Title: To Explore, to Display (Part 1)

Characters/Pairings: Jett/Logan/James (in every variation), Camille, Jennifer.

Spoilers: None.

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Sexual content, polyamory, language, light violence.

Word Count: Like, 10k or something.

Summary: James and Jett have always had a relationship of convenience. When Logan involuntarily steps between the two of them, the relationship becomes decidedly…less convenient, to put it mildly.

Author Note: What exactly James and Jett separately do for a living, you may piece it together immediately, you may not understand until the end. It's not too important. Also, I can't promise that my knowledge of history is accurate, because I hate history. Minor research was done (I probably should've watched a spy movie at some point, sploops). This story is labeled Part for a reason; don't expect anything competent like regular updates.

This story was prompted by and is dedicated to joyousbrokenthing, because Jett is the only acceptable addition to her (our) precious Jagan.

Disclaimer: I don't claim jack-diddly, including the references to Queen of SOP and other popular media. This story is loosely based off a movie I've never seen before, This Means War.

For James Diamond and Jett Stetson, being together was nothing more than simple necessity – "a purely carnal attraction," as Jett, the more eloquent of the two, preferred to describe it. Two attractive, sexually active men who happened to operate in the same clandestine field of work and were both inclined toward the same gender? That was a no-brainer! The only problem with the arrangement was that, while James and Jett clicked physically…

–

From: Jett Stetson

To: James Diamond

-Get home. Now.

April 15, 9:57 PM

That message had been sent forty-eight minutes ago. No response.

In the forty-eight minute span of time Jett had spent waiting for James to waltz through the door, he'd learned one thing: his nails were in desperate need of trimming. His fingers drummed against the marble countertop of the kitchen island impatiently, nails clicking against the hard surface in a restless tune that echoed crisply around the silent and scarcely lit condominium.

A few times during his wait, it'd crossed Jett's mind that he could've been doing something more worthwhile with his time, but at the same time, he wanted James to feel the full weight of an irate scowl when he came bumbling in through the front door so he felt nothing but guilt.

Spiteful, perhaps, but necessary.

Truthfully, Jett wasn't annoyed with James so much as he was annoyed with his entire day, a day filled with disappointments and failure, two things he was not accustomed to dealing with. His only mission for the day was to lift a simple royal necklace from an exhibit in Velten, Germany, but nothing had gone right. Of course, he wasn't the one to blame; his "job" required a random shuffle of operatives before each mission both to avoid suspicion and to minimize the likelihood of being traced, so his team's chemistry was left completely to chance.

While usually that wasn't a problem, today he'd had the pleasure of working with the organization's D-squad, complete with a newly inducted equipment specialist who didn't know a laser tripwire from a laser pointer – Jett had a fresh wound on his shoulder as testament to that – a navigator who, while easy on the eyes, had led him down two incorrect corridors, and a scout who'd mixed up the hours of the guard shift change.

Unsurprisingly, Jett was the only member of the team who'd done everything without flaw, but then again, he was an expert. That didn't mean he'd actually succeeded in stealing the necklace, but there was only so much that one man could do on his own.

And it was a really nice necklace, too!

But Jett didn't want to think about work, he wanted to be distracted from thoughts about work, which was where his boyfriend played an important role. What kind of relationship could they have if the sex wasn't immediate and satisfying?

It was around that point – the fifty-four minute mark, if one had to guess – that Jett heard the telling clicks of the doorknob turning, so he was quick to check his face in the reflection of his phone, making sure his glare sent exactly the message he wanted it to. Seconds later, James' head popped through the kitchen opening, squinting through the darkness and swinging keys around finger idly. "Jett? Is that you? Why're you sitting in the dark like a stalker?"

Jett ignored the question and crossed his arms over his chest, sure he'd make a statement even in the darkness, "I sent you a very urgent message hours ago and you have the nerve to show up talking and wearing clothes?"

"It wasn't thatlong!" James frowned, after a second of thought, took out his mobile to check. "Yeah, it wasn't that long."

"It was longer than I should have to wait for anything," Jett stood from his seat, fingers still jittering noisily against the island top. It was almost like James had forgotten how important Jett was.

James sauntered over to stand near Jett and leaned against the island, distractedly scrolling through his phone. "Yeah, well, I got kind of…uh, tied up."

"You mean that literally, don't you?" Jett cocked an eyebrow, and James huffed with amusement. He wouldn't ask anything more direct than that; they never asked for specifics, and they never answered when confidential. Neither of them desired being picked off by their respective organizations for being blabbermouths. "Does that have something to do with your change of attire from this morning?

James glanced down at himself before shrugging. "Not important."

"You're right, it's not," Jett took a step closer and snatched the phone from James' hands, dropping it on the island when James made a noise of dismay. "I told you to hurry home for a specific, obvious reason, yet you've been here for almost five minutes and we're both still fully clothed. Do you see the problem?" he pinched at the fabric of James' shirt pointedly.

Groaning for whatever childish reason, James shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Do we have to do this now? I'm tiiired."

Jett wasn't really listening, focusing instead on smoothing his palms down the front of James' t-shirt and underneath until the pads of his fingers slid over the warm skin of James' stomach. "You lost your right to refuse when you took your sweet time getting here." Hoping the conversation would end there, Jett gripped James' hips and attached his lips to James' jaw-line, backing him up and guiding him in the general direction of the bedrooms.

No such luck. "It wasn't my fault! I spent all day trying to – agh!" Jett missed the opening of the kitchen and ended backing James into the wall instead. The impact shouldn't have been hard enough to cause pain, but then again Jett was more occupied with marring the perfectly even skin of James' jaw and neck with uneven red and undoing the stupidly tight jeans James' insisted on wearing. "Fuck, be careful, man! I messed up my back today."

Jett pulled away to give James a brief but promising smirk. "I plan on making that pain a little worse, so you should get your complaints out of the way now so I don't have to hear them later."

He saw only a glimpse of James' answering glare before he returned to mouthing at skin just beyond the collar of James' shirt and pushing down James' cursed jeans. "Wait," James starts, "you mean I still don't get to–"

"No. Now, let's go."

After the resistance James had shown and the mumbled "God, damn it", Jett didn't expect the hands at the back of his thighs, clutching and deftly pulling him up to James' waist-level. He was quick to wrap his limbs around James' hips and necks, sure that the oaf would drop him otherwise. James stepped out of the jeans pooled around his ankles with some difficulty and began twisting and fumbling his way to the bedroom they shared while Jett worked on teasing the sensitive spot under James' left ear.

"Weren't you sniveling over your back pain a moment ago?" Jett breathed warmly with his lips grazing over the shell of James' ear, and he could feel the light tremor that ran over James' body through their chests and hips pressed close. "Always lying to get what you want. Such a spoiled brat."

"I wasn't lying!" James responded with an offended lilt and slammed Jett back into the doorjamb, hard enough to send a dull spike of pain down Jett's spine. James snickered at the pained grunt he received – not even the decency to pretend it was accidental. "See? Feels kinda like that, except lower down and to the right."

"Never again." Before Jett could seek righteous and possibly immature retribution by chewing a hole through James' neck, he was callously dropped onto the mattress, left to scramble for purchase. "Have you lost your mind?" Jett settled up on his elbows and scowled at the man leisurely pulling down his trousers, and, well he couldn't be too upset with that image.

James didn't acknowledge the taunt until Jett's trousers were off and tossed into the doorway, then he worked on removing the last of his own clothing. "Yeah yeah, let's get this over with. I wanna go to sleep."

"Already? It barely past eleven," Jett remarked a bit absentmindedly, more concerned with the engaging process of James removing his shirt and revealing his ridiculously fit body – with perfectly sculpted abdominal muscles that Jett wasn't envious of – and pushing down his briefs. Only half-hard. "That doesn't give us any time to be adventurous. How boring."

"No thanks, I adventured enough today," James motioned for Jett to remove the rest of the clothes before crouching down to rummage in the nightstand. Jett happily obliged when James tossed a familiar bottle onto the bed, "You can adventure by yourself if you want, I guess."

Jett pursed his lips at James, who was busy glaring at a particularly formidable condom foil, and grabbed the transparent bottle, dripping an appropriate amount of the viscous fluid onto his fingers and frowning at the tingling sensation – James' choice of lubrication, not his. When James climbed on the bed, Jett immediately pushed him to lie on his back, noting the confusion on his face. "I don't know how enjoyable you think this will be when you're this uptight, but you're making my job more difficult," Jett informed and settled between James' legs.

Maybe James was going respond to that, maybe not, Jett didn't really care, but by the time he popped the head of James' cock into his mouth, whatever James was going to say came out as odd little whistle. Jett swirled his tongue around the head idly and stroked James to hardness, tightening his fingers and twisting for the shallow friction James groaned over. Feeling generous, he hummed one of the obnoxious pop tunes James liked to sing while taking more of James' cock, trailing his clean hand up against James' stomach, down to his hips and thighs.

Mindful of his nails, Jett slipped one slickened finger into James without preamble, not that James seemed bothered by it with the way he kept trying bucking his hips to force himself further into Jett's mouth. It was better that way, Jett decided, lightly scraping his teeth down James' dick to distract him from the discomfort – and whining – from added digits.

By the time Jett retracted his fingers, James was nearly over the edge, muttering nonsense and long streams of "Fuck, fuck, fuck yes, fuck," and his hand were clenched tightly in the bedspread, probably to keep from grabbing Jett's head. For those reasons, Jett found it much more enjoyable to pull away, smirking at the flushed glare he received.

"Come now, you don't really want it to be over that quickly, do you?" he teased, leaning back on his hands purposely.

"Shut uuup," James pouted and crawled close, brandishing the condom and rolling it over Jett's dick. Jett tried to keep his face to its usual confident perfection, but James was clearly out for revenge, squeezing his dick through the thin barrier and massaging his chest while pushing him on his back, and Jett couldn't help the tiny traitorous moan that escapes his mouth.

"Are you having fun now?" Jett asked, watching James crawl over him with a cheeky grin of his own, simultaneously irritating and attractive.

"Hmm, maybe," James shrugged and moved to kneel with his knees on either side of, ass hovering in perfect position over Jett's cock. With a bit of blind aiming and the steadying of Jett's hands on his hips, James began lowering himself on Jett, grunting periodically in discomfort until he was fully seated on Jett's hips.

Then, there was waiting. And more waiting. And too much waiting for Jett when his dick was already nestled in constricting warmth of his boyfriend's admittedly fantastic ass, and why did James think he'd ever want to bottom after feeling something so sinfully good, and there was still waiting–

Until James shifted his hips and started moving, bouncing with assistance from Jett hands, and he fisted his own cock and jerked intently – which was good since Jett had no plans on furthering James' stimulation after he was finished. The sounds coming out of his mouth would've been embarrassing were James not making them too, and yeah, Jett could never grow tired of watching James fuck down on his dick when his boyfriend chose the position, not often enough.

It didn't take him long, not after having waited over an hour, and he emptied out into the condom with a low groan, eyes clenched tightly and pushing as far into James as he could. Shutting his eyes turned out to be a hazy miscalculation; maybe if he'd been more alert, he could've stopped James before the sensation of warm jets of come spattered up his torso.

Jett figured that out when he actually gained the wherewithal to think and open his eyes, only to grimace down at the mess covering his stomach, chest and, impressively, his neck. "Could you possibly be viler?" he glared at James, who was more concerned with pushing his brown hair away from his glistening forehead than he was with getting off of Jett.

"Aw, don't like being a jizz rag?" James gave a mocking pout and ran a finger through his come, which didn't last long before Jett sat up sharply, knocking James off balance and making him tumble to the carpet with a yelp.

"Does that answer your question?" Jett chuckled victoriously.

–

…socially, the story wasn't the same. That detail didn't bother either of them though. Why complicate the relationship with something as unnecessary as liking one another's company outside of the bedroom?

That's the mindset both men had, and that's exactly where both men failed – just not with one another.

Strangely enough, James and Jett meet the unwitting hitch in their "relationship" at different points in the same day. For James…

–

When the early, dead hours of the morning peeked through the bedroom window, James was glad for his foresight in going to sleep earlier than usual. Almost immediately after he, quite literally, rolled out of bed, the dull notes of his mobile's ringtone floated into his ears. Of course, it took him at least seven minutes before he noticed and crawled out of the bedroom with unintelligible grumbling, not caring if he was loud.

The chilled ceramic tile against his palms and knees served to wake him a little more, but not enough for him to actually stand or anything. His jeans were crumpled on the kitchen floor near the doorway – when did that happen? – and the ringtone had stopped momentarily enough for James to believe he was off the hook, until it started again just as obnoxious as before.

After pulling out several incorrect items from his pockets, James held both his personal and his work mobile in his hands. The noise was blaring from the work mobile. At not even seven in the morning!

Damn.

James flipped the phone open and laid supine on the cool tile, letting it soothe the dull throbbing in his back. Despite Jett's accusations, James' back really did hurt and he had a large, boot-shaped bruise on his lower back where someone had unsuccessfully tried to kick out his kidney to prove it. Wait, was the kidney on the left side or the right?

"Please tell me this is just a briefing," James spoke in the most pleasant voice he could muster, which wasn't very pleasant at all.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine. No such luck," the other end chirped happily in his ear.

"You know, Camille? I hate morning people like you," James grumbled, knowing Camille wouldn't take him seriously.

After a tinkling laugh, she responded, "Well, maybe you'll hate me a little less when I tell you it's a local mission."

"'Local' as in somewhere in the Midwest?" James snorted disbelievingly. His missions were never local, always requiring him to jump into an unmarked vehicle or unlicensed jet at a moment's notice to rush off to some random far corner of the United States. That condition wouldn't have been so bad if not for the inconsistent timing and the uninteresting destinations. Why wasn't he ever needed somewhere fun like Los Angeles or Hawaii?

"No, 'local' as in Edina, about twenty miles due north of Central."

James sat up quickly, then immediately regretted his enthusiasm when pain flared in his back. "No way!"

"Yes way! Oh, but you should probably hurry up before someone dies."

––

Ten minutes later, James was jogging into the Westin Edina Galleria hotel and feeling no less groggy than when he'd awakened. He hadn't had the chance to shower or to eat anything or to change his outfit – well, that wouldn't matter in a few minutes, but he didn't feel as sparklingly delicious as he should have.

The residents of the hotel always regarded him strangely when he rushed through the lobby, but none of the employees gave him a second glance, most, if not all, knowing exactly who and what he was. James fumbled in his pocket for his ID car and slid it through the terminal of the elevator far into the northernmost corner of the lobby, the elevator reserved for hotel staff members. After checking that no one outside was watching him, he closed the doors and pressed a series of floor numbers – 11, 2, 9, 9, 26, 30, 7, 25, 4, 11, – before holding down the B1 and the emergency stop button simultaneously for precisely fifteen seconds. The elevator started moving, though the digital floor count stayed at 1.

The doors opened on a corridor lined with gray concrete bricks and nondescript iron doors. James passed them all until he reached the door at the end, then looked up into the unassuming camera above head with eyes opened wide. "James Diamond, ID-6488," he spoke as clearly as he could.

The heavy door hissed open a second later, admitting him. The open area he entered – "the office", as he called it when anyone asked, but officially known as Central – was coated with thick, impenetrable metal on all sides and bustling with operatives on duty, some at computers giving instruction and information to field agents, others running around preparing for deployment. There was a large, one-sided window overlooking the city and letting the sunlight in. To James, it kind of was like an office, except there were guns lined behind all the walls and most of the operatives could kill a person with their bare hands within seconds and–

"There you are!" Heels clicked against the floor behind him and James whipped around to see Camille rushing up to him, manila folder clutched in one hand. "What took you so long? You forgot the elevator passkey again, didn't you?" James huffed and opened his mouth to defend his memory, but Camille began shoving before he could say a word. "No time! You've gotta hurry up and go!"

James craned his head to look back at her, letting her push him down the large hallway, "You still haven't told me what I'm supposed to be doing."

"I didn't? I'm pretty sure I did already," Camille questioned and stopped pushing him along, instead walking alongside him and flipping open her folder. "You remember the group of henchman under Domingo Zagalli who masterminded the assassination of Wisconsin's governor a few days ago, don't you?"

"Kind of," he nodded. Despite the amount of blackmail Governor Allen Tudor was threatened with, he'd refused to stand down from his position. His bravery would've been admirable…were he not buried.

"Well, one of the members of the group caved and ratted himself out to the authorities yesterday. Probably knew he was going to be caught sooner or later and decided to give up," Camille nodded to herself. "The rest of them were forced to run off to avoid arrest, and guess what lovely little town they chose for their vacation?"

James hummed with curiosity when they turned the corner into the outfitting room. "Why would they come here of all places? What's in Edina?" he questioned while opening his locker, removing his shirt unabashed of Camille's presence.

She shrugged with a perplexed expression, "Maybe they like cold weather or something, how should I know? I don't have a criminal's thought process."

That was something James was willing to debate, but he was supposed to be rushing and teasing would probably waste time. "How many do I have to handle?"

Camille flipped through her folder again before answering. "Lookout says they split up once they got into town, so you don't have to worry about a horde. Stephanie and two of the Jennifers are already after the first five. The other four were last seen near the midtown science museum, so you and the leftover Jennifer will take care of them. I should have a virtual schematic for the building set up on my system by the time you get there," she waved her folder in the air.

"A museum? Gross," James grimaced at the thought while slipping on his under-armor.

"You don't have to learn anything, James," Camille rolled her eyes. "Just make sure no one dies…if you can help it."

James paused in the middle of removing his jeans. "Wait, there're hostages?" That made his job a lot harder.

"We're not sure, but don't rule it out as a possibility. Weirdos and the elderly love going to museums."

––

To avoid detection should any of the targets be on lookout, James and Curly Jennifer, as he'd titled her, landed on the rooftop of an office a few buildings away from the museum, fully suited in black and armed as necessary, face guards covering all but their eyes already protected by tinted visors. After ensuring that they were clear to proceed, both began to sprint across the rooftops, easily clearing the gaps between buildings until they reached the museum.

James edged over to the front of the building, carefully peeking over to check for their targets on the front steps of the museum. Seeing no one, he tacitly signaled to Jennifer for her to wait on the roof as back-up. She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and tapped her foot in response, which was roughly her signal for 'I don't care, just hurry up'. James didn't respond and switched on the communicator in his ear. "Entry point?"

"Air duct on the southeast corner of the roof," Camille supplied on cue. James followed her direction and made a disgruntled noise; of course he had to crawl through a filthy, cramped, bug-infested ventilation system. Heaven forbid someone put an accessible window in a museum!

And he'd thought they couldn't possibly be worse.

After removing the air filter, James slid down into the duct, landing in a low, silent crouch and peering into the scarcely lit space. Nothing suspicious. "Where to?"

There was the sound of rapid clicking before Camille answered, "There's a small custodial closet a few meters from your current position. I'll guide you to it." James nodded unnecessarily and switched on his helmet light for better visual, agile and silent as he began slinking through the vents. He could hear sounds from beneath him as he passed over room, muffled words and clicking objects and heavy footsteps.

Over halfway through to his destination, James suddenly let out a peep when his light passed over something and halted, quiet enough for the sound not to escape the vents but loud to alert Camille. "What's wrong? Did someone see you? Are you hurt?"

"No," James shook his head and gazed fearfully at the tiny beast currently skittering away. "Spider."

A small pause. "Oh, my god, you are the biggest baby."

"You're not the one who almost died!" he hissed back, eyes following the spider until it disappeared through the grate ahead. Sighing in relief, James planned on continuing on until he heard talking, voices more audible than previous.

James peered through the slits to see a group of people huddled up near a model of what looked liked Mars, and another man, sandy blond, dressed in camouflage and armed, was pacing around the room, muttering curses and occasionally barking at the group and threatening them with his gun.

Unsure of his next action, James sat back and whispered into his link, "There are hostages."

"Then you've got to hurry to that closet. You're not far from it now," urged Camille.

But James didn't want to risk that; the armed man was anxious and irate, James could tell from his uneasy movements, and someone like that could be set off at any moment. The last thing James wanted was to waste time playing it safe only to lose an innocent life. Hell, he wouldn't have been in the profession he was in now if he liked playing it safe.

"Why aren't you moving? You're not trying to rush in, are you?"

He was in the process of silently removing the grate – and hoping the spider wouldn't come back for revenge – when he responded, decision already made. "I've got it covered."

"James! Just…ugh, be careful!" He was glad Camille knew him well enough not bother trying to change his mind.

Grate successfully moved, James poked his head out of the duct to better view the surroundings. The room was large, but only the one man was guarding the hostages, and he was walking around in circles and occasionally peeking out of a large window on the far side of the room. The group was, as Camille had predicted, mainly comprised of old people along with two uniformed curators, an unarmed security guard, and what looked to be a young man in front of the group. Obviously in the weirdo category.

Unable to help his himself, James' eyes roved over the man appraisingly from his styled dark hair to his creased slacks and nodded appreciatively. Good-looking weirdo.

Apparently he'd looked for too long, because moments later, wide brown eyes flew up to meet his. James panicked briefly; the guy was looking directly at him and would give away his position when the henchman turned around, so he quickly brought his index finger to his lips in silent pleading. The guy's eyes shined with realization and he dropped his gaze immediately, focus back on the henchman.

James' eyes followed the henchman carefully as well, waiting for the perfect chance to strike; missing would mean the end of him and the hostages, so he only had one shot. The henchman was too nervous though, and whenever he walked underneath the vent opening, he moved too quickly for James hit, and figuring out how to perfectly time his strike in time with the henchman's steps was too much brain-work for James to manage successfully.

He was ready to give up and attempt shooting the henchman with his tranquilizer gun – he admitted to himself that he wasn't the best shot in the world, but he was running out of options – until he heard the tiniest of jingles. The young man, the weirdo, was pulling something out of his pocket…a ring of keys? James watched curiously as the man tossed the keys so they landed raucously underneath the duct opening. What the hell was he doing?

"What the fuck is this?" the henchman growled and stomped over to the discarded keys, bending over to snatch them up – directly beneath James, and then he understood.

He was quick to act, dropping down from the vent so his knees collided with the henchman's back solidly. The henchman plunged headlong into the floor, skull colliding hard enough to knock him unconscious, the clatter of his fallen gun muffled by his body. James grinned triumphantly behind his face guard and expertly stripped the man of his weapons and other items before binding his wrists behind his back.

When he looked up, most of the hostages gave him various expressions of fear, all except for the nameless man with now curious eyes. James wanted to thank him for his assistance or praise his impressive aim, but he was sort of in a rush. Instead, he tossed the henchman's gun to the security guard, who caught it clumsily, and signaled for them all to stay put.

Just when he was at the exit of the area and peering around the corner, James heard a whispered, "Wait!" and turned to see the nameless man rushing up to him with quiet. Shocked, James tried to gesture for the man to halt or back away, but the frantic gestures were ignored.

"What are you doing?" James hissed when the man crouched next to him. "Go back and wait with the others."

The man shook his head, "I'm coming with you."

"Who in the world are you talking to?" Camille piped up in his ear.

"What? No way, you've gotta stay here," James pointed to huddled group of people sternly, not that the man seemed to pay his order much attention.

"I can't!"

"You have to. It's way too dangerous to follow me," James tried shoving him back.

Still, the man persisted, "It's more dangerous for me to wait back there! Most likely, you're more skilled in close-quarters-combat and firearms than that security guard, and you're more properly geared to handle one of those guys. Though you're probably taking an offensive route and searching them out, my chances of survival are twenty-eight percent higher by going with you. Besides, waiting behind without knowing whether one of those thugs will come in and blast me full of holes will make nervous and panicky and I just wanna leave!"

Taken back by the amount of words and the unexpected spasmodic logic, James was reduced to blinking silently. "He's got a point, you know," Camille chipped in, though she probably didn't fully know the situation.

"Not now," James grunted into the communicator, prompting a curious look from the slightly annoying man, so James turned a glare on him – ineffective as it was with the visor covering his eyes. "You're just going to get in the way if you tag along."

"I can help you out."

James snorted, "Who says I need help?" Never mind Jennifer waiting as his back-up on the roof. The man quirked an eyebrow, and James had to remember that the man had helped him out just a few minutes ago. "All right, all right. What can you do? Can you…fight?"

"Not really."

"Are you good with a gun?"

"I've never held one before."

"Then how the hell can you help?" James fought the urge to flail childishly, because they were getting absolutely nowhere.

The useless man tapped his finger against his skull with a confident nod. "I can use my head."

James gasped and leaned in conspiratorially, "Can you, like, mind-wipe them like the bald guy from X-Men?"

The possibly mutated man blinked silently for a moment, then looked at James as if he'd gone crazy. "Uh, no? I meant my intelligence. Y'know, thinking?" he explained, tapping his head harder for emphasis.

"…thinking? I could think if I wanted to!" Not that he wanted to very often, but the point still stood. He pretended not to hear the unbelieving snort in his ear.

"Look, no matter what you say, I'm going to follow you anyway, so we might as well stop wasting time," the man said, mouth set in a firm, stubborn line.

Though he wasn't a fan of losing arguments, losing a life would probably worse. James conceded, grunting his assent and going back to peering into the wide corridor. There was no one, nothing but hanging signs advertising various exhibits and colorful murals of science-y stuff along the walls, dimly lit. He set off down the hallway on light feet, sidling along the wall. He didn't check to see if the definitely annoying man was following him, but he didn't hear any steps behind him, so at least he knew to be silent.

Sunlight shined into the hall through the opening to another exhibit and James halted at the edge of the opening, holding up his palm for the man to do the same. He peeked into the exhibit slowly, carefully, to find another armed henchman leaning against a platform near the display of an enormous dinosaur skeleton.

Cursing inwardly, James retreated and pressed his back against the wall, gnawing at his lip with frustration. The henchman's focus was directly on the opening and his position was near the center of the exhibit. Trying to rush in and disarm the henchman before he opened fire was no good. Just as well, James' marksmanship handicap came back to hinder him; he couldn't jump into view and shoot the target because, well, he'd most likely miss. He needed another plan.

"How many are there?" came a furtive whisper from behind. James turned his view to the curious expression on the nameless man's face and shrugged. He couldn't see into the exhibit with the henchman looming in sight, so he couldn't be sure if there was one guy or three. The nameless man's eyes furrowed in thought and he was nodding to himself as if he understood something – James had no idea what.

Then he was standing and starting to walk off toward the opposite side of the hall. Alarmed, James attempted to grab the nameless man's arm to stop whatever stupid, deadly action he was trying to commit, but his hand only grasped air. "Don't worry," the increasingly stupid man said when he was far enough away, giving James a nervous grin, "I'm use to being bait." James wasn't given time to ponder the meaning of the statement before the obviously suicidal man was walking into the sunlight with his hands up in surrender and a…whistled tune on his lips.

The ominous click of a cocked shotgun echoed in James' ear, followed by a gruff, "What the – why the hell are you over here? Get back with the others!"

James could only see the nameless man's reaction, eyes widening and floundering for something to say. "Oh, I was just, y'know, checking out the exhibit. They've got some pretty interesting stuff here. Did you know that the Ceratopsians that existed during the late Cretaceous period were actually herbivores?" The man explained while waving his index finger in the air conspicuously. Like, a really unnecessary amount of frantic waving, and he was doing it sort of like he wanted James to notice it, which didn't–

One finger. One.

One henchman.

"So movies like, say, Jurassic Park that popularized the characteristic of the Ceratopsians being flesh eating reptilians are, in fact, historically inaccurate. And to add to that, some of the–"

"I said get back with the others!" The henchman was moving closer, James could hear the heavy steps against the linoleum. He pressed himself into the shadows just as the barrel of the henchman's shotgun appeared, aimed directly at the nameless man's chest. This one was larger and bald, James noted, but he was wearing very little protection – an easy takedown.

The nameless man's nonexistent confidence waned more and more with the shrinking distance between he and the gun, but that didn't stop his mouth. "A-are you sure you don't want to know more? I haven't even touched on the common misplacement of pterosaurs among land–"

"I don't know how you slipped past Collins, but if you don't get back with the others right now, I'm gonna blast your fucking–" the henchman started, but with his focus fully on the nameless man, James didn't give him the chance to finish. James sped in behind and wrapped his arms around the thug's neck, pressing down carefully where he knew the henchman's – carrot? – arteries were. The nameless man moved out of the shotgun's aim as quickly as possible, not that it mattered; the henchman dropped the gun in his haste to vainly claw at James' iron-clad grip.

In a matter of seconds, he was out. James dropped him to the ground unceremoniously and bounded his arms behind his back, making sure he had no other weapons on him. When James stood, he offered an enthusiastic high-five to the nameless man – he couldn't bother with professionalism, half-baked plans that turned out successful were his favorite to undertake. The adrenaline coursing through him was too pleasant to ignore. "Nice teamwork, man!"

The frazzled man tore his gaze away from the shotgun, the one that'd been literally seconds from taking his life, and met James' high-five with a weak but genuine grin – dimples, James noted. Very nice. "Yeah…we pulled it off. Christ, that was close," he breathed, running a hand through dark locks.

"Yeah, but you went in there are all bad-ass and started talking about cero…certo…I don't even know, whatever! I mean, do you, like, work around danger or something?"

The nameless – James really had to find out his name at some point – man snorted, "Sure, the library's very dangerous, if potentially having misplaced encyclopedias fall on your head counts as 'dangerous'." He looked around, up and down the hall and into the dinosaur exhibit, then to James. "Shouldn't we be finding those other criminals so you can…uh," he paused, then made a vague choking motion with his hands.

By reflex, James almost made a comment both suggestive and inappropriate, but he bit his tongue at the last moment. "Right, yeah, good idea," James nodded and, frowning into the darkness over the man's head, because he had a problem, unrelated to the henchman or whatever he was doing. He was curious – about the intelligent man with adorable dimples whose name he'd yet to learn – and Curious James and Focused James didn't really mix at all, not with all the questions buzzing around in his head, questions that distracted him from…what was he doing?

James' gaze dropped absently to the nameless man's moving lips, humming lowly to himself. Curious James and Horny James mixed, interestingly enough, but that wasn't related.

Then, James realized that the man invading his brain was saying things. His gaze snapped up to meet deep, brown, confused eyes. "Huh?"

The man furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. James couldn't figure out why the expression was so attractive. "I said those thugs were talking about guarding the exits before they trapped us, so maybe we can find one of them at the main entrance."

That sounded like a good idea, so James agreed with another nod. "All right, that's do that."

"Do you even need my help anymore?" the communicator buzzed to life. James didn't like the amusement he heard in Camille's voice.

"You could lead me to the main entrance," James said, ignoring her tone. He expected another confused look from the nameless man, but instead only saw patience. Had he figured it out already?

"Sure you don't want to ask your friend for help?"

"Not now," James hissed.

After a small giggle, she was all business again. "You're in the main hall now. Follow the southern path and you'll find the main entrance."

After remembering which way was south, James resumed slinking noiselessly through the building, this time hoping the nameless man was following him. Gradually, the hall began to curve and brighten with the presence of natural sunlight, telling James they were fast approaching the main doors, along with more danger. His steps became more cautious and he blindly motioned for the man to lay low, figuring he was smart enough to read the sign.

At their slow pace, it took them a while before James saw the main lobby, sunlight illuminating the banners, the glass cases filled with priceless objects and the large marble statue of a censored naked guy. They halted at the corner just before they can come into view and James quickly searched out the remaining henchmen. He only found one, a short, dark-haired man in a ratty leather jacket whose attention was fully on the doors, gun at the ready.

The second time around, James was unwilling to let his new companion risk his life; he probably wouldn't be able to talk with a blown off head. In fact, James sort of wanted to impress the man – he was the hero, he should've been doing awesome things. Of course, the distance between his current and that of the henchman was too great for him to avoid being shot if he tried rushing a close quarters attack – his job was never easy – so he pulled his tranquilizer gun from its holster and aimed as carefully he could–

"You're not going to kill him, are you?"

James flinched and pulled out of sight to turn around, wishing the man could see his annoyance. "It's a tranq gun, dude. Chill out." The worry eased from the paranoid man's face, and James tried again to aim at the henchman, instructions from shooting practice during his recruitment days whirling through his head.

"Why're you holding it like that?"

Again, James flinched and pulled out of sight, glaring fiercely because he wanted the man to feel his irritation. "What're you talking about?" he whispered through clench teeth.

"The gun," the nameless man pointed informatively. "You were gripping it really tightly, like you wanted to crush it. I don't think that's good for shooting."

Confused, James looked down at the gun, flexing his hand experimentally. He hadn't even known he'd been holding it tightly. "I thought you said you never held a gun before," James said with suspicion in his voice.

"I haven't, I just know that clenching your hand that tightly for any purpose is usually a hindrance."

With eyes so earnest and unblinking, James was inclined to believe his companion. He concentrated on keeping grip on the gun loose but firm and aimed for a third time, thanking the heavens that the henchman wasn't smart enough to check his surroundings periodically. Sight set on the henchman's neck, James' shot…

…and planted a syringe his shoulder blade. Close enough.

After a bit of futile reaching for the syringe and pained grunting, the downed thug stumbled into a door and slid to the floor, unconscious. James didn't pay as much attention to that as he should have, more focused on the fact that he hit his target and not the beam seven feet to the left. He wanted to cheer, he wanted to shout and jump and do other electrified things that would more than likely give away his position, and he only barely restrained himself.

Not only was his companion good looking and smart and kind of awesome, he was also a wizard!

"Nice shot," the wizard praised with a toothy smile, and James beamed with pride, wishing his helmet was off so he could flip his hair nonchalantly – really, it was the perfect moment. In fact, it was the perfect moment for a lot of things, like another congratulatory high-five or maybe a hug or maybe even a kiss.

Which was where Curious James started moving into dangerous territory. "Yeah, thanks to your help."

The man shrugged modestly, "I didn't really do anything. Maybe I could've brought a weapon of my own if I'd known my day was going to be this exciting."

"That's what you get for going to a museum this early in the morning."

"Hey, it was the only time in the day I could find where it was still open," he bristled. James didn't even try to comprehend someone willingly setting aside time in their day to go to a museum.

"Um, we have a problem. Err, two problems, actually."

James glanced at the nameless, who was looking around warily, then turned around, pressing his communicator close to his ear. "What is it?"

Before she could answer, James heard the high whine of police sirens fast approaching and guessed what one of the problems was. "Well, first, one of the people you freed must have called the police, because they're on their way. Second, Jennifer just reported seeing a figure in black bolting out of the back exit of the museum. Have any idea who that was?"

"Uhh…," James pulled up his visor and counted the number of bad guys he'd taken down with his fingers, then recounted just to make sure. "Shit, they got away?"

"I guess so. Jennifer's already on her way to the rendezvous point, you need to hurry up and get out of there."

"Right. Lead me to that janitor's closet?"

"On it."

He probably should've been rushing with the threat of law enforcement growing ever closer and a criminal on the loose and a checkpoint to meet, but all of that seemed a little less important than finding a way to make his last moments with his interesting new companion special. He was never one to question his own priorities.

James faced his companion slowly, biting his lip to think of something to say, perfect and suave and possibly magical, to find that brown eyes were already on staring back at him, blinking in surprise and...was that a blush?

"Woah," the man breathed, then seemed to hear himself and covered up his outburst with a cough. "Sorry, it's just, uh…eyes. Yeah," he rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly.

It took James a few seconds to realize the man was talking about his eyes, which were apparently enough to stupefy now that the visor was out of the way, and that was perfect for him to leave on. "Glad to know you think so, cutie, but I gotta run."

The sound of sirens was almost deafening now, accompanied by the slam of car doors. James sprinted past the unfortunately still nameless man and down the hallway, proud of himself for only checking back once to make sure that, yep, the man was watching him go. There was something in his pocket jingling noisily with his every step, something he'd confiscated from one of the henchman.

By the James reached the rooftop, the jingling sound was really starting to get on his nerves. He searched through his pockets, hoping it was nothing vital that he could toss away, only to pull out a ring of keys – the key the helpful man had thrown before! James grinned and looked through the keys, knowing he would find something, anything telling about the man he'd left behind. Someone smart like that would have some way for keys to be returned

There was one unassuming key ring ornament, white laminated paper encased in plastic with information in bold black letters, that widened James' grin. Now his man was no longer nameless.

–

…and for Jett…

–

For Jett, waking up for the first big stretch of the day and finding he had endless empty space on his bed was the perfect way to start the morning. So perfect, in fact, that he decided to go back to sleep, limbs spread wide along the mattress. Two hours later, he was in the kitchen sipping black coffee and leisurely chewing on biscotti – almond and hazelnut, his favorite – already showered and dressed for the day.

He had only one work-related task for the day, literally the worst part of the job for him – being held at gunpoint and dislocated shoulders included – and he planned on putting it off for as long as he possibly could, which meant he occupied hours of time with television, coordinating outfits for the week, texting friends he didn't like, and perfecting his gorgeous facial expressions in the bathroom mirror.

By the time he finished procrastinating for as long as he could, it was only half-past noon, leaving him plenty of time to complete the task. The thought left a sour gurgle in his stomach, but he resigned himself to the torture, snagging his keys from living area table on his way out the door.

Less than twenty minutes later, Jett was glaring up at the concrete and glass fortress of agony. The Edina Public Media Center – library – glared right back at him, hissed and growled at him, daring him to enter its walls and suffer the fate of the intellectually impaired individuals who were unfortunate enough enter.

No, he wasn't being the least bit dramatic.

There were only a few people looming around the bookcases and ticking away on computer keys, and Jett didn't hide his disgusted grimace from any of them. He already envied everyone who didn't have to waste their time there. Still, he had work to do, and silently judging everyone in the area wasn't going to get him out any quicker.

That settled, Jett walked around library aimlessly, only having a vague idea of what he was looking for. He spent the time during his search turning his nose up to anyone unattractive who looked his way and conspicuously peeking over patrons' shoulders to scoff at whatever uninteresting things they were using the computers for. At rare times, he saw titles on the spines of books that appeared to be interesting, but they were all lies! Nothing but small printed text.

Finally, he found a rack of ridiculously large books near the main desk and sighed in relief – one step closer to leaving. The encyclopedias were old and mostly torn, missing full pages or stained with ominously vibrant colors. Jett didn't realize that they'd been organized by alphabet and date until he was one-third through the collection, tossing the useless ones onto the floor behind him without a care. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost the B series.

Behind him, someone deliberately cleared their throat. "Um, can I help you, sir?"

Jett didn't bother turning around, busy flipping through Q. "Yes, you can pick those up," he waved a hand dismissively at the pile on the floor, "and get them out of my way. Stack them somewhere neatly, while you're at it."

He didn't hear the intruder heeding his command. In fact, there was almost a burning sensation on his neck where he could feel a glare aimed his way. Then, the person spoke again, sounding more taxed than he had previously. "No, I meant help find what you're looking so you can get out quicker."

Well, that wasn't a pleasant tone. Jett frowned and snapped the encyclopedia shut, dropping it on the carpet when he stood and turned to face the person, the man, with an unimpressed eyebrow. "Listen here…" Jett stooped down briefly to read the badge hanging around the man's neck, "…Logan, I'm an important person, which means I'm free to lounge around and do whatever awful things anyone else does here without a nasally voice ushering me along. Understand?"

The Logan fellow didn't react the way Jett wanted, not with fear or insult or even hurt. Instead, he blinked curiously and asked, "So you don't want to get of here faster?"

As painfully true as that was, Jett wasn't willing to give him the satisfaction of being correct. "That's none of your concern," Jett huffed.

"It kinda is, since I work here and all," Logan shrugged.

"You must be so proud of your accomplishments."

His words must have hit a nerve, because the curiosity in Logan's eyes hardened into annoyance. "Fine, it's your choice. Nevertheless, I've had a pretty shit day so far, and I'd like it if you didn't make it worse, so please refrain from making anymore disturbances, facial or," his gaze drops to the pile of books at his feet, "otherwise, else I'll have to ask you to leave."

When Logan stooped down to organize the books, Jett sneered at the top of his spiky dark-brown hair before returning to his own work. About two seconds in, he remembered how absolutely boring researching was and groaned lowly, dropping whatever book he was flipping through haphazardly on the rack. He didn't want to swallow his pride and accept assistance from someone mildly annoying, but he could spare a little to end the pain of learning, right? Just a little.

Jett whipped around to Logan with a trained face and asked, "How much do you know?"

After stacking the final book onto his pile, Logan turned to Jett. "How much do I know about what?"

"Things, the world, history and all that drivel."

Logan shrugged, "A lot, I guess."

"All right then, I've decided to let you help me find something, only because you begged so desperately," Jett nodded affirmatively, missing the glare Logan shot him.

"If you're looking for coloring books to check out, they're over there," Logan pointed toward some random area of the library. "Along the back wall."

"What? Really?" At his words, Jett perked up and followed the direction Logan was pointing in, trying to crane his head to get a view of the coloring books around pointless bookcases, before a thought occurred to him and his excitement plummeted. He turned unamused eyes on Logan. "Wait just a minute, you can't fool me. If the coloring books are able to be rented, all the pages will already be colored in. What good is that?"

Logan blinked blankly at him, mostly likely stunned by his ingenuity, then gave a short, choked laugh. "Wow, you're smarter than I thought you were."

Definitely stunned by his ingenuity. Jett didn't bother hiding his smirk – not that he usually ever did. "I know. I hear that a lot." There was amusement on Logan's face for some reason, but Jett didn't care enough to question it. "Tell me what you know about a relic called The Bay…Bye…," Jett snapped his fingers absentmindedly to try and spark his memory, "…Bai…Bai-Something Bracelet, I don't know."

"The Bai Nuhuang Bracelet?" Logan supplied, a strange electric twinkle in his eyes.

"That's it!" No wonder he couldn't think of it, it wasn't even English! "You know of it?" Logan nodded, and Jett almost smiled. "Excellent. Tell me what you know."

Logan didn't hesitate for a second, seeming oddly enthusiastic about sharing knowledge. How weird was that? "Well, the title of the artifact actually translates to The 'White Empress' Bracelet, because during some disputed time period in Chinese history, the bracelet was worn by a woman only known as White Empress for her beautiful pale skin.

"She'd received the bracelet from her husband, Emperor Gao, as a promise of his loyalty and faithfulness to her. However, several years later, the emperor began to develop feelings for one of the empress' chambermaids, Xiao Xiao. When the empress discovered his affections for someone who wasn't her, she got insanely jealous and wanted the servant dead, so she accused the servant of stealing one of her finest silk garments and had her executed. The emperor discovered the empress' lie and became enraged, so to sever the loyalty he no longer felt for her, he…had her arm cut off with the bracelet still on her wrist. That's all the history there is to it, I think."

After letting all the rapidly spewed information sink in, Jett wasn't any happier at the gained knowledge. He hadn't known any of that when he'd first heard of the bracelet, and he wasn't so sure he still wanted it. "You mean to tell me the bracelet was attached to a severed limb?"

Logan tilted his head, "What do you mean 'was'? It still is, as far as I know. She was buried with the arm after she died from blood lost in the emperor's garden."

Yeah, he definitely didn't want the bracelet anymore. Something like that was probably to be cursed and covered in corpse grime. He wanted to gag at the thought. "How did this empress even find out about his affections?"

"Letters," Logan said, as if it was obvious. "I don't know what it is about historical affaires, but for some reason, they love leaving a paper trail. Oh, like, during the nineteenth century, the baron of–"

"Don't care," Jett held up a hand to silence Logan. "Why exactly do you know these things?"

"Uh, because I like history? It's interesting."

Jett grimaced, "That's a disgusting thing to say."

"You're weird," Logan declared, though Jett could hear the humor in his voice, "and I have to get back to work." He crouched down to heft up the books he'd stacked and sidestepped Jett, setting them neatly on the rack before walking behind the front desk.

Though Jett wasn't keen on the idea of staying in a library of all places, he didn't have any further plans for the day now that he had no interest in lifting a bracelet still wrapped around a skeletal empress' bony wrist. His potential mission for the day was scrapped and, well, Logan wasn't exactly hideous. Weird, but not hideous. In fact, were Jett a more generous person, he'd call Logan cute, with his lips pursed and his eyes focused on whatever uninteresting thing he was scribbling down on his clipboard.

Okay, maybe he was a tad generous.

He leaned on the desk on his elbows, giving Logan a disbelieving look. "Are you saying that your work is more interesting than me?"

Logan eyed him with a surprised expression, then his lips spread into small smile – Jett knew that was the effect of his charm. "Not at all, but if I don't order these personalized index cards, no one will."

"Really, now? You can't be that interested. You haven't even asked for my name yet. That's very rude of you, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you, but okay then," Logan tapped his pen against the clipboard, probably figuring he wasn't going to get any work done for the moment. "What's your name, stranger?"

Jett gave a put-upon sigh, "Well, if you must know…"

"Oh, god," Logan rolled his eyes.

"It's Jett Stetson. Remember it."

Logan had a retort ready for it, Jett could tell from the way his lips tightened around a smile, but he nodded instead. How boring. "I'll keep that in mind, Jett Stetson. If I'm allowed to be more…interested in you, what part of your studies slash job requires you to look up morbid historical romance?"

That was a dangerous question, and Jett paused to make sure he could answer vaguely enough not to reveal anything important. "The part that involves stunning ancient jewelry."

"'Stunning'?" Logan snorted. "That bracelet's the definition of gaudy. I can't believe the empress actually wanted to wear it every day."

An image of the bracelet flashed through his head – meticulously crafted and interwoven gold and silver threads, a delicately cut emerald stone atop – and narrowed his eyes at Logan. "The bracelet I remember seeing was stunning. Perhaps you just have no eye for quality. No surprise there," he sniffed.

"Or maybe you're just into loud, annoyingly flashy jewelry. No surprise there," Logan replied, grinning at the downturn of Jett's lips.

"Don't pretend you wouldn't love owning something that expensive."

"I wouldn't," Logan answers without hesitation. "Things like that only bring trouble. I don't like trouble," he shakes his head vehemently. "In fact, after today, I'm going to do my best to avoid all sources of trouble, which means I'm probably not going to the museum anytime soon, 'cause let me tell you, it's not as fun as you…"

Jett nodded along with Logan's words, though he wasn't actually listening. He was busy wondering if Logan was as genuine as he said himself to be – people weren't just modest like that, no way could Logan resist temptation were it directly within his grasp. Then, he wondered exactly how many limits he could push before he was discharged, so to speak, from his organization.

"Do you work tomorrow?" Jett interrupted whatever Logan was talking about.

Logan hesitated, "Uhh, yeah, same time. Why?"

Jett gave no audible answer, only pointed at Logan in what he considered to be a meaningful gesture and started off toward the library's entrance. The message hadn't been received, if the confused look on Logan's face was any indication, but that wasn't Jett's problem.

He had things to do.

–

…the connection was instant.