Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.

AN: Hello! I hope everyone is having a great day. I had every intention of posting this one a week early, since I probably broke some hearts with the last chapter, but that week got away from me somehow. Anyway, here it is and I hope you enjoy it! :) Responses to guest reviews from the previous post can be found at the end of this one.

The Passenger (Part 2)

After speaking with Olivier, Riza went back down to the basement to be with Agent Hughes because she was a firm believer no one should be left to bleed out on a concrete floor alone. She reached the foot of the stairs and lowered herself to the floor next to him, checking the wound on his leg and tearing off a sleeve of his own shirt to freshen the improvised bandage. She then grabbed his right hand with her left, thinking that if he was at all conscious some physical contact might be assuasive. She shook her head, still in a state of surprise at the violent turn the evening had taken. Her chest ached for the young woman upstairs, and when she absentmindedly squeezed Agent Hughes' hand she could not be sure if it was for his benefit or hers.

Her mind turned to Mustang, who must have gone from his initial state of worried anxiety to one of utter fear and shock. There was a sharp sensation in her chest when she thought of what he must be going through, and she felt terrible for having slammed him up against a car earlier to yell at him. However, she had needed the FBI agent and he had needed a metaphorical slap in the face. And she was impressed by his ability to ultimately act in that situation since very few could have functioned so well with their family involved. In fact, in a normal law enforcement situation, he would have been sent to the sidelines.

It was true she was accustomed to high-stress situations, to forcing her body into a calmer place, but she was far from perfect. Her tranquil outer appearance was at times misleading, and it was only due to his own mental state that he missed her pained reaction to seeing Mrs. Hughes on the kitchen floor, her tension in response to an innocent girl with a gun to her head. While Riza was generally in control, one thing she could never abide was the victimization of innocents. Honestly, it seriously pissed her off.

Her eye caught the blood spreading from Hughes' wound and she squeezed his hand again, hearing the murmurs of Mustang's conversation with his niece upstairs. Between the teenager's soft but audible sobs, Hughes' limp hand in hers, and the body in the kitchen, Riza was irrevocably taken back to the day her own mother died. The familiar crater in her chest continuing to grow the more she thought of it. She remembered it with excruciating clarity.

The day it actually happened, Elizabeth Hawkeye collapsed in the kitchen while making chocolate chip cookies for her daughter's birthday. Riza had been upstairs with Becca listening to music and tidying up their rooms so they would be allowed to have a movie night with her mother later. At one point, she decided to take a break to get a drink and went downstairs, racing into the kitchen when she saw her Mom lying motionless on the floor. A small pool of blood spread from where her head had smacked the edge of the counter and Riza felt like a knife had lodged itself between her ribs.

Dropping to her knees, she placed two fingers on her mother's neck and tears streamed instantly down her face when there was no pulse. She must have screamed or shouted because her friend came careening down the stairs a moment later. Grabbing the phone from the wall, she sat on the floor and cradled her mother's head in her lap, one hand latched on to Becca. She called her Dad, because he'd always said to call him if anything happened, and then toyed with the silk scarf her Mom wore to self-consciously cover her hairless head. Everyone had always told her she had lovely blonde hair, just like her mother used to have.

She could still smell that acrid scent of cookies burning, recalled the sunlight dancing on the floor, broken up by the branches of a tree just outside the kitchen window. She'd stared at the changing patterns of light on the floor while they waited.

Her father's associates, who to her were complete strangers, tried to revive her Mom, but they were unsuccessful and the body was taken away. They had the girls pack their bags and then Riza and Becca were put in the back of an SUV before being placed on a private plane. A few hours later, they walked into a safe house in Virginia and her Dad hugged them. She had cried all she could, and after that day her life was forever changed. She did not even return to New Orleans until her Dad died, at which point she figured her parents deserved to at least be together in death.

Her Mom did not die quickly, in and out of remission countless times, though the end came suddenly. It was the type of death that was torturous for both the victim and the loved ones that had to watch it happen. Riza had felt hollowed out but she learned to pretend, just like she knew her mother did on her worst days. She realized that, while the intensity of that feeling of loss fades, it never goes away completely and she felt an incredible sympathy for the young woman upstairs.

She abruptly glanced toward the staircase when she heard footsteps descending and quietly said to Hughes, "Don't worry, you won't be alone for long." She stood and ran a hand through her hair.

Mustang reached the foot of the steps just then and told her, "Sounds like we have company." His face tensed when his gaze found his friend. "Is he…?"

"He's alive, but he needs treatment as soon as possible."

His expression of concern somehow intensified further when he looked at her, eyes roving over her face. "Hey, are you okay?"

She nodded a bit more curtly than intended, moving past him up to the main floor. "I'm fine. That'll be the cleaning crew and the security detail." On the way up she checked her phone again, looking at the photos Olivier sent her of the agents that would be responding to the call. Once in the kitchen, she drew her weapon and strode toward the front door, gesturing for Mustang to open it. When she gave him another nod, he opened the door and she looked at the new arrivals, pistol at the ready. After recognizing each of their faces, she said, "Do you have the time?"

The man who must have been the head agent nodded and replied, "It's 0430 in Zanzibar."

Riza watched him for another moment and then returned her firearm to its holster. "Basement and kitchen." The EMTs and the cleaning crew filed inside, and she was just about to speak to the guards that had arrived for Elicia when Mustang placed a hand on her arm to get her attention.

"I'd like to speak with you for a second."

She met his eye, both curious and wary. "Okay." Addressing the security agents she said, "Wait here."

Mustang waved for her to follow him and then went back to the couch where his niece sat, offering her a hand to help her up. "Come on, Lici. Let's go upstairs and pack you a bag." She nodded wordlessly, numbly, and Riza followed them up to the second floor, wondering what he wanted. The young woman disappeared, presumably into her bedroom, and he led her to the end of the hall. He crossed his arms, running a hand along his jaw, and glanced back toward Elicia's bedroom to make sure she was not listening. Meeting her gaze, he kept his voice low. "I want to take her with us."

She stared at him for several moments, and then her eyebrows rose when she came to a realization. "You're serious...Are you insane?"

He placed a hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair, shaking his head. "I know it sounds like it, but no."

"We are going after a man that you personally described as psychotic. The same man that just tried to murder her family...and nearly succeeded."

He half-turned and then came back, nodding once. "I know."

"Then you know this is a terrible idea." She understood the motivation behind his request, she truly did, but it was difficult to justify the risk to the rest of their team.

"Yes." He looked at her, and the pain and fear were etched all over his face, though they were controlled. "I already let something happen to her family, Hawkeye. And I can't stay with my friend, like he deserves, but I can protect his daughter."

He turned away again, full of concerned energy and she gripped his arm to turn him back around. "Mustang, there was no way you could have known...no way you could have stopped this." She reasoned he was the type that frequently assumed responsibility for many things, even events over which he had no control. Evidently they had that in common.

He waved that aside. "It doesn't matter." He paused. "I know this is dangerous and stupid and I'm not being logical, but I am convinced she would be safer with us." He took a breath. "I can't believe I'm suggesting something so reckless, but...that girl is like my daughter." He gestured down the hallway toward the room his niece currently occupied.

She met his eye and then glanced down at the room in question, hardly able to believe she was actually considering such a ludicrous idea. She absentmindedly adjusted her jacket. "I get it. We protect people, and she's your family, and if we leave her with some guard detail he could get to her." She paused before again thinking out loud. "You're smart, and I know you're aware of the risk a civilian would present to our team."

"I know, but I don't trust anyone else to keep her safe." He glanced down the hall again and exhaled heavily. "I can't send her off with strangers after everything that's happened. Do you have any idea what that would be like for her?"

Her eyes widened a touch and she took a deep breath; he could not have known, but he'd struck a chord. While she had been surrounded by strangers immediately after her mother's death, at least she was with Becca. Her voice softened unintentionally, and if he noticed he did not comment. "I can imagine." Riza nodded slowly and met his gaze, her desire to help the teenager winning out. "I will agree to this, but on one condition."

"Anything."

"If this for any reason becomes too dangerous for everyone involved, we will make other arrangements for her."

"That's fair." He took a step away and then turned back to look at her. "Thank you, Hawkeye."

She nodded in response and then he walked away, toward his niece's bedroom. Riza faced the window next to which they had stood and gazed outside before watching her reflection, pulling her phone from her pocket. This move was unlike her. She did not make emotional decisions, which was one reason she had survived for so long. Still, she respected his drive to protect his niece and she could not deny that the girl would likely be much safer with them. With a bit of a sigh she dialed a number, slowly walking toward the young lady's bedroom.

"Well, it's about damn time," Becca answered, a teasing note in her voice.

"Hello to you, too. We had to make a pit-stop."

"Yeah, the Hughes family, Fuery told me. What happened?"

"Kimblee happened. One dead and one seriously wounded. The daughter seems physically unharmed."

"That son of a bitch...I can't wait to stick a fork in that fucker."

"Same here." She had a feeling that if Kimblee were in front of her in that moment she would put a bullet in his skull, no hesitation. "Hey, could you..."

"Hold on..." Her friend was shouting, but must have held the phone away. 'I swear to god, Havoc, if you touch those brownies I will fucking kill you...'

"Okay." With an amused grin and a light laugh she stood near the door of the bedroom. Mustang looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly to silently inquire about her call, and she mouthed 'Becca' back to him. He nodded that he understood.

"Ok, I'm back."

"I heard brownies."

"Yes, and Havoc knows that some have to be saved for you or I will shoot him."

"I appreciate that...By the way, I need you to prep Denny's room. We're going to have a guest."

"What? The daughter? Are you sure about this?"

"Not remotely."

"Okay." Her friend paused. "It's not the most logical move...this is good for you."

Another amused smile started to curve her lips. "If you say so." Then, one of the agents appeared at the base of the stairs, trying to get her attention, and she held up a hand to tell him it would just be a moment. "I have to go."

"Okay, see ya soon."

"See ya." She turned to the other man. "Yes, agent?"

"We've stabilized him and are taking him out."

She nodded. "Thank you. Hold him at the door." The agent gave her a nod and then Mustang appeared at her elbow and made to move past her to see his friend, having heard the short conversation. She glanced at his niece and stopped him, meeting his eye and speaking softly. "You should take her to him."

"She doesn't need to see that."

"Yes, she does. Trust me. She needs the chance to see him, to say what she needs to say, just in case." During her mother's illness they knew the odds were slim that she would go into full remission; they had their talk. But she never got to say goodbye to her father. Not really.

He watched her for a second, and she got the impression he was not only making the decision but also analyzing her possible motivations. He nodded and then broke eye contact, moving back toward his niece and pulling her into a hug.

Riza started down the stairs, hearing quiet words she could not quite make out, and then walked across the living room to the front door. She looked over at Agent Hughes, relieved he was stable, and then approached the head agent. She verified that the cleaning crew would stay until their task was complete, made sure they would secure the house, and dismissed the daughter's guards. Glancing at Gracia Hughes she shook off another shudder. It was eerie, but Mrs. Hughes was in nearly the same position as she had found her mother, save the bullet, of course. Just when Mustang and his niece appeared at the bottom of the stairs she stepped outside to give them some privacy, walking toward the car.

The night was calm and comfortable, in stark contrast to everything that had occurred in that house a short time before. She waited, leaning back against the car with her arms crossed, and tilted her face toward the sky. Numerous stars glittered, a few clouds scuttled across the dark background, and the neighborhood was incredibly quiet. Fortunately, Olivier had been able to put a stop to any possible police response to the shots fired or the street might have been ablaze with red and blue flashing lights.

Her phone rang abruptly and she did not recognize the number, but it was not uncommon for people in her circles to call from unfamiliar numbers. Accepting it, she remained silent and waited for the caller to speak.

"Hello, zolotse moya." It was Barry, speaking in Russian, which was their indicator that, while he was near an unfriendly entity, he was not in danger.

She responded in kind. "Borya, how are you?" Borya was in truth a common nickname for Boris, but she often used it for Barry rather than say his real name.

"I am quite well, thank you. Chatting with a friend and trying out my new knife set...it is proving quite effective."

"So you're having some fun, then." She glanced at Mustang and the girl as they approached, trying to avoid thinking of Barry's brand of fun.

"Indeed...and my friend has become quite talkative."

"Is this about that info I forwarded to you?" The pair stopped in front of her and she met Mustang's eye for a moment.

"It is. All details of this particular exchange are being kept extremely quiet, and the guest list is quite exclusive. I recommend your first stop be Paris. Have a talk with Maurice...I'm told he has the inside track."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see me."

"If you have any trouble getting him to share, I'd be happy to assist."

"Thank you, Borya, I'll let you know. But Maurice owes me for that time in Minsk."

"Well, if you change your mind...Back to work, zolotse moya."

"Poka." Riza ended the call and opened the rear passenger door for Elicia.

Mustang watched her, the corners of his lips playing at a smile. "You speak Russian?"

She smirked. "You don't?"

"Sadly, no. I missed Russian-day at Quantico." He paused, gesturing toward the girl next to him. "I'd like you to meet my niece, Elicia...Elicia, this is Hawkeye."

Riza offered her hand to the young woman, who took it hesitantly. "Hi, Elicia. Please, call me Riza."

Elicia merely nodded, which was entirely understandable, and then the trio climbed into the car, leaving in the direction of the safe-house. As she drove, Riza hoped this would not end badly.

Their trip passed mostly in silence, with Hawkeye driving and Roy sitting in the back seat with a still shaken Elicia, one arm around her shoulders. As they arrived at the safe-house he was thankful for its peaceful appearance, with a long, tree-bordered lane and elegant brick walls. While it was an unfamiliar location to her, he hoped the welcoming atmosphere would help her feel comfortable. As they walked to the main house he felt his niece's grip on him tighten and he gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. He knew this all had to be incredibly overwhelming for her.

When they entered the house the living room was deserted, for which he was grateful since he figured it was not the best time to be introducing Elicia to the entire team. Fuery glanced back at them and waved from his place at his computer station, Roy responding with a small wave. At that moment, Rebecca came down the stairs, and the pair of women shared some silent communication before the brunette turned to his niece, a compassionate smile on her face.

Hawkeye spoke, gesturing to her friend. "Elicia, this is Becca. If you need anything at all, just let us know."

The teenager nodded, muttering a quiet, "Thank you."

Roy addressed the blonde. "I'll get her settled."

Hawkeye nodded and the two women moved toward the kitchen, speaking in low voices, while he led Elicia upstairs to Denny's room. As they walked in, he noticed the bedding had been changed, the attached bathroom had been cleaned, and also various items had been removed. He set her bag down next to the desk and saw her wander around the room rather aimlessly before perching on the edge of the bed. Roy pulled the desk chair over and took a seat with a sigh, running a hand over his face.

He exhaled again. "Lici, I..."

She interrupted him, looking at him with nervous eyes, voice shaky. "Is Dad gonna be okay, Uncle Roy?"

He considered her for a second. "I certainly hope so, kiddo. The EMTs were able to stabilize him at the scene, and that's a good sign." He paused. "I am so sorry, but I have to ask. What happened tonight?"

Her eyes started to get watery again, her respiration rate picked up, and she toyed with the bracelet around her wrist. She had taken it from Gracia before they left and he had not refused, thinking it might provide her with some comfort since she could not be with her Dad. "Umm...it...I'm not totally sure...it happened so fast. I was...I was helping Mom finish dinner, and Dad was in the basement doing something with the stupid furnace." She took an uneven breath and then cleared her throat. "All of a sudden, the sliding door's opening and this guy's in the kitchen pointing a gun at us. Mom grabbed me and pushed me behind her...we were backed into the counter. He, he told us to be quiet." A sob broke through. "Then another guy comes in and starts heading for the basement. So Mom shouted for Dad and...and...and he just shot her."

Roy sat next to her on the bed, arm around her again, and her head fell on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Lici."

She cleared her throat again, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, shoulders trembling. "She just fell...right in front of me...and the blood..." She shook her head. "I heard a shout from downstairs, and then another gunshot...but then I don't know what happened cuz the guy upstairs was coming toward me." The teenager tensed. "I had nowhere to go, Uncle Roy. I...I didn't know what to do." She paused to take a breath. "And then he just stopped and yelled for the other guy, told him to go outside. Said someone was there. Then he grabbed me..." Her finger went to the point on her neck where the knife had broken skin. "...and he was looking around at all the doors and stuff. And then I saw you, Uncle Roy, and..." She trailed off.

He nodded. "And I know what happened from there." He paused. "Did you recognize these guys?"

She shook her head. "No...Never saw them before."

"Okay." He kissed the top of her head. "That's it for now. You did great, kiddo."

Elicia cried for a little while longer, and when her sobs finally ceased she once more wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked around the room. "Where are we, Uncle Roy?"

He was wondering when these questions would begin. "We're at a safe-house."

"What's going on? Who are the people here? Is this where you've been since Dad said you had to go away?"

"Well, this is one of those things I can't tell you much about. I've told you about those types of cases, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Hawkeye and I are working together to catch a majorly evil guy."

"So, she's FBI, too?"

"Not exactly...but for now we've combined our teams. And, as for what's going to happen next, Hawkeye and I need to discuss that." He went to the bathroom for the box of tissues, handed it to her, and then resumed his seat in the desk chair. "The important thing is we're safe here." He paused. "And Lici, you can trust Hawkeye."

Elicia nodded. "Okay." Her head tilted to the side, her grin sly, like she caught him at something. "I thought you said you only trusted us and Aunt Chris."

He chuckled. "Well, she saved my life, my team, and now you...among other things." He shrugged a shoulder. "I kinda had to add her to the list."

Roy looked up at a knock on the door, which was then pushed open to reveal Rebecca. "Sorry to interrupt. I thought you might get hungry." She took a few steps into the room and set a tray carrying a glass of water and a sandwich on the bedside table. Giving Elicia another smile, she headed for the door and then turned again when she reached it. "There are clean towels in the bathroom, and the kitchen is downstairs to the right...if something else sounds good. Make yourself at home."

His niece looked over at her, produced her best polite smile under the circumstances, and replied with a soft, "Thank you." The other woman left the room and then Elicia rose to her feet. "I think I'll shower and try to sleep, Uncle Roy."

He nodded and stood. "Good idea. My room is three doors down...come get me if you need anything."

She gave a nod and said, "Okay," already heading toward the bathroom, still seeming slightly dazed.

Roy left the room and went to his own, leaning back on the closed door and feeling like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Finally able to let loose all the emotion he had been holding back, he raked a hand through his hair and slid down the door to the floor. Holding his head in his hands he stared at nothing, shaking his head in shock and disbelief. For the first time in years, he felt pressure building behind his eyes.

Two hours later Roy stepped outside onto the rear deck, quietly sliding the glass door closed to avoid waking anyone. He had tried to give Elicia space, while still keeping close by in case she needed anything. He had just checked on her, relieved to discover that half the sandwich was gone and she was asleep.

He exhaled and walked up to the railing, still coming to terms with everything that had happened through the course of the night. Gracia was dead. Just like that, and he could hardly believe it; she was practically a sister.

He stared out over an ocean which at that time appeared to be nothing more than a black, churning mass beneath a starry sky. It occurred to him that Maes would have liked the location of the safe-house. His friend always had a fondness for the ocean, and many of their trips together over the years had been to one coast or another. He thought about Hughes stuck in a hospital bed and was relieved that they had already received an update on his condition from Director Armstrong.

His friend was stable, the damage had been surgically repaired, and he was being given transfusions to compensate for massive blood loss. He was also being kept sedated, having suffered significant cranial trauma during his tussle with one of the gunmen. Roy's anger resurfaced every time he thought about what the Hughes family went through.

Looking around, he went down the stairs to the beach, taking a seat in a well-placed Adirondack chair. He was just wondering at how utterly to shit everything seemed to have gone recently when he heard soft footsteps in the sand. A second later, he saw a beer set down on the table to his left. Glancing up, he found Hawkeye standing next to the other chair, gazing out at the water. "I thought you could use a drink."

"Thanks." He picked it up and took a swig. Looking at her again, he saw she was still standing, as if waiting to see if he wanted company or solitude. "You can join me, if you like." He took another drink.

She met his gaze. "You're not the brood alone type?"

"Well, that depends. If you're like Havoc and have come to be persistently optimistic, then I am absolutely the brood alone type. But I don't think that's your style."

She shook her head and took a seat. "It's not." Hawkeye opened her own beer and drank, lips forming a smirk while she did so. "Havoc's too busy flirting anyway."

He chuckled. "What a surprise." Roy appreciated how thoughtful her move was. She brought him a drink as an offer of company if he wanted it, but did not assume her presence would be welcome. And she brought a drink of her own, just in case.

She took another sip and he saw her head turn slightly in his direction. "I'm sorry about your friend and his wife, Mustang."

He nodded. "So am I."

"How's Elicia?"

"She's doing as well as can be expected." He sighed, shaking his head, and his voice lowered, one hand briefly clenching into a fist. "This wasn't supposed to be her story."

"That is one brave young woman. She deserved better."

"She's a good kid. I just...I wish I could do more."

Hawkeye became thoughtful, the beer bottle poised partway to her lips. "She knows you're here for her." After a moment she added, "She's lucky to have an uncle like you, and I think she knows that."

"Thank you." He glanced at her again, a grin of amusement blossoming. "So, how's Barry?"

She looked at him with a smile, eyebrows raised. "So you do speak Russian?"

"Who doesn't? By the way..." He lifted the fingertips of one hand to his neck. "...did you tell him about my scar from that cleaver?"

"I'll make sure to let him know next time...he'll be thrilled."

"I'm not. My neck was one of the few scar-free zones I had left before that bastard came along."

She smirked. "Some would think of it as a badge of honor."

"Who? Who are these people?"

"The lucky few who have survived an encounter with Barry the Chopper."

He turned his head toward her, eyes wide. "The Chopper? You're serious?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you one of these survivors?"

That smirk reappeared, and he was learning that was her most common smile. And that they were easy to miss at times. "How do you think we met? He didn't get too close though...I shot him a couple times."

"Jesus...and now you're allies?"

"It's a long story."

"It would have to be." He chuckled, following it with another swig of beer.

"Where'd you learn Russian?"

He leaned his head back to rest against the chair. "My aunt dated this Russian guy for a few years. Really shady...but he liked me and taught me. Where did you learn Russian?"

"From a woman my Dad worked with frequently in his other career. Her name was Alya and she was the best safe-cracker in the business. She was around pretty often, being one of the few people he didn't hate. She taught me Russian, and everything there was to know about safes and vaults." Hawkeye paused in thought, taking a drink, and then leaned back in her chair. "I owe you an apology, Mustang. I wasn't entirely truthful earlier."

"How so?"

"Well, I did actually learn to pick a lock when I was five, but my real start happened after I met Alya. Want to hear it?"

"Very much." Frankly, Roy was extremely interested in her past, having worked with her father and never known about her, and the fact that she was generally so reserved made him want to take advantage of this opportunity. He found he was not angry that she had held back, since caution was so clearly in her nature and that's not something that changes in the blink of an eye, if ever.

"One day, this was years ago, she came to the safe-house we were at and picked me up. I had no idea where she was taking me, she wouldn't tell me. After a drive we parked at this random building, she took me inside, and there was Dad, in the middle of...work."

He chuckled. "Come on, Hawkeye, we're on the same team now."

She eyed him for a few seconds, deciding something. "...so Dad's clearing out a vault, sees us, and is instantly furious." She gave another laugh. "And when he got mad he'd always get a little red in the face..."

"Don't forget the hands on the hips," Roy added with a knowing grin.

She pointed at him. "Right, but it was when his eyes narrowed just-so that you knew you were a goner." Hawkeye met his eye. "We had all three."

He shook his head, amused grin growing. "Oh, I feel bad for that woman." He was surprised by how conversational she was at that moment. He had never seen her so talkative, and it occurred to him that this must be a particularly fond memory for her.

"It's true that Dad may have had a bit of a cranky side."

"That is a magnificent understatement and you know it."

She shrugged. "Anyway, he's about to storm out and get rid of us, but Alya just slams the vault door in his face, locks it back up, and calls the cops…"

"She what?"

"Yes...Then she looks at me and says, 'You have seven minutes to open that vault and rescue your Dad'..." She paused to drink. "Then, she tossed me her bag, told me to 'get to it,' and left."

"And you did it." He watched her, eyes a bit wider than normal. "How old were you?"

"Sixteen...and I popped it in two minutes." She leaned her head back, looking up at the stars. "That woman taught me how to stay calm under fire."

His gaze once more moved to the ocean and he observed the waves. "Thank you, Hawkeye."

"For?"

"You just opened up a little. And I appreciate the distraction."

She stretched her legs out, feet pushing into the sand. "I suppose I did...and you're welcome."

"I'm glad we got off track, but I should ask...what did Barry have to say?"

"We need to go Paris. There's a sleezy little money launderer named Maurice that we need to talk to."

"This sounds good...I liked Paris."

"Really? You almost died in Paris."

"I almost die in many places."

"You should find that at least moderately disturbing." They shared a glance, each with a smirk, and clinked bottles in a wordless agreement. Then they relaxed, enjoying the calming effect of nature and companionable silence.

AN: Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the chapter, and have a good one! :)

Responses to guest reviews (in order of posting):

Guest (Jul 25): Thank you! I'm so glad to hear you like the story and are looking forward to more :)

Hermit Crab: Thank you! It did get pretty intense, so I hope this one is a bit of a reprieve :)