Book 2: Chapter 30: Idiots in Fancy Suits (1/2)

”I told you the FBI would handle this!” Dunkirk snarled at Dan, having pulled him aside to berate him. ”You are a civilian! You do not get to override my authority! Your duty is to stay out of my way, not step into it!”

The grouchy fed had surfaced shortly after the APD had arrived, called to the surface by the wounded agent O'Brien. He didn't seem thrilled to be abandoning his idiotic pursuit, though Dan thought his men might be grateful. The tunnel that the villain had carved ended in the sewer system. The villain and whoever he had rescued could be anywhere by now.

”I'm a civilian,” Dan echoed, ”My duty is to call the cops when there is trouble.”

He gestured dramatically to the demolished field office, with the eighteen wheeler still embedded in it like a giant's fist.

”Trouble!”

”Don't get cute with me!” Dunkirk threatened. ”I could have you detained like that!” He snapped his fingers.

Dan laughed in his face. ”For what? I've done nothing wrong, and you've got no jurisdiction to boot. I've checked.”

And he had. The FBI had a lot of power in this dimension, but Dan's crisis volunteer status granted him a good deal of leeway. The federal government wasn't keen on punishing people willing to go into battle zones to help save lives without pay. Dan had rights and, in front of all these cops and given what Dan had done to help, Dunkirk was unlikely to try anything rash.

”You threw yourself into the middle of a fight between my men and armed villains, causing—” Dunkirk's eyes seemed to bulge as he blindly reached for a plausible number. ”I don't even know how many injuries and deaths! You've abused the protections afforded to crisis volunteers as an excuse to act like a vigilante!”

”I used those protections as an excuse to save the lives of you and your men,” Dan snapped back. ”Show a little gratitude! I know you lost people, and I get that you're angry about it, but that didn't have shit to do with me.”

”You think this is about—” Dunkirk bit off whatever he was going to say, glancing behind him at the array of cops and paramedics doing their work and not so subtly listening in. He turned back, glaring at Dan. ”Never mind, I've got more important things to deal with. I'll be seeing you, Mr. Newman.”

”Ominous,” Dan sniped back acerbically.

Dunkirk stalked off without another word. Dan watched as the special agent moved right past his injured men, sparing them not even a glance, and began to loudly berate the first officer on scene for some random perceived slight. What a small, petty man. Dan shrugged it off. Not his problem anymore.

Dunkirk hadn't even seemed interested in how Dan had fought off the villains, more focused on his audacity rather than his actual actions. That would probably change, eventually, but by then the memories would be less fresh, and the evidence sparse. In a way, keeping the man irrationally angry was actually helpful. It kept Dunkirk focused on what Dan did, rather than the how.

Dan sidled over to a nearby paramedic, who was stitching up a cut on the arm of a volunteer in the back of an ambulance. They both greeted him with cordial nods, and Dan sighed as he leaned up against the rear bumper. His body ached, and his face was covered with dust, dirt, and blood. His head was beginning to spin, as the enormity of what he'd done here began to creep in to his awareness.

”Do you need me to stick around?” he asked.

The paramedic shrugged. ”Things seem to be calming down for now. I'd ask the sergeant, but I think you're good to go.”

Dan eyed the officer in charge, who was in the middle of a hushed argument with Dunkirk. The scowl on both men's faces were not encouraging.

Dan shook his head. ”Pass. I'm tired and sore. I'm heading out. Dispatch has my ID from when I called this in, so if the sergeant needs to contact me...”

”I'll let him know,” the paramedic nodded. ”You did good work, here. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

”Yeah,” Dan agreed absently, as he eyed the bloody remnants of the villain's assault. And his own. ”Good.”

There was nothing left for him here. His navigator pulled him out of the battlefield, bringing him elsewhere. He reappeared in his bathroom, shucking his bloody clothes and stepping straight into his shower. Water sloughed down his hair and back, first cold then warm then hot. He watched as his tile floor was tinted red, then washed clean. His soul felt the same.

Abby must have heard the shower, because she was waiting for him when he came out. All it took was a look at his face, and she knew something had happened.

”Oh Danny,” she murmured, pulling him close.