"…and that's the mess they've all— we've all, I guess— made." Reyna finished, looking uneasily around the Oval Office.
Annabeth looked down, nervously rubbing her finger along the edges of her watch links.
Percy shuffled to the side, doing his best to look smaller than he was (without much success, given that he still had the frame of an Olympic swimmer).
Jason snapped his arms to his sides and squared his shoulders, standing at attention with the posture of a man who had snapped into the position many times over a career in the military.
President Chiron Brunner, for his part, surveyed them all very seriously over the rims of his glasses.
And then burst out laughing.
"Sir?" Reyna asked.
"I was wondering when you were all going to fess up," the President chuckled. "I mean, I thought for sure when you asked the Secret Service for the names and organization behind the shooting— the security force that is meant to protect me and this office, by the way, and the shooting which was aimed largely at me— that maybe you'd let me in on it."
"You… knew?" Annabeth frowned.
"I didn't get to this office, or behind this desk, in this House by being stupid, Annabeth." The President grimaced. "Generally, I do my job and you all do yours and it's a smooth enough machine that it all works out. But with this…"
"This isn't all stuff that's meant to be part of the job." Jason lifted his chin. "Sir."
"No, it certainly isn't that." Brunner sighed. "Press secretaries being blackmailed, politicians switching sides, fundamentalists with guns coming out of the woodwork to shoot whomever they like. This is not meant to be part of the job. Look at me— look at all of this gray in the hair I've barely got left. I was prepared to learn things I didn't want to know about our intelligence work, about our country, about our military operations. I didn't want… this."
"None of us did, sir." Reyna inclined her head towards the sofas. "May we…"
"Yeah, let's talk." Brunner wheeled his chair over to the couches, and they all took their seats.
"So, the issues at hand: John Kronos is gunning for you, sir. Literally. And using Luke Castellan to do it. And there's some connection to the White Aryan Resistance, but we don't really know how that's connected into the rest of it, it's pretty much hearsay…" Percy's voice trailed off at the expression on the President's face. "Sir?"
"You might want to see this." Brunner signaled the Secret Service officer by the door. The officer silently walked over and handed the President a tablet, already open to a video. The president turned it around to face Percy and Jason, and hit play as Annabeth and Reyna shifted in their seats to see it better.
It was security footage— it took Annabeth a split second less than the others to recognize it as a camera from Sibley Hospital, where she had laid in a bed for days recovering from her gunshot wound. A slim guy with mussed dark hair looked both ways down a corridor before stepping into a different hallway.
Between the scrubs and the serious look on his face, Annabeth assumed he was a nurse, or maybe a doctor, until Percy frowned beside her and said, "that's Nico di Angelo."
Only then did she recognize him as, indeed, the sarcastic pollster from the night of Katie Gardner's filibuster attempt. "Oh, huh. So the 'di Angelo' who died in the shooting…"
Jason looked at her sideways. "Yeah, his sister. I thought… no one told you that?"
Annabeth shook her head, eyes still on the screen. "I think I missed it, somehow, in all the 'my-ex-boyfriend's-ranking-party-member-is-working-with-basically-the-KKK' fuss."
"Hm, fair," Reyna noted.
In the video, di Angelo— who was, unmistakably, wearing scrubs that matched the uniforms of the rest of the hospital's staff— elbowed his way past two of the hospital's security staffers standing next to a door. He said something to them, softly enough that the audio didn't pick it up. The security officers looked at each other, shrugged, and ambled down the hall, away from di Angelo.
"That's the room where the one shooter we didn't take down ended up," Reyna said quietly. "Secret Service got him, but..."
"Alive for interrogation, ma'am. And rehabilitation, should he turn over on his buddies." The Secret Service officer who'd handed them all the tablet in the first place said.
On the camera feed, di Angelo elbowed his way into the room. His next words were loud enough that the security camera clearly had no trouble picking it up.
"Who paid you to shoot at the President?"
"We didn't—"
The patient— one of the shooters— cringed backward as di Angelo loomed closer.
"Who paid you to shoot the President?" Di Angelo repeated, this time stepping closer and placing a hand on the clearly bandaged shoulder of the patient in the bed.
"No one— it was in our creed, he's a cripple in a wheelchair, no one that weak should— AAAUGHHH." The answer broke into a scream as di Angelo pushed two fingers deep into the wound.
"I'm going to ask one more time, and if you don't answer, I'll twist these fingers and you'll hurt in ways you never even thought possible." Di Angelo's voice was measured, calm.
"Okay, okay— the bank transfer info is on my phone, hold it up to my face and it'll unlock— AAGHHH. It's— it was a guy in a suit who approached us, he had a little pin that said one one eight on it and a little flag, I've seen him on TV a few times. AGHHH please stop doing that, please, please, fuck, please."
Di Angelo grabbed the phone from the table by the patient's bedside, then pulled out his own and took a photo of whatever came up on the screen there. He smiled a thin, mirthless smile. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it."
The video shut off.
Jason turned to the Secret Service officer who had shown it to them. "What is the timestamp on this video?"
"About four days ago," the officer answered.
"So, after we talked to him." Percy looked sick. "He was already accusing Kronos before he went and did this. He knew the answers he was going to get."
"He didn't have proof when he talked to us." Jason closed his eyes. "What if this was his way of going to get proof?"
"Did it check out?" Reyna slid her cool gaze to the officer's.
"It did." The officer took the tablet back, tucking it under one arm. "Not directly, of course. But with the banking information and the transfer number… the money in the account goes back to John Kronos. Along with a sizable number of donations to shell companies owned by the WAR,"
Annabeth swore quietly, almost under her breath. "So that means… we've got the bastard?"
"Not quite." Brunner set a file on the coffee table in front of them. "This is the recorded testimony that we have managed to gather in the days after this… interaction."
"That's a word for it." Percy picked up the file and started skimming it. "This is… the guy they met with was young. And still had a one-eighteen pin?"
"Someone young, on Kronos's payroll, and actively serving in the one-hundred-and-eighteenth congress." Annabeth groaned. "It's who I think it is, isn't it. It all always seems to come back to him, somehow."
Jason flicked a glance her way. "You don't think…"
"I really do." Annabeth turned to the President. "I'm right, aren't I? They took their money from Kronos, but they took their orders from Luke?"
"Representative Castellan does seem to have played a part in this." The Secret Service officer cut in. "I'm deeply sorry, Miss Chase. That we didn't catch it before, how far he'd go. That you got caught in the crossfire before we had this answer."
"What happens to di Angelo?" Jason asked. "Not that Percy and I pushed him into anything when we met with him. Obviously. But…"
The corner of the Secret Service officer's mouth quirked into something that could almost be considered a smile. "The shooter is now considered an informant. Di Angelo needs a lawyer, given that he's effectively committed fraud by pretending to be a nurse at Sibley. But given that he never identified himself on camera, and we don't know where he got the scrubs, and the information he elicited is helping us solve a national conspiracy to assassinate the President…"
"The informant would have to press charges," Percy registered aloud. "And he never ID's himself, so one of you would have to. And…"
"The Secret Service will be issuing him a letter." The President crossed his arms. "It will express our gratitude for his service to the nation, and note that we will be keeping a close eye on him from now on."
"It will also include our sincere recommendation for an open spot in the next trainee class at Langley." The Secret Service agent slid the tablet into a messenger bag. "Good assets shouldn't go unchecked."
"I…" Percy, bewildered, looked at the President. "Okay. I'm not going to ask more questions."
"Probably wise." Brunner shrugged. "So, any more secrets roiling amongst the group?"
"Not so far as I'm aware," Reyna answered for all of them. "I'll work on some next steps regarding Kronos. We've got testimonies from Nakamura and from Silena about Castellan, but we still need to connect Kronos and Castellan based on something other than hearsay. We'll get working on that."
A muscle in Annabeth's cheek twitched. "I can find you an answer there. Not sure how, yet. But I will."
"Great." Brunner looked around at them all. "Why does it feel like I'm forgetting something? We're supposed to be having a rather different sort of meeting today, but with all the excitement…"
"The State of the Union," Percy supplied. "We had a meeting on the calendar this morning where we were supposed to start writing the State of the Union."
"Right, okay. Let's get some coffee in here and get a start on that, then." The President looked around at them all. "Come on, chop-chop. The country might essentially run itself, but it doesn't speak for itself unless you all write me some good words to say and pretend I came up with. Let's make us all look good, people."
A few hours later, there was a rough draft of what was supposed to be the most important speech the President would give all year. Jason's temper was getting shorter with every new redraft, and Percy was starting to stare at the walls, zoning out for full minutes at a time. Eventually, the President dismissed them all, saying that if they were going to get nowhere on a draft, they might as well do it in their own offices or in a conference room over some takeout.
Annabeth looked at Percy. "Redraft number five million over some coffee?"
"Your hands are already shaking from the amount of caffeine you've consumed in the last twenty-four hours," Percy pointed out. "Also, you outrank me. If I have meetings I've been pushing off to discuss errant Congressmen and important speeches, then you've definitely been pushing things off, too. Especially with your little 'I can get answers about Castellan' show back there."
"I can. And I'll have to, I just don't want to right now. Not yet." Annabeth flexed a hand in front of her, which was only shaking a little bit. Nothing, in the grand scheme of things. "Admittedly, this amount of caffeine is pretty standard. But… mostly I just wanted to have coffee with you."
Percy's eyes widened. "Making the first move— bold."
Annabeth blushed. "Shut up, Seaweed Brain."
"Never," Percy smiled. But then, just as quickly, the grin faded. "Hey, wait a minute. Work. Here, you, me, us. Work. We should…"
Annabeth arched an eyebrow. "We should what?"
"There's… you've already gotten in enough trouble over the possibility of an insinuated relationship between you and someone who doesn't work here anymore. Someone with basically your job, when you had my job. And look at Piper and Jason. Is this…" Percy shook his head. "Do we need…"
Annabeth tilted her head to the side. "This seems an awful lot like something we should be discussing over coffee."
"How much paperwork is that coffee going to cost us?" Percy quipped back, only half-joking.
"Depends— how much paperwork are that kiss and this conversation already worth to you?" Annabeth shifted direction down the hall, headed towards the exit of the building.
"How much is it worth to you?" Percy sighed and followed. "This is— we need to…"
"Are you trying to have the 'what are we' talk in the middle of a hallway in the White House?"
"No, it seems suspiciously like the kind of conversation people have over coffee, if we're the kinds of people who meet up as a pair and have coffee together." Percy caught up to her, sliding an arm around her waist. "Which, for the record, sounds an awful lot like a date"
"Depends. Think a date with me is worth the paperwork?" Annabeth elbowed him in the side, laughter dancing in those usually-so-serious gray eyes. "Man, I'm really having to do all the work here. You're really making me ask you out?"
Percy couldn't help but catch her arm with his hand, sliding her hand into his and weaving their fingers together. "I'm not making you do anything. Besides, I think you already know my answer."
She shot an unexpected lopsided grin back at him over her shoulder. "Then let's hash it out for real. Throw in a croissant for an extra signature on the dotted line. If there's paperwork to do and a relationship to declare…"
"Then let's do it." Percy squeezed her hand. "Croissants and a dotted line sounds like a good excuse for a coffee break to me."
Slowly working our way toward the end, here- my initial assumption was that this fic would be about 30 chapters long, and I think that guess is going to be right on the mark.
Might do some follow-up shorts to flesh it out closer to 40, or might do a follow-up novella of 10-15 chapters or so- not sure yet. But in the meantime- if you're enjoying it, please don't hesitate to leave a review or let me know your thoughts! I've loved, loved, LOVED writing this, and the little community that's sprung up around it in the comments/reviews is a huge reason why. Thanks for reading (and continuing to read), everyone :) ~GT
