Leidenschaft

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Truth…

>STAY 4 LESS MOTEL, FREDERICKSBURG, VA
>14OCT2019
>0100...///

Another rental car, another shitty motel, another secret meeting with Donnelley. Laine lit her clove cigarette as she shut the Impala’s door with her hip, tapping the key fob to lock it. She was dressed in black jeans and heeled boots, the lace trimmed blouse hidden under her fitted leather jacket. She walked across the parking lot, the buzzing lights not doing much to flatter the peeling paint on the blue doors of the motel. Rounding the corner of the outer building, she spotted the green bench he said to look for.

She glanced at his text again, to make sure she had read it right. If the tack is still there meet me in room 315. Laine blew smoke out and rolled her eyes as his game, a hint of a smile touching her burgundy lips. He could have just come to her townhouse, they could be relaxing right now in front of the fake fireplace with a bottle of mediocre wine.

Laine got closer to the bench, half expecting him to jump out at her and laugh that she had followed such ridiculous instructions. All was silent however, a distant roaring motor of some overcharged engine and a sputtering backfire that made her duck her head instinctively. Her heart raced and she found she was kneeling next to the bench without even realizing she had moved so quickly.

She sighed at the reaction, Laine knew it was from the exposure to gunfights and everything they had been through but also the training she was receiving. Cigarette pressed between her lips, she looked across the bench and saw it. A yellow pushpin jammed into the wooden seat.

Laine popped it free and glanced around, standing up she pocketed the innocuous tack and made her way back to the motel, hunting for room 315. She passed through the archway where the soda and ice machines were and continued down until she found it near the end.

She put out her clove cigarette, picking up the butt to save as she had adopted the habit from Donnelley. Laine used to think it was paranoia but now she realized it was appropriate caution. She knocked three times and waited, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets, toying with the tack. She could feel the weight of her 9mm sitting inside of her waistband, the new holster for the throw away gun was still stiff but easier to conceal than her FBI issued equipment.

The doorknob turned and opened after the sound of the lock and chain being undone. What greeted Laine was the man she knew, and loved, except for the weight of a couple sleepless nights and a boulder of stress resting across his back. He smiled at her, a tired little thing, but sincere as it could be. “Really good seein’ you.”

Laine met the bloodshot blue eyes and could see the fatigue, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the yellow tack, holding it up for him. “Is this your idea of vacation?” she said, then softened, “It’s good to see you too. What’s going on?”

She stepped inside the room when he backed up, glancing around at the decor that seemed to favor orange and looked like it had not been updated since the Carter administration. Cigarette burns in the carpet and drywall patched holes barely concealed under a coat of paint and an old tube tv bolted to the wall completed the no tell motel look.

Once the door closed and was locked she turned to Donnelley and moved to embrace him. He looked like he needed it and she had missed him. “We could have just met at my place.”

Donnelley let the subject rest while he squeezed Laine in an embrace that made it seem like they hadn’t met in years. He let her go then and fell into one of the chairs, looking up at her. For a moment, he wondered how he should frame it, and then his tired mind stretched that moment out into an uncomfortable silence. Donnelley broke himself from the spell only to sigh and shake his head, eyes on the floor, “If you knew where I just came in from, you’d know why I couldn’t just come to your place.”

He said that, knowing she just wouldn’t understand until he just came up and out with it, but how could he? It wasn’t something he ever imagined doing, or wanted to. His lips moved, but whatever mumble came out of them fell short of Laine’s ears.

Laine raised her eyebrow at him as sat down, his whole body seemed to be pressed with the weight of the world. She stepped over to him, not understanding the mutter. Laine knelt before him, rather than loom over and put her hands against his thighs. “What is it? You can tell me, what have you been getting up to?”

His drooping head raised, his eyes raising with it to meet Laine’s and there was a newfound wetness forming just under them. He swallowed hard, dry, “You were right.” His voice was small, none of the smirking bravado or brashness of the country boy punk she’d come to know, “I couldn’t, or didn’t want to see it… but, you were right.”

He frowned, “Foster did this. It was all him.”

Laine stared up at him for a moment, then slapped her hands against his thighs. “I fucking knew it. I knew it, I knew I should trust my instincts.”

She stood up, the expression in her face not joy at being right but a fierce vindication flashing in her green eyes. “That two faced bastard, I knew something was off. What happened, how did you even find out?”

Laine turned back to Donnelley, the sudden realization of the cost of the information. “And, I’m sorry I was right, I didn’t want to be. I know he meant more to you than he ever did to us.”
She put her hand on his shoulder, then kissed the top of his head, kneeling back down. “Tell me everything.”

“It should be in the book bag. Everythin’ you need to know.” He said, nodding to the simple black bag on the foot of the bed, “Foster made a deal with March Tech. He had Clyde Baughman killed, and he took me from THUNDER to head a team of people who wouldn’t spot the red flags. Wouldn’t dig deeper. Wouldn’t ask questions, because they were so new they wouldn’t know what questions to ask.”

“Or so he… they thought.” Donnelley’s lip quivered in a frown, a thing of contempt, “They fuckin’ played us. And when we started gettin’ close… they had us killed.”

Laine went over to the back pack and pulled it up onto the bed, listening as she unzipped it. She began digging through the contents as she spoke, “March Tech? You mean, the private plane, the sushi guy?”

She pulled a file and looked at Donnelley, her gaze sharp, “Well, they made a damn mistake getting an FBI agent on their team. We’re not exactly known for giving up the chase.”

Laine paused, her thoughts turning to Tom who tread too close to the Russians and their other teammates killed by the monster in the mountain. She paused, “You know, I wondered about Baughman’s death. I never got an autopsy report, I should have asked for one but it wasn’t my task. We were so busy cleaning up after the Program. Unless he had sudden natural death like a heart attack or was murdered, he would never have left his wife like that. He literally made a deal with the devil to bring her back.”

She sighed, “They probably would have had a fake one anyway, they know how to do that. Anyway, let’s see what you got.”

Laine sat on the end of the bed opening the first file and began to read. Donnelley watched her, seeing her eyes go over the pages of whatever she was reading. No matter what she picked in there, it would be a revelation. There wouldn’t be any going back.

“No.” Donnelley said, “It wasn’t Clyde’s deal. It was forced on him. Levy… Doctor Germaine did that to Marlene. Whatever woke up… it wasn’t her.”

Laine paused, rereading a passage and slowly looked up and over at Donnelley. “Levy? Doctor fucking Levy did this. She killed Maria, too. And the others...the small scrubs. Medical knowledge, it was a doctor. I was wrong, so wrong.”

She looked back at the file on her lap and restrained the urge to throw it across the room. “That bitch!”

Laine’s green eyes blazed, “She was right fucking there that whole time! Enjoying every moment under that sour face attitude. Jesus, she had Alex there all alone. How did you find these, all these files, that information about Foster and Levy?”

Donnelley stood, finding his pack of cigarettes and lighting one, drawing in a deep drag and blowing it out as he looked at Laine. His eyes settling on hers, “I got tired of bein’ in the dark.” He said, “About Clyde, about Foster, about Blackriver.”

“So I went back.” Donnelley frowned, “Queen and I went back. And we jumped up to our necks in that muddied water and pulled those files right there straight out of that lyin’ fuckin’ bitch’s hut in the woods.”

“Vera Corp, the company that bought the MacOnie mines, they’re out there doin’ somethin’ in the mountains, and it ain’t just minin’. And I have half a mind to think they wanted those files as bad as I did.” He took another drag, blowing it through his nostrils, “Because they shot at us. The Doctor wasn’t there.”

He looked away from Laine, shaking his head slow, “We killed her big partner. Germaine, Levy, whatever she’s callin’ herself…” Donnelley’s lips curled back in a quiet snarl, “She’s still out there.”

Laine stared at him for a moment, her mouth open slightly. The large partner, the big scrubs and gloves, everything laid out for her in the files she now had in her hands. Maria’s killers, they gave her over to whatever entity they were dealing with. Something like Ithaqua but in the West Virginia hills, something granting dark wishes for power. This doctor using the town and the tourists, the trafficked girls for her experiments. She flipped the page, a photograph of a horror staring back at her. Laine breathed in sharply, then said, “I wish I had gone with you, to see her hut, to examine everything. Don’t go back without me, Donnelley.”

She sat up and leaned forward, “I want this bitch to pay for Maria and Mrs. Baughman, and all the others she has tortured in life and after death but first, I want answers directly from her mouth. I want to go to those labs Vera Corp has, I want to see for myself.”

Laine paused, then asked, “How long until Foster gets wind of your field trip?”

“Hopefully fuckin’ never.” Donnelley shrugged, “But, I can’t know until they’re knockin’ on my door or catch me in my sleep…”

“If you know what I mean.” Donnelley let that lie for a moment, “I’m not goin’ to lie, we have some answers, but that bag is the biggest target on all of our heads. It’s too soon for anyone to know what Queen and I did, but they might soon.”

He paused, taking another drag and flicking the ashes, “I saw a Fed with Detective Roy.” He mentioned, “Garcia.”

Laine felt a prickle of foreboding along the back of her neck, the idea Donnelley would be marked for death if Foster found out. She looked at the files, flipping through the one in her lap, she would be up all night reading and absorbing the contents, the first few pages already had her outraged and it would not get better.

“I know what you mean, we can’t let that happen,” she said, “So don’t go off on your own anytime soon.”

“Why was a Fed with Roy?” she asked, narrowing her eyes for a moment when he mentioned the name. A brief flicker of memory, it felt like years but it had been only months since that phone call. Garcia was a common enough name but the coincidence tugged at her.

“Garcia, what was his first name, do you know?” she asked slowly, “What did he look like?”

Donnelley leaned himself against the wall, looking up and away as he took another drag off his cigarette. After a moment of thinking back, he looked at Laine, “Little shorter than me. Latino, obviously. Black hair slicked back. Had an air about him, could see it in the way he walked and everythin’.” Donnelley nodded, clucking his tongue, “Like anythin’ he sunk his teeth into he’d finish off or die tryin’.”

He smirked a little bit, “I admire that. It’s too bad he pointed himself in the wrong direction with all that gumption he’s got. Hell, I’d recruit him myself if I wasn’t sure he’d throw me in the back of a Crown Vic.” He turned back to serious and cocked his head at Laine, “He knew where to go to, he knew who to go to, he knew what to ask. Jackson Mitterick’s name came up.”

“Whoever told him what they told him, it was some damn good info.” Donnelley nodded.

Laine looked up at him, the recognition registering with her as he described the agent. She cleared her throat, “Sounds like Mark Garcia, out of the New York office. I worked with him on a joint task force once, he’s a bloodhound alright. He was investigating that photographer, Carlisle, for trafficking underage girls and young women. Luring them in with the whole ‘you could be the next big model’ and what he did with them after he was done. Selling them to the bratva.”

She turned and looked down at her hands, clenching them, “He was a predator, one who thought he wasn’t getting his hands dirty. Look, Garcia called me that night, when your team attacked his home and those cops got killed. I didn’t tell him anything if that’s what you’re thinking. I only had requested some information from him about Carlisle, I told him I was working on a missing persons case.”

Donnelley shook his head, putting a hand up and waving off whatever thought Laine had about Donnelley’s suspicions, real or fake, “I wouldn’t think that. Not just because the resultin’ RICO case would take you with us and everyone else.” He snorted, “If the guy’s good like you said, I’m not in any rush to do anything my momma wouldn’t approve of.”

He sighed, “Look, I’ve got a guy somewhere. He can hold copies of those files and find a place to stash them. If we get… caught, or worse, those all go to the press.” He said, “And anyone else who can do any kind of damage with them. If we go out, all the bastards who even dipped a toe in this mess we’re in are followin’ us down.”

“I was plannin’ on goin’ to meet him before we lay low. Call everyone over and have the big talk.” Donnelley looked at Laine, studied her features and remembered everything in Alaska down to the glassy eyes full of nothing staring at the sky. He swallowed, taking another drag, “I hope you’re all in with me, Laine. There’s no more shamans gonna bring us back, and that phone call in the SUV’s already made.”

Laine stood up, still gripping the file before tucking it under her arm. She stayed quiet, looking at Donnelley for a long moment before she moved towards him. She met his eyes and reached for his hand, “I’ve been with you since you put that jacket around my shoulders. If we go down, we go down together.”

Donnelley’s lips curled into a smile, his smirking demeanor returning, “I love you.”

Laine pulled him closer, leaning up to kiss him and sighed, “Do we still have time? Remember, we talked about going to Texas. How long until the world ends?”

“Who knows. Which is why we should hurry up and do somethin’ anyways.” Donnelley smiled, leaning down to kiss Laine’s forehead, “Fuck it, let’s get to Texas. We can lay low there.”

“We can go to my place, let me pack,” she said, a little hint of a smile touching her lips. “I have a surprise for you.”

“I love it when you say that.” His smirk grew a bit.

...///

Laine locked the door behind them when they entered her townhome, the large apartment that had become a money drain as she spent so much time away. Her last roommate had got married and moved out, leaving her with too much space and rent but she enjoyed the peace and hated moving.

“I have wine, if you want a drink,” she said, tossing her keys on the counter. “Vodka in the freezer, I was going to buy whiskey to keep here for you but I hadn’t got around to doing it.”

Laine went to the refrigerator, “Are you hungry? I have plenty of leftovers, I’ve been keeping myself busy.”

Donnelley was stood behind her in the kitchen, not quite knowing what to do with himself in the moment as he looked around her apartment. It was odd that he’d had memories here now, when looking back he thought the only memories would’ve been splattered on the wall of an alley after a particularly hard night of drinking after one too many bad Ops in places the world swept their shitty parts into to impress the tourists.

He shook himself from that line of thought and snorted at the almost overflowing amount of Tupperware in Laine’s refrigerator. He wanted to answer, but her behind bent over in front of him as she rifled through the fridge momentarily distracted him, “Um…” he bit his lip, looking to the side and admiring the immaculately cleaned sink, “Uh, no, I’m full. Not really in the, uh, eatin’ kind of mood with the recent events.”

It was hard, getting away from that slide back into darkness that always pulled him in. It was like the abyss was hunting for him. But he was with Laine, and they were alone, and that was enough for him. Best to focus on that than anything else, “Could think of a few things I’d have room for though.” he chuckled, low and husky.

Laine slid the Tupperware back into the fridge and closed it, opening the freezer instead to remove the half empty bottle of vodka. She turned and caught his eye, knowing the look and the timber of his voice.

"I could suggest a few, but first I'd like to toast your return from hell," she said, reaching over to a round decorative tray that had a set of shot glasses with skulls and spiderwebs painted on them, matching that of the tray. It had been a Halloween set she bought one year for a party and just kept it.

She poured two cold shots and handed him one, "Welcome home."

Laine knocked hers back and waited for him to finish his before moving in for a kiss, her arms wrapping around him. He put his empty shot glass on the counter, his own arms going around her as he returned her kiss. They stayed like that for a moment before Donnelley broke the kiss and just held Laine, his face nuzzling into her neck. He breathed her in deep, her own natural smell and whatever body wash she’d used earlier that day. It really did smell like home.

“I couldn’t ask for a warmer welcome.” He said through a soft smile.

Laine hugged him, her fingers running up and down his back, her thoughts briefly flickering to the danger he had stirred and the fact he had made it back and with proof. He was brave and resourceful, she admired it, no matter what he managed to make it out. Each time was a spin of the cylinder, she knew. Squeezing him a little tighter, she whispered, "I love you."

Pulling back slightly so she could look into his eyes, Laine reached up, cupping his scarred cheek. "We can mess around, my parents aren't home," she teased, the empty townhouse almost seemed to echo the lonely life of it's occupier. The minimalist decor of black and a touch of Halloween here and there. The sleek electronics on the entertainment center and lack of clutter. The black and white framed movie posters and one small print of a painting with thick black strokes and one band was red tinted. It had a professional air despite the somber simplicity.

She took his hand to lead him to the couch. Donnelley was happily led into her living room with the biggest smile he’d had since he and Queen had squeezed more than eighty-thousand out of a Nazi piece of shit. The smile barely faded when he plopped down into the black suede, looking up at Laine. He took a long moment just drinking her in with his eyes, and then held her gaze. He gave her his kissy face, “Haven’t been much of a good boy lately. Sneakin’ out to West Virgie while I’m grounded. Seein’ as I’m on your couch,” He smirked, “What you gonna do to me, Doctor?”

Laine crossed her legs, she was still in her jeans but had removed her boots, a pair of black and purple socks with bats printed on them on her feet. It had been a novelty purchase when she and Ava had spent a day hanging out and shopping for her upcoming party. Laine wiggled her toes then tucked one foot underneath her and turned to Donnelley, catching his teasing expression.

She took a deep breath, her face taking on the serious cool mask of Dr. Laine. Her green eyes gleamed despite her stern mouth when she spoke, “I am going to violate the code of ethics for doctor-patient relations.”

Laine smiled slightly, “But first, did you do anything else on your summer vacation you would like to talk about? As if discovering the true faces behind a murderously evil cabal and the enemy in our midst weren’t enough.”

He could tell her about murdering Hubert O’Grady like a dog on a lonely Blackriver highway. He could tell her about the dream, about Yuliya Feldenkrais, and how he watched her and his entire team die at the hands of March Tech and Foster trying to smuggle documents that would bury March Tech forever. Always tempting fate, but a buzz came from his personal phone and his hand went to check it lightning quick. The phone screen was lit up, and the picture he had taken with Tilly stared back at him. His own face with one of the most genuine smiles it’d been graced by, and Tilly’s bright, blue eyes and dimples. He found himself smiling at the screen.

Laine waited out his silence patiently as she always did but when he looked at his phone she leaned towards him. "What are you smiling at like that? Seeing another fed behind my back?"

Donnelley smirked a bit, “I saw her in Washington after you left.” Donnelley teased, “I gotta say, she’s beautiful, ain’t she?”

He watched Laine’s face go through the myriad of emotions, most of them negative. When he felt he’d had his fun and it was almost about to earn him a smack upside his head, he showed her the screen, “She’s grown up, ain’t she? Last time I saw that face, she was knee high to a grasshopper.”

Laine's eyes narrowed at him and she had her hand on a velvet throw pillow, gripping it when he turned the phone around. Her annoyance melted away and she gasped with surprise.

"This is Tilly? She's so grown," Laine held the phone and looked between father and daughter. The pride and love in Donnelley's eyes reminded her of her own dad. It was a strange thing to remember Donnelley had this other family, he rarely ever mentioned it but the one time, the last time they were at her place.

"She's so beautiful, look at that cheeky smile. She looks a lot like you, her eyes especially," Laine felt her throat clench with emotion, happy for the man she loved to reconnect with his only child. It took her a moment but she asked, "The visit went well? How do you feel?"

Donnelley nodded, a satisfied smile still on his lips as he took one last look at the screen before putting it away, “Yeah. Holly says I can see her as long as Tilly wants me to. Some… conditions attached, but…” He shrugged, “She skates. She likes marine biology and octopuses. She’s a hell of an artist too, let me tell you.”

He looked at Laine, holding her gaze and letting his eyes roam over her. Everything about her, it made him feel like not everything was horrible. “I want you to meet her one day.” He said, “I mean, if that’s alright with you. She’d think you’re cool. I know I do.”

Laine smiled as he described Tilly, resisting the urge to correct him on the plural of octopus. His drawl was endearing and she could listen to him read instructions on how to break down and clean a Glock 19.

She blinked at the thought of meeting his daughter, possibly his ex wife. It would be awkward at first maybe but the idea of getting to know his daughter was not unappealing.

"Maybe, but I'll let you have a few visits alone before introducing me," Laine said thoughtfully, "Once the novelty has worn off and you are establishing that normalcy. Too much new can be overwhelming sometimes."

Laine moved closer to Donnelley, wanting to feel him. "But I would love to one day. She sounds like a great kid."

Donnelley reached to her, slipping his fingers between hers and guiding her onto straddling his lap, “It was a shock, Laine. The first time I saw her in the kitchen, all grown as she is.” His eyes were distant, remembering the waves of different feelings, each one crashing into him in that moment, “She’s damn beautiful, she’s smart, she’s talented. I just… That man that ruined everythin’ those years ago was a damn fool.”

His hands rested on Laine’s hips and then moved to caress and knead her thighs, “Meetin’ you’s probably the best thing to come out of all that mess.” He smiled.

Laine shifted her weight to her knees on either side of his hips and rested her ass against his thighs. She watched the emotions play across his scarred features.

"We all can be fools," she said, kissing Donnelley's forehead. "It's the realization and acceptance that makes a difference and if possible, to make up for our mistakes."

Her lips found his, brushing a soft kiss against them, then said, "I'm glad, too. And I'm glad the timing was right for us. A few months earlier and I would have been a taken woman."

Laine smiled against his mouth, kissing him again, "Then what would you have done?"

“Probably cried my woes to the whole world atop the tallest buildin’ I could find.” Donnelley chuckled, giving another small kiss on Laine’s lips, “And then go home and masturbate or somethin’, I’unno.”

He bit his lip, feeling himself grow with the intimacy they were showing each other, the lack of space, the contact. After everything in West Virginia, he needed this, “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a psychologist as effective as you, Doctor.”

Laine chuckled at that, tipping her head so their brows touched and she could see the striations of the blue hues in his eyes. "What a gentleman you are, not going after a woman on another man's arm."

She shifted against him, feeling his reaction and Laine almost laughed, her chuckle lost under another kiss. Pulling back she said, "You respond very well to my methods. Just don't report me to the APA."

Laine reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, her manicured nails lightly dragging along his scalp as she kissed him again, this time with more hunger. Donnelley moaned against her lips, momentarily breaking it, “And lose this? Never.”

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer against him and returned her starving kisses, all manner of conversation thrown away. His other hand busying itself with kneading up and up her thigh, “Goddamn, I love you.”

>…///

“I could go for a cigarette ‘bout now.” He chuckled, reaching over and massaging Laine’s naked thigh up and down. He noticed the new firmness there, “Been hittin’ the weights, huh?”

Laine chuckled at him, her eyes twinkling, "A cigarette sounds good but no smoking in my place. I'd be guillotined or something according to my lease."

She sighed softly at his caress and where his hand strayed. Laine smiled as he noticed the change, "Yeah, I've been using the Academy gym and doing some lifting and running. More lifting than running to be honest. Hitting the gun range, too. My old instructor is still kicking around, he was more than happy to let me go loose with that submachine gun."

Laine stayed silent for a beat, "I know we'll need it. Next month I believe Ghost wants to start Ava and I training."

She glanced away from Donnelley for a brief moment then shrugged, "You say he's good right. A professional. I trust you."

The sound of her voice was not completely convincing and there was now a preoccupied air about her even as she lay naked on the couch. Donnelley moved again to lay on top of her, sensing it in her voice that she was having her doubts, “He is. Not like Poker. He wants you to train with him, he wants you to train with him, no hidden meanin’s.” Donnelley reassured, giving her a light kiss, “I wouldn’t even let Poker in the same room with you alone if I could help it.”

He smiled, “You’re all mine.”

Laine could not help but smile a little at that and reached up to hold Donnelley. "Without question," she assured him, "I don't think get he would be stupid enough to try anything."

Her thighs pressed against his hips, then she ran her hands over his shoulders. "I always feel safe with you," she said, then kissed his cheek. "One way or another, I know you'll have a plan. You're very resourceful. Besides you're going to be in charge of this spliced working team. Right?"

“Mhmm,” Donnelley smirked, “Big man in town.”

“Now, come on,” Donnelley said, getting to his feet and stretching his arms up to the ceiling and grunting as his shoulder popped, “We gotta pack for our fun trip.”

Laine gave him a closed mouth smile, watching as he stretched, taking her gaze down his body. "Mhmm, big man indeed."

She pushed herself up, smoothing her tousled hair. Laine ran her fingers down his chest to the top of his pubic bone. “I need to clean up before we get to that."

Laine grinned at him before walking away to the first floor half bath and took care of what she needed to. When she emerged, she picked up the clothes tossed on the floor. “Oh, I have a surprise for you. Wait here.”

She held a hand up and ran up the stairs, heedless of her nudity. Laine pushed her bedroom door open and went to the closet, finding the large dented box that she had hauled around since Idaho.

“You can come up!” she called out, standing naked but for the black cowgirl boots, her hands on her hips in a power pose.

Donnelley was chuckling as his footsteps creaked on the stairs, wondering just what Laine had made a fuss about. When he rounded the corner, still similarly nude, he still had that smirk on his face. His brow quirked as he looked Laine over, noticing the boots on her feet. His smirk grew to a smile as he gave a breathy chuckle, “Goodness me, cowgirl.” Donnelley crossed the small distance between them and wrapped his arm around the small of Laine’s back, tugging her into him, “Gonna hafta find you somethin’ to ride.”

Laine laughed and hugged him around his neck, leaning up to kiss him. “I was hoping for a big chestnut stallion,” she said, kissing him. “I know we just got done, but you make me want to hurt.”

She stuck her foot out, admiring the black leather with the intricate embroidery. “I bought them up in Moscow, everyone was kicking back but I felt like getting out. I went to the Appaloosa Museum and looked into trail rides. Then I stopped at a Western store, I saw these in the window and I knew I needed to get them to impress you.”

Donnelley chuckled a bit, taking a look for himself at the shiny black leather, the intricate stitching of the pattern along it. He nodded, “Well, you done it. Goin’ to have to get a pair myself while we’re down there.” He kissed Laine on the cheek and stepped back from her so he could go get his clothes from downstairs, “Cant have you outdoin’ me now, can I? Maybe we visit my uncle’s place, get you in the saddle a bit.”

“How’s that sound?” He asked, stopping in the doorway and leaning on the jamb with a smile on his face, “Ever ridden?”

Laine smiled at the gentle kiss before he slipped from her arms. She moved to sit on the edge of her bed to remove the boots but glanced up at his attention.

"A few times," Laine said, crossing her leg over the other and reaching down to tug at the boot. "I wouldn't say no to that. I enjoy riding."

Her green eyes twinkled at him as she removed the first boot and set it down. Donnelley’s eyes twinkled in kind as he chuckled softly, “Don’t I know.” He pushed off the door jamb and turned for the stairs, “I’ve already got most of my shit packed. Holler if you need help.”

>GREYHOUND BUS STATION, DALHART TX
>16OCT2019
>1430...///

The town was a dark scab on a flat golden prairie where the late summer stretched on with baking heat. The dog days should have been past and a hint of autumn in the air but not here. A change in season was never gentle or subtle. Spring brought hail and tornadoes, tearing across the farms and grassland. Autumn arrived late, on black clouds from the north forming on the horizon. A border land with nothing but flat miles between here and the frozen tundra far to the north.

Laine stood with her bags, the oppressive heat around them seemed to vibrate with the screams of cicadas. The clicks followed by whirrs that rose in pitch until they broke and repeated. It made her feel anxious, there was tension in this place. A humming cord ready to snap at any moment, just given the chance and right time.

Dust was still kicking up after the bus had pulled away from the so-called station, a bus bench just outside the center of town. Laine was dressed in black jeans and her cowgirl boots, a vintage black western blouse with white piping and embroidered floral across the upper back and past the collar along her clavicle.

Laine toyed with a pearl button, tempted to roll up her sleeves but she wanted to keep a neat appearance at least until they got where they were going. She turned to Donnelley, watching him behind her Ray Bans as he took in the site of his home town. She brushed her hair back as the wind shifted from west to north, blowing in deep breaths across the warm dirt and asphalt.

There seemed to be a different air around Donnelley that radiated out from him the closer they got to Dalhart. They stood alone and quiet, the Greyhound station next to the train tracks that ran through the town. Sparse traffic passed by them on the dusty roads. No one really came to Dalhart. His eyes passed over the flat prairie around and settled on the tiny hints of buildings farther down the road. For a bit, he chewed through the memories he’d had here, almost all of them some degree of bitter. As if to punctuate that, there were only more of the same signs stuck into the side of the road, showing support for every politician of the ilk Donnelley had hoped he would’ve left behind long ago. Now one was in the fucking White House. He looked at Laine, “It gets better.” He smirked. “Should find us a ride, don’t much feel like walkin’ everywhere in town like a couple vagrants.”

He took another look at the road and countryside spread out before them. He forgot how flat this place was, could watch your dog run away for three days. Or watch about zero cars coming up. He sniffed, “That said…” he turned towards town and offered his hand out for Laine to hold, “Would you accompany me, miss’m?”

Laine smoothed her blouse and huffed, "I hardly look like a vagrant."

She glanced at her reflection in his aviators, Laine's idea of having fun with the vintage western theme made her look like a stranded Hollywood cowgirl and completely out of place. She smoothed down the wind ruffled dark hair, tucking it behind her ears.

Taking his hand, she added, "But I think it's better we find a car or something. There's a lot of space out here."

Her boot heels clicked against the cracked asphalt as they walked, Laine looking around, mostly at the people they might pass to see if they might realize their old deputy was back in their midst. Donnelley himself was making busy hoping they wouldn’t. The kids might have called him Robocop endearingly, but there were a fair few people here that had family and friends he had sent to jail or roughed up for any number of reasons that warranted it. Down in Texas, it was oddly similar to the Afghans and their Pashtunwali- Me and my brothers against my cousins. My brothers, cousins, and me against the world.

It didn’t matter if all of them were all manner of shitty, they were still your blood. Donnelley could respect the loyalty. Poker and Ghost were evil fucks, and he still fought beside them and earned their respect. But they weren’t here, so his eyes were cautious. The look of a wolf among territory that hadn’t been his in a very long time. “Hard to believe this was my entire world at one point.”

He said, looking at the washed out buildings, the warehouses and machine shops on the outskirts of town. Somewhere not far, there were girls turning tricks for truckers and other blue-collars with money and too much built up lust. Somewhere next to those prostitutes were some Mexicans or whiteboys selling meth. It would take some walking to get to the center of town and maybe see some culture that wouldn’t make him want to distract Laine from it, “We can find a place to eat and I’ll call my uncle to pick us up. Bring us to the ranch, show us the countryside.”

Laine glanced over at him, then out at the town with its dried up lawns and pick ups parked along curbs. “It’s...interesting, seeing this with you. Fitting the stories to a real place. It’s hard to imagine just having this, no wonder you were chomping at the bit.”

She bumped her hip against his gently, “It has a certain charm. You know, LA is a huge city but in reality it’s really a bunch of small towns lumped together, each with distinct borders and people from each place have that same loyalty I think of people from small towns as having. Some of them never leave their neighborhoods. Live and die in the same dozen blocks.”

Laine squeezed his hand, “You were destined for so much more, but I want to see the places that helped make Joseph Donnelley. Your old highschool, the places you used to hide to smoke weed and where you had house parties.”

Donnelley smiled at Laine’s enthusiasm in the face of his embarrassment, a hint of shame. He leaned down to kiss her softly, “I guess I’ll be givin’ you the tour.” He smiled, “If I know where we are, I can show you where my band played our first house show.”

Her green eyes lit up when he kissed her, the newness of it all still made her pulse race. Laine returned his smile as she said, “Show me where Joey was shredding riffs with Reagan's Grave."

>…///

“Huh…” Donnelley scratched at his chin beneath his beard, taking a moment to stroke it. “I guess places change after more’n a decade.”

What Donnelley and Laine were staring at was an empty lot. Even the two houses next to it had been bulldozed to make way for some new project on the properties, chain link fence surrounding the stubborn tufts of grass slowly dying in the dry dirt. They’d been skirting the entire town for the last twenty minutes through shady side streets and alleyways just to get here. He looked up and down the street, looking still just as confused, wondering if they’d taken a wrong turn or he’d misremembered the way. Sure enough, this was it. The house was gone, “Well, fuck…”

“I guess a lot’s changed while I was gone.” Donnelley muttered, his voice sounding wilted. Gone were the days of the tiny punk scene in tiny Dalhart. Back when, Donnelley felt like it would be here forever, that their legacy would let the generations after to follow in footsteps that didn’t lead them to wifebeaters and beating their wives. For all their angst, they were just as naive. “Let’s just… find somewhere to eat or somethin’.”

Laine watched Donnelley from the corner of her eye, the empty lot where the short fierce years of his youth had been spent. Dust devils kicked up as the cooling breeze came in against the hot wind. On the horizon to the north the dark clouds continued to gather and she could see the occasional flicker of lightning in the distance but no thunder.

She put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing the tense muscle there. “Nothing gold can stay,” she recalled the movie she and her friends had watched so many times.

Laine took his hand, her fingers slipping through his. A puff of wind caught her hair and played it across her face and she pushed it down. “Show me your local Dairy Queen. I heard there’s always one in these small towns.”

Donnelley swallowed, a working of his throat that seemed thunderous against the quiet moment there, staring at a history now buried. “Only if they didn’t tear that down too…” He muttered, bitter.

He squeezed Laine’s hand in his and sighed, looking to her and giving her a small smile. Out of the triumphs of the past pushed down by the torrents of time always stomping on, there was something new he’d found. Someone new. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, “Let’s get some ice cream.”

>…///

They sat at one of the wood tables on the outside patio of the Dairy Queen, the establishment sitting and waiting for Donnelley in the same place it had always been. Wearing new colors and having had some work done in her old age, but the old queen was stubbornly still standing. He guessed the taste for the new and shining had yet to spread from the center of Dalhart. The outskirts had only seen the hands of gentrification tightened into a fist to knock down the undesirable history of the place.

Town hall and everywhere else close to it seemed to have a new shine, and so did the Dairy Queen. The teenagers manning the counters and the drive-thru were still just that- teenagers- but the culture that had molded them had changed so much. He remembered the way his girlfriend at the time had dressed, all blacks and dark eyeliner, red hair falling long and straight down to her hips. Now these teens may have had wild-colored hair, but it was all just… not punk. Not quite goth, not quite punk, not quite cowboy… not quite anything. A thought occurred to him, and it was perhaps the scariest one he’d had yet in all his years.

“I don’t understand these kids.” He murmured around a mouthful of cookie dough blizzard as he looked out at a group of them hanging around the parking lot. It wasn’t bitter, in that way old men had been proclaiming their fear and anger at change, it was like a realization. A dreadful revelation. A recognizing that times were no longer his. “You know, they dye their hair, they have the style… but when they open their mouths, I can’t understand half the shit pours out of it.”

“I remember my high school ex worked here some time ago, and I recognize it a little bit, she could be plucked from the eighties and dropped in here with ‘em, but they’d be speakin’ two different languages…” He stuck his spoon into his ice cream to get another bite and then shook his head, “I’m fuckin’ old. Laine, did you know when you agreed to all this?” He had a little self-deprecating smile at that, but the sentiment really was sincere underneath it.

Laine watched the kids around them as they spoke, the same sort of irony of still feeling young but in their heads, their own youth. Not what was current and what had passed would never be recaptured, not even when inevitably fashion would cycle back and take inspiration from the past. From their past.

She took a bite with the long handled red spoon, savoring the Heath bar crumbs mixed into the ersatz ice cream. Laine gazed at Donnelley as he came to his personal revelation, a hint of a smile on her lips. “I know, I can do math,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “I love you, it’s not your age or your looks, it’s who you are as a person. And your glutes.”

Laine chuckled and leaned forward, shifting the cup aside so she could focus in on him, “We all have that moment, I’ve had it before. I still love things I did when I was a girl and I won’t leave them behind because it might be seen as immature. I can’t just rub these tattoos off. One day I’ll have gray hair and ink. Just like you will, you’ll still be that punk from Dalhart deep down.”

The silence fell between them, the idea of growing old was not so secure anymore to Laine but she left aside her fears. “I knew what I was getting into. I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

Laine put her hand out to him, her pale skin against the wooden table, “Besides, now I’ll always be the young one.”

“Yeah, well,” Donnelley gave a quirk of his brow and a thoughtful look up and away like he was wondering over how they were splitting the take from this thing, “What do I get, then?”

Laine took a bite of her ice cream, curling her tongue against the spoon. Her smile shifted from affectionate to carnal, "You get to bang a hot younger girlfriend, of course."

She kicked him gently with her boot, tapping his foot as she took another slow bite of the melting Blizzard. Donnelley smirked and bit his lip, the smirk only growing as the toe of her boot thumped his, “I’ll take it.”

After they finished eating, they continued the walk up the street. The wind picked up, cooling now as the dark clouds moved closer, filling in the blue hot sky. A faint rumble of thunder could be heard among the several flashes of heat lightning.

The gas station was a sprawling lot of a store, a car repair, and a drive thru car wash along with a bank of gas pumps. As the first drops began to fall, Laine and Donnelley stepped under the canopy.

"What's the plan now?" she asked, watching the rain falling in sudden heavy sheets beyond the pumps. "We're not walking in this."

“Come on,” Donnelley smiled at her over his shoulder as he stepped forward and at least let his arm touch the rain. “Used to do it all the time.”

It might have been the same rain as anywhere else in the world, but it was the first thing here that he remembered and didn’t have bad memories of. First thing here that had at least run over to see him now he was back, and with thunderous applause too, heavy drips punching the concrete. When he saw Laine wasn’t too keen on braving the torrent, his smile shrank a bit, but still held some mirth, “I figure I call my uncle up. Short notice, but he’ll be happy to see me.” He said, then sided up with Laine again to watch the rain and hold her hand, “See us. He’ll like the company, gets lonely on the ranch.”

Laine raised her brow at him, “I’m not going to meet your uncle with wet jeans and make up running down my face.”

She watched the torrent of rain, how fast it had swept in and unloaded. It reminded her of the monsoon season in southern California when they would get caught out in it occasionally during August and let it drench them. Kids back then, just as Donnelley was probably remembering.

Thunder rumbled closer now, cracking sharp right after the flash of lightning and vibrating the air around them. Water poured off the corners of the canopy, the wind whipping it back at them as they waited. “Do these usually take long? Hell of a rain,” she said, now standing closer to him, her hand slipping into his.

She could see a few people pull in to wait out the storm but they did not look worried, covering their heads to make a run for the convenience store. Donnelley shrugged like it wasn’t anything to him, “Just wait a few minutes.” He said, looking at the roiling clouds and furious rain, “Summer storms down here don’t last long. Twice as hard, twice as quick. We can get some snacks here if you want, I can call my uncle after.”

He smiled at the convenience store like he was seeing an old friend. Or at least a place he and some old friends had gotten drunk and taken part in any manner of debauchery and mischief, “Good ol’ Toot’n Totum, baby. You need somethin’- anythin’- you’ll find it here.”

He stood with his hands on his hips as he nodded and grinned at that old sign. Or at least the new sign, with the old name. He sniffed then, “If anythin’s you need is gas and cheap junk food, ‘least.”

Laine raised an eyebrow at that, “Anything? You think they’ll have cloves?”

The rain almost on cue began to slack and within minutes was done. The cloud burst rolled south and the sun pierced the gray clouds, the rainbow sheen of oil slicks on the parking lot gleaming in the light. Water dripped from the overhead canopy as Laine stepped out, ducking a drop. “Let’s take a look then.”

Inside the Toot’n Totum was a large convenience store with shelves crammed with all sorts of junk food, travel items, automotive basics, and the random shit that one might forget at the grocery store. She picked up a round pecan candy, the homemade praline stamped with a sticker ‘Made In Texas’.

She brought the candies and some trail mix and bottles of water and a Snickers up to the counter. Glancing at Donnelley, “I’m gonna get a scratch off ticket and see how bad my luck is.”

“You got put into a team with me,” Donnelley muttered, smirking as he placed a protein bar and a Bang energy drink on the counter next to a bag of Salsitas chips, “Sure you don’t know your luck already?”

The one thing Toot'n didn't have was the clove cigarettes but they suggested the Smoke Shop in town. Laine paid cash out of habit, taking her five dollar scratch off and tucking it into her bag. "I would say that was pretty lucky, among other things," she said, the memory of another gas station far to the north and an unlikely reunion came to mind. "I made sure to take a Snickers, you know how I get hangry."

“Darn toot’n,” Donnelley said, smirking at the chubby, sparse bearded teenager as he dropped a bill and some coins in his hand unamused, “You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

He snatched up his little plastic bag full of goodies and they headed for the door. As they made their way into the parking lot, the soles of their shoes squelching in the wet asphalt was the only sound they made. Donnelley looked at Laine, wriggling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and biting one out, lighting it, “You really mean that? You feel lucky you met me?”

Laine took a quarter from her change and dug out the scratch off ticket from her bag as they walked. She glanced at him, cigarette between his lips and that searching squint of his blue eyes.

She met his gaze and smiled a little, her voice soft when she said, "You're so cool."

Feeling the heat rose to her cheeks she added, "Of course I feel lucky. I remember you standing there with that thrasher cap. It's when I really took notice, not that you didn't have a presence in a suit buy that caught my eye. And of course when you saved me from Marlene and put your jacket on my shoulders and kept me from shaking apart."

Laine looked up at him, "I remember when we were in that motel room together, alone the first time and you rolled your shirt sleeves up. I wanted you, I could have thrown myself at you at that moment, did you know that? I am damn lucky to have you now."

Donnelley had twisted his face into a badly done act of someone on the verge of tears, the half-assed quivering lip that was more just a slow scrape of his bottom lip against his top teeth the thing to bring the ensemble together. He flinched and let out a cackle as Laine dug a playful punch into his shoulder. He softened then, looking at Laine in the light of the gas station’s neon signs, the clouds lending a darkness still to the scene. He had to say, there could be worse people to be in his old hometown with. And that’d probably be all of them except for her, “I love you.” And he pulled her into a tight embrace and a deep kiss.

Laine shook her head and laughed softly as he took the light hit of her fist, "You ass. I was being serious."

She moved into his arms when he pulled her close, returning his kiss regardless of others in the parking lot. Laine looked up at him, then gave his beard a little tug. "I love you, too, old man."

After pressing against him again, she murmured, "Are you going to call your uncle?"

“Best watch it with that old man stuff.” Donnelley wagged a finger at Laine, chuckling as he shoved a hand in the pocket of his jeans to slip out his phone. He took some time finding his uncle’s number. Knowing that old, stubborn bastard it was the same one and would always be until he was six feet in the red dirt of the countryside.

It took a couple rings, and Donnelley almost thought he wouldn’t pick up at all until he heard the other end pick up. He sounded like he still had sleep in his voice, “What’chu callin’ me at this damn hour for, son?”

“It’s three in the afternoon, old man.” Donnelley snorted, looking up at that dark, gray sheet of clouds. It was fast moving away down south or to Oklahoma, waiting it’s turn for the beating.

“Oh.” Was all Donnelley’s uncle said, “Well, a’right, still ain’t answered my darn question.”

“I’m hopin’ you got room at the ranch. For me, and another.” Donnelley asked, sheepish smile on his face and a dumb hope in his voice that old Uncle Ted could spare the time for him these days. The impromptu trip to Texas was just that, and far from it to just expect to be housed on such short notice was Donnelley.

A long silence on the other end that took Donnelley’s heart and squeezed. Had his uncle had any hard feelings about him being a rare sight? Uncle Ted grunted, grumbled something under his breath and then said, “Yeah, okay, anythin’ for my golden goddamn nephew.” Even if it was harsh, he could hear the smile in that old man’s cigarette-worn voice, “Where’bout are you? And who’s this other I’m ‘bout to be entertainin’?”

“A girl-“

“A girl!” Uncle Ted sputtered in laughter raucous enough Laine might even hear from his phone, “Well, ain’t that a damn relief, son. I knew what the talk about town was with you and your friends way back, and I thought Holly was a good cover.”

“Yeah, a’right, old man.” Donnelley made a quick glance Laine’s way, hoping she didn’t hear, “I’m here in Dalhart, Toot’n Totum over next to the Dairy Queen.”

“Yeah, I’ll be a quick second. Fancy that, though, ol’ Francine needs her some gas too.” Uncle Ted and that old-as-dirt Chevy.

“Thanks, Uncle.” Donnelley smiled, hoping ol’ Francine was still up for the trip.

“No problem, son. You know I’m there when y’need.”

Donnelley kept that smile, knowing Uncle Ted always meant every word he threw past his teeth. He’d taken him in for a couple months when he was a kid, just so his father wouldn’t strangle him for stealing his gun that fateful night, “I know, Uncle. I’ll be seein’ ya.”

>…///

It really wasn’t a long wait. But every second Donnelley was anxious. What would his uncle say about the look of him now, the scar, the harder look in his eyes. All the things he’d seen and done worn plainly in scars, ones you could easily pick out amongst the flesh, and those you couldn’t. He sat on the curb, his hand in Laine’s. He swallowed another gulp of Bang down even if the caffeine wasn’t helping his nerves any and smiled at the woman by his side, giving her hand a squeeze.

“He’ll love you.” Donnelley said, as if she was the more nervous out of the two of them.

Laine could hear Donnelley's side of the conversation but watched his body language and face closer without being intrusive. A prodigal son returning, there was an apprehensive expectancy as he spoke into the phone.

She took a seat on the curb, the new cowboy boots were starting to make her feet hurt after the walk through town. When he joined her, Laine took his hand and held it on her thigh, returning the squeeze.

"I hope I got the right boots," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure there's subtle intricacies to cowboy fashion I won't understand. What if these Idaho boots somehow violate the Texas aesthetic?"

Laine bumped her shoulder against his, giving his hand another squeeze. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you."

Ol’ Francine was true to her name. In that she was old. She was loud, she stank of exhaust, she was big and unapologetic about it. The red paint used to be uniform, but now the hood was a dull gray, and the door they could see was tan. Uncle Ted had been replacing parts on that truck in lieu of letting her die, and Donnelley reckoned at this point, it probably didn’t have an original piece in it. The horn honked twice when they saw him, and he pulled up next to a gas pump. After a few moments, he came walking over. Uncle Ted once had the same red hair as Donnelley, though the beard was traded for a long mustache. The mustache was still there, as always, but the hair was dried out and gray as the hood on Ol’ Francine.

His features were well worn, craggy, and harsh from years in the sun and wind. His eyes were as Donnelley remembered, the sly eyes of a joker, always smiling even if the lips weren’t, like every time he walked up to you he had the perfect joke ready to fling, “Howdy,” he said, in full rancher splendor of blue jeans, flannel, Carharrt coat, and the eponymous boots and hat, which he tipped Laine’s way. Always the Southern gentleman, “You must be this ‘other’ I’ve heard so much ‘bout. Now that I’m in the flesh, may I ask you your name?”

He smiled, probably the same smile he’d made his wife fall for, maybe not pearly anymore, but full of humor as it always was. The slight gut probably wasn’t present at the time either, “All hat, no brains over here neglected to tell me.” He smiled and winked at Donnelley.

Laine smoothed her vintage western blouse down to her waist, clasping her hands together as the beat up truck creaked and grunted to a stop. She watched the man emerge, an almost modern cowboy, tall and lean and the blue eyes that peered at her felt a little familiar.

When he asked her name, she offered her hand to shake, "I am that ‘other’. Heather Laine, nice to meet you."

“Gotta say,” He smiled at Laine as he took her hand and gently shook, “You’re quite somethin’, Miss Laine. Hopefully, my boy Joey here ain’t been too much of a headache. Has he calmed down since I last saw him?”

“I’m right here.” Donnelley grumbled, but still smiling to see a truly good man smiling to see him.

“D’you hear that?” Ted quirked his brow.

Laine let her title stay unsaid, the old timers sometimes had suspicious reactions to psychologists. She smiled back at Uncle Ted, tilting her head slightly, "He's not too much of a headache, and as far as calmed down I'm not sure but maybe I've been a little influence on him."

She gave Donnelley a sly little look and a hint of a smile, then turned back to Ted. "Must be the wind. I don't think the wind ever stops blowing up here."

Laine reached back for Donnelley’s hand and shook her head, “A lot of times blowing hot air.”

“Oh, y’all’re a couple’a jokers.” Donnelley rolled his eyes with a smile as he took Laine’s hand in his.

Uncle Ted raised his brows as he took Donnelley in. His eyes went from boots to brow, and he gave a little nod, “Army sure did a number on that brother of mine.”

“Much the same experience, gotta say.” Donnelley shrugged.

“It’s good to see you back after all this time, son. You got no idea what you learn to miss when everyone else is… you know.” Dead. Uncle Ted’s smile faltered a bit. No matter how much of an asshole his brother, Donnelley’s father, had been after he came back from Vietnam he was still just that. Ted’s brother. Uncle Ted pulled his smile back up and offered his hand out to Donnelley, “Army takes a lot from a man. Takes a different kind to do it for as long as you are. Or did.”

Donnelley took Uncle Ted’s hand, but was almost unexpectedly pulled into a tight embrace, the air in his chest pounded out by Uncle Ted’s surprisingly heavy hands. The man was slim, but solid. Uncle Ted held him out by his shoulders, “Gotta say, you’re bigger’n than that lil’ bastard gettin’ stuck in everybody’s craw I once knew.”

“They feed me good.” Donnelley winked and Uncle Ted gave him one more deceptively solid smack on his shoulder before he stepped back.

“So, what’s first on the agenda now that ol’ Francine’s all filled up? Y’all wantin’ to grab a bit in town, or go out on the range and cook us up some good cowboy eatin’?” Uncle Ted stood back, smiling just to have some people to entertain.

Laine observed their interaction from a corner of her eye, not staring to allow them a semi private moment. The mention of Mr. Donnelley brought back the memory of the canned sausages. It had stuck with her for some reason, maybe the absurdity of the pathetic image or just the sadness of a man so crippled by his demons to deny a simple pleasure of trying something outside his tiny world.

At the mention of food, she was still full from Dairy Queen but tapped her booted foot and said, “I didn’t wear these to strut around a McDonalds, I would love to go to your ranch and try cowboy cooking, Mr. Donnelley.”

Uncle Ted chuckled, “Now that’s my girl. I still got some steaks need eatin’ I got from Tuck’s shop.” Uncle Ted raised his brow, “‘Course, I also got some deer meat. Some snake, if you’re adventurous, shot one in my pasture and got the idea to go lookin’ for a few more just to try it.”

Donnelley was thinking about that snake, hadn’t had it since training with those Marines in the Phillipines a few years back. He looked at Laine and shrugged, “Lady’s choice. Could go huntin’ for rabbit too, whatever you want.”

Laine raised her brows at the idea of snake and glanced at Donnelley, “Sounds like there’s enough meat to choose from without killing bunnies. I would like to try venison, I had some elk jerky in...once. It was good.”

She held her tongue on Alaska, not wanting to dredge up the dark memories from that place. Squeezing Donnelley’s hand, she said, “You said something about riding though?”

He smiled, imagining riding out with his uncle and Laine on the prairies, “Uncle Ted’s got a fair few horses, right?”

“Sure do!” Uncle Ted piped up, just as excited to be in the saddle again, “We’ll take a ride out to the country, get a fire goin’ and look at the big sky above. Night time’s darn beautiful ‘round these parts, not as many lights as ‘round Dallas.”

“I would enjoy that,” Laine said, even if camping was not high on her list of fun. The idea of the open sky and the pleasure on the old man’s face at the chance to show off the natural beauty of his land was enough. “I don’t get to see the stars too often where I’m from, too much light pollution among other sorts. Just the brightest, you know?”

She eyed Francine then glanced back at the Toot’n Totum, “Do we need anything else before we go? Mr. Donnelley, would you care for a six pack or anything?”

“Of Dr. Pepper, maybe. I mix it with my whiskey.” Uncle Ted smiled, then caught himself, “Goodness, where’re my manners. Miss Laine, my name is Ted Donnelley, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Laine nodded her head once, a little smile forming at the mention of whiskey. Of course it was whiskey. “It is nice to meet you too, Ted. I’ll run and get that soda.”

She turned to go back into the store, the heels of her boots clicking against the pavement as she walked. The sidewalk was already drying as the sun made its presence known, the shift of breeze and the rain washed air felt cooler against her skin. Even a faint presence of autumn made her mood shift upward, a change was coming.

>TED DONNELLEY RANCH
>6 MILES SOUTHEAST OF DALHART
>1645

Ted and Donnelley each pushed a door swinging open, leaving Laine standing in the middle of the open doorway of the tall-roof stable. The inside was well-lit, and the floors were clean and meticulously kept. It was clear by the organized tools and such that even in Ted’s old age and loneliness that he didn’t let himself bow to time’s hand ceaselessly graying his hair and hunching his back. As Donnelley eyed the few horses that Ted still kept and the pristine conditions they lived in, he knew this was probably what kept Ted above the ground, if he knew his uncle.

Each of the stables, even the ones empty now, had a brass nameplate inscribed with each one’s name. As was their luck, there were three left in the stable, one chestnut and two black. Ted pointed to the chestnut, “This beauty’s name is Cassidy,” Ted walked over to the horse and lay a hand on her, petting her muzzle, “She’s ‘bout as faithful as a horse can ever get, stamina like a damn Olympian, could probably run her all the way to Brazil and back, tell you what.”

“That one there’s Comanche, and Josey’s the other’n.” Ted tipped his hat to the two old friends of his, “Decide ‘tween ya which one’s either of yours and we’ll get ready to head out. I’m fixin’ to take y’all to me and Elizabeth’s old spot.”

Donnelley looked at Ted and found him with that same smile, but a far off look. He’d missed his aunt by a fair few years, he knew. Wasn’t the only thing lost to time since he’d been away for damn near a decade now. He gave Comanche a parting pat on his side as he huffed, going to plant a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, “Thank you, Uncle. You takin’ us in means a lot.” Donnelley smiled, “Let’s make up for some lost time.”

“Reckon we should, son.” Uncle Ted looked away from his memories and clapped Donnelley’s shoulder, “Now, let’s get to it. Miss Laine, how’re you gettin’ along, you in need of help, you just come on and ask me y’hear?”

Laine admired the clean stable as she walked through it, the horses taking notice of the pair of strangers. She looked at Donnelley patting Comanche so she chose the other black gelding.

"I don't know how to saddle or anything," she admitted when Ted asked how she was doing. "The times I've been riding it was done for me. Anything you can tell me about Josey."

“Named after Josey Wales, but ain’t half as mean. He’ll let you ride him, won’t have to worry ‘bout him buckin’ you.” Uncle Ted smiled as he stroked Josey’s muzzle, the steed responding in kind with a bob of his head, “Won’t have a problem with him long as you don’t beat him or somethin’.”

Uncle Ted walked away to retrieve a saddle, Josey’s very own, by his name stitched into the seat in kitsch Western font. He went about securing it around Josey while explaining the process to Laine as she watched, the horse being used to it by now. In no time at all, Josey was ready to ride, and Uncle Ted smiled, “Next time, you’ll saddle the boy up while I tell you what to do. ‘Fore long, you’ll be a real as real cowgirl.”

“Won’t be just a girl with some boots.” Donnelley clucked his tongue and winked at Laine as he hefted his own saddle up onto Comanche, securing it as if he’d been doing it every day for the eight years he’d been gone from Texas, “We got ourselves a gang now.”

Laine eyed Josey warily, the black horse snorting softly, she stroked her hand along the glossy neck. He had a small swirl of white hair between his eyes, a faint star and she gave it a scratch as he lowered his head. She smiled at Ted’s comment, “A real California cowgirl.”

Once the horses were tacked, they were led out of the barn and into the sunlight of the afternoon. The sky had been swept clean of clouds, the storm just a memory to the earth that had rapidly absorbed what rain it could and the runoff had travelled the path of least resistance down into creeks and arroyos that criss crossed the plains. Now an achingly blue sky arched above them, the sun making its trip westward.

Laine managed to swing into the saddle after only two hops for momentum and settled into it, checking the stirrup length with Ted’s assistance. She looked over at Donnelley, “Tex rides again with Red Ted and Doc.”

Donnelley gave his best roguish grin and his kissy faces to Laine. Uncle Ted was smiling between the two, and he looked at Laine, “Doc, huh?” He finished adjusting the stirrups to Laine’s length and stood back, “Never took… Tex as someone who’d be able to rope in the interest of a Doc. You a, uh, like a surgeon or somesuch?”

Laine chuckled at Donnelley's reaction, a faint blush rising in her pale face. She smiled slightly at his uncle’s question, “Nothing so useful, I’m afraid. I’m a head doc with the Bureau.”

“Psychologist, okay,” That good humor always in his eyes spread to his grin, and it grew that much more with the next words just on his lips, “That’s good. He needs one.” He chuckled, nodding at Donnelley.

“Yeah, most likely. You were there for it, Uncle.” Donnelley sheepishly smiled and scratched at his beard.

“Yeah, I was.” Uncle Ted shook his head at the memory of that young punk. Teaching Joseph Donnelley manners back then was like breaking a stubborn horse. Uncle Ted learned to take the small victories where he could, and by the end of it, he’d been more of a father to Donnelley than his dad ever was. “I still remember you showin’ up on my doorstep after ol’ Pa gave you the boot.”

Uncle Ted looked at Laine, “Damn fool got dropped off by Sheriff Gracy. Well, he was a Deputy back then, but I had Joey standin’ on my front porch couldn’t even look me in the eye.” Uncle Ted was smiling now, unlike then, as Donnelley remembered, “Gracy explained to me what happened. Said Earl didn’t even want him back. I had a mind to turn him away right there, but the boy’s my blood.”

“Couldn’t see him sleepin’ on the sidewalks like some of them bums in the city. ‘Sides, after he told me the story, I had to take him in.” Uncle Ted looked at Donnelley and Donnelley looked back, “Taught this here heathen some good manners. Weren’t a nice man all the time, but a damn sight better’n whatever was at home.”

Donnelley smiled at his uncle, nodding, “Taught me what it was to be a man. Ain’t just the clothes, or the big talk, or the boots. It’s gettin’ up and makin’ sure you keep gettin’ up.”

“Even if it’s just to see another sunrise.” Uncle Ted hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and smiled at Laine, “Never had one of my own, but I reckon I can house train a stray damn good, can’t I?”

Laine listened and watched the unspoken expressions playing out over the men's faces. Donnelley was complicated but she had known that and what she was in for when she took his hand in the car that day. Or at least she thought she had, but she was willing to work at it.

She smiled a little, resting her hands on the horn of the western saddle. "I think you did a fine job, Ted. It's amazing what a positive parental type figure in a boy's life can do. He could have gone down a much different path."

Her own extensive experience studying the backgrounds of perpetrators and victims of heinous crimes had taught her that a boy with Donnelley's upbringing could have been a lot worse off. Either in prison or a statistic, but instead he was here. Saving the fucking world one day at a time.

“Yeah, I’ll say.” Uncle Ted nodded at the two, “Well, enough talkin’. Figure you’re both wantin’ to get out on the trails.”

Donnelley opened up Comanche’s stable and led him out, reins in his fist. He stuck one foot in the stirrups and mounted up as Uncle Ted opened Josey’s stable and led the horse out before mounting Cassidy, “I got all the stuff for us layin’ out at me and Elizabeth’s spot. Stuff’s been sittin’ for a bit, so hopefully it’s still there.” Ted laughed as he urged Cassidy on and out the main doors.

“You ready for this ride, cowgirl?” Donnelley said, siding up next to Laine.

Laine glanced over at him, “I’m ready, just keep close in case I need help.”

They left the barn and headed down the caliche path until they passed the gate that separated the homestead and the wide open pasture. Everywhere it was flat dun colored land with clumps of spiny yucca and grey-green sage dotting the plain. The grass was short and sparse after a long dry summer, the ripening seed heads the same color as the dusty earth.

Laine examined it with an eye, comparing it to southern California where hills and mountains bumped up between desert and ocean. Here there was so much nothing and the wind whipped across it, the constant companion in the great empty. She looked at Donnelley riding beside her, a rugged man carved by the nature of this land and the hard people it would take to want to stubbornly stake a living in the high plains.

And at Ted just ahead of them, a lone rider against the backdrop of big sky and prairie, the cowboy ideal. Laine could see why Donnelley retained the name Tex, it was not just his accent. He was a cowboy, a man expecting himself to be able to handle anything that came his way through sheer stubbornness and grit and do it his own way.

Laine mused on the idea as they rode, letting them talk as they would and Ted giving them the guided tour, pointing out any interesting thing that would have passed by her eyes unseen. The vague depressions in the dust of antelope prints or the small holes dotting the land as they passed through a prairie dog town. She shifted in the saddle, squeezing her legs to make Josey pick up the pace. The black gelding was a gentle ride but he sensed her inexperience and would stop to crop at the clumps of grass rather than stay at a steady pace.

She clucked her tongue at him as the horse lifted his head and without warning Josey snorted loudly and bolted, crow hopping in a bucking sideways motion. Laine fell forward onto the neck of the gelding, grabbing at his mane and holding her legs hard against him even as she felt herself lifted from the saddle.

“Whoa! Shit,” she cursed, clinging to the horn before letting go as Josey kicked his heels again and began to move faster. Laine hit the ground and rolled, dust coating her black blouse and jeans. As she lay there, catching her breath, she heard the sound.

T-t-t-tssssss

A sizzling rattle somewhere in the cluster of yucca that made her freeze. She had never heard it before but somewhere in her caveman brain knew it was dangerous. Josey had known it too by the slithering movement and now the prairie dogs barked short high pitched sounds, telling each other the danger that lurked.

From Donnelley’s place in the saddle, he could see the rattlesnake hidden in the tall grass. Just a hint of it, well-hid by the color of its scales and skin. And he didn’t like how close it was to Laine. No doubt, it didn’t either. Donnelley tugged his shirt up to expose the butt of his FN handgun, sliding it from the kydex holster at his side. Uncle Ted was already cautiously approaching, slow as slow, with his hands up as if the rattlesnake was armed too. He’d dismounted the second he’d heard Laine’s troubles. With Donnelley’s handgun trained square at whatever he could see of the snake in the brush, Uncle Ted slowly came to one knee on the other side of the trail from Laine.

“Now, I’m gonna have you crawl to me, a’right? Real slow-like now, okay?” Uncle Ted tried on a smile for Laine’s benefit, though Donnelley wasn’t too much in the mood for one.

“I got it in my sights.” He growled, though Comanche was shifting uncomfortably away from the deathly sound.

Uncle Ted shook his head, “No, no. He ain’t in our land, we’re in his.” Uncle Ted waved Laine over to him, “Real slow, you’re fine.”

Laine used her elbows and knees to belly crawl towards Ted, her muscles quivering with the desire to jump up and run. Slowly she made her way to him and glanced back, the coiled snake shaking its long rattle. It was out of striking range now, at least she hoped.

“You got it, come on.” Uncle Ted smiled, taking Laine’s hand and helping her to her feet now she was away from the snake. “Now let’s get you back in the saddle.”

Laine pulled herself up with his help, dusting off her jeans and looking back nervously at the coiled serpent. It was far enough now and seemed to have no desire to come after her, all the while rattling its tail and watching.

With a boost from Ted, she swung back into the saddle several yards away. Josey snorted warily and she stroked his neck, trying to calm her own nerves that he picked up and compounded his own.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said as Ted moved to his horse. They were back on the trail that he led them on, the flatness of the plain giving way to an undulation in the land that was invisible from a distance.

Laine rubbed her elbow, it ached where she had hit it on a stone, no doubt leaving a bruise. There was a lone tree, stunted and with sprawling branches it hunched against the incessant wind. It grew over a deep cut in the earth, a creek bed that would fill only after the sudden storms and for just a brief time. It was already almost dry now, the clay cracking in the sun.

It seemed to be a landmark for Ted as he turned toward it. Donnelley followed, bringing up the rear and trying to steady himself from the encounter. To think, he made it out of West Virginia none too worse for wear and here he was now, getting jumpy from a brush with a snake no longer than his arm. When they crossed the dry creek Uncle Ted lowered himself from his saddle at the top of a hill. A fire pit with blackened chunks of wood and a pile of fresh logs just next to it.

“You want to get us a fire, son?” Uncle Ted smiled over at Donnelley before he started to unpack things from his saddlebags.

Donnelley dropped from his saddle, Comanche wasting no time in busying himself with sniffing around the short grass. He offered his hand to Laine so he could help her out of the saddle, a true southern gentleman.

Laine stretched her back once down from the horse and felt the soreness from the fall settling in. There would be bruises under her blouse, she could feel it. She stood back as Donnelley prepared a fire, trying not to be in the way when Ted tended to the horses. She found a spot to settle down and sit, making sure it was clear of any critters that might have claimed it since the last visit of humanity.

A mixture of fat wood and feather-sticks made a good fire, and after a few minutes Donnelley put the first of the logs over the small flames and hoped they’d grow. He sat next to Laine, his arms around his knees as he breathed in the smell of campfire smoke, something he hadn’t smelled in quite a while. All around them was quiet, no cars, no people except for them. Cicadas on the wind, and he’d noticed that Uncle Ted had brought his guitar case. A real cowboy campfire on the plains, for sure. He looked at Laine and smiled, softly bumping her shoulder with his, “How you like Texas so far?”

Laine rolled up her sleeves, tucking the cuffs in and watched the flames grow as the sun drew down in the west. The whirring insects in the last heat of the day mingled with the crackling dead wood. She glanced over at Donnelley and leaned a little towards him, “It’s just like the movies.”

She smiled, her hand slipping to cover his on his knee for a moment while Ted busied himself. Laine added, “I am glad you shared this with me, I’m enjoying myself. It’s nice to be away from everything for a little while. Seeing this place, it helps me understand where you came from, cowboy.”

Chuckling in a low tone, she squeezed his hand and let go, pulling back to lay her hands against her thighs. “Your uncle makes it easy, I wonder how it’ll be when you meet my family.”

“I’ll turn up the charm real good.” He winked at her as he watched Uncle Ted set up with his makeshift pan and pot. Getting ready to cook up some dinner. He smirked at Laine, “Should I tell ‘em I’m a dashin’ international spy for the CIA that swept you off your feet, or somethin’ more believable… like, uh, a firefighter or somethin’?”

“Gotta admit, I don’t really look like office manager material.” He chuckled.

Laine rolled her eyes and leaned into him again, “It doesn’t really matter, my dad will just want to know if you treat me right and my mother will find any fault or make one up unless you flatter her. She was critical of Alex despite him being a doctor until we broke up and she made sure to lament how I had messed up and not married a doctor.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his blue, “She’s not easy to get along with but I can give you a few hints. I’ll make a cheat sheet on how to get on my mom’s good side.”

“A cheat sheet for a person. She sounds lovely.” Donnelley snorted, “I’m sure she’s gonna love this simple country boy from the plains.”

Laine clasped her hands in her lap, “You laugh, but you’ll thank me later. I told you about her. She’s a lot. You can make up whatever you want to tell her, you have my permission. Just be honest with my Dad, he’s going to love you if you love me and treat me right.”

She paused for a moment, then reached for her lighter and the pack of cigarettes wedged in her pocket. Lighting up, she added, “If you’re real lucky, you’ll get to meet my Pappa Eerikki. You two would probably get along, you got enough war stories to swap anyway. I mean, he’ll still hate you when he meets you but he hates everyone until they earn a reason not to be disliked.”

Laine blew smoke out and grinned slightly, raising her eyebrows at Donnelley, “And I’m his favorite grandchild.”

Donnelley whistled and puffed out his cheeks, “Got a lot to live up to then. I’ll have to apologize for not bein’ some kind of fancy doctor or entrepreneur.” He chuckled, “I’m just simple Joseph, sorry ‘bout that.”

Laine leaned over and kissed his bearded cheek, holding her clove cigarette away from him. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s just my mom and I’ve stopped really caring about her opinion of things a long time ago. I just keep the peace for my dad’s sake. Don’t worry about it.”

She met his eyes briefly, it was mostly true about her mother but there was still a small part deep down that wanted the approval of the woman that birthed her.

>DONNELLEY RANCH
>1900…///

It had been a nice dinner, as odd of a choice the meat was. Snake had a gamey flavor, strong notes that even though it tasted of chicken and beef, it still had its own uniqueness to it. Donnelley didn’t mind, having long ago gotten used to eating stranger things when desperate, but if it was on a restaurant menu he wasn’t sure he’d have picked it out. More about the experience, anyway. It was paired with Mexican rice and refried beans Uncle Ted had made himself, and he’d regaled them with the story of how he’d learned to make it.

Traveling to Mexico and running off with a Señorita, being chased through Juarez by her family until he was finally forced to give it all up and cross back into Texas when the actual law got involved. Even with all that adventure behind him, when the conversation turned to Donnelley’s Aunt Ellie, Ted had a look in his eye that wasn’t there talking about his adventures in Mexico. Donnelley smiled along with his Uncle Ted, remembering how sweet of a woman his Aunt Ellie was. If Heaven was real, Donnelley knew she’d be up there, without a doubt.

“And Tecumseh, that mean bastard of a horse, you could see him gallopin’ along with Joey hangin’ on for dear life.” Uncle Ted could hardly get the words past his smiling lips without erupting into another fit of laughter, “I- I’m talkin’ ‘bout he was draggin’ the poor boy. Joey was cussin’ and spittin’, and Ellie was beggin’ me to ride out and get that horse lassoed so her poor boy didn’t get his head kicked off.”

“Oh, Lord, I could hardly hear her over my laughin’ watchin’ the whole show.” Uncle Ted quieted down and he and Donnelley spent a moment just sitting and smiling. “Yeah, That’s the story of Joseph Donnelley, young cowpoke tryin’ to break his first horse without it breakin’ him.”

“My Aunt Ellie didn’t know whether to beat the hell outta her husband or fuss over my bruises. She was doin’ both, really.” Donnelley chuckled, his Panhandle accent returning en force with the whiskey and the feeling of being home. “Then she gave me a talkin’-to ‘bout takin’ the Lord’s name in vain like that.”

“Yeah, big heart, that woman. We never did have any children of our own, so she took to raisin’ this knucklehead like tall grass takes a spark.” Uncle Ted nodded, “Sometimes, her beggin’ me to give the boy a chance were the only reason he had a roof over his head.”

Donnelley looked away, somewhat guilty for the hard times he’d put his Aunt and Uncle through, “Yeah. I really do ‘preciate it.”

“I know you do. Ellie really did, she loved you, son.” Uncle Ted smiled. “I do. Like you were our own.”

Uncle Ted sighed, looking off and away for a few moments before he looked to Laine, “I gotta ask, how did you two meet?”

Laine watched Donnelley during the story, a smile touching her lips as she pictured the young punk holding on for dear life on the back of a wild horse. The story about his Aunt Ellie was new, a nurturing figure in his rough and tumble life she had not figured into the equation. So this was where his chance had been, between his aunt and uncle and their compassion and love for a wayward boy.

Ted’s question caught her off guard and she glanced over at Donnelley, wondering what lie they would have to spin. What did Ted know of his nephew’s work and how much would he let him know about.

“Oh,” Donnelley was equally caught off guard by Laine’s silence, and her looking to him for support, “Well, after I got out of the Army, I started doin’ a little bit of consultin’. Security and whatnot for the State Department.”

“There was a meetin’ goin’ on in Quantico, big stuff that pretty much goes over my head anyway. I was workin’ security detail for some of the State folk there and that’s how we met.” Donnelley said, the wheel’s turning in his head like he was laying tracks right in front of the train as it sped down the rails. It was obvious he was used to lying, to anyone and everyone. He reached over and took Laine’s hand in his, smiling, “She was teachin’ a course and we got to talkin’ on one of our breaks. Turns out we like the same music, rest is history.”

“Ain’t that right?” Donnelley squeezed Laine’s hand.

The lie sat heavy and Laine forced herself to smile as if recalling it fondly. Not even close to the reality but she could not lay that burden down here. She squeezed Donnelley's hand, looking at him and the smooth way he lied to his beloved uncle. She shrugged a little and added, "That's pretty much it. We just clicked."

Laine released his hand when she felt her phone start to vibrate in her pocket and pulled it out. She saw who it was and smiled a little warmer, pushing back from the table. "Excuse me, I need to take this call," she said, sliding her finger over the phone to answer it. "Hey, Ava. What's up?"

Donnelley’s heart dropped into his stomach as he heard Laine greet Ava on the other end of the phone. He swallowed, retrieving his pack of cigarettes from his coat and shoving one between his lips, “I’ll be outside for a quick second.”

“I’ll come with you.” Uncle Ted have Donnelley a smile as he rose from his chair.

Donnelley fixed his uncle with a stare for a moment before he nodded, forcing back what had fallen off of the nervous smile, “Sure thing, then.”

>…///

“Hey Laine.” Ava greeted, some energy in her voice but she sounded very, very tired. “Uh, is this a good time for you to talk?”

Laine glanced over at Donnelley and Ted, then stood up from her chair. The tone was not the usual bubbly voice and she knew already something was off.

"Sure, just give me a moment to step outside," she said, walking towards the front door to let herself out. Laine stood on the porch, the moths fluttering around the light above her.

"We have privacy now," Laine said, looking out past the glow of light into the darkness of the yard and the field beyond.

"What's going on?"

“...Okay, I don’t know how to say this well.” Ava said with a long sigh, her tone nervous with just a tinge of guilt coloring her voice. “I-I don’t think I can go through with the party. I’m so sorry. I’ll hang onto the stuff we bought, maybe we can use it for next,” Her breath caught for a moment as she hesitated. “...next year. Maybe.”

Laine listened and frowned slightly, waiting until Ava was done before responding. “Are you worried about the pressure to pull off a perfect party? I know it can be stressful but there’s no need for perfection, just everyone being there and having fun is good enough. It doesn’t have to go on all night either.”

She waited a moment, the anxiety of putting together a party and being the center of attention might be a reason but with the reality of UMBRA it could be something else, “Are you alright? How’ve you been sleeping lately?”

“Not great.” Ava answered honestly to her question about her sleeping. “And it’s not the pressure of the party, I didn’t even think about it being perfect. I just wanted everyone to have fun.” Another heavy sigh came over the phone, one born of exhaustion and perhaps a small amount of lingering anger. “Donnelley visited me a while ago and we hung out for a bit, but we got into a...really bad argument. About the future.” She sniffed softly. “I just...I’m not in a party kind of place right now and I don’t...I’m not ready to see Donnelley after what happened.”

Laine frowned at that, reaching for her pack of cloves and Ava would hear the metallic click of her zippo lighter and a breathy inhalation and exhalation. “What did he say exactly?”

In the darkness around the ranch house, crickets chirped now that the cicadas had grown quiet. In the distance, the yipping of coyotes was on the wind and the peace of the homestead was as fragile as anything. Shadows stretched from the porch and Laine leaned back against the door frame, “Was it about Alaska?”

There was a long pause. “...He said Alaska was my only chance to leave and have a normal life.” Ava said quietly, her voice rough with the sting of old hurt emotions. “Our first night back, Dave and I were talking about maybe being able to walk away after the case was over, retiring or something and just living easy and normal lives. Maybe even living together. I would like that.” Her voice cracked.

“Donnelley screamed at me how if it was possible to retire, he’d have done it a long time ago. He said that if I wanted a normal life, I should have stayed a ghost.” Her voice trembled, fresh tears likely streaming down her cheeks based on the raw emotion in her voice. “I couldn’t do that Laine, you saw how Dave was after what happened. I couldn’t leave him in that Hell, I couldn’t let my family think I was dead. I just couldn’t Laine, that wasn’t the life I wanted.”

She sniffed loudy and took in a deep breath to steady herself. “And the worst part was, Donnelley just left after that. I went to my bedroom to collect myself and when I came back out, he was just gone. The last thing he said to me was that the only ones that made it out were Maui and Avery. Then he just...he left me. Alone. And he hasn’t tried to talk to me since.”

There was another pause as Ava sniffed and fought to keep her breathing even and words clear. “I don’t know what to do Laine. The future is so dark and I feel like the one little point of light of hope I had is gone and I’m just left in the abyss. What is the point of another sunrise, if every day ends in the same bleak darkness?”

Laine took a deep drag on her clove cigarette, the crackling sound audible in the country night. The Alaska incident reared its ugly head again, a true catch 22 they had faced but there had to be some other ending to it all. It could not have just been that chance or inevitable death but there were powers at work that Ava did not know about.

Finally, she sighed out a ring of fragrant smoke and spoke into the phone, “I’m sorry he said that to you, because I don’t think it’s true. He’s been fighting this fight so long...look, there’s things going on that I can’t talk about over the phone, even a secure line like this. Did he tell you anything else? We have a chance, I think, it’s slim and will be hard fought but it’s a chance. As long as we’re alive, there’s hope, Ava. We were given a second chance, and it won’t be in vain.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to believe it, she had to. The death of the woman she replaced in life was only one that hung on her. There were so many dead and future victims, there was their own future hanging now by a thread. But the thread existed. “Ava, it won’t be easy but we’re going to fight for it because we deserve it. That's all we can do.”

Her voice grew huskier, “Don’t give up, we are all we have.”

Laine grit her teeth, the desire to go inside and yank Donnelley out of his chair in front of Ted or not. The cigarette trembled between her fingers as she waited for Ava to reply.

Ava breathed deeply over the other side of the phone, the faint tinkling of Thor’s collar joining the sound before the large cat meowed. “Hi Thor,” Ava said with a soft huff of relief, no doubt petting the cat as he came to comfort her. “We talked about some other stuff but that was kind of it. I don’t know what you’re talking about but if there’s a chance to end this...point me in a direction and I’ll get to work.” She said, her soft and emotionally raw voice suddenly hardening.

Laine drew on the cigarette, the cherry glowing bright and said softly, “Once I know, I’ll tell you. We’ll need absolute security, only UMBRA can know about what we do.”

“Alright,” Ava breathed out, the harshness leaving her voice with the exhale. “Thank you Laine for listening. I’m sorry about the party, I really did want to throw it but now...I think I just want to go see Dave, see his mountain he’s been talking so much about. Maybe make holiday plans with my family.”

“Go see Dave,” Laine said, “Doctor’s orders. See him, enjoy that time and don’t worry about the party, we’ll celebrate when this is all over.”

She paused then added in a low voice, “And Ava, when I say only UMBRA knows, I mean only us. You, Dave, Donnelley, myself...for now.”

“I understand.” She said, her voice matching Laine’s grave tone. Her voice softened again, “Thank you again, Laine. Really.”

>…///

Donnelley stepped outside through the back door at the dining area and onto the back porch. A rocking chair that he let his Uncle rest in while he took his seat on an overturned pail. The moment grew quiet between them for a moment as Donnelley lit his cigarette. “You got one for me?” His Uncle Ted asked, a brow raised at him.

“You still smoke?”

Uncle Ted shrugged, “Time to time.”

“A’right.” Donnelley handed his uncle the pack and he took one from it, tossing it lightly back to Donnelley for him to snatch it out of the air. He handed over his lighter, and the moment was quiet again as he took it back and slipped the lighter into his pocket.

It was just the two of them watching what was left of the sunset. Already, wailing coyotes could be heard somewhere far off, and the wind rustled it’s way through the tall grass. Cricket song chirping from everywhere. Donnelley took a breath, closed his eyes and smelled the hay, the grass, the dirt, and the smell of burning tobacco.

“She would’ve been absolutely ecstatic to have you here, you know?” Donnelley heard his Uncle Ted and opened his eyes, looking at his uncle, shadows from the porch’s light making the deep lines in his face stand out. “My Ellie. Your aunt.”

Donnelley looked away from Uncle Ted and down to his cigarette, taking another drag. He nodded, “I know.”

“She missed you.” Uncle Ted said, “When her mind started goin’ she’d ask me where you were. Why you stopped comin’ in for supper.”

“Catch her sometimes hollerin’ for you to come in from the stables and come get some food in you.” He huffed a chuckle, remembering how even when she wasn’t all there, she still held onto some of the memories she loved most. “She’d have loved to meet Laine, too.”

“What is this?” Donnelley asked, the alcohol that had once given him a feeling of fuzzy numbness, a heaviness in his limbs now stoking the fire in him.

When Uncle Ted fixed him with his own stare, that fire died down. Just a little, “You and I both know I didn’t just bring you here so you could have your woman ride horses.” Uncle Ted pointed the cigarette at Donnelley, “You got a lot to explain to me, son. I swear, I have half a mind to cuff your dang ear.”

The two of them looked at each other in silence for a few long, pregnant moments. That old stare, the look Uncle Ted got in his eye whenever Donnelley really offended him. Few and far between, but just as heavy as the thunder and rain of a storm. Uncle Ted shook his head, “But, you and me, we’re too old for that nonsense. I just wanna know, son,” Uncle Ted had a quiver to his voice then, and he looked away from Donnelley blinking. He cleared his throat and took another drag, “I just wanna know why I had to explain to your auntie, the woman who raised you, why you weren’t there.”

“She asked for you. In the hospital, she wouldn’t stop askin’ me to make sure to tell you that she was there,” Ted swallowed a lump in his throat, shaking his head, “I ain’t no damn liar, boy, and you know as much as me I ain’t.”

“But, I lied to my wife that I would tell you.” Uncle Ted dragged in a breath, then dragged off the cigarette and grimaced at it, “Now I remember why I stopped with these.”

He pinched the cherry out and pocketed the barely smoked cigarette, “I ain’t goin’ to sit here and beat you over the head with heartache. I am glad you’re here with me.” Uncle Ted looked at Donnelley with a soft smile, “You don’t have to tell me if you can’t. But, I expect to hear somethin’ from you.”

It grew quiet again as Donnelley took that in. He sniffled, and didn’t trust his voice to speak what with the squeezing ache in his chest and the wetness in his eyes he clenched his teeth to fight back. He looked out at the darkening sky, a strip of bloody orange on the horizon. “Any time now, son.” Uncle Ted smiled, “I ain’t mad. Can’t really smack you, you ain’t a kid no more, and I promised I wouldn’t be like your daddy. We’re just talkin’.”

Donnelley sighed, “My dad, when he came back from Vietnam. He wasn’t the same, like you told me, used to be nicer.” Donnelley remembered all those years spent trapped under Sergeant John Donnelley’s boot. Didn’t much like those memories, “Afghanistan ain’t much nicer a place than ‘Nam.”

“I didn’t come back much nicer’n my dad. You remember Holly and Tilly. I done things to fuck all that up.” Donnelley wrung his hands and took another drag, “After that I ran. Got discharged honorably as they’d let me, went and hooked up with the first place’d take me. Ran all over anywhere weren’t here.”

Uncle Ted sighed, “Eight years. Hell of a lot of runnin’.”

“Yeah.” Donnelley said, “Didn’t really wanna be reminded of anythin’ I used to be. Anywhere I used to go.”

“You think you changed any with all that travelin’?”

Donnelley frowned. If he had, it wasn’t for the better, mostly. Laine was the first time in eight years he’d made an effort not to be the piece of shit lying, whoring killer he felt he deserved to die being. He knew the answer, a simple no, or a shake of the head would suffice even. Instead he just shrugged. At least that wasn’t quite a lie. “I don’t know.” He spoke quietly on the night air, “I… I don’t know. I’m sorry I never came back.”

Uncle Ted gave him a consoling smile, a small one, just the slightest uptick at the corner of his lip, “I’m sorry too, son.” He said, just as quiet, “But you’re here now. That’s what matters. The Army- a war- changes a man, just like your pa. Makes you good at only a few things. Man’s only got so much time to get good at somethin’.”

“Best be careful what you get good at doin’.” Uncle Ted fidgeted with his own hands, “You got time. A second chance with Laine. Make the most of it, ‘fore you’re my age and stuck.”

Donnelley felt like it was too late for that. Stuck was the one thing he was. In his ways, in his habits, in his head. In this unseen forever war, and with the people fighting it. In the Program. He appreciated it anyway, “Thanks, uncle.”

“I should be gettin’ to bed. Hardly the night owl I used to be.” Uncle Ted chuckled as he got to standing, “Help yourselves to anythin’ in the house. Y’all’re family, you know that.”

“G’night, son.” Uncle Ted smiled and took one last look at Donnelley, then the sliver of sunset before disappearing back into the house. Donnelley stood and took his uncle’s seat, dragging off his cigarette and watching the night crawl in.

>…///

Laine hung up her phone and finished her cigarette, the sound of the back door opening and closing caught her attention. She walked inside and saw Ted and indicated Donnelley was outside. She went through the house and paused at the back door, her hand on the knob. The sadness and despair in Ava’s voice and she knew how callous Donnelley could be at times. But to tell her there was no hope, snuffing out the sliver of meaning to hold onto was more than Laine could put up with.

She yanked open the door and stepped outside, her green eyes snapping to the man seated in the rocking chair. Anger and hurt surged through her and she reached out, grabbing his shoulder in a tight grip, “We need to talk. Now.”

Donnelley furrowed his brow when Laine planted her hand in a tight grip on his arm. He looked from her hand to her eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. He stared at her for a moment, then nodded, “You wanna do this right here, or what?”

It was that look on his face, in his eyes that made her tense, fingers digging into his shoulder. As if he just was waiting for some reason she might storm over to him. Laine took breath, her normal cool demeanor once again tested by the presumptiveness of his question. He expected it every time, that she would tear into him and she had held back, most times. Donnelley tested her patience and temper like no one else and that expression on his face that said he was expecting this made her cheeks flush hot.

“Not here, I don’t want to bother your uncle,” she said, feeling the tension in her voice nearly tremble. “In the barn.”

Releasing his shoulder, she walked quickly away from him, the boot heels clicking occasionally against a stone as she left the circle of porch light and entered the darkness of the barn. The sound of the horses sleeping and shuffling made her want to turn away, not to disturb the poor animals but it was too late. Laine turned to face the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

Donnelley slipped between the doors of the barn trailing after Laine. Cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he stood before her. The look on her face reminded him of Holly, in those moments where she told him she’d have to explain to their daughter why her daddy couldn’t show up to her class concerts, or to a birthday party, or to a hundred other things. He felt like he should be begging for Laine’s forgiveness, for Ava’s, but that sharp piece of iron in him wouldn’t let him. Never let him back down, even when he should’ve.

He swallowed, covering it up with a hard drag off his cigarette. He frowned, “She told you what happened.” It wasn’t a question, he already knew what would happen, “What did she say about what happened?”

Laine stared at him, then looked way towards the door behind him and across at an empty stall. “What did she say happened? You should know. Well for one thing she doesn’t want a birthday party that she was really excited to throw because now she feels like there’s not fucking point to celebrating anything since what little sunshine, what sliver of hope she was holding onto was casually yanked away by you. Tossed to the side and you left her in that dark hole of hopelessness.”

Her arms down to her sides, her pale fingers curling in fists. “You don’t get that right, no matter what shit you’ve seen and what reality you probably know exists for us. You don’t get to fucking take that little dream of normality and throw it aside, then just walk away.”

The swelling of outrage made her chest tight, it was not just for Ava but herself she realized. Laine had hardly dared breathe the thought about life after UMBRA, for this reason. Hope was fragile and could be deceptive, but people needed it. How Laine had held onto another sunrise like a life preserver through this whole ordeal and yet, as Ava said, what was the point if they could never get past the night.

“That was fucked up,” she swore, stepping up to Donnelley.

Laine’s eyes blazed and she suddenly shoved against his chest in a hard swift motion, her voice now raised, “Tell me what in the hell possessed you to do that? You know how it would hit her!”

Donnelley took a step back as Laine shoved him, looking away from her and down at his boots for the second time that night as his chest ached. From the shoving, and from everything else. He took one last drag and then curled a fist around the cigarette, pocketing it after it had gone out and bringing his hands back to hang at his side. He shook his head, “I’m not a liar.” Donnelley said, quiet, “At least not when the truth is needed. Should I have waited?”

He looked back at Laine, “Should I have waited until it’s years from now and we’re all gray in the hair, and Ava says ‘boy, can’t wait for this to finally be over?’” Donnelley asked, shrugging, “Because, I’ve been at this for almost ten years, and there’s still no grand strategy. There’s no glorious battles, there’s no flankin’ maneuvers, no occupation.”

“Or should I have waited to say it at someone’s funeral? Or write it on my fuckin’ headstone for you to read?” He threw his hands out helplessly. “We’re just rushin’ to plug leaks in a fuckin’ dam.”

“She deserves to know the truth. All of us do. And it hurts.” Donnelley harshly whispered the last word, “I’m sorry. But, I’m not a liar.”

Laine stared at him, her eyes narrowing as he spoke. “You’re full of shit. Did you ever even try to leave? Because I somehow doubt you ever did. This has been your life, if it wasn’t the Army or the CIA. It was always something you were chasing, did you ever once truly think about settling back down? With what, the broken family you left?”

A flash of fury ran through Donnelley’s eyes at Laine’s jab. He wanted to lash out, but he could never be that man. Could never be John Donnelley and he could never make Laine into that broken smile his mother tried to keep. He’d ran away from a lot. From his father, leaving his mother behind. From Texas, leaving his Uncle Ted and Aunt Ellie. From everything he used to be. From everywhere he used to go. And he hadn’t changed even a bit. “Don’t ever hit me with that, Laine.” He said simply, no fury, no anger, just a reedy whisper, “Don’t. What do you want from me?”

She had hurt him and Laine knew it would, there was much more she could have said or dug into. But it hurt her as she jabbed him for a reaction. Hot tears threatened and she blinked hard, furious that she might cry when the rage poured out. Laine ran her hands through her short dark hair, taking a deep breath, “You say we can’t ever get out but what about Clyde, he was retired wasn’t he? In a manner of speaking, if his wife hadn’t been...he was technically retired wasn’t he?”

Her voice raised an octave, the normal cool husky tone now gone. “You know damn well none of us would vanish after Alaska, but I refuse to believe that we’re stuck in this until we die. Now you tell me the truth, not your truth. Not fucking Foster’s truth. People do make it out, I have to believe that.”

He remembered Frank Gamble and Michael Baughman. He remembered what Frank said, how Clyde had been Delta Green until the very end. He looked at Laine, searched her face with eyes that glistened in the light. He swallowed, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again. He looked away from her and shook his head at the ground. He whispered only one thing, no more bravado, nothing could be less Donnelley in the way his voice whispered out just a simple, single phrase.

“I’m not a liar.”

Laine looked him over, the ache in her throat as tears threatened grew. She sniffed, then put her hands on her hips, glancing down at herself. At the silly western wear and she wanted to rip the damn shirt off and throw the boots. It meant nothing. The mask of normality had already slipped from their trip. It was nothing but a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

She nodded, then said, “Right.”

Laine looked at him for a long time, the burning anger at their reality once again slamming them in the face and her love for him made her want to run over and hug him, to try and absorb his pain and make it better. But she was tired, a bone deep weariness had settled in, and Laine walked away.

“I’ll see if Ted has some extra blankets for the couch,” she muttered as she moved towards the barn door.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>CHARLESTON, WV
>WV STATE POLICE STATION
>0900…///
>[NEXT DAY]

It was an odd feeling for Maryanne Roy at the station today. Getting another visit from a Federal Agent to talk about the Carlisle kidnapping that had happened some time ago in New York. There seemed to be quite the buzz about it, and she wondered if fate had placed her just so on the board. At a crossroads in her career, to retire and be done with it all, or to stay the course and see where the road ended with all of this. See if it really was all connected. If a murdered girl, a murdered ex-Warden, and the Carlisle kidnapping were all connected, and how.

She swallowed through a dry mouth, almost not able to taste her coffee as she endlessly stared at the walls of her office in the precinct. It seemed just yesterday she was busting low-level prostitution operations and small-time drug dealers the Feds didn’t have time to touch. Now the Feds were all over little old West Virginia, and they were all coming to her for some goddamn reason.

There came a knock at her door, and she swallowed again, staring and wondering how quietly she could slip out the window until another few knocks came. She cleared her throat, “Yeah, come in.”

Special Agent Garcia stepped into the office, he was a thin short man with dark hair slicked neatly and thick brows that were set in a permanent furrow. “Detective Roy, thank you for seeing me.”

He wore a dark gray suit and a navy tie, his FBI ID clipped to the breast pocket. His accent was noticeably not from the area, a hint of Brooklyn colored his speech. “Agent Garcia, from the NYC field office, we spoke on the phone. May I?”

Garcia pulled the chair out and sat down, holding his file in his lap. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time, Detective.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Roy nodded and gave a tight smile when Garcia helped himself to a seat. She had her hands around her mug, a device, at least something that wasn’t her desk to keep Garcia at bay, “I didn’t get much from you on our initial conversation. How can I help you, exactly?”

Agent Garcia returned the polite smile and opened the folder, “First off, you know I’m investigating a cold case disappearance of a high profile victim. And more importantly the two police officers killed responding to the 911 calls. There were also two dead bodyguards. It was a mess.”

He blinked, the hallway walls splashed with gore and blood came back, the stink of shit from torn guts and how the carpet had squished under his loafers. Garcia had the pictures in the folder but he did not need to look at them to remember. “Detective, I’ve combed through a lot of evidence and tips, one that led me here. I won’t bore you with all the details as I’m sure you have enough to do but I need to ask you about...”

Garcia cleared his throat, “A man that presented himself as Special Agent John Davidson.”

Roy seemed to freeze in place, as if she had been frozen in time. Her breathing had stopped until she drew in a loud breath through her nose and shook her head, “I… don’t understand.” She rubbed at her face, “What’s going on?”

Agent Garcia watched her with dark eyes, heavy bags adding years to his features. “This man, he’s not FBI. I don’t know what he is to be frank, but I do know I was given a tip that he was at the scene of the crime and I’ve followed up on it. I did a lot of weeding through Davidsons in the bureau but this John, he’s a blip. He’s not from any field office here. The employment records were scarce and I found nothing connecting him to this case which we don’t have anything on either. But the tip I had says you know why he was here, he might have been part of a professional hit team that disappeared this photographer who was tied to trafficking children and the murder two police officers. They didn’t just catch a stray bullet, they were shot with purpose.”

“So,” Roy looked away for a second and took a sip of her coffee before shaking her head even more, “Jesus Christ. So, this John Davidson is taking the case away from the real Feds to bury it?”

She sighed, “Holy shit. He was just here, a few days ago. He had another guy with him, had a lot of tattoos, but I didn’t ask questions.” She said, “He asked me about Jackson Mitterick’s old associates. We found Jackson after he OD’d in a fucking motel bathroom some time back. Clem was found a day ago with a table leg in his fucking head.”

“You think someone’s trying to keep the Federal Government out of this investigation?” Roy quirked a brow, “Why?”

Garcia took the pen out from his inner pocket and wrote the names down, then glanced up, “A table leg in his head?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out, because I have a missing man and four bodies and no suspects until now. This Davidson and you said a tattooed man? Noticeably tattooed even wearing a suit? Got a name or any other descriptions,” Garcia asked, tapping his pen, the source had not mentioned another man but it made sense Davidson would not have been on his own. There had to be another or even a team considering the carnage at the mansion. “And Mitterick? Who was he?”

“I’m trying to remember his name. Both introduced themselves to me as special agents in the Bureau.” Roy drummed her fingers on the desk before looking back to Garcia, “Bradley Phillips. Both names are fake, obviously. John Davidson is a ginger, has a beard, about six foot. Scar on his face. Bradley’s a couple inches shorter, blonde, tattoos. Beard too.”

“Both of ‘em have shoulder length hair, slicked back.” Roy sucked her teeth, “Jay, Jackson Mitterick. He was the local head of the Charleston Appalachian Sons Club, you know the types.”

“Daughters of the Confederacy type bullshit, even have an Appalachian Youth Club. More like Hitler Youth. Boyscouts with a smattering of white pride.” Roy snorted, “Jackson’s friend, Gary Bruster took over the Charleston office after he… vacated the position. Gary’s a Wolves of Erik member, motorcycle gang recruits from military and recently separated veterans, Neo-Volkists. Odin and Thor and all that. Little boy thinks he’s gone legit.”

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” Roy stood suddenly, “We had a report that Jackson’s mama’s house exploded. People heard gunshots there beforehand, figured it was just local methhead bullshit. If this is as deep as you’re making me think it is…”

“Somebody’s busy plugging a lot of leaks.” Roy muttered.

Garcia listened intently, making notes and rubbing his finger under his lower lip, a habit when he was thinking. “White power groups, not surprised there but as far as I knew Carlisle had nothing to do with that. He was a photographer, used it to ‘discover’ new talent and what we suspect was traffic the victims to organized mafia, Russians or Ukranians were the main suspects. They’re big in the area and they make a lot of money off the sex trade, mostly bringing in girls from Europe but I wouldn’t doubt they would dip into the local scene if it made them a profit. Any idea if those boys had Russian connections? It’s a long shot out here in the boondocks, uh, no offense, Detective.”

“The meth house exploded, pretty sure that investigation went deep,” he said dryly, “These men, Davidson was looking into them. You got guys shot, one ODed, one with a friggin’ table leg in his head, and I got a couple of Carlisle’s bodyguards torn apart like gore filled rag dolls.”

He handed the folder over to her, “See Davidson and whoever he’s working with are professionals. If it’s what I’m starting to suspect, they’re making it all look like things they’re not. Accidents, crimes of passion...a gorilla attack. What have you.”

Garcia’s accent grew thicker along with suspicion and anger at this mystery man. “A ginger you said,” he said finally, “You know, we have no footage of the incident at the mansion. A guy like Carlisle, in bed with dangerous mafia types and has hired bodyguards but mysteriously his security cameras all managed not to work at the time of the attack. Police body and car cams were stolen. Tying up loose ends alright.”

“So, what’s your next step? We can ask Bruster what he knows, I’m sure he’ll be elated to see a State Detective and a Federal Agent in his lobby.” Roy floated.

"Especially one that's a lighter shade of brown," Agent Garcia gestured with his wrist to show off the medium olive coloring of his hand. "I think we'll have to start there before we go digging into forensics, if there is much. Let's pay him a visit, I appreciate you coming along, Detective. I know how insular it can be."

Roy picked up her jacket from the back of her chair and slipped it on, “Alright, let’s get this show on the road and catch this snake fucking piece of shit.” She spat, the humor edging over to actual anger towards the end, “Can’t believe he actually made it this far with the department at his back. I’m sorry, Garcia. It’s a huge failure, and the only thing I can do is help you fix this fuck up.”

Agent Mark Garcia nodded, then tilted his head, “He’s had a lot of people fooled, no doubt he’s a professional, don’t take it too hard. Why would you suspect him to be anything else than what he claimed?”

He stood up and tucked the file folder under his arm, “We’ll get him, if he’s even whiffed the gunpowder off those dead officers we’ll nail him to the wall.”

Roy looked away from Garcia and nodded. He was right, she knew that, but to think that girl they’d found in the woods wouldn’t get the justice she deserved, all because someone felt it would hurt their interests. Perhaps it was the same ones who’d put her there, and up until now she rested easy thinking the Feds were handling it on their end. She was a goddamned fool. She looked back at Garcia, “I hope he pulls a fucking gun.” She said, the implication of what she’d have to do if that happened hung in the air between them, “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

…///

\\\…It wasn’t an eventful drive. The fact they were on the hunt for a team of professional killers, and a very dangerous one at that, hung heavy over their heads. They were stopped at a red light, Roy’s cheek resting on her hand, the other on the steering wheel of the Dodge Charger Interceptor. She sighed, “You know anything about the case I met him on?” She asked, “It might give you a context, help with your investigation.”

Garcia was looking out his window when she spoke and glanced over, “I know what I was working on. Building a trafficking case on Carlisle until it was scattered to the wind. We had been watching his mansion. I know about the Russians but I never knew the connection here. As for the case here, I had a colleague from Quantico ask about information on Carlisle but she was very cagey about any details why. I don’t know if she was working something down here or what, she never said. I’m technically working on the trafficking case and there’s other teams investigating the murders but I know this asshole better than any of them. He was in bed with Russians who had kept it pretty quiet, for Russians. The Tadjbegskye Bratva he was possibly selling girls to...well they’re slippery. To say the least. There’s also suspicion that they killed one of our own agents and his wife, over another murder investigation.”

He turned to look at Roy, “We’re seriously looking to pound these guys and now we got this...Davidson fuck screwing us over, too.”

“Sounds…” Roy shook her head, placing her hands on the wheel and sitting up as the light turned green. She didn’t have many words about this situation, she’d never been pulled into investigating an international human trafficking syndicate, “Sounds shitty. I’m sorry about the agent you lost.”

Roy frowned, “We’ll get Davidson.”

She pulled them into a spot on the street, getting out and pointing up the row of shops and other businesses, “It’ll be up there. Hopefully he’s happy to see us.” Roy rested her palm on the butt of her handgun, “Because I sure will be happy to see him.”

The brisk walk to the front door of the ASC office almost seemed in vain. Roy reached over and pulled on the handle, expecting the door to swing outward like it was supposed to. But, it seemed locked during business hours. She pulled it again, brows furrowing, “What the fuck, Bruster…”

The receptionist appeared inside, rounding the corner with a large smile that would’ve lit up the room until she saw who it was. She stopped for a second, hesitated, but knew when the police came knocking she’d better answer. She produced the keys from her suit pants and unlocked the door, swinging it open, “Hello! How are you?”

“I’m fine. Here for Bruster.” Roy said, not flattered by the receptionist’s bubbly greeting. “Detective Roy, State Police.”

“Oh,” the receptionist’s smile faltered, stepping aside and waving them in, “Okay, he’s busy with a phone call, but he can definitely see you after. Please, have a seat.”

“Sure.” Roy said, not following her direction toward the seats as the receptionist once again disappeared down the hall towards Bruster’s office.

The waiting room itself looked high end, modern. White walls, dark hardwood floor. Glass shelves showed some meaningless trinkets probably gotten at a Pier 1. Just something to spice up the visuals in the room besides the ficus trees, and the large screen mounted on the wall playing a slideshow of happy, smiling white Anglo families. Roy sighed, “And they say ignorance doesn’t pay.”

Special Agent Garcia glanced at the slideshow and breathed heavily through his nose, a dismissal of her observation. “It hasn’t been ignorance since the ‘70s, they know. Desperate to keep their hold at the top, they just lost the hoods and put on a suit. It’s a lot easier to hate and blame than think critically and admit being wrong. Then there are just those jerks that like inflicting pain and indiginity on others.”

He turned and raised his eyebrows at her, but did not apologize. The FBI ran investigations against people like Bruster and Garcia was going to take notes. If he did have connections to a bratva human trafficking or gun running, then he would bring it back to the Bureau.

Garcia leaned a little towards Roy, “So, do you think he’s gonna prefer to talk to you because you’re white or me because I’m a man? The struggles.”

“I guess whatever’s easier for the hamster wheel in his skull. Of course, you know how AB and those guys are.” Roy shrugged, “Happy to play nice with the Mexican cartels when it benefits them.”

Garcia gave a crooked smile at her remark, “Too bad I’m not Mexican.”

The sound of a door opening and closing, the tack-tack-tack of the receptionist’s high heels on the hardwood floor signaled her approach. Her smile was still plastered on with red lipstick and she graciously waved them down the hall, “Mister Bruster is ready to see you now.”

Roy returned her smile and went for the hall, a glance cast at the closed door of a meeting room, no doubt when the ASC had their annual I Hate Minorities and You Should Too seminars. She rapped her knuckles on the office door, not able to see through the hazy glass panel that was set in every door in this place. Bruster himself answered and smiled at Roy, “Hello, Detective, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, knowing that ex-convicted felon Gary Bruster has gone legit.” Roy put her hand out for Gary to shake, “This is my new friend, Special Agent Mark Garcia.”

“Agent Garcia, pleased to meet you.” To his credit, Gary offered much the same smile he had for Roy, as well as his hand for a shake.

He followed her to the office, giving the secretary a good look over, more to see how she responded than any real interest. He had a Dominican wife that would knife him if he cheated and he would have deserved it.

Garcia smoothed his jacket over his holster as the door opened and he reached to shake Bruster’s hand, imagining for a second slapping cuffs on it instead. One day, it would catch up to him. He would not stay clean, this racist charity organization was not legit in his eyes and Bruster would fuck up and hopefully on a federal level.

He smiled, his dark eyes examining the man’s face for any signs past the bland pleasantness. “Thanks for seeing us, we know you must be very busy.”

“Very,” Bruster chuckled, “It’s always an uphill battle trying to get some good Americans back into government. Maybe make your job a little easier, toughen up on crime.”

Bruster smiled at Roy and Garcia both, ironic, knowing what he’d been up to in the past. Roy was unconvinced that he’d ever really change past his wardrobe, biker attire to a button-up. But Roy could see it. Or thought she could, anyway. She pushed the thoughts of Davidson swindling the case out from under her to the back of her mind as they all took their seats in Bruster’s office. The same ficus trees and other decor, and a folded flag in a frame next to pictures of him in a uniform up on shelves behind his desk.

She wondered what his fellow Rangers in the Regiment would think about how he felt about some of them. “So, I know this must be a very sensitive question, Mister Bruster.” Roy began, folding her hands on her lap, “But, I need you to think back to before your friend and predecessor Jackson Mitterick… passed. We’re currently trying to investigate a little further into his death in light of recent events. Can you think of anyone he was on particularly bad terms with?”

“Recent events?” Bruster looked at Roy and then to Garcia, a little twinge of nerve in his eye, “His death is a federal case now?”

Garcia steepled his fingers, “His death and who might have had a hand in it. His associates.”

He smiled tightly at Bruster, his dark eyes gleaming at the nervousness. The man looked big and tough even in his suit, a former Army Ranger but even they had weaknesses. “Associates that may have had business that crossed the West Virginia borders, of course.”

“I don’t know,” Bruster shrugged, looking between the two lawmen on the other side of his desk, “I honestly couldn’t tell you. You could check in with Clem-“

“Dead.” Roy cut him off, leaning back in her seat and pursing her lips, searching Bruster’s face for any hint of further nerve.

“Wh-what?” Bruster shuddered, as if the news had sapped the air from his lungs. He swallowed, coughing into his fist, “Jesus Christ, how?”

“Murder.” Roy raised her brows, “There’s a common connection between everyone we’ve found dead.”

Roy inclined her head towards Bruster, “Jay’s old friends.” Roy sighed, looking to Garcia, “You want to ask him about our mystery man? Cut to the chase?”

Garcia sat up, looking directly at Bruster, “Ever meet with a man named John Davidson, a ginger, maybe with a man called Phillips, noticeable tattoos?”

Bruster looked at Garcia for a moment, seeming to think about his next words carefully, “No. Those names don’t really ring a bell.” Bruster cleared his throat, leaning back and shrugging, “I’m sorry, no. I could always ask around the other members of the Club, if that helps?”

“Nobody matching that description at all?” Roy asked, her brows furrowing a tad, “Scar on the cheek?”

At that Bruster’s eyes seemed to be repelled by Roy’s aura for a good few seconds, not going anywhere near her. He shifted in his chair, “No, I’m sorry.” He said, a smile flashing across his lips, “You think this man and his friend are going around and killing people? Killed Jay and Clem?”

“Nothing at all?” Garcia asked, raising a brow. “Well, we’re investigating. There’s a lot of little threads we’re finding that seem to lead to the same braid. That's the thing in West Virginia, you all ended up connected. You think really hard now about Davidson. He’s presented himself as a professional, perhaps even an FBI agent. He’s a dangerous man and whatever he’s doing, it’ll come back to your doorstep, sooner or later. I’d bet money on it.”

Bruster looked to Garcia and simply nodded, “Okay.” He said, “I will. Is there anything else I can help you two with?”

Garcia looked over at Roy, he was having no luck with the man. He seemed rattled when they first mentioned Davidson, now he had a chance to recover. Maybe she could turn on the home town charm.

Roy fixed Bruster with a stare, not mean, not accusatory, just a stare. To see if he’d squirm a little more. Some people were nervous just at the sight of a badge, no real reason to it. Others, those were the ones with very real reasons buried just behind the eyes. Roy nodded, “Listen, I know what you must be thinking. I know what you’ve done in the past, everyone in the fucking precinct does, that’s what records are for.” Roy shrugged, shaking her head, “But seeing as we’ve got a very dangerous person crossing state lines and murdering people who are otherwise innocent in my eyes? That’s a goddamn felony. A felony a lot worse than anything you, or Jay, or Clem has ever done that I know about.”

Roy stood, placing her hands on Bruster’s desk and fixing him with that stare, seeing if he’d squirm. Squirm, even just a little. “So, have you seen a man with a scar on his cheek accompanied by another with tattoos?”

Gary Bruster just sat in his chair, staring back at Roy. They held their little contest for a few seconds before Bruster shook his head, “No.”

“Okay.” Roy pushed off from his desk and turned for the door, nodding to Garcia for him to follow. She smoothed her suit jacket down and said over her shoulder, “If you do see him, please tell me. Appalachian Sons Club office manager helps stop hitman, or serial killer, or whatever the fuck this guy we’re after is.”

Roy opened the door, pulling it aside so Garcia could step through before her, “Take care, Mister Bruster.” Roy smiled tightly, gesturing around the office, “And good luck with this… whatever you say it is.”

Garcia stood and smoothed his jacket, watching Bruster as Roy spoke to him. He would be a tough one, if he did indeed have contact. If he had not, then he was overdue with the pattern this Davidson was setting. He gave Bruster a polite nod and turned, heading out the door the detective held. He walked quickly through the reception area, not bothering with another look at the woman up front.

Outside, he took a deep breath and wished he had not stopped smoking. When Roy emerged he looked at her as he reached for the passenger side door. “Tough cookie, that one.”

Roy opened the driver door and slipped in before Garcia, starting the car and taking a deep breath, her face scrunched up like a snarling dog. She shook her head and blew out the breath, “Not as tough as he thinks.” Roy said, “He’s seen them.”

Roy’s phone began to ring, the annoying tone emanating from her pants pocket before she grabbed it and held it to her ear, “West Virginia State Police, Detective Maryanne Roy… Really?” Roy’s brows furrowed, “I’m on my way.”

Roy slipped her phone back into her pocket and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her knuckles white and fists clenched around the leather so hard the steering wheel creaked, “We’re out of known associates for that motherfucker Mitterick.” Roy said, “Park Police just fucking found Hubert O’Grady’s body deep in the sticks off of a highway into Blackriver.”

She looked to Garcia, “You want to bet me Davidson and his fucking friend are in Blackriver?”

Agent Garcia shook his head, swinging the door open to get inside. “They don’t waste time. Let’s go take a look and hopefully the park police didn’t walk all over our crime scene.”

As they drove, Garcia reached into his pocket for the peppermint gum that had taken the place of cigarettes a decade before. He took a piece and offered one to Roy then chewed his furiously as he thought over the brief interview with Bruster. His jaw worked as he recalled the fluster at Roy’s mention of Davidson, that had to be it. He did know but he was not some street thug or some soft civilian that would crumble easy. Despite his wishes, Garcia knew Bruster was going to be hard to break. Maybe they could get him after this, when he saw another one of his buddies dead.

>…///

“That was Roy,” Donnelley said, still looking out the big panel window of the tiny sandwich shop, just across the street from the ASC office, “Sure as shit.”

“Roy?” Renko asked around a mouthful of a Cuban sandwich, wiping his mouth and bulging cheeks with a napkin.

“State Detective.” Donnelley answered, sipping off his bottle of beer, the bitter Red Hook making him grimace at one corner of his mouth. “And some other suit. Got a feelin’ we ain’t goin’ to be friends.”

He slapped two twenties on the table and stood, downing the rest of his beer. Renko watched him, still chewing on a bit he’d taken out of his sandwich, “Leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“I am not finished.”

“Take it with you then.” Donnelley turned for the door and walked some distance down the street to the beat-up brown 1980 Honda Civic wagon they’d gotten from Alexei. No one asked where he’d brought it back from, and Donnelley didn’t really care. He hopped into the passenger seat next to Queen. Alexei was menacing McCune in the back.

“Anythin’ on the scanner?” Donnelley asked.

Queen sat behind the wheel, still a little sore he never got to drive the SHO before they had to ditch it. A cigarette burned, dangling between his fingers as he rested his arm on the door frame, windows rolled down. He spotted Donnelley and Renko returning and he knew why, he had seen the same car and the same blonde with a badge and some G-man. He knew a Fed when he saw one.

He took a drag as they got into the car, blowing the smoke out the window. He eyed Renko in the rearview mirror as the tang of mustard and pickles made his mouth water. “Gonna give me a bite?”

Queen grinned at him then turned his attention to Donnelley, “Yep, don’t think I’ll ever get that coffee date. Locals found Hubert, I’m sure they’ll be zipping over there to take over the scene. Good thing neither one of us did the shooting.”

“Fuck you.” McCune grumbled from the back.

“No,” Donnelley adjusted the rearview so he could see the bald, squared-jaw asshole state cop, “Fuck you.”

McCune scowled and looked away out the window. Donnelley turned back to Queen, “The Russkies have McCune. You and me can go fuck with Gary.” Donnelley had his wolf grin, smelling prey on the wind, “He’s gonna be desperate. We’re gonna go convince him he needs VISCO more than VISCO needs him. We have him by the throat, he can’t say no to shit.”

Queen nodded at that, putting out his cigarette and looked at Donnelley for his ziploc bag. “Let’s do it, let them have fun with McCune. I really wanna watch that shithead Hubert squirm. He thinks he can get out of all this without it following him. He’s a piece of shit and that never changed.”

He reached up and smoothed his hair back, then rubbed his face as if it would rid him of the fatigued circles under his eyes. Sleep had been evasive unless he passed out, unrestful but there were always chemicals to prop himself up. “So we're gonna hop over and see what they wanted with our client?”

“Damn straight.” Donnelley grinned the wider, opening his door again and heading straight for Bruster’s office. With Queen in tow, Donnelley threw open the office door, smoothing back his hair and grinning something mischievous as Sally the receptionist squeaked in startlement at their raucous arrival.

“Gary in?”

“Wha… uh, yes.” Sally smiled nervously. Obviously the State Police, a Fed, and now two supposedly Private Spies marching in and out of Gary Bruster’s ASC office was about as much excitement Sally could handle.

“Thanks.” Donnelley said simply, sauntering over to the back where Gary’s office was and throwing the door open in much the same fashion. What greeted Donnelley and Queen’s eyes couldn’t have been better unless they’d found him sucking Bratva cock in the back of a limo.

“Holy shit-“ Gary was frozen with eyes the size of saucers with a couple lines of white the length of Donnelley’s fingers.

Donnelley pointed and chuckled like the neighbor kid who’d caught Gary doing something he shouldn’t. In a way, he kind of was, “Oh-hoooo,” Donnelley fished his phone out and snapped a quick picture of Gary hurriedly trying to put away the incriminating nose candy, “What’s the matter, Bruster, something got you nervous?”

Queen slid between Donnelley and the door, the impish smile returning to his face when he saw Bruster’s guilty expression. The flash from Donnelley’s phone made him blink and he dragged his gaze from the lines back to Bruster. He tisked, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Naughty, naughty.”

He circled around to his side, snatching the mirror, the fine powder scattering over it. Queen took a taste, rubbing it on his gums and stepped back, still gripping the mirror. “Mediocre at best, is that what you’re getting in these parts? What a bummer to get busted for shitty coke.”

“What the fuck is this?” Bruster flipped from shock to anger, like a little boy who got caught with his hands too far in the jar.

“You,” he pointed at Donnelley and then jabbed the finger into his own chest, “work for me. I paid you-“

“No.” Donnelley had lost his smile then, shaking his head in a slow motion from left to right, a sharpness in his eyes, “No, Gary Bruster. I work for me.”

Donnelley sat himself down in the chair in front of Gary’s desk, reaching his legs up to rest on the rich mahogany or whatever the fuck wood this desk was made of. He pulled the pistol from his holster hidden under his coat and rested it in his lap, “Matter fact, you work for me too now. I know just how deep you are with the Russians, I know how and why your stupid Nazi shitfuck friend Clem was killed.” Donnelley stared flat eyes boring into Gary’s own, “I saved your buddy Hubert from this whole Eastern Promises Bratva-Propavsheye turf war love triangle y’all got goin’ on in this bullshit mountain state.”

Bruster’s lip twitched with fury, “I suggest you walk on out of here before I call-“

“The police? You mean McCune?” Donnelley asked, “McCune, right? The dirty cop you got turnin’ tricks for the AB and now the Russians too? The dirty cop I got in the back of my car right now that I could frame for the murder of Hubert O’Grady whenever the fuck I want?”

Donnelley got back to standing and hunched over Bruster’s desk, resting on the knuckles of his one hand and the other still placed on the handgun as it came to rest on Bruster’s desk, barrel yawning menacingly in Bruster’s direction, “Because, when Jay stopped bein’ useful for me, my friend and I threw him away like a fuckin’ napkin.”

“So, in a way, we made you, Gary. You’re not makin’ waves here, you’re just one of our ripples. You didn’t climb into this throne, you tripped.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “And if you don’t want to trip into your grave like Hubert, Clem, and Jay you’ll shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to do.”

“And what is that?” Bruster swallowed.

“You’re goin’ to make another twenty-thousand dollar payment to the account I gave you, and another two-thousand every month.” Donnelley smirked at the storm brewing behind Bruster’s eyes.

“As for what you get out of all this? I don’t leak the pictures I took to the media and expose your role in Russian drug traffickin’.” Donnelley shrugged, “You get to keep playin’ bigshot in your men’s wearhouse outfit and smoke cigars with old, white fucks on weekend golf trips, knowin’ you’re safe from me as long as you keep marchin’ to my drum.”

“Am I understood?” Bruster nodded at Donnelley’s question, “Then where’s your fuckin’ checkbook and why am I not seein’ you write in it?”

“Who the fuck are you two?”

“We’re the worst of the worst, Gary. The biggest criminals and extortionists that would make you and every delusional tweaker conspiracy theorist in every meth house and internet forum blush with the shit we’ve gotten away with.” Donnelley frowned, “We’re the government.”

>…///

Donnelley fell into the passenger seat of the Honda Civic, making the suspension rock and shut his door. He sighed, “Had to happen sometime.” Donnelley said, shaking his head. Aliases were meant to be used up and burned away, but he usually decided when and how it happened. From Gary’s mouth, Roy and Garcia didn’t have many leads, but he didn’t want to wait around to see if they’d find some. “My only question is how the fuck the FBI caught wind of the Carlisle kidnapping and connected it to us? Or John Davidson and Bradley Phillips anyhow.”

Queen lit a cigarette then started the car, he had resisted confiscating the coke, shitty or not, it was free cocaine. Instead, he had left poor Bruster to reconcile his new place in life with the subpar powder. At Donnelley’s question, he shrugged slightly, turning the wheel as he backed out of the parking spot. He glanced at him, the Kools clamped in his teeth as he pulled into the street. He reached up, blowing the smoke out the open window, “You don’t know, do you, how the FBI might have connected us with Carlisle. None at all?”

Queen shifted his gaze and cleared his throat, “I ain’t gonna say it.”

“Well, you’d better say it later,” Donnelley growled, looked sidelong at Queen, not exactly wanting to have this conversation with the present company, “We’ll figure this shit out.”

Queen nodded slowly, not wanting to have the conversation at all. “Sure thing, boss.”

He glanced at the rear view mirror, looking at Renko beside McCune, “He behaving himself back there?”

Alexei slapped a hand down on McCune’s shoulder, squeezing so tight McCune’s face scrunched up. He let out a grunt through gritted teeth, “Yes.”

“That’s good.” Donnelley said, looking out the window, “We’ve got unfinished business we need to hash out with you, McCune.”

“That so?”

Donnelley looked in the rearview towards McCune, “You, me, and my good friend in the driver’s seat here are gonna have a nice little visit to what I know you can’t live without.”

“No…” McCune‘a eyes widened, “You motherfucker, you said as long as I was useful to you…”

“We’ll have to see, friendo.” Donnelley turned the rearview away from his eyes back to Queen’s. He could hear McCune’s panic in his breaths behind him.

The Things We Leave Behind…

The Hour’s Getting Late…

>HILLSDALE, WV
>OUTSIDE CHARLESTON
>MCCUNE HOUSEHOLD
>1200…///

It was just the three of them inside the car, situated on the quiet and empty suburb streets of Hillsdale. Donnelley had elected to drive while McCune sat in the passenger seat, urged not to try anything funny by the barrel of the ASP poking the back of his head. It was an unspoken arrangement that the windshield would be painted with McCune’s last thoughts if he didn’t listen to Donnelley. The sky outside was blue, spattered with errant clouds of white, temperature was mild. Just right. Seemed a shame to be holding a man hostage today with the threat of death.

“Which one’s yours?” Donnelley asked.

McCune pointed out a white house with green trim, a single-story quaint cottage. A blonde woman in her forties was watering the lawn in a modest dress with a floral pattern made of warm colors. Her belly looked to be protruding, swelling with a baby as her hand rested on it. Donnelley felt that pang of regret, guilt striking at his heart, but he’d had lots of practice pretending he didn’t even feel it. “What’s her name?” Donnelley asked, fingering the Steyr handgun in his lap.

“Why?”

“Because, you got a gun to your head and I could roll past your house and dump your faceless corpse on the front lawn if you don’t tell me.” Donnelley spoke matter-of-factly, looking at McCune for a long moment before returning his gaze to his wife in the yard, shrugging, “Or somethin’ like that.”

“Mary.” McCune answered, satisfied with the reason. “She’s showin’ now. Got another one on the way.”

“I can see that.” Donnelley nodded, “You think that’ll make it hard enough for me not to come back here and burn down your house while she’s sleepin’ if you fuck with me?”

Donnelley looked back at Queen, “What do you think?”

“I think we’re giving this fuck too much time to think about it,” Queen said, his voice still light but there was an edge to it, an impatience. “It wouldn’t be the first time we wiped a man’s line from this earth.”

He poked the barrel against the back of McCune’s head, brushing the tender spot where the brainstem would be obliterated. McCune flinched, leaning his head forward in vain in an effort to get away from the gun.

Donnelley produced a phone from the center console. He flipped it open, dialing a number he wouldn’t explain how he got. Across the way, Mary McCune looked around until she found her phone, answering it. McCune could hear her on the other end, “Hello? Hello?”

McCune looked to Donnelley, who pushed the phone towards McCune. He took it, and pressed it to his ear. Whatever Mary was saying on the other end, they couldn’t hear. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Matt… yeah… No, my phone’s dead, I had to borrow one from one of the guys… yeah… oh-uh-oh, you got that? Yeah… well, I’ll see you in a bit. We can talk all about it… bye, baby. Love you, tell Jenny too.”

Donnelley took the phone from McCune and broke it in half, removing the battery and dropping it in a Tupperware of water in the backseat. “Jenny.”

“Here’s the deal,” Donnelley said, still watching McCune’s wife, “Everythin’ I said until now still stands. You even give me a suspicion that you’re about to fuck me, I’ll give the right people all the evidence I need to frame you for the murder of Hubert O’Grady.”

“I’ll link you to the Bratva and you’ll be rottin’ away in a Federal Pen.” Donnelley frowned, “And your wife and daughter’ll be all alone out here with the wolves. Wolves like us.”

“If you keep bein’ a good boy,” Donnelley perked up just a tad, “Your daughter gets ten thousand dollars lump-sum, and another two stacks monthly. College fund, so that she doesn’t have to be like you.”

“So she doesn’t end up like Maria. Snatched from her parents and tricked out to whoever had cash.” Donnelley stared daggers into McCune’s face, “Think they’ll charge more for her, or no? Nobody deserves that. Right, McCune?”

“Yeah.” McCune muttered, looking longingly at his wife, “How do I know if I do whatever you’re asking, the Russians aren’t just going to do to me what you’re saying you will?”

“Just a risk you’ll have to take. You’ll be servin’ your country, McCune. Makin’ sure you got at least a little bit of an argument when Saint Peter tries to turn you away from the pearly gates.” Donnelley nudged McCune, who did nothing. There was a time when he was top dog, big man on the block stomping down the sidewalks because he was untouchable. Until Donnelley and Queen showed him how vulnerable he really was when he fucked with people who routinely did away with the law and the constitution in the name of national security against the terror of what lay in waiting beyond, “All you have to do is remember you got a leash. And we’re on the other end of it.”

“Can you do that?” Donnelley asked. McCune nodded.

“You wanna break the news of who’s nice enough to pay for McCune’s daughter’s college?” Donnelley spoke to Queen.

Queen leaned in, “Why none other than your old buddy, Bruster. Putting his millions to good use, I’d say. I think we deserve some gratitude, your daughter got lucky and will benefit despite the fact her father turned his head when girls like her were being trafficked right under his nose, right in his jurisdiction.”

He smiled, more of a baring of teeth and looked into the rearview mirror to meet McCune’s gaze, “Girls just like her, only they didn’t get to go to college. They got drugged and raped and sold to men, some murdered and mutilated before their sweet sixteen. Ain’t it just that lucky, deputy?”

Queen sank back but kept the gun trained on the back of his head. He hated McCune more than the rest, the man was a cop and he let those things happen to line his pockets. His finger flexed slightly on the trigger and he had to take a deep breath and wished for a Xanax. For a pile of coke or anything to drown out the sight of the hanging skin in that cabin like a goddamn bathrobe set out to dry.

“You just remember that I’ve killed men for less than everythin’ you’ve done and I sleep like a baby.” Donnelley lied, but McCune didn’t have to know that, “Better and worse men. Which one you think you are? How heavy you think makin’ your family dress in black and your buddies at the station givin’ you the twenty-one gun gonna make me?”

McCune already knew the answer, just stared at his wife more like a distraction from the rabid dogs around him than any sort of loving gaze. A hard, dry swallow was his answer, and it was enough for Donnelley, “Now go. Kiss your wife’s belly, hug her. Tuck your daughter into bed tonight, read her a story.”

McCune nodded stiffly, reaching to the car door and opening it, closing it behind him as he walked that thousand miles across the street to his front lawn. He jogged over to his wife and crashed into her with a crushing embrace, kissing her more deeply now that he had a damn good reason to live life better than he ever had the past few years. It almost made Donnelley shed a tear. If he had any left.

McCune turned to watch the Honda Civic make a U-turn in the suburb street and speed away. He was quiet. More quiet than Mary had ever seen him as he stared and watched the car go. “Baby, what’s the matter?” Mary asked, laying a hand on his chest and leaning to peer into his eyes.

McCune’s lips twitched, and he drew in a quivering breath. “Baby?” Mary whispered, placing a hand on McCune’s cheek as he screwed his eyes shut, “Oh, baby…”

“I love you, Mary, I’m so sorry.”

>…///

“You think we convinced him?” Donnelley asked after Queen had clambered back into the passenger seat as they drove down the Charleston streets. No good humor left to spare.

Queen tucked the ASP in his waistband, pulling the shirt over it before buckling in. “I think if he’s that fucking dense, I’ll need a bigger caliber to put one through his head. Yeah, I’m sure he got it. Not that he fucking deserves it, but he got it.”

He sighed and glanced at Donnelley briefly, Renko quiet in the back. “You think he’ll be of any real use or did you just feel sorry for Deputy Dad?”

Queen looked out at the suburban neighborhood and was struck by a sudden memory of another blonde woman in her front yard. Only this one was bringing in groceries and only mother to a cat, a pretty young woman who wore the badge of the US Border Patrol and was dutiful. She did her job while McCune looked away and she paid while he profited. Agent...her name slipped his mind and he fought to grasp it.

She had pried around a case taken from her by the Program and made the mistake of speaking to a reporter, she had done what she thought was the right thing but it had been wrong. Queen felt the weight of guilt in his chest, the press of it so heavy he had to force a deep breath. He had staked out her house and learned who she was and her routine, her face was clear yet her name danced from the fog of suppression. He had set it up and unleashed Ghost on her and McCune hugged his wife.

He reached into his pocket, not caring about the Russian. He fumbled around, grabbing whatever came to his finger tips. A bar of Xanax. He should have taken Bruster’s shitty coke, fuck why didn’t he? Queen tossed the pill in his mouth and tried to dry swallow it, finding it stuck and he coughed.

“Renko, got any soda left in that cup?” he asked, tasting the bitterness of the dissolving pill.

“If he wasn’t any use to us I would’ve left him with Hubert on the side of that road.” Donnelley said as Renko reached around and shook the ice cubes in the fast food cup for Queen to take it, “He don’t deserve pity. But he’s the head of Natalya’s security while she’s stateside, his information’s worth it.”

Donnelley shook his head, muttering, “Ain’t the first deal I made with crooked fucks.”

Queen took the cup, opening the lid to drain the melted ice water and force down the tab. He sucked in a few cubes and crunched them, glancing at the rearview mirror at Renko, “Thanks, bud.”

He settled back against his seat, Queen grunted, “That’s right. Useful. Gotta stay useful to stay alive.”

Reaching for a cigarette, he felt the pack and it was empty. Had it been that long since he stopped on the ride from Florida to Kentucky. Queen crumpled the green box and tossed it at his feet.

Weber

The agent's name came back to him as he dropped the trash. Agent Kristen Weber, US Border Patrol. A modest house in the outskirts of Phoenix and a fat gray cat in the window.

Queen glanced at Donnelley, “Can I bum a cigarette?”

Donnelley took his own pack from his pocket and tossed it in Queen’s lap, “Go crazy, man.” Donnelley forced a smirk to try to add some levity to the car ride after threatening to kill a man and his whole family if he didn’t submit to blackmail. He noticed the troubled look on Queen’s brow, and he sometimes forgot just how this life could affect his friend when Queen always acted like nothing touched him. He should’ve known better, “You look… pensive, brother.”

Queen lit the cigarette and took a drag, muffling a cough and he hissed at the strong flavor without the familiar menthol. “Oh, you know,” he said, “Just remembering.”

He looked out the window, conscious of Renko in the backseat. Aware of Donnelley’s attention on him, Queen kept his gaze ahead. The closeness they had shared for years had fractured, he still hurt from the rejection, even if he knew it was likely inevitable, after five years it had felt like something he could always count on and now it was gone. “Thinking about THUNDER things.”

“We can talk about it later.” Donnelley said quietly, knowing full well that his own time in THUNDER was no vacation.

“What is THUNDER?” Renko asked from the backseat.

“It’s that loud thing after lightning, don’t worry about it.” Donnelley brushed Renko off, who didn’t seem to take it too personally as he shrugged and looked out the window, loudly slurping down more of the coke in the empty soda cup. “I’m sorry if… you felt like I left you back there, with THUNDER.”

Queen shrugged, “You got promoted, you deserved it. You needed your own team.”

He put the window down a bit to flick the ashes and took another drag. Queen felt the clenching in his chest that he got when he thought about how he lost Tex when he left the team and now as a lover. Nothing stays the same, he reminded himself. “Well, there’s hardly a THUNDER left, we’ll see how it goes.”

Queen glanced back at Renko, recalling their conversation and the sudden loneliness clawed at him. The thought about starting over with a brand new team, even further from Donnelley and their past felt daunting but maybe it would end up being the best. There was only Ghost and Poker, but they were devils he knew and that knew him.

He smiled slyly, then added, “But if I did, I hope I get lucky enough to get a team full of hot ass like you did.”

“Yeah,” Donnelley returned the little smirk, “I did luck out with that didn’t I?”

He smiled as they drove back to the storage facility he and Queen had left their bikes at. As they grew closer, so too did Donnelley’s sadness start to set back in. He couldn’t help but to remember everything they’d done the past few days. They’d left a tangled web here, one of murder and blackmail to prop up a rogue and highly illegal operation to somehow pit a few people against an international conspiracy and come out on top. Donnelley was a risk-taker, and at one point he really did have a deathwish that fueled his career with the Program, and had earned himself a reputation as a crazy cowboy… but even he had his doubts about this plan of his.

Once they’d made it past the gate and ambled up to the storage garage their bikes were in, he cut the engine and just sat in the driver seat. He took in a breath and let it out slow, shaking his head, “I’ll never know why the fuck you trust me enough to do this shit with me, Queen,” Donnelley snorted ruefully, “But, damn, am I glad you do.”

He got out of the car and lifted the door of the garage open after unlocking it, their two beauties of bikes still intact and waiting for them behind the garage door. Renko was still in the car, and as Queen sided up with Donnelley at the garage, he put his hands on his hips. “Obviously, we can’t be seen around here for a good while. Or with each other.” Donnelley worked his jaw, wanting to say what was just at the tip of his tongue, but what felt so painful to choke back every time, “What… So, what’re you plannin’ on doin’ with that bigshot money we squeezed from Bruster?”

Queen looked at Donnelley for a long moment, his sea colored eyes searching his face. “You don’t know?” he asked, the Xanax now evening him out but the pain was there, muted and dulled but there. “I trust you because...”

He swallowed hard and put his hand in his pocket, the words that he should have said long ago remained caught in his throat. It was too late now and he fished out his baggie, finding another bar of the benzidine. “Ah, you know me. I’ll give some to my mom and blow the rest on coke and hookers. What else would I do?”

Queen popped the tab and looked down at the bag, the coke was gone but he still had the pills from Alaska. “What about you?”

Donnelley frowned, shrugged, “I got a couple ideas.” The memories of the lonely highways covered in red dirt in West Texas came to him on a breeze, and he had a small smile then, “Probably go down south and visit the only person in Texas thought I was a good kid.”

“Tell your ma I said hi. And I miss her pancakes.” Donnelley chuckled softly as he looked over at Queen standing on his left. His eyes held on Queen for a good while, his smile faltering every second until he was just staring at him. He swallowed, and wrung his hands over each other, “Queen, Billy…”

Donnelley’s mouth tried to form around the words though the sound was nowhere, until he sighed, “I…” He looked down at his boots, then stared off to the side of Queen, “I’m gonna miss you. I hope… just stay safe, Billy. Or as safe as you ever fuckin’ stay.”

Queen drew in a breath, trying to keep himself composed even with the help of Xanax. It hurt with each word Donnelley spoke and he felt a bubble of anger trying to rise. He glanced at him, then shook his head, “You know I’m gonna miss you but this is your choice, I ain’t got much of a say. I know what I am to you. What I was and I can’t compete.”

He took out his keys and grabbed the helmet hanging off the handle bars, his chest tight and he hated the trembling in his hands as he gripped the handle bars to back the bike out. Queen grit his teeth then sighed, “Whatever happens, just know that...I love you. I’ll be here for you, just...like you said, we gotta be apart.”

Queen put his helmet on, hiding his eyes that welled up. He pulled the bike out the door and climbed on, starting it up.

While Queen’s engine roared to life, Renko stepped up next to Donnelley, his hand clapping down on his shoulder and pulling him away from the moment he and Queen had shared, bittersweet as it was. “My friend. I will be here with Alexei, we will keep the pieces on the board, yes?” Renko clapped Donnelley again, this time on his back and gave a smile of brotherly camaraderie, “We will give justice where it is deserved.”

“She’s still out there.” Donnelley looked at Renko, “Levy.”

“We will find her. We will kill her.” Renko said with as much seriousness as Donnelley had ever seen come over the Russian.

Renko waved to the both of them as he went back to the Civic, shifting into drive and going off on his way wherever he hid when waiting for someone from UMBRA to show up in West Virginia. Now, Donnelley was alone in the parking lot of the storage complex, so quiet now. None of Queen’s laughing, none of Renko’s broken, accented English. Just Donnelley. He walked to his bike and sat down, straddling the machine, slipping his flask out of his vest pocket and taking a few long pulls. He looked back out in the direction where Queen had sped off and searched the wind for the sound of his bike. No luck. He sighed, taking hold of his bike’s handlebars and frowned.

“I love you too.”

He raised his boot and kicked it down forcefully, the faithful Indian Chief roaring to life and anger, giving Donnelley some measure of its sympathy as it sat growling in hunger for the road, and the miles to chew away at until he was far enough away from here he could pretend he didn’t remember it at all. He cranked the throttle after shifting into gear and set himself towards the highway.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>1730…///

The SHO was screaming down the mountain highway, taking turns with screeching wheels. The sun had gone down, swallowed by the peaks until they made it into White Tree’s border. Sparse driveways miles apart and the husks of old cars slowly being reclaimed by the vines. When they got to a suitable clearing in the side of the highway he almost shot off the side of the road and into the mountain forests, slamming his foot into the brakes and skidding into the dirt and gravel.

The only light was the SHO’s headlights as Donnelley grabbed Hubert and dragged him out of the car, throwing him into the ground. Hubert clambered away from Donnelley until he caught up with him, the metal and polymer of the Glock jabbing into the back of his neck, “Tell me everything.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you told the other guy!” Donnelley roared, “Who did you sell the drugs to?”

“Levy! Doctor Levy!” Hubert screamed, “Don’t do me like Jay! Please! I don’t have Clem, I don’t have Jay!”

“How do you know it was her?”

“What?”

“How. Do. You. Know!”

“Because the Russians wanted us to sell to her! They set it up!”

Donnelley growled, lifting Hubert up and shoving his face back in the dirt, “Gary Bruster, what were you planning?”

“Nothing! I swear to fucking god! Did he put you up to this!? Did he hire you to kill Jay and come after us?” Hubert asked.

Donnelley pressed the barrel of his handgun into Hubert’s neck, “That was all Jay. He brought this shit on himself when he tried to have us killed for investigating Maria’s death.”

“That was Levy too! It wasn’t us! The Russians wanted us to kill you and kill Levy!” Hubert was breathing hard, his breath blowing up dust, “It was makin’ things hard for business in the end. He’s goin’ to burn you, you know that? Gary’s goin’ to fuckin’ sell you the fuck out. Probably already has, tyin’ loose ends.”

“Trust me, partner.” Donnelley shook his head, “I’m better at it. Tell me what the Russians are up to, Vera Corp and the Bratva.”

“Ask Gary. Him and his fuckin’ Club are in bed with them. They killed the fuckin’ Warden. Good ol’ Eric McKenna, he’s trustworthy, he’s good for it.” Hubert chuckled, “Ask about David Dulane in White Tree.”

“What do they say about Dulane?” Donnelley hissed, voice cold.

Hubert snorted and laughed, “The Sheriff ain’t on vacation, I’ll tell you that.”

“What does that mean?” Donnelley growled, jostling Hubert’s head in the dirt, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Queen watched from beside the car, standing with Renko. When Hubert laughed he stepped forward, giving Hubert a swift kick against his kidney. “What’s funny? Better start asking questions or we’re gonna lose interest in you. Maybe McCune’s tired of the trunk.”

He squatted down on the other side of Hubert, “Getting cocky now that you ain’t about to die of thirst, better remember what that felt like.”

Hubert writhed on the ground, recoiling from Queen’s kick that no doubt compounded on the stress that dehydration had done on his kidneys. Donnelley watched impassively. Hubert dragged in a quivering breath, “Vera Corp’s got labs at the old MacOnie mines, near the old manor.” Hubert wheezed, “The Sheriff went in and a fight started over somethin’, the mine guards took him. Breckenridge Security, some Blackwater type motherfuckers.”

“Grabbed one of the miners, disappeared the both of ‘em. They break people at that manor. Anybody fucks up bad enough, they go to the manor.” Hubert grunted, trying to shift on the ground, “Sheriff and Dulane went in. Dulane came back out… scrambled.”

“Talkin’ about makin’ a promise. Sayin’ death wakes the Sleeper, about how our skin ain’t our own, and other crazy ass shit.”

“What’s in these labs?” Donnelley hissed.

“Never been stupid enough to have to go in one. Some of our boys say they got scientists doin’ experiments on miners and whoever the Bratva don’t like.” Hubert tried looking at Queen and Donnelley, but Donnelley’s weight on him wouldn’t let him, “Maybe I can, I dunno, maybe I can sneak you in.”

“You know, they always try to bargain.” Donnelley said, “Jay tried to pay us off. And a whole lot of other shitheads tried too. What you don’t understand, is we don’t do it for the money.”

“Okay? What’s it gonna be then?”

“We do it to see pieces of shit like you die. You ain’t never gettin’ found by your family, boy.” Donnelley lifted himself up and Hubert flopped on his side and seeing Donnelley sight up, he opened his mouth and shook his head to protest, “This one’s for Maria.”

Donnelley’s Glock barked into the night, once to blow the back of Hubert’s head out, and the other two leaving hollowpoints in his heart.

Our skin ain’t our own, the words left Queen feeling a crawling sensation up his neck and scalp, the memory of incense wafting was so strong he almost turned to see where it came from. The confessional booth and another man’s life he had inhabited. He glanced down at his bare arm, the black and bright colored ink distinctive but he had to look.

Queen could hear Hubert pleading, sneaking them in to surely rat them out after and leave them to the tender mercies of whoever broke Dulane and made black cauliflower sprout from a man’s skin. When Donnelley spoke he looked up, in time to see him raise his gun. The honed instinct said this asset had used up his usefulness and was no longer needed and Queen stood by as the shots rang out.

He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s one.”

Donnelley slipped his Glock back in its holster, tucking the tail of his coat over it to hide it once more. He turned for the car, opening the trunk with the key fob and McCune’s struggling form and muffled screams were evident just as soon as the trunk door flipped up. Donnelley grabbed him and dragged him over to Hubert’s corpse, a halo of dark blood blooming from him, “You wanna see a dead body?”

McCune was dropped next to Hubert and looked at Donnelley with a fair bit of anger that dissipated into a startled and helpless yelp when he saw Hubert’s dead eyes staring through him. McCune tried to wriggle away until Donnelley ripped the duct tape from his mouth, “Help! Hel-guh!”

Donnelley’s Glock plugged his mouth, and the old police sergeant looked back at Donnelley with a newfound obedience, “One reason. That’s all I need to not give Hubert another friend in hell.”

He slowly withdrew the Glock from McCune’s mouth and let him clear his throat, “I’m in charge of security for Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter and her husband.”

Donnelley quirked a brow and looked to Queen, “Alright.”

Queen tucked his hands halfway in the pockets of his jeans, watching the scene with a feigned casualness. He glanced around, listening for anything that might alert him to approaching vehicles or footsteps.

“So where are they?” Queen asked, with a little shrug. “They gotta place in the hills?”

“The manor, the MacOnie manor.” McCune said, looking between Queen and Donnelley.

“How many do they have with them?” Renko asked, suddenly taking an interest, “Who is at the manor besides them?”

“Natalya and Viktor Ivanov. The head of their personal protection detail is a man named Vyacheslav Demid.” McCune said, “We received them months ago, the River Valleys Retreat meeting was postponed indefinitely.”

“Because of us?” Donnelley asked.

“And the GRU.” McCune nodded at Renko, “Bratva and GRU don’t get along.”

“This is true.” Renko said, “My mission here is to keep Americans from the Bratva. The GRU wants what the Bratva found in Blackriver for themselves.”

Donnelley looked to McCune, “I got your wallet. I got your address. I know you have a wife and a daughter.”

“You fuckin’ wouldn’t!”

“You don’t know what the fuck I wouldn’t do, McCune. Push me.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “How close are the Bratva to Levy?”

He stepped over, roughly turning McCune onto his face and kneeling with his knee on the side of his head. He took his Glock and wiped his own prints off of it as best he could before pressing it into McCune’s hands, wrapping his fingers around it before placing it in a plastic evidence bag just large enough to fit the Glock, “How’s the Department and the missus and little girl goin’ to react knowin’ you killed Hubert for the Bratva?”

“Fuck you!” McCune spat, a hollow little thing seeing the position he was in right now.

“Just remember I’ve got this gun and your prints any time you think about steppin’ off the path I want you on.” Donnelley shifted to straddling McCune’s back, pressing his forearm down into the back of McCune’s neck, leaning down to whisper, “And just remember I know where the missus and that little girl live.”

McCune was silent and Donnelley leaned closer, “Push me, McCune.”

>…///

They crept to a stop along the road to Levy’s practice. They hadn’t seen another car at all on the roads, almost like Blackriver had up and left overnight. The sky and everywhere around the a thick, black sheet, the sounds of crickets and owls permeated the dark night. Donnelley cut the engine and opened his door, going to the backseat where his and Queen’s plate carriers were. He slipped his over his shoulder and rapped his knuckles on the patch like he’d done plenty of times before, Night Time is the Right Time.

Donnelley slipped the TP9’s sling over his head, the small machine pistol kept on his lap the whole drive into Blackriver. He looked to Queen with a quiet burning tenacity in his eyes, “You ready, partner?”

Queen tightened the strap of the carrier, the patch with the yellow smiling face cynical and bright against the charcoal gray material. The CZ Scorpion hung over his chest and he looked at Donnelley, then put a gloved hand on his shoulder giving him a squeeze. “Let’s go find this bitch. I got you.”

He pulled up the gaiter, THUNDER’s trademark skull that covered the lower half of his face and the dark baseball cap turned backward covered his dark blonde hair.

Donnelley nodded, clapping Queen on the shoulder and putting his Thrasher cap over his head. They advanced on Levy’s Quonset hut, about a hundred meters down the road. They crouched among the trees, no light coming from the hut. “Perimeter clear. No visual.” He said, “I’m point, moving to front door.”

After some time, they made their approach on the hut, each covering their sectors to the door. Donnelley felt around the cracks in the door jamb, not feeling any apparent signs of traps. He stepped aside for Queen to kick in the door. When he was ready, he pat Queen’s shoulder. When Queen booted in the door, the two rushed in, Donnelley in the front. They went around the room with their flashlights the only thing penetrating the thick darkness, checking the cabinets and behind tables until Donnelley made his call, “Clear.” He whispered into his mic, “Door front. Stack.”

Donnelley pat Queen’s shoulder again, the other man checking the doorknob before twisting it and throwing it open. What greeted Donnelley inside was a wall of polaroid pictures, the room evidently a photo development room, “Small room, clear.” He spoke, going to the wall of photos, slowly scanning the pictures with his gunlight, “Oh my fuckin’ god…”

Queen stepped in on the other side, clearing the opposite side of the room before he followed Donnelley’s line of sight. The dark room was lit with the glow of a red lamp, their small gun lights shining beams that illuminated points on the wall. Glimpses of terrified female faces, girls he hoped were dead at the time with entire limbs degloved, their torsos flayed from the muscle and fat. He inhaled sharply, the eyes were all wide and staring and he had seen enough to know the terror was very real.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, “This bitch must be the same that was at the cabin. Agent Laine’s report, two different sets of scrubs.”

He breathed out slowly, then swept the light around the room, hunting for a door. The light caught a reflection on the convex glass of an old TV/VCR combo sitting on a stand in the corner. The tapes stacked on a shelf beside it and handwritten labels were visible.

“Shit,” he muttered and he knew he did not want to see what was on those tapes. His stomach clenched and he glanced at Donnelley, even in the dim light he sensed where he was near him.

“We were here.” Donnelley whispered through clenched teeth, still looking at the photos, “We were right fucking here and she answered the goddamn door for us. We left Bakker alone with this murdering bitch.”

Donnelley swallowed, his mouth dry as he looked about the room. He caught sight of the tapes, “We need to take those. Come on, let’s search the rest of this room.”

Donnelley opened one of the cabinets and spotted what might be journals. Taking one out, he read the label, and it was written as such, cold and scientific language for the act of murder. “Experiment Logbooks. These too.”

From outside came the sound of tires crunching on gravel, doors opening and closing, and boots scuffing in the dirt getting closer to the door. Donnelley heard them outside, a male voice speaking to some others, “Ruckus 1-1, all stations, door has been kicked in. Moving to clear target building.” Donnelley looked to Queen and thumbed his fire selector to auto, “Stack on me. If you’re in there, come out with your hands up!”

“Get those fuckin’ tapes quick. I got you covered.” Donnelley said, taking position by the door, leaning out just enough to get a clear sight picture on the room. With one hand, he held his TP9, in the other he held a primed flashbang.

Queen shrugged off the pack he normally carried to gather intel, his gun slung back against his hip as he gathered tapes, holding a small flashlight between his teeth to give himself some extra light, the red glow brighter than the darkroom lamps. He was reaching into the cabinets when he heard the voice from outside. He turned and continued grabbing the journals as quickly as he could, the tapes clattering together in the bag.

As soon as he heard the first step through the door, Donnelley slid the flashbang across the floor and hid behind the wall. As soon as the loud bang was heard, he leaned out and let out a string of cracking nine-millimeter into the first black clad hit squad he saw. They were all in disarray, clutching at their eyes and stumbling forward intent on getting to cover. Donnelley had enough time to sight up on another and blow his head open with another burst of his weapon before ducking back. A set of holes stitched themselves across the flimsy drywall and plywood with the sound of a pattering M4, “Queen, you good?”

The world exploded behind him and it took all he had to keep his focus, yanking open drawers as gunfire erupted right behind him. Queen ducked and crouched, yanking open the bottom drawers to check if they had missed anything. The return fire was close but despite what happened in Alaska, he trusted Donnelley to have his back.

“Yeah,” he murmured around the flashlight then spat it out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m good. Almost done.”

In the bottom drawer there was a box, an old boot box and he opened it. Queen reached in and pulled out a book, the cover looked hand stitched and in the dim light there was a strange marking, like a child experimenting with lines and shapes, nothing meaningful. He shoved it in the bag, laying it on top of the journals. It gave him a bad feeling but everything in this room was unsettling.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” he said in a low voice, hefting the bag onto his back, “I got everything.”

Queen picked up his Scorpion and drew it up, readying himself. Another burst of fire cut towards them, blasting holes in the water basin and sending streams of it leaking. Donnelley unhooked and then primed another grenade, sliding it across the floor like the last. When it banged out, he rose and cleared out of the room with Queen close at his back. He raised his TP9 and squeezed off a triplet into the head and neck of another of the hit squad while Queen did the same to another. “Renko, bring the car up!” Donnelley raised his voice into his mic.

In no matter of time, the SHO was screeching to a stop in front of the hut, spinning around so the passenger seats were easy to access from their flight out of the Quonset hut. Donnelley leaned out and sprayed into the second black SUV parked outside, more of the hit squad dismounting, “Move, Queen!”

Queen was moving, the bulk of the bag bouncing against him as he sprinted towards the car. He grabbed the back door handle and turned wrenching it open as he held up the Scorpion with one hand and fired to help cover Donnelley getting to the car.

He dropped the gun at his side, still gripping it tight as he threw himself into the back, using his boot to pull the door closed. “Well, shit,” he said, pushing himself up enough to train his Scorpion through the back windshield. “Nice to see you, Renko.”

“This is not nice time for me!” Renko called from the driver seat, reaching to open the passenger door and desperately watching Donnelley run for the car as bullets whizzed by.

Donnelley crashed into the passenger seat unceremoniously and pulled the door shut, “Go!”

Renko stomped the gas and the tires kicked up dirt as they fishtailed out of the Quonset hut’s yard. As they made it into the road, a hulking mass of a man stepped out into their path, seemingly sacrificing himself as the SHO smashed into him. Donnelley had the wind knocked out of him as flew forward into the dash, Renko yelling out as his seatbelt kept him from doing the same. They’d rolled over the man, but the SHO seemed to be limping, almost as if they’d plowed into a buffalo.

Queen did not see what they hit but felt it, thrown against the back of the passenger seat and then to the floor, tangled in his pack and the strap of the gun. “Shit!”

He pushed himself up, feeling the car struggling and looked out the window and then the back windshield. “Y’all alright?”

Queen tasted blood, and touched his mouth, feeling where his teeth had cut into the inside of his lip when he had hit the back of Donnelley’s seat. He spat and wiped his mouth, “What the fuck was that?”

“I…” Donnelley righted himself in his seat, touching a gash on his forehead and hissing, “Don’t know…”

Donnelley’s voice trailed off as they saw what they hit. It was the same huge man, picking himself up from the road almost no worse for wear. As the huge man shook his arms, Donnelley could hear the blunt pops and grind of bones shifting back in place. A low moaning came from the huge man as the black SUV full of the other half of the hit squad skidded to a stop in front of him. The men inside dismounted and screamed at the huge man to get on the ground and drop any weapons.

One of them approached, making the mistake of getting just a bit too close and the huge man covered the ten meters too quick for the hitman to react. The huge man wrapped a hand the size of a shovel’s head around the man’s face and threw him screaming off the road and into a tree. The other hitmen, three in total, opened fire. Their bullets ripped chunks from the huge man, but he came on like a bull, and faster than one. He drove one huge shoulder into one, sending him tumbling across the road, and then took hold of another’s plate carrier. He slammed that one into the side of the SUV hard enough to dent the chassis in and break the back window. He picked him up by one hand and brained him with his other smashing fist.

The last one was running towards them, even going so far as to helplessly struggle with Queen’s door in the back, “Jesus Christ!”

But the huge man was already on him, taking him by the nape and smashing his head into the SHO’s back window, sending beads of glass stinging at Queen. Renko was frozen in place, mouth agape as he watched the huge man shove his thick fingers into the hitman’s mouth, pulling as easily as someone opening a pistachio shell and relieving the man of his jaw, a gurgling scream and flapping tongue, uselessly kicking legs his last throes.

Donnelley scrambled over Renko to open the man’s door, pushing Renko out before he felt the big hand wrap around his ankle, “Shit-“

And he was being pulled out, hands slapping for a hold, but he was made weightless anyway. He could feel the wind whooping past before he felt the road.

Queen watched the same scene in horror, the huge man moving so fast it felt unreal, like a bad CGI rendering made from someone that did not understand bulk shouldn’t move like that. But his gaze was drawn to the blackened nodules, the growths erupting along its face and neck when the lights of the car illuminated the ruined features of the monstrous man.

The hitman’s hot blood splattered through the broken window and Queen bit back a scream as he watched the hitman’s jaw ripped away. He scrambled back, the pack hitting the driver side back door and he reached back to find the handle when he saw Donnelly ripped from the car.

“Fuck!” Queen shouted as his friend vanished from the car. Without thinking, he aimed through the broken window at the dark bulk and fired off several 9 mm rounds,from the Scorpion deafening in the confines of the car.

Reaching back he opened the door and fell out, rolling over and pushing himself up as the pack on his back shifted, the tapes making a muted jostling sound. Queen knelt behind the back wheel and sighted up again on the monster, unleashing the rest of his 20 round magazine. “Hold on, Tex!”

“What is this thing?” Renko breathed, holding his Glock that seemed as useful as a nerf gun at this point.

The car jostled, and then began moving as the huge beast of a man pushed it away with some effort. Renko turned to run towards where he’d seen Donnelley fly off behind the SUV, looking back and sending haphazard shots at the monster. When he saw Donnelley, he was trying to stand, getting to his feet before stumbling onto his side again. Renko took hold of him, hooking his arms under Donnelley’s armpits and leaning him against the ruined SUV.

“Holy shit.” Donnelley slurred, eyes heavy and head swimming as he regained some amount of consciousness, “We ain’t killin’ that thing.”

Queen was changing magazines when the car shoved sideways against him, almost knocking him on his ass. He pushed up and fired a few more useless shots at the hillbilly Frankenstein’s monster and ran back towards Renko and Donnelley. He took a knee and kept an eye on the huge man.

“I’m just tickling him with this 9mm,” Queen said, then glanced over, his pale eyes showing concern as he saw Donnelley slumped against the SUV. “How you doing, Tex? Anything broken?”

“My legs ain’t, we need to fuckin’ get out of here.” Donnelley was still catching his breath, but he shoved Renko away and down the road, where the other man took the hint and began running. Donnelley took a few testing steps away from the SUV, still finding his legs a tad wobbly, but they were his only one out of here. “Come on.”

He began his worryingly slow trot, trying not to drift to either side of the road with his head pulsing, the daze wanting to pull him left or right. He looked back to see Queen running behind him, and the much more worrying monster bounding right at them with the force of a grizzly.

Queen ran, keeping himself from overtaking Donnelley who seemed still dazed. He turned and could see the thing tracking them and coming, moving too fast and he fired another burst to at least give the monster something to think about as the rounds smacked his ruined blackened face. “We can’t just run down the road, it’ll be on us,” he called out to Renko and Donnelley.

He reached for the flashbang on his own plate carrier and pulled the pin, turning and throwing it sidearmed as if he was still playing shortstop. Trusting the grenade to hit at the feet or into the solar plexus of the advancing hulking man, Queen turned without watching it to keep pace with Donnelley.

The bang rang out, only adding to the noise of the night. The monster charged on unheeding and the pounding footsteps only got louder until Donnelley could almost feel it’s hulking presence making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He grabbed Queen and pulled him forward of himself, turning in the same motion with his TP9 and sprayed into the hulking beast of a man. Right before he saw the huge man’s fist held high, he closed his eyes and accepted what was to come, hoping Queen and Renko could get away.

But it did not, the beast let go another low grunt as what sounded like a boulder collided into him, smashing the air from his lungs. Donnelley opened his eyes again to see the same suited man from Hubert’s club who’d ran through his bouncers like a wrecking ball. The huge man was on his back, the Terminator straddling the beast’s chest and raining blows the speed of which Donnelley almost couldn’t comprehend. The beast reached up and grabbed hold of the Terminator’s suit jacket, slamming him into the concrete and rolling on top of him. The beast reared up with both boulder fists clasped and brought them down in an effort to smash his head.

The Terminator reached up and caught the hands, the both of them shaking from the force of their strength, until the cracking of bone was heard and the beast was left with both wrists flopping with useless hands on the ends of them. The smell of ozone and electrical burn filled the air, seeping into their surroundings like an invisible fog and the Terminator tore one of the beast’s own dangling hands from his wrist and drove the sharp bone through his face once, twice, three times and then four. The beast fell to the side, and the Terminator rose to his feet, looking at Donnelley as he was standing there gawking at him.

“Boyat'sya stoit tol'ko yesli ty russkiy.” Donnelley heard the Terminator speak, “I am a friend… of circumstance.”

“Not Russian!” Renko rose his hands up in peace, “Am from Ukraine.”

Queen turned to grab Donnelley when he pulled him forward, a shot of anger ran through him as his friend tried to sacrifice himself. He knew it was just like Tex to do so but the man had a kid and now a girlfriend, he reminded himself. Donnelley had more to lose, and Queen had very little.

Queen reached to snatch Donnelley back in front of him when he saw the showdown of the Terminator and the Hulk. His mouth fell open and he slowed then stopped after a few paces, unable to look away.

“Holy mother of fuck,” he swore, the awe overwhelming the helplessness that he felt in the face of those foes who their weapons did little against.

The Terminator’s laugh was deep and sincere, the smile reaching his one eye left uncovered by the eyepatch he wore. He wiped at it after he calmed down, taking a couple breaths, “I like your friend’s words. They are funny.”

Donnelley looked from the Terminator to Queen and Renko, and then back, “Why?”

“Well, he said ‘holy mother of fuck’, you know? Creative way to say curse word-“

“No, why are we friends.” Even with the friendly behavior and the declaration of them being friends, he still caught that it was only through circumstance. Friends, for now. His grip tightened on his TP9, though they’d likely do little to deter the Slav, “You were going to kill us in that club in Charleston.”

“I said no such thing.” The Terminator shook his head, shrugging, “If I did, I am sorry. You know, this is only job, I work for Propavsheye because they hire me to go after Bratva. I hate Bratva.”

Queen stared still trying to comprehend how the monster was beat to a pulp then he grinned, scratching at his head, “Right. No one likes bratva, not even other bratvas. So Propavsheye hired you? What does someth...someone like you go for? Just curious. Also...what the hell are you?”

Terminator looked at the three of them, a silence permeated the air in between until Terminator spoke, “I will tell you everything.” He spoke low and gravely, “But not here.”

Donnelley nodded, “Well…” he looked behind himself at the battlefield the road had become, bodies strewn everywhere and two ruined vehicles, “I guess we can still walk.”

He heard banging from the trunk of the SHO and looked at it skeptically, before he raised his brows, “Oh, yeah.” Donnelley held out his hand for Renko to toss him the keys, snatching them out of the air. He opened the trunk, the door coming open and McCune flopping out screaming, “Meet the head of Nikolai Gorochev’s daughter’s security.”

“Nikolai…” Terminator rumbled, a deep growl emanating from his throat heavy with an animal hatred, “We have much to talk about.”

>1945…///

It took a while, and Donnelley’s Adidas shoes were even starting to become uncomfortable on the walk back to the Flannegan Inn. When they got back inside, Donnelley didn’t even feel the need to brutalize McCune by throwing him inside onto his face. He simply led him upstairs to their room, roughly shoved him tripping onto the bed before sitting in the dusty, cracked leather chair in the corner. His TP9 was still in his lap as he looked at the assembled men in the room, “Alright.” Donnelley sighed, “Let’s talk. Whoever wants to go first can go first.”

Renko and Terminator spoke at the same time before they looked at each other, then had a quiet back and forth between themselves in Russian before they both chuckled. Terminator clapped Queen on the shoulder a tad harder than most were used to, shaking him like they’d known each other for years and the bonds were strong, “Why don’t you ask your questions first?” Terminator said, smiling friendly and raising his brows, “Oh, my name is Alexei Popov. I apologize.”

Queen grunted at the force, but saw no maliciousness in it, just the pure strength of the man. He glanced at Renko then at the man calling himself Alexei. He was weary from the adrenaline fueled escape and the long walk but their new friend seemed none worse for wear after the fight. “Queen. That’s Tex,” he said, nodding at Donnelley before looking back at Alexei. “We gotta lot of questions but I just wanna know first, what are you? I figured big boy back there was one of their experiments but are you, something more?”

Alexei took his hand from Queen’s shoulder, “I am but a man.” Alexei shrugged, “With… very special… gifts.”

He said the last word with some bitterness, “I was Afghantsy. Soviet soldier in Afghanistan, VDV.” Alexei lost some of his joviality, “One day, we come across a village, we were attacked by Mujahideen. I was wounded. I woke up in strange place, I do not know how long I was asleep.”

“I saw my comrades trading things with strange looking locals. They looked human, but they were not. Soon, it was not just things, but people.” Alexei spat, “Girls. Young Afghans, in return for gold, and other unnatural things. I tried to stop them, the VDV were supposed to serve with honor, not being criminals. They beat me, I almost died.”

“I was awoken by a voice which had no body. He said he would give me back my hand and my eye in return for eternal service to him, an eternal hunt against the Black God, and all who serve him. To break everything he makes.” Alexei wore a dark frown, looking down at his gloved hand, “And now, I am here. The Bratva were once my comrades, my brothers. Now, they are my enemies. And I will work for anyone who will let me kill them wherever I can.”

Alexei eyed Donnelley, his scar most of all, “I know you know the sting of betrayal.”

Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “The hell you think you know?”

“Your friend. Steven Foster.”

Donnelley rose from his seat, fists clenched, but knowing that if it really came down to it he’d be short work for Alexei. Still, that sharp piece of him buried deep made him stand and stare back at Alexei, “How do you know him?”

Alexei’s eye turned soft, a look of sympathy upon his face, “I know more than you remember. I remember what they made you not.”

Donnelley faltered, looking at Queen and then back at Alexei, “Al-…Alright, I fuckin’ pass on the questions.” He sat back down, refusing to look back at Alexei and the others.

Queen sat himself at the end of the bed that McCune was still sprawled on. He rested his forearms on his knees, listening to the story and when Alexei looked at Donnelley, he followed the man’s gaze. The burn had been there since he had known him, he knew where it had come from and what it had cost him, that brand to wear. The implication of Alexei’s story, the fact there were others fighting against this darkness they had so often felt alone in fighting piqued his interest.

“You call it the Black God?” Queen spoke up, “Is it the same that is called the Sleeper? The thing down in the mines they’re trying to wake up, the thing wanting sacrifice of lives.”

Not just lives but death, brutal deaths to bring the victims to horrific pain. Like a psychic meal as real as flesh. Queen sat up and reached for his pack of Kools, patting at his pockets but forgot where he had left them. He sighed, then continued, “Look, there’s a lot we don’t know. In the Program...or whatever we’re supposed to be. We get glimpses of things...like flashing a penlight off and on in the dark.”

The pictures in the red light came to his mind and he picked up the pack and found his cigarettes in one of the side pockets. The tapes and journals were there and they would be poured over tonight. He glanced around him and held off lighting the cigarette.

“What’s it all about, Alexei? What’s Renko saving that girl from, what are we trying to break up? Other than bringing murderers to their justice,” Queen asked, furrowing his brow.

Alexei looked at Queen, up and down, “There are things in the shadows of the world’s dark corners.” Alexei drew in a breath and sighed, “Things too evil to speak the names of. You would not want to understand the things I do. But you will, if you keep digging.”

Queen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck under his hair, “Right. Just point us at the target. Nevermind who’s pulling our fucking strings. ‘Scuse me.”

He stood up and went to the bathroom. He had to piss but he was damn near sober and this was too much. Queen finished and washed his hands, then dug around in his pocket. He pulled the crumpled bag out, the few pills of vicodin and xanax and the remainder of an 8 ball. There were two more in his belongings. Never leave home without it.

Queen looked at it, the weight of the night and the previous night and a sudden spike of loneliness hit him. Donnelley was in the other room but it was not the same comfort. Then he felt guilty for feeling the loss again, they were never an official thing and he should feel glad for his friend. And what did that all mean when they were balls deep in hillbilly hell with the Russian and the monsters. So evil they could not know what it is they risked their lives and sanity over.

He leaned over the sink, muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Finally he turned on the water, popping two Xanax and washing them down with a handful of water but he could not bear to flush the stash. It held him too hard and at least it would not leave him until he decided it was time. Queen wiped at his eyes, surprised and irritated at the tears there.

He washed his face and stepped out, looking over the men, his gaze lingering only briefly on Donnelley, well practiced at not making it obvious he was the object of his attention. Queen sat back down on the other bed, “So, Renko. Is that what they tell you on your side? You can’t know. Just to do or die, yadda, yadda.”

Renko shrugged, “Mainly.”

“What if we want to know?” Donnelley said, looking up from his lap, “I’ve lost friends over this shit. Seen plenty die.”

Donnelley glanced at Queen, and back at Alexei, “I died.” Donnelley growled, “I’m fightin’ a war against somethin’ I barely understand. And when we come home from it, nobody knows. Nobody calls us heroes. When I die somewhere, they might not even tell anyone the truth about it.”

“I’ll just be a star on a wall in Virginia.” Donnelley frowned bitterly, “The Black God, the Sleeper, whatever the fuck you want to call it… Fuck it. As long as that fuckin’ sun rises and this green ball of shit keeps turnin’, my job’s done.”

Donnelley rose from his seat and walked to the door, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the wall. Alexei looked after Donnelley, and the closed door he left. He sighed, “There are truths. You all will learn them.” Alexei shook his head, “And you will wish you had not.”

Queen watched Donnelley leave then glanced at Alexei, "You're probably right."

>…///

It was Donnelley’s turn to watch the lobby. The decor of this place was frozen in the 80’s, a ghost in time forever standing in a forgotten place in America. A place where everyone agreed not to look, too ugly. He sat alone in the lobby, not knowing if anyone else was asleep, only that he couldn’t. It was like that most nights, but this one stung more than others. In quiet moments like this, he regretted telling Queen. Telling Billy Patrick that what they had was no more, making him feel like anything he’d have with him would be second best to Laine. With someone he wouldn’t have to explain, wouldn’t have to hide, look over his shoulder.

The only man who’d ever seen the side of him that wasn’t what everyone else expected of him. And any sorry wouldn’t be enough. He sighed in the silence of the hotel lobby, alone until he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Alexei came into the lobby and took a seat across from Donnelley, placing his feet on the low coffee table. The two men sat in silence until Donnelley glanced at Alexei lounging in his suit, “What did you mean?”

“Hm?”

“They made me forget.” Donnelley asked, voice low and rough in the quiet of the halls in this destitute place, “Who are they? What did they make me forget?”

Alexei huffed a chuckle, nodding in understanding, “You have the same dream every night. Or most nights.” He said, “Chechnya. Afghanistan.”

Alexei pointed to Donnelley and then to himself, “Afghantsy, us both.” Alexei smiled, though it was full of sadness, “You do not remember Chechnya, because they do not want you to remember Chechnya. What was the last thing you remember?”

Donnelley looked away, staring at the stained carpet for a few long moments, “Crossing into Georgia. My clothes were tattered, dirty, bloody.” Donnelley spoke, though his mind was distant, “They picked me up there, traveled by night into Turkey and then back into Europe.”

“How did you get there?”

“I don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, looking back at Alexei as he brought himself back into the present, “I don’t remember.”

“When you sleep,” Alexei withdrew a simple ziploc bag and took a small, dried fruit from it, the same fruit that Ipiktok had given Ava, “Eat the meat of this, spit the pit out. I will come with you in the dream, and I will tell you the truth they took from you.”

Donnelley looked at the dried fruit in Alexei’s palm. Did he really want to know? What could be worse than knowing Foster was a traitor this whole time? What if it was just more of the same, just another confirmation that he was wrong all this time. Donnelley took the fruit from Alexei’s palm. “I’ll know the truth?” He looked back at Alexei and saw him nod. He looked back at the fruit, “Okay.”

He popped it in his mouth, focusing on what he remembered from Chechnya as he chewed. He turned his head and spit the pit across the room, “Tired of bein’ fuckin’ lied…” The room began to vibrate, subtle at first, “to…”

The vibrating intensified by the second, until Donnelley could feel his own body vibrating, his very eyes shaking with it, not knowing if it was real. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve thought this was going to be the worst acid trip he was embarking on. He heard Alexei speak, looking over to him sidelong, unable to work his neck, “I probably would have relaxed more before this.”

“Well-“ he spoke before he was cut off by the intense feeling of falling, his stomach jumping up to his throat as he screamed, not knowing if he really was or it was all in his head. It felt real, too real to not be. He saw the room fall away from him, shrinking upwards into a sky of pitch in a world of shadow, shrinking and shrinking until it was a pinprick and then nothing at all.

He screamed until he couldn’t, the air out of his lungs and as he breathed in, he found himself more calm. Still confused, still a bit frenzied, but only looking around and seeing only black. He lifted his hand to his face, seeing his fingers wriggle when he made them, though he was also naked. “What…”

He looked below himself, still falling, but now more accustomed to it. Until he saw what he was falling towards. It was like a star below, a point in the sky, and then it grew to a picture he slowly began to recognize. “No,” he shook his head to nobody, as if his protests would fall on any ears but his own, “No, no. Stop!”

But he couldn’t go back, the view of Chechnya. The mountains outside the windshield of the Ural, Peake and Guzman coming into view, “No, not this!”

But it was too late, and his hearing became muddled like he’d jumped into a pool, and he was there again…///

\\\…Four wheels struggled for purchase on the mountain road, suspension creaking in the early morning darkness. The halo of morning was starting to peek through the horizon as Donnelley grunted in frustration at the mud being thrown up by the Ural’s tires, their toughest enemy yet and the one that managed to slow their advance to the objective.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Peake turned his head to Donnelley, his face still stuck in that slit-eyed frown he’d had since Somalia. Donnelley wondered if his face had ever known a smile or grin.

Probably not, Donnelley sucked his teeth, cigarette clenched between them, “I’m fine, I’ve got this.”

“We could ditch this piece of shit, ruck the rest of the way to the rally point.” Peake grumbled, turning away from Donnelley, but Donnelley had never been the one to take the easy way. He wasn’t going to start. “That’s what I’d do.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Thank you for telling me the tale of what Peake would do with this stolen Ural in Chechnya.” Donnelley frowned sidelong at Peake, glowering from the passenger seat. “I liked the last one too, what Peake would do if FSB caught wind of a Marine Raider, a CIA Officer and an ISA Operator illegally crossing into Russia.”

Donnelley heard Guzman sigh from the backseat, his AKM laid across his thighs as he looked out his window pretending not to hear yet another contest of Who’s-A-Better-Asshole. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as Guzman’s did the same, leaning closer to his driver’s side rear window. Guzman’s wary voice came from behind Donnelley, “You seen that?”

“What?” Peake barked, his head whipping to the direction Guzman was looking like a bird of prey. “Oh, sh-“

Gunfire erupted from a rocky outcropping and ripped through the Ural’s side, stitching a long path that punched through Donnelley’s side and made him gasp. Guzman was gone, Donnelley could see the flap of his head dangling with every bump in the road as their Ural bounded down the packed dirt and slipping mud. Smoke was pouring from the engine and they were losing RPMs and oil pressure from their mangled motor.

“We have to fucking ditch!” Peake roared, opening his door and rolling out.

Donnelley tried shielding his face as flames exploded from the engine compartment, coolant and scalding oil spraying. A glob of fire spattered into his cheek and stuck there, burning like napalm until he slapped at his face, screaming. He rolled out of his seat, leaving the off-road Russian vehicle to slowly list to the right and eventually fly off the road of its own burning accord. Tumbling through the mud and dirt and stopping just short of the cliff’s edge, he looked up to see Peake further down the road. He only made it resting on his hands and knees before gunfire ripped his neck and face open.

“No!” Donnelley screamed, reaching out to Peake, “No!”

…///

\\\…Donnelley heaved in a breath as he fell away again, happy to be out of there, but soul crushed to pieces to have been back at all. He heard Alexei’s voice come from all around him, “This is what you see?”

“Fuck you!”

“You are the one who ate it. We should make this worth it for you. I do not have many of these fruits. They only sprout every fifty years or so.” Alexei spoke as if they talking with each other from either side of a table at a farmers market, “Ready yourself.”

“No! Please, not again!” Donnelley could feel himself almost be pushed into it, falling faster, and faster, and faster until he felt like he was about to pass out. The black grew more oppressive, shrinking in from every side, “Oh my god, no…”

…///

\\\…Four wheels struggled for purchase on the mountain road, suspension creaking in the early morning darkness. The halo of morning was starting to peek through the horizon as Donnelley grunted in frustration at the mud being thrown up by the Ural’s tires, their toughest enemy yet and the one that managed to slow their advance to the objective.

“Few more miles until we can get to the extraction point Foster set up for us.” Donnelley said, narrowed eyes on the road, if you could even call it one.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Peake turned his head to Donnelley, his face still stuck in that slit-eyed frown he’d had since Somalia. Donnelley wondered if his face had ever known a smile or grin.

Probably not, Donnelley sucked his teeth, cigarette clenched between them, “I’m fine, I’ve got this.”

“We could ditch this piece of shit, ruck the rest of the way to the rally point.” Peake grumbled, turning away from Donnelley, but Donnelley had never been the one to take the easy way. He wasn’t going to start. “That’s what I’d do.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Thank you for tellin’ me the tale of what Peake would do with this stolen Ural in Chechnya.” Donnelley frowned sidelong at Peake, glowering from the passenger seat. “I liked the last one too, what Peake would do if Breckenridge caught us tryin’ to escape with a March Tech whistleblower.”

The whistleblower in question gulped audibly from the backseat. What Wetwork Team GRANTOR had found in that mountain monastery wasn’t what they were expecting. There was no cult, there was no monster, there were only labs and chairs, and beds where they ripped villagers’ minds apart to stitch them back together again in any way they wanted. It disgusted all of them, including Dr. Feldenkrais. The petite blonde thirty-something pushed her glasses up her face. Donnelley smiled at her from the passenger seat, though she didn’t look much in the mood for smiles, “When the UN or whoever we can get these documents to finds these, March Tech isn’t going to be able to hurt these innocents anymore.”

“We’ll get you out of Chechnya safely, Yuliya. I promise.” Donnelley said with some resolve. Yuliya placed her hand on his shoulder. He placed his hand on her own and squeezed reassuringly.

“You’re a good man. My brother Fadeyka would like you. Perhaps I will take you to meet him.” Yuliya said, withdrawing her hand after a moment, “This doesn’t just effect the CIA, or America, or Russia. They’re doing these experiments everywhere. It all ends soon.”

Donnelley heard Guzman sigh from the backseat, his AKM laid across his thighs as he looked out his window pretending they weren’t about to open up a case full of treason. Donnelley knew as well as everyone inside this truck that trying to end March Tech could just as easily end them. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed as Guzman’s did the same, leaning closer to his driver’s side rear window. Guzman’s wary voice came from behind Donnelley, “You seen that?”

“What?” Peake asked, his head searching the direction Guzman was looking like a bird of prey. “Oh, sh-“

Gunfire erupted from a rocky outcropping and ripped through the Ural’s side, stitching a long path that punched through Donnelley’s side and made him gasp. Guzman was gone, Donnelley could see the flap of his head dangling with every bump in the road as their Ural bounded down the packed dirt and slipping mud. Smoke was pouring from the engine and they were losing RPMs and oil pressure from their mangled motor.

“We have to fucking ditch!” Peake roared, opening his door and rolling out.

Donnelley tried shielding his face as flames exploded from the engine compartment, coolant and scalding oil spraying. A glob of fire spattered into his cheek and stuck there, burning like napalm until he slapped at his face, screaming. He rolled out of his seat, leaving the off-road Russian vehicle to slowly list to the right and eventually fly off the road of its own burning accord. Tumbling through the mud and dirt and stopping just short of the cliff’s edge, he looked up to see Yuliya further down the road. She only made it to her hands and knees as she reached out to Donnelley.

Donnelley struggled to his feet, swaying in place and almost stumbling over the cliff before he righted himself. His face was numb, but he could smell cooking meat, hear his cheek sizzling. His side hurt, and he could feel the warm wetness of blood from the bullet wounds. “Yuliya…”

Yuliya grabbed onto the suitcase that contained all the case files and reports of March Tech’s experiments on the people in the remote village. She clutched it to her chest and got to her feet just before Donnelley could see the men in camouflage uniforms, the Breckenridge hit squad, come walking around the bend.

“No!” Donnelley screamed, reaching out to Yuliya, “No!”

Yuliya turned in time for one of the Breckenridge contractors to raise his weapon and send a round through her face, bits of brain and bone flying. Donnelley dropped to his knees, “No!”

The Breckenridge soldiers kept advancing, stepping over Yuliya’s faceless corpse. One of them removed his mask to reveal a familiar face. “I’m sorry, Joe.” Foster said, “I can’t afford you and GRANTOR ruining this. For what it’s worth, this whole plan of yours really was noble.”

Donnelley’s lip quivered in contempt as tears began to sting at his eyes. He looked at Foster, his friend, one of the only people in the Program he trusted and the person he told about March Tech’s place in the disappearances in Chechnya, “Why?” His voice quivered behind gritted teeth.

“You said it yourself, Joe. Anything for the greater good, for humanity to see another sunrise, and another, and another.” Foster shook his head and shrugged, “Can you imagine what we can do with an army of agents and operators that we can simply just reset before they can eat one of their own bullets? How many friends do you think I’ve lost that way? That you’ve lost that way?”

“It’s not right!” Donnelley roared, “You can’t just do these things to people!”

“Like I said, Joseph,” Foster pursed his lips, “I’m sorry-”

“Fuck you.” Donnelley reached down and drew his handgun as fast as he could, but not faster than the bullets that ripped into him. He fell back, trying to plug the holes as he groaned at the burning.

“What should we do?” One of the Breckenridge contractors asked.

Foster was staring down at Donnelley’s limp form, “Clean this up. And take Joseph to the beds. We’ll see how well this works against traumatic violence.” Foster walked to Donnelley’s side as he dragged in wheezing, grating breaths. Rocks and grass crunched under Foster’s boots as he knelt before him, and placed a hand on Donnelley’s shoulder that he tried to shrug away from, “You’re a tough bastard, Joseph. This is an opportunity to prove how useful you can be to your country.”

“Don’t do that to me, you fuckin’ monster.” Donnelley grit his teeth and growled, “I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill you bad, you motherfucker. You fuckin’ cocksuckin’ piece of shit, I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you get in my head.”

“You won’t even feel a thing.” Foster patted Donnelley’s shoulder, “Be like it never happened at all.”

…///

\\\…Donnelley was back in the hotel lobby.

He slowly turned his head to look at Alexei.

“What…”

“The truth.” Alexei spoke low.

“They erased me.”

“A part of you.”

Donnelley looked at the carpet again, not knowing what to do, and somewhat even afraid to move for fear of falling through the carpet and back into his dreams. He swallowed, mouth feeling like he’d chewed a mouthful of sand. “Holy shit…” he whispered, “I… need to go.”

“I will watch lobby.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you.” Donnelley said, “I’ll get Renko.”

Donnelley rose from his seat, slow, cautious. He looked around the lobby, down at himself to make sure his clothes were still on. Turning for the hallway and the stairs up to the floor their room was on, he couldn’t help but to hurry away from the lobby. He climbed the stairs quietly as he could, as if he’d wake his nightmares and they’d drag him into them drowning again. Walked the halls quietly as if a door would open and someone would snatch him inside, getting to the room, he knocked a bit harder than needed. Didn’t even wait for Queen to answer, just pounded with his open palm again, “Open the fuck up!” There was a fear in him, coming from everywhere, stabbing at him and making him feel a deep need to run, “Queen, please!”

Queen’s eyes snapped open from a doze he had not realized he had fallen into. He was still on the bed, laying back with his feet still on the floor. He was up, head spinning a little as he forced himself out of the fog of Xanax and he held a hand up to Renko to motion that he had it. Queen took the small 9mm handgun off the table where he had left it, holding it at his side.

He opened the door, shocked to see the ashen color of Donnelley’s face and the blue gaze filled with fear and something else he hardly recognized, something edging on panic. “What happened?” He swung the door open so he could enter, checking behind Donnelley left and right but nothing was there.

Queen shut the door, going to him, putting his hand on Donnelley’s shoulder, “Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“He killed GRANTOR.” Donnelley spoke, placing his hands on Queen’s shoulders, “It was March Tech. It was fucking Foster and March Tech.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

The Things We Leave Behind, Part IV

Stop Talkin’ Falsely Now…

>UN CLUB SANGUIN
>1220…///

The three of them arrived at the club, stopping a couple hundred meters down the street. Around this time, the club wasn’t open to the public, probably just being used as a hangout for Hubert and his thugs. It was a typical high-end strip club, nothing on the outside to show its true nature, just flashing neon signs that marketed it as a lounge and bar. Gentleman’s Club. As if that was any better. Just meant the girls had an equal chance of putting out for money with a lower chance of giving you something the wife would notice. Donnelley knew a lot about that, as shameful as it was to admit, “So, how were you goin’ to get in?” He turned his head to look at Renko in the passenger seat, “Because, I’m pretty sure they ain’t goin’ to let us just mosey on through the front door.”

“Side door. I speak password, we go in.” Renko said.

“They’re expectin’ you?”

“They expect Dmitri”

“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, “Easy enough. You do anythin’ funny, I’ll blow the back of your head out.”

“Understood, my friend.” Renko smiled and nodded. “Follow.”

Donnelley pulled the neck gaiter over his mouth and nose, following close behind with Queen at his side, the three of them looking like an odd trio. If anyone asked, they were Renko’s muscle. They approached the side door through an alleyway, Renko knocking twice, pausing, then knocking twice again. The side door opened to reveal a thickset man in his forties with a long beard and bald head, his gut hanging over his belt in the suit he wore, “What?”

“It is Dmitri. Here for Hubert.” Renko said, giving the lie easily. “Vory v Zakone, friend to the Tadjbegskye.”

Beard-Gut nodded, stepping aside and holding the door open for the three of them. What was inside wasn’t the club floor itself, just the halls with the maintenance rooms, changing room for the girls, and the staff’s offices. “Anything starts feeling off, we go for Hubert and McCune. Plug the rest.” Donnelley muttered to Queen.

“The rest does not include me, right?” Renko asked from over his shoulder.

Donnelley clapped Renko’s shoulder and squeezed as if they were good friends, “‘Course not, buddy.”

Queen eyed the club as they pulled up and muttered, “Club Sanguine. If blood starts spraying out of the sprinkler system I’m going to be very upset.”

He followed Donnelley and Renko, the alley empty but for some strewn trash and empty liquor boxes. Queen had also pulled up the gaitor, now the pair looked like some bodyguards likely hired at the lower end of the bidding scale. He nodded slightly at Donnelley’s instruction, his Scorpion tucked under his leather jacket.

Adrenaline kept him focused but behind that he felt the creeping exhaustion of being awake for nearly 48 hours minus a nap. He would need something soon, either sleep or another upper. Adderall maybe, cocaine probably. He didn’t bring any meth since Ghost wasn’t around to possibly want it. He forced his thoughts away from the nagging need and looked at Renko, wondering what his game was but left that for Donnelley, that was super spy shit.

The security around this hour was sparse. Odd, considering Hubert had a hit out on him. He wondered if Hubert knew that Clem was dead, or that he was going to be in a couple hours if they didn’t get him out of this place in time. At least there wouldn’t be many guards to shoot if things went sideways. They went up a set of stairs and Renko knocked on another door, this one wood instead of metal like the ones down below. The door opened and a man who could’ve been the clone of Beard-Gut stood in the doorway, “What?”

Donnelley wondered if they had a script. Renko smiled, “Here for Hubert. Vory v Zakone, friend to the Bratva.”

“Let him in!” They heard a voice yell from inside, and Beard-Gut II looked them all over, grunted, and then waved them in.

The office inside matched the club floor that could be seen from a long panel of windows that looked down upon the stage and tables. The desk was about twice as large as it needed to be, the decor was dark and expensive, lots of gold trim. In the corner on a long sectional couch sat Hubert and McCune, this time outside of a Police Sergeant’s uniform. “What do you want?” McCune asked, looking all of them up and down with a hint of contempt, “We’re discussing something.”

“Hubert is in danger. Rival of Bratva is coming to kill you.” Renko ignored McCune, and so did everyone else, which made the other man bristle.

“How do you know?”

Renko pulled his phone and stepped over to Hubert, scrolling through pictures of Clem’s corpse. Hubert looked at it with some sense of shock before turning away and putting his drink down, ice clinking in the glass, “Holy fucking shit.” His voice quivered, “Jesus fuck… where’d you get that?”

“Tried to save him. Could not. Trying to save you now.” Renko nodded, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“What about me?” McCune spat.

“You were not mentioned.” Renko shrugged, then glanced at Donnelley and Queen, “But you may come. We must leave, now.”

Hubert rose without protest, gathering his coat and his gun. McCune downed the last of his drink and did the same. Hubert spoke up in his frenzied search around his office for things he needed, “Where are we going?” He asked, taking a couple rolls of cash from his desk.

“Somewhere safe from killers.”

The sound of small arms fire echoed down the halls and Donnelley pulled his AK from his coat, pointing it at the door, “How many exits we got?”

“Just that one.” Hubert drew his handgun and racked the slide, staring at the door as more shots were fired in the halls beneath them, the sound of men screaming their last.

Queen drew the Scorpion from under his arm and unfolded the stock, listening to the small arms fire not too far away. The walls suddenly felt paper thin and he swore internally as neither he or Tex had a plate carrier. He glanced at the glass panels but no one was in the club yet, at least that was one thing they did not have to worry about. He thumbed off the safety and said, “Let’s not wait on them.”

The clack of Tex’s AK stock being unfolded was heard. He looked at Queen, a small smirk on his lips, “Real cowboy shit.”

“I am nervous.” Renko voiced as he drew his Glock, looking to Tex, “You are sure?”

“Not really.”

“Yeehaw time!” Queen said in a sing song voice, whatever cowboy shit Tex had in mind was better than getting funnelled into the hallway between the goons and the exit and who knew if they had someone watching the door.

Tex turned and drew his FNS from its holster, aiming at the large viewing windows that showed the stage and club floor below. He squeezed off four shots across one of the panels of glass, marched to the desk and picked up the chair.

“That’s real leather!” Hubert snapped.

Tex just went on his way, lifted it over his head and then smashed all that weight and real leather through the weakened window, sending shards of glass big and small clinking and clattering on the stage below about ten feet down. Tex smiled wolf teeth at the others, “Yeehaw.”

Tex squatted and then hung off the edge before dropping down. McCune was the first one to follow after Tex.

Queen turned his face when the chair hit the glass and waved Hubert forward, “Come on down, the price is right.”

He waited for the man to drop down then turned to Renko, “Go on, I’m bringing up the rear..”

He stepped to the edge, glancing down before he crouched, his gloved hands gripping the edge before he let himself drop. Queen hit the floor and rolled, bouncing into a crouch with his gun held up. “We clear?”

As if to answer Queen’s question, the door on the other side of the room that led into the employee only areas was thrown open, clattering on the wall on the other side as one of the security people Hubert had hired stumbled through and sprawled onto his face. The sound of pounding footsteps running down the hall was heard before someone in a fitted suit came careening through, jumping high into the air and pulping the guard’s head with the heel of his shoe as he landed. Tex was taken aback by the seemingly superhuman maneuver and strength, only to able to muster a tepid, “What the fuck...”

Beard-Gut II growled like an angry bear as he charged at the stranger, who Tex could see was wearing one black leather glove and sunglasses. The gloved hand cocked back and delivered a lightning quick hook that sent Beard-Gut II into a half spin into the ground, the sound of his neck breaking as it hit the floor was audible. Tex wasted no time in grabbing McCune’s collar and shoving him towards the front door as he himself ran, he knew to pick his battles.

Queen gawked for a moment then was moving, repeating, "Nope. Nope not doing that."

He laid his finger on the trigger and moved his Scorpion up to his chest and rushed behind Renko, almost giving the Russian a flat tire by stepping on his heel.

"Move, whatever the fuck that is I ain't getting close," he said, turning to cover their retreat.

Tex had McCune’s nape gripped in one hand, his other on the grip of his AK as he led him to the Ford, opening the back door and shoving him inside before Renko did the same with Hubert. Tex jumped in the driver seat while Renko took the passenger seat. Tex smashed his finger into the Ford’s start button and floored the gas pedal, white smoke spewing out from the tires for a brief moment before the SHO took off at full speed down the road.

Queen was on his Sportster, glancing back as it roared to life. Now he knew how Clem ended up smashed through the table. “No fair, they got a well dressed Hulk,” he said to the wind as the bike roared after the car.

>FLANNEGAN INN
>TEN MILES OUTSIDE MERCY
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY
>1530…///

Donnelley tipped up one of the slats of the blinds in the hotel room. It was quiet in the halls, eerily so, but the Flannegan had been abandoned since the Nineties. Tourism to Blackriver was sparse, and no one left Blackriver if they were born here. This left the crumbling building to rot on the side of the highway into White Tree and Mercy. A perfect place to hide. A perfect place to never be found. A place where no one would hear you scream. Donnelley let the slat fall back into place and turned away from it, letting his hand rest on his AK still slung on his chest. Hubert and McCune were stowed away in another room, no doubt wondering why they’d decided to hide so far away from Charleston even though Hubert knew a dozen other places in the city they could go to.

It was just him, Queen, and Renko in this room. Donnelley sighed, “Well, the Terminator ain’t comin’ ‘round yet.” He said. “I’ll go around and check the area. Anythin’s off, you’ll know by the screamin’.”

Donnelley chuckled almost humorlessly as he left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Renko and Queen alone.

Queen watched him go with a casual, “Deuces,” that belied his nervous energy. He hated sitting and waiting and tried not to pace the faded carpet of the motel room. The Scorpion was still hanging around his neck, his hand resting on it and he tapped his fingers. The bed called to him but if he tried to nap, if he even dared to, he’d not wake up for hours. Just another bump or two and he could make it, just stretching the reserves of adrenaline to make it to when they could rest.

Instead of heading to the bathroom he turned and looked at Renko, “So you had some good timing popping up when ol’ Tex wasn’t around, just dealing with the ladies, you dog you.”

His smile teased across his lips but did not touch his bloodshot eyes. “You can tell me, I ain’t no big bad CIA man. That wasn’t a coincidence was it?”

“Believe it or not, I am not spider,” Renko was sat in a dusty chair in the dusty corner of this dusty hotel room. He had his Glock in his lap, and was absently staring at the closed blinds as if he could stare through them and see the trees, “Not everything I do is the weaving of a web.”

He looked to Queen, and his eyes held a weight, “I know CIA has no reason to trust me. Russia and America old rivals, I know.” He pointed to himself and then to Queen, “But we are not enemies.”

“I am from the Ukraine. Kherson. I lived with my Babushka, my grandmother. Sweet lady.” Renko smiled and looked away, back to the window, “Sweetest.”

“She died when I was young. Killed because she was Jew.” Renko’s smile disappeared, “Taken to Ahava Orphanage. Means love, Ahava. Funny thing, like bad joke, I have not felt love in a very long time. I grow up lonely, and here I am still.”

“So you and me? We are not enemies.” Renko shook his head.

Queen rested his ass against the scarred dresser, stopping his fidgeting to listen to Renko. He gave a slight smirk but looked away, “Yeah, well who’s a friend and who’s an enemy is really up for debate these days.”

He glanced back over at the Ukrainian, looking him over. “Orphanage. I wasn’t there for all that went down and I only read Dr. Laine’s report but that girl, the one you brought to them. She’s the one we took from Jay.”

Queen frowned slightly, his sea colored eyes seemed more gray, a storm gathering behind his furrowed brow. He recalled how frail she was and how she cried when he tried taking off the headphones. How they kept her locked up like a dog that wasn’t housebroken.

“Da.” Renko nodded, still staring out the window, “She was taken from there by Tadjbegskye Bratva. Bratva sells them to someone, like GRU. She is here, so this means that an American is buying them.”

He frowned, shaking his head, “For what reason, this is still a mystery.” Renko looked to Queen, “I give her to you, because I trust you. Or I hope I can.”

“I hope I can trust in you and your friends for many things, but,” He shrugged, “Hope floats like anchor. I guess we are both hoping one can trust the other. I told this Doctor Laine that I am still a patriot to my country. Russia, because she adopt me, I owe much to her. But for me to cover my eyes to this? The trafficking of children? It is too much for her to ask of me.”

“Who can trust who. Nobody trust nobody. Nobody is who they say they are, not really. Every good deed come with price. Life of a spy, bah,” He shook his head and shivered as if he tasted something sour, “I do not wish to live a life like this any longer.”

Queen reached into his pocket and took out the slightly crushed green box, removing a cigarette, then held it out for Renko, “I can’t say I blame you for not being able to look away from trafficking children. Takes a lot of balls to do it right under the noses of a bratva. You think they're doing all this for some American pedo? Something in that report about that girl, not being normal.”

He raised an eyebrow, striking the disposable lighter and holding it to the end of his cigarette. Smoking inside always was not a habit but the hell if he was going to stand outside like a damn target.

When Renko spoke about trust, Queen coughed and shook his head, an ironic smirk forming under his trimmed beard. “Yeah, well ain’t that true. I wouldn’t trust me. Maybe you’re right to trust Laine and them, they’re not...broken in, so to speak.”

He took a drag then pointed at Renko, “But just know, I wouldn’t go hurting kids. I think I might have done the same as you. Or at least I’d like to think so. I’d like to think I’ve done a few good things in my life to counter all the bad. Though it might not be seen like that to others.”

His thoughts instantly went to Easy and Goat, how he had blown his own case to save them from federal time. He nearly lost the trust of his own colleagues to save friends he had made under a fake name and identity. Queen still was not sure what to make of it, only at the time he had no heart to betray them. But they were not good men, not in the law abiding sense but they had become like brothers. Lies upon lies, always balancing on that razor’s edge of side stepping and jiving. How he and Tex lived a lie under the noses of THUNDER for five years, their little secret but that was over, now he had to lie that it didn’t tear him up inside to lose Donnelley in that way.

“I feel you on that, it gets a little exhausting, don't it? Never trust anyone, hardly trust yourself,” Queen agreed, then blew out the smoke between his teeth. “Bright side is, you won’t die bored. If running down these bratvas tryna sell kids for whatever reason and having their hands in murdering others. Well, guess that might tip the scales in the end, maybe.”

Renko smiled, huffed a chuckle and looked at Queen. His eyes went over him from head to toe, snagging on the tattoos on his hands. His eyes were soft and they held Queen’s gaze, searching the bloodshot eyes, “Some men would take dying bored before dying in an alley, scared and alone, just like they lived.” Renko sighed, “But, yes. I suppose doing this for the children may let me die with a soul not too heavy.”

Renko frowned again, before he looked back at Queen with that same look in his eye, “You are close.” He cleared his throat, looking back at the window, “You… and the one you call Tex.”

“That’s a fair point,” Queen conceded, speaking around the Kools in his teeth, checking his phone just in case. He reached up and took a drag, flicking the ash in his cupped hand. “I hope you do find some peace, some of us...”

He paused and swallowed hard, thinking about the cocaine and pills now weighing in his pocket, the call to feel better and wake up without effort. “Hell, I don’t even know what I would do with myself if I wasn’t runnin’ and gunnin’. Been doing it awhile.”

Queen grinned that old bravado, THUNDER speaking through him. The question about Tex caught him off guard and he hesitated a moment, his cocky expression slipping and he looked down, catching himself and shrugged, “Yeah, well we go back. Been doing this thing together, he’s a very good friend of mine. I trust him with my life.”

He ran his thumb over the safety and fiddled with it, making sure it was still set to off. “You can trust him, I’m here because of him, this is his mission.”

“I can see it,” Renko said, almost like he didn’t hear Queen. He looked down at his hands, his shoulders slumped and his eyes moved over the middle distance like he was recalling something. Something that made him hurt, “Trust. Closeness. Something good there.”

He sounded like he was speaking to himself in an empty room, his fingers idly fidgeting with each other as he sat there and thought. He looked at Queen, “It warms me to see it.” Renko cleared his throat and looked away, “I wish you both luck…”

“With your mission.” Renko added, shaking his head and folding his hands together.

Queen huffed a laugh, a bitter tinge to it and he tried to mask that. He scratched at his brow and brought his cigarette to his lips. “Well, thanks. We’ll need it.”

He looked at Renko and felt the empathy of loneliness, no matter how much of the joker he played and how gregarious he was there were very few he would ever call friend or brother and most of them did not know who he really was. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Renko. I really do. It helps, when you got it.”

Queen took a drag, drawing on the cigarette so hard his cheeks hollowed and then he snorted the smoke through his nose.

Donnelley arrived after the sound of his footsteps in the old, empty hotel. He looked between the two of them, one hand in his pocket and the other resting on his AK. His eyes hung on Queen’s, noting the redness there, “You need sleep, pardner.” He said, then put his attention on the both of them, speaking low enough only they could hear, “We’ll sleep here in shifts. Not too long, need to make sure our two friends in the other room don’t start gettin’ uppity.”

Queen narrowed his gaze, wanting to argue against sleeping but gave in, a slight twinkle in his tired eyes as he fell back into their old comfortable routine for a moment.

“Only if you tuck me in,” he replied in the same low voice, arching his brow. He caught himself and just shrugged, adding sheepishly, “Yeah, sure. Don’t let me sleep too long.”

“Anythin’ for my boy.” He chuckled, then clucked his tongue, smelling the cigarette smoke before he even got in the room and decided to light up one of his own, “Who wants to hogtie these piggies with me ‘fore we get some rest?”

The Things We Leave Behind, Part V

The Cold Distance…

>FLANNEGAN INN
>DATE TBD(Next Day)
>0800…///

Renko was watching the front door in the lobby downstairs. The Terminator hadn’t shown up all night, but Donnelley still wasn’t willing to go to sleep. The only thing they’d fed McCune and Hubert was water and crackers that they’d bought at the nearest gas station convenience store five miles down the road, back towards Charleston. He whiled his time away looking for public records on Clyde Baughman while Queen watched their two captives. He finally found his kids, Clyde’s son lived in Fort Bragg, but his daughter was still relatively close by in Lexington, Kentucky. He texted Queen and Renko to get back to the room.

He left the two men still cuffed, allowed a bottle of water and a bathroom break. Queen had sat in front of them, an open box of donuts and he had only eaten one powdered one. The sweet soft bread was not sitting well with the coffee but he made a show of it while they had their allotment of dry crackers.

“Bacon and eggs waiting on me, boys,” Queen said, checking the text from Donnelley. “Y’all just sit tight, maybe we’ll bring you some leftovers.”

He gave McCune a playful pat on the face, leaving the powdered sugar thumbprint on his cheek.

“Asshhole,” he muttered.

“That’s the other guy,” Queen quipped as he left the room, stuffing the key card in his pocket and carrying the cardboard tote back to the room.

He stepped in and handed the box to Renko, “Good old American donuts, enjoy.”

“Sufganiyah?” Renko took the box from Queen only to groan in disappointment.

Queen looked Donnelley over, he was still dressed in the same clothes and his red hair was tousled. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I need someone to stay with the assholes next door, and one to come with me to visit Baughman’s daughter.” Donnelley looked up from his phone, “Still waitin’ on a favor I called in for the old man’s employment records and the DD-214s of him and the people in his old Army unit. We can still ask his daughter in the meantime.”

He winked at Queen, “No flirtin’.”

“Flirt? What sort of scoundrel do I look like,” Queen said, holding his cup of coffee to his chest, looking just like the scoundrel that he was with the white undershirt and his bright colored tattoos over his wiry muscles. He glanced at Renko, their conversation still on his mind, “Take him, I’ll mind the kids.”

Queen gave Renko a pat on the shoulder and stepped aside. “Figure, y’all could use some time to talk.”

>SOMEWHERE ALONG I-64
>TOWARDS LEXINGTON, KY
>1000…///

Donnelley and Renko’s drive had been silent. Any sort of forthcoming or niceties Renko had with Queen seemed to shrivel in Donnelley’s long shadow. The two spies sat shoulder to shoulder in the Ford Taurus, quiet music going in the background, the crashing of drums and screaming guitars turned down to a whisper. Renko looked out the window at the passing cars, leaving Donnelley alone with whatever thoughts he had. Donnelley looked across at Renko for a moment and then returned his eyes to the road ahead. There was still roughly an hour to go and they hadn’t spoken for two. Donnelley quietly cleared his throat, glancing at Renko, “It isn’t personal.”

“Hm?” Renko took his eyes off the cars passing and looked at Donnelley, eyes scanning his face.

The muscles in Donnelley’s temple worked as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Laine was an FBI psychologist, maybe not a spy, but her job was reading people. There was still that part of him that distrusted Renko on principle. They’d taught him how to gauge someone’s motivations after only just a couple meetings, how to read people, find out why they did what they did. And no matter how much he looked at Renko, he couldn’t shake the feeling of a game being played. Whether the winner in it was Renko himself or the Russian government was anyone’s guess. A double agent, maybe. “Me not trusting you,” Donnelley expounded, drawing his lips thin and shaking his head, “Switch our roles in this, would you trust me?”

Renko looked at Donnelley for a long moment, blinking once and then shrugging as he looked at the road, “Perhaps not.” Renko nodded, “But America is not Russia. Bad people on both sides, yes? But good too.”

Donnelley’s turn to nod in agreement, “True.”

“There comes a time in every loyal patriot’s service where he must question how much he is willing to enable, to do for his country,” Renko frowned, eyes hardening, “He must ask himself if duty to country is more important than duty to humanity. No matter what oath he has taken, making the choice to break it for something greater.”

“The girl.” Donnelley looked sidelong at Renko, “She came from an orphanage. Brought to America for some reason.”

“Yes.” Renko said, “Even if she is the only one I can save from bad men, it will be enough. Maybe. Who can say how much will be enough to outweigh everything you and I have done in the eyes of God?”

Donnelley shook his head, a lopsided frown as he sighed, “I don’t think God cares anymore.” He said, “You and me, we’ve seen enough to know that God’s had enough chances to fix this bullshit. I’ve lost too much to think God’s even awake.”

Donnelley’s frown deepened, “If he was even there at all.”

“I have lost plenty too.” Renko said, nodding slow as his eyes went back to watching cars pass. The moment grew quiet then, as that little moment of the wall between them being chipped away at faded. Passed just as quickly as the trees, and just as unnoticed and forgotten. Until Renko spoke again, “Fadeyka.”

Donnelley seemed unfazed, driving in silence for a moment, “What does that mean?”

“Brave.” Renko said, “I knew someone named Fadeyka long time ago. He died, somewhere in Chechnya.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Donnelley barely threw a veneer of sincerity over the words.

“He was… a good friend. When he died, I made a promise to make things right, and leave being a spy when all was done.” Renko ran his fingers through his hair, “This is why I help you.”

“How’d he die?” Donnelley asked, somewhat curious. Something about Renko opening the door just a small bit made Donnelley want to peek through it.

“He lost someone very important to him. And then...” Renko drew in a breath and sighed, then mimed putting a gun to his own head. “Fadeyka. Brave. But sometimes all by yourself is not enough, even if you are brave.”

Donnelley quirked a brow at that, taking a moment to consider what he’d say. He knew a few who’d done that. Taken the 9mm retirement plan. Whether it was his time in the Army or the Program, sometimes the stress mounted so much, and every door you see is closed. No one answers no matter how hard you pound on each one to ask if they could just please lighten your load even a single ounce, and you wonder sometimes if whoever’s on the other side is just waiting for you to go away. Watching you slowly die through the peephole, so they can go back to watching their television shows.

“Yeah.” Donnelley nodded once. There wasn’t anything else he could say.

>LEXINGTON, KY
>1100…///

It was a nice enough property in the hills, reminded Donnelley of Holly and Mark’s house. There was a large lawn, horses roaming and grazing in their pasture there. A scenic slice of country living. The front gate was a little more modern, a talkbox with a camera from where the owner of the house could see whoever was there. Donnelley pressed the call button on the talkbox, and a man’s voice came through, “What do you want?”

Donnelley spoke at the camera, “Hi, there. I’m Joseph Blaine with-“

The talkbox buzzed and the gate swung open slowly. Donnelley looked back at Renko still in the passenger seat and he shrugged. Donnelley got back in the car and let it amble along on the long dirt driveway towards Sharon Baughman’s house. They parked in a gravel area next to a green Ford Ranger and a Chevy pickup, their fancy sedan looking out of place next to the two older vehicles. As Donnelley and Renko dismounted, he noticed an old man sitting on the porch, not looking at them but at the hills rolling off and away back towards West Virginia. He could smell fresh hay that had just been mowed, and it took him back to those days spent at his Uncle Foley’s learning to ride his horses.

“Stay with the car.” Donnelley told Renko, and Renko nodded.

Donnelley’s shoes crunched in the gravel on his way to the front porch, the steps creaking under him. As he reached for the door, he heard the old man grumble something, “Huh?”

Donnelley looked at the old man, and recognition hit him like he was trying to kiss a freight train full of it. The old golden retriever was next to him, laying on the porch at his feet. The old man spoke again, “Said, you folk lookin’ for Sharon?” The old man asked, taking his hand from under the blanket to reveal he was gripping a Colt 1911. An old pistol, but eight .45 hollowpoints at this distance would do the job, “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

Donnelley slowly brought up his hands and inclined his head towards the old man, “I remember you.” He said, “Lemonbrook Apartments. April. After Clyde died.”

The old man nodded once, slow as slow with narrowed eyes. Killer’s eyes. Donnelley recognized those eyes anywhere, and the two of them had an understanding, “Clyde was a good friend. It’s a shame,” the old man retrieved a cigarette from a box of Lucky Strikes, placing one between his lips and lighting it with a zippo, MAC-V SOG insignia emblazoned on it, “You fuckin’ assholes were getting rid of the evidence.”

“Evidence of?”

“Not out here, dumbfuck, inside. Or did you forget about your training when they picked you up?” The old man struggled to standing, Donnelley offered his hand, but he only growled at it. “Special Forces. Special needs. Fuckin’ new assholes nowadays, I swear to god.”

Donnelley quirked a brow at that, face screwed up with confusion, “How’d you know…”

“It’s on your fuckin’ vest, asshat. Clocked you in Lexington when you rode that fuckin’ Indian into town actin’ all spooky like no one’d notice.” The old man smirked, “You gonna come in here or what?”

Donnelley stepped through the doorway and into the living room of the quaint house, a small house on a homestead he had to wonder when it was built. He heard the creak of floorboards that didn’t come from him, the sound of a weapon being manipulated to his left and his hand struck out instinctively, wrapping around the barrel shroud of an AR and forcing it away from his head. He cocked back a fist at the man he turned to see and the old man yelled out, “Stop that fuckin’ bullshit right now or I’ll shoot the both of you!”

“You’re gonna let this fuckin’ asshole into my sister’s house after he killed-“

“He didn’t kill Clyde, you fuckin’ moron!” The old man snarled, Colt still in hand, and he turned his unforgiving gaze on Donnelley, “He just cleaned up the fuckin’ mess.”

The man Donnelley had almost clocked in the mouth was younger than him, maybe five years or more. An angry expression, and rage in his eyes. Everyone here was armed, and Donnelley was not an exception, “Michael.”

“How the fuck do you know my name?” Michael Baughman stepped closer to Donnelley.

“It was in my briefing,” Donnelley looked Michael up and down, a little different than the picture Foster had given them way back in April, “I’m sorry… about your-“

“Just shut the fuck up and take a seat.” Michael turned away from Donnelley and did the same, taking the wooden chair he’d set up in front of the window facing out towards the driveway and the gate beyond.

Donnelley did what he was told, sitting on the couch adjacent to the television set and entertainment center before the old man came back with a bottle of Wild Turkey and two glasses, whiskey stones inside. The old man glanced at Donnelley, “You like whiskey.”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t a question. It’s all we got, so today you like whiskey.” The old man lowered himself growling into his seat and the golden retriever dutifully placed himself next to him, panting with his tongue lolling about. “Why are you lookin’ for my best friend’s daughter?”

“Answer careful-“

“Would you shut the fuck up? Let the man speak,” The old man fixed Michael with a stare that could freeze hearts, “Jesus Christ. Go on, before my asshole godson shits out his mouth again.”

“I was looking into Clyde’s old associates, IRS coworkers, former unit members.” Donnelley looked from Michael back to the old man, “Clyde was part of the Program-“

“No, he wasn’t.” The old man spoke frankly, matter of fact, “The Program is just another part of the fuckin’ government so deep in the state’s ass it can’t tell which way’s in and which way’s out.”

The old man took another drag, “Pretty soon, it’s gonna get so tangled up in there it’ll choke to death.”

The old man stared at Donnelley, pouring a generous glass of whiskey and sliding it towards him, before doing the same for himself, “Not everyone came in from the cold. Not everyone trusts the government to do Delta Green’s job after what the government let Majestic get away with.” The old man shook his head, sipping at his whiskey and growling, “You want to know what Delta Green is, son, you’re lookin’ at it. An old salt can barely get the fuck up out of bed, and some young buck discharged from the service, peekin’ out a window with a gun.”

“Two sides of the same coin. Me and him. You and me.” The old man glowered into his drink and then took another, “Clyde Baughman is what happens when you start askin’ the right questions without takin’ the right precautions.”

“Frank.” The old man said, “Frank Gamble. It’s my name. Served with Clyde in Vietnam and Cambodia, Laos.”

“Joseph-“

“Donnelley. Fifth Group. Staff Sergeant. Let me guess, OGA now?”

Donnelley narrowed his eyes at Frank. How he knew any of that was anyone’s guess, but he didn’t like how much was just an open book for Frank. “Yeah.”

“Uh huh.” Frank snorted, chuckling as he shook his head, “You fuckin’ G-Men. You really wanna know who killed Clyde Baughman?”

Donnelley nodded.

“Okay.” Frank turned serious, “Let me tell you a story…”

>NEW YORK, NY
>SHANGHAI KITCHEN
>9JUL2019
>0020

He rode the subway down to Chinatown in his tux, alone except for a homeless man asleep on the bench at the other end of the car. He watched his reflection in the dark window, a pale face with black eyes.

He got off at Canal, wandering east to the dingy little Chinese place- still open at midnight- where he knew he'd find 'Cousin Louis' slurping down tea.

His phone beeped, he picked up the call.

"Overman speaking."

"Yes, I'm going to meet him now."

"They'll agree to that? You're sure? They've never-"

"Understood. Have the Curator prepare my case then, he'll know the reagents I need. I'll pick it up when I'm done here."

Overman ended the call and stepped into the steamy, savory warmth of Shanghai Kitchen. The host drowsily nodded him to the table in the back corner, where Steve Foster sat glowering.

The Chinese joint was quiet, only open at this hour because Foster had slipped the owner a considerable sum of money. Or what the rickety man saw as considerable. Everything was money. It was the perfect setting for him to sell his soul to the devil for a drop of hope in avoiding the inevitable, irritably shooing away the waitress and asking only for water and tea to be served before they clocked out and went home. A deal eagerly upheld by the sleepy staff, as per the black budget agreement with the owner since 2005.

They called it horse trading in their field. Asset for asset, a good prize for a good price. Any man would be a fool if they thought Russia or any other former Soviet country would’ve given Snowden safehaven out of the kindness of their hearts. Putin was a man sans heart, ex-KGB. A figure of an evil organization at the head of a nation. And now he probably had a fair few of America’s secrets rattling around in his and his council’s heads. What Foster wouldn’t give to be bartering in secrets with the Russians, rather than the negotiations he was about to undertake with a… rather different adversary, and for rather higher stakes.

Per the rules of horse trading, a manilla folder with hard copies and printouts of pictures he’d taken of various case files at the ironclad BLACKBOX- the airtight, heavily secured storage house and archive for the Program’s most sensitive assets and files- sat weighty and accusing at his side in the booth. He could just get up, leave, go home and never speak about this to anyone. But when his contact entered the front door of the Shanghai Kitchen and locked eyes with him, he knew this deal was grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him down into his seat. He smiled, always good at hiding everything. He gestured to the seat in front of him and spoke up, “Please. Sit.” He gestured to the seat opposite himself, “You must be…”

“Bill Overman,” said the newcomer, sitting, “You’re the famous Foster. I’ve heard some wild stories about you, from your old colleagues. Bennings especially had some tales, may he rest in peace.”

Overman’s eyes fell for a moment on the folder between them before returning to meet Foster’s gaze.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Foster?”

“It’s your company doing the most for me.” Foster decided to not indulge in any of the flattery. He was somewhat storied. You don’t put your boots on the ground for Operation JAWBREAKER in the Agency and not earn a few pats on the back, nor live through the days when he and the people like him were illegally fighting back the apocalypse without some war stories, “What you are doing, what I need you to do is finalize the deal I had made.”

At that, he slapped the manila folder on the table, guilt and regret and unsurety lashing his being when it left his fingers, the sound of it on the table like a gunshot. Though it probably didn’t even stir a mouse, “These are for March. Everything we have on the case.” He sighed, looked at the table and then grabbed up his tea, sipping at it, “What exactly is it that you do? They told me you’d fix what I needed fixed.”

“You must have peculiar kinds of problems, if my higher ups sent me to fix them for you,” said Overman, raising an eyebrow. He turned his teacup around in long fingered hands.

“I’m a scholar. One who’s spent a long time studying the kinds of things men like you busy yourselves destroying,” said Overman, “and in the course of my studies I’ve acquired a certain mastery of the, ah, occult sciences, you might call them. Useful skills to have when facing occult threats- though I know the Program doesn’t approve. Pretends to keep its hands clean.”

Overman took a drink of tea, and his gaze fell again on the folder sitting before him on the table. He made no move to open it.

“What do you need fixed, Mr. Foster?”

“A lot.” Foster sighed, though for the case? “A live specimen has been confirmed to be roaming the West Virginia backwoods in Blackriver county. The Program would rather keep the operation as low visibility as possible.”

Overman flipped open the folder, glancing over the blurry pictures and Program dossiers within as Foster spoke, “I see.”

“Bombing the forest isn’t an option. Sending in a kill team has been met with failure. I fear the Russians have sent their own specialists already.” He shook his head, “I made a deal with March. Solve this problem for the Program, I… let you have some secrets.”

“Well, well,” said Overman, drumming his fingers on the table, eyes still scanning the open folder, “well, well. Very interesting. We can discuss payment later. I know you can be relied on to keep your word. Tell me about your team. They are still alive, I assume?”

Foster nodded, keeping the grimace away from his face at the mention of even further payment down the line, “Wetwork Team BLACKBEARD was the first to come into contact with the specimen. There was only one survivor and he’s been absorbed into my Working Group- UMBRA.” Foster explained, sipping at his tea, “UMBRA’s Team Lead is Joseph Donnelley, a Paramilitary Officer with the Agency. The rest are Federal Law Enforcement. Bureau.”

“We did have two KIA.” Foster left the rest unsaid.

“There are Russians involved, you said?” asked Overman, ignoring Foster’s aside about the dead, “They certainly don’t share your Program’s qualms about, ah, dabbling in things beyond their understanding...which, I don’t need to tell you…”

“I believe the Russians may even be the reason the specimen is there in the first place, if not… other meddlers.” Foster frowned, “That’s all I have on the situation. Anything else is just useless speculation.”

Overman sat back, flipping the folder closed.

“The specimen can be dealt with,” he said, “That, Foster, is the easy part. And it won’t be easy. But why it’s there, that’ll be a dark rabbit hole to go down. And deep. That’s the real problem, though: who or, ah, what, let the damned thing loose. The files mentioned murders? Tell me about them.”

Foster nodded, pursing his lips as he put down his tea, “Yes,” he sighed, “It was the initial call I got from my contact. We responded, Donnelley and I, under the guise of an FBI response. The victim was skinned completely. Later medical examination revealed that there weren’t even micro-abrasions from a knife. Dental records pinged on a cold case from Seattle. Maria Vasquez, snatched about seven years ago by Sinaloa cartel when she was twelve.”

“This was before we knew about other variables like the Russians. We opened the case under the assumption that it was a local killer and we were there under the authority that the victim was skinned, there were no tire tracks or footprints leading to the scene, either. Oddities that peaked my contact’s interest.” Foster frowned, “Her respiratory organs needed for speech were surgically removed as well. Buried bones discovered under recently turned earth at the scene made us aware that this was not the first. The Program wants it to be the last.”

“Multiple victims, all skinned and missing vocal cords,” said Overman, and sucked his teeth, “You’ve got anyone working on a profile of the killer?”

“One of our agents, a profiler with the FBI’s BAU has been leading the questioning of anybody we can reasonably get to talk or wants to.” Foster shrugged, “Other than that, we’re trying to keep our profile in West Virginia pretty low. Minimal use of non-Program resources. Less questions that way.”

“Less questions. Spoken like a true Program officer,” said Overman with a slight smile, “Cover up what you can’t fix.”

Foster smirked and gave Overman a once over. He knew a lot about him before he even spoke a word, ironic. Everything the Agency and the Program did was kept behind tight lips until you were talking to your buddy by the water cooler. “What were you doing before March, if you don’t mind me asking.” Foster let a little smirk tweak the corner of his lip up, “You’ve heard stories of me. I don’t even know you. I suppose that’s a good thing in our line of work, but I like to at least know something about the people I work with.”

“Worked for the Agency, same as you,” said Overman, “though in the lab more than in the field. Seen more of the frontlines at March, and I’ve collaborated with the Program some. Look up the Dallas ‘17 case files. My name was probably redacted but I worked with the Program Handler on bringing the killer- well, killers, it turned out- in.”

Overman paused and tilted his head, considering something, before he spoke again, “I’ll be honest with you, Foster, I left the Agency during the reshuffle in twenty-oh-two ‘cause I don’t agree with how the Program runs things- the obsession with secrecy, making ignorance into a virtue. I’ve seen your people become unhinged, not just because of the nature of the work, but from lack of support, a lack of understanding what they were dealing with. But this West Virginia thing is your show, not mine, and you can rely on me to do what you’ve hired me for.”

“Why do you think I’ve hired you? Some of the hardliners from the cowboy days still distrust March because of the reshuffle and the… conflict.” Foster pursed his lips, “But, you and I are of the same mind. To a degree. I’ve seen too many killed by their own guns than what those guns have put down.”

He sighed, looking away from Overman to the headlights reflecting outside, the traffic, the shuffle of a million little lives like gnats. Worried only about if they would make that light before it turned red. He shook his head, “I appreciate secrecy for the common man. They shouldn’t ever have to see what we’ve seen.” He looked back to Overman, “But there’s no excuses for those who took their exit into their own hands. How goddamn long have we been at this? The Program, Delta Green.” he hissed, “Maybe we won’t stop this, but we can make sure whoever comes in next has an idea how.”

“Alright, Foster,” said Overman, “Where shall I begin?”

Foster looked away from Overman for a moment, “There’s a man named Gregory Carlisle…”

>…///

“Foster…” Donnelley breathed, reaching for his drink and taking out his pack of cigarettes, “It was Foster…”

“It’s always been Foster. Majestic wasn’t destroyed when Delta Green purged them in Ninety-Nine,” Frank pointed at Donnelley with his cigarette between his fingers, “They went to ground. Changed. Merged. How do you think Delta Green got its hunting license back? They took on some of Majestic to pad out its legitimacy.”

“Foster’s the mole.”

“Foster’s ex-Majestic.” Frank growled. “Clyde and I had an Op in Blackriver dealing with kidnappings, disappearing hikers, missing children in the Eighties.”

“Thought it was a cult, at first. Easy out, nine times out of ten. But what we found wasn’t right. It wasn’t a cult, it was Majestic-12, it was the government.” Frank leaned forward, “We burned it the fuck down. Delta Green slashed and burned everything Majestic created while they hunted us since the Goddamn seventies. The very country we were saving wanting to silence us and bury us in shallow graves.”

“Took twenty fuckin’ years, but they caught up to Clyde. They dug up his wife, sent her after him, but he put her in that fuckin’ cabin even though I told him to put her down.” Frank dragged hard off his cigarette and ashed it into a coffee cup, “Twenty-Nineteen, March. Foster meets with Breckenridge and March Tech, and they’ve been goin’ down the list of everyone they can get to without the government knowin’.”

“Clyde’s turn. And you cleaned up the fuckin’ mess.” Frank looked at Donnelley with an animal hatred in his eyes that slowly dissipated, “I’m goin’ to let you leave here on one fuckin’ condition.”

Frank held his 1911 on his lap and pointed it at Donnelley. Michael stood up from his chair and his AR was in his hands. Donnelley wasn’t even close to being able to refuse, “What is it?”

“You take the files I have on Foster and the Majestic-12 remnants to the Director of your little Program. It’s sealed, magic, you try to open it and you’ll die the same way Clyde did. Director’s eyes only.” Frank had a small smirk then, “Who do you think’s gonna come clean up after you?”

“And?”

“Kill Foster.” Frank said, “And kill him good.”

The Things We Leave Behind…

Two Riders…

>FLANNEGAN INN
>BLACKRIVER COUNTY
>1340…///

Hubert’s stomach squeezed in on itself again, letting out a rumble as he moaned. McCune was in worse shape, he’d dry-heaved up some bile in the absence of food. They’d stopped talking about escape plans after the crackers and water stopped doing the trick for their hunger. They were keeping them weak, so they couldn’t run, so they couldn’t lie, so they were soft and desperate. Whoever these people were, they’d done this before. They couldn’t be Feds, Feds weren’t this cruel. Maybe the Bratva had turned on them, pushing the Brotherhood and the Appalachian Sons out of the drug market. A monopoly.

“Fuck you!” Hubert screamed at the top of his lungs, “Fuck you! You wanna kill me, motherfuckers? Come in here and fuckin’ do it!”

Queen stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing his nose with tissue and checking it, frowning slightly at the blood still speckling it. He picked up his cup and noisily slurped the last of the Sprite, the ice rattling around in it. The food delivery had been to the other room, a local place with sandwiches. He took a few bites of the thick turkey sub then set it aside, not feeling hungry but knowing it would drive Hubert and McClune crazy to smell it and see it so close yet so far.

Queen sat on the end of the bed and rubbed his hands on the knees of the old blue jeans he wore. “Now you know you ain’t supposed to be hollerin’ like that,” he said, “You wanna talk, we’ll talk.”

He shook the ice again and opened the lid, draining the last of it. “Let’s talk. You know how these things go.”

He shifted his pale eyes towards them, then set the cup on the floor. Queen stood up, stretching and rubbing his hand along his flat stomach under the wifebeater. He looked at Hubert, narrowing his gaze as he reached for his Kools, “Wanna know how Jay died?”

Hubert fixed Queen with a hard stare, deep frown set in a hollowed out face. It had only been some hours since they’d last ate, but the hunger was already beginning to take hold. He would’ve done anything for some of that food. He swallowed, the sound of it so dry it was audible, “How, you piece of shit?”

Queen snorted softly, “Piece of shit. That ain’t nice. You know, Jay had some old habits.”

He turned to face them directly, the night he killed Jay replaying in his mind as he looked at their hunger hollow faces. He lit his cigarette, then tossed the pack of Kools on the bed. “He and I had a talk once, about it. What I never did get was how you fucking lot got your hands on some designer shit. Real hospital grade scripts like Midazolam and Propofol. We never got to talk about that.”

Queen took a drag and sniffed hard, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you tell me about that, I’d feel a lot better about you both. I’ve known Brotherhood, I ain’t even seen y’all deal shit like that. Getting it from the Russians was my guess. But why don’t you tell me some names. Might make me feel better after you called me a piece of shit.”

He grinned, then glanced over at the white paper bag with the other half of an untouched sandwich still in it and the other half sitting only missing a few bites. On the table was the box of saltines and a couple bottles of water. Queen looked back at the and said nothing, he knew they knew it was there. He could see the gleam in their eyes though not as feverish as Jay’s had been when he was cooking the heroin on a spoon. Not yet.

“Don’t tell him shit, Hugh.” McCune groaned from his corner, “Not a single fuckin’ thing.”

“I know that!” Hubert snapped at the Police Sergeant. Already acting like a couple of dogs on the chain with food in sight. “I’m just hungry.”

“Don’t tell him. They’ll find out we’re gone and come lookin’.”

Hubert doubled over again and grimaced, holding back a heave. The empty stomachs were getting too much, and Hubert was going to be the first to break, “You give me food, I’ll tell you.”

“You dumb fuckin’ piece of shit! You say a word, I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” McCune spat, lunging uselessly at Hubert as he was cuffed to the radiator.

“Just give me a little, please.” Hubert pleaded. “I’m so fuckin’ thirsty, them little sips of water ain’t enough. I’ll die before I can tell you anythin’, man, please!”

Queen stood up, cigarette between his lips and gave a casual but swift kick to McCune’s shin when he started struggling, “Come on now, you all don’t wanna get found as much as I don’t want him finding you. You forget about Big Clem so fast?”

He moved over to the table and picked up a bottle of water, the plastic beading sweat as he had taken them out of the small refrigerator not long before. “Don’t worry about him, Hubert. He can’t do anything to help you or hurt you.”

Queen stepped over and crouched just within reach of Hubert with the bottle of water. “I can though. So tell me about these sources and why they’re so fucking special.”

He opened the cap, the faint snapping of the tiny plastic seal audible to the thirsty men. “Hubert, I don’t blame you, I hate being thirsty. Tongue starts swelling up and drying out, that cotton feeling. Yuck. Then of course, there's organ failure but I wouldn’t do you like that. Not yet.”

“So gimme names and I’ll give you water,” Queen held it up and sloshed it lightly, a few drops spilling onto his hand.

At that point, even McCune seemed transfixed. When Queen looked his way, he snapped his attentions somewhere else, making out like he was tougher than his body’s natural need to function. Hubert was being much more obedient, “Okay.” Hubert said, “Okay. We got it from one of Jay’s bitches. She stole it from a hospital, she’s got friends there that needed a little extra money. McCune made sure nobody told.”

“I’m thirsty, please, just a little bit. Just enough to wet my mouth so I can talk.” Already his words were starting to slur, the diuretics that Donnelley had force fed them with the caffeine pills were doing their job, “Please, I’ll tell you the rest if I can get some of that.”

Queen tilted his head slightly, “Interesting. But you didn’t answer my question. I said names. No names, no water.”

He sighed, then shook his head, then judged the desperation in Hubert’s face, his cracked dried lips and said, “Y’all are lucky you’re stuck with me and not the ginger.”

Holding up the bottle he offered Hubert a drink, still maintaining possession of it. Hubert reached up with his wrists cuffed together and merely brushed the bottle with his palms. He looked at his hands worriedly, seemingly staring at them as his fingers jutted out immobile from his hands, “What’s wrong with my fingers?” He breathed, “Wh-what’s wrong with my fingers! They ain’t movin’!”

Queen clicked his tongue against his teeth, furrowing his brow. “Dehydration. Your body isn’t liking this not having water thing. Here, I’ll hold the bottle and you drink. Slow now or you’ll inhale it.”

He chuckled and grinned, though it did not touch his eyes, “Wouldn’t that be some shit.”

Hubert tipped his head back as Queen gave him some water. Just enough to wet his mouth, like he’d requested, but the look in his eyes was hurt and desperate when Queen took his bottle. Hubert swallowed loud, licking his lips, “Debbie Graves.” He looked at Queen, then the bottle in his hand, and back at Queen, “Debbie Graves got the drugs.”

Hubert paused, looking at the bottle with a thirst in his eyes that made him look almost animal, “We gave it to some… some big guy. Had… some type of shit all over his face and his neck. Like black cauliflower.”

Queen withdrew the bottle, “Debbie Graves. She works at a hospital or something? Jay was her dealer? Boyfriend?”

The next thing made Queen’s gaze sharpen and snap to Hubert. “Black cauliflower? What the fuck you mean? Tattoos or...lumpier? Details and I’ll let you drink properly.”

Hubert shook his head, “Like growths. Some of the old folk in White Tree got it, miners. Can even see it on the dogs sometimes.” He said, “Clem said he had a woman with him. Night time when they met.”

“He never got the big guy’s name but the woman, she’s, uh…” Hubert’s eyes went dead for a second, before his face screwed up and he shook his head, “I can’t remember.”

“You’d better not fuckin’ remember, motherfucker.” McCune growled, staring daggers at Hubert and Queen, “I ain’t breakin’.”

At that point the sound of the SHO’s engine was heard outside, tires on concrete as it parked in the lot, doors opening and closing. The sound of the lobby doors being opened and after a while, Donnelley was in the doorway. His face held no humor, just two icy orbs set in his face that stared malice into Hubert and McCune.

“They talkin’?” Donnelley asked.

When he heard the door, Queen sighed, “Daddy’s home. Y’all shoulda talked for your uncle, I’m a lot nicer.”

He stood up, the bottle of water still in hand and faced Donnelley. He saw the thunderous look in his face and shrugged, “Hubert’s getting the idea but still needs help jogging his memory. McCune’s being a McCunt.”

Queen studied Donnelley from the corner of his eye, noting the tension and what seemed like lines he did not recognize in the familiar face. “Hubert told me about the chick that got the drugs, a piece of Jay’s. He was just about to tell me the name of the woman with the man they met to give them the Midazolam and Propofol. Some dude with weird growths. Coal cancer or some shit.”

He turned back to Hubert, holding the water then giving a slight head tilt in Donnelley’s direction. “Ain’t that right?”

Hubert nodded emphatically. McCune only scowled and looked away. Donnelley frowned and took a step into the room, hiking up the legs of his pants before squatting in front of Hubert, “Let me see your hands.” Hubert lifted his hands, the fingers still obstinately straight, Donnelley looked at them, “Curl your fingers.”

Hubert tried, and then tried harder while he bit his lip in concentration, only able to make one quiver for a second. Donnelley nodded, “Losing fine motor control. The good news is there’s nothing wrong with your muscles.” Donnelley looked from Hubert’s fingers to the man’s eyes, Donnelley’s gaze still cold and flat, predatory, “The bad news is that the caffeine pills and diuretics we shoved down your throat have purged your electrolytes through your piss. Your nerves aren’t receiving signals from your brain to move. Soon, you’ll probably slip into unconsciousness, and then you’ll die.”

Donnelley stood again, his knees popping with the effort, “And I’ll masturbate and then sleep like a baby after I leave you out here in a shallow grave.” Donnelley narrowed his eyes, “But, don’t worry. I stopped at the store, bought some water.”

Donnelley turned his head and called for Renko, the man arriving with a large jug of water, several gallons large, and a pack of towels. Donnelley turned back to Hubert and McCune, “Should be enough.”

“Why don’t you take some time.” Donnelley turned to Queen, “We’ll just be a bit.”

Queen knew what he was up to and raised his brow. Waterboarding was something they had used before on recalcitrant assets. McCune could benefit from it, stubborn proud bastard but he had worked on Hubert and the man was ready to spill without the influence of the threat from McClune, “Hubert and I were in a conversation, he knows what trouble he’s in. Don’t you?”

He glanced at Hubert who nodded and Queen held the water, “See? He’ll talk, tell us the name of the woman with the cauliflower man. I’ll give him his water like I promised. McCunt here, that’s another story. He’s been an obstinate cuss and intruded on our conversation.”

Donnelley turned to Queen, looking him up and down with a violence in his eyes that Tex usually reserved for those on the other side of his gun. After a moment, he relented, his face lightening a tad and he clapped Queen’s shoulder, “Sure.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “McCune needs to have a private talk with me and Renko anyway.”

He turned and slapped his hands on Hubert’s shoulders, grabbing up fistfuls of his shirt and hauling him up before throwing him stumbling into the hallway and into a wall. Watching with a concerning amount of contempt as Hubert sprawled onto his face. He looked at Queen, nodding to the door, “Go ahead.”

Queen caught the glint in those blue eyes and braced himself when Donnelley lifted his hand. The moment passed but the threat was still there, bundled in the muscles and sinew and in the dark expression on Donnelley’s face. Queen accepted the eviction and went to pick Hubert up, the casual cruelty was something he had seen before in Tex, usually under the watchful shark eyes of Ghost but it was there. They all had it in them to some degree so he said nothing and hauled the handcuffed man to his feet, looking down the hallway to make sure no one was walking out at an inopportune time to get ice.

Queen unlocked the door and pushed a stumbling Hubert in and followed him, shutting the door behind him. “Sit,” he pulled out the chair that was placed beside a small table. He gave Hubert a sip of water as he had promised then pulled it back.

“Now let’s continue our talk,” Queen said, leaning against the dresser. “I got food and water in that fridge, Gatorade, too. You’ll need it, your body is screaming for it about now. Don’t be fooled, McCune’s in just as bad a shape but he’s gonna be a damn sight worse now that my partner’s got him. He’ll talk, don’t you worry. And now he ain’t gotta know what you tell me. It’s just us, Hugh.”

He leaned forward, meeting the dull eyes of the man, “You’ll want it to stay like that, me and you. You don’t want that ginger asshole mad at you. So tell me, what was the woman’s name that y’all gave the drugs.”

Hubert was breathing hard, eyes quivering as they stared off at that face obscured by the mist of memory. A hulking silhouette in the headlights, a woman with wild eyes and a sick aura. “Doctor…”

Hubert looked at the door as the sound of McCune yelling and a muffled Donnelley screamed something broke into their room, a barely contained violence. A danger next door. Hubert swallowed…

“Doctor Levy.”

>1700…///

Hubert sipped from his Gatorade again, somewhat softening over the couple hours that Queen had him. Queen was okay, not violent, not the worst person he’d ever been around. Queen was busying himself with something in the bathroom, Hubert wasn’t really concerned with what he was doing, simply sipped away at his Gatorade. He’d tried chugging it the first time he got it, but his gut wretched it up soon after. Queen had told him to sip instead, and he was eternally grateful. Already, his fingers were becoming more obedient, the headaches were lessening. He felt more lucid.

Just in time for Renko to burst through the door, holding his nose, and sporting a split lip. Renko looked around the room and then went to the bathroom, “Queen!” He pounded the door, “Queen, my friend!”

He snorted and rubbed his nose, his eyes shining and the dark pupil expanding to cover his pale iris and his face was numb, blessed numbness and sparks of energy at the same time. Queen had a line left and when Renko’s voice startled him he had knocked it over into the sink, the small mirror clattering.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaving it as he swung the door open. “What’s going on?”

One look at Renko’s face and Queen was moving out the door, calling to him, “Keep an eye on him.”

It only took him a few moments to slide the card to the room where the noise of violence could be heard muffled through the walls. Queen stepped inside and looked around, the room was empty but the sounds pointed him towards the bathroom.

“Tex!” Queen called and rushed to the bathroom. Donnelley was hunched over, his hands on McCune’s throat and the man was struggling to breathe but making the gurgling he had heard.

“Stop this shit,” Queen grabbed him from behind, gripping his shoulders. He pulled at him, then got a better hold on his upper arms, feeling the flexing of his biceps in his grip, the determined strength that would be difficult to counter. “Fuck, Tex, let him go!”

Queen shifted his weight, putting his knee behind Tex and releasing his arms when he could not get him to let go of McCune’s neck. Queen slipped his arms underneath Tex’s to attempt to wrench him up in a full nelson to counter his greater strength and weight. Coke fueled, Queen pulled back hard, grunting as he did.

Feeling someone behind him, Tex tried to spin around, but was stopped when he felt Queen’s arms snake under his. Surprisingly strong, Tex tried to grab Queen, but couldn’t manage to reach him. Instead, they struggled against each other, Tex planting his boot against the kitchen counter and kicking off, slamming Queen against the wall, but still he hung on until Tex relented. He instead sagged against Queen, still pinning him against the wall.

Once Queen let go, Donnelley turned, his breathing haggard from the intense grappling session. The only thing that held him back was that it was Queen. And that was what made Donnelley the most guilty, not just because he could’ve killed their detainee, but because even he knew he was off the handle. The stress was mounting, and he could feel it in his chest, in his shoulders. In his head. A dull ache that couldn’t be pinpointed that even infected his thoughts, turning them all to worries.

Donnelley looked at Queen, searching his face, seeing the confusion. The shock, the worry, “I’m sorry.” Donnelley placed his hands on Queen, pulling him into a hug instead of some rabid chokehold, “I know who it is.”

He whispered in Queen’s ear, his voice coming through clenched teeth, “I know who the mole is.”

Hitting the wall knocked Queen’s head back with a thunk but cocaine and adrenaline left him feeling little, though he would have a knot later. He caught his breath when he let Tex go, eyeing him warily even though he had calmed down. He met Donnelley’s eyes, standing up straight when he reached for him.

“What happened?” he started to ask when he was pulled into the hug. Queen felt a pang in his chest and held him tight, almost clinging to him for a moment before catching himself and remembering. He turned his head, his face close to Donnelley’s, “The mole...”

He tensed and stared at him, “Someone close ain’t it?”

Donnelley came out of the hug, holding Queen by his shoulders and looking into his eyes. How many times had they shared moments like this when things were especially hard? How many times had they reminded each other that the sun would come up again? How many times had they all been there during the debriefs and shared in the hurt when THUNDER lost people, or had been too late when running QRFs?

Donnelley nodded at the door and then left the room, waiting for Queen to follow as they went to their room. Renko was looking at Donnelley when he came in, holding a tissue to his nose and lip. Donnelley looked back and then frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“You were stressed.”

“It wasn’t acceptable.” Donnelley said, voice firm, “I owe you… some, uh, vodka.”

“It would be appreciated.” Renko smiled.

Donnelley pointed to Hubert, “Get him out of here.”

Renko nodded and did what was told, maybe relieved to spend more time absent from Donnelley’s presence. He might have acted like it was no big deal, but Donnelley knew he’d hurt him. More than physically. After Avery, Donnelley never wanted to leave things on bad terms with anyone before the day was over. When they were alone, Donnelley leaned against the wall, arms folded.

“It is someone close.”

Queen crossed his arms across his chest, giving Renko a sympathetic look at the busted nose. He waited until he took Hubert away to step a little closer to Donnelley, “How close? Is it fucking Poker? Honestly I wouldn’t put it past him, that shady fuck.”

Donnelley shook his head, looking down at his shoes, still dressed like some tactical hoodlum, “Foster.”

Queen was half joking about Poker but when Donnelley said Foster, it felt like cold water in the face. He stared at Donnelley, “You’re shitting me. Fucking Foster? How, why? We’re his team...we...”

He slouched and ran his hands through his hair, turning slightly away from Donnelley, “Goddamnit. What the fuck?!”

He kicked an empty water bottle and it careened off the dresser and hit the wall. “How did you find out?”

Queen looked back at him, hurt and anger simmering in his sea colored eyes. He trusted Donnelley, more than anyone on the team or running their show. Even if they were over as a couple or whatever they had been, he still trusted Donnelley with his life. His hurt compounded, Foster betrayed them, sent them out to get killed. He grit his teeth, grinding them before he asked, his voice tight, “Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know.” Donnelley shook his head, “I don’t know, but there’s pictures. There’s a transcript in the folder that Frank Gamble gave me.”

He looked at Queen, knowing he wouldn’t know who Frank was, “He’s an old agent. Him and Clyde. Foster killed Clyde, took me from THUNDER to head a team of people who wouldn’t know anythin’ about this world we’re in to clean up after Clyde’s death so no one would know.”

“We were his fuckin’ accomplices.” Donnelley closed his eyes, muscles flexing in his jaw as he fought the urge to throw something, break something. “The Program is… Majestic…”

Donnelley’s mouth worked to form the words, but he knew it would be too much to explain. They didn’t have time. There was a Ukrainian terminator, Russian spies, Russian mob, and maybe even their own gunning after them. “It doesn’t matter right now.” Donnelley snorted bitter, “Maybe I’ll do a fuckin’ PowerPoint brief if we don’t all get hunted down and the government commits our suicides.”

Donnelley frowned deep, falling quiet for a few moments. He breathed out a long sigh, eyes screwed shut, “What did Hugh say?”

Queen stared at him as he spoke, the news still resonating through him, echoing like an empty 55 gallon drum tipped over. Foster had been their case officer for years. Had it always been this way or was it recently that the bastard had found it profitable to burn his team and the ones from UMBRA, new people that had no idea what they were walking into. The anger surged in him and mingled with a crushing sadness that even in his jaded heart he never entertained a serious betrayal by the man directly responsible for their safety.

Ghost. Queen swallowed dryly. They had to get to him before Foster decided to turn him loose on them. It would be too easy but if Ghost knew about the betrayal he would kill Foster and those around him. That was one thing Queen was certain of about the man, Ghost did not take betrayal with any sort of forgiveness. He remembered the flat dark eyes warning him the first time they met and the sounds of a grinder on bone.

He held that thought as Donnelley asked about Hubert and Queen could smell whiskey wafting from him. God knows he could have used a drink. He shook his head, trying to gather himself as the paranoid thoughts began to bounce around in his coked up brain.

"A PowerPoint would be helpful since we were just the knucklehead muscle. Hugh said they uh, they gave the drugs to a big guy with black 'cauliflower' erupting out of his skin, some kinda growth miners apparently develop around here and a woman, said her name was Dr. Levy," he said, the case files he had read weeks ago now farther from his thoughts.

Donnelley’s eyes snapped up to Queen and there was a renewed fire in those blue orbs, “What?”

Queen met his enraged stare, “Dr. Levy, I presume. You know who she is?”

“Get Hubert, have Renko get McCune,” Donnelley made to leave, keys in hand, “Stuff McCune in the trunk, I’ll get the car ready.”

He nodded, the cabin coming back to mind, the skin he had helped pack away and he felt a prickling up his neck. Queen went over to Hubert, “Break’s over, we’re going on a field trip.”

Securing his cuffs, Queen took the Gatorade and shot a look at the man, “I suggest you behave, you ain’t getting away from us. I want your full cooperation, got it?”

Helping him up, Queen said quietly, close to Hubert’s ear, “Don’t take my kindness for weakness or I won’t make it so easy like I did for Jay.”

He guided him into the hallway, knocking on the door to relay the message to Renko. Hubert looked at Queen with wide eyes, “Y-you?”

Queen clenched his teeth then looked over at Hubert, “Yeah.”

He felt a moment of regret admitting it in the fit of frustration over Foster and everything else. “Yeah, heroin’s tricky like that.”

He knocked again, “Let’s go, bus is leaving.”

A loud thump shook the door after Queen’s knock, the door opened and Renko crashed through, slamming McCune into the wall on the other side of the hallway, “I am sorry, he is very stubborn.”

“Fuck you, Ivan.”

“That is not my name.” Renko growled, “I have told you this already.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

The Things We Leave Behind, Part II…

Businessmen, They Drink My Wine…

>2100…///

The brakes quietly came to a stop at the restaurant Gary Bruster and Donnelley had arranged to meet at, The Chophouse. An upscale steakhouse Charleston, and Donnelley did have to admit he was craving a thick slab of bloody meat. To cut down on their profile, he and Queen had been ordering from drive thrus and quick gas station cuisine, and even the most hardened killers couldn’t go on like that for long. Ghost was fucking prostitutes while Donnelley and Queen were going rogue. Donnelley made sure to slip the black budget offshore account credit card into his wallet before they’d left, one part tradecraft, one part frugality. He didn’t want to be spending his own money, Holly’d be pestering his grave for child support if he died out here.

They’d replaced their ties and suits with more business casual fare, Donnelley dressed in black slacks, brown leather oxfords that matched his belt, and a dark Navy blue polo. He ran a hand down his beard to smooth out the hairs, “You ready, pardner?”

Checking his hair in the drop down mirror, he smoothed out a few locks that tried to fall forward and then ran a hand over his short beard. “Contractor ready, beard and tats, check,” he said, flexing his lean biceps in the black and white polo shirt. He wore similar black slacks and had his prized ASP subcompact pistol tucked in his waistband under the shirt, the small size made it easily concealed even on his lithe frame.

“Hold up,” he said, flipping up the mirror then glanced at Donnelley, a little light in his eyes gleaming. He took a small vial of coke out of his pocket and tapped out a small bump on the back of his hand, leaning down and holding one nostril closed as he snorted sharply. Queen blinked and rubbed his nose, pinching the bridge, “Hot damn. Want some? This ain’t that bullshit I found in Alaska.”

Donnelley eyed the baggy for a moment, deciding whether or not to indulge. Of course, they were playing rich, well-to-do, arrogant contractor pricks. Best commit, he decided, “Hell yeah, motherfucker.” He took the offered bag and tapped out just a small bump onto his hand, “Oh, it’s been too long.”

He plugged one nostrils and ripped the line, letting his head fall back against the seat’s rest and rubbed his nostrils. He groaned as he felt it take hold slowly at first, and then vigorously shook his head when it picked up, “Woo, yeah!” He laughed, knocking his fist against the steering wheel, “Now I’m ready.”

Queen grinned, biting his lower lip slightly, the numb tingling spreading through his face. “Goddamn right. It’s been too long for a lotta things.”

He gave Tex that look, the one they shared so many times when others weren’t paying them any mind, smoldering and full of promise. Queen stepped out of the car, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He strolled into the steak house, giving the dark haired hostess a once over then grinned. She was young and pretty, window dressing for the restaurant but he saw a peek of ink on her tricep under her blouse when she reached up to tuck her pen in her hair.

“Hi, welcome to Chop House. Gotta reservation?” she asked, reaching up to toy with the pen behind her ear.

“Only about the wine menu,” Queen quipped and the girl blinked.

“Sure, we do,” he added, “Under Lee.”

“I don’t see any Underly,” the hostess said, taking her pen out and tapping her lips with it.

Queen sniffed lightly, then chuckled, “Frank Lee.”

“Uh..oh!” she exclaimed, dimples appearing as she smiled and she giggled, her eyes dancing. “I see you here, follow me.”

Queen watched her turn around then glanced at Donnelley, a hint of a smile. They walked through the restaurant and found their table. He looked up at the hostess and her name tag, “Emily, we have a friend joining us, name is Bruster. Can you make sure he finds us?”

“Sure thing, don’t y’all worry,” she said, “Enjoy your steaks.”

Queen watched her walk away and let Donnelley take the booth facing the entry and he watched the kitchen doors. “That girl likes to party,” he said almost off hand. “Hey, you think Sally gives Bruster head in his office while he’s wheeling and dealing for white America? It’s gonna be fun to ruin his night.”

Donnelley snorted as he scanned the restaurant, “You kiddin’ me? You saw her when we walked in fixin’ herself up.” He chuckled, “Pretty sure Gary was balls deep.”

Still scanning the restaurant, Donnelley spotted Gary Bruster arriving. Which was good. Except for the fact that he was flanked by two men who looked like they’d stepped out of an MMA studio and into a couple of suits. Donnelley could see one’s cauliflower ears from orbit, and he looked back to Queen, “Check it out, asshole’s here.” Donnelley nodded to the front door, “With a fuckin’ entourage.”

Queen raised his brows at that, then looked at Donnelley, "Someone's nervous. Too bad we have a booth, looks like one of them is gonna be out on his own. Let's just make sure we ain't trapped."

He stood up and turned as if to make for the restroom as Emily the hostess was bringing Bruster and his plus two.

"Did you want me to bring y'all another chair?" She asked, glancing at the muscle that had not been mentioned being expected.

“Oh, no. It’ll be fine, can you find my two friends here an empty table?” Gary asked the hostess.

“Of course! I’ll find them a table in no time, your guys’ server will be with you in a moment.” And with that, the hostess buzzed off like a worker bee to assist some of the other patrons of the restaurant.

Gary smiled at Donnelley as he sat down in the booth, scooting to take the side adjacent to him, “I’m glad we picked this place. You ever been here before?”

“Don’t believe I have, I’ve spent a lot of time in Turkey on behalf of VISCO. You ever make it out that way, I can show you some places to eat.” Donnelley smiled at Gary as if they were good friends, a practiced way of lying, “So, uh, no. I haven’t, but judging by the looks of this place, has to be good.”

“It is, man. I wouldn’t take you anywhere I wouldn’t eat myself. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger, I treat my brothers good.” Gary chuckled, patting Donnelley on the shoulder.

Queen slid back into the booth across from Donnelley, a slight smile on his face when he talked about Turkey. “I wouldn’t drink the water there, though.”

He clasped his hands and rested them on the table as the waitress approached for their drink orders. He ordered sweet iced tea and once she was done, Queen turned back to face Bruster and Donnelley, “I always envied that Ranger scroll. I was in the Navy doing nerdy Navy things while this guy was jumping outta planes and shooting hajji in the face.”

“Yeah, well,” Donnelley chuckled, “No mission without the intel.”

“Damn straight, us doorkickers love our nerds.” Greg chuckled, looking at Queen, “So, we talked a little bit about your guys’ company. Big government contractor.”

Donnelley nodded, “I’d say more mid-sized in the government. We tend more towards private sector entities, just like you and yours, my man.” Donnelley winked, “So, I told you everything we do for everyone, but what can we do for you.”

Gary nodded, looking away from Queen and Donnelley and at his hands folded on the table. He looked like he was thinking, and more than that, mulling things over. Donnelley knew there were things rattling around in Gary Bruster’s head. The death of his best friend, Vera Corp, and his ties to Big Clem and Clovers O’Grady. “There’s some people that I know.” Gary looked up from his hands and stared at Queen, then Donnelley, “You said something about being a private NSA and FBI rolled up into one, right?”

Donnelley glanced at Queen sidelong, then back at Gary, “Sure.”

“Your investigative services. I cut ties with these people to go legitimate, you know, old life.” Gary cleared his throat, “I need to know if they’ve got anything that might hurt me, or the Appalachian Sons Club. We’ve got a rally coming up, and any kind of bad news that could come out about-“

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Donnelley turned a bit more serious, “We aren’t formally under contract, I can’t go any further into this without a signature granting us the ability to carry out whatever you need carried out under your authority.”

“Frank, what do you think we should do? How much do you think an investigative action and public image engineering like this would cost?” Donnelley asked. Any arbitrary number would do, really, and he was hoping Queen would milk this asshole for whatever they could get away with.

Queen raised his brows slightly and looked at Bruster, leaning in just a bit to show his interest and the comradery of conspiracy. What Bruster did not see was the small recording device, the good old wire as it was still called, that silently captured whatever the man was going to tell them. “It’s the one thing that can destroy everything you worked for, that’s for sure. Someone with a grudge, some pissed off ex girlfriend or old runnin’ buddy. Not something you wanna skimp on. Sometimes you don’t even know what they might know or who they might have told. One thing I learned in the Navy, we don’t leave it for guessing.”

Gary nodded vigorously, clearing his throat and taking a gulp of his ice water, “Listen, I’m willing to pay. I’m willing to sign whatever you need me to sign.” He said, “For something like this, I can give you… twenty-thousand.”

“On short notice? I can only assume we’ll be working in earnest A-S-A-P, am I correct?” Donnelley’s brows rose. “Because if that’s the case, we’re the only ones on deck for you right now. I can assure you that Mister Lee and I are fully trained investigators. So?”

“Well,” Gary looked away, “Thirty.”

“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, “Base price is thirty-thousand, cash. Anything else is a ten percent charge. Depending on what needs covering up and the intensity of this operation…”

“Okay, I get it. So, where do I sign?” Gary asked.

Donnelley pulled out his phone, tapping and sliding his finger, “I’ve got an electronic document here for just such an occasion.” He offered the screen to Gary, “Just sign here on the dotted line, and your problems go poof. Sleep like a baby tonight.”

Gary wasted no time in putting his name on the line, “Thank you. I didn’t know you VISCO folk worked on such short notice.”

Queen grinned slightly at that and glanced at Bruster, “When there’s a fire it needs to be put out. We’re your 911.”

He unclasped his hands and shifted his gaze to the waitress approaching with their drinks and ready to take orders.

“Steak, medium rare with the sauteed mushrooms and red potatoes, thanks,” Queen said, still feeling a little giddy at fifteen thousand dollars that would soon be in his bank account. “And the green beans, those are fresh ones right? Not the canned?”

“Right, fresh ones with garlic and butter,” she turned to Donnelley and smiled at Bruster, “Well, hey there Gary, the usual?”

“Yes, ma’am. Rare.” Gary smiled, weighed down by the loss of thirty large, but happy that he’d soon be worry free on behalf of VISCO’s incredible service.

“And for you, sir?” She looked to Donnelley.

He licked his teeth, “Let me get the filet mignon, rare. Garlic mash, asparagus spears.” Donnelley rolled his jaw and smirked, “And a round of shots. Johnny Walker Blue, we’ve got somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Alright!” The waitress chuckled, offering her hand out for their menus, “You want the shots first, or are they coming out with the food?”

“First, please.” Donnelley smiled, handing over his menu.

The waitress turned on her heel and marched off towards the kitchen, leaving them alone once again. Donnelley turned back to his two friends at the table after giving the waitress’s ample hips an audience as they swayed her away, “Well, now that we’ve got an agreement settled, we need to establish some information. Whatever you can give us on these people you think might be gunnin’ for your career.” Donnelley inclined his head to Gary, “And leave nothin’ out. We need every detail, see if we need to bring any other personnel on.”

Gary looked to the two of them, “It’s a long story. And we’re going to need some privacy.” Gary lowered his voice conspiratorially, “We can meet at my office after dinner.”

Donnelley nodded slow, the plan coming together far more easily than he thought. They didn’t even have to bring out the rohypnol. “Sounds real good, Mister Bruster.”

>…///

Donnelley was laughing as he closed the car door, watching Gary Bruster leave the Chop House’s parking lot. He clapped his hands and drummed them on the steering wheel, “Fifteen-fuckin’-thousand!” Donnelley laughed, “He just paid us fifteen-fuckin’-thousand to grab him by the balls and squeeze.”

He reeled himself in and pressed the ignition button on the Ford, hearing it rumble to life, “We take this on the road and we can make some fuckin’ bank, Queen, my boy.”

“Never been offered that much for it,” Queen chuckled, pleased with their well paid ruse. “Much better than having to use your tool bag. More profitable.”

“Good talking, Tex. You got him going. Of course it’s lucky he was a Ranger. Y’all raw meat eatin’ fuckers,” he said, then pulled up his shirt, checking the charge on the small recording device. He plugged it into the power bank and let it charge while they drove. “It’s always nice when they do the work for you, I’ll just verify what he gives us and we’ll go on. Make a copy of all his incriminating statements, which by the way we need him to say names so don’t let him slide on that.”

Queen paused then said, “It ain’t a criminal case but wouldn’t that make him sweat to know we’d go to the men he’s naming?”

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ bankin’ on it. We need some leverage, we’re on our own out here and we need every bit of protection we can get.” Donnelley tried to remember the turns they needed to take to get to Bruster’s office. “We’ll squeeze everythin’ we can and get to work. If he acts up, we give him a taste of how fucked he is.”

“Those Tapout wearin’ McGregor wannabes ain’t goin’ to be able to save his ass when we’re done.” Donnelley pulled into a parking space on the street outside of Bruster’s office. His two goons were posted outside the front door and Donnelley eyed them, “You got one in the chamber in that cute little Barbie pistol of yours?” Donnelley asked, “If he tries to double-cross us, we take those two down and disappear with Gary. Liquidate ‘em in the sticks and leave ‘em for the rats.”

“One way or another, we’re gettin’ dirt on Gary and his friends, force ‘em to tell us who they sold the drugs to. Or who they know sold the drugs.” Donnelley pulled his handgun and gave it a quick push check before holstering it again, “You ready, pardner?”

“Barbie pistol? I don’t need to compensate for anything,” he grinned, then nodded. He held the compact 9mm in his hand, the clear plastic on the grip showed a full magazine was loaded. He slid it back in his waist band then tucked his shirt over it, “Yep, it's ready to go. So am I.”

He sniffed, rubbing his thumb against his nose after snorting a little bit more powder, just to keep the edge. “Fuck it feels good to be a gangsta.”

“Alright,” Donnelley took a breath, “Let’s do this.”

Donnelley opened his door and threw on his fleece coat to cover his IWB holster, walking up to the door of Bruster’s office before his goons stepped in front of it, “No weapons.” One of them said, Cauliflower Ear.

Donnelley looked to Queen and then back to Cauliflower Ear, “You get to keep yours?”

Cauliflower shrugged, “Rules.”

Donnelley paused, staring Cauliflower in the eye for a few long moments. Cauliflower’s friend unfolded his arms and then Donnelley smiled, “Okay.”

The two of them commenced the pat down on Donnelley and then gave him a thumbs up after he handed them his gun. The two converged on Queen.

“Fellas,” he raised his hands, locking his fingers behind his head but kept his legs closer together. In his pants pocket he had a utility folding knife and his keys, “I’m just the intel guy, but have at it.”

Cauliflower commenced the pat down, making doubly sure he had no chance of brushing Queen’s junk. Donnelley could tell from his own patdown that these guys had to be lowest bidder. They didn’t find the punch dagger Donnelley kept by his balls. Donnelley chuckled watching Cauliflower go around Queen searching for weapons like he was afraid something in Queen’s pockets would awaken something in him. He pulled Queen’s ASP free from his waistband and dangled it in his face like they’d done a good job, “Alright, Intel Guy.”

Cauliflower slapped Queen’s shoulder a bit harder than needed and then opened the door for the two to step inside. Waiting for them in the main room, leaning on the receptionist desk was Gary. “Friends. Come on,” he waved them on and led them to his office, “Have a seat, we can get to business.”

Queen tried not to roll his eyes, only gave the goon a tight smile, “I want it back when we’re done, it’s a collector’s piece. Don’t go breaking it in those big hands now.”

He dropped his arms and tucked his shirt back in as he followed Donnelley into the office. Dropping into the seat and breathed out, seeming to find the chairs comfortable but it was more of a relief. They had found his gun but not the recorder and it was running at full charge, the flat small device taped to the center of his chest under the navy portion of his polo shirt.

“I’m sorry about all that,” Gary said, nodding to his door, “I can’t be too careful nowadays. If you can’t tell… I’m kind of desperate.”

Gary smiled sheepishly before it disappeared, “The people that want me gone… old friends. Associates, more like. I went to prison on drug charges some time ago, my reputation went very downhill and they introduced me to a man named Jay. Jackson Mitterick.” Gary rested his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled in front of his face, “Jackson actually had my position with the Club before… well, we pride ourselves on abstaining from illegal substances. When it came to light that Jackson died of an overdose, his family’s reputation was dragged through the mud.”

“And then I applied. They took me in, knew that a story of the Club helping to reform a former criminal and put his name back into glory as a veteran? A hero?” Gary chuckled, albeit humorlessly, “They couldn’t pass it up. It was the Club’s name on the line too. They couldn’t have one of their office heads being known to have died of a drug overdose and it was just the story they needed to overshadow Jackson’s death.”

“There’s two men that know about what I once was-“

“And what is that?” Donnelley interrupted, “I need to know everything.”

“I was Jay’s enforcer. I taught his guys to shoot, how to move, everything the Rangers taught me. Jay had two others besides me, and that’s who I’m afraid wants to cut me down.” Gary frowned, looking down at his desk and letting his hands down to rest, “Clemence Jackson handles the drugs for Jay’s Aryan Brotherhood, they call him Big Clem. Hubert O’Grady runs guns. Clovers.”

“Clovers?” Donnelley asked.

“His nickname.” Gary paused, then took a deep breath, “I lied. Last time you were here. Fedor and Viktor, those two Russians. Fedor runs the mines. Viktor is the local Bratva head.”

“They want me to go back to what I was doing before I got my head on straight. The Brotherhood, the Bratva, the mines. You have to understand, it’s not just my career on the line,” Gary shook his head, slow, “It’s my fucking life.”

Queen listened closely, attentive to their client and getting it all recorded. He whistled softly then raised an eyebrow, “You’re not kidding. Bratva and the ABs, I know their game. You said they wanted y’all to rally the workers at the mines, give them the whole pep talk for workin’ hard for God and country. Are they striking? What’s going on there that they’re looking for outside help?”

“You’d have to ask Fedor. I haven’t been to Blackriver for a bit,” Gary shrugged, “I know about the rumors of that place. About David Dulane, the devils in the mines. I don’t know if they’re true, but if I was a miner, I’d be pretty fucking hesitant to go down there again after that shit.”

“Okay, okay.” Donnelley leaned back and scratched at his chin, then began to stroke his beard, “I need everythin’ you have on Hubert and Clem. We can start investigatin’ them after we get addresses and spots where they spend a lot of time.”

Donnelley looked back up at Gary, “As for the Russians. The Bratva,” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “That costs. Brotherhood is one thing, international criminal organizations is another.”

“I need everything taken care of.” Gary said, “If the Appalachian Sons want seats on the State Legislature, and start helping put some sense into this country… I need everything taken care of. Not just for me, but the country.”

“Uh huh.” Donnelley said, a little less enthusiastic in his facade of camaraderie with Gary, “Goin’ toe to toe with the Russians is an extra ten. Forty thousand. Half now, half later, and we’ll get to work.”

Gary frowned, rubbing at his eyes and then nodded, looking away from Donnelley and Queen until he spoke, “Fine.”

“We can accompany whoever the Club sends to the Vera Corp mines, gather some Intel on Fedor if we can. Anythin’ to help you level the playing field.” Donnelley rose his brows, “Sound good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just, please, get this done quietly.” Gary pleaded, “I can send you the addresses to Hubert and Clem’s houses, and anywhere they hang out at. Thank you, again.”

Gary rose from his seat and thrust his hand out for them to shake. Donnelley took Gary’s hand first, “Don’t thank me. Thank the Military-Industrial Complex for makin’ me and VISCO.”

>MOTEL 6
>0200…///

Donnelley sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless and dressed in shorts now that they didn’t have to keep up appearances. His laptop was sitting next to him and he’d refresh the page every once in a while, waiting for the forty-four thousand to show up in the Black Budget account. He had a smile on his lips, and a cigarette too, smoked down to only half the stogie. It smoldered there until Donnelley took another drag, taking it with forefinger and thumb and blowing the smoke out. “Come on, hurry the fuck up, Gary.” Donnelley muttered.

It took a few more refreshes until the amount in the account ticked up those thousands of dollars. When it did, Donnelley let out a hearty laugh. Twenty-two thousand, Donnelley and Queen splitting it down the middle and making like bandits in the chaos that seemed to be West Virginia. The only downside was that they’d have to do the real work come tomorrow. Casing Clem and Hubert, then waiting on the call from Gary so that they could go to the Vera Corp mines and find out what a Russian mining company was doing in Alaska, a desolate archipelago, and West Virginia. He pulled up his secure emails linked to the Agency and typed up a request to Smitty for a deep-dive into Vexel Rare Earth and Radko Minerals, as well as Red Dog Mine, and Pyramiden. Hopefully it’d come within a few days. He shut his laptop and then rose from the bed, knocking on the bathroom door, “Hey, fucker, are you hoggin’ the coke?”

Queen finished the quick shower and stood in the cheap motel towel, cutting lines on the small hand mirror. Fucking over twenty grand because his best friend was smart and desperate rich people were willing to throw money at their problems without thinking too hard about it. At the knock he laughed, reaching over to open the door.

“I was just prepping it for you,” Queen said, stepping back and looking over Donnelley in his shorts. “Damn you been beefin’ up haven’t you.”

He passed him the short straw and leaned against the sink, watching him get down on the thin neat lines he had cut. His own body was leaner than he had been five years ago, strong but wiry, without the bulk that he once had. The tattoos distracted from the lack of mass, emphasising the ripple of muscles just under his skin. He put his hand on his hip, the tattooed pistol just below the v-line, pointing towards the target under the towel.

“Suck it up, get it all,” Queen teased. “Gotta celebrate tonight,”

Donnelley stood straight again after ripping a line off the mirror Queen had set up, wiping his nose off on his forearm and mouthing a swear, “Good goddamn.” Donnelley screwed his eyes shut as he pinched his nostrils, “This shit really is good. What asshole you confiscate this from this time?”

He laughed, giving a little shrug. “I got my sources. Miami is great for good coke,” Queen said, leaning in and bending to take his turn. He blinked hard and rubbed his nose, then checked his hand, making sure he wasn’t bleeding again. “You outta see the penthouse I’m renting, gotta view of the ocean.”

Queen closed his eyes then rolled his shoulders, then opened them looking directly at Donnelley. The pale blue green color twinkled with mischief and he gave him a crooked grin. “I gotta admit, I was fucking impressed how you played Bruster. Thanks for spitting even, you always got me.”

He stepped forward, searching Donnelley’s face before closing the distance, pushing him towards the doorway. Queen reached up and cupped the back of his head, going in for a rough, hungry kiss.

Donnelley was taken by surprise as Queen roughly grabbed him. His back collided with a wall, the only thing keeping him from tripping up and falling. As Queen’s lips met his, and the coke was in full swing through his system, he simply melted into it. And then pushed himself into it just as hungrily as Queen, the two of them letting out soft groans. He’d wanted this since he’d seen Queen shirtless the first time in this hotel room, and couldn’t help himself. As he led Queen to the bed, he pushed him onto it and followed him on, leaning over him, but stopping just short of their lips meeting.

He pulled back, ashamed. How would Laine feel if she could see him now. What would his daughter think, knowing her father was snorting drugs and cheating on the woman he loved. He’d told Holly that he was better now, but was he really?

“Fuck.” Donnelley rose from the bed to sit on the edge, cradling his head in his hands, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Queen hit the bed, his towel bravely hanging on and he was reaching down to change that when Donnelley pulled back. He opened his eyes, furrowing his brow as he saw him pulling back to sit at the edge of the bed. Queen pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at him, “What’s wrong? Joey?”

Ever since the time in the basement in Alaska Donnelley had been standoffish. It had been fine on the ship after snatching Carlisle and something changed in that time. “Talk to me.”

“Billy, I have to tell you something.” Donnelley said, still not looking at Queen, his back turned to him and the only thing discernible of his mood was the tone of his voice and subtle rising and falling of his shoulders with his breathing. “I can’t do that. Not anymore.”

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, down his face and beard, “I’m involved with Laine. The FBI Psychologist on my team.” Donnelley shook his head, “I should’ve told you sooner, but we’ve been involved for a while.”

Queen held his breath, then nodded even though Donnelley had his back to him. Ever since the time in the basement he knew something was different and the idle speculation among THUNDER guessed at it. He felt a rising ache and frustration as he stared at Donnelley’s freckled back.

“I know who she is,” Queen said, then rose off the bed so he could walk around and face Donnelley, holding the towel closed with one hand on his hip, “It’s what you want? She makes you happy?”

Donnelley looked up at Queen, searching his face. It felt like ripping a piece of himself away and giving it back to the man who’d revealed it had been there all along. There was a strong bond with Queen that he had, but he had to face the truth one day. Looking at Queen now versus when they first met, he was skinny in the ways he’d seen addicts become, and he knew the man had seen a lot. They’d seen a good amount of it together, faced it down and come out on the other side in one piece. Kept each other from falling over the edge more than once. But he knew his friend was closer than he’d ever been, and he wasn’t sure he could save him from going over next time.

He swallowed hard, looking away from Queen. He nodded, forcing himself to speak what he needed to, “Yeah.” He said, “She does.”

Queen bit the inside of his lip and nodded again, staying quiet for a beat before he looked down at Donnelley, “I take it she doesn’t know about you...about us.”

“I’ve never told anyone, Billy.” Donnelley looked back up at Queen with misty eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but only croaked out a pitiful little sound he masked by clearing nothing out of his throat. He shook his head, breathily muttering out, “I’m still scared.”

“You and I both know how it is… how it still is for men like us.” Donnelley frowned, “She doesn’t know. About me, about us. Nobody does, but you and me.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” Queen said, the pain flickering in his sea-colored eyes. “I know why. It kinda just has to be that way for us. Had to. I guess...”

He tried to crack a smile but it faltered as he said, “I guess it makes it easier, we don’t have to explain to anyone. It uh...”

Queen swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing under the trimmed beard. “At least you don’t have to hide her, you can be proud. She’s hot and smart...someone you can actually be with.”

He breathed out forcefully then glanced down at himself in his towel. Queen chuckled, then groaned a little, “Well fuck I guess. It was fun while it lasted.”

Queen turned and started back towards the bathroom. Donnelley let out a hollow chuckle, more just a lifeless breath from a mouth that couldn’t smile, “Yeah, it was.” His mouth closed tight in a frown and he cleared his throat again, speaking hoarsely, “I, um, I think I left somethin’… in the car.”

He stood up from the bed and turned away from Queen again as his best friend and the man he once loved, still loved, went for the bathroom. He wiped at his eyes before grabbing his pack of cigarettes and going for the door outside. He closed the door behind him as his head hung low, descending the stairs down to the parking lot and over to the car. He unlocked the driver side door and slipped inside, leaving the door open as he shoved a cigarette between his lips.

He lifted his lighter, but took the cigarette from his mouth to cover his eyes as his lip quivered.

The Things We Leave Behind, Part III…

No Reason to Get Excited…

>DATE TBD
>0700…///

Queen was awake before Donnelley, he had slept little and spent most of the night focusing on his racing heart rather than the man in the bed next to his. He had finished off the lines of coke that had been left on the mirror, drowning his sorrow the only way he had left. He lay there in the dark hovering on the edge, wondering if his heart would burst from too much coke or from loss.

He was dressed now in dark jeans and an undershirt, he had made coffee which he had no appetite for but left it for Donnelley and stepped out to smoke one of his Kools and watch the sun come up over the trees and powerlines that lined the parking lot of the motel.

Donnelley woke up soon after, opening his eyes to the popcorn ceiling of the cheap room. He took a breath once he realized last night had not been a bad dream, and the emotions only slightly blunted by time. He reached over to where he’d left his American Spirits and put one in his mouth, looking to the big window to the outside, seeing the silhouette of Queen on the walkway outside. He sighed, knowing that avoiding Queen was impossible, and put the case in jeopardy anyway.

He put his feelings aside and got up to standing from the bed, walking outside and leaning on the rail next to Queen after lighting his cigarette. It was quiet between the two for a few long moments, but Donnelley decided to break the tension, “How do we want to approach this thing with Clem and Clovers?”

Queen heard the door open and he took a deep drag from the menthol cigarette. He pushed the pain back down and shifted mental gears, he was Queen now. Billy would have to wait until this rogue mission was over.

"Well, they're scumbag hillbilly drug dealers so I figured I'd give them a scumbag hillbilly drug buyer," Queen said, not looking at Donnelley but out at the parking lot, "I can probably talk my way in, I know enough about their organization and how they do shit. Gonna see if they want a new opportunity to make some cash without Russian involvement. You be my backup in case shit goes sideways. What do you think, Mr. Spy?”

Donnelley nodded, taking another drag off his cigarette, “Sounds good. I just stand there and look pretty, got it.” Donnelley smirked, looking sidelong at Queen for a moment then looked back down at the parking lot, “I’ve been around a few gunrunners, I know the deal. Might even score a drop gun off him to thicken the lie if we can butter ‘em up enough.”

Queen glanced at him, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “I figured I’d go in alone, do like I do with the DEA and have you standby and listen and be ready if I need help.”

He finished the cigarette as he nodded, “But you’re right you got that gunrunner experience and a two for one will be more tempting. So we go in together, tag team ‘em.”

Queen snuffed the butt of the cigarette and palmed it, a sly smile coming to his face. “Hell if you can get these assholes to drop a buncha guns and drugs I’ll bl...buy you a beer.”

His smile faltered but he turned away, “Guess we need to dress the part and get something to eat, junkies never start their day this early.”

“We diggin’ the bikes out?” Donnelley quirked his brow, at least a little bit of a mood lift to be back on his Indian.

Queen glanced back and took a deep breath then said, “Hell yeah we are, dirty white boys ride bikes. Professional PIs drive sedans. Let’s talk about loadout and I was thinking about what we know about Jay that might be hard for Big Clem and Clovers to look into quickly.”

“Well,” Donnelley frowned, shrugging as he took a deep drag off his cigarette, “We know he’s a former office head for the Appalachian Sons Club. He had enough money and pull to make the Park Police turn their heads to the Sinaloa, and then the Russians.”

“He had a Park Police Officer by the name of Billy Britt killed in… uh, Charleston, here for threatenin’ to blow the lid off his operation.” Donnelley looked at Queen, “And sick some hillbilly mercenaries from… Georgia, I think, on the Feds that came knockin’.”

“Meanin’ me and UMBRA.” Donnelley looked at Queen, “Not much else.”

Queen clicked his teeth together thinking it over, “Mercs from Georgia, it’s possible but we don’t know much about them. Good chance of fucking it up. These guys do time with Jay? Hell we just act like he met us in a bar and we got chatty and he gave us his contact information for a deal but he died before we could make contact. It’s asking them to trust strangers but...”

He grinned but it did not touch his eyes, “We’re good at that.”

Donnelley huffed a chuckle through his nostrils before he grew quiet, his smirk fading as he looked out at the sunrise. The moment grew quiet until Donnelley spoke, “Jay, Vera Corp, the Bratva, GRU. Blackriver Killers and David Dulane.” He shook his head slow as slow, “Billy Britt and Frank Wilkins. Clyde Baughman and Maria Vasquez. Blackriver.”

“Everythin’s rotted out in this fuckin’ place.” Donnelley spat.

“Yep,” Queen agreed, “Like gangrene, just creeping steadily and rotting everything it touches. Something worse than just the grinding poverty and poisoned water, something darker.”

His gaze was unfocused, somewhere miles from where they stood and he absently lifted his hand as if to smoke but remembered he had finished the cigarette. Queen dropped his hand then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The depth of the rot had not been measured yet but here they were, the two of them about to stick their hands right in.

“Let’s get ready then, time to save another piece of the world,” Queen turned and went into the motel room holding the door for Donnelley so he would not have to swipe his card.

Donnelley pinched his cherry out, but kept the cigarette butt out of habit, “Or burn it all down if we have to.”

>1100…///

The air had been thick between them at breakfast. Hardly a word other than the scheming on how to fulfill the hollow contract they’d signed with Gary Bruster. Maybe it was better that way, focus on the goal and nothing else. But it felt like his throat closed up every time they met eyes, knowing he’d never kiss him again, and he had his regrets for not at least going the whole way with him last night. It would’ve just made the pain worse for Donnelley, betraying Laine’s trust. He’d done it once in Vegas, he promised to never do it again. Maybe he was better at not letting people down, but then why did it feel like he was dying?

He nipped off his flask as he threw the Ford into park in front of the storage garage he’d rented. He climbed out of the driver seat and made his way to the door, unlocking it and lifting it open on its track to reveal the two bikes resting there like they’d left them. He and Queen had dressed the part of gunrunning, drug trafficking criminals from out of town. Donnelley had left his vest, instead only wearing the worn leather jacket over a plain black tee and black jeans. His aviators were up on his forehead and he lit the cigarette between his lips while he got back into the Ford. He let Queen get his bike while he pulled out his phone and got Gary on the line. Once he heard him pick up, he spoke, “Chris with VISCO. I need somethin’ to get us in with Clem and Hubert.”

“What? I thought you would just surveil them-“

“We’re hands on. You wanted this done right or done sloppy?” Donnelley asked, his tone all business and barren in friendliness, “The longer we wait, the longer they’ll have time to plot.”

There was a pause, silence filtering in on the other end of the call with that quiet hiss, “Okay.” Gary muttered, “You’re right. Uh, us and Jay always had a password set up with everyone who worked with us.”

“And that is?”

“Gott mitt uns.” Bruster said, “Nazi German Army thing. Birth of a Nation was a favorite with our boys, so we’d say our job was to protect the Southern Country.”

Donnelley rolled his eyes and silently wore his disgust on his face, “Okay. We’ll have this handled, Gary.”

“Good, thank you.”

Donnelley hung up the phone, slipped it back in his pocket and took a long drag off his cigarette, then another nip off his flask, “You know, you ever told me I’d be doin’ favors for Klansmen and Nazis, I’d knock the head off your shoulders.” Donnelley shook his head and hocked a gob of phlegm into the lot, “Gonna feel so good when we pull it out from under ‘em.”

Queen had not eaten much at breakfast, toast and coffee leaving most of the food on his plate. It hurt to look at Donnelley and he held that in, there was a job to do. A big one that might get him killed all over again and no chance for a mulligan like the last one. The coke binge the night before left him still wired but in an exhausted way and he had no appetite. Once they left and got to the storage unit, he felt a little better as they were doing things rather than sitting there trying to evade anything personal.

It felt strange and the tension in his stomach and chest would not relax. Queen wanted to tell him how much he would miss him, that he stayed alive in the eyes of the Program for him. Without their connection he would have been lost long ago but he knew anything said about that would just make Donnelley feel guilty then maybe resentful. He had to find his new equilibrium, the new boundary he had to keep in mind when there used to be none. It would take time which they sorely lacked.

Queen glanced up at him and nodded, “Well, gotta lay with dogs sometimes.”

He ran his hand over the Harley Sportster and thought about Easy and Goat, the other friends he had among Hell’s Highest. Correction. The friends Hollywood had, not Queen and certainly not Agent Billy Patrick.

Queen dressed like biker scum, just short of wearing the colors but he would not go representing the club without them. He wore a worn leather jacket without patches instead over another t-shirt, this one bearing a vintage logo of the Charlie Daniel’s band proclaiming "The South's Gonna Do It" with a confederate battle flag flying behind the letters.

“Jay sure got his,” Queen said, forcing himself to sound chipper so he would not be a fucking downer. No one liked that. “Ol’ boy got it nice and easy. Hell of a way to go if I do say so myself.”

“That’s the best part ain’t it? Setting these fuckers up and knocking them down, getting ours at the same time,” he said, then dug into the pocket of the tight jeans. He put a couple of the pills he dug out into his mouth, dry swallowing them, taking them to even out his unstable emotions. “So you got like the secret clubhouse password? No negroes allowed or something?”

He rolled the hated word off his tongue with a surly southern drawl, one he had heard enough growing up in northern Florida. Queen disliked it but if he showed hesitation saying the things that would have been natural to assholes like Jay it would cause suspicion.

“Separate but Equal.” Donnelley snorted, then shook his head, “Gott mitt uns. God is with us, or some bullshit. Gary said Jay and them would say it was their job to protect the Southern Country.”

“Slip that in somewhere. You sure you want to go in alone while I wait outside?” He asked.

“Got mittens? What kinda shit is that? Oh right, Nat-zis,” Queen said, the country in his drawl thickening.

Queen glanced at Donnelley, a petulant part of him wanted to say yes to show he didn’t need him, that this was the sort of thing he handled for the DEA before. But despite his hurt, Donnelley was someone he would always trust at his side. “I can handle it,” he said, adjusting the side mirror on the arched handle bars, “But I mean, if you wanted to try and get that gun drop, that’s sorta your thing, spook.”

Donnelley dragged off his cigarette and took a moment to think. Whether or not to go in with Queen, or let him do his thing. He trusted him, but he didn’t trust those two Nazis not to blast Queen in the face if they even sensed something was up. But he had to trust him. He looked back at Queen and nodded, “Break a leg, motherfucker. I’ll be outside.” Donnelley put his aviators over his eyes and gave the gas pedal a couple pushes to make the engine roar, and gave Queen a wink, “Gott mitt uns.”

And Donnelley was off toward the storage facility gate.

>1140…///

Queen’s Harley rumbled through the mostly empty streets on the outskirts of Charleston, Donnelley following two cars down in the SHO, trunk full of tac gear and speakers bumping a FEAR song. Low income neighborhoods they called these, but Donnelley had grown up in one and trudged through more than a few from Texas to Baghdad to know that shithole was a more apt description. Most here would agree. They stopped at a red light and Donnelley scanned the road and sidewalks with hard eyes behind his aviators. A man caked in street dirt was sleeping in front of a convenience store, a pack of youths was on the other side of the street and were eyeing him and Queen. Whites and Hispanics.

Donnelley only snorted and shook his head as he looked away. Time was, any one of those kids could’ve been him. And it was like he could see their thoughts, a violence barely hidden for all the world outside these streets. The light turned green and Donnelley accelerated down the road, letting the sad scenes pass him on their way to Clem and Hubert’s drug house. When they got into the neighborhoods and away from the storefronts and strip malls, he knew they were in the right place. Boards in windows, hollowed out houses covered in graffiti.

Queen turned up the dead-end street that in a nicer neighborhood would be called a cul-de-sac. His gaze shifted from behind his sunglasses, he saw the house described by Donnelley. It was similar to the house they raided, Jay’s mother’s house. That had been a shit show and his gut tightened, he was not wearing his vest, it was in the trunk of the Ford along with his Scorpion. He rolled to a stop in front of the rundown house and immediately the dark hole of the open door caught his attention.

“Shit,” he muttered, picking up his phone. “Hey, looks like we’re late to the party.”

Queen kept an eye on the house as Donnelley closed the few blocks and pulled beside him.

“Cops already raid this place?” Donnelley asked, cutting his engine and looking at Queen, “Might mean trouble for our client if they talk.”

“Maybe,” Queen said, leaning on the handlebars, resting his boot against the street, “Whoever did it knows how to kick a door. Wanna take a peek? See what we can find.”

He scanned the area, looking for anyone that might be hanging out watching the house. Dismounting from the bike, he pulled the helmet off and hung it from the handlebars. Queen checked his weapons, the small hand gun secured in the small of his back.

“Wanna take the fun guns?” he asked, stepping around his bike to move to the back of the car to get into the trunk. Inside were their soft vests like he wore on plain clothes raids and more firepower.

Donnelley popped the trunk, revealing the arsenal in the large compartment, “Already ahead of you.” He smirked as he pushed aside his Serbu shotgun to get to the AK, “I brought my shotgun, but it looks like we don’t have to blow the hinges. I’m point.”

Donnelley shut the Ford’s door and looked both ways down the street for anyone watching. Knowing places like this, no one would tell even if there was a big, damn firefight. Maybe there already was, but Donnelley couldn’t see any holes in the walls as he and Queen made their approach. The lawn outside was brown and dead, the whole area was quiet, which made Donnelley’s hairs stand on end. It was a small house, so not much to clear, but Donnelley and Queen would have to be fast and violent if there was anyone still in there. After they stacked, Donnelley kept his TP9 at low ready, waiting for Queen to give him the ready-go squeeze on his shoulder.

When he did, they both rushed in, focusing on their halves of the room. The house opened into a living room and dining room, a television that looked too good for this area was on the floor, screen off and broken, the two folding chairs in front of it were on the ground as if whoever was in them had gotten up in a hurry. The dining room, the table was smashed in half and a table leg was left embedded in some poor fool’s face laying between the two halves of the destroyed table. The kitchen was similarly empty, and further into the house were the bedrooms and bathroom. Donnelley couldn’t hear anything else in the house, “Hallway, front.” Donnelley muttered out to Queen, doors on either side of the hallway, but staggered enough they wouldn’t have to worry about crossfire. Donnelley moved on the first door on the left side of the hallway, “Making entry.”

Donnelley turned the knob and threw the door open as he rushed in to find a small bathroom, empty, “Small room,” Donnelley called to Queen outside, moving the shower curtain away to see the shower, “Clear.”

“Second door, you’re point.” Donnelley said.

Queen moved forward, the folding stock of the CZ Scorpion he picked up from Kid tucked against him and raised up, the body left on the table told them it was not cops that raided this house. No time to see how long he might have been there, Queen followed Donnelley as he cleared the room then shifted up in front of him to take the next room. Likely a bedroom, based on the layout of the small suburban houses he had been in, and not the main bedroom.

He reached for the knob and flung the door open when Donnelley gave him the ready-go tap on the shoulder and faced the corner of the room keeping watch to the right as he side-stepped to the left. There was a twin bed there against the wall, the bedding was spare, a cheap fleece blanket and a pillow and the carpet muffling their steps was that colorless beige all rentals seemed to have. Along the wall was the flimsy accordion door to a closet and Queen trained the pistol on it as Donnelley took his position.

Donnelley’s eyes were trained on the closet, just waiting for rounds to come through it. He wasted no time in moving on the closet as Queen held security on the doorway. Donnelley opened the closet to find it empty, not even clothes on hangers to obscure anyone inside, “Room clear. Move to second bedroom, I’m point.”

They left the room and Donnelley took point on the door, throwing it open when Queen tapped his shoulder. Before he could take his first step in, a voice called out, “Friendly! Friendly!”

“Hands! Hands!” Donnelley shouted as he moved inside the room, weapon trained on a man about his height. The man inside the room immediately dropped to his knees and stuck his hands high in the air. Dressed in a fleece jacket, white tee, jeans and Adidas, he didn’t quite look the type to hang around Aryan Brotherhood drug houses. Short black hair and long stubble, the two held gazes while Queen moved to secure him.

Queen kept his gun pointed at the man, his heart pounding at the surprise not just finding someone but that they surrendered, his finger slowly lightening on the trigger as he moved around him. He tucked the gun against his arm as he used a free hand to do a brief frisk, running under his arms and around his waist band, tossing aside a small Glock.

He slung the Scorpion back, letting it hang from his strap as he reached for flex cuffs in his back pocket and took one of the man’s wrists, ‘Behind your back, let’s go.”

He zipped them on, checking to see if they were secure and proceeded to check the man’s ankles under his jeans and the pockets of his jacket and jeans. “Am I gonna find anything else other than your squirt pistol?”

“No, my friend.” The man spoke with a soft accent, and Donnelley thought about where he came from, racking his brain.

“Russian?” Donnelley asked as Queen frisked the man.

“Yes! But not bad guy. I have seen you,” The man said, struggling to lift his head from the floor and look at Donnelley. Despite his current situation, he was smiling. “You are with American agency? Program! I know the one named Laine!”

Donnelley stepped forward, his finger on the trigger of his gun as he trained it on the man’s head, “How?” Donnelley growled out with beared teeth and narrowed eyes.

“Renko! I am Renko! I gave them tracker and helped them with the girl!” The man named Renko pleaded, “I am not enemy.”

“Easy, Tex,” Queen said when saw the flash of danger in his blue eyes. He looked down at the man he had heard mentioned by Laine and Ava. Glancing up at Donnelley, he asked, “You know about that?”

“Where’s Clem and Hubert?” Donnelley asked, no warmth or camaraderie in his voice.

“Clem is outside.” Renko said.

“Where?”

“You didn’t see him?” Renko asked, his voice genuinely confused, “On table?”

“That was Clem?” Donnelley glanced at Queen for a second, “You did that?”

“No! The man who did it is going after Hubert!” Renko said. “I can take you to him before he dies!”

“No deal.” Donnelley said, getting to one knee beside Renko and placing a rough hand on the back of his neck, squeezing hard for a moment and making Renko wince, “Renko, how good of friends are we?”

“We have just met, but-“

“Exactly. How do I know I can trust you?” Donnelley asked, “You and I, we’re spies. You and I, we both know faith is bullshit and trust is built by bein’ useful. So, be useful to me or I’ll let you find out how bad I can be.”

He leaned closer to Renko, “Because, I’m not Laine.” He patted his TP9 to punctuate his statement. “Somebody puts a gun to your head, tell them where Hubert is or soak the carpet with your brain? Which one, quick.”

“Club Sanguin! He runs security at Club Sanguin!” Renko raised his voice, his eyes screwed shut, “I am telling you, I am not enemy! Do not shoot me!”

Donnelley was quiet for a few long moments, staring down at Renko. Take him with them or not? Trust him or not? Donnelley clucked his tongue, “Why are you here?”

“GRU tells me to save Clem, I try. GRU tells me to save Hubert, I am trying too. If you need Hubert alive, I give him to you, tell GRU I fail.” Renko bargained, trying to look up at Donnelley again with one eye open, “But I need something from you. Both of us useful to each other, I give tracker and girl, what do you give me?”

“What does the GRU want with Hubert?” Donnelley asked.

“The GRU wants Hubert alive. Hubert gives Bratva guns, Bratva does does not work for GRU, does not like Propavsheye. GRU does not like this, Propavsheye come for Hubert to kill him, GRU does not like this either. Hubert is meeting with Police Sergeant McCune.” Renko said, “I give you both men, I will have debt to you. But too much debt and no repayment, the GRU will know what I am doing for you!”

“Who the fuck is Propavsheye?” Donnelley asked, then looked to Queen, “Who the fuck is Propavsheye?”

“Ukraine mafia! Like Bratva, but different. Still mean, but works for GRU sometime!” Renko said, “Like attack dog for GRU.”

“Okay, so we get Hubert and McCune out of this?” Donnelley asked, grinning now, “Two-fer. I like it, thank you, Renko.”

“No bullet?” Renko smiled up at Donnelley, face still in the carpet.

“For now.” Donnelley shrugged.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

The Things We Leave Behind, Part I…

Said the Joker to the Thief…

>LEXINGTON, KY
>IHOP
>24SEP2019
>0500...///

Drip coffee, a stack of pancakes, old lady waitresses with caked makeup and Southern hospitality all under the faint buzz of the fluorescent lightbulbs in the ceiling. What wasn’t there to like at IHOPs the world over in the earliest hours of the day. Donnelley sipped his black coffee and continued reading his copy of Heart of Darkness, a book he had the hankering to read ever since he’d mentioned it to Ava during his stay at her house before doubling back into Lexington. Before the argument. Before he poked holes in her dreams. It was a battered copy with a faded cover he’d found at a thrift store along the way. There was probably a metaphor for him somewhere.

He was still dressed and groomed like some sort of sixties Hells Angel as he sat in his window booth, sipping away at his coffee. The waitress, Anna- by her nametag- zipped over to him with a plastered on smile, “Where’s your plus-one, darlin’?” She asked as she grabbed up his plate formerly stacked with pancakes, “You want some more?”

“Oh, no, thank you, Ma’am. I’m stuffed as it is,” Donnelley smiled, playing up the southern good ol’ boy image of a roving biker, “I’ll take some more coffee though.”

“You got it.” She smiled, and was off to fetch him more coffee in a pot.

“Thank y’kindly.” Donnelley smiled back.

The sun was still hiding behind the black humps of low mountains as Queen’s bike roared down the mostly empty highway. He drove past the horse farms with their bright white fences, the faint smell of manure and sweet alfalfa hung in the dew laden air. The only other vehicles out were the 18 wheelers making their cross country hauls and he wove past them with a lazy ease. As he crested a hill he could see the lights of Lexington twinkling and the taillights of commuters coming to town from the spread of suburbia. He continued towards the small city, accompanied by more big rigs rolling in and out of the industrial side of town.

A dimly lit billboard declared there was an IHOP a mile down the road and he set his course, pulling up into the parking lot with a rumble of the Harley Sportster 1200, the black and red paint job shone slick under the parking lot lights. Queen had removed his Hell’s Highest colors once he had crossed into Kentucky, he had left Easy and the other nomads in Georgia and had no reason to call attention to himself. He wore a black leather jacket over a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and worn jeans cuffed over heavy biker boots.

He set the helmet on the back end of the Sportster, brushing a hand over the seat before stepping into the 24/7 restaurant. The familiar smell of imitation maple syrup and grease hung in the air and he spotted Donnelley in a booth. Queen ran his hand over his hair, ruffling out where the helmet had pressed it down before strolling over to it.

“Mind if I sit, sailor?” he said as he slid into the bench across from his old friend.

“Go right on ahead, pardner.” Donnelley smirked as he saw Queen cross the restaurant and over to his booth. He set his book down after dog-earing the page he was on, “You hungry? They got endless pancakes here or whatever. I asked for two menus.”

“Shit yeah I am,” Queen replied, his knee bouncing under the table. “I had to ride most of the night, caught me catching up with some old friends.”

He glanced up at Donnelley, his sea colored eyes dilated and glassy ,”I ain’t slept in a minute and I could kill some pancakes ‘bout now.”

Queen picked up the menu but did not need it, flipping to see what the special was then decided to go with his old reliable. He dropped the menu and turned the coffee cup over to set it near the edge of the table to signal the waitress.

“You know, my mom worked at an IHOP in Tampa...or was it Ocala? Fuck I don’t remember, I just remember she worked overnights and always brought home a shit load of pancakes and eggs,” he said, then grinned, “Sometimes a steak.”

Queen laughed, “She got fired for that but fuck it.”

Donnelley laughed in turn, shaking his head and taking another sip of coffee, turning the bottom of the mug up to get the last of it. The waitress came back and clicked her pen, smiling at the both of them, “Well, how’re you, sweetie? I’m Anne, your server. What can I get you started with, hon’?”

“Coffee,” he said, grinning up at the waitress, “Then I’m gonna have the breakfast sampler, eggs scrambled and with them endless pancakes. Might as well start the second stack now, I’m starvin’.”

Once she left, he shrugged out of the leather jacket, the vintage t-shirt a faded pale blue from Skynyrd’s ‘76 tour that fit his lean body in the style of the time, very snug. He leaned forward on his inked forearms, “How was your time off? Figured you’d start going stir crazy before long.”

“It was nice.” Donnelley smiled, looking out at the parking lot and seeing their two bikes parked next to each other, “Ex-Wife let me see my daughter. Jesus Christ, Queen, you should fuckin’ see her now, she’s grown. Ain’t like the pictures in my notebook no more.”

The waitress came by and set another pot of coffee down for the two of them, Donnelley pouring himself another cup. Much like Queen, he hadn’t slept for a bit. One part because of his habit to avoid sleep, the other part because he was busy calling in favors and setting things up for the two of them. “Yeah, she’s a young lady now.”

He sighed, looking down at his coffee, “But you know I didn’t call you to talk about missed years in an IHOP in Kentucky.”

Queen grinned at that, running a hand over his beard, smoothing down the windblown hairs. “Hey, man, that’s great. So I take it was a good visit, that can be rough, after so much time.”

He shrugged then went back to bouncing his knee, “Well, I don’t mind small talk, I figured I’d at least get my food before we start scheming our way back into West Virginia. Unfinished business we got there.”

The memory of Jay flashed in his mind, watching him slip away after the hotshot and his wily mother, dead from a bullet through her eye. They had just been the start, there were more lives they would probably have to take that he would not regret too much. Queen sniffed and ran a finger over his mustache, “So, where do we begin?”

“I got a place set up for us in Charleston. I don’t want to go in as Feds, maybe just private investigators, make shit up as we go along and stay flexible.” Donnelley sipped at his coffee, “We can stash our bikes in Charleston, I got us another vehicle.”

He glanced at Queen, “Weren’t exactly easy,” he smirked, bringing his coffee up to his mouth again, “Or legal.”

“Check in with Roy, the State CID in charge of the case for the state PD. See if anybody else was around handlin’ our case and touched base with the Stateys.” Donnelley said, “And there’s some things I need answers for from her.”

He set his coffee back down and looked at it, then shook his head, “I’m sorry, man. I don’t mean to make it out like I ain’t interested in catchin’ up with you.” He frowned, “I just can’t turn my back on this.”

He looked back up at Queen, “And you’re the only one I know and trust who’d go all in with me to get some goddamn answers.” He smiled at Queen, “Thanks for comin’, Billy.”

Queen huffed a soft laugh at it not being legal, “I hope it’s something good. So we’re gonna need some IDs and shit. So you gonna go in FBI with this Statey but we go in poking around Blackriver as a couple of private dicks.”

He grinned as he dumped sugar into the black coffee, “I can dig that. And it ain’t no thing, you know I’m here for you. Free time always gets me in trouble anyway. Better I get into trouble with you than on my own.”

He sniffed and pinched his nose then stirred the coffee before looking to see if they had creamer on the table. “Anyway, this business with the Russians and these backwater Nazis, you still gonna be messing with them, we might maybe think about going in on their level. I can’t play a Russian but I got the other shit down. What’ll be tough I think is the sheriff’s department. You think any would recognize you?”

Donnelley worked his jaw and shrugged, “We just gotta maintain good tradecraft. Change our appearances when we get into Blackriver.” Donnelley scratched at his beard, “We can only change so much, so we’ll have to show up sparingly around those parts.”

“A big fuckin’ firefight in the middle of town can get a man recognized with the Sheriff Department.” Donnelley clucked his tongue, “I never learned how they knew we’d be comin’ that time. But I’d be willin’ to bet my left nut that Sergeant McCune in the State Police knows somethin’ about that.”

“We’ll have to see how he’s doin’ sometime while we’re there in good West Virgie. Got some questions. Mainly why Detective Roy warned me about askin’ things about the old families in West Virginia.” He snorted, sipping at his coffee again, “This is completely off the books. I have my Company friends helpin’ me a bit on this, but nobody can know we’re doin’ this. Not Foster, not Poker, not anyone.”

“We’re goin’ to be flyin’ under the radar and if we get popped, there’s no one helpin’ us.” Donnelley turned dead serious as he looked across at Queen, “Last chance.”

Queen nodded slowly, his grin fading under his beard as he listened. He met Tex here without a second thought, he stayed fighting this fight that was slowly breaking him down because he could not leave him. Sometimes that’s all a person had to fight for anymore was those that meant more to him than life and he had very few of those people that he loved that much. He saw the waitress heading their way and said, “It ain’t fun if we ain’t risking it all.”

It was bravado he knew and waited until the pancakes were in front of them and he had put away a piece of bacon before he added, “I know what you’re saying, brother. We’re on our own but I’d not want anyone else to put my ass on the line for. I want to find these fucks behind it all, I know you want justice for the girl, Maria. And God knows how many others like her and those that could end up in the same place. I suspect if we find out who’s behind the bullshit in West Virginia we get a lot closer to finding out who put the hit on us.”

“And a lot closer to puttin’ a fuckin’ bullet in his face.” Donnelley muttered, his latest plate of pancakes in front of him now, “Let’s get some food in us and hit the road. Hopefully my Indian can keep up with your big ol’ Harley.”

>0600...///

Breakfast was good, filled with small talk and laughs while reminiscing about old times. About Amsterdam, about Mexico, about Florida and Queen’s mother taking them in and nursing them back to health after a big bender of cocaine, tequila, and hookers. They paid in cash, like they’d be doing for a while on this extracurricular rogue op the two were running. They were outside now, Donnelley sitting on his bike with a burning American Spirit between his lips. He looked Queen over in his clothes and how they fit him, how he looked like a wild outlaw biker. He averted his eyes at the last second, reminding himself that he and Laine were more official.

The two of them alone with no one else around, the reminiscing about their best of times together stoked some coals in him. Stoked something that would always be there for Billy Patrick, the only man he could say he ever had that specific type of fondness for. So long as he was the only person who knew the truth about his sexuality, and took part in it with him, there would be a bond between them. Accomplices to the things they did to and with each other where no one could see. The parking lot was barren besides the two of them.

“You come from somewhere classified? I know you DEA boys don’t like us Company men knowin’ things about y’all’s antics.” He smirked at Queen, ashing his cigarette and taking another draw.

Standing in the parking lot, Queen smoked one of his Kools and watched the sky grow lighter in the east, the sun rising behind distant hills. He caught Donnelley looking away from him and grinned around the smoldering menthol. The case aside, it was nice to be away from THUNDER and UMBRA and just be with Donnelley on their bikes and ready to go on some clandestine adventure. The definition of their relationship, clandestine adventure. He snorted a laugh and blew out a stream of smoke as he asked about where he had been. Another clandestine adventure thought not the same.

Queen thought of Easy, how quick it had been to pick up the lost threads of their friendship and how it was so simple to pick it back up and relive the lie, basking in affectionate return. He took a drag and glanced at Donnelley, “Nah that’s just overseas, getting all up in our narco business.”

He chuckled then shrugged, “I was visiting some friends, uh...you know those tattoos I got from my undercover days that I’ve never got covered?”

Queen gave him a sheepish grin then gestured at the double H painted in fiery font on the gas tank and the 1% diamond decal centered on the fender. “Maybe I didn’t quite sever those bonds like I should have.”

Donnelley chuckled and nodded, lifting up his shirt to show the THUNDER unit insignia still emblazoned on his ribs, “Some bonds are too hard to.” He dropped the shirt back and smoothed the fabric with a palm, “Not many people I can call friends in this world, man, but the ones I can…”

He took a drag and blew it through his nostrils, shrugging, “I’d kill and die for every one.” He snorted, “Think I proved that last one by now.”

Queen grinned at the unit tattoo and laughed, “Who was the asshole that tattooed that on you?”

His sea colored eyes twinkled at the memory of his own handiwork and the official bringing in of Tex to the THUNDER pack. “I get that,” he agreed, his expression wistful. “It’s like a family, a big fucking drunk violent one but we all had each other’s back. I had theirs…”

Queen grimaced and then sighed, “They’ll never know if I have my way. Let them think I been doing time in Oregon State Pen rather than what I really am.”

He finished his cigarette and picked the butt up after grinding it out against the asphalt. “Ain’t that true? I still can’t wrap my head around all that, not like I remember getting shot or being dead. Waking up a priest? I knew I’d be going to hell.”

Donnelley chuckled and nodded, looking away from Queen to the sunrise, not exactly willing to share how he woke up and what he did with his first few moments of new life, “Yeah,” Donnelley smirked, muttering, “Ain’t we all.”

Donnelley took his last drag and deposited the butt into his ziplock. He firmly kicked down his bike’s kick pedal and heard it roar, that beautiful throaty sound ringing loud in his ears and across the empty parking lot. He swung his leg over his bike and settled into the seat, giving the throttle a couple cranks to hear the engine growl. He turned his head and raised his voice to his good friend, “Time to punch the clock, Billy.”

Queen put his helmet on, a compromise for his mother but with his Raybans and shaggy hair, he made it look cool. His Harley Sportster rumbled to life and he revved the engine, glancing at Tex, “Let’s see if that old bastard can keep up.”

He flashed a grin at him, the playful barb at both the bike and the rider as he hit the gas, recalling briefly the rolling out of Hell’s Highest but it was just the two of them and no dramatic parade. Just two wild ass country boys heading towards the hills.

Donnelley flashed a middle finger at Queen’s back as he screeched out of the parking lot, just before Donnelley did the same and set his bike to work catching up to the newer Harley. He regretted letting Gracy hold onto his Triumph in Texas about now. He hadn’t pushed his old Indian like this in a while, but the old bastard held his own as he slowly came up to pace Queen’s Roadster, and the two of them raced into the distance toward Highway 64 into West Virginia...///

>CHARLESTON, WV
>SELF STORAGE FACILITY
>0900...///

Two riders were approaching the front gate of the self storage facility. Donnelley had paid for a garage big enough for their bikes when they retrieved the vehicle he had gotten Smitty to poke around his contacts for. Police auctions were always a welcome resource. Donnelley cut his Indian’s engine outside the garage and opened the door to reveal a 2015 Ford Taurus SHO in gun metal gray, kitted out with an unmarked police package. He retrieved the keys from inside the wheel well and slapped the hood, “How’s this for low key? Responsible four-door sedan with tac gear stowed in the back and 365 horses under the hood.”

“Sounds like we’re responsible upstanding badge wielding citizens,” Queen snorted, “I wonder whatever happened to that piece of shit Camaro, I hope it got a good home.”

He brushed hand over his shoulder length hair and looked at Donnelley, “Well, we got the car. I reckon we’re gonna have to look a little more responsible?”

Queen gave his beard a tug, he had been growing it since he knew he was going to West Virginia in the first place. “I reckon if I’m gonna look any kinda official I should clean up. Been rolling with dirty white boys too long.”

He winked at Tex and gave him a lascivious smile over the hood of the car. Donnelley smirked as Queen smiled at him, running a hand over his own beard as he nodded, “At least trim it back to a respectable length so we don’t look like a couple of Hells Angels.” Donnelley shrugged, “I am goin’ to miss lookin’ like a dirty white boy though. We’ll keep the changes subtle for when we go back to that set of Deliverance, fuckin’ Blackriver.”

Donnelley unlocked the car and started it, rolling it slowly out of the garage and into the lot so they could stash their bikes inside and not have to worry about them. He rolled down the passenger window, smirking at Queen, “Get in, fucker, we’re goin’ rogue.”

After stashing his bike, Queen grabbed his backpack and tossed it in the back, then hopped into the passenger seat. “Daddy drivin’ today?”

He chuckled and snapped the shoulder belt on and sat back in the Taurus, “I feel like you should be taking me to Little League.”

“Oh, I’ll be takin’ you to school in a second.” Donnelley muttered, leaving that on the air for Queen to ponder over its meaning as he stashed his bike next to Queen’s and shut the door on the garage. He got back in and set them towards the front gate and then past it. The rural backroad was empty this time in the morning, and Donnelley smirked, placing his aviators over his eyes. “Gon’ learn today, son.”

They merged onto the road and Donnelley took it slow for a minute before he knew it was clear, no State Patrol cars hiding in the bushes. There was a long, straight portion of the road with only trees lining it and Donnelley lead-footed the pedal, the engine jumping to life and screaming down the road, air whooping in through the open windows as their backs were pressed into their seats. Donnelley let out a mad shriek of laughter and his best rebel yell as they careened like lightning down the country backroad.

“Promise?” Queen quipped then sat back as they left the city behind. Once they touched the open stretch of highway, the car shot forward and he grabbed at the door where the window vanished inside it.

“Hooo-ly shit!”

Queen laughed and swore, the horse power hidden in the bland suburban car was a hell of a surprise. The mad rush of speed, the trees whipping by in a green blur left his heart pounding and once they slowed, he had to reach down to adjust himself in his jeans.

“Goddamn,” he breathed out, “That’s a sleeper. Shit. I hate to say it, but this bad boy picked up faster than the Camaro.”

“Shoo’, you think Tex likes drivin’ slow?” Donnelley put a hand on Queen’s thigh, the feeling of fast driving and faster living coming back after all this time spent away. He moved his hand away from Queen’s thigh and then cleared his throat, suddenly taken aback by his own behavior. He covered it with a smirk, “This baby’s got a whole shitload of torque and a shitload of horsepower. I like ‘em fast.”

“I know Tex don’t drive slow,” Queen said, lifting his eyebrows for emphasis and glanced at Donnelley when he gripped his thigh for a moment, making him shift in his seat even as Tex withdrew his hand. “You like ‘em hard and fast.”

He grinned crookedly at the suggestion but kept the conversation on the car, “I’m slackin’, I didn’t know about these things. Good pick. We’ll out run the fuzz anyday.”

“Or run down anybody tryin’ to split.” Donnelley grinned, “Goddamn, I want one of these for myself now. Bronco’s a bit too top-heavy for takin’ corners.”

“First things first, let’s get dressed at the motel and then visit Detective Roy. We don’t exactly cut the image of investigators right now,” Donnelley eyed Queen’s Skynyrd shirt and his own black tee with ripped jeans and denim vest, “Just a few questions, in and out. We get trimmed up and see what else we can do if she can give us some leads I ain’t already got.”

He tapped his temple, “Gary Bruster, Hubert O’Grady, and Clem Jackson.” He recited, “Associates of our old friend Jay Mitterick, drug pushers and gunrunners. We need to find a way in with them if we want to find out where the fuckin’ Midazolam and Propofol came from. They’d be the biggest suppliers with a link to the Bratva.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Queen said, “I got some files on those fucks in my laptop. We can go over it at the motel room before meeting Roy.”

He glanced at the rearview mirror and brushed his hand over his beard, “So, you do me and I do you?”

Queen grinned a little at the innuendo, flicking a glance at Tex. He had no trimmer on him but he was willing to bet his right nut that Donnelley had come prepared for tradecraft including disguising their appearances.

Donnelley licked his teeth as he grinned at Queen’s sense of humor. He could tell it’d be hard not to lapse into old habits if he was already grabbing Queen’s thigh. He took a breath, feeling the growing sensation inside of him when Queen looked at him like that, like a Pavlovian response to each other. “Yeah, I’ll do you and you’ll do me.” He smirked, “You know what they say about a sharp-dressed man.”

Soon enough, they were on the doorstep of Charleston. A city Donnelley hadn’t seen in a bit on account of completely avoiding West Virginia on his way to his office at Langley. It was one part not being seen anywhere he’d be recognized, and just not having a taste for tainted mountain air after everything he’d been through there. Thankfully, they didn’t have to go too deep into the city, their little Motel 6 off in the outskirts where they could cut and run and be away at a moment’s notice and where nobody looked too long at new faces. They checked in at the front desk, a single room for the two of them.

Donnelley closed the door behind them as they piled their luggage in a corner, or at least whatever luggage they could reasonably be seen with. The long guns would stay in the trunk for the time being, but he kept his FN close at his hip. He went to laying out the pieces of a crisp Fed suit, “So, what kinda black magic you got for me in that laptop of yours?”

Queen noticed the suit and quirked his lips, “I hope there’s an iron, I kinda stuffed mine into my bag. I love motorcycles but storage space.”

He took out the slacks and blazer, shaking them out and hunted down the fold out ironing board and cheap iron that would take forever to heat up. Turning it on, he glanced over to Donnelley. “You really wanna know what I got on my laptop?”

With a snicker he walked behind him and slapped his ass like they were in a locker room, “You’ve seen all the good stuff anyway.”

Donnelley bit his lip and looked over his shoulder to Queen’s way, watching his own ass as he walked to the closet, “Best not be showin’ some of our pictures on there around, motherfucker.”

Queen grabbed the laptop bag and dropped down onto one of the beds and removed the sleek little Asus computer and turned it on to wait for it to boot up and balanced it on his knee as he pulled up the files. “Before we had to high tail it out of there I ran some checks through the federal arrest records and a friend of mine on the OCDETF dug into some of his Russian files and found some thick borscht.”

He took the laptop and set it on the table so Donnelley could read for himself as Queen ironed his suit and dress shirt. It was charcoal gray, nearly black and simple, nothing as stylish as his Versaci but no one would believe an investigator could afford that. So Nordstrom would do, at least he rarely had to tailor things to fit his lean body.

Donnelley finished putting on his black slacks, albeit nothing else. He was much too transfixed on the computer screen and what information it held for him. He reached behind him and slipped the black button-up over his arms and set to buttoning the shirt as he read, “You know, I ain’t too surprised by this shit. All of ‘em are verified Brotherhood, or Brotherhood affiliates. Mister Bruster, nicknamed Sly, is or was part of the Wolves of Erik.” Donnelley snorted, “White Supremacist hate group. I ever tell you all the times me and my little crew out of Dalhart got our knuckles busted on Nazi skulls out in Dallas?”

“Anyways, fucker got picked up on drug charges. Big ones. Did Fed time and came back very well connected. Namely Big Clem Jackson and Hubert ‘Clovers’ O’Grady, both AB. I bet they set Sly up with Jay.” Donnelley nodded, clucking his tongue and then barked out a laugh, “Look at this fuckin’ nerd.”

Donnelley stepped aside so Queen could see the screen. Gary Bruster looked like an office accountant, thick-rimmed glasses and clean-shaven face, “Apparently, he’s been keepin’ clean unless these ain’t the most recent records… oh, nope,” Donnelley snorted, “Says here he’s part of the Appalachian Sons Club.”

Donnelley pulled out his phone and searched up the club on Google, his brows raising when he not only found a Facebook page, but an Instagram page as well. He pulled up the Facebook, “Appalachian Sons Club, organization that advocates for the preservation of conservative American values in the region commonly known as Appalachia. Several fundraisers, charity events, and more.” Donnelley recited as he scrolled through the pictures and found quite a fair few of them with Gary Bruster in them, “We are proud to welcome our newest Son and Brother, Gary Bruster. He is newly reformed and has been helping the West Virginia branch grow through several outreach programs and rallies. Thank you for the sizable donation, Gary Bruster.”

“Lots of money in that Club. And transparent as all fuck.” Donnelley nodded, “Won’t be too hard to find this Gary Bruster. Says they’ve got an actual office in Clarksburg.”

Queen worked the iron over the suit as he listened, it had been awhile since he read the files but it started to filter back through the haze of post Alaska pills and powder. “Sounds about right, all those fuckwads stick together in and out of prison. Nothing unites people like fear and hate, right?”

He shook his head, working the iron vigorously over a stubborn crease in the wrong place. His expression lightened and he nodded, “Yep you told me, I would have loved to have seen that. Little Tex and his boys rockin’ some skinheads. Long haired and didn’t you say you wore makeup?”

Queen chuckled fondly then shook his head, “Hell you saw my highschool pictures my mom has. Pretty much a clean cut redneck looking jock back then.You probably would have tried to fight me.”

He held his arms up, the bright tattoos flashing as he laughed, “Thank god that was a phase. Ain't it funny...we were both probably rebelling against what our parents expected. ‘Course I might have looked square, but I was still sucking dick and banging pussy.”

He finished the pants and laid them over a chair and went to work on the shirt, “But you’re right, we can find that Sons of Appalachia real quick. Maybe we give Bruster the old shake down after we visit this Roy. And you sure he’s still reliable?”

“She. Maryanne Roy.” Donnelley smirked at Queen and his reminiscing on his younger days. The two of them had their different ways of rebelling at that age, but they still had that little secret rattling around in their back pockets, “And I don’t know, maybe I’d be smitten with young Billy.”

He chuckled, knowing he shouldn’t be enticing Queen like that now that he and Laine were that deep into a relationship with each other. He loved her, and he made a promise to himself and to her when he told her he loved her. His heart was strong, but his flesh and skin were sinful, the past knew. He sighed, “Ain’t it somethin’ though. Sometimes I ask myself if young Donnelley would approve of the things I’ve done and the country I’ve done it for.” He shook his head, softly chuckling, “But, I don’t think I’d be able to get anythin’ through that hard fuckin’ head of his.”

“She?” he raised his brow but was quickly distracted at what Donnelly said after. Queen grinned, the devilish gleam in his pale eyes sparking. “Fight me then fuck me.”

He turned off the iron and went over to lay his hands on Donnelley’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze, “Sure, I’d have been smitten, too. We would have been an even odder couple back then.”

Queen let go and sighed, “Yeah, I bet. I don’t think any of us would imagine ourselves where we are today. Or having done things...like we have.”

He tugged his t-shirt up, pausing halfway in thought, “But I think our younger selves would be proud we at least look cool doing it.”

Laughing, he pulled the shirt off and unzipped his jeans, “I think I’m gonna have a shower. Wanna shave me before?”

The mischief was there still in his face when he indicated his beard instead of his open jeans.

Donnelley’s eyes roamed from Queen’s face down to his exposed, flat stomach, the abdominal muscles standing out like bricks with the lack of fat. Even Donnelley had put on some fat in the pursuit of muscle mass he’d gotten, but it only served to fill his sleeves. He wanted to reach out and touch Queen, run his fingers down his stomach and grab him by his manhood, but that was a line he just couldn’t cross. Flirting and innuendo was one thing, actually following through with what he wanted was another. Even with all the history between them. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, let’s do it now.” He said, “You can get me before I shower after you.”

>WV STATE PATROL STATION
>CHARLESTON
>1100…///

The Ford Taurus rolled into the parking lot of the Station, the sight of the two bearded Fed lookalikes turning heads of beat cops and detectives standing around and talking on their breaks. Donnelley and Queen dismounted, shutting their doors, and Donnelley noted some of the looks they were getting from behind his aviators, “You’d think they’d never seen two dudes swingin’ their fake Fed dicks through the front door before.”

Donnelley walked in unheeding of the curious glances he and Queen got, up until they were at the front desk, “I’m here to see Detective Roy, I called ahead.”

“Okay, let me-“

“I know where her office is.” Donnelley cut the young officer off and pushed off from the desk and made his way to Roy. When they found her office, she’d already had three piping hot mugs of shitty drip coffee.

“Oh, you know just how to make a girl feel at home.” Donnelley smirked, taking his aviators off and hanging them on his collar, “How are you, Detective?”

“I was doing better before you showed up again.” Roy smirked, “Haven’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Was there not another team taking over the case in my absence?” Donnelley was drained of all humor at his question, his suspicions needing to be answered. Roy shook her head, and Donnelley growled out a sigh, “Alright then, business as usual. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Er, well, first,” Donnelley chuckled, gesturing to Queen, “This is my partner, Special Agent Bradley Phillips. I’m showin’ him the ropes on this case, he’s a new face for the Bureau.”

“Well,” Roy gave Queen a good, long once over, “Ain’t you easy on the eyes.”

Roy stood and offered her hand out for a shake, “Detective Maryanne Roy. How are you, Special Agent Phillips?”

Queen had his hair slicked back, it still was probably too long for a proper FBI agent but at least it was tamed and his beard trimmed closer to the skin and combed. He adjusted the Hugo Boss jacket and smoothed the sleeves to tug them down over the tops of his tattooed hands and raised his eyebrow at Donnelley as they entered the office.

Roy was not what he had expected, a middle thirties blonde with a no nonsense air about her and large brown eyes. She wore little makeup and looked like she slept too little and worked too much but had naturally attractive features. When Donnelley introduced him he gave her a nod, silently cursing Tex for the name Brad. What a douche name.

At her observation, Queen grinned, his eyes gleaming with interest. He stood to take her offered hand, the lettering on his skin now on display. He brushed his thumb lightly against her after the shake, just a subtle movement of less than professional touch. ““Might I say the same to you, Detective.” He smoothed his jacket, unbuttoning it to sit back down. “I’m doing very well, thank you. Learning a lot from this man right here.”

He turned and gave Donnelley a nod, all seriousness as he covered the desire to tease. Queen looked back at her, his sea colored eyes lingering on her lips until he had to remind himself it was supposed to be a real button down Fed.

Roy sat back down in her office chair and folded her hands in her lap, “Well, I got coffee ready for you too. I didn’t know how you took it, so I left it black.”

“Usually take mine with whiskey.” Donnelley joked, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I do too, just can’t be drinking around these fools here. Anyway, you said you had a question for me?” Roy quirked a brow, all business now.

“Yeah,” Donnelley pulled out his phone and made sure not to show his entire camera roll. There were pictures in there nobody but him and Laine should ever see. He finally found the picture he’d taken in Warden McKenna’s office and showed it to Roy, “You know some of these people in here?”

Roy’s eyes studied the faces in the picture, going over them a fair few times before she sat back and fixed Donnelley with a stare. She shook her head, “I like you Donnelley. A lot. I can tell you’re doing everything you can for this case,” Roy paused, “But there’s things here that even a Fed like you should be careful with.”

Donnelley fixed Roy with his own stare, “That a threat?”

“A warning.” Roy said. She pointed to his phone, “It’s Sheriff MacOnie. The suit in that picture is the County Prosecutor, his brother, Killian MacOnie. Then there’s Sergeant McCune.”

“I remember I asked you last time, what Sergeant McCune’s deal was. You remember that?” Donnelley pressed, knowing he’d struck a nerve, and maybe if he kept pushing she’d slip something in there.

“I remember I told you to pump the brakes.”

“I can do a lot, but I can’t do that. You know where Warden McKenna is now?” Donnelley asked.

“Retired.” Roy answered.

“Okay, where?”

“The cemetery. Killed. Hit-and-run a day before his flight out of state was scheduled.” Roy shrugged, “Open and shut case. I opened it, they shut it.”

“Who’re they?” Donnelley’s eyes narrowed.

“Some suits. Listen, I’m not going to talk about this. Not here.” Roy’s demeanor grew darker, she shook her head, “Just going to do my job, clock out, go home. And take my coffee with whiskey.”

Donnelley nodded along, though the look on his face told the three of them in the room that he wasn’t happy with Roy’s answer. “Okay.” But it wasn’t, “What can you tell me about Gary Bruster, ex-Wolves of Erik one-percenter, now he’s got his big boy button-up and slacks on with the Appalachian Sons Club. What’s their story?”

“Good ol’ boys club. Not-so-subtle white supremacy. Par for the course here in Dixie.” Roy snorted, “Why do you need Gary?”

“Hoping he can put us on the right track with these people selling drugs. Know where he lives?” Donnelley asked.

Roy booted up her computer and began typing, clicking on whatever she had to on her screen neither he or Queen could see, “Here in Charleston. Runs his own little Appalachian Sons office downtown.” Roy nodded, “I’m sure you can book a meeting with him. He likes his outreach, showing new folk what they can accomplish by realizing they’re white or something.”

“Two of you should be able to waltz right in.” Roy chuckled.

Donnelley stood and smiled to Roy, “Thank you. I’ll remember what you said about being careful.”

“Please do.” Roy sighed heavily, rubbing at her face, “That it?”

“Yep. Now I’m off to kick the hornet’s nest.” Donnelley tapped his forehead in a quick salute.

>…///

Donnelley shut his door and just sat there in the driver seat for a moment before scoffing, “Hit-and-run. Some suits.” Donnelley chuckled exasperated, starting the car, “You believe this shit?”

Queen shook his head then nodded, “I believe it. I believe they made it look like that, good way to get rid of someone that might talk. Those suits though, you think they’re part of our club?”

He glanced over at the closed door and said, “Maybe I see if she wants to meet for coffee and whiskey. Maybe she might be more pliable and willing to talk outside the office. You know, relaxed.”

Donnelley depressed the gas pedal and took them out of the parking lot and the disappointment of that interview. He waited a moment, driving down the streets until they were stopped at a red light, “Maybe, maybe, maybe.” Donnelley mouthed a swear under his breath, “You can try. Let’s go talk to Gary first. See if our good ol’ boys have a habit of killing former wardens.”

After the light turned green and they were off down the road again, he snorted, “You just want some pussy with a badge.” Donnelley chuckled.

Queen snorted and grinned, “Well, hell I mean you know...uh, maybe. I think she’s cute, nice lips and pretty eyes plus she knows things. Things I bet she wants to tell but she’s afraid.”

He glanced out the window after the near slip and rapped his knuckle against it. “But yeah, let’s go see Gary Goebels and see if he’ll get chatty. Wanna play bad cop and less bad cop?”

“Oh, boy, do I.” Donnelley grinned with the throaty growl of the engine as he accelerated down the road.

Following the GPS, it didn’t take long to find Gary Bruster’s office. Donnelley parked in one of the spaces available on the side of the street, opening his door and stepping into the sidewalk. He looked from the big ‘Appalachian Sons Club’ sign proudly displayed on the front of the little office space and then to Queen, “How we goin’ to do this?” He asked, “Figure you’re a better talker than me, loosen him up. Play along with the white trash master race bullshit or somethin’.”

“Or we just play the Fed role straight. We got dirt on his old friends, lump him in with them and he’ll squeal like a pig.” Donnelley grinned.

Queen glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, “Oh you do?”

He left it that as much as he loved sweet gossip they had a job to do. “Well, I’d go in there as some poor white man who lost his job because of Affirmative Action or because some Mexican did it cheaper. Whatever bullshit they like to blame. If I was cultivating him over time but time ain’t something we got. I say we go in as investigators but play along with his shit, lull him into a sense of security then hit him with it. If we go in guns blazing he’s liable to just clam up, he knows what happens with people that become liabilities.”

Queen thought it over, “Maybe we play along, get him out of the office. Take him somewhere quiet.”

He looked at Donnelley for a long moment, “Did you bring your bag?”

Queen paused and breathed out a rough chuckle and drummed his fingers against the door frame, “Jesus, I’m talking like Poker. Yeah, we’ll do it your way. Lie and offer him immunity, protection, whatever will buy his cooperation.”

“I ain’t sayin’ I don’t like that idea.” Donnelley smirked at Queen, looking at him sidelong, “Let’s play like we’re a couple of good ol’ boys here to discuss a donation to their… charity, or whatever the fuck.”

“The rest’ll come natural.” Donnelley walked forward and grabbed hold of the office door, pulling it open and gesturing him in first, “You enter, you look friendlier.”

As Queen stepped through, Donnelley followed. What greeted them was a tiny waiting room, fake plants in the corners and gray furniture among white walls and carpet. There was a Keurig on a table as well as a water cooler, and across from that was an empty receptionist desk. It looked more like a high end stylist’s place more than a den of thinly veiled racist sentiment. This was how they legitimized, Donnelley thought, let the friendly faces do the marketing and sweet talking. And when they buried themselves into local governments like ticks, there weren’t any stopping the less friendly faces from whipping up an American Kristallnacht. He turned his lip up in contentment at this place.

There was a bell with a note next to it, ‘ring for service.’ Donnelley did just that, and a few moments later, the receptionist appeared from out behind a hallway as she smoothed her skirt down. Didn’t do anything to fix her hair though, and Donnelley knew then what kind of man Gary Bruster was.

“Hi, can I help you gentlemen?” The receptionist chirped, a blue eyed brunette with pretty and delicate features, skin almost like porcelain and nails done up.

Queen glanced at him with a sly smile and entered the door, making an observation of the office as they waited on the receptionist. She was pretty as expected, what buttered a red blooded man’s bun like an example of Aryan womanhood. He smiled slightly, giving her a once over but held her eyes, resisting the cleavage she was showing in the scoop neck blouse.

“My buddy and I are in town on some business and we’re looking into your organization,” he said, reaching up to brush his trimmed beard, ‘We’re looking into donating and speaking to Mr. Bruster, I believe his name was? We’re interested in the organization as we both come from states where we have a large amount of like minded individuals facing the same fight. Would he be available now?”

“Oh, I’ll have to check,” The receptionist beamed, “He does love seeing like-minded people, but there’s just so much of them, you know? He’s got a busy schedule.”

“Oh, we understand. We’ve got a schedule of our own to keep, so hopefully he’s got something today.” Donnelley smiled.

“Oh, of course, of course. It looks like the last slot today is in an hour, but maybe if he sees your contributions as particularly enticing he may invite you for dinner!” The receptionist giggled, “He’s fond of showing new friends just how well our white, conservative community is still doing.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Donnelley replied, mouth full of unappreciated sarcasm. “Well, we’ll be more than happy waiting for him.”

The door opened and two men stepped in, one of them broad and big enough to give Ghost a run for his money. The other one had a face gaunt with age, and even from under his sunglasses, Donnelley could tell his gaze was boring into the two of them, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you two before.” A slight Russian accent buried in his words that one could’ve missed, “I am Fedor, this is Viktor.”

“Oh,” Donnelley seemed almost taken aback, and had it not been for the weight of his Glock drop gun at his waist, he’d have been more nervous, “Hello, gentleman. My name is Christian O’Neill, and this is my business partner… Franklin.”

Donnelley offered his hand out with a small, friendly smile, but Fedor simply stared impassively, “Franklin…?” He asked, expectantly.

“Lee,” Queen responded in his best Virginia drawl, “Franklin Lee, nice to meet y’all.”

Queen did not offer his hand, flexing his fingers so the tattoos on his fingers flashed and neck ink belied the well groomed appearance. He looked the pair over, the Russian accent sending a warning jolt through him. So soon and so blatant, he thought though it did not show on his pleasant expression. “How y’all enjoying West Virginia? Even I gotta admit the scenery here is something special.”

It was small talk but it kept him from staring too hard at the gaunt man with sunglasses though the big Viktor was more the physical threat. “Why we went over that bridge on the New River Gorge, hell of a view. A wonder of American engineering.”

The accent he used had a touch of the tidewater drawl but not enough to sound like he was putting on airs but enough to show he was not from the mountains, at least originally. He put his hands on his narrow hips, making a show of glancing over at the receptionist. “Truly wonderful views.”

“Ain’t they?” The receptionist beamed up from her computer, “Oh, gentlemen, Gary is ready to see you!”

“Thank you.” Fedor did not smile at the receptionist, though his tone seemed like it was as pleasant as it ever got, “I hope you two have a nice day. I’ll remember those names, Misters Lee and O’Neill.”

Donnelley nodded to Fedor as he passed, and having Viktor walk past them was like watching a shark drift just an arm’s length past. He wondered for a bit how Ghost would take the man apart, if he could. The two disappeared behind the hallway and the sound of Gary greeting them at his office door could be heard. He turned to Queen, nodding outside, “Let’s find a place to while the time away, Mister Lee.”

“Laury’s Restaurant on MacCorkle is a great place. One of Mister Bruster’s favorites!” The receptionist said, “I’m sorry, you two probably already know the place, but I went there just yesterday. French cuisine, and it’s so quaint.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll be sure to keep that one in mind.” Donnelley smiled and then headed for the door. He leaned on the reception desk and slid one of many fake business cards that were tied to one of the Program’s shell companies over to her before turning for the door, “Number’s there, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” Queen said as he followed Donnelley out the door. He was already hunting in his blazer for his Kools as he went to the car.

Once he and Queen were inside the car, Donnelley blew out a breath that puffed his cheeks out, “Did you see that fucker and his giant-ass Igor?”

Donnelley snorted, “Should’ve taken a picture and sent it to Ghost.”

“Can’t let those racists see me smoking menthols,” Queen said as he lit a cigarette then grinned, “I bet Ghost would growl at it like a dog seeing its reflection.”

“Probably book a flight right then to come flex his nuts.” Donnelley snorted, the anxiety of the hasty encounter still dissipating, “Can’t take that fucker anywhere. Remember that time with the drunk Armenians at the Bellagio?”

Donnelley shook his head, “Weren’t even talkin’ to us. Next thing we know there’s three unconscious fat old cologne soaked bastards with broken orbitals and I got a broken nose and bruised knuckles.” Donnelley found his cigarettes and lit one, “Still got the scars when I punched a car window tryin’ to get that fucker in the face. Good times.”

Queen laughed at the memory, it was a haze of cocaine and overpriced champagne but then all of their trips to Vegas with Ghost were recalled through that lens. “Fuck those Armenians and their unibrows.”

He flicked the ash out the half rolled down window and said, “He’s there now, Ghost that is. Took his leave to his town. Poor bastards don’t have us as a buffer.”

Queen huffed a chuckle, “Remember the last time we were there? Goddamn triple teamed that escort, she was a trooper. She earned that extra tip.”

“Made her airtight.” Donnelley chuckled, “Almost kinda felt bad. Almost.”

Donnelley pressed the start button on their car and paused, “I’m sure we’ll be very charming for Mister Bruster the White Nationalist, you think we should check out that French place or wait for him to inevitably extend the invitation to us two handsome representatives of… uh,” Donnelley reached down into his blazer’s inner pocket and pulled free one of the business cards, “Representatives of VISCO, Virginia Intelligence Solutions Company.”

He took a card and looked at it, testing the thickness of the stock and asked, “Is that ‘Silian Rail’?”

Queen grinned a little, tapping his finger on the fonts and then tucked the card into his front pocket. “I think we should just hang out, I’d like to see these Russians when they leave.”

He scanned the parking lot to guess which car was theirs. “Maybe after, I don’t want this guy to squirm away if he senses anything off.”

“Good thinking.” Donnelley was scanning the street too, looking for any other personal protection detail for Fedor that seemed to be watching for anything, and finding none, “Looks like Viktor is Fedor’s only PPD. Makes it easy for us.”

Donnelley left the parking space and circled the block, paying special attention to any cars that seemed to be following them. At one point, he went around a roundabout twice only to turn back down the road they’d just come from. He went back to the street Gary Bruster’s office was on, parking in a space further down the street from his front door. “Should be a camera in the back. Snap some when they come out.”

“Yessir,” Queen acknowledged as he twisted in his seat and turned around, reaching back for the camera in its soft case and found it wedged under the seat. With a grunt he grabbed the strap and pulled it up, almost elbowing Donnelley in the head as he turned back to drop into his seat. “Whoops, almost got you there.”

He removed the camera and played with it until he felt comfortable, snapping a few shots of the building and the cars, zooming on their plates. Queen turned and put the camera on Donnelley, “Say dick cheese!”

Donnelley laughed and took another drag of his cigarette, giving Queen his middle finger. It’d be another hour of surveillance on Bruster’s office, but by far not the longest time he and Queen had spent casing someone and their place before they went in and did their thing. Memories of Johannesburg in South Africa and El Paso, Texas came to mind.

“You know, it’s a federal offense to photograph me.” Donnelley smirked, “Of course for a couple hundred bucks and a handy…”

He snorted, nodding down the street to Bruster’s office, “Just keep it trained down there, you swamp chomp-wrasslin’ motherfucker.”

>1HR LATER…///

Like most times spent surveilling a target or their known associates, Queen and Donnelley passed the time with reminiscing, or shit-talking, or what they’d do with their time off. Mostly a combination of all three, and Donnelley was mid-laugh and trying not to get piss all over his pant legs while relieving himself into a water jug when the door of Bruster’s office opened and out stepped Fedor and his big bodyguard, Viktor.

Donnelley’s attention snapped to the two and he urged Queen, “Stop lookin’ at my hog and get those motherfuckers in frame, quick.” Donnelley said, twisting the cap of the jug back on and putting himself away, “Glamor shots, motherfucker, show us your best angle.”

“I told you let me hold it -” Queen started to joke but his attention was quickly diverted and he pulled up the camera, sinking down to get a better angle out the window. The settings at least were still in place for that distance and he braced his elbows as he zoomed in to keep it steady. “Fuck this fuckers sunglasses,” he muttered taking several shots of Fedor. “Dracula looking ass.”

He shifted to take a few of Fedor, catching a clean profile and three quarter view when he turned to open the car door. Once they were in, the temptation to follow was strong and he snapped one last photo of the rear of the vehicle and the license plate. “Wonder where they’ll be off to now?”

Queen set the camera in his lap and went back through the photos, there were some clean decent images and he saved them.

“Given if they didn’t give us their own aliases, we can maybe look them up later. Not many Russians walkin’ around Charleston, I’d think.” Donnelley shook his head, eyes tracking the car as it rolled off down the road and then disappeared with a left turn, “Fucker’s got a bodyguard. Gotta be important, and he just implicated at least Bruster, if not all the fuckin’ West Virginia Appalachian Sons Club with colluding with our best friends the Russians.”

“Whether it’s Nikolai Gorochev’s Bratva or the GRU, I can’t tell.” He clucked his tongue, “At this point, I’m startin’ to think they’re one and the same. Wouldn’t surprise me if the GRU were usin’ the Bratva to do their wetwork stateside.”

Donnelley’s phone began to buzz, and he answered, knowing it had to be that cheery receptionist. “Christian O’Neill, VISCO Intel.”

“Hello, Mister O’Neill! Mister Bruster is ready for you, but I’m afraid you won’t have the full hour. Some pressing business with some partners of his needs addressing,” the receptionist said, her voice the very essence of manufactured professional apology, “But Mister Bruster is very interested in a short meet and greet, plus a dinner meeting at a later time!”

“Well, lucky us! I’ll thank him in person, he won’t regret this. I believe our company can offer a lot to your organization.” Donnelley said through an equally manufactured smile and excitement. “We’ll be just a second, see you when we get there.”

“Sure thing, Mister O’Neill, buh-bye!” And Donnelley ended the call. He replaced his phone and rubbed his hands together, “Fuckin’ showtime. Let’s put on our winning smiles and placate this fuckin’ dick before I push sewing needles in his fingers in a basement.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re working together,” Queen agreed, “Too much of a coincidence they seem to be always up each other's asses coming after us.”

He slid out of the car and straightened his jacket with a quick snap. Queen ran his hand over his hair and glanced at Donnelley, “Let’s do it, my white brother. I’m just getting in character. They should be on their knees for our DNA, a ginger and blonde? Shit.”

Strolling forward he added, “I’m gonna let you take the lead but we should corroborate our stories. Ex military, of course. How long we been in business? How many employees we got? Where have we operated? How many times we’ve taken vacations to a Sandals resort on the company dime?”

“Former military. We’ll say the 90s. We’ll say, uh, eighteen-hundred,” Donnelley spoke as he followed Queen down the sidewalk, “Obviously we’ve seen time in the Mid East, DoD money’s damn good. South America, because god knows that place don’t have enough shitheads.”

He looked at Queen, “And vacations aplenty, the hell we look like, public servants? We’re contractors, baby, our dicks’re too big to not swing ‘em.” He whistled, facetiously spouting, “Goddamn, it’s a good day to be a white boy.”

Donnelley tugged on his jacket and smoothed his hair back, “Lucky for us, I’ve got the role of arrogant prick down pat.” Donnelley smirked sidelong at Queen, “You, you were born for it.”

He reached over and opened the door to Bruster’s office, “You first, buddy.”

Queen nodded at the details as he committed them to memory, then chuckled, “I like your arrogant prick.”

He flashed him a sly smile before shifting his expression to an earnest and very straight young white man trying to make America great again. Queen stepped through the door and smiled at the pretty receptionist but his focus was on the office door.

“Thanks, brother,” he said, resisting the urge for a cheeky grin. Queen stepped into the office and recognized the face from the photos. The office was neat and clean like the reception area, with minimalist decoration including framed photos of a smiling blonde wife and kids sitting on the porch where an American flag was mounted. A family man, even the dog was a blonde labrador.

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Bruster,” he said in the soft Virginian accent, “Heard a lot about you and your organization. Thanks for taking your time.”

“Of course, anything for upstanding Americans like you.” Gary Bruster smiled, the words and gesture making Donnelley’s skin crawl already, “I’m told that you two would like to make a donation and talk business.”

“Yes, sir. We believe VISCO has a few things that we can do for your organization.” Donnelley said, then placed his hand on the back of one of two chairs on their side of Bruster’s desk, “May I?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Donnelley sat down in the chair with a smile and a nod, “Anyway, like I was saying, VISCO has a few capabilities and services that you and your organization might be very interested in.”

“Do you now?” Gary Bruster pursed his lips and nodded, “What exactly is VISCO. I haven’t had time to research your company between my last meeting and now.”

“Right,” Donnelley said, “Well, Mister Lee and I are representatives out of the Virginia offices of VISCO, or Virginia Intelligence Solutions Company. Virginia Intel for short.”

“Now, since the early 90’s, VISCO has been fulfilling consultant positions, hands-on contract work, and more for the Department of Defense and the Department of Justice in conflict areas around the globe with the Army, the CIA, Homeland Security, and more.” Donnelley smiled, knowing authoritarians absolutely loved any mention of the military or law enforcement, “We also do a lot of bulk data analysis and business intelligence for entities within the Private sector, I’m talkin’ Microsoft, Apple, and the big boys like Goldman-Sachs.”

Donnelley winked at Bruster, who was curious with a big damn smile, before continuing, “And everyone is very pleased with our work. We haven’t lost a single contract in all of our years of operation.” Donnelley grinned, “Now, as for what we can do for you, we’ve got a lot of pull with a lot of people in DC, and even State and County level in some places.”

“We deal with public image manufacturing,” Donnelley began counting on his fingers, “Threat analysis, cybersecurity, and- my friend and I’s specialty- investigative services and interrogation.”

“Like your very own NSA and FBI rolled into one small package.” Donnelley spread his arms and sat back, “I’m sure you and yours would love that. And, I’d like to invite you out for dinner after your time here in the office today. I understand you have pressing matters to attend to on account of your last guests.”

Gary Bruster listened with rapt attention, surely thinking how all this could be too good to be true. It was, but he didn’t need to know that yet. At the mention of his last meeting, he made a subtle twitch of the face that Donnelley picked up on, before he sighed, “Yeah, those guys. You know, I want to keep this nonprofit as American as possible.” Gary shook his head and leaned back in his chair, “And those Russkies are cramping my goddamn style.”

“Russkies, huh?” Donnelley quirked a brow, “Our competition?”

“Only if you folk do mining too. They want a couple of our boys in public outreach to come rally their workers and uplift morale.” Gary shrugged, “American Dream and all that. Hard work and bootstraps. I’m all for it, except for when it comes to that shit. I’ve been in West Virginia all my life when I wasn’t with the Rangers.”

“A Ranger? Hot damn, I was with the Rangers back in the early-2000s.” Donnelley leaked a little bit of truth into the lie he’d spun about his persona and who he represented, “Always good to meet a fellow vet.”

“A fellow patriot. And like a patriot, I can’t disingenuously send some folks over to Blackriver to whip up some cheer for America when America let this happen to them.” Gary Bruster sighed and shook his head, “Bad taste. I’ve heard about Blackriver, been through at one point… anyhow! You boys got me rambling when I don’t have time to.”

“One last thing, you said mining?” Donnelley latched onto that.

“Yeah, Vera Corp Mineral & Rare Earth. Bought the MacOnie mines way back, they own almost all the land out there.” Gary shrugged, “Of course, I think somebody needs to tell them that land is still America.”

“I heard you though, and I’m impressed. If I may, I know a few good places around here we can sit and talk without a time limit.” Gary smiled, standing and sticking his hand out for a shake, “I’ve got your number, I’ll have Sally out there call you and set things up. Let’s hope for later tonight, but I can definitely promise sometime tomorrow.”

“Sounds amazin’, thank you for hearin’ us out, Mister Bruster.” Donnelley reached over and shook Gary’s hand, turning for the door. Donnelley waved his goodbyes at Sally the receptionist as he passed and they went straight for the car.

He shut the door and nodded, “I remember bein’ told that Sly Bruster was Jay’s top gun. Baddest shooter. Seems to have risen into a better position after you clipped Jay’s wings.” Donnelley snorted, “Doesn’t seem too sad his friend died of an overdose. Maybe this is what Jay was doin’, how he networked and washed his money, maybe.”

"I doubt he was broken up about it," Queen agreed, "I'm interested that fella just told us he doesn't like the Russians, now we know why. He's a patriot. Probably, the bratvas have established ways of washing money and likely getting some other locals mixed up in it. But what I'm really curious about is this Vera Corp. And what they're doing with the Russians, are they a Russian based company?"

As if to answer his own question, he took out his phone to Google them. After a few minutes he put his phone against his chest and turned to Donnelley, "You gonna love this. Guess who as of recently owns the Red Dog Mines in good ol' Noatak. They also got some mines on a bumfuck frozen island called Svalbard."

Queen made a drum roll by slapping his thighs, his phone sliding to his lap. "Vera Corp is a joint American and Russian owned conglomerate. It's...not much of a surprise."

He picked his phone back up and tapped the screen, then scrolled down. "Hey, what was that fucker's name? The head of the bratva operating around here."

“Nikolai Gorochev?” Donnelley answered.

"Huh, well the man listed as the owner shares that last name," Queen replied. "Ivgeniy Gorochev. What are the odds? Is that a common last name or just sharing DNA."

He went back to the browser and checked the last name. "Seems it's extremely rare, this particular spelling at least. It's a very good chance considering everything that they're related. Vor v zakone indeed."

“Well then.” Donnelley frowned, “I guess I know where we’re goin’ after havin’ dinner with our gracious host.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

The bedroom was small. Light filtered in through the slats of partially opened blinds, illuminating walls of faded and dingy paint, a twin bed with rumbled sheets and mens clothing strewn about a hard, packed down dirt red carpet that resembled cardboard.

The view shifted to a pair of men’s hands busily stuffing rifle magazines into a nondescript black backpack. Once the task was complete, the hands zipped up the bag.

In a rush of green and shadows, the surroundings had changed to a winding mountain road. The car navigating the road drove smoothly, there were few jostles as it drove past scenic trees and mountain views.

Up ahead was a sign, a simple wooden structure that read “Welcome to-” with the name of town or city strangely obscured from view. The words were blurred away, as though a hand had passed through wet paint and smeared the name away into obscurity.

The eerie silence of these disjointed images was suddenly broken by a gunshot.

>FAIRFIELD, VIRGINIA
>MOORE RESIDENCE
>03OCT2019
>1045…///

Ava jerked awake, sitting up straight with a gasp and grasping tightly onto the arms of her desk chair. She quickly looked around her home office, her heart beating in her chest as she looked for signs of a gunman or a bullet hole in her wall.

There was nothing. No shadowy figure in her doorway, no bullet holes in her wall and even the window behind her was still intact. She could hear birds merrily chirping through the glass.

“Mrow.” The rumbling meow made Ava look down, seeing Thor approaching her chair.

“Hey buddy.” Ava sighed, her eyes glancing nervously around her office again. She reached down and stroked his head, finding a measure of calm hearing him purr and feeling his soft fur beneath her fingers.

She opened a drawer beside her desk and removed her handgun she had stashed there. Ignoring the discomfort in her eyes from falling asleep in her contacts, she cautiously left her office to patrol around her home; making sure that it was empty.

Finding everything as she left it, she breathed a little easier, despite the faint tremor she still felt in her hands. She returned to her office, set her pistol on her desk and collapsed back into her desk chair.

Thor jumped into her lap a moment later, purring like a lawn mower and tapping his paw on one of her hands. Ava started to absentmindedly pet him, stroking his fur and bringing herself down from the rush of adrenaline and paranoia.

After a few minutes, she felt collected enough to sit up straight and turn her attention to her computer. She pulled up the Dream Syndicate website and read through some of the recent posts.

They all described the same dream she had just had.

Ava leaned back into her chair, Thor curled up in her lap and rubbed her hand over her face as her mind raced.

Were the dreams happening more frequently? There was that vision she had in Alaska and then another in Anchorage.

What did that mean?

She needed to talk to someone, but both Dave and Laine were gone on their camping trip. She reached over, picked up her phone and called Donnelley.

The phone only gave her the quiet trills of her call for a few moments. It was only after a time wondering if he would pick up that he did, “Ava?” Donnelley asked, his voice somewhere between worry and confusion until he spoke again in a more friendly tone, “What’s up?”

“Hey, uh, how are things?” Ava found herself asking, grimacing as she fought the urge to tell him everything right away.

“Things are, uh,” Donnelley paused, sighed. The mental image of him rubbing his tired face and eyes wouldn’t be that far off, “Things are goin’ alright.”

He sniffled, “Just called to catch up? Haven’t talked to you or Dave in a bit.”

“Not...really.” Ava answered hesitantly. “I had another dream-vision...thing.”

Donnelley’s voice seemed to perk up and any traces of tiredness were long gone, replaced with firm seriousness, “Am I the first person you called about this?”

“Yeah.” She said with a frown, petting Thor with her free hand. “I just woke up from it.”

“Okay, good.” He sounded a bit relieved, “Listen, I was wrappin’ up some work, I can swing by.” He offered.

“If you’d like.” He added, “Bring some beer or somethin’. Watch a movie, help you calm down?”

She blinked but smiled slightly at the offer. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I can’t really...drink beer, so you can have it all to yourself.” She scratched Thor’s back as the smile slipped from her face. “Should I...not tell anyone else about it?”

“Ah, shoot, I’m sorry.” Surely Donnelley was rolling his eyes at himself in his office, “I forgot drinkin’s not your thing.”

He chuckled a bit before he addressed Ava, “You just…” he sighed, “I know how hard it is to keep secrets from everyone around you, I’m sorry about that, Ava.”

Little did Ava know that Donnelley knew all too intimately the art of concealing things about his true self from everyone in a room, everyone in his life. Not just about his employment at the CIA, or the Program, but to the very feelings he’d been born with that so many in his line of work looked down upon. “Nobody but you, me, and our Workin’ Group need to know about your condition. We’re a team, us against the world.”

She relaxed a little. “Okay, I can handle that.” Thor suddenly jumped off her lap and she rolled her eyes at the cat’s fickle nature. “When can I expect you? I can order us something to eat.”

“Ah,” Donnelley paused, “Probably an hour. Order whatever, I’ll eat it.”

>...///

Donnelley’s bike came to a stop next to Ava’s driveway. His cautious eyes scanned up and down the block, as well as the front of the house. He push-checked his .40 and stuffed it in the holster in his waistband, shutting off the somewhat subdued rumble of his Indian Chief. His footsteps brought him to the front door, knocking a couple times and casting another few glances about for any suspicious cars.

Program CI had to be close by. He’d have to be careful with what he and Ava talked about, even inside her own house. They were relentless, fucking parasites whose jobs were keeping the Program’s secrets with the Program, but too many brushes with them had made them nothing but power hungry coattail riders that dug their fingers into everything they could to make themselves seem more important than they were. He looked down at the beers in his hand, unable to keep from at least buying something for himself.

And then he shrugged the shoulder the book bag’s strap rested on. Inside of it were the files. He didn’t trust them in his office, so he kept them close at all times, constantly paranoid of someone knowing somehow, if he wasn’t careful enough. Every glance an accusation. He knocked again, wondering if Ava had a gun on the door as she looked through the peephole. Couldn’t really blame her, “Just me!” He said, just in case.

There was a beat of silence and then the door opened, revealing a slightly flustered Ava dressed in a long grey shirt with blue and pink gradient yoga pants. “Hi! Sorry! Thor was trying to eat the food I ordered.” She said, stepping to the side and opening the door wider to let him in.

However, for the first time since Donnelley had known her, Ava’s hair was not a chaotic cloud of curling red waves and copper corkscrews. Instead, her hair now fell in a perfectly flat sheet down from her head, like a curtain of ruby with the occasional fleck of amber.

“I see you.” She said to the cat, the large feline perched on the back of the couch and staring intently toward the kitchen where a plain white bag with grease spots on the paper sat. She turned back to Donnelley with a smile, holding her arms out to hug him. “How are you?”

“Feelin’ a little overdressed...” He said, looking down at his black polo and tan slacks. He looked at Ava like he’d seen a ghost, or a long lost friend. His heart picked up and he didn’t expect to see Ava so… different looking. His blue ID Badge was still clipped to his pants and he fidgeted with it for a second before he cleared his throat, “…For the occasion… uh, other’n that? Pretty good.”

Tentatively, he reciprocated the hug and then stepped back from Ava again. He was unused to gestures like that, funny, since he’d gotten real used to the gestures he and Laine shared a few nights. A hug should’ve been a handshake to him. He nodded to the food that Thor seemed so preoccupied with, “What’d you get?”

“Sandwiches and fries.” She said, shutting the door behind him once he stepped in, her eyes going curiously toward his backpack. “I got you a rib meat sandwich, I hope that’s alright.” She walked over to the kitchen and started digging out the food while keeping an eye on Thor.

Donnelley’s eyes lit up at the prospect of food in front of him. Working double time at the Company office almost erased his human needs, a machine-like single-mindedness took him over and it was seeping away the further he got from that office chair. “Where from?” He asked, “I got a hankerin’ for most anythin’.”

He smiled at Ava, “I hope you’re doin’ a little better.”

She smiled back, a flicker of exhaustion dancing across her eyes.

Donnelley kept his smile as he crossed to the living room and took a seat, setting his book bag down in front of him. He gestured to one of the couches in the living room, “Well, come on, let’s break bread. Talk about whatever you want to.”

“Yeah, okay.” She said, her smile brightening for a brief moment before she fetched the food from the kitchen counter and brought it over to her coffee table. “You look like you’re coming back from the office.” She noted, sitting down and pulling over her container with her grilled chicken sandwich. “I thought we were all on leave, they let you go to work?”

“Yeah, kinda.” He shrugged, watching Ava set the food on the coffee table, “I can look, but I can’t touch, you know. At least they’re still payin’ me. I just had to, uh, pick up a few things from my desk.”

He smiled, reaching over and sliding the styrofoam container closer to himself and shoving a steak fry in his mouth. He took a second to chew and swallow before he spoke again, “So,” he smiled awkwardly, “We can completely bypass the elephant in the room and just hang out like a couple of besties or we can, um, pounce on the thing and dissect it.”

He shrugged, “I’m cool with anythin’.”

Thor jumped up onto the couch next to Donnelley, the large Norwegian cat sitting down and staring at him as his long fluffy tail flicked back and forth.

Ava took in a breath and looked down at her food. “Probably should get it out of the way.” She smiled tiredly and looked down at her untouched food. “I was seeing out of someone else’s eyes again. Like when Tom...and you were…” She trailed off and sighed heavily. “But it wasn’t as violent as those times. I was seeing through the eyes of a man, I could tell by the hands. I was in his room, a dark and dingy place, not a lot of decoration or personalization anywhere. He was packing up a bunch of rifle magazines into a backpack. Then the dream changed and I or he was riding in a car down a mountain road. The radio wasn’t on, no one was talking, it was very quiet. I saw one of those ‘welcome to’ signs on the side of the road but I couldn’t make out the name of where they were driving into.”

She finally picked up a french fry and stared at it. “Then there was a gunshot and I woke up.” She popped the fry into her mouth and chewed through it mechanically, hardly noticing the taste. “It feels like...these are starting to happen more frequently.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is.” Donnelley gave Ava a consoling smile, remembering how she’d cried into his chest during one of their many stays at a cheap motel. “I’m sorry. But Sobel probably has some sort of… fix. I promise we’ll find somethin’.”

Ava shivered at the mention of Sobel, her mind flashing back to the barn in Alaska. “I guess we can ask, Ipiktok gave me those berries…” She trailed off, thinking about the strangely sad shaman, what he had said to her before everything went wrong. “I’d like a more sustainable solution though, those berries will only help me a certain number of times and I doubt I can grow a new plant from the seeds in them.” She picked up her soda and played with the straw. “Maybe something I can pass on to others…”

Donnelley nodded sullenly at first, reaching over to grab another steak fry before freezing just short of getting one. He looked at Ava, “Others?”

She nodded, furrowing her brow at him. “Yeah, there’s a website for a bunch of kids that have dreams like I do. After I woke up, I pulled it up and they all had the same vision that I did.” She frowned. “Foster didn’t tell you?”

Donnelley didn’t move, just stared at Ava for a second before grabbing a fry and sitting back. He shook his head, “There’s a website?”

“Yeah, uh, hang on, I can show you.” She said, shutting her container of food before getting up. “Make sure he doesn’t eat any people food.” She said, pointing to Thor, laying down next to Donnelley and staring at him expectantly. “I mean it.” She told Donnelley, giving him a narrowed eye look before walking out of the room to get her laptop.

Donnelley had his hands up and eyebrows raised, “Yes, miss’m.”

When Ava left the room, he looked down at Thor. The two of them shared a moment then, staring at each other. Thor started a low purr that vibrated Donnelley’s leg as the big cat nuzzled against it, then looked back up at Donnelley. A long, slow blink was all it took after that. Donnelley sighed, ripping a piece off his steak fry and setting it down in front of Thor, who destroyed the evidence like a good accomplice, “Don’t be a snitch, neither, a’right?”

While Thor cozied up to Donnelley in hopes of getting more contraband treats, Ava returned with her laptop tucked under her arm. She sat down next to Donnelley on the couch and opened the computer, the screen turning on to show the Dream Syndicate website.

“Here, this is it.” She said, passing the laptop over to him. “When we got back I checked to see if anyone had visions like I did in Alaska, but it looked like those nightmares were just for me.”

“How the hell…” Donnelley muttered as he read the different post titles, some mentioning events that he recognized. And some he was in, like the dream Ava had about him when he was in Iraq, though through the language and eyes of someone not privy to what he and Ava were- I THINK I HAD A DREAM ABOUT ISIS PRISON, “Jesus… Foster told you about this?”

“Yeah,” She said with a sigh, staring at the screen. “He told me about it after what happened with Tom. I think he thought it would make me feel better to know I wasn’t alone and while that’s nice...There’s nothing I can do. Nothing to help me or these kids.”

“Stop.” Donnelley said, trying to look into Ava’s eyes, voice quiet in the silence of the room that had enveloped them after Ava voiced her anxiety, “We’re doin’ everythin’ we can. None of us understand anythin’ about this… magic shit, but…”

Donnelley frowned, “I still blame myself for so much, Ava.” Donnelley swallowed a lump in his throat remembering the fate of Wetwork Team GRANTOR in Chechnya, and watching the woman in front of him die in Alaska because he wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t fast enough for any of them. He shook his head, “You can’t help them if you don’t know how to help yourself, and if you put that responsibility on yourself it’s goin’ to crush you.”

“I’ve got my team to worry about, and that means you too. We’ll find a way for you.” Donnelley promised, “Okay?”

Ava looked into his eyes, blue like her own, and sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. “Okay.” She said with a small, albeit tired, smile.

She put a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Try...Not to blame yourself so much either, okay?”

Donnelley looked down at Ava’s small hand on his arm and then smiled at her. He nodded once and said, “I’ll try.” He lay his hand on Ava’s for a moment and then looked to the food, “I would blame myself if we let these sandwiches get too cold.”

He chuckled, “You got a movie in mind for us to watch?”

“You’re the guest, you can pick.” Ava said, happy to get off the topic, for now at least. “I have all the streaming services so you can pick whatever.” She opened up her box of food and fished out a steak. It wasn’t as hot as it was, but still fairly warm with a nice crunch to the outside.

“I’m thinkin’ somethin’ lighthearted after all the bullshit we been through.” Donnelley snorted as he turned on the TV and navigated to Netflix. As was expected from Ava, her watchlist and continue-watching section was filled with Disney movies and other shows and films you’d usually find in a woman’s Netflix account. “Won’t be too hard to find somethin’ lighthearted in this, I guess.”

“Any cheesy action movies? I prefer my vintage in the 80’s, but I’m down for anythin’.” Donnelley smiled.

“Oh I don’t know any action movies off the top of my head, especially from the 80s.” Ava said with a shrug, eating another fry and chewing thoughtfully. “Isn’t there one with Arnold Schwarzenegger and he basically puns his way through killing a bunch of baddies?”

Donnelley rose his brows at Ava, “I believe you’re talkin’ about one of the greatest movies of all time, yes. It is named Commando, and it will live on as a masterpiece of cinema.”

She grinned. “I’ve never seen it and clearly, it’s one of your favorites, so why don’t we watch it?”

He went to searching for it on Netflix and smacked his knee when he found it, “You won’t regret this.”

Ava smiled, happy to see the life return to him. “It’s puns, I never regret puns.”

>...///

Ava picked up the now empty food boxes as the end credits for Commando rolled across the screen. “Alright, I can see why you say that was the greatest movie of all time.” She grinned at Donnelley, heading to the kitchen to dump the boxes in the trash. “I particularly liked the sound track. Are there any other 80s classics I’ve been missing out on?” She asked, glancing out the window in the kitchen and noting that the sun was starting to set.

Feeling a craving set in, she opened up a cupboard and pulled down a sauce pan.

Donnelley followed Ava to the kitchen, not feeling comfortable shouting in her house, and instead stood leaning against the wall and watching her with some curiosity as to what she was doing, “Well, you ever seen Predator?” He asked, “What’cha makin’?”

“I have not seen Predator.” She said with a bit of a shiver. “I always thought it was too...scary, I guess? But it’s over 30 years old now, so, I guess it wouldn’t look as scary.” She looked down as Thor came trotting into the kitchen, but perched himself up on the bench of the breakfast nook so he could be properly aloof. “And I thought I’d make some London Fogs, do you want one?” She asked brightly, turning to an electric kettle on the counter and removing it from it’s little electric base to fill with water.

Donnelley quirked a brow, “London Fog?”

She gave him an equally confused look before realization clicked. “Oh, right, you don’t obsess over tea like I do.” She laughed awkwardly. “It’s an Earl Grey tea latte. So you steep Earl Grey in water, then you fill up the mugs with hot foamy milk, usually mixing in vanilla in some way. Sometimes I boil in dried lavender buds, I call that a Lazy London Fog. And if you make it with espresso it’s called a Dirty London Fog or a London Smog.”

“Oh,” Donnelley’s eyebrows rose and he nodded his head at what he imagined it to taste like, it sounded good enough for him and he wasn’t much of a tea person, “That sounds pretty good. I didn’t know you were a tea person. I mean, it don’t really surprise me, but still.”

He chuckled, “I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.” He trailed off as he watched her work, “So, twenty questions? Who first?”

Ava looked at him, surprised. “Really? Uh,” She scratched her head as she opened the pantry and started collecting things in her arms. A tin of Earl Grey tea, a jar of dried lavender buds, a mason jar labeled ‘vanilla sugar’ and a tin of dark chocolate coco powder. “Well, aside from Commando, what’s your favorite movie?” She set down her ingredients and picked up the lavender. “Do you want to try a regular London or a Lazy London?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Donnelley chuckled, before putting his thinking face on, looking off and away, “Actually, would you accept ‘79? Apocalypse Now. Navy Seals with Charlie Sheen is pretty good too, but that’s ‘90.”

He snapped his fingers, “Conan the Barbarian. Another Schwarzenegger classic.” He nodded, “But, uh, yeah. I like Apocalypse Now. Fun fact, it’s based on an old novel, Heart of Darkness. Never been a huge literature person, but I’ve read a few books. I’ll try this Lazy London, by the way.”

“My taste in books is kinda dark, like my music.” He said, “What about you? What’s Ava’s music tastes?”

Ava furrowed her brow in thought as she set the tea kettle to brew at the appropriate temperature for Earl Grey. “I’m pretty all over the place and it depends on what I’m doing. If I’m working or doing something that needs my focus then I like listening to lofi or video game soundtracks. If I’m exercising or driving then, uh, I usually like...I guess it’d be alternative rock? Probably lame bands by comparison to what you listen too. I’ve been getting into K-Pop lately and, um,” She flushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I like metal covers of Disney songs. They’re fun.”

She cleared her throat and went to the fridge to fetch a carton of milk. “What about you? What are these dark music tastes?”

“Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” He chuckled, “Mostly punk and metal. I like me some gangster rap too, a lot of Southern artists. What kinda alt-rock we talkin’ about?”

Ava eyed him as she set the milk on the counter. “...I don’t want to say. You’ll make fun of me or judge me, probably both.”

Donnelley smirked, folding his arms and turning his head up at Ava, “Try me.”

She stared at him before sighing. “I like the stuff I listened to back in college, when I was a teenager. Linkin Park, 3 Days Grace, even and especially, My Chemical Romance. I even went through a bit of a punk emo phase,” She flushed in embarrassment. “I was in college and I thought it made me seem more grown up. Don’t judge me or you aren’t getting any tea!”

“Oh, no London Fog for Donnelley? Kinda wanted one of those.” He feigned pouting and then chuckled, “Did you have the whole ensemble? Dressin’ like an edgy teen? I had that phase, but my pictures ain’t at hand.”

He clucked his tongue, smirking, “Yours are.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her own pout threatening to poke out her bottom lip. “What do I get out of this deal?”

Donnelley rolled his jaw, looking up and away for a moment before his eyes settled back on Ava, “Name your price.” Donnelley floated, then his smirk grew to a grin, and he thrust his thumb over his shoulder towards the neighborhood street, “I’ll let you ride my bike.”

Her eyes brightened. “Deal!” She said, sticking out her hand for him to shake.

He gave a big old nod, just once and took Ava’s hand. They shook. Donnelley nodded towards her front door, “We’ll take a ride come sun-up.” He smiled, “How’s that?”

“Sounds good to me.” She beamed, stepping away from the kitchen counter and waving to him to follow her. “Come on, it's in my home office.” She said, heading for the hallway with Thor jumping down from his perch to trot along behind her.

Ava lead them down a short hallway where there was a cracked door revealing a guest bathroom to one side and two doors parallel to each other towards the end of the hallway. One door was open, clearly leading to Ava’s bedroom where there was a neatly made bed with an assortment of adorable plushies arranged on it. Including the large cat pillow Laine had gotten her so many weeks ago.

The other door was shut and she opened it to reveal a spacious office. An L shaped desk sat towards the back corner of the room, one side flush to the wall while the other faced the door so the chair behind the desk had a good view of the door. Two monitors sat on the desk along with a number of small knick knacks, including a few succulent plants in decorative pots.

There was a window at the back of the room and noticeably the desk was as far from the window as it could be.

This left the room fairly open, a small grey couch covered in pillows, a blanket was pushed against one wall. Sitting on the couch was Chunk, the fox plushie she won back in Seattle. In one corner of the room was clearly an adult sized bean bag chair, complete with a little stand to place one’s coffee or tea.

Pressed against the other wall was a bookcase filled with different flavors of fiction and non-fiction as well as what appeared to be a normal white dresser. Save from the random smudges and stains of dried paint and other pigments. A jar of paint brushes sat on top of the dresser among an array of framed family pictures. An oil painting of pink peonies in a jar of water was resting on the floor on a small paint covered hand towel, leaning back against the dresser.

Ava walked over to the collection of pictures and selected one from the back. “Alright, here it is.” She said, turning to him with a grimace on her face as she looked at the picture. “Oh, Mid-2000s, why weren’t you cooler?” She asked with a sigh as she handed the frame to Donnelley. “Don’t be too harsh.”

Donnelley took the picture from Ava and then his eyes went to scanning all the details of young Ava. His lip quivered in a smile and he chuckled, “Oh, shit.” He laughed a bit and covered his mouth, wiping at his eye for effect, “Oh, shit. Wow, you were not lyin’.”

“It was the mid-2000s!” Ava exclaimed, her face flushing. “Tim Burton was very popular! And I was 15 and in college, I thought it made me look more mature!”

In the picture, doing her best to look as severe as possible was a teenaged Ava. Her red hair was cut short in a layered pixie cut and looked like it had been straightened, the natural curls and waves already making their return. Her makeup was mainly a thick ring of eyeliner and dark blue eyeshadow.

Her outfit consisted of a bandana around her neck, a pair of striped fingerless gloves that went to her elbows and was layered with beaded bracelets. She also wore a black shirt of the purple Cheshire cat from the Disney Alice in Wonderland animated movie with the quote ‘We’re All Mad Here’ on it. Completing the look was a red pleated, plaid skirt accessorized with a studded and chain covered belt as well as a pair of knee high converse shoes over a pair of striped stockings.

“God, how the hell d’you even get them shoes on?” Donnelley chuckled at the picture, “It’s like Doc Martens, but worse.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ava huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Suffice to say, it wasn’t gracefully.” She held her hand out for the picture. “There, I held up my side of the bargain.”

Donnelley pushed his bottom lip out, “Oh, did I upset you?” Donnelley asked, “You looked very serious and intense. Very mature.”

He handed the picture back, then nodded at the art supplies, “Didn’t know you painted.”

Ava looked at the brushes as she set the picture back on the dresser. “Oh, yeah.” She smiled, looking down at the painting on the floor while brushing her hair behind her ear. “I haven’t touched paints in awhile and I’ve kinda been neglecting my drawing lately.” She motioned to the room. “Dave actually moved stuff around and made this into a bit of an art studio too.” She smiled, looking back down at the painting of pink peonies. “I had been talking about doing it and then he put it together for me. It’s nice to have a space for creating something pretty.”

“Sounds smart,” Donnelley nodded, “Maybe I should have one. Get a big house somewhere, make the basement a Judo studio or somethin’.”

Donnelley chuckled and leaned down to take a good look at Ava’s flower painting, trying with every fiber of his artistically stunted mind to understand why it was good. He already knew that it was, but he stood back up and nodded his acknowledgment that it was, “That’s a really good paintin’.” Donnelley smiled as sincerely as he ever did, though sheepishly, that being the only appraisal he could make of it, “My daughter paints. She draws on her computer too, she’s really good at it.”

He smiled at the memory of her giving him the drawing she’d made as he looked down at Ava’s painting, and the realization that Tilly was more intelligent and talented than he’d ever been. It was astounding, how different she’d become, how she’d grown in his absence. Astounding, but heartbreakingly painful. “Anyways, uh,” Donnelley muttered, swallowing a lump in his throat as he looked back at Ava, “You’re very talented. Got a lot goin’ for you, I see. I’m sure your parents are proud.”

She smiled sheepishly, looking down at the painting. “Thank you and...Yeah, I think they are. I mean, they kind of got lucky with me. Adopting me and it turns out at 5 I could understand math at a high school level.” She chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked at all the family pictures on her art dresser. “Hard not to be proud of that.”

Donnelley chuckled, “I know I’d be.” He smiled at Ava and then asked, “You don’t mind me askin’, you don’t remember a lot before your adoption, do you?”

Ava frowned and shook her head slowly. “No, I was only two or three at the time. All I know is that someone found me walking down the side of some back road in West Virginia and no one ever, you know...claimed me.”

She shrugged stiffly, still looking at the pictures of her family and folded her arms over her chest. “I always figured they didn’t want me, my birth parents.” She finally looked at him with a humorless smile. “The fucked up thing? Despite that, I’ve been thinking about trying to find them anyway.”

Donnelley’s face took on a more sympathetic look when Ava admitted her insecurities to him. When she said she’d wanted to find them, he gained back some good humor, “I think anybody in your position would want to know. Before my ma and pa passed they took one of them spit-into-a-tube DNA things.” Donnelley shrugged, “Didn’t really find anythin’ surprisin’ like some Chinese hidin’ in our ancestry. Just Welsh, Irish, little bit of German.”

“My ancestors were coal miners and moonshiners. Go figure where my rebellious streak came from.” He chuckled, “I hope you find some answers. I know you and your computer sleuthin’, won’t be hard to find some.”

“Thanks,” She smiled, some of the warmth returning. “I thought about just doing one of those DNA things honestly, they sometimes help people find lost family members.” She shrugged and grew quiet for a moment.

“You don’t think it’s dumb?” She asked him quietly. “I mean, it’s obvious they didn’t want me, but I thought...With the dreams and the visions...Maybe they would know something.” She shrugged again, her shoulders moving stiffly. “Or they could turn out to be crazy cult people living in the mountains.”

“Well, if they didn’t want you, they really lost out on someone special. Hell, they don’t deserve you anyway.” Donnelley shook his head, then chuckled a little, “I don’t think it’s stupid. Knowin’ where you came from is important, at least tells you what you avoided becomin’. I’m sure Dave said the same, but you ever need any kind of help in your search then I’m here.”

She smiled again, a faint mistiness appearing in her eyes. “Thanks Donnelley, I really appreciate it.” She sniffed and tilted her head to the door. “So, shall we get back to the tea? Maybe put on another 80s classic I completely missed out on.”

Donnelley returned Ava’s smile, slipping his hands into his pockets and nodding, “Tea sounds good.” He said, then looked up and away for a moment before returning his gaze to Ava, “How ‘bout you pick the next one? Any ideas?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her fingers glide through her straightened hair as she pondered the question.

“Well, I’ve got an 80s movie of my own. Have you ever seen any of the Ghibli studio films?”

Donnelley shook his head, “Nope.” He shrugged and smiled, “Why not show me my first?”

She smiled. “I think you might like it. It’s called Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind.”

“Well, let’s… uh, brew… some tea and get cozy.” Donnelley smiled, maybe not getting the tea lingo right, but his enthusiasm was admirable. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he and Ava left the room to get back to happier, simpler things.

>…///

Donnelley watched the credits roll on the movie. It was late at night by now. Donnelley opened his mouth to say something to Ava until he heard the soft snoring from her on the other couch. He smiled softly at her seemingly dreaming peacefully, no nightmares or visions so far. He knew how hard it was to want to fall asleep when even sleep wasn’t a respite from the world. Even if he couldn’t imagine what it was like to have to see the worst parts of the future, he knew how it was to have to see the worst parts of the past. He’d woken up screaming or crying, sometimes both, more times than he’d care to admit.

He simply looked at her, had to wonder who the hell would pass up a talented genius as a daughter and then looked away from Ava in resignation. He knew someone who did just that. He pulled out his personal phone, the background picture being the one he and Tilly took outside her house, and he smiled. He opened their text messages and sent her a message asking if she liked Studio Ghibli movies and then slipped his phone back into his pocket, looking down at the book bag at his feet. He gulped, throat dry of a sudden at the reminder that he could go to federal prison, or even a black site if it was found out he had unsanitized top secret documents that he was not cleared to view.

Even so, it was a piece of the mystery. An unfinished task in West Virginia. Donnelley didn’t leave things unfinished. He grabbed up the book bag and walked to the room where Ava kept her work desk as quietly as he could. He left the door open, not wanting Ava to think he was snooping through her things. Just the deep state government’s, he thought. And even then, he couldn’t bring himself to open the book bag and view those case files. He simply leaned back in the office chair and stared a hole into the bag as if he could read the documents through the thick canvas. “Fuck…” he sighed, ripping them out of the canvas bag and slapping them on the desk, in full view of his prying eyes. No matter how much he wanted to look away and burn it all, like his clothes in Alaska, so he could pretend it never happened. He growled, “Fuck…”

“Donnelley?” Ava’s soft, sleep groggy voice called out before Thor came trotting into the office. A moment later she poked her head in, blinking her eyes blearily at him. Her hair was slightly mussed from sleep, but it was no longer the amber cloud it once was. “Hey.” She greeted with a yawn, Thor circling around Donnelley’s legs before jumping up onto his lap with a loud purr.

She scratched the back of her neck, looking at him in bemusement. “What are you doing in here?”

Donnelley jumped almost entirely out of the chair, scraping his knuckles along a sharp corner of the desk in his startle. He looked at Ava, only Ava, in her doorway and staring at him. The question felt like a noose at the gallows, yawning and hungry for his neck. To tell her, or not. “Sorry,” he chuckled nervously, “Didn’t mean to sneak around.”

“Sneak around?” She asked, still confused and half asleep. She looked between him and then the dual monitors on her desk, her waking brain sluggishly trying to fit pieces together. “Did you need to do something on the computer? It’s password protected, so I’d have to log you in.”

Donnelley looked altogether guilty and anxious as he looked at Ava. The files remained on the desk, but he’d made no move to stuff them back into the book bag. They laid plainly open on the desk, marked out in symbols that Ava would recognize as warnings for proper clearances and Special Access Projects that Donnelley definitely didn’t have any right to be viewing. He sat and looked at her like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He had been, “If anyone asks,” Donnelley began, though his voice wasn’t angry, moreso pleading in a way, “I was never here with these.”

“And you never saw them.” He lowered his voice to a harsh rasp.

Ava woke up quickly after that, blinking her eyes rapidly and looking at Donnelley to the files sitting on her desk. Her gut began to twist and curl as anxiety rose in her chest. “What’s going on?” She asked him quietly, looking from the folder to Donnelley. “What did you bring here?”

“I didn’t bring anythin’, Ava, and you’ll tell anyone else that asks the same thing.” Donnelley’s anxiety had turned to frustration, less like guilt and more like an animal backed into a corner. “We both know what could happen.”

Ava took a small step back, surprised by the anger rising from Donnelley. In all the time she had known him, he’d never spoken to her like that. She frowned at him and crossed her arms over her chest, looking away from him. “Just...are we, is UMBRA, in any more danger from whatever is happening?”

Donnelley looked at Ava as she refused to look at him, standing in the doorway. She was closing off from him and he could tell. He didn’t blame her, the sudden outburst of desperation in getting her to drop the subject was unlike him. And he asked himself how he felt after doing the same to Avery after him acting out. Putting him down and brushing aside his burdens rather than asking what was really going on. Before he died.

If Ava met the same fate, he wouldn’t be able to call himself a leader and mean it ever again. And with what was on her desk, they were closer to that being a reality than Ava truly knew. Donnelley softened, just a hair, “I’m sure us wakin’ up from bein’ killed wasn’t an accident. TRIDENT and those fake NOMADs didn’t all just trip and accidentally shoot us to death.” He said in that same raspy whisper, “The fact is someone already wants us dead because of what we know.”

He looked down at the papers across her desk and frowned deep, growling as he scanned the pages, “Havin’ these files is a treason charge and a death sentence.” Donnelley looked back up at Ava, “We were all in danger the second we said yes to the Program.”

Donnelley looked back at the files, “No goin’ back now.”

Ava’s eyes widened and her head snapped around to look at him. “How did you-no.” She shut her eyes and held up her hands. “No. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything of this. Donnelley, why would you...And you brought it here!?” She shook her head, turning away and running her hands over her hair, as though smoothing down the curls that were no longer there. “Goddamn it, are you trying to get us all black bagged, again!? Because once was enough for me back in Alaska.” She turned back and waved her arm in a general motion of distress. “The Program already blames us for our own deaths back in Alaska, why are you poking the fucking bear?”

“Because, I’d rather know the truth!” Donnelley stood and sent the office chair clattering back into the wall, “One death might have been enough for you, but do you think it’ll be enough for them?”

“Do you think you can just lie down and cover your eyes? Pretend that this isn’t real and live a normal fuckin’ life?” Donnelley had his hands balled into fists, resting on his knuckles on the desk as he leaned over it towards Ava, “Unless we finish this ourselves, it’ll finish us.”

Ava’s eyes started to well up with tears. “I’ve never been normal!” Ava shouted, her voice cracking. “There is something different about me and there’s no goddamn rhyme or reason for it, so excuse fucking me if I dream about having a normal ass life! Excuse me for thinking it might be possible to retire from all of this, move out of here and go live a nice simple life with the man that I love! And excuse me for being upset when my team lead, a man I look up to for guidance, brings around something that can destroy any chances I have of achieving that!” Tears started to fall down her cheeks and she rubbed her hands over them to wipe away the tears.

“Retire?” Donnelley whispered, reedy, the taste of the word was like a bite of something that was far past its expiration, “Retire?”

“Is that how you think this works? After twenty years, you get to settle down and you get to live off a fucking pension?” Donnelley snorted bitterly, “If we could retire, or just quit, hand in a fuckin’ two weeks’ notice wouldn’t you think I’d have done that by now?”

Donnelley’s voice rose, “Instead of wakin’ up every fuckin’ mornin’ thrashin’ and tryin’ to save friends that are already fuckin’ dead!?” Spittle flew from his lips to somewhere on the floor, his teeth gritted as his own eyes blurred over with a film of wet, “I’d be with my daughter and my wife tryin’ to fix what I fucked up, instead of…”

He looked at his palms, his scarred knuckles, his calluses and burns. All he could hear was the blood pumping in his head and the slamming in his chest. The most obvious scar of all looking at Ava from his cheek down to his neck, “Instead of…” for a second, just a snap of fingers, the time it took for lightning to strike, that little girl in Libya was in Ava’s place and holding her brother’s hand and just staring, just staring and waiting for what would come next, “If it fuckin’ worked like that I wouldn’t have had to lie to my own daughter’s face if I said I was a good person!”

“If you wanted to retire, you should’ve walked away when you had the chance in Anchorage and stayed a ghost.” Donnelley’s breath quivered in his throat, but his eyes were hard even if they were flowing. “The only ones made it out of this fuckin’ shit is Maui and Avery.”

She stared at him, tears falling from her eyes. She stared at him, opening her mouth as though to speak, before shutting it and looking away. Without saying a word, she turned and walked away, Thor dutifully following along behind her. She went across the hallway to her bedroom, left the door open long enough for Thor to follow her in, then shut the door loudly behind her.

Donnelley stared at her closed door for a long while after, paralyzed by what had happened in Alaska, and the differences that they had in what its echoes sounded like when they heard it in their dreams and the quiet moments and in the arms of the people they loved, and what it meant for UMBRA to even be in the same room from then on. He swallowed loudly, made louder by his lonesome in that room. He looked down at the files, now wet with drops from his eyes. He frowned, but he knew those files didn’t make him scream at one of the only people on his side.

He wiped at his eyes and grated out, “Fuck…”

He went to packing up the files one folder of them at a time, feeling wholly like he’d outstayed his welcome. As the last one was picked up off the desk, his eyes strayed to an uneven stack of papers next to the computer. He put the folder away and looked closer, finding a list of all of UMBRA’s names written in beautifully stroked calligraphy from Ava’s own pen. Doodles of cats and other cute animals on the borders, shopping lists, ideas for party games, the works.

Pictures of Dave and Ava that looked like every other couple. Every couple that was just… normal. Dave sleeping, the two of them in a photobooth, the two of them on the carousel in Seattle, and somewhere on a trail in the Cascades. Scenes of domestic life, life that couldn’t be any further from what life for them was really like. Next to it was a picture of all of them. It was taken what seemed like years ago, but only really a couple months back, standing in the backyard of the Safehouse when they first met Avery, and Jason had brought dinner and drinks for all of them.

All smiles, Donnelley and Laine on opposite ends of the lineup, not quite ready to admit to anyone and not even themselves how close they really were. Which left Ava standing next to him, an arm around his and Dave’s waists and Donnelley’s hand on her shoulder, a beer in the other. Those smiles seemed so genuine, like the ones still feeling the tingle of a fit of hard laughter. Now Donnelley only had a frown as he turned away from the pictures like he couldn’t beat letting them see him like this. He grabbed up the book bag to leave.

It felt like he was running with each step of his downtrodden trudging out of the door. Though, if it was from something or towards something, he couldn’t really tell. Maybe both.

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>BLACK DIAMOND, WA
>19SEP2019
>0600...///

Early riser. Always had been. Just felt right that way for Mark Grier, son of a Navy Officer who ran his household like the seamless operation of a ship when Mark was just a kid. He didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps into the military, though sometimes he’d wanted to, instead he dedicated his time towards college. At the end of it all, he’d become “the computer guy” for an aerospace company. He managed the entire computer network of gray haired, fat men that had too much money thanks to Boeing, Airbus, and even the DOD. Not that it was a horrible job. It had helped buy this fancy house whose garage he was currently working out in.

He lay in a puddle of his own sweat, looking up at the ceiling and thinking. Holly had said she’d called that man, the one she hadn’t seen in ten years. If Mark was insecure, he’d ask Tilly why she was even bothering wondering about who her birth father was. The few times Mark was able to talk to her about it, she said she’d only remembered snippets of living in Seattle with her mom and Joseph. Dad as it was back then. What Mark was now. He sighed, getting up and removing his sweat-soaked shirt, making his way through the house and back upstairs to see if Holly was awake yet. He stopped by Tilly’s door and heard the faint sound of some punk band leaking through headphones. It must have been blaring for her. He walked on, opening the door to his and Holly’s room.

Holly was almost awake, hovering in that gray area between the two states as her body decided whether it would like to be nauseated or not. Most of the morning sickness had passed but there were still those mornings when she spent it hanging over the toilet. The rising uncomfortable feeling slowly went away as she sipped from the bottle of water. When Mark entered, she had just flopped back down, her dark blonde hair tousled.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she muttered then sat up, planting her hands on either side of her hips. Her slender form was clad in a loose satin nightgown that fell over her rounded stomach. She was showing at four months, a good sign she might make it but Holly dared not think ahead so much. During this ordeal of trying to get pregnant she had become uncharacteristically superstitious. Like speaking the name of some ghost, she refused to anticipate anything more than another month at a time.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood up with a grunt and stretched, arching her spine but took care not to fully extend her arms or torso. It could be bad for the baby. Holly looked over at her husband then smiled crookedly, “I was going to take a shower but you look like you need one more than me.”

Mark smiled wide at the sight of his wife and her new swelling belly. He walked towards her, dropping his shirt haphazardly on the floor to kneel before like some altar of worship. He placed his hands gingerly on her stomach and kissed it, “Let’s shower together.” He rose to his feet again and gave Holly a peck on her lips.

He went for the bathroom first, not waiting for Holly to answer. The feeling of being sweaty wasn’t one Mark liked all too much. He dropped his shorts and boxers, looking at himself in the mirror. He slightly flexed his pecs and then went full in and struck a cheesy bodybuilding pose when he saw Holly looking too. The calisthenics and kettlebells were paying off, “You like what you see, cutie?”

Holly brushed his sweaty hair when he kissed her belly, smiling at his tenderness. Without answering she followed him to the master bathroom, picking up his clothes as he dropped them to tosse them in the swinging door of the built in hamper. She slipped her nightgown off and did the same, laughing softly at his pose.

“No,” she said, then grinned, “I love what I see.”

Cheesy humor aside, he did look better and she thought maybe him focusing on his health had helped get her knocked up. At least the sex had become better. Holly stepped forward, catching sight of her profile in the mirror, still heart stopping was the convex curve of her stomach after so long. She leaned in, reaching past him to crank up the hot water comfortable in their shared nudity and closeness.

“Help me shave my legs,” she said, “You’re not too manly for that are you? With all your muscles.”

Mark snorted, “Oh, anything for Holly. I live to serve, my dear.”

Mark planted another kiss on Holly’s lips and then searched the drawers. Not finding it within the first five seconds of looking netted the inevitable question, “Where’d you put the razors again?” He asked, rifling through a drawer, “Unless you want to use my clippers. Do we need to yet?”

“Clippers? You ass, I don’t need those,” she said, “Top drawer, the pink disposables. This belly is starting to make it hard to bend, you know, gracefully.”

The last thing she wanted to do was overcompensate and faceplant in the bathtub, she had become clumsy as her pregnancy advanced which according to the books was normal. She hated it and took extra precaution, stepping into the hot shower slowly and turning with her hand braced against the wall. The water soaked her blonde hair dark and she sputtered, wiping her eyes as she waited for him to enter.

As he did she reached for the shampoo and offered to get his hair while he faced the shower head. “Have you talked to Tilly?” Mark asked while Holly squirted shampoo into his hair, “One of her friends is having a sleepover in a few days. The Ryans. Should we let her go?”

Holly rubbed the suds, massaging his scalp and she raked her nails lightly against his scalp, “They seem to be sane, I think it’ll be fine. I’d like her to have more girlfriends. She’s always hanging out with the boys at the park, which is fine but you know. I’d just like her to learn to like doing her hair or something, she never lets me touch it anymore.”

Holly sighed and leaned against him, her arms around his shoulders, “I used to braid her hair and she’d wear the cutest sundresses. Now I can barely get her to not wear a hoodie in the summer. It’s 80 degrees outside for god’s sake.”

“And boys that age. I know how they are,” Mark hissed, “I was never like that… I think.”

Mark nodded, thinking it over. Their daughter’s choices in attire or music, or interests were never something he associated with ‘girliness’ or ’femininity.’ As a father he didn’t want her prancing out the door with little left to the imagination, but Holly was right. “I don’t even know how to broach that subject with her. She’s sixteen, everything’s always you wouldn’t understand and leave me alone, dad.”

“She’s changing.” Mark sighed, “And what she asked you about… Joe.”

The warm water rinsed the shampoo from his hair and she kissed the back of his neck when he brought up Joseph. She did chuckle and murmur, “I’ll have to ask your mother next time how you were at sixteen.”

She ran her hands down his stomach and rested her belly against his back, “As for Joseph, it’s always troubled her I think. She loves you, you’re her dad but so is he. For all the hell he put us through he always loved us. He just...he’s damaged. And an asshole. I understand why she’s wanting to know why her biological father hasn’t bothered to keep up with her. It has nothing to do with you. Tilly’s not a little girl anymore, I can’t keep explaining it away with excuses. He needs to tell her why and I’m terrified of how it’ll hurt her.”

Holly hugged Mark tight, feeling his soap slick skin, “I can’t protect her from the world like I would want to, like I tried to.”

“You’re right.” Mark said, soft, feeling Holly embrace him. They stayed like that for a bit, just them and the warm water, “I hope she knows I’ll be here for her if the truth hurts that bad. I never liked him, but this isn’t about us, you’re right.”

>...///

Tilly sat in her room, jamming to Gang Green, another cool old band she found on Youtube. She was drawing, hunched over the paper and the violet prisma pastel was moving in short strokes. Sure, she had the drawing program and the touch pad but sometimes a girl just needed to feel the physical nature of the pencils and paper. She bobbed her head as she continued to fill in the color of the octopus arm, the tentacles surrounding the human skull, some curling around the eyehole and mouth.

It looked rad. She smiled at her work, a rare expression on the teenage girl. Her long blonde hair fell forward like a curtain as she finished off the suckers and sat back, looking at it from a distance. This would look cool on a skateboard, she decided.

“Tilly! Breakfast! I don’t want to climb the stairs again so get down here!”

Her mother again and Tilly sighed, putting away the pencils and set the paper between the covers of an art portfolio. She grabbed her Vans and laced them up, pulling them tight. Tilly wore jeans and a band shirt, today’s flavor was Trash Talk. Tilly snatched her hoodie, the back emblazoned with the Bouncing Souls heart and crossbones logo.

She swung around the bottom bannister, and marched into the kitchen. “Bacon? I said I wasn’t eating bacon anymore.”

Holly looked up as she pushed the bacon from the pan onto the paper towels. “Well, the funny thing is that there are like two other people that live here, kiddo. And we like some bacon.”

Tilly made a wry face then leaned to give Mark a quick hug, “Hey, Dad. You shouldn’t eat it either, it’s really bad for you.”

She sat down, scooting the chair up to the table with her hand on the seat. There were pancakes, the bacon, and fresh fruit. Holly was really going all out today. Tilly swung her feet and hooked them behind on the cross bar of her chair. As she helped herself to the strawberries and cantaloupe, she looked up at her mother, “So, tonight right? We’re still down to cook right?”

Her worry manifested itself in the need for reassurance, Holly knew, she remembered the little girl asking if Daddy was going to be ok. And she would answer that Daddy was just needing a nap, when he was shit faced drunk and had been up for two days in fear of nightmares. Holly pushed a smile to her face, “Yes, I’ll be there to help but this is your thing, Tilly. Don’t stay out all day and come home expecting me to have done it.”

Tilly leaned back, brushing her long hair away from her eyes with her free hand, “I know...I was just checking. You sure he likes Italian?”

Holly gazed at her daughter, she could see Joseph in her, the bright blue eyes and sun freckles, the way her lips turned in a smirking smile before she said something smart assed. She sipped her coffee, “You don’t worry about that, everyone likes Italian.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, cutting into the pancakes. “It’s no big deal anyway, if he doesn’t like it. I’m not worried about it.”

Holly glanced at Mark, Tilly had been on edge about what to make since she had agreed to call him and he accepted the invitation. The teen switched between anxious concern to aloofness as quick as an oscillating fan turned. But her mother was not fooled, she knew this whole visit was stressful and tried to keep assuring her but in her heart she feared Joseph would let her down again.

Mark finally put his phone down, work emails about work on a work phone had replaced work emails on a work computer at work. Even after scoring a position he could work remotely from and spend more time with his family came stipulations and a ball and chain. He’d heard Tilly telling him to avoid red meat and pork for the six-thousandth time this month and plucked a strip of bacon off his plate. Crispy, just like he liked, and he crunched it between his teeth while looking at Tilly, “What was that about bacon, dear?” He smiled at Holly, “Is there still some left for Tilly?”

“Oh,ho ho so funny, Dad,” she mocked him, poking a fork in a cube of melon. With a wry smile, she added, “Excuse me for caring that your heart doesn’t explode.”

She had eaten bacon a month ago but after learning about what nitrates did to the heart she had become insistent on her parents dropping bacon and lunch meat. “It’s not like I’m asking for us to be vegetarian,” Tilly reminded them, “Besides, pigs are super smart and cute.”

She added the last bit almost like an afterthought but Holly knew better, Tilly had a soft heart for animals, ever since she was a kid. And despite her cool aloof skater girl punk thing that she had become she was still an empathetic girl with a big heart.

“I’m gonna go to the mall and then skating with the guys,” she stated rather than asking but then said, “So, did you ever decide about Emma’s sleepover?”

“Emma seems like a very nice girl, and her parents seem normal,” Holly said, glancing at Mark. “No reason we should say no. I want you to have a good time. Get your nails done, we used to give each other manicures. And we’d do makeovers…”

“Ew, Mom. You’re making me not want to,” Tilly said, rolling her eyes.

Mark snorted, “Come on, kid, it’ll be fun. No one’s asking you to stick with the girly stuff.” His tone took a tad more serious air, “Tammy called me about Jacob, one of the boys you hang around with. She said she grounded Jacob because he was fighting behind the Community Center with another boy.”

Mark stopped chewing and looked at Tilly, “Please, don’t tell me this is the caliber of people you’ve decided to spend your High School years with.” Mark forked some eggs into his mouth and chewed just a bit before swallowing, “Not to mention that Mitch kid and him smoking pot.”

Tilly’s eyes widened as Mark spoke about Jacob and she leaned forward, “He had a good reason for knocking the snot out of that boy. He was being a real douche.”

“Tilly,” Holly said automatically, “Language.”

“Well, sorry Mom but that guy was talking a lot of shit, like he was saying that girls had no place on the ramps and…” Tilly hesitated, the whole situation had been bad but Jacob had stood up for her and the other girl that hung around with them. “He said something really offensive and Jacob let him have it. He beat the hell out of him.”

She smiled a little, then brushed her pale hair out of her eyes, “It was kinda cool.”

Holly took a sharp breath, “I understand it might seem deserved, but fighting isn’t the answer. Violence just leads to people hurt and more violence.”

The unspoken example hung above them and Tilly nodded, “Yeah, I know.”

Holly waited a bit then said, “And this boy, Mitch? Smoking pot?”

Tilly ran her fingers through her hair, and shrugged, “I don’t smoke it, so why should you care?”

Holly glanced at Mark then back at Tilly, she stood up to take her plate to the sink and tapped Tilly on the head. “Because it can be an influence.”

“Trust me, honey. It’s a thin line to walk.” Mark tipped his head towards Tilly, “We just want what’s best for you. Don’t do anything that might compromise your chances at college.”

Tilly toyed with a piece of over syruped pancake, “I guess, and I’m not going to screw it up. I really want to go to college, you know that. I don’t just do things because people want me to.”

She realized the slip before she could catch it but ducked her head, finishing the last bites.

“So when do you think Joe Dad will get here?” Tilly asked lightly.

“Your mother has set it for dinner. Maybe 6, I have to ask her again.” Mark said, glancing over to Tilly and feeling the same nerve she might. He was nervous too, almost wanted to skip his workout this morning, “I told your mother this, but I’ll tell you too. I’m always going to be here if…”

Mark struggled to find the correct words. He realized there probably weren’t any, he settled for a lame, “Well, I’ll always be here. Always have been. I love you, Tilly.”

Tilly watched her step dad struggle with the awkwardly emotional moment and she felt her face redden. She shrugged, swiping her long hair back from her face, “I know, Dad. You’re my dad but so is he, I didn’t ask mom to call him because I thought...you know, I thought you weren’t being DAD enough. I just…”

She hunched her shoulders, her face still fresh and young, not one for makeup her features were pale. “I want to know things,” Tilly tried to put into words the desire to know her biological father, other than the faint childhood memories and all her mother’s stories.

She stood up suddenly and hugged Mark, “Alright, that’s enough. I’m gonna go skate and probably swing by the mall.”

Holly had waited while they spoke, the tension there brought once more by her ex. She stepped over to Tilly and side hugged her, “Do you need bus money?”

Tilly cupped her hands together, her blue eyes widening, “Can I ‘ave some more? I kinda wanted to buy something for D...Joe. Just like a little thing.”

She squinted and pinched her fingers together. Holly chuckled and sighed, “I’ll get my purse. Where’s your allowance.”

“I bought that pencil set off Amazon,” Tilly admitted.

She came back with some cash and watched her daughter stuff it in her pocket and grab the skateboard leaning against the wall near the door. “Got my phone,” she said, pulling it out from her pocket. Tilly tried to duck out before Holly caught her. “Your helmet and pads, young lady. Now.”

Tilly growled, “I hate the helmet, I look like a dork.”

Holly crossed her arms and Tilly sighed dramatically then snatched her gear to put it on.

>1730...///

Agent Orange’s Bloodstains and the loud roars of a motorcycle’s engines filled the peaceful forested backroads. Trees passed in a blur of green and wind buffeted Donnelley’s bandana covered face. The drive from Seattle had been easygoing, and he’d felt confident, talking himself up the whole damn way. Now that he was at the mouth of Holly and her husband’s long driveway that led down to their large house and plot of land, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe a younger Donnelley would rev his engine and speed back off and away, but Tilly was the one who asked him to be here. Whatever he and her mother had spat at each other years ago, none of it was Tilly’s fault.

As he sat idling at the end of the driveway, he’d made his choice. He ambled down the stretch of asphalt and cut his engine after walking the bike behind the cars. One a BMW, the other a Mercedes. The house looked nicer than the one in Seattle, nicer than one he could afford. It was two stories, and vast. If they’d have shown him a picture of it back when he was in the trailer park he’d have called it a mansion. He wondered if he could go back to the apartment in Turkey now that he’d seen a house like this. He immediately went to wondering just what the fuck Mark did for a living. At least Tilly had a good home though. That’s what mattered. And at least he’d been able to clean up as nice as he could. He’d shed the denim vest with the Special Forces patch and the shitload of band patches, leaving it with his helmet on his bike, that trusty Indian motorcycle.

At least the beard did some to cover up the burn scar on his cheek. With that, there was no hiding. He could dress nice, put on the last button up shirt and pair of slacks he had that weren’t bloodstained or reeked of gunpowder and sweat. But that scar. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and reached to the doorbell, his finger hovering just an inch away. He forced himself to press his finger into it and crossed the point of no return. Mark was the one who opened the door. He looked at him and Donnelley could tell his eyes were looking for something on him to pick at. Judge. Donnelley had done a lot, and he did enough judging of himself already.

But he understood, no matter how much that look made him want to smash his fucking head in. He had to remind himself it had been years, and no emotions were worth ruining Tilly’s day. Plus, opening up his front door to a man like himself, Donnelley didn’t know how he’d feel about that. “Hey, Joe.” Mark said, flat.

A ghost of a smile, the bare minimum of what was required. Donnelley returned the same, and then offered his hand to the other man, “Hey, Mark.” They shook, firm, but noncommittal, “What’s, uh, what’s for dinner?”

Mark didn’t answer, simply shutting the door behind him and leaving the two of them alone. Donnelley’s heart pumped hard, a part of him wondering if Mark was putting his foot down, drawing a line in the sand to stop with this crazy fiasco in the making before it blew up in everyone’s faces. “I need to ask you something.” Mark began, his voice firm, “No funny business, okay? We eat dinner, we chat, you get to see my…”

Donnelley’s eyes narrowed, already feeling his hands begin to tighten, his temper flaring before Mark continued, “Your daughter. Tilly. You get to see Tilly.” Mark stood his ground, a slightly smaller man than Donnelley, but standing up to someone who looked like he did took some bravery. Some courage, some love, “We’ll all get together and you and Tilly can talk-“

“Tilly and I can talk alone.” Donnelley struggled to keep his voice from becoming a growl through his gritted teeth, “The only reason I’m here is for her. She’s the one that asked. She’s the only one who gets answers.”

“She’s my daughter too, Joe.” Mark said.

“I was there when she was born. I held her in my hands the first time she ever cried. I’m talkin’ to her alone.” Donnelley stepped closer, and still Mark didn’t show a sign of being nervous, “She deserves the truth. Not some sugar-coated bullshit I have to coo to her with you and Holly breathin’ down my fuckin’ neck.”

Mark and Donnelley stood opposite each other then, both not speaking, staring into each other’s eyes. Not backing down. After some time, Mark nodded. He turned his back and opened the door, stepped inside and left it open for Donnelley, “Why don’t you come inside, Joe.”

Donnelley smoothed his dress shirt down and took a breath, calming himself. Already, he didn’t like Mark. The inside of the house matched the rich tastes of the outside. Modest chandelier in the entrance, a stairway in front of the door that led up to the second floor. There was a living room to his right that Mark led him through and then the kitchen beyond. No sign of Tilly yet, but then he saw the other woman in his past life. Like a ghost made solid before his eyes, he looked at her back in disbelief while she was fussing over a stove and stirring something. He caught himself wondering if she was as beautiful now as she was back then and then stopped himself from staring, looking away and glancing at Mark. Luckily Mark was busy checking his phone to notice Donnelley’s looks at Holly. He looked from Mark to the table and the arrangements that had been made. He guessed his spot was the last there, Tilly and Holly at either side of him at the head of the table.

Holly could hear them and it took all she had not to whirl around to see Joseph, to see what life had done to him since she had seen him last. Or what he had done with himself. Instead, she stirred the Bolognese sauce, then turned off the heat.

The pasta was drained and drizzled with olive oil and Tilly was allowed to pick the wine from the shelf in the basement. She was still down there when Joe arrived and Holly was grateful for a moment to gather herself in his presence.

She turned around, Holly was dressed in neat casual slacks and a cardigan, a cute retro gingham apron covering her clothes that Tilly had bought her as a joke for Mother's day.

The apron hung loose, untied but as she pulled it off, the shape of her body under the clingy top would be revealed and there was no hiding her current condition.

"Joseph," she said, folding the apron over her arm. Holly's gaze strayed to his face, the shock of the burn scar had held her tongue. Despite the ginger beard, it was quite visible and drew attention. She blinked, trying to recover from staring at it and forced herself to meet his gaze.

A history of a lifetime in those blue eyes but a past life, nothing she wanted anymore. Holly smiled tightly, "Thank you for coming. Tilly should be up any moment."

A hundred questions filled her mind but she put them down, they would at least have a pleasant dinner before accusations and excuses flew.

She stepped a few feet closer to him, close enough it was obvious she was doing a smell check for whiskey. Holly breathed deep and eyed him, "She helped make dinner so I hope you like it."

“Holly…” Donnelley was taken aback seeing that her stomach had swelled. The one thing that could mean. He had to remind himself that Holly was Mark’s wife now, and had been for almost a decade.

“Thank you for havin’ me.” Donnelley gave his own tight smile as Holly hovered next to him, no doubt doing the old trick of making it not look obvious she was smelling him for alcohol. Only difference this time was he was the guest. He hadn’t had a drop since he’d gotten to the house in Seattle, made sure he didn’t even eye a bottle. There were a lot of them, “I’m sure it’ll be delicious. You two were always the better chefs.”

He tried at some warmth for a change, ease some of the tension he’d felt building. He looked at Mark and saw him doing a great job of trying to ignore the tepid reunion. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward at just standing there, “Should I… do you need my help with anythin’?”

Holly looked him over again, he had tried to dress nice, at least he wasn’t wearing that ragged old vest. Tilly somehow managed to get his eye for fashion without him even being here. The pictures were there though and she wondered if that's where the girl got her fascination with that music in the last few years. The thought flitted away when he asked to help and she kept the ironic acid from leaking too much.

“No, I don’t,” she said too quickly, then tried to soften it. “Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll get Tilly.”

With a glance to Mark that lasted for a brief moment but said that she was on edge and trying her best for their daughter, Holly went to the basement door and called down, “Are you stomping the grapes yourself?”

“I just don’t know which one.”

“Tilly...he’s here, just pick one,” Holly said, “He won’t care, he’ll drink it just the same.”

It is booze after all.

Tilly felt a thrill of excitement and worry when she heard that her dad was there. She snatched a bottle of red with an unpronounceable but distinctly Italian name and ran up the stairs. Despite Holly asking her to change into something more presentable, the girl was dressed in jeans and sneakers though she had changed her shirt after a shower. It was a favorite of hers, a vintage JFA tour shirt that she found at an independent thrift shop on a trip to Seattle she made that she had not told Holly about. Instead, she had passed it off as an Etsy purchase when Holly asked.

Tilly bounced into the kitchen, her blue eyes flickering around nervously as she gripped the bottle with both hands. Holly nodded at the table, and the girl peered over the breakfast counter at the ginger haired man. He looked older, grizzled with a beard but the same profile. Taking a deep breath she kept the bottle of wine as something to hold onto as she stepped awkwardly around the corner, her long blonde hair falling forward as she lowered her head a bit with a sudden shyness.

Donnelley’s heartbeat quickened, almost jumping out of his mouth and onto the table when he heard Tilly’s footsteps. It was the best kinds of nervous, Donnelley being happy for the first time to have to hide his hands and wipe his palms on his pants when no one was looking. When she finally came into view, his eyes widened, his mouth almost agape. She’d grown so damn much, and immediately the weight of ten lost years pressed down on his chest to the point he had to look away from her and clear his throat, blinking away wetness.

“Um, hey, Joe...Dad,” she said, looking back up at him. Her eyes widened at the sight of the scar and she blurted out, “Jesus, what happened to your face?”

Tilly caught herself, blushing, “Sorry. Um, I hope you like…wine.”

Planting the bottle on the table beside him, she stepped back, no longer having a prop to occupy her hands she folded her arms.

Donnelley’s breath hitched in his throat when Tilly commented on his scar. He was used to it, sometimes. Other times, not so. But he took it in stride, seeing her turn red at the unexpected choice of words and not wanting to make it seem like she’d ruined his mood. After all, she’d made it. She could slap him in his face and he’d just be happy that at least there was some amount of justice for the absence. But there were other ways. “I, uh,” he looked up at Holly, her gaze could’ve burned through to the back of his skull to see him touch another bottle after only five minutes of being under the same roof, “Yeah, I’ll have a glass. Just one.”

Tilly looked at him, the same frank and examining gaze he might have had at her age. She wanted to ask him so many things, he did look happy to see her even after her blunder over saying something about the scar but it would wait. Instead, she gave a hint of a smile and turned to Mark, “Hey, Dad, do you have the bottle opener? I didn’t see it downstairs.”

At Tilly’s calling out for Dad, Donnelley reflexively opened his mouth to say something before seeing she was looking at Mark. He shut his mouth and took his seat next to Holly’s, across from Tilly. The two of them hardly looked at each other, Donnelley making out like the shade of paint on the walls was the most interesting choice he’d seen. Every so often, he’d glance at Tilly just to take her in. Until now, she’d been forever eight years old, and to see her as a young woman was as beautiful as she was, but also as painful as anything Donnelley had felt before.

Tilly took her seat, not ready to hug or even shake hands with her natural father, not yet. Holly noticed it, she had not known how Tilly would react if she would run up and hug him or smack him. But she should have known, it would be this, the aloof pretend to be cool with everything attitude, like nothing bothered her. Holly knew better, Tilly could be a sensitive girl at times and this age it was magnified.

Holly went to the kitchen with Mark who was getting the wine opener and said softly, “What do you think?”

She spoke as she tossed the sauce with the spaghetti so he could carry it out and she would take the salad.

“Well,” Mark raised his brows, not knowing exactly if it was going good or not, simply that Joseph hadn’t threatened to choke him yet. From their conversation at the door, he might’ve. He gave Holly a reassuring smile as he found the corkscrew among a hundred other kitchen implements, “All things considered, everything you’ve told me. It’s going okay so far.”

He took the pot in his hands, “But, really. I hope she gets what she asked for out of this. I told Joe as much.” He said, a very, very egregious oversimplification, “Let’s have dinner and we can all chat, okay?”

Once the food was on the table and everyone served, and had begun to eat, Tilly watched Joseph from the corner of her eye with his wine. She and her mother had water and Mark had a full glass of the Sicilian red.

They ate in silence for a while, the oppressive weight seemed to grow until Tilly finally asked, “Mom said this is how we used to make spaghetti. That it was the first thing she showed you how to cook.”

Holly swallowed and almost choked as Tilly brought out the memory of their earliest years. She glanced at Mark then at her daughter, “Tilly why don’t you tell Joe about that camp you went to over the summer.”

Donnelley looked up from his plate as he chewed, locking eyes with Holly and then looking at Mark. Holly was busy trying to forget they were ever married and Mark was looking at Donnelley expectantly. He swallowed, clearing his throat softly and making sure he could speak. He took one last look at Holly before his eyes returned to his plate and he twirled another morsel, “Yeah, easiest thing she could teach me.” He said, he smiled at the memory, “You weren’t even born yet. When she saw my idea of food she took me for some uncultured savage. Pretty soon we were cookin’ from every kinda book you could imagine.”

He felt nervous, speaking about their marriage at first, their history, but the more he talked the easier it became. Until he almost had to shut himself up, “When you were old enough, we’d let you pick what book and what out of it we made.” He was smiling now, cheek to cheek, “‘Course, you’d usually just make us have mac n’ cheese and chicken strips.”

His smile faltered just a tad when he looked up at Holly staring at him, before she looked away and suddenly didn’t have the time for him, looking at Mark. “But, yeah. First thing she taught me to make.” Donnelley finished, his voice not as jovial, “So… Summer Camp, yeah?”

Tilly listened attentively, but noticed her mother’s discomfort. She ignored it for a moment, smiling a little as she said, “I do love chicken nuggies.”

She leaned forward, poking at her salad, “Well, I mean it’s kinda nerdy but we have this naturalist club at school and they had a two week camp for marine science. We learned how to kayak off the coast, how to do water samples, and we studied tide pools but the coolest part was we got to sleep over in the Aquarium. And they did this whole thing about the intelligence of cephalopods which was really the actual coolest thing.”

Her rare display of enthusiasm made her blue eyes sparkle, “So octopus and squid are really smart, like ape smart. They can solve problems and use tools. And we’re over here eating them with marinara sauce.”

Holly looked at her with pride, it was something that finally interested the girl that did not have anything to do with punk music, skateboards, or video games.

“It would be tits to have an octopus as a pet,” she said, “I’m just saying.”

“Language.”

“Sorry mom, but still, I stand by that statement,” Tilly said.

“I don’t think just anyone can have it as a pet.”

“I know...I haven’t even got to get a dog,” she muttered, swiping the garlic bread against the plate.

Donnelley heard Tilly talk about her two week trip, the excitement in her voice, the glint in her eye. The more excited she grew talking about what interested her, the more his smile grew. It was still just so odd to see the girl he’d only known as a child growing into her own woman, her own opinions, interests. He looked down at his plate and kept his chuckle to himself when she’d used some colorful language at the table, prompting her mother to rebuke her. He reached to his glass of wine and took a small sip, replacing it, “That’s good, I’m glad you’ve got somethin’ you’re passionate about. Makes me happy knowin’ you’re already smarter’n me when I was sixteen. My high school never did anythin’ like that.” Donnelley snorted, “The town your mother and I came from was ‘specially small. Stand on one end and jump to the other, almost.”

“Seem to have come a long way though,” Donnelley said, looking over at Holly and Mark, sprinkling some politeness into his voice, “Doin’ well for yourselves. You don’t mind me askin’, what do y’all do?”

Holly stiffened slightly when he spoke of their hometown and now her upgrade in social status. Asking what they did when he was the one that vanished into the ether for a decade. She could only imagine what he was up to, if he was still in the Army or if he’d moved on.

“I do mind,” she said, “Maybe you should tell us what you’ve been up to?”

Tilly widened her eyes and shot a look at her mother. “Mom it’s just a qu-”

Holly put her hand up, the surge of protectiveness and hormones mingling with the resentment of years, “I’m interested what’s kept you so busy. But if you really want to know, Mark does very well in IT for a big contractor, I was doing client care until a year ago. Nothing so exciting like jumping out of planes.”

Donnelley and Mark caught eyes then and that was the first time the entire night it looked like they’d both been caught off guard by Holly. Donnelley wanted to curl away from Holly when she even quieted Tilly. And then he felt that twinge of anger again, like he was back in his younger years and the two of them were locked in an angry exchange of venom. He looked at his plate, absently twirled the morsel he’d yet to eat a few noodles bigger. When he thought he was calm enough not to sling some choice words for basically telling his daughter to shut her mouth, he spoke, “Well, I don’t usually jump out of planes anymore. Much boring now,” he said, wondering how to explain his years of absence while not breaking down the wall and revealing the dirty world of espionage and murder his life had become, “I work for a research firm, contracting for the State Department. Diplomatic stuff, mostly advisory.”

Holly felt her jaw muscles twitch as he explained in a shallow excuse that felt so familiar. She laughed suddenly, shaking her head, “Diplomatic? That’s perfect. You’ve never been diplomatic in your life. In fact this…”

She sat forward and pointed at the table, “This visit is the most diplomatic you’ve ever been. Diplomatic, advisory...is that some sort of euphemism like collateral damage?”

“Mom…” Tilly said in a small voice, reaching over to touch her arm. “Please.”

Holly heard her and felt her and she covered her hand with her own. “It must be damn interesting work, Joseph.”

Donnelley was white-knuckle gripping his fork as Holly went off on him. That little voice in the back of his head he barely used to listen to told him he deserved it, but there was a lot of other feelings that drowned it out. He opened his mouth, pointing his fork towards her with narrowed eyes, “At least let me fuckin’ try, just one goddamn-“

“Everyone!” Mark rose his voice above the growing others, looking from Holly to Tilly, then finally Donnelley. The fire in the two ex-spouses rising only to lower as the two of them seemed to transfix their poisonous stares on him, “Holly, baby, please. Let’s just take a few minutes if we need to.”

Holly let go of her daughter’s hand, leaning back in her chair and rested her hand now on her swelling belly. Her glare finally pulled away from Joseph’s scarred face, behind all her anger she wondered how he had got that and how close to death he had been. She and Tilly may never have known what happened to him, he might have just vanished completely from their lives.

Tilly could not look at any of them, her fork now laying on her plate. She took a deep breath, her long hair falling forward to hide her face as it often did. Without a word she pushed back from the table and walked out of the dining room.

Holly called to her, “Honey…”

She did not respond but climbed the stairs to her room and shut the door, it had been the same. Just like when her father had left the first time. The yelling, the verbal darts, the pain that had never healed the absence. And she had asked for it, begging her mother to invite Joe over. The girl sat on her bed and put her elbows on her knees, her fingers combing through her pale hair as she put her head in her hands.

“Fuck this,” she muttered, pressing her face against her palms to keep from crying.

Back downstairs, Donnelley sat, not able to look at Holly or Mark. Part of him felt like this was his fault, like his presence just brought a depressive cloud that choked the lightness from the room in its wake. He sighed, sitting up and combing his fingers through his hair, stroking his beard. “I, um, I’m sorry.” He said, not able to stop himself from reaching for his wine glass and tipping back the contents of it in one go, not caring if they saw or not. “I’ll just be outside. Or…”

He swore under his breath, shaking his head and desperately needing a cigarette. He remembered he’d left them in the breast pocket of his vest still draped over the seat of his bike. As Donnelley left, Mark looked to Holly, “I should go talk to her.”

Holly watched Joseph walk out, running away again, she thought bitterly but felt the weight of sadness pull at her. She sighed and rubbed her stomach, then smiled a little at the feeling of a fluttering kicking. She gazed at Mark, “I’m sorry. He just…”

He didn’t wait for Holly’s answer, simply turning for the stairs and climbing them quietly until he got to Tilly’s door. He rapped his knuckles on the wood of her door, not forcefully, but just loud enough she could probably hear, “Tilly, it’s dad.”

Tilly sat in unusual silence, letting the quiet press down until it roared in her ears, like being under water. The knock startled her and she lifted her head, tossing back her hair. It was Mark and she sighed, not wanting to talk about it but she finally relented, “It’s open.”

She lay back on her bed, the plushie squid she got at the aquarium tucked under her head. The walls were covered in posters until the purple paint she had insisted on using when she was twelve was hardly visible. Her door opened and Mark peeked his head inside, “Hey,” he said, tentatively stepping inside and closing the door behind him, “I’m… I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted this and…”

He didn’t know what else to say, settling for taking a seat next to Tilly on her bed, at her feet.

Tilly sighed then crossed her arms over her chest, “I did...I still do just that Mom. She got so angry and I know she has reasons. It’s just that...I want to talk to Joe, I want to know things and her screaming at him isn’t helping. But I don’t want her to think I’m like...taking his side, because I’m not.”

She sat up, her small frame curled defensively inward, “I don’t want her to think I’m picking him over her or you. I just…”

Tilly sighed and looked over at the wall of posters, mostly bands and album art, a few of her own drawings, art projects from school. Her old skateboard with the wheels removed and dozens of photos with Mark and Holly or her friends and cousins. The latest with her kayaking in a wetsuit, grinning with double oar held out over the water.

“I want to know why he didn’t want to know me. I need to know. If it was just the shit with Mom or…”

She swallowed hard, unable to look at Mark who had been there since she was nine, “Or maybe he just wasn’t interested. I dunno. Kids can be dumb and boring.”

“Baby, please, no.” Mark said, incredulous at the insinuation that his daughter, that his Tilly was even anything close to dumb or boring, “Of course he wants to know you. He wouldn’t take time out of his… work, to come see you if he didn’t want to know you.”

Mark looked down at the carpet. He wasn’t taking Joe’s side either, but he’d seen the way he looked at Tilly when she came into the kitchen. It was the same way he looked at her the first time Holly introduced him to her. He used to think Joe was as much of an asshole as Holly told him he was. Maybe he was. But he still couldn’t get that look out of his head, that love in Joseph’s eye at the first sight of Tilly. “He loves you.” Mark said, matter-of-factly, looking at Tilly, “And mom loves you, both of them do. They’re two strong personalities. You know…”

Mark frowned and glanced away, “I know how mom gets. But Joe’s still outside. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.” He said, “Just you. He told me he did when he first got here.”

Tilly rolled off her bed, setting her feet on the floor. “I know, I remember how it was.”

She gave Mark a knowing look, then reached to hug him, “Thanks, Dad. I think I’ll go down there, let Mom cool off.”

Rising from the bed, she reached for a black and white cap and slapped it on her head and pulled her hoodie on despite the temperatures being in the balmy mid 70s. She looked at her desk then at him, “Here goes.”

Tilly jogged down the stairs, passing through the kitchen where Holly stood doing dishes and she recognized the cap on her head as the girl grabbed her skateboard and slipped out the door.

This time Holly didn’t yell at her to get her helmet but let her go do what she needed. Her heart ached and she prayed aimlessly Joseph did not make promises he could not or would not keep. She plunged her hands back into the warm soapy water, scrubbing hard at the pan.

A flitting figure in baggy clothes and long pale hair came flying out, jogging down the driveway and the familiar smack and hiss of a skateboard being dropped and jumped on would be heard. She rolled past him and did a sharp turn at the base of the driveway, kicking the tail down so the nose pointed in the air. Tilly rested her hand on it, holding it against her leg as she watched him smoking, her blue eyes shaded under the cap.

Donnelley heard her, then watched her roll along before hopping off her board and kicking it up to stand opposite him. The two of them stood in the dusky dimness of the driveway. Donnelley didn’t know what to say at first, part of him really didn’t know if he’d get this far after her mother had started with the yelling. As he took her in, he noticed the cap on her head, the white pattern on black, it was the same one he’d given her before the divorce. Before Holly and Tilly moved out. He took another drag off his cigarette after swallowing the lump in his throat, and nodded at her, a small smile on his lips, “Hey, kid.” A lame start, but he figured something needed saying, “I’m… sorry about what happened in there.”

He looked away from Tilly for a moment, suddenly nervous. He mustered up the courage to look at her again and looking at her eyes… they were so much like his own. There was so much he wanted to say, to apologize for. But he wanted to let her ask the questions instead of feeling awkward with her father prostrating at her feet, “You kept the cap.” He said softly, his smirking smile almost in juxtaposition with his moistening eyes.

Tilly reached up and adjusted the cap, pushing the bill so it stood flatter not unlike her upended skateboard. “Yeah, it’s a cool hat,” she said, then pressed her lips tightly together, the slight dimple appearing on her cheek then she breathed out. “It’s my favorite.”

She looked down at her board and kicked a wheel so it spun, “It’s my dad’s hat. Mom said you were a skater, too.”

She glanced at him, “And she says you listened to the same racket I do. But like...I mean, I didn’t tell her but I kinda remembered that a few years ago and started looking into it online and I found songs I liked. Then learned about it and here I am, a super cool girl.”

Her voice held the sarcasm that his responses often did and the little smirk showed her dimple. She dropped the board and pushed off, skating in a wide circle as she let that sit between them. That she had been desperate to feel closer to him so she had researched what he liked at her age, when she had been fourteen and in the throes of puberty, wanting to know who her real dad was. She felt a pang of guilt about that, not for Joe but for Mark. Still, the music and scene had stuck with her and she loved skateboarding. Tilly swerved closer to him then tried an ollie, getting the first part but her foot hit the pavement, not quite landing it. She blushed slightly then shrugged her shoulders in the large hoodie.

Donnelley watched her as she circled him, head moving from one shoulder to the other and back as he smoked on his cigarette, “You are.” He said, smiling as he watched her go round and round, “A cool girl. Really.”

He watched her try at the ollie, and if it wasn’t for the fact he hadn’t been on a board in years he would’ve offered to try at it and teach her. He chuckled softly as she looked away from him and blushed at her blunder, “I was a skater. One of the only ones in that little town your mom and I grew up in.” He said, looking up at the sky over the trees, “Listened to a shitloa-... er, a lot of punk too. Gang Green, Agent Orange, Crass… you know.”

He snorted, “Used to have hair about as long as yours too.”

Tilly put one foot on the board, moving it back and forth as she listened with rapt attention. “Mom doesn’t really talk about her…y’alls hometown. She said it was the armpit of Texas and she’s glad she left.”

Her exaggerated Texan word she had picked up from the times Holly drank too much or got upset and the dusty Panhandle drawl came out. Tilly smiled a little, “I listen to those and like Suicidal Tendencies, Black Flag, JFA, Trash Talk...man if you have all night we can compare lists.”

A nervous little half smile touched her lips, he wouldn’t have all night, just the few hours. When he mentioned his long hair she grinned, “No way, I don’t believe you. Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Donnelley smirked.

She tilted her head, trying to imagine her scarred bearded father her age with a smooth face and long gingery red hair. “That’s kinda rad.”

Her smile faded slightly, looking again at his face. She had her questions she wanted to ask but those were heavy and this was kind of fun, like meeting a new friend at the skatepark but only much more. “What was the first band you ever saw?”

“Are we talking famous or not?” Donnelley asked, “First band I ever saw was my best friend’s at a house show for someone’s birthday. Dude’s who owned the house were straight edge, but didn’t really care if you didn’t push drinks at ‘em.”

Donnelley smiled and laughed softly remembering that night, wondering whether or not to tell Tilly that it ended with the cops crashing the show. “First big concert? I actually saw Suicidal Tendencies. Seen Black Flag too, got a bloody nose from some other kid in the pit.”

“You go to shows?” Donnelley asked.

“This is punk, fuck famous,” she said then caught herself, her hand cupping over her mouth. Holly would have death glared her for that, Joe only smirked at her. Dropping her hand, she said, “Mom and Dad have let me go to a couple of festivals since last summer, mostly the bigger names in the nicer venues. Youth Brigade, Rancid, NOFX but they kinda suck, and Subhumans, I got to see the Distillers, I love Brodie she’s the queen. Oh and Bouncing Souls.”

She turned and showed the back of her hoodie then swung herself back around, “Mom of course dropped us off but it was cool like the first one I saw was Youth Brigade but man, they’re more like the Middle Age Brigade now.”

Tilly chuckled at her own joke and met his eyes, “But it was cool that they still tour. I want to go to the local shows, the real sh...stuff. But Mom’s like not having it.”

She paused, an almost sly look on her face as she considered telling him how she and her buddies skipped school and took the bus down into the depths of Seattle downtown to see The Accüsed play their possibly final show. Holly and Mark didn’t know about it or she would have been grounded. Tilly held back, shuffling her skateboard again then pushed her long hair behind her ear.

Donnelley shrugged, “Maybe I could take you some time.” He said, looking at Tilly and immediately regretting it. Already, he was worrying if his obligations would take him away from Tilly once more. Or even if he’d be able to anyway, if Holly would let him see her again. He glanced away, “If you’d like.”

Tilly lifted her gaze, a smile appearing briefly, “You mean it?”

She looked at him then back down at her board, stepping onto it and bouncing to do something against the nervous energy. “I’d like that but...you don’t have to, you know?”

The girl stepped off the board again and popped it up, catching it in her hand. Her hope teetered on her mother’s reminder of not having too many expectations of his promises. “Of course I’d like it but, why now?”

She tucked the board under her arm, looking at him directly, “Why haven’t you come to see me and take me places or just talk to me? You could have written a letter or something.”

Tilly felt the emotion she had tried to keep in check threaten, her throat tightening. She turned away from him, moving over to the curb and plopped down, her ass half on the sidewalk and curb with her legs extended, the board across her lap upside down. The deck design was immediately recognizable as a Vision brand with the bright colors twisting with black fragmented Gator spirals.

Donnelley frowned at that, pursing his lips. He took the last drag off his cigarette and pinched out the cherry, stashing the butt in a plastic bag. She was right, and she had every right to ask that. He looked at her across the way from him, sitting alone on the curb and felt his heart skip a beat. He had to ask himself the same questions Tilly did, but he knew the answer. He wasn’t ready to have her when he and Holly did, and in the days he was running with the Wetwork Teams like GRANTOR and THUNDER, he wouldn’t want a man like him around Tilly.

Was he even ready now? Was anyone ever ready? He swallowed his fears and crossed the distance between where he leaned against his bike and where Tilly sat, bathed in the streetlight’s orange glow. He sat down beside her, his legs crossed at the ankles and his elbows resting on his knees, “Tilly…” he began lamely, not exactly knowing what would come after, “Your mother and I… there’s reasons why we aren’t together anymore. I was gone a lot when you were younger, I don’t know if you remember.”

Donnelley sighed, “I don’t want to sugar coat anythin’ or feed you a line of bull…” he sighed again, he hadn’t had to police his language for a while, deciding his daughter was old enough at this point, “Feed you a line of bullshit excuses and hope that patches everythin’ up so I can have my cake and eat it too.”

He looked at her, “You’re one of the smartest I’ve ever met at your age, I wouldn’t insult you by makin’ it out to be anythin’ else than what it is.” Donnelley looked away again, wringing his hands and pursing his lips, aching for a drink again, “What I do… it keeps me busy. And I know there ain’t much empty spots in your life for me now that you got Mark, but I…”

“I want to give you that chance I never was. Watch you find yourself and be just as happy as you are for it and not shame you over it.” Donnelley shrugged, not even knowing if he was making sense, “I wasn’t… I was a fuckin’ asshole, Tilly, and I didn’t want you growin’ up with that for a dad, and I’m happy that Mark seems to be doin’ a great damn job.”

“I was just scared, Tilly.” Donnelley’s lip quivered, “Scared I wouldn’t be good enough. Scared you wouldn’t even remember me, or need me, or want me. Hell, I was scared just pullin’ up to this place. But I did it. Because, I knew you wanted me to. I think I’m finally in a place in my life I realize what’s important and I don’t want to be my father.”

He pointed at his bike, nodding toward it, “That was his. We never talked much after I left Dalhart.” Donnelley sniffled, wiped at his eye just before a tear could leave it, “Then a year before he dies, he tells me he’s got somethin’ for me and tows his old motorcycle into my driveway like that makes up for all the goddamn stupid shit I had to go through.”

Donnelley looked down at his shoes, grinding his toe into the concrete and shrugging, “I want to mean somethin’ to you.” He said, running his fingers through his hair, laying himself bare to someone wasn’t something he ever did. And here he was, not even Laine could pull it all out of him. It took a sixteen year old girl awkwardly asking who the hell her father was and asking to be accepted by him. He added quietly, “And I can’t blame you if you ain’t so keen on the idea of me still. But that’s the truth of it.”

Tilly almost interrupted him when he brought up the divorce, it was not about him and Mom. It was clearly better they were not together and Mark was good for Holly and for herself. But it did not mean she didn’t long for her birth father and his attention and love. She listened, absently spinning one of the wheels flicking it back and forth then turned to watch his face when he said he had been scared.

It had taken her a year to ask her mother about calling him, she had written dozens of letters to Joe but without an address she had thrown them away rather than mailing them. It hurt thinking about where her father might be, maybe he had another family and didn’t want to bother with the mistake of his first.

“I just didn’t think you wanted me,” she said finally, with a sigh. “I get that you didn’t want to be with Mom, and it’s better you’re not but I’m not Mom.”

Tilly looked at him, “I remember when you had that fight with the security guard at school. Mom said you were an alcoholic and couldn’t deal with the things war left in you.”

“Man, I just...it really made me feel like shit that you never called me or anything,” she blurted out. “I thought I wasn’t good, I just wanted you to like me and care.”

She swallowed hard, reaching up to remove her hat and looked at it. “I used to cry for you and Mom...sometimes she’d just get mad. Mark...he’s a good Dad. But he’s not…”

With a guilty blush Tilly glanced at Donnelley, “He isn’t you, I still need you, Dad. I still want you to...you know, to give a shit about me. I never thought about it from your side to be honest.”

Her shoulders sagged, the hoodie drooping as she did. “I feel bad because Mom and Dad are great but I wasn’t happy. I guess I’m kind of an asshole, too.”

Donnelley chuckled, looking over at Tilly. He gazed at her for a few seconds and smiled, “You’re not an asshole.” He said, playfully butting her arm with his elbow, “I give so many shits about you, Tilly, you have no idea.”

He looked away from her and at his hands, toying with them. He sniffled again and cleared his throat, “I saw you in the kitchen for the first time in years and,” He huffed, smiling, “It was like looking at you in the hospital for the first time ever. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter, Tilly, and… I’m sorry for makin’ you feel like I could ever forget about you.”

Tilly sat in silence, nodding her head at what he said. She examined the hat and folded the brim up as she mulled over his words. She huffed a laugh, shaking her head, “I doubt that, I gave Mom a hard time. I used to blame her, you know, that you weren’t around. We’re doing better now but a few years ago...it was tough.”

She turned to look at Donnelley, “Yeah, it’s tough to imagine someone still thinks of you when you don’t hear from them but I get it. Look, don’t be too mad at Mom right now. She’s a hormonal mess, this whole pregnancy thing.”

Rolling her eyes she said, “I’m just glad it happened so I don’t have to hear about schedules and cycles.”

She gave an exaggerated shiver, then smiled sadly, “This is their third try. First two didn’t make it, it sucked.”

Tilly put the hat back on and looked over at the house then at him, “But anyway, when do I get to ride your motorcycle? You could start making it up to me.”

A dimpled grin appeared on her face, the sunshine coming out from behind a cloud. Donnelley laughed, looking at Tilly and then the motorcycle, “I have every intention of doin’ just that.” He said, “I don’t think your mom would appreciate me takin’ you on a ride this late, least of all your neighbors. It’s an Indian Chief, 1953. Dad- my dad- your grandad, he tried to keep it original as possible.”

He looked back at Tilly, figuring she didn’t quite have as much of an interest in the history behind the machinery as he did. “Uh, yeah, though. Next time I’ve got some time I’ll come over and we’ll hurl ourselves down these backroads.”

He looked at the house, how big it was, how much money it had cost to live in. Tilly was in an entirely different world than him when he was her age. He could understand why Holly wanted this for her. Donnelley would too, and he did want that. But he could understand Tilly not seeing it that way, “About your mom. Holly. I hope you still don’t blame her.” He said, shaking his head, “She and I both want what’s best for you. You said it yourself, it’s best for you and for us that we aren’t together.”

“I ain’t mad at her though. I know she’s tryin’ to make sure I don’t… I don’t hurt you… again.” He said, frowning down at his shoes, “Hormones or not, I know where she’s at with me right about now.”

Tilly looked over at the motorcycle, what the story behind it was and then back up at him. "That would be pretty sweet."

She shrugged, reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Tilly said nothing about not being mad at her mother, she finally spoke, “Do you think you will actually come back and teach me how to ride the motorcycle? You won’t forget when you get busy with advising?”

Donnelley looked over to Tilly with some sadness in his eye. He frowned just a bit and shook his head, retrieving his personal phone from his pocket, “I know what you mean, but I ain’t never forgotten you. I just… got busy with advisin’.” Donnelley sighed, “But, I promise you, Miss Tilly Grier. I will call you as often as I can… right after I get your number.”

He smiled, handing the smartphone over to his daughter.

Tilly took the phone, quickly tapping in her phone number and address then took a selfie with a little ironic half smile that still made her dimple appear to add as her contact image. “Yuck, I hate taking pictures,” she said, hovering over the delete button.

“What if I wanted it?” Donnelley raised a brow, smirking a bit, “Ain’t that what dads do? I got all your old ones.”

“I always make a weird face, drives Mom nuts,” she chuckled then shrugged, “If you want it you can take a picture.”

She glanced at him, “Yeah? I was a cute kid, I dunno what happened.”

Donnelley snorted, looking at his daughter and scoffing at her comments, “You’re still a cute kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He shrugged, “‘Sides, you got your looks from me, and I’m damn beautiful.”

Tilly’s voice was dry but also tinged with insecurity. “Sure, you can keep it but can I have one with you?”

He chuckled, smoothing down his shirt and his beard, running his fingers through his hair to comb it, “You can have one with me.”

Tilly put her cap back on and smoothed her long straight hair behind her ears before stepping close to him. She leaned in as she held the phone up, tilting her head towards him with a close lipped dimpled smile. Her hair smelled like bubble gum shampoo and she was tall enough to have her head against his shoulder. “Say...skate or die!” She grinned then, flashing her teeth that had almost invisible braces across them.

“Skate or die!” And Donnelley had the same smirking grin as he held up his devil horns as Tilly took the picture. He did try to find some flattering angle that didn’t show his scar.

Tilly looked at his phone and at him, an amused smirk on her face but her cheeks glowed pink with delight, “You’re such a dork, Joe Dad. But this is cool, can you text that one to me.”

After a moment of hesitation she said, “Thanks.”

Her gaze lingered on his scar then she glanced awkwardly away, scuffing her sneaker on the sidewalk. “Mom’s probably watching through the blinds.”

“Yeah, let her watch.” Donnelley shrugged. “Joe Dad… I’ll take it.”

He smiled to Tilly, “Should get back inside. Probably should go soon, got some… advising to do tomorrow.” Donnelley frowned a bit at the prospect of throwing himself back into the fire so soon after, “Plus, I don’t want your mother to think I’m influencin’ you badly or anythin’. Showin’ you how to make pipe bombs or somethin’.”

Tilly rolled her eyes, “She probably would.”

After a pause she said, “You know how to make that stuff? Not that...I’d ever want to learn.”

She glanced around then stuffed her hands in her hoodie front pocket, “Mom said you were like some secret forces or special forces? Is that what you do, advising like teaching them to make bombs and stuff?”

“We’ll, um,” Donnelley cringed just the smallest fraction and chuckled sheepishly, “We’ll talk about that stuff… later. Your mom pretty much had it right, though, ‘least for a little bit. Jump out of planes, shoot at bad guys.”

“Did it all for you.” He said, and it immediately tasted like a bitter lie on his tongue.

Tilly said nothing to that, just looked at him for a long moment, her hands still in her pocket. “Sounds wild,” she finally said, then stepped on her board. “I guess you’re pretty good at it. I’m gonna take a ride around the block, tell Mom for me will you?”

Waiting only a few moments for him to respond, Tilly pushed off and went rolling down the smooth street, it had recently been repaved and was a joy to skate on. She drifted along the slight downslope, reaching into her pocket for her vape and took a hit, drawing in the flavor with the nicotine. The steam blew out, streaming the scent of mango and mint behind her.

She liked having Joe Dad around but the pain of missing him was hard to heal, he had been out being a soldier, ‘doing it for her’ while she had thought he didn’t want her. Tilly was not sure how she felt about it, why he couldn’t just tell her, something, anything rather than silence for eight years. Half her life.

Pushing off harder, she jumped the curb to dodge a car coming up the road, throwing him the finger when he honked.

Holly was watching from the windows waiting to see if Tilly might blow up on him but her fits of temper had abated over the year, the worst of it being between her 12th and 14th years. She was maturing and more liable to think about her problems than scream, that was Mark’s influence to be sure, she thought to herself. Rubbing her belly, she watched them take a picture together and felt a pang in her heart.

“I swear if he hurts her again, I will kick his ass,” Holly said knowing Mark was keeping an eye on her. She saw Tilly skate away and Joseph was left standing watching her.

“Give me a minute,” she said to him and went out the door and called from the porch like a Texan mom would, “Joseph?”

Donnelley turned around from watching Tilly skate down the road at the sound of Holly’s voice. He walked back towards the porch and stopped just short of the front steps, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “Said she’ll be around the block, told me to tell you.” He said, voice not friendly, but not antagonistic, “You wanted to talk?”

Holly crossed her arms, glancing over her shoulder but Mark gave her her space. She looked at Joseph, her gaze guarded, "How did it go, how is she?"

Donnelley looked back over his shoulder as if he’d see her there, but she was gone at that point. He looked back to Holly, “She wants to make it out like she’s fine, but I know,” Donnelley frowned, “I’m just tryin’ at this… bein’ a… step-dad. I told her as much, but… I’m happy where she’s at, for what it’s worth.”

Holly had a flicker of sympathy in her eyes at that but it didn't last. "She's showing you what it took years to get to. It wasn't easy between the accusations of keeping you away to crying over you not loving her. Mark having to be in your shadow that was mostly made up of wishful thinking and daydreaming. She's had therapy, it helped with her anger issues she had a few years ago. You wouldn't know it now, she learned to calm herself. But there was times I would look at her and just see you. And it scared me."

She took a deep breath, putting her hands on her face then said, "Not that I ever had the best temper. She might be angry and hurt that you stayed away but she always wanted you. Please tell me you didn't promise her anything you can't keep."

Donnelley listened to Holly speak. She was right, he didn’t know a lot of things about his own daughter and it both hurt and made him elated to see how much she’d grown in his absence. How much of life’s misgivings and cruelty she’d skipped over and would never feel the sting of. Except for one, and that was all him. He sighed, shaking his head silently at first, “No.” he said, “No, I didn’t.”

He looked back up at her, “We exchanged numbers and took some pictures. I said I’d call. And I hope to fuckin’ God she knows I’m sorry.” He said, “I can’t take anythin’ back I ever did or didn’t do, but I told her I wasn’t goin’ to be like my father. You remember him givin’ me that motorcycle.”

He shook his head, knowing how little words would mean in something this tenuous as making sure there was one more sunrise and keeping his daughter happy. “Just let me try, Holly.” He said, and not being satisfied with that word, and knowing Holly wouldn’t be either, “Just let me do this.”

Holly took a deep breath, then nodded, "I won't stop you, I told her not to expect you to drop everything. But I will support you having visits. Here. And only if she wants it."

Donnelley nodded, “Fine. Of course.”

Holly glanced up at the blur of movement, Tilly skateboarding towards the house before pausing to grind the curb and land in the driveway. She saw them together and waved tentatively until Holly beckoned her.

"Hey, just needed to clear my head," she said, carrying her board. She turned to Donnelley, "I guess you're leaving soon?"

“Yeah,” Donnelley said, turning to Tilly, “Soon. I’ve still got my assignments to attend to, you know.”

Tilly nodded with a sigh and a shrug of acceptance, "Yeah, I know but can you wait a sec? I got something for you."

She grinned with excitement and dashed inside, the skateboard hitting the tile floor with a clatter. When she returned she had a little gift bag and a paper rolled into a tube.

Tilly handed him the bag, "Here, to replace the one you lost."

As he opened the gift bag she toyed with the paper. Tilly handed it to him, "And this, just something I did recently and ... well, I wanted to give you something I made."

Tilly cracked a dimpled grin, slightly embarrassed, "Maybe you can put it on your fridge."

Donnelley eyed the hat, a pattern not dissimilar to the one she was wearing. The one he’d given her as a parting gift before he and her mother split. He cracked a grin. Having matching hats with his daughter was exactly the amount of cheesy quirk he liked and he laughed as he put it on, wearing the bill to the back, “Thanks. I really like it, used to have one just like this.”

He adjusted his hat and took the paper roll from Tilly, unrolling it and looking at the piece of art. An octopus resting and curling about a heavily textured skull. The colors and shading, everything looked professional and his smile only grew when Tilly said she’d made it herself. He chuckled softly, “Goodness, Tilly,” he said, not knowing what to say about the drawing, or suddenly learning his daughter was so talented, “Tilly, this is… I mean, it looks so good. You… you are talented, Tilly.”

He stared at it for a few long moments, mouthing ‘wow,’ as he shook his head at the quality of it. He glanced at Tilly and then back at the drawing before rolling it back up, “Came a long way from crayons and colorin’ books, huh?”

Tilly blushed with pride then looked over at Holly, then up at Donnelley, “It’s pretty good, I’ve been practicing.”

Holly shook her head, “She’s been in advanced art classes since middle school, entering competitions. She won last year for a mixed media entry and placed second for digital painting. She is talented.”

“The art camps helped,” Tilly said, pushing her hands in her hoodie pocket, uncomfortable with the praise. “And I do some tutorials online.”

Her mother put an arm around her shoulder, “So modest.”

“Mooomm,” Tilly ducked out, then looked at her natural father. “I’m glad you like it, it’s kinda weird...but I like weird.”

Donnelley smiled at Tilly’s bashfulness, “So do I.”

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the heart to heart they’d had in the driveway, learning who his daughter was, who she’d become. He forced himself to, just a little bit, so he wasn’t standing there and staring at everyone like a dumbass. He stuck a hand in his pocket, the other still holding Tilly’s art, “I’d better go.” He said, looking at Holly and Mark, “Thank you, for dinner and having me over. It meant a lot…”

Mark smiled back, standing next to Holly with his hand on the small of her back. He offered his other hand to Donnelley, “Thanks for coming over, Joe. Tilly really appreciates it.”

Donnelley took the offered hand and shook it a couple times, returning his hand to his pocket. “Alright, well… I’ll be… around.” He said, then looked to Holly, “Thank you, really.”

Holly looked directly at Donnelley, her gaze like daggers but her words were in a polite tone, “I hope you appreciate what you’ve gotten into.”

She held his eyes, the tension between them strung there, Holly did not want to clean up after him again if he failed Tilly once more or take the blame. She gave a hint of a smile and softened her hard expression, “Take care of yourself, Joe.”

Donnelley had the same expression as they looked at each other. Like they were both remembering every little thing that had ever happened when they were together, and not quite liking how it all looked on them then. Or now. When Holly’s expression softened, so did his just a touch with a smile as hard to see as hers was. A smoldering remnant of the fire that had once been between them. Love, anger, everything. He nodded, just once, “Yeah. You too, Holly.”

Tilly tugged at her hoodie sleeves, her hands covered now as she hated goodbyes, it made her anxious. When the parents were done, she gave Donnelley a little wave, her slim fingers poking past the cuff of the sleeve. “Thanks for coming to see me, Joe Dad. Can I text you?” she asked, “Like just random stuff.”

Donnelley’s small smile grew a tad and he looked at Tilly, “I’d like that.” He said, “I’ll tell you next time I’m free.”

Donnelley turned around and made his way towards his motorcycle, every step away from Tilly- and Holly, admittedly- and every step towards the dangerous life he’d chosen was like another crack in his heart. Another pound on the weight crushing his chest. By the time he’d swung his leg over his bike and sat down, putting the denim vest with a hundred patches back on, there was a pain there. Like leaving little Tilly in her mother’s arms before going off to Afghanistan again. And just like those other times, he made himself hide it.

Tilly watched him leave, her blue eyes shining and she started to speak but her voice caught so she waved at him again. The emotions of the reunion were still running high and she wished he didn’t have to leave, there was so much more she wanted to know and for him to know about her. She bit her lip to keep from crying, that would do nothing but embarrass herself.

“Bye, Dad!” she called out, her voice breaking slightly and Holly put an arm around her, this time Tilly sank back against her.

Donnelley could see Tilly waving to him from his side mirror. He turned and waved back, not trusting his voice, just before bringing his leg up and kicking down the starter pedal. His Chief roared to life and growled as he rode down the driveway, turning onto the forested backroads. The echo of his engine screaming and slowly fading with the distance.

>1930...///

The forested backroads of Black Diamond and Enumclaw were too much like West Virginia for Donnelley not to notice. He rounded turns expecting to see something just at the edge of his Indian’s headlight. It had gotten to the point where he had to stop at a lone gas station, isolated at the edges of the gas pump awning’s lights with cigarette in hand. He took a hard drag and couldn’t help but to scan the empty parking lot, devoid of any other life but him. It was this hour he felt the most awake, when no one else was.

It was a silence like no other that night brought, no cars on the road, not even the birds sang at this hour. Even the highways were empty save for the sparse night owls and third shift workers. Donnelley closed his eyes and breathed deep, letting it out before taking another drag. His mind went back to the conversation with Dawant. If they can’t find a reason, they’ll make one. He remembered the unsanitized top secret documents they’d found at the murderer's shed, the mad babbling of Dulane before he cut his own throat. Like he was trying to lead them somewhere and tell them something only he could understand.

He shook his head, what did the Program have to be scared of from him and his team going too deep into Maria’s case? Into Blackriver? What did an absent county sheriff, a murdered girl, an Old Money family, and Russian Intelligence have in connection to each other worth killing for? He wasn’t just taken off the case, he was put on administrative leave, his entire capacity to follow up on the events in Iraq completely slashed and burned when fucking killing him didn’t work.

He swallowed, looking up with wide eyes, what if Clyde Baughman didn’t die of natural causes? What if… He retrieved his phone from his pocket. The one connected to his contacts within Delta Green. He needed answers. Maria needed answers. Donnelley was feeling pushed, and Donnelley never liked being pushed. He pressed the call button on one of the contacts and it didn’t take long for them to answer.

“Queen… Billy.” Donnelley spoke out into the cold night air, breath smoking on the breeze.

“I need a favor.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

>9LB HAMMER
>SEATTLE, WA
>TUE, 15SEP2019
>1830...///

Donnelley shifted into gear and listened to the roar of his Indian’s engine as he accelerated past the green light, the vintage bike having turned some heads on their way. Even as they rode, he could hear the cacophony of motorcycles being revved somewhere off in the distance, where their destination was. While Donnelley wanted to treat all of them to a nice night in Seattle, he didn’t want to take them to a chain place that was not dissimilar to any other location flung across the states. There were a few dive bars that Donnelley frequented around Western Washington, having had time to visit quite a few of them in the past.

This particular one was not a hipster hotspot, but neither was it some of the dens of debauchery he’d been to. At least not outright. They could have whatever fun they could think of here without worrying about pissing off some nasally twenty-somethings, or worrying about getting drugged. The 9lb Hammer lay in wait for them and he slowed his bike until he walked them into a suitable parking space some distance away from the bar itself. He was dressed in jeans, his leather riding boots, and a thick flannel under his denim vest with patches aplenty adorning it, his Special Forces tab and the beret flash of 5th Group sewn onto the denim and displayed proudly. He wasted no time in checking his phone and then lighting up a cigarette.

He looked Laine over with hungry eyes, “Damn, you look good.” He said, chuckling, “You got a man?”

Laine moved her hands from his waist and reached up to smooth her short dark hair down after the wind tousled it all over. She took a survey of the parking lot, then looked at him in his patched vest and dark sunglasses. She slid from the bike, brushing her hands over her jeans and tugging them subtly. They were snug black jeans with holes ripped open in them where the fishnets showed through.

Over the cropped halter top she wore Donnelley’s leather jacket, it hung loose on her frame but was very warm between her bare skin and the damp cold of the evening. The boots she wore were new, she planned on stashing them at his house since she forgot to bring her Docs everytime. Her outfit was not becoming of an FBI agent or a psychologist, but nights like these she was just that gothy chick with a nice figure.

“I do got a man,” she said, giving him a sassy little toss of her head, then snapped the lapels of his leather jacket. Laine curled a finger in the large ring hanging from the choker she wore and gave it a tug, giving him a sly wink.

Donnelley’s grin grew and he growled at her, biting his lip. He stood up and kissed her deeply, his hand on the small of her back before he sat back down on his bike. A pedestrian was looking over at them and their behavior as he passed and Donnelley gave him a kissy face. He took another drag off his cigarette and looked to Laine, “Think they can find their way here through the city, lover?”

Laine chuckled at his response, her green eyes twinkling after the illicit kiss as she scanned the parking lot. She loved riling Donnelley up, seeing and feeling him react to her. But now they were in public again, she reminded herself and soon would be with their teammates.

"Dave had a good sense of direction I'm sure he'll be fine," she said, "9lb Hammer, that's a distinct name. Any idea how that happened?"

“Ever heard of John Henry?” Donnelley asked, his brow quirked and he puffed on his cigarette, “Old railway man beat a steam powered hammer in a contest to see how many railroad ties they could beat in. Man versus machine, man versus nature, man versus whatever - the tenacity of man triumphs.”

Donnelley snorted at his musing, “As for why this place has a name like that?” He shrugged, “Never thought to ask.”

Laine raised an eyebrow at that, "Didn't he die right after? I half remember the song."

She huffed a soft laugh and lay a hand on his shoulder, giving him a brief squeeze at his sentimentality. She slipped her hand away quickly when a car turned up the driveway but it was just an old Toyota with a bunch of young punks stuffed into it.

“But, he did win.” Donnelley chuckled, his grin widening at Laine’s brief touch.

Dave was watching out the window as the taxi he and Ava had ordered pulled into the lot of the bar. He was dressed for the Seattle weather in a black T-shirt and lightweight Carhartt jacket, his pistol and Buck knife both concealed inside his waistband. He had his ‘Hat-hat’ jammed down over his shaggy hair and he grinned over at Ava as they pulled to a stop, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

“Go on,” he said to her as he dug out his wallet. “Lemme pay the man, an’ I’ll catch up with ya.”

Ava peaked around him at the bar and visibly grimaced. “I am not dressed for that place.” She said, pressing her forehead to Dave’s arm.

Laine had told her to dress ‘comfortably’ and ‘cute’ and it appeared that both of them had forgotten their drastically different tastes in style.

She had dressed herself in a nice, warm, robin's egg blue sweater dotted with white puffy clouds, a simple white skirt with soft pleats and her grey thermal leggings and hiking boots.

Her hair was pulled over her shoulder in a braid due to the humidity in the air. And to complete the look was a white beret, with a pair of triangular cat ears. She had picked it up in Idaho on a whim and wore it with Dave’s encouragement.

She looked up at Dave, her chin resting on his arm. “Do you think I’d stand out too much?”

Dave looked at the people around them as the man took his money. There were a few on the unusual side of things, but not many.

“I think you’ll be fine,” he said. He waved the change back at the man as a tip and then opened the car door, reaching down to help Ava from the taxi. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I think you stand out everywhere, just cuz you’re so damn pretty. But don’t stress, I’m here with ya.”

Ava flushed at the compliment but smiled. She gave his hand a squeeze before hooking their arms together. “Thanks Dave.” She said, taking in a breath and straightening herself. “Well, shall we go find our friends?”

“Sounds good to me,” Dave grinned. He put a hand on her shoulder and guided her towards the bar, scanning the parking lot for their friends.

Laine was watching the taxi pull up and the well built man in the Carhartt jacket looked familiar but she was certain when the fluff of pastel emerged after him. She grinned but stepped away from how close she was standing with Donnelley beside his Indian.

She walked forward and waved at them, her appearance certainly not what they had seen but the black was a dead giveaway. Laine smiled, playing with the zippo in her hand covered by the cuff of the leather jacket. “Hey guys,” she called out as she walked towards them, “Cute sweater, Ava.”

Donnelley remained behind her, his arms hanging over the handlebars of his motorcycle. He took a drag and got up, swinging his leg back over his machine and walked over to where they were all gathering. In the short space between him and them, he considered how much space he should leave between him and Laine, and how much eye contact they should share. How big should he smile at her and how often should he look into her eyes?

He shook his head at that, knowing Dave knew, and apparently didn’t care. It was also unlikely anyone from the Program was watching their every move. When he got to the others he smiled and nodded, “Howdy, how’s y’all’s commute?”

Ava’s eyes widened as she looked over Laine’s outfit, surprised to see the normally put together and professional FBI agent in something more...Grungy. She blinked her eyes and smiled at the compliment, brushing her hands over the soft fabric. “Um, thanks, I got it back in Idaho and my sweater dress was...dirty.” She said, glancing up at Dave before looking away with a smile and a small blush. “So, I thought now was a good time to bust it out.” She chuckled, adjusting the beret on her head.

She turned to Donnelley as he approached, less surprised to see their Team Lead in something out of the ordinary. She smiled and waved.

Dave joined her, walking up and offering his hand to Donnelley with a grin. “Cab driver did all the work,” he said. “We just got to hang out. Kinda jealous of your ride, though.”

Laine tried not to smile at Donnelley, looking away and down, then at Ava’s beret. “Meow,” she said with a wry grin.

At the comment about the bike, Laine could not help but smile, it was a pretty cool bike and riding behind him had been thrilling if rough. It was intimate and closed the world to just them even as they whipped down a highway with the wind in their hair.

She tucked her hands in the pockets of her holey jeans, pushing down and exposing the top of the fishnet pantyhouse underneath. She considered lying, saying she too had taken a cab and got dropped off earlier but decided to just leave it.

Donnelley chuckled at Dave’s compliment, looking back at the bike in question, “Yeah, she’s a beauty. Older’n me.” Donnelley looked back at all of them and shrugged, “Used to be my dad’s, tried to keep it as original as possible. Not many nineteen-fifties Indians on the road no more, so y’know.”

He glanced at Laine still in the leather jacket that was almost painfully obvious didn’t belong to her, “She turns a few heads.” He chuckled to Ava and Dave, cracking a joke, “This place ain’t the seediest bar I could find, but it’ll have to do.”

Ava’s eyes widened at the mention of the year of the bike. “You have a nineteen-fiftie Indian!?” She asked with bright eyes. “Can I look at it?”

“Yeah, well, come on over.” Donnelley chuckled at Ava’s sudden excitement and led her over to the bike.

Laine stepped aside as Ava zeroed in on the bike, now standing near Dave. She glanced at him, his hair and beard grown long since their time in Idaho and Alaska. Mountain man indeed. “How’s it going?” she asked, feeling suddenly self conscious as she knew that he knew what Donnelley had told him. “Enjoying this time off?”

Dave nodded a greeting to Laine as she approached. He watched Ava fawning over the bike with a smile.

“Yeah, it’s been nice. Just...Havin’ time together,” he said. He sighed and looked back to Laine. “How ‘bout you? Enjoyin’ the downtime so far?”

"It's nice, you know," she agreed, rocking on her heels in the heavy boots. "Not having everyone around, I mean not you guys but just...I know I've got a lot waiting for me back home. Going back to work after all this and trying to focus on my day job. So, I'm just trying to enjoy this free time and not worry too much."

She glanced at Donnelley and Ava talking about the bike and looked at the ground, the pitted asphalt and tiny shards of broken glass. "Just blow off some steam before going back to the real world. I think I might get shit faced."

“No reason not to,” Dave laughed. “Ain’t like you’re drivin’. Hell, I might catch a good buzz myself, since we’re gonna be takin’ a cab back. Been a while.”

"I remember that moonshine, think they have anything close?" Laine asked, a grin forming on her face.

Dave laughed. “No chance.”

“Let’s find out,” she said, reaching out to give him a tug on the sleeve. She turned to the two by the bike, “Alright, enough fawning. Let’s get drinking.”

Ava looked away from admiring the engine on the motorcycle, after listening to Donnelley explain what parts were original and what ones had to be replaced with all the fascination of an excited school kid. “Uh, you guys will have to do my drinking for me.” Ava chuckled. “But it’s been awhile since I had a Shirley Temple.” She said, walking up to Dave’s side with a grin. “It’s a great bike.”

“It is a pretty great bike,” Dave said. He put his arm around her waist. “I think Laine’s thirsty. An’ I could go for a whiskey, myself.”

“Somebody say whiskey?” Donnelley quirked a brow and smirked, “Come on, let’s go get us a booth and then I can whoop Dave’s ass at Buck Hunt.”

The bar inside was low lit, an amber glow from the overhead shaded lights and the neon beer signs, a strand of red Christmas lights scorched crimson over the small bar tables against the wall. It was over half full, people ranging in ages from twenties to forties, most dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, some dressed in full punk gear and others with heavy biker boots and unpatched vests.

The clanging of a pinball machine drew Laine’s attention as she stepped in, the body heat from the close quarters had her taking off the warm leather jacket and hanging over one arm. Off to the left there were arcade games as advertised and in the room beyond there were pub tables and a lone pool table currently being run by college age kids in funky meme t-shirts and one girl with a purple fauxhawk.

“Nice place,” Laine said, the people looking over at them but she did not sense hostility, but it was early and no one was drunk yet.

One of the waitresses passed by, her long hair in a high ponytail and she wore hot pink plastic frame glasses, “Hey, guys. Seat yourselves, I’ll be by to take your order or you can get drinks at the bar.”

“Y’all wanna get us a table while me and Dave get drinks?” Donnelley asked.

Laine took Ava’s arm, guiding her out of the way of two big burly men that looked like bikers but they had none of the patches of an outlaw MC who followed them into the bar. They nodded and excused themselves, heading to the bar.

“We’ll grab a table by the wall over there.”

She gestured to the ones opposite the bar and close to the games.

Ava eyed the games with interest as she followed Laine’s guidance over to the table. She focused back on her friend and smiled, wrapping her arms around her and giving her a quick friendly hug. “You look like you’re doing better, I’m glad.”

Laine was surprised and grateful for the hug, embracing Ava with a tight squeeze. “I do feel better, what a couple of days off can do, right?”

She glanced away and gestured to the tall pub table with the tall stools. “Need a boost?” she teased as she pushed herself up into the seat. “How’s it been with Dave, how’s he doing?”

Laine looked over at the men at the bar with the other crowd waiting on the one server. It might be few before they returned with drinks.

“Better, I think,” Ava said, hopping up onto the stool as her face grew thoughtful. “We went on a hike on Mt. Rainier today, poor Prince was passed out in the hotel room when we left to come here.” She chuckled and smiled. It dimmed slightly. “It was a really good day, but...The night before.” She hesitated and glanced over to Dave at the bar.

“Nightmares?” Laine asked, looking at Ava, “It can be very hard on survivors, even if things turned out for the better, he had a few days to grieve a great loss.”

“There is that, but,” She looked back at Dave before turning back to Laine. “I...left the room, when he was still asleep, to take Prince to the bathroom and get us some food. He woke up while I was gone and thought...That I was still…gone. That I never actually came back. He said it was only for a minute, but...That had to have been an awful minute.”

Laine also looked over, following her line of sight and glanced away from Dave to Donnelley, his familiar stance and frame she could recognize anywhere. She tried not to look too long. Laine glanced up at the chalkboard menu that she could hardly read from this distance and finally said, “I can imagine. That panic of waking up and thinking he was back in Hell.”

She toyed with the chain around her neck and then dropped her hands, looking at Ava. “Do you want my professional opinion?”

“Of course.” Ava answered without hesitation, the concerned frown deepening on her features. “I want to help Dave, however I can.”

Laine clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward, her deep green eyes meeting the bright blue of Ava’s, “He needs you. He needs to spend as much time with you as he can, physically, emotionally...I saw his face when he saw you were alive.”

She smiled a little, her eyes starting to glisten at the memory. “He blames himself, both of them do. And it’s not their fault, but they’re men and they feel they failed to protect their...well, he feels he failed to protect his woman. You know Dave. I think that you might not mind spending all that time with him.”

She reached over and opened her hand to her, “I know it’s hard for you, too. Seeing him hurt and panic over you. Don’t blame yourself for it, ok? Now, as pleasant as that all is, he’ll need to talk about it. Sometimes we can’t tell the ones we feel closest to everything in our hearts out of fear of hurting or worrying them.”

Laine found herself looking past Ava towards the bar but pulled herself back to the young woman in front of her.

Ava looked at Laine, then reached out to take her hand. “I can do that.” She said quietly, with a small smile. “I want to do that. Alaska was...pretty fucking bad for us too.” She said with the smile fading from her face as she started down at the table, squeezing Laine’s hand. “I want to spend time with him too.”

“I know it’s probably new for you,” Laine said, a teasing smile appearing on her face, “I’m sure you and him will help each other. Though I do want to offer my help for either of you, should you need it. Not just as a friend but as someone that’s had a couple college courses that need to get used.”

She shrugged a little and squeezed Ava’s hand, pulling back and she reached up to toy with the ring on her choker absently. Laine looked back over at the bar, more people had arrived since they sat down and it was getting crowded. “Hey, you ever play pinball?”

“A few times.” Ava smiled and let go of Laine’s hand. “And, thanks Laine.”

Laine ran a hand through her dark hair and ruffled it, “Anytime, of course. We’re a family now, aren’t we.”

“After a couple drinks, we’ll hit that pinball machine. So...I know you don’t drink so I’m apologizing ahead of time for dealing with me drunk,” Laine said, then snorted a soft laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, just consider me the designated sober person.” Ava chuckled. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a cab if they need it. Especially can’t have Donnelley riding home on that motorcycle.”

“Bless you,” Laine snickered, then said dryly, “And yeah...you know I have a feeling he might be stubborn about that. Just a hunch.”

“I can be very persuasive.” She said, then mimicked a sad puppy dog expression.

Laine rolled her eyes and laughed, “Yes, you win. I might have a couple tricks up my sleeve in getting him to cooperate.”

She gave Ava a sly look, she was wearing a sleeveless tank top she wore now exposed and her tattoos on display since the leather jacket hung off the backrest of the pub stool. “So how’s the dog? Do you still have him?”

“He’s good! He’s back in the hotel room, completely exhausted after the day of hiking.” Ava chuckled. “I left him a bowl of water and the tv on, but he should be fine while we’re here.” She reached into the pocket in her skirt and pulled out her phone. “I have pictures, do you want to see?”

“Of course, he’s a cute dog,” Laine said, leaning over her crossed arms to see the phone. “A hell of a find.”

“Yup.” Ava said with a clearing of her throat.

>THE D-BOAHS...///

Donnelley watched the single bartender at work as she buzzed around the patrons at the other end of the bar, making them all the fanciest drinks Donnelley had ever seen. He figured she’d appreciate that Donnelley, and most likely Dave, would have simple drinks in mind. The two of them stood side by side watching the bartender work. As Donnelley looked around at the other patrons, he felt a bit like a sore thumb, like the only wolf among a pack of sheep. The only bars he’d gone to besides today were the ones he and Queen would hit up, where you were equally as likely to find someone to fuck as fight.

But tonight was supposed to be happy. No thinking about Alaska, or West Virginia, just about whatever they were going to get into tonight. He forced on a smile even though he knew all these people brushing past his back would get old real quick if he didn’t get his drink soon. Loud bars and crowds had never felt the same after all those years in dangerous places. The only things keeping him in check was standing right next to him and sitting at a table on the other side of the room. He looked back at the table in question and his eyes fell on Laine, the sight of her almost sapping his anxiety away.

“You doin’ better now we got some time off?” Donnelley asked, glancing back to Dave to start some conversation seeing as they’d have to wait some time before the bartender was freed up, “I know I am... kind of.”

Dave rested on his elbows, back to the bar, watching the crowd mingle around them. He found his gaze returning again and again to Ava, and he smiled when Donnelley spoke.

"Definitely doin' better, man," he said. "For the most part. Shit's still weird, but… It's gettin' better."

The bar was a far cry from the country dives he frequented in Arkansas; he wasn't sure he'd seen so many facial piercings in one place before. Still, the other patrons seemed easy-going enough, and the pistol in his waistband and knife snugged to the small of his back were reassuring. He idly wondered whether any normal Joe would ever intimidate him again.

He shot a sly look at Donnelley. "How are things with you two?"

Donnelley chuckled, sucked at his teeth. A shrug and a cheeky smirk were his only answers for a bit, “Ain’t had a better couple days in a while, tell you what.”

“What y’all been busyin’ yourselves with?” Donnelley asked, he chuckled, “Since I steered you from wastin’ your money anywhere within a couple miles of the airport, I guess.”

"Went for a hike," Dave said, visibly brightening. "Hard hike up the mountain, picnic, then a nap in the sun and a slow walk down. Wore the pup out so he shouldn't wreck the hotel room while we're gone. Otherwise just takin' things easy. Sleep late, watch movies in bed. That sorta thing."

“Yeah, that sounds real good, man.” Donnelley smiled at Dave, sincerity in his eyes for the man’s happiness. After the time they’d all had in Alaska, they were due for some. “I’m real glad. Me and Laine, we cruised down Ruston and watched the water. Played some of my old records at my place and just kicked back.”

He had a guilt in his smile then, remembering everything he and Laine had done behind closed doors, but also what he’d told Laine, “I told Laine what we talked about.” He said, “‘Least some of it. Told her I told you about me and her.”

Dave tensed at his words, relaxing only when he realized that Donnelley was talking about their relationship. Not what he'd done in that barn.

"What'd she say to that?" Dave asked. He turned, focusing more of his attention on Donnelley now, though he still kept an eye on their surroundings. "She seem alright with it?"

“Well,” Donnelley chuckled at that, seeing Dave’s face expectantly waiting for the answer, “Yeah, she ain’t mad. Ain’t ecstatic neither.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but it caught in his craw for a second, “It just ain’t, uh, professional. I told her that, bein’ honest, I look at you and Ava and… a Company man like myself gets jealous.” Donnelley shook his head and shrugged, scratching at his beard. “I think it’s the normalcy. I don’t know.”

"Sorry, man," Dave said. He winced a little. "That's shitty. I guess it's easier for us, I ain't exactly professional as it is. I'm probably a bad influence."

Donnelley shook his head and waved Dave’s concerns off, “Don’t give me that, man. Just don’t be, you know, tongue wrasslin’ front of Foster or anybody.” He laughed, “Me and Laine are fine. Ain’t hurtin’ us none, you two ain’t who we’re worried about seein’ us.”

Donnelley shrugged, “Anyhow,” he said, “What you got planned for four whole months? I don’t know if I’ve ever had this much time to myself. Gotta be careful else I’ll end up in a damn most wanted list.”

"Gotta see my boy," Dave said firmly. "Otherwise… Gotta get some trainin' in. For both me and the lady." He looked back over at Ava and seemed to shudder. "The way things went down… I gotta get better. Harden myself up, man."

“Yeah.” Donnelley said, turning to look in the same direction at Laine. As cold as it was to put it this way, his second chance. His first love he corrupted and got sent to live with family out East in Kentucky or somewhere, the second had enough of his apologies and took his daughter with her. It had been some time, time enough for Donnelley not to make the same mistakes he always did, for him to be better, and to treat someone right.

And how many times had he stared into the blackest parts of humanity, how much had he hardened himself against anything and everything to the point where pulling a trigger was easier than falling asleep between then and now, “Just make sure you still recognize who’s in the mirror by the end of it.”

“Hello!” Donnelley flinched at the barkeep’s voice, turning to her to see her eyeing the both of them flirtatiously, most likely giving it her all for big tips, “What can I get you boys?”

Donnelley chuckled and smoothed his hair back as he looked the attractive waitress over, a modest bust, but hips and thighs that could kill. If he were a younger and singler man he might’ve tried his luck and had as much fun failing as he could, “Well, I’ll be havin’ me a whiskey sour. My friend here…”

>...///

When the men finally returned from the bar, Laine gave a fake clap and looked at Donnelley and said dryly, "I thought I was going to have to go remind you we had a table."

She took the cherry vodka sour from him with a hint of a smile. He had remembered from the first time they had drinks together.

"I'll get the second round," she said as Dave and his whiskey settled in and a Shirley Temple in a tall narrow glass was placed in front of Ava.

Laine took a sip the sweet cherry of the grenadine mingling with the sharp alcohol, the two drinks were nearly alike but hers had vodka, house brand by the burn.

“I remembered,” Donnelley feigned anger mirroring Laine, a small hint of a smile on his lips as he sat down next to her. He tapped his temple, “Got a mind like a steel trap, I don’t forget nothin’.”

He took a long sip of his whiskey sour and smacked his lips. He’d made it a double, “Anybody wanna make their drinks a little stronger, I picked up some shots on the way.” He opened his vest to show the inside pockets filled with more than a few of the little bottles they handed out on plane trips, “Pick your poison.”

“That steel trap better not get rusty,” Laine said then reached over to pick two, a Malibu rum and a Grey Goose vodka shot.

“I’m good.” Ava said, smiling over at Dave as she took a nice long sip of her Shirley Temple. “I really am going to be the designated sober person tonight aren’t I?” She grinned over at Donnelley. “I’ll make sure to take care of your bike.”

Donnelley tipped some more of the whiskey sour down his throat and wiped his mouth off on his flannel sleeve. He laughed at Ava, “In your dreams, missy.” He chuckled good-naturedly at Ava, “Where’d you get your love of motorcycles from?”

“My grandfather was a mechanic and he liked working on cars and bikes even after he retired.” She answered with a shrug and a small smile. “I ended up liking it too so it was something we bonded over. My grandmother got me into baking so I spent equal amounts of time covered in engine grease or flour.”

“I respect that.” Donnelley frowned appreciatively, nodding, “That’s some honest work right there. Computers, engines, ovens. What can’t you do?”

Dave grinned and reached over to put a hand on Ava’s shoulder. He had a glass of Number 7 sitting on the table, neat like Grampa took it to this day.

“I need to train her up on plant identification, ‘fore she tries to walk through anymore poison oak,” he said. He squeezed her shoulder to take any sting out of the words. “She ‘bout let Prince drag her straight through a patch of it. It’s alright though, I stopped her before either of ‘em got hit and we’re plannin’ on some outdoorsy trainin’ when we get back.”

Ava flushed in embarrassment. “I can identify flowers pretty okay.” She mumbled before taking a long sip of her drink. “A tree just looks like a tree to me.”

“We’ll get ya learned up,” Dave said brightly. “It’ll be fun. I won’t even make ya crawl through it.”

A flashback to SERE School played through Donnelley’s head as he snorted, sipping at his drink, “Sounds grand.”

“Ah, the great outdoors,” Laine said, knocking back the mini Malibu and grimacing at the sweet coconut taste. That had been a mistake. “I love nature, when I can watch it from my bed on TV.”

She shoved the empty bottle in her pocket, then added the extra vodka to her drink, “Ava’s pretty well rounded, I want her on my team during the apocalypse.”

“I really think Dave is probably the better choice for an apocalypse scenario.” Ava snorted.

“Long as the apocalypse happens outside a city,” Dave shrugged. “Probably all better off stickin’ together. We can take on the rest of the world.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Laine said, giving their mountain man a warm smile and then knocked back the double vodka.

“I work better alone.” Donnelley said in his deepest, cheesy action hero voice before knocking back the last of his whiskey sour. “But I’ll make an exception for y’all.”

Laine rolled her eyes and laughed, feeling the pleasant fuzzy warmth from the first drink. She ate the cherry, plucking it off the stem and popping it in her mouth. “I don’t have any of those survival skills, I can cook but...” she frowned and looked brightened. “I could make some really cool DIY post-apocalyptic outfits.”

She laughed, then slid off her chair and said, “I’m getting a second round and some quarters.”

Laine sauntered up to the bar, leaning on it and noted the bartender’s appearance then shot a look over her shoulder at the table. No wonder it had taken so long. She smiled anyway, her lips feeling a little numb.

“Can I get a Long Island Iced Tea, two shots of whatever whiskey rednecks like the best and another Shirley Temple?”

“Sure thing, doll,” the bartender said and set to mixing the drink.

“Oh can I get ten bucks in quarters?” Laine slid the bill over the counter.

A man around Laine’s age perched himself on a stool next to Laine at the bar. He was wearing a leather jacket not dissimilar to Donnelley’s, though considerably less rugged. His medium length hair was slicked back and a pair of aviator shades were pushed up his forehead. He smiled at Laine, trying subtly to give her a once-over, but it was obvious enough to the woman. His friend behind him was dressed much the same, though a couple inches taller with a shaved head and short beard.

When the bartender left to fetch Laine’s quarters, the longer-haired man chuckled, “I take it you’re not a regular? Haven’t seen you around before.” He said, “I’m Seth. You know, you wanna hang around with me tonight, I can show you a couple places.”

Laine turned when he spoke but she had already spotted the swoop in from the corner of her eye. She looked him over then smiled politely, “Two strange men and me? Sorry. I’m here with someone...with friends.”

She gestured back to the table where Donnelley and Dave sat, Ave perched between them. “I appreciate the offer,” Laine said, the vodka still making her feel in a buoyant mood. “Nice sunglasses.”

Laine giggled then took the Long Island Iced Tea, sipping from it. The bartender returned and Laine began stuffing the quarters into her pockets of her tight jeans, trying not to drop any.

A couple bounced onto the floor and Seth got up from his stool, giving Laine another smile as he bent down and retrieved them, “We can be friends too.”

Seth offered the quarters to Laine, but another man’s hand roughly snatched them out of Seth’s palm. Donnelley, standing there and somehow making a friendly smile look menacing. The scar on his cheek helped, “Thanks, hoss.”

Donnelley turned to Laine and put a hand on the small of her back, nodding to their table, “Go ‘head, me and Dave are ‘boutta shoot us some bucks.” The Texan in his voice was busting through the levee now that alcohol was in his veins. “You need me to get you another drink while I’m here?”

Laine felt the heat of the iced tea after taking one drink and looked at Seth who did not get the message. She bit her lower lip, feeling the numb fuzzy sensation and was about to turn him down again when Donnelley appeared.

“I got you guys whiskey,” she said, trying to gather the drinks, her long ago experience waiting tables kicking in. “But yes, I’ll have another.”

She smiled at Donnelley, the warm affectionate grin she had only used in private with him. She was not drunk yet to forget and caught herself, turning to go back to their table with a more neutral expression.

Laine made it back to the table, sliding the shot of whiskey in front of Dave and another Shirley Temple to Ava before sliding into her chair. She sized up the drink in front of her, then looked over for Donnelley, leaving his shot beside the empty glass.

Back at the bar, Donnelley leaned against the bar top, resting on his elbow. He smiled at Seth, and Seth smiled back. Donnelley slapped down a hundred dollar bill on the table, a bit more forcefully than needed, “Buy you and your friend here some drinks on me.” Donnelley nodded, “And I’d really appreciate it if you and Stone Cold Steve Austin back there left me and everyone at my table the fuck alone. Please.”

Donnelley walked backwards, giving the both of them his kissy face before he turned and went back for the table, a smile plastered on his face before he picked up the shot Laine had gotten him, “Where were we?” Donnelley asked, “I remember Dave was about to tell us a story or somethin’.”

“Well, I have quarters,” Laine said and stood to empty her pockets to leave them mounded on the table. “Everyone can grab what they want. I have my eye on that pinball game. Then maybe some pool if the table clears.”

She took a long sip of her iced tea, then turned to Donnelley, “I had that handled, you know.”

Laine reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, then murmured, “But good looking out.”

Ava’s eyes went over to the claw machine over by the pinball game, before looking to Dave with bright eyes and a grin.

Dave followed her face and then laughed.

"I take it you're gonna be spendin' a few quarters at the claw?" He said. He picked up his shot, waiting for the toast.

“Only 5 dollars worth.” Ava said, picking up her own glass. “That’s my rule with claw machines, I don’t play past 5 dollars if I haven’t won anything.” She grinned. “But I usually win, I’ve done research.”

"Girl, that's half my quarters," Laine teased, "You better use that big brain to figure out the trick to snatching plushies."

She chuckled and raised her tall "tea" glass, looking at Dave expectedly.

Dave clanked his shot glass against the Long Island, downed it, and then thumped it down on the table. "That's the good stuff," he sighed. He gave Ava a nudge. "C'mon, let's go check out that claw machine before I go shoot some bucks with Donnelley."

Ava reached over and scooped up about 2 dollars worth of quarters. “This should be enough.” She beamed, hoping off down the chair and taking a long drink of her Shirley Temple. Then she grabbed Dave’s hand and walked with him toward the claw machine.

Donnelley watched the both of them traverse the bar towards the claw machine, hand in hand. Donnelley watched Ava, how happy she seemed now. He remembered blaming himself for everything, but watching the two together, especially after the talk he and Dave had by the fire… he felt his heart warm a bit at that. He looked over to Laine with a tender smile, a feeling of calm enveloping him in her eyes. Just for tonight, and the past few days, there was no war. There was no fight to throw himself into. Just her.

“I love you, Laine.” Donnelley said, “A lot.”

Laine smiled around her straw, finishing the sip of her drink. She leaned in, looking into his eyes and said in a low voice, “I love you, too.”

She grinned and lightly bumped his boot with hers under the pub table, “But I’ll still kick your ass at pool.”

Donnelley laughed and slapped the table, a big grin on his face, “Oh, okay. It’s fuckin’ on, lil’ missy.”

Laine sucked the last of the long island iced tea out of the glass and set it down, “You just wait.”

The college kids had cleared out and Laine rushed to smack a stack of quarters down. She waved at Dave while Ava was focused on the claw seeking some plushie that caught her eye.

“Alright, cowboy,” Laine said, selecting a cue that did not seem too warped, then chalked the tip. “Your break.”

“Get ready to be humbled.” Donnelley winked at Laine, licking his teeth and then lining up his shot.

>...///

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Donnelley watched Laine float around the pool table sinking the pool balls in ones, and at one point a couple twos. And it was the third time he’d tried to beat her. He threw his hand out and mouthed a swear at Laine, “Jesus Christ, when the fuck were you gonna tell me you were a prodigy, woman?”

Laine bent to line up the last shot, the eight ball banking and rolling smoothly into the far corner pocket as she had predicted. She smiled at his exasperation and took a sip from her second iced tea, now feeling loose and buzzed.

“I told you right now, I was going to kick your ass. I hope you do better in Big Buck Hunt,” she said, leaning on the pool stick with her hip canted. Laine walked past him and said in a low voice, “Saddle up tonight, I won.”

She winked back at him, teasing him for his cockiness earlier, and sipped her tea as she waited for him to gather the balls and put them in the triangle, the loser’s duty.

“We should make a scam outta this. I can be your fall guy.” Donnelley smirked, glancing at her as he retrieved pool balls from out of the pockets, “Won’t even have to try that fuckin’ hard to make it convincin’...”

“I’ll just wear a low cut shirt, that seems to distract you,” she chuckled, sipping her drink. Laine gazed at him, her green eyes glassy now as she grew more tipsy. “Well, it’s good to know we’ll have a side hustle if this whole thing doesn’t pan out.”

She wanted to go up to him and kiss him, biting her lower lip slightly instead. Laine took a deep breath and handed him her drink, “Excuse me.”

Laine felt that looseness when she walked, glad she wore boots and not high heels as she was buzzing and feeling good, a sure sign she needed to slow down. As she went past the other couple at the claw machine, Laine tapped Ava on the shoulder, giving her a little smile, “Bathroom buddy, want to make a run to the ladies room?”

“Sure, just give me 5 more seconds…” Ava said, her eyes on the literal prize as the claw dropped down and closed over a plushie of a very chubby fox. There was a pause before the claw gripped the fox and started to lift it out of the prize pit. “Ha! I got it!” She laughed, pumping her fists up in the air as the claw dropped her prize into the chute.

She bent down and retrieved the chubby fox, holding it to her chest with a grin. “I shall name him Chunk.”

Laine clapped as the fat fox dropped, her mood unusually bubbly, “He’s adorable, look at his tiny legs. Let Dave watch him, I need to go and I don’t wanna go alone.”

She glanced over her shoulder, Seth and his big bald friend were still at the bar, drinking on Donnelley’s dime. Laine shrugged it off and held her hand out to pull Ava along.

“Oh, sure,” She passed the fox over to Dave. “Be right back.”

It wasn’t long after Donnelley finished fixing the pool table that he joined Dave next to the claw machine. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but Donnelley wasn’t sober, and after the loss against Laine he was fixing to win something. Donnelley eyed the fox in Dave’s hand and smirked, “Nice.” He chuckled, “This your plus-one? She’s kinda foxy.”

Dave was a few deep himself, though he’d been sticking mostly to beer after the initial whiskey. He kept eyeballing the people who passed, judging the quality of the various tattoos and trying to figure out if any looked like the shitty ink he’d seen on the Russians they’d killed. Still, the grin on his face was genuine and he held up Chunk when Donnelley spoke, turning the toy.

“You know me, man, I got a weakness for redheads,” he laughed. “Laine done kickin’ your ass at the table?”

“I’ll slip you a fifty if you never talk about that fiasco again.” Donnelley smirked, folding his arms and putting his back to the row of arcade games similarly to Dave, “Between you and me, I was not lettin’ her win. Woman’s got a future in pool if this whole thing don’t work out.”

“Shit, I’ve knocked around some balls before,” Dave said. “Might hafta give it a go, see if she can beat a mountain man.” He glanced at the beer he held. “After another drink or two. I ain’t at pool-shootin’ levels yet.”

>..//

Laine swayed out of the stall once she finished and went to wash her hands, she was still grinning as she sung Happy Birthday under her breath. Once she was done, she looked at Ava and grabbed a paper towel. “Alright, look.”

She ducked her head and looked under the stalls then back at her, “I got something I need to say, to tell someone or I’m gonna bust.”

Laine grabbed her shoulders, leaning in closer with the faint scent of booze on her breath, “It’s just between us...our group. Can we keep it that way?”

Ava looked at her with a mixture of amusement, curiosity and a healthy amount of confusion. “Sure Laine, I won’t say a thing.” She said with a small grin. “What’s your big secret?”

Laine took a deep breath, her green eyes shone like wet glass from alcohol and emotion, “I love Donnelley.”

It came out in a rushed whisper then she said again, “I love him and he loves me, oh shit. It’s not supposed to happen but it did. And I’m happy an we're like, together.”

She sobbed and laughed at the same time, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, I’m drunk I know.”

Ava blinked and stared at Laine with her head cocked to the side, the gears visibly turning in her head as she processed the information. “You...And...Donnelley?” She repeated slowly, as though putting together the components for a complex math equation.

“When did...I’ve never...What?” She asked, her expression completely befuddled by the confession.

Laine stared at her, expecting not that answer and then she laughed, “Oh my god, of course...”

She hugged Ava, squeezing her arms around her smaller frame, then let her go. “Never change. But yeah...we’ve been sorta seeing each other, on the downlow. It’s not exactly professional for a supervisor to date a subordinate. At the Bureau it might get someone transferred or formally disciplined...”

Laine ran hand over her own shoulder, brushing down the black inked scene of the beach at night, picking up the chain that acted as a strap for the tank top. “And we’re in love. So, there it is. He told Dave before we left...it’s fair you know, and I wanted to tell someone. Because I’m really fucking happy.”

She wiped her eyes and laughed again, “Jesus, those long island ice teas.”

Ava returned the hug without much thought, still processing the information but she focused back on Laine. She saw the smile on her face, the way her eyes lit up and the tears of happiness glistening in them. Of course, a lot of the energy and giddiness was on the alcohol, but that still originated from genuine emotions.

She smiled and hugged Laine. “That’s great Laine, that’s really great! I’m so happy for you two! Screw what regulations and professionalism says. We need whatever happiness we can get in this line of work and I’m so, so happy you two found that in each other.”

Laine sniffled and took a deep breath, “It feels really good to say out loud. We been feeling some kind of way for awhile but...you know, things.”

She wrung her hands and shook her head, glancing in the mirror saw the smeared eyeliner giving her racoon eyes. “Oh brother. Well, I’d love to say screw it. But truth is, I don’t want to endanger the team so...well, once we’re back in the field we’ll keep it cool.”

Laine rubbed at the black smudges making them a little worse then gave up, “But fuck it, not now. I’m happy. He’s happy. You and Dave seem very happy!”

She hugged Ava again, leaving her arm around her shoulders, “Alright, I’m done with my weird happy breakdown. Also...he doesn’t know I told you but he’ll be glad to know he doesn’t have to act like we’re just friends around you two.”

“You guys really fooled me, that’s for sure.” Ava said, running her hand over her braid. “But I guess I’ve always been a poor judge on that kind of stuff. The first time I met Queen, I didn’t realize he was flirting with me until he practically told me to my face. Same with Dave! I didn’t know he liked me until he asked me out.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Is that an asexual thing or am I just bad at picking up certain social cues?”

Laine dropped her arm and shook her head, “I don’t know, but it’s probably more that you’re not looking for it. The asexual thing but we did try hard to not show it. I don’t know if we were as successful with everyone else as we were fooling you.”

She grinned and pulled the door open, holding it with her hip so Ava could walk through, “So, consider this a double date I guess.”

Laine followed her out, using her thumbs to slip up the straps of her tank top that threatened to start creeping down her shoulders again. “Damn things, I think I stretched it out beating Donnelly’s ass at pool.”

They passed the bar, Laine regaling Ava about the victory and she paid no mind to the men still drinking there.

Unbeknownst to Laine and Ava, they were respectively being eyed up and dressed down by Seth and his bald friend. Donnelley could see it from across the bar, having been watching the doorway into the ladies’ room and waiting for Laine and Ava to exit. His eyes were drawn to Seth, the obvious leader. As often happens, Seth noticed Donnelley too, and gave his own kissy faces back at Donnelley. Donnelley’s eyes narrowed, and if he hadn’t had to piss something mighty, he’d have left it alone.

He stared at Seth’s smirking face all the way up to the men’s room door, where he stopped and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, “The fuck did I tell you, boy?”

“Maybe you could slide me another hundred.” Seth chuckled, a big shit-eating grin from which his infuriating voice slurred out of like shit from an ass.

“Yeah, you can get it after I shove my cock down your throat in one of the stalls.” Donnelley smirked and gave his own kissy faces at Seth’s scowl as he slipped into the bathroom laughing to himself.

Dave was loitering with Chunk and his beer, watching the crowd and enjoying his time not being shot at. He brightened as the girls left the bathroom, waiting for them to arrive before giving Ava Chunk and a kiss on the forehead. He watched Donnelley leave and followed his exchange with the two men from a distance.

“Laine, you didn’t pay with a card, did ya? Used cash?” He asked, his eyes on Donnelley.

Laine smiled at the affection between the two but it faltered when Dave asked about the way she paid.

"Cash, of course," she replied, glancing up at him. "Don't worry."

“Alright, cool,” Dave said. He gave Ava’s shoulder a squeeze and shot her a reassuring smile, noting the two men at the bar getting up and heading towards the bathroom after Donnelley. “Well...You guys get packed up just in case, cuz I think ol’ Donnelley might’ve got himself into some trouble.”

He slammed back the rest of his beer, dropped the bottle on the table, and headed for the men’s room, rolling his neck and shaking out his hands as he went. A couple of weekend tough-guys were about to bite off far more than they could chew.

Laine sighed when she spotted the recognizable bald head of the taller of the pair vanish into the restroom. “Damnit,” she muttered, watching Dave take off after them and headed towards the pool table, “I’ll get my quarters.”

“Wha,” Ava straightened slightly with alarm, looking at Laine and the retreating Dave with equal parts confusion and worry. She looked down at Chunk. “I don’t suppose you know what’s going on?” She made the plushie shake it’s head. “Yeah, me neither.”

>...///

Donnelley was pissing in relative peace, and had been for the past twenty seconds. It always amazed him how much liquid the human body could hold. From behind him, he could hear two individuals step into the bathroom, and from the sound of their clothing and boots, he could tell it was those two assholes at the bar. Deadset on causing trouble, they probably were planning to beat him up and leave him in a stall. Donnelley knew this, because had he had Queen with him instead of Dave, and neither of the girls, well… they would’ve done it to Seth and his bald fucking Igor.

“You know that offer wasn’t serious, man. I’m not gonna do that kinda stuff inside a place like this.” Donnelley said as he slipped himself back inside his jeans and zipped up. He turned around with a shit-eating grin on his face, “But, if you meet me somewhere outside- oof!”

Donnelley’s head snapped back, but lucky for him, Ghost’s helmet headbutts and sparring with Poker always involved harder impacts. His nose trickled a bit of blood though, and Donnelley touched the tip of his finger to his nostril to confirm, seeing it come back red. “Alright.” Donnelley nodded, the good humor gone.

The door flew open, driven by the weight of a very unhappy mountain man. Dave took in the scene at a glance, noting the blood on his friend's face and the aggressive posture of the barroom thugs. The bald one had time to register annoyance at Dave's sudden appearance before he yelped in pain, courtesy of Dave's heavy hiking boot crashing into his shin. Then Dave was on him, his fists swinging and fury in his eyes.

Seth only had enough time to hear the door come crashing open and the opening act of his and his friend’s ass-whoopings before a heavy kick to his knee made a sickly, audible pop echo in the tiled bathroom. Donnelley had a wild grin as he watched Seth squawk and flail back onto his ass, almost tripping Dave up in his own fight. Donnelley bent over and grabbed up a fistful of Seth’s collar, cocking his arm back and then sending a fist crashing into his chin.

Baldy was leaning against the wall, held there as much by the sheer aggression of Dave's assault as by his own will. He'd managed a half-ass swing that had knocked Dave's hat askew and another wild elbow that would probably leave the mountain man with a shiner.

In exchange Dave was rocking him with every dirty strike he knew, keeping a shoulder in baldy's chest so he could hammer short, hard punches into his solar plexus, kidneys, and liver. A groin strike finally doubled him up and Dave rode him down the wall, now methodically kicking him in the face until he went to cover it before driving his toes into his thighs and kidneys to open him back up for another headshot.

"Ain't so tough alone, are ya boy?" Dave snarled. "Not so fuckin' tough alone!"

Donnelley’s assault was cut off by Baldy’s bulk knocking him aside from Seth, giving the other man time to try to stand. Adrenaline was in Donnelley’s veins now and by the time he’d somewhat righted himself another punch smacked into his ear, making him stumble again and swear. He had his arm up and chin tucked just in case there were more punches coming, and Seth came on strong again. Donnelley tucked himself in tight at the waist to receive a kidney punch that only connected with his ribs.

He responded in kind, ducking a wild hook that a toddler could’ve slipped and coming in close, two low hooks one after the other hammered into Seth’s side, one to the kidney and then his ribs before Donnelley pushed off his back leg and drove his shoulder into Seth, butting him against a wall. He stomped the heel of his boot into Seth’s toes and then sent hard knees into the inside of Seth’s injured leg’s thigh to add insult to injury there, all the while mixing in some shoulder strikes, smashing his shoulder against Seth’s chin and knocking the back of his head into the tiles.

A few more kicks, surgically delivered to the groin and the chin, saw the bald punk out of the fight. As he lay moaning in what Dave suspected was his own piss, Dave turned his attention to Donnelley and his foe. He watched the rest of the show, leaning against the wall with a booted heel on baldy's belly, catching his breath as he put in a dip.

"You 'bout done learnin' that boy his lesson?" He asked as he prodded the Cope into place.

“Let me see,” he called over to Dave, and then spoke into Seth’s ear, “You done learnin’, boy?”

Seth rested his head against the wall, breathing hard through a split lip that had already started swelling. When Donnelley stepped back, Seth only wobbled in place before carefully setting himself down on the sticky floor tiles with his bald friend. Donnelley heaved in a breath as he checked his nose again, still bleeding. “Figure we better clear out. I need a cigarette after that anyway, tell you what.” He chuckled, then clapped Dave on the shoulder, “Seriously, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Donnelley took his own advice and hurriedly strode out of the bathroom and over to the two women that had accompanied them here. Hoping Dave was on his heels, Donnelley put a hand on the small of Laine’s back and nodded for the door, speaking through a carefree smile that didn’t match the hurried words, “Let’s go, we gotta go, we gotta go.”

Dave flashed Ava a smile as he joined them. He winked at her and took her hand, falling in with Donnelley and Laine.

"Gonna head on down the road, sugar," he said. "Couple'a boys have made us feel unwelcome here."

Ava’s eyes widened. “What happened to your eye? Did they hit you?” She asked in concern, picking up her purse and tucking Chunk underneath her arm.

"Yeah, we had a lil' tussle. They were tryin' to jump Donnelley," Dave said. "It's alright, though, we handled it and ain't nobody hurt serious."

Laine grimaced at the sight of Donnelley’s bloody nose but made no attempt to stop him when he began pushing her towards the door. She glanced at him, “How bad do they look?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” Donnelley smiled, wiping away some blood from his nose again, “Just a friendly little disagreement.”

Laine shot a glare but held her tongue, for now. She hustled out the door, walking too fast and swaying a little but the pleasant drunken buzz was rapidly fading.

Donnelley caught her glare and smiled sheepishly, like a boy who’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar, “Everythin’s fine, lover.”

“I have unspent quarters,” she said, raising a brow as she pulled on his leather jacket. “We’ll talk about it later, let’s just get out of here before they call the cops.”

Donnelley turned to Dave and Ava, offering both of them a smile. For Dave, the two of them shook hands and then clapped each other’s backs, and he and Ava parted with a hug. It was a short round of hurried goodbyes and Donnelley made sure to voice his thanks, and his apologies for having their good time cut short. Donnelley would’ve been lying if he’d said the fight, especially with Dave by his side, wasn’t part of his fun. As Dave and Ava retreated off into the night, Donnelley and Laine hopped onto his motorcycle and made their way back to his house.

Donnelley had an idea of how he’d make it up to Laine for her unspent quarters.

>SEATAC AIRPORT
>WED, 16SEP2019
>0615...///

Donnelley and Laine sat in the quickly shrinking line for pick ups and drop offs at the SeaTac Airport. They’d smiled at each other every so often as the conversation died down. The reality that they’d be spending some more time apart set in little by little as they got closer to the airport until it was all they could think about. Donnelley depressed the gas pedal on his Bronco, the lifted four-wheeling rig guzzling gas all the way to the airport and looking like a mighty sore thumb among all the small commuter cars.

He pressed the brakes again and they came to a halt for the umpteenth time in the line. He looked over to Laine and smiled again, “Guess this is it now.” He said, “Ain’t gonna start cryin’ are you? Might make me cry, and I’m an ugly crier, don’t know if you knew. Fair warnin’.”

Laine watched the drop-off getting closer and she turned to meet his gaze, reaching to touch his hand on the gear shift. “Well, I’m pretty when I cry,” she said, the teasing smile and glint in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Because I’m not going to say goodbye.”

She left it at that and leaned over, putting her head on his shoulder, then gave him a swift kiss on his bearded cheek, “I’m only going to say, I can’t wait to see you again.”

Laine settled back into her seat, her fingers fumbling around with the buckle. The truth was she felt the tightness in her chest and pit of her stomach, almost like being homesick. She would miss him and likely cry over it once on the plane.

The closer they edged the more restless she felt, Laine had no option but to go home, work expected her in the office tomorrow. It felt surreal going back to the mundane world, especially after being resurrected.

“You always know what to say.” Donnelley smiled, though it was weighed down some with the clenching in his chest. He’d miss Laine, and no matter how much he didn’t want to, he had to let her go back home. Funny thing, there was a point in time where he was satisfied with all of them living their own separate lives. Now they had been intertwined and tangled so tightly that Donnelley could only think about when they’d meet next. “Looks like this is your stop.”

When they got to the appropriate space Donnelley merged out of the lane, then looked at the woman he loved. He had a sad smile on his face, and if Laine looked close she might see his eyes starting to mist over. He got out of the car with her and opened up the back, retrieving her luggage for her. They stood opposite each other in silence for a few moments until Donnelley realized he was almost holding Laine’s luggage hostage. He rolled it over to her as he looked off to the side, almost like if he didn’t see her disappear beyond the door and into the crowded airport it wasn’t really happening.

“Keep in touch,” he said, looking to her with a lopsided smile, “Okay?”

Laine smiled at that, hopefully she knew what to say at times when words were needed. A psychology degree still did not give a person tact. She could see his eyes, the emotion and the tears held back and looked away. If she allowed herself to start they would both fall apart. Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled her seat belt and slid from the jacked up Bronco. While he gathered her suitcase she put her laptop bag over her shoulder and gathered herself together.

She wanted to hug him tight and not let go but Laine knew she would fall to pieces and this was not the time or place. She took the suitcase, her fingers brushing over his as they exchanged looks before he glanced away.

“Always,” she said, “I’ll annoy you because before you know it we’ll see each other. You’re coming to Virginia soon I’m sure.”

She tried to smile but her throat grew tight. Laine nodded and forced herself to turn around and then looked back to see him one more time as she called over her shoulder, “See you later!”

The walk through the glass doors felt like she was treading through sludge, like those dreams where no matter how hard you try to move everything pulls you back. Laine went through the check in and stood in line, every once and awhile glancing at the doors though she could not see out and the Bronco would be gone.

Laine pulled out her phone as she waited and texted him, “Check your pocket.”

>...///

Donnelley stood and watched her leave, his Docs almost glued to the ground and deeply-rooted. He would’ve stood and waited there all day if the honking of a horn didn’t rip him out of his own little world of grief. He sheepishly waved and hurried back into his Bronco, putting it in gear and merging back into traffic. The drive home was somehow so much longer without Laine in his passenger seat and he simply sat in his driveway while his music played. It was several minutes before he decided to check his phone and saw the text, Check your pocket.

In his jacket pocket, she left a simple note torn from a memo pad with a bold heart drawn in pen and their initials in it. “I love you 4 ever” scrawled under it in her doctor’s handwriting. A teenage love note if there ever was one. He snorted out a laugh that shook his shoulders and he was one part embarrassed how juvenile they were with their love and one part endeared to it. As his laughs died down he took a deep breath and blew it out, fishing out his cigarettes and biting one out of the box.

He lit the end of it and sighed, looking at the note again. He smiled and wiped a moistening eye on his coat sleeve before texting back, I love you too.

Once inside his house he simply stood in the living room and looked around. It wasn’t as dusty as it once was thanks to Laine spot cleaning wherever she went. When he walked into the kitchen to grab his whiskey there was another pang of loneliness in his chest. The house seemed altogether too quiet without the sounds of their lovemaking or their conversations, their laughing. He shrugged off his coat and left it draped over the back of one of the couches, plopping himself down in another and turning on the tv, setting the bottle of whiskey down on the coffee table…///

He awoke with a start, sweat beading on his brow and dragging in air as he frantically looked around his living room to see nothing had changed. No threats, no guns pointed at him. It was the same dream, or one of them. Staring into those children’s eyes in Libya, and what he was forced to do. The nightmares were right on schedule, he grimaced. With Laine gone, he didn’t have that security blanket that was her presence. He reached for the whiskey bottle until his phone buzzed to life, his personal one. He looked down to see a name he hadn’t seen on his caller ID in a good, long while. He took two long swigs, one after the other and hissing with the burn. He accepted the call and held it to his ear, “...Hello?”

“Joseph, it’s Holly,” she said, her voice sounding like she would rather be doing anything else than this. Like maybe pulling a good tooth with pliers. “Do you have a minute?”

“For?” He asked, his own tone already taking on that age-old snark and resentment they seemed to have for each other. Years of unaddressed problems in a failed marriage will do that.

“It’s about Tilly,” Holly said, then paused, somewhere in the back of her mind knowing he hated that. Just like when she would tell him ‘we need to talk later.’ She grit her teeth and sighed, “She’s been asking about you.”

Donnelley quieted then, holding his breath and searching for something to say. Whether to be goddamn ecstatic or feeling some amount of dread. Dragging the man he was now across that threshold didn’t seem like the grand return into Tilly’s life that he’d imagined. He frowned and shook his head, that old anger creeping back up after imagining Holly dripping poison about Donnelley into his daughter’s ear, “I think we both knew this was comin’, Holly.” Donnelley spoke, “So, what’s she askin’ and how’re you answerin’? Ain’t makin’ me out to be too much of a rotten fuck, I hope?”

"I certainly knew it was coming," Holly snapped, "She's asking about you, who you are and where you are. Questions I've answered as truthfully as I dare. She knows you're an alcoholic, she knows about your PTSD, I've had to explain the incident at school several times as she's grown older and make it age appropriate. But most of all..."

Holly paused, the accusatory tone in her voice only fading slightly. "Mostly she wants to know why you never call or write, why you've never visited. Why you don't want to be her Dad. The same things she's asked since we split up. I've explained that it isn't about her, it's...that I kept you away, for her protection. That you had issues with alcohol and anger. She's been blaming me for years anyway, I might as well take it. It's not like she doesn't have a father, Mark is her father and a damn good one. But lately she's asking to see you. To meet you again. And not in the same way she used to use you against me. I think."

Donnelley snorted ruefully, shaking his head and looking out his window at the darkening sky. How long he had been asleep was still a mystery to him, “So, you goin’ to ask me over? Or tell her I just couldn’t make it because I’m too fuckin’ drunk.” Donnelley almost snarled, looking at the whiskey like it had been sneaking past his lips for years on its own. He lied, but taking solace and some imagined superiority knowing he was functional and not like those assholes face down in the alleys, “I cleaned up, Holly. You wouldn’t know that because you’re too busy pretendin’ we never fuckin’ met past makin’ sure I’m still alive for child support, but I’m pretty fuckin’ better.”

“But if I’m goin’ to answer any questions it’s goin’ to be me speakin’ directly to her. I’m not lettin’ you control her opinion of me.” Donnelley spat, “You really told her that? That I didn’t come around, because I’m still a fuckin’ alcoholic?”

Holly made an irritated sounding huff, "Don't give me that shit, you're damn right I keep up on that child support. I didn't make her on my own and that kid has dreams. Expensive dreams, let me tell you. We do alright but you'll be paying your part for the next year and eight months. After that ..."

She let it fade off, then sighed, "Yes. Because you are an alcoholic, Joseph. You drank yourself stupid when you got home and wouldn't deal with your issues. If you're better now...I'm very happy for you. I hope you are. I don't wish you ill but I had to tell her something. Would you rather her keep thinking you just couldn't be bothered to reach out to her? That whatever was going on in your life was more important than her? She blamed me for a long time that I kept you away, I was the bad guy and it wasn't fair. I had to explain once she was old enough."

Another pause before Holly said, "So...she wants to see you in person. Mark and I talked about it for quite awhile before we came to an agreement. If you're willing to come here and with our supervision. And sober."

Donnelley frowned deep and had to keep himself from cutting into Holly. Instead he closed his eye and drew in a breath, “Of course I’ll be sober.” Donnelley swallowed again, trying to keep his anger in check and not play into those old memories Holly had of him, “I’m not goin’ to ruin my daughter’s request for somethin’ that stupid.”

Donnelley got up and looked around his pockets for his cigarettes before eyeing his jacket and retrieving the box from there. He saw the note from Laine and his anger sank back somewhat. He put one of the cigarettes between his lips, “So, when am I bein’ expected?” He asked more calmly.

"I can schedule it for this Saturday evening, she's back in school and it would be best for her to have a day to ... recover before going back," Holly said, "I don't know how she's going to take seeing you. She's excited but scared, as you can imagine. She ...she has a lot of ideas of how it'll be. But honestly, she has no idea."

"I just don't want her to be hurt again," she sighed, "I know that you want what is best for her."

“I do. We both do.” He said, walking into the garage and closing the door behind him. He sat down on a step stool and lit his cigarette, “She’s old enough to ask for the truth, she’s old enough to get it. And I’m not wantin’ to hurt anybody.”

He pursed his lips and took another drag, exhaling smoke before he spoke again, “Can we just all be passed that. A lot’s happened. I don’t want either of us bein’ the bad guys in her mind.”

Holly could hear him smoking, she had given it up years ago but damn if she didn't crave one. "Alright, Joe. We'll put it behind us for her sake. Especially if you're doing better. Mark and I agreed that if you accepted then we'll have you over for dinner and then if Tilly wants to, you both can spend some time alone talking."

She did not sound very enthusiastic but like a wary mother bear grumbling.

"This Saturday, dinner is served at 7 sharp," Holly added.

“Okay.” Donnelley nodded, though Holly couldn’t see it, “I’ll be there.”

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Some Time for Us...

>SHARPS ROASTHOUSE
>SEATAC, WA
>1400...///

Donnelley was quiet, the only sound in the car was an angry song yelling out its discontent at society turned down to a whisper. Wipers beat and screeched across the windshield as the rain poured out of the sky. There was a restaurant Donnelley had given Laine the address to, and it seemed like she’d made it first, sitting in her own rental car in the crowded parking lot. Donnelley parked his own car some ways away and walked to her passenger door, rapping a knuckle on the glass. When she disengaged the locks, he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. He didn’t reach across to her like she did with him those months ago in West Virginia.

He just looked out the windshield and then shook his head, looking down at his callused hands, “Should I have said somethin’ more?” He asked, “Protested harder? Submitted some fuckin’ paperwork at least?”

Laine waited in the car, watching the rain drops chase each other down the windshield, splitting around the still wipers. The music played without her listening and she was deep in her thoughts when the knock startled her. She jumped, green eyes in a pale face staring back at Donnelley from the otherside of the window.

She said nothing as he settled in, only reaching to turn down the volume of the rental’s stereo, her old mp3 player resting in the cupholder. Her own thoughts were not far from his and she waited a moment before speaking.

“Do you think that would have helped?” she asked, looking over at him. “You know how these things work, do you think protest and paperwork would have kept someone from having us killed?”

Laine shook her head slightly, “Whatever is going on, I’d be willing to bet there’s no other working group on this case.”

She brushed her hand lightly over her face, as if swiping at a spiderweb. “It’s like what Dawant said, how he was pushed out. I’ve seen it before or versions of it in local police departments like his and beyond. I would love to say the Bureau was not touched by such corruption but I highly doubt it.”

Laine sighed and leaned her elbow against the door, “Do you know what I did before going to the BAU? I’m sure you read my file, the diligent team lead that you are. Well, I worked at the LA field office for the first three or so years, I was on task forces dedicated to missing and exploited children and human trafficking, which I can tell you is a huge problem in and around Los Angeles.”

She pressed her thumb against her lips, “I don’t like talking about it because no one wants to hear about it. Those words like trafficking and exploitation, they do nothing to convey the reality of what it’s about. It doesn’t tell you about listening to broken parents like Armando begging for their children back. It doesn’t show you the fucking countless videos and pictures of children being raped and tortured. It doesn’t...it doesn’t convey the impact of listening to a six year old girl talk about how a man raped her and how strong she is because she is willing to stand up and testify in court because she doesn’t want that bad man to hurt other kids.”

Tears filled her eyes and she rubbed at them, mindless of the smudging eyeliner, “That was my job, to find the monsters and be the voice of those children. And after a while, I just couldn’t do it anymore. Because for every one we managed to catch and gather evidence and lock up, how many more slipped through the cracks, how many had connections and wealth enough to make it go away.”

Laine pressed her trembling hand against her thigh, “I moved to Unit 2 to get away from it, I’d rather face crimes against adults, as horrible as they are. I couldn’t take looking at another abused murdered child and feeling so fucking helpless against the tide of what caused it. A lot of it was organized crime, pedophile rings that do exist and aren’t just conspiracy bullshit but we can’t touch them because someone got elected and someone has too much money invested in some place.”

She shrugged, then shook her head, “People will kill to keep their crimes a secret, that I do know.”

Donnelley nodded. Gregory Morales. Just another name that kept him up at night, but so much more to whoever’s car seat that was there the day he died for helping the wrong man, “Yeah, they will.”

Donnelley took his own pack of cigarettes out of his hoodie pocket, bit one out of the pack and cracked the window as he lit it. He remembered the fight in the parking lot, leaving the Russian in the Alaska woods after fleeing a Walmart to get away from any cops unfortunate enough to be just doing their jobs that day. Remembered how Laine had run him over.

“Was that your first?” He asked, “In Alaska. The Russian in the parking lot?”

She was digging out her own pack, the cloves familiar and comforting and thankfully still available in Seattle hoodrat gas stations around SeaTac. Laine paused when he asked, rolling the black cigarette between her fingers. Her first was not the Russian, it was some poor Alaskan sex worker that got vanished so that she could return from the dead. But at least by her own hand, it was the Russian.

The memory of the sensation of the bumping tires made her stomach clench, as if in a dropping elevator. Laine put the cigarette between her plush lips, then looked at him for a light with a small nod of her head. He flicked his lighter and let the flame kiss the end of her cigarette, and he could already smell the cloves that would forever remind him of Laine.

“My first enlistment in the Army I never killed anyone. Weren’t any big enough wars for the unit I was in.” Donnelley shook his head, and stared at the drops running down the windshield of Laine’s rental. He’d pay for the smell of burnt tobacco they’d leave, his need for a cigarette had only grown since Hillgrove Cemetery. “It was my first couple months as a Deputy in Dallard County. Some guy in Dallas had taken a little girl and ran away with her. Me and Sheriff Gracy caught him racin’ southwest on the highway out of Dallas.”

“Chased him down in our cruisers all the way out there into the fuckin’ country.” Donnelley said, “It came down the channels that it was the girl’s father. Alcoholic, on probation after a DUI charge with assault. Mother was a drug addict. He led us all south to Hillsboro.”

“There weren’t any good guys in that scenario, other than what we all thought so highly of ourselves to be. Him savin’ his little girl, us stoppin’ a kidnappin’. I didn’t know all that about him and the girl, and the mother then, but I still didn’t want to do it.” Donnelley just shook his head and stared, “He knew he was done when he saw the roadblock on the way into Hillsboro. Opened his door and pointed a weapon. He was probably dead ‘fore he hit the dirt. Emptied my magazine.”

“Didn’t want to. Had to. Me or him, y’know?” Donnelley said, sighing and looking down at his lap, taking a hard drag on his cigarette, “I’m sorry you had to do that in Alaska. But you did that for me, and I owe you.”

Laine listened and watched him, his profile that was so familiar and dear to her. She took a drag and blew the smoke towards the cracked window. “I didn’t want to but I’d do it again,” she said, then glanced at him. “I would do it again for you. Hell...it bothers me but I don’t regret it.”

She balanced the black cigarette between her fingers and glanced at him. “I guess that makes me a bit of a hypocrite doesn’t it?”

Donnelley looked at her and shook his head, “No.” he said, looking away from her, “You’d have to do a lot more to be hypocritical with me.”

He cleared his throat after a moment of silence, taking one last drag and pinching out the cherry, putting the cigarette into a ziploc like he did. “Let’s go have somethin’ to eat. Make like we’re just a normal couple on a date and the only thing botherin’ us is the rain.” He tried a smile with her, reaching towards her hand, “How does that sound?”

Laine put out her cigarette and gestured for his ziploc, “You got me doing it now.”

She sighed, the heaviness of the day still weighing on her but smiled a little at his suggestion. “That sounds like something I need right now. At least one thing.”

Laine unbuckled herself then took his hand, her thumb grazing over the top as she said, “We leave this in the car, right? Let’s talk about other things, anything else.”

She unlocked the doors and let go of his hand, stepping into the misting rain. Laine waited for him offering her hand to hold as they crossed the parking lot. ”Think it’ll be alright?”

“Everythin’s fine, remember?” Donnelley took Laine’s hand with a smile, “It’s just us. That’s all I need right now.”

Once inside and seated, Donnelley wasted no time in ordering his usual. The Sinatra, a big square of frozen stone resting in two fingers of bourbon and a splash of bitters. Quick and to the point. He took his first sip and looked across the table at Laine, alone in the corner of the bar, “So, what’s the first thing you’re goin’ to do when you get home?”

Laine ordered a zombie, a fruity rum drink that was strong enough to make her feel fuzzy and push the shadows back. She held the half filled glass and considered his question. “Probably take a bubble bath and walk around my apartment naked. I love the team but I do miss living alone sometimes.”

Her green eyes flicked to him, “Not that I wouldn’t want certain company but after that, I’ll probably check in at the office and deal with whatever is waiting for me there.”

She took a sip, the tropical flavors defying the gloomy light from the windows. “Ghost offered to train Ava and I, so I suppose we’ll be doing that at some point. He seemed very put off by the idea we would be on the same team.”

Laine idly opened the menu that rested on the table, “Couldn’t hurt to be more prepared. I’m going to probably sign up for a personal trainer so I can get ready before I have to train with him. Just a wild guess that he’ll be merciless.”

“Just ask Dave. Me and Ghost put him through the rounds whenever we could.” Donnelley chuckled, “Shoulda seen his first time. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good neither. You’ll be fine.”

She stirred the cocktail with the swizzle stick and laughed a little, “I suppose it won’t be much worse than being back at the Academy except with those Oakleys watching everything.”

Laine took a sip, then muttered, “Well, he did give me pointers in weight lifting and wasn’t weird about it. Better him than Poker, I guess. He kinda gives me a bad vibe. I know he’s your old team leader just...you know, you get a feeling for how someone looks at you.”

She went back to the menu, “I don’t really have any grand plans past spending some time with you before going home.”

Laine glanced across the table at him, “What about you?”

Donnelley frowned in contemplation, looking up and away before he sipped at his drink and shook his head, “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have any plans either except for whatever you have for me while you’re here,” he smiled, chuckling a bit, “I guess since I’m on leave with the Company too… I’ve got some free time.”

His smirk drooped a bit, “Maybe I’ll… come visit you and Ava. Road trip, come bother my team across the country.” He perked up again, though he really didn’t know what he was going to do with himself with so much free time. The last time he had any time to himself he spent it doing drugs and fucking prostitutes, but that hardly held the same enticement ever since the case, “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ll think of something, you know I can find ways of gettin’ into trouble.” He smirked.

Laine raised her eyebrow, "Oh, you're going to let me be in charge of what we get up to while I'm here?"

A slow smile grew before she masked it by taking a drink. "I'd like it if you did visit, I wasn't joking about wanting your company. As for you getting into trouble, I have no doubts. Just make sure you can get out of it."

The waitress appeared, giving them a warm practiced smile, "Were you ready to order or did you need some more time?"

"I'll have the pineapple pulled pork with the proper greens salad and another zombie, thanks," Laine replied.

The waitress wrote it down and glanced at Donnelley, "And what would you like, sir?"

Laine tried not to grin and preoccupied herself looking at her phone until he was done ordering and the waitress gathered their menus and left. She finally looked across at him, her green eyes twinkling, "That's my line."

“Yeah?” Donnelley chuckled as he finished taking a long sip from his drink and winked at her, “I guess I can let you dictate what we get to do. I might like whatever you think up.”

Laine bit her lower lip and swirled the ice in her glass, "I think you might. First thing though we need to get a room. Another shitty motel or something else?"

“My place?” Donnelley quirked a brow. She’d invited him into her home, only felt right for him to return the favor. Besides, what he wanted to do would be better with some privacy, “Besides, motels around here are a special type of shitty.”

Laine blinked at his offer then smiled warmly, "Yeah, I'd like that. Much better than a shitty motel. Maybe we'll pick up a few things and cook breakfast together tomorrow."

The idea of even just a night or two of some sort of normal domestic bliss after the hell they had been through in Alaska was like water to a parched man. She wanted it more than anything right now just to stop and breathe with the man she loved.

Donnelley grinned wide at that thought of spending a night and having breakfast with Laine, “I’d love that.” He said, smiling at her and then finishing the last of his drink, enjoying the heaviness in his limbs and the subtle giddiness. He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers, “More’n anythin’.”

>...///

Laine drove behind Donnelley as he led the way to his house. In the backseat were some groceries and necessities from a quick stop at the store where he pushed the cart and she picked from the shelves. The rain had finally lifted, leaving the air cool and breezy, washing it clean.

She allowed brief thought to paranoia that the Program was watching and waiting to catch her and Donnelley together. But from what she had seen, a little daring was needed.

Donnelley took them down a few residential roads. It had been a few miles drive from the grocery store until they finally got to Donnelley’s home. Pulling into the empty driveway, it had just enough space for their two cars. “Well, this is it.” Donnelley smirked at the modest one-story. “My palace is out back.”

He chuckled, taking almost all the bags in the back of Laine’s car in one trip. It had been a habit both of efficiency and laziness since he’d been stationed in Fort Campbell, or moved to Seattle shortly after being discharged and the divorce that followed on its heels. But he wasn’t thinking about that now. The house inside was some kind of halfway between bare and lived-in. There were still a few pieces of furniture, a television. Though, most of the rooms that weren’t the master bedroom, the kitchen, or the living room were completely empty.

In one particular room, there was a large safe and a few gun cases leaning beside it. Donnelley only poked his head inside and told Laine he kept his guns and a few other things inside the room. Not much else. “I’m gonna slip into somethin’ a bit more comfortable.”

Laine followed him, carrying her laptop bag and her duffel over her shoulder as he carried the groceries. She looked over the front of the house, it was still in good repair but she could tell there was some neglect, that it had not been occupied for any great lengths at a time. She smiled as he led her through, “So this is Casa de Donnelley.”

As she followed him, she noticed the half empty state of things, a life cut in half and only one still remained here. Putting that in the back of her mind, they were here for themselves not anyone else. She admired the set of his shoulders and the flex of his triceps as he carried the bags all at once and dropped them off in the kitchen. Laine chuckled and shook her head, “Of course you have a room just for guns.”

When he left to change, she went to the bathroom to freshen up, digging through her duffel for a change of clothes and her toothbrush. Laine changed down to underwear, a pair of black boy cut shorts, and an oversized Smiths t-shirt that fell just to her hips and hung slightly off one shoulder. It was one she bought back in Idaho, at the little boutique close to the campus. It felt like months but it had only been just over two weeks since they left Muru with Sobel.

Laine looked at the mirrored medicine cabinet and the temptation to take a peek was strong. Pulling herself away, she stepped out of the bathroom, now barefoot and much more comfortable. She went back towards the kitchen to put away the perishables in case he had not.

She found Donnelley doing what she was thinking of doing, putting the last carton of milk away and then dumping the old one. It had a fair amount of chunks, speaking to the amount of time Donnelley had been away from this place. He smirked sheepishly at her as he did, the chunks making audible slaps into the metal kitchen sink, “Sorry. It’s, um,” Donnelley cleared his throat, “Been a bit since I’ve been here.”

Laine grimaced, “It’s cottage cheese by now.”

She touched the table top and noticed the dust, then went to get a paper towel and bent to look in the cupboard for a dust spray. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

Without a word she began cleaning the table, wiping it down. She leaned over it, reaching to get in the middle.

“When was the first time you called me? After our first adventure?” He said, smashing the carton and putting it into the recycling bin. He searched around for his fancy glasses and mugs, not exactly wanting to have to pass the bottle between him and Laine. She deserved some modicum of hospitality.

“You like mules?” He opened a pantry and finally found them, the amount of time he’d been absent let him forget a lot about this place, “Because I like mules.” He grabbed two of the copper mugs and left the kitchen to find his fancier whiskeys.

Finishing the wipe down, she looked over her shoulder, “When I called you from Seattle? I remember that, I think I woke you up. Still stirring over the Childress case, another one taken.”

She stopped herself then tossed the paper towel in the trash can and rinsed her hands. Laine put her hands on her hips, the shirt scrunching up to show off her thighs. “I do like mules, but you know what else I like?”

Laine smiled slightly, looking him over and bit her lip. She moved closer and watched his body as he moved, admiring his form. Her gaze settled for a moment on the still fresh scar of the bullet wound then moved down. Donnelley smiled to himself when he caught Laine staring, eyeing him like a piece of meat. He turned around with the two copper mugs in one hand, the bottle of Bulleit bourbon in the other, “Is it me?” He asked sarcastically, “I hope it’s me.”

She laughed, her green eyes gleaming as she looked him over again, “It is definitely you.”

Laine pulled a chair out and sat down, pretending not to feel the chill on the bare expanse of her legs as she crossed them. Propping her elbow on the table, resting her chin against her fist, she said, “Now let’s see the bartender skills.”

“Well,” he said, placing down the two copper mugs and the bourbon, “The most integral part of the mule, in my opinion, is the copper mug. Just ain’t the same without it.”

He eyeballed two shots into each of the mugs, “Oh, almost forgot,” he rushed back to the kitchen and then returned with two bottles of ginger beer, “And this too, splash of lime to go with it.”

“We forgot mint leaves, else I’d have some garnish and I could really woo you.” Donnelley snorted, passing Laine her mug and setting it down in front of her, “I hope I didn’t fall short of my reputation.”

He sipped at his mug and then added a bit more whiskey, “How’s it?”

Laine took a sip, tasting it then licked her lips, “Pretty damn good. I’ve never had it with whiskey.”

“I’ll excuse the lack of mint leaves since you’re cute,” she smiled and took another drink, “Thank you, by the way, for having me in your house. So, do I get to dig through your record collection or your photo albums now?”

“You know, flirtin’ with the bartender might get you some perks here next time you come around.” He winked, smiling at her as he took a big gulp of his drink and sighed. At her question, he shrugged, “Yeah, why not, I’ll let you judge me mercilessly.”

“Should be in a box in the bedroom, come on.” Donnelley waved Laine with him as he went. When they got to the master bedroom, Donnelley slid the closet door open, pulling two boxes out packed to the brim with records. “Have at it.” He chuckled.

Laine clapped her hands and picked up her mug to follow him back to the bedroom, “I will be without mercy.”

She stepped into the room giving the large bed a once over then turned to him pulling out the big cardboard boxes. A big smile grew on her face and she knelt beside one, “Is this the Black Flag album you stole from that car when you were a teen?”

Laine began pulling the records out so she could see the art and the titles, her eyes lighting up as she exclaimed, “Oh shit, tell me you have a record player. We’re playing some of these.”

She pulled out a familiar cover, “Got some Cramps, I love it. Oh shit.”

Laine picked up an album that was worn at the corners, fuzzy cardboard and teal color, “A first pressing of Minor Threat, badass.”

She continued going through them, selecting a few more and picked up a few more. “What’s this? The Funky Aztecs?”

Donnelley ripped his attention away from her very visible backside in the boy cut panties as she bent and reached going through his record collection. She might have noticed the consequences of her choice in attire down below his belt line. He shook his head and looked at what she was holding, chuckling, “Holy shit, yeah. Nor’ Califas, these guys had a song with 2Pac.” He said, looking at the cover art for their Chicano Blues album, “I can’t be punk all the time. I even have some Parliament in there somewhere.”

Laine slid it back into the box and hunted for the Parliament, leaning forward on purpose then glanced at him, a little smile appearing on her lush lips. The basketball shorts did not hide much. “I like a good funk,” she said, “And I like your variety.”

She looked over at him standing there and then shifted up to her knees, looking up at him, “I like those shorts, too.”

Raising an eyebrow she reached up and gave him a stroke down the front of his shorts then stopped, “So let’s drink and listen to your records.”

Donnelley bit his lip and moaned under his breath as Laine touched him through his shorts. He’d forwent the underwear again, and the two of them could feel all of it. He chuckled as Laine looked up at him, “I’ll get my player, make yourself comfortable.”

She grinned at his reaction and the sensation of him through the fabric. Laine sank back to her heels, then picked up her copper mug taking a drink as he went to get his record player. Her mind was getting a little fuzzy and she watched with a little smile on her face.

When he returned and plugged in the machine, she handed him a record and waited until he turned back around. The slight static, the warm crisp vinyl sound as the music from the Cramps Bad Music from Bad People started up. She curled her finger, beckoning him over.

Laine looked up at him, reaching to run her fingers along his waistband. “Just like being teens again, right?”

She ran her hand down the silky material, feeling him and kissed his stomach, feeling the gingery hair below his navel tickle her nose as she moved downward, then made a soft moaning purr as she rubbed against him through the fabric. “I’ve been wanting to touch you for so long, sir.”

He set his mug down as Laine fondled him through his shorts, watching her with a smirk and feeling himself growing with her touch. He lay a gentle hand on her cheek as he stepped a bit closer, what was behind his shorts dangerously close to her, “I’ve been wanting you to touch me for so long.” He bent down and locked his lips with hers in a deep kiss, pulling back and leaning close to her ear, “I love you, Laine.”

Without telling her, he grabbed her up with relative ease and then set himself on the couch where she had been sitting. Now, he smiled at her as she straddled his lap, no doubt feeling him and how hard he was beneath the shorts. It felt so right, and so freeing to be able to say what he felt. And being able to say it however he wanted without worrying someone was listening in at every waking moment. If there was one blessing behind the infuriating circumstances of being put on leave, it was being able to spend time like this with Laine. The woman he loved.

And fuck loud.

>...///

He reached over to Laine and gently pulled her on top of him. He smiled at the weight of her and the feeling of her slick skin on his own. He looked down at her on his chest, his blue eyes weighed down with exhaustion from how much Laine had worn him out.

“I love you, Laine.” He said softly.

When he pulled her over to him, she hugged him. They were both hot and sweaty but it was worth it to feel the intimacy that glowed between them.

Laine gazed down at him, smiling with an indulgent expression before kissing him. “I love you, too,” she murmured. “I love you, Joey.”

She pushed herself up, her breasts resting against his chest and looked him over, “It’s going to be really hard hiding this now.”

He shrugged and shook his head, “Let’s just be happy we don’t have to right now,” he said with a smile, leaning in and kissing her softly, “God, you tire me out in the best of ways, Laine.”

“I am happy,” she said, then grinned down at him returning his kiss, “You make me happy, and make me so wonderfully sore.”

Laine nuzzled against him and kissed along his collarbone then lower to the scar, kissing it lightly then lay her head against his chest. He quivered softly with a smile at the feeling of her soft, plump lips against his sweat-slick skin, and hugged her tight as she rested against his chest, “We’re like a couple of high school sweethearts, you and me.” Donnelley chuckled, then turned a tad serious through his smile, “Can I admit somethin’?”

She chuckled softly, “We are. Everytime we’re alone together I feel like I’m sneaking around to see my bad boy boyfriend and hide it from my parents.”

Laine glanced up at him, her green eyes warm with affection, “Of course you can.”

Donnelley chewed over his phrasing, rolling his jaw and grunting as he knew it would make things easier just to spit it out, “When me and Dave were talkin’ by the fire in Alaska,” Donnelley cringed a tad, not knowing how Laine would react, “He knows. I told him.”

“I just couldn’t keep it hidden.” He explained hastily, “Just seein’ him and Ava frolickin’ around with each other like that. It’s just… I was jealous. Hell, I’ll still be when we go back to the grindstone. I couldn’t keep it in, one part accident and… I don’t know.”

“I hate actin’ like we have a distance between you and me when all I want to do is hold you.” He said, looking away from her, “I’m sorry.”

Laine stared at him and closed her eyes, nodding slightly. She sighed then kissed the spot in the center of his chest, the ginger hairs tickling her nose. “You shouldn’t have done that but I can understand it. I hate pretending that you’re just my team lead. Sometimes I want to just hold you and I get so frustrated. Especially after what we went through. What you went through seeing it...remembering.”

She scooted up and kissed his lips lightly then more firm, “I don’t think Dave will tell anyone. At least not on purpose.”

Donnelley sighed, “Sure hope not.”

Donnelley stared up at the ceiling, wondering when the last time he’d slept in this bed was. Returning here for the first time was like walking into a mausoleum, haunted by a life that had ended eight years ago. He looked back down at Laine and smiled, hugging her close for a moment, “I’m so glad.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the giddy feelings that Laine always gave him, “I’m glad we met.”

Laine smiled at him, thoughts of Dave and their secret slipping away as he hugged her. “Me too,” she sighed, and reached up to brush her hand along the side of his face, “We’ve had our moments, but I knew you were worth getting to know.”

She kissed him then kissed his scarred cheek, laying against him for a while until she felt sticky from the sweat and his semen. Laine finally lifted her head, “I’m going to take a quick shower. I think we earned a nap.”

“Mind if I join you?” Donnelley asked.

Laine slid off the bed, naked and from his perspective he would see how he left her. She turned and curled her finger at him, beckoning him to follow to the bathroom.

>SEP152019
>1200...///

The nap turned into just staying in bed cuddling and watching Netflix until they fell asleep again. Laine woke first, leaving Donnelley snoring lightly as she went to start breakfast. She wore one of his old Black Flag t-shirt and a pair of black bikini panties with a cartoon devil on the front. She found in that drawer of faded band shirts she found a shoebox of cassettes. Most were hand labeled, mixtapes of a variety of genres but mostly punk and hardcore. She set it on the kitchen table while she cooked, breakfast never took long with quick eggs and bacon and putting blueberry bagels in the toaster.

Laine hunted up a dusty boombox and plugged it in, trying out the tape player. She was listening to a mix of familiar west coast bands as she sipped coffee and went through the others. Laine paused and picked one up, a familiar but much younger face among a group of other boys glowering into the camera in a black and white xeroxed flyer folded up and made into a cassette cover.

A grin spread across her face and she popped out the mix tape and put in the DIY recording and cranked it up. The low chuggy hard core began and Laine stood up, removing the bacon onto paper towels and stirred the eggs before turning off the heat and plating them. If the smell of food didn’t wake him then maybe a ghost from the past howling would.

It only took a few moments of the thick, chugging riff before Donnelley rounded the corner into the kitchen, pantomiming playing a guitar and bobbing his head. When the lyrics came in on the second verse, he growled along with a smirk as he closed in on Laine, “Kill them all! Slit their throats! Drink their blood! Make them ghosts! Make them pay, for what they’ve done! Don’t look back ‘til what’s done is done!”

He laughed and grabbed Laine into a hug and then kissed her. “That is a one of a kind recordin’ of the band Reagan’s Grave.” Donnelley smiled and bobbed his head to the song again, folding his arms, “My best friend, partner-in-crime, and brother-in-blood Eric was the vocalist. Guess who was makin’ them head-smashin’ riffs.”

Laine turned when he entered the kitchen singing along and sweeping her into an embrace. She laughed and stuck a cube of honeydew melon towards his mouth.

"Let me guess I'm basking in the presence of the shred master himself," she said, the pleased expression on her face. "I found that little gem in a shoebox when I borrowed your shirt. So tell me about this Eric and Reagan's Grave. I love a hot guy in a band."

“Damn right y’are,” he said, leaning over and taking the honeydew into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, “Eric was my friend who got killed in Dallas. Me and him started that band with another one of our friends named Ernesto, he’s on drums.”

“We played a few house shows in Dallard County and left a wake of trashed basements and smashed forty-ounces wherever we went.” He smiled.

She smiled at his recollection, the memory of what he told her about the friend he lost was not forgotten. Laine served the food, bacon and eggs with blueberry bagels and cream cheese and some cut up fruit. After the night they had she was starving.

"That must have been a lot of fun while it lasted. Those types of backyard shows were always a blast," she said, setting the plates on the table and offering him a cup of coffee. "Do you still play guitar?"

“Not often. I probably forgot most of what I had.” He smiled sheepishly, watching her set the table, how she moved, how she looked in the morning light, “I could pick it up if I had the time.”

Donnelley frowned then, and then snorted, “I guess that’s one thing I got now. Time. Can’t even do shit for my day job.”

Laine came up beside him and handed him his coffee, her free hand tousling his ginger hair and noticed a fleck of ash among the fire. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the head and moved to her chair. “In all honesty, you could use a little vacation, but I understand. Idle hands and all that devils work.”

She smiled a little at him then winced as she sat down, shifting slightly so she leaned and crossed her legs. “I do have to get back to my day job but after that visit with Dawant yesterday, I’m not done with Maria’s case. Not by a long shot.”

Picking up her fork, she eyed him, “I promise I won’t go getting in the other working group’s way, but I have resources of my own with the Bureau. We might not have the original files or the physical evidence to look at but I’ve saved most of everything I could have photographed and written down. Once I get back to Virginia, I’m going to talk to Ava about making us some sort of secure cloud storage. Just in case.”

Her serious tone lightened as she began to eat, “But look, that’s not now. Today, I want to spend a day with you. Show me your motorcycle, play me a song. A walk on the beach? Anything but what we’ll be dealing with soon enough.”

He chuckled at Laine’s reminder that this time was for them, and them only. He sipped at his coffee and sat across from her at the dinner table. He had to sit there for a moment, not remembering the last time he felt so right staying in this house and sleeping in that bed. He could always fall asleep so easy, and wake up so contentedly with Laine next to him. “A walk on the beach sounds good, go over to Ruston Way and see the sights.” He smiled, “It’s a nice day out, could take my motorcycle there and ride the waterfront.”

Laine grinned, “I get to ride on your bike? Hell yeah.”

She leaned back and chewed the bagel, “I love a bad boy who plays in a punk band and rides a motorcycle. That sounds like a good plan, you know. I’ve never been out here other than for work so I would love to see the sights.”

He winked, “It’s a plan then.”

>1700...///

The sun glinted off the water below in the green waters of Puget Sound. Donnelley had laughed when Laine first smelled something off on the air when they approached Tacoma, and he explained that’s just how the city smelled ever since he could remember. The Aroma of Tacoma, the citizens had taken to calling it, turning the acrid stench the city had sometimes into something endearing. By now they hardly noticed it as they sat on the concrete outcropping facing the waves and the beach. The takeout boxes of fish and chips they’d gotten sat empty next to their beer bottles. “I remember when I first moved up here from Kentucky after my discharge.” Donnelley spoke before taking a drag off his cigarette, “Couldn’t fuckin’ stand the smell when we came here.”

Couldn’t stand a lot of things. Him and his wife couldn’t stand each other, and they’d tried to stay together for Tilly, but it worked out about as well as anyone would expect. Even if they’d moved away from Fort Campbell, moved away from the constant reminders of what his military service had brought him after Afghanistan and Pakistan, he couldn’t move away from himself. It took a year to figure that out. He looked at Laine and then smiled, reaching a hand over to place it on her thigh. This wasn’t about anything else but him and Laine, “Just give it some time and you’ll start to miss this smell.”

Laine wiped her mouth after taking a sip of the local brew, Mac & Jacks Serengeti Wheat which went well with the fried fish she drenched in lemon and malt vinegar. She inhaled then scrunched her nose, “What is it? It’s almost sulphurous. It doesn’t have the same stink as LA, it’s actually worse.”

She chuckled and raised her brows, “I don’t think I would miss it, but it’s certainly memorable.”

Following his example, she lit a clove cigarette, the strong spicy scent blotting out the rotten egg backwater stench. “It is a nice view though, a lot different than our beaches.”

When the wind shifted the scent of the ocean came with it, the salt and the rich scent of life. “I like all the trees here,” Laine said, “They just feel so old.”

Donnelley nodded, “Yeah, I don’t really know what it is either. Always chalked it up to low tide or somethin’, but I was never really sure.” Donnelley chuckled, taking another drag and breathing it out onto the winds, “A lot of history here if you know where to look.”

“That it could be,” she agreed, shifting to sit closer to him and put her cigarette between her fingers, letting it smolder. “You know, in California, they don’t seem to dwell on history too much, it’s always what’s next. What’s the next big thing. Maybe it’s an LA thing, but for a place where the sun sets, it is always looking ahead. Probably to its own detriment.”

Laine leaned back on her free hand, looking over the green and gray landscape, the cold ocean lapping at the stoney beach. She watched the water, secretly hoping to see the dorsal of a killer whale but so far nothing but a bald eagle that had soared overhead before heading out over the sound.

“You know, you should visit sometime. I know I’ve mentioned it before,” Laine said, bringing the clove cigarette to her full lips and glanced at him.

Donnelley shrugged, “I dunno. Y’think a simple country feller like me’d be able to make it in that there concrete jungle?” He smirked sidelong at Laine and then chuckled, shaking his head, “Yeah, I could. Maybe you could show me around?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “Please, I love the idea of corrupting a small town boy. But yeah, it’d be fun, there’s a lot to see. Sometime we will but first I’m owed a trip to Dalhart. Yeehaw.”

Laine raised her foot, now clad in a Converse sneaker but she still was holding onto the cowgirl boots she had bought in Idaho and kept a secret this whole time. A gleam in her eyes appeared as she looked at him, “You think a city girl like me could make it in that rough and tumble frontier town?”

Donnelley grinned, “Yeah, I got my six-shooters just in case we run into any bandits or Comanches.”

Laine laughed, “You and your arsenal of peacemakers.”

She learned back to admire the view, something about water meeting earth that always made her feel more calm. Laine spent countless hours of her youth on the coasts of California and later on Virginia beaches and waterfronts. The Puget Sound was different from both of those, with the distant snow capped Rainier and the pebbled beach with logs of driftwood that made convenient benches.

“I was thinking,” she said after a moment, “Maybe giving Ava a call and see how they’re doing. I’ll bet you they’re cozied up in some hotel room. But then I also worry about treading on their time, I’m enjoying it just being us.”
Laine smiled a little sheepishly, looking away from him, “I got to be a real mother hen, it’s annoying.”

Donnelley snorted a laugh and took another drag, speaking through the cloud of smoke, “Let’s just enjoy this for now. Just us. We don’t get this often.” He said, looking at Laine and leaning in to kiss her, “I want as much as time as we can get for me to say that I love you.”