Author's Note: When I first began posting this fic, it was with some serious and continuing doubts about the content of the story, and the portrayal of that content. I had a plot and premise I loved, but I wasn't sure how to tell the story. Thanks to all of your comments, I was able to figure it out. This is not something I could have done on my own, so if you find yourself enjoying the fic, pat yourself on the back! THANK YOU.
The first chapters have undergone some re-writing. Specifically, chapter 4 has one scene added, chapter 5 has been vastly re-written and split into two chapters (5 and 6), and chapter 6, while unchanged, has become chapter 7. Chapter 8 is currently being written.
The present-day portions of the fic are laid out in a linear fashion, but the story of Don's kidnapping and its aftermath are not. That part of the story will unfold as Don works through the current case. Don't worry, we will end up finding out how Rogerson snagged him in the first place.
FBI OFFICE, CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATIONS
"So - who rescued you?" asked Charlie.
"I did." Don's voice was dark and bitter, and Charlie did a double-take. "That investigation wasn't the FBI's finest hour. Coop was with the entry team when they found me, which was kinda nice. But it was a nice little snafu wrapped up in a case of agent, rescue thyself."
"How?" asked Charlie.
"Lit the place on fire. Got a firefighter shot. They surround the place, drown it with water, and end up in a nice little standoff. FBI gets there, takes down Rogerson, and finds me in the basement."
"You - lit the house on fire with you in it?" Charlie's voice shook.
Don shrugged. "Desperate times." His own voice wasn't doing so good, and he looked down.
RURAL NEW MEXICO, UNKNOWN RESIDENTIAL BASEMENT
Don closed his eyes, and kept himself as deeply submerged in the water as possible without drowning. He didn't want to see the flames, if there were any to see. Burning to death....he closed them even more tightly, and tried not to give in to tears. It had always topped his list of worst ways to die, and he'd just done this to himself.
There was a tremendous cracking sound, and bitter smoke in his lungs as something heavy fell on the tub from above. More noise. Gunshots? His eyes flew open in hope, but he closed them again just as rapidly. A blackened beam and a partial sheet of flaming plywood lay across the tub, and beyond that he didn't want to see. He knew he wouldn't actually burn to death: a lung full of toxic, superheated smoke would end him before flames if it came to that. It was hard to breathe; the smoke and the chain left him struggling for air so he let semi-consciousness overtake him, clinging only to enough awareness to keep his head from slipping under the surface of the water.
"Over here. Over here! Quick!" The voice was something from a dream, a friend. There was touch on his shoulder, and his neck, and he recoiled automatically, choosing to focus on that phantom voice. "Don! Don!"
Don. Wrong name, not Donald. He opened his eyes, and saw the letters FBI on a tactical vest. They blurred in front on his eyes and he cried out, desperate not to lose them. He cried out again when he saw a face close to his, and his head slipped under the water. He was pulled out, choking, gagging, still struggling not to cry. The touch of the person holding him seemed different, somehow. Firmer, kinder. He braved a look, hoping against hope, and it was Billy Cooper looking back at him.
"Don! Wake up!" Billy glanced behind him at another agent. "Get medical down here now, and bolt cutters."
"I'm here." Don allowed himself to see, and it filled him with relief and horror and humiliation. He was in the arms of his partner, stark naked and bleeding with a chain locked around his neck. He wanted, more acutely than anything else, to vanish. The horror and pity in the eyes of those agents - he struggled, not intending to quiet plea that came out of his mouth. "Take me out of here." Is this what it feels like to be saved? Or just a horrible dream?
Billy and the second agent lifted him out of the tub, and Don cooperated in silence, cringing inwardly and lacking the will to explain that wasn't what he'd meant.
"Oh dear God." Another voice at the entrance made Don even more self-conscious. The voice was attached to a paramedic bearing a blanket, and Don ended up wrapped in it, lying on the floor, shivering and doggedly ignoring the mechanics of just how it happened.
The shelter helped, as did the removal of the dual threats of drowning and being burned alive. There were charred boards all around, but they were drenched in water and foam, and he went limp on the floor, experiencing relief and sickness all at once.
Don's moment alone in his head was interrupted by fingers on the chain around his neck. They were gentle, and wanted to help, but didn't recognize just how sensitive that area had become. He gritted his teeth and hid his reaction, realizing a moment later that these people weren't sadists. He cried out in protest, and heard Billy yelling at the paramedic who had been fiddling with it. "Back off! If you can't get it off him, leave him alone and wait for the damn bolt cutters."
The paramedic withdrew his hand instantly, giving Don a look of sincere apology, still mixed with that awkward horror that Don shared, that made him wish even more intensely that he could just melt into the floor and be gone. Billy saw it too, and he put a hand on the paramedic's shoulder. "Out. Everyone, out." An agent handed him bolt cutters, and when everyone had left Don braced himself. Billy was as careful as anyone could be, but the cutting of metal was not a gentle process, especially when said metal was wrapped around an already bruised throat. There was a snap and an agonizing jerk, and in an instant he could breathe freely for the first time in days.
He gasped, dragging air into his lungs in massive doses, coughing, throwing up, and gasping some more in the grips of intense misery and relief. He pressed his face into the blanket, and let his head spin at will. It's over. It's over. You made it. You're alive. You're alive.
"Don?" Billy's voice was gentle now, free of the adrenaline and near-panic of their entry. "We've got you. You made it. Not sure exactly how, but you made it, pal."
"Yeah." Don was pleased to find his voice still weak and rough, but far more familiar to him. The world was slowly coming clear again, and with it came both physical pain and emotional relief. The room was a place again, with walls and an exit. Not so much with the ceiling, most of that seemed to have ended up on the floor and in the tub with him.
His partner was sitting beside him, anxious, protective, real. A crisp voice came over the radio. "Billy, how's his breathing?"
"Labored and uneven," replied Billy. "I got the chain off and that helped a bit."
"Okay, we need to come down there and get him to the hospital, pronto."
"No." He sat, ignoring his dangerously spinning head in an effort to escape the latest revulsion, the thought of being strapped helplessly to a stretcher and carried out like some injured pet. "Coming out myself."
He held out his hand, demanding that Billy help him stand. I got myself out of this, I'm damn well going to walk out of this building on my own two feet. He'd have said it out loud if talking didn't hurt so much.
"Are you nuts?" Billy looked at him, and instantly reconsidered. "Okay. But if you pass out, I'm having them come get you."
"Deal." Billy helped him stand, and then backed off, standing just close enough to catch him should he fall. It was slow going, weakness and bare feet making the rubble complicated to contend with, but he made it up the stairs with a feeling of triumph. Take that, you bastard.
"You get him? Heard shots."
"He shot a firefighter, that's how we got alerted. But yeah, Rogerson's in custody, unfortunately not in a body bag where he belongs." Billy raised his eyebrows. "You must have been out for a while."
Don could no longer see; he was on his feet and could move them, one and then another in what he was pretty sure was a walking motion, and he could hear vehicles. There was grass under his feet, cool and wet. His body lurched to the side, and he heard a tingling noise in his ears that had come to signal the moment of passing out. He didn't want to fall, and he flung a hand out. Billy caught him, and the whole world turned black and sideways.
FBI OFFICE, CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATIONS
"Don? Don?" Don forced his eyes open, and his head up. The room only appeared slightly drunk, with a small wobble here or there. Charlie's eyes weren't horrified, they were gentle and worried. "Were you burned?"
"Nah. Treated for smoke inhalation, that wasn't so bad." He was glad Charlie was there, glad not to feel alone. Maybe this was what he should have done all those years ago, instead of running and hiding.
"It - hurt, that it took that for them to come for me. I kept waiting for them to break down the door, and then - I knew they just couldn't find me, but it felt so personal."
So alone.
He leaned back in his chair, grateful for this safe, familiar little room and the company of someone he'd come to trust deeply. "They tried."
"But they failed." Charlie's voice was understanding of the pain behind that, and he nodded. "And now it's hard for you to let anyone but yourself run cases, because even people you respected and friends who trained you messed up the most critical investigation of your life?"
"Something like that." His voice was rough. Charlie got in a few words what he'd been unable to express for years, and it felt like walking out of a desert into an oasis of comfort and understanding. He closed his eyes, and made a decision.
ROBIN'S APARTMENT, THAT NIGHT
Robin caressed the side of Don's face, moved as she so often was by the Don Eppes so few people got to see. He was afraid to speak, but held enough trust and courage to let her see it. The fear that was there in his eyes was something they shared; the knowledge that this bond between them was irreplaceable and easily devastated. "I cherish you," he whispered. "I cherish this." There was a shake in his voice, and he closed his eyes as though bracing himself.
She found his hand with hers and entangled her fingers with his, and a second later they were tangled in each other's arms. It was not a passionate embrace, but one of two people clinging to each other for dear life, trying to reassure each other while terrified. Robin pressed her face against Don's, and felt the unevenness of his breath, the scared pounding of his heart.
That sensation broke her own heart, and somehow eased her fears at the same time, replacing them with an unstoppable drive to protect this, to protect Don, at all cost. "I love you. As terrifying as that is, I love you." She pulled back her head and met his eyes directly. "I love you. Not some fairy-tale romance version of you as the perfect human being, but you, with all of your flaws and your baggage and that amazing heart that never gives in. Okay?"
He wanted desperately to believe her, but he didn't. The pain and longing in his expression brought tears to her eyes. "Don. I spent the first twenty-seven years of my life looking for the perfect man. I found him, he found me, and we dated for a year."
"Yeah? What was the perfect man like?"
"He was insufferable." Don's face went slack, and a second later a startled smile came unbidden to his face. "It was like walking around with a white knight turned Sunday-school teacher on my shoulder every day, so I could be reminded every second of just how perfect I had to be to deserve his respect. I don't know what world he lived in, but it sure wasn't mine."
The smile was still there, and she reached up, tracing one finger along his raised eyebrow, and then ever so gently along his cheek. Don angled his head, resting his cheek against her hand and letting his eyes half close. "I love you," she repeated in a whisper.
He drew in a deep breath, and the eyes looking back at her were some of the most trusting and the most frightened she had ever seen. "Ethan Rogerson. The Swampland Killer case, do you remember that?" She nodded, confused. "I - was one of his victims."
Robin went stiff, looking at him in confusion as she searched her memory. Suddenly her eyes were flooded with tears. "There was a Federal agent. Don - you were that agent?" Don nodded, and Robin drew in her breath in a sob, her heart wrenched to pieces. An instant later they were clinging together as one, and they both knew that they wouldn't be letting go.