Mr Fox is an interesting figure.

He’s not always at the mansion. In fact, he never shows up on his own accord. Instead, he’ll call and Shay will come running, or he will meet her in a café and swoop her away. Still, the others act as if they like him, as if he’s done something to get into their good graces. Maybe he’s bought them a giant chocolate egg before I came in.

Shay seemed to have some sort of history with him. Her life before she came to London is shrouded in mystery, but it certainly seems that they’ve known each other for ages, like they’ve pulled each other through hell. When he calls, she comes running, but she sends out one word and he’ll be by her side, and stay there until he’s absolutely sure she will be alright. Even if that does mean breaking her out of a compound at three in the morning.

I just think he’s scary.

I tried looking him up, of course. It is my job now to run background checks on people. I can find that he has a job in the SIS building, but I couldn’t find anywhere what position he held. To be fair, that’s probably worse, when it comes to Secret Intelligence. There’s a reason he’s built like a bear and prowls like a wolf, a reason why he so often wears a thick leather jacket that could conceal anything underneath, even in the middle of summer.

Mr Fox is something I don’t have the clearance to know, and Shay is completely accepting of it. He calls, she comes. She cries out, he’s there. It works, in its own way, and no one talks about it.

Except, of course, that one time they did.

It was a Thursday, if I remember correctly, early in the morning. I’d just sat down at my computer, and Shay was taking me through my list of names to run a check on, when he came in, phone in hand. He seemed agitated.

“I need to ask a favour.” he made a face, “And it might be a big one.”

“Right.” Shay jumped up. She seemed to be in a good mood, that day. “Outside?”

Of course, I followed them.

They sat down on the porch, Fox’s long legs folded up uncomfortably. He stared at the gravel for a long time.

“This is a personal thing, isn’t it?” She studied him. The sun shone through his short hair.

He sighed. “A friend of mine is organising a boat float for the parade. He’s been getting letters.”

“Related to the float?” She scooted just a bit closer. She seemed to know what he was talking about.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “We wrote them off as bigoted hate, but…”

“Something changed.” She filled in for him, “What was it? An address? A name?”

He pulled something from his inside pocket. “That’s his kid.”

She stared at the photo for a long time. Scanning, I knew, looking for any detail. “This is a school.” She handed it back. “How’d you get involved?”

“He’s an old friend.” From my vantage point, I could just see his frown. “He knows I can pull some strings.”

“And you decided to come to me instead of contact the police.” I was fairly sure she didn’t roll her eyes. She would’ve with anyone else, but her voice was too kind. “Explain?”

“The situation is… delicate.” He stretched out in the sun. “He doesn’t want to frighten anyone else by bringing in uniforms.”

“Some extra presence might be enough to scare them off.”

“I know, I-” Fox sighed deeply. “He’s stubborn. I told him. Hopefully, if you take a look and tell him, he’ll listen to you.”

“All right.” She nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

Fox stayed silent. I itched to move closer, just to make sure he wasn’t signing or signalling anything, but I was sure I would be noticed if I did.

“Sa- Fox, what is it?”

(I made a mental note: Sam, or Samuel, or something starting with Sa.)

He pulled out a leaflet. “There’s a meet tomorrow. Music, slow dancing, possibly waltzing… lots of drunk people.”

“And you want me to… go undercover?”

“Just have a look.” He sounded as if he was almost pleading with her. I understood why. Shay does not go out. “Ask around. See if you can learn something.”

“Make a night out of it?” She huffed, “In your dreams, you twat.”

“It’s not even in a club.” He assured her, “It’s in a pub, a small one. With a bunch of people dancing to classics and reminiscing about the eighties. You’ll like them.”

“You calling me old, Fox?” The humour was returning to her voice, buying time while she tried to find an out.

“You’re an old soul, Fee.” He bumped her shoulder, gentle. “Well?”

She considered it for a moment. I could hear the crinkle of the leaflet.

“You’re gonna talk to the barman.” She decided, “Show him my photo, tell him so serve me virgins on the sly. And you-” Her voice got louder, and with a shock I wondered how I could ever think I could hide from them, “You’re going to find blueprints of that pub, mark me the exits, and get them to me by tomorrow morning.”

I straightened. “Got it.” I resisted the urge to salute as I turned. Really, I could’ve known.

I left them to it, hoping Fox would send me at least some information on the pub.

He did, eventually, presumably after he and Shay had talked for another hour or so. I set straight to work.

I wasn’t really sure what to expect from Shay getting ready to go out. Fox had been right about the pub; it wasn’t anything fancy, or clubby, and the event seemed to be relaxed enough. Still, for the next day and a half, I had to witness her pick out her outfit with a scary precision, the kind she usually reserves for her master plans. It took me a moment to realise what was going on, but when it clicked, it made sense. She was getting ready, putting together a disguise. Pretending to be someone who goes out.

The questions were odd, too. Working with Shay, I’d gotten used to the non-sequiturs, but they were usually the mildly disturbing but logical my-boss-is-a-detective questions. These questions, though, were what’s the most impressive cocktail and how does one drink a Sex on the Beach and, most disturbingly, do I need to chat someone up to fit in?

I tried to answer them as best as I could, but to be fair, it’s been a while since I’ve been at anything resembling a club.

(Peter, unsurprisingly, managed to give a lot more advice.)