TITLE: Call of Duty

AUTHOR: Demon Faith

FANDOM: Jake 2.0

PAIRING: Jake/Kyle

NOTES: I was gonna write ‘AU’, but hey, who knows what happened later? I’ll settle for ‘futurefic’.

He sat on worn stone steps, sunlight in his eyes and his heart hammering through his chest. The tide of emotion hounding him was threatening to pitch him forward, tumbling down the rough stone until he landed in a heap at the bottom, never to move again.

He had been waiting for this day for five years, with a strange mixture of excitement and pure dread. Oh, he wanted this more than anything, but there was the slight question of his mortality and whether he’d escape with his life.

“Kyle.”

Hard, cold, unyielding, but Kyle met his eyes solidly, rising stiffly to his feet. His cane trembled slightly, and he saw the dark eyes dip to his leg briefly before returning to meet his green gaze, which probably spilt his soul for all to see.

“Jake. It’s been a while.”

Again, only darkness and a shrug that was far too casual, too measured. He was assessing him – Kyle wondered if they were really his eyes or if he had a camera masquerading as one. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“This isn’t a social call. I’m here for business.”

Yes, he knew that, but still a little part of him withered at the words. Of course, they weren’t…anything anymore – certainly not friends, not even playing for the same side. It still hurt.

“Then let’s talk.”

Neither made a move to sit, to walk, just stood, facing off as if this was the last time they’d spoken, when Kyle had tried to stop him leaving and Jake had put a bullet in his thigh.

“Mr Carter wants the new robotics contract, and he doesn’t like the word ‘no’.”

As expected – Kyle was glad at least one thing was going to plan. Carter had been keeping his eye on the robotics contract for years, waiting for it to come under review and now sending his best man, his prime exhibit, to ensure the NSA decided favourably.

“Hasn’t he destroyed enough lives?”

He wasn’t supposed to say that. There had been a rational argument all laid out in his head and hammered into him by Lou, who hadn’t wanted him to be here in the first place, and now he saw why. Yet nothing could stop Kyle Duarte on a mission, and damnit, he would see Jake again, even if it resulted in the end of both their lives.

And here he was. Getting emotional and compromising the NSA; Jake didn’t even blink.

“Mr Carter improves lives. And you will give him the chance to improve more.”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t know if that icy voice was capable of question, curiosity, laughter – all the things that Kyle had fallen in love with. He swallowed hard. He had been wrong, he shouldn’t be here, he wasn’t strong enough to face this new traitor Jake.

‘New’ Jake. The one who’d been walking around with his Jake’s face for five years now, a ruthless and efficient murderer, spilling their most guarded secrets without thought or care and here was Kyle, acting like a jilted lover and not a government agent, hesitating in his duty.

His hand twitched towards his jacket, and his adversary missed nothing. A gun was raised to his chest in a matter of moments, and once more, he found himself facing death by Jake’s hand.

“This is getting old, Jake.”

He teased lightly, and Jake did nothing except look faintly bemused. They were close now, Jake leaning in to press the barrel against his chest and Kyle could smell hot dog mustard and a hint of coffee. So, he still ate – that was something at least.

Yet he could see one eye moving independently of the other – a camera implant, he was right – and there were faint lines of silver beneath the skin of his gun hand, reinforced. Kyle shuddered at the thought of what else they’d done, staring deep into Jake’s eyes and seeing nothing of the man he knew.

//Please, Diane, be right about this…//

He swung up his cane swiftly and depressed the end, a spark arcing to Jake without mercy. The gun fell between them, and Kyle gripped onto Jake as he screamed, agony leaching from his one functioning eye.

They sank together, as his shouts faded and Kyle settled him into his chest, not daring to move in case he roused the monster, sealed his own death warrant.

“Kyle?” The faintest whisper, scared and uncertain, and the grip on his shirt tightened.

“I’m here, Jake.” His hand ghosted over Jake’s hair, cupping the back of his head and drawing him even closer.

“Th…thank you.”

And what could he say to that? Five years of trying to kill each other, too many almost-successes, and now he held the NSA’s worst enemy in his arms, praying that at least this Hell was over.

Lou approached cautiously, but Kyle would not push Jake away. Later, much later, when he could take Jake back to their apartment and kiss him into oblivion, then he would be certain this was real, but now, now, he couldn’t break this tenuous link. He wanted to say he loved him, that he’d never given up hope, but with Lou here, and his precious Jake breaking in his arms, he could only say this:

“Don’t thank me, Jake. After all, what are good…spies for?”