[fic] Clandestine Affairs (4/?)

[acchikocchi]

So it's only been two and a half months, no big deal... Sorry. :( Anyway, this brings it up to a solid 47k overall, i.e. officially the longest thing I have ever written in my life. I think this is probably the halfway point? Probably. (oh god.) Anyway, a big, big thank you to winterspel for a steady stream of RL encouragement and discussion.

In this part: car chases, inter-agency conflict, feelings(tm), a surprise.

Clandestine Affairs (4/?)
Word Count (part): 9,800
Characters/Pairing (part): Cesc Fàbregas, David Villa, David Silva, Luís Figo, Wesley Sneijder, Gonzalo Higuaín, Fernando Morientes, Raúl González, Rubén de la Red (David Silva/David Villa)
Rating: R
Summary/Notes: Still here.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3



The first thing Figo said was, "Fàbregas, you'll need to step out."

"What?" Cesc said. "Me?"

Figo just looked at him. Cesc in turn looked at David, who gave what he hoped was an encouraging nod. "Wait in the outer office, if you don't mind," Figo added. Cesc looked back at him; for moment, David thought he was going to protest, but when he finally spoke, all he said was, "Okay." He slipped out the door.

It only heightened the feeling of unease that had been hanging over David since he'd picked up the call the night before. Something important enough to bring them off the site when they'd just picked up suspicious activity, important enough to send Cesc out wandering around the office unsupervised; something Figo didn't think he could talk about even over the secure comm line.

David had a hunch, and he didn't like it.

Figo rested his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands as he examined them silently. David met his assessing gaze straight on.

The silence stretched longer than he expected. David resisted the urge to glance at Villa. Finally, Figo said, "Albiol and Arbeloa have been up in Barcelona."

"We heard," David said. "Ra - Albiol told me - " he paused to count backwards, " - two days ago. Monday. Before they headed up."

"Really," Figo said. "Have you heard from him since they arrived?"

"No," David said slowly. "Not at all."

It wasn't entirely surprising - it had only been two days, and they might have been too busy investigating, or might not have found anything worth calling David over. But something about Figo's silence, his dark eyes drilling into David, said it was more than that.

"We heard about the raid on Tamudo's safehouse, if that's what you mean," David ventured, when Figo still didn't speak.

"I see," Figo said.

Another long silence.

Finally, Figo leaned forward. "You were here when you got the call on Žigić," he said. "Correct?"

This time David did glance at Villa, who was looking back at him. He gave Figo a slow nod.

Figo said, "You know what I'm asking."

David knew. His gut dropped.

Villa said brusquely, "There was no one. We got the call, got the car, went to the site."

"Silva?"

David's lips were dry. "He's right," he said. "There was no one else there when we got the call. We didn't see anyone on the way, or talk to anyone. No one."

Figo exhaled, and leaned back in his chair. He didn't look surprised, but he didn't look happy, either. "All right," he said. "Thank you. I'll be out of - "

"Wait," Villa said, cutting Figo off. "Mori."

David's mouth dropped open - then he understood. "Oh," he said, "Mori - sorry, Inspector Morientes, from the CNP?" Figo nodded. "He mentioned, when he showed up last time, that he knew we'd gotten Žigić because - "

"Because he was tapping a protected communications system," Figo said conversationally. "I should haul him in for that."

David blanched. "What? Uh, I don't think he was - "

"Oh, I won't," Figo said. "But I should. His personal grudges don't give him license to interfere with an independent agency simply because he's an officer of the law."

David wasn't really sure what to say to that, before Figo went on. "As a matter of fact, Raúl already shared that particular piece of information. Morientes isn't out of the picture himself."

"Um," David said. "I really meant, if he could have done it, then someone else - "

"That's a point," Figo said, cutting him off. The word "good" was notably absent. He continued, "In any event, I'm leaving this afternoon. In my absence, Raúl's word is to be considered mine. No questions, Villa."

Villa, for once, didn't rise to the bait. Instead he said bluntly, "So you think it was all leaked."

Figo said, "That's all, thank you."

They stared each other down. For a minute David debated whether or not he should speak up; he decided it was probably for the best. He cleared his throat, and two pairs of eyes turned on him.

"I - sorry, we were just wondering, maybe we could talk about our assignment?"

"Oh, yes," Figo said blandly. "You must be glad it hasn't turned out to be as useless as you thought, after all."

Villa stiffened; David instinctively put out a restraining hand and kept talking. "Yes - well, I mean - we didn't get a chance to talk about it much yesterday, but I, I mean we, wanted to reiterate that maybe, given the nature of the, um, crime, maybe a different investigative body might be more - more appropriate - "

Figo began, "Did it ever occur to you that this might not be entirely about - "

They never heard what it wasn't entirely about, because at that moment the office door banged open and Esteban Granero shot inside. "Sorry to interrupt - we just got a call - " He suddenly seemed to notice Villa and David, and stopped.

"Go ahead," said Figo.

"It's Sneijder and Higuaín," Granero said. "They're requesting back up."

David felt Villa go stiff and straight like an arrow.

"They're on Ruano's tail, they're not sure if he's trying to go to ground or get out of the city," Granero went on. "They're headed away from the city center. There's a local officer in the area, but - " He made a face.

"Inept or uncooperative?" Figo said.

"Higuaín didn't say. But they want someone to help cut Ruano off. Right now."

David's eyes were glued to Figo. His hand was still on Villa's arm, which was tense; he didn't need to look at Villa to know their expressions were identical.

Figo glanced at them, accidentally met David's eyes, and dropped his head, muttering something under his breath.

"Sir?" Granero said.

Figo raised his head. "Tell them a secondary team will be dispatched within two minutes. Go."

Granero was gone. Villa took a breath, like he was about to speak, and David tightened his grip on the arm he still held. He was not going to let Villa do the talking here.

Figo drew a breath, and David said quickly, "Officially requesting permission to provide back up." He kept going before Figo could respond. "We're especially experienced in pursuit, we're in close proximity, and most importantly, we're able to move immediately."

"You have an existing assignment," Figo countered.

"Our relief is alert and on site," David said immediately. "He can stay another couple hours, easy."

"You're responsible for Fàbregas."

"Ruano has no ties with the syndicate," David said. He couldn't help adding, "Besides, Cesc's a pretty good shot."

Figo, poker face impeccable, looked from him to Villa, who was completely rigid. David dropped his voice and said fervently, "I would really - we would really appreciate it if - "

Figo sighed gustily and said, "Oh, go ahead."

Villa was free of David's hand and out the door even as David nearly sagged with relief. "Thank you - seriously - "

"Keep Villa from causing too much damage," Figo said. "If you can."

"Right," David said, and went after him.

One minute Cesc had been chatting with the blond kid - Canales - about football and trying not to stare at the door to Figo's office, especially after Curly Hair had gone diving in and back out again; the next Villa had burst out of the door and past him in a spiky blur, calling at Cesc, "Come on, we're moving." A minute later Silva had followed at a similar clip, snagging Cesc's arm as he went. Cesc stumbled to keep up, tossing a quick good-bye over his shoulder at Canales, who looked utterly unfazed. Then they were in the car, zooming down the street at top speed, and Silva was trying to explain something about drug runners.

" - so we're hoping to cut them off before they get to the highway, or before Sneijder goes crazy."

Cesc blinked. "What?"

Silva wasn't listening any more; he was on his mobile communicator. "Rubén? Yeah - no, we just left. Listen, we got a call to come in as back up, we need you to stick around a while longer. Great. Thanks. See you." He hung up and rummaged around, coming up with some kind of wire. He hooked it to the handheld and jammed the earpiece in his ear, then handed an identical one to Villa, who put it in one-handed as he drove. Then, to Cesc's surprise, Silva leaned over the seat and held out a wireless earpiece to him.

"You'll just copy off my feed," Silva said. He added, half-distracted, "We've got to get you a communicator."

Cesc slid it on. There was a faint, humming buzz. Silva tapped at his handheld, then at his earpiece - Cesc's crackled - and said, "Higuaín? Silva here."

There was a burst of static, then a voice saying right in Cesc's ear, "Silva?"

"We got your call, we're on Calle de Avila heading for Castellana. Sync your GPS?"

"Sure," Higuaín said. "We're right on his tail, east on Calle de Sagasta. Black Audi, license 3151HCF. It's Ruano and one of his sidekicks. You're with Villa?"

"We've got a trainee along, too. Don't worry, he's been out with us before."

A new voice cut in. "Is he any good?"

"Good enough," Silva said in a voice that didn't encourage disagreement.

"You think so? Okay, we'll see."

Silva looked ready to say something else when there was a beep from his handheld; he glanced at it and said, "We've got you. Sagasta and Almagro?"

"Almost to Castellana. Or - no, turn!"

"Fuck, what are they doing?" the second voice said.

"I don't - watch out -"

"Shit, no - "

A resounding screech almost made Cesc tear the wire from his ear. "Higuaín?" Silva said sharply. "Higuaín?"

No answer.

Silva jabbed at the handheld and then said tersely, "They're not moving."

Villa's eyes were glued to the road as he swerved between two other cars. "Stay after Ruano or call it in?"

"We don't have a tracker on him," Silva said. He hesitated. "But the bureau's been after him for ages, he's the lynchpin, he can get us the entire chain all the way back to South America. If we let him go - "

"Yes or no?" Villa pressed as they rocketed through another intersection.

Silva glanced back at Cesc.

Villa said, "If we're going to call it in we need to do it now."

Silva's shoulders slumped. He opened his mouth -

- and a sleek black Audi shot onto the avenue directly ahead of them.

"Fuck," said Villa as Silva said, "Go, go, go." Villa jammed the accelerator to the floor and the car leapt forward. A bus headed in the opposite direction honked as it narrowly avoided ramming into their side; Cesc's pulse skipped several beats and then restarted at double time.

The Audi zoomed through an intersection. Villa followed on its tail. A chorus of horns echoed in their wake. "Get them off the avenue," Silva said. "Now."

Villa swerved around a cherry-red Ferrari and cut across two lanes. If the Audi hadn't realized they were on its tail, it did now, and responded with another burst of speed. There was no way their battered little car could keep up - or so Cesc thought, until, as the Audi wove crazily in and out of traffic, they began slowly to gain on it, and it occurred to Cesc with a shock that he'd never stopped to think that the car might not be what it looked like, either.

Inch by inch Villa nudged up. The Audi tried to lose them between a delivery truck and a sports car; Villa followed with grim determination. The Audi zigzagged across the far lane and cut off an eighteen-wheeler. The truck honked as it swerved and suddenly its broad side loomed directly ahead of them. Villa cursed and yanked the steering wheel around as Silva braced himself against the dashboard. They flashed by with a hairsbreadth of space to spare - or not even that, as they caught the edge of the truck's bumper and ricocheted off at an angle.

Villa wrested the steering wheel around, regaining control. The Audi had put plenty of distance between them. He leaned heavily on the clutch and jerked the gearshift forward; there was a creaking metallic groan, and Villa gunned the accelerator.

The gap between them began to shrink again. Up ahead loomed a sign for the M30 highway entrance. The Audi took the exit lane.

"Don't let him take it," Silva said in a tense voice. Villa snapped, "I know." Cesc's heart pounded. They were just behind, closer, closer -

With a grinding shift of gears Villa slammed down on the accelerator and the car surged forward to bracket the outside of the Audi. There was an awful screeching of metal on metal as the two cars scraped against each other. Villa's knuckles were white; tendons stood out from his forearm. For a minute the cars strained against each other - then with a surge of effort Villa gave the steering wheel an extra wrench and the Audi was forced away, just as the highway entrance flashed past.

The Audi spun off into the far lane. The driver controlled the spin and jerked the car around, and before Villa could react it was vanishing around the next turnoff, almost too late for them to follow.

Villa cursed and spun the steering wheel in reverse. The brakes squealed as the car slid into the turn side first and Cesc was thrown against the window. The exit road spat them out into a narrow street he didn't recognize; he caught sight of a motorcyclist's startled face as they sped past.

"What the hell," Villa said through gritted teeth.

"Don't lose them now," Silva said. "We'll take them at the first turn."

"I know what I'm doing," Villa growled.

Silva twisted around. Cesc was taken aback by the difference in his face. "Stay out of the way," he said. "Keep your head down. You'll be fine." He paused for a second, then said, "Shoot if you need to."

"What?" Cesc said, high-pitched. He put a suddenly clammy hand on the butt of his gun, where it rested in the holster Villa had procured for him before they'd left. An uneasy part of his mind wondered if they'd somehow forgotten he didn't actually know what he was doing

Silva had already turned back around. They were gaining again, just a few lengths behind - then, just as Cesc wondered what was going to happen when they caught up, the Audi spun on a dime and jerked down a narrow street street Cesc hadn't even noticed.

The brakes squealed as Villa took the turn wide, putting the car into an intentional skid, so that for a split-second they were at an angle to the Audi.

"Now," said Villa, and Silva, already cranking the window down, leaned out and with expert precision put a bullet in the Audi's right front tire.

There was a pop, then a long screech. Then the Audi skidded wildly out of control, did a 360 in the middle of the street, fishtailed into a diagonal, and plowed nose-first into the side of the building.

Villa slammed on the brakes and he and Silva were out of the car before Cesc, thrown against his seatbelt, even fully registered that it had stopped. Villa shouted something; Cesc couldn't make it out. For a moment he was paralyzed. What was he supposed to do? Follow them out? Stay in the car? What if the suspects were armed, or had their own backup, or -

Shut up, he told himself fiercely, and think.

Think. He needed to be able to move, but he needed to stay out of way. Okay.

He fumbled with the door handle before getting it open on the opposite side from where Villa and Silva were facing down the wreckage of the Audi. They both had their weapons drawn. Belatedly, Cesc fumbled for his own. His mouth was dry. Deep breaths - one, two -

Villa was talking in a raised voice. " - not going to negotiate, so get out of the fucking car and - "

There was a gunshot and the sound of breaking glass.

Cesc dropped flat onto the ground without even thinking about it. He heard Villa swearing furiously; when he opened his eyes, his line of sight along the ground led directly to Silva, lying flat. Cesc's heart leaped; then he realized Silva had thrown himself down and was already rolling back up to his feet and squeezing off two shots in the direction of the other car. A spiderweb of cracks erupted across the Audi's back windshield. Cesc rolled up into a crouch and kept his own gun up resting just over the hood. In the back of his mind he was aware he was probably imitating stupid action movies again, but what else was he supposed to do? There was a throbbing somewhere in his torso; with a shock he remembered his cracked ribs. Another pair of shots rang out, and this time something whizzed by close enough that Cesc could hear it.

Villa had taken cover behind a shabby phone booth; Silva was flattened against the side of one of the buildings, protected by the jutting stonework. Cesc, squinting, could just make out the fugitives: two youngish men crouched behind the Audi's corpse. One was pale and emaciated, bleeding from a cut to the forehead, the other muscular and unshaven. They were both armed.

"Give it up," Villa shouted. "Back up's on the way, you're in the middle of the fucking city, you're not going anywhere."

The only response was another shot, deliberately aimed at Villa's feet. He swore. Silva whipped around the stonework, fired a return shot, and flattened himself back against the wall, all in the blink of an eye.

"Fine," Villa said, sounding really pissed off now. "You want to do this the hard way? Okay. But I'm warning you - "

Cesc's eyes darted between Villa and the two men. The pale one wasn't paying attention to Villa. He was squinting at the car. No -

- he was looking at Cesc.

Cesc couldn't hear what he said. He didn't need to. The muscular one swung around and narrowed his eyes, gun coming up. Could Villa see that from his angle? Silva couldn't. Cesc gulped, heart in his mouth, and tightened his finger on the trigger -

He heard a roar, like a motor, and didn't realize what was happening until a huge Hummer with a trailing bumper and one smashed headlight came barrelling down the street and screeched to a stop behind the wrecked Audi. Cesc only had time for a moment of heart-stopping terror before it became immediately obvious that the two suit-clad men who sprang out weren't anything like the perpetrators. One of them, significantly taller, raised his gun in a mirror of Villa's stance; the other took in the situation with a single glance and, as Cesc watched in disbelief, broke into a sprint and leaped through the air, coming down on the back of the muscular guy like a ton of bricks.

"The fuck, Sneijder!" Villa shouted.

The first guy was out cold. The second barely had time to blink before Sneijder was on him, like some kind of martial arts ninja, two quick blows to the solar plexus and a chop to the back of the neck. The guy went down heavy, and Sneijder had him cuffed and gagged in seconds.

Cesc's mouth was hanging open. He knew eyes were huge. Even from the distance, he could see that Sneijder was grinning, an eerie wide thing with a tinge of bloodthirst.

His heart wouldn't stop hammering. Meanwhile, Villa had dropped his stance and was striding toward the newcomers; he looked actually disappointed. Silva was getting to his feet, too, dusting off his suit trousers. He glanced around with an expression of confusion, until he caught sight of Cesc.

Cesc suddenly realized what he must look like, crouched behind the car peering over the trunk. Flushing, he got to his feet. Silva waved him forward and he obeyed, a tinge of embarrassment dogging his steps.

Villa, Silva, and the newcomers were circled around the two cuffed suspects. The first one was still unconscious. As Cesc joined them, Villa said to him in a low voice, "You did good." Cesc barely had time to register it before Silva said, "Higuaín, Sneijder, the trainee we mentioned. Macià."

Higuaín, the tall one, nodded at him, a little shyly. Sneijder turned that slightly disturbing white-toothed grin on him and clapped him on the back, hard enough to set him off balance. "Hey, Macià, welcome to the bureau, nice to meet you. You like that?"

"Uh, yeah," Cesc said, because he wasn't stupid enough to say no, and also because it had been pretty badass.

Villa looked about as impressed as Cesc expected, which was not at all. "He's not your groupie," he said. "You keep showing off and get yourself nailed, I'm not gonna cry over you."

"No need to be jealous, Villa," Sneijder said with what sounded like total sincerity.

Villa's hackles visibly went up. "I don't see anything to be jealous of."

Sneijder looked genuinely confused. "Um," Higuaín said in a quiet voice. "Should we take them in now?"

The pale one was glaring at them with bloodshot eyes. Sneijder nudged him with one foot and he snarled around the cloth stuffed in his mouth.

"I guess," Silva started to say, and then stopped, turning toward the mouth of the street. Cesc had only registered the far-off wail of a siren with half an ear; suddenly, it was much louder, and he realized it was coming in their direction. Not a minute later, three police cars piled into the street, one after another, and braked a distance away.

"Time for the fun part," Sneijder said. Cesc honestly couldn't tell if he was serious or not. Then the door of the first car opened, and a tall guy who looked vaguely familiar climbed out.

"What the hell," Villa said, at the same time Silva said in a high voice, "Again?"

Tall guy pushed his sunglasses up his forehead and the face clicked in Cesc's memory, just as the guy caught sight of them. First he looked surprised, then suspicious, then disturbingly cheerful.

"We've got to stop running into each other like this," he called.

Sneijder looked at Villa and Silva. "You know a cop?"

Silva, sighing, said, "That's Detective Inspector Morientes." Sneijder's face remained blank, but Higuain suddenly looked interested.

Morientes loped toward them, a lone plainclothed figure amidst the police uniforms. There was an amiable smile on his face, again. "This is interesting," he said, when he was close enough to be heard, looking around the little cluster. His gaze came to rest on Cesc. "Nice to see you again - " a minute pause, " - Macià."

"Uh, yeah," Cesc said. "You - you too."

"Were you just in the area," Silva said mildly, "or did you hear about this one over our comm network, too?"

Morientes whistled. "Ouch," he said. "As a matter of fact, I got it from the local beat cop. While I was on the way to your headquarters to answer some questions. So Žigić was in it with Tamudo, huh?"

Silva's face did a funny little spasm. "Mori, I promise there's nothing we're keeping from you on that one. I know that hasn't always been the case, but this time we know as much as you or anyone else." He looked at Villa, but Villa either didn't notice or didn't have anything to say; he was watching Morientes.

"Really," Morientes said. "Because it seems pretty funny to me that you two just happened to be tracking a guy like Žigić, who just happened to be sprung by a bunch of thugs who just happened to be part of Tamudo's gang."

Silva scrubbed at his hair. "I know how it looks, but - "

"If Tamudo's staking territory in Madrid now, we need to know everything," Morientes said, not smiling any more. "There's no time for games."

"Hey," Sneijder interrupted. "What does this have to do with our case?"

Morientes and Silva both ignored him. "Mori," Silva said, "we're not jerking you around, I swear. Žigić is a small-timer we were supposed to take down because of stupid red tape. This time there's no, no huge conspiracy or anything. I'm not - I'm telling you the truth."

Morientes said, "We'll see."

"Hello," Sneijder said. Silva and Morientes turned on him with twin expressions of irritation. "You can sort this out later, right?" He gave Morientes a dismissive glance. "Thanks for your help... whoever you are, but we've got this, so you can take your boys and head home."

"Actually," Morientes said, "we've got jurisdiction here."

Villa finally spoke up. "What the hell do you mean?"

Morientes produced a piece of paper and slapped it against Villa's chest, smiling again. Villa scowled and peeled it away irritably, eyes moving back and forth as he skimmed the contents.

"Warrant for the arrest of Alexis Ruano on suspicion of trafficking in narcotics, in violation of national law," Morientes said with deep and unmistakable satisfaction. "Falls directly under our authority. I'd like to thank you for your help as concerned citizens in apprehending a wanted criminal. We'll send you an official commendation."

Sneijder's jaw dropped. "What? No, I don't think so, we got him, we override you, we override everyone."

"Have you got any official charges taking precedence?" Morientes inquired. "Because I didn't see anything on record, and if your boss doesn't like that he can take it up with mine."

Silva looked at Sneijder, pained. "You really didn't file anything? At all?"

Sneijder didn't answer; he looked like someone had taken his favorite toy away. Higuaín was more like a sadfaced puppy, all big liquid eyes. "Rule of law," Morientes said cheerfully, "it's a beautiful thing." He snagged the paper back from Villa, folded it in quarters, and tucked it in his shirt pocket. "Any time you want to talk about Žigić, I'm ready to listen." He gave them a wave and turned on his heel, walking back to the police cars. A moment later, a detachment of uniforms moved toward them.

Silva and Villa retreated to the car; Cesc followed. Sneijder didn't move, until Higuaín tugged on his sleeve and said something too quiet for Cesc to catch; then he abandoned the perpetrators with one last look over his shoulder and followed them, dragging his feet as he went.

Silva raked a hand through his hair. "The one time we're not even hiding anything..."

Higuaín said, sounding vaguely ill, "Raúl's going to kill us."

"I can't believe they can do that," Sneijder said. "I can't..." He trailed off, and looked sadly in the direction of the police, who were prodding the pale suspect to his feet.

"Believe it," Villa said with a snort.

Silva said, shortly, "You weren't much help there."

Cesc felt his eyes go big. For a minute Villa just stared; then his mouth opened, at the same time Sneijder, still wrapped up in his moping, said, "We'd been working that case for weeks. Ruano was ours. Without him how are we supposed to get... how..."

"We'll probably get him back," Silva said, though he didn't sound entirely certain. He wasn't looking at Villa. "It's never stopped them before."

"Yeah," Higuaín said, sounding not very convinced. "Maybe."

"Okay," Villa said. "You guys are going to have a lot of paperwork to do. You should go start it." He was still looking at Silva.

Higuaín looked hurt, but Sneijder didn't even rise to the bait. Instead he just turned and trudged back toward the Hummer. Higuaín, following, gingerly patted him on the shoulder, and Sneijder, still slumped, reached up above the level of his head so he could thump Higuaín between the shoulderblades.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Villa said, "What the hell did that mean?"

Silva appeared absorbed in wiping down his gun. His bangs fell in his eyes. "What?"

Villa's eyebrows went down. He glanced at Cesc, then back at Silva. He said, "Don't fucking try that with me."

Cesc was no secret agent, but even he didn't miss the tightness of Silva's shoulders. "I don't know what you mean," Silva said. He tucked the weapon away and finally glanced up, mustering a little smile. "Come on. Time to get back to our real job."

He turned to go. Cesc followed. Villa's response, behind them, was unintelligible and almost certainly profane.

Cesc had barely even had a chance to get a good look at Rubén de la Red when he'd showed up to relieve them that morning. He was a good-looking man with longish black hair; when he looked up from the surveillance monitor his face lit up with a sweet smile. "How did it go?" he asked.

Silva blew out a breath, then mustered an answering smile. "Okay," he said. "We got them, or Sneijder did. We just had a run-in with the CNP at the end. Sneijder hadn't filed some paperwork…"

Rubén winced. "Did you lose - "

"Yeah," Villa said. "Stay clear of Raúl for a few days."

"Ouch," Rubén said, with feeling. "Okay. Though have you noticed how busy he is lately? He hasn't been seeing anyone."

Villa and Silva exchanged a look. "That's what we hear," Silva said, after a second. He nodded at the monitor. "Anyway, anything interesting?"

"García is having trouble with his girlfriend and Helguera thinks he should be a man and stop letting her walk all over him," Rubén reported dutifully. "Reyes lost a lot of money on the midweek football pools. They can't decide whether to go for paella or curry for lunch."

Villa rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't come right out of his head. Silva said, "No mysterious off the record payments, huh?

"Nope," Rubén said cheerfully. "Sorry. You can look over the tape if you want but it's pretty tame. Need anything else from me?"

Silva's smile was a little more genuine this time. "No," he said, "that's it. Thanks a bunch, Rubén, really."

"No problem," Rubén said. The chair scraped as he got to his feet. That was when Cesc noticed the limp.

Silva caught him looking, and gave a minute headshake. Rubén turned back around and said, "See you." Silva gave him a little wave. The door shut behind him.

Cesc waited, and Silva didn't disappoint. "Rubén used to be a field agent," he said. "He finished training a couple years ahead of me. He… ran into trouble on the job."

"Oh," Cesc said, after a startled pause. "Oh."

"He didn't want to leave, afterwards, so…" Silva lifted his shoulders. "He mostly works in analysis now, but he was trained in the field. He's a good guy to have in a situation like this."

Cesc resisted the urge to ask what exactly had happened. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know, or that Silva would even tell him in the first place.

Villa spoke up. "So what now?

Silva looked a little wary - unsurprising, since Villa had been ominously silent the entire way back. "What?"

Villa shrugged out of his shoulder holster and dropped heavily onto one of the chairs. "We're stuck with this fucking case until Figo feels sorry for us, which is going to be never, so we might as well suck it up and figure out what the hell is going on so we can get out of here for good." He eyed the stack of papers on the table with distaste. "You know much about financial crime?"

"Um - not really - "

Silva knew someone at the MEF; that was about as much as Cesc absorbed before his mind started wandering, despite his best intentions - so much so that the change in Villa's tone caught his attention before the words registered.

" - another one," Villa was saying, sitting up straight as Silva came around to look over his shoulder, and when Cesc figured out what Villa meant he hopped up, too.

This time the man was visibly nervous, nearly stuttering as he said, "Here, it's - it's for - here." In the background, Garcia rolled his eyes. He fled nearly the second the cash left his hand, leaving Reyes to pull out the second book, make a notation, and return it to its place.

"The fucking counter," Villa said under his breath. Silva, though, was frowning at the screen.

"Do you think," he said, and stopped.

Villa looked over. "Do I think what?"

"That man wasn't nervous because he knows they're cooking the books," Silva said. "He wasn't that nervous because he ordered a perfectly normal shipping transaction."

Villa's eyes glittered. "You think he was moving something illegal."

Silva raised his eyebrows. "Or paying for something else entirely."

Villa was looking more interested now. "What did Helguera say yesterday? Services rendered?"

"Which could mean anything. Something they did, something they provided… What was it Ortiz was hinting at, piracy? Just distribution, or - "

"No way that guy was so freaked out over a cut price laptop. Or dropping a couple thousand dollars on one."

Silva began sifting through the papers scattered haphazardly across the table. "Where's the transcript of Ortiz' deposition? What did he actually say?"

They kept shooting ideas back and forth as Silva searched for the transcript. He went on, "But then what they're doing makes even less sense. Who keeps financial records of their illegal activities right next to their legal books?"

"Maybe they've got a good cover. Hell, maybe it's a legal side business and the guy was nervous because, I don't know, he's cheating on his wife."

"What was his name? Did we pick up his original order?"

"We need to get a look at - "

Cesc tried hard to follow, but he found himself losing the thread of conversation more than once; it seemed like half the time Villa and Silva didn't even bother finishing their thoughts and communicated solely in mysterious overlapping sentence fragments.

Silva had found the deposition and was reading aloud from it. "'Goods obtained via alternative methods of distribution', that's what he calls it, after a three page digression on the responsibilities of government office."

"I say it's a load of bullshit," said Villa.

"But you think he knew something was going on."

"Yeah, since there is something going on."

"It could always be a coincidence," Silva said. Villa snorted, and Silva shrugged, flashing a little smile. "You can't ever rule that out."

"Well, it's going to be hard to get any kind of solid evidence from inside this fucking box," Villa said.

Cesc sat up straight. "Can we tail them?"

Villa gave him a look. "Yeah," he said, "we can tail them all the way to the paella stand."

Silva snorted, then turned it into a cough when Cesc gave him a betrayed look. "We haven't been watching them long enough yet," he said, relenting. "At the very least we'll have to wait until we figure out which shipping orders match up with these payments, or manage to find a different pattern somewhere. If we can do that, then - well, at least we'll run it by Figo and see what he says."

"He'll probably give it to someone else," Villa said, pessimistically.

"Maybe not," Silva said, more like he wanted it to be true than he believed it really was. "He did let us go out today, after all..."

Cesc listened to their conversation with half an ear as he dug around for Silva's friend's crazy newspaper. They'd moved on to someone named van Nistelrooy, who apparently still hadn't contacted them. Absorbed in a story about police corruption, he lost track of what they were saying entirely.

He'd almost forgotten they could finally go back to the apartment at night, until evening fell, the office emptied out, and Villa said, "Come on, let's blow this popsicle stand."

There was a noise from Silva that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Villa narrowed his eyes. "What? Something funny?"

"No," Silva said, "not at all." There was a tiny smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. "I thought you were ready to go?" he added.

As they descended the stairwell, Cesc couldn't help wondering about the tense scene from earlier. He paused a few steps behind, watching as Silva said something that made Villa smirk. Everything seemed to have returned to normal - but Cesc didn't think Villa was the type to forget anything that easily.

"Coming, Fàbregas?" Villa said over his shoulder, and Cesc hurried to catch up.

David had been tensed for Villa to persist with an interrogation from the moment he'd lost control of his own mouth. But as the afternoon wore on and still it didn't happen, he began to relax, slowly, until by the time they got back to the apartment he'd almost forgotten about it. Villa cooked again, which was always nice, and somewhere in the middle of the meal Villa and Cesc got in an argument about the Spanish and English football leagues that had the potential to keep them occupied all evening long. Since David liked football plenty but not enough to fight over it, he cleaned up instead, letting the claims of fouls and diving and long balls fly past him.

When Cesc's head started to jerk irregularly, Villa told him brusquely to go to sleep, and Cesc didn't even protest, just shuffled out of the kitchen. David took his seat at the table, laptop at hand but unopened. He should check if there were any new developments in London, or Barcelona - but it had been a long day.

A small part of him wondered if, maybe - He didn't let himself finish the thought.

Then Villa pinned him with a single look and said, "So, want to tell me what the hell that was about?"

David said automatically, "What?" and then as his stomach plummeted, "What do you mean?"

Villa crossed his arms over his chest. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I don't - " He knew that would be no good even before he saw Villa's expression. "I was just, it was nothing. I was in a bad mood, that's all."

"Bullshit," Villa said. "Was it because we lost Ruano?"

David gave a reflexive start. "What? No." He caught himself. "I mean, no, I wasn't - "

"Stop doing that," Villa said.

"Can't you - I was just, upset, and I shouldn't have - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"I said stop doing that," Villa said savagely. "God damn it, Silva, if you're angry you fucking tell me why."

David felt absurdly trapped; he didn't know what he wanted to do most, shout or tear his hair out or hit something. Someone. "I'm not," he said. "It's not, it's nothing, it's not a big deal."

"Bullshit," Villa said again, and David knew he wasn't going to get out of this without giving Villa something.

"I told you, it's nothing. It's fine. I just wanted you to, to back me up with Morientes. He didn't believe me and when he thinks we're screwing him over it always comes back to bite us in the end and - " David drew a deep breath. "That's all."

Villa didn't look appeased. "Why?" he demanded. "You're the one who's good with words. Hell, that's just Mori. It's no good fighting him once he's got his mind made up, you've just got to let him run with it until - "

"How am I supposed to know that?" David exploded. "Why should he take my word for anything? I haven't known him as long as either of you, and I can't do anything about that, and I'm sorry, sometimes I can't, I can't be - "

He heard what he was saying and snapped his mouth shut as he felt the color leave his face, pressing his lips together until it hurt.

"Can't be what?" Villa said, and then as his eyes narrowed, "Either of who?"

David wanted to bite off his own tongue. He gripped the edge of the table and said desperately, "Look, I told you what it was. It was my problem. I was in a bad mood. It's just me, so can you - can you just leave it alone, please."

There was a long, long silence.

"Fine," Villa said finally, in a clipped, furious voice. "If that's what you want. Fine."

David held himself tight and hunched as he watched Villa stalk out of the kitchen. Then as he found himself staring only at the blank wall opposite, his shoulders fell and the anger bled from him in a rush, leaving only horrifying awareness of everything he'd said and done, and a frustration with himself so familiar and overwhelming it hurt.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was so stupid. He dropped his head and gripped his hair tightly enough to hurt, digging the heels of his hands into his forehead.

Then, because he was a professional, he took a deep breath, made himself sit up, opened his laptop, and pulled up Nikola Žigić's case history.

* *

For a minute, when David woke up, he couldn't remember why every one of his muscles were tense. It came back to him with a blow and for a moment he just lay very still and tried not to think - like he hadn't been doing the previous day, when he'd let his mouth get away from him in the first place.

There was nothing he could do about what was done, and if he repeated that to himself often enough, he might believe it. He had a job to do. It was fine.

He smoothed his expression as best he could and went out into the kitchen.

Cesc was sitting at the table already, carefully filling out a newspaper crossword. Villa's back was to David; as he hesitated, Villa turned around and saw him.

Before he could stop himself, his gaze skittered away and fell on the counter. There was a mug of coffee sitting there.

He made himself go pick it up, and didn't look up.

"Oh," Cesc's cheerful voice said, "morning, Silva."

David turned toward him and gave him a smile he didn't feel. "Good morning."

Cesc looked at him for a minute, then, slowly, a line furrowed its way across his brow. David turned away to rummage for something to eat.

Behind him, Cesc ventured, "Are you feeling okay?"

"Hm?" Rolls in the cupboard, jam in the refrigerator. "I'm fine. Just tired."

When he glanced over shoulder, Cesc was frowning at him. Then Cesc looked at Villa.

Villa put his mug down. "We'd better get going," he said brusquely, and brushed past David out into the hall.

Cesc looked back at David. His mouth opened.

"He's right," David said, before Cesc could speak. "We should be there at least an hour before they are." He drained half his coffee, leaving the mug on the counter. As he left the room, he felt Cesc's eyes on his back.

It wasn't any better once they got to the site. David took up his customary position at the table, laptop in front of him. Then Villa took the seat across from him, and David's shoulders involuntarily stiffened.

Villa stilled for a moment. His mouth was tight. Then he, too, began typing, with unusual viciousness.

David made himself focus on his laptop screen. Higuaín and Sneijder would be responsible for Ruano's paperwork, but they still needed to have their own report ready. He could do it himself; he usually did.

Footsteps moved across the floor - Cesc, doing who knew what. Villa's voice broke the suffocating silence. "Have you checked Rubén's transcripts from yesterday?"

David shook his head, without looking up. "I'll do it now."

"It's fine, I've got it."

"We both should."

He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, like Villa was shrugging. "Whatever you want."

It was just their luck that Garcia, the chatty one, wasn't in that day; there was only the occasional comment from Reyes or Helguera, or the even more occasional customer, to break the oppressive silence. Nevertheless, Cesc sat curled next to the monitor, hanging on to every word with a frown of concentration. David wondered if he was hoping to find one of the patterns they'd mentioned the day before.

"Take the chair," Villa said, after a while, and got up and moved over to the couch. Cesc looked at David hesitantly. David lifted a shoulder. Cesc, with another glance at Villa, took his seat and began to scrutinize a packet of papers - transcriptions of the surveillance record so far, David thought.

He finished the report and cast around for something else to do. They still needed to talk about Žigić, retrace his steps to Spain, look for anything that might explain a connection to Tamudo, guess what Morientes might find - but David shied away from the thought. He could do that by himself, at least for now.

At the usual time, the office emptied for lunch. When David heard the apartment door bang shut, he glanced up; Villa was gone.

He felt Cesc watching him. He pretended he didn't notice, until Cesc finally looked away again.

Villa returned half an hour later, with takeout. David cleared his throat and said, "Thank you." Villa shrugged.

Cesc kept looking from one of them to the other, like he was watching a tennis match. David ignored it. He ignored everything, except the records in front of him. Together, they traced Žigić's whole story: petty theft in Belgrade, an ill-advised attempt at fencing stolen electronics, a couple tourist scams in Warsaw, passport forgery, the mail cart incident, the botched arrest, panic, Madrid, capture.

It was useless. There wasn't a single piece of information he hadn't seen or thought of a thousand times before, nothing to indicate Žigić was anything more than a man with the misfortune to keep stumbling from one mishap to another. He wasn't going to get anywhere on his own; he had to talk it over with Villa.

He opened his email instead.

It was late in the afternoon when David's handheld buzzed with a message from headquarters. He cleared his throat. Villa looked up.

"They want us in to report on Ruano tomorrow," David said. "The earlier the better."

"Fine," Villa said.

"I'll call Rubén," David said. Villa nodded. Silence, again.

It seemed like an age before Garcia and Reyes finally cleared out. David couldn't help a small exhalation of relief, as he got to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Villa glance in his direction.

Back at the apartment, Cesc devoured half a leftover pizza straight out of the refrigerator while Villa made do with cobbling together a sandwich at the counter. David wasn't hungry. He was debating with himself whether it would look too much like he was avoiding someone if he withdrew now, and whether he cared if it did, when Cesc cleared his throat.

Cesc said, "I'm just going to…" He nodded in the direction of the hall.

When Villa didn't speak, David said, "Okay. See you tomorrow." Cesc looked from David to Villa, gave an awkward little nod, and vanished. There was the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall.

Villa leaned back against the counter. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was staring at the wall opposite. David realized he was fidgeting with the button of his cuff and gripped the back of the chair instead.

Outside, a horn sounded.

"Have Higuain and Sneijder already been in?" Villa asked finally.

"The message didn't say," David said. "Probably."

Villa said, "He's going to want to know about Morientes."

So what else is new, David wanted to say. He didn't. The air conditioner whirred, a low, steady hum.

"I'm going to sleep," Villa said abruptly, and without another word turned on his heel and went down the hall.

After a minute, David did, too.

They left the next morning as soon as Rubén called in to let them know he was safely on site. Even Cesc was quiet; no one spoke, not until they had passed through the security check and into the elevator. Then Villa finally said, "You start. You remember details better."

David nodded. The elevator pinged for the seventh floor.

The moment they set foot in the office it was obvious something had happened. Even the usual frenetic pace of activity was ratcheted up several degrees: Canales and Leon zipped from fax to computer terminal to photocopier and back, while Fernando Gago was typing away with the phone glued to his ear, as in the background another rang insistently. Martínez from Security was sitting at Canales' desk, hunched over a tablet computer. Raúl's door was closed. Amidst the frenzy, David caught Granero's eye and Granero waved them over.

"What's going on?" David asked, as he watched Canales try and answer two phones at once while balancing a stack of papers reaching to eye level. "We were supposed to report to Raúl this morning."

"Good question," Granero said. He was trying for his usual unfazed aura but David wasn't fooled; his shoulders were coiled with excitement, and one finger was tapping incessantly at the edge of the keyboard. "You know how Raúl's been holed up in the office for the last couple weeks?"

David waited. Villa remained silent, so David said, "Yes…?"

"And Figo hasn't even been in Madrid half the time?"

David resisted the urge to look at Villa and nodded again.

"Well …" Granero drew out the pause, fully aware that he had them wrapped around his finger, and then raised his eyebrows. "They've got the leak."

David's mouth dropped open. "For sure?" he said, at the same time Villa said, "Fuck, you're kidding."

Granero shook his head. "They nailed the guy this morning in London. They've been after the evidence trail for weeks now - finally he slipped up badly enough he couldn't cover it."

Without thinking about it, David's eyes automatically met Villa's. Villa looked equally taken aback. "London?" David said, as he tried to remember everything he'd heard about the leak - what they suspected had been leaked, to whom, from where. "But from what Figo said…"

Granero grimaced. "The guy's part of Security there. He's got top level clearance. They're not done investigating, but it looks like there've been leaks from London, Barcelona, Berlin, Milan… He was good."

There was something off about that. David got it a second later. "Barcelona," he said. "The rest are central bureaus, why a satellite office like Barcelona? The big cases go through us, anyway."

"Aha," Granero said with satisfaction. "Good catch. Guess what? That one's personal. The guy grew up here, he did a training rotation with us and he was in the Barcelona office for - "

David didn't hear anything else as an ice-cold chill ran down his spine. He looked at Villa. He had to.

Villa's face was white. "What's his name?"

Granero blinked at him. "What do you - "

"What's his name?"

Granero consulted his screen. "Jose Manuel Rei - "

Villa was halfway across the office before the name was all the way out of Granero's mouth. David reached for him, but he was too late. "Stay here," he said to Cesc under his breath and dove after Villa, just as Villa threw open the door to Raúl's office with so much force it slammed into the wall.

Raúl was talking with the head of Security, Casillas. At Villa's entrance, he broke off and lifted his head. But somehow - he didn't look surprised.

"It's not him," Villa said, plowing right into their conversation.

"Villa," Raúl said. His voice was restrained. "I'm sorry. I wanted you to hear it from me."

"I don't care who the fuck I hear it from," Villa said. "It's still wrong. Where the hell is Figo?"

"In Barcelona," Raúl said. Villa drew in a sharp breath. Raul went on. "Listen to me, Villa. I know how you feel about this. I'm not - happy. That this is the answer. I wish I could tell you it wasn't."

"It's not," Villa said. "I know him, I know what he's like, it's fucking not him!"

Raúl rubbed a hand over his face. "Did you know he was involved with one of Tamudo's feeder gangs when he was in school?"

"That was - for fuck's sake! It was a bunch of idiot teenagers, he's told everyone about that, it's a practically a joke."

"London made several deliberate plants of misinformation throughout the bureau to find - "

"Then someone made a mistake, how the hell should I know how?"

"Villa - "

"You don't fucking understand, I know him, what the fuck do I have to say? You used to - for god's sake, Raúl. Listen to me. You have to, you - "

"David," Raúl said, and Villa choked to a stop. David thought he finally understood that Raúl wasn't going to budge.

"David, there's proof," Raúl said, into the silence.

Villa just stared at him, shoulders heaving, eyes like smoldering coal. His jaw was clenched. One hand curled around the door frame so tightly his knuckles were white.

"The hell there is," he said finally. "You want proof? I'll get you fucking proof. Watch me."

He slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame, blew through the office, and burst out the glass doors into the hall, leaving them swinging wildly in his wake.

In the utter silence that followed, one could have heard a pin drop.

David realized he was frozen in place, staring at the doors. His heart was pounding. Something cold was creeping up his throat. They'd seen Pepe hours before the explosion. Had he - he couldn't have -

He brutally forced the thought down. He had to find Villa.

Cesc was looking at him with big eyes. He dredged up what he hoped was a reassuring expression. "Can you wait - " he started to say, and Raúl's door opened again.

"Silva," he said. "Could I have a moment?"

David gave the glass doors one last, reflexive glance, before he said, "Coming."

Casillas departed as David went inside, giving David a little nod on the way. "I'm sorry," he said, as soon as the door closed behind him.

Raúl gave him a grimace too strained to be called a smile. "Don't be," he said. "I… knew that was coming."

David swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth. "Yeah," he said. "Is it really…?"

Raúl's lips were set grimly, so that the lines around his mouth stood out more than usual. He looked very tired.

"It's iron-clad," he said.

"Oh," said David.

Raúl massaged one temple absently, as he always did when he was stressed. "The raid on Tamudo's safehouse was definitely leaked. So was information on our operation in Mallorca, the identity of at least one undercover agent, the crackdown on what's left of Vieri's people - " He cut himself off. "I'm sorry, Silva. This isn't your problem."

He had to ask, because Villa wouldn't. "Does this have anything to do with our - our job in London? With…" David nodded in the direction of the outer office, and Cesc.

Raúl sighed. "I - we - don't know. It doesn't look like it; the lea - Reina doesn't seem to have any contacts in the Moggi syndicate itself, and none of the leaked information we've identified so far would explain what happened. But…"

"Right," David said. "Okay. Do you need me to…" He didn't know what, exactly; only that he needed to find Villa, and Raul had to say it was okay.

"No," Raúl said, "you can go. Thank you."

David's hand was on the doorknob when Raúl said, "Silva."

David turned.

"Keep an eye on him," said Raúl. "And tell him I'm sorry."

The rush of jagged and conflicting emotion was too sudden and overwhelming for David to speak. He settled for a silent nod.

The outer office was unusually subdued. When David opened the door, all activity stopped for a moment as every head turned toward him. Then everyone hurried to pretend they'd been doing no such thing. Cesc was where David had left him. He wasn't talking anyone this time. As David came toward him, he straightened.

"Is, um. Is everything okay?"

David was too wrung out for anything other than the truth. "I don't… know. I'm really sorry. Can you just - I have to…" His eyes were drawn automatically to the outer doors and he didn't realize for a minute that he'd trailed off.

Cesc nodded quickly. "Sure," he said. "You can, um. Take your time. I'll just - be here."

David managed to find the barest fragment of a smile for him, before he slipped out into the hall.

Villa was slumped against the wall. His head was in his hands.

David took one step forward, then another. Villa didn't move. He came closer, close enough to touch, and said, "David."

Villa gave no sign of acknowledgment.

Carefully, so carefully, he reached out and rested a hand on Villa's shoulder.

Villa tensed, but he didn't pull away. So David let his fingers curl around Villa's shoulder and kept them there, as Villa's ragged breathing echoed harshly in the corridor.

He didn't know how long he stood there, still, breathing in and out in time with his heartbeat. Finally Villa let out a long, shuddering exhalation and raised his head. His eyes met David's, and David saw they were burning with the cold, intense fire that he had long since learned was David Villa at his most determined.

"It's not him," Villa said. "I wasn't kidding. I'll get them their fucking proof." He spat out the word like it tasted foul.

David's fingers tightened in the crisp white material of Villa's shirt. Villa was fixing him with that burning look now. It drove all thought from David's mind and the breath from his chest.

"Help me," Villa said, somewhere between a plea and a command.

David's chest hurt. He didn't dare take his eyes away; he didn't know if he could have even if he'd wanted to. For a moment, there was nothing but a roaring in his ears.

"Yes," he heard himself saying. "Whatever you want. Just tell me."

The naked gratitude on Villa's face nearly made David flinch. There was an iron hand around his heart; it was hard to breathe.

"Thank you," Villa said, in a low rasp.

David nodded mutely. It was the only thing he could do.