Dane
Benton flipped the burgers as the kids ran around in the sprinklers. Dane stood on the porch next to his twin brother, looking out over the backyard, ice cold beer in his hand. It was his brother's own brew, in fact. He'd had labels printed up that read ‘Bishop's Brews.’ Dane was going to help him with the next batch.
“Got yourself a good family, bro,” Dane said, unable to wipe the stupid grin from his face as he watched the kids run around, chasing after each other with water guns, their laughter and simple cheers of wordless excitement filling the air.
“Yeah,” Benton said, his face wistful and pained. “It feels good to be back with them after all those years in the sandbox. Wish I could be a little better, you know, but I've been trying my damndest. Gotta embrace the suck, you know. Make it work for me.”
“Medication still not working, then?”
Benton shook his head and began to flip the burgers. “It's just so fucking hard all the time. You know, first, they say they want you to admit to having it—the PTSD. Then, they want you out because of it. Then, they don't want to give you the help you need.”
“Come on, Benton,” Dane clapping his brother on the shoulder and squeezing, “I know you're trying. It's tough coming back. I know it is. But, you're a good father, at least you try to be. Better than Mom and Dad, right?”
Benton laughed. “Yeah,” he said, still flipping burgers and rolling hot dogs. “Don't I know it.”
“Just keep taking the medication the doctor recommended. Things'll get better, and you'll still be there for your kids. You'll see. You'll be the best dad any kid ever hoped for in this fucked up world.”
His twin chuckled. “Yeah. My kids don't deserve this world, I'll say that for sure. They deserve heaven.”
“Don't we all?” Dane asked, laughing. He took another drink of his beer and looked back out to the kids, watched them rolling around and fighting on the green lawn.
“What about you?” Benton asked. “You dating anyone yet?”
“Me?” he asked, shaking his head. “Still getting used to civilian life. Haven't really started to get settled in, yet. Figure it'll happen when it happens.”
“Well, I hope you find that special someone,” Benton said, as he stepped away from the grill and, beer in hand, went to stand next to Dane. “Landon and Paula need cousins, you know. And maybe, if she gets a niece or a nephew, Marianne will back off about our third one.”
Dane laughed. “Number three?”
Benton rolled his eyes. “I can hardly keep up with these two. And, just my luck, twins will end up running in the family.”
As they both laughed, the day began to fade, the world disappearing into a blanket of shrouded darkness. The vision ended, drifting away no matter how hard Dane tried to hold onto it.
His ears rang from the shock, and his world seemed to be coming apart at the seams. Instead of Landon and Paula's laughter, there was the sound of stomping feet. Instead of the taste of Bishop's Brews, there was salt and copper.
The men tore him from Emily, pulled her away as she screamed, and reached out for him. Emily’s hands grasped at empty air as they took her back to the barricades.
With his last bit of waning strength, Dane reached out for her like a lifeline. His hands touched nothing but empty air, though, and fell to the plaza.
This was it. It was all over. Even if Benton's family wouldn't ever come back, he'd still be vindicated. Dane had seen to that. But, like in all things, there was a price to pay. Now Dane had his own crimes to take responsibility for.
# # #
Emily
The world was a blur as Emily was pulled from Dane's strong embrace by more hands than she could count. With her ears ringing, she screamed for him as she reached out across the distance, her fingers grasping vainly as she was dragged away.
The only person who mattered to her now was being taken away from her by gray, indistinct shapes that seemed little more than ghosts. “Dane!” she screamed, her soundless words raw in her frayed throat. “Dane!”
He just looked on, his eyes haunted and distant as the EMT's and paramedics surrounded him, blocking him from view. Emily realized she'd been wounded, too, as she tried to stumble toward him, her leg giving out beneath her wait.
No, this was all happening too fast, like the worst nightmare anyone could conceive of, and she was thrust into the middle of it, like Alice through the Looking Glass. They began to drag her back to the ambulance, trying to gently subdue her as her hearing resumed.
The world of sound, previously dimmed from the gunfire, returned in with a crash. The sound of helicopter blades pounded above her, sirens whirred, and men shouted orders. “Get him in the stretcher! We need to see how bad these gunshots are!”
“Get her back to the ambulance! I want a tourniquet on that leg! We need to stop the bleeding!”
They dragged her back to the ambulance as she kicked and screamed, fighting against every inch they put between her and Dane. “Please,” she sobbed, her throat ragged and raw as she sobbed out her tears. “Please, let me go to him!”
“Ma'am, we need you to settle down,” they replied, their voices one step away from tense shouts as two burly medics finally lifted her into the air and got her into the rear of the ambulance.
“Dane!” she screamed again, the tears streaming down her face now as she fought against their hands and grappling arms. Men in uniforms strapped her to the stretcher and tightened her bonds as she thrashed violently, trying to break free to get back to her love.
“Get a god-damn sedative in her,” growled one of the men. “She'll bleed herself out with all this kicking.”
“Surprised she's going so strong, with all this blood gone.”
Then there was a sharp pain in her thigh, followed by blissful, omnipresent darkness that encompassed all. She drifted like a lost soul over the inky waves of blackness, the only thought she could form a wordless blob that coalesced into the shape of Dane Bishop, his shirt bloody and ragged, his eyes hollow and haunted as he watched her torn from his protective embrace.
She came-to a while later in a hospital bed, her clothes gone. One of those scratchy cotton gowns covered her. Her right leg ached like hell, a throbbing, hot pain that seemed to pierce all the way to the core of her body, like nothing she'd ever experienced.
How much time had passed? She looked around groggily, trying to find a clock. She didn't see one, and just flopped back onto the flat, unfluffed pillow. She groaned, a deathly rasp coming from her dry-as-dirt throat.
“Oh my God, you're awake!” came a familiar voice, a lilting sound that seemed to drift through the room beautifully. “Em, you're back!”
Emily groaned, turning her head to the source of the voice. Jas! “Hey,” she said, smiling as she saw her executive assistant.
“Hey, yourself,” Jas said, as she came to the side of the bed and put her hands on the railing. She looked as ragged as Emily felt, but wracked more with worry than physical pain. Dark rings stood out beneath her eyes, her hair looked like it could use a brush, and her makeup needed to be touched up. To Emily, it appeared Jas hadn't left her side since she'd been admitted.
“How you feeling?” Jas asked, reaching down and taking Emily's hand in her own, squeezing it gently.
“Like I got shot in the leg, then sedated.”
“Funny you should say that,” her friend said, squeezing her hand.
“Water?” Emily asked.
“Yeah,” Jas said, reaching over and grabbing a cup of ice chips. “Here, they said to give you these when you woke up.”
Emily took the cup and shook some chips into her throat, the cold wetness like iced tea on a summer's day, refreshing and rejuvenating. She never knew frozen water could taste this good.
“I ran into someone earlier today,” Jas said, her words sounding carefully and deliberately chosen. “Never guess who.”
Emily groaned. She didn't have time for this. “Who, Jas? Just spit it out.”
“Dane Bishop. Saw him at Pharma, in fact, just this afternoon.”
Emily groaned again. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Is he okay?”
Jas shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “He put a gun to my head, Em.”
Emily turned her face away. She couldn't deal with this. Not now. Not with her whole world coming down around her. She knew she owed some explanation to Jas about Dane, but what could she say that would make everything better?
“He used me as a hostage to get in to see Edward,” she continued. “Do you know what that's like? To be held as a fucking hostage?”
“Kind of,” Emily whispered, her face still turned away.
“What?” Jas demanded.
Emily just shook her head. “Look, I'm sorry about what you had to go through.”
Jas sighed. “It really wasn't that bad, Em,” she groaned. “I mean, I knew he wasn't going to hurt me. Dane just doesn't seem the type to do that. But, with all that, I know you're not telling me the truth about who he is, or what happened between you two.”
“Is he okay?” Emily asked, as she turned back to him. “Have they said if he's okay?”
Jas crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “He's out of surgery, and doctors say he'll be fine. The cops, though . . .”
Emily felt numb. She was too weak to cry and too emotionally exhausted to not. It was like a sick limbo that seemed to consume her, one that wouldn't let her go free no matter how much she struggled. She wanted to let herself go, to let big, fat, salty tears roll down her cheeks so they could dot the hospital blanket. But she just couldn't.
Dane was in custody. He was safe, and would live. But, still, he was gone from her. No more would he be her guardian, or her captor. She wouldn't feel his hands on her throat, feel his fingers in her hair, or the sting of his hand on her backside. She'd never feel the same safety in his arms, or the quiet strength encircling her and keeping her upright as the world tried to tear her down.
“You still didn't answer my question,” Jas said.
“I can't,” Emily whispered. “I just can't. It's as much for you as it is for me, Jas. Believe me.”
Finally, though, as the words left her mouth, she felt her eyes begin to fill with the tears she needed. She felt them fill up and brim over, beginning to trickle her down her face.
Jas sighed and, seemingly not knowing what else to do, gathered Emily up in her arms and held her. “It's okay,” she whispered to her boss, as she stroked her hair. “It's okay, Em. Everything'll be fine. I promise.”
Emily tried to believe her, but she just couldn't bring herself to.
Nothing was going to be fine with Dane gone. Nothing would ever be fine again, and she knew it.