In the field, Carmine was terrifying. The kind of super you saw on the news used as a scare tactic - a WMD in the shape of a man. Here, it just meant that he was the agent the handler would send in when something needed to be incredibly dead. "Don't you get commission for number of casualties?" Rory asked brightly. When he glanced back at Khalid, he could see something troubled in his expression. Rory sidled up close to his partner and slipped his fingers through his. That mission wasn't so long ago. He could still remember Khalid's face when he'd come back.
Their unit was mostly "difficult" agents, the kind that only a senior handler like Dean could manage. It was telling that their most complacent comrade was kept that way with drugs. In Rory's view, you had to make your own fun around here. The shoppette would give you booze and weed and even porn if you knew which cashier to ask, but there were more entertaining games to play. Rory cocked his head at Carmine's remark, then grabbed a bit of his fleece and smelled it, put his face on Khalid's shoulder and smelled that, shrugged and said, "I don't think we need to go wasting our money just yet," he said, "Might break our budget. Now Cam, you got anyone to share that booze with?"