Chapter Text
Long story short: Jacobi fucked up. And he'd fucked up big time.
It wasn't just this morning when he spilled coffee all over his new pair of shoes Teller bought for him. It wasn't Tuesday when he yelled at a random witness and almost got written up. It wasn't even two weeks, 5 days, 4 hours, 23 minutes, and 46 seconds ago when he said goodbye to the strange yet very familiar Reporter, Tatiana sobrero, on New Year's Eve.
No, Daniel Jacobi fucked up 4 years ago decidedly turned his back and ran away from the only people who could possibly understand what he was going through after having the everlasting shit kicked out of you. He thought he was doing the right thing, that he was justified in his actions. He'd never asked to be sent up there with the smartest woman he'd ever be lucky to have known and the biggest asshole-besides himself that is- and return to this stupid planet with nothing but his hollowed out heart and several handfuls of regrets. He'd never asked to be left behind.
He thought: why not make this horrible situation he was thrust into count? Make something useful of himself for once in his goddamn life. A new life that his best friend would be proud of. So he asked for a new identity, and a fresh start. He was no longer "Daniel Jacobi": disgraced son of an airforce pilot, bomb-builder and life-ruiner extraordinaire who fucked up lives in the worst way possible by working for the worst corporation money could build. Instead he was "Mark Midland", recently indicted member of New York City's bomb defusal unit 214 and supposed friend to two of the strangest men alive, who might have psychological issues worse than him.
He tried to remind himself on the days when the bomb defusals were just a little too easy and a little too boring, or on days when he could barely drag his feet into work that there was no turning back for him, he chose to leave all his memories and fuck all past behind him for good, and he'd have to live with that.
That's what he kept reminding himself of on New Year's Eve when Teller unexpectedly brought along a new friend to document a whirlwind of a night. A new friend who resembled an old colleague of his: Captain Isabel Lovelace.
Teller left the van for what was probably his 3rd coffee run of the day, dragging along Radio Bob, who was earning quite the reputation among the coffee shop workers, for a possible discount- which left Midland alone with the reporter who was staring wide-eyed at him.
"So... it's been awhile hasn't it?", She asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about Ms.Sobrero, I just met you about 20 minutes ago", Midland tried turning back to the front of the passenger seat, He was not giving her the satisfaction of him talking to her.
"Oh don't try to bullshit me. I invented Bullshitting Jacobi, remember?"
" You must have me mistaken for someone else. My name," Midland gritted through his teeth, "is Mark Midland."
"Why are you acting like a bigger jackass than usual? I haven't heard from you in 3 years- the least you can do is give me a reason," She insisted.
"If you want to talk to me, that's fine. Let's talk about my job as a bomb defuser or my relationship with my teammates--you know, the things you're supposed to report on? Otherwise, I recommend that you keep your mouth shut."
This shouldn't be what he was focusing on right now, he had a job-- a good job, one that he could use his calloused and bruised hands to save lives rather than take them away. And he couldn't do that if he was always drifting back into the past. Midland just had to--
"Get a move on Midland. Boss is getting impatient on this end.", The radio attached onto his uniform beeped, indicating that his partner outside was trying to reach him
"Yeah, yeah. Just hold tell the Boss to hold his horses for once, I got this all under control.", He assured. Midland almost never went out into the field by himself-- not just because he was 3 weeks off probation or because Teller was a hog when it came to claiming bomb defusals-- but because Midland was in fact a highly trained ballistics specialist and he knew the inside components to a bomb better than he knew the back of his palm. He knew the exact time it took for a bomb to explode,the exact radius down to the very centimeter of the explosion, and he could deactivate it within a minute (and that was just with a paperclip, wrench, and a turkey-bologna sandwich with extra mayo and chips on the side). He was an expert with more than a dozen lifetime's worth of experience, but to Radio Bob and Simon Teller he was just Mark Midland, graduate of 3 years whose current job was only his second time working professionally with bombs. They didn't, and more importantly couldn't know what he was truly capable of. So he took his time with a bomb that could've been dismantled within 2 minutes but instead took 10 (still well below the recommended time frame).
"Midland I swear if you don’t hurry up soon I’m gonna beat your ass so hard, I bet $15 dollars on you on you disarming this thing within 11 minutes so don't make me lose my money.", Teller commented on the radio.
"Excuse me? Boss, I thought after New Year's incident you promised to take our job more seriously, remember?"
"Oh sure, when I'm the one on the job."
"That's not-you know what I meant Boss.", Midland said cutting the last of the bomb's wires. "And done. Are ya happy now?"
"Very. Now hurry back to the van so Bob here can take us out to get coffee and donuts."
When Midland slid open the van's side door, he found both his friends glaring at him with the widest smiles ever.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Don't tell me you two decided that I'm going to buy breakfast." Midland said climbing into the back seat.
Teller held up a phone and started waving it around in front of his face, "Someone's popular. Your phone was blowing up-no pun intended- the whole time you were out there. Normally, I would have to write you up for disruptive behavior but seeing as how it's that sly and foxy reporter girl texting you, I can't stay mad."
Midland immediately snatched his phone from his boss' hands, and sure enough he had at least 10 messages and 3 missed phone calls from Tatiana Sobrero. "I don't understand, how does she have my number?"
The van stayed quiet.
"Guys……?"
"Okay fine, I may have given it to her.", Radio Bob confessed. "But in my defense, she seemed really into you Midland, and I thought you guys would make a cute couple."
"Ugggh. You make me want to barf", Midland rolled his eyes. It figured that Sobrero would reach out to the weakest link of the bunch. He should've known better than to just let her walk away, of course she would have to stalk him. God forbid that Midland actually had some peace for once in his life.
"What's wrong with Sobrero? I mean she has a nicer face than either of my ex-wives.", Teller said
"Yeah, I would hit that.", Radio Bob joined in.
"Okay first of all, it's not very polite of either of you to talk about her that way especially when she's not here to defend himself, and there's other components to a woman's attractability besides how big her butt is."
"Ooh, what are you a butt man?", Teller joked, completely ignoring his other point.
"Actually I'm more of a dick man myself.", Midland said.
"Oh. Okay then nevermind.", Teller said shocked, sliding back into the front seat. "For the record, I think gay man are very cool."
"Just shut your trap and start the car, Boss",Radio Bob said, and hit Teller on the head, making Midland chuckle.
"You guys are way too easy to embarrass.", Midland said. He absolutely loved to get a rise out of his Boss and make a fool of him, which wasn't very hard to do considering Teller acted like one 98% of the time.
He looked back at his phone, what could Lovelace possibly want to talk to him about that she had to use half of his data plan? He scrolled through the thousands of text messages she sent, hoping they would provide some information but they were all either vague statements edging him to call back or very serious threats regarding the fate of Midland's dick if he didn't pick up the phone. And knowing Lovelace, she was definitely the type of person who break into your apartment at one in the morning and eat all your boxes of cinnamon toast crunch cereal before sneaking into your room and finally mutilating you with a butter knife she found in your kitchen drawer. But Midland was also a trained and capable ex-Si-5 agent who'd escaped prisons worse than Alcatraz or even game nights with Kepler, and survived torture sessions that lasted for weeks at a time. If possible, Midland was absolutely confident that he could handle Isabel. Probably. Maybe. He wasn't sure?
He thought he should probably send sobrero a message warning her to stop calling or something with an equally disturbing and assertive tone. But Midland didn't like to dwell on things for too long, plus he could send the text at anytime. She wasn't to the point of stalking where she actually followed his location.
"You coming Midland? Or are you too busy playing on your little phone there?", Teller mocked.
"I'll be there in a sec", Midland responded.
The line in the coffee shop was exceptionally long, considering it was dive-end cafe near the back corner of a run-down strip mall Teller probably found late at night while he wandering home drunk. But it was 9:15 AM on a moderately busy Thursday morning in New York City, aka: the busiest and shittiest place in America, especially when you're Mark Midland and being chased by a crazy old pal of yours whom you want absolutely nothing to do with. But when you work one of the most dangerous jobs in NYC, you serve your caffeine addiction wherever you can.
"Yeah I'll take a Quad long shot, grande, in a venti cup, half-caff, no sleeve, salted caramel mocha latte with five pumps of toffee nut, half whole milk, half soy, extra hot, extra shot, extra foam, extra whip, sugar-free. Also a medium dark roast coffee and a cold brew for my friends over here", Bob said to the barista. Midland honestly felt sorry for the poor soul unlucky enough to create that monstrosity Bob called a drink. He'd much rather listen to a bunch of Kepler's ridiculous stories than be in that person's position.
Midland looked back at Sobrero's messages, Call me back right now. ' Call me back right now' his ass, no way was Midland going to talk to her. Not after she had the audacity to try to confront him in public-- in front of his friends-- and ruin the life he'd built for himself here.
"Having uh "friend" troubles there man?", Teller said sneaking up behind him.
"I wouldn't go so far as to call her my friend Boss, but yeah I guess you could say that"Midland remarked. Teller shifted pretty close to Midland and awkwardly stood there pretending to look at the ship's daily specials and trying his best to keep his mouth shut.
Midland sighed and rolled his eyes, clever as his Boss may be, Teller had no social skills whatsoever. They've been friends for about a year now, and you don't work a job full of risks like this without getting close to the fellas you're working 12 hours a day with. And as much as he hated to admit it, he appreciated how much Teller cared about his personal health. Plus he was pretty sure that the man would break down if Midland didn't tell him something about what was going on.
"Fineeeeee, I'll tell you what's going on with the reporter", and with that Teller's face lit up like a child who was given an extra slice of cake at a birthday party.
"She's just an old friend I knew a long time ago. We were pretty close until we got into this huge argument. And by huge, I mean detrimentally massive. I said some things that made me sound like an asshole, and she said some things that made me sound like an even bigger asshole. And we haven't spoken since.", Midland said.
"Until New Year's Eve, right? Is that why you were acting so weird that night?"
"No, of course not. I was stressed because it was the final day of my probation and you were acting like an idiot--no offense.", Midland sneered. Teller let out a big sarcastic 'uh-huh'. "Okay so maybe she caught me off guard a little bit. But there were other components, not everything is about her despite what Isabel thinks."
"Isabel?", Teller glared at him.
Fuck , "Tatiana-- I mean Tatiana. Isabel is just her middle name that she used to go by in college.,Slip of the tongue y'know, and like I mentioned, I haven't kept in touch with her in years."Midland said barely able to scrape up a fathomable lie. But Teller bought it, he totally did. He would have to.
"Right- well it sounds like Tatiana just wants to get in touch with you again. I mean, if you two were such good buddies what harm could it do? People can't hold grudges forever."
"Mmm.. You'd be surprised then Boss. Cause I got a whole closet full of them."
"Listen Mark, you're like what-- 34, 35? You're still in those young years before you settle down and live with the realization that you can't fix all the serious mistakes you've made. Call her up and meet this old friend of yours for some dinner or something. And if not for your stubborn ass, than for poor Tatiana's sake."
"First off, I'm 37 and you're only 6 years older than me,'' Teller shot him a look. "But you do make a compelling argument. I'll think about her calling her later tonight when I'm ready, what is she going to do? Confront me right now out of nowhere?."
"Black coffee, Cold brew latte, and a 'Radio Bob Special'?", The barista shouted. Finally , Midland thought. As therapeutic as it was to share the intimate details of his past life with his boss, he really couldn't take more discussion about her .
Midland was about to reach for his cup of coffee before another, slimmer hand grabbed it for him. A hand that didn't belong to Teller or Radio but the devil incarnate herself.
"A cup of black coffee, really Jacobi? Who knew you such a stickler for boring traditions?", Sobrero said standing beside not even a foot away from Midland.
Midland's jaw dropped and sighed a deep painful breath, "Why do I always have to be right?"