Threats From Within

by Sian (sian@randomadventures.com)

Series: Maybe one day

Archive: MA yes, and my site on Lori's page www.hawksong.com. Others, please ask first

Category: AU/AR, Action Adventure

Rating: R (language, violence, adult situations and dialogue)

Disclaimer: Harmful copyright infringement of Lucas and all things Star Wars or Professionals is not intended; monetary profit is not being made.

Kudos and Thanks: Lori, Elayna and Jennifer/Gail all helped me out on this one.

Notes: This was first published in the zine Force of a Different Color

Summary: Not so far into the future, a certain oddly familiar group of CI5 agents need to deal with the pressures of their lives as well as their jobs.

"I swear, if one more of these little … darlings tries to stick her hand down my pants or pinches my arse again, I'm going to run her in for assaulting a police officer, cover be damned!" a near whisper hissed across Quinton Jenson's headphones.

Quin stifled the chuckle but didn't have to worry about the smile; alone in the mobile command center that to outside appearances was just one of several business lorries parked for the night, no one else was with him to see it peek out between the neatly trimmed facial hair surrounding his lips.

One of the team inside the dance club was not so discrete, however.

"What do you expect, standing outside the ladies' loo, Little One?"

Mason Windu sniggered, yet keeping his husky laugh and words low enough that Quinn doubted they could be overheard by any of the civilian 'darlings' that were partaking of the night's festivities.

"Or is it just that you're upset it's the girls groping you and not the boys?"

"La, Mace," that's rude," the third of the four agents blending into the crowd chimed in, her voice all bright amusement. "True of course, but damn rude!"

Quin bit back a groan this time as he imagined Ben's expression changing from mild disgust to deep embarrassment. Coming from almost anyone other than Mace or Adelaide Gallia, the comments would not only have been rude, but also dodgy -- at least to Ben's career.

And to his own.

Fortunately Mace, Adi and the very few others aware of the nature of Ben and Quin's relationship outside of their job, were also perfectly comfortable with the two men being lovers as well as partners. It was actually Quin himself who was probably the most uncomfortable -- not from having come out to their friends and co-workers -- but with the ease in which their mates joked about something he'd been raised as a good Catholic to keep private. Even had his relationship been with a woman.

"Besides, who says the boys haven't been?" the coffee and cream-skinned beauty then continued.

"Do you two mind?" Ben interrupted sharply, even as Quin hid his head in his hands and gave thanks to one of the saints he had never fully been able to turn from that he wasn't present to see Ben's mortification. Hearing it was bad enough.

At least that was all Quin could hear other than the sophisticated accent his lover had so painstakingly learned upon leaving the wilds of Scotland for the urban nightmare called London. No anger, just the embarrassment as an audible and glaring reminder of Ben's young age.

Not to mention a reminder of Quin's own failings. In being so concerned with maintaining the lie their lives had by necessity become, he feared Ben's generous and open spirit was being changed too much toward Quin's own cynisism and disillusionment. Ben didn't need Quin's own fears and flaws to accelerate what the nature of their jobs would ruthlessly burn away all to soon.

"Not only are we on the clock here, you two," Ben was reminding his colleagues and jerking Quin's attention properly back to the current circumstances, "but that last chippy came damn close to grabbing hold of the hidden transmitter instead of my --"

"She's coming out," the final of the four under Quin's current command spoke up. Depa Billaba had been the agent to accompany the Prime Minister's daughter into the woman's lavatory, and now was not only ready to follow Cerisa Valorum out, but was warning the others of their need to resume their own primary duties. Depa, like Adi was attractive, was also probably catching the eyes of many of those the team moved amongst. But in personality the two women were quite different. Adi was outgoing and aggressive almost to the point of rudeness, whereas Depa was quiet, and quite spiritual.

A study of contradictions, not unlike Quin's own differences to Ben, but without the world-weariness even present in Ben for all of his relative newness to the Criminal Investigations squad. And as much the reason the two -- the four of them were so partnered. Their boss was quite fond of balance ....

"I've got her." Like the turn of a switch, Adi was now all business. Quinn had little concern that she'd attracted any unwanted attention from her sudden professionalism. So much of their job involved blending in with those they sought to protect, and Adi was one of the best they had for undercover work.

"As do I," Mace echoed just as seriously now, also returning to the demands of this particular job.

This evening was an experiment, the first (and, hopefully the last as far as Quin was concerned), for all that acting the occassional bodyguards was part of CI5's operational brief. Normally, however, they looked after visitors from other countries; guarding the Prime Minister and his family, like guarding the Crown was MI6's job.

But none of the MI6 agents had met the young woman's standards as a suitable date for the evening, nor could they have blended in as well amongst the primarily college-aged crowd. And so Cerisa's father had called on help and other alternatives from an old friend, Francis Yodin, retired SAS Major and the current head of CI5.

Not surprisingly -- at least to Quinn -- Cerisa had chosen one Benjamin Kenobi. In leather pants, leather jacket, Doc Martins and a red and black t-shirt reading *Scottish Home Rule Now!*, the youngest member of CI5 fit right in with the rest of Cerisa's contemporaries.

"Up for more dancing, Ben?"

From the excitement and happiness in Cerisa's voice despite it being muted in Quin's hearing from coming across Ben's concealed throat mike, his partner was having little difficulties regarding his lack of practical experience in dancing with women. Certainly Quin knew just how charming and entertaining Ben could be, even if they'd had little opportunity to so charm one another in this public a venue. For that opportunity he envied young Cerisa.

And while it might not have been the wisest or safest decision the PM had ever made on his daughter's behalf, Quin could still sympathize and understand the appeal of having a few hours of not having to care about what others thought.

In some ways Quin and Cerisa were much alike, trapped by birth into expectations and responsibilities they might not have chosen, and that stifled many opportunities. Each had lives containing little personal freedom, although Quin had managed to overcome most of his own family obligations -- well, had been forcibly pushed away from them. The actuality of that parting had left him few regrets, for in leaving his family and that harsh and unforgiving life, had had found his soul in Ben. But being in love with Ben had its own liabilities and expectations, had pitfalls and dangers just as threatening to his life and livelihood as had the bullets and bombs of his childhood. Or were the threats of terrorists hanging over young Cerisa. Were it not Ben --

"Come on, Ben! This is my favorite song."

Quin needed to dial back the pickup from Ben's mike as the two made their way back to the dance floor and its monsterously loud speakers. He resigned himself to needing to rely on one of the other three to provide commentary to keep him up on what was happening.

As well as provide backup should something go wrong.

That was the worst thing about this assignment; the seperation. He and Ben had received significant ribbing from their co-workers about Ben sampling Cerisa's charms and that he'd no longer being interested in Quin. They had both laughed, had even gotten in a few of their own digs for Adi and Depa having to play the part of being a couple themselves while Mace -- who had tried unsuccessfully in the past to date both women -- would have little to do but stand back and watch everyone else having a good time. But Quin would have traded places with Mace -- or either women -- in a heartbeat.

It wasn't that he was jealous; the thought of Cerisa coming between him and Ben was absolutely absurd, and not simply because they both now preferred the company of men. Depa had been the one to pronounce them soul mates, understanding their closeness and need better, perhaps, because of her own different cultural upbringing and outlook. In her faith, true love observed no boundaries.

And although both he and Ben were lapsed Catholics with little room in their lives for faith in anything or anyone other than each other and their squad-mates, Quin was quite sure that at least in this, she was right.

Of course, he'd have been bothered about being here in the lorry instead of on the floor even had he and Ben only been partners instead of also lovers. Because they were partners. Quin absolutely hated taking on of Mace's usual position as mission coordinator. Not for being out of the action, but because he could not operate as Ben's backup.

Unfortunately, whereas the others might be able to fit in with the crowd now surrounding the other half of his soul, Quin could not. First off, Quin stood at two meters and was still built like the boxer he had been in his youthful days back in Ireland. He stood out in any crowd.

Which was not on the agenda for tonight.

Mace stood out also, being black and bald save for a goatee, and looking like something more at home in the mean streets of America's New York where he had grown up, than here in the West End of London. But in his long leather coat and dark shades even with the dimmed lighting of the club, few were particularly willing to even be caught looking Mace's direction, much less actually question his overly intimidating presence.

Adi and Depa might have also been less suitable for this duty had they come in alone, or in with one of the squad's male members. But being two women together meant a little leeway in the acceptability in their ages by others in the crowd.

Which was the other -- and most substantial -- part of the problem with Quin being Ben's backup.

He was nearly twice Ben's age (and over twice Cerisa's). No matter how he might try to dampen his presence, the age difference was something that could not be masked. He would automatically be assumed to be a parent, a narc or a bouncer. His lack of effectiveness therefore, could seriously endanger not only Cerisa's enjoyment, but also the mission. And several lives.

While there had been no specific threats against Cerisa in recent months, her father had taken an active stand against current policies regarding government assistance to the unemployable, thus earning him many new enemies. Some of those chronically out of work had already begun public demonstrations against the PM and the Crown, with several of the dolests threatening or encouraging more violent actions to come.

There had also been a recent increase of militant behavior by several of the splinter factions of the IRA and other home-grown terrorists, despite decisive actions being taken by *Sinn Fein* and both governments against those who would disrupt the fragile peace process which had finally been worked out for the Irish Troubles.

Too many factions looked at Cerisa as an easier target than her father -- or at least as a more effective one. There was also the matter of the young lady's looks. No doubt she was attractive, and not only to admirers. Predators abounded that would be interested in her even had she been only the neighborhood milkman's daughter.

Fortunately for Quin's impatience and discomfort, the time continued to pass relatively quickly, and without trouble. At near to two hours, Quin heard at last the quiet head's up from Mace.

"Ben's getting their coats."

One of Cerisa's concessions to the evening's unusual circumstances was an agreement to leave before the performance ended, thus avoiding the mass exodus that would have made guarding her even more difficult. A simple escort to her father's driver, SAS Lieutenant Cecil Tiin, along with whatever MI6 agents was waiting within the limousine, and her night of normality under CI5's purview would end.

Yet nothing turned out to be simple.

Ben was leading Cerisa toward the parking lot as if they were going to their own car. Having left first, Adi and Depa already stood alongside of an appropriate looking vehicle they'd checked out of the motor pool, locked into a clinch as if they were the lovers they been portraying all evening, yet keeping Ben and Cerisa in sight. From his own position as he moved up behind the steering wheel of the small converted lorry the team used as its mobile communications and command post, Quin now had all three groups in sight including Mace, as the other agent had just cleared the club door and stopped to light a cigarette.

One of the young men Quin had observed hanging out all evening chatting up the women coming into the club alone, started after Ben and Cerisa. He was weaving with the overly careful steps of a drunk and from the audible derision in the faint voices carrying across the street from his mates, was looking for a dark corner to take a piss. And so while Quin called out a warning to Ben of the other's closing presence, no one really expected any difficulty.

Ben moved Cerisa a little ahead regardless, getting between her and the drunk, then let go of her arm so that he'd have clear access to the gun he'd needed tuck into an inner pocket of his leather jacket since a shoulder holster would have been noticed during their previous dancing. Mace was also closing the distance, his walk and demeanor all militant attitude and racial anger, easily encouraging the other youths just hanging around outside the club to scatter before him.

The drunk, however, was just an innocent bystander who didn't have enough money to pay the cover charge and used the facilities within, who soon verred off and disappeared into the nearby bushes. The actual threat materialized out from behind a low-slung door of a new model Jaguar parked not quite halfway between Adi and Depa's position, and Ben and Cerisa's. And the threat wasn't to Cerisa, at least not directly. Not at first.

"Well, well, if it isn't Little Benjy," a slightly older, somewhat taller man with shocking white hair called out upon seeing Ben as he stepped away from the car. "Grass on any more of your mates? Or have you just decided to go back to your kiddie pursuits and leave off the grown-up stuff?"

Quin had never personally met ex-Constable Bruck Chun, but he had little doubt this was the new arrival's identity even before Ben coolly acknowledged his former partner's presence.

"Didn't hear you'd gotten out, Chun."

Which was oddly disturbing as well as being true in Quin's mind. CI5 should have gotten word about Chun's release from prison -- before it had happened.

Although wanting to be, Quin certainly didn't need to be any closer and actually see the expression that would be matching Ben's cold tones; more than once in their first days after being thrown together, such ice had been turned on him. Along with a surprisingly volatile temper for Ben's otherwise sunny disposition and general adherence to propriety and the rules that governed their job. Indeed, if Chun pushed too far --

But Chun's actual presence was of a more immediate concern than his ability to be present. The ex-Constable hadn't seemed to recognize whom Ben was escorting. Nor did Quin think Chun was an actual traitor -- just someone greedy and corrupt. But Chun's presence did pose the potential of endangering their task. And Quinn wasn't completely sure Ben would stay properly focused in the face of his and Chun's past history.

"Yes, well, good behavior and all of that rot, you know," Quin heard Chun answer. "That and since the only evidence against me was the word of a little, brown-nosed rookie --"

Ben's chuff of laughter surprised not only Chun, but also Quin."You always were good with your mouth, Bruck. I'm not surprised you convinced someone to give you an early release. But maybe you should show you've at least the brains God gave you and sod off, before you do something stupid that puts you right back in the nick."

Ben then took careful hold of Cerisa's arm and pushed past Chun.

Quin let out a soft sigh of relief, one that was matched by on of the other agents although Quin didn't quite recognize from who. Obviously Ben could stay focused. And had gotten over how Chun had almost destroyed Ben's career and life.

But Chun was not pleased to be so dismissed. He reached out toward Ben, his other hand curling up into a fist. Before voicing a warning, however, Mace's low growl sounded across Quin's earpiece. "I've got the prissy bastard!" A flurry of dark leather and white hair and suddenly Chun was being thrown back against the bonnet of his own car, arm extended its full length and trapped over the knee Mace had raised up by setting a booted foot on the car's bumper. With very little effort the ex-patriated New York detective could pop Chun's elbow or dislocate Chun's shoulder.

"While normally I like nothing better than to see two stupid white boys roughing each other up, no doubt I'd be the one caught up in the Man's sweep," Mace spoke only loud enough to be heard by Chun and those with access to what was transmitted across the agent's own concealed throat mike. Any humor in his tone or expression was derisive and would only serve to be more unnerving than the threat itself. "Why don't you take your nancyboy school act further down the road?"

When Chun didn't answer right away, Mace gave a tug, coaxing out a little bleat of pain, then, "Okay, man, okay. We're all cool here."

Mace waited until Ben had reached the sidewalk before releasing Chun. Quin, too, didn't think Chun was really going to let things slide so easily.

Except the ex-Constable's presense wasn't what started the skin on the back of Quin's neck tingling. He began to look around, moving to the lorry's opened doorway though he refrained from exiting to the sidewalk. Nothing seemed out of place until several motorcycles turned onto the same street and began heading toward the club. Perhaps nothing -- four motorcyclists traveling together wasn't anything untoward or even particularly suspicious in this end of London. Mace had ridden one here himself, and certainly the dark- skinned agent and Ben had not been the only one entering or exiting the club wearing some form of leather.

But there was something about these six that was setting Quin off.

And apparently Ben. Out of the corner of his eye, Quin noted Ben abruptly draw Cerisa back from the street and push her behind him toward relative safety between two closely parked cars. From the street's other direction, Lt. Tiin's limosene was also turning their direction yet the motorcycles would arrive first.

The moment froze as if caught on film. A bottle arced into the air from the lead biker, a telltale rag hanging from its end, flames quickly engulfing it. Not toward Ben and Cerisa, however, but at Adi and Depa. At the same time another arm swung upward -- Chun's, toward Mace -- and Quin caught sight of a glint that was either a knife or a gun held within the ex-copper's fist.

When asked later, Quin would be hard pressed to state whether the arrival of the gang and Chun's attack were connected, or simply a horrible coincidence of opportunity. In that first second, he couldn't even be sure the Molotov cocktail had been deliberately thrown as part of a directed attack to remove Cerisa's protectors, or was simply a random act of senseless violence, or a hate crime against gays and lesbians. The need for such answers fell into the category of something to be address later, however. Right now Quin needed to take action.

Behind the first set of riders a second set of five also turned onto the road. Quin could see a few were wearing some sort of insignia blazoned across their shirts and his world suddenly froze again was he could finally make it out.

Since forming his own group of terrorists by actively seeking out those drawn more to the terror than the politics -- and including those of the old guard too bitter to ever accept a cease fire with their supposed oppressors -- the number of bombings and attacks attributed to Alexander O'Crion's *Sith Sidhe* had been escalating both in frequency and in intensity. And despite a mandated news blackout so as not to further give him the notoriety he sought, there were few across the UK who couldn't identify by sight the one time lieutenant of one of the more active IRA cells until he was thrown out of his own organization for being too indiscriminate in his violent attacks.

Certainly every police officer and soldier within the kingdom knew the terrorist both by reputation and sight, Xan O'Crion's vanity over his impossibly long, dark hair as much a distinguishing factor as was the broken circle scar on Xan's cheek.

Yet Quin knew Xan one better, having been the who'd given him that scar upon discovering the man who'd once been as his brother in philosophy and by marriage -- the man who had actually been closer to Quin than his own brother -- had also been the man who had ordered his own sister's murder along with her and Quin's son.

And because of that intimate knowledge, Quin also knew this attack could not be a simple, random bombing. Nor would Xan ever rely on just one soldier. Or on just one form of bomb.

Which left Quin with only one possible action.

"Goodbye my friends." Quin words were not loud enough to be overheard given the growing number of screams and concerns encroaching on his teammates along with the uproar of the first explosion. Or over the sound of the lorry's engine as he again slipped behind the wheel and started then shifted the truck into gear. Nor was the, "I love you, Ben," spoken in more than a silent whisper. The first time Quin found himself able to say those words out loud.

The first and the last.

He then flipped the switch that disconnected the entire communications system, ostensively to save the others from massive electronic feedback and anything else that might cry out in the upcoming crash.

Or perhaps it was just to keep from having to hear Ben's shout of denial.

"Nooooo!"

Despite his attention being drawn in so many directions at once, Ben watched in numbed horror as the squad's mobile command post intercepted and rammed into the first of the bikers. Somehow the lorry managed to stay upright, even when several more bottles broke and exploded under its front tires and across the splintering windshield as Quin's targets made a last ditch effort to avoid their fate. More explosions, some sounding suspiciously like grenades, then a couple of the gas tanks also gave in to the rising heat and spreading fires.

Were he alone, Ben would have been moving toward the conflagration anyway, in hopes of somehow being able to pull Quin from the wreckage. Or at least to be with his lover even if was only in death.

But he was not alone. Nor without pressing responsibilities.

More screeching of tires and then metal, more sounds of impact and broken cries. But Ben didn't -- couldn't -- continue to stare at the on-going consequences of Quin's desperate, tremendously brave and utterly reckless sacrifice. Two of the first terrorists had managed to avoid Quin's suicidal blocking action and were now aiming weapons other than homemade bombs in Ben and Cerisa's direction.

He twisted around and shoved the PM's daughter down, covering her as best he could when a burst of bullets raked over their heads, shattering windshields and car frames, showering them with glass and metal shards. He couldn't hold this position for long if others decided to close in, not and keep her safe. Not and return fire. Not when something dug a furrow down his arm anyway.

What he needed to do was find some way to get Cerisa to her father's limousine. Not only was Cecil Tiin one of the best combat drivers Ben had ever met, but also nothing short of a rocket launcher could make it past the modified Mercedes' armoured alterations. The remaining terrorists didn't realize that -- or simply didn't care; they continued to launch their liquid bombs before turning to other armament as Tiin also sped toward them. And whether hoping to divert the SAS Lt. into some of the fleeing civilians, or because they truly thought they could stop the car's advance, their tactics worked well enough to keep Ben from getting Cerisa through the current killing ground.

Trying not to think about the civilian casualties that also had to be taking place as bullets and bombs flew over them, Ben reached under his jacket and pulled out his .357, quickly adding to the cacophony of sounds from Adi and Depa's .38s and Mace's .44. His team might have the heavier fire power, but the terrorists had semi- automatic rifles as well as pistols and their home-made bombs, and their output was steadier. And increasing.

Ben supposed he could hope the opposition simply ran out of ammunition first --

An abrupt crunch and skreel of metal on metal caused Ben to suddenly cringe and move automatically. Again he wrapped his leather covered arms and body tightly around Cerisa as he rolled them both away from the motorcycle that was now airborne above them. Had the terrorist simply been out to kill them, there was no way Ben could have avoided a spread of bullets in time. But instead of firing, the rider only kicked out with a steeled toe boot before directing his attention to landing and staying upright.

A glancing blow only, and had Ben not been hit squarely against his elbow he probably could have shrugged it off even with it being to the arm already injured either by a stray ricochet or a shredded piece of metal or glass. He could not ignore his fingers spasming, however, causing him to lose hold of his gun. Or that the deadened limb collapsed under his weight when he tried to push himself back up off of Cerisa and the tarmac.

Taking only a few extra seconds to gain his feet anyway and turn to meet the threat, Ben reached for his holdout gun with his off hand. Before he cleared it the biker launched himself off his motorcycle and straight toward them.

Ben managed to push Cerisa away before he went down under the other's greater size. He lost hold of his second gun, yet needed a free hand to push away the dagger-like fingers that were clawing for his eyes. And he made sure to roll them away from both dropped weapons -- just in case he didn't immediately gain the upper hand in their grappling.

"Familiar position for you, isn't it, Boyo? Do you fight him like this too, or do you simply roll over and submit?"

Ben's eyes flicked up to take in that it was Xan O'Crion straddling and looming over him. For a few seconds Ben froze, assaulted not by the surprise of Xan's exaggeratied knowledge of the nature of his and Quin's relationship, but by the déjà vu and memories of his and Xan's first confrontation. It had taken several weeks for him and Quin to recover from injuries sustained in that failed assassination plot, had taken Quin months longer to open up and explain why the encounter had been so bad beyond the physical costs. And even though it had ultimately led to Ben and Quin taking the intimate step in their relationship, Ben would have forgone that happiness had it meant sparing Quin the soul-stealing pain of dealing with his family's killer again. The same killer who had now taken Quin --

"Well, did you just roll over, I guess, right Boyo? Not do, not any longer. Not until you find yourself a new daddy --"

White hot fury spread through Ben's body at Xan's words -- at the reminder of Quin's death and at Xan's implications. He didn't know -- didn't care -- that his expression of hatred and pain was mirrored in Xan's eyes because of the same, abrupt realization of Quin's death. Instead, he bucked his body up against the larger man, managing to partially dislodge him and regain some freedom of movement.

This time Ben twisted himself more fully sideways, twining his and Xan's legs together until he could roll them both, maneuvering Xan below him. Ben took a perverse pleasure in grinding one of his knees into Xan's groin while he slammed the hand Xan had still been trying to gouge him with against the graveled blacktop hard enough to hear and feel bones break beneath his grasp.

Xan grunted under both devastating impacts, but was by no means out of the fight. And Ben knew a prolonged struggle of this nature would ultimately end with Xan back on top, so to speak. He needed to end things now, or at least turn the fight into something his own flexibility and speed could be used to counter Xan's greater size and strength. And the other's greater experience.

Of course Xan knew this too, and had a few more weapons in his arsenal. "Did you hear Quin's screams, Boyo?" he whispered darkly. "Burning is such a slow and painful way to die --"

"Shut the fuck up!" Further grinding his knee into Xan's cock until the other's face was a mass of pain and sweat forced silence save for a few breathless gasps. But it also got the older man fighting again.

Xan flailed the forearm above his broken wrist against the arm Ben used to support himself, then punched with his other against Ben's numbed elbow. As Ben struggled to maintain his balance, Xan clamped his fingers around the back of Ben's neck, pulled them together and latched onto Ben's bottom lip in something between a bruising kiss and a biting assault.

"Ben!"

A new screech of tires accompanied Cerisa's sudden scream and proved to be the last little distraction to Ben's equilibrium that Xan needed to be able to roll the two of them over once more. Xan didn't make it all the way round and back up on top, but didn't need to as he rolled Ben over and into the side of the vehicle next to where Cerisa was hiding.

Something in Ben's shoulder tore and gave way as he struggled to extricate himself from their obscene parody of intimacy, this new agony eclipsing even the renewed pain from his elbow. But at this point needing only to fend off fierce groping, Ben grabbed hold of a thin segment of Xan's hair that had come free from the braid the other wore and jerked the other man's face aside and away from his, satisfied in knowing that losing that chunk of hair had to hurt more than his lip torn from Xan's teeth.

Xan twisted and fell back onto his arse and the one hand he could use to support himself. His breaths were as deep and unsettled as Ben's own, but his eyes held a speculative light that had Ben's intuition clamoring. They had both crossed a line tonight, had changed their own relationship into something more personal than simply being aware of one another because of Quin. As if with Quin now gone, Xan expected Ben to fill the hole now gaping in the other's warped psyche.

For a few seconds more they simply breathed and stared at one another, then Xan suddenly shifted. And smiled.

A second chill passed through Ben's skin even though seeing the gun in Xan's hands as the other rose to his knees had been the type of threat Ben had expected from Xan all along. The type of death a part of him had hoped for ever since seeing Quin's lorry explode into flames.

"Sorry, Boyo, but you lose." Xan now leaned forward, closing the distance between them until Ben could feel the muzzle of the gun pressing against the blood welling from his lip.

He didn't pull away, didn't flinch or even close his eyes. But he also couldn't quite dare Xan to go ahead and pull the trigger.

"No, killing you would be a mercy, wouldn't it?" Xan said almost sadly before licking at the line of Ben's blood that painted his own lips, then moving the gun barrel upward almost caressingly, though with enough pressure that the gun's site cut along Ben's cheek. "Even if I kill her," and Xan flicked his gaze toward the shadow that marked Cerisa's position under a car just beyond the two of them, "even if I destroy your career, it won't bother you as much as what you've already lost, will it?"

Ben didn't answer -- didn't need to answer. Tonight he and Xan had both lost something irrepairable with Quin's death. Something they would both spend the rest of their lives seeking in vain.

Silence reigned for a beat longer as they both acknowledged this most unexpected connection, with Xan even pulling back a few inches. But then little sounds began to intrude that gave meaning to a greater silence. The shooting and mayhem had stop. Somewhere beyond them, but not all that far away, sirens signified the approach of the fire brigade along with additional police. Footsteps sounded even nearer, plus some harsh breathing outside Ben and Xan's own, or Cerisa's --

"Ben?"

Ben lowered his eyes to the gun Xan still half pointed his direction, then back up to meet Xan's, whose own merely widened in some form of ironic amusement. Then a shrug, a tiny nod, and Xan was rocketing to his feet and to his bike.

Without pulling the trigger.

"Ben!"

"Over here!" Ben called out hoarsely. He watched Xan speed away into the shadows, then managed to rock onto his own knees and half crawl toward where Cerisa was still tucked beneath an engine and a tire; leaving Mace to find them.

"It's over, Siri," he called out softly to the pair of overly wide, overly white-rimmed eyes, using the name only her father called her.

*It's over*, but it wasn't really. Xan was alive and free to commit more havoc. And if not Xan, then one of the nameless, faceless others, eager to make their own names for themselves. But Ben didn't care. Not if Quin wasn't there to care with him.

"Ben?"

"Here."

But he still didn't look to Mace and whomever else had carefully joined them. Cerisa had not yet made any move from her hiding place, was not moving at all except for a steady trembling.

"Out you should come now, Siri,"

At that voice, Ben's head did whip around. And for a moment his own shoulders threatened to shake; Major Yodin only left the CI5 offices during the direst of complications in an on-going mission, as an old injury forced him to use a cane and so made walking in the field and especially a crime scene difficult. For a moment Ben had his unbearable confirmation of Quin's death. But then something in Mace's gentling expression gave him a sudden measure of hope to offset the Major's unexpected arrival.

"Quin?" he choked out. "Is he --"

Mace smiled even more broadly and Major Yodin placed a hand on his shoulder. All at once Ben began to shake in earnest, adrenalin and control giving way to quite natural reactions of overwhelming relief.

The Emergency Room staff was no more willing to let Ben slip away to be with Quin, than Major Yodin or the paramedics on scene had been. And so he had to console himself with remembering the one brief glance he'd taken as Quin's gurney had been lifted into the ambulance, holding onto the empirical and practical knowledge that even minor head wounds bled copiously, and that Mace, Adi or Depa would have managed to come down from the surgery ward and get some further word to him had Quin been critically -- or fatally -- injured.

Not that any such understanding made his wait any easier, nor would keep him from remaining patient much longer.

His own injuries had already been treated; he was now just waiting as the proper paperwork got filled out and his departure signed off. It had taken some fast talking to get the attending physician to grant him release despite wanting to keep him overnight for observation; but then it wasn't like Ben was actually going to be leaving the hospital --

He'd even found an ally in the good sister of mercy who was now tracking down his paperwork. Sister Astri had been there to hold his other hand when he refused the shot of morphine or whatever other narcotic they'd expected him to want before the doctor realigned his dislocated shoulder. Not that it hadn't hurt, of course, or that he wouldn't have otherwise welcomed the muzzy disassociation that would have come along with the shot. But if he had fallen asleep or unconscious, the hospital staff would have their reason to keep him -- and to keep him from Quin.

Which was unacceptable.

The burning ache from whatever had taken out nearly an inch of skin and muscle down his right bicep to his elbow ended up being worse than the dislocation anyway. Especially as the Doctor needed to dig to clean out the gravel, cloth and leather Ben had managed to grind into the wound in his struggle with Xan. They had ended up wrapping his arm from shoulder to elbow, which had also been deeply bruised with a few tendons strained from Xan's kick. He would need to keep his whole arm immobile for a few days, as even moving his fingers hurt.

Had the injuries occurred on his left arm instead of his right, the immobilization wouldn't have keep him from being able to return to work within a day or two, much less forced him to remain in the hospital. But he had reason to be glad that a week's leave would be necessary to allow him to regain an acceptable level of fitness. He'd take that mandatory week and spend it looking after Quin, without having to worry about someone noting or questioning why he wasn't returning to at least a light desk duty.

Their mates and their boss accepted his relationship with Quin, but some of the Major's bosses would be much less tolerant if they knew the full plans for Ben's leave. Not that Ben gave a rat's ass what others thought, especially the Home Minister CI5 reported to, Kiad Mundi. That particular humorless bastard hadn't even accepted what the politician considered normal love when it'd been freely given to him, as Mundi's now ex-wife was fond of pointing out to the tabloids.

Well, actually, Ben did have to care about the tolerance of others, but not for his own sake and career. He'd been prepared to lose the possibility of job advancement once knowledge of his and Quin's relationship had gotten out to their few friends, just as he had years earlier expected it -- or worse -- after the disagreeable business with his ex-partner and preceint. But it was one thing to give up a way of life and friends for a good reason, like not being willing to turn a blind eye to the blatant disregard of the law by those sworn to uphold it.

It was quite another to accept such a loss over something that should have been no one else's bloody concern!

Unfortunately, being publically outed would do more than lose a few promotions for Quin. Ben's partner and lover may have started out his life in opposition to the type of codes and authority they now embraced, but Ben knew of no one on the Force, past or present, who was as diligent and dedicated to looking out for those whom the dregs of society thought of as prey, former member of the IRA or not.

Certainly crime victims had no better champion, the law now no better advocate that Quinton Jenson.

Because of those earlier deeds and associations with people like Xan O'Crion, however, any hint of scandal in Quin's life now would not only see his self delayed advancement in rank and responsibility withdrawn completely and his reputation shattered, but would likely keep him from later being able to draw on his pension benefits, since Ben could only foresee a punitive discharge in store for Quin should their relationship be discovered.

No one deserved to have their life and future so stolen from them due to another's ignorance and intolerance, but especially not Quin, and especially not in light of what he'd already sacrificed in the death of his wife and son when he'd chosen the King's law over partisan chaos. Unfortunately not even Quin's subsequent single-handed saving of the Queen Mum and King Charles from his former associates would protect him from the power of something like Mundi's bigotry.

"Frown like that too much, Little One, and your face will freeze that way."

Ben looked over from where he'd simply been staring at nothing to see Mace restoring the curtain of privacy the other had opened to enter into this sectioned off area of the ER. He said nothing about the infuriorating nickname Mace had bestowed upon him once he'd joined CI5, and instead offered a tired smile.

"So that explains your ugly mug?"

Mace gave a mock frown and couldn't help but smooth down the hairs of his mustache and goatee before swiping his hand across the top of his bare head. In truth Mace was even more vain about his looks than Adi was, a little fact the female agent delighted in reminding Mace anytime Mace even walked near a mirror. In lieu of answering, he thrust his chin toward the direction of Ben's bandaged arm.

"How are you doing?"

Ben's own scowl didn't fade anywhere near as quickly as Mace's frown. "I'll be fine once they let me out of this place. Hell, if I could find my jacket or shirt, I'd simply walk out of here and let them fax me their damn paperwork!" Yet as he began to put deed to words, Ben discovered jumping down from the bed he'd been sitting on to be rashly considered. Nor did clenching his fists do his myriad of aches any good.

Flushing under Mace's too knowing look, Ben took a moment to breath deeply, trying to will away the anger along with the pain. The Nurse hadn't really been gone that long, and even if she had, it would be because she was needed in aiding someone else. He was reacting this way only because all this time waiting was time he should be with Quin …

"Have you heard anything yet?" he asked once he'd better mastered his emotions.

Mace shook his head, his expression now one of regret. And further understanding.

"They've taken Quin back into surgery. But no one seemed terribly worried," was quickly added as Ben felt all of the blood drain from his face. He accepted the hand Mace thrust under his uninjured elbow, both for the steadiness and the comfort. And again fought to get himself under control.

"The girls are waiting nearby in case the doctors are done before we get there," Mace continued. "Something about checking on some unexpected pressure from Quin's head injury, and to drain the blood or something," was added softly and with a wince.

"Fuck!" Ben exploded. "When I get my hands on Xan again, I'll rip off his balls an' feed them t' him! An' ex-bloody-constable Chun's, t'!" In times of stress Ben reverted back to his native accent, a fact that usually amused his colleagues to no end since he generally spoke the King's English better, in fact, than did the King. But Mace wasn't smiling now.

"I'm sorry I let Chun get away."

Which diffused most of Ben's anger lest the other man think it was directed at him.

Everyone in the squad was well aware of the reason Ben had left the regular police force to join CI5, of the scandal and corruption that Ben had uncovered involving not only his then partner Bruck Chun, but also his commanding officer and several other constables and inspectors. By proving his loyalty to the law instead of his fellow officers, Ben had not been terribly popular, even with those who also deplored the criminal acts that Ben had turned evidence against. It had been expected that Ben would have ended up retiring early from a career he seemed born for, if not first having become an out and out casualty due to his sudden outsider and troublemaker status.

Fortunately for Ben (and Quin as it had turned out), after succeeding CI5's Controller, Raymond Doyle, Major Yodin had been looking to add new blood to a team already comprised of outsiders and, in one or two cases, men and women others might have charitably been considered security risks. Quin, being the oldest of the active field agents, had been instantly paired with Ben, then and still the youngest. And while it had not been remotely anything like love at first sight, they had quickly come to mutually respect one another if not actual friendship. A few months and a few missions later the two had found themselves bonding over bullets, blood and beer. Three subsequent years as partners had brought them even closer, until Xan and the failed assassination attempt, until the status their relationship was in now for just shy of nine glorious months.

"It wasn't your fault, Mace. And I did nae better with Xan." He suddenly needed to lock his knees to keep from swaying; his body just wasn't up to processing any type of adrenalin rush right now.

"They'll be another chance against them both," Mace agreed grimly.

Not just a chance, but also a promise, an oath Ben would willingly spill whatever necessary blood to see come true. But he took another deep breath and tried to put even those thoughts out of his mind. What he really needed was an opportunity to escape into one of the forms of meditation Quin had been teaching him, before he said or did something stupid in front of someone who wasn't such a good mate as Mace.

No, what he really needed was to see Quin --

"I've got to get out of here, Mace." Ben didn't care that his voice sounded needy instead of authoritative. Out of all of their friends, Mace had been the first to accept when Ben and Quin had ignored conventional wisdom and all rights to sanity by giving into the temptations each other had presented. Mace had also seen them both in much worse states, from before they'd ever acknowledged the feelings they'd been sublimating in bouts of aggression or drinking. Despite that different kind of close familiarity, however, Ben had a moment's doubt that Mace wasn't going to help. He was being drawn back toward the bed and started to protest, to pull away, but Mace was simply making sure he wouldn't fall too far down when Mace removed the hand that was pretty much keeping Ben steady on his feet. Then Mace shrugged out of his coat.

"I'll get you up to the girls, then come back down and deal with the Sister," Mace offered as he helped Ben into the coat. Mid-calf length on Mace, the leather swirled around Ben's ankles. But it also hid the blood and scuffs across Ben's pants, and with the collar up and the leather belted tightly, it also hid any trace of Ben's bandages.

Assuming they didn't run across any of the medical personnel that had actually treated Ben, no one would have reason to stop them once Mace pulled his badge out and looped it to the chain around his neck so as to explain the occupied shoulder holster now visible across his own back.

"But you have to promise me you'll keep from getting agitated, Little One," the dark-skinned man continued. "And that you'll sit down while you're waiting. Or I swear, I'll carry you back down here myself and sign the papers to have you committed to more than just overnight observation!"

"Yes, mum," Ben muttered, more than a little embarrassed by the obvious concern -- and by the threat Mace would no doubt carry out.

"That's muther," Mace laughed, and he actually started to scruff Ben's hair until Ben twisted away.

Being called Little One was bad enough, despite being true when used as a size comparison to any one in the squad but Major Yodin; even Adi and Depa were his height or taller. But if they were going to further treat him like a little brother …

"Do you know if Cerisa got home okay?" Ben asked, a bit ashamed he didn't think to ask before, but also glad to have the question available as a change of subject and attention. He took the lead in getting them out of the ER, figuring that if he walked ahead, Mace would be less tempted to hover, but at the same time would be close enough if he ran into trouble.

"Cecil and the guy from MI6 witnessed most everything, so CeCe turned him out to work with Heath through the clean up and the press, while he and the Major got her delivered personally to the PM."

Heath Koth was Major Yodin's driver and administrative second. While Mace generally handled field command for any major operations, Heath handled monitoring everything back at the base, including making sure back up was ready when circumstances warranted it. He was also their press liaison, ready with either information or a gag order, as necessary. Heath, Mace and Major Yodin were briefed on every job, whereas field agents generally only had to deal with those they were specifically assigned to.

Heath had actually been hinting of retiring, and had been trying to talk Quin into seriously training to take his place, but so far Quin had refused to leave the field as Ben's partner. And so far Quin had always managed to pass the strenuous fitness requirements that would have taken the decision out of his hands.

Which was another reason Ben knew he was staying agitated when he should only be grateful that Quin hadn't died. Every time Quin was injured they had to worry about whether or not he could come back and still qualify for field duty. One of these days he wouldn't, and Ben wasn't sure what he would then do himself.

He couldn't really imagine retiring, but even worse was the thought of partnering with someone else. Especially that MI5 twink, Kenneth S. Walker the Third, who was pushing not only for his transfer to go through to CI5, but had also been hinting that he and Ben could be more effective than Ben and Quin. Walker had an overweening ego about his abilities. Unfortunately, at least statistically by mission success rates amongst his branch of service, the boasting could almost be justified.

No, if he had to, Ben could work with Mace -- except Mace hadn't had a permanent partner ever since Ben had joined the squad. Maybe even Baylor Organia, although as Bail was CI5's permanent liaison with the various Military departments in cases of shared jurisdiction such a partnership would drastically change the type of cases Ben usually worked on.

No use borrowing trouble. Quin hadn't died, and this wouldn't be the first concussion or broken ribs he'd need to come back from. Last year on his forty-fourth birthday, Quin had not only topped most of CI5's qualifications against fellow field agents, but he had also completed the SAS special forces course with better scores and stamina than half of their own. Ben had no doubt that in after a few weeks of healing and recovery, Quin could do it again this year if he were of a mind to.

Fortunately, the Doctor's arrival with news from the surgical room they approached didn't take away that conviction.

Always happiest in seeing the hospital receding behind his back, Quin could also be thankful that this time it was with Ben also behind him, instead of his lover being the one leaving in the wheelchair as had been the last time. While he never particularly cared to get hurt, he would do so any day and to any degree if it meant saving Ben from the same. Even if -- as he had expected during this last time -- he could only save Ben's life by giving his own, he'd do so in a heartbeat.

But once again they had cause to celebrate and bless the luck o' the Irish, as Major Yodin had harrumphed before leaving the two of them alone to make their own way out.

And celebrate Quin fully intended to do, though not in the manner others -- at least those outside their closest circle of friends -- expected him to. After two days spent trapped in bed, only able to see and talk with Ben and steal the occasional, most surreptitious touch, he planned to indulge himself fully the to limits of what physical activity he'd agreed to abide by so as to make his early escape. Ben had five more days on his own medical leave, and while neither of them should be quite as … energetic as was often their wont, there were still many, many things allowable during their recovery.

Quin's libidinous interest had always recovered quicker than his body; one of the challenges of having a younger lover. But such a challenge had led him to discover he derived an immense pleasure from teasing or stimulating Ben without needing to worry about his own reactions, just as he had also discovered the joy in simply being with Ben. Not every private encounter between the two of them had to be earth-shaking sex, although just that happened quite often.

It had been Depa who had come up with the idea that the two of them should escape to the country for the next five days, and Adi who had offered the small country estate just south of the Scottish border that was part of her family's holdings and that, she assured them, was always empty this time of year. Yes it would mean a five or six hour drive to get there, but on the other hand, it wasn't as if he and Ben had anywhere they needed to rush to for the next week regardless. Quin was just as much looking forward to being alone in a car for six hours with Ben as he was having the days alone together in the country. The operative words here were being with Ben. And whether that was in a car, the country or on the bloody moon, didn't really matter.

They arrived at Quin's car. Ben had only the twin to Quin's motorcycle, but their doctors had strictly forbidden such usage for the both of them for at least the next week. No doubt the Major would have allowed them borrow one of the cars from the motor pool, especially to insure they had a radio/transceiver on hand since their boss still did not trust the reliability or security of cell phones should he need to contact them. But this gave Ben the opportunity to drive Quin's inherited Talbot-Lago, something he dearly loved to do yet never asked after even though Quin would have allowed it -- would have been willing to transfer the papers into joint ownership -- at any time. This was just another way Ben strove to protect Quin from his own nature.

Although joint ownership of such a classic was common within the world of collectable cars due to the high cost of maintenance and the little opportunity to actually drive them, Ben had only remarked upon how it might be interpreted by the higher ups they ultimately worked for, the one time Quin had proposed the transfer. And Quin had a feeling Ben also felt that he didn't deserve the type of things Quin was quite willing to offer him. Which Quin hoped was an indication more of Ben's relative youth than a real lack of self worth.

Although he wanted to give Ben anything -- everything -- he'd stopped pushing the matter for now.

And he greatly understood Ben's protective streak on his own behalf, since it so neatly coincided with his own for Ben. Quin just wished such protection were not so frequently needed to be shown in defense of their relationship. Or of their lives.

When he was feeling fanciful, Quin often wondered what they might have been like -- been able to do -- had they been born many years into the future or back in the past, or somehow live on a world or in a society that didn't measure a person's worth by such things as their religious leanings or sexual preferences. To be fully open about their love for one another --

"Your mind must be on weighty things," Ben said with a gentle caress to the back of Quin's neck.

Quin blushed a little and unseated himself from the wheelchair. Fortunately the volunteer didn't make any comment about the length of time they'd needed wait for Quin to return his attention to the moment, and although Quin was quite aware of the depth of feeling behind the touch he'd been given, it had not been anymore worthy of being commented upon by another as it could easily be interpreted as a prompt instead of something more. No doubt she was used to people needing a little extra time standing upon departure.

"Just thinking about how much I am looking forward to the rest of the week." And Quin let the faintest of emotion deepen his tone although again, to an outsider, it could easily be interpreted as relief in being able to go home instead of the lust that caused Ben's grip to tighten around Quin's arm as he was helped into the Talbot-Lago. Once the door was closed behind him, the young volunteer went on her way back to the hospital entrance with the chair and, therefore, didn't see the little misstep Ben made as he moved to his own side of the car under the weight of Quin's heated attention.

Such attention was only a little dangerous in a place like this, and forgivable given the distance the two of them had been forced to maintain for the past two days. But Quin didn't carry it too far, giving himself leave only to run his hand down Ben's flank as his lover slid in behind the steering wheel, keeping his touch invisible to the outside and keeping it firm and without sneaking his fingers further round the top or down along Ben's inner thigh. He didn't want to make Ben uncomfortable either emotionally by taking stupid chances in public, or physically so that driving would be uncomfortable. But he couldn't not touch at least a little.

Or not appreciate Ben's heightened color and his need to exert just a little bit more attention than was usual in getting them from the parking lot to the street.

"I think I've packed everything that either of us will need for the next few days, but we could stop just to make sure." The need was also in Ben's voice, sounding like the feel of velvet rubbed the wrong way, or raw silk.

Petting Ben's thigh as if his lover were a cat was soothing for them both, yet would ultimately cause them difficulty. As would returning either to his flat or to Ben's. He knew if they did that, they wouldn't be leaving for hours. Which would mean they wouldn't arrive to their hideaway until well after dark, a foolish risk given that not indulging now would only delay things, not put them off.

"As we've waited this long, we'd be poor examples of control should we not be able to wait a few more hours." Although he was smiling, Quin made sure his regret was also obvious.

"Fuck control," Ben said passionately, but still turned north instead of west which would have taken them toward either of their apartments. "And don't you bloody well say anything about the impatience of youth!"

"Never, my Ben," Quin said with heartfelt emotion. "Yours is the impatience of love, not youth, and I suffer from it as well. But I am also perhaps better acquainted with added pleasure that comes from waiting, and find myself thinking that would better suit us both than a quick, possibly painful grope in a car."

The shiver that passed through Ben's body was obvious even with Quin no longer touching him. Ben, too, had been learning about delayed gratification, although not always by choice.

"You do realize that you're going to be the one flat on the bed over the next few days," Ben said with a low purr that caused his own shiver to pebble Quin's skin. "And that I have made it a point of pride to be able to learn everything that you have thought worthwhile to teach me?"

Now out of the heavier traffic and fully ensconced on the straightway which they'd be traveling upon over the next few hours, Ben could turn a bit of his attention away from his driving, including not being as concerned with keeping both hands on the wheel. Quin knew Ben would never endanger them, but he also knew that Ben had a remarkable vindictive streak for paybacks that was coupled with a biting sense of humor. For a moment he debated whether turning around and returning to his flat (as it was the closest) wouldn't be the more prudent thing to do.

Or the least torturous on his own behalf, as suddenly even one hour seemed entirely too long to be trapped in a car alone with Ben in this oddly fierce mood.

But of course he couldn't say so, and couldn't protest when Ben did a little touching of his own, as it was only fair. He'd just recommend they find some place along the way to stop and pick up a few towels or napkins. Soon.

-- Finis --