>SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF DC >1000 >23NOV2019, 4 DAYS AFTER RIVER VALLEYS RETREAT RAID… Donnelley woke up strangling a cheap motel pillow when the fight in his dreams was taken to the motel floor, the hard impact his body made with the rough carpet of the motel room was enough to wake him. He looked around with bloodshot eyes to find that morning was upon him, and the room was empty. No huge firefight, no enemy in sight, just him. And an audience of empty bottles of whiskey and beer staring down at him from the tables and counters of the small room. The clutter disgusted him, another reminder of just how far backwards this case had dragged him, kicking and screaming, leaving nail marks in the floorboards. It had been two days since he’d contacted anyone from his team. He’d gotten to this motel after being debriefed at Langley, and his phone had been off by the time he’d crossed the room’s threshold. He sat on the floor for an eternity, just clutching onto the pillow less like an enemy now, and more like a dear friend in the face of some impending doom he felt inside his chest. As it subsided with the minutes ticking by, he got to his feet and discovered he was naked, and his skin sticky with sweat despite the coolness of the room. He went for his phone and looked at that black little mirror for what felt like an hour. He didn’t know if he was ready to turn it back on and let the world slip back through that little porthole he’d open when it came back on. There was no telling what he’d find, and he didn’t know what would be worse- having a million missed calls, or none. Always easier to say you wanted to disappear until people obliged you. He swallowed dry, but dared not reach for any one of the bottles around him so easily within arm’s length. He pressed the button to power on the phone and watched it come to life. Sure enough, there were no calls, no messages for the first few minutes. And then one popped up on the screen. Voicemails. Laine’s. Asking him where he was. Angry at first. Then worried. Then angry again. The last voicemail had been left last night, and he carefully went to his contacts, and returned her call. He put it on speaker, placed it on the nightstand, and scooted away from it as if she’d reach through the phone and slap him across the face. Laine stood outside Georgetown University hospital, her arm in a fresh cast from the elbow to her wrist. It itched and she wanted to smoke but it was not allowed on the hospital grounds. The air was cool and threatened to start drizzling again, maybe sleet, the weather man had said on that endless loop news channel that had been blaring in the waiting room. As if the people needed the anxiety inducing garbage from CNN and Fox. Laine put her good hand in her pocket and looked at her phone. No missed calls, no voicemail. Not even a goddamn text. She felt the sweep of annoyance rush over her, a resentment tempered only by her concern for him. "Dr. Laine." A voice called her name, a tired sound that matched the dour features of Dr. Agrawal. He had a folder tucked under one arm that he promptly removed and handed to her. "This is highly unorthodox," he complained, keeping a grip on the folder even as he gave it to her. "I promise, it won't come back to you. I have federal authority," Laine said, pulling the folder from the psychiatrist. "How is he?" "The patient, Mr. Patrick had to be sedated again. He's displaying violent tendencies, extreme paranoia, and hallucinations. I believe him not to be aggressive but defensive, he reacts to even minor stimuli. Even so, he is a danger to himself and others." "What do you have him on?" "The typical cocktail of lorazepam and haloperidol, an unusually high dosage for a man his size but he seems to have some resistance. I'll see how he does and adjust the medication. I prefer my patient conscious but his delusions are... disturbing," Dr. Agrawal said, stuffing his hands into his lab coat pockets. "I'm sure," Laine said, then added, "We believe he was exposed to some hallucinogens without being aware on a DEA raid." "So the admission papers said," he replied, "I wonder though, clearly he's had severe trauma as well." "Combat," Laine said, "He was in combat on a few occasions." "Yes, that would do it. Though his reaction is quite extreme. Perhaps his recreational drug use exasperated it. He was positive for cocaine and amphetamines in his lab work. No signs of hallucinogens, either," he said, his dark eyes narrowing. "LSD can be tricky," Laine said as she glanced through the top sheet of the folder. "That it can," he replied dryly. "Is there anything else I can do for you, I really must get back." She looked at the older doctor, hating to have to lie about a patient but it was becoming second nature the longer she was in the Program. "I'll need any recordings of interviews, sessions, or anything he writes or draws if he should do so." "Funny, I thought his doctor would keep those," Dr. Agrawal said, "Or am I just the one with the prescription pad." Laine closed the folder, slipping it into her coat. "I appreciate your cooperation and understanding, Dr. Agrawal. You have my number." Once he had gone back through the sliding doors, Laine began her walk back to the parking lot. She looked at her phone again, then shook her head in disgust before picking up the pace as the first icy drops of rain started to fall. She waited as the heater kicked in, her California blood still unused to the cold. As she idled the car, she tapped her phone and looked at the recent calls. Then tapped it once again. The phone was ringing now and Laine waited, each ring making her temper tick upwards. "Donnelly you better answer, I swear," she muttered as her black painted fingernails drummed on the steering wheel. The other side picked up with a hollowed out, “Hey,” Donnelley even sounded beat down on the phone, “It’s been some time… I, um, I… Are you okay?” Laine almost hung up when she heard his voice. It sounded broken and it hurt to hear it but the anger and worry she has been carrying spilled out. "I'm just peachy," she snapped, "Thanks for asking." She sighed through her nose and clenched her jaw. "Having trouble with your service? Maybe you should switch carriers. Or maybe you've just been too busy to return my calls or maybe at least shoot me a text to let me know you’re still fucking alive." Laine slapped her phone down against the console but it did not end the call. She grimaced, whatever convenience smart phones brought it was not very satisfying to hang up on someone. She tapped the screen but rather than hang up she put Donnelly on speaker. Laine leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, the minute vibration of the idling engine was felt through her skull. She had been fighting a headache but it seemed ready to blossom as her temper spiked. “You’re right.” Donnelley said, “I know. I’m sorry.” There was a silence, and Donnelley wanted to fill it with anything but endless sorry and lame conceding. He felt low, a shadow of the bold, daring, swaggering man that Laine and the others had put their trust in. What would Holly think of him now? She’d probably tell him he never changed from when she left him and took Tilly away. Maybe he was even worse than that. At least back then he had a fire in him, some kind of anger. Donnelley shook his head, that was no better to have, “Foster got away. All of this, and Foster got away.” He said, “Now my best fuckin’ friend is in a goddamn loony bin and…” “And I’m here.” He swallowed, “I want to see you.” Laine closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gain control again. The mention of Queen brought her back and she glanced at the folder. Not every casualty of the Program was six feet under. “Alright,” she murmured, then spoke up, “Alright. I’m here in DC, where are you?” “I’m close.” He said, his voice seeming to perk up just a tad at that, “We can meet somewhere. Name the place, I’ll be there.” >SOMEWHERE IN DC >12000…/// Donnelley pulled up alongside the small parking area in the alleyway. Laine had chosen a small, secluded coffee shop that was far from prying eyes, and crowded enough for them to be lost in the details of the crowd. DC was the Moscow of the West when it came to espionage, but there were still small bastions where one could hide away. He was dressed less loud than he usually was, a black tee and hoodie over jeans, black Vans. A hat worn forward and a pair of non-descript sunglasses covered his face. The Bratva and the rest of their enemies may have been crippled, but they weren’t far gone. He got out of his rental car, another piece of nondescript equipment, a black Toyota Corolla. Scanning the parking lot, he saw no one else, not that it was a huge space. He made his way into the coffee shop, looking at the faces until he spotted Laine’s. He strained to keep himself from smiling in that reflexive way people do when they see those they like. He stayed in line long enough to order a black coffee and then made his way over to her. “Hey.” He couldn’t find much else to say. Laine looked up from her pain au chocolat when Donnelley approached. She still wore her black peacoat but it hung loose, the maroon sweater underneath. She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his face as he sat down. “Hey,” she replied, then sipped her coffee. “Nice weather we’re having.” She glanced around, then pulled a piece of flaky bread apart. “It’s nice to see you. Finally.” Her casted arm rested at the table top as she ate with one hand. The pleasantries fell away into silence as she looked over at him. Laine stayed quiet, waiting for Donnelley to say what he would say rather than jump on him with questions. No matter how much she wanted to berate him. “Yeah.” He let that hang on the air, knowing that look Laine had in her eye, that annoyed edge in her voice. He took the seat across from her and drummed his fingers on the table. For a few moments, he didn’t dare look her in the eye, but he knew he had to at some point. He looked up to see her still staring into him, maybe wondering what piss poor excuse he had now, “I started drinkin’ again. Dave, Ava, and me didn’t have too good of a partin’. Ain’t exactly been the best time. Still doesn’t make me disappearin’ right. I know other people were … worse off than me.” He was there when Queen lost it. Had to be taken to the ground and disarmed before he did something stupid. He should’ve been there for his best friend, said something. At least something more than the lame out he gave them all in Alaska before they officially rejoined the living. “I need to go see my daughter, but I couldn’t do that before seein’ you. Makin’ sure you’re okay before I up and fuck off for a while.” Laine nodded slightly, “We buried our dead and said goodbye to Dave and Ava but with Qu - with Billy, it’s something else. Neither here nor there. I saw him and spoke with his doctor. I’ll have access as much as I can, as a fellow doctor. I can’t say Dr. Agrawal is happy about it but if he acts up, we’ll just send someone to scare him.” She turned her head, brushing her dark hair back, “That’s what we do isn’t it?” Laine sighed, “I’ll watch out for Billy, you know that. Right now they have him sedated but that won’t last forever, hopefully.” Laine had kept herself busy on the return from Alaska, rolling along with catching up at Quantico and making sure Queen had been admitted and anything he said written off as delusional blather. The cover story should hold, until she could get him to a more private facility away from DC and the dangers that lurked. But the memories still were there, the whispering in the dark that kept her awake at night. Laine would have to deal with them, she understood that, but not while her team still needed her. She resisted the urge to rub the cast against the table, an itch starting up under the plaster. After a pause she tried to meet his gaze, “Are you done drinking? Or do I have to keep tabs on you, too.” Her voice was cool but she let her hands slide past her coffee cup and reached for him, the pale fingers of her good hand extended. “I sure fuckin’ hope so, Laine.” He said, and noticed the waiting hand on the table. The first sign of good graces he’d had in what felt like weeks. Especially from her. He still remembered how they left things in Texas. But he took the hand, sliding his fingers between hers, “How the fuck am I gonna explain any of this to my daughter?” Laine brushed her thumb against his calloused finger then shook her head slightly, “You won’t.” She looked down at their hands and back at him, “Her innocence is a gift. She doesn’t need to know why those men wrecked the car. Plenty of random violent people in this world, god knows. As for how do you explain where you go and what you do...you make it something she can believe in.” Laine added, “I don’t exactly give details to my niece and nephew about what I do. They just know I try to stop bad people from doing bad things.” Donnelley huffed out a small chuckle as he gently squeezed Laine’s hand, “If I know my daughter, she’d slap me if I gave her somethin’ like that.” The smile faded just a bit, “She’ll need somethin’ more. I’ve already put so much drama into her life, and she’s grown. She needs somethin’ more.” “I’m tellin’ you, you’d like her.” He smiled. Laine conceded the point and thought for a moment. “You don’t want to crush her under this weight, and how much can you even tell her? You can’t even tell her about your day job let alone this.” She could see the pride in his eyes, the love that was there for his only child. Laine smiled a little, “I am sure I would, she sounds like an amazing girl. Maybe one day...hell.” Looking aside, Laine bit her lip slightly and sighed, “You know I’d love her as your daughter. And I want to protect her. I am not sure what you should tell her, but you know her best. What she can handle.” Donnelley nodded, looking down at their fingers intertwined, “Yeah, you’re right. Just a… fine line to tread.” He looked back up to Laine, “That’s for later, though. For now, it’s us. What do you want, before I have to go? See a movie, walk in the park… find someplace to act like teenagers like when we first had some time?” “We could shoplift at Target, or go get some spray paint and tag some buildings.” He chuckled. Laine flexed her fingers in her casted hand, the itch was starting to bother her. At his suggestions, she smiled, rolling her eyes up, “Oh to be normal for five minutes. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She looked at him, the fatigue and worry fading into the background when she saw Donnelley smile. “Do you think it would be alright to go back to my apartment?” Laine glanced around, almost certain some Russian might be lurking. “Do we dare it?” “My parents aren’t home,” she added, trying to lighten the mood back up. “Really? Do you wanna take our party over there then?” He asked, his smile growing a little wider. Laine glanced around the cafe once more. “I think I’d like nothing more than to just be in my own place with you and we can Netflix and chill. Something just boring and normal.” She paused then a little grin flicked across her lips, “Not that it’ll stay boring or normal.” Donnelley’s smile widened as he took her hand and stood. >GREER RESIDENCE >BLACK DIAMOND, WA >1730 >26NOV2019 Donnelley’s bike came to a stop on the driveway of Holly’s house. When he’d called Tilly at SeaTac Airport, he learned he was discharged days ago, and had been basically living at one of her friends’ houses. Holly and her husband were still at Virginia Mason, and he would make time to visit them after he made sure his daughter was alright. Holly was the first to wake from her coma, and she would have to undergo physical therapy. Mark was in much the same condition, but he’d been managing to walk. They had lost the pregnancy, something Tilly spoke to Donnelley in hushed tones about. He could tell it hurt her. He sat up from his bike after cutting the engine and scanned the surroundings of the house’s yard and the trees beyond. He’d told Tilly to go home and meet him when he came to the door, as he’d agreed to watch her for the time being while Holly and Mark were hospitalized. He hung his helmet off one of the ape hangers on his bike and made his way to the front door, rapping his knuckles on the wood, “It’s me, Tilly. It’s D-“ he stopped himself from saying dad, not knowing if he’d earned the right, “It’s… Joey.” From inside the house the sound of unlocking could be heard and the door swung open. Tilly was there, dressed in jeans and her long blonde hair tied up in a haphazard bun. Her bottom lip quivered when she looked up at him but she held firm. “Hey, Joe Dad.” She opened the door further to let him in, the house smelled like lemon polish and pine cleaner. Tilly gestured down the hallway towards the kitchen and dining room. “Mom’s always complaining I don’t help around the house enough. I thought I’d...you know.” Tilly swallowed hard and blinked, wiping the loose sleeve of the flannel she wore over her t-shirt across her eyes. It was one of Mark’s shirts, her step dad had a collection that would make any Seattleite proud. “I thought I’d clean up, for when they come home.” The girl turned quickly and walked inside, leaving Donnelley to close the door himself and follow. He could already tell how his daughter was keeping her mind barely occupied. When there were things that weighed heavily on him, he threw himself into his work. And if there was no work, there was always drinking. He thanked whoever that Tilly hadn’t followed him in that habit, at least. To her credit, the house did seem spotless. “It looks nice in here, good job.” He said, trying to tiptoe around the elephant in the room of why he was here at all. “You wanna take a break and get some food? My treat, you deserve it for this.” He mustered up a smile, “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Or we could order in, just chill here.” Tilly shrugged, “I dunno, I got tired of fast food and especially hospital food. You’d gag over what passes for a barbeque burger there.” She sat against the arm of the recliner, the one her Mom had claimed from Mark to put her swollen feet up. Tilly ran her hand over the leather and the crocheted throw blanket. “Mrs. Martin makes some pretty good lasagna though. But it’s kinda weird living at another house, even if it is my best friend.” She looked over at Donnelley, examining his scarred face and his blue eyes the same color as her own. “I dunno. Things are so weird right now. The Martins want me to stay with them for Thanksgiving. But other people’s holidays are weird, like they have roast instead of turkey. Who does that?” She was chattering, she knew it. Tilly swung her feet, her sneakers scuffing the carpet. “There’s a food truck that sets up by the skate park, they have junk you know. Hot dogs, ice cream, chili pie. Can your old digestion handle that?” Tilly giggled, muffling it with her sleeve covered hand. “Dad has a big bottle of Tums in the bathroom if you can’t.” Her thoughts naturally went to her stepdad, how he was struggling to keep it together for her and her mom but even she could see it was an uphill battle. Tilly sighed and raised her shoulders in the most nonchalant teenage gesture she could manage. “Anyway, wanna go?” “Uh, yeah, the skate park? You got an extra board?” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder, ignoring his daughter’s anxiety and trying to do the fatherly thing of putting her at ease and letting her work through it. Act like life was normal for a time, “I brought the bike. I promised you a ride, remember?” “Just the one, sorry,” she said, “But I’ll let you take a turn if you promise not to break...a leg.” She cleared her throat and slid off the arm of the chair, “I’ll be back.” Tilly ran up the stairs and pushed her bedroom door open. It was just as she had left it, her art on the walls, her computer gathering dust. Then she saw it, the little blue fuzzy duck she had bought for her brother. Her late brother, she corrected herself as she picked it up. Her hands trembled and she gripped it as she sunk down on her bed. She started to cry, pressing her face to it. Her mom had wanted to do the nursery in little ducks with rain boots, Tilly was going to paint the design on the crib. Tears wet the synthetic fur and she sat up, balling the stuffed toy against her stomach as she shook with sobs. Donnelley watched her with a raised brow as she abruptly darted up the stairs. It became readily apparent when he heard the door shut, but could still hear the sound of crying faintly from downstairs. It was the same kind of crying he was doing when he learned about what happened those days ago. The talk with Laine came to mind, there was no way he could avoid talking about what had happened. In a world where trauma, violence, death, and hardship was almost an everyday thing, he’d forgotten that it wasn’t just the natural way of things for most people. His daughter and her family included. He swallowed hard and wrung his hands, looking down at them. He gingerly took the stairs up to her bedroom and his hand hovered over the door, unsure of whether he should bother knocking. It was odd, he’d almost had no problem dealing with the emotions of his teammates. He’d take every argument, every sob in stride and bounce back after like nothing happened before moving on to the next objective. But this wasn’t a mission, there were no clear cut parameters, or rules of engagement. This was his daughter, crying for help, crying for someone or something to make things simple for her again and knowing that it never would be. Not after this. And he found himself lost. He’d froze, like some FNG at the sound of a gunfight. But he knocked anyway, “Tilly…” He said, quietly, “Can- can I come in?” Tilly sniffed hard and wiped at her eyes but held onto the blue duck plushie. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat, “Yeah, come in.” She kept her gaze on the floor, her slim fingers twining around the stuffed animal. “Sorry, I...” Tilly held up the duck, “I just saw this and...” Her throat tightened and fresh tears threatened, “It’s so fucked up. Everything is so fucked up.” Donnelley stood in the doorway while she fumbled with her words before coming straight out with it. He regarded her with a pained frown, looking her up and down, hunched about the small stuffed animal like she was trying to offer a smaller target to the world. He sighed, eyes going to the floor before he stepped carefully to sit next to her on the bed. He didn’t know what to say, if there was anything he could say to make things seem right. She said it herself. There was no other way to look at it. He just shook his head, “I know it is.” He whispered, “I know.” “I’m so sorry for all of this shit happenin’, Tilly.” He shook his head again, “I’m sorry I couldn’t even be here sooner. I just… I had…” After everything he said to Laine, he found himself at an impasse. He lied about what he did last time he was here, and there was no way he could be truly honest with what he was doing before he came to her house. “Tilly, I don’t know how I can say this, but the reason I couldn’t be here sooner is I was makin’ sure that this shit could never fuckin’ happen again to you.” He looked at her, “I made sure. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry about everythin’. I’m sorry there’s nothin’ else I can do except be here.” “But I’m here.” He looked away from her and down at his hands, nervously fidgeting with his fingers, “I’m right here. So if… if there’s anythin’ you want to say to me, that you’re angry, that this is my fault. Let it out.” Tilly listened in silence, then turned her head slightly to look at Donnelley from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, “Yeah, I’m mad. I’m so angry I don’t even know what to do sometimes. They knew you, they came after us because of you...what did you do?” She turned enough to look at him fully now, “Why did they want you to stop? Something so bad they nearly killed us. What the fuck did you do?” Tilly was swearing like she did around her friends, never around Holly and Mark. And she found she did not care if Donnelley approved or not. Donnelley frowned, closed his eyes in contemplation. Taking his moment to think on how to frame things for her, not because she wouldn’t understand, but because she shouldn’t. Not everything, anyways. “You know I was in the Army for a long time. I said I worked for the State Department, that I was involved in diplomatic security.” He took a breath, and then opened his eyes, looking at the floor. Or past it, “I do similar things. I travel a lot, to places that are dangerous. I work a dangerous job, in dangerous places, and I… [i]deal with[/i] dangerous people.” He glanced at her, before looking at his hands, “I make sure they can’t do anythin’ dangerous to America. To you. To anyone. They don’t like that.” He said, “It’s how I got this scar. I’m not gonna spell it out for you, but I have to be honest somehow.” “You deserve it.” He said quietly, and looked at her, “Nothin’ else could keep me away like it does. It was always hard on your mom, and I’m sorry that it’s hard on you now.” “What, were they terrorists or something?” she asked, “How do you know they won’t come back? Once you’re off on whatever...mission. Or maybe a year or two from now. When I go to college? You can’t protect us.” Tilly flung her arm out to gesture around the room, wincing slightly at the pain in her ribs. “Mom and Dad can’t even walk by themselves right now.” “You think you can protect us, but you’re the reason we got hurt,” Tilly said, then shook her head. Donnelley frowned and his hands gripped his knees as he sighed. Tilly was right, and he knew it. It was his fault, they did no offense to anyone except be his family. Be the ones he cared about. That was the only reason they got hurt, knowing him made them targets. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have walked back into Tilly’s life. But he did, and there was no going back now. He had to face it all, “I know. I know I’m the fuckin’ reason. But,” he searched for something to say and came up short, it was like his entire life was nothing more than something to apologize for, “But, I’m sorry. There wasn’t a way I could’ve known this would happen to you. Or maybe I should have.” “I’m the one who came back after all these years, I’m the one who thought everything would be fine after just a visit, and a conversation.” Donnelley shook his head, “But, but, Tilly please. Believe me when I say those people aren’t goin’ to come for you. I [i]will make sure[/i] that they can’t.” “I’m your blood, Tilly. You’re [i]my[/i] blood. I’m still your family, and you’re still my daughter. Sure as your eyes are blue, and you got a mouth on you.” He said, “Long as that’s all true, I promise to you, Tilly. They [i]ain’t[/i] gonna come back.” He looked at her finally, “I swear that to you, whether or not you ever want me here once Holly and Mark can come back to the house.” Tilly sniffled and sat up, looking at Donnelley. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” She stood and moved away from him, her hands on her hips in an unconscious imitation of her mother’s irritated stance. It was easy to focus her anger and fear on Donnelley, rather than the unknown out in the world that meant her harm. Tilly turned, her red rimmed eyes no longer shining with tears. “Tell me who those people are, Joe-Dad,” she said, “Because you ain’t gonna be around. At least I can watch out because Mom and Dad are fucking crippled up right now.” “Russians.” Donnelley told her, “I was workin’ a case against Russians and Neo-Nazis. Guns, drugs. A few days ago, we went and shot the hell out of them.” Donnelley admitted it, found it just came pouring out his mouth. Like he saw Tilly’s posture and like Pavlov’s dogs, he had a reason to rattle off everything. He composed himself and looked away from her, “That’s what I been doin’ this year.” He said, “What else you wanna know, ‘cause your dad ain’t no liar and he don’t make promises he can’t keep.” “Russians? Like Russian mob? And Neo-Nazis? Jesus Christ, do you want to add Muslim extremists and killer clowns in there, too?” Tilly said, then she gave him a narrow look. “I thought you worked outside the US, but you’re not anymore? Joe-Dad...why can’t you just say who you are, what you do? Like FBI or CIA? One of those or like...what is it, ATF?” He mumbled something quiet, and when he looked at Tilly with no reaction from her, he knew he didn’t say it loud enough. Or wanted to. He was toeing a dangerous line here, but Tilly was old enough. And last time he checked, direct family would be able to be told the truth about employment at the Company. “CIA.” He blurted out, and intertwined his fingers, “I work for the CIA.” Tilly’s mouth hung open when she heard it, no matter how much she suspected he might work for the CIA hearing him admit it was something else. “No. Shit,” she said slowly, looking him over. “My dad is James Bond.” “I mean, he’s British, but sure.” Donnelley shrugged. “Just… don’t tell your mom. I don’t know how she’ll view me after. She already worries about me rubbin’ off on you too much as it is. I don’t need her havin’ more reasons for me to keep my distance.” Tilly still looked at him with a mixture of awe and suspicion, “Seriously. CIA? That’s crazy.” She rolled her eyes, “You think I’d tell Mom? I didn’t even show her the note.” A renewal of anguish rose in her. Tilly said, “Mom has enough on her mind.” After a moment, she looked up, “Hey, you’re CIA so like can you get us government protection? At least until Dad is better. Or is that just a movie thing.” The tenuous hope in her voice was tinged in doubt, Tilly was grasping at straws, desperate for any sort of safety. Donnelley knew the look on her face as he regarded her with a sense of fatherly duty. It pained him to see her like this, knowing that she knew that even if he was here for now, she’d be alone again when the Program called. He knew whatever sense of safety was just a veneer over that fact. He nodded, “Yeah, I can do that. People owe me favors.” He gave her a smile, now that the conversation had lightened somewhat, “As long as I’m here, you can ask about whatever you want. I’ll tell you, if I can.” He said, “I still owe you that ride on my bike.” “For real?” Tilly raised her pale brows, “Ok, how many countries have you been to? We’ll start simple.” She set the little duck plushie down, giving it a place against her pillow. Tilly picked up her helmet her mom had bought her for skating but the pain that stitched threw her side reminded her she was supposed to limit her activity. “I’m down for a ride but I probably shouldn’t skate right now, my ribs.” With a shrug, she tucked the helmet under her arm away from the injured side. “Eight.” Donnelley answered while he watched Tilly get ready for the ride, “Eight countries. Only a few of them were anywhere you’d vacation.” “Turkey’s probably my favorite. Street food is delicious, you’d never go hungry. I’d kill for baklava.” He chuckled, getting up from the bed, “I brought an extra helmet for you. Don’t worry about that one.” Tilly tossed the helmet on her bed, she never liked it. It was pink and no matter how many stickers she plastered on it, the bubble gum color poked through. “Maybe one day I’ll go to Turkey,” she said, following him out of the room. “Maybe backpacking across Europe, my friend Lacey wants to do that before going to college. There’s these international study programs in Italy, studying the marine biology of the Mediterranean.” At the bottom of the stairs, she looked up at him, “I guess you weren’t on vacation though. Did you...you know, have to do things there?” “In Turkey?” Donnelley asked, following Tilly down the stairs, “No. Just in some… nearby places.” He looked around the empty house as he got back to the living room. The life that Holly and Mark had built for Tilly was more than anything he could’ve done. He was jealous and thankful all at once, knowing that if Holly had stuck with him, he probably wouldn’t have given Tilly anything like this. He sighed, maybe he would never get to come back here after doing the next dangerous thing in the next dangerous place, never get to see Tilly. That’s why he needed to make the most out of this right here, right now. Live in this moment, not think about the days to come when the phone call would be had and he’d have to leave again. Having something to lose again… he thought it would feel worse. He smiled to Tilly as he made ready to open the door, “Ready, kiddo?” “Sure,” Tilly replied and paused before they left the house. “Mom said you always carry a gun. Do you have one now?” “Yeah, you wanna shoot it?” He asked. The ease of the answer surprised her, the subject of guns was not one often brought up and Mark kept the one handgun locked in a box in his nightstand. “Yeah?” Tilly said, unsure. “I mean, maybe. I probably should learn since you know. Just in case.” As they left the house, Tilly asked, “So, how long do you think you’ll stay around?” Donnelley threw his leg over his bike and sat on the question. He dug his keys out of his leather jacket pocket and held them while he thought, before looking to Tilly, “I figured I’d keep you company until the folks get back.” He said, and shrugged, “How long you want me to?” Tilly awkwardly climbed on behind him, searching for the pegs to put her feet and reached to put her hands on his shoulders for balance, “I dunno, as long as you can I guess. Or unless you piss me off.” She smirked slightly, her expression familiar for a moment as she looked over his shoulder, “I should probably get that helmet.” “Saddlebag.” He was still smiling at the previous comment, “Grab mine too, it’s in the other one.” Once they’d donned their helmets, he’d given her the lowdown on being a good motorcycle passenger, how to lean with him and make sure she didn’t fly off at any moment. He never did get a real answer about where she wanted to eat, so Donnelley just took Tilly out on a ride and waited for her to point out something that looked good. There were more than a few hidden gems in the Seattle-Tacoma area that she wouldn’t have trouble finding something. After a meal from Dick’s Burgers they’d almost rode past before Tilly enthusiastically slapped Donnelley’s shoulder while pointing it out, they’d taken a ride to Ruston Way. He remembered riding with Holly down this same road, and the waterfront really hadn’t changed all that much. They’d gotten full again on ice cream they’d picked up from a convenience store, and now they sat on the beach. Donnelley laughed as he watched the rock he’d picked out make a record of four skips across the water before disappearing into the briny Puget Sound. He looked at Tilly, still busy resupplying herself with rocks that looked just right for skipping. The sun was starting to set, turning the sky orange, and the buildings on the pier into silhouettes. “Should probably get home soon.” He said, looking at his watch, “Wouldn’t want to keep you out too late. If your mom ever finds out, she’d probably be a little disappointed in me.” Tilly was crouched picking up the smooth stones beside a tide pool, she studied whatever might be in there. A few stray mussels and a small purple sea star crawling along the rocks. She enjoyed the smell of the sound, it smelled both of life and decay, salt and mud. When she heard Donnelley call her back, she stood up and put the stones in her pocket. “Mom, disappointed in you? Never,” Tilly said, “I found a sea star by the way, I’m pretty sure it’s an ochre even if it’s little. That’s pretty neat because most of them have died off.” She faced the water, tucking her hands in her jean pockets, “I did a project on it last year, it’s a disease that nearly wiped out all the sea stars in our area. Scientists think it’s because of the heat waves. It’s changing the temperature of the water, letting bacteria survive and flourish that might have been killed off with the cold.” Tilly blushed slightly and dropped her hands, “Anyway, yeah I guess we should go. Nothing even a big bad CIA guy can do against climate change.” He had a small smile as he looked out at the Sound while Tilly talked about her interests. A feeling of pride whenever she said something he couldn’t wrap his mind around without a careful study of a textbook, or perusing some peer reviewed paper. “Well, some people say we control the weather. Maybe I know a guy, we can get this whole thing figured out.” Donnelley chuckled, looking sidelong at Tilly. “If only it was that easy,” Tilly sighed but gave her father a smile. She picked up the helmet and put it on. “So when do I get to learn to drive this thing?” “Maybe we’ll get you your own. Somethin’ with a little less power so you don’t accidentally send yourself into a wall.” Donnelley said, trudging back through the sand towards the parking spot he’d found alongside the road, “I’m not sayin’ you can’t handle it, but it’s different from ridin’ a bike or drivin’ a car.” He sat back in his seat, taking his helmet off the ape hanger and placing it on his head, “I mean, if it’s alright with mom. You could keep it at my house if mom’s bein’ lame, long as you’re not a knucklehead with it.” Tilly hopped on behind Donnelley, securing her grip on his jacket. “Yeah? I don’t think I’ll be getting a car anytime soon so that’ll be cool. I got my learner’s permit this summer but not my license. Dad was supposed to be helping with that but I don’t know when he’s gonna be okay to drive,” She sighed, leaning against her father, “He says it’ll be fine, but don’t all dads say that?” Donnelley could feel Tilly’s weight shift onto his back a tad. He couldn’t blame her for being so anxious about the trajectory her life was taking. He would be too. He was, at one point, before all of these things began to be commonplace. If he had to choose, he didn’t know who had a better outlook on it between him and Tilly. No matter how much she had grown while he was gone, she was still just a young girl. He lay a hand over one of hers, “Mark’s goin’ to be fine. Holly’s goin’ to be fine.” He said, “I know everythin’ seems so different now, but we’ll get through this. We’ll get back to normal.” “Everythin’s gonna be okay.” Tilly couldn’t see it from where she sat, but he smirked, “See, now you got two dads sayin’ so. That help?” “I guess,” she said, “It’s just a lot.” She leaned into him, ready to take off. It felt better having Donnelley there, an adult who would know what to do. At least she hoped so. She was nearly grown but had always had her parents there to guide her along and now they were not. They were not the pillars of stubbornness and wisdom, they were broken people lost in grief and pain. It felt strange to see them that way, to see Mark struggling not to cry while relearning to walk or her mom without that fiery spark. Tilly felt the shift in responsibility, she had to take care of them now until they mend. “I know.” Donnelley said, knowing it wouldn’t help to say anything more. He kicked down on the kickstart and the machine under him roared to life before they sped away and back home…/// …/// They slowed to a stop in the driveway and Donnelley cut the engine, walking the bike to a spot that was out of the way in the driveway out of habit. As if anyone else would be leaving or driving back. He said nothing of it, just stuffed his and Tilly’s helmets into the saddlebags and followed Tilly to the front door of her home. When they stepped inside, it was almost too quiet. He expected Holly and Mark to be in the living room, or in the kitchen making something to eat for the family. He didn’t let it show on his face that he was expecting anything he didn’t get, Tilly was probably thinking the same. She didn’t need the both of them lamenting her parents’ absence. He hung his jacket by the door and made his way to the couch, still almost too uncomfortable to reach for the remote and turn on the TV. He still felt like a guest. He was, of course, but no one being there to tell him to make himself at home made him unable to. No matter his daughter being there. He looked to Tilly, “What’re you goin’ to do now? I can leave you alone for a bit if you don’t want to spend the whole day hangin’ with your old, lame dad.” Tilly took a bottle of water from the fridge and shrugged, “I guess I should study, having a near fatal car accident is no excuse to get a C, right?” She scrunched her nose and twisted the cap with a pop. “I gotta go back to school after the Thanksgiving holidays. At least to take my semester finals and turn in my essays. Like, all of this can be done remotely but the district said I was missing enough classes.” Tilly patted his shoulder as she passed behind the couch, “So that’s what I’ll be doing the next couple hours. Fun, fun.Thanks for the ride though, I needed that. I can see why you like it so much.” She hesitated a moment then turned to go up the stairs, “There’s some extra blankets in the linen closet in the bathroom.” “Thanks,” he smiled, watching her go to the stairs, “Study hard, you’re better than a C student. I gotta at least say [i]some[/i] dad stuff, right?” He chuckled and watched her go. Once she disappeared up the stairs and he heard her door shut, he sighed. His smile disappeared and he was in the silent house with no company but his own. He thought of his last words to Dave, and how Ava’s face looked to watch him turn so foul at them. They’d gotten out alive, and it was his help that let them do that. It was a shame he couldn’t see through all the shit, and he let it get the better of him. He’d never get to apologize to Ava. Never get to make things right with Dave. He still had Laine, but how much longer until the stress of the job made him turn foul on her too, and make her leave him like Holly. How much longer until Tilly truly understood why her mother felt how she did about him. He shook his head, that could really only be answered by himself. He turned on the TV, and pulled out his phone. The latest search cataloged by his phone browser’s history would be therapists in the area. He owed it to the people still in his life to be better. After a few hours, he found himself on the couch again, drifting off to sleep to the sound of the last scene of Rambo, before he shut his eyes again and it cut to commercials…/// Light filtered in through the blinds, early morning curiously probing its way into the dimness of the room. It smelled of lavender on behalf of a smoldering wick rooted inside a purple candle, a long tail of smoke reaching up only to dissipate on the ambient breeze of the inside air of the private practice. Donnelley looked through the blinds, watching as the silhouette of a tree danced in the wind. There was birdsong outside, though it didn’t seem to fill him with much joy. He’d decided to come here at the behest of Laine, and Holly, and Tilly. He’d never want to jeopardize his tenuous relationship with his daughter, and here he was. The therapists of the past hadn’t gotten any headway with him, but he didn’t want to bog Laine down with his emotional baggage. There was only so much of that a relationship could handle, but he knew how weighty buried trauma could be to the same relationship. He knew he couldn’t exactly tell her everything. He couldn’t tell her how he’d murdered one of the people he thought was his friend in an underground temple dedicated to a forgotten deity. Couldn’t tell her that he watched the only woman he tricked into loving him die right in front of him, before he died just the same. And then woke up. He couldn’t tell her a lot of things. “You’re very tight-lipped, Mister Blaine.” The therapist sitting across from him said, a woman in her early forties, just like him. Her name was Cherie, “I don’t blame you. You were in the service?” Donnelley nodded, still not looking at her. She continued, “How was your experience there?” “How do you think?” Donnelley snorted, bitter. The Texan in his voice was left waiting for him outside, Joseph Blaine didn’t talk like that, “I’m in [i]therapy.[/i]” “So,” Cherie scribbled something in her notes, “Do you ever have trouble sleeping?” “I have post-traumatic stress disorder, yes.” Donnelley glanced at her, “So, sleeping isn’t exactly easy.” “I see. You served in Afghanistan, first with the…” She eyed her notes, “Army Rangers, and then with Special Forces. Can you tell me about that?” “No.” Donnelley smirked, then shook his head of it. “Not all of it.” “What [i]can[/i] you tell me then?” Cherie asked, voice soft and non-confrontational, coaxing versus digging. “I’d also like to remind you that I possess a clearance for clients like you.” “I can tell you that I wish I could narrow it all down to one single point in time where I could say, ‘Oh, it all changed after this,’” Donnelley frowned, looking away from the window to his hands clasped together in his lap. Hands that had done so much, “But, I can’t really. It’s all just one thing after another, tiny chips falling off.” “Sometimes things happen fast. Other times, it happens so slow over so long that you don’t even notice it.” Donnelley swallowed, “And all any of us were trying to do was the [i]right thing…[/i]” “Of course. I believe you.” Cherie nodded. “Then tell me about the first time it got… [i]chipped away,[/i] as you put it.” “I, um,” Donnelley cleared his throat. The silence went on so long it felt like a boulder was pressing down on him, and the tiny fan in the small office was screaming in his ears. He stayed like that, watching his own personal parade of nightmares past march across his vision until he swallowed and spoke, “I’ve been a liar to a lot of people. In a lot of ways, my job [i]is[/i] to lie. To make people believe what I tell them, make people like me enough to tell me things they shouldn’t before I leave them in the cold.” “I’m very sorry you view it like that-“ “It [i]is[/i] that.” Donnelley almost snapped, realizing his hands were clasped so tight they were shaking until he let them go, “It is that. I’m a liar.” “Can you tell me more?” Cherie asked, unfazed. Donnelley nodded, “When the drinking started… when the drinking [i]really[/i] started,” Donnelley corrected, eyes focused on a corner of the room, but further past it moreso than Cherie could even imagine, “The first time I discharged my weapon in the line of duty. Lawton, Oklahoma,” Here he was lying again, “I was a Deputy and we got a call about a guy who’d kidnapped his daughter. I had to shoot him when he pulled a gun. I remember watching him drop.” “It wasn’t fatal, or at least didn’t kill him [i]right there.[/i]” Donnelley explained, “Here I am pressing gauze on a sucking chest wound all the while this guy’s whimpering at me not to let him die in front of his daughter. I tell him…” The room grew quiet again, as Donnelley remembered the same words he’d spoken to so many people over the years. That same lie. Cherie softly cleared her throat and urged him on gently in that voice of hers, “What did you say?” Donnelley looked down at his hands, and drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes, “I tell him,” Donnelley paused, swallowing, “I say, ‘everything’s going to be fine, you’re alright, you’re [i]okay[/i]’ while he’s fucking [i]dying[/i] with the ambulances dragging their feet, and all anyone back at the station wants to do is give me a fucking [i]pat on the Goddamn back[/i] for taking him off the streets.” “That was when the drinking really started? Your biggest lie?” Cherie asked. “I get home after my shift, I sit in the driveway with my hands shaking and I’m crying. I wipe my face and go inside, I hug Holly and she asks me if I’m o-okay.” Donnelley’s voice cracked, remembering that first little chip of himself falling away. “I smile at her and I say…” Donnelley frowned deep, looking away from Cherie, the sound of him swallowing dry was like thunder in his ears. “And you say?” Cherie asked so soft, Donnelley could barely hear her. He dragged in a breath, a reedy whisper, “[i]Yeah.[/i]”