"Niño, ready for your bath?" Letty said, knocking quietly on the door jamb. She poked her head into the room and chuckled at the sight of Marcus asleep, fingers curled around the base of the silver crucifix resting against Dom's chest. It'd been a while since the noise level had dropped and she'd decided to see if her suspicions were correct. Dom was passed out too, arms wrapped around Marcus as if the very thought of letting him go had reached the point of being unbearable.

With just a couple of plates left soaking in the sink, there was little to do but sit around, relax, and watch reruns of Cops. Brian and Mia had gone home earlier than usual, the car in its last stages of restoration didn't need much more than a full tank of gas and a test run, and Dom had finished the vacuuming just before dinner.

Noticing the open baby bag on the floor, Letty grabbed it and hung it off her shoulder while she rifled through its contents, checking for any bottles that needed sterilising. Clothes, diapers and wipes, his usual toys, and —

A piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Letty reached down, picked it up, and turned it over. She recognised Elena's short cursive handwriting instantly. It wasn't a love letter: Hobbs' name in the first sentence and Cipher's in the proceeding told her that much. Unless Dom had fallen for the enemy — which was highly doubtful — something was going down and Hobbs was going to need backup.

Dom,
Hobbs has gone to Cuba with Nobody. He's looking for anyone with links to Cipher and he's one step short of finding her. If something happens, please stop him from getting himself killed. I don't think he's going to do anything stupid, just reckless . . . and I know Luke will never say it, but thank you for not letting him die in the favellas that day.
Elena.
P.S, Marcus likes the gloves more than the car.

Letty resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the postscript. It was certainly going to make Dom even more determined to convert Marcus back to being a Toretto. Five minutes with a Shaw and it was as if he already knew the lyrics to God Save The Queen.

The grumbling cry of a stirring toddler had her ready for anything as Marcus began to wake. A squeak of a fart and the smell that wafted across his bedroom said she was about to have her stamina tested. Letty lifted Marcus free from Dom's arms and carried him and the baby bag out, going straight to the bathroom where Dom had set up the changing table.

"You just had to make a mess while Dad's asleep, huh?" she said, pulling his pants away from his back slightly to reveal the state of his ruined diaper. Oh God, this was full-on bath time now. Whatever had gone through his stomach and come out the other end was now creeping up his backside as he wriggled in her arms.

By the time the bath was ready, the mess had been cleaned up and Marcus was clapping and kicking. Letty lowered him in and the splashing began, chanting 'Mom' as he slid himself around and tried to eject half the water from the bath.

After a few minutes and a proper wash, he was in a red Dodge onesie and laying in his own bed. Dom, on the other hand, was still asleep on the chair with his arms curled around thin air. Letty woke him slowly with a 'hey Papa' and a kiss on the lips.

Dom blinked through the haze of exhaustion and looked up at Letty. The biggest smile formed on his face at the sight of her and he couldn't help but reach up to check she was real. After all this pain and suffering she was still with him. His wife and lover, one of a select few important people who'd chosen to stay instead of leave. Now there was another: Marcus. "Where's —"

"Relax. I gave him a bath and put him to bed. His diaper looked like a bad batch of cake batter and smelt worse than Vince after a week without a shower."

Dom cringed at the mental image and murmured a thank you when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to his feet. Words couldn't express just how happy he'd been since finding her in London, and then Los Angeles — when her memories returned, it was as if the last few years had been wiped away. "I think it's bedtime for me too."

"Or we could go to our room and you can stay up for another hour. I've got all these wet clothes that need to come off." Letty tugged him closer and groaned at the feel of his hands sliding down her hips to her thighs. She loved his hands, those thumbs especially, and that middle and index finger: he could do wonders with those fingers, but nothing beat the feel of his hands squeezing hers while Dom used that magical mouth of his. He lifted her and carried her out of Marcus' bedroom and into theirs. "I think we should start with this shirt."

"You still want that coffee?"

"Please." Ramsey stretched her arms and closed the laptop, setting it aside before she took the offered mug from Tej's hands. As much as she hated the taste, this bitter black swill he made was keeping her wide awake. After her marathon hacking session finished, she'd sleep at midnight and wake up at six like clockwork, then return to her laptop an hour later. "It's been weeks since Cipher pinged my radar. I've accounted for everything and I still can't find her."

He slid onto the bed and stretched out next to her. They could do this, it was just going to take time that the team really couldn't afford to waste. The sooner it was all over, the sooner they could go back to living their normal lives without having to look over their shoulders. "So we change our approach. Find someone who's already in contact with Cipher."

"Which would require finding her first and sniffing any and all packets then tracing them back to their source, seeing as we don't know anyone in contact with her." She'd thought of that, but it relied entirely on luck and timing. Capturing the packets before Cipher had a chance to erase them? They'd have to be on the same network as whoever she was talking to. "If there are any packets left by the time she's done sweeping her trail clean."

Tej groaned. It didn't matter how many satellites they connected to, or who Hobbs called on their behalf, they were still coming up empty. He leaned over and kissed the hollow of her neck, breathing in the lingering scent of her lavender body wash. "Why can't we just go back to the simpler days of drug dealers and stealing safes?"

"Because you'd enjoy it too much." She smirked and set her coffee down on the bedside drawer. If she was being honest, it felt like he was spoiling her some days. The other morning, they'd spent five hours laying in bed and not once had she gotten up to get dressed or make herself a cup of coffee. "Breaking the law is what you do best, isn't it?"

"Oh I can think of a few things I do better than that."

While Deckard eased the engine of his Defender back into place, Owen sat back, spoon in hand and cake tin nestled between his and Elizabeth's legs. When she'd walked in with two spoons instead of one, the cake tin, and a small jug of ganache, his mouth began watering immediately. Whoever thought four in the morning wasn't a perfect time for eating cake had to be a bloody puritan. Owen licked the spoon clean and smiled at Deckard who was now reconnecting everything and wiping the engine down.

"You gonna save any of that for me?"

"There's chak-chak on the kitchen bench."

Deckard scoffed and rolled his eyes. Of course there was, considering he hated it. All that honey and sugar made it too sweet for his tastes, but zapekanka? He finished reinstalling the engine and found a clean rag, wiping the sweat and grease off his hands before he climbed in the driver's seat. "I thought you baked two of those."

"I did." Overindulging couldn't hurt a fly if it only happened once a month. She would've been in her apartment in Cuba with a whole cake to herself if not for Magdalene, but sitting here next to Owen while Deckard did all the work and she had nothing to do but play tech-head? Elizabeth had forgotten how nice it was being part of a family. In so much as they could call themselves a family, it was still nice. Owen hadn't changed at all, nor Deckard; the pair hadn't gotten off her case about Cipher or Cuba for the past three hours. Owen also couldn't stop laughing about the look of sheer shock on Deckard's face when their mother had slapped Beth. "And the other one's reserved for breakfast."

"C'mon, what's wrong with you? Playing favourites again, I see." He gestured with one hand while he started the Land Rover with the other. It purred to life and the rattle that'd been plaguing him was gone. "Hand it over, and the third spoon. Yeah, I ain't blind, it's in your pocket. Pass me the bloody cake."

"It's not a spoon."

He frowned. If she was carrying a knife around in her pocket while with them — in the presence of their mother — he was going to kill her. "Then what is it?"

For pete's sake. What was it with him and double standards? So Deckard could walk around with a killer attitude and a decade plus of military experience, but she wasn't allowed a chance of defending herself? "Switchblade."

Of course it was! Maybe if she'd just learn proper self defence, even a couple Krav Maga moves, she wouldn't risk their arses and hers by carrying a knife around. Every time they were together, she always pulled shit like this. If she didn't end up pissing someone off or picking a fight with one of them, she was trying to pretend she was on par with them. "Jesus Christ, Beth! I swear you're going to get us all killed one day."

"It's not from my bag." Owen raised his hands, spoon in one and the other empty. This was the usual eccentric Deckard 'I was nominated for a Victoria Cross' Shaw response, but situations rarely occurred that brought out this side of him. "You know I don't need a knife to take care of the likes of her."

Wait, was that a threat, a compliment, or an insult? From Owen, you could never quite tell. And it was from his bag. For as long as he'd been in the military, they'd always had an arrangement: if together, one of them brought a knife. Sometimes fists just couldn't cut it, and for her, a knife was an easier form of self defence than punching her way out. Being able to throw or hold something was also less risky than allowing someone close enough to shank her.

"Are you ever going to stop pretending like I'm the only one making stupid decisions around here, Deck?" she snapped. And here they went, butting heads over things he couldn't let go of. There was a reason she got along better with Owen than him: he couldn't let go of grudges. When it came to Owen, bygones were bygones inside of a week, and if there was still a lingering issue, they put everything on the table and dealt with it. "I was eighteen, and I chose the mob over the military because at least I belong there."

Have your fucking cake, she thought, standing and leaving her spoon on the stool. If one of them didn't walk away now, tempers were going to flare and this would turn out worse than it had with Magdalene. With Deckard and Owen, she rarely held back; they'd seen the full extent of her temper on her worst day and lived to laugh about it. Being a grown woman who lost her temper would also make her feel nothing short of weak and pathetic. I'm going for a run.

"And where do you think you're going?" Deckard scowled as she opened the garage door. She was hardly dressed for a date at a cafe let alone visit her friends, provided she still had any. "It's a quarter past four and we're leaving for Greece at midday."

She's not even in Greece anymore, wanker. She shut the garage door behind her and started jogging down the driveway. The old hag on the front step with her cup of tea, leopard print jacket, and large tiger's eye ring, went ignored. Seconds later, Magdalene was up off her arse and keeping pace in her slippers. Elizabeth cringed but said nothing, focused on hugging the gutter and not being hit by any cars.

Magdalene waited till they turned the corner and allowed herself to fall a few paces behind before she said, "I'm sorry, Lizzy."

"I called you a bitch, you slapped me." The bite of anger in her voice wasn't subtle despite all attempts to keep her tone flat. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes, it is. You ain't my flesh and blood but you're still my daughter." Maybe it was that dark head of hair or those high cheekbones, but when Elizabeth tilted her head at just the right angle, she could've sworn it was Michael standing there and not her. Owen had his jaw and nose, but everything else including his attitude towards Owen and Deckard and those cold eyes had skipped their two sons and ended up in her. "Slow down will you? I'm not that fit anymore, love. Can we at least talk about this like grown women?"

"Fine. Perhaps then we can stop acting like your sons are boys to be coddled and not men who need a good boot up the arse." How many times had she let Owen's behaviour slide over the years, or excused it? The fights, the pretending like his personality didn't verge on borderline psychopathic some days. Ignoring Deckard's penchant for wannabe heroics was one thing; turning a blind eye to Owen coming home with fractured ribs, bruised eyes, busted lips, and shredded knuckles, was another. Elizabeth stepped onto the nature strip and turned around to face her, angling herself away from the road as two black SUVs drove past and turned into their street. "What do you really want?"

"How's your father?"

The last time she'd heard from him was pre-Gitmo, before Cipher entered their lives and Owen went on his rampage. Those were the days when touching half a billion dollars was just a dream and the closest she could come was crunching numbers at a desk in Moscow. Now it was still a dream, but Cipher's presence had pushed it a few steps closer to becoming reality. "I wouldn't know."

She buttoned her jacket up to the collar and frowned, smoothing out the wrinkles before she started walking back towards the corner of their street. She could spot suspicion from a mile away and that was beyond blatant. Magdalene made sure the street and its surroundings were always well lit in case of emergency. Irish government plates on military vehicles? That never boded well. "Armoured cars don't often drive 'round these parts of London."

Cars that had to be at least four or five hundred kilos heavier than they were fresh off the factory floor? No, they didn't. All that weight made them sit lower sans their tyres being raised or suspension systems improved. That left two options: either they didn't care about being spotted, in which case whoever used those cars was a complete idiot, or riding low was a strategic choice.

"If there's any chance they're not headed for my house, they'll be exiting the street now." Living in a cul-de-sac with other elderly people offered one advantage: if the police or other law enforcement types showed up, it didn't require a genius to figure out whose door they were about to knock on.

A sigh and a shrug was Elizabeth's only response before she started walking in the direction of the house. The chance of that happening was slim to none. Unless the old crone next door had chosen to murder her husband spur of the moment, odds were Deckard and Owen had probably pissed somebody off again.

Magdalene trailed behind her as they took the corner. She stopped just past the first electricity pole and didn't budge. Her instincts told her to stay put. From a distance she could see five people in tactical gear standing on her front lawn, and her sons on their knees.

One minute there were three, the next two. Deckard looked up just as a figure crash tackled one of the soldiers to the ground and drew the attention of the others. The few seconds it afforded him was all he needed to disarm one and disable another by dislocating their dominant arm. Owen dealt with the two remaining without hesitation, leaving Beth to her brawl.

Given a two second advantage, she punched her target in the face twice, drove his balls up into his body with her knee, and pressed her switchblade to the underside of his jaw. For good measure, she jackhammered her knee into his groin again then demanded, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The sound of Deckard being hit distracted her and it took all of a moment to throw her into the ground. Flynn, or so his uniform read, took the opportunity to draw his pistol and pressed it to the back of her head. When he spoke, his American accent came as a surprise. "Mr. Nobody has a plane waiting. Either you three come willingly or we cuff you and drag you onboard."

The click of the safety sent a shiver down her spine and turned her bones to jelly. The steel barrel felt colder than ice when it was pressed into her scalp, leaving her anger at seeing her brothers on their knees to dissipate as she crumpled under his weight. How one noise could hurl someone backwards through twenty-nine years of memories was something she'd never quite understand, but it did. She could feel the wooden floorboards under her hands, and the top of her head smacked the slats of the bed above her each time she tried to look up; her muffled shallow breathing sounded like thunder in her ears while the acrid stench of cigar smoke stung her nostrils.

"You made a deal, Deckard."

"I told him I'd find Cipher. I only need more time!"

"I want to go back to Santa Clara," Owen heard Elizabeth whisper. "Put me back on that fucking plane now."

"Your time's up. Cuffs or no cuffs? Do we make this easier or harder than it has to be?"

From where Owen stood, nothing looked different about Beth except the tremors in her hands. With the bastard's knee on her back and his gun to her head, she hadn't moved a centimetre since being pinned. "No cuffs! Just get off her, will you?"

"Deckard?" Flynn pressed, ignoring Owen's call. "If you're not going to do it for yourself, think of your siblings. She's meant to be serving life, and the Spanish want him dead."

He swore under his breath. What the hell was Nobody playing at? He'd told them it'd take longer than two months. Eventually Cipher would be locked up in segregation at U-Max, but finding her wasn't as simple as snapping his fingers. He looked across at Owen, one step short of breaking someone's neck, and Beth, hands shaking as she tried to keep it together.

"Now look what you've done. Ruined my bloody flowers, you have! I've been growing those in memory of their father." The look on the soldiers' faces as Magdalene walked towards them and began her tirade could only be described as sheer horror. The false sense of security they'd been lulled into by thinking the worst was over had just been shattered. "Couldn't even wait till daylight before coming in to destroy another family, could you? This is elderly abuse by the government! I want to speak to Head Office. You're MI5, aren't you? It's always MI5, ever since Thatcher finished her run you've been harassing my family."

"Mum, it's fine," Deckard said, standing and moving between her and the group of five. Two SUVs were parked facing the house but only one had opened its doors. The other, he assumed, was for them. "Why don't you go back inside and make yourself a cuppa, eh, and what're you doing wandering around in your slippers at this time of morning?"

Her shoulders sagged as she got to her feet. Flynn had backed off the minute Magdalene started shouting. Free to move, she stepped backwards toward Owen and flicked the switchblade closed. Who knew one day she'd end up being saved by the old hag? As Magdalene walked past her, Elizabeth murmured, "thank you."

"Keep them alive, will you?" she responded in a low voice. "I can't be there to save you every time."

"Dementia," Owen said, gesturing to his head. "Sometimes she thinks she is Thatcher."

"I heard that, Owen Geoffrey! Oh look what you've done to Sheila, she's terrified. Poor cat." She scooped up air and cradled it against her chest. "You come around here again and I'll have you arrested!"