Auggie's oldest brother Eric got married in Auggie's freshman year. They were a classic small-town Midwestern couple; high school sweethearts, shotgun wedding, changing their kid's diapers before they could legally drink. Springsteen wrote songs about that crap.
Eric's wife Julie had been a knockout. Platinum hair, big blue eyes, the kind of body that would make Hugh Hefner do a double-take. She was so far out of Eric's league Auggie was surprised he was even authorized to touch her. Julie was stuck at home in the middle of a blizzard when her water broke. Eric was working at a grocery store, and he couldn't get home. It wasn't uncommon to get snowed in exactly where you didn't want to be. Six months later, Julie took off, leaving Eric and Lucy in the dust. There are people who leave because they want to, there are people who leave because they need to, and there are people who leave because they're scared of being left. Julie was the third kind. Eric responded by moving out of his parents' and pursuing his bachelor's, then his master's and eventually his PhD.
All of the time away for school left Lucy at Auggie's parents' much of the time. She was there while he was in college, when he came home for Christmas, right before he shipped out. His other brothers had families of their own, but his parents always seemed to have Lucy. "She's our fifth kid," his mother joked once. So, when Eric wasn't, Auggie was. He taught her Morse Code, watched endless bad horror movies with her, showed her how to throw a spiral and play 'House of the Rising Sun' and whistle with a blade of grass. Being with Lucy always took him somewhere else. He couldn't be hostile or sad around her, couldn't be resentful or caught up with work. Coming home meant tall grass and sunshine and hanging out with Lucy, even if he only made it once or twice a year.
Until five years ago. He was invalided home and basically told that man was not meant to be alone. He didn't want to be with his family. He wanted to be by himself in a dark room with a warm gun. But after that brilliant march into traffic, he didn't have that option. It was Lucy who helped convince him that he still had stuff to live for. That life in the dark was better than no life. She was fifteen and it was her turn to teach him things.
Now, he stood behind two-way glass in an interrogation room at Langley. If everyone was to be believed, his niece was on the other side, with a bullet wound, waiting to be questioned by government agents. Things were about to be harder than they'd ever been, and he wasn't ready.
The room was cold, colder when he stood near the glass. He wondered if the back area and the interrogation room operated on separate thermostats. He wouldn't be shocked to hear that "freezing the suspect out" was a real questioning tactic. He hoped Lucy had a coat. If he was cold, she must be freezing. Joan and Annie were out in the hall. It was decided that Annie would be conducting the first leg of the questioning, to see what they could get from Lucy without Auggie having to read her in. It sounded to Auggie like complete and utter bullshit. After the night she'd been through, his involvement with the agency seemed like a mere detail.
...
Annie flipped through the folder of photos Joan gave her, taken from a security camera. They were pretty rough, but she could make out the majority of the night's events- an exchange, a confrontation, gunfire and a man fleeing the scene.
"Remember," Joan said, breaking Annie's focus. "She was living with the prime suspect. We have the townhouse on lock, but we need more information than we think she's willing to give us. That's where you and Auggie come in."
Annie licked her lips, shutting the folder. "Joan... Do you really think forcing Auggie to get in on the interrogation is the right move here? He just wants to talk to his niece. It seems like a lot to take in right from the get-go."
"If you're asking if I wish the circumstances were different, the answer is yes. But you can't change them and neither can I. The best thing we can all do right now, is our jobs. The rest will work itself out." She reached out and touched Annie's arm in a reassuring gesture. "Good luck."
Annie nodded and pushed through the door. Auggie stood a breath away from the glass, every muscle rigid and alert.
"You seem calmer," Annie said. He didn't, but she was banking on the power of suggestion.
"What were you talking about out there?"
"I thought you had supersonic hearing," Annie tried to be teasing, her usual self. It didn't feel right.
"I'm in a soundproof room," he said flatly.
"Just running through the case file."
"She's in there?"
"Right on the other side of the glass."
"Describe the scene to me, please."
Annie was surprised. This wasn't something he usually requested in real life. When she was on a mission, sure, but questions like this he either saved for later or deduced himself. She guessed he probably knew what was on the other side of that glass, but he wanted to hear it out loud. She didn't blame him.
"Well, she's... at the table. Cuffed." Annie decided to leave out the fact that she was handcuffed *to* the table. "Her shoulder is bandaged up."
"The bandage is visible?"
"She's just in a tank top," Annie explained. "I'm guessing the rest of her clothes had blood on them."
He nodded, shivered slightly, jaw clenched. "But she's all right?"
"Yes. She's all right. Let me warm her up for you."
Annie gave him a pat on the back, squared her shoulders and sucked in her gut. It was the Army Brat in her. New situations demanded heightened defense.
The interrogation room echoed more than usual.
Annie hated this room. She'd been handcuffed to this desk. She'd also been shot in the shoulder. Look at that, three things she and the young Ms. Anderson had in common.
"About time someone showed up," the girl sneered. She had traces of Auggie: the same brown hair, cut in an angular pixie; the same big eyes, though Lucy's were blue. A more feminine version of his jaw and cheekbones. A dash of freckles and thick eyebrows. She was a lovely girl, really. Until she opened her mouth.
"I'm Annie Walker," Annie extended her hand, but the girl wasn't taking it. "You must be Lucille."
"My friends call me Lucy," the girl said, turning those big eyes on Annie. "You can call me Lucille."
Well damn, Annie thought. She was seeing the real family resemblance.
"Lucille, could you tell me a little bit about last night?"
"You're the CIA, aren't you, Barbie? You tell me."
"Lucy, if you don't help me, I really can't help you."
Lucy shifted in her chair. "What's there to say? I went out to dinner with my boyfriend, and someone shot me. You've never been shot while out with your boyfriend before, Annie Walker?"
This girl was just being a smartass, but Annie felt herself recoil. Her hand flew to the scar along her chest, a move she tried to cover by adjusting her top button.
"Excuse me a moment."
...
Annie blew back in, in a puff of Jo Malone Grapefruit.
"Daddy, baby wants you," she snarled.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Auggie had heard that whole exchange. He could practically hear Annie trembling. He could only imagine what this girl- this unusually cold and vicious version of Lucy- was going to do next. Besides, his presence was meant to be a last resort.
Annie cleared her throat and regained her composure. "She'll be glad to see a familiar face. And I need a new strategy."
Auggie hadn't been in that room since Liza Hearn. He entered slowly, carefully. He ran a hand along the back of the cold metal chair and took a seat. He'd been right. It was fucking frigid in this room. Everything was metal. What sadistic little shit designed a room like this?
Lucy sucked in a sharp breath. "Uncle Auggie."
He kept her at his seven o'clock- this would be easier if no one had to directly look at anyone else, if only on principle.
"Hey, Lucy." She smelled like sweat and metal and disinfectant and a little like Marc Jacobs Daisy. He wondered, if he could still see, if he'd be able pick her out of a lineup. He knew her voice, but that was where the familiarity stopped. He didn't even recognize her smell anymore.
"Who called you?"
"No one called me," he said wearily. "Are you all right?"
"What are you doing here?"
He could hear the panic rising in her voice. He also heard the sound of her cuffs scraping the metal bar across the table. Dammit, why did Annie think it'd be a good idea to leave that out? It was standard procedure. He was a big boy, he could handle it.
Auggie sighed. "Honestly?"
"I'm handcuffed to a desk with a bullet wound at CIA headquarters, and you're the first person who walks into the interrogation room. I think it might be sharing time."
"I'm in the CIA."
She was not expecting that. Auggie raked his hands through his hair. Now he was gonna have to read in his whole fucking family.
"You're in the CIA."
"Yeah, now do you want to retrace your steps, tell me how you ended up where you are now?"
"Honestly? No."
"How about you do it anyway."
"I got shot and left for dead while the intended target bailed with the cash, the secrets and the last of my dignity. The CIA caught wind of it, wrapped me up and shipped me to Langley."
"Who shot you?" Auggie hadn't wanted to play hardball. He wanted to talk, like they used to, and catch up. That wasn't happening. It was all facts.
"It was an accident. I got in the way."
"Who was holding the gun? Accident or not, I need to know."
"A guy."
He felt his voice rising. "A guy you were sleeping with?"
"That is absolutely none of your business. What are you, my father?"
"I might as well be and you know it," he blurted. Son of a bitch. That was a thing he meant to think. Never something he meant to say, but it was too late now. "I'm sorry... That was out of line." He wanted only to put the words back where they came from, rewind this whole night.
Silence. At this point he couldn't gauge whether it was defiant or fearful. She was giving him nothing.
He sat back in his chair and tilted his head to the sky in desperation. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer. "I hate this. So much. And I'm so sorry that this is how the reunion is playing out, but I've gotta say, none of this sounds like you. I mean, the relationship, the criminal involvement... What happened to you, Luce?"
"It's been a rough couple years." Her voice was small, more familiar, but something about it was off. "I was majoring in Global Studies, he was my teacher's assistant... One thing led to another..."
"Wait," Auggie froze. "Say that again."
"He was my teacher's assistant," she repeated, clearer this time.
"You're missing a tooth."
Lucy recoiled. "What? No."
He could hear it clearly in the word "assistant." Couldn't place it before, but now it was all he could hear. "I'm blind, not stupid. At least tell me it's not one of the front ones."
"Bottom left."
Ten thousand potential scenarios ran through his mind. It was hard to knock out a bottom tooth when you had an overbite like Lucy's. It wasn't the kind of dental emergency that resulted from a sloppy beer bottle or an errant olive pit; usually those just resulted in chips and breaks, anyway... There was one obvious suspect for the loss of a whole tooth like that. It made his blood boil.
"Lucy, was he hitting you?"
Her voice was weary. "It's just been a rough couple years."
