A/N: Thank you so much to MonsterInMyBed, who made a lovely, LOVELY video on youtube that was apparently inspired by this story. You blew my mind and I loved every second of it! ::hugs::
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters, Valve does.
"Would you watch the chest hair please?" Nick snapped at Francis as he taped the wire down to his chest.
"It's kind of hard when you're like a goddamn bear," Francis bit back. "Did you ever consider waxing your chest before we did this? Because, heh, this is gonna SUCK when it's time to remove it."
"Just shut up and tape it down," Nick grumbled, shaking his head. He probably could have at least shaved his chest. But…. He knew that Ellis liked his chest hair, and he was already treading towards hot water by doing this in the first place.
They'd been in Morgan's office trying to get ready for the meeting. Their boss had left to go retrieve the supposed tracking device, leaving the two Z-Men alone and Francis to strap Nick up. They'd been bickering the entire time, as was their usual custom when working.
"If you weren't such a freakin' graceless dumbass this would have been done a long time ago," Nick complained.
"Hang on, let me readjust this strip," Francis said, and before Nick could protest he'd ripped the tape from his chest. The con man yelled out, "GODDAMMIT!" as he leapt away in pain, and Francis did his very best not to laugh a bit spitefully. Nick turned back to him, eyes blazing, and the biker shrugged.
"Bet you wish you'd waxed now, dontcha?" he smirked, and Nick strode for him, just about ready to punch him in the nose, but before he could Morgan entered the room.
"Before you two kill each other I want to show you something really neat," he said, reaching into his pocket to remove a small box. "So you want to know the cool things your tax dollars pay for?"
"This better be good," Nick muttered as he and Francis gathered around the small box. Morgan opened it up to reveal a gold ring with a few stones in it. "Nice. Just my style. Why do I care?"
"Someone's had his chest hair pulled out by tape, hasn't he?" Morgan asked, and held up the ring. "You care because THIS is what's going to keep YOU in my sight during your meeting. It has a very small tracking device in it and it should blend in with the other gaudy jewelry you love so much."
"My jewelry isn't gaudy!" Nick protested as he took the ring from Morgan's hand, examining it.
"It's kind of gaudy," Francis said.
"Says the guy who has a goddamn skull ring," Nick sneered, still sore (figuratively and literally) from the tape incident. "Sweet. Much more subtle than those collars the Infected used to wear when they were tracked."
"One would hope so," Morgan said, and Nick put it on his left hand's middle finger. "Fits right?"
"Like a glove," Nick said, nodding. "Think I can keep it, maybe?"
"Doubtful," Morgan said. "We're all set. Court order is on the level, everything we're doing is nice and legal and my friend at the Justice Department is on stand-by. We just have to finish taping you up and we'll be golden. How are YOU feeling about all this, James Dean?"
"Fine," Nick shrugged as Francis began taping him up again. "If you do anything else to rip my hair out I swear to God-."
Morgan's phone rang before Nick could finish that sentence, and he picked it up swiftly, happier to hear whoever it was on the line than to hear cranky partners kvetch at each other. "Morgan."
"Agent Morgan, this is the security desk, I have a motley crew of people here who want to see you. I said that I'd need to get your okay first."
"Who are they?" the Assistant Director asked, skeptically.
"Well, the pushy leader's ID says her name is Rochelle-."
"Send them up," Morgan said, and hung up. He hadn't met this Rochelle person yet, but from all the things he'd heard about her 'pushy' seemed to be the perfect descriptor. "Alright, your friends are coming up to see you off, Nick."
"What?" Nick asked, and looked at Francis harshly. "Since WHEN were Ro and Ellis coming up here?"
"Since I haven't had time to see her since she got in early this morning, crashed at the hotel, and then decided to take Wednesday out for breakfast, that's when," Francis responded crankily. He wasn't used to having to share time with the teenage girl, though he knew that he was going to have to get used to it. So, he'd make time when possible. "What, you don't want to see Motor Mouth before you head out?"
"It's not that I don't WANT to, but I don't want to make a big deal out of this like I'm going off to war or something," Nick said as Francis put the last of the tape on his chest. "If I make a big deal out of it he'll just get more antsy and worried about it when he doesn't need to be." He smoothed the tape down on his chest, and poked at the small microphone. "Can we promise me that this isn't going to break?"
"Just don't slam into any walls and you should be good," Morgan snickered.
"I don't think Creevy could do that," Francis said, and reached for one of the pieces of tape on Nick's chest. "Hey, that one's a LITTLE off-."
"FUCK OFF," Nick snarled, smacking his hand away.
"I just don't want the mike to miss out on any important details!" Francis grinned, swiping for him, and Nick rushed around Morgan's desk in a retreat, leaving the Assistant Director to put a hand to his face. "Aw come on, Suit, don't be such a baby!"
"You're a sadist!" Nick spat, trying to fake the biker out by moving in both directions, but Francis wasn't tricked. "Seriously, dude, BACK OFF!"
"Best and brightest," Morgan muttered, and there was a knocking on his door. "PLEASE come in."
A pretty African-American woman poked her head in the door, smiling politely. "Hi, is this-?" She paused when she saw the ruckus that was going on, and a disapproving sigh left her mouth. "Oh. Yeah. This is the right office." She shook her head at Nick and Francis.
"I take it you're Rochelle?" Morgan asked, and she opened the door wider to reveal Ellis and a teenage girl.
"Yes, and you're Merle Morgan," she said, as Ellis waved at him and the teenage girl remained hesitant. "And I see Beavis and Butthead are up to their usual MTV-esque antics."
"Hey Cupcake!" Francis called, grinning from ear to ear as he left Nick behind the desk. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"
"Hi Baby, what are you doing to Nick?" she asked, as Nick waved at her sullenly. "Oh wow. That's quite the look for you, Nicolas."
"Oh man, Nick," Ellis said, stepping forward, and the con man shrugged. "You look…. You look like… I don't really know what to-."
"I look like a run of the mill rat, that's what I look like," Nick said, reaching for his nice shirt.
"You suggested this, Nick, so don't complain about being a so called rat," Morgan reminded him. "Hello, Ellis. And who is this?" Wednesday barely moved from her place outside the office door, and Rochelle turned back to her.
"This is Wednesday, she's my…. I'm going to be her guardian," the reporter replied, and motioned for the teenager to come in.
"Hey," Wednesday said, cautiously. "Hey Nick. Francis."
"So what are the three of you gonna do while Nick goes undercover?" Francis asked, and Nick rolled his eyes as he finished buttoning his shirt. It wasn't even undercover for God's sake.
"Well, we actually have a day of sight seeing set up, don't we Ellis?" Rochelle prompted, stepping next to the younger man and scratching his back. She knew that both he and Wednesday needed some distraction time this afternoon, and she figured the best way to do that was to drag them around D.C. "Wednesday wanted to see the stairs that were in the movie 'The Exorcist', and Ellis wanted to go to the Lincoln Memorial. So that's what WE'RE doing."
"Good," Nick said, relieved that SOMETHING would distract the mechanic. He caught his boyfriend's eye, and smiled reassuringly at him. "Hey, kiddo, I'm going to the vending machine for a soda. Want to come with?"
"Yeah, okay," Ellis nodded, and followed him out of the office. He'd never been in a building that looked so official before. There were a number of offices and meeting rooms, and many agents, just like in the movies. Though Ellis did have to admit that the agents here did look a little worse for wear and a bit more frazzled than Mulder and Scully ever did. That must have been the difference between being an agent in a small town like Roanoke II and an agent in a large city surrounded by VERY infected Grey Zone: Nick and Francis looked like they got SOME sleep. These agents looked like, for lack of a better word, zombies.
Ellis nodded at one of the agents, who nodded back with a vacant expression before turning to Nick.
"New one, eh Nick?" he asked as he walked past, and Nick sneered at him over his shoulder.
"Jealous, Harrigan?" he threw back, and Ellis chuckled nervously.
"Nick," he said, disapprovingly.
"He deserved the jibe. We fucked once and he ran right back into the closet," Nick said, shrugging, and Ellis turned around to get a better look at the agent now that THIS had been disclosed. But he'd already turned down the hallway and out of sight. "Wait til you see the vending machine. It's almost always broken and only distributes RC cola."
"No way, really?" Ellis asked as he followed Nick into a small break room area.
"… No, not really," Nick smiled, and pointed at the Coke machine. "It does eat quarters though, so I hope you have bills… Also, I wasn't really going for a soda."
"I know, you hate cola," Ellis nodded, and the gambler smirked. "So why DID we come over here?"
"Just wanted to get out of the madness in Morgan's office," he replied. "…. I was thinking that tonight when I get back, maybe we can… go out to dinner? Like, a nice dinner. There are some really nice restaurants here, and it's been forever since I've gone to a nice dinner. Or, in our case, it's been NEVER."
Ellis wasn't so sure that he could even think about a nice dinner at the moment. He was a bit on edge. Not to mention, he hadn't packed many nice clothes. Hadn't packed ANY nice clothes, really. "Um….. I don't, uh, I didn't bring anything I could wear to a nice place."
"That's okay. If you're going to those steps in 'The Exorcist' you'll be in Georgetown, there's lots of shopping over there," Nick said. "If you want I can spot you some money-."
"What? Naw, Nick, I don't need any money for clothes," Ellis said, shaking his head as he leaned against the vending machine. "You don't hafta pay for anything. I make enough at the garage-."
"I wasn't implying that," Nick cut him off, scratching the back of his head. "I just…. I want to take you out to dinner tonight… Just the two of us. So I can show you off and shit."
Ellis glanced at the vending machine, unable to help a small smile that was growing on his face. Yes, he was still nervous about what Nick was going to do that day, but the ever-charming gambler was making it really hard to stay worried, at least for now. "Well… Maybe Ro and Wednesday will be willin' to do some shoppin'."
"They're girls. Of course they'll be willing to go shopping."
"I'm gonna tell Ro you said that," Ellis threatened, and Nick smirked as he pressed him up against the vending machine. The mechanic sighed sharply, caught off guard by the sudden position he'd found himself in. "Nick, we're at your JOB-."
"Psh, like that's ever stopped me before," the gambler purred, and Ellis laughed quietly.
"You seriously never get enough, do ya?" he asked, and Nick shrugged as he teasingly bucked his hips forward. The younger man gasped, and smacked his lover lightly against the side of his head. "I'm not doin' this in a GOVERNMENT BUILDIN'."
"Aw, you're no fun, we've done this in YOUR place of business before," Nick said, thinking about the time they'd had sex on the workbench in the garage.
"Well that's different, this place is… a lot more serious," Ellis settled on, though he did make one teasing motion with his own hips. Nick grunted, and pinned Ellis' arm against the machine. "If I promise that we'll do this later, will ya let me go?"
"Only if you promise to keep that promise," Nick said, finally pulling away and letting the kid have some breathing room. "Alright, Overalls, You're free to move away from the vending machine, even if it's leaving my dick incredibly dissatisfied."
"Well, mine is too, so…" Ellis shrugged, and poked Nick in the chest.
"I suppose they'll want to get going soon anyway. We have some things to go over before two," Nick said, and the mechanic's face visibly fell.
"I figured," Ellis nodded. "…. Nick?"
"Hm?"
"….. Do you really have to do this?" he asked, cautiously.
"You know the answer to that."
"Okay… Nick?"
"Whaaat?"
"… Where are we goin' for dinner tonight?"
Nick's lips curved up, knowing that the mechanic had ultimately accepted that this was going to happen whether he liked it or not. And as he'd said before, Ellis didn't have to like it. It was a fine compromise.
"We're going to The Oceannaire," the gambler replied, placing an arm around his shoulders languidly as they walked back down the hallway. "Reservation for two."
"Sounds nice," Ellis said. It would be pleasant to finally have some alone time after sharing a house with Morgan and Francis the past couple of days. "I guess we'll just go sight seein' while you go an' do that. Maybe I'll get some new CDs or somethin', see if the Midnight Riders new album is out yet. They keep hintin' and not deliverin', man, it sucks!"
"That's because they suck," Nick said, and Ellis snorted.
"Your music taste is too snobby!" the younger man said. "You were singin' that 80s shit in the shower this mornin', after all!" Nick made a face is if wounded.
"What could possibly be shitty about Simple Minds?" he demanded, squeezing his lover close as he began to belt out 'Don't You Forget About Me' in the middle of the government building. Ellis snickered as other FBICE agents looked at them like they were crazy, and he shook his head. Nick was probably just trying to distract him. No harm in trying.
"You're obsessed with 'The Breakfast Club'," the mechanic muttered.
They walked back down the hallway and into Morgan's office, Nick ceasing the singing right before they walked in the door. Though they had, of course, heard him.
" 'Breakfast Club'?" Rochelle asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Best John Hughes movie ever," he replied.
"False, 'Sixteen Candles'," she retorted.
" 'Pretty in Pink'," Wednesday interjected.
"Chick movies," Francis grumbled. "I see you managed to forget the soda." He cast a knowing glance Nick's way, and the gambler shrugged.
"I thought you hated soda," Wednesday said, and Ellis snickered that Nick's ruse was so completely obvious. It wasn't HIS ruse, after all, he has nothing to be ashamed of.
"He does," Rochelle smiled, and Morgan looked at his watch.
"Well gents, as much as I like debating overrated pieces of cinema and how great soda is or isn't, we should probably be on our way," he said, clapping his hands sharply.
"Hang on," Rochelle said, holding up a hand. "I can't speak for Ellis, but I know that I want to know when you guys are finished. Like, the moment of. How are we going to know when it's over?"
"I can call you," Morgan suggested, and Rochelle shook her head slowly.
"Iiii don't have a cell phone, there's no point to in Roanoke II," she said. "No service."
"Me neither," Ellis said, nodding. "Yeah, how are we gonna know? Cuz I wanna know the minute it's done."
"Well," Morgan said, scratching his head, "when FBICE agents go into low service areas we give them pagers-."
"Oh yeah, like the ones you guys have," Ellis said, looking from Nick to Francis and back to Morgan. "Can you give us one've those?"
"I'm sure I can," Morgan nodded, reaching into his desk. "Here, use mine. It's ancient and probably makes a better paperweight than anything else, but it will do."
"How 1980s," Wednesday said, and Rochelle closed her eyes briefly. They'd need to work on politeness. She took the pager from Morgan, and nodded.
"This will work out fine," she said.
"Oh good," Morgan said. "Okay, sorry folks, but I have to ask all non-FBICE agents to go. We have to go over a few things and set up stuff in the van before we actually go to the coffee shop."
Ellis looked at Nick anxiously, arms crossing across his chest as if to defend himself from the departure, and Nick just gave him a comforting wink before nodding at Morgan. "Agreed, the faster we get there, the faster it will be over," the gambler said, and fully turned to his boyfriend. "Remember. Nice clothes."
"Yeah," Ellis nodded, smiling bravely, even though the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach was flaring up in full force. "I'll get somethin' nice." Nick pat him on the shoulder and kissed his temple. Ellis absentmindedly put a hand to Nick's cheek as he received the kiss, and took one last good look at him. "See you tonight."
The older man noticed that it was more of a command than a neutral statement, and he nodded emphatically. "You sure will." That irresistible mischievous smile reappeared on his lips, and he began to sing again. "Don't you try to pretend. It's my feeling we'll win in the end. I won't harm you or touch your defenses. Vanity, and security. OH!"
Normally he wouldn't sing like this in front of people. That was reserved for the shower. But if it would cheer his lover up, he would do it.
Francis smirked, and joined in. "Don't you forget about me!" they sang, and Rochelle shook her head as Ellis laughed, the civilians leaving the office. "DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T!"
"God dammit," Morgan muttered, closing the door behind them and trying his very best to put up with the two not so talented singers.
Now it was a waiting game. Two pm came and went, and at two fifteen Nick was actually sipping on a cup of coffee he bought at the Wilde Roast. It occurred to him that they'd never actually come up with a plan for if Creevy didn't show; he had just assumed that the CEDA agent would have. He was usually quite punctual, probably more punctual than Nick, and that was saying something. The con man took another sip, the hot beverage burning his tongue a bit, and he swore. Darn fine coffee, but darn hot too, he thought grimly.
Morgan and Francis were down the block and around the corner, waiting in the ugly grey van. Apparently it had either been the van that looked like it belonged to a child molestor, or a van that had bagel advertisements on it. They'd opted for the child molester van, as at least THAT would be inconspicuous. They could hear everything Nick was saying, but he didn't have anyway to hear them. He imagined that they were debating whether or not to call it off. Asshole, I have seven pm dinner reservations, Nick thought, and sat down at one of the tables outside the café. There weren't many people outside, as the late October air seemed to be a bit too chilly for the lot of them. Nick preferred this to sweltering.
"Just give me ten more minutes, guys," he said, knowing that his colleagues could hear him. "I got a feeling he'll be here soon." He didn't have anything of the sort. He just wanted to believe that was the case.
In the van, Morgan and Francis stopped bickering for two seconds to listen to what Nick was saying. Francis crossed his arms and nodded. "See? HE wants a little more time. We should give it to him."
"I'd rather we just call off the whole thing. Creevy's usually impeccably on time, I say he called our bluff," Morgan said, rubbing his eyes. Arguing with someone who always HAD to be right, even if the arguments didn't make any sense, was exhausting.
"Nick's the one who's putting his ass on the line, I say that we listen to what HE wants."
"I know that's what you say," Morgan muttered. "Fine. We'll give him ten more minutes, but that's it. Then we pull the plug and just…. Forget it, I suppose."
Nick drank more of his coffee, and huffed. If this didn't happen today, he wasn't certain that it was going to happen at all. So he really REALLY hoped that Creevy was stuck in traffic or something. At least the coffee was waking him up after a night of tossing and turning.
He was about to pitch a fit and tell Morgan and Francis that he was giving up, when Creevy's familiar car drove up next to the curb. He honked the horn once, and Nick looked up from his drink. When he saw the window roll down, he smiled to himself. "Show time guys, Creevy's here."
Francis hooted and hit the side of the van, while Morgan exhaled, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed. "Okay, let's get this party started, eh Morgan?" the biker asked, and the Assistant Director nodded.
"I guess so," he said.
Nick walked up to the car window, and bent down to look inside it. "Greetings Agent Creevy," he said. "Care to join me for a cup of coffee?" He held up his cup, and grinned.
"Get in," Creevy said, flatly. Nick paused, hesitance crossing his features, and he tilted his head to the side.
"Thought we agreed to meet here at this coffee shop," he said.
"We've met," Creevy replied. "Now get in."
"You're changing our arrangement."
"Either get in, or I leave."
In the van, Morgan growled. "Don't you do it, James Dean," he muttered.
"Why not?" Francis asked.
"He should stay in a public place," Morgan said, listening to hear what Nick would say to that.
Nick chewed on his finger for a moment, and weighed his options. True, he was supposed to stay in a public place, at least Morgan wanted him to. It was safer that way, and there would be witnesses if Creevy tried anything. But, on the other hand, Nick didn't want this opportunity to slip away. If Creevy left now, he might not have him alone again. And besides, he DID have a tracking device on him. So Morgan and Francis would have to follow at a distance. It wasn't like they wouldn't know where he was. Plus, what could Creevy do? Nick knew that he needed outside help and the element of surprise to go after anyone stronger than he was.
So, he shrugged. "Whatever. Talking out here or in there is all the same to me. Sure, let's go," he said, and climbed in the car, making sure not to spill his coffee.
"I might just kill him," Morgan snapped as Francis crawled over the seat into the driver's side of the van. "Insubordination and reckless behavior, not a jury in the world would convict me, I'd probably be given a medal."
"So we follow them," Francis said, starting the engine. "I can keep us out of sight, you just look at the tracking and tell me where to go, okay?" Morgan didn't say anything as he watched Nick's dot begin to move on the screen. Francis looked back as he started the engine. "Where am I going?"
"Go back onto Grove and turn right."
Nick settled into the lumpy seat of the car, and examined his fingers under the guise of vanity. In reality he was glancing at the ring, hoping that Morgan and Francis weren't too far behind. "So," he said. "Where are we going?"
"Just driving," Creevy said, and turned up his radio a small bit. The Z-Man was surprised to hear Lou Reed's 'Transformer' playing on the sound system, and he raised his eyebrows.
"You like Lou Reed?"
"He's fine."
"Wow. We actually have something in common," Nick said, going for another sip of coffee. He glanced out the side mirror, wondering if he'd be able to spot Francis and Morgan's van, but saw nothing of the sort. Keeping out of sight, makes sense, he thought, though he did feel a bit uneasy. "So. Are we going to talk?"
"Where is it?" Creevy asked, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove.
Nick stretched a bit. Now we're getting somewhere. "It's safe."
"Show it to me."
"No," Nick scoffed. "Let's talk first."
Creevy continued to drive, eyes staring ahead. His words had sounded angry, and yet his tone had been fairly even. Now he wasn't saying anything, he was just looking out over the road as he drove. It was a bit disconcerting, actually, and Nick cleared his throat, trying a new strategy. "So why didn't you notice that this was missing from the back of the truck? I would have thought a sneaky guy like you would have thought of that base to cover."
"I put my faith in other people and it always disappoints me," Creevy said. Hm, that's a bit too vague for my tastes, Nick thought.
"In what way?" he asked, trying not to seem too eager by leisurely drinking some more coffee before setting it back down in the cup holder. He looked out the window of the car, the nearly barren trees catching his eye. The colors probably had been great a few weeks ago. Now everything just looked dead. There were a few crows perched in one of the skeletal trees, and as the car pulled to a stop light he watched the birds cry and screech at each other.
"I was always told that hard work and tenacity will get you everywhere you wanted in life," Creevy said after a pause, and Nick turned to him. He looked as if he hadn't moved from his position. "My father said that if I studied, and worked, and devoted my life and energy to one goal in life, I would get everything I wanted. So I busted my ass. I worked, sacrificed fun, friends, time, a LIFE, and you know? It did get me somewhere. To a point, it got me somewhere. I became a CEDA Agent, one who was so well respected I was up for a promotion that would skip an entire level. I was a Wunderkid.
"And then you came along," Creevy said, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the rubber made rough noises of protest. He began to drive again, shaking his head. "You, a man who hasn't worked an honest day in his life. Someone who's manipulated, schmoozed, and stumbled into a life you don't deserve."
"That's your opinion," Nick scoffed, downing more coffee now.
"It's a fact!" Creevy snarled, and Nick briefly jumped. The song 'Satellite of Love' began to play off the album, and Nick would have been thrilled if he wasn't so caught up in the conversation. "It's a FACT. I've read your file at least a dozen times. More even. I know everything there is to know about you. You were raised in Los Angeles, your Dad was a corporate lawyer and your mom a professional housewife and golddigger. You were great in school, accepted to a couple Ivy League colleges, scholarships to a few Big Tens. But you decided to tell all of that to go to hell and split for Vegas to learn how to wheel and deal as, what I would imagine, a big 'fuck you' to your Dad.
"Run ins with the law, broken relationships, a rich inheritance and a ravaging infection later, you were hand plucked for an elite job, a job that people like ME had to earn. But that's just part of you, isn't it? You slide by and get whatever you want as if it's serendipity," Creevy said. "And then you get to retire at age thirty eight with a fat government pension coming to you, left to coast through the REST of your life with your flavor of the month boyfriend. While I'm stuck in one job that I will never, ever get out of, all because of YOU."
"Because of me, yeah RIGHT!" Nick laughed snidely. "YOU'RE the one who shot that civilian in the face, douchebag, not me! I just reported it because it was wrong! It's your own damn fault that you're stuck as a lower agent for the rest of your life, not mine! You've coasted too, buddy, everyone knows you've gotten away with lots of fucked up shit and NO ONE does anything about it! You should count your lucky stars you just lost out on a promotion. Anyone else would be in prison!"
"I do what I have to do to uphold the Order of things! I'm Government! It's in my right to do whatever it takes!"
"Bullshit!" Nick said, not as emphatic. Not that he didn't want to be emphatic, it just didn't come out that way. "You slide by just as much as me! And speaking of sliding by, THIS is some news that you're going to love! Listen to this: I never had to work hard in school to get straight A's, I know SHIT about sports but usually manage to win HUGE in sports gambling by picking the team name I like better, and as soon as I'm done in Roanoke II I'm NOT retiring! I was offered the position of the D.C. Assistant Director of FBICE, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to take it! So yeah, Creevy, maybe I'm charmed and you've been dumped on in spite of all the hard work you've done. But that's probably the Universe's way of telling you that you can get fucked!"
As he ranted, it occurred to him that he wasn't feeling right. His head was swimming a bit, and the song was echoing in his head in an eerie, otherworldly kind of way. He put a hand to his face, rubbing an eye before pointing at the CEDA Agent. "You may not get everything you want in life, Creevy, but that's all on you, not on me. You can try and have me killed, and you can try and frame me, but I'm going to keep coming back because that's karma." He swallowed, all of a sudden feeling very sleepy, as if the coffee hadn't done anything, or made things worse. He leaned his head back against the seat, and squeezed his eyes shut briefly to try and fight the feeling, but he suddenly felt like he was sinking under the waves of a very dark and very desolate sea, Lou Reed's voice the only thing he could hear now. And his eyes didn't open again, as he fell into that Lou Reed infested ocean, and passed out.
Creevy looked over at him, and then back at the road. He pulled the car over, and stopped it in a very large and abandoned parking lot. "I have something to tell you, Nick," he said, as he carefully unbuckled Nick's seatbelt and daintily unbuttoned his shirt. Just as he suspected, the wire was taped to his chest. He tilted his head to the side, and leaned back again. "I don't like Lou Reed. I just figured it would knock your guard down." He lifted Nick's limp arm, and grasped his wrist as he removed the ring from the con man's finger. He knew Nick like he knew the back of his hand, and THAT ring was new and serving a different purpose that decoration. He opened his window and tossed the ring through it, watching it hit the ground. "I don't like Lou Reed, and I never should have trusted Barbara Dane, or Edward Jacobs, to do my job. The only person who could remove this great white whale was me. I know that now." He started driving again, speeding quickly towards his destination, a maniacal grin on his face.
Back in the van Francis had stopped, but both he and Morgan were a bit put off by the strange ramblings coming over the wire. He was waiting for any indication that Nick was moving again, as his foot was getting itchy to hit the accelerator.
"Third time could be the charm, I suppose," they heard Creevy say, and Francis began to chew on his thumb violently.
"What's he talking about?" he asked, and Morgan just stared at the map. Come on. Move, he thought as if his thoughts could will it to do so.
"Third time WILL be the charm," Creevy continued. "…. So Morgan and Francis, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm not stupid."
Both Z-Men's faces snapped to look at each other, surprised and horrified.
"Just thought you'd like to know that Nick and I are going for a ride," Creevy said, his voice crackling over the wire as rustling and thudding distorted it.
"GO!" Morgan shouted at Francis, whose foot slammed on the pedal.
"I guess my sacrifice in all of this is that I've fully incriminated myself, but I think I like it better this way. I think in this life I've led I'll be at my most satisfied when I finish what I started in Santa Fe."
And with that, the wire tap made a crunching noise and went dead. It had probably hit the pavement and shattered about the asphalt.
"Francis, drive faster!" Morgan barked.
"I'M GOING AS FAST AS I CAN!" Francis shouted. "Are they moving?"
"No, they're still in place, go down this road and turn left at the second street!" Morgan snapped.
"Why isn't he moving?" Francis asked, speeding ahead and turning left so sharply the van's tires squealed. "What the hell is going on?"
Morgan shook his head, and looked at the screen. According to this, they should have been right on top of Creevy's car, and yet they found themselves in an empty parking lot.
"What the FUCK!" Francis exclaimed. "How could they not be here! The map says they're supposed to be right here-!"
"No," Morgan said quietly as Francis braked the van. "All the map says is where the tracking device is supposed to be. So… the tracking device is here, and they're long gone."
Francis paused a moment, and then shook his head before opening the door to the van. "Francis!" Morgan called, but the biker ignored him and began to rush around the lot, looking for somewhere, ANYWHERE, the car could be hiding. Even though he knew that it wasn't likely, a small part of him wanted to believe that they hadn't just let his partner get taken by a psychopath like Mark Creevy. He scanned the lot for a disrupted view of ANY kind, and He yelled at nothing but his frustration, kicking the asphalt with his boot as he did so, and Morgan honked the horn to the van.
"He isn't here!" the Assistant Director shouted as Francis took in a deep breath, trying to keep from having an all out panic attack.
"FUUUUCK!" he bellowed, hands flying to his head. "FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
"Francis! Get your ass in here, we don't have time for this!" he shouted. "Save it for when we get McCarthy in my office!"
"We had him!" Francis exclaimed, though he did trot back to the vehicle. "We fucking had him a BLOCK away from us and now we're FUCKED! NICK is FUCKED!"
"Get in the van," Morgan stated, firmly. "We have work to do." Francis did as he was told, and Morgan slid over to the driver's seat, seeing that Francis was shaking too hard to control the temperamental vehicle.
"Work to do?" the biker asked. "What sort of-?"
"Getting Nick back, obviously!" Morgan snapped. "Call McCarthy at CEDA, tell him to meet me at my office ASAP. Tell him it's an emergency."
"Yeah, yeah, that makes sense," Francis nodded, picking up the phone from the cup holder. "…. Oh shit."
"What?" Morgan asked, and Francis slumped back into the seat. "What, Francis?"
The biker sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "… What am I going to tell Ellis?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft.