InsaneJournal

Not Now
Nights like these made Brian Andersen wish he was still on the streets.

Not that he minded the pay, which was leaps and bounds over what he made when he was pulling desk duty in one of Baltimore’s overworked precincts. But the late hours, the fact that he hardly had any time to shave anymore – not to mention the near-daily interactions with the one law firm he was convinced was going to be the end of this planet – it was starting to take its toll.

Then again, it didn’t help that Brian was already a pessimistic sort. Long estranged from his family, Baltimore’s new district attorney was single and had gone three years since his last date. That was by choice, thanks in large part to Brian’s single-minded dedication to cleaning up this city.

His latest case was proving to be quite difficult, which was why Brian was still in his office, pouring over legal texts even as the clock struck midnight. Colleagues could tell him to go home until they were blue in the face, but until he put this scumbag away for extortion, drug trafficking and child prostitution, this office was Brian’s home.

“And here I thought I had long hours.”

Jill stood in the doorway to Brian’s office, arms folded over her chest and a nervous grin painting her features. A drive by her brother’s apartment showed the agent he wasn’t home, and remembering Brian the way she did, Jill figured he was probably still in the office, working on whatever case threatened to shake Baltimore at its foundation this week.

How he suddenly shot from detective to the city’s district attorney, Jill didn’t quite know, and to be honest, she was a little suspicious. But that wasn’t why she was here; this vacation, though initially unwanted, was actually an opportunity. With no family and few emotional connections in Chicago, Jill was eager to see if she couldn’t reconcile with one of the few people left in her life from her childhood.

Father, mother, professional mentor and surrogate father figure were all dead. That left Brian, her older brother who had unofficially disowned her the minute she let herself listen to David Gregor’s recruiting pitch. Though the agent never understood Brian’s venom, she also never made herself deal with it.

Until now.

“Wow,” Brian offered with a derisive chuckle and a shake of his head. “First you call, then you come by my work. Wonder who I pissed off to deserve the karmic backlash.”

Flopping a file folder on top of an already-stacked pile, Brian sighed and wheeled himself out from behind his desk. Stopping about five feet in front of his sister, the D.A. gave her a once-over, his gaze narrowing and a sneer playing at the corners of his mouth.

“The firm send you?” he chirped in anger. “Which client do they want me to lay off of?”

Jill gave a single nod, pursing her lips. “I see you haven’t gotten the memo,” she offered, trying to contain her own disdain as she pulled her badge from the blue purse hanging off her left elbow, flashing the gold in front of her brother’s scruffy face.

“The fuck is this?” Brian snapped, grabbing the badge from his sister’s hand and glaring at it with a quirked brow. “Oh, please,” he snorted with a chuckle, heaving the badge back to Jill with a dismissive toss. “You really expect me to believe the Federal Bureau of Investigation hired you?”

Jill shrugged, stuffing the badge back in her purse and stepping around the perimeter of the office, taking in the oak bookshelves and the thick volumes housed in them. “Believe whatever you want,” she said. “But I’m FBI now. Uncle Sam offered me a way out of Hell, and I jumped at it.”

Brian’s gaze followed Jill’s movement, his features showing skepticism. “You left Wolfram & Hart,” he said. “On your own?”

The agent nodded, stopping behind the desk, leveling a gaze toward her brother. “Yep, walked away.”

“Can’t imagine Gregor was too happy about that.”

Jill shrugged. “I can tell you where he’s buried, so you can ask him yourself.”

For the first time in years, Brian smiled in his sister’s presence. Though his upbringing taught the D.A. not to revel in the death of another human being, he made the exception for David Gregor. God would understand.

“First good news I’ve heard all day,” Brian replied with a chuckle. “So why the epiphany?”

Jill paused for a moment, standing behind the leather chair that came with the desk, but she figured her brother didn’t use. She noticed it was roughly the same height as the wheelchair, so she figured he probably just sat in that when he was at his desk.

Which, given his job, probably wasn’t very often.

“A number of things,” she answered simply. “Guess you could call it a perfect storm. I fell in love, for starters. Realized I couldn’t have a personal and a professional life working for them. My job led me to betray people I genuinely cared about, and I lost the stomach for it.”

Brian felt the tension in his shoulders disappear when he heard Jill talk, even though he wasn’t sure he was ready to believe what she was telling him. For the first time since they were children, Brian was seeing the Jill he remembered and loved – the confident, kind-hearted girl, instead of the focused, cold-hearted bitch Gregor transformed her into. If it was real, it was one of the most comforting things he’d ever seen.

He just didn’t think it was true. There had to be a catch; there always had been with Jill once Janice died.

“But you were so … gung-ho,” he retorted. “I remember you going on and on about Senior Partners this and Special Projects that. You even mentioned the White Room once – no clue what that is, but it sounded pretty damn important.”

“It was,” Jill said, sitting in the chair and crossing her legs. When she first walked into the office, the agent had trouble meeting her older brother’s gaze – probably a result of the guilt and strain that had overtaken them in years past. But the longer they talked, the easier Jill found it to look into Brian’s eyes.

She saw how tired he was; the bags were darker than hers had ever been when she worked for the law firm. She knew being a D.A. meant long hours, but there had to be something more than that. Brian grew up to be quite pessimistic, and for good reason, but it saddened Jill to see her brother hadn’t learned how to just let things go.

Especially since part of it was her fault.

“Back then,” she added. “It took me a while, but … I know what David Gregor did. He used me, because I let him. Every time I should’ve pushed him back and said no, I just walked closer to him and asked what he needed. I thought he was all I had after Dad got locked up and Mom died – he played me like the puppet I was.”

Heaving a sigh and grabbing the silver cross hanging from her neck, Jill closed her eyes. Her new job, combined with the faith she’d discovered in recent months, made dealing with her past a lot easier, but when Jill was ordered to return home for vacation in light of Elfleda’s “message,” she knew no attempt at redemption would be complete without a conversation with Brian.

Even if they never spoke again, Jill had to apologize to him and explain everything. He was the only family she had left; Jill owed him that much.

“I’m so sorry, Brian,” she said in a voice so soft, it was almost a whisper. “I – I’m so sorry ...”

Brian nodded once, chewing his lower lip. He mulled over what Jill told him, silently glad on some level Jill realized what had been happening to her. Brian saw the manipulations bright as day; every time Gregor pulled a string, Brian saw it. But no matter how often he tried to warn Jill, tell her what was going on, she’d lash at him, accuse him of not understanding and swearing she’d never talk to him again.

Brian begged Jill not to move to Virginia to take the internship at the satellite office and enroll in law school at Regent. What was left of the family needed her, he had argued, but the harder he tried to keep Jill close, the harder she pushed back.

But all of that paled in comparison to what Gregor did to him.

“Why weren’t you at Dan’s funeral?” Brian asked in an even tone. The most recent transgression – perceived or otherwise – had been one of the most painful for him, knowing he had to help bury his surrogate father without his sister being there. Especially since he’d heard she was in town roughly the same time as Daniel Richards’ death.

Jill hung her head and let go of the necklace, taking another deep breath as her hands clutched themselves. Her fingers shook slightly, closing her eyes. She wondered if the case had ever been solved; if her name came up, the local Wolfram & Hart branch probably took care of it.

Still, Brian deserved an explanation. Reconciliation wouldn’t be possible without one.

“Because I killed him,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling as tears filled her eyes.

Brian’s face contorted into a mix of shock and disgust. “What?!”

Jill sniffled. “I killed him,” she repeated, forcing herself to look at her brother, even as two tears streaked her face. “The firm wanted me to come make him an offer – join the firm. My orders were specific: offer him the job, kill him if he refuses.”

Brian rubbed his stubble and sighed. He felt an emptiness fill his gut that rivaled the one he felt Christmas morning so long ago when he found out his father was in jail for murder. Why would a law firm make such a demand, to kill someone if they refused a job? That sounded like something the mafia did.

Maybe everything he’d heard about that firm was true after all.

“But at Mom’s grave?” he spat back, hands clenched into fists. “What, was that just your little personal touch?

“Was working for that firm your way of working through your family issues?”

Jill looked at her brother once more, wiping away a tear with her left thumb. She’d never really thought of it that way before, but it made a lot of sense. Killing Paul to take the job in Las Vegas, killing David Gregor – twice – offing Daniel on top of her mother’s final resting place … so much of the loose baggage surrounding her family had been dealt with in one way or another during Jill’s tenure at Wolfram & Hart, yet she never once did anything to her brother.

“Was I next?” Brian added.

Jill shook her head, swallowed the knot in her throat. “They told me you’d been taken care of.”

Brian’s eyes widened, and again his hands gripped the wheels on his chair so tight his knuckles lost their color. “The accident,” he said, wheeling toward his sister as his gaze turned dark.

There was no evidence to suggest Wolfram & Hart orchestrated the accident – police determined it was a simple case of a driver running a red light, blood-alcohol level three times the legal limit, t-boning Brian’s car and sending him head-on into a telephone pole, the force so hard the car flipped four times.

Brian was paralyzed from the waist down; doctors said he would never walk again, and there would be no miracle to prove them wrong. The driver of the other car, a 45-year-old black woman, had died at the scene.

Though now that he thought of it, he remembered hearing that woman had been a lawyer.

Brian leaned forward, his face inches from Jill’s. Nostrils flared, a hand grabbing his sister’s chin and forcing her to look at him. “You tell me the truth,” she snarled, hearing his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. “Did you tell them to take me out?”

With a calm that surprised even her, Jill stared into her brother’s eyes, cupping her hand over his. “No,” she said, lowering his hand and giving it a loving pat. “I didn’t even know about it.

“All I was told was that … that you’d been paralyzed.”

“And were you naïve enough to think it was just an accident?” Brian asked. “Or did you even care?”

After all, Jill never flew back to see him in the hospital.

The agent hung her head, tears flowing anew. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to look at Brian but failing. The guilt was a lot stronger when she had to stare at it all – her brother, confined to a wheelchair and forever denied his dream of being on the streets, an indirect consequence of her quest to be Wolfram & Hart’s next Golden Child.

“Yeah, well,” Brian sighed, “sorry won’t give me back my legs.”

“I know,” Jill whispered between sharp intakes of breath, a shaky hand trying to wipe her face. “I just … the government offered me a way out, through Project: Integration and I – I jumped at it. I wanted out so bad, Brian. I just wanted to go back to the real world and be normal and human again, you know?

“I just wanted to do some good again, like I dreamed of as a kid. When P:I tanked, the government trained me to be FBI. I’m stationed in Chicago now, working on a few cases. Lincoln Park, mostly.”

Brian scoffed. “Wolfram & Hart have anything to do with that, too?”

A hand slapped sharply across Brian’s cheek. Jill stared at him with bloodshot eyes, her breathing heavy and erratic. Her eyes were a mixture of anger and fear and pain, which Brian learned over the years were nothing but variations of the same emotion. His sister’s hands were shaking, but apparently not enough to keep her from inflicting physical pain.

“You bastard,” she barked. “You have no idea what happened to those people – otherwise, you wouldn’t turn such a tragic event into a personal attack on me. You want to hold a grudge and be mad at your little sister for the rest of your life because she betrayed the family, that’s fine – that’s your problem.

“But you leave those people out of it!”

Everything Jill learned about that tragic day – the victims, those already dead, those who were held in constant captivity, no longer anything resembling human. People like Andrea Turnbull, a shell of her former self who’d been partially eaten by her own offspring. It was possible Wolfram & Hart was responsible for that – it was always possible – but there was no evidence to suggest that.

And she didn’t appreciate Brian insinuating she might’ve had something to do with that.

Jill stood, sniffling. “I came here hoping I could ask your forgiveness,” she said evenly. “But it’s obvious your anger still poisons you.”

Walking past her brother, the agent stopped in the doorway to his office, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steel herself. Grabbing the door frame, Jill turned to glance at her brother again, who still had his back to her.

“I hurt you – more than I probably realized,” she conceded, her voice cracking. “And I’m sorry for that, I really am. But people change, Brian. They can go from being megalomaniacal lawyers to honest, hard-working FBI agents, people who dedicate their lives to helping people and bringing about justice when it’s needed.

“I didn’t expect forgiveness right away, but I thought if we talked, we could at least start on that path. But I can tell you’re not ready, and you might never be. You’re still too fucking bitter and angry. Everything’s my fault to you, even if I had nothing to do with it. You won’t say it, but I know you still think I put you in that chair.

“I didn’t take away your career as a police officer, Brian. You did that when you decided to resign and run for office.”

Another sigh, wiping away a tear. “I’m heading back to Chicago tomorrow. If at some point you decide you want to let go and move on, you’re more than welcome to give me a call. But I can’t seek forgiveness from someone who’s not ready to give it.

“But know this: I love you, Brian. I can only pray someday you get that.”

Brian closed his eyes when his sister’s voice turned into footsteps fading into the hallway behind him. He could feel the corners of his eyes burning, overwhelming the sting in his cheek from where she’d hit him moments before. He sat motionless for what felt like minutes, letting everything roll through his brain, even though he had no idea what to make of it all.

Jill was right; he was angry. How could she just waltz into his office unannounced like that and ask for forgiveness without warning? Did she think she could drop an “I’m sorry,” shed a few tears and all would be right?

Then again, she seemed to have turned her life around. Maybe she was doing good now, serving Uncle Sam and beginning to atone for her mistakes. Brian was really the only person left for her to ask forgiveness of, with everyone else in their lives dead, and despite himself, Brian actually hoped everything Jill said was true.

But he couldn’t believe it. Not now. Maybe not ever.