Chapter 8

A/N: Profuse apologies for the delay! Life overtook me! I tried to come back to this a month ago, and then EIB beckoned. No worries, I'm back. :)

I don't know if anyone's still reading this, but it continues to amuse me.

She didn't know how she had gotten into this mess. Everything happened so quickly, and really it made no sense.

The storm was still raging, and she gripped her purse tighter in an attempt to steady herself. She hated storms. They never ended well, with all the noise. With all the mess.

With all the wetness.

She murmured a frantic prayer, and tried to hold firm. She would not be tempted. No, she would not.

She was a good Christian woman.

"Bennett, good news. I found the lantern."

With a polite appreciative smile, she lifted her head, comforted by the fact that Detective Butcher was wheeling his way toward her in the dark, his face now illuminated by the lantern he balanced on his lap. She always wondered why he didn't use the automatic power on his chair, but then again if he did so he likely wouldn't have the sculpted arms he currently did.

No, no.

She looked away, and he chuckled.

"What is it? Light too bright for you?" He came to stop at her side and playfully swung the lantern back and forth, his blue eyes gleaming.

Beautiful baby blues.

She never really found Gary's that mesmerizing, but she supposed she did have an appreciation for Jeff's. Gary was clearly in friend territory and was just too pale for her to seriously consider him as a romantic partner as they would look absolutely ridiculous together and she did get a glare off him if he stood in the sun (which fortunately the poor boy didn't do that often as he would fry like a crisp), but she never really found Gary sexually interesting. She mostly found his Nordic jokes amusing and felt at her core they were soul-buddies, even if no one else seemed to understand. Jeff was a different matter, as he was a bit more conventionally attractive and he wasn't nearly as pale. She found his overreliance on spray tanner to be a bit offensive, as it indicated he could benefit from White privilege while still co opting exoticness, but she didn't like to dwell on that since she was certain he never thought of it that way. Plus Jeff had always been safely in the Team Britta category and then of course more very, very recently Team Annie. He hadn't been her man to covet.

Well, she might covet him a little. But that was purely because he pranced around in his way. He enjoyed it, that exasperating man. But she covetted him from a comfortable distance, and she knew he was safe.

Detective Butcher was different. He certainly didn't try to flaunt himself, and the poor man was in a wheelchair. She honestly couldn't figure out what was the matter with her when she was around him. Yes, he had muscles and yes, he had kind eyes. He had a tragic backstory, as Abed would say, and she supposed one might feel some pity for him. But she knew it wasn't really that. She had been enthralled by his tenacious pursuit of his wife's killer and of his fight to regain the use of his legs, something that the doctors had said could very well be possible. She felt so awful that it hadn't happened and that he was likely stuck this way. He used to be an avid athlete, a skier even. She bet he would have liked Colorado with all the mountains. She had a brief thought she'd like him to come with her to take a skiing trip near Greendale but then resigned herself to the fact that he would never be able to ski again.

But she wasn't sure if he felt that badly about it. He had seemed to have adjusted nicely, but she could sense his discomfort when he asked her to get something up high for him, as he would often whimper when she stretched to reach a jar in the kitchen, or as in that time in the bath when he had made that awkward comment about her potentially falling in with him. He'd get all flushed, his white skin (definitely just the right kind of white for her tastes) betraying his emotions. And of course there were their long talks about suspects, life, love.

Love.

No, she couldn't be in love with him. That was absurd. She had only known him less than a year. They were colleagues now, friends even. But lovers? That was insane.

She made the sign of the cross.

"Bennett, do we have to do this again? Snap out of it."

The annoying clicking of the Detective's fingers near her nose startled her out of her thoughts. She groaned and then said, "I was just thinking."

"Want to tell me about it?"

He placed the lantern on the side table, which luckily was just in between them, and tilted his head to wait for her to confess.

Well, she certainly wasn't going to do that. It wouldn't be helpful in this situation, as they had a crisis to which to attend.

"What on earth are we going to do?" She stared at him, hoping he'd provide some solace in this terrible situation. The fact that he had been teasing her provided her with some hope that he had a different view on recent events. Either that or he was using humor as a way to distance himself from some unspeakable horror.

The subsequent loud clearing of his throat did not fill her with confidence. With a shifting of his eyes he said, "There's no reason to panic."

"Like hell there isn't. Poor Audrey's been kidnapped, Abed went's been shot, and the whole of the Atlanta swamps have lost power due to this terrible storm! And now we're trapped here in the mansion and I don't know what's going to happen to my friends!"

She found herself sobbing, and uncharacteristically didn't make any attempt to stop. She normally reserved her indulgent emotional moments for when she was alone and she didn't have to worry so much about appearing strong and holding it all together. She could never get this way around her boys because they needed her, she hadn't been able to let herself emote in front of her ill father, and she certainly could no longer be vulnerable with Andre after all their troubles. But here, she supposed even in this awful time, she felt comforted by the Detective's presence.

In between her sniffs, she could hear the wheelchair making its way past the table so that it was almost in front of her. The feeling of his soft warm hands against hers did help, as did his murmurs of comfort.

"We'll figure this out, Bennett. Jeff and Annie took Abed to the hospital. He was only shot in the leg, and he was able to limp his way into the diner. He'll be fine."

She recalled the drama of Abed's declaration of Audrey's kidnapping and how she had doubted the poor boy, figuring he was delusional and the storm was playing tricks on him. But then she had seen the trickle of red from under his pants' leg and had howled with grief and rage. For someone to do this to Abed of all people was abhorrent. Jeff had thrown himself in between them and scooped Abed up, shouting orders for everyone to make room so that he could drive him to the hospital.

Annie had shrieked about calling an ambulance, but Jeff had insisted there was no time, that he had to save Abed. Britta had remained eerily still, her eyes wide as she clutched Daniel's carrier on her lap. Detective Butcher had restrained her from hauling after Jeff and Annie, stating that he thought they'd be in the way and really, given the amount of blood, there likely was no time to waste.

His attitude then didn't jive with his words now, and she suspected he was trying to put a positive spin on things. She wondered if Abed would lose his leg, just as poor Detective Butcher had lost the use of his.

She now more silently let her tears continue to fall.

She didn't quite know how they had gotten back to the mansion. She vaguely recalled Detective Butcher guiding her and Britta out to his van, how they had used some plastic sheeting supplied by Shelly the waitress so that they could not get completely soaked from the unexpected storm, but then the sheeting had been ripped from her grasp, and she had ended up very wet indeed, as had Detective Butcher. Fortunately for Britta and Daniel, they remained dry and were now in one of the guestrooms. Detective Butcher thought Britta seemed to have a bit of shock and had made her a hot tea and sent her upstairs before the power had gone out in the mansion, which had given them a clue that the Atlanta swamps had been completely engulfed in darkness.

She had then been awaiting his return, as he had insisted he could find a lantern he kept for such occasions. That took them up to the present moment.

She finally said aloud, "I hope Jeff and Annie made it to the hospital."

"I'm sure they did."

She disentangled her hands and reached inside her purse for her phone, holding it aloft in some vain attempt at securing a signal. There was none of course, and she sighed and put it away.

The sudden increased whirring wind outside startled them, as they both jerked their shoulders. They then both laughed nervously, and she said, "It's so eerie out there. And it's freezing in here." She shivered and placed her hands over her arms.

"Well, that's because you're wet."

She stared at him, and his face reddened in that cute Celtic way and he stammered, "I mean...we're both wet. Shoot, I meant we got rained on. So um, I suppose we should change into dry clothes."

"Right. We'll go upstairs."

She rose, and then it dawned on her that the Detective wouldn't be able to travel upstairs, as his stair lift was operated by electricity. She bit her lip and looked down at him as he lifted his head and gazed into her eyes.

Those baby blues once again.

It was an odd moment, one they had been experiencing with increasing frequency over the past several weeks, so she supposed it was no longer odd. His hand grazed hers, and she had the sense he was going to confess something to her. She had been having that inkling for some time now.

No, no, no. She couldn't let him do that.

She whispered, "I don't think you should say anything."

His eyes widened at this, and once again he gulped before whispering back, "Please, Bennett, the guilt has been eating me alive. I want to be completely honest with you."

"Detective Butcher, please don't do this. I don't want you to be honest with me, okay?"

"So you know?"

She didn't quite know how to respond. Were they alluding to the same thing or was it completely her imagination? She didn't want to be embarrassed, but she couldn't fathom what else he'd have to say.

Deciding to be brave, she lifted her chin, and realizing he couldn't see her face at that angle, tilted her head back down and said, "Now isn't the time to talk about feelings."

His reaction confused her, as he flushed even more noticeably and then let out soft whimper, closing his eyes in an almost wince.

"Detective?"

"Why now do you have to get it? Why now, when I need to tell you something very important…"

-"Now, I just said, we don't need to talk about it."

He opened his eyes and stared at the floor for several moments, and she waited, not knowing what else to do. He appeared to be experiencing some inner conflict.

"While yes Bennett, I do have feelings for you, feelings I had hoped might be reciprocated but I didn't dare tell you because to be frank I've had the impression that you wouldn't give yourself permission to entertain the idea of us, probably due to some ridiculous religious nonsense which you know really doesn't make any sense whatsoever as you could get a divorce, you're not even Catholic so it's not like your church wouldn't even approve. We could date, it would probably be nice. We could even figure out what to do about your kids. I know you've missed them…"

-"Please, stop."

He finally slowly looked up and she could see he had tears of his own glimmering in the corners of his eyes. There were dribbles of rain falling off the fringes of his hair, and he looked completely vulnerable.

Sexy and vulnerable.

"Bennett, I care about you. That's why I…"

She found herself stepping forward and taking his hands in hers, and as she closed her eyes, she murmured so he would stop speaking, as she didn't know how to think, how to feel.

No, that was a lie. She knew how she felt. It was the thinking part.

"Mmmmmmm."

"Bennett? I have to tell you something else, I…"

-"Mmmmmmm, Detective, no, I …."

There was a crash of thunder and then almost immediate lightening, and it was so intense, bright, and loud, that she had no choice but to jump into his lap.

They clutched at each other, both still shivering from wetness as well as fright. She allowed him to rock her head against his, and they both started laughing, the whole situation was absurd.

"I'm an adult, I swear. I'm not afraid of an ol' storm."

"Sure. Like you're not afraid of ghosts."

She lifted her head back and shot him a judgmental glare. How very dare he.

With a sheepish grin, he said, "Sorry."

"I'm so cold."

At her shiver, he wrapped his arms more fully around her and whispered, "Let's huddle for warmth."

X

Eventually they were able to get situated on the couch, Detective Butcher lying down with Shirley safely ensconced in his spoon. She had found a blanket and they used it to keep warm, in addition to their body heat.

She supposed she could have gone upstairs to get him a change of clothes, but what if the poor man had frozen to death while she was away? What if she had run into a ghost? What if Britta had regained her senses and wanted to talk to her? There were only so many horrible things that could have gone wrong.

She really had no choice but to stay. She had to admit his warmth felt nice, and she could feel her nerves calming by the minute, and the beating of his heart kept her sane as the storm continued to rage.

They didn't talk anymore, only allowing the light from the lantern and the few candles she had found near the blanket illuminate the room in a sensual haze. It was almost dream-like. So much so that she didn't even consider why it might be so cold in Atlanta of all places.

None of that even mattered right now.

What mattered was that she felt safe and warm.

It then occurred to her that he had been on the verge of confessing something to her, something she suspected was in addition to his feelings. Against perhaps her better judgement, she asked, "Detective, what were you going to tell me earlier? I'm sor-ry if I in-ter-rupted you."

The ensuing pause seemed to go on forever. She slowly turned around to face him, and his eyes were wide.

"Good lord, you can tell me. What is it?"

After a sharp intake of air, he managed, "It's about Dean Grassley. And Audrey."

Furrowing her brow, she waited.

He explained, "I met the Dean the other day, when I went to talk to him alone about the case. I know this might sound crazy, but the man we saw today was not him."

She didn't know what to make of this bombshell. These things did not happen outside of fiction novels, outside of television melodramas.

Outside of Greendale. The memory of Dopple-Dean made her shiver once again.

She gasped, "Are you sure? And why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

Seeming to regain some composure, he replied, "I'm sure. And I didn't mention it because I didn't want him to know I caught on. The guy is an imposter. I must admit I needed to do a double-take, as the resemblance is uncanny. But the real Dean has a little crook in his lip, and this guy doesn't."

She certainly believed him, as she knew Detective Butcher wasn't one for flights of fancy. He prided himself on his sense of logic rather than intuition. She was more of the intuitive part of their dynamic duo.

Something then occurred to her.

"My word, is that what poor Audrey meant when she said it was all wrong. That he wasn't the same man?"

He nodded. "I'm pretty sure. Think about it, Bennett. Audrey's a student, and I'm assuming she knows what the Dean looks like even better than me. When she saw him, she instantly fainted. And now she's been kidnapped. My guess is that's not a coincidence."

"And Abed?"

"We'll have to wait until he comes out of surgery, but my bet is he figured everything out and that's why he was shot."

They allowed themselves some silence to let it all sink in. It all made sense, and she considered that she never would have predicted that the case would have taken such a nefarious turn, even though it was a murder case. She had put Abed in danger, and Audrey too. She felt so guilty.

Something else then occurred to her.

She asked, "Wait, you said earlier that you had been feeling wracked with guilt. Why on earth would you feel guilty about not telling me this? I mean I understand why you didn't mention it when we were in front of the Dean but I'm assuming you were going to tell me very soon, perhaps when we were alone. There's no need for you to feel guilty about it."

His eyes widened once more and as he was about to speak, the lights went on and her phone chimed.

She quickly reached for it.

"Shirley? Thank god, I've been trying to reach you."

"Jeff! I'm so sorry, but I had no signal due to the storm. We're back at the mansion. How's Abed?"

There was a pause, and she felt sick.

"He'll be fine."

Jeff's tone was strange to be sure. He sounded annoyed.

"What am I missing, Jeffrey?"

With a long sigh, Jeff explained, "Turns out he wasn't shot by an actual gun. Well, it was a gun, but more of the paintball variety."

The annoyance was instantly contagious. She felt her blood pressure rising.

"You are not serious." She managed to sit up, her mouth setting into a grim line.

"Yeah, I am. Fortunately and unfortunately, but yeah."

"Red paint?"

"Yup."

"MMMMMMMMMmmmmmm."

"Bennett?"

"Not now, Devon!"

There was a scuffle on the other end of the line, and Jeff muttered something laced with profanity (she crossed herself) and Annie squeaked something.

Abed said, "Hello Shirley. All things considered, being shot is not as bad as I always thought it might be. As long as you can keep the fear from your mind. But I guess you could say that about almost anything in life. It's not so bad as long as you can keep the fear from your mind."

Jeff's snapped, "Give me back my phone!"