![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
TIVPB Chapter one
The last case he had been tasked to fill out was done and he placed it in the out box on his desk. It was three fifty-four. If there was no more work, he was going to go home early. June was planning a party and Moz was going to be commenting on some of the items that were going to be prepared. Peter came over to his desk, saw the filled out box and took the files out, before setting down four more.
“Peter,” he complained, looking at the new pile, “I was planning on joining June soon.”
His face was non-surprise surprise. “Oh?”
“She had El over, they were going to start choosing foods.”
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. Neal knew Peter remembered and he was planning on turning him down. “Sorry, no can do. This paperwork needs to be done.”
“Peter,” he subtly pleaded.
He rolled his eyes and consented, “If you can get the paperwork done before four, I'll let you leave.”
Neal figured it was a false hope, but he really wanted to join June and El when they were testing the hors d'oeuvres. He pulled the first file out and began reading. He had the four done within five minutes to four and went up to place on Peter's desk himself. “Done. If I leave now, I can catch them while they're going through desserts,” he said, already walking out the door.
“Not yet,” Peter called back. He mutely sighed before turning back around. “Last week, someone came forward with a supposed Van Gogh original. But it doesn't match any of his known works.” He passed the picture over to him.
Neal looked at the painting, a strange blue item exploding and fragments going everywhere. “You know I actually can't tell from the picture if it's a Van Gogh,” he chided, pronouncing the name Van Goff, “But there were rumors of an unknown painting that drove him to insanity. Most just name it the Exploding Box. It hasn't been seen since his death.”
“Do you think it could be his?”
He stared for a minute. “It's possible. The reason it might not have been seen is because the family didn't want anyone to know about it,” he calculated.
“I'm going to call the Blaiddrwg Gallery. They're the ones dealing with the painting,” he said, picking up the phone, “We can take a closer look next week.”
Neal accused, “They wanted a consultant that could verify it.”
Peter shrugged. “Your name may have come up from someone at the gallery.”
Neal stood a few seconds before he asked, “Can I leave?”
“Yeah, go,” he waved off, waiting for someone to pick up on the other side.
The walk back to June's was quiet. He walked in to see El cleaning up the remaining dessert. “I didn't get here in time,” he complained.
She turned around and chuckled softly at the exaggerated long look on his face. “We saved you some of the best picks,” she told him, handing him a plate.
“Thank you,” he grinned, nibbling at one of the crackers. “Was Moz here?”
June walked back out from the dining room. “He left right around the beginning of the entree sampling. Muttered something about checking his sound equipment,” she chipped in, “We were having baked ocean fish with cheddar.”
He laughed, “Oh, that would have been great.” Finishing off his bites, he walked up to the apartment, ready for a night of painting. Instead, he stopped when he opened his door. Directly in his line of vision was an envelope. He stepped once, getting a tiny bit closer to see similar circles that were on the bottom of the letter Bryce now had.
They didn't mention anyone coming in, dropping anything off or coming up near the area. So who delivered this? He carefully walked around it to get to rubber gloves that he had near the sink. Slipping them on, he lifted the envelope and tapped it against the table. Nothing came out, so he lifted it open and pulled out a paper printed to look like an invitation.
Where: Prospect Park
When: 5:02 PM, April 23, 2011
Until then, Sweetie.
Neal looked at the circles again. She wants to meet us. Unsure of what the plan should be, he found the secondary phone Chuck had sent out for unofficial communication.
0=0
Bryce was waiting three hundred feet outside of a gun runner's compound. Chuck was inside, hopefully working on a computer that would tell them Volokoff's schedule. Sarah was distracting the owner of the building, acting as a possible buyer, hidden camera picking up everything and relaying it over to Morgan in the van.
Casey was busying himself, cleaning the sniper rifle that he had pack in case. It was the third time he had disassembled it and put it back together. “Do you trust yourself, Casey?” he questioned, watching the man go over the barrel again. “Or do you think your hands have developed minds of their own?”
“If they had, you would have been choked to death a few times,” he grunted, sliding the firing pin harder than necessary.
“Huh.” Scanning the compound again, he saw their target walking out with Sarah on his arm. Checking, he made sure she wasn't gesturing for a retrieval or intervention. “Walker's outside; no sign of Bartowski,” he reported.
“He's got ten minutes before Walker has to leave to avoid suspicion.” Casey rebuilt the gun one final time before setting it on the blanket laid out. The two watched for the other agents to exit the building. Just a minute under their cutoff time, Sarah walked out while Chuck sneaked out of a side door and hurried to the meet up point. “Anyone following them?”
Bryce watched for any shadows. “None. It looks like they got away clean.”
“Let's watch for a few more minutes. The men could be waiting to follow.” They waited until Sarah got them over the comms reporting a safe return. The two packed up and came down from their perch. Chuck was breaking into the data he gathered and Sarah was waiting for transport.
Nothing eventful happened, and they were back in Burbank faster than usual. Bryce headed to the apartment the CIA rented for him. He barely paid attention to anything in the room, bypassing the envelope on the table to fall on his bed.
Wait, envelope on the table?
He got back up and moved over to said table. He noticed the circles, subtle differences from the letter but characteristics close. He found two latex gloves to open and hold the invitation. The park was also followed by New York City. “That's today,” he muttered, checking the time, “Noon. Missed that window.”
Extra sleep now driven from his mind, Bryce picked up his cell and selected Sarah's from the book. “Bryce,” she answered.
“I've received another letter from the person.”
“When?”
“Unsure, it was already here when I got back. It's an invitation. Time and date are for today; Prospect Park in New York.”
“All right, Chuck's at work. Bring it in; we'll analyze it and figure out whether or not it's needed to tell Beckman.”
“Got it, expect me in thirty.” He hung up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A sleep deprived headache was starting to form. Even if his room had been compromised, he should have had an unopened bottle of ibuprofen stashed somewhere. Except there wasn't one. He hadn't had time to stock back up between missions. He checked the opened one and found it empty. Bryce had to hope for some at Castle.
The bright sunlight aggravated his headache and he was feeling nauseous when he got to the BuyMore. He smiled at Chuck, and a tiny bit of pain still showed through enough to worry him. Sarah met him at the entrance. “What's wrong?” she questioned.
“Headache,” he muttered, covering his eyes.
“Give me the invitation,” she dictated, holding out her hand. He gave it to her and she handed it off to Casey before pushing him down to the medical room. She took out a bottle and knocked out two pills before handing them to him.
“Thanks.” He grabbed a cup and filled it up so he wouldn't have to dry swallow.
“Did you call Neal?” she asked.
He shook his head, “I planned on it on the way over, but the headache stopped me from considering it.”
“We should see if he also got one,” she said, directing him to one of the beds, “Lie down.”
“Why are you being so nice?” he questioned, wary about her intentions.
“It's practical. We'll go over the invitation and if we need any more information, you're here.” Bryce wondered if the very, very faint trace of worry and concern was former-partner related or something Chuck brought out in her. He usually got the guess right, ninety percent of the time.
He got about an hour of sleep before Chuck tried to enter silently into the room. “What did they find out?” Bryce asked, awaken by the door.
“Neal got one as well. He called us and we caught him just before he was going to go. Sarah was able to convince him to take Peter.”
He nodded, “Good.”
“He'll tell us when he gets back. We're going to meet him in New York; hopefully he can keep them there. Beckman's sent orders. Casey's staying here and we're going to go meet with Neal.”
“How long until we leave?”
“Three hours, commercial.”
Bryce forced himself up. “If Neal calls, tell me. I need to go back to my apartment,” he said.
Chuck nodded, “Yeah.” He sidestepped to let him out. Bryce thought Chuck might have something he wanted to say, but he didn't get it out. He could tell him later.
0=0
Prospect Park was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday in late April. Neal was sitting on one of the benches. Peter was right beside him. He was discretely checking the time on his phone while Peter watched the people that did walk by them. “Why the time?” Peter asked.
He shook his head. “I don't know. Special meaning to them and possibly us.”
“Yeah, but five oh two PM? Why that specific? Five would have been sufficient.”
“Again, Peter, meaning. I don't remember anything significant at that time, but it could have been the exact time of birth for one of us. It could also just be something meaningful to them and they'll explain it.” He almost got annoyed at Peter keeping an eye on his phone. “Peter, you're suspicious.”
The man put his phone away and started tapping a beat, four strikes before repeating. Neal couldn't pick up on the reason why he was annoyed and disturbed by the rhythm. Instead, something else decided to interrupt his thoughts. A strange sound, like metal grinding on metal, reverberated through the park. Both stood up to find out what was making the noise. Eventually, Peter saw a large blue box appear next to the pathway. They watched it fluctuate in and out before settling and becoming solid. Something opened and a woman exited first, looking around before seeing Neal and smiling warmly.
“Hello, Sweetie.”
There was no pause for Neal to come to the right conclusion. He didn't know how to start the conversation, which normally came to him. Instead, he ended up with something simple. “Hi,” he said when she stopped in front of him.
“Oh, come here,” she demanded, pulling him into a tight hug that he gladly reciprocated. After a minute, they separated. “Oh, now there's supposed to be someone else here. Unless your brother's hiding, I don't see him.”
“He got back home too late to get here on time,” Neal explained, “He'll be here in a few hours instead.”
“Ha! We get on time and they're the ones that are late,” the man she came with exclaimed. Peter thought he could be related to Mozzie; the bowtie and tweed would fit with the odd man's fashion sense. He noticed Peter and introduced himself, “Hello, I'm the Doctor.”
That codeword triggered the Intersect. The flash would have contained something, but the Intersect had been connected when the Bad Wolf virus had gone through and destroyed any trace of the Doctor. So, there were fragmented files along with new, complete files that had been added after the event, which he tried to process but ended up with a large migraine instead. He would have collapsed, if Peter hadn't seen the signs and caught him before he fell. “What's wrong?” she asked, carefully checking him over.
The Doctor, which Peter believed was not a medical title, pulled out a strange device and passed it over Neal. It emitted a high pitched noise before he stopped it and looked at something on the side. “Well, I'd say the computer in his head tried to pull up a mixture of corrupted files and complete ones and the complete ones wouldn't process,” he stated, “That may slightly be my fault.”
Peter glanced sharply at the man. River looked back at him. “Your fault?” she questioned.
“Well, there was this virus I release to wipe out traces of me, and it looks like it got into the computer program in his head,” he explained.
“Why would you have files that would be in the program?” Peter asked.
He tried to dismiss himself, “Nothing much, just wandering into situations at the right time and place, or everyone else would say wrong time and place.”
That didn't exactly alleviate his apprehension of the man, but getting Neal someplace so he could sleep off the migraine was more concerning, Ibuprofen also on the list. “Neal, can you walk?” he inquired.
His answer was pain-filled, but sarcastic. “Don't know,” he mumbled, “Can I? You won't allow me to stand up.”
He rolled his eyes at the comment, but moved slightly to help him up. Between the two of them, Neal managed to keep standing, wobbling a little. “My car's parked just outside of the park,” Peter commented, feeling the sun come out. Neal winced at the increased brightness. He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and found a pair of designer sunglasses, placing them carefully on.
“Why don't we take the TARDIS instead? Would be there in a snap,” the Doctor suggested, snapping his fingers for emphasis. The doors opened in response.
She snapped her fingers and closed them again. “With your luck, we would end up five years before the invention of aspirin, and on the wrong planet,” she countered.
“Sexy wouldn't do that,” he defended.
“Sexy?” Neal inquired.
“Sexy!” he pointed back at the blue box.
“Let's keep to the car,” Peter said, “We'll head to June's. You have pills there?”
“Yeah, just got a new bottle,” he confirmed.
The small group walked outside of the park, after the Doctor ran back to lock the TARDIS. Peter immediately took the driver's side, the Doctor stealing the passenger while Neal sat in the back with the woman. “I never introduced myself,” she apologized, “River Song.”
That name kicked up another file in the Intersect. It mentioned her involvement with a crisis during the planning of the moon mission, the missing tapes of Nixon, possible connections to Torchwood and several other things that he couldn't pick up quickly because the flash was making the migraine worse. “Oww,” he moaned, leaning forward and pressing his head against the back of the seat, “Okay, he cannot introduce himself around Chuck and Bryce. And we need to warn them before you say your name.”
“Another one?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Sorry, Sweetie, there may be a few more files on our family,” she warned, carefully rubbing his back, “We shouldn't mention them until the headache goes away.”
0=0
Chuck was watching Bryce, crossing between worry and apprehension every few seconds. Sarah was studying him, but wouldn't bring anything up until they could be someplace private. Bryce was acting as if Chuck wasn't watching him, semiconscious but the constant watching not allowing him to settle completely.
Sarah made the move, sitting next to him and grabbing his phone. She typed in a question mark to the text field. He cleared the mark for his response.
Had headache. What u give him?
Aspirin. Only thing in Castle. Why?
Allergic to aspirin. Major reaction @ in HS.
Sure?
Reminded me only had aspirin when he was sick in college.
Given aspirin before. Impostor?
When?
Back during partner days
For that long? Flcrm or Rng, wouldn't make sense.
The two stopped as Bryce finally settled for a nap. “Volkoff?” she whispered.
“I don't think so. It doesn't make sense either. Bryce wasn't on anyone's radar for years,” he mentioned, “Not to mention, if their plan was to keep Fulcrum and the Ring going, they failed.” He sat back, staring up at the top of the cabin. “Something isn't right.”
Masterpost | Next
“Peter,” he complained, looking at the new pile, “I was planning on joining June soon.”
His face was non-surprise surprise. “Oh?”
“She had El over, they were going to start choosing foods.”
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. Neal knew Peter remembered and he was planning on turning him down. “Sorry, no can do. This paperwork needs to be done.”
“Peter,” he subtly pleaded.
He rolled his eyes and consented, “If you can get the paperwork done before four, I'll let you leave.”
Neal figured it was a false hope, but he really wanted to join June and El when they were testing the hors d'oeuvres. He pulled the first file out and began reading. He had the four done within five minutes to four and went up to place on Peter's desk himself. “Done. If I leave now, I can catch them while they're going through desserts,” he said, already walking out the door.
“Not yet,” Peter called back. He mutely sighed before turning back around. “Last week, someone came forward with a supposed Van Gogh original. But it doesn't match any of his known works.” He passed the picture over to him.
Neal looked at the painting, a strange blue item exploding and fragments going everywhere. “You know I actually can't tell from the picture if it's a Van Gogh,” he chided, pronouncing the name Van Goff, “But there were rumors of an unknown painting that drove him to insanity. Most just name it the Exploding Box. It hasn't been seen since his death.”
“Do you think it could be his?”
He stared for a minute. “It's possible. The reason it might not have been seen is because the family didn't want anyone to know about it,” he calculated.
“I'm going to call the Blaiddrwg Gallery. They're the ones dealing with the painting,” he said, picking up the phone, “We can take a closer look next week.”
Neal accused, “They wanted a consultant that could verify it.”
Peter shrugged. “Your name may have come up from someone at the gallery.”
Neal stood a few seconds before he asked, “Can I leave?”
“Yeah, go,” he waved off, waiting for someone to pick up on the other side.
The walk back to June's was quiet. He walked in to see El cleaning up the remaining dessert. “I didn't get here in time,” he complained.
She turned around and chuckled softly at the exaggerated long look on his face. “We saved you some of the best picks,” she told him, handing him a plate.
“Thank you,” he grinned, nibbling at one of the crackers. “Was Moz here?”
June walked back out from the dining room. “He left right around the beginning of the entree sampling. Muttered something about checking his sound equipment,” she chipped in, “We were having baked ocean fish with cheddar.”
He laughed, “Oh, that would have been great.” Finishing off his bites, he walked up to the apartment, ready for a night of painting. Instead, he stopped when he opened his door. Directly in his line of vision was an envelope. He stepped once, getting a tiny bit closer to see similar circles that were on the bottom of the letter Bryce now had.
They didn't mention anyone coming in, dropping anything off or coming up near the area. So who delivered this? He carefully walked around it to get to rubber gloves that he had near the sink. Slipping them on, he lifted the envelope and tapped it against the table. Nothing came out, so he lifted it open and pulled out a paper printed to look like an invitation.
Where: Prospect Park
When: 5:02 PM, April 23, 2011
Until then, Sweetie.
Neal looked at the circles again. She wants to meet us. Unsure of what the plan should be, he found the secondary phone Chuck had sent out for unofficial communication.
0=0
Bryce was waiting three hundred feet outside of a gun runner's compound. Chuck was inside, hopefully working on a computer that would tell them Volokoff's schedule. Sarah was distracting the owner of the building, acting as a possible buyer, hidden camera picking up everything and relaying it over to Morgan in the van.
Casey was busying himself, cleaning the sniper rifle that he had pack in case. It was the third time he had disassembled it and put it back together. “Do you trust yourself, Casey?” he questioned, watching the man go over the barrel again. “Or do you think your hands have developed minds of their own?”
“If they had, you would have been choked to death a few times,” he grunted, sliding the firing pin harder than necessary.
“Huh.” Scanning the compound again, he saw their target walking out with Sarah on his arm. Checking, he made sure she wasn't gesturing for a retrieval or intervention. “Walker's outside; no sign of Bartowski,” he reported.
“He's got ten minutes before Walker has to leave to avoid suspicion.” Casey rebuilt the gun one final time before setting it on the blanket laid out. The two watched for the other agents to exit the building. Just a minute under their cutoff time, Sarah walked out while Chuck sneaked out of a side door and hurried to the meet up point. “Anyone following them?”
Bryce watched for any shadows. “None. It looks like they got away clean.”
“Let's watch for a few more minutes. The men could be waiting to follow.” They waited until Sarah got them over the comms reporting a safe return. The two packed up and came down from their perch. Chuck was breaking into the data he gathered and Sarah was waiting for transport.
Nothing eventful happened, and they were back in Burbank faster than usual. Bryce headed to the apartment the CIA rented for him. He barely paid attention to anything in the room, bypassing the envelope on the table to fall on his bed.
Wait, envelope on the table?
He got back up and moved over to said table. He noticed the circles, subtle differences from the letter but characteristics close. He found two latex gloves to open and hold the invitation. The park was also followed by New York City. “That's today,” he muttered, checking the time, “Noon. Missed that window.”
Extra sleep now driven from his mind, Bryce picked up his cell and selected Sarah's from the book. “Bryce,” she answered.
“I've received another letter from the person.”
“When?”
“Unsure, it was already here when I got back. It's an invitation. Time and date are for today; Prospect Park in New York.”
“All right, Chuck's at work. Bring it in; we'll analyze it and figure out whether or not it's needed to tell Beckman.”
“Got it, expect me in thirty.” He hung up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A sleep deprived headache was starting to form. Even if his room had been compromised, he should have had an unopened bottle of ibuprofen stashed somewhere. Except there wasn't one. He hadn't had time to stock back up between missions. He checked the opened one and found it empty. Bryce had to hope for some at Castle.
The bright sunlight aggravated his headache and he was feeling nauseous when he got to the BuyMore. He smiled at Chuck, and a tiny bit of pain still showed through enough to worry him. Sarah met him at the entrance. “What's wrong?” she questioned.
“Headache,” he muttered, covering his eyes.
“Give me the invitation,” she dictated, holding out her hand. He gave it to her and she handed it off to Casey before pushing him down to the medical room. She took out a bottle and knocked out two pills before handing them to him.
“Thanks.” He grabbed a cup and filled it up so he wouldn't have to dry swallow.
“Did you call Neal?” she asked.
He shook his head, “I planned on it on the way over, but the headache stopped me from considering it.”
“We should see if he also got one,” she said, directing him to one of the beds, “Lie down.”
“Why are you being so nice?” he questioned, wary about her intentions.
“It's practical. We'll go over the invitation and if we need any more information, you're here.” Bryce wondered if the very, very faint trace of worry and concern was former-partner related or something Chuck brought out in her. He usually got the guess right, ninety percent of the time.
He got about an hour of sleep before Chuck tried to enter silently into the room. “What did they find out?” Bryce asked, awaken by the door.
“Neal got one as well. He called us and we caught him just before he was going to go. Sarah was able to convince him to take Peter.”
He nodded, “Good.”
“He'll tell us when he gets back. We're going to meet him in New York; hopefully he can keep them there. Beckman's sent orders. Casey's staying here and we're going to go meet with Neal.”
“How long until we leave?”
“Three hours, commercial.”
Bryce forced himself up. “If Neal calls, tell me. I need to go back to my apartment,” he said.
Chuck nodded, “Yeah.” He sidestepped to let him out. Bryce thought Chuck might have something he wanted to say, but he didn't get it out. He could tell him later.
0=0
Prospect Park was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday in late April. Neal was sitting on one of the benches. Peter was right beside him. He was discretely checking the time on his phone while Peter watched the people that did walk by them. “Why the time?” Peter asked.
He shook his head. “I don't know. Special meaning to them and possibly us.”
“Yeah, but five oh two PM? Why that specific? Five would have been sufficient.”
“Again, Peter, meaning. I don't remember anything significant at that time, but it could have been the exact time of birth for one of us. It could also just be something meaningful to them and they'll explain it.” He almost got annoyed at Peter keeping an eye on his phone. “Peter, you're suspicious.”
The man put his phone away and started tapping a beat, four strikes before repeating. Neal couldn't pick up on the reason why he was annoyed and disturbed by the rhythm. Instead, something else decided to interrupt his thoughts. A strange sound, like metal grinding on metal, reverberated through the park. Both stood up to find out what was making the noise. Eventually, Peter saw a large blue box appear next to the pathway. They watched it fluctuate in and out before settling and becoming solid. Something opened and a woman exited first, looking around before seeing Neal and smiling warmly.
“Hello, Sweetie.”
There was no pause for Neal to come to the right conclusion. He didn't know how to start the conversation, which normally came to him. Instead, he ended up with something simple. “Hi,” he said when she stopped in front of him.
“Oh, come here,” she demanded, pulling him into a tight hug that he gladly reciprocated. After a minute, they separated. “Oh, now there's supposed to be someone else here. Unless your brother's hiding, I don't see him.”
“He got back home too late to get here on time,” Neal explained, “He'll be here in a few hours instead.”
“Ha! We get on time and they're the ones that are late,” the man she came with exclaimed. Peter thought he could be related to Mozzie; the bowtie and tweed would fit with the odd man's fashion sense. He noticed Peter and introduced himself, “Hello, I'm the Doctor.”
That codeword triggered the Intersect. The flash would have contained something, but the Intersect had been connected when the Bad Wolf virus had gone through and destroyed any trace of the Doctor. So, there were fragmented files along with new, complete files that had been added after the event, which he tried to process but ended up with a large migraine instead. He would have collapsed, if Peter hadn't seen the signs and caught him before he fell. “What's wrong?” she asked, carefully checking him over.
The Doctor, which Peter believed was not a medical title, pulled out a strange device and passed it over Neal. It emitted a high pitched noise before he stopped it and looked at something on the side. “Well, I'd say the computer in his head tried to pull up a mixture of corrupted files and complete ones and the complete ones wouldn't process,” he stated, “That may slightly be my fault.”
Peter glanced sharply at the man. River looked back at him. “Your fault?” she questioned.
“Well, there was this virus I release to wipe out traces of me, and it looks like it got into the computer program in his head,” he explained.
“Why would you have files that would be in the program?” Peter asked.
He tried to dismiss himself, “Nothing much, just wandering into situations at the right time and place, or everyone else would say wrong time and place.”
That didn't exactly alleviate his apprehension of the man, but getting Neal someplace so he could sleep off the migraine was more concerning, Ibuprofen also on the list. “Neal, can you walk?” he inquired.
His answer was pain-filled, but sarcastic. “Don't know,” he mumbled, “Can I? You won't allow me to stand up.”
He rolled his eyes at the comment, but moved slightly to help him up. Between the two of them, Neal managed to keep standing, wobbling a little. “My car's parked just outside of the park,” Peter commented, feeling the sun come out. Neal winced at the increased brightness. He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and found a pair of designer sunglasses, placing them carefully on.
“Why don't we take the TARDIS instead? Would be there in a snap,” the Doctor suggested, snapping his fingers for emphasis. The doors opened in response.
She snapped her fingers and closed them again. “With your luck, we would end up five years before the invention of aspirin, and on the wrong planet,” she countered.
“Sexy wouldn't do that,” he defended.
“Sexy?” Neal inquired.
“Sexy!” he pointed back at the blue box.
“Let's keep to the car,” Peter said, “We'll head to June's. You have pills there?”
“Yeah, just got a new bottle,” he confirmed.
The small group walked outside of the park, after the Doctor ran back to lock the TARDIS. Peter immediately took the driver's side, the Doctor stealing the passenger while Neal sat in the back with the woman. “I never introduced myself,” she apologized, “River Song.”
That name kicked up another file in the Intersect. It mentioned her involvement with a crisis during the planning of the moon mission, the missing tapes of Nixon, possible connections to Torchwood and several other things that he couldn't pick up quickly because the flash was making the migraine worse. “Oww,” he moaned, leaning forward and pressing his head against the back of the seat, “Okay, he cannot introduce himself around Chuck and Bryce. And we need to warn them before you say your name.”
“Another one?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Sorry, Sweetie, there may be a few more files on our family,” she warned, carefully rubbing his back, “We shouldn't mention them until the headache goes away.”
0=0
Chuck was watching Bryce, crossing between worry and apprehension every few seconds. Sarah was studying him, but wouldn't bring anything up until they could be someplace private. Bryce was acting as if Chuck wasn't watching him, semiconscious but the constant watching not allowing him to settle completely.
Sarah made the move, sitting next to him and grabbing his phone. She typed in a question mark to the text field. He cleared the mark for his response.
Had headache. What u give him?
Aspirin. Only thing in Castle. Why?
Allergic to aspirin. Major reaction @ in HS.
Sure?
Reminded me only had aspirin when he was sick in college.
Given aspirin before. Impostor?
When?
Back during partner days
For that long? Flcrm or Rng, wouldn't make sense.
The two stopped as Bryce finally settled for a nap. “Volkoff?” she whispered.
“I don't think so. It doesn't make sense either. Bryce wasn't on anyone's radar for years,” he mentioned, “Not to mention, if their plan was to keep Fulcrum and the Ring going, they failed.” He sat back, staring up at the top of the cabin. “Something isn't right.”
Masterpost | Next