No-one noticed as we climbed through the window of a vacant deck of the ship. It was a restaurant not yet open to passengers, the only sign of life being our pairs of footsteps and the streaks of light from the chaotic kitchen next door, where metal clanged, chef's yelled and stoves roared.

            Barnes was strolling between the tables a few aisles away from me, head held high as though the two of us hadn't just escaped a violent standoff at the docks. His hands stayed loosely in his pockets, shoulders slumped in a carefree manner.

            "Are you alright now, agent?"
I tore my eyes away from his hands. "Of course. Why do you ask?"
The corner of his mouth curled into a playful smile and my stomach flipped with anticipation. "Because you seemed a little hesitant up on that roof."
"Of course I was hesitant," I replied. "Not everyone is too thrilled at the concept of throwing themselves off a roof."
A chuckle. "I think you're afraid of heights."
Even for Barnes, it was a pathetic attempt at tugging my tolerance. The fear I had on the roof did not reside within something so simple as a phobia of heights. "I'm not afraid of heights," I argued. "Just not a fan of falling to my death."
"Liar," he cooed.
I frowned. "And I would lie about that because...?"
"Because you're embarrassed."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"I'm—!" Falling for the trap. I even managed to recognise it beforehand. "You do this on purpose"
"Because you're so easy to rile up!"
I sped up my walk, letting out a scoff. "A literal child."
"Pfft. Child," Barnes grumbled, trailing behind me with a pout. "I'm not a child."
"Keep telling yourself that," I whistled. "Maybe one day someone might believe you."
"Look at me, Knight." He gestured to his body, halting his feet on the ground. "Is this the physique of a child?"

            I spun around, looking him up and down with a contemplative frown while walking backwards.
He lifted the base of his shirt with two fingers, fully aware of how his jacket casted sculpting shadows over his torso. "I mean, really?"
He laughed at the eye roll as I turned around to hide my blush. "I will agree with you on that, but it's hard to take in you physically when I'm fully aware you possess the brain of a twelve-year-old schoolboy."
Barnes snorted. I caught his shadow tailing behind me. "Did you hide an insult in a compliment or a compliment in an insult?"
"I think I'll let you decide that for yourself."

            His shadow paused behind me before hurrying to catch up.

            "Alright, Agent I know you're not really afraid of heights," he said. "So tell me: what are you really scared of?"
I shrugged, glancing over my shoulder. "Nothing."
"Everyone's afraid of something. Come on, agent." He stopped in his tracks, brows raising to challenge me. "Let it out."

            Turning away, I released a long breath, finding some other focus. I ran my palm over the cotton table cloth as I passed the final row of dining tables, sweeping it off the end.

            "Snakes," said Barnes.
I rotated around. "Snakes?"
"Snakes. Bloody hate those things."
A shallow choice. My lip quirked, not in a mocking way, but in surprise. "What did snakes ever do to you?"
"Nothing at all! But some people are just born with senseless fears, aren't they? I just find them weird. Like... tails with eyes. They're just—" He shuddered. "Horrible!"

            It was so mundane. So simple. The humiliation of confessing my own – of being controlled, of losing the power I held over my own life – was too much for me to admit it to him.

            I was not entirely lying when I chose a different answer. "Needles," I replied, stopping in front of the door to turn and face Barnes. "I... have a fear of needles."
He frowned. "Why?"
"I think I've confessed enough today."
"No, sorry! I'm not trying to push you. It's just that... you break through the boundaries the human body sets all the time. I expected something less invasive, I suppose. No offence, of course."
"None taken." I crossed my arms. "But what do you mean when you say I 'break the boundaries?' Give me an example."
"The Agent Riley incident back in 2012. From what I heard, that poison should have killed you, Knight."
He must have noticed my gaping mouth, as his shut promptly when we locked eyes for a second. "You know about the case."
"A lot of agents lower down the levels do." He wrung his hands together, looking from me to the door. "We talk a lot about the bigger cases and your name has cropped up a fair bit."
"Oh." I was unsure of how much I cared for that knowledge, and decided against asking for how others received it. "How much do you know about it?"
"Agent Riley was a traitor," he replied. "I don't know who she was to you, but her treachery shook the agency. I was lucky to not be fired for it."
I frowned. "Why would you be fired for something Annabelle Riley did?"
"Because we're the disposable agents." He huffed a laugh. "Numbers were cut to root out potential traitors. If I wasn't recruited directly, I would have most likely lost my job in the aftermath of that case."

            Alistair was on the warpath that day. I spent weeks on medical leave, then months afterwards back in training, never to see the agency again until the ripples of the scandal were all but invisible to my oblivious eyes.

            "I'm sorry," I said, feeling the squeeze of guilt in my chest.
"It wasn't your fault," he assured.
"No, it—" I stopped myself. I feared he was ready to press further, but he only smiled.
"Don't worry. Looking at me, it's obvious that Alistair didn't root out the real traitors, right?"

            I had no words for how to respond to that. Was he joking as much as he implied? His tone cracked with the honesty of emotion. Remorse, maybe.

            I pushed open the door to enter the hallway packed with passengers, immediately hit with a wave of touristy chaos.
Barnes's sarcasm played on my mind, making me ask, "Why do you hate Alistair so much?"
He grumbled a sigh. "The man's a bastard."
That struck a chord. "Look, I know he can be difficult—"
"It's not just him being 'difficult,'" he spat. "He may say that he does, but he has no care for his agents. None."
Alistair did what was best for us – for his country. He understood that sometimes bad things happened to agents, but he mourned every single one of them. Collins had even said before starting this mission that the Director was having disagreements with how used the agents were. "He gives us choices," I argued. "He does care."
"For you, maybe. For the agents that matter. You only get the freedom you have because he knows you agree with his every word."
That was wrong. He didn't know the Director like I did. His methods could be cold, some deeming him ruthless, but he would never have treated his agents with anything but respect. "That's unfair."
"I don't want to start an argument." He held up a hand. "But when Alistair finally trusted me enough to lead a high-risk mission abroad, it went horribly wrong. Even so, your Director still got what he wanted and I was promoted. I've hated the man ever since."

           I frowned. If Alistair got what he wanted, the mission can't have gone as badly as he insisted. And to hate him for a promotion... "You can't hate him for highlighting your achievements," I replied, holding back my tone.
"You weren't there," he said, an edge to his voice. "What happened on that assignment was not an achievement."

***

Silence clung onto us as we weaved our way through the shopping corridor on our way to find a bar, muttering apologies to passengers that collided with us while staring at the cases of diamond jewellery and designer handbags, reaching for their wallets and purses mindlessly to purchase souvenirs holding little relevance to the coastal town they had just left behind.

            Barnes and I were stiff as we walked, the two of us equally aware of how uneasy it was to let the argument hang over our heads as it did. Neither of us spoke anything regretful, eliminating the need for an apology on both our parts, but it was needless to say the disagreement struck a wedge that reminded us of our place regarding one another.

            But, as Barnes had once said, travelling together was more pleasant if we were at least civil.

            To my appreciation, Barnes spoke first.
"How's that shoulder?" he asked.
"Better," I replied, touching it on instinct. A dull ache still pulsated now and then as the morphine in my system ran low, but my senses had returned to their full sharpness.
"Good." Barnes smiled. "I didn't want to have to carry you again."
I tutted, grateful for that strand of playfulness that returned. I tugged on it. "I'm sure you would not have done that if you didn't want to."
"Are you flirting with me, Agent?"
I groaned. I was reckless to take that chance – to think he could see the difference between flirting and a harmless tease to lighten the mood. "No," I replied.
"I think you are."
"I am not." I sped up my walk, making Barnes laugh.
"I honestly do think you are."
I turned back around, not anticipating me being so close that his sigh brushed my eyelids. "I am not," I insisted.
"Aw, don't worry Knight. You're cute when you flirt."
"I wasn't—" I blinked, staring dumbfound at his deep dimples and lack of realisation. "Cute?"
It hit him. His dimples bloated, smile vanishing. I watched him for some kind of response, the silence tying us together. There was no correct way to reply to this.
He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, slowly nodding, accepting his fate. "I... said that. I just called a Senior Agent... cute."

            I could not recall a time I was referred to as that word and the source did not end up regretting it at some other time. I gawked at Barnes, who was just as confused as I was. Should I have been flattered? Offended?Every instance in which I had been called 'cute' I had taken insult, but when Barnes said it I was only... perplexed.

            We locked eyes and something sparked, the two of us snapping our gaze away.

            A noise escaped my throat and Barnes fell back on his foot. "Are we going to this bar, then?"
I forced a cough. "Great idea."
"Let's go."
"I'll lead."

            My boots thumped against the plastic floorboards as I brushed past Barnes, shivering as the fabrics of our jackets tugged on one another.

            We only had a few hours left before we arrived back in London.

***

Only a dozen passengers filled the oak stretch of deck that housed the bar. It was of an archaic design despite the rest of the ferry's modernity, resembling the centuries-old countryside pubs made of stone and wood that Scotty grew up surrounded by. He had taken me to one a few years back, but it was far damper and draughtier than the dressed-up version held by the ferry.

             "I'll go to the bar," said Barnes.
"You don't have any money," I replied.
"True." He glanced between me and the bar, saying nothing. It was my idea to go for a drink in the first place.
I handed over a £10 note. "Just a Diet Pepsi for me. You buy whatever you wish."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course."
He smiled. "If I can pay you back in London, I will."
"There's no need," I assured him. "I'll grab a table."

            I selected a two-seater round table a fair distance away from any other passengers, while not wandering too far away to appear as though we were avoiding others. I slipped into the seat and waited for Barnes to return.

            He set down the two drinks: Diet Pepsi with ice and a lime wedge, and half a pint of lager.
I raised a brow. "Just a half?"
"You were paying." He sat down, grabbing a cardboard coaster. "I didn't want to push my luck."
"I told you to get what you wanted."
"I know." He wiped a drop of condensation from the side of the glass and laughed. "You know I don't even like lager that much?"
I tilted my head. "Then why buy it?"
Barnes took an agonised sip, wincing at the foam-tipped yellow liquid. I never cared much for the drink either, preferring something sweeter with less of a wheat aftertaste like gin or rosé. He ran his tongue over his lips, wiping the rest of the white froth away with a sad smile. "This might be my last drink as a free man," he said. "And this one reminds me of home."

            I imagined he caught the gasp that fell from my parted mouth. Barnes did not strike me as someone of a sentimental nature. I'd heard he was a selfish, caring for none other than himself, but here he was: forcing himself to finish a drink he disliked to consume the memories within it – memories I did not have the heart to ask about.

            I gulped down my drink to hide the shock of it. When I caught his grimace at the second sip, I stood.
"Where are you going?" Barnes asked.
"What drink would you like?"
He blinked slowly. "I've got a drink."
"What drink would you like?" I repeated. He opened his mouth, ready to argue. "Like you said: this might be your last night as a free man. I'm not letting that shitty half pint be your last."
His exhale failed to mask his smile. "Scotch on the rocks."
"Consider it done."

            The bartender was just as swift as Barnes was grateful. He accepted the drink with thanks and drank down a sip, voicing his approval with an appreciative gasp.
"You're a diamond among those fossils you work with, Agent Knight."
I sighed. "Barnes—"
"An absolute diamond. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

            We drank in silence for a few minutes, my mind hung up on what Barnes had just said. It took all the resilience in my body to hold back a visible reaction in my features but, thankfully, the rogue agent's attention was elsewhere.

            Barnes picked at the frayed edge of his coaster, scanning over the room. His gaze landed on something behind me.
"How would you feel about a game of pool?"
I twisted around to see a long forest-green pool table lying proudly in the centre of the bar, white spotlights lighting it up from the ceiling. Memories from pub nights with Scotty came back.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I warned him. "I can't actually play—"
"Everyone can play pool," he said, grinning with anticipation. He leapt to his feet and squeezed my shoulder as he rushed passed. "Now come on, Agent. Let's play!"

            I obliged, remembering that even though he was both a target and an enemy of the agency, he was also human. This was his last night of freedom and he deserved at least an hour or two of fun before his life changed forever.

            Though, I also remembered that my one attempt at playing with Scotty ended with him throwing the cue away, vowing to never let me near the table again.

***

Twenty minutes into the game, and I lost pitifully, failing to knock a single ball into the pot. Barnes clutched his cue, using it to prop himself up at the opposite end of the table, features knitted in sympathy and astonishment.
"Agent," said Barnes, "you're shit at this."
"I tried to tell you!" I exclaimed, leaning back against the table. "You didn't listen."
"By chance you should have potted at least one ball by now."
"Wow. I am sorry that I never took the time to become a master at pool," I retorted. My grip on the cue tightened, knuckles turning white. "My priorities are non-existent, apparently."

            Barnes snorted. He swung the cue back at forth, pursing his lip.

            He let out a sigh and pushed himself up. "I'll tell you what," he said, drifting around the table, "You cheer up for a few minutes and I'll teach you how to play pool. Deal?"
I smiled. "Look at you, calling the shots," I teased.
"I wasn't planning on shots, but if you're offering..."
I huffed a laugh, forcing my limbs to straighten up. One more go. Just one. "Alright pool master. Teach me your ways."
"Be ready to learn," said Barnes. He skulked around the table, eyes on me as he backed towards the glass-filled table where he had last abandoned the chalk. "But know that pool is not just your standard pub game, no. It is an art form. An art form of delicate hands and grace—" He staggered back into the table, gripping the edge so not to topple over, knocking a couple of glasses down. "—graceful movements."
I crossed my arms over the cue. "I see."
Barnes cleared his throat, swiftly turning the glasses back over and wiping the excess drink up with a shredded-up beermat. "Good," he croaked awkwardly. Barnes wiped the front of his trousers, meeting my eyes for a moment in which he looked as if he was struggling not to laugh or cry.

            "What are we waiting for? Let's go to it."
"Come on, then." I nodded my head. "It's you I'm waiting for."
"Alright, be pushy." He propped his own cue against the wall, eyeing up my own. "You need to hold that correctly, for starters."
I frowned at my hands. "What's wrong with the way I'm holding it now?"
"You look like you're going to hit someone with it," Barnes snickered. "Which you probably will to be fair."
"One more minute of this and I just might." The threat only made Barnes more amused.
"What's your dominant hand?"
"Left."
He nodded. "Right." A chuckle. "Hold the bottom of the cue with your left hand and make a loop with your right finger."
"I have five fingers, Barnes. Which one?"
"Just..." Barnes held up a hand as if to point, mouth pressed tightly in a straight line. He let out a deciding breath. "One moment."

            He wandered around the table, joining me. My gaze flickered side to side, unsure where to land as he held out his hands, drawing them in as though he was still debating on how to act.

            "Alright, so just— uhm — h-hold with your left hand like this," he stuttered. My eyes widened as he took my hand gently, careful not to provoke a reaction, and slid it down the cue, holding it in place at the bottom. "And your right." He did the same with the other hand, stretching us both across the table while looping my index finger and thumb around the cue, pressing my hand into the fuzzed green fabric.

            I swallowed so loudly I was sure he heard. It would have been just as effective for him to tell me how to hold the cue, but I imagined he thought differently.

            "Don't hold it so harshly," he said, the words touching my neck. "It needs to be able to slide."
"Okay," I breathed, eyes skimming over the table. "What do I hit?"
"What?" He blinked.
"What do I hit?"
"Oh. Just, uh..." He let go and grabbed the white ball, placing it in front of the cue's tip then resuming his earlier position. I tried not to flinch as his arms locked around me again. "Hit that red one," he said.

            I mumbled my understanding, focussing on the red ball in question. It was just like target practice. Focus on the single point and nothing else...
"You're too tense. Loosen your grip a little." I did. "That's it," his voice gravelled.

            I pulled the cue back with my left hand and thrusted it towards the white ball. It shot forwards, colliding with the red in one powerful crash, allowing it to glide towards the pot with ease, rolling through the tunnel beneath. I beamed at not making a total embarrassment of myself.

            Barnes and I broke apart, the two of us taking swift strides in opposite directions.

            "You better watch out," I said to him, scanning for my next target. "Give me an hour and I'll be taking over you."
"That's impossible!" He snatched his cue from the wall and swaggered back to the table. "I'm practically pool royalty."
"Well you, Mr. Barnes, are about to get dethroned."
A smug grin met my eyes. "Try me," he said, gesturing to the table.

            I mirrored the smile and took another shot, hitting the red with the white using the force of the confidence I had mustered to backtalk Barnes.

            The red ball rolled into the pot with ease. I sent Barnes a smirk over the shoulder.

            His knuckles flashed against the cue. "Challenge accepted, Agent Knight."

***

Barnes scratched his chin. "Well," he said, "it seems as though you've won. Congratulations."

            I had gawked at the hole in the table ever since the black ball rolled into it, my mouth wide. After a cocky remark about being able to beat me in a single shot, Barnes's turn had ended in disaster when the white ball critically missed his yellow, sending the black ball into the pot and handing me an instant win.

            "Well played," he said. Stretching forward, swaying against the cue he clung to, he smiled.
"Pool royalty, you said?"
"Don't get cocky!" he exclaimed. "That's my job, remember."
"But you just let it go in!" He snorted at that. My eyes told him to stop. "Seriously. You're good. You don't make mistakes like that."
His cheekbones lifted, smile white as he laughed. "Everyone makes mistakes, Knight. Even you."
"Excuse me?" I challenged.
"Oh, yes." He smirked as his head bobbed. "I saw a few of your shots bounce off the wall back in town. Tut, tut, Miss Knight."

            I dismissed him with an eyeroll and sought to finish my drink, watching Barnes gulp down his. I'd bought the thing, but shuddered at the sight of it being enjoyed so thoroughly.

            I grimaced. "How can you drink that stuff?"
He smiled as he finished the glass. "With ease," he said. "Don't you like it?"
"It's vile," I said, as blunt as ever.
"Shut up, Diet Pepsi."
"Is that supposed to be an insult?" I was working.
"I have a theory that you're a lightweight," he said, setting down his glass.
A childish tease. I fell right into it. "Sorry to tell you this, but I could last way longer than you if I was drinking."
"But you're not." His grin tugged on that inner feeling that made me want to retaliate. "Therefore, I only have your word to rely on and, frankly, I don't trust it."

           I cocked my head, looking him up and down. The docks back in England were no more than an hour away from the agency. Once there, I would have full backup if we ran into trouble again. Joining his game seemed small in terms of risk.

            "Alright ex-king of pool."
He hissed. "Hurtful," Barnes tutted.
I held out another £10 note. "Order me a drink."
Barnes took a step back "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
He took it. "If you insist."

            Barnes took only a few strides towards the bar before I called him back, a question playing on my mind. It seemed stupid to ask but... I had to know.
He turned around for me to continue. "Why does red never win?" I asked.
A hint of mischief. "Because I never play as red."
"And red just won." I tilted my head.
Barnes folded his arms. "And?"
"I think you let me win."
He gasped, clutching his chest. "Miss Knight! Why would I – the king of pool – allow a mere commoner such as yourself to win?"
I shook my head. "You tell me, Barnes."

            He backed off and left for the bar with amusement filling his cheeks. I furrowed my brows, biting down my aching lip. He always thought he would win. In everything he imagined he would come out on top. And he just... let me win.

            Barnes came back a moment later, holding two shot glasses of black liquid. The stench of aniseed wafted up my nostrils as I took the glass, careful to not spill any of the contents.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. I sighed, blocking out any ringing in my ears that warned me not to do it, and swallowed the spiced drink. I looked between my empty glass and Barnes's full one with a grin.
"Are you going to drink yours or do you want me to help you?"