I stare morosely at my half empty glass of whiskey. I feel like an amateur. After years in MI6 I have just started on CI5, and after learning the ropes in Britain, Malone decided it safe enough to dump me abroad.

To the States. I don't even know what offices are involved in this operation. I work with the Feds and the local police, but I know even military is involved. And all I do is "observe" and report to Malone.

Like a kid learning by looking at the adults. I don't like feeling like this. How have I wronged Malone?

I spent all day tailing one guy, and only useful information I gathered was this one phone number. Unenthusiastically I reported to my "co-workers" here (more like "those who do all the work while 'I just work here' because CI5 wants a piece of this"), and equally unenthusiastically they received my information.

Guess they knew it already. Not that they would tell *me*.

Okay. Things aren't actually as bad as I've said, I *am* a part of this operation, but hell, I still feel bloody useless. Why did they insist on CI5 co-operation if they don't want us in?

So, they have me around doing things that a normal street cop could do. So I find myself drowning my sorrows into a whiskey in a hotel bar after an *interesting* day.

Screw whiskey, I want to get laid.

With that thought I let my gaze travel around the bar. Mostly uninspiring business men or young couples, few women who have the look of a professional (no, won't sink that low), and on the door... Wow! Wouldn't mind a piece of that.

He's standing in the doorway, obviously searching for someone. His beautifully formed body is covered in black - jeans, tight-fitting black sweater, leather jacket. His hair is brown, just in between light and dark, short and spiky. His lips are carved as if made for kissing. I'm drooling.

And as his eyes turn to the bar I notice even from this distance that they are blue. They meet my gaze for a fleeting second, and I turn away. I don't blush. Sam Curtis never blushes. And yet my cheeks feel oddly hot.

I try to concentrate on my drink. Suddenly I realise he's sitting down next to me. I hear him order a beer with a soft hard-to-place American accent.

He drinks it in silence. I look at him from the corner of my eye, and what I see makes me just want him more. Sitting down the jeans fit even tighter around his thighs. Should I risk it?

But hitting on women is ever so much easier. There you have a greater chance of the matching sexual orientation. Well, I don't have to worry about getting beaten up (by a one man? Bah.), but...

But I don't want this man to look at me with disgust.

Besides, suddenly, I wouldn't even know how to start. Cool, suave, cultured Curtis can't come up with a thing to say! Now I *truly* feel like an amateur. Tongue-tied teenager on a first date... Jesus, the man would kill me if he knew of my thoughts!

His mobile is ringing. He doesn't even answer with his name. Now that's helpful! Obviously whom ever he was supposed to meet didn't make it due to "personal" matters. Business. Good, not a date, then.

After disconnecting, he stares at his bottle looking as gloomy as I felt earlier. I have to laugh.

"You look exactly how I feel."

He looks at me, and at this distance his eyes look even bluer. Close your mouth, Curtis, before the drool spills out!

Then he smiles, and that reveals a pair of dimples. Jesus fucking Christ, this isn't real. He's perfect!

"All alone and miserable, too?"

"Yeah. Stranger in a strange land and all that..."

"Yeah. British?"

"Hard to tell, huh?" I smile, just to make him smile back. Not sure how much more I can take, though. His smile makes my insides do funny things.

"Well, I'm not exactly at my home ground either... I'm in this damn town to take care of some business with my friend, and then he decides to spend the night with some gorgeous blonde rather than with me discussing the deal. I'm Chris, by the way."

"Sam."

Silence, broken by a herd of Japanese tourists on the door, flowing in to fill the bar.

"Fuck me! This is *not* happening! Just what I needed," he turns away from the door and raises his eyebrow, "Wanna grab a table? Out of the way, hopefully. Tourists are something I can't bear... No offence, of course."

"None taken. I'm not exactly a tourist as such anyway..."

So we move to a table, out of the way, hidden behind massive plants. Too intimate... One could do anything here...

We talk about nothing in particular, and I'm surprised at how easy it is to talk to this man. And we seem to find lots of things to talk about, regardless of everything.

I can't of course talk about my work, but after telling people I work for the government, they immediately think of a stuffy office and leave it at that. Chris is no different. He is equally silent about his own job. "Buying stuff here..."

I don't know how many beers he has downed, or how many glasses of wine I have, but I know I'm not even drunk when I suddenly blurt out after one of his flashy smiles:

"Jesus, those dimples should be classed as a dangerous weapon!"

I'm shocked, but before I have time to make amends his smile just widens.

"Those eyes should be illegal."

Say what? Before questioning what's happening I lean forward and kiss him. And he kisses me back. I feel his hand come up to my hair, and let mine travel to his back.

I was right, his lips *are* made for kissing. And he's good at it. Our surroundings fade as our tongues duel... and then an insistent sound breaks through.

I swear I'm not the only one growling in frustration when he answers his phone.

"Gideon? You have *got* to be joking! Oh, fuck, I'm on my way."

Even as talking he has produced a pen from his pocket and scribbled something on a piece of a paper.

"Hold on a sec," he says to the phone and looks at me.

"I have to go, I'm so sorry. Call me," he gives me the paper, and leans in to kiss me once again, "Call me," he repeats, with almost desperate tone. Then he tears his eyes away and walks through the bar talking to his phone.

My lips are tingling. My whole body is on fire. Hell, now I'm *dying* to get laid. But I want no one else but Chris. I empty my glass with one gulp and get up, clutching the piece of paper. Call him? You bet. My work here doesn't take that much of my time, but will hopefully go on for days and days. I *have* to get that man.

Upstairs, in my room I take out my calendar, and start to write his number down. My pen falters as I notice the phone number I wrote down earlier, the number my target called. It's the same number.

"Buying stuff?" Like guns? O, fuck.

* * *

I can't sleep. I toss and turn and think about Chris. Maybe I'm wrong. It *could* be a mistake. He might be an innocent, just caught up in all this.

I know I should contact my so-called co-workers.

Sod it. They don't tell me much, why should I tell them. I could do my own investigations... In his bed? Well, why not. He wouldn't suspect me...

I try to think with my head, but I hate to say that other parts of my body seem to take control.

What it all boils down to is... I fell for him. Seriously. I don't want to think bad of him, and if I must... I can't be the one to bring him down. I try to think of all the kids that get gunned down in the States every year, and all I see is his smile, complete with dimples. He wouldn't... He couldn't...

Screw this.

* * *

Fortunately my day is as interesting as the previous, and I just sit in a car with a young FBI guy, keeping an eye on one building. How thrilling.

My companion isn't big on conversation, either. I don't mind. I couldn't keep my thoughts in one place long enough to contribute anyway. As we hand over the surveillance to the next team I retreat to my hotel room. (CI5 usually uses cheap motels. I wonder who's taking care of the expenses this time.)

There I finally give up and grab my phone.

"Chris? Hi... It's Sam. I..."

"Thank God. I've been cursing myself here for not getting your number..."

"So..."

"So... You wanna come over?"

I scribble down his address, and change my clothes in a haste. I want to look my best, of course, but I have this feeling I won't be wearing them for long anyway.

Following the procedure I should inform the others of my whereabouts. Screw it. I don't believe that an all-important breakthrough is made during the next few hours, demanding my presence to an end fight. We are still in an information gathering phase, after all.

Chris lives in a seedy part of town, to put it nicely. Must be cheap... He opens the door immediately after my knock, and then we just stand there, staring at each other.

He snaps out of it first. "Sorry, come in."

The apartment consists of two rooms and a kitchen. It looks... unlived. No personal items save clothes around. We resume our staring in the sort of a living room.

"Umm... a drink?"

He seems as uncomfortable and lost as me, so I decide to end our misery, and move closer to kiss him. Good decision, I have time to think before I let myself drown in the sea of pleasure.

I don't even notice we have moved to the bedroom, before I feel myself stumbling on the bed. My jacket and shirt have disappeared on a way. Good, then, that I left my gun at the hotel.

My hands are ripping his clothes as enthusiastically, and I'm kissing him with all I've got. His lips, his neck, his chest... Phone.

No. Way.

He curses, and gets off me, off the bed, and answers the phone on the other side of the room. He is wearing only his jeans, zipper half open, and in the light from the window I can see what I've done to his neck.

"Chris, " he mutters to the phone. "Tricia! Umm, baby, *not* a good time."

I bet not. Girlfriend? Wife? I feel like an idiot lying half-naked on the bed, panting.

"Let's put it this way: if I don't get back to bed right now, I'm going to die."

Huh? Okay, hardly a girlfriend or a wife then. Or then it's a really open relationship.

"Yes, he's worth it," he smiles, shooting a glance at me.

*Really* open.

"No, really in no condition to talk to a three-year-old!"

Ex-girlfriend, or ex-wife? Kid? His?

"Tough luck, fathers you can choose, uncles you can't."

The amount of relief I feel is ridiculous. He's just a guy I met yesterday, fuck today, and say good bye to tomorrow. I can't feel jealous of any woman in his life. I can't feel... He's finished his call and turns back to me, smiling apologetically.

"I'm sorry. Wouldn't have answered if I'd known... Thought it was work."

The mention of work affects me like a cold shower, and I'm ready to get up when he stalks back to me.

"Now where were we?" and then his lips are back on mine.

And I can think of nothing but him, and the sensations he creates.

* * *

It takes me a while to realise where I am when I wake up. It's still dark. My watch says it's two a.m. and I'm alone in Chris' bed. I didn't even notice I fell asleep!

Well, I was exhausted. The sex was... mind-blowing. I can't remember the last time it felt so good, so right.

And was so wrong.

I can feel the doubts raising their ugly heads. Where's Chris? I need him to silence them... I hear muffled sounds from the living room, and get up putting my boxers on.

I pause at the door. Chris is standing in the living room, by the window, wearing his boxers and talking into his mobile.

"CI5 are mixed in this now? Jeez. --- Yeah, heard they're good. -- well, they'd better. If they cause this to fuck up... I'll hunt them down one by one, and kill them slowly and painfully. -- I don't care! This means more to me than I can ever... -- Yeah, yeah. Just business. -- Tomorrow. It ends tomorrow, I hope. Just... be there, Nat."

After the call he just stands there, shoulders slumped, desperation evident in his form. I feel just like that. So it's true. He's mixed in all this, and willingly. He's contemplating of hunting down and killing every CI5 agent. Should I tell him I'm one of those? I think facetiously, but bitterness takes over soon.

Great. Of all the men in the world I fall for someone I should loathe - and kill. Tomorrow? What happens tomorrow?

"Chris..."

He turns around too fast and almost trips over.

"What's up?" I try to sound nonchalant.

"You came into my life in a really bad moment, Sam... At any other time... Next week, anything. Right now, I..."

I go to him.

"Maybe I came to your life in a right moment."

He looks at me, and I wrap my arms around him. I feel him hug me back. It has nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with closeness. I can't lose this!

"Whatever it is, don't do it!"

"I'm sorry, Sam... I must... Whatever it costs me... I have to. I owe it to..."

He kisses me with desperation, and I find myself answering.

"Please... I don't want to mix you in this. I think you should go..."

"Yeah," I swallow, "Is there anything I could do?"

"No... You've given me so much already. You've given me hope... beauty I thought no longer existed. Shit, I sound all mushy, and I can't even explain!"

I retreat to the bed room and dress up. He is still standing in the same position when I return.

"We'll never see again?"

My words seem to hurt him. He closes his eyes.

"If you knew all that I am..."

"I don't care!" I can hear the desperation in my own voice, but don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. Guns, Feds, CI5, Malone, cops or robbers. All I care about is Chris.

I just wish we could leave together, run away from everything. But my professionalism wakes up again. It wouldn't work. And tomorrow it all ends, and I'll shoot him if I have to. That simple.

He walks me to the door. There we stop and he traces my cheek with his fingers. The tenderness of the movement and his expression takes my breath away. This guy is in weapons business?

"Thank you, Sam, for more than you realize. I just wish..."

"I know."

Last kiss, and I'm out of the door.

Must be the wind that makes my eyes prickle, and moisture escape from them. Must be.

* * *

It's past three as I walk into my hotel room. Almost immediately the phone rings.

"Curtis? Where the hell have you been? Get your ass here."

Great. Nathaniel Murray, the FBI guy who organises the co-operation between different organisations. "Here" means our headquarters in an empty office building on the other side of the town.

As I step out of the cab block away from it (old habits die hard) I realise I can still smell Chris' aftershave on my shirt. I should've changed. But Murray did say "immediately".

"So glad you could join us, Mr Curtis. Now, we have received new information, and the operation is about to end. The deal is..."

"Going on tomorrow." I interrupt. From Malone that would've earned me a "don't be cheeky", but Murray just stares at me open-mouthed.

"How did you know?"

His expression turns to appreciative. "Well, guess what they say is true. CI5 takes only the best... You're right. We have the location, and the time. All we need to do is show up and take in both parties."

"And should there be problems... we still have one card left in our sleeve."

* * *

Sounded simple enough. That would be why I'm standing here in a bulletproof vest, hands in the air, army of thugs behind me, and the rest of the law enforcement officers present in a similar position.

Someone screwed up! There weren't supposed to be this many people around.

And I'm hurting inside. In front of me I see not only our main target, an arms dealer known as Cain, but his second in command as well. Chris.

"Ah, so glad you could join us," Cain smirks. His clients look puzzled. "Nothing to worry about, gentlemen... just a couple of Feds and stuff to test the merchandise on."

Oh, great. Now *Chris* gets to kill *me*.

But Murray just smiles. It seems to infuriate Cain, who raises his rifle and aims it at him, when...

When Chris aims his gun at Cain and smiles slightly.

"Drop it. And while you're at it, tell your men to drop their guns."

What? I feel as dumbfounded as Cain does.

"Christopher Robin! What the fuck are you playing at!?"

Chris smiles still, and shakes his head.

"Christopher Robin Keel. Yes, I thought you might recognize that... You've killed enough of that name, haven't you?"

After that it's all easy. Without their leader the thugs are all out of fight. After cuffing my share I turn to look at Chris and Cain again.

Chris is still pointing him with his gun. But he's not just guarding him... his eyes spell murder. Murray tries to talk to him.

"Chris! If you shoot him you cross the line! I can't protect you if you do! He's unarmed, a prisoner."

"I don't care," his voice is devoid of all emotion, as is his face. He scares me.

"Chris. It's not worth your life!"

"It is! Nat, he killed Teresa!" now his face is filled with fury and pain.

I don't even realise that I'm moving before I'm standing next to him.

"Chris..."

I don't know what else to say, how to convince him, but it seems to be enough. He turns to look at me with a start, and lets his gun hand drop. Murray stares at us, astonished.

I take Chris' gun.

"Whatever it is, don't do it," I smile, echoing last night, and he smiles back.

"Guess we did meet again," he smiles back, "and I can't even feel surprised."

"You know each other?" Murray asks.

"Sort of... Didn't expect to see him here, though."

"Sam is the guy I told you about, our CI5 contact. Chris was our hidden card, borrowing from the SEALs, working undercover for past months..."

"Borrowing? I think I begged you to take me in..." Chris smiles, glancing bitterly at Cain, who is being escorted out, shouting curses to Chris.

"Well, I couldn't have you going after him on your own, now could I?"

* * *

Reports written, celebration held, Chris and I escape to do a bit of private celebration.

Afterwards, lying in his bed he tells me he's had an offer from CI5 as well.

"Then you must be really good," I tell him.

"I am," he smiles back.

"I know," I smirk, and he hits me with a pillow.

"Not just in bed!"

After a quick pillow fight and bit of kissing I ask him if he's thinking of accepting.

He looks thoughtful.

"Yeah... I think I'm ready to move on... from the SEALs, as well as..." he looks sad for a moment, and I wonder if it has something to do with this "Teresa", but before I have a chance to ask he smiles to me, dimples and all.

"I like what I've seen of the organization so far!"

What else can I do but kiss him?