The Program Ch. 10

Taylor sighed under the full weight of his body. "Clearly I'm at your disposal here."

"A few weeks ago, I tried to sneak a peak at your personal file."

"What?" Taylor stiffened.

"It was when we were fighting." He kissed her collarbone. "I was really worried and you wouldn't talk to anyone."

"You still shouldn't have-"

He cut her off by kissing a trail up the side of her neck. "I know, I know. I was out of line. And Patrick read me the riot act."

"So... You just thought you should tell me?"

He gazed down at her face and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, yes and no. I just- Is there a reason why none of the schools in South Boston have ever heard of you?"

She raised a brow. "You called every school in Southie?"

He nodded sheepishly. "When Danny said she wouldn't help me out."

"Danny couldn't have helped there either."

"You're not even on the grid until college."

Taylor smiled wryly. "That's what's been bugging you?"

Josh flashed a grin, "Among other things."

"And what do I get if I tell you?"

He nuzzled the soft skin on the underside of her jaw. "I have ways of making you talk."

She giggled, "Were you absent the day they taught information extraction?"

"No," he muttered against her neck. "I just like this method better. You? Southie?"

"I'll tell you, but I don't really want to talk about it."

"Telling me will satisfy the curiosity for now," he grumbled.

She sighed. "Taylor James didn't exist until college."

"What?" He pulled back and blinked at her, surprised to see the sincerity on her face. "What do you mean you didn't exist?"

A flash of trepidation crossed her face and she pushed out from under him. "I had to change my name." She curled up on her side with a sigh. "Taylor James didn't go to school in Southie. But I did."

Josh blinked at her for a moment, processing what she said. "Ah," he said finally. He slid his arms around her, drawing her back into the curve of his body. "That explains it, then."

She shifted trying to get comfortable. "That explains it?"

He nodded, "Sure."

"And you're ok with it?"

"Mmn," he nuzzled the back of her neck. "Does anyone else know?"

"Patrick does."

"Patrick knows everything. Can I ask what your name was before? You know, in case it comes up in dinner conversation or something?"

Taylor released a nervous laugh. "It won't."

"Tell me anyway."

She picked at the sheet until he took her hand in his, seamlessly entwining their fingers. "Shannon," she whispered. "Shannon Taylor McManus."

"Huh." Taylor shifted uncomfortably and his arms drew tighter around her. "Shannon McManus," he repeated thoughtfully. "Nah," he buried his lips in her hair. "Taylor James suits you better."

She snorted. "I'm glad you approve."

"You're not mad at me for dragging that out of you?"

"No," she squeezed his hand. "Not mad."

His fingers playfully skimmed along her stomach as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "You tired?"

"Depends on what time we have to be at work in the morning."

His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear. "We don't," he whispered.

~o~

"James!" Patrick's voice carried through the corridor. "My office!"

Taylor furrowed her brow and glanced at Wilson. "What did you do this time?" he asked incredulously.

"I didn't do anything," she whispered, standing and straightening her shirt.

"Maybe he found out that you're sneaking off for quickies during your lunch hours," Castle offered with a mischievous grin.

Taylor flushed. It was meant to be funny, but the team still didn't know about her relationship with Wilson and it was her hope to keep it that way. "If I'm going down for that, you're going down for your stash of porn in the locker room." She was only halfway kidding. Castle shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, which set Remy off in a fit of guffaws. Castle cuffed Monty upside the back of his head.

"What the hell was that for?" Monty complained.

"You know what," Castle snapped before falling into a fit of laughter himself.

"Alright, kids. Behave yourselves," Wilson said sternly even with a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You were working on the schematics; I think you should get back to it." He paused and turned to her. "Taylor, go to the principal's office."

She snorted and left the room to a series of 'oohs.' They really did act like children sometimes. She sobered up the instant she reached Patrick's open door. She knocked softly, accepting the slight tilt of his head as invitation and sat down.

"Sounds like the natives are restless," Patrick murmured, finishing whatever he was writing before closing the file and setting it to the side.

"You know how boys can be," she said flippantly.

"Mmn," he nodded. "They're all fun and games until someone takes their favourite toy." She felt her cheeks turn a dark shade of crimson, but didn't insult Patrick with a denial. He smiled. "Don't worry. It's my job to know these things, not theirs. And that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"No lecture?" she asked.

"Lecture? God no. You two keep it out of the office so I don't care. You've managed things like this before."

She flushed down to the roots of her hair. "That didn't exactly go to plan."

"Nothing does," he muttered. "Which is what you're here for."

"More planning?" she groaned.

He laughed. "Interestingly enough, yes. We've another job to start. Quite like the last one save for two small details. One, we're working with the feds. And two, this time you're in charge."

"What? No," she objected instinctively.

"Welcome to the big show."

Taylor stared at Patrick incredulously. "You have to be kidding me."

Patrick snorted. "I wish I was. Sorry, James. You're coordinating the team."

"Surely Wilson would be better at that," she objected. "I mean, I'm not even remotely diplomatic. I'll start a turf war in the first five minutes."

Now Patrick was actually laughing outright. "You're right. I know you're right. But for some reason, they asked for you personally. I'll give you the whole team: Wilson, Remy, Castle, and Monty, but you're in charge."

Taylor stood suddenly and began pacing. "So... Either some Fed has a death wish or they have it in for me at the FBI."

"Or," Patrick pursed his lips. "There really is no intelligence in the FBI."

"How serious is this mission, Patrick?"

"Deadly." The mood in the room turned sober. "This is the last of the front companies in VanTerran's holdings. We take care of this, we can close that book completely. Or as close to completely as I accept."

"And you're hoping it'll go better than this last one?" Her pride was still smarting from the last debacle of a mission. It wasn't the indignity of falling over the side of the building or being shot at by another governmental agency, but rather the insult of being the brain behind a giant near-disaster.

"The FBI seems to think that if they have a few of their men on oversight, there's less of a chance for a repeat performance."

"It wasn't our fault, Patrick."

"I know. The ATF crossed the line at the worst time imaginable. But we've been over that before." He smiled when she shook her head. "You know I don't blame you. Wilson doesn't blame you either. Though, if you had fallen over the side of that building, he'd certainly have killed you for it."

Taylor chuckled. "He seems to have this adverse reaction to the idea of me brushing with death."

"He's not the only one concerned by your mortality."

She waved her hand absently at him. "Stop worrying, dad."

Patrick snorted. "If I were your father, I'd have taught you better manners. Now sit."

"Right, right. I keep forgetting you're the father of the year." She dropped gracelessly back into the chair. "How many of them am I working with?"

"The group of you," Patrick paused to raise a brow. "Will be working with four of the feds, which is why I'm giving you four for the team. I like to have the majority stake in these things. They're sending over a rep today."

"Today?" She hissed angrily, the levity leaving her voice. "For fuck's sake, Patrick!"

"I've been told they're sending the best they've got."

"Right." Taylor massaged her temples in irritation and heaved a sigh. "When do we start?"

"Right now," came a voice from the door.

A smile spread across Patrick's face as Taylor spun angrily to see who would intrude on her briefing. "Martin?"

Bill shifted uneasily at the flash in Taylor's eyes, but he smiled nonetheless. "I've been sent to get the ball rolling over here."

"We put you in with the Feds?" Taylor muttered. "That's just wrong."

"Apparently they need some IT help over there," Bill quipped.

"You're the FBI's best?" Taylor raised a brow.

"Their best attempt at controlling you." Bill smiled wryly. "I think they figure I've survived you in the past, I'm a good bet for the future."

"So I have to work with you again?" the sarcasm in her voice took the sting out of the comment.

"God forbid," Bill shot back.

"You have no idea what you're in for, Boy Scout."

Bill knew better than to take her threat to heart and grinned broadly. "Bring it on."

~~o~~

I made you all wait way WAY too long for this chapter. I'm glad you stuck around long enough to read it. I had originally planned on putting it out in March, but... something about good intentions and hell.

I intentionally left this open enough for another story to follow this one, but I'm not quite ready to start that one. Instead, I have two other stories I've been playing with.

The first is actually a prequel to "The Program." Haven't named it yet, but it would layout where Taylor, Wilson, Danny and Mick all came from. (See excerpt 1 below) The other is completely unrelated to anything I've done before. It'd be more in line with "On Forgetting" but isn't action/adventure at all... at least, no more than the average daily life is for me and my friends, or maybe a really bad day. It's also unnamed as of yet, and it'd be, well, romancy. (See excerpt 2 below) Let me know if you have a preference one way or another. But updates will be really REALLY slow either way (Sorry, I just know it's going to get worse before it's better). Anyway, have a read, the excerpts aren't necessarily from the beginning of the stories, let me know what you think.

I hope you enjoyed "The Program." And as always, thanks for reading!

~ewebie

~o~

EXCERPT 1:

Taylor smoothed the short, black dress over her hips and looked in the mirror. "You have got to be kidding me," she muttered.

"Sorry, kid. Totally serious."

Taylor jumped at the sound of Morgan Patrick's voice in her ear. "Who wears shit like this?" She eyed the three-inch stiletto heels sceptically. "I mean, I'm not promising anything graceful in these shoes."

"If you're done preening, we've got work to do," Wilson's voice clipped in.

"The audio better be the only thing that's on right now," she grumbled, giving herself one last glance in the mirror. She sighed; she looked nothing like herself. There wasn't a hair out of place, her makeup was perfect, and her clothes... Well, she'd never have picked them herself and couldn't have afforded them if she wanted to. Here goes nothing, she thought, and headed out to the main office.

Patrick, Remy, and Larson were engrossed in conversation, leaning over a blueprint, spread across the boardroom table, but Wilson was still toying with the equipment and saw Taylor come in. He let out a low whistle and Taylor turned sharply, narrowing her eyes at him. He grinned. "Shorty, looking like that should be illegal."

Taylor smiled sweetly. "Try and cuff me, and I'll put one of these heels through your hand."

Wilson chuckled. "Come here, I need to get the video working on that costume."

Reluctantly, Taylor made her way over to the electronic equipment. "We've already confirmed that my earpiece is working. What else do I need?"

"Well, Mick's really doing the grunt work on this," he gave her a sly wink. "You're more of a garnish tonight. A little arm candy."

Taylor scowled. "So I'm a distraction."

"Sure," Wilson smiled. "But a pretty distraction. And everybody looks at the distraction. So, I just need to adjust this camera." Wilson set a hand on her shoulder and stooped, dropping so he was eyelevel with her chest. He adjusted the sapphire coloured gem that adorned the centre of the empire waistline. Taylor watched the top of his head as he worked. Wilson glanced up and winked. "One last thing." His hand snaked into the top of her dress.

"Hey!" she shrieked.

"Oh, sorry," he said without the least bit of contrition in his voice. "I have cold hands."

Taylor scowled as he chuckled and clicked the camera on. "You just watch where those fingers go, Bub. Misuse them, you lose them."

"Oh yeah?" Wilson's gaze was locked on the small screen beside him as he focused the camera. "I can think of worse ways to go."

She grumbled under her breath and rolled her eyes. "Next time, warn me, or I'll drop you on the spot."

Mick's warm laugh reached her as his hands came to rest on her bare shoulders. "I'd be careful, Wilson. She'd probably do it."

"Probably? I'd do it," she muttered as Wilson withdrew his hand. "You done yet?"

Wilson straightened to his full height and grinned down at Taylor. Even with the heels, she couldn't meet his gaze at eye level, and the anger that sparked in her green eyes only made his smile grow. "I've seen better."

Taylor snarled and drew her arm back as Mick snagged her upper arm and turned her away from Wilson. "Now now, let's not get blood on that pretty new dress," he said softly.

"You two ready?" Patrick asked from the table.

Mick wrapped an arm around Taylor's shoulder and guided her to the table. "Ready as ever, boss."

~o~

EXCERPT 2:

I was beat. One hundred percent wrecked. I probably shouldn't even have been driving. But after the sub-I on Prof's team, I needed to get away from Dublin. Not that I'd seen much of Dublin beyond the inside of the hospital for the past two weeks, but the idea of sitting at home, alone, and sleeping off the past forty-eight straight hours in the hospital didn't sound relaxing enough. I'd be back in hospital on Monday, new team, but still surgical bitch for another pair of endless weeks and I needed some TLC. Yeah, ok, it was selfish, but Wes wasn't on call this weekend, and he'd informed me that he had no plans for the weekend and I was more than welcome in Mullingar if it suited. Yes, it did suit, thank you very much. As dumb as the new HSE rules were, at least it meant Friday afternoon off, or it implied rather. No rules really apply to sub-interns. Bottom of the food-chain. Meh. Such is life. But Prof knew better than to keep me around after two nights on call. I'd like to think it was for my own personal well-being, but it was probably because when I reach that point, all my verbal filters are gone. God knows what I'd say to a patient... Or do...

And so I found myself zipping up the M4 on my way to Mullingar. Speeding. Windows down, music up. I'd say hair blowing in the wind, but I had enough sense to keep it out of my eyes. I had enough trouble seeing as it was. I rolled into his apartment complex at one hour and five minutes; a new record. I grinned, probably shouldn't tell Wes about that one. He hates thinking about how fast I drive. It's the only dangerous thing I do in life anymore, and I'm careful. Never in bad weather, never with weird drivers around, never with a full car, and never on the small windy roads. I'd even stopped changing clothes while driving, but only in exchange for his promise not to text me while driving anymore. I was turning into my mother.

I turned off the car and dug around in my purse for the keys to Wes' flat. He'd given me my own set about a month back. It was more convenient this way, he'd told me. Just in case I got in early one day. Personally, I think he wanted me to make dinner before he was home, but regardless, I was glad to have it today. I opened the door and sighed as the warm smell of his home wrapped around me. All my prior experience said that men, living alone, wound up with smelly, dirty, unorganised domiciles. Wes never failed to prove my conclusions wrong. He was tidy, and his place was always clean. As for the smell, it was nice, a sort-of man smell, spicy, but homey. It smelled like him. It was comforting. It made me wish he was already home. I glanced at my watch and sighed, three o'clock. He wouldn't be home until half five at the earliest.

Best idea: unload the groceries, bring in my bag, watch a movie until Wes gets home. Maybe I'll start dinner before he's here, but that could be a bad decision if he was stuck in late. Like most days. I hated his boss. Even though I'd never met him. Even if Wes refused to really all out despise the man, I really disliked him for both of us. Long story short, dinners had been ruined in the past. So, eff his boss. I'd get set up for dinner around five and then throw it in the oven as soon as Wes was in the door. Food put away and my bag in the guest room, I popped in a dvd and curled up on the sofa. When the movie was over, I'd start dinner.

"Lizzie?"

I murmured as his fingertips swept along my hairline. I wasn't quite awake.

"Wake up, Lizzie," he said softly.

I could hear the smile in his voice. I opened my eyes slowly, blinking to bring him into focus. He was smiling. He was tired, but he had a goofy lilt to his smile. And he was still in his work clothes, sleeves cuffed, tie just a little loose, hair just a touch messy. He looked yummy. I grumbled through a small grin of my own, "What time is it?"

"Half six."

"Oh." I furrowed my brow and craned my neck to see the tv screen. It was off. "What happened to the movie?"

He chuckled. "It was over, and the menu was on repeat. I turned it off."

I dropped back on the pillow that was certainly leaving an imprint on my left cheek and closed my eyes. "I was going to have dinner started before you got home."

His palm cupped my cheek and I cooed when his thumb traced my lips. "It's good you didn't," he whispered. "I was late."

I smiled, thinking that he wasn't giving me much reason to open my eyes again. "Mmn," I nodded. "I fell asleep."

I heard him shift, his hand never leaving my cheek. Then the soft brush of his lips against mine. His beard tickled and it brought about a smile in spite of the kiss. He was slow and gentle, kissing me as if he had all the time in the world. "Clearly," he murmured against my lips.

I made another mmn-ing noise and bit my lower lip before opening my eyes. He sat back on his haunches and grinned. "Good-morning," I giggled and shifted so he could sit on the couch. He did. I rubbed my eyes and gave another smile, pushing myself up onto my elbows. "I should get up and make dinner."

"I have a better idea." He set a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down on the couch. "How about I take care of dinner tonight, you can make dinner tomorrow night."

I squeezed his hand and raised a brow. "You're not going to somehow arrange for us to end up in a restaurant tomorrow?"

The corner of his mouth drew back into a lop-sided grin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"'Cause I already bought the food."

"Tricky."

I kissed the heel of his palm where I was still hanging onto his hand. "I'm mean like that."

"Ok, plan." He pulled me up to sitting. "I need to get out of my work clothes, and," he gave me a once-over, "If you wanted to do the same?"

I nodded and stretched. "Maybe a shower too," I wrinkled my nose. "It's been a long week and I haven't seen my flat since Wednesday."

"I... didn't want to say anything, but..." He made a face. I let out an indignant squeak and smacked his arm. He laughed and caught my arm before I could hit him again, pulling me in for another slow, lazy kiss. When he was done, he rested his forehead against mine. "You are a sight for sore eyes. And I think you're beautiful." I felt my skin flush; not just my face, I was blushing down to my toes. "But go take a shower, I'll figure out something for dinner."