I was hiding under your porch because I love you.

Alex is a Russian pop star who saw something he shouldn't have. Nicky is the Interpol agent assigned to protect him until he can testify in court.

Warnings for action movie levels of violence and flagrant mischaracterization of the role and responsibilities of Interpol.

Alex gets hired to do a private show for some obscenely rich Russian businessman. He gets flown out to a huge yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean -- literally, a helicopter drops him off on the boat. He performs one set, then spends a couple hours mingling with the other guests.

At the end of the night, they bring a cake out and Alex sings happy birthday to the guest of honor and the people at his table. The DJ at the party is a friend of Alex's. He takes a quick cell phone video of Alex performing, sends it to him right after -- just something he thinks Alex would like to see.

A hour later, the DJ is dead, dumped over the side of the boat.

His body gets pulled up by fishermen the next day. Interpol gets involved because of the suspicious circumstances. His phone is destroyed, but when they pull his phone records, they see that he texted a video to Alex. They don't know what it is until they talk to him.

Their faces go grim as they watch the video, and they whisper furiously amongst themselves. When they ask, Alex says yes, he remembers those two men talking privately, about merchandise and delivery dates -- boring and mundane. He remembers it because who talks about business in the middle of a birthday party?

The merchandise is probably guns, or people, the agents tell him. The video, and Alex's statement, are the only proof they have that the man who hired Alex to sing at his birthday party is doing business with the mafia. It's why they killed Alex's DJ friend, it's why they'd kill Alex if they knew had the video, had overheard things.

"Oh," Alex says.

They have to wait until the merchandise changes hands, catch them in the act. They don't want to tip anyone off, so Alex has to go about his life as usual, like he doesn't know anything. They'll assign someone to protect him, of course.

They show him the file of the agent that will be his bodyguard, like that will somehow make Alex feel better about all things. The man in the picture is young, maybe Alex's age. He's not smiling, and his face is plain, utterly unremarkable. Alex doesn't look at what the rest of the file says; he assumes it doesn't have information like seven of the last ten people he was protecting survived. Which Alex is suddenly, deeply interested in.

In person, the agent -- Nicklas -- is not plain. His face is the same, but he is somehow radiant, luminous. He doesn't smile for the entire first week on the job, reviewing Alex's house and schedule and security team for weaknesses, and Alex still wants to just follow him around and watch him work.

Alex does actually have a security team, and they all want to know why he brought in this, this Swede to tell them what to do. Alex just sighs and waves helplessly at Nicky. His security team sighs back and lets it go, because it is entirely believable that Nicky was hired to be Alex's personal bodyguard because Alex is smitten with him. Nicky frowns harder.

Whatever Nicky was expecting on this assignment, it wasn't Alex. Nicky's experience with this kind of thing has been that people who are witnesses against high level criminals are usually not pleasant people themselves. And Alex is a pop star to boot.

But Alex isn't a prima donna, he doesn't whine when Nicky changes his routine or won't let him go to a certain nightclub for security reasons. He's not an asshole to the people working for him, and he's downright kind to the techs and the staffers at the venues he plays at. He's preparing to testify against two international criminal organizations who would kill him if they knew about it, but he still spends his time trying to make everyone around him laugh.

The first few weeks are uneventful, and Nicky starts to think maybe it will all end like that -- they'll make the arrests and Alex can stop pretending everything is normal and go into a real witness protection program. Then one afternoon Alex is signing autographs outside the concert hall before his performance and something in the pit of Nicky's stomach doesn't feel right.

Nicky's eyes catch on the young man pushing to the front of the barrier. He's holding something in his hand, reaching out as Alex gets closer. He's wearing the right clothes, he looks the right age, but his face is set and cold, not like the glowing enthusiasm of the teenagers around him.

Nicky moves without really thinking about it, pushing Alex back away from the crowd, grabbing the man's hand and twisting it until he drops a fucking syringe. Nicky punches him in the face, the gut, fast and savage. The guy crumples to the ground and a couple of the fans scream.

Alex, is watching Nicky, eyes wide. Nicky grabs his arm and hustles him away from the crowd, snapping orders to Orlov and Kuznetsov over the comms. It could almost be just a crazy fan, except that two men are getting out of a car at the end of the block and they clearly have guns.

Nicky drags Alex back into the venue. Orlov and Kuznetsov take the decoy car with the smoked glass windows and the shiny paint job, and Nicky leads Alex out though the back door, a stream tunnel that connects to the basement of a building one block over.

Nicky takes Alex to a safe house. Alex feels like they walk across half the city to get there. He jumps every time a car slows down near them, expecting men with guns to jump out. But they make it there without anything happening.

The safe house is in an old, run down apartment building. The lock on the building entrance doesn't work. They walk up three floors, because the elevator doesn't work either. At the end of the hall is a door that says "maintenance" on it. The key code lock on that door does work, and even though the lock itself looks grimy and worn, it's solid and the door is heavy. Nicky keys in the code. There's another flight of stairs behind it, leading up to two tiny rooms. The front room has a sagging couch, a kitchen table with a hot plate, and a battered metal storage locker. There's a door leading to another room with a twin bed and a boarded up window.

Nicky checks the other room quickly, then goes to the storage locker. He dials in the combination to the padlock. When he opens it, Alex catches a glimpse of guns and first aid kits and cash. He looks away.

"You should rest," Nicky says. "I have to check in."

Nicky always looks serious, it's a triumph to get him to smile, but now there is something -- ferocious in his expression that makes Alex's stomach flutter. Alex nods and goes into the other room, sits down on the bed. The adrenaline rush of the attack has faded and now he feels exhausted, shaky. He lies down, closes his eyes. He can hear the low murmur of Nicky's voice in the other room. He exhales deeply, and falls asleep.

The room is completely dark when Nicky wakes him up.

"We have to go," Nicky says. He hands Alex a bulletproof vest. "Go stand there."

Alex struggles into the vest and goes to stand against the wall where Nicky told him to, next to the bedroom door and across from the window. Nicky pushes on the boards and they slide easily to the side. Nicky opens the window and drops a rope ladder out, and something else to.

He backs up to stand in front Alex. There's a flash and a loud bang from the alley, and a muffled scream. A moment later, two men burst through the bedroom door. They go straight to the window without noticing Alex and Nicky. Nicky takes a step forward and shoots them both in the back of the head, quick and neat.

Alex flinches, covers his mouth with his hand so he doesn't make a sound.

"Come on," Nicky says, very gentle. He tugs Alex back into the other room and gives him the backpack that's sitting on the table. Then they go down the stairs. The door at the foot of the stairs is closed. Nicky checks the peephole, then opens the door and shoots the guy on the other side before he can react. They go down the hall to other stairwell, clatter down all three flights in a rush. Nicky cracks the stairwell door and checks the lobby.

"Slow," Nicky says. "Don't run until I say."

Alex nods. His heart is pounding in his chest.

Nicky opens the door and they walk across the lobby, not rushing. Alex clutches the backpack and Nicky holds his gun down discreetly against his thigh. There's no one in the lobby; it seems like the kind of building where people look their doors and hope for the best when they hear shooting and running. Nicky goes out the door first, scanning the sidewalk for trouble. Alex follows him, just two guys going out for the night. They turn right, away from the alley. Nicky keeps checking back over his shoulder, but Alex doesn't look. He hears the shot from the alley the same time Nicky snaps, "Run."

Alex runs. He can hear Nicky shooting back. His ears hurt with it by now. He hears Nicky stumble, hears the strange, hurt noise Nicky makes, and almost stops. But Nicky shoves him forward. "Go, go," he says.

His hand is still on Alex's back, so Alex keeps going. He doesn't know where he's running. He turns left and then right and then left again, just trying to confuse anyone following them. Nicky's slowing down, his footsteps uneven.

Alex stops at the next corner. He looks back, but no one is chasing them. A few people out on the street are giving them dubious looks, but no one is shooting at them.

Nicky is bent over, panting, gripping his leg.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks.

"Yes," Nicky says. He straightens up. Alex sees blood on his palm before he wipes it off on his pants, invisible against the black fabric. "We need to get off the street."

Alex looks around. Now that he's paying attention, he knows where he is, he's been out to bars here before.

He looks back at Nicky, but Nicky isn't telling him what to do for once. Alex doesn't like it.

"You have cash in here?" Alex asks, holding up the backpack.

"Yes," Nicky says cautiously.

"Okay, come on," Alex says. He hitches the backpack up on his shoulder and puts his arm around Nicky's waist. "Be drunk."

Nicky gives him a dubious look, but after a moment, he leans into Alex, lets Alex take some of his weight as he limps down the street.

The hotel is where he remembers, just a few blocks over. It misses being seedy only because of the diligence of the cleaning crew. The night clerk looks up when they walk (stagger) in, her expression already disapproving. But then she sees Alex and her eyes widen. Her mouth forms a tiny, perfect O of surprise and recognition.

Alex sighs and dredges up his best, most charming smile. In the end, the clerk gives them a room for cash, no IDs, no names, so Alex's drunk friend can sleep it off before he goes home to his kids. Honestly, she probably agrees because it looks like Nicky is going to pass out any minute now and that's more trouble than she wants to deal with at this hour.

"Bathroom," Nicky says as soon as the door closes behind them.

Alex helps Nicky limp over to the tiny bathroom. Nicky fumbles with the belt of his pants and Alex huffs, bats his hands away. He undoes Nicky's belt, unzips his pants, pushes them down over Nicky's hips. They're soaked with blood and they stick to Nicky's skin.

Nicky leans on Alex so he can lift one foot, then the other out of the pile of fabric around his ankles. His fingers dig into Alex's shoulder when he lifts his injured leg. Nicky turns to grab the towel off the rack above the toilet, and Alex can see the bullet hole in the back of his thigh. He feels dizzy, sick just looking at it.

"I call agent--" Alex says, and Nicky turns back around so fast his leg gives out.

Alex catches him. Nicky grips Alex's arms, his eyes searching Alex's face.

"No, you can't," Nicky says.

Alex frowns, opens his mouth to argue.

"The men at the safe house knew the code to the door," Nicky says. "They knew about the other exit in the alley."

"Oh," Alex says.

Nicky makes himself say it. "The agency is compromised. We can't tell anyone where we are. Or where we go."

They're standing close enough to kiss, Alex's hands on Nicky's bare waist, holding him up, Nicky gripping Alex's shoulders.

"Okay," Alex says. It should feel terrifying to know that, but he suddenly feels very calm about it. It's just them now.

Alex helps Nicky wash the blood off his leg, pack the wound with gauze and bind it up.

"The bullet is still in there," Alex says. "Should I -- take out?"

Nicky smiles a little, eyes shut, face pale. "Do you know how?"

Alex thinks about digging around in the hole in Nicky's leg. He makes a face and reaches for the gauze instead.

They leave in the morning before dawn, when the hotel is still silent. Nicky has fake IDs for them, complete with exit visas. Alex raises his eyebrows when he sees them; they look very good. Nicky just shrugs.

"Where are we going?" Alex asks.

"Home," Nicky says.

So they go to Sweden. Nicky doesn't think their IDs will stand up to scrutiny at the airport, so they take trains, buses, a rental car that they leave at the Swedish border.

Every night, Alex changes the bandages on Nicky's leg, but the skin around it is red and hot to the touch. Nicky's limp gets worse, and his face is pale, his eyes fever bright. Alex says something about going to a hospital, and Nicky shakes his head sharply. It's too dangerous, they'll find us that way, he says.

Alex isn't sure about that, but Nicky is the expert.

(Nicky wouldn't call himself the expert here, but it doesn't matter how hurt he is or how sick he gets, all that matters is getting Alex to safety.)

Of course it doesn't matter in the end, because the Russians are waiting for them when they get to the Interpol office in Stockholm.

Nicky sees them before they see him and Alex. They are sitting in a sidewalk cafe across from the Interpol building, where they have a good view of the entrance and the street in both directions. Coffee and newspapers are spread out in front of them, but there is something about their haircuts and their clothing and their intent, watchful body language that catches Nicky's eye from half a block away.

Nicky stops, pulls Alex into the dubious shelter of an office building's doorway.

He should have known, should have realized how obvious this plan was to anyone who could look at Interpol's personnel records. But he doesn't know where else he could have gone. He closes his eyes for a moment. His leg hurts so much and he's so tired. He just has to get Alex to safety.

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. "I'll distract them," he says.

"What?" Alex says.

"You run straight inside. Don't talk to anyone expect Agent Lundqvist--"

"Shut up," Alex says.

He grabs Nicky's hand and pulls him forward onto the sidewalk. There's a group of tourists walking by, chattering in Finnish, and Alex matches their pace, keeping the group between them and the watchers I the cafe. He doesn't let go of Nicky's hand.

Alex isn't going to let Nicky do something stupid, not when they're so close. They've made it this far together.

Their group is walking past the Interpol building now. The entrance is set back from the sidewalk, a half dozen wide, shallow marble steps leading up to heavy glass doors. Nicky squeezes Alex's hand and they break off from the group.

There's a shout from the cafe across the street, the scrape of metal chairs pushed back from a table. Alex and Nicky start running. Nicky's leg gives out after the first step. Alex throws his arm around Nicky's waist and hauls him forward. Half-running, half-falling, they reach the doors. The first gunshot hits the heavy metal frame of the door as Alex yanks it open. The second one whistles by over their heads as they fall inside.

There is a lot of shouting in Swedish after that. A security guard is pointing a gun at them, but there are other guards going outside after the shooters. Alex sits very still on the lobby floor, trying to look harmless.

Nicky is talking to the guards, but Alex isn't sure it's working. The elevator doors at the far end of the lobby open and a startlingly handsome man in a impeccable slate grey suit comes out.

Nicky's whole face lights up with relief and he says, "Henke!"

The handsome man frowns and comes straight to Nicky. He gives Alex a quick, sharp glance as he kneels down and grips Nicky's shoulder. Nicky starts talking immediately, an incomprehensible rush of Swedish. The handsome man's face goes grim and he says something serious to Nicky.

Nicky looks at Alex. "Go with Lundqvist now," he says.

Lundqvist stands up, giving orders to the guards.

"What--" Alex says.

Lundqvist tugs Alex to his feet, turns him away from Nicky.

"He's hurt," Alex says.

Lundqvist nods. "Medics are coming," he says in English. He's pulling Alex towards the elevators.

Alex digs his heels in. "I'm not leave--"

Lundqvist says, "They don't care about him, they only want you."

Alex flinches, and Lundqvist is voice is gentler when he adds, "He'll be safer if you're not with him."

Alex looks back over his shoulder one last time. Someone with a first aid kit is kneeling at Nicky's side, talking to him, but Nicky is watching Alex.

"Okay," Alex says, and lets Lundqvist take him away.

*

Things wrap up both slowly and quickly after that. Lundqvist puts Alex in a hotel instead of in an official safehouse, and assigns another agent, someone named Marcus to keep an eye on him.

The "merchandise" is intercepted where Alex said it was going to be. People are arrested. Interpol finds the leak and plugs it.

Alex doesn't get these updates, but he talks to an endless stream of agents and lawyers. He asks Marcus everyday about how Nicky is doing.

Nicky spends weeks in the hospital, recovering from the gunshot and the infection. He lets himself ask about Alex once, just to know that he's okay. He knows he won't be assigned to Alex again; he can barely make it to the bathroom on his own, he won't be field-ready for a long time. He can't stop himself from asking for updates about the case, though, and he tells himself it's reasonable, professional.

Marcus is Nicky's friend, so he visits him in the hospital every couple of days. And because he is Nicky's friend, he makes sure his updates about the case include a mention of how Alex is doing. (Most of the time; he can't help teasing Nicky every now and then by only talking about the lawyers.)

When Nicky is released from the hospital, Interpol arranges a hotel room for him. He gave up his apartment here when got his first assignment. Marcus picks him up from the hospital. Nicky asks about the case, and Marcus spends the whole drive talking about the paper trail of the weapons they seized.

Marcus takes him up to the eighth floor, unlocks the door, and pushes it open, waves Nicky in first.

The room is a bland, neutral space, except for the fact that Alex is sitting on the sofa, watching TV.

"Nicky!" he says and scrambles up, crosses the room in two huge strides.

Alex, Nicky says, or tries to, but he can't, because Alex is cupping his face in both hands and kissing him.

Nicky drops his bag and clutches at Alex's shoulders. Alex's mouth is hot and desperate against his, and Nciky's knees go weak.

"Sorry, wrong room," Marcus says.

Nicky makes an obscene gesture in Marcus's direction, and doesn't let go of Alex.