Author's Note:
Well, what do you know? It turns out Eames has her own story, too. Don't worry. More Bobby / Sienna goodness coming soon.
It can't be said often enough: many thanks to both brynna and blucougar57 for their excellent beta-reading and super-excellent encouragement. Thanks, guys, I owe you big.
Tha gaol agam ort Scots Gaelic for "I love you".
Pentonville large prison in London.
London, England.
House of Jack and Tanya Simmons-McAllister.
The morning after the end of "Bulletproof Armour".
The sound of thumping feet outside her room roused her from her slumbers, and Eames reluctantly decided it was time to face the day. She still felt exceptionally tired, but suspected she would need to be awake for a day or so before her body was ready to sleep again. That being the case, she was curious as to what was going on outside. She pulled on a dressing gown, opened the door, and was nearly knocked over by Tanya, who was charging down the stairs in pursuit of her husband. Peering over the stair bannister to the ground floor, she could hear their voices in the hallway.
"Take care of yourself." Tanya's voice was light, but with a definite undercurrent of worry.
"I'll be fine. Remember, if I'm not back by tonight…"
"You will be. You will be back if I have to personally go in there and beat the daylights out of them until they give you up."
A soft male chuckle echoed up the stairs. "I would like to see that. See you later. Tha gaol agam ort".
The front door opened and closed, and a few seconds later she heard a car pulling away from the outside of the house. She padded down the stairs, and found Tanya staring out of one of the kitchen windows. She didn't look round, but Eames sensed she had heard the footsteps and was aware of her presence.
"Good morning."
"Morning to you, too. You hungry? There's food in the cupboards, help yourself." Tanya continued to stare out of the window, evidently doing some deep thinking. Eames shrugged and applied herself to foraging for breakfast. Having located cereal, milk, juice, bread and, most importantly, coffee, she settled herself at the table to eat. Five days ago, we were sitting here eating pizza and planning a covert operation to catch a killer, she mused, and smiled wryly. So much had happened since then, including, apparently, her partner's reunion with his lost love.
That reminded her. "Have you seen either Sienna or Bobby?"
Tanya finally turned to face her, and chuckled, a smile lightening her face, highlighting how grim her expression had been before. "Yup. Still up on the roof." She chuckled and her hand dropped to her belly. "Must be something in the air up there."
"Do you want some toast?"
"Not really hungry… guess I should eat, though." Tanya dropped into the seat facing her and resuming staring into space, whilst munching a piece of toast with little enthusiasm. "Did you clean up last night?"
"Um, yeah."
"Must have been a lot of work doing it on your own. Thanks."
She tried not to blush. "You're welcome."
Tanya continued to stare into space in a worrying manner. Eames decided to confront the situation head-on, as was her preferred way of doing things. "Where's Jack?"
Tanya turned to face her, and Eames had a sudden feeling of foreboding as the other woman's troubled dark eyes met hers. "At Thames House."
"I'm sorry?"
"MI5's headquarters; where we were earlier. They called for him a few minutes ago."
A realisation that had been nagging on the edges of her thoughts suddenly forced its way into the forefront of her mind. People employed by the security services were not even supposed to tell their own families who they worked for. That Jack and Tanya knew what Davenport's real occupation was had an interesting implication. She decided to test it.
"So how long have you and Jack worked for them?"
Tanya did not break eye contact, and her glower became slightly more ferocious for a second, then relaxed with a what the hell sigh. "Jack, since he and Drew used to live in the same house… about ten years now. As for me, well, Drew didn't formally tell me until Jack and I got together, but I knew, it was kind of an open secret." She grinned briefly. "He's the closest I've got to family, so it was hard to hide. Besides, Jack and I are pretty useful to Five. We don't officially work for them – not on the payroll or anything – we're just registered as Drew's associates. Kind of a freelance thing. As and when Drew comes up with something he needs us for."
Eames wondered privately if that explained Jack's success as a journalist. Not all of it, obviously, but for someone trying to break into the profession in their mid-twenties, MI5's assistance had presumably been very helpful. It must be interesting for him trying to square working for them with a commitment to truth and justice… She mentally shrugged; not really her concern.
"So what now?" she wondered aloud.
"Now? Nothing I can do about Jack, but I'm off to the hospital to see how Drew's doing. Wanna come? I could use the moral support."
Eames considered saying Shouldn't you be resting?, then remembered who she'd be saying it to and decided not to bother. "What about those two?" She jerked a thumb upstairs.
Tanya grinned an evil grin. "Still shagging, as far as I know. I'll leave a note, I think we should leave them to it." She sighed again. "I'll miss her, I really will. So it goes." Her expression suddenly changed. "Excuse me."
She rushed off in the direction of the bathroom. Eames tried not to overhear, but couldn't help picking up the sounds of retching. Tanya re-emerged ten minutes later, wiping her mouth. "I really, really, fucking hate morning sickness. Worst thing is, it comes and goes. I feel fine, then half an hour later I'm chucking up again."
"You want me to drive?" She said it on auto-pilot, then remembered where she was.
"Alex, believe me, even if you've driven a manual car on the left-hand side of the road before, you don't wanna be trying to remember how to do it in London. Most British people won't drive round here."
"Taxi?"
Tanya smiled and reached for the phone. "No need."
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Now clad in jeans and T-shirt, Eames opened it to find a familiar figure looming over her; a young man of about twenty, with long reddish hair in a scruffy ponytail, wearing jeans and a battered leather jacket.
"Hiya, Tanya about? Nice to see you." Duncan Ampirelli ambled in with a friendly grin and a wave, and she was struck again by how, like Bobby and Tanya, he seemed to be built to a slightly larger scale than other human beings. Oh well, she was used to being dwarfed by people around her. "Ampirelli's Taxi to the rescue!"
"Thanks, Amp, you're a lifesaver." Tanya slung a small backpack over her shoulder, and fished out a note. "Here, ten quid for the petrol."
"Cheers." He pocketed the note. "Wow, you got this lot cleared up fast, I was gonna say last night, I don't mind clearing up, I owe you big time and all that."
"Alex here has secret magic cleaning powers."
"Really? Must come in handy. Are we off?"
"Yes. To St Vincent's Hospital, and step on it."
"Anyone I know? Hang on, yeah, Drew, weren't you saying last night, something fell on him on Saturday?"
"Yes, he's got a broken arm, they wanted to keep him in for observation."
"Is it really bad?"
"I'll tell him you asked, he'll be touched." Tanya stopped grinning. "They were pretty sure he'd live when I was last there, and they'd have told me if… anything had changed." Tanya's face darkened. "Let's go, please."
As they drove to the hospital, Amp remarked: "Did you know there's someone following us?"
Interesting that he noticed that, but then I guess being involved in delivering pirate DVDs teaches you to look out for that sort of thing, Eames mused
"Yes. Don't worry about it and don't think about it," Tanya commanded.
Amp shrugged and kept driving. "Good party last night, eh? Oh yeah, and congrats again. How long?"
Tanya smiled softly. "About six and a half months to go."
"Do you know what it is yet?"
"They can't scan for that yet, but I think it's a girl."
"Aw, that'll be nice. Mind you, she might grow up like you, and then that would be scary." Amp grinned at them in the rear-view mirror. "Bet Jack's happy. Where is he, anyway?"
"Had to go into work."
"Oh yeah, course. Bet he must be dead busy right now what with the stadium and that." Amp whistled. "Lucky escape there, eh?"
"Not for Drew it wasn't."
"Yeah." Amp pulled a face, possibly thinking that he wasn't all that troubled by the thought of someone who had been blackmailing him suffering a broken arm.
…A sudden image flashed before her eyes, broken ends of bone jutting from red torn flesh and warm blood spilling over her, her and Tanya and twoBritish cops as they tried to stop the bleeding from Davenport's shattered arm, with the sniper's corpse grotesquely splayed over the seats near them whilst Davenport's screams echoed around the stand, until he suddenly went quiet, and Eames felt a surge of panic, knowing that meant he had lost consciousness from the blood loss, and they had to stop the bleeding now, now or it would be too late, and then behind them there were footsteps, and the sudden, welcome voice of help, "Paramedics, let us through!", and she jumped away from the spy's unconscious body and nearly lost her balance, slipping in his blood and realising she was covered in it, catching an involuntary glimpse of his face, grey and pallid, eyes closed, head lolling on his neck like a broken mannequin…
She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, forcing the flashback away. If Davenport was dead or seriously ill, they would surely have been told. Or would we? she thought suddenly. Davenport's injuries had seemed to her to be severe yet treatable, but gunshot wounds were always dangerous, and he might have sustained internal damage when he was knocked backwards onto the wreckage of the collapsed stand. Regardless of how close Davenport and Tanya were, Davenport's next of kin was his partner, Michael Jones, who probably wouldn't feel up to making phone calls if anything had happened to his lover, and she couldn't somehow see MI5 bothering to tell them.
She took a deep breath, trying not to let her thoughts show on her face, and willed Amp to drive faster.
They arrived ten minutes later. Amp parked in a dropping-off space, and out of the corner of her eye, Eames could see the nondescript blue estate car that had been carefully trailing behind them during the drive there pulling into a space a short distance away. She tried not to look at it directly, but out of the corner of her eye she could see someone inside making a call on what looked like a cellphone, but probably wasn't.
"D'you want me to wait for you?"
"Would you mind? Thanks, Amp, you're a star."
"I know, I'm brilliant me, aren't I? I'll be in the café, give us a ring if you need me."
"I owe you for this."
He shook his head, red ponytail swishing about his face, and smiled. "I owe you, remember? Good character witness and all that? You stopped me going to Pentonville, I can manage to sit in a café for a bit for you."
"Thanks." Tanya and Eames turned away and began to navigate the corridors.
"Who were the guys in the blue car, do you know?" Eames muttered under her breath.
"MI5. Watching the house in case someone broke in, or we tried to make a break for it. They'll be watching Drew, too."
"Do you know where he is?"
Tanya shook her head. "No, but I figure if we go up to where they were operating they'll probably know there."
An idea occurred to Eames. "Couldn't you call his partner?"
Tanya shrugged. "I did, but he's not answering. Maybe he's asleep."
They hurried through the hospital corridors, which had the same reek of antiseptic familiar to Eames from far too many visits to the bedsides of various victims and suspects, albeit with a faint British undercurrent of tea and biscuits. Tanya led the way, pausing occasionally to consult the signs and accost passing hospital staff. Eventually they arrived at a familiar-looking section of the hospital, and stopped outside a ward labelled "Intensive Care Unit".
The ward doors were closed with a magnetic lock, with a gimlet-eyed receptionist seated at the entrance. Eames wished briefly and sincerely that she could wave her badge and get them through. Damn, she wished she was back in New York. This wasn't her country or her city, and she was tired of not being a cop. Getting an insight into the life of an ordinary citizen was fine, but not really what you needed to be doing if you were swept up in terrorist plots and attempted mass murder.
"We're here to see… a friend of mine."
"What's his name?"
Tanya paused, and Eames realised she was trying to work out if Davenport would be in the hospital under his own name. "Andrew Davenport; he might be down as Drew."
The receptionist's expression flickered for a second. "Sorry, there's no-one here by that name."
"Look again."
The receptionist made a show of looking, then shook her head. Eames, reading the reflection from the computer screen in the glass behind the receptionist's desk, realised she probably wasn't lying; she could see nothing in the list onscreen that looked remotely like Davenport's name. "I'm very sorry, I'm afraid he's not here. You could try Family Services, downstairs, four floors down and turn left, then right, at the end of the stairs."
Tanya looked inclined to argue some more. Eames smiled brightly at the receptionist and replied: "Thanks! We'll do that!", then caught hold of Tanya's arm. For a minute she had the nasty impression that the other woman wasn't going to budge, but eventually she moved and they walked away together. As soon as they were round the corner, Tanya stopped.
"Well?" Her expression was challenging.
Eames spread her hands. "I couldn't see his name there. We don't know what name he's under, whether they're concealing how he was injured, whether he's even still here… or where those guys who were following us are."
"He will be here, somewhere. Five always use St Vincent's if theirs get injured." Tanya made a gesture of frustration, then rubbed her face. "Should have brought SiSi with us… she's really good at this stuff. Can charm the birds out of the trees, but can also wield the stick as well as the carrot."
That didn't quite square with the keen but slightly nervous young woman Eames had known two years ago, but people changed. Which was going to be interesting for Bobby. Suddenly, Tanya caught her arm and dragged her across to a nearby doorway, then pushed her through it. They entered a small room with an empty bed; the sheets were stripped and it was obviously awaiting the arrival of the cleaners.
"What is it?"
Tanya's voice was low, urgent. "Watch." They peered through the glass. In the corridor they had been standing it, a slim woman with blonde hair, wearing a black jacket and trousers, stalked past them, in deep conversation with a tall man wearing a surgeon's scrubs. A short Chinese woman with a white coat and a clipboard hurried beside them, taking long steps to keep up with the surgeon's strides.
"I know her," Tanya murmured. "She works for Five."
"You think if we follow her, we'll find Davenport?"
"Worth a try."
Instinctively, they waited until they heard the footsteps retreat and turn the corner, then both women slipped out, creeping carefully along the corridor until they reached the junction, then waited again until the group had turned the corner. It occurred to Eames that somebody in a CCTV control room somewhere was quite possibly wondering what was going on, and the ridiculousness of the situation hit her. As they padded down the corridor in pursuit, she whispered: "Can't we just go and ask them?"
"You can if you like, I can't. I can't stand the bitch."
"You've met before?"
"What gave it away?"
Eames privately agreed that they should have brought Sienna. Tanya apparently inclined less towards the carrot and stick approach, and more towards "if you break the stick, hit them with the carrot". She herself was comfortable with either way of doing things, but unlike Sienna, who as an Interpol officer might be able to pull some strings, she had nothing to offer MI5 that they didn't already know. She was acutely and uncomfortably aware that without Davenport around to explain things and deal with MI5's senior staff, they had no official contact with the British security services, no-one who would go to bat on their behalf. (How on earth they were going to explain all of this to Deakins was a problem she was trying not to think about until later.)
As they rounded the corridor, they emerged into a wide hallway with several people milling around, and Tanya snarled with frustration; the people they had been following were nowhere to be seen. Eames caught sight of a reception desk and was struck with inspiration.
"Excuse me, can you help us?" She favoured the receptionist with her most appealing "busy soccer-mom" smile.
The receptionist smiled back brightly. "I'll do my best."
"We were trying to catch up with the doctor who just came through here; he's treating my friend's brother and we just caught sight of him and his assistant in front of us, but we didn't manage to catch up in time…"
"Oh, you mean Dr House? He'll be upstairs in the ICU Blue ward, only I'm not sure if he'll be able to speak to you…"
"Thanks! That's really helpful!" She smiled a huge smile of gratitude as she and Tanya wheeled off towards the stairs.
The upstairs floor, helpfully labelled "ICU Blue Ward" was much quieter, and Eames guessed by the number of doors on either side that it was devoted to private rooms. Which made sense, she thought hopefully, if MI5 wanted Davenport recuperating somewhere where they could control who got in to see him. Then again, that logically implies that somewhere around here will be security and locked doors…
They turned the corner and stopped. Almost directly in front of them was a set of double doors, which appeared to be shut and firmly locked. And, seated in front of the doors, was the blonde woman who had been accompanying the tall doctor. She was pretending to read a magazine, but Eames could spot someone doing surveillance a mile off. As they watched, she rose gracefully to her feet, her expression carefully blank.
"Where's Drew?" Tanya's voice was not quite a yell, but Eames could detect the strain in it. She really is worried.
"He's well." The woman's voice was an odd mixture of boredom and antipathy. Apparently the dislike was mutual. As she took up a position blocking the door, her long blond hair fell in wings on either side of her face, giving her a slightly wolfish appearance. She looked vaguely familiar, Eames thought, feeling the adrenaline beginning to rise, but controlling it, not letting it show in her appearance.
She was suddenly and acutely aware of the missing weight of her gun and her badge.
Beside her, Tanya took a step forward, her eyes narrowed nearly to slits. "Don't give me that. His arm was in pieces. He is not well in any way, shape or form, and I want to see him. Now."
"I'm afraid you can't; it's family and next of kin only." The MI5 woman's cool, superior voice was infuriating. If she was trying to defuse the situation by being the voice of sweet reason, she was failing drastically, Eames thought. Tanya's rage was visibly building. Eames had once taken a police self-defence course on how to defend yourself against being attacked by dogs. At one point, the instructor had brought in a Rottweiler, a trained guard dog, and even hardened cops had instinctively shrunk back at the waves of menace rolling off the beast. She was beginning to get the same sensation from Tanya, and the other woman's words, I used to kill people for a living, echoed unpleasantly in her head.
"I am his family." Tanya's voice had gone from angry to snarling, her body already beginning to adopt a "ready to attack" position.
"Unfortunately not, and you're no longer his next of kin." The blonde MI5 agent smiled sweetly, and Eames realised the resemblance was not so much in her face, as her attitude; she had all of the worst aspects of Davenport's smug I-know-better-than-you approach to life. She was half-tempted to wonder flippantly if MI5 had a giant mould in the basement turning out cynical blonds, then forgot the thought, seeing Tanya flinch as though the other woman had slapped her.
"Bullshit. I'm his next of kin, I always have been. Now open that fucking door."
"I can't."
"And again, bullshit. Someone could get into that room through the window, so you have the combination to that door in case someone attacks Drew. Now let me the fuck through."
"No." The woman shook her head, and adopted a position in front of the door, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Tanya outweighed her by at least forty pounds. She and Tanya were each a hairsbreadth away from adopting defensive postures, their hands twitching very slightly. The tension in their muscles indicated only too clearly that each would happily beat the daylights out of the other given the slightest provocation. Eames reflected dismally that whilst she would have matched herself against either one of them, taking on two trained fighters, one of whom was a lot bigger than her and pregnant, Jesus, was a recipe for disaster. Dammit, I wish Bobby was here. Aside from the fact they were better together than apart, both Bobby's ability to manipulate people's minds and his six-foot tall, 250-pounds-plus ex-solider's frame would have been useful right now.
She strode forward, placing herself between the two women, and summoned every ounce of her authority. "Okay, the two of you need to stop this, now…"
The blonde interrupted her. "Or you'll do what? Hit us with your badge? This isn't New York." She smiled the same poisonous smile, then turned her attention back to Tanya, dismissing Eames completely.
Eames turned to face Tanya, forcing herself to make eye contact with the other woman's near-murderous gaze. She was not easily intimidated, but Tanya's eyes held little other than the promise of imminent violence, and Eames suspected that whilst Tanya might prefer not to injure her, she would have no qualms whatsoever about physically shifting her out of the way before attacking the MI5 agent. She really did not want to fight a pregnant woman.
Without taking her eyes off the MI5 agent, Tanya growled. "Hate to say it, but the bitch has a point. This isn't your fight, Alex."
"It doesn't have to be a fight."
"It will be in three seconds if this bitch doesn't get out of my way."
Eames sensed instinctively that calling on her authority would not work. Instead, she projected into her voice all the kinship she'd felt with the other woman, the bond they'd forged over a shared fight for survival in the wreckage of the City of London stadium and an in-depth female bonding session over the difficulties of being pregnant in a physical line of work.
"Give me three minutes." She kept her eyes steady. "Back off, give me three minutes, and I'll get this door open."
For a few awful seconds, Tanya's eyes remained violent, her intense stare fixed on Eames. Then, almost imperceptibly, her muscles relaxed, just slightly, and her hands dropped to her side.
"Okay, Alex. Three minutes it is." Tanya nodded her head once, then backed up a few paces. Behind Eames, the MI5 woman also stepped back a pace, but didn't move from in front of the door.
Eames took a deep breath, then strode confidently forward, praying for time.
She knew what she had to do and who she had to find.
Three minutes, she thought. Two minutes, fifty-nine seconds.
I can do this.
Please, God, let me do this.
