WARNING! READ HAWK AND DOVE FIRST. If you haven't, you will be very confused by this.

Disclaimer: I do not own the DC characters of Hawk and Dove, whom I loosely based my main characters on.

Under the streets of London there were secrets. Underground clubhouses where there were no rules- or so they thought. These places were teeming with illegal activity and wanted criminals, which amounted to some pretty dangerous dealings right under the feet of tourists and Londoners alike. Well, at least that's what they told him, considering he'd never been to one of these places himself.

A man, in his early twenties, unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat down at the bar of one of these illegal establishments. Other men in suits just like his were also sitting along the counter, most of them noticeably older. They all had grayed or graying hair and smartphones clutched in the hand that wasn't holding tight to a glass of alcohol. The young one simply had a pair of sunglasses to hide his eyes and his iPhone. It was good cover and made him feel cool.

"We're in position, Hawk," chimed a female voice in his ear. Damn, that name made him feel important to this day. He wore the word Hawk like a title, especially on missions. Friends and family just called him Dan.

He pressed his phone to his ear to appear as though he was speaking into it. "Me too."

"Do you see Brent Smooth?" she asked.

Dan glanced around; looking particularly bored, and he spotted a rather portly fellow in the back of the room. He had a woman on either side of him in his booth. "Yep. Back left corner, round booth," he supplied and brought his free hand up to adjust his sunglasses. They came to life at his touch, the lenses lighting up with diagnostics. "Both are androids on the inside and… looks like they're alive on the outside. Gross, they're actually cyborgs. Body guards."

"Classy," a separate male voice snorted. Just hearing it made Dan crack a smile.

"We're here if you need us," the girl added.

"Copy that," he said and tucked his phone back in his pocket. Around the same time, the bartender wandered over. He looked suspicious; obviously someone new coming in wasn't very common around here.

"What can I get you, sir?" he asked.

Dan deliberated for a few moments. "A quadruple of your best whiskey, if you would," he replied.

The bartender nodded slowly. He produced a glass. "What's your name, son? Haven't seen you around here before."

"Vernon Dudley."

Laughter peeled in his ear, but it was quickly hushed. "Vernon Dudley, really?" A different male voice, this one higher pitched than the last. Dan didn't answer.

"Well, Mr. Dudley," said the bartender, "What's your business?"

He slid a tall glass of whiskey over to Dan. As soon as his hand came in contact, it started to sweat. "Pyrotechnics," he said evenly.

"That's unique," the bartender continued. Dan watched the man's left arm move under the counter. Something clicked, softly, so quietly it would have been missed if someone had coughed at the same time. He knew it was the safety of a gun. Mr. Bartender was onto him.

"It's in very particular demand. I like seeing things go up in smoke," said Dan over the lip of his glass. He had yet to actually drink it.

The bartender hummed. "You might want to talk to our Mr. Smooth. He's a large buyer of things of that nature. Has a thing for robots."

Dan turned in his seat to look at Brent Smooth once more. The man looked less occupied this time, and raised his glass of amber liquid towards Dan when he noticed he was being looked at. Smooth's file blinked in the corner of Dan's left lens. Dishonorably discharged from the Royal Navy after stealing weapons and selling them, although he kept doing so to this day. He was also rather talented at biomechanics, which included making cyborgs. Dan turned back towards the bartender, only to find the barrel of a Gloc pointed right in his face. Dan's expression remained trained, though his heart hammered.

"No ballistics dealer would have given his name flippantly. Who are you really, Mr. Dudley?" the bartender demanded.

Fuck. Dan glanced at the others seated at the bar. They looked on as if this was just another day. He gave the bartender a small smirk.

"I'm compromised," he replied. Comprehension dawned on the bartender's face and right before he pulled the trigger, Dan tipped over his quadruple whiskey and snapped his fingers over the spill. It went up in flames the next instant, spreading across the alcohol and down the bar. There were angry screams around him as Dan reached through the fire to wrench the gun from the bartender and empty the magazine into the blaze. Dan turned away as the bullets started to explode in pops of gunpowder, and he started talking rapidly into his comm.

"I need backup, send in the Phantom and Mercury to round up the rest of these thugs," he said.

"Yes, sir. What about Smooth?" said the girl worriedly.

"I've got him."

"Dan-"

"Trust me, Zoe."

She said nothing more as he headed across the room. Through the smoke rising from the burning bar counter (why was it wood, anyway? Idiots) he could see that both of Smooth's women were on their feet. Each one had guns in their hands and no doubt a microchip in their brains for easy control.

"I need to have a conversation with your boss, ladies," he said evenly, pushing his glasses onto his head.

"Back away," said the girl on the right without emotion.

Dan pursed his lips. "You may be mostly robot, but fire will still burn you. Out of the way," he demanded through his teeth. Behind him the doors burst open and his teammates filed in, looking like a massive group, when all but two were just clones. He still smelled fire, and heard the other criminals in the room swearing and making threats.

"I will only say it one more time," said the other cyborg woman.

"Better listen to her, kid," Brent Smooth piped up.

Dan groaned dramatically. "I hate when people call me kid. Can't you just come with me? You're surrounded," he said, gesturing to the club around them.

The fat man just swirled his glass around and laughed. "I wouldn't have gotten anywhere if I just came quietly," he replied and knocked back the rest of his glass, "Shoot him."

Quick as a flash, Dan ducked as the guns went off. All right, perhaps he should have thought more before he tried to talk so much. Just as he was about to raise his head he felt the temperature change, and then he saw the puffs of cold fog.

Over the bang of gunfire, shouts of men, and the crack of ice Dan could still practically hear Phil's smirk. "It sounded like you could use some help."

Dan rose to his feet with narrowed eyes. "I said I had it," he retorted.

"You told Zoe to trust you," Dove pointed out as his ice crept up each of the cyborgs' gun arms, "You never said anything about me."

Dan pursed his lips. "Thanks," he said rather begrudgingly, but forced himself to focus on the mission, "Do you have these two, er, ladies?"

"They'll soon be icicles. Make sure their boss doesn't get away," Phil replied.

"That's the plan."

They had both noticed Brent Smooth was trying to make a getaway. Dan was on his tail, and he threw his hands out to put a fire between the crime boss and his exit. It licked hotly at the mat on the floor and yellowed ceiling tiles. The fat man staggered back, just barely keeping his eyebrows from singeing.

"Stop fighting and you won't be hurt," said Dan calmly.

Smooth pulled a gun. "Obviously they've told you nothing about me, Hawk," he spat the name like an insult, but it just made the flame behind his back burn brighter.

Without a change of expression and full heat, Dan grabbed Smooth's wrist and wrenched it to the side amidst the surprisingly high-pitched yell of pain. It smelled of burning cloth as he snapped the gun away and sent it sliding across the floor. Dan's fire shrunk to nothing but smoke as he pulled his captive around to cuff both hands behind his back.

"By order of the MGGB, you are under arrest for the theft and resale of military weapons," he said, "I take it this isn't your first rodeo and you know your rights?" All he got in response was a grunt. Dan shrugged. "No skin off my back," he added and marched him right out of the club and into the street.

Now the night was lit up with the red and blue lights of police cars. Dan led Brent Smooth up from the club and onto the street, where Scotland Yard officers jogged over and took him away.

"That took you half the time it would have taken us," said the officer on the left, "This is one is slipperier than an eel."

"He always got away before we could nab him," agreed the one of the right, looking relieved.

Smooth scoffed. "Not my fault you're all mediocre," he snapped.

"I'd shut it if I were you," said the first officer, tightening her hold on the criminal's arm while they walked towards a squad car.

He opened his mouth to retort again, but Dan just snapped his fingers and lit a tiny flame on his thumb. One look at it shut him right up, and Smooth got into the car without another word. Dan shut off the heat and shook the hands of each of the officers before the car pulled away.

Almost as soon as it was gone, he heard his name being called. Dan looked over just in time to see Zoe jogging towards him, ponytail bouncing behind her. "Is everything done?" she asked him.

He nodded. "Yep. Phil is taking care of the bystanders, while Troye and Joe are taking care of the others in there. At least I hope there are."

"They are," she assured and flicked the headset that was hanging around her neck, "Troye's clones freaking them all out bought enough time for Joe cuff them. Once Scotland Yard gets in there, they'll all be taken away too."

"Brilliant." He ran a hand down his face, feeling drained. "I think I might just go home and sleep for twelve years."

Zoe gave him a look. "You might be crucified if you do. You and Phil are having lunch with the prime minister tomorrow, and Louise went through so much to arrange it."

Dan frowned even deeper, if that were possible. The phrase 'meeting with the prime minister' still made him nervous years later. "Can't it wait twelve years?" he grumbled.

"Not our fault prime ministers are hesitant to meet with you two," Zoe pointed out with a knowing grin.

He rolled his eyes. "Canada says no one time and no one will let the joke die." She laughed and put her hand on his elbow, leading him back towards their car to go back to the base.

Phil was the last to arrive. He squeezed in beside Dan, which pushed the latter into the middle seat and basically onto Troye's lap. Scowling, the brunette folded his arms. He hated the hump. Phil pushed his hands through his hair, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the seat. Dan slouched a bit, and besides for Zoe and Joe chatting, the car ride was quiet.

The fatigue came at no surprise, even though this was nothing different than a normal mission for them. Drug and crime lords often were too smart or too rich for Scotland Yard to take them in on their own, so the MGGB's arsenal of abilities and their special collection of MI5 agents were often utilized. While they were a government run agency, and received their missions from higher up commands, Dan and Phil were still allowed (and even encouraged) to operate everything. They assigned teams, they oversaw training, and they were advocates for new mutant research. The research is what got them their new base of operations; a gorgeous tower in central London.

As the building rose into view, Dan could feel a significant weight lift off his shoulders. Although he technically didn't live at the tower, he felt like he did. The team spent most of their time there, especially trainees who actually got room assignments while they learned if they were from out of town. Now, after four years of using the base, it was basically home. Their old place in the mountains lived on, but was usually entirely empty.

Once the car pulled to a stop, a handful of agents jogged out to take care of the car and take in Zoe's report. She was usually the one who wrote everything up for the Director General of MI5, Andrew Varner. She was the only one who stayed back, everyone else walked as quickly as they could into the building.

Dan and Phil were almost immediately swarmed.

Someone sidled up beside Dan, a tablet in the crook of her arm. "The applicants for the third tier still haven't been looked over, and they're kind of freaking out," she told him.

"How many are there?" he sighed while Phil looked over with interest.

Dodie Clark tapped a couple things on her tablet. "Ten. I looked over them with Jim, he said they all look promising, especially the physical talents. Carrie and I had classes with them today, we couldn't get them to focus because they were so antsy."

"Did you tell them we couldn't possibly take them all?" Phil frowned. He hated saying no. The MGGB will train anyone with mutant abilities, but only the best will eventually get to join the team. The applications are really only for filing purposes; the demonstrations are the important points. If someone can perform their abilities well, they are accepted to the third tier of the MGGB, with opportunities to move up in the ranks as their skills increase.

Dodie nodded. "They're enthusiastic. Carrie is very good at sugarcoating," she replied.

Dan pursed his lips, looking down at his feet as he walked. He turned to Phil, who was walking at his right shoulder as always. "Do you want to take the elementals?" he asked.

His partner lit up. "Yes!"

Dan turned back to Dodie. "We'll look over the applications and schedule demonstrations tomorrow after our meeting. There aren't any mental talents applying, right?"

"No, sir," she shook her head once.

"Excellent," he said, "Then we'll pencil it in."

Dodie looked mollified, and then they all entered their elevator. Phil took care of other questions that were fired at them, which gave Dan the chance to lean against the far wall. It was completely made of glass. As he went up, he could see the lights of London getting smaller and it made him smile. He helped make that happen. His team helped make them all feel safe. Plus, the glass was cool and Dan was feeling claustrophobic.

Dodie, and most of the others who had stuck around, all got off on the fifth floor. The fifth floor were training facilities organized by ability classification, in this case three broad themes; physical abilities such as Dodie and Alfie, elemental such as Dan and Phil, and mental such as Marcus and Emma. Each trainee's specific instructor determined smaller categories. The system took months to figure out, especially and most specifically by Dan and Phil considering Louise came up with most of it. Now it was like clockwork.

Dan and Phil were the last in the lift, and they got off on the top floor. At first the plan was that both boys would have their own offices, such as Louise and PJ and other top tier members got. It was Phil who deposed that idea, with the reasons that it would be hard to communicate if they always had a wall and doors between them. So, the top floor of MGGB tower became just an open concept. Hawk and Dove each had a desk, and there was also a kitchenette and tables and chairs and couches. Not only did they do work, but they also did interviews and meetings, and not to mention video game tournaments on their own floor.

As soon as they were off the elevator, they went separate ways.

Dan went right to his desk to see if he could find those applications Dodie was talking about. He probably put them under something because he was dreading having to look through them. Phil went to the control panel on the wall beside the elevator and darkened the tint of their windows, so no one could see inside. Then, on his way to his own desk, he started to strip off his combat suit.

Without looking up, Dan asked, "How did it go with those androids?"

"Their wiring didn't do well in subzero temperatures," Phil replied after he had pulled off his top, "They stopped working and I could hand over the bodies to MI5. They're hoping they can find any others Smooth might have made-"

"They should ask-"

"Louise. I know. Some agents are coming by to see her the day after tomorrow, because tomorrow she's spending the day with Marzia and skin samples."

Dan grimaced at the thought, but then brightened when he stumbled across the file of third tier applications. He flipped it open and immediately started to whine. "I don't want to do this."

Phil had his combat suit completely off now. When he didn't receive a reply, Dan looked up at him to see the suit in a pile on the floor and Phil tugging a hoodie over his head. Dan raised an eyebrow, waiting. When Phil's head appeared, he cleared his throat and responded. "You said you would do it tomorrow."

"I know," the brunette said, "But if we don't look over these now we won't be setting up demonstrations until tomorrow evening."

Phil frowned. "We'll be sat with the prime minister for hours, won't we?"

"Probably."

He groaned and dropped dramatically into his desk chair. Dan closed the file, stepped over the clothing pile, and sat at the edge of Phil's desk. Phil opened one of his eyes. "It's past 10 pm, Dan."

Dan nodded. "Yep."

"I want to sleep."

"You mean you want to watch anime until two in the morning."

"I was thinking four, but your suggestion gives me more hours of sleep." Phil wiped at his nose with his sleeve. This did not go unnoticed by Dan, and he was quick to grab his partner's wrist. Either surprised or frozen, he didn't move as Dan examined his sleeve. It was clean.

Dan sprang up and went for the combat suit on the floor. Phil called out a protest, but it was already done. Dan held out the top in his hands, and he could see little brownish dots down the front of it, and a definite streak across the wrist of the right sleeve. Dried blood. Dan must not have noticed it in the dark.

He gestured with the offending piece of clothing. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

Phil wrung his hands, now sitting up. "Because you would react like this," he replied softly.

"I think I have a right," Dan retorted, "This bleeding is becoming more and more frequent, and it can't be a good thing. You're trying too hard."

"I can't just not try hard. This is my job," he implored.

Dan sighed. "I know, but you're hurting yourself. Why won't you let Louise look at you more closely?"

"Because-" Phil cut himself off with an exasperated sigh. "I'm fine! They're just nosebleeds, and I have better things to do. We have better things to do."

"But-"

"And Louise is a genius, yes, but she's not a medical doctor. I trust her with my life, but she's never been trained and if someone is going to be looking around, I don't know, my brain then I want someone who went to med school," Phil continued defiantly.

"Fine, that's fair. I just worry about you, Phil," Dan conceded, "We should go to the hospital and do it."

Phil pursed his lips for a moment. "Maybe." Dan stared at him until the file of applications was snatched out of his hand. "Let's get started, yeah?" Phil continued, "Since you want to get this done before tomorrow morning."

"You said you were tired," Dan pointed out and Phil simply opened to the first application.

"You said you were tired."

"Well, you said they had to be done by this morning."

"I said I wanted them done by this morning, it wasn't life or death."

"In Dan world, everything is life or death!"

"I can't read your mind, Phil!"

Dr. Rogers cleared her throat loudly, causing the two boys to cease their argument. Suddenly embarrassed and very pink, they shifted in their seats to face the therapist instead of each other.

"While I'm glad you're getting your grievances out in the open, why don't we try to talk though this a bit slower. Maybe a bit quieter as well," she said with a gentle smile, "Now, Mr. Howell, why don't you tell me what this is about?"

Dan took a breath. "We've had a pile of applications for the MGGB sitting on my desk for days, and we were putting off looking through them. Last night, a team member brought up that the applicants were getting antsy, so after a mission I asked Phil if we could read them. Because they've been sitting there. Forever."

"And I said I was tired," Phil contributed.

Dan waved his arm. "And then we got into a very small argument about Phil's nosebleeds, which he refuses to get checked out, even though I think he's overexerting himself."

"Maybe I'm just prone to nosebleeds," Phil interjected.

"Have you ever been prone to nosebleeds before?"

"… No."

Dan flailed his arms in an I-rest-my-case motion.

Dr. Rogers regarded them over the rims of her glasses. "Continue the story about the applications," she said.

Dan cleared his throat. "Right, well, after we talked about that Phil took the applications and said we should start reading them so we can make appointments this afternoon. We have a lot to do today, and I didn't want to still have them undone."

"And you did say you didn't want to," Dr. Rogers directed the statement at Phil.

He nodded. "Yes. But I also knew we needed to get them done sooner rather than later. But it was also late…"

"This is where the argument starts," Dan added, "How am I supposed to know if he really wants to get work done or if he's just appeasing me?"

"You could ask…" Phil murmured, but Dan just looked over and glowered.

The therapist sat up and put down her clipboard, full of notes which Dan could tell were all about the relationship problems he had with Phil. He avoided looking at it and instead opted for the thread sticking up from her blazer. "This is what I'm thinking, after your weeks of coming here and talking with me," she explained, "For the sake of this, let's just call the MGGB a business. Often I've seen when couples run a business together, they have a hard time turning it off. Do you understand what I mean by that?"

"No," the boys replied in unison.

She smiled a little. "It means you have no line in between work and play. When you two come home from a mission and talk about medical problems like Mr. Lester's nosebleeds, you're having a normal couple conversation. But, at the same time you were thinking about applications, which are a definite work issue, and then used them to deflect from the other difficult topic. I believe that at this point, that's where the majority of your problems are coming from. So, for next week, I'd like the two of you to develop a line between your work relationship and your home relationship. Because it should be different," she instructed, and by the end she was writing down this conclusion on her legal pad.

Dan and Phil exchanged a worried look. "Okay," Phil replied with a nod.

"Okay," Dr. Rogers said as she rose to her feet, "Then I will see you next week. I hope you had a helpful session."

Dan and Phil left the office building silently. The tension in the elevator could have been cut with a knife. This was normal now. Dan's never come out of there feeling too great. Then again, he's never known anyone who actually went to couple's therapy before.

"So," Phil piped up when the lift opened on the bottom floor, "We have to sort out our work versus home, huh?"

Dan let out a breath. "Yeah. Guess so," he replied tersely, "I guess emotional maturity isn't something we can just pencil in anymore, huh?"

He looked up and met Phil's expression, which was still creased with worry. Dan knew they were worrying about the same thing: their work relationship and their home relationship have never been separate. They had each other when they didn't have a home to go back to, but that had only happened because of their mutations (which could now be classified as their work). They had a lot of sorting to go through.

Like usual, they exited the building and walked towards the Underground stop a few blocks away. They weren't talking, or touching, and Dan supposed they could both be thinking of what the hell they were going to do for the next week. Was therapy supposed to be this hard?

Their silence was interrupted before they could descend to the Underground station. "Hawk and Dove!"

They turned. A group of kids in school uniforms were hurrying over, phones out and ready for photos. Immediately, Dan and Phil turned on the charm and were all smiles as they approached.

"Hi, guys," said Phil brightly. Some of the girls in the group squealed, their cheeks flushed red.

The kids, who had apparently stopped on their way to school, huddled around and asked for signatures and photos. Dan and Phil, being much taller than them, bent over to be in every selfie and smiled happily. They answered questions and signed anything that was shoved on them, before Phil said they had to go to school. Eventually, only one was left. He waited beside Dan, shifting his weight nervously.

Dan tilted his head. "What's up, mate?"

"Er, I want to say thank you," he said, his voice shaky. He didn't meet Dan's eyes, instead looked at his shoes. "My sister's apartment building was on fire the other day, and some of your team helped get everyone out. They weren't even in uniform, so I knew they were just helping because they could. So tell 'em thanks."

Dan smiled, touched, and looked at Phil. He was smiling too, a happy sort of smile that hasn't come around very often lately. Dan touched the boy's shoulder. "I'll tell them. But that's what we're here for. To help."

The boy looked up and nodded. He smiled and muttered a quick thank you before running off to catch up with his friends. Phil touched Dan's back, giving him a little jolt of surprise.

"That's why we have to make this work out," he said, close to Dan's ear, "For them. And the team."

Dan nodded. "I know. And we're trying," he said.

Phil's hand dropped back to his side, but his expression didn't fall. "We are. Let's go," he said, leading the way to the tube stop. Dan looked back down the pavement where the kids had disappeared. When he turned back to follow, he was grinning again. Phil was right, admittedly this time.