#fic fics

“Patrick!” He called through to the backrooms where he had set up a small work area for his new employee. “You still awake back there?”

Beckoned through, Patrick appeared in the doorway. In his hands, he held two sheets of paper and, as he slowly strolled over to Richard’s desk, his eyes did not lift from whatever secrets they held.

He really is trying, thought Fraser. It was a shame this case was soon to be a bust.

“Not much more we can do today. Get on home before the rain sets in and be back here tomorrow at nine. We’ll try and pick up a lead if we can.”

Patrick did not say a word or move an inch, however.

Richard tilted his head. “Donaghue? You in there?”

“Hm?”

His eyes lifted to meet his boss’s. Fraser could see the dark circles forming under the man’s eyes. It didn’t help to quell the rising guilt he felt of failing him.

“I said you can go home and we and try and pick up more leads tomorrow morning. What’s got you so interested, anyway?”

In answer, Patrick merely handed Richard the two sheets of paper. He scanned them quickly. They were both grainy CCTV photographs; one was a from a station terminus, Richard guessed Penn Station judging by the architecture; the other was from a street camera in a neighbourhood he was less familiar with.

“What are these?”

“Our next lead.” Patrick’s tiredness dulled his excitement, but Richard could still sense it.

He laid the images across the sheets that covered his desk and pointed to the figure that featured in both captures. “Metcalfe?”

Patrick nodded. “It’s grainy, but I think that’s our guy. He changes his hooded jacket between shots but the height, the cautiously looking over his shoulder, the shoes… I think it’s him.”

“Where was this second one taken?”

“Beacon Street, Boston, Massachusetts.”

Richard jerked his head up from the photos to offer him a quizzical look.

Donaghue merely nodded in agreement. “Our friend’s taken quite the journey up north.”

“The question, I guess, is why.”

“Does the expenses extend to taking the train, or are we road-tripping, because if its the latter, I’m calling shotgun and control of the playlist.”

Richard suppressed a grin. “We can take the train. Perhaps if we follow in Metcalfe’s footsteps we can get a more detailed plan of what he might be up to.”

“Should we inform his parents?”

“Not yet, not until we’re sure.”

“And the other ‘worried’ party? What about them?”

Although Richard had wished he’d been able to conveniently forget about the added governmental pressure to find their former employee, he had unfortunately been unable to.

He shook his head. “Same rule applies. Besides, the family were the one who officially hired us. The other party don’t get to know anything until they do.”

Patrick pursed his lips, once again nodding his agreement.

“I’ll book us some tickets for tomorrow morning.” Richard continued. “Think you can get to Penn Station for around seven? I’ll text you the details.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Get home and get some rest.”

He didn’t need to tell Patrick a fourth time. His protege briefly disappeared back into his make-shift office to retrieve his items before returning into the main room. He approached the door to leave.

“Oh, and Donaghue? If this had been a road-trip, you do know you can’t call shotgun and request DJ permissions, right?”

Partick smirked. “It was worth a shot. Don’t stay here too late. I doubt Metcalfe will be moving on quite so quickly.”

“I won’t. I promise. See you tomorrow.”

Once the door clicked closed and Patrick was well on his way out of the building, Richard unlocked the lower drawer to his desk. From within, he retrieved a burner phone. It only had one number on it. He dialled.

“I’ve found him. Boston. Back Bay East.”

———————————————

Paul went to the one person — the only person left — that he knew he could trust.

The journey had been rough. Two trains up north and a multitude of guards and police presence to dodge. Being a wanted man, by the government no less, had that unfortunate effect, but he managed to make his way up to Boston as night began to fall.

Faking his own death back in the New York motel had been no easy feat. Paul knew the scene was nowhere near as believable as it could have been, and should the cops look too hard they’d realise that in a heartbeat. He had little time, however, and now could only hope that they wouldn’t work out the obvious until he was long gone.

He lacked sleep. Paul could feel his bones growing weary, his muscles growing tired, but he had to keep moving. If he stopped, even for a few hours, he could risk being identified and caught. That was not an option. He was safe nowhere, not until he reached Adam.

In any other circumstance, Paul would have called ahead, but he knew the Spectrum department would be able to monitor such calls, should they wish. In the recent past, it had been him on the other end of those tracking devices, seeking a man who, like himself, should have been long since dead. On the journey up to Boston, Paul wondered whether there was any way of finding Turner. Given his own predicament, and the lengths he’d been through to stay off the grid, he doubted it.

The taxi he had taken from the station pulled up outside the address Paul had given to the driver. He was relieved he hadn’t been caught out by the man and taken to the nearest police station instead. Paying with cash to avoid leaving a digital trail, he thanked the driver before hopping out of the back door and dashing across the street to Adam’s apartment building.

His knuckles rapped harshly on the door.

“Adam? Adam, it’s me. It’s Paul. Are you there? Adam, open up!”

He had never been so relieved to hear the sound of a door unlocking before. Paul burst through the moment it had opened, knocking the blonde out of the way before Adam could finish his greeting.

“Hey, Paul, what’s— Hey! Careful!”

Paul didn’t listen. “Are you alone?” He asked, directly making a beeline to the windows. Any blinds that were still up were quickly lowered.

His friend locked the front door before following him through to the living room. “Paul, what’s going on?”

Paul allowed himself to take a breather, his paranoia subsiding for the time being. “I need a place to lay low.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

It was now that he noticed his friend was dressed in blue loungewear, suggesting to Paul that he was getting ready to turn in for the evening. How his heart ached with guilt that he was going to ruin that plan.