Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zip. Blaze owns me
03
Sirens were on the scene within moments. The crowd parted to let the emergency vehicles through. Paramedics burst from an ambulance and set upon the girl, who so far hadn't moved. Blaze wrapped her arms around her belly and waited for the police. A bystander pointed her out as the driver; so one cop came directly to her whilst his partner started questioning witnesses. Fingers of absolute dread ran up Blaze's spine, reminding her that she was still a wanted criminal. She tried to make her brain leap into gear before the cop got to her, but it kept stalling on the knowledge she'd hit a girl with her car.
"Miss, are you the driver of this vehicle?" the cop asked, not quite impatiently. Blaze nodded, then as she realised he wanted more of an answer she said, "Yes, its my car. Will she be okay?"
The cop looked back over his shoulder, catching the eye of one of the paramedics. They were lifting the girl on a stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Blaze saw the paramedic give a short sharp nod, then go back to work. The cop turned back to Blaze with an answer, "It's touch and go, but yeah, they think she will pull through."
Blaze felt a weight lifted rapidly from her shoulders, so rapidly in fact it left her dizzy with a head-rush. She shook her head to clear it and had to ask the police officer to repeat his next question. He scowled, his hand poised threateningly over the radio clipped to his chest. "I said," he growled, "What's your name Miss?"
"Helena Morrison," Blaze lied instinctively.
"Is the car registered to you, Miss Morrison?"
"Yes," this time Blaze didn't lie. Her car was indeed registered to a false name, though the reason why was long and complicated. Sure enough, when the police officer called through on the radio it only took a few seconds for the registration to be confirmed to the pseudonym. The police officer however wasn't done yet, asking Blaze to produce her driver's licence. The redhead fished in her wallet for a few seconds for the correct fake ID, satisfying the cop once more. Or at least she thought she had.
"You're British?" asked the police officer.
"Yes," Blaze confirmed, thinking sarcastically that she had a regular Sherlock Holmes on her case here.
"How long have you been in the States, Miss Morrison?"
"About a year," Blaze got that sinking feeling again. Legally, she shouldn't be here at all. She had no visa or work permit, and hadn't entered through customs. She'd sneaked in the back door with the help of Xavier's telepathic daughter Ilehana.
"Do you have your visa on your person?" the cop pressed, handing back her driver's licence. Blaze shook her head, trying to explain, "No, I…"
"You said about a year," the cop pressed, still scowling. "Is it more or less than twelve months?"
"Fifteen months I think," Blaze replied.
"Most visas only last six months to a year," the cop interjected. "Are you working here?"
"Yes I…" Blaze started again, but the cop was on a roll and he knew it. The ambulance siren blasted once to clear a path between the onlookers as it pulled away, taking the girl to hospital. That only served to rattle Blaze more, making her shift her weight from foot to foot as the cop asked, "Does your employer know that you could be deported if your visa has expired? We can't have all our jobs being filled by foreign workers, Americans need these posts."
"I understand but I…" Blaze was getting nowhere fast.
"This is very serious," the cop continued. "Even if the girl recovers and doesn't press charges. If you're in the country illegally…"
"'Scuse me Officer," a familiar Cajun accent cut in, putting a hand on Blaze's left shoulder. "Are you hasslin' my wife?"
"Your wife?" the cop blinked at Gambit, suddenly seeing the dramatic headlines about his heroic arrest of an illegal immigrant who mowed down an American child evaporate in smoke. Gambit nodded as Blaze turned and buried her face in the Cajun's chest. She tucked her ring-less left hand inside Remy's trench coat. Gambit squared up to the cop, folding his arms around Blaze's shoulders. "My wife," the Cajun confirmed, lying through his teeth.
"All these people," the cop's partner came over and interrupted the Mexican standoff. "Still no-one witnessed the car at all. Four people saw the girl run out of nowhere into the middle of the road. There's no way the car had time to stop, no matter how fast or slow you were driving Miss. Looks like you're free to go."
"Thank you," Blaze twisted in Gambit's arms to respond to the police officers. Gambit thanked them too, and gave them a fake phone number, just in case they needed to contact the 'couple' again.
"Take her home," the second and more pleasant cop suggested kindly. "She looks pretty shook up, and I'm sure she could use some TLC."
"I will," Gambit squeezed Blaze a little harder and even had the audacity to kiss the top of her head tenderly. The cops exchanged a look and wandered off back to their car.
No sooner had the cops departed than Blaze shoved her way out of Gambit's embrace with a shudder. "I must have been totally wasted that night," she retaliated nervously. "To marry you. I mean I've regularly been blind drunk, but that doesn't excuse my other four senses."
"Car keys," Gambit held out his hand and snapped his fingers demandingly.
"No way," Blaze clutched her keys defensively.
"What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine, eh Cherie?" Gambit snapped his fingers again with a flat smile. "Keys Blaze, you ain't drivin' home after this. You're in shock."
"No kidding," Blaze finally succumbed and gave Remy the keys. She got into the passenger seat of her car and let Gambit start the engine. "Its just all so sudden. I didn't even get an engagement ring or anything." She was in shock from the accident, and she knew it. Blaze wrapped her arms around herself to disguise the trembling and tried not to look at the crack in the windscreen.
