Hey, it's an update! I have nothing I want to do during the Superbowl, so have an update!

Un-beta'ed.

- o – o -

Chapter Thirteen: Endgame, part two

Getting an actual plan of attack together for Marty's case had taken less time than Dana had thought it would. Executing that plan, on the other hand… She sighed, resisting the urge to beat her forehead against the table in the conference room.

Marty Voyt was involved in a lot of crap, and she was being forced to sort through all of it. Travis was running interference between her and the press, for which she was eternally grateful. Even the Jackals were working with Travis now. (And wasn't that surreal?)

Dana groaned as the baby kicked her ribs again, and rubbed her temples. What in heaven's name had possessed her to take this case on while she was almost nine months pregnant? Oh right… Susan. This was all Susan's fault, and—

"Dana!"

The public defender looked up when Hartman burst into the conference room, looking panicky. She hadn't seen him look like that since he'd accidentally set her husband on fire. (Vince had thrown him into the pool for that, if she recalled that last barbecue so many years ago correctly. Hartman had looked like a drowned rat.)

"Voyt made bail!"

Dana swore under her breath. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. "I'll get my coat," she said, standing up.

- o -

Dana pushed her way through the crowd, Hartman and Lofgren elbowing nosy reporters out of the way for her. She flashed her id card at the guard stationed at the door. "Dana Faraday, public defender." She was ushered through without another word.

Marty was being herded down the stairs with Susan at his side, a look of panic on his face. Dana rushed over to him, noting that the two Jackals with her had taken up defensive positions. Hartman seemed to have acquired another book of matches.

"Marty, what the hell were you thinking?" Dana asked when she was closer to the man. He looked at her, confused. "You were supposed to sit tight!"

"What? But I thought you…" He trailed off.

Dana made protests as the guards attempted to herd her client towards the door. "There is a mob out there!" she yelled, only to be told that the guards were under orders. She swore under her breath and made a mental note to strangle Fleming or whoever had posted Marty's bail when she found them.

"Get back inside!" Lofgren bellowed, dropping into what everyone had dubbed his "voice of command". Vince had tried to copy him, but had never come close. The guards were about to comply with his orders when the first shots were fired.

Lofgren returned fire, only to come face-to-face with an irked superhero. He raised an eyebrow and turned to Dana.

"Friend of yours?" the gambler asked.

Dana sighed. She was going to have words with her husband about his entrances and… She began coughing as Vince threw down a smokescreen. And she was really going to have to talk to him about the damn smoke bombs.

Three hours later, their odd little group had made good on their escape. They were now ensconced in a little shop straddling the border between Trolley Park and the train yards. Marty and Susan were embracing and trying not to cry. Dana was mostly thankful that they were too busy to notice how close she was to their savior, the mysterious Cape.

She grinned as the Jackals ran past, Leyla and CJ trailing along in their wake. Despite Marty's initial misgivings, his children were thriving under the attentions of the two men. (Honestly, it wasn't really a surprise. Lofgren and Hartman—when they weren't being insane or military men—were essentially overgrown children.) Even then, Marty was practically spitting tacks over the fact that the Jackals were in so well with his children, yet would have loved nothing more than to murder him.

The public defender slouched down on a couch, glowering down at her ankles. While this pregnancy had been easier than her first one by a mile, it was still playing hell on her ankles. (At least it wasn't bad enough to affect her walking or running. With Trip, she'd been practically bedridden due to how swollen her ankles had gotten.)

Dana looked up when the cushions shifted, and smiled. "Hey you," she said affectionately, leaning back into the plush cushions. Apparently whatever meeting he'd been in with Max and Rollo was over, and it must have ended well because he wasn't pacing.

"Hey Dana," Vince replied. His voice was low and scratchy again. A quick check showed that Marty was nearby, eyeing them suspiciously. The Jackals—who'd guessed Vince's identity almost as soon as they'd seen him in his costume—were nearby. They were playing with…something. (Seriously, what were they? Five?) "How are you, sweetie?"

Dana shrugged, closing her eyes for a few seconds. "Tired. My ankles are sore. I'm hiding in a shop, and Trip is with my parents." She saw her husband shudder and hid a grin behind her hand. Vince and her parents had never gotten along. His Republican alliance or his military career might have been the cause of friction, but she wasn't really sure which had caused more problems in the long run.

The two Faradays sat in silence for several minutes. Vince broke the peace when he placed a hand on Dana's belly. "Few more weeks, huh?" His voice was back to normal, Dana noted. Marty and Susan must have left.

"If you don't want to lose that hand…" Dana murmured. Vince removed his hand quickly.

"Right. Umm… Well, we've got a few hours till dawn. That's when the train gets here," Vince added, seeing his wife's quizzical look.

"Lovely," Dana replied, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Wake me up before it gets here, and you sleep on the couch for a month, mister."

She heard Vince chuckle and walk away with a tell-tale swish of heavy fabric.

- o -

Everything had gone to hell. There was no other way to put it.

Somehow, if anyone had been to shoot Marty, Dana would have guessed it would have been Scales. Hell, she'd seen him sitting at the edge of the train yards, rolling a cigarette. His gun had been resting on the lid of his trunk, next to what looked like a beer.

And yet…it had been an ARK trooper who'd shot Marty. Scales had been arrested, and now it was looking like the smuggler was going to take the blame. What the hell? (For that matter, why had the man been there in the first place? Had he been hired to kill Marty and her husband? And if so, why hadn't he moved? Of course…it was possible that he either didn't care or hadn't seen the two men. Anything was possible, she decided with a mental grimace.)

Orwell finished checking the apartment for any sort of bugs that might have been placed there. Dana felt a smirk creep onto her face at the annoyed look the blogger got when she discovered the pink duct tape on the cameras Dana had found. That proved that.

"I'll…see you later, Dana," Orwell muttered. She smiled at Trip, and hurried out of the apartment. Dana sighed, resisting the urge to beat her forehead against the wall. Why hadn't she ordered the blogger to stay for the night? Letting her go out while she was so…out of it had been a very bad idea.

Dana jumped when Sergeant Hanson slid into her apartment through an open window. "Grayson!" she yelped when he placed a rather daring kiss on her cheek. "What? What do you want?"

"With your permission, Mother Jackal, we'd like to reform the Jackals."

The public defender grinned, face becoming a demonic mask. Really, why had her husband ever insisted on her leaving the CIA?

"Permission granted."

There was no doubt in her mind as to what would happen next.

- o – o – o -

So, what did you guys think? Good? Bad? Wondering why the hell Dana was in the CIA? Drop a line and let me know!

By the by, there's another two chapters to go. Don't worry.