Twenty-one
threw you the obvious and you flew
with it on your back, a name in your recollection,
thrown down among a million same.
difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed
and passed over
when i've looked right through
to see you naked and oblivious
and
you don't see me.
but i threw you the obvious
just to see if there's more behind the eyes
of a fallen angel,
the eyes of a tragedy.
here i am expecting just a little bit
too much from the wounded.
but i see through it all
and see you.
so i threw you the obvious
to see what occurs behind the eyes of a fallen angel,
eyes of a tragedy.
oh well. apparently nothing.
you don't see me.
you don't see me at all.
Gunn heard the muffled sirens and pulled his credentials out from beneath his jacket. Bout freaking time the calvary got here. . . slow-assed uniforms.
Two shots thunked into the tree above his head and he returned fire, then rolled to his right. God damned mother-fuckers.
Where the hell is Pratt? Am I the only sucker out here? Damn him. Charles inched to his feet, coming up into a low crouch, then crab-walked his way closer to the last known location of the shooters.
He couldn’t figure out how Reilly’s men kept finding them. The only way it made any sense was if they’d been tailed – or bugged. Or betrayed.
But who the hell would do that?
Who?
And why?
“We found her.”
Will turned sharply to face the uniformed cop. “Where is she?”
“Museum security picked her up.” He leaned forward, one ear listening intently to the radio. “She’s injured. EMTs are on their way to pick her up.”
Thank god. “Good.” He started uphill, his attention focused on getting to Buffy.
“Sir?”
“The perimeter is secured, correct?” Will paused, glaring at the officer through the falling snow.
“Yes sir.”
“So then what’s your issue?” His tone was curt and clipped. He did not want to stand here debating protocol of a crime scene with a lowly police officer. Brass were on their way, the uniforms could hold the scene until then. He had a witness to protect. An’ that’s all . . . just a witness.
“You’re the ranking officer on the scene.” The cop looked at him, his dark eyes daring him to refute the truth.
“Yeah, well. . .” He ran a hand through his hair as he heaved out a sigh. “Gunn’s just as good. That’s my witness.”
To his credit, the cop didn’t flinch or falter in his staring. Will knew what he was supposed to be doing, but every instinct he had was screaming at him that he go and protect Buffy. She was only going to be safe as long as she was with him. He didn’t trust anyone. Not the uniformed cops hovering, not the command structure. . . he had no idea if he could trust all of the members of his team, and that was not leaving him with good feelings. He should stay, make sure the perimeter was secured, the shooters in custody and wait until the Brass arrived so he could hand things off. . . he should do all that.
But shoulds wouldn’t keep Buffy safe. Duty and protocol weren’t going to save her from the goons stalking her. They wouldn’t protect her . . . and it was slightly irrational and a deliberate breach, but at the moment, Will couldn’t give a rat’s ass. He’d most likely get chewed out about his actions over the last week, and he’d probably get suspended for a day or two. And yet none of that seemed to matter. Every instinct, every superstition, every itch-on-the-back-of-his-neck was telling him to get to Buffy.
“Detective Gunn is with the shooters.” The cop relented a bit, finally seeing something else in the Brit’s eyes that he understood.
“So he’s – right. Cover the shooters and I’ll talk to him.”
Will cursed the delays, but part of him realized the other cop was right. He had a responsibility to perform the job correctly. And he had been put in charge. The Brass had been clear on that. It didn’t mean he couldn’t delegate it to someone else – and Charles was technically higher ranked than he was, since he was really NYPD and not just a liaison officer.
Gunn was standing over the shooters, who were trussed and resting against a tree and a boulder. His pose was deceptively calm, but his eyes kept shifting left and right, constantly scanning the area.
“Gunn.” He glanced over at Will as he slogged his way through the snow. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Just by the tone, Will knew he was furious, though he gave no other indication. “What’s up?”
He drew him away, out of hearing range of the prisoners. “I’m going after Buffy.”
“What?” Gunn reared his head up, looking Will in the eyes. “Where is she?”
“Museum cops picked her up. She’s there, with them. She’s hurt though, and I’m guessing the EMTs will be taking her to hospital.”
“And?”
The suspicious look in Gunn’s eye wasn’t going to dissuade him. “I’m going with them.”
His partner blew out a deep sigh. “You’re crazy.”
Will shrugged. “I’d feel better if I went with her.”
“You know you can’t watch the girl forever.” When Will didn’t respond, Gunn kept talking. “This is not the smart thing to do. You got two shooters we could probably tie directly to either one of Reilly’s boys. . . and you’re gonna go off and watch a girl? What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
He was shaking his head. “Got a feeling.”
“Oh.” Gunn huffed out another breath. “You got a feeling.”
“I know. . .” But before he could finish his thought, Gunn was staring down at him, dark eyes blazing. “You got a feeling? Your feelings have been nothing but trouble with this one. Every damn time I turn around your feelings have gotten you and this girl in shit. What the fuck is wrong with you, dude? What?”
Will tried again, but once more Gunn cut him off. “No, I am not listening to this shit again. You take those feelings and bury them damn deep, you hear me? We are not going through this . . . this case is done. We can let the lawyers deal with this crap now. Let Social Services handle the girl. We are done. Do you hear me? We are done.”
“No, Charlie, we’re not done.” Will turned on his heel, ignoring the spluttering and cursing coming from his partner. “I can’t leave it. I can’t leave her. I made a promise.”
“A promise. You made a promise to a hooker. An under-age hooker. What do you care?” The anger was blazing now, without an outlet, because Will was yards away by now, and everyone could hear them.
“Can’t explain it, Charlie-boy. Just . . . you’ve got the com until the Brass gets here. I’ll be with the witness.” Will waved a hand behind him as he trudged off through the snow. He couldn’t look at his partner right now. Didn’t want to deal with his by-the-book attitude. It wasn’t what Will relied upon – which often made his actions inexplicable, but he wasn’t going to stop and try to explain the itch. Gunn often dismissed his hunches and ‘feelings’ but so far, they hadn’t once let Will down.
Besides, he had made a promise. And the fact it was to an under-age hooker wasn’t the important part. He’d made the promise to Buffy – and no matter what she was forced into – she was still important. And he never forgot his promises.
He’d keep this one too.
Even if it killed him.
Rupert Giles rubbed his tired eyes and sighed deeply. He’d been waiting for days from some word from his operative William Pratt. Ever since word of Liam Reilly’s demise broke, every ring of the telephone, every time he’d checked voicemail or his text messages – but there was nothing. Three days now – nearly four and there had been no word at all.
Which wasn’t like Pratt. At least once a week he checked in, often more than that. But no word in so many days didn’t bode well. When the news had broken, Rupert half expected a triumphant phone call, with William crowing about the divine justice, but as the hours – and then days – passed, Rupert’s concern grew.
Pratt would only stay underground if the situation was dangerous. As the time slipped by, Rupert feared the worst. By turns exasperated and fond of his charge, more often than not, Rupert despaired of his methods and habits.
The message he’d been waiting for finally came. On the morning of the fourth day, William finally called him. He was uninjured, which was good news, but he was in decidedly hot water with his NYPD colleagues and superiors.
Knowing his presence would be required at Pratt’s debriefing, Rupert dressed quickly. As the ranking security chief for the British Ambassador to the United Nations, Rupert Giles was well versed in protocol – and when it was prudent to by-pass the normal channels. Believing the situation urgent but not dire, Rupert made his way through the Embassy to his customary morning meeting with the Ambassador.
Once he was done there, he fully intended to meet William Pratt at One Police Plaza.
Look! Aren't you all proud of me? I got another chapter out before the month was over! Hell, even if none of you is proud, I am. It's been beyond hectic and stressful, but I'm working on this. It's nearly done, and I've got a couple of chapters just about ready to post. . . so maybe more in a week or so? Still with me? Awesome. Thanks to all of you that were kind enough to leave a review! I love you all. Nia