All the air from Sam's lungs whooshed out in a painful torrent as images spiraled inside his head. The last time he'd seen Snitch Gravel... The rage, the pain, the coma...

That had happened long ago. Sam was a changed man. Snitch Gravel wasn't. He didn't look a day older, just... Tired. As if his life had suddenly become an exhausting mess, not as if he was the one causing it for someone else.

Sam fought not to cower, not to step back. He was wearing a disguise, he kept screaming it inside his head, though even in his wildest dreams, he didn't believe a mask would fool Snitch Gravel.

"Any particular reason you were hanging out my window, good sir?" Snitch Gravel asked, his tone pleasant.

Sam couldn't answer. Once the fear elevated, confusion and rage took its place. The man before him had put him in a coma. Killed his father. Saved his mother. And if he wanted to keep up the pretense Sam couldn't say anything about it. Not if he wanted to live.

"I didn't know this office, or this window for that matter, belonged to anyone," he answered, his voice drawn out.

Snitch Gravel's eyes narrowed. "True, I can't pretend to own the place. I'm merely a visitor, such as yourself."

"I do not believe we've met then. Howard Cummings." Sam reached out his hand.

Snitch Gravel's squint only deepened and Sam lowered his hand. They weren't pretending that much, apparently.

"I'd be careful where I choose to snoop around, Mr. Cummings."

"I'll keep that in mind." Sam turned around and headed for the door. If Snitch Gravel wanted to pretend he couldn't recognize him, fine by him.

"I'd also be careful what I do with potentially damning information."

"Not exactly the best person to talk about anything damning," Sam muttered.

"What was that?"

It was stupid. It was beyond stupid, it was insane, but he couldn't help it. The rage defeated the fear, so Sam turned to face Snitch Gravel, even if he was only a few steps from the door.

"Did life get boring?" he asked, not even trying to change his voice anymore. "Are you finally satisfied?"

The look on Snitch Gravel's face could cripple a lesser man, but anger had always been a powerful drive for Sam, so at the moment, he didn't give a shit.

"Everything stopped," he finally said, as if expecting Sam to know what everything was. "I think everyone noticed that."

"Oh yes, it did. Except you don't keep your dogs on their leashes properly." Sam nodded towards the room next door. "But I'll take care of that for you."

"You should be careful what you get yourself into."

There was nothing he could get himself into that was worse than this. The Agency, his father. Snitch Gravel himself. "Will it stay stopped?"

Snitch Gravel grinned in that old way of his, as if the game was breathing some life into him. "Now why would I tell you that, Mr. Cummings?"

"Maybe the world deserves some peace."

"Some people never do."

You don't. But in spite of bitter feelings, there was something else he felt the need to say. "Thank you."

Snitch Gravel's satisfied expression gave way to one of full surprise. "What for?"

"Not killing my mother." And with those words, he took the remaining steps to the door.

"Sam."

The sound of his name stopped him with one hand on the door handle. His other hand went inside his jacket, to the hilt of one of his guns.

"What?"

"What are they doing?"

Snitch Gravel didn't have to elaborate, Sam knew he meant the Agency, and the jewels more specifically.

"What are you doing?"

"A bit stuck, really, but I'm working on it," he said, his voice pleasant.

"So am I."

This was one of those extremely hard times when his curiosity fought his sense of self preservation. He was in the same room as Snitch Gravel who, Sam knew by now, could use that room to kill him. 

But even if he was perfectly aware of that, of the danger, he couldn't just walk away. It had happened many times before. Even after Snitch Gravel had Carlos killed, shot Sam in the stomach at point blank range, and, before this encounter, actually beat him into a coma, he still needed answers. And Snitch Gravel had always been the only one not to treat him like a brain-dead child. Or a potential liability.

"Did you ever visit Egypt?" he asked, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "I'm thinking of trying it next summer."

Snitch Gravel frowned. He stood silent, worrying on his lower lip discretely, as if giving the matter much thought.

"There's nothing for you there," he finally said.

Which meant there probably was. "That can't be true."

"Trust me, it is."

Nope, not going to trust the enemy ever again. "You were there, weren't you? You have the stone."

"Use your brain, kid. If I had the stone, I wouldn't need the others."

Sam tried not to look surprised, but this was new. Why not need the others if he planned to weaponize or monetize them in some way?

Snitch Gravel looked exasperated, as if Sam was particularly slow that evening, which was likely since he hadn't slept in forever.

"They want them," he said, as if to aid Sam. "How would they know they even existed, what they did, if they didn't have one?"

Good point. But Herrison had said Egypt had been a cluster fuck, and it sounded very true. Which left one alternative. Snitch Gravel found the stone while he was in the Agency, handed it over and then ran off with every information he'd gathered from there except that one lone photograph. Which meant all the answers were exactly where Sam thought they were. In an Egyptian tomb where one jewel had once been.

"Good point. Okay." And he pressed the handle.

"You're still going, aren't you?"

"You're stuck, they're stuck... Someone has to get you out of it." And with that, he turned his back on his enemy and was out the door.

His heart kept thundering as he made his way down the stairs at a leisurely pace, trying to compute what had happened. He'd been in the same room as Snitch Gravel and there had been no shooting, no shouting, no fighting... Weird and terrifying at the same time.

"Sam?" Skye said, snapping him out of it. "Where are you?"

"Coming for you." Because he'd seen her from the top of the stairs, brilliant and beautiful.

The moment he reached her, she took his hand and squeezed. She was scared, in way over her head, but dealing with it.

"I called the police," she whispered.

"We need a computer. I have damning evidence just sitting around my phone."

"I saw one in the DJ's booth. It's this way, in a private room."

Sam didn't bother to ask how she knew that, because knowing your surroundings was Secret Agent 101 and she was acing it.

They snuck inside the tiny room which only contained a table with the gear and a chair, and he busied himself with sending the photos and the recording of the conversation he'd picked up via messenger to both the police and the FBI using the DJ's Facebook account which was neglectfully logged in.

"This should do it," he mumbled. "I don't want them bursting in and forewarning the big fish. At least this way they'll know to be careful."

"Do you think it will solve anything?" she asked.

"More than just telling the Agency. You reported the rape too, right?"

She just nodded, then opened her mouth to add something, but it was cut off by the sound of the opening door.

"What are you two doing here?" a rough voice asked.

Sam raised his eyes as a tall, broad man strode towards the table, his hand drifting towards his back pocket. One glance was enough for Sam to tell he wasn't the DJ, both because he was slightly familiar and because Sam had just gotten off the man's account.

It took him one second to calculate the amount of danger he'd be putting Skye in before he decided to slide under the table and kick the goon in the gut the moment he came out the other end.

With a grunt, the man bent double, his gun hand lowering, a pistol clutched between his fingers. Sam spun to his knees and drove his palm up, hitting the guy's jaw full force. Then he grabbed the goon's wrist to immobilize his weapon and kicked the legs out from under him. It took Sam seconds to twist the man's arm behind his back, climb on top of him and zip-tie his wrists together. Then, one swift punch to the jaw left him unconscious, the useless gun still in his hand.

"Wow," Skye whispered.

"That's how you use the element of surprise," Sam said, panting a little. He shoved the man under the table with his foot and took her hand. "We need to get out of here."

She just nodded and followed him back out into the crowd and across the dancefloor, between interlocked couples.

"Wouldn't it be weird for us to make our exit right before the police get here?" she asked as they were halfway to the door.

Sam faltered because she had a point. Hurrying out now would surely draw some attention, and he was convinced there were cameras all around. This wasn't about him. It was about a pissed off Von Crooken being able to identify her. And no, that wasn't happening.

"Good point." He slowed down and stopped, as if all their hurry was just to identify the best dancing spot, then turned to face her and put one hand on the small of his back. "We need to act as inconspicuous as possible."

Skye just nodded, took his hand, and swayed along with him. Sam's adrenaline still ran high, but the ringing in his ears subsided enough for him to focus on the music and not move out of sync. Lady in Red. He huffed.

"What?" she asked.

"The song. Very fitting. Especially since I never will forget the way you look tonight."

She glanced at him with wide eyes, more beautiful than ever, and there seemed to be a glow around her.

Like an idiot, he felt the need to elaborate and ruin the moment. "You know, the lyrics."

The way she deflated broke his heart. "Yes, of course," she said, trying but failing to sound amused.

"I did mean it though. I won't." The effect was ruined and he was a moron. All he could do was hold her a little tighter.

He wasn't thinking straight. The effects of the energy drinks were long gone and he felt his head heavy, full of cotton. He was aware it was happening, but it was still hard to push past the barrier and focus properly.

What if Von Crooken left? What if Snitch Gravel decided that weird truce was bullshit and it was time for Sam, and everything he'd ever touched, to die? Then there was the matter of the DJ who could return at any moment only to find a tied up guy under his table.

"Maybe we should go," he whispered as the last chords of the song filled the air.

"Yes, maybe we should." Skye straightened.

She froze as soon as the next song started playing and Sam stopped as well. No way this was happening. It had been years since he'd last heard the song, and he used to really like it and found it so romantic. It was from a time without complications, a time without Christine.

"I love this song," Skye whispered.

"One more dance couldn't hurt." His hazy mind actually thought it was a great idea. Just like wrapping both arms around her waist seemed to be. He wanted to dance to this with her. 

She stuck herself against him, circling her arms around his neck and leaning her cheek against his. The softness of her skin was amazing, as was holding her as tightly as he wanted. The words of the song seemed to fill his heart and connect it to hers in some strange, sleep-deprived way.

"I don't know why, but I've always loved it," she muttered, tightening her grip on him.

"First time I ever heard it, Kyle sang it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you should hear him sometime."

"Looking forward to it."

It sounded like small talk, but it wasn't. He was inviting her into the family, into his life, and she was saying yes. Everything she'd done since they'd started this journey only proved that she was no longer just his therapist, but so much more.

She detached herself from him the tiniest bit, just enough to look him in the eyes. And all the starts in the world seemed to shine in hers. His head spun and his heart thundered,  and he didn't care about healthy and logical because at that moment, so much love filled his chest, he was sure it would explode into a burst of light and blind everyone in the building.

A few very focused men in suits entered the dance hall and headed for the stairs. Even in his haze, Sam's training was too well ingrained into his subconscious for him not to notice. The cavalry was here and it was their cue to get out. Just in time seeing as the song was ending.

"Shall we make our exit?" he asked pleasantly.

"Yes, please," Skye answered with a smile.

So, holding hands and leaning into each other like the closest of lovers, they took their coats, waited patiently for a cab, then disappeared into the night just as the sound of wailing sirens filled the air.

♠️

This was impossible. Yes, she was sleep deprived, and yes, she'd been through a lot in the past twenty four hours, but it didn't explain her behavior, the actions of her traitorous body.

After they'd escaped from the party miraculously unscathed, Skye had spent the entire cab ride leaning her head against Sam's shoulder, the song they'd danced to still playing in her head. Because what were the odds that he'd know it, like it, want to dance with her in such an intimate manner to it? 

They'd stopped at the inn to change back into their clothes and head for the train station. Sam had exchanged their tickets for a faster ride that would only take about sixteen hours instead of twenty four, then they'd spent the first two or so getting something to eat and discretely investigating if there was any danger on board. Then, once the coast seemed clear, they'd decided to take turns keeping guard, with Sam taking the first shift.

And yet... And yet... 

Here she was, in the tiny washroom right in their sleeping cart, looking into a mirror and refusing to wash the makeup off her face and undo her hair. Because Sam had mentioned in passing he'd never forget the way she looked that night. It was a joke based on lyrics from a tired old song about women wearing read. Why did it get to her?

You're not doing this. You're not going there.

Except she had, and the other side felt amazing, even if it was just play pretend.

Just coping, not real. You're just enabling him and you should stop because it's starting to get personal.

It had gotten personal a long time ago. With a tired sigh, she wiped the makeup off her face. It didn't matter anymore. The dream was over. In circumstances like this, she would usually psychoanalyze herself and find a logical explanation for her actions, intellectually justify her actions and desires. This time it was too easy. She'd been through so much. Images kept flashing before her eyes.

The biting wind on top of the train, sending a man over the edge of it and possibly killing him, jumping off the speeding train, that poor mess of a girl in the fancy bathroom at that party. Von Crooken's miserable face.

All of that had deeply unsettled her, so her mind was attempting to go into another direction, focus on the things that made it feel like their operation had been a success.

They hadn't been discovered, they'd called the police. Sam had held her so close, been so protective of her. He'd done so well, handled himself brilliantly even through exhaustion.

He didn't need her anymore. Which was a blessing because she could no longer be his therapist.

The thought put a damper on everything and turned what was supposed to be a victory into defeat.

With a drawn out sigh, she rounded the wall that separated the washroom from the sleeping area. Sam lay on one of the small cots, on leg and one arm dangling off the edge, and seemed to be fast asleep.

Even if he'd said he'd take first watch, she couldn't blame him. Unlike her, he hadn't actually gotten any sleep and he'd done most of the work. It couldn't be easy to constantly have to face a phobia and come on top. Plus, he'd told her about meeting Snitch Gravel.

No one should have to face in a lifetime what he did on a regular basis. She'd been so wrong about him, judged him so harshly. He was not a kid. He was a man. A very capable man, trying to make the best out of the shitty hand life had dealt him.

Skye sat on the floor, next to the cot, unable to take her eyes off his face. His hair still had grey streaks because he hadn't had time to wash it, but it was at least messy again, and his face was back to normal, without the prosthetics that had ruined an image she never knew she loved before she'd lost it.

He was so handsome. And so sweet and so proficient. The way he'd taken that goon out in a matter of seconds showed that he knew too well what he was doing. He was prepared and dangerous and she was a fool for finding it attractive.

But he was. Everything about him was, and as soon as she opened up to the possibility that he wasn't just some stuck up, spoiled brat with mommy issues, he'd completely sucked her in.

Like it had a will of its own, her hand moved to his forehead, caressing him. It made her feel better, even if it shouldn't. He could take it the wrong way.

Is it wrong if it's true?

She wanted to bang her head against something. Maybe it was the temptation of the forbidden fruit, maybe it was the adrenaline, but she was experiencing the dangerous symptoms of love. It will fade. Once you get out of this, it will fade.

It would break her.

There was another option. Maybe if she just got it out of her system... Only an exhausted mind could consider that a good idea, but she'd seen it happen before. With the forbidden fruit no longer forbidden, she could find that she was no longer drawn to him.

Plus, she'd been running her hand from his temple down his jaw and staring at his lips for a few good minutes anyway. She was a young woman and he was a young attractive man and it was perfectly justified that she'd want to kiss him when he was unconscious.

He'd surely let her if she explained. She knew him perfectly. And should it come to it, she'd own up and tell him. They'll probably have a good laugh about it.

Not that it mattered right now since she was already leaning over.

Her lips brushed his. Why were they so warm and soft? She'd gotten nothing out of the experience except the need to do it again. Feel something that would snap the need right out of her.

She kissed him again, this time lingering a little more, basking in the heat and strength of him. It was better. Much better, and pulling away was harder than before.

When Sam's hand touched her back, she jumped out of her skin. She pulled away a little to see his eyes open, even if hazy, studying her.

"Sam, I..." she whispered.

The corners of his lips lifted into a tiny smile and she knew he didn't care for an explanation. And at that moment neither did she.

She kissed him again, only this time, he kissed her back, wrapped his arm tighter around her and pulled her with him on the cot. There were no more explanations needed, no more things that had to make sense.

It was just an explosion of pure happiness in a tiny train compartment.

The heart wanted what it wanted, and Skye's heart wanted Sam.

♠️♠️♠️

I hope you had fun with this. I know I did!

So, it finally happened! Yes, I'm talking about the Snitch Gravel conversation. Nope, actually talking about Sam and Skye. Wow, so much stuff happening in this chapter.

Or maybe it was all a dream. I am capable of that, aren't I?

So, what do you think? Consequences? We'll have to find out!

Vote and comment for support!