Barely Hanging On
By Camilla Sandman & Suz

Spoilers for the final episode of Water Rats!

Disclaimer: Blah.. Like we would have cancelled it if we owned Water Rats. In fact, Cam sure wouldn't have had Mick knocking on Frank's door in "Tomorrow Never Comes", and Suz wouldn't have killed poor Rach, and we definitely wouldn't… Um, yeah, so anyway, the point is we don't own 'em.

Author's Notes Cam – What do you do when you're stuck on a scene, and feel like you can't really write a character that well? Why, you get a co-writer of course!

Author's Notes Suz – Huh? 3 is a cool number

II

All stories have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Sometimes the beginning might be the end or the end the beginning, but still, it is fairly structured and conclusive. Life isn't like that. It's full of side turns, little ends and little beginnings, unstructured and chaotic and sometimes the conclusion makes no sense.

No sense at all.

Staring at the dark coffin, Alex St. Clare wondered just what bloody conclusion she was supposed to draw. Jack Christey was dead, as was Dave McCall and Rachel Goldstein, people she had never met, but who still haunted the halls of the Water Police HQ.

And Death seemed to stalk their station. Patiently waiting, then striking out when least expected. A part of her wanted to scream at the injustice of it, that yet another death should burden them, but the rational part of her denied her that rage.

It's a part of the job, it said, and you knew it when you joined. You have no reason to bitch now.

But she wanted to bitch, oh how she wanted to bitch! She wanted to scream and throw things, preferably valuable and breakable things, until she had no more strength or breath. Somehow, she imagined she would feel better.

But her rational mind denied her even that. It made her stand like calm and distant, staring at the coffin of her partner – her former partner – as if it was just another death. This would make it easier for her, her rational side reasoned; breaking down was not an option.

Yet she wanted to. She wanted to fall into the arms of Mick Reilly, and cry against his shoulder. He was standing just a few feet away, yet it might as well have been a mile. She had seen him and Emma hugging before the service had begun, and somehow it had bothered her.

It had bothered her that it had bothered her. And it bothered her that her rational side was winning all the arguments, and that the flowers were all wrong and that bloody Helen could not bloody stop simpering and that bloody, bloody Mick had not even offered a word of bloody comfort to her. But most of all it bothered her that she kept waiting for Jack to jump of the coffin and ask what they were all so morose about.

He simply couldn't be dead. She had seen his body, seen the autopsy report, yet it wasn't possible that he could be dead. It wasn't possible because that would mean that she would never see him again, never yell at him again, that she and Mick would never be able to tease him again.. Jack couldn't be dead because then she would have to say goodbye, and she just couldn't so that.

So she walked hastily away without looking back, the sound of her heels against the cold stone floor like gunshots echoing through the room.

II

Michael Reilly stared at the dark coffin and wondered how long he had to stare at it before it went up in smoke and he awoke to find it had all been a cruel joke. He tried closing his eyes and opening them again, but the scene didn't change.

Jack Christey was still dead, and it was still his fault.

It was too reminiscent of another scene, another death not that long ago. And even without closing his eyes, Mick could recall every smell, every sound as Rachel Goldstein was laid to rest.

Strangely enough, he could no longer see the pictures as clearly. They had begun to fade, to the point where they were blurred and dark. But the sounds and smells remained. He wondered why that was. Maybe his mind was doing him a favour. Rachel Goldstein's death made Jack Christey's death twice as devastating.

It was just too much. Too much death to carry, too much pain to withstand. Tommy and Dave had been smart. They'd gotten away before it was too late. Or had they? Dave hadn't made it, and Tommy.. With a sting, Mick realised he had forgotten Tommy. Not even a phone call to find out how things were, no e-mails, nothing.

And Frank, where was Frank? Helen would know, Helen always seemed to know. Glancing over at her, Mick saw her pale face among the others. All the colours seemed to have been drained from her.. as well as everyone else. As if they were all dead.

Were they? Were they all a little dead inside so they could survive this job?

II

Helen Blakemore wondered how she remained standing. She couldn't really feel her legs, or her arms or anything but the painful thudding of her heart. Still, she remained erect, as still as a statue.

Tears flowed freely and unhindered from her eyes. A while she thought there was a baby crying in the church, then she realised the sounds came from her own body. She had no control over them, and it didn't even bother her.

Jack Christey was dead. And even though it seemed completely ridiculous and she had almost forgot that she and Jack had ever talked about it, she almost felt like she had lost a baby too. It was a completely irrational thought to have, yet it had popped into her mind the moment she had seen the faces of the crew on Nemesis bringing Jack in and it had stayed ever since.

She had gotten used to him being around, just as she had gotten used to Frank and Rachel and Taylor and Dave and Webber and Tommy and Fiona and Terry.. It was a long list now. And too much of it was related to death.

She felt a hand on her arm, and looked up at Jeff's worried face. Behind him, she could see Sophie hurry out, her face a mask of pain and grief.

Helen tried giving Jeff a reassuring nod as her glance settled on him again, but her body still seemed detached from her. He said something, but she couldn't make it out, couldn't even see his face anymore as her vision blurred and she fell and fell.

II

"She's barely hanging on, but she's alive," Jeff said in a tired voice as he looked at the anxious faces of the Sydney Water Police gathered around them. They weren't all there, of course, there had to be someone at the office, but they seemed to be there in spirit nevertheless.

Alex breathed a sigh of relief, exchanging a look with Mick. Donna managed to grin, some of her cheery spirit returning. George looked relieved, even though the man was clearly uncomfortable being there. Emma was staring at her feet, not looking up at all.

"She suffered a heart attack," Jeff continued, "but she's stable now. All of you go home and get some rest." All of them opened their mouths to protest, but a hard glance cut off any objections. Shuffling their feet, the crowd slowly vanished and the only sound in the hallway was distant voices.

Only then did Jeff exhaled and almost fell onto the nearest chair. He felt drained, and old, so very, very old. Leaning his head on his crutch, he closed his eyes and let go of his composure. He didn't want the others to worry, nor to know Helen might not make it.

"Sir?"

He looked up, surprised, a little Donna Javenski staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

"She's not doing so good, is she?"

He merely shook his head, not knowing what to say.

"I'd like to stay.. Sir," she hastily added. Locking glances, it was Jeff who had to look away after a few moments and give a short nod. It occurred to him that one day, Donna would make a fine Helen.

And he hated himself for thinking that.

II

A light rain had begun to fall as they exited the hospital, enough to leave a light layer of moist on everything. The air was crisp and cool, and strangely heavy to breathe. It was as if Sydney had mimicked the mood of its police officers, gloom and sad.

Mick didn't bother looking back as he hurried toward the car, suddenly wanting more than anything to just get away.

He didn't slow down as he heard Emma call after him, just turned and gave her a shrug. He could feel her stare at him as he got in the car, knowing he was behaving like an ass, like a prick, like. Like Jack.

"Aw, shit," he cursed, as he fumbled with the key and it fell to the floor. "Mick!" Emma tapped on his window. He looked up at her, a little annoyed, couldn't she see that he just wanted to be alone? He wound the window down. "Can you let me in the other side, I'm getting wet." She held her hand out to indicate that the rain had got a little heavier. Sighing he flicked the lock for her.

"What?" He almost shouted at her as she climbed in the car. She looked a little taken aback and he suddenly felt guilty. "Sorry," it was only a mumble. He looked up at her. She'd been crying and that made him feel even worse. "Sorry," he said again, this time a little louder.

"For what?" She baited him and he shrugged. "Are you sorry that Helen's ill, or are you sorry that you ignored me just then or are you sorry that you've changed your mind about being friends?" She bit her bottom lip.

Why was she suddenly nervous? She'd played this scene over and over in her head, she'd made the decision. She was going to tell him that she wanted to try again. Everyone deserves a second chance. Right?

"I dunno Woodsie."

"Emma"

"What?

"My name's Emma, and we've had this conversation before. I just want to know what you're thinking. I thought that we could at least be here for each other right now. I know that I need someone and I thought that you would too." He nodded and she reached out for his hand. He jerked slightly.

"Emma…" he looked up at her. Her eyes were sad, and a little red from crying. Caught up in the moment he smiled slightly. Seeing this she leaned forward until he felt her breath on his face. For just one second, one moment he went to kiss her and suddenly he shook his head.

"What?"

"Emma, I'm sorry. We can't go there-"

"Shit Mick!" she interrupted him. "Look, work out what you want."

"I wanna be friends Em, I just, I just wanna be friends."

"Well, be a friend dammit. Be there for me, as a friend when I need it. Quit with the bloody mixed signals and just make up your bloody mind. I've had enough." She got out of the car and slammed the door.

It was now raining hard and realising that she had no way to get home she noticed George a few cars away. Alex had already driven off.

"George!" She ran over to him. "Can I please get a lift?" Without responding he opened the door for her and they got in before they were soaked.

"I thought you were with um…" he jerked his head in Mick's direction as he sped off angrily. "Ahh, never mind." She remained silent and looked at her lap. She had nothing to say to him, what would he understand? Just another guy. Another, stupid ignorant bastard in a suit and that was something she didn't need right now.

"Thanks for this." Her voice was quiet and unsettled. He nodded and started the car. They drove home in silence. Just the rain and the wipers making a little noise.

"This one just here." She pointed out the house almost too late and he turned into the driveway a little dangerously, the back end of the car slid slightly.

"Sorry."

"No problems," she paused for a moment. "Look, you can come in a grab a towel if you like."

"Um, yeah, thanks I will." Slightly hesitantly he opened the car door and ran inside behind her.

"Towel." She threw the towel at him as she ducked into the laundry to change. Returning dry she noticed him looking at some photographs on the bench.

"I didn't know that you and Mick were a couple." He flashed a photo of the two of them at her.

"We're not. We were- but… the job." He looked up at her. She still had red eyes, more so from the rain but he could tell she wasn't happy.

"Helen's going to be fine." He tried reassuring her, it was unsuccessful. "She's tough, think positive."

"Coffee?" He nodded. One of the mugs she grabbed slipped and smashed on the floor. She cursed loudly and then slightly embarrassed she picked up the pieces and cut her hand.

"Dammit," she cursed again. Feeling awkward George grabbed her wrist and put her hand under the kitchen tap. He fumbled for a couple of tissues behind him.

Emma bit her lip again, suddenly feeling indecisive. Stuff it, why not. As he turned back with a tissue she just leaned forward and kissed him, only for a second. She just needed a touch, something to comfort her and erase all the pain. Pulling away a little embarrassed, she began to apologise before he cut her off and kissed her back.

It wasn't passion, it wasn't love, it was… well what was it? Neither really knew, perhaps it was just because each of the other was there. He was lonely, he was feeling left out. He wasn't part of the group yet, so how could he mourn Jack Christey's death? He didn't know who Jack really was, apart from a bit of prick.

Emma just kissed him back, all she wanted right now was for someone to love her, to touch her. She wanted Mick but he wasn't there for her and she just couldn't stand around waiting. She needed someone now. Opening her eyes for a minute she looked at George. Hell, this was just going to be a once off thing.

They stopped for a moment, catching their breath.

"Shit," Emma looked at his stomach. "There's blood…" She pointed to his shirt and grabbed a Band-Aid from the drawer. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he smiled and took a step toward her. Smiling back she undid the bloodstained shirt and slid it down his back. He pulled her ponytail out and ran his fingers through her hair. They took a dozen steps to where the floor was carpet and pulled each other to the floor and just went with it. Outside, the rain showed no signs of fading and pounded furiously on the roof.

II

Darkness had begun to fall when Mick pulled into his driveway. The rain was still pouring down, but he simply didn't care. It could rain till they all drowned for all he cared.

Running inside, he only bothered turning one light on before dropping down on the couch. The darkness suited him better. It suddenly occurred to him he'd hardly been home since Jack.. since everything had happened. Now he felt uncomfortable there, like it wasn't his home at all.

He was an invader. He'd come in as an invader in Frank and Rachel's partnership, he'd watched Jack and Rachel from the sideline. And Alex.. He'd seen the looks Jack had sometimes given her. Slumping against the couch, he felt more miserably than he ever had.

He'd invaded and destroyed. Rachel was dead. Jack was dead. It was his fault.

There was a knock at the door. For a second, he hoped it was Emma after all. That he hasn't succeeded in pushing her away. But he pushed the thought quickly away as he walked to open the door.

It was Alex. She seemed to have been home for a change of clothes, because her clothes were hardly wet at all.

"Hey," she tried to smile, but simply didn't have the strength. "Can I come in?"

He should have closed the door, but his head seemed to nod on its own accord and his body stepped away to let her come in. As she walked past, her hand brushed against his.

It suddenly occurred to him how long it had been since he had touched her, since he had really touched her. He had to close his eyes and force the memory away before following her into the house.

"What is it, Alex?" He tried not to sound angry, it wasn't her or Emma he was angry with after all. It was himself.

"I feel like I'm dying, Mick," she whispered, turning away from his intense gaze. Truth be told, she wasn't even sure why she had come. She just knew that if she had stayed in her own house one minute longer, she would have suffocated.

He gave her no response, but she could feel his eyes on her right down to her toes. Suddenly coming felt like a very bad idea. She wasn't even sure if he and Emma were.. And Jack, Jack had just been buried. She couldn't..

Couldn't what? Allow herself one moment of happiness, one night without the nightmares?

"Just go, Alex.." he said quietly as she stood undecided.

"Damn you, Mick!" she whipped around furiously, all her anger and frustration suddenly unleashed at him. He met her glare with a calm exterior, but suddenly she realised his eyes were radiating sadness and guilt. Her anger vanished immediately and she reached out to touch his face almost instinctively.

He flinched as she touched him, then closed his eyes and didn't move again. His cheek felt hot in her hand. It seemed so natural to step closer, so close their noses could touch.

"Alex.." he breathed, knowing he should step away. Things always got complicated when they got this close. It was bad for the partnership.. But by God, it would be good. Just once more. Just one more kiss. Even as the thought occurred to him, he realised he was leaning in at his own accord.

He had intended just to kiss her gently, and then get the hell out. But as soon as his lips brushed against her, a wild surge of wanting came over him. He had to fight not to pull her closer, not to deepen the kiss and take possession of her mouth.

She ended his inner struggle by doing it herself. Her anger turned into passion, she simply didn't listen to all those warning bells she was so used to hearing when she was around Mick. It suddenly didn't seem so important when death was surrounding them and the world was so very cold.

It took a few seconds to kiss any rational thoughts out of his head. She could feel his body responding to her, his hands going around her to bring her even closer and something hard was pressed against her belly. The thought made her smile ever so slightly.

Mick could feel her lips curve into a smile and he had a fairly good idea what prompted the reaction. Her body was pushing against his, and it was all he could do not to just push her down on the carpet and rip her clothes off and..

The phone rang. Groaning, Mick broke the kiss of and reached for the receiver. Alex's body stayed glued to his though, and he could feel her wild heartbeats against his own heart.

"Reilly," he managed to croak, very aware that Alex had sneak a hand inside his t-shirt. All he heard was a dial tone. He was about to hang up and go back to the very pleasant task of kissing his very eager partner when a sound at the door jolted several reactions at once.

He'd already taken a dive for the floor, pushing Alex beneath him when the door was broken down and a dark silhouette appeared in the doorway. He was tall, that was all Mick's brain had time to register.

Alex tried to protest, but as she hit the floor, all the wind got knocked out of her. The next thing she knew, bullets slammed into the floor beside her. Instinctively her hands were already on her gun, and she brought it up and aimed in the general direction. Mick had rolled off her and to her left, taking cover behind the couch.

Another round of shots slammed into the couch, then fading footsteps could be heard. Looking up, Alex got a glimpse of a fleeing shadow. She fired another shot, but the angle was all wrong and she missed badly.

Outside, she could hear a motorcycle start up.