Aaaand I'm back with another story with my two favorite actors once again crossed over into a new story.

Happy reading!

*Trigger warning activated for this story for the topic of minor violence/action scenes.


2007

Frank Martin was currently standing in his garage wiping down his car and thinking about the phone call he had just had. Someone wanted him to do a job, so he was calculating the cost of everything in his head while thinking about how he was starting to get tired of living this kind of life. What else was there for him, though? There was no point in starting a family now. He was too set in his ways, and his life was not the kind of life a child should be exposed to.

Then again, he had really enjoyed driving Jack around. He missed that young boy. The only problem was finding someone to settle down and have a family with. Frank finished with his car and stood there with crossed arms looking at it. His friend, Inspector Tarconi, always teased him for sticking with the same kind of car, but Frank liked it the best. He wasn't going to change it.

He went back into his house and stood over the table, rereading the piece of paper with the instructions and dimensions on it. He wondered what excitement he was going to get this time. It seemed he would have some smooth jobs and then some jobs where all hell broke loose and someone was trying to kill him. He'd been lucky so far in the last two years, but luck eventually runs out.

He went to go get ready.

...

Emily Charlton stood there watching her father on the phone and wondered what was happening. She was on holiday from her job, not that Miranda seemed to notice. She still got emails and phone calls, but she forwarded them to the second assistant, who was no Andy, but at least she could do the job well enough to not get fired. She smiled as she looked at her father. It was just the two of them, after all. Emily's mother had walked out on them when Emily was only three years old. It was something Emily would never understand, and the hurt was still there under the surface.

Her father was currently listening to someone on the other end of the call, and she couldn't hear what that person was saying, but his face showed seriousness along with worry as he listened. It started to worry her.

"Thank you," he said after a moment. "You too."

"Is everything okay?" Emily asked when he finally hung up.

"Yes," he answered with a small smile. He went to pour himself a drink then. Emily looked at her father, Charlie Charlton (she assumed his parents meant it to be funny), and couldn't help but notice how tense he was.

"You're lying," she pointed out.

"Okay," he caved. "So there's something, but it's no big deal."

"Dad, you're a general for the SAS. Of course it's a big deal."

"I should never have told you that," he sighed. Only close family members were allowed to know, but he still wished he had kept it quiet to spare her worrying about him.

"Who am I going to tell?" Emily asked.

"I know, but I don't want you to worry about me."

"I'd worry about you even if you were a plumber, Dad," she pointed out. He chuckled.

"Fair enough," he said.

"Are you annoyed that I'm home?" she asked.

"Not at all!" Charlie exclaimed, going over to hug her tightly now. "I always love to see you."

Emily breathed in his scent as he hugged her. She couldn't explain it, but he always made her feel like she was safe in his arms. She knew he would do anything for her.

"I'm going to start dinner," she said.

"Good," he nodded. They pulled apart, and Emily could see the relief in his eyes. She felt sorry for scaring him with her strict diet the year before. After she had been hit by the car, she started to eat again, but every so often she caught herself falling back into old habits of skimping on meals. It was a work in progress. She turned back to look at him when she reached the kitchen, and he was looking down at his phone and frowning. She wondered what was going on, but she knew better than to ask.

Two Days Later

It was a long drive for Frank. He felt a little nostalgic when he reached London. It had been a very long time since he'd come home. He looked at his GPS and saw he would be at his destination soon. He felt nervous suddenly, and he didn't know why. This was his job. He did it all the time, and he was good at it. There was no reason to be nervous.

When he pulled up to the house, he parked and turned off the engine. Then he waited.

...

Emily rolled out of bed and padded to the washroom. She noticed her father was already up and in his office. It was just about eight in the morning. She felt bad for sleeping in, but since she was on vacation, she took advantage of the time off. She ran a brush through her now brown hair. She'd dyed it about six months ago. She had needed a change.

"Hey, luv?" her father called, making her turn and go back.

"Yea, Dad?" she asked, looking into his office.

"Can you get dressed?"

"Are we expecting company?"

"Yes. And...well, you're going on a trip."

"A...a trip?" she repeated, confused. "What trip?"

"I need you to go somewhere for me for a little while," he said. "Nothing to worry about." Emily stared at him. Why was he sending her away?

"Dad, you're sending me away. I'm worrying," she insisted. She felt slightly scared. What was going on? She couldn't go away. She had to get back to work soon. Miranda would straight up murder her if she was longer than a week away.

"I just want to make sure nothing happens to you," Charlie said, rubbing his neck. "And in doing so, I have to send you somewhere safe."

"What's going on, Dad?" she asked. "Seriously?"

"I can't tell you," he answered, going to stand in front of her. "Just trust me when I say you need to be somewhere safe."

"Who's taking me?" Emily questioned.

A car horn went off then, and Charlie turned his head to look towards the sound.

"That person," he answered. Emily made a noise of distaste. She wasn't even dressed yet! She turned and quickly rushed back to her room. She yanked on her clothes and started throwing things into a bag. She only took essentials. She went out to find her father standing in the driveway talking with another man. She stopped in her tracks upon seeing the new person.

"Dad?" she asked, unsure.

"It's all right," Charlie promised. "He's going to get you where you need to go."

"I don't do this type of thing," the man started.

"You're a transporter, right?" Charlie cut him off. The man nodded slowly. "Then all I'm asking is you transport my daughter to her destination. That's it."

"I'm not a protection detail..." the man tried.

"This is not that," Charlie stopped him again. "You've got her dimensions..."

"Excuse me? My what?" Emily asked, affronted.

"...just think of her as a package," Charlie finished.

"I'm standing right here," Emily said, outraged. A package?! Bloody hell...

"Yes, sweetie," Charlie said, moving to put his arm around her and kiss the side of her head quickly. "I know. Go with him, and I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Do I get a say in this?" Emily asked, resisting a little as he pushed her towards the car.

"No," Charlie shook his head. He pushed harder, and she had to give in. "Now, go. Please."

Emily turned to hug him tightly, feeling like she might never see him again. She knew this was ridiculous, but he was acting very strange, and it gave her a bad vibe.

"I love you," she said to him.

"I love you too. Be safe. We'll talk soon," Charlie promised again. She nodded, and she clutched her bag as she walked towards the car. She saw the driver tuck an envelope into his jacket, and she wondered how much money her father was paying this person. Clearly she couldn't travel on any public transportation since her father had hired a professional. Something was definitely up.

The man was chivalrous and opened the door for her. She got in and buckled up after he shut the door. When he got into the driver's seat, she couldn't help but look at him.

"What is going on?" she asked him.

"I don't know. I'm just the driver," he answered.

"Yea right. I know you know something," she insisted.

"I really don't," he insisted back, finally looking at her.

"Where are we going?"

"Marseille."

"What?!" she exploded.

He didn't answer. Instead, he started the car and began to drive. She twisted to look back at her father standing there watching until they rounded the corner and were gone from sight. She got settled back into her seat and felt abandoned. After a while of silence, she turned to the man again.

"I'm..." she started.

"No names," he cut her off. She stared at him.

"No names?" she repeated.

"No."

"Um, why not?"

"That's rule number two," he answered.

"Rule number...okay," she said. "I can't not know your name. We are going to be spending a lot of time in this car together."

"I prefer quiet anyway," he said. She felt slightly offended. Was he implying she was a chatter box? They hadn't even been ten minutes in the car!

"Well, I have to call you something, so Mr. X it is," she said, looking back towards the road now.

"No," he said instantly.

"I'm not calling you 'guy,'" she retorted. "So it's either your real name or Mr. X. Your pick."

He made a noise in his throat but didn't say anything. She took that to mean she would be calling him Mr. X.

"You can call me E," she said. He still said nothing, and she found herself feeling irritated. Then she felt scared again. What was going to happen to her father? Why did he need to send her somewhere safe? And how the hell was she going to explain this to Miranda if she was longer than a few days?

...

Frank had instantly recognized General Charlton, but clearly the man didn't recognize him. Frank wondered if he had pretended not to. The thing was, Frank had been in the SAS himself, and he had done some mission work for General Charlton, so he knew the man knew him. He looked over at the general's daughter briefly before looking back at the road and wondered what was going on. Why did he need to get her someplace safe? He didn't understand.

And she was calling him Mr. X. God help him. He wondered if he should get over his no name rule because that was going to get irritating very quickly. He cursed himself for even accepting this job. He didn't transport live people, not like this. He hadn't been lying when he said he didn't do protection detail. He didn't, and yet this felt exactly like a protection detail type of job. It broke his third rule: Never look in the package. He couldn't not look at her sitting beside him.

"So, you transport things," the woman said now.

"Yes."

"What kind of things?"

"I don't really want to talk about my work," he answered. She sighed loudly.

"So what are we allowed to talk about?" she asked.

"Like I said, I like quiet," he replied.

"So we are going to spend almost two days in a car together and not talk?" she asked, incredulous.

"Looks that way," he nodded. He could see her staring at him in his peripheral vision, and he knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn't care. If he didn't let himself get to know her, then he couldn't get attached to her. If he didn't get attached to her, then he wouldn't get hurt. She wouldn't be another person to just leave him behind. Not on his watch.

...

Emily couldn't believe what was happening. She was being sent away by her father with someone who didn't even want to talk. If this driver received ratings online, they were going to be low when this was over. She stared back out at the scenery passing by her. What was in Marseille anyway? She didn't know. She hadn't spent much time in France. She didn't think her father had, but maybe she was wrong. As they drove, she thought more about her father. After her mother left, it had been just the two of them ever since. Her father meant so much to her, and she couldn't stomach the idea of him not being around anymore. She'd left to go to New York to work at Runway, and she'd missed him terribly. Having this holiday had been a rare treat, and she felt frustrated that she'd only had three days with him before this happened.

She looked over at the driver again, studying him. He was well built. He kept his hair cut very short and was clean shaven. He wore a suit (who wore a suit to drive a car?). He even wore driving gloves. She almost laughed. It died on her lips when his eyes met hers. Instead, she felt like he could see her very soul, and it made her feel very warm suddenly. He didn't say anything as he looked away again. Emily felt confused almost as she thought about his eyes. It was like she had seen them before, but she knew she hadn't. As they drove on, she wondered what was going to happen to her.

She also wondered how long before the driver wore down and finally told her his name.


As always, I do enjoy hearing your thoughts :)