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Chapter Text

AU in Which Carrie & Peter got together after the events of Islamabad; assumes no bump-stock ban in Virginia. Carrie & Peter are married, Frannie is 15.
14 years post Islamabad.

It was just like any other day in Virginia in September. The sun was shining intensely through the sky. The trees were turning brown, red and orange. She was running late, but that was nothing new.

Like a whirlwind, she ran through the doors at The Langley School, down the corridor and to her classroom. A fiery explosion of red hair trailing behind her, getting trapped in the fast shutting door.

“Miss Matheson,” the Physics teacher said acerbically, “what sort of time do you call this?”

“Sorry Sir,” Franny Matheson breathlessly said as she opened and re-shut the door getting her hair out of it. “Mum had to go airport this morning.”

She sat down at the seat. Physics class carried on around her. She was there in body, but not really in spirit. She rolled her shoulders back. Christ alive she ached. Dad had been off yesterday, a rare mid-week day off because he had annual leave left to take. Her and Dad ended up staying up super late last night while mum had her pre-trip work meetings and packed, they’d gone to the range straight after school, she’d hit her new best; ¼ inch at 50 yards and her first 1300 yard target. She'd make nationals for shooting this year in the ULD category if she kept it up. They’d gone home, had dinner with mum- ribs and coleslaw on the grill for her and dad, some weird veggie shit for mum, and then her and Dad had gone back out. This time they ran to the gym and sparred Krav Maga until they’d burned off all of the energy and then they’d run home. They’d got home, and mum was packed, chilling in the garden. Drinking a glass of low-alcohol white wine watching the sun gone down. They’d sat in silence for a bit, just enjoying the sound of crickets and late

She laughed now thinking about the arguments her, mum and dad had had over the shooting range. Mad really, 2 ex-spies not wanting their kid to be able to shoot. She’d first asked to go aged 7. She’d begged actually. Mum had point blank said no, but she remembered Dad looking wistful. He’d started teaching her to fish that summer at the lake, and he really wanted to be able to take her hunting, even then she could tell. And she really wanted to go hunting. Not that she really knew what hunting was then, but she loved catching fish with dad, and she assumed with seven year old logic it was basically the same thing. Catch a fish, catch a rabbit. Skin it, cook it over the fire. Spend the day with Dad. Magic. Best day ever. He was an open book.

Mum had told her she could go when she was a big girl, so she asked to have her 8th birthday party there. Mum had said no, and she had thrown an eight year old tantrum. She calmed down and by the time Dad came back from work, she’d remembered that he’d been slightly less of a firm no before. And sidled up to him, jumped into his arms.
“Daddy, can I have my birthday party at the range.”

Thankfully for Peter, he’d looked up just to see Carrie throw a glare at him, and say “Honey, I already told you no.”

“But muuuuummmm. You said I could go when I was older. I am older. It’s not fair.”

Dad had kissed her hair, and put her down.

“Red, it’s late and you need to go to bed. I promise you, you will have the best Birthday party ever ok.”

Frannie had stood there, looking at her dads face. She hadn’t been convinced she would have it at the range, in that moment, but she’d gone to bed anyway.

She didn’t have her Birthday at the range, she’d had it at the Smithsonian Museum. There’d been all kinds of gross stuff, and it was awesome. And dinosaurs. She’d wandered around with her best friends, James and Lucia, and hadn’t remembered being disappointed. They’d gone out for dinner afterwards, and she was allowed double helpings of waffles. It wasn’t until she got home that she was presented with her card from dad though.

Inside was a little note.

“One ticket for a gun lesson from Daddy; use at the lake.”

She’d jumped up and down in glee on the sofa.

To this day, she never knew how Dad had won the argument. She assumed it was some well-reasoned argument that no matter how much peace they wanted in their lives, they had to be realistic. They’d made enemies all across the world. They didn’t travel out of the US really for this reason, but even then, they lived in Virginia. No state permits required for long-guns or hand guns. Christ you could even still buy bump stocks for your AR-15.

That weekend she’d never forgotten. It was pretty cool, having 2 ex-spies as your parents. Ex-spies who’d left alive, one joining the Police as an officer who could have gone anywhere but who stepped sideways into Hostage Negotiation because he “wanted to do something good.” Another who was currently running security for the international Red Cross mission in the DRC. Blimey, she thought. My Parents are pretty badass. She knew it hadn’t all been beds of roses. Mum had been in hospital a few times when she was younger with her condition, coped pretty badly every June, the anniversary of when things had gone so “tits-up” in Islamabad. Dad had been in hospital a few times in the early years too. It had taken him a while of just floating around before he had joined the police, and in those early years she’d remembered him zoning out and crazy inconvenient times. Once, when she was five, they’d been out having a breakfast. A sign blew over with a loud bang, and he’d jumped under the table, pulling her under and covering her with his body. It had taken mum about 20 minutes to convince him to let her go, and she’d checked him into a hospital shortly after. He’d spent most of the year that she was six in Outpatient Psychiatry for his PTSD before something had happened, and he signed up for the police the year she turned seven.

The bell rang for assembly, and she started packing away her notebook and followed her class out chatting with her friends.

“Guess who shot 1300 yards last night ladies,” she said as they got out the door, smile on her face.

“Holy shit,” Francesca said, “are you trying out for the next Annie Oakley or something!?”

They smiled, laughed and giggled until they were nearly in the hall.

Then she heard the unmistakable sound of Automatic Rifle Fire and Screaming.

Fuck.

She was in the worst part of the school for exits. A 300m long corridor on the second floor, no exits from the classrooms. Miles away from the fire escapes. Just classrooms either side.

She had no idea where the shooter(s) were or how many.

People in the corridor were screaming now, trying to run.

She ducked down low, into the gap between the lockers, dragging her friends to the floor with her, knowing that gun fire with an automatic rifle from an inexperienced shooter would likely be somewhere around head or chest height. God she hoped it was an inexperienced shooter.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. There were still scream, and people running both ways in the corridor.

“Fran, we have to go,” Francesca said.

“No, we’re miles from an exit.” She responded firmly. She’d gone over this with dad a million times. Thank fuck for his Paranoia. Inside her heart was fluttering, her two girlfriends were shaking. Francesca had tears rolling down her face.

She pressed her thumb to the unlock screen, and had time to press her last called number, Dad, knowing it would connect without the annoying “999 what’s your emergency.”

“Dad, be quiet. There’s someone with a gun at school,” she whispered.

“What?” was all she heard, but she didn’t have time to respond. She quickly put the phone in her pocket, because all she could see standing at the head of the corridor was the towering figure James’ friend Adam, AR-15 in his hand, two hand guns out his waist belt. It didn’t surprise her, she had known for a while Adam was a loose cannon.

“I think it’s time for assembly,” he said. He laughed manically. No one still left in the corridor moved.

He pointed his AR-15 at the ceiling and discharged it for a few seconds. Frannie could have sworn that 40 empty shell casings popped out to the side.

It was like everyone was glued to the floor. She looked around.

“Adam, stop shooting, we’ll move.” She said firmly. Inside she was screaming. The weapon lowered, then all of a sudden it was pointed directly at her, but just out of her reach. Fuck.

She'd never told anyone about her and dads Krav Maga sessions. Dad told her not to, very seriously, the day she started 3 years ago.

"The best defence is offence, and its easier to go on the offensive if no one expects it."

She was glad she listened then.

“I’m not shooting, MOVE. Everyone MOVE if you don’t want her to die” He screamed. Frannie stood up, shaking.

“It’s ok, I’m moving.” She said, trying to reassure him.

Christ. The corridor was really long, she thought, as she paced down it. Like a tunnel. The autumn sunshine was shining through the window at the end. Some dark parody this is. It’s just like they say, she thought. This dying business. Light at the end of the tunnel.

She walked through the door, down the stairs, the rest of the individuals caught in that corridor in front of her. She noticed the fire door almost wistfully as she walked past it. Marched past it. Frogmarched past it. She opened the door, to see most of the rest of the school in assembly. Fearful faces, Some with blood on them. Kind Mrs James, the little old dinner lady holding a hand to her stomach, which was profusley bleeding, her face grey. Little eleven year olds crying. Teachers crying. It was the first time she’d truly smelt it, that smell of fear, and she wondered if this is how her Mum and Dad had felt in Islamabad. She felt a pang of sympathy for them, so painful it almost hurt her. It was only then she noticed two more shooters, both holding AR-15’s and hand guns. Bump stocks on both AR-15s. But it was who the shooters were that hurt her more.
James and Lucia.

Her best friends. For years. Sure they’d drifted apart. But she still was friends with them. Trembling she sat down on the floor.

Adam moved the weapon away from her.

“If anyone moves an inch, you all die.” He screamed.

By this time, the streets near the Langley School were a blaze with blue lights, vehicles rushing to the scene. Inside one Police Car, was Police Captain Peter Quinn, head of Hostage Negotiation for Virginia State. A man who just wanted to do some good after so long of doing bad. A man who was crumbling inside.
This was like Islamabad, but worse.

In Islamabad, it hadn’t been his little girl. It hadn’t been his Frannie Matheson being held hostage.

Chapter Text

Frannies hand was shaking. She looked up to the huge clock on the wall that she’d stared at so many times during assembly, counting down the minutes until it was over and she could be outside. She never thought she’d die in here.

Scratch that, Frannie Mathieson, she thought to herself angrily. If you think you’re going to die in here, you will die.

Minutes ticked by.

There was moaning all around the room. Poor Mrs James was grey now, Frannie could barely make out the action of her chest; up and down, up and down. One of the older boys; Thomas, was holding his shoulder, blood spilling down. There were sniffles, there were tears, phones were ringing, but no one was answering. Too scared to answer their phones, the people on the outside desperately trying to contact their friends on the inside. Sniffles, tears, but no one was talking, no one was screaming. Too scared.

No one was talking apart from the three individuals who were holding their AR15’s. They were arguing angrily, but Frannie tried to zone it out. She was trying desperately to concentrate on the sirens she could hear, tearing across the town. Daddy was coming. He’d turn out the whole of Virginia state police here if he had to.

Hold onto that Frannie, she thought. Hold onto that. He's coming to get you.

Frannie could see flashing lights through the glass now.

Minutes still ticked by. The tick, tick, tick of the second hand on the clock was almost unbearable.

Francesca was sat next to her, tears rolling down her face. Frannie spotted little Lauren, her reading buddy in 6th Grade. All around her carnage.

Whose missing Frannie? How many are here? She thought. Your phone is in your pocket. You left the line open, that's good. But You have to find a way to tell Dad. You have to think Frannie. He can get you out of here but only if you help. He needs your help Frannie. You're a team. Think! The voice in her head was almost shouting at her.

She scanned the hall. She counted 350 inside, give or take. Teachers, Students, Support staff. That’s good, she thought. 1300 made it out. We aren’t all going to die here. Think positive Frannie, she thought.

Still they were arguing. Frannie thought about listening in, but zoned out again. She knew SWAT would be surrounding the school any moment, trying to get eyes inside, and by the time they stopped she had to have a plan. Because Dad would expect her to phone, if she couldn’t he’d try the phone numbers of the other Police and CIA kids in here if he could keep himself together long enough. If not, he’d be behind the trigger of a rifle himself.

Think Frannie think. She heard feet on the roof. She saw dashes of black running past the window. She heard feet down the corridor behind the now barred fire doors.

Whats the plan red? You need a plan! Dads voice was playing in her head. Every stressful situation you need a plan. Take a minute to plan. Plan A. Plan B. Plan C. Why are they here? What do they want? What do they need? What do you need? What is urgent? What is less urgent?

Mums voice overplayed Dads. Mums merry laugh. Just wing it, Munchkin. You’ve got this. It’s like Saul told me in Islamabad, you can’t assume a rational actor. If the actor isn’t rational, all plans are out the window. You have to think on your feet and go with your gut instinct.

The feet outside stopped. Out the corner of her eye, through the glass window she could make out little figures in black at 400 yards. They wouldn’t have enough intel yet. No way would they have eyes on the shooter. They didn’t even know if it was one or multiple shooters yet. They didn’t know the weaponry. No way in apart from blasting the doors and the windows down. The roof panels didn’t come off so no way in from above. The walls and the doors were solid, likely pretty sound proof even with the noise amplifying technology Max and Virgil had shown her. Fuck. The design of this school is terrible , she thought.

Sorry Dad , she thought. I’m going with Mum on this one. I’m winging it Big breath Frannie, she said.

“Why are we still alive?” Frannie drawled loudly enough for her dad to hear her, trying to come across as more confident than she actually was. The noise crackled through Quinns Phone in the command Van. He jumped in surprise.

Fuck Frannie. You’re alive. Thank fuck. Just please, please please stop talking. Don’t draw attention to yourself . He thought.

Adam stormed towards her.

Frannie stayed sat down.

“That’s a bad idea Adam.” She said, with more confidence than she believed she could muster. She wanted desperatley to get up but she stayed sat down. "Let him think he's in control" her Mums voice played out . Firmly, Authoritatively.

“Tell me why it’s a bad idea you little Bitch,” he spat.

“Because sitting in the command van outside is my Dad, and while right now he’d let you walk out of here alive, you hurt me that’s going to change.” Quiet authority ran through her voice. “My dad’s a good man, but he’s a dangerous man. You don’t know his service record, but I do. What you do know though is he’s in command of 200 SWAT out there, and he’s the man who taught me everything I know about weaponry. And if he doesn’t hear from me soon, he’s going to blow this place apart to find me. He finds me hurt, he blows you apart. Then he hunts down your friends, your family. Anyone you care about, have ever cared about. His job won’t mean shit to him. Prison won’t mean shit to him. Hell, even Mum won’t even mean shit to him if I’m dead. Do you understand that?”

Outside, Quinn’s face was white. Fuck Frannie, out yourself as a HVT why don’t you, he thought. The deputy chief of Police had just arrived but Peter didn’t say anything to him, so focused was he on the little muffled voice coming out of his phone. He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“She’s getting out of this son, trust her.” He said

“SO PHONE HIM.” Adam screamed, clearly unhinged.

Frannie took a deep breath. She pulled her hand away from Francesca and sat on the both of them so Adam couldn’t see her hands shaking.

“Come on Frannie,” Peter whispered, almost audibly.

“We have no visual on the shooters, Sir. Repeat we have no visual on the shooters.” A voice crackled in over the radio.

“PHONE HIM.” Adam screamed, and Peter made out the unmistakable sound of the bolt being pulled back.

Courage Frannie , she told herself. Courage for your friends. Courage for your father.

“You want out of here alive Adam, otherwise we’d be dead already. And I won’t phone him until all three of you dump the bump stocks from your AR-15.”

“PHONE HIM” Adam screamed again.

“You start shooting, they have to come in Adam. All three of you with bump stocks, it will be a slaughter. But you will all die, and you want out of here alive. I know you do Adam. Otherwise you’d have run out and been shot by all those Police Officers already. I know James and Lucia want to live too. I don’t know what the fucks gone on, or why we are here. But you don’t have to die today Adam, not while I’m in here and my Dads out there. But you have to let me phone my Dad, and I don’t do that until there is no bump stock on that weapon. You’d still be able to shoot 45 rounds per minute if you aimed, you know that as well as I do. There’s what, 350 of us in here. You’d still have time to kill a huge number of us before they blew the doors down. The bump stock makes no difference to you, you know that. But it makes a difference to the Police Officers out there. Removing the bump stock saves lives Adam, and we have to start somewhere.”

Outside, Peter was listening to his daughter, trying breathe in every bit of courage that she’d magicked from god knows where. Furiously scribbling down the information that she was managing to feed him. Screaming out orders to people to move position to try and get vision inside the building.

“Come on man,” James said quietly, too quietly for the phone line in Frannies pocket to make out. All Quinn could here was silence. But James was bouncing from foot to foot.

“You never told me you were gunna kill anyone. She’s our ticket out of here alive, we gotta listen to her.”

Frannie was silent.

Adam looked into James eyes. Over to Lucia, who now Frannie noticed looked as terrified as the boys. Back to Frannie.

He pointed his AR-15 at little Lauren who was sat there, huge tears rolling down her face.

“Lucia, give her your rifle. You’re going to get rid of the bump stocks for us.” Frannies eyes widened when she realised she was being given one of the weapons. “Don’t even think about using that weapon, the moment you do it, the little girl dies.”

Lucia, trembling handed Frannie her weapon. She immediately went for her hand gun and shakily pointed it at another kid. Frannie immediately calculated she probably wouldn’t get a straight shot off with her hand shaking like that, and actually wondered for an instant if Lucia had ever shot a firearm before today. If Lucia had even managed to get a shot off with the recoil of the AR-15 being so violent.

“You don’t need to hurt anyone you know Adam, I want the bump stocks off these weapons, I’m not going to fuck it up.” Frannie said as she shakily reached forward picked it up and began removing the attachment. It didn’t take her long, before she switched the safety back on and handed it over to Lucia, wondering if she’d even realise the safety was on, whether the boys had just given her a loaded AR-15 and told her to get on with it.

“James, come on,” she said quietly as James just stood there. He paused for a second, knowing he was handing his weapon over to one of the most deadly shooters in the state.

“James, I don’t want to die here,” Lucia said quietly.

James handed it over. Frannie stripped his AR-15 of the bump stock too, and handed it back. Frannie stared at Adam for a second before he handed it over, pointing his handgun right by the ear of little Lauren who still hadn’t made a sound, but the smell of urine was almost overpowering. With her heart still pounding, Frannie stripped it too, and handed it back.

Frannie let out a breath. Survival was about odds. Daddy had told her that often enough when they’d been out in the Outback, fishing, hunting, skiing, climbing. Stack the odds in your favour whenever you can, and you’ll come out on top. Weather forecasts, avalanche courses. Even down to not putting body-spray on before a hunting trip. Odds. Numbers. Thats all the game is, the game of life. Its percentages, ratios, fractions. Numbers. 3 individuals with AR-15s with bump stocks attached was not good odds, not for the 350 of them. Even without the bump stocks, it still wasn’t great odds, but it was better.

Progress not perfection Frannie, and you've just made some progress , her mother’s voice rang out in her ear.

Then all of a sudden she had the horrific thought that her mother wouldn’t even know what was going down here at home. She’d be half-way across the Atlantic, unable to do anything.

“Now will you phone your fucking Dad, Bitch?” Adam said violently, his AR-15 back in his hands, in an active shooting position, and still poor little Lauren would be the first to get it.

She reached into her pocket. Hung up the active call to her Dad, and pressing redial. In an instant of inspiration, she pressed the video icon, and put the phone to her ear once she’d seen it connect, hoping her Dad would realise to look at his screen and not just pick up his phone and put it to his ear.

The phone was picked up less than a second after it connected.

“Hey Dad,” she said quietly.

“Hey Red,” her Dad said back quietly.

She couldn’t help herself, she burst into tears in relief when she heard her Dad’s nickname for her, and his quiet, firm reassuring voice.

Chapter Text

Peter was in the police van, tears rolling down his face in relief as Frannie sobbed into the phone.

“I’m here Red, I’m right outside. I’m not going anywhere”

“Promise you’ll stay Dad, promise.”

“I promise.” The sobs slowed down and Frannie became more audible.

“Dad its James and Lucia. Adam too. They’ve all got AR-15’s. They let me take their bump stocks though Dad.” Tears.

“You done good Red,” Peter responded, but was thinking. Why was she telling him this again . She knew he must have heard them talk about the bump stocks; he knew there was more than one shooter. The names was good though. He couldn’t believe little Lucia was in there with James though. Little Lucia, who'd cried when he's taken Frannie and her friends hunting and they'd had to skin a rabbit. And James, the guy he had thought Frannie would be going out with by now. Think Peter, think . Frannie was whispering now, he could barley make out what she was saying, she was getting quieter and quieter. He looked at his phone as he tried to turn the volume up and nearly dropped it in shock when he realised the video camera was on, but not pointed at her face. She was pretending to hold the phone in front of her face talking directly into the speaker, but in reality the phone was pointed over her shoulder. It would look like she had turned to the wall, trying to not let Adam see her cry, but in reality she was panning the phone across the room, giving them a visual of everything in there.

“Get that on the screen,” the Deputy Chief said. Peter nodded and moved towards the screen, plugging in the phone, in awe of his little girl.

“Dad, how are we getting out of here? Tell me how we get to go home” she sniffled.

We. That was good. She was going to help. She just needed prompting.

“Stay with me red, don't loose your head. First tell me what its like in there, it anyone hurt?”

All the time he was talking, he noticed the camera paused as she was panning. He could make out the children. Thomas, in tenth grade, blood staining his shirt but alive. A police officers kid. Camera moved again, paused. Zoe, sixth grade. Daughter of his friend from the group who’d left and become an EMT. A man who was probably now shuttling other little children to the hospital. Camera moved again, deliberately paused. Lucas. Sixth grade. Second son of the counter-terrorism unit chief, another retired CIA intelligence officer.

“God she’s good, your girl.” The deputy chief said under his breath.

Frannie responded to his question, “Yes Dad, Mrs James and Thomas at least. There must be more, have you cleared the rest of the school?”

“Yes honey. Now it’s important we know how bad those people are, and how many are injured. What kind of help they might need. Will they let you check them?” He whispered.

Frannie put the phone in her pocket, noting that she had 80% battery left, but left it running again. She turned around from where she was sat and looked up at Adam.

“Adam, he wants to know how many are injured. I know first aid, several of us here do. He wants me to check them. Is that ok? I’ll have to phone him back after. Tell him.”

Adam looked uneasy but nodded.

“Just you,” he said. The AR-15 was in the little Laurens face again. Poor little Lauren.

Frannie nodded, stood up. How her feet supported her bodyweight, she didn’t know. She walked over to Mrs James first. She was the one she could easily see was the most unwell, some colour still in her lips, but her face grey, the floor wet with blood around her.

“Mrs James, can you hear me?” She said loudly in each ear.

Frannie put her hands to Mrs James shoulder and shook her. Eyes flickered open. Frannie ripped off her blazer and stuffed it on Mrs James stomach.

“Help me,” she said to a nearby student. Older. Frannie didn’t know him. The student clenched his teeth but nodded, placing his hands over the blazer.

“We need to turn him over, roll him towards us, count of three.” The student nodded again.

God, Frannie thought. This is so much worse in real life than on a first aid course. So much worse.

“One, two, three.” Mrs James moaned. Frannie looked down the poor old ladies back. Exit wound, blood still pouring out there now.

She turned to the next closest student.

“Blazer,” she said, sharply.The student jumped but didn’t move. “Give me your goddamed Blazer, Your blazer, NOW.”

The student shrugged off his blazer in a hurry, not wanting to make anyone else any more angry. She placed it under Mrs James, instructing the random student helping her to roll her back onto it, so her body weight provided pressure on the wound.

“Keep pressure on her stomach too.”

She moved, to where Thomas was sat. A bicep shot, not shoulder through and through. She grabbed a girls scarf and tied it around it.

Seven more were shot. Two dead already, Mrs James not far behind.

At the last one, she turned around to face Adam, still stood up. Phone still on in her pocket.

A memory washed through her again. Rememberence Day when she had been eleven. It had been a long day, Church, then the drive to the cabin. They were outside, under the stars. The air was frigid, Frannie was sat snuggled up to her Dad by the fire, cuddling under his giant black pile-fibre buffalo jacket. Mummy away on a security trip, and she somehow knew that Dad was struggling to tether himself to reality today. Remembrance Day was bad for him, it always had been. .
"How did you do it Dad? Be a soldier? Risk your life? Knowing that you or your friends might die if you did just one little thing wrong?"
It had taken alot for Peter to answer.
"You can't do it for yourself Red. It's just like on the mountain when it goes wrong. You have to find courage from somewhere, but it isn't courage for yourself. It's courage for your friends. Courage, Frannie. Courage for your friends."

Breathe Frannie. Breathe.

“You know Adam, that they're going to want to send EMT’s in. Take these people out. That’s what Dad's going to say when I phone him.”

“No one leaves. No one leaves till I get what I want!” Adam said.

“What do you want then Adam?” Frannie screamed at him suddenly, unable to contain herself, angry tears rolling down her face as she looked at the almost dead body of Mrs James. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll tell him and we can get the fuck out of here. You know he’ll do whatever I tell him.”

“I don’t know what I want!” Adam shouted back, suddenly red in the face, pointing the weapon at her all of a sudden.

“You need to tell me what you want Adam, you need to tell me.” Frannie pressed.

The deputy chief was dishing out orders thick and fast as he thought this was about to go sideways. Peter was sitting there, biting his finger, tears rolling down his face, listening to what he thought in that instance might be his little girls’ last words.

“Don’t push me!” Adam screamed. Peter got up, tried to leave the command truck. Suddenly the deputy chief was in front of him, blocking his way. Peter tried to push him out the way, but the Deputy chief pushed back.

“She needs you here,” the Deputy Chief said.

So, Frannie noted. Adam was not a rational actor.

“You need to make a decision. Mrs James is going to die Adam unless you make a decision. Now that decision doesn’t have to be what happens next. It could just be EMT’s come in, take out the injured and then we work out what you want. But a decision needs to happen Adam.”

Adam was breathing heavily, but not shouting. Eyes moving side to side. Trapped.

Keep talking Frannie. Push this as far as you can. Trap him, then offer him the only way out.

“And you know there will be another senior officer out there by now, if not now. Soon. Maybe even the chief of Police or the deputy chief. You’ve become important now Adam. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To be important.”

Adam made eye contact with Frannie, and felt her bore through him.

Keep talking Frannie, she thought.

“It’s a game of numbers, this game of life, Frannie,” that memory of her Dad on their last ski trip blew through her brain. “Every dangerous situation, you try and stack the odds in your favour. From putting your seatbelt on as you drive to the slope, to looking as you cross the road to get to the ski lift, to only crossing an avalanche prone slope one at a time”.

“Because you’ve become important now Adam, you understand that don’t you? But that means that someone else will be in there making some decisions, and if the EMT’s are let in, they’ll want some reassurances in return. They’re going to want one of you to give yourselves up. I’m guessing Dad will suggest Lucia.”

Frannie noticed Lucia’s eyes light up, unbelieving. Frannie was going to get her out of here. Outside the deputy chief had an iron grip on Peters shoulder. "See, I told you to trust her Peter." Peter didn't breathe.

“You’ve got to start to make this right Adam. You’ve done a lot of bad things today, but when you work out what you want, you know they’ll listen to you more if you’ve shown them you don’t want to hurt anyone. Letting EMT’s in and Lucia go will show them that you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Didn’t I already do that with the bump stocks?”

“For me, yes, Adam. But them, out there, they’ll want more. Swap Lucia for the EMT’s. Let the EMT’s take out the casualties, and then we can work out how you get out of here. Lucia, you cool with that.”

Lucia nodded, eagerly. Already putting down the AR-15.

“No Lucia, they’ll want you to take that with.”

“No Lucia, you aren’t going.”

“Look at her Adam, didn’t you see her shaking with the hand-gun. She won’t get a straight shot off, I doubt she even shot anyone with that fucking AR-15. Why the fuck did you even bring her anyway?”

Lucia was silent, eyes darting between Frannie and Adam. You could almost cut the tension in the room. Neither willing to say anything.

“So when I phone dad back. I’m going to tell him we’ve got 7 injured, 1 critical. That Lucia’s going to give herself up in exchange for EMT’s coming in.” Frannie paused. Throw a curveball, show him that you care . “When the EMT’s and the casualties leave, I’m going to ask a Police Officer to bring some food and a drink to the door ok?”

“What?” said Adam, looking confused.

“You must be hungry Adam, it’s almost 12 now. Did you have breakfast?”

Adam said nothing.

“Of course not. I bet you were too nervous to eat. What do you like to eat Adam? What do you like to drink? Whatever it is, my Dad will get it there. You can trust me on that. And that’s how you’ll know to trust him too. Then we can work out what you want to get out of here. What do you want to eat?”

Adam swallowed.

“Can I have pizza? Cheese Pizza? And coke?”

“I’m sure he can get you a Pizza, ok Adam. So I’m going to phone Dad now. I’m going to tell him we have 7 injured, 1 critical. That you’ll let the EMT’s in and you’ll swap them for Lucia. Lucia’s going to take her AR-15 with her. The safety is on, so everyone will know not to hurt her. Then, when the EMT’s leave, a Police officer will bring you your Pizza and coke, and you and me, we sit down together and work out what you want to get out of here. Is that ok Adam?”

Adam nodded.

“Ok.”

In the command van, several white faces looked at each other in shock. Some were high-fiving each other. “That’s your girl boss,” Quinn heard one say. They’d all been so sure they were about to go into a bloodbath.

Frannies phone was out of her pocket. She hung up the video feed, and pressed redial almost immediately.

“Dad,” she said quietly.

“I’m here red.”

“I did what you said, Dad. There’s seven casualties in here, 1 of them critical. 2 more have already died. Adam’s willing to let the EMT’s in and he knows one of them need to give themselves up, so Lucia’s agreed. She’ll come out with her AR-15 but I put the safety on so she won’t shoot. Promise me you won’t shoot her Dad,” she said quickly.

“She won’t be shot if she follows the instructions honey, you know that.”

“Ok, and when the EMT’s leave, Adam really wants a Cheese Pizza and a Coke. He skipped breakfast, I hope that’s ok. I told him you would make sure he got it because he’s really hungry, I told him if I asked you he’d get it. It’s really important he gets it Dad,” she said quickly, repeating everything he’d already heard her say, keeping up the pretence that there had been no phone line open.

“I know Red. You’ve done really well honey. I’ll make sure he gets some food. Will he let me tell him that? Will he let me speak to him.”

Frannie held out her phone.

“He wants to speak to you.”

Adam shook his head.

“I won't come over there," Adam responded. "I'll talk on speaker phone only.”

Chapter Text

Her Dads voice crackled through the phone. To anyone else, he would sound normal. But Frannie knew he’d been crying.

“You’ve done good Adam, trusting Frannie. We’re making a good start here.”

Silence.

Fuck. She was so glad, but so sad at the same time that it had to be Daddy on duty today. She knew the other officers in Daddy’s squad, and as much as she respected them, it would have been so much worse if she didn’t know it was Daddy out there. But if this went sideways, she hated to think what would happen to poor Daddy, who'd already had so much hurt in his life.

“The EMT’s will be in there shortly Adam, but you do know Frannie’s right. She’s right about everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve done a lot of bad things today Adam, and we need to make this right. The EMTs and getting the injured out is a good start. But you need to start thinking about what you want to do next. Frannie is right about that.”

“I don’t know what I want alright? I wish everyone would stop asking me what I fucking want!” He screamed.

Frannie was still shakily holding out the phone.

“I know you don’t know precisely Adam. But I know you want to live. I think James does too. Is James there?” Peter ased

“I’m here Sir.”

“James you need to start making some better choices here now too son. You need to think about your mum. Its 10pm in Afghanistan now. We can probably try and reach her on a sat phone if you want to talk to her.”

James looked down at that.

Truth is, his Mum hadn’t even crossed his mind when he’d entered the school that morning. His Mum had been away for too long now. Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon. Anywhere and everywhere, in her role with the US Marine Corps. She came back every so often, but she was soon away again.

“She can’t know Sir. Please don’t tell her. She'll be so ashamed.”

“She’ll find out son. It won’t take long. You’re both famous now. There’s news reporters out here, CNN, Fox News. Kids from the school have likely already told them you’re one of the shooters. If she's sat at Camp now looking at her phone, she'll know. There's nothing I can do about that. You need to start thinking about what she'd want”

James went silent, and walked away, tears rolling down his face.

How had this gone so wrong?

“James, are you still there?”

“It’s just Adam Dad.” Frannie said quietly.

“Ok Adam, well we both know you want to live. I know you are stressed, but you need to understand where we are at right now. You have 350 children hostage, my little girl, and I’m about to send in my EMT’s, and so you need to know what happens if anyone else gets hurt. All the time we’re talking, you’re leaving this building alive. That changes, and everything changes.”

Frannie was in shock. What the hell was Dad playing at?

“Don’t threaten me man! I'll just start shooting and it will be your fault”

“It would only be a threat if I wasn’t able to follow through son. You start shooting, I need to come in, and you will die son. You understand that? You will die. But I have been here a lot more times than you have, I've seen it end well and I've seen it end badly. No one can make you kill anyone Adam, if you start shooting that's on you. The EMT’s are there now. You need to let them in. You need to start making some good choices kiddo. You've done alot of bad things today, but you can make this right.”

“How do I know they’re not carrying?” Adam asked, before James had opened the door anyway. The EMT’s walked in. 18 of them, two per patient, but Frannie recognised at least half of them as being Police Officers on Dads squad. She watched as they rushed like little black ants and swarmed the wounded, but also saw them slapping the small cameras in discrete places like the radiator.

“What the hell did you just let them in for?” Adam shouted over to James, AR-15 moving around wildly.

“Lucia, go. Just walk out there and don’t look back.” Frannie said urgently and as loudly as she could.

Before Adam had had the chance to say anything, Lucia stepped out of the now open Fire escape door. Frannie saw her dropping the AR-15 and the handgun on the floor before Police officers rushed onto her like a swarm.

Adam was crying now, eyes darting around like a trapped rabbit.

“Why are you threatening me? What’s happened to her? Show me she’s alive. Show me she’s alive or I end this now.”

“Adam, You haven’t heard a shot,” Frannie tried to reason with him.

“Show me!”

In the police van, the deputy chief nearly wrestled the phone out of Peters’ hand. Peter’s veiled threats to a boy with an AR-15 weren’t helping anything. But Peter managed to keep control this time. He might have been 15 years out of Special Forces now, but he still trained virtually every day with his little girl. He pushed his way out of the command van, into the welfare van where Lucia had been handcuffed to a seat. He shoved the phone towards her.

“It’s Adam. He wants to know you’re still alive.”

“I’m ok Adam. You need to do what they tell you.” Lucia stuttered out, her face still white, but relief washing over it.

Suddenly, the EMT’s were gone.

And a 3 Pizza boxes and 2litre bottle of cola appeared at the door.

James picked them up and shut the fire door.

“Why are there three?” He asked Frannie. “I didn’t ask him for anything.”

“James… he’s seen you eat Pizza at ours enough to know what you like. I’m guessing the third one is for me.” Frannie responded.

Adam looked all over the place. Loosing it.

“Why don’t we just eat some food and then work out what you two want?” Frannie suggested, trying to keep calm.

“That’s a good idea Frannie,” Peter said over the phone. “Why don’t I hang up the phone and give you guys some time to chill and eat? That ok with you Adam? You can think over things, and then let me know what you want”

The phone line went dead. She looked past Adam to the wall where she could make out the tiny camera. At least this was on camera but she wanted Dad on the phone.

Frannie felt a surge of betrayal. She knew what Dad had done, placed her as Adams only saviour and then left her to sort it out. She wasn’t good enough for this. She didn’t know enough for this.

But You never know enough for a hostage negotiation Frannie. You never think you’re going to be good enough. It always harks back in your memory to a time it went wrong. But at the end of the day, its all the same. You just find out how it started, work out what they want, and persuade them into a place for a surrender where there is a clear shot and minimal collateral damage.

Her Dads voice spun through her head. 13 years old. She'd had to do a school project on her “hero.”

She’d picked her Dad, of course she had. She wanted to show the bratty girls that had tried to bully her about her adoptive dad. She wanted to show them what it was like to have a Dad who had only ever done the right thing. The bratty girls whose parents were investment bankers and businessmen. The people who’d never done a day’s good work in their life. The bratty girls that cared what brand their trainers were more than how far they could run in them.

"Dad knows what he’s doing Fran. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think you could do this. He’s done the maths, and he thinks you’ve got this. He hates this, but this is his best available outcome right now" would be what her mum would say...

Its just Odds Fran. Fractions, percentages, ratios. She said to herself.

“You’ve already got rid of the bump stocks and one of the hostage takers Fran. Next step is get rid of James. Then you just gotta get Adam outside, or close enough to disarm him. Get it down to the handguns too, if you can. Take the AR-15's out the equation. You got this munchkin," her Mum said again in her head.

Frannie put her phone in her pocket, reached out and took the Pizza box labelled Red from James, who she noticed did not have his hands on the trigger any more. The AR 15 was on a strop around his neck, but it would take a couple of seconds for him to get in an active shooting position. .

Inside the box was a four cheese Pizza. Frannie stopped, all of a sudden there were tears rolling down her eyes again. Just a second ago, she had thought Dad had betrayed her. Now she had living proof he was still with her. A bag of green Olives clearly had been emptied onto her Pizza. They made the shape of an R.

“I got you Green ones Red, your favourite. I still think You’re weird, just like your Mama.” Daddy had said, passing her a plate with a heart shaped Pizza on, an R of olives on the Pizza.

Dad sat down next to Mum, early august sunshine glistening off her blonde hair. Mum slapped his shoulder playfully, he’d slapped hers back and then tickled her.

“Don’t call your Daughter weird, we think you’re weird for not liking olives,” mum had said back sternly

Frannie remembered giggling and laughing back at her goofy parents across the table. She’d been eight. Daddy’s birthday. But also the day that Daddy had just adopted her. Celebratory meal out for the family.

She’d been so happy.

“This is my favourite day ever. I think this is the happiest I can ever imagine being. Can we have your birthday party and adopting me party every week?” she’d said.

They’d had such a fun day. They’d gone to the courthouse in the morning so Daddy could finally sign the adoption papers. Then they’d gone to the water park, laughing and giggling for hours and hours. They’d even got some of the expensive photos of the rides that Daddy usually said were a waste of money. The smell of sun cream, the taste of the yummy fried chicken they’d had for lunch. The feel of the cotton flannel mum had made her clean her greasy fingers with as she’d laughed at how Frannie was her Fathers daughter, and how for the first time in her life she’d known for sure that mum had meant Peter.

Frannie could still remember that day now.

Mum and Dad had stopped their play fight. Dad looked at her, so intently that Frannie wondered if she’d said something wrong. There were tears rolling down his face.

“Why are you sad Daddy?”

Daddy. He thought. What in the world had he done to deserve this beautiful little girl in his life?

He’d leaned forward across the table and picked her up. She was on his lap now, looking into his eyes.
“I’m not sad Red,”

“Why are you crying then?” Her tiny hand reached up and brushed away one of his tears.

“I’m not sad, these are happy tears Red. This is the best day of my life.”

Frannie had reached up and put her arms around his neck to give him a hug. It had taken Peter more than a few minutes to stop crying, but it didn’t matter. He had learned that in hospital. The value of emotion, the value of crying. He still struggled with it, but he was trying. Trying to be more expressive. His new boss told him to use his feelings. And in that moment he'd been confronted, perhaps somewhat unbelievably, by how lucky he felt. How priviledged. When he thought back to that day 8 years previous, the day Rob had come and pestered about Syria... well it still gave him nightmares. Instead, he'd ended up with this little ball of pure fire and spirit, that gave him such hope through the dark days. Her brilliant beautiful blood-red hair that reminded him of sunset on the desert. Sunset, the time when no matter how hopeless, how foresaken those lands had felt, you could almost pause and believe that the sun would rise on a beautiful land that would know Peace and Prosperity again. Around him, containing him in the present were the arms of Carrie Matheison. Her brilliant blonde hair blending with little Frannies blood red, and right there, in that moment, everything was alright in the world.

Chapter Text

Outside, Peter was sat in the welfare van, opposite Lucia, waiting for her to start talking. His eyes almost cut her in half, so intense was his stare.

Lucia was silent. She tried to look away, tears rolling down her face.

“Look at me Lucia.”

Meekly, she looked back at him, but couldn’t bear eye contact.

“Fucking look at me Lucia,” Peter sat up, slamming his hands down on the table.

Trembling, she managed it, for a second.

“Look at what you’ve done! Look at what you’ve done! FUCKING LOOK AT ME!” He screamed.

Lucia was crying now.

“There’s hundreds of parents like me out here right now, scared shitless that their kid is going to get shot by some fucking Psycho kids and you were a part of that Lucia. You’re on the hook for felony murder Lucia. You need to wise up.”

“I…. I didn’t want anyone to die.” She stammered out.

“So you walked into school with a loaded AR-15? Wise up kid!” Peter shouted back.

“Sir,” A police officer who’d been in the welfare van asked, suddenly uncomfortable with the way this was going. “Don’t you think she should have a lawyer?”

Peter stood up, faster than lightening, suddenly the late 20’s Special Forces agent he had been all those years before Frannie & Carrie had snowballed into his life. He dragged the officer out by the scruff of his neck. He opened the door to the van with one hand and threw the officer down the stairs, not caring that he could get put up on charges.

He sat back down on the chair, suddenly calm and sober.

“So Lucia, you’ve seen how many fucks I give about certain things right now,” he said, his voice low and dark. “If you ever valued your friendship with Frances Mathieson, you better start talking now.”

Suddenly, a shiver ran down little Lucia’s spine. But the sobs stopped, and tears rolled down her face as she started to tell Peter.

“Adam’s… scary sometimes.”

“How do you know Adam?”

“I got put down a class in English last year, James and Fran… they were getting such good grades and I just couldn’t keep up.”

“Is Adam in charge in there?” Peter asked.

“I’d guess. James never wanted anyone to die, he just wanted to scare some people. Scare some people who’d hurt him.”

“Hurt him how?”

Lucia squirmed. “I… I promised him I’d keep it secret.”

“That doesn’t matter now Lucia. I want to get everyone out of there alive. That’s my little girl in there for god’s sake, you used to be friends! She saved your life by making you the condition of the first swap, you do know that right?”

Lucia was silent.

“Did you ever give a shit about Frannie?”

Lucia nodded.

“I… I didn’t want it to turn out like this.”

“Well how did you want it to turn out?”

“James just told Adam about the boys who hurt him in Phys Ed. He said he didn’t know what to do! The boys had a film of them hurting him. Adam said they had to scare them off. Adams been talking about taking his revenge on the kids in School for years, he had a plan, he had guns. Adam told me if I loved him I had to come. He made me come, he said I had to or else I didn’t love him.”

The door to the command van opened. The deputy chief walked in.

“Captain, this interview is over. Out. Now,”

Peter looked darkly at the the older man, the Deputy, knowing he needed the deputy on side to even still be allowed on the crime scene. As much as he was black ops, there was only so many he could take on, especially 15 years post retirement.

He stormed out. The deputy followed.

The door slammed.

“You better tell me what the hell you’re playing at,” the deputy started. “No lawyer, no appropriate adult, are you insane?”

“Sir,” Peter started.

“No Captain, no excuses. The only reason you are still even on this crime scene is because Frannie is in there and she has the right to talk to her Dad. If it wasn’t little Frannie I’d suspend you right now.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

The deputy softened.

“Take 5 Peter, get back in control. Then I want you back in that van and I want a plan to end this before sunset. Where’s Carrie?”

Peter checked his watch.

“6 hours into an 11 hour flight,” he mumbled, leaning back against the van, struggling to summon the energy to stay standing. Suddenly, he was so tired.

“What?”

“She’s on a security trip to the Congo. She flies to Dubai, then changes for Entebbe, then transport to Kinshasa. The earliest she’ll be able to fly back is once she lands in the UAE.”
The deputy looked at him with sympathy.

He really needed Peter Quinn on top form. Peter Quinn on top form needed either Carrie or Frannie to go home to, and right now, Peter Quinn had neither.

“Listen, you must still know people in the CIA. Still have favours to pull in.”

“Yea, of course.” Peters hand went through his hair, and he sunk back onto his heels looking defeated.

“I know you don’t want to, but if ever there was a time to call in favours, it was this. Phone whoever you need to, but get Carrie on the first flight back out of Dubai, even if it’s a military one. At least get a message to the airport. Take 5, do that, and then I want you back in that command van. You can tell me everything that Lucia said, and who knows, maybe that little fire-ball of yours will have a way out of there. You need to eat something too, you looked shattered.”

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The deputy chief had seen Peter loose it too many times today, had seen too many of his tears. Peter still wanted to be trusted in command, still wanted the respect of this man who had been every bit the mentor that Dar Adal should have been. The man who encouraged him, when Dar would have torn him down. The man who had come for a few beers after a difficult day, rather than just turn up three days later with a bag of donuts and an empty threat.

But it was like the deputy chief could read his mind. The greying older man crouched down next to Peter, and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever stop telling you this son. I’m guessing I won’t because you’ve been under my command for 15 years now, and I seem to tell you at least 3 times a year. But there’s no shame in anything you’re feeling right now. Emotions make us better Police Officers. I know this is worse. I know you’ve seen some dark places, but your Frannie is smart as hell and clever too. She’s getting out of this son. We’re going to fight like hell. She's fighting like hell and she needs you to believe in her. You’ve taught her well, you need to believe in her.”

“I do believe in her,” he choked out. “I’m just not sure I believe in myself.”

“Well you need to believe in yourself son. You know how well your record of successful negotiations stacks up against any other hostage negotiator in the state. Even mine. Big breath, phone who you need to at the CIA to get Carrie here ASAP then back in the van. Got that Captain?”

Peter made eye contact, and nodded.

“Good man,” the deputy chief said.

Peter just sat there for a second, looking to the clouds in the sky. How had this gone on for so long already? It felt like he had been there seconds.

The voice of a man from long ago echoed in his head. He had self-extracted to Kuwait hours before the 2003 Iraq invasion with Rob, his OPPO. He’d been young, only a few years into his SF career and already doing some of the most out-there work the group had to offer. It was nice to be at camp with allies, knowing he’d be out of there before the shit really hit the fan. The camp was busy, they’d only just managed to find him a bunk for the night when he heard the shout to the Parade ground. It was at that point, the lilting Irish accents became clear and he realised by some good fortune he’d stumbled into Col. Tim Collins camp of Royal Irish Regiment. Rob had gone for a wash, so Peter didn’t see the harm in trying to catch his old friend. Afghanistan a year ago, accidently saving Col. Collins and some of his most junior soldiers had earned him some friends for life in Ireland, a few good bottles of whiskey and a killer hangover in Kabul. He knew there was no time for drinking now, but he almost wanted to postpone the extraction to fight alongside the Irish lads again. As he got to the Parade ground the speech had already started.

“As for the others, I expect you to Rock their world.
Wipe them out, if that’s what they choose…
There will be no time for Sorrow
The enemy should be in no doubt that we are his nemesis, and we are bringing about his rightful destruction.”

Peter took a deep breath, stood up and walked towards the closest police officer to borrow a phone, his still being in the command van attached to the big screens in there.
“To war Peter,” he said to himself, wiping the tears from his face and setting his jaw.

Chapter Text

Frannie sat inside nibbling on the edge of the pizza, but she wasn’t hungry. She tried to pass a slice to little Lauren, who just shook her head and gave a weak smile at the older girl.

The seconds ticked by painfully slowly. Minutes passed in silence. Just the sniffles filled the room now, exhausted faces. Adam and James wouldn’t look at each other, they weren’t talking. Soon, half an hour had ticked by in silence, then 40 minutes.

" What do you need to know Red?" Her Dad’s voice echoed through her.

" Why they came in the first place might be nice to know. I mean, I feel I have a right to know that at least. Neither seem to have had a plan beyond getting here. No exit plan. So that a good place to start, right?" She asked the imaginary voice of her Dad.
Right on kiddo.

“What did you mean to achieve by coming here?” Fran asked suddenly.
There was no response.

Outside in the command van, a calmer, commanding Peter was watching the videos intently.

“You sorted with Carrie?” the deputy asked.

“Yea, she’s coming. They’re landing her flight as soon as they can somewhere in Europe and sticking her on the next flight back here. It will still be hours, but she’ll be here.” He said, a slight smile looming.

“Good.”

“In the interests of full disclosure, some of my SF lads will be coming here too. But if anyone asks, they never have been here. But they’re good guys to have in a tight spot, and have a lot of experience with hostage situations.” Peter whispered in his ear.

The deputy chief nodded.

Inside, no one had responded to Frannies question.

“James, what did you mean to achieve?” Frannie tried again.

James looked at the wall.

“James, did you ever value being friends with me?” She pressed.

“What? Of course I did?” He said fast. “I still do.”

“Then I have a right to know! Surely I have a right to know?”

James fell silent again.

Adam laughed.

“You mean you didn’t tell her?” He giggled. “Oh that’s gold. You didn’t tell your little girlfriend?”

“Adam, don’t!” James said sharply.

“Tell me what James?” Frannie pressed again.

“Adam, don’t!” James said again, looking murderously at the boy. AR-15 back in his hand. “I swear to god I will end you right here, right now Adam if you tell her.”

Adam laughed, but went silent.

The tick of the clock was painfully loud.

“You know it will come out eventually though right?” Adam said. “I mean, its better that she hears it from the horse’s mouth than sees it on you-tube.”

Adam turned to Frannie suddenly, as if an idea had just popped into his head.

It was concerning, a look of total madness.

“You can phone your Dad by the way, tell him we want a car with blacked out windows, and the road cleared to the Blue Ridge Mountains. Now, I don’t want to speak to you and then him, I want to speak directly to him”

Frannie looked at him, and could tell that as casual as he was, he wasn’t joking. She picked up her phone, pressed her Dads number.
It rang through.

“How you holding up Red?” her Dad asked softly. “Is everyone ok in there?”

Frannie breathed out.

“Yea Dad. Thanks for the Pizza.” She said.

He knew what she meant. It wasn’t the Pizza she was greatful for, it was the care and thought that had gone into its topping.

“That’s ok Red, anything for you, you know that.”

Frannie was silent for a second, breathing in and out, before.

“Adam wants a car Dad. He wants a car and the road cleared to the Blue-Ridge Mountains. Blacked out windows.”

“Ok, and what about James?”

“I’m not sure it matters what James wants Dad.” Frannie responded, looking sadly at the boy she used to call her friend. The boy she had loved, no, screw that, still loved. James was just looking at the wall, and at the blood on his hands, silent tears rolling down his face.

“Ok, so Adams in charge still?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Will he let me speak to him?”

Frannie looked up.

“He wants to speak to you.” She said.

“Speaker phone, I won’t come closer to you.”

Frannie spoke back into the phone.

“I’m going to put it on speaker Dad.”

She pressed the button and held it out to Adam.

“I want a car, I want it to have blacked out windows. I want the road to the blue-ridge mountains cleared. That’s what I want.”

“Ok, Adam. We can do that, but it’s a big ask. It’s going to take some time.”

“If I don’t get what I want, you know what I can do.”

“I do know that Adam, and we’re listening to you. What does James want? Will he go with you?”

“James can do whatever the fuck he likes. I’m telling you what I want, now make it happen!” He screamed into the phone.

“Adam, we are listening to you. We can make that happen but it will take time, an hour at least, if not longer. In the meantime you need to give us a show of good-faith that you don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to let the little ones go.”

Adam laughed maniacally.

“You know what, I’ll let them all go apart from your little girl and her little eleven year old sidekick.”
Fran’s eyes widened. He’d let all but two of them go? She was in absolute shock.

“That can’t be the deal Adam…” Peter started. He was not leaving Frannie in there alone with that monster.

Frannie shouted over the top.

“Dad its fine,” she said sharply, interupting him. “Remember, you promised you’d do anything for me Dad. Anything. Do this daddy. Do this for me. Get that car here.”

“Wow, little Frances Mathieson sure wants to be the hero today, doesn’t she?” Adam laughed.

In the van, Peter looked helplessly to the deputy, and to his old OPPO Rob who’d just arrived on scene. Rob nodded at him.

Peter breathed out.

“Ok Adam, you have your deal. But I want those kids through the door in the next 5 minutes.”
Adam smiled, scarily. He was obviously plotting.

“Done.”

In the van Peter turned to Rob.
“She’s nuts your little girl, isn’t she? Absolutely fucking nuts. You can tell who her fucking mother is for sure.” Rob said.

Peter nodded, all of a sudden a smile ghosting across his face.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been told that.

A rafting trip. That’s what Frannie wanted to do for her thirteenth birthday. No friends, no extended family, just a trip to Colorado with mum and him. Camping, Hiking and a raft trip.
The day itself had been hilarious. The river cold, but the sun brilliantly warm.
Carrie had managed to push the raft guide in twice that day, one time it had flipped the whole raft.
Peter had been grinning ear to ear the whole time, laughing at his own fortune.
Then little Frannie had gone to the raft guide as he was about to climb out onto the dock, and pushed him in when his back was turned, laughing as she then ran and jumped in herself.
The raft guide jumped back in, hair shaggy, and a grin on his tanned face.
“Nuts, your little girl isn’t she. You can tell who her mother is for sure.”
Peter had just smiled back.
It was days like this he truly believed anything was possible.
That dark hole he had been in after Islamabad. Caracas.
Carrie saved his life no doubt, but that little ball of fire saved his soul.

“Let’s get the car here. Get the kids out. We’ll get him out. Frannie will talk him into leaving the AR-15 behind and just taking the pistol, I know she will. If she sees me, she’ll disarm a pistol in seconds. We must have done it a million times. Whatever happens, he doesn’t get in that car.”

Rob smiled back at his OPPO. This was the Peter he knew. The Peter he had trained with, gone to War with. Rob was finally calming down too. He’d driven here frantic when he’d heard from Peter. When he’d heard it was little Frannie (who will forever be the tiny little girl who was asleep in her sleeping Dads arms when Rob had come to visit after Peters’ admission to the Psych ward all those years ago, not the 15 year old young woman she was now) a bit of him died inside too. Peter had seen so much, given so much, and been through so much. That little girl had saved his OPPOs life, of that he was sure. The group always took care of its own, and that little girl was loved by a lot of people.

“You sure Frannie’s got this? What’s the plan B?”

“No need. Between me, you and Frannie- Adam doesn’t get in that car.” Said Peter, looking pointedly at the weaponry in the safe behind Rob.

“What about the other kid?” The deputy said, sharply.

“Lauren?”

“Well her, yes. But James, the other shooter?”

Peter looked at Rob.

“James?” Rob asked, confused.

“Did no one brief you? There were 3 shooters initially. One of them has surrendered. The two in there are James and Adam. Both in Frannies year.”

“You don’t mean Frannie’s James do you?”

“Yea, I do.” Peter said shortly.

“Not Captain Braithwaites’ Son? Frannie’s James?”

“Yes.” Peter repeated.

“Fuck.” Was all Rob could say. Captain Braithwaite was a solid officer, had won the Silver Star a few years ago for some work liberating a child-soldier ISIS training camp. She’d be absolutely fucking devastated. She’d gone to war so kids didn’t bear arms and shoot each other. Now, to find out her own fucking son was the mastermind of a horrific school shooting. The worst school shooting the US had seen in years.

The death count so far was 42. All of a PE Class, both the girls and the boys class, the PE teachers, the Security staff, some receptionist.

“I don’t think he’ll be a problem. James and Adam are in there for different reasons. Adam is delusional, but he wanted to live. James on the other hand… Well, He’s not said much. He was adamant he didn’t want his mum to know. Just that he didn’t mean for anyone to die. Lucia- that’s the other shooter. She seems to think some kids at School hurt him, the inference was a sexual assault. I’m not basing this on much, but my assumption is he didn’t mean to hurt anyone and he has just realised how much he’s fucked up. I don’t think theres a lot we can do about it, but he’s not getting out of there alive.”

“Fuck, you think he’ll top himself?” Rob asked.

Peter nodded back grimly.

Chapter Text

It had taken half an hour for the car to arrive. Half an hour in which Peter was rapidly trying to keep himself busy. Trying not to think about the worst possible outcome.

Peter had been all command as he’d briefed the plan of action. Rob was impressed. Really impressed, he’d not sure he’d have managed it.

The car would drive up to the front, driver leave. All doors would be shut, as this would increase the time at which the target was available.

Rob and Peter had scoped nearby rooftops for Rob to set himself up on the long gun.

Peter wanted to be there, on the ground.

He had to be there.

This couldn’t be like Islamabad. He couldn’t watch little Frannie drop to the ground as he’d watched little Fara drop to the ground years ago.

Part of him still believed he would. The dark, dark part of his mind that he thought he’d left behind years ago.

That voice from Kuwait all those years ago echoed in Peters head.
“It’s a big step to take another human life.
It is not to be done lightly.
I know of men who have taken life needlessly in other conflicts.
And I assure you, they live with the Mark of Cain upon them”
How he wished he had heard it before. Before he joined the group. How he wished he had told James. Taken James aside, man-to-man, away from his scumbag step-dad that his Mum so regularly left him with. Adam was a coward, he’d have likely never acted alone.
It had always stuck with him. Those words. Nothing Col. Collins had ever told him was meaningless.
That speech in particular, of all the things Col. Collins ever said to him affected him . He was only a few years into his war-time career, but the words “Mark of Cain” had taken him right back to the little helpless boy he once had been. Cowering in the corner, the cold of the wall hurting his back. The woman screaming in his face not to cry, because his life was his fault. He lived with the Mark of Cain because he’d killed his mum. He’d believed it for the longest time. Years. It was only really when he'd been in hospital all those years ago, that the little one-armed psychiatrist had managed to convince him that his mothers choice to OD had absolutley nothing to do with him. That addiction had ripped his mother from him, not any demonic force within him. But he'd still killed needlessly. Maybe he was still cursed. Maybe the curse was about to rip it all from him. Adam, like a demonic force taking away the only thing that had given his life meaning- his Frannie Mathieson.

Maybe this would go badly.

Maybe it wouldn’t.

But he had trained for this. It was part of the reason he still trained. Part of the reason he’d insisted in Frannie coming with him to the gym.

The other part had been to try and stop her from pissing around at school. The two suspensions and the expulsion the year she’d turned eleven had nearly broke Carrie.

His heart was pounding, his mouth dry. Without the years of training, his hands would be shaking, sweating. But they were dry.

Peter had almost been in shock when true to his word, Adam had released the rest of the kids. It was just his Frannie, and little Lauren left now. And James.

Poor Captain Braithwaite.

Peter had heard in James’ voice that he hadn’t meant for this to happen.

He’d seen it in Lucia’s eyes.

James was a good kid, in a bad situation.

Inside, Frannie was bricking it too. Her hands were shaking as she clasped onto little Laurens. Poor little Lauren stank of urine and sweat. It was the smell of fear.
She still hadn’t figured out the end game. Why had Adam wanted her? Why?

The clock was ticking on the wall. Almost deafening.

“What do you know about School Shooter motivations?” Her mums voice popped into her head.
“Revenge, usually. On the school, a teacher… A spurned love interest?” Frannie imagined saying back.
The mum in her head nodded.
“He’s kept you because you fascinate him Frannie. You aren’t like all the other girls. You do your own thing. Girls your age like make-up, nails, hair, dancing, trying to get older boys to buy them booze. You like running, going to the gym or to the range. You like hunting and fishing and skiing. You confuse him.”
Frannies eyes widened in her head as she spoke to the voice of her mum.
“But he must know about James.”
“He does Fran, but he doesn’t care. He just wanted to use James as an excuse. He talked James into this. Lied to him. Manipulated him. You must have figured that out by now.”

Frannie had, really.
It hadn’t taken a great leap.

She knew James had been having trouble in PE.

James’ embarrassment and the comment about you-tube had led her to one conclusion.

It was Just a shame that James wouldn’t talk to her. Hadn’t talked to her.

She knew, really, that it wasn’t her fault that James’ had decided to walk into a school today bearing such significant weaponry.
But she felt incredibly guilty nonetheless.

She’d had the best summer ever. She’d been training virtually every day; sparring sessions with Dad or with Rob. Range shoots for hours upon hours. Long, meandering, entirely pointless but utterly brilliant runs with Mum. Cooking on the grill at home, or on an open fire at the cottage. Hunting & Fishing. Beautiful sunsets over the forest by the lake, eaten alive by mosquitos. She’d got her first ever strict muscle up. She’d come back in September feeling so bloody alive that she hadn’t wanted it to end. She’d been disappearing to the gym at lunchtime, to the range after school. James must have felt like she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

It hadn’t been intentional.

She just hadn’t wanted summer to end. She hadn’t wanted the drama of school, of her Peers. Of the bitchy girls who'd sneered at her Sporting Achievments. About her desire to make Olympics in Shooting. Or the Crossfit finals in her age group. The drama of the girls who thought winter term was about fashionable coats, not about going on epic ski-tours. She'd cared about none of the normal girl stuff. She just wanted to come to school, do her thing and go home. She'd drifted away from a boy that she loved, and a friend she once valued.

It was unintentional. But unintentional or not, she’d still missed her best friends hurting, she’d missed it badly. She’d watched Lucia drift towards Adam the year before, the subtle signs of dating violence appear. But she’d felt Lucia’s wroth when she called her out on it, and decided it was up to Lucia.

So many regrets.

Such little time.

The clock was still ticking.

The ring of her phone startled her.

She swiped the green phone across the screen with shaking hands.

Judgement day.

Her heart was pounding so loud, she could barely hear her Dad.

“Dad…” She asked weakly.

“I’m here Red, it’s time.” He whispered. “Whatever you do though, don’t get in that car...”

“Let me speak to him,” Adam said, sternly, interupting. Frannie tried to hold onto the phone, desperate for one last word of love from her Dad.

If this went wrong, it might be the last words he heres. He needs to know it's not his fault. I need him to promise me this won't break him.

But after a small fight, she let Adam snatched the phone out her hands. It was important she kept her fight skills in the bag for later. It had to be unexpected. Dad had drilled that into her so many times.

“The car’s outside Adam. Blacked out windows, the road is clear. When you come out, we won’t take you out if you just have your pistol, but the AR-15 we have to shoot. We have to think about the other members of the public.”

“You’d risk your own kid?”

“I wouldn’t, but I’m not the only officer here Adam. Like I said, you are important now. There’s a lot of very important people here. It’s how we were able to get you your car.”

“I’m important am I? An important man?”

“Yes Adam, an important Man. You also need to do the right thing here now, show what sort of a man you are. You need to let Frannie and Lauren go, you have what you wanted. You have a way out.”

“No, no way man. They’re coming all the way, that’s how I know you won’t follow.”

Frannie interrupted.

“Lauren goes. You don’t need Lauren. You just need me.”

Adam paused.

“You really want to play the hero, don’t you?” He responded.

“No, I just know you’re fascinated by me Adam.” Frannie responded.

Peter was nearly sick.
That voice of seduction, it was survival. It was all Carrie. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to hear coming out the mouth of his 15 year old daughter.

James still looked on. Foot tapping. Silent.

“Ok. When we get outside Lauren goes.” Adam agreed.

“Is James there?” Peter asked.

James reluctantly took the phone.

“There’s still time to do the right thing James. You don’t have to follow Adam. You know that. You need to think about what your mum would want here,” Peter tried to speak to James.

“I…” James choked on his own breath.

“James, there is a way out of this. You don’t have to do what Adam does. You don’t have to follow him. You’ll be safe in custody, your mum will be able to see you. She won’t be able to see you if you run away to the Blue Mountains with Adam. You’ll have to hunt up there James, and I know you don’t want to hurt anything again. I know it’s weighing on you. I’ve seen what taking life needlessly does to people James. You feel cursed.”

“I’m not sure I can live with that curse Sir,” James choked.

“You can James, but it starts by taking responsibility. You just have to go out there with Lauren and surrender. You don’t have to get in that car with James.”

“I can’t do that Sir. Even if I could live with what I’ve done (which I don’t think I can), I’m not sure I can live with remembering all that’s been done to me. I just feel so dirty.”

“I can understand that James, but you can move on from this.”

“I can’t.” James said firmly. “I can’t and I’m sorry.”

He threw the phone at Frannie who caught it reflexively, being less than a couple of meters away. And with one motion, the handgun was out of his pocket. Frannie tried to close the gap, suddenly realising what he intended to do.

Bang.

Blood was everywhere, Brains were everywhere. It was thick in Frannies hair.

The phone-line was still open.

All Peter could hear was guttural screams of his daughter and Lauren; the horrific, maniacal laugh of Adam.

Chapter Text

In the van, Peter punched the wall. Hard.
Frannie’s screams drove right through him.

“She’s still alive Bro, hold onto that.” Rob’s iron grip on his shoulder.

Peter was breathing heavily now, gripping onto the table with iron fists.

“Frannie, Fran… for fucks sake Red listen to me!” He shouted into the phone.

His voice echoed through the phone. No response. All he could hear was heavy breathing, tears and sobbing.

The little cameras they’d placed in the room showed Frannie distraught, clutching little Lauren to her chest. He could make out what she was saying, his lip-reading still as good as it ever had been.

“Don’t look Lauren, don’t look,” was all she was saying, her own eyes fixed on the boy she had once loved. Eyes wide in horror.

“Frannie, pick up the fucking phone,” Peter’s voice echoed again.

He watched on the screen as trembling, Frannie put it to her ear.

Peter could still see Adam laughing.

“Dad,” She choked out, barley a whisper.

“I know Red, I know,” His voice whispered through the phone. “Adam will still want the deal to go ahead. Stay with me Red, I’ll be right outside. It’ll be just like at the gym. Just look for my OPPO.”

“He’s here?”

“Yes. They all are. You’ll get through this Red. I promise.”

“It’s time.” Adam interrupted snatching the phone out of her hand, telling Peter they were coming out, gripping her upper arm hard and pulling her to her trembling feet.

A tongue went out, licking a bit of blood from her cheek.

Frannie was nearly sick, she didn’t say anything. Her whole body trembling. She just pulled Lauren closer to her with her free arm.

“Your Daddy really going to give you up?” Adam said, tilting his head to one side, his voice low.

Frannie couldn’t lie. Not in this close quarters. A psychopath like Adam could tell a mile off.

“Bend the truth Fran”, her Mum’s voice echoed.

“If he thought it was what I wanted then he might.” Was her response, a whisper.

Adam swallowed.

“And is it what you want Frances Mathieson.”

Frannie was shaking.

“Something that’s the truth, but makes sense in context Fran. Now Fran.” Her mum’s voice said again.

“Blue Mountains. Lots of guns. Sounds like my idea of heaven.” Frannie said again, nearly sick with self-disgust when she did.

“What about him?” Adam gestured his head.

Frannie swallowed.

Poor James, used and hung out to dry. By everyone in his life.

“What about him?” Frannie asked back, shrugging her shoulders. Still barley an inch from his face.

“Turn around.” Adam said, pointing the handgun at Lauren’s head.

Frannie did as she was ordered.

“Walk forward.”

12 steps to the door.

The clock still ticking like a funeral march.

“Open the door.”

Frannie reached forward, letting go of little Lauren for a second to open the fire door with both hands.

The door swung open. The September sun still shining outside, the birds still singing.

It was grotesque, seeing such normal scenery for a second.

The blue lights everywhere, superimposed on it.

“Walk forward,” Adam said again.

Frannie didn’t move.

“Lauren goes, you promised. You’ve got me.”

Frannie felt the weapon dig into her back.

Good, it would need to be close for what she had planned.

“Run Lauren, run. Don’t look back.”

Little feet sprinted away as fast as they could manage, into the arms of a SWAT officer who had been waiting by the side of the building.

“Now will you walk forwards?”

Frannie took one tentative step after the other, eyes moving left to right as she walked.

She looked like a trapped animal.

And in a way she was.

But she was a trapped animal with training.

A trapped animal with a plan.

The car was 50 yards away. The police line was at 70 yards.

News trucks behind that, reporters. Flashing lights and long lenses.

32 steps to the car, the voice in her head calculated She had shot 50 yard targets for most of her life now. .

“Look for my OPPO,” Daddy had told her.

It was on step 24 that she noticed Rob, scope in hand, on-top of the second floor of the English Department, not making much of an effort to hide. Knowing that even if out of sight, her Dad wouldn’t be too far away. If Rob was spotting, Dad was shooting, that was good.

It was on step 25 that she made eye contact with the Deputy Chief of Police and screamed,
“Where’s Dad? He promised he’d be here!” Moving around as she did, a cover because she knew her Dad was there, and she needed to know what hand Adam had the weapon in.

Right hand.

That was good, she was better at right hand disarms.

It was on step 28 that she spun to the left, her left arm going over the top of Adams, gripping at the bend in his elbpw, her right going to his throat. The weapon hand temporarily immobilised.

She heard a bang, and felt warm blood hit her back again as she knew her Dad had made the shot. Blasted Adam’s hand off.

Her knee went into Adam’s groin. Adam managed to get a punch in with his good hand, and her own blood was all of a sudden running down her face, mingling with the blood from James. She stepped away and spun around. Her hand suddenly on the Pistol, and pointing it in Adam’s face as he screamed on the floor, cradling what was left of his hand.

The blood was pounding in her head, it was all she could hear. The wind picked up, blowing her red ringlets, clumped in blood, everywhere.

“Give me one good reason, ONE good reason why I shouldn’t end you right here!” She screamed.

Adam did nothing but carry on screaming in pain, cradling his destroyed hand.

Frannie took a step towards him, adrenaline pumping through her. Her focus was on nothing else.

“You’re a fucking coward,” she said, her voice suddenly low, dangerous. “I should put you down like the dog you are.” She was fire and fury, a tornado in her rage.

Adam’s screaming gave way to laughter.

“Go on then.”

Frannie had been so focused, she’d not heard the footsteps behind her.

All of a sudden, the pistol was wrenched out her hand. She saw Police swarm onto the now weaponless Adam and arrest him. She fought like hell, but couldn’t get away. Whoever this was, had her in a tight grip.

Then she realised how warm the grip was.

How safe.

The smell of Dad’s laundry.

She felt a drop of water on her shoulder, tears, her shirt ripped in the short fight.

She finally registered her Daddy’s voice.

“I got you Red, I got you. You’re safe. Stop fighting me, you’re safe.”

All of a sudden the fight went out from her, and she collapsed under her own weight to the floor.

“Daddy?” She said weakly.

“I’m here Red, you’re ok. I got you. You’re going to be ok.”

And they clung to each other, in the middle of the police cordon, in the growing wind.

Siren’s blaring as they whisked little Lauren and Adam to hospital.

And still Peter and Frannie clung to each other. They were like shipwrecked sailors, clinging to each other on a small piece of wood, preventing each other from drowning.

“I got you. I got you Red. You’re safe. Daddy’s here. You did good sweetheart.”

Peter pulled Frannie even tighter towards him, as close as he could.

“I got you Red. You’re safe.”

Chapter Text

Aftermath

It was an indeterminate amount of time before Frannie had calmed down enough to move. Peter had carried her over to the ambulance, where a kindly medic was checking her head injury.

“Do you know what day it is today?”

“Sept 24th” Frannie responded.

“Can you tell me who this is?”

“My Dad, Police Captain Peter Quinn.”

“Can you tell me how old you are?”

“15.”

“Any neck pain?”

“No.”

“Double vision?”

“No.”

“Headache.”

“Yea, but I’ve not drunk much all day.”

The Paramedic was noting the information down.

Poor Frannie was exhausted, her own blood and the blood of James drying to her clothes, her skin, her hair. Shivering in shock. Face white from the sudden adrenal fatigue.

“Dad…” She said, pulling at his sleeve. “Dad, I want to go home.”

All of a sudden she was in his arms again, sobs, but no tears coming out.

Peter gathered Frannie into his arms again, trying to share his warmth to counter her cold, shivering body.

Peter looked at the medic, question clear in his face.

“Do you have knowledge of head injury Sir? Have you used the SCAT tool before?”

“Yes, I did my remote medicine module when I was still serving.”

“Ok then Sir, if you sign here and here, you’ll be free to take her home. Bring her to hospital if there are any issues.”

Peter unhooked his arm from Frannie and hastily signed the dotted form.

“Come on Red,” He whispered, arm back around her, pulling her to her feet.

She followed him in silence, totally fragged.

The wind was still blowing outside. Luckily his work car wasn’t far away. He spotted his boss coming towards him.

“Are we good Sir?” Peter asked hesitatingly. He wasn’t sure how he could deal with a negative.

“Get her out of here Son,” the kindly older man said to him.

He continued guiding Frannie, who walked with a silent shuffle, totally fragged. He opened the passenger door and managed to arrange her into the seat, strapping her seatbelt in as if she was a child.

“Dad. Are we going home?” She asked again, with a small voice.

“Yes sweetheart, lets get out of here.”

A hand gripped his arm.

“Why am I still alive?”

Blue eyes boring into him.

He crouched down in the open space by the door of his car, taking Frannie’s hands in his and staring back into her eyes.

“It’s a mixture of reasons kiddo. You have some luck; you said the right things, at the right time. Because you were brave, because you fought like hell. You can’t feel guilty for it though love. No one who died would want that.”

Tears were rolling down her face again now, breath coming in small gasps.

“How many?”

Peter toyed for a second with not telling her, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. She would find out soon enough.

“Forty-two at the last count. There’s several more critical in hospital. You saved a lot of lives today though Red, I promise you that. You’re a hero. You were so brave.” His hands gripped hers like a vice, connected her to the reality around her as the breathy sobs continued.

A few minutes passed where Peter just let his little girl sob her broken heart out.

He raised a hand to brush the clumping hair out of her face.

“Let’s get you home eh?” He said.

He shut the door and moved around to his side of the car.

He got in, and started the engine.

It took him 4 minutes to move his car out of the Police cordon, around the gawking journalists, pressing his horn and turning his blue lights on and off. The audacity of some people made him so angry.

It took them 22 minutes to drive home through the rush hour traffic, Frannie silent the whole way just staring out the window.

Once home, he again guided her out of the car and towards the house.

They were through the door when Peter asked, “Shower?”

Frannie nodded, and tried to move up the stairs. But the lack of food and drink all day, combined with the adrenal fatigue had her feeling weak and dizzy. Her Dad caught her, and guided her again up the stairs. Frannie managed to get herself in the shower, just, but Peter was still worried. She was tired, in shock, dehydrated, hypoglycaemic and in a state of adrenal fatigue. He knocked on the door and passed a bathroom stall to the girl who was now behind the curtain.

“I’ll come and check on you in 5 minutes, ok?”

No response.

“Red, acknowledge,” her Dad tried a more direct approach.

A hand snaked out from behind the curtain, forming a shaky thumbs up. Peter picked up the blooded school uniform on the floor and took it downstairs, throwing it in the trash. He got changed himself, there was blood all over his uniform too from Fran. His uniform went straight in the wash as it was undamaged, but they’d buy new for Frannie if she ever went back.

He grabbed a packet of digestives out of the cupboard, filled up a glass of juice and went back upstairs.

He grabbed Frannie’s dressing gown from her room, leaving the snacks in there, before going back to the bathroom.

He knocked on the door.

“Frannie?”

No response.

“Red? If you don’t answer I’m going to come in sweetheart.”

Still no answer.

He opened the door, placed Frannie’s dressing gown on the rail.

“Fran, sweetheart, I just want to know you’re ok.”

He couldn’t hear anything over the noise of the shower and extractor fan.

He opened the curtain.

Frannie was just sat in the bath, on the stool, her body wracked with silent sobs. The water was steaming, so hot it was turning her skin red. Peter reached in and turned the shower off, and swiftly grabbed Frannie’s dressing gown.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, his heart breaking as he wrapped her up in the warm towelling.

“I was so cold dad,” her little voice said, meekly.

“I know honey.”

“I’m so glad you were there Dad. I don’t think I’d have made it through if it wasn’t you.”

“You were incredible Fran, honestly you were.”

He guided Frannie to her bedroom, grateful suddenly to the beautiful DRC sunset mural which Carrie had drawn on the wall the previous year, replacing a wall which had been full of weaponry posters, competition winning target sheets and photos of Frannie and him with some pretty heafty weapons.

“I’m so tired Dad.”

“I know you are honey. I have some juice here for you, and some biscuits, and then I’ll let you sleep for a few hours, ok?”

He passed the cup of juice to Fran, and all of a sudden she gulped it down, thirsty.

She struggled with the biscuits, but managed to eat one.

Peter tucked his shivering little girl under her duvet, not having the heart to try and get her in proper pyjamas in this state.

“Is Mom coming?” She asked, yawning. “Does she know?”

“She’s coming sweetheart, she’ll be here as soon as she can be.”

A weak smile drew across her face.

“She was there too, you know. In my head, helping me with what to say. Just like you were.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that.

“Go to sleep Red, I’ll wake you up in a bit.”

A hand darted out of the duvet grabbing onto his.

“I’m scared.”

“Sleep. I’ll wake you up if you start dreaming.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

His little girl slowly drifted off in her exhaustion, and Peter stayed on the reading seat next to the bed, looking out of his window, silently thanking the god that he didn’t believe in that in just a few hours, his family would be whole once more.

Chapter Text

Peter sat there in the dark room, comforted by the handgun in his holster and the fact his little girl was back with him, and Carrie soon to come.
He’d had a quick conversation with her as she’d got on the flight back to the US, she was distraught and couldn’t make it back fast enough.

Poor Frannie had woken up twice already, sweating, in a panic from her nightmare.

The aftermath of violence Peter had hoped to god he would never have to help his daughter through.
He was swirling the small glass of whiskey around and around in the moonlight.

4 hours till Carrie was home.

Goddamit, why my girl was all he could think. He’d wanted to give Frannie an idyllic life; and for the most part (Mental Health accepted, and he couldn’t control that) he had. They had.

And now it had all been ripped away from him by the one thing he used to trust to keep him safe.
Weaponry.
He was aware how fucked up his life had been, all too aware, for a long time. He’d never wanted to expose Frannie to that. Never.
He knew, honestly, that it wasn’t his fault.

But it felt like it.
His daughters’ sweetheart betrayed her, and in the long-term maybe it was easier to move on with him dead from suicide than having to go and give evidence at his trial. His action of not killing Adam to ensure he stood trial had led Frannie to nearly kill him. If he’d been half a second later disarming her, he was sure she would have done.

I mean, of course it was unlikely she would ever have been prosecuted, a temporary insanity defence would have been a pretty sure-fire victory, but Peter knew better than anyone the toll that death took upon a person.

Frannie was breathing faster now, her face screwed up in the moonlight, her hands making fists. Nightmare taking over again.

Peter reached out to push his daughters now sweat soaked hair from her face, murmuring soft reassurances.

“It’s ok Red, you’re home, you’re safe, Daddy’s here.”

She was shifting in the bed now, her body contorting and writhing. Suddenly she screamed, sitting up bolt upright. Hyperventilating, her eyes open and wild.

“You’re ok Red,” Peter had time to say, before all of a sudden, he thrust a bowl under her mouth and bile was coming out of her, throwing up in her panic.

Peter kept a soft, reassuring hand on her shoulder.

It took some time for Frannie to stop throwing up, maybe an hour or so. Then she just sat back in the bed, soft moonlight on her face looking utterly exhausted. They sat in silence for a short while.

“Is mum coming?” She asked.
Peter looked at his watch.

“She’ll be about 3 hours.” Peter responded.

Silence, again. They’d always favoured silence, both of them. Apart from the 6 months where the bullies had made his poor Fran almost unschoolable.

“Are you ok?” Frannie asked softly.
Peter leaned forward.

“I don’t want you worrying about me Red, I’m not the one who had to witness what you witnessed today.”

“I will worry though. You need to tell me, or tell mum if you’re not ok.”

Mathieson eyes, boring through him again.

“I mean it Dad. I mean it. I don’t know how to even start getting through this. I cannot sleep, if I sleep I dream. If I dream I wake and it’s all real again.”

Silent tears again, fast breathing.

“Hey… Hey…,” Peter pulled his chair up to his daughter’s bed, leaning forward again and grabbing her shoulder with that soft, safe hand. Passing a drink to the other hand. Frannie took a sip.

“How am I ever going to move on from this? How did you move on Dad? I feel like I’ve been ripped in two.” The tears rolled down her face like a waterfall, again.

“Truth is Fran, you’ll feel like this for a long time. But eventually you’ll realise it isn’t your fault, I promise. You’ll remember your friends, even James, for the good things, the fun things. The bad will fade sweetheart, honestly it will.”

The sniffles carried on. Then he heard her stomach rumble.

“C’mere,” Peter said guiding her to get up. “Let’s get you a snack, and watch some TV while we wait for mum.”

Frannie followed her Dad downstairs, sitting on the breakfast bar seats while Peter whipped them up some late night pancakes.

Frannie grabbed the remote and switched on the T.V.

“This is Fox News at 10 pm. The headlines tonight; further stories are coming out about the Langley School shooting today which killed 42 individuals, about the heroism of one girl, the daughter of a Police Officer who led the negotiations which secured the release of everyone who was being held hostage within the hall of the school building. We now go to Jackson Hill, our Virginia correspondent. Jackson, what can you tell us about Frances’ Mathieson?”

“We know that Frances’ Mathieson is 15, she was in the same class as two of the shooters for much of her period of time in School and apparently seemed to know at least one of them very well. She herself is an award winning shooter with a long-gun…” The news reporter droned on.

Frannies’ eyes were wide open. She turned to her Dad,
“Switch it off Red, you don’t need to see this.”

Frannie was speechless, she just carried on staring.
Peter reached across, grabbing the remote and switching the TV off.

“I should have realised the time Red, I’m sorry.” Peter said.

Frannie just stared, her face gaping, mouth forming words but nothing coming out.

“Eat your pancakes Fran, Mum will be here soon.”
Frannie’s open mouth turned towards her Dad.

“What… why…” She tried to start formulating words.
“Don’t think about it Red, the news dies down fast.”

Frannie pushed the food around her plate.
Silence reigned.

“You should eat Red…you barley ate all day. The sugar will make you feel better…” Peter tried.

Frannie looked at her Dad, tears rolling down her eyes

“Why are they talking about me?” she asked.

She looked so young all of a sudden. Like the child she was. Like the scared child he had been.

Peter scooted around the table to crouch next to his daughter, holding her shoulders in both hands.

“Sweetheart, they will stop talking about you soon. These things disappear from the news quickly, I promise. First it’s thoughts and prayers with the victim, then it’s “never again” condemnation. Even the Stoneman Douglas School shooting doesn’t even make final page news on the anniversary anymore and they led a huge march back when you were little.”

Peters’ eyes tried to catch his daughter’s eyes, she was looking straight past him, clearly deep in thought.

Her eyes met her Dad’s after some time.

“What if I don’t want them to stop talking about it? About me? About the shooting. I want things to change. And I know what Mum will say… she’ll say if I give a statement to the press then I’m burned. No one at the CIA will ever try to recruit me, and I’ll be free to live my own life. That’s what Mum would say.”

Peter gathered his daughter into his arms again. She couldn’t cry any more, she had no tears left. She clung to him.

“Think about it first Red… it’s a big choice to make. I won’t stop you if it’s what you want, but you can’t do it because you think it’s what me or mum want. It could consume your life, it will be a runaway train once you start. Every move you make will be on TV, you’ll keep yourself in the news. They’ll go through everything, they’ll know that you knew James and Lucia. They'll make out like you could have stopped them.”

"Maybe I could have done?"

"You couldn't Fran. They made their choices. That's not your fault."

Frannie clung to her Dad.

He rocked her, for a long time.

Eventually Frannie sat up. She pulled her plate towards her and started eating slowly.

She ate half of the pancakes on the table, then pushed the plate away.

“How long till Mum’s here?” She asked.
Peter checked his watch.

“Couple of hours maybe, she’ll be in American airspace by now. Movie?”

Two hours later, Carrie walked through the door to find her husband asleep on the sofa, their daughter tucked under his arm, asleep.

The emergency landing of her plane in Paris Charles De Gulle Airport, being met by the CIA station chief and put on the next military flight out of Europe had been terrifying. It had been even worse when she had found out why.

Her daughter, hostage in a school shooting, her husband outside as hostage negotiator.

It had been a piece of her past crazy life all over again.

An Islamabad that she hadn’t been able to fly home from.

She sat down on the other side of her husband as the credits rolled on the movie they had been watching. The Lion King. She reached forward and grabbed the remote, switching it off.

Peter stirred.

“Ssshh.” Carrie said, lifting up Peters arm and snuggling next to her husband. “I’m home.”
And they stayed like that until morning.

The sun rose red on the new day.

It had taken Frannie most of the day to summon up the courage to go to the Police Station to give her statement.

Carrie and Peter had taken an hour to fit Frannie out in a wig, huge sunglasses. Different clothes to normal, smart, suit pants of her mum’s rather than her usual sportswear so it was less obvious to the press it was her. Carrie drove her in, Peter having been present at the scene and therefore unable to support Frannie’s witness testimony. Peter had gone in a different direction to the station, in his station car and in through the front door.

It had taken her hours, and had been harrowing, recounting moment by moment the events in that room and her reasoning behind it.

But eventually it was over.

Frannie was stood with her mum and dad said, just outside of the view of the door.

“You don’t have to make this choice today Red,” her father said to her, strong, safe hand on her shoulder.

Mum drew her into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you Fran, whatever you choose.”

Frannie stood there, looking at her Mum and Dad so intently.

Then she reached up, pulling the wig and the sunglasses off before turning out and walking out of the door into the sunlight and the waiting press. It was fast. Like She did it before she could change her mind.

She almost couldn't say anything when she was outside. There were dozens of people there, vans from CNN and Fox News.

“If we were to have a minute silence for every victim of gun violence this past year, we would be silent for 10.4 days.
If we were to have a minute silence for every victim of gun violence since Stoneman Douglas, we would be silent for 156 days.
If we were to have a minute silence for every victim of gun violence since Sandy Hook, it would be 386 days.
The 49 confirmed deaths from my School are just the tip of the iceberg.”

Frannie had tears rolling down her face now, but her chin was held high.

“For years and years, people quote their second amendment right to carry a gun.
I am a shooter.
I’ve won awards for my shooting.
I hope to compete in the Olympics for shooting.
But there is no way that 3 Children should have been able to get hold for AR-15’s, modify their weapons into fully automatic assault rifles and walk into their school.
I know what happens now.
It happened after Sandy Hook.
It happened after Stoneman Douglas.
People will say, “Our thoughts and Prayers are with the victims.” Then they will say “this must never happen again.”
But then the NRA will donate some money to the government, and gun control is off the table again.
I’m asking the press to be responsible.
I’m asking the press to make this their responsibility.
I’d like the press to publish on the front page of every major news article, the top page of every news report.
I want them to publish the faces of the people who are murdered or die by suicide as a result of guns every day in this country.
I’d like them to publish it every day.
I want the politicians and the NRA to have to face every day the consequences of their actions, when they go to work, when they walk past a news stand. I would never wish what I have been through, what my friends have been through on my worse enemy.
But anyone involved in the NRA should know what it's like to feel a human bleed out beneath them, like I felt our kind wonderful Dinner lady bleed out underneath me.
Because as much as they tell me “Guns are a tool, like Knives.” The fact remains, Adam, James and Lucia would not have managed to kill 49 individuals with a knife.”

Frannie sobbed now, wiping hot tears away from her face.
“Please. Show you have integrity. Make them pay.”

She walked back towards the Police station and through the door, as the snapping of cameras burned her face painfully. She ran through the door into the waiting arms of her mother and father.
And she cried.