Hugh loved playing dumb. He enjoyed the twitch it occasionally gave his brother; though he kept it to a relative minimum. He found it deeply disturbing to have a paler version of himself appear to be developing the early stages of Parkinson’s. However it had been a while, and he was due.

Beyond not getting caught red handed, the single most important aspect of their job was disappearing. This never seemed to be a problem for the brothers, and they hardly ever got caught. That is to say, Hadrian had never gotten caught, while Hugh constituted the ‘hardly’ part of the equation. Over the years they’d been to almost every major city in every American city, and some overseas. This, in the industry, is considered quite an accomplishment. Traveling is hard when you’ve killed over sixty people in the last year. You tend to be considered a ‘flight risk’ in every sense of the term, and even some not generally included.

Returning to Texas was a sizeable risk, but despite the danger, Hugh enjoyed being back in the place he grew up. They’d put off their jobs long enough to see Austin without having to skulk around in the usual fashion. This would be their last day in the city, and Hugh was celebrating by sleeping in. Which he did everyday, but in his mind, everyday alive was another day to celebrate.

The celebration was cut short, unfortunately, as the clock radio on the table next to his bed began to scream loudly.

Situated comfortably at the kitchen table, Hadrian smirked into his coffee cup, holding up the morning’s newspaper to read as he drank. Hugh stumbled in, holding up a clock radio, sans cord and plug.

“I don’t own an alarm clock.” Hugh grunted, eyes barely open.

“I know.” Hadrian’s smile was thin and tight.

“I didn’t set an alarm.” He added.

“Really? Hm.” Hadrian took another sip, not bothering to glance up as the clock radio was dropped and Hugh began his retreat. “We have to leave in a half hour.”

Hugh grunted and reversed direction, slumping over to the refrigerator. He retrieved the orange juice container, disposed of the cap and drank directly from the jug. A moment later, the lights flickered, and then went out completely.

Hadrian sighed and threw down his carefully folded newspaper in a display of classic British annoyance. “Damn it, we had at least twenty-eight more minutes.”

Hugh sat heavily at the table, occupying the only other chair in the kitchen. He took a long chug from the container and looked around as if he just realized the change. “Wow, did you actually forget to pay the electric for once?” His eyes opened the rest of the way, preparing to mock his brother if the occasion called for it.

“No.” Hadrian’s jaw squared, as if the implication was an insult in itself. He cleared his throat. “I had to reserve some funds for our transportation out of his god awful state.”

“Hey, I grew up here!” Hugh used his forearm to wipe the orange juice from his stubble.

“Like I said.” Hadrian muttered and Hugh opened his mouth to argue before his expression changed completely.

“What a minute, we’re broke?”

Hadrian sighed. “Haven’t you noticed our cliental thinning a bit as of late?”

Hugh made a face. This, of course, was a point of major contention between the brothers. They’d only reunited six years ago, having embarrassingly discovered after some dancing around the subject they were in the same line of business. They agreed to rekindle their family ties by working together, under one condition. Hadrian’s condition.

“Being a hitman with morals sucks.”