James entered Bke's office without knocking, as always. He was holding two cups of coffee in his hands and the ‘homework’ Bke had given him tucked under his arm.

  “Hey! Good news, I managed to—” he stopped, realizing the room was empty. “Huh.”

  The office was open, the lights were on, yet there was no sight of his partner. James leaned back to peer around the door, looking both ways down the corridor, as if expecting Bke to be watching him from across the far end. But there was no one. Only silence.

  He gnced at the clock hanging over the frame. Exact time for their daily meeting. Weird. It wasn’t like Bke to be te. Actually, it wasn’t like Bke to be anywhere else at this hour except for his office.

  James made his way to the vintage desk, carefully pcing down the drinks and documents. He looked around, searching for details that would indicate what was happening. Some note, maybe. Assuming he would be able to read it…

  He found nothing. There were some files at the desk, but they looked like boring paperwork. Maybe Bke had to leave somewhere and would be back soon.

  With that thought, James plopped down on his seat and waited.

  Fifteen minutes had passed, and uncertainty started to tug at him.

  Did Bke stand him out?

  The clock's ticking seemed to grow louder with each passing minute. James drummed his fingers on the armrest, growing increasingly restless. The coffee was getting cold. He sipped his own, then stood up and paced the office, examining the framed dispy of military medals and certificates on the wall. He'd never really paid attention to them before. Well, couldn't read them anyway. Now, he recognized that several were from military operations – Lebanon, the Gulf War. A few commendations for valor. Names and dates that sketched the outline of a career before the agency. James realized just how little he actually knew about Bke's past despite working together for nearly a year.

  After another p around the office, he found himself behind Bke's desk, eyeing the drawers with growing curiosity. He knew he shouldn't. This was definitely crossing a line. Bke was intensely private, and invading that privacy would be a viotion of the fragile trust they'd built.

  "Just a little peek," James rationalized to himself, sliding behind Bke's desk.

  He pulled open the top drawer slowly. Pens, paperclips, a stapler. Disappointingly ordinary. The second drawer contained file folders, neatly beled and arranged alphabetically. James flipped through them briefly but found nothing interesting.

  The rger, bottom drawer was locked. He sighed, about to give up, when he noticed a small key tucked beneath the leather desk pad.

  "No way," James muttered, sliding it out. "That's almost too easy."

  James inserted the key into the lock and turned it, hearing a satisfying click. He pulled the drawer open, expecting to find cssified files or maybe weapons. Instead, he found a half-empty bottle of whisky and a single crystal tumbler.

  Bke was drinking on the job? He didn’t strike him like that type of man. Always professional, strict about protocol. James stared at the whisky bottle, genuinely surprised, before picking it up and examining the bel. It looked expensive, not some cheap stuff.

  Curiosity now fully ignited, James noticed another compartment at the back of the drawer. He slid his fingers along the edge until he found a small notch, then pulled. The false bottom lifted to reveal a hidden space underneath.

  "Jackpot," James whispered.

  This compartment held personal belongings – a vintage pocket watch, a worn pocket knife, badges, eyepatch (probably the one Ramirez gave him, but Bke never once wore) , and… a framed photograph, lying face down.

  James hesitated, suddenly feeling like he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have. But it was too te to turn back now. Carefully, he lifted the photograph and turned it over, immediately struck by what he saw. It was a bck and white shot, clearly from at least a decade ago based on the faded quality and the younger faces staring back at him.

  It was impossible to mistake him for anyone else, even with his eyes both intact. But what truly surprised James was the fact that Bke was ughing. James had never seen him so happy. For all his efforts to inject humor into their partnership, to break through Bke's stoic exterior, he'd never managed to reach the man in that photograph. He'd never made Bke ugh. Not even smile.

  He shifted his attention to other people in the photo: surrounding Bke was a group of five agents in casual clothes, arms thrown around each other's shoulders, gsses raised mid-toast. James immediately recognized Mitchell, the tech specialist who'd guided them through the Petersburg operation via comms. The second man looked familiar, but James couldn’t quite remember from where. Maybe he saw him on some mission reports. In the center was a woman with red hair and sharp eyes.

  But it was the person to the far right who truly caught James's attention. He stood with his arm draped casually over Bke's shoulders like they were old friends. He had a rugged charm about him: tousled brown hair, strong jawline with a stubble, and bright eyes that seemed to dance with mischief even in the still photograph. He was winking at the camera, one side of his mouth pulled up in a lopsided grin, and his free hand formed into a pyful finger gun pointed at the photographer.

  They all were smiling, sharing that joyful moment.

  Like a family.

  The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway jolted James from his thoughts.

  "Shit!" he hissed, fumbling with the photograph. He shoved it back into the compartment face-down just as it had been, quickly repced the false bottom, and smmed the drawer shut. The key! He twisted it frantically, yanked it out, and slid it back under the desk pad.

  The door handle moved. James vaulted over the desk, narrowly avoiding knocking over the coffee cups, and nded in the visitor's chair just as the door swung open.

  "You're te," James said without looking up, affecting nonchance despite his racing heart. "I was about to send out a search party."

  Bke hung his jacket on the back of the door. "Unexpected meeting with Director."

  "Everything okay?" James asked, finally looking up.

  After a moment of silence, Bke responded: "Fine."

  James gestured to the coffee cups. "I brought fuel. And the homework you assigned." He tapped the papers beside him. "I was just... reviewing it while waiting."

  Bke gnced at the documents. "Reviewing it upside down?"

  James looked down at the papers and felt heat rising to his face. "I, uh... was testing myself. You know, reading upside down. It's a useful skill."

  Bke watched him for a moment longer, then walked around the desk and sat down, accepting the coffee with a brief nod. James held his breath, half-expecting him to open the drawer right then, but Bke simply pulled a new folder from his desk's surface.

  "We'll continue where we left off," Bke said, sliding the folder across to James. "Page forty-two. The Hamburg incident."

  James exhaled slowly and flipped to the correct page.

  He tried to do his best, to show Bke he made progress after they’d worked so hard, but the words blurred together. He couldn't focus. The image of Bke ughing in that photograph kept floating into his mind, distracting him from the dense text.

  "...agents were dispatched to the..." James trailed off, losing his pce in the text. He couldn’t contain himself anymore. Without thinking, he blurted out, "You know, you should smile more often."

  "What?"

  James knew he should stop, but as usual, his mouth operated independently of his better judgment. "Smiling. You know, when your face does that upward curvy thing? Shows teeth sometimes?"

  "I’m familiar with the definition," Bke said ftly.

  “What would break through that stone face of yours, then? Am I not a good enough reason for you to smile?”

  And before he could stop himself, James attempted to recreate the winking, lopsided grin from the photograph, complete with a pyful head tilt and a finger gun.

  Bke's face went completely still. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. At that moment, James knew he'd made a catastrophic mistake.

  “You went through my desk.”

  James opened his mouth to deny it, but realized there was no point in lying. Bke already knew.

  "I was just curious," James said mely. "The drawer was—"

  "The drawer was locked,” Bke said, dangerously quiet.

  "I didn't mean any harm," James tried again. "I was waiting, and—"

  "Get out."

  James blinked. "What?"

  "Get out of my office."

  "Come on, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have—"

  Bke stood up. "Now.”

  The single word held such finality that James knew there was no point in trying to expin or apologize further. He backed toward the door, watching Bke's face harden into something completely unreachable. James closed the door behind him, standing in the empty hallway as the enormity of what he'd done settled over him. He leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered to himself.

  After all the progress they'd made, all the trust he'd worked so hard to build, he'd thrown it away for a moment of curiosity, inability to respect boundaries. He destroyed whatever fragile rapport they’d managed to build. Bke would never forgive this invasion of privacy. The reading lessons would stop. The chess games would stop. Everything would go back to the cold, professional retionship they'd had before.

  He’d messed up everything again.