“We’re going to Moscow, Captain,” Walter had said as he sat down at Matt’s desk in New York two weeks ago.  He had always called Matt ‘captain’ due to his last name.  Captain Kirk.  Har-har.

Matt deliberately ‘spocked’ an eyebrow.  “Oh?  And just how are we going to get me around Moscow?  An old Soviet tank sold on the cheap?”  Leading Walter with his eyes, they both turned to regard the cane leaning up against Matt’s desk.

“Uh,” said Walter with grace and eloquence, and then he shrugged his shoulders.  “We’ll figure something out, Matt.  You’re my guy.  I’m not going without you.”

“You’re sweet,” said Matt with a crooked smile.  &l...

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