A/N - Thanks for the reviews and your support - I was really stressed about posting these two chapters!

Chapter 15

Total Internal Reflection Part II

'The drop started at a public phone,' the Chief said. 'I'm sure Tony thought he'd done enough. That I believed Ed had been bought. I knew that he would want to hurt me as much as he could. To make the big reveal of the truth just before the end. I banked on it. That was my plan. So I let Richards lure me on. He knew I'd want both Ed and the evidence.'

Ironside stopped. What happened next had been absolutely necessary. If Richards had thought for one minute anything was amiss, he would have backtracked, killed Ed and vanished with the drugs.

The van bumped on, each second moving closer to the warehouse, and closer to the scene of their showdown. Mark was driving quickly, the Chief couldn't see the expression on his face, but could guess how he must be feeling, hearing this terrible tale described out loud, having to relive those memories.

Fran had stopped looking at him minutes ago, her lips were pressed tightly together, trying in vain to hide the tears by staring out of the side window. She could hardly speak. Ironside couldn't stop. Now he had started it would have to go through to the end.

'When Tony called I behaved as if Eve was dead, trying to help with the illusion that I believed what I was shown.' He shook his head. 'We talked about the evidence. We talked about the money.'

'Ed?' murmured Fran. Her lips twitched, wanting to say more but the words didn't come out of her mouth.

Ironside shook his head again, this time turning slightly away from her.

'And I called Ed a disgrace. I know he heard me.'

It was the right thing to do. Tony had to believe it or the plan wouldn't have worked. In the circumstances, it was the only thing he could do, even if he was filled with remorse at the memory.

'Chief,' said Fran in a small voice. 'He must have kn-'

'No!' Ironside said, thumping his hand on the arm of his wheelchair. 'The first rule of kidnapping isn't to make the victim feel good about themselves.'

Fran drew a short, stunned breath, and shrank back into the seat.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the van still rumbling along to their destination. There wasn't much more time, and he had to get it done before they got there. He'd never be able to start this up again.

The Chief reached forward to take her hand briefly.

'I'm sorry, Fran. I shouldn't have said that.' He took a shaking breath. 'I lied, to save him. He believed me. He had to. They both had to.'

His mind is spinning and lurching, Ed barely has any understanding of where he is. He longs to escape to the dark, but every time he slips towards the comforting black of unconsciousness, something tugs him back. He tries to stand straight, to ease the pain in his wrists and hands, but it's getting harder to keep upright. Each breath takes an hour, each tiny movement fills his whole body with agony.

The crescendo of panic has passed. It's bled away onto the floor, and now he feels utterly drained and exhausted. Warm dribbles of blood prickle over his skin and his sodden, blood-soaked shirt clings to his side. Everything hurts in a way he's never experienced before. But it is all too far away to care about. How long has he been here like this? Does it matter? What does any of it matter?

Ed hears talking, indistinct but loud enough to get his attention. His muscles tense involuntarily, and the ragged, burning pain from all those open cuts sweeps through him. It's then he realises that Lonnie has stopped and the knife has gone. Lonnie isn't nearby. That helps him to focus and a hazy sense of time and place comes back to him. Richards is speaking on the telephone. It takes Ed a few moments to make sense of any words, then he hears someone familiar.

'Just me and my team,' Ironside says from the receiver, his voice crackling and distorted. There is a businesslike tone to his voice; cool, collected, calm. In control.

'Team? Your team of one?' Richards replies. He's looking at Ed, the disinterest has gone and his smile is brimming with malice.

'My team. Now let's get on with it.'

There's a moment of silence and Ed feels a tiny spark of something in his heart. It's so small and delicate that he almost can't bear to think about it. But it's there and he can feel it. A tiny spark of hope that this nightmare has an end.

'Fine. Do you have my money?' Richards asks, always watching Ed, and Ed is like a rabbit in the headlights, unable to look away.

'Do you have my evidence?'

'I have your Sergeant Brown, isn't that what you really mean?' Richards gives a triumphant, wicked smile.

'I'm hardly going to pay two million dollars of taxpayer's money for a disgraced sergeant.'

Ed hears the words, and feels as if he's been pole-axed. He can't draw breath. He hadn't believed he could feel any worse, and that statement hits him like a train. There isn't any doubt, but he'd almost begun to…

But no.

He's a disgrace. That is what the Chief thinks of him. That's the truth of who he is. He's a disgraced sergeant, and that's what he'll always be. No one is ever going to find out what really happened, his legacy is one of bitter disappointment and disloyalty.

Richards laughs. Ed can see the genuine pleasure the man is taking in doing this to the Chief, knowing how hard Ironside would take this very personal betrayal. Ed wants to move and to struggle, to say something but when he tries nothing happens. Richards keeps on laughing.

'I want to speak to him,' demands the Chief suddenly.

For a second, Ed doesn't understand what he means. But Richards looks at him, the contempt and amusement clear to see. He holds out the phone, waiting.

'What do you have to say to your old friend?' Richards asks his voice so quiet that at first Ed isn't sure that he's heard him.

Ed tries to speak, he opens his mouth but there's nothing, there's no air left to make a sound, no ability left in him to form the words. But Richards suddenly looks angry. Ed doesn't see Lonnie, and the fear of that knife makes him try harder. He chokes out the sounds, hoping to make sense.

'Ch-Chief? Don't…' The next words stick in his throat. He's not even sure what he was going to say. "Don't come here", "Don't leave me here", "Don't believe them". Or was it just "Don't", because it's already too late?

'Ed?' The single word is all Ironside says. Ed can't even make out any emotion at all in the Chief's voice. A veil of black is falling in from the edges of his vision, and he's desperate to slip away. But the pain is too much and all he can do is hang there as Richards talks.

Then afterwards, once it's quiet, Lonnie steps out of the shadows, and it starts all over again.

'The old marina was where Tony had gone to ground,' Ironside said. 'A warehouse near the yard.'

Fran was staring at him, her eyes wide, her tears dry, shaking softly.

'I went there, for the evidence, with the money. Just as Tony wanted me to. McArthur had… Ed had been…' Ironside stopped, unable to continue that sentence as each time he tried to explain the words petered out. But Fran needed to know the truth. He had to tell the whole story, so the Chief took a deep breath and forced the words to come out.

'When I got there, Ed was still conscious. McArthur had known exactly what he was doing. Shallow cuts to limit the blood loss and make sure he didn't black out or go into shock.'

Fran was still staring at him. The Chief sat there as the van sped on, his memory of the sight as clear as it had been the moment he'd gone through the warehouse door. The horror of the scene had left him speechless, and the smell and the blood had made him almost sick. Seeing Ed like that, hanging like a bloody corpse left out for the crows, was one of the most disgusting things he'd witnessed in a long career in the police.

But that wasn't the worst thing. Not the dried blood smeared on Ed's face, or the pool of it on the floor. Not the obvious agony his friend had endured during the time they'd left him there alone.

It was the look Ed had given him the moment their eyes had first met, a look that told him that Ed had given up on ever seeing anyone else again. In his heart, the Chief knew Ed had thought that his friends believed the twisted truth that Tony had created, and that he was alone. That no one cared enough to help.

And Ironside let him keep believing it.

What sort of man would do that to his friend? The question doesn't need an answer.

The sound of wheels crunching over the wooden boards pulls him back to awful reality, almost unable to focus on anything beyond the sensations that are wracking his body. Some of the blood had dried, he can feel the pull of it against his skin. Every inch of his torso screams with the pain of severed nerve endings. He can't feel his hands properly, there's only an eternal, numbed ache where they should have been. His shoulders feel as if they've been pulled out of their sockets, dislocated, twisted and then shoved back in again.

Wheels on wooden boards. There's that sound again, screeching through his head, stabbing red hot pins behind his eyes with every squeak and creak. He knows that sound. Only one thing in the world makes that sound.

Ed lets out a weak sigh, lifting his head as much as he dared, the nausea so acute that he's seconds away from being sick. Prying open his eyelids, glued shut with sweat and tears, his vision is still blurry, but he can see Ironside sitting right in front of him.

They look at each other.

The world shudders to a stop. The feeling that sweeps through Ed at that moment is something that he can never put into words, an emotion of such black and bitter remorse that it eclipsed a thousand times the hours of pain that he'd just experienced.

This was what he'd prayed for, this was the help he'd hoped would come. But seeing the Chief now, the full magnitude of what Ed has done to the other man is too much. He's betrayed his friend, not deliberately, but by not being good enough to stop this, by failing to stop Richards from stealing the evidence, from murdering Eve, and finally from dragging the Chief into this hideous hell hole to die.

What sort of man would do that to his friend? The question doesn't need an answer.

Once again, Ironside couldn't find the right words. The image from that evening was as fresh at that moment as when it had happened. The smell of blood, the sight of his friend strung up like a butchered animal, tortured and alone.

'I couldn't help him,' Ironside said bitterly. 'His hands were handcuffed over a roof beam. That was the way Tony had planned it all along. That I would go there, see Ed like that and understand how I'd been deceived.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'I couldn't stand up to help get him down. They'd tortured him with a knife for hours, and I couldn't even help get him free.'

"When I heard you were a cripple, well the plan made itself". That's what Richards had said. That was the whole point of his plan, making sure Ed was out of Ironside's reach. A trusted friend, broken down then left there as a demonstration of what Ironside could never do, and what was always going to be out of his reach.

Tony's laughter had been obscene, "How much more satisfying to ensure you felt the frustration and the rage, knowing you could have helped him, if only you could stand up and walk." How often before that had he longed to walk, to run and move, or even stretch out his legs at the end of a hard day. At that moment, the loss had been so acute that he had almost lost control, desperate to do something.

Fran leaned over, gripping the closest of his hand between both of her own. It was warm and reassuring. He held her hand tightly, as grateful for her composure as her company.

'I had to go on,' he said hoarsely. 'I had to see it through and give Carl enough time to reach us. I had to play along, for a long as possible. Eve…'

When he stopped talking, Fran's grip grew tighter, holding and helping.

'I lied about Eve,' he said. 'I let Ed think she was gone, knowing that was the only way I could win.'

Ironside took a small breath, struggling with long-hidden emotions. That had almost been as bad as being taunted about losing the ability to walk. For a moment, he could see clearly the crushed, anguished expression on his friend's face. Ed had been at the end of the line, close to collapsing into a place from which there was no return. Anyone could have seen that.

He knew then that Ed had heard the whole conversation earlier, and believed that Ironside thought he was a disgrace. But the Chief didn't dare do anything else. No matter how badly Ironside had wanted to reassure Ed, he didn't. He did the opposite, hiding the truth beneath a layer of cold fury and indifference.

Ed had to believe she was gone. If the Chief had given a hint of anything to the contrary, it would have been over for them all.

The room is swaying, objects don't stay focused. But there's a glint from the Chief's hand: the handcuff key. Ed doesn't even react. It didn't matter. Even if the Chief had wanted to, he couldn't stand up and reach the cuffs. He's hours too late, and it's already over. Ed doesn't think he can feel anything anymore, he's got nothing left inside.

But he's wrong.

Eve's purse is on the table close by, and when Ironside sees it Ed flinches in spite of everything else, anguish and remorse overwhelming the physical pain. The look on Ironside's face said it all, loss and a terrible, haunting disappointment. Ed knows how the Chief felt about Eve. If there was anyone Ironside should have been able to trust with her life, it was him. Eve's gone. It feels to Ed that he struck the match himself.

He can imagine her, memories of their friendship bombard him, each one more painful to see: The day they met in the club, the way she'd smiled at the Chief, the challenge she'd given him that day his partner died, the grief they'd shared when the Chief was shot, undercover together who knew how many times, the trip to the antique shop where she'd been injured, seeing her afterwards pale and exhausted in hospital.

The images speed up, random flashes of her smile and her anger, her compassion and her friendship; sipping coffee primly at the desk, answering the phone and working quietly on the reports. It's all been destroyed. Yet another woman he's failed to save.

The pain reaches a crushing peak and then the guilt vanishes as fast as it swept over him. Despair is all Ed has left, he can't feel anything else. He's slipping away.

He's desperate to leave, at the very edge of what he can withstand. Because Ed can see what Ironside is thinking, it's clear on his face. It doesn't matter what's happened, or what Lonnie put him through. All that matters is that he's failed to save her.

Eve's dead, and Ironside holds Ed responsible.

Ironside drew a deep breath, gripping Fran's hand as tightly as he dared. It was almost over, his confession.

This was it.

This was the moment.

McArthur had found Mark beside the van and dragged him to the warehouse. Now Mark was on his knees, a gun at his head, McArthur about to pull the trigger. Tony had lifted his gun, pointing it directly at Ed, but Ed was too far gone to care.

This was it.

This was the moment.

This was the point where it was all going to turn.

Eve.

The gun in Tony's hand moves closer and Ed reacts sluggishly, by instinct rather than in fear. He's slipping. He can't think and doesn't want to know.

Mark is kneeling on the floor, tricked and trapped as well. Lonnie's Colt is positioned by his temple, ready to fire. Ed can't watch. He's dragged Mark into this too, another friend he's betrayed, another life he's destroyed with his carelessness.

He can see the gun in Richards' hand and Ed hopes it will be fired first, so he doesn't have to see any more or feel anything else. But that's not what Richards wants.

'I'm going to shoot your friend here and let him bleed to death while you watch, knowing there's nothing you can do to help.'

Richards shoves the gun at Ed's side, hitting one of the deeper cuts, and Ed lets out a faint gasp of pain in spite of himself. There are more words, but Ed can't understand. He's reached the end and all he wants is a way out. Then there is a gunshot, and when Ed hears it he's glad, praying for the sudden, sharp sting of a bullet to set him free and finally make this all stop.

But instead Lonnie topples over and everything goes crazy.

'Eve,' Ironside said.

'Eve?'

Thank God for Eve. Thank God she was there, and thank God she did her job, even though it was the last time she would. They'd all be dead if it wasn't for Eve.

He was almost at the end, they were still at least ten minutes away from the marina entrance. He had to get through this in one sitting, and bring the story to an end. He would never be able to say this again.

'I made Eve hide in the van. Tony would never suspect, he knew I'd never trust anyone but my own team. She called Carl once Mark and I had gone, then followed us to the warehouse. In the end, she killed McArthur.'

The look on Fran's face was a mix of anger and relief. Then the look turned icy cold, bloodless and merciless with fury.

'Good,' she spat, her voice shaking.

The Chief was almost surprised at her reaction, but he didn't respond. He had no right to judge when, at the time, he'd felt such relief that McArthur was gone. He was an evil, vicious man who was about to murder Mark in cold blood and had tortured Ed to the edge of sanity. Now McArthur couldn't hurt Ed, or anyone, ever again.

'With McArthur dead, Mark attacked Tony,' Ironside said eventually. 'Eve ran to guide Carl, Ed…' Still stuck there, tied to the roof beam, hanging like a broken puppet. 'I used a gun.'

Ed can't understand. The gunshot has echoed away, but Lonnie is the one lying motionless on the floor.

He sees the people, he recognises them, but nothing makes sense. Mark should be dead. But he's not. He's attacking, punching, fighting hard and Ed gets a fleeting impression of the raw ferocity that the man could unleash.

Ed still can't understand.

Then there's shouting and Ed manages to look up. He shudders, unable to believe what he's seeing. He must be hallucinating, because Eve's there. She's right there. She's standing beside the Chief, she's white-faced and shaking but it's definitely Eve.

Eve? Ed keeps staring. She's not dead. She survived. She's still alive and they lied…

It takes a few moments for Ed to understand what those words mean, and then there's the sharp stab of deep hurt and betrayal as he realises what Ironside has done. The Chief let him believe Eve was dead. Deliberately.

But she's not dead and Ed wants to be grateful, but the bitterness and despair that has haunted him for the previous few hours surges back too powerfully. They knew she was alive and they lied. They knew she was alive and they left him here anyway. They knew what had happened and they did nothing.

Ed desperately pushes the feeling of betrayal away as he forces himself to look at her, and slowly it's replaced by a numbed and twisted kind of joy. Eve's alive. That's the only thing he should care about. The rest doesn't matter. She's safe, and she survived the fire. She's alive.

Suddenly, Eve turns to look directly at him, and the expression on her face shocks him like a slap. He's never seen her so relieved or grateful to see him. It is only a moment, then she's gone, hurrying out. The fight around him continues, Mark and the Chief struggling to get the upper hand against Tony Richards.

Then it finally dawns on Ed why the others are here and what they planned. They had known what had happened, but had no way to find him. So the Chief did the only thing he could. He lied and played along with Richards' game in the hope that they could reach him. They had done all this, and risked their lives, in the hope that they could save him.

Save him? Ed can't think further than those words. At that moment, he isn't sure he deserves to be saved.

Unexpectedly, he feels the vibration of gunshots in quick succession, close to his hands. The final one breaks the chain of the cuffs that hold him up and he's free from the roof beam.

Ed crumples to the floor.

'Tony wouldn't give up,' the Chief said. 'I couldn't stop him, neither could Mark, though he tried. Tony had nothing to lose, not anymore.'

'What did you do?' Fran asked. Her voice was calmer and steadier than it had been before.

'I couldn't get a clear shot at him. Mark tried to take him down, but he couldn't.'

She was looking at him steadily. She was still shaking, he could feel it, but she was taking this a lot better than he'd thought she would.

'Tony had rigged the place to burn,' Ironside said. 'He was only a few seconds away from doing it, setting fire to everything. To me.' There had been the crack of shattering glass and the smell of gas, and then the soft flick of a lighter.

In those last few seconds, Ironside had thought he'd lost everything and everyone. The place was soaked in gasoline, Mark was on the floor, winded from a brutal fight. Ironside himself was stuck in his metal prison, unable to stop Tony. Eve had gone, Carl was still a minute away.

There had been no one else. Or so he'd thought.

Ed is face down on the floor of the warehouse, in a puddle of his own blood mixed with dirt. He's blacked out for a few moments. Around him is a swirl of confusion, there are noises of a fight, shouts and gunfire.

In his confused, exhausted state, Ed starts to put together what's happened. But blended with the joy of seeing Eve is the piercing, shattering shame he feels for thinking Ironside would abandon a friend. He's misjudged the Chief, a man he's trusted with his life many, many times. He's given in and given up. How could he have thought Ironside would let it go? All the time the Chief was out there, trying to help him.

That thought washes through Ed, rising up to drown him. How could he have doubted that his friend would care enough to come, and would trust him, even though all the evidence said otherwise? Ironside had never let him down before.

Richards is shouting something and though Ed doesn't make out the words he understands the intent. Ironside needs his help. The least he could do after doubting his boss is to try and make it up to him. He has to try, even if it kills him. And he has to succeed, because there's no other choice.

Get to the gun.

McArthur's gun, the one he'd almost used against Mark. It's lying nearby, and Ed can just make out the handle glinting in the dim light. Getting close enough to pick it up is nearly impossible. It takes everything he has left to cross those few feet. The pain is overwhelming, as the slightest movement makes each and every cut grate and burn. At the edge of collapse, desperation forces Ed to keep going.

Somehow, he heaves the gun off the floor, struggling to control his own muscles. He pulls himself to his knees, and uses a crate to steady the gun. Finally, he leans against the wall to help keep upright, taking aim at Anthony Richards.

There's no one else who can help, Eve's outside, Mark is on the floor. Ironside is alone. Ed is the only one left and that fact makes him all the more terrified. His hands are shaking. He can't aim straight, he can barely see straight. He can't keep himself like this for long. He's moments away from blacking out again.

But he has to help, that's his only option. Ed pushes away the fear and agony of the past few hours, pounding it down as far away as it could go, concentrating on what was happening in the here and now. The sudden sound of breaking glass is like a drill through his head, the smell of the gasoline makes his empty stomach clench. He sways, but the gun doesn't fall.

There is the scrape of flint, followed by a tiny tongue of flame. All Ed can see is Richards, his hand tipping down towards the gas-soaked wood on the floor.

This is the man who had kidnapped him, blackmailed him and smiled as he'd been tortured. Ed knows he's only going to get one chance, a last chance to do his job to protect. In a place doused in fuel, he can't risk anything else. But he's not sure of what he's doing. He's not convinced he's going to get this right. He can't make any more mistakes and he can't let Richards hurt the Chief. He has to shoot to kill.

Ed fires, and the recoil sends an unspeakable wave of agony along his arms and back. It feels as though someone had taken a hammer to his wrists, elbows and shoulders, shattering what little resolve is left.

It's over.

It doesn't matter if he's missed, there's nothing left he can do. Ed doesn't even know if it's worked. He has nothing left to sacrifice, it's been used up in the past few hours of despair, panic and pain.

It's over.

His eyes close, and Ed feels the world spin sideways, not even aware of hitting the floor.

'How did you escape?' Fran asked, surprised. 'Who?'

He could see on her face she'd guessed the name he was about to say.

'Ed. I don't know how he managed it. I don't know how he was still able to move. McArthur's gun, Ed got to it. And he used it. He stopped Tony before he set fire to everything. He saved me, us all.'

Ironside was silent again.

'And?' Fran asked

That was all there was. Carl had arrived, Mark and Eve helped get Ed to safety. Suddenly, he had survived and so had everyone else and the task at hand came back into focus. Drugs, court-case, money. Police work.

'And then it was over.'

Ed came too with a sudden jerk, gasping for short, shallow breaths. What-? Where-?

Sprawled face-down on the wooden floor, he was half-lying on his side, drained and numbed beyond everything he could understand. Too confused to think or react, he lay still, vaguely aware of the dust and the sharp but faint smell of gasoline. He was shivering and he couldn't stop, even though he was drenched in sweat. His heartbeat was racing, his head felt light. It was almost impossible to think. He couldn't understand where he was or why he was feeling so overwhelmingly terrible.

What happened?

Slowly, Ed tried to take a few deeper breaths and that helped make him feel less faint. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows, but his head only moved a few inches off the floor when there was a sickening rush of heat. Everything went blurry and he was within moments of throwing up mouthfuls of partially digested coffee. Instinctively, he slumped back down and rolled onto his back, looking up to the fuzzy black of a faraway ceiling. The nausea faded and Ed gave a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn't going to try that again for a while.

What was going on? Where was he? Apart from the dull ache in his stomach, he didn't hurt anymore. There was no pain, or much of anything, as his body felt as if it wasn't attached to the rest of him.

There was a noise from outside. Footsteps? Ed twitched in fear, not quite able to coordinate a better response. There were people out there, waiting for him, following him. They'd found him. He had to do something, even if it made him sick. He couldn't let anyone find him. He would do anything to stop that. He had to fight back and keep them away.

Ed held his breath for a few seconds, expecting to hear more, but there was nothing. It was quiet. He'd imagined it. There was no sound. He gave another sigh of relief. No one was there. No one knew where he was. No one would find him. No one would come to help.

There was a sharp spike of panic at that thought, and a flash of memory: There would be no second chance, no last minute rescue. No one could find him. He couldn't let anyone find him.

Fragments from earlier came back to him. He'd been back at the warehouse. He'd had a flashback so intense that he'd felt as if he was reliving the experience, moment by moment. And then…? Then what had happened?

The panic grew, Ed couldn't stop it. With it came more perfect, pain-filled memories. He's handcuffed to a roof beam. The recent memory of his attack had been bursting with more detail than he thought he could know. He is stretched out his full length. Ed could feel the images pressing down on him, grinding him against the floor. His head is still ringing, his vision blurred. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't even cry out. He's just been beaten, and the punch to his face moments earlier caused enough damage to his mouth to make him spit blood.

And with a sickening jolt Ed realised with utter horror that it was going to happen, he was going to go through that all over again. Lonnie McArthur steps into Ed's line of sight with a smile.

There was nothing he could do to stop it happening.

Oh, God. Please, please, please not again.