Spoilers for 9x4 and sort of 9x5 Smacked lovers read until the end!
Chapter 18
"Please explain to me how we are getting stuck on security detail for Grant Hamilton?" Gus sighed into her mug, wanting to pull the covers over her head and thinking there were a thousand other ways she would rather spend her Saturday.
Don snapped his fingers and said "Grace, down," to the dog who had promptly jumped in next to his wife the second he left the bed, despite knowing she wasn't supposed to be up there.
He pulled the comforter off Gus, even though part of him wanted to crawl right back in with her. "Think of the overtime, babe, and it's a favor to Loo, I am pretty sure you still owe him one or two of those," he smirked.
Gus downed the rest of her coffee and slid out of bed. "Fine, but I'm not wearing a suit!" she grumbled, pulling clothes out of her dresser.
Her mood did not improve as they made it to the rally; Gus getting serious Gage Fontenot vibes from the politician and she did not need any reminders of her ex-fiancee or high society life. Her trip down memory lane ending as the shots rang out, Gus moving on high alert, the hair on her neck standing up as she scanned the crowd, seeing the shooter rabbit off, Flack on his heels.
She practically vaulted over the people on the left hand side of the stage, barely glancing back to make sure Hamilton and his VIPs were being attended to as she tore off after Flack and the shooter. He didn't make it easy on the pair, the streets filled with people on the gorgeous weekend morning, and plenty of obstacles available for him to throw in their path.
Gus almost got creamed by a taxi as she jumped out of the way of a falling cart of books, briefly losing sight of Flack until she saw him round a corner. The blaring of the horn and expletives of the driver earned him a one finger salute as she levitated back up on the curb, her heart pumping rapidly.
She had blown past the alley, doubling back, weapon drawn as she heard another gunshot; watching in horror as her eyes took in Flack holstering his weapon and rushing to the figure of a young girl down on the pavement.
Flack pressed one palm to the stomach of the little girl, the fear clear in her eyes as blood poured from the wound, pulling out his phone with the other hand, cursing as the 'no service' warning popped up.
Gus saw him hurl his phone down in frustration, backing out of the alley, dialing as she did so. She barked her badge number and requested a bus to the address, hanging up before she got a response and rushed in beside him. It was only then she noticed a boy about the same age as the girl, standing frozen, the gun still in his hand, his face curled in shock.
"Hey, sugar, let me just take this," she said coming around, easily taking the pistol from the boy, noting the magazine was missing and surmising there must have still been a round in the chamber. She set the weapon on some crates by the dumpster as the boy launched himself at her, his arms around her as he dissolved into sobs.
She turned so he was facing away from where his friend was, locking eyes with Don as he still valiantly attempted to stem the flow of blood, panic on his face as the girl whimpered and gripped at his wrists.
Gus' breath hitched in her chest even as the ambulance siren grew closer as Don's expression one of alarm. She glanced down, seeing the girl turning from olive to gray. She swallowed, backed the boy still clinging to her around the side of the dumpster, still shielding him from the scene unfolding.
"Okay, sugar, can you tell me your name?" she asked, peeling him off of her.
He nodded in between hiccups and sobs. "L-l-onnie," he stammered out.
"Alright, Lonnie, I am Detective Augusta Broussard, and I need you to do me a favor," she crouched in front of him, unclipping her badge from her belt, desperate to get this kid out of the way and back to help Don. He nodded again. "I need you to sit right here and keep my badge safe, okay? Don't move until I come get you and hold on to it tight. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yeah," he squeaked out, taking the badge and holding it tight enough this knuckles went white.
Gus gave what she hoped was a comforting smile, "great, that's a big help, I'm going to go help my partner and your friend now."
"Come on, come on," Flack was begging, one hand still on the wound, the other starting chest compressions, leaning down to check her breath, unsure of how CPR would help with a massive bullet wound.
"Just keep pressure on her stomach, Don," Gus said, falling to her knees across from him."I've got this," she said, taking over CPR, dread filling her as she puffed air into the girl's mouth and took in her vacant eyes.
"Don't stop," Flack grunted desperately, fury and dismay running through his veins as much as blood.
"I'm not," she replied, "hold on, baby girl, ambo's coming now," she begged, as the EMT's and uniforms charged into the alley.
Flack and Gus were pushed back. but didn't go far as the EMT's went to work and the uniforms kept the crowd at bay. Gus saw the blood covering Don's front, looking down and grimacing at her shirt as well. She buttoned up her blazer before going to get Lonnie, whipping her head around as the Paramedic called TOD, watching as Don's face crumpled.
As much as she wanted to rush to her husband, to both seek and give comfort, she knew the job came first and she had to question Lonnie and keep any idiots from making an example of him and pressing charges on an 8 year old. Gus found Lonnie cowering in a ball, rocking back and forth in hysterics, her badge still clutched in his hands.
"I killed Aimee," he wailed, choking on his own spit and tears.
"It was an accident, sugar. Now let's get you out of here and you can tell me who to call and come get you." She scooped him up, adrenaline making him light enough to carry out of the alley and to a patrol car. She looked over Lonnie's head at Don slumped against the brick wall as she exited the alley, trying to convey everything she felt for him in the brief glance they shared.
Don swallowed as he took in Gus' expression and her hands cradling the boy wrapped around her. He swallowed rapidly, willing himself to not dissolve into tears or lash out a punch to the unyielding bricks; he would give anything to rewind the day and to have crawled back into bed with his wife and dog, favors to their Lieutenant be damned. At least they were getting a couple of days of immediate PTO for it.
"We aren't leaving our bed tomorrow, blue eyes, I don't care," Gus said late Sunday night, wrapping herself in a robe after her shower. Pausing as she took in Don leaning against the sink, staring into the fogged up mirror. She crossed the tiny bathroom in two strides, wrapping her arms around him, resting her cheek on his back.
He sighed, reaching up and grasping at her hand on his chest before turning around and pulling him to her, burying his face in her wet hair. "God damned Weston, she was just a kid, Gussie," he implored, "this fucking blows."
"It really does," she said into his chest, holding him tightly. "I love you, Don."
"Love you more, sunshine," he said, leading her to their bedroom, not bothering to kick Gracie out as he climbed in next to his wife, needing comfort and reassurance from his small but mighty family.
They did spend the next day mostly in bed, wrapped up in covers and each other, catching up on sleep and processing not just the most recent case but everything going on in their hearts and minds. The pair was able to relax much more knowing that Lindsay was cleared for duty and that Daddino considered their slate clear on favors.
But Don still knew Gus' tendencies to carry the weight of everyone else on her shoulder's, which is why he snuck out of the bedroom while she was napping to make some plans for her the next day.
Gus awoke refreshed, having gotten the first full night of sleep she could remember in quite some time, hearing Don call from their dining nook, "wake up sleepy head!"
She padded out of the bedroom, Grace nipping playfully at her heels. Rubbing her eyes and asking, "you talking to me or the dog?"
He laughed at her question and at her expression as she took in the plates laid out for both of them. He turned down the music, amazed she could sleep through the raucous blues, but after having actually been to New Orleans a couple of times, he was less shocked. "Both," he said, pulling out two chairs.
"I know you are not feeding our dog eggs Benedict, babe," she said, happily settling in.
"Just the egg and muffin, I checked!" he said defensively, "now eat up, you have to get ready for a spa day," he dimpled.
She blinked at him rapidly, "A what now? I think I would remember planning one of those."
He leaned over and kissed her, wiping the hollandaise off her cheek. "Come on, I figured with all you're putting up with you needed at least a day. Plus Mac said you were complaining about your neck when you two grabbed a bite, he suggested it. Technically he suggested a Turkish Bath which makes me curious about what he is doing in his downtime…" he pulled a face as he trailed off.
Gus laughed, "what are you gonna do all day, blue eyes?"
He shrugged, "I'm sure I'll figure something out, maybe go hit the ring, and I am sure Grams will call wanting me to come open some jars or something." Don't worry about it, sunshine, you just go and relax."
"Mac, what is it?" Stella said, looking at the time in alarm, the hour even later in New York.
Mac let out a small sound. "I hope I didn't wake you."
Stella let out a bark of laughter, "are you kidding, Mac? I'm still at the office. I learned it from watching you. Made them buy me an extra comfortable sofa."
"Of all the things I taught you, Stella, you could have forgotten that one," he gently chided.
He could hear the continued smile but also the concern in her reply. "What are you calling about, other than to check in on my work life balance?"
"Solved the Tommy Lewis case today, Mitch Ventri from the…." Mac paused, unable to come up with the word, "building on the corner killed him."
Stella didn't notice, trying to remember what case this was, New York feeling like a different planet as she looked out the window at her adopted city. "That was what, twenty years ago? His poor parents," she said, finally remembering.
They sat in comfortable silence on the phone for a few moments, neither quite knowing what to say but happy to have the connection to the other. Stella caught the slightest of hitches in Mac's breathing. "Tell me, Mac," she implored.
"Since the shooting, I've been having trouble remembering things, not amnesia, simple words for everyday things. Sometimes the word will eventually come to me, but not always. I've seen a bunch of doctors and they all say to be patient and hopefully my cognitive abilities will come back entirely." The words rushed out of him like a river, freeing him from the fear that had been holding them back like a damn.
Mac knew people could tell something was off about him, he worked with the most intuitive and perceptive people in the department. Jo had even called him on it, his own fault for getting a semi-profiler in; but he could't open up to her, still felt like he had to portray ultimate authority and omnipotence over the lab. The doctor suggested he tell Christine and he thought about it, almost leaving her a message countless times, but also something held him back. He realized that the only person he had ever felt he could truly be vulnerable with since Claire was Stella.
Stella let out a puff of air. "Let me guess, you haven't told anyone else about this because you don't want anyone to think you are fallible? Pride goeth before the fall, Mac, I think you taught me that one too."
"Maybe I was too good of a teacher, Stella," he protested with a smile.
"Not possible," she replied with a laugh before falling silent again.
Eventually Mac cleared his throat. "I don't know if ever truly thanked you for taking the time off to come up in May. I imagine getting away was difficult." His mind wandered back in time, thinking of how grateful he was to see her familiar face, the concerned eyes, those comforting hands when he emerged from the inky blackness that had threatened to pull him under. He thought briefly of his dream of Claire telling him to be happy, thinking she was talking about Christine, but suddenly not so sure; also, had he dreamt Stella saying she loved him?
"Don't be ridiculous, now I know you have lasting brain trauma. I would have moved mountains to be there for you," Stella admonished. Should she tell him again how she felt while he was conscious? Gus' warning had stayed with her, she could only imagine how much suffering would have been avoided by both Don and Gus had the younger woman just spoken up.
Mac laughed, feeling somewhat nervous. "There aren't any mountains to move down around you, Stella!"
"Well I would have moved levees," she shot back, almost working up the gumption to say what was weighing on her heart but the night tech burst in, reminding her very much of a female version of Adam saying, "got something on the Americorps Volunteer case, Boss, think it is a biggie!"
Mac heard the commotion and said, "I suppose I should let you get back to it. Take care, Stella, and I'll try to take you up on your offer to come visit soon."
"I will, you better, Mac, you deserve a vacation, love you!" Stella hung up the phone before realizing the words had even left her mouth.
Mac stared at his phone as he hung up, wondering if his aphasia was affecting his hearing.