Outside, a couple of guys in full hazmat suits seem to appear from nowhere on the horizon. The team watches as a lead case -- man-sized, just as Walter ordered, but with Russian lettering on it -- is rolled into view in front of them. Olivia looks up at Broyles, who just stares impassively. I would at least be like, "You're welcome."
But that night, he pays someone else a visit. His ex-wife, I'm guessing. She says the kids aren't there, but he's there to see her. Her new husband passes through ("Hey, Phil." "Hey, Rob.") before Broyles gives her his news: "I closed that case. The one four years ago?" She does a very nice job of pretending to care, and even invites him in for dinner with them. Staying out on the front step, he politely declines, and they say goodnight. She looks like she might have more to say, but closes the door behind him. Yeah, whatever. I've had enough work project eat enough weekends to know that finally finishing one years after the fact isn't going to make the spouse feel all that much better.
Broyles starts down the front walk to his car, chirping the alarm, when someone calls out, "Agent Broyles. You've got a real friend in Senator Van Horn." Broyles turns, dropping his keys in his coat pocket, and sees a little guy in a suit, just standing smack-dab in the middle of the street with his hands behind his back and yet somehow looking totally ominous. Must be the musical score. "Is that so?" Broyles asks. "When the CIA says cease and desist," the man says, "we kind of mean it. A person could get into a lot of trouble." "I guess I should thank Senator Van Horn, then," Broyles says. "Understatement," the guy says tersely, giving Broyles a pretty spooky blue steel that clearly means, "That's the only reason I haven't already killed you". "So, this thing," he continues. "There isn't going to be any report, right?" It's not a question, so Broyles doesn't bother answering. The guy turns and walks back toward his car, until Broyles calls after him to ask what become of Alex. The CIA guy suddenly gets all helpful, saying, "We had no choice. Once he started breathing again." And then he looks up at the sky. Broyles follows his gaze up into the starry night, then watches the guy finish walking to his car and drive away. Broyles is left standing there in the street. Oddly, despite having closed an old case in a big way, he doesn't seem too over the moon.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.