once you and Agent Longbottom marry you won't need me to fill such voids.". Bellatrix raised a challenging eyebrow as she grinned at the handler.

"Hmm, I'm afraid you may have to play void filler for a little longer, I tend to like my men a little more… womanly. Poor Neville. He really doesn't have much luck with the ladies.". Hermione laughed and shook her head slightly, thinking back to the time she'd spent a whole month watching him attempt to ask out Luna Lovegood on a daily basis in the agency canteen, only to have his efforts repeatedly misunderstood or deflected until he'd eventually given up entirely.

"Womanly, eh? I knew there must be a reason I didn't find you quite as insufferable as all the other idiots they tried to assign as handler before you.". It was only when Bellatrix repeated her words back to her that Hermione realised just how much she had disclosed.

Shuffling slightly and forcing an immediate change in atmosphere, Hermione cleared her throat and moved to the other side of the table, busying herself with repeatedly running her finger across the touchpad without actually clicking on anything.

"Right, okay, so, we have thirty minutes until Adrian is due at the club. Tonight, we mainly need you to ascertain which port they're aiming for. We know it's not southern, but apart from that we're pretty much blind. Any questions?"

"Plenty, but none about Adrian and his little weasel mates." Bellatrix gave Hermione a knowing glance and proceeded to waltz out of the door.

"Here, coffee. Drink it. You look worse than I do, and I've been living in this shit hole for the past six months."

Bellatrix placed a mug of black coffee down next to the agents laptop, not the slightest bit concerned when some sloshed over the edge and formed a ring around the base of the mug.

"Yes, well, Caroline has been chasing this report all day and we just don't have the information yet. They're holding something back from us, and I don't know what."

Hermione leaned back in the wooden chair, pushing her laptop away slightly as she tilted her head backwards with a tired exhale.

"Who's holding something back, the agency or Adrian and his pals?"

"Adrian. Although most likely the agency, too."

The two women had built a reticent trust over their mutual dislike at being perpetually kept in the dark. Bellatrix privately found it slightly comforting that she wasn't the only one frustrated by the situation, although simultaneously felt a little offended on behalf of the agent; if Caroline was her boss, she would have definitely had some particularly strong words for her due to the repeated disregard of the agents intellect.

"Tell me what you need. I'll visit the club tonight and do some snooping. This flat is depressing enough without you moping around too."

Hermione grinned slightly at the other woman's attempt at an exasperated eye-roll, the warmth from her mug radiating softly through her hands.

"I think we've been fed some false intel. I don't think it's intentionally targeting you; I'm not worried that your cover's blown. It's a pretty standard tactic, occasionally the networks get flooded with false information to throw potential law enforcement agencies off the trail. And it's working. The past three raids have been complete busts, and I'm reticent for us to authorise another one in case the trail leads back to you."

"Simple, I'll put an order in for the next shipment. I'll quite enjoy the chance for a dramatic display when my guns mysteriously get seized by the British government and I'm left out of pocket."

Bellatrix arched an eye brow and grinned at the agent, the prospect of getting a chance to blow off some steam a welcome opportunity.

"Yes, that was my proposal to Caroline too. However, she seems a little… concerned that you might take your role as disgruntled client a little too seriously. And honestly Bellatrix, I'm not one hundred percent confident in assuring her this won't happen."

Hermione held Bellatrix's gaze, challenging her to disagree.

"Really Hermione, the knowledge that you think so little of my ability to remain calm and Zen is borderline offensive..."

Bellatrix, for want of a better word, cackled as she rocked back slightly on the creaking wooden chair. Realising that she was getting little more than a bored raised eyebrow from the agent, Bellatrix placed all four chair legs on the floor and sighed dramatically.

"Fine. Send old sour face an email saying I promise to be on my very best behaviour, at the very most he'll end up with some broken fingers and a bruised ego. Now I'm going to buy some cigarettes; I think you could probably use one too."

And with that, Bellatrix stood up and strolled out of the flat.

Having received confirmation that their plan had worked and the agency had successfully intercepted the latest batch of weapons, Hermione was a little surprised the darker women didn't seem a little more excited about her upcoming deployment. Having had to listen to Bellatrix's increasingly flamboyant ideas for displaying her faux outrage over her seized shipment, the agent had expected the pre-operation mood to be distinctly more jovial. However, as it stood, she was left standing in front of the asset with her arms crossed and a stern look on her face.

"I thought you were looking forward to, what was it… oh yes, 'pushing his finger back until it connected with his shitty Rolex whilst telling him about how his mother must have been fucked by a street rat to create such a pathetic excuse for a man'?"

Bellatrix continued to unsuccessfully try and slot the receiver underneath the wire of her bra, not bothering to meet the agents eyes.

"Yeah, well, it turns out fake, performative rage is just as boring in reality as no rage at all. Let's just get it over with so I don't have to see his snivelling rat face for at least another week."

Sensing there was little to be done in the moment to improve the mood, Hermione unfolded her arms and sighed.

"Fine. But once you leave this room, we stick to the prearranged plan, okay? The paperwork would be a nightmare if either you or Adrian lost a limb, and I really don't want to be the one to call Caroline at three AM with the bad news."

Noting that Bellatrix's scowl remained firmly in place, and becoming increasingly worried that she was about to crush the sensitive piece of equipment she was mauling in her failed attempts to fit, Hermione moved towards her and placed a hand on her wrist, using her other to pluck the delicate receiver from where it was grasped between clenched fingers.

"May I?" Hermione motioned towards the receiver.

"Fine, but be quick. It's cold in this shitty flat."

"Yes boss..." Hermione rolled her eyes at the other woman's enduring grumpy mood.

Both women hadn't fully acknowledged the intimacy of the situation until the agent swallowed harshly as she reached out to place the tiny chip behind the underwire of the woman's maroon bra. Decided it was best to be as quick and efficient as possible, Hermione resolutely refused to make eye contact with the other woman, despite feeling the familiar heat of the others woman's gaze tracing her features. Unfortunately, her attempts to keep her eyes firmly affixed on the task in hand meant she repeatedly had to drag her thoughts away from revelling in how perfectly the other woman's pale, soft skin contrasted with the rich material of her underwear.

Having successfully tucked the chip into the material, Hermione frustratingly released she was not only unable to raise her head to meet the other woman's gaze, but that she had also become somewhat frozen in place as she tried to think of a way she could make a swift exit from the situation without appearing as though she was running off like some sort of school girl.

Her slightly panicked thoughts were interrupted when she both heard and seemed to almost feel the dark woman swallow thickly and clench, then unclench, a hand that lay uselessly at her side.

Much to her horror, as her brain seemed to jolt into awkward action, she realised that the hand that had pushed the chip into its final resting place had remained in situ, lowering slightly so that her finger tips lay ghosting over pale skin that traced over the dips and curve of ribs.

Not unlike a rabbit caught in the headlights of a particularly lethal oncoming car, Hermione's head snapped up in mild horror to meet the confused, curious gaze of the other woman.

"I, uh… shit, yes. Sorry, it's, um, in place."

Bellatrix's hands, which had unknowingly to both women, been inching closer and closer to the softness of the agents body, snapped back to her sides as she bought one hands up to roughly rake through her hair, tucking loose strands roughly behind her ear.

"Okay, good. I'll just... I'll just go and um, get my shirt."

"Bellatrix I am going to kill you! Why do you think we have a withdrawal strategy? Why do you think I get you to recite the extraction phrase to me before every bloody deployment? It's so you don't end up like this!"

Hermione hadn't stopped ranting since she'd dragged Bellatrix up the three flights of stairs and into the cold apartment. To her credit, Bellatrix had taken the berating without too much protest, but that may have had more to do with the nasty cut that ran across her lip, or perhaps the extensive purple currently blossoming around her ribcage. Bellatrix sat slumped back against the seat that usually served as Hermione's office chair. The raven haired woman briefly contemplated why the agent refused to purchase a comfier one, especially as she spent the vast majority of her time sat tensely leaning over the old desk.

Hermione had spent the last few minutes angrily monologuing as she scoured the apartment for first aid supplies. "We're taking you to the agency, you could have a broken rib or have some sort of bleeding somewhere, or a concussion, I once read about how you can pierce -".

"Mione, I'm fine. It's just a few grazes. No agency. Okay?"

The woman may have been more convincing had she not winced with every movement of her mouth, or groaned slightly as she shifted to alleviate the ache in her side. Hermione stilled as she appraised the stubborn woman. Rolling her eyes and letting out a short, sharp breath, she moved across the room. Kneeling in front of Bellatrix, she found herself distractedly undoing the laces from the woman's boots, her stomach clenching slightly as she realise the damp laces had left red stains across her finger tips.

"Why do you insist on winding people up until they snap, Bella?"

Hermione gently eased the first boot off, noticing how the other woman inhaled sharply as she shifted slightly in her seat.

"How else am I meant to get my kicks? You've got me entertaining low level morons who have the planning capacity of a teenager in Amsterdam. Besides, your agency had been pretty clear about what would happen if I tried any of my more creative tricks."

"I haven't got you doing anything, you signed up to this, you knew they weren't going to let you gallivant off like you're twenty-five again."

The bloodied woman stayed silent at this, although Hermione suspected it was more due to her split lip than any genuine acknowledgement of the accuracy of her statement.

Hermione pushed the heavy boots to the side of the chair, steadying herself with a hand on Bellatrix's denim clad thigh.

"I wish you'd stop taking these stupid risks."

Hermione looked up from where she remained kneeling on the floor, staring up at the woman and finding a softness in the other woman's gaze which she hadn't expected. She felt her chest tighten a bit as she watched her wince slightly as she ran her tongue across her newly split lower lip.

"Can I?"

Hermione reached up, motioning the buttons on Bellatrix's shirt, one of which had been lost on the fight. Bellatrix continued her observation of the agent, eventually giving a curt nod and moving her legs slightly further apart, allowing the brunette space to kneel between them.

"Fuck. This is really bad Bella, you've got to have broken something - you're practically purple here."

Hermione hovered her hand a millimetre above the bruised skin that lay over ribs she was certain couldn't have made it through in tact. Her other hand lay on the other woman's hip, where tight black Denim met soft pale skin, not fully allowing herself to think if this action was more to ground the other woman or herself.

"I know what broken ribs feel like; this is just bruising. I'll be fine in a few days."

There was something in the lack of challenge, the lack of fight, in her voice that made Hermione's thoughts prickle with anxiety.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Bellatrix was momentarily shocked from the haziness that was slowly dragging her eyelids lower - she hadn't expected the agent to accept her placating so easily. Hermione stood up, reaching briefly to place two fingers under the exhausted woman's jaw and tilt her head slightly towards the light, inspecting her skin for any cuts she'd yet to discover.

"I'm going to bring some antiseptic for these, okay? Stay put."

As Hermione strolled purposefully off towards the bathroom, Bellatrix forced herself to stand up, groaning as her muscles protested. She unbuttoned her jeans and gingery shook them off, crawling into her bed without worrying about the various swatches of blood she was leaving in her wake.

"Bellatrix. I literally gave you one job.".

Hermione stood at the foot of the bed, antiseptic and cotton wool in hand, and a mixture of bemusement and exasperation furrowed in her brow. There was something oddly soothing about the woman's defiance. In response, she gave a muffled grunt, which potentially could have been construed as an apology, before returning to stillness.

The agent didn't have it in her to berate any further, the image of the other woman spread out in front of her wearing nothing but her underwear and a myriad of bruises contributed somewhat to her inability to find any further words.

"Fine. We'll do it your way."

Bellatrix opened one eye and peered at the other woman, momentarily forgetting how exhaustion clung to her body as she watched the agent take off her jacket, then her shoes, until she was softly crawling into the space next to her.

"If the mountain won't come to Mohammed..."

Hermione smirked, slightly annoyed that she couldn't fully enjoy the shock plastered over the other woman's face whilst she simultaneously looked so miserable.

Hermione sat cross legged at the top of the bed, a few inches from where the other woman still remained face down with her one eye fixed appraisingly on her.

"I'm going to antiseptic those cuts even if I have to wait until you've passed out to do so."

And with that, she reached out and tucked errant curls back behind Bellatrix's ear, the other woman wincing slightly as the hair pulled away from the dried blood around her various cuts.

"Be careful, Hermione."

The stinging of various injuries momentarily forgotten as black eyes bore into brown, the duality of intention behind her warning hanging between them. And then, with a roll of her eyes and a wince at the subsequent pull of muscles, Bellatrix huffed in a way that should definitely be reserved for overtired toddlers, and slowly turned over, allowing the agent full access to her. She didn't miss how the other woman's eyes momentarily flickered down over her exposed body, and from the way she instantly averted her gaze, she had a feeling that it hadn't been a medical in nature.

"This is going to sting. Don't complain too much, okay?"

Bellatrix scowled at her slightly, but the action was contradicted slightly when Hermione felt her hand come to rest on her ankle, wrapping securely around it in what felt like a gentle apology, or perhaps simply a way to placate Hermione into escaping another round of angry ranting about failed safety procedures. After multiple scenarios where Bellatrix had tried to jerk her head away from probing, stinging cotton wool, the scene Hermione was eventually left to contemplate including a sleeping Bellatrix - somehow a scowl still firmly affixed to her face - with her head resting in the centre of Hermione's crossed legs, and the agents hand gentle trailing over the bits of her face that had escaped injury.

The next time Hermione was pulled back into consciousness, she couldn't tell if it was instigated by the huge ache in her neck, which had fallen backwards against the headboard, or because the woman still lying in her lap was, for want of a better word, whimpering untranslatable words, none of which sounded peaceful. Gently pulling herself out from under the woman, Hermione knelt by the side of her, one hand coming out to rest just below a collarbone, the other attempting to sooth the deep frown lines that lay across her forehead.

"Hey, Bellatrix, it's okay, it's me. You're okay.".

She shuffled a little further down the bed, leaning down so that she was laying sideways next to the other woman.

"Fuck. What am I doing."

Hermione let the words fall like a dead weight from her lips, her eyes closing as a deep breath reverberated around her lungs. She lifted a hand to trace fingers lightly over the furrowed brow of the other woman. Whilst she hadn't awoken, it seemed as though her dreams had stilled somewhat, and with this, Hermione felt herself drift off once again.

An hour, or possibly several months later, Bellatrix's dreams were suddenly flooded with orange light, as Hermione had pulled open the curtains on the other side of the bedroom. Warm amber street-light flooded the room, causing Bellatrix to groan and bury her head further into a pillow, and then groan again as she felt her face burn with the contact, and then groan again when the clench of her abdomen caused a sharp pain to shoot through her torso.

"What the… why-"

"Because you were too arrogant and egotistical to request a withdrawal, and too stubborn to back down from a fight. That's why."

Bellatrix slowly sat upright in bed, pulling her hand through her curls and gingerly placing her fingers against the cut on her lip.

"You've been asleep for almost twenty hours. I needed you to wake up so I can check your injuries and give you some pills."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Hermione, you've got your jaw clenched that tightly you're going to lose a handful of teeth."

"No, I'm not 'mad' at you Bellatrix, because that would imply we were some sort of couple who had had a small domestic and you'd gone out and had too many tequilas."

Hermione, with a lack of conscious choice, stomped across the room towards the injured woman. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and began to shine it back and forth between Bellatrix's' eyes.

"A better word would be frustrated, tired, and pissed off with myself for thinking you were capable of not actively putting yourself in the line of fire."

Bellatrix, fully aware that the agent had now been shining her torch in the same eye for the past thirty seconds as she continued to clench her jaw and berate the woman, acted on instinct, a motivation that was darkly ironic considering the circumstances.

She reached up to grab the wrist holding the phone, grateful when this seemed to interrupt the agent from her increasingly sharp shower of words.

"Okay. You're right. It was stupid. I just got angry. I don't know why. Well, I kind of do, but that doesn't mean it was smart."

Hermione swallowed looking between the hand holding her wrist and the dark eyes searching her own.

"I don't want to wait around until you get killed. I'm not doing it, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's eyes flicked between Hermione's, slight confusion furrowing her brow as her grip loosened on the other woman.

"I'm just a job, Hermione. I'm stopped being someone that life or death was bothered about twelve years ago. If I die, nothing changes."

Bellatrix flinched slightly as Hermione abruptly stood up, choking out an incredulous laugh.

"Enough. Enough of this self-pity Bellatrix. I get it, you've been dealt a shit card. But this is the life you chose. You don't get to jet around the world hurting people, killing people, breaking the law, and then moan when you face the consequences. That's not how this works."

Bellatrix refused to flinch as the pain from standing burning through her, "You think this is what this is? You think I want your pity?!"

Bellatrix prowled towards Hermione, enjoying the look of fire burning in the agents eyes.

"You do this secret agent bullshit because you want to live a life that's above the fucking swamps of normality that drown every other person in this world. You also had a fancy house, and loving, living parents, and certificates and degrees and food on the fucking table. You got to pick the stamped and approved route into this world. I didn't. I had to climb over bodies and filth and grabbing hands to get my money and power and access to a life that wasn't suffocating in it's mediocrity. I might be paying the price now, but at least I felt alive. At least I never lied to myself about what I needed in order to feel something.".

Hermione thought that in this moment, Bellatrix looked distinctly like a jaguar about to dive in for the kill, and much to her horror, in that moment, Hermione had never wanted anything more in her life.

Hermione felt the silence stretch out in the space between them, watching as Bellatrix seemed to wait in acknowledgement that it was Hermione's burden to make the next move.

With a strength Hermione hadn't realise she possessed, the agent straightened slightly, swallowing heavily as she took a step backwards. As if a rope was cut between them, Bellatrix felt her own body stiffen and straighten as she reciprocated the movement.

"Fine, Hermione. If you want me to be a fucking villain, I will be."

And with that, she stormed off towards the bathroom, leaving Hermione to stand in the absence of her presence and panic about what the hell had just happened.

Hermione reclined in the uncomfortable wooden chair, watching as the dot signalling Bellatrix's location remained stationary on the map in front of her.

Bellatrix had been particularly difficult the last few weeks, arriving late to meetings, appearing more antisocial and distant than usual, and twice causing agents to attend the safe house on nights where she stayed out after curfew and ignored the multitude of warnings her tracker had pinged to her phone.

And tonight, as Hermione expected, Bellatrix was refusing to cooperate with her plans for the drop meeting. The agent had requested that Bellatrix attend the bar, deliver the money, find out the next location, and leave.

In and out, had been her phrase.

Bellatrix had most definitely done the in part, but seemed to be less inclined to do the out. Hermione's ears pricked up as the line crackled into life, signalling the fact the Bellatrix finally had some information ready to broadcast.

Surprisingly, but not as surprising as it perhaps should have been Hermione realised, Bellatrix's warm laugh floated into the quiet apartment. Hermione and Bellatrix spoke English together, exclusively. Despite both speaking Russian, and Bellatrix speaking a spectrum of other Slavic languages, both had agreed that English would be their mode of operation. Sometimes, very occasionally, Hermione would catch the slight cut of Russian drip across her English, usually when the other woman was tired, or on a monologue about some article she'd read in the National Geographic that she thought the agent wasn't listening to.

Hermione never acknowledged when this happened, mainly because it wasn't worth putting Bellatrix in a bad mood over, but also, and in a very repressed corner of her brain, it was because she found this glimpse into the woman's past strangely comforting; the knowledge that behind the carefully disinterested demeanour lay a rich and complex history that at times, was just about visible beneath the hard surface.

And it was because of this that Hermione frowned in momentary confusion when she heard Bellatrix speaking in a language she wasn't entirely familiar with. Hermione leant closer to the laptop as she struggled to differentiate. Just as she went to open her line to ask Bellatrix what the hell was happening, another voice, also female but far lighter and faster than Bellatrix's came through.

"Bellatrix, what's going on? There weren't meant to be any other women attending tonight?"

Hermione found herself tapping lightly on the space bar of her laptop, rubbing her fingertips over the hard plastic as she awaited a response. Hermione heard the other women laugh, and her tone made the agents stomach twist with something that almost definitely shouldn't be there. It took her a second to realise she could now understand what Bellatrix was saying, she had switched to Russian, telling the other woman that her Polish was a little rusty.

"Let me show you something."

The other woman's Russian was broken and heavily accented, but comprehensible nevertheless. Hermione went to open her line again, but stopped herself once she realised she didn't exactly know what she wanted to say. Bellatrix hadn't stated she was in any trouble, and she didn't want to risk ruining a potential intelligence gathering exercise. Hermione's better, or perhaps worse, judgment made her doubt the realism of that last thought.

Swallowing heavily, Hermione forced her hand to unclench as she listened to the two women chat as they moved through the bar. There was a rustle, the same noise that usually meant Bellatrix had forgotten where her mic was and subsequently put her hand or arm over it, but this time it was accompanied by the lighter voice speaking.

"You like it?"

"I like it."

Hermione felt the blood momentarily drain from her face as Bellatrix's voice practically oozed out from Hermione's laptop, causing the her eyes to widen slightly.

"Oh no no no. This is not going to happen."

Hermione swore as she clicked open the communication line.

"Bellatrix, whatever you think you're doing, stop it."

Hermione could almost hear the smirk in Bellatrix's moan, and she struggled to regain control of the situation that was unravelling before her.

"Don't stop."

Hermione once again swore under her breath as the now very breathy and annoyingly simpering voice of the other unknown woman forced its way out of her laptop.

"Stop talking."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly, of course this was the type of thing Bellatrix would say to someone mid back-room hook up. Hermione thought back through her training; obviously it was strongly encouraged that assets did not engage in sexual relationships whilst on deployment, but also it was acknowledged that cover is of primary importance, so unless a situation occurs where life is at risk and the asset request withdrawal, its business as usual.

Which meant Hermione was going to have to sit at her laptop and listen while Bellatrix exercised whatever fucked up experiment she had decided to conduct for the evening.

Mercifully, Hermione supposed, Bellatrix's activity partner had taken the raven haired woman's instruction and remained quiet. Less mercifully, this meant Hermione was sat bolt upright on the edge of the rickety wooden chair, in the flat belonging to the other woman, listening whilst said woman's gentle, but mostly not-so-gentle, utterings filled the room.

Hermione was keenly aware that her hands were now clenched in tight fists either side of her computer, and suddenly her skin felt uncomfortably warm. Unlike certain other times, times which Hermione had resolutely attempted to ignore, this particularly bodily reaction to the asset wasn't particularly enjoyable. In fact, the tightness in her muscles and the prickly heat spreading over her skin made her want to slam the laptop shut and leave the woman's apartment. Unfortunately, this wasn't an option.

As Bellatrix moaned out, a low whisper of 'yes' being dragged from her throat, Hermione closed her eyes, her leg jumping anxiously up and down, and a lip pulled too harshly between her teeth. With little conscious though, Hermione slammed down the space bar and opened the line, her voice scratching slightly through her throat as she barely uttered;

"Bellatrix, I don't want you to do this."

There were a few heartbeats before, much to Hermione's horror, she felt almost acidic moisture blur her vision.

"Please." she added.

Hermione couldn't quite differentiate the multitude of thoughts, both conscious and unconscious, that were running through her head and triggering all sorts of contradictory reactions. However, when Bellatrix's voice crackled back through the line almost immediately, and a soft "Okay" reached her ears, the torrent of emotions suddenly dropped from her body, and a horrible, wonderful sense of relief washed over her.

Hermione had been pacing the perimeter of the small studio apartment for the past fifteen minutes, watching as the GPS locater got closer and closer to the flat. This wasn't good. Hermione knew that whatever this was, whatever complicated, psychologically fucked up situation this was, it was primarily one that was categorically not good. She had spent the past five minutes mentally drafting a withdrawal email to her boss, a succinct few sentences explaining that the Asset Unit just wasn't for her and she would very much like to go back to her nice, psychologically comfortable job in the intelligence analysis unit.

She'd given it eight months, she was only contracted for four more, it totally, definitely, would not be an issue. She could probably be back at her old desk by Monday!

Hermione froze, one hand on her hip and the other clutching lightly at the hair she was pulling back from falling over her face. She watched as Bellatrix opened the door, no trace of her carefully crafted Mi5 mask to blanket the strange mix of horror and relief that was currently furrowing her brow.

"I can't."

As was become an unpleasant habit around the raven haired woman, the words were out of Hermione's mouth before she had had chance to acknowledge them. Bellatrix momentarily stayed where she was, softly letting the door close behind her. She was observing Hermione, watching as the younger woman's hand fell from her hair until it covered her mouth, the light hazel eyes gleaming slightly with a panic that settled somewhere far too deep within Bellatrix's lungs.

"I know."

Bellatrix moved from the door until she stood in front of the agent, and with an action that was so soft neither woman registered it at first, the older woman gently pulled on the hand that was covering her face, using her other hand to brush back some golden strands, placing them carefully behind her ear.

Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and forcing herself to open them again, pulling the last few strands of clarity together and trying to force them into action. As her gaze met the other woman's, she could decipher nothing but patience. The other woman was just waiting; calmly, softly, waiting.

"I can't."

Hermione, in any other moment, would berate herself for her complete lack of ability to verbalise her acute need to be far, far away from the woman in front of her.

"I know."

Bellatrix made no move to step back, and Hermione found dangerous relief loosening her muscles.

"I want to."

This time, Hermione's voice was so quiet, she could have happily denied ever having said it.

"Me too."

This time, Bellatrix looked genuinely taken aback that that sound had left her lips. She darted her eyes up from where they'd been resting on the agents lips, until her gaze locked with Hermione's. As Bellatrix, with a look a slight panic burning wildly in her eyes, moved to take her hand away from where it was cupping the other woman's jaw, she suddenly found her eyes drifting shut as the perfect feeling of desire and relief and finally flooded her skin when the agents soft lips made contact with her own.

Hermione had never felt such a strong need to have every piece of her body pushed greedily against another persons skin. Bellatrix, having momentarily been stilled into inaction due to sheer euphoria, responded to the way Hermione's hands quickly found their home against her body by backing the agent up against a nearby wall.

Hermione's head fell back against the wall, her pupils blown in the most perfect way, and she swallowed thickly as Bellatrix momentarily paused in order to rake her eyes over the wonderful image before her.

"Fuck."

Hermione panted, her eyes closing as she watched a perfect grin spread over the raven haired woman's face. She had one hand resting on the curve of older woman's hip, her hand gently pulling at the silk material to untuck it from the tight black jeans. Hermione tilted her head forward again, opening her eyes to capture the other woman's gaze. Bellatrix, adapting to this change in pace, kept one hand leaning in he wall next to the agents head, and another careful tracing the skin of her jaw with the pad of her thumb.

Hermione had finally untucked the soft material, and swallowed with the weight of too many suppressed memories as she raised her hands to begin unbuttoned the shirt, watching the curious black eyes that flickered lower to trace her movement.

"Are you going to kiss me, or is this just your new approach to checking I've not forgotten to take my mic off...?"

Bellatrix quirked an eyebrow in challenge, still studying the brunette's face with the intensity of an artist memorising their subject.

"Well if someone paid more attention to detail, she wouldn't need to be reprimanded for destroying yet another piece of agency equipment..."

As Hermione spoke, her fingers stilled from their task of unbuttoning the other woman's shirt, her mind now more preoccupied with leaning in closer to the soft, aggravating, glorious pout of the woman in front of her.