Once Jack had returned and filled Sue in on what he'd found out—particularly, that there was evidence indicating that the terrorists were planning on dispersing something, likely a bioweapon of some sort—they went in to officially begin the interrogation.
Unsurprisingly, it didn't begin well. Betty was angry at them for lying about who they were, which was to be expected, but they had to break through that and convince her that they were not her enemies.
Eventually, not having gotten far at all in this first interrogation, they sent her back to holding and returned to the bullpen. As soon as they were walking down the hallway alone, Sue said to Jack, "You're being a bit harsh on her, don't you think?"
"That's what we do, remember? You're the good cop, I'm the bad cop . . . ."
"Yeah, but she's just had her entire life thrown into an upheaval. I mean, you're the one who said even if she's innocent her world's about to be shattered. This is the shattering! She doesn't need us stomping on the pieces too."
"That's if she's innocent. We don't know that she is! If she does know—"
"I really don't think she does."
"You have no evidence of that, though!"
"It's just a feeling I have from getting to know her a little bit. I don't think she's in on it. I even have doubts she knows anything about it." To be honest, she was pulling her punches a little there. She felt fairly certain Betty did not know anything about it, but she didn't want to push too hard all at once.
"It must be nice to have such a warm and fuzzy outlook on life," Jack said sarcastically.
Annnnd, pulling punches was done. "That's just the kind of attitude I'd expect from a guy who goes to bars to meet women!" she snapped.
Only then did both of them fully note that they had, in fact, entered the bullpen about five sentences ago, and several of their coworkers were witnessing this little . . . domestic spat, as they would surely call it.
"Our first fight?" Jack asked dryly.
"Probably not our last," Sue muttered.
But as she walked to her desk, it hurt. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. It hurt that Jack wouldn't listen to her. It hurt realizing that she had lashed out to hurt him in response. And if she was being entirely honest, she had only brought up going to bars to meet women because . . . it hurt to consider him ever seeking to meet other women.
She couldn't dwell on all that right now though, and she knew it. At the last second, she redirected her footsteps, turning toward Jack's desk instead. "So what do we do now?" she asked gently, unspoken apology lacing her tone.
"Start with a prayer?" he replied. "After that I have no idea."
She gave half a smile. "I've gone that route a lot of times in life. God has a way of making it work out." Jack wasn't usually one to bring up God or prayer, but it was exactly the reminder she had needed just then, and she wondered if he'd mentioned it specifically for her sake.
Either way, it was a good thing he had. Because just as Jack was starting to dole out tasks to the rest of the team toward figuring out the next step forward, Myles came up with information he'd just gotten that indicated the bioweapon of choice for the terrorist appeared to be Bubonic Plague.
And following immediately on the heels of that announcement, Tara completed a surveillance video analysis and discovered that Joseph Vanderwylen's gait perfectly matched that of Arif Dessa's gait circa fifteen years earlier.
"You mean . . . ?" D asked.
"Yup," Jack confirmed. "We shared chips and dip with the Prince of Terror himself."
And if anyone hadn't started praying yet, at these two new pieces of information, everyone was.
The next several hours saw everyone scrambling for information and assembling a proper briefing to plan their next steps. Myles, whose torn ligaments were apparently much better (which seemed far too fast and caused further speculation about whether the actual issue had even been torn ligaments or if it was just a lightly twisted ankle or something) gave the briefing, with everyone pitching in with the findings or progress on their portions of the research. By the end of it, Myles and D were going to talk to the organizer of a march that might be hit, Tara and Bobby were headed to alert managers of a couple sporting events that might be targets, and Jack (and the rest once they'd finished their current assignments) was headed out to bring in anybody they could for any reason at all, on the chance that they might be able to find one of them willing to talk for a deal.
Everyone was still teasing Myles about crashing his car, as well as about using the cane as a pointer stick instead of for help walking now. Nobody once mentioned that Sue and Jack had both changed out of their matching blue shirts. It was possible nobody else noticed. But Jack and Sue certainly noticed that the other had changed too. Neither were quite sure what to make of it.
Bobby glanced from the driver's seat over to Tara. She was stunning. She was always stunning, or cute, or adorable, or something. Anything positive. He'd never seen the woman look less than attractive in some form or another, in their entire acquaintance. Which, in all honesty, was not what he'd been taught to expect from computer geeks. Then again, most computer geeks he'd ever known couldn't also direct a raid, or look equally at home at a football game as at a gala, or wield an FBI-issue gun, or—
"Eyes on the road, Bobby," she said, not looking up from the paperwork she was sifting through.
"Right. Sorry." He resumed his focus on the road, chancing only one more glance out the corner of his eye to make sure he hadn't made her uncomfortable or upset her in any way. The smirk on her face seemed to indicate he had not.
Clearing his throat and seeking a safe topic, he said, "How'd we luck out with the cushy assignment, anyway? I don't envy Myles and D their job."
"I assumed you'd bribed Jack," Tara teased back. "I mean, D's great, but we both know how riled up Myles gets. I'd think he'd have wanted to send someone a bit kinder and more sensitive, someone that people actually want to talk to."
"Ha! He knows I'd get too upset with someone who wants to put the environment as more important than human lives."
"Oh, no, I meant me," she teased. He shot her an attempt at a glare, the efficacy of which was significantly reduced by his barely-concealed laughter. Her only response was, "Eyes on the road!"
After a moment she said, "Well, I guess he must've sent you to the sports ones because you're the most knowledgeable about those things and know what a big deal it is asking them to cancel or postpone or whatever."
"Oh? And why'd he send you then, Twinkle Toes Tara?" he teased.
"Ah, that's the part I figured you bribed him for."
"Oh, you know me so well."
They were both chuckling as they pulled up to the Redskins manager's office. Tara glanced up at the building. "You know," she said, "when I hear the name, I always think of the color of the football. I mean, it's sort of brownish-orangeish, but that's close to red and people call it the pigskin so that's what comes to mind. But when I see the logo . . . I just wish they would change the name. It's so rude and disrespectful."
Bobby sighed. "Yeah. Here's hoping they will one day. But today that's not our conversation with them. Let's go make sure people don't get blown up this weekend, shall we?"
She nodded. As he started to open his door, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Bobby?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever the reason for sending us . . . I'm glad to be here with you. And that we can laugh and joke again."
He smiled. "Me too." She let out a relieved breath and smiled back. After a beat, he added, "I mean, at least neither of us got stuck with Myles!"
AN: Yes, the comment about the football team's name might be a little shoehorned in, but I know they have (far more recently than it should have been, but at least it's been finally done) changed it to the Commanders, and I am very glad that is has been changed so I didn't want the name to just go by without my calling it out for what it so long was.
As for Myles's healing ligaments, I don't know how much time is supposed to have passed in the original 2-part episode, but it certainly seems like they're not intended to span more than 2 weeks total, and torn ligaments usually take a minimum of 3 weeks to heal, often closer to 8, and that's if they don't require surgery! So I just had to point that out too because it always seems so weird that he's got this injury, but also can go crash his car and be fine, and also is down to not actually needing the cane by what appears to be the following week. :P