So...um, so sorry because I don't have drive to write more. My little plot bunny fuzzled out. If people are really that interested though I can write out what else is supposed to happen. Because it's all planned, it's just that I can't write it as anything more then systematics.

I don't own Common Law and for a pretty good reason.

"Please don't resist." The woman in black shades requests softly as she draws up beside him, gun pointed at Travis. "I'd hate to have to shoot in this kind of crowd." Travis swallows and does not resist when similarly dressed men and woman emerge from the crowd and surround him, ushering him into a black unmarked Sudan. He cooperates as the woman slides in after him while the others started disappearing into the crowd. At least he cooperates until the car glides away from the curb.

"What the fuck is going on?" He demands now that any shot made will hit only the intended target of him instead of innocent bystanders.

The woman smiles, a smile Travis recognizes as fake, and replies, "We've commandeered you as property of V.O.I.D and in extension-the United States."

Travis raises an eyebrow and gives her an eloquent, "What?"

"Travis Marks, partner to Wesley Mitchell-both of you are cops in therapy. Highest arrest rate in county, rumored to be best in state. Marksmanship-excellent. Foster child, over 30 foster families. Number of people taken home, well 328 at last count." She pauses for a second to take in Travis's rattled look, "Barely passed the test for your badge but your IQ is off the charts. Just not that interested? Firm relationship status with former families, the department, and your therapist- one Doctor Emma Jaclyn Ryan, I believe. Accumulated injuries are 3 knife wounds, one at age 8, another at 17, and the last one age 24; a gunshot wound-hit your stomach area, non-vital organs only. Graduated from high school, age 16, at Grayford High as salutatorian despite missing the maximum days allowed by state law. And let us not forget that flawless criminal record, at last until that incident street racing. Judge let you off easy I think." Travis is reminded of a diamond, cold, beautiful, but unfeeling and sharp. "Do I need to go on?" she said with a disturbingly serene look on her face

Travis shakes his head, "I could just hop out of the car." He pointed out helpfully.

"Child locks-literally child's play." The woman retorted.

Travis grinned, "Windows."

The woman leans back as though assessing how stupid this man believes her to be, "Ah, but Mr. Marks, when you run we will chase you. Going through anyone and everyone in our way. I don't think you want that." Travis fell silent, knowing the answer but he could hardly hold back the question that had nagged him since the beginning of this meeting.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the item that Mr. Mitchell cares most about. You're our bargaining chip, if you don't mind the crude saying." The woman smiled and leaned over, letting her hand rest at the junction of Travis's shoulder and neck. He felt a pinch before the darkness swallowed him up and was therefore unable to see the woman pull out a mobile and call someone.

"I have the cargo part one, sir. He's sleeping like a baby and will be waiting for you at the drop off point." Her smile turned real at whatever was said next and with a nod she was demanding the driver pull over. She had other business to attend to now that this piece of the grand puzzle was safely in route to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters.

"So where's Alex?" Wes demanded, stepping into a marble meeting room that he used to be very familiar with. A single desk took center stage and Wes noted two exits. The door he had entered from and the door behind the desk. No windows or weak spots, this room was a debriefing chamber and one of the hardest places to escape from if someone expected you to escape.

The receptionist looked at him obviously annoyed at having been interrupted before curtly answering, "She's not here."

"But you said that you had the person I cared most about all wrapped up here and if I didn't come they'd bite the gun. That'd be Alex for your information." Wes informed her bluntly, too worried about Alex to worry about his hand.

"Would it be Alex, Mr. Mitchell?" She smirked, "Seeing as you mentioned her by name, I doubt that. No, we've got a…" she flipped through her planner pretending to search for the name, "Mr. Travis Gabriel Marks in custody." The smile would seem pleasant in any other circumstance but Wesley read it as the threat it was.

In an almost desperate attempt he played confused, "Oh, you mean my cop partner? If you kill him just keep it clean, I don't like the paperwork. It'd make my job easier if I had another one." He had not imagined, even in his darkest nightmares that they would pick Travis as their bargaining chip-especially now that their relationship was so rocky.

"Don't lie, Mr. Mitchell, it is unbecoming." The secretary replied in with a steel infused voice. "One wrong step and the cop bites the bullet in the most literal sense of that analogy. We might even give you the head as a keepsake if you don't cooperate. You see, sir, it really is your best interests we're looking out for." She peered at him from behind the wire frames of her glasses and Wes knew he had been beaten this time.

He sighed and avoided looking directly at the receptionist, "What do you want done?" The woman smiled ecstatically and slipped a file across the polished maple desk to the reluctant man. He picked it up and dropped it again shortly after reading it, as though it had turned into a live viper.

"No," He said shortly, "I refuse."

The woman nodded sadly and stood, "I'll inform the gun squad then. Have fun with that paperwork, Mr. Mitchell." She turned her back to enter the other room, when Wes' hand alighted on her elbow.

He swallowed when she turned around, "Never mind, I'll do it." His hand dropped and she smiled. "But only if you promise to release Tr...Mr. Marks. He must be unharmed and unbothered by you for the rest of his life. I won't have a civilian harmed in this war game of yours."

The woman giggled, "Ah, you make high stakes. As a former lawyer I suppose you can do that. I'll see what the men up top say but do remember that he is a cop no matter what choice you make today." Serious eyes met his cloudy one, "It won't always be such a visible threat, Mr. Mitchell, and one can hardly negotiate with death. But you already knew that didn't you?" Cryptic message relayed, she swirled back around and disappeared into the depths of the building that owned him and now Travis. Wes was left alone with a dossier, his "job", and his thoughts.