It was her job.
A loving smirk graced her lips. Adoring green eyes looked up at her with unrestrained hero worship. Soft, baby fine black hair running through her fingers as she tossled his small head playfully. A sweet disposition and overly polite manner was contradicted by the faded skull and crossbones across his shirt, mimicking the silver accessories adorning her every surface. Detailed representations of death as her sign of rebellion and his sign of kinship. Her little pirate buddy.
"No can-do, Santa! Working late this afternoon 'cause I gotta make the moola. You'll be a'ight. I'll just see ya when I get home."
It wasn't a big deal. Just a residential walk from the schoolyard. Cars shouldn't be driving faster than 10 mph on those streets. Besides, he was freaking 10 years old now. He knew the road rules.
It was her fucking job.
Cheesy 70's rock blasted on the speakers in the cluttered store. A couple of nobodies looking through the record selection, lazily weaving through the maze of overstuffed boxes and shelves. Outside on her smoke break, she bobbed her head to Van Halen's "Hot For Teacher" heard muffled through the door. Ken poked his head outside to tell her she had a phone call. Her mother was on the line calling from the hospital, barely able to speak through the throat-catching sobs.
It was her fault...
Standing by the open casket, looking down at the small boy nestled inside. So peaceful, he could be sleeping. The crushed organs and bones of his body hidden by the dark blue Sunday suit he wore. He would never attend another Mass yet he'd be stuck wearing it for all eternity. She wished he was being buried in something he could play in. He needed his jean shorts and baseball cap in Heaven. All of a sudden she wanted to laugh and scream at the absurdity of the thought.
Why didn't she just walk him home?
Home, but not really anymore. Everything felt off, stuck in stasis, waiting for him forever. Standing in the middle of her room surrounded by pieces of him. Mementos and stuff they made together littered upon her dresser like a model landscape of popsicle stick treasure boxes and lego castles, up against a backdrop of marker pirate ship drawings hanging on the wall. Stick figures rendered in their likeness aboard blobby brown vessels tossed on choppy blue streaks or standing on pee-yellow mounds next to tropical trees, burying overstuffed cubist chests, piled with pointy crowns, asterisk jewels and scribbled coins. Adventures on the high seas with the Cap'n and her First Mate.
Why had she been so selfish?
Standing on the dark street, watching the burning house of the man who hurt him. Warmed by the heat and crackling life of the fire, singing it's music of destruction and whispering to her wounded soul. Reveling in it's ethereal delight as a burst of orange flame explodes out the first floor windows with raining glass. The smell of charred flesh and cooked human fat forever drenching her soot-covered clothes, the bitter aroma of death and revenge stuck deep in her nostrils. Replacing the innocent smell of bubblegum Transformers shampoo and chocolate smeared kisses placed upon her cheek. A distant siren wails
Firetruck sirens from the past morph unceremoniously into a deep voice bellowing in her face, reality crashing with the dream like a bowling ball barreling down the lane. Not only is the abrupt wake-up an annoyance she could do without but add onto it the fact that she can't fucking see or move and it just rolls together to make her a goddamn ball of sunshine. As the voice continues booming at her in it's boisterous and disturbingly playful tone, the only coherent thought she can put together is What the fuck is going on?! Then it all comes rushing back to her.
Charlton. Alex and Xander doing the transfer. Marshall's hunky body. The sleeping/dead people. The sudden darkness. Someone attacking Alex with a taser or something. Smacking a teenaged girl in the face with her elbow. Then a scorching, electrical pain and lights out when she couldn't fight anymore.
And that's all she can fucking remember. Where the hell is she now? Who the hell is this asshole talking to her? Why can't she fucking see or do anything? Osono's irritation reaches a peak when the damn ogre-voice tells her to cooperate or he'll hurt her - and what the hell was that? Was he fucking translating for someone else? Sure fucking sounded like it - and she realizes that not only is she restrained and blindfolded but they're transporting her somewhere as well. Oh, fucking Hell no! Sorry, bitches! Not today! Reaching out for the fire burning in her breast and envisioning herself surrounded by matches - and latching onto the engine of the truck as well, grasping for the gasoline and it's juicy combustible nature - a wave of exhaustion piggy-backing on a headache puts an unkind halt to her destructive impulses.
It's so fucking close! Right there! She can feel the heat wanting to build up inside her, her body itching to feel the warmth of the flames bursting to life but when she reaches for the spark, the ache pulsating through her skull makes her wince instead. No! This can't be fucking happening! Seriously! This is not a good time for her to have trouble getting it up! Frustrated by her helplessness, Osono huffs out an angry groan, bumping the back of her head against the wall of the truck, twisting her shackled wrists and arching her body in feeble attempts to struggle. No good. Her bindings are made of metal or something. Even if her head wasn't pounding and she could use her fire, it'd take her several minutes to heat up the metal enough to get free. The stupid fatigue draining her hits harder as the full realization of her weakened position finally sets in and she slumps against the wall with a long, annoyed breath released through her nose.
That's when she actually starts paying attention to Mr. Inside Voice. What else is she supposed to fucking do? It's not like she's got a lot of choices. And although the original fear that these were Agents and she was 'captured' captured has died away, she's still really freakin' irritated and wants nothing to do with these creeps. Not Agents but what Moosh-Moosh warned them about - those 'others' attacking the base. People with powers? And she's suddenly reminded of how she got in this situation in the first place. What she'd originally interpreted as a taser in that young girl's hand actually wasn't anything in her hand at all. Those blue sparks had been coming from Pigtail's fingers and they hurt like a son of a bitch. Then it occurs to her that it's probably the teeny-bopper's fault that she can't use her fire right now. That little bitch! She better not be anywhere near her when Ozzie gets back on her feet, because there's seriously gonna be some fucking payback! That is... if she can recognize her. The room had been pretty dark.
By the time things finally grow quiet, there's only one thing she cares about in everything that's been said. Fuck these people and their questions and fuck their retarded agenda! Glaring through her blindfold, Osono's raspy voice growls with a heated sneer, "Where the fuck is Alex?! What have you son of bitches done to him?! If you hurt so much as a hair on his head, I swear to fucking God that I will set fire to everything within a mile radius! That's not a fucking joke. EXPLOSION! You hear me?!" It's a desperate move but she's out of options. If it means she can escape, then she's willing to do it, even if it means violently propelling herself through the air amidst twisted metal and shards of glass. Also, threatening them when she can't really do anything is probably not the smartest idea but they tied her up like this for a reason: caution. If they're scared of her and what she can do, then at least it puts some of the power back into her hands. "I'm not telling you a damn thing until I know he's okay!"
It was her one fucking job! The whole reason she'd been brought along on this little side-quest on the way to helping Gwen: she was supposed to watch over Alex while Marshall went through the retransfer. 'A one-woman army'. That's what he called her because he trusted her to handle herself if things got hot. She was supposed to protect him and instead she let him down at the critical moment. Panic starts to rise up in her throat when she begins to consider that Alex might not even be with them - just because these morons are asking and talking about him doesn't mean they brought him along as well. Did they leave him behind? Is he in the hands of the Agents? Or did they capture him too? After what he went through, getting strapped to that insane-looking chair and half his brain being sucked out - and added onto his stupid gimpy foot - she can't imagine that getting electrocuted by that girl did him any favors. Wait... Was it finished? Did... did Marshall even make it out before the room went dark? What would have happened if they got grabbed before he fully transferred?
For several seconds she struggles with the grinding lump in her throat as she realizes how much she probably cost them with her failure but she shakes her head and takes deep breaths to quell the rising guilt. There's nothing she can do about it now except move forward and take steps to fix this mess and the important thing right now is making sure her friend is alright. And if he's not... well... there was a delicious engine within reach and this goddamned headache wouldn't last forever.
***
"Do I look like Eric to you?!"
Brie blinked, her mouth dangling open and frozen in her position leaning forward threateningly across the table. Wow. She hadn't realized she'd blurted that out until she was done shouting. Coming back to herself, it was like waking up from a dream, realizing the stupid goggle-head was talking to her again and she was already talking back. It wasn't what she meant to say - in fact, she hadn't meant to say anything at all, really. Kind of embarrassing but she didn't apologize.
She was so fucking tired. The drug in her system felt so fucking good the way it had brought everything into focus, her mind absorbing details and information and organizing it for her in neat layers of importance according to threat and interest level. It was especially fun with the occasional landings they went through, getting to go through the intricacies of take off and landing repeatedly, her mind swimming with every little detail of the plane's preparation sounds. But it didn't let her sleep and she'd been up the whole night. Now that morning was finally here, she could feel the neat layers crumbling. Everything was a little too much - too noisy, too grating, too soft, too hot, too cold, too bright, too dark. The temperature fluctuations and movement of the air currents in the cabin crashed in a jumbled mess with the sounds of the other suit's hissed breaths and she suddenly had a very intense need to inspect the minute details of the grain in the surface of the conference table. All. At. The. Same. Fucking. Time. There was no order to it, no progressive processing of these different things; she was aware of everything happening around her simultaneously, forced to interpret all the details at the exact moments they filtered through her senses, with no buffer to ease the mass onslaught of information.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be! This wasn't the euphoria and delight she experienced when she first injected herself with the goggle-bearer's drugs. She couldn't stop herself from counting the little puckered pores that made up the armored fabric of his suit and her eyes couldn't stop following the stitches in the seams of the chair he sat in, while also humming in her throat along with the changing gears of the aircraft's engine as they prepared for some change in direction - Uggggggghhhhh! She'd had enough! She wanted to get off the ride now, both figuratively and literally. Brie knew what the problem was because it was exactly what he foretold, the effects of the drug wearing down but she no longer found the patience within herself to cooperate with him. She didn't give a fuck about bargaining or helping him or Eric Patten or this suit's boss or her job or ANYTHING! She just didn't give a fuck about anything else! And she was too tired and stressed to even consider that she had something to lose by being rude.
"I don't care," Brie grated out raggedly from her throat, her clenching teeth making it almost impossible to force the words out. "You keep asking me all these questions like I'm some sort of Eric-fucking-expert. I told you, I don't know Eric Patten. I've never met him. I've only seen him." When she stared fixedly at a sweat droplet running down his neck and couldn't stop herself from analyzing it's slithering path while at the same time counting how many times he blinked, Brie let out a strangled laugh, and began to scratch jaggedly at her arms. "I don't know who you think you're dealing with but there is literally nobody who can fucking help you answer your questions. There is nobody who can help you fucking save her. Whatever Eric has planned for your Lead, it's going to happen because he's already got ahold of her and you can't stop it and you can't fix it. Understand? There! You failed! End of story! Now, please, can you give me another boost like you promised! I'm fucking losing my mind here!" She was shouting again but she didn't care and couldn't stop herself anyway. There was only one thing that would solve her crisis right now and it was the only thing that mattered.
***
The morning landing couldn't have come soon enough. Not that he was eager to get away from the stifling awkwardness in the plane's cabin once everyone was awake again and together, having to deal with the repercussions of the night's activities. Anjie's icy tone and refusal to look at him even as they passed each other in the bathroom doorway definitely wasn't cause for any discomfort or anything. Of course not. And it certainly wasn't like Fin was feeling pressured at all by Creasy's offer to join their division, even with the older man constantly casting thoughtful and fatherly smiles his way, while tending to the very hungover Jewish kid already on his team. Yeah, it was none of that. Fin just wasn't happy about the coffee the flight attendant gave him, that's all. As soon as he hit the ground, he was searching out the nearest Dunkin' Donuts on the way to the Charlton base. After the night he had, he needed something with actual flavor and punch to it before meeting up with Patten.
If he was truly honest, that was the real reason he was relieved to be stepping out of the plane into the morning sunshine. After all the small hints here and there from first Graninger and then Creasy, Fenton was going to finally find out for himself what an evil, underhanded bastard Eric Patten really was. The suspense was killing him! Seriously, though, he'd paid his dues to the Agency with a year of playing a gerbil in a laboratory. Now, he had the name, the uniform and the Agency issued watch and pen and he was more than ready for some actual work. This was it. Everything he'd waited for. He was stepping off the plane not only to meet his new boss but also to face his destiny. The thought occurred to him that it was very likely, as nothing but an A-12, he might get relegated to just doing paperwork - good thing he had his trusty pen ready! - but he refused to let it put a damper on his mood. So long as he was an Agent doing Agency work, he was fine with pretty much anything. The name was important and besides that, Creasy had made a good point: there was always room for advancement if you were good enough.
Yeah, even Anjie shoving mutely past him in the airplane doorway couldn't obliterate the optimistic gleam in his eye. Well... he gave her a dirty look, but the glimmer of hope and confidence was still in there. Honestly, she was acting like he'd admitted to murdering baby seals when all that'd happened was he rejected her sexual advances - as if he wasn't allowed to say "no" to sex while sporting a hardon. Talk about a double standard. He couldn't figure out if it was just what he said to her that wounded her pride or if there was something else he was being blamed for without being aware of it - in that case, passive-aggressively punishing him without telling him anything was a very effective method of leaving him just as clueless as before. If anybody should have been upset about not getting any sex last night it should have been him! She seriously needed to just get over it already.
There was a very expensive looking, dark blue car gleaming at the bottom of the stairs and although the back door remained open, Fin did not follow Anjelica into it's cave-like interior. Instead, he stood at the bottom of the steps, glancing around at the empty airport lot, enjoying the crisp breeze and adjusting his uniform for the 50th time to make sure he was all zipped up and tucked in. He glanced up when Haggins emerged from the plane, giving the kid a sympathetic smirk as the Doc winced painfully in the sunlight and swayed at the top of the stairs. At least he didn't look like he was going to throw up anymore and his skin had lost that greenish pallor. As he gingerly made his way down the steps, clinging to the railing with one hand, Fin couldn't help himself and asked, "Ya alright there, Pukey? Not gonna hurl big, bloated chunks again, are ya? You know, contrary to how you're feeling right now, I hear a greasy breakfast is just the thing to fix it right up."
At the mention of that, Haggins stopped in the middle of the stairwell and closed his eyes while breathing heavily through his nose, obviously trying to gather himself before shooting an annoyed look at Fin. "Please, don't mention vomit. Or food. Or anything. In fact, how about you just don't talk to me?" Aw, somebody was a little cranky. "I told you, I didn't want to drink."
"Hey, now, don't be like that," Fin said soothingly, stepping in front of the lad before he made a move towards the car. "I was just trying to get you to loosen up and have a good time and you did, didn't you?" Haggins, who seemed to be having difficulty recalling the events of last night, furrowed his youthful brow and gave Fin a considering look. Then, apparently deciding to take Fenton at his word, the kid's shoulders relaxed and he nodded his assent, smiling sheepishly as Fin squeezed his shoulder with a laugh.
"Yeah, I guess it was pretty fun." That little blush was adorable! And it was very reassuring that he didn't seem to remember anything about Fenton's interrogation. Good times!
"See? Now, I know the aftermath isn't much of a blast but trust me about the greasy food and just remember to keep yourself properly hydrated next time."
Haggins made a small quirk with his lips and shook his head so that the long curls dangling in front of his ears bounced and then he grimaced again as the motion obviously got him a reprimand from his stomach. "I... don't think I'll be partaking in that ever again, actually."
"Well, don't cut yourself off completely," Fin said, sticking his hands into his pockets and shrugging. "You never know what might happen when you're presented with the opportunity again. Sometimes, you just gotta let go and live a little. If there's one thing you can learn from this it's that life's too short to keep such a tight leash on yourself all the freaking time." Haggins seemed to appreciate this advice better than the breakfast suggestion.
At the sound of voices, they both glanced towards the back of the plane where they could see Creasy standing near the open and exposed rear end of the aircraft, directing the driver who was digging within it's confines. After the one glance, Fin was done looking but when he made note of the "awestruck/breathless" expression on the boy's face, he turned back for another gander. Creasy had been the first to wake up that morning and had already changed clothes and refreshed himself by the time anybody else even opened their eyes. In place of the beige and cream suit he'd worn yesterday, he now donned a crisp black suit, the jacket left unbuttoned, exposing the robin's egg blue dress shirt underneath - still, no tie, Fin could see, and unbuttoned just enough to show off a little bit of collar bone. The effect was the same as it had been yesterday, very casual and relaxed yet clean and professional. If he had to be perfectly honest, then yeah, sure, Creasy was a pretty good looking guy for someone of his age. Standing there with that air of dignified authority with his hands tucked coolly into his pockets, broad shoulders, slim waist, with sunlight glinting off his dangling silver earring and shining through the bristles of the trimmed halo of dark hair around his lips - he certainly looked like the romantic ideal of a roguish gentleman. If you were into metrosexual Southern California guys who liked to show off their chest hair and wear sandals to work. That's when Fin slowly turned his head back toward Haggins.
Fin resisted the temptation at first. He really did. Had a really intense internal argument with himself and everything. It's not a good idea to stick my nose into things that are none of my business. I shouldn't be manipulating people like this. What would Graninger say? He kept expecting Graninger's smug, raspy voice to chime in like it did with everything else having to do with agency relations and rules of conduct. Then it occurred to him this was exactly the type of thing Graninger did to him and other people all the time. Well, I did learn from the best.
The captivated look on the boy's face only lasted a minute but when Haggins turned away, Fin caught his eye again and nodded at him with a knowing smirk. Disturbed by this and a bit flustered that he'd been caught ogling his boss, Haggins reacted like a startled rabbit and glanced worriedly away. Fin forced his eyes back to his own when he put his hand on top of the kid's left shoulder and said in a confiding whisper, "Oh, and don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I won't tell a soul about the things we talked about last night, although, I still think you should give it a chance and just tell him how you really feel." Creasy was sauntering towards them and Fin glanced at him and glanced back, patting Haggins before releasing him. "When you're ready, of course."
"Wait--! What?! I don't--!"
"Everything alright over here?" Creasy asked with an amiable grin as he came to stand next to them.
"Yes, sir! Just giving my buddy here some advice about what to do for breakfast after that nightcap he had." Fin turned to Haggins and nodded sternly, speaking as if he were reiterating something he'd already said and counting off the different items on his fingers. "Big ole plate of hashbrowns, greasy sausage, greasy bacon and some good old fashioned eggs and toast and you'll be fine. Just what the doctor ordered!"
"Right. Thanks," Haggins mumbled with a blush, only half playing along as he began moving towards the vehicle. Oh, look at that. The poor lad looked a bit concerned and distracted now. Well, if the kid honestly didn't remember the conversations from last night, it was the least Fin could do to imply the admission of hidden feelings that had never been uttered.
Although his demeanor was a little possessive at first, Creasy relaxed when his young associate ducked into the backseat of the car. Fin took the opportunity to shake the man's hand and give him a stout slap on the back. "So! I will see you cats in Charlton!"
"Sure thing," Creasy said easily, giving him another warm smile. "Are you sure you don't want to ride with us? I could take the front seat and let you kids all sit in the back together?"
"Ooh, tempting," Fin said with a mocking nod, then tilted his head with a chagrined shrug. "But I think I've got my own ride coming to pick me up." He wanted to make a couple of jokes about that but now that he was sober, he was a lot less inclined to hint that he and Anjelica may have had sex right under her boss's nose. So, instead, he left it at that, since Creasy seemed to get it anyway, nodding in understanding and moving past Fin to the open door. At the same time, the driver moved past them both carrying a large box-shaped, silver case, like what one might use to transport a piece of expensive equipment or weaponry. Fenton was momentarily distracted, watching the guy tuck it into the trunk but his curiosity was derailed when Creasy's door slammed shut and he spoke to Fin through the rolled down window.
"We'll see you in Charlton, then."
"Yes, sir!" Through the window, he could see Anjelica in the far seat, pouting moodily and refusing to look at him still and Haggins sitting next to her was already back to work reading over some paperwork. And actually, now that he saw them all sitting back there together, it looked like there was plenty of room for 3 people. Still, seeing how Anjelica's crossed leg bobbed agitatedly and the way Haggins pored through his files like a man trying to get his mind off of something, Fin did not regret his decision to decline the ride. Although, it looked like it'd be fun times all around. No doubt!
As the driver took his seat and closed the door, Creasy said, "We're going to be pretty busy hunting down some folks, though, so, if we don't see you... remember what I said about digging into things, Fin."
"I most certainly will, sir. And you remember what I said about vodka." That got a small chuckle from the older man, who decided not to comment and shook his head in amusement as the car drove away.
It wasn't until they were out of sight that Fin actually thought about what he told Creasy and decided it'd be a good idea - rather than waiting here for a couple of hours - to double check and make sure he had a ride. Taking out his phone, he texted Graninger to let him know that they'd landed.
Meet up with Quin at the base. You're part of a deal I made with him so don't go straight to Patten. Meet up with Quin and he'll direct you from there.
ya how am i getting to the base btw?
I'm pretty sure the airport rents cars.
"You've gotta be kidding me...." Fin murmured with a small slump of his shoulders. Maybe he should have taken that ride, dammit!
you didnt send a car for me?
No and I sincerely doubt Rudolph Quin sent you one either.
Well, this was just great. Honestly, he should have expected this but after stepping off of the airplane and seeing the car waiting for the Docs... Fenton had been under the delusion that Agents got that sort of treatment and since he was an Agent now and due to meet up with important, higher ranking people, he thought they'd actually make an effort to show they wanted him around. Getting taxis and renting cars from the airport was something he'd done as a civilian nobody. Trying to remind himself that the name was important and that being called an Agent made a difference, Fin made preparations to call a taxi for himself.
Don't be late.
Oh, haha! Sure thing, boss, and thanks for the heads up!