Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 5:

Charming, California was…not charming, Liz thought to herself as they passed another stretch of dry mountains and yellow dirt. Everything seemed like it was slowing dying, if not already dead. She kept her judgments to herself though, as she glanced to her left to see the slight twist in her partner’s mouth and the white knuckled grip he took on the steering wheel. She caught Meera’s eyes in the rearview mirror but she just shrugged and went back to her music, entirely content to ignore the stewing ball of tension driving the vehicle.

When they got the call a few weeks ago, no one had bothered to even double check the recording. The tip seemed weak and it lacked a source, so, obviously, it was shoved to the side for more important things. And then more important things, and more important things, until finally, one of the techies in the main room called out for a background check on the anonymous tip concerning the disappearances of not one, but two senior FBI agents connected to the South Eastern gun trade and the dropped RICO case.

Reddington was lounging comfortably in a rolling desk chair, and his chuckle was low enough that only Liz and Ressler were close enough to hear it.

“Disappearance,” he muttered to himself, “sometimes I forget how slow the government can be when it comes to small towns.” His shook his head in genuine awe as he grinned and Liz watched as his glance wandered towards the agent to her left. Don was focused on the file in his hands and didn’t seem to hear the joke. The tech called out again from across the room, frustrated at the lackluster protocol and no one taking the blame.

“Hello? Anyone?” he waved the file jerkily in the air, “Just going to leave two MIA agents in southern California with no source crediting? Have them rot in some po-dunk town outside Lodi—”  he voice cut off with a squeak and both Liz and Don turned to see the Director grab the file as he marched towards their unofficial corner.

“Agent Ressler, Agent Keen, what is your status?” Director Cooper’s voice seemed to shake the rafters as he came to a halt in front of the board. Reddington was already collecting his coat and hat as he winked at her across the desk. She hissed under her breath as Ressler traded the file in his hand with the file in Cooper’s. They were muttered in harsh voices near the front of the room and she turned so as not to draw attention.

“Where are you going, Red? Were nowhere near done,” she whispered in confusion. He flashed that wide razorblade of a grin in her direction and pulled a lock of her hair as he waltzed past.

“You’ve got a new job, it seems.” He flicked a glance towards to shell-shocked team leader waving his hands in the air and spoke quietly. “Watch out for him, my dear, this one will be a tad…personal.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, then signaled Djembe near the doorway. She glanced over towards Ressler to find him staring sharply in her direction before he focused back on the Director. The line of tension in his shoulders was almost vibrating and she tried to remember what the case in Cooper’s hand was about. Something about missing agents in California?

Why shift in the specialized profiling team for that?

She was still thinking when Cooper finally left and Ressler made his way over to their desk. The furrow between his eyebrows made her hands itch to smooth the line away. He exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” he started as Meera wandered over to the desk. The triangular formation they settled into was becoming too familiar, both women tightening in around Ressler’s file splayed out across his hands. “I know you both have questions, but I have to ask that you hold them until were in transit. We’ll be relocating to the East Coast to work with the local Sheriff’s Department, to close the cases of two missing FBI agents suspected to have a connection to the local criminal subjugate in the area.” Liz felt the crease in her brow deepen as she watched Ressler shift his stance again as he spoke. He was fidgeting. Why was he fidgeting? He caught her eye and pursed his lips before continuing.

“Do either of you have experience working with blue-collar crime?” Both Meera and Liz shook their heads. He nodded like he expected nothing less. “I didn’t think so. It’s a bit of a culture shock, considering what were used to out here, but I have some...leads in the area that can help us out.” Meera didn’t seem to notice the twitch around his left eye as he said that, but Liz did. Fuzzy images of a hospital room and a dark silhouette in a dirty ball cap with a knife the size of her forearm rose to the front of her mind.

Meera was sleeping in the backseat, her headphones loud enough for Liz to hear the  tinny bass acoustics from the front. She turned towards Ressler, who was going on his fourth hour of silence as they entered the small town. She looked him over.

“So what’s your problem?” she said frankly. His glance flickered off the dead road for about half a second before returning.

“What do you mean?” he tried.

She arched her eyebrow at the fake calm response. (She’d been practicing that one-brow move. Liz was pretty proud of it.) ”Don’t bullshit me. You haven’t said a word all day, even on the plane. You’re nervous and tense, you packed twice as much as I did—and I’m a woman, and you were in Cooper’s office for two hours before we left and you didn’t even try and let us in.” Her voice was steadily rising in frustration and she caught herself before she woke up Meera. She hissed a whisper instead.

“You haven’t acted this shady since—“ she froze, words caught in her throat. He hadn’t been this panicked since his brother and nephew. Whom she hadn’t seen since the team’s last Californian excursion that ended with both Ressler and Liz in the hospital. And who needed legal access to cross the Atlantic, after they made the trip across the U.S… from the other side of the country. Due to their serious gang connections…and because they were all ex-cons.

Ressler was looking at her. His blue eyes were wide and cagey.

“Are we…Don, are we in your brother’s town?” Liz’s voiced was pitched so high Ressler winced slightly. “Is this case about Jax?”

Silence. He coughs uncomfortably. More silence.

Liz sees red.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hisses between her teeth, twisting her body and slamming her closed fist into his shoulder, eliciting a sharp curse as he swerves into the other lane. She’s still punching him repeatedly, even as he shifts the car back onto their side of the road, underlining every solid hit with an insult. He tries to smack her hands away while still holding the wheel, but fails miserably. She hits harder.

“How thump—could thump —you thump —even thump —think thump —“ “Christ, Liz, stop it, let me just— thump STOP, for the love of—“

He pulls over next to a small billboard on the interstate and slams the gear into park. He glares at her fiercely, which she returns.

“What. The. Fuck. Liz.” He growls out, and she tries her hardest to ignore the shiver that tone sends down her spine. She refocuses.

“No. Don’t even start.” She leans in closer to emphasize her point, keeping her voice low.  “Now is definitely not the time for macho team leader. Now is the time for explanations.” He glares at her a moment longer behind exhaling heavily. The heat from the empty road to their left is stifling now that they’ve come to a stop and she rolls up her window and then shifts to a more comfortable position to hear her partner.

Shockingly, Meera is still snoring softly in the backseat.

“Okay, long story short, what I’m telling you is officially a federally redacted secret. You need to understand that. Your clearance level is nowhere near this yet, but… you deserve to know at least the basics.” He pauses, and his shoulders tense up slightly as he continues. “I trust you. I know it’s taken me a long time to admit that, but I do.”

Liz holds her breath, afraid to stop him before he gets started.

He twists the key while he visibly focuses himself, the engine rumbling to life. Liz checks the backseat again to see Meera has shifted deeper into the corner, still dead to the world with her music blasting into her ears. Ressler nods his head in front of them, bringing her attention to the billboard they pulled off near. Welcome to Charming is carved into the fake wooden backing, paint chipped slightly and most of it sun bleached white. Over the population and town stats are messy words scrawled in red spray paint. At first it doesn’t register beyond normal graffiti, until she translates the crappy kid lettering into readable script:

Home of Protected by SAMCRO

Next to the graffiti is a quick sketch of an ambiguois black bird, wings spread.

“First things first,” he says casually, ignoring her as she rakes her brain for the slightly familiar name and symbol, “Charming is the epitome of a construction based small town. Progress gets lost somewhere back in Nevada and takes a 30 year detour before it finally stumbles into the city. This makes the town…special.”

His tone has taken on a soft drawl, unconsciously bleeding into his crisp northern accent. If it were anyone else, she'd say he sounded fond.

“But its also exactly in the middle of almost every smuggling ring on the eastern seaboard," he continues. "Ports are all along this section of the coastline and all of them are so overrun by cartels and gangs its practically unlivable.” He shifts the car into gear again, eyes flicking up to check the mirror and making sure Meera is still unconscious. He lowers his voice and turns on the radio to a soft rock station as they pull back out onto the road. “Lodi and Eden are less than 50 miles away in either direction and both are so dangerously corrupt—“ he cuts off and shakes his head. “Lets just say, I’d never even let my kids outta the house, let alone school. But Charming’s different. A few decades ago, when the drug cartels started to get overly confident, this town, somehow, acquired 'legal' gang protection.” He glances over in time to catch her expression and smirks grimly. “Blue collar crime isn’t as simple as the FBI pretends. Too many nooks and crannies for people to hide in, too much money changing hands; so when the Charming police partnered up with the local gunrunners in order to keep the town clean, everyone was happy. Less blood, less drugs, and people finally felt safe. I’d know, considering my first case was right here.”

“In Charming?” she blurts out, forgetting in her confusion she was going to let him talk it through.

He nods and runs a hand through his meticulously combed hair. Liz has noticed the habit only seems to return when Jax is involved (which probably says a lot considering its also the only time he ever looks remotely disheveled). “Yeah. Director Cooper actually brought me in. They utilized my,” his mouth twists, “familiarity with the process to get at some Irish gang criminal contacts connected to the IRA, but that’s …another story.” The crease in his forehead deepened again (the one Liz had secretly dubbed ‘The Constipation Vexation’ Line) and he lost himself for a moment. She waited patiently for him to continue. Well, kind of.

“Wait.” She interrupts his trip down memory lane shamelessly. “Are you saying Jax…your little brother who you grew up with….is the de facto leader of an internationally associated gun smuggling organization. From where, his backyard? His fucking garage?” Her voice is steadily rising in distress and he winces slightly at her sarcasm, keeping his eyes steadily on the road as the older buildings around them grow closer together and residencies start popping up.

“…Well…I mean…you’re not wr—“

“I swear to god, Don, if you tell me Jax runs guns from his garage I will call Red right now and have him cut your dick off and sell it on the black market. I’m not joking.”

Meera wakes up five minutes later to the car swerving wildly again and Liz’s voice cutting through the music while she angrily punches Ressler’s shoulder. He's trying to fend off her attacks and failing while she screeches into his ear.

“TELLER. MORROW. AUTO. REPAIR?”