You present your engraved invitation at the door and enter. You slip through the crowd, surveying, watching. You're dressed as a gypsy, wearing your hair down, a floor-length burgundy broomstick skirt with a long slit up one side, a low cut, off the shoulders white gauze peasant blouse and lots of jewelry. You ease your way towards the back of the room, keeping your eyes open for Oliver and the contact you are there to find. An agent named Michaels, a real piece of scum who unfortunately has information your organization needs.

You enter the darkened coatroom in the back. "Hello?" You get no reply. You move in a little more and find the lightswitch. You flick it on and gasp at the sight before you. Michaels sits in a chair, dead and horribly mutilated.

You turn to leave only to have your wrists grabbed by black gloved hands and find yourself shoved against the wall.

"Oliver, thank goodness." He is a pirate (a suggestion you made because of his earring on one of his crankier days), high leather boots, black pants hugging him so tight it's a wonder he can breathe, a white silk pirate shirt plunging open to his navel, and a red satin scarf tied at his waist.

"Oli..." he kisses you almost desperately, a sure sign he's been worried.

He pulls back, his eyes searching yours. "We've got to get you out of here."

"Why?"

"For once don't argue, just come with me." He begins to pull you from the room.

"What's going on?!"

Oliver turns to you with barely controlled temper flashing behind his green eyes. You find yourself backing up a step. "That idiot Michaels brought your contact dossier with him! The charming gentlemen who did that," he points at the corpse, "now have your picture and are looking to make it a matching set." His expression softens and he strokes your hair. "We have got to go." He leads you out by the hand once more.

You exit carefully into the hall. Oliver draws his sig sauer and slips it into his shirt front to conceal it from any stray guests.

"HELP!!!" A female voice calls from behind a door farther down the hall.

"Great," Oliver mutters, rolling his eyes. He turns to you. "Stay right here and keep your eyes open." He starts toward the door.

"I was wrong you know." He turns to you questioningly. "About the costume I mean, you're not a pirate, you're a knight. Mind you, I prefer these pants."

He grins and moves to the door, rapping on it lightly and pulling out his gun. "Are you all right in there?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," the woman's voice answers.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, sorry to have worried you."

Oliver turns to you again just as little holes begin to burst into the wall in a line towards you.

"GET DOWN," he screams. You drop to the floor against the wall. He dives into a roll across the open entryway, firing a couple shots as he goes. Oliver puts his hand to your hair, "Are you hurt?!"

You shake your head 'no' and he grasps your hand, "Come on!" You get your feet back under yourself as he pulls you along behind him, escaping the bullet spray.

You yelp in pain as a spark jumps off of your silver bracelets where a bullet has deflected. Oliver pulls you back into the room where Michaels' corpse sits. He opens the window and slips out. You sit on the ledge and put your legs outside. Oliver grabs you around the waist preparing to lift you down when the curtain rod above your head comes alive with the pings of bullets. He pulls you down quickly, then grabs your hand, half-dragging you behind him as the window shatters. He takes a sharp turn near the edge of the parking lot and you reach out and grab the hood of a parked Citroen to retain your balance.

Oliver heads into the bushes, taking you along, then up a steep incline to the road. A long black limo waits there, the driver holding the door open. You back away. "It's all right love, he's with us." Oliver helps you into the back.

"Will Mr. Michaels be joining us Sir?" you hear the driver ask.

"Mr. Michaels is past all his worries now," Oliver answers as he climbs in. The driver closes the door, goes to the front, and the car takes off into the night.

You grasp your wrist and wince. "Let me see that." Oliver turns on the light, takes your hand and examines the wrist. The bangle that the bullet struck is indented. He glances up at you.

You smile half-heartedly, "Wonder-Woman! Ow!"

"Sorry," he works the bracelet off your wrist and reveals a deep purplish-yellow bruise. Now even Oliver winces, not exactly comforting knowing he's been shot before and *he* thinks it looks bad.

"So am I gonna make it, Doc?" You grin up at him.

"Oh, I think you just might," he moves closer to you, stroking your hair, kissing your cheek, "with a little tender loving care. Fortunately, that happens to be one of my fields of expertise."

You roll your eyes, "So you say." He looks at you questioningly. "I haven't seen any degrees on your wall for it. You're going to have to prove it to me."

He smiles, a sparkle coming to his eyes as he kisses you on the lips...

Have a Wonderful Monday!

GylzGirl :-)