InsaneJournal

WHO: Peter Fleming & Vince Faraday
WHAT: Peter has a favor to ask. Vince attempts to swallow his bile.
WHEN: After this
WHERE: Vince's apartment
RATING: PG
STATUS: Log; COMPLETE

While Peter was setting himself up decently in the city, there were still a lot of things that he was lacking, and while the team that he had tasked to watch his daughter had been out of work for several years since they had lost track of her and proved to be perfectly useless when it came to finding her again, Peter would have given anything to have them back right now. As it was, he was going to have to go for the second best thing. It had taken him a matter of minutes to scroll through the list of the apartment and figure out exactly where Vince Faraday had been placed. It was unlikely that he’d gone anywhere else as there wasn’t really anywhere else for new people to go at first other than their apartment, so Peter had wasted little time after getting off work. He headed straight up to Vince’s apartment and knocked on the door.

It seemed as though he had little to worry about when it came to repercussions from his actions back home. Peter hardly expected that Faraday was the sort who could easily hold his temper after the threats that had been made and the things that he had been put through. No, if Vince really remembered, Peter was sure that he’d have been called out the second he’d said anything to the man. That was the thing about people who were so unfailingly good. They had little ability to beguile and even less ability to ignore the morality that screamed out for vengeance.

But one of the benefits that came with someone so unfailingly good was that you could always trust them to do the right thing. And right now, Vince was the only person in this city that Peter was sure he could trust. The irony of what he had to do was very nearly enough to make him laugh out loud.

After meeting with Orwell - no, Jamie Fleming, he reminded himself bitterly - Vince hadn’t had much else to really do. He’d been picked up at the police station easily enough after stopping in this morning but wasn’t set to start his first shift until Monday. Which meant he had a weekend, very little cash, and the only person in the city he had any real reason to talk to was currently the last person he wanted to even see.

Actually, make that second to last. A fact that likely wouldn’t have even occurred to him if he hadn’t received a timely knock at the door from none other than Peter Fleming. Staring through the peephole at the man, Vince felt his temper spike to the point he felt he might actually start seeing red. How dare the man come to his door. Why was he even there? For a second, Vince considered just ignoring him. Let him use the PDA for contact. At least that way, whatever Peter said or did could be shown to others when he inevitably tried to stab him in the back again. However it was odd that he was standing there and Vince, despite his hatred for anything concerning Fleming, was curious.

One of these days, he was going to learn that curiosity was not a good thing, he was sure. For now though he simply pulled open his front door and met the man’s gaze with a carefully neutral expression. “Mr. Fleming,” he greeted him, allowing a touch of his actual surprise to shine through for authenticity. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors. Come in.”

The last two words didn’t want to leave his mouth and tasted vile upon exiting but he stepped aside to give Fleming room to enter. He had to keep up the appearance, at least for a little while, that he was perfectly fine with the back-stabbing son of a bitch. Eventually, though, the day would come when Vince could get back at him for everything he’d done. It was that thought that he let flicker through his mind in order to bring a legitimate smile to his face as he shut the door behind his enemy and continued the charade.

“Peter, please,” Peter said as he stepped into the apartment. It was identical to all of the others that he’d been in since he’d arrived, the layout as well as the furniture reflecting what Peter was starting to think everyone got upon arrival. “There’s absolutely no pecking order here that has to be respected. I’m just another man,” He said as he turned his attention from the apartment and back to Vince, offering him a gentile smile. There was no obvious adverse reaction to his presence, yet again reinforcing the fact that Vince didn’t remember a thing, so Peter pressed on, assuming his position was a strong one.

“I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” Peter said. “There a few things that I’d hoped to discuss with you. Small yet vital,” There was a little more urgency in Peter’s voice than he liked. He was the consummate actor, someone who was able to perfectly model and execute a plan without giving a single hint of it away, but there were a few issues with which he couldn’t compose himself fully: his late wife, his alter ego, and, the most difficult of all, his daughter. Peter could only hope that Vince was open to the idea that he was going to propose. If he wasn’t... Peter wasn’t sure what he would do then.

Peter. The last thing that Vince wanted to do was call the man by his given name. It was taking everything he had to force the ‘Mister’ out before Fleming, as it was. However he knew, if nothing else, Orwell (Jamie, he once again reminded himself) was right when it came to how he should act around her father. That last bit made his stomach churn. He forced the feeling aside and continued trying to think his own version of happy thoughts to keep his smile in place.

“Peter, then,” he said, leading him into the living room. “And you’ve caught me at as good of a time as any. Please, have a seat. I’d offer you something to drink but I think I’ve just got tap water until I make it to a store.” Which wasn’t entirely true. He had some beers he’d picked up after going by the bank to get his money, but he wasn’t offering Peter Fleming one. There was playing at being nice then there was going too far.

Once the man was sitting, Vince took his own seat. He kept his posture casual, his expression a professionally friendly one. “What can I do for you?”

Peter made himself comfortable, figuring that it was best to settle in for the long haul as this discussion was likely to provoke far more questions than he would feel entirely comfortable answering. The team that he had looking after (and for) his daughter back home knew the broad strokes, but they were corporate men not cops. Faraday would certainly want to know the whys and the hows as well as the whos and the whats.

“Back in Palm City I have a small team dedicated to keeping tabs on my daughter,” He said, figuring he might as well start off with the bare facts. “Or I should say, attempting to locate her. We’ve had our issues for some time now... Ones that I had hoped would resolve themselves after she escaped the worst of her teens but only seemed to intensify,” He said, quietly folding his hands together with a thoughtful, concerned expression. One that for once wasn’t at all feigned.

“There was an individual that arrived in the city a little over a week after I did who bears a striking resemblance to my daughter. As there’s another individual in the city who does as well, this event in and of itself wouldn’t provoke such concern if she wasn’t behaving as cautious and stand-offish as she is in my presence,” He said, a frown creasing his expression as he peered down at his hands for a long moment before turning his attention back to Vince. “I hardly feel the need to press the issue with her. She was obviously extracted from a difficult situation; exacerbating old issues will only increase the fragility she’s displayed since arriving. I can hardly keep an eye on her myself without giving my suspicions away. And as it stands,” Peter said, pressing his lips together for the briefest of moments before continuing, “you’re the only person here I know I can trust.” And certainly the only one he was willing to trust around his little girl.

This wasn’t happening. Vince honestly could not believe just how surreal the situation had just turned. This was not actually happening. Peter Fleming wasn’t asking him what it sounded like he was asking him. Yet as much as he thought otherwise, Vince knew that he really was. And he supposed, in Fleming’s screwed up way of thinking, it made sense somehow.

Torn between whether to snort, laugh, or finally let his true feelings for the man slip, Vince fortunately chose neither. Instead he merely adopted an expression he tended to wear back when he was still taking statements from victims. It wasn’t fake concern - people tended to see right through that - but it wasn’t apathy either. It was professional, controlled, curious but not too pressing. It had taken him some time to develop the look and was now grateful for that fact, as it allowed him to wear the expression despite his seething hatred for whom it was intended.

“I understand,” he said firstly. Shifting a little in his seat, he reached for a nearby pad of paper and pen. He needed to make this look legit. Time to ask a few questions. Ignoring the veritable feeling of vertigo he was experiencing given the oddity of the moment, he met the other man’s gaze. “I’m assuming she’s going by a different name while in the city. Do you happen to know what it is?”

He could do this, he told himself as he waited for an answer. If nothing else, he would do this to ensure Fleming didn’t find someone else to do it instead. He might be pissed at the woman he’d thought he could trust, but he wasn’t about to let her overprotective, controlling, psychopath of a father hire some goons to trail her either.

All business. That was something that Peter could certainly get behind. “Julia Davenport,” He said, thankful that he’d caught her on the network and that he’d had at least a few moments in order to speak with her. It had grounded him in more information than he’d had in years, and he still had to find some way to thank Bo properly for asking her to visit. “She always was good with names,” He said, more to himself than to Vince as he wrung his hands together. “She claimed to be a reporter, so I would think she’d work to keep up the alias. I’d check the newspapers, news stations, maybe even the magazines. This is a sizable city. It’s hard to say which she’d take a job with.”

Pausing, practically cutting off his line of thought, Peter fixed his gaze on Vince, “I don’t expect you to watch her 24/7, if I’m at all making this sound like I do. I know that even in this place, you have your own business to attend as much as I have mine. But considering the position I’m placing myself in, and... Circumstances I’ve been informed may crop up soon enough, I just want to be sure she’s safe,” He said, sighing as he turned his attention back down to his clasped hands. “I’d rather do it myself, but she hasn’t trusted me for a long time... Hated me for almost as long. Not that I can entirely blame her for either perspective, but it does make playing the concerned father extremely difficult.”

That same swell of betrayal he’d felt when he’d first realized that Orwell was Fleming’s daughter was back, twice as strong as the first time now that everything was double confirmed from the man in question himself. Orwell was Julia and Julia was Jamie. And Vince felt a headache forming in the back of his skull. He ignored it and took notes, not needing to but not wanting to risk faking. Peter Fleming was many terrible, awful things, but he was far from stupid.

“I’ll definitely see what I can do,” he finally said, once he was done with his note taking. He set the pad down, placing the pen carefully on top. Such calm, restricted movements helped center him far better than most anything else could manage. Finally, he looked back to the man sitting across from him. “Finding her won’t be very difficult, of course, but keeping tabs can be tricky. Lack of resources doesn’t help. Not that I need to explain that to you. You wouldn’t be here if you still had your own resources.” The somewhat mindless mini-babble helped about as much as the calm, controlled movements. Still. He hadn’t let his guise slip yet. That had to count for something.

“You mentioned circumstances you’d been told about. If it’s going to possibly involve your daughter, should I know about it?”

Ah, the circumstances. Peter had been hoping for some easier questions, ones that didn’t sound quite as unbelievable. “During the forced marriages, the young girl that was placed under my care was capable of... She has prophetic dreams. I know it sounds ridiculous, but this place lends to a lot of things that seem utterly insane when you try and place them in the context of reality. Either way, she’s convinced that I’m going to die. Or at least, be gravely injured,” Peter said, vaguely wondering exactly how Vince was going to react to this news. “Jamie was one piece of that puzzle. Orwell’s the last. Thankfully, he hasn’t arrived yet, but it’s only a matter of time until he does. And from there, it’s impossible to say how long it will take for the situation to play itself out. I don’t care about myself. Whatever happens to me happens. But I don’t want her in the middle of it.”

This time, Vince didn’t even have to feign being interested in what was being said. Yes, the thought of someone dreaming of the future was a bit... out there, but he’d seen many strange things since Fleming had ruined his life and was willing to believe one more if what he was hearing was true. Feeling a slight thrill at the idea of the man getting what was coming to him, only to realize a split second later that Fleming’s death would mean the loss of any chance of him getting his name cleared back home, Vince allowed the displeasure of that concept show while trying to sort out what else he was being told. His brow furrowed in confusion, vague surprise widening his eyes at the mention of Orwell.

Jamie was a part of the puzzle and Orwell was, too. Yet they weren’t one in the same? That... well, that was utterly impossible. Only Fleming didn’t know that and Vince clearly couldn’t tell him.

Shoving aside the other things said - claims of not caring of his own well-being that Vince personally felt were nothing more than fake statements made in the hopes of seeming like a caring parent - Vince finally nodded. “Okay, Peter. The first thing I’m going to do is find out where she works. Once I have a better idea of her schedule, I’ll do what I can to stick close. And whenever Orwell shows...” He trailed off, not sure quite what to say. Orwell was already there, after all. With a shrug, he finished with, “Well, at least we’ll have a few notes and some idea of where Jamie will be the most vulnerable.”

Picking up the notepad, he scrawled down a few more things. This time, it wasn’t merely to keep up a front but more to sort out his thoughts. Orwell and Jamie were one in the same, yet some sort of psychic vision had them shown as separate. It wasn’t adding up, not even in the slightest, but if nothing else one thing was absolutely certain. Jamie, in some capacity, was in danger. And Vince, while still hurt and anger, wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

Realizing that gave him something in common with the very man he despised, he stopped writing and swallowed hard. “Is there anything else you can think of?” he forced himself to ask, refusing to let his thoughts continue down the dangerous path they’d started to go.

Was there anything else he could think of? Yes. Yes, there was plenty, plenty he could think of that he couldn’t fully explain and that he certainly couldn’t reveal to one of Palm City’s finest in any even vague capacity. A hiss of you should have killed him the second he arrived in the back of his mind spiked a sudden headache, causing Peter to flinch and press the heel of his palm up against his eye as he shook his head. Recovered from the bout in little more than a moment, he shook his head again, “Nothing vital, but she is insanely brilliant. So you may want to tread lightly.”

Vince watched with masked curiosity as Peter clamped a hand over his eye for a moment, seemingly in pain of some sort. Ignoring the spike of sadistic pleasure he knew he shouldn’t feel yet did none the less, he waited for the other man to compose himself and reply before nodding in understanding.

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, hovering between wanting to make the suggestion that Peter leave but also not wanting to rush such a thing due to his hidden displeasure of the man. It was difficult, pretending to enjoy the company of someone you despised. He was almost certain he’d have to take a shower after this, to wash away the feeling of filth from being so close to someone he considered so very vile.

Let me out, Peter. Let me out so I can take care of this and make sure he can’t ruin things again. Gritting his teeth against the irritation that threatened to rise, Peter pushed himself to his feet and mustered the most sincere, thankful smile that he could manage with a voice harping in the back of his mind that he was making the worst possible mistake that he ever could out of his own inherent weakness. “I appreciate your willingness to help,” Peter said, extending a hand to Vince, “especially considering I’m hardly your boss anymore. You could have just as easily told me to look elsewhere.”

He stood when Peter did, grateful that the conversation was nearly over. Taking the extended hand with a carefully placed smile upon his face, Vince forced his arm to work up and down as he uttered words he most assuredly did not mean and hoped he’d never have to utter again. “It’s my pleasure, Peter. I’m just happy to help,” he said, smile still in place as he drew his hand back. “Besides, I’m a father myself. I can only imagine what you must be going through.” He hesitated there, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him for a second. Thinking of his son, of how this man was responsible for ripping Trip out of his life, how this man wouldn’t even blink at killing Trip if he ever got wind that Vince was really the Cape. Swallowing hard, his thin smile returned.

“So really,” he said thickly, “It’s the least I can do.”

There was a momentary gnawing of guilt. Using people had always been his forte, providing them with what little they needed in way of supplies, equipment, and encouragement in order to reap the benefits of their work, but there was something about this situation that seemed to cross a line that even he wasn’t fully comfortable with. There was a rather bitter irony in the fact that it was a man whose family he had destroyed that was working to help him preserve his own, a irony that sat heavily in Peter’s gut even as he shook the man’s hand and offered him a thankful smile.

Peter had selected good men to be part of his lead security team because it gave him the image that he was working to project, one that he’d lost any creditable claim on years ago. If only this man had been willing to leave well enough alone, they might have ended up working well together. It had always been evident to Peter that he was far more capable than Marty, far more observant as well as strategic. In the end, it had simply come down to the fact that Marty was willing to let the less than savoury aspects of his business lie while Vince had not. With any hope, here, those less than savoury aspects would remain contained to Orwell’s Blog, and they could manage to work past the issues that Peter was fervently attempting to put out of his mind.

“I’ll certainly owe you,” Peter said. “When we get back, I’ll be sure to repay the debt in full.”

For one brief moment, Vince saw red. His right hand reflexively clenched into a fist, although he fortunately had enough foresight to turn his body so his arm wasn’t directly in Fleming’s line of sight. It was a good thing he’d already released the other man’s hand or he likely would have squeezed it to the point of breaking bones. He couldn’t help it, though. Not after what had just been said.

Reminding himself to breathe, thinking of Dana and Trip and precisely how much danger they’d be in if Fleming figured things out, he smiled again and kept his tone as close to a mixture of professional and pleased as he could manage. In retrospect, he was just grateful the words didn’t come out sounding strangled, given how much he loathed saying them.

“I’m sure you will,” he agreed, turning on the last word and slowly making his way to the front door to show Fleming out. The brief respite from having to keep up appearances, that split second where he could let the smile fade and try to get himself under control as he crossed from the living room into the foyer, was ultimately what saved Vince from outing himself on the spot. By the time he’d reached his destination, he had regained control enough that his guise was firmly back in place.

“I’ll let you know just as soon as I find something out.” He meant that much, at least to some degree. It wasn’t so much what he found out that he’d tell Fleming, though, but rather what he and Orwell (Jamie, his mind hissed) decided to share. Nothing too telling but certainly enough to keep the man from seeking outside help in tracking his daughter’s movements in the city.

With a pause, Vince considered how he would end this conversation if Fleming weren’t an amoral monster that he wanted dead. Finally he settled on, “And thank you, for asking me. I know how important this is to you and, well, I might only be your choice because of lack of competition, but I still appreciate it.”

There. Simple. Polite. To the point. It was just a pity he didn’t mean a single word of it. But Fleming didn’t know that and Vince thought he sounded sincere enough. Determined to end the meeting before he slipped up, he opened the door and gave his guest another polite smile.

Business concluded, there was little left to say. At least, nothing that Peter could say without provoking far more questions than he was equipped to answer. So instead, Peter simply inclined his head to Vince and stepped towards the door. “I hope you settle in well,” Peter said. “And if you find yourself in need of anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Not that Peter had the sort of means here that he used to, but he could certainly still get things done when necessary.

Stepping out of the apartment, Peter turned and headed back to his own. Hopefully, hopefully, this would at least assure that whenever Bo’s dream did occur, he would be the only one in the crossfire.