Cartoon Network owns all rights to the Codename: Kids Next Door.

Streetlamps dotted the sleeping, urban streets for blocks. The tree house stood far higher than the lights, leaving unaltered darkness, making the stars clear above and giving the streetlamps a star-like quality below. The only thing that moved within the tree was the leaves when the wind blew through in summer gusts. Unfortunately, for the Count, he couldn't feel the heat. There was a few seconds of pleasure when the life of another rushed through his body, making his heart beat for a handful of seconds, a harsh reminder of the spark he'd loss in death.

There was a smell that lingered, domed within the leaves, which the wind couldn't steal. It was the warm sugary sweet smell of fresh cotton candy, cookies, syrup and popped corn. Within that, he could smell the distinct scents of the individual operatives.

Somewhere far in the night, a siren blared and dogs barked, but the tree house was shadowy and silent. He crawled from limb to limb. The branches didn't bend under his weight, gravity didn't touch him. He came to the open windowsill with the faded galaxy curtains framing the window within the room.

His fingers curled over the smooth wood, and he peered inside the vast private quarters of the operative he'd always known as Numbuh Four. He only recently started mentally calling the teenager by his given name, Wally. He rose, leaning into the room. The curtains brushed against his crisp, white shirt.

There was no warning, no knock. The door flew open and the light switched on, forcing him to withdraw below the windowsill.

oOo

"Come-on Numbuh Three, you can't practice kissing on the back of your hand, it's not going to teach you anything. You need a practice dummy that kisses back," Abby said. She picked her way across the disaster of a room, dodging the larger piles of Wally's stuff, which included hockey sticks, football equipment and toppled towers of comic books. Nothing had changed since elementary.

Kuki stood in the doorway in her white Rainbow Monkey tee-shirt and little blue shorts that made her legs long and thin. Wispy black strands of hair fell into her face from her high ponytail. Her round, dark eyes glanced around the room uncertain. "But Wally? It's awkward. He's so… so… you know, Wally!"

Abby laughed, already standing by the bed in red shorts, equally short to what Kuki wore, and a red tank top. Her hat sat low on her head and her hair was loose from its signature braid. To make a point, she picked Wally's limp wrist up and let it drop. "He's practically dead to the world. He won't wake up."

The little display did nothing for Kuki's nerves as she slid into the room, hopping over the obstacle course of boy junk; sports magazines and dirty laundry. Superhero sheets were stretched over the single bed, and the matching comforter had been kicked down over the side. Wally wore long, aqua blue sleep pants and a long sleeve, white shirt with Aqua Man in comic book lettering stretched over his solid chest.

His sun yellow hair had gotten shaggy over the summer. He'd cut it again right before the football season so it wouldn't get in his face when he wore his helmet. At the moment, he looked like a maltase poodle. Maltase poodles were friendly. They were cute, and warm and fun to hug. She'd even rub her nose against its wet nose and let it kiss her. She could… maybe… kiss Wally because Wally was like a maltase without a wet nose.

"He's sort of cute and fluffy when he's not talking," Kuki observed out loud. He'd be cute at a tea party with a little pink bonnet and matching summer dress, but Wally's nose wasn't wet and his body wasn't nearly hairy enough, nor was his vocabulary limited to cute little high pitched barks. She'd never risk anyone knowing about her secret Rainbow Monkey tea party that she still threw for herself and her collection late at night when everyone was asleep.

Abby was the first to lean over the bed and grab Wally's shoulder and arm. "A little help, maybe?"

Kuki immediately leaned in and almost bumped heads with Abby.

"How many flavors of bubble gum lip balm did you put on?" Abby chastised. "You smell like a candy shop."

Kuki bit her lip. "I'm sorry. This is the first time I've actually, you know, used a real person to practice on. I didn't want chapped lips."

"I don't think the football dummy is going to notice," she said.

Kuki leaned in again, this time sliding both hands around Wally's shoulder and arm, heaving him into a sitting position. His heat radiated through the overly washed, thin pajama fabric. Why had he chosen something so hot to sleep in? The tree house wasn't exactly cool at night.

Precariously balanced with his feet on the ground and his spine gently curved in sleep, Wally sat on the edge of his bed. His eyes were slit open, the gray of his irises stared at nothing. He was completely zonked out.

"Now this might be strange to you, but lookie here," Abby grabbed Wally's jaw, demonstrating how easy it was to tilt his face upward. The young football star was completely mobile, easy to maneuver. She placed a chaste kiss on his mouth, leaving a light gloss on his pale, pink lips. "Now you try."

Kuki gulped. Wally wasn't moving, but she expected him to open his eyes, push her away and declare the need to burn his body of koodies. She wasn't a hundred percent sure Wally ever graduated from his level of koodie concern. Still, she cupped his jaw, surprised at how firm it felt in her small palm. She tilted his head back and placed an equally chaste kiss on his lips.

Wally stirred and she jerked back, but she couldn't get far. His arms locked around her waist and she was falling back on top of him. He nuzzled her cheek, kissing blindly along her temple. She pressed her hands against his shoulders, and pushed upward. With Abby's help, she was loose and Wally had gone limp, askew against the mattress, sighing in his sleep and mumbling unintelligently.

Abby looked as stunned as Kuki felt. "That might be enough of a lesson, ya think? No tell'in what will wake the jock."

Kuki giggled nervously, finding the heat in her cheeks hard to mask. "Yeah, you're probably right. How did you know he'd sleep so soundly?"

Now it was Abby's turn to look embarrassed. A red flush brightened her face. "Uh, well… There was this incident with the ghosts, and the gerbils and the thermostat…"

"Okay, I got it," Kuki said, leading the way through the destruction zone of a room. She stopped short, nearly running back into Abby with one hand on the door and the other on the switch. Her dark eyes had gone demure, almost embarrassed. "Wally's fun to kiss."

"Mmm, boy, don't I know," Abby said, switching off the light and closing the door.

oOo

The Count cursed under his breath. He didn't have all night and though the young women had been quick, sitting on a limb wasn't how he wanted to spend his night. He was missing the villain annual convention for a chance to seek his revenge on the operative known as Wallabee Beatles, freshman in high school, football star.

The shrill sirens stopped. The dogs quit barking. The neighborhood was as quiet as the tree house. He stood from where he hid. The darkness within, safely beckoned.

Nothing furry scampered over the floorboards. There was no sign of hidden wayward pets. Nothing stirred except the blinking red light on the television recording nonsense, he supposed.

He slid into the room and stood by the window. The air was stifling; condense with sweat, greasy and sweet foods and dirty clothes. Every scent mingled unpleasantly forming one toxic stench that made the inside of his nose burn and his eyes water. There was one smell that wasn't completely unpleasant, and that was the smell of clean flesh. Like a thin wrapping over a sharply scented treat, he could smell blood. He could hear the soft, rhythmic beating of the young man's heart. It made his gums pulse with want.

The floor was littered with junk, bicycle parts, markers over cardboard layouts, and forgotten tidbits. He made it to the bed without incident and sighed in relief. The teen in question wasn't aware he'd had nightly visitors or that one stood over his bed now. The Count blocked the silver moonlight, casting a long shadow over the sleeping teen. Wallabee's brows furrowed and he shivered, registering, somewhere deep in his sleep laden mind, the change of temperature.

The Count placed his fingertips on Wallabee's forehead, brushing the stray strands of butter blond hair from his forehead. Heat lingered on the tips of his fingers where he touched him, but when he withdrew, the heat immediately left his skin, leaving it numb, a permanent frost bite numbness that never went away unless he drank warmth.

He reached out again, but footsteps stilled his hand. They were clunky, not the steps women took. These were the heavy steps of a person in deep thought. A low hum of a motor whistled with the steps and as they neared the door, the Count realized where the person was heading. He slid under the bed, grateful that it was off the floor and not completely stuffed with objects so he couldn't fit. Still, he found his elbow resting in a half-eaten something.

The door opened and the light flipped on. The Count squeezed his eyes shut until the pain of the light subsided and he slowly opened them again. A lithe figure stood in the doorway in rolled up blue jeans, a collared shirt and vest. He wore an aviator's cap and goggles, though the goggles were currently resting on his cap. The young man had a name… all the Count knew him by was Numbuh Two. Names hadn't been important until Wallabee Beatles; "Wally" on the field and among friends.

oOo

Hoagie stood in the doorway with his science fair project hovering just ahead of him in smooth, black metallic. Two large, multi-prism glass bulbs connected at the front and long silver wings that fluttered, though it wasn't what kept it afloat. The hydro-engine he'd installed gave it most of its power and a little extra tinkering. The idea had come to him when he was in the fourth grade, but he never really knew what he was aiming to build with the sketches of the fly that ended up in his work room so long ago.

Now his contraption was complete, small enough to help kindergarteners and first graders. This was his first model and it needed to be tested by someone taller than the ankle biters. It was sturdy and durable and he needed to know it wouldn't go down if someone large jumped on it.

The controller was similar to a game controller, but the inside had the ability to do the same, so two people could control the ship, in case the controller inside the Fly got jammed. The machine glided ahead of him, beautiful in the way the wings caught the light. It would be prettier under natural light, but he was amazed with it on both ends. He cut a path straight through Wally's stuff, just walking right over it until he made it to the bed.

He yanked the pen from behind his ear and twisted his arm so he could scratch his notes on the small pad he wore like a bracelet, his own personal invention. "Subject is approximately five-nine in height…" he stared at Wally trying to gauge weight. He was lithe from running, solid and muscular for his frame, but he wasn't built like a professional. "Slim to midrange in weight, healthy."

Real healthy. Ever since Wally started playing sports, his diet had changed, but then again, so had Hoagie's, less chilly dogs and more lean meats. His Flyer stayed level with the bed. He sat his controller on the edge of the mattress, stretched his arms a bit and bent down, making sure to bend his legs. He put his hands up under Wally's back and under his legs. The heat of his body immediately sank through his clothes. He was successful for an instant. The younger and shorter operative's dead weight sent them both toppling onto the bed, with Hoagie on top. Wally didn't stir.

Hoagie sat up and found that he was straddling his quarry. The heat that came from Wally's body wasn't completely uncomfortable, despite the heat of the room that even the open window couldn't move. And Wally smelled clean, like mint body wash. He hadn't pictured the jock using body cleansing supplies with such a clean, sharp scent.

Hoagie's heart flip flopped and heat rushed to his face. What was he sitting here thinking? His love was in grease and screwdrivers. He loved nails and blueprints.

This time when he attempted to lift Wally, he was ready for the dead weight. He got him airborne, though thankfully the Fly was right next to the bed. He dropped him into the passenger seat with his legs haphazardly hanging nearly to the floor. Wally slumped over the controls, non-the-wiser.

In the mess, the controller was no longer on the bed, but beside it on the floor. He swooped down to nab it and caught something pale jolt back under the shadows of the bed. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Great! The last thing they needed was an infestation of ghost gerbils.

He bent down to look, but there was nothing beyond forgotten food containers. It was definitely ghost gerbils. They were going to have to bring out the big guns in the morning and take care of business.

Hoagie stood upright and dusted himself off. Something inside the controller rattled. That was new. Maybe the fall loosened a screw inside the box. He'd have to look at that back in his work shop, a.k.a. bedroom.

He moved the joystick on the controller upward, and the Fly didn't move. He moved it sideways with the same lack luster results. He moved the joystick back, still nothing. He shook the controller and tried again. Same results. No luck. Inventor's frustration made his shoulders knot and it wasn't from lifting something heavier than the contraptions he was use to moving about.

He jabbed the red button under the controller and the Fly ran straight into the wall. The prism eyes exploded on impact. The wires were exposed like grotesquely sparking veins. There was soot on the wall, but no damage.

The Fly wilted down near the floor. He grabbed Wally and got him on the bed, then pulled his pen out from behind his ear and jotted a note on the pad. One last glance at the jock and heat rushed to his face. Okay, now he really needed to get back to the lab before he forgot the purpose of his task.

The Fly sputtered behind him as he flipped off the light. He waited for the Fly to move out into the hallway before he closed the door behind him.

oOo

The Count slid out from under the bed, finding relief in escaping the smell of stale food, but finding no relief in the smell of Wallabee's flesh and the blood just under the surface. The bed smelled like him, of his life; of his shampoos, body wash and skin. He stayed where he kneeled, looking up the long legs and torso of the sleeping jock. Wallabee had suffered a night of indignation, yet he knew nothing about it.

He cautiously touched Wallabee's ankle, there was no movement. He could bite the youth's toes off, but he wouldn't get too many before the youth woke up. No, he wanted Wally to suffer more than a few lost digits. He wanted to kill the young man's pride, he wanted to take his willpower and bend it until he only knew what it was to serve, to be a blood swan and crave the touch of fangs in his skin.

He gracefully stood and leaned in. His knee was braced on the bed when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. They weren't heavy like the inventor, or scurrying like the females. They were light, almost not registering against the floor boards. This was someone who was used to being inconspicuous. It was the way the weight was balanced in the step that said it was someone use to control, use to having everything in his grasp…

The person beyond the door was hesitant. He waited, hoping they'd go away as the person paced the hall. A second later they came back, waiting just beyond the door.

The Count flinted into the shadows as the door opened. Unlike the others, the light didn't immediately switch on. Standing in the doorway was an image of a young man, lithe like James Bond, only younger. His shades were down over his eyes, but the Count had a feeling it didn't hinder Numbuh One's perception of the dark room.

As a shadow he scurried along the ceiling to a spot behind a thick limb of the tree that jutted from the floor to the ceiling and curved his body into the space. The light flipped on, but the shadows in this space didn't move, giving him the power of darkness to retain this airy form.

oOo

Nigel stood in the doorway, listening. Only Wally had this section of the tree house, which left the floor quiet. The elevator didn't hum with activity and the wood structure didn't vibrate with activity. It was utterly silent. So why did it still feel like there was an audience? Minus a very, heavy sleeper, the room was empty.

He took the thin, somewhat clean path towards the bed, rubbing his sweaty palms continuously over his jeans with every step. It was lucky that Wally was asleep. He didn't want to a fellow operative aware of him right now. His throat was dry, his heart was hammering. It only grew worse when he got to the side of the bed.

He took a seat, then immediately stood. That didn't feel right either. He sat back down with one hand on the sheets. Wally was unaware of the way his mattress shifted with the weight.

This was one of the few moments he could watch Wally at peace. The teen was always busy, getting into something, usually something that was questionable. There were a few times when he had to bring Wally back under control. Without his tough guy attitude and spitfire temper, Wally looked vulnerable.

This gave him a chance to really study his operative. There was a soft slope to Wally's nose. It had never been broken, or smashed. It was perfect and small and turned up just slightly at the end. His brows were as blond as his hair, and his sun kissed skin looked as warm as he knew the operative usually was, though he always wore long sleeves and jeans unless he was out practicing on the field.

Wally's shirt twisted up during his slumber, showing hip bone and a thin trail of darker blond hair that lead down under the low hanging waistband of his cotton sleep pants. Nigel licked his suddenly dry lips, his mind delving in areas that were far more risky than he'd ever actually take things. He startled when he caught himself staring a little too long at the thick bulge. Now was the wrong time to make any huge announcements to Wally. He had to gauge if, maybe, Wally felt the same way in return towards him.

Where he wanted to go with Wally was a territory he'd never been, and he was pretty sure Wally was in the same boat… maybe even more in the boat than him. He wasn't sure Wally ever thought about dating, or the things that came with it. The operative was pretty single minded when it came to tasks.

There were things he was allowed to say in the waking hours and things that he wasn't sure anyone should hear. "I know I thanked you for saving us when we got caught at the villain convention tonight, but I couldn't tell you how terrified I'd been for you when you jumped into the fray. You were outnumbered. You took some pretty heavy hits. You didn't once say anything towards us for the miscalculation on my end and the faulty gear on Hoagie's end. You're outstanding."

Wally didn't move. His breathing was steady, his eyes shifted under the lids in rim sleep. His long, slender fingers were loosely curved. Nigel took his hand, lacing his fingers through Wally's and for a moment, they were touching palm to palm. Wally's hand was hot, and surprisingly soft. His overly washed pajamas were starting to get thin, though he suspected they were still too warm to be wearing in the tree house with the heat of late summer coming through the tree house boards.

He leaned into the sleeping boy. His other hand hovered over Wally's exposed hipbone. His expanse of warm skin begged to be touched. He let his thumb explore the jutted hipbone, rolling over and over the flesh in small, tight circles. Wally moaned and tilted his hip into the touch.

Nigel flattened his hand across Wally's hip, wanting more. His fingers found purchase of that strong, well worked muscle, digging his fingers in and noticing the way Wally moved at his command. He leaned over his teammate and inhaled Wally's body wash and shampoo. Wally was still deep in slumber.

It was wrong. He should leave now, but he wanted to know what those lips tasted like. He wasn't one to linger indecisively. Leaning forward, he stole a kiss from the mouth that sat passively naïve to its nightly visitor. To his surprise, Wally kissed back. Was that bubble gum lip gloss? Maybe Wally wasn't all that straight after all.

When he pulled back, he expected Wally to be awake, but the only thing that was really awake, stirred at the crossroad of Numbah Four's thighs where the worn pajamas grew tight. He smirked, finding this promising. He stilled his hands on Wally's hips, wanting to kiss the line of his athletic curves.

"We should talk when you're awake," he whispered in his operative's ear.

He stood, though reluctant and took himself out of the room, flipping the light and closing the door.

oOo

Count waited, listening. The tree house was quiet now. There was no noise beyond the door. Everyone was now either asleep, or contained quietly within their prospective spots. When nothing happened, he pulled out from under the bed and climbed into the muddle of sheets and blankets that nearly nested the young man and stretched out alongside the warm, living body. Wallabee shivered in his sleep. The young man knew warmth, while the Count only knew the cold. Heat was a fleeting comfort that brought the tortured cold when it slowly left his body.

He leaned over the sleeping youth, breathing in the soft scent of baby shampoo and body wash, giving the rowdy, obnoxious young man a vulnerable reflection. He lowered his nose to the curve where shoulder met arm, taking in the soft human musk of a washed body that had no unnatural products placed on it yet.

The Count rolled his nose along Wallabee shoulder and up his neck to the tender curvature of his earlobe taking in the different scents of this one young being. "Wallabee?" There was no response.

"Wallabee…" he sang.

Wallabee gave a non-committal grunt. He was deep in sleep, which was the perfect time to touch the psyche. Wallabee's breathing was steady; his skin was taut and begging. The Count whispered in Wallabee's ear and the young man complied with the demand, tilting his head so that his neck lay bare. He was docile, almost pleasant. The Count pushed blond strands of hair away from Wallabee's sleeping face. His eyes flickered under his lids in rim sleep.

"What are you dreaming about, Wallabee? Fighting crime or the players on the football field?"

The young man didn't respond. His long, frosty fingers curled around Wallabee's wrist, feeling the pulse tap. It thudded with health, a young man who took on vigorous exercise. He could almost taste the blood that would beat into his mouth in time to Wallabee's pounding heart. It made his gums itch and his teeth extend.

"You have caused a great deal of hardship today," he said. His voice wasn't low, no one's voice had been low tonight, and still the young operative didn't wake. Saying the young man was a heavy sleeper was an understatement. He wasn't sure a blow horn would get him to stir.

A passive victim wasn't a fun victim. He didn't like his victims inactive. He held Wallabee's wrist tighter, sure that the young man would wake due to the pinch. Nothing. How was he going to torture a victim that wouldn't ascend to the occasion?

He lifted Wallabee's wrist to his lips, but before he could bite down, the strong clouted scent of garlic cloves assaulted his nose. It was faint enough to go unnoticed until now. He released Wallabee's hand and rubbed his fingers over his suit pants. Wallabee was still comatose to his surroundings, his chest rising and falling in steady tempo to his breathing.

He slid up next to the young football player and sniffed at his neck. The garlic powder had been thoroughly washed from some of him, and possibly reapplied, but it hadn't been applied on his neck. He laid half his body onto the sleeping form, expecting the teen to struggle. With a hand on Wallabee's jaw, he tilted the young man's angular chin upward, leaving his neck exposed. His flesh was young and tan. Wallabee smelled of heat and the sun, of youth and summer, pool parties and grass stains.

The Count licked Wallabee's skin, wanting to savor what he hadn't tasted in centuries, but none of those things were there. The young man smelled of these experiences, but he didn't taste like them.

He pressed his cold lips against Wallabee's warm throat. The young man's pulse fluttered strong with determination, but ever so fragile like a baby bird fallen from its nest. He imagined candy tasting like this, miserably taunting in its flavor and richness. His teeth elongated past his lips, scrapping with sharp precision against the young man's throat. Blood drew to the surface, rich against sun-kissed skin.

"Wallabee, this is the last time you bulldoze my plans," he whispered. He gathered the young man into his arms, cradling his neck. He pushed his fangs deep into Wallabee's skin, trapping his pulse between his lips. Blood, hot from the living body, blazed over his cold tongue. It burned a molten path from his throat to his stomach. The heat ebbed through his limbs and into his fingers and toes.

Wallabee trembled in his arms and moaned. His hand grasped the Count's tuxedo coat, but he didn't try pushing away. Instead, Wallabee reflexively stretched his chin to expose more flesh. This was too easy. He didn't peg Wallabee as the docile type. Despite the tightening of his muscles, he was still asleep.

It took control to pull his teeth from Wallabee's neck. A dead football player was useless to him. His revenge would be extracted without the teenager suffering, pleading or humiliated. Numbuh Four's blurry gray eyes stared at him through heavy half-lids. He was awake, but he couldn't tell if the young man was really conscious. The vampire venom kept the victim passive; something he never thought would work on the uncultivated Numbuh Four.

"You, Wallabee Beatles, are now my thrall," he whispered against the cusp of Wally's warm ear. His lips brushed the thin, intricate folds of warm cartilage. "You will do as I say without question."

Wally's jaw opened and immediately closed. He winced when he swallowed, but with a weak arm, managed to rest his hand on the Count's crisp white shirt. The operative's jaw fixed with determination. "I will never be your slave."

Pleasure slid through every nerve in the Count's over stimulated body. "Are you resisting?" The animal within him, the beast that craved the last drop of life surged to the surface of his existence. "I was hoping you'd put up a fight, Wallabee Beatles."

"And I was hoping you'd take the bait," Wally growled.

He detached himself from the teen and pulled away from the bed to watch him. It took all of Wally's energy to sit upright. His face was pale. The puncture wounds on his neck were puckered and bleeding into the fabric of his blue shirt. The wounds pulsed with the steady rhythm of his healthy, athletic heart.

"Not feeling so well?" The Count mocked. He took a step back and the heat rushing through his system turned sour and cold. He caught the edge of the bed for support.

"Looks like it's contagious," Wally retorted with a tired, almost humorless smirk.

Damn the child if he thought he was going to get away with tonight. It took effort to get around the bed. His feet felt like lead. He could barely think around the pulse that took root in his skull. Headaches were what the living suffered from; not the dead.

Wait. Wally said bait.

"You little horror of a child, I will teach you to respect your elders." The Count lunged at him and Wally kicked back, not getting much farther than the Count in the struggle.

"I don't respect hacks," Wally countered.

He stepped forward, determined to wrap his hands around Wally's neck and squeeze until his last breath pressed from his lips. The willful teen managed to stumble just out of his reach. The solidness that took root in the Count's legs, crawled along his spine and into his arms until it was difficult to move. He fell on the bed, reaching for Wally who was pressed against the wall, out of reach.

"You will be my thrall," he threatened.

"My future is captain of the football team," Wally answered.

He got close enough to brush his fingers against Wally's thigh before the heaviness drew through his skull and darkness pulled him under.

oOo

"Good work, Numbuh Four, he took the bait. The Count will be off the street for a while now," Nigel Uno said from the doorway. "We'll take it from here."

"Good," Wally said. He leaned against the wall until his group removed the Count from the room. There was blood on his shirt and blood on the bed, but the serum in his system left him exhausted, a side-effect of what he had to consume and lay as bait for the Count.

He shifted into bed, feeling the ache in his neck that slid between his shoulder blades. Somewhere, between bouts of consciousness, he was aware that Kuki lingered in his room.

"This is gonna hurt, Numbuh Four," she stated.

The smell of rubbing alcohol was strong and the sting sharp as she rubbed it over his skin. Before he could thank her, he drifted back into sleep. When he woke, he was alone. He lay on the bed, staring up at the wood board ceiling. Light came in through the window. Birds were already singing and somewhere in the solitude, the sound of voices and video games came through the cracks in the floor.

He pulled himself from the bed and felt the twinge in his muscles on the left side of his body. It started from his neck and went downward. He cradled his arm as he pulled his shirt off and looked at the bite in the mirror. Luckily, his reflection was still present. That meant the vampire bite had no ill effects. The fang bites were puckered, red and crusted. The skin around the incision was purple and sensitive to the touch. He probed gently and something of an ache rolled in his stomach. He didn't understand that ache, it was like a craving, one that he knew was dangerous.

Wally splashed water against is face and patted it dry before pulling a bandage over the wound, then threw his shirt over his head followed by his signature sweater and a pair of jeans. The group of teen agents looked up at him when he entered. Their expressions were hard to gauge. He hated that look they often gave him when a mission was a little too close for call. He'd come back with broken bones, concussions and stitches, it was always this look from them. Just like those times, he couldn't tell now what they thought.

"Ace of a job," Nigel offered.

"That was so brave!" Kuki agreed.

"Way to win it," Hoagie said.

"You do al'right, kid," Abby stated.

Wally found himself smiling sheepishly at the kudos. "The stuff you guys gave me must have been strong." He changed the subject instead of acknowledging their comments. "I feel like I was up all night."

The team suddenly found themselves busy with their cereal bowls and mumbling noncommittally. He sat down at the table taking it for what it was, another morning in the tree house.