Coming slowly towards our big crescendo now, although there's still time for drama and twists!
xXBalorBabeXx, Surprise! And hopefully I've got another surprise coming up in this chapter (evil smile!)
Rebel8954, Haha, well, I think I'll be mean and keep you in suspense for a little bit longer. Although I am going to throw you a different bone in this chapter. Hope you like it! (Thank you for asking about my mum. We're trying to stay positive).
Mandy, I definitely wanted to surprise everyone and make sure there were lots of twists in this story. So hopefully I'm delivering on that! Thanks for your well wishes. I'm sending mine back and hoping that things are looking up for you.
Cheryl24, Well, as they say the truth will out, but first there's another mystery to clear up!
Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!
Minnie1015, Hmm, yeah, about that...how would you feel if I made you wait a bit longer for the big dramatics? Because I might have one or two other things to unravel first!
ViolentHugger03, Glad you're liking it. Can't have a murder mystery without a twist!
Phoenix lord of rebirth, Sorry (not sorry) for confusing you, but I was determined to make this story hard to predict! Pretty sure Sherlock would have already solved it though and probably with considerable less cussing than Dean. And with less animals!
Skovko, Hmm, well, it turns out that Roman might have his own issues in this chapter. I'm very equal opportunities when it comes to drama!
XwwecoyoteX, Hope the wait wasn't too long and you're right, not many chapters left to go now (although we're definitely not done yet!) Glad you liked Dean stuck in the reunion, I figured he would be squirmy in touchy feely moments (not including ones with Roman!)
Lunatic789, It's worrying how well Seth fits being a yappy little dog isn't it?!
Martha, Aww, I'm so glad you're back and enjoying wrestling fiction again. I totally get being disheartened after Dean/Jon left. Luckily there are always his Roman/Shield years to revel in and rewatch, even though it's not quite the same. Still, that's what writing is for!
Who's ready for more drama?!
TWENTY TWO
"Hey honey, how was work?" Roman's wife asks brightly as he plods into the kitchen and drops down into a chair before swiping a hand over his face and then groaning like he's carrying the weight of the whole entire world. Which honestly it kind of feels like he is doing.
Dean had fired him.
"That good huh?" she kids, making a brave attempt at humor which doesn't make much difference, "Roman? Sweetie what's wrong?"
She's been sitting at the table going over the ER rotas, which technically she isn't meant to do outside of work, but she abandons it at the sight of her dejected looking husband so she can go and stand behind him and wrap her arms around his neck, in a backwards hug that she hopes will be helpful since otherwise she's pretty darn clueless about it all.
"Roman?"
"Ambrose just fired me."
"What?"
Shrugging helplessly Roman turns his hands over in some kind of a metaphorical shrug, since with her across his shoulders he can't do the real thing without jerking her or bumping her straight in the chin. Neither of which he's prepared to let happen,
"I said I couldn't go with him to meet an informant, so he fired me."
"Wait, can he do that?" his wife blinks.
Roman grunts,
"I mean, it's his business and if he can't trust me to have his back out there, then I guess there ain't a whole lot more I can do."
"Okay," his wife sighs, unwinding snakelike from around him so she can drop herself down into the chair by his side and take one of his big hot hands between her smaller ones and trace across his life line. Although she's frowning as well, "I'm going to need the whole story now sweetie, because it feels like I'm only getting part of the problem, but I can't make it right until you tell me what's wrong."
Roman blinks. Her momma mode is locked and loaded, which is part of the reason that he loves her so much and is also the reason that there's no point in lying, since she would know in about a second and probably kick his ass.
Here goes.
"Somebody kinda tried to kill me and Ambrose."
"What?" she squeaks in astonishment, "When?"
"Earlier tonight when we were coming back from Dayton. Damn SUV drove us right off the road. Totalled Dean's car and near enough the two of us with it."
His wife bites her lip,
"And you're sure it was deliberate?"
Roman nods,
"They were wearing ski masks. And the whole time I'm thinking about that promise I made you and how I said I'd pull out if things started getting too hot. Except Ambrose being Ambrose won't call the damn cops in."
"So you mean he's out there on his own?" his wife gasps, which isn't exactly the reaction he'd expected, although she quickly shakes her head again, "No, sorry, you're right. Of course you are sweetie, thank you for keeping your promise, because I know how hard that must have been. Especially with how close you and Dean have gotten lately. But, well, he's a big boy. I'm sure he'll be fine," not that she sounds too sure about it, "And you never know, by tomorrow maybe he'll even have changed his mind and realized that he can't live without you, like we can't."
Roman snorts,
"I wouldn't count on it babe, but hey," he grins, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Anytime handsome," she winks in response to him, before breaking away as the doorbell suddenly rings and cuts through the sweet little kiss she's going to give him, which is just his damn luck.
She smirks,
"Hold onto that thought," then clambers from the chair to head out into the hallway with a wave of her hand, "I saved you dinner by the way, chicken parmesan, there's some in the oven."
"Love you baby girl," he grins at her.
"Yes you do."
There's a pile of detritus stacked up on the countertop, most of which belongs to their kid who is tucked up safe in her bed above him sleeping while her homework and hair bobbles slowly take over the downstairs, like some sort of glittery, spangly army, which Roman carefully pushes to one side so he can make a little room to get himself dinner, since he'd only had a coffee in the diner beside the road and that had been before the god damn attempted murder and the hour and a half spent listening to Kumbaya. And before his best friend had gone and fired him.
He stops.
Best friend?
He hasn't called Dean that before, or even had a best friend since preschool. Mostly he'd just been part of a team. Peewee, high school, college, the Bengals and besides, he's only known Dean for two weeks, which doesn't seem long enough to become best friends with anyone.
And yet they have. Or okay, fine, had, before Ambrose had decided to be a damn idiot and go it alone.
"Roman?"
Huh? He stops and looks up. His wife is stood in the doorway to the kitchen looking wide eyed and unusually stiff, which probably should kind of put him on red alert mode, but because he's so bone weary he just frowns at her instead.
"Baby girl, are you okay? Who was that?"
She shakes her head at him. It isn't a big move, but he catches it all the same at about the same time that the person stood behind her – because damn, how in the hell did he not notice that? – pushes her suddenly into the kitchen and then follows her in holding up a damn gun, which he can probably only barely see through the ski mask that he's busy trying to squint through.
Roman's heart falls into his gut. Although there's something else there too, something like anger as he reaches out and pulls his wife to safety behind his back. Her fingers ball up in his jacket,
"Oh god, Roman."
Her husband ignores her,
"What do you want?"
He's furious. God damn furious. With himself mostly, because of course the damn assholes who'd tried to run him off the road wouldn't be content with letting him walk away from it. But coming to his house where his wife and his daughter live? Somebody just made an unholy mistake. Even though that someone has a gun and he doesn't. His wife whimpers again and he holds his hands up.
"Look, whatever you think I might know here, you're wrong brother. I'm just Ambrose's office manager alright? And hell I'm not even that anymore now, he fired me earlier."
"You still know too much," it's the first time the man in the mask has said anything and his voice sounds familiar, but it isn't Henry or Chris. Which means he's got no clue who the killer is, or what they might do, "This is the way it has to be. I mean god, we only damn well hired Ambrose to make sure someone saw it. He wasn't supposed to investigate."
"He's a PI," Roman shrugs like it's obvious because he needs the gunman to talk some damn more, until he can work out how to get the revolver or possibly figure out who the hell the man is.
Batista?
Nah. Because he's bulky, but not that bulky.
The gunman snorts,
"Oh please. He's a hack. A scruffy, unwashed wannabe policeman. Or, I mean he was."
The hairs lift up across Roman's neck and his fists ball tighter than he even thought was possible at what is clearly a muffled grin beneath the ski mask.
"You son of a bitch," his wife shuffles in a little closer to his jacket, or possibly flinches, "What did you do to him?" the gun barrel lifts up and he holds his hands up again, "Hey, whoa."
"The same thing I'm going to do to you. Which I'm sorry for, really I am, but you know too much and we have worked too hard for our plan to be ruined by a couple of do gooders. Now, please send Mrs Reigns out of the room."
His wife blinks,
"What?"
Roman nods,
"Do what he says baby girl."
"No," she shakes her head, "I'm not leaving you. I won't."
The gunman waggles the revolver around angrily and why the hell does his voice sound so familiar?
"Now. Unless you want your child to be orphaned?"
"Baby girl," Roman rumbles at her, "Listen to me – ,"
The tension in the kitchen feels like some sort of powder keg, with the gunman the jittery asshole who's in charge of the match. One false move, or word could be curtains, which is why the tiny voice from upstairs startles them all as it calls down the stairs, unaware of the danger, or the soon to be double homicide.
"Mama, I'm thirsty. I can't sleep."
Roman moves.
As the gunman swings in a panic towards the hallway, the big man launches across the kitchen like a dart, pushing his wife down low under the counter and then throwing himself in his best football tackle at Ski Mask. Which okay, may be a little bit rusty after a whole year spent not doing it. But evidently it still works well enough, since the pair of them go down like a god damn building and topple over the coffee table as his wife screams loudly behind him,
"No."
"You son of a bitch," Roman yells, not able to hear her over the thud of his heartbeat, which is pounding at double time in his ears, "You come into my house and threaten my family."
Reaching down he rips off the mask and is stunned to see, not Batista, or Hackett, or Christopher or Henry or even Kumbaya Tad staring back.
But god damn Doctor Merrick of all people.
Doctor Merrick.
He blinks,
"What the hell?"
Which allows the turncoat physician to get his knee up and bury it into the former football player's gut. Hissing, Roman drops to the floor one handed, which gives Doctor Merrick time to wriggle back to his feet and then aim the barrel of the gun into his temple before clicking back the hammer.
"So long big man."
BAM.
Except the blast from the chamber sounds more hollow than he expects it and not so explosive or even remotely like a gun. Which is probably because it isn't actually a gun noise, Roman realizes when he chances a look up and finds his wife stood over Merrick's body with her hair in disarray and the marble rolling pin he had bought her for Christmas raised high in the air.
"Oh god," she covers her mouth, "Is he dead?"
Crawling over the fallen physician Roman checks for a pulse and then shakes his head,
"No. He's alive."
"Oh thank god," her arm slumps weakly and she sags back against the table, "I – I thought he was, I mean I thought he was going to shoot you and – ,"
"Ssh," he pulls her closer, "It's okay, it's okay. You did the right thing. Damn, I'm proud of you baby.
His poor wife is shaking harder than a leaf, which is hardly surprising. Although at least she is shaking instead of the alternative.
At least they both are.
"Mama?"
"Baby girl, you stay up there," Roman yells up the stairs at his daughter as the floorboards above them creak, "Everything's okay. Your mama just knocked a couple of pans over."
Below them, face first on the floor of the living room, Doctor Merrick lets out a low grunt, which probably translates to what the hell happened or possibly where am I, or more likely who am I. Which is frankly the least he deserves all things considered.
Although they still have one more problem.
"What about Dean?" his wife asks as Roman steps over their smashed up coffee table and ducks down beside the doctor.
"My question exactly. Where is he?"
"Nuh," Doctor Merrick blinks up in confusion.
Roman grabs his collar and then rattles him.
Hard.
"Where? Where's my brother, what the hell did you do to him?"
"You're bro – brother?" Merrick repeats, as Roman's wife picks up the phone and then dials nine-one-one, which means that the shock is slowing ebbing away from her and letting her nurse and mama settings return.
"Ambrose," Roman rumbles in his lowest tones, "Where is he? Because if you've hurt him somehow, then I swear to god – ,"
Merrick shakes his head,
"Not me. That was her part. She was going to get Chris and Henry and uh, Dean."
"Where?" Roman roars, which clearly worsens the concussion that The Global Fund creator is probably nursing, "Tell me where."
"St. Francis Xavier," Merrick groans before slumping back down onto the floor, like a teenager refusing to get up before lunchtime. The church. Okay, the church was good, since it meant that whoever was waiting for Ambrose hadn't taken him elsewhere. Roman's wife picks the gun up and then points it determinedly at their intruder. She has the phone wedged under her chin,
"Roman, you need to go."
He blinks at her,
"But – ,"
"Don't worry, I've got this. My dad used to take me to the range all the time and besides, the police are already on their way. Honey, go and check on your partner."
Holy crap he loves her so much.
Kicking Doctor Merrick as he clumsily steps over him, which may or may not be an accident – it's not – he stops and kisses his wife on the cheekbone. He can he still feel her shaking,
"You sure you're okay?"
"Go," she urges, pushing him gently, "Go and save your brother, okay? Oh and Roman, just promise you'll be careful."
"Don't worry baby girl," he nods back, "I got a plan."
Run Roman, run!