A/N: Hello dear readers, I'm back. Sorry for the wait; I've just emerged from one of the busiest times of my business year. Can't wait for the summer when things will (hopefully) simmer down to something slightly less crazy. Anyway, I did use my creativity breaks (read: cleaning, cooking, laundry, and those wonderful five minutes before one falls asleep) to plot and sketch this chapter.
Emotional roller-coaster ahead. It just didn't seem right to write some sweet'n'fluffy wedding chapter. I guess this one has a little of everything ... you'll see. Also, it's quite long, but I didn't want to split it so you need to skip just one chapter if weddings are not your cup of tea.
Warning: This is rated T for a reason. Some harsh language and (threats of) serious bodily harm.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't make money, yada yada yada ...
Fragile (AU Wedding Interlude)
John couldn't remember how his sister had conned them into doing this, but here they were, his future brother-in-law and he, getting fitted for suits at one of New York City's most expensive gentlemen's outfitters. (Thanks, Finch, I see she's got you wrapped around her little finger, too!)
The challenge was to find outfits that went well with the bride's and bridesmaid's without bride and groom actually seeing each other in them before the wedding. Things had threatened to escalate (just a tiny bit, mind you, John hadn't even kneecapped anyone yet!) when the shop assistant had brought no fewer than eight outfits to try on – for each of them.
A desperate call to Finch revealed that Joss Carter wasn't faring much better on her end of things with Hannah, albeit for completely different reasons. After ten dresses, each one more gorgeous than the next, the beautiful doctor had dissolved into tears of indecision and pre-wedding nerves.
The genius, bless him, had once more proven himself worthy of this designation and come up with a truly Solomonic solution. Five minutes ago he had walked into the outfitter's shop with a smile on his face that brought to mind the old adage of the cat and the canary. "Dr Silverstein and Detective Carter are going to narrow their selection down to three favourite outfits each and send me the photos to my phone," he explained. "You, John, are going to pick the winners, and then I'll help you pick yours. With a little luck, you'll be out of here in time for the dinner with the parents."
"How do you know about ..." Ben started to ask before thinking better of it. He didn't really want to know how and where Finch got his information. "Never mind."
John heaved a sigh of relief and downed the now-cold coffee that the flustered shop assistant had brought them half an hour ago. "Thank goodness!" he groaned and flopped down in one of the comfortable chairs.
Just a few minutes later, Finch's phone beeped with the incoming pictures from Joss and Hannah. John watched curiously as a slow, fond smile spread across Harold's face while he was scrolling through the photos. "Excellent choices," Harold murmured in his usual, slightly detached-sounding manner, but his voice was laced with a tenderness that John had never heard before.
"Here you go," the man finally said, handing over his phone to John.
John slowly went through the pictures, lingering a little more on each new one, a wave of emotion rolling over him from head to toe. Amazement, incredulity, pride, wistfulness, pain, but most of all love beyond words for the two women that meant more to him than anything on earth. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised that he hadn't been prepared for this onslaught of feelings while he fought hard to keep them from showing on the outside.
The room had fallen completely silent. John took his time studying each and every photo. He had thought they'd only send pictures of the dresses, but there in the palm of his hand were images of the two beautiful women in those dresses. The rational part of his mind supplied that weddings were emotional and romantic affairs by definition; the brother in him ached at the thought of his baby sister being so grown up that she actually got married; and a long-lost voice in his soul pleaded to see Joss and himself in Hannah's and Ben's place.
With a deep sigh, he pulled up the two pictures he liked most side by side on the small screen and handed the phone back to Harold. "These two," he said in a rough voice that betrayed a hint of his inner turmoil.
Ben watched the display of emotion mirrored in his best friend's eyes, sensing that the photos had set off an avalanche of thoughts and feelings that were hard to deal with in their suddenness. John looked ready to bolt, so Ben put a gentle yet firm hand on his shoulder, grounding him and keeping him in place at the same time. "It'll be all right," he said just loud enough for the other man to hear. "You'll see."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
John was so nervous that he was sure he wouldn't be able to eat a single bite. If asked, he couldn't have recalled the last time this had happened.
Sensing his anxiety, Hannah grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Relax", she whispered. "It'll be all right."
"And to think I should be the one being nervous", Ben commented drily without lifting his gaze from the wine list.
"Thought I'd never see the day", Joss grinned.
"Mock if you must", John mumbled and swept a wary look across the restaurant. "It's not every day a brother gets to meet his sister's parents."
The women shared a look and Ben set down the wine list. Decidedly uncomfortable with the sudden attention, John awkwardly cleared his throat and ducked his head, as if trying to make himself smaller somehow. Hannah squeezed his hand harder, Joss nudged his leg under the table, and Ben leant forward to look him straight in the eyes.
"Hey. It's like Hannah said. It'll be all right. After all ..." The doctor's dark eyes sparkled cheerfully and his lips curled up in a mischievous smile. "... if they loved me, they're gonna adore you. Just be your usual cheerful self and you'll be fine."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
John had pictured the scene of him meeting Hannah's adopted parents at least a hundred times, expecting anything from sentimental tears to cool detachment. He had not, however, imagined them treating him like family from the get-go, and he found that he quite liked it that way. They were a friendly, open-minded Jewish couple in their early sixties, and if he didn't know better, he'd have pegged them as Hannah's biological parents.
Seeing Ben's parents again turned out to be very different. Years ago, when they were still in the army, stationed in Iraq, they had met up in Haifa a few times while the two young men were on leave and Benjamin's parents were in town on business. Adil and Shira Al-Khalil both had worked for an international pharmaceutical company at the time, travelling often and dividing their time between Boston, Marseille in France, and the Israeli port city. The couple had liked their only son's – only child's – best friend from the start and were as devastated as Ben when they heard about John's alleged death.
When John reappeared a year back, telling his parents was about the first thing Benjamin did. For safety's sake they hadn't got in touch directly, just relaying messages via their son to tell John how glad they were that he was alive and would he please let them know if there was anything they could do for him. But now, entering the restaurant and seeing "their boys" alive and well, an enormous weight seemed to lift from their shoulders – one they hadn't even realised was there. What had ensued was a rather emotional reunion, with Ben's mother leaving a small damp spot on his jacket where she had pressed her tear-stained face into his shoulder, and Ben's father enveloping the man in a bone crushing hug.
As finally everyone sat down at the table again, Joss stole a glance at John. He still seemed a little perplexed at the outpouring of affection he had just received from his best friend's parents, although he appeared genuinely pleased to reconnect with them. She gently slid her hand over his and smoothed her thumb across his knuckles. Without looking, she knew she had his attention when she whispered, "You've been missed a lot, huh?"
"Seems like it," he replied, ever-so-slightly tightening his fingers around hers. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added with a half-smile: "Didn't realise it until now, but I've missed them, too."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
The dinner was going even better than everyone had hoped for. With great food to enjoy and loads of stories between the families, the eight people at the table were having a fantastic night. Thus, when John felt his phone vibrating in his suit jacket, he was seriously tempted to ignore the call, whoever it was. (Although, of course, it could only be Harold calling.)
However, before he could reach into his pocket and switch off the annoying gadget, Joss' phone started ringing, too. With an apologetic look, the detective grabbed her purse. "Sorry about that, but I'm on call tonight. I'll just go and see what has come up. Excuse me, please."
She stepped away from the table and went outside to take the call.
"So, John," Ben's mother started with a bright smile. "How long have you and Joss been together?"
John felt his ears pink up and suddenly wished he had answered that call from Harold. "Well, we've known each other for quite some time, but ... uh ... this is ... um ... this is a recent development," he stammered, trying to keep his voice even.
Adil chuckled quietly. "Shira, you're embarrassing the boy. But I've got to admit, you have found a wonderful lady there, John."
Hannah shot her brother a look, waggling her eyebrows and grinning from ear to ear. John mock glared at her before replying: "Well, sir, it's more like she found me. But you're right. She's wonderful, and I don't know where I'd be without her."
Joss came into earshot just in time to hear the tail end of his sentence, but it was enough to make her heart clench. For a short moment, she hated the world with all of its unfairness and terrible timing. She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and walked up to John. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I'll have to kidnap John for a few minutes. A situation has come up that we need to discuss. We'll be back shortly."
"No problem," Ben said, grinning although something about Joss' words made him feel uneasy. "Crime never sleeps, right?"
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
"What's happening, Joss?" John asked her as soon as they were out of earshot, worry tingeing his voice.
"That was Fusco. A BOLO's just come in from the military police. They had an escape from Leavenworth. Guy named Howard Morrison. Ring a bell?"
John's head whipped around to his best friend. "No way!" he breathed, his entire posture suddenly screaming a red alert.
"Yeah, I know. MP's been able to track him across two state borders already, just within the past twenty-four hours. The guy's on a mission, and he's headed our way."
At that moment, John's phone vibrated again, and this time he answered it. "Mr Reese, I am terribly sorry to interrupt your dinner," Harold's breathless voice came over the line, "but we have a problem. We've got a new number, and it's Dr Al-Khalil's."
John shot a meaningful glance at Joss as he replied: "Yeah, and I know why."
"You do?" His boss sounded slightly taken aback.
"Long story, but military police and NYPD are already on the case. Listen, I'm headed over to you right now, and I'm bringing Carter. Can you summon Fusco and Shaw? We're going to need all hands on deck."
"Copy that. See you in a bit."
"So, what's your plan?" the detective asked.
"We excuse ourselves and go meet up with Finch, Fusco and Shaw. They get on with their evening as planned. It's safer not to alarm them right now, and they'll all be safer at home. Later on, we'll deal with Hannah and Ben. Get them to a safe house, if need be. I guess we'll have more information a few hours from now, so let's not get ahead of ourselves."
Joss nodded. "You're right. Let's just hope military police catches him before he gets even near New York."
John shook his head. "I wouldn't count on it. Joss, this guy is evil. He wasn't in Leavenworth for nothing. I won't lie to you: there is only one way this thing is gonna end and it's with him dead."
A soft look crossed the detective's face. She reached up, gently cupping his cheek with her small hand. "Just make sure you stay alive in the process."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
A few minutes after one-thirty in the morning, John pulled into the driveway to Ben's house at the therapy centre. Plan in place and everyone as safe as they could be at the moment, now came the really hard part.
Seeing light in Ben's upstairs bedroom, he turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. He spent a minute warily checking his surroundings for anything suspicious before he moved any further. "Here goes," he muttered and walked to the front door, firing off a text to Ben on the way. You up for a nightcap? J
He waited, listening closely, and sure enough he heard steps coming towards the door after a few seconds. The key turned in the lock, and then the doctor's grinning face appeared in the crack of the door. "You've got unhealthy sleeping habits, pal."
"You're one to talk," John quipped, waiting for the other man to remove the door chain and let him in. With another furtive glance over his shoulder he stepped into the house and immediately locked and bolted the door behind him.
"Paranoid much?" Ben scoffed, walking ahead to the kitchen and pulling two beers from the fridge.
"You're gonna need something stronger than that," the former CIA agent replied quietly, his tone making the doctor's blood turn to ice.
"What's up?" he whispered, fingers curling around the fridge door handle so hard it looked as if he was holding himself up on it.
"Morrison." John stepped closer, gently pulling his best friend away from the fridge
"Oh God," Ben groaned, meaning it. He hardly noticed being manoeuvred to the living room and sat down on the couch. "What ... how ...?"
"Broke out of Leavenworth, headed to New York City. Military police are on his heels, all airports and train stations are on alert, NYPD's on standby. Your parents and Hannah's have been assigned protection details, you and Hannah as well. We won't let him come near you," John explained, soothingly placing his hands on Ben's wrists.
"That's not good enough," the doctor bit out. "You know what Morrison is, what he did. Hannah–"
"–is quite safe. Joss is staying with her until this is over."
Ben nodded in agreement. "Okay. She needs to stay away from me, or she'll ..."
John interrupted him. "Ben. Look at me."
It took him serious effort, but finally his eyes locked onto John's and he managed to slow his panicked breathing marginally.
"Good. Now listen. I promise you, I won't rest until Morrison's dead on a slab in the morgue. He'll never, never hurt you again, or anyone else for that matter." John's voice was warm and sincere. It should have bothered the doctor to hear his best friend utter a death threat so calmly.
It didn't.
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
While Ben was in shock and desperately trying to keep his PTSD from spiralling out of control, Hannah was livid. She yelled her way up and down phone lines across the country all the way to Leavenworth demanding to speak to the officer in charge and, finally having him on the phone, proceeded to pry every little detail about the case out of him.
Joss was impressed, and she had been an army interrogator! She crouched down to wipe away the last traces of Hannah's initial fit of rage when she had smashed a half-full bottle of wine on the wall, redecorating the light yellow kitchen wall in the process.
"Listen, I don't want to hear why you can't work any faster, or how brilliant Morrison is. There must be someone on your bloody unit who's smarter than this piece of garbage! I don't care how you do it, but you better catch this guy fast, or I swear I'll find him and neuter him, one inch at a time. So, with all due respect, get your ass of your chair and DO. YOUR. JOB!"
Hanging up, Hannah flung her phone in the corner of the couch with so much verve it got stuck between the cushions. "Incompetent idiots, all of them!" she hissed.
Joss looked up at the acerbic tone. Before she could ask, though, her phone rang. "Hey, Fusco, anything new?"
"Yeah, but it's not good. Idiots lost Morrison in Ohio. Turns out he had at least one fake ID."
"What? Where'd he get that?"
"They have no idea, but the trail is quickly running cold."
"Have you told John yet?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually that stupid. Can't have him flipping out, and anyway, he needs to stay with the doc. There's no better bodyguard than Mr Tall, Dark and Fearsome, much as it pains me to admit it." Even over the phone, Fusco sounded grudgingly admiring.
"So what did you do?" Joss asked back, trying to keep a poker face since Hannah was watching and listening with a critical frown on her face.
"Told Glasses. I figured he could always turn Shaw loose."
The female detective smiled a little. "Good thinking, Fusco."
"Thanks, Carter. Listen, I gotta go. You be careful, right? This guy is a nasty piece of work."
"I will. You, too, Lionel. Talk to you later!" Joss pressed the end button on her phone and looked up, right into Hannah's worried eyes.
"What happened?" the doctor asked with a slight tremble in her voice.
"They lost him."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
Two long days later, all of them were climbing the walls. Morrison was still elusive and his trail had gone cold. Harold and the two former intelligence agents worked non-stop on tracking the escaped convict down, but the man hadn't been a Special Forces soldier for nothing. The only thing they were fairly sure of was that he would surface at some point in the near future and wreak havoc if they didn't stop him in time.
"Can't we try and lure him in the open?" Shaw asked reasonably when yet another lead ran cold and Harold rubbed his face in frustration.
"And how would we do that, Miss Shaw, if we don't know where he is or what he's up to? Besides, this man is apparently clever enough to have evaded a national manhunt so far. Don't you think he would see the trap from a hundred miles away?"
"All true, but we do know whom he's after," the former agent pointed out.
"No," John intervened, his voice sharp and unyielding. "There's no way in hell you're using Ben as bait."
"And there's no way in hell I'm going to sit around waiting for him to kill me, or spend my life looking over my shoulder."
None of them had heard Dr Al-Khalil enter the room, and they all jumped at his softly spoken words.
"Ben ... I thought you were sleeping." John took in the haggard face and tense posture of his best friend. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past days, the dark shadows, pale skin and trembling hands speaking volumes about his emotional state.
The doctor shook his head. "Can't," he bit out, adding "Flashbacks," after a moment, his voice so low that John had to lip-read the word.
John knew how hard it was for the other man to admit this. Grabbing a bottle of orange juice from the fridge, he went over to his best friend and gently but firmly pushed him down on the nearest chair. "Do you want me to get your meds for you?" he asked in a near whisper so the others wouldn't hear.
"I haven't got any," Ben admitted after taking a small sip from the bottle. "I've been doing so well for so long that my emergency meds expired."
A small smile on his lips, John placed a reassuring hand on the back of his best friend's neck, pulling out his phone with the other hand. "Let me call Hannah at the clinic. She can write you a new prescription. One of us can pick it up and have it filled."
"Okay," Ben breathed, closing his eyes and holding the cold bottle against his face in an attempt to pull himself together.
John frowned at the resignation and lack of resistance. He pressed the speed dial for his sister who answered on the second ring. "John, what's wrong?" she asked without preamble.
He shook his head at her uncanny ability to know when he or Ben were in trouble. "Ben's out of meds. Here, I'll let you two figure it out." Passing his phone to the man next to him, John stepped away to give the couple some privacy to talk.
"How's he holding up?" Harold asked quietly when John joined him and Shaw back in the kitchen area of the safe house.
"What do you think?" It came out sharper than John had intended, and his boss ducked his head and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Finch," John apologised, running a weary hand through his close-cropped hair. "He's not good. His PTSD is flaring up."
Shaw opened her mouth to say something but got distracted by a distressed sound coming from the living room. Ben sat hunched over, the phone pressed against his chest, his head propped up in his other hand, visibly struggling to hold himself together.
John's heart clenched painfully and he started to move when suddenly Harold's phone rang. "Yes, Dr Silverstein?" the short man answered. Apparently Hannah had asked him to put her on speaker, because a moment later her strained, clipped voice came over the line.
"Harold, you come over to the clinic to pick up Ben's meds. John, you're not leaving his side. Shaw, go meet with Carter and Fusco and figure out how to end this, because this needs to end. Now."
Giving them no chance to reply, Hannah clicked off the line, obviously going back to her call to Ben because he slightly stirred and raised the phone to his ear.
The three people in the kitchen looked at him for a moment, then at each other, all of them at a loss how to accomplish what Hannah had ordered them to do. The doctor hadn't said anything they didn't already know, but they also knew that this was a game with unbearably high stakes.
Hearing Ben's strangled voice in the background, John hung his head, eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. It lasted only for a moment; then he made to walk over to his best friend. Before he could move away, however, Shaw grabbed his arm, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "You know she's right," the former assassin said with a surprising amount of compassion in her voice. "He's not gonna last if this goes on for much longer."
John wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that Ben was much stronger than he seemed, but he knew that both Hannah and Shaw were right. He could see it, too. If they didn't act quickly, his best friend would break – for good.
So he nodded. "All right. Do what she said. Do what needs to be done."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
The plan was good. Solid. Airtight.
They all had tapped into their resources, and if Harold had hacked a few top secret databases to find a lead on Morrison, nobody was going to ever mention it. Joss had used her contacts in the army to circumvent the usual battle for jurisdiction, and Fusco had managed to throw HR off their scent. Then they had laid an intricate trail that was supposed to lure Morrison out in the open without ever getting near Ben, Hannah, or their respective parents. One of their less savoury former clients and his city-wide network might or might not have had been helpful in setting up the trap.
A meeting between Morrison and a fake arms dealer had been arranged for midnight. By a stroke of luck, traffic cameras a dozen miles from the New Jersey therapy centre had picked up on a suspiciously recurring car over the past thirty-six hours, so they tried to stage the showdown as far away from Ben's home and place of work as possible. A strategic spot on the far side of the city had been carefully chosen and prepped with snipers and plainclothes officers.
It was high time that this nightmare ended.
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
"I'm going to my office for an hour, try to catch up on some paperwork," Ben said tiredly, pushing his empty coffee mug a few inches towards the middle of the table and hoisting himself up on rubbery legs. The medication was doing a number on his muscles and he was finding it hard to move at all. It was a strange contrast to the restless itch deep within him, a feeling that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. "I can't just sit around waiting for the phone to ring."
"All right. Just give me a minute to take a leak and then we'll go," John nodded. It sounded like a casual offer, but Ben recognised it as the warning it was. Don't go anywhere without me. You're not safe, not even here. He felt too drained to argue. "You're paranoid," he mumbled, but his words carried no heat.
"You can thank me later," the former CIA operative tossed over his shoulder as he walked towards the small downstairs bathroom.
And Ben was grateful. John hadn't left his side since this whole thing started, not only protecting him but also looking after him, working hard to keep him healthy and sane. He'd made sure he ate and slept and took his meds; he'd even been there with a grounding touch whenever he woke up from a nightmare. The fact of the matter was that Ben didn't even know how to begin to thank his best friend for all he'd done for him. When this was over, they'd have to go camping for a few days, just the two of them. Somehow, they'd manage to squeeze that into the eight busy weeks between the honeymoon and Christmas.
The thought made Ben smile and he took their coffee mugs from the table, placing them in the sink to wash later.
Over the clinking of the mugs and the toilet flushing in the bathroom, he almost missed the sound of his office door opening. Almost.
Ben froze in terror, his gut feeling telling him what was happening even before he could confirm the facts.
"You know, Doctor Al-Khalil, for a facility full of nutcase soldiers, your security is shockingly sloppy."
If the medication hadn't been messing with his muscles so much, he might have been fast enough to take down, disarm, or at least fight off the man who was currently pressing a scalpel to his jugular vein. As it was, he could only pray John would come up with some ingenious plan.
The doctor was under no illusion that Morrison might have missed the fact that there was a third person in the house. The only question was how that played into the convict's evil plans.
"What, not even a hello for an old army buddy?" Morrison sneered in his ear, stale breath sneaking its way into his nostrils.
"What do you want, Howard?" Ben replied, his voice thankfully coming out a lot calmer than he felt.
"I want to see you bleed," came the hateful reply. "AND I WANT CAPTAIN AMERICA TO WATCH!" Morrison yelled at a pitch that left a painful ringing in Ben's ears.
Sure enough, the bathroom door opened and John came out, gun drawn, cocked and at the ready. "Drop the knife, Morrison," he said calmly. "It's over."
"Oh, really?" The man gave a nasty chuckle, pressing the scalpel slightly harder down on Ben's neck, hard enough to break the skin. "John, John, John ... you might have nine lives, but your little boy toy here doesn't."
Never lowering the gun, never letting his guard down, and never breaking eye contact with his best friend, the former soldier and CIA operative approached, slowly, with measured, economical movements.
The moment John had locked eyes with him, Ben knew he had a plan. It almost made him sigh in relief, if not for the shallow, stinging wound in his neck that grew longer by the second as Morrison dragged the tip of the blade all the way around to his Adam's apple.
"I had them take your hands, but that didn't stop you," the convict hissed just loud enough for Ben and John to hear. "Maybe I should take your voice this time?"
Then, suddenly, with a laugh that made both men's blood run cold, Morrison reached into his pocket, pulling out his mobile phone. "Or," he continued with a few taps on the screen, "maybe I should just see what she has to offer."
No sooner had he lifted the phone for both men to see than the window shattered and Morrison crumpled to the ground with unseeing eyes. In the brief silence that followed, Ben's harsh breathing was the only sound in the room. Then John said aloud: "Tango down. Good shot, Shaw."
He holstered his gun and stepped forward just in time to break Ben's fall. Slowly lowering both of them onto the floor, John couldn't help but pull his best friend firmly into his arms, close enough to feel his heart battering against his ribcage. "It's over," he breathed as they stared wide-eyed at the screen of Morrison's phone that somehow was still grasped in the dead man's palm, Hannah's smiling face looking back at them.
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
"We had several deliveries coming today. Must have slipped through security then. Most likely hid out somewhere in the therapy tract; we've got only minimal security there. Then broke into my office from the other side and finally broke the lock on the other door that leads to the house. We'll have the CCTV tapes analysed so we can close the security gap."
Ben's voice was flat and emotionless in a way that John found deeply unsettling. He knew the emotions were boiling under the surface; he'd seen them flicker in his eyes while his neck wound was being tended to by one of the paramedics. When the army officer came over to the two men huddled side by side on the lower steps of the staircase, John had literally felt his best friend's walls slam up.
"So his primary motive was ...?" Rationally, John knew all these questions were necessary to establish that the bullet which had killed Morrison had been fired in an act of defence and damage control. And although he wanted the whole thing to be over as soon as possible, he wished Ben could have been given some more time to regroup.
"Who knows. Revenge, probably. After all, my statement was the one that got him behind bars. Or he just wanted to finish what he had started in Iraq. Said he wanted to see me bleed."
The sudden grating sound of glass crunching under someone's shoes in the kitchen broke the low, professional hum of law enforcement and military personnel moving about the house, and Ben froze in mid-breath.
John sensed the dramatic change in his friend and, more out of instinct than rational knowledge, knew that he was headed for a serious episode. "Get the paramedic over here, tell him to bring his kit and oxygen," he ordered the officer in front of them. "Then have someone get one of the doctors on night shift."
The man automatically snapped to attention at the steel in John's voice before he remembered that he didn't take orders from civilians. Nevertheless he turned around and started barking commands at the two sergeants who happened to stand closest to them.
"Keep your voice down," John hissed as Ben nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden additional noise, and started to hyperventilate. "Easy," he whispered, gently pushing his friend's head between his knees and keeping a soothing hand on the nape of his neck. "Just breathe, nice and slow. I'm here."
"Please get me out of here," Ben wheezed – begged, really – so quietly that it was almost inaudible, but John heard. With his free hand he gave Ben's shoulder a squeeze to signal he had understood, then hoisted him to his feet and led him out of the house into the mild early autumn night.
The doctor winced at the flashing lights from the police cars, army vehicles and ambulances and he brought up a hand to shield his eyes. "It's okay, Ben," John said in a low voice. "Keep your eyes closed. I've got you."
He led his best friend over towards the stables, steadily getting away from the sensory overload around the house. Soon there was nothing left but stillness, slightly moist night air and the soothing smell of earth, hay, and horses. Ben let out a long breath as they sat down on some bales of hay near the stable doors. "Thank you," he breathed.
John carefully readjusted his hold on the other man, pulling him a little closer and leaning both of them back against the wall. Neither said a word for a very long time. Words weren't possible right now. They were also unnecessary.
Finally Ben's shoulders started shaking, his breath hitching. He pulled his legs up and rested his head on his knees, muffling the low sound of his crying. John just kept a steadying hand on his back, his thumb tracing a soothing pattern on the fabric of the doctor's shirt, silently reassuring his best friend of his presence. He knew this was a good sign, despite appearances to the contrary, because it meant that Ben was at long last ready to let go.
"Ugh, I'm such a mess," the man croaked after a good while.
John smiled at hearing his best friend's voice sound lighter, freer than it had in the past ten days. "No. I think you're quite all right."
Ben raised his head, rubbing at his tear-stained eyes. "Have you looked at me lately?" he asked incredulously.
"That's not what I meant. It probably doesn't feel like it at the moment, but I think you are really going to be all right now. You can start putting the whole thing behind you for good, and move forward without that burden on your shoulders."
His best friend stared at him for a long time, thinking about John's words. "Do you really believe that?" he asked eventually.
"Yes," John smiled. "I really do."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
Two weeks later
The lump in John's throat was back as he saw his sister walking towards the chuppah, led by Ben's and her own mother. She looked so beautiful, so radiant in her wedding gown and headdress, truly like a princess coming to meet her prince. He found it hard to avert his eyes, as much as they stung with unshed tears.
A sidelong glance at his best friend revealed that Ben wasn't faring much better. As the bride slowly walked the traditional seven circles around her bridegroom, a single tear ran down his face, landing on the delicate petal of the white rose on his lapel.
Drawing a deep breath, John looked up, straight into the bridesmaid's dark eyes. She gave him a knowing smile before turning her attention to the proceedings under the chuppah.
The prayers and vows exchanged in Hebrew still sounded a little foreign to John's ears although he'd spent hours reading up on Jewish wedding traditions and proceedings. But while the sounds might have been unfamiliar, the meaning that he knew they carried was not. One man and one woman, bound to each other for life. Love in the way it was meant to be and created by the Giver of love.
Finally the rabbi handed a cloth-covered glass to Ben. "The breaking of glass at a wedding reminds us of the fragility of life, love, and human relationships," the rabbi explained. "It reminds us that life is never without sorrow and brokenness. But as the cloth covers the glass to protect us from the shards, so can we be certain that even the hard times in life are contained by the One whose hand is always there to carry us through."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
As John had found out the hard way, Ben had been serious about having him give a best man's speech. So now he rose to his feet, even more nervous than he had been before the dinner with the parents. The fact that all other people at the table – all ten of them – were looking at him expectantly wasn't helping.
"As most of you may know, I'm not a man of many words," he began, his voice more steady than he felt. Hannah and Ben grinned, Joss giggled, Harold smiled enigmatically, and Shaw gave a decidedly unladylike snort.
"But my best friend asked me to be his best man, and I feel honoured and privileged to be here today. I never thought I would." He took a deep breath to centre himself, turned to look at Hannah and Ben, and continued. "Life has been a winding road for all three of us. There were times when I felt like it was a one-way street leading far away from everything and everyone I loved and cherished. There were times when I thought I had lost both of you for good. I know it's been the same way for you."
He saw Ben and Hannah join hands and nod slightly, moments of loss and despair doubtlessly passing before their mind's eyes.
"The past two years, however, have proven me wrong. I'm hardly what you could call a man of faith, far from it. But even I can't deny that there has been a Greater Hand at work, bringing us back together and bringing a measure of healing to our lives. As the Honourable Rabbi said before, the hard times have been contained."
John's gaze wandered to the chuppah and the tread-upon white cloth on the ground. "I love the symbolism of the breaking glass. Ben and Hannah, both of you are doctors, and you know much more about the fragility of life than most other people. We hurt and get hurt, we bleed, we ache, we scar very easily. Mending, restoring and healing is much more difficult, and sometimes even impossible. So may you continue to tread lightly and treat each other with the reverence and respect you deserve – as I know you will. Someone once said that the cracks in our lives are where the light from within shines through. May you continue to light up each other's lives, and the lives of the people around you."