Angst: Train: "Tangled Humanity" (PG13)
Title: Tangled Humanity.
Author: Keenir
Pairing/Characters: Megan Reeves, Larry Fleinhart, Megan/Larry.
Rating/Category: PG-13 / Angst
Spoilers: Seasons 3 (for Megan) and season 5 (for Charlie and Larry)
Summary: Megan's life in the near future is about to be thrown into turmoil, and she'll have to chose.
Notes/Warnings: This story takes place a year, maybe two, after the events of ‘Trouble in Chinatown’ and the episode with the sneakers.
This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff. After you’ve read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located here. (Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you’re done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you!
Author’s note: this fic started out with the intention of having Megan’s contemplation be the bulk of it, and a brief opening segue to introduce what’d happened…but then things intervened.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘If people do not realize that mathematics is simple, it is only because they do not realize how complicated life is.’ --John von Neumann.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The trick was to connect the dots. Megan could do that, had known how to do that long before she’d ever met Charlie. Right now, she was looking at what had been connected to a Eastern Seaboard money launderer operating on the coastal rail network, with the biggest dot having the name Mrs. Maria Y.
The computers could draw lines between dots most people wouldn’t have even considered, but at the end of the day, you still needed people connecting the dots. You needed people, real, living, breathing, thinking people to follow what paths those connections give you. And you needed people to distinguish between the trivial similarities and the vital similarities - and people to tell when the trivial becomes the vital. And that was a set of somethings that Agent Megan Reeves was good at.
“Nothing in her banking or library stocks,” said her partner Geoff Wen-Thomas, whose parents had been ex-pat immigrants. Stocks - the files, footage, and all records, pouring over every connection. “Our Mrs. Y’s a very tidy lady.”
Megan nodded as she watched her monitor’s footage. And there it was: Mrs. Y having coffee in a bookstore with one of InterPol’s Persons Of Interest right next to her. “Could be nothing,” Megan said as they grabbed their jackets and headed for the door. Sometimes coincidence was just that, a coincidence; and sometimes it wasn’t coincidence at all.
“We’ll see,” Geoff said, his counterpoint as oft-said as hers was.
~~~~~
Two Weeks Later:
“Got a visitor, Reeves,” Agent van Ries said, stopping at her cubicle. “You’ll want to go with her, Wen.” As the two put their work on pause to stand up, van Ries added, “Not the visitor’s area or outside - behind bars.”
Megan didn’t let her frown show. “Who’s my guest?”
“Says he’s a friend of yours. I didn’t look him up.”
“Thanks,” Geoff said, aptly expressing his and her feeling about van Ries.
“No prob,” heading back to work.
Things had changed between the time she’d retired and when she’d been brought back on board, and Megan could see Charlie’s hand in it - who else could have created an equation that some punters were calling ‘a shining road to pre-crime departments.’ A way to catch criminals before anyone got hurt.
It was like the letter X: Megan doubted the Roman scribe who came up with it, in any way anticipated that, in the future, not only would it be a synonym for ‘Girls Girls Girls,’ but also would have so many different pronounciations that nobody would be able to agree on just what “x” sounds like.
It hadn’t made Charlie into a household name - Megan had returned from vacation after the bigger part of the clamor had settled - but she figured that the FBI was keeping names like his close to the chest.
A chest that she was back to guarding.
~
Megan slumped into her cubicle’s chair, feeling every inch the state of her mind: the neat, orderly, careful series of cars…all front-ended and buckled against one another, half of them tipped right off the tracks. “Larry,” she mouthed, having just seen him downstairs, seen him behind bars.
A few keystrokes brought up his file. It wasn’t just who knows who that the program sorted, but the equally-important questions of who knows what and who does what. And Megan’s eyes skimmed over the list of what had flagged Larry Fleinhart as dangerous to know, she noted with regret that he’d hit nearly all the high points:
He had contacts in both the scientific, mathematical and religious communities; he disseminated lies, one of which Megan knew wasn’t on file (that the quipu was Aztec); he’d gone into space, which for a civilian was a noteworthy event worth indicating on any file. Individually, next to nothing; collectively, it set off alarms.
Regional Director Quest. “Come in,” he said when she knocked on his door. “Have a seat, Agent Reeves,” he offered, which she accepted for politeness’ sake. “You’re here about Mr. Fleinhart, I take it?”
She nodded. Charlie was nothing if not good and efficient - so she already knew that there was a dot with her name on it, connected to Larry’s network of activities and associates.
“There is one way,” Quest said, “to make this all go away,” and pushed the file across the desk. “Sign it.”
Within Megan there was a sense of grim triumph at hand - being proven right about her opinion of him - and being none too happy about it: Quest was asking for her resignation. Connections worked both ways - she was too valuable as an agent for her to be let go, and her skill set made her too hazardous to cut loose. Somebody had pulled for her to be brought back aboard, and nobody could fire her…not without brimstone raining down from above.
“What happens to me when I do? Or to Mr. Fleinhart?”
“You take him with you, I daresay,” Quest said. “There’s a number of countries the two of you could disappear in.”
“Disappear?”
“Well, plausibly. Taiwan and Saudi Arabia are both in the market for experts to get their systems up to date.” He knew that Megan knew that the systems in question were the Charlie-made programs, gifts from the US to friendly governments.
“I’d be a teacher,” Megan said flatly.
“Yes, awfully 19th century, I know,” Quest said, actually sounding like he sympathized. “But what can we do? You want to help your friend, and my hands are tied.”
“Then untie them.”
“Sign,” he said, no sympathy. “Anywhere on the Safe List, you can move there.”
“Why do I have to move?” Megan asked, pressing.
“I thought it would be expedient - though if you really think your friend downstairs would start anew all alone in a new country, go right ahead and say so.”
Megan said nothing.
Rather than crow about it - Quest knew that Megan was the type to mull things over - he said, “Give it a few days. You and Wen-Thomas need a break after you cracked that Davidson case, so go home and think it over while you relax.” And, to sweeten the pot, “Sign Fleinhart out of custody if you like, if he’ll help you decide any.
“Dismissed.”
I’ve already decided, Megan knew. But I’ll be damned if I give you the satisfaction of getting an answer this soon.
Larry’s my friend, was more - might or might not be more again - to me. Charlie’s program tracks friendships and everything else, true. But I won’t abandon Larry to the cold logic of inference-based arrest. My train’s already derailed, may as well use the situation to get a good friend out of hot water. She knew that, if she did that, took the resignation, she’d never get another job with any Federal, state, or local government agency - employment and lifestyle curtailed severely. Larry would be both appreciative that she’d helped him, and furious (for Larry) that she’d so badly damage her own future.
Would Larry want her to fall on her sword for him? Or would he prefer to fall on his sword so she wouldn’t have to?
She left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Either the man is guilty or else there is no compensation which is adequate for the greater wrong which this country, through its officials, has inflicted upon him.’ --A.C.Doyle, on the Edalji affair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author: Keenir
Pairing/Characters: Megan Reeves, Larry Fleinhart, Megan/Larry.
Rating/Category: PG-13 / Angst
Spoilers: Seasons 3 (for Megan) and season 5 (for Charlie and Larry)
Summary: Megan's life in the near future is about to be thrown into turmoil, and she'll have to chose.
Notes/Warnings: This story takes place a year, maybe two, after the events of ‘Trouble in Chinatown’ and the episode with the sneakers.
This fic was written for the Angst vs Schmoop Challenge at numb3rswriteoff. After you’ve read the fic, please rate it by voting in the poll located here. (Your vote will be anonymous.) Rate the fic on a scale of 1 - 10 (10 being the best) using the following criteria: how well the fic fit the prompt, how angsty the fic was, and how well you enjoyed the fic. When you’re done, please check out the other challenge fic at numb3rswriteoff. Thank you!
Author’s note: this fic started out with the intention of having Megan’s contemplation be the bulk of it, and a brief opening segue to introduce what’d happened…but then things intervened.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘If people do not realize that mathematics is simple, it is only because they do not realize how complicated life is.’ --John von Neumann.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The trick was to connect the dots. Megan could do that, had known how to do that long before she’d ever met Charlie. Right now, she was looking at what had been connected to a Eastern Seaboard money launderer operating on the coastal rail network, with the biggest dot having the name Mrs. Maria Y.
The computers could draw lines between dots most people wouldn’t have even considered, but at the end of the day, you still needed people connecting the dots. You needed people, real, living, breathing, thinking people to follow what paths those connections give you. And you needed people to distinguish between the trivial similarities and the vital similarities - and people to tell when the trivial becomes the vital. And that was a set of somethings that Agent Megan Reeves was good at.
“Nothing in her banking or library stocks,” said her partner Geoff Wen-Thomas, whose parents had been ex-pat immigrants. Stocks - the files, footage, and all records, pouring over every connection. “Our Mrs. Y’s a very tidy lady.”
Megan nodded as she watched her monitor’s footage. And there it was: Mrs. Y having coffee in a bookstore with one of InterPol’s Persons Of Interest right next to her. “Could be nothing,” Megan said as they grabbed their jackets and headed for the door. Sometimes coincidence was just that, a coincidence; and sometimes it wasn’t coincidence at all.
“We’ll see,” Geoff said, his counterpoint as oft-said as hers was.
~~~~~
Two Weeks Later:
“Got a visitor, Reeves,” Agent van Ries said, stopping at her cubicle. “You’ll want to go with her, Wen.” As the two put their work on pause to stand up, van Ries added, “Not the visitor’s area or outside - behind bars.”
Megan didn’t let her frown show. “Who’s my guest?”
“Says he’s a friend of yours. I didn’t look him up.”
“Thanks,” Geoff said, aptly expressing his and her feeling about van Ries.
“No prob,” heading back to work.
Things had changed between the time she’d retired and when she’d been brought back on board, and Megan could see Charlie’s hand in it - who else could have created an equation that some punters were calling ‘a shining road to pre-crime departments.’ A way to catch criminals before anyone got hurt.
It was like the letter X: Megan doubted the Roman scribe who came up with it, in any way anticipated that, in the future, not only would it be a synonym for ‘Girls Girls Girls,’ but also would have so many different pronounciations that nobody would be able to agree on just what “x” sounds like.
It hadn’t made Charlie into a household name - Megan had returned from vacation after the bigger part of the clamor had settled - but she figured that the FBI was keeping names like his close to the chest.
A chest that she was back to guarding.
~
Megan slumped into her cubicle’s chair, feeling every inch the state of her mind: the neat, orderly, careful series of cars…all front-ended and buckled against one another, half of them tipped right off the tracks. “Larry,” she mouthed, having just seen him downstairs, seen him behind bars.
A few keystrokes brought up his file. It wasn’t just who knows who that the program sorted, but the equally-important questions of who knows what and who does what. And Megan’s eyes skimmed over the list of what had flagged Larry Fleinhart as dangerous to know, she noted with regret that he’d hit nearly all the high points:
He had contacts in both the scientific, mathematical and religious communities; he disseminated lies, one of which Megan knew wasn’t on file (that the quipu was Aztec); he’d gone into space, which for a civilian was a noteworthy event worth indicating on any file. Individually, next to nothing; collectively, it set off alarms.
Regional Director Quest. “Come in,” he said when she knocked on his door. “Have a seat, Agent Reeves,” he offered, which she accepted for politeness’ sake. “You’re here about Mr. Fleinhart, I take it?”
She nodded. Charlie was nothing if not good and efficient - so she already knew that there was a dot with her name on it, connected to Larry’s network of activities and associates.
“There is one way,” Quest said, “to make this all go away,” and pushed the file across the desk. “Sign it.”
Within Megan there was a sense of grim triumph at hand - being proven right about her opinion of him - and being none too happy about it: Quest was asking for her resignation. Connections worked both ways - she was too valuable as an agent for her to be let go, and her skill set made her too hazardous to cut loose. Somebody had pulled for her to be brought back aboard, and nobody could fire her…not without brimstone raining down from above.
“What happens to me when I do? Or to Mr. Fleinhart?”
“You take him with you, I daresay,” Quest said. “There’s a number of countries the two of you could disappear in.”
“Disappear?”
“Well, plausibly. Taiwan and Saudi Arabia are both in the market for experts to get their systems up to date.” He knew that Megan knew that the systems in question were the Charlie-made programs, gifts from the US to friendly governments.
“I’d be a teacher,” Megan said flatly.
“Yes, awfully 19th century, I know,” Quest said, actually sounding like he sympathized. “But what can we do? You want to help your friend, and my hands are tied.”
“Then untie them.”
“Sign,” he said, no sympathy. “Anywhere on the Safe List, you can move there.”
“Why do I have to move?” Megan asked, pressing.
“I thought it would be expedient - though if you really think your friend downstairs would start anew all alone in a new country, go right ahead and say so.”
Megan said nothing.
Rather than crow about it - Quest knew that Megan was the type to mull things over - he said, “Give it a few days. You and Wen-Thomas need a break after you cracked that Davidson case, so go home and think it over while you relax.” And, to sweeten the pot, “Sign Fleinhart out of custody if you like, if he’ll help you decide any.
“Dismissed.”
I’ve already decided, Megan knew. But I’ll be damned if I give you the satisfaction of getting an answer this soon.
Larry’s my friend, was more - might or might not be more again - to me. Charlie’s program tracks friendships and everything else, true. But I won’t abandon Larry to the cold logic of inference-based arrest. My train’s already derailed, may as well use the situation to get a good friend out of hot water. She knew that, if she did that, took the resignation, she’d never get another job with any Federal, state, or local government agency - employment and lifestyle curtailed severely. Larry would be both appreciative that she’d helped him, and furious (for Larry) that she’d so badly damage her own future.
Would Larry want her to fall on her sword for him? Or would he prefer to fall on his sword so she wouldn’t have to?
She left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Either the man is guilty or else there is no compensation which is adequate for the greater wrong which this country, through its officials, has inflicted upon him.’ --A.C.Doyle, on the Edalji affair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~