Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

or features.
    "You'll be sent in unofficially with no other Bureau resources aside from what I have here for you,” Burns answered seriously as he waved a manila envelope. “The two of you have unique experience, you understand."
    Zane was still watching the other agent, seeing the stamp of medical overload and a bureaucratic smackdown all over him. He'd lived it himself, and it was a fucking mess to deal with. He'd wondered, more than once, if he'd have broken the self-enforced conditioning if he hadn't met Ty. How in the hell was Ty supposed to break free of it?
    "Grady?” Zane asked abruptly. “Are you in?"
    "This is not really a request, gentlemen,” Burns said gently.
    Zane barked back something rough in Spanish before catching himself. “Kiss my ass, Burns. After what we went through last time, I think we have some say,” Zane growled.
    The Assistant Director narrowed his eyes, but didn't disagree.
    Ty's eyes moved from Burns to Zane, and he merely nodded in answer.
    Zane studied him for a long moment, trying not to get lost in the details. “All right. We're in. Give me the stuff; I want out of here. We shouldn't have come in to the office to start with, if we're supposed to be under the radar. Word will get around."
    Burns slid an envelope across the desk. “Approval for this directive comes from the Director himself. Having a killer on the inside like this is a terrible failure on the part of the system. It has to be corrected.” He looked between them. “I won't be able to repeat this. You have carte blanche. Those credit cards do not have limits. There are alternate identifications in that envelope, if need be. Just take this bastard out."
    "You don't want him in jail?” Zane asked sharply.
    The Assistant Director turned and walked to the window. “Good luck, gentlemen."
    Ty stood and watched Burns for a moment, then turned to meet Zane's eyes. He licked his lips uncertainly, unable to think of anything to say. He just nodded his head at the door and gave Burns one last glance.
    Zane picked up the envelope and led the way out, not another word for the Assistant Director. He assumed Ty would follow, but he still stopped in the outer room to wait and get another good look at the man he'd thought about far too much the past four months. Ty did follow, ignoring the batting eyelashes of the secretary who had previously looked at him with such disdain.
    Instead, he came to stand beside Zane, not looking him in the eye. “You're looking good,” he commented softly.
    Zane raised a sardonic eyebrow, not that Ty would see it. He looked like a hell-bent-for-leather biker, with the clothes, the three-day whiskers, and his messy hair. It was an image he'd cultivated for a while now, and one he was pretty much comfortable in. But Ty....
    "You're looking different,” Zane answered, voice low. “Good. But different."
    "Shut up,” Ty muttered as he began moving slowly to the elevator.
    "Glad to hear that wry sense of humor is still in there,” Zane murmured to him.
    Ty looked over at him as they walked, a small, slightly sad smile gracing his features. They were both quiet on the elevator as it took them down to the parking deck level.
    When the elevator doors opened, Zane asked, “You got a ride?"
    "I took a cab,” Ty admitted. “Wasn't quite sober when I got the call."
    A grin pulled at Zane's lips as he unzipped his jacket, slid the envelope inside, and zipped it back up. “You can ride with me, then,” he said casually as they left the elevator and stepped out into the parking deck.
    "Why do I get the feeling that's a bad thing?” Ty asked warily as he followed.
    Zane's answer was a low, smug chuckle, and a minute later they stood next to his cobalt blue Honda Valkyrie. Zane held the helmet out to Ty, a dare in his eyes.
    "No,” Ty answered immediately. “Hell, no,” he added.
    "C'mon, baby, don't you want to feel this much power purring between your thighs?” Zane drawled.
    "No,” Ty answered earnestly with a shake of his head as he patted the seat of the motorcycle apologetically.
    Zane pouted. “I suppose I can just meet you somewhere,” he offered, lips twitching. He mounted the bike and turned the key and the motor came to life; a growling, rolling, beautiful purr—just like Zane had said.
    "Home,” Ty answered immediately. “I'm going home to get my shit."
    Glancing back to Ty, Zane sat with his legs splayed as he pulled on his gloves. “And where is home?” he asked. “You