I've stopped trying to convince myself that this is even a proper story anymore. Even parodies have a basis in reality. This just has a whole lot of hysteria, Ian and a long-overdue blanket ban on munitions. This is quite possibly the last chapter and then there will be an epilogue. Again dedicated to J who seems to be my personal cure for the dreaded block. All it takes is an email of the first 800 words to her and you guys get a chapter that actually has direction. Miracles, I say, miracles!
PART IV
i.
No one is really sure how long it's been since the hunt for Trent Jacobs started. The days and nights have begun blurring into each other.
This is especially true for Ana, Liz and Nikki. They may or may not have slept in a good thirty hours and there is a truly impressive dent in the liquor supplies. Colby joins them after a particularly hysterical phone call at four in the morning and, unfortunately, doesn't do much to settle the situation.
"I bet that thing in Springfield was another one of their coverups!" Nikki says vehemently, sometime that afternoon, pointing at the television rather violently. The appliance isn't even on and none of them actually remember hearing about the incident in Springfield but they all vaguely know what happened. "They're just going to keep blowing things up!"
Liz slams her glass down on the coffee table. "I am so disillusioned right now!"
Ana is curled in a chair with wide eyes and an absurdly large glass of wine. "I used to think the government was so good to us," she says and it sounds like a terrible stage-whisper. "Is it really worth protecting the public from what they say is bad when they're killing our friends for having too many morals and being too attractive?"
"They're probably just going to keep blowing things up until they get Jacobs and then tell us that Don and Billy died bringing him in and think that we won't know any different," Colby says helpfully, sipping from a tumbler of whiskey. He looks around, eyes narrowing. "Are you sure you guys swept for bugs?"
It goes even further downhill from there.
ii.
"Bart?"
"Yes, Alison?"
"I have Philip Wright from LA on the phone out here. Should I put him through?"
"No, I don't want to talk to him. Tell him I'm unavailable."
"He wants to know how Billy and Don are doing."
"Well, I'd like to know what they're doing but we can't always get what we want, can we?"
"I'll tell him you're on a call with the Minister of Defence."
"Thank you, Alison."
"I'll also get some more whiskey."
"That would be very nice."
iii.
Don lets his forehead fall onto the dashboard.
"I actually have no idea what we're even doing anymore."
Billy pats his back consolingly.
"For what it's worth, neither do I."
He groans.
"That shouldn't be reassuring, Coop."
iv.
Trent Jacobs is beginning to wonder why every pair of agents the FBI keep sending after him are so destructively incompetent. Things keep blowing up and sure, it's fun, but it is making it really difficult to stay under the radar.
He's also really tired of changing disguises.
"Oi, Jacobs!"
"What?"
"We're orderin' pizza. Meatlovers good with you?"
"Extra pepperoni?"
"Sure man, only way to have it."
"And no olives."
v.
Bart calls Ian Edgerton because he's pretty sure leaving Billy and Don to their own devices is a really stupid decision and he's rather tired of making those.
"Edgerton."
He breathes a sigh of relief. The legendary sniper will save this situation, he's sure of it. "Hi, Bart from Fugitive Recovery here. Are you on assignment at the moment?"
"Finished up this morning, I'm in Topeka right now. You need something?" Ian sounds amused.
"Yes, actually. We sent Cooper and Eppes out after Trent Jacobs over two weeks ago and all that's been achieved is having to fake their deaths, a couple localised arsons, a shot up strip joint and some blown up cars." It somehow sounds better and worse all at once when put like that.
Bart can hear the muffled chuckle. "Sounds just like old times. I'll get in touch with them and we'll see what we can do."
"You'll have to call Cooper, Eppes is incommunicado. When you have Jacobs in custody I want you to shoot the both of them. Somewhere non-fatal preferably but I'm actually not that fussed. If they're dead it means that's one less mess to clean up and an overall safer world."
The chuckle turns into full-blown laughter. "Just like old times. Catch you later, Bart."
vi.
Don slumps with relief when Billy gets off the phone with Ian.
"Oh thank God. This might actually be over soon."
"He's meeting us in Lincoln," Billy says, pulling back onto the road. "Reckon he'll let me have a go with his rifle?"
"Probably not," Don says after a moment's thought. "He's gotten worse at sharing with age."
Billy looks disappointed. "They give him way cooler stuff than we get."
"It is pretty unfair but I really don't care so long as I get to punch Jacobs in the face before Ian puts a bullet in his knee."
"I like you better when you're like this," Billy says with a satisfied grin. "I was worried that paper-pushing sucked all the maverick out of you."
"Nah," Don says, craning his head to see the next street sign. "I just had to get better at playing by the rules when people were watching." He grins back. "Luckily Jacobs was the one that burned the rulebook here so really, we can't be blamed for anything."
"Bart's still going to yell at us," Billy reminds him as he takes the corner about ten miles faster than recommended. "But you're right, we're just making the best of a bad situation."
vii.
"Colby called me this morning and said he was sick," David says when Tommy raises his eyebrows at the strangely quiet bullpen. "And I haven't even heard from the girls."
"That kind of fills me with dread, actually," Tommy says after a moment. "I have these mental images of a ridiculous kind of wasteland that's been levelled by some sort of nuclear fallout and they're sitting there having a tea party like the one from that remake of Alice in Wonderland."
David furrows his brow. "With or without the talking woodland creatures?"
Tommy gets up without answering and walks straight towards the elevator.
"Note to self," he mutters as he presses the button. David has already turned back to his desk, completely unfazed. "Make appointment with Dr. Bradford at his earliest convenience. Preferably right now."
viii.
"Hey, Mikey! How're your friends down at the FBI doing?"
"Andy, hey. They're still pretty cut up. They've taken a few days off now they don't have any cases. Told them they should have done it right after it happened but they're pretty dedicated to their work and probably wanted to do the guy proud, you know?"
"Yeah man, can only imagine. Reckon the hot ones will be open to a little comfort, if you know what I mean?"
"Dude, have a little respect. Gotta wait at least a couple months before you make a move on grieving chicks."
"Guess you're right. Somehow the fact that they're in the FBI makes them even hotter though. Knowing that a girl can kick your ass shouldn't be so attractive."
"Tell me about it."
ix.
Ian is waiting in a diner in Lincoln when Billy and Don arrive. He already has three coffees and breakfast waiting on the table when they walk in and Don fights the completely irrational urge to hug the man.
He'd probably get shot if he tried, he rationalises, and instead offers a sharp nod. Billy has no such qualms, reaching over and patting Ian's shoulder with a wide grin.
"Edge, man, so good to see you!"
Strangely, Ian just smiles back and doesn't shoot Billy in the face. "Cooper, Eppes. How're things going?"
"Badly," Don says at the same time as Billy says "Really well, we're keeping track of him better than we thought!"
Ian chuckles. "We'll have him in by sunrise or I think Bart might actually have you two assassinated."
"He shouldn't be angry about anything that's happened," Billy says, settling himself in front of a plate. "This was all his idea. We're just doing what he asked."
"His stupid idea," Don agrees around a mouthful of toast. He swallows it and takes a sip of coffee. "Honestly, Jacobs is some kind of idiot savant. Worse than Charlie by a long shot. It's like the second we actually put a plan into action it doesn't actually matter how idiotproof it might be it just falls apart. I don't like it."
"Me either," Billy says. "Usually I'm really good at this."
"Everyone has their off days," Ian says with a shrug. "Except me, I mean, but you're only human."
x.
"I wish Megan was here," Ana says tearfully.
Colby can hear them from the kitchen where he is attempting to make something edible for a late lunch but he's more than a little drunk as well so it might not be going as well as he'd hoped when he offered. He really doesn't know what they're going to do without Don and the thought is sobering. He takes a long drink from the wine bottle in his hand.
"She had the right idea," Liz says viciously. She's been vacillating wildly between fury and sobbing. It's become rather alarming. "Made the smart move and got out while she still could. They've proven how dispensable we are. Give them the best years of our lives and then we don't matter? Hah, we're pawns."
"This never would have happened with LAPD," Nikki mutters. "They're a proper family, not this backstabbing and quietly murdering and lying bullshit. I should go back. Screw politics, I don't want it enough to end up dead."
"You can't leave," Ana says frantically, tears escalating into panic. "What if that's their plan? Drive a wedge between all of us and then hope we just forget about it and move on with our lives? We can't let them win!"
Colby dumps the whole bottle of wine into the concoction slowly bubbling on the stove, abandoning any attempt at figuring out what he's making, and sticks his head around the doorframe. Someone has to take charge here or they're going to descend into anarchy.
Don wouldn't let this stand and Colby won't either.
"Guys, for God's sake, you've got to pull yourselves together. Come and get some…" he glances at the stove, "some of whatever this is to eat and then we're figuring this out. Ana, we're going to need some big sheets of paper and whatever markers you have. Nikki, get the vodka. Liz, call Megan and put her on loudspeaker while we eat. We're going to need all the help we can get and a phone call between you two will be the least suspicious."
xi.
Megan is grading undergraduate papers when her phone rings.
Liz's name is flashing on her screen and she frowns. There is a funny feeling in her stomach that makes her a little hesitant to answer the call but she knows that she really should, especially considering the fact that she hasn't heard anything about how the hunt for Trent Jacobs is going in rather a long time.
She still thinks that the conversation she'd had with David was possibly the weirdest five minutes of her life and that is saying a lot. She shakes her head and answers it.
"Hey, Liz, how are things?"
"Megan, we need your help." That's definitely not Liz's voice and it sounds strangely echoing. Almost like she's on speakerphone.
"Colby? Why are you-" she stops halfway through her sentence. "Never mind. What's wrong?"
"The brass killed Billy and Don and they don't think we know but we do." That is definitely Ana's voice. "Granger, this is delicious. What is it?"
Megan blinks.
"Holy shit, she's right." She has no idea who that is but she's guessing it's the new junior.
"I don't know what it is," Colby sounds surprised. "It is good though, isn't it? Anyway, Megan, we need you to help us figure out how we bring down a conspiracy. You can do that with psychology, right?"
The only voice she hasn't heard yet is Liz's. "Liz?" she asks. "Liz, what the hell are they on about?"
The sniffle sounds oddly muffled even taking the loudspeaker and the fact that they're obviously eating into consideration. "They blew Don up." Megan blinks again. Liz is crying. She didn't think the other woman had tear ducts. "They blew him up, Megan, then they lied to us and-and-" That hiccup was definitely at least half sob. "Now we're almost out of vodka."
xii.
"This plan seems just as likely to go wrong as the one's we've already tried," Don says suspiciously. "I mean, granted, it doesn't involve any explosives so it's probably safer but it sounds just as complicated as anything we came up with."
"The difference is you two aren't the only ones trying to carry it out," Ian points out, very sensibly, and continues to clean his rifle. "I'll be supervising and there to shoot him when he tries to escape."
"The man has a point," Billy agrees. He faces Ian, face deadly serious, and narrows his eyes. "Can you make sure you don't kill him though? Don wants to punch him and I want to draw on him with permanent marker." He scowls. "I'll give the bastard something to laugh at. They'll eat him alive in prison after what I've got planned."
Ian shrugs slightly. "Sure. I'll get him in the knee? Make it harder for him to fight back. Will that do?"
Billy nods in agreement. "Sure, that sounds perfect."
Don wonders wistfully whether he's going to wake up soon and find out that he was just knocked unconscious or shot on a raid or something and this whole thing has been happening in his imagination.
xiii.
Philip Wright is furious.
Fugitive Recovery is refusing to take his calls, he hasn't heard from Don Eppes in a stupidly long time, the media is running nuts with the story and the two agents in charge of Violent Crimes have gone from very convincing fake grief to very badly disguised suspicion. He doesn't even know where the other four are.
Not to mention the kid that's been delivering Starbucks out there and no one has even bothered to ask his order.
He's human and missing drinkable coffee too, dammit.
xv.
Later that afternoon they're settling into their places for hopefully the last attempt at taking Trent Jacobs into custody. Billy is practically vibrating with excitement, Ian has the usual zen sniper calm going on and Don has decided that worrying about how it's going to go is completely pointless.
For the first time in his life he is actually kind of resigned to the fact that there is nothing about this situation that he can control.
It's kind of freeing, really.
xvi.
Bart is torn between not wanting to leave the office because who knows what is going to air on the news while he's driving and being tired of the same four walls. He doesn't think he's ever spent as much time holed up in there as he has in the last however many weeks it has been now. He doesn't know, doesn't care and thinks that he may be suffering from some kind of psychotic break.
xvii.
Trent Jacobs and his goons are happily sitting in the dining room of a restaurant when everything goes to hell.
The doors all slam closed with an inordinately loud bang and they realise that the only other people in the room are two waiters who look oddly familiar.
It's the red hair that sparks the connection in Trent's memory and his eyes narrow as he recognises the dark haired man too.
"You." He is immediately confused. "Wait just a bloody second. You both died in a fire."
Both men grin and it is a surprisingly chilling sight. Trent palms his pistol and notes with satisfaction that his goons do the same.
"Yes," the two say at the same time. "Us."
The red headed man's grin turns distinctly feral. "Do we look dead to you?"
"Going to come quietly?" the dark haired one asks pleasantly. It is at odds with the hatred practically oozing from him.
Trent fires a round at them and they dive to opposite sides.
"Of course you aren't," the man says loudly over the echo of the shot. "Wishful thinking."
The window explodes in a cascade of shattered glass and the goon closest to Trent falls off his chair, shrieking and clutching at his shoulder.
It doesn't even take five seconds for things to erupt into chaos.
xviii.
Ian watches things progress from his scope. The odd chuckle escapes him and it only takes thirty seconds for him to line up his next shot and take another one down.
He can hear Billy and Don swearing under their breath through the mics but he refuses to be rushed.
"You're lucky you're on our side or I would punch you too," Don grunts into his earpiece. "I know exactly where you are and there have to have been at least four shots you could have taken."
"And deprive you of your fun?" Ian quips, smoothly firing again. Another goon goes down. Two and Jacobs left.
He contemplates whether Bart really was serious about shooting the pair of agents and blinks.
"Dammit Edgerton!" Billy yelps. It sounds hilariously shrill and Ian chuckles.
"Patience, Cooper. Do your job."
xix.
Don thinks that there is glass in his underwear. He also has a newfound hatred for the clothes that waiters have to wear and the restrictiveness of Kevlar.
It takes an inordinately long time for the last man to go down but eventually it is just them, their collar and a whole lot of either unconscious or quietly groaning and sobbing men. Abandoned guns are scattered around and the restaurant is absolutely demolished. They might have to apologise for that.
Trent is looking between them with wary eyes and a slight panic. This seems to have gone more in their favour than his and the role reversal must be unfamiliar and more than a little surprising.
"Edge," Billy mutters. "Now."
The shot just skims the man's shoulder as he flings himself out of the way and Don goes sailing over the table.
Trent fires, Don yells something indecipherable, punches him in the face in midair and then realises that he's been shot when his landing is somewhat ruined by the fact that his left leg gives way from under him.
Billy shouts in alarm and Ian's voice comes through both of their ear pieces, sounding slightly panicked which is a big deal for him. "That wasn't me!"
"No shit," Don hisses, punching Trent again for good measure as his leg throbs. He fumbles for his cuffs as Billy gingerly picks his way towards him across the mess they've made of the dining room. "Goddammit, Coop, can you cuff him? It's a flesh wound but it hurts like a bitch. You have the right to remain silent because you bet we're going to use anything you say against you in court."
"Not that you need to go to court again," Billy supplies helpfully, crouching down and locking his cuffs around the man's wrists. "You're pretty much screwed. You are kind of entitled to a lawyer but it won't really be necessary. If you don't have one we might provide one for you but I wouldn't count on it. Got it?"
Unfortunately for them, Jacobs is more unconscious than not.
Don hauls himself up using the table as Ian swings open a door, surveying the mess with an approving eye.
"Good job, boys, if I do say so myself."
Billy sits happily on their unconscious collar for a moment, surveying the room as well. Three of the five goons are out cold and the other two are watching them with terror in their eyes. Getting up and moving towards his partner, he unhooks Don's cuffs from the other man's belt, catches the set that Ian tosses him and slaps them on the two men.
"We'll just pretend we said that to you as well, guys, because you lot are going to court."
Don leans against the table and sighs. "Any chance we can get out of here before the media circus arrives?"
"Too late," Ian says cheerfully. "There's a bunch of vans here already and the local PD are just waiting for the all clear."
"Coop, put your jacket over my head and pretend I'm a criminal," Don says pleadingly after a moment of silence when they realise they can hear the uproar going on just outside. "Just take it easy on my leg."
Did anyone really expect Don to get out of it unscathed? If Jacobs didn't shoot him then Ian was undoubtedly going to. I make no promises about the epilogue but I am managing my workload and uni slightly better than anticipated so it may be sooner rather than later.