This is based on a prompt pulled from lunarheadcanons: a "You're the biggest pretentious piece of crap I ever drove anyplace, but damn you look good in that suit" AU.

Yes, I know, another Jacin & Iko story, but I'm proud of it and literally coULD NOT RESIST.

The man was tall and built like a warrior, the effect of musculature enhanced by a business suit, with sleek blonde hair pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck. Elite-bachelor-style, Iko thought, observing him thoughtfully from her taxi across the street.

Yes, he certainly did have that look about him – the severe blue eyes, the handsome jawline … he could have been a spy in a James Bond novel.

Not that Iko was gawking, of course. Merely appreciating the view. There wasn't much to do on in the city square on a hot August day; she'd been stuck in this cab for ages, fanning herself with stifling air coming through the open windows, and she couldn't even step outside for an iced drink.

Dealing with boredom was not her strong suit.

Propping up her elbow up on the window-sill, she went back to analysing the man.

Handsome enough to match Winter … now there was a thought! He didn't look like the friendly type – even from his distance, Iko could see the disdainful way he looked down his nose at every passer-by – but who could meet Winter and not love her to pieces?

I am a genius, she thought, checking her reflection in the side-view mirror. Her break was in five minutes. She would go over there and strike up a conversation, and once she'd shown him a picture of Winter he wouldn't be able to refuse meeting her. It was officially a plan.

Yet he was just standing there on the sidewalk, one hand calmly raised palm-out – what was he –?

"He needs a taxi," Iko muttered to herself, and her first thought was that she had to get to the man before any of her colleagues did.

Change of plan.

She couldn't twist the key fast enough. As soon as the ignition hummed beneath her, she stomped on the gas pedal and pulled away from the curb.

Less than a minute later, she halted the cab in front of the man.

"Hello," she said brightly, rolling down the window. "How may I –"

"Dragons Mill," the man snapped, sliding smoothly into the backseat. A briefcase thudded onto the seat beside him. "And be quick about it."

Iko almost flinched, appalled at the utter dismissal in his tone. What a cad – to come in without so much as a 'hello'!

Then she remembered: the way to a successful driver-customer relationship was to reciprocate their attitude. If they were chatty, you chatted too; if they were quiet, you allowed a comfortable silence; if they came in sobbing a waterfall, you gave them your handkerchief and didn't ask.

So Iko turned around and deadpanned, "That'll be forty."

Two twenties floated neatly onto the passenger seat. The man said nothing.

"Dragon's Mill it is, then," she announced to no one in particular, and pulled smoothly onto the main road of the city.

Familiar shops and street-corners went by, window-decorations and red flags strung across rooftops. She saw her friend Cinder walking toward the market, tugging no less than six repaired machines behind her on rope, and honked. Cinder looked up just in time to wave.

Several times Iko opened her mouth to say something, but remembered the man's completely horrible greeting and resolved once more to silence.

She drove onto the highway that would take them to the train station. Five minutes passed. The temptation to speak was getting stronger.

But all the man did was stare out the window with no expression whatsoever. Iko kept glancing into the rear-view mirror, admiring the piece of eye candy that had walked into her cab. Antisocial or not, he would be quite the catch … assuming, that is, that he would allow himself to be reeled in.

If not – well, she enjoyed a challenge now and then.

Humming to herself, she turned on the radio. The voice of Florence Welch echoed through the taxi's hidden speakers: the stars, the moon … they have all been blown out …

"Turn it off, please," the man said stiffly.

Iko pressed her lips together - who objected to music? - but obliged. "You aren't a fan of Florence and the Machine?"

He arched one eyebrow in disdain. "Never heard of them."

"All right. What radio station would you prefer?"

"I'd prefer silence."

Wow, okay. "Just making conversation," she chirped, and veered off the highway.

They cut through the town of Albatrox, a small place that was not much more than suburbs and textile factories. Ten minutes passed in silence, unusual for Iko, who often talked to herself when no one else would.

Her customer didn't want to talk. And, as her tyrannical boss Adri loved to say, the customer is always right.

But since when did anyone listen to Adri?

Iko sighed through her nose. She really had no excuse to be impolite, or to descend to this man's level of hostility. She was better than that.

"So where are you off to, today?"

"Dragon's Mill," he replied, sounding bored.

She tossed an imploring glance over her shoulder. "Well, I know that bit. I mean where are you going from there? I understand it's quite the underground crossroads ... or do you have business at the station itself?"

"It's none of your concern."

"If you're carrying a bomb into my cab, I'd like to know about it, thank you very much," she jested, with a little laugh.

The man waved a hand in annoyance as if swatting a fly. "I'm under no obligation to tell you what I do."

Iko made a face at the road ahead. What a shame that he was so unfriendly, that he couldn't even take a joke.

Maybe she was taking the wrong approach?

"I'm Iko, by the way."

He made a disinterested sound.

"What's your name?" she prodded, watching him in the mirror.

"I don't see a point in this. If I gave you a false name, there's no way you would be able to tell."

"Oh, please. I can always tell when someone's lying to me."

He gave a smug, condescending smile. "Really."

Iko's fingers twitched on the wheel with the sudden desire to chuck something at his handsome face.

"I believe," she declared, mimicking his almost formal speech, "that introductions are a significant part of human connection. You know my name –"

"I never asked for it."

"– and what I do, so it seems only fair that I know the same about you." Iko raised her eyebrows, feeling strangely determined to get some facts, no matter how insignificant. "So, since you won't give your name, I'll ask the next best thing: what do you do?"

"You really don't want to know," the man drawled.

"Oh, I think I do. It's a harmless question that should have a pretty harmless answer. Maybe you're just a douche that thinks his job is better than everyone else's, but I've already figured that out, so why don't you just tell me?"

He cut his eyes at her. "You're a snoopy one, aren't you?"

"Curiosity 101, stranger: when you tell someone that they don't want to know, they will never, ever let it go."

There was a pause as he considered her. Then, he shrugged, a humorless smile tugging at his mouth. "I work for Blackburn Incorporated."

Iko's hands jerked on the wheel. There was a screech of tires, and a shout of surprise from the businessman, as the cab swerved out of line and they were both thrown to one side. Angry honking issued from behind them as several cars hit the brakes.

Breathing hard, Iko pulled back into her lane and raised an apologetic hand to the drivers behind her. Then she swivelled in her seat to fully look at her passenger. "Blackburn Incorporated," she repeated, as if there was some other Blackburn. "You work for Blackburn Incorporated?"

The man only raised one eyebrow at her, unimpressed, as if to say I cannot believe I must deal with such rabble.

Iko turned back around and blew out a long breath, puffing her cheeks. She couldn't decide if she wanted to prolong the drive to grill him for details, or if she wanted him out of her cab as soon as humanly possible.

Yes, Blackburn Inc. was famous – but that wasn't why Iko had reacted like The Passenger had tossed a hydrogen bomb into the front seat.

Blackburn Incorporated had been born during the Cold War, when secrecy and civic distrust was at its highest. Made up of the world's academic elite, it was notorious for its advances in biological warfare and spy-tech. It became an entity in its own right - one that sent agents all over the world, allied with and betrayed other societies, sold its loyalty (and weapon supply) to the highest bidder.

Theirs was a network spanning three continents and more than thirty countries; a silent, deadly web.

Because of some legal technicalities and well-connected lawyers, Blackburn Inc. survived. Its international alliances turned into trade agreements, its undercover workers took on innocent business roles – sales reps and marketers and shop owners – and just like that, Blackburn turned over a new leaf, never to cross the law again.

Or so it would seem.

Some said Blackburn had never lost its penchance toward the crime business. Some said it was involved in grand conspiracy plots across the world. Some said it had moles in the government, that they were watching you ... this very moment.

No one had ever been able to prove it, but everyone knew it all the same: it was an organization of spies and hypnotists hiding in plain sight.

Their people could be anyone - become anyone - and no civilian would ever be the wiser.

"Well then." Iko gave herself a shake. Potential mafia aside, this could be the perfect opportunity to get some highly controversial answers. "I don't suppose you could tell me whether Levana Blackburn really gave her husband a heart attack? See, I heard he rolled over one morning and got a good look at his wife, and just –"

"Idle gossip," the passenger scoffed, turning once more to the window. "Now, if it's not too much to ask, can this decrepit cab go any faster? We can't be moving more than sixty miles an hour –"'

"Sixty is the speed limit, smart one, and if you insult my taxi again I'll throw you out on the street."

"Yes, and I'll report you the very next day. Along with a customer review that will bring you to court."

Iko ground her teeth. There goes my plan to introduce him to Winter. She hoped she would never have to see this guy again.

Mercifully, they were pulling into the aboveground area of Dragon's Mill Station. She swept the cab into the parking lot and halted.

"Just out of curiosity," she wondered aloud, a last-ditch attempt at lightheartedness, "was our cab being tailed? That stuff happens to you Blackburn people, right?"

The man's eyes darkened. Without another word, he stepped gracefully out of the cab and shut the door. His sharp footsteps echoed further away.

Iko sat there for a moment. Was this his idea of a joke, a prank on a suspicious believer of the rumours? Judging by the past fifteen minutes, her passenger wasn't the joking type. Only one thing was for certain: this would make a great story. She would have everyone's attention at the dinner table tonight.

Before she could drive off, though, the cab door was flung open, and the businessman materialized in the backseat again.

Iko gave him a strange look. "What –"

"Change of plan." He tossed a hundred-dollar-bill over the passenger seat and swiftly pulled down the seat belt.

Despite her delight at the gross overpayment, Iko ignored it. "What happened to your business agreement, or whatever it was?"

"Just drive!" he snapped. "Back to the market. Anywhere. Now."

Iko didn't move. Her foot tapped the accelerator, tantalizing. "I am not going anywhere," she said calmly, "until you tell me your name – and explain yourself. From what I can tell, you aren't coming back just for the pleasure of my company.

He looked furious, but when his eyes strayed out the window, the anger drained away, replaced with agitation. "Jacin Clay," he spat. "And suffice it to say that not all rumours about Blackburn Inc. are just rumours."

Iko's eyes lit up in delicious disbelief. Slowly, savouring every syllable, she guessed, "Agent Clay?"

He clenched his jaw.

A slow smile spread across her face. "I know a safe place. You can pretend to be my roommate's cousin - there's a definite resemblance. Blond hair and blue –"

"I can act. Just go!"

She waited.

Jacin gave her a look saturated with annoyance and, finally, relented. "Please."

Iko beamed. "Will do," she said, revving the engine. "But fair warning, Agent Clay, your place at our dinner table has a price. My friends will want to know everything."