Chapter Text
"Mr. Dotcom has a request."
Kurt Weller did his best not to sigh out loud, but honestly couldn't hide his disdain. Richard Dotcom was more trouble in prison than auctioning weapons and state secrets. He was also, undeniably, becoming a valuable source of information for the CIA and the FBI.
There had been deals to place Rich in a nicer prison, along with his boyfriend and cohort, Crab. There had been other deals for amenities in his cell. A coffee maker had bought the name of a passport forger. Expanded mail order privileges had gained a location housing darkweb servers. As the senior agent involved in his arrest, paperwork crossed Weller's desk every time Rich made a deal for an extra scoop of ice cream.
He stared down the CIA agent, and hoped this time it was something ridiculously risky no prison could allow. A quick no was the fastest way to move past Rich's requests.
"What," he asked sharply. The CIA agent was a man named Mewes. He had even less sense of humour about Rich than Kurt did. He didn't seem stupid, exactly, but he hadn't been humiliated yet by Rich's schemes. He didn't know to be suspicious of everything.
"Mr. Dotcom would like a visit, in person, in the prison's private room. He is offering what he claims is a very large stockpile of unsold explosives," Mewes said calmly. He was as stoic with Weller's attitude as he seemed unmoved by Rich's bizarre phrasing.
"I'm busy," Kurt said, letting a smile out because it felt nice to ruin Rich's plotting. He didn't blame Mewes for trying to do his job, but he wasn't going to fall for this again.
"Mr. Dotcom wants a visit from your wife, Agent Weller. I took it as an . . . off-colour remark initially, but I was told your wife does work with the FBI. I looked up public records and couldn't find a Mrs. Weller, or I would have contacted her more directly," Mewes said, shrugging slightly. "I presumed Mr. Dotcom was referring to your common law significant other, as opposed to your legal spouse. And I informed him he would lose privileges for threatening or harassing a federal agent or any family members of that agent."
Weller felt his face set in a kind of cheerful rage. Being angry at Rich was clean-burning and never lasted long enough to trouble his sleep. He wouldn't worry about the motivations behind Rich's demands. He wouldn't feel hurt when reasonable amounts of trust were met with plotting.
If the ravings of a criminal were his biggest problem, Kurt would gladly embrace Rich's distractions to his work. He needed to find some relief after things had gone so wrong.
"So you thought it was a good idea to come here," he asked, "-asking me to get my wife to make a conjugal visit to somebody I put away?"
He was trying to respect the CIA agent for the professional peer he was. Rich and his silly opportunism inside the justice system made it hard not to judge. It would have been infuriating to have his real wife delivered to a prisoner in trade for his overstock bombs. This situation was definitely planned to aggravate his wounds from Jane.
"I don't mean any disrespect to your relationship, Agent Weller," the other man said quickly. "It's my job to use Mr. Dotcom's incarceration to the benefit of society. If I had found your wife's name in your file, I would have contacted her through her supervising agent."
The knowledge his buttons were being pushed didn't remove the reaction. Weller grimaced as he realized this was going to become an issue unless he corrected Mewes. And he sincerely hoped Jane gave an ironclad no to visiting Rich. Neither of them needed more of the prisoner's guidance on the way back to their previous bond.
"I'm also her supervising agent," he grumbled. "Rich thinks it's funny because he met us undercover as a couple. He gets an insane amount of enjoyment out of imagining romantic motives in normal interactions. I won't have him taunting my agents."
His job used to be much simpler when Mayfair had to filter all the nuisance meetings. Weller stood up and waved Mewes to follow.
"I'm going to let you ask her if she'll go, but I'm not making it an order," Kurt told him. "If Rich wants entertainment so badly, he can hire a circus act to prison. Jane isn't to be used."
His stride was perhaps a little angrier than warranted, and the CIA agent had to hurry behind him.
"Mrs. Weller will be treated respectfully. I realize I can only ask her to cooperate to assist our work," Mewes agreed, backing off a step at Kurt's glare. "I'm sorry if she uses her own name. I wasn't able to identify her by it. What should I call her?"
"She goes by Jane, and you can leave out the soap opera delusions from Rich. Ask what you need to ask and let us get back to our work."
The team was monopolizing the conference room. Patterson had found a cipher she thought might work on multiple tattoos. Her computers were running the coding, but some were too graphic to be easily matched. The science team had joined in to teach a basic understanding of cipher use, and now the room looked like study hall. Every person was hunched over photos of tattoos and notepads wild with scribbled attempts.
A man with a visitor's badge disrupted the quiet. People sat up straight and smoothed out their hair. Jane blinked at Mewes with a distrust Weller felt like a weight in his gut.
"Jane, it's nothing to worry about, but Agent Mewes with the CIA would like to ask a favour," he told her, letting her know she had the option to turn him down.
Her graceful push away from the table was a little tense. Jane nodded, which was no surprise. Her specialty now was making up for before. She paid attention and said yes to whatever the team needed her to do, much to Kurt's discomfort.
"Hi." She was meek but her eyes skimmed the man carefully.
"Hello, it's nice to meet you," Mewes said, holding his hand out to shake. "I am sorry to intrude. Should we go to another room?"
Weller wanted this over and done. He let Jane shake Mewes' hand but positioned himself to the side.
"I trust my team to be discreet with what they hear," he said. "This should be a short conversation, Agent Mewes. Let's not make it more than it has to be."
"Of course," the CIA agent agreed. "Mrs. Weller, I have been meeting with Rich Dotcom to negotiate for his intelligence and stolen goods. He would like you to visit him in exchange for some explosives."
Jane hunched her shoulders and looked at the floor. "I'm not - Please don't call me that."
The team had stopped work to watch the disaster the CIA had brought to his office. Weller grumbled to himself, and while he tamped down the urge to yell, the baffled Agent Mewes continued.
"I'm sorry, I mean Agent Weller. I didn't mean any disrespect to your title. It has to be confusing with two Agents Weller, from time to time. I'm sure you have a shorthand I'm not privvy to, and I just wanted to be clear."
Patterson was flushed with empathy, her face half-turned away. Reade had picked up his pen and was trying to pretend everything was normal. Zapata let a muffled chuckle escape, but it wasn't a happy sound.
Pleading now, Jane held up her hands. "No, my last name isn't Weller. I'm not offended and I'm not an agent officially. I don't deserve the title," she said miserably.
Weller stepped up and between Jane and Mewes. He gave a dark look and said, "She goes by Jane Doe. She's a consultant with the FBI, not an agent."
The man looked horrified, and Weller realized her name raised more issues. He was probably exuding more murderous rage than was good for his professionalism. He should herd the CIA agent and Jane back to his office and get things settled, but the man was just not shutting up long enough to get them there.
"You make your wife go by 'Jane Doe.' Agent Weller, you seem to have a lot of concerns about her safety. The visit will be supervised closely and I can assure you we do not allow the prisoner free. Is there some kind of threat? Is Mr. Dotcom a danger to your family," he asked seriously.
Jane was gathering herself to clarify things, but her hesitation allowed Weller to go first.
"Jane, can you please give him an answer before I have to shoot myself," he said starkly.
She looked at him for a full three seconds, frowning at his irritation. "Agent Mewes, I won't meet with Rich. Everything is fine, I'm very safe here. I'm sorry you had to make the trip for nothing."
Weller put his hands lightly on her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze of appreciation he knew hadn't fixed any of the misconceptions. "You don't have to apologize, because it's a bad idea," he said, glaring at Mewes. His expression when he looked back at her was apologetic. "I'm sorry we interrupted you."
His prompting look made the CIA agent rush to say, "My apologies, Ma'am."
Jane nodded and went back to her seat, obviously rattled as she tried to get back to work. Kurt sighed and led Agent Mewes away with long, angry strides. He wasn't even going to help this guy out and explain they weren't married. Mewes would just have to get the hard knocks version of working with Rich the FBI had to endure.
Hell, if Mewes showed up looking for his 'wife' again, Kurt decided to tell him about all the times Rich hit on Jane and throw a chair to freak him out.