A/N: Thank you to my reviewers canadice, Super Gran, and WishfulThinker66! Your feedback is the highlight of my day!
Ironically, the song "Back to You" started playing while I worked on the last part of this chapter...
Enjoy! :)
Reagan awoke and let her gaze wander throughout the dimly lit room. It wasn't familiar, which led her to panic for a moment, but the soft bed and beeping machines told her she was in a safe place—a hospital to be exact. She registered a warm weight on her right hand and looked down to see a very tan, weathered hand atop her own. She adjusted her grip and squeezed the hand, causing Luca to open his bleary eyes from where he'd been sleeping in the chair next to her.
"Hey!" he said quietly, his face lit with pure happiness.
Reagan knew the feeling.
"You're okay," she said, smiling with relief. She touched the bandage on his forehead. "They knocked you pretty good..."
He tipped up his chin. "They got you, too. We're twins."
Reagan reached up with her opposite hand and felt the gauze above her brow. "I'd prefer to be twinning with you by, like, wearing the same shirt or something."
He laughed. "So true."
She moved her hand to rest on the spot where her stomach suffered an incredibly deep ache. "I don't really remember what happened after..."
"You were left on the doorstep of the ER. The surgeons had to remove some of your large intestine—it was all frigged up in there—but you should be all right."
She smirked, the action slow from her lingering grogginess. "Your bedside manner could use some work."
"I'm SWAT, not a doctor."
Reagan laughed, but sucked in a breath at the sharp pain it caused in her gut.
"Shit, I'm sorry."
"It's fine. It reminds me that I'm still alive." She glanced around. "Where is everybody?"
"They're in the waiting room—have been for hours. Is it okay if I bring them in?"
"Of course!"
Luca jumped up and jogged out into the quiet corridor. He returned a minute later, Chris, Hondo and Street directly behind him. They circled around the bed as she continued to stare at the doorway. She hated to act unappreciative of their presence, but her confusion couldn't be stopped. Their expressions fell when they realized who she was looking for.
"Where's Deacon?" she asked, directing the question at Chris. The other woman knew why she cared so much.
When Chris hesitated, Street said, "He's tied up at HQ. I know he wanted to be here, but Hicks needed him there."
Disappointment weighed heavily in her chest. She tried not to show it, though. Deacon had a job to do and his personal feelings would have to wait, as much as she hated it.
"How're you feeling?" Chris asked.
"Like I've been stabbed." They cracked a smile. "But all things considered, it could be worse."
"We thought for sure you were dead," Luca said.
"Oh, come on, where's the faith?"
"Nah, it's not like that. Lopez—the guy who took you—basically told me you were."
She nodded. "He was the one who did this to me."
Hondo spoke up. "On the hospital's surveillance video, we saw a man leave you outside the emergency room. Obviously it wasn't Lopez..."
Reagan reflected for a few seconds, recalling what had happened before she lost consciousness. Then, she said, "That was my brother."
"Your brother?" Street asked. "Did you call him or something?"
She shook her head. "Didn't have to. He was one of the guys who took me."
Shocked expressions were traded amongst her visitors.
"That sounds like a long story," Hondo said.
"Yeah, it is."
"Well you don't need to tell us right now. An officer will want to take your statement at some point, but tonight you need to rest."
"Speaking of rest," she said, looking around the room. "You guys look like shit. You should get some, too."
They all laughed, and Hondo said, "Yes, ma'am."
They each gave her hugs and well wishes. No sooner than they had stepped into the hallway, she was asleep.
Hicks led Deacon into his office. The commander shut the door as Deacon stood, hands behind his back, bracing for the shitstorm headed his way. He would take his punishment no matter how it came. It wasn't like he had much of a choice, but he could either go down swinging, or take it on the chin. Based on his well-standing reputation before this, he preferred the latter.
Hicks walked around his desk, but didn't sit. He paced for a second and then faced Deacon.
"What the hell were you thinking?" He held up a hand. "I mean, clearly you weren't."
When Deacon didn't reply, he continued on.
"Come on, Deke! You're supposed to be one of the good ones! Never in a million years would I have predicted you would do something so stupid."
Deacon held Hicks' furious gaze, but remained quiet.
"Don't you have anything to say for yourself? You broke protocol! You've never done that before now! I want answers…"
Finally, Deacon said in the most level voice he could manage, "My team member's life was at risk. I did what I felt I needed to do to get her back. I take full responsibility. My team only acted under my orders."
Hicks scoffed. "Well that's a bunch of bullshit. I'm sure they went right along with you, but I can't prove otherwise." He paused. "SWAT stands for special weapons and tactics. Where were your tactics out there? You and I both know there were much better ways you could have handled this. But you went and lost our suspects and a convicted criminal! Pretty sure we're supposed to put the bad guys in jail; not take them out!"
Deacon nodded.
"You've really forced my hand here, Deke." Hicks sighed. "Until further notice, you are suspended without pay while we evaluate your case and consider a termination. Your team, minus Officer Cassidy, will be suspended for thirty days. You will go directly home, where an officer will monitor you until a decision is made as to whether or not we will be pressing charges. I'd put you in a cell—but a decorated SWAT sergeant in prison? You'd be a dead man."
Deacon wasn't surprised by his punishment, but had hoped they would at least let him see Reagan for a few minutes. He knew she was alive, though. That was enough for him and made it all worth it.
"So you don't have anything else to say?" Hicks asked.
"I thought I could get Officer Cassidy back safely, and get our suspects by using Rodriguez as a ploy. I made a risky choice and abused my position, and for that I'm sorry. I'm sorry to you and this department. My job is to keep our citizens safe, and today I failed. I deserve the punishment you've chosen for me."
Hicks sighed, his anger appearing to vanish as his shoulders dropped. "See, that kind of attitude is what makes this so difficult…"
They exchanged a look of mutual understanding and, for a moment, Deacon had the faintest hope that this might work out after all.
Hicks picked up the phone receiver on his desk and dialed an extension. "This is Commander Hicks. I need a black-and-white to escort an officer home."
Sometime later, Reagan opened her eyes after a long, fitful sleep. She had dreamt about Deacon and wondered why he was taking so long. She felt a comforting hand touch her shoulder and turned her head to see who it was.
Street stared back, worry etched between his dark brows. His beautiful eyes raked over her tired face as he stroked her bicep.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
His concern broke her heart.
Here she was, looking at this amazing man—and wishing he was someone else.
She hated herself for it.
Hot moisture pricked her eyes, escaping from the corners. He caught a drop on the pad of his thumb as he swiped it away. "Hey, you're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore."
He had misinterpreted her reason for being upset, but it didn't mean that that still wasn't a factor. She felt rundown physically and emotionally. Her whole ordeal, from Tommy's involvement in her capture, to Lopez practically gutting her, she just needed a release—some kind of comfort.
Reagan couldn't stop the flood of tears once they started. A sob ripped from her throat, catching her off guard. She tried to cover her face in embarrassment.
"It's okay, Cas. Don't feel bad. Just let it out," he said, moving to sit on the hospital bed. He reached for her and she allowed him to swallow her in his embrace. She buried her face in his chest. The warm t-shirt there was soft and smelled like his musky body wash. He rubbed her back while she cried herself dry.
When Street dropped a kiss on top of Reagan's hair, she pulled away, furiously wiping at the wetness on her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You have nothing to apologize about. I may not be the best at handling tears, but there is nowhere else I would rather be right now, than right here with you."
Reagan couldn't look at him and his tender eyes anymore. He just didn't understand, and she didn't want to hurt him. But he had to hear the truth.
"Jim…"
"Oh no, you used my first name again." He chuckled.
"This is serious. I… I have feelings for someone else."
There it was. Out in the open.
Street looked unfazed.
"Deacon, right?"
Her eyes widened. "How did you know? Did Chris tell you?"
"No, I just knew—and I talked to Deacon about it."
Reagan felt her worry melt away and she took a deep breath.
Then, he asked, "Wait, Chris knew?"
Reagan smiled. "Girls talk. And, apparently, so do guys."
He returned the smile and they both fell silent.
"So, you're okay with it? The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you," she said.
His trademark dimples appeared and he raised his brows, replying, "A little bit of rejection might do me good. I mean, that silver fox look is all the rage right now. How can I compete with that?"
She smacked his shoulder. "Oh shush. You know how pretty you are. You can have any woman you want."
His gaze bore into her own as he said, "Yeah. All but one."
Reagan tilted her head and looked at him with dejection. "Please don't say that."
He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I can't help how I feel, any more than you can. I promise I won't interfere. I just need some time. Really, I'm happy for you two."
She smiled sadly and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Pulling back, she said, "Someday, you're going to have a very happy Mrs. Street."
He seemed to appreciate the sentiment, and when the moment had passed, she finally worked up the courage to say, "I know that earlier you were lying about Deacon. Otherwise, he would've been here by now. Where is he really?"