RMX: WHOO! Finally back on fanfic. What's more-I'm finally posting my first fanfiction for the 39 Clues.

Ian:…what are you talking about? You've written plenty of fanfiction for us! You just haven't posted it anywhere.

Hamilton: I hate to agree with the Kabra-but he's right. And it's not your first post either-because this is already on Deviantart.

RMX:…you know-you really should learn to not kill my happy mood. Now-this is the first of a bunch of stories I'm planning to write-but I don't know if I'll get around to it, so I'm just going to post it as a singlet for now, but I might make it multichapter later…anyway-read the Disclaimer Ian.

Ian: Why?

RMX: Just do it.

Ian: AnagramRMX does not own the 39 Clues or any of its characters or ideas, however she is the first person to point out the hair gel issues…and she's also a filthy Ekaterina.

RMX: …You didn't seriously just adlib that…

Hamilton: Get on with the story already…

(-:-)

Ian Glared at Hamilton. "I can't believe I'm working with a Holt!" he hissed, running a hand over his face in exasperation as they walked through the streets of a 3rd world country's capital.

Hamilton snorted, tossing his head back, making it obvious that his hair either needed gel, or a trim. "Either believe it or get the heck away from me," he said. "Then see what chance you have of finding something…"

"I've got a better chance than you," Ian sighed. Oh how have I sunk to this? He thought in irritation.

A week ago, Ian and Natalie had tracked the Cahills to South America. Six days ago, they had figured out that the Holts were there too. Five days ago, Dan, Amy and Nelly had hijacked their chopper, and a lack of cell phone service meant they couldn't get another one until a Lucian realized something was wrong. Hamilton, Madison and Mary-Todd were convinced that there was something in the village to find, but Eisenhower and Reagan had raced off to catch the Cahills, and took the van and everything in it with them.

Four days ago, the Kabras and Holts made a truce to try not to kill each other until another chopper got there.

Three days ago, that truce dissolved when Hamilton and Ian fought and took a tumble into the river. Hamilton's faux-hawk had quickly fallen apart, and Ian's hair had taken to laying in five different ways since then. This in itself was the major reason they were together, tramping through the woods in search of something they coveted more than the clues: a suitable replacement for hair gel.

It had taken two more stubborn days, but they eventually had to ditch the girls and tend to their manly hair care, even if it meant working together.

Hamilton rolled his eyes as they found the market. "I've got just as much chance as you," he said, "if not more. I don't need the high priced junk like you do…"

"But I can pay these people," Ian sneered, looking at a stall full of what looked like speared cockroaches. He cringed. Regardless of the fact they don't care about hair…

"Yeah, yeah," Hamilton grumbled, looking at a fruit cart. "Just look for something sticky…"

Vendors around them were shouting in different languages, and they tried to ignore it while they looked. So far though, they hadn't found anything.

Until Hamilton saw what looked like a bakery, and the jar of honey on the shelf.

"Oi!" he blurted. "Kabra! Found something…"

Ian looked over, and saw what Hamilton was looking at before smirking distastefully. "That'll have to do…"

Ian and Hamilton made their way to the shack, and asking to buy the honey to no avail. For half an hour, Ian and Hamilton bickered with each other and the store keep. There was still no sign that they'd be able to buy the honey. Hamilton made a few 'your mom' jokes. Did that work, you might ask? Of course not.

Hamilton kicked a rock on the ground after being thrown out of the bakery.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" he spat. "It's honey-not the world cup…"

Ian made a noise that might have been nasally laughter. "Even that can be bought…"

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Ian snapped up. "Oh-nothing you need to worry about," he said hastily, before looking back to the bakery. "The point is: we can't get it by monetary means…"

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "You mean money?"

Ian smacked himself in the forehead. "Yes. Money." Dolt…

Hamilton looked back to the bakery. "Then we need a new strategy…" he said lowly, looking at Ian secretively.

Ian smirked. "I don't suppose you know the plan?"

Hamilton smirked back. "You distract the salesman; I'll steal the honey jar."

Ian straightened his collar. "Good man," he stated, before walking back to the bakery.

Hamilton followed idly, looking around the shop with false interest while Ian started a conversation with the shop keep about his baking methods.

Hamilton moved towards the honey pot. He moved quickly, but just as he grabbed it, the shopkeeper yelled at him. Hamilton swore under his breath. "Kabra-you suck at diversions," he growled. Clearly, Ian had the same train of thought while Hamilton threw the honey jar down and made for the door while the shopkeeper yelled some more, but Ian wasn't going to have any part of the fall. He quickly said something that seemed suspiciously like "I assure you I had nothing to do with this," and Hamilton glared, grabbing Ian's arm before getting out as the baker got reinforcements.

"Oh no," Hamilton growled. "If I fall you're going down with me!"

Ian yelped at the Holt-Death grip that Hamilton was exacting on his arm, and scrambled to run with him while the townspeople started chasing them towards the tree line.

"Brilliant," Ian hissed through his teeth while breaking through a wall of leaves. "Just bloody brilliant…" The yelling of the villagers was dying down behind them, but they kept running.

"You're the one who couldn't keep that jack wad busy!" Hamilton spat, not nearly as out of breath as Ian was.

"Well I…apologize…if he had…an inkling of an idea…of our plan…" Ian panted before breaking into a clearing. He paced forwards to a tree, while thinking that it had probably been a pretty obvious plan and leaning back to catch his breath.

Hamilton slowed to a jog, pressing his hand against the tree when he stopped. He pulled away after a moment-only stop. He realized that his hand was sticky.

He looked at the hand with a raised eyebrow. It was covered in a sickly yellow sap. He looked at the tree where it was practically dripping with the goo, and he grinned.

He looked at Ian (who hadn't moved an inch) before wiping his hand on Ian's sleeve.

Ian straightened up, looking at his arm in confusion, processing the fact his reluctant partner in crime had just wiped something on him before looking up at Hamilton indignantly.

Hamilton was still grinning, and pointed to the tree.

Ian looked, and managed a shaky smirk while looking at the tree.

"Tree sap," he panted. "I suppose that will work…"

END

RMX: I admit that this story is a little OOC, and that Hamilton and Ian would probably never work together, but in my defense-they've been stuck in a third-world-country for a week, and a truce was the only solution.

Hamilton: Dang strait…

Ian: what does that even mean?

RMX: (Sigh) Anyway, I hope you liked it, and please don't flame me for it being OOC. Also-Ian SO DOES wear Hair gel. Don't act shocked.

Ian: weren't you also going to do some recruiting?

RMX: Oh-Right! Thanks. To anyone on Deviant Art-there's a 39 clues group I'm co-founder for, and we really want new members. Please check it out so we can start our first contest. Here's the code (kinda…): http (SEMICOLON) (SLASH) (SLASH) the-39-clues (DOT) deviantart (DOT) com/

Hamilton: THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT!

.

…

IAN: WTF?