IX. Newark, U.S.

IX. Newark, U.S.

Matt takes one look at Toby before he starts, "Wow, you look like—" Toby manages to clap his hands over Haley's ears just as Matt finishes with, "—shit."

Toby gives him a faux smile. "Thank you. You always know how to boost my confidence."

"Like shit," Haley repeats, not without relish.

"You're not supposed to listen when he says stuff like that." Toby removes his hands before he plucks the gift-wrapped dreamcatcher from his pocket. He pretends not to notice Matt's heavy stare. "Brought you something," he tells Haley. "It's from Ecuador."

"Ecuador," Matt repeats. "Is Ecuador the reason you look like Jada just stamped all over your heart again?"

It's a low blow. They made a deal not to bring Jada up in casual conversation, and Matt's usually pretty good at it—unless he's worried, which means Toby really must look as shitty as he feels. It's no big deal, he just hasn't been sleeping well.

Haley stops shaking the parcel to frown at her father. "We don't say her name." Her lips purse. "It makes Bas sad."

"I'm sorry, Princess. You're right, of course." Matt follows it up with a narrow-eyed glance that tells Toby the topic isn't dropped, just parked for the moment.

With a satisfied expression, Haley returns her attention back to the parcel, and Matt crouches down to get a better look. It's a rushed wrapping job, two pages Toby tore out of an advertising brochure and tried to shape into some kind of gift-appropriate form—his skills lie elsewhere. As Haley tears right through the paper, it's not like it matters.

She retrieves the dreamcatcher with a look of delight.

"The man who sold it swore that it really works," Toby tells her. "Put it up over your bed, and all your bad dreams go away. Like a mosquito candle that makes all the mosquitos stay away." He almost smiles at the memory of Mike faking a keen interest in the science of dream catching; how does it distinguish between good and bad dreams; does the effect lessen after a certain number of absorbed dreams?

"How nice," Matt says, sugar dripping from his tone. "Why don't you look for a good spot right now, sweetie? We can test it tonight."

Matt's not subtle. But then, he isn't trying to be.

The moment Haley leaves the room, Matt prods Toby over to the couch, tells him to sit your ass down, and gets two beers from the fridge. He joins Toby with a weary sigh, passing one bottle over before he lifts his beer in a lazy toast. "So. Will you be moving in with us again?"

Toby gives the couch a loving pat. It's a purple monstrosity that Haley's mom picked, but it's comfortable. "I've got very fond memories of this couch. It's been my faithful companion for several months, so there's always a chance I'll be back for more."

"I'm serious." Matt's tone is entirely devoid of good humor, and that happens so rarely that it pulls Toby up short.

Taking a sip of beer, he waits for the taste to fade, then tips his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "Don't worry about me."

Matt's response consists of unimpressed silence.

"It's work-related," Toby tells him. "Sort of."

"So you can't tell me." Matt doesn't sound bitter, just resigned.

"I..." Toby trails off, glances over. My sister has a general idea. He trusts Matt; that's not the issue. But would Matt enjoy hearing that his older brother routinely kills people? They're bad people, granted, but they're still people.

Then again, Matt may be mistaking him for an internationally operating criminal, so the truth might be a pleasant surprise.

Toby swallows another gulp of beer. "My work is not illegal, if that's what you think. Honestly, I haven't so much as disobeyed the speeding limits in a while." Not in the U.S., at least—anywhere else, he's had reasonable cause.

"Okay," Matt says slowly. He rolls his beer bottle between his hands and keeps watching Toby.

"Okay." Toby looks away after a beat, out the window, but the sky holds only clouds, no answers. He has to find his own: truth or flare?

"If I wanted to break into this apartment" —he lifts one shoulder and doesn't look at Matt— "I can think of three different ways I could get in, all of them promising because you don't care about security and always leave the windows in the bathroom and Haley's room ajar. You should stop doing that, by the way." He takes a sip of beer and focuses on his hands. "Hacking into your computer would take me three minutes, max, and if I wanted to destroy all evidence, I'd find everything I need to burn down the building in your bathroom and kitchen. Boom."

No reaction from Matt; he's sitting still and quiet.

"All in all," Toby finishes, "I could be in and out in a quarter of an hour. Maybe less."

A second of silence stretches into two, and three. It expands to fill up all space behind his forehead.

Matt snorts softly. "Am I supposed to be scared?" He props one foot up on the couch, turning slightly towards Toby. "Try harder, Bas. You could recycle those bedtime stories you told me, about red-eyed monsters in the cupboard that would creep out at night and eat my face? Only when I woke up, it was always you breathing on me, and hey, I was four. That was scary."

Toby allows for a brief smile. "This isn't a bedtime story, Mattie."

"Okay." For what seems like an eternity, Matt just looks at him. Then he shrugs in a passable imitation of nonchalance—although the faint twitch of his leg suggests he isn't quite as relaxed as he claims. "So you're a... spy?"

"Something like that." Toby remains perfectly still.

"Okay," Matt repeats, studying Toby's face.

"Okay?" Toby echoes.

"Well, yeah." Matt flashes him a quick smile. "What, you expected me to be shocked? Honestly, I'd been kind of counting on your drug money for my pension."

"You really thought I was a criminal." It's a mix between amusement and disbelief that colors Toby's question. "And you were just... fine with that?"

"It made sense. And you're my brother. If it wasn't for you, Haley and I wouldn't be where we are right now, so, you know." Matt grins around a mouthful of beer. "I'd help you hide the body. I just hope it doesn't stink."

"You're something else."

"Well." Matt hesitates. "You know, I always wondered why Jada left you. Thought it might be because she couldn't deal with the criminal element, moral objections and all. But I guess she just couldn't deal with the danger."

"Actually" —Toby clears his throat— "she never knew."

There's a poignant pause.

Then Matt says, "Yeah, I guess that'd make her want to walk, too. Jesus, Toby, you never told her? What did she think you were doing?"

"Business. Something that required a lot of traveling."

"And she believed you?" Matt sounds incredulous. "On second thought, I bet she didn't, and there's the problem. Did you really think you could get away with that? She's a smart woman, Toby."

"Yeah, we've met. And you're right, it's part of why she walked." The biggest part, maybe—she claimed she could never fully reach him, that he was never there more than halfway, forever with one foot out the door.

He'd loved her. Just maybe not enough.

Toby sighs softly, setting the beer down. He doesn't feel like drinking anymore. Tiredness pulls at the soles of his feet.

"Why did you tell me?" Matt asks. "I mean, why now?"

A resounding crash from Haley's room makes them both jump, Toby already on his feet when Haley calls, "I'm fine!" It's followed by the sound of something being set upright, and they listen for a moment longer before Toby sits back down and Matt picks up right where he left off.

"Don't get me wrong: I appreciate that you told me, will keep it a secret, all that jazz. But you didn't even tell Jada. So what's changed?" His mouth quirks. "And is you spilling your guts in any way related to how you honestly do look like shit?"

"You're not that little anymore," Toby says absently.

Matt raises his beer. "Oh my. That a compliment?"

"You've grown up a lot since Hal was born." Toby catches Matt's eyes and weighs his next words carefully. "And what's changed is that I met a guy. "

"A guy, huh." Matt's only reaction is a short laugh, his tone light.

"A guy, yeah." Toby feels his chest loosen a little. It's not that he was particularly worried because, well, Matt knows. At least in theory. But sometimes there's a difference between theory and practice, and Matt's never actually seen Toby specifically interested in a guy. Softcore calendars aside, it just hasn't been much of a topic.

Matt tilts his head. "Tell me about him."

"He's..." And this is where Toby falters, his throat tight. He picks the beer back up just for something to do with his hands. The condensation is cool against his palm, and in Costa Rica, he would have been grateful for anything to counteract the heat; here, he feels slightly chilly in a shirt. "My current work partner, in fact."

"Oooooh, another spy?" Matt follows it up with a grin, and Toby appreciates the attempt to make this easier on him, he does.

"Yeah." He searches for words that describe Mike. "He's... smart, attractive, opinionated. Calls me on my bullshit. Kind of like Jada in that respect, but so unlike her in many other ways. For one, he needs therapy so badly, you have no idea. Also, he genuinely enjoys blowing things up."

"Sounds like I'd like him."

"You would."

"He that Mike guy Haley met?" Matt asks, and of course he would have taken note of that. Toby sips at his beer before he replies.

"The very same."

"She liked him." Matt gives Toby a thoughtful look. "So. If he's your work partner, he's already in on the secret, and it's clearly not a problem. What is it, then? He not into cock?"

Trust Matt to take the direct rather than the scenic route. Toby shakes his head. "You realize that your daughter's in the next room, right?"

"I want her to be prepared for life. Better she learns early on that it's not the stork that brings the babies, and that yes, you can get pregnant on the first try." There's no bitterness in Matt's voice—as young as he'd been, it had taken one look at his baby daughter, and he'd been a goner. Like everyone, he has regrets, but Haley isn't one.

"True words," Toby allows. Chuckling a little, he lowers his gaze to the label on the bottle, poking at one of the corners. "And no, Mike's interested; that's not the problem. I just don't think he gets in over his head like I do, and also, we work together. I'm good at what I do, Matt. He's a distraction."

"Huh." Matt processes that, then comes to a conclusion. "You're a coward."

Toby glances up sharply. "Funny. That's what he said."

"I would like him," Matt decides.

Lifting the bottle to his mouth, Toby takes a long gulp, the beer sliding down smoothly, settling in his stomach in a puddle of ice that melts slowly, spreads through his body. "It doesn't matter."

It doesn't: with where they stand, Mike's offer of helping him organize a trip to Hawaii is definitely off the table.

"It should matter," Matt says. "And Haley's a good judge of character."

"Drop it," Toby tells him. When Matt draws a breath to argue, Toby reaches out to poke him in the stomach. "I mean it. Drop it."

"Why?" Matt asks.

"Because I've made my decision, and it's a good one."

It is. Mike got too close already, in just the short amount of time they spent together—Toby's had his heart dragged through the sewers once, and he's not going to give that kind of power to a guy who doesn't do relationships. It won't be worth it.

Matt looks like he's ready to argue, though.

"Princess!" Toby calls. "I kind of feel like a movie this afternoon. D'you want to pick a film?"

"I know what you're doing," Matt murmurs.

Toby toasts him with his beer, and then Hailey is there, grinning, her pigtails bouncing as she throws herself onto the couch between them. Toby loves her so much, loves Matt quite a lot too, even though he's not about to tell him that anytime soon.

It's enough.

***

Toby sees Mike precisely three times in the following week.

Once is at the debriefing with Liu that is kept strictly professional, no mention of unscheduled trips to Costa Rica, with Mike leaving as soon as they're done.

The second time is when Toby enters the basement locker room for a morning workout, running a few minutes earlier than his usual 6:30 a.m. slot. Mike is just about to leave, already showered and back into his semi-appropriate office attire. He moves past Toby with a vague nod.

The third time is when Toby is chatting with Jesy, discussing the date of their squash rematch in between comparing stories about instructors they both had. Mike enters the building just as Toby pretends to polish a bald head while reciting Peppy's favorite sentence, Never trust a story you didn't fabricate yourself. Their gazes tangle briefly before Mike continues on with a nod, his distant smile mostly directed at Jesy.

"Is he all right?" Jesy asks as soon as Mike is out of hearing range.

Toby sways his head. "How would I know?" he asks, trying his best to ignore the sad twist in his gut.

"Huh." Jesy's eyes narrow, her head tilted to one side while she assesses him. "Aren't you his partner?"

"Yeah. Doesn't mean I keep tabs on him between jobs." He meets her scrutiny calmly, keeping his posture open and his features smooth. While she may have picked up a thing or two from Peppermint Peppy, Toby doubts she's had the amount of practice that he clocked with Jada—countering her growing suspicions with a demonstrative air of you-are-imagining-crazy-things and hating himself for it.

"Well." Jesy shrugs, the gesture almost lost in the uniform that sags on her delicate frame. "Maybe someone spit into his coffee. He seemed fine yesterday." She follows it up with another sharp look at Toby.

Toby keeps his face impassive. "Might be the hotel getting to him, after all. I mean, I wouldn't want to be stuck in a hotel room day after day, what with people coming in all the time to make up the bed, go through my stuff, read whatever documents I didn't lock away…"

"On the other hand," Jesy says brightly, "someone else is cleaning up your mess."

"Fair point." Leaning both elbows on the reception desk, Toby allows his defenses to lower just a little, if not too far. He gives her an innocent look. "But, see, instead of vacuuming, I just move every year or so. That takes care of the cleaning, too."

"I do have a functioning bullshit radar, you know?" Jesy's grin is broad, reminds him a little of Liu when he's out of boss mode. Absently, Toby wonders where she's from, but it's none of his business.

"Peppy would be so proud," he says. "Anyway. Squash?"

Jesy's grin widens. "Absolutely. Even if you don't stand a chance."

Given Toby's current preoccupation with other issues, he tends to agree. He isn't about to back down, though. Besides, it's a chance to let off some steam.

***

Liu is a cunning bastard.

This isn't news, but Toby forgets sometimes, lulled into a false sense of security by Liu's laid-back attitude. That illusion shatters when Liu suddenly snaps his menu shut and stares Toby down across the table, the focused look a counterpoint to his mild tone. "Much as I hate mixing business and pleasure, we need to discuss what's up with you and your partner before I send you off on another job."

Ah, shit. While Toby isn't surprised that Liu has noticed, he didn't expect to discuss it over their traditional lunch break, this time in an Indian restaurant they haven't been to in a while. Toby foregoes an actual reply in favor of a noncommittal hum.

"I'm not kidding." Liu leans forward. "I want to send the two of you off to Singapore, think it'd be a good fit for your skill set, but those vibes I'm getting? Maybe not."

"Vibes?" Toby asks, following it up with, "Singapore?" He's stalling, of course, and getting away with it was never going to happen—Liu is smarter than that. It still buys Toby some time to come up with answers he doesn't have.

"Singapore indeed," Liu says. "Should be a tough nut, and I'd like you and Mike on it, especially because it's a direct result of those bugs you installed in France. I like the sense of continuity. However." He reaches over to close Toby's menu, thus forcing Toby's attention away from the selection of beverages. It requires some thought, okay? "However," Liu repeats. "Before I do that, I need to know what's going on."

Toby studies a set of rhinestones on the menu, vaguely reminiscent of that New Delhi café he visited with Mike. But then, Indian-style places tend to resemble each other in their decoration choices—if Toby's brain plans to jump to New Delhi each time he sees rhinestones, he's in for a fun time.

He sighs and meets Liu's calm gaze. "Are you asking as my friend or as my boss?"

"Both." Liu taps the cover of his menu. It displays an ornate design in the shape of a pyramid, not unlike one of Mike's tattoos, and Jesus, Toby really needs to get this under control.

"Both." He breaks eye contact. "Okay."

"But if you need to know who you're talking to in case I'm forced to choose?" Liu's tone is light. "Two years as your boss versus five years as your friend—easy, brother."

Toby lets his gaze drag up, from Liu's shoulder to his earlobe. "What if I kind of broke the rules? Theoretically speaking."

"Theoretically speaking?" Liu still doesn't sound fazed, and that's one of the things that made him a great partner: his utterly unshakeable calm even in the eye of the storm. He taught Toby a lot, from tactical skills to research methods to psychological tricks. The consequence is that they know each other's tells, that Liu will take account of every little nervous twitch Toby can't suppress.

The reverse is also true. It allows Toby to catch the momentary, very slight narrowing of Liu's eyes, invisible to anyone who doesn't specifically watch out for it as a sign of unease.

"Well," Liu continues slowly, "that depends. Was anyone harmed? Theoretically."

"Theoretically…" Toby shakes his head. "No. It's not that kind of rule. More a guideline, I guess."

"Glad to hear it." Liu's smile is small, but true. "In that case, no competition. I'm on your side, hands down."

A waitress interrupts to take their orders, and as Liu lists his selection, Toby takes the chance to covertly study him. He doesn't detect any of Liu's usual tells—tightness around the eyes, a particular way he rolls his shoulders back. When Toby orders, he can tell that Liu is returning the favor, openly assessing Toby with an expectant weight to his gaze.

"So," Liu says as soon as the waitress is out of hearing range. "Spill."

Toby picks up his glass of water and pours a few drops on the red tablecloth, then sets the glass back down and shoots Liu a smirk. Delaying the inevitable: Toby 1, Liu 0. He's still not sure how much he wants to share.

"Very funny." Liu sprawls on the bench and, very deliberately, looks at Toby's arm. Toby stops itching his elbow.

"This is an ambush," he informs Liu. "At our sacred lunch, no less."

Liu makes a considering noise. "Okay, let's make it fair: tit for tat. I'll match you answer for answer."

They're not supposed to do that, of course. But they're also not supposed to have private lunches together every two weeks, and yet Liu has made it a point to maintain the routine, hierarchy be damned.

He's a friend, first and foremost.

Toby drags his fingers through the puddle of water on the table, then nods. "Deal."

"What's up with you and Mike?"

Okay then: skip the warmup, go right for the jugular.

"It's complicated."

"Try me." Liu does deadpan better than anyone Toby knows. His eyes are warm, though.

Toby hesitates because he has words, will always have words, but somehow the right ones are hard to find when it comes to Mike. When in doubt, start with the facts.

"He met Haley."

"Already?" Liu raises a brow. "Took you three years to introduce me. I feel a little unloved here, man."

Banter Toby can do. Banter is easy. "You've yet to introduce me to that illustrious cousin of yours. Until you do, any complaints about me failing you in the friendship department will fall on deaf ears."

Liu's second brow rises to join the first. "I was under the impression that you have, in fact, met Jesy. Don't you have a squash date coming up?"

"Jesy?" Oh. It makes all the sense in the world—Liu's soft expression whenever he looks at her, the same glint of mischief when they grin. "How did I miss that?"

"Good question." Liu's grin is broad, just an edge of smugness to it, and yes, the resemblance is so there. "Very good question. I wonder if distraction in the form of one Agent Redding played a role?"

"You know nothing," Toby tells him.

"Jesy and I talk."

Of course they do. And Jesy was there a couple of days ago when Mike barreled straight past them, but more importantly, she walked in on the tail-end of that one squash standoff and definitely saw too much.

"Talk." Toby draws the word out. "Is that what you do?" Seriously though: Jesy and Liu. Their kids would have cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. On that note... "Second cousins, right? Isn't that what you keep saying?"

"I think it's my turn," Liu drawls, "but yes. We're a widespread family. Although" —he shifts, wraps one hand around his glass of water— "apropos of nothing, I'd like to point out that even first-cousin relationships would be perfectly legal both here and in Hawaii."

"Hawaii?"

"She grew up there. Her family moved to the mainland when she was sixteen, which is when she and I met."

What's up with Hawaii spitting out beautiful people that complicate Toby's life, in different and varied ways? Something must show on Toby's face, because Liu gives him a look from beneath lowered lids, seeming half-awake, except Toby's seen him go from faux drowsiness to guns blazing in a matter of seconds. He's not fooled.

"You got a problem with Hawaii?" Liu asks.

"Not as such. It's making my life more complicated, is all." Toby flattens his hands on the table. "Mike's from Hawaii, too."

"Ah." Liu lets it hang for a moment. "He tell you that?"

"Yes. And some other things I shouldn't know."

"Such as?"

"His sister's name. How his parents died."

At the latter, Liu's gaze sharpens, but he leaves it at a nod. He's quiet for the time it takes to sip at his water, which he sets down to overlap precisely with the ring of condensation it left before. "I take it he looks good with his clothes off?"

What the fuck.

Toby has too much self-control to sputter like a little boy caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but it's a close call. How did Liu know? It's not as if Toby came back with his forehead stamped and bite marks in obvious places, and this is definitely the wrong moment to think about Mike naked, about the glorious slide of skin on skin, about—it's the wrong moment.

"I don't have to answer that," he says calmly.

"No." Liu's tone is smug. "You really don't."

Toby chooses not to take the bait. "It's my turn to ask a question."

"Ask away."

"Why did you retire from active field work?" Toby has always wondered—it's not like anyone could have claimed that Liu was past his prime, that he was getting slow. Sure, it's a promotion, and the logical next step in the career ladder for anyone wanting to hang around the Agency longer-term. Toby never had the impression Liu was bored, though.

"Good question." Liu pauses while Bollywood music wails in the background, high-pitched female voices grating on Toby's nerves. He doesn't remember the music being quite that irritating in New Delhi, proving once again that in an attempt to be authentic, many foreign restaurants overtake the originals on the right, only to end up against a tree with clichés raining down. Or something along those lines.

"Waiting for an answer," Toby reminds Liu.

"I guess I was ready to stop running at full speed." Liu's voice is thoughtful. "Not saying it has to be that way for everyone, but I was ready to feel like I had a home."

Toby processes that, then nods seriously. "Makes sense. When did Jesy start training with the other recruits?"

"My turn," Liu says, without batting so much as an eye. "What really happened in Ecuador?" At Toby's sharp look, he shakes his head. "Oh, come on. You didn't really think I bought your story about paperwork complications, did you? Mike is an even worse liar than you are."

"I'm a good liar," Toby defends himself, then realizes how that's really not something a normal person would take pride in. Professional deformation, exhibit A.

"With people who don't know you well, sure." Liu's smile softens the focus in his eyes. "So what happened—you shacked up in some hotel room?"

"Classy," Toby tells him.

Liu gives him a patient look, and fine, fine. At least Liu isn't asking about Mauritania. Yet.

"We went to Costa Rica."

"Sex on the beach," Liu says, a lazy, amused drawl. "Aloha."

"That is not what happened," Toby tells him. Not quite. "I would also like to make it known that your sudden and intense interest in my sex life is disturbing."

"Honestly, I'm just glad to see you take an interest in someone." Liu's smile is thin, cautious. "I did witness the fallout with Jada, remember? Never met her, of course, but I saw what it took out of you. It's nice to see you on the road to recovery."

"The road to recovery," Toby echoes, a little blankly. He'd call it a highway to hell, but potayto, potahto.

"And Mike, well." Liu weighs his next words. "I'd like some credit here—called it, didn't I, that the two of you could combine well? You need someone who challenges you. Plus he already knows what you do; that's helpful."

It's not what Toby expected, and he's not sure how he feels about Liu just pulling the carpet out from under his feet when Toby had it all figured out. "He's also my field partner, in case you missed it."

Liu gives him a shrewd look. "I was your field partner. Doesn't mean we couldn't become friends, too."

"I thought the Agency doesn't like that kind of thing."

"Keep doing a good job, and I'll handle the Agency. Or I can pair you with different people."

That's... well.

Well.

There's really no immediate answer that comes to Toby's mind, but somehow, he feels marginally better than he did when this conversation started. Give him a mango lassi and some food, and he might be approaching passable—maybe even good enough to examine Liu's offer from a safe distance, with due caution. Not because he's a coward, but because he knows that once he opens Pandora's Box, it'll be hard to force it shut again.

***

The lassi has dwindled down to a thin layer of yellow at the bottom of Toby's glass, his plate cleaned except for one lonely pea sitting in a puddle of tomato sauce. Time for an inconvenient truth to sink in: the paperwork for Ecuador won't resolve itself. There are a few details that Toby needs to discuss with Mike, make sure their answers match up.

He isn't looking forward to spending any length of time with Mike. Not while things are in that weird, tense halfway state and it could all go very wrong. Or very right. At this point, Toby isn't sure anymore.

He doesn't look directly at Liu, preferring to watch Liu spear one last bite of chicken. "I've been thinking."

Liu chews, swallows. "Did it hurt?"

"You're as funny as a clownfish fresh out of water." Toby continues before Liu can send him on another sidetrack. "I think you should split us up—Mike and me. Put us with new people."

Liu neatly sets his fork aside and tilts his head, observing Toby with a smile that lingers mostly around his eyes. "I take it you've decided to give this thing a chance?"

"Yeah." The word sits heavy on Toby's chest. "And since I'm not very good at compartmentalization..."

"Who are you, and where did you hide the real Toby's body?" Without waiting for a reply, Liu reaches over to grasp Toby's shoulder. "Good for you, man. I'm glad."

"Don't sound so proud of yourself."

"Oh, but I am. Should have become a life coach, but then, you guys keep me plenty busy on a regular basis." With a grin, Liu leans back. "One request, though: Singapore. I want you and Mike on it. Can you do that?"

"You mean postpone everything else until after?"

That's how it would have to be—Toby can't risk an emotional striptease that might end with Mike on a very different page, only to then go through the excruciating experience of still having to do a job together. Awkward.

"If you think that's better, yeah." Liu nods to himself. "You know, I may pair you with Jesy afterwards. She's ready, and her set of skills is nearly identical to Mike's."

"You'd trust me with Jesy?" Toby didn't mean to ask that aloud.

"No one else I'd rather pair her with." Liu's lips curl into a wry smirk. "Just keep any honey trapping to a minimum. Are we clear?"

Yeah, they'd train her in the art of seduction—of course they would. Which means... "Seduction is one of Mike's specialties too, right?"

"Surprised?"

"No. He didn't outright confirm it, but I assumed as much."

If Liu were a better man, he'd at least try to mask his amusement. "Worked on you, didn't it?"

"What did I tell you about being funny?" Toby exhales and pushes his plate away. The fact that Mike specializes in seduction doesn't mean he can't be serious about it too, although it might explain why he doesn't do relationships—if that was Toby waiting at home, he'd hate every second of it. But then, not everyone's a possessive bastard.

"I'm your boss," Liu says gravely. "You have to pretend I'm funny even when I'm not."

"I'd like to apply for a transfer, please."

"No," Liu says, "you don't."

"You're right." With a slight shrug, Toby gives Liu a grateful smile. "I really don't."

***

"I don't care." Mike manages to look at Toby without actually looking at him, his gaze fixed on a spot between Toby's eyes. "Put whatever you want in there."

"You don't care," Toby repeats evenly.

"Write whatever you want; give me a copy; I'll make the stories match." The sterile overhead glow sucks the color from Mike's skin, overpowering what little daylight makes it through the glass door and into his windowless office. As a recent addition, he had to accept whatever was available. It's a dreary day outside, though, so he's not missing out on much.

"Write whatever." Toby shifts his weight, left foot to right. His left knee aches distantly from a run-in with the wall during his rematch with Jesy. She won, but then his head hadn't been in the game. "Sure, I can do that. Maybe the blast scared you so much that you stepped on the gas while I was still packing up, and I then had to chase you halfway through Ecuador. Finally found you in some remote mountain village, where you'd decided to grow a beard and become a horse breeder. Took me several hours to talk some sense into you."

Nothing. Not the faintest twitch of a smile. Bare white walls have shown more emotional depth than Mike Redding.

"If you think it'll pass inspection." Lifting one shoulder, Mike directs his attention to a stack of papers. He moves them from one side of his desk to the other, carefully lining up the edges.

"No. I actually don't think it would pass inspection." Toby takes one step further into the room. "Who's avoiding who now?"

"Whom."

"What?"

Mike glances up. "Avoiding whom."

"Thank you, Agent Grammar." Toby shoves both hands into his pants because the alternative is punching Mike in the face, and that's not really the message Toby wants to send. Was Mike this frustrated with him when the tables were turned?

"You're welcome," Mike says, blatantly choosing to ignore the sarcasm in Toby's tone.

Toby opens his mouth for a comeback, then stops himself—clearly, he's evolved as a person since those days when his marriage dissolved into shouting matches in the kitchen. He exhales through his nose. "Okay, Mike. Can we just not do this right now? We're both grown-ups; we've got another job lined up, and everything else needs to just wait until after."

Coward, a tiny voice in Toby's head pipes. It sounds remarkably like Matt, but hey, Matt is wrong more often than he's right. Toby is planning to deal with this, and he will. He just needs a little more time to figure out what he wants to say, that's all.

That's if Mike cares to listen.

"Sure. We can be professionals." Mike rises from behind his desk, and it might be just the light, but the skin underneath his eyes looks thin and gray. Maybe he hasn't been sleeping properly either after their beach trip down memory lane. "It's been working really well for us so far."

"That's not what I said." Don't punch him.

"Thought you wanted to finish the Ecuador paperwork?" Mike asks. "You know, things to do, places to be?"

Do not punch him.

"As a matter of fact, that is my plan. Thanks for your input. Very helpful." Toby sends Mike a twisted smile and turns to leave. "Guess I'll see you for the Singapore briefing."

"Can't wait," Mike mutters.

When Toby glances back over his shoulder, just before he closes the door, Mike is glaring at the stack of papers as if they committed some personal offense. He hasn't put in a request for a new partner, though.

Maybe that means something—or maybe Toby just wants it to mean something.