"Ah, fuck!", you hissed and pulled your hand back as a burning pain made the skin itch. "Fuck, that wasn't the right one..."

Angered, you stared at the strangely shaped and alarmingly coloured blossoms of a plant while its poison was making the back of your hand grow red blisters.

Steps approached.

You looked up, only to meet Adler's shades.

His face was covered in dark paint again, but this time he wasn't wearing any gear. In fact, he was wearing very little, only his pants, boots and the glasses. His entire chest was covered in the same paint that his face was.

Surprised by the sight, your eyebrows rose.

"You stole my hat and still manage to get a sunburn?", he asked with a cocky smirk.

Annoyed, you pulled a face and started chewing on your hand to get rid of the deadly itch.

"It's not a sunburn!"

He watched for a moment, visibly amused and pointed at the plant.

"Touched that?", he asked.

"Obviously.", you hissed. "Fuck!"

Huffing, he pulled out a can of sweet, sugary soda and cracked the lid.

The prickling sound of carbonic acid filled the air.

"Here.", he offered the can to you.

"What am I supposed to do with soda?", you raised an eyebrow. "I'm not thirsty. Besides, it's too sweet. Don't like it."

For a moment, Adler stared at you.

"You're a weird one.", he said and grabbed your hand to pour the brown liquid over it. "First you're always late, because apparently there are no watches. Then you take my shit and on top of that you don't smoke, nor drink soda? You're a lousy American."

You gifted him a smile.

"I am, no?", your eyes narrowed. "Why the hell does that work?"

He shrugged.

"No idea."

"How did you even find that out?"

"You don't want to know."

"I do, actually. Humour me with some stupid story.", you leaned back to sit in the grass.

If there was one thing you had learned while being in Vietnam it was that hiding in plain sight basically made you invisible.

You had always hid between the tall grass, not just to hide from Americans who could disturb you in sending coded messages to the Soviets, but also because it gave you joy to see how people freaked out when you appeared out of nowhere.

After a few weeks, it had become a habit.

Lighting a cigarette, Adler sat down beside you to hand over the, now, halfway empty can.

"Sure you don't want to try?", he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Was hard to get it. People treat it like liquid gold."

Rolling your eyes, you snatched it from his hand and sipped on it.

"Tastes like pure sugar...", you mumbled but kept drinking for the show. "So?"

"What?"

"You've got a story to tell. About the plant."

He huffed.

"That... well, funny, but also nasty."

"I'm listening. Got all day... Or are we planned for a mission?"

He shook his head.

"All clear for today."

"Adler."

"Hm?"

"The story."

"Right. Well, let's just say that Woods is more picky with the places where he wants to take a dump now."

A snort escaped you. Downing the last gulp of soda, you turned to Adler, not being able to hide a broad grin.

"He sat in it?", you asked.

He nodded, a little amused himself.

"Used it as toilet paper replacement as well. His entire ass was covered.", he let out a deep breath. "The soda was Sims' idea."

"Why would anyone have the idea to pour soda over someone's ass?"

He shrugged.

"It worked."

"Yeah...", you scratched your hand. "I can tell."

For a moment, silence spread between the two of you.

All Adler did was sit and blow out deep breaths of smoke. A few strands seeped out of his slightly parted lips. His tongue moved, as of it was checking every single tooth for damage.

You watched him, how he carried himself, how his eyes moved.

He was well build, with a narrow chest and broad arms. You had found him appealing already then, but after the war he had gained some weight and muscles and had turned out to be a lot more handsome than you had first expected. His hair growth had also returned, probably surpassed due to the stress of war.

Back then, his chest had been completely naked. Only his arms were as hairy as ever.

"You'll get on the team.", Adler said after a while and put out the cigarette in the sand. "I want you in."

Surprised, you looked at him.

"You guys need a medic?", you asked.

His mouth moved. The tip of his tongue peaked out from his mouth to draw a line over his dried out lips.

"No. But I requested your files. It says you're also trained in close combat."

"I am. Was a pain in the ass when they told me I'll be a medic. Cannon fodder. They always die first."

"Then you should be pleased to hear that I need someone on the team who has medical experience but doesn't need protection."

You nodded, not being able to deny that.

"So... what am I?", you asked. "A loan?"

"Not if you don't want to be.", he got up and cleaned the dirt off his pants.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's an invite. If you want to, the CIA is willing to hire on my request. MACV-SOG, agent on time. If you do a good job I might want you to stay afterwards. If you don't, you just go your way and we'll never meet again."

A cocky smirk appeared on your face.

This was the jackpot.

Not only was Russell willing to put a good word in for you, you'd also be a CIA agent, inside the very unit that caused your people the biggest problems in Vietnam so far.

This wasn't just lucky. This was a one in a lifetime coincidence.

"You have no idea how in I am.", you pulled yourself up by grabbing his leg for support. "I'd be an idiot to say no."

Pleased, he nodded.

"Exactly what I wanted to hear."

What a fool he was to invite the enemy into his own house.