Chapter 75: Tears Toward Heaven
Gus woke again in a bed in the E/R, her arm, head and chest bandaged, and throbbing with pain. She struggled to sit, fighting at the wires and IVs attached to her, ripping them off despite the blaring alarms protesting against her doing so.
Her bedside was immediately filled with a bevy of medical professionals, thinking they had a code on their hands as opposed to an unruly patient. "Miss Broussard, I need you to calm down. Nurse Marin, get me a B52 ready."
This caused Gus to freeze. "It is Detective Broussard and I do not need Haldol or Ativan, I am not having a psychotic break. What I need is to be told when I can be released so I do not AMA on you so I can get back out there and do my job."
Gus saw Nurse Marin pull the doctor back, hearing her say, "diner shooting...partner...didn't make it." Gus once again became a flurry of activity, trying to get the rails of the bed to release. "What do you mean didn't make it, Jessica Angell, the other cop, where is she, what is happening?"
The nurse pushed the doctor out of the way as he seemed to still want to restrain Gus. "I'm sorry, Detective, I just heard the surgeon brief, was it her husband? The tall cop. The trauma was too great, she coded in surgery. I am certain they did everything they could, I am sorry for your loss."
Gus let out a wail, the fight leaving her, replaced by grief.
Despite her great protestations, the doctor refused to release Gus, wanting to keep her under observation. He was concerned about her concussion given her recent trauma history as well as any residual blunt force delay injury.
She wasn't surprised to learn of her cracked ribs or that her head wound needed a few stitches. The only thing keeping her from leaving against medical advice was the doctor's threats to put in her both physical and chemical restraints. Gus knew that would only prolong her hospital stay and require a psych consult.
She couldn't remember ever feeling so helpless, except for when she was at OPP as the flood waters rose after Katrina and complete anarchy descended over her beloved city. At least then she hadn't been confined to a bed, even if every second was a fight to stay alive.
She truly mourned Angell's death knowing it could have just as easily been her, perhaps should have been her. She regretted the last words she spoke to the woman were awash with bitterness.
No matter how much jealousy and envy she had, Gus would have traded places with Jess in a heartbeat. The other woman had so much more going for her than Gus did at the moment, beyond just Flack. Don, her heart ached for him more than it ever had. She knew he must be devastated beyond belief, that he would never be the same after this.
Not to mention it was probably already circulating that she was wearing a vest and Angell wasn't, regardless that protocol highly suggested they do so. She probably wouldn't have been if Doyle hadn't made her. Doyle, he had saved her life, no doubt about it. So much for that being an uncomplicated one night stand.
As if the universe wanted to taunt her, she looked up to see none other than Jimmy Doyle standing sheepishly at the foot of her bed. Her emotions overtook her again as she saw the look of grave concern on her face. "I think I owe you a new vest, Jimmy," she said between painful sobs.
He moved to her bedside, gently laying a hand on her back until her tears subsided. "Don't worry about the frigging vest, kid, how are you?"
"Concussion, bruises, four cracked ribs, a couple of stitches and a tetanus shot thanks to a disgusting dumpster. Just another day on the job," she said, trying to sigh.
He pulled up a chair, reaching out for her arm. Clearing his throat he said, "I don't know if you know but Angell-"
Gus closed her eyes, wanting to spare him having to tell her what she already knew. "The nurse told me, she didn't make it. I can't believe it, Jimmy, one second we are having breakfast, getting ready to walk a kid across the street and..." she trailed off, ."..and now I am stuck here and can't do anything to help. Do you know anything?"
"Every cop in the city is working this case," Doyle started.
"Except me," Gus grumbled.
"Every cop that didn't get shot at today is working this case. I'm going to call Sinclair & Taylor, see how we can best use my team. We will find who got Angell. You don't kill a cop and get away with this, not in this city."
He paused, reaching for her hand, "that could have been you, kid." His eyes clouded slightly.
Gus couldn't handle this on top of everything else. "Don't you go soft on me now, Jimmy. It wasn't me, because of you." She covered his hand with both of hers, giving it a squeeze, "I won't ever be able to thank you enough."
Doyle gave her a small smile, "this mean I don't owe you dinner anymore?"
"Knock, knock," came a voice from behind the curtains, as Danny stepped in, looking curiously at Doyle sitting beside Gus' bed.
"Danny!" Gus cried, seeing the battered look on his face.
He strode to her bedside, opposite of Doyle, attempting to maneuver around to give her a hug. She winced at the pain, but hugged him back.
"Have you seen Don?" she asked when he broke of the hug. Danny looked down at her, his eyes full of pain as he nodded.
Doyle cleared his throat, "I'll get out of your hair, need to make those phone calls." He left quickly.
Gus looked at Danny questioningly, until he responded. "I just left him, he's not good, Gus, I've never seen him like this, he looked so broken, I can't imagine what he is going through if anything happened to Lindsay- " he broke off not sure what to make of Gus' expression.
She seemed pretty broken and torn herself. He knew she was still in love with Flack, probably always would be. "He's shook up, we all are. He's waiting," Danny sniffed, "waiting on Sid now."
Gus lowered her face to her palms, full of anguish and guilt, "it should have been me," she said to her hands as tears fell again.
Danny pulled her hands away. "Don't say crap like that, it shouldn't have been anyone, but it could have been you. Good to know you finally learned to wear a vest."
"Yeah, about that..." Gus trailed off as Danny's phone buzzed.
"I have to get back to the diner, Mac is holding a briefing. Hang in there, Broussard."
"Mac, what are you doing here?" Gus asked several guilt ridden and feeling useless hours later. Doyle had given her as many updates as he could. She knew they had tracked down the men who had killed Jess and were planning a raid, but she hadn't heard back from him yet.
The silence was crushing as she was fraught with terrified anxiety over the safety safety and well-being of those she cared for.
"Doctor is releasing you to my care, I have to watch you over the next couple of days and keep you up for a while longer."
"Thanks Mac," she said, as he came over and lowered the rails on the bed, handing her a pile of clothing.
"It's not a problem, Gussie." He reached out and set a hand carefully on her shoulder, "I'm glad you are okay, I'm sorry if I didn't seem concerned enough-"
"Stop it, Mac, I am fine, mostly, certainly not any worse than I have ever been. You had a job to do and you did it. Right?"
Mac nodded stoically, "we got them, the men who killed Angell." He looked like he wanted to say more but stopped. "I'll let you get changed."
She did so, slower than she would have liked, but she was far too relieved to be leaving the hospital to complain. Mac was waiting for her just on the other side of the curtain, waiting to help her out into his truck. She tried to not wince as she climbed up into the seat, glad to be alive, even if she did feel guilty about it.
"Must have been a good vest you had on, Doctor said you took several direct hits." Mac's voice was tinged with concern as he pulled away from the hospital.
"Military issue," Gus said, looking out the window and playing with her hair.
"How did you end up with, never mind, I don't really want to know." Mac tapped at the steering wheel, one of his few nervous habits.
Gus looked at him, her gaze scrutinizing. "Yes, Uncle Mac?"
"The team is over at King's, holding a little memorial for Jess', I am supposed to be heading over there."
Gus nodded, "that's fine, I can chill in the truck." She went back to looking out the window.
"You will not," he replied.
"I am sure nobody wants to see me right now, be reminded that I got away without a scratch."
Mac resisted the urge to pull the truck over, he knew his niece was closing to shutting down yet again, as she had with the plethora of traumas she had experienced in her life.
"Listen to me, Augusta, I, and everyone else in that bar, is thankful you were wearing that vest and made it out alive today. You went after an armored vehicle and military trained assassins. Yes you did get away, by a miracle and it was not unscathed."
Gus didn't reply, remaining entranced with the world passing outside her window. "I know you might be feeling guilty-" Mac started.
At this Gus turned quickly toward him, her voice raised. "Of course I am feeling guilty, Mac! Angell had everything going for her. She was gorgeous and athletic, she had noting but commendations and awards in her jacket, friends and parents and brothers who loved her and Don..." she broke off, her tears betraying her once again. "I have none of that, it should have been me."
"I can't make you see it, Gussie, but you have that, even if not in the most traditional sense. As for Don, he's going to need you, as a friend, more than ever."
Mac pulled up to the curb in front of the pub. "Everyone in that room loves you, probably more than you love yourself." He helped her down out of the truck, pulling her into a hug, "I love you, Augusta, you are family, you and Reed are what I have left of Claire, and I am glad I didn't lose you today."
Gus hugged him back, unable to form words as she tried to compose herself enough to go inside. She hid behind Mac as they stepped in, all eyes turning to them, but thankfully no one spoke as Stella had just taken the lead in a toast.
Stella started in, raising her glass. "Jessica Angell was one of those rare people who touched each of our lives, who reaffirmed our faith in humanity..."
Gus listened, tucked beside Mac, wishing she hadn't been released from the hospital, unable to make eye contact with Don, knowing if she did so, she wouldn't be able to hold back the flood of tears.
Her guilt crushing her heart and soul, no matter what Mac said. She stared behind Stella's shoulder, praying for the strength to keep it together, even though inside she was crumbling. She wavered slightly, Mac reaching out to steady her with the hand that wasn't raising his glass, pulling her in closer and for a brief moment she felt safe.
Until, for the second time that day, Gus' world exploded in gunfire and she knew without a doubt that she wasn't wearing a vest this time and neither was anyone else around her, all the people she cared for most in this world.
Chapter 76: Hey Bartender
Gus couldn't entirely believe the bar around her was exploding in a hail of gunfire. Mac held her down against the floor as she cowered, covering her head from bullets.
The moment he lifted his palm, going for his weapon, she did the same, cursing to herself as she realized it wasn't there. She was left once again feeling powerless as her world came crashing down around her one shard of glass at a time.
As quickly as it began, it was over. The dust settled, the civilian patrons of the bar lifting themselves up in a daze while the team sprung into action, Stella and Mac running outside after the car that had opened fire on them. Flack, Adam and Hawkes tending to those inside.
Gus slowly pulled herself up, trying to shake off the ringing in her ears. It was then she realized Lindsay was hovering over Danny in horror, her hand clasped over her mouth, frozen with fear. Gus followed her line of sight, seeing the blood seeping from underneath her friend.
Flack and Hawkes reached him first, applying pressure to the wound while trying to not move him. Adam was on the phone with dispatch, though sirens could already be heard approaching. Gus went into crisis counselor mode, trying to calm the panicking patrons in the bar despite feeling like she had a tenuous grip at best on reality.
The week after the day of shootings was more or less a blur, the only thing Gus felt besides the occasional bits of physical pain was empty and lonely.
Mac obsessed over tracking down who shot at them in the bar, no wonder considering one of his detectives was now wheelchair bound, though thankfully not dead.
Gus attempted to go help Lindsay care for both Danny and Lucy, but Danny refused to let anyone see him "like a cripple."
Sheldon found the best way for him to cope with his trauma induced insomnia was to volunteer with the Medical Corps, leaving little time for anything other than work, though he was kind enough to help Gus through the process of procuring dress blues, which she hadn't needed up until that point.
Adam and Stella seemed to have forged some weird bond after that night, leaving Gus feeling a little more than wounded by what she perceived as abandonment by two of her friends, doubly by Stella.
That left Don, who refused to take any of her calls and barely acknowledged her at Jess' funeral.
Jess' funeral; Gus had little to no recollection of it, only able to remember her last bitter moments with the other woman and the crushing guilt she carried deep down in her soul.
Her only memories of it were flashes: Jess' grieving parents, the cream roses covering her casket, the blue line that encircled the city on that rainy day, the haunted look in Don's eyes as she approached him at the grave site, the imprint on her cheek from the buttons on Doyle's dress blues as he held her as she sobbed after Don's cold rejection...
Doyle, they hadn't talked much since the shooting, since the night they slept together, other than when he saw her in the hospital and her breakdown at the cemetery.
Doyle was just another layer of shame and guilt for Gus to struggle through. Instead, like everything else, she shoved it down and locked it away and kept on going. Coping she had learned from Mac, except he was fueled by white hot anger and she was drowning in nothingness.
Daddino suggested she take some time, but she had no leave left and couldn't stand to not be doing something. He shoved her back on cold cases, where at least she could feel slightly competent and had Parker back as her partner. Gus was able to float through the days in the same state of blankness that allowed her to function the summer before in New Orleans.
Parker looked across his desk at Gus, shaking his head. He worried about her, it was clear she wasn't sleeping, considering he could barely convince her to leave the precinct to go home. She didn't seem to be eating much either, gaining most of her substance from vending machine fare and whiskey.
What bothered him the most was that the spunk and fire was gone from her eyes, they looked back at him with a hollowness that reminded him of when the boys came back from 'Nam. He knew it wasn't the first time she had encountered a war zone, kid had seen far too much crap in her life, but he was worried this time she wouldn't fully come back.
It was late, the pit relatively empty, Parker having given up on convincing Gus to call it a night before returning home to his loving, if slightly impatient wife.
Gus was deep in a box of musty evidence and barely registered her phone vibrating. She looked at it, convinced she was hallucinating the number that came up on the screen.
"Broussard," she answered, her voice devoid of any emotion.
"Gus?" came the tentative response.
"Don? Did you mean to call me?" Gus asked, a slight feeling of bewilderment creeping through the nothingness.
A long stretch of silence had almost convinced Gus he had hung up and hadn't meant to call her when finally, "I, um, seem to have misplaced my wallet and this nice bartender needs to get paid."
Gus could tell he was trying to not slur his words. Don Flack was calling her drunk and needing her help. This was an interesting turn of events. "Don, where are you?"
"Gracie's," he replied, naming a hole in the wall bar situated between his apartment and the precinct. "I'll be right there, don't go anywhere."
Gus arrived, about twenty minutes before closing time, seeing Don slumped at the far end of the bar, a half- finished beer in front of him. He didn't see her enter, entranced as he was with peeling the label off the bottle.
She waved the bartender over to her end, keeping her voice low. "Hey Bartender, how long has he been here?" she asked, pulling out some cash.
"Little over a week," the bartender replied gruffly, looking anything but a Gracie. Gus raised her eyebrows. "Every night, same thing, bottle of beer with two whiskey backs, repeat until some pretty young things comes and flirts with him, until, I don't know, he says something to tick them off and they leave here steaming mad. He stays until closing, but always tips well and doesn't drive, so..." the bartender trailed off.
"What about tonight?" she asked, hoping he could fill in some blanks.
"I am pretty sure tonight's honey lifted his wallet, but I knew he was a cop, so I figured why get involved," the bartender lifted his hands up.
"I see," Gus replied, her tone like a blade, "how much he owe you?"
He told her, she almost reeled at the amount, but counted out the bills anyway, adding a hefty tip only because she wanted the bartender in her pocket. He took the bills off the bar with a smile. "Thanks, can I get you anything?"
"Whiskey, triple, neat," she replied without missing a beat.
His eyebrows shot up, "not a cosmo kind of girl?"
"Not on your life."
He slid the glass of whiskey to her and she downed it easily. "So how do you know the cop, sweet cheeks?"
"We work together," Gus shot back, pulling her jacket back so he could see her badge, "and it is Detective Broussard, not sweet cheeks."
The bartender became flustered, "er, ah, nice to meet you, name is Stan, let me know if I can get you two anything else." He started to walk away, but Gus called after him.
"Yeah, Stan, how about you take this," she pulled her card and a bill out of her wallet, "and you call me if blue eyes over there is about to do something stupid?"
Stan took both the card and the money, slipping them into his pocket, "you got it, sweet ch-detective." Gus strode to the end of the bar, sitting beside Don. It took him a long beat to realize he had company.
"Gus, you came." He sounded surprised.
"Of course I came," she motioned in the direction of the bar, "nice place you got here, apparently they sell real top shelf stuff."
Flack looked at her blankly. "I paid your tab already, met Stan, nice guy." She studied him for a minute. "Don't take this the wrong way, blue eyes, but you look like shit."
Flack looked her up and down without missing a beat, "so do you, sunshine."
"Thanks," Gus let out a sigh, wanting another drink. "You want me to fill out a report on the chick who took your wallet?" She waited for his reaction.
Flack remained stone faced, "Nobody took my wallet, I probably just left it at home."
Gus cocked her head at him. "Home, got it. Speaking of which, guess I should be heading there. Have a nice night, Flack, good chatting." She tapped the bar before sliding off her bar stool.
Flack caught her arm in a surprisingly tight grip, "Gus wait."
She froze, emotions trying to fight their way to the surface but her defenses blocking them out. "What, Don? I paid your tab, it is closing time and I should probably attempt to get some sleep for one night."
"Don't go." His plea was clear in his eyes, not the normal color of a clear sky, but more like the Gulf when a hurricane is offshore.
"Have to, Don, closing time," she pointed at the clock over the bar and to Stan, standing there with the keys in his hand.
Flack took a breath, realizing the lights were on and everyone else had left. It was like every other night for the past couple of weeks, where he briefly shook himself out of his haze and headed home to pass out for a few hours before heading back to the bar again.
Except tonight, tonight was different and not just because that damn girl lifted his wallet.
Gus shook her head at him before turning to stomp out of the bar, waving to Stan on the way out. "Don't forget me, Stan," she said, pushing open the door with more force than necessary.
"Oh I won't, sweet cheeks, but aren't you going to take this one with you?" Stan replied, pointing at Flack. Gus shook her head again before turning out into the dark night.
"You said to call, so I am. He's at it again, sweet cheeks, third time this week You might want to come," Stan's gruff voice barked as Gus picked up the phone, a couple of nights later.
Gus sighed, her voice weary "I'll be right there, don't let him leave."
"He ain't leaving, I am beginning to think his ass is glued to that bar stool, but the sharks are starting to circle and there's this one broad who looks like she smells blood in the water." Stan was beginning to wish the detective would have picked any other bar in the city to drink his sorrows away in, despite the man's hefty tab that was tipped well on.
"Fifteen minutes, Stan, twenty max, I'll be there." She capped her own bottle of whiskey that she had been sipping on since she got home, thinking this was surely a case of the blind leading the blind.
Gus jumped out of the taxi in front of the bar. "Two minutes, I promise, do not leave and I will tip you in cash, okay?" she begged the driver, hoping it would be easy to convince Flack to leave. He had gotten more belligerent as of late.
Gus strode to Flack's stool, barely even greeting Stan, even if she was grateful he had actually called her. "Don, come on, time to go, cab's waiting."
"What? No it isn't, not even closing time yet," Flack shot back, wondering what Gus was going there.
"Yes, it is, so say goodbye to your friend, and come on." Gus shot the woman hanging off Flack's arm a glare that sent her scurrying away.
"What was that for, I was having fun?" Flack protested.
"No, Don, you are not having fun and neither am I, so get your ass off this bar stool and into the cab before I call Uncle Mac to come help me get you home."
This got through to him, as Gus knew it would. She was well aware of Flack's course of self-destruction, she had been on plenty of her own and was on one now. She was also aware of Flack's pride especially when it came to Mac Taylor and knew he wouldn't want the other man to see him this way.
Flack stood, looking at her angrily. She squared off with him, not giving an inch.
"Listen to her Flack, take the pretty girl home," Stan said from behind the bar, clearing away Flack's glasses.
Flack set his jaw, but followed Gus from the bar. She all but shoved him in the cab like he was a perp, crawling in after him. It was only a couple of minutes to his apartment building, where she threw some cash at the cab driver.
"What, you don't trust me to go home?" Flack asked, more angry than wounded.
"No, I don't, because now you are acting like me and I wouldn't go home," Gus shot back, tapping her foot as she waited for him to get out his keys.
He didn't argue, knowing how stubborn Gus could be, like Jess' in that way. Jess...he missed her so much, how could she be dead? They hadn't been together for long and he still wasn't sure if he had been in love with her, but he had enjoyed how easy and uncomplicated their relationship had been.
Now she was dead and he had killed Cade and the demons were eating away at his soul and he wasn't sure he deserved redemption. Flack saw Gus studying him, her eyes piercing through his armor. He wondered if she knew he had offed Cade? They hadn't talked since Jess was killed, looking at Gus reminding him of how happy and miserable she had made him as well as reminding him of Jess.
He broke his gaze away, fumbling with his keys in the lock until Gus covered his hands with her own, wordlessly opening the door to the building and leading him upstairs.
She opened the door to Flack's apartment, realizing she hadn't ever been there. She held the door open waiting for Flack to enter, trying to ignore the shattered look in his eyes. She knew without a doubt that Flack was doing more than just mourning Jess' death, he was haunted by something far deeper.
Flack stepped past her, stopping short, wondering if she was going to come in or not. He was suddenly clutched with panic at the thought of being alone. "Don't leave," he said pleaded.
Gus froze, she had been debating whether to stay or go just as Flack spoke. How did he always seem to be able to read her mind, even if he was drunk off his ass? She turned, seeing the look in his eyes and closed the door behind her as she stepped into his place.
They stood there for a moment facing each other in silence. Flack broke first. "Jess is dead," he said, with finality.
"And I'm not," Gus replied, her tone devoid of emotion.
It was her tone that struck him more than her words, like they were coming up from an empty well. Flack stared at her, willing her to step closer.
She didn't, instead continuing, "I'm sorry it wasn't me instead, Don, I am so very sorry." Her resolve broke, tears rolling down her cheeks, though it was if she didn't even realize she was crying.
"Don't say that," Flack protested wearily. There had been more than enough death lately, he took the first step towards her, shocked when she put her hands out to block him.
"I mean it, you could have had everything with her, you could have built a life with her, I have nothing but destruction to offer, it should have been me."
Her palms hit his chest but did nothing to stop his approach. Gus felt like fabric being torn in half, unaware of the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"But it wasn't," Flack said, something fracturing inside him. Jess was dead, he was a murderer and no one would understand that except the woman standing before him.
He just wanted to feel whole again if even for a moment, without grief and guilt grinding him down, without feeling like he was condemned. There was only one person that had never judged him, even if she had broken his heart, and that person was standing right before him, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.
"Gus," he growled, animal instincts gripping him as his lips sought hers.
Gus woke up a short time later, on the floor of Don's living room, recognition and dread hitting her with a one two punch. They hadn't even made it to the bedroom, their clothes torn hastily off in the entryway.
She wiggled out from under Don's frame, not surprised when he didn't even stir as he clearly more passed out from the booze than sleeping.
This was not the way she had pictured getting back together with him, going at it up against the wall of his apartment like caged animals. It was more like the night after Truby was arrested, Don full of primal lust and pent up anger. It wasn't about her as much as it was him trying to forget Jess and whatever else was going on with him.
Gus had her suspicions but she knew better than to ask him about it. She had let him use her, plain and simple, she just hoped it helped him even if it only filled her with regret and anguish.
It quickly became habit. Flack calling her at closing time, she meeting him at the bar or his house, them wordlessly screwing like rabbits in heat, both searching for something they were never going to find.
She ignored him when Don called out Jess' name, never mentioning him crying in his sleep. He didn't say anything about her leaving before dawn broke, casting its light of judgment on them both.
Gus knew it was a bad idea, to say the least, but wrapped in his arms after or having him inside her was the only time she felt anything other than emptiness or guilt. She knew it couldn't keep happening this way, but for the moment it was something that belonged only to them, their secret, and that was about the only thing she felt she had left in this world.