Mirta
"Colin, any sight of the cops yet?" the walkie on Colin's hip had crackled, Ryan's voice, high and panicked coming through and breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over the hallway. Seconds ago, Mirta would have killed for some end to the long, anxious silent, but now she hardly registered the sound. The gun shots had stunned her. She was from New York; she knew what gun shots sounded like, but they had never been so close before. And never potentially aimed at someone she cared about.
Soon as the silence had returned to the hall, Musa had rushed in. Colin had managed to grab her by the arms and pull her back, but Musa was nothing if not feisty and stubborn. She kicked the poor guy in the crotch and ran back in. Almost instinctively, Mirta was on her feet and running after the singer. She knew Musa was impulsive at times, and she knew Musa loved Riven, but did those two things really need to meet? And now of all times?
Colin hit her back as she turned the corner towards the music room where she found her steps faltering and her heart freezing up. It was an expected scene – gun shots usually meant someone had gotten shot – and she should have known there would be someone on the ground holding on to life by a few thin strands of rope. Mirta had always been queasy around blood – Lucy would tease her about it every time she got her period. Don't go passing out now she'd say when Mirta would go to the toilet when she was on her period – not that she would: it was just a few drops.
This... this was not a few drops.
It had already started to spill onto the floor, staining the light wood a horrifying colour. His white t-shirt was dyed a deep red just under where Riven's hand covered the wound on his torso, applying what little pressure he could manage to stop the bleeding. His eyes fluttered, the startling violet she knew Musa loved shining dimly against his ghostly pale skin every time they peeked through. Mirta didn't even register that the growing pool of blood under Riven had two sources until Ryan was shouting that Riven had been hit in the leg too.
Mirta wanted to throw up. Her eyes fixated on the blood, on the stain on Riven's shirt and hand, while the rest of the world faded in the background. Time slowed and she found herself unaware of the goings on and unable to remember how she'd ended up where she was now.
She remembered Colin pushing past her at a snail's pace, and running to Riven's side. She remembered the man – balding, thin, old - under Ryan's body calling out to Musa. My love he'd called her. She remembered that Musa didn't answer him; didn't even acknowledge his existence. Most present in her memory was the Musa had dropped herself beside Colin – his attention on the injured, barely conscious guard – barely keeping herself together. At some point, Mirta must have pulled Musa away from them and tried to comfort her because her shirt was stained with, she hoped, with tears.
She didn't know how long that moment lasted, only that it was also she could remember. The haze and the blood. She'd been told that the cops had shown and called the paramedics. The old man – still begging Musa to acknowledge him – was carted off in handcuffs by the cops; Riven by paramedics on a stretcher. She and Musa were ushered into an ambulance. Mirta remembered taking the singer's hand while the paramedic – a short, chubby man with a deep voice – put an air mask over the hyperventilating singer.
Then they were in the hospital waiting room with nothing happening. That was when the haze cleared: in uncomfortable green chairs in a stark, clinical waiting room with Musa still holding her hand tightly and barely keeping it together.
Colin
She got him in the fucking balls. All he'd been trying to do was stop Musa from running headfirst into a dangerous situation. He'd grabbed her by the arm and wrapped his other hand around her waist, telling her that she needed to stop. Then she kicked him in the goddamn balls! No one had told him being a bodyguard would mean being assaulted by a 5'2, 105lbs popstar. If he'd known that, he might have been less likely to sign on.
Musa slipped out of his grip and then Mirta was running in after her. What was it with these girls and not thinking things through? Colin had barely been prepared to handle hanging out in the hallway and babysitting the two girls, he was much less prepared to run blind into an apartment where a psychopath might be waiting to kill them – him, the guy wouldn't harm Musa.
Dude might harm Mirta, though. He couldn't let that happen. The petite, soft-spoken girl had caught his eye – and his heart – hard. She was sweet, thoughtful, loyal, funny, observant and intelligent. Not to mention that she had an adorable face and a great rack. He was determined to make her his, and he couldn't possibly do that if she was dead.
He took off running after them, coming to a stop when Mirta, who'd been steps in front of him, froze where the hallway turned. The scene stopped his heart, but he forced it to start again. He had a job to do. This was just part of the job.
Musa was by Mirta's side, both girls safe and sound. Riven, though, was far from safe. He was on the ground by the music room door, bleeding profusely from the torso. Colin had hoped that the gunshots had been aimed at the stalker, but it was no surprise to him that they couldn't be that lucky. A few feet from them, a simple black handgun similar to their work issued ones laid on the ground. And just beyond that, far enough that the gun couldn't be reached, was a balding middle aged man pinned to the ground under Ryan's body. The door to the patio was open behind them; Colin could only assume they'd split up – Ryan going through the patio, Riven through the hall. It was dumb luck that the guy spotted and shot Riven, Colin thought. There was no reason for him to target Riven specifically. It could easily have been Ryan lying on the ground, soaked in blood.
"Colin!" Ryan shouted, snapping him out of the frozen state he hadn't realised he was in. "Riven needs help!"
Colin sprung into action, pushing past Mirta. His hand brushed her waist and he had to resist the urge to pull her into him and reassure her. The poor girl – both of them, actually – were in a state of shock. They stared at the scene with panic-stricken eyes. The only discernable difference between them was that, where Mirta looked sick and horrified, Musa looked like she was ready to have a full-blown breakdown.
His movement must have had some effect on Musa cause the second he was at Riven's side, she was there with him. She did anything he asked, lifting Riven's shirt, grabbing a towel, whatever it was, immediately and without question. Her eyes shone with tears even in the dark of the apartment. When Ryan yelled at them that Riven had gotten hit in the leg too, she immediately set to work tearing open his pant leg as carefully as possible so that Ryan could wrap it with the gauze she'd pulled from her emergency kit. It was only when Riven let out a hiss of pain that she broke. The tears she'd held at bay spilled over and the useful star that had been by his side seconds earlier was now entirely inconsolable and completely useless.
"Mirta! Get her away from us!" He shouted at the redhead loud enough for her to wake up and pull Musa away just before the singer's shaking, outstretched hand reached Riven's bloody torso and she could pull him into her.
The cops arrived just in time. Colin had never been a squeamish one, but there was only so much blood a guy could take. It was one of the main reasons he'd not become a nurse like he'd wanted to when he was a kid. Two of them carted the old man off – the old man that was still insistent that a young woman would ever give him the time of day – while three searched the apartment and the last radioed for paramedics.
Aisha
She'd just gotten home when Lucy called. Aisha hadn't spoken to the girl much, but they'd exchanged numbers a while back just in case. Aisha never expected Lucy to call her at any point in her life. It had been 3 years and that just in case hadn't come up. She'd never expected that when it did, it would be like this.
"They're at Lenox Hill" Lucy had said calmly. Aisha's mind went into a tailspin. She'd seen them not even 2 hours ago. What could possibly have happened in such a short span of time that would end in them being at the hospital? "River's been shot."
River? Who the fuck -
Riven...
Musa.
Musa must be panicking. She didn't take well to people she cared about being sick or injured. Aisha dropped her bags by the door and grabbed her car keys. She flew into the front seat of her car and took off as fast as she could, traffic and streetlights be damned. She called Nabu and Stella from the road.
When she got to the hospital, Musa and Mirta were sitting in the waiting area. Mirta's head rested against the wall behind them, her hand over the arms of the chair, clasped tightly in Musa's. Mirta looked exhausted, but that was nothing compared to the singer. Musa looked like she'd been through the wringer. Her face was white as could be, and her eyes – staring blankly at the room – were bloodshot and tear stained. It seemed like the only thing keeping her from breaking down was Mirta's hand in hers.
"What happened?" she asked softly, pulling Musa into her arms where the singer immediately broke down. Mirta tried her best to recount the events of the last 3 hours, but she seemed to be in a daze too. It was a miracle she'd managed to call Lucy at all. Lucy, Mirta's girlfriend of 4 years now, who wasn't here. "Where's Lucy?"
"Seattle, visiting her family. She's coming back tomorrow."
Tecna rounded the corner as Mirta answered. She was followed by Timmy. Aisha raised her eyebrow, questioning how the pair had gotten here when she hadn't even called them. "Ryan texted me while they were on their way to the hospital" Timmy explained as he pulled up a seat beside Mirta. He nodded to the two guards that Aisha hadn't even noticed, standing still and quiet at opposite ends of their short row.
Tecna, never one for the touchy-feely things, grabbed the chair beside Aisha and pulled it around so she could face the group. Her hand rested on Musa's shoulder momentarily before she decided her efforts were better spent distracting the singer. Even Aisha was glad to hear Tecna ramble on about the new game she and Timmy had discovered earlier that week, anything to not think about Musa's love interest and her own boyfriend's best friend bleeding out.
Stella
She could kiss Brandon for caring so much about her friends. They'd been out for dinner that night. It was tradition at this point: two weeks after her birthday and two weeks before his, they would recreate their first date. Same restaurant, same table every year. They'd been doing it so much that the manager knew to expect a call from Stella's assistant every August to reserve it.
They'd just gotten their entrées when Aisha called. She wasn't going to answer it, but Aisha had called again. And again. Stella almost dropped her phone into her soup when Aisha told her. Brandon, angel that he was, had jumped into action. Their food was taken away, bills paid, and they were in a car before Stella could fully register the words Riven's been shot.
If Aisha and Mirta looked a mess, Musa was a tornado wreckage. Stella wanted to protect her, make her feel better, but she didn't know how. There wasn't much to be said when the man your friend loved – who didn't even know she loved him – was fighting for his life.
Stella joined Aisha in hugging Musa, propping herself up on the dancer's lap so she could get a footing in the group hug. Musa cuddled into her chest, so Stella propped her chin on Musa's head to keep her close. She could feel the water from Musa's quiet tears soaking through her silk dress, but she paid it no mind. It was just a dress.
"Excuse me" Mirta stopped a passing nurse. "Is there any way we could get an update on our friend?"
"I'm sorry, that information is only being given to immediate family" the nurse – a tall, lanky woman whose makeup routine had obviously not been updated since 1984 – said.
"Seriously?" Stella demanded, her voice echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet room. "Can't you see how distraught our friend is? You can't even tell her if he's still alive?"
The simultaneous whimper that came from Musa and scolding that came from Aisha alerted her that she'd said something stupid without thinking – she did have a habit of doing that. She tried to turn it around, into a look for the nurse as if to say see! but it didn't work. The old bitch just shrugged and repeated: "Immediate family only."
Darcy
It had been over a month since the breakup and Riven hadn't changed his emergency contact at work. If she was someone else, she might have taken that as a sign that he still cared, but she wasn't. Neither was he. Darcy knew he'd forgotten. He was always forgetting stuff like that. She was the one who would remind him that he needed to get his tires changed; she would remind him that he had a doctor's appointment; and she was the one who suggested they be each other's emergency contact in the first place.
That didn't mean she didn't go, though. He might have broken her heart, but she still cared about him. Icy and Stormy weren't very happy about her breaking up their girls' weekend away to go see her ex in the hospital – not that Stormy was ever happy about much – but they'd obliged her. To go, at least. They refused to come in with her.
"If he's not already dead, I'm gonna murder him for breaking your heart" Stormy had grumbled when Darcy had asked. She supposed she should be happy her friends were so caring and protective of her in their twisted way, but she would have liked the support going into the hospital.
The kind of support that Musa had. Musa – who looked like she'd been awake for weeks and crying for even longer – was surrounded by her friends. Darcy didn't remember most of their names, but she remembered the perky blonde and her unnaturally handsome husband. She knew which one Aisha was because Riven had mentioned her quite a few times, and she knew Nabu well. Nabu didn't like her. He hadn't ever said it – he was much too nice – but she could tell.
She didn't say hi to them. They wouldn't have returned her greeting anyway; they were too busy arguing with some nurse about an update if blondie's unnecessary shouting was anything to go by. Darcy walked past them as quickly as she could. Usually, she would relish in the opportunity to knock them down a few pegs, but at that moment, she just wanted to see him and know he was okay.
The nurse at the desk told her that information was only being given to immediate family, but she'd anticipated that. "You've already got a file for him. He was admitted last year when he had his appendix removed," They'd been on a date in central park. He hadn't been feeling well, but it was after close to 3 weeks apart and he hadn't wanted to bail. She had forced him to go to the hospital when he told her he was having stomach pains. "I'm his emergency contact."
She handed the young nurse – the guy couldn't have been more than a few weeks out of nursing school – her ID. He didn't need to know they'd broken up. As far as he was concerned, they were happily in love. His eyes darted between the screen, the card in his hand and her. Had she confused him? He excused himself and, after checking with his supervisor, ushered her through the swinging doors.
Riven was on a bed in a private room, fast asleep, tucked into one of those awful, scratchy blue hospital blankets. More wires than Darcy knew possible protruded from his arms, and he had a breathing mask over his face. She'd never been a particularly frail person, but seeing the man she'd loved for so long in such a weakened state made her falter. Darcy stopped at the door, grabbing onto the frame and regaining her composure. If Riven were conscious, he would tease her for that. Then he would take her hand, wrap her in the safety of his arm, and reassure her that everything would be alright. He had always been like that: protective and surprisingly comforting.
If he were conscious…
If he were talking to her…
"He's stable for now. The worst is passed" a sweet, deep voice said behind her. An older man, maybe in his mid-50s, with chubby, rosy cheeks and a kind expression stepped around her and ushered her into the room. The man exuded warmth and positivity. Her friends would hate him – she could hear them making jokes about him looking like Santa (he did) – but she needed the comfort his presence provided at that moment. "My name is Dr. Jepsen. I'll be taking charge of Riven's care during his stay here. Your boyfriend was shot in the torso and the leg. He's lucky that no major organs were hit, though he did lose a lot of blood. We've…"
Dr. Jepsen's voice trailed off until it was a faint buzz in the background. She caught a few words here and there, but most of it was medical junk that she wasn't likely to understand anyways. Her mind had hooked itself on the phrase your boyfriend. She'd already known that she missed him – part of the point of their girls' weekend was getting her mind off him – but she hadn't realized just how much. She missed cuddling into his chest when they watched TV, and the way he would kiss the top of her head; she missed watching him yell at athletes on TV even if she understood none of what he was talking about; she missed when he would call her at night just to see how her day had been; or when the way she would catch him smiling at her randomly and the way he would softly say inothing/i when she asked him what was up. She missed the days when he was hers.
"Okay, thank you" she mumbled once Dr. Jepsen had finished rattling off his information. She'd retained the most she could, or, at least, what she deemed important: he was stable, no major organs hit, heavy blood loss, a week's stay at minimum, would be sedated for at least the first few days of his stay, physical therapy for his leg, and quite a bit of time off given the risk of his job. "Can I have a few minutes with him?"
"Of course, take all the time you need."
Dr. Jepsen left her alone in the room with nothing but the incessant beeping of the machines to keep her company. It felt stupid talking to him when he couldn't hear her, but she knew this was most likely her only chance to see him. He wouldn't have any interest in her once he was no longer sedated. "Never thought I'd be one of those people that talks to someone when they're basically unconscious" she chuckled awkwardly. "I always thought that was fucking cheesy…"
"So do you" she added as an afterthought. Darcy had never been great with words when it came to anything sweet or sentimental. You wanted a witty or snide remark? She was your girls. Needed to tear someone down or give them a piece of your mind? Yeah. Emotional and raw? No. That just wasn't her. She'd been thinking, though, and he was right; she had been awful to him. "I know apologies aren't my thing – you made that clear – but I do owe you one. I never meant to make you feel like you weren't enough… That's just…I don't know… the way I am."
Darcy rested her elbow on the edge of the thin mattress and brushed her hair out of her face. She really was shit at this. "I know that's not an excuse… I loved – love you. I hope you know that, but I fucked up. I didn't show you that... I... I became my mother." Her mother had been a cold woman. She'd spent years knocking Darcy's father down and reeling him back in with well-timed affection. She'd done the same with her children, convincing them that that was just how love was. A continuous pushing and pulling, giving love when it was beneficial and took nothing from you. Darcy's father hadn't had Riven's character; he had stayed faithfully by her mother's side until old age took him a year ago. "I'm sorry. You deserved better than that."
If this were a movie, he would open his eyes, pull out the breathing tube, and forgive her. He would tell her that he knew she was sorry and that he still loved her. She wanted nothing more than to have that. Riven, like her, had never been good at the soft words. He stumbled over them, froze up with them, rarely said them. When he did though, they were like music to her ears.
But real life wasn't a movie. He wasn't coming back to her, she knew that much for sure. She had seen the way he'd looked at Musa the last time she'd been over. Darcy knew that look. He used to look at her like that; like she was the single star on a dark night; like she was the most beautiful, most magical person he'd ever laid eyes on. He may not have known it then – maybe not even now – but she did. Somewhere in the silent moments they'd been alone and the jokes they'd developed, the meals they'd shared and the chaos they'd lived, Riven had fallen in love with Musa.
And he'd fallen out of love with her.
"I hope she makes you happy" Darcy told him quietly before she leaned over and kissed his forehead one last time. She rested the bridge of her nose against the top of his head, remembering the way she'd do that very same thing when he cuddled up to her and laid his head on her chest. There would be no more of his rough hand caressing her cheek and gentle kisses in the dark. He wasn't hers anymore.
She pulled back and wiped away the tears that had pooled in her eyes. A quick glance in the mirror assured her that she didn't look as if she'd been crying (too much). She knew Stormy would give her a headache about crying over some stupid boy, not at all understanding that he wasn't some stupid boy.
Out the room, down the corridor, through the swinging doors into the lobby. Musa's friends were still hanging around, but the songstress was nowhere to be seen. Darcy could have told them Riven was in stable condition – at least according to the doctor – but she couldn't bear the thought of them knowing she'd been upset. So, she walked past them. They paid her no mind.
Around the corner and all the way down, then she was home free, and they could go back to their girls' weekend. A flash of red caught her eye, though, and she found herself looking at the very girl she'd wanted to avoid. Musa reached out a trembling hand and pressed a button on the coffee dispenser. Her cheeks and eyes were as red as the vibrant sweater she wore, and she looked worse than when Darcy had come in close to an hour earlier.
Darcy tried to push past, but something – a feeling she couldn't place – kept her in place, watching the singer. The coffee machine started up, spluttering to a stop drops later. Musa hit the side of the machine with more force than necessary, but nothing came of it. She kept hitting it, swearing under her breath until she was seconds from melting down in the middle of the hallway.
It might have been that the one-sided conversation with Riven left her in a state, or maybe she just understood why the starlet was falling apart. They were in the same boat, worried about the same man. In love with the same man, she was sure of it. Her heart leapt out to Musa and that could be the only way to rationalise what she did next.
The plug for the coffee machine was visible behind its base. It was also wide enough that it could be plugged in and unplugged easily without moving the whole machine. Darcy walked over and unplugged it, waited ten seconds and plugged it back in. She pulled a dollar out of her back pocket and bought a coffee. By that point, Musa had calmed down enough to register who was beside her. She regarded Darcy with a weary look – not that Darcy could blame her. The look barely calmed as Darcy placed a lid over the small cup and handed it to the songstress. "Hopefully you don't take it black like he does. Never did understand how he could drink coffee like that."
A confused smile hit Musa's face for a few moments before she shakily accepted the cup from Darcy. "No. I don't get it either." A sad laugh etched itself onto her face as she put the cup down and opened it to add sugar. She took a sip and Darcy found herself wishing she hadn't approached the singer. The tension that surrounded them was heavy, dense, like a fog that shrouded everything in sight. They stood there, not watching each other, but not quite looking away for far longer than could ever be comfortable before Darcy broke. She needed confirmation, then maybe she could move on. "You love him, don't you?"
"What?" Musa's cup stopped at her lips, just in time to avoid spilling any of the hot liquid on herself.
"You love him."
Musa opened and closed her mouth several times. The cup of coffee had been lowered to chest height, trembling in Musa's still shaky grip. Darcy waited patiently for an answer even if she already knew what it would be. No one else would be this broken up about their employee getting hurt; upset or worried, sure, but not on the verge of breaking down. Then, slowly and softly, Musa answered. "Yes."
She could be angry – she should be angry. Here this little girl had damseled her way into the man that was supposed to be hers' life, stolen him from her and torpedoed her life. She wasn't angry, though. She was too exhausted, too heartbroken to be. "You know, when I pushed him to take this job, I never thought you would be the one to rip us apart" she laughed bitterly. Musa grimaced in response; apology written clear as day on her face. "He always thought you were such a joke, and now... now he's pr-"
"I didn't mean to cause any issues I-"
"No, I'm sure you didn't" Darcy interrupted with a frustrated sigh. The worst part was that she believed Musa. The girl seemed too nice to purposefully break up someone else's relationship, and Darcy knew Musa had already been on the heartbroken end of a torn relationship. She remembered when it had come out that Andy – the guitarist for one of her favourite bands – had cheated on the singer. Musa would never do that to someone else; what little Darcy knew about her told her that the singer was too honest for that. "I do-"
"Darcy!" Icy's chilling voice echoed down the hall. Darcy turned back to see both of her friends standing by the exit, waiting with crossed arms and annoyed looks. She'd told them she'd be 15/20 minutes. It had been far longer, and she knew them well enough to know they were at the end of their already paper-thin patience.
"Just... be good to him" Darcy said with a resigned sigh. He deserved good... from whoever loved him, even if it wasn't her. Musa nodded solemnly, her eyes not quite meeting Darcy's.
She turned away from the singer, thankful for Icy's interruption. The conversation had been necessary, but painful. She would be happy to never have it again. But it also gave her a small insight into what he'd seen in Musa: genuine, open, kind. She got it. She hated it, but she got it.
"Oh, Musa." she thought, turning back to the singer. Musa had picked up the cup of coffee and was sipping it absentmindedly by the trash bin beside the machine. Upon hearing Darcy call her, her head turned, dark hair falling onto her forehead from the messy bun. "He's stable."
The relief that washed over Musa's face was palpable; her smile grew wide, and her eyes shone happily. "Thank you" she whispered gratefully.
Nabu
It was nearly 3am by the time they'd been allowed to see Riven. By then, it was just him, Mirta and Musa. The rest had wanted to stay, but their exhaustion was obvious and Musa had all but banished them from the hospital. Bloom and Sky had been the first to leave, demanding to be kept updated and called if anything urgent happened and they needed to rush back. Stella and Brandon had been next, making the same requests as Bloom and Sky. Stella hadn't wanted to leave, but she'd fallen asleep 3 separate times and Brandon had made the call that she'd be as helpful at home as she was in the waiting room. Tecna and Timmy at just past 2 had finally called it a night. Much like the couples before them, they also requested to be kept in the loop. Aisha had been the hardest to make leave. Between her devotion to her best friend and her quality girlfriend ways, they had practically had to push her out of the hospital. Mirta had flat out refused to leave and argued with Musa every time the singer told her to go.
They walked into the room and Musa had had to cling to the doorframe to stop from falling over. She looked like she wanted to cry. To be fair, she'd spent a good part of the day crying. And he wanted to cry too. Riven had always been, at least on the outside, a pillar of strength. And, in Nabu's opinion, despite the man's issues, he did think of Riven as one of the strongest people he knew; to always strive for good and more when you'd had nothing but bad luck was strength even if Riven didn't get it. To see him look so broken and bandaged came as a shock Nabu hadn't been prepared for.
Once the doctor had explained what was going on, most of which Nabu was sure Musa had hardly registered, he left the two of them alone with an unconscious (or sleeping? It was hard to tell) Riven. Mirta had opted to wait for them outside. Musa took a seat beside the bed and rested her forehead on the thin blue blanket long enough that Nabu thought she might have fallen asleep.
He walked around the room, hating every second in the bland space. The walls were too beige, the curtains too brown and the view too depressing – a view overlooking the patients' courtyard, currently empty. Besides urging the others to head home, they hadn't spoken a word. Nabu wasn't used to being at a loss for words. He'd always been the chatty one, the friendly one, but what were you supposed to say when your best friend was clinging to life and you had no way of knowing it would work out?
When he'd had enough of staring out the window at the dark, lifeless courtyard, he turned back to the room. Musa had rejoined the world of the living and was now holding Riven's free hand – the one that didn't have the heartrate monitor – and watching his friend with the most loving look Nabu had seen in years. "What happened?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence that had plagued them for the last hour.
"What?" Musa dropped Riven's hand, as if she'd forgotten Nabu was in the room with her.
"Between the two of you. Aisha said you weren't talking for the entire time you were in Europe." He already knew what happened, mostly. Aisha had given him the basic rundown: they'd slept together and then become awkward idiots. He wanted to know the details, though. Who had been the one to initiate the awkwardness? Had Riven said or done something to make her think he wasn't interested? Was she not interested? Aisha insisted Musa was – and from the way she'd reacted to his injury, Nabu was pretty sure Aisha was right – and he knew for a fact Riven was into her, so what had gone wrong?
"It's a long story..."
"Oh no, you're not getting off with that. You obviously miss him; you have to to care about him so much right now. And I know him well enough to know that if you two haven't spoken in 3 weeks, he misses you too."
"What makes you..." Musa trailed off momentarily and Nabu worried he'd lost her to her thoughts. A short pause later, though, she looked up at him with a new gleam in her eye. "Do you two talk about me?"
"Not recently," Nabu admitted, "but I know he cares a lot about you."
"I mean... making sure I'm okay is part of his job."
"You know that's not what I mean. He cares about you a lot more than that in a much different way than that."
"You think?" Her voice teetered, scared to be hopeful, but hopeful enough for it to come through. Nabu offered her a genuine smile. How sad it seemed that she would learn of Riven's affections for her when all she could do was wait and hope. How strange it seemed that she hadn't figured it out; to him it had been the most obvious thing. "I know."
Musa's face lit up a bit, enough to make her seem more alive than she had since he'd gotten to the hospital hours earlier. He teetered on the edge of telling her Riven had genuine feelings for her – if only so that they could stop dancing around each other – but Mirta poked her head in before he could decide. "My alarm just went off. We should be getting up to get ready; you're supposed to be on Good Morning America..."
What little light had come to Musa's face faded. Her gaze swivelled between Mirta and Riven until finally she spoke. "I'm not going."
"You have to go, Musa. People are counting on you."
"I don't care. I'm not leaving." Musa turned her back to the door and propped her chin up on the palm of her hand. The free hand rested on Riven's arm, rubbing it gently.
"Woah, hey. You have to go. Riven's just gonna be here, not doing a whole lot." Nabu moved around the bed to pull up a seat beside her. From close, he could see how near tears she was. His heart went out to her; if Aisha were in Riven's place, he wouldn't want to leave either. "Look, I'll stay with him, and I'll text Mirta the second something happens. If it's bad, she'll get you out and over. Right?" Mirta nodded resolutely like he'd hoped she would, and Musa seemed to calm down. Or at least be more willing to leave Riven's side.
Once they were gone, Nabu took Musa's chair closer to Riven. It had been just the two of them many times before – nights at awful dive bars and on the couch watching football or playing a game, or lazy days at home where they said they'd clean and never did – but Nabu had never expected them to be here. Riven's job had, for the most part, been a fairly safe one; he'd once described it as glorified babysitting.
"Guess you can't really call yourself a glorified babysitter anymore" Nabu scoffed to the empty room. "Probably a good thing, you were never much of a babysitter. Remember that time we watched Ms Scott's twins?" Nabu laughed, remembering the way the 6-year-old boys had tortured them. What was supposed to be an easy night – feed the kids, watch a movie, then bed – turned into a nightmare of kids running amok and locking their sitters in the spare room while they drew all over the walls and helped themselves to the dessert cabinet. When Mrs Scott had gotten home, Riven had been so fed up that he swore if they ever agreed to watch the twins again, he was tying them to kitchen chairs. My kids will never be like that he'd spent the next hour grumbling. God, did Nabu hope Riven had kids. Ever since he'd learned that Riven wanted them, Nabu had been looking forward to being the fun uncle and torturing his grumpy best friend.
His best friend...
So strange to think that some half-assed ad on Craigslist that had yielded, for the most part, nothing but weirdos and crackheads had led him to finding his best friend. The moment Nabu opened the door to the tall, angry man, he knew he had found someone special. It was written in the stars that they would be friends.
"You better fucking pull through this, man" Nabu sighed. "What am I supposed to do without you?"
Musa
Mirta had had to bring her home to shower. Musa's home was now a crime scene, so instead she found herself showering in the small 750 square foot condo Mirta and Lucy had bought last year and borrowing Mirta's sweats to head to the studio in. She would look good as new in a custom-made outfit from Stella and freshly done hair and makeup. She'd been trained for this, to smile and laugh when she didn't feel like it. No one would know she was falling apart; desperate to curl up into a ball and cry for the rest of eternity.
Riven was hurt – hanging on by a thread – and there was nothing she could do to help him.
She kept replaying last night in her mind. The anxiety coursed through her as if she were stuck in the moment before the gun shots, unable to escape; the sound of the shots rang incessantly in her ear; and she could still smell the blood. Musa wasn't dumb; she knew that running in was a bad idea. It couldn't be helped, though; it was instinct that sent her careening through the door and the hallway.
Never in her life had she felt as helpless as she had beside Colin as he tried to help Riven. Musa had no first aid training and even less training on how to handle emergencies. She knew her panic had stressed Colin out from the way that he'd barked at Mirta to take her away. Musa wanted to apologise for that – she'd tried to – but Colin, sweet, kind Colin, had brushed her off and told her she had no reason to be sorry.
Waiting in the hospital had been no better. In fact, quite the opposite: it had been significantly worse. Every time she thought about Riven, she got flashbacks of her mother's last moments. The memory was burned in her mind and she'd done everything she could to not let it come up. For most of her life, she'd succeeded. Being there had brought all of it to life: the strong smell of antiseptic, the bright June sun shining through the window onto a far darker scene, the thin white blanket that was supposed to keep her mother warm as she took her last breaths and, worst of all, the way her mother's hand – thin and frail by then – had held hers, pouring all the love she could and trying to keep Musa strong through the ordeal. She had hated every second of those moments, but it was better than her mother dying alone. She would think of that and then Riven. Riven, who they weren't letting her see; who had no immediately family – in general, but much less in New York – to get any updates; who could be inches from death and had no idea that there were people there that cared about him and were waiting for him. Riven… who had no idea that she loved him.
She should have told him when she had the chance. She shouldn't have let his answer that morning dissuade her. It would have been awkward but at least he would know that he was loved. She would have been completely and utterly mortified when (if?) he rejected her, but at least he would know. She may have lost his friendship – she'd basically done that anyways – but at least he would know.
As soon as her Good Morning America show was over, she was back at the hospital by his side. Nabu took that time as a chance to head home and shower. Musa would not be heading home. She wasn't allowed to, but even if she were she wouldn't have wanted to. Every time she'd be downstairs, she would relive that night, see him clinging to consciousness. Instead, Stella had arranged for Musa to stay at her Manhattan penthouse, the one she'd bought before she and Brandon bought one together. Musa had never understood why Stella had hung onto it, but she was thankful for it now. Mirta had asked permission to enter the apartment to grab a few necessities, but had been refused. Whatever she had on her in Europe – some everyday clothes, her toiletries, 2 books and her notebooks – was all of her possessions she would have access to for the next little bit. Her assistant – sweetheart that she was – had offered Musa her own guitar to borrow if she felt like writing.
Day turned to night and Musa was forced to leave. The ICU didn't allow overnight visitors. She spent the night, restless and anxious, in Stella's king-sized luxury bed and was back at the hospital the minute visitors were allowed again. Riven would, according to the doctor, be kept in a mostly sedated state for the first few days. It would be less painful for him that way and, long as she did to talk to him, she preferred he not be in pain.
By the second day full day, Musa had decided which nurses she didn't like. The old bitch that had refused to give them an update when they'd first gotten there was at the top of that list. There was also the brunette with a chest to rival Dolly Parton's that kept giving her the stink eye every time she came in to check Riven's vitals, and the male nurse that looked a bit too much like Brandon for comfort that would flirt with her whenever he passed Riven's room. Her favourite was a sweet, short redhead that would ask her if she was okay in the most compassionate tone whenever she was in the room. Something about her just made Musa feel at ease.
"The bitchy one is working the floor today" Musa told Riven as she placed Mirta's guitar on the chair on the third full day. She knew he wasn't going to answer her – between the sedatives and the breathing tube, he didn't stand much of a chance of uttering a word – but she knew he would like being kept updated on the goings-on of his own health. There had been a point in the early days where the police hadn't been updating him about possible leads and he'd been furious. I know I can't do much to help them, but I'd at least like to know what's going on, he'd grumbled. What else was she going to do while she waited for something to happen? She'd tried reading but hadn't been able to stay focused; Netflix had caused her the same problem. So, she talked. She'd told him the story of the stalker, albeit briefly since she didn't want to give the man much thought. He had caved pretty easily during interrogations and the cops had already given them a fair bit of information. The man had worked for the phone company in customer service and had found her account, that's how he'd known which phone to hack. He apparently hadn't given much thought to hacking everyone around hers' so having them change their phones and phone numbers had ended up being excessive. Musa hadn't cared much beyond that; she'd stopped listening when the cops told them about the shrine he had to her in his bedroom closet. She told him about everything else, too: his health, the gossip she overheard walking through the halls, her day, their friends, Darcy showing up and being terrifyingly nice to her, random musings and every little detail in between. Whatever came to mind, she would tell him.
Today, she felt like singing, so she would sing.
Nerves wracked through her more so than ever before. She was going to sing to him, for him – a song she'd written about him. She'd written plenty of songs about him over such a short period of time and, reading them back last night, she'd found one written a bit over a month earlier that she really loved – she might even record it disguised as a song for someone else if things with Riven never worked. It was kind of cowardly to sing the song to him when she knew he couldn't hear it, but she saw it as practice for when – no more if just when - he woke up and she would tell him that she was in love with him.
Flora
There hadn't been a single available spot on a flight to New York in the week after Musa had called her. Flora wasn't one to swear much, but she'd dropped a series of curses that would shock the most foul-mouthed of people when the lady on the phone of her last hope airline – who was in all actuality doing her best to help – told her that there were no spots available.
She and Helia had been in Costa Rica. He'd wanted to get away to paint and a friend of his had offered up the family cabin, a perfect getaway spot. He'd invited her along and she'd jumped at the opportunity – she'd never left the continental US before except for a trip to Puerto Rico for her great aunt's funeral when she was 7. The retreat had been heaven: breakfast under a canopy of trees, hikes through the woods, days by the beaches, nights by a campfire, a private chef that made the most exquisite of meals and company that made her heart soar. It had been perfect, until Musa called her at 5 am and dropped a bomb on her; Riven had been shot the night before and was in the ICU. Flora had cancelled their plans for the day and spent hours on the phone with every agent of every airline she could get in contact with.
Finally, they'd found a flight to Philadelphia with an agonizingly long 6-hour layover in Miami. From Phili they'd rented a car and driven to Manhattan. Flora would consider herself a very patient person, but she'd been ready to snap the whole way up. Helia had been a saint; he'd been patient and reassured her that everything would work out fine the whole time. She'd practically broken down into hysterics 4 hours into their layover and he'd just calmly pulled her into his arms and let her cry. He just got it. Helia might have her heart but Riven was her person. He was the closest thing she had to a brother, and she considered him both family and one of her – if not her actual – very best friends. She would move mountains for him, and she would fight Death to get to him when he was hurt.
When they finally, finally made it to the hospital – four full days after he'd been admitted – Nabu came to find them by the main entrance. He led them to the room, updating them on the situation. Riven wasn't under a sedative anymore, but he was heavily medicated. His breathing tube had been removed a few hours prior, so he could talk gently, but he couldn't go very far thanks to the gunshot wound in his thigh. All in all, the doctor thought Riven was incredibly lucky. The bullet in his torso hadn't hit any major organs and he was healing remarkably well. Flora could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
"Okay," Nabu started, stopping just outside of what she assumed to be Riven's room. "Now, I know Riven's… well, Riven. Proud and stubborn and yada yada, but he's clearly in pain even if he won't admit it, so remember to be gentle with him. He's fragile."
"Nabu, I'm not a toddler being let loose. I can control myself" Flora mumbled smartly. Beside her, Helia chuckled. He must have seen what happened next coming. The minute the door opened and she saw Riven sitting up in the bed, she threw herself into his arms. She squeezed him so tight his head could pop off at any second. In her arms, Riven hissed in pain, but he did wrap his arm around her as much as she could.
"Hey, hey! What did I just say?!" Nabu admonished in a teasing tone, hardly able to keep the laughter out of his throat.
"Fragile, yes, yes, I know." Flora broke away from her injured friend and gave him a sheepish, apologetic smile.
"Not fragile" Riven grumbled under his breath.
"Of course not" Nabu agreed good-heartedly.
"What are you doing here?" Riven's voice was hoarse and scratchy, but he was speaking – and breathing – and that was all she really cared about. She had assessed him visually to the best of her ability and, besides the bandages around his torso and leg, he seemed alright. Or at least like he had no other major injuries. "Musa called me" she said, bringing her eyes back up to meet his. "She told me what happened."
"Where is Musa?" Helia asked, popping into the conversation for the first time since they'd met Nabu at the door.
"She's performing tonight. She and Aisha should be back after."
"Sure, okay…" Riven scoffed.
"You don't think so?" Flora wondered why he would sound so doubtful. He and Musa were friends, surely she would care about his well-being. If she had visited him before, she would certainly want to now that his breathing tube had been removed. "Why would she not come back? She sounded really worried on the phone."
"She's coming back."
"Unless a miracle's happened over the last few days, there's no reason for her to come back. She and I didn't exactly leave things on good terms."
"Would you just trust me?" Nabu rolled his eyes at Riven and went to give him a gentle slap on the arm, catching himself inches from the bodyguard's arm.
"What happened?" Flora asked.
"Just trust me; she and I are not on speaking terms."
Flora's heart went out to him. Between the bandages on his torso and leg, and the hurt look in his eyes, she wanted nothing more than to hug him and promise him everything would be alright. She took a seat on the bed beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, rubbing his back tenderly. His cheek rested on her forehead and he let out a heavy sigh. "Can you give us a few minutes?"
Once Nabu and Helia had left, closing the door behind them, Flora turned to him and demanded he tell her what was going on. Riven grimaced, whether from pain or discomfort she didn't know.
"I, uh… we… slept together" he admitted reluctantly. His arm moved up to rub the nape of his neck – a nervous habit he had, but the pain of stretching his torso stopped him short.
"What?!" Flora's mind became a jumbled mess of thoughts. Riven and Musa had… Riven had broken up with Darcy, she knew that much. But then he'd slept with Musa. His boss. That had to be against some ethics code… He put his job at risk… for sex? No. Riven wouldn't do that. Not for sex. He was too smart for that; he had better self-control than that. He put his job on the line because he gave in to something. So either he was so attracted to Musa physically that he had lost all will-power ior/i he'd fallen for her and that had caused his brain to short-circuit and… "I was right."
"Yeah" he groaned.
"You like her?! I was right!" Flora repeated the latter like a mantra. She was right. She was right. She was right! Riven liked Musa! "Oh, you two would be so amazing together. I can see it. The pop princess and her fearless knight. So cute! And you'd have such beautiful children… I mean look at you! Look at her! Little walking masterpieces those kids would be! Wait… does she want kids? Regardless, you two would be perfect, I just know it. I mean, how could you not be when you literally riske-"
"Flora! Stop!" Riven's voice, louder and more forceful than it had ever been towards her, cut through her happy bubble and shocked her silent. She stared at him wide eyed and surprised for half a second before the shock was replaced by concern. Riven's voice may have been strong, but his presence was anything but. In the last 2 minutes, his eyes had grown weary and sad and his posture had shrunken into him, making him seem small and delicate. "She and I have barely spoken more than 10 or 20 words to each other since it happened a month ago."
"I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. You two were so… in sync – in harmony – last time I saw you. There's no wa-"
"Flora…" he replied, his voice pleading and sad.
"Nabu seems pretty certain she doesn't hate you." Flora was grasping, she knew it. She just didn't want to believe that the couple she'd wanted to happen – that she'd never even had a chance to properly root for – was over before it happened. That they'd washed away any friendship or possible romance with a single night of impulse.
"Fine. She might not hate me, but that doesn't mean she wants to be around me."
Riven
Flora was so adamant it was a misunderstanding. It kind of broke his heart. He wanted it to be; wanted to tell her and have it all work out. Flora hadn't seen how Musa acted around him these days, though. She was awkward and shy, a far cry from the loud and charismatic girl he'd fallen in love with. He wanted her to be that girl again, to smart-mouth him and tell him off, make him laugh so hard he thought his side would split open and taunt him when she was kicking his ass at a video game. He wanted to watch her dance around the kitchen while she cooked and sing completely off-key with that perfect, heavenly voice of hers.
He'd had a dream at some point – he didn't know when, all the days had melted into one – that she had sang to him. Her voice had honey coated his drug-induced dreams and made him feel like he was a cotton candy cloud floating happily through the air. She'd sang him a love song; not one he recognized, but one he loved because it was her. He knew it was a dream, but he would replay it in his mind forever just to have some piece of her love him.
She was so damn adamant that it was a misunderstanding; it frustrated him to no end. He loved Flora and her tendency to be positive about every goddamn thing – it acted nicely in contrast to his tendency to be pessimistic – but he really needed her to understand that this wasn't one of the situations where her positivity would do anyone any favours.
He almost snapped at her to stop, but a knock on the door ended her optimistic spewing before he could speak. Saladin poked his head in, smile widening when he saw Riven sitting up. "How are you feeling?"
"Alright thanks to a fuckton of pain medication" Riven grimaced, extending his arm as much as he could before his arm complained to shake Saladin's offered hand.
"I assume you're being here means you didn't get my email."
"Yeah..." Riven grimaced regretfully. He had been so stupid, so reckless. He'd acted like teenage Riven would, not verifying everything was safe before heading home. Adult Riven knew better. Adult Riven knew that he should have listened to the letter Saladin tried to read him when they were in Paris, and that he should have used WizGiz's phone even if it meant pulling over somewhere to get it from the trunk. He'd let his affections for Musa cloud his judgement in Paris and his anxiety to get home and be alone with her cloud his judgement when they were back in New York. "I-"
"Regret it? Yes, I would assume so" Saladin interrupted with a friendly air. He didn't look angry – not that he ever really did – or disappointed – his go-to mood when someone broke protocol. Not that he would have to; he knew Riven would be angry and disappointed with himself enough for the both of them. "Look at it as a learning experience. Now you know why our protocols are in place."
"You'll definitely never break protocol again, eh man?" Nabu chuckled, having returned to the room with two cup of coffee moments prior with Helia in tow, holding, Riven assumed, two cups of tea (Flora was a tea drinker, not a coffee drinker).
"That's for fucking sure" Riven agreed, taking the cup of coffee from Nabu's hand. He took a sip of it and regretted it immediately. "This tastes like piss."
"It's coffee from a vending machine, what were you expecting?" Helia laughed, handing Flora her cup of tea. The two exchanged a look that melted Riven's heart. If he couldn't have the person he loved, he was happy that Flora could. She deserved to be loved, and Helia seemed a great match.
"Can't wait to get the fuck out of here and have a good cup of coffee." Riven forced down a second sip of the toilet water and decided it wasn't worth it. "Thank God I got paid well for this gig. I'll still be able to afford decent coffee after the goddamn hospital bills nearly ruin me."
"Ruin you?"
"Yeah, Saladin. We live in the US and, even with insurance, a week-long – maybe more – ICU stay, plus whatever scans and tests they had to run, is gonna be fucking expensive."
Saladin chuckled, earning a confused look from Riven and company. He knew Saladin had money, but there was no way the old man didn't know how expensive hospital stays could be. Prompted by Riven's expression, Saladin questioned whether or not Riven had read the reupping contract that had been sent in July. Riven vaguely remembered it. The initial agreement had been a six-week contract, a trial run to make sure everything went well. Also, how long the NYPD had estimated it would take to find the stalker. Idiots. In mid-July, Saladin had emailed him an updated contract with no date, just arrest of target as the end period of the contract. Riven had skimmed it, but every important detail had stayed the same, so he'd signed it without looking into it. He really needed to stop doing that, apparently; that was how he'd ended up an underwear model, after all. "Not in all that much detail, no…"
"You missed the addendum, then. The one Musa had added that states that she pays your hospital bills if you get hurt while on the job."
"What?" "Damn, really?" Riven and Nabu responded simultaneously. "Why would she do that?" Riven continued. Musa had never struck him as a cheap person, but she wasn't a big spender either, and hospital bills were expensive.
"You'll have to ask her that" Saladin shrugged.
"Sounds to me like she cares." Flora smiled at him smugly. He could practically hear her saying I think Musa likes you, to which he would remind her that Musa had made that addendum before he'd let his desire for her take over his ability to think rationally. She may have cared then, but that didn't mean she did now.
Saladin stuck around for another few minutes, updating him on the arrest and subsequent admissions of the stalker. His name was Francis Jenkins, he was a 58-year-old man from Atlanta who was obsessed with a woman young enough to be his daughter; who, despite having her home address, chose to send his letters to her PO box to avoid 'freaking her out', as if the content of the letters themselves wouldn't. He was facing many years in prison, between the stalking charges, the criminal possession of a weapon and the assault charges. Growing up in the projects, Riven had always believed that rehabilitation and aid was the way to go – he'd seen too many people do illegal things to survive, end up in jail and then be dumped back into the same shitty situation that had caused them to commit the crime in the first place – but this man deserved to rot in jail. In a twisted way, he was happy he'd gotten shot; the small sentence that Frankie would receive for stalking wasn't enough of a punishment for the torment he'd put Musa through.
Aisha joined them just as Saladin was leaving. Nabu had mentioned that she'd be along accompanied by Musa after a performance on some late-night talk show. Riven had been anxious since the announcement a few minutes earlier, his heart beat in his ears so loud he missed entire parts of the conversation. His relief at the singer's absence was only surpassed by his disappointment. He knew things were tense, and the last few days would do nothing to change that, but he wanted to see her, he couldn't help it.
"Where's Musa?" Nabu questioned, wrapping his arms around Aisha and planting a kiss on her forehead. Riven smiled sadly at the couple as they shared a quick peck. His two best friends had found romance with people in Musa's inner circle, and, if things went further south, he was doomed to have to see her more often than would be good for him. But he was happy for Nabu and Flora, truly.
"Asleep on the way to Stella's condo. She basically passed out the minute she sat in the car. Poor girl's barely slept in the last few days."
"Did she manage to keep it together for the performance? I imagine it must be hard to put on a good show when you're exhausted."
"Oh yeah, show was good. Musa's a pro; she's performed in much worse shape than she is now."
"Is she hurt?!" Helia demanded, more panic and emotion coming into those 3 words than Riven had heard from him since they'd first met. It hadn't even dawned on him that Musa might be hurt, he'd taken it for granted that Nabu, knowing full well how Riven felt about her, would have told him. Nabu was smart enough to know Riven would be furious if that information was kept from him. Helia, it appeared, shared that sentiment. "Why didn't you tell me she was hurt?"
"She didn't say anything about it" Flora replied, a hint of doubt in her voice.
"She's fine" Aisha jumped in before anyone could freak out. She gave Riven a pointed look that, despite his looking at Helia on the other side of the room, Riven still caught. "No physical injuries, just emotional ones."
"Huh?" "What does that mean?"
"She's upset that Riven was hurt" Nabu guessed.
"No!" Aisha groaned loudly. "Well, yes… but no. She's upset cause these two dumbasses are in love with each other and she thinks he isn't, and both of them are too stubborn and proud to make the first move."
Riven was gobsmacked. His eyes grew wide and he felt a weight he hadn't known was there lift off his shoulders. He didn't even notice the way Flora's face lit up beside him and Helia smiled like he'd known all along. Riven was too busy replaying a single thought in his mind. Musa loved him. "Musa loves me?"
"Of course she does, you fucking imbecile! That's why I told you to tell her how you felt!"
Do everyone a favour and tell her Aisha's voice echoed in his mind, a memory that had been buried under the frustration, pain and regret of the hours after that instruction and the long days that followed. How could he have forgotten that? He'd known when Aisha had first said it that it had had to mean something. He had wanted to tell her how he felt. He was going to tell her when they got home, that's why he was in such a rush. It all made sense.
"You meddled? You told me not to tell him and you meddled?!"
"I wasn't going to, but then they were both so annoyingly lovesick that I had to."
"Why didn't you tell me? We could've gotten them together so much faster if we'd both been in their ears!"
Aisha and Nabu's back-and-forth snarking was lost on him. Riven's mind registered only a single thought: Musa loved him. All the things he thought they could never have – the early morning kisses, the hugs in the kitchen just because, the days spent alone in the sun by some empty stretch of water, inside jokes and secret stories, nights cuddled up and whispering to each other in the dark, hearing her tell him that she loved him, feeling her body against his and her hand in his – rolled through his mind. He would tell her the first chance he got. It didn't matter the circumstances – in or out of the hospital, bleeding through his hospital gown, in a Walking Dead-style apocalypse, on stage in front of thousands of people, whatever it was, the next time he saw her, he would tell her that he was in love with her.