Chapter Nineteen!
And thank you very much for the good wishes. It's actually good news taking me away from writing for the foreseeable future... medical possibilities becoming reality, a big procedure, and then months of recovery/adapting - and then new expectations for the rest of my life. In a good way. But also a "my life is going to look very different" way, and the last time that sort of thing happened (which was bad and seemed to come out of nowhere) I was absent from updating BCBC for ages. I am trying to plan since I have the chance this time, and hopefully I can return to writing when I am able to be on a timetable that's sane and logical (maybe :). I'll be around, though, and reading!
Skyrider45, thanks so much for your review! Real life, right? And I am glad I made the decision to just keep Fred; he's too beloved for real life to intrude too far in this story, but I'm with you on missing him. :( And yes, FP is definitely effective just being himself. :) I've been enjoying the arc for him this story, and how it's subtler (he's already come so far!) but still very present. It made me so sad to hear that the end is palpable, even though that is intentional and I am glad it's feeling the way it should. :) Yay that Jug's growing up! Taking on the Brand role! (and remembering that's not entirely positive! :-D) If you were able to guess the way-too-much I've got planned for the upcoming chapters, I'd be very afraid, actually... We'll see more pieces coming together over this chapter and next, though. :) I'll look forward to your thoughts very much!
Living Lucid Dream, thank you for the lovely reviews! It was reassuring to hear that the plan (which is too complicated, both as far as Jughead can see and in my opinion - good thoughts, Brand, but yikes!) at least hangs together on paper. This one is a juggling act. :) And I think that writing/posting more swiftly is going to be a relief because I started eyeing the calendar and realizing my eyes were too big for my timeframe IRL - and I also love the distraction factor of writing more. Options included: massive chapters, multiple posts per week, or cutting plot points. I decided that pacing the chapters with reasonable length was best, and 'cutting plot points' was (obviously! :-D) unthinkable. Awww, I couldn't leave Clark behind, and I'm excited about having everyone get to do stuff; I loved your comment about Brand bringing ice cream home for FP. :) I'm also loving having Fred around more (I've missed him almost as much as FP has!), and yes... out the window, bahaha... :-D I hope you enjoy as the intensity sort of comes in waves (maybe?) as we keep moving forward! :-D
Enjoy!
-Button
00000
"You have to let me go back - they'll kill me if-,"
"I was kidnapped too. Last year," Jughead said quietly, urgently, wishing he wasn't having to force the smaller teenager to move, stumbling haltingly along the sidewalk. "I get it. You don't think you have anywhere to go or anyone who can help you. But I have a family, and they kind of specialize in this. You can-,"
The teenager swung hard at his midsection, and even though Jughead dodged his fist easily he was disconcerted.
"I'm saving you. We're going to get you help so you never have to see Rose or anyone who works for him ever again. Where are you from?"
"Let me go. I have to get back before anyone realizes I'm gone."
"No." Jughead frowned deeply. "Are you American? Canadian? Do you have a family? I can call them-,"
"I'll kill you."
Jughead snorted and he pulled the teen along more quickly. "Sure you will. You and whatever army you can recruit on short notice?"
"You don't understand-,"
"I do understand. You think you don't have options, but you do. I'm giving you options. I'm going to get you to a real army of people who can help you. Now stop fighting me and march."
Jughead suddenly had more sympathy for Brand's methods during their early days of living together. Not that he was going to hurt this kid - or tie him up. Hopefully.
The teen ducked forcefully and tore free, running back toward Rose's house.
Jughead grabbed him before he'd made it three paces away and put the teen's right arm into a tight submission hold.
"You're coming with me. Now stop all of this before you get us both killed. We'll talk more when we get there, but for now you're going to stop fighting me, stop arguing with me, and stop trying to escape. Otherwise I'm going to, um-," Jughead thought quickly, "I'm going to tell Rose that I caught you trying to escape. And I'll make sure you never walk again."
There. That sounded like something Brand would say - maybe even had said - and it had certainly scared Jughead into submission in the past.
The kid gave one frantic, experimental tug against the hold before his eyes widened.
"Yeah. It doesn't feel so good, does it?" Jughead twisted his wrist slightly for emphasis, and the teen had to move with him to avoid injury. "I'm not going to hurt you if you cooperate. Don't test my control, though - not unless you're real sure how things are going to end."
The teen nodded submissively, fearfully, and began hurrying to keep up with Jughead's quick pace.
Jughead felt new horror spring up in himself when he recognized the return of the teen's body language from inside of Rose's house. Jughead didn't have a choice, though: he needed to get them both to the townhouse. Alive.
00000
When Brand got back to the apartment, he wasn't sure who was more shocked. FP was up and grabbing him before he was fully in the door, looking behind him frantically for Jones, even though Brand was obviously trying to get past FP to get to the kid and have a chat about everything that had occurred with Rose.
They both began talking at once.
"No. Dom can't have kept him. Where-,"
"Jones should have been here hours ago-,"
"What?" FP reared back, apparently having heard what Brand said over his own sputtering. "I haven't seen him. Or heard from him. Why aren't you together? What did you do this time?"
"I don't know!" Brand had to agree, though: this was definitely his fault. "I told him to text you. Take the subway back. Things were getting weird - although they actually went well -, and I thought he'd be safe-,"
"Are you insane? Someone tried to grab him from the waterfront yesterday!" FP's voice was raw with panic and fury. "Where do we start?"
"Phone." Brand pulled out his own and FP followed suit. "Text him, then call him, and- wait, I have a text. It just came in a few minutes ago."
"Me too."
FP and Brand looked up at each other, and this time they were on the same page: deeply skeptical.
"Does this sound remotely legit to you?" FP asked, hesitating.
"No. But we have nothing better to go on. It came from his phone, and we were a lot closer to the townhouse when I sent him home."
"Why on earth would he wait this long, and why would he go there?" FP looked at the text again. "Something's wrong."
"Yeah, no kidding." Brand rubbed the back of his neck. "Lock the dog up and grab some stuff. Three minutes and we're out of here, but let's at least have ammo and the ability to set up shop wherever we find the kid."
"Make it two minutes. And tell me what happened with Dom." FP was already grabbing stuff and shoving it into a backpack. "Hurry."
Brand filled him in.
00000
The townhouse was dark and locked. It looked like the text must have been a lie, and if so that meant they'd been distracted - delayed - while someone might have used that time to get out of the city with Jones.
They went inside, and it was only more disheartening when the lights were switched on. It looked like nobody had been here for quite some time. But the text had said that Jones was in his room, so they'd check there before drawing any conclusions.
Brand took the stairs two at a time, and even so FP had one hand pressed between his shoulder blades, urging him to move more quickly.
They burst into Jones' old room, and when the light switch did nothing - the room remained lit only by the moonlight through the window -, the many quotes written on the plain wallpaper seemed to shift eerily on the walls.
"He's not here." FP stumbled further into the room, and anger warred with panic in his tone. "Brandon, he's-,"
"We're here, Dad. Brand." Jughead's voice emanated shakily from the shadowed alcove he'd long since converted from a closet by removing its door. "We're right here."
"What do you mean, 'we'?" Brand started fumbling for the lamp. The light switch was turned on, so if he could just find the pull chain on the lamp he could get some light into the room. "Are you okay, kid?"
"I kidnapped someone, Brand." Jughead's voice was suddenly filled with tears. "Can I get in trouble for that? If they were already kidnapped?"
FP started fumbling toward the closet in the dark. "You what?"
"He rescued someone, FP." Brand had a terrible flash of clarity, just as his hand found the lamp's chain. He pulled it, and light spilled over the room - and the situation. "Jones rescued someone who didn't want to be rescued. And probably with good reason."
Sure enough, there were two teenage boys huddled on the closet floor. Both were looking up fearfully at Brand and FP.
"This is not going to make our mission any easier." Brand rubbed the back of his neck.
"Shut up, Brandon." FP moved to the closet and crouched to pull Jughead into a hug. "You did the right thing, Jug. I would have given anything for someone to bring you home to me when it was you who was missing. We'll figure this out together."
"We're gonna have to." Brand's tone was dry, but he softened when he met Jughead's worried gaze over FP's shoulder. "It'll be okay. You only made the same decision I did about you, kid. Sometimes it's worth the risk."
Jones allowed his father to tug him out of the closet and up to sit on the bed.
Brand moved closer to the teen left sitting in the closet.
"What's your name?" Brand figured they'd better start off simply.
"Max."
"Last name?"
Max gave him a defiant look and did not answer.
"Where are you from? Any family?" Brand knew that the odds-on bet was that this was a kid for whom nobody was looking. But he had to ask.
"He's scared, Brand. And we're hungry." Jones spoke for Max, and Brand realized he was going to have to explain to the kid why that wasn't a good idea. They needed Max to speak for himself, and to share information as he was able - and willing. "Can we get pizza?"
"I'll have a couple of pizzas delivered." Brand nodded decisively. "Nobody is stepping one foot outside of this house until this is resolved. How long were you with Rose?"
Silence. Another defiant expression.
"He's tired. I had to force him to come here." Jones sounded heartbroken over what he'd done. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."
When Max perked up and gave Jones a reassessing look, Brand's heart sank. That was the face of someone who had just identified an easy mark.
"Hey, come order the pizza with me, kid." Brand stood up and backed away from Max. "FP, we're going to hole up here in the townhouse while we sort this out. I'll make a phone call about Trigger so that he's covered, and I've got some trail cams for home security that I never got around to mounting, so you and I can put those up indoors. Let's start with my bedroom and the downstairs area, so we can start those recording to the cloud tonight. Can you pull out sheets and towels and put Max to work on laundry?"
FP looked from Jones to Brand, clearly trying to figure out what he'd missed.
"These two got to know each other." Brand hoped that was enough of a clue. "Let's see that the whole wolf pack has a chance to get to know Max. We'll be together for at least a day or two, so let's get friendly and learn what we can about each other. I think everyone benefits from a little footage that we can all review in case of conflict, too."
The small teen looked up sharply at Brand, and it would not have seemed out of place had he bared his teeth in aggression. Brand met his gaze evenly.
"He can bunk in with me for now. I'll make sure nothing bad happens to him." Brand bared his own teeth in a grin that promised every ounce of the aggression that he was prepared to unleash if Max decided to go after Jones in any way.
When Max looked away, petulant but not cowed, Brand knew he'd read the signals correctly.
"Is that okay, Max? I have a friend you might meet, Agent Sarah. She knows all about helping people who were kidnapped. She used baby monitors, but she said the same thing about me feeling safer when everyone had accountability for their actions. It's nice when you don't know people yet, and there's always privacy in, like, the bathrooms," Jones explained.
Brand blinked; he'd gotten the tip from Sarah as well, along with a slightly more CYA-themed explanation. It made sense that the kid had experience with it from debriefing, and it was also just like him to think that Brand was doing this solely to set Max's mind at ease.
"Do you like pizza?" Jones continued encouragingly. "Brand is really... Well, you'll like rooming with him. He'll definitely keep you safe, and he doesn't snore as much as some people around here."
FP did not respond to the teasing dig; he was watching Max closely. Good. He'd caught at least part of Brand's message then.
"I can find the good blankets after dinner. Do you want something for white noise? Disrupted sleep can be one of the more challenging parts of recovery." Jones was still talking, and now he sounded like he was quoting someone else.
Brand and FP waited to see if Max would reply, but he remained silent.
"You know what, I'm just going to build you a nest in Brand's room since we don't have a cot here. We'll watch something on my laptop and then have pizza. Oh, and I'll get you a stash of protein bars. That way if you wake up hungry, you'll be all set. We still have some here, right, Brand?"
Brand nodded. It occurred to him that if this was all coming from Jones' experience during debriefing, then Sarah probably deserved a raise.
"I think I've got some clothes in a box in the attic, too. It's stuff I didn't wear much, but there should be enough for you and me to wear for a few days. You can keep anything you like, and that way you won't have to change back into these clothes again if you don't want to. Do you like to read? My books aren't here anymore, but Brand's are and he's got some good ones." Jones looked up at Brand. "Can Max pick out a few books to keep?"
"Uh, yeah. Run them by me first, but that's probably fine." Brand was puzzled by the request, but he figured it only made sense; Max would not be in the townhouse for long enough to finish reading a book of any length.
"Good. I'll need a bag, too, so Max can keep his stuff in one place." Jones nodded thoughtfully. "We had some cloth bags in the basement."
Aha. Brand was suddenly getting the picture. Jones wanted to make sure Max had something of his own that he could hold on to. "Yeah, you can give him one or two of the tote bags to hold his stash."
"Come on, Max. The laundry machines are downstairs." Jones motioned for the smaller teenager to come out from the closet. "My dad is really nice. He has a motorcycle and he likes peanut butter."
FP gave Jones a weird look. "Is that how you usually describe me to people?"
"No." Jones shrugged. "I'm just saying-,"
"I'm sure Max can figure it out. FP's a simple guy." Brand grabbed Jones by the shoulder and tugged him up and toward the door of the bedroom. "Let the new kid get a word in edgewise."
"Okay." Jones looked back at Max one last time. "Let me know if you need anything."
Max nodded, and Jones was finally satisfied.
Brand figured he'd better get Sarah on the phone as soon as possible.
00000
Being 'read in' had been a strange combination of enlightening and frustratingly vague.
Clark was told repeatedly that it was a great honor and vote of confidence, that he was to be hired on full-time if all went well, and that everyone had the utmost of faith in him.
And then he was given what was quite obviously the 'intern' version of the case. It sucked.
So they were in Toronto in an apartment, Agents Quinn and Williams had places to go and information to gather, and Clark was on scut work. Not even real scut work: it looked to him like it was generously about two hours' worth of work per day.
"Just do it well, Clark. Check it four times to make it eight hours of excellent work instead of two hours of shoddy work. This is important, and nobody's going to have time to look over your shoulder," Williams said when Clark inquired about what he was supposed to do with the rest of the day. The two agents would not even be back in time for dinner.
"Chloe. I think Clark's already being generous; he could do this work perfectly in under an hour." Agent Quinn was a lot more sympathetic. "You should study, go for a walk and explore, and just take in the city. Nobody knows you here, so you don't have to worry about being identified as FBI. Keep your cellphone on and with you at all times, and if we have more for you we'll tell you right away. But you're here to observe more than work, so you really don't have a lot of responsibilities. We'll hopefully have more for you to do tomorrow."
Clark nodded. It all felt severely anticlimactic, and even the portions of the arrangement that had seemed dramatic and highly tense - FP and Jones being in Toronto with Davies for unknown reasons - were being ignored entirely. In fact, everyone was acting as though Jones and FP were not with Davies, and were instead seeking medical care for Jones' admittedly worrying weight loss.
That made a tiny bit of sense: Clark knew that was the story Jones' friends had been told. Nevertheless, the fact that anyone in the FBI was now pretending that was reality seemed insane to him.
However, Quinn had made it abundantly clear that, as far as Clark was concerned, that was the only reality that he was to believe, let alone speak of. And, ideally, it was a reality that he would never even speak of - not with anyone other than Quinn and Williams -, since telling anyone in Toronto that FP and Jones were around might be problematic.
What a weird, weird adventure this was turning out to be.
The other piece Clark was having trouble squaring was everyone's insistence that nothing at all had anything to do with the Southside High case. That had actually come from Wilson herself, and seemed to be less an artifact of Clark being an intern (he was clearly not getting the whole story) than some of the other bizarre gaps.
And okay, Clark understood that he was likely being hired by the FBI because he brought something to the table. It wasn't so crazy that he might see a connection that others had missed. It was just that this one was so obvious, at least to his mind, as to be a conspicuous oversight on everyone else's part: the Southside case had involved the Serpents, a splinter faction that went rogue and had some crazy dealings in Canada, and even though those had been centered more in Montreal, all had known ties to Toronto.
There were a few more pieces, too. FP was at least geographically in the middle of all of this, even if everyone was insisting that he was not officially involved, and his role as FBI asset hinged on his position with the Serpents. The biker gang had a lively contingent based in and around Toronto.
Jones had different ties to Toronto through Davies, obviously, but he'd also spent some time with the Southside criminals that Clark had not been present for.
There was a very real possibility that this whole situation was stemming from the Southside case and not from the bust that Special Agent Davies and 'Jonas' had made in the spring.
Clark couldn't shake the idea.
So, when Quinn and Williams gave him most of the day off, he began considering how he might make contact with the Serpents. He would not mention FP, Davies, the FBI, or anything even remotely related to the case, of course.
Clark would be unofficially undercover and just information-gathering. He'd show initiative, but in no way jeopardize the case or the integrity of the FBI or his role. He'd have a beer or two, and that would be that.
And with that in mind, suddenly the whole trip felt like a brand-new adventure.
00000
By the next morning, FP was fairly certain that Max had realized that he had a good thing going with Jughead. His cowering around Brand and his skittish body language around FP both had a hint of insincerity - exaggeration, anyway - that Jughead was entirely blind to.
It wasn't that FP didn't believe that Max was traumatized and hurting; he just knew a strategy when he saw one, and Max was strategically reacting a little more strongly than seemed entirely natural to the adults in order to keep Jughead glued to his side. It was clever. Maybe it had even kept Max alive in another context.
FP just didn't like that Max had decided that Jughead was his ticket for navigating his way to more stable circumstances.
Right now Jughead was playing a funny video on his laptop and Max was curled up on the couch next to him. It was eerily similar to how Trigger curled up with Jughead, except that Max was carefully maintaining just enough distance to avoid even accidental physical contact.
Jughead's eyes flew up when he realized that FP was watching them from behind the couch, and there was a warning in his expression for his father not to come any closer.
Max let out a nearly inaudible snort of laughter over whatever they were watching, and Jughead's expression softened as he looked at the boy.
FP moved into the kitchen, figuring they were fine. Brandon had been smart to rig cameras around the house right away. And really, as long as Jughead didn't set his sights on anything that Max objected to, it was highly unlikely that the younger boy would do anything to jeopardize the doting attention that Jughead was more than happy to lavish on him.
"Hey." Brandon joined FP in the kitchen and spoke quietly. "I'm breaking up the dynamic duo for a little while after lunch. I'll be training with Jones, so you're on Max detail."
"Okay." FP liked the idea of Jughead having a break, though he had no idea how Max would respond to being left with FP for an hour or two. He glanced back over to the living room, and met Max's eyes peeking over the couch cushions. That was no surprise; Max seemed to have a sixth sense for Brandon's movements around the townhome.
Jughead looked over too, glaring at Brandon this time.
FP had to hide a smile when Brandon crossed his arms and stared both boys down. He objected strenuously to any implication that he was unwelcome in his own home.
"Jones has a big heart. The new kid is an operator." Brand kept his tone low, so that only FP could hear him. "Agent Quinn's picking him up as soon as I figure out how to make the handoff. The faster we do that, the more likely it is that Jones never has to know."
FP wasn't entirely sure what Brandon was getting at, but did not inquire. They were courting enough danger already, just by standing here in the kitchen for this conversation.
"He thinks every kid is him." Apparently Brandon was going to explain, even without prompting. "Ready to bond and heal at a moment's notice. The new kid's going to bite him the first moment he sees any advantage in it; I'd just as soon skip that conversation with Jones."
Ah. FP did not disagree. He still figured they were shielded here in the townhome from any temptation for Max to turn on Jughead, but Brandon might well have a better read on things.
Jughead reached very tentatively toward Max and brushed his fingers ever so lightly over the younger boy's hair.
FP could see Brandon tensing as they watched this play out.
Max did not react, so Jughead - obviously encouraged - trailed his fingers gently over his hair a second time before withdrawing his hand.
"Want a snack?" Jughead asked.
FP almost laughed aloud; it was possible that Jughead was trying to condition Max, in much the way he had trained Trigger. Max had submitted to affection, and so Jughead would bring him a treat.
Max nodded, not taking his eyes off of the screen when Jughead stood up to get them something to eat.
Jughead broke into a smile as soon as he was behind the couch and out of Max's line of sight. He gave Brandon a smug look and raised his eyebrows proudly toward Max.
Brandon sighed and helped Jughead assemble some cheese and crackers on a plate. He tousled Jughead's hair and gave him a quick hug before he handed him the plate.
Once the boys were munching contentedly and onto their next video, Brandon muttered very quietly to FP once again: "Yeah. It's better if Jones never knows that he's being played like a fiddle."
This time FP nodded his agreement.
00000
Brand sighed when Jones took advantage of the last few steps down into the basement and leapt onto his back. "Do we need to count the ways that's not giving you a strategic advantage?"
"No. I just wanted to." Jones laughed and slid down, releasing his grip on Brand's shoulders.
"You should try that on your father. I think he's worried about you, and seeing you goof off a little might help him loosen up."
"Yeah right. You just want me to attack Dad." Jones smirked.
"That too." Brand returned the smirk.
"So…" Jones was suddenly looking at the wall as if it was fascinating. "I wondered something. About Max."
"I wonder a lot of things about Max," Brand responded agreeably. "What in particular?"
"He doesn't have any family, most likely." Jones' expression made the statement a question.
"If he does, they might not be the best people for him to go home to. So yeah, that may amount to the same thing." Brand wasn't sure where this was going, so he chose his words carefully. "Not everyone's as dedicated as your father when it comes to kicking bad habits and making a nice home for their kid."
"So where will he go?"
"Where were you headed when your father was in prison, before I showed up?" Brand moved toward the middle of the sparring area in the basement, hoping that would encourage Jones to follow. They would both benefit from some time spent burning off nervous energy and stress.
"Exactly."
"Yeah, only I'm not sure what you mean by that." Brand beckoned Jones in closer, seeing that he was still focused on the conversation and not on training. "Get over here and show me that you aren't getting rusty, kid."
"Hang on. I want to ask you something first." Jones suddenly looked unsure of himself. "Could... you and Agent Sarah adopt Max?"
"No." Brand figured this had to be a preamble to whatever the kid actually wanted to ask him. "You know that's not possible. What are you really after, Jones?"
When the kid hesitated, looking awkward, Brand abruptly realized that he'd been serious.
"Hang on. Since when would two colleagues - who have never even dated -, have the option of adopting a teenager together that one of the two has never met, with whom they have some measure of professional relationship?" Brand hoped that cleared things up in a hurry.
"But if you adopted him, and then you dated Agent Sarah-,"
"I'm not adopting Max." Brand didn't roll his eyes, because something seemed very raw about the kid's whole approach. There was a lot going on here, and Brand was not certain he was seeing even iceberg-tip portions of Jones' thought process. "What's this really about? Are you thinking about us almost lighting off to the territories together?"
"No." Jones' brow furrowed, though, as if he was considering that idea more carefully than he was willing to let on. "Not exactly. It's more that you were there with me when I didn't have Dad, so maybe now that Max needs a home-,"
"He could join the Brand Davies halfway house for troubled young men?" Brand managed a smile. It wasn't that the idea was not flattering. "Well, aside from the issues I already mentioned, I have to actually like someone in order for that to work."
"You don't like Max?" Jones was scandalized.
"Not particularly."
"Well, why not?"
"I'm a guy who needs a reason to like someone, kid. It's not as if I love all teenagers and need a specific reason to be antipathic toward one." Brand shook his head. "I don't need to bring home yet another world of trouble, and I don't think he and I would be a good fit."
"I think you would be. He needs you."
"Need does not equal 'good fit.' And Max needs a good fit. He also needs a whole lot more than I could give anyone," Brand corrected gently. "He's not you, and he's certainly not Clark."
"But Agent Sarah could-,"
"Agent Quinn is not part of any calculation. You can feel free to give her a pitch on adopting Max, and you can even try telling her that she can then date me so that I can be forced to share the responsibility, but you're going to get the same answer. Not a great fit, needs more than she can offer, and so on."
"I don't know why you're so sure that would be her answer." Jones' eyes were narrowed into slits. "She's nice. She'd help."
"Well, go right ahead and try her, then. I'm not nice and I'm not going to help."
Brand was not wholly surprised when Jones attacked him then. Apparently it was time to work out some of that stress.
00000
Clark was pleased by his day's work, and when Agents Quinn and Williams got back to the apartment that night he was deeply ensconced in his textbooks and typing up a paper.
"Did you have a good day?" Agent Quinn asked as Williams bustled around the apartment, setting things to rights and organizing their small space somewhat compulsively.
"Yeah. Productive." Clark nodded. "I even got out for a little while, and I found a… pub." The word 'bar' suddenly seemed like the wrong impression to give his colleagues, even without the other applicable word: biker.
"Don't drink too much," Williams admonished. "You look like a craft beer guy, so I don't think you're a total lightweight, but it's not a good habit to be in."
"I know," Clark said lightly. "I didn't talk to anyone. I was just looking around."
"That sounds nice," Agent Quinn offered supportively. "We'll have some more for you to do tomorrow, though, so don't get too attached to having free time. Something came up with Davies and we need to go to his apartment."
"Really?" Clark stood up. "When? Tonight?"
"Wow. Chill out." Williams gave Clark a look, but then it dissolved into a smile. "I have to admit I like the attitude, though. We have to go over there tonight, yeah, and deal with some stuff. Davies won't be there, but man does he love to leave a wake of mess-,"
"Williams," Quinn said wearily. "Clark needs to know a little more, now that this is happening."
"Fine, Sarah." Williams dropped the bluster; apparently it had been a cover for what was really going on. Clark suddenly wondered how often she used that technique on him in other contexts. "We have to go pick up a dog because something came up and Davies can't get back to the apartment right now."
Clark blinked. "Wait. Do you mean that we need to go pick up Trigger? Come on, you can't pretend that FP and Jones aren't-,"
"It's Trigger, yes, and everyone's fine." Sarah accurately interpreted Clark's strong reaction as worry. "They just need to stay where they are for a night or two, and we need to figure out how to arrange a handoff without actually meeting up with them. Going straight to Davies might be a little too visible, so we need to think this through."
"We're handing off Trigger?"
"Uh... no, actually. It's not us doing the handing off. We're making a pickup." Quinn's expression was sympathetic to Clark's evident frustration at the vagueness of the plan. "I can't tell you more right now, but that's primarily because we might change the plan entirely. If we do go forward, you'll find out a lot more soon enough."
That was going to have to satisfy Clark for now, he supposed. "When are we going to pick up Trigger?"
"Once I figure out how to keep his fur and dander away from all my stuff," Williams said dourly.
Sarah smiled indulgently and began helping Williams move her things into her bedroom. "Sorry, Chloe. It shouldn't be for too long."
00000
The knock came again.
"Jones, you knucklehead, did you order take-out without telling anyone?" Brand and FP stood frozen in the living room. It was late on Friday afternoon, and nobody should be knocking on the door of the townhouse. It might be best to just let them give up and move on, but not if someone was expecting to be paid.
"Nope. Why?" The kid came down the stairs two at a time. The knocking came once again, harder.
"Well…" FP gestured toward the door. "Any guesses?"
"I'll go check from upstairs." Jones bounded away, was silent for a few long seconds, and then almost immediately came flying back down the stairs, past the adults, and toward the door.
"Whoa!" Brand intercepted him roughly. "Don't just open the door. Who is it?"
"It's Mr. Andrews!" Jones' expression was alive with delight. "He must have guessed that we'd come here."
"It's Fred? I just talked to him yesterday - and I never told him we were in Toronto." FP looked from Brand to Jones in confusion. "I told him we were doing fine, but that I was… worried. That was all."
"He probably got nervous and went all CSI on your phone call," Jones guessed. "You might have had background noise or something he could identify, Dad. Mr. Andrews is pretty smart."
"I don't think-," FP shook his head doubtfully even as Jones tried to get around him to open the door. "Hey. Stay back from the door, Jughead."
"Yeah, it sounds like he's not even here for you, kid." Brand motioned for FP to answer the door when Fred knocked again - even more loudly, as if perhaps they could not hear him. "You need to keep your mouth shut and remember the cover story we told him. Maybe lie down in your room or on the couch."
"Don't oversell it," FP cautioned. "Jug doesn't really do lying down unless he's seriously under the weather."
"Good point. Go get a snack and stay in the kitchen. That's classic you."
The knocking came yet again. Max was slinking down the stairs now, but staying out of sight of the door.
"It's a friend," Jones said encouragingly, his grin undimmed by the reactions of FP and Brand. "You're safe; don't worry. Come and have a snack with me. You'll like Mr. Andrews."
FP figured it was now or never. He swung open the front door. "Hi, Fred. Come on in. What brings you to Toronto?"
Fred seemed shocked into silence by the upbeat greeting, and he looked from FP to Brand and then beyond them to where Jughead was watching them while he opened a new box of protein bars.
Then Fred stepped into the room toward FP, pulling him into a hug. "Are you all right? Did the meetings go well? You should know better than to go to Toronto without me along for backup. You need friends for this kind of thing. I've been worried about you three. Or... four, I guess?"
FP was still shocked by Fred's sudden appearance on their doorstep, but he returned the hug gratefully and laughed at his friend's words. "Oh. Well. You know. It was really short notice, so I didn't think you'd be able to get away. I have missed you, though. The, uh, meetings were-,"
"Inconclusive," Brand contributed.
"Yeah. Inconclusive." FP made a pained face.
Fred looked pained as well at that news, and when FP stepped back to let him further into the townhome he patted FP's shoulder. "I'm so sorry to hear that. I know you were hoping for answers."
Jones dropped the protein bars on the counter and took a step forward, sensing that it would be okay to approach Fred now that Brand was closing the front door. "I can't believe you came all the way here, Mr. Andrews."
"Of course I did. I was worried." Fred opened his arms and Jughead needed no further prompting to launch into him. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm okay. It's been a lot, but we're together and that helps." Jughead squeezed Mr. Andrews tightly for a few long moments and then stepped back to motion to Max. "This is Max. He's staying with us for a little while-,"
"It's a favor for Sarah Quinn," Brand interrupted before Jones could make something up that might be problematic. Fred gave him a very surprised look. And somehow that gave Brand an idea. "You know, it's quite possible that you could help. He'll need a ride pretty soon, and it's not too far, but I don't want to leave these two alone." Brand motioned to indicate FP and Jughead.
Fred nodded, clearly making the connection to the attempts on FP's life in Riverdale. "Sure. I'd be more than happy to help. Your name is Max?"
The new kid nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. He picked up a protein bar, opened it swiftly, and shoved half of it into his mouth.
"He doesn't talk much, but he likes cat videos," Jughead offered. "Did Archie come along? He'll have a ton of them."
"He's not in Toronto; he's at home with his mother. I wasn't entirely sure that I'd find you, so I didn't tell him what I was up to." Fred nodded thoughtfully. "Cat videos, huh?"
Max just stared at him, and it occurred to Fred that something about him was eerily reminiscent of Jughead directly after debriefing had concluded. And then he made the connection to Agent Quinn.
"You know what? Cat videos sound great. Let me see what Archie recommends," Fred said with a smile, carefully overlooking Max's odd silence and prolonged eye contact. "I'll text him and ask for links."
"Cool." Jughead gave Max an encouraging look. "Archie always finds the best ones. This should be good."
FP and Brand exchanged glances.
This was wildly unexpected, and Fred's presence might be a boon, but it was clear that they both wanted time and space to talk through how to navigate this next round of changes to the plan.
"Enjoy your videos. FP and I need to see to the other bedroom and get it set up for Mr. Andrews," Brand said.
"Oh, no, I don't need-," Fred caught their expressions then. "I mean, thank you. I'd love to spend the night, and a room sounds great. Let me know if I can help."
"You bet." Brand led FP upstairs.
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I wasn't kidding about the kitchen sink. :) And Chapter Twenty should be fun! I'll look forward to hearing your thoughts very much, and to getting more and more into position for the billion and one things I thought might be cool to throw into one story. :-D
I hope you're having a lovely weekend!
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