Author's Note: The astute among you will spot that there's a missing scene here. You can find it on Freedom of Speech FanFiction (link can be found in my personal details here on not published here, for obvious reasons.

I drifted slowly back to consciousness, or at least to being aware of my surroundings. I was sprawled on top of a large pile of boxes covered in plastic-wrapped Army fatigues, in a storehouse filled with boxes with rain hammering on the roof. Actually that's not quite true. My lower half was sprawled on top of the uniforms, which made quite an acceptable mattress. The rest of me was sprawled on top of a man I'd met for the first time less than 24 hours ago, whose fatigues jacket I was currently wearing as a makeshift blanket. It swamped me completely, which was just as well; I wasn't wearing anything else and nor was he.

In the dim light from the windows at the top of the building, I could see that Bobby was grinning more widely than a Cheshire cat. I probably was too. I was vaguely aware that I'd just done what I'd always until now thought of as the 'guy thing' of collapsing on top of your partner in a boneless heap. How embarrassing. Still, he didn't seem to mind too much. He was stroking my back, very gently. I was purring softly and trying to think of something to say. "That was wonderful," was accurate but didn't quite capture it. "Any chance I could kidnap you and make you my personal slave?" was also accurate but unlikely to get a good answer.

What I actually said was; "Well, I didn't know I could scream that loudly."

"Mm-hmmm." A large hand made its way up my back and brushed some of my hair off my forehead. I held up my own hand and pressed my palm against his, then giggled at the size difference. My hand looked like a child's compared to his.

"What's funny?" I looked down into those dark eyes, shining up at me, that little-boy grin, and my heart squeezed. Oh dammit, Sienna, don't go falling for him, now, I warned myself, not without a certain regret. The age and experience gap between us was really too big for this to work once we returned to our usual lives, but it was so tempting to imagine doing this whenever I was in the States, maybe we could manage it now and then, when I had to travel there for work. Tempting, but maybe not wise. Better to enjoy what we had right here and now, perhaps…

"I'm tiny compared to you." I looked down his body, all six foot four of it, muscles limned in the dim light from the bulb at the back of the storehouse. "You're a real two day amusement park ride."

He burst out laughing, so infectiously that I joined in as he pulled me closer. I nestled into those big arms, trying not to think about the necessity of finding our clothes and making our way back to our rooms. (Rooms? No. Room. I did not intend to get any sleep that night and if I had my way, he wouldn't either).

"I've never been called that before," he got out, in between bursts of laughter.

"I have a way with… words," I replied, in my best double-innuendo tone. I was fascinated by the dark hair on his chest, my fingers slowly tracing it.

"I don't think we have two days… sadly." A thought seemed to occur to him. "Do you have to go straight back to… where is it you live? Ukraine?"

"Yeah… I have to go back there tomorrow, but it looks like I could be coming back in a few days if Whitefield's right about how the CIA handle this. Why? Are you offering to show me New York?"

"Would you like to see it?"

I smiled lazily. "Something tells me I might not see much more than the inside of your apartment."

"It's a very nice apartment."

"Persuade me," I dipped my head down, pressing my lips very softly against his. One big arm snaked around the back of my head whilst the other pulled me back on top of him. I was still tracing patterns across his chest; I was just thinking about tracing the line of dark hair down, across his chest, across his belly, when I noticed that he'd suddenly frozen still, then tipped his head on one side, concentrating. I stopped talking. I could hear now what he'd heard. Someone was shouting outside.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, sounded like someone screaming," a familiar-sounding voice replied. "I'll check in here…"

Our eyes met. In a rare display of telepathy, we both jumped apart and rolled for the cover of the packing crates. As I hit the deck behind the crates, I just had time to remember that our pants and boots were strewn across the floor between the wall and the crates we were crouching behind, when the door was shoved open, the box Bobby had pushed against it scraping across the ground, and someone's head poked inside, following by a flashlight sweeping the floor. As the flashlight swivelled away, I pushed myself up a little and tried to retrieve Bobby's jacket from the top of the crates. Big mistake; the motion caught the intruder's eye, and the flashlight swivelled back, catching me square in the face. The intruder chuckled and turned the flashlight away. He turned swiftly and yelled out the door "There's nothing here!" I recognised the voice; it was Andrew Davenport.

Whoever he was shouting to – one of the base's soldiers, I guessed – yelled back "That door should be locked! I'll go get the key."

"You do that. I'll stay here 'til you get back," Andrew replied. I risked another glance. He was standing outside the door, holding the flashlight out to me. I scuttled forwards, hunting desperately for my clothes. Behind me, I could hear Bobby's large frame padding around the crates, obviously doing the same thing. I got dressed, scurried outside and, to my extreme annoyance, noticed that Andrew's shoulders were shaking.

"I'm glad you find this so funny," I replied, in a vain attempt to hang on to what remained of my dignity - not easy to preserve when you've just been scampering around a chilly storehouse nekkid. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Got bored with hanging around in the bar, got the bus, was headed past here and heard screaming…" (I blushed) "And oh, there are SO MANY jokes I could make right now about inter-agency liaisons," Andrew replied, still attempting to suppress his laughter.

"You can turn round now, I've got my clothes on."

"Sweetheart – it's not YOU I'm trying not to stare at." Behind me, Bobby froze. Then, calmly, turned his back and continued pulling on his fatigues. When we were both dressed, Andrew squinted out of the door and nodded. "It's okay, the coast is clear." We slipped out into the night, giving the impression that we'd just met Andrew whilst he was watching the door. He was still laughing.

"Well, you know my secret, I know yours." He shrugged. "I won't be coming back, regardless of what they decide to do with Smith. Odds are, we'll not meet again."

Bobby finished doing up his jacket. "Ah, your government doesn't want you exposed…" There was a brief pause, and then we all three started laughing. Eventually Andrew choked out: "Don't make me laugh, my ribs are still sore… anyway, best of luck for the future." He turned and padded away into the drizzly evening. We stared after him for a minute, then Bobby bent down and murmured into my ear. "So…. Fancy another ride?"

"I need to shower first." I tipped my head up, and grinned. "Want to help me scrub my back?"