Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of CBS and are only used for fan related purposes.
--
Fire and Rain
--
i. that sort of love;
The first things Abby Mills and Jimmy Mance saw as the Coast Guard's rescue boat carrying them across the waves approached the mainland were great big flashes of light. They were nearly blinded, and took solace in facing each other rather than facing what lay before them.
It wasn't until they were pulling up close to the shore, just off the edge of the docks that made up the Seattle Harbor, that they realized they were being greeted by flashbulbs; the holler of the media and the yells from the bystanders gathered around were only beaten by the authoritative cries of the Seattle Police Department, warning them all to keep back. Suddenly, and most unexpected on both their parts, it was this… this circus that alerted them to the fact that they had re-entered the real world at last.
Harper's Island, with all its peace and its quiet and its past (and all too recent) bloodshed, seemed more than just thirty-seven miles off the coast—it was a world apart.
Tucking his head into his chest, staring down silently into Abby's blanket-covered lap, Jimmy tried to shy away from all of the attention. He never thought such a crowd would have come together to meet them, to see the last two survivors, and he felt like an idiot for neither expecting this sort of arrival, or being able to shield Abby from their stares. It was a mistake he immediately regretted; he'd given the nosy mainlanders too much credit. Anything tragic and morbid was usually lapped up in the news and, even after seven years, many longtime residents of Seattle remembered the horrific tale of a serial killer gone savage on the normally idyllic—if sometimes downright boring—island.
Time seemed to stand still. Jimmy felt like he could hear each individual scream, and blink at every flash that stung the corner of his eyes. For the first time since the nightmare on the island had ended, he swallowed as the nagging fear began to well up inside of him again. This wasn't what he wanted; all he wanted was to be with Abby forever. Even the waves seemed to slow under the weight of his own hesitance, keeping the boat as far off the coast as he could want.
He didn't want to go any further. Suddenly, docking at the harbor was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't want to have to relive the horror, or put Abby through the pain and the grief of remembering—as if she could ever forget—all that had happened to them. He wanted it all to be over… but it wasn't.
Not yet, at least.
Jimmy sighed.
He wondered how long before the name of John Wakefield would be thrown around—as if the reporters had read his mind, someone hollered out a question about the murderer—and, though his every muscle ached and he felt too stiff in the motion, a deep scowl etched itself on his cut and bloodied face.
But it was the look that flashed across Abby's colorless expression that made him even angrier. Like him, she'd kept quiet on the boat ride over, understandably lost in her thoughts, and though she had pointedly looked down at the bottom of the small boat when the cameras began to flash in their direction, it was impossible for either of them to pretend that they weren't there.
She didn't ignore the crowd for long, though; it was the single, callous mention of John Wakefield that caught her attention. Her head jerked up, her mouth went slack so that it was hanging partly open in surprise, and she actually—his brave, courageous Abby—flinched when the murderer's name was tossed out at them like a weapon.
Under the weight of the heavy blankets the Coast Guard had draped over their shoulders, she started to tremble slightly; a quick glance showed that she was frowning now, her dark eyes narrowed on something that he was pretty sure he couldn't see. It was early afternoon, the breeze off the ocean was comfortable, but Jimmy knew that being cold had nothing to do with the way she was shaking.
Slipping his wrist assuredly under her blanket, he sought out her hand with his own. Jimmy leaned into her as he intertwined their fingers, wordlessly trying to protect her from anyone and everyone. A nagging feeling of guilt lurked in the back of his mind, worrying him that he might be too late, but he had to try. He would never, he promised himself just then, allow Abby to be so close to death as she was only a few hours ago—a few hours, maybe, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.
Though he still felt her minute tremors, and she had stiffened against the touch of his shoulder, she did give his hand a tight squeeze in return. The gesture banished his guilt; only a firm resolve to take care of Abby, to shower her with a love he'd worked hard to deny until he saw her again, remained.
Jimmy could honestly say that he loved her more than his own life. Somewhere, deep down, he'd always known that—but it took diving off a cliff, tackling the man that was threatening her, and watching Abby save them both in the end to make him understand the depths of his devotion. What did it matter to him as long as she was okay? He'd been prepared to sign a false confession so that she wouldn't be hurt, and he wouldn't stop at that.
Yes, it was that sort of love.
And, remarkably, it had only been a handful of days since she came back to him, since she returned to Harper's Island after an absence of seven years, but it felt like no time had passed at all. For all he knew, he could be eighteen again, sitting in the bed of his truck with Abby. She would be lying right beside him, smelling of the ocean and sunshine and long summer nights, her hand holding tight to his just like this—
—until more screams, more hollers, more flashes and a sharp jolt as the boat regrettably stopped reminded Jimmy exactly where they were.
Why they were…
The police were waiting for them at the harbor. That, at least, wasn't exactly a surprise. The man from the Coast Guard who answered their distress call—after finally being convinced that, yes, there were still survivors of John Wakefield's second rampage on the island and that, no, this wasn't someone's sick idea of a joke—assured them that a rescue boat would be sent for them immediately to return them to Seattle. The police would then pick them up at the harbor. They were very interested in learning how Jimmy and Abby survived, and how they managed to avoid being found when the police searched the entire island the initial time they were called there.
They weren't the only ones.
He wasn't quite sure what they were going to tell the police. Just the sight of their uniforms, of the flashing red and blue siren lights as they mingled with the continual bright white camera flashes, made his stomach drop down to his feet. It was an unwelcome reminder of a darker period in Jimmy's life—when Abby wasn't sitting beside him, and her absence made him reckless. There was no doubt that he was innocent, but he had never forgotten being accused of murder by the Seattle PD.
Having now seen murder firsthand—the act itself, and the repercussions—he knew he couldn't do it. It just wasn't him and, while the good officers eventually agreed, the experience left him no fan of the mainland police. To hear that they would be waiting for him explicitly had given Jimmy second thoughts about leaving the island… but those second thoughts lasted for about, well, a second. He'd seen Abby, he'd watched the resolute way she waited for rescue, and he knew he would follow her to the ends of the earth if he had to.
Besides, he'd barely survived the blast at the marina that nearly cost him his life. He didn't know how exactly he survived, or why really, but he was grateful for it. However, the proximity of the blast meant that he was unconscious for most of Wakefield's carnage. He came to just in time to discover that his best friend had fallen victim to Wakefield's knife before an urge to protect and a desire for revenge, coupled with an instinct to survive, led him to join the others in their final stand.
Jimmy actually fought the bastard hand to hand inside the church in order to give Abby the chance to escape and fire the flare. That was all he remembered until he woke up, bound and gagged, the prisoner of Henry Dunn.
But Henry was dead now, too. It was only that morning—though it seemed like so much longer—that Abby, to save Jimmy's life, had ran a boarding knife right through her best friend.
After the tears had dried and the body was buried, she turned every ounce of her focus and determination to getting off the island at last; it seemed to physically pain her every minute they were still stranded on the eerily vacant piece of land. She was the one who marched purposefully into the boathouse and radioed the Coast Guard, and she was the one who helped him limp towards the marina.
Once they were rescued, once they were safely on the boat with Harper's Island quickly disappearing behind them, Abby seemed to just… shut down. She didn't say another word, and though she kissed him at first with an urgency he found both disconcerting and titillating, he couldn't help but feel that she wasn't entirely there. That she had left a part of her—and an important part, too—back on the island.
Jimmy, trying his best not to pressure her, and just relishing the fact that they were together and alive, supported her in her chosen silence. But the silence, he was beginning to understand, couldn't last forever—the cries and the questions and the calls from the crowd were already so deafening—and he knew he couldn't keep his own questions back forever, either.
He needed to know what happened while he was out, and while he and Abby were kept separated by Henry. He needed her to tell him—he needed to understand what made Henry do it.
It was obvious that he didn't know anywhere near enough of what happened over the last few days—just the grisly aftermath, the body count, and the unfortunate identity of Wakefield's accomplice. A lot of it was a blur, brought on by fear, shock, injury and exhaustion; or even lies told to him by a sociopath he once thought he trusted. The only person he knew he could trust was being unnaturally quiet and pensive, keeping to herself, but Jimmy didn't push her.
He would wait until she was ready. Until the end of time, if he had to. No matter what, he would be there for Abby.
If, of course, she let him.
The weight in the boat shifted then, drawing Jimmy from his thoughts. Setting the memories and the worries and the questions aside, he gave Abby's hand another reassuring squeeze. He glanced up, and looked straight out ahead at what awaited the two of them.
The crowd, he noticed, had parted to let a trio of uniformed officers through the growing throng. Two paramedics accounted for the slight tilt of the still boat over the calm waters; the two Coast Guard rescuers were disembarking, allowing the paramedics to board past them, their professional sights set on the two survivors.
And, suddenly, time was righted—and not just righted. It sped up so much so that the two paramedics—a middle-aged, heavyset man and a younger, mousy woman—had drawn up to the back of the speedboat before Jimmy could even blink; Abby was being helped up the woman, and the man was offering a supportive arm to him before he could insist that he was perfectly capable of walking off the boat himself. It was a lie, but it didn't matter. When Jimmy was too slow to reach for his arm, the hefty man placed it assuredly around Jimmy's shoulders and followed their prospective partners towards the dock.
Two of the three police officers remained at the front of the crowd, trying to maintain control and keep the press and the well-wishers away from the battered and beleaguered pair. The third, a tawny-haired and freckle-faced rookie, let the paramedics lead Jimmy and Abby by before following close behind.
An ambulance was backed up to the docks, the back door wide open. It was ready to receive them. Jimmy saw the empty stretchers laid out inside and was grateful that he didn't have to use it. As sore as he was, and as much he ached, he could walk—and, as the paramedics started with the essential basics, such as taking their temperatures, their blood pressure and checking for anything obviously broken, Jimmy had the sudden urge to keep on walking.
He was exhausted. He hadn't had a good night's rest in days. The blast had nearly killed him, there were numerous injuries—bruises, burns and cuts—all over his body, and he'd seen things he wished he could unsee. He had absolutely no desire to be looked at by anyone; he came from the school that fresh air, a cold beer and a couple days sleep would have him sorted out in no time.
Maybe it was a guy thing, but Jimmy hated doctors almost as much as the police.
It was only when Abby looked over her shoulder at him, searching for him and making sure that he was still there, that Jimmy allowed himself to be shuffled into the back of the ambulance.
The paramedic that helped Jimmy went to the front of the ambulance and got into the driver seat; his partner climbed in with Abby and Jimmy, followed by the third police officer. And then the door was pulled shut behind them. He sighed in relief. It made him feel much better now that the hundreds of eyes couldn't find him anymore.
As the ambulance siren flicked on, the alarms blaring and the back of the vehicle rocking enough to jolt each and every one of Jimmy's bruises, the silence inside was finally broken when the cop cleared his throat and recited like a robot, "This ambulance has been directed to bring you to the Northwest Hospital & Medical Center to be checked out first. After that, I've been instructed to accompany you back to the station where you will get the chance to talk with the Federal Bureau of Investigations."
"The FBI?" Abby murmured in interest, her voice quiet and thin. It was the first thing Jimmy heard her say since the boat ride started and, if it wasn't for the fact that she sounded so detached, he might have thought that her escape from Harper's Island had been the best thing for her.
"Yes," the officer answered. He sounded puzzled. "No one informed you that your case has been turned over to the FBI?"
There was a pause, and then she shook her head slowly. "No."
No… No, Jimmy thought as Abby's frown made his protective nature kick back into gear. Who would tell the survivors anything?
Author's Note: Well, here I go. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to undertake a longer than a one shot fic or a few short ficlets, but I thought: why not? I have quite a few ideas for this, and while I know that the first chapter doesn't really say much, I needed it to set up what I'm going to follow this with. I promise it'll have much more action, answers and interaction starting with the next chapter -- until then, though, I hope you enjoyed this and it'll be great if you want to stick around for the ride :)
