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

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

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

“How’d you know that?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Muru only nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>...///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>...///

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

“[i]Shit.[/i]” Donnelley whispered under his breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a father that wasn’t there, again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm gonna need that first." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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