Harry's POV

"Sir? I'm going to have to ask you to take off your sunglasses."

I was brought back to earth by the voice of a flight attendant—young, possibly in her twenties, with thick lips, painted pink, and a head full of brown hair pinned up in a bun—staring down at me from the aisle. Their clothing regulations were starting to anger me, but I complied and removed them.

"Thank you sir. Normally we wouldn't have thought anything of it, but I'm sure you're aware of the man that broke out of prison a couple of days ago?"

"Quite aware, yes."

"He's known to jump around from state to state. Portland police tagged him as dangerous."

"Really? He looks like a funny guy," I remarked with a smirk. The flight attendant raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat, unsure of what to say next.

"I...well...I suppose he's funny looking—"

"What? No, I didn't mean—"

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?"

She caught me off guard. I really had to step my game up; what if the inmates in jail saw me getting sassed by other people? Christ.

"Champagne. Thanks."

I touched my lips as she walked away to fetch me what I had requested. The dry cracks on the surface reminded me that I licked my lips far too often to try and retrieve the taste of Sperling's tongue. Nothing helped; I had been gone from her for less than a day and I desperately wanted to quit my search and return to her.

Irrational, I scolded myself, irrational, unmotivated and blind. You love Bria.

But I was having a hard time convincing myself of that.

I licked my lips again, but I could produce nothing of Sperling. Nothing of my lavish lifestyle—not the first class seats, nor the champagne, nor the trip to Prague—reminded me of her; she was humble and lived modestly (depite her owning an abundance of clothes in her spare bedroom) and she really didn't deserve to be treated the way I treated her.

We used each other, I repeated, we used each other.

But we really didn't (or at least she didn't).

It wasn't long before we were up in the air. As an adolescent, I was deathly afraid of the cramped seats and the change in air pressure popping my ears. I didn't like the sound of crying children, and I absolutely hated when the person in front of me would recline his seat as if I didn't have a stomach to feed (I remembered having my soup spill in my lap and sitting in pure discomfort the entire plane ride because I was far too shy to say anything to anybody). Since then, I refused to fly coach.

The entire flight took about half a day and we touched down in England early in the evening just in time to see the sun descending in the sky. It had been quite a while since I visited last; my latest memory of being here was when I was at the airport going back to Portland from my grandparents'— the very day I met Bria. I suppose I was too caught up with her to miss being back.

The seatbelt sign turned off and everyone got up to pull their carry-ons from the compartments above their seats. I followed the crowd in doing so, reaching up and grabbing my only belongings in the dufflebag and swinging it onto my shoulder. We filed out of the airplane like grade school children or a flock of sheep and followed the direction of hallways out into the baggage collection area. I, of course, had nothing much to collect; it might've been nice to see my grandparents standing at the gates, waiting for my arrival, but, of course, they knew I was a convicted criminal and wanted nothing to do with me.

Sperling's dad was nice. Her sister and her wife were nice too. Mabel seemed tolerable. I couldn't say much about her mother, but from what I could see in Sperling, she must've been a wonderful person. Where was her mother anyway?

"Phoenix," someone muttered from behind me. My attention peaked and I kept my head down and my ears alert.

"Phoenix," another replied just as nonchalantly. I pretended to look for my passport and paid close attention to whoever it was that was speaking. "The dresses are ready."

I turned and tried to make it seem like I was looking for a clock, catching a glimpse of the two men that whispered to one another:

First man: sandy, blonde hair, medium build, not very tall, scar on left cheek, Caucasian.

Second man: braided black hair, large build, tall, Asian.

What the hell did they mean by dresses? It must have been in relation to Bria due to their secrecy, but I couldn't make anything of it. There was no memory trigger related to dresses in my mind and as far as I remembered, Bria hated wearing dresses. She didn't like the fact that they flowed; she preferred things to be skin tight (much to my delight most of the time). They departed from each other without so much as a glimpse and continued on their ways; I was left baffled at what it could've meant.

It then occurred to me that Sperling might've known something about it. I knew she would still be tracking Bria like a hound dog on her end and she may have had information about the dresses that I didn't. Although I asked her not to help me, she did say that I could contact her if I needed anything. I figured I would do my own research before resorting to asking. All I needed was a laptop and a few minutes, and I'd have every database at my fingertips.

Of course, this was England. Nobody would lend you anything if you didn't have the money to pay for it, and all of mine was on a illicit credit card.

Sperling would've scolded me for harbouring all of the money I had conned. God, I missed her.

Then a honk came from outside the airport doors.

Car. I needed a car. I needed a phone. I needed a laptop. I needed a place to stay.

I needed Bria.

It was only logical what my next course of action was going to be.

***

"Can I help you with anything?" asked a sales associate over my shoulder. He was looking down at the little laptop screen. I quickly switched my screen from the Portland Police database to a website about tomato planting. 

"Not unless you can help me plant tomatoes," I replied, turning and raising my eyebrow at him. He shrugged and left me alone. Electronics stores were homes to some of the most productive (and laziest) people on the planet, and it never failed to amuse me. 

I switched back to the Portland Police database and searched for Clarine Sperling, scanning through her file for anything I needed to know. 

Name: Clarine Yvonne Sperling
D.O.B: June 15, 1993
P.O.B: Portland, Oregon
Hometown: Portland, Oregon
Height: 5' 2"
Weight: 105 lbs
Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Colour: Blonde
Precinct: 1
Supervisor: Captain L. Tomislav
Rank: Officer
Status: Office work

Office work? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I looked further on.

Additional Comments: Taken off the Evans case by Chief S. Redmond. Reassigned to desk work. 

God no. Why would they take Sperling off the case? She was the only person that got anywhere near finding Bria (with a bit of help, but that wasn't the point). In all honesty, had it not been for Sperling, I probably wouldn't have known to go to Prague anyway. I made a mental reminder to call her later about it. 

A few minutes of hacking later, I found myself in the CIA database. I did a broad search of "Phoenix", but came across redacted files. Why would any of this be redacted anyway? I narrowed my search down with the word 'dresses', but nothing else came up. 

According to everything I knew about Bria at the moment, she was probably one of the CIA's best kept secrets next to all of the conspiracies surrounding 9/11. What was she doing that they didn't want other people to know about? Then, out of some sudden epiphany, I searched up 'S. Redmond'; sure enough, a picture of a snarky looking male in his mid-fifties came up on the screen. I scanned his profile and right at the bottom were the words 'Believed to be part of the Phoenix ring'.

Things started to make sense. If Sperling was taken off Bria's case by this Redmond guy and he was part of Bria's operation, there must have been a connection. Perhaps that was why no one on the police force could ever get remotely close to her. 

Sperling needed to know. I logged out of my session and left the store to find a pay phone, but when I did, and dialed Sperling's phone number, her answering machine said something along the lines of "You ready? One, two...Hi, this is Clarine and Mabel. We're off to Europe for a bit. Leave a message after the beep!"

I could hear Mabel giggling in the background before the call went to an answering machine. I called again and again, and a couple more times, but there was no answer. I slammed the receiver in frustration and thought hard about my next step. 

No matter how I tried to sway myself to believe I wanted to find Bria, I knew it wasn't my first priority anymore. We were a flame once before, but I've realized since then that some people are worth a lot more than a few old memories. But I didn't want Sperling to think I was prancing around Europe without a cause. I wanted to blow my money and I wanted to meet up with her when she got here. 

Simple. Step one: beg for her to join you on your search but don't search for anything. Step two: win her over. Step three: pretend to give up your search and convince her it's impossible.

It was lie upon lie upon lie, but at least this lie would diminish the others. 

The first thing my mind was set on was Sperling and what I would do when I saw her next. She would definitely be flying into England because the tour packages always started there. I had a couple of hours to book a hotel and find a couple of necessities and surprise her at the airport. 

Besides, she hated surprises, which gave me all the more reason to do so.

***

My mother used to scold me for tapping my foot whenever I was getting impatient. She said it made me look hostile and she knew I wasn't a hostile person. Still, I never failed to tap my foot anyway. My father used to tease me by asking if I wanted to enroll in tap dancing class. 

I think my mother had a point, however; I could see people staring at me due to the sound of tapping that came from my foot. It wasn't my fault though; I had been waiting for nearly four hours and my appetite was working up. Security stopped by to see if I was okay about a dozen times. My leg fell asleep three times. I had always been an impatient person—not even a new cellphone and a room at a five star hotel (courtesy of Trevor Paxon's dirty, rotten money) kept me from nodding my head, bouncing in and out of sleep.

Five o'clock came around and the people around me started to pay more attention to the ones disembarking the aircraft. It occurred to me to do so as well—just the thought of seeing Sperling made my eyes a little less tired and a little more hopeful of what was to come. It was the last flight coming in from Portland that day and I desperately wanted to be the one to greet her first.

It was stupid, how fondly I thought of Sperling, and in such a short time span too. 

Just then, I heard a child babbling on about how she hated plane rides. She asked why they couldn't drive to England, and then why cars weren't built to drive on water. 

Then I heard her voice.

"Mabel, please. Cars are horrific things and airplanes are much cooler anyway."

I jumped up out of my seat and picked up my bag, racing over to greet her. My actions were quite questionable; I smoothed out my hair, cleared my throat and presented myself at face value in front of her and her entire family. While her jaw dropped, the rest of them beamed at me and Mabel made it her mission to let everybody in the airport know that I, Aunty Clare's boyfriend, was right in front of them.

"Trevor! God, I thought you were in Prague?" Hyacinth asked, taking Mabel from Sperling and nudging her towards me. She seemed to stop dead in her tracks, staring at me as if I had committed a crime. 

"I wanted to surprise her," I grinned. She glared at me and bit her lip while I pulled her in for a hug. She didn't really hug back. "My family's out and about so I've got a couple days to spare. Thought I'd take Clarine around, if that's okay with you."

"Take her! You guys are so cute, oh my God," Alexa squealed, waving at us. "Clarine, call us when you want to meet up, okay?"

"I—" she began, but was cut off by everyone hurrying away to avoid our passionate lovers' embrace.

Or lack of it.

"What the hell? What are you doing here?" she snapped, looking around to ensure her voice didn't carry to other people standing nearby. "Aren't you supposed to be looking for Evans?"

"I need your help," I said. "Please. I was wrong in asking you to stop helping me."

Step one: complete.

"You're fine on your own," she replied bitterly. "I was taken off the case by the chief of police. Said something about not being good enough—"

I couldn't bear to listen to her berate herself any further. I interrupted her mid-sentence and grabbed her wrist, dragging her to my (rental) car outside in the parking lot before she could protest. My hand opened the passenger door, ushered her in, then going into the driver's seat and shutting the door behind me. I stared at her and her overalls and leopard print t-shirt ensemble-—she was so, so cute.

"You're good enough," I stated. "You're the only one that's gotten anywhere remotely close to Bria over the last couple of years—"

"Yeah, but Chief Red—"

"Fuck what Redmond said! God, stop listening to other people—!"

"Don't raise your voice at—how did you know his name was Redmond?" she questioned, shifting in her seat and leaning against the door. I huffed and rubbed my temples. 

"I hacked the CIA—"

"Fuck, Harry, that's illegal. You shouldn't—"

"No, listen. I searched his name up and it said that he might be part of Bria's...well, whatever she's up to. It could be why he took you off the case—"

"Because I was getting too close," she inferred, her eyes widening. "That's exactly it. That asshole! Okay. Okay, I'll help you. I brought my laptop so we'll be able—"

"Now, now, don't get ahead of yourself," I chuckled, leaning in to kiss her across the console. "I haven't seen you in a while."

She leaned away from me and smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"Is that any way to welcome your wife, Mr. Paxon?" she teased.

"How rude of me," I excused myself. "Why don't I take you somewhere to give you a proper welcome to England, hm? And then we can work on the case."

"You had me at 'proper welcome'."

Step two: complete.

***

lmao im soz you had to wait so long for such a shitty chapter like i literally rewrote it three times and nothing felt right so w/e deal with it writing is hard

but hey, here's a spoiler because i've been so slow to update: 

(((they're gonna """fondue""" next chapter ooooooh)))

i h8 this chapter and i swear the next one will make up for this oops bye watch me lose readers bc of this chap fricK