Author note: We'll start with a big ol' THANK YOU to everyone who's reviewed or favourite or put this on alerts. Now on with the actual note. Does anyone else want to just bang these two guys heads together? Make them see sense? 'cause I sure do...

Also I'm trying to do a chapter every two days at the moment, each chapter around 2,000 or more words like in And Then Some 'cause NaNoWriMo seems to have broken me like that XD


Chapter Nine – Classified

The hiss of the shower caught Jonathan's attention, and he finally relaxed. That special kind of sudden, unexpected ease where you haven't realised you've been so tense you could pass for a wigwam until it goes away. At least Jacobyte knew who Jonathan was this morning. And he wasn't suicidal.

Always a bonus.

As an afterthought, Jonathan rummaged through the kitchen, removing and hiding all the sporks. Running jokes about culinary related suicidal tendencies aside, there was no way he could try to push Jacobyte now. Pushing and shoving only got you so far. Perhaps the best way to play this situation was just to... let it be...

God, Jonathan just wanted to curl into Jacobyte's side like he'd done so many times before, exchanging whispered, sappy sentiments. He'd be happy then. Look like an idiot, sure, but a happy idiot at that.

Fried mess. That's what a morning like this called for. Greasy, fried stodge.

* * *

It was as Jonathan was adding the final touches to both plates that he heard his own voice drifting out of the bedroom.

The message he'd left last night.

Snap.

Jacobyte wandered into the kitchen, blinking blearily and wearing a pair of ratted but nevertheless rather comfy and strangely fetching trousers. He held up his wrist strap. Replayed the message. Jonathan winced in recognition of the desperation in his recorded voice. "What's this about?" said Jacobyte.

"Tulsen jumped me yesterday."

"Oh yeah?"

That twinkle in Jacobyte's eye. Damn him, did he know how irresistible he was?

"Yeah," said Jonathan, ignoring Jacobyte's eyebrow waggle. He gestured to the table, put both plates down. Jacobyte stared at the lack of cutlery.

"Bare hands today, is it?"

"I don't trust you around sporks. You get ideas."

Jacobyte snorted. "Fair enough." He rolled some of the steaming, coagulating mess up into a sticky ball and popped it into his mouth.

It crunched as he bit down, and his sigh was one of pure, cholesterol poisoning bliss.

"Nice?" prompted Jonathan.

"Heaven."

"Good."

"So, Tulsen jumped you, did he?"

"Me and Lindsa saw him getting an earful off one of those Management guys."

"Management? I hate them. Uppity shits and creepy buggers to boot."

"Couldn't have put it better myself. Although this one did have a rather nice arse. But I digress. The upshot of the exchange is that we're being sent out again. On a mission. Next week."

Jacobyte choked on his food. Jonathan arched a disdainful eyebrow at the spray of crumbs and other various unidentifiable food pieces.

"A week?" said Jacobyte.

"A week."

"But that's—"

Jonathan cut him off. "I know. I told Tulsen that." Jonathan folded his arms, prodded the edge of his plate. "Seems Management have him tied. He doesn't want us out there anymore than we do."

Jacobyte swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "Do you know what this elusive mission is?"

"Not a damn clue. We're going in today, to the Agency, like I said in the message. Briefing and then a few training sessions, or at least I'm assuming that's what'll happen."

"Fun."

"Isn't it just."

"You're not eating."

Jonathan flicked his gaze from plate to plate. Affected a withering tone. "Where'd you get that idea from, eh?"

"You need to eat."

"I'm not the one that got off and out of his head last night, so excuse me if I ignore your better judgement for the time being."

"Jonathan."

"Jacobyte."

"Eat."

Jonathan pushed his plate across the tale. "You. You need it," he said. "I'm not hungry." He got up from the table. Jacobyte blinked at him, questioning. "I need a shower as well," Jonathan explained. "Got to get the stink of dried Bolurae off me somehow."

"I am sorry," said Jacobyte as Jonathan was just out the door.

Jonathan pretended not to hear.

* * *

They walked to the agency in silence, brokered only by the stamp of cold feet in complaint at the sudden chill that seemed to have descended overnight. The stony silences emphasised further by the odd furtive glace shot between them. On Jacobyte's part this was because he had so much on his mind that he couldn't even begin to find the words to express it all, and on Jonathan's because he didn't want to hear even one word of it.

Major Tulsen met them by the side gate, bright eyed and bushy—

Well. He was bushy.

"Major," said Jonathan by way of greeting. Tulsen nodded to him.

"Sir," was all Jacobyte felt he could say. The hangover was making itself known again. Splitting pain between his furrowed brows. The dappled sunlight lancing across his vision.

Tulsen looked from Jacobyte's grimace to Jonathan's peevish grin. "All well?"

"Just brilliant, sir," said Jonathan. He took Jacobyte by the hand and followed when Tulsen led them into the complex. "Come on, gramps," he said to Jacobyte. "Long way to go yet."

"You got anymore of that magic restorative?"

"Not on me." Jonathan gestured to his pockets and the lack of glasses in them. "But if you get me in a kitchen I'm sure I could whip something up, if you liked."

"Yes. Please," Jacobyte said through gritted teeth. Jonathan grinned some more.

Tulsen led them through several courtyards and around the main office building to the training halls beyond.

"Hang on," said Jonathan. "Aren't we getting briefed first?"

"Nope," said Tulsen. A group of flushed and sweating cadets exited the hall nearest them, and Tulsen made a beeline to the closing door, getting there in time for one of the surprised teenagers to hold it open for him. "First you can warm up. You know, get the energy flowing. This afternoon someone will be along to further test your capabilities."

"And we're doing all this without knowing where we're being sent, when we're being sentor what we'll be doing?"

"Pretty much," said Tulsen. He contrived to look apologetic. Jacobyte, lost in a world where ordinary sounds felt like earthquakes, shattering his ear drums and senses into stardust, ignored all of this.

Tulsen glanced at him again. "Captain?"

"Eh?"

To Jonathan, "Is he alright?"

"In awe, sir, to be in your presence, sir," said Jonathan. "It's too much for him."

Tulsen barked a laugh. "I'll leave you to it. Not one else should disturb you – hall's pre-booked. Those cadets just leaving got merrily kicked out."

"As gladdened as my heart is to find myself and the good captain worthy of such attentions," Jonathan began. Tulsen beat him to it.

"You want to know what the mission is?"

"Sir."

"I'm sorry, Holster. Really am. Can't tell you a thing."

He left them to it. Jonathan turned to find Jacobyte glowering at a flower.

"Umm," said Jonathan. "Should I ask?"

"Is that purple or pink?" said Jacobyte, indicating the flower. Jonathan mulled this over. "Okay, see," Jacobyte continued, "I'm trying to work out if I've gone colour blind..." He straightened up, tried to grin and ended up in another grimace.

"The flower is green, Jacobyte. Conclusions?"

"The sky should not be spinning," Jacobyte said triumphantly.

Jonathan sighed, took his arm again and dragged him inside.

* * *

Stacks of clothing in various different sizes, shades and limb preferences lined the hallway. Jonathan picked up a few at random and threw them to Jacobyte. "You go get changed, I'll hunt down the kitchen unit thingy. Whip you up some miracle cure."

"Do I get to know what's in it?"

"Aww," said Jonathan. "You're cute when you're paranoid." Jacobyte aimed a sweatshirt at his head, and he ducked it easily. "That all you got?"

The training shoe, however, hit him square in the face.

"Really?" he said, rubbing his cheek. That'd definitely leave a bruise.

"Really," said Jacobyte. Grin. Grin. Wince. Grimace. Grin.

Jonathan closed the space between then and walked around Jacobyte, smiling a sweet smile that Jacobyte didn't trust. Not for one second.

And with good reason.

Jonathan, now at his left shoulder, reared up suddenly on the tips of his toeas and shouted in Jacobyte's ear, "How's your head, granddad?!"

Jacobyte's knees buckled, and he swore later this was because his ear canal had imploded and exploded simultaneously. Jonathan patted his hair as he walked away. "Sit, Jackie. There's a good boy."

Jacobyte would have snarled if he knew where his mouth was. The searing ring in his ear diminished after a minute or so, and Jonathan returned not long after that. Pushed a cup into Jacobyte's grateful fingers.

"Worse before it gets better," he said, gesturing for Jacobyte to drink and drink fast. "This should tide you over until we start working out, then your body will flush out the toxins itself."

"Toxins?"

"Get with the programme, Jacobyte. Bolurae isn't a walk in the park. If we don't clean your body up you'll be regretting it for days. Weeks, even."

"Oh."

Jonathan knelt, piled the baggy tops and trousers in his lap, folded his arms above them. Sad, serious eyes. "Where did you get it?"

"Get what?"

Jacobyte knew exactly what he meant, Jonathan could tell. "The Bolurae," he said anyway. "Not easy to come by, even in a place like Glariyo."

"Why do you seem to know so much about it?"

"I just do."

And Jonathan could tell Jacobyte didn't believe that. Time for diversion tactics. "How's your right hook?"

"It's hooky," Jacobyte drawled. "Thanks for asking."

Jonathan divided the clothing up and gave Jacobyte half. He stood and offered his hand, helped Jacobyte to his feet, still shaky from a second round of 'kill the brain cell' hangover cure. "Well then," said Jonathan, "let's see if we can make it hooky-er!"

Jacobyte gave him a Look. "Have you heard yourself?"

Jonathan ignored this. He slung the trousers over his shoulder, twirled languidly and walked backwards, hips gyrating from side to side. Bat a few eyelashes. Curl a few fingers. Be temptation with a sucker punch and heavy, lidded eyes.

Jacobyte actually missed a step. Stumbled.

Grinning, Jonathan twisted on the ball of his right foot, came around to walk forwards, giving Jacobyte the most wonderful view of the dappled skin above Jonathan's waistband. The gentle bump at the base of his spine. The jut of his hipbones as he strode in long, drawn out steps down the corridor, heading in the direction of the changing room.

Jonathan heard Jacobyte take a rapid intake of air, and he revelled in the sound. Things like this also worked as a distraction. Tempting Jacobyte was nothing new. Fun as ever, but nothing new. Something comforting, something ordinary, something that, if not real, was close enough to be mistaken as such.

When Jonathan reached the changing room and pushed through the door, he flicked out with his foot to stop it only half open. Jacobyte was paying so much attention to the thin slice of Jonathan's exposed skin riding above the trousers and scintillating below today's short jacket, that he walked straight into it.

And howled.

Jonathan couldn't help the howl of laughter that escaped him in return. Jacobyte stopped, glared and took a shaky step toward Jonathan, making a snap decision to prove just how damned hooky his right hook was.