Misconceptions pt. 31

The room was deathly silent. No one spoke or moved. They just stared at the redhead who was confessing to the murder of a cop, their cop. Her pallor was sallow. In fact, despite her challenging gaze and confident tone, she looked quite ill.

Andrew Clayton knew when he was being lied to, and this girl was lying. But why? How would confessing to a murder help her? He continued to stare as his mind wandered, grasping for an acceptable answer to his questions. He remembered the look that her and John shared before this had all gone down, and he remembered the kiss that finally, unequivocably confirmed what everyone already knew. They were intimate with one another. They were in love. So how would this confession serve a purpose? It wouldn't free John. His crimes were of a different sort. All it would do is put her behind bars.

His eyes widened and he slowly stood from the edge of the desk. Unless she was protecting him another way? "Did John shoot the cop?"

She frowned, standing and staring hard. "No! He didn't do anything, it was all me!"

She was still lying. "Natalie, I want you to take a minute and really hear what I'm saying to you?" She stood perfectly still, but she didn't interupt so he continued. Their eyes were locked. "If what you're telling me is true, then you'll go to prison for the majority of your life." He paused, trying to see the missing piece to this puzzle. "You need to tell me the truth. Lying isn't going to help McBain out of the mess he's in. This won't help him."

She sat back down and ran a palm over her face quickly. "John wasn't even there, damn it!" Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she was beginning to think she would pass out. "I don't get it?" Her eyes darted around the room, touching on each and every face. "This is what you've wanted right? All of you? You've been trying to keep me away from him because you always suspected this, so why all the apprehension?"

Michael blinked, trying to process everything. First he had to handcuff his big brother, and now he had to listen to a bunch of garbage. He was tired, and this damn case was beginning to get on his last nerve. "No more lies, Natalie!" he shouted, wanting the truth. That was the only thing that was going to help his family now. No more lies. "You didn't shoot anyone, so who the hell did? What happened at the train station?"

She was pissed. "I just told you, you ass! He found me in the car and I freaked out. I didn't want to go to jail, and so I fired." Why, suddenly, was it so hard for everyone to believe that she was a criminal? "You found my fingerprints on the gun, didn't you? I did it."

Mike shook his head. "We found your prints, but you didn't fire the weapon. There was no trace on your skin."

"I washed it off."

"Where? How? That stuff doesn't just come off, you have to scrub it from your skin, Natalie."

She sighed, turning to the doorway and Cameron. "Come on, Jase. You of all people realize that I'm guilty, right?"

He didn't say anything, he just stared at her.

Eve moved away from the wall and sat in the chair at Natalie's side. The young woman was glaring, and if looks could kill, she'd be in the morgue right now. "You're lying Natalie, and everyone here knows it. Tell the truth for once in your life!"

She couldn't tell the truth. The truth would only hurt John, and so she would accept the blame. She blew out a loud breath. "The truth is that I killed a man."

Eve frowned. "So what? You shot the cop when he found you?" She nodded slowly. "Where was John?"

"How the hell do I know? I was a little preoccupied."

Eve turned to Agent Clayton. "My son is no murderer, and I know that you know that too."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes for a moment. A few minutes with Natalie Buchanan were enough to give anyone a headache. "Listen, either John fired the shot or he knows who did. Which is it?" He was rapidly losing patience.

Natalie stood again. "I already told you that John wasn't even there when that man was shot. I did it, me!"

Andrew stared at her hard. "So you're telling me that it was all you? Not John McBain."

She wanted to scream. "Well, we were the only two there, right, and it wasn't him." She quickly looked at Cameron, who was watching her with a large frown on his face. He looked about as happy as she felt.

Clayton looked to the Commissioner. "Tom, maybe we should just give the lady what she wants?"

Jason stared at the floor and chuckled softly. He shook his head in amazement, before finding all eyes on him. He lost his soft grin very quickly. "What?"

Tom was angry. "Something funny?"

"Yeah, this whole thing is hilarious!" He was tired and he just wanted to go home and sleep.

No one spoke, until Michael stepped forward. "He's laughing because he knows the truth." That peaked everyone's interest, especially the Fed's. "He knows why she's lying."

Andrew was pissed off now. This wasn't a damn game! It was a case, and it was one of the messiest he's ever had the misfortune of being a part of. His eyes found Cameron's. "Why don't you enlighten us, detective?"

"Oh for God's sake!" He stood straight and crossed his arms over his chest. "She didn't shoot anyone and neither did..." he paused, biting his lip hard. This day really sucked. "Neither did McBain." It was incredibly quiet as they waited for him to finally reveal what he knew. "She's throwing herself to the lions to protect the man."

She laughed, trying to deflect the attention, but it wasn't going to work. Not this time. "Buchanan here is confessing to murder so that she doesn't have to tell us what really happened? That there was someone else there, and she's doing it so that we won't know that John has been in communication with her the entire time she's been on the run. If she talks, then we learn the truth." He swallowed, staring from one gaze to the next. "The truth that I've been telling you from the start of this mess. He's been breaking the law to protect her, and that's the deep, dark secret...isn't it Buchanan?"

Natalie stared at her hands, wanting to hit the man again. He was such an ass, and he has it in for John. Well, she wasn't about to help him. "You don't know anything, Cameron."

"Save it, sweetheart. The jig is up, and now it's time to just tell us what went down so that we can catch a cop killer. A real cop killer." His blood was boiling. Was there no end to this drama? He stared into her wide, blazing eyes. "Do you think that John would want you to let this guy get away with killing a cop? I don't like the ass, but I think I can actually say with certainty that the answer is no."

She knew he was right. He wouldn't care about any consequences if it meant that they caught the shooter, but she wasn't John, and she didn't think that she could live with herself.

Eve stood from her chair and glanced at her husband for a moment. Then she went to the agent. "Maybe, if Natalie proves helpful in this case, the FBI would be lenient on my son? That's possible, isn't it Agent Clayton?"

He simply nodded, wanting to get to the bottom of things. He wasn't eager to send John away either. "It's possible," he turned to the redhead, "but that would depend on you."

Eve walked toward the door, and everyone was surprised when she opened it. "I'm going to see my son." She stared at her husband. "That's not a problem is it?" He shook his head, and she turned toward an irritated federal agent. "Good," she replied, disappearing out of the tiny room.

Natalie sighed, sitting in her chair and closing her eyes for a moment. He asked her to keep her mouth shut, and now things seemed worse than ever. Why didn't she just listen to him? Her heart continued to thump erratically as she stared at Michael. He nodded in her direction, and she knew that it was finally time to talk. She hated herself for it, but it was the right thing to do. "Okay. Fine." She sank further into the seat. "You want to know what happened in that car then I'll tell you?"

John sat on the cot in his cell. His feet were propped on its edge, bending his knees and allowing his arms to rest comfortably over them. His head was against the cement wall, and he stared through the bars. The view wasn't great. It just lead to the empty cell across from him, but his mind wasn't in this basement anyway. He was worried about Natalie. She hadn't actually promised him when he asked her to keep quiet. He frowned, closing his eyes.

The familiar screech reached his ears, alerting him to a visitor, but he kept his eyes closed and his body relaxed. It was probably just Michael or his dad, here to tell him how much trouble he was for this family? Or maybe it was Andrew coming to throw away the key?

"John?"

He swallowed, genuinely surprised to hear his mother's soft voice. He slowly looked at her, not recognizing who she was anymore, but that was partially his fault too. He left and never really looked back. Not even for her. "What do you want, ma?"

She stepped closer to the cell and wrapped her fingers around the cold bars. Her face was worn, filled with worry and exhaustion. She glanced around the tiny space with a look of disgust. "Things are really going downhill fast, aren't they?"

He didn't move. He didn't speak. He had nothing to say anyway.

"So are you going to hate me forever?" Her heart was out of control and it was afftecting her breathing. "We made a mistake, John."

His lip curled, not quite into a smile, but it was enough to show his amusement. "It doesn't really matter. Things are what they are." He grew serious. "What's going on upstairs?"

She frowned. "You mean with Natalie?" He nodded, and she found herself surprised. She shouldn't be, having witnessed their closeness. "She's in your father's office telling everyone what happened at the trainyard."

He hopped off the cot quickly, closing the space. "What exactly is she telling them?"

Eve sighed. "Honey, I don't know? I didn't stick around to find out."

"Well, why the hell not?"

She stood straight, beginning to lose her temper with his single-mindedness. He was in a cell and about to be prosecuted for God knows what? "Damn it, John, get your head out of your ass!" She would have laughed at the surprise on his face, if she wasn't so mad. "I don't care about Natalie Buchanan, I care about you...my son! The one who is locked in jail! Remember that?"

He blew out a breath and turned from her, pacing his cell with his hands on his hips. She was more pigheaded than the old man! "I need to know what the hell is going on up there! If you don't have any information for me, then why are you here?"

She felt an incredible sadness grip her. Her voice softened. "I'm scared for you, and I want you to know that I love you. I want you to understand that even though we were so wrong, we only wanted to help you. To save you from this!" She waved her hand around the room dramatically. "John, let us help you get out of here before it's too late?"

He shook his head, not really sure how to proceed? Who was this person? Not the mother he remembered. His fingers wound around the bars along with hers, and he stared into her eyes. "What happened to us?"

She wanted to cry. "I'm not sure, and when you're out of here we'll figure it out, but not right now."

He sighed, resting his forehead against the cool metal. "Do you remember when I was twelve and you found me at the park? I snuck out to set up the tent over by the duck pond."

She nodded, feeling the moisture that was pooling in her eyes. She remembered.

"You told me that I couldn't go, but I did it anyway. I wanted to prove that I wasn't afraid to do it like Bobby Morton had claimed." He stared hard, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "Do you remember what you said to me when you found me?"

She wiped away the lone tear that rolled over her cheek. "Yes," she answered with a rough voice. "I told you to be home in time for breakfast." She stared at her son and saw the little boy she lost. The man who walked away and left his family behind. He had the same intense eyes, and her heart was breaking.

"You didn't yell at me or ground me or tell me that I was in any trouble at all." His blood was racing at the memory. "You said that sometimes a person had to prove something to themselves, and that was more important than listening to what others wanted of you, or expected of you." He took a quick breath. "You told me that you trusted me and you would see me in the morning."

She pushed away from the bars abruptly, needing some distance between them. That was a long time ago.

John wasn't about to stop what he started. He needed her to see. "I guess you lied, huh?"

She spun sharply, finding his accusing eyes. "I didn't lie."

He was angry. "You told me that you trusted me, but you don't." He hated this. It was too hard. "Well, here we are again...twenty two years later, and we're in the same place." He watched her reclaim her position at the bars. Her eyes were so wide and filled with pain. "I'm just listening to some advise that my mother gave me."

She scoffed, moving again, pacing. "This isn't the same thing, damn it! That girl is nothing but trouble."

"No, she's innocent." He was losing his patience. "There's evidence out there, and it's going to prove that."

"Oh John, wake up!" She wanted to smack him until he came to his senses. "It doesn't matter what the evidence says?" His confusion was almost comical. She held his gaze. "There's nothing innocent about Natalie Buchanan, whether she commited these crimes or not!"

John was at a loss. It wasn't like his mother to be so close-minded. She was usually the reasonable one. The one who kept the peace between him and his father, but right now she was a stranger, insistant on her opinions. He leaned into the bars and stared right at her, speaking low. "If you came here to talk trash about Natalie, then you can leave right now. You don't know her."

Eve ran a hand over her face and softened her tone. This was getting them nowhere. "Honey," she licked her lips, trying to reach her boy, "I know that you care about her, but..."

"I love her."

She pushed down the panic that gripped her. He meant it, but it was nothing new. "I know that. I've known it before you did, but she's not right for you."

John had enough of this. "Take a good look at me!" he snapped. "I'm a grown man. I don't need your approval on who I see, and I don't want it." He wanted out of this nightmare though. "You should go."

She touched his hand, and watched as he pulled from her. "Look at me, John." He did, and she felt a heaviness in her chest. There was so much anger toward her. "I understand Natalie a hell of a lot better than you do. She's not for you."

He blinked, straightening. What the hell does that mean? "We're done here," he said, flatly. He walked back to his cot and lifted his legs, slipping into the familiar position on the bumpy mattress. He closed his eyes.

Eve saw him shut down and end things between them again, for the millionth time since he's been back home. She wanted to shake him and scream at him and hug him. He was right about one thing, he was no longer that twelve year old boy. He was a grown man, and he was determined to stand with the redhead.

She sighed, and left the holding area. Maybe there would be some sort of conclusion upstairs? If Natalie went to prison, then that would be the end of things. Her son would hurt and mourn, but he would eventually move on with his life. That was the light at the end of the tunnel.

She walked faster, anxious to talk to her husband and get some answers.

Natalie rolled her neck around, trying to get the stiffness out of her tired muscles. Thankfully, Michael removed the cuffs from her tender wrists, so at least she could move a little easier, but there was no way she could be comfortable. Not with all eyes on her, waiting for her to spill her guts. She sighed, crossing her jean-clad legs. "I told you already, John wasn't there." She was getting tired of repeating herself, but they weren't letting it go. "I was alone in the traincar." She glared at the Fed. "Alone," she repeated, firmly.

Andrew crossed his arms and continued to watch her with a careful eye. His legs dangled over the edge of the desk, but he liked this position. It allowed him to sit at a higher level, which was more intimidating. That's the way he liked to conduct all his interviews. "But he had already found you by then, hadn't he?"

"Stay down," John said urgently. He peered around the metal car and watched as some guards moved past them. When they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, he finally allowed himself to breathe. He turned to find a confused Natalie watching his every move with her bright eyes.

She took a small breath, and played with the hem of her skirt. She was nervous, and looking at him now, that wasn't going to pass anytime soon. "I'm pissed at you for what you did to Rex." He didn't speak, he simply nodded. Her chest felt heavier. "Nothings changed."

John slowly stood, and held out his hand in assistance. She stood on her own, and he felt an ache where his heart was supposed to be. "I know."

She couldn't look away. "You always show up when I need you," she blurted softly, perplexed by him.

He smiled. "You didn't really think you were going to get rid of me that easily, did you?" He saw her lips curl, and it sent a flood of relief throughout his tense body. A smile was a good thing. He offered his hand for a second time, and nearly shouted out his joy when she took it. Then he lead her from their corner. They had to find a better place to hide and regroup.

"There they are!" a voice yelled into the night air.

John and Natalie spun in time to see a flurry of men coming their way. They held to one another and sprinted into the shadows, running from their ever-present pursuers.

She stared in silence. Her heart was thundering. God, what am I doing? This was it. If she told the truth, they would know everything and they could hang John with it. If she didn't talk, a cop killer would go free, and he would never forgive her. She dropped her eyes, swallowing. "Yes," she finally admitted, glancing up when there was no response. Maybe they hadn't heard her?

Thomas walked up to her and could see how frightened she was, though she was doing her best to pretend otherwise. He sat at her side. "Just tell us, Natalie. I promise you we're not here to bury John." He stared at her while she weighed his words carefully. Her dislike for him was evident, and it made him want to smile. She really did love his son. "I promise," he said again.

She took a deep breath. "He left me to go and find a way out of the yard. There was security everywhere, and more would come once they figured out who they were chasing?" She paused. "They got a look at me before he found me."

Michael glanced toward Jason for a moment, but couldn't hold his eyes. He had been right all along. He had seen John's lies for what they were, but he couldn't accept that his brother would go to such extremes. Then again, he hadn't really believed that he would fall for the number one suspect either?

Natalie shifted slightly, pushing out the story. She just wanted it out there already.

This guy was no security guard. His eyes were cold as they bore into her with purpose. She watched as he pulled a gun and pointed the weapon at her. It was comfortable in his grip. He was used to holding it, and that made her fear more acute. "I can just leave," she suggested, unable to tear her eyes from the barrel.

"No," he said, grinning in amusement. "I don't think that's going to work? No more running, Natalie."

She stood straight, frowning. "How do you know my name?" He was here for her. She was feeling a tightness in her gut as he took a step closer.

"Well, I'm here to kill you. Sorry, darlin'."

She felt frozen. He was about to shoot her, and then whoever was doing this would get away. She would be dead, and they would get away with 30 million dollars of Buchanan money. Her breath was coming quickly now, and her gaze was on the barrel. She couldn't look away.

And John? She felt her heart slam into her as her panic rose to the surface. What would happen to him?

The sound of footsteps on gravel filled her ears, and she managed to look up. There was a cop behind them. He had his weapon out and was saying something, but she couldn't understand the words. Hell, she couldn't even hear them! The only thing she heard was the blood that was roaring through her numb body. The faux-guard was spinning too, and she reacted instantly. She didn't think or ponder. She just stepped up and grabbed his wrists, wrestling him for control of the tiny metal.

He was strong, too strong for her. She felt her legs lift off the ground, and she felt pain. The hard wall of the train car was unyielding, and her attacker was pinning her with a fierce strength, but she didn't let go. She couldn't let go. If she did, she was dead.

It felt like an eternity later, but he was suddenly gone. She lifted her hands to her neck, where he had pressed an elbow sharply against her throat, effectively cutting off her air supply. She sucked in some much needed oxygen, and focussed with barely enough time to spare. She watched helplessly as the gunman fired his weapon and shot the young cop in the gut point blank.

"AAAHHHH!" She screamed, muffling the cry with her hands as they flew to her open mouth. NO! The man was breathing eratically, but he was the one left standing, and she glared at him when he looked into her eyes. There was no way in hell she was going to cower to him. He retrained his aim, and she held her breath, awaiting the shot that never came.

But John did. She saw him slide in the gravel and quickly recover, and then she turned to see the man tossing the gun and hopping from the train. He sank into the dirt and ran in the opposite direction. Without hesitation, she grabbed the weapon, holding it tightly until he was gone from her line of sight. There was no way he would get another chance at killing her. No way!

Her eyes found the cop at her feet, and she began to feel very cold. There was so much blood. A pool of it circled his heaving body, and she watched as it continued to expand, growing every second.

"Natalie, help me!"

She blinked, processing his voice. It was John. He was on his knees and working to help the wounded officer, and she swallowed, dropping the weapon in her hands. She bent to the floor and listened to his instructions. She stuck her hands over his and was surprised that the blood was so warm. She had expected it to be cold, like her heart. She pressed into the man's gut with all her strength, and she did it because she wanted him to live. He saved her, and now John was helping her to save him. John would help her. He would help them both.

Andrew was listening to her, but he wanted to be very clear. There would be no more mistakes on this. "So, a security guard climbed into the car after John left, but he wasn't really a guard?" She nodded. "He was there to kill you?" That was a little far-fetched, even for her. "And how did he find you, Natalie? How did he know where you'd be hiding? Did he follow John?"

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "No, he didn't follow John. He's no idiot, though the same can't be said for the rest of the FBI."

Tom chuckled, he couldn't help it. He looked into the irritated eyes of Agent Clayton and shrugged.

Andrew sighed. This town was a bloody circus. "Keep talking," he instructed.

"I don't have a clue how he found me, but someone sent him there? He knew my name."

Andrew was losing his temper. "How could they possibly know where you'd be?"

"I don't know!" she yelled, standing. This was getting old, fast. "I don't know, but somehow they found me?" The agent wasn't readily believing her, and it was pissing her off! She spun to Cameron. "Tell him about the footprints, you jackass!"

Andrew turned his eyes to the detective, waiting. He didn't have to wait long.

Jason hated the bitch, he just did, but at least everything was finally coming out, and now they could do their jobs properly and get past all this subterfuge. "We're processing them now." He sighed. "It's like she said, there were size tens at the crime scene. They were hiking shoes, not steel toes, and they were leading away..." he paused again, "...just like she said."

Tom stared at the girl. "Is there anything else, Natalie?"

"No, nothing."

Cameron was confused. "Why would he drop the gun? If he held it then we'd have his prints."

Natalie closed her eyes for a moment, remembering that night all over again. "He wore gloves," she said softly, recalling that little tidbit for the first time. She had forgotten, but when they struggled for control of the gun, he grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. Her hand absently went to her neck.

Michael sat at her side. "Tell me why you picked up the gun, Nat?" He watched the look of surprise that flashed, but just as quickly it was gone. "Why?"

"It was a reflex. It was a weapon, and there was a man bleeding to death two feet from me so I wanted a weapon. And I..."

"What?" Mike asked softly. He had a feeling that he already knew what she was going to say next.

"I couldn't risk John getting shot," she answered, staring into his eyes.

She turned to the elder McBain. "John wasn't there for any of it. He heard the shot and came running, and began helping the man as soon as he saw what was going on? He only tried to do what was right."

Tom nodded. "That's all he ever tries to do."

"Well, that's touching, but he's in a hell of a lot of trouble. That doesn't just go away because his intentions were honorable." Andrew went toward the door. He needed to regroup and pull all his thoughts together, and he needed to call the office and update them. His hand gripped the knob and opened the wood, but was stopped short.

His exit was blocked by another of his agents. "Gina, what are you doing here?"

She was a little out of breath from rushing over here. "McBain called me in to run a trace on a computer."

"And?"

She smiled softly. "And he was right, as usual. Natalie Buchanan was set up, and we know who's behind it."