He was so close. Oh, he was so close he could taste it. He would have Kirkland in chains by the end of the night.

Of course, Agent Jones had a reason to be looking for the notorious Kirkland. An expert in illegal trade, cat burglary, and general bad-guy things, he was wanted in almost every nation on this sweet Earth. And he was wanted dearly.

But Kirkland was not your ordinary villain, as Agent Jones was quick to learn. He did not use other men for his dirty work. He did not attempt to hide his name. Sure, he moved around a lot, but he kept up the high-life, going to fancy events and renting the top-most hotel room. He was simply a master of escaping. Alfred had been this close so many times it was embarrassing.

But tonight. Oh, tonight was the night. Kirkland had landed him in yet another lavish party. Agent Jones was wearing his best suit. The untold millions of weapons underneath it, were of course, the reason for favoritism. He'd shaken off every scantily dressed woman, danced with an old lady, and even managed to snag a picture with one of his favorite actresses. The night was going well.

But there was still no sign of Kirkland.

He should be here, Jones thought, scanning the party. All my sources pointed to this direction, and this is just the place that draws him in!

Meaningless faces stared back at Jones, too-large noses and too-light hair. Too-short women winked at him, and too-fat men glared.

Jones was beginning to feel frustrated. He was aching to mark this case as 'COMPLETED.' He sighed, and looked towards the wine. He hadn't touched it all night in the hopes of spying Kirkland, but a little social lubrication couldn't hurt, right?

One step was all it took. Then he felt it. Breath on his neck. Blonde hair came into the very ridges of his peripheral vision. It was the perfect shade of blonde. A body moved in front of him. The height was just right, the skin color, the eyes, and even those two massive eyebrows. It was him.

"I was expecting you!" Kirkland said, keeping his hand on the small of the Agent's back. There was no question that he had a weapon up his sleeve.

"Kirkland," the Agent gritted, eyes glaring as his whole body tensed. "I was expecting you as well."

"Oh, please, Alfred. We've met enough times to be on a first name basis, don't you think?" He laughed. Alfred hated his laugh. It was dry, but warm and bubbly. It was not the laugh of a villain. "Now," Kirkland said, his face falling into a more serious expression. "How would you feel about stepping into another room? I think we need some alone time."

Alfred bit the inside of his cheek, silently cursing whatever force put the wine on the other side of the room out for him to see. "Lead the way, Arthur." Alfred growled.

The villain led the way, and quickly. The whole time his hand stayed pressed up to Alfred's spine. Inches from a kill. The only reason Alfred was not yet dead was for the caution of a scene. Too many people around. Arthur hated causing panics. He liked to keep to himself, mostly.

Alfred was pushed through a thick wooden door, into a dimly lit room that seemed far too large to be vacant during a party. Perhaps Arthur had previously reserved it with the intent to murder him. It had happened before.

The moment the doors closed, Alfred twisted so the knife/gun/bread stick wouldn't kill him if Arthur decided that now was the time. He grabbed Arthur's wrist, and threw it up. Arthur put up quite the resistance, but they both knew that Alfred was stronger, if only just.

Though, for all his strength was worth, Arthur was notoriously intelligent, and even more so agile. He kicked up, pushed off the door, and flipped onto Alfred's shoulders. His wrist was wrenched from Alfred's grip.

"Bloody hell! Leave me alone, you bastard!" He screamed, pulling a knife. Alfred should have expected such a short hand weapon. Kirkland liked things up-close, personal, and silent. A knife provided all of those things, and a jeweled dagger added style.

Alfred backed up into a wall. "Duties call!" He grunted, grabbing Arthur's thighs. He flicked his wrists, sending the ATD BETAELEC3400 onto his dress pants. He smirked. Kirkland would never see it coming.

Arthur stabbed the knife down, but Alfred threw him off before the knife could make any sort of contact. Arthur fell on the floor with a thud, and Alfred ran like hell.

The ATD BETAELEC3400 went off. Two beeps, and then ZAP. Pulses of electricity strong enough to kill an elephant was released from them. Not exactly Alfred's favorite weapon, but hey, it worked.

Alfred turned around to collect the body, to find Arthur, fully un-fried; and no pants.

His black boxer-briefs left little to the imagination, while his ditched clothing smoked on the floor in front of them.

"Please," Arthur scoffed. "As if I hadn't seen that wrist technique before. You used it in Madrid, you numbskull. Different gadget, same desired effect." Arthur clenched his dagger tightly. "Now be a good boy and make this fast, I need to go find new trousers."

Alfred would have ripped his hair out, had he found the time. But Arthur charged him, and he was not ready to meet his end. Alfred reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.

Arthur tutted. "Cowardly," he commented. He reached into his own coat. Alfred should have shot him right then, but he was curious. There was no way a gun could be hiding there.

Arthur pulled out a single pen. Alfred tensed, expecting it to be a laser, or a least something other than the ballpoint pen it was designed to look like.

But no. Arthur simply threw it, just off to his left, and CLICK.

Off go the lights.

"Fuck," Alfred whispered, wishing that out of all his weapons his suit had come equipped with night-vision goggles. Or at least a flashlight.

Of course, the two of them had been in worse situations. Trapped in a dark room with a pants-less enemy was very low on the list of strange situations Alfred had been involved in since he began searching for Arthur Kirkland.

A foot swept under his legs. Alfred fell back, gun going off to the ceiling. His waistband was yanked down, and his pants were ripped clean off as if they weren't belted or buckled.

"Holy fuck, man!" He screamed. Okay, this definitely made it to one of those 'memorably strange things that have happened since Kirkland.'

"Sorry, mate," Arthur laughed. The sound of pants ruffling pierced Alfred's ears. Where did his gun go?

"I need these. The security will be coming soon. See you next time!"

Alfred cursed again, and flailed around for his gun. He finally grasped it, when the doors were thrown open and the light was flicked on.

Security found him, no pants, and aiming a pistol at their heads.

Alfred had been this close so many times it was embarrassing.

Hey guys! New update! I would've had this out sooner, except I hadn't planned to write a spy story. I actually wanted to do something with a haunted house, but I'm having some trouble with it. Hopefully, it will be the next chapter.

Let me know how this was! Critique is appreciated!

Sorry for any mistakes, but it's late, I have 3 exams tomorrow, and I don't feel like reading it over.

Also, pants are trousers in America. Sorry to any amused Brits out there.

-Mallory