Assignment - Part 5:
Falling
The moment Brian stepped out of the elevator and onto the red carpeted area, he knew something was wrong. The agents, the techs - everybody was frantically moving around the floor or madly typing on the computers.
Brian stopped and looked around; trying to figure out what exactly was going on. He spotted Daphne at a computer station a few feet away. He began moving toward her when…he stopped, feeling his stomach drop.
Even from where he was standing he could see her eyes red and swollen, her shoulders tense.
“Oh, Brian, good,” he heard behind him. He turned around only to see the same expression on Lindsay’s face as he did on everybody else’s.
“What the fuck’s going on?”
The blonde woman sighed. “A recon team in Libya was ambushed.”
“Fuck,” Brian swore quietly. “How many people?”
“Nine,” Lindsay responded as the two of them walked to the main board.
Out of the corner of his eye Brian saw Daphne raise her head from the computer screen and look at him. Once again Brian felt his blood run cold. He stopped and touched Lindsay’s arm. “Who’s the team lead?”
He knew the answer before the words ever left her mouth. Justin. Of course, it was Justin. Libya was one of the most dangerous places in the world. Only the best would have been sent.
Brian squeezed his eye shut, breathed slowly in, then let the breath out. He opened his eyes and turned to Lindsay. “Any survivors?”
“We don’t know. We lost contact twelve minutes ago.”
Another twelve minutes later there was still no sign that any member of the team had survived. The radio remained quiet and everybody in the building was waiting with bated breath for any news.
Brian paced the floor, unable to sit still for more than a minute. There was nothing they could do but wait.
Wait. He never thought he could hate one word so much. He didn’t think about the fact that it wasn’t just him worrying about another agent. It was him worrying about one agent in particular. One agent who somehow over the past couple of months got closer to him than anybody else ever had before. And for some godforsaken reason Brian had to figure it out at the exact moment when he could lose that person forever.
He stopped his endless pacing when he heard static breaking through on the radio. The voice on the other end of it could barely be heard, but there was no mistaking who the voice belonged to.
“Picasso, this is Base Camp, do you read?” Brian called into the earpiece. His only response was more static. “Picasso, this is Base Camp, do you read?”
“The team is secure,” he finally heard.
A joined loud sigh of relief could be heard throughout the entire floor.
“One agent down. Two seriously injured. Over,” Justin said.
“Copy that,” Brian responded. “Proceed to the extraction point. I repeat, proceed to the extraction point.”
“Copy that, Base Camp,” Justin responded.
Ten minutes later they got the confirmation that the team had boarded a helicopter.
~~~***~~~***~~~
When they were notified that Justin’s team had returned, Brian headed to the hospital. It was a government owned hospital in which most doctors and nurses were contracted by the CIA in order to keep everything that went on inside the hospital top secret.
Having been there more times than he could count, Brian needed no help in finding where the injured agents were taken. Opting to take the stairs to the second floor instead of the elevator, Brian ran up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.
The second floor was buzzing with activity. The preliminary report indicated that there were at least one agent dead, two in critical condition, and others with minimal injuries.
Making his way down the hall, Brian finally saw him – sitting on a gurney, a nurse finishing up the stitches on a cut above his right eye. The woman then placed a band-aid over the cut. She turned her attention to a smaller cut on Justin’s right cheek, but the blond waved her away, quickly hopping off the gurney.
“You ok?” Brian asked when Justin neared him.
“Fine,” the younger man responded. “Have you heard anything about Thompson and Pablo?”
“Thompson’s gonna be ok. Pablo’s still in surgery.”
“Fuck.” Justin squeezed his eyes shut, leaning back against the wall and running his hands over his face and through his hair. “I should have known it was an ambush.”
“There was no way you could have. We had no satellite surveillance, no…”
“No,” Justin cut him off. “I knew. It was just too fucking easy. No resistance at all. And then…” He winced as if he was back in that warehouse.
Brian reached out his hand and hesitantly placed it on Justin’s shoulder. He knew that as a team leader it was often easy to blame yourself when things went south. The truth was, this was their life. Every time they went out on a mission, they risked never coming back. Death was a part of their everyday life, like breakfast, or taking a shower.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Brian said quietly, squeezing Justin’s shoulder gently.
The blue eyes locked onto his and Brian tried to understand what he saw in them. But Justin broke the eye contact quickly. And a second later Brian knew why.
“Agent Taylor?” A young man dressed in light blue scrubs walked up to the two of them.
“Yes,” Justin answered, taking a step forward, Brian’s arm still resting on his shoulder. “How is Doug?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor said. “He didn’t make it.”
Brian felt as if everything just froze in time – the way he always did when hearing those two words. And as always, he’d close his eyes and let out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding. And then he’d open his eyes again and the rest of the world would continue spinning and turning around the Sun.
Except, this time when he opened his eyes, he saw Justin standing in front of him, staring at the same spot where the doctor stood only seconds before. Brian felt his own hand squeeze Justin’s shoulder once more, but the young agent pulled away from him.
Brian was left standing alone in the middle of the long, white hall as he watched his lover’s retreating form.
~~~***~~~***~~~
Justin pulled his black Porsche into a wide driveway and turned off the ignition, sitting in the car for a few minutes before getting out and walking up to the front door.
One of the first things the recruits were taught was how to deal with death. But no matter how hard Justin tried to compartmentalize everything, it didn’t work. Not when the men who died were someone he knew. Not when the men who died were his friends.
Even though Justin had the keys to the townhouse, he always used the doorbell. Pressing it briefly, he waited. He heard muffled voices and then stomping on the other side. Finally, the door opened to reveal a beautiful young blond woman.
“Justin.” Molly looked more relieved than anything else. “I thought you were Frank,” she said as Justin walked in and closed the door behind him.
Before he was able to utter a single word, she sprinted up the stairs. Some things never changed. Which was why he had come here in the first place. After the horrors of the previous day, Justin felt the need, the urge to feel something…normal. And coming back to his mother’s house always had the grounding effect that he was yearning for.
Knowing well that he’d find his mother in the kitchen, the blond took his shoes off and made his way through the living and the dining rooms.
“Sweetie,” Jennifer beamed at him as soon as she saw him. Her face however quickly darkened when she noticed the cuts on his face. “What happened to your face?”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Justin smiled for the added affect. Over the years he had gotten pretty good at lying to his mother about strange cuts and bruises he had acquired on missions. “I was goofing around with Daphne’s dog and he scratched me.”
Jennifer reached out and ran her finger over the cut on Justin’s cheek. “It looks really bad. Did you have a doctor look at it?”
“It’s fine, mom,” Justin replied. “It looks worse than it is. Really.”
The woman finally smiled and pulled her son into a hug. Instead of pulling away like he usually did, Justin leaned into the hug and wrapped his arms tightly around his mother’s back.
“Sweetheart, are you ok?”
Reluctantly letting her go, Justin smiled again. “Yeah. Why?”
“Well, for one you didn’t get all weirded out by your mother hugging you.” Both of them laughed.
“I’m fine,” Justin answered, taking a seat at the small kitchen table in the corner. “Just tired.”
“Hungry?”
“Yeah,” he replied quietly.
Less than five minutes later he had a steaming plate of soup sitting in front of him.
“It’s so good to have you home,” Jennifer said, running her hand over the top of his head.
Justin returned her smile.
“I’m gonna go wash up,” he told her.
“Ok, sweetie.”
Opting to use the upstairs bathroom, Justin ran up the stairs. He was halfway down the hall when he turned around and headed in the opposite direction.
“So, who’s Frank and when do I get to meet him?” he asked his sister as he flopped down on her bed.
Molly rolled her eyes. “God, you’re almost as bad as mom.”
“Actually I’m worse,” Justin corrected her. When she gave him a confused look, he added, “There’s nothing worse than an older brother.”
The young woman gave him an annoyed look. Justin could only laugh.
“How’s school?” he asked while he watched her finish putting on make up.
“It’s fine,” she shrugged. “My philosophy class kicks ass. And if I take summer school next year, I’ll be able to graduate college in three years.”
“That’s great. Have you decided where you’re going yet?”
Molly turned and smiled at him. “Where do you think?”
Of course, he should have known. He was the only black sheep in the family.
“I got the letter two weeks ago,” she added, tossing him an envelope.
Justin’s gaze lingered on the Dartmouth logo at the top of the envelope, wondering how different his life would have been if he had done what was expected of him in the first place – going to business school at Dartmouth.
But he knew the truth – no matter where he was, or who he was pretending to be, he could never get away from who he really was. Putting the envelope down on the bed, he gave his sister a proud smile, silently wishing and hoping that she would have a much easier life than the one he had chosen for himself.
~~~***~~~***~~~
Everybody from the Pittsburgh branch of the CIA, as well as a representative from the CIA Headquarters, had shown up to pay their last respects to the fallen agents two days later.
It was the first time since that day in the hospital that Brian saw Justin. The blond stood opposite from him, his eye trained on the two caskets covered with American flags, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Brian could not stop looking at him.
The brunet in return took advantage of it, studying Justin’s face carefully – memorizing every line, every feature. He realized it was in bad taste and wrong to think that, but he couldn’t help being relieved that Justin wasn’t the one lying in the wooden box in front of them.
It was the first time since he had met the younger man that Brian realized the risks of one day losing him. There were so many problems with that type of thinking, Brian couldn’t even begin to figure it out. For one, they weren’t even together. Secondly, Brian was NEVER together with anybody. That was one of the rules. His main rule. Even before his life became one big action movie, he refused to let himself get attached.
Yet, now, unbestknown to him, Brian began to care about somebody other than himself – aside from his son, of course. And to say that it did not sit well with him would have been an understatement.
The fact that Justin could have died two days ago bothered him even more.
He was surprised when he found himself staring into a pair of dark blue eyes. What he saw in them knocked the wind out of him. Pain. Guilt. Grief.
Brian was almost caught off guard when Justin looked away. Before he knew it, the funeral was over and Justin got lost in the crowd as everybody made their way to their cars.
~~~***~~~***~~~
It was a couple of hours later that Brian stepped onto the second floor of the Federal building and turned left. Half of the floor was occupied by a full size gym, equipped with latest equipment, weights, and…a punching bag.
Brian stood in the doorway, watching Justin pound the bag vigorously.
The gym was only the second place he looked for Justin. It was the place where he himself came to get away from things. To forget everything. Or to remember. To let all of his frustration and anger and helplessness out.
And that was exactly what Justin was doing now. With every punch, he tried to let go of everything that was screaming inside of him.
Brian wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there watching. Finally, Justin stopped. Breathing heavily, he took hold of the heavy punching bag and leaned his forehead against it. His eyes were closed and Brian couldn’t help but wonder what the younger man was thinking about. Was he blaming himself? Knowing everything he knew about Justin, Brian guessed that was the case.
It seemed that Justin sensed that there was somebody else in the room. He opened his eyes and turned his head, locking gazes with Brian. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Justin let go of the bag and took off the boxing gloves. With his hands free, he wiped the sweat off his forehead.
Slowly, he made his way toward the door and Brian who had been patiently waiting for him.
“The boss send you to check up on me?” Justin asked, stopping a few feet away from him, his voice harsh and angry. “Make sure I didn’t do anything to jeopardize national security?” Justin sneered.
“No,” Brian replied. “Just making sure you’re ok.”
Justin snorted. “Oh, I’m just peachy. Fabulous, in fact.” He started to walk past Brian, but the brunet grabbed his arm, turning him around to face him.
“I know this is hard,” Brian said. He knew it was probably the most ridiculous thing to say. Anything you said in situations like this always sounded stupid and lame and completely pointless. Which was why he usually kept his mouth shut. But for some godforsaken reason now Brian felt the need to say something. To somehow help Justin. Except, he had no idea what it was that he was supposed to say.
“What the fuck do you know?” Justin shrugged his arm away, taking a step back from Brian.
“You don’t think I’ve ever lost men on missions before?”
“No,” Justin shook his head. “I just figured the great Brian Kinney wouldn’t give a shit.”
Brian winced at the sarcasm in Justin’s voice.
“I mean, so what if they died, right? That’s the risk we all take. People die. Shit happens. Isn’t that like our fucking motto?” Justin laughed bitterly.
“It’s true.” As much as he wanted to agree with Justin, the truth was that shit happened. And in their line of work, it happened a lot.
“Fuck you,” Justin shouted.
“They knew what they were getting themselves into. Knew the risks,” Brian said.
“And what about their families? What about their kids?” Justin asked. “What about a six-year old boy who will never see his father again and doesn’t even know why? He didn’t know the risks.”
“Well, then his father should have thought of that,” Brian ground out. “Before he made a decision to bring a kid into this world.”
Justin took another step back, looking at Brian with a shocked look on his face. “How do you live with yourself?”
“It’s simple,” Brian replied, his face a stone mask. “I do my job. Because in the end, the job is the only thing that matters. Because what I do, what we all do, will keep that boy’s bus from blowing up on the way to school tomorrow.”
Justin shook his head and closed his eyes for a second. He opened them, cast one last glance at Brian, and left.
Go to Part 6