There are whispers that follow them.
'Have you seen her scrub in?' An observant nurse would whisper. 'She's got scars and ink. Lots of both. Especially the scars.'
'Have you seen him with the insurance reps?' A hospital administrator would smirk. 'They're scared shitless of him – never tried to deny a child life-saving care again.'
They never mind them, well used to being objects of attention and pariah. They are used to the eyes, used to the questions, and they are never bothered – just as they never bother to combat the water-cooler gossip that follows them like bees to honey.
'I hear she was a mob surgeon,' A janitor would say. 'That's why she's so good under pressure – and why she's so scary.'
'Scary? You haven't seen her husband,' A intern would counter. 'She might run the trauma center like a bootcamp, but if he walks into a room the hospital lawyers scatter – fast as lightning. Definitely ex-CIA.'
They dodge the questions that come. 'How did you meet?' An old friend introduced us. 'Why did you move here?' Better for our health. 'What happened to your face?' A wild youth. 'Is it hard working together?' We've had practice.
The surgeon and the lawyer – the power couple of the tiny memorial hospital in the middle of Nowhere Important.
(It was hard finding somewhere that they had never worked a case, never lived in, never been to – but the Marshalls managed it, as they always do, and … they settled in just fine.
Better than fine.)
Here her name is Dr. Janice Pamela Rodden. She's a former army medic back from working overseas, settling into civilian life. She served three tours, provided foreign aid, and has taken the blows as they come.
Her friends call her Jane, and her husband calls her Ivy, when they're alone – and when people ask why, they say it's a joke about her middle name being like Pamela Isley, the secret identity of Poison Ivy.
They know that she is skilled and they know that she is kind. She's also broken, but she was a veteran. That was practically expected.
Here his name is Renard James Rodden. He's a military husband and lawyer, who retired to be a civilian spouse after his own time in Afghanistan. He's an excellent medical lawyer, well known for his no-nonsense attitude and his dedication to patients and families. He is a tough man, and has taken the blows as they come.
His friends call him Rodden. His wife calls him Ren, with her pronunciation turning it into 'Rin', and after the first failed attempt no one else dares to call him that. When they ask he says that it is a pet name, not one to be shared. They respect it.
They know that he is smart and they know that he is kind. He's also damaged, but he's a veteran. That was practically expected.
Their son, who only swings by the hospital for checkups and sprained ankles, is called James Arthur Rodden. No one is brave enough to ask why his skin is so pale against his mother's, but seeing them together and no one sane would question they are mother and son. The two most terrifying and competent people in the hospital soften around their rapidly-growing boy, and it is beautiful. So very beautiful.
His friends call him J, and his parents call him Baloo – much to his ever-growing teenage despair. When they ask he says that it's a long story, but that to his parents he would always be their Little Bear.
They know he is clever and they know that he is kind. He's also a teenager, but that's okay. It's a temporary condition.
The whispers follow, never let up, but eventually they shift and grow.
'If you're worried about that husband of yours,' A nurse would tell a patient. 'Ask for a consult with Mr. Rodden. If anyone can get you out safe, it's him.'
'No – don't worry, they won't judge,' an emt would tell a passenger. 'Just ask for Dr. Rodden. She treats sex workers all the time, and I've heard she's kind about it. Respectful as can be, and real good about giving you the facts and all of your options.'
And sure, the rumors only grow – but so does the trust.
'I hear she was in an abusive relationship herself,' a tech would murmur. 'That's why she's the best to go to – she knows, and she can't stand to see anyone else in that kind of pain.'
'I heard he was forced into a gang when he was just a kid,' another would say. 'No wonder he's so protective of kids. He barely got to be one himself.'
They never bothered to bother. It didn't matter.
They had each other, and they had their son, and each day they went to bed and barely thought about the gun safe right next to their bed.
It was as it should have always been.
Until the message arrives.
It's their Marshall, Scrutt, who tells them over the phone one night.
"Peter Lewis, after escaping prison the second time, was shot by the fugitive task force during his attempt."
Rin locked eyes with his wife.
"You can come back now, if you like."
"Just –" Rin licked his lips. "Let me talk to my wife."
And he hung up. And he told Jane what Scrutt said.
And they stood there.
"Is it bad?" She asked, and it was then that he knew for certain that they were both thinking the same thing. "Is it bad, that I don't want to go back? No matter how much I miss them, no matter how much I hated being here all those years ago – how much I wanted to go back, even when Scratch was caught the first time … but now …"
"No," He shook his head. "It's not bad. It's not bad to like the life we made here."
They stand a little longer in silence.
"We'd have to check in with J, of course – make sure he's okay with it …" She licked her lips. "But he loves his new friends and loves this town – and he's about to start sophomore year and … he loves his school. He's doing really well."
"Of course we have to ask him," Rin agrees, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Yes, of course."
They stand a little longer.
"I'm happy here, Rin," Jane whispered. "I've stopped ignoring it when people say my name, and I've made friends. I'm doing good work here, and so are you – and it's not the same but …"
"But it's safe. It's really, actually safe," Rin finished for her.
They both smile.
"Will they forgive us?" She asks. "For not coming back?"
"Maybe one day," Rin allows a brief smile to pass his lips. "Garcia is gonna be livid, though."
"She'll get over it," Jane says, as if to convince herself. "They all will."
"Yes, they will," Rin steps closer, pulling his wife close and kissing her deeply. "We still have to talk to J … but … let's. Let's stay."
He looks deep into his wife's eyes, his body against hers, and she loops her arms around his neck.
"You and me and the Little Bear," Jane agrees, a smile tugging at her eyes. "Happily ever after."
He kisses her again, and against her lips he agrees: "Yes. Happily ever after indeed."
It's a promise, but for once – it's a promise it feels like they can keep.
