His head was absolutely pounding with exhaustion, his arms were stiffened from being wrenched behind him for so goddamn long. Hazel eyes steadily swept between two guards on either side of his holding cell, his lip curling into a sneer. He didn't know what about the situation annoyed him more: The fact that he'd wound up in this situation or the fact that he hadn't had a goddamn cigarette in two fucking days.

Christophe wasn't sure what was going to be accomplished here. All he knew was that the Peruvians down and out of the holding block liked to yell at him in Spanish and then get pissed when he had no idea what they were asking. Chances are, it wouldn't have mattered regardless. Christophe didn't have the information they would have wanted, he only had a name and face engraved in his file. All the intricacies of their organization flew right on by him, that was never his job. His job was to wait and to shoot or stab. Unfortunately, it's much harder to shoot someone when the goddamn bough breaks.

He smirked self-righteously. He may not have killed his target, but he got one of his fucking lackeys when the limb crushed his throat. Little of a victory as it was, it still counted in his book. One less of these bastards sneaking around the human trafficking trade. If he had it his way, he'd be allowed to flat-out bomb the complex to the ground. That'd be 'too conspicuous' though. He had to make "subtle changes", as the agency had informed him time and again. How bringing down a ringleader was "subtle", Christophe would probably never know. But, an order was an order. And either way, he got to watch a man gasp for air he couldn't have before he was hauled off to their prison. Better than nothing.

And it was certainly better than being interrogated. He shifted atop the wooden chair, thumbnail pressing against his opposing palm and trying to redirect the withdrawal pains elsewhere. His eye was bruised and heated from a direct hit, his stomach aching from blow after blow and his arms throbbing from hardened grips. Somehow all he could focus on was the shaking as he envisioned his lungs filling with the sweet minute killing that he'd grown to depend on. Hell, if he did have their information, they probably could've gotten it out of him with a trade for a pack. Or maybe he'd be stingy and hold out for a carton at least.

He shook his head at himself. This was the reason he stayed out of sight as often as possible. He wasn't easy to break, but he was easier to read than necessary when it came to his weaknesses. He could only clarify a handful of life pleasures to be potent enough to qualify as these vulnerabilities: His hands for his work, his cigarettes, his identity.

And a certain redhead outside his cell he now found himself staring at in utter bewilderment.

Kyle's face was locked in a tight frown, dressed in some clean pressed shirt Christophe hadn't seen before and dark slacks, looking like the prince to the pauper chained to a chair. Scanning over the damage done, Kyle let out a long breath through his nose. He turned to a man standing beside him with tanned skin and an authoritative glare. Christophe glanced at the discreet pin pressed into an stiffened collar, the yellow circle and green line running straight through it and growled under his breath. Kyle was standing far too close to him for comfort. Far too close to a man integrated with such a despicable business.

Kyle hummed, "Él es americano. ¿Verdad?"

"Sí," he nodded. "No hablara."

Kyle nodded, locking eyes with Christophe yet again and nonchalantly wiping over his mouth as he cleared his throat a bit. Christophe took a deep breath at his signal. Keep his mouth shut until told otherwise. Easy enough. Kyle continued, "¿Alguno de ustedes habla inglés?"

The man shrugged, "Solo un poco. No es suficiente para que esta estúpida persona entienda. Su acento no es americano, aunque."

Kyle let out a soft 'ah', bringing his hand back up, tapping two fingers up against his lips as he stared at the prisoner thoughtfully. A little bit of English was more than enough to expose them if the wrong words came into play. He knew he couldn't trust Christophe to stay steady in his role, he was an awful actor. But, if they didn't recognize Christophe's accent with enough ease to say it with confidence, chances were high they couldn't speak it either. He just needed to find out his odds. One or two recognized phrases of English could be enough to ruin his entire scheme, getting them as far out of the loop as possible was their only chance. "¿Qué acento tiene él?"

The man blinked, looking at the two guards who just gave him a small shrug. "No estamos seguros. Creemos que es francés."

"¿Y no hablas francés?" he eyed him a bit, watching a change of his pupils, a hand on his face, anything to get a full read on the level of truth in his response.

He shook his head, staring the man straight-on with nothing but casualness in his tone, if not the slightest hint of embarrassment of his lack of linguistic skill, "No un poco."

Kyle nodded, straightening up and clearing his throat, locking his attention solely on Christophe. "Suivez mes directives," he ordered.

Christophe stared at him, reading the demand so heavy in his eyes and giving a curt, subtle nod. Kyle had a plan, at least there was that. Didn't explain why he was there, though.

Kyle turned back to the man and gave a sweet, disarming smile. "Déjame entrar para que pueda hablar con él." The man paused, looking between the two of them, not sure if that's what Kyle actually wanted. The man in the cell was beyond dangerous, and the small interrogator his boss had sent to him didn't seem the type to be able to stop him if things got out of control. Kyle narrowed his eyes. "¿Vas a hacer esto? ¿O necesito conseguir al jefe?"

He cringed in the slightest. No. No, he did not want his boss to get called down here. Last thing he needed was to be reprimanded yet again. He let out a long, angry sigh, ripping a set of keys out of his pocket and shoving them into the cell door's lock. Kyle stepped into the room as the door was opened, looking back as it was slammed shut behind him, the criminal not wanting to take the chance of the subdued mercenary breaking out and attacking anyone on the outside. Kyle smirked. "Gracias."

Kyle walked over and bent down in front of Christophe, and the man could see an impending lecture in his stare. Christophe nearly jerked back at the smooth start of French slipping off Kyle's tongue like summer rain. "You fucking stay speaking French," he ordered. "I'm not risking English around them."

Christophe nodded, though his chest twisted with puzzlement, "Why are you here?!"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "There's time for that once we get your clumsy ass out of here. Now. We have to get them away from the door so I can uncuff you. This has to get physical." Christophe subtly raised an amused brow and he rolled his eyes once more. "Don't fucking start with me, Mole. We need to stage a fight. Any ideas since all you do is cause trouble?"

Christophe narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah, because you never get captured, Ky-" he stopped with a sharp slap across his face, head snapping to the side and looking back at him with enragement. "What the FUCK?!"

"Don't fucking use my name, you retard! They don't know I know you!" he hissed.

He sneered, "Well sorry. Use a goddamn codename with these people for once then, huh?!"

Kyle glared, taking a long, deep breath through his nose. "Turn your hands. Make them as flat as possible."

"…Why?" he blinked.

"Because. I'm going to fucking kick your chair over. So, either do that or get your fingers broken."

"That'd be more a loss on your part than mine-" he stopped as Kyle stood and violently kicked his shoulder. He barely managed to flatten his hands before he collided with the cement floor, groaning in pain. "You little bitch!" he yelled.

Kyle rolled his eyes at his dramatics before turning and looking at their gaping audience. "¡Salir! Él no cooperará si lo está mirando." The men looked at one another hesitantly and he growled. "¿Quieres respuestas o no? ¡Voy a romper este pedazo de mierda si usted acaba de ir!"

They stood straighter, the main guard giving the other two a brief nod. They needed answers from the mercenary. If they had to leave the vicinity to get them, then so fucking be it. They turned and began walking down the block hall, Kyle taking a long, slow breath as Christophe continued to wriggle and curse from the floor. He genially stepped towards the bars, subtly glancing around the corner of the cell wall and watching the three of them stopping at the end of the long hallway, murmuring with one another. He nodded in approval, making his way back to his fallen partner and kneeling behind him. "So," he said quietly, slipping back into English. "Gonna apologize?"

"For what?!" Christophe spat. "You apologize to me, Deeckhole!"

Kyle scoffed, reaching under Christophe and grunting, struggling to set him back upright. "Keep it down. And I'm not the one who blew your cover," he murmured. "But you almost just blew mine."

Christophe groaned, leaning his head back. "I am sorry," he drawled. "I 'ave not slept for days, geeve me some slack!"

"Uh huh," he muttered, bending down and wrestling between his belt and waistband, pulling out a paperclip and focusing on his partner's cuffs as he unbent it. He bit his tongue in concentration as he placed the wire into the keyhole, genially beginning to bend it to the shape of the lock. "Are you all right?" he asked, a softness breaking back into his tone.

He sighed, nodding. "Oui. Peessed to sheet, but I am fine."

"What even happened? You weren't that close to the target, were you?"

Christophe grumbled, "Fuckeeng tree broke. Landed on guards walkeeng by. I fuckeeng messed up."

Kyle looked up at the back of his head as he continued to finagle the wire. "Tophe. It happens. You didn't mess up, you can't control a fucking branch."

"Non. But I could 'ave chosen a better place to 'ide," he scoffed, shaking his head at himself. He groaned as the first cuff popped from around his raw wrist, bringing it back around himself and sighing. Kyle walked back around front with his other wrist still ensnared, working on it as he stared at his partner firmly.

"If there was a better place, you would have found it. Don't beat yourself up over this. We've all blown our covers. Some of us more than others," he rolled his eyes.

Christophe couldn't help but snort, looking down as he was relinquished at last from the metal monstrosity and rubbing at his wrists. "Oui, but you lose your cover because of ozer people. Not usually yourself."

He smirked, "Well. Guess I have more people as enemies and nature is finally rebelling for you always throwing your smokes on the ground."

"Zere ees a reason eet ees called Mozer Nature," he scoffed, slowly standing and stretching his legs, cracking his neck with a sigh. "Nozeeng but a spiteful 'arpy."

Kyle rolled his eyes with a quiet laugh. "Some of us like and miss our mothers, you know."

"Only pussies," he teased, leaning down and stealing a quick kiss. Kyle hummed, returning the favor before they both straightened up and turned to the cell door, faces turning darker. "So. 'ow do we get out?"

"Same as always. Distract and destroy," he drawled, reaching down and undoing his belt to unbutton his pants.

Christophe cocked his brow. "You want to deestract zem weez your deeck?"

"Well, one, that's a tried and true method of mine," he reminded him, getting a soft glare from Christophe. "But no." He winced, reaching down his pantleg to a strap around his thigh and snagging two folded Ontario XM-1's, handing one to Christophe. "We get 'em down, we grab their guns, and we sneak out leaving as little of a body trail as we can."

"Ah. Ze professional way zen?"

He smirked as he redid his pants, "I know. Out of our comfort zone, but we need to be subtle. We have…" he glanced down at his watch and grimaced. "Two hours. I got us a flight back to the states, but we need to hurry. Took me longer than expected to talk my way in here."

"'ow deed you?" he questioned.

"Flatter the boss and you can get anywhere you want," he scoffed, both flipping their blades out of their hold. "All right," he murmured, reaching down and grabbing the discarded cuffs from the floor. "We kill the lower ones, we get an escape route from the fuck with the keys."

"And zen we keell 'eem, oui?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Yes, Christophe. We'll avenge your pride or whatever."

"Bien," he nodded in approval.

Kyle snorted a bit, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. He pointed to the front left corner of the room, Christophe taking his direction and concealing himself in the corner of the wall beside the bars, crouching in the slightest to pounce. He nodded and Kyle smacked his lips, making way to the front of the cage and clearing his throat, sticking his opened knife in his back pocket. Thin hands wrapped around the cell door, rattling it incessantly. "¡Ayuda! ¡Él escapó! ¡Está intentando matarme!" he screeched, kicking the iron a few times to make more of a ruckus.

The hurried sound of heavy footsteps began approaching, Kyle swiftly moving himself to the other front corner and holding the handcuffs, sharing a quick look with Christophe. The guards made it to the door, Kyle continuing to cry out in 'panic' while he bent his legs and pivoted towards the entrance. The three of them burst in, Kyle on the move before they'd crossed the threshold. He snagged the leader's arms and wrenched them back as Christophe grabbed one of the others to get the opposition lessened against Kyle's mission. The handcuffs snapped around thick wrists as Kyle rocketed his foot into the small of the man's back, sending him spiraling onto the ground in a heap.

His shout was drowned out with the panicked screech of Christophe's hold, a blade slipping in and out of his neck with ease through the internal jugular and the man thrown aside into the wall. He crashed with a gasp, trying to stop the blood flow and clawing at the floor. Kyle leapt onto the third, following example, ripping his weapon out of his pocket and grunting as he had to reach up to stab through his neck. He yelped at the man's hand coming up and tearing at his hair to get him away, twisting the blade to carry it through the skin and out the other side of his throat. The fingers in his curls lessoned and he shoved the man aside, letting him crumple and choke while Christophe snagged their fallen guns away from their reach and put the straps over his shoulder.

Kyle turned his attention down to the leader and narrowed his eyes, kicking him onto his back and straddling over his waist, blade pressing up and under his chin while Christophe remained on guard to keep the other two at bay while they struggled to cling onto life. He leaned down towards the man's face, glaring fiercely. "Dime la forma más rápida de salir de aquí," he demanded, pressing harder into his chin.

He snarled, "Vete ala mierda."

He smirked, leaning closer and clucking his tongue in disapproval. "Puedo matarte rápidamente o tomar mi tiempo. Depende de tu respuesta." He scraped the blade along his neck, his eyes piercing the man beneath him.

Christophe looked back at a croaking groan from his victim against the wall as he settled with a shuddery, choking breath, unable to help the curl up his lips. He glanced back down at Kyle still locked in his staring contest. "Petit renard, 'urry up," he insisted. "We need to get out of 'ere."

"Told him if he tells me where to go I'll let him die much easier," he hissed, his stare never wavering. "Bastard just needs to answer."

"Just keell 'eem zen, before zere are more of zem."

Kyle leaned tilted the man's head with his blade, ignoring the infuriation seeping between his teeth as he leaned down towards his ear, fluidly sliding back into Spanish. "You tortured my fucking boyfriend, Asshole," he informed him. "And I know the places to cut for the slowest way to bleed you out. So, speak up or lie here for fifteen minutes fighting for your fucking life."

He paused, brown eyes straining to look up at him and shaking his head. "No."

"Fine," he shrugged, scooting back and plunging the knife down into his outer shoulder, unfazed by the scream ripping out of his throat. The blade slid just a few inches before Kyle tore it out, repeating on the opposite arm. Christophe watched with a smug smirk, observing how so very careful he was being to avoid the subclavian, how he carved so precisely like a trained chef. Kyle got to his feet, kicking him back onto his stomach and turning to Christophe, snapping down his knife. "Well. Guess we're on our own here," he worked out coolly over the pained shouts of the man.

"Let's get out before zis asshole wakes up ze entire fuckeeng complex," he rolled his eyes, handing Kyle one of the guns from his shoulder. Kyle held it up, narrowing his eyes a bit at it. Christophe snorted. "Point and shoot, petit renard."

"Oh. Wow. Thanks," he drawled. "Remind me why you didn't become an instructor at the agency?"

Christophe smirked, leading him towards the cell door and poking his head out looking for anyone lingering about. "Because my gradeeng was 'eld to too 'igh of standards."

Kyle rolled his eyes amusedly. "Oh please. Student bums you a smoke and they'd get to skip the rest of the semester."

"Do not joke about zat, I 'ave not 'ad one in days," he whined, waving him to follow and heading down the hall, rushing towards the door to the outside. Kyle slammed the cell door shut, flipping off the man trying to roll himself over and pry apart his cuffs still shouting angrily into the floor before dashing off after him. They looked up the flight of stairs towards the outside, twisting their lips. "'ow many deed you see?"

"Too many for comfort," Kyle muttered, looking along the side wall. "I saw a window on my way in though, maybe a ten-foot drop, but into grass and clear of guards from what I could tell." He hummed, eyeing a closed door back down the hallway and signaling Christophe to follow him as he briskly moved towards it. Kyle placed his ear up against the wood, listening for any foreign sounds. He glanced up at the scrawled paper sign reading 'Sala de conferencias', nodding to himself and trying the handle. It didn't budge and he sighed irritably. "Can you kick this thing down?"

Christophe smirked but moved into place, motioning for Kyle to back up as a heavy combat boot slammed beside the knob, the door bursting open and both whirling to the sides of the entrance. They waited a beat for movement, turning and looking to see nothing more than a darkened room with tables, stacked chairs, and a lone window. They glanced at the shadowed corners, sighing in relief at the bareness and stepping through the threshold. "Could not get ze beeg, bad door on your own?" Christophe teased.

"I've kicked enough things for a bit, my leg is killing me," Kyle scoffed, leading him to the pane. "Can you boost me or are you too hurt?"

Christophe shook his head, moving his gun to rest against his back and bending down to cup his hands. He grunted as Kyle stepped into his palms and he lifted him up the extra foot he needed, resting him on his knee. Kyle growled, struggling to unlatch the pane from the rust buildup. "Goddammit," he hissed. "Come on!" he snapped, ripping his arm back and nearly smacking himself in the face as it finally unhooked. He sighed, pushing the pane up and wrapping his fingers around the sill. "Can you lift me higher?"

"'ang on," he said, taking a deep breath before slowly beginning to stand himself up with a wince. Kyle was light as they came, and he'd carried him time and again until Kyle beat his way out of his grasp in a huff, but all the weight in his aching fingers was not benefitting either of them.

Kyle scrambled his way up, arms resting on the ledge and trying to take the weight from Christophe, keeping sharp eyes peeled for passersby. He grunted in approval of nothing but the bare side of another building and seemingly empty space below. He caught a glimpse of a small ledge running along the building a few feet down and gulped at the long drop waiting for them. "Okay. Little more than ten feet, definitely misjudged that. But I have a ledge I can stand on to help you climb up. Unless you have a better idea."

"Non," he shook his head. "Eef you zink eet works, zen we do zat, we 'ave no time for other plans."

"Right," he nodded, slipping his gun off and turning on the safety, dropping it to the side. "Hand 'em both to me once I'm out." Christophe grunted in acknowledgement as Kyle began lifting himself up and shimmying out the window. Kyle gulped, biting his lip as he left the safety of Christophe's hands to swing his right leg up onto the sill. "God," he muttered. "Why can't these places ever have windows near the floor?"

Christophe shook his head, keeping his hands ready to spot him. "Because zen anyone could do our job."

"I don't think so," he snorted, groaning as he swung himself up and out, body twisting awkwardly and hands keeping a tight clasp around the brick as he reached down, stretching his toes until hitting the ledge just barely big enough to hold his shoe. "Okay," he whispered, maneuvering for his other foot to follow and taking a deep breath. "Guns." Christophe nodded, snagging them both and checking the safety locks before handing them up towards him. Kyle grabbed them by the barrels and pulled them out of the window, clumsily slipping them around his shoulder while Christophe made quick work to snag the table and drag it towards the wall. Kyle kept his head swiveling, glancing down below and back up the barely-visible opening just under his eyeline at the door of the conference room.

Christophe bit his lip, hopping up on the table and putting his hands on the ledge, leaning back and taking a deep breath before hopping up and flopping himself halfway through the window, hissing at the sill digging into his ribs. "Fuckeeng sheet!"

Kyle just sighed, scooching over and reaching his hand up to help him swing his leg out. "Careful," he warned. "Even my feet don't fit too well here." Christophe snorted, halfway to making a snide comment on his size before a warning glare stopped him in his tracks. He coughed a bit, moving to slide out and beside him, both swallowing and glancing down for anyone on the lookout. "All right," Kyle said, very genially pulling the guns back off himself. "I'll jump. You toss these down and follow. Then we break for it."

"Be careful," Christophe said quietly, getting a small smile from the man before they slowly turned around, both with a hand around the window for stability.

Kyle gulped, turning his feet straight out and narrowing his eyes. Maybe only eighteen feet up. He'd done worse jumps and only ended up with a bruised arm, this was a cakewalk. He grunted, bashing down any hint of worry and taking the leap, feeling Christophe watching him in trepidation. He gritted his teeth, extending his feet towards the ground tilted down in the slightest. He put out his arms, gasping as the balls of his feet hit the ground, body springing forward on impact as he tucked his left shoulder down and rolled to his right hip. He took a shaking breath as he found himself upright and crouched in the grass, feeling the slightest twinge in his knee but little else. Kyle gathered his bearings, getting to his feet and holding his hands up towards Christophe.

Christophe tossed one firearm down, waiting for it to hit Kyle's hand and get moved out of the way before lobbing the other. Kyle snagged the second from midair, turning off the safety and holding it up, ears and eyes wide open as Christophe made his descent. He glanced as the telltale thud and shuffle of grass came behind him, watching Christophe landing in his crouch with a hiss and grabbing at his ankle.

"Shit," he muttered, moving over and helping him up. "You all right?"

"Landed wrong," he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I noticed. Can you run or not?" he demanded, handing him his weapon. Christophe nodded, standing up straighter with him, ignoring the sharp pain down his foot. That could be dealt with later, they had to get out of this godforsaken prison. Kyle waved him along, the two of them rushing towards the back of the building. They hugged the wall, glancing out into the open area down a small hill, Kyle squinting a bit from their higher elevation and seeing a road off in the distance over a rotting fence topped with spiraling wire. "Okay. There's our out. We get over the fence, ditch the guns, and make our way through as tourists. Think we can handle that?"

He nodded, "Oui. Do we shoot 'eem or not?" he jerked his head towards a tall figure lingering at the back of the building scrolling through a phone.

Kyle groaned under his breath. "No. That's the boss. Well, one of them at least. Shooting him this out in the open would be suicide."

"'ow do we make eet past zen?"

Kyle handed him his gun, wiping bloodstains from his palms off on the back of his dark pants. "I'll distract him, you make a fucking dash out of here. I'll be behind you as soon as you get over the fence."

"Kyle, I am not leaveeng you alone weez 'eem!" he argued.

He rolled his eyes, "I've been alone with him already," he hissed. "Now shut up. Wait for my signal, and you fucking sneak out of here as quickly as you can. I'll meet you at the road. Do you understand me?" Christophe opened his mouth to argue before steely green eyes sliced over him like machetes and he frowned.

"Fine."

Kyle nodded, making his way out into the open and walking towards the man, the noise catching his attention immediately and looking up with a smirk. "Ah, mira quién despierta por fin."

Kyle smiled sweetly, stepping up beside him and giving a simple shrug, trying to bat off a bout of nauseated anger at the man before him as he reminded himself to stay as 'the innocent, foreign accountant from Canada'. "Hard to wake up after a night with you," he cooed fluently, moving around him like a shark, letting his feet slide over the ground with grace. He maneuvered himself to the other side, the man's head turned completely away from Christophe's escape line. He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair and flicking his fingers off and away from his head as he remained locked in the criminal's gaze.

Christophe growled, considering moving forward and slicing off the strange man's head before catching Kyle's signal and sighing to himself. He promised to go, he had no choice at this point. He began slipping out and away, staying close to the wall and keeping his eyes flickering between his wooden-fence target and Kyle casually making conversation with the man. His lip curled into a snarl, glancing around the back of another building and calling it clear before dashing off to the fence.

Kyle glanced in his direction, eyes hidden under thick lashes and a shy, tilted head. He sighed in relief. Good, he was starting his ascent of the unfinished wood, carefully tilting himself to stay off the barbed wire. Kyle smirked to himself. Lithe as a cat, just like he'd showed him. He glanced back up at the smiling man and he cleared his throat, running his fingers up his chest with a genial touch. "So… easy for you to wake up then?"

He grinned, cupping Kyle's cheek. "Not as easy as you may think. I had no choice, would have rather stayed in bed with you, my dear," he purred, leaning down and kissing Kyle's neck.

Kyle hummed, glancing back over, seeing Christophe dropping over the fence and licking over his lips, letting the man continue to pepper his skin. "Well. If you're not busy now…" he shrugged innocently, feeling a grin spreading over his shoulder. Kyle rolled his eyes to himself at the sensation, taking a deep breath and reminding himself to play the part for this fool. With gentle, urging fingers, he pried the man up and away from his neck, leading him to his lips.

The man threaded his hand through his hair, Kyle nearly hissing as the kiss turned vicious, his tongue invading his mouth and sloppily ravaging its chosen space. Kyle forced himself to moan into it, pressing back as his free hand slowly glided towards his back pocket. His eyes opened as he tore out his blade and flicked it open, twisting and grasping it with tight, whitened knuckles. He tilted their heads in the slightest, fingers wrapping around the man's hair and holding him steady. Kyle moaned again, pressing harder and blocking off as much of his mouth as he could manage as his arm flew back from around him and stabbed into the side of the man's neck.

He choked, trying to pull back, Kyle refusing to let him move as his fingers tore at his hair and skin, keeping his sounds subdued within his own mouth. He swallowed every decibel of agony as he slashed straight through, getting a spattering of blood whisked across his face. The man's mouth fell slack, body drooping with it. Kyle finally pulled back with a shaking breath, spitting his taste back in his face and shoving him backwards as he fell into unconsciousness. He wiped his mouth and folded his blade back, giving him a final glare. "Not yours."

Even surrounded by nothing but the hustle and bustle of normal townsfolk going about their day, Christophe felt far too vulnerable without the guns left discarded in the field across the way. He sighed, leaning against the sign for a store claiming a sale on all its products, far too bright and pronounced for tired Christophe's tastes. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple, trying to beat back worried palpitations in his chest. Kyle could handle himself. Usually. Just as Christophe could handle himself. Usually.

He opened his eyes, looking up at a partly clouded sky, the grey almost misleading with how goddamn hot it was. He wondered if he was slipping. What if Kyle hadn't come back for him? Would the agency have gotten him out? Or would he have just been shot through the head when they realized he wasn't going to give them the intel they apparently wanted? He shook his head with a sigh. He knew he shouldn't dwell on it, and the subject would be dropped within the next few days as it always was, as he'd trained himself to do. But for now, it was weighing him down, he was sinking under the burden of his failures. He'd missed the target, he'd endangered himself and Kyle. It wasn't an easy job, no one in their right mind would claim otherwise. And no matter how good someone was at the job, they were always susceptible to failure, to capture, to death.

Sometimes he just thought himself over such disappointments, naïve as it was.

He jerked back as something came into his face, looking down to see a lit cigarette clutched between thin fingers. He glanced down the arm to see Kyle looking at him with a sad smile and his shirt turned inside-out. "Got you a pack," he said quietly.

Christophe snagged the cigarette from his fingers, putting it between his teeth and clasping his hand. Kyle took his hand back and shook his head. He cleared his throat and tugged at his sleeve, leading him down the way between two shops into a barren alleyway out of public view. "What? What ees wrong?" Christophe asked him, looking for enemies nearby.

Kyle smiled gently, "Peruvians aren't always the coolest with this kinda thing," he said, moving up onto his toes and taking the cigarette from his mouth once more, planting his lips in its place. Christophe blinked before sinking down against him, arms sliding up Kyle's back and holding him closely. They finally allowed themselves a moment of reprieve, forgetting that they had a plane to catch. Forgetting that they'd cut down a handful of lives and were nearly caught up in a trafficking scheme. Remembering for a rare moment that they weren't merely codenames and mercenaries, they were Christophe and Kyle; nothing more, nothing less.

Christophe pulled back in the slightest, laughing warmly against his lips. "You took one of my smokes," he teased, tasting it as it lingered on his tongue.

Kyle shrugged. "Had a bad taste to get out of my mouth." He pecked him again before letting his feet plant back against the ground, reaching up and putting his cigarette back into place. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

Christophe sighed, reaching down and reclaiming his hand, taking note once more, as he always did, of just how small Kyle was compared to himself. He was made like porcelain, every pale inch of flesh barely concealing the bones lingering beneath. Kyle had revealed to him the year prior that it was because of illness, a self-contained strain of type-one diabetes forcing him to always be cautionary about what was put in his body. It'd been an eye-opener for Christophe, watching him for the first time as he took his insulin, realizing that the man he considered to be unbreakable and able to worm his way out of anything was defenseless to his own body. It was a body that worried him, that he'd learned in their two years with one another was full of frailties. He was a weak immune system that had him laid up with pneumonia if Christophe caught a cold. He bruised like a peach, never bothered by them but always showcasing them, whether from Christophe's possessive holdings or otherwise.

Christophe himself was callouses and meat on his bones. He was fit, but stocky. Kyle liked to call him his tank, his meat shield. Christophe was a fan of lightly tracing his hands around Kyle's form, letting every inch of him be met with a featherlight touch when they weren't rutting against one another like dogs. But Kyle loved to grab, to squeeze, to smile at an arm that both his hands could barely wrap around. He adored every solid inch of him, worshipped him like a Grecian god. But, Christophe was no god. If anything close to being so revered, he was Achilles, and the man with steps light as freshly fallen snow was his vulnerable heel.

"I am fine," he finally answered, squeezing his fingers in the slightest. "I am… just steell so peessed," he grumbled, letting out a long stream of smoke. "I 'ave not completely failed a meession een a long time."

Kyle watched it as it rose towards the sky, so fervently climbing only to dissipate before it met its goal. He sighed, itching to snag another of his cigarettes but keeping himself from doing so. Christophe needed them more than he did, he'd been through a lot the past few days. He let his gaze drop back onto his face, lingering on the prominent bruising of his left brow bone. Kyle frowned, gripping his hand back, his fingers lightly petting his knuckles. "You didn't fail," he told him softly. "We have more information on them that we can send to the agency. They can send other people that aren't known faces to finish the job. You did fine, Tophe."

"Non. You deed fine. You deed what you set out to do," he bit, locking stares with him and feeling his chest wrench at the disappointed expression taking over Kyle's face. "I 'ate zis agency bullsheet."

"You and me both," he sighed, squeezing his hand. "But if we were rogues… I wouldn't have known you were captured," he winced. "They can track you, I can't."

He rolled his eyes, "You are ze smartest person I know, petit renard. You would 'ave known."

He frowned, "Christophe, I can hack. I can send false flags. I can do a lot of things with a computer, but I can't mirror the agency's tracking. I would've known something went wrong, but I wouldn't have known whether you were just captured or killed. And besides, they pay us better than independent contracting," he smirked a bit.

"Speakeeng of zose bastards, zough," he cocked his brow, ashing off beside them and taking another drag. "Why deed you come get me out? Zat ees not your job."

Kyle snorted, "When have we ever not made getting one another out of trouble our job?" he asked, Christophe pausing. He had a point. "And… I called the agency, tried to get them to come with a hostage exchange," he sighed. "You're too fucking good for this gig, you know that?"

He blinked, "What do you mean?"

"One of you is worth about thirty of them," he jerked his head back in the direction of the complex. "They weren't willing to part with such a high number of leads. Which, I find fucking hilarious. You're worth half their fucking operation but apparently we were supposed to just leave you to die."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Zis fuckeeng business makes no fuckeeng sense."

He nodded, leaning forward and resting his head against his chest, smiling a bit at lips pressing into his hair. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispered, moving to wrap his free arm around him.

Christophe looked down and huffed out a quiet laugh, kissing his hair again. "Because of you. Zough eef you shove me over een a chair again I weell reep off your feengers."

He grinned wider, trailing said fingers over the small of his back. "That'd be more a loss on your part than mine." Christophe rolled his eyes with a smirk, taking another drag and holding Kyle's hand just a little bit tighter, smoke and their reassured, synchronized sighs traveling up and fading off into the silver sky.