At Journey's End
Post-series one-shot, based on random leaks from the Season 3 set and subsequent discussions. Spoilers ahead. A Yuletide request from my friend laughingpinecone, which was never written for the exchange and came into being for her birthday instead.
"What's new, Albert?"
The only response he can find is a grunt.
How Denise's voice can still sound this relaxed is a mystery to him. He does not regard himself as the grounded, hands-on kind of guy without a reason – if there is a condition he hates more than anything, well, it is the calm of helplessness.
It wouldn't be nearly as bad, if only this place weren't so full of it. Of course their search needed to throw them here, after two decades of trying to fix one giant screw-up. A restricted area of a godforsaken desert.
"Nothing, really," he spouts. "His Majesty Gordon Cole's acting up again. I'm not saying he's overdoing it, but for us, come on, he could cut it with the secrecy. Having to decode his secret language every goddamn time drives me crazy."
As always in these cases, Denise decides it is her cue to lay down her own research and take over. Her heels click her way to him at a regular pace, which helps him think straight, if nothing else. She occupies the scrawny chair by his side just as serenely.
"At least he wrote," she says, gently reaching for his phone. "That's more than we could say in the past thirty ours. Let me give it a shot, will you?"
He hands it over without resistance. Better find something else to do in the unnerving wait. He passes by her laptop, refusing to look at the familiar writing on the screen, to lean against a window he doesn't care about dirtying.
Outside, he finds an unoriginal stretch of sand and rocks. Even if Albert were there for more recreational reasons, he is pretty sure he would remain just as unimpressed. Southern Nevada is monotonous and flat – not a change in sight for hundreds of miles, except the mountains.
They seem to tease him, as well. Barely visible in the distant sunset, looming to the west, like a mirage he is never going to catch.
Since it happened, lots of things tend to do that to him. He is perfectly aware he is projecting. The awareness doesn't help.
No wonder the feeling of idleness got worse, in the living hell of the past twenty-something years of his life. The mere thought he was never there when it could have made a difference – that's what drives him off the deep end at the slightest halt in the plans.
Hadn't it been for the others, and that stubbornness of theirs he calls sentimentality, he wouldn't have made it to this age, let alone this crap pile of a federal building.
He would never say it out loud, but thank God they exist. No. Thank them.
On second thought, he is not so sure he is able to enjoy anything anymore. Ugly desert or not, his is barely a life. It is still enough to press on – which is what counts.
"It's Harry."
A simple mention of the name is enough to shake him from his apathy. Harry means news of some kind. Not exactly useful ones, most of the time, but what else do they have?
"He's been with us non-stop for the last few months," Denise announces, going over the results of her deciphering. "Undercover, took time off from work. The tip-off he got led to a new drug route no one knew about before now."
Despite the turmoil those words cause in his chest, Albert turns to her as if nothing major had just happened. She holds his phone with grace, and not any less determination. Her firmness speaks volumes about what comes next.
"So we have to move again?"
"In a way."
Albert cannot resist the temptation to cross his arms. He ends up voicing his opinion, like it usually happens.
"Good for me," he says, his tone blunt and matter-of-fact. "That's fine and all – just let me ask you something. Is it a concrete result? Because this is just what we have done all along, isn't it? Chasing after half the dealers in the States for the past twenty-odd years, not to count in all the other scum. It is your field, you know better than me. Now, you also know Harry. He tends to be, how should I put it, overly involved. And-"
"And you don't?"
He shuts up at once, discouraged. All he had hoped to voice was his frustration with a game they've been playing too long – zero leads to follow, zero certainties, if not for what they could make out of the paranormal mess. Not this. Not at all.
Of course, when Denise is involved, there is little to no chance of coming out victorious. He has learnt to know better. She squeezes her words and tiny smiles into the smallest crevices – like that, her fluid being reaches farther than anyone Albert has ever known. Training, he guesses.
"Really, cut it, Albert." She does not sound aggressive – just unmovable. "You should trust your colleagues more. And while I get it is difficult for you, none of us has it any easier."
"You mean it?"
Even though they don't, he can picture her eyes narrowing down to splits.
"You should listen to the rest of it, before jumping to conclusions so fast," she replies, mellow. "It's Vegas, honey. The product ends up in the biggest drug trade in Nevada. After all… all the nasty business he's been up to in the dark, he is finally coming into the light. We were not wrong after all."
Albert studies her face, to meet a warm kind of empathy he once thought he would never find again. It's refreshing, at the very least, to have her by his side. The times when he could afford to face his work alone, chest shielded and shoulders strong and wide, are farther away than he would like to admit.
This hasn't been about work for a long time. This is a war he is fighting against life.
She understands, and has the decency to leave it at that.
"It's serious business, then," he observes. "I presume things are getting in motion, at last?"
Denise offers no answer. He doesn't need one, anyway.
"Good. Safety first, then. He's tricking us into something, isn't he?"
She nods appreciatively. At the very least, she seems to say, you never lose your lucidity.
"It could be a trap, Albert. You are most likely right. Remember Earle? The… criminal, so to say, has often proved us to share his methods. He shares Cooper's intellect and memories as well, that's for sure."
"No more," Albert interrupts, his teeth clenched. "I get the picture. Let's hurry."
They stay up to plan their movements until they can afford to. Neither cares about sleeping anymore. Nothing a little coffee cannot fix – especially when it comes to things like these, where unknown forces and tremendous consequences are on the line.
Against the tranquility of their years to come, a little sleep deprivation is worth nothing.
The new day dawns before they can get some rest. The desert is on fire. In its golden light, Albert turns to Denise, and sends her a plea neither ever hears.
Nonetheless, she speaks to him.
"We've waited too long, honey," she says, smiling. "Don't worry. We'll find him. We'll stop him."
Albert does not bother thinking of an answer. He just enters his room, with only a shower and darkness on his mind.
At the last minute, he finds he does not have the courage to lock himself in.
He surrenders. He completes her sentence.
"And we will get him back."
The door slams.
Now, maybe, he can rest in peace.