Thank you for the reviews! I wrote this a week or so ago, but this past week's been that hectic and stressful this is the first time I've had to post.

Thank you to Lily Moonlight as always for discussion and reading through, noticing my wonderful typos!!

Only one more chapter after this!

Chapter 22

Breathing Light

Stella drove too fast around corners, making Danny hold his breath and clutch onto the seat. She didn't speak, and he was glad of that, not really knowing what to say without a whole torrent of feeling spilling out.

He wondered if Lindsay knew what was going on, if Mac or Hawkes or someone had let her know. She and Angell weren't real good buddies or anything, not really knowing each other that well, but he'd feel bad if she found out too late. Danny knew she was back at the lab, processing evidence from a murder that had taken place in the early hours of the morning, a scene that she had worked pretty much by herself. She was still blaming herself for Tomas Mare's death, preferring her own company to that of anyone else's, especially Danny's. He reached in his pocket for his cell, having decided to make a quick call to say what had happened, check she knew, but there was no cell there.

"Shit!" he said, as Stella turned another corner and the wheels skidded slightly.

"What's up?" she asked, he full concentration on the road.

"I think I've lost my cell somewhere," he said. "I was going to call Lindsay, let her know what was going on."

Stella shook her head. "Leave it for now, Danny," she said. "Lindsay will have heard somehow, and your phone's probably fallen out of your pocket when we've turned a corner." She took another without warning, causing a second driver to beep his horn loudly.

He saw Rachael's bike pulled up outside a large house that looked still and quiet. Stella spoke into her radio, calling for back up, remaining in the car.

"Are we going to wait?" he asked, surprised if they were.

She shook her head. "There's no easy exit from the back door, unless she's already got it open, so the only possible way out is the front."

"How did you know she'd be here?" Danny said as they both got out of the car. The rain was still pouring, the large heavy drops did not look as if they were going to cease anytime soon.

"This is the beginning of David's obsession. I imagine that David blamed his father for a lot of things that were wrong with his life, and talked about revenge. Rachael will be looking to carry that out," Stella paused as they approached the front door. It was slightly ajar.

He followed her through the door, listening for a hint of where Rachael was. The air seemed still and stagnant, nothing seemed to be breathing in this house and he fought the urge to leave before he became some fragment of dust floating in the air.

Stella walked to the last door on the long hallway and paused outside. Danny expected to hear voices as he drew closer, but there was only silence.

She pushed open the door and stepped in, weapon drawn. He followed behind her, and on entering the room saw Rachael McKinsey sitting in an old-fashioned arm chair. Rachael's expression was unreadable; her eyes were fixed on the old man sitting across from her, drinking a cup of English tea from a mug. She held a similar mug in her own hands, although Danny could see it was untouched.

"Miss Bonasera," the old man said. "I'm glad to see you again. I trust the detective who is injured is fairing well?"

"I'm not sure, Elior," Stella said, relaxing her weapon. Danny kept a grip on his, unsure of how Stella was playing this. "When we left they were waiting for the paramedics to arrive."

Danny looked at Elior carefully, making sure that he gave quick glances to Rachael every half a second, monitoring her movements. He seemed well. There were no obvious injuries; it looked like what ever Rachael had gone there for, she hadn't hurt the old man yet, whatever her intentions.

"Rachael decided to pay me a little visit," Elior said. "She's threatened to kill me, but as I've said before, death doesn't scare me. I'm old and I've lived all I want to. Any more days are a bonus." Elior looked at Rachael, who still hadn't moved. "She hasn't said why she wants to kill me, although I suspect it's something to do with David. It normally is."

There was a silence while all three looked at the woman. Rachael's eyes remained firmly fixed on Elior, barely blinking.

"David hated you," she said, once the silence became unbearable. "He said you should have died in the war, then he would have never been born. I knew they would follow me, and now I can take you all with me. With me and David."

"David was mad, young lady. I've known that for some time although I was never quite sure how mad. You, I suspect, never quite realised what you were doing, it's all been some big game, like it was when you were a little girl and you'd lock your friends up in your bedroom and refused to let them out." Elior drank the rest of his tea and placed the cup down on the table next to him. "You need to go with these officers, Rachael. I'm sure they'll take care of you. You don't need to hurt anyone else, you've done enough for one day."

"I want you dead," she said, the only part of her body moving was her lips. Danny wondered where she had concealed the gun.

"Even if you don't shoot me, you won't have very long to wait. I'm old, Rachael. Time is not on my side," Elior said.

There was a flurry of movement, during which Stella and Rachael both aimed their weapons, Rachael pulling hers from down the side of the chair where she must have stuffed it before they'd arrived. Stella was trying to get a clean shot of the girl but needed to step to her right some. Danny could see Rachael's hand trembling as she pointed her weapon at Elior and he wondered if some sort of clarity had appeared to her.

"Rachael," Stella's was soft and almost sympathetic. "You need to put the gun down. We can help you get through this."

Rachael laughed. "Get through what? I'm sorry it's over and it's probably my fault. I killed too many in too short a time, I should have spread them out more. But you know what? It was good. I enjoyed it. That moment, when the light goes out of their eyes and their body becomes a shell – it's precious. To have that power. To be in control."

Danny moved in front of Elior, the quick action distracting her for a second and allowing Stella to move. Rachael looked frightened almost, as if she was a mouse cornered by a cat and looking for an exit. There was no way out for her, and Danny could see what her reaction would be. Flight or fight, and with no way for flight -

Rachael swung the gun away from Elior towards Stella, and then to Danny, and then the sound of a gunshot permeated the air, echoing against the walls.

-&-

There should have been a trench in the floor he had walked up and down the corridor so many times, waiting for news. No news is good news had become Flack's mantra although it hadn't done anything to alleviate his raised heart beat.

He'd heard nothing about Stella or Mac or the hostages since arriving at the hospital thirty minutes ago and although he had wondered what was happening, he'd been unable to give it more than just a passing thought. All he could see when he closed his eyes was Jess, lay there, life draining from her. And from him.

The ambulance ride had felt long and tortuous, even though it had taken barely five minutes to get there. She'd been taken straight into the OR, leaving him with one of the paramedics waiting for his colleague to finish relaying Jess' vital statistics.

"Your did a good job with her," the paramedic had said to Hawkes. "Her blood pressure isn't as low as I'd expect given the state of her injuries. She's got a good chance."

Flack had felt faint at the words. Chance. There was a chance he wouldn't see Jess alive. There was a chance she might die. He sat abruptly as he considered the paramedics words more fully. Hawkes had gone to get coffee, and probably phone Mac to get an update. The doctor-cum-CSI had told him it might be a couple of hours before she was out of surgery – if she got out of surgery. He hadn't needed to say the latter to Flack, he was all too aware of probabilities. Hell, he'd been there. On Jess' end of the odds.

His mind refused to stay still, wandering into crevasses and territories unknown and unconsidered for a few seconds each time, but unable to rest anywhere. He listened anxiously for any movement, any sounds of doctors' feet or even Hawkes, Hawkes might be able to find something out.

He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands, trying to stop thinking, trying to find some safe place where he could keep his thoughts.

"Don – drink this," he looked up to see Hawkes stood in front of him, offering him a proper cup of coffee and not just some machine spittle. "She's doing okay in there."

"You spoke to someone?" Flack said, feeling heat rise through his body.

"One of the surgeons worked where I did for a few months. She's in good hands and she's lost less blood than she could've," Hawkes said, taking a gulp from his mug.

Flack let the silence fall, unsure of what he should say or do.

"How you feeling?" Hawkes eventually said. He didn't look at Flack, and Flack wondered whether that was because Hawkes knew he wouldn't be able to speak with someone reading him, reading his expressions.

"Like someone's just torn me apart from the inside," Flack said eventually, his voice surprisingly calm and quiet. "I didn't know I would feel this way."

He saw Hawkes nod from the corner of his eye. "Jess is a tough girl, and she's a fighter."

"I should have looked after her better."

"How?" It was a single word, and Hawkes looked directly at Flack as he spoke. "She's a cop. This is the danger we put ourselves in. You knew that when you got involved."

"I know," Flack said weakly. "And we talked about it, you know, said it wouldn't get in the way of our job…" He shook his head, unable to speak more.

"If it were you in there, she'd be feeling just the same. Don't feel guilty for that, Don. What you're feeling's natural."

Flack nodded, trying to drink some of the coffee. He didn't notice whether it was decent or not, just that it was warm and wet, quenching a thirst he didn't realise he had.

He heard a commotion further down the corridor, as someone else was rushed into an operating room in an emergency. He heard a woman crying and a man trying to comfort her, but he couldn't find any sympathy. It became silent again, a silence that seemed to be hovering over them, like a vulture, waiting to grab any sadness it could feast on.

"I don't know what I'll do if she dies," Flack said, not to Hawkes, not to anyone but himself. "It's only been a few days since we got together…"

"No, it hasn't," Hawkes said. "It's been months. You've been strutting round her like a peacock since you two started being partnered together. It might have only been a few days since you became official, but it's not a few days since you've been feeling the way you have."

Flack nodded, making some attempt to remember to thank Hawkes when all this was over.

Over.

How would it end?

-&-

Stella felt Rachael's neck, discovering a faint but steady pulse as the woman lay on her side, as still as a corpse. It had been a good shot, a good clean shot, perfectly aimed.

Even if she did say so herself.

She hadn't anticipated Rachael aiming at Danny. All along, she'd imagined the bullet would have been for Elior, but clearly Rachael had decided she didn't want to go down with minimal damage, and Elior would die of old age before too long anyway, so she'd aimed at Danny.

However, her finger had never even made contact with the trigger. Stella had seen the look of hunger in her eyes and had known her shot, if taken, would be lethal, so she'd pulled her own trigger, aiming for her stomach, not wanting to kill. And like Artemis, she didn't miss her target.

"Good shot, Stella," Danny said, having radioed in for an ambulance. "Although I dare say you could have inflicted more damage."

Stella shook her head. "There's been enough deaths." She looked at Elior who was still sitting in his chair. "David…"

"I know," Elior said. He didn't smile, but there was no hurt in his tone. "I only wish it had been sooner, then more lives would have been spared." He stood up, only for Winston the cat to make an entrance and jump on the empty chair. "I'll get my coat as I suppose you'll need me at the station, and it's still raining outside."

"I'll give you a hand, sir," Danny said, catching Stella's eye. She was crouched down next to Rachael, holding the injured woman's jacket over the bullet wound, stemming the loss of blood. In the distance she could hear sirens; nearer still she could hear the sounds of officers making their way into the house, a little too late, but no harm done. She just hoped that the harm Rachael herself had done was not being added to, and that Detective Angell was finding her way out of the woods.

-&-

Afternoon light poured in through the windows, dimming the fluorescent bulbs with its strength. The rain had ceased, having washed some of the sins of the city away for now, although no doubt they would be reinforced quickly. The city breathed in the light, taking its energy for itself, soaking up its goodness. Throughout the place, people noticed the brighter light, opening windows and pushing curtains back to let in as many of the rays as possible. Old friends stopped in the street, in the park, to talk and catch up, no longer needing to find light or shelter indoors. Light had won its war with darkness. For today, anyway.

"You can go see her now."

At first, it seemed as if the nurse was speaking in a foreign tongue and he didn't understand. He looked up at her, feeling as if someone had just shaken him awake for the first time in days.

"You can go in and see her. She's still sedated and asleep, but you can sit with her for a few minutes."

He stood, his legs feeling as weak as a new born foal's, and went toward the door of the room the nurse had pointed to. He paused, looking in through the small window and seeing Jess lying in a bed, white sheets pulled over her and a drip beside her. He could hear a steady beep from the machines, one that he recognised from his own stay in hospital, one that he found comforting because it told him that she was stable.

Her hair was spread over the pillow, the black contrasting with the white, and again he recalled Snow White. She looked less pale, and her expression was more comfortable.

Flack pushed open the door and entered, leaving Hawkes talking with his surgeon friend. A few strides and he was beside her, his eyes taking in what he had thought he would never see again. He lifted a hand and brushed her cheek with his fingers, feeling soft warmth, the coldness had gone.

"I thought that was it, Jess," he said. "And I didn't know what to do if it was." He sat on the chair beside her bed and wound his fingers into her hair.

She was alive.

He could breathe again.