"Hey, Don."
"Hiya, Colby. How're you doing?
"Not bad."
"Rough day, huh?"
"That's putting it mildly."
"What's wrong?" Don Eppes knew, even over the phone, that there was something not quite right with his agent.
"Nothin'."
"Colby. . ."
"I'm just feeling a little tired, and I guess a little guilty."
"I thought you were heading home to get some rest."
"I was. I went home, anyway. Listen, do you know when Edgerton's getting out?"
"Yeah. I just heard that he'll be ready to go in about an hour."
"He's been in that prison for the last three hours?" Colby asked, agitation evident in the tone of the question.
"It's how long it takes sometimes."
"Right," Colby answered, remembering the five weeks he'd spent locked up and not wishing even three hours of that time on anyone, especially not a friend. "I'm gonna go pick him up, get him to where he needs to go."
"I don't know, Colby. He's not exactly going to be in the best mood. And I heard the prison doctor tell you to take it easy with those pulled muscles."
"They're fine, Don. Or they will be, with a little bit of time. But I owe Ian an apology and I'm apparently not gonna get any rest until I do."
"You don't owe him anything, Colby. He could have let us in on this way sooner," Don told his friend.
"It's not always that easy, Don," Granger said, the uncomplicated nature of the delivery telling Eppes that his agent had made peace with what had happened to him after the Chinese spy fiasco, but also not letting Don forget exactly how deeply that affair had affected the young agent. "Anyway, I've got the time and he'll need a ride, so I'm going."
"Okay. Just, take it easy, man. I need you ship-shape on Monday," Don warned over the mobile phone.
"I'm not planning on heading out to the wilderness with him. I just wanna talk."
"Okay. Tell him I'm glad it all worked out."
"I will. Thanks, Don."
"Good-bye," Eppes said, ending the call. He shook his head at his always conscientious agent. Despite how tough he could be, Colby Granger would always carry with him that special quality, a consideration of people that made him that much better of an agent than most. Don Eppes knew that he was a lucky man to have so many good people on his team.
Granger grabbed an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter, and then reached a little farther for his keys, wallet and sunglasses. His back protested, the over-stretched muscles not happy with the extra effort he'd made to reach too far. Ian Edgerton knew exactly how to incapacitate without permanent damage; that he was willing to do such damage to a friend told Colby so much about how desperate he'd gotten in his need to settle this last case.
Colby chose to take it easy, like Don had said, and remained more aware of his body's unhappy state as he retrieved his gun from the closet and then took the stairs down to the parking lot. He got into the car, gingerly, and headed in the direction of the prison. He wasn't sure that Ian would want to get in his car, let alone talk with him, but Granger knew he had left things undone with the renegade F.B.I. tracker. Even if they didn't finish this day as friends, it was important for Colby to know that he'd made the effort to right what had happened between them today.
He ate his apple, surprisingly, the only food he'd had since breakfast, as he made the drive to collect his colleague.
As it happened, Granger was thirty minutes early, knowing that his single-minded persistence in getting to Edgerton and talking things through with him had made the drive fleeting, which wasn't necessarily good considering how little he remembered of the familiar landmarks along the way. He parked the car and headed inside, hopeful that his F.B.I. cohort would be ready to leave, and be allowed out ahead of schedule.
Colby walked into the main entrance and could immediately hear Ian bellowing at someone.
"You are not hearing me. I am not walking out in these duds. They're orange, you idiot. There wouldn't be a better target on my back unless you put an actual one there."
"Mr. Edgerton. . ." Ian stopped the guard with a sharp correction.
"Agent Edgerton!"
"Of course, Agent Edgerton. I'm sorry, but they can't find your clothes. As I told you. . ."
"I cannot believe this. Don't you do this all of the time? Release prisoners? You don't make them wear these pretty jumpsuits, do you?"
"No, sir, of course. . ."
"Then just go to stores and get me some clothes!"
"But Agent Edgerton, as I said earlier, we don't have anything. . ."
"Yeah, I remember. Nothing my size. How about something close?"
"We didn't have anyone scheduled for release soon, and the clerk in stores has been out sick."
"How about a jacket?" Edgerton persisted.
"I'm sorry. . ." That reply, too, was interrupted, this time by a frustrated roar.
"Making friends, I see," Colby commented as he watched Ian pace and scream and make his contempt for the situation known.
"Granger. What are you doing here?" Colby started to answer when Edgerton interrupted him, too. "Better still, do you have a change of clothes in your car?" he demanded as he eyed the younger agent up for size.
Colby let out a soft snort as a crooked grin came to his face. Ian glared at him, but Granger couldn't help himself. "Sorry," he said as he raised his eyes to his friend's. "Yeah, I'm sure I do. Be right back." He didn't wait for a thank you from the one being detained, and he never heard one as the door closed behind him. He had gotten used to keeping an extra set of clothes in the car, just in case, since 'just in case' was something that never failed to turn to an absolute. He could thank Charlie Eppes, somewhat, for his tendency anymore to think in probabilities. But the fact was, even if he hadn't already discussed the probability of needing extra clothes regularly, considering the nature of his job, he knew from practical experience that he'd be sorry the day he hadn't remembered to make sure his trunk was properly supplied.
He walked back in with the overnight bag and handed it and its contents over to Edgerton. "Use whatever you need." Ian grabbed the bag, mumbled a quick 'thanks' and headed to the restroom down the hall. Granger turned to the guard.
"Can he go as soon as he's ready?"
"Absolutely." The guard realized how anxious he sounded, and then added, "I mean, his papers are in order and we have instructions to let him go as soon as he's ready."
"Good."
"Is he, um, going with you? You're taking him willingly?" The guard was young but not shy about expressing his incredulity that anyone would want to spend any time with F.B.I. Agent Ian Edgerton.
"He's mostly bark," Colby assured the guard.
"Don't count on it," Ian said as he headed from the restroom, cinching the belt tighter to keep the one-size-too-big jeans from slipping down his hips. The shirt seemed to fit just fine.
"See, now you're scarin' me," Granger deadpanned.
"Uh-huh," Ian said as he tossed the orange prison uniform to the guard. "It's been real," he said to the young man. He turned to Colby and ordered, "Get me out of here."
"Where're you headed?"
"Beer and a steak?" Ian asked, as though an invite had just been offered.
"Sounds good to me. I'm starving," Colby agreed as he headed to the driver's side.
"You haven't eaten yet?" Edgerton took his place in the front passenger's seat. He watched as Granger sat carefully in the driver's seat. He also noted the weariness in Colby's demeanor.
"I had an apple."
"Good for you. That's a snack, not food. Let's go to Louise's Trattoria."
"Louise's Trattoria?" Colby asked.
"Yeah. They've got a great flat iron steak."
"Isn't it a chain?"
"So? When most of your meals are caught in the wild, and cooked in a pit on an open flame in the backcountry, a chain restaurant has a certain appeal, a certain. . .expectation that will always be met." Granger looked at Edgerton, understanding the man more with every word he spoke. Colby preferred smaller, chef-owned restaurants, those small finds down alleys that only the regulars knew about. It was the same in L.A. as it was in Afghanistan, or in Paris or Rome or Washington, D.C. or Florence: the best places to eat were usually off the beaten path. He suspected that Ian didn't get that, not when he chose Louise's Trattoria as the place to have his first meal after release from a stressful day of imprisonment. Granger was sure that Louise's food would be fine. Right now, anything would do.
"Lead on," Granger suggested. Ian provided the navigation as Colby drove, the discussion of food and how to get to it precluded any chance for deeper conversation, other that Ian asking about Colby's clearly still sore back. Granger brushed off the query and Edgerton followed his comrade's lead. As it turned out, Ian was something of a regular at this particular Louise's, and they were given a table fairly removed from the rest of the dining area.
"How often do you come here?" Colby asked as he sat down.
"Not as often as I used to. The manager is the ex-wife of an old friend." It seemed that was all that Ian was inclined to say, so Colby let the conversation idle as he looked at the menu. Ian reviewed the wine list.
"Um, you know that the only steak on this menu is the flat iron steak, right?" Colby asked, a little annoyed.
"It's good. You'll like it."
Colby closed the menu. "Then that's what I'll have. Thinking about wine instead of beer?"
"No," Ian answered as he closed the wine list. "Not really. I've been thinking about a cold beer since before the dust settled."
Colby nodded his agreement and started to say something but was interrupted by the waitress. They placed their orders for beers and steaks and then they got right to the conversation.
"I'm sorry about what happened," Ian said. "I'm not sorry about how it turned out, my senses were right on." He looked Colby in the eyes, sincerity evident in his face and in his tone when Ian added, "I was never going to shoot you."
"I know that. You should remember that you have friends. We probably could have helped so that you wouldn't have felt the need to take such extreme measures," Colby explained.
"Maybe, but I had to go with my gut." Edgerton leaned back as the waitress brought their drinks. He leaned back in when he made his toast. "Here's to not holding a gun to your head again," he said with a wry grin.
"I'll drink to that," Colby said as they knocked their beer glasses together and then took long swigs of the local microbrew.
"Ian, I've had some time to think and I was wrong, about what I said." Colby fidgeted with his glass, swirling a design on the frosty mug. "You know," he added, his head down as he continued his artwork on the glass, "in its own way, this situation was like mine with the spying. The scope was different," he continued as he raised is head to look at his dinner partner, "but the situations were parallel. I didn't see it in the heat of the moment, but as I thought about you sitting in that prison after I left, I realized that I was judging you and I didn't like how that felt. I mean, I knew I was hiding stuff from my team, and when they reacted how they were supposed to react, it hurt. You had to have felt the same way today."
"Well, I appreciate that, Granger." Ian took in his friend's demeanor; he could tell that Colby was as tired as he was. "Everything's okay now, right? With you and Don? Sinclair and Nikki?"
Colby let out an unexpected yawn. "Sorry," he said as he covered his mouth. "Sure, everything's good." Edgerton gave Granger a penetrating stare. "Really. Every once in a while the topic of what I did will come up, in relation to a case. I think we all think a little differently since then. It's like, anything can happen. Nothing is beyond the realm of possibility. I guess it was a good thing, in the end."
"Yeah, because being more suspicious is always better," Ian retorted sarcastically.
"Nah, it's not that. It's more that it makes us not think twice, but think three times."
Ian nodded. "I heard that the Professor helped you out back then, too."
"Charlie's, well, he's amazing. He's a good friend."
"Smartest thing Don ever did, bringing his brother on board."
"I thought hiring me was the smartest thing he ever did," Colby joked. Both men laughed, an easing of pent-up tension that they both needed. They continued to talk, enjoying their beers and their steaks. Before long, the dessert had been eaten and it was time to go.
"Where am I taking you?" Granger asked.
"Um, I guess I should get myself a hotel room," Ian replied.
"It's kind of late. Where's your truck?"
"Cops have it. I can get it in the morning."
"Then come home with me. My couch is surprisingly comfortable, I can vouch for that."
"No," Edgerton said, "I don't want to put you out."
"You wouldn't. It's there, it's available. It's just a place to sleep, and it won't kill your back."
Ian looked up from settling the bill. "You're sure?"
"You bet. Besides, we're both just gonna fall asleep. No point in wasting good sleep time looking for a hotel and driving you to it. We're only ten minutes from my place from here," Colby noted, sealing the deal.
"Okay. Thanks."
"It's the least I can do."
"No, Granger. We're good on this. Nothing's owed."
Colby smiled. "You might not feel that way later on."
Ian frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm told that I snore."
The End.