Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This Mitchell guy is too smart, asks too many questions.

Craig Cardwell hadn’t even realized that the FBI worked internationally when he’d planned all of this. That was the whole point of hiring a worker from Portugal.

He’d expected local law enforcement to be handling the whole thing. Figured they would drop everything when Leah showed up safe, leaving him to collect a police report – slim on details but more than enough to argue his wife was an unsuitable guardian.

Discovering that the FBI had a – a fly team he thinks they’d called themselves – that handled matters relating to US citizens abroad had been alarming.

Meeting the agents investigating his daughter’s abduction has been even more so.

Because recovering Leah hasn’t changed anything for them. They’re determined to keep pushing until they find the man responsible.

And Craig can’t afford for them to do that.

Luis is already ignoring his calls, hopefully recognizing the heat and choosing to lie low.

Unfortunately, he’d had another job in mind for the man but there are others, like that kid that Luis had brought in to lure Leah away from the party.

Retrieving his burner phone, he sends a text.

He won’t let this fail; he’s already invested too much time and money, put his daughter through too much.

Wes steps out of the police station, running a hand through his hair.

The evidence is starting to come together and he doesn’t really like the picture that it’s forming.

Craig Cardwell had rubbed him wrong right from the start.

He’d learned early on as a cop that when a guy calls his ex crazy, that’s usually more about him than the ex.

And when a guy goes out of his way to make sure that’s the first thing that cops know when he should be worried about the fact that his child is missing, its usually a bad sign.

Though usually it just speaks to an incredibly toxic relationship between two immature adults, sometimes leading to the discovery that the missing kid has staged their own kidnapping to get away from their parents’ mess.

But if Craig had really paid a man to kidnap his own daughter, returning her unharmed but undeniably shaken, in some play to wrestle custody of their sons from his ex, that’s a new one.

What kind of parent could do that to their child?

Not everyone who has offspring is fit to be a parent. Wes knows that better than most.

But even the stellar specimens that he’d been born to wouldn’t have stooped so low as this.

Or maybe they would have, if they’d had the money and circumstances such as these had presented themselves.

Maybe he should just count himself lucky that he’ll never know for sure. Not like Leah if they’re right about this.

A van screeches to a halt nearby and he looks over.

Who drives like that much of an asshole in front of a police station?

And then two men dressed in black are barreling out of the back and something is crashing hard against the side of his head.

What the hell?

Disoriented from the blow, his struggles are unproductive as a bag is pulled over his head and he’s lifted and thrown into the back of the van.

As he feels the vehicle start to move underneath him, another blow lands and the explosion of pain in his head is enough to drive him straight into the black.

Cam looks over the evidence they’ve collected.

It’s all circumstantial right now but enough that none of them have a single doubt that Craig was involved in his daughter’s kidnapping.

But Luis isn’t talking and without the man being able to finger the man who’d paid him, she really doesn’t know if they’ll be able to prove it.

Commotion by the doors catches her attention but she ignores it.

Crime in Portugal doesn’t stop because the FBI is here investigating the kidnapping of an American citizen.

If it’s something they can help with, someone will let them know. Otherwise, it’s unlikely to be appreciated if she just butts in.

“Agent Vo!”

Detective Lopez is at the door, eyes wide.

“Is everything alright?” She asks.

“There was just an abduction on the street right in front of the station.” The woman says. “One of my officers saw the whole thing but couldn’t get there fast enough to stop them from getting away.”

“How can I help?”

“Agent Vo. It was Agent Mitchell.”

She’s running before fully registering the words. Wes had stepped out to get some air.

Who would have….

Craig Cardwell.

As she probably should have realized, they’re long gone before she steps through the front doors.

There are flashing lights and nearly a dozen officers milling around. A crime tech is knelt on the sidewalk, hopefully processing some evidence that can help them.

“Do you have cameras?” She asks Lopez.

The footage doesn’t help much but Andre gets to work looking for the van.

“I’d like to track down Duarte.” Smitty says, looking over at Lopez. “If Wes was right about him being hired to lure Leah away from the party, and I have no doubt he was, perhaps — enlisted his help for this.”

“Good call.” Cam agrees. “I’m going to call Amanda. Maybe they’re using another cheap hourly motel.”

Smitty and Thang leave and Cam dials the phone.

Either Craig thinks Wes knows something he hasn’t told the team yet or this is an attempt to distract them.

Either way, she’s going to find her boss and then she’s going to nail Craig’s ass to the wall.

He wakes up nauseous.

Concussion:1 Wes: 0

Only he’s not quite sure what he did to earn a concussion this time. They’d been…. Investigating a shooting?

No. A Kidnapping.

Leah -. Had he been hurt bringing their suspect in?

He goes to rub his temple and freezes when he feels the cold metal pulling on his wrists.

He’s not in a dark room trying to sleep off the concussion. He’s been blindfolded.

Flashes of colorful light are waving around the edges of the cloth secured over his eyes, reminding him of the lava lamp that one of his foster brothers had insisted on keeping in their room.

He shifts slightly, trying to get feeling back into his numb ass and taking inventory.

His head is pounding fiercely, causing his stomach to twist miserably but he doesn’t think he’s hurt anywhere else.

There’s duct tape pressed over his mouth and he fights back a groan. Gags and nausea don’t exactly get along.

He’s sitting on the floor, his back pressed against a metal pole and some experimental movement reveals that the chain on the cuffs is looped around it.

So he’s not going anywhere until he finds a way out of these.

The pole and the lights remind him of Leah’s story and he realizes that they’ve probably taken him to a similar tacky motel.

Hopefully, his team will remember that and Amanda will be able to zero in on this one in particular.

He twists, reaching around the pole to fumble at the waistband of his pants.

They’ve obviously searched him, taking away most of the things that would typically help get out of a mess like this but he hopes like hell that they’d missed the handcuff key that he keeps concealed on his person.

“Stop fidgeting.” Someone growls across the room and he falls still.

Shit. He’d thought he was alone.

“And anyway, I found your spare key so you may as well get comfortable.” The person continues. “You’re not going anywhere.”

It’s not Craig’s voice.

Wes has had enough conversations with the man today to be confident of that. Plus a the accent kind of rules him out.

Duarte?

He hasn’t heard him talk yet, he’d sent Smitty to interview the punk, but it would make sense.

But he’d been attacked by two people and Luis is in custody so either Craig had managed to hire a third thug or he’s desperate enough to have participated himself.

A knock sounds to his left and he turns his head that way, getting frustrated by the reminder that he’s blindfolded.

Dropping his head to his shoulder, he tries to shift the fabric out of place but it’s tied tightly enough that he isn’t having much success.

The sound of a weapon chambering halts his efforts.

He wishes he could talk, to try to convince Duarte to let him go.

“Put the weapon away.”

Craig is here then. He wonders what the man’s plan is, what he’s hoping to achieve by kidnapping a federal agent.

His team will find him.

He’s pretty sure they’ll take some time to check other motels like the one Leah had been held in and trusts that Amanda will be able to narrow in on this room.

Not to mention there will be footage of the van from the police station.

Duarte will be near the top of the list of suspects. They’ll go looking for him quickly.

Craig will be just above him on the list but they might delay talking to him at first, hoping to get some leverage before alerting him of their suspicions.

If they’d known where he was, a tail may have been placed on him.

If wherever the man’s just returned from had brought him to an identifiable location, the team may well have followed him right back here.

Even if they didn’t, they’ll be here soon.

He just hopes he’s still awake when they get here. The exhaustion is doing it’s best to pull him under and he knows its the concussion; knows that its a bad idea to give in just yet but it’s getting harder to fight it.

And the near total darkness offered by the blindfold isn’t helping.

He shifts restlessly, trying to roll out stiff shoulders.

“Stop moving!”

The order is accompanied by a hard kick to his side and he groans, trying to pull away.

It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been stabbed in the Netherlands and while he’s been cleared for duty, the spot is still a little tender.

There’s another knock on the door.

“Housekeeping!”

Housekeeping? In a shit hole like this?

But he trusts that Smitty has a plan.

Neither man responds to the call and Wes resists the urge to try to call for help.

Smitty already knows that he’s here or she wouldn’t be and there’s no need to shift his captors to high alert.

“Someone called for fresh towels?” Smitty continues.

“You’ve got the wrong room.” Duarte shouts back. “We didn’t ask for towels.”

“I’ve got towels for room 13.” Smitty says. “And I’ll get written up if I don’t drop towels at room 13.”

A low growl sounds behind Wes and then footsteps are tracking toward the door.

He hears the lock click and then a slight creak as the door starts to slide open.

And then a crash as Smitty kicks the door the rest of the way open, sending whoever had opened it flying across the room in the process.

Cold metal settles against the side of his head as a hand fisted in his hair jerks his head back, slamming it against the pole.

“Back off or I’ll kill him.” Craig snarls.

And now he really hates being blindfolded.

He’s made entire tactical plans by blinking before but right now he doesn’t even know who all is standing in front of him.

Definitely Smitty. No doubt Cam and Andre are there as well. Local police?

He senses movement behind him and chooses to focus his attention in that direction.

The team is hugely limited by the gun pressed against his head but he’s not. The handcuffs and blindfold are a little inconvenient but nothing he can’t work around.

Driving his elbows up and back, he hears a satisfying crunch as they ram hard against what he’s pretty sure is Craig’s jaw.

The gun hits the ground with a metallic clatter that has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end but he ignores it, bringing one leg toward his chest and pushing off the ground to spin around the pole.

He can’t tell where Craig is well enough to even attempt a pin with his legs but at least his back is no longer to the man and he has his legs in position to defend against further assault.

Thundering footsteps move around him and then a slim hand is resting on his shoulder, nimble fingers pushing the blindfold away from his eyes.

He feels himself relax at the visual confirmation that Cam is the one touching him and then she’s picking at the edge of the tape and pealing it away from his mouth.

“Think this is enough to get him on conspiracy with the kidnapping charges?” He breathes, blinking as one Cam becomes three.

“I think it’ll definitely get us there.” Smitty says as she joins them.

All three of her.

“S’ m’ny lesherzzz.” He groans, tipping his head back against the pole. [So many lectures.]

“No sleeping, Wes.” Cam says, producing her keys and reaching behind him to free his hands. “There’s a paramedic outside waiting anxiously to shine his penlight in your eyes.”

He knows she’s right but he’s so tired and now that the threat is gone, he just wants to take a nap.

His pupils will still do whatever they’re going to do if he’s unconscious, right?

“Threat!” Cam snaps and suddenly he’s sitting bolt upright, scanning for his target.

Slowly realizing that she’s only using the response engrained from hundreds of hours of timed shooting drills to keep him awake, he shoots Cam a glare.

“‘F’ad a w’bn Raines’d be Swedish.” He grumbles, the sound of stretcher wheels ratcheting his headache up as the medics arrive. [If I had a weapon, Raines would be Swedish]

“Swedish?” Andre asks.

“He would have made you Swiss Cheese.” Cam fills in playfully. “But don’t worry, he’s put in enough training that he wouldn’t have fired.”

“He looks dangerous to me.” Smitty jokes.

“‘Elbme’up.” Wes grumbles. [Help me up]

He’s all down for the humor, hell, he’d started it, but his head hurts and he really wants to get the poking and prodding done so he can go to sleep.

Andre offers him a hand, pulling him to his feet and helping him sit on the edge of the stretcher.

Then a medic is shining a light in his eyes and he can’t help but flinch away as it spikes pain through his skull.

“Sorry.” she mutters.

“S’okay.” he manages, gritting his teeth.

“Equal and reactive.” she says after a few more moments. “You’ll still need a CT but it’s a good sign.”

He nods, turning to Smitty.

Do the Portuguese police have what they need to prosecute Craig, Duarte and Luis?” He asks.

“We’ve got Craig and Duarte red handed here.” She says. “And the proof that Luis rented the motel room where Leah was held, his fingerprints on the scene, and the fact that she can identify his voice will put Luis away.” She says. “I will handle the paperwork, your share included, just let the doctors take care of you. And rest.”

“I’ll help with the paperwork.” Cam promises. “Andre, you wanna stick with our boss? Make sure he doesn’t try to sneak out like he did after that scaffolding collapse in Seattle.”

Andre and Smitty’s eyes light up with curiosity and Wes groans.

“Why do you gotta bring that up?” He whines.

“So Andre knows he’s dealing with a flight risk.” She says bluntly. “You can tell them the story over drinks back in Budapest.”

“Can’t drink with a concussion.” He points out.

“Which will earn you a reprieve to try to come up with a way to tell the story that makes you sound less insane.” She retorts.

“I was concussed.” He counters.

“Sure.” She says with a grin, turning to the paramedics. “Take him away.”

He leans back agains the stretcher.

That’s a debate best left for a day when his head isn’t spinning.

For now, he’ll let the doctors do their thing.

And watch for an open window.

Chapter Text

In retrospect, things had been going a little too smoothly.

And he’d attributed that to Amanda doing absolutely incredible despite her inexperience with field work.

But things really had lined up far too well.

The US has only a handful of agents working abroad that could have been maneuvered close to Lopez and the fact that one of them had ticked all the boxes to appeal to the man was an incredible stroke of luck.

Perhaps too incredible.

They’d taken the chance at face value and now that may cost them everything.

Wes peers through the scope, listening as the wire comes on line.

Amanda did it.

They have ears in the apartment and now all she has to do is get out of there before the lawyer arrives.

Everyone will be out of the line of fire and they’ll get the entire conversation recorded.

Lopez warning the cartel about the upcoming raid will be more than enough to prove that he’s in bed with them.

And if he’s not mistaken, Amanda’s revelations that he’s is here specifically to take the man down combined with his own general annoyingness might just be enough to get the added bonus of him requesting a hit on an FBI agent.

He watches Amanda stand, starting to make her excuses and move toward the door.

And then his attention is pulled away from the apartment as cold metal presses against the back of his neck.

He freezes, one hand still on his radio as he almost keys it to alert his team that he’s in trouble but hesitates.

It’s not the time to pull eyes off Amanda.

He can handle himself here and as well as she’s done so far on this case, she can’t.

“Hands up.” a low, heavily accented voice growls.

“Sure.” he says easily, hands coming into the air and away from the radio.

The scope hangs loosely in his right hand.

“Think you got lost on your way to your meeting.”

“So you could record your evidence on our mutual friend.”

The confident tone sets Wes’s nerves on edge and he looks back to the apartment despite his productive vision being limited by the lack of scope.

“The girl is of no interest to us.” the man tells him. “Though Daniel does seem to like her so it’s in her best interests to leave quickly.”

Wes’s mind is racing.

Did Amanda mess up and they missed it or is the cartel just that paranoid? Does Lopez know that she’s there to plant a bug?

“I’m out.”

His shoulders drop slightly as Amanda’s voice fills his ears, announcing that she’s clear of the apartment.

“Your weapon.” the man orders.

Wes reluctantly pulls his weapon from the holster, reaching one hand back with a loose hold, jaw twisting as it’s taken from him.

“How many people do you think you can kill covering for him before that alone is enough to sink this little partnership you guys have going?” he asks.

“Our partnership is at an end.” the man dismisses. “Daniel and his team are leaving Madrid soon. This is a… parting exchange.”

And something about that sets his nerves on edge but he can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

“Stand up.”

He slowly rises to his feet, keeping his hands raised as movement comes from his right, circling around the elevator riser that he’d been hidden behind – another person joining his assailant to search him.

Just as his hands are being pulled behind his back, the touch of hard plastic on his wrists, his radio sounds again.

“Amanda is headed back to rendezvous with Cam, do you want me to stay here and keep an eye on Lopez’s guy?”

The plastic flex cuffs are slid over his wrists and tightened down so he couldn’t respond to Andre if he wanted to.

Instead he suppresses his reaction to the traffic, not wanting to alert his captors that they’re likely to have company soon.

“Wes?”

The headset is ripped off his head before he can hear anything else but he knows that his team is on the alert now.

Andre will be heading to the roof to check on him and most likely the others will be shifting focus from surveillance to a potential rescue.

But this is starting to feel like more and more of a set up so he’s not ready to count on these people not having a plan to avoid that.

He’s pulled away from the edge of the roof and back toward the door to the stairs.

Three flights down, they round the corner to come face to face with Andre, his gun at the ready and immediately coming up as they come into sight.

“Let him go.” he snarls, eyes narrowing.

Wes can tell that he’s racing through questions on how these guys had known to ambush him on the roof but he’s proud to see the younger agent shelf those questions to focus on the matter at hand.

The barrel of the gun settles underneath his jaw, forcing his head back.

“Get out of our way or you boss loses his head.” the man says cooly.

The odds here aren’t exactly in Andre’s favor. It’s two on one and the bad guys have a hostage.

But maybe that hostage can even the odds a little.

He locks eyes with Andre, getting a small nod in return. Throws his head back hard, slamming his skull against the man behind him’s forehead.

An explosive bang and then fire burning through his right calf.

He drops to his knees with a pained cry as a hand fists into the collar of his shirt.

He forces his eyes open, squinting at Andre who’s shuffling back from where he’d driven forward when Wes made his move.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the other man standing with a gun pointed his way.

Damn it.

He’d hoped to catch them off guard long enough for Raines to move in and deal with the backup, to create some space at least between himself and the man holding him.

The hand in the collar of his shirt drags him back, lifting and pulling him up off the ground.

His right leg won’t support his weight so he’s forced to hop on his left as the man moves them back, moving away from Raines and snaking around to press the gun back against his chin.

“Do you want to play some more? Or will you listen now?”

The words are nasally and Wes lets himself hope that he’s at least broken the man’s nose.

Andre lowers his weapon slightly, glancing to Wes.

He deflates.

If they keep fighting this it’s more than likely to end up with a bullet through his brain.

And the risk that Andre will be hurt as well.

The slight shake of his head is all it takes for the younger man to step back.

The cartel guys recognize his decision and press forward as he moves down the stairs.

He falls back into the building at the next floor they pass, allowing Wes to be taken past him.

Hopefully Cam and Smitty will have arrived by the time they reach the ground floor and the result will be his team being able to surround them.

It doesn’t pan out that way.

The parking lot is empty when they exit the building and stays that way as he’s drug toward a grey van.

Andre will be staying close enough to get a description of the vehicle to get out to the local police but he’s too aware of what the odds say about being taken to a second location to go easily.

His right leg isn’t supporting his weight anyway which is both helping and hindering his attempts to slow their progress.

The butt of a gun slamming against the base of his skull conveys how they feel about that pretty solidly as his knees give out underneath him.

Only a tight hold on his arm keeps him from hitting the ground and then he’s being thrown bodily into the back of the van.

The door is slammed behind him and then the van is moving.

His head knocks against a side panel and the second hit drives the final nail in his staying conscious.

He wakes up with a headache.

He’s seated in an uncomfortable wooden chair in a dark room.

And his head is killing him.

“So much effort to get you here.”

The familiar voice cuts straight through the pounding and he forces his head up from where it rests on his chest.

Son of a bitch.

The Deputy Inspector General.

The very man who had sent his team after Daniel Lopez and his team.

Lopez may well have known that Amanda was trying to get his attention right from the get go. The whole thing had been a set up.

As he’d just said; to get Wes here.

But why?

“Your position gives you access to a database that I need to get into.” the man says, reading the confusion on his face. “And Agent Lopez and his team’s agreement with the Serranos gave me the perfect opportunity to take advantage of how isolated your team can be out here.”

The smug look on his face just pisses Wes off.

“You show up, asking me to put one of my people in danger, and all because you want a password that someone told you you couldn’t have?”

“Agent Tate was never in any real danger.” Olson scoffs. “Agent Lopez was told very clearly that if any harm came to her our deal would be null and void.”

“What is wrong with you?” Wes growls. “What could possibly be in that database that is worth betraying everything you stand for like this?”

“That’s not important.” the man says. “Just give me the password and Salvez won’t have to hurt you.”

“You think I’m stupid enough to not realize that you must be planning to kill me?” Wes scoffs.

“Then surely you also realize that I can draw this out or it can be a quick bullet to the head.” Olson returns.

“Do what you have to.” Wes says, shaking his head. “I won’t give you the password to my Netflix account let alone anything more secure than that.”

“Then Salvez will need to convince you.” Olson says, shrugging.

Salvez steps forward, spinning a knife around his fingers.

Olson is getting pissed off and Wes takes a grim satisfaction from that.

It’s clear that the man thought it would be easier to get this password out of him than it has been.

Salvez definitely seems to know what he’s doing.

When it comes to torture, you want the focus to be on maximum pain with minimum damage to keep your victim in good enough shape that you can keep going until you get what you need.

And he’s certainly achieved that.

The lacerations left in the wake of his knife have been shallow enough to not risk internal damage while being focused in areas where the stinging, burning pain of even shallow cuts is intense.

A taser has come out as well, the voltage adjusted low enough to decrease the risk of cardiac damage while still being agonizing.

But they’ve underestimated how much of a stubborn bastard Wes can be.

He’d taken his first beating at the age of six with nothing he could do to stop his dad from swinging the belt until he felt that his son had been punished enough.

The satisfaction of knowing that these assholes are looking for something that he’s keeping them from getting gives him a little extra to hold onto.

As gunfire starts to ring out, a small smirk crossing his face.

“T’slo.” he taunts, not even the inability to force his head up from where it hangs down on his chest able to temper his commitment to being a smartass.

The barrel of a gun settles against his head for what must be the third, or even fourth (he can’t quite remember) time today but he doesn’t react.

Forces himself to breathe and waits for the right moment.

A door crashes open, shouts of ‘FBI’ filling the room, and he pushes down hard with both feet, sending the chair crashing back into the person behind him.

The chair tipped over, there’s nothing he can do except lie there, staring at the ceiling as chaos reigns for several minutes.

The sound finally dies down and then Andre is leaning over him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, man?” he asks, eyes filled with worry.

“I’ll live.” he mutters.

Seeing Deputy Inspector General out of the corner of his eye, being led away in cuffs but still within hearing range, he adds.

“Hey, you wan’ my Netflix password?”

Chapter Text

They’ve found Natalya.

Now the trick is to get her to tell them what happened to Gil.

Unfortunately, they’ve disproven Melissa’s theory that she’s directly behind the disappearance.

She probably doesn’t even know where he is now but hopefully she can give them the name of someone who does.

A van comes swerving up to the curb and Wes steps closer, preparing to help Andre hustle Natalya into the van.

It isn’t Andre who gets out.

He’s caught off guard and doesn’t react fast enough to stop the bag from being pulled over his head and then he’s being drug into the back.

He hits the floor of the van hard; blinded and disoriented.

Something sharp pricks his neck and his last thought as he loses consciousness is that at least he knows what happened to Gil now.

Cam pulls away from the curb, rolling down the street to where Wes is waiting with their person of interest.

Andre is in the passenger seat, hand already on the door handle to jump out and grab Natalya.

She’s still a hundred meters or so away when another van swerves around them to slot in at the curb behind Wes.

Her heart jumps into her throat as she realizes that Wes probably thinks that’s them, her fears proven as his reaction time is slower than normal.

Andre pulls on the handle, ready to get out and intervene.

“There’s no time.” She says, shaking her head.

It’s true.

Wes is already being thrown into the van and she slams on the gas as it peels away from the curb.

At least she’s in the perfect position for a pursuit.

If absolutely the wrong vehicle.

Trusting that Smitty will pick up Natalya, still standing on the sidewalk, she does her best to keep the van in sight.

This was not the plan but if they can avoid falling behind, it might still work.

The men in that van are surely closer to knowing where Gil is than Natalya.

Andre is on the radio with the local authorities, trying to arrange backup but they don’t think there’s really a case here so the response is slow.

Smitty will rake them over the coals for that later.

Especially if Cam gets cut off by a dump truck and they lose their boss.

She slams a fist on the steering wheel, slamming the van into reverse.

But the streets are just too narrow here to have the maneuverability she needs and by the time she swings over to a side street, gets past the dump truck and then back onto the main road, its too late.

The van is gone.

And so is Wes.

He hates sedatives.

He’s only had a hangover once or twice in his entire life from too much alcohol and that takes a shit ton of alcohol.

But anytime he gets any kind of sedative, he wakes up feeling hungover.

And it’s worse than any alcohol hangover he’s ever had.

Which is how he knows the second that he starts to wake up that he’d been sedated.

He goes to massage his temples and finds that his hands can’t move.

Forces one eye open and groans when he sees both wrists bound securely to the arms of the chair with duct tape.

How did he manage to get himself into trouble this time?

“What brings the FBI to our fair city?”

The voice is annoying but maybe that’s just because he has a headache.

But it does remind him what he’d been doing when he was drugged.

“That’s what happens when you kidnap an American citizen.” He mutters. “You summon the American cops.”

“How much money do you think we could get from the American government?” The man asks and Wes realizes he’s not being spoken to anymore.

He answers anyway.

“None.” He says. “They have resources that most of your victim’s families don’t. They will find you.”

“Telling me we should cut our losses and kill you?” The man asks.

“I’m telling you that you’re already screwed.” Wes counters. “Kill us, run, whatever you do, they will find you. Let me and Gilbert Shrader go and you’ll get a lot more favorable sentencing.”

The man scowls.

“You think that threatening me will save you?” He demands.

“I’m not threatening you.” Wes says with a shrug. “I’m offering advice. That is your best chance.”

“I think we’ll take our chances.” The man scoffs. “Ten million dollars is worth a little risk.”

Wes rolls his eyes.

If they want to underestimate his team, that’s fine with him.

“Can I at least get some Tylenol?” He asks. “Always the shit sedatives with you people.”

“Maybe we’ll knock you out the good old fashioned way next time.” The man growls. “Why don’t you just sit here, shut up and stop complaining.”

“Not really my strong suit.”

The punch to the face doesn’t catch him off guard but it still snaps his head back.

It’s also not a hard enough hit to render him unconscious.

His head rolls back, chin dropping to his chest as he tries to breathe through the ensuing dizziness.

“Sit here.” The man repeats slowly. “And shut the fuck up.”

And then he turns and walks from the room.

Either the headache is startling to fade or he’s getting used to it.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting here, twisting his wrists in an attempt to loosen the tape, when the door slams open.

“How hard is it to follow simple directions?” The man snarls with a punch to Wes’s shoulder that rocks the chair underneath him.

“Since when does ‘do not involve the police’ mean ‘call the FBI’?”

Another punch.

“We went to her. Not the other way around.” Wes says, not needing to be told who they’re talking about.

“Then the FBI needs to learn a lesson about keeping their noses out of other people’s business.” The man snaps, punching him hard in the stomach.

He shouts toward the door.

Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a phone that he holds up, manipulating the screen as he continues speaking.

“My pal is going to give you that lesson for their benefit.” He tells him. “And then you are going to tell them to back off, stay out of our hair.”

The door opens and the other man comes in.

“He’ll stop after ninety seconds to give you the chance to do so. If you don’t in a timely manner, you’ll get another thirty seconds and then another chance. We’ll keep going as long as it takes.”

The other man nods with a wicked grin and Wes glowers back at both of them.

He can take a beating.

And taking a beating rather than giving the bad guys what they want? He’d gladly do that all day.

The beep sounds as the phone starts recording and then a fist is slamming into his face.

The blows continue, peppering his chest and face.

A sharp whistle sounds and the fists stop as the man steps back.

A raised eyebrow behind the camera tells him that it’s his turn.

He smirks.

They get a video.

Wes looks like shit, the hard punch to the face that he takes just as the footage starts certainly not the first blow that he’s taken.

It doesn’t stop the masked man from whaling on him for nearly two minutes before stepping back.

He’s tightly gagged, a knotted rag tied in his mouth, but it doesn’t stop him from rolling his eyes as someone starts talking.

“Ten million dollars for his safe return. You have twenty four hours – we’ll be in touch to arrange delivery. If you continue searching for he and Gilbert Shrader, you will find yourself with an unwanted souvenir.”

The video ends and they exchange worried looks.

After what they’d found in the first house they’d searched, they have a worrying idea what the souvenir might be.

But Wes at least looks to still have all of his fingers.

For now.

At least the local police seem to be taking things more seriously now.

After finding the severed fingers they’d definitely realized that this was more than they’d thought.

Too little too late. If they’d been on their A game from the jump they might not have lost the van that had taken Wes.

But the can’t change the past.

And they won’t stop looking.

They get a lead.

They keep working through Melissa Shrader and thankfully, Amanda and the analysts are wizards.

When they arrive at the house and walk straight into a gunfight, she knows they’re in the right place.

They make some ground, take out a few of the kidnappers and then the Polish Police have things so she and Andre beak off, creeping into the house.

They encounter more resistance inside; two men who seem determined to keep them away from the back bedrooms.

One of the doors is open and she can get the barest glimpse of a leg, taped securely to the leg of a chair.

Recognizing the dress slacks that Wes had been wearing at the club, she pushes forward.

They manage to shuffle around, getting close enough to the rooms that Cam can peer through the door, getting a clear view of her boss, tied to a chair.

She pushes the other door open.

Gil is restrained similarly to Wes, less bloodied and bruised but more disheveled.

She moves into the room, reaching for her knife with the intent to cut him free.

A hail of bullets flies their way and she knocks the chair over, doing her best to keep Gil out of the line of fire.

Polish officers are pushing into the house a moment later and within a few minutes, it’s over.

An eerie silence settles over the house and she tentatively pushes herself up.

When nothing changes, she resumes cutting Gil free, reassuring him that everything is okay now; that his daughter is here and will be so relieved to know he’s okay.

Then she hears Andre screaming for a medic.

Resisting the urge to run to the other room, to find out what’s wrong with Wes, she helps Gil to his feet and walks him out of the house.

An ambulance is pulling up as the exit and she moves to the side to let them pass and then guides him over to sit on the hood of a patrol car.

A young officer brings them a blanket and she thanks him before wrapping it around Gil’s shoulders.

Commotion draws her attention to the door a moment later and she looks up to see Wes being rolled out on a stretcher.

Andre is walking alongside him and even from here she can that there’s too much blood.

Every fiber of her being wants to pass Gil of to one of the Polish officers and run over there.

But she doesn’t and soon the ambulance is racing away.

As Smitty walks up to her, announcing that all of the hostiles have been seen to but that the man Natalya had fingered as being in charge wasn’t here, she makes a horrifying realization.

Gil still has all of his fingers.

Which means there must be another victim out there.

Damn it.

They identify the other victim.

Keith Edmonds is British and has been missing for months. There’s no family to demand a ransom from, no assets to steal; the only thing they can get from this guy are his monthly pension checks.

Cam wants to say no.

The American hostage has been recovered. Their permission to be here has achieved it’s purpose and they can’t guarantee further cooperation.

But Wes wouldn’t let this go.

He’d find this man, because Smitty was asking him to and because it’s the right thing to do.

They still need to find the mastermind behind the scheme anyway.

So they dive back into the case, despite desperately wishing they could be at the hospital with Andre, waiting for news.

He’s called with one update.

Wes had taken a bullet to the abdomen, probably during the rescue and the gunfight that had ensued.

He’s been taken to surgery to repair the damage.

There’s no point going to the hospital where all they could do would be to sit around and wait.

So they focus on the case.

Keith Edmonds still needs saving.

Amanda pulls more wizardry out of her hat.

They find Keith.

He’s shaken and traumatized, missing a few fingers, but he’s alive.

They accompany him to the hospital, Smitty already working with Europol to arrange to get the man back home.

And then they uncharacteristically leave the clean up to the locals.

Andre is still pacing the waiting room when they arrive and Smitty leaves, muttering something about getting coffee.

She returns thirty minutes later with actual coffee from a place down the street.

The coffee largely goes cold as they wait for news.

Andre can’t stop pacing.

Smitty is on her phone, seeing to a never ending series of meaningless tasks.

Cam just sits, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.

The doors finally open and a surgeon steps through.

“He made it through surgery.” He tells them. “We had to remove a portion of his liver but he still has enough that he won’t be needing a transplant. As of this moment, he’s stable but critical. We’ll be monitoring closely.”

“Can we see him?” Cam asks.

“Of course.” He replies, motioning for them to follow him and heading down a corridor.

Wes has always been pale but her first thought as she comes around that corner is that he’s practically translucent.

“He lost a lot of blood.” The doctor tells them. “But he’s responding well to the transfusion. Everything looks very promising right now.”

She nods blankly and she’s pretty sure the others do as well.

The doctor takes his leave, telling them to call if they need anything.

“I have to call his dad.” Cam mutters, swallowing hard.

She’s been in touch since Wes was taken, offering what updates she could.

He listens silently to her update.

“But he’ll be okay?” He asks finally.

“The doctor says everything is looking very positive right now.” She assures him.

“I’m at JFK waiting for a layover.” He says. “I should be there by morning.”

“With any luck, he’ll be awake and ready for you.” She tells him.

“Ready to milk this for all it’s worth.” He jokes.

“Yeah.” She chuckles.

More like doing his best to convince them all that he’s fine and it was ‘just a scratch’.

“When does your flight get in? I’ll have someone pick you up.”

“Things been delayed three times already.” He grumbles. “I’ll have to text you when we finally get to the runway.”

“I’ll watch for it.” She promises.

“Just you keep an eye on my boy until I get there.” He orders. “A flair for the dramatic that one.”

“I will.” She promises.

He hangs up and she turns back to the room.

Wes will be okay.

They won’t accept anything else.

Chapter Text

She’ll never know quite what Wes had seen.

One second, they’re moving in tandem; clearing the house and searching for the kidnappers.

The next, he’s shouting her name; grabbing her arm and swinging her harshly around himself and a wooden support.

Shielding her with his own body as the explosion shakes the room.

She’s still catching her breath, mentally checking in with her body for any injuries, when Wes crashes into her.

They both go tumbling to the ground under his heavy weight which sends all kinds of alarm bells ringing through her mind.

“Wes?” she calls, trying to maneuver her hands into place to push herself up.

Then she freezes.

Will she hurt him worse if she pushes him off of her?

“Cam? Wes?”

“Andre.” she calls back. “In here.”

“Are you guys okay?” he says and she can hear him running toward them.

“I think I’m good but Wes is out.” she says just as he comes around the corner. “I’m afraid to move him.”

“Yeah.” he says, coming up short and staring at them with wide eyes. “That’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

The words are ice through her veins. She can feel blood dripping down onto the side of her face as they lie there but it’s hard to know how much of it there is.

“How bad?” she asks.

“Bad enough.” he answers. “I think it’ll be okay to lift him just a little so you can crawl out but let me move him, okay?”

“If it’s better for him, I don’t mind waiting for the medics.” she says.

“You’ll mind when I put pressure on this.” Andre says.

She doesn’t like the sound of that but she nods.

Wes doesn’t react as Andre moves him and Cam quickly but carefully inches out from underneath him.

She rolls as soon as she’s clear and immediately understands why Andre was so worried.

The blood dripping on her was probably coming from the gash on the back of his head; likely also the reason for his unconsciousness.

But more worrying is the large piece of wooden shrapnel embedded in his lower back and the smaller pieces scattered around it.

The blood starting to pool beneath him already.

She looks at the streaks left across the ground from her crawl; glances down at what coats her own torso.

That could have been her.

Andre doesn’t waste any time getting Wes back on the ground and applying pressure around the shrapnel.

It has to be excruciating but Wes still doesn’t stir.

He must have one hell of a concussion.

That should have been her.

They’d had one tiny slip of cover; a single narrow support post.

He’d thrown her behind it and then used his own body to block what it couldn’t cover.

She has a few minor scrapes on the left side of her face and neck; some bruises from him collapsing on her.

Otherwise she’s fine.

He’s leaking blood at a terrifying rate and deeply unconscious.

Paramedics come racing in.

Hasty bandages are secured over his back, steadying the shrapnel in place and applying as much pressure as they can to the injury.

The wound on his head is quickly examined but for as messy as it looks, it’s pretty well stopped bleeding already.

He’s transferred to a backboard and loaded onto a stretcher.

An IV is started in his left hand and then they’re moving.

Cam trails along behind them as they race out of the building and to a waiting ambulance.

Every fiber of her being is screaming for her to get in that ambulance with him.

To make sure that he’s going to be okay.

It was supposed to be her.

But they still have hostages to locate and they’re running out of time.

“Andre. Go with him.” she orders. “I need to check in with Amanda.”

A split second of hesitation and then he nods, diving into the back of the ambulance.

Cam turns away, waving off another set of paramedics as they approach.

She knows she must look a sight; covered in her boss’s blood, soot on her face, and scratches on her neck.

But she’s fine.

She’ll clean up back at the station.

They find the hostages.

In a way, Wes’s injuries are a godsend because with him out of action and Raines on standby at the hospital, Cam had known she was going to need backup and requested support from a nearby army garrison.

Mark nearly gets them killed but again Wes’s absence comes in handy because Cam is so worried about her boss and irritated about this mess that the man and his wife have gotten them all into that she doesn’t hesitate to knock him out.

Once he and Emme have been handed off to the army garrison to be deported back to the states so they can face the IRS (and Wes would have had more fun telling Emme that her game is over but Cam is so tired and just done) there’s nothing to do but go to the hospital and wait for news on Wes.

The first update they get isn’t good.

They’ve managed to deal with the largest piece of shrapnel, repairing the damage it had caused to his left kidney but he’s lost a lot of blood and the doctors are working one piece of shrapnel at a time to remove the remaining fragments and stitch up the punctures left behind.

But they’re dancing with shock as his body tries to cope with the trauma that it’s endured and the blood loss.

And he’s broken several ribs along the back of his ribcage which is always an unpleasant injury.

The one piece of good news is that his Kevlar vest had protected him from what could have been some nasty burns.

And that there doesn’t appear to be any spinal damage.

It should have been her.

The thought keeps swirling in her mind as she sinks back into her chair, staring holes into the floor between her boots.

There are things that she should be doing.

Morocco is working on getting the aid workers home to their families with the help of the nearest American Embassy.

She’d made the necessary notifications to her chain of command when Wes was first injured.

But there are updates to be passed on, paperwork (both for the case and his injury) to be completed and she should definitely be calling his dad.

The LA field office would have sent someone to notify him but she knows that Wes would want her to talk to him personally, to let him know how things are going and make sure that he knows they’re there.

That Wes isn’t alone.

But she’d only spoken to Sean Mitchell twice, both during her time with Wes as her training officer, and one of those times had been after he’d been injured protecting her.

Just like now.

It should have been her.

How can she tell Sean that, yet again, his son is fighting for his life because she wasn’t alert enough?

Because she has to.

Because she owes him that much.

Excusing herself, she pulls out her phone – calling the LA field office and requesting to be connected to Wes’s father.

By the time he answers, she’s ready to hang up and go hide in the bathroom but instead she swallows hard and introduces herself.

“He’s still in surgery, they’re still trying to control the bleeding.” She tells him. “But we’re here and none of us are leaving him.”

“Did you get the case done?” He asks. “They said something about aid workers?”

She lets out a breath at the reminder that he was a cop too, that he understands something of how this works.

“We did.” She promises. “They’re all on their way back to their families.”

“Good.” He says. “Good.”

“I’m sorry.” She breathes. “We always seem to end up here. And I don’t… I should have seen it coming, realized there was a bomb… just like I should have realized that guy had a knife. Wes shouldn’t…”

It should have been her.

“I’ll spare you the details.” He says. “Because it’s Wes’s story to tell but it’s not your fault. The kid had to be on guard, watching for threats constantly, basically from the time he was a baby. Those instincts, that awareness of every micro expression, every little sound, every tiny indication of danger is burned into the core of his very being. That’s why he sees things before you do, before anyone does, not because of some failing on your part.”

“It should have been me.” She whimpers, giving life to the words for the first time. “I was in front and he… he pulled me back, shielded me with his own body. I walk away with scratches and bruises and he’s fighting for his life in surgery. How is that fair?”

“I never said it was.” He says. “Kid has a protective instinct a mile wide and hell if I know where he got that from because he certainly didn’t learn it from any of the people in his life. And it’s not fair the way that he pays for it but the only comfort I can give you is that if he hadn’t pulled you back, if you’d been the one hurt today, then he would be hurting even worse than he already is. If he could talk right now, he’d be telling you that he got lucky. That being the one waiting, worrying is infinitely worse than being hurt ever could be.”

She chuckles.

Yeah, that sounds like Wes.

“I’m supposed to be reassuring you.” She says weakly. “Making sure you know he’s not alone.”

“Oh I already knew that.” He dismisses. “I know you guys would never leave him alone. You’ll let me know when he gets out of surgery?”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

He makes it out of surgery.

She does her best to keep her misery to herself, not wanting him to have to deal with her guilt on top of his pain.

On top of exhaustion, nausea, pain meds, drains, bandages, and IVs.

He sees it anyway.

“That’s why you have backup.” He tells her tiredly a few days after waking up in a foreign hospital.

“Just feels like I never return the favor.” She says with a frown.

“You do.” He says, shaking his head. “In a million ways every day. I’m just an attention whore with the big dramatic stuff.”

She laughs.

“You’re an idiot is what you are.” She says, shaking her head.

“That’s what they say.” He agrees. “Now stop angering. Or at least do it quieter. Injured man trying to sleep here.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t deny that it does help.

That knowing that she’s contributing to this friendship, this partnership too instead of just benefitting from it does make her feel a little better.

“‘sides.” He mumbles, eyes already closed. “Jus’ didn’ wanne get ‘noder tattoo. Shit stings.”

[Besides. I just didn’t want to get another tattoo. That shit stings.]

“Don’t lie.” She scoffs. “You totally have a crush on your tattoo artist. Get another tattoo and you might actually have the guts to ask her out.”

“Too’n s’plosion fer you.” He mumbles. “Sho’tk d’b’let fer me.”

[Took an explosion for you. Should take that bullet for me.]

She laughs again.

“I’ll think about it.” She promises even though she’s pretty sure he’s already asleep.

And you know what? Maybe she will.

Asking a hot tattoo artist if she’ll get a drink with him is a good way to repay your boss for shielding you from an explosion, right?

Yeah. Maybe she will.

Chapter Text

The whole operation is on tenterhooks.

They’ve smoothed things over with the Estonian authorities who’ve decided, at least for now, that they hate Russians more than they are annoyed with the American FBI.

That they would prefer to cooperate and take out Edward Haskins, even after the team had showed up without coordinating things with them.

But it’s a fragile peace. It won’t necessarily stand up if there’s another difference of opinion.

And Kelsey is complicated.

She’s uncertain, terrified of her ex-husband and still confused by the feelings that she still has for the man even after everything he’s done.

At least, that’s what Ty and the others think.

Wes isn’t so sure.

He knows anxiety. That had been his life as a teenager, channeled into anger, fear; fight or flight instincts right up until he’d met his dad and finally found something stable.

Somewhere safe.

And once there wasn’t an outlet for his anxiety it had become nearly unbearable.

It had taken time but his dad had been able to convince him to accept a prescription for anti-anxiety medication from his therapist.

He doesn’t take them anymore but he had for a long time.

And he knows that anxiety doesn’t look the same in everyone but something about Kelsey’s just feels off to him.

“I just got a message from Kelsey.” Booth says. “She wants to meet. Haskins reached out.”

“She suggest a location or should we put something together?” Cam asks.

“We’ve got a location.” Booth says.

Wes frowns.

“It’s close to her hotel.” Booth says, public enough we won’t stand out, private enough we can still talk and she’ll be able to walk there and back quick enough he won’t get suspicious. She’s learned something.”

Or she didn’t pick it out.

“Okay.” Wes agrees. “But you’re not going.”

“Wes.” Booth protests. “If Haskins is watching this will blow your identity. It makes sense to be me, he already knows my face.”

“Do we need to revisit our earlier conversation?” Wes says sharply. “She used the drop we set up so Haskins may not be aware that she’s meeting the FBI. If he sees your ugly mug, he’ll know for sure she has a way of contacting us without him knowing. It could blow the drop.”

Booth glares at him but backs down.

Wes walks into the cafe, pulling his jacket tighter around himself as he looks around.

Kelsey Haskins is sitting away from the window, close to the kitchen.

He doesn’t even get a chance to sit down before he catches sight of him.

Edward Haskins is in the kitchen.

He keys his radio.

“Haskins is here, move in.”

He sprints through the partition, cursing as the man rabbits, hurrying down the stairs into the basement.

It’s bigger than he would have expected, given the size of the building, and he slows, drawing his weapon and moving methodically into the space.

He sees a shadow moving and creeps after it.

Rounds the corner just in time to see it disappear.

Spins around, scanning the room for any sign of the man.

Shit.

Edward Haskins is a tech guy. He could have spoofed the shadow with a projector or something.

He rushes back toward the door but doesn’t make it before it slams closed.

“Guys, hold back.” he snaps into the radio. “This basement is rigged.”

Nothing.

He’s being jammed.

Shit.

Ty rushes down the stairs into the basement, weapon in hand and Cam, Smitty and Andre on his six.

Wes had radioed that he was following Haskins into the basement but they haven’t heard anything since.

Wes isn’t responding to their calls.

Something is wrong.

This whole thing was a trap and Wes had walked right into it.

Protecting him.

The basement is larger than he’d expected; with a maze of walls that make it a messy place to follow a suspect.

They split off, Andre sticking on his six while Smitty and Cam head down an adjoining hallway.

The two groups rejoin in front of a solid wall, flinching as too bright lights come on over head.

A projector clicks on behind them and the image of Wes standing on the other side of that well is displayed.

Andrew Haskins’ voice fills the hallway.

“My wife and I will be leaving Estonia.” the man says. “You will convince the local authorities to drop the roadblocks and allow us to leave unmolested. This door will be opened and Wes Mitchell will be allowed to leave the room when, and only when, we are safely on the other side of the border. And I suggest that you hurry. He doesn’t have forever.”

The screen goes fully dark for a split second before lighting up in green.

“Our mutual friend is in the dark, in every way, but I wanted you to be able to see what’s happening inside that room.” Haskins says. “So that you know that I am fully in control here.”

Gauges appear on the side of the screen.

Temperature, remaining oxygen, and the dimensions of the room.

Then the temperature starts to climb.

Wes lifts his wrist, clearly trying his comms but nothing comes through.

He drops down, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the wall.

Ty backs away.

“What are our options?” he asks the others, not bothering to keep his voice down.

If Haskins had enough time to retrofit this basement for this, there’s no way that he hasn’t installed bugs.

He’ll hear everything they have to say.

“Even if we decide to let Haskins and his wife leave, there’s no way we’ll be able to get Estonian authorities on board.” Smitty says. “We’re on thin ice with them already and any cooperation we’re getting is based entirely on a mutual enemy. They’ll never agree to let Haskins go back to helping Russia.”

“So we would have to build an exit strategy of our own, getting the two of them around the authorities.” Andre says. “If we’re willing to go for it. Which would piss Wes off.”

“We can’t just let him die though.” Ty protests.

“I’ll call Amanda.” Cam says. “Maybe they can get through and take over the system remotely but Haskins knows his stuff.”

“Then we need to shut it down locally.” Andre says. “Wes spotted him in the kitchen. He may have had an exit strategy but he’s got to be close.”

“Do you have the ability to scan for listening devices?” Ty asks Andre.

“I should be able to figure out if he’s listening.” Andre agrees. “He has to be listening in here.”

“So you guys will head out, figure it out but not here where he’ll be able to listen in.” he says. “If you need me, send me a ping to meet up with you outside. Otherwise, I’ll stay here and keep tabs on Wes.”

The others nod, turning and hurrying up the stairs.

Booth leans against the wall, facing the projected display and his best friend as he slides down to the floor.

“Just hang in there, Wes.” he begs. “We’ll get you out of there.”

It’s getting hot.

He can’t see anything, can’t hear what’s going on on the other side of that wall though he’s thinking his team are probably over there, and the room is definitely heating up.

He’d thought he was imagining it at first, the shift gradual enough that it’d been a while before he was sure.

He’s being held hostage; probably being leveraged by Haskins to get himself back out of the country, likely with his wife in tow given that Kelsey had helped set Wes up.

He can only hope that sensory deprivation, keeping him in the dark here and cranking up the temperature, is the extent of what the man is planning.

But he knows that it won’t be.

His team won’t give the man what he wants and the longer the hold out, the worse this gets for Wes.

The wall behind him moves, pushing forward and he jumps as he slides across the floor.

He can’t see the wall across from him, can’t tell how close he’s getting to it, how much space he has left before he gets crushed.

Seems like Haskins is getting tired of waiting.

His feet touch the wall.

Before he can decide to either lock his legs and try to keep it back or to pull his legs in and out of the way, the movement stops.

A little more than three feet.

That’s tight quarters.

He pulls his legs up to his chest, draping his arms across his knees.

He tips his head back against the wall just in time for a loud bang and then a length of rebar crashes out of the wall and across the room.

Passes just beneath his chin, keeping his head back and pressed against the wall behind him.

He really hopes Haskins has eyes on him.

This is getting ugly.

The room getting smaller like that, the rebar that had damn near slammed through Wes’s head and is now keeping his head forced back at what looks like a painful angle, and the still rising temperature.

Haskins is getting impatient and it hasn’t even taken that long.

The oxygen levels are steadily dropping.

It’s not critical yet but the number is going down which means that the air that Wes is breathing is not being replenished.

Which puts them on the clock.

And Ty has a sneaking suspicion that Haskins can cut down on that time if he doesn’t feel like he’s getting results fast enough.

That he’s being taken seriously.

The heat might work in Wes’s favor though, his more shallow breathing helping conserve his oxygen.

But if Haskins has anything else up his sleeve then it won’t be helpful for long.

They’re running out of time.

And according to his last update, the only thing they’ve discovered is that even Amanda’s wizardry isn’t getting them anywhere on taking control of this secret room.

They have no leads on Haskin’s location.

His neck and back hurt.

It’s getting harder to breathe.

It’s so hot and the rebar is pressing against his throat.

Unless he keeps his head back, the pressure is painful and when he does keep it back, the angle of his neck still inhibits his airway.

But Haskins isn’t done yet.

He hears the squeak first and then the trickle of water, the sound getting louder and louder as the flow increases.

Haskins is going to drown him.

If that isn’t just fantastic.

The water is rising pretty fast too so he’s not working with a lot of time here.

Ty is pacing.

The water is up to Wes’s shoulders it won’t be long before it’s above his mouth and nose.

Wes can’t stand up or even shift to try to stay clear of the waterline.

The clock is ticking and to be honest, his friend is already dead.

Because Haskins had said he wouldn’t release Wes until he and his wife were across the border.

Ty supposes that maybe if they agreed right now to make the trip happen, Haskins might be willing to pause the flow of water.

But even if the team does catch up to the man, chances are they can’t force him to unlock his system in time to save Wes.

He doesn’t know what they even really have to bargain with. Holding off on charges against Kelsey?

He’s just got to rely on Wes’s team.

The water is up to Wes’s chin.

Shit.

He stops, facing the wall.

Should he have ordered them to find cutting equipment? Maybe they could have cut through this wall.

Its probably reinforced though.

And if Haskins had realized that’s what they were doing, who knows what he would have done to Wes?

Who’s chin is now covered, the water lapping at his lower lip.

The water stops.

Is Haskins taunting them?

Did the team figure something out?

The water level starts dropping, a mini water tornado from a drain appearing in the center of the room.

Ty sags against the wall.

The team found him. They found him and forced him to put a stop to this.

The door opens and water rushes into the hall, splashing over Ty’s feet.

He ignores it, rushing into the room.

The rebar is retracted and Wes crumples forward.

Ty dives, crashing to his knees and catching him.

“Woah.” he says, feeling the heat as Wes’s forehead brushes against his neck.

“Ty?” his friend gasps.

“Not sure where we’re at with Haskins but you’re okay, bro.” he assures.

Wes nods shakily.

“If you’re up for it, I’m thinking getting out of this little love nest might be a good idea.” he suggests quietly.

Wes nods again, letting Ty pull him to his feet with a quiet groan.

He walks along next to him, feeling the way that Wes’s legs are trembling.

Tries to think through what he knows about heat exhaustion to decide how much danger his friend is still in right now.

Wes is still breathing hard but he manages to make it up and out of the basement before his legs give out underneath him in the alley behind it.

“Easy.” Ty soothes as he lowers him to the ground.

“S’hot.” Wes mumbles.

“We’ll get you cooled down.” Ty promises him. “Just keep breathing for me, alright? Nice and easy.”

Wes closes his eyes but he’s still breathing so Ty takes the win, pulling out his phone and calling Smitty.

“Haskins is in custody and we shut everything down.” she says immediately. “An ambulance is on the way. How is he?”

“Overheated.” Ty says. “Weak and shaky. Pretty sure that he’s dizzy, nauseous and has a headache. Hard to say if he’s sweating considering he’s doing the drowned rat thing after Haskins tried to drown him.”

“Shuddup.” Wes mumbles.

“Aww.” Ty teases. “I don’t think he likes being called a drowned rat.”

“SSA Drowned Rat.” Wes slurs.

Ty can hear the sirens now so he just humors him.

“Alright SSA Drowned Rat.” he agrees. “Checklist time. Dizzy? Nauseous? Headache?”

Wes nods in response to each question and Ty frowns.

His friend seems a little too clear mentally for this to be heat stroke but its hard to say, especially where Ty can’t say for sure if he’s still sweating.

He presses his fingers into the side of his friend’s neck, grimacing at the rapid, fluttery nature of his pulse.

Wes’s head drops, falling heavily to his chest.

“Wes?” he asks, shaking his shoulder. “Come on, buddy.”

“I need that ambulance now, Smitty.” he says into the phone. “He just lost consciousness. I don’t like where this is going.”

The ambulance screeches to a halt soon after and Ty watches with wide eyes as Wes is lifted onto the stretcher.

In a scramble, IVs are started, oxygen provided and temperatures taken.

Wes remains unresponsive through it all and Ty’s heart is in his throat.

This was his case.

It was his decision to trust Kelsey to get them what they needed.

This was supposed to be his meeting.

It should be him on that stretcher.

There’s too much to think about all the way to the hospital and then Wes is being taken into a room and Ty is pushed back.

He’s still standing in the waiting room, lost, when the team arrives.

“Haskins is being booked right now.” Cam tells him. “Both of them. She’s getting better accomodations in exchange for him giving us access to the system but they’re both taking time.”

“Good work.” he mumbles.

“We found a burner on Kelsey.” she says quietly.

“Did she flop on me or was she playing me from the start?” he asks, biting his lip.

“She was playing you.” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“I wanted to get this guy so badly, stop him from hurting people, that I just didn’t see it, I guess.” he says.

“She played you.” Cam says. “And she did it well. How’s Wes?”

“Vitals weren’t good.” he tells her. “Core temp was over 104 which is not good.”

“They can get it down though, right?” she asks. “And he’ll be okay?”

“There’s a few more concerns with it being that high, I guess.” he says. “I don’t know. The paramedics tried to explain a little but I wasn’t really tracking so they settled with assuring me that he’ll most likely make a full recovery.”

She nods, sinking into a chair.

He follows soon after.

And then they wait.

Twelve hours later, Ty is sitting next to a hospital bed.

His best friend is asleep, his temperature down to to a high 99 degrees.

It might take a couple days for his body’s internal thermostat to recover from the shock but the doctors think that he’ll be just fine.

Ty’s still being a little selfish though.

He wants his friend to be awake so he can apologize for letting Kelsey Haskins fool him.

If he’s going to keep sleeping, he wishes it was at least peaceful.

Because right now, his sleep could best be described as fitful.

His head rolls, eyelids twitching and his lips moving as he mutters under his breath.

Ty can only make out a few words, but what little he can seems to match up okay with what he knows about Wes’s childhood.

He’s suffering fever induced nightmares of long ago horrors and he’s trapped there.

Ty has tried talking to him, begging him to wake up and promising him that they’re just dreams, that he’s safe now.

But his words don’t seem to be getting through.

His friend is suffering and there still doesn’t seem to be anything he can do to help him.

“If you’re in there, man.” he says, resting a hand over Wes’s arm. “You’re safe now. It’s okay.”

Wes doesn’t react, doesn’t calm and Ty sighs.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty.” he says. “You got exactly five minutes to either open your eyes or make the shift to actually peaceful sleep or I will line up every single nurse on the floor to kiss you until one of them gets you to wake up.”

For a long moment, his only response is silence.

Then…

“S’long as you don’ gettin line er’self.”

He smirks.

“You could only be so lucky.” he retorts.

“‘ni thodda fever ni’mares were bad.”

“Shut up.” Ty scolds, shaking his head. “How do you feel?”

“‘snot as hot.” Wes manages. “T’red.”

“They’ve got your temperature down in a better range.” Ty tells him. “Should be right as rain with a little rest but you’ll be feeling a little rough for a few days.”

“Nice.” Wes retorts.

“Look.” Ty says. “You’re going to be fine. Why don’t you get some sleep? The docs can get in their quota of poking and prodding later.”

“Mebbe don’ wake me up for that?” Wes suggests but his eyes are already drifting closed.

“See what I can do.” Ty promises. “Find a good prince charming for next time you wake up too.”

“Shuddup.” Wes mutters but the tension is leaving him and Ty smiles as he watches him fall back asleep.

His body is relaxed and settled this time.

Ty relaxes too.

He’s going to be okay.

Chapter Text

He’d not been foolish enough to think that they would be able to just ride that train safely to their destination but he’ll also admit that he’d kind of hoped maybe this one time things would actually go smoothly.

Amanda is talking Andre through the location of the ‘safe house’ they’ve identified when they hear gun fire.

“What is that?” Andre demands.

Celeste gets the cameras up, showing the guards at the entrance dead at their desk and masked gunmen pushing through the doors.

“Alert the HNP and keep your heads down.” He orders as Amanda triggers a full lockdown of their computers.

Andre turns off his camera but keeps the line open as doors shatter inward and the men enter the room.

Of the five of them, Wes is the only one who carries a weapon and his Glock won’t do much against four men armed with automatic weapons.

He steps forward, doing his best to block the analysts from view.

“Agent Wes Mitchell.” He says, tone flat. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

That earns him the butt of a rifle to the stomach and he drops to his knees, worried by the anxious gasps behind him.

Amanda had done well on the Lopez case, showing that she’s absolutely capable of transitioning to a more field role with the team if she wants it but none of the people behind him are trained for this.

“You know what we want.” An accented voice responds as hands move over him, pulling his gun from his holster and continuing on to search him.

Russians.

Someone moves past him and he starts to push himself up only to be shoved roughly back to the floor.

“Computers are down.” Is announced a moment later.

“Digital lockdown is standard procedure for this.” Wes says, glaring up at the man in front of him.

There’s a physical lockdown procedure as well but these men had gotten too far into the building before the alarm was raised.

Likely involving some form of inside help but Wes will have to sort through that later.

“Then I suggest you lift it.” The man tells him.

“We can’t.” Amanda bursts out, cutting him off anxiously. “It has to be lifted from FBI Headquarters in Washington.”

She’s lying but Wes can’t help but be impressed.

If he didn’t already know that, he would have no idea.

“Then tell us where your colleagues are hiding.” The man demands.

“Yuri.” Wes cuts in. “Can I call you Yuri? Or would you prefer Igor? I can save Yuri for your pal here.”

He nods to the man still holding him down, flashing a smirk that’s gotten him into plenty of trouble in the past.

Today is no exception as his wisecrack earns him a smack to the back of the head hard enough to bounce his forehead off the floor beneath him.

“You can call me Ilya.” The man looming over him says. “And I suggest you stop pissing Viktor off.”

“Two down, two to go.” He says cheerfully. “But I can stick with Dumb and Ugly if you don’t want to share.”

It earns him another smack.

“You are the dumb one here.” One of the other men says.

“Ugly too.” His partner retorts and Wes assigns the names accordingly.

“Ivan, Dimitri.” Ilya snaps. “Stop letting him push your buttons and get to work. Collect their cellphones and search them for weapons.”

Wes fights the instinct to tense up as Dumb and Ugly approach the analysts.

All four are searched and herded back from their desks.

“Take them into that interview room, Dimitri.” Ilya orders and Wes watches Ugly (Dimitri) start to push them back.

Dumb (Ivan) stands back and watches until the door is pulled closed and then turns back to Wes.

“Get him up.” Ilya orders and Viktor switches his grip to take a tight hold of Wes’s arm, levering him to his feet.

His hands are jerked behind his back and a set of riot cuffs slid over his wrists and pulled down tight.

Then he’s shoved into a chair.

“Where are your colleagues hiding?” Ilya demands.

“You know, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Wes says. “Busy dealing with military requests, paperwork, briefings with my superiors, more paperwork-”

A hard slap to the face cuts him off but he just raises an eyebrow.

Selling this as the analysts being the ones who have the information that they need keeps Amanda and the others safe.

Make them valuable enough to keep alive.

Keeps Wes as the punching bag.

“You are in charge here?” Ilya demands.

“Yes.”

“But you expect me to believe that you don’t know where you’re people are hiding.” Ilya scoffs.

“The train didn’t work out.” Wes says. “Which you know. I gave the order to find a good place for them to lay low while we figured out a better plan and then started working on the better plan.”

Then he shrugs.

“And paperwork.”

Viktor punches him in the stomach and he collapses forward with a groan.

“Bring the woman.” Ilya orders. “The blonde.”

Wes grits his teeth.

He’s pretty sure he’s played his cards right for them to torture him in an attempt to get Amanda to talk.

But he doesn’t like their attention being directed at her.

Ivan drags her out into the open bullpen, shoving her into the chair at her desk.

“Where did you direct your team to lay low?” Ilya asks.

“I didn’t.” She answers, glancing at Wes and the blood on his face.

It’s just a nasty split lip and a small gash on his cheek so far but he knows it looks worse than it is.

Another hard punch snaps his head back.

“We hadn’t found a place for them yet.” Amanda says. “It’s a complicated question in Ukraine.”

Ilya tilts his head, studying her for a moment and Wes mentally prepares for another blow if he decides that she’s lying.

“Fine.” He says. “Then you’re going to call them now. Give them a location.”

Where the Russians will be waiting.

It won’t work.

Even if Andre wasn’t still on the line, listening to all of this, an alert had been sent back to headquarters when Amanda had triggered the digital lockdown.

The team has been alerted.

Is most likely working with them to find secure transport the rest of the way to Poland.

Ilya knows this. He has to.

The man is stupid but he’s no fool.

“No way.” Wes dismisses. “That’s not happening.”

Ilya retrieves a large knife from his belt.

“I will gut your boss like a pig.” He says coldly.

They have to buy time.

The HNP are aware of the situation. Will be on site shortly working on a tactical entry.

“The alert when I triggered the lockdown will have resulted in them being contacted.” Amanda says. “They know we’re compromised, it will never work.”

“Lie.” Ilya insists. “Tell them it was a false alarm. That you have somewhere safe for them.”

“How would I have found it?” Amanda asks. “They know all of our computers went into lockdown. A lockdown that I can’t lift from here.”

Ilya snarls.

Presses the blade of the knife against Wes’s throat.

“Then call them.” He orders. “Tell them that if they don’t meet my people, hand over the girl and the briefcase, that he dies.”

Amanda glances at Wes.

Ilya lowers the knife, allowing him to speak.

It won’t buy them much.

When the team doesn’t show up at the meeting, and unless they can come up with a plan they won’t, Ilya likely won’t hesitate to slit his throat.

He’ll then reiterate his demands with Amanda or one of the analysts’ lives on the line.

But that might be enough.

He closes his eyes.

“Call them.” He says quietly. “But we’ll hand over the briefcase only.”

The team can turn over a briefcase with fake documents. It won’t fool the Russians long but it will buy a little more time.

They can’t fake Yulia.

Amanda looks to Ilya, waiting to see how he will answer Wes’s counter offer.

“I will accept that.” He says.

“I need my phone.” She tells him.

He nods to Ivan who turns to the pile of discarded equipment and finds the appropriate phone.

“Video call.” He orders.

Amanda shakily dials Andre’s number.

“Raines.”

“Hey Andre.”

“Are you guys okay?” Andre asks. “Headquarters called. You triggered the lockdown?”

“We’re okay.” She says. “For now.”

“You have intruders.” He ‘guesses’. “Russians?”

“They want the briefcase.” She says.

Ilya motions for her to turn the phone his way before bringing the knife back flush against Wes’s neck.

“We will send coordinates.” He says. “You have one hour. If you do not show, if you are even one minute late – I will kill him.”

Andre nods.

“And in case you don’t believe that I am serious.” Ilya continues, ramming the knife into Wes’s shoulder.

He cries out, head tipping back.

“One hour.” Ilya repeats, motioning for Amanda to end the call.

She does so with shaking hands, dropping her phone to the desk.

Ilya rips the knife free, wiping the blood away on Wes’s shirt and stepping away.

He gives a choked groan.

“Why …” Amanda stammers. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

“I hit nothing vital.” Ilya dismisses. “He will be fine for the next hour.”

Wes slumps back, head resting on the back of the chair.

It feels like he should be doing something but he knows that this is out of his hands right now.

It’s on Andre, Ty and Smitty to pull off a fake ransom drop in Ukraine without backup while still protecting Yulia and the briefcase.

It’s up to the HNP to find a way into the building and rescue them.

The only thing he can do is try to keep breathing and watch for signs that they’re making their play.

Save his strength so that maybe he can protect the analysts when they come crashing in.

Ilya and the others ignore them.

He can hear them behind him, speaking Russian and occasionally laughing.

Amanda is watching him, eyes bright with concern but she doesn’t dare disobey Ilya to try to treat his injury.

Time crawls.

Every minute feels like an hour and he can feel himself fading.

The pain waning and a chill settling beneath his bones.

Ilya eventually snaps an order, his words angry but in Russian that Wes doesn’t understand.

Viktor walks over, dragging him to his feet and he can’t help but groan.

“Wes.”

Amanda’s protest is ignored and he’s not sure if he should be worried when she too is drug out of her chair.

Surely it hasn’t been an hour yet.

But the two men just drag them into the interview room, releasing them with a slight shove.

Wes doesn’t manage to keep his balance, stumbling and collapsing to the floor.

Amanda gets ahold of his arm just in time to keep his face from being smashed against the hardwood but the sudden halt pulls at his shoulder and he bites back a scream.

“Sorry.” She apologizes weakly.

“S’okay.” He mumbles.

Ivan says something in Russian to Dimitri and then leaves the room.

The other analysts bombard them with questions but Wes just groans, closing his eyes and rolling painfully onto his back.

He resumes waiting; listening carefully for any sound of movement outside the door.

The fall had exacerbated the damage and he can tell that he’s bleeding more heavily.

Fights to stay conscious.

They don’t get a lot of warning.

Gunfire sounds in the bullpen and Wes pushes up as Dimitri starts to raise his weapon.

But he isn’t needed.

Ernesto steps in, pushing the weapon up and toward the ceiling while Amanda drives a hard elbow into the man’s stomach and hooks his leg, sending him crashing to the floor.

The door crashes open a moment later, several members of an HNP tactical team pushing into the room and coming up short when they see Ernesto holding the assault weapon.

“We need a medic. Now.” Celeste says.

“Call Andre.” Wes orders, trying to ignore the black spots at the corners of his vision.

“I’ll take care of it.” Amanda promises. “Just hang on, Wes.”

But there’s no one left needing his protection and Wes can’t fight the darkness any longer.

He wakes to annoying beeping and the pungent scent of antiseptic.

Blinks the room into focus to see Cam sitting next to the bed.

“‘Posed to be resting.” He mutters.

“I got the alert when you guys triggered the lockdown.” She says simply. “Needed to be there. I stayed outside the whole time.”

“The others?”

“Amanda was able to alert Andre before he made the meet.” She tells him. “And the Russians were so overconfident that they had us up against the wall that it was all too easy for Ty and Smitty to get Yulia and the briefcase out of Ukraine and to the lab that Dr. Chung recommended. Everyone is fine and the biotoxin is secure.”

He nods.

“ ‘manda?”

“She and the other analysts are just fine. I guess after Madrid, they all started taking martial arts together on the weekends. In case one of them needs to go undercover again.” She tells him. “Apparently Lilly kicks Kyle’s ass on the regular.”

He smirks.

He’s not surprised. Not really.

“Everyone is safe and you’re going to be just fine.” She promises him. “Why don’t you try to rest? I’ll go find your doctor.”

“K.” He breathes.

His eyes slip closed and he listens as she stands up.

“No’ gonna yell at Amanda for linking you into the system.” He says, smirking as he hears her freeze.

“Didja really think I thought you were going to lie around and watch golf movies?” He teases.

She chuckles.

“Dumb but ‘m not that dumb.” He says.

“Try telling that to Amanda.” She retorts and he grimaces as she opens the door and steps into the hallway.

Yeah, Amanda probably isn’t thrilled with him for antagonizing Ilya as much as he had.

But it had kept the crew’s attention on him and away from the rest of his people.

Which he would do again.

Every time.