Title: Brassfinger
By: mickeylover303
Pairing: Nick/Other(s), Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Words: 4532
Summary: My name is Stokes.  Nick Stokes.

***

I scratched the back of my neck in irritation; rubbing the area that creature had attached itself to only seconds ago. If it wasn't so dark I would be able to see it, but I forced myself to just let it go as I faced to the building now in front of me. This was only supposed to be a simple and brief reconnaissance. That was until I found out the head honcho himself was in town, which led to spending more time in North Carolina that I originally intended. I don't know why, but I was still amazed that large drug circles had somehow filtered their influence to cities like Fayetteville.

 

Managing to peel off my wetsuit, I took the ridiculously conspicuous disguise off my head, throwing the offending object in the large body of water behind me. Also tossing away my snorkel, I turned to the man standing beside me; sans wetsuit and smart enough to go through the neglected front gate.

 

"Don't say it," I whispered harshly. Even in the dark, I wasn't completely unaware of the smirk creeping on his face. It didn't really bother me, but it was one of those few instances where he liked to take the opportunity to mock me.

 

Though, it was something I was used to, having grown close to him in the past years that we've known each other. Formerly known to me as an international informant turned quasi-agent of intelligence for Great Britain (though spending the majority of his time in America working with the CIA), Warrick Brown was a man I had grown to trust – even with my life. And that was something rare considering our line of work.

 

His initial merit lay in his dual-citizenship; born in Bristol, England and raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was an advantage that let him travel more easily across continents. Not that my own merits made it any more difficult, but his heritage was something that always stayed in the back of my mind. Though, I was happy he preferred his American accent to his mother's pronunciation, which had gradually dwindled over the years. Or at least that's what I've been told.

 

Still, I wondered if the English accent would have made his remarks seem less...blunt.

 

"Nah," Warrick said, "Next time, I'll just drag your lame ass with me."

 

"Thanks, man," I said, not keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. Ignoring him for the time being, I was grateful he was at least discreet not to laugh out loud. Though, I wouldn't expect less from him. I knew it had more to do with the fact we were supposed to be on an assignment that actual courtesy, but that didn't stop me from feeling a little better about having a stuffed bird on top of my head.

 

Albert Robbins –or R as he prefers to be called – may not have been as...innovative as many others in his field, but his inventions served their purpose. And while it was possible to find Puffins in North Carolina, I was pretty sure they wouldn't be found by a water fountain this late at night. But as long as people were none the wiser, I didn't really have cause to complain.

 

Personally, I believed the inclusion of a Puffin in his latest set of emissary gadgets was R's way of poking fun at my fascination with birds. I wasn't sure if it was just a coincidence or if I should have been offended. Still, it may have had to do with the fact that I wouldn't stop running my mouth about my vacation with Dr. Mandy Webster to the northern coasts in Europe; where I discovered new ways to keep warm in cold weather.

 

And despite what my colleagues thought about me, I was not a womaniser (even if I did find myself flirting on more than one or two occasions). For Mandy and me, there was nothing exceeding the status of platonic in our relationship. Not to say that I didn't enjoy her company, but Mandy was strictly an old friend, with whom I happened to cross paths on a mission. She was someone my parents tried to set me up with when we were younger, but things never advanced in that direction. And even if I tried to suggest something between us, money (not to mention the fact neither one of us was ready to settle down) would have been a problem.

 

Since, aside from the alleged perks and romanticism surrounding the notion of secrecy, being an undercover agent for the government really didn't pay that well.

 

It only looked expensive.

 

I sighed deeply as I began to manoeuvre my way in the dark; the layout of the poor imitation of a hacienda (which was the base for the drug lords) I explored earlier in the day still fresh in my mind. Now, I wasn't biased or anything, but I'd seen better imitations back home. It was literally two small houses right next to each another: one for entertaining and lodging and the main and larger (though, not by much) edifice, which was predominantly used as a storage area.

 

The irony didn't escape me.

 

Urging Warrick closer with my hand, I pressed my back flush against the wall, my newly dry cleaned white suit suffering for the act. I should have waited to take my wetsuit off, but I'll just have to remember to put my suit on my list of work related compensations.

 

When I determined the coast clear, I reached for the pistol in my back pocket – one of R's more useful contraptions – and shot above me; a small hook escaping and successfully landing on the roof of the main building, in which Warrick and I had already assessed was where the barrels of nitro were stored.

 

Now, why they happened to have barrels of nitro stored (with the drugs) and what purpose they had in the business of illegal drug distribution, I had no idea. But it did make things easier for us.

 

I pulled the thin rope once, twice, and two more times for good measure. Though, I knew the rope (more like string) was durable and could hold three times my weight, I didn't want to take the chance of falling a fourth time because the line wasn't secure.

 

R did say something about more budget cuts this month.

 

I looked to Warrick expectantly, urging him closer with my head as I wondered why he hadn't followed suit.

 

"Um..." he began somewhat warily, pointing to a pretty large serrated area in the wall beside me...which, after looking closely, turned out to lead to a side door of some kind.

 

"...I knew that."

 

"Yeah..." Warrick nodded slightly, though I knew it was only to appease me. "That's why they sent me with you."

 

**

 

After entering through a hidden section of the main building, Warrick and I had set up the plastic explosives, which were hopefully enough to really cause damage...not actually having the usual amount with us. I assumed the rationing was probably a consequence of the budget cuts, as well. Warrick didn't have much to say, raising his eyebrows at my remark and leaving me to take care of some unfinished business while he left to care of his own.

 

Or so that's what I've been told.

 

I heard bits and pieces of Spanish and drunken laughter before I even entered the building, but I admit I expected more people instead of the small crowd, which I supposed was adequately accommodated by the appropriated size of the room. Truthfully, I could see everything from the entrance and surprisingly through the thick haze of smoke; the musician in the corner (the only one who supplied some form of music) playing an upbeat harmony that a few people danced to.   The place was furnished with only a couple of tables, a few questionable looking chairs (not that the entire place wasn't questionable) and of course, the long bar that supplied the rudimentary alcohol.

 

I looked at my watch inattentively, not surprised when a large noise sounded behind me, the explosion causing the place to empty quickly. I walked patiently down a small stairway, five steps in all as people rushed passed me. Screams and sounds of panic replaced the sound in the once relaxed atmosphere as I made my way to the bar to greet a familiar face: Sam Vega.

 

An older man, he was a local authority who had been trying to unravel the small scale drug operation before it had a chance to expand. We didn't speak long, not really having much to talk about outside of him reiterating what I've done. He warned me of the possibility of quick retaliation from the more prominent members of the drug ring, who imported their supply from international dealings.

 

It wasn't that I didn't appreciate his input, but he was becoming repetitive with his warnings and the hazard from being an agent was lost on me. So, after telling me about an opening flight to Miami, I nodded off to him, making my way to a sight that appealed more to me that Vega ever could. It was a woman, one of two dancers I noticed earlier and one of the few people who hadn't immediately run away after the explosion.

 

She wore a revealing outfit; the majority her skin showing and leaving little room to the imagination. I held her gaze, seeing the recognition shining in her eyes before she retreated up a flight of stairs. We'd met a couple of times before, when I was first getting accustomed to the area. And I admit we shared a little bit more than some choice words...and in some cases, very few words at all. But I'd at least want to give something close to goodbye before I left and never saw her again.

 

It was that and a reason to get rid of the pent-up energy in my system.

 

**

 

I entered the room quietly, taking my jacket off as I saw her getting out of the tub. I turned my head away, some part of me surprisingly still considerate despite what my true intentions for following her were.

 

"Don't be shy now," she said; a slight flush on her cheeks as she used one her hands to beckon me over. I smiled as I walked closer to her. The towel once wrapped tightly around her was now more than a little loose; almost threatening to fall off when she pressed herself her body into mine.

 

My lips formed a smile as I pressed my mouth against hers, the smell of soap and water intoxicating as she wrapped her arms around me. The proximity of our bodies the only thing keeping the towel around her and I could feel her breasts through the thick material. By familiarity, I knew they were soft and pliant; the thought making me a little more eager.

 

But I retreated for a second. My arms were wrapped around her waist as I backed away to look at her, enjoying the sight of her. Her face was smooth and round, with some of her hair falling over it. Her eyes were expressive; large and brown, and apparently reflecting a man approaching from behind with a knife evidently intended for me.

 

Though, I did enjoy the feeling of a woman in my arms, my mind wasn't completely preoccupied to the point where I missed an attempt on my life.

 

Acting fast, I switched our positions. Considering the fact she didn't seem too surprised, it was obvious she was aware of what was going on. I almost felt hurt at idea that she was simply using me, but didn't think much more of it when the unknown assailant pushed her aside and advanced to me; narrowly stabbing me in the chest.

 

Eyes widening, I dodged the assailant's knife again, backing away into a more spacious area of the room. He walked toward me slowly, as if he was trying to analyse my movements before he lunged; this time the knife getting stuck in the wall when I ducked.

 

I used the opportunity to take advantage of the situation, turning him around and pressing him against the wall. He hit me in the face, stunning me momentarily before I returned with a knee to his stomach.

 

I cursed to myself when I thought of the holster I placed on top of my jacket in the other corner of the room; the same holster that held my gun. But catching sight of something on the floor, I decided to improvise.

 

Grunting after he grabbed my shoulder, I steered him in the direction of the tub still full of water. I planted my feet firmly on the ground, giving him a final shove and pushing forcing him into the tub. I grabbed the electrical heater on the floor I saw earlier and quickly threw it in with the man before he had the chance to get back up.

 

I only turned away when I heard the sounds of his jolting body in the water and his last, laboured breaths; the smell of burnt flesh already permeating in the air. I didn't have much compassion when it came to people who tried to kill me.

 

Sighing heavily, I made my way to the corner of the room where my jacket was, putting on my holster first and then slipping my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. I took a glance at the woman still huddled on the floor. Having yet to move, she held the towel tightly around her and for once I didn't feel the need to help her as I made my way out of the room.

 

I really needed a vacation.

 

**

 

One week later

 

Miami was very nice this time of year.

 

The skies were that rare share of blue and the air was surprisingly clean considering how much Miami had grown in the last few years. Despite spending the last few days in a resort (one of the better perks of the job) I relaxed enough to almost be reminded of home.

 

Except that Texas didn't have ladies like Holly giving me one of the best messages I've ever had in my life. I don't even remember how I met her. She was German and didn't speak much English, but I didn't really mind much because touch was a universal language.

 

"And here?" she asked, her voice heavily accented. I was grateful she wasn't aware of the kind of power she had over me because at this point, I was pretty malleable. I can't lie and say it wasn't extremely comfortable and that I would mind spending a few more hours face down on the lounge chair with Holly's hands travelling over my back.

 

Honestly, I wouldn't have moved if I didn't hear a familiar voice from behind; probably one of the few people who would have actually caught my attention right now.

 

I gently pushed Holly's hands to the side as I sat up, a smile already on my face as I saw Warrick grinning back at me. While it was true we'd just seen each other just a few days ago, I never minded having him around because we really didn't get to see each other much outside of sharing some assignments.

 

"Trust you to be lying down on the job," he said, hands in his pockets as he gave a quick glance to Holly.

 

I felt my smile widen as I caught his reaction. He really wasn't one to judge me, considering the fact that his habits with women were even worse than mine. But my mood changed slightly when I realised what he said.

 

"Warrick, meet Holly," I said, nodding to the other man and then gesturing to Holly with my hand. "Holly, meet Warrick, then say goodbye."

 

"Hmm?" She asked artlessly and I wasn't sure she actually understood what I was saying. I ignored the fact that Warrick was raising his eyebrows at me as I took hold of her shoulder, guiding her in the opposition direction. "Male talk," I said simply as I gently pushed her away.

 

"Still letting them down easy, huh?" Warrick asked when Holly was out of sight; a typical smirk on his face.

 

I rolled my eyes and didn't bother to comment as I moved to stand beside him. "And here I thought they were actually paying for my vacation. There's always a catch, right?"

 

"Like they'd actually pay for you to stay at a resort without wanting you to do something," he said, scoffing at me.

 

"So...what are they putting me up for, now?"

 

"Actually, not much this time. You're supposed to be strictly observing Jim Brass."

 

"Never heard of him." I shrugged. "Am I supposed to meet him or something?"

 

Warrick gestured to a man entering into the pool area. He looked...mature; maybe in his late forties, earlier fifties with the receding hair line. He wasn't much to look at and no one who would immediate hold my attention nor was he anyone to remember by first impression alone.

 

"He's from the States?" I asked.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Looks kind of Irish to me."

 

"No, he's actually from New Jersey," Warrick replied.

 

"Irish ancestry, then."

 

"Americans always have to get the last say, don't they?"

 

I ignored the comment because technically he was an American, too. "So, what do I need to know about him?"

 

"An ex-cop gone rogue a few years back, but there was no evidence to actually prove he went to the wrong side of the tracks. It's mostly speculation as far as the books are concerned."

 

"And you want me to..."

 

"Get a feel for him; figure out what he's up to. See that man at the table Brass is walking to?" Warrick asked, nodding his head in the direction of the table where Brass was seating himself.

 

"Yeah, that's Ray O'Riley. He's small time wealth, nothing to brag about." Though, I knew for a fact he was Irish. And this furthered my belief that Brass had some kind of Irish history....no matter how misleading the deduction actually sounded in my head, which I was why I didn't relay the information to Warrick.

 

"But he's also Brass' newest victim," Warrick said as I watched O'Riley fiddle with a deck of cards, eventually deciding to deal some to Brass and himself. "This is the third consecutive week Brass has taken money from him, but it's a one-sided situation where O'Riley hasn't won at all."

 

"Really, now?"

 

"We already know Brass isn't winning his weekly hand based on skill," he said tightly, lips set in a straight line. Warrick had a general dislike for people who swindled others or just didn't play fair. It was one of the few things of his past he didn't like talking about.

 

"How much on the line are we talking about, here?"

 

Warrick crossed his arms, looking away before he chose to answer me. "...no more than fifty dollars."

 

If I didn't feel the hard pats on my back, I wouldn't have recognised that I was coughing. "You serious, man?" I asked him.

 

He nodded his head slowly. Though, I guess I really shouldn't have been surprised. These were the kinds of assignments we were always stuck with, anyway.

 

"You sure you want me to have all the fun?" I asked; something similar to a pleading tone in my voice because I knew I would be alone in this one. Warrick was just the messenger.

 

"Definitely not my type of game," he said, confirming what I already figured.

 

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I looked at the hotel behind O'Riley, where Brass kept glancing at periodically; his eyes darting back and forth between there and his hand while simultaneously touching his hearing aid. In general, he just looked suspicious, which was surprising since he was an ex-cop.

 

Warrick had the nerve to laugh when I sighed, no sympathy in his voice as he waved and began to walk away. "I'll call you later."

 

**

 

I smiled charmingly at the maid by the door, taking out the key that was attached to her pocket. She was pretty. Dark skin and long, wavy black hair, but she wasn't quite my type.

 

"But that's Mr. Brass' room," she said, clearly unsure of what to about my audacity.

 

"I know," I said as I gave the keys back to her; the door now open, "thank, sweetie."

 

I heard a soft voice as I entered the somewhat spacious room, obviously feminine but with an edge to it. She was lounging on a couch by the window, sitting by a radio and a pair of binoculars perched on the window sill. She had blonde hair with a slightly reddish tint that told me the colour wasn't natural.

 

"He just picked up the last eight in the deck, still stuck with the three, ten, and four," she continued into her microphone, not yet noticing my presence. "And he's waiting to make a pair with a six.

 

So, that's how Brass made was making his money, which meant that the hearing aid was probably a farce.

 

I took another step forward, seemingly the one that finally grabbed her attention as she quickly turned around.

 

"And just who are you?" she said sprucely, but I could see a warning glint in her narrowed eyes. 

 

"Stokes. Nick Stokes." I said, appreciating her black bikini and what little it left to the imagination. "And you are..."

 

"Catherine," she said shortly.

 

"Catherine who?"

 

"Catherine Willows."

 

"Well, Catherine, mind if I join you?" I asked as I walked closer, not waiting for her response as I began to lean over her to turn the radio off.

 

She raised an eyebrow at me as she sunk further into the couch, granting me better access to the binoculars. "Go fish."

 

My lips curled into a smile as I looked through the binoculars, the breeze from the open window cool against the warmth caused by our proximity. I wasn't too surprised when I saw Brass and O'Riley through the lenses, or more specifically, O'Riley's cards.

 

Not that I understood why someone needed to cheat at his game in particular (or why someone even bothered to bet on it at all), but this did explain why Brass kept sending fleeting glances to the hotel and why he kept messing with the hearing aid.

 

Reaching to turn the radio back on, I took the microphone from her hand and looked through the binoculars, again. Brass was trying to tamper with the hearing aid. He probably thought it was broken.

 

"Listen up, Brass," I said, watching him flinch because of the feedback through the microphone. "I don't think the local authorities would be too happy if they found out what you were doing."

 

He stilled and I could see his hands beginning to shake in anger. "If you agree with me, nod your head," I told him, continuing to speak when he did so. "Good to see you do. Now, I want you to start losing. Let's start with...twenty dollars."

 

I looked to Catherine for affirmation, but she didn't say anything. "No, let's be generous. How about fifty dollars," I suggested as I looked through the binoculars, again.

 

"You going to let me see, too?" she asked, smirking when I made room for her to look. When she finished, she turned the radio off, leaning back on the couch to look at me.

 

"That'll keep him busy for a while," I said as I stood, watching her to see what her reaction was. "He doesn't seem like someone who likes losing money."

 

"No, he's just cheap," she said, scoffing at her own words. "Though, I think I'm actually starting to like you."

 

"Then, it's a good thing I already like you," I replied; because I did. Still, I wondered what someone like Catherine was doing with someone like Brass. It was obvious she didn't like him because she had little objection to what I did. But then why work for him? Unfortunately, with that train of thought, my mind went to matters of the more personal kind. "And just for the sake of curiosity," I said, "just how close are you to Mr. Brass?"

 

She gave me half a smile. "Not what you're thinking, that's for sure."

 

**

 

Not for the first time, I spent the night in my room and not with the warmth of another body beside me. Regardless, Catherine had her own suite, but I had more interest in her intellect than her appearance, anyway. Though, being easy on the eyes definitely kept my attention while we were talking.

 

As I walked through the hall, I ran my mind through the conversation we had last night. It turned out that Catherine was being blackmailed into working for Brass; the man extorting her on the promise that she would be able to see her daughter. I asked her how she came into the situation, but she wouldn't really divulge the details, not so subtlety telling me to "drop the subject".

 

I took the key out of my pocket, the extra she had given me by my request. Originally, I wanted her to stay with me because I wasn't sure of Brass' opinion when it came to disloyalty, intentional or not. But her mind was already set and she told me she could take care of herself.

 

Opening the door slowly, I was surprised when I didn't immediately see her. I called out her name once, twice, feeling my brow crease when I didn't receive an answer. I took my gun out and cautiously entered the room. I tried not use force when it wasn't necessary, but there was a sense of dread that developed within in me. While I haven't even known her for a day, Catherine didn't strike me as the type of woman who would let someone wander around in her space; especially if that someone was male.

 

As I made my way to the main bedroom, I paused, noticing the door was slightly ajar. And when I opened it further I saw Catherine lying down in her bed. She was face down and there was some kind of metallic substance covering her body. Moving closer, I noted how stiff she was and already worked out that she was dead.

 

I leaned down to touch her shoulder, but my fingers ended up hovering over her skin. The metallic substance looked like it was some kind of paint...brass coloured paint because it wasn't quite gold. And that's probably what killed her, then. She suffocated through her skin. It was a shame, too, because if she really did have a daughter...

 

I shook my head.

 

As much as I hated to admit it, I didn't have time to think about that now. It looked like I had to call Warrick earlier than I originally planned. I knew I was essentially to blame and I doubted this is what he had in mind when he said strictly observation.

 

But there was definitely more to Brass than what the higher-ups were willing to tell me.

"Good morning to you, too, Ms. Hopkins," I said to the woman who didn't seem able to keep her hands to herself; more so than usual. Not that I really blamed her.

 

"It would have been a better morning if a certain someone had returned my calls last week," she said.

 

She walked around me, no shame in her actions as she looked me over; waiting for me to make a move. I understood that she knew about me and my apparent reputation with ladies. And it wasn't that I didn't find her pretty, but it was just that I didn't want to give into her advances. It had more to do with the fact that I would see her more often with our jobs being related and I really wasn't one to complicate my position with office relationships.

 

Besides, she was looking to settle down – having kids and making a family – and that wasn't something I was looking for right now.

 

"I thought you were a gentleman, Mr. Stokes?" she asked blatantly, but her tone suggested that she was still keeping a distance. It was more playful than serious and we both knew (at least I hoped for her sake that she knew) we would never take our relationship anywhere past that.

 

"But I am, Ms. Hopkins. And I would have agreed to a night together if I didn't have an important dinner already lined up for me."

 

"You say something like every time I ask you. Don't think I don't notice." She used her pen to point at me, the action reflecting something a parent would do to chide a child.

 

I had a reply on the tip of my tongue when G came into the room, saving me from having to fend her off any longer. Not to mention I could finally get to the bottom of exactly who Brass was and why everyone was so quiet about.

 

"It's actually true this time, Kristy," he said, and I was somewhat put off by what he implied. "And I'm afraid he won't be free tomorrow or any time soon."

 

"Like there's anything worthwhile to do in Texas, Grissom," she scoffed, though the action was half-hearted.

 

I was going to ask her why she took the job – knowing her credentials allowed her to move somewhere else – but I only shook my head. I honestly hoped the fact that I worked here didn't have anything to do with it. "Sorry, Kristy," I said, truly regretting that our relationship would never progress past flirting. I knew it wouldn't work out and I didn't want to jeopardise our friendship.

 

"I'll get you alone next time, Nick," she replied, looking at me knowingly before I turned around; following G out of her office and into a long hallway.

 

I always wondered why G hired her and what the story was behind it. She was the only one who called G by his real name – first or last I was never really sure – but it did suggest that they had a history since she was also the only one actually allowed to call him that.

 

After trying it once, I know better not to try it again.

 

There was something intimidating about a man with a greying beard.

 

Noticing I was falling behind, I quickened my pace so I could walk next to the older man. "Any chance you're going to tell me what's going instead leading me around with a blindfold?" I asked, careful to keep the derision out of my voice.

 

He paused in front of a closed door, folders in hand as he used to other to lower his glasses; somehow making me feel small under his gaze. "You went out of your boundaries the second you decided that you were above just observing Brass, directly interfering with what should have just been surveillance."

 

I winced at the tone, but I knew I deserved it since I'm the reason why Catherine's dead.

 

"This isn't on the same calibre as your other missions, 018." He narrowed his eyes at me when I winced, again, knowing I preferred my real name despite what protocol designated. "If you can't complete your assignment objectively without letting your personal persuasions getting in the way, then I have no problem replacing you."

 

And it was true. I've seen him do it to other agents before and I knew he wouldn't hesitate to replace me, too.   "I understand," I told him, sighing resignedly. "You know I couldn't just sit back and let Brass take O'Riley's money like that." I had a feeling he was talking more about Catherine, but I wasn't going to bring it up if he didn't ask about it specifically.

 

He didn't look satisfied (not that I expected him to be) as he straightened his glasses; turning around and opening the door leading to a large oval room. It was officially G's office, but he'd long ago turned into a meeting room of sort kind. And as I peered into it I realised it wasn't empty. A man I'd never seen before sat at the round table placed in the middle of the room. He seemed a little put off by the various displays of insects on top of the furniture and on the walls.

 

If I had a fascination with birds, G had an obsession with bugs.

 

I sat down comfortably in the chair nearest the door as I waited for the man to speak, Grissom sitting beside me.

 

He cleared his throat, straightening his tie as he removed his eyes from the wall and looked at me. "Conrad Ecklie," he said shortly and I guess that was the only introduction he needed.

 

"As a representative of the Copper Development Association or CDA as I like to call it," he said with an awkward laugh that quickly disappeared when G raised an eyebrow at him. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have done it, too.

 

Ecklie coughed again, a hint of red on his face was the only indication I had that he was embarrassed. "As you know, Mr. Stokes, copper is used for a variety of things. Electronics, piping, architecture, household products, the list goes on. But more importantly than what it's used in is how much of it we use. It's really an undervalued commodity.

 

"Of course, there's no way to actually judge exactly how much copper we have or how much we use as most is supplied from independent sources. But most of America's supply today comes from mines in Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, and Montana. And we do have reason to believe that Brass has been stealing copper from these mining sites as well as several other small establishments; many of which he owns – including a previously abandoned mine in central Texas."

 

And Headquarters, where we were, was coincidentally located in central Texas. But I didn't believe in happenstance, anyway.

 

"Now, normally we wouldn't have much of a problem to further investigation with help from the regular authorities," Ecklie spoke again, "it's simply that Brass has a permit for mining and other than our suspicious, we have no reason to dig that deeply." 

 

"But stealing copper, though?" I asked, not just a little surprised. How does an ex-cop get caught up in stealing copper? I'm pretty sure he made money from mining the stuff alone. Never mind how he even got into mining in first place.

 

 

"Apparently," G answered and I wondered how the older man could keep a straight face considering we were talking about someone stealing copper of all things. "But let's not wait to see if he decides to expand his ambitions to an international level."

 

 

"Why copper?" I asked again, trying to wrap my mind around the idea.

 

"Simple," G said, nodding in that ambiguously annoying way that made me feel like he was chastising me for not knowing the obvious, which considering what he said next....was something I actually should have known. "Like Ecklie said, there's an assortment of copper in the things we use today, but it's better known when zinc is added to make a certain metal alloy that's otherwise known as-"

 

"Brass," I finished, inwardly cringing at how silly it sounded even when Ecklie rejoined the conversation; trying to explain it further and rehash the importance of what was at stake.

 

 "So, something as trivial as stealing copper, though seemingly pointless now, would definitely end up affecting us in the long run."

 

**

 

I tried not to let myself be distracted by the numerous people and the equally numerous gadgets, not wanting my curiosity get the best of me and not wanting to find out if the coat one man was wearing was really bulletproof or not.

 

I turned away when I heard gunshots, but since there weren't any screams, I'd like to assume that it meant the man was still alive.

 

As I walked beside him, R looked at me pointedly, moving faster than many gave him credit for because of his cane. Now with a permanent limp, it was a result from a car accident he had ten years ago, but not something that managed to slow him down. "And since you lost-"

 

"Hey, now," I interrupted, not appreciating the admonishing look he was giving me. It wasn't my fault someone stole the BMW and it ended up in being impounded only to be sold for scrap metal. I actually liked that car.

 

"Like I said," he voiced with a familiar disdain that I was already used to, "since you lost the 501, the department would only grant enough money to allow us this." He stopped abruptly, almost causing me to run into him before I caught my footing.

 

And then I realised he was pointing at something...what looked like some kind of compact car that hadn't seen soap and water in years. Was that rust on the side of the passenger door?  I turned to him in confusion with a bit of shock on my face for good measure, which I knew he immediately picked up on.

 

"Don't look at me like that. It's more inconspicuous like this, anyway."

 

"Like the Puffin?" I asked dryly, crossing my arms and turning away from R to look at the car in front of me. It wasn't exactly a jalopy, but at the same time, I'd gotten used to my BMW that lasted for a total of six months. Though, I guess there wasn't really anything wrong with a Volkswagen.

 

I mean, there wouldn't have been if it wasn't a notchback that had obviously seen better days.

 

R actually smirked at me, and I didn't doubt that he probably set this up on purpose.

 

But I guess it wasn't so bad. All it needed was a wash and I was set. Finally over the initial shock, I faced R, again. "So...what about everything else? The other stuff I might be needing?"

 

"I'm actually afraid to give you anything and almost wish G would replace you."

 

"Really?"

 

"No," he admitted as he reached to get something out of his pocket. "But for once, I would like for you to return something back to me. Intact, and not in bad condition." He shook his head before continuing; showing me what he took out of his pocket. "This is a homing device."

 

It was a small, circular device; non-descript and silver in colour. He opened a small compartment in the back, revealing an even smaller replica.

 

"The smaller model you can place on the outsole of your shoe by the heel.   Since your mission is something of a priority, you're being given the second chance you clearly don't deserve."

 

I raised my eyebrows when he paused, gaze lingering on me before he continued.

 

"You just need use the black switch at the bottom to prime the larger model," he said while demonstrating with his hands. "The smaller one, as I assume you've figured out by now, is already activated and is tracked through our system.

 

"It's the only set we have right now, but we're hoping to make it part of standard field issue. So, it's imperative that you bring these back in once piece." R looked at me sternly before giving me the two devices.

 

"What's the range?" I asked.

 

"A ten mile radius."

 

"Ten miles?"

 

"I've pulled enough strings as it is," he remarked dryly.

 

"Anything else," I asked, honestly hoping this wasn't all they were sending me in the field with.

 

"Well, since you've downgraded in your choice of cars, we could install bulletproof windows this time," he said, tapping the front windshield. "Front, back, and all sides."

                                                                                                

I was actually grateful for that because it was something I'd never really had before and something I actually needed.

 

Very badly.

 

"And of course you have your revolving license plates," R continued, pointed to the back of the car. "Just in case you get yourself in trouble, again," he said wryly and I knew better to make a comment about that. I wasn't even leaving Texas, but I wouldn't put it past my luck to get in a situation that caused me to relocate unexpectedly.

 

Though, I felt better knowing I wasn't the only agent notorious for something like that.

 

R opened the passenger door of the car, causing a loud squeak that grated against my ears as he sat in the car. "Before we move on, you see this on the gear shift?"

 

I nodded as he flipped the top open, revealing a small red button.

 

"Don't push it," he said.

 

"Why?"

 

He shrugged. "Actually, it just opens the front passenger door."

 

"Wouldn't it make more sense to just make an ejector seat?"

 

"If somebody didn't keep losing the equipment due to "wear and tear"..." he said, trailing off.

 

I rolled my eyes, putting my hands up in mock surrender. I already got the picture.

 

"And here," he said, his hand reaching behind the rear view mirror, "is your reception for your homing device." The reflective glass transitioned into a green, radar screen that displayed the location of the device until he reached behind it and turned it back off.

 

Sometimes, they amazed me with what they came up with, and other times...

 

"There's only visual, but we're hoping to get audio integrated, as well, sometime in the near future."

 

"What about the dashboard?" I asked suddenly, remembering what I heard a few weeks ago from David; someone who worked for R and helped make the gadgets.

 

He raised his eyebrows at me, seemingly surprised, but his voice was neutral. "The dashboard-"

 

"Is just a dashboard," I finished for him, somewhat put off by the way he was nodding at me. There were rumours around that they were implementing something new in the dashboard, but I wasn't sure if was true because supposedly only a few agents had it so far and it seemed that they weren't able to disclose exactly what it was.

 

"Is just a dashboard," he repeated.

 

"Oh."

 

**

 

Since we were dealing with someone who evidently had an unhealthy affinity for brass, there wasn't much we could barter with or there was no "bait" so to speak. But apparently, my stunt in Miami didn't drive him too far away and Warrick managed to trace Brass to Texas, which again, was conveniently nearby so I didn't have to go very far.

 

Brass had been seen around a newly established park in Dallas, located on the outskirts of town. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do when I did meet Brass, assuming he was even there. So, I was pretty much planning as I went along.

 

Though, fortunately when I reached the entrance of the park, I was able to see Brass not too far ahead; evidently sitting alone at one of those wooden tables with the chequered board embossed on top of it. He was sitting up erect, almost attentive as if he was waiting for someone. Needless to say, I decided to intervene before that someone decided to show up.

 

My footsteps in the grass alerted him to my presence and he turned his head slowly to face me when I took a seat across from him.

 

"Mr. Stokes," he said calmly, "we seem to be running into each a lot, lately." He looked genuinely disgruntled and surprised, but I couldn't really tell with him.

 

"Well, after staying in Miami, I thought it'd be nice to get a little quiet time, you know. Somewhere a little more rustic."

 

"Yeah," he said distractedly, "I know the feeling." A man came up behind him. Dark hair and stern face, he was dressed in a black pinstripe suit that didn't seem to fit him well. But it was the brass knuckles on his hands that really got my attention, glistening in the sun in a way that made me want to cover my eyes.

 

Or maybe it was the way he kept pressing them together, the action seemingly unconscious as he stared at me.

 

"You'll have to forgive Vartann, Mr. Stokes," Brass said. "Sometimes, he can be kind of...enthusiastic about meeting new people."

 

Personally, I thought it was enthusiastic bordering on homicidal, but I refrained from saying anything out loud.

 

As if he picked up on my thoughts, Brass spoke again, a twisted smile marring his features. "So, why come to this particular park, Mr. Stokes, if you wanted to fulfil your rustic desires?"

 

"Mostly bird watching," I said confidently as I pointed to the binoculars around my neck. I didn't have to force the conviction in my voice because it was true, I did come back home often to watch the birds in the area. It wasn't my fault that Brass spent much of his time in Texas, where I grew up.

 

"Well, while you're watching, would you mind taking up a game of checkers with me?" he asked, pointing to the black and white cylindrical pieces already set up on the table. They looked like they were made out of marble.

 

"I'm more of a baseball guy, myself," I said honestly. Though, the look in his eyes told me liking baseball wasn't going be common ground for us.  "But sure. Why not?"

 

The corners of his lips lifted slightly before he frowned at me, seemingly unimpressed or disappointed with my response.

 

"You know the thing I like about checkers, Mr. Stokes?" he asked, not pausing to give me an opportunity to answer, "is that's it's a quick game and doesn't give you the chance to make thoughtful decisions. Because a lot of it is based on luck and skill doesn't necessarily play an important factor."

 

"That's...different."

 

I had a feeling I was missing out on something important when he smirked at me, not speaking for the duration of the relatively short game. I blame my loss on the fact that Vartann was trying to drill a hole in my head with his eyes, still standing behind Brass; his posture defensive.

 

Leaning back in the chair, I sighed as I crossed my arms, waiting for Brass to gloat about his win. But he didn't and I have to say that it surprised me. 

 

"Good game, Mr. Stokes," Brass said as he stood from the table, holding his hand out across the board.

 

 "Yeah..." I found myself saying as I shook his hand while I move to stand and trying not to let the surprise show on my face. I was embarrassed to admit that game probably lasted only ten minutes (though, Vartann's relentless staring made it seem longer).

 

So far, I had no clue what to make of this guy, what his motives were or even who he was. One minute, he's trying to swindle a guy out of his money and the next minute, I'm playing checkers with him.

 

 There must be some reason behind what he was doing, but nothing was making any sense. He obviously knew who I was and that I was the one who sabotaged his game of Go Fish. But then why be so amicable to me? I admit I at least expected some kind of animosity and granted I haven't been around him long, but I've seen him angry before. I mean, I wouldn't be too happy with me if I was in his position.

 

So, what was holding him back?

 

"But I'm afraid that I have to leave. I have other matters I need to deal with," Brass said, breaking my train of thought. The words were as unexpected as his actions when he moved around the table, uncomfortably invading my personal space as he stood beside me. "I admit I'm kind of disappointed, and that I expected something...more from you, Mr. Stokes."

 

My lips were set in a thin line and I refrained from commenting. While I probably should have come up with some kind of plan before confronting him, I was on really short notice. And yes, I did have my shortcomings, be he couldn't be basing his assessment of me on one game of checkers?

 

"And despite how entertaining you are to have around, I don't think it would be in your best interests if our paths crossed for a third time," he whispered harshly, eyes narrowing slightly before his face became neutral, again.

 

It was disturbing how quickly this man went through moods, but I saw the threat for what it was. Now, I wasn't sure of the extent of how much he knew about me and how deep my involvement was for the government. Still, I knew better to take chances and heeded his warning.

 

For now, anyway.

 

"It's a shame we'll never have the rematch, then," I said thoughtfully, knowing we would see each other again sometime in the near. I just didn't know if Brass knew that, yet. "You just caught me off guard, today."

 

He regarded me quietly before giving me a small smile, nodding his head before walking away from me. At this point, the only thing I could do was let him go, but at least this encounter with him wasn't a complete loss.

 

I looked warily at Vartann, who had yet to move even though Brass was close to disappearing in the distance. The other man narrowed his eyes at me before picking up one of the white, marble pieces; one of the ones I was playing with.

 

Not sure what he was trying to do, I watched as it disappeared within his palm. Gaze still on me, his face began to contort and I raised my eyebrows as veins began to appear on his forehead. I almost wanted ask if he was okay when he continued to make a fist, flexing his fingers, but the whole thing was too weird for me to want to interfere with whatever he was doing. And the intermittent bouts of grunting were seriously starting to bother me.

 

After a few more seconds, his face started to turn to normal; the red hue from his skin disappearing and his body notably less tense. He gave me a look of contempt, like something was my fault. And it wasn't until he opened his palm and revealed the flat, white piece that I realised he was trying to crush it, probably to set an example or something.

 

When he snarled at me, I was tempted to back away. Not because I was scared, but I just didn't know what to make of the situation. He gave a final sigh of obvious frustration as he threw the piece on the ground; brushing past me as he presumably made his way to Brass and left me in confusion.

 

I was hardly impressed.

For once, I had the foresight to place the homing device on Brass' car before I met with him, making following him when he left the park that much easier. Though, it wasn't like his car was hard to discern considering it was the only other car in the parking lot and the only one with the licence plate reading Brass.

 

And people thought I was a narcissistic person.

 

Ultimately, I trailed him from Dallas to Austin. I would have thought Brass would have least gone out of state, but I guess it made things easier since I was closer to the Intelligent Community element in Houston. And not to mention it was hard enough to track him without being noticed because ten miles didn't really give me much leeway.

 

And apparently this road wasn't giving me much flexibility, either.

 

I looked in the side view mirror when I heard a loud rumbling behind me. There was a woman in another car quickly gaining on me; swerving from side to side (drunk was my first thought) and trying to pass me. She blew her horn, which I thought wasn't necessary, but apparently I was moving too slow for her. Bearing in mind we were travelling on a one lane rural road that was barely wide enough for the small car I was in, I hoped she didn't expect me to pull over to the side because I really wasn't in the mood to end up crashing into a tree.

 

I was seriously trying to preserve a car for once.

 

She honked her horn, again, and I was almost positive even Brass heard her by now. I sighed in annoyance as she continued to try to pass me. The way her engine was revving, it sounded like she was going eighty miles per hour in second gear. She probably didn't even realise she was messing up her transmission.

 

But I guess that really didn't matter when she finally veered off the road; her tires making an irritating, screeching sound before she landed in a ditch. Though, thankfully it wasn't into a tree.

 

Stopping abruptly, I took my seatbelt off and opened my door. She may have been a reckless driver but that didn't mean I didn't hope she was okay. As I made my way to her, she was already out of her car, taking out a small case from the trunk. I felt myself cringing when she slammed the door; a scowl on her face as she took notice of me. "This is all your fault," she said resolutely, using one hand to point at me. "If you would just drive like a normal-"

 

"Excuse me?" I think I may have preferred her being inebriated to the anger she was now focussing toward me. Her expression marred features on her face that I would have normally thought of as pretty. And it was rare when I didn't enjoy the company of a pretty face.

 

And I was a sucker for a pretty face with dark hair.

 

The only reason I had even stopped was to see if she was all right. Besides, my conscience wouldn't let me leave her alone in the middle of nowhere. But judging by her behaviour, it was clear that she was fine. Still, she may have been at fault, but I at least wanted to offer her a ride to a gas station or something; somewhere where she could get someone to tow her car.

 

Again, we were in the middle of nowhere and I wouldn't let my frustration undermine my manners.

 

I closed my eyes and sighed before I walked to stand beside her. "Are you all right, Miss..."

 

"Sara Sidle," she said shortly, "and no I'm not all right. Do you even know what you did to my car? That's just one more thing to slow me down that I don't need." She pointed to her car. There was smoke coming from the front from beneath the hood.

 

I almost replied with something along the lines of her needing to slow down regardless, but I mentally counted to ten before saying anything. "My name is Stokes, by the way, and I'm sorry about what happened, but-"

 

"You should be."

 

I didn't say anything, taking notice of the wooden case she was holding tightly. It had the initials S.W. on it.

 

"If you would have just-"

 

"Look," I said, trying to hold my anger in, "I already apologised for something that wasn't even my fault and I'm trying to offer you some help. The least you could do is-"

 

"You know what?" She held out her hand to me. "I think I'm better off without your help. I have something to take care of and I don't need anyone getting in my way," she said; as if she was pardoning me for causing her to land in a ditch...which I didn't.

 

First Vartann, and now this.

 

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you to a gas station or something?" I tried again, some part of me not wanting her to take me up on my offer. I felt bad about it, but her attitude wasn't something that was making me feel in the helping mood.

 

"I can walk, thanks. I'll probably get there much faster that way, anyway," she said as she passed by me.

 

Of course, I was offended by the comment; considering I wasn't the one who drove off the road. I sighed as I made my way back to my car, my hand pressed against my forehead to relieve some of the pressure that was building in my head.

 

Once I was settled in, I checked the scope in rear view mirror, surprised, but at the same time relieved Brass wasn't out of range. In fact, he hadn't moved since the last time I checked.

 

I guess that was a sign.

 

When I started driving, it didn't take me long to catch up to Sara, walking not having actually gotten her very far. I shook my head as I continued to drive beside her; going slowly as I waited for her to acknowledge me. After a few seconds, I rolled my window down as I honked my horn at her.

 

"Get in the car."

 

**

 

It didn't take long to get Sara situated after I took her to a gas station. It would take a couple of hours to get someone to tow her car and see if they could fix it, though. I offered to stay and wait with her but she brushed me off when I tried to initiate a conversation with her.

 

"Didn't take you as the hunting kind of person," I said as I pointed to the case in her hand, wondering what someone like here was doing with that kind of equipment. "Didn't even know it was hunting season."

 

"It's not." She gave me a pointed look, like she knew that I didn't believe her.

 

"What's in there, then?"

 

"Knives," she said dryly, continuing at the wary look I gave her. "I cook."

 

It hadn't taken long to get back on track to finding Brass. The homing device brought me to a fairly large warehouse; the words Jim Industries appearing in bold on the side. It was still in the country, not that close to civilisation; surrounded by forest and not much else.

 

I didn't manage to actually explore the area since it was daylight and there were too many people – whom I assumed were workers – wandering around; I was more liable to get caught. Though, before I had to pull out, I actually did see Brass and caught a glimpse of a conversation he was sharing with someone else: something about Operation: Home Run.

 

And here I was thinking he didn't have a penchant for baseball.

 

I came back a few hours later, hoping there would be fewer people so I could actually see what was going on and possibly find out how Brass was stealing...well, brass. Again, if he already had a few mines set up, why go to the trouble to leech off someone else?

 

Using the cover of a nearby hillside, I looked down at the factory through my binocular. It wasn't as crowded as it was earlier, but some lights were still on. I had hoped the building would have been empty by one in the morning, but maybe there was a chance I could actually catch what they were doing instead having to rely on speculation alone. Of course, that meant Brass was still there and I couldn't say I was ecstatic to the see the results of our next confrontation.

 

Putting my binoculars down, I was getting ready to head down there when I heard a twig snap. I stilled when I saw a figure not too far away from me; stalking forward with a rifle in hand. Quietly, I moved behind a tree, out of sight of the other person who now lying down and cocking the rifle at the warehouse below.

 

I found myself diving to prevent the person from shooting, but the gun went off anyway and I cursed out loud; vainly hoping no one in the building heard it. But a red light was lit on the outside of the warehouse and a loud, wailing sound reached my ears.

 

"Damn it," I said, again, taking hold of the shooter and revealing other person's face; using the moonlight to see.

 

"Stop manhandling me," a familiar and feminine voice said, "you're breaking my back."

 

It was Sara.

 

"What the hell are you doing here?" I nearly yelled at her, but still retaining my hold.

 

"I'm going to kill him."

 

"Who?"

 

"Brass," she said, her eyes narrowed at me.

 

"I want him alive."

 

"Well, I want him dead. He killed my sister."

 

"Your sister..." I said; trailing off until I thought of the initials I saw on her case earlier. "S.W. Sara Willows. I knew your sister, Catherine. I know what he did to her."

 

"No you don't!" she argued, now beginning to struggle against my hold. "Let me go so I-."

 

"You obviously weren't trying to shoot him if you tried to kill me."

 

"I wasn't shooting at you."

 

"And the fact that you almost took out my eye is supposed to make me feel better?"

 

"You shouldn't have been in the way."

 

"Well, you're a-"

 

I was cut off when I heard the sound of gun go off somewhere nearby. Sara and I shared a quick glance before I brought her to her feet, pulling her arm as I led us further into the woods. I looked behind me quickly to see two men behind us and about ten or more joining them.

 

Seeing my Volkswagen not too far in the distance, I let go of Sara's hand. "Hurry and get in the car. I'll take care of them," I shouted to her, referring to the men that were catching up to us. I left the keys in the car and it would be to our advantage if she could start it.

 

I didn't have time to reach my gun as the first man moved to hit me, his fist aiming for my chest. I dodged the hit; kicking his leg to bring him to the ground and disabling him for the time being.

 

I glanced at Sara to see if she was in the car, yet. She wasn't even halfway there and I realised that I had misjudged the distance. Somehow, another one of Brass' men had come up from the other side of the hill and was heading towards Sara.  I was about to call out to her but was preoccupied when an arm found its way around my neck, beginning to cut off my air supply.

 

Gasping, I grabbed the arm with both hands; trying and failing to pull it away. Vision fading, I elbowed the man behind me, hitting him in the face. While he was distracted, I punched him in the cheek; knocking him to the ground and kicking him when he tried to get back up.

 

Panting heavily, I could hear more men coming and I turned to see that Sara was now struggling with the man who had found her, his arm around her neck. I saw a flash of something metallic coming from the man's hands and I immediately knew who it was. I saw his hands twisting in my mind before it actually happened.

 

"Sara!" I called out, but it was too late and I watched helplessly as Sara fell lifelessly to the ground.

 

I narrowed my eyes when the man turned to me, face revealed to me in the moonlight as Vartann gave me a sinister smile. Sara may have not have been my favourite person, but it didn't mean she deserved to die; especially like that. And I couldn't help but think of Catherine's daughter and what would happen to her.

 

So, I was considerably shocked when I felt something make contact with my leg, making me fall to the ground; momentarily forgetting about the other men, who were now surrounding me. I squeezed my eyes as I felt them kicking at me; curling into myself in a protective gesture against the pain. I held back a groan as I felt myself losing consciousness, arching as a boot caught me in the side of my neck.

 

R was going to kill me for losing another car.

 

**

 

I've come to doubt how I get myself in these kinds of situations; my occupation as an agent notwithstanding. I've already given up trying to understand how I get myself out of said situations because I'm not that unappreciative to question any flukes.

 

Because it seems that it's my luck that I gain consciousness only to find myself inside the warehouse and strapped to a cold, metal table...a tarnished yellow in colour, cold, metal table.   And I hoped, for the sake of my sanity, that it wasn't brass because that would bring a completely different set of problems concerning being strapped to a brass table when there was a man obsessed with his last name too much for my liking probably somewhere nearby.

 

But those thoughts were quickly replaced with something closer to dread when I actually took notice of the large machine pointed at me that I hoped wasn't some kind of laser.

 

It was yellowish in colour and by now I was just going to assume it was brass and save myself the trouble of wondering. Instead I paid attention to a pair of footsteps entering the room, stopping when a shadow came over me. I looked up to see Brass' face peering down at me.

 

"Seems like we keep running into each other, don't we, 018?" he said, tapping the side of his chin with one finger.

 

"My name is Nick Stokes."

 

He only smiled, not bothering to comment on my correction. "You know it's funny how I just can't seem to get rid of you, can I?"

 

"Well, I know for a fact that will make a lot of people happy," I countered.

 

"...I'm sure," he said patronisingly. "But unfortunately for them, you won't be around much longer because this," he said, pausing as he rested his hand on the machine aimed at me, and more discomfiting, aimed in between my legs. "This is an industrial laser I use to deal with people like you, people who want to stick their noses in other people's business a little too much."

 

Not saying anything, I managed to sit up on my elbows as I tried to see if there was a way to get out of this mess.

 

"Any last thoughts on the matter Mr. Stokes?" he asked, not keeping the deranged cheerfulness out of his voice. "You know, before you die and all?"

 

I didn't think carefully and almost regretted the words once they came out of my mouth, not sure if he would take the bluff.  "How could you even afford a laser if all you do is steal copper?"

 

He uncrossed his arms and sneered at me, straightening his face quickly as if the expression was something I wasn't supposed to see. "It's a shame that you're such a smart-ass, Mr. Stokes," he said as he retreated to a table located in the corner of the room, hands running over something I couldn't see.

 

It must have been for the laser because I almost jumped when I noticed a blue light coming out of the machine, starting at the edge of the tabletop.

 

"I get your point, Brass. You can turn it off, now." When he didn't answer, I spoke again; this time a little louder when the light of the laser became red and actually started to cut through the table. "What do you want me to do? Talk or something?"

 

"No," he said calmly, "I just want you to die."

 

"Wait for a second, would you? Let's think about this logically," I cajoled, hoping I was going somewhere with this. "If I don't report back, they're going to know something went wrong."

 

"...so?"

So, I said mentally but didn't voice it out loud because that would be another hit on his intelligence.   Plus, I didn't want to anger him any further...something I seemed to do easily to too many people. "They already know what I know and if I fail to come back, 007 will replace me."
 

Not really, but I thought I'd drag my not quite English counterpart into the equation. Personally, I think his reputation preceded him, but again, that's just my personal opinion.

 

"And I don't doubt that he'll be far, far more successful than you."

 

I knew exactly what he meant, but I was going to hold on to the small possibility that it was some quip about 007. Either way, he probably noticed my reaction.

 

"For one thing, he'll be alive by the time you're dead," he said, and I can't say that didn't clarify things for me.

 

So, I was forced to use my last resort, which I overhead and hoped it was something that could get me out of my current situation; especially considering how disturbingly close the laser was to my groin.

 

"But he knows what I know."

 

Brass scoffed at me. "You don't know anything, Mr. Stokes."

 

"Then, what about Operation: Home Run?" I said hastily, more than a little comforted when I saw the recognition in his eyes. And that meant it wasn't something I was supposed to know.

 

He stilled, but didn't give anything else away as he finally decided to turn the laser off. But then he smirked at me and now I wasn't too sure if I'd set myself for something worse.

 

"I don't doubt you have no clue what you're talking about, but let's see where this plays out, shall we?" He looked away, snapping his fingers as he called out, "Andrews!"

 

I sighed heavily as I heard another set of footsteps entering the room; a man I'd never seen before speaking to Brass and then making his way toward me. My previous reprieve didn't last long when Andrews readily took out a pistol; pointing it at me.  I didn't even have a chance to close my eyes before he pulled the trigger.

 

And then everything around me faded into black.

When I regained consciousness, I blinked twice before finally opening my eyes, immediately noticing that I was no longer strapped to the brass metal table and for that I was extremely grateful. I took in my surroundings quickly, realising that my muscles were sore from sitting uncomfortably in a small seat. There was a humming coming from outside and I turned to find myself looking at the sky through a small window.

 

Apparently, I was in stranded in the cabin of a jet, heading God knows where and obviously not alone.

 

No, I definitely wasn't alone as I looked up to see a man peering down at me.

 

"Hello," I said, appraising the view I had of him. He was a brunet, tall - maybe even a little taller than me – with dark hair that curled slightly around his face; long enough to rest against the nape of his neck. He wore a black t-shirt with the words Kiss of Death from Shirley written in gold lettering and dark, denim pants. It was a little more casual that I expected, but it didn't make him any less enticing.

 

Now, people around have me had always thought of me as a womaniser, which I could proudly say wasn't true. Warrick would call me greedy, but I liked to think of myself as an equal opportunist; especially at times when I was trapped on a plane and in the company of the man in front of me.

 

My only doubt came when I considered his face (and what he was wearing), which made me wonder how old he was. He wasn't that kind of handsome that people either loved or envied; the latter of which I had a lot of experience. He was more of a kind of pretty – in that boyish way that brought disturbing questions to mind I rightfully chose to ignore because I honestly hoped he wasn't younger than what I assumed he was.  Contrary to my reputation, I did have standards.

 

Somewhere.

 

But I was assuming he worked for Brass and I at least hoped the ex-cop had some kind of age minimum for who he worked with. And if that was case, I wanted to use the situation to my advantage; the words southern charm coming to mind and the possibility of the man being a little more easily swayed resting heavily on said charm.

 

 

With the intent to stand, I put on my best smile;  my expression changing to surprise when I felt the barrel of a gun press against my back, urging me to sit back down. I didn't have much reason to go against the silent request when I heard the gun being cocked. Not much at all, really, considering I couldn't even see the person behind me.

 

"And I here I thought I died and went to heaven," I said, intentionally flirting (not that it pained me to do so) with the man in front of me; wanting to gauge where I was with him.

 

He snorted at me, and I wasn't sure if it was about the dying part or the heaven part; or maybe just both. "You were knocked out with a tranquiliser gun."

 

"That still doesn't explain why you're here," I retorted.

 

He rolled his eyes before pressing a long finger against his mouth. His lips barely turned up at the corners and I briefly wondered what it would be like to actually see him smile. "Shh..."

 

Remembering the weapon still behind me, I didn't have trouble complying and didn't have to wait long when he finally began to speak, again.

 

"Do I have your attention, now?" he asked, continuing when I nodded dutifully. And even if I wasn't at risked at being killed, I can't say I wouldn't have reacted in the same way.

 

"I've heard about you, you know" he said and paused, turning his back to me, "but I really didn't expect you to be a part of this...of all things." He took a small breath as he faced me again. "And I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to introduce myself," he said somewhat absently.

 

"Since you already know me, I think it would only be fair," I suggested.

 

"I was actually expecting you to be more...different, Mr. Bond-"

 

"Bond?" I asked; almost squeaked if I was being honest with myself. I vaguely wondered if this was karma from attempting to use the man as some kind of collateral against Brass. Truthfully, I had never met the man and would never aspire to, but it did get pretty tiresome when everyone compared every agent to him; especially since I was lacking the essential English accent. "I'm not Bond," I said, trying to take the whine out of my voice. Though, I can't help but think it was justified.

 

"My name is Stokes," I told him, pausing for a dramatic impression that seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever.  "Nick Stokes."

 

"Oh," he said, "I thought you were faking an American accent." At least he wasn't as absent minded as he seemed, but I still couldn't help recoiling at the disappointment in his voice. Wasn't he supposed to be working for the bad guy?

 

But I pushed the thought aside quickly, my mind thankfully distracted by the fact that he was now moving to sit beside me, watching me intently. "And your name would be...?" I prompted.

 

"Pussy Galore," he said, smirking as he continued to watch me; no doubt waiting to see my reaction.

 

My eyebrows shot up on their own accord and I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. My mouth must have been open as well because he placed his finger on it to close my bottom lip.

 

"I'm guessing I can take the name Pussy one of two ways," I said, already missing the finger when he removed it.

 

"Either of which is probably wrong, but that's what's legally documented. Though, I found out it was generally much easier just to go by Greg."

 

"No last name?" I asked.

 

"For now, at least," he said as he removed himself from the seat, standing over me, again.

 

"Where are we headed, by the way?" I asked, hoping to get him to speak more so I could gather information concerning my current situation.

 

"We're on our way to Houston, assuming you already know where that is," he said while looking at me thoughtfully. "We'll be there in about half an hour."

 

First Austin, then Dallas, and now Houston...what was it with Brass and Texas? Why couldn't he do this in New Jersey?

 

"Where's Brass?" I asked.

 

"He flew on ahead, wanting to prepare for the guest of honour."

 

I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but I assumed he meant me. "So, what's your role in all of this?" I asked, not wanting our conversation to become stagnant.

 

"I'm one of Mr. Brass' personal consultants."

 

"And about, uh, how personal of a consultant are you?" I asked, the tone in my voice referring to the many implications of what personal could entail. Though, the idea of Greg and Brass, to be honest, thoroughly disgusted me. And not just because I would rather take Brass' place – if that was even the case.

 

"I'm a chemist."  There was a slight narrowing of Greg's eyes and his voice quickly lost the playfulness it had in it earlier. "Period."

 

He didn't look like one to me. I guess I had this preformed stereotype for old men in science labs, but I decided to take his word for it. It made sense after all; if Brass was going to be messing around with zinc and copper, he would need someone like Greg involved with the project.

 

Though, that still didn't clarify why Greg was apparently chaperoning me.

 

Or why he was even working for Brass in the first place.

 

"Looks can be deceiving, can't they?"

 

"I'm not afraid to say that you're not my type, Mr. Stokes."

 

"And what is your type?"

 

"Someone not like you," he said simply.

 

"But doesn't the beauty of science lie in experimentation?" I asked him.

 

Greg turned away from me, but I still caught the small smile appearing on his face. Yeah, I managed to get to under his skin, but I didn't get the chance to think too much about it as the small smile quickly retreated into a frown. "We should be landing pretty soon so you have your choice of doing this the easy way or the hard way," he said when he turned to face me, again.

 

"Well, which one is the fun way?"

 

"Archie," Greg said and the person who stood behind me finally made himself known. He was an Asian man with short, black hair and a slight tan. He still had his gun pointed at me as I stood.

 

"Believe me when I say this is not a tranquiliser, Mr. Stokes," Archie said, and I was almost surprised he could speak; as his voice was absent until now.

 

But I didn't pay him much attention, turning my focus back to Greg, who was less likely to shoot me on sight; also taking in consideration that he didn't even have a gun on him (that I could see, anyway). "You know it would be pointless to shoot off that kind of gun at this range. Don't you, Greg?" I said. "The bullet would pass right through me and tear right through the fuselage; depressurising the cabin and ultimately sending us hurtling to our deaths." It was something I already knew, but I was literally playing Russian roulette until I could get a better grasp of the situation. "And I don't think Brass would be too happy if something happened to us on the way."

 

"I try not to mess with guns if I don't have to." Greg shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about the information. "Archie takes care of it for me."

 

"But did he know what would happen?" I asked. I looked to Archie for a response it was clear he wasn't going to give; a response other than his eyes narrowing at me, anyway. Though, something told me he already knew about the conflict between certain guns and planes.

 

"Then, it's a good thing I have you here, isn't it, Mr. Stokes?" Greg said slyly as he turned around, heading out of the cabin and moving toward the cockpit.

 

When Greg was out of viewing distance, I turned back to Archie, who had now put his gun away, seeing that it was obvious I wasn't intimidated by it anymore. I held his gaze cautiously, not completely unaffected by the look he was continuing to give me, as if I'd done something wrong.

 

"Since I don't like to make bad fourth impressions, do you think I could at least change my clothes before we get there?"

 

**

 

Now dressed in new attire, I was happy that some of my clothing had been preserved from my car and that Brass was thoughtful enough to bring my suitcase – well, the one that wasn't damaged when someone fumbled through it. It was the only thing intact and reminded me that I was going to have to tell R that I misplaced another car...again.

 

Though, I had no idea what happened to the Volkswagen. For all I know, it could be right where I left it, but I seriously doubt it, now. His clear aversion to me notwithstanding, Brass' apparent show of hospitality wasn't a good trade-off for what was my only means of travel.

 

And it was times like these that only enforced why I preferred cars as a mode of transportation.

 

Like Greg predicted, the plane landed a few minutes later and I found myself escorted – rushed really – out of the plane and into a large hangar; Archie tamely (and I only say so because I haven't been poked in the back in past ten minutes) following behind me. His gun was still aimed at me and concealed by a jacket that was draped over his arm.

 

I guess he was trying to be courteous, and I appreciated it...really, I did.

 

When my other foot hit the concrete floor, Archie still beside me, I looked up expectantly; placing a hand over my eyes to shield them against the sun that was shining through the large windows of the hangar.

 

"Watch your step," I said as Greg came down the short flight of stairs. He ignored me, which I can't say I didn't anticipate.

 

"Remember we're not on a plane anymore," he said, nodding to Archie, who hadn't said anything since the first words I heard him speak in the cabin.

 

I made a noncommittal noise in agreement as Greg began walking towards the exit of the hangar and it wasn't the weapon pointed at my back that persuaded me to follow him.

 

"You trained him well," I said, my eyes darting to Archie. Of course, I really didn't mean it, but I was curious as to why the other man was so defensive when it came to Greg and just how close the two of them actually were.

 

Greg stopped and turned around sharply, unmistakably not happy with my comment. "Say something like that, again and I'll shoot you myself," he said tersely.

 

"So, you do know how to handle a gun," I said, trying to sound innocent. And I think I might have gotten away with it there wasn't a suggestive tone in my voice.

 

"Just come on," Greg said, anger deflated through a sigh as he began walking, again.

 

"You know, I grew up around here," I said as we came outside.  "Houston, I mean. I could always show you around and there's a really nice restaurant that's–" My voice trailed off when I realised what lay ahead of me; my mood immediately killed and in danger of not coming back anytime soon.

 

Now, I know that I wasn't getting anywhere with Greg at this point, but just when I thought I actually could be getting somewhere, I saw two vehicles ahead and I could recognise Vartann's figure standing beside a black sedan, which was parked in front of a red pickup truck.

 

I could practically feel Vartann's glower from here and it wasn't until I was standing next to him did I really get to see it. He was on the verge of snarling; opening the door and stiffly gesturing for me to get in the car.  Truthfully, I really didn't want to get in a car with another man who had a pair of brass knuckles – even if he did have some semblance of manners – but seeing as I had no choice...I couldn't do anything else.

 

At least the air conditioner was on and I had the entire back seat to myself (though, I wouldn't have minded sharing it with Greg). I guess it was another element of Brass' charitable hospitality. I buckled my seatbelt when Vartann suddenly slammed door and moved to get in the front seat.

 

Of course, he would be the one driving me. I don't know why I was even the least bit surprised.

 

When I saw Greg coming toward me, I rolled down my window; catching Archie not too far away in the background. He rested his arms on the door, looking at me intently as he leaned against the car.

 

"You know he kills little boys like you," I said, referring to Brass. Though, I honestly thought he'd kill anyone, now. But Greg only smiled at me cryptically, as if he knew something I didn't, and it didn't necessarily reassure me considering I've been getting a lot of those looks lately.

 

"Apparently, he kills men like you, too."

 

**

 

He had to be kidding me.

 

Okay, now I could admit that I was confused. An ex-cop linked to copper mines, warehouses with industrial lasers, and now an estate? Where was he getting the money...better yet, where was he getting the time to make all of these investments?

 

But I had to say it was a nice place (it was three stories) that I really wouldn't have minded staying in if I knew for sure that I would make it out of this alive; that being the only real stipulation.

 

When Vartann pulled into the driveway, it was Brass who was waiting for me, and he was the one who opened my door. He wore a casual brown suit, paired with an edgy smile on his face that made me think he was regretting even bringing me here.

 

Or maybe it was the fact that I was still alive.

 

"Welcome, Mr. Stokes. Glad to see you could make it," he said as I stepped out of the car, Vartann now already beside me and closing the door. "I take it your ride here was comfortable?"

 

"It was...uplifting."

 

"Good to hear."

 

"Thanks for the invitation, by the way."

 

He gave me a slight smile. "I'd thought you'd appreciate the...rustic qualities my estate has to offer."

 

I didn't pay much attention to the jibe, but I was surprised he remembered. "Hmm..." Placing my hands in my pocket, I gave one last, scrutinising glance to the estate before turning back to Brass. "Well, at least you did something good with your retirement."

 

The already small smile on his face faded a little more and became something closer to a frown. "Vartann," he began, his eyes searching for the other man, "show Mr. Stokes where he'll be staying for the next couple of days."

 

If that.

 

Brass didn't even wait for Vartann to carry out the order, his back already facing me as he walked on ahead. I wanted to say something when I felt Vartann grab my arm. However, the want to protest died quickly in favour of common sense. I knew I wasn't in the position to do much when I didn't even know where I was. And if I didn't know where I was, there was a good possibility I would have more than a little trouble finding out how to get out of here.

 

Our walk wasn't long, and while it initially appeared that we would be following Brass to the front of the estate, Vartann was leading me to the side. There was a large wooden door he opened that revealed a set of stairs leading to a basement of some kind. And for all the grandeur the estate seemed to offer, the basement was actually just a couple of cells surrounded by concrete walls.

 

There was already a guard down here, the holster for a gun on his waist as Vartann pushed me into one of the cells. When the door closed behind me – the sound of keys jingling as the guard locked it – I was kind of upset by the fact Vartann didn't let me get the cell with the scenic view. Since it was spring, it was actually fairly pretty outside; Brass kept his yard – more like expansive garden – nice and I needed something to occupy time for however long I decided to spend in here.

 

Then Vartann left, leaving me with the guard who seemed like he would doze off at any minute. Sighing, I turned around to see what was actually in the cell; figure if there was anything in place that could help me escape.

 

There was a particularly uncomfortable looking cot that I had no plans on using anytime soon; at least not in the expected way. And there was a hook on the right wall, which I put my jacket on after taking it off. I wasn't even here for five minutes and I was already more than a little antsy. I didn't like being so close to Brass and not knowing what he was up to; especially since I still haven't uncovered what he was really doing. There was no way he was stealing copper just to fulfil a couple of personal kicks.

 

I found myself leaning against the wall as a plan to escape was beginning to form in my mind. It was simple enough, but by this point, I already inferred that it depended on two things: In this instance, I had to be either incredibly lucky or the guard had to be incredibly stupid.

 

And for some reason, I had more faith in the latter.

 

Mind made up, I pushed off against the wall and walked to the door of the cell, peaking through the small, barred window. The guard's face was expressionless; his arms crossed and gun resting by his side as he stared back at me. I briefly wondered how much Brass was paying him – if he wasn't cheap in that aspect – and quickly surmised that it obviously wasn't enough.

 

And that was going to have to work to for my benefit.

 

I smiled at him, hoping to get some kind of response from the seemingly impassive man, which I thought was due to lethargy more than anything else. But when that didn't work, I tried waving to him, a smile settling to a smirk when he blinked. Hoping that I had his attention, slowly, I lowered myself to the ground; crawling on the floor and positioning myself beneath the cot.

 

I almost sighed when I thought about the fact that I was ruining yet another suit.

 

There was a short intake of breath, a jangle of keys and then a few hurried footsteps. I bit my lip as the cell door was being opened, the guard walking through quickly and apparently searching for me. I found it amazing that he looked up at the ceiling and didn't even pay attention to the floor.

 

I mean, I would have looked under the cot...but I guess it was the luck versus stupidity argument that was working in my favour.

 

When he came closer to the cot, I reached for his ankle, only intending to bring him to the floor. But I couldn't help but flinch in sympathy when I heard the clang of bone against metal; realising it wasn't the floor he hit, but the frame of the cot.

 

And as much as I felt for the man, I didn't waste time in scrambling from beneath the cot. The guard was obviously unconscious; his head against metal and his body sprawled out on the floor in an awkward angle. I didn't stare long and took the set of keys from his hand, not wondering why he hadn't drawn his gun before he came in the cell and took that, too.

 

The gun was much smaller than what I was used to and made me miss my Walther PP.

 

Putting the gun in my pocket, I closed the cell door behind me and made my way to the other door in the basement, the one not leading outside; probably going somewhere inside the estate. Walking through the threshold took me to a long, empty hallway, of which I was assuming belonged to the first floor.

 

I jerked, pressing myself against the wall when I heard faint voices a few doors down, narrowing my eyes as I recognised one. Still keeping close to the wall, I followed the voices to a large room. I walked in carefully, immediately coming face to face with a wide wall that nearly extended to both sides of the room, which allowed me to hear the conversation going on without being seen.

 

As I went further into the room, away from the hall entrance so no one could see me, I managed to discern that there were three people on the other side of the wall, Brass being one of them.  I narrowed my eyes as the words were becoming louder, trying to piece together what I missed from what I was hearing.

 

"Gentlemen, settle down, please," I heard Brass say in that regulated tone of his; the one that suggested his proposal wasn't really an option. It must have been from his days as a cop.

 

"You can have your hundred today, or your thousand tomorrow," he continued.

 

"And where you getting all this money anyway?" another man sneered. "I want the money you owe me for getting involved with that damn copper mining scam. I can't afford to have the authorities riding my ass, right now."

 

"Patience, Atwater. Patience."

 

"I've had it up to here with your patience, Brass," the third man said. "Cause copper isn't even close to gold."

 

"Relax," I heard Brass say calmly, but I could tell he wouldn't stay composed for long at this rate. "Watch and learn," he said as the lights suddenly went out. Atwater and the other man were becoming apprehensive.

 

"What the hell?"

 

"Turn the damn lights back on!"

 

Brass still didn't answer them when there was a bright light coming from the other side of the wall, and I could hear something that sounded like a projector.

 

"This," Brass finally said. "This, my friends, is your way to the real gold – not the money, but the power."

 

I frowned as he continued.

 

"We all know copper is a commodity, one there isn't much regulation over; and making it much easier to obtain. But wait – it's not so much about having the copper, but what we can do with it."

 

"And what's that?" the third man asked impatiently, obviously not interested in what Brass had to say.

 

"Now, that's the best part," Brass said, and I could practically hear the smile in his voice. Anticipating something important, I began to search my pockets and silently cursed when I realised I didn't have anything to write with or anything to write on.

 

But I didn't have much time to think about my lack of supplies when I felt a soft hand over my mouth and an arm wrap around my waist. Not wanting to make any noise, I let myself being guided out of the room. As soon as we were in the hall, my assailant soon let me go and I turned when they removed their hand.

 

"Greg?" I said in surprise, though I wasn't too miffed about his presence. "And here I thought I wasn't your type."

 

He crossed his arms; his eyes following me warily. "Dragging you out of that room has nothing to do with being close to you."

 

Cute. 

 

He was in denial.

 

"You prefer martial arts to guns?" I asked, inferring that was probably the reason why he still wasn't carrying a gun with him.

 

"Muay Thai," he said absently as a guard (not the one I knocked out) made himself known. I vaguely wondered where Archie was.

 

"The gun you took..." Greg looked at me expectantly as he held his hand out. "You could have been more subtle," he remarked offhandedly.

 

I raised my eyebrows at him as I took the gun out of my pocket. I let it rest in my palm as he moved to take it. Once out of my hand, he gave it to the guard behind him and turned his attention back to me.

 

"Let's go," he said curtly.

 

"If I knew you were that anxious to see me again, I would have just stayed in the cell."

"Ah...Mr. Stokes," Brass said, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice as Greg and I walked up to him. "I thought you would have been resting by now. Jetlag can really throw you off track."

 

Not like I could get jetlag from a flight I was mostly unconscious throughout, but that was beside the point.

 

"It's just too nice out here to stay holed up inside," I said, sparing a quick glance to Greg before turning my gaze back to Brass. "And you know I just happened to run into Greg. He was pretty persuasive when he said that I should join you."

 

Greg continued to look at Brass, not once acknowledging me. "I found him in the conference room," he told Brass.

 

"Operation: Home Run...I thought it was creative if anything," I said innocently, staring at Brass and waiting for him to break. But he only returned the gesture, sparing something not unlike a grin as he spoke.

 

"So did I."

 

**

 

It wasn't long before I was back in a cell, which I hadn't missed at all. Both Brass and Greg (unfortunately together) left me with the guard, who then brought me back to the basement. I felt a little better when I was ushered into the other cell; the one without a cot but with the scenic view. Though, it didn't have the barred window on the door.

 

And it was a shame, because I was actually kind of hoping for some company right about now...even if that meant waving to another guard wouldn't do anything in return.

 

I stood up quickly when the door suddenly opened, the guard entering cautiously as he had his gun aimed at me. Clearly, examples were an effective learning tool.

 

He still didn't say anything, but motioned me out of the cell; his eyes stern and unrelenting. I walked out of the door, somewhat irked I couldn't come up with any way of escaping this time. 

 

"Go on," he said gruffly, as if he knew what I was thinking and didn't want to give my mind the opportunity to wander. He pushed me up the short flight of stairs leading outside, almost making me fall. I decided not to say some smart remark that might end up with me face down on the ground

 

This guard didn't seem as friendly as the other one.

 

But instead of going to the front of the estate – where I assumed we'd go – he led me around to the back. And while I knew it was probably the wrong time to be admire the place, I had to admit that it was really breathtaking. It was a large patio, more expansive than the front yard. There was so much colour derived from the flowers alone, and paired with the sheer green of everything else, it was stunning.

 

If the circumstances were different and I didn't see Brass sitting by a large table seated for two, I would have even gone as far to say that it was romantic.

 

Because he was obviously waiting for me, and I really didn't want our names and the word ‘romantic' making their way into the same sentence.

 

Brass smiled knowingly at me as I sat down across from him into a very comfortable and extremely plush chair. I would have to ask for one of these if I made it alive back to Headquarters.

 

"I see you're impressed," he said smugly, more than happy with my reaction to his patio.

 

I didn't want him to make more out of the situation than there was so I answered honestly. "It's beautiful."

 

He didn't lose his smile when someone approached him from behind, a servant by the way he was holding out a tray with a couple of drinks. "Water?" Brass asked as he looked at me.

 

"Sure," I said as I took a glass with a lemon wedge from the tray. I doubt it was poisoned because if Brass wanted to kill me, he would have done so by now. Not to mention that something so passive didn't seem to be his style. Still, I took a cautious sip. Satisfied when I didn't detect anything, I drank more of the water, now realising how thirsty I must have been.

 

"Thank you," I said; nodding to the servant before he left. My thirst fulfilled for the time being, I set the glass on the table and turned my attention to Brass.

 

"You're disillusioned, Brass, if you think you could get away with stealing all of the copper in the United States. Operation: Home Run won't work. And if you're looking to turn copper into brass, then-"

 

"Not surprisingly, you're unusually misinformed, Mr. Stokes," he said as he took a sip from his own glass of what I assumed was water.

 

I tried not to frown as I put my hands in pockets. Okay, I could admit that I didn't hear the rest of the conversation he had with Atwater and the other man, but it probably wasn't that much of a stretch from what he was really planning. And honestly, I thought it was a pretty good foundation for a guess.

 

"Well," he said, "I will say copper has something to do with it, but do you really think I'm that conceited that I would go after the entire supply of copper in the United States just to turn it into brass?"

 

It took every single ounce of self-control not to say yes.

 

When I did open my mouth to answer, he interrupted my attempt.

 

"Wait," he said as he held out his hand, "don't answer that."

 

I only shrugged and kept silent; hoping he would supply the pieces I was clearly missing before I made any more assumptions...like thinking that Brass wanted to make a collection of copper coins.

 

"Think about it, Mr. Stokes?" Brass said, not taking his eyes off me. "What else could I do with copper?" There was a pause as he picked up his glass, again. "Are you still thirsty?"

 

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you...you're going to contaminate the water supply," I said, understanding finally hitting me.

 

He nodded as he took a small sip of his water before putting the glass back down; making a small thud against the wooden table.

 

"Do you know how many people that would kill?" I asked; hands now out of my pockets as I leaned over the table. It was still inane, but at least it didn't sound as asinine as stealing America's supply of copper just to turn it into brass. "I can't believe you'd-"

 

"Just the general population in Houston, for now," he cut in, purposely letting me know where his first target was. Again, I was beginning to wonder if he had something against Texas. "I need to make some kind of statement in order for people to take me seriously before I make bigger demands."

 

"What kind of demands?"

 

"Don't you want to know how I'm going to do it, first?" he asked mockingly, though, I didn't rise to the bait.

 

"Not really," I answered truthfully, realising the extent of Greg's role in this and how much of the success of Brass' plans depended on him. That is, if everything wasn't already in place. "Whatever you have set up, it's obviously in Texas."

 

"Obviously."

 

"But isn't it kind of risky to, uh, to actually get into Houston's water supply without someone suspecting something?"

 

"Copper sulphate isn't the hardest thing to conceal, which means Houston isn't necessarily the only city on the top of my mind," he said, hinting that if I somehow managed to contact my superiors that he still had contingency plans. "There are plenty cities to choose from."

 

About to respond, I turned around when I heard soft footsteps on the pavement. Looking past the guard, who had yet to move from my side, I saw that it was Greg approaching us. He had changed out of his t-shirt and jeans into a long sleeved, blue dress shirt with black pants, but still kept on the pair of red Converse shoes. I was kind of jealous that he was able to change and I wasn't, but that didn't take away from the fact that I was happy to see him again.

 

Though, he looked somewhat uncomfortable as he made his way to the table; hands toying with the ends of his sleeves and I guess he probably wasn't used to – or didn't like – wearing more formal clothing.

 

I felt something turn in my stomach when Brass gave Greg an appreciative glance – the man was probably old enough to be his grandfather. Though, Greg had turned his head to the side, determined not to look at Brass. The other man didn't comment about Greg not looking him in the eyes, and I could tell he was used to Greg's rejection.

 

"Finally, decided to change into something slightly more appropriate, Mr. Sanders?" he said to Greg before smiling briefly at me. I was definitely not comfortable with the way he was referring to Greg; if more for Greg's sake than for my own. "Don't you agree with his new attire, Mr. Stokes?"

 

Greg still wasn't looking at me or Brass, and I could tell by the slight blush on his face that he was feeling humiliated to be put on display like this.

 

Brass gave a slight cough, noting the slight tension. "Please entertain Mr. Stokes for me, Greg," he said as he stood. "I'll join you both later." Nodding to the guard beside me, Brass walked away, the guard following obediently behind him.

 

I finally stood up when Brass was out of sight, looking to Greg with a smirk on my face. "Sanders, huh?" I asked as he linked his arm through mine, leading me away from the table and further into the garden.

 

He looked at me surely; seemingly better now that Brass was gone. "Would you believe me if I said I wasn't big on the alliteration?"

 

"Greg Galore," I said thoughtfully. "I think your other name fits better. And I would use it if I didn't think you'd knock me out for calling you Pussy."

 

He turned his head and I was able to catch a glimpse of him truly smiling; something I found myself wishing I could see more often.

 

"So, this is the new Greg..." I said. "What? No bodyguard, today?"

 

"It doesn't really count after business hours," he said as we passed under the shade of a tree.

 

"Ah...so you're not on duty."

 

Greg looked at me curiously; unlinking our arms when I stopped in front of the stables. Apart from the fact that there were currently no horses in said stables, I began to wonder just how extensive Brass' estate was. Because I almost wanted to take Greg and see how many secret places we could-

 

"You're obviously impressed by all of this," Greg said as he turned away, his back facing me.

 

I didn't move, still waiting for him to turn back around. "Well, you can't deny that it's gorgeous."

 

Greg snorted, my comment going over his head. "At least that's one thing you can get out of it."

 

"Then why do you even stay here?" I asked, watching him turn around to face me as I spoke again. "Brass is crazy, you know."

 

Greg only stared at me passively. I bit my lip as I moved to enter the stables, not surprised when I heard Greg following me. I was quickly running out of options and didn't know what I'd do if I couldn't somehow persuade Greg to my way of thinking.

 

"I honestly still don't know how you got caught up in all this mess."

 

There was a restrained expression on Greg's face, as if he wanted to say something else but changed his mind at the last second. "Forget it, I'm not interested in listening to whatever it is you have to say," he said as he turned around with the intent to walk away from me.

 

But I couldn't let him get away that easily and found myself reaching for his arm, not ready to let him go. "What do you need for me to do to convince you?"

 

Greg looked down at my hand holding his arm and then back at me. I took the hint and released my grip. "There isn't anything I need for you to do."

 

"How do you even know?"

 

"I don't need to know," he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

 

"You won't even give a dying man his last request?" I ask, trying to guilt him into listening to me. I knew if I didn't find a way out, by the time Brass contaminated Houston's water supply, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me this time. That much was already implied from our conversation, earlier.

 

"Don't say I wasn't being generous," Greg said in an agitated tone, and I was caught off guard when he pushed me.

 

Well, that wasn't something I really wasn't expecting as I found myself faltering in my steps. But I managed to grab onto Greg's shoulders and return the favour, pushing him closer to one of the stable walls. "Come on, doll. Do we really have to-"

 

"Yes...we do," he grunted out as he removed my hands from his shoulders; his breath continuing to quicken as he backed away from me. It seemed like he was holding back; not really wanting to get into a fight with me, which I hoped would work out to my advantage. "And don't call me..."

 

I felt my heart rate speed up when I was able to grab him by the shoulders again; pushing and holding him against the wall. "Doll?" I asked with a smirk, enjoying the smouldering look I was receiving. Of course, I would rather see him smile; yet this was nice, too. But I soon felt my lips press into a frown as he used my own weight against me, causing me stumble and almost fall backward. I may have a more playful approach at times, but I knew what was at stake. Though, it was clear that playful wasn't one of the things that was going to get through to Greg, right now.

 

Suffice to say, I was more than surprised when he actually started to fight me; the state of my mind apparently suffering for it.

 

And even though I knew he could handle himself, it was when Greg hit me across the back that I wondered if he'd ever been to Thailand and if he would like to go there with me sometime. But it wasn't until his calf hit my neck that I actually remembered he said that he knew Muay Thai.

 

As I was falling, though, I had to admit I was thrown off by how flexible he was, putting the information in the back of my mind; hoping to use it sometime in the near future.

 

However, it was obvious he still didn't put much force behind the kick and I then understood what he meant by being generous. But as I fell on top of the hay, I kicked one leg out, sweeping Greg off his feet. The move was unexpected and he didn't have time to regain his footing before he fell on top of me.

 

I used his momentary surprise to switch our positions. I took hold of both of his arms, pinning them above his head as I straddled him. I wanted to make sure he couldn't lash out against me and gain the upper hand. This was probably going to be my only chance to get through to him so I had to make sure it counted.

 

"Stop it, Greg," I whispered harshly to him, trying to get convey the seriousness of the situation through my tone, "do you seriously want all those people to die?" There was no way he wasn't aware of what Brass was planning. He already confirmed that much when I met him.

 

In response, Greg turned his head, his body bucking beneath me and I couldn't help the low moan that came out of my mouth. His movement was becoming more sporadic and unfortunately – for what was on the line – it was creating a friction my body wanted to make a contribution to.

 

"Greg," I said, again, this time raising my voice a little higher. Thankfully he stopped. But he was still tense and I didn't want to risk loosening my grip on his arms. "You can't let Brass do this to all those people," I said quietly.

 

He sighed, eyes closing as he acknowledged what I said. His body was finally becoming lax and I hoped that meant what I was saying was registering for him. Still panting slightly, his face was heavily flushed, but he had yet to turn his head to me. I slowly let go of his arms, using one hand to cup his cheek and force him to look at me; finding myself doing the only thing I could think of to get his attention.

 

I kissed him.

Even though I don't like being referred to as a "womaniser" (because technically, it wasn't really true), I won't deny that I'm not the most monogamous person in the world. Considering my profession, life was probably too short for that. And again, I'm the kind person who takes advantage of an opportunity when the right one presents itself.

 

So – the smell of being in a stable aside – I was glad I took advantage of this one.

 

Though, while we didn't actually have sex, I can't say that having sex with Greg was something I wasn't looking forward to because it had already become part of my mindset; especially as he wasn't really opposed to the idea. Unfortunately, it would have to wait until another time because not only did I have to somehow prevent Brass from contaminating the entire city of Houston's water supply, Greg and I simply didn't have the...right supplies at the moment.

 

While I was trying to unbutton his shirt, I actually did suggest making use of whatever it was I saw in a small bottle in the corner earlier (I wasn't too coherent at the time to remember exactly), but that seemed to be the wrong thing to say. And no sooner had I been ready to unzip his pants did Greg snap out of his temporary haze and forcefully pushed me off of him.

 

How was I supposed to know it was horse shampoo?

 

Though, I made a mental note to be better prepared next time Greg and I found ourselves in that kind of situation again.

 

After straightening our clothes, I was able to give him the homing device that was surprisingly still on the bottom of my shoe. I did manage to convince him to infringe on Brass' plans after all; exchanging the copper sulphate with something that wasn't harmful. And he assured me that he would contact the CIA; using the homing device to help them more easily pinpoint our location. When we left the stables, he returned me to my cell and left me with the same guard I had earlier.

 

That was nearly ten hours ago and I hadn't seen Greg since.

 

And right now, I would rather be with him than sharing the bed of a truck with Vartann. I bit my lip when the Jeep jerked, the other man making a grunt beside me. Almost dawn, it was too dark to actually see him, but knowing he was there was more than enough for me not to like the situation. I was taken from my cell a little under an hour ago and was forced into a truck heading away from Brass' estate and following a dirt road toward, what I assumed, was the water supply plant in Houston. There were a few more vehicles in front of the one I was in: another truck, a car, and an ambulance that was leading the group.

 

I really couldn't come up with a reason as to how Brass even managed to get his hands on an ambulance. He had a habit of killing people rather than injuring them and I had a feeling it wasn't there just to transport dead bodies.

 

The Jeep suddenly came to a stop, and without a seatbelt I had to hold on to the bed to make sure I didn't fall forward. Looking outside, I noticed we stopped next to a large sign propped against a tall, metal fence. I had to squint in order to make out the words in the dim light.

 

Houston Water Supply

 

So, I was right. The only problem was that there was more than one water supply plant in Houston, but I had faith Greg would pull though and direct the IC in Texas to the right one. Since, really, that's all I had right about now.

 

Suddenly, I heard a couple of doors opening and when Vartann didn't move, I forced myself not to get out of the truck when I also detected footsteps on the dirt ground. There were some grunts and it sounded like whoever was out there was carrying something heavy. A few more seconds passed and I cringed when I heard a loud explosion, almost brushing shoulders against Vartann before quickly moving back to the other side of the truck.

 

I was guessing that they were trying to open a gate of some kind and judging by the creak that followed, I was also guessing that they'd opened said gate.

 

And if no one heard all of this noise by now, then it was safe to presume that there wasn't anyone in the plant, which was a good thing. But if someone was in the plant, then I would hope that they'd at least get hold of the authorities or something.

 

Caught by surprise, I almost fell when Vartann grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the Jeep. I managed not to stumble as I followed him around the truck, only to see Brass exiting the car in front of us. And I can't say I was too excited when I saw him pulling Greg along by the wrist.

 

Damn it.

 

I couldn't really tell what this meant, but when I saw the smirk on Brass' face as he dragged Greg to where Vartann and I stood, I was tempted to forgo optimism at this point. I tried to pass a concerned glance to Greg, but he was refusing to look at me, eyes fixed on the building behind him.

 

"Good morning, Mr. Stokes," Brass said cheerfully, unnaturally cheerfully for five in the morning. "For once you're exactly where I want you."

 

"And where's that, Brass?" I asked, though not expecting him to answer.

 

"Where I can see you."

 

I was going to reply when I noticed the doors from the back of the ambulance were opening. Turning my gaze from Brass, I watched as some of Brass' guards began lowering what looked like a cart carrying some kind of mechanical device; seemingly a small, rectangular box.

 

I was relieved when I noticed that it was silver in colour, which was undeniably one respite I could do with.

 

"It's interesting that even now I manage to get your attention, Mr. Stokes," Brass said, probably picking up on the thoughtful expression on my face.

 

"You know, I would be a lot more interested if you actually told me what this was," I said, pointing to the cart.

 

"And ruin the surprise?"

 

My mouth was set into a straight line as I waited for an answer, but it was Greg who spoke, finally turning to look at me. "It's an atomic bomb," he said calmly.

 

And just when I thought Brass couldn't surprise me anymore.

 

I sighed heavily. Not at the smirk Brass was giving me or even the fact that I was standing two feet away from a nuclear device. No, I just couldn't get over how resourceful Brass was...not that I meant it as a compliment, but I had to at least acknowledge his competence.

 

It was definitely a step up from the petty drug lords I was used to dealing with.

 

"At least you still have some use left," Brass said as he looked at Greg, tightening his grip on Greg's wrist.

 

I narrowed my eyes at Brass, wanting him to turn his attention back to me. "I thought you said you were just going to contaminate the water, not blow everyone away."

 

"Oh," Brass said, feigning astonishment. "Did I not mention that I had this was part of the plan all along?"

 

"Not really," I replied, even though I knew the question was rhetorical.

 

Brass gave me a twisted smile. "Call it a contingency plan, then. You know, in case the idea of copper poisoning doesn't quite make the statement I want."

 

"A contingency plan?" I asked. There had to be something more to it. Granted, I still didn't know what demands Brass was going to make, but why have the copper sulphate and the bomb for the same city, not to mention having them set up in the same water supply plant?

 

"Oh hell, why lie about it?" I stilled when Brass took a few steps closer to me, leaning down in my face to whisper, "Just between you and me, I'm doing it for the fun of it."

 

I clenched my jaw as he walked away, Greg in tow as he followed the guards moving the cart past the gates and entering into the plant. But Vartann and I weren't too far behind.  I felt the other man yank at my arm as he began to pull me along. It didn't take long to catch up with Brass and I found myself fortunate enough to find a place beside Greg. Hopefully, he knew more than I did and considering I knew nothing right now, I would be extremely grateful for anything he had to say.

 

"I take it you didn't know about this until recently," I said to Greg as we went through the threshold leading into the plant. Brass still held onto his wrist, but he gave me a quick fleeting look that relayed he was as surprised as me; or at least he wasn't expecting this turn of events.

 

I wanted to ask him more, butaAs if he knew my intentions, Brass wrenched Greg forward, making him stagger for apparently no reason other than the fact that I was speaking to him.

 

And I couldn't help the frown making its way to my face.

 

**

 

It hadn't even been five minutes since Brass and Vartann left Greg and me alone in the plant and I was already beginning to feel more than just a little restless.

 

"What kind of water plant has a vaulted door?" I asked; fidgeting under the rope that was currently tying my hands to a poll connected to one of the small treatment installations in the plant. I spared a glance at the large, metal door that was currently the only exit in the building; doubling as the only entrance.

 

This definitely wasn't the time to be giving into possibility of me being claustrophobic.

 

"Apparently, the one we're in," Greg answered, once again struggling against his own restraints.

 

While I was happy he was speaking to me again, I had somehow forgotten how derisive he could be. Though, it did bother me that this side of him seemed to come out after he had a conversation with Brass...and that I was the one who was privileged enough to be on the other end of it.

 

But I guess I wouldn't be too ecstatic if I was handcuffed to a bomb, either.

 

"So..." I began slowly, "I'm guessing you're no longer Brass' personal consultant."

 

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Greg said as he leaned dejectedly against the cart. "You're as slow as Warrick said you would be."

 

"Wait..." I was ready to defend myself when I actually thought about what he said, forgetting about the fact that he called me slow for the time being. Confused, I looked at him curiously. "You know Warrick?"

 

"Warrick Brown." He nodded slowly at me. "Why do you think I put up with you, Mr. Stokes?"

 

"Because you can't help but feel attracted to me," I answered without hesitation.

 

He paused, a fleeting yet thoughtful look on his face before his expression straightened. "When I pretended to think you were James Bond; that was supposed to clue you in. Warrick said you didn't like being compared to him."

 

"What is that...a code word or something?" I said; my voice rising slightly. It was a fairly sensitive topic for me. "You're telling me that I was supposed to somehow have understood that you had connection to Warrick when you brought up somebody's name?" I asked sceptically.

 

"Don't tell me you didn't think it was at least a little weird that I even knew about James Bond?" He raised his eyebrows and looked at me shrewdly.

 

Never one to deny people, I wouldn't tell him that I didn't think it was strange that he knew about James Bond.

 

Admittedly, I was actually too upset at the time to actually look into it further. But in retrospect, it did make some kind of sense; especially since Brass seemed to think that Greg was no longer trustworthy.

 

"And you've been undercover this whole time?" I asked. "Well, until now at least."

 

"Brass wasn't too happy when he found out about what happened in the stables," he said, looking at me pointedly...like it was my fault, which I can actually say it wasn't for once...or at least it wasn't completelys my fault for once.

 

It took two to tango and if those noises he made were anything to go by, he definitely wasn't complaining at the time.

 

However, I pushed the thought aside, trying not to take offence to what Greg was implying about me because I could understand that it was kind of hard to resist me.   Not that I was being conceited, but I was basing this on experience.

 

"Did he know you were undercover?" I asked.

 

"Does it matter, now?"

 

I shrugged.  "Voyeurism doesn't sound like his style."

 

Greg shook his head. "Vartann apparently heard us."

 

"You – he heard you, you mean," I corrected, pushing the thought of Vartann hearing us in the back of my mind. That wasn't an image that I needed to keep.

 

"Us," he said, still trying to wiggle his wrist through the handcuffs. I was going to try to correct him again, when he cut me off. "Anyway, it doesn't matter who he heard...it still doesn't take away from the fact that it's still disturbing."

 

I decided not to push the argument any further, silently agreeing with him. "Why didn't you tell me, then?"

 

"Tell you what?"

 

"That you were undercover."

 

"It was mostly because I didn't want to put more risk to myself with being discovered and partly because of you."

 

"Me?"

 

"I think you can figure out why."

 

There was a small moment of silence where I think he expected me to say something – judging by the way he was looking at me, anyway – but since I honestly couldn't, I took it upon myself to take the conversation in a different direction.

 

"So...who's Archie, then?"

 

Greg sighed softly, his shoulders sagging as continued to struggle with his restraints. "Shouldn't we be coming up with a way to get out of this?" he said as he extended his arm toward me, reiterating the fact that he was currently attached to a bomb. Not to mention one he wasn't able to turn around and see it.

 

I raised my eyebrows at him. Personally, I wasn't in that much of a rush considering that Brass left us alone with a bomb that wasn't even activated yet. And contrary to what Greg may have thought, I was actually trying to undo the knots in the rope that was confining me to the poll.

 

"Something better to do than ask about me?" he asked.

 

"Actually, there is something I would like to do, but as...appealing as you look handcuffed..." I said, ignoring the look he sent my way, "to a bomb, we're too far away for what I have in mind. And we've already been sitting here for almost an hour. So, unless you have any better ideas-"

 

"Archie is my partner," he said quickly.

 

"Partner?" I asked, not sure to what extent Greg meant by the word.

 

"He's my friend and the one who's going to kill me if we make it out of here alive." He groaned as he closed his eyes, apparently not too happy with the idea of barely escaping death only to face it against at the hands of a friend.

 

I knew I wouldn't be.

 

"Aren't you going to ask me a question?"

 

"I'm afraid of the answer you might give me."

 

"You want to know if I'm single, don't you?" I said playfully, enjoying the stunned expression on Greg's face when the other man finally opened his eyes.

 

I had to pass the time somehow.

 

But it didn't take him long to recover, seemingly picking up on what I was doing. "If I say yes, will you tell me that you're almost done trying to get out of that rope?"

 

"If I say yes, will you let me kiss you again?"

 

"Mr. Stokes, I-"

 

"Nick," I interrupted, somehow figuring that if these moments holed up in a water plant were my last, I at least wanted Greg to say my name one more time, outside of a sexual context at least.

 

"Mr. Stokes," he said again, his tone firm and something I wasn't paying much attention to until I heard someone coughing behind me.

 

I turned around – well, as much I could, anyway – only to see Brass. And of course, Vartann was right behind him.

 

"Oh, I hope I wasn't interrupting your conversation, Mr. Stokes," Brass said disdainfully and I wondered just how much of my conversation with Greg he heard. "You'll have to forgive me if I did."

 

"Then, you'll have to forgive me for not noticing you," I said, not able to hide my own disdain as Brass moved toward Greg; kneeling beside him and making sure they were at eye level. Brass had his backed turned to me, but I only needed to see Greg's expression.

 

"It really is a shame, you know," Brass said, and I bit back a retort as he took hold of Greg's chin, his other hand flat against the control panel of the bomb and next to Greg's head. "I could have made you into something."

 

 Greg jerked his head away from him, causing Brass to laugh as he stood up, Vartann moving to stand beside him as they made their way towards me. Greg eyes widened, quickly darting between me and the bomb behind him. But it wasn't until Brass spoke that I realised why he even bothered to put himself so close to Greg in the first place.

 

A look of understanding came across my face.

 

Brass just activated the bomb.

 

"Ten minutes," Brass said as he read my expression. He paused thoughtfully. "Well, technically, it's nine minutes and a little over thirty seconds, but who's counting?" A small laugh escaped him, but this time I didn't appreciate his attempt at humour.

 

"Goodbye, Mr. Stokes," he said mockingly, giving me a slight bow with his head before turning to Greg. "...Pussy."

 

I saw Greg narrow his eyes; a flicker of anger in them and I could imagine the retort on the tip of his tongue. But before he had the chance to open his mouth, he was cut off by the sound of gunfire coming from the outside.

 

"Shit," Brass said crossly, clenching his fists as he began to run to the door. Vartann took a quick look in Greg's direction before taking off after Brass, who was evidently quick to forget about his right hand man. He went through the door without looking back, slamming it in Vartann's face and only leaving the resonant sound of it locking behind him.

 

The only thing keeping me from getting a smug sense of satisfaction at the thought of Brass leaving Vartann was the fact that Greg and I were stuck with the bomb, too. But I pushed away the thought after finally managing to release the knots in the rope and free my hands.

 

My first thought was to look to Greg because he was the one by the bomb. At this point, I knew even if I did manage to get Greg away from it, we'd still probably be caught in the explosion. And not to mention that even if I could escape, I couldn't just leave knowing that there were innocent people would die if I didn't at least try to do something.

 

But thoughts of disarming the bomb were put on hold when I remembered that Vartann was trapped in here, too, and apparently coming toward me. He looked at me menacingly, rubbing his brass knuckles together and I couldn't help but wonder why he was willing to put his life on the line for a man who couldn't care less if he was dead or alive.

 

Unfortunately, I had nothing to fight with and wasn't sure how much I could manoeuvre when I was surrounded by little pools of rushing water and backed into a corner. Vartann took another step forward; smirk yet to go away when suddenly he tripped. And then I noticed Greg pulling his leg closer to his body, a small smile forming on my lips as I made use of Vartann's temporary distraction.

 

Wading through the narrow walkways, I made my way behind Vartann. Not waiting until he was fully standing, I meant to punch him in the face, but ended up hitting him in the back of the head when he turned around. My face contorted in pain, I backed away when I realised it actually wasn't doing much to deter him and left me with a sore hand instead.

 

There's no way he had a metal – and I wasn't going to admit what kind of metal I thought it was – plate in his head.

 

Some part of me wondered if that was some kind of elaborate ploy he and Brass intended because it distracted me enough to let him hit me in the stomach and causing my back to make contact with a concrete wall.

 

But through my daze, I heard Greg call out my name. And though I felt more than a little dizzy, I could honestly say that the fact that Greg called my name while not in the middle of my attempt to have sex with him made me slightly more attentive. And while the thoughts beginning to run through my head were past the level of completely inappropriate, I was able to duck, quickly moving my body to the ground as Vartann took another swing; this time his fist hitting the wall where I once stood.

 

I rolled over, narrowly missing falling into the one of the pools of water before I scrambled to my feet, Vartann recuperating quickly and making his way towards me again; a snarl on his face. I had to think of something to disable him or at least get him out of the way for the time being. We probably had four minutes, give or take, before the bomb was supposed to go off and I didn't have time to waste with Vartann.

 

I grounded myself as he began to run at me, hoping to take a page out of Greg's book and use Vartann's own weight against him when Vartann and I made contact. I caught his arms when he tried to hit me, his brass knuckles barely missing my face and I grunted as I wrestled to keep him from pushing me over. I gritted my teeth when I was beginning to get some leeway, forcing him to take a few step backs until he was at the edge of one of the pools.

 

He gasped quietly, taking notice of his position and renewing his efforts to throw me off, narrowing his eyes at me and the fact that I wasn't going to be giving up just yet. I was counting down silently in my head and I was guessing that we probably had less than two minutes...if even that.

 

I grunted when I heard the sound of Greg rattling his handcuffs in the background; giving a final shove and pushing Vartann into the water. There was a small splash, the sound of the other man hitting the water, followed by a dulled thump as his head hit some kind of metal bar.

 

Ignoring the feeling of déjà vu, I took a moment to catch my breath, heart racing when I made way across the room to the bomb and fell to my knees beside Greg, who was still struggling to get of the cuffs.

 

"Damn it." I opened the control panel quickly, looking for some clue as to how to stop the detonation and trying not to be pessimistic when I looked down into a set of colourful wires. I felt an arm around my shoulder, sparing a glance to my right to see Greg beside me.

 

"How'd you get out?"

 

"I have skinny wrists," he said, and my hand hovered above a red wire as I paused to give him a strange look. "Never mind," he said, shaking his head. "Do you know how to disarm this thing?"

 

"Not really," I said, not able to ignore the slight panic that was creeping upon me.

 

"Not really?"

 

"I'm working on it, all right," I gritted out as my poised my hand over a green wire.

 

"Thirty seconds."

 

I felt Greg's quickened breath against my cheek, warm and oddly comforting considering that we were probably going to die pretty soon.

 

"Twenty-five seconds."

 

I stared at the timer in morbid fascination. Greg's grip on my shirt tightening as my eyes transfixed on the large numbers continuing to descend, the seconds ticking away faster with the change of each millisecond.

 

"Twenty seconds."

 

Desperate and out of options, I extend my hand to pull out the yellow wire when someone came from behind. Greg and I were pushed to the side as the person reached inside the bomb to flip a switch, the action effectively disarming the bomb and causing the timer to stop at 018 seconds.

 

For a moment, I felt boneless, practically lifeless and couldn't really bring myself to care about the irony about where the timer stopped.

 

Greg released a sigh in relief as he rested his weight against me; his head in the crook of my neck as he turned away from Archie. "Took you long enough," he said, his voice somewhat muffled as he spoke through the fabric of my shirt.

 

"If that's the gratitude I get, I shouldn't have even bothered to come."

It felt really – and I mean really – good to be in a new suit after having not showered or even changed for a day. Though, it wasn't really much of a respite since I shortly found myself in a hangar for the second time in three days. But at least I was being allowed to get some kind of sleep.

 

And though in actuality it was only three hours of sleep, it was three hours of sleep I didn't have before. So, I didn't really complain when Warrick called me two in afternoon and told me to leave my hotel room. It also helped that I knew Greg was going to be there, too, and given that we separated not too long after Archie found us in the plant, I was looking forward to seeing him, again.

 

I put my hand over my eyes, trying to shield myself from the sun as I walked into the hangar and towards two figures standing in a corner. I recognised Warrick immediately, standing next to a woman with long blonde that he'd introduced me to earlier this morning as Sophia Curtis.

 

It turned out that she was a detective hired by Ecklie to follow Brass when I went missing; the local authorities then becoming more interested in what Brass was up to. She and Warrick teamed up to search for me, Archie eventually joining and leading them to where Greg and I were in Houston – thanks to the homing device I gave Greg.

 

I really had to thank R next time I saw him...if I ever worked up the nerve to tell him I lost another car.

 

"About time," Warrick greeted me as Sophia nodded her head in my direction.

 

"Hey to you, too," I said sarcastically. I caught a glimpse of Greg and Archie from the corner of my eye, standing on the other side of the hangar. I turned back to Warrick and Sophia. "Where's Brass?" I asked, hoping he hadn't gotten away.

 

"No sign of him," Sophia answered.

 

I sighed in disappointment. "He got away?"

 

"For now, at least," she said, "but that doesn't mean we won't find him."

 

"He's going to be on every wanted list out there," Warrick added. "And I doubt he'll be able to hide for too long unless he tried to get out of the country. And considering his background as a cop..."

 

"Let's just say he made a lot of enemies," Sophia finished, crossing her arms and looking at me with determination on her face. It was easy to tell that the whole ordeal with Brass bothered her, especially she since actually worked with the police and his actions were extremely detrimental to the force.

 

"That doesn't do anything to make me feel better," I said, despite the confidence Warrick and Sophia had. The idea that I might run into Brass in the future really wasn't that appealing. And while he would probably lay low for a while because of recent events, I had a feeling being wanted by the Feds wasn't going to slow him down any time soon.

 

"Well, I do have good news," Warrick said. "Depending how you look at it," he added as an afterthought.

 

"I thought no news was good news?"

 

"The president wants to thank you," Warrick said, ignoring my comment.

 

"The president?" There was a hint of excitement in my voice. "Really?"

 

"Of the Houston city council," he clarified.

 

"Oh..." My shoulders sagged. "I risk my life to stop Houston from getting blown up and I couldn't even get something from the governor?" I asked, trying not to sound petulant. "What's the plane for, then?"

 

"He's in Dallas with the governor," Warrick answered.

 

"Coincidence?"

 

"Probably."

 

"And Greg is going with you," Sophia said, gesturing her head to where Greg and Archie were standing.

 

"He is?"

 

"Yeah, he was the one shadowing Brass the past six months," Warrick said, "passing information about what Brass was doing to us."

 

"We weren't worried about the copper sulphate. Greg had that taken care of," Sophia added. "But we were surprised about the nuclear device."

 

"He didn't tell me that," I said, surprised about hearing the how much Greg was actually involved and surprised that he could tolerate Brass for such a long time; if what I saw of the way Brass was treating him was something Greg had to contend with for those six months. "I wonder why-"

 

There was a familiar cry of pain and I cringed when I turned around to see Archie hit Greg on the back of the head, yelling at him in another language I wasn't going to pretend to know.   Some part of me was curious to know what was going on and another part of me was more partial to the idea self-preservation; having a feeling that if I did interfere, Archie wouldn't be too nice about it.

 

Because even though he did save my life, something told me that it was more about the lives at stake and maybe to an extent because Greg was in the in danger, too. Otherwise – agent or not – I doubted that he would any qualms about leaving me to myself.

 

Catching me starting, Archie turned to look at me sharply, his eyes narrowing and I quickly refocused my attention on Warrick and Sophia.

 

"Does that mean Archie's coming, too?"

 

**

 

"What was that thing with Archie about?" I asked Greg intently. Fortunately, Archie wasn't on the plane with us, but it didn't stop me from bringing him up in the conversation. He and Greg seemed pretty close and I was hoping that he wouldn't become an obstacle between Greg and me, or at least wouldn't try to dissuade Greg against me.

 

I was coming prepared this time and I was kind of planning to take a detour to the city after meeting with the governor and the city council president.

 

And Warrick was even nice enough to reserve a hotel room for me – maybe Greg, too – ahead of time.

 

"...you saw it?" Greg asked sheepishly.

 

"Yeah, well, it was kind of hard to miss."

 

Greg leaned forward in his seat, resting his hands on his knees as he shrugged his shoulders. "He was just being Archie – meaning he threatened to kill me if I risked my life like that, again; especially if it involved you." 

 

I tried to look offended, but the smile on his face took the sting out of his words. "Should I be insulted?"

 

"Only if you think you should be," he retorted.

 

There was a brief moment of silence before we both started laughing, the sound fading into dulled roar of the plane's engines as I stared at him for a little bit longer.

 

"So...what are you planning to do after this?" I asked as I leaned back into my chair. A surprisingly large part of me was hoping his plans had something to do with me.

 

He shrugged his shoulders, turning toward the window as he rested his head on his hand. "Go back to work behind the scenes. I'm not sure if I'm cut out for fieldwork, but I managed to use my background to get the chance to at least try it. You know, since no one thought trailing Brass would actually lead to anything."

 

"Then you really are a chemist?"

 

"Yep." He nodded at me. "I do have some basic field training, though."

 

"And they actually let you go undercover?" I asked jokingly, but not bringing up what Warrick told me earlier.

 

"With some persuasion on my part," he said, smiling brightly at me.

 

I snorted. "I don't doubt that."

 

"What about you?" he asked.

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Where are you going after this?"

 

"Hopefully on a real vacation," I answered, but taking in account how my last attempt to go on a vacation ended up, I wasn't really sure. Then again, I might not have met Greg otherwise.   "Somewhere isolated from-"

 

"Um..." he interrupted, looking at me curiously before turning back to look outside the window. "Why are we flying over the Gulf of Mexico?"

 

"Huh?" I quickly sat up in my chair, following Greg's line of vision out the window to see that we were in fact flying over a large, seemingly endless body of water. And since the closet body of water to Houston was in fact the Gulf of Mexico, I used the process of elimination.

 

Words were on the tip of my tongue but already forgotten when another voice interrupted me. And I couldn't help but sigh when I realised it was Brass...again.  This time, I wasn't even bothered to wonder how he boarded the plane in the first plane.

 

But it figures the first chance I had to relax in almost two weeks that something would come up.

 

"Not you, again," I said, not able to stop the groan that escaped me. If this was how he felt when I first began following him, I could now understand his frustrations in regards of the same person showing up wherever I go. And while I knew and accepted that he'd gotten away, I didn't think he'd be eager to make another appearance so soon.

 

But by this time I was pretty tired of this man and his unhealthy obsession with his last name, so I refrained from saying anything about the brass revolver he was holding in hand. Though, it was more or less because he was waving a gun around in a plane. That could also have something to do with it.

 

Just maybe.

 

"Stand up," Brass said, all traces of the calm he used to have around me no longer in his voice. He pointed the gun at me and then to Greg, who was closer to Brass than I was.

 

I stood up slowly, trying not to startle Brass. Greg was standing cautiously, as well, eyes never leaving the other man.

 

"I really can't get rid of you, can I, Mr. Stokes?" he said irritably, the gun in his grasp beginning to shake out of anger.

 

"They say the third time's the charm," I said, "but I'm not so sure about the fourth and fifth."

 

Brass smirked. "Then think of this as the final rendezvous between us."

 

I inwardly snorted, knowing better than to believe in an empty promise like that. The man was giving me false hope.

 

"Are you having dinner with the governor, too?" I asked; trying to distract Brass...or anger him further; something that would encourage him to make a mistake.

 

Brass growled at me before reaching out his arm to wrap around Greg's neck. I became tense when he put the revolver against Greg's cheek, cocking the hammer, the end of the barrel pressing into this skin. "In a few hours, I'll be in Cuba." He tightened his hold around Greg. "And this time will the last time you interfere with my plans, Mr. Stokes."

 

"As long as you don't plan on taking Greg with you," I said calmly.

 

Brass sneered at me before looking at Greg. "I should have known you were too pretty to be a crook."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Greg asked resentfully, giving me the chance I needed to try to talk some sense into Brass. Personally, I thought it was pointless, but it never hurt to try.

 

"You know that, uh...shooting that," I said as my eyes darted to the gun in his hand, "won't work out too well while we're in a plane. Something about explosives and depressurisation – right, Greg?"

 

"Chemistry is more my forte..." he said unhelpfully.

 

Brass snarled at answer, apparently not pleased as he shoved Greg to the side. While Greg landed on a chair, I quickly made my way to Brass, placing my hands around his arm as I tried to take the gun away from him. Clenching my teeth, I noticed Greg standing back up, ready to tackle Brass from behind. He looked at me before he actually did anything.  I managed to grunt out something I assumed sounded something along the lines of "not yet". I tried to gauge the situation because Brass' finger was precariously close to pulling the trigger and I wasn't sure if Greg surprising him would cause Brass to set the gun off.

 

But the decision was made for me when a bang sounded throughout the cabin, the bullet from gun going through one of the windows...a relatively large window.

 

I was taken by surprise when the plane took a sudden dip, air whipping around my face while everything not reinforced to the floor of the plane began flying around or at least was trying to go through the window; including Brass, Greg, and me. And while I knew that something like this could happen, it didn't mean that I experienced it before and wasn't necessarily prepared.

 

Holding on tightly to the armrest of a chair, I kneeled down against it as I looked to see Greg huddled behind a chair closest to the cockpit and furthest away from the open window. Brass was attempting to hold on to the cushion of a chair, his legs failing though the air; yelling as his grip starting to slip. Really, I couldn't say that I wouldn't have like to help him, but I couldn't risk being sucked in, as well.

 

But Greg was on the plane and I had him to think about.

 

Brass looked at me briefly his eyes pleading with me before he was finally forced to let go, screams disappearing into the atmosphere as his body flew through the window. I flinched when I saw his head hit one of the wings, barely able hear a clunk through the wind after he disappeared below the plane.

 

I was beginning to see a pattern here.

 

I nearly jumped when a felt a hand holding my wrist securely, looking up to see that Greg had somehow managed to make his way beside me. He manoeuvred us through the aisle, motioning for me to keep my head low as we entered the cockpit, where the air pressure didn't affect us as much.

 

He stood up quickly, letting go of my hand as he moved into the pilot's seat.   I glanced around the area to see that it was empty and realised that Brass must have been the one flying the plane. Though, how he learned to pilot one – no, it wasn't really the time to be thinking about that, anyway.

 

But it didn't stop me from having to push certain thoughts to the side when I stood behind Greg, watching as he grasped the control stick with both hands, knuckles turning white. I mean, I know that the plane is plunging to the ground, but at least if I died, I would have died a somewhat satiated man.

 

Though, common sense was starting to come back as the fact that Greg was trying pilot a plane finally hit me. "What are you doing?" I asked frantically. From the looks of things, it didn't seem like he had too much experience with flying at all.

 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked in annoyance, grunting as the plane titled to the side, almost causing me to fall to the floor.

 

"You don't even know how to fly a plane," I accused as I watched the air pressure gauge. It was continuing to rise as we continued to fall; registering twenty out of thirty. The altimeter next to it read two thousand feet fall and was still dropping rapidly. And while I admit I really didn't know how to fly a plane, either, I decided to emulate Greg because doing something was better than doing nothing.

 

Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him, my hands covering his as I tried to help him steady the stick; both of us attempting to pull it back. We were getting closer and closer to the water's surface and I didn't know what else to do.

 

"Doesn't mean I can't learn if it's a life or death situation," he said tersely. "I used to read about this stuff in books and it looked simple in theory."

 

"But what about in practice?"

 

**

 

I sighed contently as I watched the helicopter pass overhead; probably Warrick searching for us. I didn't doubt that he figured out what happened and he was now circling the area where the plane crashed into the water.

 

And as much I wanted to be rescued, I found being stranded on a small tropical island wasn't really that bad at all...actually, it was really nice.

 

I just needed to convince Greg of that, too.

 

I watched as he stood up quickly, almost tripping over the parachute as he began to take his white t-shirt off. And I would have been even more grateful for the view if he didn't start waving said t-shirt at the helicopter that came back around to circle the island for a second time.

 

Because honestly, there were more important things right now than getting off this island and I was going to do everything in my power to remind him.

 

"Oh, no you don't," I said as I pulled on Greg's ankle, causing him to stumble to the ground. I took advantage of his surprise and pulled him on top of me, wrapping my arms around him to keep him in place.

 

"Um, Nick..."

 

"Hmm?" I said absently, relishing in the fact that I was apparently no longer Mr. Stokes to him. It was a good feeling.

 

He looked at me as if I was insane, and maybe I was, but I really wasn't about to protest the claim right now. "You do know that there's a helicopter out there, right?"

 

"Uh-huh."

 

"That's probably looking for us?"

 

"I don't think they're going to stop looking for us any time soon."

 

"You really want to risk the possibility of starvation and dehydration for something you're not even sure about?" He peered down at me pointedly, raising his head slightly.

 

I raised my eyebrows in question, personally thinking he was exaggerating.

 

"You can't be serious."

 

But I was; especially when I remembered what I had in my pocket.

 

 I moved my hand to the back of his head, keeping my other arm around his torso as I ran my fingers through his hair. I leaned up slowly; taking his bottom lip in my mouth and wetting the dry, chapped skin before letting it go. "How about I know they'll keep looking for us for a little while longer?"

 

He didn't say anything about the kiss, only rolling his eyes at me. "I'm blaming you if I get sand in my pants over the course of the next four hours."

 

Only four hours?

 

Okay, I'd take what I could get since he already took off his shirt.

 

"Does it count if you're not wearing your pants, then?"

 

He rested his head on my shoulder, pausing as if to think the question over before lifting it to look down at me. "Yes," he said sternly.

 

Though, the tone didn't last long as I crushed his lips to mine, feeling him relax into the kiss as I felt his mouth curling into a smile against mine.

 

"I do have one question, though," I said after breaking away from the kiss. I needed to ask something that had been lingering in the back of my mind since I first met Greg. I knew it didn't really matter at this point, but I'd always had trouble not giving into my curiosity. "Did your parents really name you Pussy Galore?"

 

He smirked coyly at me and I knew I shouldn't have expected a straight answer from him, but the thought quickly disappeared when he pressed our groins together, creating a small amount of friction that left me desperate for more.

 

"You willing to stick around long enough to find out?"

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