Chapter 4 - Piper's News

Even before the sunlight had heralded the new day, Jack kept silent vigil. Adam was loosely curled at his side, content to remain in the realm of absurdity. The slumbering body placed so that if Jack tried to lean over to get anything with nicotine that he'd left on the nightstand, he'd jar the other awake. Part of him honestly believed it had been thought out in advance. Jack threw and arm over his eyes, grinning moronically at the ceiling. Then again, he thought wryly, they'd barely finished when Adam fell dead to the world. It was probably just as well, given the general ache of Jack's body.

Moving his arm, Jack could watch the slow shift of Adam's shoulders that pronounced each breath. Bruises spotted the pale skin, all varied in size and spread out artistically like the final flourish to a large cat's coat. The black eye the younger man had sported days prior had lessened to a dusting of grey-purple, it spread over the bridge of his nose. The healing slit lip had made little progress of the forward nature thanks to Jack, but there had been no voiced complaint. Light haloed the curtains, echoing the clock's sentiments that it was too late to sleep.

Sliding a hand down Adam's side, Jack pauses at the stained makeshift bandage. The gauze didn't begin to cover the discoloration that spread out from under it. The shade didn't match the other bruises. Adam shifted under his touch, trying to move away from the pressure. Warmed flesh, by sleep and infection, brushed against his fingertips and Jack pushed down on the dirtied gauze roughly. A sharp yelp tore through the air as Adam jolted awake.

"The fuck is your problem?" he snarled, shoving Jack's arm away roughly.

"How does it end?"

Adam scrubbed a hand over his face, sitting up to rest his arms on his knees. "What?"

"The story. How did it end?"

"Oh."

Throwing off the sheets, Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Threading his fingers together, Jack stared down at his feet and silently waited for Adam to begin.

"After the king met the Shamakha Queen--"

"Dimona."

"Dimona. The king fell in love with her. He brought her back with him to his city. The tsar forgot why he left. The wizard who gave him the cockerel met them on the way to the palace and confronted the tsar. He'd finally come for payment and he wanted...Dimona. The tsar said no. Anything but her, take the treasury, take the palace, take half the kingdom, but not her." There was a hitch in Adam's voice. Jack lifted his eyes to stare at the wall, resisting the urge to turn around.

"Then there was a sound from the highest spire. The whole capital looked on as the cockerel headed toward Dadon. Like a shot he flew down, landing on the tsar's crown. He fluttered wildly, pecking into his head, and flew off..." A throat cleared. "It can be said that from the carriage the tsar fell. Exactly what killed him, no one could tell. And the queen disappeared as if she never were."

"They were bragging."

A noise of affirmation sounded from behind Jack's back. "They were telling us why."

"Dimona, for where Negev is. I get it. What now?"

A shiver spread down his spine. Clenching his teeth, Jack steeled himself against it relieved when the scalding weight of Adam's gaze moved elsewhere.

"That depends on you. I need to talk to Oswald." The confusion must have been evident in the line of his shoulders, because Adam continued after brief hesitance. "After we lost contact, he was the only one I could get a hold of. He needs to take the fall."

Jack responded bitterly, "Because he's American."

"Mossad wanted us to blame Russia; they went through a lot of trouble to make it look like communism had a hand in it."

"He's one of ours."

"He knew the risks then. Do you know what kind of morale boost this would be to the Soviets? Forget the Bay of Pigs; this would be the biggest goatfuck in American history."

Of course, Jack knew all this. Fingers bit into the sheets, leaving knuckles bloodless and shaking. "And we're going to throw him to the wolves," he continued, ignoring the points Adam had mentioned.

"We can't strain relations with Israel. If we lose our only ally in the Middle East things will only escalate. They're all that keeps some of the terrorist cells from activating and our troops need the training that they're experienced in. Unless you think you're good enough to teach them how to identify an eight year old suicide bomber."

"Damn it." The distinct noise of peeling tape redirected his frustration. He twisted, frowning as he noted Adam's wrinkled nose and rust colored bandages. "Don't touch those."

Immediately, Adam began to press the filthy gauze back onto the wound. With a wince, Jack rose to get the first aid kit from the bathroom, ordering Adam not to touch anything. The shrill noise of the phone died halfway through the first ring.

"Of course, sir," the younger man was mumbling into the phone. Rolling his eyes, Jack sat on the edge of the bed nearer Adam, and opened the small kit. It was ill stocked, but he'd gotten good at improvising over the years.

"What did it-ah- say?" Once the old bandage had been roughly pulled from the other's skin, Jack tossed it to the floor behind him, reminding himself not to smirk. There was a brief though to what disinfectant hurt the most, before he plucked up the alcohol out of habit. Using spare gauze, he dabbed it on the wound. Adam hissed into the phone, cheeks staining at whatever the reply from the other end was.

"No, you idiot." There was a snort as Adam attempted to shove Jack away. It felt more like he was shoving at a brick wall. "There's a time difference, we haven't-- Nine thirty. Yes, sir."

Biting off a piece of medical tape, Jack pressed the gauze firmly against the graze. Only a little satisfaction was drawn from the trembling of Adam's muscles under his hand. Adam still needed to see a real doctor for antibiotics. Jack would force him when they returned home. It was a thought that made him feel weary and pleased at once. The phone was pressed to Jack's ear without warning, Roy's voice loud and chipper.

"Hey, there big boss man." Grinning despite himself, Jack retorted with his own greeting. "We got the message decoded. You remember any pretty blonde agents from about a year back?"

"Huh?" The last blonde female he'd been around was Lee and it hadn't been pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. He head ached dully at the memory.

"Let me put it this way," there was a pause before Roy - with his best breathy, seductive female impersonation - sang gently, "Happy Birthday, Mr. President...Happy Birthday...to you."

Jack wasn't sure what expression was currently painted onto his face, but it earned him an odd look from his companion. Letting out a slow breath through his nose, Jack said, "You're lying."

Amused, forced laughter echoed in his ear. It wasn't a joke then. "This is too good to lie about. Fill in Ocelot; we need you boys to clean house down there."

"Right." The phone was placed back in the cradle without further aplomb. Adam was near the window, curtains pushed back enough to allow a bar of light. He was buttoning up his shirt, stealing glances at Jack as he did so. Sighing, Jack rose to his own feet and headed toward the bathroom. Adam trailed after him, watching from the door-frame as Jack stepped into the shower.

"What did he say?" The voice seemed an octave too high, nervous under a layer of forced calm. Though Jack might have been wrong, maybe it was just the water rushing by his ears.

"They decoded the message." The blur of color that was Adam moved from the door-frame to stand near the sink, leaning back against the counter.

When it became clear Jack wasn't continuing, Adam prompted, "And?"

"Do you remember Marilyn Monroe?"

"You're kidding," Adam deadpanned. "I thought she died. Of a drug overdose, it was all over the papers."

"She pulled out. We were closing in on her and she faked it."

"Actress. Lover of the president." There was a curt laugh. "That's a prime information gathering cover."

Jack hummed, ignoring the sting of shampoo in his eye. Turning off the shower, he pulled back the curtain in time for a large white towel to land on his head. Adam exited the room, but Jack could still hear him moving about. Neither bothered to shut the bathroom door as Jack dried himself off

The Dallas Police Department wasn't anything near a fortress, but the security around it was noticeably tighter than it had been in years. Nervous officers with shifty eyes littered the hall, all casting suspicious glances at the two agents in suits as they made their way to the holding cell Oswald occupied. He was seated on the bed, pulling loose strings from the soiled mattress, feet bouncing nervously. The cell itself wasn't anything special, merely bars and concrete. Oswald could have just been another drunk driver, a wife beater, a car thief. Anything but the man accused of killing the leader of a nation.

The footsteps of the police escort faded, the slamming of a door resounded the ending. Oswald didn't look up, but he tipped his head as if to listen better.

"You set me up," he accused quietly.

"We can get you out of this, but we need your cooperation."

Oswald bobbed his head one, twice, and then slowly looked up. His gaze froze on Adam, anger evident in his stony glare. "You," the man hissed, jumping to his feet. "What is he doing here?"

Keeping the confusion from his face, Jack looked between the two, not understanding what had just happened. Finally, he turned to Oswald.

"What?"

"He's a Ruskie!" Oswald informed, gripping a bar with one hand and jabbing the other through to point an accusatory finger at Adam. "He's Russian! Look into my file; I did a Russian campaign for the CIA. He's a major for the GRU."

A flicker of recognition flitted across Adam's blue eyes, but he ignored the venom and picked up where Jack had left off. "You'll need to take the fall--"

"I'm not playing patsy to the Kremlin! You have to believe me, he's Russian!"

Jack blinked, realizing the situation was quickly spiraling beyond what he could control. Adam seemed to be studying the man with indifference, Oswald moved away from the bars to pace alongside them like a feral creature. Occasionally he'd glance up, lip curled and teeth bared, before looking back down at his feet.

"What do you know about what happened, Oswald?" inquired the blond.

There was an ineffectual motion of anger, a sharp gesture with his hands before Oswald threw them into the arm. "It was the Mossad. The Israelis set this up. And as soon as I get out of here--"

Adam bit down on a snarl of his own. "You're to keep that to yourself, agent--"

"--I'm going to tell the whole world! Because I refuse to play scapegoat to some--"

"--You do not understand the situation and therefore--"

"--dirty, Russian, backstabbing whore!"

"--will follow orders unquestioningly."

The echoes of the shouting match slowly died down, leaving only a strained quiet in its wake. Ripples on the surface that didn't reveal the extent of the turmoil below. Oswald had both hands gripping the bars to the door, knuckles white and breath ragged. Adam appeared slightly winded as well, fists clenched tightly at his side. Jack placed a hand on his shoulder and steered the younger man away from the cell.

"We can't risk telling him anything," Adam snapped before Jack could begin to speak. Not fond of the course they had to take, he nodded goodbye to Oswald before informing the man that they'd be in touch. Jack didn't look back as they left, unwilling to look the ally they'd doomed in the eye.

The hotel room hadn't been dark when she'd left it. She also hadn't left the door unlocked.

Apprehensive, she stepped into the room and pushed the door shut behind her. It had barely closed before a gun was pressed firmly against her upper back. She held up her hands in surrender and moved a step forward. The pressure of the gun didn't lessen. The other didn't speak, but she heard the locks falling into place and licked her lips. The lipstick was bitter against her tongue.

"Nothing to say? Or does this mean you like me?"

The gun cocked.

"I'm afraid I've never been a big fan, Miss Monroe."

She laughed, genuinely amused, clapping her hands together. "My, they certainly train you boys well." Ignoring the danger of the gun, she stepped forward and then spun around so she was able to face her captor. He seemed unimpressed with her daring. Marilyn flashed him a movie star smile, all teeth. "And handsome as well. You don't have any friends with you?"

"I hunt alone," he informed with a crooked smile, teeth bright against the shadows.

Marilyn pulled off her glasses, tugging the headscarf off soon after. She ran a hand over her brown hair and tossed both items to the freshly made bed.

"Well I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."

"I'm patient when I need to be."

She gave a gentle smile. Alluring and deadly, it drew men in to break them. Ocelot stayed his distance and her grin widened.

"Where are Frank and Lee?"

"I don't think you understand what serpent's nest your playing in."

Making a soft 'tsk' noise, she turned her back to Ocelot, unafraid as she seated herself near the window. Drawing a silver cigarette case from her pockets, she placed one between her lips before snapping it closed.

"I know more than you think."

"If you have youth and wisdom, why bother living past thirty?" She eyed his once skeptically before lighting her cigarette. A ring of smoke floated slowly upward as she took another drag. "Or twenty-five in your case. Do you even shave? It'd be hard to imagine, with a face like yours."

Ocelot moved closer, shoes heavy against the carpet.

"Baby-faced killers. What is this world coming to?"

He still didn't answer. She frowned.

"Can I at least know your name? If you're going to kill me, I want to know. You never know what you'll need to know in the afterlife."

The gun was leveled to her back, aimed at her heart. The last year she'd spent on borrowed time seemed to be wasted now. All those years, all those mistakes. It was like watching rain drops, never fast enough to dwell on any specifically, just quick enough to dwell on the torrent that fell before her eyes. As she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the rain against her skin. Heated drops fell against her cheeks to hide the tears as she smiled at the dark sky.

"You know, when I was a girl--" And the thunder rolled, registering far after the lightning struck. Marilyn's frame jerked as if shocked, then slowly succumbed to gravity and slumped backward, plummeting to the ground.

Holstering his gun, Ocelot grabbed the key off the dresser. The door was locked behind him, a "Do Not Disturb" sign swayed from the knob as he made a leisurely retreat.

It was late afternoon, the sun beating down with little concern to the creatures below. The Trinity River glowed, reflecting the mercurial light that caressed the water. Sparse patches of blue shone in between the gold.

Two figures stood side by side on the bridge hovering over the river, resting against the railing that kept them from plummeting like rocks to the depths below. They stood strong against the wind, watching it toy with the river's surface.

"You found me," Frank said. He moved slowly, stiffly as braced his arms against the railing. Jack shoved his hands into his pocket, immobile.

Frank gave a mordacious smile. "I'm glad." Penitence wasn't something he needed now. He wasn't contrite, merely lost somewhere on his road to perdition. Without words, Jack understood. Orders were never about morality.

"You were Mossad the entire time."

The wind picked up and Frank leaned into its touch. "I was."

"I let you around my son."

Frank's recollection of such was quite clear. A touch of sentimentality touched his eyes, but he blamed the wind. "David's a wonderful boy. He'll be a handful when he gets older. I hear they fight against their fathers every step of the way."

"He won't," Jack protested weakly.

"He might." Frank's fingers tightened on the railing, the pulse strong and steady. "How's Adam?"

"Fine."

The knowing in Frank's eyes left Jack feeling cold from the inside out. He gulped.

"I'm glad."

"Frank…where's Lee?"

Teeth made it into the baleful grin Frank shot at the sky. "Her name was Kazhin. She told me it means 'Life.'" Tears glistened in his eyes, but Jack pretended not to see. There was nothing he hated more than watching a soldier break down. "I'm glad love worked out for one of us."

"You killed her?"

A noiseless sob shook Frank's shoulder. He nodded once, clenching his jaw to bite back tears. "She wanted us to run away from this," he choked out. "Told me everything, she's been supplying Iraq with Mossad intelligence."

Jack couldn't quite bring himself to place his hand on Frank's shoulder. It fell back to his side as the older man moved to stand closer. Their shoulders were only a couple inches apart, but it was all the comfort Jack could afford to give.

"Kazhin. That was her curse to me." Wincing at the quiet sniffle, Jack looked down to his side, fingering the gun he held shoved in his pocket. "I know what to call my demons now."

"What am I supposed to tell David?"

"Whatever you want."

Cars continued to pass them without notice, the traffic light considering the time of day. "I could let you go. Say I didn't find you."

Sorrow kindled fury, unrepentant rage that was thick in the air. The quavering of Frank's form could be felt.

"Don't, Jack. Don't make this meaningless," Frank sibilated. The words were quiet, barely coiled energy waiting for a trigger. Suddenly, Frank slammed his fists against the concrete barrier with alarming force. "Don't," he yelled, "mock me!"

"Okay."

The anger drained away, leaving Frank with his elbow against the railing, hands firmly pressed against his face.

"Thank you," came the muffled response. The traffic seemed to have thinned to nothing. The gun was pulled from Jack's pocket. He denied how it shook as he pressed it against Frank's temple. "I'm glad it was you."

The gunshot was the single most deafening thing Jack could recall. Putting the gun in his pocket, he tugged up Frank's bloodied form and heaved it over the edge of the bridge. Distantly, he heard the splash of water and then sound slowly began to filter back. Ripping off his gloves, Jack tossed them in after before turning to leave. He halted after only a few steps to watch the body bob in the current.

Just for an instant, Jack hated his country.

Adam was waiting when Jack returned to the hotel room. He grinned so wide that Jack could almost see the canary feathers around his mouth. Hunting had been good then. Despite wanting to be relieved their mission was over, Jack didn't feel anything but drained and cold.

Latching onto Adam, Jack dragged him toward the bed. It earned an enthusiastic response. Adam shoved him against the bed, which must have been made while they were out, nudging Jack's chin upward so he could have better access to the man's neck. Adam's hands made short work of unbuttoning his shirt and were brushing along his side before he could protest.

"Adam."

The younger man hummed against his throat. Placing his hands on the other's shoulders, Jack held him at arms length. Sighing, he tossed Adam down beside him and rolled onto him, his ear places above Adam's heart.

"Just stop."

Adam tried to wriggle free, but failed to so much as get his arms from the death grip Jack had. So he huffed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Don't get sappy on me, Jack." But he didn't seem to move, so Jack didn't think he was that bothered by it. The beat of Adam's heart was soothing. It meant he was there and alive, if harmed. Unlike Frank. The chill that had settled in his bones refused to budge. The cold was far too reminiscent of cold river waves.

"The brat called." The words reverberated in Adam's chest, but Jack didn't pick up his head. "From Campbell's phone, I could hear the idiot in the background. You might want to keep him away from Campbell if you don't want him to be the next super soldier you."

Jack made a noise solely to show he was still listening, even if his eyes had slid shut and he was fighting the pull of sleep. It wasn't that late in the day, but with all the running around he'd had to do merely to keep up with Adam, it had been tiring. His last task hadn't helped, nor had the lack of sleep the night prior.

"Keep talking," he mumbled when he noted the soft rumble against his ear had ceased. Adam complied, though Jack couldn't recall what he'd spoken of. Simply that Adam had droned on until Jack was no longer among the world of the living.

There were dreams he wouldn't recall later. Things of monsters and death, red splashed vividly against its grayscale backdrop. Cold hands and dilated eyes that wouldn't stop staring slowly morphed into something not so broken. Moribund bodies rose with jubilant smiles. Grins and laughter, blue eyes and warm, dark rooms.

When he awoke, Adam was across the room, arms folded as he leaned against the window. The harsh light gave way to how near it was to sunset. Adam gave him a cursory glance before he returned to surveying the city, vigilant.

"Sleep well?"

Rolling onto his side, Jack flashed him a grin. "Wonderful." He certainly felt better than when he'd gone to sleep.

Licking his lips, Adam began, "I'm out."

"Hm?" Running a hand over his mussed hair, Jack raised a brow. His mind was too sleep-addled to process the jump in conversation.

"You asked me how many lives I had left. I'm out."

"What?"

Adam's jaw set, the muscles in his neck becoming more defined. "Just thought you should know."

Something clicked in Jack's mind as his stomach clenched. "Why?" he pressed.

Adam shrugged. "We need to be at the airport in an hour. We're getting out of here."

Jack could feel happiness slide through his fingers like water. He'd never been meant to hold it, he'd never been meant to keep it. Frank had been wrong about that much. Love never worked out for soldiers. Jack left his dreams of a somewhat normal family scattered on the floor of a cheap Dallas hotel.

David bounced quietly beside Roy, holding tight onto the older man's hand. The stars were dim in the murky sky; the lights of the runway were brighter than anything in the sky. They'd been waiting for ten minutes in the night air, content to abandon the comfort of the officer's lounge.

The child didn't know what to make of the confusing air force base, but Roy had had no trouble navigating it, even in the dark. It made David feel a bit better.

"That's your dad's plane," Roy informed, pointing out the fast approaching collection of lights. Anticipation thrummed through David's veins as they grew stronger. He'd missed his father, despite the fun he'd had at Hal's, it just wasn't the same. Hal's dad didn't wrestle with them; he didn't even watch movies with them like Adam would. Adam was returning too, and even if he didn't want to admit it, David was happy for that as well.

"I'm gonna kick Adam's butt with that new move you taught me!"

Roy smiled, but it looked strained, tight around his eyes. David frowned, brows drawing together in worry.

"I'm sure he'll like that," Roy assured, but it sounded off. Getting jumpier by the minute, David watched with wide eyes as the small plane landed. The ground crew rushed out when it came to a stop and proceeded to do whatever it was David supposed they were paid for. He couldn't make out all their actions, even with the flood lights on, and he couldn't identity half of what he did see.

The door to the plane opened and his father jumped out, saluting and nodding to the other men. David strained his neck, but he didn't catch sight of Adam. Roy held his hand tighter in an attempt to keep the boy in place. He didn't succeed.

David sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him. By the time he reached Jack, the man had bent down to pick up the child and swung him around before pulling him into a hug.

"You took a long time." Small arms wrapped tightly around Jack's neck as David buried his face in Jack's shoulder.

"I know, things got a little crazy."

Pulling back slightly, David looked around. His new vantage point didn't offer any new insight, however. Frowning, worry began to snake through David's gut. He looked at his father.

"Where's Adam?"

The older man gave a watery grin. The same grin that reminded David of shouting and divorce papers, of hiding under the covers and ignoring his brother's soft crying. The panic solidified in his stomach and David felt ill.

His voice pitched a bit higher. "Where's Adam?"

Jack's arm pulled him into a strong hug, crushing the small boy to his much larger frame. David tucked his head under Jack's chin and gripped the lapels of a rumpled jacket.

"Dad?" Scared didn't begin to cover it.

"He's going to be gone for a while. For work."

"Well will he be back?"

The arms tightened around him before Jack was setting David back on his feet. "Not soon enough."

He ruffled David's hair before offering his hand. David took it, giving the plane a glare. They walked back toward Roy, David watching as the adults exchanged greetings. He looked away, rubbing at his eyes to try and stave off tears.

It wasn't the same, but it felt a lot like his family had fallen apart all over again.