AN: Just want to say thanks to LadyChaos for pushing my to 300 reviews :) The feedback was very welcome and thanks so much for the compliments. I definitely agree Joneysbites needs more love for her stories. If any of you haven't read Snowblind, definitely give it a try. It's got a bunch of fun Baird/Cole moments :D
To Shadow: I'm sorry you didn't enjoy the last chapter, but was there anything you really didn't enjoy besides the lack of a reunion between Chelsea and Baird? If not, then I would (respectfully) say it may be a bit harsh to say I had a lapse in audience satisfaction with the last chapter. I had fun designing and writing the fight scene and that was the main focus of the last chapter.
Chelsea couldn't help but fidget, her trigger finger sliding over the safety on her shotgun every couple minutes, just to make sure it was off. It was warm enough to make her sweat, even though Daniel had made her leave her leather bomber jacket behind. He'd all but jerked it off her back in the parking lot of the motel, tossing it into the room he shared with his brother before they got into the Humvee to go bounty hunting.
"What're you trying to do, kid? Die of heat exhaustion?" Dan'd asked, giving her a smack across the back of the skull, although not nearly as hard as he would've slapped Clay. Dan was always getting on her for wearing 'that stupid jacket.' He had no idea she had something to hide, and whenever he gave her crap she bore it in silence, watching Clay snigger to himself in the background.
So far the evening had been painfully uneventful. After standing on hard concrete for nearly thirty minutes and her legs were killing her. Stiff after driving all day, she hurt from heels to lower back, and everything in-between. Bounty hunting had plenty of exciting moments, but also a lot of boring hurry up and wait. So often they'd scratch up a lead on where their subject might be, hurry over, and then wait around for hours to see if the subject of their warrant would show up. Either that or they'd wait for Karver to scare another location out of one of the bounty's friends.
Today, she was waiting for Clay and Daniel to search a house. They'd gone in the back and she was standing out front with Karver, watching to make sure the young man they were looking for didn't flee out the front door. She was dead tired, but this day wouldn't end any time soon. She still needed to corner Dom and talk to him without giving away her identity to the rest of her team.
When she thought of Dom and the rest of them, a thrill of fear and exhileration rose through her chest, making her heart pound. Chelsea took a slow breath, doing her best to stay calm and collected. This wasn't the time to lose focus even if her current situation was tearing her up inside. It wasn't like her to play games or pretend to be something she wasn't. After all this time, after everything that had happened, she didn't know how she felt about her old life anymore. Seeing him, seeing all of them, made her heart flutter with joy, relief, excitement. It also smashed her to pieces. She hadn't seen them for a year. The longest year of her life.
She'd kissed Clay that afternoon, and in spite of her better judgement, she'd liked it. She also liked her job, her new life. Driving was good, tangible work. No mind games, no prying into veterans' private lives, no busy work. She missed her mother, even though she dreaded how far she'd probably declined over the past year. She missed Baird, or at least her memories of him. But no matter how she tried to slice it, there didn't seem to be room for both her old life and new to combine and intermingle. She had some very tough choices ahead of her, but at least Clay was giving her some distance to figure things out. It was almost too much privacy after months of having the younger Carmine brother breathing down her neck.
If it hadn't been so long, if she hadn't survived so much, she probably would've run over and moment she saw Baird and jumped into his arms. Part of her still wanted that: to be Chelsea again and not be persecuted for it. But 'Charlie' had been good to her, and so had Karver. She still had some time to get this figured out, and work had to come first.
"You in there, Chuck?" Karver asked, his dark blue eyes constantly darting around, constantly alert like a true former Gear. Over the past month or so Clay's nickname for her had caught on with the other guys and Tina, but she hadn't realized she was on nickname terms with Karver.
Chelsea gave herself a shake. "Yeah," she said, keeping it short and sweet. No use talking more than necessary. Work did need to come first, and not just because she owed it to her boss. She needed to pay attention, keep her ass out of trouble.
After their crew had arrived in town that afternoon, it had mostly been business as usual. Clay went over to make plans with Delta to get together at the bar that evening, leaving Daniel to ride shotgun in the semi and help Chelsea navigate to the drop-off where they would unload their truck and collect pay for the run.
Karver had been waiting for them in the parking lot where they made their drop-off with Fitz already chewing his ear off about their little rescue operation. Chelsea didn't hear the conversation between Fitz and their boss, but she'd watched much of it in her side mirror while a bunch of COG privates working as box boys unloaded the trailer. Basically, Fitz had done a lot of very animated talking, practically foaming at the mouth while he waved his arms around, and Karver had listened unenthusiastically, leaning back against the Humvee with both arms crossed over his chest. Karver didn't say much to Fitz, and when he came over to talk to 'Charlie' and Dan in the semi, he didn't mention anything. He'd just informed them a bondsman buddy of his had a guy he wanted picked up that afternoon.
"Clay told those Delta boys we'd meet them at the bars tonight," Dan had told Karver.
Karver'd put his hands up and shrugged. "So we'll pick the guy up fast. If it takes more than a few hours I'm not bothering with it. We're rolling out in the morning." Secure in his role as their boss, Karver knew it was important to give them down time. Considering he could be a real task master on the road, when they got in for the night he typically backed off and did his best to avoid hijacking their evening plans.
Thirty minutes later they'd checked into a motel, parked the truck, and the four of them (Dan, Clay, Karver and Chelsea) piled into the Humvee with Fitz conspicuously absent. The bondsman had provided directions to where they'd likely find their wanted man, and it hadn't been too hard to find. That led them to be standing here, waiting on the Carmine brothers.
When the waiting started to get to him, Karver lit up. He always smoked when he had nothing better to do with his hands. The cloud of smoke hung in the hot, humid air. Chelsea found the smell distasteful, but 'Charlie' wouldn't give a rat's ass about a little smoke and right now she was supposed to be Charlie. It wasn't always easy to stay in character lately. The more time she spent half-way between with Clay, not quite in her old identity but close enough, the harder it became to maintain the carefully constructed male persona she'd built to protect herself.
Clayton Carmine was predatory, but not like any predator Chelsea had ever seen before. He was the sort of predator who smiled at a girl a lot, flexing all those glorious muscles, and yet, made his intentions plain. He was like a watchful cat, if a cat could wear a wide, toothy grin. Inviting, but always ready to pounce.
Chelsea often wondered why Tina didn't fall all over herself trying to attract Clay's attention. The girl sure as hell wouldn't leave Chelsea alone.
"You a loyal sort of guy, Charlie?" Karver asked, his rough voice bringing her back into the moment. "That why you decided to go after those soldiers today?"
Chelsea shrugged, wondering where this conversation might be going - and if she should be worried. "I know Delta by reputation. They always went after survivors. I know they would've come after me."
They probably had tried to find her. Chelsea had barely escaped the city with her life after the MPs pulled her out of Baird's truck. The same way she hadn't known how to get in contact with them after she left without endangering herself, they couldn't have known where to start looking for her. She'd had no choice but to constantly keep moving, especially in those first few months. It probably should've occurred to her that she might get separated from them and need to let them know she was okay, or her whereabouts, or anything. Foolishly, they'd had no plan, no place to meet outside the city. She didn't even know their address. Even if she had, mail wasn't very reliable, or private. What if she got them in trouble for harboring her?
Spending a lot of time on the road left a lot of room to think, and Chelsea had gone back over it a thousand times in her mind. Why didn't they make a plan? Why did she allow herself to be caught unprepared?
The answer was simple. After everything she'd been through, after all the sacrifices her family had made, Chelsea never thought the COG would really force her to become a fugitive. So what if she'd lived with three guys she wasn't related to? She wasn't an old maid. She had plenty of time to find a guy and start a family. If they'd given her a few more months she might've done just that with Baird, assuming they'd gotten along and he'd been willing. After the service she'd rendered, the loss of her father and three brothers, and the discharge without warning, the COG owed her a little patience.
Instead, they forced her out. They left her to become a real criminal. A thief, a murderer. Chelsea never thought she'd go from serving in a COG emergency room to hiding in muddy ditches like an animal. Dirty, starving and often sick from unclean water. Stealing from heavily armed farmers and all the while doing her best to make some sort of plan to salvage her life when she needed every ounce of energy and cunning to stay alive.
After some of the things she'd done this past year, it might be difficult even for Dom to accept her back into his circle of friends. None of them had a high opinion of Stranded, and Chelsea felt she'd become something worse. She never let her shotgun out of her sight even though it reminded her how many times she'd cleaned blood off the stock and barrel.
Karver let his cigarette drop, crushing it under his boot. "You know, until today I thought I had a real problem," the former Gear told her. "I thought someday Fitz and Dan would kill each other, and I'd be out my two best men. I kept on thinking eventually I'd have to get rid of one, or promote one to my second. Either way, one of them would be gone. My business man, or my get 'er done man. Then I figured something out. I've got about a ton of beefcake on this team, and the pencil-necked kid driving my rig is the one calling the shots when the heat's on."
The praise took her by surprise. All this time Chelsea thought she'd been moving under the radar. Karver's role on the team was mostly administrative and coordination these days. It was easy to believe he didn't really pay much attention to what went on between his employees as long as the work got done.
"I'm no leader. Fitz wouldn't ever follow me," Chelsea said, sinking deep in the 'Charlie' facade. Charlie would look down at his boots and scuff the sidewalk during a conversation like this. Charlie wouldn't make eye contact with Karver while being questioned about whether or not he thought he could actually become a leader on a team like this one. Charlie was several years younger than Chelsea and very unsure of where he stood in the pecking order among so many males of superior strength.
Karver let out a deep belly laugh, rough from years of smoking. "Fitz? Fitz is a coward. You don't lead him, you manage him. Today you managed him, and it's got him steamed. Why do you think he wouldn't come out hunting tonight? He's sulking because he got his ass kicked. By a kid."
By a girl. If Fitz ever found out about her, he'd flip out. She instinctively knew that.
The radio on Karver's belt crackled to life. "We've searched the house top to bottom and we haven't found him yet," Dan reported back. "You guys seen anything out front?"
Just then, a window on the upper level slid open, and a skinny young man slipped out onto the sagging roof.
Karver jerked the handset off his belt. "We've got him out front. He's on the roof, trying to make a run for it."
The sagging roof began to collapse underneath the man they'd come to arrest, the rotton shingles sliding out from beneath his feet. He tried to make a leap for it, making it to the small overhang shading the porch from the setting sun, but the overhang gave and he crashed down onto the wood-plank porch in a pile of rubble.
Weapon ready, Karver went forward, calling out to the man to surrender. Chelsea flanked him, her shotgun ready, the stock pulled tight into her shoulder. She was loaded with twelve guage double ought buck, and it kicked hard. As they approached, the kid started flinging aside the rubble trapping him more frantically. He really was just a kid. Mid-teens at most. Fear made his blue eyes wild, and even though Karver threatened to shoot, when the boy got free he took off running like the devil was chasing after him.
Karver raised his Lancer, took aim at the boy's backside. If they brought in the boy injured they'd only get half the bounty. Dead, and they'd only get a quarter. But Chelsea had a feeling money wasn't the only thing that stayed Karver's trigger finger.
"Shit," he said, lowering his weapon and taking off running after the boy, his armored boots beating heavily on the broken concrete of the sidewalk.
Chelsea didn't particularly want to follow, but Charlie would. Charlie would chomp at the bit to chase the kid down and hog tie him. Charlie would be thinking about going to the bar later that night and having all the other guys on the crew smack him on the back and congratulate him and buy him drinks until the room started to spin. Charlie would imagine girls noticing what a fuss a couple of strapping guys like Clay and Dan Carmine were making over him, and then those girls would wonder if maybe he was someone worth getting close to for the night.
She kept her pace steady, jogging instead of sprinting, and held onto the strap attached to her shotgun with one hand so it wouldn't beat against her back. The boy had taken off like a spooked horse. He was scared, running hard and probably on the verge of hyperventalating. Even though the sun was quickly going down, the heat of the day had yet to dissipate. He wouldn't get far before he started to flag, his adrenaline draining away. For the first time, Chelsea was glad for Clay and Daniel's fitness-freak ways. When she first joined the team, she'd worked out with them to get away from Tina, but later continued to do so because it kept her fit, kept her physique from regaining its natural curves when she had access to proper nutrition once again.
Plus it was a lot of fun watching Dan whip Clay's ass when they all ran together every morning.
When the kid started to get tired, hardly able to keep his legs pumping while making his way through the crowded city streets, Chelsea still trotted along after him, hardly winded. She'd lost Karver blocks ago. He hadn't stood much of a chance in his heavy armor. The heat caught up with him, and so did his smoking habit. She'd caught a glimpse of him over her shoulder when he finally gave in, hands on his knees and coughs racking his whole body.
Pulling the radio from the belt on her cargos, Chelsea depressed the button on the side and spoke into it. "He's making his way downtown, toward the restaurant district. I can still see him."
"What street?" Clay asked, and she could hear the excitement in his voice. The hunt was on, and the boys loved giving chase.
Chelsea looked around. Of course, there were no street signs visible. The city was bustling, but that was a nitty-gritty level of maintenance they weren't up to quite yet.
"I don't know. He's going west, toward the bars."
Immediately after she said that, the kid turned a sharp corner, running down an alley to the south.
"Shit," Chelsea hissed, putting the radio back on her belt and finally turning on the after-burners. She wasn't going to lose him now. She'd run every morning for months. Every stride she took was powerful, and even though her legs churned hard they felt strong. She wouldn't wear out before he did.
Keep running, asshole. You'll just go to jail tired.
Chelsea turned into the alley, narrowly missing a man in a bloody butcher's apron with a crate in his arms walking out of the alley. She regained line of sight with her target. He was almost done, and she cut into his lead quickly, chased him down the alley two more blocks, and just when she thought he might stop, he charged down another crossing alleyway, this one even narrower than the first, making for a group of three tall women standing around smoking outside the back door of a club with music cranked up so loud it could be heard outside the establishment, humming and thumping. The three women were clad in little more than their underwear, enjoying cigarettes in the settling twilight.
The kid darted inside, and Chelsea charged ahead after him. The door led into the dimly lit dressing room in the back of a strip club. Approximately ten young women, many of them nearly naked, were putting on make-up and costumes, getting ready to showcase their assets on stage. Only a few of them glanced up for a moment when a convicted criminal and pursing bounty hunter ran past. The rest didn't even pause from their chatter and preparations. Chelsea would bet if any of them were questioned by MPs about this incident, they'd swear they hadn't seen anything.
"Stop!" Chelsea ordered, chasing the kid through the dressing room and into a back store room packed with cases of alcohol and beer. The dull thumping music was louder here, and it swallowed her words like she'd never said them.
There were two doors leaving the store room. One opened up behind the bar and was currently filled by a bar tender on his way back with tall stacks of dirty glasses, the other door was up a short wooden staircase.
Chelsea was right on the kid's ass when he went up the stairs, and for the first time she realized he was quite a bit bigger than her. Taller, if not heavier. He pushed open the door at the top of the wooden stairs, flung open a velvety curtain on the other side, and ran out onto a stage in front of a bar packed full of patrons with a very beautiful young woman hanging six feet off the ground on a pole and another young woman working the crowd close to the stage. Both women were all but naked.
The kid paused, a little taken aback by his circumstances, and Chelsea took the opportunity to tackle him, causing both of them to slide to the edge of the stage in a pile of flailing arms and legs.
Chelsea caught an elbow in the eye, and her vision exploded in reds and greens. Temporarily blinded, she fought to keep control of the young man, seeking an arm bar or to get on his back and choke him out, but then all of a sudden everything stopped. The kid stopped struggling, the music cut out, and the entire bar went dead silent.
For the first time, Chelsea realized exactly where she was. Clinging tight to the young man, they'd slid together to the very edge of the stage, directly between the straddled legs of a stripper working the crowd for tips. Four inches from Chelsea's ear was a very tall stiletto heel, and another stiletto was poised on the other side of the kid she'd tackled. Chelsea very pointedly didn't look up. She had a pretty good idea what she'd see if she did.
As it turned out, being in a rather compromising position with a stripper was the least of her concerns. Seated in the front row just a few feet away were four stunned Gears, each with a drink in hand except for one. One of them had a pistol pointed straight at her and the kid.
Putting her hands up in surrender, Chelsea gave a feeble wave. "Hey, guys," she said, not quite forcing her voice low enough to pass for Charlie.
"Holy shit," Baird said, one arm around a scantily clad stripper seated sideways on his lap. Judging by the slightly glassy look to his eyes, he'd had a few drinks. Cole sat to his left, on and his right were two privates: the big Islander MP who'd pulled Chelsea from Damon's truck a year ago-he held the pistol-and another soldier she didn't recognize who must've been the fifth traveling with them.
Cole blinked hard a few times. "Holy shit," he repeated, nudging Baird with his elbow. "Hey, that's..."
"I know who it is," Baird cut him off, voice cold.
"...Shrink Lady," Cole finished, but now he was studying his friend, looking back and forth between him and Chelsea. If Baird was drunk, Cole was probably also drunk. It was hard to tell if he was putting two and two together, or just trying to figure out what was going on.
The stripper tripped over Chelsea and the kid when she tried to climb over them, and for a moment they were an odd pile of flailing limbs; bounty hunter, bounty and all-but-naked woman. Then the bouncers got hold of them. Chelsea felt someone grab her from behind, dragging her roughly backwards off the stage and violently ripping the shotgun off her back, breaking the cord connecting the strap to the weapon and leaving a strap-shaped bruise across her sternum.
"Get them out of here! Turn them in to the MPs!" the club manager shouted.
Chelsea was cuffed across the back of the head with her own weapon. Black spots explode across her vision. She almost fell, scrambling to find some steadying surface with her hands. Someone had spilled their drink on the floor, leaving behind a wet puddle with a number of ice cubes laying inside it. At the same time the bouncer pushed her, Chelsea's boots hit the puddle and she went down, gasping when she landed on her extended arm and feeling a pop in her wrist. The bouncer threw the shotgun back up onto the stage and grabbed her uninjured arm with both hands, hauling her back onto her feet. When she was upright, he twisted her arm up behind her back until she cried out, feeling tendons straining to hold her shoulder in its socket.
Then someone caught the bouncer by the collar, hauling him off of her. Chelsea turned her head just in time to see Baird throw every ounce of strength he could muster into a left cross. With a grunt of effort, his entire body weighed in on the devastating blow. Baird's fist clipped the bouncer's jaw, knocking his head back hard enough to inflict whiplash.
Chelsea watched Cole and the other two Gears rise from their seats, pushing aside strippers who'd been entertaining them, getting ready for the shit storm sure to come when the remaining bar enforcers descended on Baird. They were an intimidating looking crew.
Baird turned to her for just a moment, his jaw clenched and his green eyes wild. "You're damn lucky I don't hit girls," he growled, blunt as ever.
Even as he said it, two more bouncers made their way through the crowd, quickly closing on them. Meanwhile, Chelsea's bounty saw an opportunity to give the man gripping him the slip.
Jerking the radio off her belt, Chelsea charged into the crowd, going after the kid. "Clay, we're in the strip bar. Come ready, there's gonna be a fight."
Jamming the radio back onto her belt without waiting for a response, she slid between bystanders, trying to get to the edge of the crowd. As people outside started to hear the commotion, they started to come inside the bar, pressing toward the fight brewing by the stage. These days a simple bar fight could easily escalate into a riot. The remaining populous of Sera consisted of a bunch of underworked fighters with a low standard of living and no one to punch in the face for it.
"Eh, lady? Where you going?" the big Islander MP called after her, following her through the crowd.
"Stop following me!" she shouted over her shoulder, catching up with the kid and grabbing him. She pushed him up against the bar and slipped cuffs on him with expert precision borne from months of practice.
"Can't do that. If you disappear again, that crazy blond asshole will probably kill me," the Islander informed her, catching up and standing next to her, placing a helping hand on the kid's shoulder while she cuffed him so he wouldn't get any ideas. Before she met Clay, she would've considered the former MP huge, almost on par with Cole's massive bulk.
"Who, Baird?" Chelsea asked, which seemed like a silly question, but that didn't make her feel any less bewildered. Baird seemed pretty pissed at her at the moment.
"He's the only crazy blond asshole assigned to our mission, ma'am," the former MP confirmed, completely deadpan.
That was true enough. "Quit struggling!" Chelsea ordered her victim, pushing him toward the door. "We already know I can outrun you when your hands are free."
By now Karver and the Carmine brothers should've caught up with her. Chelsea figured she could let them secure the bounty, leaving her free to go back into the bar and help Baird and Cole. Except, nothing went to plan. Instead of finding Clay or Dan or Erek outside the club, she found a fully-armed squad of MPs responding to the fight in progress.
"Hey, you," one of them called to her. "You the one who called us?"
"Arrest her!" one of the bar employees called out from the door, pointing directly at Chelsea. "She started it! Arrest her! Arrest both of them!"
The MPs trained rifles on her, the kid she'd arrested and the former MP standing beside her. Chelsea let go of the kid and raised her hands above her head as instructed.
Beside her, the Islander 'former' MP swore, also raising his hands over his head. "Shit, lady. Your boyfriend's gonna kill me."
"He's not my boyfriend," Chelsea admitted with an exhausted sigh. After all this time, this was how it ended? She got snagged by accident outside a strip club?
Sure. Why not.
It wasn't the first time Cole had waded into a fight after Baird. In fact, that's how they'd met. A bunch of privates got into a fight in the bathroom, and Blondie got the short end if it until Cole intervened. Baird had a short fuse, but he'd mellowed a lot over the years. With age and experience, confidence and wisdom, he'd eventually learned six-on-one odds didn't bode well in his favor.
But give the guy a little hard liquor and he'd throw down with just about anyone, and that seemed to be his plan tonight. He'd already had words with Dom and Marcus before they headed out for the evening, getting into it with them over stupid, petty shit. Shit Baird usually didn't care about, like what time they'd head out in the morning to the job site. Then, on the way over the club, he'd torn Solice a new one for slamming the door of Baird's precious pickup, which Marcus had graciously brought along.
Cole figured it was because the man had a lot on his mind. Baird didn't talk much about the rape charges pending against him, or the ensuing paternity suit, but it had to be wearing on him. His skin was so thin today it was damn near transparent.
Now the man was trying to take on six bouncers by himself. Not the best way to start an evening in Cole's opinion.
"You better go after Shrink-Lady," Cole said to Solice. He no more than said the word and Solice disappeared into the crowd after Chelsea, who'd bounded off like someone lit a fire under her ass.
"Now what?" Wixler asked, watching the near-comedy of Baird's attempts to fight off six grown men in a crowded area. So far he was doing well, forcing them all to pile up behind each other trying to get at him so he never had to deal with more than one or two at a time. "Are we going to help him?"
Cole interlaced his fingers and pressed them outward, cracking all his knuckles. "Yep," he acknowledged. In his younger years, he would've dove straight in. These days he took a moment to lament not being able to warm up and stretch before a fight. At his age, he was likely to pull a muscle or tear a ligament or otherwise hurt himself.
He wasn't too worried about others hurting him.
Baird hopped up on stage where two strippers were huddling together next to the pole, trying to stay out of the fray. A bouncer grabbed his boot, tripping him, and tried to drag him off the stage. Baird kicked at the man, scooting backward on his butt.
"Cole! I could use some help!" Baird shouted, and his voice pitched higher than normal, just starting to smack of desperate. There were three men trying to pull Baird down off the stage now, and they looked like they'd love to pound the shit out of him.
Just like in Thrashball, Cole found he could sometimes do more damage by doing less. He walked up to the jumping, grabbing thrall of bouncers, and gave the pile a big push. It was not unlike pushing over a pile of defenders attempting to strip a ball carrier. The mass tangled, and the shove sent most of them sprawling on the floor, leaving just two in the back left standing.
Baird scrambled to his feet and looked around for an exit. The way off stage was blocked by the bartender, and the thick crowd blocked the other side of the stage. Reaching out, Damon grabbed one of the strippers and pulled her toward him.
"Catch," he shouted at the two remaining bouncers, tossing the stripper off the stage in her heels and forcing the two to occupy themselves with catching her. The girl shrieked loud enough to wake the dead, and continued to scream as Baird hopped off the stage, took two long strides and then launched himself up onto the bar.
Cole just shook his head while watching his friend sprint down the length of the bar, sending beer mugs and bowls full of peanuts flying. In his Thrashball days, Cole had hung out with a lot of interesting people, including celebrities, athletes and kids who were so rich they were famous for it. He used to think he'd known some serious partiers, but none of those people had brought anywhere near as much 'entertainment' to his life as Damon Baird.
"Hey, hey! Stop him!" the club manager shouted, trying to race through the crowd along with two of his goons. They were trying to cut him off before he got out the door and onto the street. Baird couldn't really blame them. Wouldn't he want to beat the piss out of some dick who cold-cocked one of his buddies? They had no idea their buddy had been beating on a woman.
A woman who should've been dead.
Running down a bar was harder than it looked. If he took one wrong step, he'd wipe out on a plate of wings or trip over a napkin holder, and that would majorly suck. The fall from this height would likely break bones, at the very least. The rush of adrenaline from the fight had sobered him up some, but he still remained just a bit detached from his motor skills. Like he floated above it all and didn't quite participate. Up ahead, he could see the end of the bar. It was a four and a half foot drop, so he'd hit the ground off balance unless he timed it perfectly, and he still had three steps to the door.
The bar employees were gaining on him, even through the onlookers pushing forward. If he made it, it would only be by an extremely narrow margin. The barest remains of evening light remained outside, but it beckoned him through the open door.
Cheers erupted from the crowd when he hit the floor perfectly, hardly missing a beat. He felt a hand grab the back of his t-shirt, but he kept going, tearing away from the grip but still able to feel three large men breathing down the back of his neck.
"Clay, help him!" he heard Chelsea shout.
Another step and he cleared the door. The second he passed through, a huge arm came across the frame, grabbing the jamb and clotheslining the three men chasing him.
Outside, Baird turned around, finding Clay Carmine, dressed in full plate, had rescued him for the second time in 24 hours. With two bouncers and the bar manager stacked up on his arm, Clay put on his brightest wolf-in-sheep's-clothing smile. The one that didn't extend to his predator eyes. He had absolutely no trouble holding them back, and any of those burly guys would've given Baird a run for his money in a fair fight.
"Don't worry, guys. I know you just want my buddy to get home safe, considering he's had a little too much to drink, but I'll make sure he gets there." Coming from Clay, the words held a challenge. Something along the lines of, 'Let me take his drunk ass home or I'll thump your brains out.'
During one of his stints as a sergeant, Baird was assigned a squad with Clay Carmine in it. The guy liked to fight, and he was capable of incredible brutality. There were rumors Clay had gotten caught with another Gear's girlfriend at the Rusty Nail back in Jacinto. The jealous boyfriend started throwing punches, but Clay finished it, breaking the other man's arms, cracking his skull and kicking in his ribs. On top of all that, rumor was Carmine still slept with the girl that night, completely remorseless.
Having a guy like Clay Carmine for a private was one of the experiences that made Baird swear off being a sergeant. Even before E-Day, the COG didn't pay enough to make putting up with that sort of crap worthwhile. He was always getting rolled out of his cot at odd hours to bail out Clay. At the time Baird had been seeing a girl named Elise from the kitchen staff semi-regularly. At least, he did until she met Carmine and dumped him for the over-sized meathead.
After that, Baird had Clay transferred to Delta so Fenix could deal with him. Baird figured if Clay could steal Anya, all the more power to him.
"Damon!"
Baird turned, finally taking in his surroundings. Clay had his dark-featured brother by his side, along with their boss, a taller guy with long blond hair. They were all suited up in COG armor, but none had any insignia. They were trying to talk down the bar manager, keep him from pressing charges against Chelsea, or Baird.
A patrolling squad of MPs had crashed the party, and they were currently in possession of the young man Chelsea had chased into the bar. They were also in possession of Chelsea, searching her person while forcing her to keep her hands clasped behind her head even as Solice pleaded with them to wait for Fenix and Santiago to arrive.
"Come on, brah. I used to be an MP. This isn't what it looks like. Just wait for my sergeant to get here. He knows her."
"Then where's her ID?" one of the MPs argued back. "Without identification or a bounty hunting cert, I can't have a private citizen arresting people or trespassing on private property in the pursuit of a fugitive."
"Her boss has a certification. He told you that," Solice argued, pointing toward the large blond man with long hair. What was his name? Karver?
"Every employee who engages in bounty hunting must have their own cert."
Solice looked like he wanted to jack the guy in the face. His fists clenched at his sides. "Eh, you think I don't know how this works? If she was a dude, you'd drop it. This kind of shit is why I got a transfer. Don't see you arresting me, and I was standing right next to her."
"You aren't a civilian," the MP paused to look down at Solice's military ID. "Private Solice. But if you'd like a drunk and disorderly charge on your record, I'm sure we could accommodate you."
Solice put out his hands, wrists together, inviting the MP to slap on the cuffs. "Do it, asshole, I dare you!"
Lips pursed in a sneer, the MP took a set of handcuffs off his belt. "Fine. Your sergeant's going to have your ass, boy."
"Eh, my sergeant ain't no twenty-two year old gets a hard on from dropping privates just because he can. He's Dom Santigo and he'll fuck you up, brah."
Chelsea should've been arguing her case, but she only had eyes for him. "Damon, I'm sorry!" she called. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you."
Baird opened his mouth, about to let fly with some scathing comment, but then he paused. Outside under natural light, he could finally see what the past year had done to her. She was thin. Most people stayed thin on rations, but her cheeks had gone hollow and the butt he'd once admired was gone. Her cargo pants were barely held on by a belt slung low around her hips. Her clothes were dirty and over-worn, her hair ragged underneath the bandanna, which the MPs had removed while searching her. She had faded white scars on her wrists, the kind of scars people got from being restrained by rope ties.
Heaving a sigh, Baird made his way over to her just as Clay Carmine made his way over from the ongoing negotiation with the bar manager. Stopping exactly a yard away from her, Baird nodded to the large shadow in his peripheral.
"You sleeping with him?" Baird asked. He was prepared to walk away and forget her if she said yes.
Before Chelsea could answer, Clay interjected. "Man, I've been trying to hit that for months. Never had a girl hold out on me so long."
"Why the hell should I believe you?" Baird asked, throwing all the snarky venom he could muster into the words.
Clay just smirked. Still the same smug asshole. "Because you know I don't give a shit about your feelings. If your girl wants me more than you, I'm probably doing you a favor."
"So that's how it works? You were doing me a 'favor' back on Vectes?"
"What, with that kitchen girl? The one who smelled like bacon? I told you then, I didn't know she had a boyfriend. Trust me, man, I did you a favor."
The darker featured Carmine brother came over to join them, and he leaned in momentarily in passing. What was his name? Daniel? "Usually I don't defend Clayton, but if you're talking about the bacon girl, then he really did do you a favor, man. That girl stalked Clay for months."
"That may be true," Baird admitted, eyes narrowed with skepticism. "But it's the principle of the thing."
Chelsea watched their back-and-forth with tired eyes. When the MP finished searching her, he pulled her arms down from her head one at a time, cuffing her wrists behind her back. She appeared stoic, but when Baird looked closely, he saw the slight tremble of fear she couldn't quite suppress. She must think he was so stupid, hashing over an old slight from half a decade ago. Something that didn't even matter anymore. Sometimes he let these little things dig in under his skin at inappropriate times.
"Hey, give me a minute to say good-bye, all right?" Baird told the MP about to lead her away.
The MP held up a finger. "You have one minute. Don't push me." Then he let her go.
Even restrained, she slipped into his arms like she belonged there, pressing her face against his shoulder and leaning into him. She took a long, shuddering breath.
"I feel light-headed," she admitted, the words muffled against his shirt.
In the background, Clay tried to talk down the MPs. The bar manager had dropped all charges, but they wouldn't budge on taking her into custody. They were even taking Solice into custody.
Running his hands up and down her arms to promote circulation, Baird pulled her tighter into his chest. "That's the panic. Just breathe, nice and slow. We aren't going to let you rot in jail, so there's no point in fainting and making a big dramatic scene."
That at least got a smile out of her. "Making a scene? Like you did in the bar just now?"
"I've got news for you. There's only room for one drama queen in this relationship, and it's probably going to be me."
She nodded, swallowing hard like she had a lump in her throat. "I remember. I missed you," she said, and the haunted way she said it gave him some understanding of just how much she meant it. "Don't make a scene out here, okay? I don't want anyone to get hurt."
He didn't remind her that if he was going to start something, he would've already. The last time this happened he tried to fight and he ended up losing her. Even with his arms around her, Baird could tell she was scared shitless. The shaking didn't go away even when he wrapped her up tight.
"We'll get you out," he promised. He wasn't sure how exactly they'd get it done, but they would. Santiago and Fenix would have their own input, but if all else failed, Baird did have a plan in mind.
Everything in his life had fallen apart lately. Cole had gone off to play Thrashball. He'd gotten himself in deep shit with a female officer working on his project. The only thing he had left was work, and work wasn't enough anymore. Besides Mataki, this was probably the only woman Baird had ever met in his life who truly seemed to care for him across a significant amount of time, and he included his own mother in that count. Part of him still wanted to be angry with Chelsea, but they could sort that out later. If they couldn't sort it out, then at least they'd know it wouldn't work between them and they could go their seperate ways with closure.
"Time's up," the MP informed them.
Baird tilted her head up, pressing a kiss to her lips. She returned it whole-heartedly, rising up on her tip-toes. And then the MP gave a little jerk on her handcuffs and pulled her away from him.
"Hey, keep your head up, Chuck," Clay instructed, slapping Chelsea roughly on the back.
"Like the man said, keep your head up, kid," Daniel Carmine echoed, also giving her a slap on the back. "Don't take any shit off anybody. Just treat 'em like Fitz."
"I'm sorry I lied to you all," she said meekly as she got dragged past her co-workers. "I'm really sorry. I like working with you."
"We'll talk about that when you're out of the tank," Chelsea's boss informed her. "I'm going to head over and talk to a bondsman friend of mine, see if he can pull some strings. I still need my driver."
Chelsea nodded as if encouraged, but Baird knew there would be no bail set. Like Solice said, it was all bullshit. The COG would take in a woman on some trumped up charge and ship her off to the farms. It would take more than money to get Chelsea out of the local jail.
The MP patrol soon rounded a corner down the street, taking Chelsea and Solice with them.
When Baird turned around he found Cole standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest and failing to hide the wide shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
"What're you smiling about?" Baird grumbled in passing.
"Nothing, baby. Just looking forward to telling Mataki she might finally get those blond grandbabies she's been pining for."
"Yeah, well you two ladies can knit all the baby blankets you want after we save the girl. Come on, we need to track down the wonder twins."
"You mean Fenix and Santiago?" Cole asked.
"Is that not what I said?" Baird called over his shoulder. "Come on. You're going to want to see the look on Santiago's face when we tell him one of his privates went to jail on his first day as a squad leader."
Hustling to catch up, Cole fell in beside him, the grin now firmly planted on his face. "Oh, yeah? You think it's gonna be better than the look on his face when we tell him you and Shrink Lady were up in a tree, k-i-s-s"
"Cole," Baird growled, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "I will slap you."