a/n: Thanks for your patience. I've had absolute craziness going on with three jobs right now (freelance stuff, but it really keeps me busy). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.
Take 2
Gun fire immediately sprayed the room, sending glass and debris all over the furniture and floor. Nick rolled his sore body off the couch as quickly as possible, just as bullets punctured the cushions. Stuffing and fluff flew in the air from the couch.
Paige launched into action. She dove to the floor, but had her gun up at the gunman.
Or gunmen. She fired off an entire clip, dodging bullets as she managed to bring one man down.
"Nick!" she yelled. He'd been covering his head with his arms, wincing as the bullets exploded in the air. Something about that noise, the shear volume of it, made him freeze. He finally managed to look at her.
Paige fired a shot right by him, and Nick feared the worst. Then he heard a groan behind him.
The second gunmen fell, his eyes wide and staring at Nick. The machine gun in his hand clattered out of his hands, and the dull thud of his body followed as the man came closer to dying.
Nick just stared at the body. The man's lifeless eyes stared back.
"Come on!" Paige pulled at him, getting him to his feet.
The next thing that registered was that they were in a car, speeding away. Nick didn't remember getting into the car.
Paige's eyes flickered back and forth to every mirror. Nick had never seen someone actually use all mirrors so consistently. She changed lanes frequently, and sped through the streets.
Nick couldn't tell where they were. He just sat numbly, staring but not seeing.
The images replayed in his mind, sporadically. Those gunmen, shooting everything. And Paige, reacting . . .
. . . fearlessly.
She hadn't hesitated at all. She shot both of them. There wasn't a second of doubt, or remorse.
She defended him. But it bothered him. Paige Landry . . . he had never seen someone be so automatic. She was an icicle—sharp, cold, and as he'd witness, potentially deadly.
He heard Paige curse, and Nick managed to focus on her. Her eyes were on the rearview mirror, and as Nick looked over his shoulder, he saw the reason.
A patrol car followed them, signaling with his lights and siren. Nick glanced at Paige. The car started to slow down, and the cop behind them tailed them.
Suddenly Paige floored the gas pedal, and Nick was throttled back in his seat. The momentum made his stomach churn.
"Paige," he said. He swallowed hard, and just gripped the sides of the seat. Paige didn't seem concerned, even though she should have been.
The police car's sirens wailed loudly, and Nick could hear the engine revving behind them. He had no idea what Paige was doing. Not much was processing for him.
"It could be them," she said. "Or he may recognize you. We have to hide, from everyone right now."
Nick didn't argue or agree. The road felt rough now; the world outside the car spun. His vision just got fuzzier and fuzzier—
Until crunching metal brought him back to focus. The cop car rammed them, and Nick winced at the impact. It sent reverberations to his chest, creating waves of pain.
Paige suddenly swerved the car to the far right lane of a busy road. Nick still wasn't sure where, but he noticed the police car was from Las Vegas.
Where are we? He should be able to figure it out, but all he saw were nondescript things. There was no Strip, no space needle to mark--
The cop car slammed into theirs again. Nick grabbed at his chest, almost trying to hold everything in place. He groaned, and his vision seemed to turn off for a second, then slowly dissolve back in.
"Nick, hold on," he heard Paige warn. Suddenly she slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel so her side of the car faced the oncoming patrol car.
She had her gun, and fired three shots until she heard the loud pop and screech of tires. The patrol car swerved, leaving tread on the road as it barreled towards them. Paige floored the gas, escaping an impending impact.
They sped away, and Nick finally succumbed to painful sleep.
The décor was very different now. It was dark. And drafty. And woodsy.
It was a cabin, no doubt for the occasional hunters in Nevada. Nick lifted his head from the unfamiliar bed he was on.
No lights were on, but the faint light of day filtered through the windows. Nick had no idea what time it was. He didn't even know what day it was. Was it just yesterday that . . . was it even that long?
Or longer?
His eyes wandered over the one-room cabin and its sparse furnishings. And then he saw Paige. She sat at one of the windows, staring at the outside. In her hands was the gun. Her finger rested over the safety.
Her body was rigid, and her face was stone. But the stone started to crumble. Paige suddenly let out a sob, and then covered her mouth and swallowed. She straightened her posture and stared outside with renewed determination.
But her face became . . . sad. Slowly, Nick saw a glisten of tears in the faint light.
What is this about?
Another sob escaped, but this time she didn't banish it. The tears fell and for the first time with Paige, he was seeing real, raw emotion.
This was no charade.
Nick bit down on his tongue and tried to sit up. The awkward bed creaked as he did, drawing a sharp sound of surprise from Paige as she looked to him.
Nick watched as she tried to cover up her tears. She didn't wipe them away, but merely shut down. Her sobs ceased, and the wall rebuilt to contain her emotions.
It was fascinating. She was so robotic in how she controlled them.
That's how she controls everything. She hides.
She covers up what she feels, and just does what she has to.
Why?
"You've been asleep for awhile," she said matter-of-factly. Nick nodded and leaned against the headboard of the bed. He tried not to pant from the exertion—it was depressing to think that such little movement qualified as exertion to him now.
"Are we safe?" he asked. His eyes flickered to the gun. Paige saw it but just nodded.
"For now," she said. She turned back to the window, her eyes sharp and focused. She seemed sufficiently steeled again, and it bothered Nick.
"How are you doing?" he asked softly. She almost whipped her head around at him, but merely flinched and held her stare outside.
"I'm fine," she said simply. Nick shook his head.
"Paige." She looked at him this time. "How do you do it?" he asked. Paige just raised an eyebrow at the question.
"Do what?"
Nick took a deep breath. "How do you act like nothing happened?" She just stared at him. "Someone is trying to kill us and you've turned yourself into a statue."
She turned back to the window, a flash of anger in her eyes. But she let out a low breath, and said:
"Practice."
A chill ran down Nick's back. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his chest.
I'm with a brick wall.
She did save me, though. That had to mean something. He just didn't know what. But he wanted to find out.
"Paige, please. Stop it," he said, shaking his head.
"I don't expect you to understand, Nick," she said, her voice steely. "I never have, even when we first met."
"I can't understand if you don't explain it to me."
"Understand? Explain?!" She glared at him as she left the window and stalked towards him. "Explain what? That I purposely gave up my life for this? That I thought I was doing something good? Doing my duty?"
Nick clutched his chest and pulled on the bed post to get himself to his feet.
"Tell me the whole story," he said. "You keep talking about this without telling me any details." He winced suddenly at a sharp pain. "Please, Paige. I'm trying to get this."
She looked him over for a second, then gently pushed him back to the bed. He sat down, with her beside him. Paige didn't look at him, but she began to talk.
"I started out in the military, just an office job with no excitement," she said. "I'd been through basic training and then was buried in paperwork for 11 months. I'd probably still be there, if I hadn't sought out something else."
She took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her gun, which she clung to without fail.
"I started asking around, hinting that I wanted something more. My superiors just brushed me off. But eventually, I caught wind of something," she said. Her eyes had this far-off look. "I was told it was a division of intelligence. That we'd be doing things that were dangerous, but that would make a difference."
She paused, and Nick jumped in.
"You told me once that you were part of a private group that did whatever was needed."
She glared at him, more for what he implied than the interruption.
"I know," she said. "And that's the truth. But I didn't realize that until I'd been with the company for awhile. We do whatever needs to be done, and that often goes to the private sectors."
Nick's head started to hurt.
"They weren't bad. At least I didn't think so. No matter what I did for them, it seemed like the result would be worth it," she said. "But then I met you. And after I completed my assignment in that prison, and you saw me . . ." She sighed, and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. "I couldn't do it anymore. Not with you at stake."
Something about it . . . about her—Nick didn't understand the connection he felt with her, the danger and emotion and excitement. And he'd never been with someone so closed off. But now, he had never had someone be so open with him before.
It seemed ironic that it was all Paige. And yet it didn't bother him.
Nick suddenly found himself leaning towards her. He hesitated just inches from her face, searching her eyes with his. He saw vulnerability. Nick shut his eyes and kissed her gently.
She responded back, but instead of the normally dominating and devouring kisses she'd given him before, she was more docile. She pressed against his lips, lightly nipped at his lips.
And Nick was astounded by how right it felt.
"Whoa," Warrick said, surveying the bullet-ridden scene. "Someone shot up this place good." His eyes followed the spray path of what looked like a high-velocity automatic weapon.
Sara frowned at the walls, the ruined furniture and the bodies.
"I don't understand why we're here," she said, setting down her kit. "Day shift should take this."
"I know," Warrick said. "It doesn't feel right taking a case when Nick's missing."
"Especially with that Paige Landry around," Sara mumbled, more to herself than to Warrick.
They sighed in unison, and spread out.
"Neighbors said it sounded like a huge gun fight," Warrick said as they gathered evidence. "They didn't see anything, of course."
Sara grunted in acknowledgment.
Her path around the room made her realize that's where the whole fight took place. All the bullets centered in the room--all the furniture destruction was limited to that room. Her eyes moved along the path of debris.
And stopped. There seemed to be a void, by the couch. Well, there still were debris, glass and wood splinters, but they were much more sparse right by the couch.
She kneeled next to it, just studying it all.
It's as if someone took cover here. She dug into her vest and pulled out her tweezers and collection envelopes. Slowly her eyes swept across the area.
And stopped again. This time it was a hair.
It was short and dark. Sara bagged it and moved to collect a shell casing.
Greg hated processing at times like this. Thankfully, it wasn't often that one of their own was kidnapped or hurt. But lately, when it did happen, it was always to Nick.
The machine beeped, signaling that the results were in on the DNA from the hair from Sara and Warrick's crime scene. Greg hated that they even had a scene that didn't involve Nick.
He sighed and glanced at the results.
Amazingly, the database turned up a hit. Greg's eyes wandered down the page, looking for the name of the hair's owner.
He froze when he read it. He reread it. Twice. Three times.
"It's Nick's hair." Greg suddenly whirled around to face the open hallway. He shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Guys!! I've got something!"