Author: Mirrordance
Title: For Every Evil 3
Summary: For every evil that rises, we are given ways to fight it. The secrets of the elves are revealed to the modern world, and they are forced to decide whether they should remain in a world unprepared for them, or be the last of their kind to leave it.
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20: Exclusive
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The City of Los Angeles, California
The United States of America
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The chauffeur drove Anatlia Craxi, Elrond Peredhil and a camera man / tech she had commandeered from their Craxi U.S. affiliates from their hotel to a high-rise building six blocks from the hospital where Leland Greene was staying. The building was the nearest they could get to by car; the crowds have forced the city to close down the roads surrounding the hospital.
They listened to the radio – another Craxi affiliated station – on their way there, even as the camera tech watched some Craxi news cable channels from three portable screens that he brought with him. Dimly, Ana could hear the promo's and teasers running for her upcoming exclusive with Leland Greene. She watched from her window, passing by people gathered around radios and television sets in stores and bars, tuned into the same channels, no doubt by virtue of the upcoming event.
She was sick to her stomach, caused by nerves and the twins that were determined to menace her even before they were born. The un-trained eye would not have been able to tell, however; she had her father's presence, and his sense of finding a good story. She knew she looked calm and collected, though her father-in-law-to-be clutched her clammy hand warmly, and protectively.
Another car followed them, bearing Elladan and Elrohir who wanted to bring them over, while the others remained in their hotel / makeshift base.
The car pulled to a stop before the rotunda of the building, and cautiously, Ana stepped out, trailed by Elrond and their camera man, an unassuming, multi-tasking, lanky young man named Troy. They were met by a small entourage of people from Strata Research and the hospital administration.
Ana watched behind her, as the car that carried Elladan and Elrohir slowed down slightly, before passing them by completely. She saw her fiancée give her a reassuring smile and wave.
"Come now," Elrond told her softly, "We shall meet them when all this is done."
She gave him a curt nod, turning toward the people who received them. She flashed their mint identification cards, and introduced her team.
"I am writing, producing and reporting," she said, "Troy is our tech and cameraman. Mr. Smith there," she was referring to Elrond in the most common American name she could think of, "Is our image consultant and coach."
"Excuse me?" one of the Strata people asked.
"He advises our interviewees," Ana replied smoothly, "He briefs them on camera directions, a particular look or tone, you know how it is. It is common industry practice."
Elrond's eyes shone in pride and amusement. Ana lied casually and effectively. She has been running around with a bunch of secretive elves in the new millennium after all.
"We need everyone and everything to go through security," they were informed.
"Of course," she said, suffering the scrutiny with practiced ease.
" " "
The sensationalism of the media was making Legolas' first ever public statement hard to miss. The airwaves were saturated with teasers and promos from the Craxi channels, and every other network complained or commented on the exclusive, but nevertheless waited for it with baited breath, ready to report on any insights the exclusive will be breaking to the world.
Elrohir listened to the car radio absently, looking at the evening scenes of LA. Lights and cars and pensive people, going about their businesses. Elladan sat beside him silently.
"She looks terrified," Elladan said.
"She'll do well," Elrohir murmured, "Always has."
They fell into weighty silence again.
"I wonder what he'll say," Elladan said, "I couldn't tell Ana anything particular to prepare for."
"I wonder if we can get him out," Elrohir reflected, "We couldn't get within six blocks of that place, even if we had authorization--" his voice trailed, as the vision of a familiar, homey diner crossed his line of vision.
"Pull over," he told the driver, shifting toward his car door impatiently.
"The others are expecting us at the hotel--" Elladan argued.
"Go ahead and send the car back for me," Elrohir ordered as the car stopped and he opened the door, "I have to attend to this."
"God knows why," Elladan muttered, watching his brother jog away, toward the entrance.
" " "
"There's no way to get in or out of that place by car," Haldir said to the room in general, as they watched feed from the surveillance camera on Ana's brooch. The security scans have just finished, and the entourage of people were now in an elevator.
"They're headed for the helipad," Montes, who had stayed with the group since he ran into them at Mrs. Aarons house, said, "They're flying in by helicopter from that building to the hospital."
"If we want to get in there," said Frodo, "We will need one as well."
"That isn't a problem," Emmett said.
The group watched quietly, as Frodo's prediction proved true. Security helicopters kept the immediate airspace around the hospital was clear, though a few news helicopters hovered nearby.
"I'm picking up verbal exchange of security clearances," Harding said, "Now they're let through."
The craft bearing Ana's team was indeed allowed to land on the hospital roof. Awaiting them was a stern-looking group of five uniformed security officers. More security scanning, ID presenting, and cross-checking with a hand-held computer device.
"Are they serious or what?" Sam murmured in dismay.
Of the five guards, two escorted Ana, Elrond and Troy down the stairwell. The other three remained on guard on the roof. The stairwell landed on the main floor. They really had emptied an entire wing of the hospital to Leland Greene. The halls were dark and long.
"Pause at the landing, Ana," Harding told her softly, "And take a slow look at a ninety degree angle to your left, and then your right. I want a visual on the security on that floor."
She did as instructed, and the video feed featured two guards on each of the elevator shafts at the opposite ends of the hallway. They also sighted video cameras spaced about twenty feet away from each other along the length of the corridor. All the doors along the hall were not lit, and seemed locked and unused.
Ana's team was led to one of the elevators. One of their guard escorts pressed the button to the ninth floor. The light that usually indicated that the destination was chosen and that the elevator was headed that way remained shut.
"I forgot," the man muttered, grabbing a key from his belt chain, and using it to key on the elevator. He pressed the button again, and this time it did light up. It looked as if all the buttons were keyed off, indicating that the floors were not being used either.
The elevator landed with a bell, and they stepped toward the busier ninth floor. There was a nurse station, of course, manned by a skeleton crew of two medical personnel, guarded by a security officer who was looking over their shoulders as they worked. Two code teams stood by with their equipment, also accompanied by a security officer each team. One section of the floor was a makeshift dining hall. Another corner was set up like a conference room. Lastly, one corner was set up like an operations room, with feed from the hospital's security cameras featured on screen.
"Surveillance cameras," Haldir said to Ana, "Better view, if you please."
She turned as directed, and Haldir noted, "The surveillance is only for the helipad, the floor directly beneath it, the elevators, and the ninth floor."
Ana's team was led to a far end of the hall, where the one room bearing that one sick person was. Surprisingly, or perhaps to keep from being too redundant, there was no guard right outside the door. Only a haggard-looking Adrian Aarons and a tense-looking man in a wrinkled suit stood there, waiting for them.
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"Ana," Adrian greeted her with a hug.
"Doctor Aarons," she said, tending to the formal when she was edgy, "This is Troy, our camera man today, and Mr. Smith, our image consultant and coach."
Aragorn, bless him, gave a slight quirk of the lip and the eyebrow, but said and did nothing else upon turning toward the elven lord, and his now-odd standing in life.
"This is Mr. Suarez," Adrian introduced the suit, with grit teeth, "He engineered this whole thing. And I guess we might as well tell Miss Craxi now, Mister Suarez, the slant of this upcoming announcement, that she may direct her questions better."
"Leland Greene will be announcing that he is donating his body to the noble scientific goals of my company, Strata Research," Suarez declared, as he waved off the escorts who brought the news team to them, "He will be saying so, and signing the contract on live television. He has already met with his lawyers beforehand for formal arrangements, though."
Ana's brows rose in surprise, her gaze shooting toward Aragorn in alarm. He placated her with a discreet, restraining motion of his hands.
Later, he seemed to say.
"This is the Greene's room?" the wide-eyed Troy asked, "I need to begin setting up and testing the equipment."
"Set up out here first," Ana instructed him, looking at Suarez for an explanation, "We want some establishing shots outside, and a few questions for Doctor Aarons to create a better context for the story. This doesn't go out live."
Suarez hesitated, before giving her a small nod. He was probably thinking he already had the prize, he had the motherload, what did it matter? And if it wasn't going live, they could have it edited or refuse its release anyway.
"Will do," Troy said, immediately setting down his bags and beginning to unload them, right there outside Legolas' door.
"In the meantime," said Ana, "It would be best if we could see Leland. He will have to be briefed by Mr. Smith."
Suarez nodded, leading the way to the room. Ana wondered when, if ever, he would leave them alone, so that she could speak to Adrian openly.
" " "
Mister Smith? Aragorn thought inanely, giving his adoptive father a penetrating sidelong glance, that the other bore with mild amusement.
"Would that first name be 'John,' by any chance?" Adrian said, under his breath, "Just like half the people in this country?"
"I don't know," Elrond replied, dryly, as he followed the man inside the room, "Ask the young lady, who apparently knows more about me than I do."
The barbs died in a breath, as Elrond stepped inside the room and had his first look at Legolas, who was asleep with eyes closed when they entered. His brows furrowed, and his lips parted in a long, calming exhale.
It was a sight that no one could possible get used to, Aragorn reflected. He's been in and out of this room for the last few days, seeing the same thing or the same thing getting steadily worse, and it still rattled his nerves. The very first sight of the elven prince like this, as compared to how he looked the last time Elrond must have seen him, was surely a shock strong enough to floor.
His skin had always been as white as fresh snow, having just fallen from the sky. But injured, like this, that white had shed its virgin glow, to be replaced by the pallor of a dark winter death. Cuts and bruises were scattered on his face, neck and arms, which comprised what little of his flesh that could be seen. The rest of him was bandage-clad, blanket-covered, or wire-obscured.
The elven healer looked at the machines that surrounded the still figure with morbid curiosity. Wires and links stretched from here and there, vanishing into various places of the elf-prince's body.
"Legolas," Aragorn said, softly, against the naked, delicately-pointed ear, "Wake now, old friend. It is time."
Lazily, blinking eyes opened, roved about the room in confusion for a moment, before settling down on the familiar face of the elven lord.
"This is Mister Smith," Ana said at once, leaning toward his line of vision and setting him straight, before the disoriented patient could utter anything incriminating, "He is here to give you some directions on the interview we're doing today."
There was a look of complete and absolute confusion on his face, before he calmed in understanding. His eyes glinted when he said, "I see."
She smiled at him gratefully, before turning to Suarez, "Sir, there's some information I need from you on this arrangement," she glanced at Aragorn warily, "Perhaps I can have a few words with you outside?"
"What the hell for?" Suarez snapped.
"I came in here not knowing what to expect," she pointed out, "As Doctor Aarons mentioned earlier, the announcement will be much more enriched by information. We can do this outside, and then allow our consultant to advise Lieutenant Greene at the same time."
"Fine," Suarez said, pointing at Adrian, "You, stay with them."
"As you wish," Aragorn said flatly, watching, as Ana ushered Suarez away.
"Do you think she just makes these things up as she goes along?" Legolas sighed, chuckling softly.
"The tongue is always the last to go, with this one," Elrond admonished him, mock-gravely, though his eyes were clouded in worry.
"As opposed to, say, Estel," Legolas pointed out playfully, "whose good sense always goes first."
Elrond sighed, and wondered where to begin his examination, now that he was finally here and had the liberty to do so.
"The bleeping sound that you hear mirrors the beating of his heart," Aragorn told him, helpfully, "The other figures there show the movement of blood in his body..."
He went on to explain which odd-looking contraption did what; this regulated his pain, this gave him fluid and food, this cleansed his system, this helped his blood move, this gave him air...
Elrond frowned, picking up the elven prince's cold hand. The tips of his fingers looked tainted purple. "You will need improvements on the air. He likes pretending all is well- or as well as they can be under the circumstances- but the breaths are harsh."
"He did not fool me for very long," Aragorn said, "That will hopefully be remedied by a procedure tomorrow, the very reason why we urged to forward this press. The new apparatus to be surgically installed will be more invasive, but the concentrations of air provided will be much higher."
"He runs a light fever too," Elrond said.
"A product of that foil in his first operation," Aragorn said, "We have maintained it to a manageable level, so far. Some of the medicines here have something to do with that also."
"Hm," Elrond said, frowning thoughtfully.
"Do I pass, professor?" Legolas asked him, hoarsely.
"Not by a mile, you crazy fool," Elrond told him softly, endearingly. He sighed, looking at Aragorn earnestly, "You are right. All that can be done for him here is being done, and exceptionally well too. There is but one remedy that merits serious thought."
Legolas' brows rose. "Indeed?"
"We wish to take you away from here, to Valinor--" Elrond said, before the door burst open, and Suarez entered, trailed by a rambling Ana and the cameraman.
"Is this thing going to happen or what?" Suarez asked.
" " "
Waitress Jackie sat across from him in the booth Elrohir moodily commandeered. It was an extremely light night for the diner. It was a light night out in LA in general; the people who were not parading around Leland Greene's hospital, or helping to keep peace and order there, were all at home, awaiting that Craxi exclusive that most people would have given heart, hand and foot to get.
She had a cup of tea, and served him a fresh pot of coffee that he immediately took to with gusto.
"You're a very complicated guy," she told him, warily.
"Yeah, I know," he told her wryly, "Why the hell would a guy come by anywhere wanting to see a beautiful girl or speak with a humorous and intelligent one, right?"
"I know I'm all those things," she said, only half-mocking, "And there wouldn't be anything complex about that, not at all. The thing that I cannot understand is why you are here, when those things do not interest you at all."
"Hm," he frowned, thinking, Why was he here?
"And I know for a fact the coffee's not the best," she said, "So it can't be that. And if you were counting on this one being free too, well you're sorely mistaken."
He tried to give her a cheeky grin, and damn near succeeded, except his face crumpled and fell, quite embarrassingly, and unexpectedly, and completely.
"I'm losing my mind," he growled at himself, as he angrily wiped at the tears that escaped his defiant, fiery eyes.
She reached over the table, and griped his fisted hands. She kept him from wiping at his tears, and just spent a good moment, intensely watching him cry. At first he struggled, but she was insistent, and he did not want to hurt her. He then looked left and right, hoping he wasn't being watched. She thought in that odd moment that he looked like a child. His eyes finally settled on her face.
"So I have seen the burnt of it," she told him softly, letting go his hands at last, "The shame is useless, shed it now. And then tell me what is on your mind."
He wiped at his face, irritably. "Ugh."
"So what is this about?" she asked him, pouring him another cup of coffee.
"I'm having separation anxiety," he replied cryptically, and she suspected there was an inside joke there somewhere.
"From whom?" she asked.
"From you," he replied vaguely, "From this rotten cup of coffee, from this diner, from everything here that's... normal..."
She laughed in surprise, "Did you just call me ordinary?"
He smiled at her sheepishly, "A compliment, in my book."
Her lips quirked, but she said nothing more of the topic. "Separation?"
"I have to leave for awhile," he said, "A good, long while."
"I see," she said, "Why?"
"Until all this hoopla dies down," Elrohir replied, "That will take a few hundred years, I reckon."
"Yes," she agreed, thoughtfully, "Where do elves go when they want to hide?"
"We don't use the term 'hide,'" Elrohir told her with a hard-edged smile, "We say strategic withdrawal." She opened her palms to him helplessly, pressing him to answer.
"It's a land across the sea," Elrohir said, distantly, "Where the rest of our kind lives. It could only be got to by special ships built by our shipmasters in their ancient, secret art. All of us suffer its call, and end up there one way or another. It is paradise, it is heaven, and I hate it."
"Well that could be a problem," she commented, wryly, "Why?"
He shrugged, "I like it here, for one. And then I hate the feeling of my hand being forced into things, secondly. Sometimes though, I think I'm the sort who needs to be pushed. My brother thinks we stayed here because we'll be too complacent there, in Paradise. And I'm afraid of that, you know? To live and not have anything to look forward to next. To live and never be found wanting, it's... it's death."
"Everyone should be so lucky," she told him, wistfully, "Can I tell you what I think?"
"Isn't that why I'm here?" he asked.
"You're here because you're trying to pretend that you can delay the choices you have to make," she corrected him, "Bask in the 'normal' and 'ordinary,' talk to a nobody, do everyday things. You didn't come here to talk to me. You came here to be like me. But you are not. Ordinary people very rarely do extraordinary things, or have extraordinary chances, as you have done, as you have before you. Your aspirations to be anything less than that is totally backward."
He snorted at her, indignantly. And yet he found he could think of no way to counter her observations and theories.
"So can I tell you what I think?" she asked.
"By all means," he said, wryly, reaching for his coffee cup.
"You tried so hard to keep away from complacency in paradise," she said, "That you ended up being complacent here instead. Now this will be incredibly trivial next to your problems, but hear it in good faith. I like taking long, hot showers."
He nearly choked on his coffee. "Excuse me?"he coughed.
"I've always felt that hot showers robbed me of all ambition," she said, "I get in, I close my eyes, I stay as long as I possibly could. You feel like time stretches, but then it still whittles down to nothing while you imprison yourself by your pleasures. You think you can stay forever, but you age, and you wrinkle, and you end up skipping on a good part of the rest of the day. A long shower is always nice, but you have to step out and live out the rest of the day, you know? Otherwise it's like being dressed up with nowhere to go. Maybe it's preparation, maybe it's procrastination, but there are some inevitable things and then you just have to go out and do it. Maybe it's time for you to take the next step in your life, and if that's a ship out of here, toward heaven or hell or wherever, then it's the thing to do."
"You think about all these things everytime you have a bath?" he teased her, attempting to make the mood lighter, except his eyes were thoughtful, and enlightened.
"Only on weekdays and I have to go to work," she replied with a melodramatic sigh, "It's so hard, trying to find the heart to leave the shower and go to work."
He smiled at her, genuinely, "I enjoyed this conversation. But I have to leave now."
"So soon?" she asked, glancing at a discreet limo that pulled up to their line of vision, from the glass on the booth.
"I was wrong," he said as he rose, "You aren't very ordinary at all. And I should go, before I decide I like it, and end up finding another excuse to stay here."
" " "
Elrohir arrived at the hotel in time to catch the introduction to Anatalia Craxi's exclusive interview with Leland Greene. This section of the program, he noted, must have been recorded before the live airing of the interview. The introduction basically comprised of Anatalia's voice over a series of stock footage and photographs.
"In the nineteen-eighties," she said, "A recluse of a woman named Francine Davenport died, in England. The Davenports were a family of soldiers and politicians, with a proud ancestry of public servants, traceable all the way to the sixteenth century.
"Intrigued by the possible historical relevance of any items she may have left behind," Ana continued, "Letters, photographs, other forms of documentation, Craxi Publishing purchased the estate at auction."
A clip of the actual day of the auction was shown, featuring a very conservatively dressed Gandalf, in an apparent incarnation as an auctioneer. Pippin looked at the wizrd wryly, and the old man smirked at the hobbit. There was an undeniable primal pleasure about finding oneself in the telly.
Several sketches of uniformed men on a ship or on an untamed land were featured in the news, as the voice-over continued, "1585, Roanoke Island, North Carolina. There was a Davenport on ship duty, who perished in a scuffle with the locals."
"We have seen these before," Elladan murmured, thinking back to that very first day he had brought Anatalia Craxi to Imladris, that very first time he realized she was going to be some lovely trouble.
Another sketch was featured, and the narrator stated that it was aboard the Endeavor, dated 1769. A Davenport grandson was sent to explore Tahiti with Captain Cook. The introduction featured another sketch of an exploration to Java in 1820, a photo set in a recruitment office in London in 1916, one of rescue workers during the air raids in 1940...
"The photographs, oddly enough," Ana continued her tale, "Shared not only the similarity of having Davenports featured in service, but one other thing."
The photos were then showed one by one again, and then zooming in, closer and closer for a better look at the faces. And then the camera zoomed out, and featured the photographs side by side.
"Each and every one of these photographs," she said, "Featured a stranger, who always stood by a Davenport, and always ever looked the same."
The photos were then featured one after the other again, this time focused on the face of Legolas Greenleaf.
"As if he did not age," she said, "As if he did not die. Who is this stranger? Who is this man? He has been known as Legolas Greenleaf, as Lane Garrison, as Luke Grey, amongst other names. He has been thought of as an angel, a ghost and the devil. Lately, we have known him as a cop, a hero, a friend, or simply as Lieutenant Detective Leland Greene."
The slideshow cut to a live airing right outside the doors to the injured officer's room, where the immaculate, if pale looking Anatalia Craxi stood rigid, a microphone in her white-knuckled but un-shaking hands.
"Tonight," she said, "In his own words, we're going to find out who he really is, and what that could mean for the rest of us."
TO BE CONTINUED...