"'Come for a drive,' he said," Tim grunted.

"'It'll be quick,' he said," she heaved.

"'You won't even realise you've been gone,' he said,"

"Shut up woman," groaned the body she was dragging along the floor.

For that unwanted comment Tim purposefully dragged him roughly down two steps. He swore in pain and she smiled viciously. Served him right.

Of course guilt quickly followed on the heels of her silent cheer of vindication, causing a chill that had nothing to do with the weather to run down her spine.

It really was his own fault that they were in this situation but he was miserable enough without her adding to it. But still…

Trent Kort had been her…contact? Handler? At the CIA for almost a year, and during that time she had analysed data and untangled code that had apparently flummoxed others. And now – apparently – she was being snuck out into the field. Wither it was sanctioned by the higher-ups or not she didn't know.

Not that she was complaining about the field work. What she was complaining about was the freedom he had taken with the truth of the situation.

"'It'll be a quick job,'" she took up grumbling again, her mock British accent sounding awful even to her own ears. But, under the circumstances, what else could be expected? Here she was almost bent double and dragging along a man who was basically a dead weight – Tim wished he would live up a little bit more to the 'dead' part and be quieter, his comments were not required right now.

"In and out," she mumbled softly, coaching herself through some breathing before she began to panic. .

Well, that 'quick job' had led to a cat and mouse chase of almost an hour and a broken leg for Kort. Which was why she was dragging him in this very undignified manner back to the car as he had refused to let her call an ambulance from the building.

She glanced back at the office building they had left. There was no sign of anyone – not that there should be after the mess Kort had left behind – and the only light came from the faint night lights that shone in every room through the blinds of the windows.

Thankfully there was also no random passers-by outside the building to start asking awkward questions either.

"Are you always this chatty when you are being shot at?" Kort groaned as they finally reached the car and she managed with some manoeuvring to prop his back against the rear tier of the passenger side. She raided the breast pocket of his jacket for the keys. Finding them she nearly crowed in victory but settled for glaring at him, telling him to mind his head and opening the back door.

Blowing towards her forehead to try and cool herself down a little she braced herself beside the damaged CIA agent. With a lot of grunting from her, swearing from him, and dumb luck, they somehow got him into the back seat with his legs stretched out.

One leg was at a sickening angle and his face had paled to an awful chalky colour.

She needed to get him to the hospital before he went into shock.

Taking off her jacket she flung it over him. The man may be some kind of government super-agent – not that she would know as that sort of information was probably classified – but a broken leg hurt no matter your status and she was sure the shakes would begin soon.

Making sure his head was free of the door – giving the man a concussion would be the icing on the cake of disaster that had been this evening – she closed the door.

Just as she turned to walk around to the driver's side the side mirror exploded. She looked at it in shock for a moment. Wondering what on earth would make the mirror do such a thing. Then there was a loud crash and a hole with a spider's web of cracks appeared in the window of the front passenger's side.

That got her attention.

Tim dashed around the front of the car, another bullet flying by her, followed closely by another that hit the light at the top of one of the bollards that lined the edge of the sidewalk.

She flung open the door and scrambled in not even stopping to try and spot where the shooter was stationed.

The force she had used opening the door made it bounce back and she just got her foot in before it was caught by the closing door.

Well, this was just great.

With shaking fingers she rammed in the key, turned it and with a strong desire to stay alive drove away, trying to stay as crouched down as she could.

Once she cleared the building after a few seconds, she straightened. Realising she was relying purely on the street lamps she fumbled for the lights, only succeeding in turning them on after stumbling across the window wipers.

That brought back some memories.

Her mind was in a whirl. She was aware of Kort speaking to her but she couldn't quite make out his words.

They must have fired from one of the many windows of the building. But Tim had thought Kort had taken care of their unexpected companions. Had one of them survived or had there been more of them?

Does it really matter Tim? Honestly stop being so stupid. What kind of an agent are you?

A very freaked out one at the moment, if she was being honest with herself.

Would they pursue?

If there was more of them maybe they would. If there was just the one survivor trying to get in a lucky shot maybe not.

Either way she was going straight to the hospital.

If this turned out to be some kind of spook training thing, a broken leg would be the least of Kort's troubles. She'd kill him. She was a genius, she was sure she could get away with it.

Finally mastering her breathing, and coming down a little from the adrenaline high that had grabbed her she looked away from the road to glance at her passenger.

"Are you still alive?" she asked.

"Quite," came the dry reply, "Unlike you, I did not get hit,"

She glanced back at the road to make sure she wasn't drifting and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Hit?"

She could just make out his head moving up and down and his arm coming out to point at her shoulder.

"Hit," he repeated.

Tim turned back to the road to repeat her check and then stole a quick glance in the rear-view mirror to make sure they didn't have a tail. Nothing. Noting rather dryly that the evening had turned into a James Bond movie without her consent, she glanced down at her right shoulder.

Huh.

He was right.

From the light of the street lights they passed she could make out the dark stain blooming on her shirt.

Funny. She hadn't even felt it. Still couldn't actually.

"We need to get you to the hospital," Kort informed her from the back seat.

"I was taking you there anyway," she all but snapped at him.

For goodness sake where did he think she was driving them to?

After ten more minutes of driving and Kort's continuous flow of questions – he was worried about her passing out from blood loss apparently – the adrenaline had finally fled her system. She was beginning to feel cold and keeping hold of the steering wheel was growing more difficult as the pain made itself known in her shoulder and down her arm.

She sighed in relief at the sight of the mile sign to the hospital.

"Congratulations,"

What?

"For what?" she sighed tiredly, feeling less than charitable towards the man in the back seat.

At no time had it been mentioned that she could be shot this evening. But then she had accepted a drive with the devil so she supposed she could only blame herself for the outcome.

"You just completed your very first mission," he groaned as they passed over a speed-bump.

Her first thought was that she hated him but then she smiled through the pain.

He was right. She had.

Another little Trent Kort/Tim short for you.

Had no intentions of it turning out as long as it did – I was intending on it to be a third as long and be part of a three part one-shot. Obviously that did not happen…

I really hope you are enjoying these and please don't forget to let me know what you think.

Take care and have a lovely day...or evening :)