Re: quicklog: dylan & jack & max
[Max thought McKendrick was, possibly, the nerd king of understatement. But she still moved closer to him for reasons that she wasn't going to examine very closely now - or ever, probably. But she was weight against his shoulder, lean muscle and heat, and she watched the hallway like to the bathroom like it would provide her with answers. She was accustomed to thinking on her feet. The military, the CIA, they were all about rapid action, instinct, gut and not much time to process. But this situation was different than an op. Here, she had all the pieces and, for someone trained as she was, that actually made it harder. More details to work through, and she was never good at predicting outcome. That was what handlers were for, and she was no strategist.
The man at her side, he was about strategy. Not her.
Her voice, when she spoke, was low. Hair against his cheek as she got nearer to make it carry even less.] He's in there with his wife. He'll be fine for a few minutes.
[She walked to make the coffee she'd offered to set on, and she tugged on the back of McKendrick's elbow, so he'd follow as she filled the carafe.] Alright. We have a good three dozen civilians outside. Potentially a half dozen downstairs. He can't stay here armed. He'll react violently if we act violently.
[She rubbed her fingers between her eyes. Pressed them there as a migraine came on.] If I walk in there and talk him out of the gun, how do we contain him after. Where do we contain him?
[She didn't ask the most obvious question: How do we fix this in the long run?]