SPN J2 AU Fic: Black Flag Over Texas (3/4)

[electricalgwen]

Masterpost

Part Three

Jensen calls Jared a couple of times over the weekend, but Jared doesn’t pick up.

He swings by Jared’s building Saturday evening and spends a little time observing. Lights go on and off in Jared’s apartment, so at least he hasn’t been kidnapped or something.

He thinks about buzzing up, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calls Jeff.

He gives an abridged version of events, leaving out crucial bits that Jared doesn’t remember, Jeff doesn’t need to know, and Jensen has seared into his brain and will be using as jerk-off material for the next ten years. He sticks to Jared being drugged and the fight in the club. It occurred to him, after, that gay-bashing might have been a convenient cover for a serious attempt on Jared. Or him – although if they’d been sent after him, clearly somebody hadn’t done their homework.

“Did you recognize them?” Jeff asks.

“No. They might have just been drunks spoiling for a fight.”

“You said he doesn’t remember anything?”

“Nothing,” Jensen confirms. “From at least mid-afternoon. Ever heard of that?”

“Not specifically,” Jeff says. “I’ll ask around.”

“Can you get Aldis to check on him? He’s not answering his phone.”

“You think he ran?”

“No.” Jensen frowns; he hadn’t even considered that possibility. “He’s at his place. Make sure he’s okay, though? I don’t know what he was given.”

“Stalker,” Jeff teases, but he agrees.

Aldis sends back news that Jared is fine, just sleeping a lot, but he’d ordered pizza earlier in the day and he’s playing Portal 2 a lot. Very badly.

Jared’s not in seminar class on Tuesday.

Jensen phones that evening, but Jared still doesn’t pick up.

Maybe Jared remembered something. Maybe he’s pissed.

He gets a text an hour later saying sorry dude, still kinda tired. i’m ok tho, be back in a couple of days. let me know what i missed in class.

He talks to Sandy when he runs into her at the campus café and learns that Jared took about forty-eight hours to fully recover. He now has his short-term memory back, but was having trouble with it for most of the weekend.

That settles it: this was definitely not your usual roofie. Those don’t affect memory formation for days afterwards.

“He’s freaking out about his dissertation,” Sandy worries. “He lost a whole weekend of potential writing time, and he’s stuck on a particular argument.”

“Maybe he should bring it to the discussion group?” Jensen suggests. “He said that helped when he was putting ideas together in the first place.”

“Great minds think alike.” She smiles. “I told him that, but he’s been feeling kind of anti-social. Hopefully he’ll be good by Friday, but I’ll drag him along one way or the other.”

Jensen really hopes the dissertation is all Jared’s freaking out over. Sandy doesn’t act weird around Jensen, though, so if Jared has remembered the events of the club he hasn’t shared any of it with her.

They can’t have the usual lounge this week; some other group has booked it for a film showing. Instead, the meeting’s held in a third floor tutorial room. Jensen shows up early, but Jared’s already there, shoving desks into a rough circle.

“Hey!” Jared gives him a genuine smile and Jensen feels something in his chest unclench. “Sorry I flaked out on things this week.”

“God, don’t apologize,” Jensen protests. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, now.” Jared pushes his hair off his forehead. “I was really tired for a couple of days, and my memory was still kind of crappy. Figured there wasn’t much point in coming to class, I wasn’t taking anything in anyway. Back to normal now, though, far as I can tell.”

“Normal, or normal for you?”

“Ha ha.” Jared gestures to the back corner. “Keep that up and I won’t give you any coffee.”

The table in the corner holds a box of doughnuts and a couple of thermoses of coffee.

It’s absolutely terrible coffee: Jensen tells Jared so at great length. Jared listens to him, grinning all the while and blithely stirring ridiculous amounts of cream and sugar into the…for lack of a better word, coffee.

Appalling coffee or not, Jensen’s stupidly happy. Jared’s here, and okay, and doesn’t hate him. He feels like he dodged a bullet. And unlike most people who use that expression, he knows what that feels like – and what it feels like when you don’t.

People trickle in. Attendance is down this week, probably some people missed the notice of location change. Jared describes the part of his dissertation that’s giving him grief. The discussion of government structure, bureaucracy and waste gradually migrates into one about models of government and whether there’s an optimum size of government.

“Monarchies work for small countries,” Mia argues. “Look at Monaco. Or Sweden.”

“That’s not the monarchy, though, that’s parliamentary democracy.” Even Jensen knows that. “Saudi Arabia’s pretty damn small.”

“And monarchy works for them!” Mia points at Jensen. “They’re rich, stable, and cohesive.”

“And their women aren’t allowed to drive,” Anna points out.

Mia shrugs. “I’m not saying their choices are our choices. But the country’s pretty unified. The model works.”

“Tyranny never works. It’s not good for so much power to rest in central hands,” Phil says. “Even if they’re good hands.”

“Lord Vetinari,” Mike throws in, poking through the doughnut box and retrieving a jelly one.

Anna snorts. “Examples from fantasy books don’t count.”

“Terry Pratchett’s one of the most brilliant political writers of our time,” Mike declares.

“We have a mandate to preserve and spread democracy,” Phil argues. “America was founded on freedom.”

“Freedom, yeah,” Jared says thoughtfully. “Values, principles…if it comes down to it, what is America? The national structure, the land, the people? What defines us? The Founding Fathers valued freedom more than the specific form of government, right? If individual liberties are preserved, does the model of government matter?”

“And does it have to be central power?” Bethie rests her chin on one hand. “Things get bigger and bigger, and end up hamstrung from sheer inertia.””

“I still think most of the problems stem from large, inefficient government bureaucracy,” Mia says.

“Maybe the solution is a smaller government unit,” Bethie says.

“Or a larger one,” Mia retorts, “just better organized. More efficient. Larger groups can avoid duplication of services.”

“They don’t really,” Bethie points out. “Things still get duplicated at the regional level, because a national body can’t oversee everything when it gets too large. Even Sweden has local government, and look at us! Why not run everything from the state level?”

People toss that around for a while. It gets a little heated, with occasional forays into philosophy and religion; there doesn’t appear to be any resolution in sight.

Jensen watches and listens closely, weighing how involved people seem to be in it. He makes the occasional contribution; after all, quite possibly someone’s watching him, although if so, he can’t pick them out.

“Okay!” Jared calls finally, standing up. “You guys can keep things up here if you want, but I’ve got more writing to do. Just make sure you clean up when you go, and turn the lights out.”

“What about the debate?” Anna asks. “You were going to give us our assignments tonight. We’re still holding it on Thursday, right?”

There had apparently been a bit of resistance when Jared suggested they hold a formal debate each semester, open to the public. He’d pointed out, however, that while philosophical arguments over beer and snacks were a time-honored tradition, there were better ways to best an opponent than by throwing Cheetos at them. Debates offered the chance to review current literature and thinking, and hone one’s oratory skills, maybe even attract new members to the group.

“Yeah, but you have to prepare for those things,” Gabe had objected.

“You mean you might have to do some reading?” Mia blinked at him. “Perish the thought.”

“Gabe can read?”

Mike ducked the beer can Gabe threw at his head.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Jared had said. “Besides, we have to hold at least one official event per semester to get funding from the student union. Debate, or lose your subsidized pizza.”

The vote had been unanimous.

“Thursday, yeah.” Jared appears to make a spur-of-the-moment decision. “You know what? This is obviously something you guys are interested in. I bet it would get some outside attention too. Let’s make it the formal debate.”

A shiver runs up Jensen’s spine as he listens to Jared outline a resolution that argues devolution of power as a good thing.

“Too vague,” Phil says. “It needs to be more specific. Something that’ll get people fired up.”

“Okay, uh.” Jared tilts his head. “How about…be it resolved that any state wishing to secede from the United States of America may lawfully do so if in a referendum over two-thirds of its population agree with separation?”

God. Jared could not fuck more consistently with Jensen’s head if he tried.

“I’m not sure that’d be a popular topic,” Anna says.

“We just discussed it for hours.”

“That’s because we’re all nerds with an interest in politics and nothing better to do on a Friday night.”

“Just for that,” Jared says to Anna, “I’m assigning you to the affirmative side.”

Jensen squints. “Why?”

“It’s tougher.” Jared winks. “They have to shoulder the burden of proof in order to win.”

“Thanks,” Anna says wryly. “I’ll do my best.”

Jensen hardly sees Jared the following week. Jared does show up for seminar, but they’re assigned into different groups. He skips on coffee afterwards, apologizing that he’s got to finish the next chapter to hand in to his advisor; Jensen barely has time to wave goodbye before Jared’s out the door.

Jensen finds himself being unusually cheerful on Thursday. This is okay, people assume it’s because it’s nearly Friday. He has a bitch of a paper due the next day, but he still shows up to watch the debate. He’ll probably have to pull an all-nighter, but this is important. Strategically, that is. Jared’s chosen a topic that hits close to home: someone might give away a hint.

The fact that the event’s important to Jared – that Jensen doesn’t want to disappoint him, that he doesn’t want to miss a chance to see him – is irrelevant. Really.

They’re in a different, larger room tonight. Jensen had thought Jared was being overly optimistic, but to his surprise, the debate has in fact attracted a fairly large outside audience. There are at least seventy or eighty people in addition to the usual gang. Mike presides.

“Up here!”

Jared’s waving at him. He’s saved a seat beside him at the back of the room. Jensen grins and takes the steps two at a time.

The teams file in, Mike bangs his gavel, and they’re underway. Jensen watches and for once, manages to mostly ignore the warmth and scent of Jared beside him. Instead, he lets his mind gently unfocus as he listens to the debaters and scans the crowd. It’s worked for him before: a way of taking things in without letting his preconceptions get in the way. Allowing his intuition to see patterns, nuances.

Anna opens the debate, and within the first few minutes, it’s clear that her team’s on the defensive. She doesn’t do a bad job, but she doesn’t do an overwhelmingly good job either. She and her teammates Bethie and Zach discuss regional differences, tax rate disparities, the successful dissolution of the Soviet Union, and the rights of self-determination. Their presentation lacks unity, clarity, or that indefinable passion and fire that usually marks the winning team, however. Gabe, Louisa and Chad aren’t the most unified opposition but they put up a strong fight and the audience is on their side.

He doesn’t pick up anything unusual from the audience. They’re interested, sure, some more than others – heckling, cheering, occasionally whispering to each other – but nobody seems out of place or overly vehement. It’s a controversial topic, after all; it was bound to incite some unofficial debate and commentary.

Maybe even serve as a subtle influence, getting students to consider the merits of separation.

And Jared chose it.

He knows what Jeff would think. It’s a reasonable guess. But Jeff’s wrong.

Mike declares for the opposition. The teams shake hands, and spread out to mingle with the visitors.

Jensen chats to a few of them who seem like they might fit Aldis’s profiling, but doesn’t get any unusual vibes off anyone. He bites his lip in annoyance as people clear out. Another evening gone, and still nothing.

Maybe he’s in the wrong group. Or maybe Jeff’s informant was blowing smoke up their asses and he’s wasting his time playing at higher education when the real war’s going on outside.

His paper can wait another half hour. Jared probably needs help tidying up.

He doesn’t even ask, just starts clearing away coffee cups and stacking pizza boxes. Jared throws him a thankful smile from where he’s picking up discarded flyers and reorganizing chairs.

“So what’d you think?”

Not the best opener, but it gets Jared talking. Jensen throws in a few questions about the topic itself, trying to steer the conversation toward Jared’s feelings about separatism without being too obvious. Jared mostly wants to talk about the actual debate, though.

“I was kinda surprised by Anna. She dropped the ball tonight.”

Jensen frowns. “I thought she was pretty good.”

“She was pretty good,” Jared says, “but usually she’s amazing. She’s on the intercollegiate debate team, and they’ve won a couple of big tournaments. Anna’s really smart and she’s got, like, this cold logic to her. Makes it so the other team look like idiots for not agreeing with her, even if the facts totally support them. I’ve seen her completely annihilate opposing speakers without ever raising her voice.”

He squints down the front row of chairs, and moves along it, straightening a couple. “It’s the reason I put her on the affirmative team. Arguing for separatism – it’s not gonna be a popular choice, right? And the burden of proof is on them. I figured they’d need Anna as firepower. But tonight…I dunno, she was just off.”

“Maybe she’s tired. Or coming down with something.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jared agrees, tying the neck of the trash bag in a knot and slinging it over his shoulder. “Or maybe it was just a bad assignment for her. It’s tough to argue for a position you don’t believe in.”

Jensen turns out the light as they leave the classroom. “Thought that was kinda the point of debating club? Learn to argue either side?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s hard if you really don’t believe in something.”

What if you do?

Jensen thinks about the debate as they dump the trash.

Anna’s smart. She’s got an interest in politics. And she held herself back in a debate on separatism.

What if you were secretly plotting something, and somebody assigned you to talk, very publicly and at length, about your motivations? And what if you suspected that somebody else might be trying to identify you and your co-conspirators?

You might not want to stand out. You might be reluctant to show just how much you know, say just what you think. You might be afraid you’ll give away how much you care.

You might do a good job – don’t wanna arouse suspicion – but not your usual great one.

She’s female, but hey. Point eight percent, according to Aldis’s algorithm.

He always knew it wasn’t Jared. Aldis can suck it.

“Did you see the papers today?” Jared asks.

Jensen hadn’t, yet. This is unlike him: it’s important to Jeff that they stay up to date, but between that paper and the extra homework from Empirical Democratic Theory, and making sure he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of Jared in Democracy seminar…

Okay, he really does need to regain his focus.

“The Texas Senate is making a lot more noise about government interference. There’s even been some posturing about pulling out,” Jared says. “This debate is a hell of a lot more topical than I thought. Things are looking bad, Jensen.”

Jensen’s mouth is dry. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. People…well, most people…don’t really want to split up the country.”

“I can’t imagine.” Jared shakes his head. “But things have been weird lately.”

Jensen stifles a cough. Jared doesn’t know – doesn’t remember – the half of it.

“They sure have,” is all he says.

At one a.m., she makes the call. Scrambled, of course. “I’m in. Now what do you want me to do?”

“Have you tested it?” the voice asks.

“Of course.” She’s offended. She’s always meticulous. “I have read and write access, full clearance.”

“As far as you know.”

She huffs. “Look, this is my area. That’s why you’re having me do it. Get over it, trust me to do my damn job, and tell me what you want done.”

“The government’s worried. Texas is one of the states that’s actually got the clout to break away. They’re going to be shoring up the military presence there, which is pretty huge already. People will see a lot more activity. Fighter jets over the city, that sort of thing. Washington needs to remind the average Joe that the feds are in control.”

A cold, sick feeling settles in the pit of her stomach as he outlines the rest of the plan.

If one of those jets were to be carrying an activated bomb, that would be a serious sign of mistrust between federal and state governments. And if that bomb were to be deployed against a military target – say, one of the air bases around San Antonio – it would be an act of aggression of the US government against its own people. There’s no way that’s ever going to look good. In the current climate, though, with constant media fear-mongering about terrorism and the Patriot Act, the feds might be able to talk their way out of it: might be able to convince Texans that there had been a security breach and that the government had been dealing with a valid threat.

If that bomb were to go off course, though, and hit a civilian target…

“Texas won’t stand for that,” she says, numbly. “Things are strung too taut. They’ll retaliate.”

“All you have to do is adjust the coordinates.”

The voice talks her through it, repeating the logic, the way it fits into their overall plans. The repercussions will spread farther than Texas. The rest of the country will see it as a deliberate act: it’s completely believable that the feds might try and put a rebellion down using extreme force.

“Shut up,” she says, abruptly, breaking into the stream of justification. “I’ll do it. I don’t have to like it.”

“Tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

“No point in waiting. Things are ready.” The voice softens, very slightly. “I know it’s hard for you, your first time. It’ll be easier if you don’t have too much time to think about it.”

“You don’t think I’ll think about it after?”

“Are you with us or not?”

The softness is gone, if it was ever there. Maybe she imagined it.

“You don’t want to be the weakest member of the team. You don’t want to be…expendable.”

She really doesn’t.

“Do it. Tomorrow. Early afternoon. We’ll arrange the launch. You activate, and control the targeting.”

It’s omelet time. Eggs get broken every day.

“Got it,” she says, and signs off.

She looks down at her hands, twisting white-knuckled in her lap.

This is going to involve a lot of eggs.

She’ll do it, though. Not because he’s threatening her: she’s changed identity once, she could do it again and be gone before he knew it. She signed up for this for a reason, though, for ideals she believed – believes – in, and she won’t back down now because of some collateral damage. The ends justify the means.

She tells herself that again, and goes to bed, but once again sleep is a long time coming.

Jensen rubs gritty eyes and shoves back from his desk. He looks at the clock, grins ruefully and picks up the phone.

“Do you even know what time it is?” Jeff says by way of hello. “Four in the goddamn morning. Your classes can’t start that early.”

“Nobody to blame but yourself,” Jensen says. “I haven’t been to bed yet. Got a paper due tomorrow, worth thirty percent for the term.”

“Glad you take deep cover seriously.” Jeff yawns. “What couldn’t wait another couple of hours?”

“I’m going to bed,” Jensen says, “and I don’t plan to get up until noon. Get the guys to run another check on someone in the meantime, okay?”

There’s a rustle. “Name?”

“Anna Milton. She’s a PoliSci grad student. Her name was on that list I gave Aldis, so she must have checked out on first look. But there’s something…I dunno. She pings the radar.”

“On it.” Jeff doesn’t question him. “Meet Chris at Sonny Bryan’s Smokehouse at twelve-thirty. If there’s something to find, we should have it by then, and you can pass on what you’ve got.”

Jeff yawns again. “I’m not gonna have you tackle her directly. Keep your cover and leave it to Chris. If she is involved, hopefully she’ll give us some names, but she might not know all the others – lots of terrorist groups are organized in cells. I’d like you to stick around and avoid suspicion a while longer. Oh, and make sure you aren’t followed. You and Chris shouldn’t be seen together.”

“I have done this before, you know,” Jensen says acerbically.

“Oddly enough, so have I.” Jeff sighs. “I know you want out. I’ll spring you when I can. If your hunch plays out, hopefully it won’t be long.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says slowly. “Great.”

He hangs up and stares at the title page of his paper, sitting neatly printed and collated on the edge of his desk.

His life is usually a lot cooler, and a hell of a lot more badass, than the last couple of months have been. He’d thought he’d be chewing off his own arm in an attempt to escape by now. (Metaphorically, at least: he’s been in situations where chewing one’s arm off might conceivably be a valid plan – though fortunately, there’s always been a better plan – and this is not one of them.) He hasn’t had a good fight in weeks (the scuffle at the bar hardly counts, and besides, Jensen isn’t thinking about that night at all), and Chris is gonna give him shit about his college days for years to come. He should be going stir-crazy.

Instead, all he can think is that when he leaves, he won’t even say goodbye. He’ll vanish like they always do, gone from one day to the next. Move on to the next job, the next danger, and one of these days his luck will run out and the only memory of Jared touching and licking, lighting Jensen’s skin on fire, will be gone from the world, because Jared doesn’t remember.

Fuck. He needs this job to be over. He doesn’t want it to be over, but he’s in far too deep already.

He kicks off his shoes, falls back on his bed still fully clothed, and doesn’t wake up until ten minutes before he’s supposed to meet Chris.

He’s almost half an hour late, which would be in complete breach of protocol if this were an actual assignment. Luckily it isn’t, and so Chris is still there, settled in a corner booth. He already has his food in front of him, and the waitress is clearly smitten.

Jensen’s expecting Chris to waste some time tormenting him about Jared, but Chris has apparently learned from experience. After Jensen had given the team an abridged version of the incident at the club, Chris had needled him a bit and Jensen nearly took his head off. (Metaphorically, of course.) He figures Chris must have guessed that something happened – hell, probably the whole team has their speculations, but thankfully everyone’s cutting him a bit of slack on it.

“Ordered for you,” Chris says. “Got you the pulled pork.”

“Thanks.”

“You look like hell. Late night partying?”

“Late night writing a paper for a class I didn’t sign up for,” Jensen growls. “You done any actual work lately?”

Chris laughs. “Not much, actually. One or two small jobs, but Jeff’s focused on this.” He sobers, drums his fingers on the table. “You see the news yesterday? Things are looking bad.”

“I heard,” Jensen mutters. Jared’s face, so serious as he says the same words, floats in his memory. “Anything turn up?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Not much so far. No criminal record, no terrorist links, nothing obvious – except for the fact she’s not who she says she is.”

Jensen twitches an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. Chris holds up a finger, and keeps quiet until the waitress has delivered Jensen’s sandwich and been dismissed with an appreciative smile.

“Anna Milton is a fake identity. Very well faked. Took Aldis a while to spot it, and then another hour to find her. None of her biometrics are in any database, and she covered her old ID pretty well.”

Jensen licks sauce off his fingers. “So who is she?”

“Her real name’s Julie McNiven.” Chris shrugs. “Again, no criminal record, no terrorist links. Not much shows up even on a deep search. She’s from Massachusetts, and she was raised by her grandmother after her parents died in a car accident. Had an otherwise uneventful life, never chased trouble, got straight A’s in school. Nothing stands out. But you don’t go to all the trouble to hide who you are for nothing. It would have been a lot of work: she created her new ID and applied to UT Dallas under it. Faked names and links to all her original transcripts.”

“Witness protection?” Jensen hazards. “Running away from home?”

“Not witpro, we’d know,” Chris says. “And I don’t think it’s a personal thing. Her web history’s real clean as well. Email, some searches on obviously school-related topics. Movie listings, restaurant reviews. Absolutely nothing sketchy. No porn, no stupid cat videos, no dating websites. No online shopping. No illegal downloads.”

“So she’s not a sketchy person.”

Chris swallows the last of his burger. “Or we’re only seeing part of it. Everyone does something stupid on the Internet.”

“Especially you,” Jensen says, but the insult’s reflexive; he’s thinking about Anna. Julie. Whoever. “You think she’s got another layer of encryption. Something she’s hiding.”

“Yeah.”

“So find it.”

“Aldis tried. He can’t.”

Jensen stares.

“Can’t yet, he says,” Chris amends. He looks a little smug at surprising Jensen. “There’s something going on, all right.”

“And I called it,” Jensen reminds him. “Is Jeff happy for you to pick her up on nothing but that she’s changed her name?”

“Not really,” Chris admits. “I’ll be keeping an eye on her, but he wants you to get more if you can.”

“Should be able to clone something,” Jensen says. “Credit card at the very least. I’ll try for her phone.”

“Need any tech?”

Jensen shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“There’s some stuff on here.” Chris digs in a pocket and holds out a flash drive. “Figured you should have a look at what Aldis got so far. Maybe something’ll stand out for you, something we didn’t notice.”

Jensen takes a couple more bites of sandwich. His attention wanders to the TV behind the counter.

“So I figure we’ll…” Chris snaps his fingers in front of Jensen’s face. “Dude. You in there?”

Jensen isn’t listening anymore.

He’s staring over Chris’s shoulder at the TV behind the counter. The sound is muted but he recognizes the airfields, the shape of the city and its landmarks, and he’s out of his seat, stomach sinking.

“What’s up?” Chris says, turning to look, and falls silent as the scrolling text confirms, in stark capital letters, that the US Government bombed San Antonio airfields this morning. And that one of the missiles somehow went off course, landing in a civilian suburb. DEATH TOLL OVER 2000, MANY STILL MISSING.

“Jared,” Jensen breathes.

“Go,” Chris says, and Jensen’s out the door running before he has a chance to think about what that means.

Jared’s not in his office. There’s a Post-It note saying ‘CANCELLED’ stuck to the sign listing his office hours. The handwriting is worse than usual.

He’s not answering his phone. Jensen checks the library, the coffee shop, and Jared’s favorite bench, before heading to his apartment.

Ringing the doorbell doesn’t yield an answer. He sets a two-minute disable on the security camera and building alarm, picks the outer door lock, and races up to Jared’s floor.

Jared’s there; Jensen can hear him pacing.

He knocks. There’s no answer.

“Jared,” he calls, leaning up against the door frame. “Jared, it’s me. Let me in?”

The pacing stops.

Jensen’s just beginning to contemplate how Jared would react if he broke in, when steps start up again, this time coming over to the door. The deadbolt squeaks as it slides.

“How’d you get in?” Jared says dully, turning away as the door swings open.

“Picked the lock,” Jensen admits, too concerned to bother dissembling.

“They teach you that in the military?”

His voice has a hard edge to it. Jesus Christ. Jensen hadn’t even considered that as a reason Jared might not want to talk to him.

“Jared,” he says, moving in and closing the door. “I didn’t…I heard…Are your…?”

He can’t finish.

“Dead,” Jared says. He walks back into the living room and drops onto the far end of the couch.

Jensen had known the minute he saw him – maybe even from the first time Jared didn’t answer his phone – but it still hits him like a physical blow.

“Pretty sure, anyway.” Jared’s voice is flat, lifeless. “Our area took a direct hit. Nobody there answers, the police lines are all jammed. All their cell phones go to voicemail. I did get one of Dad’s colleagues who told me Dad hadn’t come in, tried to convince me he might be stuck in traffic.”

Jensen isn’t sure Jared won’t punch him out if he tries to get closer. He doesn’t think he cares.

“Megan was home visiting.” Jared talks to the far wall. He still hasn’t so much as glanced at Jensen. “I imagine they were having a late breakfast. Dad usually goes in to the office earlier than that, but since Megan was there I guess he stuck around to eat with her and Mom.”

“Jared,” Jensen says helplessly. He moves in, can’t help himself, prays he isn’t hurting Jared more. He perches on the other end of the couch. “Jared, god.”

“I wonder what they heard,” Jared says. “What they saw. Felt. I wonder how long it lasted.”

Jensen can’t not touch him. Jared can take it out on him if he wants; Jensen would give him that and more. He moves in beside Jared, drops a hand on his knee. Their shoulders are touching.

“I talked to Megan last night.” Jared looks at Jensen, then, and Jensen doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He grips tighter, tries to absorb some of the pain. “She was gonna come up to visit. See the campus.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, but the tears still leak out. “She was talking about applying for a job at one of the schools up here…”

His voice fails, and he covers his face with a hand, body hitching with suppressed sobs.

Jensen doesn’t think, doesn’t plan, just reaches out and hauls him into a hug. Jared’s breath catches again, and Jensen nearly yelps as Jared’s arms lock around him, squeezing almost painfully hard. Jared’s face is wet against Jensen’s neck; he can feel tears trickling down and soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

He holds on, patting Jared’s back occasionally, muttering quiet apologies against the top of Jared’s head. Jared’s sobs settle after a while, but he doesn’t let go, and Jensen is content to simply hold him silently. They sit there an indefinite length of time, breathing falling into a tandem rhythm.

Jared loosens his grip and pulls back a fraction of an inch. Jensen feels Jared’s breath ghosting over his wet collarbone.

“Thanks, man,” Jared says.

“Yeah,” Jensen says, roughly, nonsensically. He realizes his right hand is rubbing slow, wide circles on Jared’s back.

He stills the motion, but doesn’t pull away. Jared tenses; there’s a hitch in his breathing that isn’t a sob.

“I…”

Jensen waits, feeling like every sense is magnified in the silence of Jared’s sorrow. The tick of the clock on the wall behind him, the faint spice of Jared’s aftershave.

The touch of Jared’s lips against his skin.

Jared presses a tentative, closed mouth kiss to his collarbone. Another, over his pulse point.

Jensen is frozen, mind blank, accepting.

Another, to the angle of his jaw.

The corner of his mouth.

Jared’s hands are gripping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, but Jared’s mouth on his is careful, almost restrained, holding back – and Jensen suddenly realizes he’s waiting for Jensen to respond.

If he were a better man he’d pull back, walk away, but the thing is, he knows what’s on offer and he’s been craving it since the first hit.

He parts his lips under Jared’s.

It’s more like being hit by a tidal wave than a kiss. Jared dives in, tongue-fucking him, licking at his teeth, owning his mouth. He makes a small noise, hurt and want and desperation all mixed up, and pulls Jensen in even harder, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his skull. It’s a fucking awesome kiss, but it’s still a tsunami of emotion and all Jensen can do is hang on for the ride.

He shifts slightly, to ease the pull on his neck, and Jared moves right along with him, leaning in and folding Jensen down on the sofa. His head thunks against the armrest; Jared mumbles a vague apology through the onslaught of kissing and flails a hand around behind him, coming up with a cushion that he shoves behind Jensen’s head.

He’s painfully hard, erection pressing into the line of his zipper, but he ignores it. This is about Jared, what he needs.

Jared is all over him, tearing at his clothes, biting at his chest, his belly. Jensen groans as Jared sucks him down.

Jared’s mouth is even better than Jensen had imagined. It feels amazing, hot wet suction, frantic and sloppy and wonderfully imperfect. Jared keeps breaking rhythm, pausing to take a gulping breath or push his hair out of the way, and Jensen’s going crazy with it. He’s getting closer and closer to the edge, orgasm coiling at the base of his spine, and Jared won’t quite give him enough to tip him over.

He’s winding his fingers in Jared’s hair and making encouraging noises, resisting the urge to simply fuck in mindlessly. His hips jerk up in a mute plea and Jared growls, pinning him down with a forearm across his stomach and pulling off Jensen’s dick.

“Easy,” he says, voice raw. “Easy. Hold still and let me.”

Jensen groans and arches, head banging against the arm of the sofa again, as Jared grips the base of his cock and teases him with long slow licks to the shaft and gentle mouthing around the head. He’s so hard it hurts, skin taut and shiny, balls full and aching.

“Jared…” he pleads. “God, please, I need…”

“Yeah?” Jared breathes. “Gonna come for me?”

He takes Jensen deep again, and sucks hard as he releases his grip.

The world goes nova and takes Jensen with it.

He’s trying to catch his breath, vision still blurry and heart pounding, when Jared shifts beside him, sliding off Jensen’s legs and rolling onto his stomach. His hip brushes against Jensen’s in a fast, jerky rhythm as he humps the couch cushions.

Fuck that. Jensen already owes Jared one, even if Jared doesn’t remember. No way Jared’s coming in his pants again.

Jared makes a small, desperate noise of protest as Jensen grips his hip and pushes, turning him over, but it rapidly devolves into a whimper as Jensen yanks open his jeans and pulls his dick out through the slit in his boxers.

God, Jared’s dick is as big and gorgeous as the rest of him.

Jensen gives it his full attention. Within seconds, Jared’s writhing under him, making delicious little sobs and whimpers, as Jensen tries very hard to obliterate the memory of any other blowjob ever from Jared’s mind. He takes Jared deep, humming around the shaft and playing with his balls through the fabric of his underwear. Evidently, Jared’s wound as tightly as he was, because Jensen’s barely gotten started, hasn’t even done that thing with his tongue, when Jared comes with a hoarse shout, pumping hot and bitter down Jensen’s throat.

He doesn’t pull off right away, instead gently suckling Jared clean as he softens, until Jared rallies and pushes at his head with a grunt.

He pushes himself up on one elbow and watches Jared. Jared looks completely wiped out, face blank, mouth half open, eyes unfocused and staring at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I think…I kind of need to be alone right now.”

It’s not what Jensen had hoped to hear, but he doesn’t argue.

“Call if you need anything.”

Concern must have bled through into his voice, because Jared lays a reassuring hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid.” He rubs a hand across his face, leaves it over his eyes. “I need to call Jeff.”

Jensen blinks for a moment, before cluing in that Jared means his brother Jeff.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let myself out. Seriously, though, you need anything, you call.”

“Sure.”

Jensen pulls himself together, casts a last look back at Jared still lying motionless, and leaves.

The sun is shining. Birds are singing. Jensen just had sex with Jared. The world shouldn’t feel so bleak.

He curses himself for taking advantage of Jared. But it would have been worse to shove him away. It doesn’t have to mean anything, any more than their drunken fumbling in the nightclub did. Pure animal comfort. Affirmation of life in the face of death.

Apparently Jensen did learn something in Intro to Psych.

He’s furious that the universe would dare to hurt Jared like this. How the hell did it happen, how did things get to this point? Is the government really that desperate, and short-sighted, that it’s bombing its own people? Over ten percent of the armed forces hail from Texas, more than from any other state. This is going to be war; it’s almost inevitable.

...Fuck.

“It’s them,” he says aloud, startling a woman passing him on the sidewalk. “They engineered this.” Somehow. Maybe they pushed the hard-liners in D.C., or the inflammatory element in Texas, or hell, maybe one of them was flying the damn plane. But it plays right into their hands. He would bet anything they’re behind it.

They hurt Jared. He is going to destroy these fuckers if it’s the last thing he does.

Chris’s phone rings as he’s watching Jensen race out of the diner.

“Need you back here now,” Jeff snaps. “Bring Jensen.”

“Can’t,” Chris says. “Just saw the news out of San Antonio. He went to find Jared.”

Jeff sighs. “I guess we can do this without him. It’s your job anyway. I’ll give him a call while you’re en route. Get here as fast as you can. This is very time sensitive.”

“What is it?” Chris tries to signal for the bill.

“Not over the phone,” Jeff says. “Move it.”

The waitress is chatting with an older man at the counter and hasn’t noticed his efforts to wave her over. Chris does some quick mental math, tucks the cash under the sauce bottle, and leaves.

When he walks into the conference room at headquarters, the image of a young woman is being projected on the far wall.

“Things are picking up,” Jeff says. “The government’s issued a half-hearted apology for the civilian damage in San Antonio, but they’re not apologizing for having armed fighter jets in that airspace. The Texas state legislature is holding an emergency session. Washington’s scrambling to figure out what the hell happened, and a vote of no confidence is being proposed. Both state and federal governments are rushing to put through legislation granting them emergency powers.”

He points to the wall. “This is the daughter of Senator Casey. She was kidnapped around noon today from the UT Dallas campus. She’s a student here in English Lit, no political involvement apart from her father. The Senator received an email on his private account…”

Aldis bows.

“…telling him they’ll release her if he blocks the passage of the emergency bill. More, they want him to push the non-confidence angle, and try to force a federal government shutdown.”

“I assume ‘they’ are our anarchist friends.” Katie frowns. “Why do they want that? Even if people don’t like the current government, they won’t want to be without one at a time like this. A shutdown won’t last long.”

“If the government shuts down, even temporarily, it gives the states more impetus to run things themselves.” Jeff shrugs. “They’re banking on the states taking the initiative, and finding out they like the autonomy. It all feeds into the secessionist agenda. The federal government’s already in crisis mode after the fuck-up this morning, even if they manage to find someone to scapegoat.”

He starts pacing. “These guys aren’t comic-book anarchists, randomly setting off bombs. They’re playing chess. One move after another, building momentum. This one won’t be the last, but it’s the one we know about right now.”

He points at Chris, then Katie. “You two are the retrieval team. Aldis will help you with any surveillance or computer stuff you need – ”

“’Computer stuff’,” Aldis says sadly, rolling his eyes. “Real specific.”

“…but you’re in charge of the physical retrieval. Regular hostage protocols apply, unless you hear otherwise from me only.”

He turns to Aldis, who’s still muttering under his breath. “You keep in touch with them, give them what they need. I don’t figure they’ll need too much, so you can use the rest of your time to keep tracking Jensen’s leads. We know the anarchists are willing to use violence. And I don’t know exactly how they pulled off the San Antonio bombing, but they’ve got to have serious access or clearance. We need to know more about them.”

Aldis throws up his hands in exasperation. “So do I! I am the shit, but I need a starting point! One terrorist, is that too much to ask? You get me one, just one of them – his computer, his cell phone, his freaking bus pass – and I will have something to go on.”

Jeff nods. “Chris.”

“Foil kidnapping plot and steal the guy’s wallet,” Chris says sarcastically. “Check. Can’t Jensen get you something?”

“Maybe, but now he’s not answering his phone,” Jeff says. “He needs to be subtle. You don’t. Knock one of them over the head and drag them back here. Or let Cassidy do it. Just get me something. We’re playing defensively here, and we need to get ahead.”

Her cell phone rings at three p.m., from a blocked number.

“You shouldn’t answer right away,” he says.

She jerks in surprise. “You shouldn’t call now.”

“Why not? Unpredictability is good.”

“I could be in class!”

“You wouldn’t answer.”

“I could be with people!”

He sighs. “You wouldn’t answer then, either, would you?”

“No,” she grudgingly admits.

“It’s shaken you up.”

“No shit.”

His voice is almost sympathetic. Almost. It’s a put-on sympathy. Condescending. “It’s not easy. But it is necessary.”

“You don’t have to coddle me,” she says coldly. “Just tell me why you called.”

“The files are ready. They’re on a USB drive in the usual dropbox. You need to put them in the system within the next twenty-four hours.”

“What’s the rush?” She clenches her free hand into a fist, and tries to steady her breathing. “We only started this morning!”

“I decide when the time is right,” he snaps. “The reactions are coming faster than we thought. Those files might not be needed for another week or more, but I want them in position now.”

“Fine.” She tucks the phone between her chin and shoulder and bends down to buckle up her bag. “I’ll get them. Where do you want me to put them?”

“I leave that in your capable hands,” he says. “You know the specifications.”

She makes a face at the phone as he hangs up, and unbuckles her bag again. No point in picking the files up before she’s ready to use them. The less time she spends carrying potential evidence around, the better.

She pulls out her computer and, after a surreptitious look around to be sure nobody’s paying her any undue attention, opens her private back door into the federal government’s sprawling, interlinked computer network.

She wanders around the system for a while, considering where to plant the files for best impact. These files will prove that the government is quietly moving to undermine and retract state rights; ideally, they need to be in a very sensitive location, to implicate high level authority. At least one, however, needs to be somewhere that a whistleblower or a casual hacker might conceivably encounter it. It can be a trail of breadcrumbs from there; they don’t all need to be immediately accessible.

She identifies various spots that should work well as a starting point, and thinks about where to end the trail. The piece de resistance would be to have one in the high-level military and Homeland Security architecture. It would reinforce the message of the Texas incident: this country’s government is willing to turn on its own people to keep its power.

She’s digging around in the Homeland Security network when she sees it.

She doesn’t believe it at first. She must be misinterpreting things.

The longer she spends looking around, though, the clearer it becomes: she hasn’t misunderstood.

The government really is instituting something that massively undermines rights and freedoms. Only it isn’t targeting states. It’s targeting people. Individual citizens. And unlike the fake proposal she’s supposed to be implanting, if this comes to light, the government will almost certainly get away with it. All in the name of “security.”

They’re instituting warrantless, full network surveillance. Real-time monitoring of all Internet communications, via deep packet inspection.

Reading emails is the tip of the iceberg. They’ll be able to intercept or even alter any communications, including voice, video, Skype. They can monitor, block, or censor network traffic based on the interception of keywords or search queries: controlling what their citizens see and hear.

And if they don’t like what’s happening in one particular area? There’s a built-in kill switch. She can’t see all the details and control points of that immediately, but it looks like Washington’s granted itself the ability to shut down huge swathes of the internet.

Holy shit.

She fumbles for her phone and hits the redial button. To her surprise, he picks up right away. “What?”

“You will not believe what I’ve just found,” she says, voice unsteady.

He listens silently as she describes what she’s seeing.

“I have to take care of this,” she says. “This is way more important than the files.”

“You think so?” His tone is cold. “Your first priority is the mission that you promised to undertake. We are winning. Do you understand? This is what we’ve been working for all this time, and it’s within reach. Soon, there may not be a government to watch us.”

“This could jeopardize us right now,” she insists. “What if things take longer than you expect? The monitoring system is already in place, and with everything happening right now, what do you want to bet they’ll activate it? For all I can tell, they’re doing it already!”

“You don’t think they’ll notice a hack that big?” he says sarcastically.

They will, of course. “Sure. But it might even work in our favor. That would mean a lot of spotlights focused on the Department’s computer system, even if only internal. Someone’s bound to trip over our files, sooner rather than later.”

“Except that you won’t be able to get them planted, with all the increased attention and security.”

“I could do both at once. I’ll pick up the drive after class, and I can do it in a single run this evening. Implant the files, destroy the surveillance program. I could even close the door on the way out.”

They’ll make it a priority to investigate a hack that major, and the last thing she needs is for it to be traced back to her. She knows how to break in now; she could probably do it again, even though they’ll for sure make changes.

“No,” he says firmly. “Don’t do it. That’s an order. We need those files put in place, and we need continued access. You can’t even tell if the program’s active. If it isn’t, it doesn’t matter. If it is, it hasn’t caused us any trouble, and they’re going to have a hell of a lot more to distract them in the days to come. The odds of them finding us are vanishingly small, especially if we keep using encryption.”

“But…”

“Do what you’ve been told to do. No more, no less.”

She swallows hard. “Okay. I’ll do it your way.”

She disconnects the call, already knowing she won’t.

The dropbox is conveniently located on the way to campus. She’s running a few minutes early, and the place is quiet, so she opens it now. It contains the drive, and also a slip of paper with a new P2P encryption key. She tucks both deep into her bag, and heads to her last class of the day. She’s half tempted to skip it, but she never skips; her absence would be notable. Plus the course, Game Theory for Political Scientists, has proven itself remarkably useful.

“That’s got to be a record,” Katie says. “Kidnapping retrieval in under three hours? We rock!”

“I’d be more impressed if you got one of the kidnappers alive,” Jeff growls. “What have I told you about being trigger-happy?”

“Sorry.” Katie looks contrite. “I did get his iPhone, though.”

She tosses it to Aldis. His eyes light up and he produces a gizmo from his pocket and goes to work. Very briefly.

“Eleven seconds to unlock,” he announces. “Now that’s got to be a record.”

“Check the contacts,” Chris says.

“Who’s the hacker here?” Aldis shoots him a withering glare. “Oh, right. Me. I know what I’m doing, Kane. You give me another couple of minutes, I’ll have everything for you. Contacts. Emails. Facebook profile. Everywhere this phone has been.”

“You don’t look happy,” Katie says to Jeff. “Shouldn’t this make you happy? What’s wrong?”

“You’ve been busy,” Jeff says. “So you probably haven’t heard the results of the vote. Even without Senator Casey’s support, the emergency powers bill went through. Maybe there were other kidnappings, or maybe people genuinely support it, I don’t know, but it passed.”

Katie wipes a hand over her face. “Oh oh.”

“There’s more. The state legislature here met to discuss the response to this morning’s events, and things went way farther than I thought they would. They voted overwhelmingly in favor of forming the Republic of Texas. Texas has started calling its members of the Armed Forces home.”

“Shit.”

“We’re in over our head,” Jeff says. “I don’t think we’re going to win, but I’m not giving up yet.”

“Hello.” Aldis says. “Here we are. Recognize anyone?”

He holds out the phone. Julie’s picture is on the screen.

“I’ll get her,” Chris says, standing. “Where is she right now?”

Aldis frowns. “I’m still having trouble tracking her phone. According to her class schedule, though, she’ll be leaving the Management building in ten minutes.”

“Damn.” Chris checks his watch. “I’ll try and make it. Maybe class’ll run late.”

“Make sure you get her laptop,” Aldis advises.

“Who’s the retrieval agent here?” Chris looks down at himself. “Right. Me. I’m going to retrieve. Don’t wait up.”

“Hang on,” Aldis says, scrolling down the screen. “There’s another one.”

“Is that…” Katie says.

“Zach,” Jeff confirms. “You get him. And for God’s sake, don’t shoot him anywhere fatal.”


Part Four