Chapter Text
Unfinished Business
By Maygra
alternate ending, 740k, (84,000 words) NC17
Years will pass and you'll remember
All that died within your grasp
And I'll be gone, you'll sleep uneasy
Upon a bed built of regret
You won't forget the loss of passion
As the past sleeps in your mind
Years will pass and you'll be searching
For things you'll never find. Regret ~ Bella Morte
Part One:
The adrenaline wore off long before they were done with him.
He hardly had to say anything to Tanner at all. It was like the whole sorry day was written on his face.
"You let him walk," Bilkins snapped out and not for the first time.
"Did he force you to give him the keys?" Tanner had asked, like he still believed, still thought there was something to salvage from this.
It was an out, one Brian could take if he wanted. He had bruises enough to make it stick. It didn't matter that they'd come from the wild leap from the semi to the Supra, and from the slamming around he'd taken chasing after two well-armed, nothing-to-lose Vietnamese on hyped up Kawasakis.
Well, they'd had something to lose. Tanner had demanded his badge even before they'd made it back to the precinct. He'd asked for his gun too, which was a whole other thing. Not that they really needed it for anything other than safety at this point. They didn't need a lab -- Brian hadn't intended to lie about shooting Tran. Or about giving Dom his keys. He hadn't planned on lying about any of it.
He'd been wrong. Wrong about Dom and his team because he didn't want to believe it. Dom was a good guy. He cared about his people. Force of gravity.
Bilkins' sharp staccato sarcasm had turned into a buzz of sound he couldn't hear any longer. Tanner was a muffled buzz of easier rhythms. All of it sounded like the throb of an engine that was badly in need of a tune-up.
Until there was silence, and Brian found himself looking up, seeing both men staring at him from opposite sides of the interrogation table, obviously waiting for him to say something.
"So, am I under arrest?" he asked because he honestly couldn't think of anything else. His head throbbed, his ribs ached, his mouth tasted like road grit and ash and all he wanted to know was if there was going to be somewhere he could lie down for awhile. A cell would be as good as anyplace.
Bilkins swore like a street fighter and slammed out of the room, the glass in the one-way mirror shaking.
Tanner just looked tired and sad. "Go home, Brian. Don't leave town. Don't make this worse."
It couldn't get worse.
The Mustang had been sitting so long in the garage that it took a couple of tries to get the engine to turn over. It needed a tune -up too and Brian idly wondered if he could rebuild it into something with some real power instead of just flash.
But that would take cash and since it looked like he would soon be out of a job, if he wasn't already, he figured he'd be lucky to have money enough to put gas in it.
They'd asked for his badge. No surprise there. He wasn't sure how many laws he'd broken, or if they thought he was a dirty cop or just a stupid one.
He still had Vince's blood on him. It was under his nails, soaked into his shirt. Tran's blood stained his palms, maybe Jesse's too. Maybe even a little of Dom's. Whatever blood of his own was there had been washed over and obscured by the rest.
He almost got lost going home. It had been weeks since he'd actually been to his house, instead of either the job house or the room that Brian Spilner used in the back of Harry's shop. He doubted if there was even food there and he made a stop to get some, beer too, since whatever had been left in his refrigerator wouldn't be enough. He stared at the Coronas for a long time before picking up a twelve-pack of Miller.
It felt unreal to climb the steps. He barely recognized this place as home any longer, the peeling paint, the once cheerful, now fading yellow paint, that showed signs of neglect and abandonment, despite the none too cheap rent. It wasn't home, not really. Home had very little to do with where you lived. He knew that. He did. He'd come to realize it, know it, feel it, over the past month or so. Home was never about the place, it was about the people.
"I gave him the keys."
"He's a wanted felon," Tanner said, not wanting to believe.
"Suspected. Alleged."
"Did he or did he not participate in those truck jackings? Christ, Brian, you were there!"
Brian hadn't said anything. Not to Tanner, not to Bilkins. Not with an attorney or not. That they'd let him go said something Brian didn't want to think about. They didn't need him -- not for this. The truck driver wasn't likely to forget Vince's face or Dom's. The wreckage of two Civics would offer up prints enough to make some forensic officer's job more like play. Nothing Brian could say would change any of it.
He wouldn't leave town. There was no point. There was no place to go.
He had to fumble with the keys to get his door open, unsure, any longer, which one fit. Or maybe he was just too tired. The beer in his arms was heavy. Bread and peanut butter sounded like a bad idea on his already sour stomach. Beer was probably a bad idea too, but it would numb him more. Didn't he have some tequila stashed somewhere?
No lights. If he'd left one on it had long since burned out. No doubt his mail was falling out of the box on the street. He'd forgotten to check.
He fumbled again and tried the switch inside the door but the little hall light didn't come on and he made his way toward the kitchen. Some light filtered in from the curtained front windows but not much. Enough to keep him from walking into anything, enough contrast to see the darker shadow that was the kitchen door.
That light worked and Brian winced at the brightness. The bags tumbled onto the counter, the bread no doubt being crushed under the peanut butter. He covered his eyes and waited for them to adjust. His hand smelled: bitter, acrid, sweat and blood and oil and gas. Cordite.
Elbowing the sink on, he heard the pipes rumble and waited until a burst of water spattered the dusty sink before thrusting his hands beneath the flow and bringing the tepid, sour smelling stuff up to his face. His ribs twinged, his shoulders, but the water ran cleaner and colder the third time he did it, making the aches easier to ignore.
A cupped handful of water got the stale, bitter taste out of his mouth, but it also made him nauseous. He leaned over the sink, letting the water spatter at him from the stainless steel before finally shutting it off.
Jesse was dead. He didn't know about Vince. Hadn't even tried to call Mia.
Dom was free. He hoped so. He thought so. If they'd picked him up, Tanner would have told him. He thought Tanner would have told him. Hopefully Dom had managed to ditch the car, pick up a new ride. Hector would help him, Edwin. Hell, Harry would if he could get away with it. He hoped Dom had ditched the car but maybe not. He hadn't looked too good.
He'd looked like shit. But he had driven away. If Dominic could drive, he'd be okay.
And if Dom were okay, Brian would be too. It had to be that way, right? Because otherwise none of it was worth anything. That was the choice he'd made.
He hadn't even been clear on why until he'd handed the keys over.
Until Dom had rolled the Charger over.
Brian's whole life had flashed before his eyes in those few seconds. Funny, he'd always thought that was supposed to happen when you were dying. Not when someone else might be, but that had been it -- he'd seen it all, every choice he'd made, every step up to that point.
Maybe he'd been dying a little after all. It felt like it, felt like he couldn't breathe until he actually realized Dom still was.
He shoved the beer in the refrigerator, staring at what was left of the six pack of Coronas that were already there. Beer, butter, mustard, ketchup. A nearly empty jar of pickles. Something in a take -out container that he'd forgotten about and didn't want to think about now.
He pulled out one of the Miller long necks and opened it.
It was cold, and nearly tasteless, no bite or fire, no hint of lime. He almost gagged on it, but kept going until half of it was gone. He left the rest on the counter and started toward his bedroom, peeling off the sweat and blood -stiffened t-shirt as he walked through the living room to the small hall on the other side.
He saw the shadow move before he actually registered the sound, the click. Instinct and surprise should have made him move faster, but he was almost on the shadow before he noticed it, before it moved. It was no tackle, more like tripping, legs tangling with his, a heavier body and an amazingly solid fist punching into his lower back even while he twisted around to meet his attacker head-on. That faint filtered light from the windows and the kitchen shone off skin and a white t-shirt. A mostly white t-shirt. So glaring now even in the half-light and how had he missed it? How had he missed Dom sitting in his living room?
Last place he expected him to be. He should be in Mexico. Anywhere. Nothing Brian had said or wouldn't say had kept the APB from going out on the wire.
Even as his cheek was rubbed raw in the carpet, he couldn't be surprised. Surprised Dom was here, yeah. Surprised that he still had a grudge to settle -- no, not at all.
He twisted around, tried to throw Dom off. Got to his back and went still. Light glinted off metal, inches from his face. The gun didn't waver except when Dom shifted, moved slightly to straddle Brian's body, heavy thighs pinning his legs, settling on him at just that point where trying to leverage Dominic off him would take a lot more time and effort than the gun was likely to give him.
"Are you nuts?" Brian hissed out. His hands were still free, because Dom wasn't using his free hand to hold him. He could move it though, stiffly, which was actually a vast improvement over the last time Brian had seen him.
"That a surprise, Brian? That I'm a little nuts?" Dom said, voice even, low, tight. "They took Mia in."
Oh, shit. Well, that explained a lot. Not just for revenge then. This was something else. "They've got nothing on her, Dom. Nothing. They just want to ask her questions. You had to know they would."
"What kind of questions? Like where I am? She won't tell them. She doesn't know."
But Dom knew she'd been taken in. It made sense if Brian thought about it, because Dom wouldn't leave her. His life had come crashing down and he'd still come back to Jesse. He'd have killed anyone who got in his way. He might have killed Brian had not Jesse shown up right then. But now Jesse was dead too.
"They've got nothing on her, Dom. I didn't call for back up. I didn't tell them anything."
"Oh, no? Then how come you're still walking around? Cop." The last was a growl and the tip of the gun pressed under his chin.
"Because they've got nothing. They won't until they talk to the truck driver. Until they talk to Vince." If they could.
"Vince."
"As far as I know, he's still alive. You shouldn't be here, Dom. Mia will be okay. You…you have got to get out of here." Which might be more difficult than Dom realized. They'd let Brian go, yeah, but if there wasn't someone watching his house, Brian would be surprised and disappointed. Tanner was better than that. Bilkins was better than that -- he was an asshole, but he wasn't an idiot.
Dom's weight on his middle shifted back a bit, a different kind of pressure building and Brian had to fight not to squirm. The gun drew back an inch or so.
"When I'm sure Mia's all right."
"They'll watch her. They're probably watching me," Brian said. "Jesus, Toretto! You had your chance. Why the fuck didn't you take it?"
The gun drew back further and Dom sat back on his thighs, the pressure making Brian wince. "Unfinished business," he said and then seemed to gather himself to lean forward, his stiff left arm trembling as he braced himself and got up. He weaved a little but the gun was at his side and Brian rolled quickly, feeling his own body twinge as he scrambled to his feet. By the time he was on them, Dom was holding the gun out, butt first. "It's out of ammo," he said. "You got anything to eat?"
Numbly, Brian took the gun and checked it. Feeling stupid…feeling another push of adrenaline. "Peanut butter. I'll order in," he said, wondering if he could actually find anyplace to deliver at this time of night. Dom was settling back in the chair, leaning his head back. Still moving cautiously, Brian reached for the lamp beside the chair, flicking it on and Dom flinched.
Jesus.
How Dominic had managed to put him on the floor had to have been sheer luck. He looked worse than he had after getting out of the Charger even though he obviously had done some cleaning up. He didn't move his arm very easily which didn't mean it wasn't broken, only that Dom had a high tolerance for pain. The gash on his scalp had been cleaned, the scab thick and ugly looking, but his face was bruised, his arms, probably elsewhere too. The blood on his shirt had dried to an ugly, crusty brown. He didn't move or even look at Brian when Brian moved away, going back into the kitchen and pulling out a cold beer, fingers hovering until he grabbed one of the four Coronas left. Somewhere he had pain killers too and there was ice. Ice went into a Ziploc bag and then into a towel, the cabinets revealed no great gourmet treats but there was canned chili and soup and tuna. The last almost made Brian smile, but he pulled down the chili instead and opened it, rinsing out a bowl before dumping it in and setting the microwave.
"Here," he said, coming back in to offer Dom the beer and the icepack. Dom eyed him with little interest but his good hand came out to snag the beer. Brian left the ice pack on the arm of the chair.
He checked his bathroom and found dirty, bloody towels on the sink and the painkillers he'd been sure he had were there, the bottle opened, and an empty Corona in the trash. It took a few moments for that to sink in. Dom had been here awhile. But he hadn't eaten.
He couldn't get the can open.
He snagged two more pills and went back to the kitchen just as the microwave pinged. Plate, bowl, bread, spoon.
Dom looked like he had fallen asleep or passed out, except he was still holding onto the beer. He hadn't touched the ice pack though.
"Dom. Dominic," Brian said and Dom came back with a jerk and a hiss, looking both disoriented and…and…
Scared. Not an emotion Brian had ever really expected to see on Dominic Toretto's face. "Dom, eat this. Take these," he said, crouching, offering up the pills first and waited while Dom set the beer aside to take the pills, then wash them down with the beer. The chili went down on the arm of the chair, Brian watching for a minute to make sure he could handle the spoon.
He watched him for a long minute, Dom eating automatically, like he was all too aware that he needed fuel, that will power alone would not get him through this. He was methodical and thorough, in no hurry, and Brian finally left him to seek sustenance of his own.
The first bite made him want to hurl, heavy and greasy, and he tore into a piece of bread instead. He went hunting for other supplies.
It never occurred to him to turn Dom in, although the possibility of the action did. A phone call and there would be cops everywhere. Dom wasn't armed, he was hurt, they'd probably be able to take him alive. He'd get medical help, he'd get time. Brian would get his job back. His respect back.
Like that would make it all better. What the hell had he been thinking?
He had nothing that would fit Dom really. Maybe a shirt, but pants, no way. And the shirt would be stretch, literally.
Digging around under the bathroom vanity produced an old, battered, off the shelf first aid kit with little of use except a sling, but that was something. And he had a washer and dryer.
The food was gone and the beer nearly so when he returned. Brian wasn't entirely sure what to do but he hovered again, dropping his butt on the coffee table.
"What's that?"
"A sling," Brian said, fingering the muslin. "Your arm--"
"Dislocated. It's better." The glare that accompanied the comment dissuaded Brian from arguing. He set the sling aside.
"You could use a shower." I could use a shower... "I can wash your clothes."
"Afraid of a little blood, Brian?" White teeth gleamed at him and Brian shook his head and got up.
"Whatever," he snapped. "I need a shower. Do whatever the hell you want, Dom."
"What are you going to do?"
"About what? You?" Dom's gaze didn't waver, didn't flinch.
"You think they'll look for me here?"
No, no, they probably wouldn't. Not if they hadn't seen him come here. "How did you find me?"
"Phone book."
Brian made a rude noise, but he was trying to figure it out. "And how many B. O'Conners are there in LA?"
"A lot," Dom said. "I called until I got your answering machine." He leaned forward and then pulled himself up. "A shower would be good," he said and Brian just closed his eyes before gesturing toward the bedroom.
"You know where it is."
Dom tried to move easily. It wouldn't have been so noticeable if he hadn't been trying so hard. Brian followed, only to stop and dig towels out of the closet. "I don't have anything to fit you. I'll wash those," he said and Dom stared at him long and hard before nodding.
In the end, he needed help, although he sure as hell didn't ask for it and didn't look too thrilled at accepting it. He managed his boots and his pants, but the shirt -- the flimsy, filthy cotton -- was too much for him. With Dom sitting on the toilet with a towel over his lap, Brian peeled the shirt off and while he wouldn't bet any money on it, he was pretty sure Dominic was a few shades paler when he was naked.
Brian set the water. "Can you manage?"
"Guess we'll find out," Dom said, standing up again, setting the towels down. Brian only glanced, not surprised at the powerful array of muscles in Dom's torso and legs. Muscle cars, muscle man. Sleek, naturally olive tanned skin, but it was shadowed by bruises, including one that spanned the entire left side of his back from shoulder to hip. No way to know if it was from the Charger crashing or from the disaster that was the truck hijacking.
Brian gathered up his clothes as Dom stepped under the water.
He tossed his own clothes into the washing machine as well, although he idly thought he should just toss them entirely. But if he couldn't have a shower, he could at least have clean clothes. He snagged one of the pain killers from the bathroom, pausing only to check on Dom. He was half obscured behind the frosted plastic of the shower door, his good arm bracing him against the wall as the water pounded over him. Brian saw his head turn, knew Dom had seen him, but he couldn't see Dom's eyes or the expression on his face.
The living room felt smaller without Dom in it. Another beer but Brian barely touched it. He wouldn't turn Dom in, but now they had a whole other set of problems. He should check on Mia, because if he'd thought about it when he handed the keys over, he'd have known Dom wouldn't leave his little sister to the wolves. He'd leave none of them until he knew they were okay.
And Brian knew it. He'd just forgotten. Forgotten why he'd been drawn to Dominic Toretto almost on their first meeting. Up until then he'd been a face and a rap sheet. A likely suspect. All in all he was still a street punk. A criminal, no matter his charisma.
Dom had something else. Mia called it gravity and maybe that was part of it, but there was more to it and Brian was caught in that as surely as the rest of them had been. Loyalty, trust.
Undercover was all about gaining trust and betraying it. How many times had Tanner told him that while he was prepping himself for this? Brian had never made the connection really, not until it happened. Not until Dominic Toretto trusted him with everything he was, everything he had, everyone he had.
He reached for his phone.
By the time the water shut off, Brian had news. Not great but some. He wandered back, watching as Dom finished drying himself off, and managed to hook a towel around his hips. "You should get some rest," Brian said, glancing back at the bed. It was made but Brian honestly couldn't remember how long since he'd changed the sheets and he wasn't going to do it now. "Your clothes will be ready in about an hour. They let Mia go home."
Dom's head lifted at that, his eyes shifting to the phone by Brian's bed.
"They probably have it tapped."
"Not unless they did it before I got here." He made for the phone and Brian had to move quickly to get in front of him without actually thinking of how stupid a move that might be. Dom was moving more easily but his left arm still looked like he didn't really own it -- was only borrowing it for awhile. The expression on his face was enough to make Brian draw a sharp breath before squaring his shoulders.
You break her heart and I'll break your neck.
Likewise, Dom. And you getting caught would definitely break her heart.. "They don't need to get in here to do it. You're watch too many cop shows, Dom. I'll call her."
"You think she's going to talk to you?"
The sneer was no less than Brian deserved.
"I think her phone is probably tapped too. Dom, whatever it is you want, you can't do it if they catch you," Brian said tightly. "You think this was a local operation? This was the Feds, Toretto. This was big. You were a big deal. You still are."
"You said you didn't say anything."
"I didn't. God damn it, Dom! They'll get you for smashing the damn crossing rail if that's all they can nail on you."
Dom jerked back at that, eyes narrowing as if he could see through Brian if he stared hard enough. "Don't take God's name in vain," he said mildly and pushed past Brian, a brush of shoulder that really had no force behind it but Brian lurched sideways anyway. Dom didn't go for the phone though, only pulled the bedspread back and eased himself down. Brian jerked his gaze back and shook his head. He could use coffee or something but he wasn't likely to go out again. Without looking back at Dominic taking over his bed, he left him, seeking the relative seclusion of the living room.
He didn't have a decent sofa. Just a couple of chairs and a love seat that had seen better days, a coffee table that looked as bruised and battered as Brian felt. He'd get Dom's clothes done, grab a shower when there was hot water again, and then see if he couldn't figure out some way to get Dom out of his house without him being seen.
The love seat sagged. Not the most comfortable spot to lie down on and the sagging cushions did nothing to support his aching back. The sudden rush of blood to his head made him feel light-headed and dizzy. He'd be sick if he had the energy. As it was he'd just finished reminding himself that getting up was going to hurt more than lying down before he slipped away from conscious thought or caring about anything.
Part Two:
It had happened pretty much the way he'd told Brian. He'd found an alley, a place to tuck in while the cops rolled by, waited until things were quiet again before he'd actually allowed himself to be sick or to even acknowledge the kind of pain he was in. Even then the physical pain had seemed minor, more of an annoyance than the other pain that no drugs and probably no amount of booze would ease.
He tried for the house, but the cops were crawling everywhere and even as he watched from one high street over, he'd seen Mia walked to a black and white. Watched with a hollow, empty feeling as the ambulance was loaded with a white-sheeted body. They had his shotgun and they ransacked the house. The urge to roar down the hillside and smash into the cluster of patrol vehicles and pull Mia out of it all had been strong.
But they hadn't cuffed her. They'd just put her in the back seat and some dark haired, clean-cut Latino cop had driven her away. They'd left three officers on the scene.
It wasn't like he had no other resources and he found them, hunted them down to get his shoulder knocked back into place, pick up some cash, put the word out for Leon and Letty, and figure out what the hell to do.
He hadn't lied to Brian. He wasn't running. Dominic Toretto didn't run out on his family. And they were still his. All of them.
It had taken him hours to actually get his thoughts together enough to make any kind of plan. He couldn't get to Mia or Vince. He didn't know where Letty and Leon had gone to ground and Jesse was dead.
That left Brian. Brian who Dom couldn't really be sure was actually still a friend. Not family though. Family didn't betray family and Brian had done that if nothing else. But he'd given Dom his freedom and that left him in the not-quite-enemy camp.
There were a lot of O'Conners in the phone book, but not that many "B. O'Conners" and they'd come first. Dom heard the familiar voice on the tenth try. Not so far away even and he'd managed to find a decent hiding place for the car a block or so over. Then he'd waited. Head throbbing, body telling him enough was enough, his arm stiffening up from swelling and abuse until he had to force himself to flex his fingers just to keep the blood flowing. He'd still waited and watched for more than an hour, long after the sun went down, when the lights in surrounding houses came up and Brian's house remained dark.
Getting in had been easier than breaking into the Tran's garage, but Dom broke nothing, just worked the rotting back door until it slid open with a squeak. It was a small house, more cottage than anything, nothing like the sprawl and added on ramble of his own home. Dust had settled everywhere. Everywhere but the inside of the refrigerator which offered him up little except a six pack of Coronas, some milk that had turned solid, and an interesting mix of condiments.
He hadn't turned on any lights, letting his eyes adjust to the ambient light filtering in from the street. Not much to say Brian lived here -- or that anyone lived here at all. An eclectic mix of music rested in stacks beside a stereo. A few paperbacks and car magazines. Dom's eyes narrowed at the police manuals stacked in an untidy heap on the bottom shelf of the stereo cabinet.
He'd trailed through the house, touching nothing but examining everything. Only in the bathroom did he turn on the lights and then only after the door was shut.
He barely recognized himself in the mirror and so he stopped looking, but found a towel and checked out the medicine cabinet. He let a trickle of water run, ears alert to any sound beyond the door as he tried to wash off some of the blood and let the cold, wet cloth press to his face for long minutes as if he could reshape his features into someone he recognized. The painkillers had gone down with a cupped handful of water.
Then he'd waited. It had taken longer than he wanted, not as long as he probably should have expected. The painkillers had helped because he could pass the minutes waiting and marking the ebbing of aches and the reduced burning in his muscles and bruises.
Coming here had been a less than clear plan. At first, anger and the deep wrenching sense of betrayal had sent him hunting down Brian. Brian letting him go had been unexpected, something Dom might have even been grateful for if he hadn't seen his baby sister being hauled in by LA's finest assholes. Saving Vince, another point scored. Jesse's death, the lies, somehow the balance sheet hadn't seemed to equal out. Brian had messed with his family. Brian had saved his family, saved him, but even so, retribution was a given. Maybe not to kill him, but definitely to let him know just how very bad an idea it was.
But with the pain easing and the hours passing, things had shifted a bit: his perspective or just his addition. Not only had Brian managed to get Vince off the truck when Dom couldn't, he'd made sure he had a chance by calling in the air lift.
None of it made sense. Not taken against what he knew. Had Brian done it for Mia? Had he really and truly fallen for her so much or so hard that he'd risk so much? She was worth the risk -- Dom had no doubt of it -- but he'd come back for Dom.
To take him in, maybe. To stop him from running? Maybe.
He'd come alone. He left alone.
Off-duty. That's what he'd said to the dispatcher at Life-flight. Off-duty. No cops, not until much, much later. Not until Dom had been clear and Brian had walked away.
It was hours later when Dom started to wonder if Brian was coming back, or if his actions -- his lack of action in doing his job -- might not have landed him in whole lot more trouble than he realized it would. No cop himself, Dom could still see the list of charges start to form. Aiding and abetting, manslaughter at least for taking out Johnny Tran, if he had, or did cops get special dispensation when they offed trash like that? Obstruction of justice.
And then he remembered Mia, and Vince, and Jesse and the wreck his life was at the moment. By the time he'd heard Brian at the door he'd worked himself up into a frustrated temper again.
It was only slightly mitigated when he finally saw him. The kid looked like hell. He hadn't shaved and that golden fuzz looked darker until he realized it was bruise on Brian's face; that he moved nearly as stiffly and ungracefully as Dom did.
He was invisible as Brian moved past him in the darkened room. Wherever Brian's thoughts were, they obviously weren't in the here and now. Time to make his presence known.
He'd startled Brian, yes, but Brian wasn't afraid. Not of Dom, not of much, apparently. And Dom's anger, even though he kept encouraging it to ignite, just never quite caught. Yeah, he was pissed off, but there was no longer a target for it. Not the Trans, not the system, not for Brian.
That left only himself. Brian was an easier target but Dom couldn't sustain it, couldn't hold onto it. He wanted to beat the shit out of something, someone, but even as his fists had clenched he'd seen something in Brian's face that made him back off.
Brian had risked a lot to give him his shot at freedom; Dom couldn't even begin to tally up what it might cost and Dom had tossed it back at Brian like it was worthless. He'd taken the keys from Brian with barely any hesitation, knowing even then that he was leaving Brian to face the music for his mistakes, his failures. But he'd done it, he'd taken that opening.
Only watching Mia get hassled, seeing Jesse's body carted away...…Dominic Toretto didn't like to owe anyone anything. Not his sister, not his team, and not some smart-mouthed, too convincing undercover cop.
And still Brian didn't back off and didn't turn him in, like he owed Dom something, still.
The shower probably helped Dom more than anything, easing pains, clearing his head. He'd taken Brian's bed, unable to do much more than watch him disappear into the darkness again, to listen to the shush and whir of the washing machine. He must have dozed because the buzzer that sounded when the washing machine stopped startled him, made him jerk upright in ways that weren't wise. He waited, expected to hear something, like Brian moving, but heard nothing. After a few moments he got up himself and checked, moving the wet clothes to the stacked dryer and set the timer. The noise seemed over-loud, the thump, thump of the tumbling clothes not quite rhythmic.
He had to resecure the towel and wonder briefly if Brian didn't have something he could wear, sweat pants or loose shorts and he made a half-hearted look through the dresser. Brian was as tall as him but he was definitely on the skinny side, "no hips, nice ass," Letty had said, needling Vince when it became obvious that Mia was interested in a blue-eyed, white boy.
Brian had managed to fold himself up and onto the small love seat. It didn't look comfortable at all -- and Dom had tried it when he'd first sat down. Too soft, too shallow, like something his mother might have put in the front parlor for ladies to sit on primly, on the edge, with tea cups in hand.
It looked uncomfortable as hell, but Brian seemed not to notice, his breathing shallow and even. Kid couldn't even snore properly. Just snuffled a little and shifted only to settle again.
Dom should have felt like an idiot, staring at Brian sleeping, but he was as confused as ever, not knowing what Brian wanted, what was his game? He was both angered and confused by how very easily and quickly Brian had managed to get into Dom's space. Yeah, rescuing him from the cops after their first race had probably been a set up, going after Mia, more of the same, but even now Dom couldn't think that it was entirely calculated. Brian had seemed well and truly scared in the desert. Scared that Vince might die, or maybe that Dom would let Vince die while he beat the shit out of Brian but still, no cops…not there, not waiting at the house until after Jesse was dead, after the Trans had been put down, and he didn't think Brian had called them. Most likely his neighbors. Drive-bys weren't exactly common in Echo Park.
He felt like an idiot and he finally got up and moved, staring at the phone, fingers itching to dial and talk to Mia, make sure she was okay.
He already knew the answer to that, though. He didn't need to hear her say it. She'd begged him not to do this job, this time. Letty and Leon, both of them had thought it was a bad idea. Without Jesse…
Even with Jesse, it probably still would have gone wrong. Mia had managed to tell him that much on the drive back from the highway. That Brian had gone after them because he knew the truckers were arming up. That as far as she knew, he really hadn't called in for any kind of back-up, only the trace, only the helicopter.
Only flinging himself off the side of a moving car onto a moving truck with no safety line for a guy who would just as soon kick his head in as give him the time of day.
Maybe in some ways, Dom was not nearly as bad a judge of character as he'd been telling himself he was for trusting Brian in the first place.
The thump of the dryer had become softer, less the thwack of wet clothes against the drum and he checked it. His pants were damp but warm, Brian's jeans still wet. He pulled his pants out and reset the timer.
There wasn't much to do and while he felt tired, he wasn't; ready to sleep, his thoughts too tangled to settle. He stalked through the house, quietly, checking the front windows, seeing the car across the street, parked at the corner. He thought he saw movement in it. Could be a couple of kids making out or maybe it was more cops watching Brian, waiting for him to do something.
Shit. He really hadn't thought this through.
He gave his arm a test and hissed when the shoulder pulled tightly. It might be back in the socket but he wasn't going to be lifting anything heavier than toilet paper for awhile.
Brian mumbled something and shifted, Dom turning around, just in time to watch him fall off his precarious bed.
"Fuck!" Brian hissed, wide awake now, but sprawled on the floor.
"Bed's empty," Dom said and Brian jerked around, startled, swearing again as he pulled something.
"Thanks tons. Really," Brian snarled at him, getting up carefully. "What are you doing?"
"Checking for your friends," Dom said glancing out the window again. Brian didn't say anything but he came forward, limping a little. Dom held the blind back and Brian stared. "Cops?"
"Maybe. You want me to go ask them?"
"Oh, yeah, that would be good to know," Dom said, the sarcasm summoned a whole lot easier than anything else.
Before he knew it, Brian was heading for the door and out. "You freak," Dom muttered under his breath but kept watching as Brian trotted across the streetlight -silvered yard. He had brains enough to approach the car carefully. Hell, maybe some guy was spying on his wife and her boyfriend.
Brian stopped a couple of feet from the car. No way for Dom to hear what was being said, but he tensed a little when a guy got out of the passenger side and Brian backed up a couple more feet, out of reach.
Raised voices maybe, and the guy started crowding Brian -- not that Brian gave ground this time. Shit...…Dom glanced at the door. Maybe they weren't cops, maybe Brian had just interrupted a drug deal.
There was a shove and Brian skittered back but came back in, fists up. It looked like it was going to get ugly and Dom had half a second to wonder how much good he was going to be before he was headed for the door.
In those few seconds though, when Dom could see out the glass transom, the other guy had gotten out of the car and was between them, holding his partner, his buddy, back and Brian was pointing his finger in that irritating way he had, before he headed back.
Shit for brains, Dom thought, leaning back against the wall inside the door.
"Are you trying to get your ass kicked?" he asked when Brian was inside.
Brian slammed the door. "Fuck you. What were you going to do? Rescue me?" he demanded. His face was flushed, body tense.
"Who were they?"
"Avon ladies. Who do you think?"
Cops then. "They gonna come in?"
"Yeah, I invited them to breakfast," Brian said and paced the living room, glaring at Dom after two passes. "You know you are pretty much stuck here until they get called off."
"How long will that be?"
"Who knows," Brian said raking a hand through his hair and then dropping down into one of the chairs. "Just because they haven't charged me yet, doesn't mean they won't. You can't stay here, Dom."
Dom shrugged, "As good a place as any. Brian..." he said and then took a breath and closed the distance between them. "I have to make sure Mia is okay. Letty and Leon, they can take care of themselves. Vince..." He shook his head.
"You can't help him. Not now," Brian said quietly. "Will he talk?"
"Vince? Naw," Dom said and sat down on the arm of the love seat, gingerly. It was a hell of a lot firmer than the cushions. "What have they got?'
Brian looked up at and eased back a little, he dropped his gaze as if the floor would suddenly provide him with a list. "Circumstantial, mostly, because I'm assuming they aren't going to find your last take?" Brian asked, eyes flickering up and Dom gave him a cautious shake of his head. "Good," Brian breathed out and flexed his fingers. "Letty's car was so much scrap on the highway and yours not much better. If they get prints...…it won't take much to get something on her, on you. A solid case on the hijackings depends a lot on how good a look the truck driver got of you or Vince...or me. Me, he got a pretty good look at. But, he didn't lose his cargo and I'm betting that gun of his will cause him some trouble. It might. They aren't going to drop it easily, though. I wasn't kidding about the rail crossing. They have enough to get you put back in even if only for a couple of years, even without convicting you on the hijackings. Without that, Letty, Leon and Vince are only looking at moving violations, maybe assault, and hard time only if they have priors or a seriously hard-assed judge."
Dom chewed on that. Vince had a couple of drunk and disorderlys but still nothing that would get him much time. Letty had nothing outside of some juvie crap, nor did Leon.
"They should be clear," he said gruffly. "They just drove," he said, hedging still despite believing Brian was telling him straight up.
Brian nodded. "Your car is peppered with that guy's buckshot, Dom. They can get you on that and with your record, it wouldn't take much. But..." His voice was quiet, words falling together slowly, like he was winding down. "They can't pin Johnny Tran on you," he added after a moment, looking up.
"Lance, though..."
"Not dead," Brian said and sniffed, rubbing at his face. "He won't be riding anything but a wheelchair for awhile, though. And they will nail him for killing Jesse," Brian said flatly, almost coldly.
That would be one failure avenged, even if Dom didn't do it himself.
"And you?" Dom prodded.
Brian gave him a dry chuckle. "Aside for a few dozen code of conduct violations? Obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting...if they catch you," he said and got up. "Coming after me isn't going to accomplish anything but saving someone's bruised ego. Look, Dom..I'm sorry, okay? It may not mean jack-shit to you, but I never meant for anyone to get hurt. We were trying to stop that from happening, from anyone getting killed. I didn't know it would get so...complicated." He took a breath and shook his head. "I'm gonna grab a shower. In the morning I'll head out. I need to get food and shit. If we're lucky, they'll follow me. If they do, there's a pay phone down at the drug store on the corner. Call Mia, do what you have to do, but get the hell out, okay? I'm sure you can figure out a way to get into Mexico, maybe Canada. Whatever you need to do." He held Dom's eyes for a long moment before dropping his gaze. "If you got unfinished business with me, settle it, tell me how to…but..." he shook his head and lifted a hand helplessly before heading toward the bathroom.
Dom didn't move for a long time, cocking his head when he heard the water start and moving when it stopped. He caught a glimpse of Brian from the bedroom door, pulling on shorts. Brian stared at him, then backed up. "I'm not doing the sofa again. You want to crash, I won't notice," he said and made his way to the far side of the bed to simply flop down onto the mattress.
Dom eased himself down more gently, bunching his half of the coverlet and blankets under his shoulder and trying to settle. Beside him, Brian was once more breathing evenly, body relaxed, fast asleep. Dom stared at the ceiling for awhile.
There was unfinished business between them, yeah, but Dom was wondering if he even really understood what it was, because even at the deepest point of his anger, he kept getting stuck on one point: If Brian had planned on trashing his career, on holding out on the cops, on becoming no less of a criminal than Dom was, why the hell hadn't he offered Dom a ride instead of the keys?
Maybe he thought Dom would say no. Maybe he'd been afraid Dom would say yes.
Maybe Dom was afraid of what he'd have said if Brian asked.
Part Three:
Death before coffee was not an option. Preferable, but not an option. Only he didn't actually have any coffee in the house.
He half expected Dom to be awake already, but either the drugs or sheer exhaustion kept him down, kept him silent, and let Brian actually process the fact that Dominic Toretto was snoring in his bed. That he not only had aided and abetted a criminal but was now harboring a fugitive.
Life just got better and better.
He bit back a groan as he got up, hardly believing that he could feel worse than he had the night before, but there it was. His whole chest hurt and his arms and the absolute fact of the clutch on his mustang made him wonder if it wouldn't be better to walk down to McDonald's and get caffeine.
The softly muttered "Fuck," when he got up probably deserved an apology. Dom was awake, and the rigid way he now lay on the bed was a good indication that he felt worse than Brian did. There was a certain satisfaction in the thought.
He moved anyway, offering a hand for Dom to take or not. The glare he ignored but he got another twinge when he had to put a good deal more leverage into his stance to get Dom upright than his body actually wanted to provide.
Upright, though, Dom looked a hell of lot worse than Brian felt. "I'll get the pills," he said and Dom could only nod. Even that looked like it hurt.
There were only three left and Brian brought back one and water. If he was going for coffee, he could get ibuprofen as well. "I'm gonna head out for a few minutes. Coffee. Breakfast," he said pulling on his jeans and digging for a clean t-shirt. "Don't try for the phone yet, I'm just gonna hit the corner. Anything you need?"
"A bullet would be nice right about now," Dom said and Brian found his mouth twitching.
"Sorry. They took my gun. And yours is out of ammo."
"Unless the drugstore sells bullets, I guess I'm good then," Dom grunted, then, "Thanks."
Brian only nodded and found his wallet.
The car on the corner was different and Brian stared at it for a long time from his porch, just to let them know he knew they were there. He'd have liked to be a lot more pissed off about the surveillance, except the irony of it was pretty funny when he thought about it. Bilkins had made noises about Brian turning, that maybe the money Dom and his team had made on the truck jackings had tempted him more than anything. The surveillance was there because Bilkins half-thought Brian might go running after Dom, given the chance. He doubted it crossed any of their minds that Dom might come looking for him. It really hadn't crossed his.
The CVS was hardly the Mecca of retail, and the burglar bars on this one always made Brian feel nervous anyway, but he'd forgotten just how much stuff they carried. No coffee made but he grabbed a pound of canned grounds and milk, trying not to go overboard if only because the prices were outrageous and he was walking. But he did manage to find a pair of sweatpants and a couple of t-shirts that looked like they would fit Dom. Washed or not, his clothes were torn and not likely to hold up much longer.
Fifteen minutes and two bags later he was paying the clerk.
He hadn't actually paid attention to see if either of his shadows had followed him, but the phone was right there and the likelihood that they had tapped it was slim. Dialing made him nervous as well. He wasn't really worried about what Mia would say, more about what he could possibly say to her.
"Hello?" On the second ring and Mia sound both hopeful and tired in just that one word.
"Mia, it's Brian."
There was dead silence and then a click and the dial tone.
Strike one. He dialed again. It took longer this time and Brian could almost see her staring at the phone like it would bite her. God, Mia, come on, he thought, betting that she wasn't enough like Dom to actually pull the phone out of the wall.
The ringing stopped and Brian gulped air. "Mia, Mia, please don't hang up," he said glancing around to see if anyone in particular was watching him. There were a couple of people in the store, the clerk, but no one really seemed to be paying him that much attention.
"What do you want, Brian? I don't know where he is and I wouldn't tell you," she said, voice firmer and there was anger creeping in there, too.
"I know. I need to talk to you but not on the phone," he said and waited, knowing the risk he was taking if Mia's phone was tapped.
"An apology isn't going to go over any better in person, cop," she said, and Brian almost smiled. There was more of Dominic Toretto in his sister than Brian realized.
"Maybe not, but in person, you could slap me and you'd probably feel better."
"Never having met you will make me feel better, you bastard. Leave me alone, Brian. Nothing you can say is going to make this all right."
"I know…I know, but what I have to say, might help," he said. "Mia, this isn't about you and me," he said.
"No kidding."
"Mia! Why I want to see you isn't about you and me, but I can help. I can help you," he said almost willing her to grab onto something. "Where are you going to be?"
"Wha--? Brian, you aren't making any sense. I'm home."
"Where are you going to be?"
He waited. He could hear her breathing, heard it when she took a sharper stuttering breath. "At the mall. I need to pick up something on layaway at Torrid."
"I'll meet you there…at noon." When the mall would be filled with people on their lunch break. "Do they carry men's clothes?"
"No," she said confusion evident.
"Too bad. I could use some new pants and shirts," he said. "Noon."
"Yeah."
"It'll be okay, Mia."
"No, Brian. No, it won't, but I'll see you at noon."
She hung up before he could say anything else. No surprise there. He replaced the receiver and grabbed up his bags.
He didn't bother looking back. The car was still there, his house quiet.
He didn't see Dom immediately and set the bags down to hunt him down. It wasn't like there were a lot of places to disappear into. The bedroom was clear but there was Dom, in the bathroom, struggling with the sling.
"I talked to Mia," Brian said from the doorway and Dom's head came up staring at him in the mirror. "I'm going to meet her at noon." He stepped in when Dom turned, and Brian pulled the muslin sling away and then reached over to reset it, waiting until Dom had eased his arm into the fabric before setting the tension.
"She's gonna meet with you," Dom said, half disbelieving, raising an eyebrow. "You might want to think about body armor."
That jerked a chuckle from Brian. "It crossed my mind. I need to talk to her where no one can hear," Brian said and backed up. Dom followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Brian made coffee and pulled out a box of granola bars and a couple of frozen breakfast burritos. "What do you want me to tell her?" he asked.
The expression on Dom's face changed slightly, softening, easing the harsh, full lines. Eyes that so usually cut into Brian like dissecting knives lost focus. "Oh…aww shit. That I'm okay. That it's…" Dom fumbled with the wrappings on the burritos, but he managed to get them off, find a plate and work the microwave. Brian didn't move away -- the kitchen was too small -- but he gave Dom some space, nonetheless.
Dom stared at the slowly spinning food for a long minute before turning back to Brian. "I need to talk to her," he said.
Chewing on his lip, Brian pulled down coffee mugs. "I…I'll try to think of something. Does she need anything, money or --"
"No. No. She's good there," Dom said and settled back against the counter. "It's all in her name, Brian. The house, the store, the garage. The checking accounts. It has been since…We did it when I was in Lompoc. Never changed any of it. She's got money for school, everything. She doesn't even need to touch what we…" he hesitated there and gave Brian a hard look.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what he was thinking. "I'm not a cop anymore. Not a functioning one anyway."
"I trusted you once."
"Then do it again," Brian said, not really surprised, but this hurt. More because he knew he deserved it.
"Did you actually ever do time?" Dom asked.
"Yeah," Brian said, wondering if that were part of the trust test. It was a truly fucked up world when you only trusted other criminals.. "Pretty much what you saw."
"Earl?"
Brian rolled his eyes. "Yes. It's my dad's name. Spilner was my mother's maiden name."
Dom only waited.
"They are both still alive," Brian started. "But…I don't see them much. My mom…she took off when I was fifteen. My dad," he stopped. Getting into his own family history was not something he really wanted to share with Dom -- or anyone. "We don't get along."
"They doctored the records."
"Something like that. If Jesse….if Jesse had known to look for Brian O'Conner, he'd have found that too. Nothing ever really disappears from the internet. But they tried." The coffee was done and Brian poured just as the microwave pinged. He added milk and grabbed the plate, tossing his head toward the bar stools at the end of the counter. Dom managed his mug and Brian divvied up the food.
"I should have listened to Vince," Dom said, tearing off a section of burrito. "He's got like, a sense, about cops."
It made Brian wonder what else Vince could sense but he wasn't going there. "Why didn't you?"
The corners of Dom's lips pulled down, which Brian found less indicative of a frown than Dom trying not to smile or laugh. "Because I didn't think a cop could come up with a story so lame. But an over-eager road puppy could," he said, eyeing Brian coolly.
Over-eager puppy. Great.
"How did you become a cop?"
Brian covered his answer by taking a big bite of food and chewing. Now they were back into family territory and it made him uncomfortable. "Same way you got into racing…my dad."
"Your dad is a cop."
"Was. He's retired. Disabled." Angry, bitter, violent. Brian took another bite, not liking the expression on Dom's face. "It seemed like the thing to do. It made him happy." Made him get off Brian's back.
"How long do you think they'll watch you? Or Mia?"
"No way to know. A few days, a week. Depends on how much flack hit the fan. What are you going to do?"
Dom looked away then sipped at his coffee. Even with the sling it was all fluid, all one motion like he never really stopped moving but at the same time the stillness around him made Brian want to fidget. "Make sure Mia's okay. Find a place…everybody everywhere needs mechanics."
Dom wasn't going to tell him. Either he didn't trust him still, and really, that was no surprise. Or he didn't know.
"Mexico's not far."
"They extradite from Mexico," Dom said mildly and got up to get a fork.
"Only if it's worth the hassle and usually, it's not," Brian said.
"Tired of my company already? You're really hurting my feelings here, Bri."
"I don't want you caught."
Dom stopped, halfway back to his seat, fork raised, his head tilted down, eyeing Brian slantwise. "Why is that? I still haven't figured that out. Because of Mia?"
"No…yeah. Because of Mia. She deserves better," Brian said, feeling his blood run cold and his face run hot. Suddenly he wasn't hungry any longer. "I believed you when you said you'd never go back, do time."
"I meant it," Dom said and sat down again, applying himself to his food. "Most guys would. You did time--"
"I did juvie. It's a little different," Brian said and got up. "You want this?" He shoved his plate toward Dom and finished his coffee. His keys were still on the counter and he snatched them up. "I'm going to meet Mia."
Dom's eyes slid to the clock over the stove. "It's nine o'clock."
"Better they follow me."
"So they can see you talking to Mia? That works."
"As long as they don't hear me, it won't be that weird."
"That you're talking to a fugitive's sister -- and she's talking to you? No, no, that's normal, everyday, bullshit, Brian!" Dom said and was up, his voice edging back into hard, harsh anger. "What are you doing, Brian? What do you want?" he had jabbing a finger toward Brian's chest. "Feeling guilty for fucking my sister to get to me?"
Brian never intended it, didn't even think about it. It was as instinctive as lashing out at Muse. It seemed Dom wasn't expecting it either, because Brian's fist connected with his jaw with enough force to rock him backward and send a shock up Brian's arm.
Dom staggered back, reaching out to grip the counter. His jaw was already red, but he was slower to recover with his arm in a sling and just as instinctively Brian reached out to keep him from falling.
Dom slapped his hand away, glaring at him, looking like he wanted to return the blow but he was in no condition to and they both knew it.
Swearing, Brian dug back into the freezer for ice and snatched up a towel, wrapping the slivers up and then slamming the packet on the counter. "I had already gotten to you. I didn't need to fuck your sister to do it. You're not the only charming one in your family, Toretto," Brian said and caught up his keys again. He didn't look back as he slammed out of the house.
All in all the drive did him good, but he spent most of the last hour of it sitting in the parking lot, alternately people watching and staring at nothing.
Dom asked questions Brian didn't really have all the answers to, and the answers he did have weren't likely to make either of them happy.
But the last question lingered. It was fair, if only from Dom's perspective. From Mia's too, but as Brian had so aptly proved, he was a lousy liar and always had been.
Mia was all the things he should want: beautiful, smart, mind of her own, sweet, loyal, accepting, she didn't need anyone's protection really. She could be as tough as her brother, but without all the posturing and attitude. Dom's baby sister or not, the rest of his team respected her for who she was, something he wasn't sure Mia had ever seen, or could have seen, not from inside that tight-knit family.
It hadn't exactly been a chore to have her in his bed, or to be seen as something, someone, different and new and special. For both of them. Using her hadn't been the plan, but there was no escaping the fact that he knew she'd see it that way, regardless. No matter how it ended up. Even if he'd managed to get them shut down without blowing his cover, he'd have still ended up leaving her, probably when she needed him most. Maybe even worse off than she was now; without her brother and without the man she was falling in love with.
He'd never been the man she thought he was. Never could be. There was that trust and betrayal thing, again.
At quarter till, he headed in, checking the mall directory and finding the store. His eyes got a little wide. Not exactly the kind of shop guys would hang out in except to ogle the women who shopped there. He wondered how much of Letty's wardrobe had come out of here.
The music was annoyingly loud, some techno pop thing that had lyrics that never made it past the sound of the crowd in the mall. He saw Mia before she saw him, at the counter, idly fingering some sparkly beaded headbands. She had bags with her and he ducked past a rack of bustiers. "Mia," he said and she looked up as he approached.
Her hand came up and across his face with about as much warning as Brian had given Dom. It didn't quite rattle his teeth but it stung and she managed to just catch the edge of the bruise on his jaw that he'd nearly forgotten about.
There was no way for the place to go silent, but nearly every head in Brian's range of vision turned and stared.
"Feel better?" he asked, tasting blood.
"Maybe. Let me try again," she said and Brian caught her wrist, but there was no real force behind the second swing. She smirked at him. "You said you wanted to help," she added sweetly.
Brian let go of her and shook his head. "Let's go look at clothes or something."
"Let's not."
Ducking his head, Brian leaned in, and saw her tense. "Dom is at my place," he said quietly.
Mia searched his face, lips parting and then looking around before she suddenly turned and headed back to where racks of long filmy skirts and dresses rose nearly to her head height. She moved swiftly to the back of the rack and Brian glanced back as well, seeing two guys at the opening of the store. Hard to say if they were waiting for their girlfriends or waiting for him.
By the time he looked back at Mia, her eyes were moist and her lips set. "Is he okay?"
"He's…," nursing a sore jaw, "...gonna be. Messed up his arm. He's banged up. He rolled the Charger."
"I heard," she said and glanced up, looking calmer. "The cops…they said he stole your car."
"Not quite. I gave him the keys."
"Sure you did."
Brian closed his eyes and wiped at his face. "Whatever. I want to help, Mia, but I can't fight both of you. Dom doesn't trust me either."
"Did you think he would?" she said tightly. "But he came to you. Why?"
"Unfinished business, he said."
"And you're still standing? He must be worse off than you are saying."
"Well, he did say hello with a gun," Brian snarled back, then took a breath. It wasn't like he thought this would easy. "Mia, I do not want to see your brother do time."
"You should have thought of that before you decided to lie to us and come after him," she said and pulled away.
Brian grabbed her arm, and blocked another swing that looked a lot more serious than a slap on the face.
They were causing a scene, and he pulled her back a few feet toward the dressing rooms, before she pulled away. "Don't you fucking touch me," she snarled.
Brian held up both hands in surrender, half expecting her to walk away. But she didn't, she took a deep breath and glared at him, waiting. "Mia…when I got pulled for this case, all I knew about your brother was from his files: his police file, his prison record. I knew he was dead center in the middle of things as far as street racing went. We were looking at him, the Trans, Hector, Edwin, a half dozen suspects who had the skill and muscle enough to do the kind of precision driving that was being reported," his voice dropped lower and Mia was forced to move closer to hear him. "I never wanted to believe it was Dom. He seemed too smart, too together…he was…you were…" He sounded like an idiot. "I liked you, him, the whole…" He stopped, searching her face. "He wasn't anything like I expected him to be. Neither were you. But I was in it and with me or without me, they'd have gone after him, and it would have been more than one stupid cop in a souped up Supra. It would have been a takedown force like the one that hammered the Trans. You know him better than I do. Do you think he would have come out of it alive?"
She didn't look convinced, but she didn't look like he was wasting her time either. Mostly she looked sad and tired and worried and just…unsure. "He wants to see you, but my place is being watched and both our phones are probably being tapped."
"He should have just…left," she said finally and scooped the hair off her face before glancing around and finally backing up to sit on the edge of one of the benches outside the dressing rooms. Cautiously, Brian sat down beside her.
"He won't, not until he talks to you. Makes sure you're okay."
"Okay? Brian, none of this is ever going to be okay," she said and dropped her head forward into her hands, rocking a little. He rubbed her back, carefully at first but more rhythmically when she didn't jerk away. After a few moments she stopped, a shudder running through her but when she lifted her head, her face was calm, even if she still looked like she wanted to cry. "He's got to go. Going back to prison…it'd kill him, Brian. Better he does it at 140 like Dad. What do you need me to do?"
"Uh…" This hadn't been as difficult as he thought. Or maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Mia was level headed, smart. "He needs clothes…" he said lamely.
Mia's mouth twitched and she held up the bag.
"You did understand what I was trying to say," he accused.
"I hoped. I expected him to call me…something. To get in touch. I just didn't expect it to be through you."
"They probably followed me…uh, let's go shopping," he said and she looked ready to balk but got up.
They ended up at the Gap, Brian purchasing a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts and Mia slipped her packages into his. She didn't stay close and she didn't act like they were…together. Their subterfuge done, she guided him to the food court and an open table. Food was more about cover than hunger, but she picked at a salad, while Brian actually made some serious headway into some Chinese food. "Can he stay with you?" she asked. "I mean will they look for him there?"
"I don't know. Honestly. They're watching me, but no one…if they have more questions, I'm guessing they'll call. It's not the safest place for him." And it would definitely be awkward for any length of time…they'd be crowding each other, getting on each other's nerves, and Dom was likely to beat the shit out of him as soon as he got his strength back. Although given how Brian had left him, he might not wait that long.
"And if I came to see you, like tomorrow…" she asked and Brian could almost see it in her eyes, how badly she needed to see her brother, check on him herself. "Would that make it worse?"
Brian wasn't sure it could get worse. "Mia, I don't know…I mean, they know, they know we had a…thing. The start of something," he said awkwardly. "They might follow up on it, they might call, bring me in. I don't know if they'd toss the house. If they did, there's no place for him to hide, he can't go out. He'd be stuck there for however long…"
"No…he can get out, if they're following you," she said. "That much I can do. He got to you…he can get to…wherever I can leave him what he needs. If you help. If you really want to help, like you said."
"I do…but it's risky," he said but grabbed a napkin to write down his address and phone number.
"Staying in LA is risky for him, Brian. So, you'll do it? I'll come by tomorrow…I'll have what he needs. You find a way to get them to follow you. He'll be gone by the time you get back. I'll call it even."
"Will Dom?"
Mia didn't smile as she gathered up her barely touched meal and got up to throw it away. "You'll have to ask him," she said and grabbed up the address. She walked away without another word.
Part Four:
The towel was wet by the time Dom recovered enough to realize that, at the moment, his face hurt more than his arm. Sucker punched. He was glad there were no witnesses.
Brian had left with a weak screech of rubber. The flashy looking but not very impressive Mustang hauling its five speed carcass down the street. It surprised Dom that Brian would drive a piece of trash like that without making improvements.
Then again, exactly how much did cops make nowadays?
Another engine caught his attention and he made his way to the front. He didn't see the car leave but the corner across the street was empty. If this stupid ass stunt got Mia hauled in again, he really was gonna kill him.
Not that he'd know, damn it. He wasn't used to being this cut off, being unable to get to people, information. To get out. It was way too much like being back in prison. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that no, it wasn't. That he actually could walk out of here, make it to his car -- Brian's car -- and take off.
Or not. Not really Brian's car, apparently. That could be whole other problem. It wouldn't be marked, he didn't think. Even if the cops had put a GPS tracker in the wrecked hulk Brian had towed to his garage, they'd stripped the chassis down to the factory welds and rebuilt her. Jesse would have found anything even remotely resembling high tech hardware on the junker.
God, Jesse. What had the kid been thinking? When had he gotten so bold, so separate, to do anything like put up his car on a race without talking to Dom? Jesse, who could tune an engine by ear alone, who could speed shift like some car-lover's legend. Jesse, who would forget he was supposed to pick up a loaf of bread when they sent him to the store. He'd come back with junk food, and Red Bull, and talking a mile a minute and be apologetic and feel stupid until Mia would kiss him on the forehead and get him to help her and send Vince out instead.
There was lingering anger there for Leon, who obviously knew about the race, who knew how Jesse was and hadn't come to Dom before it was too late. Jesse hadn't come to him either.
Dom would have gotten his car back. Didn't Jesse know that? He'd have raced or put up cash or put up pink slips until Jesse had his ride back. Like Dom didn't owe him something, everything. Only half of his wins had been in his skill, the other half had all been Jesse's hands under the hood of his car, tuning and tweaking and massaging a thousand parts until the cars practically leapt off the start line.
He'd wanted to be done with it: the Trans, the scrabbling to put together a haul that would set them all up for life. So much of it had started out to be not about the money but about the rush. The first job they'd done, Dom had been honestly surprised they hadn't all cracked up, that the truck hadn't left at least one of them a smear on the black top. The rush, the money…too much of a good thing. It was like crack, had made them all tighter, bonded them together. His team, his family. One more job. He'd planned on that being it, the last one maybe. Even when Brian had asked, had wanted in, and Dom had been thinking, it's too late. We're done.
When Jesse disappeared he'd given half a thought to cutting Brian in right then and there. Mia liked him, it still would have been family. But he hadn't driven with them and seriously? Vince would have probably ditched just out of spite.
No way to pin any of this on Brian, only on himself. Wrong, wrong…he'd been out of sorts after his fight with Johnny. Pissed off and full of the energy that hadn't quite worked its way out by beating the smile of the Asian prick's face. Pissed at Jesse, at Leon…all of them. No way to go into a job. He should have been calm, he should have listened to Letty, to Leon.
He checked the street again, and saw nothing, no one. His jaw ached and he pressed the swelling on the inside with his tongue. There was actually some humor in Brian defending his sister's honor.
He was sweating by the time he reached the drugstore and the phone. He had ditched the sling but on the walk he wondered if it were a good idea. He still looked the bad end of a bar fight, and people looked away, quickly.
Even while he was dialing Hector he had doubts. The car…the car was the last thing Jesse had done right. A legacy maybe. Nothing else for Dom to remember him with, not even the blood stains on his shirt.
The whole deal made Hector uncomfortable and Dom didn't blame him, but there wasn't anyone else he trusted to both skim the car and make it unrecognizable. Even with the workout Brian had given it, there were thousands of dollars worth of parts that Hector could use and Dom offered to make it sweeter.
His chest ached by the time he slipped back into Brian's house, tense and nervous, but when, after an hour, no one had busted the door in, he figured he'd made it clear. The feeling of being imprisoned was gone too.
The frozen burritos were pretty bland, but he nuked two and grabbed a beer, eye on the clock. He was bored out of his mind but it really wasn't that big of a deal. If Lompoc had taught him anything, other than he never again wanted to see the world through bars, it was patience. His fingers itched to do something though, and he found some distraction in hunting up Brian's crap-ass toolbox and fixing the leaky shower head.
How long had Brian lived here, anyway? The closet held clothes and his tools, a couple of boxes of what looked like papers, stapled articles and a cursory search exposed more than one LAPD letterhead. None of them were more than a few years old. No pictures though, nothing that revealed anything about who Brian O'Conner was before he'd suddenly shown up at the market looking for a tuna sandwich. Everybody had a past. He didn't even have cable for Christ's sake. No wonder his furniture looked like Goodwill rejects. Brian didn't live here, he just slept here.
The Mustang's uneven rumble brought his attention back and Dom fingered his jaw. He wasn't going to forget that. He might not do anything about it but he wouldn't forget it.
Brian pulled up to the curb and got out, but he hadn't taken two steps when the unmarked Crown Victoria pulled up behind him. Dom pulled back from the door, not sure they could see him with the porch overhang but not really wanting to make that kind of statement about his courage.
Doors slamming, voices. It was muddy and indistinct and he pulled back further.
Brian's voice then, closer. Cool, hard…he could make out the tone but not the words.
The hallway was shadowed, the voices clearer. Shit. If they came in and found him here... He backed up more, into the bedroom, putting his back to the wall just beyond the door. He'd left the remnants of his meal in the kitchen.
The loud thump against the door confused him. The sharp grunt and curse -- Brian -- explained a lot and he dared to look. Shadows and movement and he heard the crack of glass, starting forward when he saw the blond head hit the glass, spider webs appearing and then slivers of glass falling inside.
Brian's shoulder slid along the transom pane, the door rattling and Dom had to force himself to stop, to not open the door, to not help somehow. He felt like a coward, was a coward and if these guys -- these cops -- meant to kill Brian? And what was it about Brian that seemed to invite this shit? Yesterday, today, Vince. On second thought, he understood the urge.
Fuck it all. He reached the door, heard the sharp, cut off squawk that guys only made for one reason. He could see them, both of them, their faces burning into his mind as they backed away and he ducked sideways. They weren't looking up, but down, and Dom did too, could just see the top of Brian's head pressed against the glass at the bottom of the side transom. He was laying across the doorway, but his fingers were moving, there was movement. He was breathing.
And Dom still couldn't help him, couldn't get to him without making it worse. He sank down, eyes up as the two put their backs to Brian and walked away. The Crown Victoria started up, but they only did a u-ey in the street and ended back up on the corner. Assholes. Total, fucking pricks.
"Brian…" Dom called to him, saw him move. "Brian, come on man, get up. Open the door," he coaxed.. He got something that sounded like pretty coarse language, but Brian wasn't moving as much. "Get off your ass, O'Conner, and open the damn door!" If the assholes across the street had directional mikes, it was all over.
But nothing happened there. The car didn't move. Brian did though, rolling forward, and Dom caught sight of his face, blood on his chin, more blood when he coughed and spat out a wet stain onto the worn wood. "That's it. Come on," Dom murmured, rising when Brian got to his hands and knees.
What little view of Brian he had disappeared as Brian rocked back. Another thump against the door and more glass fell, splintering. Dom put his hand on the door, and saw the knob turn, and helped it along, stepping back, praying the light differential would hide him, his shadow. Brian almost fell in, hunched over, blood splattering the floor when he coughed, and Dom didn't wait any longer, grabbing him under the arm and hearing something like a cross between a whimper and a growl before Brian was in and turning toward him. Dom kicked the door shut, which sent the rest of the upper transom pane shattering in both directions.
His left arm twinged and screamed at him but he got it around Brian's chest, his better, stronger arm around his waist. Brian was still hunched over, protecting his crotch, his ribs, steps as uneven as a dancing drunk. If he fell, Dom wasn't sure he could get him up again, but he let Brian lean and guided him back, away from the front room.
"Dom, Dom…stop." Not like Brian's voice at all, but wheezy and thready and weak. Dom stopped, got a better grip on him and let Brian lean on him, against him.
"The bed, Bri…that far. Come on…come on. Vince hit you harder with the rifle butt," he said, urging him on.
And Brian laughed. It was strangled, gurgling, wet, but laugher. "It's not the force, it's the where," Brian managed but he staggered forward.
Dom tried to ease his descent onto the bed, but whatever strength or will or stubbornness had gotten Brian this far deserted him, and he all but fell, curled up, burying his face in the pillows and leaving ugly smears of blood on the fabric.
The imprint of shoes, boots, scuffed dirt and more blood were obvious on his t-shirt, on his face, his forearms, where he'd tried to protect his head. His knuckles were bleeding, scraped. He hoped Brian sent one of them to the dentist.
Wet towels were the best he could offer, wiping at Brian's face, the blood at his mouth. He was still curled up, sweat on his skin. He probably needed a doctor, could. Dom had been in this kind of fight.
Coaxing, sometimes commanding, he got Brian to uncurl a little, checked his ribs and found some soft, tender places he didn't like before he went to the kitchen to grab more ice and towels.
"You smart off to them?" he asked, when Brian's eyes blinked open, focused on him. His pupils were a little too dark and Dom sincerely hoped it was because of the dim light in the room.
"Just…no one hates cops more than other cops. Dirty cops," Brian murmured.
Dirty? "Because you let me go?"
Brian made a small movement with his head, denial. "They think there's more…that I …turned." He shifted and gasped, tried to curl up again.
Over Mia…or the money. Jesus.
Dom got him to uncurl again and wrapped up the towel tighter, pressing it to Brian's crotch. He tried to squirm away and Dom leaned into him. "No, Brian, let me…you gotta--"
Brian went still, eyes closed tightly, breathing fast. Dom tried to press the ice in firmly but gently but he knew it had to be excruciating, the pressure. "Just hang in there, bro," he said easing back and reaching for the snap and zipper.
"Dom…"
"Shut up," Dom said and felt heat in his own face. No underwear, great, and he caught a glimpse of skin beneath dark hair: reddened flesh, swelling. This could be bad. Really bad. He'd seen guys in Lompoc end up in the infirmary for weeks over this kind of beating. Pissing blood, hardly able to stand up straight. Brian's fingernails dug into his arm.
"Don't."
"Brian, shut up. This will help…just--I don't like you that much. Don't sweat it."
The nails dug deeper but Brian didn't try to pull away. "You do like me. Mia said so."
He peeled Brian's fingers from his forearm, letting him grip his hand as hard as he needed to. "What, you're gonna believe my sister over me?"
"She doesn't have a record," Brian got out, then gripped hard when Dom shifted the ice a bit.
"Shh…" Dom said. "It's gonna be okay. It'll pass."
Eventually the worst did, Brian's grip easing, his breathing slowing and Dom eased back when Brian's hand replaced his own to hold the ice in place. "I'm gonna get you one of the painkillers," Dom said, getting up, and feeling his own back pull and twists.
"Ibuprofen…in the bags from this morning," Brian got out and Dom raised an eyebrow at him before leaving. He brought back both. Brian didn't even look, just swallowed them down and tried to uncurl a bit more. "God, I need to piss," he said, and there was something akin to terror in his eyes at the thought.
"You don't. It'll pass. Just try to relax," Dom said, sitting on the bed below the curve of Brian's knees. "You saw Mia," he said, wanting to know, wanting to distract Brian if he could.
Shifting his head on the pillow, Brian nodded. "Yeah...oh, shit. She's coming by tomorrow…to get you…I'm supposed to let them follow me. She's gonna…she wants you to leave. She said she could help."
He should have waited before calling Hector. Damn it. They weren't working good together, he and Brian. His own fault. "We'll put her off. You can call her…just tell her not to come," Dom said.
"No…no. She's right. I can do it. I will," Brian shifted again, pulling the ice away struggling to sit up and Dom pressed down hard on his hip.
"Don't. There's nothing you can do. Just…chill, Brian. You just got the shit kicked out of you. Prove to me you didn't take one to the head." Firmly, he guided the ice pack back in place.
Stubborn, Brian might be, but when he was whipped, he was whipped. He settled back down, closing his eyes. Dom didn't move, hand still resting on Brian's hip, until his own stiffness demanded that he do something. Brian's hand was lax, barely holding the ice and Dom got fresh, ignoring the mumbling and the weak batting of Brian's hand. The extra pillow on the bed was pressure enough and he left Brian there. There was no other place to sit in the bedroom and he headed back into the front room, staring out the broken window at the car across the street, wondering if maybe Hector might do him another favor, then scotched it. The last thing he wanted to do was bring the cops down on anyone else.
He pulled off the sling and tested his arm, wincing at the pull, the protest he could still feel. It was better though because he could actually do this without black spots dancing in front of his eyes.
Brian's magazines were out of date, worse than a doctor's office, but Dom settled, half listening, half ignoring the pass of minutes. The magazine lay ignored on his lap as he watched the shadows shift, counted cars on the road. Tried not to think of how much he had truly fucked up this time.
A sound from the bedroom brought him out of the chair, and he found Brian on his feet, hugging the wall, jeans sliding down and threatening to trip him. He really, truly did not have any hips.
"What are you doing?"
"I really need to piss," Brian said, not happy about it, but serious.
"You are so going to regret this," Dom said, but he was there, putting his good arm under Brian's shoulder and managing to snag a belt loop to pull his jeans up. Brian was still hunched over, grabbing for the wall. Dom had to let go of him to get through the bathroom door.
Any other time, under other circumstances, Dom might have found it funny. Mia had caught Vince in the balls once, by accident when he was getting fresh, but with nowhere near the force that had been slammed into Brian's crotch. They had teased Vince mercilessly while he howled and swore and walked funny for a couple of hours. He'd been extra special considerate, if not wary, of Mia, for weeks.
He stepped up behind Brian when he grabbed for the sink. "I'm fine," Brian hissed out.
"Yeah, I know…" Dom assured him, not touching him, staring at the walls. The groan that escaped Brian made him wince but nothing was happening, and his breath was coming faster. Without a word, Dom reached over and turned on the taps Brian jerked back at the sound, then grunted, looking like he wanted to vomit when a weak stream of pink-tinged urine trickled from his dick. "You should go…can you drive? Brian, you should see a doctor."
Brian only shook his head, leaning forward, the strain obvious, face pale and wet. There was nothing, really, Dom could do for him except make sure he didn't pass out, or if he did, keep him from taking a header into the shower or the toilet. His face was swelling, his shirt stained and damp.
"Shower," Brian said at last and Dom hesitated but then maneuvered around to start the water.
"Bath might do you better."
"Not unless you plan on drowning me in it," Brian said, and finally shifted his focus to grip the sink with both hands, toeing off his shoes, daring to push his jeans down.
Their situations were ironically reversed, although Brian managed his shirt by himself, while Dom kicked the jeans and shoes aside so Brian wouldn't trip over them. "I'm not going to pass out," Brian said, when Dom offered him a hand to step over the tub edge. They had whole sets of matching bruises now, Dom noticed, except somehow they looked worse on Brian's skin, paler even with his California tan, mottled red and darker purples. The ones high on his chest though, they weren't as fresh: dark lines were edging toward yellow, just above his sternum -- a long line, not like the obvious boot and fist marks.
"You sure about that?"
Brian glared at him, but it faded as he stepped up and over and nearly slipped. Dom swore and caught him. "Irish stubborn?" he asked.
"Stupid stubborn," Brian breathed out when he had his breath again. "I'm good," he promised and Dom eased back. "Oh, man," he murmured and leaned into the water.
Dom left him when he was sure he wouldn't fall, grabbing up towels, fresh clothes and leaving them on the commode. "Yell, okay?" he said to the half open door. "Brian?"
"Yeah…yeah. Promise," Brian called back.
Outside the bathroom, Dom leaned against the wall and thumped his head against it lightly a couple of times. His eyes went to the phone, wondering if he dared, if it was really tapped or just a line Brian was feeding him.
He didn't want to believe it, that this, all this -- that he was being played again. That Brian was stringing him along. If he was and the two assholes across the street were in on it, the cops were playing with a far dirtier playbook that Dom expected. And that made no sense. That they'd want him, yeah, but nobody but his team had gotten hurt. "No truckers were injured in the making of this heist," he muttered to himself. Or no more than a few bruises, a couple of cuts, a headache from the tranq dart. Vince was the one who usually came out looking like he'd gone ten rounds and he hardly seemed to notice: hyped up on adrenaline and the rush of it all. Excited and horny -- to the extent that Mia would make herself scarce after a job. Not that Vince was likely to try anything, but Mia didn't like the whole scene and if Vince was going to hit on one of the girls that always seemed to be hanging around the house, she'd head to the movies or the library.
She hated all of it. So much so that Dom had stopped talking about it to her after the second job. He didn't remember Mia having that kind of a temper -- one that reminded him of their mother. Memories that Mia didn't really share because she'd been too young when their mother died; just a kid. But before then, Dom could remember the sound of dishes crashing, of his father pleading, placating, and later when his father had calmed her down over whatever it was, they'd have dinner that she didn't cook. Go out and actually do the restaurant thing, or get take out. Other than birthdays and anniversaries, when the Toretto family ate out, it was always because Dad was making up to Momma.
Letty was kind of like that. He'd never really seen it with Mia until all this started. Oh, his baby sister had a mouth on her, no question. And she could be mean -- but usually it was to make a point, not just to be that way. But Letty, Letty took nothing off nobody. Not Dom, not Leon or Vince. Jesse, she treated like a little brother. They all did. Had.
Brian…Letty had reacted to Brian differently. She hadn't begrudged his interest in Mia, but she'd been tepid at best. Not outright hostile like Vince, or vaguely suspicious like Leon. She'd never had to show her claws to Brian because Brian never flirted with her. Like he knew she was off limits, or like he wasn't interested at all. But with Dom, for no apparent reason, she'd gotten more possessive, more demanding. Restaking her claim when they'd expanded their posse by one.
He rubbed a hand over his face. Leon would take care of her. Like Vince with Mia, Leon had ever been just at the edges of Letty's perceptions and interests. Faithful, he looked after her with something slightly more than brotherly interest, but he never had and never would have challenged Dom for the right to be something more. Leon was content to have, most times. Dom and Letty, both of them, owning was more accurate. Exclusive rights, no bullshit, put down any opposition possession.
Except not. The unspoken rule was you don't piss on your own stuff. Not your people, not their feelings, their worries, their objections. Not when it mattered.
Dom wasn't sure if he could actually distinguish when it mattered any longer.
He tilted his head toward the bathroom when he heard the water shut off, the scrape of skin against fiberglass and the tinny rasp of the shower door in its tracks. He only had to roll a little further to look in, to watch Brian reach for a towel to wipe his face, eyeing the rim of the bathtub like it was Mount Everest instead of a two foot rise of plastic.
He was still hunched over, looking like a drowned rat, hair plastered to his skull, the heat of the shower had brought up the bruises in a whole new Technicolor spectrum.
Dom couldn't stop his gaze from flickering down, eyes narrowed. Swelling, yes, and redness and while he was no expert, and certainly no doctor, it didn't look like Brian's nuts were dangerously swollen or had that overripe plum look of a testicle ready to rupture. It didn't really make him feel any better to know that, to have seen that kind of damage before. Like so many things in his two years at Lompoc, some doors were better left closed and locked tight. But the threat of being sent back had opened up some he'd obviously not secured as well. Racing. Brian. Cops. Lompoc. Hell. They were all tangled so tightly together he was getting dizzy trying to keep them separate.
His eyes flicked upward when Brian finally managed to lift a foot up to step out of the tub. Brian froze, eyes closing tightly as the muscles of his groin pulled.
Ouch. Dom thought and didn't wait for Brian to yell, or to ask. Brian didn't even feign annoyance at grabbing for Dom's hand and arm to make it the rest of the way out.
"I could just stay here," he suggested, half in, half out, the towel slipping from his fingers in lieu of the support Dom offered. "Not moving…it's good."
"I never thought I'd hear you say that. Ever," Dom said. "You may be good here, Bri, but me…I got better things to do than stand in your bathroom, holding your hand."
"Oh, yeah?" Brian's grip tightened on his hand, muscles tensing. He was gonna move. "My closets could use a good cleaning."
That was it and Brian leaned forward and shifted his weight, finishing his climb out of the tub and shifting his grip from the shower door to the sink counter. "Fuck…fuck…fuck," he said, barely a whisper and Dom shifted his own grip as Brian bent over further.
"Deep breaths, come on…" Dom said. The water made his skin slick, Dom having to spread his fingers across his waist and dig in harder than he actually wanted to, but if he was hurting Brian, it was completely masked by Brian's attention elsewhere.
It did pass after a couple of minutes and Brian carefully straightened up a bit, steady enough that Dom felt him secure enough to retrieve the towel and hand it to him. Brian's murmured "thanks" was subdued, like he couldn't quite believe he was still breathing.
He was starting to feel like a mother. Dom bent down to get Brian's jeans and shoes, dumping them in a pile outside the bathroom while Brian dried off.
"Dom…second drawer on the left. Shorts, please," Brian said and Dom glanced at him and at the clothes he'd left on the commode -- jeans and a t-shirt. Brian followed his gaze and shook his head. "I'm not putting on anything tighter than gym shorts. If I had a dress, I'd wear it," he said, serious as all shit but it made Dom smile, almost made him want to laugh.
"All right…Good thing I dropped by," he said and heard Brian chuckle.
"Yeah…yeah...I'd probably still be lying on the porch."
The shorts were easy to find, dark blue, and Dom stared for a long moment at the LAPD logo on one leg before walking back. "They really think you're dirty?"
Brian took them and eased himself down on the commode to get them on. It was like watching a slow motion movie.
"Some of them." Brian answered slowly, head down. "More to it…before this…you. I was a beat cop, Dom. Driving a car. Chasing down street racers, ticketing people for speeding," he said with a half smile. "Getting pulled after just a couple of years for something like this, it didn't sit well, with a lot of people. Fucking it up…some thought I was after the money. Others just thought I was too stupid to be doing it anyway."
"So what was it?" Dom asked, arms folded across his chest. "Wasn't the money. I know you didn't see any of it. And stupid…that may be open for debate in some places but…not exactly my first impression."
"Gee, thanks," Brian said, carefully wiping the towel through his hair, then dropping it on his lap. "I don't know...you. It's not like I don't know between legal and illegal, right and wrong, and you -- it was both illegal and wrong," he said, sounding a little pissed off about it. "Black and white, clear as mud…if you'd been an asshole like Tran -- this would have been a no brainer."
"I'll keep it in mind."
"Now, you are being an asshole."
Dom grinned at him. "You want a beer?"
"Do I have to move?" Brian asked and looked half-serious. He was going to have a shiner, his upper lip was swelling and his chest looked like someone had used the rough end of a meat mallet on it.
"Well, seeing as I have to piss…"
"Bathtub's free," Brian advised him, but his hand reached for the counter. Dom grinned at him again and headed for the kitchen.
The Coronas were nearly gone and Dom eyed the Millers with a skeptical eye, but they were cold, the alcohol content would be about the same. Something stronger would be welcome. Dom took a second to glance out the window and froze. There was a second car there and even as he watched, it pulled past the CV and up behind Brian's Mustang. A bearded, bespectacled man in a brown suit got out, but the suit did nothing to hide the holstered gun under his shoulder.
"Brian…" he kept his voice low, backing up and almost ran into him, Brian's fingers splaying across his back to keep from staggering. "I think you are about to have company."
Brian leaned past him, his chin almost on Dom's shoulder, then moved, gripping Dom's shoulder. "Bedroom. Stay there."
"Are they coming back for seconds?" Dom asked. Not a second time -- no matter what else he felt, he wasn't letting Brian take on more pissed off members of the brotherhood alone.
"No…no. It's…Tanner. My sergeant. Just go, Dom," he said, cool, flat-toned. He moved past Dom but had to grab for the wall of the hallway.
The knock on the door sounded like a gunshot and Dom flinched, but eased past the doorway.
"Yeah, yeah…I'm coming," Brian called out, making his way unsteadily across the open expanse of the living room.
Dom ducked back in the bedroom. He eyed the closet briefly, only to dismiss it. If there was trouble he didn't actually want to be more cornered than he already was. He leaned against the wall and listened, closing his eyes.
The door opened and there was dead silence for a moment.
"Jesus, Brian, what happened to you?"
Somehow, the voice didn't really seem to match the man. There was some kind of east coast twang to it, softer and mellower.
"Allston and Cruz got bored," Brian said.
"Allston and--sons of bitches. Press charges."
"Won't stick." Dom could almost see Brian shrugging, trying to. "No witnesses."
Bullshit, Dom thought. Then, oh yeah, he was a great witness.
"I'll pull them off."
"I'd appreciate getting my window fixed, too. What do you want, Sarge?"
"Can I come in?"
Nothing was said, but Dom heard the door close. More glass tinkling against the floor, the porch.
"You saw Mia Toretto today."
"Yeah, she sends her regards."
"Brian, I am not your enemy."
"I'm running a little low on friends, Sarge. I'd like to try and keep the ones I have."
"Like Mia."
"No…but…I wanted to make sure she didn't need anything. She's running a little low on friends too, you know? And no, she didn't tell me anything. She wouldn't. Look, Sarge, she's a dead end. So am I."
"Her I understand…you? Not so much. He's gone, you know. Long gone."
"If he's got any brains at all, yeah."
"He's bad news, Brian. He'll show up again. And next time, somebody might die."
"In case you missed the bulletin, Sarge, somebody did. And it wasn't Toretto that pulled the trigger."
Jesus, Brian sounded angry. It shouldn't have surprised Dom, but it did.
"It was self defense, Brian. No one's going to charge you for Johnny Tran."
"I'm not talking about, Johnny. Mia's gonna have to deal with Jesse. She's all the family he's got. His father's in prison and nobody other than Dom and Mia ever gave a damn about him. That's all I wanted, Sarge, just to see if I could do anything. Anything else?"
"What did she say?"
"That she'd think about it. Are we done?"
There was silence for a long time before Dom heard the door again. "Brian," Tanner's voice again, sounding less friendly, more professional. "Do you need a doctor?"
"No."
"Anything I can do? I feel like I owe you something."
"You don't. You gave me a chance and I blew it. I'm not who you thought I was."
"Maybe not. I still think you could be what you said you wanted to be -- it would be hard, though."
"I made my choice. Just remind Allston and Cruz that I'm a civilian now."
The dead silence that followed made the air thick and Dom found himself tensing up again until Tanner spoke. Brusque, flat.
"I'll pull them. You're on your own with the window. There will be paperwork. Don't expect much severance. Take care of yourself, Brian."
The door closed and this time no glass fell. Dom waited and waited some more, straining to hear the sound of an engine. He did after awhile, and a second. Cautiously he made his way back, eyes on the window. The Crown Victoria was gone, the street in front of the house contained only Brian's Mustang.
Brian himself was still sitting on the edge of one of the chairs, head down, staring at the floor. Dom moved toward him, squatted, and Brian finally looked up. His expression was non-existent, eyes too bright, face too pale. He licked at his lips then glanced away. "You offered me a beer."
Without a word, Dom offered up the bottle still in his hand and Brian took it, staring at it before finally lifting it to his lips.
Dom got up to get another for himself before he could convince himself that the moisture on Brian's face was something other than sweat.
Part Five:
At some point he moved. He didn't really remember doing it. He remembered Dom taking the empty from his hand. He remembered pain on standing up again and he thought he remembered swearing at Dom for making him move. One hot, bright spot in an otherwise pretty colorless bit of fog.
Dom got him back on the bed, brought him water that Brian drank even though the thought registered that it had to come out again. He could go forever without wanting to feel that kind of pain again. He'd die without water, liquid, but at the time, he pretty much felt like he might die from the pain.
Then it was all gone: the pain, the blankness, the suddenly hollow echo of what had been his life. It never really had time to sink in. Dom had interrupted the inevitable fall. Brian wasn't sure if he wanted to thank him or hit him again.
It occurred to him that there was no real reason for Dom to stick around now. Whatever business he had, maybe they'd settled it when Brian wasn't looking. Maybe Dom had forgiven him. Maybe all of it had been for nothing after all.
That was two, maybe three, people he'd betrayed. Dom, Mia…Tanner.
He'd never been exactly sure why Tanner had taken him on. From the start, from his first assignment out of the academy, Detective Sergeant Nick Tanner had taken to him, had time for Brian's questions, pulled him in when they needed patrol cops for back up. Murmurs around the precinct locker room hadn't taken long to start. Favoritism was frowned upon at the lower ranks.
Brian ignored most of it, ignored the casual jibes, the increase in catcalls and whistles. The speculation was that they'd put him on vice because he was so pretty the pimps would be drooling all over him. Snide comments became so much background noise every time Tanner stopped by, about the detective wanting to get into more than Brian's files.
If Tanner felt that way, he'd given no overt signs to Brian. He was divorced, had a grown kid somewhere, lived alone -- all but lived at the precinct. What people could get away with saying to Brian, they'd never say to Tanner, because the man was good -- he had a rep, he had an arrest record that made the brass shine, and he wasn't -- like most of the detectives were -- an asshole.
He'd hunted Brian down long before actually tapping him for this case; questions about racing, about cars, about what it would take to pull off this kind of hijacking. When the time came, he'd put his reputation, if not his job, on the line to get Brian tapped for it. Nobody else, Tanner had told his chief and Bilkins, we got nobody else that can pull the moves, that can get into this scene as fast as you want.
He'd been mostly right. Brian had blown into town with a spiced up car and Arizona plates. Harry had been ready to take him on and he'd spent a week just getting to know the players as they cruised in and out of The Racer's Edge. Hector was the chatty one. Dom had more often sent Leon or Letty or Vince than come in himself. Actually coming by the market for lunch had been more accident than plan, really. The tuna was cheap and bad, but Mia had seemed genuinely amused when he told her it was great. He liked seeing her smile. When it didn't given him food poisoning, he ordered it just for that smile.
Talking to Mia was easy too. He'd ignored Dom for the most part, when he was there, but always knew when he was being watched. Obviously, Dom's reputed bad temper didn't truly extend to everyone, even when they were chatting up his sister. They got used to seeing him. By the time he'd actually gotten Hector to drop a clue about the next street rally, he wasn't entirely a stranger.
Tanner had warned him how easy it was to blur the lines, but Brian only found the easy. The blur…well, it had definitely been that.
But easy was like the curse that seemed to follow Brian everywhere. Nothing stuck to easy. That had been his father's take. "You've had it too easy. That's why you get in trouble. Why you'll never have anything. Too easy for you."
Yeah, dad. This has been really easy, all the way.
Maybe it was true. Friends of his, the ones he had left, swore shit wouldn't stick to him. He'd believed them for awhile. Too fast, too good looking, too lucky, too stubborn. Two years in juvenile detention had pretty much disproved that little bit of urban legend.
He could hear Dom in the kitchen. The shadows had shifted again, leaving the room dark even beyond the blinds. Moving wasn't so much something he wanted to do as he had to do. In relative terms of pain versus agony, pissing wasn't so bad this time, but his mouth tasted sour again, metallic and bitter, where he'd bitten himself hard enough to draw blood. Listerine was not his friend and he almost swore at the sting. He suspected that there was nothing he could do: taste, touch, or move, that wasn't going to hurt.
Still, he moved carefully, as quietly as he could. He didn't want Dom back here. Not yet. Even knowing that he'd probably split when it got dark enough. He hadn't known Dom had such a mothering instinct in him. Oh, it was gruff, no cuddles and kisses, and maybe he shouldn't be surprised. He'd taken care of Mia all right, taken on Jesse…but still, for just a few minutes, Brian needed to be on his own. He needed to get used to it again.
Well, no one could accuse him of being pretty right now. There was some satisfaction in looking as bad as he felt, but it was still a little startling, even to him.
Getting a shirt on was a whole new lesson in humility and he still felt a certain antipathy toward his jeans. The shorts would do and after a few minutes of serious concentration on his breathing, he made his way back out into the world -- small as it was at the moment.
Dom had the sling back on, and he'd changed into the sweats and t-shirt Brian had picked up. The sweats fit, the t-shirt, well XL was as high as they went at the CVS. Black on black and it made Dom look like something not quite of this world. The cut on his scalp looked less like some kind of growth and more like a cut and he'd shaved, something Brian had not even thought to attempt.
Weirder still, there were things cooking on his stove.
"You went to the store?" It was the first thing out of Brian's mouth.
Dom was staring at him, a smile twitching his lips.
"No. This…" he gave the larger of the two saucepans a stir. "Is pasta. Which I found in the freezer. Dried pasta."
Brian eased down on the stool, although it was more like easing against it and praying it wouldn't scoot out from under him. "I have no idea how that got there."
"How do you feel?" Dom asked and reached into the refrigerator to pull out a beer, then dumped out some ibuprofen on the counter.
"Scary as it sounds, since I still feel like ground beef, better," Brian said and took both offerings. "What's in the other pot?"
"Vegetable soup and canned chicken. I don't want to know how long they've been in your cabinet."
"We could have ordered delivery."
Dom considered it. "If they've been in your cabinet for more than a year, pick up the phone."
Brian ducked his head and shook it. "Naw…I've only been here about eight months. Still…is that going to be worth eating?"
"As opposed to those frozen burrito things? Battery acid would be better eating."
Brian sipped at his beer, his mood vastly improved. It lasted only a few minutes though. "I can…take a drive after dark. Just in case. You could get out then and I'll call Mia."
Dom eyed him then reached up into a cabinet to pull down bowls. "Hector's coming for the car."
Brian stared at him uncomprehendingly for a minute. "The…you gave it to him?"
Dom shrugged. "It's neon and…maybe it's not hot, but it's the next best thing to it." The pasta was drained and split up before Dom ladled out his "sauce". Weird or not, it smelled pretty good and Brian's stomach rumbled.
"He bringing you another one?"
Shaking his head, Dom moved the bowls and utensils closer and settled onto the other stool. He pulled the sling off with a certain amount of caution, but no expression of pain flashed across his face. Not much was on his face at all. "So, you still owe me a 10 second car."
"Oh…oh, no. You shit," Brian said and almost lurched up. Dom's hand came down on his arm and he leaned in. "The Mustang's all I've got."
"That piece of road trash is no more a 10 second car than the Toyota was when you first brought it to me. You're good for it," Dom said and let him go.
Brian didn't know what to say -- or do. Dom, however, dug his fork into the food and chewed. "Not bad. Boring but not bad."
"Dom…"
"I said I had unfinished business. We do. I don't like owing people. You owe me a car. I owe you…a life."
"Bullshit," Brian said softly. "It's done…just. Take it, Dom. The car. Get out, get gone…take Mia with you."
Dom methodically ate another couple of mouthfuls, while Brian stared. Then he set down his fork and turned. "That really what you want? Because I don't think it is…so, you tell me, straight up, Brian. I asked you once, this is the last shot. Why'd you do it? What do you want?"
Brian thought his heart might stop. He thought he might throw up. This was -- Jesus this was fucked up, because he was pretty sure Dom didn't have a clue. The first answer that came to his mind hung there, then sank like a stone. He wanted Dom to go. He wanted him safe, out of it…not running, because Dom didn't run. Not from his failures, not from his responsibilities, not from his people.
But Brian wasn't any of those. And if Dom thought he owed Brian something…well there were some debts that should never be called up. Ever.
He took a breath, weighed his options, wondered if Dominic would kill him or just hurt him really, really bad. "You remember you said Vince had a sense about some things, about me?"
Dom looked confused, the dead-serious expression breaking up into a whole lot of little expressions that ripped certainty right off his face. "Yeah…but…"
"He was right on two counts," Brian said and moved fast enough to actually feel pain. Just a warm-up, he thought briefly before his mouth closed over Dom's. Lips, tongue, teeth, taste. Warm, moist, full lips, salt and malt and spice from the soup. Sweat and fear and surprise -- or not.
Because Brian honestly couldn't say he was surprised when he was shoved backward, when the stool teetered and he had to grab for the counter, when the stool nearly knocked his legs from under him before Dom could actually take the swing Brian knew was coming.
It didn't though. Not a shot like Brian had clipped Dom with, but the hand that shoved him, while flat palmed, had enough force and momentum behind it to upset Brian's feeble grip on balance. He went down with a guttural cry that didn't sound like him. Hitting the floor jarred his spine, his back, parts of him that reminded him that there really was only so much physical trauma a body could take.
Then Dom was standing over him, teeth bared, face flushed, tensed and shaking and Brian found himself letting his gaze slide down to the heavy casing of Dom's boots. Oh, man, this was gonna hurt like hell. He closed his eyes and waited.
Movement against his thigh made him flinch but no blow came, no kick. Only air, a waft of it as Dom stepped over him and past him, heading for the door. Brian let his head fall back against the carpet, seeing it all from an upside down, dizzying point of view. Dom's back, the door, the street, the door again.
He rolled to his side and watched soup and pasta drip down off the counter onto the floor, warm spatters hitting his face.
Not so subtle, but it worked. Dom was gone.
That had been really, really easy. Just like they always said.
(continued)