AN: Hooray for comments! I love hearing from all of you. I apologize for not getting back a lot of the time - RL is really busy at the moment. Thanks for reading, as always.
Moving on to the hardest part of the episode for me. I loved the death scenes unequivocally.
--
Gunshots.
That must be stage blood, sweat, urine even, from shock.
There are some memories that are buried beyond the reaches of consciousness. If the last two hundred years of psychology is to be believed, there is more hidden away in mental vaults than we could ever imagine. But there are some memories that stay bright and fresh; it would be kinder if we had a choice.
Beth thought that confronting the past had made her stronger. The woman from the edges of the nightmares – the reason a spider hanging high on the wall made the fear tighten in her spine – was broken. She'd broken Coraline...and Mick and herself. And somehow all of it now made sense. The unerring instinct for the underbelly, the ease with which she moved past Lee Jay and Daniel, Mara whose smiling trust in her had sent her father to prison, even the stifled sounds of an assassin's assassination: she'd been looking for spiders. And she'd broken them all. Humpty-Dumpty Turner. Was it so wrong to want to try again when the shell started to re-knit?
She'd gone looking away from the walls finally, trusting to life and Josh to put her back together, to fix everything and the plagues had ambushed her.
She heard Pestilence in the nine sharp cracks from the front of the car.
The whole world slowed marginally to etch the next moments into her consciousness; soft, ineffable hands cradling her mind like an egg, whispering, "Watch," as the Disease raged in Josh's body, blood pouring like angry armies away from him, the shock of Death on both their faces.
Mick pushed her hand down on Josh's abdomen. She could feel the blood pulsing underneath, pouring into her jacket.
She wanted to press harder but he was in so much pain; she didn't want to hurt him more. But Mick's hand was still over hers and when he pressed harder, she pressed harder. "Keep the pressure on, OK?" Nodding. I'm so sorry.
She wondered momentarily why Hunger had missed the appointment, then burned as resolute orders were barked across to her.
"Hold him still."
The human body has over a gallon of blood and if you lose more than forty percent of it, you die. Josh wasn't dead, not yet, and she'd be hungry enough for both of them today, hungry just for him. And then she lifted her eyes and realised why Hunger had missed both the humans.
"Take your necklace off." She followed blindly, searching for a reason that Mick would be tightening, pressing, fixing, like a human, instead of lapping at the wounds like a hungry jaguar.
"You learn a lot in war."
But this is not war! This is just...Josh...in a park...
"Now this is going to hurt him, so can you hold him still? Be brave, buddy."
"Right." The first words Josh had spoken.
When Mick cut the thigh open, she hadn't been able to look. She'd looked at Josh instead. It was almost worse - she'd been terrified of looking at him. Half-dead, the thought crossed her mind and she almost gagged. Don't you dare jinx this!
She smiled nervously and tried not to think about the way her face settled into the appropriate creases so easily. This wasn't the first time she'd smiled at a dying man. But the last one hadn't died – he was crouched next to her, hands stringing her necklace through flesh that was meant to be hidden underneath hair and skin.
"Breathe, now!" And she was pressing her lips against Josh's, like she had last night, but different. The familiar touch made her ache. He wasn't responding.
Breathe my breath. I brought Mick back to life with my blood...
"Don't leave me. Josh!" Screaming, expelling all that precious air at him.
"Save him please, for me."
Mick refused. The whisper of a breeze through the leaves. The stench of blood. It was just words and sounds after that.
The shrieking of the paddles charging.
"Clear."
Rag doll body bouncing.
"I'm sorry, he's gone."
Death comes to us all. And love, love comes at the strangest times.
--
Mick, with his fingers digging through layers of flesh, bore witness to tenacity of Josh's memories and his heart broke a little more as his resolve faltered a little less: Josh would live. He'd make him live.
No stranger to grief, am I. No stranger to death or the last, great battle with inevitability. Josh Lindsey didn't know how to curl up and die, but that didn't help him live. Through the battles – bullets and bombings; slow, torturous decimation; fists and feet – the only thing I learned was that victory didn't hide in the strategy charts but in the fragility of human bodies. Live or die? And a little part of the world hung in the balance.
But Nature is more cruel than Vampires. Not that natural creatures see it that way.
He tried to explain: He's human, Beth. This is what happens.
She wasn't buying it. She wouldn't look at him. He wanted to hold her, check that white tinge on her skin, let her bury her teeth in his neck for vengeance if she wanted...anything but this numbness.
There were so many ways it could have happened and Mick wandered through every possibility searching for the lost crossroad where he had made his first mistake. The fountain? Black Crystal? New York? Leaving her one morning without telling her how he felt? She could have heard him out impassively, drawn back into her comfortable shell of a relationship and told him they were done permanently. That his cherished 'stay' really meant 'fuck me Mick, so we can get this over with and I can get you out of my system.' She'd have had her choice. She made such a big deal about choices, but couldn't she see how it was? When you're faced with inevitability - and it was inevitable that she would run - you don't offer choices. You just sit back and wait for the chaos to abate.
First mistake in the short-term? Not telling her last night that she could take her apology and her lying eyes and shove if it she couldn't take a chance on loving him too. Maybe it was not letting her feed him when he was dying at Inglewood. Maybe he should have just swallowed his pride when she opened the door in Josh's shirt and made his excuses to get the hell out of there. Or done his damn job; let go of the anger and examined the situation carefully. A blind man could see how vulnerable to attack Josh had been. He didn't seem to have any concept of cowering fear. Mick respected that – he'd seen his fair share of cowards.
The stretcher was unnecessarily loud, clacking over stray rocks towards the ambulance. Bustos was being strapped down inside, the bone cracked from a savage blow to the jaw.
Mick glanced towards Beth hunched over by the lake. His hands were still trembling, caked with blood, and the sun was glinting off the muffled sirens. There was a small edge, to the left, just past the clump of bamboo, where the water nestled against the earth. It would take all of three seconds to dip his hands in and wash the blood away. Who would've thought.... And he stopped, gasping. Who would've thought the man to have so much blood in him?
Fangs itched, his tongue licking frantically at the backs of his lips, whispering to be let out, that it would clean the soiled hands so neatly and so generously. And all the while his own racing heartbeat called up memories of the hunt and the smeared, red badges of victory.
Not in front of the humans. Not like this. Beth would see, Beth would know. If he eased Josh's blood from his body to languish forever in the pond, Beth would see, Beth would know what he was trying to do – hide from himself. And from the fact that he was washing Lindsey's insides from his outside and into oblivion, like those of countless other victims.
He moved softly towards the medics who were peering excitedly at Josh under the once-white sheet.
--
Daniels looked curiously from the woman in the spotless shirt to the man standing a few paces behind her. The cops were bustling around; apparently this body was important to them. The woman swayed slightly, he noted with alarm. "Ma'am, are you OK?"
She nodded vaguely, eyes still fixed on the ground, arms wrapped tight around herself. Thomson came round the ambulance, eyebrows raised at the delay. Just a second. They had to leave - a man was in critical condition - but there was a hidden undercurrent here that unsettled him.
He felt for the torch in his pocket and walked up to her. "May I look at your eyes, please?" Her dilated pupils didn't even bother following the light - worrying. He pressed his fingers over her wrist: skin still warm; pulse erratic at best, but fairly strong; deep, quiet breathing. Good, she wasn't in medical shock.
The guy behind her was cleaning his hands with some surgical wipes, nodding gratefully at Thomson.
Nobody, least of all the Lieutenant himself, could have predicted just how much Carl cared that Beth was safe. She and Mick were escorted home by two very subdued officers. A new TAC squad was outside the house. Carl tried to explain - Josh might have been the ultimate target, but there was no question that Beth had been marked. Word was going to get out that she'd been involved in taking down Bustos and Puerta, he still wanted some detail at the house. She just made him promise that everyone would stay outside and they acquiesced gratefully.
--
Mick steeled himself as Beth shut the porch door behind her. Carl didn't waste much time. A quick discussion with the new squad and then he was standing in front of Mick his head nodding slightly in a particularly disturbing manner.
"You always around when death comes knocking, St John?"
"Lately, that's all it feels like."
"So, just two with guns this time, eh? Easier than the last one; six with guns and machetes."
Mick felt the first pricklings of fear in his stomach. "Apparently my guardian angel works weekends and overtime," he said lightly.
Carl smiled a little at that. "And man, you and Beth don't have much luck with lovers. She stabs yours, hers gets shot..."
Mick moved so fast Carl half-thought he dreamed it. Only the creased shirtfront and the crumpled tie sat in smug evidence.
"Now how did you do that, St John?" he asked softly.
Mick turned away, pressing the tingling fingers together; Carl's silver necklace had burned even through the layers of cloth. "I took a lot of martial arts."
"And medical training?"
"Some."
"The medics seemed impressed."
"Yeah? Maybe they should take some driving lessons. If they'd gotten there a minute or two earlier..." Mick looked up at the house suddenly, at the crack in the blinds where a fist clung tight, and he willed all his senses to dull.
Carl watched him intently. Oh, not the hots at all. From Morgan's beside at the hospital three weeks ago to the park, somewhere along the way, the PI had fallen and fallen hard.
"You're going to need a statement," Mick said flatly, turning back to face Carl.
The detective raised his eyebrows. "You mean you're not going to vanish for two days and put my job in jeopardy this time?" At least the guy had the grace to look momentarily surprised.
"I'm sorry, man. I didn't-.... No," Mick continued. "Not two days. I want in on this. I'm a witness and you can use that information in the interrogation room." He turned back to face the house briefly. "Beth can corroborate anything I say later."
"OK."
Mick looked at him suspiciously. Relief was pouring off the detective. "I just need to make one stop first."
"Going home to get cleaned up?"
"Just gonna grab a change of clothes." Home, morgue. Cleaned up, get blood. Same difference. He'd just button his jacket and nobody would notice a thing.
"Do not make me wait more than an hour."
Carl was still watching as Mick drove away.
With sunglasses on, Mick finally let his eyes vamp out as a measure of relief. And made a mental note to ask Guillermo not to tap whatever was left over in Josh and the dead cop for food; it was the least he could do.
No regrets. He knew beyond any doubt that there were no regrets over his refusal. The Vampire snarled: Death comes to all. There will be no Turnings without consent. The rest of him wondered if Beth had wanted to die instead. If she had looked at Josh and thought, 'It was supposed to be me.' …All the cards that she had gambled today: one man traded for the other, one life traded for the other, one parody of existence that was nearly traded for love.
He'd worn so much blood today – Coraline's and Josh's. And almost Beth's. A split second slower and shards of brain and bone would have decorated his shirt as well.
It buzzed like a refrain in his head, and he worried at it like a dog, trying to tear a hole in its smug condemnation. Almost-Beth, almost-Beth, almost-Beth. It sang in his engine, in the rattling of a loosening hubcap, in the swish of cars passing him, the human hearts pumping on the streets, it blew into his mind with the memory of glass shards in her elbow, all the way downtown.
--
It wasn't my fault, Beth told herself over and over, the words ringing in a hollow litany. She froze as the front door slid shut behind her; the empty apartment was full of memories whispering urgently from the corners. Fleetingly, the thought crossed her mind that this was how it must be for Mick, to see the past everywhere you went and be helpless against it. Then she forced him from her mind, focusing only on avoiding anything that had touched Josh's living body in the last twenty-four hours. She wanted to shower, but the crumpled bedclothes from this morning forced her back to the kitchen. She couldn't face the couch or the armchairs. His coffee cup was still in the sink. She turned and turned, looking for a Beth-place, any Josh-less space.
The grief finally drove her to the windows from which she'd last seen him smiling up at her, ugly, wracking sobs that startled her with their vehemence. Mid-afternoon sunlight filtered lazily through the gap in the blinds where her fingers twisted it in a death-grip. She rocked harder against the wall, oblivious to the rattling blinds and her own sobbing.
The first in a series of calls startled her out of her trance. She stilled gently, wondering too late if the phone should have been switched off. She contemplated taking the house phone off the hook, switching her cell phone off, but sat quietly instead. Carl would panic if the phones didn't ring.
Maureen called. Marissa called. Carter called. More people called. Beth ignored them all. The wood floor was warm and comforting; it smelled of dust. Josh had never smelled like dust. Not yet, but he would. The thought set her crying again. He had been happy, successful, brave, and she had killed him. How was it she could persuade Josh into dying for her but not Mick into bringing Josh back to life? Did she not beg hard enough? Did Mick not see it?
The voices ringing out on the answering machine blended into a vicious pantomime: Honey, take all the time you need. Let us know if there's anything we can do; Oh my God, Beth. I just saw the report. Are you OK? What happened?; Beth, I just heard. God, I swear we'll get this guy; Beth, I just heard...; Beth, how are you?; Beth, is there anything...; Beth, do you want...; Beth, should I...?
"...Beth, I just saw it on the news. I'm so sorry!" the voice was saying. It was soft and sweet, and Beth raised her head like a wounded animal glimpsing shelter. "I know I never met him and I know you said things were iffy, but I hope you're safe."
She stumbled towards the phone. This one will understand.
"If you ever need someone to talk to or if there's anything I can do to help-"
Beth lifted the receiver and managed just, "Audrey," before tears overwhelmed her again.
