I woke mid-afternoon, my muscles scolding me for sleeping so long while my brain rejoiced. I had stayed curled around the corner of the quilt cover, my back and shoulders not thanking me as I straightened out, stretching my arms with a heavy groan, only to fall back into the satin waves.

The caressing of the sea air cooled the warmth of sleep. I noted that Derek had opened the window even further as he woke up, letting the sheer curtains twirl like smoke in the breeze before he left the room, likely for a walk.

The grey shroud had evaporated through the sky and paved the way for blue to coat the landscape. Waves lapped calmly against the boat, carrying their harmonious melody into the room to soothe my beating heart. From a distance, water appeared dark, cold, quiet and almost dangerous. But when surrounded by it, forced to bask in its presence, it was so full of life. A mass of energy and beautiful sounds that needed to be heard if the right people took the time to appreciate it. Like everything in nature, it was about perspective and understanding.

My grumbling stomach snatched away my thoughts. I threw off the covers and headed for a shower, cleaning up the room while I dried afterwards then dressed back in the only clothes I had, including my shoes and jacket, then headed out to find Derek.

***

Finding Derek proved to be difficult once I strolled through the dining deck. Somehow the scent garlic, herbs and tomatoes managed to tempt me into taking a different path towards a charming Italian restaurant, and the sight of a mozzarella pizza topped with crisp, fresh basil on a stone plate was enough to make me sit down and place an order.

I spent an hour sitting outside with my plate polished clean. There were a few odd stares sent my way – mainly from a pair of middle-aged women who came to drink aperol spritz and pick at a bowl of olives while bitching about their co-workers – but the waitress was lovely, returning every five to ten minutes for a casual chat. She asked about my meal, my holiday on the cruise – all small talk. All of the answers were made up, of course, but it was refreshing to meet a kind stranger after life being so hectic for a while.

As the restaurant became busier, I decided it was time to vacate the table, and left once the meal was paid for and the kind waitress was tipped. Now full, I wandered the deck, looking for the cheapest bar.

To no shock of my own, he was there, aiming a red-tipped dart at a nearby board hung on the wall. He tossed it with precision, the tip piercing the green section of the triple ring.

"Someone's finally awake," he quipped. "Think you're better at this than pool?" He held out a dart. "I think I'm better at anything than pool."

With only slight hesitation, I took the dart. I had never attempted darts before, figuring it was a more dangerous option after ruining pool for Scotty, but figured all that was needed was to aim for the middle.

I pulled my arm back then let it fly. It pierced the tip of one of the beige wedges, close to the ring around the bullseye. Not quite central, but I was closer than Derek. I grinned proudly, but the joy soon wore off as Derek tutted. "What?" I asked. "Four points to you." He yanked the dart from the board and strutted back over. "Four?" I echoed. "I was closer than you." He frowned for a moment, then swung his head back in laughter. "You don't know how to play this, do you?" He didn't have to be so patronising about it. Keeping my lips pressed into a thin, steady line, I crossed my arms. "I have far better things to do with my time than learn how to play darts." Derek raised an eyebrow. "Like playing pool?" I blinked. "I can still shoot better than you." "You're just a sore loser," he teased, his pleasure at this only growing as my frown deepened.

He bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "Fine. I'll teach you how to play." I rolled my eyes. "Aw, but you have such a busy schedule. I wouldn't want to take time from your day." "Enough with your sarcasm." He pointed at me with a dart. "No matter how much I enjoy it, this is serious game and you will treat it with the respect the board commands." "Yes, I do hate it when inanimate objects aren't awarded respect." Derek scoffed, mouth curving. "Honestly, it's like teaching a child." "Says you!"

His smile pulled in his dimples as he handed me the dart. We matched our stare for a short second before I broke away. "So, what do I do?" "Right." He cleared his throat and pointed to the board. "Easiest game is 'around the clock.' Have you heard of it?" I shook my head. "That's fine, no problem. All you have to do is throw a dart in every segment of the board in order. You see those numbers around the outside?" I nodded, spotting the circle of digits. "Good. You start at one then move up to twenty – you can hit anywhere in the wedge – then end with the outer then inner bullseye. You with me?" "I'm with you." "You're... yeah." He rubbed his jaw and bit back a laugh. "Take a shot. You get three per round."

Taking a half-step away from the board, I pulled back the dart as before, aiming for the section marked with a one. It was just like target practice – I could do this.

I let it go, the tip of the dart sticking securely to the correct section, and followed it up with the second and third, all of them hitting their mark. Once broken down, it was an easy task for a trained agent.

The competition with Derek – who had the same training as I did – was anticipated to be an interesting one, at least.

I spun around, shrugging my shoulders. "Is that how it's done?" He pursed his lip. "Could have been cleaner." "Could have been cleaner?" "You barely scratched the border with that last one. Rookie error. Don't worry." Rookie error."Oh?" Not taking my eyes off him, I ripped the darts from the board and handed them back in a bunch. "Your turn, Barnes." He bit his lip then stepped back towards the bar. "Drinks, first?"

***

After four games of joint-wins, I started to get the feeling the two of us needed to slow down. It had been fun at first, even when Derek started to call me a show-off for shooting a dart with my eyes closed. If he hadn't have drunk as much as he did, he would have managed the same. I suggested taking it easy when he stumbled back to the bar but he ignored me, quietly refusing the offer of another drink as I sipped my lemon gin. A drink or two was fine, but if Alistair or Mika tracked us down faster than we anticipated, we would have been vulnerable.

His complaints also grew louder with every mouthful. The victims of it mainly being the 'privileged arseholes' sitting at the bar. I was not a particular fan of them either, as all of them were laughing at Derek and I before the drink settled in, but I had to cover his mouth when he choked up and started rambling about how he should have predicted the corruption of the agency months ago and had failed countless people. I talked to him enough to convince him to direct his complaints towards Scotty, and somehow he turned to impressions of his accent, so I could sit back down.

He grumbled about him for ten minutes. Then I had enough.

"Alright, Barnes," I said, jumping to my feet. He had been pacing for so long I feared he was one wrong step away from busting his lip again. I grabbed his jacket from the back of a wooden chair. "I think your two hours of drinking has defeated you. Bloody lightweight." "Lightweight. Ha!"

The accent reeked of pomposity and echoed all around the bar until I spotted the source; five elderly men gathered around a table, each of their glasses filled with shots of golden scotch or dark rum that stung my nose, their suits all tailored and merging in with one another. "I'm sorry?" I said with a frown. "Your lad's been here all afternoon!" one exclaimed. I winced at his words. "He's been here hours longer than you, my dear," said another softer voice – the one donning a grey-flat cap. I turned to Derek, who muttered something under his breath as he traced an engraving on one of the tables. "I think the drink's just kicking in." I huffed. "I hadn't noticed." "You ought to get your eyes checked if that's the case, sweetheart," said a different man; white hair, square glasses. "We've been seeing him get more and more drunk by the hour!" "Congratulations." I bit my tongue. They were bored, and only wanted to see Derek suffer more for their own amusement.

I ignored their responses, pining my focus on Derek alone. He had moved to lean against the wall by the dartboard, staring at the floor. "Barnes," I said. "Barnes." I sighed. "Derek?"

He looked up, his eyes glassy and red like a tired, miserable puppy. "Come on," I said, nodding towards the door. "Let's go back to the room." "I'm fine here, thank you." I sighed. "I think you've been here long enough." "I have not." "Yes, you have." "Why?" He pushed off from the wall. "I am completely—" He fell back with a thud "—fine!" Clearly. "You're drunk." "I'm—" He took a step forward, pointing a finger, then tripped, stumbling into my arms "—not drunk." "I think that's a lie," I said, tilting his head away so his face was not too close to my own. "I think," he put his hands on my shoulders to steady himself, "that you just can't tell the difference between someone funk and someone just a little – teeny tiny bit – intoxicated." "Someone funk? We're going back."

I snatched his hands and dragged him towards the door.

He pulled me back. "But we are having so much fun!" He glanced at his hands, rocking back and forth. "Go on, then." I crossed my arms. "Prove me wrong." "Pfft. Easy." He strutted towards the centre of the room, holding out his arms to balance as he masked his stumbling feet with a confident smile.

I glanced around the room for any possible sobriety test. It was obvious he was unable to walk in a straight line, but he would have been convinced I was lying to him when I claimed he was tripping over his own feet. I spotted a glass clock behind the bar and smiled – perfect.

I whistled, "Here," and gestured to the clock. "Can you tell the time?" The old men stopped their nattering and adjusted their seating to watch the show. Derek smiled and staggered to the end of the bar. With a spin and a flick of his arm, he pointed at the clock. "I am not drunk!"

I could have thrown him overboard. Or myself. Or the sniggering old men behind us. All options appeared better than enduring the mocking applause that erupted from their table as my jaw dropped.

The only thought that stopped me from picking one of those three roads was the knowledge that he may have said the same thing sober... because he was Derek Barnes.

Either way, I was done. I tossed him his jacket, grabbed his free hand, and dragged him out the door with a face like a storm cloud. "We are going back now."

***

A decade of agency training could not have prepared me for lugging Barnes's drunken self halfway across a cruise deck. I knew carrying him was no light work after drugging him in the Alps, but he did not fight back unconscious. Barely conscious, however, he lost sight of who I was, and was intrigued with the prospect of running away while giggling. Eventually he got lazy, and I was used as a crutch for the remainder of our walk down the corridor back to our room. A few other passengers stopped and stared but carried on with their business once they realised how drunk he was and that I was not, in fact, a kidnapper.

The main effort was getting the door open without dropping him, using my left elbow, then kicking it shut. Deciding he needed it more than me, I threw him on the satin sheets of the bed and reached to take his jacket off. He lashed out, almost slapping me in the face with his flailing arms. "Woah, woah, woah! What are you doing?" "Taking your jacket off," I replied, far calmer than he was. "Unless you can do that yourself." "Who... who are you?" He squinted. I groaned. "Your worst nightmare if you don't get into bed." "Amber! I knew it was you. I need—" He hiccupped, reaching for my hands "—I need to tell you something." I pulled my hands away. "Just get into bed," I said. "We can talk tomorrow when you've sobered up." "I really like talking to you," he slurred. "Like really like talking to you. Have I mentioned that?" I blushed. "Yes, you have—" "—In the elevator." I grew dizzy. Neither of us had brought it up since it happened. Did that mean that he was thinking about it? Or was he just drunk? "Yeah," I croaked. "Yeah that's where." "That's... that's what I need to tell you. What I should have said—" "No." I held up a hand. "No, Barnes, you're drunk. You'll regret this tomorrow." "I won't." He took hold of my wrist and I flinched, unable to break free. "Please, I want to tell you while I have the courage." "That's not fair." I tried pulling away again. "It's important! I need you to know—" "Stop!"

His features froze as his grip softened, letting me go. I snatched my arm away, rubbing it gingerly as though I had been burned, leaving Barnes to his drunken state to sit on the sofa – my bed for the night.

When neither of us said a word, I looked up. His brown eyes turned darker, appearing so sad my body filled with dread. "We're good now," I said. "We didn't have the best start but now we're comfortable. If you say or do anything in this state, you'll regret it tomorrow and it'll become awkward between us. I don't want to feel uncomfortable around you. Not anymore."

He looked down at the duvet, tracing the intricate patterns embroidered in the satin. His head bobbed in an unstable nod. "You're right."

With a half-smile, I got up and headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed as best I could with the assortment of supplies provided, managing to brush my teeth, wash my face and fill a glass with water. As I looked at my reflection, my eyes stung, and I quickly turned away, switching off the light as I closed the door behind me to go back into the bedroom so I could lock the main door and climb into bed.

Barnes had turned over to face the sofa I was sleeping on, turning his glance to the empty space on the sheets beside him as I smacked my pillows and laid down. He rolled back over, drunken eyes taking me in. "Did I hurt your wrist?" I had almost forgotten he grabbed it. "No." I lifted it from beneath the blankets to show him. "You just shocked me, that's all." He swallowed, and his voice turned to a near-silent rasp. "You know I would never hurt you, don't you?" I swivelled around, lying on my back so I looked at nothing but the blank ceiling. A new kind of fear circulated my veins as he said those words. Few people set out to hurt others, but many manage it without a second thought. "We'll see," was all I said.

We both pulled our own separate blankets over our faces at the same time, blinding ourselves to each other. Once I was sure he couldn't see me, I yanked mine away so I could breathe. Apart from the strain of carrying Derek down the hall, I was not tired, having only been awake since late afternoon, unlike him who had spent the entire day at the bar.

After a few minutes of swimming in my own thoughts, Derek shuffled to sprawl out across the bed, his countenance crestfallen while he slept. Guilt tugged at my core. I reminded myself I would have loved for someone to have shut me up as I had done with him. He would have regretted his words, whatever they were, and there was a chance I had saved him from a crucial mistake that could have ruined everything as I had once done with someone else.

But it was done. I faced the consequences of my actions, as did others. Despite his wrongdoings, Alistair was right about one thing, at least: you have to accept living with your mistakes, otherwise they would ruin you.

And they did ruin me for a long time before I learned that lesson.

***

I was restless. For an hour, I tossed and turned on the sofa, listening to Derek's muffled snores and the folding of the waves outside. Then I got up to pace back and forth, hoping some underlying exhaustion would kick in and wipe me out when I next flopped down on the sofa. Nothing was working so I slouched on the stool by the desk that faced the bed, switching on the small desk lamp while hoping Derek would not wake.

I thanked fate for the poor lighting and rested my elbows on the polished wood, feeling a bump on one of them. I lifted it up to find a jagged engraving of the names 'Jacob and Lisa.' With a snort, I reached for the notebook nearby – loved-up couples were strange.

Since uncovering Alistair's plan, neither myself nor Derek had the chance to write down everything we knew about the plot. Having the time to spare, I decided to list our knowledge, figuring there was a chance we had missed some key link.

The meeting was due to take place of the fifth of November, but the specific time was still unknown. The location, as well, was a mystery; anywhere but Parliamentdid not narrow down the search. Our fates rested in the hands of Gabby and Collins – the only ones with the power to uncover Alistair's secrets from within, though I feared for Collins. We left him in a precarious position, and my realist brain told me Alistair would not have let a betrayal such as this slide. I let my old trust in the Director convince me he was still alive and well, as the man who raised and cared for me would not have harmed those he once cared for.

Not like someone else I knew.

***

Even though it felt like I barely blinked, the sun had begun to rise.

I rubbed my eyes, groaning as the restless night began to catch up with me.

"Morning."

I gasped and lashed out lazily, having my loosely balled fist grabbed. My eyes shot open, but I soon relaxed once I realised it was Derek who stood over the sofa, clutching my hand. "I'm sorry, did I scare you?" he asked with an amused smile. He had sobered up completely. "I just woke up," I said with a scowl. "Of course I'm jumpy."

He laughed as I pushed him away to stand and stretch. "I've been awake for hours," he said. "I got bored." "You should have gone to the bar again, so I could carry you back," I taunted. "Because that was so fun." His smile faltered. "I am sorry about that," he admitted. "I took it too far." "We've all done it. Don't worry about it." I only wondered if he remembered what he was prepared to say.

I raised my arms in a stretch then dropped them down to comb my hair with my hands. A brush had been left with the other complementary supplies and, after a terrible night's sleep, I needed it.

Derek's head was tilted while I stretched, watching me. "Guess what," he said. "What?" I replied. He grinned. "The ship is having a party. The captain's birthday, or something like that." I shrugged. "And?" "And... I think we should go." I almost laughed. A party on a cruise such as this would be nothing like the kind of party I imagined Derek attending. "Why?" "It's something to do," he replied. "Something different than sitting around all day. Plus, it will take out minds off everything going on for a few hours, at least."

I analysed his features, finding he was genuinely interested in attending this party. "We don't know anyone there." He pursed his lip. "We don't need anyone else." I blinked. All of a sudden, his shoes seemed an interesting object to look down at. "Thank you," I said. Beaming, he let out a sigh and looked up at me once again. "It's suit and tie." "No thank you." "You can wear a dress. Doesn't have to be a suit if that's not your style." How funny. "Still no." "But there's a buffet and open bar." Oh? I folded my arms, lifting my chin. "What kind?" "I had a gander over and it looks nice. Chicken, cheese, seafood – the basics."

I chewed on my lip, cocking my head. Socialising with middle-class strangers was not on my list of priorities. However, the thought of a buffet and an open bar was an interesting one. But did I really want to dress up formally to do that?

"I don't have anything to wear and neither do you." I had the feeling we would have been rejected at the doors for not donning the correct attire. "I'll find something!" he exclaimed. "Don't you worry about that."

His face lit up and the guilt won me over. I had treated him badly since the day I met him, believing every lie Alistair told me rather than using my own eyes to see the man he truly was. I was not interesting in socialising with strangers, but if he wanted a night of something fresh, something different, then he could have it.

"You really want to go?" He shrugged. "Free food. What more could a man want?"

***

Leaving Derek to find clothes for the both of us seemed more like a bad idea with every minute he was gone. To distract myself, I had checked and reloaded my gun three times, then moved onto doodling in the notepad at the desk. I had never been good at art, but putting pen to paper seemed to extinguish some of the nerves, even if my supposed flower looked like a poor, deformed sheep.

"The fairy godmother returns!"

I reached for the gun, aiming it for the door as it threw open, banging off the wall so hard it cracked a dent where the handle had met plaster. Derek almost dropped the two long hangers he cradled in his arms. "Hold your fire!" he cried.

I muttered an apology he likely did not hear, and left the gun at the desk to examine what he had brought.

He wandered over to the bed, gently lying them both down side by side. "There's not a body in there, is there?" I asked, lowering my brows. "Not yet," he mumbled, unzipping one of them. I shook my head at his poor attempt at a joke, while he laughed to himself.

"Now," he said, handing me the closed hanger, "get dressed. I know you suit black."