(A/N: Cheesy fic set in Season One after Zhalia reappears and helps the team defeat Rassimov at the Amazon city/village thing. How do you convince a broken spy to give herself a second chance?

Be warned. There's SO much cheese. The literary type not the literal type. Plus I feel like everyone is kinda OoC. Though that's not remotely new in this collection now is it?

Also, just so you all know, I have TONS of drabbles and shots going right now and a few are ready to be published up here. I'm just biding my time so that the stupid 24 hour update limit doesn't bite me again.

Cheers mates!)

Trust Me

Lok and Sophie darted into the throng of Amazons, Cherit laughing with glee as he followed them by air. The fires were high and the music was loud and exotic. Dance had taken over the little hidden city, and although the successful defense of Metz's daughter and his bonding with Behemoth were reasons to celebrate, Dante didn't feel like joining in.

Instead, the Foundation's Finest turned to the outskirts of the Amazon city, where firelight flickered and ghosted in the shadows of the forest. A lone figure sat on one of the many felled trees that marked the its boundaries at the cusp of civilization and savagery.

Zhalia sat balanced on the knifes edge of the warmth of the fires light and the darkness of the wilds behind her. It cast her in an orange tinged dusk, and despite the dangers that lurked there Dante stepped into it without hesitation.

"Looks like you saved us again." Dante didn't wait for an invitation or permission and sat beside the former spy. She looked away from him, eyes fixed on the ground, and didn't respond.

So Dante took a risk he had wanted to take for a long time. He leaned towards Zhalia, his shoulder touching hers lightly, and murmured, "I'm glad you came back, Zhalia. The team…I'm not right without you here."

Zhalia shivered at his quiet words. For another long moment she was silent, then she said, "We both know I can't stay, Dante." She looked up, still refusing to make eye contact with him, and watched the flames of the main bonfire dance in the darkness. "I've done too much harm to the Foundation...and that can't go unpunished.

"Which is why I want you to have these. You…You're the only one I…trust to treat them right."

With shaking hands the spy passed Dante a familiar looking pouch. With a pang he realized it was the bag she always wore strapped to her leg, and a quick check inside confirmed his suspicions.

All her amulets were inside. Their gems pulsed dimly, their flickering indicating distress for the Titan within as well as their bonded Seeker. Gareon's amulet was a frantic beat of anguish in a league of its own, and the very sight made Dante's own Titans stir restlessly through their bond.

A million different reasons that could explain Zhalia giving him her most precious companions spun whirlwinds in Dante's mind. The one that continued to present itself was the most horrifying to the detective. Eventually it was the only one that could be heard in the rabble of his mind, screaming above all the other more logical and rational thoughts.

Dante forced his voice to remain calm. "Zhalia, be honest with me." The former spy snorted, muttering a comment about that being a first. Near imperceptible tremors ran the length of her body in response to her Titans agonized cries for her to take them back. "Are you planning on dying anytime soon?"

Zhalia let out a pent up breath. "Not unless that's how the Foundation punishes spies." From the bag at her feet she drew out a pair of metal wrist restraints and set them on the tree trunk between them. The constant pulse of nullification power was unmistakable. They were Seeker restraints, imbued with Breakspell to prevent the use of powers and Titans.

"As of now, I'm surrendering myself to the Huntik Foundation." Again refusing to look at him, Zhalia braced her elbows on her knees and let her hands hang loose as she went back to studying the dirt between her feet. "Just…treat my Titans right. They like you, and I don't want them going into storage somewhere or given to some operative. I want you to have them."

Dante suddenly thrust the pouch back towards the former spy, making her jump slightly.

"I'm not going to do that." His tone left no room for argument. "Zhalia, as far as I'm concerned, you're a part of this team. I…" He faltered. Despite his ladykiller reputation, he had never been too good at voicing his true feelings in a way that wasn't laced heavily with charm and charisma.

This woman was different. Charisma wasn't something she was wooed by, especially when she was feeling this vulnerable. No, he couldn't even think of the words to try and charm his way into convincing her to stay with the team. To stay with him.

But maybe….

Dante took a deep breath and steeled himself for the possible rejection he was about to face. "Zhalia, no matter what's happened in the past, you didn't go through with it. I still trust you, more than anyone. I need you and you proved that today.

"If you can find it in yourself to trust me…it would mean the world if you stayed with the team."

He didn't realize Zhalia had reached for the pouch until her fingers brushed his. He froze, the contact sending a not unpleasant shock down his arm. He felt the Titans within calm, and most of all he felt the warmth of just being in Zhalia's presence. For the first time since he was a boy, a simple touch made his heart beat faster.

And then Zhalia took the pouch back, and the moment was lost.

"I'll stay." Her words were nearly too soft to hear. "But it's Metz's decision."

Dante smiled. He could never remember a time he felt so relieved.

Carefully, slowly, he put his arm around Zhalia's shoulders. At first her form remanded ridged, unyielding to his touch. But then, to his inner delight, Dante felt her relax slightly, and she leaned into his body just barely.

It was a start.

Then Dante glanced down at her. "…Are you crying?"

Zhalia wiped at her eyes, cheeks tinged red. "No! Just…smoke from the fires."

"Of course it is." Dante couldn't help the small grin that graced his face. "Nothing to do with my touching speech about trust."

The former spy scoffed, rubbing away the last traces of moisture with her sleeve. "Was that trust you were talking about? I couldn't tell if it was that or something else."

And they both shared a soft smile, the first of many together.

A cheer went up among the Amazons as Lok managed to hook up his phone to a portable speaker and boosted the volume so that the entire city could hear it. Dance music bounced through the clearing,

Dante stood and tilted his head in the direction of the gathered women. "Care to dance?"

Zhalia finished strapping her pouch back to her belt. "I don't dance." His question seemed to make her uneasy again, evidenced by the way she rubbed her upper arms and looked away from him.

"Call it low contact sparring, then." Zhalia looked up and found Dante grinning widely, holding his hand out to her. "Come on. Trust me."

She shook her head with a smirk of her own. "Well, when you put it like that…."

And she took his offered hand.

(A/N: The cheeeeeeeese. It is strong with this one!)