Track Ops: 'Reflection'

"You're getting good at that, you know. That whole stating the obvious thing? You're passing with flying colors. I'm surprised you haven't told me the sky is blue yet. Because that'd be a winner." Marce loosened his grip on the steering wheel when the car came to a red light. They were at a four way intersection that broke into another four way intersection some feet ahead. That's what he hated about Georgia. There was always some light to stop at, some sign to obey. Especially when he got closer to downtown Decatur. That's when all of the chaos happened. He lifted a brow when her phone suddenly started ringing. He knew by her reaction who it was, and he suddenly shared the same expression, eyes dropping down to a glare.

"You can always ignore it." He said. She sighed and shoved the phone to her ear. Goody goody. The light seemed to take forever and a half to turn into a bright, neon green. Marce pressed down on the gas lightly, making sure there was no asshole trying to run the red light to the left. When he was in the clear, he settled back in his seat, half listening to Tutone and half listening to the silence Ace held. Arch must have been reciting some poetry if she hadn't said anything by then. To his luck, the light in front of him turned green without having him to stop. He kept his foot on the gas, seeing the pointed and jagged edge of the Bureau peeking out at them from atop the clouds.

"WHAT?! Stop the car!" He wasn't sure if it were the suddenness of her words or the volume she said it at, but Marce obeyed and obeyed quickly. Right in the intersection, he slammed his foot on the breaks, realizing at the momentum he was going, he was going to hit the car behind him.

"Oh fuck me!" After nearly giving himself whiplash, he accelerated again, ignoring the honking of 3 cars before he wheeled out of the way, barely avoiding a silver Hummer making a legal right turn. He braked again, managing to pull half the car on the curb without hitting anything. He whipped around and snatched Ace by both sides of her arms, not caring if she was fumbling with the phone.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
 
During the entire mess of attempting to stop the car, Ace had to listen to Arch babbling in her ear and asking if she was alright since he could hear the squealing tires. She ignored him and waited until they were stopped, but then she was suddenly pulled around to face Marce. Blinking, she scowled at him and slapped him right across the face. Hard.


"Right now what's wrong with me is that you haven't moved yet. Get out of the car! You need to switch seats with me and you need to do it right fucking now!"


Since she figured he would either argue or sit there like a stunned child, she threw open her door and scrambled out instead of waiting for him to move so that she could slide over. She slammed the door shut and flipped off a car driving past that very rudely honked at them while yelling obscene things, then ran around to his side of the car and opened his door.


"Move. Over!" she insisted, still holding her phone while Arch mumbled something incoherently.
 
Marce sat there like a stunned child.

The hit was so quick and hard, he had to blink twice to realize what had just happened to him. If he hadn't been in his right mind, he would have thought that he had been burned by something. Ace's hand could not have been feeling the best, because his right cheek was on fire. His head whipped to the side and he blinked twice, bringing it slowly back to face hers. he wanted to be angry and pissed, but, instead, his blue eyes enlarging when he held eye contact with her again. She inflicted some pain on him and he was...anticipating more.

She verbally tore him a new one before waltzing out of the car and opening the driver's side of his door.

"Move. Over!" Marce obeyed without retort, taking his seat belt off and scooting into the passenger's seat. There were still cars blaring their horns at Marce's car, but it couldn't be helped. He was no longer at the wheel so he no longer had possession of anything that happened to the car. That responsibility belonged to Ace.

And he was scared shitless.

"I'm already late. Tell Arch to read the magazine backwards. He'll get the same effect."
 
Ace was rather surprised that Marce moved over without a word. Normally she would take a moment to admire his obvious fear of her at that moment, but she didn't have time. She hopped in, slammed the door shut, and threw the car in gear. Meanwhile, she flicked her phone on to speaker and set it in her lap as she pulled onto the road. She didn't respond to Marce, though she did give him a passing glare before turning her eyes back on to the road.


"Lead," she snapped, her voice severe.


"U-turn back to the intersection. Take a right," Arch's voice came through the phone immediately. Ace glanced in her mirror before obeying, coming very close to getting rear-ended.


"Do a scan," she muttered, going to the intersection and turning right as ordered. She was going easily double the speed limit, but it was early enough that there was barely anybody to weave around.


"One with radar's already picked you up. Headed close but you'll pass him before he can intercept. Has a rookie with him too," Arch replied after a few seconds.


"Good. Disable their radio," she said, then glanced at Marce. "Don't worry. Now they can't run your plates." As if that was reassuring.


"Left, immediate right, then half a mile. You should see them easily. Traditional transport. Seven and a half," Arch said, then hung up. Ace tucked the phone into her pocket and considered that. Seven. That was a very typical and easily dealt with number.


"We're going to kill seven men before breakfast. I feel like Bob should give us an award when we get to the office," she commented offhandedly, whipping them around a corner.
 
"Lead."

"Ace, you better tell me where you're going in my fucking car. I have some girls to save! I thought you cared about them! Not some stupid ass side missions and shit. Tell me where you're going now." Marce's words were said for no reason because she accelerated during a yellow light that had .23 seconds before it turned red. There was a car that honked to their side and Marce swore, grabbing the side of the car where the emergency handles were, or where you should put your hangers if you just got done dry cleaning. Once Arch's voice ripped through the car, Marce's teeth gritted in an irritated annoyance towards the man. First he was slapped and now he was having another man direct a criminal around in his car?

"Ace," he snapped, but Arch interrupted him when he told her the whereabouts of the cops lining the streets of downtown Decatur. Despite his earlier frustration, Marce's mouth dropped just a slight when Ace ordered him to disable their radars. He turned around quickly in his seat, looking behind him to see the glimmer of a cop car in a duck off, probably trying to figure out why their radar and speedometer didn't work. Arch's apartment was easily 20 minutes away from them. How in the hell was he able to...

"Traditional transport. Seven and a half." Marce didn't need to argue to know what Arch was talking about. It was how he knew that was bothering the op. The BAD thought they had Gerogia wrapped around their little pinky. Arch had America on his plate with a Mountain Dew to go with it. Ace's voice brought him back to reality and boy was it a hard landing.

"You better know what you're doing. I'm not saving your ass, Grace,"he said, clicking the glove compartment open to retrieve his beautiful Beretta, shoving it in the hip line of his jeans, snug enough to remain concealed until further notice. He made sure that his ankle knife was secured in place above his sock before he looked back to her, face still stinging from the slap and irritated from having his position compromised.

"If I kill 4, you're buying."
 
"Call me Grace again and my ass isn't going to be the one that needs saving," she retorted, taking a left and a rapid right that let out a horrid squeal. She went about half a mile, then parked in a driveway.


"Deal, but do me a favor and don't kill off the half with the seven. I don't want to deal with you being all mopey and self-accusing afterward," she said, eying him before pulling a gun out of her belt and ensuring the clip was full.


She got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. They were going to have to take off running. Not glancing back at Marce, she strolled down the sidewalk until she saw the dark blue cargo van. Arch was right, as always.


Traditional transport. Just like always. Predictable Merenzo assholes.


That meant one driver, one in the passenger seat, two standing behind the bumper, and three in the back. Sure enough, she saw the two standing behind. Thank goodness for silencers. She smirked and leaned over a car, shooting them both in the forehead and watching them collapse. The two in the front would come out at the sound of them thudding on the ground, probably. Marce could get those.


Hopefully.


She was more focused on sneaking forward and reaching for the back door handle.
 
Out of all of the things he slung at her, her name was the only thing she decided to pinpoint on. Typical Ace. She was not pleasant to the car or the rode when she whipped it fiercely into a messy park, if one could call it as such. The driveway was desolate, save for a stray car or two, one looking like it had seen its years in damages. Marce's precious Malibu looked all different colors of weird in the lot, but not as weird as the strange, sketchy blue van.

"That isn't..."he said, knowing in his gut that it was. He flicked his eyes in Ace's direction to see her take out a gun out of no where in her clothes. He was shocked to see her so calm as she surveyed the van, making notes of the men inside and around it. She was like a regular Bryson.

Except sexy.

Marce's Baretta lay dormant in his waist line while Ace pointed her gun at two men and shot right between their eyes. The silencer did enough to cap the noise, but it wasn't as quiet as a mouse pissing on cotton. There was still a sound made and their was still the problem of the sound of falling bodies.

Marce had the onlookers.

A Merenzo popped his head out of the driver's seat of the van, and though Marce hated silencers, he had to be the one to take out the driver. It was an accomplishment for him, in short. He wasn't as pretty as Ace, his shot going right into the neck of the Merenzo before a burst of red spewed on the side of the door. The death alerted the passenger, a bigger man which meant a bigger target. Marce's next shot hit him square in the chest, knocking him back momentarily. However, the man was still alive, so another shot to the abdomen did just well.

Another man burst out of the can, this time, with fire power.

The bullets from the assault gun zipped past Marce's ear and, thankfully, he backed away just in time. He knew Ace was a good shot, but he out did her in physical strength. He had the badge to prove it.

"On the wall!" he shouted, shoving her body hard against the wall as he covered her from the debris of shattering concrete, plaster, and brick that made up the wall. He expected her to fire back, not giving a damn about keeping count with the bodies.
 
Ace looked up as the back doors flew open and a man jumped out. That was unfortunate. Luckily, she was back just far enough to get smacked in the face with the door. She had no time to shoot back at first, since Marce grabbed her and shoved her against the wall as the man started shooting at them. Making a mental note to smack him for that later, she slid her arms around him to aim and shot the man twice.


"I'm winning," she informed him airily, ducking out from his grasp to run over to the van. Two to go. They were both starting to come out, so she jumped up in the back of the van and literally kicked them out. She shot one in the back of the head and left the other for Marce.


He so owed her breakfast and ass kissing.


She moved toward the front of the van until she saw what she was looking for. Tucking the gun away, she scooped up the well-deserved prize and sauntered back out to the road just as the cop came wailing up and screeched to a stop. They shouted for them to put their hands up, and Ace just looked over at Marce.


"I've got my hands full. Mind telling them we're on the same side?" she suggested, tilting her head and looking down at the silent girl in her arms.





abused_child.jpg
 
Ace mentioned her place in the 'game' they were playing even while they were being shot at from separate directions. Marce pressed harder into her, shielding her precious shoulder from a flying shard of brick while taking caution to enjoy the microscopic distance between them. He smirked soon after her comment.

"I'm nice, aren't I?"

Was it bad that he was having so much fun?

Marce continued to hold her steady against the wall, holding his gun securely at elbow's length from his chest. He was making more sure that the Beretta didn't get dirty other than being seen. Ace managed to wiggle beneath him all while killing an advancing Merenzo from the far door. There was one more that Marce gladly took out, shooting him in the middle of the head with a loud pop of his gun, a lot more forceful than Ace's precious silencer. Still, despite being advanced on by multiple men, Marce was still keeping count and was not happy to find out that he lost.

"Your welcome,"he bit as she made a beeline towards the van. Marce still had his gun at the ready, even though he knew that all 7 men were dead and Arch was hardly ever wrong in his calculations. No, scratch that. He was never wrong. He watched her open the door only to be whipped around by the heavy sounds of a police siren. Ace grabbed what appeared to be a giant teddy bear, but a closer look, and he knew exactly what she had in her arms.

A girl.

Marce opened his mouth once the girl wiggled in Ace's arms. It was quite the scene. His bad ass accomplice and a silent, dirty haired girl cradled in her inked arms. Kodak moment, surely. Marce put the hand that held the gun behind his back as he bent down to the girl, careful not to touch her at all.

"Hey, I'm Marce. You don't have to tell me who you are. This nice lady is Grace. We're gonna get you home, okay?" At the word 'home' he could have sworn he saw her shiver in the slightest.

"HANDS IN THE AIR!" He sighed internally, coming to an abrupt stop with Ace in the street, knowing Bob was going to have his ass for making such a mess in broad daylight. "ON THE GROUND!"

"It's Jove." He said, shrugging while letting his Baretta hang from his index finger. The cops sauntered out of the car, glocks raised to hesitating once they saw Marce.

"Again? This is the second time in 2 days."

"Not now. Do something about these bodies. If you need me for questioning and your other jurisdictional bullshit, I'll be in the Bureau," he said, grabbing Ace gently by her elbow and whisking her away to his car, in which he sat in the driver's seat. He chanced a look at the girl and felt a pang hit him square in the chest.

Not now, Jove, he thought, pulling the car in reverse and wheeling out of the lot.
 
As if we need reminding that it's the second time in two days, boys..


"Watch your language, Marce, there are young ears listening to your raving," Ace reminded him with crossed eyes and a smirk as he pulled her away back down the sidewalk and left two dumbfounded cops to deal with seven dead Merenzos.


You're welcome, Decatur.


She walked back to the car calmly, glancing down at the girl. Not one of the ones that had been taken already. Interesting. She hadn't known they had been collecting more. That meant either her information was slipping, or Arch was withholding. She sighed and opened the back door, attempting to put the girl inside. The issue was that the child wouldn't let her go. After a moment, she gave up and just sat in the back as well, laying her legs across the seat and propping the girl up in her lap. At least she could get the little one buckled, even if she wasn't.


"Radio. Background music would be a good idea," she murmured to Marce, glancing at him in the rearview mirror before pulling out one of her phones and settling back against the door to make a quick call. As amusing as it was, Arch was already babbling out an apology when he answered.


"Of course I'm not mad at you, honey," she informed him sweetly, giving the child a kind smile as she spoke and listened to Arch. He seemed oddly close to tears. It made her long to smirk, but she wouldn't be so hostile in front of an innocent kid. "Uh huh. You do that. Okay. Send them to the tracker immediately. Thanks, dollface."


She hung up and put the phone back in her pocket, then examined the girl. If she was still here in the city, she couldn't have been taken more than a day ago unless they were doing sales a lot closer to home.


"Marce, I think you owe me two breakfasts instead of one now," she said, grinning at him cockily.
 
Marce fumbled with his radio for a while, trying to find an upbeat song that wouldn't send the girl bursting our in tears or something. There was no children stations, but she wasn't a little baby. The FFC made sure that curse words were bleeped out in most of the stations. As much as it killed him to do it, he turned it back to the Pop station, cringing when Justin Beiber immediately began wailing about his 'Baby'. Marce looked in the rear view mirror and smiled.

"Well, aren't you precious? This is blackmailing gold, right here." Ace either didn't care about what he said or was doing something else, because he didn't get an immediate response. Marce looked to the girl before making a right at a red light, taking him back onto the main road and towards the Bureau. There were more cop cars than normal lining the streets, most likely because Ace had turned into Speedette Racer when she got the phone call from Arch. As soon as the thought popped in his head, Ace was on the phone again. He listened to what she was saying half-heartily, knowing that Arch had no more information to give them.

Good, because Bob could not have been a happy person.

Marce spun the wheel in a half crescent circle, obeying the rules of the road as he pulled up to the Bureau. The girl hadn't said a word until Ace carried her out of the van. He didn't really expect her to. She must have been traumatized out of this world with what she had almost went through. He had no time to feel guilty for her. The Bureau stood before them like the entrance into the Golden Gates, where Marce wouldn't be surprised if he got sent the opposite way. He stepped out of the car, locking it before waiting for Ace to heave the girl and herself out before he walked briskly through the revolving doors of the Bureau, nodding his head at the waving secretary.

"We have to bring her in here. You'll get your cereal when we get to the airport so quit your whining." He wanted to add the word 'cheater' to the end of that, but he didn't want a bad image in front of Little Miss Silence, not that the two of them made a sparkly image earlier anyway.
 
Ace sighed in an appropriately dramatic fashion as Marce said she would have airport cereal. Whining? She hadn't been whining! All she had meant was that Marce should buy the girl breakfast too. Poor thing looked like she hadn't eaten yet today. Oh well. Maybe she could bully Bob into running out for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.


Heh.


She was grinning when she got out of the car with the girl still clinging to her. The thought of Bob trudging through a grocery store on a mission for sugary breakfast foods amused her enough that she was still half smiling as they passed the secretary and stepped into the elevator.


"Did you bring along the tracker with you? If not, we'll need to go back and get it before going to the airport. Arch just gave me some news that you're really not going to appreciate. If we had time I would say we should go see him personally, but that can wait. He already knows it's coming," she said, her voice calm for the sake of the child in her arms.
 
"I should have your dick shoved in a waffle iron and served with a side of fucking toast, Marce Jove!"

He certainly didn't care that a little girl was present. What was she going to do? Tell the head of the BAD that Bob Public was using bad words? A burst bubble for her, for sure. Bob Public was the head of the BAD. A very angry, steaming, red-faced head, that is. His eyes looked sunken into the back of his head like he hadn't slept since the 1920s or either had a bad time doing so. Marce knew for a fact that stress had to be a factor in that somewhere. His hair was thinning and lined with grey streaks, all traces of the younger man he had once been gone. Sweat tracked along the lining of his hair that he didn't bother to wipe away, knowing that with Marce Jove in the room, there was going to be more to come. He made a cough like cracking concrete, but wiped it away simply with a kerchief laying innocently on the desk before him.

"You know how deep in shit my head is in right now? I've got Bureau of Investigation gnats so far up my ass, they could look at the world through my eyes! Not a single follicle of hair was found at that fucking scene! They think they men shot themselves over some stupid gambling bit! Not that one of my men and a fucking hotshot broad murdered them in broad...fucking...daylight!" Another throat shattering cough.

"Not even the girl's hair?" If Bob's glares could burn, Marce would have considered himself cremated. He kept his face in a stoned expression, only letting wisps of amusement out when Bob had one of his coughing fits.

"No. And you wanna know why, Bonnie and Clyde? Because the van...get this...the van mysteriously BLEW THE FUCK UP!" Bob was waiting for one of them to gasp. He'd be waiting a lifetime. Marce slid a gaze to Ace, lifting one of his brows bemusedly. If she could read expressions, she'd probably see him telepathically saying 'Arch?' Bob caught the exchanging of expressions and slammed his palm on the desk, snapping all three of their heads forward.

"If you have some more information on these Italian baked asshats, you had better start kissing my ass once I bend over."

"You know I have information. It's whether I relay that information to you or not that's the case." Marce retorted. Bob's ears burned, red rimming around the tips of them.

"I don't honestly need to remind you how fucking important this is, do I? Alright, you saved one girl. Big fucking whoop! What's one child compared to 30 plus across the fucking globe!?"

"Two, and I understand exactly how serious this is, so your reminder can wait for another op,"he responded quickly, without the slightest look of annoyance. Mr.Calm. Mr.Collected. "I'd rather dwindle that number than increase it. Okay, so we made a little bit of a mess. I say we let the B of I think the Merenzo's offed themselves. It keeps us all out of trouble and it keeps the Mayor away from your balls. I don't see the problem here."

"The problem is Little Miss Tutu and Mary Poppins! That girl needs to be returned to her house and you need to be on a plane to Romania 20 fucking minutes ago!" Marce leaned back in the chair and shrugged in his jacket, tilting a head to Ace.

"I told you."
 
Despite the fact that she didn't approve of the language selection around the girl in her lap, Ace couldn't deny that she was now wondering what Marce's screams would be like if his dick was turned into a waffle. Dickwaffles. Why was she so sorely tempted to cook him breakfast tomorrow now?


"Well, that is mysterious. I wonder how a van could blow itself up. They must have technology that we don't.." she mused, glancing at Marce and meeting his eyes with a very obvious amusement.


Mary Poppins? Well! Now that was a definite upgrade from Saving Grace. Now instead of a television show that most people hadn't seen, she was a character from a movie that everybody had at least heard of. Plus she got all of those fun songs and a cute chimney sweep lover. Such a step up in stature clearly only meant one thing.


She was growing on Bob.

Poor man, destined to be heartbroken and never have his blossoming love realized..


"Oh don't pull the I-told-you-so crap on me, Marce. As if you didn't wet yourself with happiness at the chance to help a kid," she grumbled, sitting up a bit and standing the girl in front of her. She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a little cell phone, then tapped in the number to her other phone so that it was the only contact on the list. Handing to the girl, she smiled.


"If you ever get scared or see any men who look like the ones who took you away, you call this number, okay?" she asked, getting a slow nod in return. She nodded back and stood up, looking over at Marce.


"Are we going to sit here all fucking day or what? I thought we were supposed to be in Romania."
 
Marce congratulated her silently on keeping her manners while in the presence of his boss. Sure, she still cursed and challenged him, but it was sweeter than what he picture it would have been like in his head. Bob screaming at her while Ace kneeling over his desk both seductively and threatening, two things Bob Public were sworn to die for. Ace kept her hands to herself and her focus more on he and the little girl, who didn't seem too phased by the obscenities thrown here and there. Well, if she was okay with it...

"She's right. If you're so mad about us being late, why call me to your office in the first place? Just to chew my ass out? You could have done that on the phone."

"Sure, right along with telling you how fucking close you are to being off this case."

"I'm not a detective."

"And I'm not a goddamn saint, Jove!"he snapped, flinging the back of his hand at a stack of papers and watching them go array around him. Marce looked pointedly at the papers, arms still folded over his chest while he lounged back in the chair. His face was still erased of all emotion. The papers in statement were probably complaints from the BOI about this morning's massacre. Bob didn't seem to care about them enough to let them go flying everywhere, caring more about making a point on how pissed he was. A point well taken. "I can't keep saving your ass every time you use a fucking Port-A-Potty! You get yourself in more shit in Georgia than anywhere else in the fucking globe! I can't do anything for you if you screw around in Romanian and piss off the King's wife or some shit!"

"Rest assured."

"Rest assured..."Bob breathed, chuckling through his coughs when he picked up the kerchief on the desk, "I haven't rested at all. I need a break and a half, Jove. I'm getting old."

"So am I."

"I'm married with 3 kids, one granddaughter, and another one on the way. You're single with nothing going for you but saving a bunch of little kiddies." It was Marce's turn to send a glare.

"Low blow. One of those kiddies could be one of your grandchildren. What would I have going for me the--"

"GODDAMMIT, MARCE, JUST DO WHAT I FUCKING TELL YOU TO DO FOR ONCE! For once in your life, listen to your fucking boss instead of trying fingering the state of Georgia in the pussy!" There was a silent clatter of his echo in the room, remnants of Bob's voice laying like a perched bird on top of their heads. Bob's wide, beady eyes zipped from each person in front of him before he breathed out an forced exhale of calm and tranquility. It wouldn't hold long. "I'm on your side here, Jove. I need you to be on the same side, not the opposite end of the field." When Marce neither responded nor retorted, Bob made another one of his sighs.

"Your plane leaves in 40. Faulkner and Waters will be waiting for you in the lobby. Oh, and Miss Poppins?"he said, swinging a look to Ace as if he just now noticed her in the room, "You're staying here."

"No," Marce immediately said, now showing anger in his features by tightening his shoulders squarely. Bob ignored him.

"I can't have you fucking with the mission. I know about your information and I don't need to know the details, but Jove has what you have so you're useless. You'd only get in the way."

"She's coming with me."

"She's staying in the States."

"She's coming...with me," Marce snapped back, his voice barely above a whisper as he stood up. His height clearly towered over Bob's, standing or sitting. Now that he was to his feet, Bob had to look up at him instead of down. Tables turning.

"You're not in the fucking position to call shit around here, Jove. Remember, you signed your ass to me when you got this job. I call orders. I said she's staying in the States. Nothing personal, only legal shit that you already know." Anger built up in his chest, but Marce knew how to handle it. Breathe it in like it was nothing more than oxygen. Let the anger transfuse into something more than shouting and screaming, something to come back and hit Bob square on his jaw. Breathe it in and don't lose it. Marce remembered his mantra of practiced restraint. If he could do it with Ace in the bedroom, barely clothed, then he could do it to his douchebag boss.

"I'm in the position to call everything, Bob. I'm the lead in this operation. I have the facts. The information. I have so much shit on the Merenzo's we could plant daisies in Alaska. Without me, this Bureau is a bunch of blind mice. Take away Ace, you take away those girls and their lives. You take away the best and only op you have willing to die for this bullshit,"he said, leaning over the desk to look Bob straight with a no-nonsense scrutiny.

"Nothing personal, only legal shit that you already know." He didn't wait for a reply or for the ax to come swinging down on his head, telling him he was off the job. Not taking a look at Ace, Marce quirked his head to the door and strolled out, leaving Bob alone in the room with the girl and probably one hell of a headache. Marce was no better off, breathing in and out through a small parting in his lips to let off steam. He hoped Ace had nothing sarcastic to say. Practiced restraint only held for so long.
 
Ace yawned to herself and waited for the two men to stop bickering. So much testosterone, so little space to fling it all. The little girl apparently had no interest either, since she had curled up in Ace's vacated chair and fallen asleep. Lucky little brat. Ace frowned and looked over at Marce as he rambled on about grandchildren.


This was such a colossal waste of time.


She was going to use the sudden silence to nab Marce and get out of there, but then Bob addressed her and she had to look over at him. It was a shame she didn't have a flying umbrella.


Wait, did he just say..?!


"Fucking with the mission?!" she exclaimed, instantly outraged. Marce might know a lot, but now that she was holding new information, there was no way she was being left at home like a good little dog. She'd be better off staying with Arch and going out solo while Marce traipsed all over Romania!


She seethed in silence while the pair bickered, admittedly pleased that Marce was arguing in favor of her going. It was certainly a surprise that he felt so strongly about it. The back and forth crap didn't last too long before Marce stalked out with the clear intention of having her follow. She walked over to the door, then paused and looked back at Bob.


"So there!"


She was smirking to herself as she caught up with Marce by the elevator.


"I've got some bad news.."
 
Marce didn't look back and didn't want to. Bob was either going to lash out and scream at the girl, or pop anti-gastric pills into his mouth to calm his insides. He bet on the latter, having seen Bob do the act before. The man was old and had enough stress to fuel 3 pregnant ladies in labor at the same time. The pills were most likely prescribed by a doctor, though Marce still couldn't see him waiting patiently in a waiting room for a doctor. Knowing him, he'd probably pull a Kool-Aid Man and burst right through the walls, demanding to be checked in first. The pills were the only thing Marce knew that could calm Bob down. If he didn't have them, then poor Little Miss Tutu.

"I don't suppose it could wait,"he sighed between his teeth, not chancing a look towards Ace. She was a bearer of bad news, all the time reminding him about the girls, Merenzo whereabouts, and the whole 9 yards. What's one more sliver of bad news compared to all the other he had yet to endure? He said nothing as he lead her off to the back end of the Bureau where his office was located. It was past Alex's but not yet reaching Bryson's, placing him right in the middle. He didn't know if they did that on purpose or whether it was a hilarious coincidence. A leader being wedged in between his two partners. Rich.

The two of them came up to the door and Marce twisted it the instant he put his keys through the lock. It wasn't too dark, but after he flicked the switch, light drowned over them and onto the rest of his office. It was the typical office, just like Alex's or even Bob's. A desk placed to the end, high-tech computer beside a cup of pens, a plaque with his name on it, and some stacks of paper. There were tiny things here and there on the desk as well: post-it notes, staplers, business card, and some other knick-knacks. There was a lamp on a nightstand next to a telephone. Two leather chairs sat in front of the desk, but other than that, the room was the same.

There was only one tiny difference.

Plastered over the walls were maps, pictures, articles, and tiny snip-its of newspaper clippings, all about the Merenzo's and some girls involved in it. It was much like your regular homicide study, except it belonged to a BAD op. And there he was saying he was no detective. Marce went over to his desk and punched the voice mail button on his phone. Most were from the Police Department regarding the McDonald's fiasco. He fast forward through those. The rest were about Merenzo inquiries that Ace already filled in for him. He maneuvered his way around her and headed back to the door, but not before grabbing a single, silver key from atop his desk.

"Alright. I'm listening."he said, closing the door behind him and leading her off towards the exit of the building, hoping that whatever she had to tell them wasn't going to get them killed once he slid behind the driver's seat.
 
"Of course it can wait."


Ace glanced over at Marce, tempted to roll her eyes. All news could always wait. The difference was that some news sounded worse the longer you waited to hear it, and sometimes it was too late. Right now, she doubted a few minutes would make much of a difference. Besides, being in a small space like an elevator with Marce Jove while delivering bad news just sounded like a suicide mission. And to think, the man still owed her breakfast..


She followed him out of the elevator and to his office. It was pretty much what she expected. Boring and normal except for the obvious obsession. She turned and slowly looked over the maps, examining the pictures and lines connecting place to place. To somebody such as herself who had been poring over maps for months and hunting the Merenzo bastards down, she could easily see the places that had escaped Marce's detection thus far. This wasn't the time to point it out, but she didn't have to. He had a device to help him with that now. The headquarters didn't matter as much as the girls.


"Arch has been withholding information. The details are, for the moment, irrelevant. I'll tell you more when we get back. He already knows we have a date," she said, walking along with him and thinking about how Arch was probably having a stroke knowing what was in store when she got back.
 
"Does that guy ever do something right?"he asked, rubbing his forehead and finally resisting the urge to rip out the radio with his bare hands and chunk it out the window. Instead, he pushed the volume knob inwards and then the silence ensued, the music of the streets slowly crawling into the car. "He's a good guy, but there's always a mistake. Always. I can't believe I'm asking for perfect, but it would help if he actually did something completely right for a change." Marce was just being moody over his spat with Bob and what happened this morning. He couldn't act like Clark Kent all the time. Sooner or later, once the Merenzo mess was set over, if he even survived it, he would have to fess up to his mistakes and pay the consequences, which still wouldn't haven been nothing more than a slap on the rest.

Still, it was not yet 11:00 and he still hadn't had anything to eat.

"Sorry,"he muttered. Arch was Ace's friend, geek from hell or not. If it weren't for him and his thick framed glasses, Little Miss Tutu would have probably been somewhere in Uruguay by then. He took a left turn off of the highway, only going down a mile and a half before reaching Decatur Airport, 4 planes already gassing up for their aerial trips to who new where. The silver and navy glossed one was the Bureau's, going directly to Romania. He wheeled into the parking lot, sliding in between a slot that red, Bureau Operatives Only. He always thought it was a bad idea to put name plates over the parking spaces. If anyone were strolling through the lot and had something against one of the BAD, they would be able to find their car instantly. Then again, airport security was tighter than Ace's...

It was just really tight.

Stepping out of the car and popping the trunk open, he grabbed a duffle bag that could have held a body in it, knowing it was going to be a bitch to put into the bag scanner.

"Remember what I said about terminal breakfast? I lied. We have to get it while we're in the air. I hope you're not afraid of heights."
 
"There are some things he gets right. He saved my ass once a long time ago," Ace muttered, buckling her belt and leaning back in the seat.


She waved off his apology and spent the rest of the ride just listening to the radio. Her mind wandered back to the first time that she met Arch. Things had been so, so different back then. He probably missed those days, she thought with a twinge of amusement. She snapped out of her thoughts as they came to a stop at the airport, climbing out of the car and eying the plate that announced exactly who they were.


"Oh, that's a great idea," she mocked, rolling her eyes and looking over at Marce as he pulled a massive bag out of the trunk. That'd be a joy to get through security..


"If I was afraid of heights, I wouldn't have come. And as long as we're not munching plastic, I don't even care. I'm starving."
 
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