The sky stretched out above me, a canvas of stunning beauty that seemed beyond perfection. The colours swirled seamlessly into one another, with soft, rippling clouds that appeared almost too delicate to be real. Each cloud seemed to float lazily, like cotton candy caught in the wind, as if suspended in a moment of peaceful stillness.

Blues, pinks, oranges, and hints of yellow spilled across the horizon, swirling and shifting in an almost ethereal dance. The fading light of the early morning bled into the deepening shades of twilight, creating an impression of time itself slipping effortlessly between night and dawn. It was breath-taking—a moment so striking it felt like I was witnessing something sacred. As the clouds settled, their edges softened, and I found myself unable to look away. My gaze was drawn into the vast, unbroken expanse above, and I stared, lost in its magnificence, without a thought or care in the world.

The train hummed steadily beneath me, its wheels gliding smoothly over the tracks, carrying me farther from everything. I couldn't help but notice how the scenery blurred past—the familiar landmarks I had passed a hundred times before, now reduced to a mere streak of memories. As the train rushed onward, I drifted into thought, my mind tracing back to the days not long ago when everything felt fragile, uncertain.

Only a few weeks ago, I had been staring down what felt like my own inevitable demise, bracing for what I was sure was coming. Now, here I was, leaving Munich behind, heading back to Berlin, the promise of safety and normality just ahead. The contrast between then and now was almost too stark to grasp. The fear, the tension, the raw edges of my existence had faded, but not completely.

Weeks of rigorous—though ultimately useless—training had left their mark. I had been on edge, twitchy at every noise, every glance. The smallest of things had been enough to set my nerves alight. Every creak of the train, every shift of the air, made me jump. I had tried to push it away, to return to something resembling calm, but it lingered. A constant hum in the back of my mind, a tension that would tighten and release in waves, only to rise again. I couldn't escape it, not yet. It came in fits and starts, a quiet reminder of the fragility of the moments we take for granted.

"I'm worried," I sighed, resting my head against the cool glass of the window, my hand propped up in a half-hearted attempt at support. The train's rhythmic hum was oddly soothing, the gentle rocking of the carriage offering a small sense of peace amidst the weight of my thoughts. Frank, thankfully, had fallen into a deep sleep beside me, his breathing steady and calm. Mason, on the other hand, sat across from me, his eyes bloodshot, the faintest tremor in his hands betraying how little rest he'd had. He hadn't slept in days, and I wasn't far behind him—maybe three hours total over the past two days, if I was lucky.

"About Russell?" Mason's voice was hoarse, as if even the effort of speaking had drained him.

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the blur of trees and open fields flashing past. "What if he doesn't speak to me at all? What if everything's changed? What if I've just... messed it all up?"

There was a long pause before Mason made a noise of exasperation—half groan, half chuckle—and rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Bell. Of course he will. You've known Russell long enough to know he's not just going to shut you out."

But even as he said it, I couldn't shake the doubt gnawing at me. Maybe Mason had the luxury of confidence, but I'd spent the last few weeks doubting everything—every word, every action, every decision. The uncertainty weighed on me like a physical thing, and the distance from Munich, from everything that had happened, felt like a fog I couldn't quite escape.

I stared out the window, watching the world slip by in the dimming light of night. The sky had darkened faster than I expected, the stars now beginning to scatter across the horizon. The chill of the evening air seemed to creep in, making the train booth feel colder than it should. I shivered, instinctively pulling my jacket closer around my shoulders, struggling to slip my arms into the sleeves with a slight fumbling motion.

Mason noticed immediately. Without a word, he reached over, his fingers brushing mine as he helped me adjust the jacket, the gesture surprisingly gentle. His touch was almost tender, as though he understood the subtle strain in my movements, the quiet exhaustion that had settled into my bones. I glanced up at him, but he was already looking away, back to the window, as if pretending he hadn't just done something kind.

The train rumbled on, and I let my thoughts settle, even if only for a moment, watching the world slip by in the quiet darkness, hoping that somehow, when we reached Berlin, everything might make a little more sense.

"Thank you," I said quietly, my voice soft but sincere as Mason helped me with the jacket. But before either of us could say anything more, Frank let out an earth-shattering snore that vibrated through the booth. It was so loud and so unexpected that both Mason and I jumped in surprise before bursting into laughter.

"Can't take that man seriously after that," I said between fits of giggles, shaking my head in disbelief.

Mason, still chuckling, shook his head as he wiped at his eyes. "I've never taken Frank seriously—unless we were on a mission. And even then, it's a stretch."

We both laughed harder, the tension that had been hanging over us for days starting to lift just a little. Frank's snores were so obnoxious that they could probably be heard a mile away, and for a few moments, the atmosphere in the train car felt lighter, as if the ridiculousness of the situation had momentarily relieved some of the weight we'd all been carrying.

Just then, a tall, blonde stewardess appeared, her smile warm and genuine. She carried a tray with coffee cups, the aroma of dark roast drifting in with her.

"We'll be in Berlin in around twenty minutes," she said, her voice friendly but muffled by the overpowering sound of Frank's snoring.

She set the coffee down in front of us, her lips curling into an amused smile as Frank let out another thunderous snore that, if anything, seemed to have gotten louder. She shot a playful glance at Mason and me, then giggled softly, clearly struggling not to laugh out loud herself. With a final chuckle, she walked away, the sound of her heels clicking softly against the train's floor as she disappeared into the next carriage.

Mason and I exchanged a look, trying and failing to hold back another round of laughter. Frank, oblivious as always, was snoring through it all, completely unaware of the havoc he was wreaking on our composure.

I took a sip of the coffee she'd left for us, grateful for the warmth in my hands, and leaned back in my seat. The tension in my shoulders had eased, even if just for a moment. The absurdity of Frank's snoring was a much-needed reminder that sometimes, even in the middle of everything, laughter was a good way to breathe.

-------

My feet hit the platform with a heavy thud as I stepped off the train, the familiar sound of the wheels fading behind me. Frank yawned beside me, stretching out his arms as if he hadn't just spent hours snoring through the entire ride. Mason let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

The Berlin summer heat hit immediately, wrapping around me like a thick, suffocating blanket. I could feel the sweat begin to bead on my skin as I adjusted to the sweltering air. The difference between Berlin and Munich was immediately obvious—not just in the temperature, but in the energy of the city itself. Berlin felt alive, chaotic, and brimming with a raw edge that Munich could never match. I liked Berlin so much more. Munich had its charm, but it was too... controlled, too neat. I knew, without a doubt, I'd never go back there.

"I'm absolutely dreading this," I muttered, rubbing my forehead and facepalming in frustration.

Mason's hand landed on my shoulder, his touch reassuring, even though I knew he was exhausted too. "You'll be fine," he said, his voice steady. He didn't try to convince me everything would be okay with false optimism; just the calm assurance that we could handle whatever came next.

We pushed through the station doors together, the heat of the outside air greeting us like an old, unwelcome friend. For such a late hour, the train station was teeming with people. Voices and footsteps echoed through the massive, open space as crowds of commuters, travelers, and late-night wanderers went about their business. Some were engaged in animated conversations, while others sat with headphones in, absorbed in their cassette tapes or music blaring from old Walkman's.

The phone booths near the entrance were packed, people fighting for their chance to make a call, their voices muffled in the small glass enclosures. Even the smoking booths had a few souls huddled together in the haze of cigarette smoke, the yellowed glass dimming the light. Lines stretched along the walls, people either waiting for a phone or simply looking for a space to light up. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with the kind of energy that could only exist in a city as restless as Berlin.

As Frank, Mason, and I navigated our way through the crowds, weaving past bodies and dodging shoulders, I couldn't shake the knot that had formed in my stomach. My eyes scanned the crowd, and I could feel my pulse quicken. The exit was in sight now, just a few more steps, but beyond that door stood something—or rather, someone—that I wasn't quite ready to face.

Adler.

He was waiting on the other side, and the thought of it made my stomach churn. I didn't know exactly what to expect from him, but the uncertainty was a weight I couldn't shrug off.

"All will be fine," I muttered under my breath, almost trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to reassure Mason and Frank.

The door to the exit slid open, and there he was. Adler.

He was leaning against the wall, tall and effortlessly calm, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. His blonde hair was tousled, his clothes simple but sharp. As soon as he saw us, he straightened up, tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it underfoot with a smooth, practiced movement. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a brief second, I could feel a flicker of something pass between us—something familiar, something tense.

Without a word, Adler walked toward us, his pace slow but deliberate, the kind of casual confidence that only someone with a million things going through their mind could pull off. He stopped a few feet away, the space between us heavy with expectation. His gaze shifted from me to Mason, and then to Frank, assessing each of us with that same piercing look.

I took a breath, trying to steady myself, even as the heat of Berlin seemed to press in from all sides. The tension in the air was thick, but I couldn't let it stop me now. Whatever came next, I knew I had to face it.

"Good night, isn't it?" Adler's voice cut through the air as he approached Frank and Mason, his steps confident and steady. I trudged behind them, awkwardly trying to shrink into the shadows, a strange instinct to hide behind the two taller men kicking in. It wasn't that I wanted to be invisible—more like I wanted to avoid whatever conversation was about to unfold.

"Adler, my man!" Frank grinned widely, slapping Adler on the back and offering him a friendly handshake. Mason nodded his greeting, his smile tight but genuine. The ease with which the two of them greeted Adler made my stomach tighten. The dynamic between them was casual, almost as if they had no history of tension, of secrets. It made me feel like an outsider, like I was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

"Shall we go?" I asked, my voice sounding steadier than I felt as I started walking toward the car. My fingers clenched around the straps of my bags, a subconscious attempt to ground myself. The heat of the evening was almost suffocating, but it wasn't the temperature that was causing the tension in my chest. No, it was something else—something I couldn't quite put into words.

I felt their eyes on me, Russell's gaze lingering just a little too long, and the way Frank and Mason exchanged knowing looks out of the corner of their eyes. It was all too much, too overwhelming, and yet... not overwhelming enough to ignore. My heart fluttered in my chest, the feeling almost too sharp as I walked, the lights of the station casting a golden glow that seemed to highlight Russell's face.

God, he was beautiful. He was a walking work of art. Had been since the moment I first laid eyes on him. The way the light kissed the angles of his cheekbones, the intensity in his gaze, even when it was soft—it all mixed together in a way that made my legs feel like they might give way beneath me.

We reached the car, and suddenly, the excitement of getting home, of finally being in a place I recognized, started to push everything else aside. I could almost taste the comfort of my own bed, the soft weight of my blankets, the stillness of being in a space that was just mine. The chaos of the past few weeks, the uncertainty, the fear—it would all melt away once I could lock my door and shut it all out for a while.

Mason, ever the gentleman, took my bag from me with a kind smile, hefting it into the trunk with minimal effort. My cheeks flushed, the simple act of his kindness making my heart skip a beat. But that wasn't the only reason I felt a sudden heat rise to my face.

Adler, without a word, stepped forward and opened the car door for me, his movements smooth and deliberate. A soft smile played at the corner of his lips, the kind that made my pulse race without explanation. It wasn't the first time he had done something like that, but it still caught me off guard. The casual grace with which he treated me, as though I were someone important, like it was nothing—like I was the one he'd been waiting for—made my insides flutter in a way I couldn't shake.

I hesitated for a split second, then slid into the car, unable to hide the warmth blooming on my cheeks. Adler's smile lingered in my mind as he closed the door softly behind me, and I felt his presence outside the car for just a moment longer before he climbed into the driver's seat.

The air in the car seemed to change as the door shut behind us, the hum of the engine filling the space between us, but the silence felt comfortable for the first time all day. As the car began to move, the city lights flickered past the windows, and I leaned back into the seat, taking in a long, steady breath.

Whatever was waiting for us in Berlin—whatever was waiting for me—could wait just a little longer. For now, I had this moment, and for the first time in a while, it felt like enough.

The ride back home was quiet, almost too quiet. The car hummed along the road, the faint sound of The Clash drifting from the speakers, their gritty guitars and pulsing rhythm barely audible beneath the steady buzz of the engine. Frank and Mason exchanged a few words now and then—mostly about the time we'd spent away, some offhand comments about the mission, the usual small talk. But it felt distant, like their voices were just background noise to the thoughts swirling in my own head.

I sat there, staring out the back window, watching the world slip by in the dim glow of streetlights. Mason was doing the same on his side, his face shadowed in the soft light, his gaze lost somewhere in the distance. The night had fully settled in now, the stars scattered across the sky in a blanket of soft light, and the clouds hung low, almost painted across the expanse above. There was a strange peace in the scene, like the night itself was holding its breath, waiting.

As we made our way closer, a familiar shape began to emerge from the dark—a house perched on a hill. My heart gave a quiet leap, the tightness in my chest finally loosening. Home. Finally.

I exhaled a slow, steady breath, relieved to be almost there. After everything—the tension, the uncertainty, the long days of waiting—it felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders, if only for a moment.

The car pulled up to the driveway, and I pushed the door open before it had even fully stopped, eager to get out and stretch my legs. I grabbed my bag from the trunk, the cool air of the night rushing over me as I lifted it out. I couldn't help but let out a deep sigh, a smile creeping onto my face despite myself.

"God, this feels amazing to be back," I muttered, inhaling deeply. The air was thick with the usual humidity, but it still felt like home—familiar, grounding, comforting. I breathed it in again, the mix of earth and city scents, the distant hum of Berlin's nightlife wafting up from the valley below. From the hill, the city lights sparkled like stars scattered across the ground, and I found a strange kind of comfort in them, like the city itself was holding me close.

Someday, I'd figure it out. I'd figure out what the plan was for me—what my next step would be. I'd talk to Hudson about the missing nuke, the weight of that unfinished business pressing on me. But for now, that could wait. I wasn't thinking about missions or any of the chaos we'd left behind in Munich.

What I missed more than anything was being in the field—being out there, risking my life, making a difference. It was a strange part of me, this need to help, to feel like I was doing something that mattered. I didn't know exactly what my next move would be, but I knew one thing: I wasn't done yet. Whatever came next, I'd be ready for it.

For now, though, the quiet hum of the night, the gentle flicker of city lights, and the comfort of being home was enough. Just enough.

_____

I stood over the porch railing, cradling a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette dangling loosely from my fingers in the other. The hot, bitter brew offered a small comfort, a touch of warmth against the cool night air, but my mind was elsewhere, drifting across the view of the Berlin skyline. The city spread out beneath me, a patchwork of lights twinkling through the haze of the evening. From here, you could almost pretend the chaos of it all wasn't so loud, so constant. You could pretend there was peace.

The sounds of the city filtered in quietly, distant voices, the occasional car honking, the steady hum of life carrying on below. It was a familiar, comforting rhythm—the soundtrack of Berlin—but tonight, it felt almost muted, as if I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to hear it clearly.

I was lost in the moment when the sound of the porch door creaked open behind me, and it caught me completely off guard. I hadn't expected company, not yet.

There was Adler, standing in the doorway. He didn't say anything at first, just watched me for a moment, the weight of his presence almost tangible. I could feel the tension between us, even from a distance. The silence that had settled between us since we got back home was thick, awkward—unnatural in a way that I couldn't quite shake. We hadn't spoken much at all, just polite nods and the occasional "Excuse me" as we passed each other in the kitchen, like strangers forced into the same space.

It felt... forced. Like we were both waiting for something—waiting for the right words or the right moment, but neither of us knew how to bridge the gap. The tension lingered like smoke in the air, and it was clear we were both still finding our way back to something that had been so natural once.

Without a word, Adler walked over and leaned against the railing beside me, mirroring my stance but not my silence. His presence was solid, grounding, as though he was waiting for me to speak, but somehow, I couldn't bring myself to say anything.

He didn't seem to mind the quiet. If anything, he seemed comfortable with it, as if he was just... here. Existing beside me, without the need for all the words we couldn't find yet.

Finally, after what felt like ages, he spoke, his voice low and calm, carrying just a hint of the ease he always seemed to have when he wasn't pushing for something. "You okay?"

I glanced over at him, surprised at the simplicity of the question. But then again, it was just like Adler to get straight to the point. I wasn't sure if he really wanted an answer, but I found myself nodding anyway, if only to acknowledge the question.

"Yeah," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "Just... thinking."

He didn't press me, which was a relief. Instead, he took a long breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. There was something about him in these moments, something steady, like he wasn't bothered by the silence or the awkwardness. Maybe he was used to it. Or maybe, like me, he was just waiting for the right time to talk.

The cigarette between my fingers burned down slowly, and I tossed it over the edge of the porch railing, watching it disappear into the darkness below. I realized I had no real plans to speak up. Not yet. But somehow, the weight of Adler's presence made the silence feel more bearable, less like something to avoid and more like something to sit with.

"How was your time away?" Adler's voice was low, rough, carrying the kind of gravelly tone that seemed to fit the weight of the conversation. He lit a cigarette, the glow from the ember illuminating his face in the dim light, and inhaled deeply, his eyes studying me as if waiting for an answer.

I didn't have to think about it long. The memories of the last few weeks hit me like a hammer, the tension, the danger, the feeling of being trapped in something too far out of my control. I took a long sip of coffee, as if the heat could somehow settle the anger brewing inside me.

"It was torturous, horrible, fucking hell," I muttered, the bitterness in my voice impossible to hide. The words felt too small for the chaos of what I'd been through. Thinking about that place, those days— it was like a weight pressing on my chest, a reminder that I was too close to something I didn't want to face.

Adler was silent for a moment, as if letting the words settle. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, as if he understood the gravity of what I'd just said. "I'm sorry about that," he said, the sincerity cutting through the tension. "I think we both took the nuke thing around the same time."

I nodded, the cold edge of anger still lingering at the back of my throat. "Was that when you were with Lazar?" I asked, my gaze dropping to the ground. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear the answer, but I needed to know.

Adler's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something that might have been regret. "Yes," he said, his voice even quieter now. "Hudson broke the news on a secure phone line. Not sure what will happen now. Anyways..." He paused, like he was moving past the worst of it, and then suddenly he was beside me, his presence filling the space between us. He scooted closer, wrapping his arm around my back in a way that felt oddly comforting, like he wasn't just trying to be there, but trying to be there.

"I apologize for what Weaver put you through with those files," Adler said, his voice low. "Can you even remember exactly what happened?"

The question made me tense. My mind instantly began to spiral back to that place, the flashes of disjointed images, the sounds, the pain. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself, but the memories wouldn't let me go so easily. I took a slow breath, trying to ignore the creeping darkness at the edges of my mind.

"Partly," I finally said, my voice unsteady. "Some of it is still blurry. I was working in London, needed money to get to America. Someone on Weaver's team agreed to help me out if I got the files for them." I paused, trying to gather the fragmented memories into something that made sense. "My file stated that I was either dead or missing—put down as 'unsure'—and that's when Stitch took me. He got me for those files, and the doctor gave me amnesia."

The words felt like a confession, like I was admitting something that still haunted me. The weight of it all came crashing down again, and I rubbed my temple, trying to push back the nausea rising in my stomach. But one tear slipped down my cheek, and I didn't even try to stop it. It felt too raw, too real.

Before I could even wipe it away, Adler was beside me, his hand on my arm, his eyes searching my face. He moved me gently, turning me so that I was facing him. "Hey," he said, his voice soft, soothing. "It's okay. I'm here, and everything is going to be fine."

The words didn't immediately make everything better, but there was something about the way he said them—so steady, so sure—that made me want to believe him. Before I even realized it, my face was buried into the crook of his neck, and I was crying. I couldn't hold it back anymore. The tears came fast, flooding out of me, and I gripped onto his arms, my fingers clenching desperately, afraid that if I let go, I might break into a million pieces.

Adler didn't pull away. He didn't ask questions or try to stop it. Instead, he just let me cry, holding me steady, his arms wrapping around me like a lifeline. His jacket soaked up my tears, and I felt the weight of everything—the pain, the fear, the uncertainty—all crashing down on me. I hadn't been this emotional in so long, and yet, in that moment, I couldn't stop.

I felt sick to my stomach, overwhelmed by the rawness of it all, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't have to pretend. I didn't have to hide behind a mask of strength or control. Adler was there, and for once, I let myself be broken.

His hands gently lifted my head, pulling me away from the comfort of his neck, and our eyes locked—something in the depth of his gaze made my heart ache in ways I hadn't expected. Oh, how I missed this feeling, I thought, the connection that always seemed so effortless, so natural between us.

"I'm really sorry, Russell," I said, my voice heavy with emotion, my brows furrowing with regret. "I was such an asshole for leaving the way that I did. I should've said goodbye. But instead, I couldn't build the courage to even say it."

I shook my head, the tears still fresh on my cheeks, but I didn't pull away from him. "Listen, you don't need to apologize," He said softly, Russell's voice a little unsteady. "I understand why you left the note, and in the end, I'm glad you did, because I wasn't sure I could say goodbye either."

His thumb brushed gently over my cheek, wiping away the stray tears that had slipped down, and for a moment, everything in the world felt like it stopped, just us, just this.

"I missed you, Russell," I spoke, my voice going low to a whisper. 

"I missed you too," Adler replied, his words thick with the emotion he clearly hadn't let myself feel until now.

And then, his lips met mine. It was soft at first, tentative, as if we were both unsure if we were really allowed to have this moment. But the moment his warmth touched me, all that fear and uncertainty melted away. I kissed him back, feeling the fire, the passion that had always been between us, burning brighter than ever. I felt safe in his arms, a comfort I hadn't known since... well, since when I left for protection. Munich had been a nightmare, a constant walk on eggshells, each day spent in fear and tension.

But in this moment, with his lips on mine, everything else seemed so far away.

"Can I take you out for dinner tomorrow?" His voice broke the silence, but there was hope in it, a lightness I hadn't expected.

I smiled through the warmth of his touch, still lingering on my skin. "Of course you can, Russell," I said, my heart skipping a beat.

We stood there, side by side, staring out at the Berlin skyline. The stars overhead seemed to shine brighter than I'd ever seen them before, like they were putting on a show just for us. And then, a small glimmer shot across the sky, a fleeting streak of light. I couldn't help but smile at the timing, the simplicity of it.

"That was beautiful," Adler murmured, his hands finding mine and holding them softly, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest, a mix of relief and warmth filling me up from the inside. It was like coming home, like everything had finally fallen into place.

"I won't leave you again, Russell," I whispered, squeezing his hand, knowing that, for the first time in so long, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

We stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, watching the stars shine down on the city that felt like a new beginning. Together. The past was behind us now, and for the first time, I allowed myself to believe that the future could be something beautiful, too.