Rating: M

Summary: "He was trying to figure out not only what six murders had in common, but why the link between them was Sam Puckett. Why was she at the scene of these murders? What did all these six people have in common? And if Sam really did murder all of them, then why?" Freddie's a cop and Sam may or may not be a criminal that he may or may not be attracted to.

"So, let me get this straight," Freddie said, looking straight at Sam even though he was talking to the whole room. "You're a CIA Agent, you're after some terrorist guy, so that's why you were undercover, and now you're not anymore so you can work with the NYPD to catch this man?"

"Woman," Sam spoke up, her tone cold and calculated.

"What?"

"This mass murderer, this terrorist, the person behind all of this, is a woman."

Freddie furrowed his brow. Well, you didn't hear that everyday. "Oh."

"Moving right along," one of the men in suits said.

"I was able to find out that much while posing as one of her lackeys, as well as her name," at this Sam stood up from her the chair she had been sitting in, walking over to the murder board that had been set up in the conference room they were currently occupying. "Rona Vasquez." Sam pinned a picture of her to the board and Freddie stepped forward to take a look at it.

The woman looked dangerous, all right. She had dark hair, practically black as high pinned, dark arching eyebrows helped with her look of utter coldness and heartlessness. You had to be, to be able to kill as many people as she has. Not to mention she's most likely killed more than just the seven in New York. Her lips with her thin, as well as her nose, and her eyes were a cross between blue and green. He couldn't really pin which color it was, because whenever he moved so he was looking at the picture at a different angle, her eye color changed.

He could see she was attractive, good looking, and he guessed that she most likely used that to her advantage.

"So she murdered all the victims," Freddie said quietly, giving the picture one last glance before turning to look at Sam.

"No," the voice came from on of the other men in suits. "She always has people do it for her."

Freddie looked over at Sam sharply. She looked right back. "You honestly don't think I haven't killed in my line of work, do you?" Freddie didn't quite know how to respond, but then she was talking again before he could. "Look, you're a cop, a detective. I'm sure you've had to kill once or twice."

"Or twice," Freddie all but confirmed, looking away at the picture of Rona Vasquez.

"But I didn't kill these particular people," Sam said, walking over to a file that one of the men had placed on the table when they had first entered the room. "Rona has killed personally, of course, but she usually only kills the people she thinks is actually worth her time and attention."

"And these people weren't?" Freddie walked toward Sam until he was standing right next to her, looking down at the file she'd been looking at.

"No, they just crossed the wrong person at the wrong time."

"They got killed for having bad luck."

Sam looked over at him as she narrowed her eyes slightly. "They got killed for no reason. And that's why I'm here. To bring them justice, to put away Rona Vasquez for life and stop her from doing anything more."

"She's definitely a threat to the United States, I'll give you that," Freddie said, looking at the photo of her and repressing a shudder.

"You have no idea," Sam said, and there was a ghost of that smirk she'd had while playing a part when he looked over at her.

"Detective Benson," Freddie looked over at his Captain, who he had completely forgotten was there, and nodded.

"Sir."

"For however long it takes, whether it's a few days, a few weeks, or a few months, you will work with Puckett on this."

Freddie completely froze at this, starting at his Captain in rising horror. "What?"

"You will work with Puckett on this. You can't exactly be taken off this case, as the murders did happen in New York and are still technically under the NYPD's jurisdiction, so you will be working with Puckett."

"Don't worry, I'll be gone after it's over," Sam said, her voice completely devoid of whatever possible emotion she was feeling.

Freddie looked at her, at the three men who he really hoped he never saw again after this day, and then breathed in sharply, letting out the breath slowly. "Okay..." He said quietly. "Okay, but I just have one question."

"What's that?" His Captain said, tilting his head to the side.

"Why now?"

"Why now, what?" Sam said in response, raising an eyebrow.

"Why are you coming out from undercover now? What happened?" Freddie looked from face to face, trying to catch something in their expressions that would tell him something.

"Let's just say...I might have been compromised," Sam said shortly, her face tightening in either annoyance or anger, he couldn't be sure.

"And...working with the Police Department was your best option?" Freddie asked.

"It was my only option," Sam said, mouth twisting.

"Really?" Freddie raised an eyebrow.

"It was either this or die from staying there any longer," Sam snapped, looking especially angry now. And even when she'd been playing a character, her anger had still been real. This anger was real.

After a long moment of silence, the three men stood up as one - how fucking creepy is that? - and one said, "We'll leave now. We trust you know how to handle this, Captain."

"I do," Captain Shay nodded.

"Very well, then." The man in the middle nodded at Sam. She nodded back as she and the other CIA Agents had a moment to do their secret spy communication mind-meld of important things that could not be said out loud to the regular cops in the room. Then they were out the door, turning all at once as they walked out of the conference room.

Freddie shuddered and turned to his Captain.

"You're not actually serious about this," Freddie said tensely, steadily ignoring Sam who was standing quietly next to him.

"I am completely serious about this," Captain Shay said, standing up. "You both will report to me regularly, you will work together on this as if you really were partners and you will be civil. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Sam nodded, face blank.

"Detective Benson?" Captain Shay turned his sharp eyes on him.

Freddie hesitated and stole a glance at Sam, who was steadily ignoring him in favor of looking and acting like a statue, except for her eyes that were trained on his Captain. Freddie glanced back at Captain Shay and sighed, knowing he really didn't have a choice in the matter anyway.

"Yes, sir," Freddie's voice echoed Sam's as he nodded, standing at attention.

"Good," Captain Shay gave him a sharp nod. "Of course, you will also be communicating with your colleagues and superiors at the CIA, I presume."

He was talking to Sam now, of course, and she just nodded in confirmation.

"Very well. I'll have a desk brought out for in the bull pen. Is that all right with you?"

Freddie widened his eyes in shock at his Captain asking that. He always gave orders and his cops took them without thought, without complaint. Freddie couldn't remember a time when his Captain ever gave a choice to his cops.

But Sam wasn't one of his cops, she was in the fucking CIA - and could he just take a moment to wonder at how his life was suddenly an action movie all of the sudden? - and she didn't technically answer to Captain Shay. So it makes sense that he asked instead of commanded.

"That's perfectly fine."

"All right. I have a meeting with the Mayor now, so if you'll excuse me," Captain Shay walked toward the door.

"Sir," Freddie nodded his goodbye.

The glass door closed behind him, enveloping the conference room into silence. Freddie felt his heart beat pick up in nervousness or apprehension, he wasn't quite sure.

Sam turned her head to look at him. He didn't look away.

"Well...this is...something," Freddie inhaled deeply and let out his breath slowly.

Sam said nothing, just continued to stare at him.

"I gotta say...all those times I was interrogating you never in my wildest imagination would I have thought this could be the truth. That you were actually fucking CIA." Freddie let out another breath, shaking his and rubbing his hand on his forehead. It was still a little hard to wrap his mind around it.

"Yeah, well..." Freddie looked at Sam when she spoke, but she just shrugged as she trailed off. Then she was spinning around and walking to the door, opening it a little more roughly then she probably needed to. Freddie bound after her, not far behind.

He followed her until she stopped at his desk, turning around to face him. Freddie didn't miss the way the rest of his fellow cops looked up at her entrance. They had to know by now who and what she was, but it still wasn't any of their business, so they all went back to what they were doing, some a little more slowly than others.

"Number one, we will be doing this my way. You may be a part of it, but this is my case, my investigation. I lead you, you don't lead me. I will give you everything I have on Vasquez and you will give whatever little evidence you have from the crime scenes. Then we will both be up to par with the other and then we will be able to work together. Number two, you will not ask about the CIA, you will not talk to any member of the CIA except me, you will not try to snoop and find out things about the CIA. And number three, this will be strictly professional. At all times. I'm here for one purpose and one purpose only and that is to catch Rona Vasquez. Am I understood?"

Freddie found himself smirking. Oh, she was very understood. "You know, in the movies they always say it's just professional and they always end up falling in love anyway."

The look she sends him makes his smirk fall and he has the sudden urge to apologize. But he represses it, choosing instead to stay silent. But, if looks could kill...

"This isn't a movie, Detective Benson."

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know," Freddie nodded, smirking. "This is cold, hard reality. I understand."

Sam said nothing as a desk was brought over to Freddie's - and of course it has to be put up right in front of his to that they join together, a chair placed in front of her desk so that when they both sat down they were facing each other.

"Thank you," Sam said to the two cops who had brought the desk over. They nodded and walked away.

It was silent a moment as Freddie said back in chair, placing an elbow on his desktop as he studied her. There was just something about her, something about her that rubbed him the right and wrong way at the same time. It was highly frustrating.

"What?" She snapped out when he had been staring what was perhaps considered a little too long to be staring at someone without it being considered weird and creepy.

"I was just wondering..." He trailed off, changing what he was going to say at the last minute. "Why did you...flirt with me the last time you were here?"

A small smirk made it's way onto her face. "I was playing a part, Detective."

"You were also playing a part the first five times you were here and you never did that."

Sam looked at him steadily as she moved forward so that her own elbow was resting on her new desk. "Would my character have really flirted with you right away?"

Freddie blinked, considering. "Well..."

Sam scoffed angrily. "You stupid men always think the lowest of women."

"What?" Freddie was very much indignant. That wasn't what he was thinking and it wasn't what he was implying. She definitely took it the wrong way. "That's not what I said -"

"Sure, Detective Benson. Whatever you say," She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"I didn't even say anything!" Freddie's voice was definitely rising now.

"Didn't have to," Sam said, and then she was looking around the bull pen.

"Fucking goddamn -" Freddie started in frustrated anger, but then she cut him off again.

"Why don't you have a computer?"

"Huh?"

"Why don't you have a computer?" Sam repeated, looking pointedly at his desk that was very much devoid of any computer of any kind. Freddie was blinking again, his mind trying to catch up with the abrupt subject change. "Everyone else does," Sam continued, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "I'll be getting one tomorrow myself. So why don't you have one?"

Freddie looked around at the other desks, at the rest of the detectives. The majority of them had computers.

"I just..." Freddie turned back to Sam. "I do. Just not...I have one at home. Several, in fact." He had a desktop and a laptop at home. He was very much tech-savvy, actually.

"But why not here?"

"I just don't really...need one, I guess." Freddie sighed. He actually loved computers, but for some reason he just didn't like using one on the job. He was kind of old-fashioned that way. He just usually used Jensen's computer if he absolutely had to.

"You do realize that this is the 21st Century and that we use computers for everything, right?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I do."

"Well, I'll make sure you get one, too," Sam nodded as if that decided that.

"What?"

"I honestly can't believe that you've been a Detective what, how many years?"

"Two."

"For two years and you haven't once had a computer?"

"Well, I did," Freddie admitted, shrugging uncomfortably. "But I just...I don't know, didn't want it. I usually just use the computer at home anyway. Or Jensen's," Freddie jerked his head backward toward his desk.

"That won't do. You will get a computer. You will use it. Computers help immensely. The CIA is much more advanced than it used to be because of computers."

"Well, I don't think -"

"This isn't up for discussion, Detective Benson," Sam snapped, actually looking angry.

"O-kay..." Freddie said, unsure exactly what he was supposed to say.

"Good," She gave a curt nod and then pulled out her cellphone, standing up. "I'll just be a minute."

"Going to talk to your secret CIA friends?" Freddie asked with a raised eyebrow of inquiry.

She just shot him a dark look before snapping out a "no" and turning around, walking out of the bull pen.

"Excuse me," Freddie said, dragging out the words sarcastically as he watched her leave. And his eyes did not wander downward at all. No sir.

Sam was longer than a minute. She actually didn't come back for half an hour.

Freddie raised an eyebrow as she walked back to the desk, but she ignored him, opening the files she had on her desk and grabbing a pen, doing whatever it is that CIA Agents do on their down time. Or whatever.

He tried to focus on his own things as she stayed silent across from him, but he didn't actually have his own work to focus on. These string of murders that Rona Vasquez was responsible for was basically his only case at the moment. It's all he could - would - work on.

And so he stood up and moved to the murder board he'd had set up for weeks. He started to study the photos, the names, the facts.

"What are you doing after you get off work?"

Freddie whipped his head around to stare at Sam, who had asked this not-so-professional question. "Excuse me?"

"What are you doing after your shift ends?" Sam asked slowly, as if she were talking to a child.

"I'm..." Freddie looked at the murder board, then back at Sam. "I have to...do something personal," Freddie said, lowering his eyes. He mother would he happy to see him, he hoped. The doctors had told him that she was doing better.

"How long will that take?" Sam tilted her head, seeming to study him, study his posture and facial expression. He shifted under her stare. Were all CIA Agents able to make you feel a shiver run down your spine?

Ignoring that feeling as best he could, Freddie shook his thoughts away. "Not too long. Maybe an hour to get there, do what I need to do, then get back home."

"Mmm...no, you won't be going home," Sam shook her head, standing up.

"Huh?" Why was Sam always surprising him and catching him off guard? He was an excellent cop who was very aware of his surroundings and could read people very well. Sam was...quite different. Maybe it was because she was fucking CIA.

"After you're done doing whatever you have to do, meet me here," Sam said, writing down an address on a piece of paper. When she handed it to him, he saw the name of a restaurant along with the address.

"Um...I thought you said this couldn't be personal?" Freddie asked, raising his eyebrow again.

"It isn't. We just need a place to meet and catch the other up on what we have. It's loud there, so no one should be able to hear us. Not unless they tried to." Sam went back to the desk and started to gather up her things.

"Should I call you when I'm leaving the-when I'm done with what I have to do?" Freddie would tell Sam about his mother and where he was going, but she'd said this was strictly professional and he didn't really want to bother her with his personal woes.

"No. Just be there when you're done." And then she strode off, her hips swaying and her blonde curls bouncing as she left the bull pen. Freddie pursed his lips when he noticed detectives of the male variety checking her out. They did know that she could probably take them all in a fight, right?

Huffing in annoyance, Freddie dropped back down in his chair, looking - or more glaring - at what was now Sam's desk.

But then his eyes softened and he sighed. Her desk was completely empty. No papers, no pens, no personal pictures, no phone, nothing. It was just...bare. Empty.

Even his desk hadn't been quite so desolate after his first day as a cop.

The streets of New York were quiet, but still held that constant buzz of people that never quite went away. As Freddie walked toward the restaurant Sam had specified, the sound of laughter and that low buzz of conversation got louder and this particular street wasn't so quiet anymore.

People walked by him quickly, some leisurely, some drunkenly, and one even pumped into him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" The guy shouted at his now retreating back.

Freddie rolled his eyes. That guy had pumped into him, not the other way around. And if he wasn't off duty, he would have totally flashed his badge at the jerk.

Finally making it to the restaurant, Freddie opened the door and stepped inside. It was cooler inside the restaurant, and he noticed that it was a very casual, homey looking restaurant. There was a bar, the requisite pool table was at the other side of the restaurant and there were many booths lining the wall opposite the bar, while tables were scattered in the middle and off to the side by the door.

Freddie looked around and spotted Sam almost instantly. She was in one of the booths, looking directly at him.

He guessed those pesky CIA skills of hers came in handy quite often. Sighing, Freddie waded through the sea of tables that were almost all full with people. He reached the booth Sam was at and slid in across from her.

"Did you bring your own car?" She asked without preamble.

"Uh, no. Took a cab. Was easier than weaving through all the traffic," Freddie explained.

"I'll give you a ride home, then."

"What? No, that's okay, you don't need to," Freddie said hastily, shaking his head a little frantically. Why was Sam acting all personable if this wasn't supposed to be personal?

"It's just a ride, idiot. So take it."

"Well..." Freddie started to protest.

"Ugh, why must you do this? Just accept the ride."

"Okay, okay," Freddie put his hand up in a gesture of peace.

Sam shifted forward, folding her hands together over the top of the table. "So, let's get this over with."

"All right," Freddie nodded, leaning forward too. And yes, it was a little weird that he felt as if they were preparing for battle. "The first victim, Jenna Baker."

"This man -" Sam started to pull something out of the file she had placed on the table when a waiter came up, interrupting her.

"Hello, I'm Alan, I'll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you started with drinks?" Alan placed two menus down on the table.

"I'll have a beer," Freddie said.

"Just a coke for me, thanks," Sam said.

"I'll bring those right out for you," Alan the waiter smiled widely at them and walked away.

"Anyway, this man," Sam continued as if she hadn't been interrupted, pulling out a picture of the man "is the one who killed her. Not me."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that it wasn't you as you are now working with the NYPD instead of having been arrested, you said it earlier and oh yeah, you're CIA," Freddie whispered the last past as he leaned forward. "Also, CIA doesn't kill American citizens, especially not on American soil. Am I right?" The long pause Sam gave him in response was enough to have him worried. "Right?" Freddie stressed, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah. You're right," Sam said, meeting his eyes steadily.

He didn't know how, but he was pretty sure she was lying. It's not as if she gave any sign that she was. It wasn't as if she looked to be telling anything but the truth - everything about her face, her posture, her demeanor looked very relaxed, not a twitch or movement that would give her away - and he was pretty damn sure her CIA training taught her how to do that, how to not giving anything away.

But he just...he just knew. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. The way they seemed to darken slightly.

And he was sure it was his police training that allowed him to see that look in her eye. Or maybe it was something else entirely. He didn't really know.

Finally looking away from her sharp blue eyes, Freddie cleared his throat. "So...if you already know who did it, why do you need me? And why don't we just arrest the guy."

Sam smirked and shook her head, letting out a deprecating laugh. "Not only would that be incredibly stupid, but it would horrifically stupid."

Freddie rolled his eyes and leaned back in the booth. "You want to tell me why that is?"

Just then the waiter came back with their drinks and asked what they wanted to eat. Once they ordered and the guy left, Sam looked back and Freddie.

"You don't understand just how dangerous Rona Vasquez is, do you, Detective Benson?"

Freddie bristled. "I think I understand just fine, thank you."

"You obviously don't," Sam snapped, some of that anger showing in her face and in her eyes. "You see this guy, right, this man," Sam shoved the picture at him, holding it in front of him. Freddie blinked rapidly and focused on the picture of the man in the picture. Yes, he saw him. He looked like a big badass fucker with a scary-ass scowl on his face. He also had enough muscles that made Freddie guess that the guy was a body-builder. "He's Vasquez's right-hand man. And possible lover."

Freddie snapped his head up at that, eyes widening.

"I learned that much while I was undercover. Whenever they were in the same room together, she always touched him when she could, and she would do it slowly, almost in a soft manner. Nothing about her is soft. Except..."

"When she has a lover."

"Good guess."

"Am I wrong?" Freddie inquired.

"No, I was actually just complimenting you."

"Well, that's..." Freddie trailed off, raising both his eyebrows, "that's a first."

"Don't expect it too often," Sam said tersely, twitching her eye in annoyance. Freddie tried to hold back a laugh. "His name is Kyle O'Donnell and he is a very dangerous man. Extremely dangerous. He's wanted for over a dozen murders and they still haven't been able to catch him - and that doesn't even include the murders no one knows about."

"Except the CIA."

"Except the CIA," Sam confirmed. "And of course, his lover."

"I'm guess that's why she chose him."

"Another good guess," Sam nodded.

"So...how long were you undercover? It had to at least be two months, because that's how long the murders have been going on."

"Detective Benson, I was undercover for over a year," Sam sat back in her seat.

"Holy shit..." Freddie said, leaning forward and running his hand through his hair. "That long?"

"That long."

"And you haven't been able to get Vasquez in that time?" Freddie asked and knew it was the wrong thing to to say when that anger entered her eyes again and she tensed up.

"Do I need to reiterate how dangerous she is, Detective?"

"Uh, no...sorry," Freddie cleared his throat. "So...how are you sure she won't come after you now that she knows that you're CIA?"

"Extreme measures have been taken, Detective, believe me. Because no matter how powerful Rona Vasquez is, the CIA will always be more powerful."

Their food came after that and they both relaxed their postures as it was sat down in front of them. After the waiter left, neither of them moved to eat their food.

"So..." Freddie said slowly. "If this Kyle guy did it, why were you at the crime scenes every time?"

"I was the diversion, obviously. While I was out in the open and getting arrested, Kyle was able to easily slip away and none would the wiser. It was my job. I was, after all, just another one of her lackeys. I was quite expendable to her. They all are, except for maybe Kyle," Sam said, and she reached over and took a bite of her food.

"Did you ever find out where she lived here or anywhere?" Freddie asked.

"No. She's good at hiding everything, especially from her lackeys. She obviously knows one of us could turn on her any minute or, well...be CIA," Sam smirked. "And besides, I spent the first few months working to gain her trust anyway. Then I had to be put through these horrible tests of endurance and loyalty and shit. Nothing I couldn't handle."

She took another bite of her food. Freddie blindly reached for his own food and took a bite.

"How did you get found out? If you don't mine me asking," Freddie added hastily.

Sam tilted her head to the side, seeming to contemplate on whether she should answer him or not. "Let's just say that mistakes were made. Mistakes that shouldn't have happened."

When it seemed that that was all she was going to elaborate on, Freddie sighed and let it drop. Sam wasn't very forthcoming with information in the first place anyway.

"So...why is working with the NYPD the best option? She's most likely going to find out that you're working with us at some point," Freddie pushed his fork around in his food.

"Now only do I have CIA protection, but now I have NYPD protection as well. Unless there's a double agent of hers in the CIA or there's someone in the NYPD that works for her, I won't be found out. I just have to keep a very low profile."

"Uh...what about when she murders again? Won't you have to be there at the crime scene?"

"Yes. I'll just be in a disguise," Sam said as if that wasn't completely insane.

Freddie laughed. "What? You're not serious!"

Sam pursed her lips again, huffing out an annoyed breath. "Detective, must I remind you that I'm in the CIA again?"

"Right. Right, of course. Your life is a Bourne movie, of course."

"No," Sam snapped. "My life is mine. And it's pretty fucking shitty."

Freddie's eyes widened and Sam stiffened when she realized what she'd said. Her face hardened into that perfect mask of hers, her face shutting down as she grabbed her things. "Are you done eating? Great, let's go. In fact, I'll meet you out in the car, how about that?" Sam said tensely as she dropped two twenties on the table and stood up from the booth, weaving through the tables.

Freddie scrambled up to follow, dropping a twenty of his own on the table.

"Puckett!" Freddie lengthened his stride to catch up to her. She was walking pretty fast down the sidewalk, her blonde hair whipping around in the wind. "Puckett, wait, we weren't finished!"

Freddie picked up his pace until he was jogging to catch up to her. "Puckett, just - come on!" Freddie shouted when he was a few feet behind her. She just ignored him. "Look, just. Can you just..." Freddie made a frustrated sound as he surged forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Sam."

She stopped at that and he took the opportunity to spin her around to face him. "What?" She snapped, glaring at him.

"I-I...didn't-I just-" Great, now he was stuttering because now that she had stopped he wasn't exactly sure what to say. "I didn't get to tell you about the evidence I'd gathered up."

"Tomorrow," Sam said shortly, turning to the right and walking to a sleek black car. He was pretty sure it was BMW. "Get in," Sam said, opening the drivers side door and getting in.

Freddie let out a low whistle as he walked to the passenger door and opened it, slipping in.

"I'm not exactly sure this car is low profile," Freddie muttered, running his hands along the leather of the seat.

"It has tinted windows," is all Sam said. She started the car and it purred to life, smooth and slick as she pulled away from the curb. "Where do you live?" Sam asked once she was further down the street and turning a corner.

Freddie gave her his address and then the rest of the ride was relatively silent. Not only was Sam not a very talkative person already, but her unintentional confession still hung in the air between them, making things tense and awkward. Freddie didn't know what to say. What was there to say?

As Sam pulled up to the curb outside his apartment building, Freddie looked over at her. She had kept the same expression throughout the whole ride - blank, impassive, closed off.

Freddie knew there was still much they had to talk about, with the case especially. But he knew at some point he had try and get her to talk about what she meant, and just why her life was shit. But based on her behavior he had a feeling he wouldn't get anything out of her anytime soon.

"So, um..." Freddie reached to undo his seatbelt but paused as before did so. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," Sam said lowly, looking out the windshield.

"And I guess I look forward to working with you, Agent Puckett," Freddie undid the seatbelt and opened the door. When she looked over at him and lifted a skeptical brow, Freddie let out a small laugh. "I meant it. Kind of."

That got a small smile out of her. And he had to admit that she had a nice smile. He knew this one was real, too. It wasn't a smirk and it wasn't fake. He had made her smile. He had no idea why that lifted his spirits at the thought.

"Goodnight, Detective," Sam said and he understood quite clearly when he was being dismissed.

"Agent," Freddie nodded, stepping out the car - it was a really fucking nice car - and shutting the door behind him.

He watched the car speed down the street until it turned the corner.

The next day when Freddie walked into the bull pen, there was a computer at his and Sam's desks. Freddie sighed. Well, there wasn't really anything he could do about it, so he did not comment on it when he sat at his desk, looking across the way at Sam who was busy on the computer.

"Agent Puckett," Freddie nodded.

"Detective Benson," She nodded back.

Freddie turned to his own computer and turned it on. He played around with it for ten minutes before Sam's phone rang and jarred him out of his computer-trance. She stood up and walked into the conference room. Freddie tried to keep his eyes away, but they were inevitably drawn to her, to her movements, her gestures.

At one point she looked through the glass at him and he looked away so fast that he might have gotten whiplash. Just a little bit. Maybe.

Rubbing at his now slightly sore neck and trying not grimace, Freddie jumped slightly when Jensen dropped into his visitor's chair. Really? He was a fucking cop. He had to stop being startled. It was not good.

"Fuck, Jensen. What?" Freddie didn't mean for it to come out as harshly as it did and winced. "Sorry."

"Nah, it's fine," Jensen shrugged. "I just had to inquire about -" and he jerked his head toward the conference room where Sam was pacing back and forth, phone pressed to her hear as she nodded in response to whoever was talking.

"What about her?" Freddie said warily.

"Oh, come on, man," Jensen rolled his eyes. "Not only is the woman you thought was a murdering psychopath not a murdering psychopath, but she's also fucking CIA, and you two are now going to be working together for fuck knows how long."

"And?" Freddie tried to act as impassive as possible.

"An-And? Freddie, are you kidding me?" Jensen let out a laugh. "This is fucking huge. I don't really know much about these "seven circle" murders, like at all, but I know that whatever it is must be big. Because the CIA is like...you know. They deal with the big-shit type things. Even bigger than the FBI. I mean they work in secret most of the time. Puckett's a fucking spy, man. I'm betting whoever is behind all this is fucking dangerous as shit. Dangerous enough for the CIA - or at least Puckett - to come out from hiding for however long it takes."

"Well you've thought about this quite thoroughly," Freddie deadpanned.

"And you haven't?" Jensen said passionately.

Freddie sighed, watching Sam hang up the phone and tap the phone against her lips as she stood there in the conference room, seeming to contemplate something.

"I have. Of course I have," Freddie sighed.

"And you? You're now involved in all this shit. That's fucking insane."

Yes, it was. It very much was. But like he'd thought before, there wasn't much he could do about it. He was the cop that got called to those crime scenes, he was the cop that interrogated their only suspect, he was the cop that had to work with an obviously emotionally-stinted CIA Agent - and they always were, weren't they? At least in the movies they were - and he was the cop that could possibly die in all of this.

So yes, he was very much aware of how fucking insane it was. But that didn't stop him from sitting up straighter and focusing intently on Sam as she walked out of the conference room and over to their desks. She barely spared Jensen a glance.

"Detective Benson, we're leaving."

"We are?"

"Yes, we have business to take care of."

"Okay," Freddie nodded a little too quickly and winced at his stupid sore neck. He stood up. "Later, Jensen."

"Later," Jensen said and he smirked as he watched his friend walk out of the bull pen with Sam Puckett.

"So, where are we going?" Freddie asked as they slipped into Sam's BMW.

"The crime scenes," Sam said. "Apparently there were...shall we say, clues left there. Quite recently."

"Meaning..." Freddie trailed off as he put the pieces together.

"Kyle or another of her lackeys have been back to the crime scenes and left little tokens there."

"But why?" Freddie asked. "Doesn't that just incriminate her further?"

"She doesn't give a shit. She already knows that the CIA knows she's responsible. It doesn't concern her. Vasquez is toying with us. With me."

Freddie didn't miss the way her jaw clenched and her hands tightened on the steering wheel when she said the last part.

"She knew someone would find them - they weren't hard to find - and that the CIA would find out. She wants us to know that she knows I'm out there, that I'm looking for her and that she isn't concerned in the slightest. Fuck." Her anger was very tangible as she turned the car sharply into the parking lot of the hotel where Jenna Baker had been murdered. Okay, now Freddie probably had whiplash. "The only consolation about this is that she doesn't know I'm working with the NYPD. Just that I'm out there. Fucking fuck."

"When you find Vasquez, what are you going to do?" Freddie asked as they stepped out of the car.

"What do you mean?" Sam snapped as she strode toward the hotel.

"I mean, if and when -"

"When. No if," Sam practically growled. She was very angry. She was actually quite scary right now, and if she wasn't on his side and he on hers, he'd be frightened of her possibly killing him. And he knew she was quite capable of killing him.

"Okay, when. When you find Vasquez, what are you going to do with her? Will you arrest her? You said you were here to put her away for life." Freddie almost ran into her when she stopped abruptly and spun around to face him. They were almost chest to chest and Freddie stepped back quickly. And he noticed for the first time how short Sam was.

"No. I'm not going to arrest her," Sam said through clenched teeth. "I'm going to kill her."

Then she turned on her heel and strode into the hotel lobby like the badass motherfucking CIA Agent she was.

"Right. Of course. That's...right," Freddie nodded and bound after Sam, trying to act like the badass motherfucking homicide detective he was.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews. I was really nervous in posting this because I had no idea if it would get a good reception. Also, this is Rated M for a reason. There will be violence, but there will also lemons in this story, definitely, but it won't happen for a while. All I ask is that you stay with it and then hopefully it will be worth it in the end when the lemon happens.