Part 1: Vanishing Point
Don't it feel like you're a rider
on a downbound train
Every time Sgt. Tanner hit the table with his fist, Brian O'Conner twitched. This was not a great day for loud noises. At this point, all Brian could hear was the pounding, anyway, because he'd long since tuned out the words. The minute-hand on the clock was moving backwards, he could swear, just like in that movie. This was the longest afternoon he'd ever experienced and it didn't look to be ending anytime soon, especially not with Special Agent Bilkins probably waiting outside the interrogation room ready to pounce on the fresh kill. Charges from pissed off feds would be a lot worse than Tanner's foaming at the mouth.
When the room went silent, though, he looked up at Tanner's grimacing face. "Are you even listening to me?" he asked with such coldness it made the hair on Brian's neck stand up. It was always worse when they got icy.
"Yeah, I'm listening. I just don't know what you want me to do about it." Lame. Not exactly a believable response; of course he wasn't listening. Instead he was thinking about Dominic Toretto and whether he'd gotten away someplace safe, and about Mia Toretto and where she would be questioned.
Tanner sat down opposite him, hands on the desk, leaning forward. "You haven't heard a word I've said. What was the last thing you did hear?" For a cop, Tanner didn't swear a lot; he liked to reserve that for the really important things. Brian was waiting for him to start swearing.
Brian rolled his head around on his shoulders. He'd kill for some water right now, but knew better than to ask. They'd been in this stupid room for almost an hour. "The shooting. You were talking about me shooting Johnny Tran." Tanner glared. "It was a righteous shoot, Sarge. You can't tell me I'm gonna get busted for nailing a guy who just killed someone in a drive-by." Because, I mean, there's so much else to bust me for.
"You are going to get busted. For a lot, Brian." Tanner's voice was so calm it spooked Brian out. "But IAD gets to sort out the shooting. I get to sort out this fucking mess with Toretto." He wiped a hand over his face. "How do I explain that you let him go? The feds are going to crucify us. You blew months' worth of work."
Brian had desperately tried to come up with some kind of story that would sound logical, like he'd been overpowered, or that Dom had already had the keys, or something. But you didn't have to be Einstein to know that no one came out of a car wreck like that able to overpower a perfectly healthy -- if a little banged-up from a run-in with a crazed shotgun-wielding trucker -- trained police officer. Yeah. Right. So he just hadn't said much of anything at all during the hours they stood there in the broiling sun sorting out the accident scene. At least they hadn't forced him to go back to the Toretto's house and deal with that. Tanner had obviously begun to mentally fill in the blanks when he'd asked him if it was because of Mia -- did he let Dom go to protect her? To get the money? Something else? Brian couldn't admit that he hadn't really thought of Mia much at all by that point. That he'd acted on instinct -- bad instinct -- hoping to give Dom a fighting chance not to end up back at Lompoc, or worse. It had all been about Dom by then.
Just as Tanner was going to launch into another list of possible charges -- something he'd already done twice since they'd picked him up at the accident scene -- there was a knock on the one-way glass. Tanner left for a few minutes; when he came back, he was wearing a kind of sick, bitter smile, which Brian knew was all for him.
Tanner had hand-picked him for the street-racing assignment. It made Brian mildly queasy thinking about how much he'd let him down, the opportunity Tanner had given him that had been thrown right back in his face. They'd met shortly after Brian had started at that precinct, when Tanner had been impressed with how he'd handled the discovery of a double homicide during what had seemed like a routine burglary call. He hadn't remembered talking about anything personal at all, but apparently Tanner remembered enough about him that when he was looking for an undercover guy young enough to fit in that world, he asked Brian. In the early days he'd grown to like Tanner's fatherly style and droll, dry humor, but he especially enjoyed the way Tanner treated Bilkins with suspicion and annoyance for pulling rank all the time once the FBI had moved in. He'd been protective of Brian, understanding, but that had all evaporated when Tanner had seen the results of the recent disaster. Story of Brian's life: letting down the ones who cared about him.
When he came back into the room, Tanner couldn't help smirking. The bad news made him feel vindicated to some degree, and right now that felt just a little too good to play down. He'd never been so disappointed by a subordinate before, never watched someone he was trying to mentor throw all his hard work away like it was so much dog shit, so any way he could punish O'Conner right now made him feel just that little bit better.
Brian watched him cautiously. He was stained with blood, filthy with sweat and dirt and oil. Tanner wanted to feel sorry for him, but this was such a fuck-up, he couldn't quite bring himself to let go of his hostility. Brian was still just a kid, but Tanner had thought a much a smarter kid than he'd shown himself to be today. Suspension, internal investigations, the FBI riding Brass to fire everyone involved... it couldn't really get much worse.
Tanner sighed. "Your pal Toretto drove off the side of the highway, passed out at the wheel. They've taken him to County and he is now officially under arrest. And that nice car we bought for you is recovered. Lucky you. Now we can find out what really happened, since you're not exactly being forthcoming."
Brian put his head in his hands. "Is he all right?" His voice was muffled by his arms, but Tanner thought he sounded scared.
"That's your first concern? Jesus, Brian, we're talking about a felon and ex-con you aided and abetted. Once he starts answering questions, do you have any idea what this means?"
"Yeah, I know. Is he all right?" Brian raised his head and glared.
Tanner shook his head. "I don't know. Judging by everything that happened today, I can't even figure out how the hell he's walking around." He slapped some papers down in front of the kid and said, "Your suspension. IAD will be contacting you. You'll need representation; this has the details." All he could do now was hope that this wouldn't hit the newspapers and that Brian would keep his cool. Assuming, of course, that he didn't just quit.
"Gee, Sarge, I'd give you my shield and my gun for dramatic effect, but they already took 'em."
"Don't be a wise-ass. That's not going to help you right now. My advice to you is to spend some of your downtime thinking about what you want to do."
"Does that mean I'm free to go?"
Tanner considered that for a moment. He felt like being cruel. Then he smiled, and said, "Let's take a little ride, shall we?"
When he'd first woken up and realized he was in an exam room at a hospital, Dom knew that he was well and truly fucked. That would mean he'd been pulled in and there were probably cops involved. All of it -- the Trans, Jesse, the insane video-game nightmare with Vince and the trucker, Brian -- would be there attached to his sheet. The nurse hadn't wanted to say anything, but he could tell by the look in her eye when she placed the IV that she'd been told he was dangerous. There was a shadowy uniformed cop at the edge of the door guarding the room. What was he going to do, get up and walk out with a concussion that made him see triple and injuries severe enough that they were discussing surgery? They took him for a CT scan and X-rays. Then he passed out again. By the time he woke he was in a regular room, things beeping steadily near his head, the door closed tightly and no one else in the bed next door.
Severe flank bruising and damage to the kidneys, cracked ribs, a concussion with swelling in the brain. At least they didn't have to operate, they said. The dislocated shoulder throbbed, but at least it wasn't broken, though they said there was a tiny bone in the wrist that was probably fractured and if it didn't heal right, it could make his hand next to useless. So they'd slapped a cast on his wrist and it itched like hell, as did the gash on his scalp. The needle in his hand was already driving him crazy. It could have been much worse: If it hadn't been for the racing roll-cage, he'd have been toast. The doctor made as to how he couldn't believe Dom was walking around at all.
He drifted in and out of consciousness. Wasn't the rule supposed to be that you didn't sleep if you had a concussion because you might not wake up? But they woke him regularly and asked him questions; at least, semi-woke him, because he wasn't sure he was all the way there. His first thought each time he did wake up was of Mia, and it filled him with a kind of panicked fear. Would they call her if he was under arrest to let her know he was here? Dom wanted to talk to the cop, but he could not make his voice work right; the drugs dried his mouth and throat, and he couldn't seem to get control of his mental state.
Then, inevitably when he thought of Mia, he thought of Brian as well. Calling himself Officer Brian O'Conner. The truth spilling out in front of them as ugly and dark as Vince's blood. Handing Dom the keys to the Supra. None of it made sense. His stomach clenched remembering Vince, Jesse's body in his arms, Letty's face as she said good-bye and drove away with Leon. She hated him, he'd thought then. You could only truly hate someone if you'd loved them and they'd hurt you.
When he finally came to all the way and felt nearly human again, the nurse told him there were three men waiting to see him, and she opened the door for them: one a tall, heavy-set black man, the other shorter, white, with glasses and a goatee. And behind them was Brian, not looking at him. Brian caked with blood and dirt and dust, all of it streaked from sweat.
The white guy spoke first. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Toretto."
Dom didn't speak. Figured it was best not to say anything without a lawyer, and anyway, if he squeaked out words in his less than functional voice, it would be too humiliating.
"I'm Sergeant Tanner from LAPD, and this is Special Agent Bilkins of the FBI. I think you know why we're here." Dom just stared past his shoulder at Brian. "I'm the one who was running the undercover op that put Officer O'Conner in your orbit." He said it with a kind of knowing look, a hint of a challenge. The guy was used to dealing with thugs like him; he had his style down pat.
Bilkins looked like he was one mean motherfucker -- all business and no pleasure. Guys like that were familiar to him; they seemed average on the outside, but inside they were sharp steel. Dom knew he was going down, big time. Except they wouldn't be here talking to him if there wasn't something on offer. Brian's stupid hopeful look told him as much, too.
"We're interested in who fenced the stolen merchandise for you. There are only a few people we know of who can handle that kind of weight and have that many distribution channels. Maybe you have some information you'd like to share."
Dom smiled bitterly and cleared his throat. "What'll it get me? You must already have something you're looking for." Just those few words tired him out.
"You're not really in a position to bargain," Bilkins said, annoyed. "None of your friends are, either. The ones who are still alive, anyway."
That was a sucker punch to his already wrecked kidneys. Dom turned away. "Tell me what's going on."
Tanner stepped forward. "Your friend Vince is in critical condition at East County. Jesse's dead. Your two other pals are gone, but there's an APB on them, and unless they're already out of state, we'll find them eventually. That leaves your sister, who--" he looked at his watch "-- should be in for some serious questioning right about now."
"She doesn't know anything!" Dom shouted, trying to get up but making no progress whatever. The room went spinning. Fuck.
"Hopefully she's got more sense than you do. I don't expect you to have the money sitting around in a conveniently accessible bank account. I'd wager most of it went into your shop and your cars. But you're not in a position to bargain, especially not when it comes to your sister being charged as an accomplice. So either you deal, or she goes deeper in the shit, do you understand?"
"If I deal, I'm dead."
"Well, you should've thought of that when you had the chance. This is a serious chunk of change we're talking about here, Toretto. You're a federal criminal now. I'm just here out of tolerance." Tanner didn't look at Bilkins, but he imagined what the Fed must look like to Toretto. Everything was worse when you were in federal territory, and a guy like Bilkins got a little too much pleasure when someone was lost in his territory. So many emotions flickered across Toretto's face now -- fear, panic, sadness -- and Tanner watched how he was reacting to Brian. Kept looking over at him as if expecting something, then looking away with the bitterness of knowing he wouldn't get it.
Behind him Brian fairly vibrated with nerves. It had stopped being fun when they'd arrived at the hospital and Bilkins had laid into him with icy calm, dropping the litany of failures and crimes on the kid's head as if he'd helped crucify Christ. Didn't really spare anything for Tanner, either, and it had been a rough time getting Bilkins to let him participate. On a good day the FBI didn't tolerate the local boys; this hadn't been a good day.
Tanner gestured at Bilkins and said to Toretto, "Maybe Brian can explain the situation so you understand it more clearly. Since you're... friends and all." At first Bilkins wasn't moving, but then he grudgingly followed. Bilkins didn't even want the fence, not really. He wanted whoever was at the top, and if there was even the slightest foothold to be gained by using Toretto, then he would. Or Brian.
Brian had a moment of panic as they left the room. This was not what he had in mind. He stood there dumbly for a while, listening to the gentle beeping of the machine. "I thought you'd get away. I didn't realize you were hurt that bad."
Dom turned his face toward the window.
"Look, Dom... if you help them, they can help you. Tanner's a hardass but he's a good guy. He'll do what he can. The feds, they're not so giving. So deal with him. At least ask them to drop the APB on Letty and Leon, that's something. They won't hurt Mia, I swear."
Still Dom didn't look at him or say anything. His mouth was drawn tight, and Brian flashed on the field, the way Dom had stared at him with such a sense of betrayal and despair and rage in his eyes. In Brian's family emotions were always held in check and you were safer if you didn't let anyone see you hurt. It was so weird to see how emotional -- and unafraid of showing it -- Dom was. How helpless he must feel, unable to protect Mia. Knowing he'd been the one to do this to her.
Brian touched Dom's arm, but Dom jerked it away, the little tubes snapping all around. "Brian." His voice was flat and hollow. Finally Dom turned his head, except he looked at the wall, not at Brian's face. "Get out."
Brian stood there helplessly. He thought he'd made it up to Dom and to Mia, that however betrayed they felt, they would still have to admit that Brian had helped them. Probably saved Vince's life. But Dom wouldn't even look at him. It was useless. He was useless.
Brian left the room and Tanner and Bilkins returned. "That didn't go well, I take it?" Bilkins said. Dom didn't bother answering.
"The fence isn't the one you want."
Tanner grinned. "No, he's not. Well, we'd like to take him down, too, but we're really interested in who's above him."
"This guy... my fence, he's big time. Moves a lot of high-end shit. But the guy he's selling to has weight."
"Do you have a name?"
Dom just barked out a harsh laugh, which sent a shockwave of pain through his ribs and made his head swim.
"I'll tell you what," Bilkins said, smooth as silk. Dom was really beginning to hate this guy. "I'll give you a couple days to think about it, since you're not running on all cylinders. But while you're thinking about it, remember two words: Pelican Bay."
He glared at Tanner, because he, at least, seemed reasonable. "If I do this, I want something."
"What's that?" His smirk was infuriating.
"You call off the bloodhounds on the rest of my team. You keep my sister out of this. And you pull my package. All of it. And Vince's. The slate is cleaned."
Tanner just cocked his head and smiled. Oily bastard. But Dom got the sense that he was willing to deal if he could get something out of this mess and make his position respectable again. Bilkins he wasn't so sure of. A pound of flesh wouldn't satisfy someone like that.
Brian stood at the door while they walked out, and glanced back in at Dom. He'd saved Vince's life... maybe he'd saved all of their lives and had tried to save Jesse's. That made it harder to let go of. The look on Brian's face said the same thing Dom was thinking: I'm sorry. But so what? That didn't get you anywhere. They were all sorry. Then Brian said quietly, his gaze fixed sadly on Dom, "It wasn't all a lie." He turned and walked away.
Dom's head ached with the strain of all the conversation and the moving around. He drifted in half-sleep until the nurse came in, a guy this time, and told him they were sending him up for another CT scan. Shit, what a nightmare. He tried not to get anxious when they put him in the machine again, but he was claustrophobic since prison, and an eely panic squirmed in his stomach. The cracked ribs and chest bruises made holding his breath an agony, but it hurt to breathe, too. Finally they took him back to his room, the guard placing himself back in position. He drifted off again.
The dream was mixed up, his dad's crash and his own. He was in the Charger but at the track where his dad died, driving his race. Only it wasn't Linder clipping him but Brian. When he hit the wall as his father had, he saw Brian's face: that same look of satisfaction, just like after they'd beat the train, before he'd crashed. They just smiled at each other like they were... complete. Then his car exploded around him.
When he woke the next morning -- or maybe it was afternoon -- he thought about the dream. About that moment when he'd seen Brian smile as if they understood each other. In that sliver of time everything had been forgotten and they just were. The future and the past didn't matter. So why did it suddenly matter now that Brian was a cop? Something about Brian had drawn Dom from the beginning, but now he couldn't seem to get past the betrayal of his trust. Yet Brian had trusted him enough to try to save him. Must have thought Dom was better than he really was to risk everything like that. But forgiveness was so foreign to him now, after Lompoc, after everything he'd lost.
Why had the Mod Squad dragged Brian here to talk to him? What did they think he would gain them? The way he'd looked... so beaten down yet so weirdly hopeful. All Dom could do was shut him out, and now he wondered how much of that was merely self-preservation and how much his anger at being deceived. He'd already let Brian in too far.
It wasn't all a lie.
There wasn't much choice about Tanner's offer. Give up the names, probably try to testify against them. Probably get killed, too; no one liked a snitch. Dom had learned to live his life in the now and never think too far ahead because you couldn't depend on things happening the way you planned. Only by not planning he'd nearly got his team killed, and probably would get himself killed because of who he'd chosen to get mixed up with. Chosen for all of them, and they'd been okay with that, because Dom always made the decisions.
His head felt better now, clearer. The steroids reduced the swelling; the aches from the bruising and the sharp pain in his left arm wouldn't be going away for a while, though. His chest hurt, but it wasn't from the bruising. He needed Mia here now, he needed to hold on to Letty and know that things would be all right for everyone still left.
Except that things wouldn't be right ever again. Did Brian even still have his job? How could he, if they knew he had let Dom go? Dom had been so angry that he hadn't even considered what Brian could lose in all of this. He knew so little about Brian's real life, even though he felt like he knew Brian, as if he'd always been part of Dom's world. Now it was all past the vanishing point.
They brought him food, gave him more tests, and the day passed slowly. They must be preventing calls, because he knew Mia would not stop until she could get hold of him. As betrayed as he'd felt at Brian's identity, he knew that much was true -- nothing would happen to Mia, not if Brian had anything to say about it. He was a stubborn shit when he got hold of something.
Under everything that went through his mind, though, was the inescapable certainty of prison again. If he talked, he was dead; if he didn't, he'd probably die anyway, because the idea of living behind bars again... any prison was bad enough, but if Pelican Bay wasn't an idle threat, it would be better to take his chances with the Armenian. A pissed-off high-level fence was one thing, but when you started talking to the FBI to help them bring down someone like Gregory, you might as well just ask for the double-tap to the back of the head.
Dom didn't know who to be more pissed at -- himself for getting caught, for starting the whole fucking mess in the first place, or Brian for letting him go. As if Brian could somehow have gotten in the car with him and driven away someplace safe like Mexico. Even another state.
He slept again in the evening, the television droning on in the background. He was more comfortable now that they'd taken some of the things out of and off of him, but the cast still drove him nuts. Dom wondered if they'd made the news. Probably not; the cops would want to keep that quiet.
Close to midnight the nurse came in, the guy who'd been there the night before. They must have figured that it would take a guy to be able to lift him. He had long dreads tied back, light black skin, and kept the conversation to a minimum, which Dom had appreciated. But now he had a panicky look on his face.
"We're not supposed to put calls through to you," he said. "But there's a woman on the phone says she's your sister and... she sounds hysterical. Really upset. Look, don't tell the cop outside, okay?"
His heart was pounding and he tried to sit up. The nurse helped him and raised the bed, then brought the phone over to him. "I'll go put it through."
"Thanks, man," Dom said. "I owe you, big." He wondered if Mia had just finally lost it and let loose that famous Toretto temper on some poor unsuspecting switchboard person, or if Brian had fucked up again and they were doing more than just questioning her as a homicide witness.
He picked up the phone before the first ring had finished. "Mia, what's--"
"Dom!" She really was hysterical, her voice squealy and loud. "Dom! They took me. They came and took me out of our house! They say you betrayed them, that you're narc--" Then she was gone. He couldn't feel his lungs working or his heart beating. Everything inside him had gone numb.
Abruptly a male voice came on the line. "We haven't done anything with her yet. Consider it an insurance policy. You don't betray Mr. Gregory without paying a price, do you understand?" For a second Dom had the bizarre urge to laugh; the way the guy had said "Mr. Gregory" in his smooth Eurotrash-accented voice made it sound like he was talking about a hairdresser. But he knew these guys and how deadly serious they were.
"I haven't said a fucking word. I'm not gonna. You don't have to do this." He tried to keep his voice low and calm. If he lost his temper he could cost Mia her life, but he had to avoid sounding defensive or afraid. They would eat him alive if they thought he was weak.
"Not only did you fail to deliver on your last job, you got arrested. A lot of money was invested in you, but you haven't paid back with your final load. If you've spoken about this to the police..."
"I haven't! She doesn't have anything to do with this--"
"You might have thought about all that before you made business deals you couldn't keep. You know the price." The phone went dead.
He closed his eyes. Dom could still hear her screaming from the porch, "It's over!" before the sound of motorcycles drowned her out and bullets started flying. He had ignored her pleas, rejected her every time she tried to stop him, and now she was paying the price for his fuck-up. He stared at the phone in his hand, unable to breathe, sweating, panicked. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Dom thought he might pass out; his head swam with voices and images and sounds.
Eventually he put the phone down and called for the nurse. When he came in, he still had that scared look on his face, but Dom tried turning on the charm as best he could. It was an act he had down pat from all the nights of racing; he'd learned to play to the crowd and turn it up as high as it could go if he sensed they were against him.
"I know you're not supposed to help me, but I need your help, bad. My sister... they have my sister."
The guy did a good job of not showing that he was probably freaking out about the dangerous criminal begging him for something.
"Just this once, please. One of the cops who came here today... I need his number."
Brian almost didn't recognize his own apartment. He hadn't been here for a couple months; the neighbor who'd collected his mail and taken care of the place had left everything in a bag by the door, which he promptly stumbled over on his way in. It was dark and musty and smelled bad, so he opened windows and turned on lights. The place looked pathetic, but at least it was roomier than the little closet he'd had at Harry's while on UC. There was nothing in the fridge, of course, and probably not much worth eating in the cupboard, so he went straight for the shower. The water sputtered on and he yanked off his sweat-and-blood-grunged clothes. As he did, Brian caught sight of himself in the mirror -- a huge bruise ran down his left side from where he'd hit the truck; another colored his hip and side from his leap back to the car. Both his arms and wrists ached, and his hands were mildly swollen. None of the physical injuries were as bad as he felt inside, though.
He let it pour over him, hot almost to scalding. Arms out, pressed against the tile, head down, water running from his hair in a river. Red and brown and black swirling down the drain, but not washing from his mind at all. Everything he'd lost going with it, and he could sense the inchoate sob rising up from somewhere so deep inside him he didn't even know its name. There was a point past where you lost so much you didn't even know how to have or to want. Years ago he'd given up ever wanting anything, until he met the Torettos and then he'd wanted it, oh, he'd wanted it so much and this was your punishment for the having. For not remembering you didn't deserve to have anything. He'd wanted that detective shield too, and now that vanished down the drain along with the blood and dirt.
Brian squeezed his eyes shut, willed himself not to give in to tears of loss or tears of rage. Didn't matter which, just that he couldn't let it out because once he started he wouldn't stop. He'd made the decisions knowing the consequences. No one else had thrown it away for him. You pays your money and you takes your chances, his mother once said. Finally he got himself under control, stopped shaking. He soaped off the grime and then scrubbed himself raw, as if he could scour off everything from the inside as well. In church when he was a kid they'd talked about that -- people scourging themselves to purify their souls. Brian couldn't imagine anything purifying his soul now; too far gone once you hit vanishing point.
As he toweled off Brian found himself thinking not of Mia, but of Dominic. Not how he'd been in the hospital, so broken and lifeless, but the way he'd looked at him from the Charger just after they'd crossed in front of the train. Something knowing, confident, even after everything that had just happened between them. As if the deceit didn't matter in that one shared moment of joy. Brian would never have a chance to see Dom like that again, to know what he meant when he said he was free for just those few seconds in a car.
He wasn't sure he could sleep despite his exhaustion, didn't believe he could eat anything either, but at least going out to get food would take his mind off petty details. The store was nearly empty and he walked through it like he was sleepwalking, tossing random things in a basket without paying attention. It was as if his mind was utterly blank from the numbness. He looked at the newspaper as he left the store, wondered if there was anything about the truckers or the accident buried in the local news section. But he couldn't bring himself to buy it and look. He knew everything he needed to know.
At home he forced himself to eat a bowl of cereal, then turned the TV on to flip randomly around channels. Before he knew it, he was falling asleep.
When he woke the bowl was tipped over on the floor, milk soaked into the carpet, and his face was crisscrossed with sofa cushion marks. Light from the window spilled hotly across his body. The clock said it was already afternoon; he felt sticky and weak. Every bone and muscle in his body screamed in agony when he got up; his head throbbed with the worst headache he could ever remember. Even the most debilitating hangover couldn't compare to this. Brian gobbled some aspirin with codeine from his last trip to Mexico, then hit the shower again.
When he finished cleaning up himself and the apartment he had no idea what to do next. Go out to a bar to get shit-faced and try to forget about it all? Look up Mia Toretto and try to explain? Go get the Supra out of impound and check it out? What would that prove, anyway? That he was keeping it just in case Dom got out, like some sentimental chick? If he went to see Mia, she'd just backhand him across the face and spit on him. He wanted to talk to her and make sure she was okay, that the questioning had been endurable. She'd need help to deal with Jesse's death, but he didn't think she'd take it. Not from Brian O'Conner, cop, liar, deceiver, user.
Anyway, wasn't he supposed to be thinking about his future? Planning for his crucifixion by IAD? If he had never been glad to not have a family before, he was now. The humiliation and shame of everything he'd done would be too much to bear.
This time he felt hungrier so he scrambled some eggs and dumped in a large handful of shredded cheese. Mia would have been appalled by his lack of cooking skills; Dom had teased him enough as it was just in the few weeks they'd known each other. In the Toretto family, being able to boil water and scramble eggs was something a five-year-old could do. Brian picked at his food, though, and only ate about half of it, chasing it down with a beer. There were a million things he should be doing instead of sitting here feeling sorry for himself, not the least of which was making sure he had enough to live on for the next few months while he ostensibly had no job. The only friends he had anymore were fellow cops, and they wouldn't have anything to do with him now, he knew that. There weren't many places for him to turn to.
But he couldn't bring himself to do much of anything, or care that he wasn't doing anything. Tanner had said Brian didn't have the right priorities -- that worrying about Dom and Mia was foolish or worse. But that was all he could think of; logic didn't really have anything to do with this, hadn't since the moment he'd locked eyes with Dominic in the store. Sometimes, Brian had learned, you could identify a moment when everything changed; it was like a crackle of electricity or a ripple of sound in the air. Tanner couldn't understand why he'd been so willing to screw it all up; there was no way to describe that sense of everything changing and how amazing it had felt to him. Letting himself go crazy, letting himself shed a lifetime of control and detachment. The first race had been that way, too. Even with his car pouring smoke he'd felt more alive than ever before. It scared him to know he might never feel like that again.
Brian fell asleep in front of the television once more, but in the middle of the night he was jolted awake when his cell phone rang shrilly. Fumbling for it, he finally answered just as the ringing stopped. He didn't recognize the number. Downtown area code, which bothered him for some reason. Then it rang again, so he answered with the hesitation of one who really didn't want to hear what was coming.
"Brian." Dom's voice. Strained and wired.
"Dom. What... how did you get my number?" What an asinine question. But he was so stunned he didn't know what else to say.
"I need your help."
A small, petty part of him wanted to remind Dom that he'd just told him to get out with a clear implication to never come back again. "What's happened?"
"I can't tell you on the phone. Please." Brian sat up and rubbed his face. Dom sounded... afraid. Something he'd never heard from him before.
"I'll be right there."
They didn't exactly allow visitors in the wee hours of the morning, and Brian had a bitch of a time just getting past security and up to the right floor. The guard outside Dom's door was even harder; without the shield he was no one, but after a while he managed to convince the guy that they were playing on the same team.
When he entered the room Dom was sitting up in bed, looking pretty damn bad, like he was having a hard time just doing that much.
"What is it?" Brian asked without any greeting. He didn't think they were suddenly on good terms just because Dom wanted help.
"They have her. The guy at the end of this thing... he kidnapped Mia."
Brian felt his insides twist and everything he'd eaten earlier now threatened to come up. "Is she alive?" The cop instinct took over, though, just like it had in the field with Vince. "Did you talk with her? Was it long enough that they could get a location from the phone records?"
"Less than a minute. She talked, she was hysterical. Insurance. She's insurance if I haven't talked, revenge if I have." Dom's voice was tense, his face twisted with pain. "This guy doesn't fuck around. You have to get me out of here."
"And what? You're gonna save her by gimping around and falling over?"
Dom didn't even have the strength to shout fuck you at him, but he was thinking about it. What could he expect, though, after what he'd said to the guy before? Brian looked like he'd been run over a couple times himself; his face was pale and drawn.
"Dom, listen to me. You can't do anything by yourself even if you were all right. You have to tell me what's going on so I can get help."
"She called me and screamed about how someone had come into the house and taken her. Then one his crew came on and told me I shouldn't have fucked it up and gotten arrested. It's their money that fronted the cars. I swore I hadn't talked, but I don't think he believed me. Said he was keeping her as insurance."
"Fuck." Brian wiped a hand across his face. Dom tried again to get out of the bed but it was like his legs had been replaced with rubber. "How long ago?"
"About a half hour before I called you." It had been because Brian was a cop that Vince was alive at all, that all of them hadn't been killed. Now he was counting on something that Brian probably didn't even have anymore, needed something Brian might not be able to give him.
"Do you know where she might be? Do you think they'll hurt her?"
"Not right now. He'd take her somewhere hard to find. He doesn't get anything out of it if... if anything happens to her. If he did, he'd have killed her by now." Dom found it hard to control his voice. The idea of something happening to Mia was almost too much for him to imagine; it was abstract, something he felt emotionally but couldn't grasp in his mind.
"Who's he?"
"His name's Gregory. Most of the time they call him the Armenian." He sat up and took a deep breath. "Look, while we're standing here yapping--"
Brian punched a finger in the air. "Don't fucking start with me, Toretto. This is my job, which I used to be pretty good at until I got mixed up with you. I need to know what the score is so I can figure out what to do next."
"He's bad news, that's all you gotta know." Dom glared at him, and Brian felt such anger that he wasn't sure he shouldn't just turn around and go home.
"I'm calling Tanner."
Predictably, Dom freaked, tearing the sheet and blanket off, struggling to get out of bed. Brian held him back, trying to calm him down, which was at least made easier by his complete incapacitation.
After a few minutes of tussling, Dom gave up and sat back, looking like he was going to throw up. Brian took the opportunity to punch Tanner's number on the cell.
It took some serious salesmanship but he agreed to come down to the hospital. Now all Brian had to do was keep Dom still until he got there -- if he remembered right, the sergeant lived near Manhattan Beach, so it would take a while. Fortunately Dom was still so wrecked that he couldn't keep up much fuss.
"I need clothes," Dom said, eyes closed.
"I'll get 'em."
"Wheels."
"Yeah. But you're not driving them, Mr. Magoo."
"I can see just fine."
"You mean when you can raise your head from the pillow?"
"You're talking like you're willing to get me out of here."
"I am. You gotta trust me on this. But you come on heavy, you'll never get anywhere. Tanner's got no love lost for Bilkins and the FBI. Play into that, we can work it to our advantage."
"I'm an ex-con."
Brian sat quietly for a while, watching Dom's chest rise and fall with his tense breaths. He felt so sorry for the guy, seeing someone so strong and powerful reduced to asking for favors from someone he hated, stuck in a bed like an invalid. "Is this guy gonna work her?"
"I don't know," Dom said with such resigned sadness that Brian felt his heart crack.
"You got pretty worked over yourself," Dom said eventually. "Was it from the jump?"
"Yeah, some. I think I'm going to be seeing that in my nightmares for a long time to come." He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Dom talking to him like they were good was not it.
"Took some major cojones. I know I haven't said thank you but... you saved Vince's life, and I know you tried to save Jesse's, too. I know that."
Brian just waved a hand. "Tran's dead." He didn't know any other way than to just say it.
"I wondered. How?"
"I shot him."
Dom sat up again, and stared at Brian. He'd thought maybe a wipeout on the bike, hit by a car... not that, though. He felt sick, but this time it wasn't from his injuries. "Brian, I..."
"Don't."
He'd learned that much about the kid right away -- that any kind of sympathy or support rubbed him the wrong way. Dom could understand it being a point of pride that he could take care of himself, but sometimes he thought Brian carried it a little too far. Almost a crazy sort of self-reliance, weirdly closed off for such an outgoing guy.
"It's done."
"They suspend you? Or worse?" He didn't imagine that Brian had ever killed anyone, let alone shot at anyone, before. He must have been really struggling with it.
"Both." Brian looked away, those spooky pale blue eyes staring off in the middle distance. For the first time Dom really found himself understanding what Brian had done. He'd given up his own life because he liked Dom's just a little too much. And here he was, willing to throw that life away on him yet again.
Finally Tanner arrived, saving them from something, Dom wasn't sure what, but it felt charged and too emotional. Maybe it was the beginning of forgiveness.
He listened as Brian told Tanner the story and wasn't the least bit surprised when Tanner lost it. He tuned out the arguing until they got to the part about Mia.
"It's a federal crime, Brian. You cannot take it on yourself to find a kidnapping victim. That's the FBI's job."
"They can't move in this world, not like we can."
From his bed Dom said, "They don't know Brian's a cop."
"Well, that's very helpful, Toretto." Tanner was practically humming with a righteous anger. "It makes all the difference in the world."
Brian rubbed his face, trying not to lose his temper but not doing a great job of it. "Look, Sarge. We're already in this world. They'll expect Dom to do something. If a bunch of suits start knocking on people's doors, they'll disappear so fast we'll never get her back. The FBI doesn't fit in this world, but we do."
"Exactly what world are we talking about? Name names or this conversation goes no further." He glared at Dom.
"The fence is Alberto Castelano. But you probably already knew that. He's more like a broker, sells the merchandise to a specific list of buyers. He'll go to ground though, and won't want to come out till the coast is clear. This could cause him big trouble."
"And who exactly is moving the merchandise that you stole and he brokered, then?"
Dom sighed heavily. "Tony Gregory."
Tanner erupted. "The Armenian? You're mixed up with the Armenian? You really are as stupid as you look, Toretto."
Dom didn't really have a lot to say to that. He'd known going in that it was dangerous, that you didn't just walk in and walk out. But the deal had been too good, and after prison an offer to grab enough money to leave this life behind and do whatever he wanted had been too good to pass up.
"Who the fuck is the Armenian?" Brian barked. "What are we talking about here?"
Tanner stared angrily at Dom, then turned his attention to Brian. "Tony Gregory, came to this country as Grigorian or something like that when he was a kid. Americanized his name and bought a video store when VCRs first came out. He made enough to build himself a little audio-video empire, got into the distribution end in the porn industry and now fancies himself something of a media mogul. He thinks he's going to be the next Harvey Weinstein or something, keeps trying to work his way into film by funding bad low-budget movies. And basically gets most of his money by selling stolen goods, drugs, and a lot of other things. Best of all, he's a freaking psychotic. The FBI and the DEA have been trying to bust him for years; we've connected him to dozens of murders and can't touch him. I don't want to think how many people he's got in his pocket and so he walks away unscathed every time we get close."
Brian looked like he was going to be sick, but he braved it out. "Then all the more reason to let us do the dirty work here. You guys can't get into his system, but we're already there." Dom was amused by the "we" Brian insisted on using.
"He eats small-time crooks like they were candy. You're just an inconvenience to him."
Dom said, "No, I'm not. He cares enough about what I know -- and what I could get Castelano to say -- to kidnap my sister!" He knew his shouting was not going to earn points with Tanner, but he couldn't control it.
Brian stepped in again. "A week. Let us out of here, and give us a week. We can find him. We have to."
"And just say I'm stupid enough to do this. What guarantees do I have?"
"You have my word. I have to make this right, don't I? This way I can. I know I fucked up, seriously fucked up. But let me do this and we can get Mia back in one piece, bring down this Gregory guy, and get you all kinds of gold stars. Let us try."
"Do you have any idea how dangerous this kind of thing is even to experienced UC people? If he trips to you..."
"You'll know where we are. If he thinks Dom's escaped custody, then he won't be looking for us to make contact."
Tanner paced around the room, running his hands over his face, pulling on his chin. For a while Brian wasn't so sure he was going to go for it. He knew Tanner had a soft spot for him despite everything that had happened, and even though that had been challenged (or run totally into the dirt), Tanner still seemed to give him more room than any other commanding officer would for such a spectacular screw-up.
He almost thought of bringing up how pissed off Bilkins would be, but then thought better of it. That was pushing it too far and Tanner had a long fuse, but not that long. Finally he turned and stared at Brian. "One week. If you haven't gotten anywhere near her in one week, you're done. He goes back in custody. And if you do find Gregory, then you alert me -- you are not going in on your own. You'll be wired so heavy you'll be shitting static, do you get me?"
"Loud and clear, boss, really. You're in on it all the way, I swear."
Tanner leaned in and pointed a finger in Brian's face. "You held back on me before and that's what started this shitstorm. If you do anything like that again... if you lie, or withhold information, or lose contact, I will not lift a finger to try to save your ass, because I'll probably be busy getting fired."
"Got it."
He sighed. "What's your first step?"
"I get some stuff for him, come back, and it looks like we slipped custody. Lay low for a few days somewhere out inland. Then come back and start asking questions."
"May I remind you he is a convict? No guns for him."
"Understood."
"I'm going to regret this."
"I promise you. I won't screw this up again." Brian almost laughed at his own earnestness. But somehow it felt that important -- a way to redeem himself to the cops, a way to redeem himself to Dom... the scary part was that a life hung in the balance over his redemption. He had to trust himself on this one, though, will himself to win this race. Visualize the win, Leon had told Jesse before it had all turned to crap.
Tanner shook his head. "Be careful." He said it to Brian, but did not look at Dom -- and Brian knew he meant it as a warning against Dom, too. Then he left, still shaking his head.
Brian turned to Dom. "I'll go get your stuff. Get ready to roll." He felt weirdly jazzed, adrenalined up and scared at the same time.
"Brian," Dom said in that low, gentle voice, the one he hadn't heard for a while. "Are you sure about this?"
He grinned. "Yeah. Trust me. This time you can trust me."
They drove out into the mountains, taking the highway up toward Big Bear. In high school he'd dated a girl who'd moved to Barstow from Idaho. She sneered at what they called mountains, telling him that "where I'm from, these are foothills." He had no idea where they were going, but he'd find a motel and a place to lie low. The nurse had given him some meds for Dom with the precaution that if his piss didn't turn the color of rosé soon, they needed to get him back pronto. Brian wasn't really looking forward to talking to Dom about that. And then he was supposed to wake Dom regularly to check his mental state, keep an eye on the bruises, and various other nurse things he hadn't the faintest clue about. At least he'd been kind enough to make a list with clear instructions; Brian was pretty sure the guy thought Dom was attractive and that's why he'd been willing to help.
He'd taken Dom's sizes and gone off to get him some clothes: the typical work pants Dom wore, a button-front shirt he could get on with the bad shoulder, some boots, all the rest of it. But when he was looking at the t-shirts it freaked Brian out to realize that he'd grabbed the dark blue v-neck because he thought Dom would look really good in it. Not what he wanted to be thinking about right now... but it was true.
When he'd gotten back to the hospital, he'd had to help Dom struggle into the clothes. "At least this fetching black cast goes with everything," he'd said as he pulled the shirt over his shoulder, and Dom just made a noise in his throat that sounded distinctly like a growl. After watching Dom struggle with getting the pants on, Brian tried to help him. Dom slapped at his hands as he tried to haul him up; Brian had just grabbed him and said, "Don't be such a pussy. Give me your hand." He'd actually made Dom laugh with that, enough so they could finally get the trousers on. It embarrassed him to look at his body, to notice the smooth texture of Dom's skin, to feel a little electric jolt when he'd slid his hand over the top of Dom's hip. But Dom didn't seem to notice; if he did, he was either too polite or too loopy to care. He tried to move his arm, but the shoulder was killing him, so Brian forced him to wear the sling when they left.
Tanner had conveniently given them a window by calling the guard off for a few. They'd limped down to the parking garage, Dom's right arm slung over Brian's shoulder when he had to stop for a rest. Dom had laughed when he saw the beat-up old Corolla Brian was driving. Once they got out on the road, though, Dom got very serious and asked what the plan was.
"Like I told Tanner. We lay low, you heal up, and then we go back to town and start nosing around. If we're quiet for a few days, that will give word a chance to filter out to Gregory and your fence. It took a couple days for them to find out about you the first time, so we have to play it the same way now. Plus we have to wait for the fire to get put out once Bilkins explodes."
"I don't know if I can stand waiting around knowing..."
"You don't have a choice, Dom. You're in no condition to do this on your own, and you said yourself that you don't think he's going to hurt her."
"Yet."
He glanced over at Dom, who rested his bruised head on a rolled-up coat against the window. "We'll get her back. We will." Maybe he was just trying to convince himself. He'd never felt like such a hopeless failure before.
"What happened to you, anyway? I thought you were okay when I gave you the keys."
"I thought I was, too. But then I got this blinding headache. When I pulled over I couldn't see. Car skidded off the embankment a little and when I tried to get out, I passed out."
"Damn. I'm sorry." Brian wasn't sure what for, though -- that he'd let him go in that condition, or that he hadn't taken off with Dom himself.
The rest of the drive Dom would sleep and then wake with a jolt, off and on. No wonder his head wasn't getting better. They must look like a freak show, he thought when they stopped for food. His own bruises were fading to a pale violet and gold, but he still looked pretty thrashed.
At one point, when Brian thought he was asleep, Dom asked, "Was that the first time you ever shot anybody?"
"Yeah. First time I ever even drew my gun on someone was you."
"How long you been a cop?"
"About four years. Patrol. Tanner was the one who offered me the chance to do this undercover. Good way to earn your way to a detective shield. That won't happen now."
Dom didn't say anything again for a really long time. When he spoke, Brian could barely hear him. "It's hard to accept, killing someone. Or nearly killing them. Can really fuck someone up, even if it's in self-defense."
Brian just gazed out at the road.
Finally he found a motel nondescript and low-key enough to make a good stop. He got them a room with a kitchen and helped Dom inside. The bed sagged comically under Dominic's weight, and Brian helped him take off his boots and shirt, then pulled the covers over him. He'd never had the chance to take care of someone before, and it felt peculiarly comforting.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
Dom scowled. "Just this one," he said, and held up his middle finger at Brian. "Stop treating me like a baby."
"Well, right now, you are, dumbass. Do you need some water or anything? Pills?"
"Just water."
Brian took a beat-up old glass out of the cupboard and ran the tap for a while. He'd need to get some bottled water, some toiletries and medical things, and of course, food.
"Where you going?" Dom asked groggily.
"Get some food, other stuff we need. Big boy like you, we gotta keep your strength up."
"Nothing left to keep up," he muttered, and fell asleep.
Brian wanted to say that he would take care of him, that everything would be all right, but he couldn't. Not now, anyway. But maybe he was on the way to making it all right.
End Part 1
09/30/04
My gorgeous cover art by M'lyn. Please do not take or distribute in any way.