beanside | Fic: In the Name of the Free

Title: In the Name of the Free
Rating: R
Authors:

beanside
Disclaimer: Fiction. All fiction.
A/N: Unbetaed bit from Deathnkell. Because Mikey wanted his say.

A cup of coffee was floating in front of his computer screen, Mike realized. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, and glanced up at the person holding it.

Mack looked down at him with a sympathetic smile. "You looked like you could use it."

"Thanks, Al." He downed half of it in a single swallow. "Just trying to get the paperwork done on those twins we picked up on Jared's last run."

Her nose wrinkled. "You're still doing their intake? Jesus, slow much?"

"I wish." Mike flipped a sheet of paper at her. "They killed themselves this morning."

"Aw, Christ," she said, sobering. "I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, Mike looked back at the stack of intakes. "It's okay. That's the law of averages, right? Sixty percent attrition rate. I've just gotta focus on the forty percent I can help." He glanced at the picture of the twins again, their perfect features and platinum hair. "Damn, they were young, though."

Allison resting a hand on his cheek. "Hey. You're good at your job. They just... Sometimes, you're just too broken to heal."

"I know," Mike sighed.

"When a slave forgets to be pissed, they're fucked. And they'd forgotten." Her head whipped around, hand going to her sidearm as Christian's voice rang through the office.

"Son of a bitch!"

Mike glanced over just in time to see Kane's mug sail through the air, shattering against the wall. A moment later, Kane appeared in the doorway, uncharacteristically disheveled. His expression was black and tight.

"Chris?" Mike said carefully, rising from his chair. "What's wrong?"

Kane glared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Mack, Rosey, Tom, in my office, now."

As they filed in, Mike glanced at the people on either side of him, and the old children's show came to mind. One of these things, he thought dryly, is not like the others. Three of the people in the office were buff, hardass operatives. The other was an over-educated desk jockey.

Granted, he was an over-educated desk jockey with security clearance high enough that these hardass operatives regularly spilled their guts all over his couch. That didn't usually get him a seat in these meetings.

Maybe one of their agents had died-- but no, there wasn't that edge of guilt in Kane's body language. Just tension, like a man under fire. The longer Mike sat here, the less he liked it.

Kane closed the door behind them, hit a button beside it, and moved to stand behind his desk. He turned the radio on for good measure, and Allison straightened, alarmed. Tom just watched it all.

Looking them over, Christian said, "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. I trust you three, otherwise you wouldn't be here. But if you aren't willing to die to hold on to a piece of information, then you had best leave the room now. I won't think less of you."

It was an echo of the speech Mike had heard in Kane's first therapy session. He leaned back in his seat and waited. Tom and Al didn't move, but then Mike hadn't expected them to. Tom had held through hours of torture, and Al hadn't expected to live as long as she already had. They were dead, the four of them, and had been since the day they took this job.

Christian exhaled slowly, then gave a curt nod. For the first time since Mike had met him, he seemed uncertain about how to proceed.

"This is about Matthew Dean, isn't it," Mike said softly.

"The Lost Heir?" Tom scoffed. "Are we going after the Loch Ness Monster next?"

"Tom," Chris warned softly.

"Oh, come on. I know we all would love for him to be alive and real, but he's-"

"Jeff Morgan," Christian blurted.

Mack looked at him, eyes widening. "Jeff? The big dork on the hill? That Jeff?"

"Um. Yes," Chris affirmed.

"Oh, Jesus. We're all doomed."

Chris glared at her, and Mike touched her arm. "Trust me, Al. There's more there than meets the eye."

"You knew?" she demanded.

"I'm his therapist," Mike shrugged. "And Christian's, for that matter. After a while, things add up. I asked Jeff, he confirmed. I protected client confidentiality."

"He told Jared," Christian said.

Mike winced. "How'd that go?"

Kane gave him a dry look that said volumes, then shook his head. "There's more. Jeff's been under the radar for about ten years now, but somebody caught on. Bentley sent up an assassin to take him out."

Tom tensed, straightening in his seat. His voice was like razor wire. "Bentley?"

"Who's covering Jeff?" Allison asked, just as quickly. Trust her to check Tom's priorities.

"Bentley," Kane confirmed. "And that was what I needed you two for. Whatever else Bentley is, the bastard's smart. He figured out the best way to get his man close. Right in the damn house."

"In the--fuck. That sonofabitch Jared picked up off Jonas?" Tom snarled. "Is he dead yet?"

"It's not that simple-"

"He's Bentley's."

"I know. He's also-"

"Bentley's. You know what his operatives are like! They're fucking nutjob fanatics. You can't fucking tell me it's not simple. Bentley is the enemy. We kill the enemy, or have you forgotten?"

Mike could almost feel the cold anger radiating off Christian. "Tommy," he warned, "stand down."

"I was under the impression that we brought them to trial," Kane said quietly.

"We do, but come on, Kane. He's-"

"A slave," Kane said sharply. "Who has been through hell. And who hasn't committed a crime. What am I supposed to do? Put him against the wall and shoot him for getting bought by Bentley?"

"Think," Tom shot back. "Bentley let him survive for a reason, where none of his other slaves lasted. Johnson-"

"Jensen," Kane said. "If you're pushing for his execution, at least remember his fucking name."

"Since when has that been the rule?" Leaning forward, Tom said, "Jensen survived for a reason, then. Bentley converted him and sent him in to murder a key political figure-"

"He's been in Jeff's house for days now. If he was going to make a move-"

"And you're overlooking the fact that you're dealing with a damn cult because you've got a blind spot-"

"I give the orders, Welling." Kane's voice was like the crack of bone. "The only question is whether you can follow them. If you can't, then let me know now."

Tom glared at him so darkly that Mike half expected Kane's head to catch fire.

"What exactly do you want us to do?" Allison asked carefully.

"Watch the house. I want one on each side of the front, covering the front and sides. The back is on a cliff, over the valley, so that's pretty impassable. If anyone tries to go in, you take them out."

"What about Jensen?"

"Jeff's got a handle on it."

"Jeff?" Tom scoffed. "He can barely remember which end of the knife to cut his steak with."

"Welling," Mike warned.

Kane gave a humorless smile. "He's not stupid. Before I met Jeff, he had a junior blackbelt in South African RAT, was a Kalista, and was Saeh Krama of Bokator."

"Gesundheit," Tom snorted. "C'mon. He's a fucking artiste."

"He's your fucking boss. Who the hell do you think funds this place? He helped me work out the training course for all agents. And more importantly, it's not your call. What's it going to be, Welling? If you can't get over yourself, then get out. Send in Justin. I just don't give a fuck anymore." Kane leaned across his desk, staring Tom down like an alpha dog. "Make your call."

The room choked with silence for a few moments. Then Tom averted his eyes to a space past Christian's head and nodded curtly, once. "Sir."

Kane exhaled, his shoulders relaxing a little, then straightened. Regret touched Kane's voice as he said, "Good. Dismissed."

Tom rose stiffly, snapped off a salute and left the room. Allison followed a moment later, trying to catch up with him before Tom broke someone's face. The door swung closed behind him.

Sinking back into his chair, Kane rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Go play good cop, Rosey. He needs somebody to listen."

"He needs somebody to punch," Mike said. "No thanks. And Allison's got him covered, anyway."

Kane gave him a wry smile. "Are you saying somebody needs to cover me?"

"Do they?" Mike asked.

"Christ, not the therapist routine. Come on."

"It's you or paperwork, Kane." Leaning back, Mike steepled his fingers and intoned, "Tell me about your fixation with panties."

Kane didn't crack a smile, his expression a thousand miles away. Mike could pinpoint that look by now; it was the Nikki look, the Morgan look, reserved for the family Kane had already buried. Failed, by Chris's definition.

"I have a blind spot," Christian said finally, not meeting Mike's eyes. "It's Jeff."

"It's understandable. He's your friend," Mike said. "I'm just not clear as to why you're trying to keep other people from doing their job to protect him. You're not the only person on this, Chris."

"That's not it," Christian said immediately. Reading Mike's expression, he amended impatiently, "Fine, not all of it. But it's complicated. It's about more than Jeff this time. Jensen--"

Kane broke off, the name hanging between them. He let out a long, frustrated sigh, then stared down at his hands.

"Jensen," Mike prompted, as gently as Kane would tolerate. "What about him?"

"He was Morgan's." Raising his eyes, Christian said, "He came in after I left, was trained by Nikki. I lost him for years. Figured he was dead by now. I finally find him, or he finds us, and he's here to kill Jeff because he's so damned screwed up in the head he can't see straight. Jeff's so sure he won't pull the trigger."

"Sounds like you're not as sure," Mike said. Years of school and here he was, echoing things like a parrot. His job was weird.

"I don't know him. I don't know what the kid's been through. All I know is that it was bad, and that knowing some of the folks who had him, he's probably all screwed up in the head. Might've been brainwashed, convinced that Jeff deserves to die, and I don't..." Christian sounded helpless, for the first time since Mike met him. "I don't know if we can break through to him."

"It's kind of up to Jensen," Mike said, offering the best of his calm. It rattled him more than he'd expected, seeing Kane like this. Caught between two loyalties. "If you can't, it's not your-"

"If I can't," Christian said, "I'll kill him myself."

"Okay," Mike said. "And if you have to, are you going to be okay with that?"

"Fuck no," Kane snorted, getting out of his chair. "Come on."

Mike got to his feet slowly. "Where are we going?"

"Dorky's. If I don't miss my guess, that's where Jared'll be." Kane smirked without any real humor. "Gotta do some damage control. Make sure the dumbass doesn't get tanked and spout off."

"And if he does?"

"Then I guess I'll have to smack the stupid out of him."

"And I can see how much that would bother you."

This time Kane's grin was more honest. "Well. It's a lot of stupid. We'll see. You can come along. Ask him about his panties."

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