A/N: Hooray for SWAT night! Thank you canadice, WishfulThinker66, and Super Gran for reviewing! We're close to the end here...
Enjoy! :)
Deacon sat at the rickety bistro table outside a café in some beach village in Mexico. He sipped from the cup of coffee in front of him, grimacing at how much it tasted like sandy gasoline.
"He's on the move," a voice said in his ear.
Deacon looked up, peering through his aviators to casually watch the doorway of the hotel across the street. A man sauntered out of the open doorway and headed down the dusty street. Deacon had to restrain himself from drawing his weapon and ending this once and for all. Except that would be too quick. On the other hand, he wasn't here for vengeance—he was here to clear his name—but that didn't mean he wasn't tempted to close this chapter differently. More than once he had imagined doing to Carlito Lopez what the man had done to Reagan.
But he had a job to do, and she was counting on him to hold up his end.
Hicks had come to Deacon after visiting Reagan in the hospital and offered him a deal: Go to Mexico and clean up his mess, and they'd discuss his return to work as team leader. He would have a probationary period, which didn't bother him one bit. A slap on the wrist was nothing compared to the deep shit he could be in right now.
Street stepped out from the same doorway, decked out in board shorts and Ray Bans. He held Chris's hand so they would look like a couple on vacation. They followed Lopez, staying a good distance behind.
"He's walking toward someone," Luca added, and sat across from Deacon. He tried his own coffee and immediately spit it back into the cup. "This tastes like ass."
Hondo scoffed from his spot down the road. "Focus, man." He sat on a bench with one arm draped across the back, the other holding a cell phone up to his ear as if he were mid call.
"What're you going to do if that thing starts ringing?" Chris asked.
"You honestly think I wouldn't silence it first?" Hondo shot back, a smile in his deep voice. "This ain't my first time."
"That's why you make the big bucks," Luca added with sarcasm.
"All right, guys, let's stay on task," Deacon said. "Where's he going now? I've almost lost visual."
Lopez was headed in Hondo's direction. Hondo watched another man step out from an open-air shop, the sun reflecting off his shiny head.
"Got eyes on Rodriguez," Hondo announced.
Street and Chris kept walking until they passed the same shop, then Street said, "Gonsález is behind him."
"Do we take 'em now?" Luca asked.
"Too many people around. Someone could get hurt," Deacon said. "Follow them, but keep your distance."
He stood up and tossed a few bills on the table. Luca did the same. They headed down the sidewalk, chatting idly, as not to appear suspicious.
Street and Chris turned the corner, still following their three suspects. "They're headed for a motel down, hell, I can't pronounce these street names," Street said.
Chris made a disapproving sound and read it off without issue.
"This is why we keep you around," Street teased.
"Oh is that the only reason?" she retorted.
Deacon noticed the slight flirtation. Perhaps they had always talked that way to each other, but today it sounded different, and it didn't bother him one bit. He was in no position to judge an "in-office" relationship.
Thinking of relationships, it made him realize once more how much he missed Reagan. It had been a week since he'd seen her in person, the last time being their date on his apartment's rooftop. He didn't count the horrid ransom video and hospital security footage. As much as he tried to erase that image, he couldn't unsee it. He would've pegged her for dead—there was so much carnage. It made his gut ache just reimagining it.
Stay on task, he reminded himself. If they got these guys today, he'd be back in the good old US of A and with Reagan very soon.
When he and Luca rounded the corner, they could see the cheap motel up ahead, along with Chris and Street following a little too closely.
"Back off a bit, we don't want to spook 'em," Deacon told the couple.
Street cursed when Gonsález spun around, recklessly yielding a handgun. "Too late!" he said as he and Chris dove behind a car on the side of the road. They pulled out their own weapons from wherever they'd hid them and waited for an opportunity to return fire.
Meanwhile, Hondo, Luca and Deacon closed the distance and took cover when Gonsález aimed his gun their way.
Deacon peeked over the half-wall that surrounded the motel and saw Lopez disappear around a corner, with Rodriguez fleeing in the opposite direction. When Gonsález finished shooting, he ducked away from the return fire and also fled.
Chris and Street said, "We've got Rodriguez."
Luca said, "I'll take Gonsález."
Deacon glanced at Hondo. That left them Lopez—just the way he wanted it. "Let's go."
They sprinted after the main suspect, avoiding strolling tourists and busy locals trying to sell their knock-off sunglasses and flowery wraps. Hondo almost took out a small food cart selling shave ice.
"Gonsález is down," Luca announced, sounding out of breath.
Relieved that they at least had one, Deacon stayed on Lopez, until a junky car drove out from an alleyway and hit him in the side. It wasn't hard, but just enough to swipe him off his feet and onto the hood. The woman behind the wheel yelled at him in Spanish as he righted himself. He waved her away and Hondo stopped briefly, squeezing Deacon's shoulder.
"You alright, man?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just stay on him," Deacon said, rubbing his hip and then following after Hondo. That would definitely leave a bruise…
The two men got to the end of the street and stopped. It went either left or right and their suspect was nowhere to be seen.
"Shit," Hondo muttered, gasping for breath, hands on his sides.
"Let's split up," Deacon said.
As he took off to the right, Chris said, "Rodriguez is down."
"Good job, guys," Deacon huffed.
"Get that son of a bitch," Street said, referring to Lopez.
"We lost sight of him, but he can't be too far—"
Something blindsided Deacon, knocking him into the abandoned side street. He wrestled against the weight above him and caught a glimpse of Lopez's angry mug. His first instinct was to shoot the man, but his hands were empty—his gun had been knocked far out of reach. Caught off guard, Lopez landed a solid left hook into the side of Deacon's head. He deflected the second blow, though, and kneed Lopez between the legs. The man rolled over into the fetal position and Deacon scrambled for his gun. Lopez caught his foot and yanked him backwards. Deacon tried to kick him in the face, but he dodged it.
More punches were exchanged as the two men scuffled in the dirt. From almost nowhere, Lopez withdrew his own gun and pointed it at Deacon's chest. Deacon swept his arm across his front, causing the weapon to discharge into the ground next to them, but not before grazing the outside of his bicep. He grunted and knocked the gun away completely.
Lopez tried to wrap his arm around Deacon's neck to get him into a chokehold, but the sergeant expected it. He twisted his body and flipped Lopez hard onto his back. Lopez scurried backward and reached into his pocket. He flipped a blade from the handle in his grasp and somehow Deacon knew it was the same knife Lopez had used to hurt Reagan.
Seeing red, Deacon let Lopez come at him. They landed in the dirt once more, fighting for control over the sharp weapon. Lopez slashed his arm from left to right, but Deacon blocked him so the knife only hit air. Then, in less than a blink, Deacon deflected the blade straight into Lopez's chest.
It was probably wrong of him to do it. He was an ethical man, and usually smart. Deep down he knew he could have prevented the whole confrontation and taken Lopez into custody. But he was still a man, and his urge to provide justice for those who he cared about ran on a primal level. He couldn't think of a single man who wouldn't do the same thing.
Lopez fell backward, touched the handle lodged in his torso and wheezed out his last breath.
Deacon stayed on the ground, catching his own breath.
It was over.
He'd done what he came here to do and Reagan was safe. No worrying about a trial—Lopez was probably getting his own right then.
"Deke!" Hondo yelled, running over.
"I'm good," he said, and sat up. As his adrenaline dissipated, every ache in his body made itself known. "Let's call this in. Then I need a shower…"
A few hours later and not soon enough, they were cleared to return to their motel. Unfortunately, they couldn't get a flight out until the next afternoon, so they were stuck in Mexico for another night. He guessed it didn't really matter; he was dead on his feet anyway.
They arrived at the motel via taxi, congratulated each other on a job well done, and went to their separate rooms, agreeing to meet in the attached dive bar that night if anyone felt up to it.
Deacon unlocked his door, tossed the key on the TV stand and collapsed onto the bed. He groaned on impact, instantly regretting his decision, as it made his bruises hurt even more.
Someone knocked on the door and he groaned again. He didn't think he could move from that spot. But he did, pushing up to stand and releasing the deadbolt to open the door.
Reagan smiled at Deacon and let out a little laugh at the shocked look on his face.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes brightening in an instant.
"I came to see you."
"But shouldn't you be resting right now? Like, in the hospital?"
Her smile widened. "Maybe, but I got out a few days ago. I can just rest here with you."
Finally, he grinned and pulled her into his arms. She hugged him back, nuzzling her face into his warm chest.
When he eventually let her go, she stepped back and said, "You look terrible."
He barked out a laugh. "Well it's nice to see you, too."
"No, I mean, I want to keep hugging you, but you're covered in dirt...and blood. Like a lot of it."
Deacon's expression turned serious. "That's because we got 'em. Lopez is dead."
Reagan sighed in relief. "I know. Chris called me. She was the one who organized my flight. She knew you guys were stuck here and I wanted to surprise you."
"Well consider me surprised," he said, his eyes glittering as they raked over her face.
After a moment of silence, she asked, "May I come in? This bag is getting heavy."
He chuckled and backed up, reaching for her bag at the same time. "I'm sorry! Yes, please."
The motel room was on the cheap side, with just the basics: a worn king-size bed, small analog television, and grungy postage-stamp bathroom.
Reagan didn't care. She had Deacon and that was enough.
She followed him to where he put her duffle bag on the bed and unzipped it, getting out her first-aid kit.
"Sit down," she said, and pointed at the spot next to her.
Deacon smirked as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I like when you boss me around."
"It can't be you all the time," she retorted, winking.
She unwrapped an alcohol wipe and moved to stand between his legs. As she dabbed at a cut on his brow, she felt his hands come around her waist and settle on her backside.
"You have a great ass," he said, brown eyes gazing up at her.
Reagan's heart skipped a beat and she tried to keep her breathing normal. She only met his gaze for a second and tried to stay on task, but the lust in his eyes nearly knocked her off her feet.
"How hard did he hit you? That's not something Sergeant Deacon Kay would say."
Deacon lightly wet his lips and smiled. "I'm not your boss anymore. I can say whatever I want now."
"Well, let me get you cleaned up and then you can do that. You're distracting me..."
"Oh, am I?" he asked, letting his hands wander upward and skim under her tank-top to trace the curve of her spine.
She shivered. "Please, David?"
His eyes grew darker and his hands more possessive. "Don't call me David if you're asking me to stop."
She could barely get out the words: "Yeah, that was stupid of me." He kept touching her until she finally threw down the wipe and said, "Go take a shower."
"Come with me," he said, rising to his feet.
She shook her head. "I can't get my stitches wet."
His lust was replaced with concern for a moment. "Are you sure we should even...? I don't want to hurt you..."
Reagan ran a hand through his short hair and let it come to rest on his bearded cheek. "I'll be fine, but not if you don't hurry up."
He smiled and hurried away, throwing off his shirt as he went. She admired the ripple of his back muscles before he disappeared into the bathroom.
When Deacon came back—in record time—he had a white towel around his waist, a light sheen of water on his chest and the usual cross around his neck.
He looked delicious.
What she didn't tell him was that she actually wasn't supposed to do anything active for a while, so she would try her best to let him do most of the work. It would be difficult—she wanted to do unspeakable things to him.
"I just realized something," he said, stopping to sit next to her on the bed.
"What?"
His gaze dropped to her lips. "I haven't kissed you yet. And I've been dying to since the night you left my apartment."
Reagan smiled. "That makes two of us."
She waited while he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and cradled her face in both hands. His mouth brushed against hers, slowly at first, and then increased pressure with each kiss.
She'd missed this so bad. She'd missed him.
Deacon helped slide the tank-top over her head, and continued to kiss her while she unbuttoned her shorts. She stood long enough to remove the rest of her clothing, and glanced down when she realized he was staring at the bandage on her stomach. When his eyes wandered back up, she saw sadness in them.
"If I had lost you..."
She tilted her head and crawled onto the bed, straddling his lap. "But you didn't. I'm right here," she said, and took his hand, placing it over her wildly beating heart.
"I love you," he whispered.
Elation emanated through Reagan's chest and she was so grateful that she could now say it to him face-to-face. "I love you too, David."
As they kissed again, she moved the towel aside and allowed him to slide his hands under her hips. He lifted her without effort, bringing her down onto him.
"Is this okay?" he asked after a few seconds, his breath hot against her lips.
She nodded, sliding her arms tighter around his neck. She touched her forehead to his and said, "It's perfect."