#nathanccrane

status: closed for @nathanccrane

Up until recently, Mallory would have rolled her eyes and scoffed at anyone who referred to October as ‘spooky season’. However, now that she had seen her parents since the first time her divorce papers were drawn up, she was now inclined to agree. Her mother had sunk to Marshall’s standards in causing a scene at the annual Westport gala, which of course included HPF board members who, despite their ancient nature, were prone to gossiping. Word spread like wildfire amongst HQ and managed to reach the Colorado office. Not bearing the whispers and stares, and fighting off the temptation to give them the satisfaction by causing her own scene, Mallory instead blocked out her schedule for the day, dedicating it to a big meeting with one Nathan Crane. “Your office is nice,” She said in greeting as she was shown into the room in question, quickly itemizing every bit of decor, before sitting down. “I can’t believe after all this time I’ve known you, this is my first time here. I do hope there’s samples of your product here.” She threw her head back, a defiant move learned as a teenager that Mallory never outgrew, much to her mother’s disdain, sitting back up with a shake of her head. “What is my life coming to that I need a drink this early in the fucking day?” 

character — @nathanccrane

When asked to attend a wedding of someone he didn't know, he'd still happily accepted. The wedding itself had been picture perfect, leaving him to wonder if Dilan had played a hand in such planning, but it was the reception that the agent looked forward to the most. The drinks, the laughing, the distractions in every form while he lingered off to the side. The most amusing part of it all? Even at a stranger's wedding, he couldn't escape the Crane's curse. "So, do you know either of the brides or showing up as someone's plus one tonight?" It was a bold move to step into a conversation with a man who probably still hated him, but playing civil was the only route to take.

Freddie scoffed. He was already considerably unhappy. How much worse could his mood get? He was already contemplating fratricide, seeing Nathan sitting so easily in his home after what he'd pulled. Freddie turned to his brother, prodding the younger man with his eyes. If he didn't start spilling information soon, the eldest Crane sibling would go over and pry his mouth open for him.

When Nathan began revealing the truth, Freddie's chest began to heave. Blood pumped angrily to his ears, making the last bits of what his brother had to share barely audible. "What?" First, a grunt. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Then, a growl. "A god damned pig?! In my house?! At my table?!" He shouted, grabbing onto the drapes, the nearest thing in reach, and yanking furiously until the rings and rod bent in half and detached, crashing to the floor and bathing the room with eerie light. "That cunty piece of shite made a fool of us! Of ME!" he carried out at the top of his lungs, tearing books and statuettes from his bookcases, smashing them into bits. Freddie shook with rage as he grabbed candle sticks and cigar boxes and finally crystal glasses from his bar. "I'M--GOING--TO--MURDER-- HIM!"

character — @nathanccrane

Enough was enough. He was tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of wondering if someone he cared about was going to be the target of revenge. For what? He'd yet to figure out. Clearly the Cranes knew something, more specifically, that he'd worn a badge at some point in his life, but nothing more than that. Well, outside of his conversations with Thierry Dupont. Conversations that had always revolved around them, but no one knew that. No one knew of the depth of their exchanges and how tension-filled they always were. Even when they were on the same page about everything, he and Thierry just couldn't get along. At least, not in the ways he'd meshed with the Cranes. So, driven by annoyance and the desire to know more, Khalil went to the very place he knew he could find Nathan and some of his goons. Unlike most times, the gun he normally left at in his lock box was strapped to his side opposite of where Freddie's blade had pierced his skin. "What's the deal, Crane? Enough with the bullshit. Why is it that you and Freddie suddenly look at me like a dead man? What the hell did I ever do to either of you?" The badge. He had to mention the badge. "If this is about the cop thing, sure. I was a cop. Joined the force when I was twenty-one. Dropped out at twenty-seven because it wasn't for me. I didn't know what else to do with my life. I was young and they were looking recruits." It was all the truth, well, minus the walking out at twenty-seven part. He'd walked out, but into another doorway of enforcement. "I will tell you whatever you want to know."

character — @nathanccrane

It was for the best, the good of the case. He'd muttered the mantra over and over again as his fist connected with the beat cop's ribs, his knuckles aching from every blow. If the Cranes were ever going to trust him again, there was no other way. It had taken him the full month to decide on his actions, to metaphorically throw the man who had helped bring him into the fold under the bus. It was a risky move, one that the Bureau never would have supported, but it was all or nothing and he hadn't made a lifetime of shitty decisions to lose it all in the end.

The quiet thud of the man's body hitting the bed of the trunk caused his stomach to turn, but his muffled pleas were pushing the agent to a breaking point. He slammed the lid of the trunk down, silencing the man within as he straightened the front of his jacket and moved to the driver's side seat.

This was it. What happened to the man in his trunk was entirely on him, but it was the only way. It had to be done. Every red light between his location and Crane's caused his heart to stir dangerously. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his bruised knuckles proof of the damage he'd caused during the surprise. Any morality he'd had left had been drained the moment the trunk had slammed closed.

His heart dared to claw up his throat as he pushed the shifter into park and sucked in a deep breath. This was Nathan had wanted. Despite his nerves, his movements were unbothered. Even as he lifted the struggling cop from the trunk, he kept a firm hand on the man's bound arms and a straight faced look as he focused on the very place he'd made a deal with the devil a month earlier.

"This is your guy," he called out, not daring to announce himself before shoving the man to the floor, gaze locked on Nathan. "You wanted to know the mole? He's right here. Turns out, you had a reason to hate him the whole time." He felt something snap within him and a sickening feeling overtook him. Fists clenched at his sides in hopes of hands staying steady. He'd made his decision and now he had to stick with it, confidently and unwavering in intent.

status: closed for @nathanccrane

Though not really one for nature, Mallory could appreciate a scenic view when she saw one. The back porch of her childhood home had similar views of the lush woodland that stretched over the yard, though it was missing the mountain silhouette that she was treated to here in Colorado. It was on days like these when the air seemed still, where she could sit out with a large glass of red wine and just try and find some inner peace or whatever the fuck the younger generations tended to do now. But today, she wanted a bit of company via her neighbor, mainly to gossip about the other neighbors. "The annoying crone five doors down decided to come over with some casserole dish," She rolled her eyes, "She's decided, after a year of spying on us, that she feels sorry for the lack of male dominance in the house. Made a comment on that being why Aspen has dyed the tips of her hair pink." She reached over to top up Nathan's glass. "I've said it before, and will most definitely say it again, I think it's the influence of the flock of Cranes you keep having over."