Warning: The language gets a little intense in this chapter, and will probably stay that way for a few more. It's not much more explicit than what I've been using in Ian's thoughts, but it is spoken aloud in dialogue and directed at people, which I feel makes it a bit more serious.
Don Eppes was a seasoned agent. He had seen a hell of a lot in his time, and he was no stranger to guilt. But this was different; it was beyond personal. Ian knew what Eppes was feeling, and where it could lead. He'd been there, even before the FBI. He suspected Don had a good idea as well, having worked in Fugitive Recovery for so long himself.
It was one of the many psychological job hazards of the game. Once in a while, as Ian had with this case, the agent assigned to catch a killer would unwittingly try to shoulder some of the blame for the victims. If those thoughts were left unchecked, he might even start to feel as guilty as he would if he had pulled the trigger himself.
But for Don this went beyond the mental clawing of a misplaced sense of responsibility. Reeves was not just another victim. She was an agent. His agent. He was responsible for her. And if Hoyle harmed her, Don knew he would forever bear the full brunt of the guilt for that crime.
Ian understood that burden much more intimately than he would ever admit to anyone. It was one of the main reasons he kept himself so closed off from everyone, his emotions so deeply buried that he probably couldn't bring them to the surface if he tried. He had long ago accepted the necessity of the decision he had made, the cold logic of his reasoning. The investigation had ensured that he had plenty of opportunity to understand what had happened.
But he could never acknowledge the incident afterward. He could never let himself feel the unbearable remorse he knew was lying dormant deep inside him. Because he knew, with absolute certainty, that to do so would break him.
Ian could see that Don knew he was now standing at that same precipice himself. And that was why it didn't surprise the other agent when Eppes came into the break room, locked the door behind him, and stared Edgerton right in the eye as he spoke the words that would change him and their relationship forever.
"Okay, straight up. The rumors about you using force to get information out of suspects... How true are they?"
Ian held Don's gaze for a moment while he took a long sip of his coffee. Some agents who knew him better than most swore they could gauge how badly a case was going by the number of cups Edgerton drank in a day. This was his fourth in less than two hours of work, which he figured was probably a pretty accurate representation of the terrible turn this case had taken this morning.
"True enough," he finally replied. At that moment, everything about Don radiated his anger. I wonder how much of it is directed at Hoyle and how much is at himself. And if he can tell the difference yet. "But if you're thinking about going down that road, Eppes, I can't say I would recommend it."
"I'm not going down that road, Ian," he answered firmly. "You are."
That actually made Edgerton put down his coffee. He stared hard at Eppes, trying to work out what was going on in the other man's mind. Here I thought he just wanted some pointers.
"You don't have that authority, Eppes." Ian was trying his best to talk him out of this without specifically pulling the You'll-Beat-Yourself-Up-Over-It-Later card.
Eppes could be a stubborn, hard headed bastard, and he'd seen enough to know how to detach himself for the sake of getting the job done and coming out of it in one piece. But, to Edgerton's knowledge, Agent Don Eppes had never crossed certain lines. Any lines, really. Ian could tell that Don - whose entire being right now was focused with laser-like intensity on recovering Reeves - was determined to make that leap, regardless of the consequences. But he wasn't going to make it too easy for him. Especially when you're so unsure that you're pushing the dirty work off on me.
"She's my agent, Ian! And right now, she's in the hands of a crazy bitch who-"
"I get that, Eppes," Ian cut him off, in that always-eerily-calm voice of his. "But what you're asking me to do isn't gonna magically get her back. We have no reason to even believe Buck would know anything about where Crystal took her. You have to understand what you're committing to."
"I understand that anything that damn kid knows, we need to get from him. I've made my decision."
"You sure you're prepared to live with that?"
"Hell, Ian, don't you try to tell me this bothers you! Don't think I didn't hear about your choice words last night." He was laughing, a dry, mocking laugh that made Ian's temper flare.
"Yeah, Eppes, actually it does. I'm not a damn sociopath who gets off on hurting people, believe it or not." He took a deep breath, combing his fingers through his thick black hair and reigning in his anger. He may be emotionally distant, even stone-faced, but the ignorant presumption that it made him a nutcase was one of Ian Edgerton's greatest pet peeves.
He took another calming breath and raised his eyes. Through the window, he caught sight of Granger standing on the other side of a group of desks, watching them. He could tell by the worried look in the young man's eyes that he wasn't the only one concerned about where this case was taking Eppes. It had been getting under Don's skin from the moment they'd realized Hoyle was in possession of a munitions crate worth of frag grenades.
Don was pacing across the small room now, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing over his eyes. As he came back around, Ian grabbed him by the shoulders to stop him. Eppes stared at him in shock; except for the occasional handshake, he had never seen Ian touch anyone before.
"I'll do whatever it takes," Ian said softly. "You know that. Reeves is a fellow agent. But I need to know that you understand what you're doing. What you're asking me to do. Once you cross that line, you can never go back. I'm saying this as a friend, Don."
Much to his surprise, Ian didn't find it strange to say that. He supposed he'd always considered Don Eppes a friend, and just didn't know how to admit it to himself. He kept his grip on Eppes's shoulders and watched him mull over his blunt words.
He knew it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference; Eppes had "weighted the values," as his brother would say, and made his decision before he'd approached him. That was probably what he had been doing in the past hour since he'd skulked off after seeing the footage of Hoyle parked outside the office. But Ian had needed to say it regardless of whether it made a difference, because it made a difference to him.
After a moment, Eppes nodded, his eyes reflecting only a firm conviction. "How do you wanna play this?" Well, at least he has the sense to defer to my experience, Ian thought wryly.
"You go in first. Give him a chance to talk. Make sure to close the blinds. He doesn't cooperate, just walk out. I'll take it from there."
He didn't specify what he was going to do, and he appreciated that Eppes didn't ask. He never liked discussing this particular topic. The circumstances under which he'd come to acquire this skill were among the many "incidents" during his military career that he didn't care to remember. And though he'd been justified in putting it to use several times, both for the Army and the FBI, the act always wore him down just a little bit more each time.
He would never admit it, but sometimes, late at night as he lay alone in some cold hotel room bed staring at the generic white ceiling, Agent Ian Edgerton honestly wondered if there would be anything left of him by the time he retired. Tch, like that'll ever happen.
Don left to oversee the transfer of Buck Winters to the team's enclosed, soundproof conference room, and Ian picked up his mug and refilled it, using the simple action of pouring the coffee and the comfort of the hot liquid to keep himself from thinking about what he was going to do. His ever-alert senses picked up on Granger moving toward him well before the young agent entered the room. He pulled out a cup to offer him, but he simply shook his head.
"How can you think about coffee breaks right now?" Colby asked quietly.
Ian responded with a bitter chuckle. "Trust me, Granger. You don't want me around when I haven't had coffee." The other man was silent, and Ian turned to regard him. "I know it feels ridiculous to worry about mundane things like eating and drinking and sleeping when lives are in danger, but those things are necessary. Not only to keep you fit and alert, but to keep your mind focused, so that you'll be ready when the time comes." He paused to give the other former soldier a meaningful look. "And I know you know that better than anyone else here."
Colby stayed quiet for another moment, then sighed deeply. "Yeah. I guess that's what worries me though. That mentality... it never goes away, does it?"
"No. No it doesn't."
"Don isn't like that, is he? He doesn't get that you have to keep a clear head and make the right decisions. That's what's gonna get Megan back." Colby's voice was harsher than Ian had ever heard it. And he was right; Don's style wasn't the same as theirs. He didn't have the detached clarity that most soldiers picked up in combat, that absolute conviction to put aside fear and pain and weakness because the mission came before all else.
"He'll do what needs to be done, Colby," Ian said softly. Granger snorted.
"Or he'll ask you to do it." Apparently his argument with Don had been loud enough to be heard outside the break room. Ian was expecting condemnation, so that's what he initially took Granger's comment to be. But after a moment's thought, he decided it was something else entirely.
"You're worried about him crossing a line, too."
"I was lucky that I never had to cross that line over there. But I saw guys who did. Saw what it did to them. Maybe I'm just being cynical, but I don't think Don's ready to handle that."
Ian gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "I'd ask you to tell him that, but I don't think he'd listen to you any more than he listened to me."
"Yeah, well. Once Don makes a decision..." He's a stubborn son of a bitch, that's for sure.
They both stayed silent as they watched Buck Winters being escorted, in full shackles except for his wounded arm, across the bullpen. Ian calmly finished his coffee, and then he and Granger joined Eppes outside the door. The senior agent's gaze locked with Ian's, his eyes burning with a barely controlled inferno of rage. And terror.
Colby laid his hand on Don's shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but his boss shrugged him off and burst into the conference room without a word. Ian was a little surprised that it didn't bother him when Granger stayed with him, leaning against one of the desks in the bullpen, waiting for the door to open. He looked over at Ian once or twice, concerned not only for Eppes but apparently for him as well, but said nothing. He knew there was nothing to say. Yeah, Granger. You get it. You're not the innocent farmboy everyone pegs you for. And I can respect that.
Edgerton's gaze remained firmly locked straight ahead of him. Don had left only the blinds over the door open so that Ian could see him coming toward it. When he did, eyes meeting Ian's through the glass, the sniper didn't even hesitate to jump to his feet, reaching the door in two long strides and making sure the first thing Buck Winters saw was the look of cold determination on his face.
"You just do it, Ian. Do whatever it takes to get what you need. It's something that needs to be done, so it's something you learn to live with. Like removing a man's brain from his head from a thousand yards away." You're going down for this, Hoyle. No matter what it takes.
Don't worry. It won't stay this split up forever. And that last part is kind of a preview of the next chapter, which will be rather flashback heavy, which is why it is split up. Needless to say, the next one gets fairly dark, if not downright graphic (haven't decided yet; have to consider ratings).