by Kim Pritekel
"It was my pleasure," Dean said softly, squeezing the woman before letting her go with a watery smile. Stepping aside, he motioned for Rachel.
"Mamma, I'd like you to meet Rachel Holt." Mia was proud to be able to introduce her mother to her favorite author, able to make her mother's day that much more special.
"Your daughter is one of the finest people I've ever known," Rachel said, her voice soft and sincere. She smiled at Mia, then turned to Gloria, only to find herself lost in another hug. Smiling, she hugged the woman back.
"Can you believe that most of our time on the island, I had no idea who she was?" Mia laughed, wanting to try and bring some levity to the emotions. Gloria and Rachel both chuckled, then shared another hug.
"Thank you for keeping my baby safe."
"Any time, Miss Vinzetti." Rachel turned to Mia. "You keep in touch, young lady."
Mia saluted with a wide grin. Turning to Dean, Rachel's heart automatically softened. She took his hands in her own, feeling their softness. "Go get him, Dean," she said softly, looking into his eyes, which were just as red-rimmed as the rest of theirs were. Dean nodded, beyond words as he took Rachel into her embrace. He hoped it wouldn't be the last time he saw her, but squeezed her as though it were.
"Take care of yourself, Rachel, and don't let her get away," he whispered into her ear, then placed a soft kiss on the side of her neck. Hugging Mia one last time, Dean backed out of the door, back toward the plane.
After introductions were finally over, Lizbeth's words of gratitude translated, Reenie took the blonde by the arm, leading her out of the small lobby, and into the rest of the airport toward the parking garage. As they walked, she kept glancing over at the author, still not believing her eyes.
"What?" Rachel finally asked, feeling Reenie's eyes on her for the sixth time, and they hadn't even reached the editor's rented car yet.
The brunette shook her head. "I don't know. It feels like I'm in a dream, I can't believe you're here." Stopping them with an arm to the blonde's arm, she pulled her into yet another hug, which was enthusiastically returned. "I'm glad your nightmare is over."
Rachel sighed into the hug, needing so badly for physical affection. Never before had she thought she was without it. Until Denny. "I'll tell you about it, Reen. Not now, but I'll tell you everything."
* * *
"Ah, son of a bitch," Duke muttered as he began to taxi.
"How the hell did they find out?" Garrison asked absently, eying the crowd that awaited their return. The cameras and lights gave it all away. "Shit!"
Denny heard the pilots talking and was curious to see what the problem was. It didn't take her long to find out. Dozens of reports and media had amassed outside the hangar, just off the tarmac. Vans from local news stations were clogging the parking lot, and men were setting up camera equipment as the door to the plane was opened. Immediately the sound of shutters clicking and questions yelled filled the cab. The three passengers exchanged looks, each feeling their nerves triple.
"Looks like you guys are outright celebrities," Duke said as he climbed out of the cockpit.
"Goody," Pam muttered.
* * *
Hannah closed her eyes, arching her head back to give Tiffany more of her neck to kiss. She moaned softly when she felt her breast cupped, the nipple growing hard at the warm contact.
"Oh, yes," she whispered. Laying back on the couch and taking the accountant with her. It was their nine month anniversary, and it had been a wonderful day, spent talking, eating the wonderful dishes Tiffany had created, and making love. Their relationship had taken a physical turn three weeks ago when Hannah finally felt she could go through with it. It had been awkward and tense, but ultimately, a wonderful night, and the right decision for the researcher.
Having sex with Tiffany that time had been difficult emotionally, as the last person to touch her had been Denny. She'd disappeared into the bathroom afterward, crying for a short time before she made the decision to let go, and commit fully to a new life, without Denny.
Now, as she could feel wet heat growing between her legs, Hannah blocked out thoughts of her dead lover, knowing that it would do no good anymore. Denny would never be forgotten, but ultimately, her memory had to be put away, stored in a safe place.
"Turn the TV off, baby," she whispered, the noise from the program they'd been watching distracting her. Tiffany hummed her acknowledgement of the request, but her mouth kept working on the brunette's neck as she blindly searched for the remote control.
"Shit," unable to locate it, Tiffany left her girlfriend's neck and fell to her knees on the floor in front of the couch, reaching underneath. Feeling the smoothness of the stubborn control, she was about to pull it out from under the furniture when she stopped, her gaze riveted to the TV screen.
* * *
"Oh, fuck," Reenie muttered as she turned the corner leading to her building. The drive from the airport had been long, and traffic had made it worse. Reenie had kept the radio on, as Rachel, who was quiet by nature, was damn near mute. She sensed something was very wrong, and tried to stay silently supportive, reaching over to squeeze her friend's hand from time to time, but said nothing. She figured when Rachel wanted to talk, she would.
Hearing the curse, the author brought her attention back from the clouds and to the mob of reporters swarming the outside of the editor's building.
"Shit, should I just keep driving? And what the hell?! Carrie said she'd take care of this!"
Rachel couldn't say she was all that surprised. When she found out her publisher was footing the bill to get everyone home, she knew they'd want some sort of return.
"No. They can't follow us inside. Let's just deal with it now."
"Are you sure?" Reenie was surprised. At one time the blonde would have had them slink off to a hotel for the night.
"Yes."
Trying to swallow her anger down, anger at Carrie for going back on her word, and anger at the damn hungry public who would do anything for news. She gunned the engine, startling a few of the reports, and pulling up in front of the building. A valet man was right there to meet her.
"Do not let those bastards near my car," she growled, shoving an uncounted wad of bills into the kid's hand. She grabbed Rachel by the arm, and together they faced the swarm.
* * *
Michael had no idea where to look or what to do or say. As they climbed down the stairs of the plane, they immediately had cameras and microphones in their faces, and dozens of shouted questions. He kept hearing his name, and when he'd turn to respond, he was met with another bright flash of light.
"Hey, give them some room!" Garrison yelled, trying to get in front of the three rescued. "Jesus! They just get back to civilization and this is the welcome they get? Get outta here!"
Duke quickly rushed the three into the hangar, the more aggressive journalists following.
* * *
Hannah absently put her shirt back into place, eyes riveted on the screen.
"It is an absolutely miracle in New York, today. Last summer the country was stunned to hear about the three survivors, dubbed as the Lucky Three, who survived international flight 1049 in the off-course waters of the Caribbean. Fifteen months later, three more survivors, including novelist Rachel Holt seen here, were rescued from an unmapped island. It's not yet known how the survivors were found, or exactly how many there are."
"Oh my god," Tiffany breathed, transfixed. She watched the footage of the blonde author, long through dead, being ushered into a building, a woman with short, dark hair guiding her by the arm. Rachel Holt looked dazed and very tired. She said nothing, just hurried through the throngs until she disappeared behind the double glass doors of the building. The newscast moved onto other things. "Let's see if there's anymore coverage." She flipped the channel, and was not disappointed.
"Rob, we couldn't get any of the survivors to talk to us today, but we're told that there are six survivors total," the reporter explained, glancing down at her
notes.
"Do we have any names as of yet?" the anchorman asked.
"We do know that the author Rachel Holt is one of the survivors. Other than that, no, we have no names." Suddenly the reporter's voice was the voice over of footage shot earlier in the morning.
Hannah shot off the couch, eyes huge as she fell to her knees in front of the entertainment center where the TV was housed. She watched as three people disembarked from the small seaplane, two women and a man. She watched as the three were ushered away, a small, blonde woman trying to shoo the reporters away. Hannah didn't care about any of that. What caught her eye was the woman with dark hair. She was tall, deeply tanned and very slim. She thought about Denny, and her constant complaining about the last fifteen pounds she wasn't able to lose. This woman's body looked nothing like Denny's, but her hair, the color, longer than Denny's, but...
Hannah's gasp caught Tiffany's attention. Turning to the screen, she saw the tall woman with dark hair had turned, facing the camera, very brief, but not brief enough.
"Oh my god," the accountant whispered, stunned beyond stunned. "That's Denny, isn't it?" She'd seen enough pictures of the beautiful brunette to know her, though Hannah's reaction had mostly pointed toward that conclusion. Even now, the researcher could only nod, her hand covering her mouth, eyes filling with unshed tears.
* * *
Dean stepped off the plane, glad to see the car waiting for him that Reenie had arranged. The door was opened for him, and he settled into the backseat. The attorney's stomach was turning, leaving him feeling nauseous and anxious. Leaning forward, he noted the time on the dashboard clock, and knew that Will would be in his office, probably working on his third cup of decaf.
Will.
Dean let out a long, slow breath at the thought. Running a hand through his hair, which was far too long and heavy, he closed his eyes for a moment, allowing images to enter his brain unhindered. He couldn't wait to see him, couldn't wait to be able to inhale Will's cologne, run his fingers through the thick, sandy hair.
Over the time he'd been gone, Dean had thought a lot about their relationship. It was good, had always been good, but he realized just how much they'd taken each other for granted over the decade and some change they'd been together. After more than a year away from Will, Dean couldn't ever imagine taking for granted the fact that he can wake up next to him, see his face, hear his voice, feel his touch, every single day. As far as he was concerned, the town car he was currently in couldn't get to Will fast enough.
* * *
Denny rested her head against the back of the mini-van seat, breathing out then sucking in lungfulls of air. She hadn't been expecting the welcome wagon, and could tell Michael and Pam were just as rattled. In the front seat of the van, Garrison and Duke were in a heated discussion about who could have alerted the media.
"I'm telling you, Monk, I made all of my people sign a sworn document. I don't know who talked."
"What about your wife? Any of your kids..."
"I don't know." Duke shrugged. "I can't imagine they would, but I just don't know. It could've been anyone."
Denny allowed their conversation to ease into a constant buzz in the back of her mind, her thoughts returning to her surroundings. She was overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, smells, and feelings racing through her. She felt almost like she'd landed on another planet, gazing in wonder at the cars that passed, the buildings and people strolling along the sidewalks.
"Feels weird, doesn't it?" Pam whispered beside her. The brunette nodded, grateful for the warmth of Pam's body sitting next to hers.
"I'm not sure what to look at first." She smiled absently at Pam's soft chuckle.
* * *
Rachel was almost tossed into Reenie's apartment, the editor slammed the door shut behind them, leaning against it.
"Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed, blowing dark bangs out of her eyes. "I'm going to fucking kill-" Reenie was cut off by a gentle hand to her upper chest. She looked into tired, green eyes.
"Let it go, Reen. It was bound to happen." With that, she stepped into the editor's personal space, and Reenie found herself enveloped in a warm hug, soft, blonde hair resting on her shoulder. She smiled with a soft chuckle.
"You know, in all the years I've known you, you've never initiated a hug before."
Rachel thought about that as she tightened her arms around her closest friend. She so desperately needed the comfort of familiarity. "Life changes people."
"What happened to you on that island, Rach? Your eyes," Reenie pulled gently away, looking into the blonde's face with drawn brows. She studied the depths of Rachel's eyes, amazed to see just how expressive they were, usually so guarded. "Was it bad?" she whispered. She was relieved by the small smile and shake of Rachel's head.
"No. Just..." the author tried to think of exactly what it was. "altering." She knew that made little sense, but it was the best she could do.
* * *
Will Ash winced as his third cup of coffee singed his tongue. "Damn it," he grumbled, setting the mug down on the corner of his desk, then walking over to the wet bar in his corner office, snatching a paper towel to wipe the small amount that had dribbled down his chin. He was just glad he'd managed to get to it before it had spilled on his new tie.
Tossing the soiled paper towel away, the architect walked back over to his desk, sighing heavily as he sat in the leather chair, swinging around to the computer terminal against the window-lined wall. It was a beautiful day in Manhattan, not too hot, scattered clouds in the sky. Perhaps he'd take a nice, leisurely walk at lunch.
* * *
The town car pulled up in front of the skyscraper, Dean craning his neck to see up to the sky. With a smile of gratitude to the driver, Dean let himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Looking up and down the familiar street, the attorney breathed in the scent of Manhattan in late summer. He couldn't wait to take a walk in Central Park with Will, hand in hand.
* * *
Brad Schuester typed the email, fingers flying over the keys at seventy-two words per minute, the gold ring on his left pinky glinting off the light from the reading light anchored above his head. He chewed on his bottom lip, wincing as he caught a single hair from his neatly trimmed goatee.
"That should do it," he muttered, tapping the send key and waiting for the sent confirmation. Getting the screen he needed, the assistant twirled his chair around to the filing cabinets behind him, about to tug open the drawer with files landing from O-Z, as he knew Will would want the Rollings-Homestead file pulled for his meeting at ten that morning.
The door to Will's personal office suite opened, letting in a cacophony of shrill protests.
"You can't go in there, sir!" Martha Munez was exclaiming, running after the strange man who just sauntered right past her desk, headed to Will Ash's offices. He ignored her, even as she managed to get her plump body out from around her desk, short, stubby legs working hard to catch up to him.
Brad sucked in a breath, heart stilling in his chest.
"Brad! This man-"
"It's okay, Martha," he breathed, unable to say anything else.
* * *
Will smoothed down his tie, readjusting the gold clip as he switched on his drafting table light, spreading out the plans he'd been working on over the weekend. Walking back over to his desk, he grabbed a pencil from the cup, tapping it on the palm of his other hand on the way back over to the table. His attention was drawn toward his office door at a shrill voice in the outer office.
* * *
"Dean?" Brad whispered, a manicured hand reaching up to remove the gold rimmed computer glasses from his nose. His movements were slow, as though he were moving through water. The man standing before him, hair long and shaggy, skin deeply tanned, and devastatingly handsome, grinned at him, nodding. The assistant threw himself at the attorney, unsure of what to say, or how to react. He was in a deep fog, the only reality the strong embrace he received.
"Is he here?" Dean a
sked into the man's ear. At Brad's nod, Dean pulled away, then with a wink, headed toward the door with the newly spit-shined WILL ASH engraved in it.
* * *
After the shrillness, there was complete and total silence. A little niggling feeling tickled at the back of Will's neck, causing him to toss his pencil on the drafting table and head towards his office door to make sure everything was alright. Reaching his hand out toward the doorknob, he jumped back, startled, as the door swung open, barely missing him. Standing back, he watched as a man walked in, dressed in Army green cargo shorts and a gray polo shirt. Will's eyes trailed up tanned arms, noting dark, shaggy hair, and dark, twinkling eyes.
The force of what stood before him hit Will square between the eyes, knocking him to his knees. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only stare. He watched as the apparition sank to its knees in front of him, warm, trembling hands taking Will's cold, clammy ones.
"Hey, baby," Dean whispered, seeing the cold shock in Will's wide eyes. "It's me. I made it." He felt hot tears making their way down his cheeks, matching those that had begun to leak out of Will's own eyes.
"I knew you couldn't be dead," Will breathed, finally feeling his heart begin to beat again. "Oh, god, Dean."
The attorney was knocked back against the door with the fierce hug he found himself surrounded by. He banged his head, but didn't care. All that mattered was the man he loved was in his arms again, their tears mingling as Will began to pepper kisses all over Dean's face, pulling back to look at him, making sure that he was, in fact real.
"I love you," Dean cried, squeezing Will to him, almost painfully so, but he didn't care.
"I looked so hard," Will sobbed, finally knocking the attorney to his back, half lying on top of him. He couldn't stop the emotions that were flying through him. Brushing long strands of hair out of Dean's eyes, he looked at his face, guilt beginning to pool in his stomach. "I don't understand how this happened," he whispered, touching Dean's face, running a thumb over his brow and down his cheek bones, caressing the skin of his jaw. "We," the architect swallowed hard, his eyes dropping even as tears continued to fall from them. "We stopped the search."