This story contains big time spoilers for Now I Lay Me Down to Die. This is really important: Garrison's Gorillas is not mine. The premise and characters are the property of the writers and Production Company that originated the show, or whomever they sold the rights to. I receive no monetary gain from this. I am just trying to keep my stories close to canon.
Moonlighting Part 1
Garrison sat on the hard metal bench in the waiting area on the sub. It seemed like he had just gotten off one, probably because he had. Tired, but slightly less angry than he had been, he looked around at his men. Casino and Goniff were asleep. Good thing, considering Goniff was prone to seasickness. Chief was sitting at the table, concentrating hard on cleaning his blade. The man did not like enclosed spaces. Then there was Actor.
The big Italian was sitting on the end of the opposite bench, unsmiling. His eyes, when they met Garrison's, were hooded and brooding. Craig knew the man well enough by now to be certain the con man was unhappy with him. Any other time, Garrison would have been amused at the thought of getting Actor away from a woman, but their situations were a little too alike right now.
Craig gave a jerk of his head toward the mess. Actor rose gracefully to his feet despite the movement of the floor and followed the lieutenant into the mess, the expression on his face unchanged. The Italian took a seat at the empty table while Garrison obtained two mugs of coffee. One mug was set on the table and pushed over in front of the con man. Craig sat down and took a sip of his coffee.
"I suppose you didn't get any sleep either," said Garrison casually. "Guess I'm a little out of sorts."
"I imagine for the same reason I am," said Actor smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Craig had to keep himself from looking incredulously at the man. Was there nothing he could keep from the Italian? And just how much did he know? "Why would you say that?" he asked casually.
"Really, Lieutenant," said Actor with a knowing look. "Having your plans abruptly changed regarding military matters causes you some amount of annoyance, but not to this extent. Might I assume my activities of the night were a bit more successful than yours?"
"You might assume nothing," replied Craig with a touch of sharpness.
Actor raised one eyebrow over the top of the coffee mug in his hand, his suspicions confirmed. "You really should not have sent Teresa."
"Probably not," agreed Garrison, a wicked grin crossing his face. "But she should not have included herself in your leave."
"She was invited," said Actor. His eyes narrowed, "After all this time, do you really think we would harm her?"
"No," admitted Garrison. He decided to steer the conversation away from family and personal matters. "You missed the briefing. I'll fill you in."
Garrison proceeded to inform his second of the man from the OSS who had been captured by the Germans. They were to get him out or make sure he didn't talk. Craig preferred the first alternative as he knew his con man did also. They were going to a village, on a small fishing boat. Did Actor know how to pilot a sail boat with a small engine? Of course he did. Stupid question, but Garrison had to be sure. They would have to wait for information from their contact before devising a plan to free the agent named Charlie.
Both men sat back and slowly finished their coffee. There would be no sleep for either of them.
"It was a most pleasurable evening . . . night . . . morning . . .," mused Actor, "until Teresa arrived."
Garrison's eyes shot up and he watched the con man narrowly.
Actor seemed unaware of the reaction. "Yes, a delightful dinner, with a lovely companion who proved most accommodating in the bedroom afterwards."
"I'm happy for you," said Craig sarcastically, knowing what the con man was doing.
"Really, Warden?" Actor pushed his chair back and left Garrison glaring at his back as he stepped out of the mess.
Craig didn't have to see the Italian's face to know there was a smirk on it. As they said, payback was a . . . He couldn't wait to see what his sister cooked up to get even for his sending her to retrieve Actor from his little love nest. Terry would wait until Craig's guard was down . . . and then nail him.
GGGGG
In the early morning hours, as Craig and his men were leaving the sub and climbing aboard a small single-masted sailing vessel, Terry rolled over in her nice warm bed and stretched. She had retired early and decided to get up and get a head start on the day's activities. She figured the men would be gone for a couple days. If she got the household chores out of the way, she would have the mansion to herself. She got up, showered leisurely for water rationing, dressed in her pants and boots and a blouse and went downstairs to make herself some breakfast.
As always when the men were away, the house seemed cavernous and empty. At least it made it easier to get some work done. She washed up her few dirty dishes and retrieved the big wicker basket from the laundry room. Trudging back upstairs, she started hauling the dirty clothes back down. After sorting them into piles on the side table, she started a load of whites, sat down at the table and started to read a book on military strategy and tactics from West Point that she had 'borrowed' from Craig's office. The noisy machine received a glare from Terry's jaundiced eye. This wasn't the brand of washer they had on the ranch. Terry didn't trust it not to gobble up some of the clothes.
The strategies and tactics provided in the book had Terry shaking her head. Used to the type of warfare the group was waging, this made no sense. If Craig had been following the teachings of the Point, they would all be dead by now. Honor and ethics were okay, but not against a military force that displayed neither. The army couldn't seem to get a good grasp of guerrilla tactics. It made her suddenly wonder what this was doing to Craig's mind. Brought up from childhood with "The West Point Way", he now had to learn a whole new way of doing things that was 180 degrees different. Gee, maybe she should cut him some slack . . . no. She went back to her reading.
The first load had finished in the wash, been through the mangle, and returned to the tub with clean rinse water to which had been added a Reckitt's blue bag. Heaven forbid Actor's dress shirt and unmentionables should not be blued to a brilliant white. Terry outright giggled at that thought. While the others made do with army issue, the con man had specially ordered white fine cotton undergarments. The girl wondered what the Germans would think if they ever managed to get Actor down to his drawers.
The load was halfway through the rinse when the phone rang. Terry laid her book down, gave the washer a warning look, and went to answer the phone.
"Brandonshire Zoo," she said.
"It's too quiet. They must be gone." Shiv was on the other end.
"Good deduction," replied Terry.
"Can you come to the Fox?" the male voice said conspiratorially.
"Not right now. I can this afternoon when the laundry's on the line to dry." Terry frowned. "We can't be that busy."
Shiv let the 'we' pass. He was the only one connected with the pub that knew Terry had bought into half of it. "No. We just need to talk. I got a proposition for you."
"Jake Dear," said Terry wryly. "I am done being propositioned by you."
"Yeah," he said sourly. "Now you're with that old Casanova."
"Not you too?" objected Terry in disgust. "I swear I am going to have it tattooed on my forehead, 'I am not sleeping with Actor'." She shivered involuntarily as Elizabeth's advice flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away irritably.
"Yet," said her former lover with emphasis.
"Knock it off, Jake," said Terry, "or I won't come in this afternoon."
"Just teasing," said the man quickly.
"Yeah, well, from this end it's not funny." Terry made a face. "You don't have to deal with Craig."
"Just come in as soon as you can," said Shiv, back to business. "It's kind of important."
Terry wondered for the rest of the morning just what could be so important at the Fox. A little after the noon crowd had left, Terry drove into Brandonshire to satisfy her curiosity. She entered a completely empty pub and took a seat at the bar. The bar stools were the only concession that the pub was run by Yanks.
Shiv's blue eyes twinkled at her. He reached under the bar and came up with a dark bottle. Reaching behind for a beer glass, he opened the bottle and poured it into the glass, creating a perfect foam head. This was set in front of a dubious Terry. The liquor was the color of molasses.
"What's that?" she asked hesitantly.
"That, Me Girl, is Guinness." Shiv grinned widely. "Good Irish stout. Got a shipment in from Ireland."
Terry took a tentative sip. She puckered her lips. "That is warm and it tastes thick," she complained. "You got some ice cubes?"
"In Guinness?" exclaimed Kit emerging from the back room. "Terry, that's sacrilegious!"
"You drink this stuff?" Terry asked in disbelief.
"I'm learning," admitted the other girl.
Shiv shook his head. "Come on Terry, you have more than a drop of Irish in you. This is the nectar of the peat bogs."
"It tastes like it was fermented in the peat bog." At the blond man's sour look, Terry took another sip. "I'm trying."
Shiv sat on a barstool in front of Terry watching her speculatively.
"What?" she asked warily.
"How many missions you been on with the hoods?" he asked.
"Don't call them that," said Terry testily. "I don't know. Five or six. Why?"
"Think you could go into France and pick up some information for me and bring it back out? Real easy. Go in, go in a shop, get a package, and get the hell out and back here. You'd be back in twenty four hours."
Kit stared at him like he had lost his mind.
"Every time Craig says a mission is going to be 'real easy' it turns into a disaster," said Terry witheringly.
"I'm not your brother. I have easy missions."
Terry eyed him suspiciously. "Okay, Jake, spill it. What are you into?"
The blond man smiled humorlessly. "Ever hear of Jaguar?" Terry stared at him. "I'm Jaguar."
"I hope you're joking," said Terry. Great, she thought, and my other job is to tell Dad if I find out anything about Jaguar? He'll blow a gasket if he finds out it's Jake.
Nope," grinned Shiv. "I need this information brought out and I have to be at another meeting outside Paris. Can you do it?"
Terry thought on it a moment. She had to somehow get over the fear she had when she went on a mission with the guys. The only way to take on a fear was to face it. What better way to face it than make herself go it alone? "As long as it isn't anywhere near where Craig is going to be. Wouldn't that be just great to run into him somewhere in Occupied France?"
"Great!" said Shiv. He looked at her speculatively. "We have to come up with a code name for you."
"How about 'Idiot'?" suggested Terry, sarcastically, taking a sip if the warm ale.
"Naw, too short over the radio." Shiv thought on it. His eyes rested on the necklace Goniff had given her that was hanging around her neck. "How about 'Four Leaf Clover'?"
Terry made a face. "That is a stupid name for an operative."
"You think Jaguar isn't a stupid name for a resistance group?" countered Shiv.
"Fine. Clover it is," Terry muttered. "Stick me in a pasture and let cows eat me."
"I wish you hadn't put it quite like that," said Shiv. "You'll jinx yourself."
"I think you're both out of your frigging minds!" exclaimed Kit. She rounded on her girlfriend. "You have a death wish or something? You trying to get yourself killed?"
"It's not exactly on my agenda," said Terry with a faint grin. "I know how to do a pickup. What's the difference if I do it for Jake or do it with Craig?"
"At least with Craig you got five big strong . . . well, four and a half . . . men to take care of you." Kit tried to talk some sense into her friend.
"Don't count Goniff out," shot back Terry hotly in the Limey's defense. "He's stronger than he looks."
"Terry!" Kit looked at the other girl in frustration.
Terry sighed. "I can do it. I need to do it."
"Why?" The carrot haired woman just could not understand what was going through her girlfriend's mind.
"I have my reasons," answered Terry vaguely, but with enough conviction to cause the Gallagher girl to shake her head. Turning back to Shiv, Terry said, "Okay, but get me in and get me back out before Craig gets back."
Shiv grinned humorlessly. "I'll pick you up at two in the morning. We can go across the Channel together. I'll brief you on the way over. You'll come back by yourself. It's all arranged."
"Pretty sure of me, weren't you?" asked Terry wryly.
"I know you, remember?" was the response. "Can you look like a peasant?"
"I've been watching Actor with the makeup," replied Terry steadily. "I can probably make myself look like Hitler's mother if I had to."
"Yeah, well, let's not get carried away."
"I think you both have already gotten carried away," grumbled Kit.
"That attitude and the color of your hair is why I don't teach you," teased Shiv affectionately, giving the flaming redhead a kiss on the forehead.
"Her hair's red too," objected Kit.
"Not like yours."
GGGGG
About the time Terry was defending Goniff, Garrison and his men were sitting in a stolen car with the agent, Charlie, whom they had just rescued from the hospital, watching the Englishman get himself captured at the door of the hospital. Over heated objections from Casino, the army officer ordered Chief to drive away. There wasn't anything they could do for the pickpocket right now, he told them, and the mission was to rescue Charlie, so they drove to the safe house where Casino continued to protest loudly.
Craig was as upset as Casino, but didn't show it. This mission had been a screw up from the start. Their target had tried to escape his captors and only succeeded in getting himself shot and confined to a hospital where the Germans continued to interrogate him. Okay, change in plans, they had rescued Charlie from the hospital, only to lose Goniff. To make matters worse, once they got to the safe house, Charlie had tried to blow his head off with Garrison's gun. It seemed Charlie had already cracked and given the German officer, Krueger, information that compromised the Allies' communication system and put the lives of thirty-five agents in imminent danger. Could it get any worse? Garrison had a feeling it was going to.