It took two hours to get from Georgia to New York. John dozed most of the way there, pulling his jacket closer to him to keep from the chill. The other five had settled down themselves— Angela was looking at some files; Jennifer had curled into two chairs and what looked like all of the blankets on the plane and fallen asleep; Tony and Mary occasionally turned to each other to say something. The only constant was the rumble of the engines and the drum seeping out of Craig's oversized headphones. Every once and a while, he'd try and sing— but the silence was even too strong for Craig, and eventually he'd falter back into quiet.
It was nice.
The drive to the hotel was nice— a large van and chauffeur— and the hotel itself was nice. Free mints. Large towels. An upgrade, no doubt, from his Atlanta residence— no one spoke as they received their keycards and carried their bags up to their rooms and shut their doors.
John thought that, maybe that would be the entirety of the night. He wasn't entirely sure how to mix himself into the group now that they saw him as more than a nuisance, but he wasn't entirely worried about it. Breaking people's expectations of him was sort of something he was used to by now.
He would kind of prefer a quiet night in, however. It had been a long day.
First time in a while that he'd shot someone— fatally, at that. He didn't even have to think about it— he was pointing going to shoot them. He didn't feel guilty. He probably wouldn't sleep as soundly as the night he ended that serial killer, but he didn't feel remorse for ending his life.
Kill or be killed, he always said.
Instead of sleep right away, he took off his shoes, settled onto his bed, and started flipping through television channels. He should have known better than to start getting comfortable.
It was Angela who came first; she burst in without ceremony, standing in front of the television.
"Who are you? Really, who the hell are you?"
"Oh, Angela. By all means, come in."
"Don't pull that shit. Who the hell are you? Why are you here? Why did they pull us out?"
He frowned.
"I don't know why they pulled us out. Maybe you should talk to your sister about that."
She narrowed her eyes— she was much better at it, her expression far more effective than his. He'd treaded on hallowed ground.
"Is that a threat, Will?"
He laughed. The last thing he wanted to do was threaten Mycroft's favourite assistant and her murderous sister.
"Oh, god no. God no. Just figuring out where we both stand."
"Well, you're not putting yourself in a very good position. You haven't been in a very good position all night."
He quirked an eyebrow.
"I thought I'd helped."
"Yeah? And now where are we?"
"Not dead. And we got the information, didn't we? We did everything we were supposed to."
She studied him closely. He wasn't affected, and this seemed to dissatisfy her- she had a strong gaze, to give her credit, but he'd endured much more intense stares. When she finally spoke up, she spoke truths in a whisper-
"I don't know who you are, but you're important. They trust you to take care of yourself but they still don't want to take any chances."
John shrugged.
"I wouldn't say I was important."
"We've never been pulled out of anything before. This was bad, but not the worst we've seen. And now, this—"
She waved her hands— this was to mean New York, the new operation, whatever was in that file she was reading on the plane.
"They're not telling me shit. I don't know what we're doing here, just that we're to wait for further instructions. I've never had to wait for instructions. I'm told what I need to do and how long I need to do it, and that's it. You're the only thing that's different. They want to keep you alive."
He took a second to think about that. The softness of his new expression seemed to have softened her mood- it was a while before she spoke. When she did, she was cautious, if not apologetic—
"You- you did end up being... A lot more useful than I'd expected."
He allowed himself to grin- accepting the implied apology.
"Why, thank you."
"And you're giving free stitches out to people."
"There's plenty to go around if you've an urge for a set of your own."
"Army Doctor."
Was John the only one who didn't have deductive superpowers?
"Er. No. I work in advertising."
"No one who knows my sister works in advertising."
"Maybe, maybe not."
She stared at him for a long time- her eyes were a dark blue and held no mercy for him. He took another stab at quirking an eyebrow up- he'd wait for whatever it was she had to say or do. She buried her eyebrows into the aisle her nose made onto her pre-emptively- lined forehead.
"You shot that man. Without hesitation."
Oh, they were going to talk about this.
"He was going to shoot us. You were driving; no one else had a decent angle. I took the chance."
"We were going ninety miles per hour. That window was hardly open, yet there wasn't a chip on it. You had three inches of leeway. You shot that man with a .22 revolver from a moving vehicle."
"With all due respect, I did ask for something a little better."
She laughed at that- it was hollow and dark, but it was genuine. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pistol- handed it to him. It was nothing special, but it didn't need to be. The sentiment was still there.
"Good answer."
And she turned to leave him with his nature documentary.
Well, he could have, if Craig hadn't taken Angela's exit as a queue to slip into his door before he could get up to lock it, flopping himself on the bed at John's feet.
He looked tired— John supposed they all did, but Craig had an extra sort of haunted to him that the others didn't.
"You doing all right, Craig?"
He received a glare in response.
"What do you think? I got shot at, like twelve times today. We all almost died. You turned into James Bond. I'm doing pretty fuckin' awesome, Will. You?"
John laughed— he turned his attention back to the programme on TV, moving over when Craig decided that the foot of the bed wasn't comfortable enough.
Which would have been a nice end to the day until—
"Will— Oh, hi, Craig. I need to talk to Will."
Mary poked her head in, soon trailed by Tony— the hotel room was getting to be a bit cramped if they all decided to visit him.
Instead of fight the notion, thought, John merely sat up— he let Tony sit down at the edge of his bed, Mary leaning against the dresser. When she gave Craig a look that suggested privacy, John cleared his throat.
"I think he could probably stay, Mary. I doubt that you have any questions that he hasn't asked already."
She glared at him for suggesting it, then at Craig for the grin on his face.
Then she turned back to John.
"Did Angela already come and talk to you?"
John nodded.
"About the new job? Or about the fact that she doesn't know what we're doing here?"
This was news to Craig, it seemed.
"Wait, what? What do you mean?"
Mary nodded back. She leaned her arms back on the dresser and pulled herself up to sit on it— she was in grey jogging bottoms and a black tank top, ready for bed. Or strategy conversation.
"Someone up top's stopped trusting us. Gotta be because of Will. Angela's pissed, of course."
"Hey, now, wait a second—"
Craig had spoken up. This seemed to surprise the other two— that he was defending John.
"Will didn't do anything wrong, we can't blame him for this. Hell, he saved all of our lives."
"He hardly did anything that me, Mary or Angela couldn't have, Craig, just because—"
"Then why didn't you? You can't lay all that blame on him, he just got here, he's helped us—"
"Craig, we're not blaming him at all, but you have to accept the facts that it just works, if this whole thing isn't about him then—"
It was John who interrupted.
"Is this all you guys do? Argue?"
That silenced them pretty quickly— John shifted, uncomfortable for a moment.
Then he remembered how it was to be Captain, in control—
"All right, listen. I don't know why we're not getting any orders. I don't know why they pulled us out of Atlanta. All I know— no. I don't know anything. I didn't save anyone. I was just doing what had to be done, all right? I dislike being out of the loop just as much as you do. Believe me, I know how it feels. It's what you've been doing to me since I got here."
Mary's mouth had opened, probably with some debate, so he cut to the chase before she could.
"No— don't respond to that. That's not the point at all. What is the point, is... Is that we just do the job. It's all still the same thing— we're taking down your, your Crime and Punishment thing. We're still on that, right? We're still— Oh, for the love of god, is this a lounge?"
Jennifer had found her way in his room, holding a deck of cards and a case of American beer. She looked timid, as if she herself was surprised there were this many people in the room.
"Oh, uh— Craig wanted me to teach him how to play Euchre, I was just looking for him, but—"
She was already backing out of the room, trying to slip back into the hall before Mary reached out for her.
"No, no, stay, Jenn. I'd love to learn how to play Euchre, and I'm sure Tony would, too."
Tony shook his head— he yawned as he stretched his arms over his head, getting to his feet.
"Hell no— I hate that game. Will, it's up to you."
The larger man straightened his tee shirt, rubbing a hand across his bald head.
"When we say it's your fault, we don't blame you, Will. Even Angela. You know that, right?"
He sounded generally concerned. Which was surprising— Tony hadn't spoken more than a few words to him before he'd shot a man in the head. Now he was worried that he'd hurt John's feelings.
"No, no. I understand completely. I'm trying to figure it out myself, just as much as you guys are. No hard feelings."
Tony smiled at him— his face changed completely when he did, chiselling an unmistakable kindness into his hard features.
"All right, well. Have fun learning to play the most boring game on the planet, I'm going to bed."
He shut the door before Jennifer could throw a pillow at him.