Weeks flew by. Every day had been packed to the brim with planning and working towards the mission, every one of us maximising intensity to prepare as best we could – even Scotty joined in on the combat training. The worst part was the shopping. After one hour, I gave up. Collins offered to find something for me, and one afternoon sent over a couple of dress pictures until I selected my favourite.

          All we had left to do was wait.

          The night before the journey, I grew angsty. All of us did. Collins loaded Tracey's compartments with outfits, weapons and overnight bags. Scotty found a storm due over Monaco shortly after the party's end, and judged it was likely our departure would be delayed, therefore spending the night was a more preferable option. To avoid detection, we couldn't stay within the city, or even fly over it, so Collins found an old chateau stable enough to use as a base for the mission. It was not certain we would use it, but Rodriguez managed to make arrangements just in case. And, after a day of avoiding Collins, Davis had gone home to rest.

          I knew sleep was unlikely, and wandered down to the training hall at six. Derek followed at first, but scurried off after checking the time on his watch, telling me he wanted to read over the files once again at home. I offered to keep him company, but he insisted I stayed at the agency to finish some arms training.

          Shots rang through the hall, ripping into the cardboard cut-outs on the opposite side of the room, spraying fragments all over the place.

          I kept going, tugging on the trigger rapidly, matching the bullseye until I ran out of bullets.

          "—Marcus's face!"

          I spun around, frowning at Scotty. The shots still reverberated in my ears. "What?"
"I said: are you picturing Marcus's face?"
I turned back. A hole now resided in the centre of the target, completely torn apart from the chest outwards. "I suppose I am."
He nodded at his technological mess on the table. "Get over here. I need to show you something."

          His desk was scattered with chaos that somehow made sense to him: his laptop with several wires jumping out and connecting to the nearby extension cords, a blown-up map of the Fleur D'or annotated with multi-coloured markers dotted about the table, various tools and screws, and an aluminium briefcase.

          He gestured to the environment, giddiness making him smile. "Remember how I said last week that it was impossible for me to hack the cameras without being in the control room?"
I nodded. Security was tight at the Fleur D'or. After numerous tries to hack the cameras, Scotty found his access blocked from the whole system and dove head-first into a meltdown of feeling useless. He could only be our eyes from the control room. "I remember."
"Well, since we aren't guaranteed to get into the control room, I made some cameras of my own."

          He held up a mask; entirely black, speckled with sequins and lined with gold that stretched into horn-like elements at the peaks of either side. A jewel centred the forehead. Onyx black like an endless abyss.

          "Every mask has a jewel, and every jewel has a camera inside of it. That way, I can watch out for you all even if we don't get to the control room, and I can see exactly what you see. No talking to me in front of crowds to attract unwanted attention."

          I smiled, looking at the row of masks: one held a similar style to my own but was considerably bigger, having more squared edges, another pure white, glittered with silver and gold, the third shades of red and purple, and the final one dark with a wolfish shape. "Good job, Scotty."
He blushed as he whipped open his laptop. "I've got all cameras set up and working smoothly. My screen will be split between the four of you, and I've assigned usernames to remind me of who's who."
I stepped closer to read. "What usernames?"
He slammed the lid shut. "That's private and you are not to touch."
I held up my hands. "Alright!"

          He twirled the laptop around and opened it back up again, typing faster than I had ever seen him do before. The sunken purple rims under his eyes made me worry.

          I set the empty gun on the counter. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?"
He did not take his eyes off the screen. "Nervous. We're prepared but... I guess the pessimist in me just knows how quickly things can turn sour."
With a pursed lip, I examined the mask. "We've worked hard," I said. "You, in particular, have put in the hours."
He shrugged. "We all have."
"I've seen you staying back every night. And don't act like you haven't been working from home, either."
He flipped hair that wasn't there. "I don't want to brag about it, but I have managed to find a way to trip one of the trickiest security systems the Service has ever seen."
"You don't want to brag?"
"No, not about the four hours it took, or the fact that I calculated the average time it takes for security to arrive at any security breach." He took a heaving breath. "I could, but I won't."
"How humble of you."
"The humblest."

          He looked down with a chuckle and continued to type.
"Barnes seems to be doing a lot better."
I nodded. "Having proper training again is helping. He says it feels like he never took time off but—" He took more water breaks. He couldn't match his personal best on the treadmill no matter how hard he tried. His strength remained intact, at least, and he shamefully managed to beat me twice. He would be fine with Veronica, but I worried about him.
"He'll be fine," Scotty promised. "He's an idiot, yes, but not a suicidal one. I'm pretty sure he's more scared of how you'll react if he pushes himself too far."
"Damn right he should be."
"Same goes for you and me. Now if you don't go home and get some rest, I'm gonna blow a fuse."
"Says the person still tinkering with his little tools."
"My little tools don't take up vital energy."
I raised my brows. "Bet you've heard that one before."
He scowled. "I'm done now, anyway." The laptop clicked shut. "I'll take this up to Collins, then I need to have a word before we go tomorrow."
"Want me to wait?"
"No, you go ahead. I promise: I'll be an hour tops."
I studied his features for a lie but did not find one as he walked by me, putting his toolbox away. "Okay. Then I'll see you—"

          Rose gold pinged against the floor. Scotty froze a few steps away, realising what he had dropped.

          Carefully, I picked up the bracelet for him, and handed it over without judgement. "We'll find her."
He swallowed. "Again, the pessimist in me disagrees." A rumble cleared his throat. "See you in the morning."

          He closed his fist around the chain and piled up his laptop, the briefcase, and the collection of masks, and headed for the elevator, face lacking colour.

          I was not an optimist, but I had hope for Gabby and Jade. Cruelly, I knew Marcus's mind, and he would not allow them to be disposed of when they were so useful as assets and hostages. They were alive. Whether they were themselves again, that was unclear.

***

I returned home to a warm cloud of garlic and paprika blanketing the flat, saucepans bubbling and stoves hissing. The lock turned behind me, but Derek did not hear it click nor the keys jangle as I hung them up, his attention fixated solely on the food. The files he brought home had been left atop my bookshelf by the front door.

          "Some agent you are," I tutted.
He jumped – jumped – at the sound of my voice. Then the shock wore off into a wry smile. "Did I not manage to sneak in undetected the other week?"
I shrugged off my jacket. "I was asleep."
"Hostiles don't care if you're asleep, I'm afraid, so it still counts."
I rolled my eyes.

          "Let's see... chilli, chilli, chilli—ah!" He snatched the chilli from the near-bare spice rack and eyeballed the amount. "I have to say, you still have a poor selection of spices."
"Here's an idea: go food shopping yourself then you know what to get."
He drew breath and pointed a wooden spoon at me, ready to dish out an argument he did not have. "...No."
"Lazy arse."
"How am I lazy when I have just concocted this masterpiece?"

          The humility of the men I surrounded myself with astounded me. However, the smell did have me wandering around the counter to get a closer look. "It looks nice. What is it?"
"Penne arrabbiata. I made it for you a few months back."
"Oh, I remember!" I thought I would enter a mild coma afterwards. "That was beautiful."
"I knew you liked it. Thought I'd make it since we're off to Monaco tomorrow."
He should have been resting. "You didn't have to do that."
"No, I did. It's a big day, and we need to relax however we can." A spark crossed his eyes as he looked me up and down, shooting heat through me, before he turned back to the red sauce simmering in front of him. "Besides—" He nudged me with his elbow. "—you're not getting off easy. There's a salad there ready for you to chop. It's already been washed."
I groaned and picked up the knife. "And here I was thinking you were letting me put my feet up."
"You can relax with a meal. Meanwhile, I've got to keep you on your toes."

          I held back a taunting reply, trying to mask the shiver down my spine with a laugh as I diced into a crisp red pepper. Somehow the silence was comforting. The two of us just standing there, focussing on separate tasks while enjoying each other's company. It was so... normal.

          After the peppers, cucumber and lettuce, I sliced into a pair of spring onions, blinking back tears as I sucked in the fumes with every breath.
"Getting emotional over there?"
"Nothing can make me cry like an onion." I dragged a sleeve under my waterlines. "Good vegetables are hard to come by these days." He snickered at that.

          I told him about Scotty's new invention and how they worked. Even he admitted he was excited about them, though he was curious to know what usernames Scotty had set for each of us.

          "You see this – this is the spy stuff I signed on for."
"Not the saving lives?"
"That too." He waved off the comment with a spoon. "Comes second to the cool gadgets, though." He winked.
A blatant lie. "Only Scotty makes the cool gadgets occasionally. Pretend all you want, but I know you joined to help people."
He rolled his eyes. "You always think I'm better than I actually am."
"Do I ever mince my words?"
He thought about it, then snorted. "No. I have to admit, you don't."
"Then you know I mean it when I believe you signed on because you're good."
"I'm good?"
"Mm."
A crooked grin. Like the kind he gave at the thought of a challenge. "We'll see."

          He bowed his head in a thoughtful nod to confirm his answer, shooting a rumble through my core, then dropped the drained pasta into the sauce, setting spices aflame in the air and folding them together.

          My stomach growled.

          "You once said your mum taught you how to cook. How did you get so good at it?"
He stopped stirring. "She taught me when I was really young. She wanted to be a chef but, because of Kane's work, could never keep a job longer than six months, so she had a lot of fun cooking at home." A sigh. "But—" He paused, regretful as he stared into the pot. "When she found out about Kane's career and threatened to leave him, he... he got nasty. So nasty she turned different. Sadder. She just... stopped smiling. For her birthday, I made her something without any help, and it wasn't that good, but she—" His lips tugged upwards. "She smiled again." Blinking, he shook his head and carried on stirring the sauce. "So, I cooked whenever I could and that's that. Parmesan?"

          I nodded and handed it over. For his arrogant streak and carefree attitude, he loved people deeply; deeper than he would ever let on. He had a talent, and not just with cooking but with knowing exactly what people needed. It was why he was so upset when I did not tell him about Marcus at first. He knew something was wrong but was helpless to fix it – helpless to protect or comfort in whatever way he could. "You are a good person, Derek."
He shrugged, not believing it. "Sure."

          We slid into the stools opposite each other to tuck into the pasta and crunchy side salad, talking so mundanely that all mentions of the mission tomorrow drifted into an afterthought, even more so as he began talking about the dinner with Jade's first – and currently only – ex-boyfriend.

          "The poor boy probably thought you were interrogating him."
"It wasn't that bad."
"You just said you put salt in his water to test how he would react to a strange family."
"He spat it out onto his dinner plate." He dropped his cutlery for a break and leaned back. "I took that as a bad sign. Who even does that?"
I tutted. "He didn't even have a chance."
"He cheated on her."
My jaw dropped, and I gasped. "No."
"Yes."
"How did you react?"
"Oh, I wanted to kill him. It was with her best friend as well, which only made it worse. She was heartbroken and sobbed so hard, begging me not to hurt him." He snorted into his lemonade glass. "A week later, she asked me to go with her to his house and I thought 'this is my time to shine.' I was going to beat that boy into the dirt."
"Was?"
He grinned. "Jade got there first."

          I shuffled closer, fork still hovering over the half-eaten meal.

          "She phoned him, telling him to come outside his house. Before he could get a word in, she stormed forward and socked him right in the jaw. So hard he fell over. She looked at him lying in the dirt, completely silent as he cried – a football player – cried at her feet, apologising over and over while she watched. After nearly a minute of nothing, she let out a sigh and called for his parents, telling them he tripped down the steps."
"He didn't get her in trouble?"
"Nope. His parents were very middle class. The respectable kind, you know? Where the kid's reputation holds weight. Oliver just went along with the story that he fell down the steps so they didn't find out about what he did. His parents thanked Jade for looking after him, and she wandered across the front lawn back to me and asked for a milkshake on the way home. Damn right she got one."
I choked on a laugh. "Never underestimate a girl with a broken heart."
"It was scary. Like she was angry but... so much that she wasn't explosive but calculating. Completely stone-cold."
I raised my glass. "That's more dangerous than any other type of anger."
He studied my face. "Believe me, I know."

          We finished our food, savouring every silent mouthful. On my last, I closed my eyes, the warmth and release of flavour lifting my lips into a trance-like smile, my head lazily falling into my propped-up arm. I could have fallen asleep there.

          Derek was staring when I opened my eyes.
"What is it?"
"Just looking."
"At?"

          He only smiled. Then his eyes sparked to attention at something on my face. Without a word, he leaned over the counter and brushed his thumb over my lip. Once. Twice. Something changed in his eyes when he swiped again. Slower.

          Then he slouched back.
"We should wash up."
"Since when do you clean?"
"Did I say 'we'?"
I shook my head and forced myself up, feeling significantly heavier. "You're lucky you're pretty."
"Aren't I just?"

          He grinned on his last forkful of pasta as I took the plates, and let out a laugh when I messed up his hair on the way to the sink. I dunked them into the soapy water with a splash.

          "Feeling ready for tomorrow?" The old stool squeaked as he whirled around.
"As ready as we can be. I must have checked the plan fifty times by now."
"Pretty sure I've read it fifty-one times."
I scoffed. "Oh please, it'd take you until Christmas to read it that much."
"Don't judge my reading skills."
"Considering you still haven't read my favourite book—"
He got up and joined me at the sink. "Correction: I have read your favourite book." He swiped the clean saucepan from my hands. "I just haven't finished the sequel yet."
"After a year of reading."
A humoured growl as he towelled the pan dry. "It's big."
"Four-hundred pages is not big."
He leaned his head back with a sigh. "Your judgement of size really puts me on edge, you know?"
"Aw, I didn't realise you were so insecure." I patted his cheek with a wet hand and went back to cleaning. "I'll do better next time."
"Have I got anything to be insecure about?"
I shrugged, biting back a smile.

          He tipped the saucepan over my head.

          "That's dishwater, Derek!"
"Like that reply you just gave me." What did that even mean? He scooped up a handful and flicked it in my frowning face. "It's called karma."
I raised my brows. "You want to talk about karma?" I swiped the ladle and splashed water his way, wetting his t-shirt. "That's karma."
"Oh?" He cocked his head to one side and tossed the tea towel on the counter. "Fine."

          I leapt back as a wave of water swept my way. It missed by an inch and sloshed over the wood. "You're making a mess!"
"You started it."
"You started it!"

          I darted beneath his arm as his second splash soaked my back. I stumbled towards the counters, scrunching my eyes shut at the water's impact, and when they opened, I was unable to run from the kitchen quick enough.

          He hooked his arm over my torso and pulled me towards him to scoop a large handful of water into my hair. I shuddered and squirmed to get out of his grip, laughing helplessly into his arm, but he would not yield.
"Someone's slow tonight!"

          The water loosened his grasp and I wiggled out. I lunged forward but was yanked back by my hand. I whirred around to push back but hit the wall first, my spine banging against it, knocking out a gasp of air while Derek's nose almost bashed my own.

          Hands pinned either side of my face, Derek mere inches away, we burst into laughter.

          "We've been here before, if I remember correctly."
"Mm." I tilted my head back, resting it against the wall to look into his eyes. "My memory's not doing so well lately. I think I need reminding."
His chuckle met my lips. "My pleasure."

          I barely had time to take in air and his lips were on mine. I shifted my hands to reach for his neck but his hold on my wrists tightened in a nerve-caressing movement.

          Then his hands descended down my back, my behind, and latched onto my thighs, arching me into him with a buzz. My legs locked around his waist and he groaned.

          Sparks of heat caressed my neck in the space behind my ear, forcing a sharp breath as his lips tugged and soothed the skin. My legs reeled him in, closing the minimal gap that already lessened between us, an instinct craving to feel that heat on every inch of me.

          I ran my hands underneath his shirt, palming every contour on my way up, and pulled the cotton over his head, eager to see the confident smile I adored when I tossed it away. My heart soared when I saw it, and my mouth hurt to contain the grin when my lips melded into his once more.

          With my eyes shut, I already held the sense that I was floating, and did not realise the two of us had even moved until Derek paused, standing in the middle of the room.

          I lowered my brows. "What is it?"
He bit his cheek, amatory eyes analysing the furniture; the sofa, the counter, the carpet, the table. "I'm fighting over a crucial decision."
My fingers circled the base of his hair, eager for him to continue. "About?"
He flashed a crooked smile and rumbled his voice. "Where to have you."
Air left my lungs. I kissed his lips then brushed my own against his ear. I felt him shudder between my fingertips on his neck when I whispered, "Surprise me."
"...Very well."

          My back hit the coffee table, and Derek absorbed my grunt with his mouth. I looped my legs around his waist, stretching out my arms when his hands trailed over the curves beneath my shirt and lifted it overhead. I unbuckled the belt of my own trousers, as did he, both of us burning from inside out. The feel of him hardening against me was enough to pull a noise from my tongue.

          His lips hovered near mine when his hands slid up my spine, sliding under the lace secured around my chest. He caressed every nerve, and unhooked my bra with practiced precision, inhaling my quivering breath.

          I laid down against the wood. The muscles in his arms wrapped around me, hugging me close, skin against skin and he just... stared, completely taken aback.

          He pressed a hand to my cheek, then brushed his knuckle over a stray thread of dark hair.
"Beautiful," he gasped. "So beautiful."
I smiled, completely breathless. From the light of the kitchen, his skin turned golden, fiery like the morning sun. On his left, light from the moon and stars poured in, painting him ethereal blue. "I love you," I said. "I love you so, so much."
"And I love you." He trailed kisses across my jaw, shocking every nerve. "Now... and always."

QOTD: What do you think is going through Scotty's head at the moment?