Chapter Nine

Jaime was sitting up in bed, eager to share the good news about Steve with her husband, when Russ found her. "Is Oscar with you?" she asked, her eyes as bright as her mood.

"I was sort of hoping I'd find him here," Russ responded. "Have you heard from him?"

"He was here; he left just after lunch, said he had some stuff to take care of and would be back soon. Russ, what's going on?" Jaime's trained eye took in his suit – three piece? - the briefcase and the assistant waiting in the hallway, and her operative instincts took hold, throwing her mood and her mind into a tailspin. "Oh no...he didn't...Oscar – resigned, didn't he?"

"Not necessarily," Russ hedged. He knew Oscar shouldn't have been gone this long. A black eye, a punch to Hansen's gut, shouldn't have taken more than a few minutes. Where was Oscar?

"Not necessarily? What the hell does that mean? Russ, where is my hu – Oscar?" Jaime shuddered; she'd nearly given away their secret with one slip of her tongue. Russ stared blankly, trying to avoid Jaime's penetrating gaze. "Russ, where is he?"

"It's only a leave of absence, Jaime; hopefully a very short one. He went to see Hansen," Russ admitted. Great one – I'll never make it as Director if I can't even keep my damned mouth shut!

"No-o-o!"

Jaime's anguished wail brought both of her doctors at a dead run. The husband no one (except Steve) even knew she had was off doing God-only-knew-what, and Jaime was inconsolable.

- - - - - -

Oscar was taking his time, doing what he'd come to do in exactly the fashion he'd planned to do it. He stood directly over Jack's Hansen's prone body, waiting patiently.

"We're not finished," he said with a quiet anger, as his nemesis opened his eyes. "We're nowhere near finished." Oscar had only thrown two punches – one to the stomach and the second in Hansen's face – and he wasn't about to keep pummeling an unconscious man. No – he wanted Hansen to feel every moment of this.

Hansen shook off the residual dizziness and stood unblinking, mere inches from Oscar's face. "You crossed the line, Goldman. You think you can walk into a closed cell and do...that? They'll have your career – and your chachingas in a sling - for this!"

Oscar smiled. "What career? I resigned – just so I could do this!" With one powerful, angry hand, he grabbed Hansen by the throat and pushed him back against the hard, concrete and metal wall of the cell. His other hand drew back, into a fist. "If this was about me, you could've come after me – shot me, for all I care – but to go after people I care about, people I love...!" His fist slammed into Hansen's face, raising a welt just above his eye. "That was for Jaime!" he told him, "and this -" he made an identical welt above the other eye, "is for Steve. Now, this one is just because I want to!" Oscar used the hand around Jack's throat to slam his head into the wall and at the same time, he landed multiple blows to his midsection. Jack began to slump toward the floor, but Oscar held him upright. "Don't bother passing out, Jack. I'm a patient man, and you're going to feel every bit of this." Slam!

"This...isn't like...you," Hansen gasped, any sense of bravado or smugness gone now.

"I trusted you!" Slam! "You nearly killed Jaime!" Another fist connected with the former NSB Director's gut. "Steve is still critical. He's dying!" Slam! Oscar saw Jack's eyes begin to fog over, and he knew a few more blows would be likely to kill him. He'd never had murder in his soul before, but after what he'd seen Jaime go through...

Jaime! She loved him, trusted him. He could probably get away with this; he'd planned it well enough. But...Jaime didn't deserve a murderer for a husband, no matter how righteous the cause. His eyes still blazing but his fury beginning to abate, Oscar released his hold on Hansen and let him fall slowly to the floor.

"Be more careful next time, Jack," he said on his way out the door. "Slipping on your way into your bunk can be hazardous to your health."

- - - - - -

Oscar returned to the hospital to find a flurry of activity around his wife's bed. Had something happened to Jaime? She was sitting up in bed, with both doctors tending to her and...she was crying. Oscar had to fight with all his internal strength not to rush over and sweep her into his arms to comfort her. He saw Russ standing by the far wall, and moved over to join him.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to sound objective. "Is she alright? Is Steve -?"

Russ looked him over solemnly, still clutching the Director's briefcase, as well as the temporary title. "You'd better get rid of that suit coat," he whispered, eying the small spatters of blood on the sleeve and the lapel.

Oscar quickly removed it, rolling it into a ball. "What happened to Jaime?" he repeated.

"What happened to you is the question of the hour. Where were you?"

"Russ, you know where I went."

"Yeah, but you were gone a long time." Russ hesitated. "Are you even eligible to take your job back?"

"Of course I am. Jack had a...little accident, falling out of his bunk. He'll recover – unfortunately."

Russ nodded. "Good. I was beginning to think -"

"I almost did," Oscar confirmed, not letting him finish. He turned again to look at Jaime, who was looking back at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"She'll be ok, too," Russ told him. "It was my fault; I was looking for you, and I think I got her upset. I'm sorry, Oscar." He held out the briefcase and – symbolically – the position itself to his former and future boss.

"Thanks, Russ; I appreciate your help, and I need to ask you to keep it a little while longer. Just for a week or so, two weeks, tops, until Jaime is released and Steve's out of danger."

Russ nodded his agreement. "But I'm holding you to that, and I'll be counting the days. Only a crazy person would want this job permanently."

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