Agents Of Time: Chapter Twenty; Untangle the web.

Sour acid brewed in his throat. James grumbled. A headache stung like a knife through his head. 

Murmurs filled his ears, cold seeped through his clothes, light threated to blind him, he pried his eyes open.

He squinted, eyeing the marble floor, taking stock of his limbs. No cuts, no blood. Everything seemed intact.

Recognition sparked his memory as the voices echoed faintly through the room again. But he couldn’t place the voices, he just knew he had to find them.

Benedict, where was Benedict?

The thought made a vein throb in his head. He had to get up. Urgency allowed him to lift himself, gritting his teeth as the floor teetered. His jaw ached, a soreness that lingered even in his gums. 

James checked the back of his head. There wasn't a knife in there after all. He blinked, focusing on the voices, leading him to look up. Light blinded him.

Up, he had to get up.

Get up where? 

Why’d that have to knock him out? He almost preferred chloroform. Although either way he’d have a headache. But at least he wouldn’t feel like someone had cleaved his head in half. Sure, chloroform gave you a headache, but a blow to the head. That really messed you up. Having two concussions in the span of 72 hours was a great for his health either.

James mumbled. Trying to keep his thoughts in line. “How do I get up there?" He frowned at the balcony surrounding the ballroom. Having the advantage of height would at least help keep him out of anyone’s sight.

He turned, looking for the stairwell. Instead, he jumped at the sight of the frozen room of people. Reality settled in again. "Well, that’s a terrifying reality check. Creepy." 

James found his way to the hall, and keeping a hand on the wall to stabilize himself, walked the length. Circling until he found the stairs, doing his best to not think about the room of people. 

The wall disappeared under his fingers. He stumbled, catching himself on the opposite wall. He lifted his head, a wide stairway curled up. 

Counting the steps to the top, he planted one foot after another on the wooden steps.

One. His heavy boot stomped on the first stair.

 Two. Stomp.

Three. Stomp.

 Almost there. Stomp.

Verena must have found Benedict. Was he dead then? Had the mission been completed? Had they just left this world in a frozen state of chaos? Left Darko set to inherit the throne and change the course of history as they knew it? Left him? He frowned. Verena wouldn’t leave without him. Had she been forced?

 His mind started to spiral into the situation they had landed in. Regardless of how and who completed the mission, they’d be forced back. Julian would probably be drilled for information than disposed of. How they’d deal with Verena if her bluff was called, he wasn’t sure. Had her long-time loyalty earned her some measure of forgiveness? Or was grace not a concept that the Agency knew of. He was sure of his fate. The director never really liked him. He liked the skill set he brought. He’d been placed with the most loyal, strict agent for a reason. Keeping him in line had failed.

How much of that failure had bled into Verena?

He'd seen a spark of change in Verena, something about the way she, challenge the Director, lied to his face. James didn’t really care where he stood with the Agency anymore, he’d die either way, whether from old age or otherwise, the chanced of getting away and build a life again was a small glimmer of hope, but far more than that, it was enveloped in a sense of righteous anger and rage. Of needing to see some sort of justice served after witnessing such a twisted reality. Even if he didn’t get to live in that new reality.

But Verena. Verena had grown up in the Agency. The director practically raised her. Asking her to believe Julian was like asking her to abandon everything and everyone she knew and believed. All she'd ever known. Ask her to fail, when she’d been taught to know was the opposite.

James' foot caught on the last step, sending him sprawling onto the ornate carpet? 

"Oh." a quiet voice followed the shuffle of shoes. “Are you okay?” a tidy British accent echoed down to James. 

"Eh?" James pushed himself up. "Benedict? Benedict!" James scrambled up, grabbing the rail for support.

Benedict was alive. "Oh, you're alive good. Good." James cringed as his brief expression of breath caused his head to throb. 

"More or less." Benedict offered him a hand. "Chadwick right"

"Sure, let's go with that.” How much did Benedict already know? If Verena had found him, what had she told him to get him to safety? He must have-wait, Benedict wasn't frozen. 

"Where did you go?"

"Go?"

“Your mother was arguing with...” James dabbled between calling the duke or the king the prince's father. He opted for the titles. "The duke and the king. Last I saw, you were right there too."

Confusion muddled Benedict's features. "I left after my father stepped forward."

So that's why Benedict had been in the shadows. He was on his way out. 

"Did you see Viscountess Parker? "James questioned him next.

"The Viscountess- yes, she found me down the hall and told me to wait in the billiards room, didn’t really say why. Just shoved me in there and then went off somewhere. Seemed rather mad, actually." The prince paused as James took a pained breath and started down the hall. "You really don't look okay. Who are you, by the way? You seem rather familiar? Have we met?" He followed behind.

James waved him off. “Yes, I’m fine, oh.” His disguise. Explaining would take too long. “yes we have met before. Look, we need to get you back to the, where is the billiards room?" James stopped.

"We just passed it.” Benedict pointed at the open doorway a few feet back.

James pushed him back. “Stay in there like you're supposed to. Does the door lock?" He fumbled with the doorhandle.

"I'm not staying here. Especially if you won’t tell me why. If you're going to order me around, I would appreciate a reason."

James groaned, the one's in trouble never listened. "You're in danger, your highness, someone wants to kill you. So, stay in the room. Please." He gestured with his hands.

"I know that. I’m the crown prince, usually somebody wants my spot. Besides, I'm not some little boy prince you need to protect. I can protect myself."

James murmured. "Then I don’t know what I just spent the last week doing." He planted his hands on his hips and let out a long sigh."Your Highness, Benedict. I need you to stay here so I know you're safe. "

"I'm coming with you. Then you can see that I’m safe.” Benedict brushed past him back into the hall.

James shed his jacket, tossing it behind him as he marched out into the hall. "Fine but stay behind me. Which way did the Viscountess go? Did she mention anything strange?"

Benedict considered this. "I am not sure, but she left the way we are heading."

 James heard the voices again, now registering them properly as the Director and Verena. So, they hadn’t all left. Benedict was told the truth.

 He slowed his stride. "What do you have on you?" He looked over the prince's regal suit, decorated with gold braid and a medal pinned on the right lapel.

 "If you're looking for weapons, I haven’t any.”

 “Don't you people usually have at least a decorative sword or something?" It'd be useless in a gunfight, but it was something at least.

 Benedict shook his head.

James took a shaky breath. His surrounding still didn't feel stable. He should have snagged someone’s sword from below. But the thought of approaching, much less weaving through the bodies, made him sick. 

"Have you ever fought, Your Highness?" James said

"Yes, I train daily."

“Have you ever fought for your life? Theres a difference."

Benedict tapped his medal. “More or less."

"More or- what does that- Actually, I don't have the brain space."

They rounded the wide corner, coming upon a balcony. "Stay behind me. I need to see what's going on."

Thankfully, Benedict nodded and stood by the wall.

James rolled his sleeves up, as he edged towards the corner. The balcony was empty, but behind was a set of open doors, where the voices trickled out.

They were both angry, filled with questions. Was Verena demanding an answer from the Director himself? Her tone was steady and loud, whereas the Directors volleyed off each of her queries. Like a vocal tennis match.

Pausing just out of sight of the doors, he listened for a few moments. He winced as a high-pitched note from Verena pierced his head. She seemed to have the upper hand.

“I could have told you, you didn’t have to threaten my partner!' Verena accused the Director.

“He’s hardly your partner. He’s disposable, Verena. He’s a wild card who I only hired for his skills behind the wheel, you know that.”

James had suspected as much, he had been approached after a failed race, one where his engineer had betrayed him for the winning team. Maybe that had been why he’d accepted the strange offer. Out of something mixed with spite and the feeling of being needed. Even if he was being used. At least that made him useful. Now he was neither.

He peered around the corner. It was a large, square room, decorated in white and gold. Large pillars were set at each corner of the room. Furniture was positioned like some sort of luxury waiting room.

Verena was standing on a white wooden table between the two couches. Hands on her hips, a gun visible in one hand. Her dress was tattered, beads hanging loose. Her hair tied up with a ribbon, torn out of it’s carefully set finger waves. 

As she countered another accusation at the Director, James finally saw him. Standing behind the couch, a hand on the gold molding on top. Posed like he was trying to persuade a mad cat down from a tree. 

"Why would I believe you now?" Verena's tone almost seemed like she needed to hear something reasonable.

“I have told you, Laufy-”

“Stop calling me Laufy.”

“This is for the better, the greater good, what more do you want to hear,”

“I want to hear the truth, not what you want to tell me. What is the point of this mission?”

“If tell you, will you stop this and come back with me?”

Verena didn’t answer, but the director must have believed she would, because he continued. “You know how frustrating the Torin are, you’ve dealt with them, this is the solution! Benedicts will become the founder, if we eliminate him, we eliminate the problem and can operate freely. We can complete missions faster, and become one, not many steps closer to operating on a higher level. I was going to make you a partner, put you on the council.”

A partner? Verena? That’d give her full access to the agency’s recourses, she essentially becomes just as powerful as the Director himself.

James pulled back from the corner. This was her choice; he needed to give her the space to make it. Even if it hurt him.

“This is personal.” Verena stated.

“What?” the director caught off guard.

“This isn’t about the greater good. This is about you. You're willing to overlook what in all aspects of the law, is basically murder, so you have an easier life in the future? I mean sure we’ve never been the best law followers, but killing someone so you won’t have competition in the future? That is power abuse. We fight in the future like we have been- actually no- I fight, James fights, the agents fight. You get to sit in your fancy little room, looking all intimidating, while I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been shot at. So, tell me why the rest of us risk our lives, for what I now see is for nothing other than personal gain.”

Jame couldn’t resist smiling; this was the Verena he knew and loved. Now how could he help her from here? James looked around, assessing his options.

The prince still stood a few feet away, potentiating quietly, listening. What did he think about all of this? James would have to ask him later.

 The hall was filled with pieces of décor. Painted tall vases filled with flowers, tables laid with lacy cloths. 

 The vase could be useful. He stepped to the nearest one; tall and ornate, it was filled with large fern leaves. Throwing the leaves out onto the floor, he bent and grasped the vase around the middle, judging its weight. 

 "You're a very strange chafferer, Chadwick.” Benedict observed from his corner.

 "Yes, well." James groaned as he set the vase back down. “anything’s strange on a day like today." 

 "Are you planning to throw the vase at that man?" Benedict questioned. 

 James huffed, which turned into a wheeze. Why did every large breath come with a wave of pain? "Got any better ideas?" 

 Benedict shook his head.

 "I was hoping you might have one." He turned back to the vase. It was heavy, the weight unstable, likely full of water. If he tipped it over, he may well risk dropping it, causing a loud shatter and flooding the hall. 

 A loud scream from the lounge snapped his head back around, along with a fresh bought of pain shot his head. Benedict took off his jacket, putting it on one of the little tables, rolling up his sleeves as he assessed the vase.

James listened for a second, then slid back to the corner. Verena still held her table, and the Director his couch barrier. Good. But he was running out of time. Sooner or later one of them would pull a gun or come out here. 

Vase it was, he decided. He rolled his sleeves up.

"Help me with this," he said, as he dragged the vase out from the wall. "I need to empty it of water so I can lift it." 

Benedict obliged, and they managed to lower the vase vertically. Water flowed out, staining the carpet dark and running down the hardwood floor and over the edge. A dribble that echoed through the room told them when it hit the floor. James tipped the back end up, making sure most of the water was out.

"Right, stay out here until I call or something. If anyone points a gun at you, you, uh, make it not point at you." He didn't even know what to tell the prince at this point. Best he could do was hope that everyone made it out alive. He wrapped his arms around the vase and hoisted it onto his shoulder with a grunt. 

He steeled himself for a moment: running in on two people armed with guns was never a wise idea, and it was never a situation for which he ever felt prepared. At least Verena had reflexes fast enough to not shoot him. The director, however, may not have any qualms about getting a nuisance of an operative out of the way. Not that it would help him in persuading Verena back to his side. 

Before he could think of anything else, James took off, rushing through the doors and flinging the vase at the director. It spun, almost in midair, for a few seconds, slowing its momentum, before it hit the couch instead of the director, and shattered into a million pieces.

Everyone in the room stared at the shattered pieces, stunned. James broke the moment first and kicked the pieces. The director flung his hands up and stumbled back, avoiding the shards of pottery.

James turned on Verena, only to find the butt end of a pistol in his face. "Take it." She kept her eyes on the director

 He did, grasping the familiar weight and the strange sense of relief that came along with it.

"Where've you been?" she questioned. 

"Someone gave me an awfully bad headache." James nodded to the director. "How’ve you been holding out? You look amazing, by the way." 

"You look your part, for once. Like the movies, as you always say." She countered back. 

James smiled, then remembered his charge. "Oh, Benedict is just outside. I told him to stay there."

Verena nodded. “I believe you, and Julian. I don't know why I didn’t see it befo-" 

The director let out a frustrated, loud sigh. “Hutton really should have hit you harder, Vangelis"

"People tell me I've got a thick skull." James gripped the gun.

The director could easily shoot them both from their high exposed standing, but with them both armed, James hoped he wouldn’t take ethe risk.

 "Are you two done arguing, or should I take you to relationship therapy?” James said.

The director glared at him; "I never should have recruited you, Vangelis, from the moment I saw you on that racetrack." He chuckled. " You didn’t even listen to your engineer half the time. No wonder Ethan abandoned you for your rival."

The name struck a negative chord in James' heart he'd not long felt. "Seems ironic, given the situation. Besides, I was the driver, I knew the car, he didn’t. You never had my loyalty; you can't hurt me.”

"You don’t know this better, Jameson, you're still the sidekick here. The only thing I recruited you for was your skills behind the wheel."

Verena raised her gun, drawing the director's attention. "We’re talking about us here, not him."

"Agent Lauf-Verena," the director said. "Come back home, and we can talk about this, I have the files, I'll show you."

"And what are you going to show James, huh? What about Julian? I know you killed his operative. You meant to kill him, too. James looked for the files, we already know.”

"Yes, but I have more. Operatives have base level access to information, not the higher clearance I can give you. I promise you, I did that for a perfectly understandable reason."

James adjusted his grip on the gun. Losing some of the feeling in his fingers. He knew better than to hold it so tight. The doorway still stood empty, the prince still waiting out of sight. 

"You'll never stop making excuses, will you?” The gun in Verena’s hand clicked.

James stiffened, shifting his weight away from Verena, and readied his own pistol, levering it at the floor. 

"They’re not excuses.” The director screamed.

In one fell swoop, Verena flipped the pistol in her hands and threw it.

 It hit the director squarely on the head, and he fell back, crashing into the cream-coloured set of drawers.

Both agent and operative stood still for a moment, Verena’s hand still lingering in the air, James ready with his own gun.

The director didn't move.

James straightened a bit, trying to peer over the couch without moving towards it. 

“I don't think I've ever seen you not shoot somebody,” James finally ventured forward, speaking over his shoulder to Verena, who had only lowered her arm. 

James crept forward, nudging the director's leg with his boot. It wobbled, offering no resistance. "He’s out cold, for now at least.”

"How long was I out for?" he asked, as if you could measure another concussion from one's own. 

Cool air swirled to his side, and Verena appeared in his peripheral vision. "What do we do now?"

Usually, he asked her that question. What did they do? What did one do when one knocked your boss out? Your slightly evil boss. James considered that for a moment, maybe more than slightly. 

The question still stood: what did they do now? They couldn't leave him here. They needed some sort of explanation for Prince Benedict, not to mention he wasn't even sure how to return any of them to the proper time. 

"Uhm, why don't you check on Benedict?" he clicked the safety on his gun and handed it to her, "Thanks for this.”

"Anytime," She took it and turned, leaving the room.

 A few seconds later, quiet voices tricked back, telling him she’d found the prince.  

James stepped around his shattered vase and the couch, bringing the rest of the director into view. The tall man was sprawled out, one leg kicked up on the couch, arms spread out, head just short of the chest of drawers. He would have hit it hard on the way down. Ideally, he should be out for a few hours. James pressed two fingers to the director's neck. A pulse still throbbed. He was still alive.

He spotted the gun lying beside him, he stepped over the director and picked it up. Then used it to flick open his coat. The director must be armed. 

Finding nothing more than a pistol and a set of throwing knives, he set them on top of the drawers and kneeled by the director again. He'd have to sling him over his back.

 His skin crawled at the thought. 

 James sighed, "When I get back, I want a couple of advil, and a nice big, long nap.” He didn’t let himself dwell on if or where he could go back to.

 Better get it over with. He grabbed the director's arm and heaved him up. "Come on, you." Grabbing his other arm, he centred the man on his back. 

The director's head hit the back of his. James hissed through his teeth, biting back the pain. 

"Let’s get this over with then." He left the weapons and shuffled out of the room. 

Emerging into the hallway, he found it empty. "Hello?" 

"Here!" Verena's voice echoed from below. James stepped over to the balcony, peering over the railing. Below, Verena and Benedict stood in the room of stilled people. 

James groaned inwardly. Now he had to carry his boss down a flight of stairs. 

He made it slowly. Maybe hitting the director's head on his way down the stairs, but he made it. 

"You," he gasped, as he stumbled out onto the hall bordering the ballroom, "are going to chill here for a bit." He dumped the director onto a velvet-covered couch. 

 James stretched, making his headache. "Too much pain. " He sighed. "I'm just going to sit for a minute. " He stumbled over to one of the plush chairs placed around the ballroom and collapsed in it. 

Benedict seemed to be examining the still figures of the King and Queen. Verena was digging around in the Archduke's pockets. 

"How do we unfreeze them? Magic of some sort?" Benedict’s voice echoed over. 

"We're not that exciting." Verena examined her findings, indescribable from James' distance.

It occurred to James that Benedict really hadn't questioned much of this, he simply seems concerned with the welfare of his people. An admirable quality of a leader.

 How did they unfreeze them? Had he missed something on the director? Come to think of it, he hadn't checked his coat pockets. 

James forced himself out of his comfy chair and shuffled back around to the director. 

He peeled open one of the deep slit pockets on the side of the director's overcoat. At first glance, it didn’t look like it had anything in it. Sticking a hand in revealed something. Something hard and square. He grasped it and held it out in the light. 

It was rectangular, not square, and made of some sort of hard plastic, and darkly coloured at that. One end was closed, while the other hosted two small metal spikes with rounded ends. 

A taser? James felt the sides for a button. Finding one, he pressed it. No electricity shot between the spikes.

A broken taser? He turned it around in his hand; or was it something else entirely?

"What that?" James jumped, nearly dropping the taser. Verena had stepped up behind him. 

"I'm not sure." James handed it to her, then plonked down on the floor.

Verena turned the device over in her hand, pressing the button. “I wonder..” She murmured and strode back into the ballroom. James sat up, watching her.

His agent stopped at the nearest party guest and stuck the device to his arm. A moment passed, then the figure flashed with light and crumpled. Verena caught the figure before they hit the floor, then laid them gently down. When they didn’t move further, she reached down and felt for a pulse.

She turned back to James with a smile as she waved the device." I believe we have found the solution to half our problems." 

Before James could ask the important question, answered. "He's still alive, just not conscious. It’s probably a shock to the body's nervous system. I imagine they will wake up soon."

The implication of "they" made James take a quick count of the people in the room. The “they” were a lot, a few hundred at least. And one tiny device. The men who'd accompanied the director must have held some of these devices too, but they were all gone.

The weight of the task made his chest ache more. "Shall we take turns then?" He forced himself to ask, hoped his tone carried across to Verena.  

Instead of answering, Verena pressed the device into Benedict's hand, who received it solemnly and silently. She left him to wake his family up and trotted back to James.

"I don’t know how," James huffed. You have so much energy still."

Verena glanced pointedly at the director. “I didn’t have to lug him around." She knelt in front of him, meeting his eyes.

They were soft.

James blinked. His vision must be blurry.

There was still something off, James concluded. "Are you okay?" he said.

"Are you okay?" 

Physically? mentally? emotionally? No. "I think so," he said instead.

"Well, I am." 

"Good."

"No, I mean, because of you. Because of this. Him."  

James smiled, a slight tip of his mouth. Both looked at their boss. Slumped back on the plush couch, the director didn't seem so intimidating now.

"What else do you think he lied about?" Verena said quietly.

He'd been trying to keep that question far from his mind ever since Julian started presenting it. 

I don’t know," he admitted. "But I like to think that we can trust our judgment a little more from here on out." 

"Maybe yours." 

James hummed. "You’re still the agent."

Footsteps tapped on the smooth wood floor. James saw the fuzzy reflection of Benedict in it. He must have finished with his family.

The prince folded his hands behind his back, still the picture of regalness even having discarded his formal jacket. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"  

James chuckled, "No. Did you get your family sorted?"

The prince nodded. “I carried them to a near by sitting room."

He supposed it was unsightly for royalty to wake up in a room full of people lying on the ground. He wasn't keen on it either.

Verena helped James up, and for the better part of half an hour, they collectively went through the room. Pressing the device to people and then laying them down as their bodies returned to time.

When they finished, it looked like there was a gigantic sleepover in session, with all the lights on. 

Verena was kneeling, checking their last patient's pulse. "Everyone is all good. I imagine it'll be quite a shock when they wake."

"I intend to stay and let them know.

"What will you tell them?"

Benedict considered this for a moment. "I’m not sure. What would you have me tell them? I'm still not completely sure who you are, but regardless, you seem to have saved my life, and for that, I'm grateful. You have my respect and trust. The people of Belacruv are forever in your debt."

"I’m not really sure myself." James glanced at Verena, who was staring at the floor herself, thinking. "How do we… get back?"  

This pulse out of her thoughts, she looked up slowly. "Do you want to?"

Did he? He hadn’t thought about it. It just seemed like the next course of events. Was it not logical to go back? But what was there to go back to

"Do you?

Verena frowned," Go back to what? We'll be blacklisted and likely hunted. If we had enemies before, I can’t imagine the number. We may have no that we know the truth. All our connections can be considered forfeit."

She really didn't waste words. 

James caught Benedict's attention, who'd politely turned away." If we did stay, what would that mean?"

"Meaning? As in, would you be accepted? As I said before we are in your debt. I’d be honoured if you taught me what you know and do. Your mechanical skills would not be missed either." He smiled. "I'm afraid I'm not too familiar with your skills, Viscountess Parker, but I do know my mother greatly values you as a companion."

James smiled at Verena’s surprise, "She'd be great if you ever need any strategic advice. Or need some soldiers trained into shape."

Benedict schooled his own surprise, "Interesting, I've never met a with woman skills in those fields, but I’d be eager to test them." 

"So, we stay?" James said, looking at Verena.

She didn't reply for a few moments. Then took a slow breath. "We stay."