Paris II
Ryan almost calls her.
It's just a simple dinner with the House Appropriations Committee on Capitol Hill, discussing the intelligence budget and potential opportunities for private sector engagement. It's not the kind of gathering behind closed doors where real decisions are made, but more the type that serves to save face, while seeing and being seen by the town's political heavyweights. Entertaining his affluent dinner guests and their spouses can't help, but remind him that he is alone on his island. There is one feisty, stubborn, blonde headed woman who could have made the conversation much more lively, and the evening much more enjoyable.
Thankfully Arthur is there to be his brother in arms, minus Joan who couldn't attend due to work. Together they talk shop about potential future ventures with Homeland Security and other domestic protection provisions. Towards the end of the evening Ryan's phone rings and he has to excuse himself from a passionate conversation concerning American's ongoing involvement in the Middle East between Arthur and three other committee members.
It's his Russian embassy contact in Paris, and long time acquaintance since his early days as a SEAL, Sergei Mikhailovich. His time table has changed, and he will have to meet Ryan sooner than previously expected if he is to successful procure the promised Russian Combat Helicopters McQuaid Security has been hired to retrieve by the Defense Intelligence Agency.
Sooner being in less than twenty four hours.
He calls Caitlin and quickly sets out the logistics of the new schedule. Next, he pulls Arthur aside briefly and catches him up to speed on the change of plans. Lastly, he apologizes profusely to the committee members for having to leave on such short notice, escorting himself out of the venue to the waiting car that will take him to the airfield where the jet will be waiting.
He shoots Fitz a quick iMessage on his phone to let him know they'll be on the same side of the ocean, but on the wrong continent, and to threaten him that this backup pilot he hired better be at least half the air jockey Fitz is on his bad days.
He wonders if Annie would be any more likely to accept a Parisian dinner invitation than she was his first invite on the Chicago tarmac.
Of course he's kidding himself. What were the odds of her actually being there when he stepped off the plane?
When he arrives in Paris he has just enough time to stop by his safe house to change into a fresh suit. He forgoes the tie because if he wears one, it usually ends up in his pocket instead of around his neck. With thirty minutes to spare, he hails a cab to the Russian Embassy, where he will be the special guest of Sergei Mikhailovich - advisor to the ambassador and former member of Spetsnaz Group Alfa.
Their history begins with a fistfight in Kiev, where a younger, more volatile Ryan was stationed with a SEAL team during the 1997 treaty settlement over the dispute of the Black Sea Fleet between Russia and Ukraine. It was several years later during a forced joint operation in Afghanistan, fighting for their lives, that they became unlikely friends.
Sergei greets him outside the embassy with a firm handshake, and jokes that he can still see the scar at the back of Ryan's jaw where he smashed a glass bottle into the side of his head almost 17 years ago. He ushers him upstairs to a private office, avoiding the curious eyes of the other Russians already gathered inside the embassy for today's event. They toast to their health and prosperity over vodka, and then quickly get down to business.
Sergei will have the helicopters waiting for a McQuaid Security team in Groznny in three days in exchange for a hefty sum, but given Russia's rising tension with the rest of the world, the advantage this purchase will give the United States is a price Ryan is willing to pay.
"We're not getting any younger, McQuaid." Sergei pours another shot of Stolichnaya Elit. "The world, the state it is in, exhausts me. This exhausts me." He gestures between the two of them. "Yet here we are, another year later. Why is it that we do not fear going into the woods with wolves?"
"The answer's simple." Ryan pours himself another shot as well, raising his glass, "We're the wolves."
Sergei's words linger after Ryan leaves him. He descends the embassy intricate and ornate staircase, slow and methodical as he considers the Russian's question. This line of work necessitated a certain level of invincibility and fearlessness, an unwavering dedication to the cause, to the job, that binds you to the family you've built out of it. Success is never a question, only the answer, but even then no man is an island. Ryan knows this better than anyone.
Wolves they were, but not even wolves survive alone.
She is the last thing he expects to see when he reaches the first floor and rounds the corner. What were the odds indeed.
At first, Ryan's almost certain he's hallucinating, and he wonders if Sergei put something in the vodka that he forgot to mention. Except he isn't, and Annie Walker is in fact standing in front of him.
They're both suspended in their own state of shock, hesitating and uncertain, temporarily rendered silent. Furthermore, Ryan recognizes the man standing with her, only because Ivan Kravitz's reputation far precedes him, and at their mutual recognition, Ryan quickly notices Ivan's eyes narrow, watching their interaction with a distrustful interest.
Ryan quickly works to divert Kravitz's attention from any unnecessary conjectures that might blow Annie's cover, based on the assumption that she's working an op.
He can't help but recall from studying Annie's file that she isn't on particularly good terms with Russia.
"I'm terrible," Ryan apologizes, extending his hand, "remind me of your name again?"
Annie follows his lead without missing a beat.
"Martine Miller, Browning Firearms." She accepts the gesture, perfectly polite and smiling all the while. "We met at the White House correspondent's dinner."
Annie proceeds to fall into a back and forth banter with him about the tricky business of arms sales and private contracting, her quick wit and humor as catty as ever. On one hand it appeases Ivan. On the other, it adds to Ryan's (long) list of things about her that continue to impress him. As flustered as their unlikely meeting makes him, he can't help but admire her talent in the moment.
Annie Walker could sell a cage to a lion if she needed to.
After Annie excuses herself Ryan is already doubling back through the embassy great room when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He grabs it and glances at it quickly.
AW: Upstairs. NOW.
He fires back a reply as he makes his way back down the main hall and toward the staircase for the second time that day.
RM: Yes ma'am.
"What are you doing here?"
Annie's practically seething, spinning to face him when she catches sight of him in the corner of her eye, wild eyed and accusing, hardly the picture of calm he had seen downstairs just minutes before. Here in private her agitation is far less contained, and it only confirms his suspicions that she's up to something. Clearly she doesn't like being caught by surprise - he makes a mental note of that.
"I could ask the same thing of you." He replies pointedly, which only earns him a an even bigger scowl from the woman in front of him.
"The last time we ran into each other, we were both after the same thing, and we stepped on each other's toes, a lot." Annie emphasizes the last word especially, as if she expected him not to remember how many times they had butted heads during their Venezuelan free for all.
"As I remember it I helped you get what you wanted in Venezuela." He reminds her, arms crossed.
"You got what you wanted too, don't think I forgot about your hour with Borz. What are you doing here?" He's convinced she will forever lord the ghost of Borz Altan over his head, and she continues to badger him with her first question. Ryan knows her well enough by now to know that she won't stop asking until she gets an answer.
He hesitates. His head remains wary, but his heart trusts Annie Walker, much more than it should.
"I am here trying to procure a half dozen Russian Combat Helicopters for the DIA from a Russian weapons contact of mine." He murmurs roughly, entirely too aware of the dozens of confidentiality agreements he's breaching just by telling her.
"Why?" She acts as if the idea that he could actually be there on his own business (not to interfere with hers) is preposterous.
"Because there are some places in the world where American helicopters are a red flag. That's where I come in." Ryan tries to suppress a scowl, biting back his frustration with her tunnel vision tendencies. "And how about you, Martine, what brings you here with Ivan Kravitz?" An ex-FSB agent gone bank manager, a man notorious for his violent tendencies amongst other business connections. The thought of Annie alone with him is enough to make Ryan's stomach turn. What the hell is she doing here?
"I can't discuss that." She stonewalls, but the conflict on her face is clear as day. She doesn't know if she can trust him, the very idea in itself goes against every principle the agency has shoved in her head.
And even though Ryan knows this, it still hurts to think that his trustworthiness, his word, could be in question after everything he's done for her.
"Oh, I get it. It's none of my business." He says coolly, taking a step back, letting his pride get the best of him. "Well I am glad to see that the trust works both ways."
Before she can defend herself, and before he gives her the chance too, Ryan turns heel and walks away.
He convinces himself in the seconds it takes to escape her sight that it's for the best, that he can't think clearly when she's involved, that he needs to take a step back, because they aren't together - if he's honest with himself, they're barely friends. Regardless of what it is he wants, the fact remains that this is what he gets; she refuses to let him in. So he misses the wounded look on Annie's face. He misses the way she appears just as distraught as he feels with every step he takes in the opposite direction. If he had seen the way she looks after him, he might have stayed.
Ryan isn't expecting any company on the Embassy veranda. He's walked outside to clear his head, debating whether or not he should go back in and find Annie, or count it as a loss and let her go. He's never been very good at the later in any situation, and this is no different.
"Who is she?"
Ryan doesn't move from his position against the railing; he recognizes Sergei's voice. He continues to watch the Paris skyline in the distance, city lights shimmer against a fading sunset.
"Why does it matter?" Ryan asks.
Sergei steps beside him, dropping a half finished cigarette and crushing it with the heel of his shoe.
"It doesn't, at least not to me." Being blunt is one of Sergei's specialties. "But I saw the way you looked at her. Consider this one last parting favor before you leave Paris."
"Favor?" Ryan glances at Sergei sideways, eyes narrowed, not following.
"Whoever she is, Ivan just took her to the Embassy's eastern wing." Sergei continues. "And generally when Ivan takes girls to the eastern wing, they don't come back."
Annie Walker never makes things easy.
If Ryan's going to keep up this whole "saving her when she's backed herself into an impossible corner" thing, they're going to have to lay some ground rules. For now, he focuses on making sure she doesn't break her neck when she comes stumbling down the hallway and all but pulls them both to the floor. She's clearly drugged, and mumbles a slurred "help me" before passing out entirely.
He isn't the only one that heard the commotion. From out in the gathering area curious Russian voices draw closer, and in the office Walker stumbled out of he can hear a low moan coming from Ivan. Ryan can't help the momentary swell of glee that rises up in his chest, knowing Walker still managed to kick Kravtiz's ass. However, it's quickly replaced by panic; they're surrounded with nowhere to run.
"Fuck." Ryan mutters, checking her pulse. It's strong, much to his relief; arrhythmias and sedatives can be a dangerous combination. He's out of time though, and has to move quickly. He gently pushes her hair back from her face, eyes grim because he hates what he's about to do; leave her behind. "I'm sorry, Walker."
He's only going to have one shot getting her out of this alive, and he can't do it if they both get caught.
AN: I like characters with backstory, so I threw some backstory in for Ryan here. I thought it would be a nice opposition to give him friends inside Russia, versus Annie's less than stellar track record with them. ;)
It really is fun for me to sit here and do this. I love jumping from scene to scene and throwing in my own, it makes it all very "film reel" to me, and I can see it happening in my head as I read. Hopefully it gives that affect, at least. I swear someday I'll write my own spy story, but until then... Thanks for the reviews lovely people. xoxo