[fic] the pacific - a bullet down (2/3)

[augustbird]

_______

“Hey Skip?”

Andrew turns his attention from his computer screen to the man standing in his doorway. Leyden looks a little worried as he shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot. He offers a pale imitation of a smile and he asks, “Say, do you know if there’ve been any orders recently about tracking team K? Evaluation stuff?”

Andrew’s brow furrows as his expression turns into one of confusion, “What makes you ask that?”

Leyden suddenly looks more uncomfortable than he already did, his eyes widening the slightest bit like he’s legitimately surprised at the news. “There’s been a car following me around for the last couple of days.”

Andrew tenses and he just knows. It has to be FBI.

“Make? Model? Plate?”

“I think it’s a Ford Taurus,” Leyden offers hesitantly, “I don’t know the plate-I thought it was ours.”

“Get the plate.”

Leyden nods and half turns, like he’s about to leave. He pauses midway, though, and turns back around to look at Andrew, “Do you know who it is, Skip?”

Andrew has to choose his answer carefully-it’s a balance between being truthful to his men and not causing undue panic. So far only he and Eddie know anything about the sudden FBI interest in their case-but say the word FBI and they’d have the uneasy men scrambling to get themselves out of there and leaving the loyal men stranded in their wake.

“I think I might have an idea but I need to be sure,” he says, “But if my guess is right, you need to be careful, Bill. Everyone will need to be on high alert.”

Leyden swallows and for a moment he looks like he’d like to ask for more information, but instead he nods and exits.

_______

The last Friday of each month is burning day and it’s something like a ritual. The entire office turns out all of the papers that they’ve collected in the last month, determine what missions are still in progress and stack the of the outdated documents in boxes to be burned. Considering there’s only six or so dedicated staff members working in the office, it’s an ordeal that takes the entire day.

By nightfall, the others have left and Eddie silently helps Andrew load the boxes into the trunk of his car. It’s an extended ritual for the two of them-to drive the papers out to a secluded part of the shoreline and pile them up on the sand and douse them with gasoline. It’s easier on a calm day when the breeze doesn’t scatter their papers all over the beach.

Eddie lights the match and glances up at Andrew. In the reflection of the flame, his eyes are pale halos around the darkness of his pupil. The match drops and Andrew feels the flare of heat expanding rapidly as the gasoline catches on fire in an instant. The gasoline is an easy burn and it takes longer for the paper to catch-but when it does, it does merrily, paper crackling with the intense heat and curling into flame.

Andrew watches it silently for a long while, looks at the sparks it throws against the cool night air, the smell of smoke wreathing into his clothes and permeating his hair. It’s some sick perversion of the bonfires he remembers from his childhood in Massachusetts in a time and place when what he could imagine didn’t begin to measure up to how complicated his life has become. He hadn’t always carried a gun in his briefcase, didn’t always shoulder the impending dread of federal agents one day knocking on his door.

He looks at Eddie instead, the soft shadows that the fire creates on his face, the wearily contemplative stare of a man who’s been doing this for far too long. It’s ironic because neither of them have even hit their thirties and yet they feel decades older. They’ve had so many years shaved off of their lives and sometimes this all feels unreal, like one day they will wake up and realize that they’ve dreamt the last seven years of their life-that Eddie’s back in the Corps and Andrew’s been at Bowdoin all along with years to go before he even thinks about raising a gun against another person.

Eddie raises his eyes, looks at Andrew. Andrew doesn’t look away, keeps his eyes intent on Eddie’s face. He quirks an eyebrow, shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers and smiles a little, “You’re quiet.”

A spark of ember lifts from the burning papers and spirals slowly into the air. Andrew’s eye is caught by it as he says, “I’m thinking of Maine.”

He lapses into silence. Eddie doesn’t pick up the frayed thought, doesn’t wind it together with his own words until a long moment afterwards.

“I saved up an entire year to buy my first guitar,” he says and the words carry through the haze of the fire like Andrew’s listening to him through a dream, “She was a piece of junk-a beat up thing that I found on sale at the thrift store. I had to save up another three months to buy a new set of strings. She was constantly out of tune and I had work hard to draw out any tune. But I learned how to play on her.”

The fire leaps and Andrew feels like he’s half a world away.

“I was happy,” Eddie says softly and it must mean something, some message that Eddie is trying to convey.

“And now?” Andrew’s voice is louder than he expected. Eddie slants him a look and he has a fond smile on his face, like he’s amused.

“I like this,” Eddie says plainly and it’s simultaneously the simplest and most complicated thing that Andrew’s ever heard. His lips are curved into a smile and it’s a little crooked on his face and Andrew thinks for a moment that he’s a little too close to the fire, that he’s going to get burned. But he doesn’t move and he stops thinking and he hasn’t felt contentment like this for a long time.

_______

Andrew hasn’t worn a tuxedo since he attended the wedding of one of his old college buddies-and that seems years ago. He’s twenty-seven-it’s about the time that his friends should all be getting married, but he hasn’t received an invitation in a while. It comes with the job, the disconnection he’s tried to put between the man he used to be and the man he is now. He doesn’t know how many aliases he’s used in the time since then.

He’s not sure how well the tuxedo fits him now-he used to be bulkier as a halfback on the football team at Bowdoin. He’s thinned out a little-no longer needs the mass he used to have in order to block players on the field-and it’s a little big on him. He doesn’t look like he’s swimming in it or anything though and he’s not vain enough to send it to a tailor. It’ll have to do for the evening.

It’s a little strange because he doesn’t feel like himself in this suit-but the man in the mirror has a confident quirk to his lips anyway and that’s all that really matters. He lines up the edges of the bowtie and frowns at it. It’s been a long time since he’s had to tie a bowtie. It’s strange that he remembers how to do a double Windsor and not this.

“Having trouble?”

Eddie has a bowl of pasta in his hands-drizzled over with olive oil and pesto because he likes it better than red sauce. It only serves to remind Andrew how hungry he is and how unlikely it is that he’s actually going to be eating at the charity ball. He hates schmoozing and all of the superficial small talk-he’s done more than his fair share of it in pandering to the select clientele early on in his career.

“When was the last time you tied one of these?” Andrew asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re obviously failing at it,” Eddie replies as he sets the bowl aside and steps in front of Andrew. His fingers slip briefly on the silk of the bowtie and his eyebrows draw together as he concentrates. Andrew tries not to shift his weight too much, tries to stay still as he looks at Eddie’s face, the fleeting touch of fingers on his neck and there is this inexplicable feeling that draws forward from the depths of his mind, something that’s too strong to be friendly affection by itself. He has the strangest urge to catch Eddie’s wrist, to hold him there, to have this moment suspended in time.

Eddie loops the fabric and tightens it against Andrew’s neck. He steps back and surveys his own handiwork a moment before his lips tilt up in something that resembles a smirk, “Must be getting senile in your old age, Haldane.”

Andrew doesn’t respond for a moment, can’t bring himself to breathe past this sudden choking need to pull Eddie forward again or to step forward and invade Eddie’s space. It’s unsettling but maybe not as unexpected as it could be. There must be something in his eyes because Eddie’s smirk falters and his voice comes out concerned, “Andy?”

Andrew snaps out of it because he has an objective to focus on, a mission to complete and this-all of this-is distracting and self-indulgent and completely unnecessary. He eases into a smile and looks at himself in the mirror, touching at the bowtie where Eddie’s fingers had been moments before.

“Not bad, Jones.”

_______

Andrew has spent the last hour prying himself away from the other attendees at the conference as kindly as possible and without coming off as too impolite. They’ve mastered the art of small talk to a much higher extent than he has, peppering their conversation with inane remarks about Baltimore, the weather, and once in a while making a general statement about scientific research or asking in a hesitant and roundabout way which one of his relatives or friends suffered from cancer. It’s not their fault and he’d be in a much more pliant mood if he weren’t on the lookout for the ever elusive William Rupertus whom he’s not even sure is attending the function. He has yet to glimpse the man for even a moment.

He could also be on the lookout for a second man-Chesty Puller-who’s also rumored to be part of command, but he hasn’t shown up either and Andrew will just have to stick out the entirety of the dinner feeling slightly awkward and out of place. There’s a subtle division between old money and new money here-a bit more arrogance in the curl of their smile that the former retains-but Andrew doesn’t come from any sort of money at all. It serves to set him apart even more.

It’s nearly eight thirty when he excuses himself from a conversation about homeopathic remedies for pain with a pair of charming ladies. It’s a well needed breather-he doesn’t think he can take much more of listening to them talk about their favorite yoga positions and it’s not difficult to see that they’re trying to flirt with him in a vaguely adulterous and forward manner. Maybe he should be more receptive but he has a specific goal to accomplish tonight.

He doesn’t really need to use the restroom but he heads in that direction anyway, anywhere to ease the permanently polite and bemused smile from his face. He spends a moment looking at the bathroom door, then sharply veers away from it and starts walking through the hallways with no particular destination in mind. He needs space to clear his head, to figure out what to do next if neither Rupertus or Puller show. It’s impossible to get into command without a written invitation-he’s tried more than once on previous occasions. Breaking into command wouldn’t be out of the question but it’d take weeks to plan and they need changes now.

It’s a little startling how he’s actually legitimately considering the advantages of simply breaking into command and hoping to find answers. It’s startling because he remembers swearing loyalty to them what seems like a lifetime ago and he’s been following their orders without question ever since.

He climbs the stairs and walks down a second hallway. He’s about to open the doors to the stairwell on the opposite end when he hears distinct voices from the other side of the door, “-it was your problem that you lost them in Wales. Christ Rodriguez, your problem is that you keep on underestimating them.”

Andrew stares at the door with his heart going a mile a minute in his chest. That voice-he hasn’t heard it frequently-but he’s fairly sure that it’s Rupertus hissing at someone behind the door. Rupertus talking about what sounds like their aborted mission.

“I have a dinner to conduct,” Rupertus says lowly, “We can talk about this later.”

Andrew backs away from the door and hurries down the hall to the other side.

This-maybe this was exactly the answer that he needed without even having spoken to anybody at all. This is the confirmation of his fears that he never wanted-he had been holding onto the hope that perhaps it had all just boiled down to poor research and poor planning. Incompetence would have been far easier to handle than the reality of intentional misdirection.

He straightens his shoulders, replaces the smile on his face and returns to the banquet room feeling sick to his stomach.

_______

At dinner, Rupertus raises his glass in a toast.

“To all of you wonderful supporters, willing to give your time and funds to a wonderful cause,” he says with a smile, “Because you are doing the right thing. We are all doing the right thing.”

Andrew doesn’t smile and he barely lifts his glass because all he can think of is you liar.

_______

It takes twenty minutes of polite small talk, watching Rupertus in his peripheral vision for any moment where he might be able to jump in, before he finally sees an opportunity. Rupertus is walking away from the crowd and Andrew quietly excuses himself rather rudely and backs away. Within a minute, he’s hurrying up behind Rupertus and calling out, “Sir.”

Rupertus pauses midstep but doesn’t turn around. Andrew catches up and it’s not until he’s alongside the man that Rupertus finally turns his head to look at him.

“Haldane, sir,” Andrew introduces himself, “We’ve talked before.”

Rupertus’s smile is thin and a trace uncomfortable, but his voice is warm, “Of course. Captain of K. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Sir,” Andrew says, “I’ve been wondering about certain information that you’ve been sending our team.”

Rupertus doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. “What information might that be, captain?”

“Recently we’ve been getting faulty intel in the majority of our briefings. I’ve been hoping to draw it to your attention but command keeps dropping all of my calls,” Andrew’s smile is both brief and wry, “Another issue I’ve been hoping to draw your attention to.”

There is a distinct pause and slowly, the other man’s face changes from a thin smile to a politely puzzled expression, “I haven’t heard about any of these issues until now. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Andrew doesn’t know what to say-he had been expecting more questions, exact dates, locations, specifics as to why he was questioning command. This-this simple acquiescence is throwing him off.

“Rest assured captain, I will be looking into these matters personally,” the thin smile is back.

Andrew doesn’t believe him for a single second.

A silence stretches between the two of them. Rupertus raises an eyebrow and when he speaks again, it’s with a hint of irritation, “Is there anything else you wanted to address, captain?”

Andrew looks him in the face and shakes his head, “No, thank you.”

_______

Andrew wakes up to the sound of drilling.

He lays in bed for another moment, stares at the ceiling and hopes that it’s Eddie and not someone trying to unscrew the doorknob of his front door. He rolls over and looks at the clock. Nearly eight. Time to get up.

Eddie’s in the living room cheerfully attacking his drywall with a drill when Andrew walks out of the hallway. He’s drilled a series of holes and he’s pulling out wires from the wall. Andrew stares a minute, opens his mouth to ask exactly what it is that Eddie’s doing, then decides that he isn’t nearly awake enough to have a coherent conversation about the state of his walls and any possible resulting depreciation of the value of his house, and shuts it again.

“Good morning,” Eddie says brightly.

“You want some breakfast?” Andrew asks, digging to palm of his hand into his eyes in effort to wake himself up. He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply as he steps into the kitchen and opens the fridge, “Was trying to get in contact with you last night but you didn’t pick up.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that,” Eddie calls from the living room and he actually does sound apologetic, “Sister set me up on a blind date with one of her friends without telling me. I felt bad about canceling so I just went with it.”

Andrew shuts the fridge and moves to lean against the doorway between the kitchen and living room with an amused expression, “And how did that turn out for you?”

There’s a moment when Eddie shoots Andrew a look that he can’t exactly decipher, something sharp that isn’t quite as self deprecating or amused as Andrew would have expected-but it passes almost instantaneously and Andrew wonders idly for a moment if he had just imagined it. “She was pretty. Nice. Had a good sense of humor. Not my type though.”

“Makes me wonder what exactly your type is,” Andrew comments. Eddie’s been on more dates in the last month than Andrew’s been on in the last year, thanks to his sister. He’s brought back more than a few entertaining stories, girls who spend entire evenings talking about themselves, shallow girls from the upper east side who haven’t figured out how to fit in elsewhere, and career driven women who don’t know how to tone it down.

But now there’s a lengthened pause, like Eddie’s actually thinking about the half rhetorical question. He smiles a little blandly at the wall and Andrew can only see half of his face from his angle. “Andy, who the hell am I kidding?”

Andrew’s eyebrows rise slowly. The outburst is somewhat uncharacteristic of Eddie’s cautious optimism. He doesn’t have to ask for an explanation though because Eddie turns his head fully so that he’s looking at Andrew and he says very simply, “I don’t think I’m ever going to have another steady relationship for the rest of my life.”

Andrew doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been that.

“My family still thinks I’m a computer engineer. My sister thinks that the most exciting part of my day is when I finish troubleshooting code and get to run the full program,” Eddie’s voice is calm but it’s clear he’s agitated from the way that he straightens from his crouch, starts shifting through the things on Andrew’s shelves because he doesn’t trust himself enough to work on the delicate wiring without messing something up, “So tell me, Andy, what the hell do I tell my future wife when I come home after midnight with bloodstains on my sleeves?”

She doesn’t have to know, Andrew wants to say, but he can’t force his mouth to shape the words-but it’s just as well because Eddie knows him too well and he doesn’t even have to say the words, can express everything he needs to in the way that his eyebrows are drawn together, in the line of his frown.

“This is a part of me-I’ve killed people, Andy. I help smuggle hundreds of illegal things across the border, I don’t hesitate in cracking restricted databases and exploiting the information I find,” the words are expelled on a breath, like he’s in a rush to get them out-say it and get it over with-and he breathes in before he finishes his thought, “And I can’t think of a single person who would be fine with being misled like that. I couldn’t mislead them like that.”

Andrew doesn’t know what to say-maybe because he’s had similar thoughts on too many occasions, maybe because he’s come to the same conclusion, maybe because he’s sometimes terrified too that this job is taking him over completely, that it’s starting to slowly define who he is.

And Eddie, Eddie just looks at him and Andrew can see the longing in his eyes for just one unguarded moment before he looks back at the sports memorabilia Andrew’s collected in his living room over the years and says, “Anyways, I, um-“

He clears his throat, and it’s an uncharacteristically awkward transition, “What’d you find yesterday?”

Andrew doesn’t want to leave it at that, doesn’t want to step away from something that’s obviously weighing heavily on Eddie’s mind without some form of conclusion-but he’s run out of easy advice and he doesn’t know what he can possibly tell Eddie to make this better.

He steps into the living room and he frowns slightly. He’s considerably more awake and the day is starting out more solemn than he anticipated. He wants to drop a hand onto Eddie’s shoulder, but maybe he’s already missed the window for that.

Instead, he says, “I need you to run a fairly common last name.”

Eddie’s wandering hands lift one of Andrew’s old Bowdoin trophies off its position on the shelf and he looks back at Andrew, “FBI?”

“I think Rupertus is working with them,” Andrew answers grimly, “Heard him talking to someone about failing to intercept something in Wales.”

“Your mission,” Eddie concludes-and it’s almost as if they hadn’t talked about anything else at all earlier-the way that Eddie’s eyes slide out of focus over Andrew’s right shoulder and his thoughts seem to be running a million miles an hour. He slowly sets the trophy back onto the shelf-pauses a moment and then looks back at it.

“When I talked to him afterwards-“

“Shhh,” Eddie suddenly interrupts, eyebrows drawing together as he picks the trophy back up. Andrew looks confusedly at him for a moment-and then a sinking recognition drops into the pit of his stomach when Eddie peels off what looks like a tiny black tab from the back of the trophy. Eddie raises his eyes wordlessly to meet Andrew’s and it’s only a moment before Andrew nods and signals that he’ll sweep the bedrooms.

Twenty minutes later, Andrew’s found another microphone hidden behind the mirror on his closet door. It makes him panic, that somebody had managed to break into his home undetected, that he’s going soft enough to the point where he hasn’t been able to catch on. There’s nothing in Eddie’s room, nothing on the back of the pictures hanging in the hallway. He even checks the bathroom, sweeping his fingers right into the corners, before concluding that there’s nothing actually there.

Eddie has two microphones including the one he found behind the trophy. There’s a total of three black tabs sitting on the kitchen table when Andrew sets his down. They look like flat buttons, all lined up in a row.

“The good news is that these aren’t wireless so they’d have to come back here and pick them up again,” Eddie tells him, though it’s hardly delivered with any cheer, “The bad news is that someone is trying to listen in on you and we don’t know if they’ve bugged you with another set earlier.”

“The bad news is that someone broke into my house without my noticing,” Andrew replies darkly.

“It wasn’t me,” Eddie says automatically and apparently it’s enough to draw a bark of humorless laughter from Andrew.

“Of course it wasn’t you,” Andrew murmurs, picking up one of the flat devices and turning it over in his hands, “If it had been, you’d have done a much better job.”

Eddie’s reply is a halfheartedly wry grin that only lifts one corner of his lips.

Andrew drops the microphone back onto the table and suddenly his lips are quirking into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Let’s find out who.”

_______

“How does the new lineup look?”

Andrew tears his eyes away from where some commentator has written a rather bleak piece on the future of the Orioles and meets the vaguely amused stare of a particular double-agent who doesn’t seem to be on duty today. He smiles easily and folds the newspaper away as he stands up.

“Not so good apparently,” he picks up his coffee and jerks his head at the counter, “Thanks for meeting me. Can I get you something?”

“I’ve never turned down free coffee,” Leckie agrees and they get into line behind a pair of girls who are eyeing the muffins with poorly disguised desire. Andrew almost wants to buy them a damn pastry but he thinks better of it when he realizes that their order mostly consists of words like nonfat and soy. They probably wouldn’t appreciate his enabling.

“You guys have been pretty quiet,” Leckie observes as the barista hands him a black coffee with a dimpled smile. Andrew drops the change into the tip jar and starts towards the door. Leckie follows behind and it isn’t until they’re out on the street that any more words are exchanged.

“How’s your job going?” Andrew asks without preamble.

Leckie sends him a sideways look like he’s not exactly sure what Andrew’s trying to get at, but he smiles a little wryly anyways and tightens his hands around the paper cup, “You know, status quo.”

“Forgive me if this isn’t how you operate, but has command been sending you any faulty information recently?”

Leckie runs a hand across the back of his head, his eyebrows furrowing the slightest bit, “We don’t get much information from command. Our standing orders are mostly to keep our head down and to keep our men out of hot water.” He throws a sharp glance at Andrew, “You sure it’s command slipping up and not just you guys?”

The question isn’t accusatory-it’s born out of curiosity and Andrew doesn’t find himself taking offense to it. He shakes his head and they stop at a traffic light, “We’ve been running recon on all briefings before sending teams out. You hear anything from your division?”

Leckie doesn’t say anything for a moment and takes a sip of his coffee as they start crossing the street. When he does speak again, he’s adopted a thoughtful tone, “We’ve seen more of our boys than I’d like. And there’s-” he stops himself mid-sentence and turns his eyes towards Andrew, “I hope you know that what you’re trying to imply is pretty serious.”

Andrew meets his eyes and his answering smile is grim.

“I’m just asking you to think about it,” he says. He jerks his head towards the other side of the street, “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Leckie nods once and Andrew starts walking away. He’s barely taken three steps before he hears the other man call, “Haldane.”

He turns around. Leckie’s looking at him with something like a tiny smile curling at the corner of his lips, “How do you know I won’t run straight to command with your suspicions?”

Andrew hesitates, shifts his weight slightly, but he smiles in response, “Something tells me I can trust you.”

_______

Bzzt bzzt. Bzzt bzzt.

He’s forgotten to set his phone on ring but the vibrations still cut through his sleep and drag him into consciousness. He gropes for the phone and tries to clear the fog of sleep from his mind when he answers.

Five minutes later, he’s wide awake and pacing a tight line in front of his desk, punching a number into his cell phone that he knows by muscle memory.

“I’ll buy you a clock for Christmas,” is the greeting that he gets after three rings.

“Eddie,” Andrew says, “Oswalt’s been arrested.”

A slow exhale and when Eddie speaks again, he sounds much more alert, “I’ll meet you at the office in an hour.”

_______

Andrew has been sitting behind his desk and staring at his computer for almost twenty minutes when the elevator doors open to admit one characteristically composed man carrying two large coffees in a cardboard carton. The screensaver is waving the windows flag at him by now, bouncing around the screen at a sedate pace when Eddie enters his office, lifts one of the coffees out of the carton, and sets it down in front of him.

“Actually, I think we better do this in my office,” Eddie says and turns. Andrew lifts the coffee off his desk and follows without saying a word.

“How did they get to Oswalt?” Eddie asks as he flips on the light. They’re in the office at some ludicrous hour in the morning and the sun won’t rise for at least another hour. It’s still dark out, especially now that winter’s starting to approach.

“Someone identified him out of a lineup.”

“How did he get into that lineup in the first place? We gave him a strong alibi last week.” Eddie’s computer hums to life as he sits down behind his desk and clears a space in the mess of paperwork for his coffee.

“It was the client he delivered the money to after Peleliu. Alibi didn’t account for the extended stay,” Andrew’s voice is steady and his eyes snap into focus as he looks at Eddie, “If those were FBI trackers, Eddie, I’m having trouble believing that the client’s only intentions involved getting the money.”

Eddie leans forward and his expression is somewhat grim. “You think that the client’s working with the FBI,” Eddie concludes easily. There is a momentary pause as Eddie types in his password-and then he looks back up, “Best course of action?”

“Suspend all missions and lie low until we can figure this out.” It sounds like Andrew’s been thinking about it for a while.

Eddie leans back, letting out a low whistle, “Command won’t like that.” He raises his eyebrows and grins slightly, “I agree.”

“Priority number one,” Andrew recites and the corners of his lips tilt up somewhat in a smile, “Nobody gets caught.”

“We should retain a core team,” Eddie suggests, “I think recon is going to take more than just the two of us.”

“Burgin, Sledge, Shelton, De L’eau,” Andrew lists after a moment of thought, “If the Peleliu team has the greatest chance of being singled out, I want them to know exactly what they’re up against.”

“I’ll call them in,” Eddie agrees, “You want to send out the notice to the rest of the men or shall I?”

“I will,” Andrew rises from his chair and takes a long sip of the coffee before turning towards the door. He’s halfway out and turning towards his own office when he makes the full turn to look back at Eddie.

“You should stay at my place,” Andrew says, and it’s more of a request than an offer. Eddie doesn’t respond and for a moment he looks like he’s about to protest when Andrew adds, “It’s closer to the office-there’s no point in you driving all the way home. Save some time, sleep more.”

Eddie’s expression seems to soften somewhat, and the smile that he gives Andrew in response is almost a touch shy, “Alright Andy.”

Andrew pauses in the doorway, feeling strangely self conscious for a moment before he nods and smiles back. He turns towards his office-and pauses again with a glance over his shoulder, “Still looking for Rodriguez.”

“Way ahead of you,” Eddie replies, looking at his computer.

_______

Burgin’s the first to arrive. He quietly makes himself a pot of coffee, ceramic mug clinking against the counter and the deep gurgle of the coffeemaker interrupting the relative silence of the office. If it weren’t for the low voices he can hear from Eddie’s office and the fact that the lights are on, Burgin might have figured that there was nobody else at the office at all. He pours himself a cup of coffee and proceeds to his desk where he sits silently, stirring in a single packet of sugar.

Sledge is the next to show up, jacket slung over his arm and a serious expression on his face. He looks from Burgin towards the half closed door of Eddie’s office and murmurs a greeting before wandering into the kitchen for his own cup of coffee. Snafu and De L’eau are the last to appear and Burgin catches the last snippet off their conversation in the way that Snafu says with his brand of confidence, “Seriously, think about the last mission we did together, Jay.”

It’s only a moment from when the elevator doors slip shut to when both Eddie and Andrew emerge from the office-must have a sixth sense for these kinds of things-and the four of them straighten almost instinctively. Andrew gives them a genial smile and he gestures for them to take whatever seats they can find.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you in despite calling a halt to operations for this entire team,” Andrew says as soon as they’ve gathered in something resembling a semicircle. Eddie takes a seat on a desk behind him and he can almost feel the curious gazes of their assembled team sweep towards him in attempt to read his expression, looking for any clues at all. “Earlier today we learned that Oswalt was arrested.”

The news draws an involuntary noise from Sledge, who suddenly looks a little stricken, eyebrows drawing together in a worried expression. The two of them had been assigned to the same team when they had been rookies almost a year ago.

Andrew continues speaking, his voice low and calm, “He was arrested after being identified by his Peleliu client.” (Snafu sends De L’eau a triumphant glance) “I bring this to your attention now because the alibi that command provided for us during the Peleliu mission only extended to our original timeline and doesn’t account for our extended stay in Wales. Out of all of the men in Team K, we are currently in the most danger to be pulled for suspicious activity.”

A stretch of uneasy silence greets his words as they sink in. And then Burgin speaks up-something that sounds suspiciously like resignation already coloring the tone of his voice, “Sir, if you could please clarify this danger? Should we be concerned that our respective deliveries are also likely to sell us out?”

“In the last five months, we have had four arrests and approximately fifteen close calls. That’s four arrests and fifteen close calls more than we’ve ever had in the last five years of operation. We’ve been receiving a suspiciously high volume of inaccurate information,” Andrew pauses only a moment before continuing on, “We were tagged with FBI trackers during Peleliu.”

“FBI?” De L’eau asks reflexively, looking seriously concerned.

“For the last few weeks, I’ve been uncovering information that suggests that the FBI might have been running interference recently and trying to catch us in the act,” Andrew replies and his voice has taken on a deeper gravity, “Some of this evidence points to the suggestion that some of the supervisors we’ve trusted thus far have been working with FBI agents.”

Their expressions range from shock to disgust-and it’s a testament to how much they respect Andrew, the way that they seem to trust his word over their loyalty to the organization. Andrew relays to them the little information that he has in its entirety. The longer he speaks, the grimmer their expressions get, falling away from surprise and into anger.

“Command has very limited information about us,” Andrew adds, in effort to preemptively answer potential questions, “Nobody in command has a full roster of each team. Only Jones and I know the full payroll of Team K. We do not know the identities of anybody in our sister teams. Security was specifically designed this way so that if one part of the organization collapsed, the damage would be contained.”

“It’s why the FBI hasn’t made a move yet,” Eddie picks up the train of thought, exactly where Andrew had left off. Five pairs of eyes swing towards him and he smiles a little wryly, “It’s why they keep trying to trip us up instead of coming in with brute force, even though they must know some of our names.” His eyes meet Andrew’s for a moment before he’s looking back at their team, “They don’t know who we are. They’re trying to draw out as many of us as possible before slamming down on us.”

“Christ,” Snafu mutters, his expression surly, “The fuck can we do? I mean, captain says they’ve already infiltrated command.”

“Easy,” Andrew smiles, and it’s a little disarming for the circumstances, “We take out the FBI affiliated players.”

_______

Every time Andrew drives home, he can’t help but feel a knot of nervousness in his stomach, a gnawing uncertainty that he’s going to turn the corner at the end of the street and find his home swarmed with police cars. He already knows that this isn’t his permanent plan-coming back for a few hours of sleep every night and then leaving again-he already knows that he’s going to have to sell this house or at the very least turn it into an investment while he moves elsewhere. Somehow, someone out there had managed to link at least two of his identities together and the thought makes him extremely uneasy.

But the thought of leaving this house-the first house he ever bought-is a little depressing. He’s been here for a couple of years and he likes the quiet that this neighborhood affords, likes his neighbors. It’ll be hard to say goodbye when the time eventually comes.

Pulling up into the driveway, he glances over at Eddie who has been staring out the window silently for most of the ride. It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning and Andrew nearly had to drag Eddie away from his computer. Andrew cuts off the headlights in the garage and everything is thrown into darkness, lit solely by the dim light of the door opener overhead.

“You ever wonder what the hell you’d be doing if you weren’t here?” Eddie asks finally, sliding his eyes towards Andrew.

Andrew pulls the keys out of ignition and sits with his hands in his lap. He shrugs slightly-hasn’t given the question much thought recently but the answer has been the same for the past few years, “Coaching a football team somewhere maybe. It’s what I wanted to do before I came here.”

Eddie smiles a little at that, he’s heard the answer before and maybe it’s a little predictable that it hasn’t changed. The truth is-it’s hard to think of something so wide and abstract as another life that they could have had, of what alternate versions of them might have been doing if they hadn’t been dragged so deep into the complex mess of their lives now. It would have been easier, Andrew thinks-but he wouldn’t have been the same person that he is now. He would have been softer, probably-more tolerant of bullshit. Maybe he would have set aside enough of his life to be in a committed relationship-maybe he’d already be married. Maybe he’d talk to his family more, maybe he’d make monthly trips up to the textile mill-

He would have never met Eddie. The overhead light cuts out just as Andrew turns his head to look at the other man-and he’s left staring at the faint outline of a profile in the darkness. It doesn’t matter though-his mind’s eye is more than capable enough of filling in the details of Eddie’s face-the perpetual weariness drawing dark circles under his eyes, the roughness of stubble sweeping down his jawline, the clean line of his nose. He has this sudden overwhelming urge to reach out, map the skin of Eddie’s cheek with his hand-and maybe it’s the delusion of sleep deprivation that allows him to reach out and touch Eddie’s chin with his fingertips, that allows him to trace the underside of that jawline, catching every inch of stubbled skin on the pads of his fingers-

In the silence, Andrew can only hear their shared breathing-almost in sync-and the rush of blood in his ears. His fingertips move down the line of Eddie’s neck and it’s fucking crazy, the way that Eddie tilts his head back almost imperceptibly, the way that he’s just letting Andrew touch him like this, lets him put a finger on the pulse in his neck. Andrew’s eyes flick up to Eddie’s face-sees the way that his head is turned just the slightest bit towards him, the way that his eyes catch the dim light from the square of open garage door behind them. His lips are parted and he’s staring at Andrew with the most intense expression that Andrew’s ever seen-something raw and overwhelming in his eyes. There’s not even a question written in the tilt of his eyebrows-only implicit trust written in the tilt of his jaw and Andrew suddenly can’t fucking breathe because this-this is crazy-

Something is slowly slotting into place and Andrew-Andrew has this crazy idea of leaning forward and pressing his lips where his fingers are now, to feel the strong pulse beat against his tongue. He has this crazy idea and it scares him, makes his eyes widen the slightest bit and he draws his hand away, hears Eddie let out something like a shaky breath. When Andrew looks again, Eddie has lowered his chin and there’s something unreadable in his eyes, something guarded and searching and Andrew wonders if he should have.

“If I’m ever caught in a situation where I have absolutely no chance of escape,” Eddie says and it’s strangely loud in this tiny car, “I would rather die than be caught.”

Andrew doesn’t know what to make of the words-if Eddie wants him to read deeper or if he’s just merely continuing a conversation that Andrew didn’t know they were having in the first place.

“If I do,” Eddie says and it’s little more than a whisper, “Promise me you won’t tell my family about this. About what I do.”

“Eddie,” Andrew says and it comes out a little strangled because he never wants to be in that situation, doesn’t want to contemplate a world without Eddie in it-

Eddie reaches forward and he brushes his fingertips along Andrew’s cheekbone, right below his left eye and Andrew feels his eyelids slipping shut, finds himself leaning into the touch and-

It’s gone and Eddie is opening the car door and the car light comes on, washing the back of his eyelids in red. Andrew opens his eyes and Eddie’s smiling at him a little sadly as he gets out of the car. The moment is broken and Andrew’s left grasping onto the frayed ends of a conversation that they didn’t have, all these unspoken words hanging heavily about them.

Andrew remembers to breathe.

_______

The coffeeshop is closed so Andrew sits in his car, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He doesn’t have to wait long before the passenger side door opens and Leckie slips into the car seat next to him with a brief and perfunctory smile. Andrew turns the key in ignition and turns off the radio.

“I’ve been in contact with my team,” Leckie says as they pull off the side of the street, “Turns out they’ve been experiencing some of the same things you mentioned.”

Andrew pulls into the left lane and glances over at Leckie, “What are they doing about it?”

“Cutting back on the missions they take. Double checking the intel they get,” Leckie looks out the window once before looking back at Andrew, “Who do you think they are?”

There’s a stretch of silence as Andrew contemplates whether or not to share everything that he knows-but the moment passes and his reply is flat, “FBI.”

Leckie looks down at his hands and actually laughs-it’s a humorless sound that Andrew is all too familiar with these days. “Last month I would’ve thought you were crazy, Haldane.”

Andrew just gives him a long sidelong glance. Leckie’s leg jostles a little as he continues, “I know PD isn’t looking for you guys. But a month and a half ago, someone from the FBI was transferred to our unit. He’s supposedly working on a reopened case-“ Leckie pauses, glancing at Andrew, “He’s asked Chuckler some weird questions. Sometimes I think he knows.”

Andrew makes a left turn and there’s a pause before he speaks, “What are you going to do?”

“Status quo,” Leckie says with a wry smile, “Can’t be drawing attention to myself then, can I? What about you?”

“We’ve suspended all missions. We’re trying to figure out how to take out the players.”

Leckie taps on the window, “You can drop me off here.”

Andrew slows down and pulls over to the side of the road. Leckie opens the door but he doesn’t get out just yet, “I’ll keep an eye open. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

Andrew smiles, “I appreciate it.”

Leckie returns the smile and shuts the door. Andrew looks at his rearview mirror and is about to pull out of the spot when there’s a knock on the passenger side window. Leckie’s standing there, knuckles pressed against the glass and Andrew rolls down the window.

“Hey,” Leckie starts and it looks like he wants to say something else before thinking better of it and ending up with a nod and a smile instead, “Good luck.”

Andrew nods, “You too.”

_______

The office is strangely quiet without the constant bustle of men stopping by to pick up new briefings or the usual office crew trash talking sports teams in the lounge. Their one remaining team has been split up and sent out to different parts of the city to gather information from their street sources, sister branches and other organizations that might have pertinent intel-leaving Andrew and Eddie at the office to pick away at firewalls and deal with the backlog of missions respectively.

“I’ve got a present for you,” Andrew announces with a grin as he steps into Eddie’s office.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie answers without taking his eyes off his computer screen, “I’ve got a present for you too. Or maybe it’s more along the lines of bad news-“ the last few words trail off as he raises his eyes and notes the soft bag that Andrew is swinging off his shoulder, “-is that my guitar?”

“Sounds like my present is better,” Andrew observes with raised eyebrows and a grin as he maneuvers behind the desk, “I was in the area so I thought I’d swing by your place since you haven’t had the chance to go back.”

Eddie gives him an unreadable look, like he doesn’t entirely believe that Andrew was simply in the area but they both know that they don’t have much time to waste-so he’s probably justified in giving Andrew the benefit of the doubt. He takes the offered bag and unzips along the side-and there’s a moment where his eyes soften and his lips quirk up as he sees the familiar beige of his guitar and he lets out slow breath like he’s coming home at last-or maybe it’s the guitar coming home to him. Either way, the sight of it makes the detour worth it, makes Andrew want to grin in response.

“Hope I’m not going to have to replace any broken windows,” Eddie says with a smile as he runs his hand over the gloss of the wood.

“I haven’t forgotten how to pick a lock, Eddie,” Andrew replies in an exasperatedly amused voice.

“Dunno, you could be going senile in your old age,” Eddie hedges with a grin.

“I’d be more worried about your mental health, seeing as you’re the same age as me,” Andrew replies with something resembling a smirk-though it’s short lived because the tone of his voice drops into seriousness as he nods at the computer screen, “You said you had something?”

Eddie zips the guitar back up and the smile disappears from his face as he rolls his chair back to the desk. He types in a series of passwords and then he straightens to his feet, gesturing for Andrew to sit down in his chair. “I sent feelers out to some of my sources and got this back today. I’m not sure how much we can trust this information is, but it seems to check out alright.”

Andrew takes a seat and looks at the documents on screen.

_______

He isn’t sure what impresses him more-the tenacity of the FBI operatives that have been trying to keep tabs on them for years or the fact that their branch has avoided detection for so long. There is a list of almost twenty other branches that have already been shut down, all tentatively tied to the overarching organization called command.

He isn’t sure what worries him more-the realization that there is no recovering from this or that he had been blind for so long and had never noticed the imminent danger.

It takes him a full twenty minutes to reach the end of the last document. Eddie is sitting on the other side of his desk, turning a guitar pick over and over again in his fingers, watching Andrew and waiting for him to finish.

Andrew doesn’t speak for a long moment-and then his voice sounds strange, even to him, “We need to recall the team.”

_______

By the time that De L’eau and Burgin show up, the sun is setting behind the silhouetted skyline, casting a red glow across the entire sky. It’s strangely appropriate-Andrew thinks as he presses his forehead against the glass window in Eddie’s office-it feels like a final blazing goodbye. He doesn’t look forward to calling all of his men tomorrow, telling them that they no longer have a steady source of income, that it’s over and finished, that they need to lie low for some time.

Eddie’s sitting on his chair, picking out slow melancholy notes on the guitar when Burgin knocks hesitantly on the open door. Andrew turns immediately, hands folded behind his back as he angles a smile at the man.

“Are Sledge and Shelton back?” Eddie asks, resting his palm against the strings of his guitar.

“Didn’t see them on the way up, sir,” Burgin answers.

“Sir, is there something wrong?” De L’eau asks nervously, looking between Eddie and Andrew.

Andrew exchanges a glance with Eddie-as if trying to assess whether or not they want to chance the rumor mill before sending out an official notice. But it’s only a moment’s pause before Andrew looks back at De L’eau and says quietly, “We’re disbanding, Jay.”

There’s a short stretch of silence-and then, “This team, sir?”

“The entirety of this branch,” Andrew corrects.

It’s a long silence after that, both Burgin and De L’eau staring at him-then glancing to Eddie for confirmation. Their expressions pass between surprise and confusion before finally turning to stoic with a hint of resignation.

“We had a good run,” Andrew says-and it’s not so much reassurance as it’s a murmured platitude, meant more for himself than for the rest of them.

to part three