"Aren't we supposed to be allies?" he asked, speaking more of their countries than of them. He knew there were times when the CIA worked with MI6 and vice versa, but this didn't seem to be one of them. "If you'd told me the truth, I could have copied the list and helped you free your hostage," he pointed out further. "But you chose this. You chose not to trust me. It wasn't me who betrayed you, Meg."

"Ultimately, this mess is our superiors' fault, and therefore the betrayal is theirs," she pointed out. "Come on, you little metal sod ....and how many agents do you know who would blow their cover on the possibility that their mark would actually a) believe them, and b) not try to kill them before they got any further into the conversation' It isn't as though you were ever intending to call Sarah Lane. She was a bit of fun for one night."

While they'd been talking, he'd been busy working on the knots, flexing the muscles in his arms to work them loose. It was slow, hard work which made his arms and legs ache, but it was starting to pay off. With a crack of wood, he broke both arms of the chair, loosening the ropes further so that he was finally able to unwind himself from the mess of knots. "Somebody was never a Boy Scout," he remarked, regarding the shoddy ropework. Why they hadn't used handcuffs on him, he wasn't too sure, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "You don't know me well enough to make that call, Meg," he said, emphasizing her real name as if to make a point of it, but arguing about it would have to wait until later. It took him a moment to unravel the rope and free himself, after which, he moved over to her and held out his hand for the pin.

"And if you persist in in using my name as an insult, Andrew," she countered, "I am going to drive my heel so hard into your foot, you'll need metal plates to ever walk again. Be very careful what you imply on this subject." She'd been accused of it once, and it still stung, because it was almost the truth. Prostituting yourself for Queen and country was still prostitution, even if it was the safest, bloodless way to get the information necessary. She rolled her eyes as he broke free, sighing softly as she handed over the pin. "Fine, I'll be the damsel in distress. Would you like me to swoon now, or wait until we're out of the immediate mess?"

"I didn't imply anything. I enjoyed last night as much as you did. You're the one who implied I wouldn't call," he said, as he applied himself to picking the lock, which was a lot easier using two hands than your teeth, even if those hands were shaking a little. "I've never been one for damsels in distress myself, but if you feel like swooning, be my guest. I'd suggest you wait until we're out of immediate danger though, if you can." With a click of the lock, the handcuffs swung free and so were her hands.

"I didn't imply it, I outright stated it," she pointed out. There was a slightly dangerous look in her eyes as they debated this back and forth. "You, however, are dangerously close to implying something else, and I would heartily recommend that the thought never reaches your lips." She winced as the cuffs came free, the metal pinching her skin as her wrists were loosed from their confines. "Right, so ....let's see if there's anything to see through that window."

"For what it's worth, I liked Sarah, even if she was a bit of a ditz," he remarked, with a slight smirk on his face, despite the danger they were still in. He didn't have any shoes, but he was hardly going to worry about that now. It was more an inconvenience than anything else. He was more annoyed that he didn't have a gun.

She glanced up at him briefly, a very faint smile touching her lips. "I liked you," she countered softly, turning to grab what was left of the chair to pull it over to the high, tiny window. Standing on it, however, did not help her - the window was still a few inches above her eyeline. "Bollocks. All right, Rambo, you're up."

"Rambo," he echoed, dubiously. "If you're gonna compare me to a fictional action hero, you could at least make it someone more credible. Someone like, oh, say ....Jason Bourne, maybe," he said, looking just as dubiously at the chair he'd practically destroyed getting free. "On my shoulders," he instructed her, not taking no for an answer. It had taken two to get them into this mess, it would take both of them to get them out.

"Bond, darling," she pointed out. "The quintessential spy." She followed his gaze to the chair, reluctantly having to agree. "All right." Toeing out of her own shoes as a courtesy, she raised one foot for him to give her a boost up and onto his shoulders. "Although this isn't the direction I would most like your face to be when in this position."

"Bond's English. I'm American," he countered, bending down and clasping his hands together to give her a boost. "From Boston, actually, but I guess you already know that. By the way, next time you pick a cover, get to know the city you're supposed to be from." He said nothing to her remark about her position, only smirking a little to himself as he gave her a boost.

"I had three hours to work up a cover, I don't think I did too badly," she protested, swinging her other leg over his shoulders to give herself a safe place to perch as her hands touched the window. "Triple-glazed interior, no latch; bars on the exterior," she said, reporting what she saw straight away. "Basement level, not much to see. Looks like Montmartre, but could be St. Honore. At least we're still in Paris. Residential area, minimal foot traffic, less vehicle movement. Oh, look, there's the police station. Safe to say they're paid off." She tapped on his head. "Down now, please."

As beat up as he was, he made no complaints as he balanced her weight on his shoulders to take a look where they were. There was no way they were getting through that itty bitty window anyway, but at least, they had an idea where they were and whether or not they could expect help. "I never made it to the meeting place. They'll be looking for me," he told her as he lowered her back down to floor level, trying not to think about the remark she'd made about her position. He'd think about that later ....If there was a later.

"Do you have a safehouse you can go to?" she asked, bending to slide her feet back into her shoes. "The sooner we get into friendly territory, the better. Although I would quite like to take Rafe's bollocks back with me."

"I'd prefer the embassy, but yeah. I need to get my hands on a phone," he added. If he could get his hands on a phone, he could call for help. Well, they were gonna have to use the door eventually, and there was bound to be someone with a cell phone out there somewhere. "Ideas?"

She frowned thoughtfully, studying the closed door. "Why hasn't anyone come in to see what we're up to?" she wondered aloud. "Unless they're dreadfully understaffed, or still waiting for back up. It could be that only the people who jumped us are here."

"Maybe," he replied, though he knew they hadn't kept them alive without reason. As soon as they knew they were both awake, they'd probably start interrogating them, either separately or together. It was probably the only reason they'd kept them alive. "One thing is certain - they aren't gonna wait forever," he reasoned. The real question was should they wait until someone came to check on them or should they try to break out"

"Hmm ..." She looked him over. "How do you feel about a little play acting?" she asked him with an almost playful cast to her expression. "I am, after all, just a feek and weeble woman. Naturally I would panic if you passed out immediately after freeing yourself from your ropes." She held up the handcuffs with a sparkle in her eyes. "And these don't lock anymore."

"Naturally, except for this Rafe guy. Ex-partner, I take it?" he inquired, not having gotten the whole story yet, though from what little she'd told him, he could infer most of it. "How well does he know you?"

Nodding, she rose to her feet, letting him take point. It was easier than having an argument about it right then and there, at any rate. The apartment they were in was small, and sparsely furnished, equipped with only the bare minimum of required furniture. It also contained a room that Meg was very glad not to have woken up in - fully equipped for a full interrogation. "My, my, Rafe," she murmured, running her gaze over the racks of tools. "How the mighty have fallen."

"Be glad he's not getting to know us better," AJ said, as he took the point, following her through the small apartment, the borrowed gun head at the ready, just in case - at least, until they were sure there was no one else there. "Any idea who he was working for" Who we should be worried about?"

"At the moment, it's only a rough idea," she mused quietly, closing the door to the torture chamber carefully. "Some faction that has split off from the main party line in the Russian government, possibly with links to other extremist organizations within Europe. They've been making inquiries in America, that's how this must have come to the CIA's attention." She paused, looking around. "That way should take us to the street door," she gestured. "From there, it's going to be a little tense."

He absorbed what she was telling him, which was more than his own government had revealed before sending him off on this wild goose chase, but said nothing about it, doing his best to keep a lid on his temper. If they'd known all along, the least they could have done was to warn him. "We'll just have to make the best of it. How do you feel about pretending to be a tourist' Maybe a couple on their honeymoon. All we have to do is get a cab to the safe house, and we should be okay." Of course, taking a cab meant paying for the ride, which could be a problem.

"At this moment in time, I'm safer with you than I am on my own," she admitted reluctantly. "How are we going to pay for this cab' Unless you can guarantee a presence at your safehouse who will pay it for you, that could be an issue."

"I can call someone on the way and make the arrangements," he told her, trying to think one step ahead. "Meg," he said, turning to face her. "We need to get out of here before anyone else comes looking for us. Do you trust me or not?"

"I don't have a choice," she pointed out, knowing that he would feel just as abandoned as she did were their positions reversed. "But ....yes, I trust you, Andrew. Which accent would you like me to wear while we're doing this?"

If she'd been anyone else, he'd have corrected her. Everyone called him AJ. It wasn't that Andrew sounded too formal, but that it sounded almost too intimate, but this wasn't the time to explain. "Just pretend to be Sarah a little bit longer. And don't let anyone see that gun," he added, tucking his own into his pants, and pulling his shirt over top to hide it from sight.

"Yes, sir." She poured the Boston accent back into her voice with enviable ease, tucking the gun more securely into the back of her jeans and pulling her top down over it. Just that twisting movement cost her, though - as the adrenalin wore off, the aches and pains of the beating Rafe had given her were making themselves known. "Just how bruised am I?" she asked, reaching up to shake her hair over the lump she knew was at her temple.

"Bruised enough that you're gonna feel it, but I think we can pull it off." At least, they weren't bloody, and with any luck, maybe onlookers would only think that they were drunk. "Ready, honey?" he asked, reaching for her hand, not only to keep her close, but to make it appear that they were just another couple enjoying Paris.

"Sure, sweet pea," she countered, bringing Sarah's bubbly smile onto her face. It was an expression that was completely at odds with the capable woman who had just kneecapped an unconscious man, but it would do for now. Letting him take her hand, she moved close to his side as they headed for the door onto the street.

As soon as they were out of the house, he was looking around to make sure they weren't being watched or tailed. It seemed as though it had just been Rafe and one other man inside the house, but outside might be another story. He wished he had a jacket with a hood to hide behind, but he'd have to do without.

All it took was one sweep of the street to identify the address, something they would need to be able to pass on as soon as they were able to. Feeling dreadfully exposed, Meg wrapped her arm about AJ's back as they walked, hoping like hell her top wasn't going to ride up and reveal the weapon in her jeans. "You should make that call now," she said, keeping the Boston accent that had deceived him in the first place very much audible. "Your uncle can't wait until we're ready." Uncle being a very specific word they were both familiar with.

"Right," he replied, as he steered them toward a main road where there would be a market or shops or a cafe - someplace where they could blend with a crowd and where they'd be able to hail a cab if they had to. He dug the phone out of his pants pocket and dialed the number he knew by heart and that had been pre-arranged for just such an emergency, before sliding an arm around her shoulders as they strolled along, trying to look like tourists.

They were being followed, that much was obvious to trained eyes. The sooner they found somewhere that was populated, the more unlikely it became that they would be nabbed a second time. "Pass on the address," she murmured to him as they walked, following the tide of pedestrians that was increasing in volume. It looked as though there were some kind of street market going on up ahead - that would be perfect. "We have a shadow."

He passed on an abbreviated and code-filled explanation of what had happened to the agent on the other end of the phone, who instructed him to head for the market and try to blend as much as they could until help could arrive, but until then, they were on their own. "They're sending a car," he told her quietly, turning his head to touch a kiss to her cheek, like a lover might, glancing casually and briefly over her shoulder to search for their shadow. "We'll have to lose him in the crowd," he whispered back.

"Might not be able to," she warned, nuzzling close with a disarming smile. "How do you feel about playing dumb and touristy?" Blue eyes sparkled impishly as she met his gaze, and abruptly, she pulled him toward the nearest stall. "Oh, sweetie, isn't that just the most darling thing you ever saw?" she exclaimed loudly. "Wouldn't it look divine on my mom's mantel?" When in doubt, attract as much innocent attention as was humanly possible.

Her question was almost exactly what he'd asked her only a few short minutes ago, but before he could answer, she was dragging him over to a market stall featuring some sort of ridiculous trinkets or other obviously designed to tempt tourists. He tried to play the spouse or lover who didn't really know how to appreciate souvenirs - it wasn't much of a stretch. "Honey, don't you think your Mom has enough stuff on her mantel already?" he replied, trying to track their shadow without actually watching him.

"Oh, you can never have too much stuff," she declared, flashing her sweetest smile at the vendor, who was stifling a laugh at the way this American woman was dragging her boyfriend or husband around the market by one arm to look at absolutely everything. Meg could certainly pull out a certain naive charm when she needed to; as Sarah, she was utterly convincing, managing to babble on about every stall they came to without annoying anyone except possibly her companion.

If he'd had any money on him, he might have bought her a trinket or two just to look convincing, but that wasn't the case. He led her through the crowd, somewhat erratically, as they stopped at this booth and that. He'd rather not have drawn too much attention, but it seemed she had a different strategy in mind. Of course, if their shadow was really intent on killing them, he might not care if a few innocent bystanders got in the way, so AJ kept moving, ducking in and out, weaving among people, never pausing too long at any one place very long.

"Since when are you in charge of interrogation?" AJ broke in again, his expression darkening further. He wasn't in this business to make friends, and if his colleague didn't shut up soon, he was likely to end up with a black eye.

"Since we took her into custody," Riggs informed AJ pointedly.

His colleague rolled his eyes. "Guys, enough," he said. "No one's getting interrogated, no one's under arrest. Miss Miller, our handler has already contacted London on your behalf. They're expecting your call. And we've got a medic standing by, because you two look rough."

"What's got his panties in a wad, then?" AJ asked, with a nod of his head toward Riggs, never taking his eyes off the man. He trusted him about as far as he could throw him at this point. "What's the matter, Riggs" Haven't gotten laid in a while?"

"Shut it, Doyle," Riggs snapped, but their colleague was chuckling.

"Didn't you know, Doyle" Redheads are his weakness."

Meg snorted with laughter. "Terribly sorry to disappoint, but this is not natural," she offered, twisting a strand of hair about her finger. The laughter came at a cost, though. She was becoming more aware of her injuries - Rafe had thrown her against the edge of a table pretty hard. If those ribs weren't broken, it was a miracle.

"Didn't your Mama ever tell you that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" AJ countered, wondering why the man was so caustic, when he was the one who'd been compromised. If anyone had anything to answer for, it was him. "There, you see?" he said, jerking a thumb at Meg. "Fake hair, fake accent. I'm pretty sure everything else is real, though."

"Are all Yanks so easily riled?" Meg asked innocently, turning Riggs' ire onto herself once again.

"You're in no position to be making comments, agent," he snapped. "Like they'd give a woman L7."

Meg's brow rose, and she turned a sweet look onto AJ. "Would you like to tell them how our friend back at that apartment got himself kneecapped, or shall I?"

"Really, Riggs?" AJ snapped back. "Maybe you'd like to ask Malone how she got hers," he pointed out. Though male CIA agents still outnumbered the females, there were plenty of them out there that would be insulted by Riggs' remarks. "Save it for the debriefing," he advised her, not wanting to give Riggs the satisfaction of further debate, though it was obvious from Meg's question that she'd been the one to blow up Rafe's kneecaps, not him. It seemed only fair, since she was the one he'd double-crossed.

As this had been going on, the car had been making its way to the US Embassy, and now pulled in around the back. They were officially on USA soil. "All right, everybody out," the unnamed agent ordered. "Riggs, stow it."

Scowling at the order, Riggs holstered his gun, moving to get out of the car quickly. He took hold of Meg's arm tightly the moment she was on her feet. "This way, Miss Miller."

AJ climbed out the other side of the car, doing his best to hide the fact that every muscle in his body was aching. He glared over at Riggs, as the agent took hold of Meg's arm. "She can walk without you dragging by the arm, asshole," he snapped, just about at the end of his patience.

"She's in custody, dickwad," Riggs countered angrily, giving Meg a tug. She winced at the rough treatment, but went in the direction he pulled her, making a mental note to mention this to her superiors while in earshot of his.

"She's under our protection, or did you miss what Simmons was saying?" AJ argued. "How do you think London is going to like it when they find out one of our agents mistreated one of theirs?" he added, purposely stepping in front of the man. "I asked you once to let her go. I'm not gonna ask you again."

Caught between two men glaring at one another, both of whom were significantly larger than she was, Meg caught Simmons' eye, and couldn't help laughing at what she saw. Agent Simmons was smirking at the display of manliness going on, and beside him was a woman, dressed smartly enough to betray her as being these men's handler in Paris.

"Gentlemen, if you're going to come to blows over a woman, could you do it inside where no one is going to report back on you?" the woman asked politely, waiting for the pair to notice her.

AJ only glared at the other man, waiting for him to back down. Once he had taken his hand off of Meg, he'd back off, too, but until that happened, he was standing his ground. It might have been a little immature of them both to have a pissing match in public, but one of them was exhausted beyond patience and reason and was in no mood to suffer fools.

"Agent Riggs, Agent Doyle, to the briefing room," the woman ordered sharply. "Simmons, please escort Miss Miller to the infirmary and arrange for her to contact her people."

For a long moment, no one moved.

"Now."

With a jaw-clenching growl under his breath, Riggs released Meg's arm, turning smartly to march into the embassy without another look back.

"Yes, ma'am," AJ replied, a nod of his head to Simmons, knowing he, at least, would treat Meg with respect. "I'll see you later," he told her, or at least, he hoped he would. He then turned on a heel to follow Riggs, still seething with rage. It was only when he walked away that it became obvious that he was actually limping a little.

She nodded to him, watching as he walked away. "Thank you, ma'am," she said to their obvious superior, who smiled faintly.

"Boys will be boys, Miss Miller," she shrugged. "When you have received further instructions, we will talk. Until then, please consider yourself our guest."

Meg nodded to her again, moving to walk at Agent Simmons' side into the building in the wake of the others. Nice to know that there were internal tensions everywhere, not just in MI6. There was going to be merry hell to pay for all this back in London, but she wasn't too concerned. She wasn't flapping around loose anymore. She was flapping around at the end of a very long line, and that made all the difference.