Triangulation

Brian got the call right after lunch, while his head was buried in files. Penning wanted reports on Braga’s dealers by the end of the day, and Brian wasn’t getting anywhere, because what they knew about Braga’s dealers was approximately nothing. The FBI was a lot like the LAPD, except with shinier floors and five times more paperwork. Still, this was the big leagues now. It wasn’t exactly a party every day, but there was something about it, the feeling of making a difference that Brian had never quite learned how to give up.

“O’Conner,” he said, pressing the headset to his ear. He really fucking hoped this was important.

Brian didn’t immediately recognize the voice on the other line. “Agent O’Conner, we’ve picked up Leticia Oritz crossing the border, and we’re holding her for processing.”

That was something Brian was not expecting to hear. “I’ll be right there,” he promised, and then he was out the door.

Letty hadn’t changed one bit since Brian had seen her last. That was obvious from the Brian’s side of the one-way mirror. Her face was less banged up, sure, but her expression, her attitude, every other thing about her was exactly the same as Brian remembered, right down to the tank top and the pony tail. Brian wondered briefly if Dom had changed at all himself over the years. Brian sure as hell had. It was pretty much impossible to quantify just how much Brian’s life had gone topsy-turvy since Dom had spun in and spun out of his life. Some days, he forgot that there was a time before he knew Dominic Toretto, and that really fucked with his head.

The agent guarding the door nodded to Brian as he walked by. “Good luck with her, man,” he said.

Brian thought he’d need more than just luck to get through this, but he’d take what he could get. Letty was sitting alone at the table, washed out by the fluorescent lights, her cuffed hands resting in front of her. Her eyes cut into Brian as he entered the room. “Spilner,” she said, almost spitting she was so mad. “Should’ve known it would be you.” Brian had always steered clear of Letty before, when he could. They weren’t friends, weren’t anything, but he still betrayed her, betrayed all of them, just the same.

“It’s O’Conner, actually. And you’re not under arrest, you know that, right? I just want your help.” Brian took the chair across from Letty and looked her in the eye. She didn’t back down an inch. Dom had always liked that about her.

“I’m not giving up Dom,” she said. “Fuck you.”

Brian folded his arms across his chest. “Wasn’t expecting you to.” He gave Letty a look that hopefully conveyed ‘fuck, I was the one who let him go,’ but she didn’t even blink. “We need drivers. Drivers with reputations and skills. You’ve got both.”

Letty sneered. “What you need them for? To be like you? A fucking narc?”

“This is drugs. This is heavy shit, Letty,” Brian said. He wasn’t lying. Braga’s operation was massive and powerful, and Brian knew, he goddamn knew, that this piece of shit needed to get brought down hard. They just didn’t have anything. Not yet.

“Is that right?” Letty asked. “Too bad I don’t give a flying fuck, then.”

Brian was glad they were having this conversation here, where Letty was less likely to attempt to rip out Brian’s throat, though to be fair, Brian wasn’t sure the security cameras and armed FBI agents were what was holding her back. He decided to use the best leverage he had. “We could arrest you if we wanted. We have enough on both you and Dom. But if you do this for us, we could cut you a deal, get your slate wiped clean.”

Letty’s expression flickered for a moment, before it settled into its hard mask again. “If you’re going to arrest me, arrest me. Don’t play your fucking games.”

Brian stood up, pushed his chair in just right, so that the metal scraped loudly against the concrete floor. “Just think about it,” he said.

As he left, he made sure Letty got released, no strings attached. It didn’t really matter that she wasn’t cooperating yet; she’d end up in the thick of things anyway. That was what she did. That was how she fell in with Dom, after all.

Brian was just getting into work two weeks later, when the new girl, Trinh, leaned back from the desk that was right in front of his and said, “You have a message from some chick named Letty.” She handed over the yellow post-it note (Letty’s name was spelled ‘Letti’) with a raised eyebrow. “And also, I’m not your fucking secretary.”

“Thanks,” Brian said with his most charming smile, but Trinh’s eyes just narrowed like she wasn’t buying it.

There was a number on the post-it, an LA number. He called it.

Letty picked up on the third ring. “Hello,” she said, sounding nicer just then than she ever had in all the time Brian had known her.

“It’s Brian,” he said, because he wanted to remind her that it hadn’t entirely been a lie. “You called?”

He could hear her breathing on the other end, and Brian waited for a heartbeat, then two, before she responded. “Meet me at the Toretto’s garage in half an hour. Mia’ll be at work,” she said. Then she hung up, leaving Brian scrambling to get to his car.

It was surreal rolling up to the Toretto house again, after a few years. It hadn’t really changed either. He hadn’t exactly expected Mia to do major renovations on her student budget, but he could still recognize the smudge of black paint on the bottom left corner tiles, the stubborn patch of weeds on the front lawn. It was almost like he was just coming by to hang out, kick back, have a few beers, then head out to the real garage to work on a few cars.

The garage was the same too. Same as the day Dom pulled open the door and let Brian inside. It smelled of dust and old oil, exactly as Brian remembered, and with a sudden pang, he realized how much he missed it. Missed the lazy days with his hands inside an engine, the laughter of Vince and Leon next to him, the bright California sun pouring in from behind. Hell, he even missed Rome, his non-stop talking and megawatt smile, the thick heat of Miami’s summers. But he was a suit now, a fed, and there were rules he couldn’t break, now matter how much he wished he could.

Letty was in ripped jeans and a ratty T-shirt, her hair pulled back from her face, grease up to her elbows. She was bent under the hood of the Charger, Dom’s Charger, its battered frame speaking of better times. Dom’s necklace, the cross that always gave Brian bad flashbacks to Sunday mass, hung from the rearview mirror. It had been years since Brian had seen the car last, and his fingers itched to touch it again, to reach back through the years. He didn’t, mostly because he was pretty sure Letty would chop off one of his arms if he tried.

Letty’s T-shirt rode up as she leaned over, exposing the tanned skin of her lower back and just the barest hint of underwear. Brian’s fingers itched to touch there, too, but that would probably get both his arms chopped off for even thinking about it. He hadn’t let himself look that much, before. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been gorgeous then. It was just that Dom had staked his claim, and that meant she was a non-issue. Besides, there had been Mia too, while that lasted.

Brian cleared his throat “Hey,” he said, leaning against the garage door as Letty pulled herself out from under the hood, her underwear once again disappearing from view.

“Your deal,” Letty said, turning around, her arms folded across her chest, “I’ll do it if it goes for Dom, too.”

Brian felt something lurch in his chest. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. It even sounded lame to his own ears, but as much as he hated it, he didn’t have the goddamn authority. If Letty did this, she’d have clout, but Brian couldn’t tell if her clout would stretch that far.

But his words set Letty off, her eyes darkening with anger. “That’s bullshit, O’Conner, and you know it. It’s me and Dom or it’s nothing.” She was stepping closer, getting in Brian’s face, their bodies almost touching. Brian always forgot how small Letty actually was, because she had the presence of someone twice her height and weight, and she always used that to her advantage.

“I’ll bring them your offer, but I can’t guarantee that they’ll take it.” In that moment, Brian wanted to be able to make that promise, not just for Letty’s sake, but to do right by the team, to do right by Dom.

Letty grabbed a fistful of Brian’s hair (a move Brian’s pretty sure she never tried on Dom) dragging his head down so that they were face to face, eye to eye. “Promise me,” she snarled. “Promise me you’ll stop chasing him.”

At the sharp tug, Brian’s heart sped up, his blood pumping. Adrenaline flowed through his entire system, and that always had the ability to make him a little stupid and a lot crazy. So he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Letty’s soft, full ones, trying to say something he didn’t have any fucking words for.

That was like a spark near gasoline, because next thing Brian knew, Letty had lunged forward, kissing him back, vicious and sharp. Her fingers were still tight in his hair, and her teeth were biting at this lips, his jaw, his neck. “Promise me,” she said between bites. “Promise me, you fucking asshole. Promise me he won’t go back inside.”

And Brian felt overwhelmed, knocked over by it, because he was saying things like, “I promise. I promise, Jesus fuck. You know-- You know I’d do anything--” panting through every breath. Letty dragged him towards the hood of the Charger, knocking down the prop with her foot. It shut with a heavy bang. She shoved Brian backwards, so that his legs bent against the edge of the car enough that he sat down on it, his dick already hard in his pants. She straddled his lap, pulling off her shirt and sports bra in one smooth motion, exposing some really fucking gorgeous breasts. Brian fought with his own shirt and tie, somewhat futilely, before giving up so he could draw one of her breasts into his mouth. Letty groaned, deep and throaty, her fingers once again digging into Brian’s hair. The sound went straight to his cock.

He ran a hand down her back, his fingers lingering on the smooth patch of skin he’d admired earlier, and shit, he was turned on and about to fuck Dom’s girlfriend and it was all so fucked up Brian had no clue how to deal with how fucked up it was.

Letty let go of Brian’s hair, a hand slipping between them to the fly of her jeans. Brian pulled back just so he could watch Letty slide the zipper down with (what seemed to him) an agonizing slowness. It was hot -- everything about Letty had always been hot -- but Brian was feeling impatient, his arousal simmering underneath his skin. He wrapped his arms around her torso, spinning her around so her back was pinned against the cool steel of the Charger.

She was shoving at her jeans, forcing them down, and Brian helped her get them off, because he had a stake in getting them off too; he was fucking invested. She shoved a condom into his hands and chewed on his lower lip until Brian let out his own groan. His dick was rubbing up against the Charger inside his pants, the friction good enough to feel fucking fantastic, but not quite enough to get him off.

He tucked his head down to Letty’s shoulder to taste the sweat there, and the smell of it mixing with the heavy scent of metal and engine grease made Brian feel almost sick with nostalgia. He fumbled at his own fly, tearing at the condom wrapper until Letty took it out of his hands, sliding it down his dick with a practiced ease. He pressed his fingers against the slick spot between the V of her thighs, one of them slipping inside. At the sharp hiss of her breath, the wetness he found there, he wondered how long it had been since Dom had last done this, how long it had been since they last fucked.

Letty said, “Just fucking do it already,” her eyes dark with lust. She bit down on Brian’s neck, a sharp flare of pain, and so Brian did, lining himself up and sliding right in. Letty wrapped her legs around his waist and shoved back so hard Brian felt it in his spine.

“Dom loved fucking me up against his cars,” Letty said. It was a goad, an effective one, because it made the back of Brian’s neck prickle. “We did it so much the summer I turned eighteen, just walking into the garage would make him hard.”

And fuck, Brian could just see it. A younger Dom, not so filled out, maybe with little hair, his face untouched by his time in Lompoc, laughing a little as he licked at Letty’s neck, her ears, her lips. They were perfect in Brian’s head, gorgeous beyond the telling of it. He squeezed his eyes shut and started fucking Letty in earnest, loving each huff of breath she gave up.

“You can’t fuck him through me,” Brian said between gritted teeth. Her hands were clawing at his back, her nails not long enough to scratch, but long enough that he could feel them. It was like going too fast, like that moment you released the NOS, knowing if you made one wrong move you could spin out and end up splattered against some guy’s wall.

He reached down to find her clit, rubbing it lightly until she let out a low moan. He had seen them once in the garage, just for a few seconds, but bits and pieces stick out in his memory: the smooth line of Dom’s back, the sharp angles of Letty’s legs, the sound of skin sliding against skin, one of Dom’s large hands pressed against the hood of the Supra. He had jerked off to that image for weeks afterwards until he thought maybe it was just a little creepy. Brian picked up the pace, fucking her harder until he could feel her shudder and come around him.

Letty barked out a breathy laugh, her fingers digging into Brian’s shoulders as her body clenched down on Brian’s dick. “You can’t either,” she said, teeth bared. “You can’t fuck him through me, either.”

Just the thought (if he could--) made Brian’s blood feel like it was boiling, like it was on fire, and he came hard, his entire body shaking with release.

When he finally managed to get his body working again, Letty had put all of her clothes back on, which Brian thought was a real shame. He straightened his shirt, his tie, trying to look like he hadn’t just had very vigorous sex with an informant. “I meant what I said earlier,” Brian said. “I’ll bring them your offer, and I’ll do whatever I can for Dom.”

Letty looked up from the tool box she was rummaging through and looked at Brian, right through him. “I believe you,” she said, and there was something to her voice that made Brian feel stripped bare, totally exposed.

And that was it, they had nothing else to say to one another.

As Brian drove back to the FBI field office, the midmorning sun was high in the sky, and he was behind the wheel (even if it was a shitty government issue Dodge Stratus), and he was on the streets of LA. He felt something lift inside him. No, it wasn’t the same. It wouldn’t be the same. Everything had changed now.

But then again, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Right in front of him, the traffic opened up, and it was dumb and silly and completely pointless, but Brian still grinned as he shifted to fifth gear and stepped down on the accelerator of his crappy sedan, gunning for the horizon.

Penning agreed to Letty’s deal, with some reluctance on his part and a hell of a lot of pushing on Brian’s part, but he did agree to it in the end. It was pretty clear to everyone involved that Letty was to be Brian’s responsibility, and that suited all of them just fine.

Weekly updates were mandatory, and Letty was always on time. Usually they just talked over the phone, but sometimes they’d meet in person so that Brian could hand over some cash for new mods. The FBI was willing to fund everything up to a point, and Letty was always up for more cash if she could get her hands on it.

Brian sometimes wondered what weird twist of fate brought them together again, what fluke of nature, because he’d thought he’d moved past everything that happened between him an Dom’s crew. He spent a lot of time remembering. What it was like out on the streets in a tricked out car, going up against some punk kid who talked like he was hot shit, not needing to think of anything but the road ahead. He asked Letty about Jesse once, about what happened to the body, but she just glared at him like he didn’t have the right, and Brian didn’t bring it up again.

Other than that, things weren’t weird between them or anything. They didn’t sleep together again, didn’t get much closer than a brush of hands or arms. She did let Brian take a look at the car as she worked on it, which surprised Brian a whole lot more than he let on. They talked cars a lot, talked about hubcaps and sparkplugs, speaking in the only real shared language between them. They never talked about Dom. Brian would sit on the garage couch that had seen much better days, and let her work, watching as her sure hands wrestled the engine into shape. He could tell she was still fixing up the Charger too -- it was looking better every day -- but she never touched it in front of him. Instead, she focused on her Plymouth Roadrunner, installing the NOS canisters and repainting the frame. She was putting a hell of a lot work into it, as far as Brian could see. Her fingernails were always covered in grease paint and bitten down to the quick. Still, he never offered help, and she never asked for it.

Not that it mattered, anyway. It didn’t take very long for Letty to re-establish herself as a top driver, and it was only a matter of time before Braga approached her with an offer. She didn’t give Brian details of the races, but he could always hear that edge in her voice, the one that gave away how much she lived for the speed, too.

They were getting close, Brian could tell. It was all over but the waiting.

And then, during one of their weekly updates, Letty said, “I’m in,” before giving Brian everything she had learned.

Brian got the call late at night, just as he was about to go to bed. His cell phone chirped from his kitchen counter and he muttered under his breath as he wandered over to pick it up. It was probably Stasiak, calling to bitch at Brian about something or other. It was the only thing he was good at anyway.

“Yeah, O’Conner,” he said, holding the phone to his ear.

There was a burst of noise on the other end that sounds like an engine, growling with unleashed power. “It’s Letty,” she yelled, fighting to be heard. “They’ve got a job for me.”

Brian sucked in a rough breath. Shit, shit. This was too soon, they didn’t have time to get a wire on her, a tracking device, anything. “Where are you headed?” he asked.

“I have no fucking clue,” she said. There was the sound of screeching wheels on the other side. “Listen to me.”

Brian tried to interrupt, because he needed more information; he needed a helicopter and a goddamn SWAT team. “Letty--”

“No, you fucking listen to me, Brian,” she said. “If you see Dom again,” the engine quieted, like she had slowed down, like she was waiting at a light, “if you see Dom again, tell him I did this for him.”

Brian wanted to say, “Goddammit, you can tell him yourself,” but she had already hung up, leaving Brian alone in the quiet of his house. He snapped his phone shut, and then it was just him and the whirr of his fans, cooling his skin, and the weight of explanations yet to be given, too heavy on his tongue.

FIN.