If I had words... to make a week (or two) for you... I'd sing something completely different from my last two. (end mice voice singing) To be fair, it's really been okay and surprisingly productive, but only while being far too busy and chaotic!
Much like... this chapter. Muahahaha. :-D
Thank you so, so much for your kind reviews. They kept me in far better spirits through a rough couple of weeks than I could have expected!
LeafGreene01, I loved your reaction so much. Thank you for sharing! And yes, you should completely be enjoying it. Unbiased person right here, giving you full permission. :-D Your excitement was contagious and I'm so excited for the next chapters as well!
Natureliesbeneath, I actually feel badly now that everyone's having such a strong reaction to Fred being shot. I hope this chapter helps, but if not, you know where to send the messages (eep!). I love the weird ricochet idea, and I will be keeping it in the back pocket for the perfect occasion now... :) I hope you're not mad by now, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter!
Woodscolt215, thank you for your kind review as well! I was so glad that I wouldn't have to stretch your patience much further when I read your thoughts, and I loved your bonus! That is amazing - and you know, they do say that MEs are the 'doctor's doctor' because they have to know so much about so many different ways that the human body can go very wrong. But still, I think the other thing they say ("Just hope you don't need me to examine you!") is compelling as well. :-D And thank you(!) for the willingness to read a million sequels. That means the world to me because "more than one middle" sounds completely like me, I agree... :)
Enjoy!
-Button
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Jughead wanted to curse his clumsiness as he fell, but before he could even get that far he was deafened by the gun firing. Twice.
Fred's body jerked against him.
Tall Boy's hands wrapped around Jughead's upper arms and hauled him upright.
The siren was still screaming. Trigger was scrabbling on the floor, and the moment he had purchase he fled the noise. And probably the gun as well.
Jughead heard his own voice joining the siren as he yelled for help while he tried to fight Tall Boy off. He needed to get to Fred.
He hadn't regained his strength, though. Tall Boy simply lifted Jughead off of his feet and carried him out of the room toward the back door.
"Freeze!"
The word was shouted over the insane racket, and it shocked Jughead into silence. It sounded a whole lot like-
One more gunshot fired, and for the second time Jughead felt a body jerk in response to being shot.
Tall Boy bellowed as he crumpled into a heap, taking Jughead to the floor with him.
Brand must have been really ready with his trigger finger, Jughead thought as he scrambled onto his hands and knees.
Then he looked up. Jughead locked eyes with his mother, who was raising the gun one more time.
"No!" But Jughead was too late.
His mother brought the gun down on Brand from behind with all the fury of a mother protecting her child.
Which was no doubt what she thought she was doing.
00000
Sarah Quinn was only a few steps behind Gladys Banks, but that was enough of a delay to allow everything to fall apart right in front of her.
Fred Andrews was lying in a pool of his own blood.
Brand was in the room; he shouted at a tall figure wearing a Serpents jacket who had a struggling form slung over his shoulder. The Serpent turned to face them – revealing in the process that he was carrying Jughead Jones.
A shot rang out and the Serpent dropped with a cry of pain.
Gladys gripped her gun with both hands and brought it down hard enough to kill Brand where he stood; Davies didn't utter a sound when he fell.
There had already been three shots fired in this house, and Sarah had only a split second to make her best guess about where the next bullets might be directed: she threw her body over Brandon's lifeless form.
"Interesting." Gladys' voice dripped with satisfaction from above her.
Well, yes. Cover officially blown, Sarah thought darkly. She braced herself for a bullet.
"Move. The paramedics will need space to work," Gladys ordered. "You're in the way."
Sarah looked up at that, but Gladys was not addressing her. She was talking to Jughead.
Jughead must have been in shock; in any case, he didn't seem to have a response to that, and before Sarah could come up with literally anything that would keep him from leaving, Gladys had whisked him out of the room.
Mother and son disappeared through the back door.
00000
"Mr. Andrews is hurt. Tall Boy shot him. And you- That was Brand. My godfather. You just-,"
"Move, Jughead. The paramedics don't actually need your help, believe it or not, and I am not about to let anyone else near you after what just happened. You're coming to stay with me while your father's off doing–," Gladys bit off the end of her sentence and for a moment it seemed like she wasn't going to finish it. Only then her eyes flicked back toward the house they were leaving behind. "-her."
Jughead was struck speechless. For so many, many reasons.
But Agent Sarah was in the house. The siren was still blaring, and it seemed just as loud outside as it had sounded inside; she'd have backup any second.
Gladys was texting as she hustled Jughead along.
Trigger came racing around the house and fell into step beside Jughead, in a perfect heeling position. They ducked through the trees and shrubs behind Mr. Andrews' house and crossed through to the street beyond – and then they kept walking.
More sirens were audible behind them.
Gladys led them further from the house, crossing street after street, and then – a number of blocks away – Richard drove up alongside them in an unfamiliar car. Jughead climbed into the back, and he was surprised when his mother followed suit.
He was even more surprised when she put an arm around him, and suddenly he found himself leaning heavily into her embrace and fighting back tears.
Jughead had really, really missed her.
They sat like that in silence while Richard steered the car in the direction of the Southside – but then onto the highway before they had reached the edge of Fox Forest. So they were going somewhere else, apparently.
Jughead had just enough time to feel a momentary, reflexive stab of panic over this before his mother spoke again:
"You want to call your father on my phone? Let him know about-," Gladys waved a hand to indicate Jughead's general well-being. Or lack thereof.
Just the idea of calling FP – the idea that Jughead could call him right this minute if he wanted to – was enough to push a tear down his face.
And that was a good question, too: did he want to? Jughead tried to think it through, despite his mind feeling like a bog that was sucking him down toward just one thought: Fred had been shot. Twice, if both bullets had hit him.
Jughead needed to focus. Brand had been in the house. He'd seen Jughead. Did that mean that Jughead no longer needed to be in hiding? Or was it all one more mixup, and he needed to maintain a low profile for a little while longer, perhaps now more than ever?
The thought pushed all other thoughts away again: Archie's father, his longtime protector and friend, might already be dead.
That alone made him conflicted about calling; Fred was alive – he could believe Fred was alive – so long as he didn't make that phone call. And at the same time Jughead was desperate to call; he could not confirm anything until he called.
Jughead tried to get his mind to work - to think analytically - but instead his fear trapped him again: this time, wondering how hurt Brand might be. People got knocked out all the time in movies, so it didn't seem possible that he was seriously – dangerously – hurt.
But he might be.
Jughead tried to shake off that idea. Brand should be okay. He had to be okay.
Mr. Andrews had been shot. That meant Brand couldn't be seriously injured.
Only Jughead could tell that shock was keeping him from fully considering the possibility that he had just lost both men in the space of scant minutes.
Agent Sarah was there with them both, he reminded himself. She'd know what to do. She'd fix everything that Jughead had screwed up.
She had to.
Because – Jughead winced at the thought screaming in his head again – Fred had been shot. Because of him.
And then it was as if a piece of the puzzle snapped into place, allowing Jughead to come to a decision about whether to call his dad: for as long as he wasn't sure what the situation was, Jughead needed to play it safe. Much as he wanted to get on the phone immediately and beg for any information his dad had about Fred's condition, Jughead couldn't risk bringing more peril down on everyone else he cared about.
"No." Jughead sighed heavily. "I, uh, don't want anyone to know where I am. Just for a little while. Maybe… a few days."
Gladys raised an eyebrow and shot a quick look at Richard, in the rearview mirror. "I don't think that's a good idea, Jughead. We're leaving town, at least until we figure out exactly what I just walked in on."
Gladys gave Jughead a searching look, which he avoided. He wasn't up to explaining, and certainly wasn't up to dodging all mention of anything he shouldn't be sharing. Not yet.
His mother continued, testily: "Your father doesn't like feeling like a fool; you know how he can be. He'll know that you left with me, and he'll shoot first and ask questions-,"
Jughead winced at the phrase even as he interrupted his mother. "Not this time. He knows I want some space. It's not like… I mean, he won't come after me until I say I'm ready to go home. So."
Jughead was pretty sure that explaining further could put his mother in danger, too, but he had to give her something to keep her from getting on the phone with FP right away.
She was obviously angry enough to call FP up and give him an earful.
"Why can't he know where you are, then? If he's so willing to 'respect your wishes,' I mean," Gladys said, her tone making a mockery of the idea that FP respected much of anything. Her eyes caught Richard's in the mirror once again. "Can't you just call him and say that you want to stay with me for a few days?"
Ah. That was a good question, and a little harder to dodge. Jughead frowned as he tried to come up with something believable. And failed.
Gladys shot him a sideways look. "You punishing him for something?"
Jughead wasn't sure what his expression was doing; his mind was definitely having trouble keeping up with the conversation. He looked away sharply, hoping that by staring out the window he could keep from betraying himself.
"Well." Gladys seemed to believe that she'd hit upon the truth. "I'm sure he deserves it. Just don't freeze him out for too long. I don't want to look like I'm hiding things from your father. He needs to be told that you're with me before he takes matters into his own hands."
Jughead wanted to sigh with relief over the near miss, but he heard an edge in his mother's voice. She must be really mad; she wasn't known for being patient, either, so it was quite likely she would not be able to wait very long before telling Jughead's dad exactly where he was and why.
Maybe he'd have to give her the slip before she did.
Jughead felt his entire body slump with exhaustion at the thought.
"You look like your father's been starving you." Gladys was studying Jughead again, and her voice was suddenly warmer. "I'll order some food from Pop's; we can have it delivered. We'll feed you up while you're - ahem - 'finding yourself.'"
Jughead thought vaguely that in another life he might have laughed: they were coming full circle in a strange way. Hopefully Sweet Pea was okay – and enjoying having the extra food all to himself.
"Think about calling your dad once you've had something to eat. I really think it would be better if he heard from you sooner than later." Gladys maintained the warm tone, but this time Jughead heard something calculated enter her voice.
It probably didn't help that she was looking at Richard in the mirror again.
Perhaps there was more than one reason that she wanted FP to know Jughead was with her.
"You punishing him for something too?" Jughead looked over at his mother, but instead of curiosity or wry amusement, all he felt was the dull numbness that he recognized as shock.
The look Gladys gave him was concerned. That made sense; Jughead knew that he didn't sound normal. But then Gladys smiled thinly. "Maybe."
Jughead felt like that made sense. Maybe a lot of sense. Maybe it even explained a whole lot of things that hadn't made much sense lately. But he couldn't bring himself to expend the emotional energy to care, let alone put the pieces together in a meaningful way.
Instead he held out a hand for his mother's phone.
"Really?" Gladys' eyes widened with surprise and she smiled as she handed over the cell phone. "Tell him I'm not pleased. I don't want to talk to him until I've had a chance to spend some time with you and hear what's been going on – from your perspective – but you can tell him that I have more than one bone to pick with him."
"Uh, no – I'm not calling dad. Not yet. I'm seeing if the news has picked up anything yet about Mr. A." Jughead typed feverishly.
There was nothing. Of course. Because it was far too soon.
Jughead felt his fingers fall into a familiar typing pattern, and before he'd thought it through he was pulling up his E-mail on his mother's phone.
There were a number of messages from various friends, but he only clicked on the one from Betty and read it.
And then he found himself rereading it. Again and again. There was even a spreadsheet; he stared at it in shock.
A lot of it was information he knew all too well. Seeing it laid out on the page was different, though. Very different.
In fact, the more Jughead stared at it, the more conflicted he felt about Betty's plan.
It might be a brilliant idea. Or it might lead to disastrous consequences for innocent people.
It probably didn't matter, though, because either way, Jughead was completely sure of one thing: Betty should never be connected to whatever happened. It was far too dangerous.
And there might be nothing that Jughead could do to help the paramedics, or to help Mr. A or Brand, but there was something he could do right now, with a few clicks, to protect his girlfriend.
And then, just like that, it was done.
00000
Everything she'd done had seemed sharp, crystal clear, and inevitable. Yet somehow, now that the adrenaline was fading, even the memories of what had transpired were fast blurring into a panic-inducing montage of regret that she hadn't done more, and done it more quickly.
Sarah had known that Brandon was breathing. That had to be enough to justify leaving him; Fred Andrews was obviously in far worse shape, and there was no telling what might happen to Jughead Jones with Richard Banks in the mix and this kind of developing situation.
Quinn had found herself groping for her phone with blood-slicked hands as she knelt over Fred's body and tried to use her body weight to slow the bleeding from the bullet holes in his left leg – all the while praying that Davies was not stroking out in the next room.
It felt like eternity and several lifetimes besides before help arrived, even though Sarah knew for a fact that the FBI had been en route already since they'd been tasked with keeping tabs on Gladys.
The paramedics were shocked – and Sarah enraged by the injustice – when they discovered that Tall Boy was the least injured of the three unconscious men.
The FBI were right on the heels of the paramedics, unforgivably tardy considering the head start they should have had, and full of worry for the missing teen who was the object of their search – and not-so-subtle recrimination for Sarah in their expressions and tones as they questioned her about Jughead having been right in front of her.
All of the FBI personnel seemed to be united in their fury about the fact that Sarah had allowed him to walk out of the house with his mother; he had not been heard from since.
"We could have wrapped this up right here, Quinn. We could have all gone home, including that poor kid." The older agent pressed his lips together in irritation before he turned away and stepped carefully toward the door in order to avoid the many spatters and pools of blood that marked where each man had fallen. He'd paused to look back once, and called almost dismissively to her: "I'd hate to have it on my conscience if anything happened to him now."
Classy.
Only then did SAC Wilson arrive, whisk Sarah away from the scene, and tell her that she'd done more than anyone else could have accomplished.
By then that was very difficult to believe.
00000
"FP, we have multiple situations developing that need careful handling and, for as long as Williams is busy, you're the last person standing who is connected to all of them. It would be extremely helpful if you would run some interference for me since I can't be everywhere at once. Only in order to do that, you're going to have to trust me."
"Trust Sweet Pea, you mean."
"I think he has a plausible story, yes. And we don't want to antagonize Gladys-,'
"Or she might take it out on Jughead. Same as Tall Boy."
"Essentially."
"I don't like it."
"Noted."
FP let out a long, resigned sigh. "All right. I trust your analysis. Where do you need me, Aaditi? If we're leaving Jughead with Gladys for any length of time, then I need to be busy. Extremely busy."
"That will not be a problem."
00000
Debriefing at the field office had kept Sarah Quinn from thinking too hard, which was a mercy.
Only then, as Sarah left the office with Wilson, she came face to face with Clark in the hallway.
"You're okay? You saw Jughead and he's okay? He walked out of the house with his mother?" Clark seemed overwhelmingly relieved. "Nobody's heard anything from him and we're not supposed to, like, show up on Banks' doorstep–"
"For many reasons," SAC Wilson interjected.
"Not all of which I am privy to," Clark said with an acknowledging nod to Wilson. "But FP says that if he's with Gladys, he'll be all right. You saw Jughead, though? He was walking?"
That was what finally brought tears to her eyes. "Yes. I saw Jughead."
"From what I understand he's reasonably fine and the situation is stable, Clark," SAC Wilson stepped in. "But Agent Quinn needs some time and some space, and you've got a lot of work to do, even if you are technically on leave."
"I'm taking leave from Quantico. Just through Christmas and New Year's," Clark explained quickly to Sarah. "I need to be here to see this through. They said I can pick things up then and still finish in the spring."
Sarah looked questioningly at SAC Wilson.
"I made some calls," Wilson said brusquely, answering the unspoken question. "Clark, do you need a ride back to the hospital?"
Clark nodded. "FP's got the car." He gave Sarah one more worried look before addressing her again. "Have you gotten the full update on Special Agent Davies yet?"
"Not yet." Wilson answered for Sarah; her tone was troubled.
And suddenly, mercifully, Sarah found herself able to focus on something practical. "Did he have a seizure?" This had been the paramedics' first question, and one that she'd been unable to answer. "And how is Fred? You're going to the hospital? Take me there too."
00000
Archie had been enjoying the mild notoriety around the field office, since more than a few people knew who he was (and knew Jughead) since the Southside High bombing and fallout – and those who didn't have any additional work piled onto them due to Archie, Gunnar, and Sweet Pea thought that the whole thing was amusing.
But Archie did have a stab of worry here and there when he thought about what his dad's reaction would be whenever the FBI got ahold of him.
Only Archie had lucked out, at least for the time being: his dad hadn't been answering his phone. And then, surprisingly quickly, the FBI had given up on even trying to call him. They were probably going to have to send Archie home on his own, and then he would get the chance to break the news more gently than Agent Thomas seemed inclined to.
That was a lot luckier than Gunnar, whose father had been furious and picked his son up as soon as someone had called him.
Sweet Pea had been taken to another room to answer additional questions, so his fate was a mystery. Archie wasn't entirely sure who Sweet Pea's guardian was, either. So who knew how that was going to play out. Maybe he'd even have to call FP, which might be another problem, since Jughead was apparently in the middle of everything yet again.
Or whatever was going on that meant the FBI was looking for him.
Been there, Archie thought ruefully, though he couldn't keep his stomach from clenching over the idea that Jughead might be in trouble. Hopefully Brand would be able to find him – or was with him right now. All things considered, that was more likely than not, Archie figured.
"Red?" A familiar voice interrupted Archie's thoughts.
"FP?" Archie stood up from the comfortable chair he'd been relaxing in while the FBI decided what to do about the fact that his dad was not available. "Hey. Sorry you had to leave work for this. And, uh, sorry about…" Archie wasn't sure exactly what to say about the fact that all of this had happened at Gladys' house, with FBI personnel who were looking for Jughead. "Are you here to pick up Sweet Pea?"
"Um. No. He's got some more questions to answer before he can go." FP motioned to Archie. He must be pretty mad; something about his expression was really off. "I'm going to take you to the hospital, and I need to tell you some things. Some things that happened today."
Whoa. Archie's blood ran cold. "Is it Alice?"
FP gave him a weird look. "No. Is she okay?"
"As far as I know." Whew. Archie would never have forgiven himself if he and Gunnar had gotten her hospitalized. "Is it Jughead?"
"Jughead's staying with his mother for a little while." FP's expression became even weirder.
At least Jughead wasn't missing at this point. That was good. And also confusing, since the FBI had literally been staking out Gladys' house looking for him, which was complete overkill if FP was cool with him staying with his mother. But still: it was definitely good.
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm glad the FBI found him. What's going on at the hospital, then?" Archie asked. His mother was out of town, so– "Did my dad get hurt on a work site again?"
It happened; injury wasn't super common at Andrews Construction, but it was an occupational hazard.
"Let's, uh, get in the car. I'll tell you what I know on the way." FP motioned for Archie to follow him, and the older man looked nervous.
Archie wasn't sure he'd ever seen that expression on FP's face. Not even when Jughead had been missing and presumed dead; FP did rage, regret, and all sorts of strong emotions - but in Archie's experience he was very rarely nervous.
That was when Archie got scared.
00000
Fred looked over from his bed to where Tall Boy was lying. The Serpent was staring at him steadily, unnervingly, and had not said a word since the two gunshot victims had (shockingly) been co-located.
Space was always at a premium in this hospital, but somehow Fred was pretty sure that pieces of the puzzle had been missing when they'd been left next to one another in the ICU.
"You're lucky I can't get up," Fred said mildly, finally breaking the silence.
Tall Boy raised one eyebrow challengingly.
"But that won't last forever." Fred kept his tone level. He wasn't sure about the extent of Tall Boy's injuries, and he hardly knew the extent of his own at this point, but he had at least been assured that his own recovery would (eventually) restore him to full strength.
Tall Boy favored Fred with a lazy smile.
Silence descended over the room once more.
The bustle outside their area of the ICU was no doubt related to the surgeon they were having trouble securing to follow up with Fred; he was stable, and apparently others were not.
Then a voice rang out: "No. Have you lost your minds? One of them shot the other! Move one of them now."
SAC Wilson was in the building.
Tall Boy's smile spread into a wolfish grin.
A few seconds later the curtains parted and Tall Boy was wheeled away without explanation or comment.
There was only a slight delay before FP appeared.
"I figured you wouldn't be far away," Fred said with a weary smile. "But I also figured – with Tall Boy here –"
"Yeah." FP growled the word, confirming what Fred could not ask directly; they needed to manage who had what information about FP's activities and whereabouts. "He's already lawyered up. Not that it'll save him. But I need to steer clear."
Ah. There was also the small issue of FP having a history of murderous rage over much slighter provocations than Tall Boy had provided.
FP seemed to shake himself and then took two quick steps forward to stand at Fred's bedside. "Wilson told me the basics of what you told the feds. Sweet Pea thinks Jughead's safe with Gladys and that she's got every incentive to keep Jug safe and happy. For now. So Wilson thinks we should wait, and not make a move that could change the situation, but at least we know where Jughead is, and that he's okay – for the time being."
Fred felt his eyes fill with tears. This was the information that nobody had been able to provide him with since he'd awoken in the hospital after his emergency surgery. "Thank God."
"Yeah. And some thanks go to you." FP motioned to Fred's leg with a pained expression. "Archie's here; I just picked him up. He's had quite a day too, so be sure you ask him about that. He's with a doctor right now, and I filled him in on what I knew, so you shouldn't have too much explaining to do."
Fred nodded gratefully. "Thanks for bringing him. And maybe that doctor should come in here and explain how I'm doing to me as well."
FP made a sympathetic face. "They're slammed; I'll point him in this direction if I get a chance. Speaking of which, I'd better go check on Brandon and make sure he's actually getting treated. But, uh, before I go…" FP ducked his head, almost embarrassed. "I just need to know. How was Jug?"
"Oh, FP. He was brave. Amazing, really." Fred was surprised when the words came unbidden; he knew that wasn't what FP was really asking him. "I tried to take care of him, protect him, and he just kept–,"
That was when words seemed to fail. Fred looked up at FP, about to apologize – but then the words fell into place. "He's your son, FP. In all of the best ways. And he's growing into a fine young man."
FP looked startled and like he was fighting his emotions over Fred's brief speech. "That's – I, uh, I meant his health. Did he… was he…"
"Well, he was in rough shape when he showed up, but it sounded like things are going to be okay. That doctor really came through, huh?" Fred smiled again. "Finally."
FP frowned. "What doctor?"
Fred was puzzled by FP's response. "The one you got for Jughead; he told me about it. The specialist who finally has a bead on a diagnosis."
FP's expression became tense and guarded. "Fred, are you saying that Jug told you that we got him to a specialist and he had a diagnosis?"
Fred hesitated. It was obvious that FP had no idea what Jughead had been talking about. That meant it was likely a lie meant to reassure him. Fred tried to think through what reasons Jughead might have for lying to him.
Correction: what reasons Jughead might have for lying and then placing himself between Fred and a loaded gun.
Fred blanched at the implication. "Is he… dying? Is that why he was so willing to-,"
FP leaned over the bed and grabbed Fred's shoulders, a movement which jostled his leg enough to be painful. "What did he say?"
Fred shook his head. "He told me a doctor said he wasn't terminal. That he could be treated. If he was making that up-,"
"And then he put himself squarely in Tall Boy's sights..." FP looked haunted.
"But if he didn't see a doctor, then he wouldn't necessarily know–,"
"If he thinks he's dying, there's a reason." FP straightened up. "And he's being reckless with his safety. Gladys is lying low with him; we can't reach him, even though we know he's with her. And Richard. Wilson thinks there isn't any immediate threat as long as we don't antagonize anyone or make them feel cornered, so that's why we're taking a day or two before our next move, but-,"
They stared at each other helplessly.
Fred wasn't sure he had anything reassuring to offer. He ached for Jughead to be here, and wished with all his heart that Brand or Sarah had been able to keep the teen from leaving with Gladys – if only so that Fred could say all of the things that he strongly suspected Jughead needed to hear about what had happened with Tall Boy.
"Davies needs to wake up," FP growled. He turned on his heel and left.
And Fred said a quick, silent prayer both for Brand to wake up soon, and for the man to be capable of offering the insights that FP needed – so that they could get Jughead home where he belonged.
00000
Sarah had been quietly relieved when SAC Wilson headed off to check on Fred Andrews, who was finally awake and out of surgery, leaving Quinn and Clark to make their way to Brand's hospital room.
Clark had filled her in, and it had not been a long story: Brand had not woken up. "I'm not sure if it's officially a coma. Nobody's using that word, so I think it's not. But I'm also not sure they'd tell me if it was. It's been weird around here, what with everyone being super overworked – and nobody being sure how to deal with our situation."
A coma.
Sarah shook her head slowly as she stepped through the doorway and approached Brandon Davies lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Every shred of helplessness she'd felt while watching him being tortured came flooding back.
Clark slid a chair up to the bedside and offered it to her.
"Thanks," Sarah said wearily. She'd been awake for quite a few hours and felt like she was on the edge of collapse.
"I'll go get one for me," Clark said with a small smile. "We're all running on fumes. Almost makes me jealous-," Clark waved at Brand and his too-deep slumber.
Sarah felt a retort rise up in her, but then she got a good look at Clark's expression; despite the joke, he was making no effort to hide that he was both horrified and grief-stricken.
So instead she managed a quiet laugh. "I hear you. Do you think any of this would be easier if we were well rested?"
"Indubitably," Clark quipped, and this time his smile came closer to reaching his eyes. "Unless you're a whole lot less tired than I am."
He left the room, in search of a second chair.
And Sarah was left alone with Brand.
The quiet seemed wrong; his helplessness seemed like a crime.
Perhaps because it was a crime.
"Damn you."
It was Sarah's sentiment, complete with a tone that was infused with both worry and self-recrimination, but the voice came from behind her.
"FP?" Sarah twisted in her chair to face the man as he leaned past the doorframe. "I didn't know you were here."
"I was just with Fred. I'm wearing out the linoleum between those two. I keep thinking something has to change." FP smirked self-deprecatingly. "I don't know if I'm expecting Fred to have a freak blood clot and die, or for Davies to suddenly wake up and start raging at everyone. But I can't stop moving or else…"
Sarah stood up and opened her arms. FP took a step toward her and accepted the hug.
"I should be the one hugging you," FP muttered, almost to himself. "You kept Fred alive. You got Davies out of there. I don't know if I could have let Jug go with Gladys to make sure everyone else got medical attention; this is one of those times when the training shows."
Sarah stiffened with shock. "You're not upset that I let Jughead leave?"
FP took a step back and gave her a serious look. "You know me pretty well by now. Do you think I don't understand when tradeoffs have to be made? I think that every person in that house was expendable to Gladys except for Jughead. You were able to make that calculation in the middle of an altercation that left three men down, two with bullets in them. And somehow everyone came out of that house alive. That's down to you."
That sounded like a gross overestimate of the thought that Sarah had been able to put in on the scene.
Which was maybe FP's point about her training.
"Thank you for saying that. You don't know what that means, especially coming from you." Sarah gazed gratefully up at FP. "I've been going over and over it, in precisely the way we're trained not to."
FP nodded, with an empathetic wince. "Me too, and I wasn't even there. It's not ideal, but it was the right thing to do. We'll get Jug back as soon as we can pin Gladys down, she gets bored, or – who knows – maybe Jughead will give her the slip."
"Or… do you think Jughead might still be hiding from you and Davies?" Clark had reappeared in the doorway with a chair. He offered it to FP, who accepted it and slid it alongside Sarah's chair.
"Why would he do that? He saw Brandon." FP sat down heavily. "I just need to know what Davies said. Then I'll know what to expect."
"There wasn't a lot of time," Sarah said, biting her lip. "He might not have had time to say much."
"Would just seeing Davies mean the bet was over?" Clark mused. "I'm not so sure."
"Bet?" Sarah looked from FP to Clark. "What bet? Or do I even want to know? And wouldn't everything that's happened supersede a bet?"
FP and Clark exchanged a rueful look and then both shook their head.
"It was in the middle of everything happening at once, and it was… a serious bet. So Clark might have a point." FP shrugged wearily. "Jughead's got to be in some level of shock, too, so he may not be thinking clearly."
"Special Agent Davies would have told him it was alright to come home, though. If he had time," Clark said.
All three of them studied Davies, whose chest was rising and falling with reassuring regularity.
"He just needs to wake up." Sarah frowned, her hands almost dancing with nervous energy. She was still standing, and didn't want to reclaim her chair; Clark probably needed to sit down for a few minutes and she suddenly felt like she couldn't handle sitting for any longer. "FP, how obvious is that path you've worn between here and Fred Andrews' room?"
"He's in the ICU. He's awake; we just talked. I'll take you to see if he's had enough time to catch up with Archie." FP stood up. "Besides, the walk will be good. You and I need to talk."
Clark moved respectfully out of their way, and suddenly began avoiding eye contact.
Oh. Yes. Because the phrase 'you and I need to talk' sounded like it meant something more coming from FP. Their cover was likely blown with Gladys, but they needed to figure out what exactly that meant for the rest of their plan going forward.
Right.
Sarah tried to look however she was supposed to look, given that ominous lead-in but also balancing that against the fact that relationship drama was fairly small potatoes compared to everything else that had happened in the last day or so.
She settled on frowning, and found herself giving FP a skeptical look. It made sense; if this were a real relationship, she probably would have questioned his timing.
Clark was avoiding eye contact even harder now.
That was probably good. If he wasn't looking, he couldn't see that anything was amiss.
Beyond, you know, the painfully obvious.
At least Fred Andrews was alive.
Sarah studied Brand's continued, steady breathing for a few seconds. He was alive too, and he was bound to wake up eventually. Most likely soon, unless it really was a coma.
When FP ushered her out of the room, he dropped a warm arm around her shoulders. Sarah leaned into him.
"We're all going to be okay, Sarah," FP said quietly. "It's not gonna happen today, but soon."
And somehow Sarah found herself believing him.
00000
FP felt completely drained by the time he left Sarah with Fred.
They'd come up with a workable plan for navigating what had happened with Gladys, and brainstormed some ideas for how they could go forward with their cover. FP just needed to run them by SAC Wilson.
So that was good. Sarah had been jittery, though, and for some reason FP felt personally responsible for that. He'd tried everything he could think of to set her mind at ease – and while she seemed a whole lot calmer by the time he'd left her, the whole process had wrung him dry.
"Do you have a minute?" Wilson's distinctive voice summoned FP from down the hallway.
FP froze, and for a moment he considered just walking away. He was too tired to have another conversation about his cover right now.
But it was Aaditi. She probably didn't have another time to do this, and she had to be exhausted too.
FP squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Yeah."
Wilson led him down the hall to a room that must have been set aside for her by some thoughtful hospital administrator.
"Have a seat." Wilson motioned kindly to a chair.
A moment later they were seated across from one another at a small table.
And as the seconds ticked by, that was where they remained.
"Do you want me to go?" Aaditi finally asked, leaning forward and giving FP a deeply concerned look.
"Go?" FP was startled. "You asked me in here. Don't you need to discuss something? Get a full report? Assign me another delicate situation that needs 'handling'?"
"Not at all. I thought you could use a break and some privacy. A little time to just… be." Wilson spoke gently. "And I wanted to thank you for your help. I could not have done it any better, and because of you some people we both care about had a much easier time today than they otherwise would."
FP leaned back in his chair, shrugging as if it had been nothing, though he privately agreed; he'd worked his butt off, done a halfway decent job, and one day – after Jughead was home and they'd all gotten some rest – he might even be proud of what he'd managed.
"Everyone we've got in this hospital is doing surprisingly well, in large part thanks to you. That means it's time for you to take care of yourself. Because everything might be stable, but it's also in one of the most stressful configurations imaginable." Wilson rubbed her forehead as if she was fighting the same migraine FP had been trying to stave off for hours. "I truly believe that Jughead will be home in a couple of days, safe and sound. The doctors think that Davies will be awake by tomorrow morning at the latest. Fred Andrews should be able to leave the hospital before long as well, even though it will certainly take him a long time to fully recover. That's all good news."
FP inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. It was good news.
"But until any of that actually happens…" Aaditi trailed off.
And yeah, that was certainly the crux of the issue: none of that had happened yet. Any one of those situations could still shift from stability to devastation in the blink of an eye.
"I'm here." Wilson placed a hand on the table.
FP stared at her hand. After what felt like a minute or two, certainly long enough for the situation to become completely awkward if it had been anyone else, he finally brought his gaze up to her face.
"Or I can go," Aaditi softly repeated her offer.
"No." FP set his right hand on the table, a few inches from hers. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "Don't go."
And they sat at the table, in silence, together.
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I can't wait for the next chapter. :-D Your notes make me so eager to write! Thank you, thank you - for reading and taking the time to send me your thoughts along the way. I hope you are having a wonderful October so far and are headed into a lovely weekend!
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