13 The Lonely Sea
| Chapter content warnings: Angst, reference to previous events (especially Emily's past and Chapters 8, 10-12), medical difficulties, infertility, mentions of death, cousin bonding, funeral, mentions of injuries already received and blisters, I don't know if I can label it as PTSD but I think that's the right term for it, depression, implied/thoughts of self-harm, brief discussion of female reproductive anatomy, probably more cussing
| Word count: 10,549 (114 more than Atlantis)
| Spanish (Translation)
Emily was on the edge of collapsing from exhaustion as Becker finally drove back the shuttle truck onto Inn property. She sat in the passenger seat, and between her and Becker on the foldaway middle part of the bench seat was Connor so Becker could easily see him. Sarah, Claudia, and Jenny occupied the backseat, the twins holding hands and leaning on each other and the Egyptologist gazing absentmindedly out the window. Patrick was refusing to leave Charlotte's side in the hospital, and Danny had stayed to support him. He and Emily had flipped a coin for who stayed, and it landing in Danny's favor had been accepted since Danny would soon need to return to the seaside to recover his strength fully. Emily would take over for him at that point, but her cousins were insistent that she get home, sleep, and shower first.
"Claudia." Becker's voice came cautiously. "There's lights on inside. I shut them all off before we left."
Claudia mumbled French swears under her breath and picked up her pistol, passing Jenny's rifle over to her. "Alright, whose arse do I have to kick now?"
The others got out of the van, all armed save Connor, who they guided into the middle, in case of any sneak attacks from behind. Claudia opened the door quietly with one hand, pistol in the other, and with clenched teeth charged inside.
Noise from the kitchen gave Connor and Jenny an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Claudia was unaware of it, having not been with them at the time. She had forgotten about the hallway being a mess since it had mysteriously been cleaned up and she didn't know where everything had gone down. With her gun at the ready, she pushed through the space that her sister and cousin found confining and claustrophobic and stepped into the kitchen doorway, gun flying up. But the sight she was greeted with shocked her.
"Kat?"
The woman in question nudged her glasses back up her nose. "Hi Claudia." She nodded at the gun in her hand. "I'm not that evil sociopath, so can you put that down?"
Claudia lowered it. "What are you doing here, Kat?"
"I came here as soon as I could. You didn't want me in London, so I thought I'd come straight here." She took off her plaid shirt and put it aside. "I talked to Rachel. She's flying over and should be here by tomorrow morning. We're gonna cook and clean and take care of the Inn for you." Her eyes swept over the group. "I think you're missing a few. Is everybody alright?"
Claudia sighed. "Charlotte got badly hurt and she's at the hospital. Patrick and Danny are there with her. Nick, Abby, and Stephen went into the Thames to go back to Atlantis and heal."
Kat winced. "That's horrible. But other than that, everyone's alright?" Claudia nodded. "Good. And…Helen and her band of psychotic minions?"
Claudia snorted. "Rachel's rubbing off on you. Um…I took your advice, to a point."
The midlander's eyes went big. "You set her on fire?!"
Claudia winced. "…Yes and no. She was already mostly dead, I just set her and her cronies' bodies on fire to make sure they were entirely dead. And they might've had scientific notes or something with them, so I wanted those gone too. Fire seemed like a good idea."
Kat nodded with a proud and pleased look on her face. "Awesome. As much as I'd like to ask for more details, I'm under strict orders. Rachel will be here by tomorrow morning, unless she gets held up, so I'm acting on her behalf until then." She shrugged out of her plaid shirt and put it aside. "We're gonna cook and clean and take care of the inn while you guys do whatever you need to do. I'm gonna tell her that you're back safe."
They protested, but Kat ignored them and texted Rachel, who quickly called with FaceTime. Kat set up the phone and the group huddled around, Claudia in the front.
A tired-looking brunette appeared on the phone screen. "Hey." She greeted, wiggling her fingers to serve as a wave. "I couldn't get a straight shot over so I had to do connecting flights. My plane leaves in 20 minutes."
"You didn't need to come all the way over here just for us." Claudia objected despite knowing full well that it would have no effect.
"Claudia, you and Kat are my best friends. Work was slow anyway. Now, you and your family have adopted three merpeople and there were psychopaths running around causing problems for y'all. Of course I'm coming over. If those freaks aren't dead or in prison, I'm gonna go ape$h¡t. If they are dead or in prison, I won't have to, and I'll help Kat cook and clean and manage the Inn until everything gets sorted out. Capiche?"
Claudia smiled wanly. "Capiche."
"Good. Now, how're you holding up, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine." She replied. "You look tired."
Rachel laughed. "I know. I didn't sleep much and I didn't put any makeup on. I will before I land in London. You don't need rumors of zombies circulating around the inn. Look, you need sleep. All of you. Go upstairs, shower, put on some fresh clothes, and Kat will cook you a halfway decent dinner and clean up a bit. Then you're gonna eat and go to bed and sleep for as long as you can, and then you're gonna eat a decent breakfast and then we will go from there. I should be there by then, and Kat won't let you out of that building until then. Balcony doesn't count; fresh air is fine."
Claudia mock-saluted. "Yes ma'am."
"DΔɱɳ straight."
Claudia reflected on her friends as she stood obediently under the too-hot spray of her showerhead, letting scalding water sluice over her and wash away the sweat and dust and dirt and grime of the day. She had scrubbed all her makeup off, which had been ruined before she'd even set foot in that house of horrors, before getting in, and had spent a good half hour detangling the knots from her hair- which had gotten snarled and nearly matted despite having been ponytailed (to be fair, it had come out at one point). She was fairly certain her clothes would need to be burned. They were filthy and torn and she wasn't sure she could ever wear them again and not think of the day.
She picked up her loofah from the shower shelf and poured an (exorbitant) amount of exfoliating scrub that may or may not have belonged to Jenny onto it. Generously (harshly and excessively), she scoured over her limbs, her back, her chest, her stomach, her neck, her hands, her feet.
Maybe if she abrased enough off she'd feel like herself again, like the simple Inn-owning and merman-loving (she'd finally admitted it to herself) cook she was this morning instead of the killer she had become this afternoon.
Jenny sat on her toilet 'crisscross-applesauce' placing band-aids over the blisters on her feet. She'd changed from her more comfortable heels to her classier red stilettos last minute, a decision she regretted now. Although they had been handy in the fight against Caroline…. At any rate, she was making the proactive choice to wear solely fuzzy socks and slippers until the blisters were gone.
But all the pink fuzzy socks and koala slippers wouldn't bring back her innocence.
Becker didn't want to let Connor out of his sight, but they were both foul with the stench of the day, so showers were a must. Becker stepped into the bathroom and stopped short at the sight of Caroline's makeup and toiletries and strands of hair littering the bathroom.
Caroline, the woman who had played his brother. Caroline, the woman who hours ago he had thought was a minor problem but even fewer hours ago he had helped his cousin kill. In the moment that it happened, and even the ones leading up to it, he had felt no guilt or shame or regret about it- no one hurt his little brother, no one- but now his feelings were mixed. He had wanted to be a soldier once, yes, but not to kill people, to protect and serve his country, to bring down those who meant innocents harm. In a way, Caroline and his part in her death fit that motive, but he couldn't deny it had also been a quest for personal vengeance. Did that, and the fact that whenever he thought about what she did he was filled with a burning hatred toward her, make him a bad person?
Running a hand down his face, he started grabbing any and all traces of her and dumping them in the rubbish bin where they (and she, in his opinion) belonged. He couldn't let Connor see them. Backstabber or not, she had still been his girlfriend, and he wasn't so horrid as to let the reminder of what she had done and how she had died slap his brother in the face thanks to his own carelessness.
Connor hadn't seen Caroline go down, but the image of her designer-dressed body sprawled out on the dirty floor, open eyes blank and unseeing with a darkly-oozing hole between them, was imprinted in his brain. He didn't know who had fired the shot; his view had been blocked by Nick's tank and Claudia's body and the small windows through which he could see had revealed to him only a blur of movement. He hadn't loved her, and her betrayal had cut deep like a knife, but despite how he'd spoken of her to Becker he didn't think he hated her either.
He didn't want to think about her anymore.
In her bedroom, Emily threw her hair-pick down on her vanity table in frustration. She'd deal with the mangled curls in the morning- before she again made the exhausting trip up to London to see how Charlotte was doing. She'd clung to Charlotte's side until the doctors had told her and Patrick that they simply could not remain with her any longer, then to Patrick's until the rest of her family and friends had arrived and taken her home. Danny and Patrick had reluctantly decided that the elder Quinn would remain in the hospital instead of Emily- they were only allowing two visitors for some unknown reason- because the brothers needed to be together. After their traumatic experiences, being close to each other superseded Emily's friendship with Charlotte- which she disliked but respected. And right now she couldn't focus on detangling her hair or doing her nightly routines or anything but worry about how her best friend was doing. She had a probable concussion, a head wound, a deep bullet graze to the leg, and a penetrative gunshot wound to the stomach with no exit wound. Her only consolation was that they had gotten her to the hospital quickly- Patrick's hand compressing an absurd amount of fabric to his fiancée's stomach on the floor of the shuttle van as Emily careened through the packed London streets and broke probably twenty or thirty laws in the process- and that she had immediately been taken in by the doctors for emergency surgery.
She would go up to the hospital in the morning. Right now, she needed to shut her eyes and try not to see her best friend unconscious and bleeding to death- or the three men she had killed for her.
Tying off her damp black hair into a practical braid, Sarah moved to her dresser and closet and pulled out an outfit and a bathing suit. Wherever she had to go- to the hospital to see Charlotte or underwater to see Stephen- she wouldn't have to hunt around the next morning or in the middle of the night to find clothes.
She lay down in her bed and shut her eyes, trying to get the image of Stephen on that gurney, suffering and half-dead already, out of her head. She knew that whether Stephen lived or died she'd regret not going in with him. Maybe they would have caught her quickly and killed her, or worse, but she'd never know now, and therefore it didn't matter. But she couldn't silence that irritating voice in her head that told her that maybe Stephen wouldn't have suffered so if she'd gone in with him.
Emily couldn't sleep, so after a few hours of tossing and turning she got up and went for a walk around the property. The garden creeped her out at night, so her feet carried her to the orchard that Charlotte loved- the same one Patrick had proposed to her in. She and Charlotte had shared many a pleasant stroll arm-in-arm through the sun-dappled patch of land, among the trees that bore apples and plums and pears and crabapples and cherries, under the weeping willows and maples and oaks and hickories and magnolias. It made her heart ache for her best friend, and she prayed desperately for her survival. Emily felt cold and exposed without the comforting warmth and presence of her best friend beside her on the foot-worn path.
Leaving the orchard, Emily intended to simply walk the long length of the beach and coastline before looping back to the inn (and her bed), but the sound of a muffled sob from the clifftop had her stopping short. Frowning, she walked closer and cleared her throat loudly enough to be heard. The almost inaudible sniffling ceased immediately, and a moment later either Claudia or Jenny's voice called out "Yes?"
"It's me, Emily." She replied softly. "Can I come over?"
A beat. "Yeah."
Emily walked over to the tree closest to the cliff's edge, pained to see Jenny Lewis sitting at its base in a silk nightgown, furry pink slippers discarded nearby, band-aid-ed feet in the grass. "Oh Jenny. What's wrong?"
Jenny sniffed noisily, telltale that she'd been crying for a while. "It's stupid, honestly."
Her cousin sank down on the ground beside her, placing a hand on Jenny's shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sure it's not. If it's making you cry, it's important. Tell me."
Jenny wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I killed Caroline and Leek." She finally said. "And another man- I don't know what his name was. And I think I might've killed someone else, but we were all shooting and there was a couple of them, so I don't know if it was me or not."
Immediately Emily's mind went back to the three men she had definitely killed, and a wave of sympathy for her cousin coursed through her. She pulled Jenny closer, resting her cheek on her head. "And how's that stupid?" She pressed gently.
"I shouldn't be crying over them. I know what they were part of, what they helped with, who they worked for. When we found Abby and Nick, there were a half-dozen or so men manhandling her. I don't wanna think about what they might've tried to do to her if we hadn't gotten there in time. Leek and Helen were monsters and Caroline knew they were and went along with it anyway and she scr3wed with Connor. I hate them all." She swallowed, and when she spoke again the venom was gone from her voice. "I don't know if I killed any of the men who had Abby, but I know I killed a man outside where they were keeping Danny, and I know I killed Caroline and Leek. I looked both of them right in the eye and put a bullet in their heads and I didn't feel an ounce of remorse. I'm crying because I feel guilty for killing them even when they were such horrible people, and it's stupid that I feel guilty but…wouldn't that mean there was something wrong with me if I didn't? That I was a sociopath? Or is there something wrong with me and that's why I feel guilty?"
Emily wrapped both arms around Jenny tightly, letting her cousin cry on her shoulder and shake and shudder in her embrace while she silently shed a few tears of her own for her cousin and friend's suffering.
"There's nothing wrong with you." She soothed, stroking Jenny's hair. "The rational part of you- and the vengeful part too- knows that they were horrible people, and that killing them was the right thing to do. But the human part of you feels remorse, and you know what? It means that you're a moral, good, decent person. Because if you weren't, if you were a sociopath, you wouldn't feel torn up about it at all. Okay?"
Jenny sniffled again and nodded.
"I killed three people too." Emily admitted. "You were there for two of them- saw one, actually. The third one shot Charlotte. I don't regret any of them, but…I know how you're feeling. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Even with Henry. I was angry, sometimes, angry enough to want to hurt someone…but if I'd acted on it, I would've just as soon thrown a book at him as put his razor on my wrists. I never did, though."
She gave a weary sigh. "Yesterday morning, we were all different people. We wanted to protect ourselves from others, not our own actions. None of us had ever been kidnapped, and almost none of us had ever used a gun. But then…thanks to the madness and inhumanity of just a few people, we had to change. We had to become different people to get out alive. I killed people. So did you, and Becker, and Danny, and Claudia. Claudia set someone on fire. You helped rescue three merpeople, and you're dating a half-merman. Nothing in our lives is normal, and maybe that's okay."
Jenny gave Emily's hand a squeeze. "Look at you, certified therapist."
Emily snorted. "Come on- let's go inside, and I'll make us both a toddy. I think there's some ice creams in the freezer too. Put your slippers on." Jenny obeyed, slipping back into them and standing. Emily put one arm around her cousin's shoulder and Jenny slid one of her own around Emily's waist.
Hot alcoholic drinks and pistachio ice cream (caramel, in Emily's case) weren't going to solve anything, and it was the unspoken truth between them that they both knew it. But it was the best Emily could come up with at the moment, and maybe the toddies would help them sleep.
Together, the cousins walked home.
The next morning, shortly after breakfast, a London cab pulled up to the Inn, and its passenger got out and collected her luggage, paying the cabbie a handsome fee and thanking him gratefully.
An exhausted-looking brunette came inside, precariously toting three orange suitcases and a gingham tote bag purse. "Estoy aquí." She called. (I'm here.)
Kat and Claudia met her in the hallway and Rachel dropped her luggage, wrapping her arms around Kat first. "Hey amada." (Beloved). She let go of her and pulled Claudia into an embrace. "How you doing, honey?"
"I'm doing." Claudia replied with a sigh.
The American breathed a laugh into her auburn hair. "That's a me response." She let go and waved to the others. "Hi. Alright, you guys eaten breakfast yet?"
"Yeah, we finished a few minutes ago." Kat confirmed.
Rachel nodded approvingly. "Good. Alright, here's what we're gonna do."
Becker groaned. "Not even in the army and I'm taking orders anyway."
Emily hadn't slept a wink of restful slumber the night before, but she had showered and gagged down a dinner and breakfast (which were both perfectly fine, she just had no appetite) as per Claudia's friends' stern orders. She'd dressed in leggings and a long, loose blouse, finished with comfortable shoes and a hair tie.
She drove herself up to the hospital in London in the shuttle truck and hated that she knew her way around the building well from her stay many years ago. She'd been admitted not long after Henry's arrest, and her time there had been extended by her ligation surgery.
Her feet carried her down the path to the surgical waiting room, where upon opening the door she found the more-pleasantly-familiar form of Patrick Quinn, sitting hunched on a couch. At the sound of the door opening he turned his head, revealing dark bags under weary and bloodshot eyes. He perked up almost imperceptibly when he saw her. "Hey, Em."
"Hey." She returned softly. Her eyes flicked around the room. "Where's Danny?"
"Getting lunch from Chicken Castle…or something. I forget."
She nodded, shutting the door with a click. "How did her surgery go?"
Patrick shook his head. "Not great. It was seven hours. They, uh, they lost her on the table twice. She'd lost a lot of blood and the bullet went through multiple organs. The wound on her leg missed the fu- the famor- uh, the leg artery, I can't remember what it's called- but it did nick some ligament or tendon or something connected to her Achilles, so she'll probably have a little bit of a limp."
Emily closed her eyes and swore softly. "That's awful. Is she awake? Can we see her?"
He shook his head again. "Not yet. She's in a coma and in intensive care- they're not even letting me see her. They're gonna do another surgery, do a more thorough and long-term repair on what got damaged. With what happened last time they focused more on keeping her alive and not fixing anything that didn't need to be fixed to do that. It's scheduled for the end of the week."
She sank down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders as comfortingly as she could while she tried to sort out her mind. Her best friend, who she'd known since they were both just thirteen years old, had died twice in the last sixteen hours and she hadn't been there. And yet still she wasn't out of the woods.
Charlotte could still die.
Emily didn't know if she or Patrick would survive that.
Claudia had been banished from her own Inn by Rachel and Kat, and had busied her restless self by collecting the blank bullet casings scattered across the sand and fine gravel and dirt where the attack had taken place. Kat had already taken care of everything that Claudia, Sarah, Emily, and Becker hadn't dealt with before leaving the previous day, but dozens if not more bronze-colored cylinders still lay scattered on the ground, a metallic reminder of what had happened.
Splashing had her head snapping up and her eyes seeking the source of the noise. It was Prince Ryan, peering at her from where he bobbed in the water beside the end of one of the docks. She shoved her handful of casings into her coat pocket and strode down the dock, crouching to be closer to the prince's level. "Claudia, if I'm not mistaken." He said.
"Yes, that's me. What can I do for you, Prince Ryan?"
"I came to keep you informed on Nick's behalf." He replied. "The Atlantean army has ensured that all parts of the facility in which our people were imprisoned is at the bottom of the ocean. The bodies of their captors and anyone helping them have been covered with rocks so that they will not float to the surface and arouse suspicion. Among the wreckage we discovered the body of one of our own, and unfortunately we believe it to be Daniel Quinn's father."
"That's why you couldn't figure out who he was." Claudia realized. "He was dead."
Ryan nodded. "I'm afraid so. It's a great tragedy and a travesty what that small group of humans has done to Atlantis, and what they planned. But it is a credit to humanity that so many could come to cherish our kind as more than just wonders or freaks of nature, and that you could come to put your lives at risk for ours. We are sincerely grateful for all that you did for us."
Claudia nodded. "I'm sorry we couldn't- didn't- do more to protect them. If I could change the past…."
"You did nothing wrong." Ryan assured her gently, breaking his typical stoic demeanor. "We are aware of Charlotte Cameron's condition, and we wish her well. Unfortunate there is nothing we can do to assist her healing."
"On that note, how are Nick and Abby and Stephen- and King Lester- recovering?"
"My father is recovering well. The trip to aid you with the Trident of Poseidon set him behind some, but he will be fine. Nick and Abigail are completely recovered, but Stephen is not doing so well, so they refuse to leave his side. He was severely injured by Helen Ambrose, and it will take him time to heal. Unfortunately, it is possible he has lost the will to live."
Claudia was relieved that Nick and Abby were fine- Nick especially- but the thought of Stephen having endured all that he had only to die hurt. "Wait here for a minute, please. I'll be back in a moment."
She ran back to the house, startling the group in the living room. "Sarah." The Egyptologist in question lifted her head. "Stephen isn't doing well, and they're worried he doesn't have the will to survive. Is there anything you can think of you could send back to Atlantis to remind him of you?"
She jumped to her feet and ran upstairs, returning a few minutes later with a seashell, clear duct tape protecting her driver's license and attaching it to the shell. "Here. When he gave me the shells he told me they reminded him of me, and maybe the picture will help."
Claudia nodded, taking the extended items. "Got it."
She hurried back outside and gave them to Ryan, explaining their purpose. To his credit, he didn't question or mock it in the slightest. "When you next see Daniel Quinn, remind him to swim in the open sea soon. The river is not very clean and a poor substitute. He is welcome to return to Atlantis whenever he likes. And his father's funeral will be in three days' time. I will return in time to escort him since he has never made the trip alone, should he choose to attend."
"I'll tell him." She assured the prince, who nodded and vanished into the briny.
True to his word, Ryan returned at first light three days later, and Danny was ready for him, already transformed but sitting on the docks again. He couldn't wear normal funeral attire down there, so he had bought a black swimshirt for the occasion. Jenny sat beside him, holding his hand supportively in silence.
Ryan popped his head above the water and Danny took a deep breath. Jenny pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and squeezed his hand, then got up and walked away. Danny slid forward- careful to avoid getting a splinter or catch on a nail- and into the water. He was grateful that Ryan had come to escort him, since he couldn't remember too well the route.
"Would it be alright if I visited Stephen and Abby and Nick while I was here?" Danny questioned the prince hesitantly. "The others will want to know how they're doing."
Ryan sighed, the puffing-out of his breath sending a rush of bubbles toward the surface. "I would like to say that you can. But the healers are hard at work and must not be disturbed in their task. Stephen suffered greatly, and his wounds were more than to his flesh. Pieces were taken from his scales and his fins. He was carved into and parts of his bones were taken out. There were chemicals used on him that could take weeks to flush out and repair him from on their own. Abigail and Nick were not so harmed, but they still were not unscathed. They refuse to leave Stephen's side, and in doing so they forget to rest or to feed themselves. I do not think it would be wise to disrupt the fragile routine that has been implemented." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Even the Heirs of Poseidon are not above the command of the healers."
Danny nodded, disappointed but understanding. "Well, I hope they recover soon. They're good people."
Ryan nodded as well. "They are."
It seemed that all of Atlantis had turned out in honor of Gordon. It seemed their idea of mourning or funeral clothes were tightly-woven net vests filled with rocks. Danny was also given one, which he put on atop his specially-purchased black swimshirt. Even the royals wore them, who had no other jewelry or accessories save their crowns and their crowns alone. When Ryan had given it to him he explained that the confining garment and the weight of the rocks was meant to physically represent their emotional heaviness of grief and sorrow. It made sense in its odd way.
Danny was ushered to the front of the procession, positioned at the head of his father's almost mummified body. His corpse had been wrapped in a small-holed net of sea plants, much like the vests, that also encased him with seashells, pearls, fishbones, a few personal trinkets, dead sand dollars and starfish and seahorses, and rocks. This combination weighed his body down and kept it from floating to the surface, and also represented him, his death, and his species.
As family, Danny was responsible for holding one of the eight ropes coming from the mummy (eight representing the tentacular limbs of krakens). Gordon's other family members- his wife Fiona; his children Iain, Gareth, and Jason; Jason's wife Elly and sons Cassius and Noah- took up the seven others. Fiona and Danny (the eldest child) held the front two, with Iain and Gareth behind them, followed by Jason and Elly, and then ending with Cassius and Noah. Thus his pallbearers of sorts were the ones who knew and loved him best, even if the form-fitted wrappings and lack of coffin made it feel rather morbid.
They traveled from where he was embalmed at the family home, which was like Stephen's but bigger, to the castle. The royalty, wearing rock vests of their own and no jewelry but their crowns and their crowns alone, were waiting for them. King Lester held his trident but passed it to Ryan to crown Gordon's wrapped head with a carefully-made wreath of shells and fishbones and dead and starfish, and they had woven them together with the incredibly strong strands of hair from his family. Then the king took his trident again and the royals bowed their heads to the family.
"The Children and Heirs of Poseidon offer you our sympathy and grief for the loss of your kin." The king told them solemnly.
Fiona nodded once in acknowledgement. "We accept your sharing of grief and offering of sympathy with gratitude." She replied.
That seemed to complete this part of the ceremony, for the royals then moved to the head of the procession with King Lester in the fore-end with his children following suit in descending order of age, led the group through Atlantis to another massive underwater cliff on the far side of the main city. Engraved with rune-like carvings was something that Danny couldn't translate set above a wide doorway in the mountainside. The doorway was covered with a curtain-like door similar to the ones that covered dwelling entrances.
Ryan and Matthew removed the curtain and pinned it to the ground with its weight-stones before retaking their places. Then the procession entered the tomb, which was quite spacious of its interior and contained many smaller doorways, all curtained off as well.
They proceeded onward to one of the doorways, which a different inscription was engraved over, and through that was a chamber with even smaller chambers within. Some were closed off and engraved over, but many others were open and blank, and one open with an engraving. Each engraving in the entire tomb consisted of a series of different runes followed by the same tunes above the greater chamber's entrance. Somewhere in his mind Danny realized the repeated runes were probably some form of surname, and the different set was the first name. He made a mental note to one day learn the runic alphabet of his father's people.
They wrapped the pull-ropes around Gordon's body, and carefully they steered him into the small space. It wasn't a coffin or sarcophagus, but it seemed to be their equivalent- a tomb just big enough to hold a body and marked with the name of said body.
Fiona slipped her fingers into her vest and fished out a single stone, placing it into the entrance of Gordon's tomb. Then she moved away, allowing the rest of his family to come forward and place a rock from each of their own vests. Danny put one from his down and took his place with the rest of his father's family.
After they had put their stones down, the royal family was next, and following them was the commonfolk. Through these little rocks piled into place a barrier was formed, closing off the tomb from the rest of the greater structure. A glance around confirmed that all the other occupied tombs were sealed with a collection of similar rocks. Perhaps it was their equivalent to everyone throwing in a handful of dirt onto a coffin.
Then they withdrew, and the princes curtained off the tomb again. The royals led the procession toward the family home again, and every member of the commonfolk entered one by one and left something within- a shell, a rock, a pearl, a fishbone, something- then swam away to their own home. The royals were the last to do so, but their gifts were not ostentatious compared to their people's.
And when everyone had left, the family shed their vests and laid them aside, and the funeral was over.
Fiona took Danny's hands in her own, squeezing them gently. "You're very welcome to come and stay here whenever you wish, and however long you wish. You are his son, and though I am not your mother my sons and daughters are your brothers and sisters."
He nodded. "Thank you. But I'm a little confused, I'm afraid- it doesn't upset any of you that I'm half-human, or…illegitimate, as we say on the surface?"
Fiona shook her head. "If you had been born after Gordon and I married, perhaps, but you were born before we even courted. I have no reason to be angry, and neither do your siblings. We see you as his family, and that makes you our family too. You will always be welcome in our homes, and although the human girl I'm told you're quite sweet on- Jenny, I believe her name is- cannot come to us, perhaps one day we might visit her."
That brought a small smile to his face. "I think she would like that."
He ended up staying the night in his father's home, painfully void of his one connection to it, and swam home in the morning. Jenny wasn't out waiting for him, instead he found her in Caroline's old bedroom, sorting through the traitorous backstabbing wench's belongings. Becker and Claudia were with her, and Rachel was bringing out heaps of toiletries and makeup from the bathroom.
Jenny examined a lipstick. "This is unused and it's worth £30, I'm keeping it." She declared, shoving it into her pocket.
Rachel lifted a blouse and gave it a look of disdain. "People pay hundreds or thousands of pounds for this? I'd get prettier stuff out of a dumpster."
Becker and Danny were inclined to agree.
Jenny threw a few tubs and tubes into the bin with enough force to move it slightly. Danny eyed it, suddenly wary of her strength when annoyed, then rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. The occupants of the room looked to him, and Jenny's face brightened.
She jumped up and quickly came over to him, wrapping him in a hug that he gladly reciprocated. "How was it?" She murmured into his shoulder.
"Weird. Peaceful. The royals turned up for it." He answered. "His family's nice. They want to meet you someday."
They parted, and she was wearing an adorable frown. "Your father's family…want to meet me?"
He nodded. "Apparently they don't mind me since I came before he got married or had any kids, and they see me as family and want to meet you too. What's all this?"
"We're going through Caroline's stuff. Her and Leek's mobiles and Leek's laptop got delivered to one of the docks and Connor's working on fixing them so we can leave emails and stuff to divert police attention away from us when they turn up missing. We'll sell some of her stuff on eBay and keep or bin the rest. Rachel and Kat and I are cooking up a cover story." Jenny answered.
"I hope you're all good liars." Rachel commented with a wicked smirk. "'Cause if not…y'all f***ed."
"Eloquent." Becker quipped. She gave him a sarcastically saccharine grin and disappeared back into the bathroom, kicking a toiletry bag out a minute later.
"Did you see Nick, or Stephen or Abby?" Claudia asked.
Danny shook his head regretfully. "I wasn't allowed to see them. Prince Ryan said that Stephen's the worst off and it might be weeks or more before he's healthy again."
The room descended into worried silence.
The three-and-a-half hour car ride from Torquay to London wore on its travelers, and they quickly decided to take two-day shifts so no one was making two trips back-to-back. The hospital had only allowed two people to be there for Charlotte in the beginning, so when Danny had returned to Torquay for his father's funeral, he elected to remain there so Emily could be the other person. She hadn't left since, and a couple days later the hospital had loosened up their restrictions, so Danny had driven Sarah up and neither had left. Danny and Emily would remain permanent fixtures until Charlotte was discharged, and Sarah would come up one day, spend one or two solid days up there, and then return to the Inn for a day or two. Despite her deep friendship with Charlotte, she was hesitant to be away from the Inn for too long in case there was word of Stephen.
This day in particular was one of those days that Sarah woke up in the hospital waiting room. Groaning, she got off the sofa and pulled her shoes on, heading down the long 'shortcut' route to the cafeteria by way of three hallways and four elevators. She acquired a large coffee, used to the feeling of its heat seeping through the papery material of the takeaway cup into her hand and nearly burn it, and collected a handful of oversize butter croissants as well, ignoring the stares of the regular staff who eyed her and her unbrushed hair and her ghastly eyebags with pity.
She sipped her coffee on the way back, not caring how it scorched her tongue, and settled into an armchair. Eyes half-lidded, she observed the other occupants of the waiting room in their unconscious states. Patrick lay in a recliner, snoring softly with his feet covered by a jacket after he'd fallen asleep- not before as he continually insisted he wouldn't sleep so he wouldn't miss any updates, but he always crashed eventually. Danny's massive frame took up the other, larger sofa, his legs hanging from the knee off one armrest. Emily was curled up in an armchair with Danny's giant coat wrapped around her, face curtained by messy chocolate curls.
Sarah eyed the digital wall clock's red numerals with distaste. They proclaimed the time to be 07:22, which was very irritating to the night owl. She slurped her hot coffee annoyedly.
It was 08:19 when the waiting room door swung open and a tall blonde man in a white coat strode in. Sarah jumped to her feet. "Wake up! Someone's here!" She urged her sleeping friends.
Danny sat upright and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in staticky spikes, and Patrick jolted into consciousness and practically flipped forward, using his legs to shove the recliner's extension back under the seat. But as he did so and made to stand, his jacket got pinched in the mechanism and his foot slid into one sleeve. He didn't realize what was happening, only that he was sitting and standing up in one movement and promptly faceplanted.
Emily jerked awake at the noise, lifting her head and sweeping her hair aside so she could see what was going on. "What's happening?" She slurred, blinking like a cat.
"My name is Dr. Nirrane, and I'm Ms. Cameron's surgeon." The man said. "May I ask everyone's relation to Ms. Cameron?"
"She's my fiancée." Patrick replied. His throat swelled with the too-familiar tears wetting his eyes for the millionth time. "My Charlotte."
"He's Patrick Quinn, I'm his brother Danny." The hybrid supplied. "And Emily Brown and Sarah Page, her friends."
The surgeon nodded, directing his gaze to Patrick. "Well, Mr. Quinn, you'll be glad to hear that her last surgery went smoothly. We're not seeing the need for any further surgeries, and we believe she'll make a full recovery. There were some unfortunate results of her injuries, unfortunately, but nothing life-threatening. We'll discuss it further later."
Patrick swallowed hard. "Can I see her?"
The surgeon nodded again, giving a warm smile. "She's unconscious still, but she should wake up in a few hours. You can go in to be with her, but just one person for now. Once she's awake and we've checked on her, the rest of you can go in and visit."
They nodded, and Emily touched Patrick's arm. "You go. We'll wait."
"Are you sure? She's your best friend."
She gave him a gently reproaching look. "She's your fiancé. Priorities, Patrick. Go."
He relented and followed Dr. Nirrane to Charlotte's room. The moment he laid eyes on her he completely blanked the surgeon and everyone and everything else around him, moving to her side. He sank into a conveniently placed chair and carefully took one of her limp hands in his own, mindful of the cord bandaged to the tip of one finger and what appeared to be an IV connected to the back of her hand as well.
It was hard for him to comprehend how the woman lying still and unconscious before him could be his Charlotte, the same woman who was so full of life, dancing in long dresses in shadows and sunbeams under trees with carefree and joyful laughter and smiles. She was pale, her skin almost ashy with a disquieting pallor, and the amount of wires and tubes coming out of her was unsettling. The room was filled with the racket of all the machines beeping and her vital signs on the monitor. He scanned the screen with tired eyes, but other than heart rate he didn't understand any of it. He looked away from the neon pixels and back down to his fiancée, somehow lifeless and still alive at the same time.
"Oh, Charlotte." He breathed, eyes he had thought completely dried out brimming with tears again. He lifted her hand and bent his head, kissing the back of her hand. "Come back to me, my love."
Three weeks passed since the day of the incident. The seconds felt like eternities and stretched into minutes and hours and days and weeks, wearing everyone down, down, down. Sarah was tasked with bringing toiletries, clothes, personal items, and homemade food from the inn to the hospital and back on her trips. Kat and Rachel reluctantly left after a while, but they both called or texted with Claudia almost daily.
Those that remained at the Inn had been paid a visit by the authorities, but there was a convenient lack of evidence, and everyone's stories matched up and the fake trails of breadcrumbs that had been orchestrated led them on a merry goose chase far away from the Inn and its residents, alluding to the band of sociopaths being part of a cult and planning to cut ties with civilization and live off the grid.
Below the surface, far from the Brown Beachside Inn in the underwater kingdom of Atlantis, in its capital city of the same name, two merfolk- one male and one female, a pair of fair-haired cousins- watched with weary eyes as the Atlantean healers moved in a steady circuit through the chamber in which Stephen was being kept. Two mermaids and a merman- Hannah, Douglas, and Mabel- toted out a net filled with bioluminescent sea life while James, Jonathan, and Lucy brought in a new group. This wasn't an uncommon sight- after all, such fish and other creatures were the Atlantean version of indoor lighting.
Laila and Andrew, two of Atlantis' best healers, remained inside, still toiling away wearily but determinedly at their task of nursing Stephen back to health. Abby and Nick had long since healed from their minor wounds, no longer even needing any kind of bandage. But they refused to leave the healing chambers, remaining close by in case of any changes. Ryan and Matthew had had to literally drag them away to force them to swim around for a little while before reluctantly allowing them back, and even then they had stared pointedly at the cousins to make sure they ate a healthy amount.
Laila emerged from Stephen's chamber for the first time in two weeks. She looked exhausted and haggard, almost in need of healing herself. She raked a hand through her blood red hair. "I have news." She announced.
Nick and Abby exchanged worried glances before leaning closer to the mermaid.
Sarah Page felt like a zombie.
She walked, she talked; she ate, she slept; she did chores, she watched the telly. But it wasn't living, and she felt dead inside. Her limbs felt heavy, like limp bags stuffed full of lead, and she was never hungry. She seemed to constantly be exhausted and lethargic, and the days dragged like her feet. She had fallen into depression, but no one could blame her, as the same affliction had blanketed everyone around her as well in varying degrees. Two of the half-dozen people she cared about most in the world were unwell, possibly dying or dead, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Currently she was inadvertently following in Emily's footsteps and was leaving the orchard after a lonely walk through it. Already drained of energy from the frankly short trip, she headed back to the main Inn building, intending to collapse onto a sofa.
"Sarah."
A voice she had thought she would never hear again spoke behind her, calm and collected. She turned around slowly and her eyes landed on Stephen, hair still wet and half sticking up spikily while half slicked back, clad in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants that didn't reach his ankles. He had clearly just gotten out of the water, some webbing from his fins still between his toes and his gill flaps open just a tad.
"Stephen." She breathed. "You're back. Are you- are you alright?" It was hard for her to believe that the (mer)man who stood in front of her now, strong and healthy, full of life and strength, could be the same as the one who lay too weak to even open his eyes as he bled from the wounds inflicted upon him in the name of science and consequently lingered on death's door for three weeks.
He gave her a small smile. "I'm alright." He came closer, seeing perfectly stable on his two humanoid legs. He put his hands on her cheeks, nearly covering completely the sides of her head. "I'm alright."
She let out a little sob, in relief and in memory of that awful day, and threw her arms around his stomach, standing on her tiptoes. He carefully got down on his knees, bringing them to almost eye level, and pulled her closer.
"I saw your injuries that day. Some of them, at least. My dad's car got ran into by another car as he was leaving for work one day when I was seven, and Mum and I had to get him out of the car. There was so much blood, and bits of glass stuck in him. You looked worse."
"It's all a bit of a blur." He confessed. "I remember being in pain, so much pain. I remember being terrified and wanting to tear Helen apart with my bare hands. I thought I was going to die. I thought Nick and Abby and the others were going to die. I remember wishing I could've said a better goodbye to you."
Sarah pressed her forehead to his chest. "You don't have to. Neither of us are going anywhere, and nothing bad is gonna happen to either of us."
"Better not." He murmured. "'Cause I'm not ready to let go of you again for a really long time."
His tiny smirk gave her a half-second of warning before he scooped her up princess-style, eliciting a shriek of surprise. Her arms went around his neck and she lifted her head, only to find herself breathless at how close his face was to her own.
She chose to (for now, at least) completely blank the elephant in the room- the elephant being said proximity. "Why'd you pick me up?" She queried instead, a little miffed at that.
Stephen shrugged (something that was very weird for her given how he was holding her). "You're so short."
"I'm really not." She replied indignantly. "You're just really tall."
He shrugged. "Compared to me, you're short."
"Compared to me, you are a giant."
He smiled, earning a bemused frown from her. "What?"eH
"You're adorable when you're angry."
She huffed (adorably) and took her arms from around his neck, crossing them petulantly (and adorably), fighting down a smile. "Usually when a man says that to a woman, it's patronizing, but you…you really mean it. You're not demeaning me, you actually think I'm cute when I'm upset with you."
Stephen kissed her forehead. "Not just when you're upset with me." He teased, then grew serious. "But I don't ever want you to be upset with me over something important, alright? Talk to me." He looked down. "I've spent too long in pain because I didn't think I could talk about how I felt. I'm not putting myself through that again, and I'm not putting you through that either."
Sarah's chest warmed with his words, irritation at his incorrigibility melting away into pure affection and adoration. She put her arms back around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. "I promise."
Satisfied, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her ebony-haired head. "Good."
The dock was where Connor felt closest to Abby when she wasn't near.
Like Nick and Claudia, they always met on the same one. Caroline had followed him there the day Stephen and Nick had told their stories, which had annoyed him at first since he had gone there to wait for Abby to return from Atlantis.
He laid on his back on the rough sun-warmed wood, wiggling in place to get a nail out of his back as he stared up at the bright blue sky. If one could see as far of the ocean as one could of the sky, maybe he'd be able to see Abby, wave to her and smile at her and mouth conversations back and forth.
Something disturbed the water beside him and he shot upward, heart jumping hopefully into his throat. His prayers were answered and wishes were granted as he found himself looking into the cornflower eyes of Abigail.
"A-Abby! You're back!"
The mermaid blinked back at him, the hint of a smile gracing her lips. "It's good to be back."
Connor came low and close to the edge of the dock, bringing his face to less than a foot away from hers. "I missed you." He blurted.
Her smile grew. "I missed you too."
They grinned like idiots at each other for a long moment, and then Connor's smile- and mood- dropped. "Abs, I'm sorry about how things were between us. We weren't speaking and I was all wrapped up in…Caroline-" he spat her name like a disgusting curse or a slur "-and when you seemed to stop coming around I thought you were sick of me and I stopped trying and…I'm sorry. I never meant to blank you."
"It's okay, Connor. I was jealous of Caroline." She admitted. "She was sweet, and pretty, and she laughed and smiled and she made you laugh and smile, and she was human. I knew there was something off about her, her…giggling and swooning looking fake, but I thought maybe it was just because I didn't like her."
Connor shook his head. "I should've known better than to trust her. And I should never have dated her- she was nothing like me, nothing like who I want. I suppose I was flattered, that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me. Leek was right- guys like me don't get girls like her."
"Well, I should hope not." Abby interjected with a smirk, causing a hurt look to cross his face. "You deserve better than conniving, backstabbing b¡tches like her." She elaborated.
The clarification caused him to chuckle, but he sobered again almost immediately. "I didn't wish her dead, but I'm…I'm not sorry she's dead." He confessed quietly, looking away. "I try not to think about her. About any of that day, actually." He met her eyes. "I can't get that picture out of my head, of you when we found you. Those men that had you, jerking you around. I've never been that angry at anyone before, not even Caroline."
"I'm touched." Abby admitted, though her tone was dry. Tilting her head with a small frown of confusion, she said, "You could've left with Emily and Patrick and Charlotte, but you didn't leave me until I was back in the river. Why'd you come after me if you didn't have a gun?"
"I lost you once, Abby, I wasn't losing you again." He was growing almost distressed, as if the mere suggestion of having left her there was his present reality. "I couldn't- I love you!"
That had been the last thing she'd expected him to blurt out, but she wasn't disappointed.
Fearing he had overstepped and entirely misreading her emotions, he tried to explain it in a less bold manner. "Abby, I- I want- I mean…" He cut himself off, then tried again. "I feel that we- I want us-"
This time, she cut him off. "Connor." He closed his mouth, bracing for the worst. "Shut up."
But instead of entirely rebuff him- or worse, perish the thought- she lifted herself, leaning up to press her mouth to his. Their eyes fluttered shut and one of her hands came to rest on and span the back of his head, while one of his was placed on her comparatively much larger ones on the edge of the dock.
Much too soon in Connor's opinion, she pulled away, but he remained in the exact same position, eyes closed and lips slightly pursed with a slightly dazed expression on his face. "Are you okay?" Abby queried teasingly, humor coloring her voice.
It seemed to break him out of his trance, and his puppy eyes opened again. He smiled a goofy grin- the most lovely smile she'd ever seen, in her opinion- and moved forward, dropping into the water beside her. This time, he kissed her, full of enthusiasm and reciprocation and love.
They broke apart again a few minutes later, both of them needing to breathe but sporting wide grins and rosy blushes. Abby pressed her forehead to Connor's, their noses brushing. "I love you too."
Claudia had caught a glimpse of her cousin kissing a particular blonde mermaid in the water next to one of the docks, and after a brief moment of being happy for them, had quickly went in search of said mermaid's cousin.
She found him on the dock where she and him had usually met, struggling with the buttons of a striped shirt, the last piece of an outfit she had neither put together nor put out. Her heart soared in her chest and she toed off her shoes to avoid falling as she all but ran down to him.
Whether he heard her coming or felt the vibration of her first steps on the dock, she didn't know, but it didn't really matter. He looked up, sapphire eyes stopping her in place. She was breathless, heart seeming to want to beat out of her chest as it fluttered wildly like the wings of a bird.
Nick's eyes lit up and a smile curved his mouth the moment he saw her. "Claudia Brown."
She had missed her name in his mouth.
"Miss me?" She asked, fighting to keep her composure (but not the wide smile on her own face).
"Yes."
She had to confine herself to a swift walk and not run. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pressing his face into her hair at the crown of her head as she laid her head against his chest. His heartbeat thumped against her cheek.
He lowered himself into a kneeling position, which made them almost exactly the same height. He scanned over her face with such tenderness and concern that she blushed.
"You look tired. Are you okay?"
"I haven't been sleeping well." She admitted sheepishly. "Bad dreams."
She didn't need to explain what they were about.
"By the way-" Claudia's tone changed, lighter suddenly. "-before you left to go track them down, you kissed me. On the lips."
He remembered that quite well (in fact, it was one of the few things that had brought him any semblance of comfort from the moment of his capture to this present reunion). He fumbled for words for a moment, eventually coming out with "I know."
She put her arms around his neck, grinning impishly. "I liked it." She whispered, and kissed him again.
They didn't let go of each other until twenty minutes later when Jenny found them, coming to deliver more good news.
Rhythmically tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a song she couldn't remember the name of, Emily watched anxiously out the windscreen for the doors to open. Danny sat on her left, eyes also glued to the hospital entrance/exit from his seat, which was lower and farther back than Emily's to accommodate his size.
Finally, the doors opened, and Emily perked up. One of her own afghans was draped over Charlotte's lap as Patrick wheeled her out of the hospital, a nurse beside him. They brought Emily over to the side of the sedan they'd borrowed from Sarah for its closeness to the ground, and the nurse opened the door. Charlotte gathered up the blanket to avoid stepping or tripping on it and lifted her booted feet off the footrests, which Patrick folded up before standing straight and holding out his hands. Charlotte hung the blanket over one of her shoulders and took her fiancé's hands, using him for leverage to stand while the nurse held the wheelchair steady. Emily let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding when Charlotte was finally on her feet, leaning a little on both one leg and Patrick but almost entirely supporting herself.
He helped her get into the car, then thanked the nurse and got in beside Charlotte. Emily twisted in her seat to look at her friend, who was still pale and fatigued but seeming better. "How do you feel, Charlotte?" She asked, reaching back a hand to her.
Charlotte took it and gave it a squeeze. "Ready to go home. I've missed our room, and the orchard."
Charlotte and Patrick had (easily) gotten permission to share an Inn room once they got engaged, so they'd moved their things into a room with a queen bed some time ago and Danny had relocated to a single-bed room to free up the two-bed room he and Patrick had been sharing. Even a child could've discerned from a mere glance who slept on which side of the room. When they had received the news that Charlotte would be coming home soon, Sarah and Claudia had cleaned the room and tidied up the little messes that had been left in a hurry for the summit.
"Being back somewhere comfortable will do you a world of good." Patrick agreed. "And so will the fresh air and sunlight. The hospital is so stifling." Emily made a humming noise in her throat in agreement.
Despite the optimism of Charlotte finally being discharged and well-healed and coming home, she had still suffered some permanent effects from her kidnapping, imprisonment, and escape. As predicted, she did have a slight limp, but she didn't mind it too much, and her physical therapists had all assured her that she would still be able to walk down the aisle and dance with Patrick on their wedding day, and maybe even still wander and dance in the forests and orchards if she was careful.
The other lasting consequence of her injuries was caused almost entirely by the bullet she had taken to the abdomen. It hadn't hit her bladder, instead getting embedded in the back wall of her uterus. Unfortunately, due to how much blood she lost and how much damage the bullet had done, Charlotte had lost the possibility of ever safely carrying a pregnancy to term.
It was a blow, but Emily knew Patrick wouldn't love Charlotte or want to marry her any less for it. Besides, there was still surrogacy, fostering, and adoption. Still, it made Emily almost with Helen and her cronies had died pore painful deaths for robbing Patrick and Charlotte of that opportunity.
As she pulled into the Inn's parking, Emily hoped that the trip between London and Torquay would be the last they'd have to make in a very long time. The Inn was a sight for sore eyes, and there was nothing quite like the feeling of coming home.
Patrick helped Charlotte walk inside, and everyone else was gathered in the living room to congratulate Charlotte and welcome her home. She settled down on the couch and Patrick and Danny unpacked the sedan before joining her and Emily and the others to relax.
Every person- human, merfolk, or both- had been marked and changed in some way by what they had endured, and none of them would ever be the same as they were before. Some had been bent and some had been broken; some had hurt and some had killed. And somehow, they were both the same people they had been before and different people entirely.
But in spite of all that had been abided and acted, it was all over now, it was done, and they were together and happy and home.
I borrowed and semi-edited some lines and scenes from Primeval, and the title is from "Sea-Fever" by John Masefield
| Author's note: Behold, the last angsty chapter! There are two more installments in this book and *spoiler alert* THEY'RE BOTH FLUFFY AND HAPPY!
Contrary to the usage of the word 'y'all', I am not Southern. I just say it sometimes. And I'm not Hispanic/of any Spanish or Hispanic descent, but I took Spanish in high school and I mix the words into my regular speaking. My mother took German in high school and I grew up listening to her do the same thing.
Chicken Cottage is the restaurant Patrick was referring to, and it's a real place in London near the hospital I picked out. I've never been there, but it was close by and opens early enough to fit the plot, so I picked it.
I don't know how English hospitals differ from American ones so if it's incorrect for a surgery to be taking place at the time of day I listed I apologize. I just spent three weeks visiting my father in the hospital so I wrote a lot of this based off personal experience (note: my father was not shot, it was a heart issue, and I had this planned for a while before my father was even unwell. It just got detailed like it did because of personal experience.)
And I'm so sorry about the wait. I hope I've made up for it.