Her Man
Standard disclaimers apply…
Everything was dark - dark and painful in a decidedly fuzzy way. She should never have accepted that third glass of wine. Or the fourth. Had there been a fifth glass? She couldn't remember.
Struggling against the cottony fog that seemed to have invaded every nook and cranny of her brain, she tried to stretch out an arm in a sleepy, half-conscious effort to locate... her arm would not move. Not just her arm - her entire body was immobile. Just exactly how much did she drink last night?
As she fought through the fuzzy fog, the pain surged to overwhelming proportions, stilling even the slight movements of her muscles as she stopped straining against… against whatever it was that was preventing her from moving.
She blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to clear the darkness from her vision. No matter what she tried, it was nothing but futility in the end. With unrelenting waves of pain radiating along her bones and growing to a crescendo in her skull, she concentrated on relaxing her muscles. She closed her eyes - straining to see in a world of pure darkness was not helping her situation. She only hoped the darkness was due to a distinct lack of light and not blindness. Struggling to maintain some semblance of calm, she began to tally up all that she was able to discern.
She was hurt, that much was extremely obvious, but she couldn't pinpoint where specifically the pain was coming from. So far as she could determine, the pain seemed to originate from her bones themselves. Giving up on that line of thought, she tried again to compile the facts.
Pain, darkness, cold… she was cold. The chill of whatever it was she was laying on spread up through the fabric of her clothing and into her skin, causing shivers to send trembles through her arms and legs, igniting the pain anew. She ignored the pain as much as she was able and tried to refocus.
Pain, darkness, cold. There had to be something else, some other clue as to what was happening. She couldn't feel anything that might have been used to bind her, no rope or tape or anything like that. So far as she could tell, the only reason she couldn't move was a lack of cooperation between her brain and her body.
Whatever it was she was laying on was hard. There was no way she was still in bed. Whatever it was, it was hard, unforgiving and damned cold. Possibly the floor or a table. Why would she be lying on a table? She must be on the floor, somewhere… somewhere not at home because this floor felt nothing like the floor at home.
Just as a glimmer of familiarity began to try to take hold, she felt a sharp jab on her arm, followed by the return of the foggy cotton that sought to fill her skull.
* * * * *
"Walsh!"
He lifted his eyes from the report that had been thrust toward him the moment he had stepped in to the precinct.
"What is this? It's an all boy's day?"
"What?"
"Beaumont and Shraeger decide to bond today?"
"Not that I'm aware. Why?"
Brown shrugged, turning to leave Walsh's desk.
"I haven't seen Beaumont today."
That caught Brown's attention. "You haven't? I thought you two were…"
"We are."
"Are you having…"
"No disagreements that I know of, unless she had another dream that I yelled at her."
Brown raised his brow.
Ignoring him, Walsh put down the file. "When I got up, Beaumont was already gone. I thought she might have had an early assignment today."
They both turned to watch Cole slowly stride into the room, cup of coffee in hand and a small bakery bag tucked under his arm.
"I would guess there was no early assignment."
Brown shook his head. "Maybe they decided to meet for breakfast"
"Beaumont and Shraeger?"
"The partner and the girlfriend. I'm glad I'm not in your shoes, Walsh."
"She's not my girlfriend," Walsh added as the sergeant began to leave."
"But you just said…"
"Like I told Shraeger, I'm not twelve. She's my woman."
….part one of more, to be continued at a later date…