A/N I'm overwhelmed. I checked my mail account like 7 hours after publishing the first chapter and had 34 mails from fanfiction . net - I didn't have 34 mails in such a short time since I got rid of all the damn spam. Thanks, guys! Of course I'll take my time to reply to some of your reviews in the end of every chapter. I won't say something to all of them, but of course every single one is noticed and read with pleasure, so keep them coming, please!

I'm not really content with Alex's parts and Piper's last part in this chapter, but… Oh, well. It is how it is. I hope you enjoy it.


Chapter 2
Failure

Newark, New Jersey
Springfield/Belmont
06:59 PM

Traffic sucks, like always at rush-hour. Cars creep honking through the streets, the highways are jammed and you listen to profanity everywhere you go. No human being with a healthy mind is able to make a single good point about rush-hour.

Alex is no exception. She isn't made for this slow progress. She lives for the excitement, the business, the rush. She isn't that different from her customers; a junkie. Her drug however isn't heroin, it's adrenalin. It gets her on cloud nine and at the same time slowly rips her apart from inside out without her even noticing.

In this moment though she's thankful that she's stuck in traffic with Billy because of a broken traffic light which causes even more chaos on the already much-trafficked crossing.

She doesn't know what to expect when she'll enter the warehouse. She doesn't know who to expect. Fahri will be there, but will Kubra be there, too? Or will he simply send a henchman to do his dirty job, whatever that might consist of?

While Billy mumbles slurred and gets exasperated with the current traffic situation, Alex gazes out of the side window and notices subconsciously a mother trying to soothe her little boy after his ice-cream dropped from the waffle to the ground and now decorates the curb.

A man in a suit walks across them without regarding them any further until he steps right into the ice cream with his big Italian shoe. Instantly he curses and turns to the boy to make him accountable. The boy cries even more so that his mother steps forward protectively and gets cussed at instead of her son.

Right now Alex feels like the mother. She'll be held liable and get punishment for something without being blamable. Leila backing out isn't her fault, but she was responsible for the transport. Like the mother is for her son. She tried to defuse the situation and redress the problem but she wasn't fast enough. And now she has to anticipate something driven by anger and disappointment.

She faces the windshield again and notices that the police is starting to regulate the traffic at the crossroad with the broken lights. Slowly the chaos dissolves and Billy steps on the gas.

A few minutes later they park the car in front of the warehouse. It actually is only a row of three houses with connected basements in the middle of Springfield/Belmont near the Central High School. The upper floors are used as sleeping facilities for mules and other passing through cartel members, whereas the basement is used as storage for the drugs and money.

Nasir, another cartel member, lives in these houses and officially rents the rooms to travelers, just so that the frequently incoming and outgoing of different people with suitcases doesn't attract unwanted attention in the neighborhood. Every now and then a nonmember actually runs into the houses and crashes in one of the rooms for a few nights, but Nasir only lets that happen when no drugs have to be moved around. Hence in this moment the rooms are empty except for members.

Strictly speaking this warehouse is none of the main warehouses, it's only an interim storage where drugs and money are prepared for future transports or to deliver them directly to the dealers or used as a meeting point.

Alex gets out of the car and heads for the middle house, her head held high, the hands empty, followed by Billy. She opens the door with her own key and steps into the hallway. On the dark parquet lies a Turkish carpet, paintings of landscapes at various seasons and daytimes adorn the walls. Next to the front door are a hallstand on which three jackets are hanging and a closed shoe rack.

On the left side are the stairs up to the next floor and down to the basement. Three doors lead out of the hallway into the smallest bathroom of the house, the kitchen and the big den where usually business is done. Alex faces the third door and takes a deep breath before entering the room.

Fahri sits on the black leather couch, his back turned to Alex, and watches a soccer match on the big television screen. He doesn't turn around or twitches in any way as acknowledgement of her, until he suddenly says a simple but harsh "hello, Alex."

She steps closer to the couch until she stands next to Fahri and stares down at him. He swirls his glass of whiskey around, his gaze glued to the screen.

Alex is rarely as nervous in his presence as now. His silence is what drives her crazy. The fact that he seems completely unconcerned about what's going to happen to her.

Maybe he really doesn't even care, Alex considers, while trying to analyze something useful out of his face. After all Alex is just a small cog in a big wheel. A cog which caused problems and now has to be repaired or replaced. This is business for Fahri and nothing more. The fact that he picked the 18-years old Alex up at her idiot of a father, taught her everything she needed to know about the business and treated her somewhat like family has nothing to do with this. In the end she is only a member of the drug cartel who screwed up.

"Sit down", he eventually says and points with the glass in his hand to the empty place next to himself.

So she sits and eyes the screen, too. She doesn't really care about soccer, but it's either watching the match with pretended interest or panicking. And she sure as hell won't allow herself to panic, since Alex Vause doesn't panic. She gets angry and upset, she screams and cusses, but she doesn't panic.

Fahri puts his glass down on the small coffee table, stands up and walks over to the bar at the other side of the room to grab a new bottle of whiskey as well as another empty glass. He sits back down, fills both glasses with the expensive liquor and hands one of them to Alex. She takes it with a thankful nod, but doesn't make a move in order to sip it.

"So, what now?", she asks after almost three minutes of silence as calm as possible to hide her very unpleasant feelings.

"We wait for Kubra", he answers as if it would be the only logical thing to do right now and Alex downs her drink.


New York City, New York
Manhattan
DEA New York Division
12:41 AM

The only sounds echoing in the dimly lit office are the ticking of the wall clock, the working CPU of her computer and the faint snoring of her colleague.

Nicky has her head bent back, tilted to the right and the mouth slightly opened. Some saliva pools in the corner of her mouth. Her left arm is stretched above her belly, the right one hangs limply off the body. Her feet are cross-over propped up on the desk. According to Piper this position seems to be likewise absolutely uncomfortable and enviable. She herself stares at her flickering monitor, leaning on her elbows.

They arrived around 9 PM at the forensics and delivered all evidence to be examined. After that they got back to their office to start the investigation itself. Finding out the name of the owner of the suitcase was pretty easy, at least the surname. It was printed on the identification-tag, after all.

Smith.

Unfortunately not really an uncommon name and the security service of the airport allowed themselves plenty of time to send them a list with the passengers of flight LH-404. Time, Nicky used to fall asleep on her chair.

At 11:02 PM Piper held an old-fashioned fax in her hands, a long list of names which she swiftly skimmed. It didn't take long to find the full name of the vanished owner.

Leila Smith.

She fed a few tracing files with the name and waited, falling asleep momentarily.

She looks at the clock. 12:42 AM. And back at the screen. A window flashes and instantly her tiredness is gone. The name actually appears in the criminal records.

Piper clicks on the search results and a new window opens, showing a mugshot of a young woman; early twenties, short dark-blonde hair, grey eyes and thin face.

She got arrested three years ago for driving without a license, a relatively minor and for the case completely uninteresting offense, but she has a record and in this moment that's everything Piper has.

She already turns around to wake up Nicky in order to tell her about the discovery, as the phone rings and undertakes this task.

"Wha-?", Nicky mumbles still half-asleep as she opens her eyes slowly and turns her head towards the annoying ringing. Thereby her feet slip off the desk and fall to the ground, causing her to almost fall out of the chair.

Piper takes the call and watches amused as Nicky can just about prevent her fall by grabbing the edge of the desk. "Chapman?"

"Forensics, here. We found some prints, already checking the files", a very tired voice tells her.

"Great."

"And we've got one hit by now. A certain… Leila Smith."

Piper's eyes widen and her lips form a small grin. She briefly scans her own find again. "Resident in Manhattan?"

"Uh, yes."

"Wonderful, thank you. Send me all you've got up here and keep me up to date", Piper doesn't wait for an answer, she simply hangs up and turns back to Nicky who stares tired but expectantly at her. "We've got an address."

Piper writes the address down, grabs her badge and gun and gets ready to take off. Nicky stays seated and watches her puzzled.

"What, you wanna go now?!", Nicky asks incredulous and looks at her, at the clock and back at her.

"Got something better to do?"

"Actually, yeah", she throws her legs on the desk once more, settles back and closes her eyes.

Piper sighs and hangs her head for a second, before she stands up and leans herself against Nicky's desk. Her colleague doesn't react in any way.

"Nicky-"

"Agent Nichols is currently unavailable. Please try again later", she mumbles and makes herself more comfortable in the chair.

Piper thinks about what to say to the stubborn woman to convince her of standing up and going to work without using any force as she gets an idea. She smirks mischievously at her. "If you don't get up now, I'll tell Red that you rather sleep at work than doing it."

At that name Nicky opens one eye and furrows her brow. "You wouldn't dare."

"It's way too long ago since I was at Dmitri's. I could take a circuit after work, eat some Vatrushki, get into a conversation, let some things slip. You know how that works."

Nicky continues staring at Piper and considers calling her bluff, lastly though she swings her legs to the ground and grabs her own belongings. "You walk on thin ice, Blondie."


"If we run into my mother out here, I'll kill you", Nicky deadpans as they walk down a street on Upper East Side, searching for the apartment complex Leila lives in.

"It's like half past one and freezing. I don't think your mother is even outside of her bed."

"Who knows, she could be vampire. I'm still waiting for the test results."

They continue walking in silence until Piper suddenly stops and looks up and down a redbrick house. Nicky, who didn't saw her stop, walks right into the side of the taller blonde.

"Gee, Chapman!"

"That's it", Piper says completely careless about her colleague at her side and walks to the entrance door.

They climb the stairs up to the third floor and go straight to a dark door with the number 307 painted white on it. Piper doesn't hesitate but simply knocks at the door. "Miss Smith?"

No reaction. She knocks again, this time louder. "Miss Smith, open up."

"You know, maybe she's - I dunno - asleep? Some people tend to do that after midnight."

Piper darts an annoyed glance at her colleague before knocking once more. "Police! Open up!"

She continues knocking for a few minutes, but eventually gives up and starts to turn away as Nicky raises one hand. "Wait", she leans against the wooden door with her ear. "You hear that?"

"What?"

"I think someone's screaming for help", Nicky claims as everything in the corridor is completely silent.

"Nicky…"

"I swear", she says while pulling a lock-pick set out of her pocket and starts to pick the lock, "I can hear it loud and clear."

"That's break-in and trespass."

"No, no. This is break-in", she says, turns the lock-pick until the lock snaps audible back and opens the door. "And this", she takes one step forward across the door sill, "is tres - whoa."

"What?", Piper asks as Nicky suddenly stopped speaking in the middle of the sentence and stands with wide opened eyes in the middle of the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. She looks past the wild strawberry-blonde mane and gazes at pure chaos. She squeezes past Nicky into the apartment and turns the lights on.

The glass coffee-table lays scattered in form of hundreds pieces across the floor, a lamp seems to be knocked down from a cupboard, some dried blood is sprayed across the glass mess and the couch and a sharp butcher's knife is plugged into the leather.

"I'll call the forensic guys", Nicky says, turns around and leaves the apartment again to make the call.


Newark, New Jersey
Springfield/Belmont
01:26 AM

Alex is already asleep. She went to one of the rooms after Fahri told her that it would take a while until Kubra would be here and sent Billy away. Her sleep was stunningly calm and relaxing, but very light. Every tiny sound caused her to wake up, like when Kubra Balik finally enters the house.

The front door opens, two talking men enter and the door clicks shut again. The men go directly downstairs and Alex sits up, grabs her glasses and runs her fingers through her hair. A third man goes down into the basement and another pair of feet comes upstairs.

Somebody knocks at her door and opens it instantly without asking for permission. Light shines into the room and blinds Alex for a second. "It's time", Fahri says and turns around, waiting for Alex to follow him.

They go down to the first floor and then the basement. Fahri types the security code in the panel and opens the heavy door so that they can enter the isolated room.

Shelves are built up at the walls filled with cases full of counted money and measured drug packages. In the middle is a round table, intended for eight people. On the left and right doors lead to the basements of the other houses.

Kubra leans against the desk, next to him his always present bodyguard and Nasir. Fahri remains at the side of Alex, but takes a step to the side as Kubra approaches her.

"Take of your glasses", is everything he says and Alex complies confused. He takes a swing at her and hits her face with the back of his right hand. Her head snaps to the side and her lip splits open. She tastes her own blood and turns her head back, fully anticipating another blow, but instead Kubra turns to Nasir. "Get her some ice."

Nasir leaves the room and Kubra takes a step back again. Alex puts her glasses back on and feels surprisingly soothed.

"To say, I'm pissed", he says, his eyes fixed on the blood which runs down Alex's chin and hands her a handkerchief to wipe it away, "would be an understatement."

"I'm sorry", she responds, "but it isn't my entire fault."

"I know."

Nasir steps back into the room and hands Alex an ice pack, which she promptly holds to the right side of her face. She flinches for a moment because of the cold before accustoming to it and welcoming the analgesic feeling.

"You cede the next few runs. Consider it a… vacation", Kubra orders her with a glumly voice and slightly frustrated face and Alex remembers Michael's and Billy's words; you're irreplaceable. He faces away from Alex and turns to Fahri, "the runner?"

"Was home, trying to grab some few things before running off", Fahri replies, thinking of Leila, "they brought her to the docks."

"Then don't let us waste any more time", he says and sends everyone out of the basement. Except for Nasir they all get into Kubra's car and head for the docks in the south of Bayonne.


At the end of the unlit and empty dock kneels a woman, hands bound behind her back, a black bag pulled over her head. Two men stand at her side, holding her shoulders and keeping her down. Her arms have tiny cuts and blood is spread across her shirt. She's shaking with cold and fear.

A faint whimper and sob is audible and gets louder as Alex, at the side of Kubra and Fahri, approaches her. Kubra carries a small case, which he deposits as he kneels before the woman and pulls the bag away from the head.

Short blonde hair, with panic filled eyes and a face smeared in blood come to light. The mouth is covered with duct tape which Kubra carefully tears off.

"Hello, Leila", he says as he puts some leather gloves on. The young woman remains silent except for her whimpering and sobbing. "I am really and severely disappointed." He opens the case and draws a gun and a suppressor out. Slowly he stands up and screws the parts together.

"Please", Leila whimpers and looks at Alex with watery eyes who remains silent and inactive. She doesn't like what's about to happen, but it's part of the business. Everybody knows what to expect when you disappoint Kubra. This is a drug cartel after all.

"No, no", Kubra says shaking his head and grabs Leila's chin to turn her head back and forces her to face him. His voice is calm and soft, almost friendly, "you forfeited your chance at the very moment you left the bag at the airport." He points the gun at her face. "Tell me, how much did we lose because of you?"

Leila doesn't answer, plainly keeps shivering and sobbing, her eyes twitch, her lips tremble.

"Alex?", he asks as Leila keeps quiet, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Twenty pounds", she replies in a calm but faint voice.

"Twenty pounds", he repeats, "do you want to know how much that's worth?" He releases the safety catch of his gun. "Half a million." And pulls the trigger without hesitation.

The head snaps back at first before it hangs down, the entire body slumps and falls to the side as the two men let go of her shoulders. Slowly the dark blood spreads under the body, causing the dusting of snow to melt.

"Clean up", Kubra tells them and then turns to Alex, "and you be more careful with picking your sweet, little girls."


New York City, New York
Brooklyn
Park Slope
04:53 PM

The train squeals loud as it stops at 7 Av, the doors open and Piper gets off together with a dozen or so other people. She climbs up the stairs and steps into the daylight.

To say that she's tired would be an understatement. Unlike Nicky she isn't able to sleep comfortable and in long terms in an office chair. All she could do was nod off every few hours for about thirty minutes maximum.

It took the forensics over two hours to check the room completely and it wasn't until 5 AM that Piper and Nicky got back to the DEA office, where they issued a warrant for arrest as well as a report for possible abduction.

Piper took a shower in the bathroom and changed into a second wardrobe she always had present for cases like these before she and Nicky headed back to the Upper East Side later that morning in order to question some of the neighbors. Of course nobody had seen or heard anything, it would've made the case too easy anyway.

Back at the office again they had a short meeting with Caputo to keep him up to date about the current situation, but they didn't have much to report. Forensics found blood from two different people at the apartment but without a sample they couldn't do anything with it, the other fingerprints on the suitcase got no hits as well and in the end the chief sent them off early at 4 PM to finally go home after an over thirty hours shift.

So here she is, walking down the street on her way home to the small house where she lives with her fiancé. Going home somehow raises mixed feelings in her. On the one hand she's happy to finally call it a day and rest for a couple of hours in her very own bed between warm sheets. But on the other hand she is anything but happy about the conversation she's going to have.

She opens the door to the house, enters and calls for her fiancé, "Larry?" She discards her purse and takes off her thick winter jacket while going to the living room where she tosses the jacket together with her gloves and scarf on the couch. For a moment she considers tossing herself right next to it, but then decides that having a coffee is more urgent.

She steps into the kitchen where Larry is sitting and facing her with a neutral gaze. "Hey", she greets him with a peck on the lips before turning to the coffee machine.

"You're late", is all he says.

Piper gazes swiftly at the clock. "Technically I'm damn early for today."

"You promised."

Here we go, Piper thinks sullen, places her cup under the machine and presses the button. The warm liquid pours into the cup. "I promised to try."

"I waited half the night for you."

"That's hardly my fault."

"If you'd work less-"

"I'd get fired", she cuts him off. This is an old discussion between the two of them, which repeats itself every time she does long hours like a broken record for months now.

"It can't even be legal to have so much overtime!"

"I hate your stern voice", Piper mumbles and sips at her coffee to boot her body after hours of work, while sighing softly.

"What was that?", Larry asks irritated and stands up from his chair, his gaze fixed on his fiancé.

"What's the alternative, Larry? I'm a DEA Agent. Doing overtime is part of the job and brings lots of money." She takes another sip and adds a "money, we need", as he doesn't react.

"We could do without the extra money."

"No, we couldn't I'm sorry that you're sitting hear all day, bored out of your mind, but one of us has to pay the rent."

"I'm working, too!"

Piper simply scoffs and shakes her head. That barely qualifies as work, she thinks to herself. Sitting at home all day long, trying to write articles, but never publishing one. And if he does, what does he bring home? Fifty dollars?

"I don't want to have this discussion right now", she eventually says dryly, puts her cup in the sink and goes back to the living room to pick up her jacket.

"Where're you going?"

"Out", is all she says as she lifts her purse. She has to get out of this house before she says or does things she'd regret afterwards. She'd preferably go running, like she always does when she's upset, but for that she'd have to change her clothes and right now any more second in Larry's presence would be fatal.

"You just came home", he states distressed, his anger suddenly completely vanished.

Piper opens the door and steps out without turning back to him. "And now I'm going again." She closes the door behind her and walks along the street.

After a few blocks she can feel the cold creep into her body, she wears her jacket, but completely forgot about anything else. She doesn't wear a scarf or any gloves and her shoes aren't suitable for long walks in the cold.

She arrives at a bar and steps in to at least get warmer for a few minutes. It's not really busy, only three tables are occupied. A man sits in front of two glasses of beer next to the door, at another table two women are talking and the third table is filled with a group of five women and one man.

Piper approaches the bar and takes a seat. Her gaze wanders absently across the bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind the counter, as suddenly a raspy voice calls out:

"Hey you, Laura Ingalls Wilder!"


to be continued…
Broken

Shepherdinha: Thanks. Your idea sounds quite interesting as well. If you ever write it after all, tell me and I'll gladly read it. We need all the fanfiction we can get to pass the time until season 3 (and later season 4.)

bibinou: Glad to see such a short summary can get you thrilled - Well, as we Germans tend to say: "In der Kürze liegt die Würze." I would translate that, but I don't think the sentence would make any sense in English - and it wouldn't rhyme anymore. Whatever, I hope I can keep up with the promises in the further chapters, too.

Guest: Yeah, I know, maybe I did her a little too weak in the first (and this) chapter. But I think, while she loves the rush, she can't handle complete failures that well. Anyway, that's basically what I meant on my profile with "I always feared that I wouldn't capture the in the TV-shows, books or whatever occurring character traits and spirits[…]"