Aliens made them do it - sort of.

The night before a sizeable adventure in the making, Sarah has some reservations about her traveling companions. (No, not those ones.)

Bushy and Green are shortly to be dead.

Tomorrow, then, Hal comes again. Satisfaction is not requital, and once is not enough.

There is a susurration of cloth as he makes his genuflection. He does not intend to fall on his knees, but it happens. The resignation and dignity he has sought to cultivate throughout his confinement dissolves like wet sugar in the face of that which he has held out for, despite himself, despite all that he knows about the workings of the King of England, which is everything. Or so he has thought, often, and never correctly.

Goodsir is at heart a merciful man; Hickey uses that against him.

Jiang Cheng requires a new suit. Wei Wuxian removes it.

Sol always knows the nicest things to say.

David's mind does not withstand two years of solitude. (Written for this prompt.)

It was supposed to be a relatively straightforward diplomatic trip, but of course these things never were with demons.