“It'd be a good time for that friend of yours to make an appearance right now,” I snapped at Jack as we waited in the long queue for Swiss border control, inside a decently large and drab building. Lugging along our bags, Jack shouldering his with ease, we moved at a snail's pace through the line, while I felt beads of sweat forming at my temples, especially when I looked at the heavily armed soldiers bearing assault rifles at the front, before shifting my gaze back to Jack's large bag of weapons right next to me.

  “It's okay,” Jack grinned, “we'll be fine.”

  “Will we?” I asked curtly, nodding at the bag that stood as his own personal weapons cache. “This guy couldn't call you back? Even after leaving a message.”

  “Trust Me,” Jack said, shifting the bag and clanking some items together inside, drawing the attention and raised eyebrows of a few other travelers around us, and drawing my ire as he winked.

  The line continued to move forward, as I tried to breathe calmly, in and out, before finally being flagged forward. As always, fear and anxiety crept back into my mind, while I imagined what would happen if we were help up, or if Jack was caught. What would they do to him? How could I help him in a situation like that?

  “What if they don't let you...?” I whispered, whipping back around. “What do I do?”

  “It'll be okay,” he smiled.

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  “MOVE!” A soldier yelled at me.

  Jack laid a hand on my facing, cupping it tenderly. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I nodded, feeling his warmth, before turning and racing up to the counter before the solider blew a gasket.

  Nervously, I presented my documents and passed through security without issue, before watching Jack march up to the counter himself.

  Whatever sense of ease I had carried with me dissipated immediately, scurrying away as a few soldiers convened to inspect the contents of his bag, patting him down in hushed and gruff tones, all the while, Jack continued sporting that awful yet lovable smirk of his.

  Just then, the soldiers grabbed him by the arms, his smirk disappearing, as they pulled him along down a hall, struggling mightily against his resistance, and another snatched the bag, heaving it with them.

  “Oh no!” I whispered loudly. “Jack!”

  Suddenly, a few more soldiers appeared and pointed in my direction, before rapidly walking towards me.

  “Wait,” I said, as they came nearer, “I can explain,” full well knowing that I could indeed not explain.

  Stealing my bags, the soldiers took me by the elbows and ushered me down a different hallway.

  “I swear,” I repeated, losing my composure, “I haven't done anything. Honest!”

  My words fell on deaf ears as I was shuffled into a small white room, with a metal table in the center. It looked like every cold and unforgiving interrogation room I'd ever seen on TV. Great. Thanks Jack.

  Pushing me off inside, I turned to find the soldiers exiting with my bags and slamming the door shut.

  Yanking on it to no avail, I began pounding my fists, banging for an answer, any response at all. “Please!” I yelled, over and over, to the sound of silence calling back.

  Crossing my arms, I wandered to a wall length mirror, clearly two way, based on my intimate knowledge of the show, Criminal Minds. It was pristine, shiny, and who knows how many people were looking back at me through its emotionless frame. I examined myself within its icy portrait, my reflection painting despair. I was all alone now.

  “What do I do?”