A/N: Well, I'd hoped to have this posted before I went away, but clearly no such luck. Hopefully my life will settle down now and I can post the rest on schedule. Oh – in response to comments – they're all short chapters, and mostly cliff hangers. I'm not messing with you, it's just a style choice.
Two
He's kidding, right? He's got to be kidding. But even as she thinks it, her stomach tells her he's not. Don likes to joke, but at the office, on stakeout - never under fire. She can hear him again in her head any time the rest of them indulged…C'mon, people…focus…
She screws her eyes shut, opens them almost immediately. No time for that, she scolds herself. Shoot. What now? And what the heck has that knock to the head done…? She leans in close and tries again.
"Boss. It's Nikki. And we're not in a real good situation here."
He blinks at her again, presses his eyes closed. "Did I get him out, anyway? Did we win?" His voice is oddly plaintive.
Crap. "No, we got a ways to go for that…" she breathes, half to herself. She had been thinking to stow him someplace safe and reconnoiter with the others - he has a gun, after all, and a radio. But that's no good, not if he's this confused. He'll be completely defenseless, could wander into the line of fire at any time. Maybe this would be a good time to risk contacting Sinclair and Granger. Misery loving company and all.
She moves her hand where it rests on the side of his face, strokes soothingly. Wetness rolls over her palm, slickening her fingers, and her chest clenches. She should at least try to slow down the bleeding. He might be alive now, but he could bleed to death while she sits here on her rear end, trying to decide what to do. Come on, Betancourt…focus.
She doesn't have a rag, anything, so she pushes her palm against his scalp, hoping to slow down the bleeding. He gives a sharp little grunt of pain, but doesn't fight her.
"Pretty."
She is glancing around for their best source a cover, somewhere they can really hunker down, and barely listening. "How's that?"
"The fireworks."
His voice is matter-of-fact and she shivers, tries to track his gaze, which seems to be focused straight ahead on something only he can see.
Man, that was some hit to the head, Boss. "Yeah. Nice." Absently. The Tunnel of Love might work - it's enclosed, and not too far away. If she's lucky, she can use the radio inside. Because, after all, we've been so lucky so far.
"You up for a little run?"
"I'm a good runner."
He sounds proud, and her heart twists within her. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm gonna help you up…"
She slides her hands under his back, beneath his arms, to shift him into sitting position. His shout of pain startles them both, is immediately answered by a sharp rat-a-tat of gunfire, seemingly from every direction at once. Sparks fly from the struts right over her head, on both sides, and she bends low over him, offering what protection she can. Speaking of fireworks, she thinks grimly. Dumb-ass move, Betancourt. What are you thinkin' about? You know to check if he's hurt somewhere else. And after that unscheduled flight he took, you can be pretty damn sure he is.
She feels him shift under her, glances down, wondering if she is hurting him, almost smiles when she sees the familiar, instinctive gesture, realizes that he is trying to go for his gun. A warm bloom spreads through her stomach. Well, at least you're still in there somewhere.
Her eyes track the distance to the Tunnel of Love. Some fairly definite cover there - maybe she can even look him over a little, if they can get out of the line of fire - see how he is, patch some things up. As long as nobody's waiting for them in there. Another volley of shots and she ducks lower, pops up just long enough to return fire. It's risky, but they sure as hell can't stay here. She doesn't really think Don is up to running, but she'll drag him if she has to. Yeah, right, Nikki. And other delusions of grandeur.
She leans in close. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Besides here?" She rests a hand on his forehead.
He frowns faintly, then starts to shake his head, stops almost immediately with a strangled gasp. His lids flicker and pinch closed.
She clicks her tongue impatiently. "Man. Were you always like this? I know you're hurt someplace…" she tries to picture the moment in her head, the unexpected rise of the metal chair, coming around in a circle almost too fast to see, the sickening thud as it makes contact and Don, airborne…
…upper body somewhere, if it isn't his head, and she's pretty sure now that the head injury is a result of slamming into the roller coaster struts. Slamming…of course, that alone could…shit. She groans aloud, clips off three more shots in quick succession and ducks low again, runs a quick hand down his right arm. "How 'bout here?" There's no answer and she remembers the move for his gun, so she tries the same thing on his left arm, stops almost at once when he jerks involuntarily. She can tell something is wrong even without it - can feel things out of place, misshapen and dangling free, a tangle of torn cloth, damp in spots. Hope your legs are in better shape, or this is gonna be one short run.
A cursory inspection that no EMT would be impressed with seems to indicate that his legs are intact - or good enough for what she has in mind. Internal injuries are on their own, though - she hasn't the light or the time or the expertise to find out about those.
"How're you with flying blind?" she barely whispers, then, a little more loudly, "Think you can sit up if I help?"
What she can make out of his eyes looks confused and slightly unfocused, but he gives the smallest of nods.
"Okay - easy does it." Her mouth is right next to his ear now. "I'm gonna get you up and then we need to run, flat out, no thinkin', no lookin' back. Got it?"
His eyes fix on hers, almost focus. "Home run."
"Yeah. That's it. Home run. We're headin' for the plate. You with me?"
He breathes something that could be taken for assent and she tucks his left hand into one of the ammo pockets of his tactical vest to do duty as a sling and scoots underneath his back, wrapping her arm firmly around his waist. "On my three. Run and don't stop, no matter what."
"One." She mentally measures the distance to the Tunnel of Love. "Two." She has his right arm around her shoulders, grips the hand hard. "THREE!" She is up, chokingly aware that he is up too, a dead and dragging weight on her side, stumbling, but game.
Gunfire erupts around them, kicking up dirt, bouncing off the metal of the rides and booths in whining ricochets. She lays down some poorly-aimed fire of her own, randomly, not daring to let go of his hand. If he goes down now, she'll never get him up again.
The opening to the Tunnel of Love is right in front of them now, a black and empty maw. She twists just enough to drop him from her shoulder, then tackles him around the waist, driving them both into the narrow lip of boardwalk rimming the watery canal that bisects the Tunnel. Bullets chew the wood overhead, splinters flying. Then silence.
She lies still, sprawling over him, trying to distinguish his heartbeat from the frantic hammering of her own. After a minute she does, exhales a gasp of relief that he's still with her. "Sorry about the rough treatment," she murmurs. "You okay?"
His eyes are closed and his breathing shallow. He whispers something, and she leans in to hear.
"What?"
"Herding."
The word is barely audible, but the tone is more familiar and she tries to get a better look at his face in the bluish glow of the emergency strip lights. "Boss?"
His mouth moves, but no words. She feels his breathing change under her, grow still. His head drops to one side. In the weird blue light, his face is pale and cold as marble. It takes her another second to realize that she's lost his heartbeat.
TBC