Tales of Bombs and Beloveds
Prologue: Casualty
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. Sad but true.
A/N: This might end up being one of the craziest stories I've ever written. Basically, things are as they were left hanging at the end of season nine but I probably won't refer to any season nine episodes and I may just decide that Fin decided to stay put after all.
A/N2: Things are gonna get crazy. I remind some of my more reality and fact oriented readers that I don't know many things about certain subjects and some of this stuff I just made up off the top of my head because it is fiction and is to be enjoyed as such. So I bid you, ENJOY!
The house on the hill lay in darkened silence. The gloomy path still bore the footprints of the last person to travel down it. But the moment the wind began to pick up, the dust in which the impressions were made quickly settled, erasing the last trace that someone had visited that night.
The door hung open but no one from the road would have noticed. The old fashioned door knocker had been ripped from its hinges and seemed to have disappeared. The wind blew the door open a fraction of an inch more. The sound that the hinges made as they moved ever so slightly resembled moaing more than anything else.
Inside, the entry way was dark, seemingly darker than the night outside. A lamp, that must have once held a prominent place on the entry way table, lay on the floor, broken into several pieces. The pieces almost seemed to form an arrow, pointing down the hall. It was if the lamp was trying to say something.
The living room was an absolute mess. Pillows flung in all different directions, the two wineglasses that had been sitting upon the coffee table having clattered to the floor and shattered into a million tiny shards. The beloved terrier coward in the corner, a trail of urine leading back to the couch cushion he had occupied earlier that night as his mistress showered him with her attention.
This travesty would have been viewed with sheer horror by his mistress if it weren't for the fact that she was already dead, lying in a pool of blood that soaked the rug beneath her lifeless body.
The terrier crept back to where his mistress lay and nudged her in the hopes that she would awaken him and shower him with more praise. But she didn't. The small dog howled in concert with the wind and laid down beside her. That is until the storm hit.
The gradually increasing winds were soon joined by giant raindrops which pelted the windows of the house, sounding like tiny bullets. It wasn't long before the whole grisly scene was illuminated by a brilliant flash of lightening and a crack of thunder that was louder than anything the little dog had ever heard before in his life, seemingly millions of times louder than the screams of his mistress when she had pleaded for her life.
The little dog ran for cover once more and mistakenly ran out of the house into the dark night. Once he was outside, he didn't dare turn back, he just kept running as fast as his furry little legs would allow, leaving the house and the horrible memories of that night behind.
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"I told you she was going to get herself into trouble," Agent Dean Porter grumbled as he picked his way through the bloody crime scene. He came upon the shattered wine glasses "What did I tell her about this?" he muttered.
"You told her not to get drunk and blow her cover," Agent Dana Lewis told him from across the room where she was examining a torn piece of paper that lay next to the phone "And I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have," she was finally able to make out the chicken scratch on the paper in front of her "She was meeting someone for drinks yesterday around six thirty," Dana said thoughtfully.
"What's the name?" Dean questioned, already turning his attention to his temporary partner. The person who had met their dear little Lilly Cole was the most likely suspect.
"Can't make it out," Dana grumbled as she squinted at the note. Poor Paige did always have the worst hand writing. Dana had always insisted that Paige not try to slip her hand written notes when she needed to talk. Dana wondered if Paige had wanted to see her sometime the previous afternoon, if there was something that Paige was suspicious of.
"Damn," Dean hissed "I told her she shouldn't become involved with anyone."
"And she was listening," Dana spat back. Poor innocent Paige Morgan was one of the FBI's brightest young field agents. She was only twenty seven years old and Dana had known that she wouldn't be ready for an undercover. But Paige had insisted and in a matter of days, she had been transformed into young, naïve Lilly Cole.
Paige was supposed to come to Littlefield Texas to infiltrate a militia group that was suspected in the bombings of several government buildings in Dallas, Austin and Phoenix Arizona just to name a few. She was supposed to gather evidence, call them in to arrest key militia members, be a hero and save the day. She wasn't supposed to end up raped and stabbed.
Dana felt so guilty as she looked down at the half naked body of the girl she had taken under her wing. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Dana knew in her heart that whatever happened, it didn't happen because Paige got 'involved' with someone.
"Come on," she said sadly, not bothering to look in Dean's direction "We need to get out of here before someone starts asking questions," she returned the note to its place beside the phone. They would have to let local law enforcement handle the case for now, they couldn't risk blowing Paige's cover, even in death, not if they intended to send someone else to Littlefield. And with what was potentially at stake, they couldn't afford not to send someone.
Dean nodded and followed Dana out of the house and to the shady secluded spot where they had parked "You think anyone else in the bureau will even touch this assignment?"
Dana sighed "We can't trust any of them in our department anymore," Paige's death was just the latest in a long string of events that led Dana to believe that they had a leek in their already short staffed department. That just meant fewer people they could trust.
"You don't think," Dean chuckled and looked over at her "I know that Buck Foster has a lot of money and I know the rumors about him bribing some of the local politicians and the like to look the other way on some stuff but… an FBI agent? One of ours? I doubt it."
"Think what you want," Dana shot angrily in his direction "But we can't send anyone from the bureau back there without making absolutely sure that we can trust everyone we work with."
"Do you mean on this operation specifically or should we be questioning the entire organization from the director down to every last mail clerk in every field office in the country?" he laughed?" Dean asked incredulously.
"Ass," Dana muttered under her breath. Dean's laid back attitude was really disturbing. She turned to him "Maybe I should just be questioning you."
Dean pulled the car over "Look," he said seriously "I'm sorry I'm just not willing to believe that anyone I know could be corrupted by Foster."
Dana looked out the window "Just drive," she sighed exasperatedly. She let her eyes drift closed as they left the seemingly peaceful scenery of Littlefield behind. She wished she'd been more steadfast in her objection to sending Paige in the first place but she had been so prepared, so confident. Dana fought to control herself before she started crying.
The silence in the car was beginning to get to Dean "I miss her too you know," he said finally.
"I know you do," Dana said dismissively.
"I talked protocol with her over and over again for a reason," he said quietly "She knew what she was doing. None of what happened to her makes sense. You're right, there has to be a leek, it's the only explanation… I just… I can't bring myself to believe it… I still don't think I can but… Paige was ready for this," there were tears in his voice now.
Out of curiosity Dana turned to look at him. He was crying "I shouldn't have let her go," she said quietly.
"It was her choice," Dean spoke quietly "I think she would have gone whether she had the support of the bureau or not. She wanted to get this guy just as much as we do," he gritted his teeth and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes "And we're gonna get him," he swore.
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"Trent Abraham," Dana looked at the tenth file of the night spread open in front of her on the motel room bed. She and Dean had hopped a relatively inexpensive flight from Dallas to New York City, hoping to find the help they needed in the New York field office. They'd tried to keep as low a profile as possible, in case the leek had any connections to this part of the country. Keeping a low profile could be quite disgusting sometimes, Dana decided, like when it came to sharing a motel room with Dean Porter.
"Straight shooter," Dean replied without even looking at the file "As honest as they come but for some reason I don't think he'll be able to infiltrate Foster's little gang."
"Why not?" Dana asked, reading through the file. He seemed like a perfect candidate.
"He's Jewish," Dean stated "If we know anything at all about Foster's little social gatherings, they are very white, very Christian get-to-gethers."
Dana sighed. She hated that Dean was right. She opened the next file "I'm still getting him out here to help us," she said with yet another sigh.
"Good idea," Dean agreed "He's great with surveillance."
"There'll be nothing to survey if we we've got no one to send back to Littlefield," Dana growled in pure frustration as she through all of the files onto the floor "Not one person who would could make there way into Foster's inner circle."
Dean picked up the filed and dropped them onto the nightstand. He settled himself on the other bed. He grabbed the TV remote "I'm sure there's someone," he yawned "Let's get some sleep and go over the files again in the morning."
"How am I supposed to sleep with you watching that thing?" Dana asked as she rolled onto her other side and tried to block out the sounds of the television.
A story on the evening news caught her attention. "What was that?" she asked, rolling back around to face Dean on the other bed "Turn it up."
There had been another bombing. Both agents were shocked. This was a long way from Texas. The reporters didn't make the connection but from the details they gave it was obvious to both Dana and Dean knew that this latest attack belonged in the same file as the attacks down south.
"They're getting too good at this," Dana said flatly as she allowed her body to fall limply on the bed.
"Luckily no one was seriously hurt," a man on TV who was being interviewed by the reporter said "The bomb was discovered long before detonation and the building was mostly empty when it went off."
"I know that guy," Dana said introspectively.
"Yeah," Dean said, propping his head up with his elbow "We both know him. That's Captain Cragen. The building that got bombed was the 16th precinct."
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"El…?" Olivia asked in a small whisper of a voice as they stared at the building. There was so much damage that it was hard to believe that no one had died in the explosion.
"Right here," he assured her, squeezing her hand tight. It had all happened so fast he wasn't even sure of the details himself. Once the bomb had been discovered a swift and effective evacuation had been put into effect. It had worked. But staring at the remnants of the place they had been in only half an hour earlier, Elliot couldn't help thinking about all the ways it could have all gone wrong.
"Shouldn't you call Kathy," Olivia said, looking pointedly over her shoulder at the reporters and cameras "You might want to get to her before the sensationalism of mass media does."
Elliot laughed "You'd better be careful," he chided as he reached for his cell phone "You don't want to turn into Munch now do you?" he fumbled around in his pocket only to realize that his phone was still inside the crumbling building. He was at least able to find his car keys and wallet "I guess I should go home and let her know in person," he said feeling a bit foolish.
He really didn't want to go home and face Kathy, even if it was just to let her know that he was fine. The fighting had been getting worse. Their conversations seemed to dissolve far too quickly into arguments over the smallest things.
He turned to his partner and smiled gently "Need a lift?" he asked.
Olivia nodded "Yeah, thanks," she followed him to his car, avoiding the prying eyes and probing questions of any reporter who got close enough to shout at either of them.
The ride back to her place was quiet and passed by much quicker than she wanted it to. When they reached her building, Elliot parked and got out. He came around to where she was standing and took her hand again. He was instantly surprised at how cold it felt "You okay?" he asked softly.
"I think I'm gonna need some vacation time," she smirked a bit. There was a part of her that was seriously considering the mandatory leave Cragen had offered to all of the people who had still been in the squad room when the desk sergeant had started screaming about a bomb.
"Me too," Elliot admitted. The truth was that near death experiences usually merited a break, time to step back and look at one's life.
Elliot cupped his partner's face in his hands and for a moment it looked like he was about to kiss her but something made him pull away. He'd seen something out of the corner of his eye and instantly went on alert.
Olivia had seen it too. She already had her hand on her gun when one of the two shadowy figures took a step towards them. The shadows slowly disappeared from the figure's face as it drew closer to a street lamp. Soon the two detectives could tell that the figure was a woman.
"Detective Benson?" the sweet southern twang of Agent Dana Lewis's voice reached them sound of passing traffic "We could really use your help."