When I regained consciousness, I blinked twice before finally opening my eyes, immediately noticing that I was no longer strapped to the brass metal table and for that I was extremely grateful. I took in my surroundings quickly, realising that my muscles were sore from sitting uncomfortably in a small seat. There was a humming coming from outside and I turned to find myself looking at the sky through a small window.
Apparently, I was in stranded in the cabin of a jet, heading God knows where and obviously not alone.
No, I definitely wasn't alone as I looked up to see a man peering down at me.
"Hello," I said, appraising the view I had of him. He was a brunet, tall - maybe even a little taller than me – with dark hair that curled slightly around his face; long enough to rest against the nape of his neck. He wore a black t-shirt with the words Kiss of Death from Shirley written in gold lettering and dark, denim pants. It was a little more casual that I expected, but it didn't make him any less enticing.
Now, people around have me had always thought of me as a womaniser, which I could proudly say wasn't true. Warrick would call me greedy, but I liked to think of myself as an equal opportunist; especially at times when I was trapped on a plane and in the company of the man in front of me.
My only doubt came when I considered his face (and what he was wearing), which made me wonder how old he was. He wasn't that kind of handsome that people either loved or envied; the latter of which I had a lot of experience. He was more of a kind of pretty – in that boyish way that brought disturbing questions to mind I rightfully chose to ignore because I honestly hoped he wasn't younger than what I assumed he was. Contrary to my reputation, I did have standards.
Somewhere.
But I was assuming he worked for Brass and I at least hoped the ex-cop had some kind of age minimum for who he worked with. And if that was the case, I wanted to use the situation to my advantage; the words southern charm coming to mind and the possibility of the man being a little more easily swayed resting heavily on said charm.
With the intent to stand, I put on my best smile; my expression changing to surprise when I felt the barrel of a gun press against my back, urging me to sit back down. I didn't have much reason to go against the silent request when I heard the gun being cocked. Not much at all, really, considering I couldn't even see the person behind me.
"And I here I thought I died and went to heaven," I said, intentionally flirting (not that it pained me to do so) with the man in front of me; wanting to gauge where I was with him.
He snorted at me, and I wasn't sure if it was about the dying part or the heaven part; or maybe just both. "You were knocked out with a tranquiliser gun."
"That still doesn't explain why you're here," I retorted.
He rolled his eyes before pressing a long finger against his mouth. His lips barely turned up at the corners and I briefly wondered what it would be like to actually see him smile. "Shh..."
Remembering the weapon still behind me, I didn't have trouble complying and didn't have to wait long when he finally began to speak, again.
"Do I have your attention, now?" he asked, continuing when I nodded dutifully. And even if I wasn't at risked at being killed, I can't say I wouldn't have reacted in the same way.
"I've heard about you, you know" he said and paused, turning his back to me, "but I really didn't expect you to be a part of this...of all things." He took a small breath as he faced me again. "And I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to introduce myself," he said somewhat absently.
"Since you already know me, I think it would only be fair," I suggested.
"I was actually expecting you to be more...different, Mr. Bond-"
"Bond?" I asked; almost squeaked if I was being honest with myself. I vaguely wondered if this was karma from attempting to use the man as some kind of collateral against Brass. Truthfully, I had never met the man and would never aspire to, but it did get pretty tiresome when everyone compared every agent to him; especially since I was lacking the essential English accent. "I'm not Bond," I said, trying to take the whine out of my voice. Though, I can't help but think it was justified.
"My name is Stokes," I told him, pausing for a dramatic impression that seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. "Nick Stokes."
"Oh," he said, "I thought you were faking an American accent." At least he wasn't as absent minded as he seemed, but I still couldn't help recoiling at the disappointment in his voice. Wasn't he supposed to be working for the bad guy?
But I pushed the thought aside quickly, my mind thankfully distracted by the fact that he was now moving to sit beside me, watching me intently. "And your name would be...?" I prompted.
"Pussy Galore," he said, smirking as he continued to watch me; no doubt waiting to see my reaction.
My eyebrows shot up on their own accord and I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. My mouth must have been open as well because he placed his finger on it to close my bottom lip.
"I'm guessing I can take the name Pussy one of two ways," I said, already missing the finger when he removed it.
"Either of which is probably wrong, but that's what's legally documented. Though, I found out it was generally much easier just to go by Greg."
"No last name?" I asked.
"For now, at least," he said as he removed himself from the seat, standing over me, again.
"Where are we headed, by the way?" I asked, hoping to get him to speak more so I could gather information concerning my current situation.
"We're on our way to Houston, assuming you already know where that is," he said while looking at me thoughtfully. "We'll be there in about half an hour."
First Austin, then Dallas, and now Houston...what was it with Brass and Texas? Why couldn't he do this in New Jersey?
"Where's Brass?" I asked.
"He flew on ahead, wanting to prepare for the guest of honour."
I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but I assumed he meant me. "So, what's your role in all of this?" I asked, not wanting our conversation to become stagnant.
"I'm one of Mr. Brass' personal consultants."
"And about, uh, how personal of a consultant are you?" I asked, the tone in my voice referring to the many implications of what personal could entail. Though, the idea of Greg and Brass, to be honest, thoroughly disgusted me. And not just because I would rather take Brass' place – if that was even the case.
"I'm a chemist." There was a slight narrowing of Greg's eyes and his voice quickly lost the playfulness it had in it earlier. "Period."
He didn't look like one to me. I guess I had this preformed stereotype for old men in science labs, but I decided to take his word for it. It made sense after all; if Brass was going to be messing around with zinc and copper, he would need someone like Greg involved with the project.
Though, that still didn't clarify why Greg was apparently chaperoning me.
Or why he was even working for Brass in the first place.
"Looks can be deceiving, can't they?"
"I'm not afraid to say that you're not my type, Mr. Stokes."
"And what is your type?"
"Someone not like you," he said simply.
"But doesn't the beauty of science lie in experimentation?" I asked him.
Greg turned away from me, but I still caught the small smile appearing on his face. Yeah, I managed to get to under his skin, but I didn't get the chance to think too much about it as the small smile quickly retreated into a frown. "We should be landing pretty soon so you have your choice of doing this the easy way or the hard way," he said when he turned to face me, again.
"Well, which one is the fun way?"
"Archie," Greg said and the person who stood behind me finally made himself known. He was an Asian man with short, black hair and a slight tan. He still had his gun pointed at me as I stood.
"Believe me when I say this is not a tranquiliser, Mr. Stokes," Archie said, and I was almost surprised he could speak; as his voice was absent until now.
But I didn't pay him much attention, turning my focus back to Greg, who was less likely to shoot me on sight; also taking in consideration that he didn't even have a gun on him (that I could see, anyway). "You know it would be pointless to shoot off that kind of gun at this range. Don't you, Greg?" I said. "The bullet would pass right through me and tear right through the fuselage; depressurising the cabin and ultimately sending us hurtling to our deaths." It was something I already knew, but I was literally playing Russian roulette until I could get a better grasp of the situation. "And I don't think Brass would be too happy if something happened to us on the way."
"I try not to mess with guns if I don't have to." Greg shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about the information. "Archie takes care of it for me."
"But did he know what would happen?" I asked. I looked to Archie for a response it was clear he wasn't going to give; a response other than his eyes narrowing at me, anyway. Though, something told me he already knew about the conflict between certain guns and planes.
"Then, it's a good thing I have you here, isn't it, Mr. Stokes?" Greg said slyly as he turned around, heading out of the cabin and moving toward the cockpit.
When Greg was out of viewing distance, I turned back to Archie, who had now put his gun away, seeing that it was obvious I wasn't intimidated by it anymore. I held his gaze cautiously, not completely unaffected by the look he was continuing to give me, as if I'd done something wrong.
"Since I don't like to make bad fourth impressions, do you think I could at least change my clothes before we get there?"
Now dressed in new attire, I was happy that some of my clothing had been preserved from my car and that Brass was thoughtful enough to bring my suitcase – well, the one that wasn't damaged when someone fumbled through it. It was the only thing intact and reminded me that I was going to have to tell R that I misplaced another car...again.
Though, I had no idea what happened to the Volkswagen. For all I know, it could be right where I left it, but I seriously doubt it, now. His clear aversion to me notwithstanding, Brass' apparent show of hospitality wasn't a good trade-off for what was my only means of travel.
And it was times like these that only enforced why I preferred cars as a mode of transportation.
Like Greg predicted, the plane landed a few minutes later and I found myself escorted – rushed really – out of the plane and into a large hangar; Archie tamely (and I only say so because I haven't been poked in the back in past ten minutes) following behind me. His gun was still aimed at me and concealed by a jacket that was draped over his arm.
I guess he was trying to be courteous, and I appreciated it...really, I did.
When my other foot hit the concrete floor, Archie still beside me, I looked up expectantly; placing a hand over my eyes to shield them against the sun that was shining through the large windows of the hangar.
"Watch your step," I said as Greg came down the short flight of stairs. He ignored me, which I can't say I didn't anticipate.
"Remember we're not on a plane anymore," he said, nodding to Archie, who hadn't said anything since the first words I heard him speak in the cabin.
I made a noncommittal noise in agreement as Greg began walking towards the exit of the hangar and it wasn't the weapon pointed at my back that persuaded me to follow him.
"You trained him well," I said, my eyes darting to Archie. Of course, I really didn't mean it, but I was curious as to why the other man was so defensive when it came to Greg and just how close the two of them actually were.
Greg stopped and turned around sharply, unmistakably not happy with my comment. "Say something like that, again and I'll shoot you myself," he said tersely.
"So, you do know how to handle a gun," I said, trying to sound innocent. And I think I might have gotten away with it there wasn't a suggestive tone in my voice.
"Just come on," Greg said, anger deflated through a sigh as he began walking, again.
"You know, I grew up around here," I said as we came outside. "Houston, I mean. I could always show you around and there's a really nice restaurant that's–" My voice trailed off when I realised what lay ahead of me; my mood immediately killed and in danger of not coming back anytime soon.
Now, I know that I wasn't getting anywhere with Greg at this point, but just when I thought I actually could be getting somewhere, I saw two vehicles ahead and I could recognise Vartann's figure standing beside a black sedan, which was parked in front of a red pickup truck.
I could practically feel Vartann's glower from here and it wasn't until I was standing next to him did I really get to see it. He was on the verge of snarling; opening the door and stiffly gesturing for me to get in the car. Truthfully, I really didn't want to get in a car with another man who had a pair of brass knuckles – even if he did have some semblance of manners – but seeing as I had no choice...I couldn't do anything else.
At least the air conditioner was on and I had the entire back seat to myself (though, I wouldn't have minded sharing it with Greg). I guess it was another element of Brass' charitable hospitality. I buckled my seatbelt when Vartann suddenly slammed door and moved to get in the front seat.
Of course, he would be the one driving me. I don't know why I was even the least bit surprised.
When I saw Greg coming toward me, I rolled down my window; catching Archie not too far away in the background. He rested his arms on the door, looking at me intently as he leaned against the car.
"You know he kills little boys like you," I said, referring to Brass. Though, I honestly thought he'd kill anyone, now. But Greg only smiled at me cryptically, as if he knew something I didn't, and it didn't necessarily reassure me considering I've been getting a lot of those looks lately.
"Apparently, he kills men like you, too."
He had to be kidding me.
Okay, now I could admit that I was confused. An ex-cop linked to copper mines, warehouses with industrial lasers, and now an estate? Where was he getting the money...better yet, where was he getting the time to make all of these investments?
But I had to say it was a nice place (it was three stories) that I really wouldn't have minded staying in if I knew for sure that I would make it out of this alive; that being the only real stipulation.
When Vartann pulled into the driveway, it was Brass who was waiting for me, and he was the one who opened my door. He wore a casual brown suit, paired with an edgy smile on his face that made me think he was regretting even bringing me here.
Or maybe it was the fact that I was still alive.
"Welcome, Mr. Stokes. Glad to see you could make it," he said as I stepped out of the car, Vartann now already beside me and closing the door. "I take it your ride here was comfortable?"
"It was...uplifting."
"Good to hear."
"Thanks for the invitation, by the way."
He gave me a slight smile. "I'd thought you'd appreciate the...rustic qualities my estate has to offer."
I didn't pay much attention to the jibe, but I was surprised he remembered. "Hmm..." Placing my hands in my pocket, I gave one last, scrutinising glance to the estate before turning back to Brass. "Well, at least you did something good with your retirement."
The already small smile on his face faded a little more and became something closer to a frown. "Vartann," he began, his eyes searching for the other man, "show Mr. Stokes where he'll be staying for the next couple of days."
If that.
Brass didn't even wait for Vartann to carry out the order, his back already facing me as he walked on ahead. I wanted to say something when I felt Vartann grab my arm. However, the want to protest died quickly in favour of common sense. I knew I wasn't in the position to do much when I didn't even know where I was. And if I didn't know where I was, there was a good possibility I would have more than a little trouble finding out how to get out of here.
Our walk wasn't long, and while it initially appeared that we would be following Brass to the front of the estate, Vartann was leading me to the side. There was a large wooden door he opened that revealed a set of stairs leading to a basement of some kind. And for all the grandeur the estate seemed to offer, the basement was actually just a couple of cells surrounded by concrete walls.
There was already a guard down here, the holster for a gun on his waist as Vartann pushed me into one of the cells. When the door closed behind me – the sound of keys jingling as the guard locked it – I was kind of upset by the fact Vartann didn't let me get the cell with the scenic view. Since it was spring, it was actually fairly pretty outside; Brass kept his yard – more like expansive garden – nice and I needed something to occupy time for however long I decided to spend in here.
Then Vartann left, leaving me with the guard who seemed like he would doze off at any minute. Sighing, I turned around to see what was actually in the cell; figure if there was anything in place that could help me escape.
There was a particularly uncomfortable looking cot that I had no plans on using anytime soon; at least not in the expected way. And there was a hook on the right wall, which I put my jacket on after taking it off. I wasn't even here for five minutes and I was already more than a little antsy. I didn't like being so close to Brass and not knowing what he was up to; especially since I still haven't uncovered what he was really doing. There was no way he was stealing copper just to fulfil a couple of personal kicks.
I found myself leaning against the wall as a plan to escape was beginning to form in my mind. It was simple enough, but by this point, I already inferred that it depended on two things: In this instance, I had to be either incredibly lucky or the guard had to be incredibly stupid.
And for some reason, I had more faith in the latter.
Mind made up, I pushed off against the wall and walked to the door of the cell, peaking through the small, barred window. The guard's face was expressionless; his arms crossed and gun resting by his side as he stared back at me. I briefly wondered how much Brass was paying him – if he wasn't cheap in that aspect – and quickly surmised that it obviously wasn't enough.
And that was going to have to work to for my benefit.
I smiled at him, hoping to get some kind of response from the seemingly impassive man, which I thought was due to lethargy more than anything else. But when that didn't work, I tried waving to him, a smile settling to a smirk when he blinked. Hoping that I had his attention, slowly, I lowered myself to the ground; crawling on the floor and positioning myself beneath the cot.
I almost sighed when I thought about the fact that I was ruining yet another suit.
There was a short intake of breath, a jangle of keys and then a few hurried footsteps. I bit my lip as the cell door was being opened, the guard walking through quickly and apparently searching for me. I found it amazing that he looked up at the ceiling and didn't even pay attention to the floor.
I mean, I would have looked under the cot...but I guess it was the luck versus stupidity argument that was working in my favour.
When he came closer to the cot, I reached for his ankle, only intending to bring him to the floor. But I couldn't help but flinch in sympathy when I heard the clang of bone against metal; realising it wasn't the floor he hit, but the frame of the cot.
And as much as I felt for the man, I didn't waste time in scrambling from beneath the cot. The guard was obviously unconscious; his head against metal and his body sprawled out on the floor in an awkward angle. I didn't stare long and took the set of keys from his hand, not wondering why he hadn't drawn his gun before he came in the cell and took that, too.
The gun was much smaller than what I was used to and made me miss my Walther PP.
Putting the gun in my pocket, I closed the cell door behind me and made my way to the other door in the basement, the one not leading outside; probably going somewhere inside the estate. Walking through the threshold took me to a long, empty hallway, of which I was assuming belonged to the first floor.
I jerked, pressing myself against the wall when I heard faint voices a few doors down, narrowing my eyes as I recognised one. Still keeping close to the wall, I followed the voices to a large room. I walked in carefully, immediately coming face to face with a wide wall that nearly extended to both sides of the room, which allowed me to hear the conversation going on without being seen.
As I went further into the room, away from the hall entrance so no one could see me, I managed to discern that there were three people on the other side of the wall, Brass being one of them. I narrowed my eyes as the words were becoming louder, trying to piece together what I missed from what I was hearing.
"Gentlemen, settle down, please," I heard Brass say in that regulated tone of his; the one that suggested his proposal wasn't really an option. It must have been from his days as a cop.
"You can have your hundred today, or your thousand tomorrow," he continued.
"And where you getting all this money anyway?" another man sneered. "I want the money you owe me for getting involved with that damn copper mining scam. I can't afford to have the authorities riding my ass, right now."
"Patience, Atwater. Patience."
"I've had it up to here with your patience, Brass," the third man said. "Cause copper isn't even close to gold."
"Relax," I heard Brass say calmly, but I could tell he wouldn't stay composed for long at this rate. "Watch and learn," he said as the lights suddenly went out. Atwater and the other man were becoming apprehensive.
"What the hell?"
"Turn the damn lights back on!"
Brass still didn't answer them when there was a bright light coming from the other side of the wall, and I could hear something that sounded like a projector.
"This," Brass finally said. "This, my friends, is your way to the real gold – not the money, but the power."
I frowned as he continued.
"We all know copper is a commodity, one there isn't much regulation over; and making it much easier to obtain. But wait – it's not so much about having the copper, but what we can do with it."
"And what's that?" the third man asked impatiently, obviously not interested in what Brass had to say.
"Now, that's the best part," Brass said, and I could practically hear the smile in his voice. Anticipating something important, I began to search my pockets and silently cursed when I realised I didn't have anything to write with or anything to write on.
But I didn't have much time to think about my lack of supplies when I felt a soft hand over my mouth and an arm wrap around my waist. Not wanting to make any noise, I let myself being guided out of the room. As soon as we were in the hall, my assailant soon let me go and I turned when they removed their hand.
"Greg?" I said in surprise, though I wasn't too miffed about his presence. "And here I thought I wasn't your type."
He crossed his arms; his eyes following me warily. "Dragging you out of that room has nothing to do with being close to you."
Cute.
He was in denial.
"You prefer martial arts to guns?" I asked, inferring that was probably the reason why he still wasn't carrying a gun with him.
"Muay Thai," he said absently as a guard (not the one I knocked out) made himself known. I vaguely wondered where Archie was.
"The gun you took..." Greg looked at me expectantly as he held his hand out. "You could have been more subtle," he remarked offhandedly.
I raised my eyebrows at him as I took the gun out of my pocket. I let it rest in my palm as he moved to take it. Once out of my hand, he gave it to the guard behind him and turned his attention back to me.
"Let's go," he said curtly.
"If I knew you were that anxious to see me again, I would have just stayed in the cell."
"Ah...Mr. Stokes," Brass said, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice as Greg and I walked up to him. "I thought you would have been resting by now. Jetlag can really throw you off track."
Not like I could get jetlag from a flight I was mostly unconscious throughout, but that was beside the point.
"It's just too nice out here to stay holed up inside," I said, sparing a quick glance to Greg before turning my gaze back to Brass. "And you know I just happened to run into Greg. He was pretty persuasive when he said that I should join you."
Greg continued to look at Brass, not once acknowledging me. "I found him in the conference room," he told Brass.
"Operation: Home Run...I thought it was creative if anything," I said innocently, staring at Brass and waiting for him to break. But he only returned the gesture, sparing something not unlike a grin as he spoke.
"So did I."
It wasn't long before I was back in a cell, which I hadn't missed at all. Both Brass and Greg (unfortunately together) left me with the guard, who then brought me back to the basement. I felt a little better when I was ushered into the other cell; the one without a cot but with the scenic view. Though, it didn't have the barred window on the door.
And it was a shame, because I was actually kind of hoping for some company right about now...even if that meant waving to another guard wouldn't do anything in return.
I stood up quickly when the door suddenly opened, the guard entering cautiously as he had his gun aimed at me. Clearly, examples were an effective learning tool.
He still didn't say anything, but motioned me out of the cell; his eyes stern and unrelenting. I walked out of the door, somewhat irked I couldn't come up with any way of escaping this time.
"Go on," he said gruffly, as if he knew what I was thinking and didn't want to give my mind the opportunity to wander. He pushed me up the short flight of stairs leading outside, almost making me fall. I decided not to say some smart remark that might end up with me face down on the ground
This guard didn't seem as friendly as the other one.
But instead of going to the front of the estate – where I assumed we'd go – he led me around to the back. And while I knew it was probably the wrong time to be admire the place, I had to admit that it was really breathtaking. It was a large patio, more expansive than the front yard. There was so much colour derived from the flowers alone, and paired with the sheer green of everything else, it was stunning.
If the circumstances were different and I didn't see Brass sitting by a large table seated for two, I would have even gone as far to say that it was romantic.
Because he was obviously waiting for me, and I really didn't want our names and the word 'romantic' making their way into the same sentence.
Brass smiled knowingly at me as I sat down across from him into a very comfortable and extremely plush chair. I would have to ask for one of these if I made it alive back to Headquarters.
"I see you're impressed," he said smugly, more than happy with my reaction to his patio.
I didn't want him to make more out of the situation than there was so I answered honestly. "It's beautiful."
He didn't lose his smile when someone approached him from behind, a servant by the way he was holding out a tray with a couple of drinks. "Water?" Brass asked as he looked at me.
"Sure," I said as I took a glass with a lemon wedge from the tray. I doubt it was poisoned because if Brass wanted to kill me, he would have done so by now. Not to mention that something so passive didn't seem to be his style. Still, I took a cautious sip. Satisfied when I didn't detect anything, I drank more of the water, now realising how thirsty I must have been.
"Thank you," I said; nodding to the servant before he left. My thirst fulfilled for the time being, I set the glass on the table and turned my attention to Brass.
"You're disillusioned, Brass, if you think you could get away with stealing all of the copper in the United States. Operation: Home Run won't work. And if you're looking to turn copper into brass, then-"
"Not surprisingly, you're unusually misinformed, Mr. Stokes," he said as he took a sip from his own glass of what I assumed was water.
I tried not to frown as I put my hands in pockets. Okay, I could admit that I didn't hear the rest of the conversation he had with Atwater and the other man, but it probably wasn't that much of a stretch from what he was really planning. And honestly, I thought it was a pretty good foundation for a guess.
"Well," he said, "I will say copper has something to do with it, but do you really think I'm that conceited that I would go after the entire supply of copper in the United States just to turn it into brass?"
It took every single ounce of self-control not to say yes.
When I did open my mouth to answer, he interrupted my attempt.
"Wait," he said as he held out his hand, "don't answer that."
I only shrugged and kept silent; hoping he would supply the pieces I was clearly missing before I made any more assumptions...like thinking that Brass wanted to make a collection of copper coins.
"Think about it, Mr. Stokes?" Brass said, not taking his eyes off me. "What else could I do with copper?" There was a pause as he picked up his glass, again. "Are you still thirsty?"
I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you...you're going to contaminate the water supply," I said, understanding finally hitting me.
He nodded as he took a small sip of his water before putting the glass back down; making a small thud against the wooden table.
"Do you know how many people that would kill?" I asked; hands now out of my pockets as I leaned over the table. It was still inane, but at least it didn't sound as asinine as stealing America's supply of copper just to turn it into brass. "I can't believe you'd-"
"Just the general population in Houston, for now," he cut in, purposely letting me know where his first target was. Again, I was beginning to wonder if he had something against Texas. "I need to make some kind of statement in order for people to take me seriously before I make bigger demands."
"What kind of demands?"
"Don't you want to know how I'm going to do it, first?" he asked mockingly, though, I didn't rise to the bait.
"Not really," I answered truthfully, realising the extent of Greg's role in this and how much of the success of Brass' plans depended on him. That is, if everything wasn't already in place. "Whatever you have set up, it's obviously in Texas."
"Obviously."
"But isn't it kind of risky to, uh, to actually get into Houston's water supply without someone suspecting something?"
"Copper sulphate isn't the hardest thing to conceal, which means Houston isn't necessarily the only city on the top of my mind," he said, hinting that if I somehow managed to contact my superiors that he still had contingency plans. "There are plenty cities to choose from."
About to respond, I turned around when I heard soft footsteps on the pavement. Looking past the guard, who had yet to move from my side, I saw that it was Greg approaching us. He had changed out of his t-shirt and jeans into a long sleeved, blue dress shirt with black pants, but still kept on the pair of red Converse shoes. I was kind of jealous that he was able to change and I wasn't, but that didn't take away from the fact that I was happy to see him again.
Though, he looked somewhat uncomfortable as he made his way to the table; hands toying with the ends of his sleeves and I guess he probably wasn't used to – or didn't like – wearing more formal clothing.
I felt something turn in my stomach when Brass gave Greg an appreciative glance – the man was probably old enough to be his grandfather. Though, Greg had turned his head to the side, determined not to look at Brass. The other man didn't comment about Greg not looking him in the eyes, and I could tell he was used to Greg's rejection.
"Finally, decided to change into something slightly more appropriate, Mr. Sanders?" he said to Greg before smiling briefly at me. I was definitely not comfortable with the way he was referring to Greg; if more for Greg's sake than for my own. "Don't you agree with his new attire, Mr. Stokes?"
Greg still wasn't looking at me or Brass, and I could tell by the slight blush on his face that he was feeling humiliated to be put on display like this.
Brass gave a slight cough, noting the slight tension. "Please entertain Mr. Stokes for me, Greg," he said as he stood. "I'll join you both later." Nodding to the guard beside me, Brass walked away, the guard following obediently behind him.
I finally stood up when Brass was out of sight, looking to Greg with a smirk on my face. "Sanders, huh?" I asked as he linked his arm through mine, leading me away from the table and further into the garden.
He looked at me surely; seemingly better now that Brass was gone. "Would you believe me if I said I wasn't big on the alliteration?"
"Greg Galore," I said thoughtfully. "I think your other name fits better. And I would use it if I didn't think you'd knock me out for calling you Pussy."
He turned his head and I was able to catch a glimpse of him truly smiling; something I found myself wishing I could see more often.
"So, this is the new Greg..." I said. "What? No bodyguard, today?"
"It doesn't really count after business hours," he said as we passed under the shade of a tree.
"Ah...so you're not on duty."
Greg looked at me curiously; unlinking our arms when I stopped in front of the stables. Apart from the fact that there were currently no horses in said stables, I began to wonder just how extensive Brass' estate was. Because I almost wanted to take Greg and see how many secret places we could-
"You're obviously impressed by all of this," Greg said as he turned away, his back facing me.
I didn't move, still waiting for him to turn back around. "Well, you can't deny that it's gorgeous."
Greg snorted, my comment going over his head. "At least that's one thing you can get out of it."
"Then why do you even stay here?" I asked, watching him turn around to face me as I spoke again. "Brass is crazy, you know."
Greg only stared at me passively. I bit my lip as I moved to enter the stables, not surprised when I heard Greg following me. I was quickly running out of options and didn't know what I'd do if I couldn't somehow persuade Greg to my way of thinking.
"I honestly still don't know how you got caught up in all this mess."
There was a restrained expression on Greg's face, as if he wanted to say something else but changed his mind at the last second. "Forget it, I'm not interested in listening to whatever it is you have to say," he said as he turned around with the intent to walk away from me.
But I couldn't let him get away that easily and found myself reaching for his arm, not ready to let him go. "What do you need for me to do to convince you?"
Greg looked down at my hand holding his arm and then back at me. I took the hint and released my grip. "There isn't anything I need for you to do."
"How do you even know?"
"I don't need to know," he said, narrowing his eyes at me.
"You won't even give a dying man his last request?" I ask, trying to guilt him into listening to me. I knew if I didn't find a way out, by the time Brass contaminated Houston's water supply, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me this time. That much was already implied from our conversation, earlier.
"Don't say I wasn't being generous," Greg said in an agitated tone, and I was caught off guard when he pushed me.
Well, that wasn't something I really wasn't expecting as I found myself faltering in my steps. But I managed to grab onto Greg's shoulders and return the favour, pushing him closer to one of the stable walls. "Come on, doll. Do we really have to-"
"Yes...we do," he grunted out as he removed my hands from his shoulders; his breath continuing to quicken as he backed away from me. It seemed like he was holding back; not really wanting to get into a fight with me, which I hoped would work out to my advantage. "And don't call me..."
I felt my heart rate speed up when I was able to grab him by the shoulders again; pushing and holding him against the wall. "Doll?" I asked with a smirk, enjoying the smouldering look I was receiving. Of course, I would rather see him smile; yet this was nice, too. But I soon felt my lips press into a frown as he used my own weight against me, causing me stumble and almost fall backward. I may have a more playful approach at times, but I knew what was at stake. Though, it was clear that playful wasn't one of the things that was going to get through to Greg, right now.
Suffice to say, I was more than surprised when he actually started to fight me; the state of my mind apparently suffering for it.
And even though I knew he could handle himself, it was when Greg hit me across the back that I wondered if he'd ever been to Thailand and if he would like to go there with me sometime. But it wasn't until his calf hit my neck that I actually remembered he said that he knew Muay Thai.
As I was falling, though, I had to admit I was thrown off by how flexible he was, putting the information in the back of my mind; hoping to use it sometime in the near future.
However, it was obvious he still didn't put much force behind the kick and I then understood what he meant by being generous. But as I fell on top of the hay, I kicked one leg out, sweeping Greg off his feet. The move was unexpected and he didn't have time to regain his footing before he fell on top of me.
I used his momentary surprise to switch our positions. I took hold of both of his arms, pinning them above his head as I straddled him. I wanted to make sure he couldn't lash out against me and gain the upper hand. This was probably going to be my only chance to get through to him so I had to make sure it counted.
"Stop it, Greg," I whispered harshly to him, trying to get convey the seriousness of the situation through my tone, "do you seriously want all those people to die?" There was no way he wasn't aware of what Brass was planning. He already confirmed that much when I met him.
In response, Greg turned his head, his body bucking beneath me and I couldn't help the low moan that came out of my mouth. His movement was becoming more sporadic and unfortunately – for what was on the line – it was creating a friction my body wanted to make a contribution to.
"Greg," I said, again, this time raising my voice a little higher. Thankfully he stopped. But he was still tense and I didn't want to risk loosening my grip on his arms. "You can't let Brass do this to all those people," I said quietly.
He sighed, eyes closing as he acknowledged what I said. His body was finally becoming lax and I hoped that meant what I was saying was registering for him. Still panting slightly, his face was heavily flushed, but he had yet to turn his head to me. I slowly let go of his arms, using one hand to cup his cheek and force him to look at me; finding myself doing the only thing I could think of to get his attention.
I kissed him.
Oh...did I mention that this takes place in the sixties? Well, I kind of hinted (indirectly), but I thought I needed to clear the air in case some didn't realise the obscure time references provided by the mention of some items. I'm so round the bush sometimes - I think this Nick needs to take lessons from me when it comes to flirting (he was so painfully obvious and corny)...but the "doll" thing kind of did happen in season four.
Now with that off my chest, I really do like Greg's character. And his "name" is another reason why I loved Goldfinger (who caught theme song sung by Shirley Bassey reference? With the gold, too?) so much. Pussy Galore - its' classic and even more so since the movie took place in the sixties (that I know of - the book was in '59). Of course I was born a few decades later, but it was such an uproar at the time. So...one more chapter to go and I'm so excited about the end.
And concerning the Brass/Greg thing, it was unrequited and Brass certainly didn't get anywhere (like Greg would even let that happen). :shudders: But it was in the movie and was very crucial, lest the last scene in the stables wouldn't have happened. Plus, there's a very good reason why Greg even put up with it in the first place that will be covered in the last chapter.
Anyway, long A/N aside, thanks for reading and thank you to silverrayne621, Mma63, Hairpull xox Snapmare, and seether79 for reviewing.