This story is based on a dream I had about these characters in this AU. As it usually happens, or at least the way it happens to me, dreams don't really follow a logical structure, so I ignored and/or adapted certain parts to make the narrative more cohesive. In any case, the story itself remains faithful to what I dreamed.
My tendencies and writing style lead me to want to make things longer and perhaps over-detailed, but this time I tried to stay as concise as possible. I hope you like it.
The name is merely a James Bond reference.
"Oh, wow, you look so stylish!"
The two youths smiled. He raised a hand to his nape, looking away, while she seemed to find the floor deeply interesting at the same time her fingers began fidgeting with a lock of her damp hair to the receptionist's delight.
"The target has decided to change tables. Smokers next to them. Delay the conversation until there's a final confirmation on the location."
"Thank you so much," he said, continuing with ease. "It's my first time wearing a tie."
The older woman put a hand over her chest. She studied him with a glance: shining, black derby Oxford shoes, a black, sleek executive suit, an orange pocket square on the left, a white tab collar shirt, a silk orange tie with a silver tie bar, and an argentine watch with golden details. The boy looked ready to host an awards ceremony.
"Aw, don't worry, you did an excellent job with it. And you, young lady, you look lovely. Red is definitely your color."
"My mom helped me pick it," she explained with a big smile. "I told her it seemed a bit too extra, but I liked it. You probably know more than me about dresses, do you think it's the right choice?"
To help the receptionists, the teenager did an elegant twirl fast enough for the edges of the dress to rise in the air, accompanying the fluid motion of her body. The dress hugged her figure, accentuating every curve without getting too revealing. A single strap rose from her bust into the right shoulder, wrapping around it to hold the garment in place and leave the other shoulder free. A slim, horizontal sash at her waist accentuated her fitness, allowing the dress tail to fall gently to her knees, leaving the long, toned legs uncovered. Her body rested on white high heels. As accessories, she merely wore a bracelet of white pearls and a red hair tie that picked her locks into a ponytail.
The woman —Charlotte Evans, 35, graduated from Oak Grove Academy, mother of two— gave a couple of fast, silent claps.
"You look beautiful. You picked well."
"Thank you."
"Update: the target remains on the open terrace to the right. There's a free table next to him."
"We'd love to have a table for two," he said. "Could it be on the terrace? It's a beautiful night."
"Why of course. Let me check."
She tapped the screen of a tablet a couple of times before nodding and walking to her left.
"Very well, I have a table for two on the terrace over here. Let me show you the way."
"The target is not to the left."
"Could we go over there?" The girl asked, pointing to the right.
"Oh, that's the smoking section. I don't think you'd like it there. Families with children usually prefer the other one."
The kids looked at each other.
"See, that's the thing," he said, thinking fast. "There's a lot of kids our age, and we'd rather not be there."
"Why not?"
"Cause we're on a date," he replied, interlacing his fingers with the girl's right hand, while she immediately turned to stare at him. "And we don't want any kid from our school to spot us and make fun of us."
He turned to let his eyes meet hers. The receptionist let out a squeal of happiness when she saw the warmth with which they stared at each other, none-the-wiser to their intense non-verbal communication.
"Alright, don't worry. We have a free table on the other terrace. Over here, lovebirds."
The three walked to the right.
"Good job, Double-O-Six. It's all in your hands now. Terminating the connection to avoid interferences."
The two kept walking hand in hand, without giving out any signal that they wore invisible earphones with a direct line to Agent 010.
To the rest of the world, they were just two kids.
In reality, they were two of the deadliest secret agents in the world.
Born in a family of spies, neither Lynn nor Lincoln had a say in it: their destiny had been decided for them. Raised with the sole goal of becoming secret agents capable of destroying any plan made by the enemies of their country, their childhoods lacked any sense of normality. While others played video games, they practiced on shooting ranges; while others played sports, they learned how to dig a tunnel with their own hands; while others read comics, they studied confidential intelligence files.
They wouldn't call themselves the best spies in the world, but they certainly belonged in that discussion. Their whole family did, which meant that they practically never saw each other. The Loud Agents roamed far and wide through the country, following mission after mission with little to no downtime to interact. It was common for them to refer to each other with their codenames. Numbers that merely denoted their genealogical order. Their family relationships were, for the most part, eclipsed by their professional relationship.
With the notable exception of Lynn and Lincoln. Agents 005 and 006 weren't like the rest of the family. They were a duo in the same manner as 008 and 009, even without being twins. In all honesty, more than siblings they were best friends. They lived together at the Royal Woods quarters, training, studying, improving, and having fun with no one but each other. They knew the other person perfectly, allowing them to anticipate their moves and decisions in the middle of a mission, seldom finding themselves surprised.
Right then, however, Lynn began to gently tap the back of Lincoln's hand with one of her fingers, communicating through Morse code.
"This wasn't part of the plan. We're supposed to be childhood friends reuniting after a long time."
"I had to improvise," he responded through soft squeezes. "She wanted us to go to the kid's terrace. Adults are easily swindled by young love stories."
"You could have said anything. Why a date?"
Lincoln turned to look at her. When their eyes met, they smiled at each other as she leaned to press her shoulder against his. No one in the restaurant would doubt they were an authentic couple.
"Does this bother you?" He asked in Morse code.
"No," she replied even before he was done.
The receptionists guided them to their table. Lincoln and Lynn thanked her and, as they pretended to be shy at the prospect of spending a nice, romantic evening, they glanced at the table in front of them.
To those citizens that believed they knew him, he was Rick Palmer. 48, IT guy, widowed, Spurs fan. Very few, including the secret organization Lincoln and Lynn belonged to, knew that in reality, he was Iakov Dimitriev. Russian gangster internationally wanted for animal smuggling. Having recently moved to Royal Woods, right then he was hanging with Phillip LeBrun, 62, senior college professor, safari dilettante, pelt collector. Most certainly a client. Lincoln and Lynn's mission was to infiltrate that restaurant to gather information on where the exchange would occur, leading to their arrest with definitive evidence.
Their mission was above everything else. Even so, as they used their phones to take selfies of the two of them tied in an embrace —as any regular couple of twelve and fourteen years old would do—, Lincoln decided to whisper into his sister/partner's ear.
"I'm sorry, I should've asked you first. I just wanted to secure our position near the target."
"I know."
With his hand around Lynn's waist, he noticed how tense she was. He took out his phone and took more pictures as he wrapped his arm around Lynn's shoulder and pulled her to his chest, resting his head over hers.
"You're either anxious or mad. If there's anything that might compromise our mission, say it now."
"It's nothing."
"I don't need to read your body language to know that's a lie. I know you."
Once everyone on the terrace saw them taking pictures, the agents pretended to be posting on social media while, in reality, they texted each other on the encrypted network of their phones.
"I wasn't prepared to pretend we're on a date."
"I'm sorry," he repeated, giggling out loud like he was posting a meme. "I didn't think it would be too different from a dinner between childhood friends."
"Those are two completely different things."
"Maybe I can play the part of the shy kid afraid of ruining a date with the beautiful girl. We don't have to be too openly affectionate. Want us to just talk about the latest superhero movies?"
Every moment was vital in a mission. After two seconds with no reply, he looked up from his phone and studied his partner. Lynn's cheeks had acquired a tone not too different from her dress. She gulped and looked at him too.
"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" She asked out loud.
A natural question a girl would ask her boyfriend.
"Of course," he honestly assured her, faking just the shyness in his voice. "You look amazing."
She put her phone away. He followed her lead.
"You look pretty good yourself," she admitted.
He didn't pay much attention to his looks. He dressed smart and kept himself sanitized, but beyond having a pleasant face for adults not to immediately distrust him, he didn't care about his appearance. His life as a secret agent would never be compatible with a social and/or romantic life. He'd accepted long ago that he'd never start a family, or even fall in love in the first place. A lonely life that lacked any sense of sentimentality waited ahead for him.
Except for Lynn. She'd always be by his side. And that was more than enough.
He frowned. They couldn't get distracted. They had a clear goal.
One of the most impressive skills in Lincoln's repertoire was his ability to efficiently multitask. Thus, as he and Lynn kept a fake conversation about the latest movies aimed at a child-juvenile audience —movies neither of them had seen, although they had studied online movie reviews to have informed opinions in case they were asked about them—, and as they pretended to scan the QR code on the table to access the menu —they had preemptively picked their meals—, he sharpened his hearing.
Focusing, he managed to drown out the background noise and the conversations around him, all but one: Iakov and Phillip's. They chatted about the latest results in the national basketball league.
"Have you already decided what to order?" A waitress asked, approaching them.
"Yeah. I'd like a soda and a cheddar burger with double bacon, please," he said. According to Agent 010's reports, that was the preferred dish by kids aged twelve to seventeen.
"And I'd like a grapefruit flavored sparkling water, and a ribeye."
"Oh, we just ran out of ribeye," the waitress apologized. Lynn pretended to be slightly disappointed and executed her Plan B.
"Okay, so what about a filet mignon?"
"That's perfect. Any sauce to go with it?"
Lynn acted out a thinking pause, but Lincoln talked first.
"Honey mustard," he said, smiling at his 'girlfriend'. "Isn't that right, Freckles?"
Agent 005 stared at 006 for a few seconds, before giggling and confirming his pick. The waitress left, leaving them alone.
"Freckles? Really?"
"It's a nickname. Can't I use one for my girlfriend?"
Lynn looked away, impressing Lincoln with her perfect impression of a bashful, embarrassed girl. She could give Agent 009 a run for her money on their acting skills.
"Of course you can. It's cute," she said before smiling. "But you also have them, so I can call you Freckles, too."
He laughed. They were doing a great job selling their dynamic as a fake couple.
"How did you know what sauce I was going to ask for?" Lynn then asked, sounding curious.
He realized it was a genuine question, outside of the roles they played. One of the first lessons they'd learn was never to make up a lie when the truth is sufficient. They could keep an honest conversation going as long as they didn't reveal anything that could jeopardize their mission.
Meanwhile, the target kept talking about the signings at the beginning of the season. Nothing useful yet.
"It's your favorite sauce," he replied. "Come on, you think I don't know that? I know you like the back of my hand."
"You think so?" She challenged in a jocular tone. "What's my favorite song then?"
"Lover by Taylor Swift," he answered right away.
Even a secret agent has her moments of weakness. She laid back against her chair, looking at him like he had just hit a home run. They never listened to music, unless a mission required them to.
"How—? How do you know?"
Iakov burst out laughing. Phillip had made a politically incorrect comment about a Golden States player. Lincoln grunted to himself, angry at how useless their target was at providing critical information for their mission.
"It's the song that played when we went skiing in Colorado," he finally responded.
They remembered Colorado. They'd infiltrated a private party at a resort in the middle of the snowy mountains to assassinate a corrupt capitalist that had sent mercenaries to kidnap a torture a senator's niece in exchange for political favors. Ending his life hadn't been a problem. A diluted pill on his drink did the trick. The hardest part had been infiltrating the party, where they managed to slip in unnoticed by dancing among all the people.
Lynn still remembered the genuine fun they had as they danced, waiting for their target to arrive. Lincoln still reproached himself for taking ten minutes to realize their target got there, so distracted by his partner's beautiful dress.
Even though it wasn't as stunning as the one she wore right then at the restaurant.
"Wow. I'm surprised," she admitted. "And what's your favorite song?"
"I don't have one."
"Of course you do. You gotta have one."
"Not that I know of."
"I'm a believer. From Shrek. That's it."
For a moment, Lincoln stopped paying attention to Iakov complaining about inflation and recession. He stared at Lynn, who looked completely sure of her words.
"You're kidding," he said.
"Not at all. It's your favorite song."
"I haven't even seen that movie."
"We listened to it on a plane, when we went on vacation to Wyoming with our parents."
He remembered Wyoming. They had to blow up a sugar factory that hid a clandestine lab for experimental drugs. The flight had been quite relaxing. Except for the bullet wound in his arm. That sucked. Luckily, Lynn stayed by his side for the whole trip, cheering him up and reassuring him that he hadn't been reckless, that he just had bad luck. He remembered how Lynn helped him with his food —it's hard to eat with just one hand—, and how she even let him lean against her to rest at night.
And he suddenly remembered the kids sitting in front of them, watching an animated movie.
"Oh, you're right," he said.
"So? Is it your favorite song?"
Lincoln tried to analyze his feelings when he thought about that song. His memories guided him back to that plane seat, sharing a blanket with Lynn, and how she stroked and caressed his hair to help him relax and fall asleep despite the pain in his arm.
His heart had a happy beat.
"I suppose it's a good candidate," he acknowledged.
The smuggler, in the meantime, began to talk about his hobbies. Apparently, he held a record for most points in a bowling match in the nearby alley.
"What else do you know about me?" Lynn asked, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on one of her palms.
Lincoln smiled. He had a lot to offer.
After twenty minutes, the two conversations at the critical tables went on perfectly. The waitress came back with their orders, and the two agents delighted themselves with a tasty meal, quite good considering the price. Lynn continued to guide the conversation as Lincoln paid attention to what occurred at the other table. She made them talk about their favorite animals, what places they'd love to visit one day, what they would rather be as grown-ups, what sports they'd be willing to practice if they could only choose one, and much, much more. The two surprised each other with how much they knew of the other person, although at the end of the day it wasn't much of a surprise. They'd spent their whole lives together. They knew each other to the smallest detail.
That's why, nearing the end of the conversation and as the smuggler began to talk about his favorite animals, Lincoln received quite the shock.
"And what's your favorite color?" Lynn asked him.
"White," he admitted, pointing at his hair. "It's what makes me special."
She laughed. "And what do you think is mine?"
"Red, obviously," he replied right away.
"Yeah… That sounds about right."
Even with his attention divided into two conversations, he noticed certain dubitation in Lynn.
"Wait, what? It's not red?"
"I told you it is."
"But you're not convinced."
"Of course I am. I'm always wearing red clothes."
"Yeah, that's why I thought it was obvious that'd be your favorite color. But you seemed to doubt."
Lynn bit her lip and began bouncing her leg. She took that moment to slowly drink what was left on her glass to gain some precious seconds, all under Lincoln's sharp, analytical look.
"I guess… I guess there's another color I like a lot."
"Which one?" He asked, eager to learn.
"Orange."
He almost missed it when Iakov mentioned he'd been studying monkeys lately, and the awakened interest Phillip showed in that detail. Almost.
"Orange? Really?" He chuckled. "Hey, that's my color."
"Exactly," she explained with bated breath. "Every time I see something orange… I think about you. It makes me feel safe, like a bonfire glow."
Phillip asked Iakov what kind of monkeys he'd been studying.
"Wow," Lincoln said, struggling to focus on his mission and not the warmth in his chest. "When you put it like that, then red's definitely my favorite color. You're making me feel like a jerk for saying white."
She smiled. "Don't worry. I know I love you more than you love me."
Iakov began to explain the difference between all the different types of apes he'd observed on his latest educational trip, which clearly acted as a euphemism for illegal hunting. Phillip asked for the most exotic specimen he'd "seen".
Lincoln knew right away that was the moment they'd been waiting for. The information they required was about to be revealed. Focusing all his attention there, he allowed his brain and body to continue the conversation with Lynn on autopilot.
"That's nonsense," he said, sounding sorrowful. "I know I'm not the most expressive boyfriend, or at showing how I really feel, but you're the most important person in my life."
"Freckles…"
The smuggler mentioned a capuchin monkey with almost golden fur, which fascinated his potential buyer. The criminal mentioned having "pictures" of it in his "studio". Lincoln's world was reduced to that conversation.
"You're the most important person in my life, too," Lynn said, her voice cracking near the end. "I'd leave it all for you. I really would."
Her hand searched for his over the table and she grabbed it with unexpected softness and caring from hands that had killed dozens of persons.
"I wish we had come clean about our feelings much sooner," she lamented. "It'd saved me one too many sleepless nights, feeling worried, terrified of losing you."
The genuineness and emotionality of Lynn's performance almost managed to distract Lincoln, but he was an agent of the greatest caliber, so he didn't miss when Phillip said he was interested in seeing the "photographs".
"Don't worry," he assured his fake girlfriend. "Now that we're together, you won't have to spend a single sleepless night. I'll always be there for you whenever you need me. No matter the day, place, time, or weather. You'll never be alone."
Iakov suggested he accompanied him to his studio. Phillip asked when.
In an act of inspiration that sprouted from the deepest part of his soul, Lincoln decided to bring out the big guns.
"I love you, Freckles."
Lynn gasped. Her smile quivered, and her eyes sparkled with the reflection of lights on her incipient tears. He felt her tight grip on his hand.
"I love you too."
She started the movement. She leaned forward, tilting her head. Lincoln didn't hesitate: he imitated her gesture, drawing near to the midpoint between them. He raised his free hand and brushed Lynn's cheek, pulling a lock of hair behind her ear with the tip of his fingers. They both closed their eyes and subtly opened their lips, filling their lungs with one last breath.
Iakov said they could pay the bill and drive there right away. Phillip accepted, calling the waitress.
At the very last moment, right when the contact between their lips seemed inevitable, Lincoln changed course. With the tip of his finger, he gently activated Lynn's earphones and whispered to her ear.
"Agent Double-O-Six reporting; the target will proceed to leave the establishment and guide the buyer to the exhibition bunker."
"Copied, Double-O-Six. We'll follow their vehicles with a drone and will notify the FBI to capture them along with the evidence. Mission accomplished. Over and out."
Lincoln let out a satisfied sigh and leaned back to his original position on the chair, moving away from Lynn. He closed his eyes to congratulate himself on a new success.
"Alright, I think I'm full," he said aloud before opening his eyes and gesturing to the waitress who just checked on Iakov and his client. "We should get back home, our parents will worry if we take too long."
He then turned towards Lynn. She smiled at him, but he noticed something was wrong right away. The smile looked forced. Her eyes weren't shining with warmth and passion, they looked dull, cold. She nodded without saying a word, with short, quick movements. Lincoln's trained eyes detected how tight she clenched her fists, the tension on her shoulders, and the way her lips trembled almost imperceptibly like she tried hard to stay quiet.
Lincoln didn't understand the point of that particular act. The signs were too subtle for any regular person to notice and interpret them. Why would she do it?
Their bill reached them before their targets. Not worrying about it, he left the money on the table to pay for their food plus a generous tip. He'd decided to help Lynn get up from her chair as any good boyfriend would do, but she was ahead of him. She wrapped her arm around his and began to pull him towards the exit, walking slightly faster than he would have chosen to. Still, they managed to say goodbye to the receptionist without her doubting a thing. When they got out, Agent 001 waited for them inside a family van.
Lincoln opened the back door, but Lynn got up on the passenger's seat, leaving him all alone in the back. He dismissed it; no one would suspect anything.
"How was it?" The agent asked, wearing a simple blue tank top and some brown cargo shorts.
"It was incredible," Lincoln answered, keeping up the farce until they reached their quarters.
"The most wonderful night of my life," Lynn said, staring at the window.
Agent 001 glanced at her and then began to drive.
"Happy to hear that. I hope the food was good. There's literally nothing to eat at home."
The rest of the trip passed in silence.
"Maximum encryption achieved. The meeting may begin."
Lincoln nodded. He was standing in front of a giant screen, with Agent 001 (Lori) by his side. On the monitor, the rest of the agents in his family stared at him from their respective quarters. Leni, Luna, Luan, Lucy, the twins, and Lisa.
"Where's Agent Double-O-Five?" Agent 007 inquired, her voice so monotonous and low her microphone barely caught her.
Lincoln tried not to show the slight worry he felt within. He knew Lynn was okay, he was just worrying over nothing.
"Double-O-Five asked me to handle the report. She argued she needed to train after a, and I quote verbatim, boring mission with no blows or shots."
All agents rolled their eyes. Typical Lynn.
"Very well, Double-O-Six. Proceed with your report."
Lincoln narrated, word by word, everything that happened during the mission, from their arrival to the establishment to the moment they got onto the vehicle with Lori. He needed to be careful and precise with the details, making sure there were no loose ends on their mission. He explained everything his senses were able to pick up, focusing mostly on everything the target had discussed and the fake conversation he and Lynn had indulged in. Word by word.
By the middle of his retelling, he noticed how his sisters began exchanging weird looks between them. He worried that perhaps he'd made a mistake that may have compromised the mission, but he continued without missing a beat. They would let him know what he'd messed up.
When he finished his report, he stood straight and silent, waiting for feedback from his sisters.
"So, just to be clear," Agent 003 began, "how did you communicate with O-Ten to report the target's decision?"
"I took advantage of the illusion of Double-O-Five and me about to kiss to activate her earphone and whisper the information to O-Ten," he answered right away, nodding to himself, satisfied with his work. "I can confidently say the action went unnoticed by the rest of the commensals."
"There was no contact between you and Double-O-Five, then?"
"Negative. I used the movement to hide my communication and we proceeded to conclude the mission right away."
"Linky, I love you, but you're a moron," Agent 009 plainly said, rubbing her eyes with an annoyed expression.
"Uh… I request you to elaborate?" He said, surprised that Lola would call him by a nickname. "As I said, the mission wasn't compromised, the target couldn't have possibly heard me."
"Of all people… Poor Five," 004 said, shaking her head.
"Should we tell him?" 002 asked, sounding confused.
"Negative," 007 responded.
"Agent Double-O-Six," Lori said, looking at her younger brother, "we've taken the unanimous decision to assign you a new mission on an urgent basis."
Lincoln blinked rapidly.
"What's the mission?" He asked, not even bothering to question how they could make a unanimous decision without even discussing it. For some reason, he knew it was true.
"Drop the report and verify Agent Double-O-Five's status right away. We expect a full report come morning."
"What? But—"
"On an urgent basis, Agent. Urgent. It means right now."
All faces on the screen seemed to be shooting daggers at him. He nodded, bowed his head at them, and left the room with no complaints.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, all the girls groaned and facepalmed.
"How can he be so smart and yet so stupid at the same time?" Lola asked.
"He's a boy. He doesn't understand these things," Luna tried to justify him, sounding annoyed nonetheless.
"Hey Lori, why did you ask him to report in the morning and not right away?" Leni asked.
"Because if everything goes well, his mission's going to take him all night."
Very few things could worry or rattle a secret agent of Lincoln's caliber. He'd ended hitmen without breaking a sweat. He'd passed interrogations where his life was at stake and his pulse didn't go over eighty beats per minute. He'd been stabbed in the leg and his only reaction had been to tear a strip from his shirt and stop the bleeding. He considered himself to be the Man with the Plan, always ready to find the optimal solution to any situation, never falling prey to desperation or fear.
What was it, then, that gave him an oppressive feeling on his chest as he wandered the neat, ultra-modern base of operations?
"Lynn," he realized as he approached his sister's chambers. "It's because Lynn's involved."
His kryptonite. The only person that could tear down the walls he built around him. If his sisters had sent him to verify Lynn's status it meant they assumed something was wrong with her. What could be wrong? His clinically trained eyes hadn't detected any pathology in her appearance or behavior. What did he miss?
The rational part of his analytical mind told him he was exaggerating. Everything was fine with Lynn. He didn't need to worry.
A different part of his body made him walk faster.
When he finally reached Lynn's room he found the door open. Knocking anyway before peeking in, he found the red dress over the bed, along with other pieces of clothing. It made sense if she wanted to train. He left the bedroom wing and walked past a long, glass gallery that viewed into the forest that surrounded the small contemporary mansion. His eyes didn't pick up on any movement outside.
He reached the gym, but he found it closed with the lights off, just like they'd left it before going on their mission. A little less calm, he checked the underground shooting range, but there were no signs of Lynn there either.
"Todd," Lincoln said out loud, clenching his fists, "where's Agent Double-O-Five?"
There were a few seconds of silence.
"Agent Double-O-Five is not located within the premises of the quarters," a robot said through the speakers.
"Dang it!"
What did he fail on? What did he miss? Had he accidentally revealed a compromising detail? Had she been kidnapped? Did he offend her? He couldn't stop mentally blaming himself for somehow having caused that situation, even though he didn't understand what was going on, or how his sisters had foreseen it.
Taking a deep breath to control his emotions and not the opposite, he came up with a new plan. The conditions that had incited Lynn's vanishing were irrelevant. The objective was to find her and verify her condition. He needed to come up with solutions, not figure out how it happened. She wasn't in her room, the gym, or the rest of the quarters. Where could she be then?
He could only think of one place. A hunch. But it would have to suffice for the time being.
With quick steps, he left the secret base and entered the woods, walking away from the small trail the vehicles followed to enter and leave the terrains. He didn't mind that his expensive shoes were covered in mud, or that his immaculate suit scrapped the trees and branches.
He walked through the absolute darkness of the night, with nothing but the moon, the luminaries, and his memory to guide him. He found the tree with marks on its bark, and he turned right. He reached the arrow-shaped rock, and he turned left. He then reached a small grotto. Memories struck him in a burst, but there was no time to dwell on nostalgia. Without being particularly careful, he began to climb the small cliffside, about thirty feet.
He now stood on top of a tiny hill that had resisted the advances of trees. A glade in the middle of the woods, with grass reaching his ankles. The green carpet bathed in the blueish night glow. And twenty yards from him, sitting in the glade, he saw Agent 005.
The next breath of air Lincoln drew in came along with relief and certain satisfaction. Now visibly more relaxed, he advanced towards her. He stopped a few steps behind her, coming from her left. She wore nothing but some tennis shoes, red sports shorts, and a white tank top. Her arms wrapped her knees against her chest, her eyes lost in the ground in front of her.
"How did you find me?" She asked, not even turning to look at him.
Lincoln took the final steps to get to her side, still not sitting down.
"When I was eight I hid here," he answered. "I was tired of being a spy. I thought about running away, but you found me before I could make up my mind."
They both took a moment to relive that incident. One of the many identity crises young spies faced at some point in their lives. If it wasn't for her, he would have run away that very afternoon. They both knew it.
He waited for her to say anything, but getting tired of the silence, Lincoln decided to speak first.
"Lynn, what's going on?"
Between agents, they used to call each other by their codenames. That wasn't the case between them. The intimacy of their relationship clearly dissolved the professional distance they were supposed to keep. Their whole family noticed, as much as they tried to hide it.
"Nothing. I just needed some clean air."
"And getting away from me, right?"
He noticed the way she squeezed her knees harder. "Of course not, Stinkoln."
As stubborn as ever. Lincoln sighed, idly kicking the grass next to his feet.
"On this hill, we're not spies," he said, staring at the clear sky. "We don't have missions. Todd isn't watching over us. No one can tell us what to do."
Lynn's eyes remained fixed on the ground.
"We're not Double-O-Five or Double-O-Six. We're you and I. So let me ask you, from Lincoln to Lynn, from worried brother to sad sister, what's wrong?"
She let out the longest sigh Lincoln had ever heard, but he didn't say anything. Just then, the nightly breeze rushed past them. Lynn shook, getting chills all through her exposed legs and arms. Without hesitating, Lincoln took his suit out and knelt to put it over his sister's vulnerable shoulders. He sat right next to her and timidly placed a hand on Lynn's back.
"I don't know what I did," he admitted, "but I'm sorry. I know it's my fault. I just want to know what it is, so I won't do it again."
It may have been the truly melancholic tone of the words that escaped his mouth, but Lynn allowed herself to lean against him, resting her head on his shoulders. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her, letting her know he was there for her. Explaining that he didn't intend to let her go. Not until he understood. Now that he could take a closer look at her face, he realized how truly stricken she looked. His heart hurt.
"It's not your fault," she assured him.
"I want to believe you, but I can't. Be honest, Lynn."
"I'm being honest," she said, getting pissed off. "It's not your fault. You were just carrying on our mission."
Lincoln knew this time she was telling the truth. Unfortunately, he still had no clue what the problem was.
"But whatever affected you… It has something to do with me, doesn't it?"
"I just wanted to be alone and—"
"And what?" He inquired, perhaps too soon.
"—and think."
Lynn wasn't exactly the thoughtful type. She was more of the 'I'll kick your ass first and ask questions later' type.
"Lynn… We can keep going like this, me asking questions and you giving short, cryptic answers, all night long if that's what it takes. But you'll catch a cold, and I know you hate that. What if you trust me? If you just tell me what's going on so I can help you?"
She seemed to become smaller, hugging her knees against her chest, laying against Lincoln, trying to disappear. Just when he thought there was no moving forward, she spoke again.
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Focusing on many conversations at the same time. Listening to the villains while you act out lies with someone else. I can shoot while driving, decode passwords while fighting five guards, pick a lock while pretending to be helpless. But not like you. Lis— O-Ten says that it's impossible to truly multitask. We think we're doing it, but we're truly only focused on one thing at a time. What's your secret?"
There was no chance that's what bothered Lynn. She knew about his particular ability to multitask. She'd known forever. Was she trying to distract him?
"It's not easy. And I don't think I know how I do it. Today was a bit less complicated than usual, though. The two conversations were easy to track."
"Why? What was so easy about them?"
"The conversation at the other table was really casual, it didn't have much to do with our mission. I just needed to pay extra attention when they began talking about the apes. It wasn't too demanding."
"And what about our lie?" Lynn asked, her eyes glowing like a wildfire, drilling into Lincoln's skull, waiting for an answer.
Our lie. It was the second time in a row she referred to their mission as a lie. Was that the issue?
"That was also easy to track," he answered, holding her gaze, "'cause I didn't have to lie."
She shook again, but he felt no breeze. "Elaborate."
"It's one of the first rules of deception, right? Don't lie when the truth is enough."
Turning his torso around to look at her from the front, he put his free hand over hers.
"Lynn, everything I said was true. My favorite color, the music. Why would I lie about that? I want to understand, but I can't. What did I do wrong?"
She couldn't hold his look, instead turning to the ground. Lincoln, now with new information, began to use his problem-solving skills to shed some light on the mystery he faced. Something about their mission had bothered her. The lies, apparently. But there had been no lies, he'd been honest about the whole ordeal. He'd only lied to strangers, posing as her—
The moment he finally understood the situation, the surprise hit him like a punch in the gut. So much so that he leaned back, as if someone had pushed him from the chest. His arms felt weak, losing his grip on Lynn.
She noticed the loss of contact between them and let out a small, sarcastic, sad chuckle.
"So you've figured it out, huh?" She asked, even though she knew the answer.
"Lynn… Since when?"
She shook her head, her ponytail oscillating like a pendulum.
"I dunno. I accepted it a few years ago, but I guess since forever. At least that's how it feels."
Lincoln tried to comprehend these revelations, but his mind wasn't responding. It wasn't a conversation he'd ever expected to have. He thought he'd accepted as a child that he would never fall in love, that he'd never be able to have a romantic relationship with anyone else. How could he? His work was extremely dangerous, and its nature implied an unsustainable level of loneliness and distance from the rest of the world. No one on the planet would keep a relationship with him.
He only found relief in the knowledge that Lynn would stay by his side until the end of times. He never doubted it. She would never leave him, and he was incapable of leaving her. He knew it for sure, since four years prior, on that same hill, he'd made a decision. Run away. Escape. Start a new life as a regular kid, with no training, no spying, no weapons. He thought his decision was final, but he didn't count on Lynn finding him. When he explained with teary eyes just how sick he was of his life and how much he wished to start over from scratch, she didn't try to stop him. With tears of her own, she wished him good luck before turning around and returning to the quarters.
Only then did Lincoln comprehend that life starting from scratch meant a life without Lynn. And after running for just a few blocks, that revelation urged him to get back to the base, into his sister's room, spending the night there with tears, hugs, and mutual apologies.
Did Lynn feel the same way? Or was it something more? Could there be anything more intense than what he felt for her? How to tell apart romantic from fraternal love?
His silent meditation extended long enough for Lynn to reach her conclusions.
"I'm such an idiot," she said, pulling him back to reality. "I'm a spy, how could I let myself fall in love? And with my brother of all people. It's pathetic, I know. But still…"
She laughed once again, pressing the back of her hand against her eyes as if there was any real possibility to contain her tears.
"The worst part is that I pictured this moment so many times. Almost every night when I try to go to sleep."
In a different context, he may have understood what she meant, but Lincoln's mind wasn't working correctly.
"What moment'"
"When you found out what I feel for you, Stinkoln," she answered, sounding mad. "I pictured it a thousand different ways. Going into your room in the middle of the night, waking you up to open my heart out. Or inviting you to the beach after finishing a mission, waiting for the sunset. Or wait until we were both in the pool, away from Todd's cameras, stealing a kiss from you."
Lincoln's heart beat faster than it ever had. Could a twelve-year-old suffer a heart arrest?
Lynn continued her rant.
"Of course, I never dared to do it. I was afraid of messing everything up if you didn't feel the same way about me. That's why I took advantage of today. I said everything I wish I could say to you. I didn't even care about the mission, I just wanted to spend some time with you. And then… I thought I could finally kiss you, even if it wasn't real, even if I knew you didn't feel that way for me. I thought that, maybe for a second, you'd forgotten about the mission just like I had."
Her eyes were filled with multiple emotions he couldn't sort out.
"But I guess you're a better spy than me. And now I'm hurting for a stupid thing, and you know how I really feel about you, and it's worse than I ever imagined. Everything went wrong."
Shutting her eyes down, she stood up with shocking speed. She would have run away if Lincoln wasn't a trained agent as well with extraordinary reflexes. His hand shot her way, closing around her wrist. They pulled and tugged for a few seconds until Lynn's physical superiority allowed her to free herself from his grip.
"Wait!" Lincoln begged, desperately standing up.
Still bashful and with a certain dudgeon —whether it was aimed at him or her, Lincoln didn't know—, Lynn listened to his request and waited for what he had to say.
"I'm not gonna lie to you: I'm not so sure how I feel about this whole thing right now. I'm confused and shocked. These… aren't things I'd thought about before. But I do know something. There's never, and I mean it, never going to be anything that could ruin our relationship."
He took a step closer. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he began fixing the black suit that now surrounded Lynn's shoulders, making sure it comfortably covered her.
"Nothing I said during our—" He almost said mission. "—date was a lie. You're really the most important person in my life. And you'll never be alone, not as long as I'm still alive. And also— I mean, I think it's pretty obvious, but Lynn, I love you."
He dragged his hands, careful enough not to touch anything embarrassing, until they rested around Lynn's arms, holding her in place, not wanting to let her go. He met her intense look, feeling the emotional sparks flashing in between them.
"I never thought I could fall in love, but I always pictured us together. Growing up, you and me. I don't need anyone else."
"Don't you think I'm a freak?"
He shook his head, cupping one of her cheekbones with his palm.
"Of course not. I don't think any less of you. Lynn, I— I really love you."
"Like a sister?" She asked, almost challenging him. "Or like something more?"
He pondered her question.
"I don't know yet. It might take me a while to understand it, but…"
He couldn't find the exact words to express his true feelings. Instead, he raised his other hand, both of them now caressing Lynn's face, and he asked for permission with a single look. One of the two made the first move, and soon their lips clashed in a warm and long-awaited kiss.
They stopped feeling the cold, night breeze, and the orchestra of grass and tree crowns dancing to its beat shut down, replaced by the frenetic percussion of their hearts and the melody of the gentle moans that inevitably traveled from one mouth to the other. Lincoln's hands kept softly cupping the sides of her face, and Lynn's rested against his white shirt. The top of their lips felt the warm breathing of the other person, and fireworks went out within them, shaking them to their foundations.
For Lynn, that was a dream come true.
For Lincoln, it was the start of a new one.
The first kiss ended way too soon for both of them, so they immediately went back for a new one, desperate to feel that tingling in the deepest part of their souls. The second kiss led to a third one, and that one was followed by too many to count, of varying lengths. They were both filling a void in their hearts, breaking a sentimental fasting that had gone on for far too long.
Their hands roamed and explored new territories on their better halves, feeling the texture of their hairs, the decreasing tension in their muscles, the familiar warmth of their bodies. Even when they had to pause their passionate encounter, their foreheads pressed together one against the other as they caught their breath.
"Lynn, I love you, I love you so much. And I wouldn't mind figuring out where that leads us."
She smiled. Not even the best of her dreams could compare to that moment.
"Let's find out together, Freckles."
With a silent agreement, they both returned to the quarters holding hands, following a beeline to Lincoln's room.
Neither seemed to remember that Agent 001 was staying over in one of the barrack's extra rooms. Her flight back to Great Lakes would leave in the morning. Lori listened to their steps, the giggles, and the sound of one door closing. She smiled to herself before raising her voice.
"Todd, turn off the surveillance on the barracks for eight hours," she ordered, turning on her earphones and activating the automatic reading of some classified intelligence files.
Agent 006 would have an interesting report to present in the morning.