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fandomweekly2022-03-14 05:59 pm
mxcatmoon) wrote in fandomweekly2022-03-14 05:59 pm
Entry tags:
[#129] Expressions of Grief (Leverage/X-Files)
Theme Prompt: #129 – Candlelight
Title: Expressions of Grief
Fandom: X-Files/Leverage
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (discussion of child death)
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 976
Summary: Two very different men find common ground in an unexpected place. (Not canon compliant nor timeline compliant).
While their captor was distracted with his peculiar task, FBI agent John Doggett took the opportunity to inch his way over towards the door for a more advantageous position. If any could be considered good when you had a man with an assault rifle and a bomb strapped to his body holding seven hostages in an enclosed space.
“Why does it always have to be candlelight with these nuts,” he groused under his breath, watching the man light the votives he was placing on every available space.
“Find yourself in these situations often, do you?” the hostage next to him asked quietly.
John noticed the man sizing him up even as he accessed the stranger. Dark hair, middle-aged, his face slightly red, and John picked up the faint odor of liquor. Probably an alcoholic. Hopefully, the man wouldn’t be a hindrance. “Actually, yeah, I do,” he answered.
“Me too,” the guy said with a smirk.
“Look, I’m FBI. Special Agent John Doggett. If I get an opportunity to take this guy out, don’t get in the way.”
A slight widening of his eyes was the only reaction, and it was so subtle that anyone not as observant as John would have missed it.
“Well, I’m not a Fed, but ditto.”
“Don’t think about doing anything foolish, Mr.…?”
“Baker. Tom Baker. And I don’t intend to.”
“Good to know.” John was getting a distinct impression there was more to this man than met the eye. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Baker?” He asked as he continued to formulate a plan to subdue the gunman.
“Retired,” Tom told him. “Used to be in insurance.”
“Yeah?” Doggett responded distractedly. “How’d you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time?” He winced as his brain caught up to his words. There was only one reason to be at this meeting.
Tom glanced away. “My wife said I need to learn to cope better. My son Sam had cancer.”
“Is she here?” John asked, glancing around at the hostages huddled in corners and under chairs.
Tom shook his head. “She’s my second wife. The first... took it better than I did,” he said, and John could detect a hint of bitterness.
It was John’s turn to look away. “Yeah, losing a kid is hell on a marriage. “Luke was kidnapped and murdered,” he said after a pause. “Sorry about Sam.”
“Sorry about Luke,” Tom offered in return. “So why are you here? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to willingly open up to a room full of strangers either.”
John again had the feeling that they were appraising each other. “I screwed up on a case,” he surprised himself by admitting. “There was a young kid involved… I’m required to attend.”
“It will never get easier. That’s what they don’t understand.”
“How can it?” John agreed. “He was my son; I should have been able to protect him. Now he’s gone, and it’s my fault. I failed him.” What had possessed him to reveal so much? Their shared tragedy?
“I can’t stop thinking about the what ifs. If I had been able to get Sam the experimental treatment, he might be here today.”
“You in the back – shut up!” the kidnapper yelled as he swung around to point the gun in their direction. “I didn’t give you permission to talk!”
“Why don’t you let the women go,” John suggested, going into negotiator mode. “We can talk about this.”
“I said shut up!”
“Look,” Tom spoke up, “we’re all here for the same reason, right? You lost a child. My son died of cancer, and it’s killing me, but I’m not hurting innocent people. I try to help others in his memory.”
“What’s your name?” John tried, aware that they were both working together in standard SOP to get the situation under control. Whoever his new friend was, he wasn’t a retired insurance agent.
“Frank,” the gunman told them.
“What’s with the candles, Frank?” John asked, making an intuitive guess. “Did your daughter like candles?”
“Smells like home. Monica loved these damned candles.”
“I don’t think you want to hurt anyone,” Tom said. “You just want someone to understand.”
“No one can understand,” Frank whispered.
“We all can!” a woman on the other side of the room suddenly called out. “Give us a chance!”
“She’s right,” John pushed. “Put the gun down and talk to us. We want to help you. That’s why we’re here, to help each other.”
“It’s a rough night, the anniversary,” Tom added, and John stared at him in surprise at his perceptive leap. “I always get so drunk I black out.”
Frank seemed to fold in on himself, letting the gun slide out of his grip. John was about to take his chances and rush him when a strange series of events happened in quick succession.
The red light blinking on the explosive strapped to the man’s chest went out.
A panel opened from the ceiling, and a young blond woman dressed in black slid down a rope. “Special Agent Hagan,” she yelled, "No one move!”
A long-haired man took advantage of the distraction she provided to run in through the door, grabbing the kidnapper by the scruff of his neck. A black man and dark-haired woman followed behind.
“Told you I could disarm the bomb’s digital signal countdown with my game controller,” the black man said smugly.
“Are you all right, Nate?” the dark-haired woman asked ‘Tom,’ who was getting up and dusting himself off.
“Thanks for not getting in the way,” he told Doggett with a wink.
Leaving the kidnapper tied to a chair, the group made their departure as the sound of sirens approached.
John stared after them as he got to his feet to take charge of the scene.
“What the hell just happened here?”
Finis
Title: Expressions of Grief
Fandom: X-Files/Leverage
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (discussion of child death)
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 976
Summary: Two very different men find common ground in an unexpected place. (Not canon compliant nor timeline compliant).
While their captor was distracted with his peculiar task, FBI agent John Doggett took the opportunity to inch his way over towards the door for a more advantageous position. If any could be considered good when you had a man with an assault rifle and a bomb strapped to his body holding seven hostages in an enclosed space.
“Why does it always have to be candlelight with these nuts,” he groused under his breath, watching the man light the votives he was placing on every available space.
“Find yourself in these situations often, do you?” the hostage next to him asked quietly.
John noticed the man sizing him up even as he accessed the stranger. Dark hair, middle-aged, his face slightly red, and John picked up the faint odor of liquor. Probably an alcoholic. Hopefully, the man wouldn’t be a hindrance. “Actually, yeah, I do,” he answered.
“Me too,” the guy said with a smirk.
“Look, I’m FBI. Special Agent John Doggett. If I get an opportunity to take this guy out, don’t get in the way.”
A slight widening of his eyes was the only reaction, and it was so subtle that anyone not as observant as John would have missed it.
“Well, I’m not a Fed, but ditto.”
“Don’t think about doing anything foolish, Mr.…?”
“Baker. Tom Baker. And I don’t intend to.”
“Good to know.” John was getting a distinct impression there was more to this man than met the eye. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Baker?” He asked as he continued to formulate a plan to subdue the gunman.
“Retired,” Tom told him. “Used to be in insurance.”
“Yeah?” Doggett responded distractedly. “How’d you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time?” He winced as his brain caught up to his words. There was only one reason to be at this meeting.
Tom glanced away. “My wife said I need to learn to cope better. My son Sam had cancer.”
“Is she here?” John asked, glancing around at the hostages huddled in corners and under chairs.
Tom shook his head. “She’s my second wife. The first... took it better than I did,” he said, and John could detect a hint of bitterness.
It was John’s turn to look away. “Yeah, losing a kid is hell on a marriage. “Luke was kidnapped and murdered,” he said after a pause. “Sorry about Sam.”
“Sorry about Luke,” Tom offered in return. “So why are you here? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to willingly open up to a room full of strangers either.”
John again had the feeling that they were appraising each other. “I screwed up on a case,” he surprised himself by admitting. “There was a young kid involved… I’m required to attend.”
“It will never get easier. That’s what they don’t understand.”
“How can it?” John agreed. “He was my son; I should have been able to protect him. Now he’s gone, and it’s my fault. I failed him.” What had possessed him to reveal so much? Their shared tragedy?
“I can’t stop thinking about the what ifs. If I had been able to get Sam the experimental treatment, he might be here today.”
“You in the back – shut up!” the kidnapper yelled as he swung around to point the gun in their direction. “I didn’t give you permission to talk!”
“Why don’t you let the women go,” John suggested, going into negotiator mode. “We can talk about this.”
“I said shut up!”
“Look,” Tom spoke up, “we’re all here for the same reason, right? You lost a child. My son died of cancer, and it’s killing me, but I’m not hurting innocent people. I try to help others in his memory.”
“What’s your name?” John tried, aware that they were both working together in standard SOP to get the situation under control. Whoever his new friend was, he wasn’t a retired insurance agent.
“Frank,” the gunman told them.
“What’s with the candles, Frank?” John asked, making an intuitive guess. “Did your daughter like candles?”
“Smells like home. Monica loved these damned candles.”
“I don’t think you want to hurt anyone,” Tom said. “You just want someone to understand.”
“No one can understand,” Frank whispered.
“We all can!” a woman on the other side of the room suddenly called out. “Give us a chance!”
“She’s right,” John pushed. “Put the gun down and talk to us. We want to help you. That’s why we’re here, to help each other.”
“It’s a rough night, the anniversary,” Tom added, and John stared at him in surprise at his perceptive leap. “I always get so drunk I black out.”
Frank seemed to fold in on himself, letting the gun slide out of his grip. John was about to take his chances and rush him when a strange series of events happened in quick succession.
The red light blinking on the explosive strapped to the man’s chest went out.
A panel opened from the ceiling, and a young blond woman dressed in black slid down a rope. “Special Agent Hagan,” she yelled, "No one move!”
A long-haired man took advantage of the distraction she provided to run in through the door, grabbing the kidnapper by the scruff of his neck. A black man and dark-haired woman followed behind.
“Told you I could disarm the bomb’s digital signal countdown with my game controller,” the black man said smugly.
“Are you all right, Nate?” the dark-haired woman asked ‘Tom,’ who was getting up and dusting himself off.
“Thanks for not getting in the way,” he told Doggett with a wink.
Leaving the kidnapper tied to a chair, the group made their departure as the sound of sirens approached.
John stared after them as he got to his feet to take charge of the scene.
“What the hell just happened here?”
Finis