--
Sam opened the rear van door and slipped quickly inside. "We're plugged into the building's surveillance and ready to go."
Cameron switched on the monitors. "Lock and load."
"I hate to break it to you, Belle," she said, sliding out of her coveralls, "but you do recognize that this mission we're on tech backup, right? We neither lock nor load."
"Now how do you figure that's fair? They get the exciting job and the cool lingo? I protest."
"Van duty does have some perks," Sam pointed out as she snagged a doughnut and bit into it.
"You know," he grabbed one for himself, "you've got to wonder why we're always in a panel van. I mean, as far as inconspicuous goes, this rates right up there with the sight of Jack at a disco."
Sam chuckled lightly and wiped some loose powder from her hands.
"I mean really," he continued, "you see a panel van on the street and you think a) FBI, b) kidnappers, or c) Ed McMahon. Never do you actually think, 'that must be an inconsequential plumber.' So why do we continue to use them?"
"Probably because all of this tech wouldn't fit in a VW Beetle."
Cameron tilted his head thoughtfully. "Fair point."
Sam gestured to the far left screen. "Showtime."
--
John opened the car door and offered his hand to Elizabeth. Reaching up, she grabbed it and allowed him to guide her out of her seat and toward the restaurant. Falling into step beside her he let his hand slip to rest on her lower back.
"What are you doing?" she whispered under her breath, showing no break in her professional façade.
John responded without shifting his gaze. "I'm escorting you in."
"Yeah, I get that. But why is your hand on my ass?"
"It's not on your – we're married, I'm trying to pretend that I like you." John held up three fingers and the hostess nodded, leading them to a quiet table on the patio. "You could help this little scene along by pretending to be remotely agreeable," he continued once the young woman was out of earshot.
"Married? What are you talking about?"
"Caleb and Rebecca Green," he reminded her, a note of exasperation finally slipping into his tone as he opened his menu and dropped a hand to her thigh just below the hem of her floral skirt. "Not advanced enough to learn the subtleties of aliases in Chicago? Still communicating though plastic cups and string?"
"In my office we actually read the mission breakdowns." She swatted his hand away. "We're siblings. Stop groping me."
Nice going, Bo, Cameron said over the comm.
Sam snorted. Oh, like you've never groped your sister.
Nah, I'm not into blondes. I find them a little too high maintenance.
"Just what I need while trying to negotiate an arms deal," John hissed, "juvenile insults being tossed around in my ear."
Lighten up, Cameron chided, you're not negotiating yet. Besides, you were the one feeling up Aph. I'd say if anyone needs to focus it's –
He's here, Sam interrupted. Two bodyguards.
A shadow fell across their table and John turned in his chair. "Mr. Olesia," he greeted as he rose. "Caleb Green. This is my sister, Rebecca."
Olesia took John's hand and then turned to Elizabeth, his eyes lighting up at her smile. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Ms. Green, it is truly a pleasure."
Taking their seats, John eyed the bodyguards standing imposingly off to one side.
"You asked for a meeting?" Olesia drew his attention.
"Well, Mr. Olesia," John began, "Rebecca and I –"
"Actually," he interrupted smoothly, "I'd like to hear from the lady." He trailed his gaze over Elizabeth and then back to John. "If we're going to have to speak of such distasteful things as violence and weaponry, the least we can do is hear it from a pair of beautiful lips. I'm sure you understand."
Cameron made a hacking sound in their ears.
"Of course," John answered.
Elizabeth smiled demurely and folded her hands in her lap. "We're interested in amassing a quantity of stunners. Our research facility has been having trouble gathering sufficient numbers of test subjects of late. Unfortunately, at this point we're simply too far along to abandon the project entirely. We therefore find ourselves in need of... a way of ensuring the necessary volunteerism to make our endeavor a success."
"If they're not going to come to us," John added, "we'll seek them out."
Pithy, Cam observed.
"Your intentions are not what concern me," Olesia said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "What we care about is what you will do for us."
"We're aware of your price and we are prepared to –"
"Money," he cut Elizabeth off, "is of little value, though the Wraith will expect financial reimbursement for the cost of production. To become an associate, however, they will desire more from you. We do not do business with strangers; rather, we share such collegiality of exchange only with friends." He tipped his head. "You must understand the need for such precautions in such a world as exists today."
John's eyes narrowed slightly. "So how exactly do we become friends?"
Olesia leaned back in his chair. "We are conducting a bit of research of our own. Our scientists have been working to develop a protein cocktail that would be used to enhance the body's natural endorphins. Three days ago, our prototype of this enzyme was stolen. We believe it to be the work of a disgruntled ex-associate. Your task is simple: we want it back."
--
John slid the keycard into the lock and swung the door wide, gesturing for Elizabeth to precede him into the room. She slipped past and dropped her duffle on a nearby chair, pulling a lipstick container from the side pocket and twisting once, causing it to hum quietly. Quickly and efficiently, she began to sweep for bugs.
After flipping the security latch, John perched on the edge of the far bed and pulled a laptop from his bag. He opened the small computer and set it on the nearby table and powered up. When he connected to the secure link, a frozen image of Rodney's face filled the screen.
"We're clean," Elizabeth informed him as she pulled a chair up beside him.
John nodded and pressed play.
"Salutations," Rodney greeted. "Based on the information from your feed, I've done the preliminary research for you. Here's what we're looking at: Lathan's warehouse, the most likely place for storage of the enzyme, is located in Bremerton, just north of your location. The building itself is positioned on a low-traffic pier on the edge of the Harborside district. From what I can tell, security is tight, with at least ten armed guards on patrol as well as various electronic safeguards. Running through multiple scenarios, it appears that the most likely point of ingress will be to breach directly from the Sound. The structure itself is old and architectural maps show a wide system of air ducts that span the entire building."
A three-dimensional blueprint replaced Rodney's image. "This should be straightforward enough to maneuver. According to thermal scans, this room," a small section in the north east corner highlighted, "is kept significantly cooler than the rest of the building. We suspect that's where the enzyme is stored." The blueprints blinked away and Rodney reappeared. "This will also allow us an opportunity to analyze the enzyme and substitute a fake before you return the package to Queen. Two birds with one stone, as it were. There are dry suits in your closet. Oh, and uh... remember not to, you know, in them." He grimaced slightly. "They don't work like wet suits. I've made that mistake before."
John rolled his eyes.
"Once you have the enzyme you can make contact with us through this payphone." Another map appeared on the computer. "We'll meet at that point to debrief as to our next move. I think that's it. This message will not self-destruct so.. don't forget to erase this file. Good luck and good night."
The transmission ended and John switched off the laptop. "Super. So, what are we going to do for the next three hours?" He looked around the room. "No foosball table. Want to thumb-wrestle?"
Elizabeth tilted her head, tracing the paisley pattern of the cushion with her finger a moment before meeting his eyes. "Why are you acting like this, John?"
He faltered slightly. "Wow, or we could have a ridiculous conversation that no one wants to have."
"I know we had our issues back then," she forged on, "but it's been almost ten years. Haven't we moved past that?"
He raked a hand through his hair and averted his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure, I believe that," she drawled, "what with all the kindness and affection."
John glared at her, brow furrowed. "What, I was supposed to welcome you with open arms?"
"Maybe a little civility."
He shook his head, pushing off the bed and walking to the window. "Look, I'm just –"
"A big jerk?" she guessed.
"You think this is all on me?"
"Are you intimating I did something to deserve this? We haven't seen each other since graduation. There's nothing I could have done in the last two days to prompt this."
"Well I guess you just have a shorter memory than I do." John strode briskly to the door and swung it open. "I'm going for a walk. Get some rest; it's going to be a long night."
When the door closed, she dropped her head into her hands. With a sigh, she moved to the bed, flipped on the television and found the local news. As the weatherman warned of intermittent thundershowers, Elizabeth settled in to wait.
--
Slipping quietly from the murky water, John checked for guards before motioning for Elizabeth to follow him up the rusted rungs of the metal ladder.
John shed his suit as she climbed out and pulled herself to her feet. She slipped off her hood and ran a hand through her tousled curls before wriggling out of her own suit and balling it up to shove it into a dark corner. Then she helped him unscrew the grate on the access point to the ventilation shafts.
John silently pulled off the cover and Elizabeth slipped inside. Once the grate was secured behind them, they started to crawl. It was a slow journey into the heart of the complex, and it was made longer by the necessity to pause when guards passed below.
When they reached a vertical segment Elizabeth stifled a sigh. Jamming her back into one side, she braced her legs against the opposite wall and slowly began to lever her way up.
"Hogan's Alley doesn't really compare to this building does it?" she whispered, craning her neck to look down at John.
He mimicked her position. It was the first time either of them had spoken in the last hour, and it helped to ease the tension that had crept into their silence. "Yeah, I'd guess that those guards aren't using paint guns either."
"True," she conceded, continuing her ascent, "but they may be using stunners."
John's voice was strained as he shifted his weight. "Fantastic. You have fun dragging my unconscious ass back through this rabbit hole, okay?"
Elizabeth met his gaze and flashed him a wicked grin. "It's not like I haven't done it before."
John scowled even though she had already stopped looking. "I thought we promised never to speak of that again."
"I was crossing my fingers at the time."
"Are you a government agent or a pre-pubescent girl?"
"Aww. How can you say that to the woman who saved your life?"
"It was a training exercise!" he hissed. "I would have survived regardless. All you did was save me the dry-cleaning bill that red paint would have caused."
They reached the top of the segment and Elizabeth pulled herself up onto the lip of a horizontal duct. She took a moment to let her muscles rest while John heaved himself up into the space behind her. "I'm pretty sure there's a report on that somewhere," she mused. "I should dig it up."
"Is this your SOP now?" he asked as they resumed crawling. "Ruthlessly mocking your only ally in a desperate mission to save the world from terror? You know there's a little thing called focusing on the task at hand."
"If I recall correctly," she paused, twisting her head to face him, "you're the man who hums show tunes while stripping his weapons in the field."
"Ah, but who had the best time for stripping an M16 blindfolded? Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
"This is it," she said, pointing toward a two-foot diameter hatch in the base of the vent. She hunched closer to the opening. "This is the cooling room."
John opened a pocket on his vest and removed a small camera. He snaked the extending lens between the metal slits of the cover and watched the display. Once he was sure the room was empty he nodded.
Elizabeth dug her fingers under the grate and pulled it up, sliding it away. "John?"
"Yeah?"
"I've missed you," she confessed before dropping down into the room.
He followed immediately after, landing just to the side of a large metal table that took up most of the space of the room. Three of the four walls were lined with refrigerated shelves, fully stocked with a colorful array of tubes and containers filled with various and sundry drugs. The fourth wall held the door.
John scanned the labels, trailing his fingers lightly along the glass until he stopped in front of a section of bottles filled with an opaque amber liquid. "Here we go." He reached for the handle but stopped when he heard the faint but distinct sound of approaching footsteps.
"Shit," Elizabeth breathed as she swept her eyes over the room.
John moved to the door and pressed himself out of sight against the adjoining wall, motioning for Elizabeth to pull up beside him. "This is why we're bad partners," John whispered as he un-holstered his sidearm.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Why exactly?"
"Because this is the point where one of us is supposed to say, 'Bogota' and the other is supposed to know what it means."
"The capitol of Colombia?"
"Yeah, and when the guy comes through the door, you distract him with a tap dance and I hit him with a tranq dart in the ass."
"Because…"
"Because that's what we did when we were in Bogota."
"We were never in Bogota."
"Which is exactly my point."
Elizabeth made a face as she raised her weapon. "A tap dance?"
John just shook his head. "Bad partners."
The door swung open and a tall man entered, his long white hair hanging loosely across his shoulders. John waited until the door shut behind him and then struck him with the butt of his pistol, reaching out to stop the fall and easing the man's unconscious form to the floor.
"There aren't that many guards here," Elizabeth reminded him as she made her way to the far wall. "They're going to notice when this one doesn't turn up. We've got to move fast."
"We don't have time for the vents."
She grabbed a soft-shelled cooler from one of the shelves and unzipped it. John opened the refrigerator and started grabbing bottles and placing them inside. Once they were all accounted for she strapped it to her back and John cracked open the door.
As quickly and quietly as possible they made their way through the narrow hallways. The control center was between them and the main exit, but if they could get most of the way on foot they'd be able to reenter the duct system prior to contact and still shave off a considerable amount of time.
He rounded a corner on Elizabeth's heels and came face-to-face with a pair of guards.
John managed to duck the first stunner blast and dive forward, tackling his attacker head on and taking him to the ground. Wrestling with the man, he grabbed his wrist and slammed it hard, knocking the weapon from his grasp, then elbowed him across the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack. The guard managed to backhand him before he could land another punch, and John fell to his side, his head landing hard on the concrete floor. As the world began to spin around him, John caught a glimpse of Elizabeth struggling with the other guard.
He heard the stunner blast before he saw her crumple to the floor, and then everything went black.
--
Elizabeth came-to with blurry vision and a massive headache. When the grey haze around her eyes finally slid into focus she took in what she could of her current location. She was in a small cell; concrete walls, one drain, one door, no windows and a lot of dried blood. Her hands were bound in front of her and her watch read oh five hundred. She'd been unconscious for three hours.
Before she could even consider the implications of her captivity, or question why they wouldn't just wash the blood down the drain, the door to the cell opened and a guard stepped in, John's pistol jammed into the small of his back.
"Free her," he ordered. "Now."
The guard approached Elizabeth, keys jangling in his trembling hand. He unlocked her cuffs and her fingers went instinctively to her wrists, rubbing away the ghost of metal.
John whipped the barrel of his gun against the guard's face and the man crumpled to the floor.
"John, how in the world did you –" She stopped as she met his eyes. They were bloodshot and red-rimmed, open painfully wide with pupils dilated to the point that his eyes appeared black. He looked like he was about to burst from the inside out.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "You—"
"Go," he croaked. "We have to go. They're coming; the men are coming."
"You took the enzyme."
"Go," he repeated, slapping his palm against the door. "Go, go, GO!"
She grabbed the gun from the fallen guard and eased past John into the hallway. It didn't appear that anyone knew of their escape yet, but with all the noise John was making she was certain it was only a matter of time. Checking to be sure he was behind her, Elizabeth led them down the corridor and toward the supply room. As they drew nearer she realized that the reason no one was after them wasn't that they hadn't noticed, it was because John had literally incapacitated everyone in the building. Unconscious bodies littered the corridor.
She grabbed the cooler from where it had fallen in what looked to have been an explosive battle and checked to make sure it still held the enzyme. Most of it was still accounted for. "Here, take this," she ordered John, handing him the container. He nodded and did as instructed, following her out the door and down the hallway.
--
The hotel was a little over twenty minutes away, and by the time she got them there John had started to shake. She managed to get him into the room and onto a bed, but she imagined he was only staying put because he was currently lacking the motor skills to walk on his own.
"Jesus," she said as she returned from the bathroom, a damp washcloth in her hands. "How much of this stuff did you take?"
"Lots of guys," he said with a grimace, his hands tapping aimlessly. "I had to get them all."
"Well, you certainly did," she assured him, perching on the bed and pressing the cool cloth to his forehead. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin and he was soaking in sweat.
"I did," he repeated proudly. "It was awesome. I just – bam! And then they – boom! And then the one guy fell right into a crate." He made a face. "It looked like it hurt."
"I'm sure it did. Here, hold this to your head," she instructed, grabbing his hand and placing it on top of the washcloth. "Keep it there." She released her hold and pushed off the bed.
John's arm jerked out and snagged her wrist, yanking her back to his side. "Don't go," he pleaded, eyes round and wide. "Please don't go, Elizabeth. Don't leave."
She gently pried his fingers from her and pressed them back on the washcloth. "I'm not going anywhere, John. I'm just moving to the foot of the bed."
"Promise?"
"I promise. I'm right here." She slowly made her way to the end of the bed and started to untie his shoes. He squirmed as she peeled off his socks and pants. "Sit up," she instructed, grabbing him beneath the arms and pulling him upright. She slipped his shirt over his head and laid him back down.
After assuring him that she would return, she grabbed the washcloth and went to the bathroom to run it under the sink again. Once it was cool, she made her way back to the bed and sat down beside him. She dragged the wet cloth slowly over his exposed skin. Blowing softly, she followed the damp trail with her breath in an attempt to lower his temperature.
He had gotten into this predicament by choice, she reminded herself, mentally dialing down the sympathy. It wasn't as if they were completely out of options and sentenced to death. They were merely captured. She'd gotten out of situations like that before just fine. If he would have given her a chance to come up with something... but no, he had to play the hero and pump himself full of drugs so he could He-Man his way out.
It was typical John and probably, she decided, the reason why he was notoriously bad about keeping partners. He was passionate and talented with incredible instincts – but he was reckless. In order to be his partner you had to be able to grab his hand, close your eyes and leap off a cliff. Not many people were willing to do that.
She realized her hand had stopped moving and he was watching her. His shaking had subsided and he was breathing easier. She shook off her thoughts and pulled the covers out from underneath him, draping the thin cotton sheet across him.
"Better?" she asked, brushing damp hair off his forehead.
He nodded tiredly.
"Good." She thumped him upside the head causing him to recoil.
"What was that for?"
"For being an idiot. That was the stupidest thing you could have done, John. What were you thinking?"
"I had to save you."
"I'm perfectly capable of saving myself, thanks. You put us both at risk by injecting yourself with a foreign chemical."
"I put us –" he pushed himself up on the bed. "I got us out of there!"
"No, I got us out of there," she corrected, pushing him back down. "You knocked out half the population of the Kitsap Peninsula."
He managed a small grin before easing back into the mattress and hugging the covers close to his body. "Hey, if you have to knock out a population it might as well be –"
"John Sheppard," she interrupted, aware that his breathing was becoming more rapid and reaching for another blanket, "don't you make a joke out of this. You scared the hell out of me."
He rolled toward her on his side and balled himself up tightly, but his eyes were still watching her. "Was it my superhuman muscle?" he asked quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Did it terrify you with its awesomeness?"
Elizabeth frowned, but her voice softened. "You haven't changed one bit, have you? This is your life you're playing with, John."
"I wasn't being reckless, Elizabeth," he insisted as he began to shiver. "I wasn't trying to put anyone at risk; I was trying to get us out of there. I did what needed to be done."
She shook her head and tucked the blankets in around him. "No, you did what did what you thought needed to be done. But you forgot the most important part – you weren't alone in there. I was with you." She sighed. "That's the problem, John. You don't know how to rely on other people. You've got to learn that you're not the only one capable of doing the saving. You've got to learn that you can depend on your partner – on me."
"Because you're a rock?" Even though his voice was weak, the sarcasm was clear. "Because you're always there?"
It took her a moment to track his train of thought. "That's not what this is about," she insisted. "This is about working with a partner."
"A partner who doesn't walk out?" He curled tighter into a ball. "A partner who doesn't give up?"
She opened her mouth to respond but could see there was no point in arguing with him when he was like this.
"I need to make the call." She stood and stared down at him a moment. "Get some sleep."
She didn't look back as she quietly slipped out the door.
--
"All right," O'Neill said as Elizabeth retook her seat. "Now that Sheppard has recovered, the mission seems pretty straightforward. Sheppard and Weir, you'll follow the instructions Olesia has laid out for you and attend the meet with Queen at her club, The Hive. While you're attempting to make the sale –" his eyes cut to John, "and don't actually make the arms deal this time, Sheppard –"
"Learned my lesson last time, sir."
O'Neill sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "While you're attempting to make the sale," he started again, "make contact with Agent Ford. Figure out what the hell is going on and what we can do about it."
With that, he dismissed them and headed back to his office.
Once O'Neill had gone, Elizabeth turned to John, her expression tight. "I'll meet you here at eight."
"Fine." He stood, grabbing his paperwork and leaving the room without another word.
"Hmm," Cameron mused as he watched Elizabeth disappear. He turned to Sam. "Did you notice the tension?"
"In Jack's neck?" she guessed.
"Between Sheppard and Weir."
"Ah, yes," she nodded. "Thick."
"Thick, indeed." Cameron tapped his index finger on the table. "I'm guessing by the end of the week."
Sam looked dubious. "By the end of the week only one will still be alive?"
"No, by the end of the week they'll be sleeping together."
She scoffed. "Because when he's boorish and overbearing it drives the ladies wild?"
"Haven't you ever heard of sexual tension? He likes her."
"That's what you do when you like someone?" She leaned back in her chair and sighed thoughtfully. "No wonder you're still single."
He clutched at his chest dramatically. "Oooo. That burns."
"Uh huh."
"You really don't think they're attracted to each other?"
"Oh, I do," she assured him, pushing out of her chair. "Sexual tension."
"Right." He nodded. "You think it's going to be a problem? That it will interfere with the missions?"
Sam shrugged and gathered her mission briefings. "I think it might actually make them work better together – whatever it is that's between them."
"I think you're right." He thought about it a moment before grinning. "That's probably why we work so well together. All the sexual tension between us."
"Shut up, Cam."
"You love me," he called after her departing figure. He smiled to himself. "She loves me."
--
The pounding bass that pulsed from the speakers was almost as thick as the smoke that overwhelmed them when they stepped through the door. Through the haze he watched as a sea of men and women undulated to the music in the dim light of the club.
John took a moment to wonder how they could possibly be that bendy when squeezed into leather pants and ratcheted up in corsets. He certainly wasn't planning on doing lunges any time soon in his own ridiculous outfit. Then he took another moment to imagine Elizabeth bending in hers.
He did have to concede there was a definite aesthetic benefit to pants that tight and a shirt with the apparent sole purpose of exposing as much of the chest as possible. Objectively, of course.
Elizabeth said something to the bouncer, leaning in close to his ear to be heard over the noise. The man nodded, gesturing toward a door at the back and Elizabeth motioned for John to follow.
They weaved their way through the crowd to the back of the club. A dark, narrow hallway led to a private room guarded by a large, bulky man with a pair of exposed pistols. The music from the main club still echoed in the corridor here, but no longer vibrated through their bones.
"We're here to see Ms. Queen," Elizabeth said, her voice only audible because of the walls on either side.
The guard grunted and stepped toward John, his palms patting up and down John's torso before making their way down his legs.
"I usually don't let strangers touch me like this unless they buy me a drink first. Are you going to at least give me your name before we proceed to third base?"
Not amused, the guard jerked on John's arm, forcing him to turn as he continued to check for weapons.
"Well then, Sugar, I guess we'll have to stick with pet names."
Content that John was unarmed, the guard moved to Elizabeth. He ran his hands slowly along her bare arms before dropping them to her hips. As if he couldn't tell by looking at her that she had nothing tucked away.
"I'd be careful if I were you," John warned as the man's hand lingered on her ass. "She isn't as fond of getting felt up as I am."
Thick fingers trailed slowly up Elizabeth's stomach, over the swell of her breasts and came to rest, palm flat against the bare skin of her chest.
"I don't know," he said with a leer. "I can feel her heart beating. I think she's excited." He turned his gaze to Elizabeth. "You like this don't you?"
Instead of responding, she brought her hand up to his arm, fingers ghosting the length of it as they made their way to his hand. She pressed her palm flush atop the back of his and smiled a knowing smile. Then she grabbed his hand and yanked it, twisting it away from her body, causing the man to jerk away from her to avoid it snapping. Levering it up higher behind his back, she grabbed the back of his collar and used it to propel him into the wall. With her free hand she pushed down on his shoulder until he cried out in pain.
"I'm unarmed," she said. "I guess you'll have to take my word for it." A swift elbow to the head knocked him unconscious.
With only a brief glance at John, she stepped over the guard, through the doorway and into the room. A large steel door closed behind them and the noise of the club faded into a muted hum. The room was small, composed of one round booth, a few plush chairs and another side door. There was one bodyguard poised at each exit, a man in a suit in one of the chairs, and a woman in the booth with a man on either side of her. The woman was Vela Queen. The man on her left was Aiden Ford.
"Pierre told me you were feisty," Queen said, eyeing Elizabeth openly, "but I didn't think you would attack my guard."
"He was a little too frisky with his frisking."
Queen's smile was cat-like. "It is not a crime to enjoy your job." She turned her attention to John. "It's a shame you've already been searched."
"I was thinking the same thing," he said smoothly.
"Aiden," Queen said sharply, "take care of our business with Ms. Green. I'd like to have a drink with this lovely gentleman."
"Of course," Ford answered as he rose. "If you'll come with me, we can make arrangements for the transfer," he said, stepping up to Elizabeth and gesturing toward the second door. She let him escort her into the room, closing the door behind them just as John slid into the booth beside Queen.
--
The second they were alone, Ford turned to Elizabeth and let out a breath. "I would have thought one missed drop would be enough to get you guys here. But three? I'm beginning to think the brass doesn't care if I'm dead or alive."
She stepped further away from the door, drawing him to the other side of the small room. "You're on the inside of an organization that's almost impossible to get into. They didn't want to risk that."
"Yeah, well." He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, eyes flitting between her and the exit.
Elizabeth knew he was still just a kid, but there was definitely a weird energy about this man. He looked agitated. "What's going on?"
He stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing her forearm. "Something big is going down."
She eyed his hand but he didn't release her. "And you couldn't explain it in a drop?"
"No. They're too close. It's too risky."
Elizabeth waited for him to expand. He didn't. "Too close to you?" she prompted. "To the end goal?"
"Both." His grip tightened. "We've got to stop them."
"Why? What exactly is going on?"
He looked over his shoulder before turning back to her. "For the first time in over a decade, the Queens are working together."