There Were Tears In My Eyes When I Smiled

Angelica took the safety off the gun.

"Eyes on the target," Marco breathed in her ear.

She watched the dark haired man lean across the secluded cafe table. He spoke to the man in sunglasses across from him and she kept her eyes on his lips.

"He's trying to change the payment," she said softly.

"Wait until he brings out the money," instructed Marco in a whisper.

The dark haired man laughed loudly, mouth stretched wide in a smile. Angelica's gaze drifted to Marco. She had never seen him smile or laugh like that. She couldn't remember why they were going to kill the dark haired man, but Marco had asked her to do it and so she would. Maybe then he would smile at her.

"Eyes on the target," he frowned.

The dark haired man hauled a small case on the table and flipped the lock to reveal neat stacks of euros.

Rico shook the blood off her hands while it was still warm. She didn't like the way it felt as it cooled. Jean stepped past her to speak in that easy, threatening voice he used when he was interrogating someone. She hadn't broken the jaw, but the man she had bloodied only gasped and didn't respond.

It was a beautiful day. Unlike many of the back alley jobs they'd pulled, this one had actually necessitated a drive to and a three day stay in the country. She'd never seen a vineyard up close like this, but they were currently miles and miles from any significant structure. They were completely surrounded by grape covered vines and the fruity smell was even more prevalent than the coppery scent of blood. The sun was bright and the sky was the shade of blue she'd only seen a few times before. Even after the job was done, it would take at least a day to drive back to the SWA. She'd be able to lean out the window the whole time, feeling the clean air whooshing past her like a bird in flight.

"Rico." Jean had decided their target was the type that was more terrified and unnerved when beaten by a child.

The man they had dragged out into the wilderness choked and glared at Jean, but when he looked at Rico, his eyes were only determined.

Rico could see birds swooping over the grape leaves as she raised a fist.

Claes stood perfectly still as she felt the electrical pulse through her left bicep. The muscle clenched in response and was then released as the pulse faded. Across the room, two of the doctors spoke in hurried, modulated tones as they discussed the reaction and whether it was good, necessitated further study, or a complete rehaul of that specific model before it was widely produced.

They weren't giving any instructions, so Claes went over her plans for the rest of the day. She had recently become very interested in the bergamot herb and was ready to replant some seedlings in her garden. Every time Henrietta would visit she always seemed to put more and more jam on the biscuits. Claes would look into making the recipe sweeter. She hadn't had a chance to practice piano yet, and she was a single measure away from perfectly playing 'The Maid With the Flaxen Hair'.

Momentarily, one of the doctors seemed to come to a decision and reached for the control switch. Then they fell to debating again as they had been for the past four hours.

Claes counted the tiles in the ceiling and thought of the book on fly fishing she had waiting for her.

Henrietta was cold. Through her manufactured skin, through her powder blue coat, and even with the hot chocolate she held in hand to look like any normal vacationer. Jose, not enhanced and even more bundled up than she was, looked at her with a pinched, worried face. She smiled at him.

Their target had gone into a building Jose had forbidden her to follow after in. What had started as an afternoon tail had gone from dusk to full night. It wasn't snowing, but the high altitude of the Italian Alps was undeniably frigid. The only warm part of her was her hand, wrapped in Jose's as they played the part of father and daughter. That, and the cozy place inside her as she stood close to him.

The door to the building opened and the target strode out. Jose knelt in front of her, fixing her hat so it wouldn't be obvious that he was tracking the movement of the leaving figure.

When the distance was great enough, they started in the same direction, linked hands swinging carelessly and aimlessly. It would be warm when they broke into the target's house, and maybe afterwards Jose would listen to her play her violin.

Triela swung her rifle over her shoulder and looked on with slight exasperation as Hilshire searched the bodies she had already gone over. The part of her mind subject to the conditioning cringed at the implied deficiency in her skills. The other part of her mind knew that he was trying to convince himself she hadn't already 'gone though the ordeal' of turning out the pockets of all the corpses.

"Here," she said briefly. When Hilshire looked up she dropped the slip of paper they'd been looking for along with an assortment of real and fake IDs into his hands.

Hilshire looked at her stoic face and then grimaced at the six bodies on the ground. Triela didn't quite have the motivation, for personal or conditioning reasons, to figuratively snipe at him. What did he expect? They had a job, and it had been accomplished because she had done her part. Hilshire had issues with following through, and if she didn't have his approval it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Still, she stood straighter when he said, "You've done well."

Angelica closed the door of her room, careful not break it. It had been horrible. Her shot had only grazed the target, and in the end Marco had taken her gun from her and made the killing shot. He had scowled on the entire return and hadn't spoken to her besides sending her to her room. He thought she was useless.

She wept into her pillow until only the knowledge that she had failed remained.

There was a book on the table. It might have been there when she left for the mission, but she couldn't clearly recall. She opened it and started to read about warmth and laughter. Feasts and adventures flowed and leaped through the pages. It was delicious.

By the last page, the beginning of the story wasn't completely clear anymore, but the surprise of joy and triumph that came at the last made up for any fog at the beginning.

Angelica closed the cover and again read the title, then she hugged 'Il Principe De Pasta' to her chest, holding on to the happy ending.

A/N: Some of the details in this probably make it not exactly canon, but I think the tone worked pretty well. I really think Jean is more intimidating when he does his own torturing, but the only reason I figure he would use for having Rico handle it instead is the one I theorized on in her section. Personally, I think the title I chose for this is fairly pretentious but I was short on time. Thanks to the Twelve Shots of Summer challenge I got this put together in roughly two hours.