Notes: Cursory beta, angry yelling, and death threats by Dusty. Sorry, bro.
Chapter Ten: "Plausible Deniability"
Derek wakes up with his head pressed against the car window and an agonizing crick in his neck.
He groans and stretches as much as he can in the passenger seat. There's a smudge on the glass from where he'd been resting his forehead.
"It's aliiiive," Stiles intones from the driver's seat. "Just in time, too. We're about an hour from Carson City."
Derek blinks at the clock. "I was supposed to take over driving four hours ago."
"It's fine. You need the rest more than I do." Stiles' gaze flicks from the road to Derek. "Feeling any better?"
"I feel like shit," Derek groans. "Remind me never to sleep in a car again."
"Never sleep in a car ever again," Stiles says. "That's not what I meant, though. You've been in a weird mood ever since we left San Diego."
Derek tips his head back against the seat and swallows. His mouth is dry. "Yeah."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Not in the car," Derek says. "Later. When there's time."
o
Early in the century, a bright-eyed young property developer with dreams of greatness bought this warehouse and began the process of converting it into a modern, fashionable apartment complex.
As happens to many bright-eyed young property developers with dreams of greatness, he promptly went bankrupt.
The half-converted building sat in limbo for years, until the FDSI bought it through a dummy corporation and quietly renovated it just enough that it could serve as a safehouse, should the need arise.
In a relatively secluded part of the building, between bare concrete support columns and wall frames without any actual walls attached, Jackson and Da-Xia cool down from a long, brutal sparring session.
"How'd I do?" Jackson asks.
"You've made amazing progress," Da-Xia replies. "You're still moving around too much, though."
"I thought I was supposed to 'evade.'"
"Yes, 'evade.' Not 'dive out of the way.'" She studies him, antennae twitching thoughtfully. "There's something else. Something wrong with your stance. I can't quite put my finger on it."
"Well, that's helpful."
"Give me time to think about it."
There's a commotion near the front of the building. Jackson hears a car pulling in.
Da-Xia says, "Is something wrong?"
After a moment, Jackson says, "Derek and Stiles are back."
o
"Derek!"
Erica collides with his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Derek stumbles, both from the impact and out of surprise. The pack aren't usually this physically affectionate towards him.
The others approach. Boyd nods at him and asks, "You okay?"
"Yeah," Derek says. "Aside from the fact that I'm being crushed to death."
Erica lets go and backs off, punching him hard in the arm. That's more familiar. "See what happens when you leave us behind?"
Off to the side, Stiles and Lydia are conversing quietly. Derek hears Lydia say, "The director wants to see you. Both of you."
o
The first words out of Stiles' mouth as he and Derek cross the threshold into the war room are, "Let me guess, you want me to tell you how we escaped."
"No," Director Lei says, "I want you to tell me you still have the last piece of the key."
The glib tone drops abruptly out of Stiles' voice. "Sorry, boss. Sha has it."
Lei exhales loudly through her nose. "Well. Shit."
"It gets worse," Derek says. "Sha knows you have Huang Di's mirror. And she knows it's being kept in something called 'the Vault.'"
Lei freezes. Slowly, she says, "Does she know where the Vault is?"
"Not yet," Derek says, "but she's looking for it. You need to move the mirror."
"We can't," Stiles says. "Huang Di's mirror is the size of a room. The Vault was built around it."
The director barks out a sharp, "Stilinski!"
Stiles rolls his eyes. "Director, I really don't think his security clearance matters at this point. The cat's out of the bag."
Derek says, "If you can't move the mirror, you need to destroy it."
Simultaneously, both Lydia and the director say, "Absolutely not."
Derek says, "Why the hell not?"
"One," Lei says, counting off on her fingers, "because the energy required to do so would leave a crater the size of Yankee Stadium, which is a problem because two, the Vault is our last functioning research facility, but that's all irrelevant because three, almost all of our information on the Bleed and the multiverse has come from studying that mirror. It is an invaluable asset to this department. Destroying it is out of the question."
"So what do we do?" Stiles says. "Sit and wait for Sha to find the Vault?"
"No."
The director goes quiet, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn down.
"No. I'm tired of hiding, and I'm tired of waiting." To the room, Lei says, "I want everyone looking into Sha, Ashton and any of their associates. I want to know what they're doing, who they're talking to, what they're buying. Find me something to hit."
o
This plane is smaller than the previous one. But, Hui reflects, they don't need to go as far, and there's only three of them now.
Hui finds Sha curled up in a chair by the window, one knee up, the other stretched out in front of her. She's toying with the key: turning it over and over, running her fingers along the edge.
"Is it really safe to have that with you?" Hui says.
"Safer than it would be if I left it with Ashton," Sha replies. She sounds detached, distracted.
Hui sits across from her. "What's wrong?"
Sha looks at her; shifts so that both feet are planted on the ground. "Bao," she says, and lets it hang between them.
"You did the right thing," Hui says.
"Did I?"
"He was about to do something terrible," Hui says. "You stopped him. You saved him. I would have done the same thing, if you weren't there."
Quietly, Sha says, "What if it were me?"
"What?"
"If it were me," Sha says. "If I were about to kill someone, for no other reason than that I hated them and wanted them dead... would you stop me?"
Hui is silent for a long time.
"Yes," she finally says.
"Promise?"
o
Out behind the warehouse-turned-apartment-complex is a badly-overgrown yard, surrounded by a high brick wall. Clearly, at some point, it was meant to be a garden or courtyard of some kind, but that plan got mothballed years ago.
Stiles steps out into the open air and spots someone sitting on a bench near the wall.
"Derek?"
"Quiet."
Stiles yelps in surprise and turns. Stargazer sits in the corner of the yard, still as a statue. Between his forelegs, close to his chest, lies a small green shape: Da-Xia, asleep. Every once in a while a leg or antenna twitches.
Stargazer gestures to her with his chin and gives Stiles a meaningful look.
"Sorry," Stiles whispers. He crosses the yard to stand in front of the bench, and Derek, who's leaning on his elbows, head down.
Derek says, "Hey."
"Hey," Stiles replies. He sits next to Derek on the bench. "You want to talk now?"
A few seconds tick by in silence.
Derek says, "I killed one of them."
"Yeah," Stiles says.
"It was an accident," Derek continues. "I just wanted him out of the way, but the wolfsbane had me off-balance, and you..." he trails off. "I don't lose control like that."
Stiles keeps forgetting that Derek hasn't actually killed that many people. That night at the Hale house, when Derek ripped Peter's heart out, there was a sick, broken expression on his face.
He reaches up and puts a hand on the back of Derek's neck, then slides it higher into his hair, running his fingers gently across Derek's scalp in meaningless patterns. Stiles' mom used to do this, when he was little, in the middle of the night when he was too wound up and couldn't calm down.
Derek lets out a sigh. The tension in his shoulders starts to fade, a little, and he turns into Stiles' body, nuzzling up against his neck.
"The lie everyone likes to tell is, 'it doesn't get any easier,'" Stiles says. "But it does. After a while... it stops mattering so much. You get used to it."
"I'm not sure I want to," Derek says.
"You'll have to."
Stiles jumps. That must be the quietest Stargazer's voice gets. "Nobody asked you," he snaps.
"I'm simply stating facts." Stargazer gives him a disdainful sniff. "Get used to killing, Alpha. This war only ends when Sha and every last one of her soldiers are dead."
o
The new war room is much, much smaller than the last one. Someone behind Derek keeps breathing through their mouth.
"Michael Ashton's been stockpiling arms for months," Lydia says. "I assume in preparation for an attack on the Vault. He's been bringing them into the country in small shipments, through ports all along both coasts, and then moving them by rail to a warehouse in Denver."
Puzzled, Harley says, "What's in Denver?"
"Nothing," Lydia replies. "That's the point."
Director Lei says, "What are you thinking, Martin?"
"Well, if you want to give Sha and Ashton a good kick in the teeth, I'd suggest we confiscate the stockpile."
Lei crosses her arms. "As much as I'd enjoy that, we don't have the manpower to raid a heavily-guarded warehouse."
"I agree," Lydia says. "But we won't have to. I got a message from one of my contacts in Denver. Ashton's moving the stockpile."
"Where to?"
"I don't know. Probably somewhere just as heavily-guarded, if not more so."
"So we grab it en route," Lei says. "Who's up to speed on the finer points of train robbery?"
Stiles snaps to attention like a dog who's just heard someone say the word 'park.'
He says, "I have been preparing for this moment my entire life."
o
The train station is just crowded enough that Hui feels the need to stick close to Sha. Fang breaks a path ahead of them, the strap of a weapon case slung over her shoulder. The people in her way tend to take one look at her and suddenly realize they need to be somewhere else.
"I was talking to the mercenaries earlier," Fang says idly. "They call this kind of mission a 'milk run.'"
In a tone that suggests only half her attention is devoted to this conversation, Sha replies, "Why's that?"
"From what I can tell, the term has something to do with fetching provisions," Fang says. "A 'milk run' is an errand. A boring one."
Sha says, "I don't care if you're bored, as long as you're alive." She nods at the weapon case Fang is carrying. "What's that?"
"A Barrett M82 anti-materiel rifle," Fang says proudly, hitching the case higher onto her shoulder.
"Why are you bringing an anti-tank rifle on a 'milk run,' Fang?"
"Can't be too careful, Colonel," Fang says. "Especially with another guardian after us. Remember how hard it was to kill the first one?"
o
The train leaves Denver and rolls west, into the mountains. The roads, buildings, and power lines gradually drop away, until the only sign of human civilization is the twisting black iron band of the railroad.
As the sun starts to set, a helicopter pulls up alongside the train.
It stops just a few feet above the roof of a passenger car near the end of the train, keeping pace. The hatch slides open.
"This plan sucks," Stiles says, yelling to be heard over the rotors and the wind.
Derek moves to the open hatch, bracing himself. "In the five minutes since the last time you said that, have you come up with a better plan?"
"No," Stiles replies, with a defeated sigh.
Derek tenses and gets ready to jump.
"Wait!"
Derek turns, and Stiles grabs him by the shoulders, slamming their lips together. The kiss is fast, hungry, and after only a couple of seconds Stiles pulls back and says, "I love you. Good luck."
With a nod, Derek turns back around and leaps out of the helicopter, landing on the roof of the car.
o
Up at the front of the train, in the passenger car just behind the locomotive, Sha says, "Did you hear that?"
Hui says, "Hear what?"
A helicopter roars past, headed further up the track.
"Oh, that's not good," Fang says.
Hui opens a window and leans out. At the rear of the train, she sees a figure climb down from the roof and swing through a window into a passenger car. The car holding most of their guards.
"Someone just boarded the train," she says.
Fang says, "I'll take care of it." She drops the rifle case into Hui's arms. "Hold onto that for me, would you, Major?"
"Fang," Sha says.
Fang pauses at the door. "Yeah, Colonel?"
"I need you alive," Sha says. "Don't take any stupid risks. Report in every five minutes."
"Don't worry about me, Colonel," Fang says. "I'll be fine."
o
Derek slams the last guard's head against the wall. The guy drops to the floor, joining the other nine, all in various stages of unconsciousness.
The mercenaries can't fire in such close quarters, and it takes them a few precious seconds to switch gears from 'shoot this guy' to 'pistol-whip this guy.' Not that they have much of a chance, engaging a werewolf in hand-to-hand combat.
Derek slides the door open and leaps to the next car. Another passenger car, although this one's seats have been ripped out so it can serve as an impromptu boxcar. Crates line the walls.
He's halfway down the aisle when the door on the far side opens, and Fang steps through.
"Oh good, it's you," she says, and cracks her knuckles.
Derek decides to err on the side of smug bravado. "You really think you can beat me?" he says. "All by yourself?"
Fang says, "Let's find out," and charges towards him.
Derek growls and braces for her first strike, but Fang just barrels into him, her shoulder driving up under Derek's ribs.
They both hit the floor. Fang plants a knee on Derek's chest and hammers her fist into his nose. Derek feels it break. The second punch lands in his eye, the third aims for his throat—
Derek catches her wrist, squeezes, hears bone crack. Fang lets out a stifled grunt of pain. With his other hand, claws out, Derek goes for Fang's stomach. She grabs his arm, the tips of his claws less than an inch from her skin.
Gathering his strength, Derek surges up and throws Fang onto her back, pinning her.
She slams her forehead into his broken nose. Derek snarls at the sudden burst of pain; in that second of vulnerability, Fang levers her leg, still bent up against his chest, and tosses him across the train car.
Derek's back hits the door. It buckles under the impact. He rolls to his feet just in time for Fang to tackle him again, breaking the door down.
They land on a flatcar, the crates around them held down with tarps and straps. The track curves around the face of a mountain, sheer cliffs above and below. The train jolts; it sends them both flying.
Derek rolls up against a crate and hunkers down until the train stops shuddering. When he looks up, Fang is staggering to her feet on the far end of the platform.
She meets Derek's eyes and grins. "Come on. Show me what you can really do."
Derek drags himself up and lunges at her.
Fang sidesteps him and elbows him in the neck, then delivers a swift kick to his kneecap. Derek lashes out with his claws; he scores a hit across her chest and another down the side of her face, deep gouges bleeding blue.
In response, Fang brings her knee up into his gut. When Derek doubles over, she cracks her elbow down on the back of his head.
The train hits a sharp curve. Derek, on the floor, digs his claws into the wood and holds on.
Fang isn't so lucky. She falls, scrabbling for something to hold onto as she tumbles toward the edge of the car.
When the train straightens out, Derek scrambles to the edge. Fang's holding onto the platform with one hand, has the barest grip on a tarp with the other; the rest of her hangs over empty air, the base of the cliff far, far below.
Fang looks up at him, and for the first time, she seems afraid.
Derek reaches for her, wraps his fingers around the hand holding onto the car.
The train jolts again. Fang's wrist slips out of his grip.
She falls.
o
"Fang, report in."
There's no answer.
Sha tries again. "Fang?"
Hui hears a distant noise, like someone sliding a door open.
Sha's expression hardens. She grabs Hui by the arm and drags her through the door into the locomotive; the mercenary driving the drain gives them a quizzical look, but says nothing.
Sha takes the rifle case from Hui, reaches into her pocket, and hands Hui the key.
"Keep this safe," she says.
Sha opens the case and starts to assemble the rifle.
o
One more car, and Derek will have reached the engine. He slides the door open, steps into the car—
An earsplitting crack rips through the air. Derek ducks behind the nearest seat. A fine shower of wood splinters drift down from a fist-sized hole in the wall, just an inch above where his head used to be.
Sha peers around the edge of the door on the far side of the car and shouts, "Did you really expect to take this train by yourself?"
"Actually," Derek replies evenly, "I'm just the distraction."
And then something slams into the side of the train.
o
In this, as in many things, Hollywood is full of lies.
Contrary to what the movies tell you, the most successful train robbers did not ride alongside the train, leap onboard, hijack the engine, and rob the passengers at gunpoint.
The most successful train robbers simply derailed the train—usually, explosives were involved—scavenged the wreckage, and then robbed any survivors at gunpoint.
If anyone had been watching Ashton's train from above, this is what they would have seen:
Stargazer, a three ton, ten foot tall unstoppable force consisting of two parts rage to one part stubborn intent, charges headfirst down the slope of the mountain, towards the railroad and the approaching train. He hits the join between the locomotive and the first car.
The locomotive goes tumbling into the valley below. The rest of the train rolls and twists off the rails, hitting the ground on its side and sliding down, coming to a rest at the base of the slope.
And then all the agents who'd been lying in wait come swarming out of cover, toward the wrecked train.
o
"Derek!" Stiles shouts, scrambling over and around the wreckage as fast as he can. "Come on, you promised this wouldn't kill you! Derek!"
There's an answering groan from one of the fallen cars.
Stiles forces the door open as far as he can. Someone's curled up in the corner of the car, almost invisible in the dark.
"Derek?"
Another groan, and the form uncurls and blinks at Stiles. "Hey. I'm okay."
"You sure?"
Derek tries to stand and winces. "Scratch that. Broke some ribs. They'll heal."
Stiles helps Derek out of the car and gently lowers him to the grass.
"The plan still sucked," he says. "Even if it did work."
"Yeah, that sucked," Derek agrees.
o
Hui comes back to herself all in a rush; her right side is cold. And wet. She puts a hand on the ground to push up into a sitting position, and something goes splash.
She's been lying in a stream. She has a splitting headache, her ribs and back are both a variegated tapestry of pain, and she can't move the fingers of her other hand.
The engine lies on its roof about a dozen yards away. Hui can see Sha lying in its shadow. She isn't moving.
Hui manages to stand, wobbling a little. "Sha?"
Sha stirs.
Behind Hui comes the sound of something huge and heavy, pushing through the trees at high speed. A low growl rumbles through the valley.
Hui turns, and the guardian bursts out of the tree cover, teeth bared. It sniffs the air and fixates on her, snarling.
Her hand goes to the key in her pocket as she stumbles back. She checks over her shoulder; Sha's on her hands and knees. She locks eyes with Hui, then lunges for the rifle, lying on the ground a few feet away.
The guardian lowers its head and charges. Its hot breath washes over her—
The gunshot is deafening, even this far away.
o
The FDSI only has the one helicopter; they can't take everything. Jackson hefts another crate—this one looks like it's full of grenades—and carries it to the staging area.
Da-Xia's minding the pilfered cargo, perched atop one of the crates.
"I keep telling them I can help with the lifting," she tells Jackson, "but they don't believe me."
Jackson puts the crate down—gently, because grenades—and says, "Have you figured it out?"
"Hmm?"
"The flaw in my stance," Jackson says. "You said you needed to think about it."
Da-Xia nods. "I have a theory, but I'm not sure you'll like it."
"What's your theory?"
"You lack a solid base," Da-Xia says. "It leads you to break and flee when you shouldn't. But the problem isn't, strictly speaking, physical."
"So it's all in my head?"
"I'm trying to find the words." Da-Xia thinks quietly for a bit. "You feel like you don't belong. You don't have a solid place to stand. You need to find that. Somewhere to belong, something to defend. Until you do—"
The crack of a rifle echoes through the cliffs, a roar of pain close on its heels.
"Stargazer," Da-Xia breathes. She leaps down from the crate and dashes into the woods.
There's another gunshot. And another. Jackson chases after her.
They find Stargazer lying on his side, slumped over a small stream. The water runs red.
Frantic, Da-Xia runs up to where Stargazer's head is resting on the ground. "What happened?!"
"Sha," Stargazer growls. The words gurgle in his throat; his breathing is wet, labored. "I had her. I had her."
His arm moves, and Jackson sees the three gaping holes in Stargazer's chest.
Da-Xia sees them too. She ducks under Stargazer's arm, pushing it aside, hands fluttering nervously over the wounds, afraid to touch. "You'll be okay. I can help. I just—I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do!"
"There's nothing you can do. Leave it."
"I can't! You'll die!"
"I know," Stargazer wheezes. "I'm sorry."
It starts in his extremities. Parts of Stargazer's coat turn grey, harden; the grey parts join up and creep over his body like a frost.
Da-Xia's nervous energy seems to evaporate. She moves back to Stargazer's face, reaches out with one hand and pets his cheek.
"Okay," she says. "It's okay, old man."
"I'm sorry," he says again. "I failed."
Da-Xia shakes her head. "You didn't. I'll see it done. I promise."
"Thank you." Stargazer's breathing slows. Quietly, he murmurs, "Do you think I'll see her again?"
Then he lets out one last, rattling breath and closes his eyes.
Da-Xia pulls her hand back as the flesh under it turns to stone.
All that remains is a statue of a wounded lion, high in the wilderness where no-one will ever see.
Next: "Alea Iacta Est"