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Kaminsky deserved everything that happened to him. There are still two thumb drives left to explore, but Stiles has already found more than enough proof that he was likely drugging women, having sex with them, and then taking inappropriate photos of them when they were passed out. The drugging is speculation at this point, but Stiles can see the pupil dilation and flushed faces that most of the women have in common for any photos taken before they’re out cold.
The photos of Kaley were on the second thumb drive that he searched around two in the morning. He found them and deleted them, knowing there wasn’t any reason to keep them. The other photos will be deleted once he’s sure there isn’t anything important about them. Considering the fact that Kaminsky used the photos to blackmail Kaley, he suspects that wasn’t a one time thing. That means the women are going to need to be identified just to rule out any connections that Kaminsky might have taken advantage of over what seems to be at least five years.
“Still looking through files, Doc?” Bucky asks, perching on the edge of the desk. “Finding anything besides porn yet?”
“Not much,” he says, leaning back in the chair and looking up at Bucky. “There were some photos from about three years ago that were taken of an old warehouse. It included interior shots, but I couldn’t narrow down a location even with the metadata. A few other random things like that, but it’s mostly nude women.”
“I got a bad vibe from the guy when I met him at the holiday party,” Bucky admits. “I couldn’t really place why, it was just one of those gut feelings, so I’m happy to know that my intuition is still solid.”
“Yeah, I never liked him because he seemed like a chauvinistic frat bro,” Stiles says. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve met people who were part of a frat who are decent men. It’s the stereotype that Kaminsky played into that I can’t stand.”
“Did you find the photos for your doctor friend?” Bucky asks. “I know you really wanted to locate those so she’d know they’ve been destroyed.”
“Yeah, I deleted them before we went to bed,” he says. “They’re the only ones I’m doing anything with right now. I just want her to know they’re gone, and I plan to tell her about the others and how he might have been using drugs to make them more compliant.”
Bucky frowns, tapping his fingers against the top of the desk in an irregular rhythm. “I’m not too upset knowing that the guy’s dead,” he says honestly. “Even if he didn’t try to shoot you, the world is better off without him in it.”
“Yeah, I can agree with that,” Stiles says. “Not only was he a Hydra minion, but he’s been practicing medicine without a license. I mean, I’d really like to know how he got his forged documents because the guy never even went to med school. If that gets out, the hospital will have a public relations nightmare on their hands.”
“I don’t know how a hospital system as well-established as yours failed to catch an imposter,” Bucky says. “Did you ever doubt his abilities? You must have worked with him during his time in your department.”
“I mean, it isn’t common, but there have been a few cases over the years,” he says. “I can’t say that I ever doubted him. We did work together sometimes, and he seemed to be trained. If Jarvis hadn’t run into a dead end with both Adam Kaminsky and Adam Stone, I’d think he did attend med school.”
“Maybe he did go to school under a third alias,” Bucky suggests. “You’re observant, Doc. I find it difficult to believe that he could fool you for, what, more than two years. He’d have to have slipped up sometime if he never had training.”
“Well, he used to say that he wanted to work in emergency medicine because of this old TV show called ER. Maybe he just watched a lot of medical dramas,” Stiles says thoughtfully. “I’d like to think that I’d notice if I was working with a fake doctor, but I’m not perfect, so I might have missed it.”
Bucky snorts. “That seems like a stupid reason to want to become a doctor, especially when it takes so much time and money to get it done. Wonder if he saw himself as the star of his own show or something.”
“Hey, I became a doctor because my inner darkness thrives on chaos and pain, so I realized I could feed that desire while helping people,” Stiles points out. “At the time, I couldn’t acknowledge that the darkness was actually mine and not just a byproduct of possession, so changing majors from Criminal Justice to emergency med made sense.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine you being a cop, Doc,” Bucky says with a laugh. “Your morality is a bit too shadowy for law enforcement. Of course, there are more cops these days who aren’t worthy of protecting and serving, so it’s probably good that you changed majors because you’d probably have been killing a lot of your coworkers for hurting innocent people.”
“You’re not wrong about that, Buck,” he says, shaking his head. “Too many rules and restrictions that prevent you from actually helping the people who need it, and a code that’s worse than most hunter clans when it comes to shielding their own who do wrong. I see too much of it in the city. Made me realize that the way my dad tries to run his station is an exception and not the rule.”
“How are you really feeling about all of this and about Stone?” Bucky asks softly. “I know you’re fine with what happened to him, especially after he tried to shoot you, but he’s still someone you worked with and didn’t realize was secretly Hydra. Nat told me that it was difficult when she realized how many of her fellow SHIELD agents had betrayed them. It wasn’t like she trusted them or was overly friendly with them, but she still felt some kind of way about it.”
Stiles looks at him and sighs. “You don’t want a glib ‘everything’s fine’ answer, do you? No, don’t even answer that. I already know that you’re going to force me to be honest and admit how I’m really feeling because you know I need to talk instead of ignoring it like it’ll go away,” he says, torn between being glad that Bucky knows him so well and wishing he could just pretend it’s fine so he can get through all of this.
“I love having these conversations with you when I don’t even have to respond because you know what I’m likely to say,” Bucky says with a slight smile. “But you’re right. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away, Doc. You need to talk things out sometimes so you can let the emotions go and move forward.”
“I’m mostly annoyed,” he says honestly. Bucky slides off the desk and walks over to his chair, making a gesture with his hand. Stiles huffs a laugh but stands up, letting Bucky take the chair from him. He then sits back down on Bucky’s lap, leaning against his chest as he feels the familiar touch of metal against his scalp. “Why didn’t I notice it, Buck? I worked with the guy a few shifts a month for over two years, and I bought into the whole act and just avoided him.”
“Because you aren’t all-knowing,” Bucky says, rubbing his scalp in that comforting way that makes him feel relaxed no matter how stressed he is at the time. “I know you’re a genius, but you can’t know everything about everyone you ever meet. It just isn’t possible. Besides, you told me that you were mostly focused on work and being politely professional with most of the people you work with before we met. Why would you ever suspect that the jerk resident wasn’t really who he said he was and was actually a member of Hydra?”
“Yeah, that is a pretty big leap that I’d have to make,” he agrees with a snort. “And I wouldn’t have ever considered Hydra as a possibility even if I’d noticed something odd about Kaminsky. Before I got to know you, I never thought about superheroes and supervillains unless they were adding to my workload in the emergency department.”
“I remember the rants when we first met,” Bucky says, smiling slightly. “Vigilantes in tights, wasn’t it?” He brushes his lips against Stiles’ jaw in a whisper of a kiss. “How are you feeling about Kaminsky’s death? I know he tried to shoot you, but it’s still someone you know and have worked with.”
Stiles looks at him, reaching up to hold Bucky’s cheek with his palm. “You know that I wasn’t leaving that apartment with Kaminsky alive, Buck. Even if he hadn't shot at me, he wasn’t surviving the day. He killed Hazel. Wash sort of made his own bed, but Kaminsky used my name to get close to Hazel, and he killed her.”
“I know, Doc,” Bucky murmurs. “I knew he was going to die as soon as you took Peter with you. My morals might not be as dubious as yours, but I can’t claim to be some kind of saint. Not with all of the innocent blood on my hands. I do my best now that I have control of myself to make sure that any new blood isn’t from the innocent. You needed to avenge Hazel. Jesus, don’t tell Stark or Sam that I used that stupid word because they’ll think their recruitment efforts are working.”
“You’ll have to make it worth my while, hot stuff,” he says, stroking his thumb over the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “I like the word dubious. It’s a nicer way of saying gray to black. I’d like to lie to you and claim that ruthless streak is because of my magic and the Nogitsune remnants, but I was willing to kill people to keep the people who are mine safe before any of that even happened. It’s oddly amusing to consider that three of the ones I told Scott we should just kill or let die are now apparently in my pack.”
“You were willing, but would you have actually done it if you weren’t completely convinced they were guilty?” Bucky asks, giving him a knowing look. “You were a teenager, so it’s easy to believe that you’d go for the simplest solution to keep yourself and your loved ones safe, but you never did do it. Did you?”
“Stop being intuitive and smart,” he mutters, pouting. “I know you’re meeting Sam soon to go talk to that Maria lady about barbershops and centipedes, which means we don’t have time for me to show you how sexy you are when you’re smart.”
“Sorry, I can’t help it, Doc. I’m always smart, just like I’m always devastatingly handsome,” he says modestly. “You knew that when you decided to be my boyfriend, so no pouting allowed.”
“Did I tell you that Kaminsky called me wimpy?” he asks, dropping his hand because he knows they have more important things to do at the moment than making out. Not only the Hydra crap, but Christmas is tomorrow, and he doesn’t have a damn thing bought yet. “He actually questioned my virility and said I had low self-esteem before you’re so fit.”
“Seriously? Hasn’t he ever seen your shoulders and arms? Wimpy, my ass,” Bucky says, an irritated look on his face. “He was just jealous because you’re way better looking and people like you. Most of the people at your holiday party avoided him, and he definitely wasn’t good-looking.”
“Thanks, boo,” he says, grinning. “But, yeah, he seemed bitter for some reason. He kept saying he wanted to ‘take care of me’ like he was an extra in the Godfather, but the mysterious boss didn’t want me to be killed.” He frowns as thinks back to Kaminsky’s rant. “He said even the boss thinks that the sun shines out of my ass.”
“Someone you’ve never met isn’t likely to give that impression, are they?” Bucky asks thoughtfully. “And it does sound like he was jealous. Not of your looks necessarily, but maybe whoever this boss is likes you more than they liked him. God, that sounds like high school. Forget I even suggested that.”
“I don’t know. I called him petty and bitter about it,” he says, shrugging. “Then I asked him about Wash and Lucas. You did get someone to guard Lucas’ room, didn’t you? We need to make sure that no one is ever alone with him, not even medical staff since Kaminsky proved we can’t trust anyone.”
“I already told you that he’s safe,” Bucky says, gently stroking his scalp. “Nat got one of ours there as soon as you let us know, and Stark’s got an intern monitoring a video feed of the door to his room.”
“I don’t think interns are supposed to be doing illegal activities,” Stiles says, leaning into Bucky’s touch. “Hopefully, they’ll be able to wake him up from the coma soon, and we can find out what he knows that scared Kaminsky enough to arrange for him to be killed.”
“I don’t think this Hydra cell needs much to have someone end up on their hit list,” Bucky points out. “Look at dishonest Abe. He was letting them use his bank to launder their money, and they didn’t like the fact that he skimmed some from the top as an exchange fee. He’s lucky he had the money to hide, but he’s on their list now.”
“Right, you said he was cooperating,” Stiles says, his mind so focused on Kaminsky and the unknown boss that he didn’t even ask for a more thorough update from Bucky. “Did you find out how Mata was involved and why he became a target?”
“Driskill claims that Mata wasn’t involved in the laundering,” Bucky says. “He said that Mata started acting oddly a few weeks before the fire, but they didn’t really cross paths at the bank. Considering other information he was sharing, I don’t know why he’d lie about it, but maybe he was involved with the fire and figured it’s a murder charge.”
“Enki sent us to Mata and Driskill then back to Mata,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t see it being a random coincidence that Driskill’s involved with Nergal-Hydra but somehow Mata isn’t part of it. I mean, we know that Hydra is responsible for murdering him. I got confirmation from the goons who set the fire about that.”
“Speaking of fire, you know that you can’t avoid your apartment forever,” Bucky says, lightly squeezing his neck. “It’s been really busy since the ambush. I get it, but you haven’t gone to check on your place since the fire. If you don’t want to go back, I can hire movers to pack it up and take it wherever you want it to go. If you’ve got room at the new place, it can go there, or you could sort it and store some of it here. There are plenty of extra rooms on the third floor, so you could use one for storage.”
“I haven’t thought about it, not with talking to Kaley and going to see Kaminsky,” he admits. He really does need to go by so he can get stuff to take to Lydia’s or she’ll think he’s backtracking on living with her now that she’s here. “I mean, I’ve barely even checked in with Lydia since the ambush. I’m failing so hard right now at multitasking. Thank God, Stef, Dan, and Yvie took my shifts this week because there’s no way I could have added work to all of this. I need to go by my apartment to check on things, but I might let you play Sugar Daddy afterwards and just have everything moved so I don’t have to worry about that, too.”
“You’ve got more than enough things here to wear,” Bucky says. “I say the apartment can wait for after Christmas, at least. Speaking of, have we decided what we’re doing yet? Now that there's another pack member here, I wasn’t sure if we needed to plan a meal of some kind for the pack or if we’d just accept Pepper’s offer for Christmas dinner.”
“Dude, Christmas is tomorrow, and I’m not at all prepared for anything,” he groans. “Can we just ignore it this year and plan for our first real Christmas together to be next year? I really hate to fail at this boyfriend thing so soon after becoming one, but it’s just been so busy. It’s not a good excuse, though. In the words of the great Ferris Bueller, ‘Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it’. It’s only recently that I’m beginning to understand what he meant.”
“Hey, first off, you aren’t failing at anything, Doc,” Bucky says, stroking his back in a calming way. “Second, I haven’t celebrated Christmas since the war, so it's not really difficult to please me when it comes to all of that holiday mumbo jumbo. If I get to spend time with you, that’s all I could really want. Definitely don’t stress about some day that isn’t much different from other days. Okay? You aren’t going to miss your life.”
“I’ll text Lydia in a little while to find out what she wants to do tomorrow,” he decides. “I’m not usually lucky enough to be off on the actual holidays, so we usually meet in Boston and go out to eat somewhere with our parents. I don’t know how I got lucky enough to be off work all of the holidays this year. It’s really strange, and I feel a little guilty about it, but I’m sure I’ll end up working all of them next year like usual.”
“After Steve’s mom died, we didn’t really do much for the holidays,” Bucky says. “We’d go see the tree at Rockefeller Center, maybe do some ice skating if the weather was cold enough for it, and we’d eat whatever his neighbor, old lady O’Malley, gave us as leftovers from her meal. Sometimes, there’d be a great program on the radio, but it was usually something we’d heard before.”
“I haven’t had a big Christmas since my mom died,” Stiles says thoughtfully. “Dad didn’t marry Natalie until I was away at college, so they’ve always just flown out to meet us some time convenient for me and Lydia. It might be nice to plan something more traditional for next year, but this year is a total loss. I’ll probably end up giving IOUs for gifts because I need to make some progress on Kaminsky’s files before worrying about gifts.”
A quick knock on the door is followed by Sam stepping inside. “Aww. Aren’t you two just as sweet as apple pie?” he asks dryly, making a gagging face. “When does this honeymoon phase end? I’m reminded of my singleness every time I’m around you, and I could become very resentful about your happiness.”
“Apple pie isn’t always sweet. Sometimes, it’s sour,” Stiles points out. “Depends on the apples that are used. I’ve had some awful apple pies before. I think a better comparison might have been pie without a flavor. Oh, or honey. Honey is usually always sweet.”
“In other words, we’ll still be in the honeymoon phase in a hundred years, Sam,” Bucky says with an easy grin. “Hell, maybe even two hundred years. Is it already time to go? I haven’t been paying attention to the clock.”
“Not surprised since you’ve got a lapful of smartass blocking your view,” Sam says, rolling his eyes at Bucky’s hundred years comment. He doesn’t realize just how serious Bucky is, which is for the best. Sam looks at Stiles and arches his brow. “And I’ll have you know that the apple pies that my Grammy made were sweeter than a glass of cold iced tea. I’ll keep my comparison, thanks.”
“I’ll assume it’s a southern thing since you always use that excuse when we question your sayings,” Stiles teases. He’s developed a fondness for Sam over the weeks, and he finds it easy to fuck with him because Sam still manages to get caught off guard by it. He does an awful southern drawl and says, “Bless your heart.”
“That accent is atrocious,” Sam says, grimacing. “You might be from Cali, but you’re definitely not an actor. Don’t do that again. It’s weird.” He walks towards the kitchen, doing a double take and almost tripping when he passes the desk. “What the hell are you looking at, Stiles?”
“Kaminsky had a collection of homemade porn,” Stiles says. “I’m going through all of the files to make sure there isn’t anything important mixed in with the nakedness.”
“Why do we have to interview rich old white men who smell like menthol while you get to read porny sex messages and look at naked women?” Sam asks, giving him a look. “I don’t see how that breakdown of duties is fair. Not that I want to see nude photos of women without their consent, but I’m just really tired of rich old white men.”
“Maria might take offense to being compared to rich old white men who smell like menthol,” Bucky says with a snort. “You know that Stiles can’t officially go interview people or deal with most of what we do. Sorting through files to look for clues is something he can do, though. That and research.”
Sam gives them a look before continuing into the kitchen. “You notice that I’m not pointing out the fact that he obviously interviewed Stone slash Kaminsky,” he says, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Walking back over to them, he narrows his eyes. “I’m also not asking why he just used past tense when referring to someone he spoke to yesterday. If I don’t know anything, I can live my life in a wonderful oblivion.”
Stiles leans over and smacks a kiss against Bucky’s lips. “You should get going, Buck,” he says, sliding off his lap. He feels Bucky’s hand flex, like he wants to pull him back for a real kiss but realizes they have someone there. “Go find out what the hell centipede barbershops are, alright?”
“Yeah, hopefully Maria will have some idea about it because I’d rather not ask Nat, since that whole SHIELD betrayal puts her in a bad mood,” Bucky says, standing up. “Are you planning to hang out here today researching, Doc?”
“That’s the plan,” he says, nodding. “I’d like to just really focus on the files and the Bumble thing. If I can get one of those done today, it’ll be an accomplishment.” He shrugs. “We’ll see how long I can concentrate with the skeeviness of flipping through these photos, though. With the Bumble sex chats, I can skim those without really paying much attention to the sex part. The photos are a violation for all of these women, though, and I hate feeling like I’m part of that.”
“You’re not looking at them to get aroused,” Bucky reminds him. “You’ll be able to make good time with it without any distractions, so I bet you’re done when I get back later. If you do decide to go out, remember—“
“Peter took Braeden to Sleepy Hollow to get settled in,” Stiles says, figuring that’s more Sam appropriate than saying that Peter and Braeden are disposing of a body, cleaning a crime scene, and thoroughly searching Kaminsky’s apartment. “If there isn’t a babysitter available, I won’t be going anywhere, which is another reason why I’ll be hanging out here today.”
“Not babysitters,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “Bodyguards if you have to call it anything. By the way, when do I get to meet Braeden? I’m really curious to see if she matches what I’ve imagined hearing stories about her.”
“It doesn’t matter what you call it, Buck. It means I don’t have the freedom to even take a walk without someone with me,” he mutters. “Braeden’s going to be around for a bit, so I’m sure you’ll meet her soon. What exactly have you imagined?”
“Someone tough and scary,” Bucky says immediately. “Probably wearing leather because she sounds like she’d ride a motorcycle. No solo walks until we know you’re safe, Doc. I’ll be back in a while. If you need me, text. I’ll have my phone with me.”
After Bucky and Sam leave, Stiles sits back down and rolls the chair closer to the desk. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he gets his mind back into research mode. Clicking the mouse, he starts the slideshow again. The backgrounds of the photos aren’t just Kaminsky’s bedroom. He noticed that during the first thumb drive he reviewed, and he’s seeing a lot more variety in the files on this thumb drive.
Stopping the slideshow, he checks the metadata on one of the photos. It was taken in November of last year, which helps him determine the timeline for this drive. He makes a note of the date on his tablet along with the color of the drive. Since there were five of them, he can’t tell which is the oldest or newest without looking for dates. The oldest one so far is a SanDisk USB that went back five years ago. The newest one so far is the red Verbatim, which is where the photos of Kaley were located. That one covered two years ago.
Kaminsky didn’t seem to have a type beyond ‘woman’, since there isn’t any kind of pattern with his partners. The women are all sizes, hair colors, ethnicities, and ages. Thank fuck the perv didn’t go for underage girls, at least. The youngest he’s seen have been in their early twenties while the oldest had to have been in her fifties, at least. Stiles has to assume that drugs were involved because Kaminsky didn’t seem like the type of guy who could get this many women interested in him naturally.
And he isn’t saying that out of jealousy or bitterness. Adam Stoner was a douchebag, and Adam Kaminsky was a Nazi. He also wasn’t particularly handsome, which Stiles knows is important to some women. If he’d been kind or funny, that could totally make up for not having stellar good looks, but he wasn’t either of those things.
The slideshow begins again, and Stiles lets it run while he gets his phone out. Keeping half of his attention on the photos, he types a quick text to Lydia.
Sorry for the radio silence, sister wife. It’s been kinda crazy around here. Tomorrow’s Christmas. What do we want to do? Pep invited us for dinner, but Peter’s here now. Braeden showed up yesterday, too. Any ideas?
After sending the text, he reaches for the mouse. He can click through them much faster than the slideshow. As he’s moving from photo to photo, he listens for Lydia’s reply. He’s clicking quickly, just scanning for anything that stands out as unusual, when he clicks past something that strikes a memory.
“Wait a second,” he murmurs, clicking to go back. The photo is just as awful as the others, the woman’s dazed expression and dilated pupils all too familiar after seeing it dozens of times already. He stares at the image intently, trying to figure out what struck his memory.
Suddenly, he sits up and almost falls out of the chair. The woman in the photograph. He knows that face. Where does he know that face from? Pretty girl, early twenties, brown hair, green eyes, freckles. Where has he seen her before? He taps his fingers on the desk, tapping into memories from the Nogitsune just in case. Closing his eyes, he concentrates, flipping through memories as quickly as he scrolled through the slideshow.
The smell of smoke tickles his nose. Burned skin. A frail hand tugging on his lab coat. Green eyes wide with fear and pain. He inhales sharply as he opens his eyes, looking at the woman and replacing the pale skin with bruises, burns, and blisters.
“Carrie Hill,” he whispers. The woman who died on his table after the Meadowlark East fire. The victim who was found in Tommy Mata’s apartment. Kaminsky had sex with her last year, and took multiple photos of her in degrading ways. “How did you get from Kaminsky to Mata?”
His phone rings, startling him and making him jerk the mouse off the desk. With a soft laugh at himself, he picks up the phone and sees Lydia's video calling him. He pauses the slideshow and turns his chair, so he isn’t staring at Carrie Hill’s face.
“Hey, babe, you could have just sent me a text,” he says after accepting the call. When he sees Lydia, he tightens his grip on the phone and knows his eyes flash black as he looks at her. “Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Forgive me for not texting. As you can see,
I’m just a little tied up at the moment, baby brother,” she says tightly, staring at him intently. “I’m as well as I can be considering the circumstances.”
“I assume you have some sort of message for me,” he says, taking screenshots so he can look more closely at the background later. Right now, he’s too focused on the bruise that’s blossoming on Lydia’s cheek to focus on anything else.
“Would it be a kidnapping without a demand?” she asks, arching her brow as if she’s blasé about the whole thing. “They believe that you have important information that was given to you by Dr. Wash. If you give them that information, they’ll release me unharmed.”
How did they get you? He wants to ask the question but knows that whoever is holding her phone is listening. Fortunately, he and Lydia have their own way of communicating. “How many things am I supposed to have from Wash?”
“At least a dozen, maybe two,” she says. Looking up at whoever is standing behind the phone, she narrows her eyes before she looks scared. “I’m ready to scream, Stiles, but I know that you need this to finally be over, so I’m trying to remain calm. I was supposed to be doing last minute Christmas shopping with friends, not being kidnapped by a wannabe Raeken. Do you have the files that they want?”
“I have files,” he tells her, making a mental note of what she’s saying so he can analyze it later. “Where do I need to bring the files? Where are you at?”
The video suddenly mutes, and he sees Lydia talking to someone. When the mute button goes away, she says, “They aren’t going to let me answer that question, Stiles. God, I can’t think right now. It’s like when you’d wear your old jersey and Jackson would have his, too, and we’d be hanging out at Derek’s first place, listening to the wind sounding like a whistle. Our very own HQ for a few wonderful months. Goodness, I must be hungry because I’m talking nonsense. They couldn’t be cordial enough to wait until after lunch to kidnap me. I think I’m in shock, babe. I’ve been kidnapped.”
“They aren’t getting anything if you’re hurt or injured. I’m already upset about that bruise,” he says firmly, playing into her brainless act. “Being hungry isn’t acceptable, either. They need to feed you and untie your hands. That rope is going to rub your wrists raw. Where am I meeting them to trade these files for you, Lydia?”
Her gaze flicks up before looking back at him. “They’ll text you a location when they’re ready. They plan to give you a few hours to get it all together,” she says. “You’ll go alone to meet them. Don’t involve the police or they’ll kill me.” She looks slightly amused at that before she quickly looks scared again, even adding some tears to her performance. “They don’t want to harm either of us. They just need the files that Wash gave you. Please do as they say, Stiles. I don’t want to die.”
A few hours. That gives him time to get reinforcements and track her down with the information she gave him. “I’m not giving the files to anyone other than the boss,” he says. “I don’t trust any of their minions and soldiers, but I’ll trust the boss to fulfill their side of the deal.”
She looks up and slowly nods. “The boss agrees,” she says, sniffling loudly. “I’m really scared, Stiles. I don’t know who these people are or why I’m even involved. Please give them whatever they want, trójca . I love you, Stiles.”
The call ends, and he’s left staring at the black screen. “Fuck,” he curses, standing up and kicking the chair. They’ve made the worst mistake they could ever make when it comes to him—they took Lydia. They took his sister, and they think he’s going to just hand over files he doesn’t even have? When he’s finished, they’ll wish they’d suffered as little as Kaminsky did in comparison.
He grabs the chair and pulls it over, sitting down and reaching for his tablet. He starts writing down everything Lydia said, knowing he has to put the breadcrumbs together before he does anything stupid and reckless. That part can come after he’s called Peter and Bucky to let them know what’s going on. Right now, he has to analyze Lydia’s clues. Then he can focus on finally taking down the boss and, hopefully, Nergal.