Chapter Two

Unease

Any thought of going home and getting some sleep evaporated the second Larssen pinned her to the wall. Nora was still thoroughly shaken by the time she made it to Peter's house. While she was reluctant to tell Peter the full account of what had happened, it wasn't like she could play it off. Especially when El noticed the light dusting of fresh bruises peeking out from under the ruffled short sleeve of her top nearly the second Nora arrived.

"Larssen made you an offer to get him out of town?" Peter repeated once she'd finished her run-down, returning from the kitchen with a glass of water and pressing it into her hand, which had thankfully stopped shaking. He'd offered a glass of wine, like the two of them had poured for themselves, but a swell of nausea rolled in her stomach at the thought, just like when she'd been sent home after confronting Fowler. No, a clear head was better.

"Yeah." She took a long drink of the water.

"He's more desperate than I thought."

El's brow furrowed. "He shot your best friend. What could he possibly offer you?"

"Well, Larssen shot Mozzie on orders," she explained, setting the glass down in front of her. "He's offering me the man who gave the order."

El glanced between the two of them. "Wait. Is this the same man who's responsible for Kyle's death?"

Nora nodded, staring at the table in front of her. "You make that deal, a killer walks free, Nora," Peter reminded her firmly. As if she needed to be reminded. Her hands clenched around the back of the chair she leaned against. "You can find your revenge in the justice. It's there."

"I know."

"You're not listening to me-" He stopped dead, her words catching up to him. "You are listening to me."

She licked her lips before finally meeting his eyes. "That's why I'm here. This time, we do it your way." She didn't think Peter had ever looked more proud of her than he did in that moment. Silly as that was, it was a comfort. She'd seen enough of his disappointment to last a life time, still not entirely sure why she let it matter all that much to her either way.

Eventually, Peter called her a cab and sent her home under the condition that she call him immediately if she so much as thought Larssen might have been lurking around. While she was reasonably sure he'd said all he cared to for the night, she agreed nonetheless. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

They met up outside the FBI the next morning, like usual, bantering and bickering on the ride up to the twenty-first floor. She was used to Peter shooting down her more wild (and sometimes, considerably tame) ideas, so she wasn't entirely surprised that he didn't approve of her most recent one.

"No," he repeated for the third time as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Come on, Peter," she whined, trailing behind him. All things considered, especially after what had happened the night before, it wasn't that bad of an idea.

"No, no," he huffed. "The FBI is not gonna pay for your combat training."

She rolled her eyes. "Self-defense, Peter. Not combat training." He shot her the side-eye that suggested he thought she was splitting hairs. "You wouldn't have to worry about me if I had training to protect myself."

"I wouldn't have to worry about you if you didn't run off half-cocked into dangerous situations," he shot back. She sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing battle. "You wanna learn self-defense, they offer classes at the YMCA."

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed, "muggers beware."

"Besides, what's wrong with running away? You're really good at that." She glared. "Or get a dog," he suggested as the stepped into his office.

"Can I borrow Satchmo?"

"No, you can't borrow Satchmo." He stopped abruptly, brow furrowing as he scanned over the surface of his desk. "Did you take my mug?" he accused.

She rolled her eyes, sinking into the chair across from his desk. "I think everyone knows not to touch your mug."

"Elizabeth gave it to me," he huffed. "I need my coffee."

His coffee mug plight was interrupted by Diana walking in a plopping a file down between them. "Boss, guess who just booked a flight to Samoa a week from Tuesday."

Nora flipped open the file and picked up the print-off of the plane ticket. "Justin Springer, one-way ticket. Gotcha, Larssen."

"Your forgers did well," Peter allowed.

"They did."

"Where is he now?" he asked Diana.

"Tracked him to an apartment in Queens."

"Search warrant?"

"Judge is putting it through now."

Peter smirked. "Excellent. We'll get coffee on the way."

Nora was still complaining about the self-defense thing until Peter and the team left to search Larssen's apartment, much to Peter's annoyance. It wasn't that he didn't care for her safety – he did, almost unreasonably so – but he got the distinct impression that giving her the tools to fend for herself would only embolden her to use them. Rather than protecting herself in an emergency, she would probably end up putting herself in even more danger out of the misguided idea that she could fight her own battles. No, she was better off using her wit to keep herself safe.

The warrant came through, the team was suited up, ready to rush into a potentially dangerous situation, and Peter was ready to go. They burst into Larssen's apartment, guns drawn. "FBI," Peter announced. Larssen didn't look surprised. Nor did he look all too concerned.

"FBI," Diana repeated, taking the lead. "Put your hands in the air."

Larssen laughed, arms spread wide. He had a small pair of garden pruners in one hand, interrupted in the middle of tending to a house plant, apparently. "You could have knocked," he joked.

"Julian Larssen," Peter said, holstering his gun, "you're under arrest for murder and attempted murder." Diana plucked the pruners out of his hand and pulled his arms behind his back, cuffing him. "Get him out of here."

Everything screamed 'too easy' and Peter was curious to know why. Jones appeared at Peter's side. "So what now?" he asked.

"We tear this place apart. I wanna find evidence directly linking Larssen to the shootings." He watched as an agent lead Larssen away. "I'm gonna nail this son of a bitch." They got to work, sweeping everything over with a fine-tooth comb, searching every nook and cranny they could find.

Peter's eyes fell on the abandoned garden shears. He doubted Larssen was the type to so lovingly tend to his plants. "Jones," he called, "check that plant."

Jones did as he was asked, pulling a gun from under a layer of the mulch a moment later. Diana joined them, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Bet Ballistics finds a match."

Still, Peter couldn't help the gnawing sense that they had found what they needed entirely too easily.

Whatever time Nora wasn't spending at the Bureau, she was spending at the hospital with Mozzie. He was finally allowed out of his bed, no longer hooked up to machines to keep him going, though he was confined to a wheelchair if he wanted to get out of the room for a change of scenery. Nora was happy to see him up and about, at very least. After a nurse helped him into his wheel chair, he was handed over to Nora to push him to the common area. "It's nice to see you recovering, bud," she admitted cheerfully as they went. "Doctors say you'll be out of the wheelchair in the next couple days-"

"It builds something," he blurted abruptly, cutting her off.

"What does?"

"The code inside the music box," he huffed, as if it should have been obvious. "It's an equation that builds something."

Nora hesitated, rolling him to a stop at an empty table. "We don't need to talk about this right now," she told him gently. The last thing she wanted was to upset him while he was still healing, and she especially didn't want him to do it to himself for her sake.

He rolled his eyes. "I was shot for that code," he reminded her, voice a whisper so not to be overheard. "Larssen took my notebook. They have the equation too." His voice was rising, words coming out faster. "I'll be damned if they're gonna build it before I do." He gasped, hand pressed to his chest, face twisted from pain.

She put a hand on his shoulder, sinking into the chair next to him. "You need to rest," she told him, firmly.

"I'll rest when this is done." She sighed. Mozzie was nothing if not loyal and determined. Maybe if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have gotten hurt… No, she brushed that thought away. "When this is finished, I'm retired."

She raised an eyebrow. "You know, deathbed epiphanies aren't really your style." He looked away, glowering. "Look, if this is about not being able to remember-"

"It is nothing to do with that," he snapped. His face sagged, and he looked like a man who'd been pressed under the weight of the world. "I betrayed everything I believe in."

This was certainly the first she was hearing of this. "What are you talking about?"

He met her eyes, so sad. "I narked," he admitted. "I was the one who told the suit you were going after Fowler." Things suddenly made a lot of sense. Nora stayed silent, not sure what to say. "I was serious. The reason the bullet missed my heart is because I don't have one." He fell silent, and Nora knew she had to say something.

"You told Peter?" she asked evenly.

He nodded. "I'm a Judas, a turncoat, a quisling-"

She cut him off with a hug, careful of his wound. "Thank you." She pulled back, flashing a sad smile. "If you hadn't… Moz, I might have killed Fowler. And Fowler didn't kill Kyle."

"He didn't?" She shook her head. "Then who did?"

"The guy Larssen works for, I think." Neither spoke for a moment, and Nora decided it was best to redirect the conversation. "So what does this coded equation build?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "Yet."

Nora left him not long after, needing to get back to the Bureau. She returned, noting Diana sitting on the corner of Jones' desk, staring up into the conference room, where Peter paced in front of Larssen. "How long have they been in there?" she wondered.

"A long time," Diana sighed.

Nora chewed on her lip. Peter had texted her the broad strokes of the arrest and search, and she couldn't help but feel on edge the more she thought about it. "Something's not right."

Peter was getting frustrated, more so by Larssen's complete calm under fire. He'd been going at the man for what felt like an eternity, and had nothing to show for it. Peter leaned on the conference room table, staring him down. "You offered Caffrey a deal. She doesn't make the deals around here. I do." Larssen just blinked, disinterested. "Now, you're a gun for hire. A bullet aimed at a target. I wanna know the man who's pulling the trigger."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm innocent."

"Mm-hmm." Peter was about to argue that point, but a knock on the door cut him off. He spun with a sigh.

"Burke," Hughes said, leaning around the corner with a furrowed brow, "a moment?"

Reluctantly, Peter followed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nora and Diana watching from the bullpen, faces equal masks of concern as they shared a worried look. "Did we get the ballistics?" Peter asked.

"The inside of the barrel was filed down. We couldn't make a match."

"He's hiding his trail," Peter realized, glancing back through the glass at the man. "What about prints?"

"The outside of the gun was wiped down," a second voice explained. An agent Peter recognized stepped forward from Hughes' office.

"Agent Roe," Peter muttered, getting a bad feeling in his stomach. He rounded back on Hughes. "What's Department of Justice doing here?"

Hughes' fixed him with a hard look. "Forensics found a single print inside the weapon," he explained.

"It was yours, Agent Burke," Roe added.

Peter stared, dumbfounded. "That's impossible."

"The print was found inside the slide," the man continued. "The only way it could've gotten there was if you assembled the gun."

"This is absurd." Peter felt like the world was crumbling down around him. None of it made any sense.

Roe didn't seem inclined to listen. "Agent Burke, you're hereby on leave until this investigation is completed."

Peter huffed, glaring back over his shoulder at Larssen, who looked entirely too smug. Roe held out his hand, but Hughes stepped in front of him. "Peter, your gun and your badge." He glanced between the two of them, then down at Nora who was staring wide-eyed. Slowly, he unholstered his gun, and handed it over, followed by his badge. Hughes passed them off to Roe.

"What about Larssen?" he asked, voice thick as he attempted to keep his cool.

"We can't hold him," Hughes sighed. He gestured for the agent with Larssen in the conference room to bring the man out. No longer able to watch from the bullpen, Nora and Diana raced up the stairs toward them.

Larssen was still looking smug – and, God, did Peter want to punch him – as he came to a stop behind them. "Uncuff him," Roe told the agent.

"Hughes," Nora plead, "you can't let him walk out of here." There was a desperation in her voice Peter didn't often hear.

"Stay out of this, Caffrey," he said, tone firm, but resigned. He knew it wasn't right, but his hands were tied. "Uncuff him."

"I'll send you the bill for my door," Larssen told Peter, rubbing salt in the wound, before he was shown out by the agent.

"Agent Burke," Roe said, "you have to leave the building as well." Peter just nodded. He knew if he opened his mouth, the things that came out would not improve his case. Roe left them then, and Peter shared a look with Hughes, just for a moment, the man silently apologizing for not being able to help.

"Boss?" Diana said, her and Nora looking distressed.

"What happened?" Nora asked. Her eyes were misty, and if Peter wasn't mistaken, she was shaking slightly.

It took Peter a moment to find the words. All the unease he'd felt with how easy it had been getting Larssen and the gun… it all clicked together and Peter was too late to do anything to stop it. Larssen had been ahead of them the whole way. "Larssen destroyed me."