With Scotty's head checked out, finding him orientated enough to fly, we settled down for the long journey back to London, the blizzard easing enough for us to leave.

          I sat in the back with Derek, waiting patiently for him to finish cleaning the dried blood off my scalp with a damp rag. I said I'd do it myself, but he insisted.

          He frowned, dabbing the skin. "You're lucky you're not concussed."
"The snow cushioned the blow. I'm fine."
He angled his head to glare at Tyler, who crossed his arms and kept his focus on a game on his phone. "There'd be issues if you weren't."

          He shook off the scowl and tilted my head, breathing out a sigh. "It's hard to see 'cause of your hair, but I'm pretty sure it's all clean."
"Thank you."

          His smile was crooked when he chucked the rag back in the open first-aid box. "How many?"
I breathed a laugh. How many on-target shots, he meant. "Six. You?"
He hissed through his teeth. "Eight. You're behind."
"I was busy hacking at the ice!" I scoffed. "You were shooting for longer than me."
"If you had any upper arm strength—"
"Which I do."
"—you would have broken the ice in just a few swings. Like myself."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help laughing. "So modest."
"Aren't I just?"

          His smile faded, and my stomach sank. "Now—" He raised from his crouch then turned and flopped down next to me. "—are you going to tell me—" Spotting Tyler, he cleared his throat. On command, the young agent left with a scoff and headed for the co-pilot's seat. I made a note to kick him out of it when I needed a word with Scotty.

          "You were distracted back there. What happened?"

          Scotty was occupied with flying, Tyler slouched in the seat beside him while untangling his earphone wires. I took the photograph from my pocket and handed it over. "I took this from Marcus's office."
He pondered the woman in the picture; her hair, her eyes, her bone structure and smile. Then looked at me. "Is this—"
"Yes." I nodded. "That's my mum. The password I put into the computer, it was... it was her birthday." I was shocked I remembered, but from the few memories of my childhood, that date always stuck.
"She looks like you."
I never thought we looked alike. Even as a child, I imagined myself to resemble Marcus more. A cruel joke, I thought. "We always looked different."
"As a child, maybe, but—" He held the image next to my face. "Now you look like her. You have the same smile."

          A laugh escaped my lips, and I took the photo back. Running my thumb over the edge, I brushed dust off the gloss. Maybe I had grown to resemble her more, but we were still different. She was much more jovial than me. Even when I was little, I was quiet. Mum always had something to talk about until her voice got lower, and lower... and lower. Until one day she stopped smiling, told me she loved me and ran out the door, telling me she would be back soon. Then her face melded into a featureless mask. She became an aspect of my life I had to forget for a while.

          "I know it sounds bad, but I haven't thought of her for a long time. I'd only just turned ten when I lost her, and seeing how devastated my— how devastated Marcus had become... I don't know, I think I thought it was up to me to be there for him. Try to, anyway."
"He never let you?"
I shook my head. "It was rare for him to bother with me even before mum died, but after that I became nothing more than a nuisance. Impossible for me to do anything right."
His hand locked with mine. "Don't blame yourself. It's not a child's responsibility to support their parent."
"It's not. But it's the reality for some."
"It shouldn't be. If it was grief that pushed him further into his work, it's his own fault, not yours. He failed as a father to give you a childhood."

          He was not entirely wrong, but the guilt never left.

          "What happened to her?" Derek asked, albeit carefully.
I swallowed. "She was ill. I can't remember a time where she wasn't. Marcus spent every waking hour of his life trying to defy human biology to save her, and—" My shoulders slouched, and I slid further into the seat. "It was a car accident. Of all things, it was a freak accident that killed her."
"That can't have been easy to go through so young."
"No." I shook my head. "No, it wasn't."

         Marcus and I spent eleven years waiting for the day we would lose her, and we were still not prepared for the news. Perhaps we imagined we would have some warning, some final goodbye to settle any regrets before she passed on, but all we got was... nothing. Maybe if that accident never happened, Marcus would have given up on his cruel dream and cherished the time he had left with his family. Instead, he tossed away any chance we had at recovery.

            I sighed, looking down at Derek's hand as I brushed my thumb over his knuckles. "I'm glad I found you. I don't think I've ever explicitly told you that."
"For all the effort in literally tracking me across the ocean, I should think so. I was practically an obsession."
I scoffed and leaned back, folding my arms. "You'll never let that go, will you?"
"I just love reminding you how quickly you fell for me."
"It's a wonder how with that confidence. I've never seen anyone with so much."
"And that's a good thing?"
I shrugged. "Depends on my mood."
With a cruel laugh, he lifted my chin and kissed my lips, warming me inside and out. "I can take a guess at what mood that is."
"Always where your mind goes."
"I think about other things. Sometimes."
"Not too hard, though. You might strain yourself."
He let go of my chin with a huff. "I come all this way just to have my intelligence insulted."
"There's not enough to insult in the first place."

          He rolled his eyes and shoved me, almost knocking me off the seat as I snickered. Even when I laughed, his eyes traced every line in my face, always looking for any hint of worry whenever Marcus was mentioned. He held a brave face for me, but I saw the fear. Being miles away in whatever hole he crawled back to, my father still managed to hook his claws in our backs, manipulating our emotions without ever knowing it and, for Derek's sake, drove guilt through my chest.

          I squeezed his hand in a promise; a promise that he would not control our lives forever. It was torture enough to spend a life looking over my own shoulder, but seeing him slipping into the same trap was too far. I could not calm the protective nature he possessed for those he cared for – it was the same as asking him to change himself – but he knew our strength now. We were strongest together, and together we would take back everything we lost, bring Marcus to his knees.

          Even if it killed me to do it.

***

Hours later, we were home.

          Even after a few hours' unconscious in the snow and an hour-long snooze slouched in the helicopter, I yawned and stretched upon landing, the peach sky making me drowsy once more as day broke over England's capital.

          Rodriguez met us on the roof, face pale as he saw me strutting out, flanked by both Scotty and Derek with Tyler traipsing behind.
"Agent Knight. I'm pleased to see you survived. And the mission?"
Scotty had sent a makeshift report throughout the journey, though it had not erased the chances of us having to type up a formal document. "Marcus Knight was definitely there, as the report stated," said Derek. "Amber found evidence of his work, as well as traces of Gabby and Jade. If not for the number of hostiles, we would have stayed longer." I had conducted missions in espionage far worse, but the area was unknown to us. Such missions required weeks of memorising maps, patterns and alternate plans – it was a fool's game to remain, especially while injured.
"Excellent work. I'll send a larger team to comb the area and dispose of any hostiles. In the meantime, I'd like you three to return to my office where Collins and Davis will be waiting. See what we can do with that evidence."
I dipped my chin in a polite nod. "Thank you, Director."

          I unzipped my coat as we approached the rooftop doors. London seldom reached high temperatures in the summer, but even in the mid-teens, it was significantly warmer than Siberia.

          "Knight." I stopped at Rodriguez's beckoning. "About that promotion for Hops—"
"No."
"Understood. Speaking of which." He spun, nostrils flaring. "Hops!" Tyler flinched from the other end of the landing pad. "Go home and return by 10AM sharp. I want a word."
Scotty hissed through his teeth. "Someone's fired."

          I waved for him and Derek to follow me down the steps, the metal door clanging shut behind us. "I don't think so. A disciplinary warning and a suspension, maybe. But firing him is a little extreme."
"He could have killed you," Derek argued. "For what he did, it's practically attempted murder."
"Extreme situations, extreme measures," I replied. "I'm angry at what he did and, believe me, I would love to see him gone from the agency but after last year—" My stomach knotted. "—we can't afford to lose anymore agents."

***

Collins and Davis both paced on opposing ends of the Director's office, not even looking at each other, and snapped to attention as the door swung open, Derek, Scotty and I filing in. Their eyes were tired, lined with red and contoured by dark circles.

          Collins's shoulders dropped. "Thank god."
"Knew a cliff couldn't kill the mighty Agent Knight." Davis laughed, albeit nervously.
Scotty straightened up. "Yes. My rescue mission did wonders."
"Your rescue mission?" Derek echoed. "Was it not me who suggested we go?"
"Was it not me who flew us there?"
Collins scowled. "This is hardly the time for arguing."

          His tone had us all freezing on the spot, Scotty's head drooping low as he bit back a response. Davis groaned, but Collins chose to ignore him.
"Sorry, Collins," said Derek.
"He's right," I added. "We found a lot in Siberia. Enough to take action."

          I started my explanation when Rodriguez entered the office, Derek and Scotty allowing me to tell the full story myself, choosing only to pitch in with additional details they found while searching for me through the icy maze. When I told them of the interrogation, and Scotty brandished Gabby's bracelet, Collins almost fainted.

           "They could very well be alive."
Derek shifted at the uncomfortable alternative. "That's the hope."
"They're alive," Scotty said. "I know it. This—" He outstretched his palm, the rose-gold metal sparkling under the office light. "This is the sign we've been looking for."
"So, what now?" Davis asked. "You said we can take action. What kind?"

          I shrugged off my coat, the heat growing unbearable. "The email from Sienna Li mentioned something called a Gambler's Guild."
"I recognise the name," Collins said. "Alistair had me track down a few members funding terrorist organisations a few years' back. The Guild itself is legal – technically they're just gambling enthusiasts that came into contact over the internet – but a small minority of the group use their funds to invest in illegal activities. It's a very exclusive club, and the extent of its membership is only guessed at."
"And now we know Sienna is a member," said Derek.
"How does the Guild meet?" Rodriguez asked.
"Although legal, the group is often observed by the authorities, though I imagine someone as cunning as Sienna has precautions to avoid being flagged. From what I have seen in the past, the Guild will congregate among large social events hosted by various members. This meeting Sienna will be attending could be anything from a formal dinner to a political campaign rally."

          We needed to research. Find out who the other known members were and deduce the event masking the meeting of the Gambler's Guild.

          "We have a month," I said. "Not to mention we need to plan how we approach this meeting beforehand."
"We will do this, Knight," Collins assured. "I promise you, we will fight back this time."

          I knew he meant it. For the entirety of his career, Collins had remained detached from his work. But when the agency was attacked not once, but twice prior to Marcus revealing himself, the mission had become personal. The Doctor had made enemies of my associates for a number of reasons that stretched beyond our shared past.

          Every one of us wanted Marcus Knight dead. And by sheer determination, we would achieve that.

***

Two days of intensive research passed, and I needed a break. Since boosting my training hours, I always carried a spare set of clothes to the office, and quickly changed in the bathroom before taking the elevator to the cellar, tapping my ID against the console to gain access.

          Davis was the only one in there at this hour, as per usual, oiled with sweat with solid fists pounding against a punch-bag. Patiently I waited in the doorway for him to finish his set, then stepped inside to the sound of hissing sand as the bag shot across the room.

          He panted, scowling as if the equipment had harmed him personally.

          "I think it got what it deserved," I said.
He forced a laugh, only now noticing me entering. "Leather's ripped and scraped my knuckles earlier. Needed throwing out anyway."
Sand ran down the hole in the overturned bag. "One way to get rid of it, I suppose."

          He eyed up my clothes and the water bottle at my side.
"It's been a few days," I said. "Up for a round?"
He bit his lip and angled himself to read the clock on the wall. "Can't, I'm afraid. I've got plans in two hours and I need to get ready."
I frowned. Somehow it slipped past me that agents had lives outside of their work. Every single friend I ever made in my adult life was an agent. "Oh?"
"A date. I'm meeting a girl at some overpriced cocktail bar near the West End."
I blinked, the sinking in my chest only a fragment of what I imagined someone else would be feeling. "You haven't been on a date since you—"
"No. No, I haven't."
I barely managed to mask my disappointment. "So... do you like her?"
A sigh. A long one. "I don't know. She's nice enough, and really pretty but... she's not—"
"Collins."
He scowled. "You're a horrible person."
"So I've been told." I tilted my head. "You're clearly not over each other. Someone has to move first so why not tell him how you feel?"
"Says the woman that took six months to tell her boyfriend she loved him when she clearlydid already."
"That was different."
"Not very."
"And you and Collins have spent five months denying the inevitable. I've seen the way you two look at each other. You both deserve to be happy."

          He looked down, sopping hair clinging to his forehead as he unwrapped the bandages from around his palms. "He's changed. Everyone sees it. I tried to stick by him but seeing him become obsessed with tracking—" His mouth hung open, lips shaking as he chose his next few words carefully. "He's consumed by his work. And when I tried to separate both lives, I found it impossible. He's a workaholic at the office, and at home I felt isolated. His parents still don't know I even existed. It's like I was invisible to him."
I sighed. "Collins has never been the best communicator. You know that."
"I do, but I can't help how I feel. Just like I can't help the regret I feel every time I see him."

          And that was every day. Every single day for months. He had to make a choice soon: admit his feelings or move on. It was unfair for both of them to suffer in uncertainty.

          But it was not my place to comment. I had already stepped over a line. So, I forced a smile. "You should get going if you want to make it on time."
"I will. Sorry to leave you without a training partner."
"She's got one."

          I readied an argument as Derek strolled in, glancing around as if he owned the place wearing joggers and a thin t-shirt. Davis snorted, knowing what was about to happen.
"That's my cue to leave. See you tomorrow, mate."
"Have fun," Derek teased.

          I tilted my head, shaking it, saving my words for when the doors closed behind Davis.
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, come on. You and I both know this leg needs some exercise. I've kept up lighter training all year, and I handled Siberia just fine."
It was true. I hadn't witnessed him even limp in a month, but walking and fighting were both significantly different. "I've upped the intensity in my own training."
"Are you saying I can't keep up?"
"I'm saying I don't want to hurt you."
He swooned, holding his chest. "The only way you can hurt me is by breaking my heart."
I groaned. "I will vomit if you carry on like that."
Dimples sunk as he laughed. "Seriously, I'll be fine. If my leg acts up again, I'll tell you."

          I contemplated it. He did handle Siberia well – better than I imagined considering he was not medically approved to go – but he still had nearly a week left on leave, and all exercise was expected to be moderated and standardised.

           He shrugged. "Or maybe you know I'll beat you."
With a sigh, I flipped my head to tie up my hair. "Fine."
He snickered. "That didn't take much."
"I just love to prove you wrong."

           After a quick stretch, he pulled off his t-shirt.
"Really?"
He glanced down at his torso, acting aloof as if every angle had not been sharpened by the bright overhead light. "A method of distraction. A good agent utilises every attribute."
I identified every single one of them and still, barely resisting a smile as heat brushed my skin, said, "What attributes?"
"Oh, now I'm hurt!"

          We took a few strides back in opposite directions, stepping onto the crash mats for our own safety.

          I watched his movements, waiting for him to pounce. He knew my fighting style. Having a smaller frame and weaker arm strength, I was not one to attack first in a fist-fight unless absolutely necessary. My advantages lied within my speed and agility – his with reach and sheer force.

          I feigned a step and skipped back as he struck. He caught onto the movement and hooked his left arm around me, tossing me to the floor. I grabbed his arm on the way down, knocking him off balance enough to shuffle back against the leather and rise. I reached for his wrists, but he blocked as he spun.

          He glanced at our meeting forearms, looked me up and down, and whistled. "Nearly got me there."

          Almost.

          I jabbed his shoulder, holding back slightly. He yanked me forward by my arm. I twisted and squirmed out from his grip.

          Jab. Block. Jab. Block. It was an equal match in which our speed and strength both complimented and cancelled out one another, carrying on for so long my muscles began to ache, and my skin perspired.

          Until Derek defied all expectations and did something smart.

          I leaned back as he swung again but failed to notice his supposedly-injured leg sweep at the ground, knocking me off my feet. I smacked against the mat with a grunt.

          Before I could do anything, his weight was on top of me, legs pinning me down and my arms over my head.

          I inhaled his laugh, our chests almost touching at how heavily we panted. "I win," he said.

          Taking in the warm glisten of his skin and his comforting scent, I smiled. Heart thundering, his own as loud as mine, my eyes flitted to his lips, closing at the angling of his jaw as I raised my chin towards him.

          Only a breath away, I hooked my legs around his waist and flipped him over, slamming him into the mat.

          His mouth fell open, countenance so betrayed I had to bite back my amusement.
"Cruel move, Miss Knight."
I brushed hair back from my face. "Method of distraction."
All insult wiped from his features, mouth quirking in admiration that made my core flutter. "Then count me distracted."

          He sat up the moment my hold on him eased, lips finding mine in a breath of hot air while his hands latched onto my lower back. Arching closer, I ran the tips on my fingers down his scolding chest. His grip slipped downwards, tightening at my thighs in a swift movement that made me gasp.

          I laughed against his lips, remembering where we were. "Some training exercise this turned out to be."
"I think I should train with you more often."
"This is exactly why I rarely train with you."
He groaned and stroked my legs, the touch making me shudder even through the material of my clothes. "But it's so fun. As nice as the others are, I don't get the same buzz without you."
"For obvious reasons, I should hope so."

          He smirked and kissed my nose; an act that would have ruined my reputation in an instant if anyone witnessed it, but in the moment, I did not care.

          "You're doing better," I said. "I know I've been careful with you – maybe too careful – but the recovery you've made is remarkable."
"I try."
He joked, but I was serious. I looped my arms over his shoulders. "I've punished you long enough keeping you out of the action. You can handle this mission. I know you can."
Relief waved over him. "It's been a while since we've been out in the field together."
"Think we can handle it?"
"We can, for sure. Everyone else? Well... They might be in trouble."
"As long as we don't set anything on fire, we should be good."
He chuckled. "But where's the fun in that?"

          I leaned in close, inhaling the scent of his relief as my lips melded into his. He had been waiting for so long, working hard for a year to prove that he could return to the agent he once was. For all that time, he insisted he was fine with sitting around as I was shipped off on field mission after field mission without him, but Collins told me the loneliness was getting to him when I was gone. Combining that with his office-hours stretching into night shifts, we missed each other a lot for the better part of a year.

          But now he was healed. He would never recover fully – the pain would always flare up occasionally for the rest of his life – but he was free to be himself again. That falsely-placed feeling of uselessness could finally be quashed when he stormed back in the field like the fighter he was.

            And we would do it together.

QOTD: Did you see Collins's and Davis's break-up coming? Will they stay separate, or come back to one another eventually?