Back from my lovely, lovely holiday in Scotland. Anyone who has half a chance to go to Scotland: do it, absolutely worth it.

And so, without much further ado (or advertising), on to the story.

I can hear him on the backseat.

For a fleeting second there, I wonder how I could have let them talk me into this. I mean driver is usually not my job on the team. But I can see how the choice fell on me. BA wouldn't be caught in the same car with a sex-having Face, not in a million years. BA thinks it shouldn't be done like that. – I partly agree.

And Hannibal, of course, has to wait at the end of the ride with a cigar in his mouth, Fulbright at gunpoint, and a broad grin on his face.

Leaves me.

There's really only one way I could have escaped this, and I'd rather not walk that road. It would include me telling them the truth about myself, and I just can't tell them that listening to Face doing the unspeakable is driving me beyond good and evil. They'd only ask questions. Or worse, they wouldn't ask, but draw their own conclusions. Wrong or right, I couldn't stand either. I don't want them to think I envy him, and even less I want them to think I envy her. I couldn't stand it. I want them to believe I'm perfectly happy with this asexual life I'm living; better that way. I don't want them breaking their heads over my love life, nonexistent as it is.

Oh no, now she's making noise, too. She's kept pretty quiet until now – thank god. Face, on the other hand... Well, he's an audible lover. He sighs, moans, laughs guttural laughs, mutters nonsensical words, and I wish I didn't have to hear him right now, although at the same time, I enjoy it immensely. I savour every single second of it. I can't get enough of the way he sounds during sex.

He has the most heavenly moan there is, and it's what I initially fell in love with. He sounds more alive during sex, and I'm pretty sure that's why he drags so many girls into his bed. He needs them to feel alive. I think that not even a fight can make him feel equally alive, not even when we've just escaped death by only a few inches or seconds.

Actually, that's nice. It's comforting that he feels it for something that can create life, rather than for something that can only take life.

He groans. Easy, there, Face. I think they can hear you even outside as we drive by.

She squeaks. Oh, where's the silencer for greedy bitches when you need one? I could get lost in his moans, but her, I could do without. Easily. Oh, I will enjoy the end of this ride. Can't wait to see her stupid face.

Hey, what's my hand doing there on the button that winds down the separating screen between him and me? I mustn't.

But I do. Just a narrow crack.

Now I can hear him clearly, not muffled like before, and I hear his breathing as well. It's irregular, it hitches in his throat, and he mutters something. Well, Face and his mouth. I guess he'd die if you taped his mouth shut for even just a day. He'd choke with all his unspoken words. Not that it's very sensible things he's saying. It's almost as if he's talking so much to avoid saying something.

Yikes, there she goes again. Why the hell he wants her, I can't understand, she's in no way appealing. I mean, she's not exactly bad looking, she's a certain kind of attractive even, but she has the sex-appeal of a dead dog.

Okay, I know. She's a trophy, that's what she is, nothing more. – Although I still wonder what he wanted with her in the first place. Okay, okay, okay. He was a teenager, and to teenagers practically everyone with breasts is desirable.

Oh, God, no. I think I can smell them. Sex has this very distinctive smell. Can't mistake it.

And why do I let the screen down a bit more? I'm such an idiot, BA is right.

I do my best to drown out her, and concentrate on him instead.

Hmmmm, he sounds so delicious.

Things that'd better stay dormant, start to stir in my groin. Oh damn, Murdock, you're such an idiot. Couldn't have done without torturing yourself, could you?

I try to get rid of the images flooding my mind, but my hand just doesn't find the way to that button that would wind the screen back up. Instead I unstoppably slip into imagining myself in her position.

And so he's suddenly muttering into my ear, whatever he's muttering. He brushes his lips against my cheek, sighs against my neck, caresses my skin. He presses against my body in passion.

I want to reach out and touch him, want to spoil him. I want to caress him endlessly, stroke him, kiss him, hold him tight and make him fly.

I wish he'd moan because of the things I do to him. I wish he'd get what he needs from things I do. I wish I could make him feel alive like the women can.

I love him.

He doesn't know.

Nobody knows. I'll be damned if I tell anyone. BA's a bit on the homophobic side, although I'm sure he'd accept it with me. He likes me too much to not accept it. Hannibal doesn't mind who I lose my heart to, woman or man, as long as it's not upsetting the team.

And Face? I think he'd suffer a heart attack on the spot. He's the most heterosexual guy I've ever met.

And if these three men don't know, then nobody else in the world needs to know. Although, sometimes I think that Richter suspects those – shall we say, tendencies? – of mine.

They're approaching the finish back there, things are becoming a bit louder, and a little less controlled. Someone just banged against something with a leg or something.

Oh, I wish she'd shut up, I want to hear Face. I love to listen to him. She... Gods above, I will so awfully much enjoy the end of this ride...

"Oh, Templeton!"

Shut up, bitch.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he says. Ha! Doesn't even say your name, bitch!

I remember to wind up the screen just in time. Don't want to ruin the show, after all, do we?

TBC