Disclaimer: I own the Fast and the Furious and am rich…wait, that was a dream. My bad.

Warnings: This is an AU story. Brian is sixteen years old (he graduated high school at 12) and Dom and Letty's son. The story line starts as the same.

Hey, Guys. I know, I know, long time no see. Not my fault – well, sort of. I had to move, get settled in, work, start writing some original fiction, but y'alls reviews spurred me to keep on going. Thanks for sticking with the story. Anywho, hope you like the chapter, Love, Brownie

Our Son

Chapter 13: Belief

"For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who don't believe, no proof is possible." Stuart Chase

Exhausted, Brian navigated Harry's truck through the crowded streets of L.A. He turned right on the green light, wishing that he had declined Dom's offer for a drink. It took him a second to hear the sirens following him and, glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw that it was a black car that was following him. Hoping it was the feds, so that Tanner could get him out of whatever trouble he was in, Brian pulled over.

A voice rang out through a megaphone and Brian sighed in relief, but that relief vanished when he actually comprehended the words that were being spoken, "Show me your hands." Shit, thought Brian, following the instruction regardless. I don't even know what I did. "Very good," continued Tanner, "Now open the door." Brian did as he was told.

"Put your hands on your head – behind your head." Brian bent his hands at the elbows and interlocked his fingers behind his head, alarmed, but not showing it. "Face the front of the vehicle." Brian didn't move, he was already doing that, so announcing that was redundant, "And walk towards the rear." Brian obliged. "Take two steps to your right." Brian did as he was told, feeling like he was doing the Cha-Cha slide or something equally stupid. "Stop right there!"

Immediately, he heard someone approaching him and, then, there was a hand restraining his arms from moving and another feeling along his body searchingly – Brian had to fight every instinct that was telling him that he was in danger, to fight, but he was successful. "What did I do?" he asked as hands kept patting him down, but, it wasn't the person behind him, but Tanner who answered.

"Shut up," he snapped, looking at the person behind him, who answered, "He's clean, Sarge." Brian immediately recognized the voice as Muse, but before he could say anything he heard the sound of clinking metal and then his hands were being yanked down and cuffs were being secured around them. Brian was panicking, trying to figure out what he'd done, while trying not to show his worry. He was loaded into the back of the car and it wasn't until Muse let the screen in the middle down and started talking to him that he realized that he wasn't really in trouble and that the "arrest" was all for show.

With the exception of the time he'd spent talking with Mia last night, Brian told theme everything that had happened, when they inquired. Before long, they were pulling into the parking area of a beautiful, big house. Tanner opened his door for him. "Damn," muttered Brian as he tried to gain the leverage to push himself up with his hands bound behind his back. Once up he made a beeline for Muse, "Muse, will you take these things off?" He turned his back towards the man, pushing his hands out expectantly, "I mean – shit! – you put 'em on so tight!"

"I like realism," rejoined Muse with a grin causing Brian to look at him over his shoulder and sarcastically mimic, "You like realism."

Grinning, Tanner walked ahead of them to the door, "You never know who's watching, Brian." He pushed past the doors and, once Muse got the cuffs off of him, Brian followed, rubbing his bruised wrists. They walked across the bridge and Brian looked around, "Wow. Nice crib, Sergeant. It's a lot nicer than that last place you confiscated." And, it really was. Brian still remembered the decrepit building. It had been enveloped in the most fowl scent he'd ever experienced; he heartily approved of the change.

"Ain't it?" he replied, turning halfway towards him and Muse and slowing down, "You know, Eddie Fisher built this house for Elizabeth Taylor in the fifties." The continued walking towards the glass door and half-turning to Muse, looking at Tanner at the same time, Brian commented, "You see, even the cops are Hollywood in Hollywood." Tanner chuckled a bark of a laugh, held the door open for him and Muse and, then, followed them inside.

Once inside, they descended the stairs, once again with Tanner in the lead somehow. "Okay, here he is," announced Tanner, introducing Brian to everyone gathered in the living room who didn't already know him, "Fresh from Toretto's hot rod heaven."

Predictably, Bilkins was on his case the moment he saw him, "That was an eighty thousand dollar vehicle, Officer." If he wasn't so pissed off at the mere sight of Bilkins, Brian might've laughed at the fact that someone had just referred to him as officer. His blonde head flitted over to Tanner's, "Wait a minute. You tell him what happened?"

"He knows what happened." His anger flew up another notch and he turned towards Bilkins. "Hey, you know what? Send the bill to Johnny Tran."

"Brian," Tanner warned, but Brian paid him no heed.

His own face set in a frown, Bilkins walked towards them, "The kid's giving me attitude?" He looked Tanner in the eyes, "That doesn't work very well for Police-F.B.I. relations, Tanner." Brian had a feeling that Bilkins was threatening him and he would've given anything to be able to punch the dude's lights out without having to go to juvie or maybe even jail for it.

Brian turned towards Tanner, the only person besides Muse in this godforsaken place who actually listened to him. "Tanner, come on. What is this? I walk in the door and the guy's already given me crap –"

"–All right, all right," soothed Tanner, placing his hand gently on Brian's back, "We'll talk, okay? Let's talk about it." And, despite being determined not to let the man's technique work on him, Brian quieted.

"Muse," Tanner turned towards the man he was addressing, "Why don't you make us four iced cappuccinos, please." That said, he turned back to Brian and slapping a hand on his upper arms, guided, "Come on."

"Regular or decaf, Sarge?" inquired Bilkins from his seat and, looking over his shoulder at him, Tanner glanced at Brian – a kid – and answered, "Uh, decaf, I think." Brian, who had kept walking without Tanner, scoffed at this: he was sixteen, he'd had coffee before.

About five minutes later, they – he and Tanner – were sitting around a round table and Tanner was pacing in front of them – apparently that was all he ever did, well that and being a total asshole. Muse handed Brian his cappuccino and, as Bilkins started debriefing them, Brian sipped at it. "Four hijackings in two months and we don't have anything. DVD players and digital cameras alone are worth a million-two." He placed his mug down on a mahogany desk, "Which brings the total to six million plus." Brian put away his mug and his eyes moved to Tanner when he started speaking.

"We're in the political crosshairs now, Brian. That's why you're undercover." Bilkins moved so that he was walking behind Brian, "You want that brother of yours out fast, Kid. And, you want to know something?" His fat hand plopped down on Brian's shoulder and Brian barely kept himself from shrugging it off, "The F.B.I can help, if you come through for us."

Brian pushed everything the man had said to the back of his mind, where he stored memories he never wanted to visit again. "What does the truck driver say?"

Tanner answered his query. "He gave us the same M.O.," Brian flipped through his head for the word and it appeared in his brain, as if it were a photograph: modus operandi – method. He pulled himself out of his head when Tanner continued, "Three Honda Civics, precision driving, the same neon glow from under the chassis. Lab says the skid marks came back the same: Mashamoto ZX tires. So, we know that it's somebody in the street-racing world."

Bilkins took charge once more, "We don't make this case soon, the truckers will take matters into their own hands." He walked towards Brian, "I tell 'em we're close." He sat down on the table and looked Brian straight in his azure eyes, "You gonna make me a liar?" And, for the first time, Brian felt something akin to respect for the guy and, not knowing how to respond to his question, he pushed himself up and changed the subject.

"Look. What do we know? We all know this world revolves around Toretto, right?" He looked at both older men imploringly. "Now, I'm not saying that he's necessarily the one that's popping these trucks, but, I can guarantee the both of you, he knows who is. It's just a matter of time until I win his confi–"

Bilkins rose. "–You want time? Buy the magazine." He walked back around to the desk where his mug lay. "We don't have time," he said as he sank into a cushy chair, "Just get me something I can use." And, with that the meeting was over, and Tanner led Brian back outside, then started talking when they were alone outside.

"Is Harry cooperating?" he inquired as they walked back the way they had come.

"Yeah, like a guy who's gonna do three to five for receiving stolen property if he doesn't."

"What kind of vibe is he getting from Toretto?"

They stepped onto the curved bridge, "He's scared to death of him, but he doesn't think he's jacking trucks in his spare time, either; he's too controlled for that."

Tanner stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and steered him around so that he was facing him. "Wait," he said, running his hand tiredly through his golden-brown hair, "Not that I want to contradict Harry's fine judge of character, but, uh, Toretto did hard time for nearly beating a guy to death. He's got nitrous oxide in his blood and a gas tank for a brain. Do not turn your back on him – period."

He started walking, but Brian stopped him by gripping his upper arm and calling, "Hey, Tanner." He dropped his hand and walked past him, "I'm gonna need another car." Brian didn't want to believe it, so, he left.


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