Jul. 31st, 2010 10:27 pm
maratonista: (Default)
[personal profile] maratonista
Wow, when I get sick, I get sick! That was a miserable week! I'll get to comments I owe asap :)

Title: Edgewise
Pairing: Cougar/Jensen
Rating: R
Summary: Jensen would probably be touched that Roque felt the need to punch Clay on his behalf.
Disclaimer: Not mine, borrowed!
Warnings: Violence, strong language and schmoop.
Notes: Follows His, Now I lay me down to sleep, Useful, Better dead, Not even close, Going to ground, Talk, Blue and Three

They got to work in the US, for once. The state didn’t matter. The town didn’t, either.

Just that they were hunting down one of their own – former, and the whole thing left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth.

Hayden Lee was ex Black-Ops. Cougar had worked with him, way back when.

Guy was as rough, tough and bad-ass as they came.

He was also completely fucking bat-shit crazy. Even on their scale of the word.

Talk had it that Lee was picked up on an op in Eastern Europe – could have been the Balkans, the file was still closed, five years later – like Cougar and Jensen had been; tortured, like Cougar and Jensen had been.

He’d not been rescued: he’d fought his way free.

And by all accounts, not been right in the head ever since.

According to their intel, Lee had started picking guys up a year after his escape.

His methods varied, from the suave to the brutal.

The poor bastards who had been unlucky enough to cross Lee’s path had been beaten, tortured with electrical cables, and raped.

The Army had been aware of the situation for three years. Their problem was that Lee was very well trained, practically impossible to track, an as damn close to a one-man army as you could get.

He was their problem, not the Feds. Army dealt with Army. No one else needed to get involved.

Which was where they came in.

Practically impossible to track wasn’t completely impossible to track.

Jensen had him pinpointed in eleven hours.

The plan was fairly simple.

Find, follow, watch, lure out, capture, and bring in.

Most likely for another round of torture, only this time one approved by the State.

Cougar would probably have been more sympathetic towards the guy if it hadn’t have been Jensen that they were staking out like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

Roque had been the one to kick up the loudest stink when Clay had set out the plan. He voiced his objections with the booming projection of a natural orator. Jensen wasn’t capable of doing the job; he was too emotionally vulnerable; Clay was out of his fucking mind.

It was Roque’s way of saying ‘I love you, I don’t want you to get hurt, Clay, you’re an asshole’.

Jensen – in that damn fucking annoying logic of his – pointed out that Roque’s point, valid or not, were pretty fucking moot.

Lee had not crossed racial barriers in selecting his victims, which left himself, Clay, and at a pinch, Cougar.

Cougar already knew Lee, so that one was struck off fast.

Clay was ten years older than the oldest victim, and therefore a statistical – he even fucking used that word - unlikelihood. And also so straight no sane guy would dare hit on him, and so scary he was unlikely to get jumped.

Plus, Jensen said, hammering the nail into his coffin, and reminding them all of his own history with a carefree brutality ‘I might actually be able to understand this guy’.

Clay could barely bring himself to meet Cougar’s eye all day.

“We’ll be right here, okay? We’re run through our positions, you know we’re no more than sixty seconds away. Cougar even less: I don’t think sound barriers mean anything to him.” Pooch ran over the plan for the hundredth time.

Jensen nodded in the same way he had every time previous.

“You know, I do actually trust you guys to have my back.” Jensen flashed them all an easy grin.

“Just stay smart, kid.” Clay said gruffly.

The Colonel fucking hated the plan as much as all of them.

Unlike his subordinates, though, he didn’t have the luxury of allowing his personal feelings in the matter to affect his judgement.

Jensen was the best suited to the job, so off he went.

He’d shaved and cut his hair, just in case Lee had access to any circulating info. Without his glasses, he looked like a completely different person. A model maybe, or some preppy lawyer. His personality had been stripped away.

Cougar hated it.

Lee frequented a club on the outskirts of town.

Jensen reccied the location for three nights in a row, innocently catching Lee’s eyes and shooting him flirtatious little smiles.

He wasn’t wired, but Pooch and Roque were in the club with him, blending into the crowd.

Clay and Couagr covered the exits.

On the forth night, Lee made his move.

Cougar was fucking glad he was in the club. If he’d had to watch the fucker put his hands on Jensen, he’d have blown the whole op.

Pooch and Roque were wired.

That was how Lee got to them.

He led Jensen out the back door of the club. As Clay prepared to give the signal to move in, Lee fingered his cell phone, and the flare of static noise that burst through the radio had them all shouting in pain, distracted and disorientated.

In the five seconds they were off air, Lee and Jensen vanished.

Clay didn’t even bat an eyelash when Cougar broke his nose.

Chain of command his ass.

“I fucking told you this was a fucking bad idea!.”

Jensen would probably be touched that Roque felt the need to punch Clay on his behalf.

Or freaked out that two people had socked one to the Colonel, and Clay hadn’t triggered a nuclear meltdown.

The computer had a mind of its own. The fucker was possessed.

Clay tapped a few keys, and a message appeared on screen:

Dude, I had fucking better be dead, or I’ll make you wish you were. No touchy!

Which was quickly followed by:

If I am dead, then get Cougs to tell you the password and you’re good to go. If Coug’s is dead as well, then you’re just plain fucked, sorry.

They all looked over at him.

Cougar had no fucking idea what Jensen’s password was.

For some reason, that really, really pissed him off.

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