Five times the past came back to bother them, and once it gave them happiness
Part 3 of The Lies We Told Each Other
Tom, Pete, and Sarah have complex personal histories. Here are five times her past landed the Kazansky-Mitchell family on other people's radar. Some mistakes, some pain, a lot of courage to move on.
Fandoms:
Top Gun (Movies), Thunderheart (1992)
Relationships:
Sarah Kazansky/Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
Characters:
Sarah Kazansky, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, William Dawes, Ray Levoi
Additional Tags:
Crossover, 5+1 Things
INDEX: https://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/the-lies-we-told-each-other-3-five.html
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Chapter 3: When William Dawes met Tom and Sarah Kazansky
Summary:
April, 2007. While having lunch at Central Michel Richard, William Dawes, director of
the FBI, believes he sees Ray Levoi in the company of a woman with
indigenous features. It can't be that traitor, right?
Tom and Sarah planned a romantic weekend in DC, but an old friend of Colonel Levoi spoils their trip.
Dawes likes Central Michel Richard. It's close enough to the Hoover Building that you can walk there no matter the time of year. It's affordable for his salary but refined enough to feel like you're enjoying something exclusive. The staff gives you effortless personalized treatment as it is not yet well known.
"What do you want today, Director Dawes?" the waitress asks after seating him at his usual table.
He looks at the menu to check but has a good idea of his plans. Today, Dawes really needs one of those chef Michel's handmade burgers: spring hasn't yet taken the chill out of DC, but the effect of the Virginia Tech massacre has the city on fire.
"Gazpacho, Prime Burger, and a Berry Mule to drink. I have to return to the office."
"No dessert?"
He shakes his head.
"My wife and doctor have ganged up against me, Alice."
She laughs as she finishes writing down the order and picks up the menu.
"It's for your own good, director. I'll be back with your drink."
He watches her leave with quick steps and vaguely thinks that he moved like that thirty years ago. It's now just one o'clock on Monday afternoon, but he feels like he hasn't slept in the week since Seung-Hui Cho went down in history as the perpetrator of the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history. With all his heart, Dawes hopes the record is not broken for a long, long time.
He lies back and closes his eyes.
The more they dig into the killer's past and motivations, the more evidence appears that this was not terrorism but madness. He told the president and the governor of Virginia that this is a problem of poor mental health management. With the War on Terrorism consuming the intelligence community's budget and manpower, the FBI simply cannot follow every crazy person who claims to be Jesus reincarnated.
"Your drink, director."
Alice's voice forces him to stand up and push away his drowsiness. It wouldn't be good to fall asleep here. While enjoying the fresh taste of berries, coconut puree, fresh lime juice, and ginger beer, the man lets his eyes wander around the restaurant in the middle of lunch. Eager to think about something other than the massacre, he allows himself to use his training to catalog the people around him.
There, a senator or representative's assistant from a family with old money tries to impress a young lawyer.
There, a local investor, perhaps linked to the mafia, eats while looking anxiously at his phone.
That trio of men discusses the organization of a happy event, a wedding, a bachelor party?
That sixty-something man looks like a scientist but stares at everything with intensity. He wants to remember the experience. He may be in town to testify at one of the many legislative committees.
That couple that just arrived... It can't be!
Dawes leaves the mocktail on the table and stares at the beige surface for a few seconds. He forces himself to take a deep breath and calm down. Just because Seung-Hui Cho called himself an apostle of Jesus in his rants, he can't let his mind go back to that. Tiredness plays tricks on him. Of course, the couple three tables away are perfectly unknown people.
Sure, it was just an illusion. Dawes slowly lifts his face and looks at the table where Alice takes the order.
Damm! His eyes did not deceive him.
How dare Ray Levoi visit DC and sit in a restaurant less than five minutes from FBI headquarters?
Oscillating between fury and disbelief, William Dawes watches as Ray gives Alice a heartbreaking smile he never showed in the ten years he worked for him. His outfit is casual: jeans, shirt, and leather jacket. His face has rounded since the last time he saw him, in the fall of 1987, but his military-style hair and thin gold-rimmed glasses give him an air of calm wisdom.
Ray never had a problem passing as white, with his blonde hair and blue eyes. But Dawes knows. He recognizes the Sioux heritage in the shape of the face and the arch of the eyebrows. Plus, his skin now has a deep tan, resulting from living on the plains of South Dakota. On the other hand, the woman accompanying him is clearly Indian. Her high cheekbones, broad forehead, straight black hair -styled in two braids- broad body, and exaggerated curves leave no room for doubt.
Alice finishes taking the order and leaves. Dawes sinks into his seat and curses the bright, open room at Central Michel Richard for the first time. They could see him!
But she and Ray only have eyes to look at each other. With that and their intertwined fingers, it is clear that they are a couple. It is not something recent. He understands it when he sees no surprise in their interactions but the trust from years of living together.
"Your gazpacho, Director Dawes."
"Thank you, Alice," he forces himself to say. "Please wait. That couple," he gestures vaguely toward Ray, "have they been here before? They seem familiar to me."
She smiles.
"I don't think so, sir. They told me they are visiting the city."
"Ah, he has one of those faces, then."
She nods and leaves.
Dawes spends the rest of his lunch tense as a wire. Although the yellow gazpacho and the burger are impeccable, the flavors do not bring him the usual joy. Every other bite, he glances toward Ray and his Indian woman's table. They thoroughly enjoy the crab cakes, fried chicken, and Mac' n' Cheese washed with plenty of California white wine. The director does not realize it, but part of his vigilance is motivated by the envy of such a menu full of carbohydrates and fats. He still would have looked at former Special Agent Levoi if he ordered a salad, but the fury would have been less intense.
He extends his meal as long as possible but still finishes before his partner. He sees the rain falling through the window and considers using it as a justification to delay his return and find out more. He throws the idea away right away. Curiosity is one thing, unjustified vigilance another. If Ray Levoi is in town, it's none of his business. The appropriate division will inform if his actions are problematic.
The Pine Ridge case was difficult to fix, but Levoi's decision to leave the FBI certainly made things easier. The most brutal blow had been for his family, of course. Colonel Levoi was proud of his service, and for his son to turn his back on the nation so radically made him suffer. Leaving the FBI to become a shaman on a reservation. What a waste! Poor Finn, first Rachel, ten years later, Ray.
He motions for Alice to bring him the bill and promises himself that this is the last look he gives them. He forgets his resolution almost immediately: Ray has taken out his phone, and whatever he reads affects him deeply. The relaxed and jovial attitude disappears, his back tenses, and he passes the device to his partner, making an imperious gesture to Alice. From his angle, Dawes can see her face. Seeing fear appear on a woman's face is never pleasant.
Alice is coming back with his bill. She stops at Ray's table, probably to tell them to wait. He insists with restrained gestures and a stern face, extending his credit card. She casts a sad look in his direction, and Dawes makes a conciliatory gesture with his hand to let her know that he's okay. He's in no hurry. Ray also turns around, but - strangely - there is no reaction of recognition in his eyes. He just looks curious and then nods, grateful that Dawes is allowing him to prioritize his payment.
Alice returns to the register to process Ray's payment.
Dawes sits back and ponders how to take advantage of this turn of events. It's pouring, so they'll have to wait for a taxi at the door. Could he find out something more? Now that he's given up his turn with Alice, he has an excuse to talk to them. Although... it's strange that Ray pretended not to know him. Maybe she doesn't know about his DC past?
Alice returns, leaves the check on Ray's table, and walks briskly to his table.
"I'm so sorry, Director Dawes. They were notified of an emergency and must leave."
"Don't worry," he says as he signs the receipt and keeps the copy. "I accept any excuse to spend more time here. Until next week."
She smiles, but Dawes no longer pays attention to her. He hurries to catch up with them at the door.
Ray and his companion are glued to the door, trying to get as little wet as possible.
"Is everything okay, mister...?"
Ray looks at him with surprise and some distrust. There is no trace of recognition in his pupils. He holds the woman a little closer in his arms.
"Kazansky. Thank you for letting us pay earlier."
Dawes nods. Now that he sees him up close, he can notice the exquisite quality of his clothes and shoes. It's not what you would expect from two inhabitants of the Oglala reservation. Although this restaurant should also be above their budget, but they didn't seem worried. He hides his uncertainty by turning up the collar of his coat to protect himself from the rain. Then he sends a quick text to his secretary to send him a car and stays there with his hands in his pockets and a thousand questions in his throat: what are you doing here? Who is she? Have you left your mystical madness behind?
Ray is three feet away from him, closer than he has been in twenty years, but he doesn't dare say anything. Instead, they are prisoners of that uncomfortable silence that arises when you find yourself in close quarters with strangers. Dawes feels it sometimes when he takes the elevator at the Pentagon. He never expected it to happen at the entrance to Central Michel Richard, in a box with three sides of glass and another of intense rain.
Ray's phone rings and he slowly takes it out of his jacket pocket. The woman separates her face from her chest to read the message. They have one of those conversations in glances that characterize long and solid relationships. Ray swallows dryly, and she buries her face into his chest again.
"Bad news?"
His question seems to snap him out of a trance. He looks at him again in surprise, as if he had forgotten Dawes was there.
"I'm not sure," he admits. "But we must return home."
"Home?"
"San Diego, California," then looks at the street. "Where is that taxi?"
San Diego? This doesn't make sense: Ray Levoi lives in Allen, South Dakota.
"Taxis in DC are unreliable, even here downtown," he lies quickly, "and with this weather..." he sees his car turn the corner, and something occurs to him. "Maybe I can help you?"
Ray gives him a suspicious look.
"Help us?"
"My car is arriving, I can take you to your hotel."
"We already bothered you enough."
"Not at all," the car stops, and the driver approaches with an umbrella. "Your wife seems disturbed."
"I do not even know your name."
Dawes holds back his exasperation and decides to play along.
"William Dawes, Director of the FBI."
She turns a little to study him with narrowed eyes. Ray's pupils dilate in surprise, but he holds out his hand.
"Rear Admiral Tomas Kazansky. This is my wife, Sarah."
Dawes hides his astonishment by turning to his driver.
"Charlie, we will take the Kazanskys to…"
"The Hamilton, at 14th and K," the man completes.
"Wait here," he instructs without turning around, afraid that his flushed face will betray him, "my driver will return with the umbrella."
Dawes hurries into the car and uses the time before the Kazanskys arrive to regain his composure. How is this possible? It's been twenty years, but he's sure he could recognize that traitor anywhere. However, impersonating a high-ranking Navy officer is pointless, especially with him. He knows about Kazansky, although vaguely. He was the one put in charge of the Office of Naval Intelligence after the sudden death of Wilkes until Porterfield was confirmed. They never met because he became FBI director in 2004.
The door opens again. Kazansky enters, followed by his wife. They give him an uncertain smile as the driver closes the door and walks around the car.
"It'll be five minutes to the hotel," Charlie announces as he gets behind the wheel and adjusts his seat belt.
The sedan's interior is spacious, but in any case, the couple continues hugging and almost glued to the door.
They go out onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
"Are you in town on vacation?"
Kazansky grimaces.
"Wedding anniversary delayed," -and smiles awkwardly. In his arms, Sarah snorts.
Oh! Good reason to visit Central Michel Richard: to appease a wife.
"Can I ask how long?"
"Thirteen years." now he smiles without reservation.
His tone is proud, and the director, who has three divorces under his belt, has to admit that it is a good reason to be proud.
They pass 13th St., and Freedom Plaza opens to the right. Kazansky touches his wife's shoulder.
"Look, love, at the statue of Kazimierz Pulaski."
She presses her face to the glass, although the intense rain makes the outside almost invisible. The man turns to the director.
"The plan was to stop here when we walked back to the hotel, but…" -he shrugs.
Dawes nods. He can understand that an officer with a Polish surname born in the middle of the Cold War would feel interested in Pułaski, a Pole officer who fought against Russian hegemony on Poland during the first part of his life and was later instrumental in American independence.
They turn by 14th St., the memorial to the father of North American cavalry disappears and, with it, the brief excuse to speak.
However, Dawes notices something that confirms that this is not Ray Levoi messing with his sanity. Kazansky does not have a mole on his face, unlike the unfortunate former agent who is now hiding in Indian territory with delusions and visions. Ray has a mole on the right side of his face, just above his jaw. He remembers it well. But then, how to explain their strange resemblance?
An uncomfortable idea arises: could there be three and not two babies? It's disgusting, but Lizzi Levoi would not be the first to give for adoption a baby from a multiple birth. After all, the father of her children was a drunken Indian. Three babies are a lot of work, even in functional families. With Finn Levoi, that wouldn't have happened. The colonel would have hired help while bragging to everyone about his virility. But Lizzi didn't find Levoi until much later, and the damage was done. Finn spoke to him about his daughter in his last days, about the pain that losing her had caused him. Dawes knows it was a testimony of Levoi's trust in his discretion.
The car stops. Kazansky's voice brings the director out of his sad thoughts.
"Thank you, Director Dawes."
He rushes to shake the hand offered to him.
"It was nothing. I hope nothing serious awaits you at home."
But Kazansky had already closed the car door. Charlie exits the curve of the Hotel and continues on 14th St. to return to the FBI headquarters.
Tom and Sarah stay in the hotel lobby. They breathe easy once the car turns L St. and is out of sight.
"So that's William Dawes," she finally says.
But Tom shakes his head and looks around uneasily. After meeting the colonel's old friend, it seems to him that anyone could take him for Ray. Distraught by memories of his past life, he pulls his wife and heads to the elevator. He doesn't speak until they get to his room.
"This weekend in DC was a mistake," he says with a sigh as he leans against the door.
Sarah makes a disgusted noise as she hangs her coat in the closet.
"Don't be silly. Ray's messages allowed us to take control of the situation."
Tom snorts.
"Great help! Sure. The first text is "A man sees Ray Levoi in a restaurant in DC," then "Tell him you need to go home." Sometimes, I think my brother enjoys being cryptic."
Sarah giggles as she removes Tom's jacket, makes him sit on the bed, and kneels between his spread legs.
"You know? I think it's better that Dawes saw you now and not in the White House's hallways."
He pouts.
"I wanted a photo next to the statue of Kazimierz Pulaski."
"You wanted an imaginary photo with Mav," she corrects.
"Well, if Pułaski and Pete are alike, it's not my fault."
Ice believes that the points of contact between his husband and the Pole are evident: Like Mav, Pulaski was gorgeous, often acted independently, disobeyed orders, and had a reputation for being a loose cannon.
"And I couldn't eat the chocolate mouse either," he concludes tearfully.
Sarah puts her hands on the back of his neck and forces him to bend over so she can kiss him on the lips.
"I have something dark and sweet for you."
Tom raises his eyebrows and smiles mischievously.
"Really?"
She nods, releases the ribbons of the dress that close the shoulder pieces, stands up, and lets the fabric fall to her feet. In the dimness of the room, where the only source of light is that which filters through the thick rain clouds, the copper color of her skin is dark. It almost looks like chocolate.
Sarah's waist is facing Tom. He holds her hips so she can't move back and kisses her navel passionately. He sinks his tongue into the slit and sucks until she moans.
"So I'm your dessert?" -she asks between gasps.
Tom stands up and kisses her lips. Then he steps away to take off his shirt.
"You are never dessert, woman. You are always the main dish."
She smiles and falls onto the bed.
Note:
The Virginia Tech shooting was a spree shooting that occurred on April 16, 2007, comprising two attacks on the campus of the Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University in Blacksburg, Virginia, United States. Seung-Hui Cho, an undergraduate student at the university, killed 32 people and wounded 17 others with two semi-automatic pistols. Six others were injured jumping out of windows to escape Cho.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Tech_shooting
INDEX: https://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/the-lies-we-told-each-other-3-five.html
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