Brian O'Conner

The tension was thick as you stood in the garage, leaning against the hood of Brian's car. He was busy under the hood, fiddling with something that didn't need fixing, avoiding your gaze. You crossed your arms, watching his every move; the silence was unbearable.

"Brian," you finally said, your voice quieter than you'd intended. He stopped, resting his hands on the edge of the car, but still didn't look at you.

"You don't have to do this," he continued, moving closer. "There has to be another way. Let someone else infiltrate this time."

He sighed, finally turning to look at you. His blue eyes, normally so warm, were clouded with something you couldn't place: guilt, determination, maybe both. "It's my job," he said softly. "You know that."

"Yes, and I know what happened last time," you replied, raising your voice. "You barely made it out, Brian. And now you're jumping right into it?"

He leaned closer, his hands resting gently on your arms. "I'll be careful," he promised, his tone reassuring, but not convincing enough. "You know me, I've got this under control."