Chapter Twenty-Two—Fine

" Good God, Sergeant! Could you possibly be going any slower?"

Much as he disliked the man, Lewis had to admit that Harvey Malcolm had a point. If there had ever been a perfect time to violate traffic laws, that time was now—while heaven-knew-what was happening to their missing fellow officers. However, Sergeant Kershaw had yet to exceed the speed limit once.

The inspector took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was exactly the reason he'd insisted Adrian drive. Lewis was so worried about his friends that he doubted he'd be able to concentrate properly on the road, and he suspected that Malcolm would've been even worse off than he was. And that was the absolute last thing that Hathaway and Innocent needed right now.

Still, Robbie couldn't help but wish that Kershaw was going just a little bit faster. Ten or so above the speed limit never hurt anyone, and there wasn't much time—assuming there was any time left at all

Nah, he'd know if it was too late. He had a sort of sixth sense when it came to James—the same sort of fatherly intuition that he had about Ken and Lyn.

However, the same wasn't true of Jean. Lewis had no way of knowing the chief superintendent's condition, much as he hoped that she also was alive and unharmed.

Innocent was clever and tough, and these traits might've been able to get her out of a tight spot. But then again, that might not be enough. Brains could only get you so far. In the end, it was luck that really mattered.

And whether she knew it or not, Innocent had one major stroke of luck going for her; Hathaway was going to do anything in his power to protect her. Chances were James would've done the same for anyone; he was like that: noble, impulsive, brave, selfless.

But this wasn't just anyone; this was someone James knew well, someone he cared about deeply. And there could be no denying that he did care about her, though Robbie wasn't exactly sure in what way. He had to admit learning of the kiss had thrown him for a bit of a loop. Lewis had a feeling that his sergeant's actions could be chalked up to the fact that he'd been drunk, disoriented, and lonely at the time. The inspector highly doubted that Hathaway's true feelings toward Innocent were in fact amorous. Or at least, he strongly hoped they weren't. If they were, Lewis would have some cross words for his sergeant about professional boundaries in the near future. That was…assuming there still was a James with whom to have cross words and a Jean for those cross words to be about.

As he considered this, Lewis found himself instinctively reaching for his mobile and dialling a familiar phone number.

Meanwhile…

Hathaway returned a few minutes later with a handful of bandages and two bottles of water. He handed one to Innocent. "I couldn't find a proper first aid kit, but I figured if we could only clean the wound and bandage it, that would make a difference. I brought two bottles, because I figured you must be thirsty."

" Thank you, James."

For a moment, Hathaway looked as though he was going to say something in response, but he closed his mouth almost immediately after opening it.

She wondered then if the sergeant had overheard any of her conversation with Trout—the things she'd always wanted to say to the man who'd made her life hell for the past fifteen years but had never had an opportunity to say until now. The thought that Hathaway might have heard her cathartic outburst was admittedly embarrassing, but not embarrassing enough to make Innocent regret giving it. She'd finally had a chance to look her greatest fear in the eye and realize that—as sadistic and terrifying as he was—Trout was only a man when all was said and done.

The chief superintendent sat down on the floor and placed the knife in her lap. She unscrewed the lid of the water bottle, carefully moved it up to her lips, and didn't set it down again until it was empty.

Shortly afterwards, James, having finished tending to Trout's leg, plopped down on the floor beside her. "Now what?"

"I dunno. We should probably call for back-up or something. Of course, it would help if we actually had our phones with us."
No sooner had she said that than they heard a loud ringing sound. It took Hathaway a moment to identify the source of the noise. He removed both his own and Innocent's mobiles from Trout's trouser pocket.

It was Hathaway's phone that had rung apparently. The sergeant brought his mobile up to his ear and began speaking.

Innocent immediately gathered from Hathaway's suddenly-relaxed body language that the speaker was Lewis.

" God, it's good to hear your voice…Oh, you too?... that's wonderful…Yeah…Okay, I suppose. …I'll explain when you get here; it's kind of a long story…Yes, Jean's fi—er…Jean's here."

No, she wasn't "fine," was she. Physically unharmed, yes. Present in body if not in mind, yes. But fine?

It would be a long time before she'd be "fine" again in any sense of the word. Still, things weren't all bad. She was alive and relatively unhurt, as was James. And from the sound of things, help was on its way. Small comforts admittedly, but still signs that indicated that all was not lost after all.

Two days later

They stood beside each other, watching through the glass as Lewis interrogated Trout—or tried to anyway. The inspector had been attempting for almost two hours already, ever since Trout had been released from the hospital's care and formally taken into custody. Unfortunately, the other man hadn't been doing much cooperating, which annoyed James greatly—though it didn't much surprise him.

" I thought that this would be enough—knowing that he's been caught and that this is finally over," Innocent said finally—more to herself than to Hathaway. "But this isn't enough, because it isn't over. I'm not sure it ever will be. If he can come back into my life just when I felt safer and happier than I've ever been… well, who's… who's to say he won't do it again? That he won't find me again someday and finish what he started?"

Of its own accord, Hathaway's arm looped itself around her shoulder, and she didn't resist. In fact, he wasn't completely sure she'd even noticed at all.

When he returned his gaze to her face, he saw it again—the same vague, haunted expression in her eyes that he'd first seen in Trout's basements. The fear had been especially poignant, because it had been so unexpected. Jean Innocent didn't frighten easily; in fact this whole experience with Trout was the first time, Innocent had even exhibited such an emotion in front of Hathaway. He'd seen her worried, of course, and frustrated and anxious, and angry, but never scared. It didn't suit her at all. She'd always seemed to be mature, so composed—certainly much more so than Hathaway. Yet when that look of panic had crossed her face, she had instantly lost any sophistication she might have possessed and had become a small, frightened child once again.

"He won't, Jean."

"That's all very easy for you to say, "she sighed, "but convincing myself of that is another matter entirely. Especially now after John's dea-after all that's happened…"

He heard the falter in her voice, and looked over to see moisture welling up in her eyes. He carefully guided her head onto his shoulder, where she proceeded to dampen his jacket with her tears as he lightly stroked her hair with one hand. Eventually, she pulled away.

"I'm sorry, James."

"It's fine. This hellish week would've taken its toll on any sane person."

" It's not just that. I'm…I'm sorry for getting you involved with my mess."

"You didn't 'get me involved.' I made my own decision, and I stand by it."

The sergeant wasn't naïve; he was sure there'd be consequences. He knew he was going to get dragged through the mud during the trial. If Trout decided to plead "not guilty," the defense was going to need a scapegoat, and Hathaway's rash behavior would make him an ideal candidate. And if Trout somehow got off, there was also very real chance that James might be facing assault charges and/or a serious lawsuit in the near future.

However all this still didn't change the fact that Hathaway wouldn't have hesitated to do it again—if that was what it took to keep her safe. For reasons James didn't fully understand, Jean brought each and every one of his protective instincts to the forefront. It wasn't that he was in love with her—at least, he didn't think he was. Time alone would tell whether the kiss had merely been a moment of confused thinking or his subconscious trying to tell him something.

But whether his feelings were romantic, platonic, or something-in-between, she was still a friend, and James Hathaway always took care of his friends.

After a long silence, he spoke again. "Lewis is coming over to my place tonight, and er…Hobson might come too. We were planning on ordering pizza, and Robbie was going to bring over his John Wayne DVD collection. I…I don't know if this is really your sort of thing, but if you wanted to come, you'd be welcome."

She smiled then, and Hathaway reflected briefly upon how much he'd missed that smile over the past few days. "I'd like that. Thank you, James."

" Any time."

THE END

Author's Note: This was the first fanfiction I attempted writing, and it's taken me nearly a year-and-a-half to finish. I'd like to think that it shows my growth as a writer, but I'm not really sure. What I do know is that despite incredibly long bouts of writer's block and frequent moments where I loathed everything about the story and wished I'd never started it, I always came back, however belatedly and reluctantly. So, though I simultaneously love and hate this story, it will always be special to me.

Thank you to everyone who's read/reviewed/favorite/alerted at any point during this long process. An especial thanks goes to prosfan for being one of this story's greatest inspirations and advocates. I definitely wouldn't have made it this far without her help and enthusiasm.

And now, it's time to celebrate, cause I've finally got the damned thing finished!