Anthem of the Angels
Chapter Two: Killing Me Softly
Just as Ange had predicted, ten excruciating minutes crawled past before the ambulance finally arrived, bringing with it a squeal of tires that Evan hadn't realised actually existed outside of bad spy thrillers and most annoying chick-flick scenarios. Brooke had always loved those movies - well, the chick-flicks, anyway - but he personally had never been able to see the point of them. They were all so similar; the women got dumped, got drunk and cried on each other's shoulders into the early hours, whilst the men got depressed, got drunk and realised they couldn't live without aforementioned brainless women.
Then there was the way everybody seemed to own posh cars that cost more than a small house, whilst their houses probably cost more than a small planet. It was ridiculous, really. No plot, at least as far as he could tell, and no realism to speak of either. In fact, Brooke's love of chick-flicks combined with his bitter hatred of them had been the basis for more than one argument over the four years that they were married.
This could only be a bad omen, Evan decided.
Dylan, on the other hand, was more of a closeted geek when it came to movie choices, and generally preferred science fiction to cheesy romances.
No. Stop.
He'd found himself doing this more and more as of late, comparing Dylan to his wife. It had become something of a habit, really, and he wasn't sure when it had started. All he knew was it had to stop. He'd told Brooke he would love her, and only her, forever, and he was veering dangerously close to breaking that promise.
Sighing out loud, he realised he was arguing with himself again. This had to stop, all of it. Slowly but surely, he was losing his mind. He needed to focus. Right, okay. He brought his mind back into the present with some effort, attempting to distract himself, but somehow, whatever he thought, it always seemed to come back to Dylan
His worst fears about Project Magnet were confirmed just seconds later when Ange stepped carefully out of the van, along with a tall, gangly lad who looked to be about eighteen and was presumably one of the medics. He didn't pay the boy - and really, he wasn't much more than that - any more attention than was necessary; everything was now centred around the brunette woman in front of him.
She hadn't mentioned on the phone that she'd be here as well, and after the circumstances of their last meeting he'd kind of hoped she'd steer clear. Still, when had he ever been that lucky? He acknowledged her with a brief nod and a calm face, trying not to let his inner turbulence show through. "Ange. I wasn't expecting to see you here,"
For a split-second, something flickered through her eyes, something unreadable, but just as quickly as the emotion had appeared, it was gone again. Her voice trembled but she held her head high with a steely determination that unnerved him, holding on to her dignity with an iron fist.
He had to look away. Anything would be better than this, the coldness of her voice, the disdain written across her face. She stood a thousand miles away from him, away from the person she used to be, and it was becoming to hard to bear it. Looking around, however, he saw nothing to distract him but grey skies and withered plants, a dull haze of boredom.
His gaze fell on the medic, taking in his scruffy but handsome charm, the wild tufts of ginger hair, the small snub nose and hundreds of freckles dotting his cheeks. The white lab coat he wore at least gave him some semblance of maturity, but even that effect was spoiled by the array of surfer-style necklaces he wore, almost covering his Project Magnet ID badge. It was far from comforting.
Even less comforting was the way his hand lingered on Dylan's shoulder as he checked her over, thumb moving gently back and forth across her neck. He forced himself to stifle the growl slowly building in his throat.
"Try to breathe, love. Focus on something other than the pain,"
The term of endearment was used casually, almost carelessly, but the man still didn't move his hand, and Evan couldn't help but notice the air of arrogance in his husky British accent - he seemed like a guy who was used to having women falling at his feet. The knot of tension in his stomach began to grow, and Evan found himself lashing out. "Don't touch her like that!"
It wasn't that he was jealous, he told himself. He was just looking out for the safety of one of his employees, and more than that, the closest friend he had, which was perfectly reasonable. He would do the same for Mac or Toby if he thought it was necessary. This man, whatever his name was, was clearly used to casual flirting, and he didn't want Dylan to have her heart broken. There was nothing wrong with that, even if might seem like a slight over-reaction to any onlookers.
The medic stood up and turned to look at him, a lopsided, childlike grin appearing on his face. "Steady on, mate! Just trying to be friendly!"
"Well, don't," Evan replied shortly. If he was honest with himself, he was more than a little ashamed of his sudden outburst, but the protective instinct inside him was now wide awake and bristling for a fight, not ready to let him back down from his challenger just yet.
Wait, no. That made him sound like he had - or at least wanted - some sort of claim over Dylan. Perhaps it would be a good idea to rephrase that; he just really didn't like the fucking medic and needed a way of venting his anger. A way that preferably involved one good, hard punch, a lot of blood and possibly a broken nose. Not Evan's, obviously.
Yup, that worked a whole lot better.
"Okay, okay! Point taken!" one eyebrow raised, and fortunately totally unaware of Evan's current line of thought, the medic stood up and offered him one limp, pale hand. "Ratchet Holden, chief medic of Project Magnet,"
Evan raked him over with appraising eyes. "Bit young, aren't you?"
Ratchet's palm was clammy with sweat, and Evan showed no reserve in wiping his own off against his jeans after letting go, gratified by the fiery blush tingeing the other man's ears and neck.
"I'm twenty-nine. Well, nearly,"
In response, he nodded thoughtfully. "Evan Cross. You probably already know who I am,"
"Hell yeah!" Ratchet's face instantly became more animated. "Boss never shuts up about you! Man, he really doesn't like you. I reckon he'd kill you if he could!"
"I'm sure the feeling's mutual," Evan offered dryly in return, twisting his face into a grimace to hide the fact that his thoughts were beginning to drift elsewhere. Ratchet's next sentence, however, brought him back down to earth with all the force of a friendly neighbourhood hurricane.
"So, are you...you know," he trailed off in embarrassment, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. "You know. Her boyfriend? Because you seemed a little defensive back there,"
"No,"
"Ah. I see," Ratchet nodded knowingly, as if that gruff, one-word sentence had told him everything he needed to know and more besides. Evan did have some idea of what must be going through his head right now, but didn't bother to deny it, or even acknowledge it - he knew from personal experience that it would only make things worse.
He drew breath like he was about to continue talking, but before he could speak they were interrupted by a shout from the ambulance as three men tried and failed to lift a stretcher out from the back of it. His attention turned to what Evan presumed must be his team, or maybe a part of it. "I'll be over in a minute!"
"Taking their time, aren't they?" Evan commented, glancing over at the small cluster. Ratchet shrugged, not at all perturbed by the observation.
"There's a lot of preliminary stuff that needs to be sorted out. You know, paperwork, light painkillers, that sort of thing. Unless there's an immediate risk, like an open wound with heavy bleeding, we can't really just load 'em up and go. It doesn't help that you're refusing to assist Project Magnet, either. Hall was reluctant to even send a team out in the first place,"
The twinges of panic that, up until now, he'd been suppressing fairly well returned in full force, gnawing angrily at the walls of his gut. "So, does that mean she'll be okay?"
"Hard to tell at this stage," Ratchet replied easily, and instantly any hopes Evan had been harbouring turned tail and fled. "Hopefully nothing life-threatening, if that's what you mean. Her back's banged up a bit, but I can't really see what the full extent of the damage is yet,"
Ratchet kept on prattling away, but Evan only heard one thing.
Hopefully nothing life-threatening.
Hopefully.
No, no, no. This couldn't be happening to him. Not again.
"What do you mean, hopefully?" he asked, his voice low and trembling with the effort of emotion. It was completely at odds with his demeanour, however; his whole body tense as he physically restrained himself from hurting the medic.
"Like I said, hard to tell at this stage,"
Evan's eyes narrowed, and his right arm twitched. Ratchet backed away. "Easy, mate. She'll probably be fine. The likelihood is it's just a bad muscle strain. I'm just saying, with injuries to the spinal cord you can never be too careful, but in most cases the victims are either killed outright, or they survive. There shouldn't be a problem,"
Breathe, Evan.
"So there's still a-" his voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue, regardless of the agony convulsing in his words. "A risk of..."
He couldn't do it, couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Ratchet regarded him carefully, caution in his eyes, as though he wasn't quite sure what to say. In the end, he gave a slight shrug and a small smile. "Isn't there always?"
When he didn't reply, the medic sighed, tongue flicking nervously over his lower lip. "Look, Evan, I can't promise anything, but the likelihood is she'll make a full recovery, so please, stop worrying. It's really not helping you, and it's not helping Dylan either. I know how hard it can be. Believe me, I've been there before, and I mean it when I tell you that you need to calm down and try to relax,"
"Okay," he nodded, but the knot of tension in his shoulders didn't move. "Okay, fair enough. I'll try,"
A satisfied look began to spread across Ratchet's face, and instantly Evan gave him a warning look. "Just remember, I'm not doing any of this for you,"
Effectively breaking off their conversation, another shout drifted over from the ambulance, tempered with a growing impatience. From what he could tell, the team of medics had managed to get the stretcher caught up on a metal pole poking out through the door, and were now totally unable to disentangle it. Ratchet gave another sigh. "I'm coming, alright? Just hold on,"
He turned back to Evan. "Bloody incompetent imbeciles. I'd better go and get them sorted out. You don't look so good, though, mate; maybe you should go home. I can get Leeds to call you when-"
"I'm staying here, with Dylan," he cut off the other man before he could even finish his sentence, daring the other man to rise to the challenge. He didn't. With a small, ever so slightly amused smirk twitching at his lips, he turned and jogged away towards the ambulance, feet crunching loudly against the dry, brittle twigs littering the floor.
Evan, meanwhile, was more focused on trying not to throw up, even as he muttered "And don't call me mate, either," to somewhere in the general vicinity of his feet.
Hopefully, he'd said. Hope had never been something he was very good at.
Hopefully, damn it, but he'd forgotten how to hope.
Ratchet's face, so relaxed, so bitterly carefree. Careless, even, as all the while Evan's world collapsed to dust and rubble and smoke. Careless, because he didn't care at all.
There was no hopefully about it. He had no hope, but he did have his resolve. She was going to survive this; they both would.
He would make sure of it.
Dylan gave a small whimper as the medics manhandled her onto the stretcher, her eyes squeezing shut in a futile attempt to block out the pain. Evan's gut seemed to physically clench at the sound. His heart was lurching in his chest, bile rising in his throat, and he could feel his knees threatening to buckle underneath him. The sky was beginning to melt into spirals of blue, dipping and dancing around him, the world tilting on its axis, and his head was spinning along with it.
Then suddenly he was sitting on the damp floor, retching, his body racked with violent bursts of coughing. A hand on his shoulder startled him, helping him to his feet as the coughing began to subside. He allowed Ratchet to hold him steady, trying to catch his breath as the medic's voice calmed him down. "Take it easy there, mate, you're alright, it's okay,"
"Sorry," was all he could manage to gasp out as he fought against the burning in his lungs. He could already feel the first niggling sensations of a headache threatening the inside of his skull; as his stress levels rose, the faint drumming would become more like red-hot hammers doing a war-dance across his brain, excruciatingly painful to the point where he couldn't concentrate on anything. He had to calm down if he wanted to be any use.
Ratchet smiled and patted his shoulder. "I think you might be in shock, Evan. I still say you should get some rest, but I'm not going to stop you from staying with Dylan if you promise me you won't collapse again,"
"I'll be fine,"
The younger man's face creased with barely suppressed laughter. "Funny, I almost believed you there for a second,"
"Ha, ha. You're hilarious," Evan deadpanned in return. Ratchet's laughter bubbled over, an infectious, happy sound that made him remember his first impressions of the medic. A young, scatterbrained student, with no real idea of what he was doing.
How very wrong he'd been.
"Come on then, I'll take you to the ambulance,"
With Ratchet's arm supporting him, he was able to half-walk, half-stumble his way across the ground, the forest taking on a dream-like quality as the floor rolled beneath his feet. He felt himself being led up the ramp and into the darkness, sinking to his knees when the medic finally let go.
He didn't say anything before he left, but the look in Ratchet's eyes as he nodded a goodbye was more than enough.
The doors slammed shut, and for a moment they were totally immersed in shadow, before a feeble, watery light flickered on overhead. It was barely enough to see by, but it meant he could now see the pain on Dylan's face, pain she was doing her level best to hide, and under those circumstances he'd almost have preferred the darkness. Still, it was almost enough to make him smile; she was as determined as ever not to let her suffering show through. It was one of the many things he lov...admired about her.
"How are you doing?" he asked, after a few moments of silence.
"Fine. I..." for a moment, she paused, then shook her head. "I'm fine,"
"You know you can be honest with me, right?" the words slipped out before he'd registered them properly, hanging there like an echo in the stillness of the silence.
"I know that,"
He reached out to cradle one of her small hands in both of his. The skin was surprisingly cool to touch, but soft and smooth under his fingers. "So why don't you give it a try, huh?"
"I'm scared," she whispered hoarsely, in a small, nervous voice that sounded nothing like her usual self and made him want to shiver. He was used to her confidence, her raw courage, the very things that made her who she was. She had always been the fighter, the strong one, and so her fear frightened him.
"So am I," he admitted, but the words sickened him. What right did he have to be afraid now? He needed to hold it together, and he couldn't. Yes, Dylan was the fighter, but he had always seen himself as a strong person too. With everything he'd gone through, he'd had to be, and now that he needed his strength more than ever it was gone. "I can't do this without you. You've got to be alright, yeah? I anything happened, I...I don't know. I don't know what I'd do. I don't know anything. I'm scared too,"
He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump building in his throat. It wasn't working. The tears were swelling until he couldn't talk, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but sit there clutching her hand and willing them away.
Please, God. Don't hurt her anymore. If you're out there, if you even exist, for both of our sakes, then just...stop. Don't do this. To either of us.
Please. Please listen, please just do something. I can't handle this much longer.
Please.
The siren's wail split the air suddenly as the ambulance flew over a rut in the road, startling them both and knocking him slightly off-balance. Evan blinked the tears from his eyes and steeled himself. "I'm sorry. I'm not helping,"
"It's fine, Evan. I'll be fine. I promise,"
He couldn't help but notice the lack of conviction in her voice, like she was trying to convince herself more than anything else. She was just as unsure and afraid as he was, but even so, he tried to let her fake optimism wash over him, telling himself it was a promise that, come the worse, she could keep.
The alternative wasn't even worth considering. Dylan Weir was far too stubborn for her own good, inordinately sentimental and quite possibly insane, but she was also an amazing, incredible, beautiful woman who had somehow managed to worm her way into both his heart and his soul, and something told him she was there to stay.
They'd come this far together already. No matter what happened from here on in, he wasn't letting her go without a fight.
