He lay on the bottom of the dirty cell. Only five minutes had passed since the last session, but it had felt like an eternity to him. Bernado's men had finally thrown him in the muddy, rotting cell to keep him from escaping. They would beat him once every other hour, which gave him enough time to adjust to his injuries to stay alive, but didn't allow him to gain enough energy back to be able to escape.
    After trying to free himself once, Agent Grant had learned that he was being held on an island in the middle of nowhere. The ocean had been in all directions, and without any definite clues Grant had no idea where he was. That brief freedom had cost him, they had broken two of his ribs to pay him back for it.
    Bernado was a drug lord Grant had been tracking for some time. After two years of solid work, he had managed to earn a low-ranking position as one of Bernado's bouncers. Even then he had quickly advanced in rank, eventually becoming Bernado's right-hand man after the last one was killed off for  suspected betrayal.
    Agent Grant managed to roll overto prop his back against the metal door, and gazed out of the tiny rectangle window in his cell. It was too small for him to climb out of, he had already tried. But in the entirety of the situation, he didn't have any regrets.
    Red.
    When he closed his eyes, he could still see her red hair in his mind. Her scent was wrapped around him, despite the place he was in. Grant let his head lean back, and the wonderful memories pulled him away from the current hell he was in. Her laughter rang in his ears, and Grant chuckled lightly to himself wondering if he was finally starting to loose it.
                            ______

    James Grant tightened his collar slightly as he walked through the main entrance of the FBI headquarters. For as long as he could remember, he had always wanted this job. Now that he had it, he found that he loved it just as much as he loved the idea of it.
    They had just transferred him to the FBI headquarters in Virginia, and he was heading a particular case that his expertice was needed. After his brief service in the DEA, the administration had decided his knowledge of illegal drugs and weapons was highly valuable. Glancing at his watch, he turned the corner only to bump into someone.
    "Excuse me," he reached forward to steady the woman. She was average height, dressed in a black suit, and she held tightly onto the files under her arm. When she looked up at him, all that James could think about was the color red.
    She had fabulous red hair. It was long, almost down to her waist. With her pale complexion and green eyes, James had never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life.
    "You," she pointed at him, "You're here."
    James frowned in confusion, "Me?"
    "Come on."
    He turned the next corner with her.
    "You're the new recruit from the Academy, right?" she shrugged, "No matter. I'm Special Agent Dierdre Larkin. We're starting a new priority case today, and a new team leader is coming in," she explained as she made a face of annoyance.
    "What's wrong?"
    Agent sighed, "I've been leading this team for over a year now and they just decide to stick in some fancy-faced new guy to take over. Probably some some button-up rich idiot that has a father in the higher-ups."
    "Oh?" James tried to hide a smile, knowing that he would feel exactly the same way if someone would be taking one of his teams from him.
    "This is going to be a long, dangerous case and I can't afford to be baby-sitting someone who is better at sucking up than he is at leading the team through a jungle in two feet of mud."
    He chuckled at that thought as they reached the board room. There were three other agents waiting, and James had read up on all of their profiles before arriving.
    Agent Jake McCambry was a young man, almost straight out of the Academy, who was a computer specialist. He had first drawn the attention of the FBI when he had volunteered to hack into the computer system to show all of its weak spots. At the time he was only nineteen, and he had worked for them ever since. He was now twenty-five, and one of the youngest agents that Grant had ever met.
    Agent Fran Smith was the information specialist. She was a professional at gaining contacts in the FBI, as well as all over the world. If someone was in Europe and needed a safe house, she would find it. If they needed a tank, she would be able to find that too. Fran was in her late thirties, and from what Grant knew, she had been married for ten years and had four children.
    The last member of the team was Agent Delany Briin, who was the weapons and communications expert. If they needed a radio, a rifle, or anything else that could cause destruction, Briin would get it for them. He could also make a bomb or radio from scratch, which Grant figured may come in handy. Despite Briin's profile that spoke ten years of martial arts and various other combat training, Briin was a tall and lanky man who didn't sport a lot of muscles.
    "Okay," Larkin strolled into the room, pulling out a chair for Grant and ordering him to sit in it. The moment he sat down, McCambry gave him an odd look. Obviously the man recognized him, and Grant nodded in acknowledgment. Larkin continued to speak, pacing about the room, "This case is going to be very important, and despite the fact that this new project leader is going to be on our turf, this is our chance to show people what we're capable of."
    Grant couldn't take it anymore. He didn't really feel like humiliating the woman the first day they met.

    "Indeed," he replied, "This is a good chance to show the administration all of your talents. However, Agent Larkin, there is more at stake here than showing off."
    She glared at him as he stood. From her point of view he looked innocent at first glance. His black hair was slicked back, a tendrel falling in front of his sky-blue eyes. As he came towards her, it was then that she caught a hint of something else in his eyes. He was obviously an experienced agent, and she held back a curse as he returned her glare with a polished smile.
    His heart raced as he came to stand in front of her. Those green eyes promised retribution later, and if she had wanted to beat him into tomorrow he wouldn't have cared. She was beautiful and amazing, and every time he looked at her his mind went blank. In light of the current situation, he managed to pull his attention back into check.
    "I'm Special Agent James Grant," he smiled at her, watching the look of shock pass over her face, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
                          ______

    James sat in the chair as Bernado circled around him. His attention was so broken at the moment that he didn't know how many people were in the room. All he knew was the blood trailing down his face, and the smooth cadence of Bernado's tone.
    "You really fooled me, Azul, I will credit you with that accomplishment. I must say that I was surprised to find my most trusted man was a pawn to betray me."
    Azul was his undercover name. Grant cracked a smile, his eyes opening to stare at Bernado. The blood on the left side of his face was dripping into his eye and made it sting. The distraction was welcome.

    "You're a bastard, Bernado. Do you know how many people have died for you to make your blood money? You're going to hell for it."
    Bernado sneered at the threat, then stepped forward to grabbed a chunk of James' black hair. He jerked James' head back, and leaned over so Bernado could stare into his eyes, "If I am going to hell, Azul, at least I will have the satisfaction of your company."
    With that statement, James retreated back to his mind as they beat him once more.
   
    They tossed him back in the cell. Bernado sneered as James slammed his fist into the bars. Reaching a hand through the cell, Bernado grabbed his prisoner's face, "This is your punishment for your ignorance, Azul," Bernado's yellow teeth seemed to grind as he pressed his fingers into James' injured cheek. Grant refused to flinch. "You are giving up your life for a group that refuses to save you."
    "And I would do it again."
    Bernado laughed, "Do not plead for death so quickly, my friend, I have not grown weary of your company just yet."
    Shoving James backward, his grim laugh echoed down the narrow hallway. Slamming his fist into the bars again, he let out a cry of frustration, which only served to amuse Bernado further. James was beyond caring if he entertained the maniac or not, and gripped the bars as his legs gave out. He slid to the floor, pressing his forehead into the rusted metal.
    "Damn it, Deirdre..." he murmured, his voice cracking slightly.
                          ______

    They were working late.
    James watched Larkin pace about the room, a habit that he had observed that she had in the last two months since he had arrived. It was three in the morning, and she was sipping a cup of coffee and eating a chocolate bar. Deirdre had a sweet tooth, and James had figured that out about her too.
    "...they ship the drugs through the Mexican-American border. The key to tracking them is trying to find a contact into the group. If we can get a snitch, maybe we can try figure out the full extent of the drug ring," she told him.
    "Possibly," James leaned back in his chair. He was exhausted, but there was a short time frame they had to work with and every second counted. James had pulled off his suit coat and set it on the back of his chair, the sleeves on his shirt were rolled up, and his tie was loosened. He was sure that he looked a little haggard, but at the moment he didn't care.
    "Well, Hotshot, what do you think we should do?"
    He was the leader of the team, but James had no problem letting Deirdre manage in his place. She had good instincts, and she was intelligent.
    "Undercover."
    She frowned, "It's not necessary-"
    "We can get more done if we send someone in," he took a drink of his own coffee, "It'll be easier to get the information we need."
    "No one in the team is qualified for that sort of operation. We would need to bring in another agent."
    "I'm qualified," James replied, "I have a history of numerous successful undercover cases."
    Deirdre opened her mouth a moment, and then folded her arms, "You can't go, you're in charge of this case."
    "You'll do just fine in my stead."
    She shook her head, her loose red hair hanging about her face, "No, its too dangerous. We don't even know that much about Bernado. He's a psychopath."
    "It's our job to deal with psychopaths."
    "Look, Grant, I know you have this selfless need to help people, but we could just get someone else-"
    "I'll talk to the director tomorrow."
    Deirdre slammed her fist onto the desk, "I won't let you!"
    "Last time I checked, Larkin, I was in charge of this mission, not you.
    "Last time I checked, you weren't trying to throw yourself to the wolves!"
    James was exhausted, starving, and frustrated. He stood up, "And why, Agent Larkin, do you seem to care this much?"
    "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
    "Ever since I arrived, you've been riding my ass the entire way. You're a good agent and I value your skills, but you've fought me on almost every single decision that I've made. If you don't like what I do, Larkin, suck it up."
    With that statement, he pulled his suit coat on.
    "Where are you going?" Deirdre asked him, her voice was surprisingly quiet.
    "I'm hungry, tired, and I haven't had a shower in over twenty four hours. I'm leaving."
    She watched him swing his briefcase up from his desk and march out of the office before she could say another word. Waiting until he left, she sunk into his desk chair and sighed. If James Grant was going undercover, there would be a high probability that he would never come back.
    Deirdre let her head thunk on his desktop, and tried to think of a way to tell him that she was in love with him. After allowing herself a few seconds of worry, she picked up her things, and made sure to stack the files for tomorrow's meeting before she left.

    James had a headache.
    He dragged his hands through his wet hair as he walked out of the bathroom. The towel hung low on his waist, showing off his toned muscles. When stopped in front of his bedroom door, he scowled, "That's breaking and entering, you know."
    "I had the highest score for picking locks when I was in Academy," Deirdre stood in the living room, "You need a better lock, by the way."
    He grunted, "Get out of my house, Larkin. I don't have the energy to deal with you."
    James refused to look at her. She looked so wonderful standing in the middle of the room, her hair pulled free of the braid and falling around her shoulders like a red waterfall. Before he could grab the bedroom door to shut it, she crossed the room in one motion, and kissed him.
    He stumbled backwards, his back pressed against the door frame as she attacked his mouth. She felt a sudden spark of panic for a moment as he seemed to freeze up, and started to wonder if she had read him wrong. As she was about to pull away and try to think of a way to salvage her lost pride, his arms banded around her. She yelped as he turned, and Deirdre found her own back pressed against the frame.
    His strong hands held her head as he opened her lips and dove in her mouth. He tugged her shirt from her, tossing it aside as he lifted her into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he walked into the bedroom to dump her on the bed.
    “I can't stop,” James murmured as he continued toss her clothes aside, his fingers diving through her glorious hair, “Oh god...”
    “Don't,” she murmured, grabbing the towel that was already hanging low on his waist, “Don't stop, James.”
    It was the first time Larkin had ever used his first name. For some reason, he felt like it was meant for her to speak it. The exhaustion and the days of hard work had idled his brain, he figured, and he was loosing complete control. After trying to gain his sanity back he tossed his cares to the wind, and pulled inside her.
    He stopped a moment, letting out a content sigh as he rest his face into her throat, pressing his lips to her neck. Her fingers were digging almost painfully into his hips, and his hands framed her face as he kissed her long and sweetly.
    “James,” she murmured as he lightly kissed her. Her breath caught as he began to move slowly, “I don't want you to go...I want someone else to do it because I care about you.”
    His forehead touched hers, feeling her arch under him. She felt so good that he didn't know if he would be able stop after this, “You are so beautiful, Deirdre.”
    “You're...evading the subject...”
    “Forget about work for now,” he brushed his lips over her collarbone, picking up his rhythm slightly, “Just think about me.”
    She didn't think she would be able to think about anything other than him for the rest of her life. Deirdre was in love with him, and she still felt foolish for it. After knowing him for only two months, James was still a stranger to her. But there was an aura about him that drew her to him almost immediately.

    "My name, Deirdre..." he whispered into her ear, "...say my name..."
    “James...” she murmured his name as she felt them fall over the edge, “...James...”
                          ______

    The door on the cell was yanked open, and James shut his mind off as they dragged him out. He didn't care anymore if they were going to beat him, they would never get any information out of him. It was his best guess that he had been imprisoned on the island for a week now, and if he ever got out alive he made a note to do nothing except lay on the couch in front of a television, eat pizza, and make love with Deirdre. The thought of her suddenly seemed to dash the shadows from his mind.
    They didn't take him to the regular room that they usually interrogated him in. Instead they directed him towards the front entrance of the building.
    With the long days of being in a dark environment, the sunlight hurt his bloodshot eyes. He was pale as snow, and dried blood and dirt smeared over his face. His dark hair was matted to his face slightly, sticking in every direction, and he was sure that the week without shaving made him look like a madman.
    Bernado was standing on the edge of the beach, a rifle in his hand. One of the thugs smacked him in the legs, and James sunk to his knees in from of the man who had tortured him for the last week.
    “I will ask you one last time, Azul. Who do you work for?”
    Grant glared at him, and was silent. He heard the click as Bernado loaded the rifle.
    “It is rare that I kill anyone personally, but in this case, I am impressed with your strength. I could have made you rich and powerful, and you betrayed me. As much as I will miss our conversations, I will kill you if you do not tell me what I want to know.”
    “Then kill me.”
    If they shot him and ended it now at least they would stop beating him, and the pain would be gone. James only wished that he could have seen Deirdre one last time.
    I'm sorry.
    “Good-bye, Azul,” Bernado sneered in triumph as he pulled the trigger.
    A gunshot echoed up and down the beach.
                          ______

    Deirdre lay on the pillows, James' head rest on her shoulder as she drew her fingers through his hair. It had been two weeks since they had first slept together, and it was the night before he would leave to go undercover. There was no saying how long he would be gone, only that it would be a long time. Deirdre knew it, and the fear seemed to paralyze her for a moment.
    “I have to go, Deirdre,” James seemed to sense her terror.
    “I know.”
    “I'm the only one that can do it.”
    “I know.”
    “Don't worry,” he whispered to her, sighing as she continued to stroke her fingers through his hair, “Our agents are talented, I trust them with my life. I trust you with me life.”
    “I love you, James.”
    He turned his face into her skin, breathing in her wonderful scent, “Deirdre-”
    “It's alright, I don't expect you to say it back. I just wanted to be able to say it before you left,” she told him, “I would have regretted it for the rest of my life if I hadn't.”
    James pulled himself up on his elbows, and looking down into her eyes, “I love you too.”
    There were tears in her eyes as she shook her head, “Damn it, Grant, why'd you have to say it?”
    With an encouraging smile on his face, he tried his best to hide the sad look in his eyes, “I would have regretted it if something happened and I never got the chance.”
    “Damn you,” she scrubbed a hand over her eyes as he tried to brush the tears away, “Damn you, James. If you don't come back I'll hunt you down and kill you myself.”
    He chuckled, “I guess I'd better stay alive then.”
                              ______

    James looked up to see a trail of blood running down Bernado's head. With a small noise that sounded like a gasp, Bernado fell limp on the beach. Seeing the helicopter quickly approaching, the shots started as both sides returned fire. When the his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he caught sight of a flare of red hair as he slid onto the sand next to the same man who had spent a week slowly killing him.
   
    “Grant!”
    Deirdre had jumped from the chopper the moment it hit the island. Reinforcements were arriving by the boatload, and the other members of the drug ring were being hauled off as she spoke. The moment she spotted James, she dragged him into her arms, pulling off her helmet. A panic filled her the moment he had collapsed, and she prayed that she had reached him in time.
    “Agent Grant,” she shook him, shocked at his condition. She couldn't even begin to imagine all the horrible things that had happened to him, but at the moment she just wanted him to open his eyes, “James, please wake up.”
    He was still.
    Not caring that others were watching, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his, brushing the hair out of his injured face. He winced, and when she pulled back, his eyes were gazing back at her, “Come on, sweetheart, tell me you're alright.”
    “Deirdre?” he murmured.
    “You're safe now, I've got you,” she said, “It'll just be a couple more minutes, and you'll be on your way home.”
    “...dream?”
    “No," she shook her head, half laughing and half crying at the same time, "No dream.”
    A crooked smile touched his lips, “You came.”
    “Of course I did. I would have rather died before leaving you here alone,” Deirdre stroked her fingers over his face, “You can rest now, James, its over. I've got you.”
    He sighed, resting his head on her shoulder, using the rest of his strength to grip her hand, "Don't leave."
    "I'll be here."
    Suddenly everything seemed worth it, and he finally allowed himself to pass out. Deirdre sat with him as the medical officers ran towards them. Touching her forehead to his, she brushed her lips over his once more.
    She stayed with him while he slept, and when he woke up, she was still there.