>GRU-UMBRA SAFEHOUSE
>BLACKRIVER, WEST VIRGINIA
>DAY OF FOREST EXPEDITION
>2150HRS...///

Ava had the window rolled down of her rented sedan, the cool air hitting her face as she navigated the dark mountain roads. The crisp smell the pines and the mustiness of the Earth was nice and while it didn't necessarily help her nerves it didn't make them worse, so she kept the window down. 

She had been driving 8 almost 9 hours straight after leaving her home at roughly 1 pm; after her meeting with Agent Stark. It had taken her awhile to get her affairs in order, making sure her projects were in good hands, informing teams she'd been working with she was leaving unexpectedly. Turning down the invite to the Stranger Things party had been surprisingly disappointing. She would have preferred it to being transferred to Operations.

She informed no one of the transfer, of course. She didn't want to talk about it or deal with the looks of pity. She kept it appropriately vague which wasn't unusual for her line of work. People understood different levels of secrecy were needed and if someone was being intentionally vague then you didn't press them for answers.

Petty? Probably, but Ava had a hard enough time keeping herself together. She had tried calling Agent Foster or the Team Lead Joseph Donnelley but they hadn’t answered, which didn’t help her anxiety. She got the location of the Safe House through other means and just packed up some clothes, her laptop, a few basic repair tools, and a pair of drones after she learned she’d be out in the middle of nowhere. Stark had said she was needed ASAP so she took that as gospel and left as soon as she could. She didn’t know what she was needed for so she came as prepared as she could. 

Which included bringing her Glock...That sat in it’s holster in her center console, within easy reach and if she was pulled over, it wasn’t sitting in the glove compartment with the car’s paperwork.

Mrs. Greir had thankfully been understanding about her needing to leave town unexpectedly and would look after Thor for her. She had also, blessedly, not asked why Ava had to leave suddenly for work nor why Ava couldn't tell her when she'd be back. Just told her to drive safe and gave her a few road snacks and drinks for the drive. Ava thought it had something to do with her late husband’s work before he retired, maybe she was used to being kept in the dark?

All the same, Ava wished she could have talked to her friend about it. Get some of the nervous energy twisting her gut in knots out and have Mrs. Greir tell her it’d all be okay. 

She did take one piece of advice she learned from Mrs. Greir and it made her a little optimistic about meeting her new team. If you wanted to break the ice, nothing worked better than bringing a food that everyone generally enjoyed. That and it was just polite to bring something to someone’s home if you were invited. While technically this wasn’t someone’s home she was invited to, she thought the same principles applied.

Besides, from what she heard about Operations, especially their field agents...She wanted to be on these people’s good side. So when she had been driving through Charleston, she made a small stop before she left the city.

Ava took in a deep breath and straightened up as she rounded a bend and a squat, two story cabin in the middle of a clearing came into view; right where the coordinates said it would be. There weren’t any lights on in the windows down stairs, but there were a few cars parked in the gravel driveway so maybe everyone was asleep. Great, she’d have to wake someone up to let her in, at least she had the donuts as offerings. [i]Not the best way to say hello.[/i] She thought with a grimace as she pulled up close to the porch and turned off the car.

She reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the two bright pink boxes of donuts that had been sitting there since she left Charleston. She opened the car door and stepped out onto the gravel, cradling the boxes in her hands she shut the door hard with her sneaker covered foot. “Okay, just knock, apologize and offer up the donuts.” She muttered to herself as she started slowly walking toward the porch. 

    Flying had always been soothing for Jason. Even before the Air Force he felt comfort in the thrum of the engines, the vibration of their mechanical lullaby a womb-like white noise. He had no qualms about its regressive allure. It seemed like everyone needed a womb to curl up in, a moment like a place to slough off their existential skin. All of the song and dance of self medication were but fleeting attempts to feel that animal comfort again, and there were too few people to accept it all as it truly was. For the briefest of moments Jason didn’t have to be anything but a human body soothed into rest by the violence of its mechanical making. The great illusion comforting us all. 

 Without substances it was hard to sink into that deep sleep he was seeking, but the buzz of aircraft was enough to ease him into a shallow slumber. He was under the surface of its haze and a turbulence free ride into West Virginia kept him from bobbing up into wakefulness. If there were any dreams they had slipped into the void of unconscious forgetfulness, and despite Dan’s close call in Amman Jason’s subconscious wasn’t acting up. And then it did.

[i]Come and see…[/i]

Nothing but voice and darkness and the pressure of anxiety throbbing against his ribcage.

[i]Come and see…[/i]

Dan’s heart had stopped. He hadn’t yet vomited into his mouth and back down his throat. Not yet. Don’t you fucking die you amateur piece of shit, he thought.

[i]Come and see…Come and see…Come an-[/i]

“Bailey! Come and see these mountains, aren’t they something else?” a portly woman rang out in a southern twang. Jason came to staring at the back page of a in-flight catalogue tucked in the seat in front of him. To his right across the aisle the woman was shuffling her overworked ankles so her gut could rest against the arm of the chair. “Come on!” she howled out, mindless of the passengers around her. An adolescent version of the woman waddled up the aisle and smushed her face against the glass adjacent from Jason. Asinine novelty at its finest. Good ole US of A. 

The landing was thankfully uneventful and Jason was quick to repeat his in-country routine. Activate his burner debit card and phone. Withdraw cash, sign anything as Mike Salem. Check the carry-on outside the airport. Everything he had left substance wise was secure. Mostly adderall, some pain pills, and a cleverly disguised bottle with the infamous ketamine that almost killed Dan. Then it was a taxi to a second rate car rental joint, something local. Nondescript car, no flashy colors. A Ford Taurus was his chariot for this outing. 

Instead of heading straight to the fieldhouse Jason felt oddly social and whipped into the nearby Walmart for beer, brisket, and a bottle of Pendleton Rye he thought Donnelley would appreciate. The beer was light and there were many, nothing snooty. Nothing that would make Laurie scoff and turn his nose up or Dr. Laine playfully criticize. Tom and Justin would drink anything, he’d wager. After his stop he slinked off into the mountains riding an anxious wave of excitement. Not even the memory of the Baughman’s could shake his newfound extroversion. He embraced that positive energy, clung to it like a drifting piece of wood in a roiling sea of Appalachian trees. It felt right, as if the universe was aligning and the dilapidated road was his cosmic byway. All aligning for him. Once it was rural enough he reached for the beers and cracked one open, rolling down the window and bathing in the cool mountain air. Was this camaraderie? Could he finally feel at home? Did it take a morbid, fucked up tragedy and the scarred cleaning crew Donnelley had assembled? That’s just life, he thought, but this was in full color. The roof of the cabin crested the rising asphalt and swaying canopy. Jason was coming back. 

Scraping rocks protested underneath the roll of the Taurus’ tires as Jason eased the vehicle into park. The cars around the house were somewhat different but it didn’t give Jason pause; they were coming from all over and just like his rental theirs would inevitably be different. He hooked the bags of groceries into his hands and made way towards the porch, seeing a figure that slowly became the visage of someone he hadn’t met before. A woman, petite and with a milky pale complexion. Jason tried his best to not let his frown sour their impromptu meeting, and tried just as hard to not let his eyes wander. It wasn’t that he couldn’t help himself, but perhaps it was exactly that. His appetite made working with women hard, and he was ashamed to even recognize that within himself. But what was most important was making sure she was where she was supposed to be. He made a mental check of the .45 at his waist and gave a warm but fabricated smile.

“Hey there,” he said, approaching the porch behind her. “New, I’m guessing? Crowder must of recruited you.” It was a false name, an easy front to expose an imposter. He hoped he wouldn’t have to smash the liquor on the ground to shoot her, either. The close encounter in Amman had him predatory. Bad luck on her part. 

Ava was staring at the door, after having knocked quite loudly to wait for someone to let her in. Instead of the door opening however, she heard a deep, rumbling voice speak up from behind her. She jumped and quickly turned around, keeping a hand on the top box to make sure the donuts didn’t fall from her grasp.

“Oh, um, hello.” She said, swallowing nervously as she eyed the silhouette of a man walking to the porch. She couldn’t make out his features well in the darkness, but she could more than see the broad width of his shoulders and the noticeable bulging biceps of his arms. Her heart felt like it was beating so fast it’d burst out of her chest. She tried to shift away and her shoulder bumped against the door, blocking her retreat that way.

Her mind started racing through a number of nightmare scenarios and she wished she had thought to even grab her pepper spray. “Yeah, I’m new, I’m Avaline Moore?” She said slowly, clearing her throat. “I don’t know who Crowder is, I’m looking for a man named Foster? Or Donnelley? Am I in the right place?” She asked, glancing around the porch of the cabin. There was no way she had the wrong location, maybe Crowder was one of the other people of UMBRA? She didn’t know all their names, just the Agents she needed to report too.

Jason chuckled at himself when she mentioned Donnelley and Foster, amused he was contemplating shooting her so easily. I guess I’m being a little jumpy now aren’t I, he thought. He closed the distance between them, wearing a boyish grin and shaking his head as he stepped past her and to the door. Each footfall pounded deep against the weathered wood below him, his full stature looming over her. 

“Right place, but we seem to be early,” he said, dropping the groceries and handling his keys to unlock the door. “Jason Jimenez. They picked me up from the DIA.” He opened the door, grabbed the groceries, and slid his foot forward to hold the door open for her. “After you, Ms. Moore.”

Ava shrunk away from the door to let him open it, his size right next to her even more intimidating as she got a true sense of his scale. She was used to people being taller than her, but she wasn’t used to being around men that looked like they could lift the back end of a car. She returned his grin with a small, anxious smile. “Thank you.” She said and scooted past him and into the dark interior of the house. 

“The DIA?” She repeated to make polite conversation as she looked around for a light switch. “I was from the CIA.” She found a lamp and set the donuts down on the coffee table so she could turn it on, letting out soft light to chase away some of the shadows. “I got called this morning and told to report here immediately.” She explained, turning around and picking up the donut boxes.

She looked over at him in the light provided by the lamp now and relaxed a little now that she could see his face. It was a face that complimented the bulkiness of his frame, but the grin softened his features and made him seem more friendly. “I’m, um, IT, basically.” She looked down at the boxes in her arms. “I brought donuts.” She added, a little awkwardly.

He followed behind her, striding to the kitchen and producing a flood of light that ran for the corners of the cabin. The air was cool inside but stuffy with dust and dragged in dirt. He began to unpack the groceries, looking up from the kitchen island to study Ava every few moments. Foster and Donnelley always know how to pick them, he thought. Focus on cooking, you twat. She doesn’t want any this.

“Good to see another spook in the mix,” he said, the crisp exhale of two open beer cans announcing his collected walk towards her. He extended the beer her way, his can already rounding the edges of his lips. After a hearty gulp and hand off he continued, “Lots of DOJ with us, a profiler and an investigator, I believe. SWAT leader too. At least you have a partner in Donnelley, he’s Central as well.”

He returned to the kitchen and began to look around for spices, clicking his tongue against the side of his mouth at the disappointing assortment. At least he had bought a dry rub and some sauce. “Usually Donnelley would be here glaring into the sunset and sucking down cigarettes. He might be out on something official. Least I can do is make a hot meal for ‘em when they get back. And you brought the dessert.” He gave a playful wink at that, nodding at the donuts. 

 “Where you from, Ms. Moore?”

Ava accepted the beer after setting the donuts down on a free space on the kitchen counter. She looked down at the can in her hand, her lips were smiling but her stomach was curling as the heavy scent of the beverage wafted into her nose. When he turned away she glared down at the beer and tried to think of a way to ditch it without offending one of the people she would be working with. Where was a potted plant when you needed one…

When he turned back to her and she quickly brought the beer to her lips to take a tentative sip, since it seemed like the polite thing to do. 

It tasted as bad as it smelled. She fought the urge to grimace, her straight, button nose wrinkling slightly as she lowered the can back down, rubbing her hand over her mouth to try to hide her expression; her pale cheeks burning underneath her own smattering of freckles.

“Oh, I’m from Rhode Island.” She answered, giving him another friendly smile, hoping he didn’t notice her reaction to the beer. “I was actually, probably born here in West Virginia?” She said, the end of the statement turning into a question as she was still fuzzy on that detail herself. “But I grew up near Providence.” She added quickly to clarify. “Um, how about you Mr Jimenez? Where are you from?” She asked with a small, if slightly crooked smile. “And, you can call me Ava, if you want. I don’t mind.”

 After cleaning his hands Jason put the hearty slab of brisket on a foil lined pan and began to work the dry rub over its fleshy surface. There was something soothing in the process that reminded him of home, and when Ava asked where that was he said, ”Texas. Houston to be exact.”

The meat and mention of home bubbled something up like a summoned image to the calm surface of his mind. The drunk-heavy eyes of his mother’s friend and the sour fumes of his breath. [i]Let me tell you the first rule about cooking[/i], he had slurred. [i]No matter what if it tastes good then do it. No one gives a shit about a recipe. It ain’t furniture instructions.[/i] Jason hadn’t cared he was drunk, which had always made him uncomfortably alert, and was happy someone was teaching him anything. He had imagined it was one of those vital lessons that a father was supposed to teach his son, an inkling he was offered but was otherwise not meant for him. And in all those years it finally came back up. A bittersweet smile teased itself out from his lips.

“Ava, a word of advice,” he said after a silent moment. He looked up from the brisket, eyes dark and his face a stormy sternness. “If you’re going to stick around for this I’d suggest you make peace with what used to be.” He grabbed his beer with a spice and blood grimed hand and gulped it down as if it was water. “Donnelley didn’t want to tell us upfront and I don’t think I can either. And talk to Dr. Laine. When things get hard she’ll help.”

Ava blinked in surprise at the shift in his tone and expression and felt the hair stand up on end on the back of her neck as he gave his ominous advice. She wished she had a taste for the beer in her hand, the alcohol would have been nice to sooth the surging sense of panic in her chest. ‘Make peace with what used to be’ made her think of the things she would have to confront that she had been desperately trying to bury for the past two years.  

The memories of her nightmares started bubbling forth and she reached up with her free hand to pull her St Michael pendant out from under her soft jersey t-shirt. She pressed her thumb against it and took in a deep breath, trying to bring herself back to center and not have a melt down in front of this complete stranger. 

“I...should go get my stuff out of the car.” She said, setting the beer on the kitchen counter. Not the most subtle of escapes, but she needed something to do with this sudden surge of adrenaline. “I’ll be back.” She added, giving him a forced smile and not quite meeting his eyes as she walked out of the kitchen.

Headlights washed over the front of the cabin, relief then surprise exploding in her chest as Laine hit the brakes, skidding in the gravel as the momentum of the big truck tried to stop on a dime. The small car parked there had been unexpected and she almost slammed into it. There was something else in the headlamps, a pale lithe figure. A child. [i]What the everloving fuck was going on?[/i]

Laine shoved the truck into park and when she looked again she realized it was a small woman, not a child and then on the porch was a glow of fire in the pit. Another car in the driveway

“People are here,” she said unbuckling her seatbelt, reaching up to knock the loose helmet off her head. 

The click-clack of Donnelley’s Honey Badger came from the back as he threw open the big door, “Jesus Christ…” He limped out of the Suburban, coming around the back to spot a little girl. After the day he just had, he wasn’t sure if she was real or could be trusted. Mysterious children in odd places were never a good thing, “Y’all seein’ her?”

"Yeah, I'm trackin' her." Dave was out of the SUV and moving, his SLR raised to a low-ready. His head throbbed; the semi-comfortable fuzziness had faded, replaced by an impact-induced headache that pulsed along with his heartbeat. The lights were still too bright, his footsteps unsteady, but he socked his rifle into his shoulder and moved the opposite direction from his new friend, covering the angles the other man couldn't and staying out of his line of fire.

"Take it this'n ain't yours?" He called. "Hey, miss, you might oughta put your hands up.  Real easy, okay?" 

Everything happened very quickly for Ava. One moment she was pulling her duffle bag out of the trunk of the car and the next there was a roaring of an angry engine and bright lights. She yelped and stumbled out of the way of the oncoming car, nearly losing her footing from the loose gravel while clutching her bag.

She looked up with wide eyes as two men exited the car, dressed in tactical gear and weapons drawn. One of them was spattered with blood and the other looked like he was drunk the way he swayed on his feet. And he was holding the biggest gun.

Ava dropped her mint green duffle bag, covered in pink roses and her hands shot up in the air. “Please don’t shoot me! I-I’m Avaline Moore and Agent Foster sent for me!” She squeaked out, her hands shaking in the air, tears welling up in her eyes and her heart felt like it was trying to jump out of her chest to run for safety.

Inside Jason was washing off his hands when the telltale crunch of gravel preceded Ava’s panicked shout. He bound from the kitchen to the livingroom, seeing the beaming glare of the headlights coming through the window. Instead of the front door Jason raced towards the back, bounding up to his room as quickly as he could. He through around his gear until he uncovered his KSG, turned it upside down to check if each barrel magazine was loaded, and racked it on his way towards the back door. 

His chest was pounding as he kicked the back door open and pied the corner around towards the cars. His weight betrayed his approach as the gravel gave way with each heavy step, and as he approached them from the side he had his shotgun trained on the figure pointing his weapon at who he assumed was Ava. Then he saw Donnelley.

“Friendly at your three!” he shouted, lowering his KSG and trying to make sense of everything. 

Everything unraveled at once, the car doors opening and guns drawn on the woman and even Laine drew her service weapon, the Glock in her hand before she could think who this person might be. The last time she tried to approach a stranger unarmed was not pleasant to think about. She pointed it low, then stepped forward slowly, the poor thing looked scared to death, “Foster is that true?”

Before he could answer she heard  a shout, a familiar voice she recalled the over the phone last time she had heard it. “Jason!?”

Her focus shifted off the girl and she called out, “Jimenez, we have wounded.” 

“Everybody lower your goddamn fucking weapons, Jesus!” Foster holstered his own, which had entered his hand in all the excitement. He entered the center of the scene with both his hands out, looking at everyone, “I know her! I requested her! She’s Ava, she’s a contractor from Booz-Allen!”

“Fuck me.” Donnelley growled, dropping his weapon to sway from its single point sling and turned to the new guy, “Stand down, man. Mexican standoff’s over.”

He didn’t bother with introductions, just began his limp towards Jason, grunting at him as he passed, “Medic.”

Dave nodded and lowered his weapon, the safety snapping over with the loud [i]clak[/i] so common to Kalashnikov style rifles. He pulled it off to the side and watched Donnelley walk away, leaning against the SUV for support. As he had so many times in the last few weeks, he took a moment to wonder just what the fuck he'd gotten himself into. 

"So," he said. He looked over at the woman who'd driven and the man who had ordered them all to stand down. "You uh… You guys know Bob? Cuz he's gonna want to know where the fuck BLACKBEARD went, so…" He trailed off, then shrugged. 

Ava swallowed back a sob of relief as everyone put their weapons away and she tentatively lowered her hands. She took the large glasses off her face to rub at her eyes and slowly sat down on the ground, taking deep, measured breaths to calm herself down. 

She had a few ideas of what meeting the Working Group would be like and despite the rumors she had heard; she did not think she’d have guns pointed at her. 

Laine holstered her gun, then turned to the stranger that had come along with the men. “I don’t know any Bob.”

She stepped closer, the headlights silhouetting her dark clad figure for a moment before she was beside him. Her gaze drawn from his face to the lump on his head, “You’re hurt, come on.”

Laine glanced at Ava, “Can you help him inside? Sorry about the greeting. It’s been a night.”

"I ain't that bad off, it's just a concussion." He waved a hand but allowed himself to be led to the door. He looked down at the small redhead and smiled sheepishly. "Hey, yeah, sorry 'bout all the guns." 

He offered a hand to help her up. "You did good, keepin' your cool like that."   

Ava let out one more long breath and jumped as one of the men stopped next to her. She quickly rubbed at her eyes before looking up at him while putting on her glasses so she could actually see his features. Her eyes went right to the giant bump on his head that was already turning a lovely shade of blood red from blunt force trauma. 

So he hadn’t been drunk, but concussed. She didn’t know if she should feel bad for misjudging him or more concerned he had previously had a gun on her. She gently took his hand and stood up, dusting off her jeans and shuffling her feet on the gravel. “Thank you.” She said softly, her voice and hands still a little shaky as the adrenaline hadn’t quite subsided yet. “I’m sorry for...startling you all.” She said, rubbing her hands together to try and hide their shaking and looking back up at the man’s face.

Ava grimaced as she got an even better look at the bump. “You look like you need some ice.” She said and pointed to the door. “I just got here, but I can help you find some?”

"Yeah, okay." Dave nodded and followed the small woman inside. 

Laine watched Donnelley and Jason go inside, followed by the two strangers. She went to Tom and Justin, noting their more minor injuries and suggested they head inside as well. Once they had gone, she turned off the truck and shut the driver’s door then leaned against it. The sound, the sound that had accompanied the running men. Maybe she had imagined it, just like the laugh under the dark pier. Laine rubbed her head, brushing her fingers back through short dark hair and rested on the back of her neck. Tension made the tendons there taut and she massaged them for a moment, closing her eyes. 

It had to have been, nothing could make that sound. Nothing outside Hollywood, she told herself. Her glasses rested in her pocket, she had taken them off at some point in the long wait and out of habit she put them on, the barrier between her face and the world once more back in place. Looking in the dark reflection of the glass, she straightened her hair and took a few deep breaths, bringing herself down and forcing her face back into the calm cool expression of the FBI profiler. 

She turned and went back towards the cabin, glancing at Foster, “Are you coming? He’s hurt pretty bad.” 

Once inside, Laine paused in the kitchen, noting the cooking materials left out and then looked at Ava and Dave. “I’m Special Agent Dr. Heather Laine, FBI. Welcome to Blackriver.”

She looked over at Dave, recalling the accent when he had spoken then narrowed her eyes slightly, “Unless you’re from here?”

"Huh?" Dave eyed Laine for a moment. He held a bag of frozen vegetables to his forehead. "Nah, I'm from Arkansas. Different kinda hillbilly. I'm Dave. MacCready. Er...Just Dave, no titles. I'm not a Fed." 

“Right, sorry,” she replied, then took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, offering him one. “You mentioned something about Bob and Blackbeard. I’m sure Foster or Donnelley would know...”

She trailed off, looking towards the other room then shook her head, the concern in her green eyes flashing behind her black framed glasses. Laine nodded, “So, Dave of no titles, you were with another group and things went bad.”

Laine stopped herself for a moment, noticing Ava, the small young woman that Foster said was IT. [i]Already replaced Gwen[/i] she thought grimly, despite her dislike of the Air Force tech she did not want her dead. And since neither she nor Laurie arrived with them and Donnelley being Donnelley, Laine presumed they were dead. 

Ava wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself, part of her mind was still processing the sudden arrival of the rest of the team while also trying to remember how to treat someone with a concussion. She got him something frozen at least to nurse the bump and was looking around in the cabinets for...something. A first aid kit maybe? Were you supposed to give aspirin for a head injury? Or was giving a person with a concussion drugs a bad idea?

She overheard the conversation between ‘Dave’ and ‘Dr. Heather Laine’ and stopped in her looking to give them both a confused look. Another team? Things went bad? What kind of things? Was that why she couldn’t get in touch with Foster earlier?

Her eyes met with the Special Agent when the older woman looked at her and she froze. “Um, hi.” She said softly. “I’m Ava,” [i]She already knows that, say something else.[/i] “I got here forty minutes ago.” [i]Brilliant.[/i] She thought sarcastically.

Laine nodded, eyeing the redhead and her expression, “Quite the introduction, then. Are you alright?”

[i]No.[/i] Ava thought immediately but forced herself to nod. “Just...Surprised.” She said, turning back to the cabinet she had been looking in and shut the doors when she didn’t find a first aid kit. She spotted the pink boxes she brought and picked one up, moving it over to Dave and Dr. Laine. “I brought donuts? You can have as many as you want.” She set them down on the island in the middle of the kitchen and then went back to looking through cabinets. 

Partially for a first aid kit and partially to give herself something to do so she wasn’t standing idle. “Um, so, something happened?” She asked tentatively, opening a cabinet, realized she had already looked through it and then shutting it again. 

"Yeah." Dave sighed and leaned back against the refrigerator. His head was aching, and the exertions of the last 24 hours were starting to catch up to him. Or was it 36 now? 48? He hadn't been sleeping well anyway. He stifled a groan, part exhaustion and part frustration, with perhaps a little grief mixed in for the men who'd been lost. He hadn't known them well, but still…

"Yeah, somethin' happened," he said. "I'll probably hafta give your boss the story soon, but… There's somethin' in them woods. Killed my team, all but me and fuckin' [i]Bob[/i], wherever the hell he is. Killed a couple others too. Damn near killed me."  

Laine took the donuts to the table, opening it and gestured for Dave to join. She reached into her back pocket and took out a black notebook then she hunted up a pen from the drawer. Clicking it, she sat down and looked up at Dave, “I can help with that. Mind talking about it while it’s fresh? I know you’re tired and hurting but I don’t think it’s a good idea that you go to sleep right now. We have coffee, a Keurig machine, so any flavor you want.”

Jason had taken Donnelley and the other wounded into the living room, using the coffee table as a makeshift examining table. Unless he needed help, it was best they gave him room to work. 

When Dave started to move to make himself coffee, Ava put a tentative hand on his arm to stop him. “I can do that.” She offered him with a small smile, eager to do something that wasn’t mindlessly searching through the kitchen. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

"Ah hell, I don't care, sweetheart, make what you want." He eyed Laine's notebook warily for a minute. "Look, I'm not good at this spook shit. So if it's all the same to you, I'm gonna wait and tell y'all's boss the story. Once I figure out for sure that I'm where I need to be, you know? Nothin' personal, I just thought me and my boys were the only armed nutjobs in these mountains, aside from the locals." 

He gave her an apologetic smile coupled with an iron-hard stare. "Like I said. Nothin' personal." 

Laine set the pen down and dipped her chin slightly. The man was still carrying his weapon so she gave him a polite, tight smile, “That’s fine, no pressure, Mr MacCready. I’m sure he will want to hear it. As we all do.”

She took a donut and bit into it delicately, careful not to smear her lipstick. “But you’re still not going to sleep, not with that [i]chingaso[/i] on your forehead.” 

Jason swung Donnelley’s weight on the coffee table, walking brisking to his gear, saying “Hope you don’t care about those pants, boss.” A multicam pack was amongst the equipment that had come with him and by the time he came back he had surgical scissors in his other hand. Without engaging Donnelley he pushed him from his back to sitting and studied his legs for a second. Both seemed about the same length. Most likely no femur break, he thought; good. From the bottom of the pants leg he sliced upward on Donnelly’s pants short of the tourniquet. Jason looked around the cabin, noticing a few of their own were missing. “How long has this tourniquet be on?”

“Long enough to get from the forests to here. Maybe… uh, forty-five.” Donnelley answered, his eyes were heavy and his voice slurred. It felt like he had to will his own body to cooperate with him as he lifted his leg slightly to let Jason cut up his pants, he offered Jason a cheeky smile and a chuckle, “You know, I usually don’t let boys do this on the first date. How bad‘s it lookin’, friendo?”

"Aww don't feel bad, I have that effect on first dates," Jason replied, flashing the same cheeky smile. He grabbed a fentanyl lollipop and offered it to Donnelley, his other hand fumbling to turn on his phone's flashlight app. He checked his pupils with the glaring light, saying, "You've had one of those lollipop before, take it before I see what we've got. If you don’t want to care about the pain I have some K we can use. Sounds like you've misplaced some blood."

“Jason, you been holdin’ out on me, shoo’.” Donnelley chuckled, scratching at his neck. In truth, he was very much not looking forward to having his leg in full view. It always made it hurt more, looking at a wound. He felt his chest tighten knowing the tourniquet was going to come off and let the pain flow freely with the blood. “Shit, yeah. I’mma need me some K.”

His gear had plasma bags but he was worried they were spoiled; it was still worth the try. It seemed like he had taken a bullet through the thigh by the looks of it. He worked quickly, requisitioning a tall lamp from the livingroom and tying a plasma bag to hang above Joseph. In an instant the IV was in his arm with a practiced ease. 

"Before you get loopy tell me what happened. Good news is the bullet didn't break your femur and you'd be passed out if it that main artery."

Jason had all his gear ready to take off the tourniquet, and with a roiling thrill rising in his chest he took it off and cut away the rest of his pant leg as the blood began to flow. 

Donnelley bit down on his lower lip and grunted while Jason worked on his leg, releasing the tourniquet. It wasn’t so much the pain, but as long as he could see his wound it made it no better. “Yeah, I figured that… [i]thing[/i] in them woods didn’t hit my femoral or break my femur. Then again, I’m a tough sumbitch so,” he chuckled at his own cheesy boast to help steady his nerve when the blood flowed again and brought a rhythmic throbbing pain into his leg, “Took you a bit to answer the Bat Signal, guy. I wonder what that’s about.”

Jason pulled on some gloves, retrieved a needle and vial of Ketamine, and put it in Donnelley's lap. For the briefest of moments he made eye contact with Donnelley, glanced down at the needle, and back up to Donnelley again. The message was clear. [I] You know what to do[/i], his eyes said. 

He nodded, getting to work and making distracting small-talk as he eased the needle into himself. He pushed the plunger down with even pressure as he winked and smirked at Jason, “Trust me, I understand if it’s a pretty Top Secret. I’m only lucky my Station Chief is a fuckwit or I wouldn’t be able to disappear for these lovely campin’ trips with y’all.”

"My chain has been hounding me over this, a little butt hurt I won't play ball," he said, beginning to wash out the wound with saline. Watered down blood dripped all over the living room and the metallic aroma of it sent Jason's memory into a vague recollection. "We also had an asset fire sale. I still can't make sense of it, contacts getting whacked across our AOR."

Now he had to stuff the wound and he gave Donnelley his best sarcastic smile to mask what would happen next. "I had some other things happen too, something I might run by you," he said, his finger sinking into Donnelley's leg. He'd notice it but hoped the fentanyl was kicking in. "You said a 'thing?' Something like Baughman? And where's the rest of our team?"

Donnelley’s brows rose and his eyes grew in surprise as he caught a glimpse of what Jason was doing to the hole in his leg. His hand lifted up to grab the man by the collar in a dulled, but very real sense of fight or flight. He instead put a quivering finger in Jason’s face, his quivering but stern voice, “Boy, you did [i]not[/i] buy me dinner.”

There was a foreign pressure building up in the wound as Jason packed it, his smile becoming boyish, replying, “Hell, I was covering the brisket in a dry rub before you guys stumbled home. Even got us some rye. I’ll stitch you up and we can polish it off.”

He leaned back at the mention of the team, coming to lay as comfortably on the hardwood table his plate carrier would let him, “Yeah, Jason. Something like the Baughman cabin, but worse.” He came back up just a bit to lean on his elbow, “Laurie and… this girl. They- I sent…”

Again, he felt the somber nature of losing yet more people to the endless war against things he didn’t even understand. He rubbed his face, taking a deep breath before shoving another cigarette between his lips, “Well, they ain’t here, are they.” It wasn’t a question, and he looked away from Jason.

All the banter and wit drained from Jason’s face, but he couldn’t quite tell if Donnelley meant they didn’t come back or won’t be coming back. He focused on the entry point of the wound prepping the suture as he mouthed, “Could I have done something?” He almost regretted asking it, to have Donnelley drugged up and having to focus on whatever it was that kept the squirrelly park ranger from being with them. Jason had to know.

“Jason…” Donnelley said quietly, casting an eye at the new man in the group over at the dining table and back over to his leg. Sympathy in his eyes for what he knew Jason the medic would see as a failed opportunity. Hell, Donnelley wouldn’t be able to calm his thoughts of all the different decisions he could’ve made for Laurie and Gwen, “You seen what I did out there, ain’t nothin’ to be done. You finish up that leg, I’ll finish up this here smoke. We can polish off that rye and talk about anythin’ you want.”

"[I]Fuck, man[/I]..." was all Jason could mutter as he finished stitching up the front side of the wound. "If you can stand I have to stitch the back side of your leg." He glanced at the amber fluid slowly dripping into Donnelley's arm. "You're gonna have to carry that lamp around for a bit."

Jason wouldn't let himself dwell on it when he had to finish patching up Donnelley. There was a depth in his eyes, a bottomlessness that warned about asking anything more about who was missing and why. They were like candles snuffed out in a cold, vacant dark. How many had been taken that way, he wondered. There'd always be untold numbers plunging into the long night, but how many had been dragged into it by the unknown. How far does their staircase into hell go? He stood and offered Donnelley his arm. No words this time, no jokes. 

After making Dave a cup of coffee, Ava found herself back in the kitchen and staring at the walls for a few moments; her mind flat lining as to what to do now. Dwelling on her first impression of the UMBRA team and the vague, ominous words of Dave didn’t seem like a productive use of her time, no matter how hard her anxiety wanted to play it over and over again. Distraction, nothing wrong with a little distraction…

Her eyes landed on the raw brisket sitting on the kitchen counter still and she grimaced. That was one option, she couldn’t let the meat continue to sit out like that. She tucked a loose curl of red hair behind her ear and tentatively left the kitchen to find Jason Jimenez.

She did not have to go far to find the large DIA man and she immediately wanted to turn around and go back into the kitchen. He was currently in the process of stitching closed a wound in the back thigh of one of the men that had piled out of the car; Donnelley? Maybe? There was blood on Jason’s hands, all over the coffee table and was dripping down onto the floor beneath. It looked painful, she had no idea how her possibly Team Leader was able to stand the amount of pain he must have been in.

Her eyes went wide beneath her glasses and what little color was in her face naturally, drained away and left her as white as a sheet. “Uuh,” She croaked out and cleared her throat, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the impromptu surgery happening in the living room.  “Brisket.” She said, pointing back in the direction of the kitchen. “Do...what?”

Donnelley hopped on one leg to look at the source of the small voice. An equally small woman, the same one they’d gotten all in a knot over, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He opened his mouth to speak, but seeing her in the full light…

Maybe it was just the drugs, he tried to tell himself as a creeping sense of recognition niggled at his mind. He looked at Jason and back to her, using his tongue to shift the lollipop to the other cheek, “Just…” He blinked, shaking his head and looking away from her, “Cover it up, for now. Be done in a second.”

He flashed a sheepish little smile at Jason working on his leg, “Shit, sorry for jostlin’.”

Jason didn't look up from Donnelley's thigh as he worked to close the wound, and only at the frayed edge of his focus could he recognize the voice as Ava's. It was best to say nothing instead of barking at her for talking about food when he was closing a hole in someone's leg. [I]Probably something Laurie would have done[/i], he thought. [I]That goofy fuck. Give the woman some slack, too[/i].

"Hey Ava," he said, still not looking up from his work. "Cover it in foil, but there's enough salt on it to keep the meat from spoiling for a bit. Do me a favor. I need a towel for this blood. More importantly I need that bottle of rye whiskey and three shot glasses." 

“Hell yeah, we do.” Donnelley muttered and chuckled, “[i]Stat[/i].”

Jason leaned around Donnelley, adding, “You heard the boss.”

Ava nodded and quickly ducked back into the kitchen, thankful for a moment to catch a breath before she went about doing what Jason asked. She covered up the brisket and found the shot glasses easily enough, her search for a first aid kit earlier hadn’t been completely fruitless in that regard. With the whiskey in hand, she also grabbed a few kitchen towels to help soak up the blood. It didn’t seem like enough to soak up all the blood she saw dripping onto the floor, but they’d do until she could find a bigger towel. 

"What are you doing?" Laine asked when Ava took the whiskey and glasses. "A bleeding man shouldn't be drinking booze."

Ava jumped, making the glass in her arms rattle as she looked up at Laine. “But...He said…” She trailed off and shrugged her small shoulders stiffly, her expression lost. “I thought...It’d help the pain? Or it can disinfect the wound?”

Laine rolled her eyes and shook her head, "This isn't 1865, he's got plenty of painkillers from Jason. He just wants [I]his bottle[/I]."

She stood up and took the whiskey from her overloaded arms, and looked at the label. Her eyes met Ava's and she said, "Donnelley tell you to bring this?"

Donnelley’s face screwed up in a knee-jerk anger he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. It was a burning flame that did not build in intensity but instead just manifested and wanting to burn whoever put it there, “[i]Yes[/i], I [i]did, Laine.[/i] It’s one,” he held up his index finger and shook it for good measure, “One drink. I’m not gonna fuckin’ croak. That thing didn’t kill me, some [i]fuckin’ liquid[/i] goddamn won’t.”

Laine looked over the redhead at Donnelley, at his makeshift IV pole and the vulnerable state of his pants cut away. "Try to keep it to one or two, for your own good," she said, putting the bottle back in Ava's overloaded arms without looking down. Her gaze shifted to Jason holding his eyes as long as he would look at her. "Right, Doc, take care of him."

Jason’s expression was stern if anything, an expressionless stare that said more than a glare or verbal response would. The longer she held it the more prominent the barbs of anger began to poke inside of him. He stood and walked to Ava, grabbed the bottle from her hands, and with his bloody hand he unscrewed it and took a swig. He didn’t break his gaze from Laine until he walked back to Donnelley and thrust the bottle his way. Jason snatched up the used needle and remaining ketamine before anyone started questioning that as well, pocketing the vial and beginning to clean up.

Donnelley rose the bottle to Laine and took a deep, deep swig, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. He turned away from her to Jason, “Let’s git. Meet me in the garage, I’mma change and head there so we can talk.” He began his hobbling in the direction of his room, grunting with each stiff-legged step and the thunk, thunk of his makeshift IV pole accompanying, “In peace.”

Before he disappeared into the hallway, he turned back and looked at Ava again. The recognition, the familiarity was still there, but so were the drugs. If it was there in the morning, he’d worry… for some reason. He shook his head and continued on.

Laine sighed then glanced back at Dave, still sitting with his gun and back at Ava. "I think I'll go have a shower, please make sure he doesn't go to sleep. He's likely got a bad concussion."

She walked away, making a berth around the coffee table and glanced at Jason then kept on her way to the women's bunk room.

Ava stood for a heart beat in the doorway, the shot glasses and kitchen towels still cradled in her arms. She had tried to remain as quiet and still as possible during the whole argument, trying not to make it worse and feeling somehow responsible for it happening in the first place.

She looked at Dave worriedly when Laine mentioned making sure he didn’t fall asleep. Good thing he had coffee, that should help...Hopefully. She turned her bright blue eyes back to Jason, cleaning up his makeshift operating table.

She set down the shot glasses, since they didn’t seem to be needed anymore, and approached the medic with the towels. “Here,” She said quietly, holding one out to him. “Is there...anything I can help do?” She asked while glancing down at the red stains that were slowly drying on the wood of the table and floor then back at him.

Jason took the towels, their eyes meeting for a second he made linger. What was she doing here, he wondered. It couldn’t be that she was unqualified, but her reaction to the evening had him feeling suspect. It wasn’t that she belonged either, but if she wasn’t prepared for their operations tempo or the trauma associated with it she’d crash hard. He hoped she wouldn’t, or that she could at least manage. Could he?

“No, Ava,” he said, his voice taking a turn for sympathetic. “You helped a lot, thank you. You haven’t had a gun pointed your way often, I take it. These guys are pretty hardcore, so you’ll be in good hands. You’ll be a jaded, stone cold fuck in no time. Get some rest if  you can, I have a feeling we’re going to be worked hard come daylight.” 

He stood with a large lump of blood soaked towels and disappeared out the front door, returning a moment later with free hands. It was time to chat with Donnelley, and sweet aftertaste of rye whiskey had him wanting more. He had a spare joint tucked away in his gear but he had a feeling Donnelley would want a drag. That would be too much for a conversation, so Jason would have to stick to the rye. [I]Oh well.[/I]

“Welcome to the team,” Jason said to Ava, and disappeared on his way to the garage.  

Ava watched Jason leave while her fingers played with the pendant of her necklace. Welcome to the team indeed. 

Resting sounded like a good idea, maybe she'd feel better about this if she slept on it, with the help of her little sleep aides. She looked around for her bag briefly and then remembered she had left her duffle bag outside in the driveway during all the chaos. She checked that Dave was still awake and then headed outside to get her bag.

She was fairly certain another car wouldn't be ripping into the driveway at high speeds, filled with armed men. All the same, she kept an eye out and her ears alert as she grabbed her duffle bag from the dirt. She also grabbed her laptop bag and her Glock from the center console; so she didn't have to come back outside.

She was carefully tucking her gun into her laptop bag when over the ambient sounds of night; she heard a voice. Ava froze for a moment and listened intently, trying to pin point the location and the owner.

It sounded like it was coming from the back of the cabin. It wasn't a big building and the trees around them seemed to cause noises to echo and bounce around. It took her a moment to recognize the voice as belonging to Agent Foster. So that's where he went after all the chaos inside.

She frowned and made her way around to the back. She still hadn't officially reported to him, she needed to do that. That and she wanted to know what she had personally done to offend him to bring her out to the backwoods of West Virginia.

She took in a deep breath before rounding the corner to the back of the cabin, finding Agent Foster on the phone. She paused, not sure what to do. Should she approach and get his attention? Or wait to find him later when he wasn't on the phone? What if he thought she was eavesdropping? Spooks tended to not like that.

She shuffled her feet in the dirt and gravel in her indecisiveness.

A sigh and then more footsteps, growing closer. Foster came around the corner and flinched, “Jesus!”

He stepped back, one hand going for his pistol before he realized it was only Ava. And then a wave of guilt for almost pointing yet another weapon at the woman in the span of an hour. He gave her an annoyed look as he smoothed his tie and dress shirt, clearing his throat as he regained his composure, “Yes?”

Ava jumped and took a step back, holding up her hands when she realized she had startled the Agent. 

“Sorry!” She said immediately, her face grimacing with guilt as she lowered her hands to grip one of the straps across her chest. “I heard you back here and realized I hadn't officially reported to you yet.” Ava explained, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the strap of her bag. “And, um, I'd like to know,” [i]Why am I here?[/i] “What my job is now...exactly?”

Foster nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes went over Ava and seemed to pry at her, almost boring a peephole into her thoughts. “Why else?” He shrugged, “I wanted you here. Your job is to support the investigation by any means available to you and necessary for the solving of this case. Anything related to technology and media. You’re highly recommended.”

It was a lie. Or a half-truth. Foster had read everybody’s files and chosen Donnelley to head the team because of the common thread of black slabs in their pasts. And when he’d heard of little Ava Moore from Booz-Allen Hamilton and her dreams… “Nothing more, nothing less. Why?”

Ava felt a bubble of frustration rise in her chest and wanted to snap at him what should be obvious. She clamped down on the anger however and took in a calming breath through her nose. “I just don't believe I'm qualified for field work, sir. I'm a contract hire, not a trained Operator like the others here.”

“Do you think me or Laine even pretend we can do what Donnelley and the others do?” Foster narrowed his eyes at her. Usually he was cool, calm. But the privacy of the Safehouse and the fact he was talking to his own subordinate made for little reason to hide anything, “I wanted you here, I got you here. You’re highly recommended in the things Booz-Allen hires you out to do. You’re a contractor, Ava. Grin, nod your head, and get to work.”

Ava looked away at the narrowed eyed look and found a spot of dirt to look at on her bag. As he spoke, maybe it was the anxiety and fear that she had been stewing in all day or the stress of having guns pointed at her for the first time in her life; but the nerves in her stomach curdled with anger at his non explanation, explanation.

Which pushed her to say, in a quiet but tight voice, “It's because of the dreams, isn't it?”

“Case Officers’ Working Groups are on this case of black slabs. I rotated Donnelley from his previous Working Group to this one because of the Slab he saw in Afghanistan, same as Tom. Same as Laine in Seattle.” Foster frowned, “Everyone has a reason to be here. Everyone has a reason to be in the Program. So, yes, you’re in the Program because of the dreams.”

Foster took a step forward, “Because two years ago I told them to recruit you. You’re in Working Group UMBRA because you’re good at what you do.” He looked down his nose at her, “That’s your job. [i]So do it[/i].”

Ava took a reflexive shuffling step back, her grip loosening on the strap she was clutching as she processed the information; the anger and frustration in her chest fading away. She was surprised to learn that there was a connecting thread between the people of UMBRA. And that it was kind of similar to what she had experienced. Did they have dreams like hers too, before they saw the Black Slab?

Despite the fact that Agent Foster was acting so cold with the delivery of the information, she felt...oddly a little more secure. She had something in common with these people and maybe she wasn’t alone in whatever her dreams meant.

She took in a breath and nodded. “Yes sir.” She answered, looking back up at him.

“Good.” Foster said, unfolding his arms and brushing past her.

Ava stepped to the side to let him walk by, looking back at him as he walked away. She hoped her proper introduction with Agent Donnelley would go better. She sighed and went the opposite direction to go back into the cabin. Succumbing to unconsciousness for a few hours sounded good right about then.

[hr]

The garage door closed gently, Donnelley’s shuffling steps brought him over to the chair opposite Jason’s and he sat under the dim light of the garage’s lamp, using his IV pole as support. Dust floated freely here, and a breeze washed over Donnelley from under the garage door that sent a chill down him. He looked at the boxes of ammunition, Foster’s computer, the weapons. He took the bottle as it was offered silently to him and took another swig, remembering Laine’s one-or-two rule. It was his second swig of the night, but he shrugged and took another pull and let a growl through his bared teeth. He offered it back, the cigarette jumping with each word, “I take it wherever you’re stationed went to shit.”

Jason sighed, his large stature slumping into the chair opposite of Donnelley after taking the bottle. He let the fiery liquid flow into his mouth and replied with a sharp exhale of his own. “I had an asset IDed by a mid-level Daish commander. You know how that goes. After the execution a lot of our humint assets started going dark. The official story is my asset turned and gave them info. Problem is I handled him exclusively and there’s absolutely no way he had access to that info. That isn’t even the spooky part.” 

He handed the bottle back to Donnelley and studied his clarity. Getting fucked up was good and all, but he wanted to keep his team lead lucid enough to talk. He knew where Joseph was at, bobbing in the choppy, euphoric waters of a drug cocktail. At least he could see the man’s tolerance now. He almost forgot people had died today. 

“That commander? Supposedly was responsible for the fire sale but he died in an air strike a week before the killings. I don’t know what the fuck that means but something weird is happening.”

Donnelley watched Jason talk, every so often having to hold his own head back up while he did. He reached up and rubbed at his face. He hadn’t been this fucked up since Seattle. When Jason handed the bottle back to him he had to think about it, weigh the pros and cons, analyze how fucked up he was and assess how fucked up he was going to be if he took another sip.

He took another.

He offered out the bottle, nodding at his wounded leg, “Yeah, you’re tellin’ me ‘bout weird shit.” 

He sniffled, sighing, again wondering if there was anything else he could’ve done for Laurie and Gwen. ‘Not send them.’ He hung his head, wanting to immediately switch his mind from that to something else, “If only you knew what I know about Daesh commanders.”

Jason went swig for swig with him, a dry chuckle coming out at the statement. He couldn't see Donnelley wrestling demons and the ketamine drew a veil over any revealing expression.“I might have an idea. We need the G-O to start making glass parking lots. I'm tired of the chaos.”

He let that sit on the air, not knowing and maybe not caring if he was supposed to let that slip to anyone outside of his small team in the CIA. He snorted at Jason’s quip. “I’m not gonna pretend our AOs are worlds apart. You know who I work for, I know who you work for. Your fire sale is a piece of the puzzle in the MidEast I have interest in. I don’t know what they’re plannin’.”

“What exactly does a Daesh commander have to gain by goin’ out every night and killin’ all the Yezidi men he can find?” Donnelley flicked his lighter on and sucked in a thick cloud, letting it out in a sigh, “And why is somebody in West Virginia killin’ people the exact same way this Daesh guy is? Maybe it’s a coincidence. But either way, you should see how we get dicked around here by local authorities.”

Donnelley sucked down more smoke, “It’s fuckin’ unfortunate as fuck. Somebody doesn’t like us bein’ here.”

Jason sat there for a moment studying the cracks branch away on the concrete floor. The implications of what Donnelley said were immense. How are they connected, he wondered. How [i]could[/i] they be? His index finger was tapping the neck of the bottle hanging precariously in his wide hand.

“As it pertains to West Virginia--my guess is no one likes the government snooping in their neck of the woods. Doesn’t matter if we’re Feds or not, it’s all the same; strangers in their strange land. Hell, you’ve encountered that all over the world.” Jason sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, this time giving Donnelley a prolonged study. The Ketamine had frozen his face in a vague grimace, but his eyes had a hazy medicated look that belied the gruff expression. 

“As far as CENTCOM goes I have no fucking idea, but you make it sound like something spooky is going on. Shit like what’s happening here.”

Jason sighed again, hanging his head and staring at the rye in his hand. Did Donnelley really want to talk shop with two KIA tonight, possibly an entire team as well. He didn’t like the fact that they were operating nearby with not so much as a hello. Would everything be so compartmentalized? The Pararescueman in him thought about the bodies. They’d have to be recovered. Sealed up in a box and tagged with a bullshit story. They died in service to something they didn’t even understand, sorry mom and dad. 

“It doesn’t get easier, does it?” he mouthed. “Not this, not the action movie shit and the dead. That never gets easier. You just get more numb. But not being able to think or talk about anything else. It’s like I just learned Santa isn’t real and it’s Christmas eve every day. It’s all I could think about these last few months.”

Donnelley idly swigged at the bottle, listening to Jason talk. There was a moment of silence in which thought played over Jason’s face from one subject to the next. He almost sympathized with that. Maybe eight years in the CIA, and five years in The Program, had neutered his ability to make small talk about anything but work. Or maybe it was like a defense mechanism. You get a cold and your body gives itself a fever. You give the order that gets two fucking kids killed and suddenly you need to talk about everything else in the world.

“I don’t know, man.” Donnelley held the bottle out from himself and appreciated it in the dim light of the garage, “Fuck, I even tried therapy once and found out I couldn’t talk about shit. It’s not like she had the clearance. Ain’t like I had the want neither.”

The way Jason looked at him pierced even the heavy veil of drugs over his eyes. Jason had seen things. Combat, yes, because what trigger puller here hadn’t, but other things too. The things the Program wanted gone. Donnelley handed over the bottle, “What happened, man? Over there?”

"Most of my job was hunting down meth labs in the desert. Daish go pills for their shock troops," Jason said. "Most those chemists usually work on their chem weapons ideas so they're HVTs off the bat." 

The job's details clung on him like a weighted cape. Not even 24 hours and he'd sutured a wound, pulled out his shotgun, and was yearning for more action. It made him feel sick, to cling to the adrenaline and purpose while standing on the bones of Laurie, whoever had died with him, and whoever else was left out there for the flies and the crows. 

"If I'm being honest," he said, his gaze becoming closer and closer to a thousand yard length, "I was going nowhere with the mission. Maybe a distant station chief or mid-level leadership after a few years--but anything that was worth it? Hmmm." 

He took a swig, thrust it forward, then grimaced and pulled it back. "Uh, I wouldn't normally do this, boss, but maybe we don't ride that lightning tonight. Looks like you're swimming in the clouds already." 

Donnelley scowled for just the shortest moment when Jason pulled the bottle away from his hand. Then he remembered there was a whole fucking job to do and it wouldn’t do to wallow in self-pity when there were two people who were dead. “Yeah, yeah. Right.” He nodded, taking a breath to steady himself, “Maybe that’s just it. Maybe given enough time it just starts feel droll. Wish we could’ve just smoked that brisket and knocked back a few beers, but...” Donnelley shrugged.

“Shit, what time is it?” Jason asked. “I could start it tonight. Was thinking of staying up for a watch, anyway.”

He looked over the bottle smirking at himself for the good choice. Donnelley seemed to like it, but Jason could have also handed him a bottle of chilled piss and he might still down it in his current state. 

“If you can keep me here,” Jason said, not taking his eyes from the Pendleton, “I’ll be sure you won't have to limp around with any wounds. Maybe even save a life or two. I’m not bad with intel, either.”

“A brotherhood of spooks.” Donnelley chuckled at himself, “As much as I just love workin’ with FBI and shit, it’s good to know there’s at least somebody in the team that understands the shit I do.”

“If I can keep you here? Be honest, man, there’s a reason we did and still do high speed shit. Stick around, you’ll love me for it.” Donnelley smirked and puffed away at his cigarette, “Thanks for volunteerin’ though, for watch. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jason rocked himself up to standing and offered a hand to Donnelley, “It feels good to know that too. Here, let me help you up. You also sucked through your saline, I’ll hook you up with another.”

[hr]

The steam rose around her as Laine pressed her forehead against the tile, taking a deep breath to clear her mind. Sitting all day in the Suburban, having to squat in the bushes to pee with Foster in ear shot. Then the call, Donnelley's voice in the darkness. The call and the darkness and the fear. And the noise in the forest, strange and full of guttural rage. At least it seemed that way. 

Laine rinsed her hair, rubbing her face vigorously as the panic tried to rise, the feeling she had the entire drive back along the dark country road with Donnelley bleeding in the back and the rest silent, Gwen and Laurie not among them. Things were changing faster than her mind could wrap around it, the crime scene and victim still unknown now two missing team members. And whatever killed them. 

Her chest heaved and she felt the burning in her throat, the want to cry with frustration and fear that this situation was spiraling out of control. Hot tears mingled with the warm shower as Laine let go until she was spent. The water was starting to cool and she turned it off, stepping out onto the braided rug. 

In the women's bedroom she dressed, putting on boyshort panties and the long Depeche Mode t-shirt to sleep in. She went to the bunk opposite her own, looking down at the disarray of clothes that Gwen had left behind. Laine started by putting the sweatshirt laying across the bed into the duffel bag. Laine packed the blue USAF duffel bag and set it on the footlocker. Despite their rocky short relationship Gwen Weissman was a human being, someone dragged out into this mess  and thrown into the middle of danger like the rest of them and she had a family somewhere that would get a folded American flag and a lie. 

Laine went to her own bag and took out her laptop and portable printer, setting them  up on the bed then loaded the crime scene photos from the email sent to her by the state CSI team and the ones from her camera. The printer blinked then slowly started up, humming as the pictures of forest and bones and the raw body of Jane Doe. She sat on the bed, one leg hanging off as she started typing up her notes from Ranger Wilkins into a comprehensive report. 

Once the photos were printed out, Laine lay them across the carpet and studied them, picking them up one at a time, comparing them to the testimony and autopsy, making notes. Burying herself in the work, it took her away from Donnelley, knowing he would probably finish off the bottle with or without help from Jason. Laine had seen him drink, she knew about the flask, and Foster’s term ‘semi alcoholic’. She set down a photo and rubbed the bridge of her nose. 

[i]I’m not a fucking babysitter,[/i] she told herself. [i]He’s grown ass man, whatever he does it’s his business.[/i] 

Laine leaned back and picked up a photo of Jane Doe, the wounds raw and ugly, the tearing of her private areas in full view. She was here to find a killer, not patch up the psychological wounds. The scene, the victim, that was what needed her attention. 

On her notebook, she wrote out her thoughts. Organized, prepared, experienced at killing. Obviously. She looked at the photos of the bones from the shallow graves. [i]Why did you show us? Why now?[/i]

Male, white, mid thirties to forties. Likely local, experienced hunter and skinner, maybe an amateur taxidermist. He used display ritual, killed in another location and moved, left out in a place she could be found. He made sure she was found.

Sexual rage, need to dominate, severe damage to reproductive organs. Hate for women, need to humiliate and dehumanize her with severe destruction of internal organs, no external wounds other than the skinning. Need to control victim immobilized her with drugs not bound, an unusual method. Cutting out her ability to talk or call for help, silencing the victim, controlling her voice. He needed control, he had to have CONTROL.

She wrote it boldly and shook her head, running her hand through her dark hair. Of course it was about control.  Laine tossed the notebook aside and stood up. “Think,” she said out loud, “Focus.” 

“Shit,” she sighed, then got up and found her pack of Djarums in the pocket of her blazer still hanging on the chair.  The t-shirt hung past her ass but the strangers were out there so she tugged on a pair of leggings before walking outside, lighting up a clove cigarette even before she exited the front door. 

Laine leaned against the railing, noting the light still on on the garage and turned away from it. She looked out instead over the deep shadows past the circle of illumination made by the light of the lamp over the driveway. The first time Laine was here seemed like a lifetime ago, supposedly there to clean out a cabin. Then she met Mrs. Baughman. 

She shivered in the balmy summer night, recalling the dead eyes and flat voice calling out for her husband. Laine touched her neck, but that thing that had been a woman once had real strength. Dead but alive. Horror movie stuff she would have thought bullshit if it had not tried to strangle her. And the roar she heard tonight, deep and resonant from the woods that the tactical team had run from.

The cloves crackled as she sucked on the cigarette, her cheeks hollowing. It made her head swim with uncertainty Laine had not felt since she stepped into her first real crime scene. She had stared at the result of human brutality, evil some called it but she was always more scientific with her view. Even if it was an aberration,  deviant behavior there was psychological maybe even biological reasons for it. Whatever happened to Mrs Baughman and what was in the woods was something else.

The scent of cloves mingled with the scent of smoldering wood chips and Laine remembered the meat on the counter and the strangers left inside. Putting out her cigarette, she went back inside. 

She eyed Dave with his bruise and cradling the AK 47. The last thing they needed was some guy with a head injury and automatic weapon roaming around the cabin at night. 

"Hey, uh, Dave? You said you're from Arkansas, you wouldn't know anything about what to do with this brisket?" Laine asked, looking at the meat then at Dave, watching how he might answer and listening for slur or confusing. She had heard enough of Bakker's war hospital stories to know something about trauma.

"Not that won't take a few hours," he said. He was leaning against the refrigerator, his arms crossed and resting on the stock of his rifle, the muzzle pointed at the ground. He felt a little steadier; his head still ached like a bastard, but he didn't feel like badgering his new acquaintances for a tylenol when people were bleeding. 

"Besides," he said, giving her a grave look. "Grillin' is a sacred trust. Don't wanna intrude on a man's cooking."  

Laine patted the foil covered brisket, "In other words, we'll let Jason handle his own meat."

She opened the fridge and began to arrange things to make room, talking over her shoulder, "It's been a hell of a night."

Once it was in there, she glanced over at Dave and asked, "Want me to make you a sandwich or something? I haven't eaten much and I was going to make something."

Laine felt the normalcy trying to trickle back in, the tension and explosive fear of the day left her tired but the man before her looked exhausted. Paranoia slipped away and she felt slightly ashamed of how he had been introduced. "How's your head feeling?" 

"Head feels like I fell down a hill an' bounced it off a truck." He gave her a rueful grin. "But I'll manage. I could eat I guess." 

Laine furrowed her brow with a wince. That's what that first thump against the truck had been.

She made a few sandwiches, wrapping some with saran wrap in case one of the others got hungry. Placing a plate with a couple of turkey sandwiches in front of Dave she gave him a cold beer, whatever Jason had picked up before they came back. 

"I think I have some Advil, if that's alright? Anything stronger you'd have to ask Jason...uh, Jason Jimenez, he used to be a medic of sorts in the Air Force," Laine said, looking through a drawer. "I'm sorry you had to see that display earlier."

She found the small bottle of painkillers and handed to him before sitting across from him at the table.

"Happens. Been a rough night, can't expect everyone to be relaxed." He took the pills and then tore into the sandwich. It had been...shit, eighteen hours since he'd eaten? More? He wasn't even sure what time it was. "Thanks for the food. I figure I'm crashin' on the couch, y'all probably don't want a stranger bunking with you." 

“The men’s room is upstairs, but that would be up to Justin and Tom, I guess,” she said, watching him eat. “But wherever you’d be more comfortable anyway, sleeping around a bunch of strangers and feds at that.”

Her sharp green eyes glanced at his rifle, certainly not US military issued hardware, and then back up at him, studying his bruised face. He wore civilian clothes under the armor and the wariness in his eyes that was not all about what he had run from in the woods. There was certainly a story there but not for tonight. Laine took her own beer and chugged about half before settling to eat her sandwich.

Dave snorted, relaxing a little. Laine seemed laid back, for a Fed, more relaxed than the ones he'd met since joining up with the Program. She was easy on the eyes, too, which helped. 

"Yeah, never thought I'd be workin' with the uh…" [i]Jackboots.[/i]  "You know. The government." He adjusted the strap on his rifle, for want of anything else to do. His fingers drummed nervously on the stock of the weapon, and after a moment of awkward silence he picked up his beer and finished it off. 

"So you're a doctor, you said?" 

“Hm, yes,” she replied, setting down the sandwich. “I’m a profiler with the FBI so unless you’re kidnapping people and cutting off their heads, I don’t really care what you do.”

Laine smiled briefly, then raised her eyebrows, “I’m a psychologist, I specialize in violent crime, in particular serial murder. What about you, Dave? Since you’re not a jackboot, how’d you get mixed up with this.”

"Somebody was leavin' dead bodies on my mountain," he said. His eyes grew angry for a moment. "Anyway, I found one of them, told the cops like a damn fool, and then helped blow one up like a bigger damn fool."

He sighed and shook his head. "I guess I'm here because I'm… You know. Deniable. Ain't attached to the government, and ain't a lot of people gonna come lookin' for a hillbilly who gets himself ate on some top secret mission. Plus I can… Well, I'm kind of a bomb guy. Figured they'd have me on some watch list, probably better to help than tell 'em to fuck off away from my mountain."

That was a partial truth. He'd joined to protect Mal. But they didn't need to know that yet. 

"So here I am." 

Laine watched him as he spoke, her chin resting on her fist as she felt the sudden tiredness the day had wrought. At least he was easy on the eyes. "And so here we are. I get the feeling you're not the only one who [I]they[/I] could easily dispose of, not to feed your fears. We're all replaceable in some form or another."

She shrugged slightly, but went on, "So the bodies you found. I am guessing they were probably laid out some black slab. Otherwise one of my colleagues in the Bureau would have responded not..." 

Laine lifted her head then gestured around the cabin then met his eyes. They were a steely shade of blue and seemed suited to his hard stares he had thrown her way earlier. "A bomb guy who isn't military, now you have me very curious, Mountain Man."

She brushed her empty plate aside and glanced at the knot on his head, it seemed a little better after the ice. "Did you need anything else?"

"Maybe I'll tell ya the story sometime." He grinned at her. "I think I'm all set, I'll probably get some sleep. Gonna have a hell of a shiner in the mornin'." 

Laine gave a concerned glance at the knot on his forehead, then nodded, “If you need anything, I’ll be in the woman’s bunkroom. It’s across the bathroom, first door on the left.  There’s extra bedding in the linen closet.”

She rose from the table, picking up his empty plate as well as her own, smiling slightly at Dave, “Sweet dreams.” 

"First door on the left." He nodded and his grin grew a little wider. "Well I'll keep that in mind. See you in the mornin'."  

>THE SAFEHOUSE
>0800...///

An intrusive earworm was caught between the ears of Parinaaz Bhatt as she exited the car. She couldn’t quite place the melody – and only an obscure bar or two of it repeated. A shrill trumpet and snare in the tempo of a quickstep. The woman shook her head as if to allow it to fall out. Her ponytail swished with the motion - thick brown curls styled immaculately save for the edges she’d had to slick down with a wax around her hairline. Such was her genetic makeup. Fresh faced she took a deep breath of the country air, expecting it to be refreshing, with the biting chill of the mountains that she’d experienced in the past. This air was thick, and heavy enough to have caught in her throat had she not been careful enough. Strange, it was. It was that same feeling of rot in the atmosphere she’d felt during the drive. Probably nerves, anticipation. Pari shrugged.

The agent leaned into the trunk upon exiting the car to grab her belongings. She had barely gotten it closed with a click and moved out of the way when the driver unceremoniously took off – back over the path and away. It had been a long drive and the fellow hadn’t even offered her a goodbye. There was no leaving now, that was for sure. She struggled in her heels with the case behind her, wheeled suitcases were not intended for anything other than a smooth surface – and perhaps if the car hadn’t been enough then the dragging of it over the gravel would alert her colleagues to her presence.

She was alerted too, there was something decidedly off about this place. As if the energy of something terrible had left a stain over the driveway and it had started with the car that had been parked. There was a certain frantic way in which it had skidded through, that was clear in the tracks left behind. It hadn’t slowly and carefully been brought to a halt. It had slammed and slammed again. A rush job. Not to mention that there were droplets of blood that led to the door. Easy enough for an untrained eye to have missed but Pari had the eyes of a hawk when it came to such things. A forensics thing, surely. That and just an insatiable curiosity and heightened intuition. 

A well-groomed and thick eyebrow raised as she took off her sunglasses, placing the end of the arm against her lower lip as she continued to analyse the scene before she chastised herself for it. It made no sense to hover in the driveway when she could just go and [i]ask[/i]. It wasn’t quite as fun though, was it? As fun and thrilling as slotting the pieces of the puzzle together so that she could be [i]right[/i] in her theory. The current one being that a mission had gone awry and that at least one person was injured in the cabin.

She didn’t feel that anyone had died, and the fact that whomsoever had arrived in a hurry had not left since was promising. 

Still, the air got thicker

A drum crashed, and [i]one, two, three[/i] – the beat picked up. The earworm that returned with a vengeance. What the fuck was it again? A manicured finger tapped at her temple as she approached the steps to the cabin, the case got heavier the more that the wheels dug into the unsuitable terrain. “Gosh darn, [i]zavadya[/i]” she cursed under her breath with a groan.
[i]”Going like Elsie…”[/i] whispered through the back of her mind and it ran an eerie chill up her spine to the nape of her neck but it was soon disturbed by the ringing, familiar sound of metal on ceramic. A distinct morning sound – a spoon in a mug. So they were alright then, she mused as she approached the cabin. [i]”Alright as can be…”[/i] The suitcase thunked on each step and she winced as it did. She was hardly in stealth mode, that was a real nice impression to give them. She wasn’t the strongest woman around, that was to be sure. She quietly cleared her throat, tucking the loose, sweeping strands of fringe behind a jewelled ear. Her hands smoothed over her crisp white shirt, fiddling with the collar to lay it flat again. Pari let the sunglasses drop into the ‘v’ before  finally knocking at the door, it was time to find out what had happened... Whatever it was, she was surely in for a story.


Bacon once again sizzled in the pan as Laine made breakfast, waking up early despite her own weariness as the rest of the team had a decidedly worse night. She was in a white tank top and black jeans, wearing her Converse sneakers that occasionally squeaked on the polished floorboards. Earbuds in place, she had the music loud to hear over the blender as she dumped sliced bananas and frozen berries into it. 

He was there, Donnelley, wobbling in to make his coffee. She could see him in her peripheral vision but this time purposefully ignored him. Leave him in peace, as he wanted. Instead she moved to grab the milk from the refrigerator, glancing at his back once it was turned away from her. Even from here he looked miserable. Hungover, the leg pain and the sobering memories of whatever had happened, she left him alone. 

Donnelley looked up from cradling his head in his hands to Laine when the knock came. The errant thought of her not only ignoring him, but everything else too brought little humor. Knocks at the door were his business as of late, so he stood shakily, grabbing up his handgun and thumbing the safety off as he turned for the door. He put it behind his back as he turned the knob, opening the door a crack and squinting at the light that stabbed through at his eyes. Beyond it, there was a shape.

A woman, and he focused on her face, “You the one Greg sent?”

It was a trick question, of course, and a wrong answer would prove deadly. Since Foster loved bringing people into the fold and not telling him, he could clean up this one’s brains from the porch if it turned out she wasn’t meant to be here.

Eyes the colour chocolate met Donnelley's, and they narrowed. He was playing it incredibly safe, she could hear now more noise in the background. A blender. He wasn't alone. "Steve Foster requested me here," she answered frankly with a slow nod, holding her gaze steady. "I'm FBI, forensics," she added. "Parinaaz Bhatt." Pari went to place her hand out to shake, knowing that there was not enough space in the slight crack of the door, and so she tilted her head instead. "Rough night?" 

Donnelley opened the door all the way as she introduced herself, making no effort to hide the fact he was stuffing the handgun in the front of his jeans. He made sure the safety was off so this stranger’s first day with the team wasn’t spent driving him and his dick to the hospital. He offered a slight smile at Pari’s very correct, and very understated assessment of the past night, his Texas drawl rolling out of him in the morning, “Parinaaz, you’ve no fuckin’ clue.” He offered his hand out to shake, “Joseph Donnelley, I’m the Team Lead. Welcome to Workin’ Group UMBRA’s Safehouse, and your home for the foreseeable future. Come on in, gettin’ breakfast ready.”

He waved her inside and closed the door behind her, shuffling to the kitchen with an uneven gait on behalf of the stab wound in his leg. It still twitched with pain and gave him a dull ache even when he wasn’t moving around on it. He called from the kitchen, “You like coffee, Special Agent Bhatt?” Donnelley’s eyes were pulled to two boxes he did not remember last night. He reached over and peeked inside one. Thankfully, it wasn’t a bomb or anthrax, but donuts. “Oh, fuck me, donuts. You like donuts too, Agent Bhatt?

Pari let him take three steps ahead after shaking his hand before she followed him inside, observing the way that he moved - that his leg was hurt. "It's nice to meet you Donnelley - I take it you were the bleeder," she said, motioning behind her. She took steady steps, leaving her cases at the door for now - bringing only her handbag with her through to the kitchen. "Coffee sounds great, too," she replied, eyes taking in the details of the safehouse. "I'll pass on donuts though. I don't have a sweet tooth…" her voice tapered off as she saw the woman by the blender. Truthfully, she did like sweet things - but donuts were likely to create crumbs, splashes of jelly, and it was a known fact that probability rolled on the side of making someone look a fool on the first day. She was going to avoid all kinds of temptation that might just tar her first impression. Like spilling jelly down her front. 

Dave still lay on the couch, curled around his rifle and watching the goings-on through lidded eyes. He wasn’t really trying to be subtle. He just didn’t want to move. Everything ached, from his hair to his toenails. The shot to the head, the sprinting through the trees, huddling in one position all day and all night waiting to be eaten...They’d taken their toll. He hurt like hell.

Finally he groaned and pushed himself up, taking stock of his surroundings. He hadn’t showered in a few days, and he knew that if he could smell himself, so could everybody else. His clothes were filthy, his head hurt, things were just generally unpleasant. [i]Fuck the government.[/i]

With another groan Dave heaved himself to his feet, reaching out a hand for balance as one of his knees popped and briefly threatened to buckle. He moved slowly, loosening up the kinks from sleeping on a couch not quite big enough for him, then shifted his rifle off to his side, keeping it in place with his left arm. 

“Hey,” he called, waving a hand. “Can uh… Can I have one of them donuts? An’ some coffee?” 

“What’s your flavor, stranger? We got, uh,” Donnelley looked at all the variety, just a big box of French roast, “French roast… and just French roast.”

Donnelley had his and Pari’s coffee mugs hooked in the fingers of one hand while the other held the boxes of donuts. He placed Pari’s coffee down next to the donuts and flipped open the lid on the pastries. He picked himself out a maple bar and nodded at Pari, “I am the bleeder. Sharp eye, blood’s had to dry on the gravel. Then again, for all I know I was leaking like a faucet.”

“Like a stuck pig,” Dave said, his voice muffled by the chocolate donut he’d unceremoniously shoved into his mouth. He grabbed a second donut for good luck and then advanced on the coffee. It smelled like heaven; his body was screaming for caffeine, and he held his cup beneath his nose and took a long pull, savoring it. 

“So. It’s lookin’ like I ain’t gonna have to shoot anybody,” he said after he’d taken a sip and ridden out the near-orgasmic bliss that it brought. “Any chance I can get a shower and some clothes before we play the Name Game? Cuz all I’ve met so far is Ava an’ Dr. Laine over there.” He jerked his head at the aforementioned Dr. Laine. “And I know I’m kinda harpin’ on this, but...I really do need to talk to Bob.” 

Donnelley sipped his coffee and turned to Dave with a nice enough demeanor, ripping a chunk of maple bar and speaking around it, “How’s this for a recipe. I talk to Foster, Foster calls up whoever the fuck Bob is, and then you tell us just [i]what the fuck[/i] you and your buddies were doing in [i]my goddamn AO.[/i]”

Donnelley smiled, tight lipped and hammed up, “‘Til Foster wakes the fuck up, I guess I’m your next best choice.” Donnelley touched his thumb to his chest, “I’m Joseph Donnelley, I’m the Team Lead. My favorite color’s black, and I like calling in hellfire missiles on terrorists. And you are?”

Dave nodded his way through Donnelley’s speech, his smile growing colder and his eyes growing harder. His last team had pulled the same tough-guy bullshit; maybe it was a Fed thing. He waited until Donnelley had finished and then nodded. 

“More of this,” he said. “Alright then, hoss. I’m Dave MacCready. I blow shit up. My daddy’s a terrorist, but if you wanna kill him, you gotta get in line, cuz I’ve got first dibs. My favorite thing is not havin’ dicks waved in my face like I’m some sorta challenger every time I walk in a goddamn room.” 

He walked a few paces away, putting some distance between himself and Donnelley. He wanted to butt-stroke the man, but it was counter-productive. “Look, I heard you say Workin’ Group UMBRA? I’m what’s left of Workin’ Group BLACKBEARD. I’m a civilian, a [i]useful asset[/i], Bob said. So what am I doin’ in [i]your[/i] AO? Fuck, I don’t know, man. I go where they tell me and I do what I’m told. What I do know is that my whole goddamn team got killed last night by somethin’ a Ma-Deuce and a handful of frags wouldn’t drop, so how about you put your dick away an’ help me figure out where I’m supposed to be, instead of actin’ like I’m tryin’ to take your job?” 

Donnelley offered another tight lipped smile, raising his cup of coffee to Dave, “Thank you.” He sipped at his cup and nodded, “And now, since I’m a man of my word and not a fucking asshole, sometimes, I can go talk to [i]my[/i] boss, who will talk to [i]your[/i] boss about things.”

Donnelley cleared his throat, “Still leaves the question why you were here. Ain’t a fuckin’ person who been fully vetted and tested that’s only theirs to do or die for this bullshit. Bob told you to do something here, what was it?”

Laine had her back to the growing crowd, the music blasting at dangerous levels in her ears until it changed and she heard the voices. Turning and genuinely surprised at the sight of another person, a dark haired woman nicely dressed and Dave and finally introducing themselves to each other. She popped the earbuds out, tempted to interrupt but held her tongue, instead she went back to draining the bacon grease and wiping the cast iron pan.

“There was a cult out in Arkansas, in the Ozarks,” Dave said. “Killin’ folks on those Black Slabs, skinnin’ bodies...Bad shit. Anyway, we heard there was the same sorta shit goin’ on out here, so Bob sent us to see what was up.” He shrugged, eyed the donuts, and then took a third. [i]Fuck this guy.[/i] “So he stuck us up in that cabin, had us huntin’ around for hillbillies with stone daggers and shit.” 

Pari had done nothing but listen to the rapid fire of the conversation, and it occurred to her she would require an extra shot or two in her coffee just to keep up with them. Her eyes flitted between the bruised Dave and the rough looking Donnelley as she put the pieces together internally.

"Holy cabooses!" She remarked finally, holding her hands out in front of her. "Things move fast here! I'd like to talk to Foster too - when that's alright, Donnelley" Pari said politely, her eyes finishing on Dave, more specifically on his face - that was an injury and a half.

Laine turned silently and moved with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, setting it on the table, pushing the half empty box of donuts out of the way. “Maybe we can all talk after eating something other than pure sugar. Foster needs his beauty rest after all.” 

She glanced at Dave, giving him a once over, “There should be some clean towels in the same place you got the bedding.” 

In her mind she turned of the information he had spat at Donnelley and the name MacCready tugged at the recesses of her memory she just was not sure why. Laine nodded at Pari and pushed herself up on the counter, picking up the smoothie she had made. Beside her was a stack of plates for the team. She sipped her blackberry banana smoothie and watched the show.

Donnelley glanced at Laine, looking back at Dave. “No shit? A cult over in Arkansas?” Donnelley gestured with his cup over to Laine, “There’s a Working Group in Washington probin’ around for that shit. So, Bob has a hunch about West Virginia.”

He patted his leg gently, “Can’t really blame him now. Was there a big fuckin’ monster in Arkansas too, or are we special?”

He turned to Pari, looking her over, “Anything you can say to Foster, think you can say to me too. We all know how keeping secrets don’t make friends.” He nodded his head at Dave, “We almost dusted each other over one last night. Good thing we’re patchin’ up that bridge now, ain’t we?”

A playful smirk rose across her lips at Donnelley's request, and her fingers knitted together as she waited for him to finish speaking, before adding; "well then, I just wanted to say thank you Foster for allowing me to consult on this case, it's so nice to finally meet you in person, properly. I'll look forward to spending more time with you." Pari rounded off with several quick blinks, and with a sip from the coffee. [i]This is going well,[/i] she thought to herself, smiling at Donnelley as she let the flavour savour in her mouth before swallowing it down. 

“You know,” Donnelley sipped at his coffee and shook his head at Pari before offering an appreciative grin at her sarcasm, he would riposte, “Bein’ a sarcastic prick is only fun when I’m the only one doin’ it. So, you’re consultin’? On?”

Laine piped up from her gallery seat, “Oh, probably the murder. You know, remember that?” 

“Jesus fuck.” Donnelley held his hands up, not looking at either woman and knowing he would not have a shield at his back with Dave, “Maybe I’ll just keep my fuckin’ mouth shut and eat my donut and drink my coffee outside.”

He pointed at the women’s bunk room, “I got some girl come in last night we almost shot,” He pointed at Pari, “Some woman comes in saying she’s a consultant, and this guy over here is saying another Case Officer is playin’ in my damn yard without me even knowin’ ‘til I get stabbed in my fuckin’ leg.”

Donnelley produced his trusty pack of escape plans and shoved one of them between his lips, “On top of that, I got two KIA up in them goddamn fuckin’ dogshit mountains and some equipment I gotta put a call in to recover somehow.” He lit up the cigarette without asking if anybody would mind. He didn’t give a shit, “Excuse me for my prickishness, I forgot to not be stressed.”

Laine held her hands up, her eyes flickered with sympathy and chagrin but she said nothing. Bouncing off the counter, she looked at Donnelley for a long moment then nodded slightly, stepping around him to head back to the women’s bunk room. 

"That was brilliantly done," Pari added after a pregnant pause, not meaning to stick a knife in further, only to reign in the heat. She took another sip, eyebrows raised as she looked at nothing in particular and away from both of the men she was left with. 

Dave eyed Pari, then Donnelley, then the retreating Laine for a moment. Without a word he walked to the breakfast she’d cooked, filled a plate, and began eating. He ate in silence for a few moments. 

“So uh...This is fun. Good team dynamic. Y’all want some breakfast?” 

“I could eat.” Donnelley shrugged, placing his cigarette on the table and going about making himself a plate. He sat down next to Dave, forking some eggs into his mouth and sighing. “So, MacCready, of the Arkansas MacCreadys. Those fuckin’ preppers up in the Ozarks.”

“Guess if that’s what you wanna call ‘em.” Dave gave Donnelley a sideways glance. “Ain’t had anything to do with ‘em in almost 20 years though so...You know. Just sayin’.” 

“Ain’t gonna summarily execute you, hoss.” Donnelley snorted, “Sensitive subject?”

“Guess if that’s what you wanna call it.” Dave drained his coffee mug and then sighed. “Look man, they ain’t good people. I try to be. So I don’t consider myself part of them anymore. I just...You know. I happen to remember how to do some shit that’s apparently useful.” 

He frowned. “In more circumstances than I thought, honestly.” 

Pari simply let the gentlemen talk, taking the opportunity to place her bag upon the counter. There was something to the rant that Donnelley had engaged in, sarcasm and humour aside. Two agents killed in action? That there was another girl here besides the one who had excused herself after being sprayed with the verbal tirade. She thought to follow after her, but having not been formally introduced might make that something of an even more awkward affair. 

MacCready was apparently as green to the team as she was, and completely unexpected, and that made Pari feel slightly more at ease. She remained silent for the time being, standing still in her spot, coffee in both hands, held at chest level. 

Donnelley set his fork down and looked at Dave, “You know, you’ve got some valuable intelligence up in there I’d like to know.” He rapped his temple with a finger, “It’d help save a lot of time. We already know these guys don’t like Feds in their county, but that doesn’t change the fact that somebody got killed in the hills and they ain’t keen on sharin’ their case files with us.”

“These folk got somethin’ to hide. We been operating under the assumption that it’s one guy out here doin’ this shit. But you dealt with a whole cult up in Arkansas, yeah?” Donnelley’s brow perked up, waiting for an answer.

"There was a few of 'em, yeah." Dave flashed back to an overpowered breaching charge and a messy tangle on the other side of the wall that might've been two men a few moments before. He looked a little green for a moment, then it passed. 

"Wasn't a Jim Jones Sunday Revival or anything…" he trailed off, then gave Donnelley a look of confusion. "Hey, how come y'all don't know this? Shouldn't y'all be talking, if there are teams chasin' the same thing?

Donnelley snorted, “You would think,” after all his years in the military, and then as an intelligence officer, he’d learned that the hydra of government often tangled its own necks and rendered itself inert and convoluted at times, “Case Officers are like mountain lions, man. Wolf packs, we carve out some territory and get pissy when another pushes in. Damn shame.”

“Damn irritatin’, more like,” Dave grumbled. “Really I’ll have to get in contact with Bob to get y’all much more than a man-on-the-ground’s perspective. He didn’t tell me much. I’m the explosive mushroom, ya know? Kept in the dark, fed bullshit, all that jazz. But I know we were lookin’ into how the shit out here tied into what was fuckin’ up my Ozarks.” 

“Okay, okay.” Donnelley nodded, “After the morning briefing, you and me and…” He looked at Pari, “Our consultant over there, we can all have a sit down with Foster. Get everything straight. Sound good?”

“Cults,” Pari sighed and placed her mug on the counter top, letting a finger rest gently on the handle, the other on the rim. “There’s not a great deal I can’t tell you about cults,” she added, tearing her eyes from the ceramic and onto Donnelley, and then to Dave. She thought to add more, but the mood was sitting weird enough as it was. “A sit down would be good.” She finished with a smile, letting go of the mug, the handle sitting perfectly parallel to the edge of the counter.

"A sit-down would at least tell me what the hell I'm supposed to be doin'," Dave grumbled. "Any way we can just nuke West Virginia and go home? Ain't like we can't buy moonshine at the liquor store these days."