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Tristan leaned back, pulling an elbow back to rest on the arm of the chair as he crossed his legs. He took a sip of his drink before letting it settle in his lap, and he brought his blue-green eyes up to Maeve as she started in on her assessment. He huffed nodded. "What, you think Welsh is acting a double?" His heart rate spiked at that thought, as it pissed him off to no end if one of his people decided it wise to play both sides. King would want him disposed of, and Tristan would have to pull the trigger right away. No time to waste on someone who had the nerve to turn his back on them and the operation.

He didn't realize that he'd squeezed on the edge of the glass until he heard the squeaking of its mouth start to groan in his grasp. He released the tension immediately, not wanting to break a second glass in a fit. "Merlin, I hope you're wrong." Tristan took another sip, those blue-green eyes zoning out again, somewhere beyond Maeve. Possibilities of Matt and Cora running around...together... made him unable to focus.
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By Maeve McLeod
When Tristan's pulse spiked and his scent flared with his anger, Maeve's own rage rose in answer. Her emerald green eyes tinged red and a low anticipatory growl rolled out of her. Clearly they both felt similarly about the idea of someone betraying their operation, their boss, if her partner's body language was any indication. It wasn't until Tristan answered that he hoped she was wrong that Maeve snapped out of her anger and back to the task at hand.

Letting out a sharp huff of annoyance she turned her red-tinged gaze on Tristan, seeing he was unfocused again.

"Hey!" The word was nearly a bark, sharp and meant to get his attention. "Talk to me, Tristan. You're more distracted than I've ever seen you. You're never this unprofessional, even in front of me," she added with a teasing smirk, trying to draw him out of whatever memories or worries kept distracting him. "What's the deal?"
Tristan narrowed his eyes as Mae snapped, the sound of her voice mixed with a fierce garou bark pulled him out of his daze. He'd almost lost himself again, fallen deep in thought that apparently the Viridian's were known for. Well, his father at least, from what he'd been told by his mum. "Unprofessional..." He couldn't help but chuckle, a grin found its way onto his face as he idly rotated the glass of scotch between his fingers. "I'm off the clock and we're sitting in my penthouse having a drink, I didn't think I had to be professional." Tristan arched an eyebrow, being a bit cheeky to turn around the fact that he was incredibly disturbed by the discovery of the Devil and his cohort. Still unconfirmed, for the most part...but still possible.

He shrugged with a hefty sigh. "The name of the Devil, and the file Welsh sent over. Haven't had a chance to read it fully because I'm just so confused and..." He took a sip of his drink, and then returned it to his lap before continuing. "If this guy is who they say he is. If it's not just some other unfortunate old sod with the same name as 'im...I gotta find him." The significance might have been lost on Mae, because they hadn't discussed his past, at least, not that far back before. He'd offer that information if asked, but right now, he was still so stunned.
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By Maeve McLeod
Maeve didn't need her nose to show her Tristan was upset; it was written clearly as over his face. She wasn't sure if it was the uncharacteristic show of emotion from her partner or the fact that he just looked so damn lost and sad, but Maeve put her glass down on the table and scooted over next to him. Gently, she nudged his head with hers and placed her hand over his.

"You honestly think I don't understand wanting to look into something that might be someone from your past?" she murmured, a knowing half-smile on her face as she referenced her own memory loss.

"Look, I'm not gonna make you talk to me, Tris, cuz clearly you don't really wanna talk about it. But..." she sighed, realizing it was a little awkward. "Just... I get it, ok? I've got your back if you need it."
"Could be someone else with that name, entirely. It's common enough," He said aloud one of the thoughts that was swimming in his head. Tristan brought his steely eyes up to his companion and and offered a slight smile, thin and almost unconvincing. Her sentiment was rather admirable, however, since the garou were hardly known for their emotional output. It was sweet. Her touch was just as gentle, as one wouldn't expect from a garou, either. His smile brightened up a bit as he turned his hand up to meet her palm and his thumb clasped over the back of her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. He was grateful for her. Things were a lot less lonely in this otherwise quiet penthouse. "Thank you. It means a lot." The feeling was mutual, too. He would take a bullet for her if the time came. He swore it, the day he offered to aid her in recovery from her memory loss.

As Tristan stood up and excused himself from the couch, he pulled his phone out again. Something struck him just then. The easiest way to determine if this Devil was in fact his old squadmate...he needed to see it for himself. Luckily for him, and the headache brought on by his insanity, Maeve was there to alleviate some of that stress, and reiterate the fact that they had eyes on the inside.

He scrolled to one of his last contacted numbers and hit send after a brief message.

[Plan Firefly is a-go. Respond to confirm. I'll get eyes on the target myself. - Green.]
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By Maeve McLeod
She nodded at his musing. Just because it was a common mange didn't mean it wasn't who you thought it was, but the redhead kept that thought to herself. He needed to be comforted it seemed, not teased or snarked at. Maeve squeezed his hand in return, giving him a warm half- smile at his thanks.

The subtle change in his scent and the easing of his heart rate confirmed his affection and the truth of his words. It was comforting to know that her partner cared for her beyond just a colleague, and she felt the same. Tristan was a good friend and Maeve meant it when she offered to have his back.

When the human stood and released her hand the Garou slid back over to her side of the couch and picked up her drink again, taking a good pull. She cocked her head curiously when he pulled out his phone to text someone, and idly wondered if he was going to move on the Devil. Maeve kept her curiosity to herself, however, and just enjoyed her scotch.
He turned to face Maeve for a moment, as he'd realized he rudely turned his back on her when he pulled out his phone. Tristan made his way back to the chair beside the couch where they'd been sitting and reached for his coat. He looked up at Maeve with a warmer smile than before that might have tipped her off that he was onto something. It wasn't completely fool-proof, but it would be an interesting turn, if the stars aligned and this would please King. "I'm going out for a moment, but..." He trailed off, sliding into his coat. "Don't follow. I'd like to have a go on this alone. I set a plan in motion that might get us the answers I've been looking for."

Without thinking, he leaned down, placed his hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead, clearly excited to execute something he'd just come up with. "And thank you. It's brilliant." He blushed slightly when he realized what he'd done, half expecting the garou to backhand him or knock him flat with a nice new shiner to show off at the next meeting with King. Regardless, he braced himself for her reaction and once he was let off, he stalked towards the door.
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By Maeve McLeod
Tristan was up to something, that was obvious. His heart rate spiked again and his scent flared in his excitement, not unpleasantly, though she wouldn't ever admit that out loud. So he smelled good: so what? It wasn't her fault she noticed it.

She was about to ask him where he was off to when he slid his coat on, but frowned when he told her not to follow him, a low growl of annoyance rumbling out of her.

"What're you up- "

The small Garou cut herself off mid-question when Tristan leaned over her and kissed her forehead. So stunned by his sudden affection and physical contact was she that he had already blushed and pulled away from her by the time she reacted. Maeve looked after him as he stalked to the door with a look of utter confusion mixed with amusement, and called after him, good-naturedly scolding him.

"I dunno what you're thanking me for, Viridian, but we're talking about that kiss when you get home..."
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By Orion
Welsh stared at his phone, dumbstruck. Firefly? FIREFLY?!

That plan called for the firebombing of the Ministry of Defense. It was a war plan contingency should Paranormal ever get off their asses and declare war on the wizarding world. What was Green thinking?

"...not my business," Welsh reminded himself. He checked his watch. Three thirty in the damned morning. He needed to hustle. When Firefly had first been discussed, Welsh had been given ten small glassy looking stones and told to hide them in the building in secured areas with no surveillance that would cause massive damage. Activating them required him going to each stone and pressing a carved mark on it. Once all were activated, it began a thirty minute countdown, then...boom. He'd have to go to all ten, avoid surveillance, activate them, and get himself out. No problem, right? He'd renegotiate the terms of his service after this, for sure.

Welsh downloaded all the secured files stored on his computer to a thumb drive. Then, he mirrored the network access so that the Defense department's network could be accessed remotely from the drive, wiped his computer, and left. It was an odd feeling to walk away like this, but there was freedom in it. He trusted Mr. Green and his organization to care for him once this act was done. Besides the activation, he had one last thing to do.

[Firefly is five by five, t-1:25:00]

An hour to set the runes, thirty minute timer, explosion. He cut five minutes off the expected time as a buffer. He'd not likely take the full plannned hour to set everything since the plan originally called for detonation during high volume times. This early in the morning? Fifty five minutes was a generous amount of time.

Welsh moved quickly, King's man through and through.

Fifty minutes later, he sent a follow up text.

[Leaf on the wind; I have a house warming present for you in the usual place. ]

Five minutes later, he was in his car and driving to the drop spot where he left information for Mr. Green when it couldn't be emailed.
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