NOTE: I'm already looking to the future. Look below for an important question about what you would like to read next…

A nice long chapter for you all

Warning: some violence and character death ahead

...

Chapter 21

A Rescue

...

"Weller, I've heard back from my contacts in the CIA and NSA," Nas' voice carried into the busy fray of the bullpen bringing the interested team to a halt.

"And…" Zapata prodded.

"My contact in the CIA was unwilling to give any definitive information about Keaton's directive but when I discussed what had happened there was a conveyed level of surprise. I don't think Keaton's actions were cleared by his superiors. I will be surprised if Keaton doesn't get some backlash for going rogue."

"Did they give you anything we can use to find Jane?"

"Utilizing data from NSA resources, as well as a confidante in the CIA office, I've compiled three locations in New York that are owned and used by the CIA for… 'private affairs.'"

"That's good," Reade burst out in relief. Finally something they could work with. "Where?"

"One in Huntington, one in Queens and one in the Bronx — all in industrial or secluded areas." Nas pinpointed the addresses on the computer screen.

They surrounded the map, scrutinizing it carefully. The one in Huntington was the furthest out — the most private. The one in the Bronx was near an abandoned refinery plant and in a rough neighbourhood. The one in Queens was the closest to the parking structure where they had last seen Keaton.

Kurt took command of the situation immediately. "Alright. Zapata, Reade— we're each going to lead a team at one of these locations. Zapata, you take a few agents and go to the Huntington location. Reade, you will rendezvous with the team already at the parking structure and take the Queen's location. I will take the Bronx."

He met everyone's eye in turn. They all knew how important this was; there was no room for mistakes. "Be thorough and be safe. Everyone suit up, we will go over tactical approaches with Patterson en route."

…

The team hurriedly bolted for the locker room to arm themselves to go out into the field. Kurt paused in his office. Before he could think twice, he quickly dialled his phone to reach out to Roman. It felt fair to update him on the situation.

It rang repeatedly… no answer.

He tried again without any luck.

Kurt eyed the clock, anxious to be on his way. He was just debating whether or not to call Roman in the SUV— when his cell rang. Unknown number.

"Hel—"

"— Stop calling me."

"Do you want to be kept in the loop or not? We got some new intel. Contacts in the CIA and NSA gave a few potential addresses that Keaton might be using. Huntington, Queens and the Bronx — you want to cooperate?"

Roman let out a huff of laughter through his nose. "I guess you guys aren't as helpless as I thought. I'm already tracking a location in the Bronx, by the water, I followed Keaton to this area a few weeks ago."

Kurt blew past his frustrated that Roman never shared this information earlier; his gut was telling him that this couldn't be a coincidence. "Where in the Bronx? Is it in Port Morris?"

Roman didn't answer for several long seconds, "Yes." He seemed to debate giving more information. "I'm closing in on the location now."

"Wait! Roman, wait for backup — we are on our way."

This time Roman laughed out loud, "I don't need your help, G-man. But if you're hoping for a piece of Keaton— you better hurry." He hung up and Kurt was left with the dial tone.

"Damn it." Kurt cursed as he bolted out the door. "Change of plans; Reade, Zapata you are both coming with me." Grabbing his phone he relayed the adjustment to the other teams; they would still check the other two locations to be sure but he knew— he knew — that Keaton was at Port Morris.

Kurt didn't know what was going to happen, but he only wanted his team with him when it went down.

…

...

Keaton hadn't taken too kindly to Jane breaking his nose.

Swinging fists tossed her body like a rag doll and yet each strike hurt less and less as Jane allowed her mind to rise above the pain until it became a dream. As the harrowing blows fell into the background, escape moved to the foremost of her mind.

It would have to be sooner rather than later — Keaton was acting too impulsively. Every minute in this hole weakens my resistance and physical strength. Every hour solidified his hold.

Jane's hands had grown increasingly numb but she subtly flexed and twisted her hands to loosen the bindings on her wrists. Keaton had made a mistake by using rope instead of plastic strips or handcuffs. Water from the drownings had made the rope slightly more pliable, enough that she was able to work at it. It chafed and cut her skin like hell, but that was nothing compared to what she was facing at Keaton's hands.

This building was well chosen, but Keaton and his men had not taken the time to organize the space. If she could get free, there were piles of junk in the corners where she could see potential weapons. But her surest bet was to escape out the lone, blackened window facing the waterfront. If she could jump into the murky waters — she knew she would evade Keaton and his men easily.

Jane conjured up familiar faces and memories to strengthen her resolve and keep her mind focused on anything but the endless questions spitting from Keaton's mouth. In the harsh electric light, his face was ghoulish and his eyes possessed. She preferred to look through him instead of at him.

Jane's heart flew far away from this dark place. Her mind was flooded with conversations with Reade and Zapata's dirty jokes. She relived silly chatter with Patterson and drunken pizza nights with the team. She let her heart warm with the memories of Kurt's lips against hers and soft whispers of 'I love you.'

I have a life to live

She had a brother who had just returned to her life. The thought of Roman had sent his voice ringing through Jane's ears — his training and a memory of them fighting side by side. It was enough to keep her grounded in what was important. She had to make it out of here to save him.

My family is waiting for me

Jane armoured herself with the knowledge that she was capable of getting through this. She was a survivor. She was better than Keaton.

After what felt like hours, Jane felt the rope give enough to slide her right thumb past the knot. Hiding her triumph, Jane pulled the rest of her right hand from binding. She masked the move by jerking back harshly from a harsh blow to her belly. In an effort to maintain her prone pose, Jane gripped the hook and continued to dangle, seemingly helpless, from above.

Keaton reacted to her faked show of agony, "Finally had enough, Jane? I think it's time for some electric current to loosen your tongue."

Jane gathered her momentum; she lifted her head slowly and met his sick grin with a dark smile, "I'm afraid I'm done for today."

Dropping from the rope she tackled Keaton to the ground and stunned him with a blow to the head. The two henchmen came at her from opposite sides. Ignoring the throbbing ache from her ribs, Jane moved forward aggressively to attack.

She couldn't let them pin her down. Running on adrenaline, Jane let her instincts and muscle memory take over.

Jane was about to go for an uppercut when a gunshot pierced the silent night with a deafening boom — the agent she was aiming for dropped to the floor. Jane looked down to see blood tricking from the forehead of her, now dead, assailant.

Another gunshot resounded and Jane heard a grunt and then the solid thump of the second henchman dropping to the cement. Jane turned slowly to face the door bracing herself for a new enemy.

Seconds stretched in the ominous silence as a dark silhouette hovered in the doorframe. Jane met the unknown figure grimly before the light cast a glow upon a familiar and welcome face, "I guess you got the party started without me, sis."

"Roman." her face broke into a disbelieving, grateful smile.

I can't believe he came looking — I thought he had given up on me. How did he get here so quickly? How did he know?

Jane moved forward to greet her brother with open arms but was stopped short when she felt a sharp grip snag her leg. Keaton's hand was grasping her ankle. She kicked back to dislodge him but he caught her foot and bashed his fist against the back of her supporting knee.

Her knee bent reflexively, collapsing her leg, and her body lurched. She couldn't correct her balance in time and her body toppled backwards, colliding into a wooden crate with a sickening thunk.

Then everything went black.

…

...

The neighbourhood was deserted except for a few homeless men and some stray animals — no threats. The air was cool coming off the water, but foul smelling and mixed with the refuse from the street.

Roman scouted the building he had seen Keaton enter all those weeks ago. It appeared abandoned, but he knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. The intel from Weller only solidified his belief that this was the most viable location.

Cautiously he tested a side door with his gloved hand. The flimsy lock was easy enough to manage. The building was large and decayed, but the walls were thick enough to deafen the sins perpetrated within.

Graffiti, discarded needles and beer bottles suggested that the area was occasionally used by teenagers or the homeless— though Roman didn't see evidence of recent habitants. Absentmindedly, he wondered if the CIA ran them off every now and then to keep the building empty… but he focused his mind on more important matters.

Straining his senses, Roman squinted into the dark corners of the room and searched the silence for signs of life. In the background he could hear the calm lapping of the water nearby and — what was that? Voices?

Following the sounds, Roman moved from room to room until he sounds became distinctive. The mocking voice of AD Keaton and the familiar sound of flesh beating flesh. Roman had been through so many traumatic and barbaric "training exercises" with his sister growing up; he told himself that he shouldn't be affected by anything.

And yet, even though he had steeled his heart to feel nothing, when Roman peered into the lighted room and saw her dangling there, her body being beaten without remorse, blinding rage swept over him like a crashing wave.

It didn't matter that Jane wasn't Remi.

It didn't matter that she had handled worse than this.

All he saw was his sister — his protective, fierce, loving sister — being hurt… by Keaton.

His fingers tightened around the trigger of his gun and he silently stepped from the shadows to exact his vengeance. Roman lifted the gun and aimed… only to see Jane's hand slowly slip from it's bond.

He paused only seconds — and witnessed Jane manoeuvre herself into position and then take Keaton to the ground. He shook his head in wry disbelief.

My sister always did like to take matters in her own hands. So typical of her to rescue her own damn self.

Well, I'm not going to let her have all the fun; these bastards deserve pain.

Without blinking, Roman easily shot out the flanking CIA guards that had moved in on Jane's sides. Jane paused, staring at the fallen henchmen in confusion and whirled around to meet the unknown. Roman emerged from the doorway, grinning at Jane's surprised expression. It felt like old times — the two of them, together against the world.

And then the rug got pulled out from under them.

It happened in slow motion. Jane was coming towards Roman with a tired smile and then Keaton got a hold of her leg. He trapped one foot and knocked out the other causing her to fall — her arms flailing uselessly. The sound when her body hit that crate was so loud in the silence. She hit her head and hit the ground… and she just… lay there.

His sister, crumpled like a broken toy.

Time stopped.

Roman's stunned silence was broken by Keaton's wheezing chuckle.

Ice filled Roman's veins and murderous intent froze his heart. Only one thought centred in his mind — one task that his brain and body undertook with ease and razor-sharp focus. Make that son of a bitch pay.

The CIA Assistant Director was attempting to scramble to his feet and reach for a gun. Roman walked forward coolly, snapped back his leg and kicked Keaton savagely in the face. The sound of teeth and blood hitting the floor were like music to his ears. He cold cocked Keaton on the head with his gun — it wouldn't do to end the fun too early.

…

With Keaton subdued, Roman hurried to his sister's side. He almost wept in relief — she was still breathing. The head wound was small — bleeding but small — her pupils were equal and reactive. Her eyes already fluttering as she returned to consciousness. A good sign.

"Jane, wake up Jane." Roman softly tapped her cheek, taking care not to jostle her body.

Her eyes squinted and she groaned, "Roman?" Her voice came out thin and confused which only enraged Roman further. Remi always hated any appearance of weakness.

"You're safe. Stay still, I'm going to take care of business and then we'll get you home."

Roman made busy work of tying Keaton securely to a sturdy chair. Shepherd always taught him to clean up his messes. If you have to leave a body, make sure there's no trace that leads back to yourself. After all, the FBI was on its way.

The two dead bodies were conveniently out of the way. Roman needed them to stay where they lay in order to preserve the scene. As much as he preferred to dispose of their bodies — he couldn't take the risk that the blame would fall back on his sister since she was the last to see Keaton and his men alive.

This way, there would be no question that the two CIA agents were shot from an unknown gun from the direction of the doorway. His sister would only have only minor traces of gun shot residue and her head wound as plausible deniability for haziness in her recollection of events. If he had to, he could tie her up again to set the scene.

Roman turned to find Keaton slowly awakening. He surveyed the room and picked up the cattle prod, a metal pipe and a lighter. It was a start.

Keaton's eyes widened as he grasped the situation, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Roman ignored him and added rags and a gallon of water to his collection of supplies. Eying a container of bleach tucked in the corner, he snagged it for later.

Keaton struggled to remain composed, "I don't know what you think you know, but I am the Assistant Director of the CIA. It was my job to interrogate that woman — you are making a huge mistake."

Roman turned to him emotionlessly, "I know exactly who you are, Jake Keaton. You were just doing your job and I'm just doing mine. That woman you were brutalizing, is my sister and it's my job to make you pay."

Starting with the pipe, Roman smiled cruelly and took aim.

Pay back's a bitch

…

...

"Weller, what aren't you telling us?" Zapata demanded once the SUV was blazing through intersections. It was strange for Weller to change plans so rapidly. "What's changed?"

"I talked to Roman."

"You WHAT! How… when…?" she spluttered.

Kurt smoothly responded, "At Reade's suggestion, I realized he could be a valuable resource. I used Jane's contact number and gave him the intel we had. He told me that Keaton was at the Bronx location just weeks ago."

Tasha smacked Reade upside the head and glared at him for keeping her in the dark. "That's good though — that means we're probably going to find Jane there. Why didn't you say that before?"

Kurt pressed his lips together grimly, "Because, Roman is already there and I'm not too sure what we're going to walk into."

Reade gave her a loaded glance and they fell into a charged silence.

…

It felt like hours when they finally rolled through the dingy neighbourhood. Cracked windows and trash-strewn streets under the sporadic street lamps made it seem deserted. Following GPS they park half a block away from the abandoned building and spread out to find an entrance.

As a unit they filed through the still building. Moving at a rapid pace, it didn't take long for them to hear the screaming. When they first heard the ominous echoes, Kurt's first thoughts had immediately feared that it was Jane. However, the voice was masculine.

Regardless, they moved more cautiously as they closed in on the horrific howls.

When they finally found the origin of the noise — it was not pretty. Keaton was strapped to a chair streaked with his own blood and vomit. His clothes were soaked in water and yet his face showed evidence of burns. The orchestrator of Keaton's injuries was the familiar scarred man whose face filled Jane's sketchbooks.

Roman turned around as they entered, his hand reflexively reaching for his gun but he dropped his hand when he saw Weller. "About time you showed up. Did you not use the sirens?"

"Roman. Where's Jane?"

Roman's face bore faint approval at Kurt's concern, "She's alive but hurt. She's wrapped in a blanket in the corner. When I got here, she had almost escaped all on her own, until this jackass bashed her into a crate."

Kurt nodded to Reade and Zapata to keep their guns trained on the action while he split from the group to check on Jane. Under Roman's watchful eye, Kurt hurried to find Jane tucked behind a tipped table.

It was like the vice on his heart and lungs finally opened. He could breathe. She was alive. Pressing his palm against her chest his eyes burned with unshed tears as he felt the strong thrum of her heart beat. Pushing the curls away from her face his lips curled back in anger at the bruises that curled around her neck and bloomed up the side of her cheek. Pulling back the blanket his hands began to shake with rage at her soaked clothing and welted skin.

Her eyelashes fluttered at his careful touch. "You gotta wake up, Sweetheart, Roman said you hit your head."

Jane blinked groggily, until her eyes recognized Kurt's face looming above her own. "You're here… am I dreaming?"

Kurt clasped her hands tightly around her own, squeezing hard despite the defensive wounds. "I'm real. We're going to take you home."

Startling to awareness of her surroundings and the reality of Kurt's presence, Jane eyes alert with adrenaline. "What happened? Are Roman and Keaton still here?"

"Not for long"

Keaton was a dead man.

Kurt worried about her concussion and other injuries— they needed to end this quickly and get some medical support. When Kurt rejoined his team — Zapata and Reade both shifted back at the waves of anger coming off of their leader. They wanted to ask after their friend, but realized now was not the time. Besides, judging by Weller's reaction, Jane must be pretty beat up. Instead they hardened their hearts against the imprisoned man before them.

Keaton had roused to consciousness and was observing Kurt with apparent relief. "Weller, thank God you're here. You have to help me; this man is a lunatic! Shoot him!"

Kurt ignored his plea dispassionately, "What are you doing here, Keaton?"

Even under such painful circumstances, the man lied well. "I was doing my job, Weller. You know how it is."

He was trying to weasel out of his sins. Kurt's eyes flashed over the quivering man with cutting sharpness, "That's a lie. The CIA never gave you a directive to take Jane. Try again."

Keaton's face twisted into an ugly sneer made worse by the burns, "Always by the book, Weller. You never understood the dirty decisions that protect this country. Jane had valuable intel — intel I spent months trying to extract — and she shared it with the FBI. I wasn't going to wait and beg the FBI for crumbs on a case I spent a year trying to put together. My boss thinks I'm inept, all because I couldn't break a woman. I wasn't going to let her beat me… one way or another that bitch was going to squeal."

Kurt barely kept it together through Keaton's disturbed rant. He was unhinged. The muscle in Kurt's cheek flexed repeatedly as he clenched his jaw to stay in control. "You lost, Keaton. You are never going to see Jane again."

Maniacal laughter gurgled from Keaton's throat, "You can't protect her from me, Weller. Jane and I will always have unfinished business. You can't be by her side every second of the day, eventually your vigilance will lapse. Besides, I think she enjoys my company — you should have heard her scream."

Kurt's control snapped. Striding forward he slammed his fist into Keaton's jaw with a satisfying crunch. Each time his fists found home in Keaton's face, Kurt only saw Jane's bruised skin and battered body. Vengeance.

Eventually, Reade pulled him away.

Keaton wouldn't go down without a fight, he spat out, "What are you really going to do, Weller? You can't kill me— I'm the Assistant Director of the CIA."

Kurt was torn. He ached to kill this man was a menace to society — deranged and holding real power to do damage. Keaton showed no mercy— tortured Jane cruelly for four months and stole her away with the intention of doing it again. He was never going to leave her alone. She would always be looking over her shoulder.

A man would do anything to protect his family.

But… backup would be here soon. The whole NYO was aware of the situation — they knew Keaton had Jane and they knew the address… He had to think.

Roman's cold voice startled everyone, "You're a liability, Keaton. They might not be able to kill you, but I can."

Roman pressed his gun against Keaton's head and pulled the trigger. A shot echoed loudly in the dim room.

…

I tried to keep the gruesome parts not too gruesome.

Once again, please don't hate me. This chapter was getting long and I wanted to post something rather than keep you all waiting.

Really, REALLY excited to hear your thoughts on this.

This fic has been so much fun — but there are only a few chapters left… unless you guys have an idea to extend it somehow... or a sequel?

Question

Looking ahead for the next fic — what genre would you like most

a) Drama/Action

b) Angst

c) Romance

Of course, to be honest, a single fic will have all of these elements — but which one excites you the most as an overarching theme. I have a few ideas for each category so this will help narrow it down.