Chapter Twenty-four! Woo-hoo!
Thanks so much for your lovely and encouraging review, Living Lucid Dream! :) Jughead is definitely making some smart moves now, and entering more into the mode of 'full partner' that Brand envisioned, even if your comment about FP and custody is still in effect for another eleven months due to his age - and he really is still handling an awful lot for a teenager, I agree. I'm so glad that you liked the chat over the phone and the puppy details! Brand will hopefully be okay, but we shall see. I think he's with you: facing up to the fact that it might not end so well for him, and that's just how it is. Things are coming to a head now... I'll look forward to hearing your thoughts! :)
Enjoy!
-Button
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"Wait, I'm not going to debriefing?" Max's head snapped up from where he was devouring a third bowl of Cheerios. Agents Quinn and Williams had given Clark a brief script for this conversation since they hadn't wanted to awaken Max before they headed into the city for the day to follow up on whatever vague update (both agents had complained about a lack of detail) had disrupted their plan for getting Max stateside right away.
Clark hadn't been read into what was happening, or coached on how to react to Max's response to this information - but even without any guidance, he thought that Max looked suspiciously excited about this news.
"No-o. You're still going. It's just a delay, and only because something came up at the last minute. Apparently I'm cleared to babysit, but not to escort you across international borders." Clark shrugged. "Who knew?"
"Babysit?" Max's eyes were narrowed yet again. "You better be talking about Trigger."
"Um, sure. He's a very young dog, yeah." Clark smiled, relieved by the fact that Max seemed more upset by his choice of words than the unexpected change in plans. Agent Quinn had warned him that Max might become reactive if he thought that arrangements were in any way unstable, so Clark had been bracing himself for a scene. "I'm a decent... bodyguard when it comes to you, I guess."
"Eh, you're okay. Banjo's better, though. The FBI should hire him." Max gave Clark an aloof look before a grin broke through and he returned to shoveling cereal into his mouth. A few moments later he looked up again. "I'm just kidding, Clark. Chill out. You were loaded for bear when Donn came; he's totally lucky you delegated to Banjo, because it probably saved his skin."
Clark could not tell whether Max was being sarcastic or not, so he left that declaration well enough alone.
Max took another bite of Cheerios and grimaced. "Who even likes this stuff? There are so many better cereals."
"Well, you appear to like it well enough to have thirds. Just for instance," Clark shot back teasingly. "But hey, I can always put the box away if you're having trouble choking it down."
"Nah. Someone's got to eat it before it goes bad," Max pronounced. He tugged the cereal box a little closer to himself on the table. "So… try not to overreact, but honey is really good on cereal."
Clark raised an eyebrow. Surprisingly, given their meager supplies, there was honey in the small kitchen. "I'll try not to. Would it be overreacting if I asked you to go easy on it?"
"Yep." Max grinned again.
"Well, then. I wouldn't want to be accused of that." Clark smiled in return as he went to the cupboard and then handed over the honey without protest.
Just then his phone buzzed loudly.
"Hello?" Clark listened intently, and tried to keep his face neutral as Max dropped his spoon and seemed to forget all about the plastic honey bear in his grasp as he watched Clark nervously. "He texted you? Uh, thanks for letting me know. I'm not super comfortable with letting anyone in, though, so if you could get here first, that would be-,"
Clark waited as more was explained.
"Okay. I guess that's fine then. I'll only open the door for him. But it would still be good if you hurried. Bye." Clark waved a hand reassuringly toward Max, but that didn't even slow the teen down as he grabbed his bowl, the box of cereal, and the honey. It took him two swift trips to get his food and Trigger into the bedroom, which was just long enough for Clark to wedge a foot in the way to keep the door open - and unlocked.
"Max, wait. That was Agent Quinn, and-,"
"You're letting Donn in here?" Max's tone was accusing and Clark didn't need to look into the bedroom to know that the bread knife was back in play. "You should know that the Serpents - my gang - won't like hearing that."
"No. No way; Donn's long gone. Someone's coming here to, uh, pick up Trigger." Clark wasn't dumb; there was obviously a whole lot more going on than that. But he could tell Max that part, at least.
"It's okay, boy. I won't let anyone take you." Max's tone had changed, and apparently he was now addressing Trigger. Then he raised his voice to speak to Clark again: "I don't think that's a good idea. He's attached to us now."
Clark didn't roll his eyes, but he did open the bedroom door all the way and went inside to sit on his own bed, across the room from Max and Trigger. "Look, I can't tell you details right now, but I promise you're not leaving me until Agent Quinn is back here and makes arrangements to get you to debriefing." Clark motioned to the bread knife in Max's grip. "So for now, you watch my back and I'll watch yours. Deal?"
Max sighed. "I guess. Can I use your gun, since you'd probably be better with a knife in a fight?"
"Wow. Let me think about that. No." Clark gave Max a look.
"Worth a shot."
"Fair enough."
Clark watched Max set his cereal bowl down on an end table and drizzle quite a bit of honey over it.
"It's organic," Max responded to Clark's dubious expression with a smirk.
"All natural, sure," Clark smiled in return. "Maybe I'll try some."
Max's smirk turned into a smile. "You should do it before Agent Quinn and Agent Williams get back. They're sort of judgy."
Clark snorted with amusement. "Well, eating healthy is part of their job."
"I can't believe you want a job where you can't eat honey." Max shook his head ruefully.
"In life there are tradeoffs," Clark replied. "I think it will be worth it. And I'll just have to drown my cereal in honey while I still can, huh?"
"Good plan." Max got up and started back toward the kitchen. "Let's get you a bowl. I'll make it for you and show you the best ratio of honey to cereal."
"The golden ratio?" Clark couldn't help but crack the joke in response.
Max gave Clark an aggrieved look. "Is that another nerd joke?"
"I'll explain," Clark promised as he followed Max into the kitchen, "but first, why don't you show me what I've been missing."
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Jughead was in the shower when the locked bathroom door was forced open. He jumped at the sudden noise, but hoped that nobody noticed because of the opaque shower curtain. He needed to play it cool.
"Can I help you?" Jughead managed an arch tone, even though he was having trouble keeping his breathing from getting away from him.
There were two men in the spacious bathroom. One began gathering Jughead's clothing from the floor.
"You're wanted. Rose would like to see you." When the second man spoke he sounded completely unperturbed, and he left the bathroom while the first man arranged Jughead's clothing into a tidy pile on the counter next to the sink.
"You have two minutes." The first man began to leave the bathroom as well, but then finished his thought: "After that we tell Rose that you're not up to caring for a dog and it needs to be put down."
Jughead hadn't thought he'd buy a whole lot of time with this maneuver, but that was depressingly little. He was out of the shower and dressed in under sixty seconds.
"Okay; I'm here. Leave her alone." Jughead blanched when he saw that the two already had the puppy out of the kennel.
"Bingo," said the second man with some satisfaction. "That worked like a charm. I guess she'll be coming with us to make sure you behave."
Jughead frowned, not sure if he'd protected the pup or put her in the crosshairs with his actions.
Maybe both.
The men motioned for him to precede them into the hallway, and then they cuffed his arms behind his back. Jughead was relieved to recall that in all of his preparations for worst case scenarios, he'd hidden a pin in his pants pocket to help him pick handcuffs if the need arose.
That relief did not last long, though.
They entered the same plush, red-upholstered room that Jughead had been brought to by Donn. Rose barely looked up at them from where he was sitting.
"Tie him up so that it's impossible to escape - and so that even if he does escape his bonds he won't be able to walk. He's been trained by Brandon, so I daresay you won't regret investing in some redundancy." Rose scrolled through something on his phone as he spoke.
Jughead paled, but he did not resist when the man who was not holding the puppy guided the teen to sit cross-legged on the floor and tied his ankles together - and then pushed the back of his neck down until Jughead was essentially folded in half at the waist, his nose shockingly close to his crossed ankles, and his neck and shoulders secured to his legs with a thin rope so that he was held strictly in that position.
It was all different muscles, but it already felt reminiscent of his leg being pulled apart by the roller coaster when his bootlace had gotten snagged.
"That will do for now. Put the puppy back in his room," Rose directed. "There's no need for collateral damage, and Jones is not going to mount any resistance as long as he's effectively restrained. Then we'll make a phone call."
Jughead closed his eyes tightly, hoping that would help him to block out some of the rapidly escalating pain shooting through his neck, shoulders, and back. His legs were starting to ache, too, and he had a feeling that was going to get a whole lot worse. Maybe quickly.
"What's your father's number, Jones?" Rose asked. He sounded conversational, genuinely curious, and his tone was no different than it had been throughout the few days that Jughead had spent with him.
Jughead thought of Brand's directions to cooperate and, ironically, to 'keep his head down.' He clenched his jaw against the pain and rattled off his dad's cell phone number.
"Great. We'll be quick so that you're still capable of speaking coherently," Rose suggested, as if he was proposing that they not let dinner get cold.
Jughead kept his eyes closed as Rose dialed, trying to picture Brand coming. His dad coming. The FBI coming. He could do this. They would be here any second to help him and to put Rose in prison. Hopefully forever.
His left shoulder began screaming in pain, and Jughead tried to shift in the ropes to see if he could relieve any amount of tension from it.
It was immediately apparent that no amount of struggling was going to lessen the strain.
Jughead heard a small, frightened noise choke off in his own throat. His vision of Brand coming into the room morphed into a vision of Brand shooting Rose where he stood - and ideally cutting Jughead free in the same motion.
That thought helped a little.
Jughead set his jaw a second time and tried to hold onto that mental image as Rose's phone emitted a soft ringing sound.
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FP was in the car, heading to the apartment where Brandon had told him 'help' would be waiting. He hoped that meant Agent Quinn and Trigger, and it had certainly sounded like that was what Brandon had been told.
His phone rang.
FP's heart was in his throat as he jammed the phone onto the hands-free mechanism and answered the call on speakerphone.
"Hello, FP." Dominic Rose sounded far too relaxed. FP's skin was already crawling. "I hear you're in town and haven't yet paid me a visit. Let's change that, shall we?"
FP tried to think. Brandon had made it clear that any deal he struck with Dom would jeopardize their position on the cusp of severing all ties with him and his network - potentially in the eyes of the law, and almost certainly as far as other criminals were concerned.
It was not clear whether stalling or hurrying this conversation would work better in achieving his goal of dodging any promises and buying Brandon time.
"Oh, I'm sorry - where are my manners?" Rose was apparently in a hurry, and he did not wait for a response. "There's someone here who's been waiting very patiently to say hello to you, even though he's got to be awfully uncomfortable."
"Dom-," FP didn't know what he was going to say, but he wasn't sure he could handle Jug getting on the line and pleading with him for help - begging him to give in to Rose's demands - and have even a prayer of getting off the phone without agreeing to literally anything.
"Dad?"
Too late.
Jughead sounded like his teeth were gritted.
"Jughead," FP had to focus on not driving into anything, but he suddenly knew how he wanted to play this. "Where are you? I didn't expect you to take off with Brandon, and not to hear from you for-,"
"Dad, I... got into some trouble. I'm really sorry I disappeared on you."
FP closed his eyes in relief. The first hurdle was behind him: Jughead was following his lead.
Horns blared, and FP's eyes shot back open as he swerved to avoid clipping an oncoming vehicle. "Uh, I'm driving. Where are you? I'll come and get you, but then we're having a long talk about-,"
"FP, I don't think you're understanding me," Rose's voice filled the line again. He sounded confused. Good.
"Thank you, Dom," FP channeled frustration into his voice. "I have no idea how you found Jughead, but I really appreciate your picking him up. Where are you two? This is the last time I take him to a country where the drinking age is eighteen. Fake IDs are just too easy to come by when the age is that low. You can give him a good scare if you want; he deserves it. I'll come by and pick him up. Sorry for the-,"
"Dad?" Jughead's voice was even more strained. "I can't-,"
"Very well. We're at my home. I'd appreciate it if you hurried, FP." Dominic sounded irritated, but not yet like he had any inkling that he was being played. "He's not the easiest of houseguests."
"You're telling me. I'll be right over, Dom. Thanks again." FP was almost shocked when the call disconnected.
He pulled the car over in front of a fire hydrant and swiftly leaned out of his car door to be sick in the street. FP spat a few times and then began driving again as quickly as he could.
There was no question in his mind but that he'd just heard Jughead being hurt - maybe even tortured. But Jughead had been able to hold it together, and FP had managed to get through the conversation without screwing anything up.
Brandon had better come through, though. Right now. Because FP still had to connect with the FBI before he could even consider going to Rose's Toronto address, and Jughead needed help.
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Brand surveyed the outside of Rose's house, thinking through his strategy for locating Jones and extracting him safely. He'd made record time by tipping the taxi driver heavily and being obnoxious, and then he'd exited the vehicle where he could not be seen from Rose's property.
But right now his best next steps were difficult to figure out. The house looked quiet enough, and there was no indication of where Brand should begin. He knew roughly where the room where Jones had been staying was located - where he had been held - but the odds that he had not been moved by now were almost nil.
The basement was usually a good bet, though it was a shot in the dark this time. Brand quickly decided that any action was better than nothing at this point; his worst case scenario was getting himself captured, after all, and that was literally plan B. Getting into the house was not a bad first step for that.
Skirting the security measures swiftly, Brand managed to get into the finished basement in just a few moments. It truly did seem empty, but he did a quick sweep of the rooms all the same.
It was taking too long, though.
Brand grimaced and backtracked to the security system. He'd need to tip his hand or else this was going to end with Jones either dead or maimed.
It went against decades of habit when Brand set off the security's silent alarm and then stepped back to wait.
He'd need to make this seem real, while still ensuring that he was taken down. Brand took a deep breath to calm himself. He was officially committed to this plan, and to the FBI figuring out that both he and the kid needed extraction.
It was all up to FP now.
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FP rapped loudly on the door that he'd been given directions to by Brandon the previous day, while they'd made plans - and then a second time when he'd texted the phone number that Brandon had given FP.
When Trigger must have caught his scent and barked twice, FP was relieved; he'd made it. He'd gotten to the right location without delay or incident.
Inexplicably, Clark was the one who opened the door.
"Where's Sarah?" FP pushed past the intern, sparing just one confused look for him. "They let you come to Toronto?"
"Yeah. Um, obviously. Agent Quinn is on her way; she'll be here in a minute or two. What's going on, Mr. Jones?" Clark was obviously disturbed by FP's demeanor and must have no idea what was going on. "Is everyone okay? Where are Jones and-,"
"I need Sarah now. Leash Trigger for me." FP began to pace and pulled out his phone again. Then something else caught his eye. "Max?"
"Hi." Max looked uncharacteristically shy. FP had gotten used to seeing his expressions alternate between studiously guarded, an animalistic fear, and a cagey sort of aggression. Something must have really calmed the boy down, because he was almost unrecognizable now, without his scowl.
And he was wearing an unmarked Serpents jacket.
"What are you wearing?" FP didn't stop pacing, but that was mildly distracting as long as he had to wait.
"I'm… I joined your gang. Just honorarily. But I got a skin when I did." Max's expression became tentative and hopeful as he awaited FP's response to that news.
"Hey, let's go into the bedroom. Mr. Jones needs to-," Clark seemed to sense that Max wanted something, and that FP was not capable of delivering it right now. That was probably accurate.
"Who in the Toronto Serpents would you let Max near?" FP looked concerned as he turned to face Clark.
"Banjo helped us," Max explained, clearly resistant to being left out of the conversation. "He said that he's friends with you."
"Banjo's in town from Montreal?" FP frowned as he thought that through. "Things must be even more unstable than we thought. That's good, though. He's someone I can work with. That might even be-,"
Agent Williams burst into the apartment, with Agent Quinn right on her heels.
"It's Jughead," FP blurted immediately, all thoughts of the Serpents gone in an instant. "We need to go in right now. Brandon went straight there, but who knows how that's going. Come on; he said to bring Trigger."
"Hold up." Agent Williams held up a hand and spoke calmly. "We have a procedure in place for this. We'll either hear from Davies or we'll get to the prearranged juncture where we go in automatically."
FP ignored her. "Sarah, let's go."
"Williams is right, FP - but we're going to get everyone into position right now." Quinn's tone was reassuringly urgent and it seemed to FP that her response was more appropriate than Williams' calmer one. "There is no reason to delay setting up. By the time we have the green light, everyone will be ready and waiting. Clark, you and Max will get to sit in the car. Do you think you can handle that?"
Clark hesitated, as if he was trying to figure out what that might entail in terms of 'handling.' "Uh, I think so?"
"It's not a code. Just don't become a hostage or a hero, Clark," Chloe supplied. "You or Max."
Aha. For some reason those two had to be physically near the bust. Maybe - probably - the apartment would no longer be safe for them once Rose's network realized what was going down, so they needed to be close to hand for their own protection.
"Yes. No problem." Clark shooed Max into the bedroom a second time, and this time Max obeyed.
"You too, Clark," Agent Quinn cocked her head toward the bedroom apologetically. "We still can't read you in on this."
"Is Jones-," Clark's expression radiated worry now that Max was not in the room.
"Brandon went after him," FP answered. "I don't know. I just got a phone call, though, and-,"
"Bedroom, Clark." Sarah cut FP off and motioned for the intern to leave the room. "Let us work."
Clark nodded and quickly joined Max.
Sarah turned to FP. "Okay. Williams is going to get people moving into position. You tell me about that phone call."
FP nodded and began to fill her in.
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Jughead was pretty sure that he was the one making a quiet, rhythmic moaning sound, and he was entirely certain that he was slowly losing the war against tears. He tried not to wonder whether he'd literally be screaming in pain eventually, since that was a horrifying thought; it had probably not been even thirty minutes since he'd been tied up so brutally.
"Sir, there was a blip on security in the basement." A man reported this in a bored tone. "Nothing sustained or of substance, so it was probably an animal; we can see to it."
Jughead hoped with all of his heart that it was not an animal.
"That is not an animal. Not with this sort of timing," Rose declared solemnly. "Get Jones into an empty storage room. We'll need to use the threat of hurting him - since killing him won't be credible - so why don't you make him more comfortable as well."
It was only once someone was cutting the ropes and easing Jughead's torso up and back to where he could theoretically use his cuffed hands for balance - and a new wave of pain rushed into his suddenly-freed limbs as he gasped and the tears finally overwhelmed him - that Jughead realized what Rose meant.
Jughead couldn't already be twisted into a torturously painful position, or else they had nothing left to threaten Brand with.
Thank heavens.
Jughead felt someone press his cuffed hands to the floor as if he'd be able to hold himself up by bracing against them, but his muscles felt completely exhausted and he collapsed onto his back without hesitation.
Rose had gotten what he wanted: Jughead couldn't even sit upright, let alone attempt to walk.
"If it is Brandon, shouldn't we just take Jones to the basement and-,"
"Absolutely not. Do not let Brandon see Jones and do not give him any indication of where his godson is located. Until Brandon is subdued, consider him only more dangerous if he has any opportunity to access the boy." Rose shook his head as he looked down at Jughead, who was trembling with pain and silently blinking up at him from the floor. "It's counterintuitive, but I would not risk Brandon turning the tables on you if he thought he had even a remote chance at retrieving Jones."
The men looked disgruntled, but Jughead knew better than to hope that they'd disobey Rose. Even more than Rose, Jughead was confident that once Brand had located him, everyone in his way would be doomed.
It was too bad that Rose likewise had an inkling that that was the case.
"Let's go, then." Two men grasped Jughead's shoulders and supported his weight without uncuffing his hands. They hefted him up and carried him down a hallway to what appeared to be a large walk-in closet that was completely empty.
It would definitely work as a holding cell. Jughead was too relieved about being untied to object when one of the men pulled out a handkerchief to gag him before they tied his ankles together once more and laid him, still quivering and with near complete loss of control of his screaming limbs, on the floor of the makeshift cell.
The door closed and locked. Jughead was left in darkness, and finally able to take stock of how much pain he was in, and how injured he was from the extreme stress position he'd been forced into.
When he'd determined that he was probably going to be very sore for a while - perhaps not unlike when he'd had whiplash -, but not likely permanently injured, it was another cause for relief. And, as Jughead thought more about the likelihood that Brand was on the premises, he began cautiously moving his arms and legs to encourage blood flow - and his limbs' obedience to his brain's commands.
If it had been Brand in the basement, he'd be here soon. Jughead had every confidence in his godfather, and he wanted to be ready for action.
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Brand hadn't had to work very hard to make it seem real: Rose had assumed it was him setting off the alarm, based on the timing, and never suspected that it was intentional since Brand had used a very light tough to set off the system.
The men who had been sent to deal with Brand had clearly been told to threaten Jones' safety, and it was simple work to make patently obvious his genuine rage and worry. Brand had offered his surrender almost immediately, and he hoped that the plan was to reunite him with Jones before anyone began taking their frustrations out on Brand.
But, either way, Brand hoped that his presence would take some heat off of the kid.
When he was hustled toward what looked like a closet door, that seemed to promise some more time for the FBI to get the memo that Brand was not successfully infiltrating - and that a signal would not be forthcoming.
One of the men lashed his ankles together, and then the closet was opened and Brand was shoved roughly inside so that he fell hard onto his left shoulder as he went down.
And there was Jones.
Based on Brand's brief glimpse of the situation before the closet door was shut behind him, the kid was scared but not visibly hurt. A gag was hanging uselessly around his neck, and more ominously his hands were cuffed behind him even though Jones should have had plenty of time to get those in front of him.
"You're hurt. Is it bad?" Jones sounded terrified. "What do I do? How do I help?"
"I'm not hurt. They barely touched me." Brand shook his head, but it was too dark for that to mean anything to Jones. He began working his wrists around his feet so that he could bring his hands up in front of himself. "I'm fine, kid. All in one piece. I'm handcuffed and my ankles are tied, but that's nothing we can't handle. Are you hurt?"
"Give it to me straight, Brand; I need to know what we're dealing with." Jones suddenly sounded frustrated as well as fearful. "I'm not an idiot. Rose had to hurt you to get you here."
"Well, in that case, I guess he did. He hurt me by hiding you away. I came for you, Jones." Brand finished maneuvering his cuffed wrists past his bound ankles. "I let his goons take me so that I could get to you quicker."
"That was dumb."
"It worked, didn't it? Your father's coming for us. We're covered. But I needed to get here fast, make sure that you were okay, and get between you and Rose in case anyone got any ideas about hurting you. We're just biding our time now, which is something we do well - when we're together."
"But Dad's not used to coming after us, Brand. He might take a while figuring everything out. Maybe... you should have sent him to find me while you organized the sting."
"It had to be me; Rose wants me out of circulation, and he doesn't want to be seen doing anything remotely like accosting your father. He does, however, want to cut a deal with your dad and we can't have that right now. Anyway, FP's got the FBI, he's got the perp and an address, and he knows we're here together. He'll be fine, and he'll be quick." Brand brought his cuffed arms up and over Jones' head, pulling him against his chest, and then frowning when he felt the kid tense against the movement. "You're fine now, too. I'm here, and that means your part is done. I can take over and get us home."
Jones' shoulders were stiff, but in Brand's embrace he seemed to relax slightly - and then he started to quiver.
Aw, man.
"Not that you're totally off the hook. I'm gonna need you to watch out for me, too." Brand figured that should do the trick. Give the kid a job to focus on so he didn't fall apart. "For one thing, I'm not particularly good at being a hostage. I am decidedly out of practice. Help me pick these cuffs, will you?"
The kid's hands came up awkwardly behind him, and he twisted until he could reach Brand's cuffs and find the locking mechanism. He'd need a tool, but that wasn't a bad start; Brand was glad to see that his lessons hadn't fallen on deaf ears.
"Are you scared?" Jones' voice was small. "They hurt me. They might hurt you too."
"Of course I'm scared. I'd be stupid not to be. I'd also be stupid to get too scared, because your father would be immensely offended that I had so little faith in him." Brand didn't like the way the kid's bones felt fragile in his grip. "And hey, I'm gonna need you to do something for me."
"Yeah?" Jones had begun exploring the locking mechanism with his fingers. "I can't open these without a tool, Brand. Can you reach my front left pocket? I've got a pin there."
"You do? Wow; that's some impressive contingency planning. Hang on and I'll try and get it for you. I need you to brainstorm something for me while we work on the cuffs, too. You ready for this?"
"Uh-huh."
"I need a laundry list of all the take-out you want to get before we leave Toronto, and all the take-out you want once we're back home."
"Brand."
"I am very serious. You're gaining that weight back, and you're going to make a start on it this week. Now choose wisely, and we'll make it happen. Otherwise I'm buying you weight gainers, and those are unfailingly nasty." Brand tweaked the back of the kid's neck before pulling his cuffed hands back over Jones' head and retrieving the pin from his pocket. "Take the pin. It's in my right hand. I'll get your cuffs next."
"Croissants."
"Duh. Which bakery?"
"Duh." Jones had a laugh in his voice. "Our usual. I'll take Dad and show him around the neighborhood."
"I'll come too. Someone's gotta make sure you tell the stories correctly." Brand was surprised by how quickly he felt a click and the cuffs fell open. "Nice technique. Now give me the pin back and turn around. Why are your arms still cuffed behind you, by the way?"
"Like I said. They hurt me." Jones' voice was only mildly hesitant, probably in an attempt to keep Brand from clueing in to the fact that he was hesitating - indicating that he didn't want Brand to know how hurt he'd actually been. "It seemed easier."
"I'm going to hurt them. Are you sore? I can try to help with cramps or aches."
"I'll live, Brand. Get the cuffs off and we can go from there."
A few moments later Jones was freed from the handcuffs and Brand could gather him up in his arms, protesting and elbowing as he came, and feel carefully around his spine and shoulders.
"Oh, kid." His whole body was beyond strained. "Just relax. I have no formal training whatsoever in therapeutic massage, but I probably can't do much damage here."
Jones was melting into his frame within minutes, almost snuggling into him while Brand worked to free up the tense muscles without going too deep with a massage that might later turn out to have been a mistake.
"You should sleep, kid. I need you rested so you can take the next shift." There wasn't going to be a next shift unless FP was lying dead somewhere, but it sounded like the kind of lie that might get Jones to close his eyes. He had to be powerfully exhausted. "I'm going to keep working on your back, and you just get whatever shut eye you can manage. We'll have you back in fighting shape in no time."
"Okay, Brand. Then I'll take a shift while you get some rest," Jones agreed. His head lolled against Brand's shoulder, tentatively at first and then with more trust when Brand shifted to make the position more comfortable. "You gonna sing me to sleep?"
"That's your dad's thing." Brand smirked. "I'll tell him you requested lullabies in captivity, though. I bet he'll come through for you once we're back home."
"You better not." Jones' smile tugged against Brand's shoulder.
"Sleep, Jones. No more talking." Brand smoothed a hand over the kid's head and then down to his back once more. "I'll tell you a story when you wake up."
"Just don't kill my horse." Jones' response was slightly delayed. Good; he was actually going to sleep.
"Shhhh." Brand lessened the pressure but continued the back rub. His own shoulders were starting to relax now that he had Jones with him, safe and sound.
"Brand?"
"What?"
"I don't think Agent Sarah needs to worry about whether you'll be a good dad."
"I don't think Agent Quinn is going to be impressed by my ability to get a highly-trained FBI intern to take a nap."
"She will be. Just wait and see."
"Nope. Because you're not telling her about any of this."
Jones' smile brushed against Brand's shoulder a second time, but it soon sounded like he'd actually dropped off to sleep.
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And we're clearly teetering right on the edge of the bust... :-D I'll enjoy any and all reviews immensely as I dig into the next chapter. :)
I hope you're having a lovely weekend!
-Button