VERSE TWELVE: ALMOST EASY

"So, what do you think?" Damon stepped out of the dressing room, arms extended to either side. Natasha surveyed him with a critical eye and made a distracted gesture for him to perform a turn. Damon rolled his eyes a little, but he couldn't help smiling when he complied anyway. Once he'd completed his revolution to face 'Tasha again she beamed.

"Magnifique," the skunk concluded. Then again, she had picked the outfit, herself. She had a good eye for fashion, at least, and Damon couldn't say that he was disappointed with her choices.

The black jeans weren't quite as comfortable as the ratty pair of trousers they replaced, but they suited Damon well enough. Natasha had even thrown in a chain accessory to be worn at his side, a compliment to Damon's studded belt, and he liked that little touch. Another few pairs of trousers were accompanied by some shirts and undergarments to ensure that this shopping spree would leave Damon with enough clothing to see him through the week. The pièce de résistance, however, was the overcoat Natasha had found for him.

Damon looked it over again and smiled. It was similar enough to the one he'd worn into town, but the cut was a little different and, instead of being done up by buttons down the front a series of belts cinched it around the middle. There were a few buttons, at least, near the top to keep the collar closed. If he chose to flip it up it was rather high; Damon liked that about it, though. Natasha had even gone to the trouble of finding one that was a similar shade of blue to its predecessor. Where her taste clearly shone through, however, was in the trim that ran along the hem and cuffs of the thing: a gold accent with chasing filigree patterns. It wasn't something Damon would have chosen on his own, but he didn't really mind them.

The total cost of their expedition left a not-insignificant dent in the cash Damon had brought with him into exile. Natasha had offered to offset some of the cost with her own money, but Damon hadn't had any of it. She'd already been more than generous enough, he'd reasoned, with everything else she'd done for him. More than that, though, he didn't need to feel any more like she was taking care of him.

Damon was certainly glad to be wearing something he could call his own, again. The spare clothes Natasha had brought from her apartment for him to borrow had fit well enough, and they'd certainly been clean, however... When Damon had inquired about Natasha having some men's clothing readily available in his size, she'd informed him that they'd belonged to some one-time lover or other. The skunk had certainly been lackadaisical in her explanation, but Damon was a little perturbed to note that he'd felt a not-insignificant pang of jealousy as a result of that revelation. He was glad to be free of the borrowed outfit either way.

"Allons-y!" Natasha declared when they made their way from the apparel outlet back onto the street. The sky was grey and overcast, but Damon was glad to get away from the tavern - the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had improved once they'd left. Besides that, Natasha's sunny disposition was more than enough to make up for the weather. "There's still plenty of time before we need to make our way to ze universitie; let's stop somewhere for a late lunch, Damon!" She spun on her heel and looked up and down the street swiftly, earrings jingling, hair streaming behind her like a ribbon.

"I know just ze place!" she trilled. "You'll love it...come on!" And just like that, she was away down the street, weaving through the crowd with a spring in her step.

Easy for you to say, Damon thought. He staggered while navigating his own path through the throngs of pedestrians. Between the bundled-up sword secured to one hip and the cluster of shopping bags in and under his arms, Damon was having a somewhat less easy time of it than the skunkette had. That was to say nothing of the other bags that Damon had somehow wound up carrying.

Evidently Natasha had recalled part-way into their shopping escapades that the tavern was in need of a few supplies: mostly the complimentary goods from the guest rooms. That was fortunate, Natasha had reasoned, because the boutiques from which those goods were supplied just happened to reside in the same shopping district Natasha had selected to help Damon find his new outfit.

Very fortunate, unless you're the bloody beast of burden. Damon had almost made some pithy remark about the pungently floral shampoo provided in the guest rooms when they'd picked up a case of it. Then Natasha went off on a tangent about how all of the bathroom and cleaning supplies used at La Taverne de Vulpin were all selected by her, personally. Evidently it was a great point of pride for her that Monsieur Vulpecula trusted her to manage inventory where housekeeping supplies were concerned, and had provided her with a 'company' credit card for just that purpose. Damon had kept his mouth shut about the flowery fragrances at that point.

Not that biting my tongue has done me any favours, he reflected as he cursed and struggled again to adjust the case of soap he was cradling under one arm. The worst part about it was that it left him without the dexterity to light a fresh smoke. In spite of his ordeal, however, a smile returned to Damon's muzzle unbidden when he glanced up to see Natasha bouncing farther ahead, calling after him while she hopped to glimpse him over the heads and shoulders of the crowd.

This is nice, Damon admitted in spite of his grumbling. It had been too long since he'd had something so mundane to worry about as running errands. It didn't hurt that he had so charming and care-free a guide, either. Or that she was so pretty...

Fuck, who am I kidding? What am I even doing here, like this? This is the last thing I ought to be doing right now. This is a mistake..._last night _was a mistake. We even admitted as much!

And now I'm trying to just chum it up with Natasha as though it never happened? What the hell have I got myself into? Miranda's not even gone a year and I've fucked some girl I don't even know just because I was lonely and horny? And then to make matters worse, here we are shopping and running errands like...like what? A couple?

Damon shook his head in self-reproach, staring at his feet while he walked. It's been so damn long since I've been able to enjoy anything. Or anyone. What's so wrong about taking a little time for myself? The fox sneered at himself and kicked a pebble.

You're pathetic, Damon. You never even deserved someone like Miranda in the first place. More to the point, you're a wanted fugitive. Natasha doesn't deserve to get caught up in the mess you call a life...and there's no chance of you starting one fresh here in France, anyhow.

He knew he was right, and yet there remained a very selfish part of him that didn't care. That doesn't change the fact that you and 'Tasha both acknowledged last night was a mistake, he reminded himself. But was it really? Or had that just been what he'd told himself to assuage his own guilt?

With a conflicted sigh Damon looked up again, but failed to locate Natasha amongst her fellow Parisians. At first this hadn't been cause for alarm, but when he looked around and around and couldn't find her the fox's brow knit in concern.

He slowed to a stop, taking pause to circle 'round in place, carefully scanning the crowd. After a full 360-degree rotation Damon still failed to catch a glimpse of 'Tasha's streaming, tied-back hair or distinctive striped tail. His vulpine ears pricked up alertly, but nor was there a trace of that tell-tale giggling or bubbly voice.

Damon swore as he nearly tripped on a curb, making his way to the side of the street in order to set down his bags. _Damnit, Natasha, where did you go?_He was about to cup his paws to his muzzle and give a shout when there was a rough tug at the collar of his coat.

The violent jerk caught the fox off-balance, send him stumbling into the alley he hadn't paid attention to having been at his back. A yelp of protest was cut short as his assailant threw one arm 'round Damon's neck and suddenly something was pressed to the side of his head. He wouldn't have needed to hear the tell-tale click of a safety disengaging to know it was a gun, but it helped to have his suspicions confirmed.

Bollocks.

Richard snarled into Damon's pierced ear and clamped harder around the fox's neck with his left arm.

"Nice and easy now - we can't afford for things to get messy, this time," he warned. The gun he pressed to Damon's temple was enough to get the Briton to comply as Richard hauled him farther back into the alley, guiding him behind a dumpster. It didn't keep him from wheezing in surprise, though.

"Fuckin' 'ell!" Damon gasped, gripping reflexively at the arm around his windpipe. "What's this about, then?!"

"Less questions, foxy," Richard huffed as he threw himself back against the wall, shielding he and his captive from the attention of anyone outside the alleyway. "And more listening to the woman with the gun, hm?" The otter gave a flick of his head to indicate Damon should glance to his side: Kaira was there.

The gun in question was her modified MP7 PDW, but it was hanging from a sling at her side. That was beside the point, however, whilst Richard kept the barrel of his pistol nestled in Damon's silvery hair. Instead of her own weapon Kaira brandished a zip-tie, and for a moment the sight of her there, like that, still in that skirt and blazer, made Richard think a few rather unprofessional thoughts.

"Turn around, Mr. Vulpes," Kaira rumbled coldly, "paws behind your back."

"Take his sword, first," Richard suggested, freeing the arm he had held around Damon's neck. His hand ventured to pull the fox's coat open, revealing the bundle of cloth that obscured the weapon strapped at Damon's side. Kaira obliged in relieving their quarry of the item before gripping him by the shoulder and roughly turning the fox around to face the otter. Richard flashed a smile while repositioning his USP to nudge the barrel under Damon's chin.

"Remember me?" he wondered.

"Should I?" Damon gasped, grunting uncomfortably as Kaira bound his hands behind his back. The fox's ears were flat against his head, his breathing was erratic, and his wide eyes rolled around in their sockets, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was probably hard for Damon to think under the stress of the situation, but Richard couldn't help but feel a mild twinge of disappointment at the fox's answer.

"Har har," the otter retorted. "You're cute and all, but frankly we don't have time for bullshit. Kaira, you got 'im?" The feline tested the binding on Damon's wrists.

"Ja," she replied.

"Good. Bag 'im."

Damon appeared as though he might protest, but when Kaira threw a black bag over his head and roughly hauled him away the fox went in silence. Kaira forced him to march down the alley at a brisk pace while Richard took some time to collect himself and straighten out his clothes. The otter also stopped to heft the sword Kaira had set down, slinging it over his shoulder before he moved to catch up with the other two.

"W-wait a second," Damon managed to find his voice halfway down the alley. "Who the hell are you people?!" His voice was muffled by the bag over his head.

"Less talking, more walking," Richard suggested. He glanced over his shoulder at the busy street they were leaving behind, then added for good measure, "don't make us bring your new girlfriend along for the ride." He could see Damon's ears twitch beneath the bag.

"Whatever you want, leave 'Tasha out of this...!" came the muffled reply. Richard was bluffing, of course. As a bounty hunter he didn't have the authority to kidnap an innocent person and, more to the point, he had no desire to see that skunk-girl from the tavern hurt.

Beyond Richard's personal misgivings, ensuring the maid came to no harm had been one of the stipulations Monsieur Vulpecula had made before offering the hunters' triad his assistance. With Natasha's safety assured the Frenchman been more than happy to out Damon: said he hadn't liked the look of the Briton since he'd shown up at the tavern some days before. The barkeep explained to Richard that he'd had an...'associate' tailing the other fox since Damon had left earlier in the day, Natasha in tow. A quick exchange of phone numbers and a few texts had yielded Damon's whereabouts and, with a little coordination, the trap had been sprung, leaving the Natasha none the wiser.

But Damon didn't need to know any of that.

"Vhat happens to ''Tasha', Mr. Vulpes, depends upon you," Kaira suggested. While Richard knew his was an idle threat, he couldn't say the same for his companion. That made him nervous. Thankfully, it didn't appear that either he or Kaira would be put to the test.

"Watch your head, und your step," Kaira added. The feline forcibly lowered their captive's head in order to shove him into the back of Avinglad's delivery van waiting for them at the other end of the alley. Richard was glad to have the wolf around for that much, at least.

Once Damon had been loaded like so much cargo, Kaira climbed into the back of the vehicle with him. She pulled the doors shut after herself and Richard gave them each a firm pat before making his way around to the front of the van.

"We got 'im," he confirmed as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Let's get the fuck out of here." Richard didn't bother looking at Avinglad to address him, and that seemed to suit the wolf fine. The Scotsman wordlessly started the engine and shifted into gear to manoeuver them out of the alley.

"Any trouble?" Avinglad wondered. The silence they'd driven in had only lasted until they made it about a block from where they'd taken Damon. Richard glanced sidelong at the wolf but shook his head.

"No; it's all good." The otter chewed his lip for another moment of silence before he ventured to add: "thanks. I mean, for your help, and all." Avinglad grunted, and the non-verbal response sort of irked Richard. Perhaps he noticed, because after a lengthier silence the wolf ventured to speak.

"Don't get me wrong, lad, we're not on good terms," he began. Richard rolled his eyes. No worries, there. "But..." and Avinglad's jaw tensed as he spoke, "ah needed you. You helped us find 'im as quick as we did. And negotiate somewhere to take him. So...thank ye." It was Richard's turn to grunt a wordless reply.

Instead the otter busied himself pulling out his phone to fire off a confirmation text: nous avons le paquet. A few seconds later the device buzzed in his hand and a reply appeared on-screen.

"Looks like the barkeep's come through," Richard said to his companion. "We've got an address for that safe-house he promised." Richard thumbed the destination into his phone's GPS and instructed Avinglad to take the next left.

Part of their arrangement with Vulpecula had included a discreet destination that could be used to lay low until they sorted out what to do with Damon. The stipulation to that agreement was that the three of them would leave the tavern, and preferably Paris, as quickly as possible thereafter. It had seemed a perfectly amicable arrangement for all involved. Well, except for Damon.

A yelp or some other exclamation sounded from the back of the van, and Richard and Avinglad exchanged looks with one another. Richard was suddenly very thankful for the lack of any opening in the partition separating them from the rear of the vehicle.

"Let's, ah, let's hurry, yeah?" he suggested to Avinglad nevertheless. He double-checked the directions on his phone. "Keep goin' another four streets and take a right." Another muffled shout was heard. "Faster would be better," Richard suggested.

"Ye could always have gone in the back with 'im, lad," Avinglad said with the faintest hint of amusement.

"You kiddin'? I don't want to be trapped in an enclosed space with him," Richard shook his head. "Besides, who would give you directions?"

"You're just readin' from your phone," the Scot observed.

"Oh, whatever," Richard scoffed, a little irritated. It was surprising easy for Avi to get under his skin all of a sudden, he noted. "It's on the left in another...eight blocks." They continued to drive in relative silence for a few of those blocks, save the occasional indistinct cry or thump from the back. It didn't exactly sound like there was any ongoing struggle, but the noises made Richard nervous all the same.

"So...this your van?" Richard wondered, seeking a distraction from his discomfort. Avinglad gave a grunt and a nod.

"Aye."

"This is...all just for tracking down Damon, yeah? I'm just asking, 'cause...I mean, between all the stuff you had handy in the back - the bags, the zip-ties...it's a little creepy, maybe? Doesn't help that this van just sort of...screams: 'pedo'. Y'know?" Richard spoke in jest, of course, in an attempt to calm his nerves. Perhaps he'd forgotten to whom he was speaking.

"Don't," Avinglad stated flatly. He didn't look to Richard, but his muzzle deformed in an angry snarl. "Don't go there, lad," some menace began to edge into his voice, but the wolf kept his eyes on the road. "Don't ever."

Richard rolled his shoulder in a shrug and decided to drop it. Besides, as he observed while the van pulled up into a vacant lot: "we're here."

Natasha had been about to turn and further chastise Damon for his laggardly pace when she ran almost headlong into someone. With a squeak, the skunk-woman turned around and tilted her head.

"Klisoura?" she wondered, inclining her chin slightly to look up at the border collie.

"'Tasha," the older canine acknowledged with a nod. "Pourrais-je vous parler un moment?" Natasha turned to get another glimpse of Damon through the crowd, but before she could locate her friend or reply to her co-worker, Klisoura took her firmly by the paw and pulled the young skunkette aside.

Natasha yelped and nearly tripped as she was carried over a curb and around the nearest corner. Klisoura glanced about surreptitiously as she pressed Natasha's back to the wall before turning to address her.

[Pardon me, my dear,] the collie requested before letting Natasha go. She took a moment to straighten her vest while Natasha struggled to peer back 'round the corner they'd come. Klisoura stopped her, and the young mephit turned back to the canine with a bit of a scowl.

[Klis, I'm out here with company, I need to make sure I don't lose him,] she insisted.

[Yes, well,] Klisoura cleared her through, the effeminate dog adjusting her collar a moment, [that's why I'm here, actually. It's about you and this 'Damon'.] Natasha's ears wilted a bit when the name left Klisoura's lips, and she cursed herself for not hiding her surprise any better. Klisoura shouldn't have known that name.

[Damon...what about him?] she wondered in an attempt to brush off her friend's apparent familiarity with the fox. Klisoura's brow furrowed, her eyes hardened, and Natasha's ears shrank further in spite of her best efforts to keep them from doing so.

[Don't play stupid, 'Tasha. I know you better than that. I know who he is, too; so does Vulpecula. He's a dangerous man and you shouldn't be associating with him.]

[He's...he's not,] Natasha rebutted as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

[He is,] Klisoura insisted, placing a paw on Natasha's shoulder. The canid had a firm grip in spite of her slender build. [And that's something you need to understand. He probably hasn't told you everything about himself.]

[He's told me enough,] Natasha corrected, struggling against Klisoura's grip. Her thrashing got the dog to relent, at least, and Natasha scowled once she got free. [Either way, it's none of your business - or Mr. Vulpecula's - what I get up to on my own time.]

['Tasha...] Klisoura began, but Natasha wasn't listening.

The skunk-woman pushed past her friend to 'round the corner again and this time Klis let her pass. When 'Tasha rounded back onto the street from whence they'd come, however, she couldn't spot Damon. To be fair, Natasha wasn't very tall, so she spent a few moments hopping to get a better look over the heads and shoulders of the crowd, her jewelry jingling as she did so. When there was no sign of Damon she deflated momentarily.

Turning back to Klisoura to shoot the dog a sour glance, Natasha saw that Klis was punching something into her phone. 'Tasha couldn't say exactly why, but seeing that made her gut twist up into a knot. Natasha bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as she began to pick her way through the crowd, weaving toward the spot where she'd last seen Damon. When she got there she saw something that made her heart sink.

Not far from where she'd lost sight of the black fox, the bags he'd been carrying were set carefully on the curb near the entrance to an alleyway. Natasha stepped over toward the discarded goods and gingerly inspected the bags: everything seemed to be accounted for...but there was no sign of Damon.

"Damon...?" Natasha said, almost a whisper. She lifted her head and looked around, scanning the bustling street again and peering around the side of the building to look down the alley. "Damon?!" she called, feeling her heart begin to beat faster as a sick feeling welled up in her chest. Merde; Monsieur Damon, where are you...? When Natasha cast her gaze about again she saw Klisoura moving through the crowd to catch up with her.

No.

[What did you do?] Natasha asked. The look Klisoura gave her - ears back, eyes not quite able to meet her gaze - told 'Tasha all she needed to know. Natasha remained determined not let her own anxiety show and pressed the collie-dog further. [What did you do?!] she demanded, but this time there was a tremor in her voice.

['Tasha...I'm sorry, dear.] Klisoura began. Natasha felt the ground give way beneath her feet. They've turned him in. They've reported him to the police. [It's for the best,] the collie concluded. No.

[H-how...how could you do this, Klis? How could you?!] Natasha shrank from Klisoura's touch when the canine moved to place a reassuring paw on her arm.

[Mr. Vulpecula cares about his staff very much. We all care about _you_very much,] Klisoura reasoned. [We're only trying to keep you safe.]

[I don't need to be kept safe!] Natasha huffed, drawing in a shaky breath while she gathered up the discarded bags. She didn't know what she was going to do with them. She didn't know what she was going to do, period.

It was only then, hefting those bags that she was able to appreciate how much she'd made Damon carry. Klisoura saw she was struggling with them and made to help her, but Natasha recoiled from that contact as well, defiantly sweeping everything up in her arms.

['Tasha,] Klis began, but the she-skunk cut off her companion immediately.

[Stop,] she squeaked, on the verge of tears. Natasha sucked in a few shaky breaths to try and calm herself. [Just...stop it. I'm a grown woman! I can take care of myself. You're not my family...I don't even know that you're my friends,] she snapped with more than a little venom. Natasha thought there might have been some satisfaction to take in the righteous indignation she felt, but when she saw the hurt those words brought to Klisoura's mismatched eyes she wasn't so sure.

The young woman wobbled unsteadily with the awkward bundle of bags she was balancing and turned to make her way back into the street. The world was turning to a runny mess of colour as tears welled up in her eyes, and the only breaths she was able to take came in shaky gasps. Heedless of whether or not Klisoura sought to follow her, Natasha turned in the direction of the tavern.

Bereft of any clearer purpose, she began to head back the way she'd come. A sickening cocktail of grief and betrayal welled up in her chest, the sensation slowly spreading through her body to make her entirely numb.