#INY Chapter One Hundred Thirty Nine

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 139

[Wow, tumblr is mega ugly right now. All my xkit extensions are broken. As a reminder this story is up on A03! I’d be happy to give the link to anyone that wants it. Every time I post with a link I get shadow’ed so... it is what it is. Enjoy!]

There was a chance this was a setup. That Kilgrave- with his tight schedule- had finally picked up Jessica and was now luring you in. He’d taken you to dinner, laid it out that you ending with him was an inevitability because you’d do the right thing in service of that greater good, hero that you were- and just give in to him. So it was possible you were going to go down to that office of Jessica’s, see the both of them there and be expected to throw your hands up and walk away with him. 

And that was why- “Let me go with you.” Tony no longer wanted you to be liable for your own fate. He no longer wanted you facing this menace alone. Because it seemed every time you did, whether on the phone or face to face, it left you worse for wear. And just a little closer to breaking in pieces so small they could no longer be put back together. 

If it were you, if he was being put in this position, this would be the same thing you’d ask of him. For him to allow you in. To let you help. It felt unfair that immediately your thought was to tell him no. “I don’t think he’ll be there.” You heard yourself saying this, but you weren’t actually sure how true you thought it was. It was just as likely that he would be, that he also would not be. You had no idea what you were walking into. 

Tony crossed his arms. “That has nothing to do with me wanting to go.” 

“It does a little.” Finally pulling yourself off the couch, entire body aching with the struggle of getting up after being down for so long. 

As you approached he softened. “Fine. A little. But we need to be done waiting.” Whether or not he meant it, this hit you a little hard. It was true. You were hurting the team by letting this go on so long. Whether or not that had been your choice, which it hadn’t. That was probably why he flinched upon realizing and quickly reached out to put his hand on your arm. “I just mean- we need an actual plan. And it’s not that I don’t think you can finish this- I just-” 

“Tony…” Soothing his sudden struggles with saying the right thing, how to say it, what the right thing even was… his brain was pulling in all directions. Because it was you, his entire being was demanding to be gentle here. But because it was you he wanted to storm the beach and just blast away until this was over. And you were standing in the middle. Impeding progress. He was having trouble handling it. You laid your hands on his chest, gazing up at him. “I know this is hard. And I appreciate that you’re trying-” 

“Don’t do that.” Both his hands slid up your arms then, stopping atop your shoulders. Pain sliced between the both of you. “Don’t ask me to sit here and watch you suffer anymore. Let’s be honest, it’s not working out for either of us.”

“It’s not.” You had to let him have that victory where it was so clear. Your falling apart was leading to his own struggles. It would have been the same the other way around. “If it’s just her- and I think it is- she won’t want you there. Which will slow everything down.” Just trying to put it all together out loud. Tony’s presence would upset Jessica because she wanted as little people involved as possible. 

His answer cemented how this was going to go. Fingers gentle as they lifted, sliding up the sides of your neck. Gaze soft on yours. It was completely unfair how easily that skin to skin contact made you just want to breathe in the comfort he provided. “I stayed for you.” 

To not only have your back, but to watch it. He couldn’t help you if you left him out- regardless of your feelings why that might be. Your need to protect him was as strong as his need to protect you. And soon- if not now, very soon- one of you was going to have to budge on it. And it felt like he’d keep asking your permission to do so until it was too late. And then where would that leave the both of you? “You did.” 

On the off chance Kilgrave was there… having Tony follow you was probably a smarter thing to do than to leave him at home. “I can be quiet.” A little wry arch of his brow with a weak grin to accompany it. 

“No you can’t.” Teasing back as much as you had the strength to. “But. If she doesn’t know you’re there…” 

“Mn.” A little nod of understanding. “I can do very quiet rooftop reconn. No problem, honey.” 

“Very quiet being key here.” Jessica couldn’t know he was there just as much as the entire city couldn’t know that Iron Man was perching on an apartment rooftop for seemingly no reason. It was really annoying. That your status was so well known. It made everything so much harder than it had any right to be. 

Before either of you could continue with the faux quipping, your phone buzzed. You took it from your pocket and read the text on the front screen. From Jessica. 

485 W 46th st. Now or never. I don’t have all night. 

Tony made no secret that he was spying. Once you let it down, the two of you shared one last look. And he promised, “Very, very quiet.” 

So that was that. 

                                                       ---

Tony let her go first after she got ready and left with just the barest of disguises on. A hat and sunglasses when it was already dark outside. If she wasn’t the one out for justice, the next person on the street might suspect she was dealing drugs. But it was what it was. She didn’t want photographers following her around to Hell’s Kitchen so that the media could ask what the hell she was doing there in the papers the next morning. 

There were already enough scandals to avoid, they didn’t need one more. And a personal one, at that. At least the address was only twenty or so minutes away. Very convenient. 

He took the suit off the private flight deck, the one specifically off angle from cameras or snoops (not like the public one from which most takeoffs happened for obvious reasons). He’d be easier to spot at night for sure with the flash of his thrusters, but he wasn’t too worried. “Find me a deadzone, JARVIS and let’s establish some boundaries.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

It wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to do, jamming signals and frying any phone that could be relatively pointed at him- but some things just needed to be done. He was sure he wouldn’t lose sleep over it. A target opened up on the rooftop across from Jones’ apartment building and he set down quickly, eased at least a little that there was a single heat signature waiting inside. With that he stepped out of the suit hoping that might be a little bit less obvious. A man on a roof was one thing. Iron Man on a roof was another. 

Jones had her curtains closed anyway. It wasn’t like he needed the suit to see anymore than he already had. Although it did make him a little anxious. He put a hand to his ear. “I’m in position. Only have a single hit in the apartment. No surprises waiting just yet.” 

“Beat me by a hair.” In fact, he saw her walking up the steps and leaning in to scrutinize the very rundown looking panel so she could get buzzed in. 

“And you left before me.” Teasing her, just a little. Just to claw at a sense of normalcy they’d long since lost. 

Her smile did him a world of good. “You jet boosted over here. Don’t get smart.” 

“Impossible to get when I’m already overflowing.” 

“You’re the worst.” 

This felt good. Like they were on a mission together. He had her back. Things would be okay. He didn’t respond when he saw her pull the front door open. She was already trying to blend in with the crowd here and not seem suspicious. While it was less-so to just seemingly talk to nobody these days, she was far more cautious than that. He needed to be, too. For her. 

Still, it didn’t help his quiet anxiety that their comm went dead quiet for a minute. But then he heard Jones ask her for a bug sweep- it cleared- and then just behind him the sound of someone stepping very heavily onto the rooftop. Not from a door opening- no- that was a jump. 

And when he turned around from his crouched position facing the street, he couldn’t help the face he made. “Ah, the devil on my shoulder. I wondered where you’ve been. Angel’s been getting lonely these days.” The last thing he needed tonight was further intervention from would-be superheroes. Yet the so-called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was now staring him in the face- 

Shit. He really had to stop with the sight jokes. Inner monologue or not. Matt Murdock was blind, so the brief dig reports came back. But clearly he could see. Not understanding how yet… well…

“Is that the best you’ve got, Stark?” 

Tony’s lips thinned, head quirking to the side as he crossed his arms. “You’re right. Big Red was my first play. Should’ve gone with my gut.” 

“What are you doing here?” Tone gruff and entirely unwelcoming. 

Also entirely distracting. He was only focusing on about half of the conversation happening in the apartment. “Stargazing. Is that a crime? Can you go bother somebody else? I’m busy.” 

“Busy stargazing.” 

“Yep. So. If we’re done here…” 

“You’re in my neighborhood. I want to know why.” 

He couldn’t help the roll of his eyes and the wave of his arm. “Am I in a territory war suddenly? I have clearance over you, if that’s what we’re doing. Is that what we’re doing? You wanna see my badge?” Oops. 

Big Red stepped closer, but Tony just stayed still. It was when the man seemed to scrutinize him a little more with a forward lean- no. Not scrutinizing. Listening. He then turned to the apartment across the street, and Tony couldn’t help a spike of unease. “Ah.” And that didn’t make things better. Especially not when her name came out of his mouth next. “Who’s she in there with?” 

“You’re sure you didn’t wanna go with a bat costume? Or is that too played out?” Frustrated to his core. He needed to do an even deeper dive on Matt- ...if he was going to keep being somebody worth caring about, anyway. The preliminary stuff clearly hadn’t been enough. He could hear her on the comms- and knew she was in that apartment building. All without- “Look- you’re bothering me. Go perch on a different roof or- do whatever it is you do at night.” 

“This is what I do.” He stood again, facing Tony. 

The two had a stare down… or- err… “This is not a crime waiting to happen.” 

“Then what are you doing here? Does she know you’re following her around?” 

“You can ask her next time you follow her to a cafe.” Moving now past frustration into anger. 

There was a small blessed slice of silence as Big Red seemed to consider his position, and just as Tony caught a few more words passed inside of that apartment, he spoke again. “We’re not on opposing sides, you know.” 

Damn it all, he couldn’t help the flare of his temper. “Gosh, you know- we already have a righteous stickler in the group. So if this is your application, I’m gonna need you to look directly into the camera and tell Big Brother a different reason why you should be let into the house.” ...that was a triple oops by now. For sure. 

“If this is how you accept help I feel very sorry for her.” 

“You can’t give me something I didn’t ask for. Are you seriously gonna stand here and menace me all night? You don’t have anything better to do?” 

It was a battle of stubbornness at this point. Big Red had no idea who he was dealing with, in that case. They stood facing each other. Clearly figuring he was outmatched (so Tony believed anyway), Big Red finally turned away. “Have it your way, Stark.” 

“That’s definitely how I prefer things.” Dry as the desert, unable to help one last biting remark. He just had to get the last word in. Because this had been a huge waste of his time and he’d missed out on almost everything. He waited, watching the Devil jump over onto a different rooftop, and then another, and then take the side of the building down into an alleyway, disappearing. 

“Tony-” She was calling him. 

Quickly he turned back to look at the apartment building, only to see her standing on the sidewalk. “Yeah, honey, I’m here.” 

“Is everything okay?” She was peering up. Probably only just barely able to see him. 

“I got held up by takes himself too seriously man. I’m sorry. Is everything okay? What happened?” 

“Who?” Her head tipped far to the right in question. 

There was a warm flourish in his chest. They were in too much trouble for her to be that cute. “It’s not important. Can you debrief me on your walk back?” 

“Can we get dinner?” 

He was surprised to hear her ask this. But, obviously, “Yeah, sure. Let me get ground level and send the suit back.” 

While he was in the middle of doing so, she seemed unable to let the thought go. “Seriously- who were you talking about?” 

“Our favorite man in black- or I guess in red now. Someone should tell these kids there’s other boroughs. They’re a little clustered together.” 

She made a sound of realization and then, “I don’t think they know about each other.” 

“They probably will now.” ...quadruple oops?

                                                      ---

“You’re the worst.” Having Tony literally watching your back and right there in your ear really alleviated a lot of fears you had going into this meeting. Although you were genuinely running on empty in every which way, so that also helped. In a less good way. A lack of anything really settled the nerves when you were too tired to be afraid. Aside that, Tony had practically said it was just Jessica inside… 

The building was pretty rundown. Lots of the other apartments were making noise. Yelling. Moaning. TVs and stereos playing loudly. All things you tried to ignore as you took the shaky elevator up towards Jessica’s floor and then walked all the way to the back of the hallway. Alias Investigations spied on you the whole walk down and once there you knocked on the privacy glass to signal your presence. 

Tony had gone completely silent, but that was probably for the best. Just listening, for now. At this point you were mostly sure you wouldn’t need him for anything serious. Which was a good headspace to be in as Jessica opened the door half a crack, took one look at you and then undid the privacy chain. But before she allowed you in, she blocked you from entering, leaning in very close. “Can you check my place out?” Voice very quiet. 

So you whispered back. “For what?” 

“Anything listening.” 

“Oh.” Giving her a small nod. You then reached up to your earring cuff, pressing to activate your visor- something that seemed to marginally impress Jessica. For once. “LUNA run a level ten bug sweep.” Probably no need to be that serious about it but… well, you were already here. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You gestured for Jessica to move so you could get inside and look around. Her office was also her home. Something you could sort of relate to but… not quite the same. Your lifestyles were very different. No need to make a comment about it. All corners and access points and good hiding spots came up empty. Something LUNA agreed with, “All clear, ma’am.” 

Retracting the visor with one more press you looked back at her as she still stood in the doorway. “Your place is clean.” Now out of the focus of checking her place out, something became abundantly clear. Something you couldn’t help but remark on, as you pressed a hand against your mouth and nose- “It smells like bleach in here.” Thick and suffocating. All her windows were open but it wasn’t really helping. She walked ahead of you to sit behind her desk. 

“Yeah. Well. Kilgrave came and murdered my idiot neighbor in here.” Saying it as if she had already accepted it and moved on. Because what else could she do? “Apologies if things aren’t up to your standard of living.” 

Her cutting remark bounced off you while you were otherwise too busy being shocked. “He-” 

“Look, I don’t really wanna talk about it. I cleaned it up. It’s dealt with. That’s not what I called you here for.” She opened one of her desk drawers, pulling out a brand new bottle of liquor, cracking the top off and taking a large swig. 

Kilgrave was making big moves. That was what he must have meant by tight schedule. Had he planned to murder Jessica’s neighbor? What for? “Did he come to you?” Some of this had to start making sense. And this was the first time you’d been face to face with Jessica in a long while. It had to start making sense right now. Every second the both of you wasted, the further ahead Kilgrave got. “He got rid of a camera crew in public and then forced me to dinner the other night.” 

She scoffed. “Dinner. Must be nice.” 

The two of you really didn’t have time to be arguing with each other. And… all things considered, she had a right to feel that way, you supposed. He’d made you go to dinner. He’d killed a person in her place and probably left it for her to clean up. Yeah. There was a huge disparity here. ...but why? “He told me Hope is in the hospital.” 

But at this she glowered, looking away. “Did he, now?” 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?” Unable to help getting a little upset. 

“What difference would it make? What business is it of yours? As I recall- any involvement of yours in that case is pointless. So why would I waste my time giving you an update about it?” 

It was unfair. It was completely unfair that you had to hold yourself still. That you had to be the bigger person here. Still, you couldn’t stow the shake of your head or the cross of your arms. “He tried to tell me that I don’t know anything about you.” 

“At least he got something right.” Another scoff, another long sip of alcohol. She set the bottle down and shared a long hard look with you. Maybe it occurred to her that this little hardened act of hers wasn’t going to get either of you anywhere, so she dropped her eyes and finally quietly relented. “Hope was pregnant.” This put a still shock in you. “She paid someone to beat her up. So that she could lose the kid.” Her head tipped up sharply, “There. Does that help you to know that? Do you feel better now?” 

What were you supposed to say to any of that? Maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t important for you to know that. Maybe it was none of your business. And yet… “We can help her.” You were so sure of this. “We can-”

“It’d be swell for you to just swoop in and fix everything. To spend your billions to move her around until nobody knows or cares where she is anymore. I’m sure that’d make you feel good. But Hope deserves better. She deserves for the world to know she’s not a murderer. She deserves to have her life back.” 

“And where are we on that?” Staring her down. “Making lots of progress? Or are you too busy now fending off Kilgrave while she’s sitting in a hospital bed worrying about being pregnant-” 

She got up so suddenly her chair fell back. “I didn’t ask you to come here so you could pretend you care about any of this shit.” Making a slow advance towards you, hand up with a finger pointed accusingly your way. 

You stood still. Unmoving. Not backing down. “Why am I here, Jessica? I know what you want from me about as much as I know what Kilgrave wants. Are we working together? Or are we just yelling at each other while he leaps five steps ahead because we can’t get our shit together?” Glaring at her now as she came to a stop just a foot in front of you, unable to help your anger. “This is out of fucking control. So stop with the bullshit and actually fucking talk to me. Work with me. Or we’ll both lose. And you know it.” 

The two of you stood in the low light of her apartment, glaring at one another. For probably too long a time. It was ridiculous, really, but she had to be the first one to budge. You couldn’t make any more grand statements about how this was all garbage and a waste of time. She had to actually do something to let you in. 

Then. Finally. Your patience was rewarded. She backed down and stepped away. Still haughty, just a little, with a shake of her head. “Fine. It’s all bullshit. I agree.” Mumbling this to herself more than anything. You had to wonder if she was more than a little drunk at this point. Going over to her desk she pulled a different drawer open and then almost slammed down a small notebook. -a diary. “Kilgrave go through your childhood shit, too?” 

You couldn’t help the tip of your head or the confused face you made. “No-” Though something about that clicked. “I think he was trying to find stuff on me. But he couldn’t.” 

She scoffed again. “Must be nice having everything covered up for you by government agencies.” 

“They had nothing to do with that, actually.” A gentle thrum of discomfort and nervousness gurgled first in your stomach and then clutched at your heart as she looked up at you. “-it’s also not important.” Not right now, anyway. And not to Jessica Jones. “What’s he going through your stuff for?” 

She sat on the corner of her desk. “He’s lounging around in the house I grew up in. I’m pretty sure he expects me to go there and hand myself over to him.” 

“He said something similar to me at dinner.” Kilgrave just wanted the both of you to walk up to him and say okay it’s over, you win. But why? Why do it that way? “-he didn’t tell me to do anything the entire time.” 

“But you still went-”

“I didn’t have a choice. Commanded or not. Let’s not take a step back.” You got it. She was angry. All the time. And maybe she had a right to be. But if you let her continue to fall into that hole over and over and over again, nobody would win. She really needed to go to therapy. ...not that you were one to talk. “He threatened me, saying me going to him would spare a lot of other people.” 

“Yeah.” Her head turned down as she crossed her arms. “That’s the feeling I get, too.” 

The silence was a little bit uncomfortable. “...so what are you going to do?” 

“I’m gonna go. What choice do I have?” She looked up at you again and for a moment… you almost thought you saw a bit of pleading in that glassy-eyed stare of hers. Almost. Like she wanted you to come up with a better solution. When you disappointed her with no response she rolled her eyes. “Exactly.” 

She was where you were. She was giving in where it seemed impossible to do anything else. Making the smartest move. Kilgrave would win. “So you go. And lure him into a false sense of security. He’s chasing after something. He wants you to… be with him, I guess.”

“Oh you have no idea.” Hard as she spat this out. 

“Maybe I don’t. But. Go be with him. And then when he thinks it really is over we’ll take him out. He thinks we’re not working together- he definitely doesn’t want us to be. He might not expect it.” He probably understood how dangerous a combo that could be, if the two of you could get over yourselves. But he’d been very plainly trying to pit you against her. This could work. Maybe.

“Go be with him. Like it’s that fucking easy.” Spitting this at you with all the venom she had left in her. “That’s the best idea you have?” Making a face at you. Plainly calling you stupid. 

“You wanted to take him somewhere. We can still do that. We just need to line the pieces up right.” Maybe it was a stupid idea. But it was really all the two of you had. 

She scrutinized you. “Yeah- and what if he gets cornered and orders some innocent to kill themselves for cover- or me- or-” 

“So I’ll stop it.” Firm, your eyes watching hers. “I won’t let him hurt anyone else that way.” 

“You’re sure you can do that? Because if you can’t-” 

“I’m sure.” You had to be. Kilgrave had made it painfully obvious he thought he could always have someone else in the way so that you would have your hands tied. So maybe he didn’t know what you could do. And that was the only thing you had working for you. 

There was a slap of resentment as she found herself resigned to this nothing of a plan. “If you fuck this one up… everyone pays the price. Do you understand that?” 

You squared up to her. “More than you could ever imagine.” 

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 58

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @thunderintheshadows​, @valkyrie-of-the-light​

The team meeting/breakfast is scheduled for nine am; out on the roof top patio of Tyler's hotel.  He's the last to arrive, hair still messy from sleep, laces of his boots undone, sunglasses covering his tired eyes.  He'd finally managed to fall asleep shortly before three am, only to wake up every hour on the hour in a panic, body drenched in a cold sweat because of the nightmarish images that his brain just couldn't shake.  He'd been dying for a drink; tempted by the unlocked mini bar in the corner of the room. The irrational side of his mind telling him that he'd be okay with just one or two. That he'd be able to just put the bottle down and walk away when he got even the smallest bit of buzz going on. Only to be talked out of it by the more mature and rational part; that he wouldn't be able to stop, that he'd drink until he was fall down drunk and then all of his progress, even in such a short period of time, would be for nothing. Instead he texted his wife and been brutally honest. That he was having a hard time and so close to slipping. That the situation in Christchurch was way worse than it originally seemed and he was legitimately scared; that he wasn't going to make it home to her and his kids. And she'd called him right away to talk him down. Never scolding or nagging. Just quiet and supportive. Strong.

It was six in the morning when they'd finally hung up. And he'd managed to fall into a somewhat restful sleep;  successfully talked down off the ledge,  both mind and body ready to let him rest. Then the phone had gone off at eight thirty and he'd immediately panicked; thinking that something had happened and he'd be needed to get home as soon as possible. Only to discover that it was the kids. They'd just gotten home and after an excited and joyful reunion with their mother, had wanted to call him.  Excitedly blabbering about all of the fun things they'd done with Ovi and Chloe while they were on 'vacation', all the cool new foods they got to try,  the trips to the zoo.  But they'd been sad too; they'd missed home and everything that came with it. All the toys and their own beds and their backyard and even the chickens and the goats.  Most of all, they'd missed their mom. Her kisses and her hugs and the way she cuts the crust off their sandwiches.  And they'd been hopeful when they'd seen her that it had meant he was home too.  Only to be heartbroken and disappointed when they found out he was still working.

So now he's late. By a mere five minutes. But he sees the way Mark glares at him as he approaches. There's no love lost between them. And Tyler seriously considers what Yaz had said the day before; about waiting until the job was over and then just dragging Mark out into the street and laying the beating of a lifetime on him.  

“All good?” Yaz asks, as Tyler takes a seat beside him, then slides a cup of steaming black coffee towards him.

“All good.”

“Things are okay at home? With...well you know...”

He nods. “Things are fine with that. She's fine. Kids finally got back. They called wanting to talk to me, so...”

Across the table, Mark gives a derisive snort, shaking his head as he pretends to be immersed in his menu.

“What the fuck now?” Tyler asks. “You have an issue with me talking to my kids?”

“We don't have time for you to be dealing your personal shit, Rake.”

“They're his kids,” Yaz forcefully reminds Mark. “Who he isn't seen in almost a month. He's not supposed to talk to his kids now? Get out of here with that shit. They wanted to talk to their dad. What is wrong with you?”

“You either leave your shit back home or you don't show up,” Mark reasons.

“They're kids,” Nathan pipes up.  “Little kids. They're not allowed to talk to their father?”

“We don't have time to be dealing with wives and girlfriends and kids and whatever the hell else.  Are we not here to work? How are we supposed to get any shit done when some of you are too busy dealing with personal crap? Stow that shit and get on with business.”

“Sounds like someone is just bitter they don't have a personal life to worry about,” Yaz remarks, as he goes back to his own menu.  “Because my sister was smart enough to move on to someone else.”

“There was never anything between me and your sister,” Mark informs him. “It was just...a thing...”

Tyler smirks.  “A thing, huh? So that's what the kids are calling phone sex these days.  Don't be mad, Mark. That some of us are actually having real sex while you're resorting to handling things on your own. We won't hold it against you. Just don't expect me to shake your hand though. I don't want to be touching something that's been attached to your dick.”

Yaz smirks and coughs noisily beside him.

“And I'll talk to my kids whenever the fuck I feel like it,” Tyler adds. “When I talk to my kids or my wife has nothing to do with you. Or is that what the real issue is? The fact that she's my wife and not yours. You fucked that up, buddy. That was over long before I came around. I'm just the one that cleaned up your goddamn mess.”

“Hey, if you like someone else's sloppy seconds, that's your business,” Mark retorts. “You two are made for each other. You're both fucking train wrecks.”

“Just admit you're pissed off that your ex moved on to bigger and better,” Yaz says. “That you screwed things up and now you've got to live with that and he gets to live with her. Not his fault you're a cheating, wife abusing bastard.”

“Cheating, narcissistic, wife abusing bastard,” Tyler corrects. “You left out narcissistic.  Just let it go, Mark. I'm not in the mood for your shit. I'm never in the mood for your shit. But especially not now. I haven't seen my kids in almost a month, my wife isn't doing well and just got out of the hospital, and I'm here putting up with your crap. So how about you just sit there and shut the fuck up.”

Mark frowns. “She was in the hospital? Why?”

“Oh now he's worried about her,”  Yaz scoffs. “Not when he was beating the shit out of her. But now. Now that she's with a guy that doesn't do that kind of shit.  Why was she in the hospital? How about it's none of your goddamn business.”

“She hasn't been feeling well and thought maybe there was a problems with the baby,” Tyler casually explains, sipping his coffee.

Mark's frown deepens. “Baby? What baby?”

“The one that I put inside of her almost four months ago. That baby.”

“Say what you want about the man, but he's got seriously talented sperm,” Yaz digs a playful elbow into his friend's ribs. “And lots to spare, apparently.”

Congratulations go up around the table; followed by his personal cell phone being passed around in order to proudly show off the ultrasound photos that his wife had sent to him. It isn't his first rodeo; he's been this round four times now. But each time feels just as amazing as the last; seeing the pictures, watching her grow bigger with their child, his child, thinking about how incredible it is that despite all of their issues, they managed to create another human being together.  And it's bittersweet in a way. That this will be the last one.  The last chance that he has to go through the experience with her yet he here is, thousands of miles away.

A waitress comes to take their orders and talk eventually turns to the job at hand. Most specifically, his talk with Heather McMann the day before.

“Think she's trust worthy?” Yaz inquires. “Did she seem on the up and up?”

“Seemed that way,” Tyler replies. “But then so did her husband and look at how that ended up.”

“Definitely not your brightest moment,” Mark snidely comments.

Tyler chooses to ignore it.  “Unless she's a really good actress, there is no way she was lying. It was too real; the emotion on her face, in her voice.”

He realizes how much he sounds like Esme; when she's going on about how there's times where he communicates more effectively with his facial expressions and his body language than with actual words. She always knows what he's feeling...what he's thinking...long before he ever verbally expresses them.   That is how it had been with Heather McMann.  It wasn't what he'd heard. It was what he'd seen. And everything told him that it was very, very real.

“And the kids are in there?” Mark asks. “In that shop?”

“In the basement. She says it's like an underground bunker down there. Just like the one back home. It would look like this...” he snatches the pen that Yaz has tucked in the breast pocket of his short sleeved button down, and then grabs the unused napkin underneath his own cutlery. “One long hallway...” he speaks as he hastily draws the layout. “...there's a room immediately to the left of the stairs. Small. Five by six, if that. Another room about four feet down the hall, to the right. Slightly bigger. I'm saying about seven by eight, maybe. Five more rooms after that. Directly across from one another. The first three are the same size; eight by nine. Last two are bigger. The one where Esme found the chair was eleven by twelve. The one where I found Erin Ferguson was large. Thirteen by fifteen. There's a door, at the end of the hall; just leads to a small cold storage area. No other entrance or exit. Just the main one. Hallway is three hundred and fifty feet. Give or take a couple of inches.”

“And you were able to know all of this...all these measurements...even though it was dark down there?” Mark smirks. “How?”

“Because I have two fucking feet and I know how to count without having to use my fingers. That's how. I walked that entire place. We walked it. I know exactly how many feet there were.”

Just like he'd known exactly how many it took to get as far as he did on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Because he'd counted down every single one; each step taking him not only closer to freedom and safety, but to her. A number that...as soon as he'd been healthy enough...he'd had tattooed on the inside of his right bicep. Along with each of the kids' first and middle initials and their dates of birth.

“And I never once mentioned that it was dark down there,” he adds. “How did you know that?”

“So maybe it wasn't completely dark,” Mark corrects himself. “Just the rooms. The hallway had light.”

Tyler scowls. “But I never mentioned that. To any of you. This is the first time I've talked about what it was like down there since it happened. How'd you know that the only light was in the hallway?”

“I guess I just assumed,” Mark shrugs. “I mean, there's only so many options when you're underground, right?”

“You absolute motherfucker,” Tyler's eyes darken, his voice becoming menacing as the reality sinks in.  “It was you. You're the one that told McMann we were going there. When Esme asked you to distract him so we could go there and poke around.”

Mark gives a dry laugh. “Okay, that's really reaching, Rake. Your brain really is messed up if you can jump to shitty ass conclusions like that so fast.”

“She trusted you. I trusted you. You told him as soon as you met him up with him, didn't you. That's how he was able to get things together so quickly. He knew exactly how long it would take us to get there. It gave him enough time to get his people there and have someone fuck up the comms. Or was that you, too? FBI would know how to do shit like that, right?”

“You're crazy,” Mark declares. “You've officially gone right off the deep end. Snapped that last shred of sanity you've been hanging onto. I told Esme this would happen you know.  That one day you'd just lose it all together. I'm glad it didn't happen when you were at home. You'd probably be one of those guy's that would go completely psycho and kill his entire family...”

“Listen you little fuck...”  there's a loud clatter of silverware and china as he leans across the table, a fist snatching Mark by the front of his golf shirt.  Around them, conversations and laughter all come to a stand still as every eye on the place zeros in on the altercation taking place before them.  “...for the last time, leave my family out of this. Don't talk about them, don't even think about them.”

“Okay...okay...” Yaz once again resorts to playing peacemaker. “...I get you want to kill him, but we're in a public place and the last thing we need to do is draw attention to ourselves. So please calm the fuck down.”

Tyler releases his grip on Mark's shirt, but roughly shoves him back into his chair. “I trusted you. I took her word for it that you wouldn't totally fuck us and you did. You knew she was going with me. You knew she'd be there. And you told him. Do you know what could have happened to her? If I hadn't have told her to leave? Do you have any idea the sick shit they would have done to her? Or didn't that matter to you. As long as you got rid of me, you didn't give a shit what happened to her.”

“Is this true?” Yaz asks. “What he's saying? Were you the one that told McMann about Tyler and Esme going there?”

“I never said a goddamn word. He's crazy. Certifiably crazy. We all know his issues. How fucked up in the head he is. Doesn't this prove that?”

“I'm fucked up in the head?” Tyler retorts. “You're calling me fucked up in the head yet you're the one that knew what would happen to her if they got a hold of her? You hate me that much that you'd let that happen? You'd let them do that her? To my wife?”

“Is it true?” Yaz presses. “Just tell us that. Were you the one who told McMann that they'd be at the house? Yes or no.”

Mark sighs heavily. “Yes.”

“Jesus...fuck...” Yaz mutters, as Nathan throws his hands up in surrender of the whole screwed up situation and walks away from the table. “...you can't be serious. Why the hell?”

“Money,” Mark simply replies. “He offered me a lot of money.”

“Holy shit,” Zak shakes his head in disbelief and gets up from the table as well. “This is fucked. You're fucked, Mark. We're supposed to be a fucking team! You brought us here to help and you're going around doing shit like this? For money?”

“He needed help,” Mark says. “He'd already screwed up once when it came to killing you. He thought for the second time would work.”

“And it didn't matter that she was with me,” Tyler states. “It didn't matter what they do to her. None of that mattered to you.”

Mark shrugs. “Collateral damage.”

“You didn't care if my kids were left without their father or their mother?”

“Whatever had to be done to take you out. If that meant she went too...” he shrugs once more.

Sighing heavily, Tyler shakes his head and leans back in his chair, elbow on the arm rest; palm pressed against his forehead as he closes his eyes.

“Guess things were really fucked once we grabbed McMann, huh?” Yaz inquires. “Guess that's why you were hell bent on getting Tyler to change his mind about wanting to torture his ass. You didn't want anything to happen to your boss. In case there was a chance to make more money.”

“Are you kidding?” Mark laughs. “I was glad when we got rid of him. Means I didn't have to worry about him anymore.”

“You mean you didn't have to worry about him ratting you out,” Yaz concludes. “You realize that we're going to have to cut you loose, right? That this goes way beyond fucking things up. You were going to kill one of your own teammates. Or have someone else kill them. Like what the hell man? For what? Money? Or did this go beyond that? Was this a more personal thing? All because you didn't like the fact that your ex moved on?”

“I gotta get out of here,” Tyler pushes his chair away from the table, taking money from his wallet and tossing it down.

The anxiety is too far out of control; chest tightening, sweat beginning to gather at the small of his back and the nape of his back,  the faint quell of nausea as bile sits in his throat. And he's vaguely aware of the sarcastic, cutting comment Mark makes at expense as he leaves; strides long and purposeful as they take him across  the busy roof top patio and through the restaurant. Needing to get the hell away...away from the noise...away from the bright lights...away from all the people.  Jamming his finger repeatedly against the down button for the elevator; muttering curses and wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm and trying to force himself to breathe.

“You okay?” Yaz is suddenly at his side, a concerned look on his face. “What's up? Talk to me?”

“I can't...it's like I can't fucking breathe....”

“Just take it easy.  That was a lot to fucking hear.  You got meds on you or....?”

“I don't need meds. I just need to get out of here. Where there's less noise and less people and...”

Yaz frowns as he glances around the empty hallway. “There's no one even out there. You want me to go with you? You don't look so good.”

He shakes his head. “I'll be fine. I just need to go...I don't know where I need to go...I just know I can't be here...”

“You're not going to do anything stupid are you? I mean, you've got all those guns in your room and...”

“I'm not going to fucking kill myself. I might kill him,” he nods in the direction of the restaurant. “But I'm not going to kill myself.”

“You should call home,” Yaz suggests. “Talk to Esme. She'll know how to talk you down.”

“I don't need to call home. I don't want her fucking worrying about this shit. She's got four kids to take care of and a baby to worry about...”

“And you're the father of those kids and that baby and she deserves to know when you're feeling like this.  Call home. Or I'll do it for you.”

“Stay out of it, Yaz. I know you're trying to help. But stay out of it. I'm trying to keep shit from falling apart. And the more I put on her, the more I'm going to push her away and the more it is going to fall apart.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. Go back to your room, call home, talk to your wife.”

The elevator finally arrives; allowing several people off before stepping into the empty cab.

“Call her!” Yaz orders.

“Stay out of it,” he shoots back, and slams his finger against the close door button.

****

By the time he returns to his room, the photos from Heather McMann have arrived; tucked in a brown paper envelope and stuck between the door and the frame. He'd expected an email or images sent through a text message, so he's surprised -albeit pleasantly- to find that she'd through such efforts to make sure he got exactly what he needed. Once inside he takes half a dozen anti anxiety pills and two Prozac instead of the normal one. And he feels no guilt or shame when he swallows them down with half a bottle of whisky from the bar, leaving the rest on the nightstand as he dumps the contents of the envelope onto the bed. Some of the photos have sticky notes on the back of the them; pointing out small details that he may not notice at first but she felt he needed to know about.  And while the photographs are promising and should be leaving him with more answers than questions, they just aren't enough. They don't put his frantic mind to rest; the conversation with Mark replaying in his mind, the feelings of rage and betrayal, the sense of doom that hangs over him like an ominous dark cloud.

He considers just packing it up and going home. Handing everything off to Yaz and telling him that he's done. Get someone else. That he's not feeling confident enough to get the job done. That his brain is too fucked up to fully focus on what needs to be done. That would be more dangerous than anything else; if he couldn't get his head on straight and commit himself one hundred percent, both he and those kids would die. There was no question about.  It would be best for everyone if he just left; if he accepted defeat just this once and admitted that he wasn't in any shape to carry this job out.

His private cell phone vibrates against his leg and he slips it from the side pocket of his cargos. At first he considers not answering; he's almost done the bottle of the booze and he's considering opening another and once he starts talking to her, he'll confess all his shortcomings and admit to all his bullshit and then it will cause a big old thing between them. She'll be pissed off. Disappointed. Not meaning to call him a failure but making him feel like one nonetheless.  He reminds himself that that's just bullshit; his brain trying to convince him that everyone...even her...is out to get him. She's never...even in the midst of his biggest fuck ups...made him feel like he was a complete and utter disaster.

So he answers it; catching it on the last ring before it goes to voice mail.

“Everything okay?” he asks in way of greeting. “You and the kids okay?”

“What the hell is going on, Tyler?” her response is straight to the point. Yet it's not anger in her voice. It's hurt. Confusion.  “Yaz just called. What is going on over there?”

“What did he tell you?”

“Something about Mark being involved with McMann and being the one that told McMann that we'd be at the house that day. That McMann offered him money for information? What the fuck, Tyler?”

“Okay, I'm going to need you to calm down. Less stress, remember? So just take it easy...”

“How the hell am I supposed to take it easy? You're thousands of miles away, getting ready to walk into some pretty dangerous shit with no proper help and no proper back up and...”

“Esme,” his tone is firm. “Calm down. We shouldn't even be talking about this. The kids...”

“The kids are outside with Ovi and Kyle. They can't hear a thing I'm saying. You need to start talking. You need to tell me what the fuck is happening before I get on the next plane to New Zealand. Because you damn well know I'll do it and I know it's the last thing you want. So you either start telling me what the hell is happening or I swear to God. Tyler, I will show up on your doorstep and there won't be a goddamn thing you can do stop me.”

“Are you going to calm down?” he inquires. “Because I'm not saying shit until you do. So you either calm down or you hang up and call me back when you have your shit together.”

“Don't fucking talk to me like that. I'm not one of your soldiers from your military days that you can boss around. I'm your wife. So don't be a condescending asshole and...”

“Esme!” he snaps. “Calm down or I'll hang up and I won't answer when you call back, understand me?”

“Don't..”

“Understand me?” he presses, and it's then that she takes a long, deep inhale, followed by a shaky, uneven exhale. “Are you good? Are you done flipping your shit on me? I need you stay calm. And that baby needs you stay calm. Do you want something happening? Because I don't”

“Of course I don't. But I also don't want anything happening to you. And if what Yaz said is true...”

“McMann gave Mark money...or at least offered him money...to tell him that we were going to be at the house.”

“But why? For what purpose? To kill you? So McMann wouldn't have to get his own hands dirty?”

“Apparently. And he told him even though Mark knew you'd be with me. Meaning if they'd gotten a hold of you...”

“And that's what really set you off. Yaz said you had a panic attack.”

“He should have kept his mouth shut.”

“No. He shouldn't have. You should stop assuming that I'm some weak and fragile little girl that can't handle these things. I've been handling them for five and a half years, Tyler. I spent months sleeping in a chair in a hospital, dealing with a lot worse than this. Having people constantly telling me that you weren't going to survive or that if you did you'd be brain damaged and I'd spend the rest of my life taking care of you. You think this is bad? This isn't half as bad as the things I heard and the things I was prepared to do. You always go on and on about how strong I am. Well start treating me like I am!”

He's surprised by the forcefulness in her voice.  

“You get so caught up thinking you constantly need to protect me. And I understand why you're like that. I do. We've been through a lot of together. We've been through some terribly shitty and scary things. But you don't need to be this way. It's frustrating and it's annoying and it's suffocating. And I don't know why you can't see that. You need to stop. More importantly, I need you to stop.  Stop protecting me and start trusting me that I can handle things.”

'You're right,” he reluctantly admits. “I know how much you hate it. The whole overprotective thing. And I don't mean to be that way. But I also can't help it. I can't stop wanting to keep you safe.”

“I'm not saying you need to stop. I'm saying you need to tone it down a bit. I'm not one of the people you get hired to get out of shitty situations.  Dhaka was five and a half years ago. You did what you needed to do. I survived. Now you need to start acting like we're not still stuck back there and you're still trying to find a way to get me out of there. You always tell me I need to let it go. Maybe there's parts of it you still need to let go too.”

He sighs heavily, then reaches for the bottle of whisky and drains it.

“What's going to happen now?” she asks. “With Mark??”

“I don't know. Nik can take care of that. She brought him into this, she can take him out of it.”

“I never should have asked him for help. If I'd never asked him...”

“Don't do that. This isn't your fault. You didn't know he was going to turn around and do something like this.”

“Still, if I hadn't have asked him...”

“Esme...stop. This isn't on you. You didn't know he was going to turn out like this. Let Nik take care of it. There's nothing either of us can do about him.”

“You could always kick the shit out of him.”

“I'm tempted. Believe me. Beyond tempted, even.”

“But you're okay, right? Because that's all that matters to me. That you've calmed down and you're okay.”

“Yeah,” he glances over at the empty whisky bottle. “I'm okay.”

“Is there any good news? Are you any closer to getting those kids and getting the fuck home? Because we kind of miss you here.”

“I miss you guys too. And I'd come home right now if I could. And maybe I should. Maybe I should just say 'fuck this' and tell Nik to find someone else. Because I'm so sick of this shit. I'm tired and I'm sore and I just want to see you and the kids. I've had enough. I can't do this anymore. This life. I just can't.”

“Tyler....”

“I can't...” he insists, and his voice finally cracks under the weight of the emotion that he's been carrying around. Is it weeks? Months? Years even? He doesn't know for sure. But the burden has been huge and heavy, and despite his best attempts, he just can't carry it any longer.  “...I can't do this...mentally...I just can't...I need to come home.  I'm no good to those kids if I stay. I can't get them out of there. Not when I'm like this.”

“Tyler...”

“It'll just make things worse,” he continues, letting both the words and the tears flow. “I can't get past it. What's going on in my head. There's so much going on and it won't leave me alone. It never leaves me alone. It's never quiet up there anymore and I can't take it.  I need it to be quiet. I need it to leave me alone and it won't if I stay here. It'll never leave me alone. And I can't live like this any longer. I just can't.”

“Come home,” she says. Simple. Straight to the point. “You need to come home.”

He nods in agreement, using the back of his hand to clear the tears off his face.  

“You've done enough. For other people. Now you need to come home and get better.”

“I can't do it by myself,” he admits.  “I know I can't.”

“You don't have to. You know that. You're not alone in this.  I'll help you.  And I wish I was there right now. I'd do anything to be there with you. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do know that.”

“Just come home, Tyler,” she says. “It's time to come home.”