Heart of Stone

by:

A.K. Hunter

Chapter Two

"I've got a thick skin and an elastic heart, but your blade—it might be too sharp." - Sia, "Elastic Heart"

She was working late again, following up on Kevin's case as time permitted. It seemed like the only time she had anymore to follow their cases was in stolen moments before or after her already exhausting shifts. She was hunched over her desk, staring at the CSU files on her own murder attempt.

The scene had more or less been clean—besides her blood—the weapon had never been found, and those two men, Brigid, and Kevin had all but disappeared. There wasn't a match for any of the fingerprints left at the scene. It didn't make sense. How was it possible that he had so effectively dropped off the face of the Earth? How had the people who hurt her left no evidence behind?

Alexis was beginning to understand how it was possible that no leads or advances had been made in the case in three years. It seemed like there were no leads to begin with. Except she had been stabbed. Killed really. And if Kevin was dead, wouldn't there be a body? Wouldn't there be some forensic evidence somewhere? And if he wasn't dead… why hadn't he come back? Why hadn't he left clues for them to find him? The same set of questions spun in her mind on a continuous loop. No matter how many times she approached them, she didn't have an answer.

She rested her head in her hands, trying to blink away the exhaustion. Early mornings and late nights were wearing on her. She'd been back in New York for nearly two months, and besides logging hours at her internship, she was making no progress. She hadn't found Kevin; she hadn't even unpacked her apartment.

She still hadn't contacted her family. She had never meant to stay in New York for so long without their knowledge, but as time passed it grew harder and harder to try to talk to them. She'd been lucky enough to not work with Javier on a case yet. Liam, Lanie, and Perlmutter wouldn't tell her family, but Javi likely would. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Javi and Lanie seemed to be on the outs again, and he didn't come by unless work demanded it.

She tiredly rested her head on her desk. Her professional cases weren't doing any better than her personal ones. The criminals in the city had gotten a lot smarter. All of the amateur murders, crimes of passion committed by the inexperienced, those were easy enough to catch. But the professional crimes, like the man in the morgue with ruined hands and a bullet in his brain, those ones were getting harder and harder to unravel. Liam hadn't been kidding when he'd said that things had changed.

Alexis' eyes fell closed, and her mind jumped from case to case, professional and personal, mixing with the narrative of her friends and family. Everything was different, not just the crimes. Life had fundamentally changed for everyone around her. Her life had changed, though she didn't want it to, and yet here she was, pulling extra hours, barely sleeping in her quest to put together the broken pieces of her old life. She didn't want to be the only one holding on, but it seemed like if she didn't do it, no one would. She had to at least try….

Her elbow slipped off the edge of her desk and she jolted awake. How long had she been dozing? She coughed as an acrid scent filled her nose and coated her throat, and panic woke her tired mind as she saw the smoke spilling in from under her office door. Something was on fire. Coughing, her eyes stinging against the smoke, she wrapped the sleeve of her shirt around her hand before touching the doorknob. Heat instantaneously sank through the material and she yanked her hand back.

There was a fire on the other side of her door. She was trapped.

His mother had called him a changeling—a fairy child of unknown origin. He'd never belonged to her, she had said, he'd never belonged to anybody. It wasn't so bad, not belonging. When you didn't belong to anyone but yourself, you could move unseen, blend with the crowd, put on and pull off identities as needed.

For fifteen years he'd belonged. He'd found a home, a family, friends, but now he was alone again. There was a power in that loneliness, in being free from the consequences and expectations of a mundane life, from all the feelings that come packaged with belonging to other people. Changelings didn't feel. Their hearts were cold. It was easier to be alone than to belong, or so he'd been trying to convince himself.

He stepped through the halls of the empty hospital basement. Not a single living soul shared the floor with him, though there were plenty of bodies. It was all happening according to plan. In the modern age, most evidence lived on an imaginary plane—a sequence of ones and zeros. That was easy enough to access, and if you knew the right people, it was easy enough to destroy.

The morgue held the other side of things. The evidence made up of carbon and oxygen and nitrogen was much more fragile, but much harder to destroy.

Hospitals were easy to burn. There were so many combustible chemicals. The tricky part had been clearing the floor, and they only had about ten minutes to pull off the entire plan. He took great satisfaction in watching the place burn. There were so many memories, memories of dead bodies and now-dead body examiners. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her standing over the exam table.

He shook himself. Now wasn't the time to be falling apart, to try to connect with someone who was gone. Now was the time to burn the evidence. Evidence of crimes and evidence of his memories. It was all headed toward the same fate.

Brigid's tip had proven useful. He'd found Mike O'Hara's body—along with several other familiar faces—in the chilled drawers. And while it was unlikely that the coroner's office would get much evidence from the body, Kevin had been so careful as he broke the man's fingers and laid the still-hot gun in his hand, Nolan had been very clear. All the evidence would go.

He covered his face with the inside of his leather jacket as the smoke and heat began to spread. The sprinklers and alarm systems had been disabled. No help would come until the fire spread, until his partner made the anonymous call. For several seconds, he stood in front of the growing inferno, mesmerized. He hated fires. They reminded him too much of the night he'd been trapped in that burning building. The night Sarah Grace was born, but he wouldn't think about that. The plan was solid; the execution was simple. Nobody would get hurt, and Nolan would get the clean slate he'd always wanted. A win-win.

The fire had spread through most of the basement. Given a little more time, and it would consume the entire level. It was time to make his exit. He turned around, heading towards the all-too-familiar stairway.

A feminine scream ripped through the floor, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He turned around, his ears catching on a muffled cry for help. Smoke rose in great billows, just as deadly as the fire. He shook his head in disbelief. The floor was supposed to be empty.

The cries continued, and indecision warred within him. It was suicide. The poor soul trapped in the inferno would be dead within minutes. The smoke would kill them if the fire didn't. And there was no guarantee that he could make it out if he went back in.

Another cry echoed through the floor, barely audible over the sound of the fire, and his stomach twisted, imagining the fear that must have been running through his unintentional victim's mind.

"Fuck it," he muttered before turning up the collar of his jacket. It wasn't like he had a lot to live for anyway.

"Someone help me!" she cried, coughing around the smoke that washed over her skin and burned at her eyes. Her voice cracked, sounding so unlike herself that she didn't even recognize it. Despite the sweater she'd rolled up against the door, deadly fumes slipped between the cracks, bringing aerosol toxins that stained her skin, her hair, the inside of her lungs.

The phone lines on her floor were down. The alarms hadn't gone off, and, as far as she could tell, the sprinklers hadn't either. She'd foolishly left her cell phone in the exam area. Her best hope was to try to call attention to herself. Surely someone would hear her.

She huddled down close to the floor, trying to avoid the smoke. Heat emanated from the door, her last form of protection, pressing in on the bare skin of her arms. Sweat slipped down her soot-stained face, mixing with the tears that ran from her irritated eyes. How had this even happened? One minute she was staying late at work and the next she was facing down a fire. Who would do this?

Another coughing fit took over and she tucked her nose and mouth deeper into the collar of her tank top, trying in vain to find some relief. Even without the smoke particles, there wasn't enough air. A weight pressed against her chest as surely as the smoke burned her nose and throat. She couldn't stay there much longer. Was it worth it to try to find out what was on the other side of the door? Or would that just kill her faster?

The heat was oppressive, and she could barely see a few inches in front of her around the smoke. She weakly reached out for the door, and her fingertips burned on the wood. She let out a near-silent yelp, her throat was barely capable of bringing in air, much less making noise. Alexis curled in on herself, tears drawing long lines down her face, ragged sobs turning into hacking gasps. The world tilted to the side, and she slipped into dreams of smoke and flame.

Where the fuck was she? Smoke burned his eyes as he hurried through the basement, searching for the woman whose screams he'd heard. Fire was everywhere. He was having a hard time avoiding it. Some parts of the basement were already too far gone. If that person was in there, well, they were in a better place now.

The only place left to search was the morgue itself, the part that was catching fire faster than he'd anticipated.

All the doors were open except one. A charred office door with a half-melted metal nameplate. He squinted to read it, his irritated eyes falling short against the heat and smoke. He really hoped it wasn't anyone he knew. He rushed through the exam area, using his jacket as meager protection against the flames and smoke. A dull pain thudded in the back of his head. He didn't have much time. Hopefully she was alive. Hopefully she'd able to help him help her. There wasn't enough oxygen for him to do it alone.

"Hello!" Kevin called at the door, receiving no response. He backed up a couple steps, then kicked in the door. Smoke wrapped around him and the fire grew as a new pocket of air opened up. He was barely able to make out a form curled up on the floor. He kneeled down and shook her hard. "Get up!" he barked, hoping his sharp tone would snap the woman out of it. She coughed feebly in response. Shit.

Cinders flew through the air, landing on her exposed arms, and she flinched, emitting a pathetic wheeze-whimper. He slipped his jacket off, trying in vain to ignore the heat that pressed against his arms and torso, and wrapped it around her. He lifted her into his arms, choking at the smoke that smothered his lungs as he supported her weight. Her face pressed against his chest, her body completely limp, and his arms tightened around her. She wouldn't last long without some clean air.

As he left the small office, the door frame collapsed, bringing its scorching weight down on his shoulders. He shielded the woman with his body, crying out at the heat that spread down his back, pulling in lungfuls of smoke with reach ragged breath. He staggered through the morgue, feeling like his chest was on fire. Each inhale was painful, and each exhale left him wanting more. Spots appeared in his vision as he pushed open the door to the stairwell, letting it fall shut behind him, and he collapsed against the cool steps, dropping the woman's body on the floor.

He gulped in lungfuls of cleaner air, his hands shaking at the white-hot pain that hugged his back and shoulders. His eyes blinked away smoke particles as they settled on the unmoving form a few feet away. Her back was to him, still wrapped in his jacket, long, soot-stained strands of hair lay across the floor.

Was she even breathing? Where were the paramedic and fire teams? His partner should have called them by now. He gingerly moved forward, gritting his teeth at the pain, and flipped her onto her back. Her face was stained black in several places, but the resemblance was unmistakable. Kevin jolted backward, his oxygen-deprived mind unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

It was her.

Alexis let out a hacking cough, her bloodshot blue eyes wild. He shook his head. It wasn't possible. She was dead. He'd seen her die—held her as she took her last breath. Her body jerked as her lungs tried to expel the toxins, her chest arching upward then falling against the cold linoleum. His eyes locked on the soot-smudged mark that started a few inches above the neckline of her tank top.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Kevin forced himself to stand. As the firefighters and paramedics moved into, checking for injuries and offering first aid, he forced himself to disengage, to the play the part of a scared hospital employee, accepting help and giving false information until he could sneak away.

He didn't allow himself to look back at her. He knew what had happened. Smoke and pain and three years of longing had superimposed her image over some other woman's face.

It wasn't Alexis. It couldn't be.

The heart monitor was her least favorite sound to wake up to. She'd spent way too long listening to it. Was way too familiar with it. Of course, she had another least favorite sound, and naturally that one would be in her hospital room too.

"Alexis?"

"Dad?" Her vocal cords barely managed to squeak out the word. She coughed hard, her lungs heaving down into her belly and then jumping up and banging against her throat. Her father's hand gently squeezed hers as she fought for air. Cool, sweet oxygen flowed in through the tubes in her nose.

He handed her a cup of water once the coughing had abated. "I got a call from the hospital… they said you were in a fire in the morgue?"

She simply nodded as the liquid soothed her irritated throat. Speaking was too difficult, breathing alone was a challenge.

"You're supposed to be in LA."

Alexis stared down at the starched, white hospital blankets. What kind of answer was she supposed to give him? She glanced up at him and saw the exact moment all the pieces clicked together in her father's mind. His expression shifted from hurt to confused, finally going blank. "You didn't."

She took another sip of water, keeping her face as emotionless as his, trying to appear strong even though each breath hurt worse than the one before it.

"Why did you lie to me?"

She couldn't explain it. And not just because she couldn't speak. Alexis wasn't strong enough to share those deep, dark fears that had followed her ever since her dad had sent her away. Those voices that said the plane ticket had nothing to do with her wellbeing; he just wanted to live a perfect life with his new wife and daughter—broken leftovers weren't welcome.

Alexis knew she was broken. She could handle that. She'd gotten very comfortable with that idea, the truth that had been cruelly etched into her skin. But there were other ideas that she wasn't as comfortable with: the possibility that Kevin was dead—or, somehow worse, that he was alive and didn't care about her anymore—and the near-certainty that her own father hadn't wanted her. Because who would want someone like her? Broken. Damaged beyond repair. Those were things she wasn't strong enough to face. So she lied and avoided and she worked herself to exhaustion, first in LA, where she finished medical school a semester early at the top of her class, and now in New York.

Except she'd been caught, and she couldn't run or avoid or lie anymore. Her father stood in front of her, his frown deepening by the second, expecting an answer that she couldn't give. Tears slipped down her face and she bit her lip, locking in the sob that tugged at her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself, hiding her face as coughs mixed with voiceless whimpers. She didn't want him to see her like this, so weak and pathetic. It was just like two and a half years ago. If she was strong, maybe he wouldn't send her away again. If she could just stop crying–

"Oh, honey."

In an instant, he sat by her side and his arms wrapped around her. Whenever she envisioned seeing him again, speaking to him in person, she'd imagined an angry speech, with just enough calculated venom to really hurt him. To hurt him the same way he'd hurt her. But in that moment, with her face pressed against his chest as he told her loved her, that he'd missed her, that he was so happy she was okay, Alexis wasn't angry. She just missed her dad.

Her arms slipped around his middle and Alexis relaxed against his chest, staying there long after the tears had abated.

"Help me understand—you did the job."

"Yes." He sounded like he'd swallowed a pound of gravel.

"Everything was destroyed."

"Yes."

"And once you accomplished that job, you risked the entire operation by sticking around to pull some woman out of the fire?" The old man wheezed on the last syllable, and Kevin almost laughed. He was being reprimanded for saving a life, and Nolan could barely pull in enough air to finish his sentence. If his own lungs didn't feel like they'd been through a meat grinder, he would have relished in the old man's frailty a bit more.

"She was unconscious. Nobody saw me."

"That's not the point," Sloane said, speaking up from his place at the other corner of the room. "You put the operation at risk over some nobody."

"I don't remember asking your opinion," Kevin snarled. "Why are you even here?"

"The boss asked me to come." His grin made Kevin furious, and it was no secret why. It had taken more than a little self-control for Kevin to not kill him over the last three years. It had been a constant fantasy to wraps his hands around Sloane's thick neck until his eyes bugged out.

"It was your job to make sure the floor was clear," Kevin said. "You fucked up."

Nolan waved his hand dismissively, "There are always casualties in a war. What I don't understand is why you are so quick to make yourself one of them."

Kevin gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything.

"I would say you should be punished, but it looks like your foolhardy decision has already punished you enough. You may leave."

Again, he didn't say anything. Kevin stood up, biting back a wince as his shirt dragging over his blistered skin.

"Buachaill."

"What?"

"Don't give me a reason to doubt you."

Kevin walked out of the quasi-hospital room, forcing one foot in front of the other until he stumbled down the steps of the brownstone and carefully, gingerly, sat in the passenger seat of the car that waited for him on the curb.

"I see you're still alive," Brigid said from her spot in the driver's seat.

"For now."

"Here," she tossed him a small black pouch with tubes hanging out of it. "Breathe deep."

Kevin hunched over, pressing the oxygen mask against his face as his sister drove him home.

"You shouldn't have waited this long to get medical attention."

He didn't say anything, just savored the oxygen that flowed through his burned throat.

"Sit back," she said, reaching toward him with one arm, and he flinched away from her touch.

"Can't," he said, briefly pulling the mask away.

"You didn't wear any protective clothing when you decided to be a volunteer fireman?"

He paused briefly, irritated by everyone scolding him for doing a good thing. He knew Brigid's frustration came from a place of love, but he was still tired of hearing it. "Someone else needed it more." In the hours since he'd staggered out of the hospital, the satisfaction of a successful assignment ringing hollow, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, the object of his most recent hallucination.

He found himself mentally walking back through those moments in the fire. Had she still looked like Alexis when he'd found her in the office? Her face had been hidden from him, by smoke or some other means, until he'd turned her over in the stairwell. He tried to remember how Alexis' weight had felt in his arms all those years ago. Not just when she was dying, but during moments of passion or that time, right after she'd moved in with him, when he'd picked her up and spun her around, so happy to be sharing his home with her. The woman he'd endangered and then saved was about the same size.

"What's on your mind, deartháir?"

He'd been silent through the drive him, wordless as they rode the elevator up to his apartment and his sister rummaged through the first aid kit. He tried to shake the hope that had settled, cold, in the bottom of his hollowed-out chest. Alexis was gone. He tried to ignore the voice that reminded him that she'd be finished with medical school, working as a medical examiner in a morgue. She would have been a medical examiner if she wasn't dead. She would have been a lot of things.

He couldn't shake the image of the scar. In all of his half-crazed imaginings, Alexis didn't have a scar. Every part of her was perfect—just as she'd been before Sloane had plunged the knife into her chest. The woman he saw today looked like a different Alexis, an Alexis that existed after the event that had torn their lives apart. Was his mind really capable of making that up? Or was there another explanation? A logical answer that made his heart beat in double-time.

"Brid," he began.

A crease appeared between her eyebrows as she watched him. "What's the matter?"

But what if he was wrong? He'd watched her die. He'd seen her blood-covered corpse. And then he'd seen her in the morgue, alive, though worse for wear, with a terrible scar running down her chest. How could they both be real? How could she have survived? And how would he have not known about it? Brigid would have told him. She was the one loophole to Nolan's demand that Kevin leave his old life behind, and she was the one who made sure that the old man kept up his end of the deal. If Alexis was alive, his sister would have told him.

He knew his sister worried about him. Though Brigid's job was to look after Nolan's health, she spent most of her time chasing after Kevin, pulling him out of the bottle when he'd sank too deep, patching up cuts and bruises from jobs that had gone wrong, simply sitting with him in silence when it had hurt too much to be alone. In the first six or seven months after Alexis' death, when he'd spent more time shit-faced than sober, his sister was the one who had cleaned him up and kept him alive. She was the only person left in the world who cared about him; she was the only person he could trust.

Kevin shook his head. "Never mind."

Whatever had happened, whatever he thought he'd seen when pain and smoke had crossed the wires in his brain, it wasn't worth sharing. Brigid knew he was broken—haunted by the life he'd left behind. There was no point in telling her how bad it really was.

Author's Note: Come on, Kev! Don't give up so easily!

A million thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one just as much! Please, please, please review. I would love to hear your thoughts.

I've got a little promotion going on right now for those readers who have reviewed, followed, or favorited In My Veins and Heart of Stone. You are eligible to read a special, "deleted" scene that takes place between the two stories. If you have an account, PM me and I'll share it with you. If you're a guest reviewer, leave your email in a review and I'll share it with you that way. Or you can create an account for the sake of getting exclusive goodness. (I don't think there's another way for me to do this. This website won't let me post my email here. I'm open to all other suggestions.) This is an exclusive scene that is not published anywhere, so take advantage of the reading opportunity.

One last item of business: Rylexis fans there is an amazing new story up! The wonderful and talented JJS4 has just published the first chapter of a Rylexis story called Aftermath. I got the opportunity to help edit the story, and can I just say it's the perfect mix of drama, romance, and general sexiness? Do yourselves a favor and check it out. :)

Next time: Alexis runs into an old "friend."

Have a great weekend!

- A.K. Hunter