Public air transportation was not a normal means of traveling between countries as far as Rebel and I were concerned. If we had to fly, then either one of LASAR's contacts or one of our own were used. That way we didn't have to go through checking, or security, or anything that might otherwise be a hindrance to our travels.

Needless to say, airports in general are both annoying and inconvenient so far as we are concerned.

We'd cleared out and wiped down our car in a lot outside of the airport before calling a taxi service. From there we were on our own, and essentially unarmed. It felt wrong. I didn't feel vulnerable — that feeling had never quite occurred to me before, and it certainly wasn't going to now— but it did feel off. I was used to being armed, sometimes excessively, and now I had nothing.

No handgun tucked into a hidden holster in my jeans.

No daggers slipped inconspicuously into folds of my clothes.

No anything.

I took minor solace in knowing that Rebel was also unarmed, and Team Bravo would be as well.

Rebel was shuffling through both of our passports and a wallet of money as we stayed in line, his focus on the details of our travel as I surveyed the room. When I spoke, it was in Russian, with the intent of not being understood by passers-by. "Moments like these, I almost miss having comms."

Rebel chuckled at that, glancing up at me in amusement. "You hate comms."

I shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. "Only in group settings."

"Which, of course," his smile was a humored one, "is the only time when they are necessary."

I huffed at that and shot him a look.

He ignored it, as he tended to, and instead passed me my fake passport and ID before pocketing his own. "You said our connecting flight is Amsterdam, right?" he asked, still in Russian. We were next in line to buy our tickets.

I nodded, eyes slipping away from the woman behind the counter and resuming my study. No one looked unusual, or conspicuous. No one seemed dangerous. There were families dotted throughout the crowds, some with screeching children, others with teens engrossed in their phones or video games. Then there were business people, wearing crisp dress suits and toting expensive looking luggage. There were individuals in civilian clothes; couples with intertwined hands.

But no Team Bravo.

Rebel tugged on my arm when the lady called "I can help who's next!" and the two of us stepped forward to the counter.

She wore a too-big, too-bright smile that didn't reach her exhausted eyes; her hair was pinned up perfectly, her clothes were neat. "Buying tickets?" she asked.

Rebel answered, explaining our desired travel plan, all in English. He played the part of the charming tourist well, as he always did, allowing me to remain silent as I watched our surroundings. I tuned out their conversation, contemplating whether Legion and Sergeant could already be at the gate ... though our flight didn't leave for another two hours ...

When Rebel was done, he chirped a cheery, "Thank you, ma'am," before reaching for my hand and tugging me along, away from that line and toward the lengthier one that went through security.

"Did she ask why we didn't have luggage?" I asked absently, tugging my hand away from him so I could brush my bangs out of my face.

"She really didn't seem to care," Rebel shrugged. "But, I told her we were returning to South Africa and had shipped all of our stuff home ahead of time."

I laughed at that. "Good job."

That was where our conversation ended, until we had passed through security and were making our way through the various gates. Once we were back in the crowds of people, this time looking for our own gate, Rebel spoke again, in Russian.

"You realize that we're going to be on long flights with nothing to do?" He pulled a face and shook his head. "No weapons to clean, no people to scare . . ."

I didn't answer him straight away; I had focused on a pair of tall, familiar looking young men. They weren't facing us, but I recognized them all the same: the slightly shorter one with the broader, tank-like build and dark skin was gesturing as he spoke, while the taller, more lean and pale one nodded along in what could be best described as absent-minded agreement. "Found them," I announced in English, making a bee-line toward the duo without another word.

Rebel followed without question, and it was only as I spoke up, "Talking about anyone we know?" did the duo turn around.

Legion turned first, his crystalline blue eyes shining in stark contrast with his dark skin, that contrast only heightening when he broke into a wide smile. "Only if you know two high and mighty teenagers," he retorted.

"Oh, wait," Sergeant finished for him with a small smirk, "that'd be you." His sandy blond hair fell over his forest green eyes, a good-natured smile upon his own lips.

Team Bravo were in every way each other's opposites, which was exactly why they worked so well together.

"Good to see you, guys," Rebel said, his own smile in place as he slapped hands with both of the older males.

"And it's great to see both of you," Legion said seriously, though a glimmer of cheer remained in his eyes. "It's about time we had our favorite hooligans back."

"Ain't that the truth," Sergeant snickered. "Life's been boring without LASAR. We've got too much free time on our hands."

"We used it wisely though," Legion said. "Found a friend, actually."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, arching a brow. "Who would that be?"

They both smiled widely, but it was Legion who answered. "Gunner. He'll be meeting us in Amsterdam."

Rebel grinned at that, but I merely hummed. "Haven't found anyone else?" I asked, more curious than disappointed.

"You know how we are in times of crisis," Sergeant pointed out. "Scatter first, then regroup. Though when we last spoke with Gunner, he thought he'd heard of some of ours making a scene somewhere in Mongolia."

"Probably Catatonic and Low," I recalled slowly. "They were somewhere in Asia last I remember."

Rebel nodded. "I never understood why Boss didn't just make them a team."

"'Cause they can work without each other," Legion pointed out in amusement.

"So can we," I pointed out, arching my brows defiantly.

"Sure, you can," Sergeant agreed slowly, "but y'don't prefer to. Cat and Low never really had a preference. 'Sides, now, it doesn't really matter who was and wasn't a team ..."

Legion hummed in muted agreement, though the distant look in both of their eyes betrayed their thoughts: officially, LASAR was done. Teams were no longer sanctioned, nor bound to an organization ... and thus, neither were we.

Rebel and I allowed the silence to last for a while, glancing at each other only briefly as Legion and Sergeant remained lost in thought. Though the twenty-two year olds frequently functioned as the closest thing to older brother figures that we would ever experience, they weren't quite the same as us. One could argue it was experience brought on by age that made them reminiscent; others might say Rebel and I were so thoroughly trained that certain human traits failed us.

For instance, mourning.

(Our morals were also usually deemed more questionable than some other LASAR agents, but that's another matter entirely.)

"Why don't we sit down," Rebel said, gesturing to the seats nearest to us.

I followed after him instinctively, moving to his left as I usually did. Legion and Sergeant situated themselves on his right, and for a moment I found myself amused by how the four of us were now on equal ground in means of height.

While Sergeant and Rebel both stood taller than Legion and had similar heights, even Legion towered over me. So, being so close to eye level with all three of them was definitely entertaining to me.

"We're in the back of the business section," Sergeant offered up.

"Front of business," Rebel responded, nodding to himself.

I could see Legion's half-smile even from where I sat, though he was gazing out the window with an absent look in his otherwise sparkling eyes. "We've got an interesting forty-eight hours ahead of us."

I chuckled, glancing up at Rebel, who was already smiling somewhat. "You can say that again."