You ever make something to eat, and it's annoying because it's too much for one meal, but not enough for two? Yeah, that is this chapter. When you watch the episode bits at a time scrutinizing every detail to write about it, you notice things. Like how weird the timing is. In the scene where Don interrogates Rivers, he says he has "an agent four or five hours away from being killed," which presumably refers to the 6 o'clock deadline. However, as shown by a clock a few scenes later, they find Megan just after 5:45. So I've been going off my own timeline for the most part.
Oh, and prepare your tear ducts. There will be feels.
"Where's Don?"
Ian raised his deep, tired brown eyes to look into Granger's troubled green ones. The young agent had shown a great deal of concern for his team leader since he'd seen Eppes storm out of the room after watching the footage of Hoyle tailing Reeves as she left the office, and even more so since Don's decision to have Edgerton torment her teenage accomplice for information regarding her location.
Which, of course, he had failed to provide. Not surprising. My luck on this case ran out a long time ago.
"Ward room," Ian quietly answered. He noticed Granger's eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall every few seconds, an unwelcome reminder that their time was quickly running out. Ian watched as the junior agent paced the room, angry and agitated at the whole situation and especially at how little he could do about it, sighing and rubbing at the back of his neck. He could see the fear in Colby's eyes, for Reeves and for Eppes, and felt a strange urge to say something reassuring.
After a few seconds of trying to come up with something to say, Ian realized that he had already used up all of his reassuring words throughout the day. Without any other course of action, the sniper did what came naturally to him: he sat, unmoving, expression bereft of any emotion, and observed in silence.
Granger continued his pacing for a few more moments, probably burning off the last of the adrenaline rush that had hit him during the incident with Eppes, and then wearily made his way over to the coffee machine. Ian raised an eyebrow when Colby wordlessly grabbed his cup to refill it before fixing his own and joining the older agent at the small table.
The two of them remained silent for several minutes, sipping at their steaming beverages, until Granger suddenly spoke.
"You ever wonder if it's all worth it?"
"What?" Ian instantly grew concerned, knowing from experience that it was never good when people started talking like that.
Colby shook his head. "No matter how hard we try, there's always gonna be more bad guys. More pointless violence. Sometimes it feels like we're just fighting for a useless cause, and I'm just so damn tired of seeing people die for it."
Ian wanted to say that no one had died yet today, but those words sounded hollow even in his own mind. I'd have to ask the Professor to be sure, but I'd guess the odds are not in Reeves's favor by this point. Another glance at the clock reaffirmed this. And Ian knew that Granger wasn't really talking about this case anyway.
"It is what it is, Granger." He gulped down the rest of his coffee, forcing it past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Colby's words had brought back the memories he had been fighting all day to suppress, and a few of the more graphic ones were now joining the bittersweet recollections of the woman he loved.
Hell, why does this keep happening? Ian knew he couldn't afford, especially today, to let those memories get the best of him. You're alive, she's not. It is what it is. He imagined that he was holding his rifle in his hands, taking aim at a target, letting his sniper's instincts take over and ease his mind into a state of practiced clarity.
Just for good measure, he took a deep, calming breath before speaking again. "Come on, Granger. We'd better make sure Eppes isn't flogging himself too hard."
There was a slightly awkward moment when they both reached for the coffee pot to refill their cups again before leaving. What the hell is it with us and bonding over coffee?
As Ian and Colby approached the ward room, they learned that they weren't the first to go check on Eppes. Before they even entered, they could tell that Charlie was doing his rapid fire math speak, gesturing wildly at the map behind him. Whatever he was trying to explain, his brother didn't exactly appear to be sold on it. Somehow, I don't think Eppes is really in the mood for voodoo right now.
As they reached the doorway, Ian exchanged an exasperated look with Granger. They were both keenly aware that they were quickly running out of time; it was unlikely that Hoyle would actually show up to make the hostage switch, and it was also unlikely that she would keep Reeves alive past the deadline. Ian's own words came back to haunt him: "Too crazy to care, smart enough not to get caught."
The two of them walked in just in time to catch the tail end of the Professor's lesson, which was something about boats on the ocean. Great. More analogies. Ian reconsidered his earlier discomfort at actually understanding the concepts behind the Professor's jargon; at least it meant he didn't have to listen to his whole condescending explanation of whatever theorem or algorithm they were using.
"The solution to the problem," he was saying, " is to assume that the slower boat has turned around, and is heading back toward it."
"Why the hell would she do that?" Ian asked disbelievingly.
"She wouldn't. The beauty of the solution is: it doesn't matter." The Professor grabbed a stylus and started carefully writing equations over the map of the greater Los Angeles area that was displayed on the screen. "Using the last known location of the missing boat as an origin point, we... spiral out, intersect with the smaller boat before completing the full turn.
"Crystal took Megan from here at approximately 4:45 a.m.," Charlie continued, placing a dot over the location of the diner where Reeves had been abducted. "She then contacted you and discarded Megan's phone here at 6:50 a.m."
Ian briefly glanced over at Granger, wondering if the other agent had grasped the relevance of the Professor's explanation. Because I sure as hell haven't. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Granger returning his look before they both went back to pretending to pay attention to Charlie.
"Shortly afterward," the mathematician drawled on as if he were addressing a group of exuberant graduate students, "she and Megan headed back here, where we found Megan's car."
Ian had observed that no one, except for him, ever voiced any doubts about the Professor's math, particularly in the presence of his protective older brother. He was just about to take the initiative and say what they were all thinking when Colby, surprisingly, beat him to it.
"Charlie, this isn't the open ocean though. This is a city."
"Right, right." Charlie conceded. "No we have to consider variegated terrain. And a considerable time gap. Compensate for the time lag, add overlapping search spirals to maximize the area covered..."
"Is anyone else following this?" Ian muttered.
"Just nod your head and wait for the punchline," Colby answered dryly. Ian nodded slightly and raised his eyebrows in agreement as he took a large sip of his coffee.
"The 'punchline,'" Charlie continued indignantly, "is something like... this." He drew a line spiraling out from a central point, intersecting with all three of Hoyle's known locations.
Ian was no math genius, but he knew enough about search techniques to be skeptical of the effectiveness of the Professor's solution. He was making a lot of assumptions with little or no justification, and it would take a great deal of luck for them to find Reeves, even in such a small area, with their limited time and manpower.
He could tell Granger was thinking the same thing as Don printed out two copies of Charlie's search pattern and ordered them all to head down to the garage.
"Ian, you're with me." Eppes didn't wait for a response, and Ian noticed that he also pointedly ignored Colby's concerned look. While the junior agent pulled out his phone to call Sinclair, Edgerton trained his sharp eyes on Don. To say the man was tense would be an understatement; he looked worse than Ian had after his interrogation of Buck Winters.
Which, Ian suspected, was part of the reason Eppes chose him to be his partner. Colby or David would have tried to talk about things, if only to lift their boss's spirits. But he knew he could trust Ian not to discuss it; the quiet sniper was the type to keep the psychological repercussions of those events locked up until the dust settled and then take his time permanently burying them.
Just like Don.
Most of their search was conducted in silence, save for the necessary communication of navigating from the map the Professor had given them and calling in their movements to Command. Following Charlie's spiral search pattern proved to be more difficult than they'd planned; it wasn't particularly easy to travel in a circle on roadways arranged in a grid. They had taken turn after turn, intersecting various major streets, with no sign of suspicious activity. Not that I'm surprised...
Don called in yet another turn, and finally decided to voice his own doubts about his brother's boat pattern. "We could cross their path and not even know it."
Ian was pretty sure the comment was rhetorical, but decided to respond anyway. "Beats the hell out of sitting around the office waiting for Hoyle to make the next move."
After doing that for nearly twelve straight hours, they were all grateful for the chance to at least try to do something useful, even if it was so farfetched that none of them really believed it stood a chance in hell of working. Within a few moments, their silence was once again broken when the dispatcher announced a report of gunshots at a nearby motel.
Ian quickly scanned the map. "3rd and Bixel. Right in the middle of the Professor's map."
"Colby and David are only a few blocks away." Don hit the sirens and punched the accelerator. They had no reason to believe that these shots had been fired by Crystal Hoyle, but they also had no reason not to. And Don knew his team well enough to be sure that they had immediately decided to respond to the report, no matter how slim the chances that they would find Reeves.
Ian didn't believe anyone could appreciate the nuances of a warzone until he'd been in one; it wasn't the impending danger of the bullets whizzing past a soldier's head that drove him crazy. It was the perpetual symphony of warfare. The dull staccato of automatic weapons fire and the thunderous bellow of ordnance as the sounds bounced and echoed all around. One who had never been there might assume that those sounds were lost in the cacophony of onomatopoeia that was a constant in a large, active city.
But Edgerton had been there. And, as hard as he'd tried, there were some things a soldier could never forget. Like the muffled roar of a grenade going off a block or two away.
Don glanced over to him, concerned, when Ian's head shot up from the map to look toward their destination. Everything about him told Don that something was wrong; the sudden alertness in his dark eyes, the frozen stiffness in his muscles, and especially the way he had automatically reached to his shoulder for a rifle that wasn't there.
Don was just about to ask what had prompted Ian's reaction when he turned the last corner and saw the flaming remnants of the sedan Colby and David had been driving. For a second, the two senior agents felt a sense of cold dread at the sight before them. If she caught them by surprise...
Edgerton caught movement behind a small brick garden fixture, and allowed himself a small sigh of relief when he confirmed that the other two agents had had time to get to cover. In seconds, he and Eppes were out of their SUV, guns drawn, meeting up with Colby and David to advance on the scene.
"They're up there!" David shouted to them. "Second floor! Room 15."
Ian felt his pulse quicken as the four agents carefully climbed the stairs to the second story. He told himself it was the excitement of finally catching up with Hoyle, but he knew it was at least partly from the anticipation of finding Reeves. Alive and in one piece, with any luck.
As they passed by the shattered window, Ian cautiously glanced inside, looking for shadows or any other sign of movement, but saw nothing. Doesn't mean she isn't there. As Eppes moved through the door, Ian silently cursed himself for being startled at Don's immediate reaction. Without regard for their safety, the team leader dropped to his knees, laid down his weapon, and grabbed for a towel on the bed to wrap the bleeding wound on the unconscious Reeves's arm.
"Oh, hey. She's cut, guys! Megan, Megan can you hear me? She's cut bad. It looks like an artery."
Ian registered Don's words, but didn't react to them. He was too busy doing his job and making sure the damn room was actually clear. What the hell, Eppes? Has he ever heard of an ambush? As cold as it was, Ian had seen far too many soldiers die gruesome and horrible – and entirely avoidable – deaths because their buddies had been used as bait. He was reminded of Granger's earlier words, about their way of operating being irrevocably different from the other agents.
Those words had not been empty either. Ian, despite his usual propensity for working alone, was relieved to sense Colby at his back, covering him as they cleared the room. He knew that the young agent wanted to be over there with Eppes and Sinclair, tending to their friend, but Granger had the training, and discipline, to put that urge aside to make sure the area was secure. Yep, some instincts never leave you. Even when you want them to.
He vaguely heard Don calling Megan's name as he moved to the back window and caught sight of a car pulling away through the alley behind the motel. Dammit, I don't have the keys.
He nodded at Granger, stationed just outside the door, before turning to Eppes. "Silver Pontiac," he reported tersely. "I need to take the vehicle."
Eppes looked up at him with an expression somewhere between shock and anger, with just a hint of betrayal. And plenty of fear. "No no no no no. We gotta get her to a hospital. She's bleeding out here. She doesn't have much time."
Don and David started to lift her, and Colby, ever the diplomat, at least had the courtesy to give him a somewhat apologetic look before preceding them out of the room to get the car door.
"LAPD will be here in two minutes," Ian reminded them harshly. "She's getting away!"
"She doesn't have two minutes!" David shouted at him. Ian had to bite his tongue to hold back a cold retort. Admittedly, he wasn't a medic, but he had seen enough knife wounds to be pretty damn sure that this one wasn't that bad. He was right that Hoyle had only cut Reeves to provide a distraction, luckily for an escape rather than an attack. If she'd intended to kill, Reeves would already be dead. Along with the rest of us, most likely.
And hell, this isn't a damn village in Afghanistan. There probably isn't a single location in L.A. that's more than a ten minute drive from a trauma center!
Ian took several deep breaths, reigning in his anger, as he watched the team load Reeves into the back of the SUV. None of them bothered to say a word to him, to make sure he would handle the situation when LAPD arrived. They didn't invite him along either, though he noticed Colby briefly meet his eyes as he jumped into the passenger seat next to David, who pulled out of the lot the second Granger closed the door.
"Part of the team" my ass.
"Edgerton," Ian snapped as he answered his cell phone, his harsh tone startling a young LAPD officer standing a few feet away. They were canvassing the area around the hotel, collecting witness accounts and looking for anyone, alive or otherwise, who may have crossed Hoyle's path.
"Any luck?"
Ian chuckled humorlessly. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it, Granger? No, by the time LAPD got patrols set up in the area we'd already lost her trail. CSI's processing the motel room, but I doubt Hoyle left us anything to find."
"Don't suppose you got a look at the license plate?" Ian noticed that Colby was speaking softly, which likely meant he was still at the hospital.
"Already put an APB out on it. But if she sticks to her old tricks, she's probably switched cars again by now." Ian paused for a brief moment, then added, "How's Reeves?"
To his credit, Granger knew better than to make any snide remarks about Ian's seemingly sudden interest in her welfare. He didn't take Colby for that type of guy, but if he'd learned anything on this case, it was that you couldn't always predict someone's behavior based on what you knew of their personality. Wonder what the Professor would say to that one.
"She needed a small transfusion, and she got a nasty bump on the head, but the doctors said she'll be fine." Thought so...
Ian gestured to one of the officers to let them know he was leaving, and then headed for the street. He'd considered asking for a ride, but didn't want to pull any of them off their assignments for his convenience. The FBI office was only a little under two miles away, and a nice walk would help him clear his head after the hell of a long day he'd just had.
Ian knew his next question was going to make him seem like the cold hearted bastard everyone thought he was, but he asked it anyway. "She get anything from Hoyle?"
"Yeah," Colby answered grimly. "We know what she wanted from Billy Rivers."
"Which is?"
"Her daughter." That made Ian stop in his tracks.
"... her what?"
Ian resumed his walking, but stayed silent as Colby recounted what they'd learned from Reeves. Well, that sure as hell explains a lot. He automatically started readjusting his mental analysis of her inner workings, and grimaced at the parallel to the Professor and his algorithms. For the first time, Ian acknowledged that Charlie had been truthful about the similarity of their work.
Colby had just finished his explanation of Adam Benton's probable involvement when Ian overheard Eppes call his agent's name. "Gotta go. I'll keep you informed."
The line disconnected, and Ian wondered if Colby had said that because he knew something Ian didn't. Was Eppes so upset with him about Reeves that he wouldn't even show the professional courtesy of keeping Ian involved in what had started out as his own case?
He tried to dismiss the concern immediately; he and Eppes had disagreed before, and they'd managed to work it out. But it nagged at the back of Ian's mind as he continued his solitary walk through the streets of L.A. He was less than a mile from his destination by the time he had forced that irritating thought out of his head.
As he passed a small café and the air was suddenly filled with the delicious smell of food, Ian's stomach rumbled at a volume that would have been embarrassing had anyone else been around. He was considering stopping for a quick dinner when he noticed the first few drops of rain hitting the sidewalk. Of course. He had spent enough time in the Southwest to know that the expression "When it rains, it pours" had probably originated there.
Coming to a quick decision, Ian pulled open the door to the restaurant and tried to look non-threatening as he hurried inside. It took some effort; threatening was generally his default appearance even on a good day. He ordered a turkey sandwich, with an extra large coffee, and automatically selected a table that was near the front, against the side wall, with a good view of both the inside and outside of the building.
His decision proved to be a good one; he hadn't even finished half his sandwich before he glanced out the window and noticed a heavy rain pelting the ground. He was just debating whether he should hang out for a bit after he was done and hope the rain would let up when he saw a familiar figure come through the door.
"Eppes," Ian said before he could think about trying to go unnoticed. The other agent, obviously surprised to see him, gave him a weary nod as he stepped up to order his own sandwich. Ian turned his attention to his coffee, as seemed to be the common way of dealing with awkwardness around here, until he felt Don slowly approach his table and ask to join him.
Apparently he wasn't the only one who hadn't eaten all day; Eppes inhaled a good third of his meal before pausing to speak. "Got enough coffee there?"
"I never have enough coffee," Ian answered, a bit more tersely than he intended. He amended, more amicably, "Granger called earlier. Good to know Reeves is gonna be okay."
"Yeah," Don replied tiredly. Don't need any mind reading voodoo to know this whole thing has taken a hell of a toll on him. He took a long sip of his drink before raising his eyes to meet Edgerton's. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Being here." Ian searched Don's eyes for a moment, looking for the meaning behind that vague answer. Ian never particularly considered Eppes to be a man of few words, but that was probably because he was far worse himself, making the other man seem much more open by comparison.
After a few moments without a response, Don decided to elaborate. "I know I didn't exactly hold it together real well on this case, Ian, especially when I started... crossing lines. You did. You and Colby." He paused, smiling. "Boy, I don't know what they do to you guys in the military, but maybe I need some of it myself."
Ian snorted. "Trust me, Eppes. No one needs that." Speaking of Afghanistan and things that no one needs, I wonder if he's ready to talk about this morning. Ian knew Agent Don Eppes to be the type of guy who needed to talk out his moral dilemmas, even if he wouldn't admit it. And, though he didn't really expect it to be him that Don eventually broke down and talked to, Ian was still concerned for his friend.
"How did you get here anyway? I know you didn't have a car." Despite the argument they'd had on that subject, they both chuckled, letting the light conversation ease away all the anxiety and tension the day had brought.
"I walked. Being a native of L.A., you may not be familiar with that concept."
"Hey," Eppes responded, laughing, "I did my fair share of walking, and running my ass off, in my Fugitive Recovery days."
Ian smirked, and they both finished their meals in silence. "You want a ride back to the office, or you planning on finishing your stroll?"
Edgerton rolled his eyes. Now he offers me a car.
He'd stayed almost completely silent through the entire horrible debriefing, only offering a "Yes, sir" or "No, sir" when necessary, without showing the slightest hint of emotion. And, in retrospect, he was pretty sure that was when the rumors about him being a sociopath had started. In a fog, he made his way back to his room, sat on his bunk, and cleaned his rifle. The rifle that he'd used to murder an innocent man.
As he laid the rifle back into its case, he noticed his hands were shaking. It was slight, but it was also terrifying. His hands never shook. He clenched them into tight fists as he willed the roiling emotions deeper into the dark crevasse of his mind that he used to keep them buried. His breaths were shaky now too, and he let his face fall into his hands, trying to hide away from the world and the knowledge of what he'd done. In his long career, he had taken countless lives, none of them innocent. Until today.
Ian didn't realize how completely shut out he'd been from his surroundings until he gasped and started as a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him, hands resting lightly on his chest, and a warm, decidedly feminine body pressed against his back. I can't... I can't face her. Not after this. She has to know.
Despite her position, Ian didn't even consider blaming her. Their enemies had been carefully feeding them bogus intel, setting up a decoy so that their real leader could escape deeper into hiding. With her gifted mind, Ian had no doubt that she had been the one to notice something was off and piece together the inconsistencies. And, if he knew her, she was probably blaming herself for not finding it in time to prevent her best friend from becoming the cold blooded killer everyone condemned him as.
He felt her lay her head against the back of his shoulder, and tentatively raised his hands to hers. "I'm so sorry, Ian," she whispered.
"You weren't the one who told me to pull the trigger." That was what angered him most of all. The spooks had known damn well that they'd made a mistake, but had hesitated in coming forward and admitting it. She was probably arguing with her superiors at the exact moment he was receiving confirmation to take the kill shot. He could see the victim's - his victim's - face, lined up in his scope, feel the minute kick of the rifle against his shoulder as he ended the man's life.
And then the tears finally began to fall, the guilt consuming him like a slow burning flame. Ian could recall only a handful of times in his life that he had cried, and never in front of someone. His whole body – his whole being – felt entirely numb, but he still registered the sharp pain in his heart as she pulled away from him. He hadn't realized the comfort he'd been drawing from her presence until it was no longer there. For one heart wrenching moment, he expected the worst.
And then she was kneeling in front of him, gently cupping his face and raising his head to look at her. Her calm ocean blue eyes never left his as she wiped the tears from his cheeks.
"I know it's hard, Ian, but you can't blame yourself for this. You may have fired the bullet, but you were not responsible for that prisoner's death." He opened his mouth to contradict her, but she preempted him when she added, in a slow and deliberate tone, "The people who used him are."
She moved a bit closer to him, sliding one hand back to slowly stroke through his hair, a gesture that she knew he found calming. "I know you don't think you can deal with this, Ian. But you can. I know you can, because you do it every day. You hold people's lives in your hands every time you go out on the field. But that's never bothered you because you've never failed. Now you have, at least in your mind, and that terrifies you."
Ian tried to look away, irrationally ashamed at the truth of her words, but she stopped him. "And there is nothing wrong with that. You may be famous around here for being a god, but I know better. You're a man. And no man can hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, until he realizes that he already does. You are stronger for this, Ian."
The sniper tried to speak, tried to answer her wise words with some of his own, but his throat had tightened from his tears and the storm of emotions raging inside him, so he simply nodded, knowing she would see the impact of her words whether he voiced it or not. But there was one thing he had to tell her.
He leaned down to rest his forehead lightly against hers, her hand still running through his hair. They stayed that way for moments that stretched into an eternity, until he finally found the courage to admit the feelings he had been desperately keeping hidden.
"I love you," he whispered. When she didn't respond, he worriedly pulled back to look at her, only to find that she was smirking at him.
"No kidding," she said, rolling her eyes.
Ian didn't have time to respond to that before he felt her lips press firmly against his. They were softer and more tender than he'd ever imagined, and as he got over his shock and started to kiss her back he could feel a pleasant warmth spread through him, soothing away the anguish of the day's events.
A gentle push on his shoulder and Ian was lying back on his bed with the woman he loved on top of him, sharing another passionate kiss. The thought briefly occurred to him that they were breaking quite a few regulations, but he didn't give a damn. She was playing with the hair at the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He was far too distracted to be consciously aware of what his hands were doing, but he could tell that her body was being pressed against his by more than just gravity.
Ian felt her smirk right before she ran the tip of her tongue tantalizingly along his bottom lip, drawing a soft groan from him. He'd always mocked her perceptiveness, but now she was using it to drive him crazy in the best possible way. His heart was racing, his whole body delighting in the blissful pleasure of everything she was doing to him. After another long and sensuous kiss, Ian was profoundly disappointed when she pulled away, sitting up so that she was straddling him.
"You thought I would reject you." It wasn't a question. And it was true; Ian had always considered his feelings for her, as true as they were, to be something she could never return to the same degree. Sensing that Ian had no idea what to say to that, she continued, "You know, some women like older men."
Her tone was teasing, but Ian could tell that she understood and respected the many reasons for his hesitation. "Why the hell didn't you say something?"
"You're adorable when you're flustered." She leaned down to kiss him again, but kept her hands on his chest. Ian's heart pounded furiously when he realized that she was unbuttoning his shirt. Emboldened by her earlier admission, he deepened their kiss, teasing her mouth open with his tongue and gasping when it met hers. He bit back another groan when her hands finally worked their way under his uniform to caress his skin.
He wrapped his arms around her before shifting himself to flip her over, reversing their positions and using his weight to pin her to the bed. He broke their heated kiss just long enough to allow her to pull his undershirt over his head and toss it aside. Her hands were all over him, wandering over his arms, his chest, his shoulders, onto his back, and into his hair as his kisses grew more desperate.
Somewhere, deep in the back of his unconscious mind, it occurred to him that his bunk wasn't big enough to roll her over the way he just had and that the blankets he now had a firm grip on hadn't been there before. But none of it seemed important. He stood to pull off his jeans, removing his holstered service pistol from his belt and sticking it in the drawer next to the Bible. He felt a hand reach up to his back and pull out his handcuffs.
"Can't wait to see me in these, can you?" Ian froze, every muscle in his body tensing at the familiar female voice. "Course if you had your way I'd get a bullet instead. Just like Buck."
He turned, and found Crystal Hoyle lying on her side on the hotel room bed. Holding a knife to his lover's neck. In the distance, he heard two sounds that did not quite fit together in his mind: the slamming of car doors punctuated by the clack, clack, clack of a grenade bouncing across the ground. His instincts screamed at him to move, to do something, but he couldn't. He could only watch in horrifying slow motion as Hoyle dragged the knife across her hostage's throat.
Agent Ian Edgerton bolted upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, heart racing and blood pounding in his ears, shouting his lover's name. In an instant, the rush of terror and adrenaline faded and his alert mind took in his surroundings. For once, he felt incredibly unnerved by finding himself in a strange hotel room. As the distorted partial memories of his nightmare were replaced by his actual recollections, Ian felt no less sick than he had moments earlier.
A quick glance at his gun and badge, resting on the bedside table where he'd left them before settling in for the night, banished any lingering doubts about the reality of his disturbing dream. Ian didn't have nightmares as often as he thought he probably should, with all the things he saw in his daily life, and when he did they usually didn't bother him too much. But even during its most disturbed times, his unconscious mind had never plagued him with such nightmarish perversions of his actual memories.
It appalled many people that Ian Edgerton had no trouble falling asleep at night; he could put a bullet in a man's brain from a thousand yards away and sleep perfectly fine. But as he lay back down, heart aching and muscles still tense, Ian knew that he would not be falling asleep so easily anytime soon. Ian felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids and scrunched them shut tighter, as if by doing so he could banish the turbulent storm of emotions building within him, threatening to shatter the ever-present barriers that always kept them so strictly confined.
I love you, Ev. I'm so sorry.
Okay, maybe not Bawl Your Eyes Out feels, but still more feels than I usually like to write. For now, I will leave it to your imagination how much of Ian's dream actually happened. Poor guy.