AN: This is part of a much larger work that is being posted on AO3 by Ellaworm11 and I. The story is called Fireworks, and we currently have chapter 1 up. These are snippets from chapter 3. Fireworks is a multi-crossover fic which combines Agents of Shield, Avengers, Once Upon a Time, Warehouse 13, Damages, and includes references to Firefly and How I met your mother. Good luck!
July 2, 2014
Patty Hewes sits in her office with a mug of steaming coffee in hand. She is reviewing evidence and calls for the intern.
"Drake Andersson," She states as the intern walks in, "I don't like him."
The intern is a heavy-boned blonde, possibly in her mid thirties, obsessed with pencil skirts and Disney hairstyles. Disposable; Ellen was so much more resourceful. Patty whips a pair of red rimmed reading glasses from her face.
"There's nothing to suggest he had any involvement," the intern informs, unhelpfully.
Something in Patty Hewes makes her want to strangle the insipid woman in front of her.
"No, that's not true," Patty regards the flimsy file in front of her with nothing short of abhorrence, "No, there is always something...Andersson...Andersson, now he's in the perfect position to organize widespread corruption within third-rate adoption agencies. In terms of a motive; well, supply and demand. He's the foreman, never sees the destruction his actions create, just the profits….and in such a market so unregulated, he could be scamming the suppliers, many of which may be unaware they are part of an illegal operation."
Patty's face darkens into a scowl. She can see it all happening. It's how these arrogant sons-of-bitches work, but after having exhausted all of her usual resources, she has yet to come out with any usable evidence.
The intern shifts in the uncomfortable tension permeating the air.
"We have new evidence, Mrs. Hewes," the intern squeaks, placing a file very delicately on Patty's desk, as if any stray movements could cause a catastrophic chemical reaction.
Patty snatches up the file and reads it.
"Angels of Heaven was dismissed," Patty sniffs, then flips through the papers. A blonde eyebrow raises in inquiry, "But it appears some things were overlooked."
Patty thanks the intern who leaves quickly.
And Patty sits; the coffee has gone cold.
And she broods.
July 3, 2014
"Damn you, Ellen!" Patty Hewes curses from her hotel room, approximately sixteen kilometers from Storybrooke.
She sits in a mountainous circle of papers with her reading glasses on, a cup of coffee in hand, gazing through her files and figuring that whatever conclusion she must have come to which lead her all the way out to the middle of nowhere was all orchestrated by none other than Ellen Parsons to get her to leave New York.
She begins packing her briefcase and heading for the door after pouring her coffee down the drain of her suite and tidying herself for whatever confrontation she might have today with either the Mayor of Storybrooke, or her own ex protégé. Really, how could she have been so foolish as to believe that the perpetrator, or, at least one of the major players of a case as large scale as this one, was a small town Mayor of a place nobody has heard of, ever?
As she leaves and finds her parked Mercedes in the lot, she figures that, at the time, it seemed like the perfect ruse.
Ellen, though, gave this ruse up far too early last night when she revealed that she knew about this Regina Mills, and now Patty is prepared to take down Ellen at all costs for not only leading her off trail for whatever purpose that may be (she suspects it has sinister intent, although she doubts that Ellen has the heart to pull anything too troubling off) but also tampering with her evidence.
As she merges off the interstate and passes the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign, she steels herself for the day ahead of her.
Upon encroaching into town, Patty cannot help but roll her eyes at the childish appeal in decorations lining the streets up and down. She finds Ellen's black cadillac parked in the bed and breakfast, a part of the diner where the two women had met yesterday, and promptly drives past.
The streets are still quiet at this hour, and there are sparse few people actually about. She settles for a parking spot along a side street and picks up her cell phone to make a morning call to the mayor.
The line rings twice before the mayor's voice groans over.
"Miss Swan…" Regina could not sound more pitiful.
"I'm sorry, Madame Mayor, but this is Patty Hewes speaking again."
There is a beat of silence over the line, Patty assumes it is because the Mayor is stunned for the Mayor does not seem groggy as if just awoken from sleep, but, rather, worn down as if she hadn't slept much at all – probably worrying herself over Patty's threat, Patty thinks to herself.
"I must admit, you have a charming little corner over here to yourself, although you might do well to remove those hideous decorations and never put them up again. They make your streets look like trash," Patty continues.
Surprisingly, the mayor rises up to the challenge, voice hardening and becoming stern and regal in resonance, "Invaded my town, have we? Now what, are you going to slam me with the full force of your legal reputation? I've done my research on you, Mrs. Hewes. There is nothing you can do to convict me of anything."
Regina's voice suddenly becomes menacing, "I am innocent."
Patty gives a 'hm' like she's thinking, although she already knows what she is going to say. It is always best to remain in control of the conversation, make your opponent hasty and impatient so that they make the mistake.
"If so, Madam Mayor, can you explain a certain phenomenon I have just discovered looking back in some old newspapers? One marked June 21, 1981?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Are you certain? This is your local paper, the Daily Mirror."
"As I already stated, I have no clue what you're talking about," Regina states with finality, as if she were about to end the conversation.
"You say that you are innocent now," Patty continues, sensing Regina's unease, "But something tells me you weren't always as innocent as you claim to be. What is in your past, Mrs. Mills?"
"There's no Mr. and I have no desire to continue this conversation," Regina says, clipped.
"That's very well," Patty says, "Good day, now, Madame Mayor, I hope you find your life satisfying in this little shanty town you have here," She clears her throat, " Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, Happy belated 66th birthday."
Patty Hangs up.
July 1st 2014
"I want Patty Hewes out of her element. A place - physical, psychological - it doesn't matter; somewhere where she can't control me." Ellen Parsons leans back in her office chair.
It is almost noon, and most of the other lawyers and office workers are on lunch break. The hallways are quiet, so Ellen has closed the door.
Drew Sanders, fellow attorney at the New York D.A. office, crosses his arms.
"Lead her out of the office?" He suggests.
A good plan. Patty's power is her firm; it is her life, her obsession. Send her on a wild goose chase somewhere else in the country, or even the state, and she is automatically at a disadvantage. Ellen begins sorting through papers in a cabinet beneath her desk which is kept under lock and key.
Yet, even at a disadvantage, Patty Hewes is still Patty Hewes, and taking her down will be near impossible if not done with utmost care and precision.
"Patty's a control freak; she wouldn't leave unless it was absolutely necessary," Ellen admits.
"So make it necessary," Drew takes a sip of coffee, "The damn nut job…"
Ellen retrieves a manila folder and extracts a sheet of paper. She hands it to Drew along with a packet of papers, photographs of a dark haired woman, and a copy of a boy's birth certificate.
"Here's a list of the adoption agencies and state foster systems originally thought to have been involved, but were dropped early on in the case," Ellen elaborates, pointing out a name on the sheet, "There's one here: Angels from Heaven. It was suspected because of its friendly cooperation with nontraditional families - single parents, gays, elders - with limited red tape. I've looked into one of the adoptions in particular: a boy from Phoenix, Arizona who was adopted by a single mother living in a small town in Maine. I would like to redact Patty's files to include this information."
"A Red Herring?" Drew sniffs, "That's hardly elaborate."
Ellen continues, "The woman who adopted the boy is mayor, third term, flawless credentials. I did some digging and it turns out that the birth mother is living in the same town acting as sheriff even though it was a closed adoption.
"There's probably a story behind this, maybe a bit of lawlessness, but nothing that concerns me. All I care is that Patty Hewes directs her anger at a public figure in a town no one's heard of.
"Now that she has no one left to use at her disposal: not Tom, not Uncle Pete, not me, she has no choice but to follow her leads into this town herself."
Drew nods, impressed, and hands back the papers which Ellen returns to the file cabinet.
"And then what?" Drew prompts.
"Then I will be waiting for her," Ellen says distantly. She shakes her head, as if waking up from a daze, "Do you have the file?"
Drew opens his briefcase and hands a binder to Ellen, "Drake Andersson. He's the exec who oversees the trafficking."
Ellen takes the binder in her hands and stares at if for a good long time.
"Good, Drew; I want you to burn it," She finally states, handing the binder back dismissively.
Drew is taken aback. This wasn't supposed to be about sabotaging the case or evidence. This was about beating Patty Hewes in a race. A race to put to justice those criminals responsible for illegally trafficking over 3,000 children across the United States to foreign countries. The only means of doing so lying, three hole punched, on the eight-and-a-half by eleven sheets of paper enclosed in the binder in his hands.
"Wait, what?" He snaps the binder shut.
"You heard me; destroy the evidence, burn the trail - anything that leads the case back to him. We can't have Patty getting her hands on this file," She delivers a hard stare that freezes his blood, "And if you don't do what I ask, I have enough dirt on you to have you removed, arrested; and, trust me, you will never practice again."
He faces her, breathing hard, "You're a maniac!"