A/N: So I was organizing a few random documents in a Google Drive folder today and stumbled across this little fic that I wrote in late 2018. Somehow, I had forgotten I even wrote it! If I had to guess, I never came up with a title for it. So, for old times' sake and because I miss this show so much, I made myself name it so I could post.

Standard disclaimers apply.

NORTHERN MEXICO
WEDNESDAY, 07 NOVEMBER 2018
1443 HOURS, LOCAL

"You thought you could just come in here and undermine our operation without us knowing?"

Dalton winced at the pain shooting through his shoulder and neck as his captor twisted his arm upward behind his back. The man holding him might just be a kid, but the kid had a good six inches and a number of pounds on him.

"No one tries to pull one over on Martin Lewis and gets away with it!" The snarl brought the prisoner's attention back to the older man standing a few feet away from him.

"I told you! I'm not a spy!" Dalton replied, making sure to add a hint of fear and begging to his tone. He wasn't about to blow his cover, even when everything seemed to be going fantastically wrong.

If it were possible, Lewis's face grew even angrier. "Then why did we catch you snooping around, huh? You might have played Krenshaw as a poor old friend in need of a job, but I knew you were up to no good!"

Glancing across the small clearing to where McG stood, dressed to the nines in a business suit and holding a leather briefcase, Dalton swallowed. His teammate was playing the role of morally ambiguous financier perfectly, but Dalton knew the other man well enough to read the look in his eyes. They needed a plan, but there wasn't much for them to work with. The location of the terrorists' base of operations was a compound in the jungle, and the men were currently standing in a clearing a few yards away from the gates. Unfortunately, there were no perches anywhere close enough for Jaz to assist. With six armed bad guys in such close proximity, it would be next to impossible for the teammates to make a move and get away unscathed.

There was a seventh man, but Dalton was fairly certain he didn't have to worry about Krenshaw. The man might have made a lot of mistakes, but he had been the one to reach out to Dalton for help taking the terrorists' operation down in the first place.

Lewis saw Dalton's gaze flick over to Krenshaw, and the terrorist turned on the other man. "You promised me this guy wasn't going to be a problem!" he snapped.

"But… he isn't!" Krenshaw faltered. "I've never known him to betray his cause. I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding."

The explanation did not seem to convince Lewis. "Krenshaw," he said, shaking his head, "you've always been a loyal part of this operation, but I'm starting to wonder about you. Just like I'm starting to get concerned this new guy you brought in yesterday is not a legitimately interested businessman." He glared McG's way. "Do I have to worry about him, too?"

"No!" Krenshaw exclaimed. He shook his head firmly. "I promise, this guy's on the up and up!"

The other man did not look convinced. "Right, but you vouched for this other guy and he turned out to be a spy."

"But I told you! I'm not a spy!" Dalton shot back, yanking against the man holding onto him. He grimaced as his arm was twisted more.

"Shut up!" Lewis barked. He turned back to Krenshaw and McG and raised an eyebrow. "I don't have time for this. Your credentials are impressive, Mr. Mills; I'll give you that. I'm inclined to believe you, but I have to be careful in my line of work. I'm sure you understand."

McG nodded. "Of course." He spread his hands. "How can I assure you of my intentions?"

There was a brief pause, then Lewis reached into his waistband and drew a pistol. McG didn't flinch, even as the barrel leveled with his nose. Dalton knew his teammate must have seen the lump under Lewis's jacket already, just as he had, but Dalton pulled back skittishly, pretending he hadn't noticed the weapon until that moment.

Lewis regarded McG for a long moment, then flipped the gun around in his hand in one smooth motion and extended it grip-first to McG. "Shoot him."

"What?" Krenshaw asked, his voice rising in pitch.

"I told you, Mr. Lewis; I'm not a traitor!" Dalton pleaded. "Please, just give me another chance! I promise—"

A fist smashed against the base of Dalton's neck, causing him to grunt in pain as stars flashed in his vision and his knees went weak. It was only the hand still twisting his arm that kept him up at all.

"Well, Mr. Mills? Your choice. Are you with me or against?"

Without further hesitation, McG reached out and, in one smooth motion, took the gun, whirled on his heel, and lined up Dalton in his sights.

The two teammates' eyes met for a brief second, then the man holding Dalton let go and stepped back, and McG pulled the trigger.

NORTHERN MEXICO
WEDNESDAY, 07 NOVEMBER 2018
1429 HOURS, LOCAL

Dalton ran through the dark hallway on silent feet. He chanced a look over his shoulder as he took a quick turn through a doorway.

There was no one there—not in sight anyway—but he knew they couldn't be far behind. He was good, but he wasn't that good. This place wasn't big, considering; it wouldn't be long before they were on him.

He took another flying corner, using the edge of the doorframe to help control his skid. Then he pulled up, looking around furtively and trying to control his heaving breaths. He was in a small storeroom of some sort. It was dark; the only light other than what came in through the hallway behind him was what was filtering through the crack under the far door.

Just then, Dalton heard the sound of footsteps from somewhere behind him, and he hurried to duck behind a stack of boxes. He held still but the footsteps didn't come closer, so, a moment later, he risked a glance around the crates. No one was there, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. He sat back, staying crouched in case he needed to make a quick getaway, but letting himself rest a moment. As he got his breathing under control, he checked his watch. It had only been about five minutes since he'd first realized something was wrong.

There was a lot riding on this op, and the fact that it was quickly going downhill was not a good thing.

Crouching in the dimly lit hallway, Dalton ran through scenarios in his mind. He'd gone in without comms or cameras at Krenshaw's recommendation, and the team in Washington had agreed. They couldn't risk Dalton getting caught with technology there was no way his cover identity would have. Going in, Dalton had known he'd be figuring out an escape on his own if anything went wrong, and, sure enough, he was now having to do just that.

As he waited for any sounds of pursuit, he glanced at the crates beside him. The rest of this group hadn't let him get anywhere near this area of their headquarters so far, which meant he hadn't had time to look through everything on site. He needed solid proof of the drugs being shipped through this location, and he needed to get it now. Otherwise, his team's work for the past week was all for naught.

With a quick glance back to the doorway, Dalton straightened up and more closely examined the topmost box. The boxes were all about four feet by four feet with nothing extremely noticeable about any of their features. Thankfully, the latch wasn't locked, simply closed, and Dalton flipped the metal fastening open.

When he lifted the lid on its hinges, his stomach dropped.

"Well," he said to himself as he surveyed the contents of the crate, "change of plans."

Just then, he heard the sound of feet behind him. He whirled to bolt for the exit door, but the sound of a gun being cocked stopped him cold in his tracks.

NORTHERN MEXICO
THURSDAY, 01 NOVEMBER 2018
2115 HOURS, LOCAL

"Dalton? Adam Dalton! Is that you?"

Dalton raised an eyebrow as he heard his name coming from somewhere over his shoulder. The last place he'd expected to run into anyone who knew him was this dimly lit watering hole in a tiny town south of the border. His team was there, of course—they had just finished up an op in the area—but the voice he was hearing belonged to none of them. He turned as another man pulled out the stool beside his and sat down. Dalton paused to glance over and look the man up and down. It took him a moment to place the face, but then he shook his head. "Bob Krenshaw."

Krenshaw grinned. "How are you, man? I haven't seen you in… what, five years?"

"At least." Dalton turned back to his drink.

"Yeah, not since I got out. We had some good times." Krenshaw didn't seem to take the hint. "But hey, you're just the man I wanted to see. I had heard rumors some Americans were in town, and it sounded like you, and I couldn't believe my luck!"

Dalton didn't respond. All he wanted to do was relax after what had been a particularly exhausting operation with his team. He shifted in his seat and winced. His sore muscles was going to take a little time to let him move without complaining; the last thing he wanted right now was to talk to anyone else, much less Krenshaw.

"You gotta help me, man," Krenshaw's voice took on a hint of fear with the words, which caught Dalton's attention. Of all the adjectives he would have used to describe the other man, afraid was not one of them.

Dalton put his left hand on the bar and swiveled slightly to look Krenshaw up and down. "Okay, what is it? You always had something up your sleeve. What is it this time?"

"I… I got caught up in something, man. I didn't mean to, but it just kind of got bigger, and I need help getting out of it. I think… I think something big's going down, and I don't know what to do."

"Oh?" Dalton asked, suddenly on high alert. Something in his gut was telling him this was important.

"Yeah," Krenshaw replied, nodding. "See, I, uh…" He trailed off and glanced around, then leaned in to speak in a lower tone. "I might've gotten mixed up with, uh, some local… transportation specialists. Don't look at me like that. I know; I know. But I was down on my luck, and I needed something to get me by. You know, I just figured it would be a few jobs, but it got bigger and bigger, and now I'm way in over my head."

Dalton shook his head. "Krenshaw, you of all people should know better."

"Look, I know that! And I really wouldn't ask if it was just me, but…" And here, again, Krenshaw glanced around, then leaned in farther. "A new guy arrived yesterday; you might recognize his name. Mikhail Panova."

And with those words, Dalton's team had plunged headfirst into another operation.

Dalton wasn't the only one who'd immediately recognized the terrorist's name. When Patricia had heard Krenshaw's explanation, relayed second-hand through Dalton after the meeting at the bar, she had immediately agreed it was the best course of action for the team to get involved. "We've suspected Panova of funding the drug trade into the States for years, not to mention all of the other terrorists on his payroll. We also think he's the one behind some major bombing attacks around the globe, and we've been picking up chatter he's got something in the works targeting the US. We just haven't been able to prove any of it." She'd paused. "This man has ruined a lot of lives, Dalton. We have to take this chance if we have it."

Of course, Dalton had agreed with her. This was too important to let an old disagreement get in the way, regardless of how severe it had been. He'd just have to set everything else aside and work with Krenshaw.

The op had seemed simple enough. Krenshaw would get Dalton in with the drug runners as an ex-Army, down-on-his-luck guy who needed a job. Dalton would then ferret out enough evidence to take down Panova, the team would then shut down the operation, and they'd head back to the States just a few weeks behind their original schedule.

Little did anyone suspect a bullet would be tearing across Dalton's side less than a week later.

NORTHERN MEXICO
WEDNESDAY, 07 NOVEMBER 2018
1445 HOURS, LOCAL

"Well, then," Lewis said, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he accepted the pistol back from McG. He patted the taller man on the shoulder. "Looks like you passed. Good job." He looked over at where Dalton had crumpled to the ground, blood seeping through the cotton fabric of the operator's shirt to drip into the dirt.

McG glanced over to Krenshaw, who was noticeably paler than a moment before. His eyes were wide as he looked from McG to Dalton's still form to Lewis and back again. He seemed to be at a loss for his next course of action. It made sense; the two of them hadn't met at all before this. Dalton had opted to keep the team as separate from Krenshaw as possible just in case something happened. So, as far as Krenshaw knew, McG was just a wealthy investor who Dalton had run into before and wasn't on the side of the good guys.

"I'll be in touch to follow up on what we discussed," Lewis continued, pulling the others' attention back to him. "I just need to talk it over with my suppliers."

"Well," McG replied, "I hope you'll understand I need to do my research too. Send me that information I asked for, hm? The list of your suppliers' names so I can check them out." When Lewis paused, McG raised an eyebrow. "You've tested me. Now I need to do my own due diligence on who I'm getting into business with. You'll understand, I'm sure?"

There was a brief pause, then Lewis shrugged. "Yes, fine. I suppose that's fair. Leave your information with Krenshaw here; I'll see that he gets it to you." He shook McG's outstretched hand, then turned to head for the gates of the compound behind him. "And somebody clean this mess up!" he ordered as he stepped over Dalton.

The door slammed shut behind the man and his bodyguards, leaving McG, Krenshaw, and several young recruits of Lewis's employ in the clearing.

McG cleared his throat and shot an uncertain look at Krenshaw. "I would prefer to discuss this in private with Mr. Krenshaw. I'm sure he'll be happy to dispose of the body once we've finished."

The three young men looked relieved at the suggestion, then turned to their superior for confirmation.

Eyes widening slightly, Krenshaw swallowed and attempted to recover. "Uh, sure." He didn't sound like he meant the words. In fact, he looked like he might vomit, but he nodded along with McG's instructions.

The other three wasted no time in hurrying off to other tasks, and Krenshaw turned back to McG. "Right, Mr. Mills—" He broke off with a yelp of surprise as Dalton sat up.

"How's it going, Top?" McG grinned.

Dalton rubbed his palms on his pants, then accepted the outstretched hand his teammate offered. He winced as he stood and pressed his right hand against his side, looking down disapprovingly at the blood still covering his hands. "Seriously, McG, good shooting, but ow."

"You'll be fine; it's just a graze." McG shook his head. "Be glad it was me doing the shooting, though, or it could have been a whole lot worse."

"Uh, wait…" Krenshaw had recovered enough from his shock to finally voice a question. "What just happened?"

"Oh, just part of the plan," McG shrugged.

"Yeah, Plan M," Dalton shook his head and chuckled, although he winced as the movement aggravated his side.

Krenshaw blinked. "You have a plan where your team shoots you?"

"Gotta have backup plans for your backup plans," McG said with a shrug. "I just had to trust him to play the part and spread the blood to make it look worse."

Dalton shook his head. "And I had to trust his aim. I had the harder job, believe me."

"What?" McG retorted, looking at his leader askance. "I'm the one who had to point the gun at you and pull the trigger and hope you didn't flinch!"

"And I'm the one who had to not flinch!" Dalton smirked at the look on McG's face, then tilted his head to indicate his teammate's Jeep parked a short distance away. "Come on. I have to talk to Washington. Panova's up to more than just drug smuggling. I found bomb components in their warehouse."

Krenshaw's eyes widened again. "No wonder they were so adamant about keeping it all a secret!"

McG frowned. "You didn't think any of this was suspicious before?"

"Well—"

"Come on," Dalton interrupted them. "Let's go. Krenshaw, you drive. McG, I need you to patch me up on the way. Unless you want me bleeding all over your vehicle," he added when his teammate raised an eyebrow.

McG rolled his eyes. "Fine. Otherwise I'll just have to listen to you complain all the way back to base."

Fin.

A/N II: Man, I miss this show...

Also, virtual cookies to anyone who caught the Leverage reference. I couldn't resist. 0:)