Chapter Text
NYC - Brooklyn - Park Slope - September 16th, 2026 - 10:54 pm
Ryan was bored.
No, not just bored. It had gotten to the point of mind-numbing dullness; of the kind one only feels after excruciatingly long periods of absolute nothingness. It felt like neurons were dying in droves from the sheer pressure of waiting.
New York was the city that never slept, and so it should have been easy to escape the clutches of this tedium, but if one was focused on a single person out of the millions that lived here, then everything else became white noise that was no longer able to alleviate the brain.
The lights of the apartment were still on; 5b enjoyed some sense of life. What kind, Ryan didn't know. The blinds were down, had been for some time.
There was just waiting.
Waiting for something to happen.
Because something had to happen, that was what the numbers were for, after all. They always indicated that something was going to happen, as Marc kept saying.
This person was in trouble, or about to be.
Ryan had watched Joan “Jax” Peck for the better part of three days now, and they weren't a very interesting person to follow.
They had gone to work, a typical 9-to-5 in one of those big, fancy office buildings in Manhattan. The company was called Invet, and, according to Marc, handled monetary transactions online. After work, Peck took the subway home.
And there they stayed.
They had only left the apartment once to get groceries but otherwise seemed to be a home-dweller, almost a hermit. At 36 with all those expensive suits they were wearing and the well-paying job that was not exactly a lifestyle choice Ryan had expected.
“Are we sure this isn't a fluke?” The need to break the monotony became overwhelming. It wasn't the first time Ryan had asked this exact question.
So, the irritated sigh on the other end of the phone wasn't completely unexpected. “Yes, we are sure.” Marc didn't even try to hide his own exhaustion, and his dark timbre didn’t have the usual soothing effect. He was waiting in their little base of operations, without a clue of what was happening. Just watching the GPS dot of Ryan's phone not move for hours on his monitor. “The numbers have never been wrong before.”
“But what if it’s wrong this time?” It was pointless to ask. But the boredom demanded a distraction.
Marc's voice was louder this time, more frustrated. “It's not. We just need to figure out what's going on, and fast.” The image of his tense jaw was clear in Ryan's mind. “I will go over all the info again. Maybe I missed something.”
Ha hadn't missed anything, they both knew it. Still, encouragement was needed. “Yeah, sounds good. Let me know, if you find... just let me know.”
The conversation had been short but it had kicked Ryan's senses back into gear. The sounds of the city grew a bit louder, the tunnel vision towards the apartment was widened to the view of the whole street. Park Slope was a neat neighborhood. Clean and modern. There was a long row of parked cars on either side of the road, almost all of them electrical. The people who lived here liked the appearance of caring for the environment. Or maybe they actually did, Ryan wouldn’t know.
It was still warm for September. Ryan had let the car windows down almost immediately after parking but there wasn't much wind to speak of, so the air had become stale. The sun had said its final goodnight a while ago.
The wish for Marc to come up with an explanation for why they were here grew more urgent by the minute. They were getting close to the fourth day of their observation and there was nothing. Usually it wasn't this hard to figure out what was going on. Marc was a certified genius when it came to research. Most people's lives were readily available on the internet these days. The urge to overshare on social media made their job very easy. It wasn't just the numbers themselves, it was friends, relatives and their whole social circle.
There were hints embedded in what people revealed about themselves, and more in what they didn’t share. Little clues leading to suspicions and truths. Ryan wasn't good at decoding them, but Marc was. He picked up on even the slightest inconsistencies and was almost always spot-on when it came to untangling the social web surrounding any of their numbers. He was able to follow the leads to their most probable conclusions.
He wasn't always right but it usually got them close enough to save people.
But Joan Peck didn't post online. They didn't have any social media accounts as far as Marc could tell. The only trace he had been able to find of them was their name and picture posted on the company's website, including the Jax nickname.
That and this home address was all they had.
Well, almost.
Ryan had taken the liberty of breaking into the apartment yesterday, hoping to find something incriminating. But the home had been as boring as their newest assignment. It wasn't cluttered, just slightly untidy, completely normal for someone who was off to work. There was no pet. There hadn't even been any photos. Not of Peck, at least. Just the one on their desk with a smiling older couple. Ryan could only guess it was their parents. There weren't any overdue bills, no threatening notes, nothing. Not even a single sticky note on the fridge.
There was a computer but it had been password protected, and this time Marc wasn't able to crack it through social engineering, because they didn't know anything about them. Ryan did notice that the set-up seemed a little more sophisticated than what was usual. A microphone, a camera. Three screens. Nothing too fancy. So, that could mean a lot of things. Maybe Peck had an active social life online that Ryan and Marc weren't able to access, or it was just for the occasional home office hours.
Ryan groaned, thinking back on that fruitless endeavor. This had been the most frustrating assignment yet. And the worst part was, they weren't any closer to finding a threat. It might even be Peck who was the threat. They just didn't know!
The lights turned off in 5b. The jolt of excitement soon turned into depressing realization. Another day wasted. It was 11pm, Peck's bed time, as Ryan had learned.
It was time to cut their losses and rethink their strategy. This wasn't working.
Ryan was about to start driving off when a car rounded the corner. The door to the apartment complex swung open and their number appeared. The car stopped in front of the building and Peck got in. In the brief moment the lights inside the car came on, Ryan could make out a friendly face of an older Indian man in the driver's seat. He turned his head to welcome his new guest. It was some sort of driving service, not one of New York’s taxis.
Dark, messy hair that went down to the chin, a pair of rimless glasses in a pale, almost gaunt, face and one of those fancy dark blue suits; there was no mistaking Ryan’s mark.
The lights turned back off and the car drove further down the street.
Ryan finally sprung into action. “They're moving!”
It took Marc a second to reply, maybe too surprised to grasp what Ryan had said. “What?”
“The number! They just got in a car. I'm going after them.”
“Do... do you know where she's going?” The click-clack of keyboard keys reached Ryan's ears. The something they had been waiting for was finally about to happen, they both felt it.
“No, Marc, I don't.” Rhetorical questions usually weren't Marc's thing but it was late and they had both spent hours trapped in limbo with this number, so maybe it was just the wish to fill the silence.
He didn't reply.
Ryan felt a rush of adrenaline. Whatever this number's deal was, it was about to be revealed. They needed to be on their A-game now. If it was Peck who needed protection or the person they were about to meet, Ryan didn't know yet.
NYC - Bronx - Port Morris - September 16th - 11:36 pm
It turned out to be a bit of a longer drive. Ryan and Marc exchanged little words during the half hour it took to get from Park Slope to Port Morris. It wasn't exactly difficult to follow the car but Ryan had to be mindful not to get too close. No way to tell how attentive their number was right now, but an obvious tail might have spooked them and then all the wait would have been for nothing. Ryan had made that mistake before.
The car stopped at the corner of 132nd and Locust Avenue. Ryan quickly parked and turned off the engine, which immediately killed the headlights, too. The darkness was now only held at bay by the more or less functioning street lamps.
“We stopped.”
“I got you.” More clicking and clacking from the other side. “There's nothing much. Just a huge waste disposal company.” He sounded nervous.
“Peck is getting out of the car, I'm going to follow them on foot.” Ryan opened the door and was happy to finally stretch again but made sure not to be seen. But Peck didn't even take a look around, just started walking towards the East River.
“Be careful, we have no idea what this is.” The concern in Marc’s voice was genuine, so Ryan forwent her usual snarky reply. Ryan knew he hated not knowing what was happening, once it got tense, he just listened in over the earpiece.
“I will be, promise.”
Sticking to the shadows, Ryan followed their number a short way but it wasn't hard to spot their target. A man stood waiting, leaning against the broken fence meant to separate the road and the river. He was watching Peck come closer, there was no way for Ryan to tell what his expression might have been, the distance was too great and the light didn't illuminate him enough.
Their number raised a hand in greeting, it looked unsure and awkward.
Ryan felt alarmed. Whatever this was, it was not a meeting between friends. “There's a man here, I don't think Peck knows him. They're talking but it doesn't seem familiar.”
Marc's voice betrayed his clenched jaw again. His scrunched up, dark-skinned face with the well-trimmed beard entered Ryan’s mind. “Can you describe him?” It was a desperate attempt to be helpful. They didn't know any of Peck's friends, so even if the man was known to them, a description wouldn't help much.
But Ryan complied anyway. “About 6'1'', lean, Caucasian. I can't make out his face. Dark jacket, jeans. Wait...” Ryan squinted. “Peck's giving him something.” Whatever it was, was too small to make out from this distance. “And... oh no...”
The man drew a gun. He hit their number in the face with it, hard. Ryan saw Peck's glasses flying.
She didn't think, just started running, while Marc's alarmed voice in her ear was drowned out by her own heartbeat.
Her boots on the asphalt already made enough noise to get attention but she announced herself even more loudly by screaming “HEY!”
Suddenly all the attention was on her. Maybe not the best move in the world, considering she was still too far to get into an effective fist fight and the man had a gun. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, which she had unconsciously been clutching as her connection to Marc, and threw it at the man's face.
Pure instinct forced him to raise his hands to protect himself. Ryan used the time she had won with her impromptu maneuver to close the distance. She went into a full sprint and barrelled into the taller man, sending them both into a tumble towards the pavement, eliciting a surprised groan from him and an angry growl from her. The sheer momentum of her movement almost sent her flying over his falling body but she grabbed onto him and was able to land on top of him instead. She felt muscles and bones crunch under her weight. She didn't lose any time, grabbed the stun baton from the side of her belt, felt it extend with a flick of her wrist, and smacked him hard across the face, blood immediately began pooling under his nose.
He didn’t even have time to scream or fight her off, he just went slack under her. She had taken the fight out of him for the moment, his eyes rolled back into his head and were only half open now. She turned him around and bound his hands with a pair of zip ties.
Breathing heavily, Ryan stood up and with a quick look around found their number cowering on the sidewalk, hands raised over their head in a protective, but ultimately helpless, gesture. She walked over. “Hey, are you alright?”
She only got a wince in response.
“It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you.” She showed the palm of her hands, catching only a glimpse of a face contorted in fear.
“Who- who are you?” A low and raspy voice, she hadn't quite expected from this week's victim finally gave her a bit more space to explain.
“Just a concerned third party. Can you stand?” She offered a hand, which was first met with a fearful jolt. And then an uncertain squint of the eyes.
“I... yeah, I think so.” Joan finally took her offer, but their movements were slow and unsure. “Do you – do you know where my glasses went?”
“Uhm...”, Ryan looked around and caught a reflection on a small patch of grass. “Oh yeah”, she picked them up and handed them back. The glass on the right side was cracked, otherwise they seemed fine.
Joan put them on, finally stopping to squint so hard. The look on their face didn't get any less confused though. “Who - ?”
Before they could ask the same question again, Ryan raised a hand. “Why did he try to kill you?” With her thumb she motioned to the man on the ground.
“I – I - “ Joan seemed startled by the question. Ryan suppressed her impatience and waited for an actual answer. “I think... Invet send him.” Their voice got higher towards the end of the sentence as if they were asking a question. It was clear that realisation had just set in right now. “I might have... oh, damn, I need that drive back.”
Before Ryan could stop them, Joan had gotten on their knees and was patting down the man who only groaned quietly.
“Hey, hey, what do you think you're doing?”
“I need that drive! It – it proves that Invet is embezzling money! I thought he was a journalist!”
Ryan froze. Embezzlement wasn't necessarily new to her. But Invet was an internationally traded company, a powerful company. Which meant that Joan was a whistle-blower. Someone had hired a hitman to kill them. This was new. This was big. And not something Ryan felt equipped to handle. Her and Marc had dealt with relationships that had gone bad. Violent husbands. Gang violence. But not this.
While Joan rummaged through the man's jacket pockets she went and looked for her phone. And found it a few feet away, the display was dark and no amount of smearing her finger across the spider-webbed screen or angry shaking made it come back to life. She cursed. She had been wondering why Marc wasn't yelling in her ear, demanding to know what happened. She knew he had set their agreed upon emergency plan into motion.
As if on queue police sirens started wailing in the distance.
She went back to Joan who was standing there looking totally lost. It reminded her of a puppy. She grabbed them by the arms and looked up into green eyes. Funny, she had seen the photo, the numbers always came with a photo, but she hadn't realised Joan had green eyes until now.
“Okay, here's what you're going to do: you tell the police that he”, again she motioned towards the man on the ground, “attacked you and that somebody came and knocked him out. You don't know who that someone was.”
“Well... that's the truth.”
Ryan waved away the interjection. “And you tell them that you didn't get a good look at whoever it was.” Her face got serious, her stare intense. “And when you're done giving your statement at the station you look up Nathan Gilbert. He works for the Times. He's an actual journalist.” Marc and her had saved him only a couple of weeks ago from an ex-boyfriend of his now fiancé. “You give him what you have and let him handle the rest. I need to leave.”
Ryan let go and made her way back to her car.
“Wait!”, Joan called after her, “Who are you? Why did you help me?”
She turned back, a lopsided grin was all she could muster. “I told you, concerned third party. Please do as I said; trust me, it's for your own good.”
Joan stopped in the middle of the street, while Ryan got back into her car. She sank deep into the seat, not a second too soon. The cavalry arrived and she saw her newest number wave them down.
Ryan waited until the police had left together with Joan, and the man had been carted off in an ambulance. She met the green eyes only briefly when the squad car drove by.
She could only hope that Joan took her advice. She kept telling herself that there had been nothing more she could have done. She still felt incredibly powerless once she finally took off, back towards Harlem.
NYC - Manhattan - Harlem - September 20th - 1:43pm
A few days later she was in the abandoned building that had once been a school and was watching the news together with Marc. They had been anxious the last couple of days. There hadn't been an exposé about Invet. There also hadn't been a murder of a scrawny office worker.
Ryan checked on Joan regularly. They hadn't gone back to work but their number also hadn't come up again. They seemed to be staying inside their apartment the whole day now.
Had she done the right thing? Had she put Joan in even more danger?
“You're going to make your brain explode”, Marc looked at her and then back at the screen. Biting down on the carrot he was eating as a snack. “It'll be okay, we saved her. You saved her. She's okay. And I don't think Invet is going to try to touch her again once Nathan breaks the story.”
“But what if he doesn't? What if -”
“These things take time, Ryan, he has to do his research first. But I bet Invet already knows it's happening and they're currently trying to cut their losses. Murder is the last thing their PR team needs right now.” He tried to make it sound like a joke but to her it sounded too dark.
She grimaced. “I just didn't know what to do, we never had -”
Her head whipped around and she felt Marc's body tense beside her.
There was a knock at the door.
There had never been a knock before. From the outside, the building looked completely dilapidated. Even the local kids stayed away.
“Hide”, she hissed the instruction quietly but forcefully. Marc didn't make a fuss, just slowly let go of his carrot and his dark-skinned face disappeared below the desk. Ryan grabbed the stun baton from her belt and carefully made her way towards the door. There was another knock. It wasn't commanding; whoever was on the other side didn't demand entrance. It sounded... curious. Could a knock be curious? Was she overthinking things because she was suddenly in full military mode? Possibly.
She grabbed the door handle, took a deep and quiet breath and then swung the door open in one quick motion, her baton at the ready, facing any threat head-on.
The face that stared back was familiar which kept her from immediately using her baton on it.
“What?”
“I- I'm sorry.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I didn't know you were -”
They kept speaking at the same time. Ryan lowered the baton to her side, confusion on her face.
“Did you follow me?”
Joan Peck looked at her in complete bewilderment.
“N-no. I was told to come here. By an E. Thornhill.”