Prologue
In Greek mythology, there was a power that ruled supreme to mortal humans, supreme even to the numerous immortal gods and goddesses. A power revered by one and all. A power, known as The Fates. It was these Three Sisters who created the destiny for each living being, and in whose hands rested the life threads of all mankind. Clotho would spin each thread, Lachesis would measure it, and Atropos would cut it. There was no escape from their power, and there was rarely any challenge to their decisions. I say rarely because there is only a single documented account from Ancient Greek times – and only one single occurrence which presented itself in modern times, half a world away, in Palm Beach, Florida.
It just so happens with this latter case, that Clotho was exceptionally proud of two particular life lines she had woven. Her sister, Lachesis, was also truly fond of these two mortals, and while she introduced various tragedies, trials, and tribulations into their destinies, she also instilled in them an inner strength which survived all hardships, a capacity to love unconditionally, and a bond that would link them together for all eternity. A bond whose strength would end up surprising even The Fates themselves.
And so it came time for Lachesis to measure the end of Christopher Lorenzo's life thread. She had envisioned a bullet from a crazed, female Deputy District Attorney, and so she was forced to act accordingly. She marked the place, and with much dismay, handed the line to Atropos.
Atropos had cut innumerable lives, but few times had she experienced such grief as now with Christopher's. Her mighty, gleaming sheers trembled at the spot Lachesis had marked, and she began to cut the line. Only at the pleading outcry of her sisters did she halt her task. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos looked at the thread in astonishment.
The life thread of Rita Lee Lance had interwoven itself with Christopher's, blurring all distinction between the two.
Lachesis had created many a bond between two souls…but never had one manifested itself in such a fashion. No, this was truly a first for The Sisters who predated even time itself. It was then that they came to the powerful epiphany: to sever Christopher Lorenzo's life line would inevitably evoke the severance of Rita Lee Lance's.
Their decision was simple, once a new vision inspired them and they foresaw all the wonderful possibilities Chris and Rita could share as they grew old together. The young mortals would be rewarded with the opportunity to express their soul-binding love for each other. The line had not been completely cut, so all hope was not lost. Each Fate laid a hand on the special thread, and in unison they exclaimed, "all is restored."
When it came to mortals, Christopher Lorenzo and Rita Lee Lance had always acclaimed the prestigious and rare title of Favorite of The Fates, and after they proved just how united their destinies should be, they became The Sisters' definition and standard for soul mates. Who better than these favored ones to complete the unthinkable, unheard of act of motivating Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos into actually resetting a plan of destiny…
And so entered a new chapter in the combined life thread and destiny of The Sams…one that began with a simple, "unplanned" confession…
Timeframe: In my second solo fan-fic, I dare to ask the question "what if." What if Chris had actually heard Rita's "I love you" in the beginning of Natural Selection I?
The Three Faces of Fate
The deep reds and fiery oranges of the dawn splashed across the sky, painting the beginning of a new day with a technique like no human artist could ever master. In the east, the Florida sun had just peaked over the horizon, ready to wake Palm Beach and bathe the city in its radiating heat.
A solemn, solitary figure occupied the private beach of the 400 Block of East Palm Drive. Seeking solace and an escape from the crushing weight of her thoughts, the woman had been irrevocably drawn as always to the ocean, and was now gazing out at the blinding gleam of the waves as they were illuminated by the sun's rays. She sat with her legs bent toward her chest, and her arms folded across her knees. Every now and then she would lift her chin off her arms, only to lower it back down a few minutes later. It was strikingly obvious to the occasional jogger who happened to pass her by that the woman who seemed to be staring out to sea was actually a million miles away from her place in the sand.
And this observation wasn't far from the truth. Sergeant Rita Lee Lance was drifting back and forth in her awareness of the thundering water that spanned her entire view and the city in transition behind her, the hum of its notorious nightlife being replaced with the frantic buzz of the new working day. She had witnessed the breathtaking sunrise, and its awe-inspiring effect on her beloved ocean, but her current frame of mind kept her immune to its beauty.
Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning...
A haunting echo of a time long ago. The stirring memory of a father and daughter memorizing rhymes over breakfast filtered through Rita's cyclone of thoughts.
"Talk about a storm brewing," she muttered to herself. She briefly closed her eyes and gave her head a quick shake in an effort to make the memory – the entire world in general – just disappear. "What a mess."
But Rita was unsuccessful in wishing the world away, and she cringed as a tidal wave of inwardly directed anger and embarrassment washed over her. Closing her eyes tight, she lowered her forehead onto her arms, and succumbed once more to the opposing voices of her heart and her mind, as they remained locked in a battle she was powerless to halt:
"Okay. So, I told Chris that I love him. It's no big deal. We say 'I love you' all the time; he probably didn't even notice the difference. It just came out… I mean, he had been shot, for crying out loud! I thought I was going to lose him…. Jeez, it's a miracle I lasted four years before slipping up!"
"Actually, I'm an idiot. He's my best friend! He's my partner. And I just ruined the single most important relationship in my life."
"Maybe he didn't even hear me."
"No. I saw it in his eyes...he heard me. He knew... I just don't know how he'll break it to me."
"Maybe he feels the same way..."
"Yeah, and maybe I should go rub a lamp. God...how could I have been so stupid..."
It was that song Rita realized, seething with contempt and snapping her head up as she opened her eyes. That one blasted song she had allowed to truly capture her heart and soul. Three weeks had passed since the morning she had last heard it...
******FLASH******
Attired in her favorite turquoise blazer and skirt, Rita descended the stairs of her stuccoed apartment building with a bounce in her high-heeled step and a glint in her sea-green eyes. No doubt this was going to be a great day. It wasn't even 9am, yet she had already completed an eight-mile jog along her favorite strip of beach, her incentive sparked by an absolutely spectacular sunrise; had cleaned up and taken a leisurely coffee break facing the beach on her third story lanai; and was now on her way into "the shop" and the job she loved. Life was good.
As she reached her powder blue LeBaron convertible, Rita tossed her leather organizer onto the passenger seat, and secured her gold shield to her waist. The vehicle started right up – an act which brought a wicked smirk to Rita's face as she envisioned her partner entering the Palm Beach Police Department, late yet again, with his hands covered in car oil.
Sergeant Christopher Lorenzo would defend to his death that his 1966 Charger was a classic, no matter how many times it left him stranded on the side of the road, and no matter how many times Rita would tease him.
And Rita derived so much joy from teasing him.
As she pulled out onto East Palm Drive, her mocking simper unconsciously softened to a loving grin, as her thoughts remained focused on her best friend. Rita was closer to Chris than she was to anyone on this earth. He was her rock. Her confidant. Her ally on the force and in every aspect of her life. His mere presence brightened her world; his treasured friendship safeguarded her soul. How many people could say that they entrusted their very life to someone? And how many people would gladly give their life for that someone without a second thought? Sure, as partners Chris and Rita's willingness went with the territory, but it also represented so much more. To the Sams and to all who saw them, this precious reliance symbolized a bond that no power in the universe could sever.
Rita frowned suddenly in disappointment, remembering that her Captain would be debriefing her on her undercover assignment with Sergeant Derek McNeill as soon as she set foot in the station.
It wasn't that Rita doubted in any way Derek's abilities as a cop – he was, after all, Chris' ex-partner and it's not like she didn't know him – it was just, well, he just wasn't...Chris.
With Chris, Rita had an almost psychic connection. Out on the line they seemed to work with a single mind, instinctively and silently communicating in potentially fatal situations where timing and skill were of the essence to ensure survival. Their coworkers called it uncanny, said they were the perfect team. But when either Lance or Lorenzo was given a solo loan-out assignment, the partners didn't view it as "messing with perfection" – they viewed it as separation from a best friend, anxiety in having new backup, sadness and fear in not being able to watch each other's back.
Rita snapped out of her sullen train of thought, and reminded herself that the case would only take a couple of days. She'd simply resolve to the fact that it would be a fun change of pace, as she wasn't willing to let anything dampen her fantastic mood. Shrugging off her residual melancholy she turned on the radio to clear her head.
The familiar guitar chords began, immediately stirring Rita's soul as she sharply inhaled. God, how she loved this song... Mere words set to music, yet they rendered her logical mind incapable of denying the existence of true love. It was a rare occasion that Rita actually permitted herself to lower her guard down long enough to focus on such emotions...what was it about this song? Maybe the answer was as simple as the fact that it heralded the truth...
Rita lost herself in the words. A flawless dictation, if there ever was one. Precisely the scene which had transpired years ago between two young, hotshot detectives as they strode side-by-side into Palm Beach's Homicide Division for the very first time.
There was no mistaking the truth. There it was, its existence melodically disguised in hypnotic, ballad form. In the safety of the solitude of her car, Rita could allow herself to acknowledge the truth that she had always loved Chris.
But, then the song suggested she tell him all this… The very idea made Rita scoff out loud. God no, she could never do that. Dodging bullets seemed safer than potentially losing Chris by opening up that portion of her heart to him. She was his best friend, that was true, but no... The thought of telling him how she felt was as terrifying as it was inconceivable.
Would the truth really set her free, though? As the song promised? For the most part, she barely even acknowledged its existence. Rita heaved a heavy sigh: one second the magic of this song scared her to death, and in the next second it dared her to conjure up a plethora of exhilarating and inspiring "what ifs." Well, if nothing else, it was right about one thing – life definitely seemed cruel on this matter.
Rita was on pure auto-pilot as she reached the light at Ocean Boulevard. When a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and brought her back in touch with her surroundings, she found that she had traveled more than half of her morning commute without even realizing it. The sigh which accompanied this sudden insight was backed up with a self-conscious squirm, however irrational and Rita knew it, directed at the illusionary threat that the drivers around her could see exactly who and what had diverted her attention. Mercifully, it wasn't too much farther to the station.
Palm Beach Police Department gleamed in the morning sun, its beautiful blue-glassed exterior beckoning the anxious sergeant with the promise of a safe haven from her conflicting emotions.
Rita gratefully pulled into her assigned parking spot, turning off the radio and with it
her heart. Keys in hand, she got out.
"Five, four, three, two, one."
The mental countdown ended and she grinned mischievously as the garage was filled with the furious rumbling of an obviously ill car. She sauntered around to the passenger side of her own vehicle, leaning against it as she folded her arms across her chest, waiting.
Rita's face lit up as the man who had occupied her thoughts the entire way in, pulled up next to her. The feelings brought on by her special song were long gone now, a testament to Rita's stunning ability to switch gears with lightning speed and completely bury her love for her best friend.
Said best friend had dropped his head onto his steering wheel, thankful to have made the entire trip without stalling. Now if only he could open the driver's side door...
"Let's see, 'Beau' was the blond one so I guess that'd make you 'Luke Duke,' now wouldn't it?" Rita teased, patting Chris on the head as he attempted to contort his well-chiseled frame through the small, open window.
"Hah!" was the only response Chris could manage, as he smirked at Rita and grimaced in discomfort.
"I see the Detroit Magic turned on you again," Rita continued, smiling sweetly while Chris triumphantly placed his feet on the ground and straightened his bright purple jacket with a true macho-like flair. "You're in an abusive relationship, Christopher."
"Funny, Sam, very funny," he commented, mimicking her innocent tone. Content that his appearance was back in order, Chris whipped his head toward Rita's direction, his deep blue eyes flashing with a predatory gleam.
Rita could see exactly where this was going. She offered Chris a Cheshire-cat grin in response, and matched his challenging gaze with an equally determined look of her own. Never breaking the unintimidated eye contact, she began slowly walking backwards as Chris inched his way near her. He suddenly made his move and pounced for her, but she pivoted at the last second and raced off toward the station.
High heels and laughter echoed throughout the cement parking garage, and when Chris finally caught up with Rita he picked her up from behind and spun her around. Setting her back on her feet they dissolved into hysterical laughter, and agreed to walk the rest of the way like civilized people.
The few officers lingering outside the building exchanged knowing glances and merely shook their heads as they were greeted by the radiant duo, who strolled by them arm in arm. They were entertained as always by the couple's playful antics, but in no way surprised: Lance and Lorenzo were made for each other. It was common knowledge that they were inseparable – and blind to what everyone else could see.
Upon entering the swinging, palm-tree stenciled doors of the Homicide Division, the two detectives set about their daily rituals: Rita taking a seat at her desk, Chris forgetting how to make the coffee, Rita getting up to instruct him, both of them rolling their eyes when Captain Lipschitz bellowed the summon to get into his office.
On this particular morning though, Rita was unaware of the song that was still silently casting its spell in the back of her mind...
******FLASH******
"Oh, I 'told him' all right," Rita murmured in a harsh whisper, her anger mounting. The wind picked up its pace, stinging the eyes which were trying so desperately to keep their tears from falling. The angrier Rita became, the stronger the wind seemed to whip around her, as if her emotions were in command of the elements.
If only Chris hadn't been shot...
The harsh reality that Rita simply couldn't ignore was that she had come close – way too close – to losing him. Given any other circumstance, she would never have slipped and confessed anything.
Too many close calls...
In the span of just a few short days, she herself could have been killed, George Donovan, Assistant District Attorney and friend, had been critically wounded, and then Chris had almost died.
And everything had revolved around a single person.
Debra Bouchard.
The mere thought of the deranged woman left Rita dizzy with fury. Hindsight is 20/20 vision as they say, and she suddenly realized that the same psychopath who had almost taken her best friend's life could very well have also stolen his heart – and that thought left her feeling physically ill.
******FLASH******
The cold reception Rita had received from the Deputy District Attorney handling the Denton case, Debra Bouchard, left the Sams fairly puzzled. But, as they strolled from the hallway into the Homicide Division, their confusion was instantly lifted, replaced with Rita's mocking amusement and Chris' whining distress. One look at Chris' desk and it didn't take a detective to figure out that his secret admirer had struck again.
The flower arrangement was huge, the balloon was heart-shaped, and the teddy bear was named Cozy.
Chris grumbled his plea to be the first to read the card, but Rita wouldn't hear of it.
"Her name is Cozy. She'll keep your bed warm until I'm in your arms."
Her laughter barely held in check, Rita gave a stellar performance in her recitation. She simply couldn't pass up this perfect opportunity to taunt her partner, and yet somehow, somewhere deep inside her – secretly and almost unconsciously – this admirer situation was just one more dig at her...
The parking garage had been quiet that night.
Rita and George discussed the blown undercover operation as they trudged to their vehicles, exhausted from the long day and anxious to get home. A red van passed them by, barely registering with the sergeant and the ADA...until George suddenly yelled "GUN!".
Before Rita could react, the ear-shattering blasts of a shotgun split the night and George hurled her to the ground. Just as abruptly as it had begun, the sound of exploding bombs was silenced, and Rita's world went black.
She awakened to red and white flashing lights, as a pair of ambulances illuminated her cement surroundings with a dizzying, eerie glow. The forceful coupling of her head with the solid garage floor had created a fierce, pounding reply from her brain as it voiced its discontent. But, it was the only pain Rita could locate, and it was soon accompanied by an incredible sinking feeling in her stomach as she realized George had been hit. Rita watched helplessly as he was transported swiftly away in the first ambulance and she was forced to follow suit in the second.
After a tedious examination at the hospital, Rita was reaching the constraints of her politeness. She had never really cared for doctors in the first place, plus she had never liked people fussing over her. Her energy supply had been taxed to its limit, she was worried about George, and she just wanted to find Chris.
Chris.
Rita spotted her best friend waiting in the hallway, and her entire world narrowed in on this precious focus. She made a beeline for his arms, taking notice of nothing but her Sam, and the mirage of emotions that flashed across his face as he rushed to meet her halfway. No doubt she had given him a terrible scare, and knowing Chris as well as she did, she knew in her heart that he was filled with rage at someone harming her and probably blaming Derek or himself. Locked in each other's arms, though, they found the solace that no medicine in the world could administer.
"You okay?"
Rita nodded. "George is hurt bad, Chris."
"Yeah, I know. Let's sit you down."
It wasn't until they moved toward a row of chairs that Rita became aware of Derek and the Captain's presence. She explained her diagnosis, recited what she could remember about the shooting, and didn't hide the fact that she was angry at herself for getting knocked unconscious. Her willingness to stay at the hospital for George fell upon deaf ears, as the Captain soothingly refused, ready to make it an order if necessary.
The order never came, as Rita didn't have the strength to protest as much as she normally would have. She reluctantly stood up, and drifted right back into Chris' arms. Walking out to the car she just couldn't break the contact with him.
"I'm going to take her home."
"Ah come on, Lorenzo. The woman's got a head injury, you're gonna put her in that heap?!"
"Don't worry, Captain, it probably won't start." Nothing like a potshot at Chris' car to initiate her first smile of the evening, and as the Sams made eye contact, Rita held back a giggle.
"I don't know why I take this abuse!"
Once in the car, Rita briefly leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, waiting for her equilibrium to rebalance.
"You need anything, you call me, okay?" Derek offered.
Was there a polite way to tell him that she just wanted to be with Chris? Rita doubted it, so she simply nodded and said, "Thanks."
Snuggled up in her favorite gray nightshirt, Rita sat stretched out alongside Chris on the couch in her apartment, her slender back leaning up against his strong chest. Feeling his arm wrapped around her, there was no place in the world she would rather be.
Chris had come home with her. He had stayed. He had even swiped the security video from the garage.
His quick call to Carl at the switchboard resulted in her knowledge of all the info on a red van the surveillance footage caught leaving the garage at 22:33, and Rita listened silently as Chris ordered the all points bulletin.
She patted his leg after he closed up his cell phone. "Listen, I'm going to go to bed, okay? Turn off the lights when you leave?"
"Uh, you know, I think I'm going to park it on the couch tonight. Come on, you never know."
Rita's initial surprised reaction quickly softened. He had done it again: he offered to stay. His constant protectiveness never ceased to amaze her, and she rewarded him for his efforts with a kiss, relishing in his embracing response. "Sleep well."
"You sleep well, too."
Despite the unpleasant events of the evening, Rita would sleep soundly, knowing her best friend was on guard downstairs. Her last waking thought, wishing that he was upstairs with her, she quickly attributed to the painkillers.
******FLASH******
It was all the work of Debra. The secret admirer, the shooting at the garage, everything.
Everything...
"Oh, God," Rita cringed.
She realized that the next remembrance in this logically sequenced, haunting progression could quite possibly break her. Never, in all the nearly fatal predicaments she had survived as a cop, had Rita's instinct of self-preservation been as powerful as it was at this moment. She leapt to her feet and raced off down the beach, frantic to outrun the heart wrenching flashback she knew was just a thought away, as well as the gripping fear and blinding rage she knew would accompany it.
******FLASH******
Rita, Derek, and Chris stood outside a low-rent strip club deciding their next move in tracking Boo Maxwell, the man whose fingerprints were found all over the red van involved in the garage shooting.
Chris made his exit to complete a trial prep at Debra Bouchard's apartment, while Rita and Derek followed their latest lead to the next bar along the line.
When they found their suspect, Maxwell was anything but cooperative, though he quickly changed his tune after receiving Rita's rather...debilitating...persuasion.
Maxwell's tale was in no way what they had expected.
"There was a Deputy DA handling my case. Said I'd walk my charges if I took you out."
"What's his name?"
"It's a woman, lady. She wants you dead real bad. Said you stole her man – the only man she's ever loved, ain't that tragic?"
"You give me a name, damn it," Rita spat, not in the mood for any more games.
"Debra Bouchard."
"Debra Bouchard?" Rita looked to Derek in astonishment. "I hardly even know her."
"Really? Well, your partner, he knew her real good."
A knife of sheer terror impaled straight through Rita's heart as she realized the repercussions of the statement. It took her several tries to find her voice. "He just went to her apartment," she managed to choke out breathlessly before sprinting to the car, leaving Derek to toss Maxwell at a uniformed officer and rush after her.
The silence in the plush apartment was deafening, but the pounding of Rita's heart threatened to drown out all sounds anyway.
"Chris?"
No answer.
God, why didn't he answer...
Rita's instincts kicked in and her panic began to rise.
A sound came from another room, guiding Rita and Derek to Debra's bedroom. Entering the doorway, their view was obscured by one of many billowy curtains that gave the room an eerie, surreal ambiance.
Moving the curtain aside, the officers unconsciously catalogued the scene: Debra murmuring to Chris as they lay in her bed, her arm wrapped around him. Chris curled up on his side.
Not moving.
"Chris?" Rita tried again.
Debra sucked in her breath, agitated at the presence of intruders. "Just get out of here. You leave us alone. We're together now, forever." She closed her eyes.
Rita and Derek both jumped as a muffled gunshot rang out. Rita made a mad dash for Chris, throwing the blanket away from him and moving him off of Debra. Her nightmare began.
"Oh, God!"
Blood.
So much blood.
The dark red of Chris' life essence, staining in stark contrast to the white of his shirt.
Rita cradled Chris' head in her arms, leaning her face down close to his. "He's not breathing!" she cried to Derek, immediately starting CPR. Derek grabbed the phone next to the bed, declaring the police emergency to the operator and ordering for an ambulance.
"Come on, Chris, come on," Rita pleaded, her love, her prayers, her breath of life the only weapons she possessed to keep him alive.
With the arrival of the paramedics came a slew of activity. Rita let go of Chris' gurney and his IV bag of saline only long enough to hop up into the back of the ambulance. It wasn't until they were lights-and-sirens en route to Bayside Hospital that she had the opportunity to stop and focus on the situation, fighting her fear to no avail. Tears streaming, and heart breaking, she couldn't lose him. "Christopher, don't you leave me!" Rita commanded, gently caressing his face as if the loving gesture would somehow transfer a portion of her own life force to him, and give him the strength he needed to survive.
She kept talking to him, even after they reached the hospital. "You hang on, Chris. You hear me? Everything's going to be fine." It was then that she was wrenched from his side as he was whisked off to the operating room, left standing alone in the quiet hallway.
Thankfully, she wouldn't be alone for long. The Captain rushed to Bayside to be with his best homicide team, the children he never had, worrying just as much about the officer who hadn't been shot as the one who had.
The wait for news on Chris' condition was pure agony, but the end was in sight and Rita touched Harry's shoulder to get his attention as the doctor approached them.
"Is he..." Rita wasn't even sure what she was asking.
"The bullet did a lot of damage to his upper chest and nicked his liver. There was a lot of internal bleeding. But, he's hanging on. If he can just make it through the next couple of hours he's got a good chance."
"Oh, God...please don't take him away from me," Rita silently prayed as the diagnosis and prognosis assaulted her soul.
"Are you his wife?"
His wife?
The question was as effective and as painful as a body blow, each word cutting Rita like a knife. She realized she had two options: either stay standing and collapse, or take a seat and admit the truth. "His partner," she corrected, sinking down onto a chair.
"Has his family been notified?"
His wife... Rita, having not recovered enough, made no move to answer, and was grateful to the Cap for stepping in.
"His mother's in Europe, his father's out of the state. We're all the family he's got."
"Well, if you'll leave me your phone numbers, I'll call you if there's any change."
That got Rita's attention. "I don't think we'll be going anywhere."
"I figured that. If you need anything, please have me paged. I'm Dr. Dupree." And with that, she walked away.
Rita never even heard her leave. Anguish like none she had ever experienced washed over her, her mind replaying the moment when the foundation to her entire world came crashing down. Her façade cracked yet again. "I thought I lost him, Cap," she confessed earnestly. "I mean, I really thought he was dead!" Rita became almost childlike in appearance as she turned to sob uncontrollably in the arms of the father figure who was sharing in her pain, holding on to him for dear life.
For three days Rita paced Chris' room like a caged animal, uncertain if the bottom would be dropping out of her sanity and her life. If he died, she would have no one to watch her back, no one to run to when her soul needed shelter from the world. What would she do without her Sam? She couldn't lose him. Not like this – not before she...
No, that didn't matter right now. All Rita wanted was for Chris to live. Nothing else mattered…or did it?
She sighed heavily, fighting between her alternating states of anger, despair, and hope.
Yes, hope.
Rita realized that as helpless as she felt, Chris needed all the positive energy she could give him. She stopped her anxious pacing and looked to him before moving to sit beside him on the bed. A lifetime of dealing with deaths had taught her the dangers of relying on other people, of needing them and giving them her heart and her love. But Chris... Chris had taken the fortress she so solidly and almost proudly built around her heart and detonated its destruction, first with a single smile, then with the strongest friendship she had ever known. Would her love in return be strong enough to help bring him back?
Rita gently took his hand in hers, and brought it up to her lips while smoothing his hair off his face, longing for him to open his eyes. "Chris, you listen to me," she exclaimed in a soft tone. "You are my Sam. We could always read each other's thoughts. Can you read mine now? Do you know how much I need you? I want you to fight! Do you hear me, Christopher?! Don't you let her win!"
"Rita?"
The raspy sound of her name being called easily broke through the light sleep that enveloped Rita, and she opened her eyes.
Elation and fear flooded her senses. Was this real? Was she really looking into the crystal blue eyes and smiling face of her best friend? Rita froze, hesitant that the slightest movement would cause this precious vision to disappear from sight forever.
"Good morning, Sunshine."
Pure joy raced through Rita's system, replacing her blood with a wave of relief that renewed her spirit. Chris was alive! Alive…and awake!
She tossed her blanket aside and crossed over to his bedside, smiling in disbelief. "Hi," she exclaimed incredulously, gladly accepting his outstretched hand.
"Hey."
With her other hand, Rita ran her fingers through Chris' hair. "Hi!" she beamed again, seemingly caught in the loop of pleasantries, though her tone the second time around was filled with far less shock and infinitely more gratitude.
"Hey."
Rita tucked a leg underneath herself alongside Chris on the bed, giving her the height advantage to kiss him long and hard on the forehead, and slowly slide her face down his.
She rubbed his chest and played with his chin, silently thanking God that he had pulled through, that she had reached him in time. "I love you," she declared in a heartfelt whisper before she could catch herself.
Rita felt the world instantaneously grind to a halt.
Was it her imagination, or had she actually heard the needle being scratched across a record, like in all the movies? In her next fraction-of-a-second thought she realized that being draped over Chris in her current fashion, it was safe to assume that he could feel her heart was no longer beating. With the remaining portions of this single second, Rita steeled herself into concentrating on the fact that Chris was alive. She would deal with her outburst later – right now it was essential to call upon the acting skills which made her a decorated, veteran undercover officer, ascertaining that her life was on the line, and this would have to be her greatest performance. Chosen tactic: humor.
"If you ever do that to me again…I will kill you." The change in subject would bar Chris from responding to the previous comment – if he had indeed heard her slip – and Rita knew he wouldn't pass up a battle of banter.
"You look like hell," he teased, true to form.
"Mmm, well, sleeping three nights in a chair will do that to you." Confession of love or not, Chris was Rita's best friend, and she wasn't about to resist adding, "I would hug you, but I don't want to pull out the IV."
Chris chuckled. "Three nights. Been out all that time?"
"Uh, yeah, kinda. The drugs had you even goofier than usual."
Just then, Dr. Dupree opened the door.
"I really hope you're not in the wrong room," came Chris' elicited response.
"She's your doctor," Rita told him.
"It's true. I was on ER duty the night you were brought in. I did your surgery."
Rita listened as Chris became his normal, harmless flirting self with Jillian. It gave her the time to take a deep, centering breath. She knew Chris could read her mind…and she wondered if he was simply humoring her.
She watched his expression change drastically as Dr. Dupree gave him the specifics on his injury and his long recovery time. She could tell, in no uncertain terms: he was mad.
He tightened his hold on her hand, as if to draw strength from their interlaced grip.
"Great, just frickin' terrific," he muttered belligerently.
Rita was quick to counter with the perspective that had tormented her throughout his entire ordeal, powerless to stop the hitch in her voice at speaking the words. She used his full first name to indicate just how serious she was. "We're not talking some flesh wound here, Christopher. You almost died…"
******FLASH******
Rita fell to her knees, her lungs burning for the oxygen forbidden to her during her long, shoreline sprint. If she concentrated hard enough on this physical pain, perhaps the mental pain wouldn't seem so crushing.
"You almost died..."
The chilling echo of the past continued to haunt her, coming to the forefront of her mind time and time again. Her love for her best friend waged war with her hatred toward his attacker, competing for Rita's full attention.
Years of being in shape led for a quick recovery from the effects of her run, her breathing and heart rate easily returning to normal. As Rita pulled herself upright, she concentrated on calming her mind.
Chris hadn't died.
She repeated the words over and over again to herself. Yes, it had been a very close call, but he had survived, thereby ensuring her own survival. Her fear became altered, as the question remained: would she still lose him? Chris now knew the secret of her heart...the damage could be irreparable. Her tears mixed with the saltwater already lapping over her feet, as the query still loomed on her mind: what would she do without her Sam?