Author's Chapter Notes:
Unbeta'd as usual. Coarse language and vague sexual content.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their various owners. All others belong to me.
Oh god, oh god, oh god… The words spiraled in her mind, swinging closer and closer, she felt the world tightening as a spring might, winding faster and faster around her. She jabbed the elevator button, hit it again and again.
"Come on, come on, come on," she muttered, staring out the glass doors into the parking lot beyond. After what seemed an eternity, the elevator finally chimed, and the doors slid open, much too slowly. She darted inside, jabbed the button for the tenth floor, then the button to close the doors. Only when they finally slid closed did she relax enough to take a breath. Adrenaline hummed through her veins, she could feel each pulse of it in her throat, her ears were roaring with the rush of it, hands trembling with suppressed energy. The elevator suddenly felt like a prison cell, and she hit the hallway running when the doors again slid open, and ran headlong into a camouflaged chest, hands settled tight around her shoulders. She screamed, lashed out with her only weapon, the briefcase. A metal corner caught a shaved temple, and her attacker stumbled backwards.
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazy broad!?"
Oh god, she thought, I'm paranoid, I am going crazy.
She tripped away from the unfortunate Staff Sergeant she had just assaulted (he lived five doors down this hallway) and ran as though her life depended on it. Her hands fumbled with the key, tears of frustration building in her eyes as she struggled with it.
"Come on!" she nearly screamed, finally found the lock and slid the key home, twisting it so hard she nearly broke the flimsy copy. She dashed inside, slamming the door shut behind her. Her ankles gave way as she tried to continue running on the carpeted surface; she kicked off the shoes, darted into the kitchen and tossed them into the wastebasket, exited, and headed for her bedroom.
She grabbed for the phone, nearly knocking it off the bedside table in the process, desperately punching in the number she knew by heart. It rang once, three times, finally an answer.
"Isley Nurseries, how can I help you?"
"I need to speak to Pam," she blurted hurriedly. The voice on the other end faltered.
"She's…. in a meeting with a customer. Is there something wrong?"
"Yes, yes! It's an emergency! Tell her that Harley called, I need her here right now, RIGHT NOW!" she screamed into the phone, slammed it home and raced across the room.
Thank god I saved this box, she thought, each breath tearing its way out of her lungs as she pulled it from the bottom of her closet, darted back and grabbed the ottoman, opening and emptying the top-shelf safe of its precious contents.
"They can't get their hands on this, it's what they're coming for, I know it is," she whispered, stacking the albums carefully inside, throwing the Captain's file on top of that, interlacing the flaps again. She kicked the ottoman out of the way: it skidded across the floor and landed with a solid thunk against the far wall, but she never saw, only heard, already digging through her closet and pulling out her old woodland BDU's, still with the Sergeant triple-bar on the arm. They were looking for a Lieutenant, a blonde Lieutenant. She tugged the uniform on quickly, pulled on a pair of socks, tightened the legs and tucked them into her combat boots. The green undershirt she jerked over her head, tucked in, pulled the jacket on atop that; she buttoned it shut, pulled her hair up into a knot, and jammed it beneath her service cap.
She snatched the box, carefully hooked it beneath one arm, grabbed her house keys and raced down the hall to the living room. She spent fifteen desperate, terrified minutes pacing the room, the box on her coffee table, but the familiar sound of the boots upon her feet did not comfort her as it usually did.
"Come on, Pammy, come on." Another interminable minute ticked past on the living room wall, and finally there was a heavy-handed knock at the door. She stiffened, heart again pounding in her ears. She inched closer, almost afraid to see what lay beyond it, carefully peered through the peephole.
"Goddammit, Harleen, open up!" Another pounding knock. She sounded as terrified as Harley felt.
"Oh, thank god, Pam," she said, opening the door and rushing forward, grasping desperately at her friend.
"What in the hell is wrong with you? Christina said you sounded hysterical." Her red hair looked garish and bright against her skin, drained bloodless in her panic.
"We've gotta go, Pam, they're after me. They're sending fucking MP's to search my apartment, we've got to leave now, there's no time for questions!"
"Wha—"
"No time!" Harley screamed, grabbed the box and then the redhead soon after, slamming her door shut and dragging her down the hallway. Pam went along almost unwillingly, before her feet picked up the pace and together they ran for the elevator.
The doors were sliding open as they rounded the corner. Harley saw one flash of Army greens and skidded to a stop, making a desperate scramble back where she had come from. Pamela barely hid the squeak of her shoes as she was jerked in the other direction. Harley barreled down a hallway that ran perpendicular to her own, Pam barely keeping up.
"Oh, god I'm out of shape," the redhead gasped as Harley slammed through the stairwell door, feet a blur as she made her way down. Ten flights took less time to go down than they did to climb, Harley thought, and made the lobby in little time.
"They're not looking for you," Harley whispered, throwing her head toward the door. Pam gulped and nodded, tried to calm her breathing as she exited casually, then immediately darted her head back inside.
"Front door's clear, come on."
As she stepped over the threshold, she clung desperately to the box. Jake was still behind the front desk, he made a desperate slashing motion across his throat, Harley's eyes widened as she saw another patch of green to the right of the front door. Jake ducked behind the desk, reappeared a moment later with a Fed-Ex box. He tossed it into Pam's chest, and she barely managed to catch and hang onto it as the breath came out of her in a great rush as the solid weight contacted with her sternum.
"Leaving us already, Sergeant? I tell you, moving companies must make fortunes off you people." He looked remarkably cool as he exited his booth. "Here, ladies, let me help you with the door."
"Thank you," Pam said brightly, having already caught on. Jake stepped conveniently between Harleen and the Major, gold leaves bright on his epaulets, that stood less than five feet away. He blocked her petite form from the man's line of sight with his own larger one. Harley was painfully conscious of the flash of the Beretta on his hip as she passed him by.
She was going to hyperventilate.
She gave the desk man a grateful nod, barely able to slow her feet to a walk as she made her way past the door and to the small white pickup truck Pam had driven from the Nursery. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the pavement glistening beneath the lamps.
"What am I gonna do with this box?" Pam asked from the side of her mouth.
"Just take it, we'll worry about it later," Harley hissed back. They lifted both boxes into the bed of the truck, and climbed into the cab calmly. There were three Humvees in the parking lot, Harley could see clearly beneath the streetlights, one occupied. Neither of the officers inside paid attention as the women passed them by. No doubt they were confident they had their quarry surrounded. Two in the elevator, two in the vehicle, one at the front door, one at the back, likely.
Six officers, six officers, Jesus Christ!
"You really fucked up this time, Harley," Pam whispered as she turned the key in the ignition and carefully pulled out, driving the appropriate fifteen miles an hour out of the parking lot. Her thigh was trembling. As soon as they rounded the corner of the building, she floored it, tires squealing for a moment before they caught the damp pavement after the sudden acceleration, the Toyota jumping forward and hitting sixty in little time. She blew through the red light, slammed on the brakes, took the corner of Fifth Street going thirty. They fishtailed briefly, Harley's heart caught in her throat as she felt the left side of the truck lift off the pavement before settling back onto it, tires squealing again as Pamela jerked it back onto course. She cut off a brown Suburban onto the exit ramp: he laid on his horn, and Harley could see him screaming from her position kneeling upon the seat, fingernails digging into the upholstery as she stared out the back window.
"Are they following us?" Pam gasped, looking every few seconds into her rear view.
"I don't see them, I don't see them," Harley whispered. It was only after they screeched through the cloverleaf back onto 556, leaving sight of Fifth Street that she finally turned around. Her body felt heavy and exhausted, trembling after the adrenaline rush, and she sank into the seat like a rock.
"Put your seatbelt on," Pam muttered, and they both sat in a pale, frightened silence.
Remembering this moment later, she will find herself incapable of recalling exactly who started laughing first, her or Pamela, and perhaps it didn't matter. Only that the silence was now replaced with peals of laughter, waves and waves of it, until her cheeks hurt from smiling and her eyes filled with tears and her stomach was aching, cramping: she curled into a ball in the seat and laughed harder. They grabbed for each other's hand simultaneously, clinging together desperately, and she laughed until she felt dizzy with it, the tears pouring down her cheeks, Pamela's fingers tight around her own.
"Oh, Jesus, Harley… we're fleeing the police, do you realize that? Oh my god, oh my god! I lost the fucking police!" The redhead was gasping, cheeks damp and flushed, and Harley wrapped herself around her arm and squeezed, and Pam patted her on the knee before she inched back over and buckled herself in. She pressed a hand to her chest, and leaned back with a thud upon the seat, closing her eyes.
"I think I'm gonna have a heart attack, Red."
"Yeah… me too. But you know, Harl… I think it's tacky when couples match," Pam deadpanned.
Harley dissolved into hysterics.
~~
With Pamela driving seventy-five miles an hour on the freeway, it took twenty minutes to reach the suburbs of the city and her nondescript one story ranch house. It was small, Harley knew, because the rest of the lot was dominated by Pam's private greenhouse. Though her nursery dealt mainly in mainstream plants with a few expensive exceptions, Pamela cultivated the rarest for her eyes only. She jealously guarded her plants, and Harley might have even ventured to say that she was obsessed with them, if she'd had any room at all to talk about such a thing (she didn't).
She pulled into the driveway, slowing and coming to a halt, placed the truck in park and let her forehead fall forward onto the steering wheel with a thud.
"I think my life just got shorter by a few years…"
"I don't think I can walk," Harley warbled, and dragged herself out of the cab, slogging her way to the rear of the truck as if through mud she felt so tired, lifting the box again into her arms. Pam followed her a few moments later, trudging behind her up the three steps onto the small front porch. The redhead rubbed at her face with one hand, the other flipping through her ring of keys before she found the appropriate one and slid it into the lock. A hand dragged back through her hair, she pushed the door open, and held the screen door out of the way to allow Harley to enter with her burden. She set the box heavily upon the couch as the house opened into the living room, and sank into a heap next to it. Pam closed and latched the screen door. Out of the corner of her eye, Harley saw the woman glance up and down the street before shutting, locking, and deadbolting the front door.
"You know… I didn't even stop and pack clothes for tomorrow… I can't go to work in these," she said, spreading her arms and staring down at herself.
"I'm sure I've got something you can fit into…" Pam threw herself down onto the opposite end of the couch. "You're not going back there to get your clothes, surely?"
"Of course not, but aren't they going to be kind of tight?"
"Yeah, cause you always dressed like Mother Theresa before this…"
"Oh, shut up," Harley muttered.
She lay back and closed her eyes.
~~
Wednesday dawned brighter than the day before, the horizon lacking the scarlet of the storm that had stained the previous morning's sky, now clear and bright and blue. It seemed as though the smog that usually hovered over the city had followed the storm away in the night. Harley stirred and slowly sat up, blinking into the bright shaft of light that filtered through the sheer curtains on the east window. She'd slept fitfully, in a state of near-constant paranoia, jumping at every noise, ears tuned for the sound of a diesel engine or the close of a door.
She rubbed her eyes with her fists, yawned widely, and stumbled into the adjoining bathroom to take a quick, hot shower. She tied the towel tightly around her, and returned to the guest bedroom to make the bed. From there, it was to Pam's room. The redhead in question Harley could see sitting on a chair on the back patio, soaking up the morning sun like a flower, a steaming mug of tea beside her on the wrought iron table. Harley smiled fondly and wandered to the closet, riffling through the clothes. She decided on a black pencil skirt and a plain white button-up. She pulled her hair into the chignon with the ease of much practice, and stole several of Pam's much-unused bobby pins to secure it in place. There were a pair of thin black pumps that caught her eye, and as she slipped the second on, she heard the sliding door move in its track.
"Have I ever mentioned how much I love the fact we wear the same size shoe?"
"If you try to steal my stilettos, I swear to God I'll stab you to death with them."
Harley pouted. "Okay, okay, so I'll give 'em back." She rolled her eyes theatrically and Pam landed a solid smack to the side of her head as she passed. "Owww…" She whined, rubbing her throbbing left ear, and trailed after the redhead.
They ate quickly, something called muesli that was actually quite good Harley discovered, and Pam retreated to her room to get dressed. She emerged a few minutes later, tossing Harley the keys to the Isley Nursery truck she had driven the night before.
"Might as well drop me off, and take that. Bus doesn't come out this far.
"Thanks, Red," Harley smiled gratefully.
Commuter traffic was moving smoothly on the interstate, she found. She dropped off Pam and made it to the hospital with time to spare. She parked in the farthest space in the farthest lot, conscious of the fact she was still driving… jees… the 'getaway vehicle'.
God, I'm already running from the MP's and I haven't done anything yet. Doesn't matter now, though. There was nothing in my apartment to find. That will have been a dead end for them... The albums are in Pam's attic, the copies are with Captain Knauer, they're safe. If they're looking for me, though, they'll find me today, because they'll know where to find me.
Her heart beat, fast and light like a bird, she thought, high in her throat and she tried desperately to swallow it down, to keep herself calm as she drew nearer to the building. Whatever was going to happen, it would happen today. She could only hope that she would be ready for it when it did.
There were no bells and whistles when she hit the door, no one even looked her way, just went about their business, conscious of her presence only enough to avoid running into her in the hallways. She relaxed a little as she followed the familiar route to her office. That, too, proved to be safe. Nothing looked disturbed, and it was empty when she arrived and sat behind her desk at 7:45. At 7:59, she was deeply perturbed to realize she'd spent the last few minutes fussing with her hair and smoothing out her skirt. She stuffed her hands beneath her legs just before the door opened. The effort proved largely futile, because a second later she was unable to prevent her flight from the chair as he shut the door, straight into his waiting arms. He lifted her easily, she felt light as a child in his embrace: she wrapped her arms around his neck, legs around his waist and kissed his cheek gently, her own coloring slightly.
"They're here, aren't they?" he whispered, and she nodded quickly, gulping.
"I haven't told him anything," she whispered back, and his expression said he found the statement superfluous.
"I know you haven't. I'd have torn your tongue out already." The color drained from her face just as quickly as it had risen, and he gave a motherly cluck of his tongue, hands squeezing at her bottom, and the next rush of heat she felt was not to her face. She swallowed again, trying to clear the sudden haze of arousal from her mind, trying to resist the urge to press herself more fully against him.
"What are we going to do, Jack? Why are they after you? Why do they want the albums? What is it that's written on the pictures? Why did you give it to m-" She was cut off when he smashed his mouth to hers, and he kissed her until bright lights sparkled behind her lids. She stared at him when he released her, breathless, every nerve in her body singing for him, and he sank smoothly into his chair, placing her on his lap and looking her over in a way that spoke of pride, possession, and satisfaction. She shivered to be here again, so close to him, and he drew her tight against his chest, tugging her head down to his shoulder; she shuddered as his lips brushed the shell of her ear.
"Listen closely, little girl…" he whispered, rocking her gently, "Daddy's going to tell you a story."