I just wanted to say, before this gets super heavy, thank you for reading this fic! If you've been here since the beginning (or, at least, before my unforgivable absence) thank you for sticking around! If you're new to this fic, thank you for giving it a chance! I loved and appreciated every review and view on this fic, and your feedback means a lot to me.
Anyway, let the tears begin!
He woke up alone.
He was in a tiny bed, in a stone walled room. As he came too, he guessed that it was probably a basement.
Matt took a deep breath, and took stock of his own body.
He had been drugged, obviously. The last thing he remembered was his frantic search for an entrance to the Athenian catacombs. He'd been tailed since arriving in the city, and he'd spent hours and hours and hours trying to lose his tail, but as every hour passed, he just kept gaining new tails. He was getting desperate.
Of course, entrances to the catacombs are usually in dark, shady, out of the way places, which also happen to be the best places to kidnap someone.
So this was, Matthew realized, his fault.
It was all his fault.
Groaning, he sat up, and assessed the situation, as he had been trained to do.
There was a lump on the side of his head, the whole left side of his body was bruised. His knuckles were raw and bloody. His clothes were torn and dirty, and he was barefoot. The floor was ice cold as he stood to look out of the tiny window. It was entirely blocked off with fluffy white snow, which allowed only a little light through.
Unless he'd been out a lot longer than he thought he had been, Matthew was somewhere in the Alps. It had been a cold spring in Europe, but he still must have been at a pretty high elevation for there to be snow in late April.
If he was going to escape, he would need supplies. He was in rough shape, but he could make it. As long as he doesn't die of hypothermia first, he could make it. Morgans were stubborn and resilient, after all. He could make it.
This isn't the first time he's been in enemy hands. He's never been in the Circle's hands, but they're not infallible. He's spent years proving that they're not infallible. The Circle can be defeated, and he can escape from them.
He can escape from them and make it back to safety.
So he thinks.
He has three hours and twenty-two minutes to think before the door opens.
Three people enter. The first is Catherine Goode. She smiles in a way that Matthew thinks is supposed to be warm and friendly. God, he really hates her.
The second is Dr. Steven Sanders, who Matt met the first time he gave a lecture at Blackthrone. He was always a little irritated by the blustery little man, and the idea that he was in the Circle was horrifying. A wolf in a bumbling, clumsy sheep's clothing.
The last was Max Edwards. They'd gone on a few missions together, in the past, before Edwards joined Interpol. Matt had never really trusted him, and was at least a little pleased to see that his instincts were right.
Dr. Steve does most of the talking that time. He wants to know who's in the Inner Circle. He wants to know the name of the asset who gave Matt the list of the members of the Inner Circle. He wants to know who had given Matt inside information on the Circle.
Matt doesn't tell them anything even as they beat him and break his bones. He has to protect Joe.
They give him some water and a chunk of stale bread before leaving him alone for thirty-six hours. Matt does not sleep.
He'd left the necklace in the bank. He'd separated the lock and the key.
He'd written a letter to Rachel and Cam. His journal was hidden in Joe's cabin. Together, they would have all of the information they'd need. They could piece the clues together, when it was time, and together, they would see the Circle fall once and for all.
Catherine, Dr. Steve, and Edwards return.
That time, Catherine does most of the talking. She demands to know who's in the Inner Circle. She demands to know the name of the asset Matt met at the circus. She demands to know how much Matt has told Rachel.
"What, still bitter that she got a better grade in CoveOps than you did, Catherine?" Matt asks, rolling his eyes even as Catherine burns his flesh.
Rachel is innocent. They were expecting that, but they needed to ask, and do not ask again when they can see the honesty in his eyes.
They give him water and bread again.
Matt can't stop himself from falling asleep. He's not sure how long they leave him alone this time.
As soon as he wakes up, he pushes the bed as far from the wall as he can, which isn't far at all. His arms and torso are burnt and blistered, his ribs are shattered, so is his bad knee, and so is his left hand.
He realizes.
He'll never be able to escape.
He knows he has limited time. Hopefully, someone is already looking for him—Joe, at least. Maybe the Agency. He knows he missed a meeting with that cutout. Surely, someone knows by now that something has gone wrong.
Still, Matt has his doubts.
He doubts that anyone will be able to make it in time to find him alive. And he accepts that.
Because Matt has lived and worked with people who do incredible things against impossible odds for almost twenty years. He's been in love with one for fifteen. He's been the father to another for twelve.
But that's never been him. He's good, but he's never been special. He's a natural, but he's not a prodigy. He's never been a deep cover operative, like Abby and Joe, who have spent weeks undercover, only to have their job end in a maelstrom of bullets and daring helicopter escapes. He's never been a ringer, like Rachel, a living deus ex machina who could save doomed jobs with madcap plans without batting an eyelash. And he wasn't fortunate enough to have been born into this world, the world in which he absolutely belonged, the way his daughter had been—Cammie will never have to worry about feeling like she didn't belong.
He had less luck than them.
Matt is certain that his luck has finally run out.
He carves his initials into the soft grout between the stones.
MAM.
He rips apart his skin, drawing blood just under his fingernails, but hopefully, someone will find that someday and will know that Matthew Andrew Morgan was here. Hopefully, they will discover that he has not gone far. That he has not vanished without a trace.
He pushes the bed back, hiding his mark.
Hours later, the three Circle agents return. This time, Edwards gives him with what Matt is pretty sure is a double dose of sodium pentothal.
He asks Matt where he got his information. He asks Matt who he has shared his information with. And then, he asks Matt who he knows in the Circle
Matt doesn't say anything. Not when Edwards hits him. He can't.
He can't say that Joe has been telling him about the Circle for over sixteen years.
He can't say that he took Cammie with him to the circus, that the list of the names of the seven original members of Cavan's inner circle is locked within her mind.
He can't say that, with one trip to a safe house, Rachel could find the journal that would allow her to end everything.
He's not going to tell them anything.
Edwards steps back, away from Matt, who is a crumpled mess on the floor.
"We're giving you an hour to change your mind, Morgan."
And they leave.
Matt can't move. He can only think.
The Circle has no reason to suspect that either Rachel or Cammie is a threat to them. They'll be safe.
Joe will never be able to openly confront the Circle, not until it's on its deathbed. But he has his own journal, and he will find Matt's.
Cam will go to Gallagher, she'll train like her mother and her aunt, and become a better agent, a stronger agent, a smarter agent than her father.
He's done everything he can to protect his wife and daughter. He's done everything he can to make sure they have the tools and information that they will need to continue the mission he's already failed. Cam will be a better agent than her father, she'll be brave and clever and she won't get caught and she'll have Rachel and Joe and Abby, they'll protect each other, and they'll bring down the Circle. They'll find the members of the Inner Circle, and they'll finish Gillian Gallagher's work. They'll finish Matt's work.
If they even want to. Matt thinks, despairingly. After all, look where trying to end the Circle has gotten Matt. It's selfish of him to expect his wife and daughter to carry on this mission. But—
No. Another thought comes to him. Everything that Matt had ever known about Rachel and Cameron Morgan says that they would want to finish the Circle if given the slightest opportunity.
Matt runs through the list of names in the Inner Circle in his mind. It's the only thing he can think of, the only thought that will not make him break down with regret. He repeats the names, endlessly.
Elias Crane, Charles Dubois, Thomas Avery McKnight, Philip Delahunt, William Smith, Gideon Maxwell, Samuel P. Winters… Elias Crane, Charles Dubois, Thomas Avery McKnight, Philip Delahunt, William Smith, Gideon Maxwell, Samuel P. Winters… Elias Crane, Charles Dubois, Thomas Avery McKnight, Philip Delahunt, William Smith, Gideon Maxwell, Samuel P. Winters…
Cammie will know. Cammie will remember. Perfect, beautiful, his little girl will remember. Even if she doesn't, he knows that even though he's separated the lock and the key, she'll figure it out. She'll read his letter and maybe travel to Ireland and she will know the names—
Gideon Maxwell.
Maxwell Edwards.
God.
Edwards had said, once, that his first name had been a family surname. He just had to find his first descendent of the Inner Circle when he was minutes away from death, didn't he?
Matt almost laughed. He didn't. His ribs were broken—he thought that maybe, he had a punctured lung. Still, he thought it was funny. Just his luck.
They return. Edwards drags him—literally drags him—up the steps, down the hall, out the door. He drags him through the forest, through the melting snow. Of course, they had to do this in the middle of the day, just to make sure that Matt knew they weren't concerned about any neighbors. They are alone.
He's somewhere hidden in the forests of the Alps, in god knows what country, and no one will ever find him.
The bring him to a perfectly rectangular clearing between the trees. As they approach, he sees the freshly dug grave.
A handful of other members of the Circle emerge from the forest as Edwards pushes him into the grave. Matt panics—please god, don't let them bury me alive, please, not that, not that, not that .
They all stand around the grave as Edwards jumps down into the dirt. He stands on Matt, who cannot stop his screams of pain as Edwards crushes his broken ribs and leg and fingers. Edwards pulls a pistol from his behind his back, and brings the barrel up to the point directly between Matt's eyes.
In his periphery, Matt can see the other members of the Circle watching. But Edwards does not speak loud enough for any of them to hear.
"Who has been giving you information about the Circle of Cavan?"
"No." His voice is faint. He tries to scream. He just screamed in pain, why can't he do it now?
"Come on, Matt. Answer the question. Who has been giving you information about the Circle?"
"No." Matt's voice is even quieter than before. He can't help it.
Edwards switches the safety off.
"Tell me what you know" He demands. His voice is flat.
Matt thinks about the circus. He thinks about Cammie so clever and funny and beautiful and perfect. He thinks about Rachel, the luckiest thing that ever happened to him was meeting Rachel in Paris on a beautiful spring day.
He closes his eyes against the glare of the sun on the snow. He wants to ruin Edward's secrecy, ruin his cover, reveal him to be an heir of the Inner Circle before the other agents. To make him vulnerable. He tries to shout, but he knows he can't.
He thinks of Rachel and Cameron, smiling, laughing, teasing, hugging him, the best things in his life. The last fifteen years of his life—has it really been that long? Has he really been in love with the most incredible woman for fifteen years? Has it really been thirteen years since he learned he was going to become a father? —have made this worth it.
There is a whimper.
"Gideon Maxwell," Matthew says. His voice is nowhere near as strong as he wants it to be.
And then a bang.