Oh man, so my body and my docs had a miiiiinor disagreement about timing - and my body won. The procedure has happened, and I am in full-on recovery. This chapter was happily chugging right along before all of that, and I've been looking forward to sharing it. Your notes are loved, even as I fall off schedule (I know! Crazy times!) - and I sincerely hope to keep updating weekly, but if I'm two weeks off from here (end of June) for the next chapter, that would not be shocking.
Thank you so, so much for reading and reviewing. I'll send more notes to individuals when I am more in one piece. :)
Enjoy!
-Button
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"You are the coolest person ever." Max was sitting on the couch next to Clark, which was worlds away from where they'd begun the day. They'd each settled down with a book, and Trigger was very content to stand in front of the couch with his head in Max's lap so that he could enjoy non-stop stroking.
"I'm not so sure about that. I have literally never been told that by anyone before," Clark answered seriously, before he cracked a smile. "It's nice to hear, though. Thanks."
"Agent Quinn isn't going to mind that I'm in a gang now?" Max lifted his arms yet again, sliding the overly long sleeves of his leather jacket up his arms so that his hands reappeared. "I don't want to get kicked out of debriefing."
"Well, you can't really get kicked out, though I don't advise you to test anyone on that. Also, you're not in a gang, Max. You have a plain leather jacket and you're honorarily a Serpent." Clark had repeated this a few times, but it looked like Max was still too keyed up for the details to sink in fully. "It's like an honorary degree. You don't put it on your CV."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, so I'm just going to pretend you said I'm in the gang and that Agent Sarah is going to high-five me." Max grinned when Clark raised his eyebrows. "I mean, Banjo said I'm a Serpent, and he seemed to know more about it than you. Being that he is one and all."
"Banjo also said a lot of things to Special Agent Donn that weren't true. I hope you noticed that part."
"Best day ever." Max sighed contentedly. "Donn probably peed his pants."
Clark wasn't sure how much gloating he should be encouraging, especially since he wasn't sure how much trouble he was going to be in when Agent Quinn and Agent Williams got back, but it had been immensely satisfying to hear Banjo and a few other Serpents 'happen upon' Special Agent Donn and 'encourage' him not to continue demanding that Clark open the door.
If Donn had half a brain, it was obviously no coincidence. However, when it came to anything official, all that could really be said was that the Serpents didn't like a ruckus being made in the hallway of an apartment building that was located - maybe, possibly, theoretically - within their territory.
Donn had left in a hurry once it had gotten a little rough, and after the coast was clear Clark had let Banjo and his friends into the apartment.
They'd loved Max, and won him over instantly by feigning surprise and pointing out that Clark hadn't needed to call for backup since he'd had Trigger and Max already there - and still armed with the bread knife.
"Is this the little snake we came here to protect?" Banjo had rumbled warmly. "Because that would mean he needs a skin of his own to go with that jagged tooth of his. That is quite the signature weapon you've got there."
Clark was pretty sure that the bread knife had found its way into one of Max's tote bags after that. Oh well.
The jacket had no insignia, but was otherwise identical in design to those that the Serpents wore. It was an obvious compromise; those who knew would see the connection, but it would not act as a target on Max's back.
Clark had figured it was okay, and Max had been in the oversized jacket too quickly for him to have much choice about it regardless.
And, honorary Serpent or not, neither Max nor Clark had been sure how it worked now that they'd asked the Serpents for a favor. Banjo had seemed to sense that, and said something about never leaving a debt hanging.
"How's about you tell me what you're doing here and we call it square?" Banjo had said kindly. "The way I see it, we did you a big favor here - but it was fun. Curiosity is a powerful thing, too, so that should even us right up. Also," Banjo had lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I'm starting to see why you've played it close to the vest. Seems to have been a smart move. So, do you know FP Jones?"
"Yes!" Max had crowed before Clark could even process the question fully. "He has a motorcycle, but I didn't get to see it. How do you know him?"
Banjo was chuckling over the motorcycle comment, but did not miss Clark's concerned expression. "It's okay. I'll take it up with FP so you don't get into any trouble. I'll even tell him this little squirt was the one who said you knew him."
Max's eyes had become round once again once he realized that he'd misstepped.
Which had been very helpful, since Banjo's next question had been the obvious one: "Is FP in town? I can look him up tonight. He's always worth buying a drink or three for."
"Max and I don't have permission to share any details about FP's work. We're here because he can't be, so as you can imagine…" Clark trailed off, intentionally implying that FP was unable to be in Toronto and had sent Clark in his stead.
"Well. That does beat all. He has certainly found himself the cleanest cut representative the Serpents have ever had." Banjo's large laugh was infectious and his buddies joined in this time. "He always was… innovative. Good for him, getting someone like you. Another bad 'Penny' might have spelled disaster for him."
Clark figured Banjo was referring to the splinter faction; that made sense, as he'd likely been caught up in all of that when it extended into Montreal. Clark's reply was fervent: "No kidding. What a nightmare."
When the Serpents laughed uproariously, Clark deemed it wise not to ask any further questions.
Clark and Max promised to call if they needed anything else, and Clark said he'd tell FP about the clutch assistance they had given them once he had the opportunity - perhaps in a week or two. Banjo had seemed very pleased by that, and everyone had parted happily.
And now they needed to face the music.
"We brought pizza!" Agent Quinn's voice rang out as the apartment door opened. "How was your day? Oh, I see you let Trigger out of the room; that looks like it's going well."
Agent Quinn beamed down at the sight of Max sitting near Clark with a book on his lap. And then she looked quizzical. "I don't think I saw that jacket before. Are you chilly, Max?"
"Nope. I just like it, and I didn't want it to get crumpled in my bag if I left it there for too long." Max's face was the picture of innocence. "Pizza sounds great. Then can we walk Trig?"
When Trigger leapt up in response to the word 'walk,' Max managed to look genuinely surprised. "Oops. I think he knows that word. But if we all go together it should be really safe, and I've been cooped up with no real company all day. No offense, Clark, but watching you study is kind of boring."
Clark's jaw had dropped and now he turned to face Max on the couch.
Williams laughed as she entered the living room as well. "He's certainly got your number, Clark. But how did the pastries in the fridge get here if you've been 'cooped up' all day?"
"Did you know that some bakeries deliver?" Max's tone was overly awed and exuded sarcasm. "Welcome to the future, Agent Williams."
Quinn raised her eyebrows at Clark and she gave him a small, knowing smile that suggested that maybe, just maybe, she also had Max's number. That was a relief, since Clark was fast realizing that he might be in even further over his head with the teen than he'd known.
But it also suggested that there was going to be a long conversation later, about how the day had actually gone, and he'd have to make some decisions about how honest he needed to be.
And at this point, Clark felt like he ought to spill the beans. This was getting far too messy for him to be certain that he was making good decisions.
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FP was texting with Jughead again. It had made all the difference having this open line of contact to make them feel less like Jughead was imprisoned, though they all recognized that his role in Rose's household hovered somewhere between 'hostage' and 'trained monkey.' In any event, his son seemed to have been given the run of the house for the duration of his stay with Rose.
Jughead had just sent a photo of himself exploring the library and grinning as he held up a volume of out-of-print short stories that he wanted to read.
That one eerily featured an approving Dominic holding another volume in the background, observing the texting with a pleased smile.
There was another thread in their conversation that FP assumed would make more sense to Brandon - it sounded like one of those codes - but he hadn't had a chance to ask the younger man about it yet.
Brandon was working around the clock on the bust. He'd started to get nervous about Donn wriggling out from under the damning video footage, and FP was certain that neither of them had slept Sunday night.
Jughead on the other hand had slept like the dead, and complained good-naturedly when he awoke to a few dozen texts from Brandon's phone - courtesy of his father - but FP didn't need a translator to understand the subtext: that Jughead was pleased and reassured by the evidence that he had people watching over him through the night.
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Max had gone to bed for the night, insisting that he'd sleep better with Trig for company and 'white noise.' Agent Quinn was still chuckling over some of Max's phrasing and Clark's reactions long after Clark had explained most of the events of the day to her. He had some questions for her before he got into the touchy subject of Donn and his unexpected appearance.
"I really don't get it. We were getting along great, and then he just turned on a dime and pretended we hadn't done anything together." Clark shook his head.
"It's not about you, Clark, and it's not uncommon. For one thing, he knows you're not in charge here," Agent Quinn began to explain, her humor quickly replaced by expressive sympathy. "Max is protecting himself the best way he knows how, and a big part of that is figuring out how to keep from having any trouble fall on himself. It can seem very pathological, I know. And if you were his primary caregiver you might have laid a strong foundation today, based on what you're describing. But Max has been around the block; he knows you won't be with him for the long haul, and so he's looking out for number one."
"Oh." That actually made a lot of sense, and was sobering: it wasn't like Clark could make promises to Max. They might well be saying goodbye in just a day or two. "So, uh, a few other things happened. And you seem not to know anything about them, which means it's even more messed up than I thought."
"Oh?" Agent Williams was suddenly very alert as well. "Why would we know about them?"
"Special Agent Donn showed up here looking for Max, and he implied that he'd talked to you. To Agent Quinn specifically." Clark made a pained face when the two agents responded with astonishment, and he quickly related what Donn had said and done. "And, uh, so... I might have been at a biker bar a couple of times this week, and I sort of panicked and called a Serpent to see if he could just, you know, swing by and make it clear that disturbing the peace wasn't going to fly."
Agent Williams snorted with dark laughter. "Wow. Where do I even start? And you're seriously sitting here asking Sarah why Max lied? He covered your butt as well as his own. Man, I'd pay good money to see you in a biker bar." Williams turned to Sarah. "We need to call SAC Wilson. The internal investigation-,"
"Is something Clark has not been read into," Quinn interrupted smoothly. "You cannot call a biker gang on law enforcement, Clark. You were right to keep Donn out of the apartment, but he could make some serious trouble for you over this."
Clark nodded, ready to accept whatever came next. "I didn't know what to do, and my first priority was protecting Max. I know that my decisions were hasty, not ideal, and might have permanent repercussions for my future with the Bureau. I'll clear out my desk if I need to."
Agent Quinn's expression was strained. "You're right. It wasn't ideal. But I'll go to bat for you, and hopefully that won't be necessary. What exactly happened? We might have some wiggle room on how we frame this to Wilson, and I'm just going to say that Donn lacks the total and complete credibility that would typically sink you in a he-said, he-said scenario."
Clark was surprised to hear that, but then he recalled another piece of information. "You know, Max might not have the greatest credibility in this scenario either, but he said that he knew Special Agent Donn. He claimed that Donn was a liar and not actually law enforcement, and he seemed genuinely terrified - and ready to defend himself with deadly force if necessary. I mean, it was only a bread knife, so don't come down too hard on him or anything, but Max was definitely ready to do some damage if he had to."
Quinn and Williams exchanged glances.
"Okay. You're going to walk us through this step by step, and repeat exactly what was said. And then you'll probably be left out of the rest of this." Williams' tone had changed entirely, and was uncharacteristically supportive. "I'll go to bat for you too, Clark. It sounds like maybe you threaded a needle here, although we're going to have to be really careful about how it's presented in the report. Wilson is under a lot of scrutiny and pressure, and it wouldn't take much for you to become a scapegoat. However, I think we have a good chance of avoiding that, particularly if we can nail the real goat in this scenario."
Clark nodded again.
"Right. From the top: Donn knocked on the door, I assume?"
"Yeah. I pulled out my cell phone and, uh, said to wait for a minute. He'd knocked twice by then, because Max panicked and shut himself in the bedroom with Trigger, so I was distracted. Um, then I looked through the door to see who was there."
"Okay. What happened next?" Sarah asked.
Both agents leaned forward.
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"You are an amazing writer." Aaditi Wilson leaned forward over the table at Pop's Chock'Lit Shoppe and slid a marked-up document to Betty. "Have you ever had to do a massive rewrite job for no good reason?"
Betty cocked her head to one side skeptically. "I'm sorry. What?"
"I'm happy to walk you through this as slowly as you need, but I've already gotten the sense that you're more professional than some of the pros I've worked with, so I'm just as happy to let you do your thing with the edits." SAC Wilson smiled encouragingly. "I don't want to put too much on you, though, so take a look at my notes and we can talk through any changes that make you uncomfortable."
It had sounded like a nice break - both in the sense of a vacation and in the sense of an opportunity - to work with the FBI on the release of the footage of Clark's rescue and associated articles in lieu of some of the now-regular writing Betty had been doing for The Register. Having been granted a reprieve and slightly more time to work with the material had also been helpful, but Wilson had then asked for a draft - and Betty had thought that it was fairly polished.
The amount of red ink on the pages in front of her suggested that she had been quite mistaken in that impression.
"It's more to do with the... requirements of the situation than anything about your writing," Wilson assured Betty. "Take a look. Like I said, we can go over it and talk it through together."
Betty managed a weak smile, and they both reached for their coffee cups in mirror-image gestures.
"There is another thing we need to discuss," SAC Wilson set her coffee back on the table. "You had reservations about anything being published without Jones and Davies reading it first."
"Actually," Betty corrected Wilson, "you might recall that I refuse to publish the article without them reading it first."
"Well, we need to talk about that too. I'm afraid they won't be signing off on the article before it's published."
Betty frowned. This was getting more complicated by the minute.
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Rose summoned Jughead to dinner on Monday evening. It was a lot less scary sitting with him at the table now that they'd discovered a few topics of conversation where they had interests in common; for instance, they both loved to read, and Jughead found that Rose had unusual insights about a lot of literature.
It was a very weird thing to discover.
"Jones, I understand that you enjoy cooking as well." Rose indicated the stuffed pasta they were both eating. "Have you done much with seafood?"
"No. Not a lot," Jughead replied. He took another large bite - it tasted like lobster had been used in the stuffing, and it was quite possibly the most delicious pasta dish he'd ever had. "This is really good."
"I'm glad you like it." Rose smiled, pleased. "I'll have my cook teach you to make it. Perhaps you would be interested in preparing some flounder as well; that's my personal favorite. I'll suggest it for tomorrow's lunch."
"That sounds good." Jughead wasn't sure he'd had flounder before, but the opportunity to learn how to cook new dishes seemed like a great way to pass the time. He was getting closer to the finish line, and he was increasingly aware that every hour brought him nearer to being done.
"I have a gift for you, too." Rose watched Jughead closely, as if he wanted to study his reaction.
"Uh, you mentioned that. But you don't have to-,"
"Obviously." Rose waved a hand dismissively. "I was planning to give Brandon a gift, even before I had any thought of him coming to Toronto for a visit, but it was lost in transport. Then I thought that, considering the updated circumstances surrounding you, giving you a gift might serve much the same function."
Jughead was lost.
Maybe Rose literally meant that since he was not going to murder Jughead and all of his friends and family, a gift for Jughead was sort of a gift for Brand. He wasn't sure that made any sense, and if that was what Rose meant it was insanely creepy that he was saying it so brazenly, but Jughead nodded along anyway.
"When we're finished eating, I'll introduce you."
As he processed the word 'introduce,' Jughead's mind suddenly went to Max. Had Rose… acquired a human as a gift for Brand? And, if so, that raised mind-boggling possibilities for what he had planned as a gift for Jughead.
The pasta suddenly sat heavily in Jughead's stomach.
"The breeders were reluctant to part with her, but she can't be shown so I'm not certain what sort of offer they thought they were holding out for." Rose shook his head. "Ah, well. I convinced them and now you will have her."
Jughead was abruptly relieved and painfully curious.
"Have you seen a Panda Shepherd before, young man?"
"I'm not even sure what one is," Jughead answered.
"You're in for a treat. They are rare, beautiful, and something I think you will prize." Rose continued eating his dinner. "When you want to impress someone, this is the dog that I think you will show them."
Jughead wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he took another bite of the rich pasta.
"Moreover, if you care to breed, this would set you up nicely. They would be purebreds, and it's likely that many of the puppies would take after their mother in terms of coloration."
Rose's tone was a little too casual now, and he eyed Jughead expectantly. He seemed to be waiting for something - and Jughead realized that he had not yet expressed his thanks. Oops.
"Wow. Thank you. That sounds really great. I think Trigger would be fantastic to breed, and this dog sounds awesome." Jughead was relieved when Rose smiled again, clearly pleased by his reaction.
When they left the table and Rose led him to another room that contained an enormous kennel that held a small puppy, Jughead didn't have to make an effort to be effusive in his thanks.
"How did you ever find her? I've never seen a German Shepherd that looks like this." Jughead waited for Rose to nod his permission, but then he crouched down and reached eagerly into the kennel to pick up the pup. "What's her name?"
"Whatever you want it to be." Rose smiled down at him. "Brandon is right about one thing. This is… rewarding."
"What is?" Jughead looked up, the puppy now cradled in his hands just under his chin and licking him happily.
"Working with you." Rose stared at Jughead slightly longer than was comfortable. "You have a certain something."
"Well, right now it's a puppy." Jughead grinned when Rose let out a surprised laugh at the unexpected humor. "I love her. I'll think of a name. Thank you."
"She'll be cared for by my staff until you're collected by Brandon. You should get to know her, though, so I'll have her kept in your room when she's not being fed or exercised. She's only just reached eight weeks of age, and I'm told that her temperament is as promising as her appearance."
Jughead nodded, his face rubbing against the puppy's fur as he did so. "I can already tell. Thanks again."
"I'll leave you to it." Rose turned to exit the room. He hesitated just before he passed through the doorway, though. "And Jones, do me a favor. Send Brandon a photo of the pup tonight. I know you enjoy texting, and I'd like him to know that I gave her to you."
"Okay," Jughead agreed. "I'll do that right now."
"Excellent." Rose gave Jughead one last smile before he retired for the evening.
"What am I going to name you?" Jughead returned his focus to the distinctly marked puppy. "Brand will have all of the worst ideas, and probably want to call you pestilence or roadkill. I might need Clark's help with naming you."
He snapped a few photos with his phone and texted them to Brand. He wasn't entirely sure who would receive the text, since Brand and his dad had obviously been handing Brand's phone back and forth, but it became obvious when he received a reply.
'Oh my aching soul. Rose got you another dog? Be extremely grateful, kid. Overdo it. God only knows how much he paid for that mutt.'
Jughead read the reply text and nodded wryly to himself; he'd already figured that part out.
A second text came in from Brand: 'Is it even the same breed as Trigger? Man, that thing is weird looking. Or your phone camera's broken.'
'She's a Panda Shepherd. I'm supposed to breed her with Trigger and show her off to impress people.'
'Oy. Sounds like Rose. It looks bizarre in that expensive way. Add that to plying you with caffeine - worst babysitter ever. Remember: overdo it on the gratitude. We'll figure out details later.'
'Nothing to figure out. Two dog family now.' Jughead grinned to himself as he nuzzled the puppy again.
'We'll see. Maybe. Glad you're having fun, killer, and making friends. Hang tight.'
'Doing my best.' Jughead slid his phone back into his pocket.
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Donn had more than just his ego bruised.
This was supposed to have been Davies' position: ousted from the FBI in disgrace, cut off from Rose's gravy train, and bereft of his loyal servant-trainee. Or whatever Max might have had the potential to be in a few years.
Instead, it was painfully obvious that Davies was about to cash out on all fronts. He was reeling in Rose, feeding lines to the FBI, and he even had the Jones kid traveling with him on the wrong side of an international border. It was so clearly Brandon's endgame for taking up Rose's mantle, complete with multiple insurance policies, as to be almost crass in its execution.
Because Brandon Davies had not just brought an FBI presence as insurance, no doubt with the promise of some very hot water if Rose gave any indication whatsoever of cold feet. He'd apparently also recruited the Serpents to back his play, which in many ways could be an even more potent threat to Rose's empire.
Donn frowned as his back throbbed even harder in response to his rising blood pressure exacerbating his injuries. The Serpents had not been gentle, and the entire encounter had been wildly disturbing.
Most disturbing of all was the fact that Donn could not see a clear way to use this information. If he returned to Rose, he'd be rightly accused of having an agenda: wanting to get back into Rose's good graces. Anything that he said would be suspect, and the idea that Davies had ties to the FBI would be seen as old news.
Clark's presence in Toronto, and the easily verified information that he was traveling with Quinn and Williams was only mildly interesting; Donn had no idea what they were supposedly - officially - doing in Canada, and it made perfect sense that Davies would hand Max off once Jones turned up with the stray. That part could be entirely meaningless, and Rose would point that out in a heartbeat.
The fact that Clark of all people had been given instructions to work with the Serpents in the event that Donn tried to reclaim his property was the most interesting detail - and, unfortunately, the one that Rose would find least salient. He did not know Clark and the slavish way that the intern followed orders, and so Rose would be far too inclined to suggest that there were possible explanations other than official FBI directives to call on the Serpents for backup.
There was one other way to pitch this that was guaranteed to get Rose's attention, but it would be a very high risk approach. It did not help that Donn was not entirely sure why Rose was sparing Jones a second glance, aside from his interest in fully understanding Davies before retiring.
Because Donn knew that there was an extremely complicated morass of bad blood between Jones' father and Rose that, by rights, should have destroyed not only the kid's prospects with Rose, but Brandon's as well.
Unfortunately there was no sign of FP Jones anywhere in the picture, so any pitch that Davies was trying to blow up everything for Rose on every possible level would be a challenge to even articulate before Rose had Donn kicked out of his house - or worse.
A bullet in Donn's head was not unlikely if he turned up unannounced after Rose's recent declarations.
It stung to realize how little he had to lose, though, and Donn could not help but suspect that Rose had somehow caught wind of the turns that the FBI's internal investigation had taken in Donn's general direction. Getting rid of Donn just as he was likely to become significantly less useful - and would shortly be significantly more reliant on Rose's good pleasure - was the kind of 'coincidence' that had made Rose so powerful for so many years.
The plausible deniability was cloying enough to choke an elephant.
And sufficient to keep a criminal empire satisfied that Rose was fair, and that any similar ousting would never befall the undeserving.
The cheapest shot of all was perhaps the only one left, then.
If Donn could suggest that FP Jones were in town, that would indicate treachery - particularly when combined with the facts that the FBI and Serpents had united into one force, and that Brandon was demonstrably working with them per Max.
Persuading Rose of that would be impossible. He demanded evidence, and even Davies wasn't such a wild card that he'd actually jeopardize his meal ticket with Rose so brazenly; the odds-on bet was that FP did not even know where his son was or with whom he was traveling.
The easier route by far would be persuading others in Rose's network that all of this was playing out under the man's nose, and that he was either oblivious or blinded by his affection for Davies' flashy style and eccentric sidekick.
That might goad the old man into action. Force his hand.
Donn might not yet see a way in which he could benefit directly, but there was always satisfaction in knowing that one was not going down alone.
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I hope you enjoyed! Stay healthy, and don't worry - I'm committed and will be around, despite the change in plans. :)
I hope that you have a wonderful weekend!
-Button