#ainti | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

all-hail-the-witcher · 5 months

Text

questionable government spies but better written and five years late, chapter 3: i’m not one for bullying, but i am one for bullying nepo babies!

yeah it’s been like 10 months. you win some you loose some, ok?

—-

words: didn’t count, at least a few thousand

warnings: lots of swearing, gangs mentions, davey is an asshole

edited: kinda!!!

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy (let me know if you want to be tagged)

ch1 | ch2 | read on ao3

—-

“Jesus fucking christ don’t any of you dipshits know how to fucking merge ?”

Albert blinked his eyes open blearily and then immediately shut them again. The rising sun reflecting off of what was probably miles of cars and tractor trailers gave him an instant headache.

“Are we there yet?” Jack asked from the back seat, voice thick with sleep.

“No we’re not fucking there yet,” Race cursed. “If we were I’d be cursing much fucking more.”

Albert couldn’t help but smile. It felt so good to be back with Race. “You know I could have driven,” Albert said.

“Like fucking hell I was going to let you do that,” Race took his eyes off of the road for a brief second to glare at Albert. “First you’re injured-“

“I’ve had worse.”

Race ignored him. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week-“

“Hitchhiking from Canada is hard work!”

“And it was one thing on the fucking bumble fuck backroads, but this is fucking 95. People don’t fucking know how to drive here.” Race swerved into the right lane and layed on the horn and flipped off the Jeep that had just cut him off. “See?”

Unfortunately, Race was correct. Despite the fact that Albert had raided a Walgreens in not only Chicago, but also somewhere in the maze of corn that was Ohio, his shoulder was still fucked and his nose was regrettably getting more and more stuffed. Normally he would down 9 advil with half a bottle of DayQuil and pass out for six hours, but he wanted to be at least mostly conscious when he entered Davey’s office. So he’d been alternating between taking advil and DayQuil every four hours. It was nowhere near as helpful as his usual dose and he felt like absolute shit. The one driving shift he had taken, at midnight through Pennsylvania, had been absolute hell. But Race didn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Jack asked. “You’ve been going since two and-”

“Jack,” Race interrupted. “Can I ask you a question?”

Albert smirked.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever driven into Manhattan at 7:30am?”

“No.”

“That’s what I fuckin thought.”

Jack hesitated. “So do you not...want me to drive?”

“I’d rather fucking retake fucking high school fucking chemistry again than fucking let you get behind the fucking wheel right now.”

Albert tried to hide his laughter unsuccessfully.

Race took his eyes off of the road for a brief second to side eye him. “Albert Dasilva rush hour traffic is not a laughing matter.”

“Sorry,” Albert muttered, biting his cheek to keep the rest of his laughter in.

“But why is it different from rush hour traffic in any other state?”

“Watch and learn,” Race said. “Albert, badge me.”

Oh this was going to be good. Albert opened the glovebox and pulled out Race’s FBI badge. In all their years as agents they had wanted to do this but had never had a good enough reason, until now, evidently.

“Why do we need a badge to get through the toll plaza?” Jack asked. “Are they going to give us a discount or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Race scoffed. “We work for the government, not the fucking mafia.”

Albert snorted. That was one way of putting it.

As they drove through the toll plaza Albert felt adrenaline begin to course through him, momentarily taking his mind off of his sorry state. This job was so much better with a partner. This was something that he knew, obviously, but he came face to face with it every time he was out on his own for long periods of time. Albert had hitchhiked across his fair share of the country on his own and it was always hell on earth. It made him appreciate moments like this even more, the small moments of insanity in an otherwise, generally frustrating job. He could die at any moment, but at least he had Race by his side and some kind of scheme brewing between them.

Like right now.

“Why are you going into the bus lane, Race. We are not on a bus.”

“Watch and learn, Jackie,” Race smirked as he rolled down his window. The state troopers were already approaching the car.

“Sir this is a bus lane only,” one of them said. “You are going to have to exit.”

Race dramatically flipped open his badge like they do in the shitty cop movies. “Racetrack Higgins,” he said. “I’m with the FBI. Me and my partners are on a time crunch to get into the city.”

“And what does that have to do with this here bus lane?” The trooper crossed his arms.

“I’d tell you but you know how it is, FBI, secrets, alla that,” Race waved his hands around vaguely. “In fact, I should make you sign an NDA just for talking to me.”

The trooper was unamused.

“Look man,” Race said. “This is a life or death situation here. You either let me through or I tell the head of the New York FBI that you, personally, are the reason why I am late, and lemme tell you, that is not going to be good for either of us.”

The trooper considered. Behind Race, buses began to honk impatiently.

“C’mon man, I’m holding up the line of disgruntled commuters here.”

“Fine, just this once,” The trooper said, stepping back from the car and waving Race through.

Race rolled up the window and stepped on the gas. A small, devious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Oh, what Albert would do to see that smile.

“Boys,” Race said, pulling into line with the other buses. “We’ve fucking done it.”

“ Fuck yeah man,” Albert shouted, reaching over to fist bump Race.

“What did we do, exactly?”

“Bypassed all of the fucking tunnel traffic,” Race said, drumming on the steering wheel. “It's an absolute game changer.”

“But you said it was a life or death situation…?”

“Uhh…yeah?” Race looked at Jack through the rear view mirror. “Jacobs is going to fucking kill us if were any more late than we already are.”

“Why are you guys so afraid of him?” Jack asked. “He’s just another guy working for the same people we do, he’s barely got more clearance than you do.”

Albert smirked as Race made eye contact with Jack in the rear view mirror.

“Let’s revisit that thought when we’re done with the meeting, capisce?”

And an hour later, when they were all finally sat in Jacobs’s office, Jack really did look like he was rethinking that comment. Albert didn’t blame him.

“You’re late,” Jacobs said, slamming the door shut behind him.

“My apologies,” Race said. “One of us was dead less than twenty four hours ago.”

“What, you think crime stops when people die?” Jacobs sat down behind his desk.

Race opened his mouth to respond but Jacobs fixed him with a glare.

“I want to keep this brief,” Jacobs said.

Finally, something they could all agree upon.

“I don’t want you here,” Jacobs said.

Race snorted. Albert choked down a laugh. Jack looked confused.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Race muttered under his breath.

Jacobs ignored him.

“The only reason you are allowed back here is because we need your help.” It looked like it pained Jacobs to say that.

“Could I get that in writing?” Race asked.

Albert elbowed him.

Jacobs glared harder. “I can still fire you.”

“You just said you needed my help.”

“Race,” Albert whispered, bumping his leg against Race’s.

Jacobs watched the two of them with a bemused expression before continuing.

“A man named Sean Conlon turned himself in this morning. He’s a member of The Anonymous, a gang we have been trying to take down for years.”

“What does this have to do with us?” Albert asked. He was familiar with the name. He didn’t know much, but he knew they were dangerous. He thought that Finch might have mentioned them before.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Jacobs said. “It has to do with him.” He pointed at Race.

“Me?” Race raised his eyebrows.

Albert did not like where this was going.

“He said he will only talk to you,” Jacobs said.

“How does he know who I am?” Race asked.

Albert was wondering the same thing. He and Race had fucked right out of New York as soon as they could. It didn’t make sense why a gang member would be on a first name basis with him.

“I don’t know, and I also don’t care,” Jacobs said in true Jacobs fashion. “I want to take these fuckers down. So the case is now yours. Don’t fuck it up.” He slid a fat case file across the table.

Albert glared at it like it would bite him.

“It’s going to be a few weeks before I’m able to do field work again,” he said, gesturing to his arm that was still in the sling. “So I am not sure when we will be able to-“

“Oh you’re not doing anything, Dasilva,” Jacobs said, his smile sickeningly sweet. “You and Kelly, was it? Are on behind the scenes work exclusively. Higgins will be in the field.”

Albert felt his heart drop down to his feet.

“Sir-“ he said, trying not to let his voice shake. “I don’t think that’s-“

“I don’t care what you think,” Jacobs said. “This is the first solid lead we have had on this case in years. Higgins is going to be in the field and that’s final. Now for your assignments…”

He started rattling off addresses and places and Albert tuned it out. He could blame it on the pain or the cold he was definitely catching when Race asked him about it later. Race and him were a packaged deal. Together or bust. Usually it was Albert in the field, Race on backup. Not because Race couldn’t handle himself. But because it hurt Albert too much to see Race get hurt. He had seen enough of that when they were kids. He could keep Race safe now. That was why it was always him throwing his life on the line, jumping in front of bullets and off bridges and exploding things and detonating things and doing whatever he needed to do to make sure that Race could go to bed in one piece at night. And Jacobs wanted to throw him straight into the fire now? In New York? He was worst than a jerk he was a fucking-

“Dasilva!”

Albert snapped out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Pay some attention. I said you’re working at the Starbucks in Times Square and-“

“No the fuck I’m not,” Albert said, surprising himself.

“I beg your pardon?” Jacobs looked like he was considering stabbing Albert with the pen he was holding in his hand.

“No I’m not,” Albert repeated. “If you want me on this case, I’m working at 99c pizza. That’s my one condition.”

Jacobs considered. He knew Race and Albert were a packaged deal. They already had been.

“Fine.” Jacobs said. “But I’m not making any other exceptions for you two.”

Albert nodded. His arm was hurting again. He didn’t realize how tense he was. He needed to go lay down. He needed this meeting to be over. He needed to go curl up next to Race and maybe that would wash out the numbness.

It was far too long before Race was tapping his arm and offering him his hand. He just managed a curt nod to Jacobs as he followed Race blindly out the door.

“He was…interesting,” Jack said as soon as the elevator doors closed.

“Told you,” Race said, though it lacked his usual snap.

“Still can’t believe the New York FBI headquarters are in the fucking H&M building,” Jack said, mostly to himself.

Albert grunted in agreement. It truly was the stupidest thing about this place. Who the hell had had the bright idea to put the damn FBI headquarters in Times fucking Square of all places?

Just thinking about the nightmare of this building and the sensory overload that was down on the street below them that he was going to have to walk through in a few minutes made his head hurt. He let his eyes fall closed.

Race’s hand was immediately on his uninjured shoulder.

“Do you know where you’re going, Jack?” Race asked.

Jack must have nodded because no one said anything else.

All too soon, the elevator dinged open and Albert was forced to open his eyes as they were deposited in the Times Square H&M stockroom.

“Stay close,” Race whispered.

Albert didn’t need to be told twice.

He let Race steer him through the throngs of people, letting his guard drop for the first time in over a week. He knew he should be on alert, but it was Race. Race would never let anything happen to him.

“We just have to head to the van real quick,” Race whispered in his ear.

Race could have led him anywhere and he wouldn’t have cared.

He waited, leaning against the van as Race grabbed their go bags out of the back. He heard Race say goodbye to Jack, he must be staying somewhere different than them. Albert tried to take his bag from Race, but Race just brushed his hand away.

“Not tonight, Albie,” he laughed lightly, as if this was a normal situation. Well, Albert guessed it sort of was. How awful was that.

Race slid his free hand back into Albert’s and suddenly they were back on the street, back in Times Square and all the lights were blinding him, making his head hurt worse. He shut his eyes. Race would lead him home. He always did.

—-

sincerely hope it’s been worth the wait lol. let me know what you think!!!

#newsies #newsies fic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #jack kelly #spot conlon #ralbert #ralbert fic #sprace #sprace fic #saphie scribbles #sorry i went off the rails

17 notes · View notes