Weeks went on. The burn phone stayed with Aram wherever he went, but he never dialed the one number saved in its contacts list. Several times he came close, turning the phone over and over again in his hands before opening it up and staring at the screen, finger hovering curiously over the call button until eventually deciding against it and burying the phone back deep in his pockets in frustration.

He wanted so desperately to hear her voice again, to talk to her again... But he didn't know how.

He was an FBI agent and not only that, but he hated the idea of anyone being hurt, well, ever. She, on the other hand, was an assassin, whose entire living was made by killing other people.

In part, Aram was desperately curious to know her better, but at the same time he had no idea how to justify to himself how they could ever possibly be friends when they both did what they did. Admiring the stories of her exploits from afar was not even close to the same as knowing her personally.

The best he could do was focus on the fact that Samar didn't just kill any random person, but focused only on those who hurt others first... On those, who did far worse to other people than she did, and without whom the planet would undoubtedly be better off.

But overall, Aram wasn't sure if he really should hit that tiny button on the phone or not.

It didn't help that he had no idea where on earth –quite literally, in fact- she was, or if the call would even go through, but talking to her was awkward too. What exactly was he supposed to talk to her about? 'Hey, how was work today? Did you kill anyone? ' didn't seem to Aram like the best way to start a conversation, but besides the myths and truths of her work, he knew nothing else about her that he could start a conversation about.

Samar in turn, was facing a very similar struggle. In the weeks since gatecrashing Aram's apartment the second time, she had zigzagged across the States from DC to a target in New Mexico and then halfway back again. In that time, she too had toyed absentmindedly with the phone that never left her pocket, not quite sure what to do with it. As curious as she was to talk to Aram again, the idea that befriending an FBI agent was exceptionally dangerous territory, never quite left her head. The automatic instinct not to trust anyone ever –the very instinct that had been the only thing to keep her alive on multiple occasions- was at the forefront of her mind, and the knowledge that she and Aram were essentially on polar opposite sides had that instinct screaming far louder than it had in some time. Samar didn't know what to say to him either; she was so used to being on her own for years that conversation beyond small talk or business was difficult.

She stared out the window of the train that had her heading slowly back to DC, all of those thoughts still spiraling aimlessly through her head.

With a small sigh, she pulled the flip phone out of her pocket for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last hour or so of staring blankly into the distance. The blank gaze turned to the tiny screen in her hand, watching as fingers that in that instant didn't even feel like hers, typed out two tiny letters.

Biting her lip, she paused for a moment, wondering if there was anything else to add... Before finally hitting the button she hadn't dared go near before.

The send button. As soon as she hit it, Samar slammed the phone shut once more and then buried the phone deep in her pocket. The intense awareness of cool plastic against the thin fabric of her pocket felt like it was going to burn a hole in the side of her leg, but Samar forced herself to ignore it.

Every instinct told her she was making the wrong decision, and yet... Her gut insisted that she do it anyway.

/*/*/*/*

Two tiny letters made one even tinier word that glared up at Aram from the screen of the burn phone in his hand.

'Hi.'

He had jumped as soon as he had felt that unexpected buzzing in his pocket. For a moment, upon reading that single word, he had felt as if it couldn't possibly be real.

And yet, it was.

Despite that, Aram still wasn't quite sure how to respond. He certainly couldn't respond while at work, in the middle of the Post Office where he was surrounded by trained agents and supposed to be busy working at his computer instead. He left it to sit at the back of his mind, every so often throughout the day pulling that phone back out of his pocket and flipping it open just for a few seconds to make sure that those two tiny letters were actually still there rather than a figment of his imagination.

It was when he finally got home, threw his backpack down by the side of the couch, and loosened his tie, that he pulled the phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen again -this time for more than just a few seconds. Calling her back was a terrible idea; just the simple act of pursuing the whatever it was that they seemed to be doing -the teasing, curious dance of sorts around one another as a thrilling toe along the line between what they should and shouldn't do- rather than turning the woman he knew was a criminal over to the relevant law enforcement, was already an offence under Aram's job that could result in him being fired.

But still, now that she had been the one to break that barrier that worried them both, he couldn't stop himself.

That was all it took.

Taking a quick breath, he opened up that text message once more, and hit the tiny phone symbol that sat next to the sender's number. It rang once, twice, three times, each one making Aram wonder whether he was doing the right thing, before the call picked up.
'I was wondering if you would call,' mused the droll voice at the other end.
'I couldn't not return your hi,' Aram awkwardly laughed back. There was a brief pause, the dilemma of what they were supposed to say to each other now screaming inside both their heads once more. It took a moment, but finally Samar broke the silence;
'Have you had dinner yet?' She asked. The droll confidence was no longer quite so strong in her voice –instead, it wavered just ever so slightly with apprehension.
'Uh, no... Not yet,' he replied, 'I only just got home.'
'Good.' There it was; the confidence was back, along with a healthy dose of matter of fact and the tiniest hint of amusement.
'What-' Aram's curious question was cut off not only by the call hanging up, but by a sudden knock on the door. Aram raised a single, suspicious eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the door, and the phone in his hand. Cautiously, the phone was slipped back in his trouser pocket, and he reached forwards, gently tugging on the door handle.

Really, he shouldn't have been surprised by now to see Samar standing on the other side of it, whether he had ended up calling her back or not. Though at least this time, she stood a little further back from the door waiting for the invitation to come in rather than pushing her way inside, and she smiled –almost amusedly in fact- as she held out an all too familiarly shaped box that smelled as delicious as it looked. Aram couldn't help but break into a grin as she spoke again;
'Pizza?'

/*/*/*/*

There was a certain odd, but pleasant air that Aram felt as they reached the end of the pizza. This time, Samar didn't have him tied to a chair or bundled up angrily against a wall but rather, she sat back on the couch, calm, relaxed and quite pleased to know that they both had the same taste in both pizza and tea. If it wasn't for the fact that Aram knew better, he could have wondered if the woman now sitting in his living room really was the same one who he had heard so many stories about.

'Do your colleagues know we're doing this?' Samar suddenly asked. Aram glanced over to her from the kitchen counter where he was swapping the now empty pizza box for fresh cups of tea. She was watching him, not that such a thing really bothered him that much; he had noticed that Samar was prone to quietly watching people and her surroundings, deciding how comfortable she was with them. At first, the eagle eyes trained directly on him had been frightening but then again, that had been while she first interrogated him. Now, Aram was unfazed by it, and he simply raised a curious eyebrow.
'Doing what?'
'This-' Samar gestured nonchalantly at the plates still on the coffee table '-we're…' She paused for a split second, unsure how to label it. 'Friends or something… Right?' That was yet another word that felt strange rolling off her tongue, and she furrowed her brow, almost irked by the unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty that sat in her gut. In all truthfulness, 'testing out their curiosities about one another' was probably a better label for what they were doing, but 'friends' was certainly less of a mouthful.

The 'or something', really, was even better.

'Yeah, something like that,' Aram nodded quickly, answering the second question first, 'and no, they don't know.' Aram was smarter than that; as difficult as it was to stave off the longing to see Samar again, rather than report his sighting of the elusive Phoenix, he knew to keep that to himself. Samar gave a short, thoughtful nod; that, somehow, was reassuring.
'I can barely remember the last time I had a friend,' she mused, to herself just as much as to Aram. She scooped the plates off the coffee table as she stood from the couch, following Aram over to the kitchen. Aram raised a wary eyebrow at the statement, but noted that Samar didn't seem fussed about it. More than anything, it seemed to be a mere statement of empirical fact than anything truly wistful. He handed over the fresh mug of steaming tea, and Samar took it gladly, offering him a small smile.
'What do you mean?' He asked.
'Well...' She began, giving a nonchalant shrug. 'From the moment my family was killed, I was on my own besides raising my brother... And I've stayed on my own ever since I left Mossad when he died.' Aram paused, listening to her speak; he hadn't thought about it that way before, but the more he did now, the more it made sense. For a second, a pang of sympathy for her swelled inside. For all her strength and for all the fearsome stories that followed her wherever she went, being The Phoenix meant Samar now led an unbelievably lonely life, that seemed to have followed what Aram now knew was far from the easiest of childhoods. The contemplation and sympathy must have shown on Aram's face however, for Samar gave another nonchalant shrug, trying to shake off the awkwardness between them that her words had stirred. 'The only people I talk to now are clients, strangers… Bartenders-' her lip quirked up into an amused smirk as she spoke '-and apparently, you.' Her eyes crinkled, watching him over her mug as she took a sip of her tea –the smirk was practically still visible despite half her face disappearing behind the mug. Aram didn't really know what to say in response; he had always wondered what had led The Phoenix to leave Mossad behind and turn rogue, but all he had ever heard of her past was rumours, and he'd had no idea how many of those –if any- were true. Now however, it seemed that nothing he had heard was even vaguely close to the truth. It made him even more curious to know what the truth really was, but if the look on Samar's face was any indication, now was not the moment to ask... Though such a moment could very well arise another night, once they knew each other better.

For the current moment though, Aram was simply glad that he had pushed aside those concerns –as dangerous as it was to do so- and called her back after receiving those two tiny letters that made one tiny word.

He had a feeling now that it was one tiny word they would be discreetly exchanging a lot more often.


A/N: Once again, I'm going to say it: I seriously need feedback on this one, folks! *Please* leave a comment if you can.