Chapter Ten

The game ended, with Aly making a huge comeback, knocking four balls into the pocket without so much as flinching, and then sinking the 8-ball on that same turn. She was gloating in the victory when they returned to the table. The others were on their fourth glass of beer. Aly slowly started drinking her second, the bitter taste feeling sweet for once.

The men were all laughing. But she didn't feel any desire to discover the reason why. She really just wanted to go home. Her head was starting to hurt—probably from the beer. It had been a long time since she had drank alcohol. And it was starting to make her not feel so good. T-Bag was continuing to try and snuggle up, but she had started moving her chair around the table. This last time, his hand had followed down the back of her chair, landing on the part of her back that was exposed between where her shirt ended, and her jeans began. She slid her chair over a little bit more, not noticing that she slammed against Michael. He stopped listening to the conversation, and glanced down at her. She knew that she was starting to blush.

Inching away from him, she endured T-Bag's breath on her neck for all of three seconds, before she took her glass and went around to the bar. She passed the glass back to the bartender. When he offered her another beer she shook her head. After taking a seat on one of the stools, she buried her head in her hands.

A hand across her back made her jump. She quickly pulled away, but Michael continued to hold his hand on her back. She knew that she looked horrible. But he showed no sign of disgust at her, most likely, repulsive appearance. His eyes only showed concern.

"You've had a long couple of days, Aly. Maybe I should take you home."

She nodded slowly, everything growing a bit fuzzier. The music seemed a little bit louder than normal, and the room danced a little more. Next time, she'd skip the beer and just stick with water. Or a soda.

His hand was on hers, guiding her towards the door. She really didn't know how she managed to walk the streets. And it was kind of difficult for her to even speak. Her words tended to slur together. It was an odd detachment that she felt—like her body and mouth were completely separated from her mind. And she certainly didn't like it.

But by the time they arrived at Scotty's door, she was giggling. She wasn't sure if Michael had said something funny. She was pretty sure that he had. Stumbling through the doorway, she held her hand to her head. "I think I need some water."

With everything she could, she went to the refrigerator and found a water bottle. After a few seconds of struggling to open the bottle. Michael took it from her, and easily took off the cap. "Thanks, dude. I owe ya."

She nearly tripped on her way to her big arm chair in the corner. The laptop was on the ground in front of it, along with a few papers she had been looking over. Falling back into the chair, she made sure that her feet were dangling over the armrest. That's how she liked to sit. Her headache was coming on strong now.

"Captain Kiddo?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you know Scotty?"

"Why do you insist on calling me Captain Kiddo? How in the world did I get that name?"

Michael was smiling at her. She saw that smile and that gleam in his eye, and it started to lift her off the chair. He sat down on the couch just adjacent to her. He crossed one leg over the other, the sole of his shoe facing outward, his body relaxing against the back of the couch. "Do you remember how you used to watch Star Trek all of the time?"

"That's only because my boyfriend at the time was a science geek. He wanted his girlfriend to know everything that was related to science. Made it easy for me to play a geeky nerd on undercover assignments."

"Have you done a lot of those?"

She was eyeing him as she slowly took another drink from the water bottle. He was so relaxed. For once, there was the Michael that had been over to her house, had played Trivial Pursuit (which she always won at) and Risk (which she won a good eighth of the time) with her. There was not faking this. And suddenly, she started feeling things that she hadn't felt since she was sixteen and sure that she was just lonely for someone who would actually hold her—unlike Steven who would barely touch her hand.

His intense look and cough caused her to pull out her thoughts. "Oh. Yeah. I mean, yes. I've been a field agent for a long time. It helps that I speak some languages really well."

"Spanish and Arabic. Kind of on opposite ends of the spectrum."

Aly glared at Michael for awhile, then let her face soften into a smile. "I see you've been doing your own research, Chief." Her head fell back against the soft chair. "No. Spanish actually has some words that are strictly Arabic in origin. In comes from the Muslims that conquered Spain and brought with them their language and culture. Spanish became influenced by this time period. So while they're very different, they have many similarities."

"Like you and Scotty."

Aly laughed. Nothing else seemed appropriate to do.

"How did you meet him, Aly?"

She put the water bottle down and spun her body until her feet were on the ground. But it still took her a second to get her bearings. "He was investigative reporter for the university newspaper. And I was the investigator," she giggled at the thought. "We were always together. Him trying to find the story, and me doing the digging."

"And you two…" His eyes seemed to be searching hers. Aly looked away.

"What are you? Playing Greg, now?"

"Someone needs to look out for you…"

Her heart stopped. Suddenly, she remembered where they were—who they were. It was not even close to her sixteen year old heart fantasies. Perhaps this was her new nightmare. She stood up and walked over to the glass sliding doors that had a beautiful view of the city. "I… Yeah, we dated. But we were never right. He always had some new story to discover. And I always had some new mission to do." She hugged herself as she continued to look away. "Saving the world is a tough, lonely job."

Her laughing stopped when she felt his hands on her arms. There was an irregularity to her heartbeat as it started to thump loudly in her chest. Her eyes closed, wanting to hold on to the moment. She felt him come around to face her, and slowly she opened her eyes.

His fingers lightly touched her cheek, his thumb rubbing against an imaginary spot. He bent closer to her. She watched his eyes as they traced her face, her cheeks, her nose, finally landing on her lips. She let her eyes close, so that she could use her other senses to enjoy this moment. His shallow breathing. His warm breath on her skin. His light touch.

But after a few moments of waiting, she smiled. "You like her, don't you?"

When he didn't reply, Aly opened her eyes. He was still so close, but his eyes were now searching hers. "Sara. Tancredi. You like her, don't you?"

"I…"

"Yeah. You do," she touched his cheek lightly. "Don't give up on her so easily, Michael. You have her, right where you want her," she whispered into his ear.

He took in a deep breath, his whole body filling with air, then letting in all come out. "I don't understand."

Aly had moved around him to her stack of things on the coffee table. "You will." She grabbed a set of keys, and headed for the door. When she opened it, there was Lincoln and Sucre, laughing it up. They took one look at her, but she pushed past them, afraid that the tears had already begun. And that was the last thing she needed right now.

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Michael watched as she walked between Lincoln and Sucre. She was down the stairs and out of view within moments. His hand came up to rub at his face, his mind beginning to analyze what had just happened. In all of his thoughts, he drifted to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer bottle. Popping it open, he took a drink, letting the cool drink slid down.

"Michael? What was that all about?"

Lincoln was standing across the kitchen bar counter, staring at Michael, trying to get a reading on his face. Sucre had leaned across the same said counter, and was picking at some popcorn that had been left in the bag.

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"Papi. Didn't look like nothing," Sucre added, munching away at the popped kernels. "I would not say there was nada that had happened. Looked like a big something."

Michael was mid drink, and his eyes grew big. He finished his guzzle, setting the bottle down very firmly on the counter. "Leave it alone."

Lincoln stepped closer, putting both hands on the counter. "Look. I don't care what you do. I just know that she's the person that seems to have all of the answers and all the ways to keep out of jail. And I don't care what is or isn't going on between you. We need to get things together."

Letting go of his beer, Michael started to walk to the bedroom to be alone with his thoughts. But he paused, not turning to look at his brother and his friend. "We are in this together." With that he went into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, to be alone with his thoughts.

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In the car, she blasted the music. She hoped that it would erase everything that had just happened. Everything that was happening to her.

But it didn't.

If anything, it only intensified it. Of course, it didn't help that every station was playing the songs that she didn't want to hear—those songs that relate so well to her predicament. She gunned the gas, hoping that perhaps the speed would relieve her of these feelings.

It didn't.

Finally, she exited the freeway, coasting down the city streets. The bay was covered with boats and lights—it looked so peaceful. She wished that she had time to stop and gaze over it, but she was barely making it as it was. With a few more turns, her car glided into the front walkway of the airport terminal. It didn't take long for her to find who she wanted. She parked her car right in front of the person, and without turning off the car, got out.

"Dr. Tancredi. Thank you for coming. I'm Aly Hart."