Author's Note: Okay so I haven't updated this fic in like two years and I honestly don't expect anyone to still be following it. I would have given up after so long. But with the release of the trailers for Fast Six I am pretty much hardcore shipping Dom and Letty right now. I thought about writing a one-shot or something based on the trailers and my hopes for the new film, but I remembered I had this sitting unfinished and I didn't feel right writing something new with it still not done. So I buckled down and in the last month I've finished it. It didn't totally go in the way I planned, but it's DONE! So I'm pretty happy with that. I just really want to get it posted up and marked as complete. It's a big sense of accomplishment for me. Just a reminder this movie goes AU from the start of Fast Four. So Five has no place here. Done rambling.

Chapter 16: I'm Not Running

"When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood's run stale"

Demons – Imagine Dragons

Braga was angry. It took a lot to make him lose his temper, but he had hit that point and surpassed it. Obviously he was surrounded by incompetent fools! First Gisele loses an entire shipment and fails to take care of those responsible, forcing him to make a costly trip to take care of things himself. And to top things off now two of the drivers he'd brought along had stolen a car and taken off in the middle of the night. He wasn't sure why, but it didn't matter. He should have seen it coming. It would not be happening again. He would take care of this and see to it that the whole mess was gone before he left Brazil.

Puffing idly at the cigar clenched between his teeth he watched his men arm themselves in preparation. He intended to take any means necessary to get these people out of his hair. That usually meant bodies. But he was good at getting rid of bodies. And when that was all he had left to deal with it would be a pleasure and a relief.

He dropped the remains of the cigar into the dirt and crushed it beneath his shoe. The sun was just rising over the horizon, staining the early morning sky orange.

"Let's move," he ordered, motioning his men toward the awaiting vehicles before following them, his boots scuffing along the worn dirt path.

He climbed into the back of the sleek black town car and accepted the pistol that Eddie passed voer the front seat. Gisele sat beside Braga, wearing slim black jeans and a red satiny top. He checked the gun's ammo and then let his gaze move over her slowly. He knew why he had given her so much freedom in the past: thinking with the wrong head. He would almost be sorry to see her go.

0000

Letty was already half asleep when Dom crawled into bed beside her. She murmured sleepily and curled into him. One strong arm wrapped around her, callused palm cupped against the curve of her hip. Letty smiled and closed her eyes again. She could smell him, the tang of outdoors, a hint of engine grease and the subtle musky scent of his cologne. She buried her face against the crook of his neck and relaxed against him. For a moment there was no sound but their own breathing in the stillness of the room.

"What do you think is gonna happen?" she asked, breaking the silence.

His hand stroked over her hip lightly and he let out a sigh. "They'll make a move and soon. Either we'll take them out, or they'll take us out. There's no option other than running. I'm tired of doing that."

His voice sounded weary and she sat up to look down at him with sleepy brown eyes, her hair a mass of curls around her face. He reached up to trace her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Letty took his hand in her own, pressing a kiss against the palm.

"We're not running anymore," she said. "And we're not alone."

She leaned down to kiss him and he tangled his hands in her hair, drawing her close so the length of her body was pressed into his.

She was right, and it was much better than trying to handle things alone.

0000

They knew Braga was coming. They would be ready for him. There was something to be said for having a plan.

So in the morning they sat around the kitchen table as Syd stood at the stove. The room smelled of fresh coffee and sausage on the griddle. There was a thick tension in the air, the only sound was the crackling of sausage and the soft scrape of a spatula against the pan.

It was Brian who spoke first, finally breaking the silence. "We do have the option of contacting the local authorities for help," he said. "Braga and his crew are on the FBI's most wanted list."

"Yeah, but in case you forgot," Letty put in with a look. "So are some other people at this table."

"It's a last resort," Dom said. "We can't dismiss the idea, or the help if we need it. I'll just have to be gone by the time the authorities show."

"Can't you cut Dom a deal like you did for me?" Vince asked Brian. "Get him off the list?"

"It wouldn't be that simple," Brian replied. "There's a lot more on Dom's records. The FBI has a lot of suspicions about all that fuel that went missing in DR."

That had Letty and Dom exchanging a glance that Brian pretended not to see.

Vince frowned, then laughed and slapped Dom on the shoulder. "Getting into trouble even without me huh?"

"He can't seem to get away from it," Letty muttered.

"Look," Dom said. "We still have a bargaining chip. We have Braga's stash. And he's a business man. He's gonna want to make sure he can get it back before he does anything else. So there might be a way we can use the cops. We bait a trap for Braga and his goons. They walk right into the situation and are caught dirty."

"You might want to look above the local authorities," Syd put in as she placed the plates of egg and sausage on the table. "They're probably just as dirty. After all, my trucks have been used for these drug shipments for months. I reported it when I never got my supplies and they didn't do a damn thing about it."

"I can call in the feds," Brian said. "But Dom is going to have to stay out of sight in that case."

"I think we should all stay out of sight if we can help it," Leon added. "Aside from the fed and Syd we're not exactly squeaky clean individuals."

"I'm a far cry from squeaky clean, Leon," Brian replied with a raised brow.

"Yeah but you carry the badge so you get a pass, Blondie."

There was brief laughter around the table. With a plan underway some of the tension seeped out of the group. Syd began to serve breakfast, a pile of pancakes joining the food already on the table.

"I do have an idea," she suggested carefully, glancing at Leon.

He tensed slightly, sure he wasn't going to like what she said.

"What is it?" Letty prompted.

"Since it's my trucks they were using it would make sense if I was the one to report them to the authorities. We can use the shipment as bait, get Braga and his goons to the location and Brian and I will be waiting with the feds."

"It seems pretty low-risk," Brian put in.

"Unless Braga decides to get in a shoot-out with the FBI and you two are caught in the middle," Leon replied, obviously uncomfortable with putting his wife into that situation.

"I'll keep her safe," Brian said. "Considering all the options this is probably the safest way to do it."

0000

Braga had a way of dealing with his anger. He liked to channel it into violent acts. Generally there were punishments for those who had dared to move against him, and thus served more than a single purpose.

When a man ran a business it was important to think in economic terms. That was why he and his crew drove up to the medical clinic late in the evening. The lights were still on; a place like this would be open at all hours, but the staff would be smaller than during the daytime.

There were a few cars parked in the lot and the lights were on, but the stretch of road was quiet. His black car pulled into a space, tires crunching rocks and gravel beneath. Two jeeps followed suit and Braga stepped out.

In the working-class neighborhood he looked startingly out of place with the shiny Italian leather shoes and the black designer suit. But Braga was more than comfortable in his own skin, two muscled bodyguards flanking him as he approached the clinic's front door.

An elderly woman and a young dark-haired girl said in the waiting room. They looked up, the old woman clutching the girl close protectively. Braga tilted his head towards the door and the woman whispered to the child, grabbing her hand and fleeing out the door behind him. Let it never be said that he was heartless.

The receptionist behind the desk said nothing as a half-dozen armed men filed into the room behind Braga, but he saw her slowly reaching for the phone on her desk.

"Ah, ah," he tsked, approached her leisurely. "Don't try anything smart, darling. You'll be dead before you can dial a single number."

Her hand stilled and the woman swallowed, her dark eyes fixed upon him.