When the phone rang at midnight, Jeb Batchelder almost didn't notice. It rang six times before he shook off his paralysis and answered it.

There was no reason for the phone to be ringing, especially not at this hour. Most people, even here, had long since gone to bed, and there were no projects in development of a sensitive enough nature to warrant midnight phone calls.

"Hello?"

"Doctor Batchelder?" The voice on the other end of the line was made raspy by distance, but he still recognized it instantly. Oh no. Not you.

"Yes, this is him speaking." Retorts nipped at the inside of his throat – Is this a social call, or should I stay on the line? Calling at midnight years after you disappeared is such a wonderful way to notify me you're not dead, don't you think?

"I need to – call in a favor."

"What kind of favor?" He expected something like I need you to cover up a death for me or I need you to bail me out of prison. Something serious. Something worth making a phone call to another country at what he had to know was midnight local time.

"Itexicon is transferring me to your location. It came up very suddenly. Would you mind giving me a ride from the airport?"

He was speechless for a moment, then managed, "I'd have thought that Director Janssen would have notified me ahead of time."

"Like I said. Very suddenly. The email should be in your inbox now. Is that a yes or a no?"

If Jeb Batchelder were a more astute man, he would have guessed that something was seriously wrong, and saved himself several months of confusion.

However, this was a man who had made his way in life by virtue of his intelligence, not his street smarts. Astuteness was not a quality he possessed.

The idea, for example, that his former colleague might be calling from a bugged phone, and thus unwilling or unable to discuss his situation in full, did not even cross his mind. The very thought that said colleague (and Jeb himself) were worthy of monitoring in such a way was, at the time, totally foreign to him.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

"Uh, yeah, sure," he said, glancing at his watch. "When does your flight arrive?"

"It'll be the only flight from Soesterberg arriving at the Darwin airfield today. I don't imagine you'll have much trouble locating me."

"You're flying into Darwin?" The airfield there was used only rarely, and never for international flights (well, except to Mexico or Canada). It was a decidedly odd choice of final destination.

"Yes. Is that all?"

"I guess. Thanks for the call," he said.

"Thank you for answering. I'm afraid my flight is boarding. Goodbye."

He didn't even have the courtesy to look jet-lagged. He could have been on his way to a conference with his neat grey suit and briefcase, though the duffel bag slung over one shoulder did detract from the image.

Whatever had happened in the last five years seemed to have aged him badly. When they'd first met, they had looked enough alike to be mistaken for brothers, even twins. Now there were deep crows'-feet at the corners of ter Borcht's eyes, and he looked drawn and worn.

"Hi," said Jeb. "Can I take your bag or something? I parked right up front, it's not far."

"Great," said ter Borcht, and unfiltered by the staticky phone line he sounded older as well, which was a bad observation given it had been years since they had last met. "Lead the way. I'm defecting," he added pleasantly.

"You're what?" The phrase brought images of the USSR and East Berlin. Debriefing sessions. It was a phrase that had lost currency two decades ago, a linguistic ghost.

"Defecting." His voice was cheery as he repeated himself. The sun came out from behind a cloud and he raised his free hand to shield his eyes. "Leaving Itex."

"I don't know what happened to you while you were away," Jeb ventured, "but I don't think that an airport is the best place to have this conversation." Defecting? Most people would call it quitting a job.

"What happened to me? It's a long story," said ter Borcht. "Suffice to say I have my reasons for wanting to leave."

"I'm sure you do," Jeb said. They were still standing on the tarmac, and behind ter Borcht the pilots were filing out of the little puddle-jumper he'd taken over from DIA. The airport at Darwin got barely any traffic most weeks. It might be another hour before the next flight left. "Also, if you don't mind my asking, what did happen to you?"

"I was in a mental institution for six months at the beginning," he said stiffly. "After that, well. My freedom was conditional on my employment by Itex. I am sure it wasn't entirely legal, but they seemed happy enough to have me."

"What are you doing here? You do know we contract for Itex."

"Of course. But you are funded by the United States military." There was a little of the old sharpness in his gaze. "That is why I am here, and not Moscow or somewhere further. Also, I am in need of your medical advice."

"Medical - look, Itex employs some of the best researchers in the world, there's no reason to come suck up to me." It was like their old lab arguments all over again.

"Yes." The shield of stiff correctness had slid back over his tone. "I am in need of your discretion. And if necessary I will need you to help execute my affairs."

"Roland, what –" He stopped himself, collected a better sentence. "Look. We barely know each other now. Why here? Why me? We worked together a decade ago - you must have family, other people you know better."

The corners of his lips turned up in a faint smile, and in the harsh sunlight Jeb saw the deep, bruise-like shadows under his eyes. "Please. I am very tired. Only trust me – you were my first choice in this, and I will explain further at a later time. For now, I would greatly appreciate somewhere to sleep."

note:

I should thank several people for their involvement in the many lives of this fic. I will do so briefly. Laura, for proofreading the first draft in high school art classes and pressuring me gently to try again. DZMom, for excellent critique and inspiration. Maddie, for listening to my endless ranting about story ideas.

Also, you, I suppose, because Christ knows I live for attention.

As far as update rate goes I can't match my high school rate of M-W-F updates, but I will try to update weekly.