Summary: Matt finds himself entirely distracted by Remy's behavior once Asha arrives on board. Still trying to puzzle out the kiss, the boss surprises him yet again. But as with so many things, Matt's logical brain, so agile and on task when it comes to programming, technology, and code, takes him on a torturous deviation. *Smut ahead, consider yourself warned*

a/n: Thanks to Chy for agreeing to be my guinea pig.

Free to Be

07 Motives

-1-

After Asha's return, Matt wondered if his worries became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Matt was fairly certain she was avoiding him, but he knew the boss' reaction was not exclusively to him. For the first few days after rescuing his partner, Remy went back to her former pattern. McGinnis went from the simulation to the bridge, locking herself away from all of them. It was much the same schedule she had exercised when he first arrived on the ship.

Then she started in with the bouts of her unique brand of encouragement with CID in an effort to locate her Chief of Staff. At that point Matt would stumble across her from time to time as she wandered the ship, staking the corridors like a caged tiger. Whenever they were in the same place at the same time, Remy would remove herself. Miller initially chalked the behavior up to coincidence, but that excuse only went so far. He eventually became entirely certain that there was a direct correlation between his presence and her absence.

The cursor on the screen blinked at him-it felt like it was mocking him, even though he knew that was entirely in his head. Everything was swirling around him, it was dizzying. He slammed a palm against the workstation irritated with his lack of focus. Even back in Steelport she had not distracted him quite so much. Of course back then he was just hacking her security, gathering information, and watching security feeds.

Stepping away from the console, Matt fell onto the sofa and pulled his knees to his chest. As he scrubbed his hands through his hair, he could not help feeling like he was in Prague all over again. The same thing had happened there. They got out of that party and she left him with his tech, running the photos they got through facial recognition databases, while she tucked away in the basement disassembling and cleaning weapons over and over again.

Remy had avoided him for the rest of that mission, at least until the last day when she saved his ass. Somehow he had missed the trace on their activity; Matt later chalked it up to his preoccupation. He had spent too much time trying to figure out what if anything that moment in the gardens meant, and what if anything he should do. It was the same set of questions he found himself dancing around again. He picked up the personal console and eyed the cipher CID was working on, trying to distract himself from his distraction.

The boots hit the metal deck of the bay with a loud clunk, which drew Matt's eyes from the handheld device he had picked up. He leaned forward slightly and looked around. He did not see her initially. But when her jumpsuit hit him in the face, he guessed the boss had not noticed him either. He watched her set up a small device and the cargo bay filled with music. It was not what he expected-he would have thought she would play some kind of gangster rap or the rhythm & blues he had heard her play in her office in Steelport.

Dubstep did not seem like her style. Matt tried to place the piece. He was fairly certain who it was not but he could not precisely place the song, though he knew he heard it before. Initially he could not help but wonder if McGinnis was aware of his presence and merely ignoring him, but when she crossed to the back of the bay he realized it would not matter if anyone was in there. Even from his vantage point, the boss was barely visible when she started stretching. He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, before he craned his neck to peek over the low crates.

Watching the lean muscle move under her skin, he could not help thinking that no one could guess she was in her thirties. Perhaps that was because even when everyone thought the Saints had gone soft, Remy still kept busier than Pierce and Shaundi. She and Gat never really stepped completely away from the old life. Though their excursions were more limited than they had been before, their activities were also better disguised and covered up by the press geniuses in the Ultor Media Group.

The tightness in his groin made him roll his eyes and shift slightly. Remy was still gorgeous. Light blue eyes, brilliant smile, and an ass you can bounce a quarter off of, he observed with a note of visceral appreciation. Watching her move with such fluidity and so little clothing made his body more rebellious than usual, most of the time he could control his reactions to her, at least long enough to get out of her presence. He knew he could do the same thing now. Just get up and walk out of the bay, he told himself to no avail. Matt wanted to see her, wanted to watch her, just wanted to be around her.

His mind played horrible tricks on him as she moved through a prescribed set of poses. Yoga with its calming attributes was not something he had expected to see her so adept at. Sparring, beating on a heavy bag, yes. Target shooting, yes. But not the supple movements and deep breathing that were the hallmarks of yoga. He knelt on the couch to get a better view and stared transfixed at her ass as she folded forward. He nearly fell off the arm of the sofa when she rolled her body slowly from a down dog to a cobra. Her hips pressed to the floor her chest lifted, head back as she exhaled deeply.

Matt hissed out a breath and fell back into the sofa, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. What are you doing? She is not here to entertain you. Daft cretin. He shook his head. Acting like some damn hormonal teenager. The boss could always trigger that reaction in him. It was probably one of the reasons his initial research on her had been so thorough. She was hot and tough. And he had been both intimidated and turned on by her. He still was, not that he would admit it to anyone.

He was still lecturing himself when the music stopped. Miller's hands left his face and his head turned sharply to his right. She was leaning on the crate looking at him. There did not seem to be a reprimand in her gaze, just a comfortable easiness that made him tense in response to the relaxed nature of it.

"Didn't realize you were down here," she said, dragging the towel she had brought with her down her long neck.

Matt's jaw tensed as he fought for a usable reply. "Figured I'd just sit back and enjoy the music. Who was that, by the way?"

"Kill the Noise."

"Damn. Should've known," he replied with a little shake of his head. Can't believe I didn't place them.

Remy nodded her agreement. She looked down for a moment then only her eyes rose to him. "So I didn't interrupt you, then?"

"Nope. I was just fiddling around," Matt replied quickly, gesturing with the device in his hands.

Remy smiled playfully. "Next time I'll look first."

"As long as you bring good music, you can invade my space anytime." Matt screwed his eyes shut and held them closed for a second. What a stupid thing to say.

When he opened them again, Remy was walking toward him. Tight little black shorts hugged her hips and the white tank top were the only other things covering her body. The glistening sheen of sweat made her shimmer in the soft lighting of the bay.

"I never figured you to be one for yoga, you know, soothing and calming and all."

The soft laugh shot through him as she sat down. "Well, when the Secret Service stopped letting their guys spar with me. I got a little restless. Ben thought it might help."

Matt gaped at her.

"I'm kidding," she replied. "Kind of. I took it up with Shaundi … after some things." She looked at the towel in her hands for a long time. He knew which things she meant-finding out all her old friends abandoned or set her up; then there was Carlos and Aisha. "Turns out it was useful for more than just keeping me from shooting everyone in sight."

"Really?" he asked with a trace of skepticism in his voice.

"I hadn't shot anyone since the campaign started, which is when I started doing it on a daily basis."

He laughed and so did she.

"What were you up to?" she asked with a tip of her chin toward the device in his hands.

"Just going over some code." It was not a complete lie. That was what he had planned on doing and would have been doing if she had not invaded his thoughts so damn thoroughly.

Remy arched an eyebrow at him. "You spend your down time … working."

"Oh, this isn't work, well, not complete," Matt replied with a conspiratorial grin. "I'm toying with the possibility of changing little parts of the simulation, tweaking them for my own means. Want to see?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug.

The grin widened with her acquiescence. Miller had not expected it, usually when specs and code were involved Remy would ask people to skip to the end. The excitement that coursed through him was evident in the few accidental taps he made at the screen. Closing CID's project, Matt took a deep calming breath and opened his own opus.

She scooted next to him, closer than he expected, then Remy leaned even closer to get a look at the tiny tablet screen. Matt swallowed, hard, hoping she had not heard the nervous gulp he that seemed to echo loudly through his own head. His efforts to calm himself with the explanation of the code rewrite would work until he let even a stray thought about her proximity peek up. Deciding that staring at the screen might lend a minor reprieve, he scrolled through some of his work as he told her how he was essentially he was trying to back-hack Zinyak's system and take over little pieces of it that the Saints could use as training grounds for different tasks, like programming out for trial runs of more sizeable endeavors.

"Just thought we could use the safe areas, places that we control and can manipulate," Matt explained, looking over at her. He swallowed hard again when her eyes met his. She was so close, just there.

"Can't he just take them back?" she asked, eyes moving back to the device in his hands. Her hand brushed his as she turned the screen back toward her slightly.

"Possibly. CID is helping me bury them. He's spent a very long time in this system and knows the code a lot better. Given enough time I could do it myself, but this is a new system. I haven't figured out all its-"

"Quirks?"

"Yeah." He watched her face as her eyes swept over the schematics on the screen in his hands.

"Kinzie mentioned something like that once. It's like getting the feel for a new gun," Remy noted. "No matter whether you agree or not. Guns, cars, computers, and code are all alike in that respect. You need to spend time with them, get a feel for them and how they work, then you know how far you can push them, what you can get out of them. Same thing can apply to people, too," she said, glancing over at him, for a moment.

The decision surprised even him. Matt did not know why he did it. Maybe it was because she was right there. Maybe it was because she kissed him, or because he spied on her. Maybe it was merely her proximity. Maybe it was because everything was gone and there were no longer any real reasons not to. Sure, she was still the leader of the Saints, maybe she was even still kind of the president, though that was more subjective. But in a way, in that moment, she was something he had never really seen her as before. She was just Remy.

The voice coaxed him toward action; it was the same voice that would persuade him to hack bigger and better targets when he was younger. When his lips met the corner of her mouth as she started to turn back to the device in his hands, he felt the same rush he would when he found a way through a particularly grueling firewall or managed sneak past some of the best security in the business. Then, as now, he felt a little delirious as his pulse pounded in his head. As she leaned away from him, persistence and fixation made him follow.

The pressure on his chest was gentle and guiding as she pushed him away. Finally Matt looked up at her, the momentary confidence fading quickly by the indecipherable look on her face. Give him code and he could usually find the meaning and the way through in a glance, but people, especially Remy McGinnis, they might as well be hieroglyphics written in the sand during a windstorm.

"Miller?" she muttered.

Her voice was gentle but he still heard a trace of what he thought was admonition in the way she said his surname. In a way it seemed like an attempt to replace that suddenly lost distance. The young man tore his eyes away from her, scanning the short towers of crates littering the bay rather than watch her shrink away again. He had never been good with rejection, even when he expected it. How could you be so daft? You complete fucking wally! He scolded himself as his mind raced. Then he could not help but wonder why she had not retaliated; he had seen her lay people out for grapping her wrist. With that recollection the soft weight which remained on his chest registered.

A glance downward convinced him it was not in his head. Her hand was still there, her warm fingertips tracing the divot at the base of his throat. His eyes moved up the sculpted landscape of her arm, the skin curving and wrapping around the corded muscle beneath. There were little hints of color, some he knew, well, had seen before, though not all.

Matt swallowed against his own uncertainty; he did not know what to say. Though she was not the first woman to push him away, he was not sure how to respond to the reaction. So in a feint voice he offered a weak apology. "Sorry."

"Why?"

The question was a quiet and laden with as much doubt as he felt, but as curious as he was, as much as he wanted to know; he merely let his eyes trace the parallel lines of varying thickness that moved along barcode tattoo just at the base of the curve of her shoulder.

"I overreacted." He shook his head. That was not quite correct. He had been overwhelmed-by her, by his own thoughts, his desires, but it did not feel like an overreaction until after the fact. "I just … You were … and I …" He sighed and slumped against the sofa, closing his eyes and wishing he could figure out something to say that would not sound ridiculous.

It took him a moment to wrap his head around the fact that she was still there. McGinnis had not reacted like she usually did; she had not walked away or disappeared behind the walls of her own making. She was still sitting beside him; she was still touching him, still close and present. Miller hazarded a glance at her finally, feeling a tiny bit more confident in her proximity. The mischievous smile curving her lips made him anxious and excited him all at once.

A nervous tightness snaked through his chest and along the line her fingertips traced up his jugular. Matt shivered slightly under her touch. He shifted as his body tingled and tautened in response. He wanted her, but he was not sure if or how he should or could admit it, let alone to the boss.

Her fingers slid along his jaw, stopping at his chin encouraging him to finally meet her gaze. Even without her seemingly holding him there, Matt would have been enraptured. The steel blue gaze was piercing, brimming with more truth than she usually allowed past the surface. The confident smirk softened into a tentative smile; it was so human, so fallible, and there was something completely open about her in that moment. Combined with the low and heady tenor of his voice, it made him wonder if he should not have acted sooner.

"Look, Matt. I've been thinking …"

-2-

The last guy as bold as Matt Miller spent six months eating through a tube after Remy broke his jaw in two places. It was her typical reaction to unsolicited and unwanted advances. In this case, deep down the boss knew that the hacker's sudden action had been neither of those, even if he was unaware of it. She had made overtures, well, for her they were overtures; for normal people they might just be politeness, but she knew herself well enough to know that her seeking his company was more than just a plea for human companionship.

Perhaps if she had not spent years denying herself precisely this, she might have been able to convincingly lie to herself. Perhaps then she would not have admitted her desire. Perhaps that would have kept her from kissing him again. Once her lips brushed his, she managed to quell the voices in her head. It was the first time in years that she stopped over-thinking in his presence. Now that she had acted; the boss simply continued along that path-acting and reacting to Matt and his cues.

The younger man held tightly to her knee as her leg crossed over his, while his other hand stayed frozen at her waist. His caution prompted her measured reactions. It had taken her years to finally approach this point, the last thing she really wanted to do was spook him; and he seemed too close to that point. As she tugged down the zipper of his flight suit she pulled away watching for any hesitance, any sign of fear or concern, but there was none. Matt pulled the thin tie over his head and watched her intently until her hand stopped and snaked up his chest.

Eager was the only way to describe the way he peeled the suit down and the speed with which is removed his t-shirt. Her light laughter seemed to temper him, and the sheepish look he offered through long lashes suggested a hint of embarrassment as his frenzied reaction. She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder softly, letting her hand ghost across the smooth plane of his chest. As her mouth moved up his neck, she nipped gently, which prompted a little groan that made his head fall back. One hand moved higher up her thigh and tightened with her teasing of his ear. McGinnis complied with the little tug he gave her, though she knew it was highly possible that she had imagined it.

Regardless, she looked down into his electric blues eyes, replying to the lazy smile with one of her own, as she slid onto his lap. Her grin widened slightly as his fingertips lightly grazed the bare flesh at the small of her back. In a smooth moment she evened the score then fitted her lips to his again. Her reaction to his touch seemed to freeze his hands in place again. Matt had been cautious before but from the point her shirt landed noiselessly wherever, his fingers gripped her that much more tightly, like he was hanging on for dear life.

Contradictory to his touch was his kiss. That left no doubt in her mind that he was as charged as she was; that and the faint little growls that seemed to start deep in his chest. He might have been holding onto her like she was an anchor in the storm, but he did not want to go in out of the rain. Hissing lightly as her short nails skimmed his ribs, Matt's lips moved to her chin, along her jaw and down her neck.

"You can touch me," she whispered toward his ear. The hand on her thigh flexed a bit in response, but remained firmly fixed.

Remy chalked it up to nerves, and actively sought a way to calm them, at least a bit, if she could. When she circled her hips against his, Matt's quivering groan seemed to echo off her skin and through her head. Another, and both his hands moved to the junction of her hips as he leaned away. Lips parted slightly, shortening breaths, wide eyes-it made him so enticing. When her lips met his, she plunged her tongue into his mouth. The kiss was claiming and he replied by pulling her hips flush against his. She could not help the trace of a smile that faded into another deep kiss.

Her body shifted, allowing her hand press the zipper down further, and allowing more directed teasing. He pressed his forehead to hers with a sharp intake of breath as Remy guided her hand down his sensitive flesh. By the third stroke, his eyes reopened; the heat there unmistakable.

Atypical, it was the only word that could describe her reaction to look Matt gave her. Both of them were suddenly frenzied and impatient for the next impending step. She scrambled off his laps and shed the last scant bit of clothing, as he kicked off the flight suit entirely.

It was almost too polite-the way he held his hand out to her. Like the night he asked her to dance. Long, dexterous fingers held her courser hands tightly as she moved back toward him. Even more striking, he did not loose her hand, but instead laced her fingers with his as she loomed over him. His other hand rested on her waist, much more loosely than before, as she knelt over him. The slight squeeze and downward pressure caused her to pull away; her eyes searched his.

McGinnis knew only one thing; she wanted him. And it was not a new development. In Prague, Matt made her laugh, he managed to make fourteen hour shifts in a van a lot easier to take. She learned a lot about him in those few days, actually more than she really ever wanted to know. More than she ever would have thought to ask. He just opened up to her, told her about himself, his life-both before Steelport and after.

No one reacted to her like that. No one told the leader of the Saints about reading under their father's desk in his office. People did not tell her about the places they saw their lives going. But Miller had no qualms about offering up that type of information freely. What was more striking was that he never asked her to reciprocate, never tried to force her to talk about the things she preferred not to think about. In a handful of days, Matt endeared himself to her; he had burrowed under her skin and into her thoughts. He tempted her in a way she could remember no one else, nothing else, doing.

There was no trace of doubt in his vibrant blue eyes, just hunger. The same hunger she felt. Remy trailed her fingers down his body. Fluttering eyes and a deep groan punctuated her careful touch. Matt gasped when she guided him into her; his fingertips pressing into the muscles of her back.

His hand between her shoulder blades pulled her closer and Miller buried his face in her the crook of her neck. Remy moved slowly as his breathing quivered in response. She was fairly certain he was not a virgin, though conventional wisdom and good natured ribbing still pegged him as one. Even in that moment she was not entirely sure. His reactions suggested his inexperience, so Remy opted to take great care and consideration with him. Once her hips met his, Miller finally looked up at her.

The beauty in his angular features, set off by the softness of his lips. He refused to release her hand, so she allowed it. Her machinations were precise and measured as she waited for him to respond. It had taken some time for his hands to move more freely, for him to let his lips roam her newly glistening skin, and she guessed it was merely a matter of time before all of him responded to her in kind.

Counter he did, when she took to teasing him a little on the relentless side. His sharp response, made more so by that exploring hand pressing her hips into his upward thrust brought a gasp to her lips and a satisfied smirk to his. Nails skimming over his shoulder, down his chest, her unclasped hand moved down his body toward hers as their found rhythm intensified. His free hand drew her mouth to his; cradling the back of her head, his fingers laced in the long blonde hair freed from a tight little tie. He growled lightly when she trapped his bottom lip in her teeth, a soft bite giving way to more pliant lips as she sucked at the prize a moment. Matt kissed her hard, holding her mouth to his as he moaned softly.

It was one of those subtle signs, combined with the tight grip he had on her hand and the way he held her close, she was sure he was close. With him inside her, and her fingers teasing her clit, she planned to accompany or at least quickly follow him over that shuddering precipice. The separation was minute, his forehead pressed to hers. Those bright blues eyes, with pupils blown wide, locked on hers, and she felt him taking her with him as he swelled inside her. Remy's sharp wordless sighs mixed with Matt's incoherent groan.

-3-

Struck by the surprise of it all, Matt stared up at her. He could still feel the tremors in her body as she remained close. The little quiver her abdomen made against his chest made him smile. And when he finally let go of her hand, she ran her fingers through his hair; her eyes not leaving his until they closed as her full lips brushed his. His hands skimmed her back, over her shoulders, then down past her waist, following the slope of her hips.

"Remy," he whispered when their mouths parted again. Something in the back of his head told him he should say something, but he had no idea what he could or should say. Her eyes searched his as she waited. Then she smiled and relieved him of the burden. The peck was soft, more distant than the other kisses they had shared, but it stopped his search for words.

The sudden absence of her warmth, of the weight of her body against his was stark and wholly undesired as he shivered against the change. Two steps, that was all the distance between them but it seemed like a gulf. With the spacesuit she discarded earlier in her hand, she stood just out of reach and Miller merely stared at her as she slipped it on. He did not realize until that moment, as he tried to memorize the landscape of colorful tattoos and pinkish-silver reminders of who she was, that he had not looked at her body once the opportunity presented itself. Without a word she zipped the suit up and grabbed her other clothes from where they had landed.

Then the boss returned, like a comet, looming over him with her full hand on the back of the sofa. And, like something caught in her gravitational pull, Matt leaned forward. His head tilted into her gentle touch, like a kitten, craving the caress. Remy's fingertips swept across his bottom lip as she held his gaze. He was not sure what he saw in her eyes, but it was like so many things about Remy McGinnis-nerve wracking and enticing at the same time. Her velvety lips brushed his in a supple kiss. The gentle sweep of her hand travelled down his cheek and along his jaw before she turned and walked out of the bay.

His mind was a jumbled mix of desire and bewilderment, but Miller retained enough presence of mind to stand and pull his own jumpsuit back on. A whimsical smiled played on his lips as he threaded his loosely tied tie between his nimble fingers. He had thought about being with Remy more than once over the years. Wondered what she would feel like in his arms, and if she would be completely dominating and intimidating. But the reality was unlike any of the scenarios he had imagined.

With a shake of his head he knew one major difference between fantasy and reality was his own relative inactivity. Her attentions staggered him over and over; as a result it took him longer and longer to catch up to her. Untwisting his hand from the fabric of the tie, he rubbed his hand over his chest as he stretched along the length of the sofa. Feeling the smile on his face, Matt felt a bit daffy then realized it was merely giddy astonishment. Astounded that Remy considered him in that way, the logician in him attempted to clothe what happened between them in some rationally quantifiable definition. There had been practically no words. It had been all action and reaction; each of them acting upon and responding to one another.

Remy McGinnis, even though he had tried to kill her three times, even though she had every reason to kill him in Steelport, and even despite his rather dazed reactions there in the bay. She still looked at him like … well, he did not know quite how to read the way the boss had looked at him before she left. The romantic in him wanted that look to hold promise, interest, desire-all of the things he was feeling. Matt leaned his head back, a wide grin painting his features as he tried to puzzle it out. He thought she seemed content; felt it was warmth he saw in those midnight-rimmed pale blue eyes. Or maybe it was merely what he hoped he saw.

Letting his fingertips linger on his bottom lip, he let the memory of it wash over him again. The recollection of the slow pace, the way she watched him-Matthew sighed lightly recalling the feel of her hand in his, the way she had allowed him that anchor through it all. He could not help but ask himself what had kept him from taking that step toward her before now. The boldness of her reaction had his mind racing. Had she been thinking about him like he did her? How long? Could it have been since Prague? Why didn't she ever say anything? Or do something? Why now? Why wait?

Just as he began to allow himself to bask in the possibility of it, another thought struck him like a truck at rush hour. He was the only man on the ship she had not worked with for years. He was not someone she considered a friend, or so Matt thought. When the idea bloomed, he sat up again, leaning forward, cradling his forehead in his hands as his subconscious began the torture.

The light of the encounter changed as it moved through his head again. He recalled the way she had tried to distance herself from him. The way Remy tried to convince him to move his hands became a suggestion that he was not adequately reacting to her. The little pull as he had laced his fingers with hers became suggestive of her attempt to pull away. Matt pressed his open hand over his mouth. The boss had camouflaged the movement of her hand, but she had been in complete control of the entire thing. She had read him. Somehow, she had even seemed certain that she would have to secure her own orgasm.

Resting his forehead in his upturned palms, Miller shook his head lightly. The shadows of self-doubt seeped across his mind turning the entire event bittersweet. She knew full well he spent most of his time in the bay. From her first steps, it had all been contrived. And you played your part perfectly, Miller. Watched her flawless performance, like a rapt child-thrilled and captivated by your own jejunity.

In irritated frustration, his foot kicked back against the frame of the sofa. The sting and resulting dull throb pulsed through him as the accusation echoed through his head lowly at first. Then gaining more prominence, the voice repeated the same taunts, like an MP3 player on repeat.

She isn't interested at all. You're just the only guy on the ship she doesn't have a professional relationship with. And here you are acting like some cunt-struck dunce, thinking a woman like her could actually be interested in you. Thinking she could possibly care. Wishing it there was something more to that kiss, something meaningful in her gaze. Fat chance, Matt. You are not her type. You're just some scrawny tyke in the right place at the right time. A convenient prick, in every sense of the word. Wazzack!

The voice pounded at him longer than he should have allowed it; lost in the tainting of his own foolish hope. Allowing the reality he was rewriting to sour his moment of bliss. When he finally crawled out of his cave in the cargo bay, his scowl was clear and etched deep in his usually smooth features. He ducked into the tiny kitchen and filled the kettle as quietly as he could manage.

The water was boiling too slow for his tastes. He had no plans or desire to see anyone, but as the saying goes-the plans of mice and men. His partner reached past him and grabbed a second mug and set it down near his. Asha leaned her hip against the counter and looked at him, despite the fact he tried to blank his face, she must have still seen something in his expression.

"All right, Matt?" Asha asked, leaning toward him and studying her partner's face. There was a chipper note to her voice that grated against his raw nerves.

"I'm fine," he bit back. His hands curled around the counter as he heard the churlish twinge in his voice. If she had not been certain before, he knew his reaction would have cemented his upset.

Asha studied him for quite some time. "Sure."

When she placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes darted to her defensively for a moment then turned back to the counter. He shook his head. It's not her fault. Asha's not to blame. It's your own damn fault.

"Because that's how fine looks," his partner replied with a sympathetic softness he was not prepared for.

"Asha, please." The look in his eyes suggested she should back off. She pursed her lips and patted his back lightly.

"Hey Asha," Kinzie's voice interrupted as she called over the intercom. "Boss wants to know if you're feeling up to an assault. She says she could use a sniper."

"Sure thing," the MI-6 agent replied. She looked at Miller and squeezed his shoulder. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yes," he replied with a little less sharpness in his tone. Just feeling like a fool. He stared down into the empty mug, trying to ignore the voice, trying to put it all out of his head.