>COOKEVILLE, TN
>CANDLEWOOD SUITES, ROOM 68
>1243
>08.NOV.2019

Ava looked away from the crackling pan of squat, frying dumplings and over at the clock on the microwave of the hotel room’s kitchenette. Her heart thumped seeing that it was nearly one in that afternoon. Her mind started to race with what was keeping Dave before she tried to stamp down on her rising anxiety. Their last check in had been at noon and Dave assured her he was making it as quickly to her as possible. That was only 40 minutes ago, he would either be there soon or he would call her in 20 minutes for another hourly check in.

He was fine, he would be there soon and she could breathe a little easier.

Despite the logical part of her brain knowing this, the more primal side of her was more inclined to panic and worry. She had been the first one to make it to their designated hotel meet up, checking in under the name Rosana Davis and telling the hotel front counter she was expecting a man named James Smith and to send him up to her room when he came in. They’d had this plan ready weeks in advance so even on their phone calls they didn’t have to speak where they were staying or how they would find each other, just to be on the safe side.

Dave had mentioned in one of his check-ins that he had to make sure his son and his mother were alright after he got a call from them. Which meant he would be running late but Ava understood and hoped that Dave’s son and ex were safe and unharmed.

Still that left her to quietly agonize in the hotel room until Dave arrived and so she did the best she could to keep occupied. So she did the only things she could do without leaving the relative safety of the hotel room; she did some yoga, some basic exercises and a little cooking.

They had chosen this hotel specifically because of its rooms with their little kitchenettes, complete with pots, pans, dishware and a full size fridge. Ava reasoned that this would enable them to avoid having to go out for food or risk having food delivered to the hotel. So when she first made it to town she had stopped by a little market and stocked up on basic groceries that would last them at least a week. It also helped that the hotel boasted grocery delivery service so if they really had to hunker down, they could.

It had the added bonus of letting Ava work out her anxiety and keep her hands occupied by hand kneading dough which she used to make dumplings. A lot of dumplings, but she reasoned that Dave would be hungry when he finally got there.

Ava blinked and shook her head at the clock as another minute ticked by, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead and returned her attention to the pan of simmering dumplings. She removed the current batch when both sides were golden brown and crispy and transferred them to a waiting paper towel lined plate, which would then be moved to a small dish that was half filled with her other creations.

Thor was off on the couch, sleeping away even as the television played whatever was on the hotel’s cable. Some generic sitcom that was good background noise but Ava wasn’t paying enough attention to care what it was. It was rare that Thor didn’t hover around her when she was cooking, but she couldn’t blame the cat as he had quite the exciting time. First the break in, then the driving all night to a random rental car place, renting a car under a fake name and then driving all morning to reach the hotel.

She hadn’t slept yet, she was too worried about missing a check in with Dave and too paranoid being in a hotel room alone with people possibly after her. Her Glock was riding openinly on her side as she cooked, just in case anyone she wasn’t expecting came knocking.

She was tired, but Dave would be showing up any minute and then she could sleep.

Ava took a long drink of her coffee, not sure what number of cups she was on and not caring, then set it down and loaded the last batch of dumplings to the pan to steam and fry. She had just flipped them onto the other side to cook when the knock on the door came.

She stiffened and looked over to the door, remaining still as silence followed after the singular knock. After a moment had passed, three more knocks followed and Ava’s heart leapt for joy. She padded quickly over to the door and looked through the hotel room peephole to the hallway beyond.

Sure enough, standing there and looking a little shaggy, a lot tired and wearing the hat she had gotten him, was Dave. Her Dave.

She stepped back and quickly unlocked the multiple locks on the solid metal door, throwing it open and smiling up brightly at Dave. “Hey Mountain Man.” She whispered, tears of relief misting over her eyes to see him alive and well in front of her.

He stepped quickly into the room, shutting the door and locking it. Then he threw his arms around her and squeezed her tight.

"Hey there sugar," he said softly, his face in her hair. He breathed in her scent; fear had dogged him the entire way, from the moment he dropped Rufus at his grandfather's house until now. He felt some of it melt away as he held Ava, though a knot of it still sat in his belly.

"They threatened my boy," he said softly. "Him and his mom. Left knives on their pillows and the same note they left you."

He kissed the top of her head. Despite the relief that he felt there was a hardness in his voice. "We're gonna end this. We're almost done."

Ava hugged Dave tightly back, her elation and relief seeing him turning to an icy chill as he told her what happened. “Oh Dave, I’m so sorry.” She pulled back from him enough to look up into his face. “Are they alright? Did you move them?”

“I got ‘em moved,” he said. He kissed her forehead. “They’re with my grandpa, lives a couple hours from me. Deeper in the mountains. Rufus is there, and Grandpa Dan is a hard old sumbitch. He’ll take care of ‘em.”

“Good.” Ava breathed a sigh of relief, stepping forward to hug him again. “I’m so glad you’re safe Dave.”

“You too, sugar,” he said. His grip was tight, worry falling away as he held her. “Hey. You cookin’ somethin’?”

Ava straightened. “Oh right!” She hesitantly let go of Dave and trotted back over to the stove, turning off the heat and checking the bottom of the dumplings she had in the pan. “Little crispier than the others, but they’re alright.” She chuckled sheepishly, moving the dumplings over to the paper towel lined plate.

There came the sound of running little feet across the floor before Thor ran into the kitchen, to the door and slammed himself up against Dave’s shins. He purred loudly, rubbing up against Dave’s legs and circling around him.

Dave bent and picked up the cat, cradling him against him with one arm and scratching under his chin.

“Lookin’ forward to ‘em,” he said as he walked to the bed and sat down, holding the purring Norwegian. “Haven’t eaten in hours, last thing I had was a drive-thru burger.”

“I thought you might be hungry.” Ava smiled over at him, opening one of the cupboards and pulling out a pair of the hotel’s plates. She piled dumplings onto Dave’s plate and then a few onto her own. “I was also…really anxious waiting so making them kind of helped keep me occupied.” She went to the fridge and pulled out a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer for Dave and a cherry Dr. Pepper for herself.

Balancing everything in her arms, she carried it over to the bed. “So the dumplings are filled with beef, pork and some veggies.”

“I like beef, pork, an’ veggies,” Dave said. He shifted Thor, earning an annoyed grumble, then leaned over and rested his head against Ava’s. “I love you.”

Ava passed him his plate and beer, smiling up at him. She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek and nuzzled against him. “I love you too. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“And I ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til this is over,” he said. “This is the last time. We’re finishin’ this.”

Ava frowned and looked away, leaning against his chest as a weight settled back over her. “But…What Donnelley told me…Do you think we have a chance to finish this and get out?”

Dave’s gaze hardened as he looked across the room towards the door. His eyes were fixed where he knew his truck to be. “We’ll get out,” he said. “I promise you that, sugar.”

She looked up at him, studying the set of his jaw and the hardness in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that expression on his face before but she understood what it meant. Threatening his family had been the last straw.

Ava kissed him on the jaw. “Come on. Eat, then take a shower and we’ll both get some much needed sleep. Okay?”

He jerked a bit, surprised by the kiss, but grinned. The hardness fell away from his eyes and he made a point of sticking an entire dumpling into his mouth.

“Alright,” he said. “That sounds good to me.”

She smiled, relieved to see the softness return to his features. She saw movement from the corner of her eye and looked down in time to see Thor grab a dumpling from Dave’s plate and run off with it to the bathroom to devour his ill-gotten gains. “Thor!” She shouted at the cat with a mixture of exasperation and amusement as she shook her head. “Can’t let your eyes off him for one second.”

Dave snorted as the cat ran off with the dumpling. “Yeah, we’ll, I’ll teach him. See if he likes it when he sees me eatin’ his food.” He cupped a hand around his mouth. “Y’hear that, Thor? I ate cat food once for twenty bucks, I can do it again outta spite!”

For the first time in two days, Ava let out a bark of genuine laughter. She leaned against Dave as she giggled and looked up at him. “I love you.” She said with a bright smile as she leaned against his shoulder.

He leaned down and gave her a soft kiss. “I love you too,” he whispered. “Now eat up, or Thor’s gonna get more dumplings.” He popped one of hers into his mouth to illustrate the point.

She laughed again and picked up a dumpling to begin eating; happy to be doing so with Dave next to her.

>...///

>COOKEVILLE, TN
>CANDLEWOOD SUITES, ROOM 68
>1958
>08.NOV.2019

Dave jerked as his phone began to beep. He sat up, his hand automatically going for the pistol on the nightstand, while Ava’s phone began beeping as well. A quick scan of the room showed it to be unoccupied, and after a few moments he set the pistol down on the bed beside him and picked up the phone. It was an unknown number, with a one-word text message.

Idaho

He looked over at Ava. “Got orders.”

Ava startled awake when their phones started going off and Dave sat up abruptly in bed. Thor, who had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, jumped off and ran to the bathroom to hide. She blinked sleepily over at Dave once she saw him relax and looked over at her own phone. She flopped back down onto the bed with a groan. “Goddamnit.” She muttered, pulling the sheets over her head.

Dave set his phone and pistol aside, sliding down under the covers and gathering Ava to him.

“We got some time,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ll take a couple days. Decompress.”

“Okay,” She sighed, shifting and turning so she could tuck herself up against his chest. “...This is almost over right?” She asked him quietly.

“Almost, sugar,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. “We’re almost done. An’ everything is gonna be okay.”

Ava let out a heavy breath through her nose and she kissed the underside of his jaw. “I love you, Dave.”

“I love you too, sugar,” he said. “I love you too.”

>GEORGE BUSH CENTER FOR INTELLIGENCE, CIA HQ
>13SEP2019
>1200…///

Some places look exactly as they appear. An office, a home, dull endless dwellings meeting every expectation from first glance. They were forgettable visual clutter fading from memory the moment it’s witnessed. No tricks of the eye, no subconscious biases of color or shape filtered out of our daily experience. Much of life is this way, especially the space it occupies. And then there are places that fool you. Bungalow houses inexplicably hiding extra floors, twisted knots of corridors and rooms obscuring a bedroom or study; forgettable spaces that cloister impressive amounts of space within. They were the liminal becoming reality, or had always been some version of reality, but were undetermined until seen before you.

Jason remembered his grandparents house in Galveston before it was sold off in his teenage years, subsequently now ruined from the next hurricane that had slammed against the Texas coast. There were twin Magnolia trees flanked by old oaks that boxed in the front yard and obscured its Georgian style porch pillars, the house close enough to catch the brine filled air of the ocean but far away enough to drown out the call of the waves. It was painted bone white and seemed quaint and diminutive to him even despite living in nothing but apartments during his then short life.

Back then his memory was patchwork the way a kid’s could be, the brain still developing too rapidly for experience to keep up. He had been to his grandparent’s house before he truly remembered it, had even seen holiday polaroids of him smiling gleefully, no doubt pausing between loud gallops across its wooden floors. But for a span of a few years the house was a shapeshifter, a cozy but unknown place that hid much from the boy that was Jason. He’d discover a new room here during the summer, or a closet there later at Thanksgiving. It took him a year to figure out there was a split third story, his older cousin using the furnished attic room as a reprieve from the holidays and the younger kids, himself included. It never occurred to him where she could be when she disappeared, only that she was doing ‘teenager stuff.’

Every time he visited he found more space, and what was once a small house took on a near mystical nature as a mansion oddity. There was more space than what was suggested from its frame, and each subsequent visit held the mystery of the unexplored, the unknown. Ever since then Jason held particular interest in the moments where space surprised him, revealed more than what was expected. And if there was any place he should have expected that sensation and awareness, the George Bush Center was one of them. But despite this, when he first stepped from the elevator to the Black Floors he was reminded of that sensation, of the Galveston home, and of all the in-between spaces nestled away from the world.

The corridors meeting the elevators were forgettable, painted a two tone cream white and navy blue like so many other sterile government buildings. Stock landscape art and vaguely patriotic paintings broke up the monotony, but the true entrance of the Black Floors was markedly different. Glass panel doors opened into a lobby facing a reception desk boxed in with reinforced glass. Jason handed over his ID to an attendant through a metal deposit tray he could only recall from two places--Intelligence skiffs and corner stores in the hood.

“Looks like we have some expedited paperwork for your clearance, Mr. Jimenez,” the clerk said, thumbing through a manila folder with intelligence labeling stamped all over it. She pulled a few sheets of paper and slid them back through the bin for his signing. She waited until a colleague could man the chair and came out to take his picture for his access badge. He was no stranger to the process but expected to be waiting at least a day to process access. They had him ready to enter in a mere hour.

The skiff itself was massive, modular metal shelves lining a slightly depressed ground floor. Several computer terminals flanked the shelves and half way through the floor was a hallway that led into an identical conjoined room. It took several more minutes of processing his login credentials before the clerk asked for any specific requests.

“Case files for Donnelley, Joseph,” Jason said. “Anything you have.”

The clerk returned half an hour later with several bound folders she plopped on his desk nestled deep within the shelves.

“Use the same labeling for digital queries,” she said dully. “Any time you walk in or out, even to tinkle, you log it for the clerks. Otherwise, you can camp here all night if you want.”

Now alone, the question became where to start. He supposed he could from the first files in Donnelley’s folder, but who knew how far that went back and what was pertinent. If anything, Donnelley was prolific in his operations and the stack before him only confirmed it. Jason fumbled in his pocket for an adderall pill and felt it stick in his throat as he tried swallowing it with nothing to drink. It didn’t matter. He went to work.

* * *

More and more Jason was in the company of ghosts. He followed them through featureless paths on paper, faceless reports shrouded in the shadows of redacted details. At his cluttered desk in the archive skiff he trailed Donnelley through the files, and when his face emerged in his mind’s eye Jason paused and committed it to memory. The wounded stare, the past like chasms lining the valleys and plains of his face. These things would fade in time. They would leave Jason alone in the abstract of what was, what had occurred. His memories would eventually be filled with blurry specters, caricatures restaging imperfect moments. Even now he couldn’t recall every face on TF-11; only those burned into his memory from the night that everything changed, from what he now understood was a ritual. The why and what was still very much a mystery.

In all of this he was at least spared the visage of UMBRA’s death. Of their stilled expressions, bullet marred bodies, their faces echoing the final moments. That he wouldn’t allow to break the surface. For Donnelley, Jason relied on that same imagination to fill in the gaps the reports couldn’t provide. There had to be an answer somewhere, some sort of beginning whose roots were deep in the soil of the past.

The team lead’s work had been messy from the start and disproportionately leaned toward HVT hits; coordinated search and destroy missions, asset termination, raids. Each black box littered report fell like matching pieces into what Jason knew of the man. After days of searching something had caught his attention; Operation ABLE HARVEST. It was the first mission on paper for Donnelley after the Chechnya fiasco, and of that Jason knew next to nothing.

Donnelley had survived it, this Operation IRONWALL, though it seemed he had returned in a peculiar state. At least one worth noting in the reports. Seeking post-op medicals had been a dead end, and whatever state Donnelley had been in would remain a mystery. The events of the operation, what was accessible anyway, seemed to be a pivot point, a turn into ABLE HARVEST. First, Donnelley’s bizarre recovery, and second, the GRU-SV8 compromise in Libya. First Chechnya, then a long history of Russian interference there after. Rot from within, allowed to fester for years.

Jason had laid awake at night, hotel lights casting him in a nauseating yellow glow, and he fought the developing bias he was forming against his dead team lead. Donnelley was the common denominator ever since Chechnya. That was the only common link he was finding. Was Donnelley casting pitfalls before the path? Had he led UMBRA, hand in hand, to their demise? And why hadn’t he taken out Jason in Iraq or had him on the Alaska job? On paper it seemed clear, but every moment he had spent with the man said otherwise, implored him to ignore the simple logic before him: Donnelley was compromised.

It wasn’t until the early hours of his second day that UMBRA emerged in the case files, and by then a mental fatigue had washed over the analyst. Jason was surprised he had waited so long to finally read it over, but he knew he couldn’t admit he was hiding from it. Especially after studying Donnelley’s history, he couldn’t come to terms that he may have led UMBRA into this. Above all, he didn’t want to know the details, even knowing it was likely absent the report. It would be clinical, harsh. Uncaring. But how did it go down? Did Donnelley pull the trigger? Had they fought back? No, Jason thought. He had died too, like the rest of them. Whether it was the brain addled by the early hours or his fierce denial, Jason rejected the notion it was Donnelley’s fault. But that led to an impasse.

So he left again to his hotel with its forgettable liminal space. Its empty halls and hollow rooms, its vacancy of the mind. Jason roamed until he was too tired to continue, his mind an exhausted void.Like the halls, his room, it remained empty and longed to be occupied. He was afraid UMBRA was already beginning to fade, and he fell asleep clinging to the memory of their faces.


* * *

“You’re looking at this all from the wrong point of view.”

At the beginning of the third day Jason’s solitude in the archives was breached. A man of waning middle age, leathered from decades of sun, shuffled to Jason’s table and matter-of-factly pressed his palms on the surface, looming in towards the analyst. Jason didn’t look up.

“And you know what I’m looking at?” Jason mouthed, trying to avoid meeting the stranger’s gaze.

“By what you’re pulling, yeah,” the man said. He dropped a bulging manila folder on the table and slid it towards Jason who picked it up and flipped through the papers without a greeting. He was too annoyed for pleasantries now. Foster’s name revealed itself in each paper he briefly scanned. Foster. Umbra’s case handler. The boss of the boss.

“You’re an old chair force guy, right?” The man asked as Jason flipped through the folder’s contents.

Jason finally glared up at the man, who seemed either oblivious or absolutely apathetic at the jab.

“Scope limit,” the man went on. “Radar can only see to a certain distance. It could see the target, it just doesn’t have the range. I guess they don’t teach that to every flyboy, huh?”

Jason glanced down both sides of their row, as if the reason for this non-sequitur would reveal itself. “...um—”

“The name’s Sam. I’m here to pull your head out of the sand. You’re wasting time chasing Donnelley’s tail.”

“Hey who the fuck are you to tell me anything,” Jason barked. “This cryptic bullshit is wasting my time.”

“Who do you think led Donnelley along, smart guy?” Sam replied. “Who was putting together missions, connecting the dots and feeding the working groups actionable intel? Foster. He ain’t never going to show up in after actions, why would he? He’s a god damn ghost if you’re looking at it from Donnelley’s angle. He worked the process to hide himself. Why haven’t you heard from him, huh? Wouldn’t he contact the remaining members of UMBRA?”

“Member. It’s just me.”

Sam chuckled. “Wrong, boyo. Dave made it out.”

“McCready?”

Sam leaned back to stand upright and nodded in affirmation. “Another familiar face too. Ghost from THUNDER. One other team member you haven’t met on account of you being bogged down by DIA. The point is, pretty strange he ain’t even talk to you. Haven’t thought about that at all?”

“Why would I,” he said. “The Program doesn’t have a set pattern. Sure, Donnelley called but he’s dead, so I assume whoever was available showed up.”

Sam chuckled again, one amused huff swaying his chest. “Foster can’t be found. Went dark after UMBRA was terminated. Can’t say more here, and I won’t.”

Jason paused, studied the open folder in his hands without actually committing to reading the words. Intuition said there was a link between Donnelley and SV8, but it also insisted he was innocent of the betrayals therein. Jason was still missing a vital piece of the puzzle.

“10:30. Run a cold shower, turn on the TV. Keep the door cracked,” Sam said. He leaned back over the table and flipped the contents of the folder to the back where a sticky note lay pressed against the last page. It simply read <i>Artemis</i>. Sam tapped it twice with his index finger then began walking away from Jason. “10:30, boyo.”

* * *

Jason had done what was asked, the shower running with the door open to help fill the room with noise. A tacky Discovery channel reality show was blaring from the TV, and Jason sat at the desk around the corner from the entrance walkway to catch whoever might show up off guard. That is if he could have heard anyone enter. He stared at the entryway for a good forty five minutes, pistol in hand, and at exactly 10:30 at night Sam emerged from the hallway and shut the door, a brand new gym bag sagging in his hand and outlining an object within.

“Any luck on Artemis?” Sam asked, Jason barely able to hear him. He shook his head, and Sam went on, “Figured as much. Several of the redacted groups you’ve seen may be them. Group’s sealed up tighter than a preacher’s wife. This,” he said while handing over the bag, “is for you. To help put things in perspective.”

It took more than a few minutes to sift through what was a collection of intel documents and several micro SD cards he didn’t spend the time to watch, but there were photographs that belied the stashes intent. IMINT photos of Foster, some sort of live drop. A classification at the top of Foster’s dossier raised an eyebrow as well.

“MAJIC?” Jason thought aloud. “What classification is this?”

“Top of the pyramid,” Sam said. “This was gifted to Donnelley, you could say. This is what he was working on. What you have to work on. Foster’s dirty, got your team killed. Sold them out to Ivan.”

Jason leaned back, shook his head while studying the deflated gym bag on his lap. “What do I do now?” he asked.

“Read it,” Sam said. “Connect the dots. Might open a door, steer you somewhere.”

“So why give me this? What are you in all of it?” Jason asked.

“Invested benefactor, one of the only few you may have left. Most importantly trusted by Donnelley. Everything else is irrelevant.” Sam turned the corner and Jason followed. At the door he turned to face Jason, a grim thoughtfulness stopping the analyst from pressing any issue further. “I wish I could help you more, Jimenez. I truly wish I could. I can’t say anything gets easier.”

And with that he was gone, leaving Jason in the wash of overbearing sound and silence.

* * *

Chase another Sunrise. Magic Valley Regional Airport, Twinfalls, Idaho. 08NOV2019

The message had come from an unknown number in early hours when Jason’s thoughts expanded into abstracts, exhaustion stretching his mind’s eye into flashing images and fleeting sensations filling the hotel’s emptiness. The date gave him a small window, but with carte blanche to extend his research indefinitely he had the time. He considered the risks the next morning and it only took two hours for him to book a flight and hotel. His only deviation was not flying into Twin Falls but instead Boise. He’d give himself the time for the boring drive down and to scout out the airport, which overall seemed safer. If he’d die on the trip it would be the most idiotic decision he would ever make. A fine line between impulsivity and intuition, but that phrase; Chase another sunrise. He knew he had no choice but to show up.

Besides, maybe it would give him some free time to find some trouble in Boise. Before the notion would be tantalizing, the promise of an altered state and with any luck a nice fuck, but the edge was dulled. If he didn’t feel like complete ass before his drive he’d try regardless, otherwise it would be another night occupying an empty room, reading through the chaff of self-published paranormal investigation books trying to glean any semblance of understanding. It reminded him of that scene in the movie M.I.B. when Tommy Lee Jones elaborated on finding tips in whacky tabloids, the type that circulated JFK theories twice a year and at this point were running out of celebrities and global elites to expose as the alien cabal they were. Jason’s variety was dredged out of amazon and reddit, the content no less “Coast to Coast A.M.” but now more widely consumable and entertained.

On the flight over he began reading on the prevailing figureheads to frequent the both, the C.I.A. By now his leisure reading had made him aware of the agency’s remote viewing programs, the spoon bending parties with Berkley academics and convoluted ties to cartel death cults. This next foray into the fringe was MK Ultra. By the time he was landing in Boise he wished he had bought more books on the subject, and ordered his food delivered while he scanned the internet for any worthwhile epubs. Jason even forgot he had idly sent out a call looking for a drug connect in Boise and almost missed a message back. Almost.

>Magic Valley Regional Airport, Twin Falls, Idaho
>13NOV2019
>1200…///

He was feeling a bit sluggish at the trip’s beginning but after some greasy food and an interesting audiobook on MK Ultra Jason felt he had shrugged off the sleepless jaunt of the night before. He arrived at the airport having missed two of the five inbound flights of the day, but wasn’t tip-top enough to give a care. He spent the rest of afternoon parked in his car between arrivals, feigning bathroom trips inside and the occasional snack machine purchase. Whoever was waiting knew him, or at least enough to spot him out when they arrived. He kept himself armed just in case, and was thankful the airport was small enough to not get hassled with a concealed carry.

A man walked across Jason’s view with a face that prodded Jason’s memory, but somehow off. It wasn’t until the man stopped and gave Jason a double-take full of the same fuzzy recognition as his own. It was the blonde hair, the long beard distracting from the scar that had been so prominent and openly displayed just months ago. A ghost of a small smile crossed Donnelley’s lips, like the ones that spread across them by reflex when you saw an old friend. Or at least one of the only friends you had left.

Donnelley stopped where he was, smothering his smile to match the boring ballcap and shades he was wearing. He crossed the street only after looking around for anyone who was looking around for him, making it out like he was some husband keeping an eye out for his wife returning from a trip. He made a show of crumpling a piece of paper in his fist, dropping it in the ashtray of a garbage can next to him and walking away into the crowds.

Jason was sitting in an uncomfortable rounded plastic seat feigning interest in his cell phone when Donnelley bled into his vision. At first he dismissed the man as any other background actor, but something caught his attention and he followed his motions until the paper was dropped. That was it. Jason gave a show of checking the time, scanned the periphery, and made for the note after downing a bottle of water and dropping it in the bin. In his hands was his wallet, which he dropped and subsequently retrieved with the note crumbled within its fold. It wasn’t until he was back in his car that he uncrumpled the paper and read its contents.

124 motel 6, look for blue thumbtack, means safe, a room Donnelley had paid for in cash. He hoped Jason would believe it was him, news of his fate—his real fate—probably never made it out of the small circles he swam in, the shallow waters that got more and more suffocating in the darkness as each day passed. He waited inside the room, not knowing whether it would be Jason or FBI Special Agent Mark Garcia and a US Marshal SOG team coming through the door. Or one of the Program’s killers.

It smelled of stale tobacco and alcohol, and not all of it was him. He’d tried to stay as sober as he could, but a man never really can get away from his devils. When he saw the shadow pass by the window, his hand tightened around the flashbang grenade and his muscles readied himself to sprint towards the bathroom window.

There wasn’t any clever, crafty way into the room. No way to convince the cleaning crew to bring a change of sheets, nor key cards to spoof or scam out of the front desk. The place was too old and it wore its age in its sun bleached pine shingles slumping over its walls. Jason gathered himself for a few moments, took a few deep breathes as he curled his fingers open an closed. When the shaking stopped he double-checked his pistol and began to stroll past the doors scanning each one.

A blue thumb tack protruded from a peeling door frame, light escaping the corners of the drapes in the window, and there was no sound within. Jason peered around him,pulled out his pistol, and slowly worked the door handle. The end of his gun poked through the door and opened it slowly, Jason scanning from left to right as he side stepped inside. And there he was, Donnelley; an aura of grisled resolve permeating the room in the form of whiskey and smoke. Jason was too astonished at first to train his weapon on the stranger before him, but then recognition froze him in place. His face betrayed his thoughts.

“Donnelley?”

Donnelley shoved the flashbang’s pin back in, heaving in a breath as he set the unarmed grenade beside him and slumped in the chair at his back. He looked at Jason, giving him a once over. He was skinnier than he remembered, leaner, but not quite as thin as Queen had been getting. Like the Program was sucking his very life force away from him. Donnelley just stared at Jason for a few long moments, wondering if that gun in his hand was meant for him. If Oakes and Mannen didn’t believe him, or someone in the Program had fed Jason something to make Jason believe that he was the true mole, or that he was just too close to getting Foster and that was something they couldn’t have him doing.

When the shot never came, he just nodded at Jason, “Yeah.” He said, none of the bravado or brashness he was usually known for, “Yeah, it’s me.”

The door shut with a manic quickness and Jason fingered the blinds, disbelief exuding from every angle. He looked back at Donnelley, pistol hanging limply in his hand threatening only the carpet below.

“What the fuck,” Jason muttered, studying his team lead. Former team lead? It was apparent he was trying to work it all out before asking questions and the moment extended beyond comfort.

“Foster,” he mouthed. It escaped his mouth the way a secret sprang from a kid’s mouth against his will, sudden and without control. What else could he say? What other loose end hadn’t converged in this hotel room; Foster.

“Foster is a fuckin’ traitor, is what he is.” Donnelley said, “He’s been doin’ everythin’ he can to make sure UMBRA doesn’t connect the dots in West Virginia. He’s been compromised for a long time.”

“I was startin’ to think…” Donnelley watched Jason, carefully at first, because he just didn’t know who to trust anymore. Jason was the only other one who’d been cleared Delta Green with him in Mosul and the prison. He was the only other one with tangible leads on ISIS and close to Abna al’Harb and Anzor.

And he’d been gone while all of this happened to UMBRA. Then he softened a bit, but he still felt the weight of his handgun in his waistband, “I was startin’ to think they’d got to you, like they got to all of us.”

The hours flashed like a zeotrope in Jason’s thoughts, the files he had poured over again and again. All for one declaration spat bitterly from a dead man. Donnelley had held on to this for a while. It was the only way he could have ended up here. How long had he been suspicious and how much of that time was with UMBRA? That revelation alone had a winding trail of questions. Jason was beginning to feel light headed.

“No, but…,” Jason scanned the floor, eyes darting around. “Maybe they suspected. Maybe that was the heat I was getting out of nowhere.” He paced a few steps towards the door, turned, and seeing no other place to go besides the window side of the bed and closer to Donnelley, stood still. “Files said you were killed in Alaska. How the fuck did you get out?”

Donnelley swallowed, and shook his head. He’d known for a long time since Afghanistan and the mission with the CIA Spook—the Program spook—that a darkness older than man hid at the edges of the tiny fires they all huddled around on this insignificant planet. How could Jason understand, or believe him. He could hardly believe himself.

“We didn’t.” He said, looking away from Jason, “One second, I was shootin’ the team that was supposed to be watchin’ our backs. I took one to the plate, another in my neck.”

He looked at Jason, his eyes almost like a mad believer, fevered and hounded by a revelation that all those stories were real after all. “I remember it. I remember dyin’. And then I remember wakin’ up.”

“I was in someone else’s clothes, in someone else’s car, and…” He swallowed again, his breath shaking, “The mission in Alaska was FUBAR from the start. We found a man named Ipiktok Irniq. He said he was from the future. I thought he was talkin’ shit at first. He said he dreamed all of this before it happened, and we needed to follow whatever happened in his dream, and I needed to shoot the guy next to me. I thought he was batshit.”

“Until I died.” He said, “And then I woke up.”

It couldn’t have been a coincidence. The sudden betrayal in the field, madness skirting the edge of what shouldn’t be seen. The planet turned and in its revolution another insignificant tremor on the fault line of the real, the horrible. There was a reason such synchronicities were repeating. Jason could feel it now tethering them both. In this moment they were meant to be here, this solitary rock upon that same fault line. He was so confused but so sure of his place now.

“You telling me you died? I mean,” Jason paused. “Induced coma, I-C-U. You could have been patched up, man. Who knows how—” No, it didn’t make sense. The timeline was off. No way Donnelley could have recovered given the date of his death. “What are you telling me? There’s some 12 Monkeys shit and he brought you back to life?”

It sounded insane, certifiably was insane, but Jason couldn’t shake that deep recognition that maybe some truth was in it. They had already seen things that couldn’t be explained, things that blew down the facade of normalcy constructed all around them. Why shouldn’t it be true?

“I know what happened, Jason!” Donnelley stood with a quickness as if he was a zealot offended at the mention of heresies. He knew what happened to him, and to Laine, and the rest of them. “They handed me the clothes I was wearing when I was killed and it was my blood. I… I can’t understand how, or why, but I know what happened.”

“I get it. Sometimes, when I try to sleep, I’m fucking terrified. I’m terrified, man. That when I close my eyes they won’t ever open again,” Donnelley stroked at his beard and ran his hands through his lengthening hair, down to his shoulders almost, “Fuckin’ so scared that this is all a dream, and I’m really just dead. That this is just some leftover sensory hallucinations from the last synapses firing off before it all just…”

And Donnelley made a gesture with his hands, pantomiming all the somethings and everythings around them just blowing away with a swipe of time and death’s hands, like swiping dirt off of your desk. “But then I wake up.” He frowned, and thought of Poker dying, thought of his daughter sobbing through the phone and telling him to just be there with her, stop chasing danger right to her doorstep, “And I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

“If this is all fake, maybe I should just fuckin’ play along,” Donnelley huffed a ghost of a chuckle through a fleeting smile, “Right?”

It’s what Jason would do. He’d convince himself the same thing, to live in the dream until it frayed and split. It reminded him of the Bardo Thodol, how after death the confused soul would relive and replay its life still bound by its attachments. But Donnelley wasn’t dead because Jason wasn’t. It was too pretentious to say aloud but had its grounding effect on the analyst.

“And everyone else? Are they…”

“Dead?” Donnelley finished, and shook his head almost imperceptibly. A small twitch of his head, “I don’t know. But, Foster has a list. The Russians have a list.”

Donnelley folded his arms, lowered his head, grounding himself in the moment like he was in danger of floating off like he thought he would sometimes, “They’ve been goin’ down that list. Poker’s dead. They tried to kill Ghost, but… well, you can guess how that went.” He snorted, starting to get back that humor, “Last I heard, Dave and Ava are still out there somewhere, layin’ low, movin’ careful. I sent out an activation message through the channels, see who turns up.”

Donnelley shrugged, “So far, it’s only you and Ghost.”

“And Laine?”

Jason wished he could have taken back the question but had no power other than to ask it. His gut sank but he didn’t understand why, only that he wished Donnelley would have just mentioned her name among the living.

“Last time I saw her was the end of last month.” Donnelley said, a hope in his eyes and voice when he spoke again, “She’s alive.”

“Fuck man,” Jason spat, and sank on the bed studying the floor. “Program is acting like you’re KIA. Whatever friend you have seems to want to keep it that way. And I don’t know how deep this goes, I feel like they’ve put me in a closet.”

The relief was bittersweet. He wasn’t alone, that was immeasurably soothing, but now he didn’t feel safe. He didn’t even know how deep in the web he was, especially now being the only overtly living member of UMBRA. So naturally the next topic of their reunion, or the one his mind was leap frogging to, was West Virginia.

“What the hell did we stumble into in West Virginia? What would terminate two fucking teams, I mean they had to play their cards to do it. What’s worth that?” It sounded cold but he couldn’t help it; his curiosity reigned over the relief, the sorrow, every other emotion emulsified into his current demeanor.

“I think they found somethin’ there. Somethin’ that’s been there since before they dug into those mountains.” Donnelley shook his head, staring over Jason’s shoulder, eyes looking at something in the fog of memory, “Whatever it is, maybe it wanted to be found. And whoever found it, they think it’s worth killin’ over.”

He looked back to Jason, the only other man besides Queen who had gone off the path with him. Who had dared ask the questions no one else thought to, or no one else would, “Somethin’s in Blackriver, man. Just like somethin’ was in Mosul. You were there, we saw what happened in that place.” Donnelley frowned, “This is bigger than just some fuckin’ backwoods old minin’ family in a county no one’s ever heard about.”

“Okay…” Jason said to himself. He was practically hanging of the side of the bed, and shifted back to his feet as he faced Donnelley. “This whole time thinking I’ve missed it all. Some sort of door that opened but only for a moment and it closed when my back was turned. I don’t want to be on the wrong side of that door ever again, even if that means I don’t get to wake up. So whatever the fuck you’re doing now I’m part of it, and I don’t think it could be any other way, Donnelley.”

Donnelley had that same resolve in his eyes that was there when they were fighting for their lives in the prison in Mosul. They went in together. They came out together. He nodded slowly, “Good.”

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S RESIDENCE
>15.NOV.2019
>0500…///

Donnelley opened his eyes to the dark room, teeth bared as he growled, reaching for something that wasn’t even there. Not anymore, anyways. That was all back in Alaska. For a moment, he didn’t recognize where he was, and he sat up in a panic, thinking of the horror it would be if this was still in Yutu’s house. Then heard the sound of clinking dishes and the sink running. Sobel making breakfast. He looked to his right and saw the time, sighed, then got up to sitting on the bed. His hip and shoulders popped with the effort and he gave another sigh. He went to put on his shirt, a task that sent him around the entire room looking for it until he found it crumpled underneath the bed, draped over the suede of his Danner boots. He slipped it on, grabbed the chopped down AK laying on the bed next to him, and opened his door to the smell and sound of bacon and eggs frying. He trudged into the kitchen, giving a half-assed smile to Sobel’s nearly sincere one. TAva
.xcv
e
smiles rarely were, Donnelley was probably one of the only few who knew that. Sobel didn’t seem bothered by that, just went back to his cooking. Donnelley spied white gravy and a tray of biscuits too.

“Your favorite.” Sobel spoke from the kitchen, earning another look from Donnelley, his brows furrowed.

“How’d you know that?”

“You told me. Mosul, remember? Twenty-sixteen.” Sobel looked back to his eggs, “How do you like these?”

“Over hard.” Donnelley’s eyes were still on Sobel as he cooked. Paired with the weird shit the first day he was here with the layout of his house, and suddenly knowing all of it, Sobel wasn’t endearing himself to Donnelley. He was getting tired of people getting inside his head and rooting around in there, taking away or adding to what was inside.

“What?”

Donnelley shook his head and looked away, realizing he’d been caught staring. He crossed the kitchen and opened the door outside, wondering where Ghost was. Maybe he’d taken the Wetwork Teams and decided to go off and kill Foster himself. At least then, he wouldn’t have to deal with it. But he knew he had to. It was already decided, a debt was made in Alaska. There would be blood until it was paid. They’d hurt his daughter. He hadn’t heard from anyone besides Dave and Ava, and that wasn’t recent. Maybe it was all up to him again, another time being the only survivor. He put a cigarette between his lips, not really wanting to go down that road. Not yet. And not at all. He thought of calling Laine, or Tilly, but he knew it’d be only a matter of time before either Russians or Feds showed up on Sobel’s doorstep. Fairfield didn’t seem the type of town where a reunion like that and its fireworks would go unnoticed.

Instead of doing any of that, he just sat on the steps of the porch with his rifle in his lap. He took in the view of the Idaho countryside while he puffed away slowly on his cigarette, nipping off his flask every so often, waiting for the first of UMBRA to come. If they did at all.

In the morning twilight a pair of headlights on a white hatchback encroached from the long stretch of road that cut through Fairfield. Bajbala rolled her windows down as she pulled up to the house on the coordinates, spying the man seated on its porch.

It took a moment to regain her composure after the long night drive, one of belting out funky lyrics to keep awake. She exited the vehicle and walked up next to Donnelley with hands in her jacket pockets. The dark beneath her eyes masked by the morning.

"Hi. " she said with the cold on her breath and a smile. The one always seeming to be plastered beneath any expression.

Donnelley watched the hatchback creep across the lonely highway. He quirked a brow when it made a turn onto Sobel’s considerably lengthy driveway. The visibility around Sobel’s house was good, relatively few obstructions besides the tall grass and an errant tree here or there. That meant if this was someone Sobel wasn’t expecting, he had every chance to take that rifle of his and do something about the stranger.

As it were, the person who stepped out of the vehicle was anything but a stranger. Donnelley matched her smile, the memory of them getting the drop on ol’ Sam Dee, Company Badass, was fresh still. Bajbala was a much needed calming presence.

“Make yourself at home. Just ask Sobel where everything is and he’ll do his, uh,” Donnelley huffed a chuckle, “thing.”

She nodded. Sobel was still strange to her. She remembers the awkward exchange of glances in Alaska, they never spoke further.

"That, I will.'' Bajbala muttered. The scent of bacon was stagnant coming through the screen door. She kicked off her ankle boots and peered around at the tidy abode. A shifting noise caught her attention from another room, presumably Sobel.

"You guys are up early. Not getting started already are we?" She asked.

Sobel looked up from the cooking eggs and smiled at the voice of Bajbala. They hadn’t any time to talk in Alaska, but such was the nature of the Program. You see the same faces every day, but to the world—and to each other—you remained strangers. No telling if either party was engaged in an active operation.

Sobel wiped his hands off on a towel and stepped away from the range, pulling his attention away from the eggs, bacon, and sausage. The other batch of biscuits wouldn’t be ready for another few minutes anyway. He stood opposite Bajbala, but seemed hesitant to offer his hand to her, nodding instead, “Hello, my name is Sobel. I don’t believe we’ve met, but we’ve seen each other.” He cleared his throat, but his eyes remained fixed on Bajbala’s, the smile not quite reaching them, “I would offer you bacon, but if you eat only halal, there’s other things I can get for you. It wouldn’t be much trouble.”

She found his hospitality off-putting. Bacon and eggs would have been great if her appetite wasn't upside down that morning. A symptom of the mode she gets in whenever something big is about to begin.

"Oh, no. I'm not— it's fine. But maybe some tea?" Bajbala asked, somewhat coy. Her intimacy with the Quran bled out during the time she was pawned around Afghanistan. She smirked to one side and peered around for any place she could kick her feet up; in a way to break eye contact with her host.

Sobel’s smile vanished for a moment at Bajbala’s refusal of food. He instead nodded, finally breaking his eye contact to look at the cupboard in thought, “Earl Grey? I also have green tea.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned away from her, “Please, use my home as if it were your own.” He said from the kitchen, “I’m sure you’ll find your way. Do you have any bags to be unloaded? I’m sure Muru and I could handle the heavy lifting.”

"Earl Grey as is, please!" Bajbala pepped up at his departure, she really just wanted some sleep. "And no need. I only have one bag of clothes." Among several containing equipment and weapons.

As if summoned only by name, a small girl stepped down the stairs carefully. Her face looked as empty as Sobel’s, but her eyes held some measure of quiet curiosity as they looked at Bajbala. Once down the stairs, the little girl walked directly up to Bajbala, ignoring everything else. She hadn’t blinked the whole time, yet Sobel was smiling at her from the kitchen like some proud father.

“Are you happy?” The little girl asked Baj in Russian, her staring blue eyes set in her pallid face showing no sign of caring for her answer either way. Just the same quiet curiosity she regarded the rest of the world with. “I had a dream we went to your home. Are you happy?”

Sobel exited the kitchen and offered his hand out, taking Muru’s in his own and smiling at Bajbala. This one was somewhat more sincere than the smiles he gave everyone else.

“She asked about your day.” Sobel lied, knowing Muru had a knack for unnerving people. Even he had found it somewhat unsettling when Muru had told him that she’d had a dream of him in a locked room, flayed open with doctors buzzing around him like an experiment, “This is Muru.”

Bajbala smiled as the girl approached, she had always found children a delight, even when they ask those peculiar prying questions, like they sometimes do. The Russian wasn't even what surprised her, it was different; in the eyes, in her expression. It tilled up memories and she felt a sweltering of sadness, anger and joy all at once beneath a professional exterior, as if never asked that question before. If it were another moment she could cry or snatch the girl in her arms and tell her no, her ill defined understanding of "happiness"— embrace the poor girl like she was her own. Bajbala damned her exhaustion.

"Oh, everyday is a joy, Muru. You have a beautiful name!" She played along. It seemed no one else knew of her developing Russian fluency. Except Muru. "How old are you?" She asked with a hint of excitement, peering between her and Sobel. Two sets of soul-searching eyes.

Muru looked to Sobel as Bajbala spoke, and Sobel gave a half-smile before explaining in Russian, “She is asking how old you are.”

Muru looked away from Sobel, her eyes going to the floor as if Bajbala had asked her to figure out a complex mathematical formula. Thinking in silence for a few moments, Muru looked at Baj and shrugged her shoulders, “vosem’ let?” She answered as if there was a possibility of it being wrong.

Sobel translated for her, “She says eight.” And explained, “She doesn’t speak English. Only Russian. A bit of a barrier. The Program won’t tell me where she came from, or how she got here. But, she is here and she is safe. A small victory for her. Vy by skazali, chto rady byt' pod kryshey?”

Muru only nodded.

The back door banged open a moment later, the sound preceding a sweaty and visibly irritated Ghost. The massive man wore Ranger-panties, boots, and his Oakleys; beyond that only a scowl that cast his knife-twisted face in a savage sneer. Hay dusted his red hair and shoulders, caught in the thick patch of scarlet hair on his chest. A gallon water-jug hung from his right hand, and his battle-belt and Glock were settled around his waist.

“If I have to do one more clean with a haybale I’m going to fucking kill myself,” he growled as he went to the sink to fill his bottle. “We need to hurry up and kill Foster so I can get back to the gym.”

“In time, my friend.” Sobel let go of Muru’s hand and nudged her back towards the stairs, where she went up and to her room, “We still have to wait. We’ve only got the one arrival for now.”

At the sound of Ghost’s entrance, Donnelley entered as well, shutting the front door behind him with his AK in one hand and the bottle of whiskey in the other. He set them both down and fell back into the couch, sighing, “He’s got a point.”

Donnelley looked over from the couch, at Ghost’s vast shoulders taking up almost the entire kitchen on their own and then at Sobel, “Strike while the iron’s hot. We give more time to Foster, we give him more chances to think of ways to fuck us.”

“You wanted me to call everyone here, and I did.” Sobel shook his head, “Rushing off won’t help us any more than being too slow.”

Donnelley simply frowned at Sobel, knowing he too had a point, like a Mexican stand-off of good fucking points, all tickling sharply at each other’s necks. He plodded into the kitchen, flipping the cooking eggs and bacon for Sobel before making a plate for himself. While he did, he spoke to Ghost, “How’s the Kill Teams? They haven’t all killed each other yet have they?” He asked, “Be embarrasin’ for us.”

“Kill Teams are fine,” Ghost said dismissively. “No fights yet. Though that little Jap sniper chick on Ronin’s team pulled her knife on DD when he got handsy. I think he liked it.”

“Marines and Asian chicks. Like dudes fresh out of Basic and Dodge Chargers at fifty-nine percent APR.” Donnelley snorted and bit off a piece of bacon.

Ghost paused and looked over at Bajbala, seeming to notice her for the first time. He’d spotted her when he walked in, of course, but hydration took priority. “Thought you were a temp attachment.”

"Me too, " she snickered, "circumstances change." She had little more business on this assignment than she did sewing up the gash on Ghost's face. Bajbala didn't get the feeling he liked her— or anyone. Yet, they shared some elusive personal stake.

Donnelley exited the kitchen, plate in hand and set it down on the table. He gave Bajbala a once over, his eyes taking in everything and finding there was something amiss. Not that she ever seemed to stray far from the coy and the sarcastic, but she should be acting different, somehow. Angrier, he guessed. After Foster had let them all really know how he felt, he expected everyone to be screaming for vengeance as loud as he was. He found it odd.

“Did anybody tell you why we’re all here?” Donnelley cocked a brow and bit off more bacon from the strip he held, watching her thoughtfully. “‘Cause, as much as I like everyone here, I’d rather be doin’ some other shit.”

Retribution was a vacant concept to Bajbala, snuffed after her failures in Afghanistan. Now, it wasn't hers, even if she was another arm to achieve it. "None of you tell me shit." She said, deadpan. "I know what I need to, right?"

“Get used to it. If only I had shit to let you know about.” Donnelley said, equally deadpan, “Long story short, almost all of us were touched personally by Foster’s heartfelt actions these past few days.”

He let it go unsaid that his daughter was in the hospital, and his ex-wife and her husband were in the trauma center in medically induced comas. That was something he’d worry about later, “So, we’ve all decided to kill him. Director’s blessin’.” Donnelley pulled his lips taut in a forced smile before it disappeared as quick as it’d come, “Somebody tried to murder Ghost. What happened to you? They set your house on fire or somethin’?”

Bajbala pressed her hands deep in her pockets and inhaled the warm air. She could use that tea about now. This was probably Tex's way of asking how her winter had gone. She pointed at Ghost with a tilt of her head, wincing in disbelief. "Right, murder him?" said lowly like he couldn't hear them. Ghost's shaded stare was enough to make her want to join Muru upstairs. "I think I might have had a dream about Foster, but I haven't seen anyone in months," her eyes searched the ceiling briefly then dashed back to Donnelley, "Oh, I got an air fryer."

Ghost cocked his head, giving her a serious look. He was mixing a protein shake he had acquired from one of the other operators, and he stopped mid-shake. “Do you like it?”

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, yes!" She began motioning with her hands as she talked. "You can put anything in it. The other day I just wanted a toasted roll with butter so I tossed it in the pot and a few minutes later," she shook her head in awe and said with serenity, "it was just magical."

Ghost grunted. “Need to get one of those,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Through a window the faded green top of an aged SUV traced the horizon and turned into Sobel’s driveway, announced by the grinding of tire and rock. Inside, Jason was doing his best to distract himself from the zoetrope of thoughts that had now settled on how this convergence would be different from the last time. Like West Virginia, this place’s remoteness held an innate anxiety for the analyst the way one could feel trapped in a social setting, cornered and stagelit by unfamiliarity. But here he was, marooned with strangers yet again.

“Everyone’s a fucking stranger,” Jason muttered to himself. Even he wasn’t excluded from the proclamation. He had been slipping into the abstract in terms of how he saw himself, and it had been going that way for some time. It was exactly why he didn’t want to be in his own head, even now, and it made long drives a menacing affair.

Jason approached the porch with two black duffle bags slouching his shoulders, and he knocked before taking his liberty with the front door. A few cautious steps in and he found Donnelley, Ghost, and Bajbala orbiting the livingroom and kitchen area. Jason regarded Ghost first, the wall of hairy muscle demanding presence.

“Jesus,” He said, snickering. What else was he supposed to expect from the man?

“Don’t mind him. He’s a little eccentric is all.” Donnelley looked Jason over, not expecting any change from when they last spoke, but a part of him was wondering if he was seeing ghosts. With every arrival, he wondered if that one would be the last, and everyone else would either be in Federal custody or the main event at a wake.

“Let me help you with those, man.” Donnelley reached for one of Jason’s duffels.

“How do you like your eggs?” Sobel asked from the kitchen, not sparing Jason a look, but acknowledging some other faceless Government man who technically didn’t exist had shown up in his house. If all the activity around his property bothered him, he made a good show of not being perturbed by it all.

Jason handed the bag over, the ease of the gesture belying its hefty weight. Despite his sunken eyes and thick stubble a boyishness flashed as he regarded his team lead.

“Scrambled,” he called out, a ‘thank you’ fading as he failed to place a face to the voice in the kitchen. “Brought some gear. Everything I had from last time and some toys the government misplaced. Cool thing is—,” he went on, bounding over to Ghost and extending a hand, “—what’s up, killer. Is that hay?”

Without knowing him it would have been hard to spot the manic edge to his voice, each word a bit more eager and quicker than his normal cadence, but anyone close enough could see his dilated pupils.

Ghost took the hand and gave it a single shake, his shark’s gaze locking on Jason’s dilated pupils. While his familiarity with the other man was limited, there was no mistaking the effects of a stimulant at work. Probably cocaine, since Jason didn’t seem like the kind to mess with ice.

“There’s no gym,” he said by way of explanation. “Just a barn.” He released the other man and returned to his post-workout ritual. He threw a scoop of creatine in his mouth dry, washed it back with several heavy pulls from his water bottle, and turned.

“Gonna shower,” he grunted, then looked at Sobel. “Scrambled. Six. I’ll cover what I eat after the op.” Giving their host a pre-emptive nod of thanks he headed for the door.

Sobel regarded Ghost in a way that was unlike any of the others, for a moment the facade faded to nothing, and he simply nodded without hospitality. He knew none was needed, because he knew it didn’t matter. He admired Ghost in a way. He broke the yolk of an egg without effort and it bled across the pan, “Good.”

"He must make up for the lack of charm in the room." Bajbala commented as he left. She over-extended a handshake to the newcomer. He was every bit as wide as Ghost but projected more handsome energy. “I’m Baj.” A more prolific accent on her name.

Jason’s gaze followed Ghost, an amused huff jumping out of him as the man retreated deeper into the house. Sobel teased an appearance but before Jason could divert his attention he regarded Bajbala with a subdued smile.

“Baj,” he said, testing the sound of it. He took her hand, eyes deep and inquisitive, darting around her facial features. “Jason. Boy Scout on paperwork.”

His hand was warm with the faintest flush of moisture, and he held hers just a moment beyond what was expected. A new person was exciting in ways Jason didn’t want to admit, but with it came a lingering dread. Her presence here ensured she wouldn’t leave unscathed, whatever the circumstance. So far UMBRA was riddled with death, let alone the other scars. But it also meant she was capable, and no one here needed any pity or concern. In his wide pupils she could see the workings of the thought, but whatever flashed disappeared as he let go.

“Analyst and field work,” he added, and looked over his shoulder at Donnelley. “Stopped in Boise for some stuff. We’ll talk offline.”

>...///

“Looks different in the daytime, doesn’t it?” Ava said as Dave pulled up the rural driveway to the somewhat familiar abode of Sobel. She scratched Thor between the ears, then went back to securing his walking harness and his leash, while trying to keep her mind from spiraling down an unpleasant path.

Still, she bit her lip and looked at the house before looking to Dave. “Do you…think Donnelley is here already?”

Dave glanced over at her, piloting the big Ford with its deadly cargo. “I think Donnelley’s probably been here for a while,” he said. “This is his show, ain’t like him to show up second, ya know?”

He reached over and put a hand on her thigh, gave it a squeeze. “You alright?”

“...No,” She answered honestly with a sigh. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see him, Dave. Part of me is so angry at him and the other part is just hurt.” She stroked her hand down Thor’s back, the large cat laying half on her lap and half on the seat; sleeping and purring away. “I’ll either yell at him or just start crying. Maybe both.”

“I know, sugar,” he said, his voice soft. “An’ if you need to yell, or cry, you can do that. An’ I’ll put his ass on the ground, if he raises his voice to you, you know that. But we can’t do this without him. And it’s gotta get done. And then once it’s done, we’re done. So just be strong a little longer, alright?”

Ava looked at the house and took in a deep breath. “Okay,” She turned to him and smiled, placing her hand on top of his and giving it a squeeze. “Thanks Dave.”

“Course.” Seeing her smile he broke into a grin. “We’ll just go in, say hi, an’ try to play nice long enough to get this thing handled.”

He pulled the truck into the drive, his heart fluttering as he dropped it into park. It wasn’t fear. He was excited. And for just a moment, he hated it.

Then he leaned over and gave Ava a kiss. “I love you, sugar. We’re gonna be okay.”

She smiled and reached up to touch his face. “I love you too. I know we’ll get through this.” For a brief moment, Alaska flashed through her mind and her fingers twitched on his cheek. She shut her eyes and pressed their foreheads together. “We’ll get through this.”

Dave rested there for a long moment, letting the truck tick quietly as it cooled in the driveway before kissing Ava firmly on the forehead. Then he sat up, took his Sig from the fold out cup-holder beneath the truck’s stereo, and stuck it in the holster at his hip. He flashed her a grin.

“Alright,” he said. “Happy-face time. Let’s go say hi.”

Ava let out a long breath and took Thor’s leash in her hand. “Right, happy-face.”

>...///

“…We’ll talk offline.” Donnelley heard Jason say, nodding in return and knowing what the other man had in store. His ears picked out the soft whine of brakes among the pops of gravel under rubber tread, and he looked out the window to see Dave’s truck.

“Shit.” Donnelley whispered under his breath.

He looked away as if they could see him through the window. No doubt, Ava was with him. No doubt she had told him about what happened. No doubt Dave had his own feelings about it. He was all at once shamed and indignant, and when he heard the knock at the door his hand seized into a fist for a moment.

“Somebody answer the door.” Sobel’s voice came from the kitchen. When no one else moved, Donnelley knew it was his job.

He sighed, going to the door and opening it. There she was, standing next to Dave. Though she wore a smile, it may as well have been under threat of death with the way it looked. He glanced at Dave, offering nothing but a curt nod and, “Welcome.”

He stepped aside and immediately grabbed up the bottle of whiskey and the AK on the couch, heading back to his room. In his place, and quite in juxtaposition with the other man, Sobel seemed almost in a hurry to greet Ava and Dave. Though the way he looked between them made it apparent that it was mostly Ava he was interested in. It wasn’t much of a hard train of thought to figure out why. The two were different from everyone else, for different reasons. But just one in the case of the two of them.

Sobel greeted Dave first, offering his hand out to him with the faintest of smiles that didn’t have the ability or want to reach his eyes, “Welcome back to my home.”

Dave returned Donnelley’s nod, watching him walk away and biting back a sigh. He took Sobel’s hand in his and gave it a firm shake, returning the smile and ushering Ava in with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Thanks, man,” he said. “I appreciate the hospitality.” As he looked around the room he gave Bajbala a nervous grin and a wave. He wasn’t proud of what she’d seen of him the last time; he had come off as a bloodthirsty maniac, and that wasn’t him. Not really. When he saw Jason his eyes lit up.

“Hey, what’s up?” He said. “Good to see ya!”

Ava had felt her heartbeat quicken when the door open and Donnelley stood there, keeping the smile on her face even as a tide of unpleasant emotions welled up in her chest. But before she could say anything, he gave her a glance, then looked away and walked off with a bottle of alcohol in his hand.

The anger in her chest dimmed as a fresh wave of hurt washed over her. Her smile fell and she looked down, her hand growing tighter on Thor’s leashed as she felt moisture prick at the back of her eyes.

She looked up when Sobel approached, giving him a half smile as she tried to shove the hurt down and away. “Oh, um, hi Sobel.” She said, lifting her hand in a small wave. “I’m sorry but I brought a plus one.” She looked down at Thor as the cat padded cautiously up to Sobel to sniff him. “I kind of left in a hurry and didn’t have anywhere to leave him where he’d be alright.” She crouched down slightly to scratch his head. “I hope that’s okay and your cat won’t mind?”

“Well, you have a place now, for the time being.” Sobel said, his face lit up with a much more sincere picture of hospitality, “Murph has his own space, and lots of it. He can afford to have your plus one borrow some of it.”

He smiled down at Thor, the cat still not sure what to make of him. A spot he’d been in more times than to be offended by. He looked back up to Ava, “I hope you’re alright. As I understand, most everybody had to leave under similar circumstances as yourself.” Sobel said, then gestured to the rest of the interior of his house, “Make yourselves at home, everything’s easy to find. You remember.”

Dave gave Sobel another nod of thanks, squeezed Ava’s shoulder, and then went after Donnelley, giving Jason a pat on the shoulder as he went. “We’ll catch up in a minute, bud. I gotta see the boss about somethin’,” he said, nodding at the bigger man as he passed.

He caught up with Donnelley further down the hall. He didn’t reach out, not sure of the response he would get, and instead took his Cope from his pocket and gave it a few snaps, as much to alert Donnelley to his presence as to give himself something to do.

“Hey, can we talk a minute?” He asked, his voice calm.

Donnelley had the bottle of whiskey half-way to his mouth as he turned around to see none other than Dave. The telltale snaps of his Copenhagen can in hand told him who it was, but in his present state of mind, the only thing on it was escape. It was Sun Tzu who said to never let the field of battle be chosen for you, he remembered. Now here Dave was, choosing.

He took a pull off the bottle and then nodded, capping it again, “Yeah.” He said, looking the other man in the eyes, not fully expecting what was going to happen next, but his nerves were ready for anything. Always were. “What’s up?”

Dave leaned against the wall, opening the can and packing his lip, trying to make it clear he wasn’t looking for a violent confrontation. As he prodded the dip into place with his tongue he put the can away and then looked Donnelley in the eyes.

“Look, I got some stuff to say,” he said. “And I just wanna…Get it out there. I know some shit went down between you and Ava. She told me about. She’s still hurt, you’re gonna have to talk to her about that yourself, but… Look, man, I was pissed when I heard. But you’re my boy. We’ve…Shit, we’ve been through a lot, you know?”

He paused a moment. “I ain’t one to hold a grudge, not against a friend. And I been tryin’ to put myself in your shoes, to think about shit like…Like if I was havin’ to be in charge, and keep my head straight with all this hell that’s been goin’ on. So you talk to Ava, an’ sort things out with her, but right now, you an’ me are good. Okay? I just…Wanted you to know, we’re still in this shit together.”

Donnelley stood and listened, like any other good leader would do. If not for the memory of Avery that still poked and prodded, and stung him every moment like every other failure he’d ever made as a leader, then for his friendship with Dave. He looked over Dave’s shoulder for a moment to see Ava making her way through the living room alone and awkward just to share a roof with the man who’d shaken her. He remembered what he’d said to her before their argument—that whoever would leave a girl like her feeling unwanted was an idiot and a damn fool.

Well, that’s how it felt. He looked back to Dave and then nodded, “Ain’t no sides ‘bout this, partner.” Donnelley said, the Texan coming out in his voice like it always did when he and Dave talked, “I ain’t gonna tell you to tell her anythin’ on my behalf. I’ll be a man about it like anythin’ else needs doin’.”

“It’s just me and her… well, you got told already what happened.” Donnelley said, and occupied his hands with holding the neck of the whiskey bottle while the AK was tucked under his arm, “You just have to know… after it happened, I wished it didn’t.”

“I been there,” Dave said. He flashed back to a run-down barn, a screaming Russian, and a dripping hunting knife. “I’ve done shit I regret, too. But we’re movin’ on, gettin’ shit done.”

He reached out and thumped Donnelley on the chest, grinning at him. “When we got a chance, I’ll show ya the party favors I brought in my truck. Got a few pounds of high-explosive goodness for us to play with, and a few toys if nobody brought their own. And a big one, if we need it.” He nodded at the bottle. “We’ll have a drink later. I’m gonna grab our bags an’ shit, get us moved in. We good, brother?”

Donnelley gave a tired smile and nodded, “Always.” He made to turn back for his room, but hesitated at the last second, “You, uh… You need help with that?”

Dave shrugged. “Sure, if ya want. Once we get the bags in we can take a look in the back of the truck. Show ya the real fun.”

It was still dark, the sun yet to peek over the rugged horizon as the throaty growl of a V-8 engine disrupted the tranquil hour. Dust kicked up, illuminated by the red glow of tail lights on the ‘91 Mustang that ripped up the track towards Sobel’s house. The stereo thumped, faintly audible as the driver’s side window was open, a tattooed arm resting on the frame as the cherry of the cigarette flirted dangerously with flying free and finding a nest of tinder among the trees.

Queen took a drink from the can of Bang that tasted like cotton candy and piss but supplemented the speed and coke still coursing through his veins. He’d been on a run since leaving Florida, then it had been in a 2008 Toyota that he wrecked somewhere outside Lincoln, Nebraska but he had walked away from it, bruised and needing a few bandaids. The Mustang he had picked up somewhere, but he could not think of where at the moment. Only that he had remembered enough to bend the window and to hotwire the old muscle car.

The only thing clear in his mind was her bruised face and the beeping machines.

Queen swung up the drive, slamming on the brakes as he spotted the pickup with camper and drifted the Mustang into a screeching stop that was a hair’s breadth from slapping up against it. He sat for a moment, pausing to give a hazy admiration to his driving skill and then to gather himself, pushing together the scraps of consciousness and thought to appear to have his shit together.

Sure I do, Queen told himself and rolled out of the Mustang and kicked the door closed after picking up his duffel bag. His pale sea blue eyes darted around the house, the heaviness of the gun tucked in his waistband was some assurance. If this was not some elaborate ruse by the Russians, maybe they took them all and had Dave’s truck. Maybe.

He walked with a slightly jerky gate, loose limbed and with a drunk’s practiced ease. He pushed the strands of lank dirty blonde hair under his cap and turned it backward as he approached the front of the cabin. Queen rapped on the door, leaning against the frame with his free hand resting against the grip of the pistol.

The door squeaked open and showed Donnelley standing in the doorway. There was a ready smile on his lips and a droop to his eyes that told of a good buzz going. The smile faded a touch as he regarded his friend, who looked like he was hitting the roads as hard as he was hitting the caffeine and other substances. It felt good to see him, but it didn’t feel good to see him like this. Whatever the Russians did, it made Queen look like hell.

“Howdy, partner.” Donnelley said quietly, then stepped past the doorway and onto the porch, closing the door behind him. It had been quite a while since they last spoke, and what they ended on wasn’t exactly the best of terms. It sure hurt Donnelley.

“What happened?” Donnelley said it outright. There wasn’t any sidestepping and beating around the bush with his old friend.

Queen reached up and scratched at the hatband pressed against his forehead, rubbing it askew. He looked over at Donnelley, catching a hint of whiskey in the air between them. He smiled, squinting in the sunrise that was peeking over the trees now. The smile was more a baring of teeth, his usual ease a thin faltering mask over the tense cords that stood from his neck and forearms.

“Howdy,” he said, then hunted for a cigarette, patting his pockets down and then remembered they were on the passenger seat of the Mustang.

The question turned the forced smile into a real grimace before it melted into a thin hard line. His sea blue eyes danced and jittered, and he clenched his fists then popped his knuckles. “They came after my mom,” he said, his voice low and scratchy. “They put their fucking hands on her, put her in the hospital.”

Queen cleared his throat and spat to the side, his gaze remaining off in the distance as he could not bring himself to look at Donnelley or the whole fragile facade would crash down into a smoking wreck.

“Jesus…” Donnelley breathed. He hunted for his own cigarettes to better results than Queen, opening the pack and offering it to his friend. It wasn’t the Kools he was used to smoking, but Donnelley knew it didn’t matter in times like this, “I’m so sorry, man.”

He knew they left the same note that had been found next to Poker’s dead body. And at the mention of his mother in the hospital, he could see in his mind’s eye the slack face of Holly bathed in the sterile light of a hospital room, barely breathing in beat to a heart rate monitor and the steady drip-drip of a saline bag. Tilly watching her helplessly, wishing she’d done something more and could do anything now, and a brother that would never be.

And a father that wasn’t there, again.

He lit his cigarette and shook his head, what else could they do? He looked at his friend, at Billy, “I promise we’ll get the ones who did this.” Donnelley said, feeling like the promises just kept coming out of his mouth to just pitifully float down to the dirt like the hollow things they were, “I’m sorry, Billy.”

Queen took the cigarette and cupped his hands over it for a light, then inhaled a ragged breath. He blew the smoke out into the pale morning light and nodded silently, swallowing hard as he did not trust himself to speak. After a few more drags, he glanced up at Donnelley, “I don’t know if she’ll make it. She’s the only one that...”

His eyes threatened tears again and he blinked fiercely, “You know, she loved me no matter what a fuck up I became. She...hell, she didn’t know half of what I’ve become. But there were two I could count on in this world and one of them is hanging onto her life.”

Dropping the butt, he ground it out on the porch and blew the last of the smoke from his nostrils. “And I don’t know...”

He jerked his head up, the vertebrae crackling and he looked at Donnelley, “I need to crash for awhile, I been up for three days or so. Four or five...hell I dunno. Been running since I found her.”

“Yeah, you go do that, man. We got everythin’ covered, Sobel’s got a room for you.” Donnelley placed a hand on Queen’s shoulder and looked into Queen’s eyes, “I got you, man, you know I do. With anythin’. Okay?”

Queen glanced up at Donnelley when he touched his shoulder, meeting his eyes with his own blood shot weary gaze. “Sure,” he said simply, his body loosening slightly and he rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the week’s beard growth. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

He pushed himself off the door frame and gave Donnelley a weak smile, a ghost of the usual jovial smirk. Queen opened the door and stepped inside, noticing the difference right away in his disheveled appearance compared to the rest of the team.

His gaze darted to Sobel, the quiet man who watched him as he entered. The exhaustion was now seeping into Queen’s body, his muscles twitched and his joints were starting to ache. He stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes before looking around the room.

Queen forced another smile, “Hey, y’all.”

He turned to Sobel, “Mind if I borrow your shower?”

A shadowed figure loomed behind Queen in the doorway, twice his width.

"I'm gonna need that first."

Croc brushed by him after bellowing and dropped two large briefcases in the foyer. Streaks of soot and grime crossed his body; clumped in with the hair on his bare forearms.

He and Sobel were well acquainted, more so than Donnelley, professionally. He slapped Tex's shoulder as he passed with a heavy dry paw. It was almost like he knew his way around, like his way through the dark shades on his face nearly hidden beneath hair.

"Good to see ya brotha." He said intensely then walked on, not minding another soul, to the shower.

Ava turned on the couch when the door opened, her eyes lighting up when she saw Queen step through before noticing the state he was in and frowning in concern. Her frown turned into a confused scowl when a stranger stomped in past Queen.

She got up from the couch, letting Thor roam around and hide behind furniture away from the crowd of new people. She walked up to Queen with a small smile on her face, holding out her arms to offer him a hug. “Hey Queen, glad to see you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Queen registered Croc and clenched his fists, the good nature fleeing his features before he caught himself. He rolled his shoulders and turned his attention from rude intrusion to Ava. Her voice broke through the fog of roiling anger and exhaustion and he looked her over. It took a moment to realize what was different, her wild curls now lay flat. It was almost disappointing but she still looked beautiful.

“Hey, Angel,” he said, referring back to the nickname he gave her months ago. “Same here, but ain’t it always this way?”

A crooked grin flashed and he accepted the offer, hugging her tighter than he meant to as if clinging to a life preserver. He shuddered slightly, holding back all the pent up emotions he had been carrying and gave her a pat on the back before pulling away.

“Been a while since Alaska,” he said, stepping back and crossing his arms across his lean chest. He glanced over her and nodded at Dave before stifling a yawn, rocking on his heels. “Y’all been alright?”

“Uh,” Ava looked over to Dave. “About as alright as we can be.” She said turning back to Queen with a concerned furrow of her brow. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I know we all were affected in some way.” She shifted on her feet. “Are you alright? You don’t have to tell me what happened, but are you okay?”

Queen’s smile melted, then he shook his head slowly, looking down at the floor between them. He muttered it, almost only loud enough for her to hear. “My mom,” he said, “She’s still in the hospital.”

He then rubbed the back of his neck, as if speaking it outloud was some sort of jinx. Queen glanced over Ava’s head towards the hallway Croc had gone down. “If that asshole is taking up the shower, I’m just gonna rack out for a couple hours. I ain’t slept since I don’t know when.”

Ava’s eyes widened with concern and sympathy at the information. Her stomach began to cramp with guilt as by comparison, she got off laughably light. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. The shower isn’t going to go anywhere.” She stepped forward and hugged him again. “I’m sorry about your mom, I’m sure she’ll be okay.” She said softly.

Queen nodded, his head jerking automatically as he returned her hug, pressing her briefly against his lean chest. “You’re probably right,” he said, trying to force cheer into his voice. “I need to rack out or I’ll be asleep on my feet.”

He let her go and gave Dave a nod as he hefted his bag over his shoulder and swayed towards the back where the spare room was. Once inside, he struggled to kick off his boots then gave up, flopping onto the bed.

Bajbala snuck away into the kitchen, disconnected from the team's recent traumas. Even though she lacked an appetite the scent of earl grey pulled her over to the island stool. There was the cup of tea Sobel had promised, steam curling up from the rim to tempt her as he continued sorting things about. Not as if he had forgotten to deliver it, but like he knew she would come; an invitation. "Thanks. " she sat, obliged. "What, may I ask, is your part in all this?"

Sobel continued with his task of pulling yet another batch of biscuits from the oven and setting them down to cool. He let the question hang on the air like the steam of his and Bajbala’s tea for a little longer as he slipped off the oven mitts. Finally, grasped his tea cup with both hands, almost unheeding of the heat and sipped just the same, “I facilitate things. I don’t have a Working Group—a team—of my own, so they let me do what I like, and sometimes, I let them tell me what to do.” He smirked, a little tug at one corner of his mouth, and then continued, “I hear an accent.”

Bajbala's mouth was dry with a curiosity kept at bay by bergamot. It wasn't the answer she was expecting, unsurprisingly. "Afghan." She stirred her tea more than sipped it. The little whirlpool was in cadence with her thoughts as is when she ponders another person. Sobel's still hands seemed to communicate more than his eyes. "No matter how I try I'm stuck with it. So what kind of things do you facilitate?" She asked.

“That thing we do a lot of.” Sobel shrugged, sipping his tea again before putting it down, “Do what needs doing. Kill who needs killing.”

He looked at Bajbala, unheeding of how unbroken eye contact made some people feel. He blinked for her sake and then looked away, down at his tea. He never liked when the conversation strayed towards him. Fancy that, the killer feeling like he’s swimming with sharks, “It’s a dime a dozen story these days, but I’ve been there; Afghanistan. Terrible shape it’s in these days.”

"Terrible shape always, it's part of the culture." She bitterly suggested. When she was a little older than Muru she had facilitated the deaths of her own countrymen. Bajbala wondered if the Program had been using the strange girl like the CIA had used her. She veered in thought and lifted her mug. "So you are babysitting because you want to or you… let them tell you?"

Sobel looked at the stairs, but Muru was not there. She was good at following directions, at least for now. There were the days she’d scream endlessly until she had her headphones, but he was glad today was not one of them. There was a small ache in his chest at the mention of her, but he shrugged, “There’s no place for her other than here. I doubt a healthy little suburban family has the ability or patience to deal with someth-someone like Muru.” He looked at Bajbala, “I guess I have no choice but to have her here.”

"I see." She didn't think too much on what he said, putting it behind the list of other peculiarities laid out by Donnelley. "Must be hard for her." She slugged back some tea, it's temperature perfect. "Is it just you two here, what about when you're on the road?"

“Lucky for her,” Sobel smirked behind the rim of his tea cup and sipped, “I’m not on the road as much as I used to be. She’s safe here, and I was told to keep it that way. As far as I’m concerned, that is my mission, and I will do it.”

“You would think it would be hard for her, yes. She doesn’t speak English, she’s from the Ukraine. How or why she’s here, I’ve no clue.” Sobel frowned faintly, shrugging, “It does get lonely at times out here, even with Murph, but he roams far and he’s almost never home. Can go days without seeing him sometimes.”

“At least with her around, I can pretend I have someone to talk to.” Even still, the dreams she had about Sobel’s past lingered in his mind. He felt defenseless and naked when others knew too much and he knew too little. The disturbance didn’t reach his face as he sipped at his tea and smiled, “She can at least play card games. War, Go-Fish, simple things.”

Lucky in some respects, damned in others. "That's more than I know." She uttered reflectively. She met his eyes finally like she had something for him and stood up. "Here! I know this one." she offered out her fist clenched atop an open palm. Rock-paper-scissors, which she never satisfied the urge to play after being exposed to it a few years ago.

Sobel looked down at Bajbala’s hands and then up to her eyes, those two glib orbs set in her face that seemed every bit as mischievous as her smirking lips. He huffed a chuckle and set his tea down, mirroring her ready posture in this very high culture game of odds. One he hadn’t tested his mettle in for a long while, “Are you sure?” He asked, “I’m quite the master.”

She passed him a quiried look and started. "Rock," her eyes fiery and focused like a cat, "paper, scissors," the sound of their hands smacking their palms echoing into the other room, "shoot!" She smacked her hand down in her palm in the shape of a pistol and her mouth was wide in amused anticipation.

Sobel clutched at his heart, eyes wide with surprise as he slowly looked down to see the wound with his mind’s eye. He chuckled and shook his finger at Bajbala, “Maybe I was too arrogant, you're clearly the better.”

Laine picked up the rental in Boise, a black Jetta with crumbs still wedged in the seat. She drove through the scenic landscape, her mind trying to stay focused on what Donnelley was calling them together for. And Sobel, the man who had probed into their heads to find the truth of their resurrection. Her skin prickled at the thought of looking into his eyes again.

She sipped the lukewarm coffee, her head still pounding after too many shots of the tiny bottles of vodka and rum from the minibar at the hotel. Laine took her time arriving at the cabin, the sun already well up and she saw the number of vehicles already there. A truck that looked like it had to belong to Dave standing out among the cars. Her thoughts turned back to the last few months, to Alaska before that and how it was all leading to the next few days.

Laine stepped out of the car, dressed casually in black jeans and an off shoulder Joan Jett and the Blackhearts t-shirt, her professional suit packed away. She looked at the house and lit a clove cigarette, her lipstick staining the black filter. Her gaze hunted for signs of Donnelley, he would be there of course but she had not idea what she would say to him.

She ran her hand through her hair, it had grown out some, her bobbed style now just above her shoulders. Finally she tossed aside the half smoked cigarette, and ground it out against the walkway with the toe of her Doc Marten boot before stepping up to the front porch and knocking.

Laine waited, her sunglasses still in place against the morning glare. She could hear people on the other side and a low murmur of voices. Maybe she should just try the door but paused, it was Sobel’s home after all. Maybe he knew she was there.

Sobel looked over at the knocking at the door, his smile fading slightly. It was the last one who needed to arrive. Or it could be a Russian kill team primed to enter his house and kill all of them. “Donnelley, could you get the door?”

Donnelley looked away from the conversation he was having with Jason and Dave in the corner of the room. Sobel knew Donnelley knew. It was in his eyes. Donnelley knew Sobel knew that he knew. It was in his eyes. With a whispered curse leaving his lips, Donnelley moved to the door with the same trepidation as if he was a newly minted Ranger in Afghanistan stacking on the door to a hut filled with Taliban.

To him, the danger was not dissimilar. He opened it anyway, and no one but the person he knew it’d be was standing in front of him. He didn’t exactly know what to say except, “Hey.”

"Hey."

Laine replied back after the door had swung open and the air was sucked out between them. Donnelley. Of course, he would be there to greet her as he had when she went to the cabin in West Virginia. That history hung now in the stillness of the short greeting.

She pushed back her sunglasses, her green eyes lined neat in black but slightly bloodshot.

"Am I fashionably late?" Laine asked, then gestured towards the house behind him. Her gaze traced his features, the shape of the usually smirking mouth, the burns, and the deep blue of his eyes. The want to forget what happened tugged at her, to make up and move on but now wasn't the time.

The scent of clove smoke like faint perfume followed her as Laine moved past him to enter the house. She paused in surprise at the sight of a broad figure she had not seen in sometime.

"Jason?" She blinked, and smiled a little at the pleasant surprise.

Laine caught sight of the diminutive redhead and gave Ava a little wave. There was Dave, sturdy and trusty and the newest member, the Afghani woman. She gave her a nod of recognition before her gaze fell on Sobel. Those eyes.

She glanced away and shifted her luggage, then spoke to Donnelley, "It's going to be a tight fit if we're staying long."

Ava’s eyes brightened as the door opened to reveal Laine and she got up to rush over and give the taller woman a hug. She hadn’t seen her since their little girls' day out, guilt gnawing at her for not using all that party stuff they bought but she shoved it to the side. “Hey Laine, I’m glad you’re here and okay.”

Laine warmed when Ava hugged her, giving her a one armed response and gave a genuine smile that faded some as she spoke. “I’m alright, I suppose. Better than most I’m sure.”

She held her tongue on the accident at her father’s work site and the trouble with her boss that was still brewing and had not got better when she had to excuse herself again when called by Donnelley to meet in Idaho. Laine brushed her hand over the straight red hair, “I’m glad to see you too, and Dave. And everyone seems to have made it back.”

“Yeah,” Ava glanced over at Donnelley and looked away again, taking a step back from Laine, playing with a strand of hair that fell over her shoulder. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but with everyone here now I’m sure we’ll all know soon.” She smiled at Laine again. “It’s nice to see you again, but I should make sure Thor doesn’t claw up Sobel’s furniture.” She threw another uncomfortable look at Donnelley and stepped away to hunt down her cat.

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S RESIDENCE
>2200
>15.NOV.2019

Donnelley had noticed the banging around of pots and pans in the kitchen some time ago, though the alcohol kept him in bed and uncaring of it. After all, it was highly unlikely that the Feds or the Russians would infiltrate Sobel’s house without him knowing. Even then, he doubted even more that the Russians would break in and take a break to bake some cookies before killing a few of them in their sleep.

Everyone had gone to bed early and relatively without fuss. Sobel would be the last to retire after himself, and Donnelley tried his best to stay out of Ava and Laine’s way. He felt it a few times, looking just in time to see Ava’s eyes dart away from him and make like the floor was mighty interesting. He and Dave had that talk, and Donnelley agreed that he and Ava should make peace with each other. It was just a matter of when. A matter if Donnelley was strong enough to set aside his stubborn nature, because he knew Ava certainly wouldn’t approach him first.

Not after the hurt he put on her. He took another swig, and then set the bottle down, looking out at his shrouded window and at the white moonlight filtering through the silk curtains. He sighed, his knees popping as he got to his feet and the floorboards creaking slightly as he made his way to the window and opened it a bit. The cool night air felt like the rolling waves on Ruston Way in Washington, frigid but it replaced the breath it took from your chest with a fleeting moment of feeling alive.

There was a time he wanted to just walk out into the Puget Sound to see if that water could make him either feel alive, or at least hold him tight and deep enough for long enough that a living man’s problems wouldn’t ever be able to reach him again. He doubted the plains and tall grass outside could drown him, so there was only one other direction he could walk. He opened his bedroom door as quiet as he could, stepped down the hallway as soft as he could. He finally made it to the kitchen to see none other than Ava in the kitchen, hard at work baking… something.

He watched her work for a time, maybe a few moments, remembering what he had said to her before their whole night went to shit. Remembering the pictures of the younger Ava he’d been shown, all severe and smoldering. Or at least trying to. The floorboards creaked again under his subtly shifting weight, and he froze like a deer right after a twig snaps.

Ava glanced over at the sound of the floors creaking, expecting to see Thor padding into the kitchen to beg for what she was making. Instead she gave a start as she saw a figure in the shadow of the doorway, before relaxing when she realized it was just Donnelley.

“Donnelley. You scared the shit out of me.” Ava sighed, pressing a flour covered hand to her chest, then immediately removing it with a frown. She glanced back at him then focused on dusting at her pajama shirt, a familiar pink baseball tee with a happy turtle exclaiming ‘Shell Yeah’ on it. “Sorry, was I being loud in here?”

Donnelley smiled at first, though it was snuffed out when he remembered they weren’t exactly on smiling terms. He looked away from Ava and then shook his head just the tiniest bit back and forth, “No, you’re alright. Just, uh, can’t sleep some nights.”

Donnelley made his way to sit at the bar on one of the stools looking into the kitchen. It fell quiet again as Ava returned to her task of baking. Stayed that way for some time while Donnelley twiddled his fingers and pretended there was something interesting about the plain white counter top kept immaculately clean and without a single scratch on any millimeter of it. Sobel kept his things almost disturbingly neat. But, then he’d seen a lot of disturbing things about Sobel.

He looked back at Ava, “Can’t sleep neither?”

Ava wasn’t sure if she should be happy or not the awkward silence was broken. She tried to ignore Donnelley’s presence, instead focusing on the messy lump of flour she was trying to hand knead into a cohesive lump of dough. But that hadn’t been working as Donnelley being there seemed to settle on her back like a physical weight.

“No,” She answered, still looking down at the lump in the bowl she was pushing and pulling. “But I’m used to it.”

“Yeah.” Donnelley snorted softly at the truth in that. He could relate, but again, the smile he had quickly snuffed out as he now began to sense Ava’s nervous energy.

He would’ve politely excused himself back to his room if it weren’t for the fact he knew that the team’s cohesion would depend on the strength of their bonds with each other. The fact that he’d told Dave he would apologize. The fact that he liked Ava, and missed her and her quirky energy while she was gone. Still missed it now she was here too, and hadn’t brought it along it seemed. He sheepishly cleared his throat of nothing and looked around the kitchen, still unable to muster the courage to just say what he needed to. What he wanted to, “What’re you makin’?”

“Sweet bread.” Ava answered simply, judging the dough in the bowl to be cohesive enough to knead properly. She dusted some flour on the table and dumped out the dough with a soft ‘plop’. “I’m going to make some cream for a filling too.”

She grew quiet as she began to hand knead the dough, the normal therapeutic monotony of the activity somewhat dampened by Donnelley being there and ignoring the obvious elephant in the room.

It seemed like she would have to break the tension. “So did you just come in here to see why I was baking in the middle of the night?” She asked, her tone coming out blunter than she had intended it.

Donnelley was hit with offense and an edge of hurt at Ava’s tone, a tide of anger rushing in to smother both and replace them with something better to face her with, “You know what?”

Donnelley stood quick, the stool’s feet jittering across the wood floor and making a racket. Donnelley already felt the tingling in his arms from the adrenaline dump, more like he was about to get into a firefight than making a clumsy effort to apologize. He was breathing hard, so he hauled in a breath through his nose and let it out the same way. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them up again with a softer expression.

“No.” He shook his head imperceptibly, “No, I didn’t.”

Ava started from the sudden anger and she tensed, both unsure of what he was going to do and afraid she’d just provoked another rage fueled tirade out of him. She froze and didn’t say anything, carefully watching Donnelley as he visibly calmed himself down.

“Okay.” She said quietly, careful not to invoke more of Donnelley’s anger. “Did you…want to talk about…What happened?” She asked carefully.

The voice in the back of Donnelley’s mind immediately made him feel ashamed. The part of him that wasn’t chewed up and blackened by his life so far. He was used to arguing with Holly, or Laine. They stood their ground and threw it right back in his face, stoking the flames until they just died, or he had to remove himself or they’d devour the whole place and leave blackened timbers and smoldering bridges.

The look in Ava’s eyes as he found himself standing reminded him instead of someone else. A girl who didn’t deserve what he’d done to her, or what was happening to her mother and father because of it. He swallowed at Ava’s question, nodding softly, and then more visibly, “Yes.”

He put his hands together, rubbing his palms and looking away from Ava, “I’m…” He sighed, “I made myself a liar.”

He cleared his throat again, surprisingly dry, and then swallowed a bit of spit to keep his voice from growing hoarse, “Maybe I didn’t. I remember I told you before… everythin’. Everythin’ that I did happened. I told you that whoever would leave a girl like you had to be the stupidest, sorriest bastard in the world.” He glanced at Ava, “Or, somethin’ ‘long those lines.”

“And then I did what I did…” he said at first, but shook his head, he’d better say it how it rightly happened, “After I yelled at you for somethin’ you didn’t have no hand in doin’… I left.”

“And I’m sorry,” He said, “I’m sorry for doin’ that to you, I’m sorry for sayin’ everythin’, Ava.”

He looked back up at Ava and his hands dropped to his sides, a wetness glistening in the corners of them, maybe just the whiskey taking hold, “There we were, watchin’ movies together, and you showed me your paintin’s, and I was talkin’ all this good stuff to you…” He swallowed hard, gulping in the silence, “And then I do that, I leave, and you can barely stand to fuckin’ look at me now.”

“My daughter’s in the fuckin’ emergency room with a broken arm, she can’t fuckin’ paint or draw, or anythin’ now and she’s beggin’ me just to be there for her, and I’m over here knee deep in this shit and it’s all my fault, and...” He stopped himself as his voice shuddered, “But that ain’t about you. All I know is after I left you, I’ve been sorry about it this whole time. Sorry for everythin’.”

“So, yeah, I guess I was just in here to see what you were bakin’ in the middle of the night. Only other thing I can do right now except drink and think about how sorry I am.” He sheepishly tried a smile on, but it fizzled out, “But… yeah. I’m sorry for what I did.”

He sat back down for a moment, staring at the countertop. It grew quiet again, and he sniffled wetly, “Maybe I’ll just go back to my bedroom and try to sleep again. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat again, “How, uh, how do you feel… about it… I guess?”

Ava stared at him for a moment before reaching over for a dish towel, wiping the flour off her hands and walking over to quietly hug Donnelley. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders and giving him a firm but gentle squeeze. “I feel like you might need a hug.” She said quietly, her eyes growing misty themselves.

Donnelley gave a chuckle despite himself, a blubbering thing as he placed a hand on Ava’s arm around his shoulders, “You’re the one who deserves it.” He said, “I just don’t want you to look away from me anymore. I don’t want to make you think I’m gonna explode at you anymore, you don’t deserve none of it.”

“That, and I’ll have to deal with fuckin’ hillbilly Dave.” He chuckled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Ava sniffed and pulled back from the embrace, wiping her hands over her shirt. “I appreciate the apology.” She said, folding her arms over her chest. “What happened…It really hurt and still kind of hurts.” She started to look away from him but stopped herself and looked back into his scarred features. “But, I appreciate you apologizing.”

“I know.” Donnelley nodded, looking back at Ava, “If there’s anything I can do… more than apologizing, just give me the word.”

Ava pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Honestly, I kinda miss hanging out with you.” She nodded her head to the dough on the table. “Also, this is a brand new recipe I’m trying, so, you can be the taste tester.”

Donnelley smiled again, and it stuck this time. He looked at the ball of dough and then back to Ava. He knew one apology wasn’t enough, wounds didn’t heal right after the gauze was put on. He nodded, “I missed hangin’ out too.” He said, getting up from his seat and sniffling again and ripping a piece of paper towel off to wipe his nose, “Gotta stop doin’ this shit. Ghost wouldn’t ever let it go if he saw me like this.”

“Well, then he doesn’t get a roll.” Ava said, returning to the table and resuming kneading the dough, pushing and pulling it across the floured surface with quick and practiced movements. “These are sweet rolls, not jerk rolls.”

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S RESIDENCE
>0725
>16.NOV.2019

There was a certain peace in the morning that Donnelley hadn’t felt in such a long time. It almost felt like something new, something yet undiscovered by the rest of humanity and sorely needing to be told to everyone else, as if he’d discovered something as important and amazing as fire. The smell of the bread when Ava had taken it from the oven reminded him of his late Aunt’s biscuits in the morning, calling him and his uncle inside for breakfast as they’d long been up and working in the small hours of the day.

He’d told Ava all about that life while they worked in the kitchen and waited for the small pieces of bread shaped like rabbits to be done. She’d sat and listened, laughed when he’d told her about the first time he’d tried to ride a horse, let alone break one. After that was done, she’d taken a few pieces back to her and Dave’s room. That left Donnelley alone with his few pieces.

He now sat in the kitchen soaking up the sun coming in from between the slats of the blinds in the windows. Both tranquil, and yet softly paralyzed by the prospect of seeing Laine. Of trying to cross the cracked boards on that bridge between him and her. As always, he reminded himself of all the things he’d have never done if he let his fear and uncertainty dictate everything. He rose from the creaking stool in Sobel’s kitchen with the confidence of a child in front of a dark hallway. His footsteps creaked along Sobel’s floors, until he was standing in front of Laine’s room. He slowly raised one hand, a bunny shaped piece of bread roughly the size of his palm in the other, still warm. He swallowed anxiety and knocked on Laine’s door, and waited.

Laine still lay on the bed, the early sunlight crossing her body in stripes through the blinds. Another sunrise, she observed through half slitted eyes. Not only the promise of a new day but more importantly proof of making it through another night. Her thoughts flit back to the last meeting with her boss back at the office in Quantico and she frowned, then rubbed her hands over her face and pulled a pillow over her head. The two parts of her life were colliding and the struggle to keep one from infecting the other was becoming a losing battle.

The knock caught her by surprise and she tossed the pillow aside. Laine sait up and grabbed the pair of jeans she wore yesterday and pulled them on, leaving the t-shirt on that she had slept in. It was a faded out band shirt that had worked its way into the last days of sleep wear. The collar had been cut out, leaving it to hang over one shoulder and the Cramps logo crackled but still recognizable. Her bare feet whispered against the rug as she crossed the room and opened the door, peering through it.

She smelled the bread as she registered who it was, not Ava coming to fetch her for breakfast but Donnelley. Laine shut the door, running a quick hand through sleep tousled hair and rubbing her eyes, smearing the remains of yesterday’s mascara even worse. Laine sighed then opened the door again, and held it wider, but not enough to be inviting yet.

“Hey,” she said, glancing down from his eyes to the bread in his hand, “Who’s your friend?”

Donnelley looked up and tried to erase the subtle hurt from his face when the door opened again. At Laine’s question, he paused, looking down at the bread. He cleared his throat, raising his eyes back to hers and trying a small smile, “I don’t know, but he wanted to talk to you.”

Laine met his blue eyes, everything he held behind them she had seen laid bare and a hint of that vulnerability flickered in their depths as he spoke.

She smiled a little then stepped back, opening the door enough to welcome him in. Laine closed it behind him then shoved her hands in her back pockets and stayed quiet, first looking him over then pointedly at the rabbit shaped bread.

"A bunny bun," she said, smiling slightly, "Trust Ava to make puns for breakfast."

Laine cleared her throat and shrugged, then gestured with her chin at the wooden chair draped by her coat. "If you want to sit."

Letting him decide, she shook herself internally and forced calm to her expression and body language. She dropped her hands from her back pockets and said, "So, Mr Bunny, what is on your mind?"

After Donnelley internally let go a sigh of relief that Laine was slowly opening back up to him, he took the offered seat. Even so, he still didn’t want to make himself too comfortable. He could feel it in the way Laine held herself, as if she was still keeping her distance from the family dog that had bitten her too many times. Just like the dog, Donnelley kept his eyes on the ground.

“I stayed up all night with Ava. Just like we used to.” Donnelley said, offering the bunny bun to Laine, “I missed her. I told her as much, after we were done huggin’ and gettin’ all wet in the eye.”

“And…” He shrugged, swallowed, “I just miss you too.”

Laine listened before reaching out to pluck the bread bunny from his hand. The buttery soft pastry with some kind of dried fruit for eyes. Maybe blueberries. She glanced up at Donnelley and asked, "Remember the chocolate rabbits at Easter? Did you bite their ears or feet first?"

Laine bit the bread, taking the head off at the neck and chewed as she watched him. "Either way, I always felt a little bad. There was no way to make it nice, but the chocolate was too good to not take a bite."

She gazed at him and shrugged a little, taking another bite. Laine rubbed her thumb across her bottom lip to wipe away the crumbs.

"I do, too," she admitted, "I can't help myself. I love you."

Donnelley lifted his eyes from the floor and looked at Laine. He took her face in as if it was the first time he’d ever seen it, beauty anew in his eyes. Some part of him felt like it was too easy, that he didn’t have to fight for her love as hard as he thought he should have to. Or maybe that’s just how it is, and normal people didn’t just yell at each other and scare their daughter under her covers.

He knew he had a lot of love to earn back from a lot of people. He knew he had to teach himself to take the victories as they came, big or small. So, he smiled at Laine and rose from his seat. He looked her over as she ate the bunny bun, those same eyes holding the same look. Hunger, passion, lust. Most of all, love.

“I love you too.” Donnelley said, quiet, as if their love was a house of cards built on sand and his voice could topple it, “More than you know, Laine.”

“I’m sorry for everythin’.” He said, “For all the things I know I’ve done, and all the things I don’t.”

He smiled a bit, “I’m just wonderin’ why the hell you stick with me.”

Laine met his gaze and nodded, finishing her bite of the bread. “Probably because you’re not the only one that can make decisions that you know are a dangerous gamble but you do it because you could not do anything else.”

She brushed her hair back behind her ear, the manicured nails a black pearl. “I knew it would be trouble, you would be...the wrong choice. But I couldn’t help it, no matter how I fought it and tried to change course. My path always leads back to you, since that night you put your jacket around my shoulders and explained why you fought against such evil.”

Her green eyes flashed up at him, “I know I’ll pay for the decisions I am making. Whether it’s you hurting me or losing my job. Or dying, again.”

Laine cleared her throat, “My boss, he’s been on me since I got back. He hates that he’s been left in the dark, he’s tried enlisting my coworkers to spy for him, undermining my work, threatening my position and my place at the Bureau. He can’t fire me so he’s forcing me out of the BSU, transferring me to some field office in the sticks. Last I heard it was Salt Lake City.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking down and away from her, his hands coming together and fingers interlacing, “You don’t deserve this. It comes with the job, but you don’t deserve the job neither.”

He shook his head slow, “No one does.” He looked at her again, “I did what I had to do to make sure that Dave and Ava could get out. I ain’t afraid to do it again to make sure you can.”

Laine watched him, her gaze sliding over the burn scar which cut down his cheek, something that defined him. Marked as a broken man but also a survivor. She looked down at his hands, hands that had killed and had soothed down her back as they made love.

"I keep going around in circles," she said slowly, "Thinking that I can get away, forget you and UMBRA, about the horror and injustice. Things that should not be but are. Things I don't think we could ever defeat but the circle tightens."

Laine made a gesture with her finger, swirling the air. "That circle I talk myself into closes in and chokes me with the knowledge. I already know what I will do, it's just the doing of it that's hard."

She drew in a trembling breath, and felt the prick of tears in her eyes before blinking hard, resenting them. "I know we won't have a happy ending, Donnelley. We won't ride off into the sunset together. But we may yet hold back the night to see another sunrise, together."

Laine sighed a little sound between a laugh and a sob, then bit her lip slightly. "I'm living on borrowed time anyway, this life is not just my own. I took an innocent to come back and I owe it to her and the others lost to these monsters to keep fighting. I owe it to you, to the team. To give my sanity, my life... again."

She met his eyes, "The circle closes now. I am in this until whatever end waits for me. And it scares the shit out of me."

Laine moved towards him, seeking an embrace, her black polished nails digging in.

“Fuck, it scares me too-“ Donnelley stopped abruptly from what would have been his response, taken by surprise at Laine’s sudden embrace.

He stopped cold in his tracks, even holding his breath until he let it out, nuzzling his face into Laine’s neck. He wrapped his arms around his love, accepting the silence if it meant this closeness wouldn’t end. He drew in another breath, “I thought I’d ruined this.” He said, “Ruined me and you, ruined the team, ruined everythin’.”

His hand moved to the nape of Laine’s neck and he held her close like they’d been apart for years, “All I remember in Alaska was just tryin’ to get my hand ‘round yours before I died. I was so scared I was the only one to come back, that I’d never fuckin’ see you again…” He squeezed her gently, “We’re here. Ipiktok needed us here. We owe it to him to make sure his dream was true… whatever it was.”

>FAIRFIELD, ID
>SOBEL’S RESIDENCE
>0500
>17.NOV.2019

Donnelley went to check his watch again, but only made it half-way to moving his arm before he heard Sobel mutter the time. He already heard the muffled sounds of several different alarms going off in the different rooms of Sobel’s house. Time to wake up, smell the coffee, and prepare to embark on some very illegal activities on US soil in the name of saving the world. Par for the course, he guessed.

There was the sound of someone fumbling with the sliding glass door at the back of the house, and then the sound of someone swearing behind the glass and apparently giving up. Sobel glanced to Donnelley and then went to open the sliding door. Before long, Sobel came back with several hardened killers from the Wetwork Teams assigned to this mission filing in behind him. DD, SLUGGER’s team lead nodded to Donnelley and got a nod in return. The ones who really caught Donnelley’s eye were the ones dripping with Slav.

He’d hardly talked to them, and they’d hardly talked to him. Given recent events, Russians weren’t a very welcome sight, but Director Oakes had her reasons for assigning STRIGOI.

“You can trust us.” One of STRIGOI said, a very clean-cut and professional man spoke to Donnelley in a voice he had to strain to hear the accent in.

“If you have to tell someone they can trust you, there’s usually a reason they shouldn’t.” Donnelley shot back.

“What choice in friends do you have at this point?” The other man said, plopping down in one of the couches while the rest of his team secluded themselves in a corner.

Donnelley opened his mouth, but caught Sobel staring at him across the room. This was Sobel’s house. Wouldn’t be too polite to go starting fights in it, so instead he just shut up and waited for UMBRA to come shuffling in.

Bajbala entered the kitchen with knotted locks of hair held back in a short bunch. A half-smile was all she would muster for the new faces.

Lukewarm orange-juice sat on the counter. A strong vodka scent with a stickiness beneath it. Somehow she could trace that scent to Croc's facial hair, whom entered moments before her. He dressed neat; a handsome blazer atop jeans. She passed it over, prepping a cup of tea before quietly finding her place behind the crew.

Laine was not far behind Donnelley, observing the new teams. More killers, hard eyed and quiet, mostly men. Not any different from TRIDENT or THUNDER, except who could be bought and for what price. She watched Donnelley struggle to control his temper, the man he spoke to made her pay closer attention. The set of his cheekbones and jaw, without even asking his name she knew where he was from and likely the rest of them. Laine always considered herself a fair minded person, certainly not prejudiced and wanted to judge people on their own merit but the strong Slavic appearance made her stomach clench.

She turned away, tucking her dark hair behind her ears as she forced herself to walk into the kitchen. Laine used the ice maker and poured water from the pitcher in Sobel’s fridge. She drank it down, cooling her own temper and reminded herself that not every Russian was an enemy. Some even the most unlikely of allies. Her thoughts flicked back to the girl and Renko and wondered briefly how they were. If they were still alive and she hoped they were.

Laine glanced over at Baj with her cup of tea and took a few steps to stand closer to her, “That smells nice, what is it? Maybe I’ll make a cup for myself and Ava.”

"I'm not sure, maybe earl grey?" Contemplative, trying to catch on to the fleeting morning conversation. "I just grabbed one of the bunch." It was fragrant and bitter, to her taste, or Sobel's. She smiled at Laine. Some astonishment derived from how well put together the raven-haired profiler seemed. The dark rings of distress around her eyes had since faded from when they met in Alaska. A small knob of envy grew right next to the one she had for the red-head. When they were through with this ordeal Baj would have a long engagement with Lauren and a mirror. She could feel her dry neglected ends, the strays poking into her eyelashes, and the pillow wrinkles on her cheek. One of STRIGOI leered at her, the one whom she fixed her vacant stare on while she pieced together a beauty routine.

In one of the guest bedrooms, Queen was sprawled face down on a twin bed neatly made, a thin line of drool from his parted lips staining the pillowcase. He slept hard, unconscious to the growing activity just outside the door as the teams assembled and filled up Sobel’s living room. He slept the deep sleep of the exhausted, his body shutting down in order for his mind to finally rest. He snored, his breath catching for a moment before exhaling again as his booted feet twitched.

There was a faint knock on the door to the room. After a few more moments passed, there was another knock followed by Ava’s muffled voice calling through the door, “Queen?” When again there was no answer, there was an experimental jiggle of the door knob before the door opened a crack and a shaft of faint light fell into the room.

Ava peaked inside, her glasses resting on her face as she hadn’t yet had the time to put in her contacts. “Queen?” She called out again, raising her voice as she searched around the room before her eyes landed on the sprawled, unconscious form of Queen on the bed.

She relaxed, a small part of her having started to worry when Queen didn’t answer her calls. She opened the door a little more and stepped into the room, cradling a small bundled kitchen towel in her hand as she walked over to the bed. She reached out and gave Queen a careful shake on the shoulder. “Queen? It’s time to wake up.”

Queen felt consciousness pull at him and he resisted, willing the darkness to stay quiet. Her voice tugged at him and he tried to open one eye, the light silhouetting a woman in the doorway. For a moment he saw the blue apron, his mother returning from her overnight shift at IHOP to check in on him at five AM. Often it would wake him up but he would pretend to be asleep as she watched him. The times he did wake up she worried over him being tired at school so Queen let her mind at ease. But not this time.

“Urgh,” he grunted, pushing himself up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. His vision cleared and the image of his mother vanished, leaving the small form of Ava looking in at him. Queen flopped back down and closed his eyes, “Five more minutes.”

Ava smiled apologetically. “Sorry, but I think we’re having a big meeting or something soon.” She glanced towards the doorway then whispered, “There are some new people here.”

Queen wiped at his chin and forced himself to sit up, his muscles protesting the entire time. The word caught his attention and woke him up, “New people?”

“What do you mean new people? Not Croc and Baj, someone else?”

His suspicions rose instantly and he stood up, running his fingers through his shaggy hair, smoothing it back.

“I haven’t gone out where everyone is, but I heard a lot of new voices talking.” She answered, glancing back at the doorway with a frown. “I didn’t catch much but, there are new people here.” She shook her head and held up the kitchen towel in her hands. “Here, in case you’re hungry.” She unfolded the towel to reveal the small rabbit shaped buns snugged in the fabric. “I made them last night with Donnelley, I saved a few for Dave but thought you might like a couple too.” She said with a small smile.

The concern that crossed his face lifted when he saw what Ava offered. He smiled, the first time since arriving at Sobel’s cabin. “Look at that, little bunnies. That’s adorable. Donnelley actually helped or just helped himself to the ones out of the oven.”

He picked one up, examining the details and glanced at her, “I almost feel bad eating it.”

Shoving it in his mouth, the guilt obviously had not lasted. Without waiting to finish the first, he grabbed a second, “These are really, good. Thank you, Angel.”

Queen glanced around for something to wash the bread down with but had to settle with water in a glass on the bed stand. He had no idea who it belonged to but he downed it anyway. “Guess we better go face the world.”

Queen reached for the last bun, then paused, “It is good to see you, even under these circumstances.”

Ava smiled again. “Yeah, I missed you too Billy.” She stepped forward and gave him a one armed hug.

Queen put his arm around her, giving her slim shoulders a squeeze and he held his breath, gathering himself to mask his grief and weariness. “Let’s go see if they got some coffee, I could use a gallon.”

“Same, honestly, but I have an unhealthy relationship with caffeine.” Ava chuckled. “I’ll be out eventually, I’m going to go back to my room with Dave. See if any of those bunnies survived for me to snack on.” She tossed the now empty kitchen towel over her shoulder and smiled reassuringly up at Queen. “Just save some coffee for me.”

Dave was already awake and mostly dressed, clad in his hard-worn cargo pants and old hiking boots with a simple wife-beater. He’d dragged a corner chair over to the bed, spread out a towel, and was busily reassembling his rifle when Ava entered the room.

This particular gun was a favorite of his. It was another SLR-106, the familiar AK platform chambered in 5.56x45mm. With its shortened barrel, suppressor, scout-mounted optic and folding stock, he figured it was ideal for the close-in work he anticipated on this particular op. As Ava opened the door he was sliding the bolt home in the receiver.

“Hey, sugar,” he said, giving her a quick grin before returning to the rifle. “Gettin’ busy out there?”

“It sounds like it,” She said, entering into the room and shutting the door behind her. “I woke up Queen, hopefully he’ll save some coffee for the two of us.” She walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Dave work on his rifle. “I hate this.” She said, honestly as she frowned. “You going off into danger against these rogue agents and Russian agents.”

“Yeah, I’m not excited about it either,” Dave said. He replaced the dust cover and shouldered the rifle, checking the optic and the light, then gave the suppressor a shake and twist to ensure it was attached firmly. “But we’ve got some hard-ass killers with a shit load of firepower on our side. And I do still have a bone to pick with Foster.”

His gaze darkened, hate smoldering there as he held the gun. Then he set it down and the stormclouds vanished as he fixed another smile on Ava. “Saved ya some bunnies, if you’re hungry. We can go grab coffee now if you want, just lemme put on a shirt.”

She tried to match his smile, though her worry did not lessen. “Yeah, we can go get coffee.” She took in a breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. “As much as I’m looking forward to facing new people.” She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she took the towel off her shoulder and stood up to gather the remaining pastries to take out to the kitchen with them.

He stood and stretched, then picked up a red flannel shirt and threw it on, rolling the sleeves to the elbows.

“Shit’s bein’ run by the higher-ups now,” he said as he buckled on his pistol belt, then turned and put his hand on her shoulder. “We gotta trust that they know what they’re doin’. I know it’s hard, but…We’re so close to done, sugar. We’re gonna finish this up, and then we’re finished.”

Dave pulled her over for a gentle hug, leaning down slightly to rest his chin on top of her head. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Ava shut her eyes and relaxed into Dave’s arms, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent of the mountains that lingered on his clothing. “Almost there.” She said with a soft sigh as she rested her head against his chest. “I love you Dave.”

“I love you too,” he said. He raised her chin for a gentle kiss. “Now c’mon. Gotta get some coffee in us, right? Get ready for the day.”

She smiled at the kiss. “Lead the way, I’m right behind you.” She said, giving him a final squeeze before releasing him from their embrace.

With the arrival of Dave and Ava, the last remnants of THUNDER trailed in after them. Donnelley swept his eyes over the room as it fell silent, the others looking back at him. They all knew why they were here. UMBRA had their lives upended, THUNDER had lost too many members to even be a team, and the rest of them in the room were just waiting for the green light to spill blood. Of course, they all were, for their own reasons.

The screen behind Donnelley lit with a picture of some green mountainside, or what was left of it. An aerial view. Donnelley spoke, “I don’t have to tell you why we’re all here. We all know the mission at this point.” He cleared his throat, glancing at Sobel and then back to the others, “Somebody has been selling information to the Russians. A network, with a mission to undermine the Program and cut us off from finishing what we started in Blackriver.”

“The only identified members of this network thus far is Steven Foster, and Doctor William Overman. Steven Foster has dropped off the radar, and while the usual standard is to put out a Red Notice to INTERPOL on Espionage Act charges…”

Donnelley had a darkness settle on his brow, “The Program wants this handled in-house. Off the books. Airtight.” He frowned, “Doctor William Overman has been tracked down to West Virginia by Office of Intelligence, last known location is White Tree, in Blackriver.”

Donnelley thrust his thumb over his shoulder at the satellite image on the screen, “Located about thirteen miles away from the White Tree limits is the Vera Corp mining complex. Because of the National Radio Quiet Zone being not so quiet, ten miles away from that, and pinging the shit out of our SIGINT the past couple days,” Sobel clicked a button on a small remote and the picture changed to yet another green expanse, “is what’s suspected to be the River Valleys Retreat.”

“Kill Teams KAIJU and SLUGGER will infil and ruck towards the Vera Corp complex. At the same time they hit the complex, UMBRA, THUNDER, and STRIGOI will put boots on the ground in the River Valleys Retreat.” Donnelley explained, “HVTs are Overman, Foster, Doctor Levy- real name Frances Germaine, Nikolai Gorochev, his daughter and son-in-law Natalya and Viktor Ivanov. Everyone else is expendable.”

“Objectives are to secure the two sites, capture HVTs. No witnesses, Director Oakes’ orders. Make it clean.” Donnelley bared his teeth in a growl at the last word, a flash of Tex, “Questions?”

Laine stared at the pictures, the green hills and familiar pitted features of the old mine. She sipped the lukewarm tea, back to the scene of the crime. The memories of what they found in the cabin,how wrong she had been, tried to crawl back but she tamped them down. There was no more guessing or not wanting to believe what was right in front of her. Monsters were real, evil was real and it had to be destroyed in the small corner of West Virginia. Along with anyone trying to use it for their own means. And then there was Foster and Laine had a score to settle with that lying bastard.

As Donnelley spoke, Queen emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and stringy and wearing the same dirty jeans but a clean t-shirt. He stood back, hovering as the plan was laid out. The Russians were still there, the same that likely gave orders to harass the team by attacking their families. His jaw clenched for a moment, then he breathed out, giving a half smile to Ava and Dave before turning away to get coffee as Tex wrapped it up. No questions from Queen, not even something lighthearted or sassy to break the tension.

He filled his borrowed mug with black coffee before dumping sugar into it, as he did he caught sight of Donnelley with the remains of UMBRA. Laine stood close to him and there it was again, he knew it. He had suspected it for a while, who else would have made Donnelley want to give up what he and Queen had. The striking psychologist would have been a target for anyone and Tex was no exception.

The reminder of the new gulf between him and his best friend weighed down on his shoulders and he forced himself to look away and down the hot coffee. Queen took comfort in the fact he had still some of his personal pharmacy left, though it had been run down over the last three days of wired traveling. He sniffed then set the mug down, heading back towards the bedrooms.

>BLACKRIVER COUNTY, WV
>18.NOV.2019
>1830

Night had set in, sinking its teeth into the sky as the sun retreated beyond the horizon. The two teams had diverged somewhere ten minutes back, SLUGGER and KAIJU’s Blackhawks taking them to their infil point far outside the Vera Corp mining complex to get eyes on any sign of the HVTs and scout the area. UMBRA, THUNDER, and STRIGOI were heading towards the River Valleys Retreat. It was expected to be a target rich environment, and per ROE, there were no such thing as non-combatants. The opinions on that were varied among the teams headed to the target area. Even Donnelley didn’t know how to feel. It was a different answer that could be given depending on if he was with THUNDER or UMBRA.

“Five minutes to target.” His radio chirped in his ears.

“Good copy, five minutes to target.” He confirmed.

He looked his team over, the Blackhawk he was in was piloted by Croc, and UMBRA was in the troop seating. Ghost and Queen were with the Wetwork Team in the other Blackhawk, and Sobel. Even Muru had come along, orders from above Directors Oakes and Mannen. There was a theory that Muru was like a divining rod for the unnatural. Donnelley’s theory was that she could just be a little girl with as normal of a life as they could make for her, but no one was going to listen to that. Muru herself seemed to give no complaints, following Sobel without question. Donnelley glanced at Ava, wondering if he hadn’t bought her and Dave’s freedom, would they view her the same. Probably.

The beating of the helicopter’s rotors drowned out almost every thought as they closed in on the Retreat. It was an oddity, an anomaly among Appalachian wilderness that seemed to be lost among the trees. It sat on a low peak with the view of the rest of the valley below, and Blackriver sprawled out in all directions out from it. Even from here, the black smoke from the Vera Corp mines that seemed so thick and suffocating from White Tree looked only like tendrils from a smoldering fire, but still there all the same.

“Strigoi-1 to Umbra-1, diverting to infil.” The Blackhawk to the right of theirs banked and left UMBRA’s Blackhawk to circle the Retreat.

There was no incoming fire to ward them off at least. No real activity at all. It made Donnelley’s hair stand on end for a moment. Were they expected? Was there a counterattack from the treeline waiting for them when they had all touched down? Even with these thoughts and his eyes scanning intensely, STRIGOI and THUNDER went to work securing the outside after descending the fast ropes. There was a helipad complete with a dormant civilian model perched, but no road in or out.

“Strigoi and Thunder are on-target. Outside secure, moving to door.” Donnelley’s headset chirped as he watched them stack on the front door.

Ghost had, of course, opted to take point. This left another hulking monster from STRIGOI to man the sledge. With a powerful twist of the hips, the door was smashed open.

“Strigoi and Thunder making entry-“ The stack had only made it halfway through before Donnelley noticed the engine of their helicopter powering down. He had no time to ask just what the fuck was happening before he felt the G-forces pulling his stomach out through his throat as the helicopter made a fast descent downward.

All was chaos for but a few seconds, yelling, screams of helplessness. He could hear himself swear through gritted teeth as he uselessly gripped into something to steady himself as if that would help anything. He looked at Laine, and then heard the hellish sound of twisting metal against branches and dirt.

They were close, Laine put her hand on the buckle of the harness and waited for the signal. What came instead was the awful sound of silence as the rotors slowed and the engine failed. Then the snapping and crashing and she screamed, her instinct to grip making her press down against the buckle and she suddenly felt weightless.

She saw Donnelley briefly, his face flashing by as she tried to grab at him but failed, falling now through the open door. Branches clawed at her and she reached out to brace herself, the ground rising to slam against her. Pain shot through her left arm to the shoulder as she hit then, rolled with the force of the impact until her body met the trunk of a tree.

Laine gasped for breath, the pain like electricity shooting from her wrist to the shoulder.

“Goddamn,” she hissed, breathing in gasps. Using her right hand, she gripped her left wrist holding her arm against her body to protect the injured limb.

Croc did his best to keep them level, putting the wheels down and cutting valves before riding the tumble through the trees. He may have grunted something like "hang tight" over coms if it functioned. The helicopter finally settled nearly on its side, hinged at the tail against a small rock outcrop. A large branch had breached the cockpit, penetrating the copilot seat. Flashing in his mind was how surfing Nazare some years back turned into a bad idea. Tex dared him into that too.

He loosed himself from the chair and climbed out to help the others. He coughed up the fumes of sawdust and fuel as he looked over the cabin and engine for fire. Thankfully dark. Whatever hit them killed their bird.

Bajbala looked at cold hard earth, her mouth still agape from probably crying out. She was inches from the ground against the cabin doorway. She clung her weapon to her chest with one hand, the other bracing Ava with a deathly grip, of whose weight pinned her down.

"Are we okay?" She groaned, tasting her own bloody spittle while struggling to release her restraints.

Ava’s eyes rolled and fluttered for a moment before they finally opened and she looked around in an incoherent daze. “Where are we?” She asked in a confused mumble as her mind processed the reality in front of her after unexpectedly blacking out.

“I think we landed.” Dave coughed a few times, clearing smoke, dust, and pain out of his lungs. His chest felt tight, his weight pulling against the harness, but his rifle was still securely slung across his body and while there was blood on his lip and stars floating through his vision he felt otherwise functional.

“Man, fuck helicopters,” he groaned as he flexed his limbs, testing to see what was broken. When everything responded normally he groped about with his foot until he found something solid, then carefully unsnapped his restraints. Once his weight was settled back on firm ground he moved to Ava. “Everybody okay? Ava, sugar, you good? Y’all sound off.”

“I‘m okay.” Ava responded slowly to Dave, her brain starting to chug back to its normal rate of thought. She looked around with wide eyes as she fumbled with her restraints to snap them off. “Holy shit, we crashed.”

“Yeah, we crashed,” Dave said, quickly helping her with her restraints. With that done he went to Donnelley, seeing the others already moving on their own. His chest was tight, not just from pain but from worry for the others, particularly Laine. But if she wasn’t in the bird, then she was either fine, or beyond what limited medical skill he had. He focused instead on what he could see, and made his way to Donnelley.

“What,” Donnelley groaned through his teeth, “the fuck was that?”

He groped around himself to see if everything was in its right place. He found out the hard way that his left arm was out of commission, refusing to move and only offering him pain. He felt slow, his pulse banging against the inside of his skull as he finally managed to undo his restraint. He made to stand and found the ground shifted beneath his feet as he stumbled, planting himself on his ass in the wet dirt. He decided against another attempt to stand.

“I’m okay, shoulder hurts.” He called to Dave, one eye still closed from his splitting headache. His head swam, but a memory came back to him of looking at Laine just before the crash. His heart caught in his throat as his body seemed to fill with icy panic.

“Laine?” He called out, only raising his voice slightly at first. When no answer came from the small amount of time his panicked brain gave her, he yelled it then, “Laine!”

“We’ll handle Laine,” Dave said, looking over Donnelley’s shoulder. It stuck up higher than it should, an ugly lump visible through his fatigues. He gripped Donnelley’s wrist and put his other hand on the distended joint. “Hey, count to five for me.”

“One-“

Then he pulled hard, not waiting on the count, and slipped the joint back into place with a wet crunch. Donnelley’s back tightened as he choked on a yelp, looking at Dave with a smirk that was more a baring of teeth. At least the sudden jolt sobered him up some, “Thanks, partner.”

Laine curled into a protective ball when the heavy crash of the helicopter meeting the earth echoed in her ears, her back against the trunk of a tree. Her mind fought to piece together what happened, how the hell she managed to end up here. Then she heard her name, Donnelley was calling her and she picked her head up.

“Here,” she said, her voice weak in her own ears as she tried to sit up. Bumping her left arm she cried out hoarsely and bit her lip, nausea rising with the surge of pain. Taking a deep breath, she called out, “I’m here, over here!”

Laine crawled forward on her knees and right elbow, the belly crawl to keep her head down in case whoever shot their chopper was looking for new targets.

Croc had been peeling the cabin door off with extraction tools when he heard her cry out. "Ah shit, lady" he grumbled, a body strewn from an aircraft is never a good sight. He grabbed an aid bag from the door, retreating to the wood line where she lay. His hands hovered over her feeling for misalignment, blood, limbs. He was shocked it was all there. "Talk to me, how'd you end up out here, Laine?" He cracked as he felt the swollen tissue around her arm, still loose from the fracture. He briefly flashed a dim white light over her skin, then started digging through his bag.

Laine winced and tried to suppress a whimper when Croc’s hand passed over the break. In his light she could see the odd crook of the former straight limb and the bruising already darkening her pale skin. Her wrist hurt and when she tried to make a fist she failed and stifled a cry of pain. “My arm,” she moaned under her breath, “Fuck my arm hurts so bad.”

She took a few deep breaths and looked up at Croc then around, “I...I fell.”

Laine recalled suddenly the feeling of being tossed out of the helicopter and sighed. She had been anxious about the landing, eager to be off the big metal targets and she had begun to unbuckle her harness, enough to make it easy to undo when it was time. Or when she panicked and squeezed the buckle. Stupid mistake, she scolded herself but the thought was banished when Croc began his first aid and had to touch her tender arm.

"Well," he began while dressing and splinting her arm, working through the sound of her pain, "lucky for you I'm a damn good pilot, look at that just a busted arm." Her eyes were alert. "You look good though, how's your head, can you move your neck, feel your legs and all that?"

Laine did as he asked, moving her legs and neck, turning her head from side to side, her helmet still in place. “I think it’s just the arm, other than some bumps and bruises.”

She grimaced and looked at the splint, now resting in the sling. “My damn luck,” she muttered, “I don’t suppose there’s a chopper going out anytime soon. Ow, well, at least I can walk.”

Laine reached for Croc with her right hand to get help to her feet. Her arm throbbed and pain shot from her wrist to the elbow and back again. She turned to him, “You don’t happen to have any painkillers?”

He produced several pills, and a sandwich bag with another cocktail or two. "Some amphetamine in the mix if you really need it. Just don't overdo it." He collected her weapon from nearby and performed a functions check, slinging it on her. Croc cinched it in for support —he had a feeling they would need every gun.

"We've got to move. Anything critical in the bird?" He signaled Dave to hurry things up. Bajbala followed Ava climbing out of the wreck, passing along some of the gear that survived. Her first steps out onto the ground were like a weak lamb, where she coughed until she caught her breath.

Laine raised an eyebrow, “I don’t take those things, amphetamines. I’m not part of THUNDER.”

Using her good hand, she took the pills and looked at them, nothing telling which was which. She put them in her pocket, the pain still driving her to distraction but being wired with some unknown substance was not something she wanted. Laine turned to look at the wrecked helicopter, the survivors climbing out and felt relief. They were all standing and none looked as bad off as she did.

She spotted Donnelley and moved toward him, her arm pressed against her chest. “Sorry I exited early,” she said, a small pained smile trying to emerge on her lips. “I’m afraid I’m down an arm.”

Her MAGPUL rifle hung around her neck, tucked under her left arm to keep it from swinging around. Laine glanced at Dave and Ava, who looked fine if shaken from the crash. “What happened? I thought we were being shot at?”

“At least no one is shooting at us now.” Ava said, looking around the dark woods nervously, her hands still shaking from the residual adrenaline after climbing out of the wrecked helicopter. She finally noticed how badly injured Laine was and she grimaced, rushing over to her friend’s side to help her. “Here, Laine, if you need me to help you walk I can.”

“I didn’t hear or see any incoming.” Donnelley glanced at Croc, still ripping supplies from their bird. There was still a part of him that wanted to find a logical reason their Blackhawk died, and yet another that could reach for the unnatural. He pushed both down and focused on Laine and Ava, and the situation as it was, “Croc’s right, we need to get away, try to regroup with THUNDER and STRIGOI.”

He pressed the button on his radio, but was met with nothing on the other end. Not even static. His eyes hardened, “No comms.”

Laine looked down at Ava, “I can walk, it's my arm, it’s broken. Hurts like hell but at least it’s stabilized. I have a feeling no evac is going to get to us right now.”

She sighed then felt the tug of the stubby rifle on its strap. “Take this, the MAGPUL. I can’t use it with one hand. Dave can help you, but it’s a pretty simple rifle. Small and light.”

Laine indicated to Ava, who was only carrying her sidearm to take the rifle. Laine glanced over at Donnelley, “I can manage my Glock one handed, but I need you to do something for me.”

Lowering her voice, she leaned toward him, “I need painkillers and your fly boy just gave me a bunch of random pills. Last thing I need to be is stoned and gimpy.”

“Why not, it might lift the mood.” Donnelley said sardonically, “Let me see ‘em.”

Donnelley took the bag from Laine’s hand and looked it over, shaking it a couple times to get a sense of all the different pills that were shaking around in there. “Fuck.” He said appreciatively, “Take the white tablets to kill the pain. Pink ones are adderall, they’ll keep you up.”

He looked at the bag a little longingly, and then offered it back to Laine, “Don’t let Queen see these.”

“Adderall?” she huffed, then dry swallowed the two painkillers. “What is it finals week?”

Laine winced and took a sip of her water, careful not to drink too much, “I’ll keep it in mind. God, what stupid bad timing.”

The adrenaline was wearing off and she shivered as the constant reminder of the broken bones grating against each other every time she moved her arm. The pain never left and she hoped it would at least dull to the point she could ignore it.

As the others talked Dave took the PDR and did a brass-check.

“Ava, here,” he said. “Safety, charging handle, mag release. It’s already loaded. You remember shootin’ my rifles up at my place? You’re gonna aim just like that, okay?”

He relieved Laine of her rifle magazines as well and began attaching the mag pouches to Ava’s body armor, working the MOLLE through with quick professionalism. “You just stick close, and shoot at whoever we’re shootin’ at.” He gave her a supportive smile. “Any rounds goin’ at the bad guys help. You got this.”

Ava stared at Dave with wide eyes as he loaded her up. There was a cold sweat breaking out along her hairline, but she did her best to swallow her nerves (and some rising bile) and returned Dave’s smile. If shakily. “Just count on me, I guess.”

He bent down gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Just remember to stay in cover,” he said. “I love you. We’re almost done.”

She shut her eyes at the kiss and took in a breath. “Almost done.” She whispered to herself. She opened her eyes to look at him and smiled again. “I love you.”

Donnelley hurried his Working Group, the reminder that the mission was not over not lost on him. The sentiment of Dave and Ava cooing their ‘almost done’s to each other almost made Donnelley’s teeth shatter under the tension of his jaw. Was it jealousy? Or resentment? Having to kill for them to live normal lives in a world where wolves constantly lurked at the edge of humanity’s dulling little campfire. Earning them a house in the quiet country while his own wife was in a coma in the ICU and his little girl was all alone. Either way, his personal feelings had little do with the mission.

One foot forward at a time, one more mission, one more sunset. It didn’t matter what he had to do to make sure that sun rose tomorrow. On everyone. Murderers and mothers alike. After all, wasn’t that what everything he’d sacrificed his life for all about? He chose to focus on keeping a constant pace back towards their AO, helping the others when he could. After a long thirty minutes with their rucks on their backs, they finally made it to the edge of the Retreat’s property. He ducked down behind the low brick wall that surrounded the property.

THUNDER and STRIGOI had gone on with their responsibility of securing the site, whether or not UMBRA was still alive. A few loud gunshots refused to be muffled by the large house, standing obstinate against the mountain woods in its three stories of opulence. Not long after, another loud bang of what must have been a flashbang followed by the disciplined pop-pop-pop of the Wetwork Teams methodical advance through the old architecture.

Donnelley scanned the courtyard, noting the ornate fountain depicting a concrete-gray goat. It did not rear up on its hind legs so much as stand upon them in a display unnervingly too human. Two concrete children held the goat’s forelegs like it was their mothers, the long gone streams of water having left blackened stains down their cheeks.

An ambience of gunfire and low breezes through the trees among a blackened sky settled over them. Donnelley turned his head to speak to the others, “We’re making entry behind THUNDER and STRIGOI. Me and Croc will hold here and cover while the rest of you cross the courtyard.”

“Make sure you call out that you’re Blue before you enter, I don’t need anybody getting shot now.” Donnelley said before settling his rifle on the brick wall, “Move.”

The team cleared the distance in a few seconds and made entry, their footsteps echoing off the courtyard grounds to be lost in the silent woods around. Not even crickets found it fit for music tonight. Dave’s voice echoed across the cobblestones as he called out their entry as friendlies.

“Let’s go, Croc.” Donnelley tucked the butt of his rifle in the crook of his elbow as he and Croc sprinted across the stones and careened through the door shortly after Donnelley called out, “Two comin’ in!”

The room that greeted Donnelley and Croc would’ve been an elegant, open space entryway of hardwood floors and walls holding age-old painted portraits. The interior decor reminded Donnelley of the same kind of taste Southern grandmothers had for maximalism, but a darker edge. It was like this place hadn’t been touched since the 1890s. The huge, ornate Afghan rug in the middle of the floor was stained by the drying blood of two armed guards in suits. A woman lay face down, a quarter of her face where her left eye and cheek had been were now ruined by a tumbling bullet now lost in a wall somewhere near. She wasn’t dressed for a fight, an expensive looking dress of wine red cloaked her corpse. The smell of burnt gunpowder permeated the air.

From the way her body was oriented, she had to have been running behind her husband, also dead and crumpled at the base of the rug-draped stairs. Donnelley stepped a bit closer and found the man laying on his own intestines like he’d been run through with a blade, his gut stench mixed with the smell of ozone and electric burn. Gunshots from somewhere deeper in the house, and then a few reports from another combatant and a scream to follow. THUNDER and STRIGOI were still on the second floor, close by.

Sobel and Muru were the first to respond to their entrance on the scene, Sobel’s voice heard down the hallway to UMBRA’s left, “Friendly, Blue!”

He and Muru seemed unaffected by the gore around them, Muru herself looking over the body of an armed guard with only a twitch of emotion. Curiosity. More than Sobel showed, “You survived.” No hint of any strong emotions about it, “Good. I’m going through the first floor and cataloging anything interesting I find to go over once things are calm again.”

He looked at UMBRA’s shooters, “Thunder and Strigoi may need some help clearing more efficiently upstairs. Anyone… not hurt should head up.”

“As for the rest of you, we’ve got some work.” Sobel looked at Laine, and Ava, “Follow me. Just step over them, they’re already dead.”

Laine took stock of the scene with a sweeping glance, it was kill team work and her feelings about THUNDER hardened even more. How could they interrogate corpses? She remained quiet for the moment, the scent of ozone making her skin prickle with recognition. Blood, gunpowder and that smell, that caustic electric burning smell under it all.

She smiled a little at Muru who seemed better since Laine last saw her but the same blankness was there, she had at least put on some weight. Her gaze moved to Sobel as he spoke, she remembered his particular talent. Laine shifted her arm in the sling, wishing she could take pictures of the scene but it mattered little now.

“Sobel,” she said, walking over to him then glanced down at the girl. “Hello Muru, how are you?”

Laine did not expect much of an answer and the fact the poor thing had been dragged out to this dangerous mission irritated her but the fact was Muru was no ordinary girl and she had uses that they would need.

“Work?” Ava asked Sobel, shooting a strained smile at Muru; her mind internally screaming at the idea of her even being there. She kept her eyes fixated on Sobel and the faces of her teammates, trying to ignore the unmoving bodies laying on the ground around them and the coppery scent of blood in the air. “What kind of work?”

“Securing the site, gathering intelligence. Pictures, video.” There was a subtle underlying annoyance, a twitch of his brow that almost broke the otherwise stoic, glassy demeanor of his eyes at having to explain things to a field agent. To his credit, he recovered well. “Or you could follow them upstairs and partake in the killing. If you’d like.”

Laine stepped between Ava and Sobel, giving him an even look. “So let's start our sweep, maybe Ava will take the video and we can pick apart this scene. Do you know if they’re going to bother leaving any alive to talk to? That might be helpful, using your certain set of...skills to poke around their heads before their skulls are shattered.”

She looked at the woman on the floor, rolling her eyes in distaste. These were the Russians, the ones involved in the horror that Blackriver faced and that had saturated into their own lives. Laine found little sympathy for them despite their helplessness, she had seen enough of the results of their supernatural power game. However, little would be gleaned from a corpse that could help them find more information.

“That’s not how it works.” Sobel said absently, looking around the halls with his flashlight. The cracked glow sticks the Kill Teams left after securing the first floor gave off their green glow, only helping to exaggerate the shadows of every inch of texture on the walls, the paintings, and the blood seeping out of bodies with exit wounds. “Unfortunately, the subject must be alive. And willing.”

“Sometimes it takes some good convincing of why they should let me inside.” He continued, jabbing the toe of his boot into one of the bodies found along their walk through the long halls of the Retreat. The body did not move. “Shame the Kill Teams were loosed with the ROE they were given.”

“I’m sure even Ghost isn’t having as much fun as he could be. Not too many offering up a fight.” At this point it was like Sobel was just talking to himself, not acknowledging Laine or Ava. “There’s a room over here I’ve yet to get into. The Kill Teams didn’t want to go in. Too much risk.”

“I suspect it might lead us somewhere… interesting.” After what felt like an eternity walking the labyrinthine halls of the Retreat, they came upon the door that Sobel had mentioned. It was a large set of French doors set into the walls. Inlaid in the door were strange symbols. If one were to inspect them, the recurrence of some pointed at them being writing in an alphabet not readily available to memory, though they might dig deep. Muru seemed interested for the first time they’d seen her here.

“Here we are.” Sobel said, “On someone, or in somewhere, there is a key. I could try to get us through, but… whatever downed your helicopter, the comms, and the lights is still here. Perhaps on the other side.”

>…///

Croc stepped past another slumped body. A tapestry of blood decorated the walls in his peripheral, guiding them. Not wanton violence yet, indiscriminate. It had been a number of years since he ran the ground. The red dot in his optic danced over threat areas as they shuffled amidst dimly lit halls. Dave snapped around one corner with Tex tightly behind. Bajbala was a few paces back, asynchronous from the team, prowling like a cat in their wake. He felt vulnerable with her to his back, even that she might be the one to drop him.

He keyed his mic but it was silent save for the heavy draft that rolled against large pane windows at their flank. The only likely tale of their kill-team’s path were the bodies. Baj peered into one room they passed, presumably cleared. A heaviness seeped out from the dark. The prone heels of some dead thing silhouetted against white drapes steered her curiosities.

"Huh..." Croc started as they approached the stairs. He got a visual on Baj securing their rear and pat Tex's shoulder ready. "This place’s kinda fucked, dont suppose we're making it out with six HVTs..."

That's right, Baj thought back. Donnelly's fangs were bare, practically dripping with malice. She'd double down that he wanted them alive only to kill each of them his way.

“Kinda nothin’, all of this is fucked,” Dave grunted. There was tightly controlled fury in his eyes as they played over the repeated scene of unarmed people in blood-smeared piles. Killed for the crime of being in the way. He eyed a huddled body, his disgust plain.

“It’s all in ID’ing your target. Oakes said she wanted airtight.” Donnelley forced himself to keep that face of stone as he climbed the steps, still babying his throbbing shoulder and playing it off like his head wasn’t giving him trouble. Thankfully, keeping the stack entailed climbing the stairs slow and steady. The light on his rifle was the only thing that cut through the shadows the glow sticks left.

“Airtight.” He repeated as they made it to the second floor, still no sign of the Kill Teams save for the evidence of their work in bullet holes in the walls and bodies they passed. There were still open doors to rooms, but given the Kill Teams had already gone through, Donnelley and his team only gave them cursory once overs as they passed them.

He tried keying his comms again, and again was met with nothing. The electronics had to have been killed, nothing to do with interference. EMPs might make sense, but that would mean whoever ran the Retreat was expecting a raid like this. He stopped any thought towards those implications short and led his team through the halls, “Door right.”

He called out the first door they’d found closed. From what Donnelley’s gun light shone on, there weren’t any signs of entry, forced or not. Without having to give commands, his team formed up on the door.

When everyone else was set, Donnelley pivoted and put all his strength into a solid backwards kick, bashing the door open and letting them flow into the room. When no gunfire erupted, he assumed the room was empty, but something else he wasn’t expecting greeted his eyes…///

>GEORGE BUSH CENTER FOR INTELLIGENCE, CIA HQ
>THE BLACK FLOORS
>2200
>20NOV2019

It was a feeling like doing something wrong and waiting for your parents to get home. Like sitting outside the principal’s office. It was a secure meeting room, no windows out into the hallway, not to mention the Black Floors were subterranean anyway. He didn’t know if that made him feel better, or just more anxious. Does the deer feel better about it if it can see the wolves coming? Donnelley simply sat at the small wood table, the navy blue carpet and soundproofed walls, whole room done up like a corporate office space. He took in a breath and it sounded like hundred mile winds in the silence.

The door opened, and he almost flinched, guilty for nothing. At least nothing he’d done in this room. Director Oakes closed the door behind her and took a seat opposite Donnelley, placing a folder on the table. They didn’t speak to each other, just sat on opposite sides of the table. Her head was freshly buzzed, and he spied a small scar next to her hairline that disappeared under the hair. And then he noticed more, one on her lip, another running up her forearm. She was dressed more like she was one of the Wetwork Teams, and not a busy Director wading knee deep in the bureaucracy of the Program. She took her turn drawing in a breath and sighing it out, “This is it.” She said, nodding at the folder, “Everything Ava and Dave will need to leave this all behind.”

“Thanks.” Donnelley said, holding Oakes’ gaze. Like two street dogs, two opponents sussing out the next moves of the other.

“You didn’t ask for one for Laine.” Oakes said, a slight hint of curiosity in her voice, just at the edges.

“She doesn’t want one.” Donnelley said, already wondering when Oakes was going to pull another favor out of her ass. Just one more, that’s all it’ll take. Just one more. How many times had he told himself that, he wondered.

“You didn’t ask for one for you.” Her voice was much more matter-of-fact. Her turn to wonder about things, as she quirked a brow. “I thought you’d want to leave this all in the past and try to make something out of the rest of your life?”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is for David and Avaline.” Oakes inclined her head towards Donnelley.

“It wasn’t for Poker, or for Maui, Clyde Baughman. Or anyone else I ever knew that’s dead now, that’s not how it worked for them.” Donnelley inclined his head in turn, corner of a lip downturned in a growing frown.

“Or for Bob?”

Donnelley let go a tell, he knew, his brows twitching and then furrowing. Knitting together as he looked away, “He wouldn’t have lasted anyway.”

“Maybe,” Oakes leaned forward, “But that wasn’t for you to decide, Donnelley. He was a good kid-“

“And that’s my fuckin’ point. You said no witnesses, I told him no witnesses, and he wasn’t goin’ to pull that fuckin’ trigger-“

“Like you did? Or was it how it really went down is you faked him out and then killed him?” Oakes didn’t seem any more or any less upset with the idea that Donnelley had killed her new guy. “I wonder why?”

“I didn’t shoot him. We got to the place, his granddaughter was there, and I didn’t do it.” Donnelley was staring burning holes in the table, “I lowered my pistol. Maybe I could catch him at another time, maybe when he didn’t have his granddaughter.”

“And then this stupid fuck blows Bill’s head open.” Donnelley shook his head, fist balled underneath the table. The room was silent, but Donnelley could feel his blood pumping in his ears. Who was this bitch that could look him in the eyes, and after everything he’d done for her, and the Program, and THUNDER, and that lying piece of shit Foster, and grill him over some petty shit? How could she look him in the eyes and write him off as a fuck-up? He was good at what he did, and he’d proved it plenty-

“Would you like to know how I ended up here?” Oakes broke the silence, and Donnelley looked at her. Her and her scars, and bruises, “Ended up being the person in charge of the Program’s Office of Murder?”

Donnelley opened his mouth, and then shut it. Oakes looked his face over, eyes hanging on the large burn scar that ran down his face, tracing the line that the burning coolant and oil had taken. He almost turned his face away from her, but instead he held his chin up. He was done hiding it, hiding from it. Oakes continued, “I grew up just like you. Poor family, my father beat my mother and I. Staying together for the kid is by far the stupidest shit they ever did besides have me.”

Oakes didn’t seem torn up about it, “When I was old enough, I joined the Air Force. Security Forces. Broke up a lot of fights, ended a lot of fights. I was good at it. When I heard about my father murdering my mother, I only got better at it.” Oakes nodded, a fierceness in her eyes as she recounted her past, “I planned on getting out of the Air Force and doing to him what he’d been doing to me and my mother for all our lives. Some General’s nephew or some shit lost a fight to me, and that put me on the first ride out of the Air Force. Some men in black suits and sunglasses you and everyone else here might recognize came up to me and asked if I’d like to make this all go away.”

“Next thing I know, I’m on a plane to Andersen Air Force Base. They take me to a building, hand me a key to a cell, and they tell me my father’s down the stairs.” Oakes frowned at the wall as if she could see the door there still, “I stood in front of that door for a long time. Then I went back up the stairs and handed them the key. I was done with him, my father.”

“I did my time in prison, took the Dishonorable Discharge. They came back to me and told me it was a test. They knew I could fight and kill, they wanted to know if I could stop.” Oakes looked back at Donnelley, present in the room again, but giving Donnelley the same look she gave that door all those years ago.

Donnelley snorted, couldn’t help himself, “So, what? Bill was my fuckin’ test?”

“Bill needed to die, doesn’t matter now. Bob… Bob, though. I think you’re tired, Donnelley. I think one day, you're going to be sent after another Bill in another house, with another granddaughter inside of it,” Oakes stabbed her finger into the table to punctuate each word, “And there won’t be a Bob to blow that Other-Bill’s head off when he shows you he’s not planning on going today.”

“Next time, don’t hesitate. Just fucking shoot him in the face, and be done with it. There’s a right time to stop, and a wrong time to stop killing.” Oakes stood, leaving the folders on the table.

“And when’s that, since you know so fuckin’ much about everythin’?” Donnelley stared up at Oakes.

“When I tell you to.” Oakes narrowed her eyes, “But, if I wanted someone like Ghost, or one of my people to head your team? I’d have put one there. For what it’s worth, I know very well why you did Bob.”

Oakes turned for the door, “And I know why you didn’t ask for a folder for yourself.”

“You would’ve done the same thing. No Bob,and no folder.” Donnelley said, not quite asking as he was watching her go. She stopped halfway out the door, and turned to look at Donnelley. The look in her eyes gave him his answer, and then she turned to shut the door before Donnelley called out, “West Virginia!”

Oakes stopped. She stepped back inside and looked at Donnelley. The two stared at each other just like that for a few moments, before Donnelley spoke again, “Blackriver. Maria Vasquez. I had a job to do, I had a killer to stop—UMBRA had a killer to stop.” Donnelley frowned, “Someone wouldn’t let us do it. Someone put up roadblocks at every stop, and gave Foster official authorization to do that.”

“Everythin’ in that folder I gave you came from someone outside the Program who knew way more than anyone else.” Donnelley stood, sending the office chair rolling backward into the wall, “I died, UMBRA and other good people died to bring you that fucking folder!”

“And every time I meet one of these guys like I met my source for that folder, they tell me I’m not—we’re not,” He waved his arm to gesture to himself and Oakes, to the entirety of the Program’s Black Floors, “We’re not Delta Green!”

Oakes just watched Donnelley unleash his tirade, watched him breathing hard, staring fiery daggers into her. All the while, she stared back impassively, “So?”

“So, I want to know, Oakes.” Donnelley shook his head, “What am I? What are we doing? What the hell is Majestic-12, who the fuck is Overman, what the fuck is March Tech?”

“I thought this was Delta Green. I thought we were all on the same side.” Donnelley frowned darker still as Oakes just kept staring at him, unmoved.

“Don’t be naive.” Oakes said with some finality, and then turned and left, shutting the door behind herself.

Donnelley looked after her for a few long moments, then at the manilla folder. How lucky those two were to have someone like him. Someone willing to let them go while he was eaten by the fire, drowning in the strong flow of a river it took him too long to realize he was in. Some part of him wanted to feed those folders into a shredder. If he had to be here, so did they. But that wasn’t what he did. That wasn’t who he was. That wasn’t why he stayed so long.

He deserved this.

>SHORTLY AFTER…///

Donnelley closed the door to the meeting room behind him. The halls were empty at this hour, the last vestiges of things to do were held in folders and closed laptops under the arms of fast-walking analysts and others. It was a 24-hour clock they ran on, no closing time, even if the activity had somewhat slowed. He passed by members of the skeleton crew, not meeting any eyes, and no eyes meeting his. Once he found Dave and Ava in a break room, he stood down the hall and just watched them, wondering what they were thinking.

Maybe plans for the rest of their lives outside and away from all of this. Figuring out how best to forget everything they’d learned about how the world really worked. The things they’d seen, and done. How to get back to normal. Here Donnelley was, standing here with their ticket. It was supposed to be a surprise, a parting gift. But gifts were supposed to be handed over with a smile, something Donnelley just couldn’t muster as he watched them. Knowing he would probably never see them again after he handed the folder over. The thick manilla folder had everything the Program had on them, psych evals, physical evals, DNA, everything anyone would need to know them as well as they knew themselves. Maybe better.

He’d flipped through some of the pages, but the DNA samples and the information about them were sealed. Not that he’d even know what he was looking at. One of the envelopes was personally addressed to Ava with a note that said she’d want to read and cross reference it with the other sample inside. He knew she’d had dreams and visions, maybe she had something inside her that wasn’t all too human, but he knew if it was something like that, well. That was one favor he would never do for Oakes. And nobody would tell her outright like this.

He shook himself from his reverie when he saw them notice him down the long hall just standing there. Dave was the first to notice, then Ava. He took a breath and finished walking over to the small break room and stood in front of them. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed the folder on the table and glanced at each of them before he looked away.

Ava lightly tightened her hands around the warm styrofoam cup she had filled with whatever generic brand tea that was kept stocked in this breakroom. It barely tasted like anything, but it was warm and had enough flavor for her brain to associate with some semblance of comfort.

Comfort that was chased away when Donnelley silently walked up to them, set down a thick manilla folder and then looked away from them. Her heart immediately started to race as she looked at the folder and imagined all the horrible things that could be inside. Was it another assignment? Already? Why wasn’t Donnelley looking at them?

She felt her hands start to tighten too much around her cup, threatening to break the styrofoam. She cleared her throat and brought up the cup to take a sip of her warm tea. “Hey, Donnelley.” She greeted him, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen. “What’s…what’s that?”

Dave watched him approach in silence, his gaze inscrutable behind the layers of exhaustion written over his face. His eyes were red-rimmed from the gunsmoke and explosive residue, his ears still ringing despite the hours between now and the actual mission. When the envelope hit the table he looked at it for a moment in silence, reaching over and gently taking Ava’s hand beneath the table and waiting for an explanation.

“It’s everythin’ the Program has on you. Original copies.” Donnelley said, looking back up at them, eyes going between them, “Your termination papers.”

He still didn’t seem too happy about it, “You’re free to go. Thank you for your service, leave all of this behind and don’t look back.” He said, scooting the folder closer, “I wouldn’t.”

Ava’s eyes widened and she gripped onto Dave’s hand tightly beneath the table. “R-really?” She aksed, her voice lilting upwards with hesitant hope. “Just…just like that? We’re done?”

“Just like that,” Dave said softly. He squeezed her hand, and with his other reached out to take the papers, pulling them over. Then he stood and offered his hand. “I won’t lie an’ say I’ve loved every minute of this…But hell, I guess I can’t lie and say some of it wasn’t kinda fun.”

Donnelley’s hands turned into fists at the sentiment of it all being ‘just like that.’ It wasn’t just like that for him, or any of them. His best friend was being restrained by Security in a holding cell somewhere down here, a lot of other people had it easier being dead. Let alone knowing what he’d had to do for Oakes to get them this. Someone was dead, and his granddaughter woke up to it.

He stared at Dave’s hand and it was as if the brotherhood between them had evaporated with his fucking smile. His eyes went from the hand to Dave’s eyes, “You might’a thought it was just that easy, Dave, but you weren’t the one that had to do what I had to do to get this.” Donnelley planted his hand on the folder and roughly slid it towards them just a bit more while holding his gaze, “Don’t make me regret givin’ you this fuckin’ thing.”

“Like y’all said,” Donnelley’s lip curled into a frown and his eyes were on Dave in a way they hadn’t ever been, and bad, “Just like that. Y’all’re done.”

Dave held his gaze for a moment before lowering his hand. He wanted to say a lot of things; chief among them about how Donnelley didn’t have a monopoly on hard living, wasn’t the only one to have killed people and seen horrible shit. He thought, just for a moment, about that barn, and his knife, and a Russian thug tied to a chair, and how he’d done all that for the Program and for his friends, including the one who was mean-mugging him for a reason he couldn’t figure out. Instead he picked up the envelope.

“Alright then,” he said. “Thanks.”

Now he looked away, very pointedly. “C’mon Ava. We’re done.”

Ava started when Dave turned to her, snapped out the rising sense of dread that had seized her in immobility with the escalating tension between the two men. “Um, yeah, we are.” She said, standing up with her cup of tea.

She shuffled her way over to Dave and put her hand on his lower back, looking down at the gently rising steam in her cup instead of at Donnelley. Her mind was still processing everything that had just happened, but she still tried to summon some sincerity to say. “Thank…Thank you Donnelley for…everything.”

Donnelley didn’t answer, just stood in silence and watched them go. He barely contained his anger and resentment watching them go down the empty hall. He stared at Ava’s hand on Dave’s back and remembered how he broke Laine’s heart in Texas. Watched them walking away, remembering getting the news of Poker dying in front of his daughter. Remembered his ex-wife was in a coma, and his daughter traumatized by retaliation for nothing that she did.

He took a few steps towards the couple walking away from him and punched the break room door hard enough to put a dent in the thin aluminum door, “You can’t be fuckin’ serious!” He roared, “You’re gonna look me in my fuckin’ face and think this is all done with a fuckin’ handshake and a smile, you son of a bitch! People died to get you that fuckin’ piece of paper!”

Dave stopped, turned to face him, his hands fisted at his sides. “What the fuck do you want from me, man?” He said. His voice was tight and low. “What do you want me to fuckin’ say? People died for me to get out, and that fuckin’ sucks. People died to bring me into it. People died while I was in it. You died. Laine died. Ava died. That’s all that fuckin’ happens here, is people dyin’, and now I’m a bad guy because I asked for us to get out? I asked, and you made it happen, and we’re wrong because of that?”

Ava looked between the two of them, her hand going from resting on Dave’s back to gripping onto his shirt, trying to give a gentle tug to stop the escalating energy swirling in this confined hallway. She could feel her throat start to tighten and a sting growing behind her eyes; she was so tired. They were all so tired.

“Guys,” she said quietly, desperately. “Please, stop.”

“I don’t think you’re bad, Dave.” Donnelley started forward, slowly walking to them while he talked, “I just think it makes you look like a fuckin’ tourist. Like someone who hits nails halfway in and then fuckin’ stops. Just sits there while everyone else does the real fuckin’ work, and then pats hisself on the back like you was fuckin’ there to see it through.”

He closed the distance and was an arm’s length away from Dave, his shoulders heaving with his breath and his words shaking out of him, his red eyes wide with fury, “Makes me feel like you don’t give a fuck about shit long as you get yours.” He said, and reached out to shove Dave.

Dave heard Ava, felt the tug on his shirt, and with more willpower than he thought he had in him he kept his fist from swinging. Instead he leaned in closer to Donnelley.

“What I give a fuck about is my son back home in Arkansas, and the lady standin’ here beside me. And if they’re safe, then you can think whatever the fuck you want.” He shook his head, giving Donnelley a look that was as pitying as it was disdainful. “You remember that talk we had, way back? When you said sometimes it didn’t feel like nobody had your back? This is why. Because you’re a fuckin’ asshole to the people who try to care about you, man. Go be alone.”

He turned away and took Ava’s hand, leading her towards the door.

Donnelley stood there in silence when Dave and Ava turned away from him. He watched them leave, but he stood rooted there. He wanted to get hit, wanted something, but the ache in his chest only grew until he couldn’t stand it. Before they rounded the corner into another hallway and out of view, he grit his teeth and growled out a lame, “Fuck you.”

And then he was alone again…///

>SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF DC
>1000
>23NOV2019, 4 DAYS AFTER RIVER VALLEYS RETREAT RAID…

Donnelley woke up strangling a cheap motel pillow when the fight in his dreams was taken to the motel floor, the hard impact his body made with the rough carpet of the motel room was enough to wake him. He looked around with bloodshot eyes to find that morning was upon him, and the room was empty. No huge firefight, no enemy in sight, just him. And an audience of empty bottles of whiskey and beer staring down at him from the tables and counters of the small room. The clutter disgusted him, another reminder of just how far backwards this case had dragged him, kicking and screaming, leaving nail marks in the floorboards. It had been two days since he’d contacted anyone from his team. He’d gotten to this motel after being debriefed at Langley, and his phone had been off by the time he’d crossed the room’s threshold. He sat on the floor for an eternity, just clutching onto the pillow less like an enemy now, and more like a dear friend in the face of some impending doom he felt inside his chest. As it subsided with the minutes ticking by, he got to his feet and discovered he was naked, and his skin sticky with sweat despite the coolness of the room.

He went for his phone and looked at that black little mirror for what felt like an hour. He didn’t know if he was ready to turn it back on and let the world slip back through that little porthole he’d open when it came back on. There was no telling what he’d find, and he didn’t know what would be worse- having a million missed calls, or none. Always easier to say you wanted to disappear until people obliged you. He swallowed dry, but dared not reach for any one of the bottles around him so easily within arm’s length. He pressed the button to power on the phone and watched it come to life. Sure enough, there were no calls, no messages for the first few minutes. And then one popped up on the screen. Voicemails.

Laine’s. Asking him where he was. Angry at first. Then worried. Then angry again. The last voicemail had been left last night, and he carefully went to his contacts, and returned her call. He put it on speaker, placed it on the nightstand, and scooted away from it as if she’d reach through the phone and slap him across the face.

Laine stood outside Georgetown University hospital, her arm in a fresh cast from the elbow to her wrist. It itched and she wanted to smoke but it was not allowed on the hospital grounds.

The air was cool and threatened to start drizzling again, maybe sleet, the weather man had said on that endless loop news channel that had been blaring in the waiting room. As if the people needed the anxiety inducing garbage from CNN and Fox.

Laine put her good hand in her pocket and looked at her phone. No missed calls, no voicemail. Not even a goddamn text. She felt the sweep of annoyance rush over her, a resentment tempered only by her concern for him.

"Dr. Laine."

A voice called her name, a tired sound that matched the dour features of Dr. Agrawal. He had a folder tucked under one arm that he promptly removed and handed to her.

"This is highly unorthodox," he complained, keeping a grip on the folder even as he gave it to her.

"I promise, it won't come back to you. I have federal authority," Laine said, pulling the folder from the psychiatrist. "How is he?"

"The patient, Mr. Patrick had to be sedated again. He's displaying violent tendencies, extreme paranoia, and hallucinations. I believe him not to be aggressive but defensive, he reacts to even minor stimuli. Even so, he is a danger to himself and others."

"What do you have him on?"

"The typical cocktail of lorazepam and haloperidol, an unusually high dosage for a man his size but he seems to have some resistance. I'll see how he does and adjust the medication. I prefer my patient conscious but his delusions are... disturbing," Dr. Agrawal said, stuffing his hands into his lab coat pockets.

"I'm sure," Laine said, then added, "We believe he was exposed to some hallucinogens without being aware on a DEA raid."

"So the admission papers said," he replied, "I wonder though, clearly he's had severe trauma as well."

"Combat," Laine said, "He was in combat on a few occasions."

"Yes, that would do it. Though his reaction is quite extreme. Perhaps his recreational drug use exasperated it. He was positive for cocaine and amphetamines in his lab work. No signs of hallucinogens, either," he said, his dark eyes narrowing.

"LSD can be tricky," Laine said as she glanced through the top sheet of the folder.

"That it can," he replied dryly. "Is there anything else I can do for you, I really must get back."

She looked at the older doctor, hating to have to lie about a patient but it was becoming second nature the longer she was in the Program.

"I'll need any recordings of interviews, sessions, or anything he writes or draws if he should do so."

"Funny, I thought his doctor would keep those," Dr. Agrawal said, "Or am I just the one with the prescription pad."

Laine closed the folder, slipping it into her coat. "I appreciate your cooperation and understanding, Dr. Agrawal. You have my number."

Once he had gone back through the sliding doors, Laine began her walk back to the parking lot. She looked at her phone again, then shook her head in disgust before picking up the pace as the first icy drops of rain started to fall.

She waited as the heater kicked in, her California blood still unused to the cold. As she idled the car, she tapped her phone and looked at the recent calls. Then tapped it once again. The phone was ringing now and Laine waited, each ring making her temper tick upwards.

"Donnelly you better answer, I swear," she muttered as her black painted fingernails drummed on the steering wheel.

The other side picked up with a hollowed out, “Hey,” Donnelley even sounded beat down on the phone, “It’s been some time… I, um, I… Are you okay?”

Laine almost hung up when she heard his voice. It sounded broken and it hurt to hear it but the anger and worry she has been carrying spilled out.

"I'm just peachy," she snapped, "Thanks for asking."

She sighed through her nose and clenched her jaw. "Having trouble with your service? Maybe you should switch carriers. Or maybe you've just been too busy to return my calls or maybe at least shoot me a text to let me know you’re still fucking alive."

Laine slapped her phone down against the console but it did not end the call. She grimaced, whatever convenience smart phones brought it was not very satisfying to hang up on someone. She tapped the screen but rather than hang up she put Donnelly on speaker.

Laine leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, the minute vibration of the idling engine was felt through her skull. She had been fighting a headache but it seemed ready to blossom as her temper spiked.

“You’re right.” Donnelley said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

There was a silence, and Donnelley wanted to fill it with anything but endless sorry and lame conceding. He felt low, a shadow of the bold, daring, swaggering man that Laine and the others had put their trust in. What would Holly think of him now? She’d probably tell him he never changed from when she left him and took Tilly away. Maybe he was even worse than that.

At least back then he had a fire in him, some kind of anger. Donnelley shook his head, that was no better to have, “Foster got away. All of this, and Foster got away.” He said, “Now my best fuckin’ friend is in a goddamn loony bin and…”

“And I’m here.” He swallowed, “I want to see you.”

Laine closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gain control again. The mention of Queen brought her back and she glanced at the folder. Not every casualty of the Program was six feet under.

“Alright,” she murmured, then spoke up, “Alright. I’m here in DC, where are you?”

“I’m close.” He said, his voice seeming to perk up just a tad at that, “We can meet somewhere. Name the place, I’ll be there.”

>SOMEWHERE IN DC
>12000…///

Donnelley pulled up alongside the small parking area in the alleyway. Laine had chosen a small, secluded coffee shop that was far from prying eyes, and crowded enough for them to be lost in the details of the crowd. DC was the Moscow of the West when it came to espionage, but there were still small bastions where one could hide away. He was dressed less loud than he usually was, a black tee and hoodie over jeans, black Vans.

A hat worn forward and a pair of non-descript sunglasses covered his face. The Bratva and the rest of their enemies may have been crippled, but they weren’t far gone. He got out of his rental car, another piece of nondescript equipment, a black Toyota Corolla. Scanning the parking lot, he saw no one else, not that it was a huge space. He made his way into the coffee shop, looking at the faces until he spotted Laine’s. He strained to keep himself from smiling in that reflexive way people do when they see those they like. He stayed in line long enough to order a black coffee and then made his way over to her.

“Hey.” He couldn’t find much else to say.

Laine looked up from her pain au chocolat when Donnelley approached. She still wore her black peacoat but it hung loose, the maroon sweater underneath. She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his face as he sat down.

“Hey,” she replied, then sipped her coffee. “Nice weather we’re having.”

She glanced around, then pulled a piece of flaky bread apart. “It’s nice to see you. Finally.”

Her casted arm rested at the table top as she ate with one hand. The pleasantries fell away into silence as she looked over at him. Laine stayed quiet, waiting for Donnelley to say what he would say rather than jump on him with questions. No matter how much she wanted to berate him.

“Yeah.” He let that hang on the air, knowing that look Laine had in her eye, that annoyed edge in her voice.

He took the seat across from her and drummed his fingers on the table. For a few moments, he didn’t dare look her in the eye, but he knew he had to at some point. He looked up to see her still staring into him, maybe wondering what piss poor excuse he had now, “I started drinkin’ again. Dave, Ava, and me didn’t have too good of a partin’. Ain’t exactly been the best time. Still doesn’t make me disappearin’ right. I know other people were … worse off than me.”

He was there when Queen lost it. Had to be taken to the ground and disarmed before he did something stupid. He should’ve been there for his best friend, said something. At least something more than the lame out he gave them all in Alaska before they officially rejoined the living. “I need to go see my daughter, but I couldn’t do that before seein’ you. Makin’ sure you’re okay before I up and fuck off for a while.”

Laine nodded slightly, “We buried our dead and said goodbye to Dave and Ava but with Qu - with Billy, it’s something else. Neither here nor there. I saw him and spoke with his doctor. I’ll have access as much as I can, as a fellow doctor. I can’t say Dr. Agrawal is happy about it but if he acts up, we’ll just send someone to scare him.”

She turned her head, brushing her dark hair back, “That’s what we do isn’t it?”

Laine sighed, “I’ll watch out for Billy, you know that. Right now they have him sedated but that won’t last forever, hopefully.”

Laine had kept herself busy on the return from Alaska, rolling along with catching up at Quantico and making sure Queen had been admitted and anything he said written off as delusional blather. The cover story should hold, until she could get him to a more private facility away from DC and the dangers that lurked.

But the memories still were there, the whispering in the dark that kept her awake at night. Laine would have to deal with them, she understood that, but not while her team still needed her. She resisted the urge to rub the cast against the table, an itch starting up under the plaster.

After a pause she tried to meet his gaze, “Are you done drinking? Or do I have to keep tabs on you, too.”

Her voice was cool but she let her hands slide past her coffee cup and reached for him, the pale fingers of her good hand extended.

“I sure fuckin’ hope so, Laine.” He said, and noticed the waiting hand on the table. The first sign of good graces he’d had in what felt like weeks. Especially from her. He still remembered how they left things in Texas.

But he took the hand, sliding his fingers between hers, “How the fuck am I gonna explain any of this to my daughter?”

Laine brushed her thumb against his calloused finger then shook her head slightly, “You won’t.”

She looked down at their hands and back at him, “Her innocence is a gift. She doesn’t need to know why those men wrecked the car. Plenty of random violent people in this world, god knows. As for how do you explain where you go and what you do...you make it something she can believe in.”

Laine added, “I don’t exactly give details to my niece and nephew about what I do. They just know I try to stop bad people from doing bad things.”

Donnelley huffed out a small chuckle as he gently squeezed Laine’s hand, “If I know my daughter, she’d slap me if I gave her somethin’ like that.” The smile faded just a bit, “She’ll need somethin’ more. I’ve already put so much drama into her life, and she’s grown. She needs somethin’ more.”

“I’m tellin’ you, you’d like her.” He smiled.

Laine conceded the point and thought for a moment. “You don’t want to crush her under this weight, and how much can you even tell her? You can’t even tell her about your day job let alone this.”

She could see the pride in his eyes, the love that was there for his only child. Laine smiled a little, “I am sure I would, she sounds like an amazing girl. Maybe one day...hell.”

Looking aside, Laine bit her lip slightly and sighed, “You know I’d love her as your daughter. And I want to protect her. I am not sure what you should tell her, but you know her best. What she can handle.”

Donnelley nodded, looking down at their fingers intertwined, “Yeah, you’re right. Just a… fine line to tread.” He looked back up to Laine, “That’s for later, though. For now, it’s us. What do you want, before I have to go? See a movie, walk in the park… find someplace to act like teenagers like when we first had some time?”

“We could shoplift at Target, or go get some spray paint and tag some buildings.” He chuckled.

Laine flexed her fingers in her casted hand, the itch was starting to bother her. At his suggestions, she smiled, rolling her eyes up, “Oh to be normal for five minutes. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

She looked at him, the fatigue and worry fading into the background when she saw Donnelley smile. “Do you think it would be alright to go back to my apartment?”

Laine glanced around, almost certain some Russian might be lurking. “Do we dare it?”

“My parents aren’t home,” she added, trying to lighten the mood back up.

“Really? Do you wanna take our party over there then?” He asked, his smile growing a little wider.

Laine glanced around the cafe once more. “I think I’d like nothing more than to just be in my own place with you and we can Netflix and chill. Something just boring and normal.”

She paused then a little grin flicked across her lips, “Not that it’ll stay boring or normal.”

Donnelley’s smile widened as he took her hand and stood.

>GREER RESIDENCE
>BLACK DIAMOND, WA
>1730
>26NOV2019

Donnelley’s bike came to a stop on the driveway of Holly’s house. When he’d called Tilly at SeaTac Airport, he learned he was discharged days ago, and had been basically living at one of her friends’ houses. Holly and her husband were still at Virginia Mason, and he would make time to visit them after he made sure his daughter was alright. Holly was the first to wake from her coma, and she would have to undergo physical therapy. Mark was in much the same condition, but he’d been managing to walk. They had lost the pregnancy, something Tilly spoke to Donnelley in hushed tones about. He could tell it hurt her.

He sat up from his bike after cutting the engine and scanned the surroundings of the house’s yard and the trees beyond. He’d told Tilly to go home and meet him when he came to the door, as he’d agreed to watch her for the time being while Holly and Mark were hospitalized. He hung his helmet off one of the ape hangers on his bike and made his way to the front door, rapping his knuckles on the wood, “It’s me, Tilly. It’s D-“ he stopped himself from saying dad, not knowing if he’d earned the right, “It’s… Joey.”

From inside the house the sound of unlocking could be heard and the door swung open. Tilly was there, dressed in jeans and her long blonde hair tied up in a haphazard bun. Her bottom lip quivered when she looked up at him but she held firm.

“Hey, Joe Dad.”

She opened the door further to let him in, the house smelled like lemon polish and pine cleaner. Tilly gestured down the hallway towards the kitchen and dining room. “Mom’s always complaining I don’t help around the house enough. I thought I’d...you know.”

Tilly swallowed hard and blinked, wiping the loose sleeve of the flannel she wore over her t-shirt across her eyes. It was one of Mark’s shirts, her step dad had a collection that would make any Seattleite proud. “I thought I’d clean up, for when they come home.”

The girl turned quickly and walked inside, leaving Donnelley to close the door himself and follow. He could already tell how his daughter was keeping her mind barely occupied. When there were things that weighed heavily on him, he threw himself into his work. And if there was no work, there was always drinking. He thanked whoever that Tilly hadn’t followed him in that habit, at least. To her credit, the house did seem spotless.

“It looks nice in here, good job.” He said, trying to tiptoe around the elephant in the room of why he was here at all.

“You wanna take a break and get some food? My treat, you deserve it for this.” He mustered up a smile, “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Or we could order in, just chill here.”

Tilly shrugged, “I dunno, I got tired of fast food and especially hospital food. You’d gag over what passes for a barbeque burger there.”

She sat against the arm of the recliner, the one her Mom had claimed from Mark to put her swollen feet up. Tilly ran her hand over the leather and the crocheted throw blanket. “Mrs. Martin makes some pretty good lasagna though. But it’s kinda weird living at another house, even if it is my best friend.”

She looked over at Donnelley, examining his scarred face and his blue eyes the same color as her own. “I dunno. Things are so weird right now. The Martins want me to stay with them for Thanksgiving. But other people’s holidays are weird, like they have roast instead of turkey. Who does that?”

She was chattering, she knew it. Tilly swung her feet, her sneakers scuffing the carpet. “There’s a food truck that sets up by the skate park, they have junk you know. Hot dogs, ice cream, chili pie. Can your old digestion handle that?”

Tilly giggled, muffling it with her sleeve covered hand. “Dad has a big bottle of Tums in the bathroom if you can’t.”

Her thoughts naturally went to her stepdad, how he was struggling to keep it together for her and her mom but even she could see it was an uphill battle. Tilly sighed and raised her shoulders in the most nonchalant teenage gesture she could manage.

“Anyway, wanna go?”

“Uh, yeah, the skate park? You got an extra board?” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder, ignoring his daughter’s anxiety and trying to do the fatherly thing of putting her at ease and letting her work through it. Act like life was normal for a time, “I brought the bike. I promised you a ride, remember?”

“Just the one, sorry,” she said, “But I’ll let you take a turn if you promise not to break...a leg.”

She cleared her throat and slid off the arm of the chair, “I’ll be back.”

Tilly ran up the stairs and pushed her bedroom door open. It was just as she had left it, her art on the walls, her computer gathering dust. Then she saw it, the little blue fuzzy duck she had bought for her brother. Her late brother, she corrected herself as she picked it up. Her hands trembled and she gripped it as she sunk down on her bed.

She started to cry, pressing her face to it. Her mom had wanted to do the nursery in little ducks with rain boots, Tilly was going to paint the design on the crib. Tears wet the synthetic fur and she sat up, balling the stuffed toy against her stomach as she shook with sobs.

Donnelley watched her with a raised brow as she abruptly darted up the stairs. It became readily apparent when he heard the door shut, but could still hear the sound of crying faintly from downstairs. It was the same kind of crying he was doing when he learned about what happened those days ago.

The talk with Laine came to mind, there was no way he could avoid talking about what had happened. In a world where trauma, violence, death, and hardship was almost an everyday thing, he’d forgotten that it wasn’t just the natural way of things for most people. His daughter and her family included. He swallowed hard and wrung his hands, looking down at them. He gingerly took the stairs up to her bedroom and his hand hovered over the door, unsure of whether he should bother knocking.

It was odd, he’d almost had no problem dealing with the emotions of his teammates. He’d take every argument, every sob in stride and bounce back after like nothing happened before moving on to the next objective. But this wasn’t a mission, there were no clear cut parameters, or rules of engagement. This was his daughter, crying for help, crying for someone or something to make things simple for her again and knowing that it never would be. Not after this.

And he found himself lost. He’d froze, like some FNG at the sound of a gunfight. But he knocked anyway, “Tilly…” He said, quietly, “Can- can I come in?”

Tilly sniffed hard and wiped at her eyes but held onto the blue duck plushie.

“Yeah,” she cleared her throat, “Yeah, come in.”

She kept her gaze on the floor, her slim fingers twining around the stuffed animal. “Sorry, I...”

Tilly held up the duck, “I just saw this and...”

Her throat tightened and fresh tears threatened, “It’s so fucked up. Everything is so fucked up.”

Donnelley stood in the doorway while she fumbled with her words before coming straight out with it. He regarded her with a pained frown, looking her up and down, hunched about the small stuffed animal like she was trying to offer a smaller target to the world. He sighed, eyes going to the floor before he stepped carefully to sit next to her on the bed. He didn’t know what to say, if there was anything he could say to make things seem right.

She said it herself. There was no other way to look at it. He just shook his head, “I know it is.” He whispered, “I know.”

“I’m so sorry for all of this shit happenin’, Tilly.” He shook his head again, “I’m sorry I couldn’t even be here sooner. I just… I had…”

After everything he said to Laine, he found himself at an impasse. He lied about what he did last time he was here, and there was no way he could be truly honest with what he was doing before he came to her house. “Tilly, I don’t know how I can say this, but the reason I couldn’t be here sooner is I was makin’ sure that this shit could never fuckin’ happen again to you.” He looked at her, “I made sure. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry about everythin’. I’m sorry there’s nothin’ else I can do except be here.”

“But I’m here.” He looked away from her and down at his hands, nervously fidgeting with his fingers, “I’m right here. So if… if there’s anythin’ you want to say to me, that you’re angry, that this is my fault. Let it out.”

Tilly listened in silence, then turned her head slightly to look at Donnelley from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, “Yeah, I’m mad. I’m so angry I don’t even know what to do sometimes. They knew you, they came after us because of you...what did you do?”

She turned enough to look at him fully now, “Why did they want you to stop? Something so bad they nearly killed us. What the fuck did you do?”

Tilly was swearing like she did around her friends, never around Holly and Mark. And she found she did not care if Donnelley approved or not. Donnelley frowned, closed his eyes in contemplation. Taking his moment to think on how to frame things for her, not because she wouldn’t understand, but because she shouldn’t. Not everything, anyways. “You know I was in the Army for a long time. I said I worked for the State Department, that I was involved in diplomatic security.” He took a breath, and then opened his eyes, looking at the floor. Or past it, “I do similar things. I travel a lot, to places that are dangerous. I work a dangerous job, in dangerous places, and I… deal with dangerous people.”

He glanced at her, before looking at his hands, “I make sure they can’t do anythin’ dangerous to America. To you. To anyone. They don’t like that.” He said, “It’s how I got this scar. I’m not gonna spell it out for you, but I have to be honest somehow.”

“You deserve it.” He said quietly, and looked at her, “Nothin’ else could keep me away like it does. It was always hard on your mom, and I’m sorry that it’s hard on you now.”

“What, were they terrorists or something?” she asked, “How do you know they won’t come back? Once you’re off on whatever...mission. Or maybe a year or two from now. When I go to college? You can’t protect us.”

Tilly flung her arm out to gesture around the room, wincing slightly at the pain in her ribs. “Mom and Dad can’t even walk by themselves right now.”

“You think you can protect us, but you’re the reason we got hurt,” Tilly said, then shook her head.

Donnelley frowned and his hands gripped his knees as he sighed. Tilly was right, and he knew it. It was his fault, they did no offense to anyone except be his family. Be the ones he cared about. That was the only reason they got hurt, knowing him made them targets. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have walked back into Tilly’s life.

But he did, and there was no going back now. He had to face it all, “I know. I know I’m the fuckin’ reason. But,” he searched for something to say and came up short, it was like his entire life was nothing more than something to apologize for, “But, I’m sorry. There wasn’t a way I could’ve known this would happen to you. Or maybe I should have.”

“I’m the one who came back after all these years, I’m the one who thought everything would be fine after just a visit, and a conversation.” Donnelley shook his head, “But, but, Tilly please. Believe me when I say those people aren’t goin’ to come for you. I will make sure that they can’t.”

“I’m your blood, Tilly. You’re my blood. I’m still your family, and you’re still my daughter. Sure as your eyes are blue, and you got a mouth on you.” He said, “Long as that’s all true, I promise to you, Tilly. They ain’t gonna come back.”

He looked at her finally, “I swear that to you, whether or not you ever want me here once Holly and Mark can come back to the house.”

Tilly sniffled and sat up, looking at Donnelley. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

She stood and moved away from him, her hands on her hips in an unconscious imitation of her mother’s irritated stance. It was easy to focus her anger and fear on Donnelley, rather than the unknown out in the world that meant her harm. Tilly turned, her red rimmed eyes no longer shining with tears.

“Tell me who those people are, Joe-Dad,” she said, “Because you ain’t gonna be around. At least I can watch out because Mom and Dad are fucking crippled up right now.”

“Russians.” Donnelley told her, “I was workin’ a case against Russians and Neo-Nazis. Guns, drugs. A few days ago, we went and shot the hell out of them.”

Donnelley admitted it, found it just came pouring out his mouth. Like he saw Tilly’s posture and like Pavlov’s dogs, he had a reason to rattle off everything. He composed himself and looked away from her, “That’s what I been doin’ this year.” He said, “What else you wanna know, ‘cause your dad ain’t no liar and he don’t make promises he can’t keep.”

“Russians? Like Russian mob? And Neo-Nazis? Jesus Christ, do you want to add Muslim extremists and killer clowns in there, too?” Tilly said, then she gave him a narrow look. “I thought you worked outside the US, but you’re not anymore? Joe-Dad...why can’t you just say who you are, what you do? Like FBI or CIA? One of those or like...what is it, ATF?”

He mumbled something quiet, and when he looked at Tilly with no reaction from her, he knew he didn’t say it loud enough. Or wanted to. He was toeing a dangerous line here, but Tilly was old enough. And last time he checked, direct family would be able to be told the truth about employment at the Company.

“CIA.” He blurted out, and intertwined his fingers, “I work for the CIA.”

Tilly’s mouth hung open when she heard it, no matter how much she suspected he might work for the CIA hearing him admit it was something else. “No. Shit,” she said slowly, looking him over. “My dad is James Bond.”

“I mean, he’s British, but sure.” Donnelley shrugged. “Just… don’t tell your mom. I don’t know how she’ll view me after. She already worries about me rubbin’ off on you too much as it is. I don’t need her havin’ more reasons for me to keep my distance.”

Tilly still looked at him with a mixture of awe and suspicion, “Seriously. CIA? That’s crazy.”

She rolled her eyes, “You think I’d tell Mom? I didn’t even show her the note.”

A renewal of anguish rose in her. Tilly said, “Mom has enough on her mind.”

After a moment, she looked up, “Hey, you’re CIA so like can you get us government protection? At least until Dad is better. Or is that just a movie thing.”

The tenuous hope in her voice was tinged in doubt, Tilly was grasping at straws, desperate for any sort of safety.

Donnelley knew the look on her face as he regarded her with a sense of fatherly duty. It pained him to see her like this, knowing that she knew that even if he was here for now, she’d be alone again when the Program called. He knew whatever sense of safety was just a veneer over that fact. He nodded, “Yeah, I can do that. People owe me favors.”

He gave her a smile, now that the conversation had lightened somewhat, “As long as I’m here, you can ask about whatever you want. I’ll tell you, if I can.” He said, “I still owe you that ride on my bike.”

“For real?” Tilly raised her pale brows, “Ok, how many countries have you been to? We’ll start simple.”

She set the little duck plushie down, giving it a place against her pillow. Tilly picked up her helmet her mom had bought her for skating but the pain that stitched threw her side reminded her she was supposed to limit her activity. “I’m down for a ride but I probably shouldn’t skate right now, my ribs.”

With a shrug, she tucked the helmet under her arm away from the injured side.

“Eight.” Donnelley answered while he watched Tilly get ready for the ride, “Eight countries. Only a few of them were anywhere you’d vacation.”

“Turkey’s probably my favorite. Street food is delicious, you’d never go hungry. I’d kill for baklava.” He chuckled, getting up from the bed, “I brought an extra helmet for you. Don’t worry about that one.”

Tilly tossed the helmet on her bed, she never liked it. It was pink and no matter how many stickers she plastered on it, the bubble gum color poked through.

“Maybe one day I’ll go to Turkey,” she said, following him out of the room. “Maybe backpacking across Europe, my friend Lacey wants to do that before going to college. There’s these international study programs in Italy, studying the marine biology of the Mediterranean.”

At the bottom of the stairs, she looked up at him, “I guess you weren’t on vacation though. Did you...you know, have to do things there?”

“In Turkey?” Donnelley asked, following Tilly down the stairs, “No. Just in some… nearby places.”

He looked around the empty house as he got back to the living room. The life that Holly and Mark had built for Tilly was more than anything he could’ve done. He was jealous and thankful all at once, knowing that if Holly had stuck with him, he probably wouldn’t have given Tilly anything like this. He sighed, maybe he would never get to come back here after doing the next dangerous thing in the next dangerous place, never get to see Tilly.

That’s why he needed to make the most out of this right here, right now. Live in this moment, not think about the days to come when the phone call would be had and he’d have to leave again. Having something to lose again… he thought it would feel worse. He smiled to Tilly as he made ready to open the door, “Ready, kiddo?”

“Sure,” Tilly replied and paused before they left the house. “Mom said you always carry a gun. Do you have one now?”

“Yeah, you wanna shoot it?” He asked.

The ease of the answer surprised her, the subject of guns was not one often brought up and Mark kept the one handgun locked in a box in his nightstand.

“Yeah?” Tilly said, unsure. “I mean, maybe. I probably should learn since you know. Just in case.”

As they left the house, Tilly asked, “So, how long do you think you’ll stay around?”

Donnelley threw his leg over his bike and sat on the question. He dug his keys out of his leather jacket pocket and held them while he thought, before looking to Tilly, “I figured I’d keep you company until the folks get back.” He said, and shrugged, “How long you want me to?”

Tilly awkwardly climbed on behind him, searching for the pegs to put her feet and reached to put her hands on his shoulders for balance, “I dunno, as long as you can I guess. Or unless you piss me off.”

She smirked slightly, her expression familiar for a moment as she looked over his shoulder, “I should probably get that helmet.”

“Saddlebag.” He was still smiling at the previous comment, “Grab mine too, it’s in the other one.”

Once they’d donned their helmets, he’d given her the lowdown on being a good motorcycle passenger, how to lean with him and make sure she didn’t fly off at any moment. He never did get a real answer about where she wanted to eat, so Donnelley just took Tilly out on a ride and waited for her to point out something that looked good. There were more than a few hidden gems in the Seattle-Tacoma area that she wouldn’t have trouble finding something.

After a meal from Dick’s Burgers they’d almost rode past before Tilly enthusiastically slapped Donnelley’s shoulder while pointing it out, they’d taken a ride to Ruston Way. He remembered riding with Holly down this same road, and the waterfront really hadn’t changed all that much. They’d gotten full again on ice cream they’d picked up from a convenience store, and now they sat on the beach.

Donnelley laughed as he watched the rock he’d picked out make a record of four skips across the water before disappearing into the briny Puget Sound. He looked at Tilly, still busy resupplying herself with rocks that looked just right for skipping. The sun was starting to set, turning the sky orange, and the buildings on the pier into silhouettes.

“Should probably get home soon.” He said, looking at his watch, “Wouldn’t want to keep you out too late. If your mom ever finds out, she’d probably be a little disappointed in me.”

Tilly was crouched picking up the smooth stones beside a tide pool, she studied whatever might be in there. A few stray mussels and a small purple sea star crawling along the rocks. She enjoyed the smell of the sound, it smelled both of life and decay, salt and mud. When she heard Donnelley call her back, she stood up and put the stones in her pocket.

“Mom, disappointed in you? Never,” Tilly said, “I found a sea star by the way, I’m pretty sure it’s an ochre even if it’s little. That’s pretty neat because most of them have died off.”

She faced the water, tucking her hands in her jean pockets, “I did a project on it last year, it’s a disease that nearly wiped out all the sea stars in our area. Scientists think it’s because of the heat waves. It’s changing the temperature of the water, letting bacteria survive and flourish that might have been killed off with the cold.”

Tilly blushed slightly and dropped her hands, “Anyway, yeah I guess we should go. Nothing even a big bad CIA guy can do against climate change.”

He had a small smile as he looked out at the Sound while Tilly talked about her interests. A feeling of pride whenever she said something he couldn’t wrap his mind around without a careful study of a textbook, or perusing some peer reviewed paper.

“Well, some people say we control the weather. Maybe I know a guy, we can get this whole thing figured out.” Donnelley chuckled, looking sidelong at Tilly.

“If only it was that easy,” Tilly sighed but gave her father a smile. She picked up the helmet and put it on. “So when do I get to learn to drive this thing?”

“Maybe we’ll get you your own. Somethin’ with a little less power so you don’t accidentally send yourself into a wall.” Donnelley said, trudging back through the sand towards the parking spot he’d found alongside the road, “I’m not sayin’ you can’t handle it, but it’s different from ridin’ a bike or drivin’ a car.”

He sat back in his seat, taking his helmet off the ape hanger and placing it on his head, “I mean, if it’s alright with mom. You could keep it at my house if mom’s bein’ lame, long as you’re not a knucklehead with it.”

Tilly hopped on behind Donnelley, securing her grip on his jacket. “Yeah? I don’t think I’ll be getting a car anytime soon so that’ll be cool. I got my learner’s permit this summer but not my license. Dad was supposed to be helping with that but I don’t know when he’s gonna be okay to drive,”

She sighed, leaning against her father, “He says it’ll be fine, but don’t all dads say that?”

Donnelley could feel Tilly’s weight shift onto his back a tad. He couldn’t blame her for being so anxious about the trajectory her life was taking. He would be too. He was, at one point, before all of these things began to be commonplace. If he had to choose, he didn’t know who had a better outlook on it between him and Tilly. No matter how much she had grown while he was gone, she was still just a young girl.

He lay a hand over one of hers, “Mark’s goin’ to be fine. Holly’s goin’ to be fine.” He said, “I know everythin’ seems so different now, but we’ll get through this. We’ll get back to normal.”

“Everythin’s gonna be okay.” Tilly couldn’t see it from where she sat, but he smirked, “See, now you got two dads sayin’ so. That help?”

“I guess,” she said, “It’s just a lot.”

She leaned into him, ready to take off. It felt better having Donnelley there, an adult who would know what to do. At least she hoped so. She was nearly grown but had always had her parents there to guide her along and now they were not. They were not the pillars of stubbornness and wisdom, they were broken people lost in grief and pain. It felt strange to see them that way, to see Mark struggling not to cry while relearning to walk or her mom without that fiery spark. Tilly felt the shift in responsibility, she had to take care of them now until they mend.

“I know.” Donnelley said, knowing it wouldn’t help to say anything more. He kicked down on the kickstart and the machine under him roared to life before they sped away and back home…///

…///

They slowed to a stop in the driveway and Donnelley cut the engine, walking the bike to a spot that was out of the way in the driveway out of habit. As if anyone else would be leaving or driving back. He said nothing of it, just stuffed his and Tilly’s helmets into the saddlebags and followed Tilly to the front door of her home. When they stepped inside, it was almost too quiet. He expected Holly and Mark to be in the living room, or in the kitchen making something to eat for the family. He didn’t let it show on his face that he was expecting anything he didn’t get, Tilly was probably thinking the same.

She didn’t need the both of them lamenting her parents’ absence. He hung his jacket by the door and made his way to the couch, still almost too uncomfortable to reach for the remote and turn on the TV. He still felt like a guest. He was, of course, but no one being there to tell him to make himself at home made him unable to. No matter his daughter being there. He looked to Tilly, “What’re you goin’ to do now? I can leave you alone for a bit if you don’t want to spend the whole day hangin’ with your old, lame dad.”

Tilly took a bottle of water from the fridge and shrugged, “I guess I should study, having a near fatal car accident is no excuse to get a C, right?”

She scrunched her nose and twisted the cap with a pop. “I gotta go back to school after the Thanksgiving holidays. At least to take my semester finals and turn in my essays. Like, all of this can be done remotely but the district said I was missing enough classes.”

Tilly patted his shoulder as she passed behind the couch, “So that’s what I’ll be doing the next couple hours. Fun, fun.Thanks for the ride though, I needed that. I can see why you like it so much.”

She hesitated a moment then turned to go up the stairs, “There’s some extra blankets in the linen closet in the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, watching her go to the stairs, “Study hard, you’re better than a C student. I gotta at least say some dad stuff, right?”

He chuckled and watched her go. Once she disappeared up the stairs and he heard her door shut, he sighed. His smile disappeared and he was in the silent house with no company but his own. He thought of his last words to Dave, and how Ava’s face looked to watch him turn so foul at them. They’d gotten out alive, and it was his help that let them do that. It was a shame he couldn’t see through all the shit, and he let it get the better of him. He’d never get to apologize to Ava. Never get to make things right with Dave.

He still had Laine, but how much longer until the stress of the job made him turn foul on her too, and make her leave him like Holly. How much longer until Tilly truly understood why her mother felt how she did about him. He shook his head, that could really only be answered by himself. He turned on the TV, and pulled out his phone. The latest search cataloged by his phone browser’s history would be therapists in the area. He owed it to the people still in his life to be better. After a few hours, he found himself on the couch again, drifting off to sleep to the sound of the last scene of Rambo, before he shut his eyes again and it cut to commercials…///

Light filtered in through the blinds, early morning curiously probing its way into the dimness of the room. It smelled of lavender on behalf of a smoldering wick rooted inside a purple candle, a long tail of smoke reaching up only to dissipate on the ambient breeze of the inside air of the private practice. Donnelley looked through the blinds, watching as the silhouette of a tree danced in the wind. There was birdsong outside, though it didn’t seem to fill him with much joy. He’d decided to come here at the behest of Laine, and Holly, and Tilly. He’d never want to jeopardize his tenuous relationship with his daughter, and here he was. The therapists of the past hadn’t gotten any headway with him, but he didn’t want to bog Laine down with his emotional baggage. There was only so much of that a relationship could handle, but he knew how weighty buried trauma could be to the same relationship.

He knew he couldn’t exactly tell her everything. He couldn’t tell her how he’d murdered one of the people he thought was his friend in an underground temple dedicated to a forgotten deity. Couldn’t tell her that he watched the only woman he tricked into loving him die right in front of him, before he died just the same. And then woke up. He couldn’t tell her a lot of things.

“You’re very tight-lipped, Mister Blaine.” The therapist sitting across from him said, a woman in her early forties, just like him. Her name was Cherie, “I don’t blame you. You were in the service?”

Donnelley nodded, still not looking at her. She continued, “How was your experience there?”

“How do you think?” Donnelley snorted, bitter. The Texan in his voice was left waiting for him outside, Joseph Blaine didn’t talk like that, “I’m in therapy.”

“So,” Cherie scribbled something in her notes, “Do you ever have trouble sleeping?”

“I have post-traumatic stress disorder, yes.” Donnelley glanced at her, “So, sleeping isn’t exactly easy.”

“I see. You served in Afghanistan, first with the…” She eyed her notes, “Army Rangers, and then with Special Forces. Can you tell me about that?”

“No.” Donnelley smirked, then shook his head of it. “Not all of it.”

“What can you tell me then?” Cherie asked, voice soft and non-confrontational, coaxing versus digging. “I’d also like to remind you that I possess a clearance for clients like you.”

“I can tell you that I wish I could narrow it all down to one single point in time where I could say, ‘Oh, it all changed after this,’” Donnelley frowned, looking away from the window to his hands clasped together in his lap. Hands that had done so much, “But, I can’t really. It’s all just one thing after another, tiny chips falling off.”

“Sometimes things happen fast. Other times, it happens so slow over so long that you don’t even notice it.” Donnelley swallowed, “And all any of us were trying to do was the right thing…”

“Of course. I believe you.” Cherie nodded. “Then tell me about the first time it got… chipped away, as you put it.”

“I, um,” Donnelley cleared his throat. The silence went on so long it felt like a boulder was pressing down on him, and the tiny fan in the small office was screaming in his ears. He stayed like that, watching his own personal parade of nightmares past march across his vision until he swallowed and spoke, “I’ve been a liar to a lot of people. In a lot of ways, my job is to lie. To make people believe what I tell them, make people like me enough to tell me things they shouldn’t before I leave them in the cold.”

“I’m very sorry you view it like that-“

“It is that.” Donnelley almost snapped, realizing his hands were clasped so tight they were shaking until he let them go, “It is that. I’m a liar.”

“Can you tell me more?” Cherie asked, unfazed.

Donnelley nodded, “When the drinking started… when the drinking really started,” Donnelley corrected, eyes focused on a corner of the room, but further past it moreso than Cherie could even imagine, “The first time I discharged my weapon in the line of duty. Lawton, Oklahoma,” Here he was lying again, “I was a Deputy and we got a call about a guy who’d kidnapped his daughter. I had to shoot him when he pulled a gun. I remember watching him drop.”

“It wasn’t fatal, or at least didn’t kill him right there.” Donnelley explained, “Here I am pressing gauze on a sucking chest wound all the while this guy’s whimpering at me not to let him die in front of his daughter. I tell him…”

The room grew quiet again, as Donnelley remembered the same words he’d spoken to so many people over the years. That same lie. Cherie softly cleared her throat and urged him on gently in that voice of hers, “What did you say?”

Donnelley looked down at his hands, and drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes, “I tell him,” Donnelley paused, swallowing, “I say, ‘everything’s going to be fine, you’re alright, you’re okay’ while he’s fucking dying with the ambulances dragging their feet, and all anyone back at the station wants to do is give me a fucking pat on the Goddamn back for taking him off the streets.”

“That was when the drinking really started? Your biggest lie?” Cherie asked.

“I get home after my shift, I sit in the driveway with my hands shaking and I’m crying. I wipe my face and go inside, I hug Holly and she asks me if I’m o-okay.” Donnelley’s voice cracked, remembering that first little chip of himself falling away.

“I smile at her and I say…” Donnelley frowned deep, looking away from Cherie, the sound of him swallowing dry was like thunder in his ears.

“And you say?” Cherie asked so soft, Donnelley could barely hear her.

He dragged in a breath, a reedy whisper, “Yeah.”

>FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA
>AVA RESIDENCE
>0200
>16DEC2019

Ava stared up at the dark ceiling above her bed, the only light of the room coming from the soft blue glow of her digital clock; obnoxiously informing her of the time. Things were still and silent in the room, the only sounds breaking up this monotony were the gentle snores coming from Dave and the soft purrs emitting from Thor as he made his bed next to Dave’s head on his pillow.

Dave’s arms were wrapped protectively around her, warm and comforting, his hand resting over her stomach. Normally she would have no issue falling and staying asleep with Dave beside her. And though she tried and she thought she must have drifted off at some point, she remained stubbornly awake.

She took in a breath, feeling a sense of restlessness starting to stir in her the more she stared at the ceiling and tried to will herself to fall back asleep. She shifted in the warm confines of the bed, trying to gently extract herself from Dave’s arms without waking him up.

Dave woke almost immediately, his hand reaching for the pistol by the bed. His brain was quick to catch up; it seemed these days that he was never really asleep. He could go from sleep to action in a heartbeat, and after a quick glance around the room he released the grip of the pistol and sat up.

“You alright, sugar?” He asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, sorry Dave,” Ava said sheepishly, sitting up herself. “I…can’t sleep. So, I was going to go make some tea and probably watch a little TV.” She grimaced. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Dave yawned and waved her comment away, giving Thor a scratch on the head. “I’ll give ya some company. Don’t mind gettin’ up, we can sleep in if we wanna.”

“That’s true,” She smiled at him in the dark. “It’s not like we have anywhere we need to go.”

“Exactly,” he said. He leaned over and gave her a kiss, reaching down and placing his hand against her stomach. He held it there a moment, then gave her another kiss. “Alright. C’mon, lemme find some pants.”

Ava smiled to herself, moving the bed sheets aside so she could get out of bed proper. “I hope I adjust to this new medication soon, I like sleeping and I’m already not a morning person.”

“You will,” Dave assured her. Unlike Ava, he was a morning person, and he was already waking up. “I’m gonna make coffee. What kinda tea did ya want? Can I get you a snack or somethin’?”

“Let’s start with the tea,” She chuckled, picking up her glasses from the nightstand. “A lavender latte sounds nice.” She thought for a moment before saying, “Since we’re just going to be up, I think I’ll get my Switch and play something.”

Dave nodded and, after locating his sweatpants, made his way to the kitchen. He began the process of making Ava’s lavender latte, while also starting a cup of coffee for himself. As an after thought, he tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave. She didn’t want a snack now, but he figured she’d eat some as soon as he put on a movie.

Ava gave Thor a few pets before leaving the bedroom after Dave and heading into her office, flicking on the light and making her blink and squint at the sudden brightness. She stared down at the mess that was her desk, a cluttered pile of miscellaneous papers, folders and booklets. The disorganized evidence of her and Dave trying to put a life together for themselves.

She sat in her desk chair and started shifting papers around, sure that her Switch was buried somewhere in the piles of financial records and real estate print outs.

After a few minutes searching, she moved aside some books she had recently bought on homesteading and on the Arkansas Ozarks and paused. Staring back at her was a familiar, thick manilla folder. One that caused an instant spike in anxiety as it brought forth a flood of painful memories.

Not just of the mission, the caves, Foster escaping out into the world, but of a painful argument and leaving a close friend behind. They hadn’t looked through the folder much when they got it, everything that had happened had been too fresh, too painful.

At the time, it was evidence that they were done with the Program. That was all they cared about.

Looking at the folder, Ava still felt the pain of that evening as if it was yesterday; when they left and didn’t look back at Donnelley. It had been weeks, they hadn’t heard from him. She had decided to keep in touch with Laine, the woman having grown to be something of an older sister figure for her. She didn’t want to let that go. And she could get updates on Queen, on Billy, how he was doing.

She hoped he would get better and she’d get to visit him.

Tears started to well up in her eyes and she rubbed them away on her sleeve before she sighed and opened the folder to begin to flip through it. She might as well make sure that they were given everything.

Dave bustled about in the kitchen, starting the Keurig, putting on the kettle, and starting the milk heating to make it a latte. He hummed to himself, occasionally singing a few snatches of lyrics from an old Hank Jr. song as he tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave.

The truth was he hadn’t been sleeping well, either. There were nights he’d lay in bed for hours, running over that final fight in his mind, wondering if things could have ended differently somehow. If he’d taken a shot sooner, thrown a grenade, something to stop the sorry bastards from getting away and making it feel like nothing had really been accomplished. It bled over into daily life; a few days ago he’d been out with Ava and had heard someone speaking a language that sounded close enough to Russian to make him want to go for his gun, just in case they were about to start a shootout in the middle of town.

When the water was ready he poured in into Ava’s frog mug, assembling the latte with deft experience. He put the popcorn in a bowl, which he left in the microwave to keep warm, and then took the tea latte and his coffee into the office, setting the mug in front of Ava.

“Here ya go.”

Ava looked up at Dave, a small reflexive smile on her face before she looked down at the mug he chose and chuckled. “Thank you Dave,” She said, taking off the mushroom hat top of the mug and setting it aside so the tea inside could cool a little. She waved her hand over the folder opened in front of her. “I got distracted, I just wanted to check that they really did give us everything.”

“You’re welcome, sugar.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then leaned against the wall behind her desk, sipping his coffee. “I kinda paged through mine a little, but I wouldn’t know if they missed somethin’ or not. They went deep with them arrest records, I tell you that. Got the one from when I was 15 for gettin’ drunk with my buddies and crashin’ a four-wheeler through the neighbor’s fence. That got expunged when I turned 18.”

Ava was about to take a sip of her tea when she paused and slowly turned in her chair to look at him.

Dave grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Woody’s uncle made a batch of ‘shine, so we made off with a jug of it…”

“To infinity and beyond, apparently.” She huffed with a gentle, amused shake of her head, took a sip from her mug and turned back to the folder. She flipped a page and an envelope slipped out, with a note in familiar handwriting she had not seen in some months. “Huh,” She set down her mug and picked up the envelope. “This is my old supervisor’s writing.” She said to Dave. Though Agent Stark had left it unsigned, she knew it was his. “Says I should look at the DNA samples enclosed.”

“DNA samples?” Dave frowned. “I didn’t have DNA stuff in mine.”

She grimaced as she opened the envelope. “I think it’s probably from when I…” She trailed off and shuddered. “Alaska.” She shook her head. “I think it’s standard procedure to take DNA during…well…” She trailed off, not wanting to invoke the images that came to mind with the word ‘autopsy’.

He reached down and put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze before gently moving to rub the back of her neck.

She reached up to touch his arm, giving him a grateful smile. She turned back to the envelope and after taking a deep breath, opened it and pulled out the documents. What was in the papers wasn’t immediately apparent to her, it took some minutes of silent reading and flipping through charts before her eyes grew wide. “No.” She whispered quietly. “I’m…I must be reading this report wrong.”

“I hope not, cuz Lord knows I can’t read it,” Dave murmured. He leaned down closer. “What’s up, sugar?”

“It-it, um,” She shook her head and flipped through a few of the papers again, reading the paragraphs of information to make sure she was understanding it. “It says that, preliminary DNA tests showed a possible familial link between two of the bodies. Further testing confirmed with near certainty that there is a paternal link between ‘Subject 1A’ and ‘Subject 3A’. I’m subject 1A.”

“...Well shit,” Dave said, staring wide-eyed at the papers. He ran a few brief numbers in his head. Queen was only his age. “So that means 3A is…”

“Yeah,” She leaned back in her chair, looking up at Dave with wide eyes. “Donnelley…Is my father.”

He held her gaze, judging her mood. Experience told him she was teetering on the edge of panic and tears. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry I punched your dad, that one time,” he said.

Ava let out a startled laugh, the mounting anxiety building inside of her released with that one sentence. She gently slapped at his arm with the papers. “This is serious Dave!” She said, despite the smile that remained on her face. “Like, this is HUGE!”

He knelt down beside her chair, slipping his arm around her.

“It is huge,” he said. “But…It also ain’t bad. So it’s somethin’ to think about, but not somethin’ to worry about.”

She leaned into the embrace, resting her head gently against his. “That’s true.” She agreed. “It’s just…so wild. I’ve wanted to know where I came from for so long and it turns out I’ve been working with one half of that mystery.” She frowned and looked down at the papers, shuffling them back into order so she could put them back in the envelope. “We didn’t…leave on the best terms with him.”

Dave felt a very brief twinge of anger at the treatment they’d received from Donnelley the last time they’d seen him. “No…No we didn’t,” he said. He shifted his weight so he was able to get both arms around her, laying his head against her chest. After a few moments of silently listening to her breathing and heartbeat he gave her a squeeze. “You wanna…See if we can fix that?”

“...Yeah.” She said quietly. “Would you be okay with that?”

“I’d never take that from you,” he said gently. “You lemme know when, and we’ll do it.”

Ava nodded slowly and leaned her head back against her chair. “Thank you Dave.” She placed her hand on his bare back and glanced over at her desk. “I think…Once we’ve settled everything we try to reach out to him.” Her lips quirked up into a mirthful smirk. “I’d like to see his face when he realizes he’s also going to be a grandpa.”

Dave grinned up at her. “Man, he’s gonna be gettin’ hit with a lot at once.” He leaned down and kissed her gently on her flat stomach. She wasn’t showing yet, but it wouldn’t be long. “Kinda wanna see his face.”

“Well, I guess that can be our pay back for how he left things off.” She chuckled. She grew quiet for a moment and added, “I hope he’ll be alright.”

...///

>SOMEWHERE IN ARKANSAS
>11FEB2020…///

The mountain roads were slick, but the off-road tires of the Ford Bronco held true as he sped through the snow. Speed was honestly relative in situations like these, but the nice thirty miles per hour was a pace he could keep up the mountain. Fuckin’ leave it to Dave to pick a spot nobody else but him can fuckin’ get to, he thought as he went around another turn, managing to keep from sliding right off and dying right where he started at the bottom.

That would be that for the reunion. He still didn’t know if he’d prefer that to looking Dave and Ava in the face, knowing he’d been the villain of their story last time they’d been in each other’s company. The weekly therapy sessions were getting just a bit too pressing on him, and he’d rescheduled the last few last minute to avoid Cherie’s subtle prying. Something she probably knew. This outing would be much needed, though he wasn’t looking forward to seeing them again. If an apology was what they were looking for, he could’ve given that to them over the phone. Written a letter and sealed it with all the sincerity in the world.

Truth be told, he was tired of facing difficult situations of his own making, or that the Program only exacerbated and lit the fuse of to the powder keg that was the worsening condition of UMBRA back when. He was still waiting for that phone call. The one that would bring him back. The one that would take him away from Tilly. He imagined the look on her face when he’d have to tell her he would be gone. Just another thing to be sorry for.

He pulled up to the only driveway at the end of this long road up the mountain to see the conditions of Dave and Ava’s living situation. It was real now, he thought, as he looked at the small hut and the parking structure they’d parked their vehicles in. He took a long breath and sighed it out, wondering if it was too late to just turn around. They could’ve just left him and everything to do with the Program in the past like he told them to. The last thing he wanted to hear was one of them getting hurt because he was here and someone saw. Getting hurt for the crime of knowing him.

But, he opened the door of the Bronco anyway and his square toe boots crunched in the snow as he closed the driver door behind him. Coming around Dave’s way had him dressing different. He felt like a hand on his uncle’s ranch, what with the carhartt jacket, hat, and whole ensemble. His eyes scanned the yard around before he stomped his way through the snow to the front door. He took a breath, and then rapped his knuckles on the front door.

“Just me.” He called out, “Donnelley.”

“I know.” Dave stepped out from behind the woodpile that was stacked next to his truck beneath the carport. It was a large, three-walled structure, open in the front and covered to keep the weather off both the vehicles and the wood supply. Tools hung along the back wall; shovel, pick, axes of various types for various uses.

“We saw ya comin’ a mile and change back. Wasn’t sure if it was you or not.” He held his customary AK loosely in his hands, muzzle down but stock extended, ready for use. His battle belt rode around his hips and while he wore a green and brown knit beanie atop his shaggy hair his green flannel was covered by his plate carrier. About ten feet to his left was Rufus; the big shepherd-mastiff mix walked slowly in an arc away from Dave, eyes locked on Donnelley as he circled him. He was silent, but his hackles here raised.

“Rufus, easy,” Dave said. He walked up to Donnelley and eyed him for a moment, then put out his right hand. He was relaxed but unsmiling; this was clearly a second chance. It also felt like a final one.

Donnelley kept himself from flinching at the sound of Dave’s voice. These weeks away from the Program were making him soft. Or maybe just normal. Either way, if Dave had been someone else…

He turned around to face Dave and was also greeted by a dog the size of which almost offended him. He elected to meet Dave half way in his yard, and a ghost of that old envy and resentment whispered in his ear at the offering of Dave’s hand. No smile from either man though. He could feel the tension in the icy air.

Donnelley looked from Dave to his hand, then back again. He took the hand and shook it firmly, “I’m glad to see you buildin’ a life out here.” He said, returning his hand to his side and scanning the wilderness, “A normal one.”

“Doin’ what we can, for sure,” Dave said, relaxing a little. A bit of that old smile came back as he released Donnelley’s grip and reached for a radio mic on the shoulder of his rig. “It’s clear, sugar. It’s Donnelley.”

He gave the man in question a sheepish look and a small shrug. “Well. Normal as things can be after all that.”

Donnelley watched Dave key in on his mic and nodded in solemn understanding. Even normal for the things they’d been through wasn’t truly so. The war isn’t ever really over. Even for them. Donnelley sighed, “We’re still workin’ on that.” Donnelley said, “Ghost and I found Nikolai.”

He let the implications of that hang on the air for a moment, knowing Dave would understand. Then he spoke again, “We’ll find Foster.” He assured, “You won’t have to keep lookin’ over y’all’s shoulders.”

“It’s the least I could do for you two.” He smiled, though faintly. The work was never done.

Soft scratching and squeaky barking sounded from the other side of the front door before it opened and bounding out came a puppy, a dusty gray and black coat of fuzz on its small body with a bright white spot on the chest. Large ears flopped around as the pup sniffed around briefly on the front stoop before seemingly noticing the new person to begin barking at Donnelley.

“Ripley, hush,” Ava said as she carefully stepped onto the small wooden deck that was their front step, another clearly more shy puppy hovering around her legs; this one a light tan coat more like Rufus’ with similar dark muzzle and ears.

Ava looked down at Donnelley, one hand holding onto the front door for balance and the other resting on top of the small, but unmistakable round bump of her stomach that was clearly visible through the dusky pink sweater dress she was wearing.

She stared down at Donnelley for a long, silent moment, multiple emotions flickering across her face and warring with each other. “Um,” She said, blinking her eyes and snapping herself out of her emotion-fueled paralysis. “Hey.”

Donnelley heard the front door come open and his attention was taken away by the sound of small barks. He eyed the puppies with some measure of affection, a thought coming to mind about floating the idea by Tilly if she’d want one. Maybe even Laine, before remembering their relationship would have to stay hidden so long as they were with the Program.

He buried his feelings about that as he looked up at Ava, only for his attention to be ripped back down to her stomach. He could see why Dave was so protective now, even past his usual amount.

“Hey.” He said, looking back at her face as she greeted him. He didn’t know what else to say, and settled on an easy, “Congratulations.”

Ava cracked a small smile and looked down at her stomach before looking back over at Dave. “Thank you, we’re excited.” Ripley hovered near the steps down to the snow covered ground, still barking and growling at Donnelley and Ava shook her head. “Well, come on in, once you’re inside she should stop barking at you. I’ve got venison stew on the stove and some rosemary garlic bread I made this morning, so I hope you’re hungry.” She flashed a slightly awkward smile before stepping back into the warmly lit interior, the quiet puppy giving a shake and a whine before hopping up the step to follow after her.

Ripley remained, resolute in her defensive posturing. Donnelley gave a small smile to the pup, stepping closer to the porch, “Easy, girl. I’m friendly.”

Once he made it past one of Ava’s fiercest protectors, Donnelley hung about the entryway, his hands in his pockets. It was a quaint little place. Like a studio apartment, the price of which back in Seattle probably went for a lot more than they had it here. He looked around, not a mess of empty bottles like he’d seen before in some other places that belonged to Program agents.

Even so, he still didn’t know whether he should find a seat for himself or wait to be offered one. Neither of them had said it aloud, but the last time they all shared a room it didn’t quite go as friendly as it could have. He cleared his throat, “The food smells amazin’. I know the garlic bread’s gonna be good.” He said, not lying, but not exactly all too open, “I, uh… I missed it. Your bakin’.”

Ava glanced over at him, in the process of giving the pot of steaming stew a few stirs. She smiled, albeit hesitantly. “Thanks, I made brownies for…mostly for me, because I’ve been craving them constantly, but you can have some if you want.”

Dave let the two get reacquainted while he put his things away. His rifle went on a hook on the wall, the vest and belt on a small stand he’d made for that purpose. He left the Sig in the belt holster and in its place hung a leather snap-on holster with a revolver nestled inside.

He glanced at Donnelley. “Black bears,” he said. “We’re new to this bit of woods, and Rufus ain’t run ‘em all off to my likin’ yet. They’re usually pretty shy, but with the puppies around and Ava pregnant, well… Better safe than sorry, right?”

With his old .357 secured at his hip Dave went over and sat down, picking up Moses when he ambled over to be petted. Ripley followed Ava.

“Take a seat,” Dave nodded at small loveseat across from the one in which he was sitting.

And so Donnelley did, taking the chance to finally sit again with gratitude. Before he did so, he brushed his coat aside and pulled a holstered Staccato C2 outfitted with an optic from his waistband and set it on a nearby surface. He looked at Dave and winked, “Figured it was time for an upgrade.” He smirked, “I like the holster. What’s in it?”

“Classy,” Dave grinned. “We’ll hafta shoot it while you’re out here. Got plenty of land.”

He unsnapped his holster and partially lifted the revolver. It was old, but clearly in good shape.

“Old Smith Model 19,” he said before stuffing it back in the holster. “I got rid of the Ruger, after…Well.” He shrugged, the brief memory of shooting down a Russian agent at his favorite hunting site flashing in his mind’s eye. “This one’s a little heftier, but she’s reliable as hell, and the .357 is plenty for bears or the rare cougar.”

“Oh, I’m sure. ‘Course, bangin’ on pots and pans might scare ‘em off, but shoot ‘em in the ass and they’ll never forget it.” Donnelley chuckled, “My uncle still keeps him a wheel-gun loaded with .410 shells for the rattlesnakes. Remember blastin’ at coyotes with his lever gun still, was a pretty good shot.”

Ava glanced over her shoulder at the two of them as they talked, a small smile on her face hearing them talk to each other like old times. She stepped away from the stove with a stainless steel bowl in her hand and set it down in front of Rufus, who after following Dave back inside, had calmly laid himself out in front of the small wood burning stove that helped heat their home.

She gave the big mastiff a ruffling scratch behind the ears before reaching down to scoop up Ripley when the pup tried to bury her face into Rufus’ food. “No, not for you.” She said, stepping out of the small kitchenette area and through a pair of double doors that lead out to a sunroom like attachment. She set Ripley down in a penned off corner of the room before returning to the kitchen to dish out bowls of stew for the three of them. “So, how have you been, Donnelly?” Ava asked over her shoulder. “After…” She trailed off and cleared her throat. “How have you been?”

He looked at Dave, and then looked at Ava. His smirk had faded just a bit and he glanced at the floor and cleared his throat, “After I almost ruined everythin’ with y’all?”

It was a little quiet then, but they couldn’t keep stepping around it, and the kind of person Donnelley was… that he was at least trying to be, didn’t just sweep things under the rug. He looked at Dave, “I said a lot that day.” He nodded, “A lot that I didn’t mean. Foster had gotten away, my best friend had finally broken…”

His eyes looked at the floor, remembering the raid, and the high emotions, and what he’d said, “I did a lot for the paperwork that let y’all go free, and I did it because y’all asked me. This ain’t the time nor the place for me to tell that story, and I probably never will, but…” He placed his hands in his lap, fingers entwined, “I don’t regret it, seein’ y’all live like this. And I’m sorry for what I said, and how it made y’all feel.”

He thought of Tilly, knowing she’d be proud of him for doing this. For being better, or at least trying, “So, thank you for lettin’ me come around and say that. Make amends. And lettin’ me break bread with y’all.”

“I been good, by the way.” He smirked.

Dave nodded, letting Donnelley get things off his chest. He waited until he was done and then smiled a little.

“We forgive you, man,” he said. “Call it square. You’re the first real company we’ve had out here. There’s Dan, but he don’t really count, he comes to work. Old man makes me feel like a hired hand on my own property.”

Ava huffed to herself, a small smile on her face at the mention of the old timer. “I’d call it more supervising, but don’t tell him I said that.” She smiled. “And, yeah, Dave’s right. We both forgive you Donnelley.” She bit her lip and glanced at Dave for a moment, hesitating and seeking his approval before catching herself. Dave was leaving this in her hands. Best to rip the bandaid off now and hope for the best.

She took a deep breath and turned to a small drawer in their counter, one of those short square ones that’s only purpose seemed to be to gather junk and stray bits of mail. This one she opened and there was only one thing inside, a singular envelope with the same handwritten note she had been given all those months ago. “There was…one other reason we invited you out here. On top of making amends.”

Donnelley eyed the envelope with a bit of curiosity and amusement behind his smirk, “What, did you get me a card or somethin’?”

Ava gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t think I didn’t consider getting a card.” She grew a bit more serious as she looked down at the envelope before back up at Donnelley. “It’s DNA testing from Alaska, after we died.” She said, carefully walking up to Donnelley and handing him the envelope. “Well, turns out my DNA matched with someone. A parent.”

She looked him in the eyes as steadfast as she could and said, “Remember that time you told me, someone would have to be a fool to throw a daughter like me away?”

Donnelley’s smirk dropped as he furled his brow in confusion, and then quietly processing the growing realization, looking from Dave who’d seemingly picked up the smirk that he dropped, to Ava. He cocked his head and looked at Ava more closely, “Did the Program… find your biological parents somewhere?”

“Just one,” Ava said quietly. “My father and it turns out he was really close by.” She held up the envelope for him.

Donnelley rose from his seat to take the offered envelope from Ava. He didn’t bother taking back his seat, just unsealing it in front of her and taking it from the envelope. He unfolded the piece of paper and began reading it, his eyes scanning the page. Once he was done, he folded it back up and slid it back into the open envelope. He didn’t meet Ava’s eyes.

“Who’s subject A3?” He muttered. He already knew, but he wanted her to say it.

Ava stared up at him, her heart beating quicker as fear and anxiety that he wouldn’t take it well, spiked in her chest. Tears started to sting at the back of her eyes as she took in a deep breath and reached out to touch his hand.

“You,” she said quietly, her voice straining with the swell of emotions that were not tampered thanks to her hormones. “It’s you.”

Donnelley let out a breath and swallowed, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He had a deep frown and bit his lip as he ran his free hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ Jesus…”

He stayed like that for a moment, still not meeting Ava’s eyes.

Dave reached over and took Ava’s hand, gently setting puppy Moses aside. Finding this out had been a rollercoaster for her; ups, downs, joy, confusion, fear… Fear that Donnelley would deny her, would storm off, would say something hurtful. There’d also been excitement, that maybe he’d embrace her and they could get to know each other on a different level. Either way, Dave was there for her.

He watched Donnelley closely. He was smiling, but the smile was cautious; silently he willed Donnelley to say something kind, even if he was letting her down to do it gently.

Ava gave Dave’s hand a squeeze, the tears continuing to well while the silence stretched on. “Do,” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat, though it didn’t remove the lump in her throat. “Do you not…want me? To be your daughter?”

Donnelley gently put his hands on Ava’s shoulders and drew her into a hug at that, shaking his head. He couldn’t tell what he felt more, guilt or happiness, the two emotions roiling in his chest. “Anyone would be a fool to not want you for a daughter, Ava.” He said, voice reedy as he held strong against a torrent of tears that threatened to push past his eyes, “A damn fool. A goddamn fool.”

Ava shut her eyes as the tears began to fall. She let go of Dave’s hand in order to return the embrace, pressing her face into Donnelley’s chest, her small back starting to shake with sobs as not only was there a release of the anxiety that had built up over the past 2 or so months, but a release of a pain she had been carrying since she was a child. She was wanted by one of the people that brought her into this world.

There were still many unanswered questions, but right now, she didn’t care about that.

“Careful not to squish the baby grandpa.” she said with a shaking laugh between her uncontrollable sobbing.

Donnelley eased up and held Ava by her shoulders as he shared the laugh, wiping at one of his eyes, “I’d never.”

He looked at Ava, taking her in, belly and all. He didn’t know how he could go all these years without knowing May’s baby- his baby- was all grown up next to him. Especially when they met for the first time. Ava looked so much like her mother, but it only came to him in this moment, all at once. He remembered holding hands with May, knowing they were the only ones who could keep each other safe in a world full of people who looked down on them for the kind of people they were.

He didn’t know Ava’s story as well as he’d liked to. As well as a real father who’d been there since the beginning. But, he knew that girl that May Childers was would want him to protect the one thing they created together. No matter how unplanned it was in the moment. She’d want him to know her. Donnelley wanted to know her.

“I know I had no hand in the person you are today, but I want you to know that I wouldn’t change anythin’ about who you are.” Donnelley spoke to Ava, looking into her eyes like he used to look at May’s, “And I know you’re gonna be a better parent than I ever was. But I’m tryin’ for my Tilly.”

He smiled at Ava, “And I’ll try for you, Ava.” He chuckled, “Not that you need much raisin’ anymore. But I’ll be there. In whatever way you want me to.”

Ava wiped at her eyes and cheeks with her sleeves, a smile on her face despite the tears. “That’s all I want.” She said, her voice still rough with emotion. “Thank you, Donnelley. Or I guess dad? Because you’re my dad,” A fresh wave of tears started to pour from her eyes as she sniffed loudly. “I’m sorry, this is just the hormones now.” She said, rubbing at her eyes again with her sleeves.

“You’re fine, you’re makin’ me a lil’ misty-eyed.” Donnelley chuckled, then looked at Dave with a shit-eating grin with a quip to lighten the mood a bit, “You can call me dad too, if you want.”

Dave snorted, taking out his Cope and packing in a lip. “Maybe we’ll let Ava get used to it first, an’ then go from there,” he said. A yelping whine from the Puppy Jail caught his attention and he sighed, heaving himself to his feet. “She wants her buddy. I’ll put him down an’ then pour us a couple drinks, make some tea for Ava?”

“I think I'd like some hot chocolate and a brownie.” She said with another sniffle, finally seeming to get her tears under control as her mind turned to the idea of sweets. “Oh, but we need to eat first…” She thought about it before waving her hand and taking a seat on the couch Dave vacated. “Fuck it, stew after, the pregnant woman has spoken.”

Donnelley watched Ava sit with a newfound joy that he couldn’t keep from his face, smiling all the while he watched her gingerly set herself down in the couch and hearing the sound of her voice. When Dave moved to the kitchen, and Ava noticed him staring, his smile only grew a tad. The smell of the cooking food, and baking sweets, the puppies rolling across the floor with each other. Ava and Dave going about their lives with no more worry for the dangers outside. He turned around to look out the window and the snowy peaks and crags beyond as he bit down on his lip to steady himself from becoming a blubbering mess.

After a moment, he nodded to himself, and then Ava, “I think I’d better help get my daughter,” his voice almost caught at that, “Better help get my daughter some hot chocolate. Marshmallows?”

Ava looked up at him, her hand resting comfortably on her round stomach. Tears started to mist over her eyes again, but she smiled and nodded. “Yeah,” She answered, her voice growing quiet as she fought the urge to burst into tears yet again. “Thanks…Dad.”