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## Revised Text-in-Progress

 Setting
 Arc / track
 Initiating author

["You mock me," grumbles Jamie at the timeline of Nguyen's life on his screen. He debates banging his head on his desk but instead calls, "Hey, Eyre?"

""Yea?""

"I need your conspiracy brain over here."

"I do /**not** have a conspiracy brain," she grumps.

"That Rosqvist thing?"

"That was totally justified and if you recall, the guy was arrested."

"So for every thousand far-fetched conclusions you jump to, you get one right."

"Do you want my help or not?"

Jamie angles his monitor, offers his mouse. "Would you look at this for me, see if anything looks odd?"

"'Odd' how?"

"You tell me."

"Sure you want a conspiracy theory?"

"Better than going around in circles."

Eyre huffs, gets eyes on the timeline.

Jamie doodles.

"He and the missus probably had sex after this gala."

"Why the hell do you think that?"

She scrolls forward. "Kid's born nine months later."

"What the hell, Yellow."

"I like kids." Shrugs. "They're cute."

"Your brain, Yellow." Shakes his head as he attends the screen. "Anything closer to the present jump out at you?"

She studies the timeline, eventually asks, "How much do you believe in coincidences?"

"That there's a one-in-a-hundred chance it's actually a coincidence."

"How many you up to?"

"No idea, why?"

Eyre leaves the mouse on the dates in question. "Do these seem awfully close to you?"

The sore, crabby bit of Jamie loosens and a quiet light glows.

She stands back, crosses her arms. "I think, either Sydney got a new pair of Rangers and then some completely unrelated reason prompted Nguyen to resign or Sydney getting a new pair of Rangers somehow prompted him to resign."

"Yellow, if I weren't gay and it was appropriate, I would kiss you."

Eyre grins. "Buy me a good birthday present this year."

"You got it." He flicks a salute.

Eyre rolls her eyes, heads back to her desk.

Jamie points his browser to the PPDC website, finds the number he needs, pokes it in.

Half a ring.

"Hi, this is Jamie Walker from /*Guardian* /*Australia*. I'd like to set up an interview with one or both of the Rangers Jones."

He sits up straighter.

"What do you mean they're 'not available to the press'?"

Jamie listens.

"Let me get this straight. I can't turn on my TV without one of your Rangers staring at me, but I can't talk to this specific pair and you're 'not at liberty to discuss' why?"

A beat.

"You know how suspicious that sounds, ay?"

Rolls his eyes.

"No, that wasn't a threat; it was a statement of fact. Here's some advice, free of charge: come up with a better story before the next reporter calls."

Jamie drops the handset back into the cradle, scrubs a hand over his face.

Points his browser to the his favourite search engine, asks politely for information on the Rangers Jones.

Frowns.

Tries another search, then a few more permutations thereof.]

Grumbles, "Nothing, nothing, carry the nothing ...." Leans back, [peers] around his screen. "Oi! Eyre!"

""Oi! Walker!""

"You got anything on [those new Rangers]?"

""[Ask] Petra; she does the military stuff.""

"But I'm asking /**you**."

A very loud, long-suffering sigh.

"Please, Eyre?"

""I'll see what I can [find. It's not like they've got the most common surname in Australia], should be no problem to find the right ones.""

Jamie squints at his screen. "They're probably siblings? Probably male? Probably white?"

""That'll narrow it down,"" gripes Eyre.

"Thank you~!"

""You owe me, Walker.""

"More than I can ever hope to repay," Jamie replies sweetly.

""At a minimum,"" sighs Eyre.

Jamie snorts, turns back to his computer, pulls up a work in progress, and sets to polishing it.

Eyre perches on the corner of Jamie's desk a half-hour later, fiddling with a sticky note. "So, a few months ago, a woman called claiming they—the Corps—kidnapped her husband, name of Jones."

"We get, like, a million of those calls a week and, like you said, Jones isn't an uncommon name."

Eyre shrugs. "She sounded really upset. Either she's a really good actress, or ...."

Jamie leans back, hands behind head. "Go on."

"Thing is, she called the police a couple weeks earlier, said her house had been broken into, her children left unattended—"

"And her husband was missing."

Eyre nods. "I glanced at the police report—husband's brother was a career criminal so they figured it was related and never really followed up."

"[I smell another conspiracy.] What aren't you telling me, Yellow?"

"Remember a while back—"

"How long a while?"

"Seven years-ish? Worldwide crackdown on underground fight clubs?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, there was a worldwide crackdown on illegal fights, here included. The brother fought for a ring run by 'The Professor'. Didn't look into it much more than that, but."

Jamie drums his fingers on his scalp. "Seven years ago, ay? Right when the Jaeger program needed a lot of pilots in a hurry."

"Mm-hmm."

Jamie straightens, gestures for the sticky note.

Eyre hands it over. "It's probably nothing."

"Or it could be really interesting. The Professor has a rep for running the best fights and fighters in the city." Grins. "Thanks for this, Yellow. I'll give it a poke." Swivels his chair. "Want me to tell you what I find?"

"Nah. I'll wait for your story."

"Cool. Now shove off so I can make some phone calls."

Eyre sticks out her tongue—

Jamie replies in kind.

—and saunters off.

Jamie snorts, spins to his phone, punches in the number.

Two rings.

"Hi, Mx Darling, this is Jamie Walker from /*Guardian* /*Australia* and—"

Jamie jumps.

Dial tone.

Jamie frowns at his landline, swivels his chair. "Hey, Yellow?"

""Yea?""

"You tried calling this Darling woman lately?"

""Not since right after her call came in. Why?""

"She just hung up on me with extreme prejudice."

""Women,"" huffs Eyre, rolling her eyes.

"I'm blaming you if we have to go to another gender issues training session."

""Put it on my tab.""

Jamie snorts, presses in the next number, taps a pencil against the desk.

"'ey, Ava Maria! It's Jamie. I need you to pull a file from your morgue."

Checks the sticky note.

"Yea, yea. I need the break-in and missing persons reports filed by a Charlotte K. Darling of [suburb name] on June twenty-seventh this year and any follow-up materials you've got on the case."

Sighs.

"No, I /**don't** have an exact address, but the missing person's name is Jackson E. Jones, if that'll help." A beat. "You're a peach."

Chuckles, leans back in his chair.

"Flattery gets me more places than you want to know about, my sweet librarian."

Snorts.

"And that is one place flattery will definitely /**not** get you."

Rolls his eyes.

"There it is. Thanks, milady."

Returns the handset to the cradle, opens the file, reads it carefully.

Reads it again.

"Sheesh," murmurs Jamie, leaning back. "I've seen 'lost dog' cases better investigated." Grabs the phone, punches redial.

"Hello, again, Ava." A beat. "It was a really short file and I read fast." Rolls his eyes. "Right. I need the records for Jackson E. Jones, born thirtieth November nineteen-ninety, and Logan P. Jones, born eighteenth October nineteen-ninety-two." A pause. "That wasn't a good whistle, was it?"

Straightens up.

"/**How** long?" A beat. "That's what I thought you said. Thank god for digital records, ay?"

Clicks into his email.

"I see 'em. Thanks, Ava. Let's get coffee next week." Pause. "Thursday would be great. The usual time and place?" Pause. "Cool. See you then!"

""How long are you going to lead that poor thing on, Walker?"" calls Eyre.

"She knows the score." Grins, eyes twinkling. "She gets revenge by ordering the biggest, most decadent coffee on the menu every damn time."

Eyre snorts.

"Now, excuse me, I have what looks like the /*War* /*and* /*Peace* of police records to read through."

""I'll put on another pot.""

"You are a minor, benevolent god, Yellow."

Jamie reads. And reads. And reads. Reopens the Jaeger re-launch photo—

"Whatcha lookin' at, Walker?"

Jamie startles, whacks his desk. "Jesus, Yellow! Give a man some warning!"

"Nah. I'm hoping to catch you looking at something naughty."

"I get enough naughty at home. I don't need to sully my work computer with it."

"TMI, Walker, TMI."

Jamie snorts, indicates his screen. "Is there a resemblance here or is it just my wishful thinking?"

Eyre cocks her head. "The quality on the blow-up stinks, but, yea, that might be the same guy."

"Cool. Thanks."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Who's the possible mystery Ranger?"

"The Darling woman's career criminal brother-in-law," gloats Jamie.

Eyre gives a low whistle. "What are the odds Ranger Jones Number Two looks like Mr Darling?"

Jamie sobers. "Great a story as the Corps press-ganging Rangers would make, I'm kinda hoping he doesn't."

"Yea, me, too."

"'course, Mr Darling /**could** just be an asshole who abandoned his family."

"That's a /**little** better, sure." Eyre slouches against Jamie's desk. "You know, this is the third weird thing to happen around this Jaeger this year."

"These two, Nguyen, and ...?"

"The Rangers these two are replacing are died in some freak accident."

Jamie studies her face. "You're serious?"

Eyre's eyebrow says, 'You doubt me?'

He chuckles. "Of course I believe you, Yellow."

Huffs.

"Don't suppose you remember those dead Rangers' names?"

"Do your own research, Walker."

"No idea, ay?"

Eyre grumps back to her desk.

Jamie grins at her back, turns to his computer, prods the internet into coughing up the names 'Lachlan Riley' and 'Jason Egan'.

Picks up the phone, jabs 'redial' with the butt of his pen.

Two rings.

"'ey, Ava. Got another request for you."

Sighs.

"Yea, I know this is the third time I've called today."

Huffs.

"I'll buy you a muffin with your coffee on Thursday." A beat. "Fine. Two muffins. I need the investigation into the death of PPDC Ranger Lachlan Riley." Long pause. "/**Everything's** internal to the Corps? You've got nothing?"

Holds the handset away from his ear.

"Sorry, Ava. Didn't mean to impugn your skill or your archives. Consider me properly castigated." A beat. "So, they were squeaky clean before they signed up. Hmm." Taps his pen against his desk. "While I've got you, can you pull all the full reports on all the fight club raids where the Logan Jones I asked about earlier was arrested."

Sharp whine.

"Why? Because I'm hoping I'll recognize a name or two among the arrestees. It's a long shot, but." Long, long pause. "Fine," huffs Jamie. "You can get some muffins to take home."

Clicks into his email.

"Cool. And there they are! Thanks, Ava. See you Thursday."

Opens the first report, skims.

Sighs.

Opens the next, skims.

And the next.

"Well, hello there, Socket. Been a while." Leans back, hands behind head, stretches his arms over his head. "Reunion'll hafta wait 'til tomorrow, though, seeing as you're a creature of habit and allergic to mobiles."

Rubs his eyes, picks up his mobile, and taps a contact.

"Hi-ya, Nate. It's Jamie Walker." A pause. "Too long, too long."

Puts his feet up on his desk.

"Y'wanna meet for drinks and talk about Jaeger pilots with me?"

Chuckles.

"Of course not. I wouldn't /**dream** of interfering with a night's hunting." A beat. "Tonight? I believe I can clear my schedule for the likes of you."

Grins.

"Cool. Thanks, Nate. See you tonight at the usual dive."

## Original Text

Eyre asks, "Hey, Jamie?"

Spins his chair around. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You caught the Nguyen thing, yea?"

"Bad news travels as fast as ever."

"That's PPDC?"

"Specifically the Shatterdome."

Eyre perches on the corner of Jamie's desk, fiddling with a sticky note. "So, a few months ago, (Charlie Darling|)a woman called claiming they—the Corps—kidnapped (Jackson Jones|)her husband."

"We get, like, a million of those calls a week."

Eyre shrugs. "She sounded really upset. Either she's a really good actress, or ...."

Jamie leans back, hands behind head. "Go on."

"Thing is, she called the police a couple weeks earlier, said her house had been broken into, (Book Darling-Jones|)her (Baby Darling-Jones|)children left unattended—"

"And her husband was missing."

Eyre nods. "I glanced at the police report—husband's brother was a career criminal so they figured it was related and never really followed up."

"What aren't you telling me, Yellow?"

"Remember a while back—"

"How long a while?"

"Seven years-ish? Worldwide crackdown on underground fight clubs?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, there was a worldwide crackdown on illegal fights, here included. The brother fought for a ring run by 'the Professor'. Didn't look into it much more than that, but."

Jamie drums his fingers on his scalp. "Seven years ago, ay? Right when the Jaeger program needed a lot of pilots in a hurry."

"Mm-hmm."

Jamie straightens, gestures for the sticky note.

Eyre hands it over. "It's probably nothing."

"Or it could be really interesting." Grins. "'s gotta be more exciting than interviewing /**Dame** Eadith Hackett."

"The posh lady?" Eyre wrinkles her nose. "Shouldn't the society people be handling her?"

"Not when it turns out she was good friends with our missing PPDC marshal."

"Lucky you," snorts Eyre.

Jamie shrugs helplessly. "Thanks for this, Yellow. I'll give it a poke." Swivels his chair. "Want me to tell you what I find?"

"Nah. I'll wait for your story."

"Cool. Now shove off so I can make some phone calls."

Eyre sticks out her tongue--

Jamie replies in kind.

--and saunters off.

Jamie snorts, spins to his phone, punches in the number.

Two rings.

"Hi, Mx Darling, this is Jamie Walker from /*Guardian* /*Australia* and—"

Jamie jumps.

Dial tone.

Jamie frowns at his landline, swivels his chair. "Hey, Yellow?"

""Yea?""

"You tried calling this Darling woman lately?"

""Not since right after her call came in. Why?""

"She just hung up on me with extreme prejudice."

""Women,"" huffs Eyre, rolling her eyes.

"I'm blaming you if we have to go to another gender issues training session."

""Put it on my tab.""

Jamie snorts, presses in the next number, taps a pencil against the desk {while waiting for a connection}.

"'ey, Ava Maria! It's Jamie. I need you to pull some files from your morgue."

Checks the sticky note from Eyre.

"Yea, yea. I need the break-in and missing persons reports filed by a Charlotte K. Darling of [suburb name] on June twenty-seventh this year and any follow-up materials you've got on the case."

Sighs.

"No, I /**don't** have an exact address, but the missing person's name is Jackson E. Jones, if that'll help." A beat. "You're a peach."

Chuckles, leans back in his chair.

"Flattery gets me more places than you want to know about, my sweet librarian."

Snorts.

"And that is one place flattery will /**definitely** not get you."

Rolls his eyes.

"And the other thing is the complete file on a Logan P. Jones, who's the brother of the missing guy." A pause. "That wasn't a good whistle, was it?"

Straightens up.

"/**How** long?" A beat. "That's what I thought you said. Thank god for digital records, ay?"

Clicks into his email.

"I see 'em. Thanks, Ava. Let's get coffee next week." Pause. "Thursday would be great. The usual time and place?" Pause. "Cool. See you then!"

""How long are you going to lead that poor thing on, Walker?"" calls Eyre.

"She knows the score." Grins, eyes twinkling. "She gets revenge by ordering the biggest, most decadent coffee on the menu every damn time."

Eyre snorts.

"Now, excuse me, I have what looks like the /*War* /*and* /*Peace* of police records to read through."

""I'll put on another pot.""

"You are a minor, benevolent god, Yellow."

Jamie reads. And reads. And reads.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Walker?"

Jamie startles, whacks his desk. "Jesus, Yellow! Give a man some warning!"

"Nah. I'm hoping to catch you looking at something naughty."

"I get enough naughty at home. I don't need to sully my work computer with it."

"TMI, Walker, TMI."

Jamie snorts. "Just scratching a reporter's itch."

"On the PPDC website."

"Yup. This person--" Points to a name on his screen. "--got arrested in a fight club bust with the Darling woman's brother-in-law in twenty-fourteen."

"Quinn Macrossan, ay? Think they'll talk to you about the brother-in-law?"

"Can't hurt to ask." Jamie taps his pencil.

"Whatcha thinkin'?"

"My reporter sense is tingling."

"Eww--"

Jamie rolls his eyes.

"--I'll leave you to your tingling." Eyre strolls off.

Jamie taps a number on his phone.

Two rings.

"'ey, Ava. Got another one for you."

Sighs.

"Yea, I know this is the fourth time I've called today."

Huffs.

"I'll buy you a muffin with your coffee on Thursday." A beat. "Fine. Two muffins. It's Quinn Macrossan."

Clicks into his email.

"What do you mean there's nothing? I'm /**looking** at the name in that Logan Jones file you sent me. Says /**right** /**here** Quinn Macrossan was arrested with Jones in [suburb name] in twenty-fourteen at a raid on a fight club."

Gnaws his pencil.

"What about in Townsville records?" A beat. "Yea, I know that's Queensland's, but I also know you can still get them."

Nibbles.

"Maybe there's something from the juvenile courts?"

Taps the pencil.

"Nothin', huh?"

Clicks back into his web browser.

"How 'bout ... uh, raids on Sydney area fight clubs in mid- to late-twenty-nineteen?"

Back into email.

"Cool. And there they are! Thanks, Ava. See you Thursday."

Opens the first report, skims.

"And there they are." Leans back. "Curiouser and curiouser," he murmurs. Stretches his arms over his head.

Picks up his mobile and taps a contact.

"Hi-ya, Nate. It's Jamie Walker." A pause. "Too long, too long."

Puts his feet up on his desk.

"Y'wanna meet for drinks and talk about Jaeger pilots with me?"

Chuckles.

"Of course not. I wouldn't /**dream** of interfering with a night's hunting." A beat. "Tonight? I believe I can clear my schedule for the likes of you."

Grins.

"Cool. Thanks, Nate. See you tonight at the usual dive."