by Radclyffe
*
The lights were out in Honor’s office when Quinn returned. She opened the door and stepped carefully inside. The glow from the x-ray light box behind Honor’s desk provided faint illumination, and she made her way to the side of the couch and knelt down.
“Honor,” she said quietly.
“Mmm?”
Quinn stroked her hair. “Time to go home.”
Honor turned on her side and rested her head on her folded arms. She regarded Quinn for a long moment. “I love you, do you know that?”
“I do.” Quinn kissed her. “I love you.”
“I know. You gave me back my life, Quinn. All of my life.”
Quinn kissed her again. “You gave me a life.”
“I guess I should go home and take care of the rest of our life, huh?” Honor sat up.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can to give you a hand with that,” Quinn said.
“We’ll be waiting.” Honor trailed her fingers down Quinn’s cheek. “What a night.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jett sat on the wide stone wall ringing the rooftop, her back to the city, her gaze on the empty helipad, listening for the sound of the chopper returning as if waiting for a lover. A faint breeze played through the hair at the back of her neck, drying the sweat that misted her skin. She’d flown most of the last twenty-six hours, slept when she had to, and now she was done until the following night. Three hours to sundown, another eight until sunrise, another fourteen until her next shift. Twenty-five hours to fill. She felt as empty inside as the hours that stretched before her.
She had not seen or heard from Tristan since they’d parted in the middle of the night. She hadn’t expected to. Tristan thought she wanted Gail. Maybe Tristan was right. She hadn’t stopped thinking about Gail, dreaming about her, in all the time since she’d left the service. Not until she’d met Tristan. Smiling, Jett fingered the seam on the inside leg of her jeans, running her fingertips slowly along the ridge. Tristan had shouldered her way into her life, refusing to be ignored. Tristan…
Movement on the far side of the roof caught her attention and she straightened, squinting in the glare off the concrete, hoping to see the familiar figure come jogging toward her. Disappointment, sharp and raw, cut through her when she recognized Linda.
“I thought you might be up here,” Linda said, shading her eyes with one hand against the slanting rays of the sun.
“I thought you left a while ago.”
“I’ve been checking on friends. I stopped by the ER and the OR. Things are slowing down a lot and the relief crews are cleaning up the rest.”
Jett didn’t ask if she’d seen Tristan. Tristan wasn’t coming back. Why would she? She thought—
“So listen,” Linda said, resting her hand on Jett’s knee. “No one really wants to go home. I guess after what happened…after everything…people just want to stay together for a while.”
“I know.”
Linda studied her. “I guess you do. So, my long-suffering partner, God bless her, is throwing together some food and a couple of people are picking up beer. Everybody’s heading over to my place.”
“You came up here to tell me that?”
Linda nodded. “Yes. I did.”
Jett studied her hands, which she’d clasped between her legs. Linda’s hand still rested on her knee. Linda touched her a lot, and Jett liked her. But Linda’s touch wasn’t like Gail’s, and nothing like Tristan’s. Nothing was like Tristan’s hands on her. “Thank you.”
“Are you okay?”
“No,” Jett said. “Not really.”
“Is there something I can do?”
Jett shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I have to figure this out for myself.”
“Is it about Tristan?”
Jett tensed. “Why?”
“People can be jerks sometimes when they’re jealous. Don’t hold it against her.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Linda colored. “Oh, I thought…she was asking about your visitor earlier. She seemed pretty bent out of shape about it.”
“Gail?”
“Is that her name? The soldier who was here?”
“Yes.”
“I think Tristan thought she was your girlfriend. I’m just assuming…”
“She isn’t.”
“Ex?”
Jett thought about that. What was Gail to her? They’d been friends, she’d thought. She’d thought they’d been more than that—she’d thought what they’d had was special. She laughed, thinking of Tristan and her special friends.
“No,” Jett said. “Just a friend.”
“So are you going to come?”
Jett was going to say no, and then she thought about the twenty-five hours she needed to fill. There would be others at Linda’s like herself, others who had had a bad night, who didn’t want to go home with the memories—unable to explain to those who loved them what they’d seen and what they wanted to forget. She wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. She could sit, drink, let the time go by. She could try not to think about Tristan, but that would be harder. But wherever she was, she was going to think about Tristan, and with luck, she could find some kind of diversion at Linda’s. “I might be late. I need to make a stop first.”
“I have a feeling we’ll be going a long time tonight. We’ve got a couple of spare rooms and a lot of floor space, and we like overnight visitors. Come around when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
Linda patted Jett’s thigh. “I really hope you make it. See you later.”
“Right,” Jett said softly.
Linda disappeared and Jett was alone again. She thought about Tristan being jealous, and then of Tristan kneeling beside her in her on-call room, telling her to talk to Gail, telling her that Gail still held a piece of her heart. Maybe Tristan was right. Maybe that’s why Gail haunted her dreams and her waking moments. Jett didn’t know what she felt. She hadn’t really been able to think about Gail until now. About what had happened. About what she’d done to make Gail leave.
Jett slid down off the wall and sat on the rooftop, her legs outstretched. Tristan was gone, and she had let her go because of Gail. She’d left the service because of Gail, and now she was running away from Tristan. Running away because of Gail and because of all the things she wanted and shouldn’t. She closed her eyes and made herself think about Gail because she couldn’t think about Tristan being gone. She’d thought she’d loved Gail. She’d never had a woman in her life like Gail before, a woman who was constantly there for her—waiting for her to come back from a mission, taking care of her when she was tired and hurt, soothing her with her words and her touches. Her touches. Looking back, Jett replayed dozens of moments when Gail had touched her—casual caresses on her shoulders and arms, fingers running through her hair, breasts pressing against her back while standing in line for chow. Gail was always touching her. At the time, Jett had been so beaten down by the constant stress, the unrelenting uncertainty, the ever-present threat of death, she hadn’t been able to see what was happening. She thought she had been the one who’d wanted too much, who’d asked for too much. But Gail had touched her.
Jett pushed herself up and strode across the tarmac to the stairwell.
Gail had kissed her. Gail had wanted her. Now she needed to see Gail.
*
Quinn knelt down next to Honor’s lounge chair. “I don’t think you should be doing that out in public. You’re likely to get a few people hot and bothered.”
“Who?” Honor laughed incredulously.
“Me, for starters.”
Honor looked down at her chest to make sure something hadn’t come undone that she hadn’t intended to be undone. All she saw was Jack’s fair hair and a small triangle of pale flesh. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing to see. You’re just imagining things.”
“That works pretty well for me too. The real thing’s better, though.”
“Will you be quiet,” Honor chi
ded, nodding toward Jack. “He’ll hear you. If he takes after you, you will regret it when he’s thirteen.”
Quinn laughed and stroked Honor’s hair. “Baby, Arly takes after me. This one’s all yours.”
Honor grasped Quinn’s hand. “It’s true, you know. She wants to be just like you.” She rubbed Quinn’s fingers against her cheek. “And I can’t think of anyone better.”
“Well, from everything I hear, Terry was the real jock. So I think the credit has to be divided on that one.”
“Don’t make me cry.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn whispered.
Honor shook her head. “No, sweetheart. Happy tears. These damn hormones are still not back to normal.”
“You sure?”
“Never more.” Jack started squirming and Honor handed him to Quinn. “Take him for a second while I get myself together. And no looking.”
“Tease,” Quinn muttered, settling Jack on her shoulder and patting his back.
“Patience, Maguire,” Honor said. “Remember when we get home how you’re going to be all restless and not able to sleep and I’m going to—”
“Let’s go now.”
Honor laughed and held out her arms for Jack. “Arly’s inside watching a movie with the other kids. When it’s over, we’ll go, okay?”
“All right. Can I get you anything?”
“No, but…” Honor pointed surreptitiously to a small group of people sitting on Linda’s back porch steps. “Maybe you should talk to Tristan. I’m not sure she’s doing real well.”
Quinn frowned and looked where Honor was pointing. Tristan leaned against the porch post. She was a little disheveled—her shirttail was hanging out of her jeans, which wasn’t like her—but she seemed okay otherwise. “What do you mean?”
“I noticed she’s drinking a lot, and that’s not usually her style. And she just looks…I don’t know, lost.”
“I’ll check on her on my way inside to collect our girl.”
“Don’t be long.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be.”
*
Tristan carefully maneuvered her way through the throng of people congregated on the stairs and Linda’s porch. Inside the kitchen she sidled around more nurses and techs and doctors and other hospital personnel, everyone talking about what had happened. She found the scotch and poured another two inches into a small red plastic cup. The first half went down with a bit of a bite, the second was smooth and warm. She lifted the bottle but stopped in mid-pour when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her heart leapt, and she spun around. Then she kept her smile in place through sheer force of will. Jett wasn’t here and she wasn’t coming. Fuck, no point thinking about where she was.
“Hey Quinn,” Tristan said heartily. “Rough one, huh?”
“Yeah, but we had some good saves too. That fireman you tubed is going to make it. That was good work.”
“Well, sometimes you get lucky.”
“That wasn’t luck.” Quinn put her arm around Tristan’s shoulder and said quietly, “You doing okay?”
“Peachy.”
“You look like shit. Why don’t you go home and go to bed.”
“I will, as soon as I find some company.”
“We’re all a little shaky—”
“Nope. Not me. I’m solid.”
“Uh-huh.” Quinn stared intently. “Is it work or something else? You don’t usually drink yourself under the table, and you’re about there.”
“I’m okay.” Tristan swayed and gripped the counter behind her. “I won’t drink any more. Word. Just tired.”
“Let me walk you home.”
Tristan shook her head. “You’ve got the family here. Not going far. I’ll make it.”
“I don’t think—” Quinn stopped as a truly gorgeous redhead came sailing up and about jumped on Tristan.
“Tristan, baby, I just got your message!” Darla slid up next to Tristan and smiled at Quinn. She looped her arm around Tristan’s waist and kissed her on the side of the mouth. “I would have been here sooner, but I was finishing an audit and didn’t check my voicemail until just a few minutes ago.”
“There you go.” Tristan grinned at Quinn. “I’ll be fine now.”
“Make sure she gets home all right, will you?” Quinn said to Darla.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.” Darla rubbed Tristan’s stomach and nuzzled her neck. “Come on, baby. Let’s find someplace to sit down for a while.”
“Sure, okay. Night, Quinn.” Tristan dropped her arm over Darla’s shoulders. She definitely needed to sit down for a few minutes and clear her head. She was having trouble getting her thoughts in order, and something about what was happening didn’t feel quite right. If she could just think for a minute, she knew she’d figure it out.
“Take care of yourself, Tristan,” Quinn said.
“Always do.”
*
Jett walked past Linda’s house three times before pushing through the gate and starting down the path to the back. She knew the impromptu party was still going on because she could hear it. She didn’t see Tristan’s car, and she looked for it. Tris probably wasn’t here. But her apartment had been dark when Jett had driven past. Maybe Tristan was already home and asleep. Even as she thought it, Jett doubted that was true. She knew what Tristan would be looking for right now, what she needed to chase the nightmares away.
The backyard was dark and it took her a few minutes to make her way around, checking out the people standing in groups or sitting at a picnic table and on the porch. She finally saw Linda curled up on an old-fashioned porch swing next to a woman in shorts and a T-shirt.
“Hi,” Jett said.
“Jett, you made it,” Linda exclaimed. “This is my partner, Robin. Robin, honey, this is Chief McNally.”
Jett extended her hand to the other woman on the swing. “Just Jett is fine.”
“Good to meet you, finally.”
“Same here.” Jett peered through the open door into the kitchen. She recognized some faces, but not the one she was looking for. “Have you seen Tristan?”
“She was here earlier,” Linda said. “I don’t think I’ve seen her for a while, though. There are quite a few people still inside.”
“Okay. Well.” Jett rocked on her heels.
“Go check and see,” Linda said gently.
“Right.” Jett nodded to Robin, smiled at Linda, and ducked into the kitchen.
Jett found them in a room on the first floor that might be a den, but she wasn’t taking inventory of the contents. The only light came in through the open door from the hallway, but she didn’t need much light to tell what was happening on the couch. Tristan was mostly upright, sprawled with her arms outstretched on the back of the sofa and her legs splayed. Darla lay half on top of her as they kissed. Darla’s hand rested in Tristan’s crotch, her fingers circling lazily. Neither of them knew or apparently cared if they had company.
Jett felt the same burst of adrenaline and anger and fear she experienced when someone on the ground opened fire on her aircraft. She had learned through bitter experience that the only way to survive the firefight was to fly through it. When Darla’s hand crept up Tristan’s fly and opened the top button, Jett moved. She walked to within a foot of the couch and cleared her throat.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jett said, “but I need to talk to Tristan.”
Darla shifted to look up at Jett, her fingers still toying with Tristan’s fly. “We met before, didn’t we?”
“Briefly.” Jett kept her attention on Tristan, whose eyelids were heavy and her gaze unfocused. Jett waited until she was sure Tristan saw her. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
“No harm,” Tristan said, her words slightly slurred.
“Yeah, there is.” Jett squatted down next to the sofa opposite Darla and spoke directly to Tristan. “You need to go home.”
Tristan looked around and grinned lopsidedly. “Aren’t I?”
“No.” Jett glanced at
Darla. “I’m taking her home.”
“She seems to be pretty comfortable right here,” Darla said, rubbing Tristan’s thigh.
“She’s not. She’s hurting. My fault—or a lot of it is.”
“I take it you’re friends.” Darla eased away from Tristan just a little.
“Special friends,” Tristan mumbled. Then she laughed.
“No, we’re a lot more than that. Excuse me.” Jett leaned over, slid both hands under Tristan’s arms, and heaved her up. She held her for a few seconds tight against her body until she was certain Tristan had her legs under her. Tristan rested her head on Jett’s shoulder and Jett hooked an arm around her waist. Then she said to Darla, “She’s special to me, but not the way she thinks.”
“I can see that.” Darla stood and straightened her skirt. “She shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“She isn’t going to be,” Jett said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Okay,” Tristan said, “I’m okay now. Head’s nice and clear. I’ll just head on home.” Tristan patted her pockets. “Keys? Did you see my keys?” She spun in a slow circle on the sidewalk. “Have you seen my car?”
Jett grabbed her when she started to sway and leaned her against the front end of her Jeep. “Stay right there. Don’t move.”
Tristan frowned. “The last time you said that to me, you just about fucked my brains out. That was nice.”
“I remember.” Jett opened the passenger side door, collected Tristan, and, with a hand on the top of her head, guided her inside. Then she leaned in and hooked her seat belt. “Don’t move.”
“Are you going to do it again?” Tristan yelled as Jett closed the door.
Jett slid in behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out into the deserted street. Linda lived in a residential neighborhood and most of the houses were already dark. She glanced at Tristan, whose head lolled back against the seat. Her eyes were closed. Jett smiled. Even half drunk and dead tired, she was the most beautiful woman Jett had ever seen.