Going home must be like going to render an account. - Joseph Conrad

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. - Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

Seven years, Briel lamented silently. Seven years, I've been on my own, a competent adult, and I get around these people, I feel five years old. Felicity had insisted on packing Briel a snack for the airplane ride. “They're charging for everything nowadays,” she had insisted. Mr. Alexander had plied her with advice, and even Mrs. Alexander worried that she would get cold on the plane. Only Nick, to his credit, had remained silent, if altogether too pensive for Briel's taste.

For the larger portion of their drive to Chetumal Airport, Nick still did not engage Briel in conversation, instead keeping his eyes trained intently on the road before them. As she tried not to look at him, she sensed a smoldering unrest under her surface calm. She hoped he would address the tension between them even as she prayed that he would not.

In Briel's world, each person functioned as an independent organism, reliant only on himself to succeed or fail – sometimes temporarily symbiotic, but never contingent. Briel had fostered this form of existence, too unwilling to relinquish any of her freedom or power to another. Leaving Felicity's family ignited in Briel an even deeper dissatisfaction, a knowledge that she had become her own worst enemy. She knew that at some point, she would have to decide: maintain her solitude or become vulnerable. Nessa had already gouged a chunk out of her defenses, and the group at the caye – including the kids - took a chisel to the breech. If she had only felt forced to contend with those two, they might, over time, have managed to break the wall apart. Because of Nick, though, Briel had forced herself to reinforce her defenses. She had the feeling that if she let him near the wall, he would bust through to the point that made it irreparable. She did not trust anyone that much.

After half an hour of silence, Nick finally opened his mouth, venturing an explanation that Briel did not want to hear. Still, she tried to listen graciously.

“You know, Briel,” he began hesitantly, “I’m sorry if I was aggressive back there. This is really hard for me. But you know I would be concerned about any of my friends who was running into danger.”

His assertion required no answer, so Briel gave him none. In reality, she couldn't begin to guess the motives behind his declaration.

“What I mean is,” he explained, “you need to know that my concern has nothing to do with my belief in your ability. I've rarely met anyone who could act as decisively as you. I’ve never met anyone as competent as you are.”

Briel sensed such sincerity in his expression. Could he know how deeply her recent difficulties had affected her self-confidence?

“Thanks, Nick,” she allowed. “Um, it's always good to hear a vote of confidence.”

Instead of using his confession as a springboard to further conversation, Nick lapsed back into silence for several minutes. He seemed fine with the lack of exchange, but Briel began, after about a minute, to feel uncomfortable with his self-possession.

“It's just that you said...” he finally began, then cut off, changing the direction of his comment. “You seem like you're suffering some self-doubt. You, of all people, can face this. If you were anyone else, I'd just...I don't know, I'd hold you hostage or something,” Nick insisted, exasperated.

A boisterous laugh erupted from Briel's lips, taking her completely by surprise. He, hold her hostage? He had to know how ridiculously impossible that would prove.

“Interesting,” she ventured. “How, exactly, would you accomplish this?”

Nick's smirk cracked his stoic expression, “I'm pretty big.”

“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly, “but I'm well trained. A well-trained fighter can debilitate a much larger opponent given enough time, and assuming the opponent is unwilling to use violence.”

“Assuming…” he acceded. “But I bet you didn't know that I used to work for a martial arts studio. I took a lot of classes,” Nick asserted mysteriously.

Again, Briel laughed. “Seriously, Nick. You know better, right?”

“Yes, I know better,” he allowed reluctantly. “Fine. I'd hack the transportation system, ground all air traffic, and immobilize the rental car fleets.”

Briel laughed, but when Nick did not, she peered over at him. If the expression on his face meant anything, she had to wonder if he meant what he said. “How would you do that?”

“Do you want me to go into technical details? Because without a computer in front of us to demonstrate, I’m afraid you would forget when you were ready to do it yourself.”

With his claim, she couldn’t even process the sarcasm because she was too busy considering the possibility that he could do it. He couldn't really mean it, could he? Again, the car reverted to silence, and Briel felt stranded in the reverberations of Nick's last statement. She remembered why she had rejected his attentions in Phoenix: he was brilliant. If she were with him, she would never hold the upper hand.

The remainder of the car ride passed with minimal interchange between them. Twice, Nick pointed out Mayan landmarks from the history of Belize, and a few times he referred to the hurricane damage from the last big storm to hit the Yucatan.

Though she didn't want to, Briel couldn't help laughing occasionally at Nick's smart-alec comments. She pondered whether she weren't being an idiot in regards to Nick. Maybe she could figure out a way to keep him around, to date him casually. She could stop by on her way to a mission, or she could convince the company to contract him out for jobs.

No, she realized. Not only could she not do that to him, she could not trust herself in such a situation. Already, she was imagining the possibility that he would pick up extra work for the team, move to town near Briel, find more excuses to interact with him.

Damn it, Briel. That is not an option! She forced herself to stare out the window the rest of the trip, very intentionally counting the palm trees along the beach or the boats across the water. Ridding herself of him the first time had proven too painful, for her and most likely for him, and she could not make things worse by growing more attached.

Finally, the Chetumal Airport rose meekly on the horizon, its boxy buildings just peaking above a clearing in the jungle.

“Do me a favor, Briel,” Nick pleaded gently as he pulled into the lot.

“I'll consider it,” she allowed.

“Don't be so independent that you don't call for help when you need it. I mean,” his voice held some subdued emotion. “I'd hate it if something happened to you.”

And there he was again, seeming sincere in his concern. What was she to make of it? Which Nick did she believe: the one that had let his hurt leak through to sarcasm, or the one that looked like he was terrified to lose her again?

“I'll be careful,” Briel assured him, deciding it didn’t matter. Neither Nick could be allowed to affect her.

“Can I please have a name, anything, someone I can contact if we don't hear from you after a while? I mean, we are so isolated that you don't have to worry about our spilling your friend's information. And I promise not to call frivolously.”

I don’t share intel, her mind replied, but her mouth ignored the counsel. “Just call my teammate Nessa if you absolutely have to know.”

“Of course. Nessa. That makes sense.” Nick agreed, as if he somehow knew her. Had Felicity talked about Nessa? She had to have, or how could Nick know. Felicity could have mentioned Nessa, but how would that connect her with Briel. The friendship hadn’t really happened until after Banff.

What he knows doesn’t matter because you’ll never see him again. “Well, um, bye,” she dismissed him, desperate to flee the awkward silence.

He, of course, didn't seem awkward at all - just laid back and self-possessed. Not a puppy. Not a spy. Just confident, straightforward Nick.

“Here, take this,” he said, handing her a stiff piece of paper without releasing his eyes from her gaze. His hand lingered on hers for a moment, then he turned and peered down the road that led away from the airport. “Good-bye,” Nick stated without looking at her. Briel frowned, watching a moroseness fall on his features as she closed the door, and he drove away.

Someone will see past that disheveled surface to the boyish charm... she laughed at the memory of Felicity's words. Briel tried not to let them affect her. When he worked at it, Nicholas Alexander was almost irresistible. Briel stopped the thought, forbidding herself to remember just how appealing he could truly be.

Instead, she opened her hand and glanced inside. The paper Nick had handed her proved to be what it had seemed: a business card. Its purpose, however, she could not surmise. It said only: Nicholas C. Alexander. Nothing more. No phone number, no email. Nothing. Irritated, Briel dropped the card through the partially unzipped zipper of her backpack.

A little regretful to leave the warmth of the environment at the caye, Briel proceeded alone through the security in Chetumal and began the trek that would lead her first through Mexico City, and then to New York before she could actually head toward her long-forgotten home in search of Bill Henry.

For years, Briel had been “Briel Cortes,” Spanish immigrant, recently moved to the US from Valencia. Even her coworkers and friends held this assumption. At the bureau, the few who had hired her knew her origins, knew that she had moved from Haute-Normandie to Acadia at the age of ten, but no one else knew. No one but Nick, apparently. Or, at least, he suspected.

When her parents had died, Briel had buried her childhood identity with them. The car wreck that claimed their lives and the life of Briel's younger sister completed Briel's withdrawal from emotional engagement, a withdrawal that Briel had fostered since she joined the bureau.

If she were honest with herself, Briel would acknowledge that her abdication from relationships began much earlier than the wreck. It started when her parents had, in her opinion, ripped her from her friends and family in France to chase a dream in the United States, a dream that did not materialize.

Instead, the family had fled the relative affluence of the Revelle manor to settle in a working- class district full of other immigrants, a fight with his brother driving Briel's father from their homeland. Once settled in the U.S., Briel began the process of emotionally divorcing herself from her family, a process which culminated with their deaths. Brielle Marelle Revelle – her mother’s overdone attempt at poetry - had also died in the car wreck a few years after moving to the states.

Briel never really forgave her father for letting what she still considered to be petty bickering completely uproot her existence. Now, her family all lay underground, even the offending uncle, and the only remnants of Briel's childhood that remained were a few scattered cousins that dotted the French countryside.

Though in an earlier decade her heart had ached every day to return, going home now seemed too bitter to anticipate it with any real excitement. Her head began to pound.

Instead of beginning to plan her next strategic move, as Briel would usually have done at this point, she started considering other options altogether. Decisiveness usually equaled Briel, but she really did not want to go home. Surely, she could find another option. So she needed to leave the team. Did she have to return home to do so? Couldn't she just disappear instead of going through the hell that home would unleash? If she asked at the Bureau, they would take her back in a heartbeat and give her another new identity. Maybe she should just call up Devin. Then she could kill two birds with one stone: interrogate him about Ted's identity and ask him for a job.

Briel snickered at the thought. Perhaps Devin would take her back, but what if Devin had nothing to do with Ted? Did Briel really want to bring herself to Devin's mind again? He had proven difficult to shake the first time. Too, the unsolved mystery of who had betrayed her nagged at her. Finally, Briel had spoken truly with Nick and Felicity that she did not like to hide; the very idea made her angry enough to punch the seat next to her.

More irritating than any other consideration - though Briel had long before rejected emotional attachments - she had begun to really care about Nessa. Despite her resolution to remain indifferent, Briel did not want that friendship to end so soon after its inception.

Briel did not have the patience to endure the five-hour flight from Mexico City to New York without some form of distraction. After flitting through the menu of in-flight movies, Briel pulled her backpack from under the seat and filtered through its contents. She pushed aside a few energy bars, the book she had stowed in the main compartment, and the rain jacket and blanket she had included for the hike through Mexico and Belize. She would discard the camping gear once she arrived in France, instead filling the bag with the necessary apparel to blend in with the bourgeoisie.

The book held no interest for her – it had mostly been a prop – and nothing else in the backpack mattered much. She had, however, purchased a prepaid cellphone before she left Mexico City. In her right mind, Briel would never have opened the phone, never turned it on. But the conflagration of emotions that had assaulted her since she had left the caye had left her in a state of loneliness, something she had not experienced since her first bouts with guilt after her parents' deaths. Briel had grown used to the usual emptiness – it produced no sensation, just the absence of sensation. In contrast, the loneliness ached like a broken bone, from inside and radiating deeper than just the site of injury. She need a new connection to displace the one she had left behind in Belize.

Pressing the power button, she wondered if she had a death wish. She opened her messages.

Are you there? Brie814 entered hopefully into the phone.

For several minutes, she saw no response, and she lamented that Ted was not logged on. Her mind wandered as she waited. What if she had scared him off? What if he had decided, after encountering her stubbornness, to abandon his attempts to connect with her?

Just as she gave up and darkened the screen, she felt the phone vibrate. She forced herself to respond calmly, though she wanted to snap the headset off. What in the world are you doing contacting me? he chastised. You have no business using your phone right now.

Briel stared at the words, aghast. How did he know what her business was? And how dare he talk to her like that. Did he think he was her father? Why does it matter now if I use my phone, she wondered? How could contacting him cause any more trouble than messaging from her prison cell in Mexico? He didn’t know she was on a plane across the sea, so how could he know the danger.

From the moment the plane landed, she could fill her mind with the visceral drive for self-preservation; she would be safe from introspection. For now, she just wanted to medicate. Why did it bother him so much? Relax, she chastised. I can take care of myself.

Not if you're acting like an idiot. Give me one good reason that you had to contact me.

One good reason? She bit her lip in consternation. No excuse, she knew. I can't, exactly. I just...Briel paused for so long that Ted seemed to grow impatient.

You just what? What could justify this?

Though he pressed her, Briel still didn't answer him since even she knew the folly of her actions. How could she explain something she didn't understand herself? When his panic overtook his irritation, Briel muffled a snicker of semi-sadistic amusement at his questions.

Are you still there? He seemed to overreact. What's going on? Are you okay?

Such drama, she mocked to herself. Willfully ignoring the interrogating barrage, she only answered the last query. I'm fine! What could happen to me 40,000 feet in the air?

40,000 feet? So, you made the plane? Well, I guess you're right, which means I can lay off a little. Contacting me still isn't safe, but unless whoever is after you has ground to air missiles, which I imagine is a little dramatic a step just to stamp you out, you’re probably safe until you land.

That's a very comforting thought, she teased. Of course, that would erase their $100,000 profit. Briel smiled to herself at the thought. In a way, dying would punish Henry and his greedy minions.

Why are you doing this, Briel? Ted interrupted her thoughts. What do you hope to accomplish on this trip? You should have just stayed put.

Stayed put where? she sassed, though she could hardly impress him with her petulance through a keyboard. Staying home is not an option since whoever is after me knows where I live. I could either stay home and play defense, or I could go on the offensive.

I didn't mean stay in San Antonio, obviously. His answer seemed mocking, though she couldn't imagine where he expected her to stay. Still, I guess when you put it that way, I see your point. Offense is definitely a more powerful position. And everyone knows how much you like power.

Briel glared at her phone. Why had she wanted to talk to him again? It seemed that everyone around her was bent on forcing her to examine her life. What if I don't want to examine it? she silently asked no one in particular. What if I liked my life of simply existing? But she knew the answer, as plainly as if she had discovered it herself instead of having it thrust upon her by Bill Henry. She didn't like the vacant reality of her current life, any more than she had liked the ragged strain of the decade before the Bureau.

This is not just a power play, she countered. It’s also a prudent plan of action if I want to stay alive.

I thought power was kind of your thing.

Why was Ted being so combative, so different from the other times she had contacted him? It was almost as if she had somehow offended him since the last time she had talked to him.

Is there a reason you’re pissed off at me?

He didn’t answer for several seconds, and Briel almost shut off the phone. She didn’t have the energy to fight.

I’m sorry, popped up just as she reached for the power button. You’re right. I’m being a jerk. I’m just so frustrated that you are putting yourself in danger.

How did I put myself in danger? I was just doing my job, and someone came after me.

But you could have found somewhere safe, waited out the storm.

That again. Which kind of takes me back to my point. Offense is a stronger position.

Ha. I should know that’s your take – you would not do well waiting around for your pursuer to get bored. When you have to restrain yourself, your whole body spasms with impatience. Your jaw starts twitching, your lips purse into a little bow. It’s like you want to bite someone but know you shouldn’t.

You’re not helping me want to talk to you. She hadn't even known of her habit until recently, but it seemed there was a conspiracy among men who had kissed her to notice her mouth. Which made her wonder about Ted – how well had she known him. If she had kissed him, she could lower the number of candidates to half a dozen. Dazedly, she felt the sensation that Ted watched her now, and her lips actually twitched with the irritation. She forced herself to continue. I just wish I could figure out who's doing this! They seem to be working me, taking advantage of every possible hole in my capabilities. It's so frustrating!

Bri, you need to relax. Just breathe and think.

Briel squeezed her lips into a line. Why did people keep telling her to relax? I understand your reasoning, but if I relax, I die.

That's not what I meant when I said relax. Not like, “woman relax.” I’m not that backwards. I just mean you, Briel, relax and trust yourself. You're too good for that. If you start second guessing your decisions, you might stumble at the wrong time.

So, Briel breathed a laugh, trust myself. Makes much more sense. For a moment, Briel tried to follow his advice. She focused on the air flowing in and out of her lungs. Thanks, Ted. I think you’re exactly right.

Of course, I am.

Was Ted as arrogant as he acted? Though he played at it, something in his manner made her doubt it. Maybe aware of his abilities – why he stuck to the computer. Too bad you won't tell me who you are.

In your current circumstances, I would think that any communication would prove vulnerable. You don't exactly have protective software on your burner phone. Probably not a good idea.

I seriously doubt anyone could monitor me from here. I took a lot of precautions. She recognized a cop-out when she heard one.

I wouldn't underestimate anyone from your team or anyone from your last mission.

As Briel read the last line, the fasten seatbelts sign blinked on, and the pilot informed the passengers of the beginning of their descent. I've got to go, she explained. The flight attendants will be walking around in a minute, and they won't like it if I'm on the phone.

No problem. You can contact me on the next leg of the flight.

So, what, he knew her flight plan now? I'm not sure I'll be able to safely communicate anymore. I will want to be as technology-free as possible from now on.

A pause. That didn't stop you this time, but fine. I won't like it, though. Still, it's the best possible plan for your safety's sake. Just know I'll be going out of my mind here. Please be careful.

You're so strange, Ted. You act as if you are my friend, but you won't even tell me your name. I told you I can take care of myself. Don't worry about it. I'll be okay. Bye.

Before he could answer, she pressed down the power button. She could not escape his obvious familiarity, and the sensation disoriented her. She could not afford to be disoriented at the moment. Still, Briel would have liked to savor the last few moments of conversation, ruminating over the thoughts she had expressed – Ted had made her feel better. Apparently, despite all her intentional independence, even she liked a little encouragement now and then.

She flipped the phone closed just as a flight attendant started down the aisle. Before sliding the phone into the magazine pocket in front of her, she removed the battery and sim card. In a few minutes, she headed to the restroom where she splintered the sim card and threw it into the trash bin. Then, she returned casually to her seat and waited to land.

Despite her assertion that she planned not to utilize technology, Briel bought a new phone in the New York airport. She would not turn it on until safely in the air over the Atlantic, but she couldn't completely sever all ties with Ted, even if she had no one else. His anonymity made communication easy; it felt distant and unreal. It probably wouldn't affect her safety, and given the odds, she wanted to take the risk.

Without incident, she boarded the plane for Charles de Gaulle.