Author's Note: Hi! This fic isn't dead! :D We're doing a one-episode-per-week rewatch on Tumblr (come and join us, if you like!), and since we're about up to this point in the show, I thought I would be a good time to actually get off my butt and update this. I have the rest of the fic all mapped out in my head, so I should be able to get it done this year... but if you're one of my regular readers, you know what I'm like for saying that kind of thing and then completely failing to deliver. My intentions are good, though!
Nearly eleven hours later…
Choking someone unconscious had never felt so satisfying.
Boyd fell to the floor, his head hitting the floor with a thump Jane could probably have prevented if she'd cared to. The kids behind her whimpered softly. God, they're gonna need so much therapy when they get home…but at least they'll get there. I hope.
Moving fast, Jane pulled the zip ties she'd stolen earlier out of her pocket, and bound Boyd's hands and feet as fast as she could. Then she turned to the cowering children, with a smile as reassuring as she could make it.
"Hey… Don't worry, he's just having a little nap. I just made sure he can't go anywhere when he wakes up, see? So he can't stop me from getting you guys home."
The kids still looked fearful, but hope made them brave. Jane coaxed them out of the cage, hoping like hell she'd been right about Boyd being the last one down here. On his way past the unconscious guard, Kenny kicked his shoulder, his face an angry scowl. Jane wasn't sure whether to be amused or desperately sad.
Once they were all out of the cage, Jane dragged Boyd inside, then locked him in for good measure. Maybe it was overkill, but she'd gotten out of zip ties before. She wasn't about to underestimate her enemies now—not with so many tiny lives on the line.
"Everyone pick a buddy, okay? Hold each other's hands, and make sure you don't lose each other. We're going to the magic tunnel now, so you can get home."
Toddlers weren't exactly famous for their long attention spans, but Jane hoped if she just kept telling the kids they were going home, it would override any fear or temper tantrums that might hold them up.
Kurt… Just keep them distracted for a little longer. We can do this.
She wasn't sure if it had been Kurt or—remotely—Patterson who'd manufactured the current crisis, but one or the other of them had managed to damage the water pipe they'd noticed last night, and most of the warehouse workers were up on the next floor, transferring stock away from the flooding zone and loading up trucks with legitimate goods for transportation. There were a couple of large deliveries due to ship out that day, which worked in the FBI's favour.
Except for the fact that all of Shapiro's people would be upstairs when the raid started, giving them far more firepower in one area than they would have had yesterday…but Jane was trying not to think about that.
She didn't want to turn her back on the stairwell and freight elevator, but getting the kids where she wanted them would be difficult if she didn't. Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention back to the kids.
"Everyone ready? We're going this way. Quick as you can, and shhhh!"
Somehow, she managed to keep the kids on track, scanning for unexpected threats, comforted by the weight of Boyd's confiscated Glock in her hand. Whether the kids realised how serious the situation was, she wasn't sure, but they followed meekly, like ducklings after their mother.
The floor hatch was closed, but opened soundlessly as Jane heaved the metal door upwards. The bag of weapons was where she'd left it, and she pulled it out, slinging one of the assault rifles over her shoulder immediately.
"You ready, guys? My friends are on the other side of this tunnel, and they'll take you to your moms and dads, but you gotta crawl under here, okay?"
The kids clustered around the hatch opening, dubious in the way only toddlers could be.
"It's dirty," Rebecca protested. "Mommy will be mad."
A couple of the other kids nodded agreement, and Jane tried to stay calm and patient. We're running out of time…
"It's okay. You can tell your mommy it was my fault, okay? Don't you want to get really dirty, just for once? That'd be fun, right?"
She reached into the tunnel and ground her palm into the dirt, then tracked a smudge of the muck over her blouse front. The enthusiasm level of her charges grew considerably. There were even a couple of giggles.
"We can see who gets the most dirt on them, sound good? But you have to crawl through there and find my friends."
Doubt began to creep in again, and fear gripped Jane's stomach like a vice. How was she going to make these kids go in there, where it was dark, cramped, and dirty?
Then a distant voice called from the hole, barely loud enough for Jane to hear. "Leo? Baby, are you there? Come on out here! I miss you!"
"That's my mommy!" His eyes shining, Leo rushed forward.
Other parents called for their kids, one after the other, and Jane realised the team must have recorded their encouraging voices, ready to be played at the other end of the crawlspace at the right moment. Did Patterson have eyes on this end of the tunnel right now, or was her remote controlled car upstairs, giving the SWAT teams intel on enemy positions?
Either way, the kids needed very little nudging, now that they could hear their parents' voices. Leo was already halfway into the tunnel, and the others were pushing and shoving to be next. Rebecca still hung back, but Jane knew she would follow the others eventually.
The problem was Tommy, whose arm was still in its sling. He was trying to get his turn to go through, but Jane knew he'd block everyone else's passage if he was in too much pain to make the crawl.
"Hey, Tommy, come here for a minute, okay?"
He ignored her, and Jane swallowed hard. "Tommy, I need to see your arm."
Tommy wrenched away from her. "Daddy said 'come here'! I wanna go home!"
"I know, buddy." She'd heard Kurt use that term of address with Sawyer, and she was hoping it would help Tommy feel more at ease now. "But your arm still hurts, right? Just let everyone else go first, and then you can go, I promise."
She was less than confident that she was doing the right thing, but at least if he was stuck halfway down the tunnel, they could slowly coax him out when the danger had passed. Better stuck in a tunnel than in the path of a bullet.
Tommy was crying against her stomach by the time the other kids, Rebecca included, had disappeared into the filthy passageway. "I want Daddy!"
Jane shushed him, one hand stroking his hair, the other on the butt of the Glock. "Okay, do you think you can make it all the way there? Your arm will hurt, but Daddy's out there, right? He'll take you to make it all better."
Tommy nodded, sniffling determinedly. He started towards the hatch, but both he and Jane almost leapt out of their skins when faint gunfire and shouts began overhead.
Damn it—we're out of time. I need to get to that log book before Shapiro does.
"Go on, now, Tommy, it's time to go see Daddy, okay?"
Newly terrified, the toddler clung to her. "Daddy's gone!"
Jane realised he was right—an agent at the other end of the tunnel must have been counting kids, and turned off the recording when all but one child was accounted for, since she'd told Patterson one would be staying behind. She'd never thought there was a chance she'd be able to persuade Tommy to go through the tunnel injured, and without that recording of his dad's voice, it seemed she was right.
Time for Plan B.
"The bad men are coming back, and I can make them go away, but you gotta hide, okay? Run over to that corner"—far enough away from this makeshift office space that he wouldn't be discovered, if Shapiro came to destroy anything—"and hide behind those big boxes there. Don't come out unless you know it's me. I'll be there in just a little while, and we can go find your dad together, all right?"
Tommy hesitated, and Jane tried not to look impatient or angry. Her gut told her Shapiro might beat her to the log book if she didn't move now, but she couldn't just abandon Tommy, or let him follow her into danger.
Finally, he nodded, and released her long skirt. She watched him totter off, smiling encouragingly when he hesitated and looked back. When his small figure disappeared behind the stack of boxes, she took off at a run, making for Shapiro's office. The sounds of combat overhead grew louder with every step, amplified by the freight elevator shaft.
She'd only just reached the vicinity of the office when the stairwell door opened, crashing against the nearby wall with enough force to alert her. She spun to meet the threat, readying the rifle in preparation to defend herself.
For a split-second, her heart lifted at the sight of her husband—then dropped like an atom bomb as she registered his hands were held aloft, and his jaw was clenched. She could read the defeated apology in his eyes, even before he spoke.
"Sorry, Jane."
Shapiro glowered at her from over Kurt's shoulder, the barrel of his pistol pressed against her husband's neck. "Drop the weapon."
Kurt's expression told her not to, but fear flooded her in a cold, sickening wave. She'd spent enough time around Shapiro to know he'd take her deception very, very personally. He'd kill Kurt right in front of her, the first time she gave him the slightest provocation.
She transferred the rifle to one hand, raised the other in a gesture of submission, and slowly stooped to lay the weapon on the floor.
"Kick it away."
Kurt swallowed a groan as Jane nudged the rifle out of reach with her foot. He'd known she'd capitulate in the hope of saving his life, but the last thing he wanted was for Jane to be vulnerable, too. If Shapiro had only had a knife, she might have dared to replicate the shot she'd made at the Statue of Liberty, the first time she'd saved his life—but a knife slice required a precise angle, and force behind the slash. A firearm required only the twitch of a trigger finger, and the movement was harder to anticipate.
In her position, he wouldn't have dared to take the shot, either.
The raid upstairs was still going strong—the SWAT team would be occupied for a while yet. He'd caught a glimpse of Tasha and Reade in the fray, but instead of joining the agents, he'd headed for the stairwell, unsure how many traffickers were left downstairs, or where Shapiro had disappeared to. The only thing on his mind had been to get to Jane. To back her up, and to defend the kids.
As he'd reached the top of the stairs, the cold metal of a gun barrel had pressed against the base of his skull. He'd become Shapiro's hostage, but as long as that weapon was pointed at him, not at Jane, he could deal with that.
There was no sign of any kids, and there was an unconscious trafficker in the cage instead. Had Jane got them all out through the hatch, even the injured boy? He'd failed in his task, but maybe she'd succeeded in hers.
If I die a failure, at least she can live, knowing she saved those kids. God, Jane, I'm so sorry I screwed this up.
Jane's long 'Penny Yates' skirt seemed to be weighted more on one side. Did she have the log book in the large, concealed pocket she'd shown him last night, or was it one of their sidearms?
"Empty your pockets." Shapiro ordered.
I guess a little luck would have been too much to ask.
Jane's mutinous expression must have mirrored Kurt's own, but she turned out the skirt's pockets, dropping an unfamiliar Glock and a bundle of zip ties to the concrete floor. Without being asked, she kicked the Glock over to join her rifle.
"At first, I thought you'd just lost your nerve and ratted me out to the Feds, but you're not even Penny Yates, are you?"
"Jane Doe, FBI." She glared at Shapiro. "You might as well give up now. Sounds like our agents are making short work of your crew, and there are no exits down here."
Shapiro ignored her icy suggestion. "And you," he said, nudging his weapon against Kurt's neck. "You're really her husband, aren't you? Or are you divorced?"
Kurt dodged the question, not wanting to give their enemy confirmation of how much he loved his wife—or how much Jane loved him. "Why bother with a hostage?" he demanded. "You know you're not walking out of here a free man. As soon as they finish with your people up there, you'll be outnumbered, forty to one."
"Shut up." Despite the hopelessness of his situation, Shapiro wasn't succumbing to panic. "You. Jane Doe. Go into my office and get the log book I showed you yesterday. There's probably a cigarette lighter on my desk. Bring that, too. If you're not back within thirty seconds, your husband is dead."
Jane hesitated. "I need longer. The cabinet is locked."
A second later, a bunch of keys arched through the air, landing with a metallic jingle at her feet. "It's the smallest key on the ring. Go now."
With a swift glance at Kurt's face, telling him silently to hang in there, Jane scooped up the keys from the floor, then retreated.
Overhead, the bursts of gunfire were more sporadic, punctuated by brief calls from one agent to another. The resistance was lessening, and they both knew it. All Kurt and Jane had to do was stall for time until backup arrived—or until Shapiro got trigger-happy.
"Surrender now, or you won't leave here alive. Every agent on that SWAT team knows you traffic children—"
"And every inmate in Rikers will, too. Don't pretend my life isn't over, either way," Shapiro snarled.
"We can work out a deal, make sure you don't go into gen pop. Just flip on your customers and suppliers." The last thing Kurt intended to do was bargain with this piece of shit, but if he could offer enough hope for Shapiro to surrender...
Shapiro gave a derisive snort. "And what's your word worth, as soon as I don't have a gun to your head? I'm not an idiot."
Not enough of one to trust me, but you just let Jane out of your sight, even if just for a few seconds.
Kurt knew his wife. She'd improvise, and they'd get out of this alive. They always did.
One of these days, you're gonna be wrong about that. The thought sent a bead of cold sweat rolling down his back.
Before he could respond to Shapiro's disparaging remark, Jane called, "I'm coming back with the book. Hold your fire!"
A couple of seconds later she walked into view, holding the precious log book up in both hands. As she resumed her previous position, her gaze searched Kurt's, her anxiety plain.
Maybe she hadn't been able to find a weapon or a distraction in time.
He wished he'd been able to come up with some kind of plan besides 'wait for backup'. What the hell was taking the SWAT team so long, up there? They needed help down here, now.
"Drop the book on the floor. Did you get the lighter?"
Jane did as he asked. "It's in my pocket."
Shapiro pressed his gun harder against Kurt's jugular. "Get it open, and pour the lighter fluid on the book."
Fuck. If he's so hell-bent on destroying it, then someone he cares about will still get paid if the trafficking ring keeps going after his death. We need that book to pull this thing out by the roots.
"Jane, don't."
She slowly pulled a lighter from her pocket—an expensive one, designed to ignite with the motion of the opening lid. Then she looked down at it with a frown. "If I empty it, it won't work."
Kurt kept quiet, knowing she was playing for time. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision distracted him, but the stairwell was behind them. Was it a kid, or a trafficker? It was gone too fast for him to tell, and with the gun against his neck, he didn't dare to turn his head.
Shapiro sighed. "Then don't empty it all the way."
She couldn't really be planning to send their evidence up in flames, could she? "Jane!"
Now she met Kurt's eyes, not attempting to hide her anguish from Shapiro. "I know. But he'll kill you if I don't."
"You're damn right I will. Get on with it!" Shapiro commanded harshly.
Despairing, Kurt watched his wife manipulate the lighter. After a second, she poured a thin stream of fluid over the cover of the book at her feet.
"Jane, you know this is bigger than just New York. Think how many kids' futures will go up in flames if the trail goes cold. If I have to die so that book survives, it's worth it."
Jane met his eyes, and he saw the tears shimmering in them. Desperation rolled off her. "We don't need the book. We'll find them another way."
"But how much longer will it take us? How many more kids will suffer?" He swallowed hard, wanting more than anything to soothe the pain from her face. "The second that book burns, he'll kill me anyway."
Had Shapiro loosened his grip a fraction? Was he letting his guard down, underestimating them in their emotional state? With Jane unarmed, Kurt didn't dare to try his luck.
"Light it up, now!" Shapiro growled.
Hurriedly—a little too hurriedly—Jane scrubbed her hand across her teary eyes, then flicked open the lighter. It caught immediately, a tiny flame dancing atop the metal. So small—but large enough to ignite the accelerant soaking through the cover of the book.
"Drop it," the trafficker ordered. "Next time, I won't ask. I'll just shoot him."
Jane met Kurt's eyes, and though her distress was real, he immediately knew she had some kind of plan. What his part in it was, he didn't know. Should he be ready to lunge at a distracted Shapiro, or keep still?
His perception seemed to slow everything down, even as events unfolded with startling speed:
Jane opened her left hand, and the lighter began to fall, its flame flickering wildly.
Shapiro, distracted by the question of whether the book would go up in flames, leaned forward, the pressure of the gun barrel easing against Kurt's neck.
Jane whipped a handgun out from the small of her back, and assumed a two-handed shooter's stance, her face a cold, determined mask.
Yes!
With a burst of adrenaline-fuelled strength, Kurt threw his weight back against Shapiro, safe in the knowledge that even if Shapiro fired and hit him, Jane could take the bastard out an instant later.
Shapiro and Kurt both stumbled backward, right at the instant an enraged toddler scream split the air. "You're a meanie!"
Kurt tried to pinpoint the source of the voice, just as something child-sized charged into the space where Shapiro's legs had been a moment before—right where Kurt was now. It wasn't enough to knock him off balance, but he jolted.
Someone's gun fired—Shapiro's, or Jane's? Kurt didn't know—didn't know who'd fired, who'd been hit, where the hell the kid had come from, or whether he was about to crush him beneath his falling body.
All he knew was that Jane gave a raw cry of terror, wordless and unrestrained, just as he tasted blood. Fear for her overwhelmed him—was she okay? Gravity controlled him now, but at least Shapiro was coming down with him.
Author's Note: Yes, I am the worst person for resuming a stalled fanfic with a cliffhanger. But assuming I don't get COVID from my housemate, I do plan to continue work on it next week!
