So if we've finally moved past "A Dark Turn" and the last chapter referenced "Endgame" and "Countdown," I wonder where we are in the timeline now . . . *whistles*
btw, the song at the end does not belong to me. Obviously.
Fourteen—Fuego
It would be so much easier if he wasn't employed by terrorists.
On the outside she grinned like a fool for Burke, bubbled at the office, waved her left hand around for all to see, whether they were interested or not.
On the inside she felt like a lead weight was pushing down on her more and more each day; soon she wouldn't be able to get out of bed.
Of course, in a few short weeks—eight to be exact, after what they had decided the night before—most people would expect that sentiment from her.
Except for those who knew her best.
"You're marrying him?" Ashley screeched when she saw the ring on her finger. "Have you lost your mind?"
No, just my morals, beliefs, convictions. Small stuff like that, Madison tried not to retort.
"I take it you won't be planning my bridal shower," Madison shot back dryly. "Too bad. I'm sure it would have been fun."
"Gracie, when you meet the love of your life and decide to marry him, not only will we plan the shower, we'll even wear ugly dresses for you and not even complain," Isabel joined in.
"Oh, be still my beating heart," Madison rolled her eyes dramatically as one hand clutched her chest.
They had her best interests at heart, she reflected as she walked away from them, but she could handle this. Honestly. This was just a sore subject for them and always would be. What she needed from her friends right now was help in finding Fiona, although so far their efforts had been unsuccessful. If she wanted to talk to someone about her impending marriage, which she did, there was only one CIA agent she wanted to talk to.
Unfortunately, she had been told days earlier that he was on a top-secret mission out of the country, with no expected return date. Madison sighed and continued on her way to the medical wing.
"Agent Thompson, good to see you," the nurse greeted her. "The doctor will see you in room 3."
"Thanks," she called out as she continued her journey. "Hello, Doctor."
"Grace," he said with surprise as they entered the exam room together. "I didn't actually expect you to show up today, given your loathing for me and all."
She rolled her eyes. "It's nothing personal, I assure you."
"Whatever you say, Grace." He patted the examining table. "You just have to sit there today, I promise."
She warily hopped onto the table and sat down, swinging her legs.
"So have you had any side effects from the contraceptive we gave you?" he questioned.
She shook her head. "I just need a refill."
He pulled out a prescription pad and scribbled on it for a moment. "See? This is as painless as it gets," he smiled as he placed the paper in her outstretched left hand. "Whoa. Nice rock," he admired. "I take it you'll be needing this refill very soon if you're not already sleeping with him."
"Bite me," she spat out. Why the hell does my sex life has to be this guy's business?
Well, he is your doctor, that annoying voice retorted.
Whatever.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Grace." She quickly jumped off the table and walked to the door. "Oh, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"When you go over to the pharmacy, make sure that they give you exactly what's written here, not the newest one on the market."
"There's a new kind of pill?" she questioned.
The doctor nodded. "It received FDA approval last month. It's not really any different from what you're taking, just enough so that when your med can be made as a generic, Pyper-Ferguson can still make even more revenue."
"Pyper-Ferguson produces lots of different kinds of drugs, don't they?"
"Yeah, they're one of the major players in pharmaceuticals—"
"What drugs are they testing right now?" she interrupted eagerly.
"Why do you care?"
Madison rolled her eyes. Wonderful, efficient U.S. government. The left hand doesn't know what the right is doing. "It's pertinent to an investigation I'm working on."
"I don't know a lot about the latest drugs in trials, but I'm sure our head pharmacist could help you. She's on vacation this week, but I'm sure she could speak with you next week if necessary."
"That would be wonderful," Madison said gratefully. "Thanks, Doctor." She hurried down the hallway to the adjoining pharmacy and carefully placed her prescription in her purse. She glanced at her watch. She had the next two hours free before joining Burke for dinner. To discuss wedding plans now that they had set the date the night before. She bit her lip to keep from groaning as she walked down yet another long, sterile hallway.
And then stopped and stared as she saw the man lying on the bed on the other side of the glass.
Jack.
She carefully tiptoed in his room and hovered over him, trying to determine the extent of his injuries. After several minutes she turned to read the medical chart hanging outside his door. She stopped when she heard a coughing noise behind her.
"Irina sends her regards," he muttered with his eyes closed.
She hurried over to his side. "What?"
"Irina." He opened his eyes and gazed at her. "In Mexico City. You haven't heard?"
She shook her head. "I heard you were on your way back from a mission . . . not a good one, it looks like," she said, indicating the various tubes and monitors surrounding him.
He grimaced. "I've had worse." He briefly closed his eyes before continuing. "She even had time to tell Sydney she loved her too before jumping off the roof."
"Oh God."
"Don't worry; she's alive. She's talented like that," he said dryly as the monitors beeped and trilled in a cacophony of sounds. "But she wanted me to tell you hello."
Madison waved her hand around. "Is it safe to talk about her here?" she whispered.
"No bugs," he said drowsily. "Interfere with all the hardware in here. I'm sure Marshall could create something, but why have him spoil everyone's fun?"
She snickered. Jack Bristow cracking a joke . . . surely a sign of the apocalypse.
"Not to be rude—but where's your daughter? Shouldn't she be with you right now since you're . . . you're . . ."
"Surviving a near-death experience?" he supplied. He blinked. "It's obvious you don't know how the Bristow family works. The more pain I'm in, the more reward she gets. Last time it was apparently a make-out session with that 'handler' of hers. This time it's a weekend getaway." He smiled humorlessly. "I shudder to think what will have to happen to me in order to see any grandchildren."
Madison stared at him wide-eyed. It was official—a doped up Jack Bristow could make the comedy circuits. Or at least amuse the hell out of ninety-nine percent of the Agency. "She's leaving you alone just to go out of town?"
"Cut out the concerned daughter look, Grace. It's unnecessary. I told her on the return flight that she needed a break from this life. It just so happened that he," Jack spat out the word, "was already thinking along the same lines. I hate that," he finished quietly to himself.
She watched his drooping eyes fight for control as he struggled to keep them open. "I'm going to go now and let you rest."
"Okay," he slurred. "Contact me if anything changes on your op."
"Well," she trailed off. She leaned closer to his bed and held up her left hand.
"Don't blind me," he grimaced. "He must really love you."
"He just thinks he does. We haven't known each other long enough for him to really love me," she dismissed.
"One cup of coffee with Laura and I was ready to propose to her on the spot," he retorted. "Trust me. He may be who we consider a criminal simply because he does things that we deem horrible because they're for the other side. But I think this Burke guy really does love you."
It was her turn to grimace. "I know," she said softly. "I know."
*****
Fifteen minutes later Madison exited the elevator and returned to the main floor of the Joint Task Force Center.
"You're taking a trip together?" she overheard an agent say—the one who had pointed her to a vacant desk one night, she remembered. "What's next? A diamond?"
"I'm saving that for the next trip," a second agent said absent-mindedly as he twirled a gold coin between his fingers.
"No way. You haven't already bought the ring . . . you've had it for months, haven't you."
Madison eased into Ashley's chair, conveniently near this conversation. It was sad that she was reduced to spying on the love lives of her colleagues for entertainment. She grinned. Too bad there's no popcorn around here.
"I have not had it for months," he retorted hotly.
"Mike, I know you. Hell, we all know you. Even she could probably figure you out," he gestured towards Madison, "and she doesn't even know you."
Madison looked up quickly. "Excuse me?"
"Come on. You were listening. Not that I blame you. It's not everyday that we get a confession this big out of Mikey over here." He waved his hand towards the desk he was leaning against. "Come here. It would be nice to have an objective woman's opinion on this."
She giggled and walked over to join them. "I'm Grace, by the way." She held out her hand.
"Eric, and this is Mikey over here."
"Wait a sec." The pieces were rapidly falling into place. "You were the guy who did that brush pass with me a few months ago." She turned to Eric. "Let me guess. The woman in question has long brown hair and can't keep her hands off him either?"
Eric snorted. "You took her with you on a brush pass?" he said to his friend. "God, you have it bad."
"If you wouldn't mind, I'm trying to finish this report so I can leave," he said emphatically.
"Oh yes. The fabulous weekend getaway. Now, Mr. Vaughn, before we were joined by the lovely Grace—are you seeing anyone right now, Grace?"
"Um, I'm on a swallow mission."
"So I'm guessing you're not available to go see a movie? Right. Moving on. So, Mikey, we were discussing rings. Is it or is it not true that you already have a diamond just waiting to be placed on Syd's finger?"
He ducked his head. "I plead the fifth."
Eric and Madison snickered in unison. "We'll take that to mean yes," Eric grinned.
"Oh, that's a definite yes," Madison agreed. "Come on, Mikey. How long have you had the ring?"
He threw his hands up in frustration. "If this goes past the two of you, I will hurt you both."
"Like I'm going to report this to Kendall? Please."
Two pairs of eyes swiveled towards Madison.
"I'm not telling anyone!" she said in frustration. At their wary looks, she quickly added, "Come on. Like I want to be on Irina and Jack's bad sides?"
"She's got a point there," Eric said. "So Mikey, when was it? Just please tell me you weren't dating the dishrag when you bought it."
"Alice is a very nice lady, thank you very much, and no, I didn't buy it when I was with her. Either time I was with her."
"You dated the same woman for two different periods of time while having the hots for Sydney? And Jack didn't kill you?" Madison whistled. "Obviously then he gives his approval, because otherwise, Mikey? You would so be dead right now. Literally."
"Thanks for reminding me of my future in-laws," he said dryly. "Can't wait to spend the holidays with them."
Eric tapped the desk. "Enough stalling. The ring?"
"Okay, fine." He paused. "Remember when I got hauled into Barnett's office because of the inappropriate nature of my relationship with Syd?"
"Which time?"
"The first time, you idiot."
"Oh yeah, weasel sold you out. Wasn't that because of—oh, you didn't buy it back then."
He ducked shamefacedly.
"You did buy it back then! Oh my God, this is worse than I thought," Eric groaned.
"What?" Madison questioned. "When did he buy it?"
"See, Balls of Steel over here bought Sydney a Christmas present after knowing her for what, two months?"
"Actually, I bought it over Thanksgiving, so about seven weeks."
Eric rolled his eyes. "Fine. After knowing her for seven weeks, a mere forty-nine days, he bought her this antique picture frame and gave it to her for Christmas during one of their meetings."
"Aw. That's sweet," Madison smiled.
"Don't go soft on me, Grace. You're on my side, remember?"
Her smile faded. "Oh yeah." She tilted her head. "So the picture frame was bought after knowing her for seven weeks. Did you wait for your eight week pseudo-anniversary before buying the diamond?"
He scowled. "This is why I never mentioned it before," he muttered. At Eric's meaningful expression, he shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I bought the engagement ring—um—actually—"
"Spit it out!"
"The antique store was next to the jewelry store," he blurted out. "And I, um, kinda sorta bought the ring first."
Eric's jaw dropped. "Man, you really do have balls of steel."
"I didn't mean to buy it," he tried to defend himself. "It just happened."
Madison shook her head. "I don't get it. You barely saw her over those seven weeks, I'm sure, and yet you impulsively bought an engagement ring?"
He smiled. "I know, it's crazy, isn't it? But I just knew somehow."
"If you knew, then why did you hook up with dishrag again? Because—"
"Because denial is a beautiful thing," he laughed. "And man, think about Syd's parents. Would you like to have to deal with them for the rest of your life?"
"Men," Madison muttered to herself. She filed this conversation away to examine later.
"I suppose I can give you that one," Eric relented as another agent rushed towards them.
"Mr. Weiss, Mr. Vaughn, thank goodness you're here! Oh, excuse me, Miss Thompson, I didn't see you standing there. My apologies. So, gentlemen, I was in my office—I have a really nice office, that was very kind of the CIA to give me such a great place to work after all those years where I worked against them, you know?—anyway, I was just sitting in my office, trying to fix those headphones that Kendall broke the other day when you guys were in Mexico City. I've never been to Mexico City myself, but it sounds like a dangerous city to me, so maybe I won't tell my mom I've been there; I don't need to worry her."
"Okay, seriously, is there a point to all of this?" Eric interrupted.
He blinked. "Of course there's a point, Mr. Weiss, otherwise I would not have interrupted your discussion. As I was saying, I was in my office when this new computer program I was working on began flashing on my screen. See, I've been cross-listing CIA agents and their aliases into this database that takes information for various 911 emergency response services across the country as well as their similar services from around the globe. You know, it's really amazing what kind of emergency service you get in certain parts of the world; I know there's a few places I never want to be left stranded or wounded—"
"What did the program come up with?" Madison asked, smiling to soften the interruption.
He pushed a piece of paper into Vaughn's hands. "Back when I was at SD-6 I had to take Miss Bristow to work one day because she had a flat tire and her roommate had already left for class. And my memory, it's horrible when I'm trying to remember addresses and phone numbers, so I kept repeating Miss Bristow's address over and over and over again until I got there to pick her up, and for whatever reason, it stuck in my mind. 4260 Cochran Street, 4260 Cochran Street, 4260 Cochran Street—"
"We know Syd's address, Marshall. Why on earth would you come over here to—oh God." The wrinkles in his forehead instantly intensified. He placed the paper he had just read into Eric's hands. "Please tell me I did not just read what I think I just read."
"911 emergency response, calling to say that the house across the street, 4260 Cochran, appeared to be on fire after some sort of fight broke out. LAFD and other emergency units were immediately dispatched," Eric summarized aloud.
"Sydney—she's there packing for our trip—she's there," Vaughn said horrified as he pointed to the paper with a shaking hand. "Oh God, Sydney, hang on." He pulled his keys out of his pocket; Eric immediately grabbed them as he let the paper float onto the desk.
"I'm driving," he said firmly.
"Come on," Vaughn urged, rushing towards the door.
"Call me when you know that Miss Bristow is safe! My direct line is—" Marshall stopped as the two agents disappeared from view. "Never mind. I'll just, you know, wait and see what my computer program says."
Madison patted his arm comfortingly. "I'm sure they'll let everyone know what's going on as soon as there's news."
"Miss Bristow is very resourceful; I'm sure she's already outside of the house, trying to rig a fire hose out of something completely unexpected. Right?"
"Sure," she said lightly. "After all, with her parents, how could she not pull off the impossible?" The full impact of what she had said hit her a few moments later. "Oh no. Jack . . ."
"What?"
"Someone has to tell him."
*****
The commercials scrolled across the screen as Christopher nudged his fiancé. "Maddie, we need to get you to bed."
"I'm awake," she mumbled as she tried to force herself into a sitting position on the couch.
"No, you're not. I'll just let myself out and—what?"
"Turn it up," she ordered, motioning to the television. Wordlessly he did as she requested as she turned her attention to the news anchor.
"And in other news, fire fighters are still trying to extinguish flames at a four alarm fire on Cochran Street. Several homes have been evacuated . . ."
"Whoa. That's one hell of a fire," he commented as they stared at the screen.
Madison nodded absently, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. Come on, she's got to survive this. She's got to. This will kill them.
She jerked when the television flickered off. "What are you doing?" she burst out angrily.
"You don't need to torment yourself by watching another fire. What you watched just now is probably enough to give you nightmares anyway," he worried as he kissed her the top of her head.
Nightmares? From a fire . . . oh.
"I'll be fine," she dismissed his concern.
He looked at her doubtfully.
"Really, I will."
He didn't even blink.
"Besides, how would you know if I have nightmares or not? It's not like," she paused, her face flaming, "it's not like you would know that or anything," she finished lamely.
Christopher rolled his eyes. "Well, in eight weeks you can prove me wrong," he retorted, leaning in to kiss her.
She sighed and returned his kiss, then snuggled up beside him as they stared at the blank screen. If Sydney was . . . dead . . . she shuddered involuntarily. To say it would devastate Jack—and Irina, wherever she was—would be an understatement. But if there was any chance that she could be alive—after all, look at how easily Irina had returned from the dead, she thought humorlessly—they would stop at nothing to find her. Bring her back home.
For the first time on this mission Madison felt truly alone. She no longer had Irina to confide in, to listen to her rare stories about her own mission. She no longer had Jack to cryptically comment on Burke and what might be going on in his head. She no longer had Ashley and Isabel to chat and giggle and vent with about work; this mission had built a huge dividing wall between the three of them. Ashley and Isabel on one side. Her—Grace, not Madison, she reminded herself—on the other.
No family. No friends. No confidantes.
All she had was the man sitting beside her.
"Chris?" she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"I was thinking. We already have the license, right?"
"You saw the clerk hand it over to us the other day."
"Yeah. And well, we don't really have lots of people to invite, do we? I mean, between the two of us, the only real family either one of us has to invite is your sister Bethany and her husband and daughter."
"So . . ."
"So I was thinking. Do you think you could take next Friday off?"
*****
Late Friday afternoon Devlin re-entered his office, avoiding the stack of phone messages his secretary Kaye had waiting for him. He sank into his chair and allowed his eyes to rest for a mere moment while his e-mail checked for new messages.
In less than a week the Agency had been turned upside down. One Bristow was missing—presumed dead as soon as the results came in. Another Bristow was fighting the urge to return to the bottle, while the third Bristow—if she could be classified as such—remained at large. Not to mention all the other agents impacted by this—Vaughn, Dixon, Weiss, Flinkman. And Tippin. Wherever he was and whoever he was now, Devlin thought cryptically to himself.
He opened his eyes to see the plethora of new mail awaiting him. One in particular caught his eye. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, this address had never actually been used before. Its true owner did not escape him though.
He opened the message and allowed the attachment to download, confident that the security software would have caught any viruses. He hoped.
He was surprised when a song began to play. It took a moment for him to place the music—he was grateful she had chosen a song he would at least know, not some of that modern garbage they classified as music—but understanding was not long in coming.
Devlin laughed as the full implications of the e-mail became clear to him. He grinned broadly as he played the song again and opened up a blank message to send to Agent Bentley. It appeared that it was time to celebrate.
"Because we're going to the chapel
and we're gonna get married,
Going to the chapel of love."
tbc
