#me: I am going to write a fic that is normal plot-driven amounts of angst

[whattraintracks]

Because it's my self-indulgent fic, I've decided this takes place somewhere in those three months at the end of season 3 when Morgane and Karadec are both single but not dating yet.

Cops & Robbers Pt 3 - First | Prev | Next

Same warning for guns and hostage situations with an added warning for a depiction of overstimulation/panic attack.

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They're watching her.

There are a dozen other hostages, and all four robbers are watching her. Like they're just waiting for her to mess up. They won't have to wait long; nobody ever does. Gosh, she can hardly focus with their eyes on her.

The phone starts ringing, startling her mind into overdrive.

Théa squeezes her hand.

There's something caught in her throat.

The robber sets the phone down with a snap.

Too much. Too quiet. Too loud.

théa's grip is too tight

when did she swallow her gum?

what did he say on the phone?

someone is breathing too hard

she's suffocating on a piece of bubblegum

can't think can't breathe they're still watching her

"Mom?" Théa whispers.

Morgane jolts out of her head, pasting a reassuring smile on her face that does little to ease the worry on Théa's. Shaking her hand out of her daughter's, she takes a moment to tighten her ponytail and straighten her clothes. The urge to cry hovers in her periphery, so she allows herself exactly two unsteady breaths. Then continues to ignore it.

She looks around their little circle. "Everyone's okay, right?" Those close enough to hear her nod. "Cool. Stay relaxed, do as they say, and we'll get through this."

Her favorite robber is on the phone again, introducing himself as Dr. Blue. Which is, certainly original. Then again, if all their names match the color of their scrubs, it'll be easy to tell them apart. She's primarily surprised he's still talking, given how quickly he hung up the phone the first time. She could've sworn she heard him say he'd only speak to Karadec.

Oh. She can't hear the other half of the conversation, but it must be him. It's pretty obvious why Dr. Blue wants to communicate via Karadec, and she'd like to make it known that she is very annoyed about being a bargaining chip. Still, she's relieved he's the one handling the negotiations. There's no one else she trusts more with her life.

That relief and trust buoy her through the next round of Dr. Blue's threats. He stalks toward her, and she looks him straight in the eyes as he promises to bump her off first if the cops lie, cheat, or storm the bank. He makes his point, hangs up, and heads to the back of the bank.

He's barely out of sight before a man to her right whispers frantically, "This is your fault, you know?" Turning to the rest of the group he continues, "She called the cops. I saw her. If it wasn't for this chick, the bank robbers would've come and gone, and we'd already be out of here."

A very short and very pregnant woman—Simone, according to her name tag—shakes her head. "The cops were coming anyway. The bank robbers pulled the bottom bills from the cash drawer."

"Which automatically triggers the silent alarm," the bank manager explains. "No one's fault."

Their panicker reluctantly settles down, and Morgane glances gratefully at the other two. She catches Simone rubbing her baby bump and goes to ask how far along she is, only to be interrupted by a short-haired brunette.

"I can't believe they're holding a pregnant woman hostage. They should let you go."

"Lady, they're not letting her go. They're not letting any of us go," wheezes a thin man in cheap glasses. "I've seen this movie before. I know how it ends." He pauses dramatically, then whispers, "All of us dead."

"Oh, quit it. We're not going to die," Morgane cuts through the ripple of distressed murmurs. She jabs a thumb at the front wall of framed glass, with its faint flashes of blue and red. "I work with the police. Trust me, they have a lot more experience than some characters in a cheesy action flick. They'll get us out, and we can all laugh about this tomorrow."

That earns her a variety of incredulous and generally un-reassured looks. Clearly, she needs to find some way to keep herself and all these people busy if she's to avoid mass amounts of panic.

"Okay, maybe not tomorrow, but we'll be fine. Now, M. Bank Manager." He points to himself. "Yes, you."

"It's uh," he glances down, shifting his jacket to reveal his name tag, "Dallaire."

"Sure. What's behind those doors back there?" She nods at the security gates leading to the back. The ones Dr. Blue went through a few minutes ago.

Dallaire glances over his shoulder. "The security room, break rooms, restroom, and the safe deposit boxes."

Dr. Blue reappears suddenly, and they fall silent. His compatriot in red tosses him Dallaire's stolen key and a black duffle bag. He returns to the back, and they fill a few more uneasy moments with silence.

"Okay," she whispers, blinking slowly to picture the shape of the key. "So, the key they took from around your neck was for the safe deposit boxes, right?"

"Yeah, that's my security key."

Théa leans forward. "Why aren't they trying to get into the vault behind the counter? Isn't it full of cash?"

Morgane snaps softly and points at her. "Exactly, Théa! There's something off about all this." She pushes to her feet.

"Mom! Sit. Down," Théa hisses.

"Yoohoo, M. Teal!" Three guns track her intently, but she keeps her eyes on the man in teal scrubs. The one who locked them in. "Oh, pardon me, Dr. Teal."

"You got a death wish?" he asks.

"Not at all, but I do got to go if you know what I mean"—Théa groans into her hands.—"And since it looks like we might be here for a while..."

He glances at the lady robber, Dr. Purple, for approval, then gestures for her to follow. She's escorted to the restroom, which, as she'd hoped, is just past the safe deposit boxes. As luck would have it, Dr. Blue pulls one out as they walk by. She discreetly observes its contents, and—huh. It's not jewelry or confidential documents, just photos and letters. Lots of them, but likely nothing of monetary value.

Dr. Teal shoves her along to a quite lovely but windowless bathroom. She spends several minutes checking for possible exits or an opening of any size to the outside, to no avail. A bang on the door and a shouted warning later, she washes her hands and allows herself to be led back to the others.

The man to her right asks to go next as Théa stares at her askance.

"Shush. Let me think."

Closing her eyes, she lets the sensations of the room fade. The light and warmth streaming in through the upper windows. The robbers' footsteps. The clothes against her skin. She nudges all of it to the back of her mind and imagines every detail she's gathered of this mystery laid out before her like papers scattered across the floor. She grabs a random page.

None of the robbers are trying to access the vault, which is full of cash. So this is about something other than money.

Dr. Blue is spending an awful lot of time in the back, presumably with the safe deposit boxes, but none were broken into, and he only recently came out to get the security key from Dr. Red.

Was this entire bank robbery for a single deposit box? Seems a little below the pay grade of professionals.

Some professionals, though. Simone said they set off the silent alarm.

But Dr. Red disabled the bank cameras, all four hold their guns like military folk, and when the cops arrived, Dr. Blue said they had "trained for this."

So they set off the alarm on purpose. But why waste time with hostage negotiations?

Time. It took the cops less time to get here because she was already on the phone with Karadec. But Gilles likely only called the robbery in a couple minutes before they set off the alarm.

Time. Dr. Blue asked to speak to Karadec only. Was that a bid for time? He couldn't have known how quickly Karadec would respond.

Time. The robbers could have gotten in and out quickly if they had avoided the silent alarm, taken cash from the registers or vault, and left, but they didn't.

Why? Because they needed time!

Safe deposit box keys are a pain to keep track of because they don't have numbers on them. Accessing your safe deposit box is quick if you know which box is yours and the bank manager uses their security key simultaneously. So, the key isn't his, and he needed time to check every lock and find the correct box. Time he bought by creating a hostage situation.

The box is the key.

Her eyes fly open, startling those watching her. "M. Dallaire, how are the safe deposit boxes numbered?"

He explains the ordering system with a raised brow.

Tapping her chin she traces the picture in her mind, "North wall, four columns over, three boxes down. That's box 120."

The jaw of every bank employee drops, and Théa grumbles about mothers who enjoy showing off too much.

"Do not," Morgane snips back. She looks around furtively. "If I can get a message to my partner, he can figure out whose box that is and what these robbers are really up to."

"How? I doubt they'll let you make a call," the brunette whispers.

"Probably not," she agrees. "But I've got a better idea. Théa, give me your bracelet."

Théa whines, "Aw, man."