![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Take Your Time to Catch Your Breath (and Choose Your Moment)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gen, Diana/Christie
Warnings: Violence, hurt/comfort
Spoilers: Minor for 3x16 “Judgment Day”
Word count: ~7800
Beta: by fantastic mam711. And all remaining errors are mine.
A/N: Written for whitecollar h/c Whump-a-Palooza challenge.
Title from lyrics of “Slide” by Dido
Summary: This weekend wasn't going according to plan. Not at all.
It was Saturday morning when Diana finally arrived home after another long day and night at the office; criminals in the city didn’t just take some days off because of Caffrey’s disappearance. They still had investigations to do, paperwork to file, leads to follow. She was exhausted.
Walking softly into the bedroom, she smiled at Christie’s curled form; she was in the middle of the bed hugging Diana’s pillow—she did that often when she was away during the night. Before she managed to take another step, the alarm clock sounded. Christie moaned into the pillow, her left arm lifted and hit the off button with deadly precision; opening one eye she looked at the door.
“Hi, beautiful.” Between the two of them, Christie was much more of a morning person than herself. “You’re up awfully early today....”
Diana grimaced and took the last steps before lying on the bed, her head hitting the pillow Christie was hugging. “More like I’m not down yet.” She yawned, closing her eyes, and with a deep sigh allowed her knotted muscles to relax. A finger poked her in her shoulder, followed by a kiss on her head.
“Come on, Di, I’m out in an hour for a full 24-hour shift today. Get up, take a refreshing shower, and eat breakfast with me. You can sleep all you want when I’m gone,” Christie whispered into her ear, her warm breath tingling on Diana’s cheek. “Keep me company, please?” she asked again, and then she was gone.
Diana could hear soft steps, a door opened and not fully closed, then a shower starting. Moaning, she hugged the pillow. Christie was right: she could take a refreshing shower, eat breakfast with her fiancée, and then fall asleep as soon as she left. Dragging herself off the bed, she let her jacket hit the floor.
It actually didn't end like Diana wished, but circumstances were not in her favor. She was too tired to protest when Christie pushed her under the warm stream of water and exited at the same time. Not even ten minutes later she joined her girlfriend in the kitchen, smiling slightly when a cup of fresh coffee was put in her hands.
They didn't even talk much, just enjoying the time they had together before Christie had to go out. Diana sent her off with a kiss, and a promise to sleep and make a grocery run. Taking the last sip of her coffee, she decided to make the grocery run right away; it was just the right time to hit the nearby farmers' market and buy some fresh fruits and vegetables.
Donning a pair of fresh jeans, a white t-shirt and a jeans jacket, and putting a fold of bills into her pocket, she was almost ready to go. The badge was left on the nightstand and the gun was closed in the safe; the car keys she'd left on the table. With one last visual sweep of the room, she fixed her hair into a ponytail and put two pins in to keep the side hair from falling; with dark glasses on her head, keys and phone in hand, she was out after only half an hour.
If Diana hadn't been so tired, she could have enjoyed the weather, the perfect balance between warmth, sun and humidity. The shower and morning banter with Christie had helped to wake up a little, but not enough that her attention was full on. Not like during a normal day, when she observed details around her, was aware of people on the street, cars, sudden noises. Today she put shades over her eyes and plugged ear buds into her ears, pouring colorful music intended to wake her up even more. It might be the reason why she didn't hear the car, or see it out of the corner of her eye. It’s the last thing she remembers when the world goes black.
When she regains consciousness she is dimly aware of someone’s hands under her arms. There are people talking but she can’t understand a word. A sliding door opens and she is put on the car floor, at least she think so; her eyes opened in slight slits show only shadows around. Then, there is blackness again.
Another spell of consciousness came with pain, tearing and stabbing icepicks pain. She didn’t even get to open her eyes; the quick and instinctive body check results in a short list. Headache, probably concussion, tearing pain in her right shoulder, and shortness of breath, caused by stabbing pain each time her ribs moved. When she tries to move her arm to lessen the pain, she blacks out again.
Christie checked her phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes; she knew it was quite early, and Diana was probably still asleep, but something kept nagging at her. She'd sent her a message during a short break she'd caught over an hour ago, but still there was no answer.
Diana was still asleep, for sure. She was so tired when she came home this morning....
“Paging Doctor Wilkins to trauma one. Doctor Wilkins to trauma one, please.” The page diverted her attention from the phone. She rushed out of the break room, the rest of her snack and phone forgotten, her attention only on the possible new case.
The next spurt of awareness came slowly and at first less painfully than the last. First to come back was smell, the smell of wet concrete with a side of mold. Her process of discovery was quickly disturbed by coughing, dry, hurting coughing; her ribs screamed in pain. She tried to stop, swallow to clear her throat, but the coughing spell continued. By the time Diana finally managed to swallow and stop, she found that her hands were bound behind her back, the metal of handcuffs not as cold as she would have imagined. Each time she pulled her arms, she was made painfully aware that cracked ribs were not her only problem.
She didn’t know how long it took but after a while, when there was no cough and no movement, with lots of shallow breaths, she opened her eyes. Only to meet darkness, or what seemed like darkness in the first little obscured view. Her left eye was swollen—or maybe it wasn’t the eye, maybe her cheek—nevertheless it was impossible to fully open her eyelids. The right one was in much better shape; after a moment of looking into blackness she started to recognize shapes: chairs, possibly an old couch, and stairs. No windows, or maybe she was just sitting with her back to them, with no other obvious way out.
Come on, Diana, think! she scolded herself internally.
She shook her head in a simple attempt to clear her head, and that was a mistake. Bile rose in her throat, followed by nausea; in the last moment she spread her knees to avoid—as much as it was possible in her position—vomiting on her pants. The hurling made her feel even worse, the uncontrollable muscle spasms shaking her whole body. This time she couldn’t stop a scream.
At the top of the stairs the door opened with a squeaky noise of rusty hinges; a second later the room was filled with light from a lonely lightbulb directly above Diana’s head. Despite one swollen eye and the other filled with tears, she couldn’t help but notice that her attempt to save her pants had not really been successful. Cream-colored spots were on her thighs, plus part of the left pant leg was wet. She closed her eyes.
Diana jerked her head when she felt a touch on her cheek. That wasn’t a smart move to make. The nausea came again, but now her stomach was empty and she could only pant heavily, her ribs screaming with pain. Her mind must have switched off for a minute, as she didn’t hear or feel anyone coming down.
“Look who’s woken up. Here, take this and drink.” Something was pushed into her lips and without much resistance she opened her mouth to take whatever it was. A pill and then a plastic bottle with water. She drank greedily, enjoying the cool liquid, washing down the aftertaste of vomit, moistening her tired throat. She ignored the little voice of reason that suddenly popped up in her head, that she shouldn’t just accept something from her kidnappers. That she couldn’t have known what was she given, some drugs to kill her or keep her memory of the event blank. But then if they'd wanted her dead, they'd had several occasions when she was unconscious, and if they gave her something, they obviously wanted something in exchange.
She opened one of her eyes, the only one she actually could, and saw not one but two men. The first one stood just before her, a water bottle half full in his raised hand. He was short and slimly built, his sandy hair were thinning, and he wore a pair of thin glasses.
“That was Tylenol. You want some more water?” His voice was smooth, with a slight hoarseness making his voice sound tired.
“Yes, and thank you.” She was surprised when her voice didn't waver.
He put the bottle against her lips again and helped her drink. The second man moved restlessly on the stairs.
“Dave, come on, stop playing nurse; we’re on timetable here. Ask her!” She couldn’t see him very well. A muscular arm clad in a checkered flannel shirt, part of a square jaw, and one dark eye. He seemed angry.
“Shut it, Jeremy; it’s your fault she's concussed. You were supposed to hit her lightly, not drive over her!” Dave’s voice was still calm but with a hint of desperation.
The situation didn’t look good. They clearly wanted something from her, bad enough to care for her well-being till she was able to answer their questions. She just hoped that the FBI was on her track already, because, really, with a concussion, cracked ribs and probably a dislocated shoulder, she had fewer options than ever. So, for now she would play along, try to get the information out of her captors, and then hopefully she would feel better and be able to flee. Or wait for her team to bust her out. It was the last thought she had before the darkness claimed her again.
Sunday morning, in contrast to beautiful Saturday, brought rain and wind. Christie was changing her clothes when the first lightning stroke streaked through the gray skies. She swore softly under her breath when the light rain changed into a storm; she'd left her umbrella at home. Getting her phone and dialing quickly, she observed the rain. Diana was not answering; her brow furrowed—come to think about it, she hadn't answered the message Christie sent her the other day either.
The voice mail answered instead. “This is Diana; I can’t answer my phone right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”
“Hi, beautiful; can you please pick me up in the car? I left my umbrella at home, and it looks like I'll be drenched if I try to run for the subway. If I don’t hear from you by nine thirty, I’ll go ahead and take a taxi. Bye, love you!” Christie was slightly worried, but not fully worried yet. With Diana’s unpredictable job, she might have been called in, even on her day off, but then she usually left her a message. Of course sometimes she didn’t and it wasn’t so impossible this was one of those times.
Getting her things together, Christie left the locker room with the coffee bar on the ground floor in mind. Even if Diana could come for her it would take at least twenty minutes before she arrived, just enough time for a coffee. She was as exhausted, or even more so, as Diana had been the day before. Getting into the elevator, she was stopped before she was able to enter fully by a call from a panicked nurse.
“Doctor Wilkins, we have code red in room two-one-five; can you come please?! Doctor Merrick is tied up in the operating room.” The nurse was young, visibly shaken, and on Sunday shift they were a little short-handed.
With a soft sigh Christie turned back and followed the young woman. She had some time to spare anyway.
Diana’s night wasn’t very comfortable. At least after the first introduction to her captors they basically left her alone. She was given more water. Jeremy cleaned up the floor, grunting under his breath about not being a maid. But then she was left on her own.
She wasn't sure what time it was when she woke up again. The Tylenol had helped a little with the pain, but it had already stopped working. Her body was one giant screaming mass that woke her several times during the night. Every time she relaxed and her head fell forward, pulling at her shoulders, she woke from pain. Diana was tired, cranky and hungry. And worried. If her sense of time was correct, it was Sunday already. Christie would be worried, and she hated to worry her.
It was time to find a way out of the mess she was in. Her captors might have been careful and friendly so far, but you never knew what was part of the game, and when it changed. Somewhere above a door was slammed, then voices filled the space. She hadn't even been aware before of how much she could hear what was happening around the place she was in, too concentrated on her pain, too out of it. Now with a cleared head and a little bit of rest, she could concentrate better. There was a light shining from behind her, and when she moved her head to the right there was a blinding rectangle of a window just in the corner of her eye. She could also hear the faint sound of traffic, the swoosh of cars driving by, steps above her head, and voices.
Diana concentrated on the voices. She couldn’t make out the words, but it seemed they were arguing: the rapid exchange, the rise and decline of tones. If only she could hear better what it was about. The speakers moved somewhere out of her hearing range, angry steps on the floor walking away. There was silence again, a car drove by, a dog barked, another door slammed. The steps this time were close to the door at the end of the staircase; the voices were also much easier to hear. But still Diana was able to make out only a bit.
Good ... her ... money ... care ... damn ... today ... Halden ... enough ... kill....
A few words, even out of context, that made her blood run cold.
Her.
Halden.
Kill.
Her mind went over the possibilities of why they would have taken her, and came back empty. The door opened with a piercing squeal. It was time to decide on a game plan; she was running out of time.
Peter was actually enjoying his time off work. No one to disturb his breakfast, no one to call in the middle of the game, with questions that never could wait till Monday, about an ongoing investigation. Just him, Satchmo, beer and the game.
El had taken off early in the morning to San Francisco, leaving him with only a kiss and advice to really rest, at least on Sunday, before he started looking for Neal again. He agreed; the last week had been exhausting—it might have been only eight days since Neal had run, but the fallout made it feel like months. Months of close scrutiny, interrogations, and finally, only three days before, a suspension.
His phone rang; it was too early for El. But not too early for the FBI or anyone else; irritated that they couldn’t leave him alone on Sunday, he barked into the phone without looking at the caller ID. “Burke!”
“Peter?” The voice on the other side of the line was feminine, worried and familiar. For a second he just couldn’t place it. Then it clicked: Christie, Diana’s fiancée.
“Christie? How can I help you?” He never was a person to beat around the bush, and her voice was worried; his agent instincts took over.
“Have you seen Diana today? I had a long shift, and left her home yesterday, but now she is not answering the phone, neither the land line or her cell. And I tried the office and they haven’t seen her since yesterday, and I thought....” She was speaking too fast for him to understand.
Peter quickly put the game on mute, trying to hear her better, to no avail. “Christie? Christie?! Slow down, calm down.” She was repeating herself now, but second by second he was able to get her calmer and to actually stop talking.
“Christie?” he asked, worried, when the only sound on the other side was ragged breathing.
“I’m sorry....” He could hear her taking a deep breath to calm down. “Okay, so you probably want me to start from the beginning.” She laughed nervously, still obviously worried.
Peter smiled slightly that his efforts had had an effect. “Yes, from the beginning would be perfect.”
“Diana came back yesterday morning, exhausted. I think Kramer is pushing them too hard to find Neal. Anyway, she promised to rest as I was leaving for a 24-hour shift; I thought she would sleep for half of the day at least.” She was starting to speak faster again, but stopped to take a deep breath.
Peter switched off the TV, the game no longer important. Rising from the couch, he pressed the phone closer to his ear with his shoulder and fished his laptop out of its case.
“You tried to send her a message, right?” he asked while the computer booted.
“Yes. I knew she might still be asleep, so wasn’t really so worried at first. The night was crazy, as it usually is on Saturday, but then in the morning when she still didn’t answer the message....” Christie trailed off, uneasy.
“If she could answer a message, she would. It’s not like Diana to not answer without a reason.” Peter divided his attention between the conversation and checking his work email. Despite the suspension they didn’t cut him off fully. There was nothing about actual operations that would require Diana to be out of contact. Especially if she already spent the night and day before on duty, hence her being exhausted in the first place.
“Yeah.... And then I called her for a ride and the call went straight to voicemail. I got pulled into an emergency, and two hours later there was still no answer. I came home, but she’s not here either. I called the FBI and they told me they haven’t seen her since yesterday. Her badge is still on the nightstand. Peter, please tell me you spoke to her,” she pleaded.
“No, I’m sorry. I saw her last on Thursday.... I’ll call Jones, and if he also hasn’t seen her we’ll call Rice, and get the Bureau to find her. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.” He put his best calming voice into play. “We'll find her and bring her back to you safe and sound.”
“Can I help? Anything you need?” She sounded a little bit calmer.
“Just stay home in case she comes back or tries to call. Let me know if anything changes, okay?” His mind was already flying through next steps, who to call, what to check.
“I will. Thank you, Peter.” Christie paused again, not really wanting to end the call that was currently serving as a lifeline, the only anchor of calmness.
Peter could read her worry well; he'd been beside himself when El went missing, but at least he'd known what had happened. Christie didn’t have that luxury. “We take care of our own, Christie; there is nothing to thank me for. I’ll call you as soon as I have some news.”
As soon as the connection was broken, his finger hovered over a speed dial; he stopped and toyed with the phone for a moment before deciding to make the call, one that went straight to voicemail.
The second meeting with her captors was oh so different from the first one. Not that she expected the good-cop/bad-cop, or rather good-criminal/bad-criminal act to continue, but still, a girl could hope.
Today both men were wearing scowls on their faces, and stormy looks. Dave took a stand two steps to her right, leaning on a support column. Jeremy stood directly across from her, his legs set apart, hands on his hips. He was close enough that if she kicked high she could do some serious damage to his groin. Diana put that thought into her ways out of here mental folder.
Dave didn’t waste more time than necessary. “Now, Missy, it’s time to talk. Where is Halden?”
She eyed him like he was crazy. “I don’t know who you're talking about.” If this was one of Neal's old cons coming back and biting her on the ass, she would find Caffrey first—as soon as she was out of here—and kill him for it.
Jeremy was a little bit slow on the uptake, or he was waiting for the little nod that Dave just provided. The heavy open hand landed on her already-painful cheek, her head spinning from the force of the slap. Previous injury combined with a new one intensified her pain.
Damn it. Diana, keep it together. She scolded herself to keep from crying out.
“Now, why don’t you just tell us what we want to know and you can get out of here. And stop lying; we know you work with Halden. He pointed you out to us last week, Miss Brown.” Her head must have been hit much harder than she'd thought at first.
Missy, Miss Brown, last week, Halden.
Crap. Now she knew very well what they were talking about. Not Neal’s shady past coming back to kick her in the ass. Their own FBI-organized sting, a sting they'd used in the past trying to drag Caffrey out—one of her first cover operations. A week ago they'd used the identities again, this time with the real Mr. Halden (as real as an alias can be) and Melissa Brown.
As Halden wasn’t a forger but a money laundering specialist, and the operation need a forger, Ms. Brown came into play. An established cover, maintained regularly, with a good but sparse reputation, ideal for working on the latest scam with such an established persona as Nick Halden. The case started as a simple, and therefore boring, mortgage fraud. It had started to grow when Neal, bored and too wired up with the commutation hearing, actually noticed ties to other cases. Within two days they had connected five others, ringing up the total financial damage to over three million dollars, and a short list of possible suspects. They had additional luck when, while they were trying to come up with an idea on how to get more proof or send someone undercover, word came from the street that their suspects were searching for a cleaner. There was no better opening than that.
Neal beamed with joy at the prospect of another undercover assignment, and spun the story of how it should go, so fast it made their heads spin. He first called for Jones to go undercover as the forger, but this time Peter intervened with a smile that said payback. And when they introduced Missy, Caffrey looked at her with an astonishment that made her blush.
“I’ve heard about you! You’re goood!” he commented, then of course he got into stories of her alleged work and advice how she could improve. She had to silence him with the killer look to stop him talking. But a plus of working with Caffrey was that he was fully professional. As soon as he got over that he'd actually heard about her cover persona, he got to testing her skills, and offered to teach her a few new ones. Just to keep up appearances.
The meet with the suspects was supposed to be one of several to put them at ease and ensure all pieces of the puzzles were in place. They managed to arrange only one meeting before Neal disappeared. She wasn’t even supposed to be there, but with the commutation hearing just around the corner and Kramer on their necks, Peter had asked her to keep a closer eye on Neal. Especially as they were supposed to go undercover together. The meet was in a small cafe; she took a table outside while Neal met with the potential clients inside. They must have see her there; Neal didn’t mention anything about pointing her out or mentioning her by name at all. They must have done some research by themselves—good that her cover had held up.
She sighed. “I really don’t know what this is about,” Diana answered carefully. No need to give up her knowledge too soon.
“Halden? Where is he? We were supposed to meet Tuesday and he was a no show, and we get very unhappy when someone takes our money and doesn’t show back up with it....” This time the blow was to her gut, a little to the right, to not touch her already-tender left side, but still one that left her panting hard to catch her breath. “Now, where is he?”
“I don’t know where he is. He didn’t take your money; I would know.” There was certainty in her voice that she didn’t really feel lately. No, he wouldn’t jeopardize the operation and his commutation to do something like that. But on the other hand Caffrey had run: he needed money; could this be part of his plan?
Jeremy’s voice was suspicious. “And you would know it how, Missy?” He raised his hand and she couldn’t suppress a flinch. A sunbeam shone on a metal circle on his hand, blinding her for a second; when his arm moved again her eyes caught the time. Eleven forty three.
Stall was her next thought. Sunday late morning: Christie would have noticed her gone already, and hopefully the FBI was on her track. She just need to stall long enough for them to find her, and to come up with a plan to help them out.
Money laundering and financial fraud 101: she chose her answer to redirect a little. “Cuz the papers weren’t ready. You can’t just take three and a half million of dirty money without proper paperwork to make it clean....” The paperwork had to be good.
“Bull!” Jeremy snarled and a fist connected with her stomach. This time she couldn’t stop tears and the gasp of pain.
Dave caught Jeremy’s arm when he raised it again. “Stop it, idiot. She has to be able to answer.”
They gave her some time to calm down, leaving her alone and moving into a corner to talk. She was too busy trying to get a good breath to try to listen to them. When they came back, Jeremy took Dave's position, leaning on a support column, and Dave stood closer to her.
It seemed they'd changed tactics again. “Now, Missy, we don’t want to hurt you....” He paused at her raised eyebrow. “Too much.... The accident was just that, an accident. We just want to know where your partner is.”
“He’s not my partner,” she spat with anger, anger she really felt for her kidnappers. “And I don’t have a freaking clue where he is.”
They stared at each other in silence. Jeremy murmured something under his breath and reached behind his back. A gun. “Let’s just kill her and finish this farce. We can find Halden another way.”
“No. We agreed, no guns!” Dave was making a stand, eying Jeremy with a scowl on his face. Tension between the two men rose, and Diana for a second thought that this would not end well. Jeremy’s finger moved on the gun’s handle, back and forth from the safety.
Click. Clack.
Click. Clack.
Click. Clack.
Searching for a possible solution, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I need to go to the bathroom.” Caffrey would be proud of her, thinking out of the box.
Both men looked at her with the same annoyed expression. She looked at them with all the innocence she could muster.
“Please?” she tried again. Not begging, just asking politely.
Dave scowled but went behind her, and a moment later the cuffs on her hands were open. “Go on, Jeremy; you take guard upstairs. I’ll take her.”
She actually needed help standing and walking. The busted shoulder and obviously broken ribs were no help at all. Plus from sitting so long her butt was numb, and her legs were trembling.
