Hey guys!
Holy crap-thank you all SO MUCH for all the follows and reviews and everything! I appreciate it so much, so thank you! Sorry this update took forever, but it's a pretty long chapter so I hope that makes up for it! And haha for all of you guys telling me to make sure I finish this-don't worry, I promise I will. :) rest assured! You have my word. xD
Thanks again so much and I hope you enjoy this one :) and have a happy holidays!
~cosette141
Juliet held back a grin of relief as she watched the hostages running from the bank to freedom. Some screams pierced the air as they escaped, and S.W.A.T. rushed forward to help them out. Still gripping the phone tightly-though the call itself went dead-Juliet watched desperately, frozen, for Shawn to run through the doors.
It actually worked, she thought numbly. His plan actually saved the hostages.
"Holy crap," said Lassiter blankly from her side, eyebrows raised in surprise. "That idiot did it."
Juliet felt a smile burst on her face and she pocketed her phone, eyes scanning the crowd for the psychic.
The doors swung shut as the crowd ran into the parking lot, and then the doors remained shut. They must all be out. Juliet's eyebrows kneaded, eyes running over every face in the crowd, over the officers, EMTs and S.W.A.T. No sight of Shawn. Also… no Heston.
Juliet's heart stuttered in her chest. She looked sharply at Lassiter, who shared the same expression. "Let's move in, people!"
Aaron Aldaman's eyes shot open.
A white-tiled ceiling stared back at him and he winced from the room's brightness. His head pounded. And his heart was slamming in his chest, as if his body knew of the danger surrounding him even before his mind.
He pushed himself off the ground, memories dawning instantly once the scene of the nearly-empty bank faced him. He'd been standing in line at the bank… the mad gunman rushed in and took hostages… he'd tried to help an injured girl with a GSW and then…
The rest was blank.
The back of his head hurt but after running himself through a quick test he ruled out any injury more serious than a nasty bruise. So, luckily no concussion. The positive self-diagnosis did little to quell his fear, though. Something about this situation was still very, very wrong...
A jagged hole had been punched in the glass of one of the windows. He stared at it. When did that happen? Where were the hostages? Were they safe? Was he safe?
Just as he moved to stand, his leg snagged on something and he turned, his breath freezing in his chest. A young man was lying on his stomach, clearly unconscious. But that wasn't what worried him.
It was the growing pool of crimson inching out from underneath him.
Aaron's hands shot out to feel for a pulse on the man's neck, but suddenly he was grabbed from behind, a strong hand gripping the material of his jacket collar and some of his hair. He grimaced as he was yanked to his feet, struggling against the grip until something hard and startlingly cold pressed against his temple. An arm closed around his neck, holding him to whoever was grabbing him.
"Stop fightin'!" growled a voice in his ear, and Aaron realized it was the gunman who'd taken the hostages. A chill swept down his spine, fear stopping his movements instantly.
With a wild growl, the man lashed out a foot, kicking the prone man on the ground. "Dammit!" he roared, eyes darting back and forth between the unconscious man, Aaron, and the cops outside. He glared back down at the young man. "You let them escape, you stupid little... I'm gonna kill ya for that-!"
The gunman was cut short as pounding footsteps from outside announced the arrival of S.W.A.T. Aaron allowed the man to drag him to where the front doors suddenly burst open and the S.W.A.T. men appeared.
"Move any closer an' he dies!" The gunman bellowed, and the three men froze. Aaron could see each of their eyes going from the gunman, to him, to the man lying on the ground, soaked in a small but growing pool of his own blood. He could see the horror written into their eyes at the sight. And even Aaron knew, as a surgeon, having had people die on his own table, that no matter how many times you see something as horrendous as this, it never gets easier to bear.
They then looked at each other, gave each other a nod, trading some sort of silent language they all understood, and as one they lowered their weapons and retreated, letting the doors swing shut.
Even as they continued to back up into the parking lot, shouting at their partners to stand down, Aaron was held there with the gun to his head. The gun he could only imagine shooting a bullet through his skull, and his breathing hitched up a few notches and he realized he was trembling. "Please," he whispered. "You-you don't need to hurt me," he said carefully. "I won't try anything."
The man and his gun remained where they were and Aaron's chest burned. He couldn't breathe.
"Good," the man said after a moment, seeming satisfied with the S.W.A.T.'s retreat. He removed the gun from Aaron's head and Aaron let out a shaky breath, but the arm didn't move from his neck. He didn't even try to escape the hold.
The gunman suddenly leaned down and grabbed the arm of the man lying prone on the floor. He dragged both the man and Aaron backward with him, the young man's blood leaving a trail of red across the floor that could have been pulled straight from a horror movie. Blood didn't bother Aaron, but he still didn't like to see it. And he knew that losing that much blood was incredibly dangerous.
That is, if the man was even still alive.
They stopped behind a few desks, and Aaron understood; snipers couldn't reach them from here.
The gunman released his hold around Aaron and he was pushed to his knees. The young man was also dropped forcefully to the ground, and Aaron immediately crawled to the young man, pressing his fingers to his neck. He waited, his own heart slamming in his chest.
A pulse beat back at him.
Aaron let out a breath. It was weak, but it was there. He was alive.
The gunman's words from earlier floated back through Aaron's mind. This young man must have been the one who'd done something to free the hostages. And now he was paying for it.
"What're you doin'?" demanded the man, the gun turning back in his direction.
Aaron raised his hands, but glared at him. "This man is still alive, but he's seriously injured! I'm a doctor, you have to let me look at him. I just want to wrap his wounds-"
"No, you won't!" growled the man.
Aaron didn't shrink from the man's heavy glare. "If I don't stop that bleeding, he's going to die. A dead hostage won't do you much good, will it?" He nodded at the gun. "And killing me would be just as good as killing both me and this man. Are you willing to give up all your chips?"
The man glared at him, holding the gaze for a heavy moment. Then, the man scowled and said, "Fine. Look at him. Do whatever. But no funny business. I can shoot ya without killin' ya."
Aaron swallowed hard. He nodded, then turned back to the man on the ground as the gunman began to pace a few feet away, muttering to himself.
Slowly and carefully, Aaron turned the man onto his back, and his breath caught. The man's entire torso was crimson. His shirt was soaked through. Terrified it was a chest wound, Aaron carefully lifted the wet shirt, and let out a breath when he saw the bullet wound in the man's abdomen. He had a much better chance than someone with a chest bullet wound.
A quick check told him it was through-and-through, so at least he didn't have to fish for a bullet. He didn't have his medical bag with him; it was his day off. He was supposed to be spending a day for himself, his boss had told him. A day to take care of himself and not all the patients he devoted his life to. He sighed half-heartedly. No chance of that now.
He took off his jacket and began to rip the sleeves. Hoping his girlfriend won't kill him for ruining the jacket she got him, he started to tend the wound.
"Stand down! Everyone-stand down!"
Juliet froze. She, Lassiter and the Chief were right behind the team that had entered the building, but all three S.W.A.T. men were retreating, weapons down.
"What's going on?" demanded the Chief.
"This thing ain't over yet," one of the men said gravely. "He still has two hostages in there."
Juliet's heart dropped low in his chest. "He-what? Oh, my god, Shawn-" Her breath constricted in her chest. Shawn had to have done something drastic to distract Heston. And if he was still in there… "Are they okay?"
The first man set his lips, and the other two hesitated. Juliet felt her eyes burn. The man to the left of the first one spoke, saying carefully, "One is uninjured. The other…" He trailed off, looking to the first man.
"The other was unconscious," he said slowly. "There was… blood. We didn't get a good look. But he wasn't moving. There's a fair chance he's simply unconscious, but there's also a chance he's..." He didn't bother to finish.
Juliet's breath constricted. A hand gripped her shoulder, and Lassiter said, "What did the injured one look like?"
The man shrugged. "Brown hair, late twenties, plaid button down shirt, sneakers."
Juliet couldn't breathe.
Shawn.
Agony tore Shawn's eyes open.
A blinding fire erupted in his side and someone screamed. A room blurred into view and his chest heaved as he panted, and only then did he realize the scream had come from him.
"Hey, hey," said a calm voice from above him. "It's okay, you're gonna be fine."
Shawn's breath was too broken to respond. He blinked quickly, the blurred room slowly sharpening. He was still in the bank. Did everyone get out? His face screwed up in pain and confusion. The last thing he remembered, he tackled the gunman… then…
The doctor. He tripped on the doctor and tried to drag him out. Then… nothing.
"W-What… happened?" Shawn forced out. His shaking hands slowly found the burning area on his side. They met another set of hands, hands that were pressing incredibly hard into his gunshot wound. Another spasm of blinding pain shot through him, fraying his every nerve and he cried out.
"I'm sorry," said the voice again, and it sounded like the person meant it. "You and I were hostages in a, well, hostage crisis. And… we still are," the voice explained. "You've been shot. I'm trying to make sure you don't bleed out. I know this has got to hurt, I'm sorry."
Shawn breathed hard, slowly tilting his head to look at the person next to him. A young, maybe mid-thirties man was kneeling next to him, pressing a balled-up jacket that was slowly turning crimson into Shawn's side. The man was lean, and chestnut hair fell slightly over his forehead. The man looked like a genuinely kind person. He looked at Shawn, his expression mixing fear and concern. Shawn recognized him instantly; it was the doctor who had tried to help the teenage girl who had been shot. Also the doctor Shawn had tripped over and tried to save.
Well, that went well.
But it seemed that he and this man were alone, wherever they currently were.
"'S okay, Doc," said Shawn hollowly.
The man's eyebrows shifted. "How did you know I was a doctor?"
Shawn slowly lifted two fingers to his head, but they didn't quite make it before he dropped his hand. "P-Psychic," he whispered.
The doctor gave half a smile, seeming like he didn't quite buy it. But Shawn hardly cared. Pain was flooding through him, and even breathing hurt. "My name's Aaron, though. What's yours?"
"Shawn," said Shawn quietly, shutting his eyes as his head pounded.
"Hey." A hand gently slapped his cheek and Shawn's eyes fluttered back open. "No sleeping on me, okay?"
Shawn smirked. "No problem, Doc."
Aaron raised an eyebrow at what was apparently his new nickname, and said, "I heard that it was you who saved the hostages. Thank you."
Shawn lifted an eyebrow. "Apparently not all of them."
Aaron's face creased in sympathy. "Almost all of them."
Shawn took an unsteady breath, looking down at where red was painted over his entire torso, and pooling onto the floor. "Am I gonna live?"
It was supposed to be a joke, but Shawn's heart stuttered when Aaron's face turned slightly grim. "If we get out of here soon, yes. But this is too much blood. And I can't keep pressure on both this wound and the exit. And a jacket is hardly a bandage." Aaron nodded to where Shawn's blood was stained all over Aaron's hands and trickling through his fingers. Shawn swallowed hard. That was a lot of blood.
Shawn slowly looked up at him. "W-What does that mean?"
"That means," he said, "you're… on a clock, here."
Shawn laid his head back on the ground, fighting the growing fear in his gut. "Where are we? Wh-Where's H-Heston?"
Aaron quirked an eyebrow. "Who?"
"The crazy dude," Shawn clarified hollowly. He shut his eyes briefly, cursing the throbbing behind them.
"You know him?" asked Aaron incredulously.
Shawn shook his head, then froze, pain shooting through his skull. He winced, eyes screwing shut.
"Shawn-hey… you okay there, kid?"
It took a moment for the pain to die down enough for him to reply. Without opening his eyes, he said tightly, "Yeah." Shawn swallowed. "I work for the cops sometimes. When the… the guy came in, I hid."
He could imagine Aaron nod. "Ah, that's why I didn't see you earlier, then."
"I talked to one of the cops outside," continued Shawn. "The guy's some criminal, Charles Heston. Not a good dude."
"You're telling me."
"Where is he?" asked Shawn suddenly, forcing his eyes open as he remembered the current threat. He looked around, but stopped as his vision swam violently. He froze, clamping down his lips as nausea rocked in his system.
"Deep breaths," said Aaron quietly. "In, out."
Shawn listened, breathing shallowly. As the sick feeling passed, he laid his head back down and slowly opened his eyes. "Th-thanks."
Aaron nodded. "And he's over there," he said, jerking his head to the side, but before Shawn could look on reflex, Aaron said, "No-don't look. Don't move your head. It'll just make you sick. Seems you have yourself a nasty concussion."
Shawn almost nodded, but stopped himself in time. "What's he doing?"
"Pacing," said Aaron. "He's got his gun trained on me, though."
"Surprised he let you help me," said Shawn.
"It took a little convincing."
Shawn looked at him through cracked lids, and Aaron gave him a confident grin. "Hmm. You might be a badass doctor."
Aaron laughed quietly. "That was the goal."
Shawn laughed, then pain shot through his abdomen. He cried out, his hands scrabbling for his abdomen. A firm hand grabbed his, keeping him immobilized. "Shh, lay still. Don't move."
Shawn breathed hard, eyes squeezed shut. "Shit," he whispered, his voice cracking.
"Okay," said Aaron, his voice ebbing a bit of panic, shooting fear into Shawn's veins. He cracked his eyes back open. Aaron's eyes were trained on his abdomen. "The bullet must have cracked or broken some of your ribs," he said. He then took a breath and turned a heavily apologetic look toward Shawn. "And that would make my putting pressure on it about a thousand times more painful. I'm sorry."
Shawn laid his head back down. "'S okay."
"You said you work with the cops?" said Aaron.
"Yeah," said Shawn tightly. "I'm a detective."
"What's supposed to happen in this situation?" he asked. "What's he waiting for?"
"A call," said Shawn. He blinked his eyes back open. "The cops are gonna call him, ask his demands, yada, yada, yada."
"And when's that supposed to happen?" asked Aaron hesitantly.
Just then, a ring pierced the silence. Shawn winced at the shrill sound, cursing both the volume and the irony as a pair of feet approached them.
"Finally," said a gruff voice, and Shawn squinted, seeing Heston walk into his line of sight. He glared at both Shawn and Aaron, and said, "If either of you say a damned word, doctor here gets a hole in his arm." Shawn and Aaron slowly looked at each other, both sharing the same mix of emotions. Heston reached the phone and answered it on speaker phone, keeping both hands on the gun, aimed at Aaron. "What?" he demanded.
A smooth voice came on the other line, saying, "Charles, it's good to meet you. My name's John, I'm out here with the Santa Barbara Police Department. How are you feeling in there?"
"Cut the crap," Heston growled. "You're gonna do whatever I want or I'm killin' these people."
"Now hold on a second, Charles," said the voice. "If we're going to do something for you, you've got to do something for me," said "John", and Shawn nearly rolled his eyes at the by-the-book dialogue.
"In hell!" growled Heston. "I already gave ya nearly all of my hostages! You've gotten enough! And if I don't get what I want, you ain't getting these two back alive!"
"All right, all right," said John. "Just take it easy, there, Charles. Let's just get to know each other a little better, okay? I-" Sudden commotion erupted on the other line, and suddenly a new, quite angry and very familiar voice came on, all-but shouting, "All right, Heston, listen up, and listen good."
Shawn's eyebrows shot up. "Lassie?" he whispered to himself.
Lassiter's voice was sharp and furious. The last thing, Shawn knew, that a cop should be while trying to negotiate with a crazy hostage-taker, was furious. "You've got two guys in there, one of them we know you shot."
Shawn blinked.
"Now," said Lassiter, "if you want us to work with you, we need to know if you've got an injured guy in there or a dead guy." His voice left a heavy silence. Shawn bit his lip, eyes glued to the gun aimed at Aaron. The urge to shout something-anything-was more blinding than the pain. "Put him on the line."
Heston's face twisted. "You don't get to call the shots when I hold all the-"
"Put him on the line or I swear to god I will kick your ass to hell and back, asshole." Shawn was torn between terror, surprise, and rolling his eyes as he could have sworn he heard an exasperated "Carlton!" in the background.
Heston ground his teeth, glaring at Shawn, and Shawn knew exactly why that man looked like he was so angry with him. Shawn had effectively taken nearly every bargaining chip from the man. Yeah, he'd have been furious with himself too, should the situation be reversed.
But Heston finally sighed sharply and said, "Fine." He turned the gun from Aaron to Shawn, and said, "Try anything and I'll shoot ya." Shawn heard the unspoken threat in those words: tell the truth, and you're as good as dead.
Shawn weakly cleared his throat, trying to gain some strength in his voice. "Hey there, Lassieface!" he said, though even he knew it was a sorry pass for his usual exuberance. "I didn't know you cared!"
"Spencer," said Lassiter, and Shawn could have sworn he heard relief. "Are you all right?"
"That's enough," Heston cut off, leaning down to press the muzzle of the gun to Shawn's temple, a silent order to keep quiet. Shawn glared at him. He cleared his throat, and tried to wipe the pain from his voice. "I'm fine, Lassie. Bullet barely even hit me. You can tell Jules to stop worrying."
"See? He's fine," said Heston, pulling the gun away and Shawn shut his eyes as the pain throbbed through his entire being. "Nicked him in the side," he said. "Are ya satisfied?"
Lassiter was silent for a few moments, and it was the kind of finite silence that told Shawn he muted his line. He was talking with the other cops. He came back after a moment, and said gruffly, "What do you want, Heston?"
"A car," he said. "A good one, fully gassed up. Not one of them cop ones with the GPS trackers and whatever. If you play tricks, I'll know. And they'll die. And I want money. Untraceable bills. A hundred thousand. And when they get here, I'm gonna get in that car. And y'all are gonna let me. And I'm gonna get away. That clear?"
A beat. Then, "We need time," said Lassiter.
"I ain't-"
"These things take time, Heston!" growled Lassiter. "We don't just steal the damn things and give them to you bastards!"
Shawn winced. He himself didn't like following the book but if Lassiter pissed off this guy too much, he knew Heston wouldn't be afraid to hurt him further, or Aaron for that matter, in a non-fatal manner.
"Fine," snapped Heston.
"I need three hours," said Lassiter.
"You've got two," said Heston firmly. He grabbed the phone and slammed it back down on the receiver, effectively ending the call. He then turned back to Aaron and Shawn, the gun aimed at them both. "And once I get that car, I'm killin' you both." He stood up and walked a few feet away, pacing again, but keeping his eyes and gun trained on them.
Shawn blinked heavily, pain and exhaustion mixing in with each other. Shawn felt a hand close around his wrist. He looked at Aaron, whose face was pale as a sheet. Shawn blinked. "What?"
"Your pulse is slowing," said Aaron quietly. "And Heston gave the cops two hours," he said hollowly, eyes falling to the blood spreading frighteningly far across the floor. "But... by the look of this…" He swallowed. "You've only got one."
