(( OOC: Thread set, June 5th. ))

The good thing about intelligence is that it comes from people who are, generally, intelligent. They don't do stuff like not report things for several months, thinking it's irrelevant, or keep the facts hushed. Except when they do. Sometimes, intelligence actually comes from far less intelligent sources than one would like.

New information had surfaced in a missing persons case. People had spotted a muse. Accounts differed in where and when, with who, or how, but the general consensus was 'She practically glowed. Like an angel, missing her halo.' Some even said she had a halo. Some were crackpots living in dumpsters who thought the woman even had wings.

All the information led them like breadcrumbs, to the docks. To a specific ship. A large Lithuanian freighter named 'Express'. How they'd followed the breadcrumbs didn't matter. The point was, they'd tracked her down somehow. Now, all that remained was getting her out alive.

The night was dark, but you wouldn't know it. Pin pricks of light hung in the air around the docks like fairies.

Inside the car, it was cold. Ashton shivered in a shirt and slacks. He'd given his jacket to his partner. He could deal with a little cold weather on a stakeout. Surely, it wouldn't take too long.

Roland Pruitt was the bad man's name. That was who they were waiting for. He was a dangerous man, according to his dossier. They were waiting for him to leave. Because tangling with him usually led to unpleasant ends.

Cervantes had turned the case over to Ashton. His leads, his case. He'd dragged Quin along for the ride. She’d been on stakeouts before, but never one where the police worked around the perp, so they could avoid him. It was strangely frustrating, to sit in the car, knowing that the kidnapper was probably having tea while they sat there.

It was uncharacteristically cool for June, and despite her protestations, Ashton had handed over his jacket. Quin could see him shivering in the driver’s seat and muttered something about stubborn chauvinistic pigs while she snuggled into the fabric. It really was a nice jacket, and he wasn’t getting it back for a while. Maybe, Quin thought, she should have been more grateful for getting to go along on the stakeout, but she’d learned quickly that overreacting to new experiences was not received well.

A glance at the clock told the redhead that it had only been a few minutes since the last time she checked and an impatient sigh escaped her lips. This was too much. Quin reached inside the jacket and into her own pocket, withdrawing her ever-present handful of plastic building blocks. Eager for something to do, Quin held them between her hands, then smushed them all together like silly putty. Actions like these barely took concentration or effort anymore, and she stretched the blocks out and pressed them back together over and over. These would never be blocks again, but the sacrifice was worth it, some of the impatience was withering in the face of repetitive motion. The car was quiet, but some of the pieces still seemed like they were missing to Quin. It would probably annoy her partner, but she asked anyway.

”So tell me again. An entire squad couldn’t take this guy on while we went and looked for the victim? And how do we know she’s even still alive?”

Sveta was making coffee.

She had been there for a whole week. If the ship was going to leave the dock or not, she could not tell; Roland did not tell either. She was still captive; not hurt, and not even scared anymore. Just... not free.
So she made coffee.

Which was funny, because her mutation kept her awake twenty hours out of twenty-four. But coffee was the only thing to make, to keep herself occupied.
So, she made coffee.

It had been a long week. Questions, answers, some yelling, plenty of crying... and waiting. Roland was on and off, after his own business; but sveta was good at reading people, and he was not the kind of guy who would let her escape.
So, she made coffee.

Someone must have called the police. Maya, definitely; Slate, maybe, if he liked the police at all. The mansion people, more than likely. Maybe the X-men were on her trail too. Someone was bound to find her, sooner or later. It was just a matter of time, and Roland not being there to kill them.

So, she made coffee.

>>”So tell me again. An entire squad couldn’t take this guy on while we went and looked for the victim? And how do we know she’s even still alive?”

Ashton shivered. He looked at her bleakly. "If she's dead, we look bad for sitting around here, waiting. If she dies while we're waiting, we look bad for letting it happen. You know what?" He glanced towards the ship, impatiently. "You can handle guns, right? I'll humor you. Let's just bust in there without a plan."

He wasn't trying to be a jerk. Nope. He was actually serious. "Just don't get my jacket shot." He added as he unlocked his door and popped it open, moving to get out. "I like it."

And she looked good enough wearing it right now to need any accessory additions, like bullet holes.

Well…that wasn’t what she’d expected to happen. Quin had nodded her head while he outlined the reasons why it was stupid for them to sit there in the car and not do anything, only halfway paying attention until she heard the car door open.

Wait…what? Had he just said they were going in? Without a plan? Did they have approval to do that? Did it matter?

Learning from her first mistake, Quin had stashed her own, well worn and torn vest in the back seat of the car. She grabbed it now, along with Ashton’s and climbed from the passenger side as he quipped about the jacket. She held out his vest so he could take it and grinned.

” Don’t worry. It’s too nice to give it the….distressed look?” Quin didn’t really know what she was talking about. Not matter though, hopefully he’d get the point.

Once out of the car, Quin got her vest situation sorted out, which was only a matter of a few seconds work, then tossed the building blocks back into the car. As to her prowess with guns...

“ I’m a good shot.” she said, resisting the urge to joke about her prowess with a firearm. This was serious business and Ashton probably really did want to know how good she was.

“What’s the plan?”

>>” Don’t worry. It’s too nice to give it the….distressed look?”

"I'd hate to see you with a distressed look, too. Good rule of thumb, don't get shot." Ashton mused. He took the repaired vest from her, and slipped it on.

She'd done a good job repairing the vest. Found the right colored threads and everything. It even fit better. Miraculously.

Their vests sorted, Ashton turned his attention to the ship, and the plan. "What plan?" asked Ashton, looking surprised at her. "Don't get shot."

The plan was…don’t get shot. Quin nodded, eyes slightly wide as she made final adjustments to the Kevlar so it wasn’t choking her or restricting her movement, then pulled her side-arm from her hip holster. The safety came off, and Officer Archer made sure that there was a bullet in the chamber. She was ready to go.

” That’s a good plan.” she said, knowing that if she said anymore it was quickly going to get filed under, ‘asking too many rookie questions’ and get her yelled at.

“ You take point then, and I’ll get your back.” Sure they were superior and newbie, but that faded a bit in the face of a real, dangerous bust. “ Shall I radio in for backup before we go in, or do you want to wait until we’ve got the lady so we get yelled at less later?”

"Latter," He said, drawing his gun.

He started to move quickly, through the cover of darkness towards the ship. He kept his sidearm at the ready as he moved along stealthily. From point to point, shipping crate to shipping crate, he went, occasionally stopping to gesture for Archer to follow, or stay in place and out of sight.

Then, they reached the ramp.

Sadly, there was only one entrance to the boat. One way to get on. Ashton gestured for her to follow. Then, he moved upwards and rampwards, forward, into the ship.

This was the part Quin loved, the part that she lived for. This was making a difference, just like they’d done in the bank, and just like Quin had done several times in the past. As they made their way towards the ramp, she didn’t even question Ashton’s decision to hold off on calling backup.

They moved as a single entity, even though there were two of them. He would move forward, and she would wait for his signal on what to do next. She followed his every instruction to the word. This was not the time to strike out on her own or try anything fancy. Partners had each other’s backs and whoever had point ran the show.

They worked their way to the ramp leading from the dock to the ship, and Quin winced. That ramp…that was about the worst situation to cops could possibly be presented with. No cover from any direction, and only one way to get on the ship.

They didn’t have a choice, other than standing by and doing nothing.

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

Onto the ship they went, guns out and ready to blaze…only…there was nothing for them to blaze at.

Once they were sure of that fact, Quin frowned and chanced a sideways look at her partner.

“Is this…normal for MRC?” she chanced as a question, still ready to shoot because it was quiet. Too quiet.

"No," came the slow reply.

Ashton hesitated, then slowly lowered his gun. He did not for a moment relax his guard.

"I hate to embrace a cliche, but usually when it's this quiet in situations such as these, something is horribly, terribly awry." His tone was dark. Ashton didn't like the possbilities there. He frowned. "Let's keep moving. Maybe we got lucky, and the guy ran off to buy some smokes."

Once again, he led the way.

” It’s not cliché when it’s true.” Quin said, muscles still tense as she swung her side arm from side to side in a wide arc, looking for anyone who could be lurking in the shadows of the deck. There really didn’t seem to be anyone there.

Ashton suggested that the kidnapper had left the ship for a pack of smokes, and the redhead nearly smiled. Wouldn’t that be something? Walking in and taking the victim from right under the perpetrator’s nose without him ever knowing. It sure would make MRC look good, but the bastard would still be on the street.

Standing around and talking about things didn’t make them better, and once again Quin followed as Ashton led, this time down into the ship. They’d had intelligence on the layout for some time now and the corridors almost felt familiar as they made their way down. What the intel had done a horrible job of, was illustrating how claustrophobic the interior of the ship would be or how every sound would make Quin sweat just a little more. Why had she thought she needed a jacket?

She wanted to ask how much further, but knew that speaking now could be dangerous, so she walked, continuing eye contact and verbal cues for movement around corners and down stairs. Damn this place was big…and why could she smell coffee?

As they slipped through the shadows of the boat, their only lights the beams from their flashlights attached to their guns, the smell of coffee grew more distinct.

Coffee had a very obvious odor. It was something that made you want it, something compelling. Exciting. At it grew more obvious, his heart raced a bit faster.

They reached a door.

Ashton glanced to Archer, then opened the rusted door up. It groaned. Damn.

A fairly uneventful week. Roland was summarily disappointed. Maybe he truly had nabbed a goose egg. Or the heroes had gone tepid. Either way, it made for a dismally boring existence compared to the fun he had experienced when cockles were raised. He chewed at the bitter nicotine replacement gum, the smokes having left distasteful yellow stains on his fingers. Not to mention his teeth. Returning from some errands, he found he had a visitor. Initially perking up at the thought of conflict, his enthusiasm went as flat as three day old beer when he noticed it was a cop car.

No light rack adorning it, no identification, but just about anyone outside of the most sheltered John Q's could tell an unmarked black Taurus as the fuzz. Pacing around the vehicle, its slight tint was aided by the lack of light. No passengers. His head crooned up at the ship, a smirk tracing briefly. She was being rescued as he stood there, the gum burning his gums and tongue slightly. Reaching back into his waistband, Roland held the cool steel of his pistol, his eyes focusing again on the entryway of the ship. Pulling it, a moment of clarity struck him. Looking left, the gun left his palm and a splash was heard off the docks.

Maybe the inside would be fun again. He had sent himself to prison before and it was fine. He had actually made friends. These cops could take the mouthy broad home to her ailing caretakers and he would have a police escort to three hots and a cot. Plenty of TV time and new faces. He nodded and smiled, giving the car's hood a good slap with his palm. The lights began to flash and the horn began to honk in classic car alarm regalia. he simply took a seat against the wheelwell and waited with his arms folded. A moment later, he uncrossed them and put them up in the air. No, that looked foolish. He just folded them back and waited. And chewed his gum.

The door creaked as it opened. Someone walked in. Coffee was ready; The Russain girl poured two cups calmly, not saying anything. She was afraid of the man, oh she was; but damned if she'd let him see it. He probably knew anyway; from what she saw of him, he seemed to read people well. Takes one to know one.

Sveta finished pouring coffee, and turned to look.

"... Oh."

Hesitantly, the blonde girl held up her hands. Was she being rescued or re-kidnapped?...

This... had all been too easy, up till this point. No people fighting back, taking potshots at them as they boarded the ship. Nothing but a rusty door creaking to block them from their target. The target, safe and sound and very much alive, with glorious coffee. If Ashton had been a betting man, he'd have bet that coffee was for them, and that this was all some ridiculous hidden camera show. He'd have waltzed on over, snagged a coffee, thanked the pretty lil lady, and whisked her off her feet. But, nope. This was no hidden camera show. Couldn't be. Not with the rap sheet of the guy involved.

Ashton lowered his gun slightly. "I'm detective Drake," Ashton said. "This is Officer Archer. We're--" A car alarm wailed faintly in the distance. Ashton's voice took on a strained tone. "Here to rescue you. And that must be your kidnapper, now."