Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morning broke quietly over Istanbul, the light spilling over the rooftops.

Inside the safehouse, the mood was anything but peaceful.

Joe stood at the head of the room, a large digital display behind her showing a frozen image of Al-Hamdan exiting the high-rise. The full team had assembled: Josie, Bobby, Tex, Two Cups, Randy, Tucker, and Cruz, who stood slightly apart from the group, her arms crossed and expression unreadable.

"New intel," Joe began, tapping the screen. "This man here—" she zoomed in on a suited figure speaking with Al-Hamdan outside the high-rise, "—has been identified as Masoud Reza, known arms trafficker and logistics middleman for multiple terror-linked cells operating in Lebanon."

Another tap: the screen split to reveal a second man. "This is Faisal Qasmi. Active ties to Yemen and western Saudi Arabia. Both men are part of what looks like Al-Hamdan’s inner circle."

The team leaned forward, tension prickling the air.

Bobby whistled low. "That’s more of a power play than of a meeting being conducted."

"Exactly," Joe confirmed. "Al-Hamdan isn’t just financing anymore. He’s structuring cells. Consolidating power into something more dangerous than we’ve seen from his network before. We believe the café meeting shown in this next clip—" she tapped again, footage of a crowded outdoor café played—"was used to exchange physical intel: encrypted hard drives, possibly cash couriers."

Randy squinted at the footage, then leaned closer. "Is that Aaliyah again? Back left?"

Josie’s stomach turned. She hadn’t noticed her at first, but there she was, Aaliyah, sitting calmly with her son, as if this were a normal afternoon coffee. Close.

Way too close.

Cruz didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her jaw clenched just slightly, the only outward signal of what brewed inside her.

Joe looked to her. "We’ll need eyes on that location if they meet there again. A tail team on the ground."

“I’ll do it,” Cruz said, her voice flat but resolute. Her eyes remained locked on the screen. A split-second decision rooted in guilt. She didn’t look at Josie, didn’t dare. If she did, she wasn’t sure she could hold the steel in her tone.

Everyone in the room stilled for a moment. Bobby glanced at Josie. Tex shifted in his seat.

Joe’s gaze lingered on Cruz. "Are you sure?"

Cruz nodded. "I’m sure."

Her voice betrayed no hesitation. But Josie’s heart sank. She heard it, not in what was said, but in what wasn’t. She watched Cruz’s face with the trained eye of someone who knew its every nuance, how she smiled when she didn’t mean it, how she blinked twice when she was forcing herself not to react. This wasn’t about bravery. This was about burden Cruz was carrying.  Josie saw the flicker of pain, the tremor in her stillness, and it sent a chill through her. Cruz had just volunteered to walk back into the eye of the storm, and though her tone was steel, her soul was shaking. Josie felt a quiet panic bloom in her chest, an ache she didn’t voice, knowing too well what it meant when Cruz hid behind professionalism. She was continuing to retreat.

The team disbanded slowly after the briefing. Randy and Two Cups stayed behind to log fresh perimeter data. Josie lingered at the back of the room, eyes fixed on the screen even after the images faded.

Later that morning, she found herself outside alone. The breeze carried the scent of spices from the nearby market. It should’ve been calming, but it wasn’t. Her mind replayed Cruz’s voice over and over.

“I’ll do it.”

The words struck like a ghost echoing from the past. Josie leaned on the iron rail, the metal biting into her palms as if it could keep her from unraveling. She focused on the skyline, blurred through a layer of emotion.

She wasn’t angry. No, this went deeper. She was scared. Scared that the mission was pulling Cruz backward, unpeeling the layers they had fought so hard to build. Scared that the walls Josie had helped and watched Cruz dismantle brick by brick were now being hastily rebuilt in silence.

Cruz had warned her, hadn’t she? That Zara never really died. That she only ever went quiet. Josie hadn’t understood what that meant until now. Zara wasn’t a person, she was a state of being. Cold, calculated, shut off from everything that made Cruz... Cruz. And now, Josie could feel her rising again, not in words or violence, but in retreat. In distance.

The worst part wasn’t watching Cruz shut others out, it was feeling her shut Josie out. One glance at the screen, one whispered offer to take point, and it had all rushed back like a tide Josie couldn’t stop. She wrapped her arms around herself now, not from cold, but from the hollowness that came with knowing someone you love is slipping away and there’s nothing you can do except wait and pray they reach back.

Please, she thought, eyes still fixed on the horizon. Don’t go where I can’t follow.

That night, Cruz found Josie on the rooftop garden.  Josie sat on the edge of a low bench, elbows on her knees, gaze fixed on the flickering city lights. The wind lifted her loose hair slightly, and she didn’t turn as Cruz approached, though her body tensed almost imperceptibly.

“You left the comms room this morning before I could talk to you,” Cruz said quietly, voice cautious. "I know you've been avoiding me all day."

“I needed space,” Josie replied, her voice soft but edged. “To think.”

Cruz stood beside her, not quite ready to sit. Her shadow stretched beside Josie’s in the amber rooftop lights. "You’re mad I volunteered."

“No, I’m scared you volunteered,” Josie said, finally turning to her. Her eyes were tired, red around the edges from emotion she hadn't let spill. “You said you didn’t want to lose yourself again, Cruz. But I see it happening. I see you going back into that old shell, and I don’t know if I can reach you once you’re fully in there."

Cruz swallowed hard. Her jaw worked as if trying to push the words through grief. “You’re right. I can feel myself pulling away, it’s easier than feeling all of this. But I volunteered because I have to start facing it. If I don’t, it’ll eat me alive. I need to prove to myself that I can do this.”

Josie stood now, chest rising and falling with everything she wanted to say but hadn’t yet. "And you will. But not if you walk into this all on your own.”

Cruz looked down. Her voice cracked. “I don’t want to shut you out. I just… I don’t know how to deal with all of this and still be the woman you deserve.”

“You don’t have to do it perfectly,” Josie said, stepping closer. “You just have come to me when you need to.” She reached up, cupping her face gently, wiping away the single tear that had slipped down Cruz’s cheek. Her thumb lingered at the corner of her mouth. “I need to do the same Cruz.  I'm starting to break down inside.  I need you too."

Cruz leaned into her, forehead resting against Josie’s, eyes closing as if she could absorb her steadiness by touch alone. The flickering city stretched around them, but in that moment, the only world Cruz knew was the breath shared between them.

“I love you....I love you so much,” she whispered.

“I know,” Josie murmured. “I love you, too.”

As they leaned in to hold each other, Cruz’s phone buzzed sharply between them, breaking the moment. They both exhaled with visible frustration, the kind that comes from too many stolen moments lost to duty. Cruz sighed, her forehead briefly resting against Josie’s before she pulled back.  Josie closed her eyes, her hand rising to her temple as if the pressure there might subside. Her other hand settled at her hip, jaw tightening as she stared out over the darkened balcony, the flicker of city lights offering no comfort. The moment was gone, reclaimed by the mission, as always.

Joe texted Cruz to come to the comms room immediately. As they had done countless times throughout the mission, Cruz and Josie were forced to shelve their moment of connection, snapping back into operational mode with practiced urgency. They exchanged a brief, understanding look before quickly making their way down the hall toward the comms room, footsteps brisk and silent, hearts already shifting into mission focus.

As Cruz and Josie entered the comms room, Joe turned toward the monitor and loaded a new clip.  On the screen, Al-Hamdan appeared again, seated at the same café. This time, the footage was clearer, crisp enough to pick out subtle glances and body language. Masoud and Qasmi flanked him on either side, engaged in hushed conversation. Aaliyah, her son in tow, passed by once more, her posture unshaken. Her eyes briefly met Al-Hamdan’s, steady, unreadable, and then she moved on without pause.

Joe’s voice came through the comms quietly. “The meeting is happening again. We’ll need boots near that café tomorrow. Cruz, get ready.”

Cruz nodded slowly. Her face was stone, but her fingers trembled slightly at her side.

“I’m ready,” she said, and her voice barely carried.

Josie stood next to her, close enough that their shoulders touched.

And silently, she reached for her hand.

Cruz took it.

She was ready.

But they both knew the wound was only just beginning to open.