Fic: The Wild Swans
Title: De Vilde Svaner - The Wild Swans
Rating: PG
Gen, no pairing (historical Nate/Maggie)
Summary: Maggie rescues her eight criminals from an evil plot against them. (Falls under 'you did what to a fairytale?')
Word count: 4614
AN: Original fairystory (English translation) for reference: http://www.andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheWildSwans_e.html
Huge thanks to Sashimitales for betaing this for me, and taking the time to look at my edits too! So awesome.
Prompted by wendyr over on commentfic
0
The internet café was quietening down from the early lunch rush when Maggie made a move from the sofas at the front to the boothed computers at the back. She tucked herself into an unobtrusive corner, making space for her coffee and adjusting the chair. Her hands were shaking as she typed in her code, and she resisted the urge to glance behind her at the shop, to glare over the partition to her neighbour three computers along.
As the computer logged her in, she pulled a piece of masking tape from inside her bag and stuck it over the lens of the camera that was perched on the monitor. The timer flashed up, and she minimised it immediately, booting the browser and tapping her fingers on the mouse. It felt like time was slipping away, everything was too slow, every move too obvious.
The web address she knew by heart, and as the white screen of the page loaded she watched carefully. A dot appeared in the right-hand corner, signifying an invisible log-in page. She typed in her password and hit return, making sure the dot disappeared. The page itself took a couple of minutes to load - Hardison's anti-spyware setting up on the computer, the key-logger-mask infiltrating the computer's system. If anyone checked, all they would see was a randomised series of websites relevant to Maggie's expertise accessed over the space of the twenty minutes of paid internet time. What felt like an age later, she had access to a simple, old-fashioned looking chat-screen. She checked the time - 12:58 by her watch, but she hadn't done anything so inane as synch watches with the fugitives before they'd parted ways, so she could be waiting two minutes or five. She could have missed the check-in. The thought rolled something in her stomach.
She chewed on her fingernail, grimacing as she almost immediately broke through the tattered skin and tasted blood. She pulled her hand away from her mouth and glanced over her fingers - three nails already wrapped in plasters and her index welling red at the nail bed. It was a habit she thought she'd broken at college, but somehow the stresses of the last few months was bringing it all back. Her father had always suggested coating her nails in mustard or other disgusting things as ways to put her off the bad habit, but in the end all she'd needed was her adult life settling into place around her. She pressed her hands down on the tiny bit of desk, willing away the urge to chew. This wouldn't do at all.
Maggie, the chat box blinked, and she sat forwards, her bloodied fingers forgotten. It's Sophie, how are you?
It was strange to see her name written out in the open like that - made it feel like the hoards would descend any minute and drag her away. Recently, her days had been so full of aliases and subterfuge, these things so alien to her that it had taken a long time to be able to introduce herself under another name, to speak lies without flinching, to not speak at all when she could possibly avoid it. But that was her name, right there on the page. It had obviously been too long since she spoke to the team last, if she was feeling this unnerved.
Going a little crazy, I think, she wrote back. Relieved to hear from you, to be able to speak to you. Not used to having no one to talk to.
You're doing so well, we're so proud of you, the reply came back, and Maggie found herself suppressing tears for no reason at all. All of us here.
How are the others? Are you all safe? Quinn? she typed to distract herself, but knowing that both the original Leverage team and their part-time replacements had been in a bad way last time she'd made contact.
There was a hesitation, and Maggie was left not knowing if Sophie didn't want to answer, or if she was composing a long reply. She thought of the scene as they had parted - everyone covered in brick-dust from the explosion, Parker gripping her arm close to her body and supported by Archie's guiding hand, Eliot leaning heavily on Colin's shoulder as they limped for cover, Quinn near enough carried by Alec and Nate, a bullet wound in his chest bleeding a red stain into his shirt. Sophie had gripped her arm where they were standing across the road, pulled her into a hug to whisper 'you can do this' into her ear and disappeared with the others, leaving her to blend into the panicked bystanders.
We took Quinn out of the hospital yesterday, he's mobile but tetchy, an answer finally popped up on the screen. We'll find it easier to act now that we don't have to leave someone in Canada to keep an eye on him. We're at the border safehouse now, waiting for another window to get back into the States.
Maggie swallowed down her fear. Every time they'd made an attempt to get back into the States so far they'd been chased back out by their frankly psychopathic enemies, or hunted and chased by the police and FBI, who were holding them responsible for the explosion and subsequent shoot-out. Is that safe? It can't be easy with everyone so banged up.
We're not leaving you there alone, Maggie, Sophie came back quickly this time, Quinn and Eliot know their own limits, and they've been the first ones demanding we try to get back to you.
I don't want you to get any more hurt. Maggie's mind flitted back to that scene again, the blood and the chaos. She shut her eyes and shook her head to clear it.
You're the only one who can fix this, Maggie, was on the screen when she opened her eyes again. You're the only one clean enough to be beyond suspicion. We need you to be safe.
The weight was a heavy one, and Maggie swallowed hard. I don't feel very 'clean' when I'm hiding from the FBI and lying to the police.
Even writing that down made Maggie scan the cafe, corner to corner. There were still two computers between her and her neighbour, who was still squinting at the screen with utmost focus. Two bored looking baristas, one guy reading a newspaper, another at the door...
She froze as she took in the familiar face standing in the doorway. She hit the chat-room's panic button without looking, knowing that the computer behind her would be bringing up half a dozen fine art and art history web pages, matched to the information that the key-logger will have recorded if they checked. She forced a smile, willing it to be friendly, thinking of the two teams stranded in a safehouse on the Canadian border, relying on her.
"Maggie," James greeted, moving through the shop with a confidence that seemed innate. Maggie forced her shoulders straight, moving to close a tab of Sotheby's website as James came close enough to see her screen, as if to hide a pending purchase.
"James," she replied.
He sighed, and his shoulders collapsed a little. "I've been hearing things on the grapevine..."
Maggie shook her head, picking up her bag and logging off the computer with a firm tap on the keyboard. "I can't talk, James. I'm on my way out."
"They FBI are trying to pin the explosion on..." he pressed, but Maggie cut him off.
"I can't talk, James. Not about this."
"Maggie, come with me to the office. Please..."
She tried to push past him and he blocked her way, badge suddenly in one hand, handcuffs threatening in the other. She took a deep breath, restraining a sob. She thought of the two teams in the safehouse. Battered, isolated, waiting.
"James, please," she hissed, seeing her computer neighbour look up, eyes wide as she spotted the cuffs.
"I believe in what you think you're doing, Maggie. But if you're going to come out of the other side of this with your reputation in any kind of piece..." He pulled her away from the computer, took her bag from her hand and placed it down on the table beside them. She thought about running, pushing past him and bolting for the doors, but the cuffs were already around her wrists - as gently as a rough thing could be done. "Some day you'll thank me for doing this," he muttered. She hoped he was right.
0
He took her to the New York office and delivered her straight to an interview room, bypassing booking in and ignoring every question and comment spoken to him on the way. He shut the door, leaving her on her own with her hands cuffed in front of her and her bag out of reach. Not that she would have been able to do anything more, even if she'd have had Parker's lockpicks, or the little blade, or the tube of plastic explosive. She had spare cash in the bottom of one shoe, a generic ID card and false identity card in the other, but they weren't going to do her any good here. All they would do is make her look more guilty.
There were raised voices outside the door - muffled by soundproofing beyond identifying James' voice and one other. James sounded firm and confident, the other voice louder and sharper.
Straining to catch the conversation, she jumped as the door clicked up and James stepped back inside, followed by another man - sharply dressed, with a severe haircut and square glasses.
"This is Agent-In-Charge Murphy," James introduced, moving in to unlock her cuffs. She resisted the urge to rub at her wrists as the weight was removed, and placed her hands demurely in her lap, as if this meeting had been her idea all along. "As a confidential informant, you do not have to talk to him or any other Agent in the building. In fact," James grinned, his back to the other Agent, "I'd suggest you don't talk to anyone. I don't want my case being interfered with. They are not to know your name, or to research you in any way."
It shouldn't have been a surprise that James was *good* at this. Between them, Nate's friends had always managed to make 'Sterling' sound bumbling and clumsy in his new position. Yet all his skills, all his competencies lent him to this job. She cared for him a great deal she remembered all of a sudden, but dare she try to continue her work under Interpol's very nose?
Murphy shouldered forwards, a manila folder in hand. "You will be offered accommodation and workspace. You are not to leave the building or to try and extract information, help, or illegal materials from any of my staff. Your internet access will be monitored for illegal activities and contact with individuals constituting our 'wanted' lists. Do you understand?"
Maggie glanced at James, at the triumphant look on his face, and nodded silently.
"You will be required to sign documentation to that effect." The folder was laid out on the table. "If you chose to leave these premises, all protection afforded to you by this Agency will be voided. If we feel you are in danger here, you will be moved to a more secure location. If you break any of the guidelines laid out, you will be held accountable in a court of law."
Maggie trembled for a moment, considering the remains of her life, her *freedom* flowing away from her. The walls of the interview room felt as if they were slowly collapsing inwards, and she wished vaguely for a safe place to sleep. To stop. Just for one night. She'd been naive once upon a time. Parker had called her adorable.
She could do this, because Parker couldn't. Nate, Sophie, Eliot, Alec... None of them could. They couldn't hack or steal or grift or force their way out of this. But it was alright. Because they had her.
She pulled the folder towards her, and signed on the dotted line.
0
It had been stupid to think she could pull this off alone. Nate's confidence, Sophie's confidence... they'd all been so *sure* of her. But even with all of James' - of Interpol's - resources in hand, there had been one last thing that she'd needed. One last piece of information sitting there just out of reach.
She was exhausted, her fingernails chewed to the quick, barely sleeping in between the obsessive work hours she maintained. And now... to come to this in the end.
She'd paced the tiny room she'd been assigned, wall to wall until she'd turned dizzy, returning each time to stare at the address she'd scribbled down. It wasn't even far, barely twenty minutes by foot.
The team had barely had eleven hours in the city - they hadn't even made it to the warehouse where their equipment was stored - before they'd been chased out again. No injuries this time, thank God, and they'd made a check in with her from the border safehouse. They had been simultaneously relieved, given her abrupt cut off the day before, and horrified that she was in Interpol's custody. Hardison's software seemed to be keeping Interpol from noticing their communications, though every time she logged in she feared the worst.
She checked the time and logged on to the chat website, hoping the communication would give her the courage she needed. The team should be back in Parker's Canadian safehouse by now - better equipped than Eliot's bolt-hole on the border, and more comfortable for their injured. The first few times they'd made forays back into the city they'd left Eliot, Parker and Archie there, Quinn in a hospital nearby. The thought of those first few weeks left knots in Maggie's stomach.
Maggie, the text popped up as the page finished loading, and she welcomed the distraction. Are you safe?
Eliot then, she suppressed a smile.
How's the knee? She typed out, wishing for a real conversation, needing to hear another voice.
Don't evade the question, came back after a moment, and Maggie wondered if Eliot was a slow typist or if he'd considered answering.
I'm still enjoying James' hospitality, she replied, knowing what Eliot was actually asking. His AIC seems to be waiting for me to declare my terrorist intentions or google-search bomb making techniques or the like. James is putting a lot on the line to help us.
He's putting the promotion he'll get if he can bring in his eight lead suspects with something to pin the bombing to us, Eliot replied, and Maggie could almost hear the terse growl in the typed words.
I'm close to finishing this, Eliot. Really close.
There was a hesitation. Maggie, it's Nate. Do you need us there? I can get everyone moving, we can be with you by eight.
No I... Maggie started typing, and hesitated. She deleted it from the screen and changed it to- We need to be sure this is going to work before you come out of hiding. And I need to get something from the lawyers. The last thing.
You're under house arrest, there's no way you won't be noticed. We can get there tomorrow, Parker can get whatever you need.
They'll recognise her straight off, Nate. Is her wrist even out of the cast? I'm the only one they didn't get a picture of - that's why I'm doing this for you. All we need is that file, and I can prove you didn't do this. We can prove you were victims.
Another long hesitation, and Maggie wondered what argument was going on, on the other end of her screen. If you do this and you get caught, you'll be tied to us. Marked as a terrorist. If it's not the officials who catch you, they're going to hurt you to get to us. We're packing up now, Maggie, we'll head to the safehouse tonight and cross the border first thing. Please wait, I don't want you hurt.
Believe me, it's not my intention to get hurt, she replied.
We're heading out now. We'll be available in four hours or so - I'll get someone to check in with you. Wait as long as you can before setting out, understand?
0
The head office for Wolfram and Hart in New York was an imposing building, with tall reflective windows and an austere feel. Maggie had left the Interpol building with the midday lunch rush, practising the air of confidence that Sophie was always talking about and resisting the urge to chant 'I belong here' under her breath.
No one gave her a second glance then, nor when she stepped into the lobby of the lawyers’ offices.
It was pristine and spacious inside, a huge gaping maw of space that she would have to cross, following the directions Eliot had laid out for her weeks ago 'just in case'. She'd never expected to be here alone, she'd never thought any of this would fall on her shoulders.
She threw her shoulders back, and let her heels and her suit mark her as one of the crowd here. The lunchtime rush wasn't as hurried here as in the Interpol office, whether because the lawyers had more time or less she wasn't sure. Her heels had felt noisy in the Interpol lobby, but they blended here.
She made it into the corridors beyond the lobby, didn't let herself hesitate as she followed memorised turns. She hadn't asked Eliot how he knew the layout to a lawyer's head quarters, he'd only have lied to her, and she hadn't been in the mood. She pulled out her phone as she stood just beyond the doors marked 'archive', miming tapping away at something as she pushed through the door with her shoulder. She thrust a record request at the bored looking man behind the desk, not risking more than a glance at him.
The file she needed wasn't restricted - it had no need to be, really; the only people it mattered to were the corporation who had paid for it and Nate's people, who would be even now crossing the border. Hardison had provided the request form, hacked from an old archive server with barely any protection against modern techniques. For such an innocuous file, this shouldn't raise any flags.
"You realise you're using an old version of this form, right?" the archivist asked, disappearing into the room beyond his little portal. "You should be using A2RF03. This is '01 - way out of date," he continued from inside the archive room.
A box file thudded down on the desk in front of her, and Maggie met his gaze, practising bored-and-too-important-for-this-conversation, ignoring the rolling nausea pulling at her stomach.
"Just..." the archivist pressed on, looking a little cowed. "Wherever you got this form from, throw the rest out and replace them with the updated form, right?" The boxfile was pushed towards her and a clipboard clattered on top. "Sign here."
Maggie scribbled something vague in the signature box, printed the alias she'd filled in on the form and took the file, her heart hammering.
"Twenty-four hour sign-out," the archivist reminded, tapping the notice on the top of the form she'd signed. "And don't forget to replace those forms!" She was already walking back down the hall, and the closing door cut off his raised voice.
Twenty-four hours. She breathed deeply as she stepped outside. In twenty-four hours, all of this could be over. She had the last of the evidence in her hands, she just needed to pull it all together and get it to Detective Bonanno. A timeline, all the culprits, the witnesses who'd been paid off, the lawyers who had protected them all, the list of victims.
Tomorrow, she could have her life back. Tomorrow, she would have a *life*.
The jubilation lasted until the moment she stepped into the street facing the Interpol office to find Agent Murphy waiting.
0
Aiding and abetting, criminal conspiracy, terrorism, treason... Murphy was on a roll as he listed all her charges, wielding the folder she'd taken from Wolfram and Hart. Agents had closed around her from down the street and cordoned off any avenue of retreat. James stepped up beside his AIC, handcuffs in hand, and any hope Maggie might have held in reserve crumbled away.
She watched as he handed over the handcuffs - a subtle exchange leaving James holding the folder. He opened the plain manila cover and his face was split by a grin. Maggie's heart sank further, defying her expectations.
All that effort. Months of work. And James had something in his hands right now that he could just as easily be turned against Nate as in his favour. Whichever way he turned, Maggie was about to go to prison for enough crimes to make her accuser blue in the face.
The cuffs snapped shut around her wrists and the agents closed formation as Murphy started to lead her towards a prisoner transport van.
Practice kept her silent, not asking where she was being taken or demanding they let her walk on her own, not led like some kind of fugitive. James stayed at her shoulder as she stepped up into the van's hold, apparently taking over from Murphy as he waved the other agents away. She settled into a seat and let the rush of fading adrenaline take her senses for a moment.
The van was in motion when she came back to herself, her mind a muzzy blank. James gave her a concerned look. Perhaps he'd looked that worried all along, and she hadn't noticed. He sat forwards, elbows on knees, rucking his suit unflatteringly.
"We have fifteen minutes, Maggie. You need to tell me everything. I can still get you out of this."
He sounded so eager. So honest. She turned her head to face the wall that separated them from the drivers.
"Damnit, Maggie. What more is it going to take for you to give that man... give that *menace* up? I have the file. All your notes from the room. I can put this together myself, but it might be too late for you."
The tears took her by surprise, and she wiped at them with frustration. She'd been so close. She could have saved them. She wasn't going to be able to do anything from prison.
The truck made a whining noise over the sound of the engine, and staggered to an uneven stop, almost unseating the both of them. There were notes of confusion in the voices from the cab, then shouts and muffled thumps.
James growled out a vitriol-filled - "Spencer" and stood. The van's rear doors blew outwards even as he started to pull his weapon, framing Nate like an avenging angel.
"Maggie, are you hurt?" he demanded from the road, not giving James' gun a second glance.
"No," she replied unconvincingly, rubbing at the tear-tracks on her face.
"Is she crying?" Eliot's voice filtered through from outside, Nate was almost pushed aside as he leaned around the doors to repeat; "Are you crying?" His voice sounded on the verge of pure fury, and Maggie could see James' flinch.
"No, Eliot. I'm alright. But Nate... the evidence is all back at..."
"It's all right here," James interrupted her, his hands held up peaceably, the gun already re-holstered. Never let it be said James Sterling doesn't know which way the wind's blowing. "I have it here, Maggie. And if you can all tell me exactly what's going on, I think we can sort this out."
0
The road was quiet, the few cars that did pass not taking any notice of the prisoner transport and the two police cars that framed it, lights flashing. The driver and the escort were lying unconscious on verge beside their van, effectively concealed.
"Maggie," Nate's voice was soft, apologetic, as he looked over her ruined nails and plaster-covered fingers.
The sheer relief had Maggie laughing, exuberant and bolstered by adrenaline that was already fading. She staggered out of the van, falling into first Parker's over-excited hug, and then Hardison's. She had a change to take a deep breath as Sophie pulled her forward and held her hands between her own for a moment or two, before pulling her into a hug of her own. Eliot was stood at the edge of her vision, still scanning their surroundings carefully, but reassuring her with relaxed shoulders and easy hands. He glanced back at her with each surveying sweet - as though she was part of what he needed to keep safe.
Archie and Chaos were flanking a very pale Quinn, all three of them new faces to Maggie, but she'd come to think of them as part of this strange family unit. They jostled and shuffled until they were sat on the edge of the prisoner transport van; Quinn's injuries were obscured by the police uniform he had acquired from somewhere - probably the same place they'd picked up the two police cars - but Quinn trying and failing to hide his reliance on Chaos' shoulder for support.
Sure that everyone was here, safe, alive, and that everything she'd fought so hard for was finally done, Maggie turned and took the few steps to close the gap to Nate, pulling him into a hug.
"We're alright," she said, her voice faint. "We're all alright."
James was standing stiffly beside the rear police car, visible over Nate's shoulder.
"You get this one, Nate," James said clearly, as Maggie released Nate and stepped away. He was projecting his voice, making sure everyone could hear him. "Because Maggie was involved, and she still thinks you're innocent, even if no one else does." He held up one finger, a warning. "Just this one, mind."
"So we're not going to mention the evidence you now have, which you needed to bring in a major criminal organisation?" Nate said, sporting a devil-may-care grin. He looked tired - they all looked tired, Maggie realised. She moved to stand with Hardison and Parker, letting Parker hold her hand and Hardison wrap a protective arm around her shoulder, relishing the close physical contact.
"Don't push this, Nate." James took several steps back to stand beside the lead police car and pointedly turned his back. He didn't see the look Eliot gave Nate, but he added- "Touch me, Spencer, and I'll have your hide on the most wanted list of every country in the known world."
Quinn was manoeuvred into the cab of the prisoner transport with Archie and Chaos, Parker and Hardison leaving Maggie with Sophie as they jumped into the back and pulled away. Maggie was hustled between Sophie and Eliot into the back of the police car, and Nate took his place behind the wheel.
Together, Leverage and Associates disappeared back into the ether.
Rating: PG
Gen, no pairing (historical Nate/Maggie)
Summary: Maggie rescues her eight criminals from an evil plot against them. (Falls under 'you did what to a fairytale?')
Word count: 4614
AN: Original fairystory (English translation) for reference: http://www.andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheWildSwans_e.html
Huge thanks to Sashimitales for betaing this for me, and taking the time to look at my edits too! So awesome.
Prompted by wendyr over on commentfic
0
The internet café was quietening down from the early lunch rush when Maggie made a move from the sofas at the front to the boothed computers at the back. She tucked herself into an unobtrusive corner, making space for her coffee and adjusting the chair. Her hands were shaking as she typed in her code, and she resisted the urge to glance behind her at the shop, to glare over the partition to her neighbour three computers along.
As the computer logged her in, she pulled a piece of masking tape from inside her bag and stuck it over the lens of the camera that was perched on the monitor. The timer flashed up, and she minimised it immediately, booting the browser and tapping her fingers on the mouse. It felt like time was slipping away, everything was too slow, every move too obvious.
The web address she knew by heart, and as the white screen of the page loaded she watched carefully. A dot appeared in the right-hand corner, signifying an invisible log-in page. She typed in her password and hit return, making sure the dot disappeared. The page itself took a couple of minutes to load - Hardison's anti-spyware setting up on the computer, the key-logger-mask infiltrating the computer's system. If anyone checked, all they would see was a randomised series of websites relevant to Maggie's expertise accessed over the space of the twenty minutes of paid internet time. What felt like an age later, she had access to a simple, old-fashioned looking chat-screen. She checked the time - 12:58 by her watch, but she hadn't done anything so inane as synch watches with the fugitives before they'd parted ways, so she could be waiting two minutes or five. She could have missed the check-in. The thought rolled something in her stomach.
She chewed on her fingernail, grimacing as she almost immediately broke through the tattered skin and tasted blood. She pulled her hand away from her mouth and glanced over her fingers - three nails already wrapped in plasters and her index welling red at the nail bed. It was a habit she thought she'd broken at college, but somehow the stresses of the last few months was bringing it all back. Her father had always suggested coating her nails in mustard or other disgusting things as ways to put her off the bad habit, but in the end all she'd needed was her adult life settling into place around her. She pressed her hands down on the tiny bit of desk, willing away the urge to chew. This wouldn't do at all.
Maggie, the chat box blinked, and she sat forwards, her bloodied fingers forgotten. It's Sophie, how are you?
It was strange to see her name written out in the open like that - made it feel like the hoards would descend any minute and drag her away. Recently, her days had been so full of aliases and subterfuge, these things so alien to her that it had taken a long time to be able to introduce herself under another name, to speak lies without flinching, to not speak at all when she could possibly avoid it. But that was her name, right there on the page. It had obviously been too long since she spoke to the team last, if she was feeling this unnerved.
Going a little crazy, I think, she wrote back. Relieved to hear from you, to be able to speak to you. Not used to having no one to talk to.
You're doing so well, we're so proud of you, the reply came back, and Maggie found herself suppressing tears for no reason at all. All of us here.
How are the others? Are you all safe? Quinn? she typed to distract herself, but knowing that both the original Leverage team and their part-time replacements had been in a bad way last time she'd made contact.
There was a hesitation, and Maggie was left not knowing if Sophie didn't want to answer, or if she was composing a long reply. She thought of the scene as they had parted - everyone covered in brick-dust from the explosion, Parker gripping her arm close to her body and supported by Archie's guiding hand, Eliot leaning heavily on Colin's shoulder as they limped for cover, Quinn near enough carried by Alec and Nate, a bullet wound in his chest bleeding a red stain into his shirt. Sophie had gripped her arm where they were standing across the road, pulled her into a hug to whisper 'you can do this' into her ear and disappeared with the others, leaving her to blend into the panicked bystanders.
We took Quinn out of the hospital yesterday, he's mobile but tetchy, an answer finally popped up on the screen. We'll find it easier to act now that we don't have to leave someone in Canada to keep an eye on him. We're at the border safehouse now, waiting for another window to get back into the States.
Maggie swallowed down her fear. Every time they'd made an attempt to get back into the States so far they'd been chased back out by their frankly psychopathic enemies, or hunted and chased by the police and FBI, who were holding them responsible for the explosion and subsequent shoot-out. Is that safe? It can't be easy with everyone so banged up.
We're not leaving you there alone, Maggie, Sophie came back quickly this time, Quinn and Eliot know their own limits, and they've been the first ones demanding we try to get back to you.
I don't want you to get any more hurt. Maggie's mind flitted back to that scene again, the blood and the chaos. She shut her eyes and shook her head to clear it.
You're the only one who can fix this, Maggie, was on the screen when she opened her eyes again. You're the only one clean enough to be beyond suspicion. We need you to be safe.
The weight was a heavy one, and Maggie swallowed hard. I don't feel very 'clean' when I'm hiding from the FBI and lying to the police.
Even writing that down made Maggie scan the cafe, corner to corner. There were still two computers between her and her neighbour, who was still squinting at the screen with utmost focus. Two bored looking baristas, one guy reading a newspaper, another at the door...
She froze as she took in the familiar face standing in the doorway. She hit the chat-room's panic button without looking, knowing that the computer behind her would be bringing up half a dozen fine art and art history web pages, matched to the information that the key-logger will have recorded if they checked. She forced a smile, willing it to be friendly, thinking of the two teams stranded in a safehouse on the Canadian border, relying on her.
"Maggie," James greeted, moving through the shop with a confidence that seemed innate. Maggie forced her shoulders straight, moving to close a tab of Sotheby's website as James came close enough to see her screen, as if to hide a pending purchase.
"James," she replied.
He sighed, and his shoulders collapsed a little. "I've been hearing things on the grapevine..."
Maggie shook her head, picking up her bag and logging off the computer with a firm tap on the keyboard. "I can't talk, James. I'm on my way out."
"They FBI are trying to pin the explosion on..." he pressed, but Maggie cut him off.
"I can't talk, James. Not about this."
"Maggie, come with me to the office. Please..."
She tried to push past him and he blocked her way, badge suddenly in one hand, handcuffs threatening in the other. She took a deep breath, restraining a sob. She thought of the two teams in the safehouse. Battered, isolated, waiting.
"James, please," she hissed, seeing her computer neighbour look up, eyes wide as she spotted the cuffs.
"I believe in what you think you're doing, Maggie. But if you're going to come out of the other side of this with your reputation in any kind of piece..." He pulled her away from the computer, took her bag from her hand and placed it down on the table beside them. She thought about running, pushing past him and bolting for the doors, but the cuffs were already around her wrists - as gently as a rough thing could be done. "Some day you'll thank me for doing this," he muttered. She hoped he was right.
0
He took her to the New York office and delivered her straight to an interview room, bypassing booking in and ignoring every question and comment spoken to him on the way. He shut the door, leaving her on her own with her hands cuffed in front of her and her bag out of reach. Not that she would have been able to do anything more, even if she'd have had Parker's lockpicks, or the little blade, or the tube of plastic explosive. She had spare cash in the bottom of one shoe, a generic ID card and false identity card in the other, but they weren't going to do her any good here. All they would do is make her look more guilty.
There were raised voices outside the door - muffled by soundproofing beyond identifying James' voice and one other. James sounded firm and confident, the other voice louder and sharper.
Straining to catch the conversation, she jumped as the door clicked up and James stepped back inside, followed by another man - sharply dressed, with a severe haircut and square glasses.
"This is Agent-In-Charge Murphy," James introduced, moving in to unlock her cuffs. She resisted the urge to rub at her wrists as the weight was removed, and placed her hands demurely in her lap, as if this meeting had been her idea all along. "As a confidential informant, you do not have to talk to him or any other Agent in the building. In fact," James grinned, his back to the other Agent, "I'd suggest you don't talk to anyone. I don't want my case being interfered with. They are not to know your name, or to research you in any way."
It shouldn't have been a surprise that James was *good* at this. Between them, Nate's friends had always managed to make 'Sterling' sound bumbling and clumsy in his new position. Yet all his skills, all his competencies lent him to this job. She cared for him a great deal she remembered all of a sudden, but dare she try to continue her work under Interpol's very nose?
Murphy shouldered forwards, a manila folder in hand. "You will be offered accommodation and workspace. You are not to leave the building or to try and extract information, help, or illegal materials from any of my staff. Your internet access will be monitored for illegal activities and contact with individuals constituting our 'wanted' lists. Do you understand?"
Maggie glanced at James, at the triumphant look on his face, and nodded silently.
"You will be required to sign documentation to that effect." The folder was laid out on the table. "If you chose to leave these premises, all protection afforded to you by this Agency will be voided. If we feel you are in danger here, you will be moved to a more secure location. If you break any of the guidelines laid out, you will be held accountable in a court of law."
Maggie trembled for a moment, considering the remains of her life, her *freedom* flowing away from her. The walls of the interview room felt as if they were slowly collapsing inwards, and she wished vaguely for a safe place to sleep. To stop. Just for one night. She'd been naive once upon a time. Parker had called her adorable.
She could do this, because Parker couldn't. Nate, Sophie, Eliot, Alec... None of them could. They couldn't hack or steal or grift or force their way out of this. But it was alright. Because they had her.
She pulled the folder towards her, and signed on the dotted line.
0
It had been stupid to think she could pull this off alone. Nate's confidence, Sophie's confidence... they'd all been so *sure* of her. But even with all of James' - of Interpol's - resources in hand, there had been one last thing that she'd needed. One last piece of information sitting there just out of reach.
She was exhausted, her fingernails chewed to the quick, barely sleeping in between the obsessive work hours she maintained. And now... to come to this in the end.
She'd paced the tiny room she'd been assigned, wall to wall until she'd turned dizzy, returning each time to stare at the address she'd scribbled down. It wasn't even far, barely twenty minutes by foot.
The team had barely had eleven hours in the city - they hadn't even made it to the warehouse where their equipment was stored - before they'd been chased out again. No injuries this time, thank God, and they'd made a check in with her from the border safehouse. They had been simultaneously relieved, given her abrupt cut off the day before, and horrified that she was in Interpol's custody. Hardison's software seemed to be keeping Interpol from noticing their communications, though every time she logged in she feared the worst.
She checked the time and logged on to the chat website, hoping the communication would give her the courage she needed. The team should be back in Parker's Canadian safehouse by now - better equipped than Eliot's bolt-hole on the border, and more comfortable for their injured. The first few times they'd made forays back into the city they'd left Eliot, Parker and Archie there, Quinn in a hospital nearby. The thought of those first few weeks left knots in Maggie's stomach.
Maggie, the text popped up as the page finished loading, and she welcomed the distraction. Are you safe?
Eliot then, she suppressed a smile.
How's the knee? She typed out, wishing for a real conversation, needing to hear another voice.
Don't evade the question, came back after a moment, and Maggie wondered if Eliot was a slow typist or if he'd considered answering.
I'm still enjoying James' hospitality, she replied, knowing what Eliot was actually asking. His AIC seems to be waiting for me to declare my terrorist intentions or google-search bomb making techniques or the like. James is putting a lot on the line to help us.
He's putting the promotion he'll get if he can bring in his eight lead suspects with something to pin the bombing to us, Eliot replied, and Maggie could almost hear the terse growl in the typed words.
I'm close to finishing this, Eliot. Really close.
There was a hesitation. Maggie, it's Nate. Do you need us there? I can get everyone moving, we can be with you by eight.
No I... Maggie started typing, and hesitated. She deleted it from the screen and changed it to- We need to be sure this is going to work before you come out of hiding. And I need to get something from the lawyers. The last thing.
You're under house arrest, there's no way you won't be noticed. We can get there tomorrow, Parker can get whatever you need.
They'll recognise her straight off, Nate. Is her wrist even out of the cast? I'm the only one they didn't get a picture of - that's why I'm doing this for you. All we need is that file, and I can prove you didn't do this. We can prove you were victims.
Another long hesitation, and Maggie wondered what argument was going on, on the other end of her screen. If you do this and you get caught, you'll be tied to us. Marked as a terrorist. If it's not the officials who catch you, they're going to hurt you to get to us. We're packing up now, Maggie, we'll head to the safehouse tonight and cross the border first thing. Please wait, I don't want you hurt.
Believe me, it's not my intention to get hurt, she replied.
We're heading out now. We'll be available in four hours or so - I'll get someone to check in with you. Wait as long as you can before setting out, understand?
0
The head office for Wolfram and Hart in New York was an imposing building, with tall reflective windows and an austere feel. Maggie had left the Interpol building with the midday lunch rush, practising the air of confidence that Sophie was always talking about and resisting the urge to chant 'I belong here' under her breath.
No one gave her a second glance then, nor when she stepped into the lobby of the lawyers’ offices.
It was pristine and spacious inside, a huge gaping maw of space that she would have to cross, following the directions Eliot had laid out for her weeks ago 'just in case'. She'd never expected to be here alone, she'd never thought any of this would fall on her shoulders.
She threw her shoulders back, and let her heels and her suit mark her as one of the crowd here. The lunchtime rush wasn't as hurried here as in the Interpol office, whether because the lawyers had more time or less she wasn't sure. Her heels had felt noisy in the Interpol lobby, but they blended here.
She made it into the corridors beyond the lobby, didn't let herself hesitate as she followed memorised turns. She hadn't asked Eliot how he knew the layout to a lawyer's head quarters, he'd only have lied to her, and she hadn't been in the mood. She pulled out her phone as she stood just beyond the doors marked 'archive', miming tapping away at something as she pushed through the door with her shoulder. She thrust a record request at the bored looking man behind the desk, not risking more than a glance at him.
The file she needed wasn't restricted - it had no need to be, really; the only people it mattered to were the corporation who had paid for it and Nate's people, who would be even now crossing the border. Hardison had provided the request form, hacked from an old archive server with barely any protection against modern techniques. For such an innocuous file, this shouldn't raise any flags.
"You realise you're using an old version of this form, right?" the archivist asked, disappearing into the room beyond his little portal. "You should be using A2RF03. This is '01 - way out of date," he continued from inside the archive room.
A box file thudded down on the desk in front of her, and Maggie met his gaze, practising bored-and-too-important-for-this-conversation, ignoring the rolling nausea pulling at her stomach.
"Just..." the archivist pressed on, looking a little cowed. "Wherever you got this form from, throw the rest out and replace them with the updated form, right?" The boxfile was pushed towards her and a clipboard clattered on top. "Sign here."
Maggie scribbled something vague in the signature box, printed the alias she'd filled in on the form and took the file, her heart hammering.
"Twenty-four hour sign-out," the archivist reminded, tapping the notice on the top of the form she'd signed. "And don't forget to replace those forms!" She was already walking back down the hall, and the closing door cut off his raised voice.
Twenty-four hours. She breathed deeply as she stepped outside. In twenty-four hours, all of this could be over. She had the last of the evidence in her hands, she just needed to pull it all together and get it to Detective Bonanno. A timeline, all the culprits, the witnesses who'd been paid off, the lawyers who had protected them all, the list of victims.
Tomorrow, she could have her life back. Tomorrow, she would have a *life*.
The jubilation lasted until the moment she stepped into the street facing the Interpol office to find Agent Murphy waiting.
0
Aiding and abetting, criminal conspiracy, terrorism, treason... Murphy was on a roll as he listed all her charges, wielding the folder she'd taken from Wolfram and Hart. Agents had closed around her from down the street and cordoned off any avenue of retreat. James stepped up beside his AIC, handcuffs in hand, and any hope Maggie might have held in reserve crumbled away.
She watched as he handed over the handcuffs - a subtle exchange leaving James holding the folder. He opened the plain manila cover and his face was split by a grin. Maggie's heart sank further, defying her expectations.
All that effort. Months of work. And James had something in his hands right now that he could just as easily be turned against Nate as in his favour. Whichever way he turned, Maggie was about to go to prison for enough crimes to make her accuser blue in the face.
The cuffs snapped shut around her wrists and the agents closed formation as Murphy started to lead her towards a prisoner transport van.
Practice kept her silent, not asking where she was being taken or demanding they let her walk on her own, not led like some kind of fugitive. James stayed at her shoulder as she stepped up into the van's hold, apparently taking over from Murphy as he waved the other agents away. She settled into a seat and let the rush of fading adrenaline take her senses for a moment.
The van was in motion when she came back to herself, her mind a muzzy blank. James gave her a concerned look. Perhaps he'd looked that worried all along, and she hadn't noticed. He sat forwards, elbows on knees, rucking his suit unflatteringly.
"We have fifteen minutes, Maggie. You need to tell me everything. I can still get you out of this."
He sounded so eager. So honest. She turned her head to face the wall that separated them from the drivers.
"Damnit, Maggie. What more is it going to take for you to give that man... give that *menace* up? I have the file. All your notes from the room. I can put this together myself, but it might be too late for you."
The tears took her by surprise, and she wiped at them with frustration. She'd been so close. She could have saved them. She wasn't going to be able to do anything from prison.
The truck made a whining noise over the sound of the engine, and staggered to an uneven stop, almost unseating the both of them. There were notes of confusion in the voices from the cab, then shouts and muffled thumps.
James growled out a vitriol-filled - "Spencer" and stood. The van's rear doors blew outwards even as he started to pull his weapon, framing Nate like an avenging angel.
"Maggie, are you hurt?" he demanded from the road, not giving James' gun a second glance.
"No," she replied unconvincingly, rubbing at the tear-tracks on her face.
"Is she crying?" Eliot's voice filtered through from outside, Nate was almost pushed aside as he leaned around the doors to repeat; "Are you crying?" His voice sounded on the verge of pure fury, and Maggie could see James' flinch.
"No, Eliot. I'm alright. But Nate... the evidence is all back at..."
"It's all right here," James interrupted her, his hands held up peaceably, the gun already re-holstered. Never let it be said James Sterling doesn't know which way the wind's blowing. "I have it here, Maggie. And if you can all tell me exactly what's going on, I think we can sort this out."
0
The road was quiet, the few cars that did pass not taking any notice of the prisoner transport and the two police cars that framed it, lights flashing. The driver and the escort were lying unconscious on verge beside their van, effectively concealed.
"Maggie," Nate's voice was soft, apologetic, as he looked over her ruined nails and plaster-covered fingers.
The sheer relief had Maggie laughing, exuberant and bolstered by adrenaline that was already fading. She staggered out of the van, falling into first Parker's over-excited hug, and then Hardison's. She had a change to take a deep breath as Sophie pulled her forward and held her hands between her own for a moment or two, before pulling her into a hug of her own. Eliot was stood at the edge of her vision, still scanning their surroundings carefully, but reassuring her with relaxed shoulders and easy hands. He glanced back at her with each surveying sweet - as though she was part of what he needed to keep safe.
Archie and Chaos were flanking a very pale Quinn, all three of them new faces to Maggie, but she'd come to think of them as part of this strange family unit. They jostled and shuffled until they were sat on the edge of the prisoner transport van; Quinn's injuries were obscured by the police uniform he had acquired from somewhere - probably the same place they'd picked up the two police cars - but Quinn trying and failing to hide his reliance on Chaos' shoulder for support.
Sure that everyone was here, safe, alive, and that everything she'd fought so hard for was finally done, Maggie turned and took the few steps to close the gap to Nate, pulling him into a hug.
"We're alright," she said, her voice faint. "We're all alright."
James was standing stiffly beside the rear police car, visible over Nate's shoulder.
"You get this one, Nate," James said clearly, as Maggie released Nate and stepped away. He was projecting his voice, making sure everyone could hear him. "Because Maggie was involved, and she still thinks you're innocent, even if no one else does." He held up one finger, a warning. "Just this one, mind."
"So we're not going to mention the evidence you now have, which you needed to bring in a major criminal organisation?" Nate said, sporting a devil-may-care grin. He looked tired - they all looked tired, Maggie realised. She moved to stand with Hardison and Parker, letting Parker hold her hand and Hardison wrap a protective arm around her shoulder, relishing the close physical contact.
"Don't push this, Nate." James took several steps back to stand beside the lead police car and pointedly turned his back. He didn't see the look Eliot gave Nate, but he added- "Touch me, Spencer, and I'll have your hide on the most wanted list of every country in the known world."
Quinn was manoeuvred into the cab of the prisoner transport with Archie and Chaos, Parker and Hardison leaving Maggie with Sophie as they jumped into the back and pulled away. Maggie was hustled between Sophie and Eliot into the back of the police car, and Nate took his place behind the wheel.
Together, Leverage and Associates disappeared back into the ether.