The Program Ch. 02

Oh thank God, she thought. She pushed at VanTerran's chest, putting more force into it than necessary, and he reluctantly shifted back a few inches. It was enough for her to wriggle out from under him, and she put as much distance between herself and that man as quickly as possible. Bill caught her hand and stepped protectively in front of her.

"You should know that she came in here looking for me." Taylor blinked at VanTerran and realised that he actually believed that. In his drunken, twisted brain, he believed that Taylor had been looking for him. The thought made her sick to her stomach. "So. What are you going to do, Boy Scout?" VanTerran asked casually.

Taylor shuddered. She heard Bill's sharp breath, "You're drunk."

"Probably."

"We're going to leave," Bill said, edging Taylor toward the door. "And you're staying here." It was said so simply, as if there was no other way for it to be. Taylor felt a deep sense of gratitude wash over her.

"Do what you want," VanTerran waved as if giving his permission for them to leave.

Taylor didn't even see VanTerran from that point on. Bill backed out of the room, keeping her firmly behind him. She was glad. The idea that she had let things escalate so quickly scared her, and that reaction pissed her off. She was done being scared. She had sworn no prick like VanTerran would ever scare her. She would kill him if he ever touched her again. And she never would use herself as a sacrificial lamb for her cover either. With the door closed, Bill turned and set his hands on her shoulders.

She jumped out of instinct, tensing and eying him warily. Her nerves were raw and she wasn't expecting the contact. "Hey," he said softly. "It's ok." He caught the sides of her flannel shirt and pulled them closed, swiftly buttoning her shirt. There was something about that action that twisted a knot in her stomach. It was almost familiar. His eyes were gentle, soft, concern apparent in the brown depths. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Taylor didn't trust her voice, anger still elevating her pulse; she nodded instead. She didn't want to have to think about what had happened, so she trusted Bill to take care of things for the next few minutes, her mind shutting down in self-preservation. Staring out the window of his car, she toyed with the strings of her jacket and watched the lights of the parking ramp fade.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"No," she said quietly without thinking. God, he was being so nice to her. But she didn't want to go home. No, scratch that. She did want to go home. But she wanted to go to her real home, not her fake, empty, lonely, drab apartment.

She could feel Bill glance at her. "I can take you to my place, if you want."

Taylor bit her lip. Now wasn't exactly the time to crash his apartment. Not now, when she still had her gun. Not now, when she was carrying the entire program on a small chip in her pocket. But where was she supposed to go? What would a normal person do? Would a normal girl want to go home? Of course not. She'd want to stay somewhere safe. Bill would be considered safe. Reluctantly, she nodded. She'd never had to maintain this cover anywhere outside the office. This could be difficult.

"Ok, but if you want to leave, you only have to tell me. I promise."

Taylor nodded absently. Maybe it wouldn't be that difficult. When Bill parked the car, Taylor was pleasantly surprised to see a set of red brick apartments sprawling at the edge of a wooded area. For some reason, she pictured new, modern, and efficient, but this was warm and somehow quaint.

She followed him up a flight of stairs and watched as he fumbled with the locks. He opened the door and visibly flinched, rushing in and tidying up the remnants of his bachelor living. There was something amusing about it. Taylor had to stifle a laugh. It was actually endearing. The apartment wasn't actually that messy, and it was very homey.

Bill juggled a pile of dirty clothes, but turned and realised she was still standing in the doorway. "Taylor, you can come in. I know I have a couch here somewhere in this mess." The couch wasn't hard to find, but he seemed intent on tending to her, so Taylor let him lead her to the sofa and sat on the remarkably comfortable cushions. "Do you want anything to drink? I think I have some soda."

She pulled her feet up beneath her. Actually, I want a drink, maybe some whiskey, she thought. Feigning interest in the space she had already catalogued in her mind, she figured a beer would have to do in place of hard liquor. "Do you have a beer?"

"Beer? Um, sure." He sounded hesitant. He probably didn't think she should be drinking. And in reality, Taylor knew she shouldn't be drinking. But she really needed a drink. She accepted the bottle and took a sip as he sat next to her. It seemed the boy had good taste in beer, or at least he'd outgrown the college light beer of choice, abandoning it for a good lager.

"Are you ok?"

Taylor froze with the bottle just touching her lips. It was as if he had waited for her to take a sip before asking. She nodded and shot him a look that was supposed to convey her desire to never speak of it again. Instead she saw his expression change, his normally gentle expression becoming rather fierce and his brown eyes flashing. When he slid a finger under her chin she had to tamp down the urge to shiver. Ok, touching needed to stop. She felt herself blush and pushed his hand away, focusing on balancing the beer bottle on her legs.

"Damnit, Chad," he muttered. Taylor watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, returning with an icepack wrapped in a towel. He was angry. She could see it in the tension in his shoulders, in the way he had to glance away to wince. He sighed and squatted in front of her holding up the ice for her cheek. "Just... Just hold that there for a few minutes."

As the ice hit her cheek, she felt just how swollen it already was. Damn, she thought, Patrick was going to kill her. How was she going to explain what happened? And for that matter, what the hell was she supposed to do in a situation like that? She supposed she could have just punched VanTerran and then convinced him that he imagined it in his drunken state. She sighed, why couldn't she have thought of that earlier?

Bill's hand slid onto her knee and gave a squeeze. She saw the pity on his face and tensed in a self-righteous sense of irritation. But his palm was warm and gentle, just resting on her knee. She blushed, she couldn't help it. "I'm fine."

She knew he didn't believe her, but there wasn't much she could do about that. When he sat on the couch near her, she actually relaxed a little. He wasn't next to her, just near her. It was nice, and she needed another beer.

It took two hours before Taylor would admit that she really wanted to take a shower. No matter how she distracted herself with the bad movie on the tv or beer, she felt a little dirty. When the time came, she'd make sure VanTerran was put away for a long time, and maybe she'd punch him a few times too. That would make her feel better. But until then, she needed to feel clean. She cleared her throat. "Do you think I could take a shower?"

Bill glanced over, his face inscrutable. "Um, sure."

Taylor turned on the water for the shower and leaned against the counter as it warmed up. She had suppressed the urge to laugh when Bill had given her a "tour" of the apartment, found clean towels, told her how to work the shower, and red faced, had mumbled something about clothes before leaving her in peace. She jumped as her phone vibrated in her pocket. "Hello?"

"James, where the fuck are you?" Taylor flinched at the scolding in Patrick's voice.

She sighed, "Hi Patrick. I'm fine. How are you?"

"Don't sass me. Wilson said you haven't checked in. Where the hell are you?"

Taylor tried to keep the irritation from her voice. "Things didn't go exactly to plan, alright Patrick? I'm staying at a friend's place for the night."

"What! Absolutely not! That's totally unacceptable."

"Two things, Patrick. One, fuck you. Two, get off my back. I have the program. I'll meet with Wilson tomorrow and he can bring it in. I'm assuming we'll be shutting down soon, and I can get the hell out of here?"

Patrick growled, "You're really pushing your luck, James. If this leaks, you're ass is on the line."

"You spend far too much time thinking about my ass," Taylor muttered.

"Wilson will be there at two. Have it ready."

"Remind him not to wear a suit. He's supposed to be a tech guy, not a lawyer."

Patrick chuckled. "I will if you promise you'll be wearing clothes when he shows up. Made quite an impression last time." Last time, Taylor had just gotten back from a run, was about to get in the shower, and Wilson was an hour early. She grumbled and hung up. Now she really needed a shower.

~o~

"Stick with me, kid." Mick grinned around the toothpick perpetually in his mouth and ruffled her hair.

"Cut it out," she poked him in the ribs. With a chuckle, he threw his arm companionably around her shoulder.

Her earpiece clipped in and she suppressed the urge to jump. It was hard to keep a straight face when it sounded like someone was in your head. "Eye on the ball. The mark should be in your sector now."

Taylor tilted her head to the side as Mick stooped and whispered in her ear. "Three o'clock, yellow tie." She flushed slightly as he pulled her against him and kissed the side of her neck. She giggled, finding the role of a young and affectionate couple an easy fit, and she used the opportunity to spot the mark. Mick's hand slipped down her back and came to rest in her back pocket. This time her blush was honest. The things she was going to do to him when they were done here.

She shot him a warning look and retrieved his hand, towing him across the street, using the windows of the local shops to follow the mark as he moved from the steps of the office building to the busy street. Mick kept their pace leisurely, but always well within range of the man moving erratically down the road.

"Does he seriously think he's being stealthy?" Mick whispered in her ear. She had to choke back a laugh. "I mean, there isn't a person on this street that isn't looking at him."

"Be nice," she swatted at his arm. "He's scared shitless."

"Still..." he trailed off, squinting as the mark stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Fuck, I think he made the van."

Taylor lowered her voice and tilted her head to be as close to her mic as possible. "Patrick, we've got a problem, I think he's going to run."

"Shit," Mick muttered as the man turned and sprinted toward them. "We've got to keep him in sight. Give yourself a reason to run, hm?"

"Got it," Taylor whispered before raising her voice. "You're cheating on me?! I can't believe you!"

Mick winked. "It's not like I'm in love her!" he shouted back.

"You bastard!" she screeched. The mark nearly collided with her as he rushed past. Taylor slapped Mick in the face and turned, running away from him and following the mark.

"Cute, James," her earpiece chirped.

"Don't cute me anything, Patrick. Just move that damn van. We're going to have to pick him up on the fly."

Behind her, she heard Mick shout, "Baby, it was just one time! Come on! Don't make me chase you."

Taylor released a convincing sob and started to run faster, turning the corner and catching sight of the mark ducking into an alleyway. She relayed the position and slowed just before reaching the alley. Poking her head around the corner, she saw no one and cautiously started into the narrow space. Mick caught up with her and she felt instantly better with him at her back. She pulled her semi-automatic and crept through the dingy passage.

Something clattered to the ground and she crouched defensively, sighing as a rat scurried under the dumpster. "Ew," she breathed, rising again.

"Don't like this, Taylor," Mick muttered.

"Van is relocated." The announcement from Patrick was completely unnecessary, as Taylor and Mick couldn't miss the giant black van that now blocked the far side of the alleyway.

"Where the fuck did he go?" she whispered angrily.

Mick tilted his head toward his mic, "Do we have eyes anywhere?"

Two suits appeared at the far side of the alley and Patrick clipped in. "Don't shoot each other, they're with us."

Taylor cleared her throat, "Mr. Ransford? I know you can hear me. We'll protect you if you'll just turn yourself in."

Mick shifted closer to Taylor. "I don't hear anything," he whispered.

"Shush!"

"Tell you what, Ransford," Mick said loudly. "You have two choices. One, you come with us, you get protection, you get to live. Two, we leave, you run, you get hunted down and that whole living thing goes out the window."

"Mick!" Taylor snapped. "Not helpful!"

"It's tough love, babe." He shifted his shoulders, a little uncomfortable under her glare. "I'll show you some later," he muttered when she turned away.

Her head snapped back around. "Mick, so help me, I'll shove this gun so far..."

"Eyes up!" the earpiece barked. "Where is he?"

Mick's eyes narrowed as he scanned the rubbish and bin lined walls of the alley. He couldn't see him. He glanced down to the far end of the alley where the two suits were picking their way around the trash. "I don't think he wants to talk to us."

The angry scream shattered the tense quiet of the alley. "You're with them!"

Taylor turned, seeing the flash of the mark's gun a moment before Mick gave her a shove, knocking her down to the dirty pavement as the man opened fire. She gasped as the first shot grazed her arm, tearing out a chunk of flesh from just below her shoulder. A searing pain lancing down to her hand and up her neck. Angrily, Taylor recovered faster than Mick and squeezed off two rapid rounds, striking the mark in the shoulder. The man fell to the ground with a cry, cradling his shoulder.

"I knew you were wasted behind a desk." Mick's voice was gruff and he coughed.

Taylor spun around and managed to catch him under the arms before he collapsed. "No," she breathed, dropping her gun and easing Mick to the ground. She heard the van doors open and close, booted feet pounding across the pavement. "I need a medic!" she shouted over her shoulder.

"It's not that bad," he whispered. "You look all worried."

"Why aren't you wearing a vest?" she pleaded.

"You're bleeding."

"Damnit, Mick. What were you thinking?" She pulled off her coat and held it to the gaping hole in his chest.

He gave a weak smile. "What's the point of rubbing against you if I can't feel it?"

"Shut up, Mick," she said softly, swallowing over a lump in her throat. He didn't look good.

"God you're beautiful." He coughed weakly, winced, and sighed.

"Mick?" Taylor called, reaching to find a pulse. Too weak. "Don't do this to me, Mick." His chest stopped moving under her hands. He wasn't breathing. "Mick, come on, stay with me." She cupped his face between her palms, slapping his cheek. "Mick! God damnit, I need a medic!" She released the wound and started chest compressions. "Don't leave me, Mick! Do you hear me!" She gave him two breaths and resumed compressions.

"Agent, you're bleeding." A medical team arrived. "We'll take over." Taylor wouldn't move. "Someone get her out of here!" Paddles appeared. Mick's shirt was cut open. His colour grew paler.

Taylor shrieked in rage when Wilson heaved her up off the ground. "No!"

"Taylor, you've been hit," he snapped at her, dragging her toward the van.

"No!" She flailed. "Mick!"

"I've got no pulse here," one of the paramedics announced.

"No!"

Taylor felt the grip on her shoulder and her eyes flew open. She grabbed the hand and twisted, locking the arm behind the back in one smooth motion.

"Jesus, Taylor," he exclaimed.

A wave of panic washed over her. Mick? No, Mick was dead. She scrambled away from him, crashing into the headboard. The collision seemed to knock her from the dream into lucidity. Not Mick... Bill. The ache that hollowed her chest made it suddenly hard to breathe and it felt like she was losing him all over again. She pulled her knees up to her chest and cursed herself for drinking beer when she was already upset. She could handle hard liquor. She could handle wine. But somehow beer always messed with her head.

"Hey, it's ok. You were having a nightmare."

Taylor raised her eyes, looking at Bill as though he'd said the most absurd thing on earth. Yes, a nightmare. The same nightmare she always had. Except this wasn't her imagination. This was her life. "I'm sorry," she whispered, finding her throat ready to close up. She tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart before she began to hyperventilate.

"Hey, it's alright." He smiled at her and it tore her heart to shreds. That was why she liked him so much. He had Mick's smile. Not fair. "I'm more worried about you. I'm sorry I startled you. Are you ok?" His hand came to rest on her shoulder and Taylor sucked in a breath. The warmth from his palm, the gesture was just so... So like Mick. But he'd asked a question. She looked around, reminding herself of where she was, and nodded absently. Thank God she'd tucked her gun safely in her bag. She shuddered; Lord only knows what would have happened had it been under the pillow. "I'm wholly unconvinced," he muttered.

Taylor didn't want to look him in the eye. She was completely raw. But it was inevitable. "I have nightmares all the time," she said softly. "It has nothing to do with Chad." It's worse than him, she thought, another shudder running through her body. God, she felt sick.

Then he did the worst possible thing. He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her body up against his. She tensed, thinking to push him away, but she couldn't find the strength. She closed her eyes and let her head drop onto his shoulder. Why did he have to smell good? Just like Mick. She shivered. Stop it, Taylor! His hand ran down her arm, raising goose bumps along its path. "Cold?"

She nodded and he moved away. Acutely aware of the cold, she felt the loss of his comforting warmth. The image of Mick lying on the ground flashed through her mind and she was afraid she'd vomit. She pulled her knees up against her chest again and tried to breathe properly.

"Come here." His voice was gentle but commanding. She didn't think she had it in her to do anything but listen to him at this point. She reached his side and was wrapped in first a blanket then his arms. Her mind was shouting for her to pull herself together, but her body needed the comfort, the human contact. She hated let anyone get this physically close to her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His voice rumbled through his chest when he spoke and the timbre was soothing. "No," she whispered. She felt something like safety wash over her and it was unnerving. She traced the path of a fold in his shirt with her finger, trying to distract herself however possible.

He shifted and she could tell that he was studying her. "Who's Mick?"

Oh God, how does he know? "What? Why?" She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his; the warm chocolate colour echoed the strange amber that she'd always seen in Mick's eyes.

He shrugged. "You yelled the name during the nightmare." His hand continuously stroked up and down her arm and for the first time in a long time, Taylor admitted to herself that she was lonely. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything, afraid of what she might blurt out. That's when the tears welled in her eyes and she panicked. She hated crying. She never cried. And certainly never cried in front of someone else. She buried her face against his shirt, the warmth and scent of him wrapping around her and becoming overwhelming. Her fingers twisted in his shirt as she tried to hold back the tears, but they wouldn't be stilled.