Chapter Text
Nile drives them all back to London, mostly remembering which side of the road to stay on; Q called shotgun, immediately flipping open her laptop, so Nicky and Joe clambered into the back seat. Fortunately, their vehicle is a Q-branch special, an enhanced Land Rover with plenty of leg room.
Nicky's first question, stupidly, is: "If you're here, who is running Q-branch?"
Q lifts a delicate eyebrow. "Lykon, of course. Although he's terribly jealous; he wanted the opportunity to finally repay Keane in kind. He should be mollified to learn that Keane wasn't one of your guards, after all. Or was he? Perhaps I've already forgotten his face; I've certainly tried to."
"He was there, but not when you arrived," Nicky tells her. "He seems to be Merrick's personal bodyguard now."
"I hope not," Joe mutters. "That means he's been in London this whole time, and we never noticed."
Q sighs, catching their eyes in the rearview mirror. "That seems unlikely. I suspect SPECTRE kept him occupied elsewhere for a time, until they ramped up their efforts behind Merrick's new security proposal."
Joe exchanges a grimace with Nicky. "Ah, yes, he mentioned. Something about the 'most sophisticated data gathering system in the world.'"
"He calls it Nine Eyes," Q says. "And, as you two discovered, it would mean that SPECTRE would effectively have unlimited access to the combined intelligence streams of nine world governments, including MI5 and 6."
"And the CIA, and the NSA," Nile puts in grimly. "So yeah, that's why I'm on extended loan from Langley to help bring down this jackass. In case you were wondering."
Joe gives her a winning smile. "I thought you just missed me."
"Andy, maybe. You? Not so much."
Oh, mother of God. "Andy," Nicky says, urgently, gripping the middle seat with white knuckles. "Q, Merrick showed us video footage, Booker betrayed her—"
"He showed you that?" Q sounds surprised, then angry, twisting around in her seat so that she can look at them both. "Oh, that little weasel. She's fine, boys, I promise. She and Booker staged that little drama once we realized that Merrick's hacker had wormed her way into our video feeds. SPECTRE has been trying to get its hooks into another double-oh ever since we burned Keane; Booker played easy bait. They ate it right up. He's supposedly bringing Andromache into their London HQ now. Along with my tracking devices, of course."
"Oh, thank God," Nicky breathes. He glances down to realize that Joe's hand is covering his own, and laces their fingers tightly together for a moment before releasing him. Joe gives him a faint smile, barely more than a crease at the corners of his eyes, and Nicky badly wants to kiss him. It's startling, almost, how the wanting crashes over him along with the relief. But now is not the time or the place.
Joe nods, his smile deepening, then turns his attention back to the front. "What about 001?"
"Dead," Q says shortly. "We knew he was being set up for an ambush, but—it doesn't matter. I failed to prevent it." She frowns. "When did Merrick show you all this?"
"Right before you and Nile arrived at the house. Well, he and Keane left while it was still playing, but he said it was live footage."
Q hums thoughtfully. "It wasn't quite. That all happened early this morning." Nicky glances at the clock on the dashboard; it's nearly 1700. "I wonder why he wanted you to think it was live? Ah, well, perhaps just to mess with your heads. Did he mention why he was holding you hostage?"
"Leverage to use against Copley," Joe says. "Did it work?"
"Oh, splendidly. Until then we didn't have confirmation you two were even still alive. Copley acquiesced to all of Merrick's demands, of course, or at least let him believe that. It's been a veritable fount of intel." Q smiles. Nicky very nearly feels bad for Merrick, to have inspired such a smile. "With the case we're building against Steven Merrick, we should be able to arrest him by suppertime."
Joe sighs and leans back against the headrest. "Fantastic. Speaking of which, Nicky and I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours by now. Anyone have a protein bar or something?"
MI6's new temporary headquarters are located in a series of underground bunkers. "Churchill used them during the second World War," Q informs them. "We’re still discovering tunnels dating back to the eighteenth century, it's fascinating."
"I feel like I should avert my eyes or something," Nile says. "You sure I've got clearance for this?"
"They are only temporary," Q points out. "But yes, you do, because I said so." She gives Nile a once-over, her eyes gleaming. "Andy was right about you."
Nile raises an eyebrow. "About what, exactly?"
Q just smiles and doesn't reply.
Nicky and Joe are both hustled briefly over to Medical, but neither of them have suffered worse than a few cuts and bruises. A nurse scolds Nicky for overexerting his shoulder, but she doesn't try to put him back in a sling, so it can't be too bad. He honestly doesn't even notice the ache in it anymore. After that, they're able to snatch showers, a quick meal, and a change of clothes; Nicky almost feels human again by the time they regroup with Q and Nile in the new Q-branch.
Lykon helms an array of massive monitors, listening intently to his headset. He grins when he sees them, though, and Nicky bends down to give him a quick hug. "Glad you haven't lost our designation yet," Lykon tells him with a wink. "I don't feel like passing out any new numbers today. Same for you, 002."
Joe barks out a laugh. "Thank you, I think."
Copley is there as well, and shakes both their hands firmly by way of greeting. "Good to have you back with us."
"Of course, sir," Nicky says. "Should we be calling you M, now?"
A shadow passes across Copley's face. "No, not if I can help it. But that's a discussion for another time. Q, Lykon, do we have confirmation of 006 and 007's positions yet?"
Lykon rattles off an address near Canary Wharf. "006 confirms that Merrick has joined them as well. Sounds like he's monologuing, sir."
Joe covers his mouth with his hand, but Nicky can see the grin in the corners of his eyes. "That does sound like Merrick."
"Well, hopefully he'll have wound down by the time we arrive," Copley says, bone-dry. "002, 009, Agent Freeman—let's move out. The goal is to arrest the man, but I'm not taking any chances. Will you be joining us, Q?"
Q smiles, feral. "Damn right I am."
In the end, it's almost embarrassingly easy. Copley calls in the cavalry by way of the London Met, who surround the building while the team from MI6 head upstairs. It's a new skyscraper, still partially under construction; according to Copley, this was intended to be the new headquarters for Merrick's planned security database.
"No way the government could afford this kind of facility," Joe points out. "And didn't he still need approval from the other eight countries?"
"He claimed he had benefactors from the private sector," Copley says grimly. "We'd assumed he meant his father's corporation; now we know SPECTRE must have been involved as well."
"You thinking Merrick's the head of SPECTRE, then?" Nile asks.
Copley and Q exchange a glance. "No, he's more of a Johnny-come-lately," Q says. "Not quite a puppet, but certainly not the one pulling the strings."
"Merrick doesn't have a loyal bone in his body," Copley adds. "Once we have him in custody, I'm hoping he'll be willing to cut a deal in exchange for intel."
Nicky thinks of Merrick's smug little smile, his pompous self-assurance, and hopes they're right.
They find Merrick on the penthouse level, where floor to ceiling windows overlook the Thames. Evening has fallen across London by now; the city lights outside glitter against the darkness. Andy and Booker have already successfully turned the tables on Merrick's security team, judging by the handful of dead men in black uniforms littering the room; they're currently holding Merrick at gunpoint. It's very quiet, save the muffled sounds of the city outside: traffic below, a police siren in the distance, a helicopter passing somewhere nearby.
"Steven Merrick," Copley says coolly. "I'm here to take you into custody of Her Majesty's secret service."
Merrick scowls at him. It's not a very frightening expression; he mostly just looks like a petulant teenager. "On what grounds?"
"Poor taste in friends."
"You're one to talk," Merrick sneers. "Brave little man, aren't you, so long as you're surrounded by your precious double-ohs?" Ignoring Nile entirely, he looks from Andy to Booker, to Nicky to Joe, lip curling in disgust. "Hardly more than mongrels, the lot of them. You know, I remember my grandfather's stories. The designation used to mean something. Cleverness, class; true British gentlemen. God, MI6 has really gone to the dogs."
"I'm not sure why you keep looking at Joe, specifically," Andy says, tone deceptively mild. Nicky had noticed that as well. "You know, of the double-oh agents in this room, he's the only one who was actually born in the UK."
Merrick rolls his eyes. "Whatever."
He looks far less cowed than he ought, with two different guns pointed at him; Nicky had not expected Merrick to prove a particularly brave man. Something itches at the back of his mind. He kneels to check on the nearest downed guard, then the next; seeing this, Joe frowns and joins him. "Nicky?"
"Keane," Nicky says. "None of these men are Keane. So where is he?"
Booker glances over his shoulder at them. "Keane? Didn't you catch him downstairs when you came in? He was running security—"
That's when the thick glass windows shatter inward, and four men rappel inside from a fucking helicopter.
None of them were standing near the windows, thankfully, but Andy was closest; she immediately ducks under a desk to shield herself. The only light comes from the city outside; it's hard to make out what's going on, and with the heavy glass gone, the noise of the chopper is overpowering. Booker shouts, firing blindly at the intruders; Nicky leaps forward to slam the butt of his rifle into one man's head. On his other side, Joe and Nile tag-team a second intruder, trying to disarm him. Andy scoops up a machine gun to open fire on the chopper itself in an effort to bring it down.
At the edge of his vision, Nicky can see Merrick grappling with Copley over a handgun; they've staggered dangerously close to the shattered windows in their scuffle. Shards of glass carpet the floor. Nile fights her way toward them.
She can't get close enough in time. The gun between the two men goes off, pointed harmlessly upward; it shatters the fluorescent lighting panel in the ceiling, raining more glass (or plastic, probably, Nicky supposes) down on their heads. Merrick flinches violently backward. For an instant, time feels suspended: he seems to hover there at the edge, mouth agape, eyes wide with shock. And then he falls.
It's over quickly after that. Three of the four intruders are dead; the fourth is Keane, who has been forced down to his knees, held in place by Booker. Q stands over him, eyes glittering. "You shot Lykon," she tells him coldly. "You should not have done that."
Then she pistol-whips him in the side of the head, and he's out like a light.
Copley crosses the glass-strewn floor gingerly to join them, looking grim but unharmed. "Well, at least someone will stand trial," he says heavily. "Merrick's dead. I hope Mr. Keane is willing to talk."
"Good luck with that," Andy says. She gives Q a hard kiss, then bends down to help Booker with the ex-double-oh; Nile quickly moves to assist them. Q leans back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, then looks blankly down at the pistol in her hand as though she's not sure what to do with it.
Nicky understands that feeling. He glances across the group to Joe, who's already looking right back at him. Joe gives him a nod, too weary to even muster a smile, and starts moving toward the door.
"Let's get out of this place," Nicky says to the group at large. "Joe and I will make sure there are no more ugly surprises waiting for us along the way."
There aren't, for once. Small blessings.
It feels like hours before they all finally make their way back to the MI6 bunkers. All the adrenaline from the fight has long since drained away, leaving Nicky feeling shaky and almost dizzy from exhaustion. He's been through a hell of a lot, the past couple of days. How long has it even been since he last slept? Not counting being drugged, of course.
Andy intercepts him when he tries to follow Copley and Nile into one of the briefing rooms; she gives him a critical once over before all but ordering him to rest. "I wish I could send you and Joe home," she says ruefully, "but we're still on high alert, and I don't want to risk it until we're sure SPECTRE doesn't have anything else up their sleeves tonight. I've already pointed Joe toward the ready rooms. Claim a cot and get some sleep, okay? You're no use to us dead on your feet like this." She smiles, though, taking the sting out of her words, and cups the back of his neck in a warm clasp for a moment. It's almost embarrassing, how much comfort he derives from just that simple touch.
Then she gives him a none-too-gentle push in the direction of the ready room, and he goes.
He's not sure where Joe wound up, but the cot Nicky finds is clean and surprisingly comfortable, and he's asleep pretty much the second his head hits the pillow.
The next day passes in a haze of one-on-one meetings. He only sees Joe for a few moments, in passing; they're each being debriefed separately, as per protocol. They exchange tired smiles as they move from one room to the next. Copley and Q each have their questions, of course, but so do Medical, and the staff psychiatrists—apparently he and Joe are both going to be placed on a few weeks' mandatory trauma leave, after this experience; Nicky still hadn't finished out the remainder of his medical leave from the gunshot wound. His final meeting of the day is with Andy, whose debrief is somehow the most thorough Nicky has ever encountered. Something about her demeanour reminds him of the late M, a little, even though she couldn't be physically more different than the older woman.
"Do we know what happened to Meta Kozak?" he asks her, once he's done retelling his side of the story for the tenth time. "She is more dangerous than Merrick, I think."
"I agree," Andy sighs. "We coordinated with the Italian Carabinieri to raid her villa, but Kozak seems to have vanished. None of her late husband's family could say where she might have gone."
Nicky pinches the bridge of his nose. "Damn it all. If SPECTRE has taken her under protection…"
"We'll find her. Sooner or later." Andy waits until he meets her eyes, then gives him a firm nod. "Nicky, I promise. As soon as we get so much of a whiff of her whereabouts, you'll be the first to know."
Once Andy cuts him loose, he checks back in with Q-branch, where Q gives him the all clear. "We've had a team secure your flat, it's safe for you to go home tonight. Or you can crash here again, if you'd prefer."
"No, I think...home sounds good." It sounds hollow even to his own ears, and he's not sure why. He likes his flat. It's far cozier than the ready rooms, that's for certain. And he might still have some wine in the fridge.
But he lingers in Q-branch, making idle small talk with Lykon and a couple of other techs. Eventually Nile appears, looking for Q; she gives Nicky a grin and an unexpected hug as well. "Hey, you holding up okay?"
"Of course," he tells her, smiling back. He hardly knows Nile at all, yet, but he can't help but like her. There is something warm about her, a brisk competence and natural affability that shines out of her. It is a shame that she's American. "I didn't realize you were still with us, but I'm glad to see you again. How long will we have you for?"
Nile shrugs, her cheeks dimpling. "Not sure yet. Langley's gonna call me back eventually, but my boss is pretty happy with how this all turned out. Sounds like I might become a sort of… unofficial liaison between our agencies."
"That would be wonderful," Nicky says, meaning it. "Thank you, again, for all the help you have given us. We might still be stuck in Merrick's cellar, if not for you."
Her mouth twists a little at that. "Yeah, but it was my intel on Sciarra that landed you there in the first place. So I think we've already balanced the scales on that one. Stay out of trouble until I see you next, okay?"
Nicky huffs out a laugh. "I'm a double-oh. Getting into trouble is literally my job."
"You got me there. Hey, speaking of trouble, Joe was just looking for you. I ran into him grabbing a sandwich in the mess."
Nicky does his best to ignore the way his heart stumbles and misses a beat. "That is good to know."
He makes a few wrong turnings, trying to remember where the makeshift cafeteria might be, but it doesn't matter: Joe finds him anyway. "Hey," Joe says, oddly tentative. "You done here for the night?"
Nicky's mouth feels very dry. "Yes, Q said we could go home. Are you…?"
"Yes," Joe says, too quickly. "Do you want to—I mean, um, I haven't been home in over a week, but if you—"
"Joe." Nicky catches his arm, stilling him. "I don't care whose flat we go to, I just want to go there with you."
Joe swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. The smile he gives Nicky is so sweet and sincere that Nicky does not know what to do with himself. "Yes, please."
As it happens, Nicky's place is closer, so that's where they end up. It's a little awkward at first: the shuffle of showing Joe in, checking the fridge and hastily binning some expired food, starting to offer wine before remembering that Joe doesn't really drink—
"Nicky," Joe says quietly. "You can stop moving now, it's okay. Just—come sit with me?"
Nicky does, joining him on the couch. They just look at each other for a long time, knees brushing.
Joe is the one to finally break the silence. "I know the past few days have been… a lot. And adrenaline fucks with your head in all kinds of ways. So I'm not… I don't expect anything from you, Nicky, I swear."
"What if I want you to, though?" Nicky doesn't let himself reach out, not yet, but— "Did you mean what you said, on the plane?"
Joe doesn't even hesitate. "Every word. Nicky, I am so in love with you, it makes me stupid. That's the only explanation I can come up with for how long it took me to figure it out."
"Not so very long," Nicky manages, throat so tight it's a wonder he can get the words out. He does touch Joe then, because he has to, cupping his cheek in one wondering hand. Joe laughs a little and turns his face to kiss Nicky's palm, and a shiver trips up and down Nicky's spine. "God, but I love you."
Joe exhales a long, shuddering breath, then wraps his arms around Nicky and buries his face in Nicky's neck. Nicky responds in kind, tugging him as close as possible, dropping soft kisses into his hair. He's not sure how long they just hold each other like that, breaths synchronizing, but gradually all the tension of the past few days or weeks or however long seeps out of Nicky's body. "I love you," he whispers again, because he can. "I am so glad you're here with me."
Joe's arms tighten around him, and Nicky can feel him press a kiss to the side of his neck. "Me, too." He kisses Nicky's neck again, lower down, right at the juncture of his collarbone, and lingers there, mouth moving over skin, sucking gently and then soothing. Nicky's breaths come short in his chest; he can't help but tilt his head to allow Joe easier access. One of his hands skims under the hem of Joe's shirt, and Joe arches a little into his touch.
"You smell so good, right here," Joe breathes, nuzzling at his skin. "It makes me crazy sometimes, that I know that all the time now, when I can't do anything about it." He nips lightly at the hollow of Nicky's throat, fumbling with the top buttons of Nicky's shirt, and Nicky helps him as best he can. Joe gets distracted before they can get the damn thing all the way off, though, shifting to straddle Nicky's lap, and Nicky has to grab at his waist to hold him there. It feels so good, the way that presses their whole bodies together, that he has to gasp for breath, his head gently thunking back against the top of the couch. Joe makes a soft, needy sound and kisses his throat again.
By the time Joe has kissed his way back up Nicky's neck, to the soft, sensitive skin behind his ear, Nicky is practically shaking beneath him. It's a relief when Joe finally captures his mouth instead; Nicky hums into the kiss, and is rewarded by Joe's full-body shiver. He needs to feel more of Joe's bare skin against his; he can't possibly stop kissing him long enough to accomplish that. It's a terrible dilemma. He feels fever-hot, his skin oversensitive nearly to the point of discomfort, the drag of the stiff fabric of Joe's shirt against his own bare chest almost the wrong sort of friction. It's driving him mad. He never wants it to stop.
"Love, please," he gasps out between kisses; that was a mistake, it just makes Joe groan and roll his hips against Nicky's, and Nicky swallows back a moan at how good that feels. "Joe, Joe, please, I need to feel you—"
Joe immediately reaches down between them, pressing his palm against the hard line of Nicky's cock, which is not what Nicky had been asking for at all but fuck, he's certainly not gonna say no. But the denim of his jeans is an increasingly awkward barrier between them, and there's no good way to get either of their trousers undone in this position, with Joe's full weight on Nicky's lap. Nicky urgently, desperately wants them both to be much more naked before this is over.
"What was that?" Joe asks, smiling so widely against Nicky's lips that he can feel it, and Nicky realizes that he's been saying all that aloud, but in Italian. Joe's vocabulary apparently doesn't quite extend to bedroom activities, but he clearly caught the gist of it anyway.
Nicky licks into his mouth again, to buy himself time, and to put the English words back together in his brain. "Please, may I take you to bed?"
"You really don't need to ask," Joe whispers, kissing him hard, his arm around Nicky's shoulders tightening. Then he pulls away with visible effort, and Nicky actually whines a little in spite of himself as Joe pushes back off the couch and out of Nicky's lap. Joe laughs, bright and free, and extends a hand down to Nicky to help him stand.
Of course, that just means he winds up pulling Nicky right back into his arms, only with both of them upright now, and it's Nicky's turn to nose at Joe's neck. Joe is right, he decides: that spot right there is the best place to breathe him in, clean sweat and beard oil and the unique scent that is indefinably but unmistakeably Joe, and Nicky is almost dizzy with it for a moment. He needs to confirm that Joe's skin tastes as good as it smells, right this very second, and Joe groans again, his hands clenching convulsively at Nicky's waist.
It takes far longer than it ought for them to stumble towards Nicky's bedroom, especially considering how small his flat is. Nicky nearly brains himself on the doorframe while trying to kick off his trousers, and Joe laughingly consoles him through the momentary embarrassment by kissing him breathless. Which means it's another few long minutes before either of them has the presence of mind to actually make use of the very comfortable bed not even a full meter away.
Nicky is not immune to the charms of a one-night stand: the excitement sparked by an unexpected flirtation, a teasing sort of negotiation, the thrill of uncovering someone's body for the first time. But this, this is his favorite part of a relationship: when they have already begun to learn each other and are realizing just how much more there is yet to discover. Nicky knows that Joe's chest and nipples are deliciously sensitive, that he can reduce Joe to a writhing mess long before he ever so much as touches his cock; Joe knows that just the firm, steady pressure of his thigh between Nicky's legs means that Nicky can bring himself dangerously close to the edge, too quickly. But Nicky has yet to learn if there are equally sensitive areas on Joe's thighs, if that little shiver when he strokes down the small of Joe's back is something to be explored further or better left alone. They haven't had any conversations about sex toys (Nicky's never been much of a fan, but he's willing to indulge when his partners are), or how long he might draw out a blow job before it becomes more frustrating than arousing.
He could spend a lifetime learning Joe's body and preferences and it still will never be enough. And not just the physical aspect of their relationship: he wants to know what Joe's favorite meal is, when he's feeling homesick and restless and needs to center himself. He wants to know how someone as clever and artistic and driven as Joe ever wound up in a life like theirs, when surely he could have chosen any career he wanted. He wants to know how he first managed to make Joe smile, so that he can do that again and again for the rest of their lives. The enormity of these feelings is terrifying, and wonderful. He's never wanted to know someone the way he does Joe.
He pulls back for a moment, bracing himself over Joe, just staring down at this impossibly gorgeous man, utterly undone by the depth of tenderness tangling in his chest.
"Nicky?" Joe says, reaching up to trace a soft line from Nicky's eyebrow down to his jaw. "What are you thinking?"
Nicky swallows, and Joe brushes his thumb against his throat. "I am just wondering how the hell we got here, you and I."
Joe smiles, so brightly Nicky thinks he'll never need any other light to see by. "I have no idea, but there's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be." He draws Nicky down for a slow, drugging kiss. "Be with me, Nicky."
"Always," Nicky promises.
He knows it's not as simple as that. MI6 has its hooks in both of them, irrevocably, and they will often have no choice but to follow where they're led. Theirs is not a job that either of them can leave behind, or come home to each other every night; there will be weeks if not months where they won't even be on the same continent. But if they were the sort of men who could turn their backs on all that, on people who need them, they could not love each other so well, either.
They'll make it work. Nicky won't accept any other outcome.
The old MI6 headquarters are still under construction when Nicky and Joe return to London, refreshed after several weeks' vacation. No one seems to mind much, though; the underground bunkers are starting to feel almost homey, now that they've worked out a few minor ventilation issues. If Nicky is being perfectly honest, it feels good to be back. Not that he didn't enjoy his and Joe's not-technically-but-still-sort-of honeymoon, but as lovely as it is to indulge in that sort of hedonism for a time, they both get restless between missions.
Although Joe seems to have made it his personal mission to find every square centimeter on Nicky's body that can reduce him to babbling incoherence, which. Well. It's good to have something to focus on.
"Hello, boys," Q sings out, all of five seconds after they set foot in the bunker. It's unnerving, the way she can just appear out of thin air like that. "How was Malta?"
"Even more beautiful than I remembered," Nicky tells her, feeling the smile tug at his lips unprompted. Joe winks, and it's a struggle not to grin right back at him. Oh, this is going to be tricky; he's not at all worried about how their personal relationship will impact their working together, but being at work together is another matter. Double-ohs are supposed to be cool and enigmatic and a little bit frightening. Joe is going to ruin Nicky's reputation, he can tell.
From the indulgent look Q is giving them, it is going to be absolutely insufferable here for a while. "Well, I hope you're ready to get back to work, because M's got a new mission for you both already. Come by Q-branch once you're briefed, I have some new toys for you to test out."
"Holy shit," Joe breathes. "Have we finally earned proper Q gadgets?"
She rolls her eyes. "Well, I suppose. As a little treat. Go on, now, M is waiting."
The new M's executive suite is conveniently close to Q-branch. Helps to keep the talent within easy access, Nicky supposes. As per usual, Copley is the first person they see, typing furiously away at his desk. He just gives them a harried smile and waves them on in.
"Do you think they ever offered the promotion to him?" Nicky asks, sotto voce.
Joe shrugs, pushing open the door to M's private office. "Maybe. But Copley's a research geek at heart, he'd never be as happy playing puppetmaster."
"Is that what M is supposed to be?"
"The previous M, maybe," Andy says, standing to greet them. "She was a crafty old fox, that's for damn sure. But maybe it was time for a change."
Nicky grins at her. "Ready or not?"
"Here we come," Andy agrees. "009, 002, good to have you back."
Joe presses his hand against the small of Nicky's back, warm and fleeting, and gives Andy his trademark smile. "We missed you too, M. So what have you got for us this time?"