A/N: Not my usual Rose/Ten fare. I haven't abandoned that; I just wanted to do this.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that cover, once blown, leaves an agent, however clever, more or less to her own devices. Agent 002 repeated this to herself as she screwed a suppressor onto her pistol.

It wasn't as if she was wont to blow her cover, but there were moments, especially given the constant chatter coming from her earpiece, that she would rather scrap the entire affair and do things her own way, but she was smarter than to contradict the will of the head of MI6. Most of the time.

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying?" she heard hissing from her earpiece. She snapped back into focus as her finger curled around the trigger of the gun, anticipating her target.

"Not yet!" she heard again, and she relaxed her grip.

Agent 002 crouched quietly within the shadows of the 23rd floor of a nondescript office building.

"Let 001 take the lead," she heard again. Lizzie rolled her eyes. She had nothing against 001. They were, in fact, the closest of colleagues, almost partners in a line of work that demanded self-sufficiency and singular operation.

Lizzie peeked around the cubicle wall. The target was almost in place. It was a matter of moments, seconds even. This was one time she did not envy the distinct preference their director had for 001. Her work was clean and neat—perhaps she didn't take on the most difficult of assignments, but there was something desirable about having 001 on the front page of a mission report. She was an ideal agent, compensated for the rash behavior of others, and made MI6 look responsible.

"Netherfield is go," she heard whispered finally.

The seconds before the engagement of a mission tended to warp strangely and slowly. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, the uncertainty of success mixed with the innate rejection of failure. Whatever it was, the quietest of sounds dilated and filled the air, lights became brighter, and her heart beat with alarming alacrity.

Lizzie heard the whooshing sound of 001 spinning to face the windowed front of the building, the thump of her firearm as it flew down the barrel and out the suppressor, the sharp shattering of glass, the distant chime of a second broken window.

She was back-up, 002 reminded herself. This was Jane's show. She was only here in case something went wrong.

Lizzie realized the silence that pervaded the room. She had taken two breaths since the sound of the fired gun. Surely the target had been eliminated.

"Target remains," she heard Jane whisper, her voice shot of confidence. Lizzie tightened her hand around her gun, but not enough to fire a round.

"Should I—?"

"No," she heard from their director. "Withdraw. She knows now."

"She's fled," responded Lizzie, regarding the building across from their own.

"She'll tighten her hold."

"Undoubtedly," Lizzie responded.

"Caroline knows we want him for our side. We can't afford more mistakes," said the director.

"But you said the Prime Minister has already contacted him, that it's just a matter of getting him away from her," Jane responded.

"Withdraw now; we'll discuss this once I've seen the full mission report."

"It isn't as if she's holding him captive. They're siblings," continued 002.

"That's enough, Lizzie. Withdraw and we'll start again. We must acquire Charles Bingley, and we're running out of options."

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