Double Trouble

"I knew it... Soon's I saw you. Spender's eager puppy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed..."

The snow floats and hovers in the streetlamp's light cone, defying gravity. Tonight, his bright eyes are from wine, their new alliance, and dangerous laughter at her description. "You knew what?"

"That Smokey had trouble on his hands," she declares, very solemn because she's a little too drunk.

He tightens his arm around her, reeling her in close. She scents him: winter dark, heartbeat, opportunity. As their breaths mingle, her pulse lunges in gazelle leaps. She wants it; almost doesn't want it. Doing business with Krycek may be trouble, but *this*... this spells double, double toil- and-trouble--

The kiss wills itself, and confirms her half-formed fears, stirs better forgotten dreams: forging fire in the snowbound world around. They break apart panting, wide-eyed.

Brushing snowflakes from her hair, Krycek smiles. "Guess it's you now, Covarrubias," he breathes, "with trouble on your hands."