They pulled up to the church a short while later, Coricopat getting out of the car and eyeing the structure. Mistoffelees rose from the car, looking over the church. "Great work," he said, looking the facade over. "Beautiful old church."

"Yes, it's lovely. For a church. Shall we see about getting inside?"

Mistoffelees gave him a sidelong look. "Not a fan of churches?" he asked as he went for the door.

"It's a church. Is there much to be a fan of?" Coricopat followed him, considering the church. He hadn't set foot in a Catholic church since he was fifteen-willingly since he was thirteen.

"Beautiful artwork, gorgeous architecture, and a fascinating history," Mistoffelees said, taking his hat off and looking at the ceiling and whistling.

The agent nodded slightly, "I'll grant you the artwork and architecture. And I suppose in some cases the history."

The local priest approached them, "Excuse me. You can't come in, we're closed for restoration."

Mistoffelees glanced at Coricopat before back to the priest. "Oh, could we... just a moment, father, if you don't mind," he said, taking the priest to the side.

The priest looked nearly as confused as Coricopat at that motion.

"Please, Father," Mistoffelees said, hat still in hand and looking unbearably earnest. "My best friend there, he's having a crisis of the soul. He's a married man, you see, and he has the most devastatingly beautiful assistant at work, a deeply provocative woman. He's being tempted. More than tempted even. He's not wearing his wedding band to work anymore, just look."

The priest glanced in that direction and sighed, looking like he'd heard it before, "It's very common with men his age. Unfortunately, very common."

"And I want to confront him about this before he tears his life apart," Mistoffelees said, resting a hand on the Priest's shoulder. "He has a lot of faults. I mean, don't get me started, he's a mess. But he's a very spiritual man. I know this place will be where my words have the more effect."

"We are in the city of churches. Unfortunately we're closed. Surely you can find another..."

"This is where he got married," Mistoffelees said, eyes widening slightly to make himself look even more sincere.

The priest glanced toward Coricopat again and finally nodded, "Five minutes."

"Thank you, Father," Mistoffelees said, turning and approaching Coricopat. "Come on, we have five minutes," he said, taking his arm and dragging him toward one of the restored paintings.

"Did you just lie to the priest?" Coricopat eyed him, but allowed himself to be dragged along.

"Do you find Bombalurina provocative and sexy?" Mistoffelees replied.

"Not especially?"

"Then yes, I lied to the priest," Mistoffelees said, hopping up into one of the corner alters, looking over the painting with a pocket magnifying glass.

The agent shook his head, considering the painting as well, "So what are we supposedly doing here?"

"You're being tempted sexually, and it's tearing apart your marriage and you were married here," Mistoffelees replied, scanning the painting, going up and down.

"...Married. Right. Well, I shall keep that in mind."

"Got a problem with that?" Mistoffelees asked with a smirk. "Don't you want to get married?"

"Not in the near future, no. I don't foresee that happening. Not in a church like this anyhow."

"Really?" Mistoffelees asked, still scanning and only half listening for an answer.

"Really. You sound surprised?"

"You seem the type to go the whole married in a church, living in suburbia thing," Mistoffelees replied. "So very middle class and all that. Ah, I found something."

"Then you rather have me pegged wrong. What did you find?"

"Here, C and H," Mistoffelees said, moving to the side and holding the glass out for him. "And what should I peg you as then?"

Coricopat studied the point he indicated, frowning, "Maybe...And oh who knows."

"That's not an answer," Mistoffelees said with an arched brow. "What's the frown for?"

"You're sure that's a C and H?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Mistoffelees rolled his eyes slightly.

Coricopat considered it again, starting to speak, but was cut off as the man in charge of the restoration approached, "Can I help you, gentlemen?" He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Your face is rather familiar. Perhaps I've seen it on the news? Or a most wanted web page?"

"Mistoffelees Caffrey," he said, with a strained smile and holding his hand out.

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands with an art thief," the man responded icily.

"I was never arrested for art theft," Mistoffelees said, keeping his body relaxed only through force of will.

"Not arrested, no. But as I recall you were known as quite the Renaissance criminal. So you can understand my concern."

"He was released, and paid his dues," Coricopat answered testily.

The artist's brow arched, "And you are?"

"Just a friend," the FBI agent returned, missing the sideways look Mistoffelees gave him.

"Well, friend. The church is closed."

Mistoffelees offered him a rakish smile, hopping down from his perch. "Of course. We got what we came here for." He paused in front of the artist. "You're doing wonderful work here."

The smile he received was thin, "Thank you. Good day, gentlemen."

Mistoffelees swayed out of the church, arrogance not quite dripping off him but close.

Coricopat managed to dodge the priest who he was sure was ready to advise him on resisting the lusts of the flesh. He fell into step beside Mistoffelees once they were outside, "Well, I'm curious. We'll check him out."

"Good," Mistoffelees said, frowning back at the church.

"You alright there?" the FBI agent asked after a brief mental battle with himself.

He rolled his shoulders. "Fine. I just don't like being called a criminal by a criminal, like he gets to be self-righteous for not getting caught."

"Well, we prove this and he doesn't get that right at all. Hop in, we'll head to the office."

"My my, agent Zimmerman, that was almost kind of you to say," Mistoffelees snarked, sliding into the car.

Coricopat drew a calming breath and got into the car, starting it up and heading for the FBI's offices.

The shorter man glanced over at him, pausing as he considered what he should say.

"I'll tell you what, we catch this guy in the next week and I'll tell you what you should have me pegged for, alright?" Coricopat offered, trying not to be disturbed by the other's silence.

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Not a threat of prison? Alright, fine."

"That threat isn't always my doing, you know. Besides, that hinges on catching him. My information hinges on catching him in the next seven days."

Mistoffelees laughed. "You're setting me up to fail, aren't you?"

"Setting you up to fail?" Coricopat offered him a ghost of a grin, "Why would I do that?"

"Because you don't like answering questions," Mistoffelees replied. "You like being all mysterious more than I do."

Coricopat shrugged, "I just like things to be my own. I work at an agency that specializes in digging up secrets." He paused for a moment, "Which kind of makes me curious about the wine bottle. What's it's significance?"

"How do you mean?" Mistoffelees asked, voice snapping into neutral.

"I'm just curious. Why it would be the good-bye he left you."

"It's an '82 Bordeaux," the smaller man started and paused long enough that it seemed like that might be his entire answer.

"An $800 dollar bottle of wine?"

"It only costs that when it's full," Mistoffelees replied. "I got it empty."

"Empty?" Coricopat asked, in some surprise. After all, the younger man was known for wanting and then stealing the best life had to offer.

"Yeah," he said, looking out the window. "When we... well, when we were first together we had nothing. But I got that bottle. We'd fill it up with whatever cheap wine we could actually afford and we'd sit in that crappy apartment and drink it over cold pizza and pretend we were somewhere. Pretend we had a life we wanted and dreamed about getting there."

"Did it help?"

"Help what? Being dirt poor?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over at him.

"Help plan for your dreams?" the agent asked instead.

"Sorta," Mistoffelees shrugged. "It was the promise of a better life that I never fulfilled. Instead he got someone locked away for half a decade. I'm not even sure I can blame him for skipping town."

Coricopat glanced at him, "You tried though."

"Tried and failed really damn hard," Mistoffelees snorted. "I'm not sure I get points for trying."

The agent shook his head, but fell silent. There wasn't much he could say that wouldn't get the blame on him, or that wouldn't have a similar response.

Mistoffelees glanced at him and sighed softly. "Which is entirely what you needed to hear, right? Isn't it great seeing the fruition of your job?"

"Not always, no. There's some satisfaction in seeing a culprit caught, but not in seeing them get far more time than was originally sentenced."

Paying more attention to his lap for a moment, Mistoffelees swallowed. "Like me?"

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Doubling the sentence was harsh. Unnecessarily so."

He snorted, looking out the window. "Or the fact no one would bother to hear appeals."

That earned a glance, "No one, what?"

"What?" Mistoffelees looked at him. "If you noticed I served the full term. No appeals or anything apparently. I think someone, somewhere, has a vendetta against me."

"I thought you at least had the opportunity to have one heard, or get the request sent. But..." he shook his head, "Thinking back I didn't even hear about any attempts for an appeal."

"They were there," Mistoffelees replied. "You think I wanted to stay in that place?"

"No, I really doubt you did. I'm just saying, I didn't hear about them."

Mistoffelees looked up as Coricopat pulled in to park, unbuckling before the car had come to a full stop. The FBI agent parked the car and got out, glancing at the forger before heading into the offices.

Bombalurina was waiting as they entered, Mistoffelees trailing behind Coricopat. She held a file out. "That Hagen? He's leaving the country. Booked a flight through private charter, a company in Barcelona and he's leaving the 19th."

Her boss took the file, flipping it open, "The 19th? A week? Seriously? Damn it. When did he book that?"

"About fifteen minutes ago," she said. "Had it flagged down."

Mistoffelees started cursing.

"Goddamnit! We tipped him off. Is there any connection to our books, or the bonds...or the murder? Ideally the murder but we'll take any of them," Coricopat said.

"No, he's impressive as hell," the red head shook her head. "He keeps himself clean."

"Great. I want every available agent on this, Bomba. You know the good ones. Steal them if you have to. I want everything about this guy and I want no excuses. Anything gets in your way..."

"Forge your signature," she replied, already moving. "Got it."

He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Stakes just rose. We've got to prove to my boss that this works. And we have to get this done this week."

"I know," he said softly, spine tense.

"Well, we'd better get working then."

w-w-w-w

That night, Mistoffelees tried his hardest not to slam his way back into Jenny's house, feeling tired and out of sorts and strained. His head hadn't stopped pounding all day. Jerrie was seated at Jenny's grand piano and looked up at that, "You're later than last night..."

"Working man now," he said, leaning against the piano. "With a hangover. You find anything?"

"I did, yeah. Your hypothetical tree in the forest made a sound." He slid a photograph across the piano to Mistoffelees, "here's the echo."

Reaching forward with jerky movements, Mistoffelees picked up the picture, letting out a long breath when he saw the photograph of Pounce. For a moment his expression softened before he drifted to the corner of the picture, where a hand was holding onto Pounce's shoulder, a ring obvious. "I may lose him again," he said quietly.

"Lose him? What do you mean? I just found him for you!" Jerrie looked at him, aghast.

"So did someone else," he said, dropping the picture between them and bracing his hands on the piano. "And I don't know who."

"Then we figure that out. You're with the FBI now, and we've still got contacts. Or I do, and you've got me."

"Thanks, Jer," he said, offering him a strained smile. "Also, we were right about the forger."

"Hagen? Of course we were."

"Except he saw me and we have less than week to link him to the bonds or I go back."

"Go...back? You mean... Can they do that?" Jerrie asked, looking even more aghast than he had a moment ago.

Mistoffelees nodded. "They certainly can and are hanging it over my head."

"Damn. Well, we'd better link him to them. He signed them, after all, shouldn't be as hard as all that should it?"

"Initials aren't enough, apparently," Mistoffelees sighed. "We have to catch him in the act or something."

"Great. Well, we'll do it. We're us, and we've got the ruling class on our sides now too. Or on your side."

"I'll take them on my side rather than yours," Mistoffelees said with a faint smile.

Jerrie grinned, "Good. I don't want them knowing about me. You know the drill."

"Always do," Mistoffelees agreed, picking the photo up again.

Jenny came down the stairs, "Mistoffelees, is that you?"

"Hey, dear," he said, offering her a tired smile.

"Can I get you anything, dearie?" his landlady asked.

"No," he smiled. "At least not anything I should have."

"How did your day go today?"

"Better. There was even civility," he replied, taking the photo and folding it.

"Good. I do hope that continues."

"Thank you," he said. "For the slap earlier. I think it helped."

She smiled, "Let me know if he needs more sense knocked into him."

"I think this should be enough," Mistoffelees assured, fiddling with the photo. "I should turn in early tonight though."

Jenny considered him, but nodded, "Alright. Sleep well, Mistoffelees."

"Thank you," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek and heading up to the apartment upstairs.

She watched him go, shaking her head, "Poor dear. You're welcome to stay if you like, Jerrie. If not, please lock up when you leave." With those words she headed up the stairs to her own room for the night.

: Once in his room, Mistoffelees leaned against the door for a long moment, staring at the photo of Pounce, one hand raising to trace over the other's facial features, remembering all the times, years past when he'd been able to actually touch that face. Finally with a shake of his head, he dropped the photo on the table, crawling into bed and curling up in the center of the bed.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat entered the house the next day, making his way up to Mistoffelees' in-house apartment. He stepped inside, hearing the shower running. He considered waiting outside, but dismissed that. Making his way over to the table to sit down, he paused and picked up the photo of Pouncival where Mistoffelees had dropped it the night before. He frowned at it, and set it down before settling in one of the chairs.

Moments later Mistoffelees stepped out, toweling his hair out and at best described as half dressed. He stopped when he saw Coricopat at his table. "Do you mind?" he asked, leaning back, arching one hip.

The FBI agent looked up, his gaze darting away quickly enough, "Hm? Oh, no?"

"I meant showing up in my home uninvited," Mistoffelees said, looking at the table and freezing.

"I always arrive promptly at seven. The door was open." He glanced at the photo, "It's a good picture. New?"

"That's not strictly speaking your business," Mistoffelees said, moving over and picking it up, towel from his hair draping over one arm.

"Isn't it? I remember there being a conversation about how you weren't supposed to be looking for him."

"A photo counts as looking for someone?" Mistoffelees asked.

"If it was taken recently, say within the last couple months, then yes."

"Does it?" Mistoffelees asked, swallowing.

Coricopat sighed, "Where did you get the photo, Mistoffelees?"

"A friend," Mistoffelees said. "I didn't seek it out or find it myself. I promise."

"I'll take your word for it. But I reiterate, no detours to go looking for him, understood?"

"I'd have to find some place to start for that," Mistoffelees replied. "Now, do I get to keep my photo or are you going to try to confiscate it?"

Coricopat looked at him for a long moment and then pushed the picture across the table toward Mistoffelees, "I don't have a use for it."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees said, snatching it back and holding it protectively to his chest.

"You want me to leave while you finish getting dressed?"

Mistoffelees shook his head, moving into the walk in closet and slamming the door behind him.

Coricopat rolled his eyes skyward, but rose, calling through the door, "I'll be downstairs."

Once he heard the door close, Mistoffelees poked his head out of the closet. Moving across the room while he finished buttoning up his shirt, tie hanging out his neck, he set the photo of Pounce down on the end table, picking up a note that Jerrie had left for him that morning. He palmed it into his pocket before going back into the closet for a suit jacket.


Oh boys. They really don't get along well at this point. And I swear everything one or the other says has more layers than an onion when they're talking.

Thank you very much for reading the story! Please, if you have the time, leave a review on the way out. It's really the nicest feedback you can leave an author, or authors in our case so you're making two people's days. Also, if no one leaves reviews than we don't know what anyone thinks about the story! So it means a lot. Cheers all and thank you again for reading.