TITLE: Not Far Gone
AUTHOR: Pedellea
RATING: PG-13 or T
SUMMARY: In a dire situation, Jake finds that though Leslie isn't alive anymore, she is still very much present. Takes place sometime after "Buried" (Season 5x16). Warning: Character death.
DISCLAIMER: Republic of Doyle belongs to Allan Hawco, Malcolm MacRury, Perry Chafe and the CBC.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Coming out of hibernation to post my first Republic of Doyle story before the final season begins. It's a bit sad, but please enjoy.
-:-:-:-
Jake awoke to a harsh pain radiating from his chest, and he groaned. He tried to curl up but was met with what felt like a branding iron searing into his right leg, liquid metal racing up all over his veins. It reminded him of when he broke his left fibula in high school, trying to impress girls by jumping hurdles. He was in crutches for six frustrating weeks.
This pain felt much worse. Jake was pretty sure a bomb exploded inside his leg and blew all the bones to bits and pieces. A long hiss escaped his lips.
"Jake?"
His breath hitched, and he froze at the familiar lilt, the voice sounding very close. That. Shouldn't. Be. He peeled opened his eyes with effort.
"L-Leslie?"
There she sat, right by his head, hunched slightly over him, that patented furrow of brow etched into her face. Jake breathed with reverence.
"You're... here. Am I..?"
Her slender finger met his lip, resting on it warmly.
"I'm here now." Her brows furrowed deeper. "How bad are you hurt?"
He blinked up at her, shifting a little and wincing some. There's pretty much a raw, gaping hole in place of my heart when you went. Leslie frowned.
"No, I don't mean that. I mean now."
Jake's eyebrows bunch up lightly, curious.
"You c'n – you know what I'm..."
"Being where I am has its perks, I suppose. Looks like you're roughed up pretty bad."
The fragments of memory are hard to piece together. Des' frantic arms, waving around in the office, talking about – drugs, was it? Then he's chasing someone into a warehouse, when a pain explodes in his head. Mal's face comes into view, prodding him to know if he really is ready to do this. He had shrugged it off on the way out the door.
Then, clear as a bell, Jake remembered that this is the first case he's been on in a long time, since being thrown in prison, since being acquitted, since carrying her lifeless body out of the earth. He quivered at the image, feeling her dead weight in his aching arms, dragging him to the ground.
"Jake?"
It takes a bit of time for his eyes to focus again on Leslie. He reaches up an arm to reach her, expecting to cut right through her. But his hand confirms what he sees and lands on the soft blonde tresses of her hair, everything as real as ever. His hand travels down to find the curve on her face, and he blows out a short, weary sigh.
"I've missed this."
Leslie offers him a frown tinged smile before reaching her own hand toward his cheek. Her hand is warm on his skin, and he lowers his upraised arm and grasps her wrist gently.
"Jake, you need to get help."
The pain in his leg grows then like a volcano eruption. With a wince and a groan, he casts his eyes up. It's then he sees a torn ceiling above him with a man-sized hole. He must've come from up there.
"Jake?"
"Hmm?"
"This is not good." Her eyes are trained on the ceiling, and falls back on him. "You're in shock."
He looks at her, takes the whole of her in, snorts a little with a slight grin.
"Yes I am."
She gives him an exasperated look, the one where her lip is unable to stop from curling up just a tiny bit.
"Behave." Leslie cocks her head a little. "Can you get up at all?"
Jake thinks a moment, troubled somewhat by the muddle in his head, and offers a shrug. He mentally counts to three and pushes himself up with his arms. A fresh bloom of pain fans out from his chest, like someone had used his middle for batting practice. He doubles over with coughs and gasps, trying to contain the fire inside. A shift of his injured leg did not help things by any measure.
There's an arm across his shoulder blade, then a soft whisper of his name. He tries his hardest to rein in the coughing before replying without lifting his head.
"'mmm - good."
Jake could hear a sigh ghost by his ear. Clutching his chest, he turned his head sideways, and saw Leslie still looking at the hole in the ceiling.
"Normally, I would beg to differ," she glances quickly at him before gazing back up, "but I really think you have to find a way to get out."
Jake looked up again, then around. He sniffed a little, clutching his ribs. It smelled like a musty basement. There are no windows, but light is penetrating in from the gaping hole in the ceiling. Where he sat, he could see slits in the cracked wall across the room and what looked to be a doorway just to the left. The basement has a door to the outside. That was his best shot.
He looks behind him and sees a concrete wall not too far behind. He scoots himself gingerly and slowly using his good leg, but it doesn't offset the inferno he has set off in his damaged leg from the movement. Still, Jake persists until his back finally finds the wall, which he hits with a grunt. The world has gone tilt-a-whirl on him, and he can't breathe properly anymore.
Jake is a little scared that he is this winded from such a short distance, but mostly he's just bone tired.
In the increasing haze he feels her hand touching the side of his face tenderly, and he sags into it.
"Can you move?" There's a stroke near his lip. "For me?"
He blinks up to see Leslie's well-practiced frown fixed in his eyes and he feels his heart shiver. I'd move to where you are in a heartbeat.
She smiles sadly at him, leaning in close enough for him to feel her warm breath, for their lips to almost touch.
"Close your eyes, Jake. You should rest."
He does.
-:-:-:-
"Jake, I swear if you took this time to nap..."
The rebuke died on Mal's lips when his head finally registered the full measure of the scene before him. Even in the dim light of the dank basement, Jake's colour looked a few shades lighter. He remained slumped against the wall, boneless.
"Jake."
Mal was by his son's side, and he grasped Jake's chin gently. A soft groan and wince later, Jake's eyes opened with effort and tracked lazily across Mal's face.
"Ski'p..."
"Jake, what the hell happened?"
Jake was looking beyond Mal, taking a slow scan of the room. Mal glanced behind him, but there was no one to be seen.
"Jake?"
Mal laid a hand the younger man's shoulder, and used his other hand to grasp Jake around his wrist to check his pulse. It thumped under his fingers like a soft drill, and his skin felt like ice.
"Shit."
Mal quickly shrugged off his jacket and was draping it over Jake when he saw a familiar black rectangular shape on the floor just by Jake's hip.
"Jake, your phone's right here. Why didn't you...?"
"Da'. D'you see... 'er?"
Mal frowned.
"See who?"
Jake locked eyes with Mal and starred as intently as he could without a word. Leslie. It had been months since he's caught Jake talking to Leslie like she was in the room. Every time Mal walked in the room during a conversation, Jake would stop with a frown on his face, and he'd saunter away with his eyes on the floor. Mal knew a little something about it – he too lost a love once and found his children staring at him with worried eyes for a while.
The fact that Jake was asking him if he saw Leslie made it certain in Mal's heart that his son was worse off than he looked. Mal sighed a little.
"Jake, you're in a bad way right now, son."
"'m goin'... crazy, aren' I?"
"Well," Mal lightly chuckled, "you've always been a little unhinged."
"Blame... you."
Jake closed his eyes then and sagged back against the wall. Mal grabbed his shoulder and shook gently.
"Jake! It's no time for a nap, b'y."
The younger man didn't budge, so Mal dug his fingers in a little deeper. He stirred with a grimace.
"I'm not kidding, son. We need to get you outta here. My truck's right outside that door. There's just ten, fifteen feet of space to go. Can you move?" Mal sighed with concern. "For me?"
Jake blinks up at him, suddenly a little more alive. He stares for a moment before giving one small, simple nod. Mal nods back.
"I'll stand on your left, and you use the wall to help."
Mal hoists his son up, ignores his quiet whimpers of pain, and marches them both as quick as they can on what he knows is one badly broken leg. By the time they reach the door, Jake is slumped heavily against him, completely spent.
"C'mon, son. Help me out. Just three more steps."
Jake grunts and drags him good foot obediently until they are out the door and into the passenger side of Mal's truck. Mal secures his jacket around Jake's neck, heart thumping in worry as he watches his son. Jake's full weight is resting against the door of the car, and he is staring straight back into the hole they came out of. It takes a second for Mal to understand why.
"Son. She's not there."
Mal breathes, fingering the key in the ignition.
"But she's not gone." He turns the key. "She's not gone."
"'n know."
Mal sighs, reaching a hand up to his shoulder with a soft squeeze.
"Close your eyes, Jake. You should rest."
He does.