Rae: Hey guys! I'm really sorry for the wait in updating, uni had me swamped for a while with assessments. They decide whether I go on to next year or not, so they're pretty damn important :D

Also, I had a question in one of my previous reviews as to what Jasper and Adam actually look like. (http :// xrae-asakurax .deviantart. com/ art/ New-Recruit-151519856) Take the spaces out in that and you'll have your answer! :) I'll get round to some more detailed shots of them both (she hopes), but for now I'm concentrating on finishing my requests and uni project.

Enjoy the chapter, guys! x

Jasper woke up to a bedside alarm going off and the feeling of being inexplicably warm and safe, neither of which really registered with his hazy brain until he moved to try and turn the alarm off and found he couldn't due to a pair of arms wrapped securely around his waist. He briefly wondered why he'd fallen asleep naked, and then everything from the night before came flooding back. He reddened slightly as he felt his partner stirring behind him, and turned to face him as bleary blue eyes opened with a protesting groan. Said eyes locked with their lover's blind ones, noting the light blush, and he smiled as he leant forwards to brush a chaste kiss against Jazz's lips.

"Morning," he said softly.

"Mornin'." Jazz lifted himself up onto his elbows and groped around for the alarm clock. It stopped before he could find it, and Adam chuckled. Jazz threw his bottom lip out briefly in a mock pout. "Rub it in, yeh glitch," he grumped good-naturedly.

"Sorry." Adam passed Jazz his visor, pressing it gently into the younger man's hand. It was snapped carefully in place, and a brilliant smile lit up Jazz's face when his gaze rose to Adam's face once more. Red strands and shoulder-length, loose brown hair framed a smiling expression, from which two shapely blue eyes gazed right back at him full of care and a little apprehension. Fingers touched his lips lightly, and Adam pressed a kiss to them.

"Mmm, I could get used t' wakin' up like this," Jazz murmured.

"So could I, but if we don't shift soon we'll be late for your meeting."

"Yer a real atmosphere killer, y'know that Prowler?" The darker man chuckled at his partner's sheepish expression. "But yer right. Let's get t' it, then." He stretched, almost feline in his movements and hopped out of bed, pushing his covers off with a faint noise of wanting to get back under them and go back to sleep. He winced slightly, then, as his thigh muscles and lower back protested at being used. Adam saw the flinch and sniggered. Jazz threw him a look. "That's all yer fault, man," he muttered.

"I didn't hear you complaining last night," replied Adam cheekily, and Jazz flushed a little before making a dash for the bathroom. The detective snickered again and wend his way to the kitchen to make them both a quick breakfast. He pulled another herbal teabag out of the cupboard for Jazz and the coffee for himself. Caffeinated, of course. While the kettle sat happily warming and attempting to boil the water in it he rummaged in the fridge for some ingredients, emerging with his arms full of eggs, leftover bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and cheese. He set them on the counter, delved into cupboards for a bowl and some cutlery, and set to work cracking and beating the eggs.

By the time Jazz finished in the bathroom and meandered in, neatly dressed, tying his dreads back and looking fresh if a bit drawn, Adam already had the omelettes sizzling away on the stove. Jazz sniffed and hummed appreciatively.

"Smells good, Prowler." He slipped an arm around his partner's waist, pecking him on the cheek on his way to rescuing his drowning teabag and yoinking the sugar for Adam's coffee. "A partner who can cook... where'd I go right?"

Adam gave him an amused look. "You're not getting any say in what you get in yours," he said.

"Then it's a good thing I ain't allergic t' anythin' yer puttin' in it," retorted the darker man with a grin as he took his teabag out and threw it away. A quick rinse of the spoon and he was adding sugar to Adam's coffee, stirring it before plonking next to the brunette. He got a grateful smile for it, which was returned wholeheartedly. Jazz then flipped one of the chairs around and straddled it backwards, setting his mug on the table to let it cool off a little bit. It wasn't just his hearing and touch that were sensitive.

"Hey Prowler?"

"Hmm?"

"Got any Advil? I don' wanna be goin' undercover with a sore back."

Ten minutes to ten in the morning found Jazz sauntering into the station lobby, bopping along to some arcane rhythm only he could hear, followed by an immaculate-as-always Adam carrying a few papers and a folder. They both greeted Dana, Jasper with a saucy wink and cheery grin and Adam with a small smile and incline of the head. Dana watched them go past, one eyebrow raised. Really, they were the most unlikely pair.

The partners stopped outside meeting room 1 on the way to their office, where Jazz was having his debriefing session that morning. Adam wished him luck with a slightly malicious smile, and Jazz got the feeling he knew something he wasn't telling. A shrug, quick kiss on the cheek and the dreadlocked man disappeared into the room, leaving his partner to shake his head fondly and move on to the office.

As soon as the lieutenant slipped in the door he was met by three faces turning to him. Orion's lips quirked upwards, and his two companions looked interested.

"Ah Jazz, there you are. Right on time too."

"Who needs an alarm when yeh've got Prowl as yer partner?" sniggered Jazz. Orion joined in the chuckle.

"Very true. Jazz, I'd like you to meet Alex Redding, our security chief. He'll be briefing you on what you might face and what we know." A dark red-haired man dipped his head slightly. "This here's Simon Cooper, our main tactician and back-up planner." The other man with almost silver hair shot him an amused smile.

"Alrighty. Nice t'meet ya both." Jazz tapped two fingers to his forehead in a light salute and plopped himself down in a chair. "Shall we?"

"Yes indeed." Alex took center stage. "Jazz, you've not made this easy for yourself. I don't think you've thought this through, have you?"

Jazz didn't answer, merely narrowed his eyes a little. Alex sighed. "Look Jasper, you're going undercover behind one of the greatest and most untouchable crime-lords in the entire country. There's a reason he's untouchable! He leaves no loose ends and doesn't trust anybody. You're facing the biggest, most dangerous challenge you will ever in your career, I reckon."

"Thanks fer th'support, Red, I feel so much better now," said Jazz sarcastically.

"I'm not joking. You'll be trying to bluff your way into a nest of scorpions."

"That'd make Morgan th'queen scorpion. Should I start callin' him 'Maggie' now or sommat?"

"Jazz," Orion warned from the wing, and the dreadlocked man subsided his cracks.

"You'll be contending with us as well, Jasper. As law enforcers we'll be trying to catch you all." Alex tapped himself on the chest and then pointed at the commissioner. "If it came down to it, would you be able to shoot me? Shoot Commissioner Arkham?" A pause. "Shoot Detective McCallen?"

"Yes," Jazz muttered. "I would. Foxtrot has no qualms 'bout shootin' out with th'law, no matter who's on th'other end."

"Be that as it may, I still think you'll find it harder than you realize. You'll be asked to do all kinds of illegal, immoral and unlawful things, and that's if you make it past their lie detections. Morgan Russell has fists in the drugs trade, arms trade, the gambling scene, assassination contracts, human trafficking... you name it. Hell, I've got intel to suggest he runs more than one Russian Roulette game. If you get drafted into that, we can't help you at all."

"Should I b' writin' these in m'Palm Pilot or crochetin' 'em on pillows?" asked Jazz dryly, raising an eyebrow. Alex bristled slightly.

"This is serious, lieutenant! We're sending you into highly dangerous territory-"

"-that I've already had th'pleasure o' runnin' around in fer several years o' m'life," Jasper interrupted. "Yer th'stranger here, not meh. Yer only spoutin' theories, ideas yeh have 'bout what th'underground's like. Yeh've not been there, ya ain't seen what I've seen. Trust meh, it's far worse than yeh think."

Simon watched Jasper silently, appraisingly, judging. The man was certainly motivated, and that in itself counted for a significant something. Simon himself had had dealings in the criminal world, when his impulsive gambling and unhesitating willingness to cheat, lie and distract to achieve his goals was all he had. The cover-ups and misdirections he loved to throw around had earned him the nickname Smokescreen, a name he still used now to get information to work his tactical magic around. But compared to Jazz's experiences he'd only dabbled and dipped in a puddle. If anyone knew what they were doing it would be the lieutenant.

"I believe," he said quietly, interrupting Alex's ranting and Jazz's response in the form of an unwavering icy gaze, "Jasper here seems to know exactly what dangers he is going to be presented with, and by the sounds of it better than you do, Alex. I suggest we move to discussing plans, protocols and distress mechanics."

Alex glowered, switching gazes between the two men, then sighed resignedly as Jazz mouthed a 'thanks' to the tactician. Simon inclined his head slightly and then moved forward to stand next to Alex.

"I think the first port of business would be what to do if we need to get you out of there, fast. I suggest this." Simon held up a small microchip, twisting it around in his fingers a couple of times. "Orion told us about your visor, and I contacted your doctor. That engineer partner of his, Wade Jackson, whipped this up. It sits in one of the holders on your temple and transmits on a scrambled frequency that only we can pick up. If they do pick up something residual from it, tell them it's from your implants. They shouldn't be able to argue too much with that since they won't know the tech."

"Where in m'holder should I put it?" asked Jazz, curious.

"I've got your doctor, Ryan Chester, coming to fit it in a little later. Don't worry about that." Simon put the chip on the table, and Alex stepped forward to put an earring in front of Jazz, a simple gold stud. Jazz picked it up and rolled it around in his fingers.

"That," said Alex, pointing at the stud, "is a panic button. We're gonna have to get your ear pierced to put it in, but once it's in don't take it out again or it will activate your alarm. Separating the stud from its backing piece will send out an alert to us that you're in trouble and we need to go in and get you, so be careful with it."

"Gotcha." Jasper fingered his left ear, then hesitated before touching his right.

"We can't risk anymore tech on you, Jasper, in case it gets picked up. That's the last thing we want." Simon stepped back. "The next problem is not only finding Russell, but getting you two accquainted without getting you killed."

"Well, I got an idea fer that," put in Jazz, leaning back in his seat.

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise. I don't get many visitors." Astro Donovan eyed Jasper as the security guard left them in one of the prison's interrogation cells to stand guard outside. Jazz flipped his chair and sat on it the wrong way round, leaning on his elbows on the table in front of him. A quiet whistle escaped him as soon as he got a good look at the former gang leader.

"Man, what happened t' yer eye?"

"This?" Astro reached up and gingerly touched a huge black and blue bruise surrounding his left eye. "It's nothing compared to some of the crap I've had. Let's just say Casey's not at all happy with me."

"I see." Jazz settled his chin on interlocked fingers. "Donovan, I need a favor. If yeh help meh I can get yer sentence reduced, get ya outta here faster."

Astro snorted, a bark of laughter that sounded darkly amused and hollow. "If you're going to do that you might as well put a bullet in my head now," he tossed back. "Getting out of here sooner just means Russell will get the pleasure of killing me sooner. In all honesty, I'm safer in here. At least I'm used to this."

"I have contacts," said Jazz quietly. "I can get yeh a new identity, outta th'country, further away from his grip."

"Won't do me any good." Astro shook his head, then gazed at the lieutenant out of the corner of his eye. "What kind of a favor do you want?"

"I need t'know everythin' yeh know 'bout Russell, his men 'n his operations. Off th'record." Jazz's eyes flashed with something briefly behind his visor. "It ain't goin' t' anyone else but meh, this info."

There was silence for a minute. "You're going undercover, aren't you Foxtrot?" Astro smirked. "I wish you luck. Give Morgan some hell from me, if you survive long enough to." He leaned back in his metal chair, cricked his neck and then gestured his cuffed hands towards his companion. "What do you want to know?"

"His major players here in Detroit 'n their positions relevant t' him. An' any major ops he was plannin' 'fore yeh blew outta there." Jazz raised an eyebrow invitingly.

"He's got several names in this city, but you'll only need to know a few of them. Spencer White is his second-in-command, but in all honesty I don't know why Russell still keeps him around. White's always trying to usurp him somehow. Then there's his transportation and logistics chief Warren Skype. A real airhead and really forgetful if it's not about his job, but you'll be hard pressed to find someone better at it. Thane Mitchell is his tactician and assault specialist. He's quiet, moody, brooding but when he does speak you'd be wise to listen to him. He's also got a short temper. Those three make up his base trine; taking them out would really shake him and his power seat up."

Astro crossed his arms over his chest. "You're going to have to be damn convincing though, Foxtrot. Samuel is Russell's information specialist, but he's also a near mind-reader. He can read body-language, tone and words easier than you can read English. He's got two younger brothers as well, Rumble and Frenzy. I dunno their real names, that's all Samuel calls them by. Twins, Frenzy's the redhead and Rumble's the one with black hair.

"The last one to look out for is his operations commander, Shiv Corey. He's wily, cold, brutal and a perfectionist. He leaves nothing unfinished." Astro frowned. "You're getting in deeper than you think, Foxtrot. You won't get out of this unscathed, you know that."

"'M aware, yeah." Jazz let out a breath. "He's got everythin' covered, don' he?"

"Pretty much. If it were anyone else I wouldn't be talking, but I'm curious to see how you'll do. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you return a wreck, and that's on the extremely slim chance you return at all."

"I'll come back. An' don' worry 'bout m'actin' skills, Donovan; Foxtrot may have been put int' hibernation, but he's still a part o' who I am. All I gotta do is wake him up." Jazz crossed his arms over the chair back, hands dangling either side of the top. "What 'bout operations? Any ones I can slip in or 'm I gonna have t' attract his attention? How'd yeh get in?"

"I got recruited. Russell needed a few guys who could lead, but were happy still as street thugs. We fit the bill." Astro pursed his lips. "I'd say the attention-attracting is your best bet. None of the things he had planned while I was there would let you slip in, not unnoticed and unquestioned, anyway. Just make sure it's not the wrong attention." Astro leaned back, making it clear he'd decided he was done talking. Jazz called the security guard in, and Donovan made no protests as he was led from the room. A quick glance back and a twitch upwards of the lips were the last thing the lieutenant saw before the gang leader disappeared out the room. Jazz hung his head with a sharp exhalation and his fingers rubbed at the creasing in his brow.

Getting back into Foxtrot's mindset was going to be far easier said than done.

Adam had been searching for Jazz for a while; the station had clocked him in 45 minutes ago coming back from his prison visit to Donovan, but he'd yet to hear a whisper of his partner. His prized Porsche sat silent but proud in the parking lot, so he hadn't gone home. Their office was deserted, as was the canteen, the firing range, the bathroom and the sole meeting room in use was with Orion showing a slideshow about the precinct rules to a few rookie cops. The only place left for the detective to search was the training area.

He knew immediately that Jazz was there when he heard the familiar thwacks and taps associated with pummelling the punching bags and the huffing of a man having a real good go at his routine. When the lieutenant came into view Adam had to stop and stare, and not just because the sweat-matted shirt clung to Jazz leaving nothing to the imagination. As far as fighting went, Adam figured Jasper to be like himself; methodical, knowing and assertive, constantly taking in his surroundings and calculating their opponents' next moves, at the same time coming up with counter strikes and escape routes.

But no, Jazz seemed to be using nothing of the flowing disciplined moves Adam was so sure he used, there was no method and no distinction to his steps. The man was using pure instinct and adrenaline, using no recognizable stance or movements. In short he was nothing more than a street brawler at that moment in time, and yet Adam could pinpoint no openings in his defense. What ones he did spot were far too fleeting to take advantage of.

"Jazz." His lover's name left his lips automatically, the detective still entranced by Jasper's display. The dreadlocked man himself stopped abruptly in surprise, perfectly poised with one leg halfway through a roundhouse while his other was on tip-toe, bent at the knee. He slowly came back down to a normal standing position, breathing faster than usual but nowhere near as heavy as it should have been for the intensity at which he'd been attacking the poor punching bag.

"Hey Prowler." A small smile touched his lips, and their gazes met. Adam walked over and pressed his lips briefly to Jazz's. "I was wonderin' when yeh'd get here."

"That how you normally fight?" Asked his partner, gesturing vaguely. Jasper snickered.

"Yeah, actually. Surprised?"

"Very much so." Adam cocked his head to one side. "I took you for a more stategic fighter."

"Naw, not m'style man. 'Sides, Foxtrot ain't a disciplined person."

"Foxtrot?" That wasn't the first time the brunette had heard the name, but he didn't know who it referred to. "Who's Foxtrot?"

"Meh. Or, m'bad boy side, anyway." Jazz tipped over backwards into a perfect handstand. "M'code name. Whatever yeh wanna call him. I gotta make m'self convincin' t'Morgan or he ain't gonna believe meh, 'specially if what Donovan said 'bout Samuel is true. 'Pparently he can smell a fake a hundred miles away." The darker skinned man righted himself and walked over to a bench when a cream towel and a silver waterbottle sat waiting. He grabbed the towel and started patting himself down, sending a grateful look to his partner when he handed his waterbottle over without a word. Adam didn't need a prompt to know which side of Jazz Foxtrot was, and was silent still as he waited outside the shower stalls for Jazz to get himself cleaned up and get rid of the sweat his body had accumulated.

"Hey Prowler?"

Adam jumped a little as his nickname coming from one of the stalls jerked him out his musings. "Mm?"

"What do we know 'bout where Russell hangs out? There any clubs he frequents, bars he visits... hell, stores he goes shoppin'?"

"Truthfully? Nada." Adam let out a huff. "We don't know anything like that. But, we do know of a couple of bars where criminals like to hang around. Could be useful for getting information."

"Better than nothin', fer sure." There was a creak of a tap being twisted, and the sound of water spray stopped to give way to a dripping sound. Jazz unlocked his stall and came out with one large, fluffy white towel around his waist and another slightly smaller one squeezing at his dreadlocks. "Which ones?"

Adam let a small smirk onto his lips at the sight Jazz made, and the former gang-runner suddenly donned a look of realization. He shimmied his hips slightly, gold eyes sparking with mischievousness when his partner shook his head but kept his eyes steadfastly on Jazz. "Tease," he mock-complained.

"Yeh love meh 'n yeh know it," laughed Jazz, and he headed for an open locker which was apparently holding a spare set of clothes. He grabbed the t-shirt and slid it on, ignoring the small damp patches on his back that formed since he hadn't finished draining his hair. "So, where are these hangs?"

"First one's a bar called Blue Ice, just off Elmwood Park. I don't know what it's actually like, but from what I can tell it's a pretty seedy place. Second option is the Broken Palm in Madison Heights. A fair ways away. Take your pick." He watched Jazz slip into a changing cubicle.

"I'll go with Blue Ice firs', tonight probably. It's closer; I don' feel like drivin' out t' Madison."

"Tonight?" Adam looked surprised. "Can't you get some rest first?"

"Morgan don' rest, Prowler, 'n th'sooner we nail him th'sooner I can stow Foxtrot away again. It ain't a nice feelin' t'b' bringin' him back out."

"Then some time to get into character. What if you get thrown in while your mindset still hasn't adjusted all the way into Foxtrot?"

"I'll improvise." Jazz emerged from the changing room, slinging his towel over his shoulder. "'S what I do best."

"Oh for fuck's sake, will you hold still!" snapped Ryan irritably, slapping Jazz on the shoulder. The lieutenant stilled with an expression looking like he'd been shot, which made Wade snigger in the background. The engineer was checking over Jazz's optical band, making sure he hadn't damaged it or done anything stupid with it, while Ryan was inserting the microchip Simon had displayed earlier that day into Jazz's right implant. He'd already had his left ear pierced by the medic on Alex's insistence it be done as a priority. It still throbbed, but it was much more a throb he could feel than a throb that actually hurt.

Right now he was laid on his back on one of Ryan's ridiculously comfortable surgical beds, head tilted to left and blind. He could feel everything the surgeon did to his implant, but it didn't hurt. It did feel odd, though; it always did. Especially if it was a programming update. He'd get weird flashes of distorted images inside his head, often far too brief for him to make out what they were. He would also get strange electrical noises and static in his hearing, which blocked out everything else. Wade and Percy both insisted it was normal, but no one talked to Jazz during the process after the second time it happened since he couldn't hear anything but the static and noises.

He could tell when Ryan had finished because the flap that closed off the implant's internal workings and coding made a very specific clicking sound when it was shut. He blinked.

"Alright," said Ryan, helping Jazz sit up. "You're ready to go. Wade?"

"No problems here. You're taking good care of your visor, Jasper, keep it up." Wade came over and gently slotted the band back into place. There was a brief astrosecond of disorientation as the implants accepted the visor and the first electrical impulses made it to his brain, and Wade's smiling visage swam quickly into focus.

"Thanks, man. I will."

"Percy and I have also gone to the trouble of making a couple spare bands, in case that one gets broken in the field. We also have some spare circuitry for the implants." Wade clapped his hands together. "So, now you're all done and dusted. I've got to get back to my work. I'll see you later, Jazz."

"Yer a star, Wade, yeh 'n Percy both. I owe ya." Jazz waved the engineer out the room. "Thank yeh too, Rai. I know I mus' b' a pain in th'ass."

"Yes, but you're my pain in the ass. Now shift, I've got another patient due." Ryan pointed at the door, and Jazz skedaddled with a chuckle and a cheery, "See ya later, Doc!"

The Blue Ice was, Jazz decided, definitely not a bar Jasper Miles would ever be caught dead in. It would, however, be a reasonable place to find Foxtrot, and that's why he was here. He looked down at himself standing outside the door, making sure he still had everything. He was wearing a black t-shirt, not too tight and not too loose, donned over which was a denim jacket that had obviously seen far better days with the patches, tears, ripped-off sleeves and mud stains littering it. Dark jeans with holes at knees, a small chain, a faded red bandana and a pair of cowboy boots finished off the look while his arm sported a semi-permanent tattoo of his old gang in LA. He had a small knife strapped to his calf, a Taurus Millenium PT111 in the back of his waistband - Adam's back-up gun - and the panic button Alex insisted he have. Just in case.

They were all there. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Immediately he was assaulted with the smell of cheap booze and cigarettes, and the heavy bass of background music drowned only vaguely out by the conversations being held between small groups crowded around everywhere. No one gave him a second glance as he wend his way to the bar, save for a couple of girls eyeing him; it seemed to them he was one of them. He smiled slightly. That was a good sign. The bar itself was run down, tacky faded wallpaper peeling off where several damp patches had accumulated from lack of attention. Chairs were torn and cushions lumpy, the tables were mis-matched and dented, scratched and chipped with no hint of even an attempt at repairs. The ceiling had a fair few dubious-looking rafters Jazz was sure weren't going to hold out for many more months if they weren't seen to. He reached the bar counter, and the bartender turned towards him with an interested expression.

"Ain't seen you around here before, friend," he said amiably, though his body language was wary. "What'll it be?"

"White Russian." Jazz chuckled. "'M new here, yer right. LA born 'n bred."

"Los Angeles, really?" The bartender looked surprised as he turned to get Jazz his requested drink, but then noticed the tattoo running up his right arm. It gave him pause. "What's an LA gang member doing in Michigan?"

Jazz traced the tattoo. "Business, tha's all."

"I see." There was silence for a couple minutes as the bartender mixed the drink, and he brought it over in exchange for the 9 dollars Jazz slid across the countertop.

"Hey man, 'm wonderin' sommat."

"Shoot." The man placed his money in the till and faced the dreadlocked man once more.

"Y'ever heard o' a man called Spencer White? 'M lookin' fer him."

The bartender considered for a moment. "Not ringing a bell, I'm afraid. Who is he?"

"'M business partner. I ain't important enough t'tell all th'gritty li'l details t', so I ain't a clue who 'm lookin' fer or where t'find him." Jazz shrugged.

"I'm afraid I can't help. But..." The barman leaned over and gestured to a small corner of the room where two other guys and a girl were grouped around a table, obviously in deep discussion. "She might be able to. Name's Naomi. I hear she's got... connections."

Jazz hummed thoughtfully, sipping his drink and taking in the woman's form. Deceptively slim, she very likely knew exactly how to handle herself and was stronger than she looked. Probably a tough personality to complement. "Thanks, man. She here most nights?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet." The lieutenant turned back to the bar and settled on finishing his drink, in no hurry. "Thanks fer th'info. 'Preciate it."

"No problem." The bartender left Jazz alone then, moving off to serve another few guys who'd waddled in half-wasted a couple minutes ago. Jasper sat and mulled his thoughts around in his head, letting the cool, creamy liquid slide deliciously down his throat. This Naomi girl was promising, but he needed to make at least sure the Broken Palm didn't hold any better leads. It could wait until tomorrow night. In the meantime, he decided, why not do a little snooping, see if he couldn't burst a couple hopeful criminal bubbles.

Rae: Bad Jazz! Destroying the dreams of criminals.... xD

Good? Bad? Totally off point? ;)