Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters, Valve does. I'll just play with them like marionettes.
Francis had met McCarthy only a few times, and had never really drawn any strong opinions of him. He had always gathered that McCarthy was a run of the mill Government employee: by the book, humorless, and completely officious.
He was, of course, exactly right. From the moment McCarthy walked into Morgan's office, he was defensive, suspicious, and reluctant to listen to anything the FBICE agents had to say. It wasn't until Morgan played him the playback of the recording that he would even deign the thought that one of his most talented (if not least trustworthy) agents was capable of kidnapping. Francis had to hold his tongue a few times, and there were a couple moments that he thought he would punch the Assistant Director of CEDA in the spleen. Had Morgan not been there, the biker probably would have ended up with another assault charge coming his way.
"If your organization wasn't still so shady, corrupt, and broken, none of this would have happened in the first place!" Morgan snarled.
"I don't think we can place blame on an entire organization based on the actions of one rogue agent," McCarthy replied, crabbily.
"Knowing your organization, it doesn't seem like it's just ONE rogue agent," Francis sneered.
"So it turns out that Creevy is a bad apple-."
"I'm pretty sure it's the barrel that's rotted through," Morgan barked.
"So what is it that you want ME to do?" McCarthy snapped back, crossing his arms defensively. "I highly doubt that Agent Creevy is going to be answering his phone, after all, if he HAS gone rogue."
"HE KIDNAPPED-!" Francis began, but Morgan held up his palm and pressed on his shoulder, stilling him in his chair.
"McCarthy, cut the shit," Morgan said, voice low. "You have spewed so much of it when it comes to Creevy, I highly suggest that you stop now. This person has done countless things that have warranted his removal from your organization, and frankly, that have warranted prison time, and yet you and your superiors have swept it under rug, after rug, after rug. If you keep defending him, when he has put the life of a high ranking FBICE agent at risk, you are going to fall as well. Probably not as hard, or far, but it will be a black eye on your career, and I would make DAMN sure that you are always remembered as the Great Enabler."
Ah yes, Francis thought, smiling smugly. Sometimes it was best just to let Morgan take over. His mentor had such a way with words, after all. McCarthy glared at him, and stood up from his chair.
"… I will make some calls. I will put some of my men on it even though this is NOT what their job description entails. I'll even personally write up a recommendation that Creevy be stripped of his badge. But honestly, Morgan, I don't know if I can do much else. I have no idea where he would have gone, he hasn't contacted me and probably won't contact me…. I obviously made mistakes when it came to Mark Creevy."
"NOW he figures it out," Francis groused as Morgan stood up as well, and McCarthy glared at him viciously.
"I think that YOUR biggest problem is that Creevy is one of our cleverest agents," he said, simply. "I'm not sure we could find him even if we wanted to. Which means I'm not sure that we'll find your agent either. At least…. Not until it's too late."
"… And if that's the case, I'm going to make sure that someone takes the blame," Morgan said, coolly. "So. I propose that you put your BEST men on it. For your sake."
McCarthy straightened his tie a bit, and said nothing as he left the office. Francis smirked, and turned to Morgan after the CEDA agent had departed. "Can you teach me how to sound so goddamn threatening without saying one threat?"
"It's a gift," Morgan said, going back to the recording. He wanted ANY indication of what Creevy was thinking, be it in his voice, or in the background noise, or what. He couldn't help but blame himself for part of this. He hadn't liked the idea of trying to wire tap the CEDA agent, after all, but once again his fondness for Nick had clouded his judgment. He sighed, putting the head phones to his ears and listening again.
Francis leaned against the desk, and waved to get his boss' attention. Morgan removed the headphones. "… So how many FBICE agents are on this?"
"Half the D.C. department." Morgan answered, restarting the recording again and listening intently. There really was nothing there that he could find.
"…. We should be out there," Francis said.
"We'd be completely lost if we did."
"Well we should do something!" Francis said. "I don't want to sit around just waiting for updates from our guys, especially since it just seems to be bad news whenever we do get an update!" They had only received one update from the field, and that was Harrigan saying that they had found Creevy's car, but it was abandoned. And soon thereafter someone had reported a stolen car in the same area. It seemed like quite the coincidence.
"We can't do anything but wait, Francis, you know that," Morgan said, voice weary. "We have to stay here instead of running around D.C. blindly. There's an APB out on Creevy and Nick."
"But-!"
"Francis! We NEED to wait!" Morgan snapped, and the biker growled, stamping to the wall and putting his arms against it. He knew that there wasn't much they could do right now. He just didn't want to accept it.
The phone rang, and Morgan grabbed it as Francis spun around. "Morgan?... I…. Yes, that's fine, let them up!" he snapped, and slammed it down. "Security desk needs to stop pestering me, goddammit."
"No shit," Francis said, irritated that they'd built his hopes up for a short moment. They remained in silence a few moments, as Morgan replayed the recording and listened intently. The biker listened to Creevy's mocking words again, and groaned. "…. Look, what if you stay here and I go out? I can get a car, I can go searching-."
"Look Francis, do what you want, alright? I understand that you're antsy, and I can't stop you from going out and looking for Nick, but I am staying right here and waiting for more information to come to me."
"And what if no new information comes?" Francis demanded. "He's going to kill him, Morgan, doesn't that concern you? Cuz it doesn't seem to!"
Morgan was about to slam his hands on the desk and start ripping into Francis for even implying such a thing, but before he could the door to his office flung open. Ellis rushed into the room, looking frazzled and terrified, and the Assistant Director stood up. "Ellis-."
"Have you heard anything?" the mechanic asked as Rochelle and Wednesday trailed into the room. "Has anyone heard anything, has Creevy called, or-?"
"No, nothing yet," Morgan said, quietly. Ellis was going to ask another question, but then he noticed Francis leaning against the wall, staring at the floor. The mechanic's face contorted into a brutal snarl, and he suddenly shoved the biker, who slammed into the wall.
"HEY-!" Francis yelled, but Ellis pointed up at him.
"YOU SAID YOU'D MAKE SURE HE WAS SAFE!" he shouted. "YOU PROMISED ME-!"
"Ellis, hang on-!" Francis exclaimed, still a bit thrown that the usually carefree and happy southerner had exploded in such a violent way.
"FUCK YOU!" Ellis shouted, swiping at the biker, and Rochelle and Morgan both ran forward to try to separate them as Wednesday tried to sink into the corner of the room. "DON'T TELL ME TO HANG ON, I TRUSTED YOU-!"
"Ellis, stop!" Rochelle exclaimed, and Francis grabbed Ellis' shirt, yanking on him and shaking him.
"JESUS CHRIST HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL RIGHT NOW?" Francis roared in the younger man's face. "He's my BEST FRIEND for FUCK'S sake!"
"STOP IT!" Rochelle cried, forcing herself between the two as Morgan shook his head vehemently. "Goddammit, you two need to stop! This isn't productive-!"
"I don't care what's productive, he promised me that he'd keep Nick safe and he didn't!" Ellis snapped, still glaring daggers at the biker, who was now glaring daggers right back.
"Listen here you fucking hick, I did what I could, it wasn't MY idea for Nick to get into the goddamn car with Creevy!"
"So it's NICK'S fault?" Ellis yelled in disbelief.
"NO-!"
"KNOCK IT OFF THE BOTH OF YOU!" Morgan roared, sick of the fighting, and Francis shoved off the wall and stormed out the door, punching the frame as he did. Rochelle ran a hand across her face, and she went after her boyfriend, though she kept her distance. When he was like this, he wanted to at least have the illusion of being alone.
Ellis put his hands to his face again, and exhaled. Yelling at Francis hadn't made him feel better. If anything it made him feel worse, and his hands shook as he pulled them away. It was then he noticed Morgan looking at him with the utmost pity, pity that both upset the mechanic and yet calmed him down a little bit. "….. 'M sorry," he said, softly, to both Morgan and Wednesday. "I…. I don't know what got into me, I shouldn't've done that."
"…. I know what got into you," Morgan replied, calmly. "And from what Nick and Francis have told me, I think Miss Deitz here does too." Of course Morgan understood grief. When he was told that his son had, in fact, contracted the Flu in spite of not showing symptoms until they were in quarantine, he'd nearly taken the head off the doctor who told him that there was nothing that could be done. He'd already lost his wife, and had thought that maybe his boy had gotten lucky, like the girls had. He had to be pulled off the doctor before he did something he'd regret. So to see a raw, uncontrollable rage and fear and sadness in Ellis was completely understandable to him.
Ellis nodded, and pressed his hands against the wall. "I just… I'm so scared."
"I know."
"An' I…. I just want to find him," Ellis continued.
"So do I. So does Francis. The only person at fault here is Creevy, and we're going to find him, okay? I'm working my ass off to try and figure out if there's any clue where he might have taken Nick."
"Well what're you doin' to figure it out?" Ellis asked, wiping his brow with his arm.
Morgan pointed to the headphones. "Listening to the recording, trying to figure out if there are any sounds that might give us an idea what direction he may have been driving in."
"Okay," Ellis nodded, hugging himself. "… Is there anything I can do to help? I really, really wanna help, Morgan."
Morgan sat back down at his desk, opening the computer screen up again. "I know you do. I think first and foremost you should go work things out with Francis. I don't want one of my best agents distracted by a fight."
Ellis nodded quickly, and smiled at Wednesday. He hoped he hadn't completely freaked the girl out with his actions, but even if he had, he had a feeling that Wednesday would understand. "I don't…. Where would he be-?"
"Try the break room."
"….. Um-."
"Turn right and go down the hallway until you see the recycling bins," Morgan said, putting the headphones back on. "Then turn right. Can't miss it."
"Kay."
Ellis walked down the hallway quickly, and after turning right by the recycling bins there was, indeed, a large room with drawn blinds. He walked to the door, fully intending to just walk in and start apologizing. But he paused in the doorway at the sight in the break room.
He was incredibly surprised to see Francis clinging to Rochelle like his life depended on it. His big arms were wrapped around her curvy frame, and his face was buried in her shoulder. She was stroking his back with her fingers, whispering private and probably soothing words as she hugged him. It was very rare that Francis would show this kind of emotion, as for him worry and fear usually came out as anger and frustration. To see it coming out as despair was jarring and upsetting. Ellis swallowed, and decided that this moment was meant to be private, and so he turned around and walked back towards Morgan's office, heart hurting even more now.
He walked back into Morgan's office, and found Wednesday listening to the recording while Morgan chewed on his fingernail. When the older man saw the confused expression on the mechanic's face, he shrugged. "New set of ears might be enlightening. Seeing if she can hear anything that I couldn't."
"Oh."
"Did you find Francis?"
"Yeah. He needed to be alone, I'm gonna talk to him later," Ellis said, and removed the hat to run a hand through his hair. He watched Wednesday listen to the recording, and she frowned a bit before removing the headphones.
"Sorry. I don't know, it all just sounds like Lou Reed and obsessive jabber," she said, shrugging.
"That's what I thought too," Morgan said as she set them down on the table.
"Well, what if I take a listen?" Ellis asked. "I mean, I don't know anything 'bout D.C. and what I should be listenin' for, but I really wanna try."
"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Morgan said, handing the headphones to the mechanic. Whatever would make Ellis feel helpful AND would take his mind off stewing was okay in all their books, and the Assistant Director hit the play button, watching the mechanic's face as he listened to the recording.
Ellis held his hands to the headphones, his heart thudding as he heard Nick talking to Creevy. It was as if he was listening to a live phone conversation, which was eerie and mildly upsetting. He leaned against the desk, taking in the entirety of what happened in the car, trying to concentrate on anything that might have stood out. It was hard to keep himself from starting to get completely worked up again, as hearing his lover's voice was welcome but painful. He leaned his face forward and closed his eyes, trying to picture just what it had been like in that car. Why did Nick have to get in that car? And people thought he was the impulsive one.
It wasn't until Creevy said his last words that Ellis opened his eyes. He removed the headphones, scratching his nose with the back of his hand, and he gripped the desk.
"Well? Did you hear anything?" Morgan asked, and the mechanic shook his head morosely.
"No," he replied. "I mean…. Somethin's off, but I don't…. I don't know what it is!" He kicked the desk with the back of his boot, and shoved away.
Before Morgan could ask him what he meant by that, Francis and Rochelle returned to the office. "Any news?" Rochelle asked as Francis took his place in another corner of the office.
"No," Morgan said, shaking his head.
"Of course," Francis muttered.
"Okay, maybe we can't do much here but we can at least try and piece some things together," Rochelle stated, her need to solve problems peeking through her worry.
"Such as?" Morgan asked, and she pulled up one of the chairs so she could sit down.
"Well, for starters, do you think that Creevy would stay within D.C., or do you think he would take Nick out into the Grey Zone?" she asked, looking between the two Z-Men.
"He has most certainly taken him out into the Grey Zone," Morgan stated. "That area is so poorly monitored because there's no one there, the abandoned buildings are the best places to hide. We've put men out there, but there's so much of it around here it will take a very long time for them to search through. Days."
"So we need to narrow down the Grey Zone a bit," Rochelle said. "Do you have a map of the city and the surrounding zombie areas?"
Morgan nodded, and went to one of his large metal cabinets. As he did so, Ellis turned the computer around to replay the recording. Something was there. He just couldn't put his finger on it. Morgan spread the map out on the free space of the desk, and grabbed a pencil. "So here is where we are," he said, circling a vague area. "Wilde Roast is up here." He circled an area in the Dupont Circle area on the map. "The Grey Zone is above Cathedral Heights and Edgewood, and the opposite banks of the Potomac acts as borderlands along the West, East, and South."
"Well let's assume that he went North since he was in Dupont Circle," Rochelle said, covering up the other directions of the Grey Zone. "If Nick was drugged Creevy would only have a certain amount of time to get him out of the city, so I can't imagine that he'd turn around and drive BACK THROUGH the city just to take him across the Potomac. He'd need time to get Nick to wherever he was taking him."
"Okay, that would make sense, but that's still a lot of area to cover," Morgan said, voice tired. "There are some pretty hairy areas up in that part of the Grey Zone, he'd have to be nuts to go into some of them."
"I think it's pretty clear he's off his rocker," Francis said, gruffly.
"Good point. Well, I'll make some calls, tell them to focus more on those areas," Morgan said, reaching for his phone.
Ellis had closed his eyes, listening to the recording again. He didn't know what it was, but something was nagging at him. He listened to what Creevy was saying about Nick's past (Ellis knew Nick was smart, but he had no idea he was THAT smart), and listened to Nick smart off. He listened to Creevy keep talking in spite of the fact Nick was no doubt unconscious by the end of the recording, the implications of that disturbing, and listened to a rustling sound that must have been the wire being ripped out of Nick's shirt.
"…I'll be at my most satisfied when I finish what I started in Santa Fe," Creevy's voice crackled in the recording, and it made Ellis shudder. But he was compelled to click the player back a bit, just to hear those words again. "…I'll be at my most satisfied when I finish what I started in Santa Fe."
And at that moment, his gut instinct suddenly knew what had him so worked up. He played those words back one last time, and his eyes snapped open, wide and ablaze. He took the headphones off, and threw them down on the table. "Oh my God, I just figured out what was weird about that recordin'!" he exclaimed, and the others all looked at him. "I mean, it's nothin' like WEIRD weird, but I figured out what's kinda eatin' at me! It's the last thing Creevy said, about finishin' what he started in Santa Fe."
"Well, he tried to kill Nick in Santa Fe, so we figure he's going to try to do that again-," Francis began, but Ellis shook his head vehemently.
"Yeah, but I mean….. Why not just say he's gonna kill him? Why the weird dramatic flair?" Ellis asked. "Why not just shoot him in the head right there if he wants to kill him so bad?"
Morgan nodded slowly. "You think he had something else in mind?"
"Uh huh," Ellis nodded, heart racing again. "He wanted to make it, like, special I guess? There's no other reason to kidnap Nick unless he had a bigger plan!"
"I suppose," Rochelle said. "What are you thinking he had in mind, sweetie?"
"He wants to finish what he started in Santa Fe," Ellis said, and suddenly it clicked for Francis too, and the biker pointed at him.
"Holy fuck, Motor Mouth," he said. "You're right."
"What am I missing?" Rochelle asked, and Ellis turned to her.
"He probably wants to make this personal, like, to try and make Santa Fe happen all over again! He almost got Nick there, but cuz of Francis it didn't work," Ellis explained. "But now that it's JUST Nick, there'd be no one there to bust in and stop it!"
"Ellis, you aren't saying the whole thing-!" Rochelle said, frustrated like, but the mechanic turned to Morgan.
"Hey, in the Grey Zones up there are there any old churches?" he asked, and Morgan snorted.
"Yeah, lots."
"And do any've them have bell towers?"
"Yeah, a good number of them do," Morgan said. "So you think that he's going to take him to a church with a bell tower?"
"It's just a hunch, but if he wants it to be like Santa Fe that would make the most sense," Ellis said, adrenaline pumping. "Can you put a lot've your guys at the churches up there?"
"I'm the fucking Assistant Director, of course I can," Morgan scoffed, and grabbed his phone.
"So now we know where to look, let's get out there!" Francis exclaimed, finally stoked to be able to have SOME idea of where to go. "I'll get the guns and-!"
"Francis, hold on," Morgan said, and the biker huffed in frustration. He was sick of holding on!
"Why? I know D.C. well enough to know where a bunch of CHURCHES are!"
"I don't want you going out into the Grey Zone by yourself, okay? And I have to be here to get the calls and coordinate everything, especially if I'm going to be trying to get all the information from all these guys up in Zombieland."
"I need to get out there!" Francis complained.
Morgan was about to try and explain to him again, but before he could Ellis raised his hand. "I'm goin' with him!"
This, in Morgan's eyes, was an even worse idea. "Oh no."
"What do you mean 'oh no'? He's volunteering to go with me!" Francis said. "That's two people, that was the deal!"
"It's not that easy, Francis," Morgan said. "I'm sure that Ellis is damn good at killing Infected, but-."
"I'll go too," Rochelle interrupted, and Morgan rolled his eyes. "What? You think I can't keep up with them? I'll have you know-!"
"I'M SURE YOU CAN, but you're civilians!" The old and tired argument came out, and Ellis scoffed, shaking his head.
"Oh c'mon!" he exclaimed, thinking that quibbling over something like that was ridiculous considering they were no doubt running out of time.
"I'm sorry, but on a case like this I can't just deputize you so easily! We're dealing with an agent from ANOTHER organization, and unless you're already an FBICE agent I can't authorize it!"
"Morgan, with all due respect, he's my partner and Ellis' boyfriend! You can't expect us all to stand here and just twiddle our thumbs, not when our friend is in trouble!" Francis snapped.
"Oh yes, because it's just that easy! You guys think that you're Harry, Ron, and Hermione going to save Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets or something?" Morgan exclaimed.
The reference floored everyone.
"…Wow," Wednesday said, impressed. "You read Harry Potter?"
"My kids did," Morgan said, gruffly. "ANYWAY, you guys aren't-!"
"Well hang on," Francis said, and pointed at both Rochelle and Ellis. "Nick and I already deputized them during that Tank attack back in Roanoake II. So, I mean, you wouldn't be deputizing them NOW, because it's already, uh, happened…. Does it work like that? Is that a good enough loophole?" Nick was usually the one who thought of the more creative loopholes. Their boss paused a few moments, weighing the argument.
"…. Good enough for me," Morgan finally said, and Ellis nodded, rushing out the door. "HEY-! He doesn't know where he's going-."
"We'll catch up to him," Rochelle said as Francis bolted out of the office as well.
"For God's sake, take my cell phone in case you need to call me," Morgan said, reaching into his pocket and tossing it to Rochelle. "And I'll call you with any news I get."
She accepted the phone. "Sounds good, thank you Morgan." She followed, but called over her shoulder "Wednesday, stay here-."
"Gladly," the teenage girl said, and plunked down in one of the chairs on the other side of Morgan's desk. He sighed, hoping that HIS superior wouldn't catch much wind of this, or if he did, wouldn't ask questions. For now he had some calls to make. As he dialed up his telephone, he glanced at the teenage girl who was in the chair across the desk. Instead of dwelling on the fact she was the age Max would have been, he opened up the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a book.
"You like Harry Potter?"
"Yeah..?" she replied. He slid the book over the desk, and she lifted it up to read that it was a biography of FDR.
"That's better than Harry Potter," he said, and sat down in his chair. She smirked, and shook her head.
"I'm sure… You're worried, aren't you?" she asked.
"….. Of course. Aren't you?"
"Well, I don't know Nick very well, but…. Yeah. I'm worried. For him AND Ellis," Wednesday acknowledged. She sniffed, and before either of them could linger on the worry, she opened her mouth again. "So thank GOD that I have this book on FDR to take my mind off things." Morgan shook his head, smiling. While he hadn't liked the idea of playing babysitter, at least she was snarky.
Nick huffed in the chair. His hand hurt, his head hurt, and, interestingly enough, he was bored. Creevy hadn't said much of anything for the past half hour, he was just looking at his watch every few moments. His finger had started to coagulate, even if it still hurt like a bitch. He cleared his throat, and Creevy looked up from his watch. "So as great as this time we spend together is, what exactly are you waiting for?" Nick asked, voice a bit hoarse due to the lingering pain. "I'll be honest, this is a torture worse than pulling a 'Lord of the Rings' on my finger."
"Oh don't worry," Creevy said, once again looking at his watch. "It won't be long now."
"WHAT won't be long?" Nick asked. "Are you waiting for this one to scab up before going for the next? I mean, whatever floats your boat, man, but the dread that usually come with torture is being replaced with ennui."
"…. So where did you meet him?" Creevy asked, ignoring the complaints.
"…. Huh?"
"Jethro Clampet. Where did you meet him?"
"Fuck off. I'm not talking about him with you, douche bag," Nick snapped.
"Oh ho ho, a little discretion when it comes to a lover of yours, that's different," Creevy said, snickering. "Usually you like to brag about the ways you make them scream and pant."
Nick didn't say anything, swallowing quickly.
"…. Really, you're no fun. I like learning all I can about you, Nick, and that's the only thing that isn't in your record," Creevy said, leaning his head against one of the wooden pillars.
"What IS your obsession with me, man?" Nick asked, incredulous. "I mean, don't you think that it borders on pitiable?"
"I don't think it's pitiable to have a nemesis," the CEDA agent responded. "All the greats had one, in real life and in the literary world. Adams had Jefferson. Moriarty had Holmes. I have you."
Nick chuckled a bit, rolling his eyes. "Wow, that's even MORE pathetic."
Creevy's eyes narrowed. "What is?"
"The fact that you have designated me your nemesis!" Nick cackled, shaking his head. "I mean, shit, if you were my nemesis, that would imply that I had some kind of RESPECT for you! Which I fucking well don't!"
"Big words to say to the man who holds your life in his hands!" Creevy snapped. "I nearly killed you once-!"
"Noooo, YOU didn't do shit! You just locked me in a room with a Witch," Nick scoffed. "Anyone could do that! What do you want, a cookie or something?"
"I just cut off your finger-!"
"Oooh, yeah, feel good about cutting a finger off a hand that's duct taped to a chair," Nick scoffed, finding this needling to be incredibly cathartic. "You're SO badass."
"Shut up!" Creevy exclaimed. "You always had a problem with authority, Nick, and you never respected me as your superior-!"
"Newsflash, asshole: YOU WEREN'T MY SUPERIOR! The only person I had to answer to was Morgan, YOU were just brought in because your organization pissed and moaned it's way to having a faux influence over what we do, but EVERYONE knows that CEDA is barely hanging on by a thread anymore. FBICE is and always will be the superior organization, and CEDA has no control over it. Just like YOU have no control over me!"
"You really oughta be careful what you say-."
"Why? Creevy, I clearly have some freaky little 'Fatal Attraction'-y hold over you, but, and I hate to break this to you, the feeling isn't mutual. Like that teenage girl said to David Bowie in 'Labyrinth' (not that I'm comparing you to the incomparable David Bowie, mind you), 'you have no power over me'," Nick rambled, mixing his metaphors. Man that hand wound must be fucking with your head, he thought. "I don't go to bed every night thinking of how much I hate you, and I don't wake up every morning wondering what I can do to get back at you. To be perfectly honest? You just aren't worth it."
Creevy looked like he was about to come over and cut off another of Nick's fingers. But instead, he just strolled to the gambler, slowly and deliberately. "Last chance, Nick. You've spent so much of our time together deriding me and undermining my authority. If you just once, just ONCE, admit that yes, I have the upper hand here, that I've HAD the upper hand in these situations before, and that because of that I deserve your respect…. I will go easy on you. That's all you have to do. Just eat a little bit of humble pie, and I will change what I have in store."
Nick raised his eyes to look at Creevy in the face. And he smiled a little bit, before spitting on him. Blood tinted saliva ran down the CEDA agent's cheek, and Creevy pulled back, wiping it off on his arm. "Very well," he said, and looked at his watch. "Well, perfect timing. She should be ready soon. Maybe about a half an hour, really."
"… Who?" Nick asked, watching Creevy walk towards the door to the bell tower once more. "Who'll be ready soon?" Creevy ignored him, and left the room. Nick let his head tip back again, and he rolled his head from side to side. He didn't appreciate the coyness, and glanced down at his hand again. Though he wasn't sure that it was going to matter, as in all likelihood he wasn't going to survive this, his vain side shook his head at his now four fingered hand. "God. Freakshow."
The door opened up again, and Nick was considering making a snide comment about Creevy making up his mind. But when he saw just what the CEDA agent was carrying, his blood ran cold.
For in Creevy's arms was a very real, very knocked out, Witch.
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST," Nick exclaimed, tensing up, and Creevy walked into the room, the limp female Infected swaying in his arms.
"Nick, I'd like you to meet my lovely assistant," Creevy said, and let her fall to the floor. She hit the wood with a thud, her straw-like hair covering her face. "As you can see she's a little tired right now."
Nick rattled in the duct tape, his inherent and understandable fear of Witches rocketing up the stress scale. "What did you do to her?" he asked, trembling. Creevy shrugged.
"Same thing I did to you, I drugged her," he replied. "Of course, she didn't have an open coffee cup so it wasn't as easy. Had to use a tranquilizer dart. She's been out for awhile now. But she should be waking up in about, oh…" He looked at his watch. "Half hour. Give or take."
"How do you know-?"
"How much to give and how long it takes?" Creevy asked, anticipating the question. "Fair question. But I've Gone To Salem enough times to know just the right doseage to give her." Nick closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I take it you've heard of Going to Salem?"
"I'm familiar with the charming colloquialism, yes," Nick said. Going to Salem was a code that had popped up through the various cities and, unfortunately, Government agencies that referred to drugging a Witch so one could have sex with her. There had been a huge crackdown in FBICE when it was revealed that a number of agents in the Chicago branch were participating in such activities. Nick had always assumed that it had gone on within CEDA as well, but he never heard anything. It wouldn't surprise him if CEDA just didn't pay attention to it. They didn't pay attention to the Flu in it's early stages, after all.
"But you've never done it yourself?" Creevy asked, skeptically.
"It may come as a shock to you, but rape isn't my idea of fun," Nick said, trying to sound vindictive, but the Witch sprawled out on the floor was controlling his emotions and he wasn't able to hide his fear.
"It hardly counts with these things."
"So I take it you 'indulged' a bit with this one too?"
"I never kiss and tell."
"Sick fuck."
"You're one to talk," Creevy shrugged, sitting back down on the wooden step. "Now all I have to do is wait. She'll wake up soon enough, dazed. In a little bit of pain. And PISSED, no doubt."
"And you've laid me out here on a freaking silver platter, I get it," Nick said, sneering. "Fish in a barrel, Creevy."
"You call it cheap, I call it efficient," Creevy said, smiling at him. "And this time I'm going to watch. I'm going to make sure that the job gets done. The last time I got too confident, and we all know how THAT turned out."
Nick looked at the girl on the floor, and through his paralyzing fear he could feel a small bit of pity. Though she was mutated and contorted, he could tell that she was young, probably barely twenty, if that. Wounds and scars and filth covered her exposed skin, and who knew what Creevy had done to her. With the theories about Infected having some recollection of past events and emotions, the gambler couldn't help but feel a little bad.
Of course, once she woke up she would probably tear him to shreds, so the pity only went so far. "So, what? You're just going to sit here and watch?" the gambler asked, looking back at his captor.
"That's… yeah, that's the plan," the CEDA agent nodded. "I'm going to climb up those stairs about the time she starts to stir, keep out of sight. Then I'll make sure she takes care of you, and then…. That will be it. I'll go into the Grey Zone and…. Start anew. Maybe head to Mexico. I feel like this is going to be my opus, Nick. YOU are going to be MY 'Requiem'."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Nick said. "… Can you please do me one thing? Like, a last request of sorts?"
"Perhaps. What is it?"
Nick sighed, eyes falling on the Witch as the fear began to mingle with acceptance inside of him. "I don't want them to find me."
"… What do you-?"
"Your beef is with me, not with Francis or Morgan… Or Ellis," he said, closing his eyes. "When she's done…. Bury me. Because if they find me, whatever she leaves behind is going to be really fucking awful. And I don't want Ellis to see that."
He knew that people always said that it was worse not knowing. Of all the folks he'd talked to during the testing, they were so worried about the loved ones they hadn't seen, or heard from. One woman said that she'd rather know that her mother was dead than having to wonder if she was. He appreciated the sentiment. But in this case, he had to believe that not knowing what happened to him couldn't possibly be worse than seeing that all that was left of him was a pile of torn entrails.
Creevy tilted his head to the side, and nodded firmly. "I can definitely do that for you," he agreed. Nick nodded back, and looked up at the ceiling. Sorry, kiddo, he thought. Definitely better you not know.