Author's Note: Loving hearing from you guys and what you like or would like to see in this story. Now for the exciting part!
WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of violence (nothing to graphic)…
What was he doing?
Jeff had asked himself over and over. And he couldn't figure it out. He was terrible with women. He really was. Not at first. Not in flirting or dating or in bed (as far as he could tell). But the relationship thing... He always thought things were going well and then... and then they weren't. Turned out they never had been. Maybe he was just naive. Maybe he just went all-in and was blind to the fact that the women he loved didn't jump in like he did. But he'd liked Nat for years and years, it was easy to let the love of friendship blossom into more. Only, it hadn't for her.
And that had hurt.
Maybe he wasn't expressive enough, maybe he needed to be more forward with his feelings. Maybe he should just sweep Sarah off her feet. He liked her... a lot. He was feeling... He liked her a hell of a lot. Too much for the short time that they'd been growing closer.
And maybe that was his real problem with women. Maybe he scared them away with his intensity? He only had two modes if he were honest; reserved and impassioned. Once he decided to be open and honest with a woman, he held nothing back. One would think he'd have learned his damned lesson by now, after having his heart broken multiple times. But he couldn't help himself.
He was human. He craved companionship. And women could be so very attractive. Especially when they had clever but empathetic eyes and a good-heart. (And were pretty as well.)
"Where's your girl?"
He hadn't seen her for the rest of the day, had gone to Molly's in the hopes that he'd find her there. But Gabriela Dawson didn't know any of that.
"What are you talking about, Dawson?" She put up a hand in a placating gesture.
"Whoa. No need to bite my head off," It was a slow night, which was bad news for Jeff if he didn't want his wounds picked at. She leaned on the counter, dropping her voice a little. "I take it things didn't work out with her?"
"I honestly don't know what you're talking about." He lied.
"The girl... A doctor at the hospital. I forget her name... Cute." Jeff shook his head, chuckling a little because it was just too much. Gabby was a sweetheart, but she wasn't above gossiping (she was part of Firehouse 51 after all) or that female obsession with meddling in other people's love lives. "Don't play stupid with me, Clarke. I saw you leave with her several times this week. I saw you how you were with her."
"Nothing is going on," he said, taking a swig of his beer and refusing to meet Gabby's narrowed eyes.
"Something's going on alright," she said. "Or else you wouldn't be here nursing the same beer for two hours."
Had he really been moping for that long? Damn.
"I'm being that obvious?" He grimaced.
"Oh, honey, you got it bad," Gabby said, patting his wrist and grinning broadly.
"Nothing happened." He tried denial again, as if it would work the second time. Gabby raised her eyebrows at him. "Nothing can happen. It wouldn't work. We-"
"You listen to me, Jeff Clarke." Her sudden intensity was actually quite terrifying. Gabriela Dawson was a very vibrant and passionate woman who he'd never want to find himself on the wrong side of.
"Don't let what other people do or say, or expect of you, dictate who or when or how you love someone. Don't let the doubts in. You can lose so much precious time that way."
The woman wasn't talking about him so much anymore, he knew. But she had a point. He'd witnessed her and Casey go through years of pining and bad timing and sneaking around and putting things on hold for something as trivial as their careers... If he'd had someone who loved him like that, he wouldn't have hesitated.
Only, Gabby was telling him that he was hesitating, listening to doubts and not his feelings, ignoring his heart.
She straightened, visibly collecting herself and wiping down the already clean bar in front of her.
"Things worked out for you and Casey," Jeff said, earning a radiant smile from the woman.
"Yeah, they did." She absently touched her wedding ring and Jeff was stabbed with an ache of remembrance of Lisa doing the same thing when they were newlyweds, back when he thought love was unwavering, unending. Gabby came back from whatever blissful moment had claimed her. "But take it from me, don't ignore your heart. If you think you might have feelings for this girl, you owe it to yourself and to her to do something about it…"
"Hey, Clarke," The door to the bar had opened, but he'd been so involved in his tête-à-tête with the firefighter-paramedic-bartender that he hadn't noticed Jay Halstead come in. The detective set a file down on the bar beside Jeff's beer and leaned against the counter. "Got that information you requested."
"Can I get you something, Jay?" Gabby asked, and the handsome young detective ordered a beer. The two exchanged a genial smile before Gabby when to get his drink, which made Jeff feel better about the still awkward situation with Natalie. Because the detective and the paramedic had been lovers for a little while there, had both moved on and maintained a genial rapport. They had both eventually found their forever relationship, as far as Jeff could tell. And he couldn't help but he a bit jealous of that.
Surely, Sarah Reese couldn't be that for him? But it didn't matter how he felt about her. Or she him. He still wanted her to be safe. He flipped open the file and began to peruse.
"It took quite a bit of digging," Jay said.
"Gavalas isn't Derek's birth name?" Unease was starting to build quickly in Jeff's gut.
"Nope. Had to change it and move after those restraining orders were filed." Gabby reappeared with the detective's beer, which he accepted with a 'thanks' and took a swig.
"So he has a history of stalking." Jeff was feeling worse by the minute. His uncontrollably protective instincts were threatening to take over.
"Who's a stalker?" Gabby asked.
"I caught this patient of Sarah's following her out of Molly's a couple weeks ago," he said. Her eyebrow twitched and she frowned, as if she'd just realized her assumption that he'd been hooking up with the young doctor had been proven wrong.
"I don't think stalking is the worst of it." Jay's face sobered from his genial smile and he took another swig of beer before he leaned in. The fact that the detective's instincts were also telling him this guy was dangerous didn't help settle Jeff's own worry.
"The second woman to take out a restraining order against this guy..." Jay bit his lip. "She went missing, Clarke."
The stool clattered as Jeff jumped to his feet, fumbling for his wallet to pay Gabby for the drinks while simultaneously fishing the phone from his pocket and calling Sarah Reese. He'd fallen into mission mode, heading straight for the door heedless of his friends calling after him.
Nothing else mattered. Just making sure Sarah Reese was safe.
...
The drive to Sarah's place gave him time to consider the situation more fully. It was extremely likely he was being ridiculous. She had good reason not to answer phone calls from him (and avoid him over the past few days). He'd messed up things with her... uh, boyfriend? Or whatever Joey was to her. More than Jeff was, for certain. Who was he to barge into her life like he had?
Just because his instincts -not just the kind deep in a person's gut, but the kind that seemed to stem from the very marrow of his bones- insisted, compelled him to protect her...
It was primal and territorial and entirely uncalled for... Except for the fact that this former patient of hers was actually dangerous. Allegedly dangerous a lawyer would say, a cop would say. But Jay Halstead had possessed real concerns. And it was perhaps unwise, but Jeff trusted a fellow former-soldier's instincts nearly as much as his own.
Sarah Reese lived on the third floor. And the entire building seemed to be quiet. Just a normal Thursday night. She was probably holed up inside with a psychiatry text and her Spock mug filled with tea, ignoring the calls of the overbearing older man who'd been harassing her with quasi-romantic overtures.
Showing up at her door after she'd ignored his calls was a rather stalker thing to do, as well, wasn't it?
Only, if she told him she didn't want to see him (if he could see she was safe and sound with his own eyes), then he'd leave and never bother her again.
He stopped in front of her door, raised a hand to knock and hesitated.
Blood started pounding in his ears.
The door was closed, but not latched. Not latched because the latch was no longer screwed into the door frame. The jam had splintered around where the metal strike plate had been. He'd seen plenty of forced doors in his time as a firefighter; had kicked in dozens if not hundreds himself.
Something cold and edged with the kind of anger a man needed to survive battles began to pour into his veins. Medically speaking, it was just probably a cocktail of hormones, mostly adrenaline. But the way it made him feel was something that couldn't be put into clinical terms.
He placed a hand on the wooden door and pushed, swinging it gently inward and turning to the side to remain as hidden as possible, glancing into the dark depths of Sarah's apartment.
If she was gone... If Derek Whatever-the-hell-his-name-was had taken her...
But there was music, slow and instrumental and creepy as hell.
Jeff stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him. The last thing he needed was a nosy neighbor barging in, alerting some creep who possibly had a knife to Sarah's throat. He put his back to the wall, because no one had his six and he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. The slow pace he took down the hallway would've been excruciating if he hadn't been trained to clear rooms with a steady, conscientious approach. There were definitely people inside, further in... the living room perhaps. He could hear faint whispers and movement beneath the music.
The kitchen was empty but he slipped inside, locating a butcher's block on the counter and extracting the carving knife. A wave of anger and disgust surged in his bloodstream. The cozy little kitchen table was set for two, candle burned down nearly to the holder. Nothing weird upon first glance. Except one plate was cleaned, the other with untouched food. And there was remnants of duct tape stuck to one of the chairs.
It was Derek. It had to be. He'd been playing games with Sarah. Which made Jeff want to beat the creep to a bloody pulp, but also meant the stalker wasn't in a rush to... to kill her.
Jeff headed towards the source of the music in the living room. And however furious he thought he'd been before, how uncontrollable that bit of primal bloodlust that resided in every human had felt, it didn't compare to the rage and disgust that practically choked him.
He wasn't hurting the young woman per se.
The creep was dancing with her. Thankfully, caught up too much in his fantasy to notice Jeff slip into the room.
What a sick, twisted bastard. He didn't care about all that psychology bullshit. No amount of medications or therapy could fix this. No way.
Sarah's clothes were lying in a pile to the side of the sofa. But she wasn't naked. In some ways, it was worse than finding her naked in a pervert's arms. Derek had stripped her and dressed her... in a fucking wedding gown. It was satin and lace and a disturbingly perfect fit to her slender figure. He'd even placed a veil on her head. And Jeff knew that Derek had done all of this, not forced her to do it at gunpoint, because Sarah was slumped in her stalker's embrace. He was mostly holding her up, her head listing to the side a little bit. She was murmuring something unintelligible and hadn't yet slipped into full unconsciousness but as far as Jeff could tell was damned close.
"Derek?" Jeff mustered the calmest tone he was currently capable of. Unfortunately, he'd been told before that his soft tone could be just as intimidating as when he yelled. The man dressed in a tuxedo jacket over a t-shirt and jeans started. Jeff didn't know what to say really, that wouldn't set him off. He settled for, "What's going on?"
"We're having a private moment," Derek said, shifting so that Sarah's limp body was between them, revealing the gun he had laid against the small of her back, black and silver against the white satin in the dim light. It was just a little .22 rimfire pistol, but he angled it so that the muzzle was pressed against the middle of Sarah's back. In some ways becoming a doctor had been the worst decision Jeff had ever made. For example, now he knew all the damage that could be done if the psycho shot the young woman pointblank in the spine. Or if it shattered a rib, missed the ribs and bounced around her chest cavity...
"I don't mean to intrude." Jeff shifted the knife a little more, so that not only was it sitting with the blade against his forearm, but the pommel was nestled in his curled fingers, hiding it behind his sleeve. He held up his other hand in a gesture of surrender. "I was just concerned when Sarah didn't return my calls. She's needed at the hospital. It's an emergency. Maybe-"
"You're the one who interrupted us that night. You're the one trying to steal Sarah away from me." Okay, so trying to reason with Derek might not work. "She's mine. You can't have her."
The gun pressed into the white satin and Jeff's heart leapt into his throat. Part of him was almost thankful that the young woman was so out of it. Whatever the creep had drugged her with, Jeff could only hope that she wasn't really aware of what was going on. Then again, she wasn't aware enough to try to reason with this guy. And a psychiatry resident could do a better job than a fourth year medical student, for certain. All Jeff could think to do was,
"That's right," he said. "I'm the one trying to steal her. I'm the one preventing you from being together. Why don't you point that gun at me?"
He got his wish, which probably in hindsight wasn't the best he'd ever made. But at least the pistol was no longer threatening to put a hole in Sarah, to stain that white satin with her blood. He couldn't bear to live with that. Better he got shot than her. Far better.
But she was still in the way, a bride-turned-human-shield.
"That's right, Derek. This is between you and me. Why don't you let Sarah sit down for a minute while we settle this."
Appealing to whatever twisted 'chivalry' the stalker possessed seem to work. Fuck. Who was he kidding? It was territoriality. They weren't two gentleman about to fight a duel over a lady's honor. They were two beasts fighting over a female. But if this jerk wanted to butt heads with him, he'd soon discover Jeff's skull was quite hard.
Derek, for being creepy and crazy, wasn't a complete idiot. He never took his eyes or the muzzle of the gun off from Jeff as he took a step back and deposited Sarah in an unceremonious heap on the sofa. The young woman made a cry of protest, a pathetic moan that tore at Jeff's heart. If Derek had overdosed her on some date-rape drug, Rohypnol or GHB or-
Shit. The guy really was going to shoot him.
Jeff hit the ground behind the coffee table as the gun went off. Something punched him in the hip and he knew it was a bullet. Getting shot fucking sucked. The only thing worse would be getting shot again, which Derek was repositioning to do.
It was generally a combat no-no to let a weapon leave one's hand, so he wasn't really sure why he did it, only that his instincts took over and he threw the carving knife. It actually had pretty good balance, considering. And the old muscle memory from when he was ten years old just kicked right in. Amazing thing, the human brain and body. It hit Derek in the chest, just an inch from the sternum, directly in the right ventricle of the heart if his anatomy was as good as his knife throwing skills apparently still were.
Thank god, Sarah kept her kitchen knives sharpened. Also, he was only about five feet from his target.
The man crumpled instantly, the gun falling to the floor with a thump. Before he keeled over face first, driving the blade deeper with a nasty juicy squelching noise and a tiny little spray of blood as the eleven inch blade poke through the man's back.
No checking for a pulse was necessary. Time of death: the instant the steel severed his heart in two.
Jeff took a moment, just a little moment, to roll onto his back and pant against the pain burning in his hip.
But there was no time to wallow.
"Sarah?" he rolled over onto his stomach, pushed himself up and crawled around the bleeding corpse to the young woman slumped on the sofa. She was unconscious now, her breathing shallow. He tried to rouse her and failed. Cursed aloud. Because the world threatened to go blurry on him as well. And he wasn't going to pass out. He found his cell phone, dialed 911 and balled up his jacket to press against the oozing hole in his hip.
/What's your emergency?/
"I have an OD, stabbing victim and a GSW."
The operator tried to keep him on the phone, but he hung up after giving her the address. He had to make another call just in case he passed out first. Because fuck, that fucking bullet must have lodged itself in the bone, it fucking her so fucking much.
And Sarah was in bad shape. They'd probably have to intubate her in case it was GHB that the asshole used on her. Otherwise she could choke on her own vomit or stop breathing or-
/Halstead./
"Jay, are you still at Molly's?"
/Clarke, is that you?/
"Yeah. Seems I was right to have checked in on Sarah." It suddenly occurred to Jeff that maybe he should've made this call before entering her apartment, but who knows what Dead Derek might've done to her in that time. What might he have already done to her? More than drugging her and dressing her up like a doll and having a goddamned creepy ass fake dinner party, that was… He could've-
/Clarke? Clarke? You with me?/
"Uh, yeah. Might pass out here pretty quick, though. Sarah's been drugged with something. Maybe GHB or Rohypnol. She's unconscious. Her respiration's depressed. I caught Derek, um... He shot me. He's dead."
The detective swore on the other end of the line which was sounding more and more distant. Really? Was he really going to pass out from this? He'd been injured worse. Hell, he hadn't even passed out when he suffered that stress fracture to his L4 vertebrae. But damn, this was almost blinding. He had renewed sympathy and respect for Kelly Severide who'd donated bone marrow without anesthesia.
/I'll send an ambulance. I'm on my way./
Jeff didn't bother to tell the detective that he already called for one. Because, hell, they needed more than one ambulance. He managed to reach for Sarah's hand, her slender, cool hand. He slid his other one over the satin front of her dress and cupped her neck, felt her pulse. The beating of her heart served as permission for him to let go. Not of her, but of consciousness.
A/N: Well, Jeff saved Sarah from the stalker… Now what?
