Following a Lead

[Patrick D'Arcy]

"You don't need to know my name!" Patrick almost seethed down the phone to the man he was talking to. "All you need to do is answer my question. Did your ex-wife leave you, leaving her identical twin daughters?" He growled as man hung up on him. Yes, he had walked away from the FBI without looking back, but that didn't mean he'd lost contact with everyone he had worked with, and one of his ex-colleagues was helping him in his quest of finding his daughters.

He threw his cell phone onto the nearest couch. This lead had seemed to be the one that would give him the answers he needed. Gisele had found information on a man who had recently filed for divorce and child support for his two step-daughters. Patrick knew that it was him that his wife was keeping the girls from... girls who would be teenagers now, almost young women.

In his room he had a suitcase full of cards and presents he had bought for the girls each birthday and Christmas, in the hope that that year he would find them, and show them that he had never forgotten about them. He sat down on the couch and ran his hands through his hair before he pulled his laptop closer and opened up the latest picture that Gisele had sent through to him, of what his girls would probably look like. She did it every year, added their baby photo to an age enhancing programme and sending him the resulting photo.

He ran his hand through his now tussled brown hair and looked up as someone entered the lounge of the Apartment building. He could have been doing this in his apartment, but there were too many things in there that he could throw around, so down here was the safer place.

[Mycroft Hollins]

His entire body ached, terribly. When it came to the wily young thoroughbred filly, Mycroft felt like he was always hurting. He could not wait to send that filly back to her trainer at the end of the month, he just wanted to focus his attention on Brolly. The big stallion was downright angelic compared to the little racehorse.

Today he'd decided to take the filly out for a walk so that she could graze. Her leg had healed nicely, but he didn't want to take any chances. Being so unpredictable, he felt the chances of her re-injuring herself were just too high if left to her own devices. She'd pranced, pulled, attempted to nip him, and tried to bolt at least twice. However he'd stood his ground, and in the end she'd settled down. In fact, they'd had a rather pleasant afternoon stroll together. But now his body was beginning to feel the fight he'd had to put up against her. Even leaning heavily on his umbrella, each step on his bad leg felt like he was setting the limb on fire.

Mycroft winced as he opened the door and stiffly limped into the lounge. He just needed to sit for a few minutes to rest before attempting the stairs to get to his room. He was in no rush anyway, he could have tea down here and see if there was anything interesting on the television. Not that he believed there would be, this was America after all.

Glancing across the room, he noticed Patrick running a hand through his disheveled hair and looking rather frustrated. On another day, Mycroft would have been able to read him like a book, but in his current state he merely offered a pained smile to the man as he made his way over to the nearest armchair and tried to sit down with as much dignity as his pained muscles would allow.

"Afternoon. Having a difficult day?" he inquired politely, propping his umbrella nearby and rubbing his hurting leg.  

[Patrick D'Arcy]

Patrick dropped his hand as he looked at Mycroft, watching the man enter the room and sit down in a chair. "Afternoon." He returned, and then pressed his lips together, not quite sure how to answer the question. Okay, sure, the other man had worked out his past employment the first day they had met - and he the older man's - but he wasn't sure how much of his secrets he really wanted the other man to know. "I'm trying to track someone down, but every new avenue I seem to get, I end up at a brick wall." It was the truth, just not the complete truth. "How has your day been?"

Patrick knew that he could probably do with someone else on his side helping him with his search, but how did you tell someone that your wife just vanished one day with your daughters?

He stood up and stalked over to the bench. A hot drink would help him calm down a little, at least he hoped so. "Can I make you a drink?" He asked, his tone gentler than his movements. He flicked the kettle on and prepared a mug with chocolate powder to make his own drink. It was days like today that made him happy that he hadn't been one to drink alcohol, as this would be the time that most people turned to the bottle, and he refused to do that. His time studying at UCLA had taught him the evils of drinking to drown one's sorrow and the time he had spent as an intern at a psychiatric hospital had been an eye-opener to what can happen when you allow your sorrows to consume your life.

[Mycroft Hollins]

Mycroft kept his gaze steady on Patrick as he watched the other man, who was clearly hiding something. He wasn't very interested in digging into whatever secrets he was keeping from him, other people's business and drama tended to get messy. But, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to pass up offering his two cents. After all, despite how little Patrick was telling his situation did seem quite intriguing. Unable to track someone down? How interesting. 

"Perhaps the reason you are coming up empty handed is because you are looking in the wrong place. If I were trying to flee from someone of your stature I'd leave the country entirely," he proposed. Perhaps this man had considered that possibility, but something told him that perhaps Patrick wasn't looking down those avenues. Mycroft had never had much trouble tracking someone down, but that was because he usually had the mind to know where to look. Most people in MI6 hadn't had the slightly clue where to start looking for certain individuals, and it had driven Mycroft nearly to the brink of insanity. It seemed so obvious to him!

Moving topics, he rubbed his sore leg a final time before gingerly leaning back in his seat. "As for my day, I've had better ones. The little devil filly outside is quite a fighter, I'll be delighted when the time comes to send her back to New York." 

He watched indifferently as Patrick stood and made his way over to the kitchenette, and fought away the urge to politely decline the man's offer for a drink. "Just tea for me, thank you," he replied, wondering if the man could even make tea properly. He found most Americans lacked the art, but at this point Mycroft wasn't planning on being overly picky about it. 

[Patrick D'Arcy]

Patrick couldn't help but laugh at the man's words. "Other than crossing the boarder in either direction, though I doubt this person would have fled to Mexico, they wouldn't have been able to leave the country with the... added... um baggage they are carrying." They had never divorced, so the woman was technically still his wife, which meant that they still both had custody of their girls, so she would need a court order to get the girls on a plane for international travel, since Patrick was the only one who had a passport when the girls were born so they were both on his.

"You will miss her though." He predicted. "Would you like an ottoman to put your foot up on, elevation and all that." He counted himself lucky that his only lingering injury was a bullet that had gone through his shoulder.

At the older man's request, Patrick gave a salute and pulled out the tea plunger from the cupboard. He didn't often drink tea himself, but when he did, he couldn't stand the taste of tea that had had a bag sitting in the mug, so he had always used a plunger. Dropping a bag in, he added the water and put in the plunger, letting it sit for a bit while he filled his mug with water and mixed the chocolate powder into it, then added a spoonful of mini-mellows. He then poured the tea into another mug. ""Milk, sugar?"" He asked over his shoulder. Once he had the answer, he carried the mugs over to the seating area and placed the tea onto a table beside Mycroft and sat down on the opposite sofa and sipped the scolding liquid, his mind going back to his daughters.

[Mycroft Hollins]

Mycroft listened to the response with ever rising curiosity. What an interesting puzzle. The baggage could only be so many things, it wasn't that difficult to get stolen goods over borders or even onto airplanes. If they had the right resources and right contacts, there was no reason why this person should have had any trouble leaving the country. This baggage was another person then, a hostage perhaps? Unlikely, otherwise he couldn't imagine even a man a collected as Patrick being very level-headed about the situation. No, this wasn't very urgent. Still, the baggage was certainly a person of significant importance to Patrick, that much was clear enough to him.

Ignoring the comment about missing the filly, because he certainly wouldn't miss her all that much at all, and declining Patrick's offer for an ottoman, he instead focused on the curious puzzle he'd been presented. "Well, if you don't mind my saying, depending on the intelligence level of the person in question, as well as the amount of time they've been off your radar, I would say it's not unreasonable for me to guess that this person in question could have crossed the border into Canada. From there I imagine that the person in question wouldn't have much trouble changing their identity and fleeing across the pond without much trouble. You only need to remain in Canada for three years before you are eligible to become a citizen, they could then gain a Canadian passport, and ship themselves and their 'baggage' anywhere in the world."

He explained his idea all while watching Patrick make the tea and hot chocolate. He paused only to tell him he just wanted a spoonful of sugar in his tea, before finishing proposition. When Patrick had handed him his mug, he thanked him before nursing the drink in his hand and thinking. 

[Patrick D'Arcy]

Patrick listened to the man and nodded, but he had a feeling that his wife would be just mean enough to keep the girls on the same stretch of land, even if a border separated them, as she would know that he had too much international contacts to be able to keep herself hidden in another country... but he really didn't know. What he wanted to know was what she had told the girls. They had been three when she vanished with them, so she would have needed to have told them some reason that they were going on holiday without daddy.

He shook his head as sat down and sipped his drink. Yes, it could definitely do with a shot of something strong. He hadn't told anyone about his wife, but as this man knew all his other secrets, part of him knew that Mycroft wouldn't take this information and use it against him. "I have two daughters." He said softly as he put the drink down on the table. "My wife vanished with them on day while I was at work. I came home and they were just gone. No matter what I did at the time or over the past five years, I haven't been able to find her. It's almost as though she never existed." He sighed and shook his head. "My girls are the added baggage I was talking about."

[Mycroft Hollins]

"That is unfortunate," Mycroft said sympathetically, taking a sip from his tea once Patrick had finished his explanation. He placed the mug down on a nearby table before looking over at the other man, "However I still stand by my estimation, perhaps a bit more strongly now. A woman who knows the sorts of connections you have would be eager to flee as far away as possible. America is indeed a large country, but I can't imagine there is anywhere too remote for her to hide, especially depending on the ages of the two children she's dragging behind." 


Mycroft thought for a long moment, there were still pieces missing. Without knowing the intelligence level of the woman or her motives, he really couldn't say precisely where to find her or even where to begin looking. He had always been fairly good at finding runaways back when he'd been in charge of the MI6, but he'd had unlimited access to information that was vital to finding them. He hadn't even needed to go into the field, with the right bits of information on his desk he could point to a place on a map and say, 'this is where they're hiding'. 

But he didn't have that information here, and so he could not tell this man where to find his daughters. He did feel sorry for Patrick, but unfortunately didn't believe he had much helpful advice to offer. "You honestly don't believe this woman possible of getting passports for those two girls? If they are in fact her biological children, all she needs is money in order to purchase their passports. It's even simpler if she changed her identity altogether and had someone forge them. It is absurdly easy these days to get those sorts of fake documents."

[Patrick D'Arcy]

Patrick nodded his head, agreeing with that the older man was saying. He wouldn't put it past his wife to have taken the girls out of the country. Though darker thoughts had crossed his mind about the fact that the woman may have even sold the girls for a new identity.

He took another sip of his drink. "No, I know that Shell would do anything to make sure I never found Cass and Mal again. I'm more worried of what lengths she went to, to make sure that they were never found again." He had been an agent for long enough to know that human trafficking was closer to home than many people wanted to think, and that once sold to that first buyer, children vanished, especially blonde haired, blue eyed little girls.

He ran his hands through his hair again as he released a growl. "I could file for divorce and file for custody, but I don't think that will get my girls any closer to me." He picked the mug up and turned it in his hands, not even lifting it to his lips anymore.

Patrick stood up and walked over to the sink where he tipped the rest of the liquid down the drain before washing out the mug and leaving it upside down to drain. "Do you think I should just stop looking?" There was slight vulnerability in his tone as he turned to face the other man once again, leaning back against the bench.

[Mycroft Hollins]

Mycroft felt slightly uncomfortable when the question was posed to him. Years of working for the MI6 had worsened his already cold disposition for things as sentimental as this. Yet, this wasn't a criminal he was dealing with, nor his unpredictable younger brother. No, this was a man with a great deal of heart, who wanted a genuine answer from the heart. Sometimes Mycroft envied American government workers, they weren't quite as cold hearted and stuffy as Brits could be about things like this. 

Glancing up at Patrick, he met the other man's gaze before offering his honest and very simple answer, "No." He reached down to his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He still had contacts, a great many of them. Dealing with ambassadors on a daily basis as well as taking tea with the Queen and other heads of state had given him many powerful people whom all owed him a favor or two. It would be so easy for him to give the word and ask for that favor, ask for the best men in England and many other European countries as well to hunt down these two girls and return them to their father. 

But he knew in his heart that it wasn't his fight. So instead he merely glanced at the time, answered a text from his brother, and slipped the phone back into his pocket before returning his full attention to Patrick. He took up his mug again and took a sip of his tea, the American had made it decently much to his surprise and delight. He wished he had more to say, but he wasn't going to pry. All he had for Patrick were answers and resources, but the man needed to ask for them before he put out. Mycroft felt that, in a sense, he needed to be enlisted in helping him track down these children. Otherwise it was none of his business, though he knew that a puzzle such as this would likely never leave his mind.