Serge soared through the next eight days on the high of not only the first time he fucked Dex, but also on the second and third times they managed to spend in bed, naked and enjoying each other’s bodies. Five months ago, he never would have imagined how much his life could change for the better, and now Serge couldn’t imagine not knowing Dex. Not loving him.

Finding time together still wasn’t easy, thanks to Serge’s busy hospital schedule, but they did their best. Today was his last shift in emergency, and then he and Gaven would both begin a rotation in ICU. Serge looked forward to the challenge of that rotation, while Gaven groused that it would be boring after the high energy of emergency.

Serge did not mind leaving the ER behind.

He assisted Dr. Locke, the department attending, with food poisoning, an overdose, an infected laceration that required draining, and the aftermath of a bar fight that included two alphas and six betas, and a lot of stitches. The alphas were pissy, angry, and bleeding, but they didn’t scare Serge the way they might have in the past. Having security guards with tasers nearby didn’t hurt Serge’s bravery in telling them to sit down, be quiet, and let him work.

He was washing up after the bar fight stitches and contemplating a coffee break when dispatch came through with an incoming ambulance. Domestic violence victim, extremely agitated and in distress.

Gaven joined him and Dr. Locke near the emergency entrance as the ambulance arrived. Two EMT’s pushed a gurney inside that contained a bloody, sobbing mess of a man.

“Patient is Omar Gibbs, twenty-three-year-old beta,” one EMT said. “Multiple contusions and lacerations on his forearms and hands, possible defensive wounds. Two deep lacerations on the left torso near the heart, as well as deep bruising on the throat and genitals.”

“Signs of rape?” Dr. Locke asked.

“Yes.”

Omar cried harder, trying to hide beneath the thin blanket covering his battered body. Serge’s heart broke for the young man’s obvious pain and misery. “Who did it?” Serge asked.

Dr. Locke shot him a sharp look that clearly indicated the who involved wasn’t his business, but that of the constables who’d inevitably investigate. Whatever. This Omar had been assaulted, and he deserved some fucking compassion.

“Don’t know,” the EMT said. “Neighbor called it in, and the victim isn’t talking.”

“What’s his BP?” Dr. Locke asked.

“Eighty over fifty-five.”

They gently transferred Omar from the gurney to an exam bed, and then the EMT’s left. Serge began setting up the blood pressure cuff and a pulse ox.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Locke said. “Gaven, start the patient on an O- transfusion, and then cross-match in case he needs more.”

“On it,” Gaven replied.

Serge helped Dr. Locke examine the various wounds. None of them were life-threatening, but most would need stitches, especially the chest wounds. Omar resisted the rectal exam, so Serge held his hands and shushed him while Dr. Locke checked him out. Bright green eyes held his, swimming with tears, and so wrecked Serge fought tears of his own.

“You’re in good hands, Omar,” Serge said. “We’ll take care of you.”

“I won’t go back to him,” Omar said.

“Back to who?”

Omar moaned. “My husband. I can’t go back.”

“You won’t. We’ll get the authorities involved. They’ll keep you safe.”

“You can’t call the constabulary, Cyril will get in trouble.”

Serge bit back his temper at hearing Omar trying to defend his husband. “He beat you, that’s kind of the point.”

“A constable will be along to question him,” Dr. Locke said. “Do your job, Serge. I need fresh bandages and a suture kit.”

“Yes, doctor,” Serge replied. He hated leaving Omar’s cubicle, but the kits were on a storage cart outside.

Gaven was already at the cart getting supplies, and he cast Serge a curious looked. “How are you doing with this patient?”

“I want to find whoever did this to him and run him over with my car,” Serge replied. “You?”

“Can I sit in the passenger seat?”

Angry shouting in the waiting area snagged their attention, and they both turned. A tall, slim man wearing blood-stained clothes was waving his hands and shouting, his attempts to go forward impeded by a pair of security guards. “I want to see my husband!” he hollered. “You can’t keep us apart.”

“Oh shit,” Gaven whispered. “You think he’s who did that to Omar?”

Serge shivered, sensing violence in the man even from a good thirty feet away. “Yes. I do.”

“You can’t keep me from my husband!” Cyril screamed again. He took three wide steps backward and pulled a handgun from his pants pocket. Pointed it at the security guards—guards who carried tasers on duty, but not firearms.

Gaven clutched Serge’s forearm in an iron grip as a chill raced down Serge’s spine.

Dr. Locke stepped out from behind the cubicle curtain. “Where is that—oh shit.” He froze in place as Cyril turned the gun in his direction.

“Where is he?” Cyril snapped at Dr. Locke.

“Who?” Dr. Locke replied, playing dumb perfectly.

“My husband Omar. Where is he?”

“He’s no patient of mine. Why don’t you put the gun down and we’ll talk. You’re disturbing other patients, Mister…?”

“Fuck you, Doc. I want Omar.”

Dr. Locke took a few steps forward, easily keeping the gunman’s attention on him, while folks in the waiting room quietly took cover beneath and behind chairs. Farther down the hall near the admin desk, nurses cowered on the floor, too scared to reach for a phone. Gawkers were backed up near the emergency entrance by other security officers.

“Flashing a gun in my ER is not the way you gain access to patients,” Dr. Locke said. How was he so calm with a gun pointed at his head? Serge was doing his damnedest not to piss his pants, and Cyril’s attention wasn’t even on him.

“Your ER, huh?” Cyril said. He took two steps toward Dr. Locke, keeping the security guards in his peripheral vision, attention divided. “So are you the one I gotta shoot to see Omar?”

“You don’t have to shoot anyone. You can expedite the process of seeing your husband by putting your gun down, sir.” A bit of alpha growl was creeping into Dr. Locke’s voice, and it made Serge grip Gaven’s hand tighter.

For the longest moment, no one moved. No one spoke. Only a few fearful gasps rose from the men hiding amongst the chairs. Cyril seemed uncertain, and Serge sent a silent prayer that Dr. Locke had gotten through to the volatile man.

And then something metal crashed, maybe an instrument tray in one of the cubicles, Serge didn’t know. All he knew was the startled jerk of Cyril’s hand, the flash of the gun’s muzzle, and the boom of the single, wild shot. Multiple people screamed, Serge included.

Gaven tugged sharply on Serge’s arm, and for an instant, he thought Gaven was trying to get Serge to run for cover—except Gaven collapsed, and his grip on Serge tumbled Serge to the ground with him. Blood streamed from a wound dead-center on Gaven’s chest, and it took Serge a moment to understand what he was seeing.

His friend had been shot.

Gaven blinked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, and Serge ignored everything around him. He grabbed a pressure dressing off the cart behind him and ripped it open. Pressed it hard against that awful wound. Gaven cried out, tears already pouring down his cheeks.

“Suspect secure,” made it through the haze in Serge’s mind, and then Dr. Locke was beside him. He shoved a hand behind Gaven’s back. “No exit wound,” he said.

Gaven tried to speak, but only bloody foam came out, staining his teeth and cheeks, and in that moment, true panic set in. The bullet had hit a lung.

“Somebody get a gurney over here!” Dr. Locke shouted. “We need to get him stabilized and up to surgery right now.”

“We’ve got you, pal,” Serge said, one hand on the dressing and the other stroking Gaven’s cheek. He’d never seen his friend so scared. Hell, Serge wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this scared. But he stayed present for Gaven, holding eye contact, sending all the strength he could through their connection.

Gaven’s eyes fluttered, and then closed.

“Gaven,” Serge said.

“He’s crashing,” Dr. Locke said.

The world grayed out briefly, and Serge was jostled out of the way by another doctor, who closed in to try and save Gaven’s life. Serge held desperately to Gaven’s hand as he was lifted to a gurney. They listened to his heart, checked his pulse. They even pulled Serge to the side and shocked Gaven, but even Serge knew the truth.

Gaven was gone. He’d just watched his best friend die, and it had all happened so fucking fast…

Someone led him to a chair, but he didn’t know who. He didn’t care. His best friend was dead. He’d been shot by a madman, and for the first time since that gunshot, Serge sought out the shooter. Cyril was cuffed and being detained by four security guards. The man was sobbing and those tears sent a flash of rage through Serge.

Serge launched himself out of his chair and raced toward the coward who’d killed his friend. “You son of a fucker!” He swung, but one of the guards intercepted and held Serge back. “You killed my best friend, you piece of shit!”

Cyril didn’t respond.

Grief and anger exploded inside of Serge, and he collapsed against the security guard, deep, wrenching sobs making it impossible to breathe. His ass hit a chair instead of the floor, and he sank into, then doubled over with the force of his grief. He’d never lost anyone like this, and he didn’t know how to process it. He kept seeing Gaven’s wide, terrified eyes in those final moments before those eyes closed forever.

Someone pulled him into his arms, and it took Serge a moment to understand it was Tarek. Serge looked up, and through blurry eyes, realized the authorities had finally arrived. Tarek was in uniform, and Monte stood nearby, watching him with a sad expression.

“He’s dead,” Serge said dumbly.

“I know,” Tarek replied. “I am so fucking sorry, Serge. Are you hurt?”

Serge looked at the blood on his hands and scrubs. A mix of Omar and Gaven. “Not my blood.”

“I called Dex,” Monte said. “He’s on his way.”

Dex. Yes, he definitely needed Dex. Dex couldn’t fix this, but he could make Serge feel less manic, less likely to shatter into a million tiny pieces, never to come together again. “Thank you,” he replied.

Monte nodded once, then walked away. Tarek stayed with him, because Serge couldn’t seem to stop crying. The heavy sobs were gone, but his eyes kept leaking tears, and his chest ached with the force of his grief, making it difficult to breathe. But when Dex finally knelt in front of him and gathered Serge into his arms, breathing got a little bit easier.

Serge buried his face in Dex’s neck and wept, while Dex did his best to keep him together while he grieved.

Dex ran his hands across Serge’s back, doing what he could to comfort his boyfriend, while holding back tears of his own. Not only for Serge’s grief, but for Dex’s, because he’d liked Gaven. He considered the man a friend, and without Gaven, he might never have met Serge. He might never have met the other half of his heart, so yeah. Dex grieved, too.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Dex whispered, over and over, unsure what else to do. His knee hated this position, but he couldn’t let go. When Monte had called him, Dex had started to tell the guy off until Monte said Serge had been involved in a shooting. It was enough to shut him up so Monte could explain, and then Dex had raced for his car.

Raced toward his heart, who was grieving a terrible loss, and Dex was helpless to fix it. All he could do was hold Serge, until his sobs turned to soft sighs, and his tears stopped soaking the collar of Dex’s shirt. Tarek offered them tissues, then helped Dex into a chair while Serge mopped his cheeks and blew his nose. His eyes were puffy, and he looked absolutely wrecked.

“Patrolman Bloom,” a new voice said. “Mr. Kenward.”

Dex looked up to see Constable Higgs standing in front of their huddle, his expression full of empathy. The alpha worked in Tarek’s division, but he didn’t get down to the records room much, so Dex was surprised Higgs knew his name. “Yes, sir,” Tarek replied. “This is Serge Freel. He’s the victim’s roommate.”

Serge flinched, probably over the victim comment.

“Mr. Freel,” Higgs said gently, “I realize this is an emotional time, so I only need a brief statement right now.”

“Don’t you have plenty of other witness statements, sir?” Dex asked, maybe a little too abruptly.

“We have statements about the movements of the suspect in the waiting room, yes, but Mr. Freel was with the suspect’s husband before the shooting began. I only have a few questions about that interaction.”

“It’s fine,” Serge said in a rough voice. “Gaven and I were with Omar, yes. And Dr. Locke.” He didn’t look up at Higgs, though, speaking to the man’s feet.

“At any point during your exam, did Omar indicate the source of his multiple injuries?”

Serge didn’t answer right away. “Kind of. He was clearly terrified of his husband and didn’t want to go back to him, but he also didn’t want Cyril to get in trouble with you guys.”

Typical reaction from an abuse victim. Terrified of the violence, but also defending the person who’d hurt them. Keep them out of trouble with the authorities.

“But he didn’t specifically state who’d wounded him?” Higgs asked.

“No,” Serge replied. “Has he yet?”

“Not so far, but we’re allowing his wounds to be treated before we continue questioning him. The poor lad’s been traumatized.”

Serge shivered, so Dex put an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Higgs said. “Thank you for your time.”

Higgs left to speak with other people, but Dex didn’t honestly care. All he cared about was Serge, who was so broken Dex didn’t know what to do. And he adored Tarek for looking out for Serge until he could get there. Even Monte cast them mournful looks from where he was speaking with a witness.

“What can I do?” Dex asked. “Name it.”

“I want to see him again,” Serge replied. “Gaven.”

“Okay.” Supporting Serge on one side, Dex grabbed his cane and helped him over to the cubicle where Gaven’s body had been placed, pending transfer to the morgue.

A white sheet had been pulled up to his chest, and Serge released a soft cry when he saw him. Gaven’s face was pale, but so peaceful he could have simply been sleeping if not for the stain of blood on his cheeks and on the sheet over his chest. Serge put his hand on Gaven’s forehead, then smoothed back his hair. Gentle and tender.

“I’m so sorry,” Serge whispered. “I couldn’t save you. I watched you die.”

“It was a catastrophic wound.”

Dex tracked the voice to a man in a doctor’s coat, who stood just inside the cubicle. His nametag said Locke.

“He was my friend,” Serge said as if he hadn’t heard the doctor at all. “I should have tried harder.”

“Serge.” Dr. Locke moved closer, and the scent of alpha made Dex tense. “It wasn’t your fault. No one could have saved Gaven. Not even the best surgeon in the territory.”

Serge sobbed once, then leaned down to press his forehead to Gaven’s. “I’m so sorry. Fuck.”

“My sincere condolences,” Dr. Locke said, and then he left.

Dex pressed his hand to the small of Serge’s back, remaining present while Serge grieved, because he didn’t know what else to do. He stayed present until someone from the nursing administration arrived to send Serge home for the next couple of days, giving him personal time to mourn.

Serge was so lost that Dex didn’t dare take him home. He drove Serge back to his own apartment instead, and he led Serge directly to bed. It was the easiest place to cuddle, so Dex wrapped his bigger body around Serge and held him. Existed with him. Serge cried again, and then quieted, the tears coming in small fits as bubbles of emotion took hold. Dex cried a few of his own tears, too, as much for Gaven’s death as for Serge’s pain and grief. He couldn’t imagine what Serge was feeling, or how Dex might react if anything ever happened to Tarek. Dex didn’t know how you mourned your best friend, and he hoped he never experienced the pain Serge was dealing with right now.

“I never told him the truth,” Serge said.

Dex startled; he’d thought Serge had fallen asleep, because he’d been quiet for so long. “What truth?”

“About Jando.” Serge twisted around so he was facing Dex. His lovely face was red, tear-streaked, and miserable. “Gaven was there for me in the aftermath, and he took care of me without asking questions. I should have told him the truth.”

“Babe, it wasn’t very long ago that you were able to tell me. I believe you’d have told Gaven one day, you just didn’t get the chance.”

Serge sniffled. “It’s not fair. I should have spent more time with him. Hung out more. Been his friend.”

“You are his friend. He loved you, too, you know. Gaven never seemed like the guy who’d resent someone else’s happiness, or them having a life beyond that friendship. He did set us up, you know.”

“Yeah.” Serge’s lips quirked, but didn’t smile. “I couldn’t have gotten through this without you, Dex. Truly. I feel like I’m about to fall off the edge of a cliff, and you’re the only thing anchoring me to the ground.”

“I’m so sorry you’re hurting, and I’m here for anything you need. You don’t have to grieve alone.”

“Thank you. Goddess, his family needs to be told.”

“I’m sure Constable Higgs has that under control. Calling them, I mean. Were you close?”

“Not really, because Gaven wasn’t really close with them. But they still lost a son.”

“And you lost a friend. Focus on your grief, Serge. You are all that matters right now.”

Serge sighed and pressed his face into Dex’s neck. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dex held on tight and let himself be selfishly grateful that Serge was alive and in his arms, and not the one under a sheet in the morgue. That wild shot could have just as easily hit Serge. Dex couldn’t imagine losing Serge now that he’d found him, especially to a random act of violence.

Violence perpetrated by a violent man who’d likely beaten his husband before, and probably would have done it again if he’d gained access. But the hospital had stopped him, and maybe if the security guards carried firearms, they could have put Cyril down sooner. Maybe, maybe not. The hospital didn’t allow firearms on the campus grounds at all, and today was the first time Dex could remember anyone opening fire in the ER in his lifetime. Another gun in the mix may have gotten more people killed or wounded.

Maybe Omar Gibbs had been saved from a violent end by his husband’s hands, but they’d lost Gaven today. A good, funny, energetic young man who’d chosen a career serving others. And Dex couldn’t fathom the depth of cruelty necessary to strike your own spouse, much less cut them up and beat them bloody. He could never, ever raise his hands to Serge, not in anger or for any other reason.

He loved Serge too damned much.

And while their relationship was still somewhat young and new, Dex vowed in that moment that if Serge did one day agree to marry him, Dex would spend every day, for the rest of his life, making Serge Freel happy, keeping him safe, and making sure Serge knew he was loved and adored.

Forever.