TO THE WIRE
A Chris Evans / Call of Duty AU Fic
My Masterlist can be found HERE, where this will be added.
Part One: It’s All In The Detail
Part Two: Where There’s smoke...
Note: Not sure where I’m going with this but I’ve been a fan of his C.O.D. look since I first saw it. Hopefully, this looks promising but rather than an ongoing series, I see it more as a series of one- or two-shots. Part One is below and Part Two will follow next Sunday following my final spot of editing.
Theme: Enemies to friends to (eventual) lovers. Chris has an ego and believes his own hype, and Martha needs to get a life for herself.
Warnings: Strong language
Word Count: 5.1k
Part One: It’s All In The Detail
“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” came Martha’s exasperated response, hands gripped tightly onto her hips as she did her very best to attempt a more aggressive stance than she was altogether comfortable with. “Months of hard work and now it’s done, just like that?”
She wasn’t sure why she was even questioning it. She could believe it – and expect it – as it had been the case for her on more than one occasion over the last 12 months and she was getting tired of it. She was getting tired of being side-lined.
“I’m sorry. The decision has been made and it’s for your own safety.”
“But what could have possibly changed in the last twenty-four hours?”
It was a valid question and for a brief moment she felt a surge of confidence in her frustration.
Tanner, the shortish, greying intellectual currently sat behind the broad desk that separated them like a protective barrier, appeared resolute in his decision. Even if he had doubts, he wouldn’t let them show. His posture remained relaxed as he leaned back in his leather recliner having barely flinched or moved in the time since she had barged into his office, disappointment etched across her fine features, staring him down like he had just insulted her grandmother. Instead, he regarded her respectfully and with some semblance of understanding of her disappointment at being frozen out yet again from a mission she had worked very hard on. It made her feel a little guilty at her verbal outburst although he had probably heard much, much worse in his forty-plus years with the CIA. He himself had told her as much.
She wasn’t sure if this apparent show of empathy was a good or a bad thing. It certainly didn’t serve to make her feel any better. Deep down, she knew Tanner knew what he was doing. He always gave considered thought to the decisions he made; he wouldn’t be where he was now if he hadn’t. Even deeper down, she knew she wasn’t going to succeed in changing his mind.
“You know as well as I do that intel can change with no notice.” He explained calmly in his soft, Texan drawl. “It’s never ideal to change the format of a mission at any stage of the play but we do what we have to do with what we are given. The team has reason to believe that Haltzar is shifting gear and making a move to exit this Friday night. If we don’t get him then, our chances at ever bringing in Haltzar disappear in the dark, and his little black book goes with him.”
She could appreciate the nuances that went into a plan like this. In just eighteen months, Martha had gone from being a well-liked but rather inconsequential (her words) doctor at Newman & Grey Hospital, working all the shifts she could manage to avoid being home alone with only her thoughts for company, to a valued member of a CIA ‘Special Ops’ Unit that specialised in dealing with situations far beyond the capabilities of ordinary law enforcement. Or so she thought she was.
She listened to Tanner letting her down gently like she was being told she couldn’t have the bike she wanted for Christmas. She also couldn’t shake the feeling this was yet another attempt by Chris Evans to phase her out. She realised she appeared like she was throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t get her own way. It was embarrassing and it made her feel like shit. It wasn’t what she was aiming for when she woke up earlier that morning.
“Listen, Martha, this is in no way a reflection of your work but some people have expressed concern that your being there would draw unwanted attention-”
“-Some people? You mean Chris-”
“-Especially if a member of Haltzar’s crew recognises you from their own intel.” Tanner finished his argument, choosing to ignore hers. “We can’t forget they have been here a long time. They will have scoped the place out for themselves, several times, and if they see you at the hospital, the whole game is up and we’ll have lost nearly eighteen months of work for nothing. I’d like to see you try to explain that to Homeland Security.”
Martha paused in her tracks and tried to avoid Tanner’s careful, sympathetic gaze. Shaking her head in defeat, she loosened her hands from her hips and let them fall limply to her side as she took on board Tanner’s reasoning. Just as she was about to express an apology for her blatant lapse of professionalism in the face of a man who could probably buy and sell what was left of her own family, a lowly whistle came from somewhere close behind her.
Stood still in the corner of Tanner’s office, one boot resting on the panelled wall as though he gave not one care for the probable cost of having his dusty Size 12s scratch the paint off, Chris murmured his disapproval of Martha. She couldn’t quite bring herself to acknowledge his presence, though, preferring to leave him brooding quietly as she attempted to make her way out of the office unscathed.
Even now, after he had sullenly made himself known, she preferred not having to deal with the sight of his smug face at this time of the morning. She could sense him, though. You could always sense when Evans was nearby so it was a complete and utter joke that Tanner was now claiming that she might be the one who would draw attention.
“Well, I would probably call into question the reasons why some people might see me being there as a problem.” She stated matter-of-factly, the words coming out of her mouth before she had the time to edit them. Or stop them altogether as she was quickly wishing she could.
“I’m right here, McLachlan.” Came his bristly tone in response, clearly having had enough of her obstinance.
“Yes, I know, Chris. It’s very hard to miss you.” She snapped, finally conceding to him. All she got in return was a dismissive glare. It only served to wind her up even more.
“Then ask me directly.”
She looked at him again but chose to bite her tongue, not wanting to rise to his bait.
“Why are you pushing for this?” Chris pressed. “You know we make the calls and the call is that your efforts are no longer required. We have everything in place, you’ll just take up space, space that we don’t have. Congratulations, McLachlan, you have the night off. Go out and celebrate.”
Martha could feel herself stiffen from his petulance. It was an all-too-familiar feeling that she was growing tired of.
“Yes, you’ve made that more than clear.” She retorted.
She let out the last of her breath that she’d been holding and gathered herself before she turned back to face Tanner. She struggled to meet his eye for a brief second but no amount of re-focussing herself could take away from the disappointment she was feeling inside.
“I guess there’s nothing left I can say.” She finally acquiesced and nodded once to Tanner, who reciprocated with what she thought was a small hint of regret. She didn’t exactly mean it but nevertheless it seemed like the professional thing to do.
She caught Chris’ eye once again before she fully departed the room but neither was willing to give the other the satisfaction of acknowledgment.
“You could go easier on her. We need someone like her in the team. She’s very good at her job.” Tanner said when he was confident that she was no longer within earshot.
“So are a lot of people but it doesn’t mean they all get to be invited along for the ride.”
“She’s helped this team a lot over the past couple of years.” Said Tanner, pointedly ignoring Chris’ last words.
“Then we’ll have a whip-round and sign a card.” Chris shrugged. He dropped his foot from the wall and casually made the few steps to where he stood in front of Tanner’s desk.
“That’s very grateful of you, Christopher. Remind me, who removed the bullet from your shoulder in Detroit?”
Chris paused at Tanner’s annoying ability for recall. How was he expected to respond to that?
“That’s what she’s paid to do.” Chris conceded. “But we can’t pretend that she has even half the training my guys have. By anyone’s standards, this is a quiet, safe mission. You said so yourself. No one is going to get injured, so…she’s surplus to requirements. End of discussion.”
“And what about next time? What about when you or one of your boys needs medical assistance and you’re hiding out in some cave in Iran? You think Dave or Benji will be able to cope?”
“Benji served two tours in Afghanistan. I think he can deal with a bandage.” Chris attempted to shrug Tanner off once more.
“Or what about when one of your guys trips a wire and threatens to set off a landmine?”
Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think she’s a bomb disposal expert all of a sudden?”
“No, she isn’t, but she could be.” Tanner posed, choosing to ignore the scoff that just emanated from Chris’ direction. “This is my point, Chris. There are very few people left in this country that can do what you and this team does, I get that, but it would be a wise and valuable idea to at least consider the future. Consider protecting this team’s legacy, your legacy, and pay attention to the possibilities of who is available and who can be trained that could handle these same pressures.”
Chris’ hands found their way to his hips and Tanner knew he’d likely pushed his luck. Still, he said what needed to be said. It was common knowledge around these parts that Chris had an ego that needed to be kept in check, and Tanner seemed to be the only person to do it.
“I don’t doubt that an ER is a tough environment but let’s not pretend a medical degree is in any way a viable substitute for the nerve and intuition this team has.”
“She’s a doctor, Chris. I think nerve and intuition are parts of her job specification.”
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it-”
“-We can’t afford to lose her, Chris,” Tanner interrupts “Or Carl for that matter, so I’d strongly advise you to play nicely with them both from here on out.”
Tanner leaned forward in his recliner and pulled his glasses down from the top of his head. Chris watched as he took the fountain pen from its holder and opened the leather-bound file that had been sat on his desk all morning, awaiting his attention.
It was as clear an indication as possible that their conversation was now over but Chris struggled to accept not having the last word. Regardless, he unclenched his jaw and turned to vacate his office, leaving Tanner to glance at the back of his protégé’s head before getting back to work.
*
Chris waited for the heavy-set door to shut behind him completely before he placed his hands back on his hips and breathed in deeply to steady his nerve. He glanced to either side of him to make sure Claire wasn’t in earshot before he muttered a ‘fuck’ under his breath.
Chris was sure the only reason Tanner kept Claire around was because she had the ears of a bat and could pick up on people’s frustrations from a mile away. It certainly wasn’t for her administrative skills, that was for sure. At the age of 52, she’d all but given up on learning how to use email instead favouring the Victorian-era fax machine they were for forbidden from upgrading.
He didn’t like having his work called into question, and he certainly didn’t like it coming from a junior. Martha wasn’t even a fully-fledged member of the team; she was unofficial and part-time at best and he found himself growing increasingly aggravated by her presence. He wasn’t sure why Tanner expected him to just put up with her. It wasn’t like she offered anything he couldn’t get from someone else. She was a hassle he didn’t need at this time of his life.
As he felt his pulse beat in his ears, he took a few more calming breaths and tried as hard as he could to unclench his jaw again. Somewhere down the corridor to his left, he heard doors shut and he felt his irritation kick in.
“You really need to knock this off, McLachlan.” He announced as he burst into the changing room.
“Excuse me?” Martha turned from where she was perched on the edge of the bench, surprised to see him stood in front of her once again. She was just 5 minutes from leaving the building and getting back to the relative sanctity of the hospital so it was totally unfair that she had to speak to him again.
“This interruption you’ve got going on all the damn time. It’s not helpful. You’re just making things more difficult than they need to be.” He took another step towards her, almost concealing her in his shadow. “I don’t appreciate it.”
Martha wasn’t sure if she had missed a conversation in the few minutes since she had left Tanner’s office. She had walked away in full understanding that it was to be business-as-usual and she wouldn’t be needed until the next time. She didn’t much like it but she accepted it. She thought she’d made that part obvious at least.
“Look, I was merely asking why I was no longer being considered for the mission and I think it was a valid question. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, or-”
“That’s the thing, McLachlan. You don’t try to be anything. You just are. I swear you exist just to piss me off.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” She physically recoiled at his tone. “It wasn’t like I was doing this on purpose.”
She looked away from him and back down to her laced-up plimsolls.
“Sometimes, I think you just want to be annoyed about something. If anyone needs a night off, it’s you.”
“Be careful who you’re talking to, McLachlan.”
“Or what?” She flinched, surprised by her own candour. Yet again, she spoke faster than her brain could catch up with.
Martha watched as he was stopped in his tracks. She felt her shoulders shift, trying to drain herself of this interaction with him. At times, it was an effort to merely exist in the same room as him.
He wasn’t expecting the retort and he certainly wasn’t expecting her to question his authority in this manner.
“It’s not my choice having you here, McLachlan, but it certainly will be having you removed if I have anything to do with it.” He was speaking far quieter this time, a gentle intimidation that she assumed was normally reserved for those he was questioning. Or worse. “Quit crying when you don’t get your own way.”
“I wasn’t crying. Sir.” She spoke again in equally hushed tones.
She swore to whoever was up there that she wasn’t deliberately trying to provoke him, but it seemed to be the only language he understood.
After another silent moment passed, he huffed out something that resembled amusement. “Close enough.”
She kept her feet rooted to the spot and refused to look away. Whether it was some vain attempt at essaying confidence, or she just genuinely couldn’t move, she didn’t know.
“This isn’t personal.” He rationalised. “This is serious stuff. I can’t afford to babysit you.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being patronising on purpose or if it just comes naturally to you.”
“Fuck around and find out.”
“Oh, real mature.” She rolled her eyes at him. She got up from her seat and turned to grab her hoodie hanging on the hook inside her locker.
Carl chose that moment to make his appearance from behind the row of lockers. He coughed a fake cough that was almost comical in its execution, briefly unnerving Chris. Carl wasn’t exactly aiming towards Chris either, rather just making his presence known in case Martha had forgotten about him.
Chris looked quickly between Martha and Carl, unaware he had been there. He hid the surprise from his face quite well, keeping his features as straight as possible. Had she known he was there this entire time? What was her game?
“Get your stuff and go home.” He instructed, standing taller than before, returning his gaze back to her. “I’ll deal with you another time.”
He turned on his heels and strode out of the locker room in such few steps, it was almost impressive. To Carl, anyway. Carl was easily impressed at the best of times but working for someone who had received a medal from the President of the United States nearly tipped him over the edge.
Martha slammed the door of her locker with some force, startling Carl in the process.
“Everything OK?” he asked cautiously when the room fell silent again. He knew the answer.
“Not exactly.” Was all she could give back to him.
He thought better of pushing her again, He watched as she moved to stand in front of the mirror that took up almost one whole side of their small changing room. It was a crowded room on account of various equipment cupboards that had been moved in months earlier because, apparently, there was no room left anywhere in the on-site training facility. Martha was convinced it was yet another attempt by Evans of pushing them aside, though, and you couldn’t tell her otherwise.
She stared at herself in contemplation. “I need to go back to the office before I leave, OK?”
“Um, yeh, sure.” Came Carl’s hesitant reply. “Shall I just meet you by the car, then?” But she had already left.
He wasn’t sure what the purpose of her returning to the office was and he dearly hoped she wasn’t going to rile Evans up any more than he already was.
Layer upon layer of coloured and black-and-white photographs stared back at her. She followed the direction of the white ink that lined them all up, connecting the dots both physically and metaphorically. Prints of the town grid and an image featuring the schematics of the local Newman and Grey Hospital were kept separate on one side. In the centre of it all, was Haltzar.
By anyone’s basic understanding, Alek Haltzar was a dangerous man. He was exceptionally tall, standing at over 6ft 5in, and was just shy of 50 years old. When Haltzar wasn’t indulging in Arms trafficking and attempting to corrupt local politicians in neighbouring countries, he enjoyed playing chess competitively and was a single father to three children. It was this latter role that he took more seriously than that which brought him his billion-dollar fortune.
The children’s mother had died in a freak boating accident when their youngest son had turned just four years’ old. She had been the love of Haltzar’s life and her death had devastated both him and the boys. Ever since, he had vowed to dedicate his life and his many, many millions to charity to honour her memory. It was a fast about-turn that stood ill at ease with his previous profession.
He was also gravely ill.
Some four years before today, he had discovered he had been living with a rare form of cancer following what should have been a routine prostate exam. The best scientists and doctors he could find could provide no clue as to its course of treatment, and could not stop it from spreading further.
He went underground for a short while afterwards, trying his hand with any experimental drug and therapy he could find, but when nothing appeared to work, he did what any other person with the means to do so would do and relocated his family to the US. Washington DC to be exact.
DC had been home to the estimable Newman and Grey, a hospital devoted to advancing medical research and theory around some of the body’s most destructive diseases for nearly sixty years. Originally named after Sir Peter Newman, the hospital could now also claim itself as home to the Nobel Prize-winning mind of Professor Alan Grey, a man responsible for, among other things, his incredible work developing the technique that would later create the MRI machine, an epic scientific breakthrough in the late-Seventies that allowed the diagnosis of patients via non-invasive means.
So, leaving behind his work, his varied and dubious connections to some of the world’s most powerful people, and his entire life it seemed, Haltzar uprooted his family to Washington a little over two years ago. Whatever the likelihood, he moved in an attempt to access the experimental treatments Prof. Taylor had been studying and testing with some degree of success.
His sudden arrival in the US caused as close a thing to a “stir” as Martha reasoned was possible given his identity was genuinely unknown to almost everyone except those who worked inside the CIA. According to them, this move was very much a last-ditch attempt at saving his own life so his beloved children wouldn’t have to grow up without a parent. If he hadn’t been responsible for aiding and abetting several war criminals over the last twenty years, one could be forgiven for feeling just a little bit sorry for him.
Martha supposed she could understand to some degree his reasons for moving to the area. After all, she had done much the same thing as him, just minus the murders and the bribery.
After completing her MD in Boston, she wanted desperately to exist somewhere in Prof. Grey’s orbit if only on the periphery of him and his team. She had lived and breathed his theses and work during her studies, and had arrived at the hospital five years back after she took on a role as an Emergency Doctor in the hospital’s ER. It was a tough baptism of fire for want of a better phrase but Carl had befriended her and the pair of them soon formed an alliance which kept the ER moving at a pace that could hopefully cope with the volume of admissions.
“I’m sure they had their reasons.”
She could hear Carl’s voice in the back of her mind. He was a nice guy, Martha thought, but dear God he could be a push-over at times. Why did he suck up to Evans so much all the time? Tanner, she could understand, but Evans? The guy had an ego the size of the state. He was a jerk. Martha lost count of the people flinging themselves at his feet everywhere he went, Carl notwithstanding, and she could never work it out.
“I’m gonna level with you, Martha,” Carl had said after hearing Martha’s protests earlier that afternoon. “I’ve got zero interest in carrying a gun with me for the next week just in case a goddamn psychopath may or may not turn up to the hospital. That is way above my pay grade. This is why we pay our taxes, so that men like Evans can do the risky work for us.” He turned back to the computer screen in front of him. “And that suits me just fine.”
“But we’re the ones who’ve put this all together.” She argued back at him. “They would never have known about the drug trials if it wasn’t for us and Taylor.”
“Yeh, and the locations and the money and the hospital plans? That’s all them.” He reasoned. “Think of it like anything else we do. We take X-Rays, we take bloods, we make the diagnosis, then we pass the patient over to the right consultant who uses all of that information to make the person better. We still get the credit, we just don’t have to do all of the graft.”
Martha despaired as she stared up at the board. It was all pointless now anyway.
*
Haltzar had been living in the quiet but glossy suburb of Chesapeake Beach. It was one of the wealthiest areas in Maryland and was home to several retired businessmen who liked to keep one eye on the New York Stock Exchange whilst making their way around a golf course.
According to Tanner, Haltzar had been photographed several times visiting his oldest son who had enrolled at Notre Dame almost as soon as they had arrived in the area. He had been seen attending their sports matches, visiting a local library, even mowing the lawn outside his home. One photograph Martha had originally lingered on showed him in a car parked outside a Walmart.
He was quite literally hiding in plain sight.
But, as Tanner had supposed, that was easy to do when your Head of Security was also an ex-Black Ops member. Evans thought he had recognised him from his early days on combat duty but ultimately uncovered nothing they could use to get close to Haltzar from the inside.
Walmart was the one image she found herself fixating on over and over again at random times of the day. It was the thing she was thinking about now as she found herself sat behind the reception desk in the ER that Thursday evening.
The clock was ticking by slowly and the expected onslaught of patients never materialised. The team was grateful for the break but Martha hated sitting around doing nothing. Her admin was up to date as always, she’d triple-checked the stock cupboards, and had grown tired of watching the kettle boil for the fourth time having offered to make yet another round of tea for everyone.
It was a weird evening. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was just because it was a Thursday and Thursday seemed too early in the week for people to find a thrill in the weekend. Thursday proved a weird limbo for a lot of people in this town it would seem.
“You should bring a book, M.” Simone called out from the chair a few feet behind her. “I’m reading Catch-22 at the moment. It’s pretty damn good.”
“Didn’t you read that in high school?” Martha asked, snapped from her momentary daydream.
“Yeh but it was pretty dull back then. This time, I’m really appreciating the critique of authority more than before. I tell ya, it is 100% relatable.”
Martha could share in the joke knowing precisely what she was getting at. Simone was adept at the art of the passive-aggressive remark and was a welcome, contrasting energy to the usual politics that went on underneath this roof.
“Seriously, though,” Simone continued. “You wanna go take a nap or something? It’s gonna be hours before we finish here and I can handle things for a bit.”
Martha contemplated her kind offer. She figured she could be bored here or bored in a quiet room where she could mess about on her phone, maybe plan a holiday she knew she wouldn’t take. It didn’t really matter either way but she would at least feel a bit less guilty about it if she wasn’t fussing on her phone in plain sight of the few patients who had taken up space in a couple of bays.
Looking towards the few patients they had admitted that evening, she clocked them each lying quietly on their respective beds, calm and peaceful. Just what they liked to see. A couple of them had been hooked up to blood pressure machines that took intermittent readings and beeped out accordingly, and the other guy was sat up in his bay and reading a magazine upside down, the drugs perhaps causing him to feel a little drowsy. She wouldn’t hold it against him.
“Thanks. I won’t be too long.”
“Take as long as you need, chick.”
Simone turned back to the paperwork in front of her as Martha vacated the squared-in desk formation that created their excuse for a reception.
Taking the long, quiet walk down the corridors to reach the staff quarters took longer than usual. Her phone was clasped in her hand and she’d picked up a glass of water on the way. She held the doors open for Paul, the porter, as he transported some equipment to another ward a few floors up. He had been too polite to let her help him the rest of the way, despite her offer.
Finding herself at a loose end, she locked the door behind her and chose the single bed closest to the radiator. The heat would help lull her to sleep, she thought, and she could while away a couple of hours before she returns to the main ward to see what might await her. Was it wrong that she hoped something a little more dramatic might break up the monotony of the shift?
He was reading it upside down.
Wait.
On more than one occasion she had spotted him scanning the ER. She had thought he was just waiting for a relative to arrive or perhaps waiting for his SHO to return with some test results, but…he wasn’t confused. The drugs weren’t causing him to feel lethargic or muddled; they weren’t strong enough to do that.
Why had she negated to think that before now?
She held her fingers to the side of her forehead, hastily rolling back through her memories of the last couple of hours.
The three men had each arrived separately but only within about twenty minutes of each other. They all claimed various minor upsets that although were a little uncommon to be accidental, were nevertheless ailments the team had handled thousands of times before. After all, they weren’t there to question anyone; they were there to do their job and fix what was wrong with them.
Martha didn’t pretend to know the intricacies of the Agency’s work but she was still able to note their boots were in fact of the same make and all were clean and shiny, as though they had each just left the shop before they found themselves at Newman’s.
“Jerry?” She called out hurriedly as soon as she heard the other line click on.
“Oh hey Martha! What’s up?” Came the friendly, chirpy response from perhaps the only man in the Unit that maybe didn’t hate her guts.
“You guys need to get down here. Now.”
*