A/N: New story time? I suppose so! It's been quite a while since I've written any fanfiction, so please bear with me. I'm a bit rusty, as you can and probably will see. I guess I should tell you a bit about the fic itself. It's eventually going to be a rewrite of 1x04 of Warehouse 13 with an original character (since that's what I do best) who's going to play the love interest of a certain self-proclaimed tech whiz. Since I don't want to give too much away (and since we've all already seen this episode), I'll just let you take it from here. I hope you enjoy, guys, and feedback would be greatly appreciated. Keep your flames to yourselves, please. I don't have any cool water on hand to apply to the area of the burn.
Disclaimers: I am in no way associated with Warehouse 13 or its affiliates. If I was, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it. It would all be canon. The rights to any and all characters (with the exception of Megan) belong to whomever they belong to (Sy-fy, maybe?).
Hello. My name is Megan Grey, and I am an agent for Warehouse 13.
The subtle hum of bald tires over the worn road was what lulled Megan Grey into a restless doze. She could hear the low, excited chatter of the other agents surrounding her, but she kept her eyes closed tightly in the hopes of drowning them out. It was the incredulous murmur of her partner that pulled her completely from her restive slumber.
"How could she sleep at a time like this?"
Green eyes snapped open and came to rest on the glistening forehead of her prematurely balding partner. "TEVOC training all night, Fitzpatrick," she announced gruffly. "I had planned on saving my energy, but I can see now that that's out of the question. Personally, I'd like to think that you'll be thanking me for it later if we end up in a messy situation. After all, it wouldn't be the first time I've had to save your ass."
She held her partner's gaze evenly for a moment longer before he glanced away and rejoined the anxious gossiping of the others. It took every ounce of her willpower to resist the urge to roll her eyes. They were chattering like a group of starlings, and she could only hope that they would sober up once they were actually in the field.
It wasn't long before the soothing hum of the tires slowed to a complete stop and the doors of the van swung open. Musty air and light trickled into the small compartment and fell over the now-silent agents. In an orderly single-file line, they exited the van and clustered around Megan in something akin to a protective shield. The ranks gave way as an elderly gentleman in an expensive-looking tweed suit approached. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back and the corners of his lips were tucked down into a tight-lipped frown.
"Agent Grey, I trust that the FBI has sent only their finest agents to deal with this little…problem of ours," he grunted in his low, raspy tone.
"Yes, Sir." Megan turned her attention away from the older man and let her gaze sweep across the ranks of young men surrounding her. "Just so we don't get off on the wrong foot," she began, her eyes lingering on each individual before darting away to focus on the next, "let me explain why we're all here. I'm here because I know of Tiana and Jeremiah Zevitas. I've arrested them on three different occasions. My boys are here to back me up in the event of a shoot out, and the M.P.D.C. are here because our mayor—" She gestured to the elderly gentleman in the tweed suit. "—wants to appear tough on drugs."
Her gaze once again swiveled around the room and was met with understanding nods and curious stares. "Excellent." She stepped past the mayor and leaned over a small collapsible table that was littered with various maps, photos, and documents. "Alright, gentlemen, let's take a look. Fish market, back's on the water; across the street on the ground floor is where our anonymous tipper said the meth lab was. Tiana and Jeremiah are known for being violent and trigger-happy, so if you're not wearing a vest, I suggest that you find one."
x
After the debriefing, Megan once again found herself in the back compartment of the van she'd arrived in. Her back was pressed against the gently vibrating wall and her gaze was fixed on something in the distance that only she could see. A few minutes had passed when the van came to another stop. Passing over her fellow agents and being careful not to step on any toes, she quickly slid into the passenger's seat and glanced over her shoulder at her men. "Remember, we don't want to tip them off, so let's not make spectacles of ourselves."
In one fluid movement, she hopped out of the van and walked over to the nearest stall, almost at once willing her nostrils not to register the fishy smell. She dipped her fingertips into the pockets of her jacket and tipped her head towards the fishmonger as if interested in his catch of the day.
Though she couldn't see her men milling about the fish market, she knew that they would be falling into position. She dipped her head towards the salesman before backing away from his booth and casually walking forward to scan over each stall's contents. It was then that she saw the vehicle.
It was an old, beat up Chrysler. If Megan had to guess the year, she would've guessed '66. A crack ran along the windshield and split the glass into a thousand smaller fractures and the bumper looked as if it was clinging on with nothing more than a lick and a promise. Inside the cab sat a young African American couple that she instantly recognized as Tiana and Jeremiah Zevitas.
"I've got a visual," she murmured into the microphone attached to the collar of her jacket. "Red Chrysler, cracked windshield."
"Got it," the voice of her partner crackled in the receiver fixed in her ear.
Megan kept her gaze fixed on the car as she maneuvered around a group of oblivious passersby, and she wondered for a fleeting moment if they could hear her heart hammering against her rib cage over the noise in the street.
"Targets have exited the vehicle and are on the move. What should we do, Grey?"
"They're both packing," she observed, ducking her head as Jeremiah glanced in her general direction. "It's too crowded. There are too many people. I say we call it off. What do you say, Mister Mayor?"
"I agree."
"It's settled then. All units stand down."
Several variations of "copy" rang in Megan's ear as she turned away from the wanted felons and started back towards the van. Then another voice crackled out of the receiver.
"This is Fitzgerald. Stay on target."
Megan spun around and roved over the crowd in an attempt to single out her partner. "I said all units stand down, Fitzgerald. Now."
"Forget it. I'm moving in."
"They're packing. Stand down!"
There was a flash. The last vestiges of the sun's rays glinted off the barrel of her partner's Glock. A brief moment of peace passed, and then all Hell broke loose. Shots rang out and Megan was dimly aware of herself screaming "FBI!" before she lifted her own gun and started firing.
Before her mind could even register what was happening, the squeal of rubber against pavement caused her to glance away from her targets long enough for them to dive into the safety of their vehicle. One last shot rang out as Jeremiah revved the engine and shot off down Main Avenue.
For a moment or two, Megan watched them driving away with her finger still tightly wrapped around the trigger. She could hear screaming all around her, but it was as if she was hearing it through a thick layer of cotton. Her own heartbeat rang louder in her ears.
Then there was pain. It was white hot and agonizing. Her hands flew to her stomach a fraction of a second after her Glock hit the ground. It was almost too much to bear. A tongue of flame licked its way up her spine as she crumbled to her knees in the center of the market.
"Grey! Grey! Are you hit?"
One of her men ran towards her with his arms extended as if he wished to embrace her or finish her off—though she couldn't be sure which. She made an attempt to train her unfocused gaze on his furrowed brow as he drew closer and closer, but the pain was too much. It would've been too easy for her to succumb to the darkness that was whispering at the edge of her vision.
"Grey, get up! You're fine! Fitzgerald is down, Grey! Get up!"
Then it was gone. Just as quickly as it appeared, her phantom pain had vanished, and in its wake, it had bathed her in a delicious numbness. She glanced down bemusedly at her hands that were desperately clutching her stomach. There was no gaping wound that threatened her life. There was no blood seeping through her fingers. There was just the now-grimy fabric of her blouse.
"Grey, are you hearing me? Fitzgerald is down! Get it together!"
"Wha—?"
With that, she was on her feet and unsteadily racing toward her partner. In one deft movement motion, she was on her knees at his side. With a trembling hand, she reached out and pressed her fingers against his neck in search of a pulse. There was none.
A hand clasped her shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, but she quickly shrugged it off and shifted to close her partner's glazed eyes. The pool of crimson around him grew at an alarming rate and soaked through the knees of her jeans, but she paid it no mind. The only thing she knew was that the numbness was gone and with it her partner.
A/N: And so ends the first chapter. I'll try to update as soon as possible (though for the next two weeks, I have End of Course Assessments, but after that, I'm summer-bound!). Also, if anyone is interested in seeing who I've chosen as the "face claim" for Megan, I'll post a link to it on my profile. I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you'll stick around for the next. xx