Chapter 14
When Tomorrow Comes
A/N Thanks for appreciating the past few chapters, especially to Skippy, Ilse, Wotumba, Linda, Karine, EvaMcBain, guest and Vicki, for leaving your always so welcome reviews! They're very welcome.
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April 24, 2015 || West Gage Avenue || Los Angeles, 2 days later
"He's sleeping?" she asked as she noticed him coming into the living room again.
He leant against the breakfast bar and nodded, letting his hands go through his short, dirty blond hair. "Thanks Michelle. I… I wouldn't have asked it myself. Guess it's the best way for now."
She sent him a short encouraging smile. "That's what's friends are for, G. It's safe in here."
"For the time being."
Michelle understood he lost confidence. Safety was overrated after all. She stepped closer to him and put her small but strong hand on his forearm. "Don't blame yourself Callen."
He shook his head and looked away, his shoulders slump. "Should've seen this coming," he responded.
Both paused for a moment.
"You need your rest too," Michelle said, knowing it was useless to argue right now. "It's safe in here," she repeated.
He loudly breathed out. "Only after Sam's back."
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ADX Florence || Colorado, April 24
They came without notice.
The doors to the corridor were opened. Then, there were three pair of footsteps coming closer. One of the unit's standard guards opened the small hatch in the cell door. The man was not interested if he was or was not, resting or using the lavatory.
"Visitors," he just announced. The heavy keys opened the door and the guard simply stepped back. He had done what he had to do, escorting the two men.
"Five minutes," the youngest of both men addressed the guard. The man nodded at the lean man with the untidy blond hair. Then he turned to the larger corridor doors, slid them open again, walked through them and closed the doors behind his back.
He got up from his bed and a smug grin appeared on his face. "Your partner didn't feel like joining you?" Janvier's hand – his right one, since it was the only one left – went through his now nearly white hair.
"You bastard. You sick, fuckin' bastard." His voice was low, but the enraged tone in Sam Hanna's words was straightforward and meant.
"If agent G. Callen feels like talking to me, tell him he's free to come over." Janvier held up both his hands now and shook his head when he noticed Sam was about to continue. "I've got nothing to say to either of you."
Sam glanced at Deeks and sent the younger detective a supportive nod. Deeks smiled back at the large former SEAL and understood the message without words.
"Neither have we," Deeks responded. Without any further warning, his right arm started moving to Janvier's face in a fast motion and he hit the other man on the right jaw - the one which had not been hit by the bullet Callen once shot at the other man.
Even before Janvier had a chance to stumble backwards, the left fist of Marty Deeks punched him hard in the sternum. With one sharp gasp, Marcel Janvier went down, his head hitting the brick wall and he crashed straight on the small floor in the cell.
Deeks had clenched his jaw. The rage he felt hadn't left by this action but he knew he had to keep it in control. And he had to keep Sam in control.
Still, his hands were fisted. Slowly then he stretched them again. He reached for the even stronger and broad shoulder of Sam and said "Our five minutes are up. Let's go."
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Four weeks later
"Your appointment is here, Sir," the older, uniformed man announced in a rather nasal voice.
He nodded. Although he had agreed to this meeting, it was one of the discussions that he had wanted to avoid. However, there were other persons to take into account this time.
The other man motioned at him as in an invitation and he let him lead the way to the office room.
"Just sit down please. It'll only take a second," the man said as he quickly bent and put everything in the right position. And indeed, it took just a short minute before he got installed.
"I'll send her in in a minute," the man then told him a matter-of-fact tone.
He sat and waited. In a way nervous about what he might expect. Nerves. Excitement. He let out a short huff, a way to let out his frustrations. In a way, life had become… boring.
The feverish excitement that had built up in the past half year had left. And now it was like he had no goal left in life.
The planning had been so much fun.
Degener, whom he met in here. It had been easy to find his weak spots. Even easier to press the right button and find out how to make use of the man. Degener had been a perfect planner, spy and victim at the same time. Toeplyev was different. Well, he met the whole family in the past and senior Toeplyev in Russia owed him. But making his son, Grigori, understand how he should work had proved more difficult from his position than he had envisioned. But how he had loved the concentration and the planning. He let out a deep sigh.
Revenge had been sweet.
It would have been even better to tell that to agent Callen himself.
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NCIS LA Headquarters || shortly before
He let his gaze go over his partner's face. So far, there were no emotions he read and Sam did not know if that was good or not. "You're okay?" he asked.
The clear blue eyes were tired and without the usual sparks. A short nod came Sam's way, together with a 'guess so'.
"It's gonna be out of your hands in an hour from now. You think you can handle that?" Sam realized his question sounded more worried than he had wanted to.
"Have to. Besides, Granger made it clear that… well. If I'd leave this building or intervene in any other way, my career is over. Not too sure what I should make of that."
A short chuckle came his way. "Owen is a real control freak. You ought to trust him."
He shrugged. "I know. Doesn't mean I like it." Callen then rolled back the office chair from his desk and trudged up the stairs to the Ops.
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Minutes later
He recognized it immediately. Very French.
The immaculate way of clothing – stylish without being overdressed. A burgundy two piece suit, the pencil skirt perfectly knee-high. High heels, silk stockings. Pearl earrings that went with a ditto necklace. Dark hair in a bun.
Probably because of the unusual surroundings, she looked a little nervous. Grey eyes, dark eyeliner and a decent pale pink lipstick on her attractive, broad mouth. Classic.
Never mind he was told why the woman would be around, it was a pleasant surprise in these dull days, filled with orange and olive which belonged to prison life.
She carefully sat down, looking around if there was anyone around to protect her from anything nasty that might occur in these strange surroundings. Then she tried a polite smile, bowed over to get a file from the light brown ladylike briefcase and put it in front of her, on the table. A plain brown pencil came with it.
"The papers of Orrick Rammalt Martel, on behalf of Amélie Julie Prevost, née Janvier," she then said in a husky voice, with a slight accent which he liked. "It was quite a challenge to find you," she added after a second.
"Mais vous avez réussi [but you succeeded]," Janvier said.
"Voilà mon travail [that's my job]," she flashed him a small but absent smile.
"Impressive." He leaned back, relaxed now.
This time, she did not respond. She opened the paper file, went through the contents, read just a second.
'Very professional', he thought. 'Very welcome too.' He shuffled in his chair and hummed softly. Watched how her well-manicured fingers took the pencil, made a short comment on the paper. He started to think what else those fingers could do, then tried to look away. He licked his lips and let out a slow sigh. He should keep thoughts like that for a more private moment.
She sensed how his gaze went over her face and her body and she tried to hide the annoyance she felt. Scraped her now dry throat and said "So. Your daughter is turning 16 in two weeks from now."
His light, grey eyes showed no emotion at all. "You're here to tell me that? What's this about, her legal rights? Family benefits?" It sounded harsh and he continued "I'm sorry. You've got kids, miss…?"
Another polite smile came his way. "It's not about me, monsieur Janvier." The right hand with the pencil left the files and she carefully placed the pencil back on the table.
His eyes followed every movement. "Engaged I see," pointing at the ring.
She pulled back her hand fast and repeated, sharper now. "This is not about me."
Janvier now chuckled softly, knowing he could mastermind even this situation. Get under her skin. "Some emotions. God, how I love that."
Her grey eyes had turned darker and met his. Janvier was surprised at the strong will which now was shown. "Your fiancé must be a lucky man. French?"
A small smirk now appeared on her face. "American actually."
Then she opened the paper file once more and skimmed through the papers. His eyes followed every movement. Caught her perfume. He felt himself getting aroused again. Still, he was agitated about how this woman managed to hide her emotions sooner than he appreciated. He nearly moaned as he started to fantasize about how he could play her, domineer her. If not in here, maybe someday, later on.
Janvier now concentrated on the papers. Legal letters. Then she stopped, turned the papers with her left hand so he could read them better. "Son certificate de naissance. This is correct, right?"
"You know it is."
"Something wrong, monsieur Janvier?" she asked in the same husky voice, raising her brows.
He shook his head and responded irritated. "Your office could have done this checking with paperwork only. Why were you sent in here?"
"My office?" she asked as she looked him straight into his eyes.
"Orrick and Marralt, whatever it's called," he replied.
She shook her head. "Nobody told you I work for that office. What I just showed you are copies from the paperwork of that office indeed."
She now turned the files, closed them and bend down to take another map from her suitcase which she then put in front of him.
"Amélie Julie Prevost. Living with her mother, Yvonne Prevost in Paris at the Rue Claude Decaen. Première grade, Lycée Jean Lurçat. Midfield of team 2c, field hockey team de Cercle Féminin de Paris"
The file map was filled with several pictures of a shy young girl, stepping out of a car, together with several other girls, alone in a lobby of a building, laughing with probably her best friend in the Paris underground. Close-ups, some from farther away.
His face was unreadable, yet his eyes darted from the pictures to her face and back. Then he snarled "What's this all about?"
She calmly leaned forward, this time her elbows on the table, both hands entangled and leaning her chin on them. For some quiet seconds she only observed him. Then she said "I know who you care about, Marcel Janvier. I know where she lives. We know how to find her."
Her words sank in fast. He bolted from the chair, grabbed her left hand and stared at it, realizing he should've seen it before - there were only four fingers. And he knew "You bitch. You sly little bitch!" he shouted.
Despite the painful grip on the hand that had been hurt only recently, Rebecca Belgrave stepped backwards, knowing Granger was close enough to come for an assist. But until now, she managed to tear herself loose, and kept on her feet.
She faced him, just faced him, without words.
The horror on his face now was supplemented with a mix of pure hate and fear. "Don't you dare coming close to her, you stay away from her, you skank."
Then two guards appeared, together with Granger who was still dressed in one of the standard olive uniforms as well.
"Your interview was taped, mister Janvier. Threatening a visitor like you just did is considered a criminal offense." Granger paused for a moment and a short smile appeared on his face. "Consider this to be the last visit you had. I don't know how solitary is in this solitary confinement prison, but be sure there'll be no more socializing with other inmates from now on."
Rebecca took the briefcase from the room, keeping her face unreadable. The moment when she turned to leave the room, she heard the soft hiss from the man who'd ruined so much of Callen's life, from her life.
"It's a stalemate. That's all it is."
She straightened her back and shoulders, then let her gaze to over the man's face until her eyes stared directly into his light grey eyes. It would not be her to look away.
Finally it was Granger who scraped his throat. "Let's go Becca."
She nodded. "Remember what I've just told you," she mentioned to the man in the orange jumpsuit.
Then she turned, not to look back, heading to where the doors would lead to the free and fresh world outside.
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On the way back to the airport, Granger glanced at the younger woman next to him. She had undone her bun and now hid partly behind the loose, long hair.
"You're okay?" he asked.
She shrugged as an answer, not in a mood to discuss it right here, right now.
He understood. "Let's go home Becca."
She glanced back at the other man and slowly shook her head.
Thank you so much for reading. There will be one epilogue next... Feel free to share your thoughts!