"Lucky for us, uniforms boost egos so we don't have to worry so much about figuring out who's a soldier and who's not."

"I think there's a bit more to donning your county's uniform than fostering self confidence," James muttered quietly from next to me.

"Either way, we've got a lot of ground to cover tonight. Deera you've got your work cut out for you," Blitz said.

I clicked my tongue. "Better be fucking worth it. I am not wearing this dress for longer than I have to." I pulled at the blue fabric that was sticking to my skin.

"Hey, if things go well, you'll be taking it off sooner than you think. You might even get some help."

"You could have gotten away with that if I couldn't see you smirking from across the room," I said dully, flipping Blitz off where he sat facing the dance floor at the bar. I kept my finger up until his eyes found me and he raised his glass in my direction.

I sighed and glanced to Axel, dropping my finger. "Help me pick a target," I told him.

He shifted beside me. "Who looks the best?"

I turned to him. He hair was uncharacteristically tidy, and honestly, I preferred it the other way. "That's how we're doing this? I thought it was all strategical and shit."

"Guys in uniforms Deera," James smirked from my other side. He pointed to one soldier leaning against a wall a little farther to our left. He was tall, had slicked back hair, flirty eyes, shining medals, and a smile coated in trouble.

I swallowed. "He's..."

"Sooo cute!" Axel squealed in a high pitches voice.

James scrunched his nose up at him. "That's gay."

I nudged Axel with my shoulder so he lost his balance. "We don't sound like that."

"I'll sound like that if it means I get a load of him," James smirked again and took off across the club towards the soldier we'd been staring at.

"Wow. Look at him getting all cocky," Axel grinned. I smiled too, trying not to imagine what Owen would do when he spotted James talking to a guy who was basically a brown-haired version of Owen.

Axel turned properly to me. "You okay?"

"Seeing Blitz flirt kinda makes me want to throw up, but other than than that, yeah I'm good."

"I meant with all the..." he looked around the club, "stimulus." He turned back to me with some concern in his eyes. "I don't want to invade or assume but... you seem to be doing alright?"

I rubbed my bare arms. "Yeah, but I'm scared out of my mind," I whispered to him. It felt like my senses were exploding with everything that was happening around me, everything was so loud and fast and bright, it made every part of me go numb. "This dress is showing way too much of me, I feel like everyone is staring at me, these heels make me feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, my hair is already sticking to the sweat at the back of my neck, and my hands won't stop shaking."

We love a good sensory overload making you glitch out like a toaster in a bathtub.

Axel's multi-colored gaze softened. "Hey." He brushed his fingers against my shoulder. "You escaped from the clutches of evil scientist overlords. You faced all those assholes at the agency. Just this morning you infiltrated a national military vessel. You can handle batting your eyelashes at undeserving men and getting them drunk for a few hours."

I have always wanted to be like the badass female characters in movies and tv shows who swoop in with swinging hips and charming smiles and end up killing mafia leaders in broom closets...

I took a deep breath. The combination of the heat on my shoulder and his fixed green eyes eased the panic feeling that was crippling my lungs. "Okay," I murmured.

Axel smiled a little and took his hand off my shoulder. The warmth faded. "I'm not giving up on you."

I laughed under my breath. "You did not just say the thing again."

He rolled the sleeves of his army green shirt up to his elbows. "You don't need any advice from me. If you so much as glance at someone here you're gonna make their heart stop."

I smiled. "Thanks Axel."

He smirked. "It's true. Now, you come find one of us if virtually anything unexpected or surprising happens."

"I'll be okay kicking some ass if it comes to that," I reminded him.

"I know," Axel said reluctantly. "Just know that we got your back. We'll meet back at the hotel... 11:30, midnight? Something like that. Leave with at least one of us."

"Axel."

"Lautaro doesn't drink, so he'll be sober."

"Axel."

"And it takes a lot to get Cal hammered, Owen too, and they'll be happy to tase anyone who makes you feel uncomfortable."

"Axel."

"You know what? There really isn't that much of a plan here so whenever you think you've got some good info, we'll go."

"Axel."

"You know what flunitrazepam is right?"

"Laurie," I emphasized.

He turned his gaze back to me, slightly annoyed. "Only Harrison—"

"Yeah and Harrison is the only one who can get you to shut up," I said. "Look, I'll be okay. Really. You calmed me down. I'll be okay," I repeated, looking directly into his eyes and widening my own to get him to know I was serious.

He finally sighed. "Okay."

I smiled. "Thank you for the support."

"You're welcome. Now, if you really are gonna be fine, then I'm gonna go get drunk." He flashed me one more sly smile and pushed his back off the wall and started across the dance floor.

"Please make good choices," I whispered after him.

I obviously didn't want anything to happen to him. Not with everything that he's done for me.

-

The beat was intoxicating and thundered through my bones. Bass drops left my ears ringing. Alcohol swept through my system and blocked out the pain in my feet from the heels. But I felt...good. It was a refreshing change from being alone and terrified in my own mind all the time.

I talked to a lot of people and got some good info. When I innocently and subtly asked about Basilone, most of the soldiers said that they weren't surprised that he'd been let go, but were surprised that he suddenly went missing. He was a dedicated general they said, but only until recently. Everyone noticed slip ups and absences, how distracted he suddenly became over the last few months.

All the boys looked to be having fun. James had hung with the original soldier he'd found and surprisingly enough they were now getting very comfortable together in the back of a booth in a far corner of the floor. Blitz had a plethora of different girls he'd been with too, right now it looked to be some Asian girl with a pixie cut, but I couldn't really tell since she had him pressed against a wall in a very intense make out session. Cal's dark skin blended into the general dark lighting but he'd come up to me a few times to see if I was okay which was nice. Lautaro was hanging out near the doorway, chatting up people in his flawless Argentine accent. Lucky had left on invite to go to a party somewhere else by some of the younger privates. I hadn't seen Axel in a while.

I hadn't seen Owen at all, until his white blond hair suddenly flashed when the lights did and I spotted him at the bar. He had a small glass of a clear liquid in his hand and was leaning against the counter. I crossed the dance floor and sat a few stools away from him but his eyes didn't even find me. He was too busy starting right ahead.

I followed his gaze, or glare really, and watched James put back the entire bottom half of a beer. He slammed the bottle down much to the soldier next to himself's delight. The handsome uniformed man flicked his hand and soon a waitress came over with a whole tray of shots for the table.

At this Owen gripped his glass tighter and I wondered if it would crack in his hand. The German brought it to his lips and chugged the rest of the vodka. A young woman with intensely dyed red hair suddenly slipped past my vision and expertly slid into the stool right next to him. He for the most part ignored her presence until she ordered another drink for him and slipped it into his hand. Then he looked over with his light blue eyes and sized her up.

"Come here often?" She asked in Italian causally.

Owen didn't strike me as a guy who would flirt with a tipsy foreign girl. Or flirt in general.

"Depends on the kind of day I've had," he replied lightly, bringing the glass to his lips and smirking a little.

Oh.

"And what's today been for you?"

"Looking to go out with a bang," he replied.

Oh damn.

She let her manicured fingers run up his bicep. "I think I could help with that."

He let one eyebrow arch ever so slightly. "I'll keep that in mind," he said smoothly.

"I hope so."

Oh god this was almost too cliché. People actually talked like this?

But then Owen suddenly shook her arm off and turned away from her. "Yeah, sorry lady, but you're barking up the wrong tree." He sipped his drink again.

The woman didn't waver. She daringly swept her fingers up his shoulders and leaned in closer to him. "If you really played for the other team, you wouldn't be trying not to stare at my boobs."

Owen looked back over at her almost guiltily, then back over to James. All of the shot glasses from the table were empty, and James gripped the shirt collar of the soldier and tugged the man right into his lips.

I shut my eyes and lowered my head to the floor. I didn't blame James. Hell, I would applaud him if Owen wasn't right next to me. The redhead, despite not having been in the field in a while, definitely knew how to work with what he had, that was for sure. The soldier looked several years older than him and was very handsome.

Over to my right Owen sighed sadly. Then he rubbed his chin and stared at the woman on his left. She smiled flirtatiously at him. "You seem conflicted," she mused, meandering her fingers up his chest now.

"That's one word for it, yeah," Owen muttered, not stopping her from undoing one of his shirt buttons.

"Someone got you down?" She started to kiss his neck. I shifted closer so I could keep hearing what they were saying. Watching this random Italian woman suddenly swoop in and tempt the most serious guy I knew almost off his chair was exciting.

Owen tilted his chin up to the ceiling, letting the girl make her way up and down his neck, nipping it with kisses. "I'm not sure 'down' is the word." I saw him lower his head and glance back over at the booth where James and his soldier friend were.

I transferred my gaze over there too and watched the two guys increase the heat of their make-out until the Italian practically lifted James out the booth and whispered something in his ear once they got out. Even from here I saw James' face grow redder and he pulled the man back for another quick kiss before letting the soldier slip out his grasp and head to the bathroom.

Back nearer to me Owen chugged the last of his drink straight then slammed the glass back down on the bar counter. He twisted and pulled the girl at his side completely into his lap so she had one leg on either side of him and also started kissing her neck.

"So you're not gay?" She asked, running her hands through his white-blond hair.

"Not tonight I'm not," he replied, before cutting off any more of her replies by moving his lips to hers and scaling his hands down her waist.

I quickly stood and ran across the dance floor and to James.

"Oh my god," I whispered to myself as I neared him. He was clutching the edge of the table he'd been sitting at with both hands as if he was going to fall over. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was tainted with sweat.

"James Strider, what did you do to yourself?!" I put my hands on his shoulders to get a proper look at him.

"Oh hey," he slurred. "What you doin here?"

"Apparently taking you home," I said, putting the back of my hand to his forehead.

"Nah, I waiting till he gets back then we going to his home," James said, trying to escape my touches. Shit, he couldn't even speak.

I crossed my arms. "I'll let you go with him if you can tell me his name."

James leaned back into the table again and squinted in thought.

"Exactly." I reached for his upper arm to slowly tug him towards the door.

A felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned to see the Italian soldier James was apparently supposed to be going home with.

"Hi," I said, stupidly.

"Where are you going with him?" He asked in a very strong Italian accent. He seemed sure on his feet and not at all drunk.

"Oh this is my cousin," I said, patting James on his shoulder. The redhead almost fell over. "Bit of a wild card. Sorry if he bothered you but I guess someone took advantage of his recent breakup and therefore vulnerable status and got him far too drunk so I'm just gonna take him home with me. Is that cool? Great thanks see ya!" I didn't even wait for an answer before tugging James away from him and back onto the dance floor and towards the door.

We made it about 15 feet before James stumbled into another table. It was like both of his knees had metal plates in them.

"James, I know you're smaller than all the other boys but there's still no way I can pick you up to get you out of here," I moaned.

James' smile was ragged with the alcohol. "Owen can."

"Please don't—"

"God, the things he could do," James slurred, smiling happily to himself. He started to grip the end of the table even harder. I watched his knuckles turn white and decided that no matter what, I was going to need to get him out of here now. Before he saw the scene Owen was making at the bar.

"That's nice James. But you really don't need to tell me about it," I said lighting, swinging one of his arms around my shoulders and tugging him forwards again. When I agreed to the deal Axel proposed down in the basement prison weeks ago, I hadn't thought helping redheads drunk off of seeing their secret equally tipsy boyfriends hurl cockshots at them by making out with girls out of an Italian night club was part of the entailment.

We trudged forwards, James dragging his feet. "One time," he started again, "it was real late at night when we met up and super dark cause we not want nobody peeping and shit, but we also couldn't see anything, but I always gonna remember feeling—"

"I really don't need to know about all that James!" I said quickly, picking up the pace before he announced any details that would haunt my mind forever.

As soon as we stepped out into to the fresh night air, the redhead took his arm off my shoulder.

"You good?" I extended a hand in case he fell over.

His eyes rolled a little in their sockets as he nodded. He ran an unsteady hand through his red hair, making it spike up in all directions. "Mmhmm," he mumbled. He narrowed his dilated pupils at the olden edifices around us that extended upwards towards the dark night sky, which was stained navy blue and bright orange.

"Come on," I sighed, offering my hand out further and nodding down the street to where our hotel was.

James reluctantly draped his arm back around my shoulders and we headed off, away from the beat and noise and lights of the club. It was tough enough to balance myself in these shoes, far less while also holding up a drunk, and even more far less holding up a drunk who couldn't walk right even when he was sober.

Once we got far enough away that we could no longer hear the music I asked, "Why did you do this to yourself? Why get completely trashed on the first day of a mission?"

James glanced over at me with sunken eyes. His skin was paler than usual and sweat beads hugged his hairline. "Saw him didn' you? Makin' a scene with that slut."

I sighed. "Can you blame him? You pretty much told him to go fuck himself earlier, and you haven't so much as looked at him since we got here—"

James suddenly snatched his arm away from me and dropped to his knees, throwing up into the gutter that was luckily right next to us. I let him gag, cough and splutter for a moment, then sat down next to him and rubbed his back as he repeated the action for the next few minutes.

Finally he eased up, gasping and backing away from the mixture he left that was now dripping down the drain.

He plopped down completely on the sidewalk. He shook his head, then held it in his hands. "I'm a fucking mess aren't I?" He mumbled to the ground.

I moved his fingers off his face and wiped the corners of his mouth and nose with my knuckles. "I think he makes you a bit of a fucking mess," I said, while also wiping down the stained neckline of his shirt. "I'm serious James," I continued. "Around him you're the complete opposite of yourself. You're angry and compulsive, you swear and you don't think before you act, you're a lot more physical, you're louder, and you drink, you're...mean, to say the least."

"Oh fuck you," he muttered. I gave him a look. He shifted on the cement sidewalk. "He just...he's a fucking pushover whenever it considers Flagg, which pisses me the fuck off 'cause he changes who he is, like being an agent is more important than being his own fucking self."

I nodded silently. I understood his frustration with Owen. And I agreed too...but I think James sometimes forgets that he's an agent. He was recruited to the agency, he wasn't rescued like Axel or admitted like Harrison. He didn't really belong in a world of following directions and executing orders. He thought more with his heart than with his head. And that's why he was always so mad at Owen, who thought more with his head.

And thus we have screaming matches and awkward sexual tension.

I sighed, looking over at one half of the huge complicated disaster of a relationship, wasted out of his mind and still with spit dribbling from his mouth.

"Come on," I said, getting to my feet and slowly helping him to his. "You can't pass out right here on the corner. Let's get back to the hotel, and you can rant to me the whole walk there, okay?"

"Это будет долгая ночь для вас," he mumbled, not noticing he'd stopped speaking English.

-

"Shoes off Strider," I said, draping him down on one of the twin beds back in the hotel room. I knelt down and started unlacing his left one.

He wiggled his foot out of his other shoe and muttered something under his breath.

"I still don't speak Russian." Over the course of the walk from the club to the hotel he had been switching around the pronouns in every language he knew and I had just stopped paying much attention. I tugged off his last shoe. "Take your pants off since you spilled whatever the hell you drank all over the them."

He smiled smugly, fingers finding the clasp on his belt. "You know I don swing that way sweetheart."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm aware. You've been reminding me all night of all the things you and Owen did. And I believe with all my heart that you're definitely not straight. Or even remotely bisexual."

He grinned loopily and pulled his belt off and then wriggled out of his dark jeans and tossed them on the ground.

"But Deerie, you pretty. Even with them scary-ass cuts on your face. You're so gonna find some straight ass to fuck with." He grinned again, slurring every word of his sentence I couldn't even tell what he really said.