[fic] the pacific - a bullet down (3/3)
_______
Nine o’clock and neither Sledge nor Snafu have showed up to the office. It’s been nearly three hours since they sent out the recall text and three hours without a reply-no short phone call, not even a text.
Andrew has a great deal of confidence that his men are capable of getting in and out without a hitch-that they’re some of the best in the world in getting done what they need to do. But three hours is a bit much without contact and a gut instinct is telling him that there’s something wrong.
It’s closer to nine fifteen when Andrew finally gives in and picks up the phone. Two rings and-
“I was wondering when you’d be calling. Ack Ack, is it?” it’s an unfamiliar voice that speaks on the other side and Andrew feels his stomach plummet.
“Where are they?” Andrew demands, ignoring the question.
“We are very hospitable, you don’t need to worry about that,” the voice says and Andrew honestly can’t tell if the warmth in his voice is real or mocking though he’d be willing to bet on the latter, “Although, if I were honest, I’d probably come around to pick them up as soon as possible.”
“Where are you?”
“Your boys wandered into the wrong neighborhood, Ack Ack,” the voice says boredly, “I think you know exactly where they might be.” There’s a click and Andrew is left listening to dead air.
He sets the phone down and thinks about the layout of the city, thinks about all of the places that the men of his team knows better than to wander into. He thinks about the sources that Snafu primarily knows-and it doesn’t take long before Andrew can make a good guess as to where they might be kept-a nondescript part of a shopping complex once rumored to be the headquarters for a rival organization before Andrew’s team monopolized the jobs in the area. It’s been years since he’s heard anything from the organization and it startles him to hear from them again-
“Something the matter, Andy?” Eddie’s voice cuts into his thoughts, palm against the doorframe of his office as he leans in with a concerned expression.
“Sledge and Snafu got captured,” Andrew says and it surprises him how utterly calm his voice is. This is the last situation that he’d ever want-it screams trap at him from every side. Coupled with the knowledge that the FBI has been tracking them for years, suddenly it doesn’t seem so strange that a rival organization might just reappear out of nowhere. Eddie looks grim and Andrew adds, “We need to extract them.”
“That’s at least a three person job,” Eddie says carefully and he’s looking at Andrew’s face and his hand tightens the slightest bit around the doorjamb. Andrew knows what he’s thinking-he’s coming to all the same conclusions as Andrew is, that there’s something wrong here, that this is too much of an impossible coincidence.
“Are Burgin and De L’eau still around?”
_______
Burgin’s face hardens when he gets wind of their newest task. De L’eau lets out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Nobody gets left behind,” Burgin recites and the smile he offers is weak, “What’s the plan, sir?”
_______
There are four doors leading out of the building-a door within an open garage door in the back, two emergency exit side doors, and-of course-the front door. De L’eau bids them good luck as they file out of the car, and then he pulls around the back to wait. Andrew resists the urge to check that his guns are still in place. It’s been a long time since he’s consistently done missions though-almost a year and a half since he took the top position of this branch and been bogged down with paperwork rather than ammunition. But he hasn’t forgotten how to trust in the weight of steel, how to analyze a room, and trust in his instincts.
The front door is unlocked. Andrew pushes it open just as Eddie aims a gun into the newly opened space-and there’s a chuckle from inside as the light flicks on.
“There’s no need for violence, Ack Ack. And Hillbilly, isn’t it?”
Burgin throws Andrew an anxious glance but Andrew gestures for him to stay put. There isn’t a need to reveal all of their forces just yet.
It’s Andrew who steps into the doorway, spreading his hands to show his disarmed state as he takes slow steps into the building. He keeps his eyes trained on the man of Asian descent who is standing in the middle of the room but his attention is on his peripheral vision, scanning the room for good escape routes.
“Where are my men?” Andrew demands steadily. Eddie steps forward with him, gun lowered but ready to whip up at any moment. He steps behind Andrew, shifting from Andrew’s left side to his right, keeping his eyes on the man as well. Andrew understands-he sees the door to their right as well.
“They’re not hurt,” the man says, “But really, I was hoping that maybe we could have a talk.”
“I don’t believe you. I want to see them with my own eyes,” Andrew replies sharply, “And then maybe after we could have a talk.”
There’s a pause as the man stares at Andrew. For a moment his lip curls slightly in what looks like a sneer, but he pulls out a phone and punches in a number. During the moment that his eyes are averted, Andrew takes a good look around the room. Through the window he can see the street. If he had to make an estimate, there’s another room between this one and the garage. One of the emergency exits must be in that room.
Two men emerge from the door to the right with Sledge and Snafu in tow. Snafu looks furious, struggling against the hold that the man has on him-but there’s not much that he can do with his hands locked in position behind his back. Sledge looks more composed but there’s an anger in his eyes that flash into shame when he sees Andrew.
“See?” the man says, “Unhurt. Now if we could just discuss some employment issues, Ack Ack.”
There are cars coming down the street through the window, headlights flashing as they bump towards the building.
At the same moment that Andrew sees them, he hears Burgin’s voice behind him, “Sir!”
Andrew can see that the cars are unmarked passing under the light of the streetlamp but he’s willing to bet he knows exactly who they are and exactly who lead them here. He reaches into his jacket at the same time that the man whips out a gun-but he doesn’t even get the chance to train it on Andrew because he lets out a cry of pain and clutches at his shoulder. Eddie steps ahead of Andrew with his arm straight and trained on the man who tries to turn his gun on Andrew again-
Another gunshot and there’s red pouring out of the man’s right hand. To his credit, he doesn’t scream-but he does drop the gun and Andrew doesn’t waste another moment as he pulls his gun on the men who have let go of his team and are going for their own guns. It’s been a long time since Andrew’s looked in someone’s eyes and pulled the trigger-but it’s either these men or the six of them and-
Nobody gets caught.
Two shots, one after the other and the two men go down with perfect circles between their eyebrows. He hears Burgin shut the front door and the click of the lock is strangely magnified in the sudden silence following their gunshots. Sledge struggles with the door to the right for only a brief moment and somehow manages to get it open as Eddie yells, “Go, go, go!”
“They could be around back-careful!” Andrew shouts-and it’s the last thing that anyone says because suddenly their world is shattering glass as bullets follow one another through the windows. Andrew hurries through the door and overtakes Sledge for the lead position-finger still steady on the trigger of his gun. There’s nobody else back here-just the decrepit remains of gutted computers and forgotten papers scattered across the dusty floor. They don’t have time to linger though-no doubt FBI is three seconds from bursting in through the front doors-and they make it to the garage almost too easily.
De L’eau has the van pulled up inside and Andrew is ecstatic for his foresight as he slams the door open and helps the two bound men in. Burgin hefts himself in and-
Eddie hasn’t come through the door yet. Andrew feels his insides suddenly turn to ice and everything seems to be moving a hundred times slower as he strides towards the door-
“What are you doing?” it’s Burgin’s voice, stretched out and low-
A thousand images flash through his mind-of Eddie’s body stretched out amongst the glitter of glass, the loosened curl of his fingers around the handle of his gun, the brightness of life gone out of blue eyes and he can’t, he can’t fucking breathe. There isn’t-he can’t be-Andrew needs-
No. No, no no, nononononono.
Except then Eddie lurches through the door and slams it shut after himself and reality snaps back to Andrew with a rush of relief. He gives Andrew something like a smile and his voice is steady as he leans on Andrew’s shaking shoulder, “Let’s go Andy.”
_______
It isn’t until an entire two minutes into De L’eau’s attempts at shaking the cars that followed them out of the parking lot, after they’ve cut both Sledge and Snafu free, that they compose themselves enough to notice that there’s something wrong. Andrew should have noticed before-maybe it’s the high of adrenaline or the anxiety of the chase that overlooked it.
It doesn’t help that Eddie presents an air of utter serenity-that he doesn’t even reach to undo his jacket until-
“Sir,” Burgin’s voice is a little strangled, “You’re bleeding,”
Andrew’s head whips around just as Eddie shakily unbuttons the jacket-and oh Jesus Christ, there is darkness spreading across his torso-a deep red flashing in the passing light of the streetlamps-
“You’re shot,” Andrew says blankly.
Eddie’s face doesn’t change as he undoes the buttons on the dress shirt, peels the wet redness away from his stomach and Andrew’s head is spinning. It’s hard to see anything in the mess of blood on Eddie’s skin and it seems impossible to find an entry wound. Eddie’s breathing is a little wet but strangely still calm as he touches an area right under his ribcage and winces.
“Hold pressure,” Andrew hears himself saying calmly but it’s a goddamn miracle that he can do anything but sit in a stupor and stare at the life that’s leaking away from Eddie’s stomach, “Someone hold pressure. Jay, do you know how to get to Stern’s?”
“Yes sir,” De L’eau says and his voice is pitched strangely, like he’s expressing the panic that Andrew’s not allowing himself to feel. Eddie wads up his jacket and presses it against his stomach with shaking fingers. He looks up at Andrew and he attempts to give a reassuring smile-but it lasts for a flicker of a second before he’s clenching his jaw against the pain.
“Eddie,” Andrew says and his eyes are locked on Eddie’s face, for every momentary expression, “You okay?” He doesn’t understand how he’s still capable of forming words and forcing them out beyond the panic that’s constricting his throat, the panic that grips the back of his mind. But he needs to say something, needs to anchor Eddie here, needs to make sure that he won’t slip away and give in-
“I’ve-” Eddie starts, but he cuts himself off and he settles with gritted teeth and a nod instead.
Andrew has to call Stern, he needs to tell the man to prep his table-but he can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie, like if he looks away, the man will vanish in smoke. It’s stupid and illogical but maybe as long as he keeps looking at Eddie, as long as he keeps his eyes locked on Eddie’s face, he can keep him here. He hears Sledge’s voice to his right say something but everything is starting to become disjointed and disembodied, everything except Eddie and this cold feeling clawing at his insides-like he had been the one to feel the bullet ricochet through soft tissue instead, fragments embedding into his ribcage and-
“Stern’s ready,” Sledge says and the words somehow filter through and he wants to thank god that he has such a good team-but he can’t force his jaw to unhinge and there is a terror crushing his throat with a vice grip on his voice.
Eddie keeps his eyes open, keeps looking at Andrew. The corners of his lips try to turn upwards like he’s trying to reassure him.
_______
Stern’s house is set in an unobtrusive neighborhood. The van is gone-De L’eau, Sledge, and Snafu are off to retrieve their cars from the office-but not without picking up a few extra license plates from Stern’s attic. There’s a sterile surgery room in his basement-testament to the number of times the men of Team K who have been shot and survived to tell the story.
Andrew sits at the kitchen table with his hands folded in front of him and he’s shaping words of prayer-even if nothing escapes his lips. It’s been a long time since he’s last bowed his head and thanked god for everything that he’s been given and an even longer time since he’s said his daily prayers-but he still has enough faith to hope that god is still listening, that god’s willing to forgive him for his sins and inattention and to look out for Eddie. It’s a purely selfish want and Andrew chokes on the words that he can’t say because-
He’s killed two people today, he remembers. Quick deaths, bullets splintering straight through their cerebral cortex, bouncing against the back of their skulls and cutting such a rough swatch through soft grey-white tissue.
He’s killed two people today, he’s going to hell a hundred times over, and he’s still begging for Eddie’s life.
“You don’t have to worry about Jones, sir.”
Andrew’s head snaps up. Burgin is standing at the entryway between kitchen and living room. “He’s damn strong, sir. He’ll pull through. Plus I’ve seen guys go in with worse and get stitched back up by Stern. He’s a good surgeon.”
Andrew tries to smile but it takes a long moment for it to appear, “Thank you Romus.”
Burgin pauses, like he’s not entirely sure that Andrew is even vaguely convinced but instead he nods and takes a seat across from Andrew.
They lapse into a silence and wait.
_______
It’s nearly three in the morning when Stern emerges from the basement. Andrew stands expectantly the moment that he hears the footsteps at the top of the stairs, the scrape of the door against carpet and Burgin shoots him a glance before turning in his seat to watch the doctor step into the kitchen.
“Four inches up and to the left-he would have been shot in the heart,” Stern tells them, “A rib caught most of it but splinters of the bullet still tore his liver up pretty good.”
Andrew’s jaw tenses, his gaze slips out of focus a little like he’s already imagining the worst-
“He’ll make a full recovery in a few weeks,” Stern adds with a smile, “He probably shouldn’t go out on any missions in the meantime though.”
“Not a problem,” Andrew says and it’s in a rush, like he’s been building up all these words he couldn’t say for hours. He stands up and the smile he gives Stern is fully relieved, “Thank you.”
Stern smiles back tiredly and he gestures over his shoulder, “I don’t know if he’s awake but you can go and debrief him or whatever you need to do. Just take it easy on him.”
Andrew doesn’t need to be told twice-his hands find his pockets and he walks around the table and down the hallway. He hears Burgin’s chair scrape as he stands up and he’s probably asking Stern a question. Andrew can only catch the tone of the low murmur as he starts down the stairs.
The basement is well lit, though it’s much too small to resemble anything like a hospital. Stern’s wife gives him a tired smile as she steps out of the surgery room carrying a sharps container and tilts her head towards the end of the hall, “We think it’s better he doesn’t try to climb the stairs tonight.”
“Thanks,” Andrew gives her a smile and brushes past her.
Eddie looks pale even against the clean white linen of the sheets in the hastily converted room. There are still weights in the corner and a monitoring machine is fighting for space with a stationary bicycle-but Andrew doesn’t seem to notice them with the way that his eyes are fixed on Eddie’s face.
Four inches from losing him entirely.
There isn’t a chair in the room so Andrew steps closer to the bed, watching the way that Eddie’s nose flares the slightest bit with each breath, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, the flicker of movement under his eyelids-anything to tell him that Eddie is still here, anything to wash away the memory of so much blood on his skin. And with the man now in front of him, it’s hard to keep a tight leash on his thoughts, hard to keep himself so carefully restrained like he needs to be in front of all his men, to set the right example-
He remembers Eddie’s sister with her flowing hair and giggly exuberance and the way that she looked at Eddie with the sort of adoration reserved only for big brothers. He remembers Eddie with a mug of warm coffee in his hands breathing fog against the glass of his windowpane and writing encrypted messages. He remembers the spike of adrenaline with the clatter of gunfire roaring in his ears and a single whisper carrying out over the noise got your back-
He remembers his mother’s voice saying I think he’s a great friend for you, Andy, he remembers-
He remembers Eddie patiently adjusting his clumsy fingers on a guitar and saying this is a G chord, remembers the way that Eddie’s voice reverberates through a room of people but he’s looking at Andrew, always at Andrew-
Remembers-
There’s a tightness in his throat, something that squeezes it and makes it painful. He drops to a kneel and keeps looking at Eddie’s face, keeps trying to collect himself, pick back up all the shaken pieces of himself and put them back into their proper places like a mental jigsaw-but it’s hard when he keeps thinking about blue eyes and amused grins-about Eddie sleeping on his couch, Eddie’s clothes in the closet of his guest room, the holes that Eddie’s drilled in his wall and-
It’s more than that; all of these tiny physical things are just extensions of a work in progress for months if not years and-
Eddie’s face is getting blurry but Andrew is smiling because this isn’t the end-because this is just the start.
“Andy,” Eddie murmurs and it’s on a low drawl and his eyes open the slightest bit. Andrew can’t bring himself to say anything, just smiles wider. Eddie turns his head towards Andrew-can’t turn his entire body because there are still stitches running up his torso. He smiles a bit when he sees Andrew’s face, and then it falters. His hand slowly reaches up and he brushes his thumb along Andy’s cheek and it rests there, the pads of his fingers light against Andrew’s temple, the side of his face. The opiates weigh his tongue down and his accent is more pronounced than usual as he slowly forms words in a wondrous tone, “Why’re you crying?”
Andrew reaches up and fits his hand around Eddie’s wrist. He gently pulls it away from his face, folds his other hand over it and presses the knuckles to his lips.
“You’re okay.”
_______
Stern insists that Eddie stay under surveillance for at least two nights-which means that Andrew has to tell the branch that they’re disbanded and deal with the aftermath by himself. There’s also the problem of figuring out what the hell he’s going to do after everything settles down. He’s not sure if the alternate identities he’s been using for the last five years have held strong, if he’s going to be able to stay in the US without the fear of eventually getting found out. Maybe it’ll be a fear that will haunt him for the rest of his life, regardless of where he goes or what alias he assumes.
There was an unfamiliar car parked on his driveway the one time he had attempted to go home-so he had immediately backtracked and gotten a hotel room within walking distance from the office. He’ll have to call the real estate agency and the moving company as soon as he sorts out what he’s going to do, where he’s going to go. It’s strange for him to realize that spending the rest of his life in Edinburgh is closer to reality than going back to Lawrence.
By the time it’s sunset again, Andrew turns his chair around to stare out the window. He likely won’t see this city again, will likely be half a world away by the end of this month. He knows this city better than half the places he’s lived, better than his childhood home, knows the sidestreets and the open spaces-fire escapes where it’s safe to sit for a few moments and catch his breath-perfect underhangs to conceal a car. The city has opened her arms and welcomed him in and it’s strange to think that this is an end, that he’ll have to say goodbye.
An alert on his phone beeps at him and he leans forward to adjust the blinds so that the light forms slanted lines of brightness against the ground.
_______
Andrew’s the last to arrive. Stern lets him in with a smile and a nod and he can hear voices drifting from the living room.
“Hey Lucky, this looks just like you.”
Andrew steps into the living room just in time to see Chuckler lift a book of dog breeds. Leckie looks at it critically and the corners of his lips lift in a grin, “Shar pei, very nice. Thanks buddy.”
Eddie’s seated on a couch across from them, looking considerably better than when Andrew had seen him last that morning. He glances up as Andrew enters the room and immediately he smiles. The sight of it hits Andrew-he’s spent so long not understanding what it meant that the full implications of it now makes something stir in the pit of his stomach, makes him want to grin and never stop.
“Haldane,” Leckie greets and Andrew gets control of himself, lets his grin dim into a friendly smile as he turns to look at the other man.
“Leckie,” Andrew replies evenly, nodding as he takes a seat, “Thought it’d be appropriate to let you know what’s been going on.”
“Heard you guys disbanded,” Chuckler says, setting the dog book back down on the coffee table where he had found it. His lips quirk into a smile as he leans against the back of the couch, practically sprawling out, “That true?”
“Disbanded officially yesterday morning,” Andrew confirms.
“There’s no way that command approved that,” Chuckler says-but it’s in an appreciative tone. Andrew wonders how long Chuckler might have been having doubts of his own, when or if he and Leckie had ever started discussing the possibilities in low voices behind closed doors.
It takes almost half an hour to go over everything that they’ve discovered-to relay everything that had been in the document that Eddie had received, to outline and confirm everything that they had suspected all along. Neither Chuckler nor Leckie speak, though Chuckler’s easy smile disappears within the first few minutes and Leckie’s frown gets deeper and deeper. Eddie doesn’t say much, just watches Andrew speak and absently fingers the sliver of loose bandage peeking out from the hem of his shirt.
There is a long silence after Andrew finishes speaking.
And then, “You’re trying to wipe all evidence of your team?”
Andrew nods with a halfhearted smile-he still has papers to burn and loose ends to tie up, and a final protocol to write for his men. Leckie and Chuckler exchange a glance.
“It may be harder than you originally thought,” Leckie finally says, leaning forward on his knees, “Chuckler and I-sometimes we get old after action reports from command.”
“Reports dated from years ago,” Chuckler adds.
There’s another silence as the full implications of the words sink in.
“There’s a database at command headquarters with every single report you’ve ever written then,” Leckie says, “And if the FBI somehow manages to get access to it, you’re going down regardless of how well you think you can hide.”
Andrew turns his head to look at Eddie. Eddie’s jaw is tense and he’s staring at Leckie with a serious expression, “It’s on the intranet, isn’t it?”
“We only ever get paper copies of reports that we have to burn,” Chuckler says, “So yeah, it looks like it.”
_______
Eddie shrugs away from Andrew’s hands when Andrew tries to help him. He gives Andrew an amused look and says, “I’m fine Andrew, I’ve had worse,” which is probably blatantly untrue because Andrew doesn’t ever remember Eddie getting shot in the chest before. But he lets Eddie get into the car by himself and tries his best to ignore the wince of pain that crosses over Eddie’s face whenever he thinks Andrew isn’t paying attention, the way that his jaw is perpetually tight except when he speaks which is very little.
The hotel room where Andrew is staying has a king sized bed-something that the receptionist automatically gave him when he checked in a day ago. He’ll hand it over to Eddie-come back down and get a room of his own once Eddie’s situated. It’s not until they’re standing in the elevator that Eddie turns towards Andrew and speaks, “We don’t even know the layout of the building.”
“All we need is a computer on the network, right?”
The elevator dings and the door opens. Eddie’s jaw tightens and he steps out of the elevator in front of Andrew, “I’m thinking, with something like that, if the FBI hasn’t already found it then it’s probably stored on the harddrive of a disconnected computer.” Their footsteps are muffled by the carpet of the hallway and Andrew looks at the numbers on the doors as Eddie continues on, “If what you say is true, if Rupertus is really working with the FBI, then access to this harddrive must be really restricted. Maybe it’s set only to let the top personnel in.”
Andrew finds the door, slides the card in. Eddie slips past him into the room and he automatically closes it after the two of them, “There has to be a way in. No security is impenetrable.”
Eddie grins a little-turns around to look at him and he says, “I’m coming with you.”
Andrew stares-his eyes flick to the outline of the bandages under Eddie’s shirt and his mind can’t even comprehend the insanity of that comment, “No you’re not.”
“There is no way you can get past the security scans without me-I’ve seen you try to pull apart machines-”
“You were just shot two days ago-”
“And I’m fine! If you’re worried about me slowing you down-”
“You are not coming on this-”
“You can’t do this without-”
“I’m pulling rank!” Andrew shouts and it’s the first time that he’s ever raised his voice at Eddie. His eyes are wide and his heart is beating erratically in his chest, dragging his breathing along with it. Eddie stares at him, shocked into silence-but it’s not long before the surprise in his eyes shifts into hurt and anger.
“Alright,” Eddie says quietly, and his voice practically drops into a spit, “Sir.”
There’s a long pause, during which they stare at each other. A hundred thoughts are whirling through Andrew’s mind, and there’s a squeeze of panic still constricting his lungs, a sense of need clawing its way through fragments of images: Eddie staring down at the blood on his stomach, dark red illuminated only by flashes of golden streetlight. There’s the selfishness again, the selfishness making him say these ugly words in such an angry tone because-
It’s three steps forward and Eddie doesn’t move, just looks at him and the wariness in his eyes is melting away into something unreadable because he must see this-must see this rawness written all over Andrew’s face. Andrew’s fingers ghost over Eddie’s hip and he tries to keep his eyes on Eddie’s face-but it’s too much and he finds them slipping shut. His words are a breath against the side of Eddie’s face, “I can’t Eddie-I can’t.”
A thousand splinters of glass arranged around a lifeless body-he remembers the image and even if it’s never been true, it hurts.
There is a hand cupping his jaw, a shaky breath against his ear, and he hears himself saying, “I can’t lose you.”
The fingers card through his hair and Andrew turns his head blindly, presses a kiss at the corner of Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s hand stills for only a moment, and then he is pulling Andrew closer, carefully angling his head to brush his lips against Andrew’s-the briefest of touches like he’s testing this. Andrew lets his lips part, reaches up to keep Eddie close with a hand against his shoulderblade, murmurs, “Eddie,” and the syllables come out disjointed, a little broken.
Eddie catches the last of the word, catches Andrew in a kiss. It feels like the last piece of understanding is sliding into place, feels like coming home. He opens his mouth, spanning his hands along Eddie’s back and presses closer, letting Eddie cautiously lick his way in.
It’s not until Eddie inhales sharply that he pulls away with a flash of concern-and Eddie laughs, curls his fingers against the side of Andrew’s jaw. “Jesus Christ Andy, I’m not that fucking delicate.”
And then he’s leaning forward again thumb sweeping over the arch of Andrew’s cheekbone and his voice is quiet as he says, “I need to come with you, Andy.” Andrew can feel the words vibrate through the thin fabric of Eddie’s shirt, “I’ve got your back, remember?”
_______
Eddie’s breathing is familiar in rhythm though Andrew has never had the chance before to splay his hand gently against Eddie’s chest, feel the steady draw of air into his lungs, the mesh of bandage under his palm. He knows that he should sleep another hour before getting up, needs to conserve energy for the long day of planning and frustration ahead of him-but he can’t stop looking at Eddie’s face, the curve of his neck, the wing of his collarbone, can’t help but reach out and slowly trace them with his fingertips. His fingers are light as he starts in the hollow of Eddie’s throat, follows the arch of bone upwards, across his shoulder and then down his arm. Eddie stirs slightly but doesn’t wake-Andrew lowers his eyes to the faint outline of stitches forming tiny bumps underneath the white gauze and he runs his fingers lightly over the length of a rib.
When he looks up again, Eddie’s eyes are open and he’s got the beginnings of smile curling at his lips. Andrew shifts closer and Eddie’s fingers drop almost hesitantly on Andrew’s hip like he isn’t sure if he’s really allowed to do this. Andrew hums and settles his palm against the curve of Eddie’s ribcage, soft skin under his hands and it’s strange to him now, that he hasn’t spent months contemplating the warmth of Eddie’s body under his hands.
“G’morning,” Eddie mumbles and he’s smiling fully now in the dim predawn light, blue eyes gleaming faintly. His thumb rubs a lazy circle over Andrew’s hipbone and Andrew’s suddenly intent on Eddie’s face, his breathing dropping shallowly for a moment. There’s a question in Eddie’s eyes as he sweeps his thumb out in a wider arc and Andrew shifts closer again. It must be the right answer because Eddie exhales, trails his fingertips lightly over Andrew’s stomach, slips his hand past the elastic of Andrew’s boxers and wraps his hand around Andrew’s cock.
It’s been a long time since anyone else has touched him-he’s spent months if not almost a year worrying too much about his men and not enough about his own future. His cock jumps almost shamefully quickly against Eddie’s palm and his laugh is muffled against Eddie’s neck, a huff of heated air and vibration that elicits a grin from Eddie. He starts with a drag of his fist down Andrew’s cock, opens his hand and smears the pre-come on the palm of his hand, and ends with a swipe of his thumb across the slit of Andrew’s cock, leaving Andrew choking on a fuck, Eddie- that comes out as a strangled mess of unintelligible syllables.
Andrew can feel the curve of Eddie’s grin against the side of his face, his steady breathing fluttering past the shell of Andrew’s ear, the pace he keeps in the slide of his palm against Andrew’s cock, the firm pressure in the circle of his fist. Everything is narrowing down to this, to the rush of blood in his ears drumming out his quickened heartbeat, to the press of Eddie’s lips against his temple, and his eyes squeezing shut as pleasure drags slow through his body, pulling him slowly to the brink when Eddie’s hand slows and Andrew’s breath leaves him in a hiss of a whine.
There is a moment when everything is still except for Andrew’s hitched breathing. And then-Eddie’s tongue is hot and wet against the shell of his ear and he’s jerking his hand down roughly, pressing hard against the base of his cock and drawing all the way to the head in one smooth movement-and it’s too much. Andrew eyes open wide and it’s a rush of pleasure washing over him. He comes against Eddie’s wrist, lips moving wordlessly against the line of Eddie’s jaw. Eddie’s fingers slide along Andrew’s cock a few last times, the head of his spent cock slipping through the mess on his wrist and Andrew shudders.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Eddie confesses in a low whisper into Andrew’s ear. He wipes his hand against the sheets before tangling his fingers in Andrew’s hair, turning his head until their lips fit against each other. Andrew breathes, presses his hand to the back of Eddie’s neck and kisses him. It takes a few moments for him to gather himself together again-and then he reaches for Eddie.
Eddie grabs his wrist, breaking away with an amused grin. He pulls it up, staring at Andrew’s expression of vague confusion as he drops a kiss on it, a flash of teeth against dark skin in the slowly growing light. “I don’t know if the stitches are going to cooperate today.” A pause as he licks along the outline of a vein on Andrew’s wrist, and Jesus Christ if it isn’t the hottest thing that Andrew’s ever seen. “But you can make it up to me later.”
Andrew swallows dryly and feels his lips curl into a grin.
_______
Maybe it’s dangerous bringing Leckie and Chuckler back to their branch headquarters-but they’re essentially an ex-branch by now. The only two offices that are still occupied belong to Eddie and Andrew. The few cubicles in the main room are mere skeletons of desks and chairs-Andrew had personally gutted the computers with a magnet and set the packed phones in the hallway leading to the elevator. It had never been a big space anyway-the office crew had been a tiny portion of the entire branch.
They’re in the conference room now, Chuckler’s gone to pick up dinner and Leckie’s listlessly drawing circles onto a piece of scrap paper. Andrew can see the weariness in the slump of Eddie’s shoulders but there’s still the light of determination in his eyes. Since their branch has halted all operations, it wouldn’t be long before command came sweeping in and demanded to know what was going on. They have to strike fast and get out, before either command or the FBI could formulate a proper plan to take them down.
Command headquarters take up the entire fifth and sixth floor of an office building in the middle of the city. It makes escape routes difficult-falling from five stories onto the hard concrete that surrounds the building is a fast guarantee to broken legs. There are few points of access and the only blueprints they’ve managed to find from city records are likely to be inaccurate. If they’re expecting the worst, it’s likely that command has renovated the entirety of the two floors.
“Vents,” Eddie had said within thirty seconds of staring at the blueprint.
And Chuckler had immediately turned to Leckie, “I feel like I’m part of some low budget action film.”
The following hours were dedicated to tracing the best routes in, how to get out-and they haven’t even covered possible security barring their way yet. They have to sweep thousands of square feet and it’s difficult to figure out where the vents are going to lead them, where the computer might most likely be stored, and what the most effective search pattern might be. Usually they have sources on the inside to get better information-but there’s no time now to establish new relationships.
“This is the textbook example of a mission you don’t want,” Leckie says, sweeping the filled scrap paper away from him and looking at the blueprints again, “Information based on pure speculation, outdated blueprints, nobody on the inside to distract or cover for you-I’d put the chances of success at under twenty percent.”
“I don’t think we have much choice,” Andrew says grimly.
“I think I’d say I’m pretty lucky not to be dead,” Eddie’s lip are lifted in a grin but it’s not one that he’s feeling-Andrew can tell by the way that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s hope that some of it carries over. Or that getting shot was getting rid of all that bad karma and now I only have good karma left.”
_______
The plan that they eventually decide on isn’t perfect but it’s hopefully adequate enough that they’ll get the job done without getting killed in the process. It’d be better if they could wait for the weekend and smooth out some of their reliance on speculation, but Saturday is an entire four days away and they simply don’t have the time.
“I’ll just slow you down,” Eddie says, looking entirely displeased with the fact that he can’t feasibly join them, “You’ll have to bug the system so I can overwrite the security protocol remotely. There’s no way they won’t notice the override in the log the next morning so you only have one chance to get the right computer or get as many of the suspects as possible.”
He rises from his chair and jerks his head towards the door, “I’ll grab one of the bugs and show you guys what to do.”
Andrew nods and Eddie disappears into the darkness of the unlit room beyond the conference room. Leckie taps his fingers against the ceramic of his mug as Chuckler leans back and surveys the blueprints, “This isn’t a one person job.”
“You need a sentry,” Leckie agrees.
Andrew looks from Chuckler to Leckie, lifts a hand to the back of his neck, “My team-”
"No,” Leckie interrupts, giving Andrew a half smile and gesturing between himself and Chuckler, “One of us.”
“We’re invested in this too,” Chuckler says and his voice is low and serious, “If the same thing’s happening to our team, no doubt it’s only a matter of time before we go down too. Plus, you don’t have to debrief us.”
“When was the last leave you took?” Leckie asks, clearly addressing Chuckler.
“Last week’s Mallory case. You took sick leave today, yeah?”
“Looks like I’ll still have a fever tomorrow then,” Leckie agrees and he turns back towards Andrew with a nod just as Eddie reenters the room, “Got your back, Haldane.”
“This is a bug,” Eddie says without missing a beat as if he had never wandered out of the room at all. He sets a phone sized object onto the table, several wires extending out into tiny clamps, “It’s custom made and incredibly expensive so if you break it-” he pauses a moment and looks at them significantly before lifting an eyebrow, “Don’t break it.”
He tosses something at Andrew-who catches it and opens his hand to recognize a camera headset.
“I’ve only done this twice,” Eddie tells them, “Remote access is tricky because signals can get scrambled on their way out or in. You need an absolutely clear frequency. I’ll try to stay close to the building.”
“Plus,” Eddie’s head tilts and his smile is wry, “To be blunt, it’s damn hard because none of you know your way well enough around electronics.”
“We should cover all of the protocol tomorrow morning,” Andrew says, glancing at his watch. It’s nearly two.
In twenty four hours time, they would hopefully be taking computers apart at command.
“Break,” Chuckler agrees with a grin.
_______
By the time that Andrew steps out of the shower, Eddie’s already asleep.
It’s a strange moment for him, dripping on the hotel carpet at the end of the bed, looking at Eddie’s face in the light of the lamp. He knows he should get dressed, should turn off the light and go to sleep-but there’s something keeping him here with his hand scrunched into the towel around his waist, looking at Eddie.
By all means, this shift from best friend into-it’s strange to think of the word, even though he’s had so many girlfriends and once almost had a fiancée-lover should startle him. Maybe it should terrify him-he’s never seriously contemplated the possibility of a relationship with a man on a conscious level. But it’s Eddie-Eddie who slipped into his life so easily that the fact that they had been strangers once seems even more extraordinary than what they are now.
He turns around, pulls on a thin shirt and his boxers, and runs the towel over his head. He doesn’t have time to be questioning this-and honestly, it’s unnecessary. He doesn’t want to think too far in the future, doesn’t want to analyze his past-all he knows is that being here, waking up next to Eddie is what he wants right now.
Whatever happens tomorrow, he knows that he’ll still be glad that he can crawl into bed next to Eddie and fit his hand against the curve of Eddie’s side, today.
_______
“Christ, you weren’t kidding about the lasers,” Leckie mutters from behind Andrew.
“I think we should actually appreciate them-” Andrew replies, as he digs in his bag for the mirrors, “They are meant to protect against anyone discovering us.”
“Right,” Leckie agrees wryly, “And now they’re protecting against us so I’m not feeling too appreciative today. Careful.”
“I’m going to have to agree with Leckie on this one,” Eddie says with a tiny hiss of static into his ear. Andrew smiles despite himself.
It’s not the first time Andrew has set mirrors or navigated air ducts. Far from it, really-but it doesn’t loosen the nervous knot in his stomach. His set is expert though-perfectly perpendicular to the path of the laser as he cuts a path through the barely visible beams.
He counts the number of vents that they pass on both sides. They crawl silently for a long while and then Leckie murmurs, “This vent on the left.” It’s a good reaffirmation that Andrew’s navigating correctly.
_______
It takes the two of them exactly a minute and a half to silently crawl out of the vent and disable the two security cameras blinking at them from the corners of the hallway. It takes almost four minutes for Andrew to unscrew the electronic scanner and to pop the box out of the wall. Leckie keeps his flashlight on the box, glancing over his shoulder at the silent elevators everyone once in a while.
“Pull it out a bit more,” Eddie instructs, “Keep it still.”
Andrew does as he’s told, tilts the angle of the camera whenever Eddie asks him to. It’s a more laborious process than he had originally anticipated and it takes a full twenty minutes before the bug is hooked up correctly. Andrew holds the device in place, listens to the clicking of Eddie’s keyboard, and waits. Leckie sweeps the flashlight in front of them, illuminating the empty hallway.
“Okay,” Eddie says after a long moment, “You’re in. You can take the wires off.”
_______
“So,” Leckie says while they’re waiting for Eddie to finish rifling through the security program on the computer, “What are you going to do after this?”
Screen after screen flashes up on the computer, casting the darkened room in a flickering light. Andrew can hear Eddie murmuring to himself and typing on his laptop. Andrew’s in the midst of unscrewing the grating over the vent in this room, just in case they need to get out fast. Mostly it’s to keep himself occupied.
“Not really sure,” he answers after a moment, “Maybe I’ll head out west and spend a few years on the other coast, just until everything dies down. Then maybe I’ll go back home to Massachusetts.”
The typing slows for only a moment and but it picks back up again. Andrew doesn’t know if it’s due to his answer or if Eddie’s just struck a particularly difficult access point in the program.
“Are you staying here?” Andrew asks as he sets the grate aside.
“Probably, if this is really it,” Leckie answers, “If my branch can shut down as quickly as yours.” His smile is a little crooked in the dark, barely visible in the reflection of the flashlight against the wall, “I never thought I’d actually like being an officer.”
Andrew doesn’t have the chance to answer before Eddie speaks again over the headset, “I have three potential high security rooms.
He looks at Leckie, “He found three rooms.”
Leckie nods, “I’ll stay with the bug. You be careful.”
_______
The first one is an office-high backed leather chair cutting a dark silhouette against the street below filtering in through the full windows. There’s a sleek laptop on the wide desk that takes up the majority of the space in the room. Andrew’s careful not to touch anything else as he slips it into the bag.
_______
The second is an ammunition storage closet. Andrew spends a full minute staring at the sleek barrels of rifles, disassembled scopes, and handguns before he shuts the door.
_______
The third is a sparse room with no windows and only a desk and a computer. The only cord leading into the computer is the outlet plug. There are no USB cords, no Ethernet cables. Andrew can’t help but grin. “I think I found it.”
“See you on the outside, captain,” Eddie says and Andrew can hear the responding smile in his voice.
_______
“Andy,” Eddie says as Andrew’s picking up the last of the mirrors and on his way out to the seventh floor, “How do you feel about Oregon? I can pull some strings there.”
“I haven’t put much thought into it,” Andrew says. Leckie doesn’t even glance back at the sudden words, just keeps crawling.
“I like Oregon,” Eddie says, “Maybe I can find a legitimate job there.”
Something warm flares in Andrew’s chest and he smiles into the darkness.
_______
“This is it,” Eddie says, swinging the monitor around to show Andrew and Leckie.
“Records for the last twelve years,” Leckie whistles, leaning forward to take a closer look at the dozens of folders, separated by year and region.
“I never knew we were this extensive,” Andrew admits.
Eddie quirks an eyebrow at him with a bemused smile, “Not quite a we any more.” He types a command into the computer and they watch as the files are deleted, “I cleaned out the network while you were searching for the rooms. If there’s anything left, it’s paper only.”
“Burning day was two weeks ago,” Andrew muses, “I’ve been keeping names out of my reports recently.”
Leckie glances at him, “Let’s hope our team leader had the same foresight.”
Andrew feels a sudden pang of guilt, “If I could stay around and help, you know I would.”
“No,” Leckie half smiles, part reassuring and part amiable, “Command’s going to be out looking for you once they figure out you disbanded K. You’ll be their first suspect for the break-in.”
He pauses and rises to his feet, “And if the case ever reaches PD, you’ll be the first suspect there too.”
“I’m counting on you to keep me out of jail,” Andrew agrees with a good-humored smile.
Leckie nods and looks from Andrew to Eddie. He flips a salute, one last smile and he says, “Good luck.”
_______
It’s the last he’ll ever see of the office. He’s carried the last of the paperwork out to the trunk of his car in the remaining boxes.
Eddie looks pained as he picks up the magnet and drags it across the circuit boards he pulled out of his computer.
“I had so many programs on there,” he tells Andrew, and it sounds like he’s mourning the loss of a good friend. Andrew leans forward and brushes a kiss against the corner of his lips.
In the end, Eddie only carries his guitar out of the office and they don’t look back.
_______
Eddie’s unwrapped the gauze because it’s itchy and he’s healed enough to the point that he can move without ripping open the five inch incision Stern made across the lower length of his ribcage. It’ll turn into a pale scar one day-but now it’s still faintly red and in the process of healing. Andrew’s careful to avoid it as he drags his tongue down Eddie’s chest, tracing over older scars. Andrew knows the stories behind the scatter of burns near his hip, the shallow slice of a poisoned knife against his side-all jobs gone wrong somehow, things to remind them that they’re still only human with human flaws and human mistakes. But he doesn’t know the story behind these others, the pucker of scar tissue on Eddie’s thigh, a cut almost concealed under his collarbone-and it’s these that he lingers on, mapping first with fingers then with lips.
Eddie has his hands in Andrew’s hair, eyes half lidded and lips slack, making the tiniest noises as Andrew swirls his tongue around his navel. Andrew can feel the line of Eddie’s cock rutting against his chest, pre-come drawing a line across his sternum as he shifts down, drops open-mouthed kisses where his thumbs pressed into Eddie’s hipbones. Eddie shifts so that he’s sitting up, leaning on his elbows and looking down at Andrew. Andrew breathes-thinks about the number of times that he’s received a blowjob and it’s a disorienting experience to be suddenly thinking about how to give one-
But it’s Eddie grinning down at him, Eddie whom he’s trusted for years to watch his back, Eddie, the only man whom he’d ever trust to lead his men-Eddie with his easy grins and understanding and it’s not hard to imagine him laughing now, with his bright eyes and happy smile. Andrew presses his lips to the side of Eddie’s cock, hears the sharp inhale above him and he drags his tongue along the length.
He’s unpracticed and his technique is clumsy-but he can feel Eddie’s thighs tense and he adjusts accordingly, presses the pad of his tongue against the head of Eddie’s cock, keeps his lips tight and slides forward. It’s a strange weight in his mouth. Eddie tastes like musk and salt and it’s unfamiliar but his breathing is getting erratic and it’s almost heady, the way that he can make Eddie’s fingers whiten against the sheets and gasp out a low Andy.
It’s encouraging and he takes more of Eddie into his mouth, sucking hard-and he’s rewarded by a loud, “Fuck!” and he has to make an effort to keep pressure, to not grin around Eddie’s cock. He pulls back and there’s a sharp hiss when his teeth briefly catch-but he smoothes his tongue over it and looks up at Eddie through his lashes, promising silently to do better next time. Eddie shudders and Andrew can tell that he’s trying his hardest to restrain himself, fighting against the primal urge to fuck Andrew’s mouth.
Andrew draws his tongue around the tip of Eddie’s dick, and sucks, closes his fist around the base of Eddie’s cock and reaches behind to stroke him. Eddie lets out a low noise and Andrew makes an effort to keep his eyes on Eddie’s face. He has this sudden, inexplicable need to see Eddie-calm, collected Eddie-come apart and to be the one to do that to him. Eddie stares back down at him, his lips parted and it’s a fucking shame that Andrew can’t kiss him while his lips are wrapped around Eddie’s cock.
It doesn’t take long before Andrew feels the telltale tensing-the way that Eddie’s head is tilting back just the slightest bit and his breathing quickens. He breathes out low on an, “Andy,” that sounds almost reverent-and a warm liquid hits the roof of Andrew’s mouth, coating his tongue. It’s a strange taste and he can’t help but spit it out in his hand. Eddie laughs at him, drags him up and kisses him.
“Andy,” Eddie says again with a grin curving against Andrew’s lips and it’s all that Andrew needs to hear-
Because this is Eddie, the man he’s fairly sure he’s fallen in love with a long time ago and never noticed until now.
_______
It’s cold, especially now with the frigid waves perpetually sweeping in and crashing against the shore. They maintain their distance though, away from the spray of foam and debris, and they keep to the rocky sands. Eddie’s dug a hole and Andrew’s set the boxes inside. The wind whips up the ocean into a frenzy-but settles down when Andrew lights a match as if it senses what he’s trying to do.
The gasoline soaked papers catch fire easily and it’s not long before their former life is going up in flames, flames dancing merrily on lines of text and scribbles of code. The wind picks up after a moment, scattering ashes along burnt sand.
Eddie steps closer with the fire reflected in his eyes. Andrew looks at him.
There’s a calm smile on his face as he slips his hand into Andrew’s.