Archive of Our Own ^beta

When she imagined this morning what her day would look like, this was definitely not on her bingo card. After knocking on the hotel room door, she expected her wife to greet her for their three year anniversary and most definitely not the short brunette, giving Lucy a smile that’s a tad bit too dazzling.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Lucy squints at the woman, trying and failing to catch a glimpse of the room behind her but it’s no use. The brunette is blocking too much of the entry with her small body. At first Lucy thinks she got the wrong room and shifts a little on her feet to look at the number on the door again. 

(1204. Huh.)

“Yeah… uh…” she stutters and rummages through her bag for the keycard the receptionist handed her downstairs (even after she assured him that she wouldn’t need one). “I think I might have the wrong room…”

“Doesn’t that happen to all of us sometimes?” the brunette jokes.

Lucy gives her a second, proper, look (spotting a cut on her eyebrow and reddish stains on her shirt). Her brain is too preoccupied with trying to figure out the weirdness of this situation to make anything of what she sees, and she takes in other details because it’s routine for her without really registering them (like the bruised knuckles the woman attempts to hide).

Finally, she finds the keycard and looks down at it at the same moment as the strange woman.

(1204. Weird.)

“Hey, I think that…” Lucy doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

The moment her gaze locks with the one of the woman, her entire expression shifts into something cold and detached. Her body tenses as if she’s ready to lunge for Lucy only to sag the next second in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The turn of events is so shocking that Lucy only stares, wide-eyed and with her mouth opening and closing like a fish’s. Behind the woman (which might be breathing, or twitching, or kind of… dead) a shadow appeared. Tall, blonde, and holding a bottle of champagne like she’s ready to hit a homerun.

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

Lucy is still doing the fish thing, eyes darting between the possible corpse on the floor and her wife. “Happy… anniversary…” It comes out a bit like a question.

Kate holds out her free hand across the threshold, in utter disregard for the stranger stretched out between them. “You want to come inside?”

“Uhm… sure…” Lucy answers slowly and steps over the woman (that might have just twitched after all).

While Lucy walks further into the room, Kate hangs back by the door. Probably to make sure that no one else sees the woman she just knocked out with a bottle of Moët. Lucy takes only a couple of steps through the narrow hallway and stops again. The sight in front of her is familiar and strange at the same time (like some type of broken déjà vu). It is the same room Kate rents every year since they got married and that has the same floor plan as the one where they spent their first night together (or rather their first weekend) five years ago. It’s too extravagant for such a short stay, with a small kitchen, a living and sleeping area but Kate insists on it (and Lucy has a hard time denying her wife anything). So, Lucy knows this room, knows all rooms like this in the entire hotel but she’s never seen it like this. 

A bomb must have exploded (or two women went at each other’s throat with lethal intention). Chairs are overthrown, glass scrunches under Lucy’s heels, the sideboard where she planned on giving Kate her first orgasm has been broken in half and one splintered leg sticks from a painting on the opposite wall. In all that destruction it’s a miracle that the two champagne glasses on the kitchen counter remained intact. Lucy takes one of them, walks to the fridge and grabs a second Moët bottle from a shelf. It pops open easily, and she fills the glass before downing it in one go. For the next three gulps she forgoes the glass altogether. Her brain is past the shock by now and has reached a new stage of comprehension for her situation (what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck). Champagne bottle in hand she walks back into the hallway where Kate has just risen out of a crouch next to the stranger.

“Kate…”

Kate gives her a confused smile. Tilts her head. “Lucy…”

“What. The. Fuck?!”

The thing is, if Lucy could just get her brain to work properly again, take a mental step back and all, she would come to the conclusion that she could have seen this coming (at least kind of. there were signs, goddamnit). Not right away, of course. But little by little over the months and years she spent falling in love with a lie. 

Even in retrospect it’s hard to tell when exactly those lies started because the night Lucy met Kate Whistler started out very normally. Lucy was drinking alone in her dingy neighborhood bar (by choice, okay?) when the most gorgeous woman she’s ever seen stepped inside. She took Lucy’s breath away (and her ability to form any coherent thought) and it was a miracle that Lucy didn’t melt all over the bar. Only after finishing half of her drink and catching the blonde at least once glancing her way, did Lucy gather all her courage (and what was left of her brain cells) to make her move. Admittedly a terrible move that she would have strangled herself for on any other night and with any other woman. 

(“Delaware?”)

That’s how it started. With light flirting. With testing the waters. It was fun and exciting and superficial. They didn’t share their full names or their jobs and what Lucy learned about Kate that night was vague at best. Like that Kate was from D.C., in town for a meeting (something about law) and very, very gay. Lucy was only too happy to not spend any time swapping tearful life stories (because she was sure she’d enjoy spending the time with her head between Kate’s legs a lot more). The reason why Lucy was drinking alone in the bar to begin with was that her new job was excruciating, and she really needed someone to take her mind off of dead people for a while. Fresh out of FLETC and adjusting to the island life was challenging enough without the fucked up shit she saw at crime scenes every day. Who kills someone with a harpoon and leaves them dangling from a hook like some gutted fish, right? Therefore, flirting with a hot stranger in a bar was exactly what Lucy needed (plus an orgasm or two but she didn’t want to be greedy). And when Kate placed her hand a little too high on her thigh and asked with hooded eyes if she wanted to get out of the bar, Lucy agreed so fast it was embarrassing.

Three nights and two days (that they spent almost exclusively in Kate’s hotel room) later, Lucy had learned quite a lot of things. 

One: Kate loved control. 

Two: When Kate gave up control and allowed Lucy to touch her, she was the sweetest thing Lucy had ever seen. 

Three: Kate was hands down the best sex she’s ever had.

On top of that, Kate was incredibly charming, smart and refreshingly blunt. If come Sunday, Lucy felt disappointed not only because of Kate’s departure but also because the blonde didn’t appear at all as affected as Lucy most definitely was, she didn’t show it. After all, this was a weekend fling (and yet Lucy had somehow managed to fall head over heels in love) and most likely they would never see each other again. A clingy pretend girlfriend was the last thing she wanted to be remembered as and held herself back when they said their goodbyes.

The next six months, Lucy spent in some kind of haze. Constantly torn between trying to forget that magical weekend and online-stalking every Kate in the D.C. area that could even remotely be described as a lawyer (of which she found roughly two thousand eight hundred candidates and yes, she was desperate but not that desperate). At work she daydreamed so much that her junior agent, Alan, called her out on it (the senior agent, a former cop named Reed, teased her mercilessly instead) and the couple of dates she forced herself on left her dissatisfied. No one ate pussy quite like Kate. 

During that time, Lucy honestly wondered if she was broken in some way. If a weekend with the mysterious blonde had rendered her incapable of ever falling for another woman again. There was only one girl with whom things were different. A cute hipster-techie from Diamond Head. Lucy was baffled for weeks how she could have interpreted their two dates so wrong because she had had fun, she thought they had fun, but then a third date never happened and Skylar pretty much ghosted her. Lucy doesn’t think it was because of mini-golf.

Based on the utterly bizarre situation she finds herself in right now, she has a sudden hunch why Skylar vanished so quickly from her life, though the idea is almost too outlandish to be true (because Kate would never, would she? was she even back on the islands already back then?). But exactly two weeks after her second date with Skylar, Lucy bumped into Kate right outside the bar where they had first met, and any other woman was quickly forgotten. 

They made it through one drink that night. Over the rim of her whisky sour Lucy asked if Kate was in town for another meeting. Kate said she had run away from the mainland. When Lucy asked her what from, Kate gave her a shrug and said, “Everything.” 

The next thing Lucy remembers is that Kate was three knuckles deep inside her in one of the bathroom stalls and Lucy’s soul was so high on endorphins that it ascended onto some other kind of existence. She was so utterly, all possessingly in love that every warning sign, every evasion, every thing that didn’t quite add up became meaningless, became completely forgotten and stayed that way with every kiss Kate gave her. Which doesn’t mean that the signs and the evasions and the things that didn’t add up weren’t there.

One of the first signs that Kate Whistler was more than meets the eye that Lucy should have picked on was her tendency to keep most people at arm’s length. Even after six months of dating (during which Lucy had shared plenty albeit vague information about herself, her career, and her family) Lucy barely knew anything about Kate’s past. Or her job. Or her reasons for moving to Hawai’i. She usually tried to distract Lucy with sex (which usually worked) and held onto personal information as if they were military secrets. Since Lucy works for the military – in a way – and prides herself in being a pretty good investigator, she picked up whatever she could without downright asking about it. Honesty is important to her but her fear of losing Kate ultimately held her back from asking too many questions. She’s content like that. Or learned to be (even though the dinner fiasco with Hawaiian Pizza could have totally been avoided if Kate only had talked to her). It’s better that way because Kate tends to go quiet, withdrawing to a place inside herself that Lucy cannot reach. Which, in all honesty, creeps her out a little.

The second clue was Kate’s odd working hours. She knew lawyers led hectic, unpredictable lives but there were times, especially during the beginning of their relationship, when Kate went AWOL for days or even weeks, claiming that her old firm had called in a favor that she was in no position to decline. The radical opposite had occurred too. Like the three month period around their second anniversary during which it was almost like Kate didn’t have a job at all. She would accompany Lucy to the gym (which had a horrendous effect on Lucy’s concentration), meet her for lunch outside base and shower her with attention and affection every weekend. By then Lucy had learned not to ask and to enjoy having Kate all to herself for as long as it lasted. 

In hindsight she probably should have asked a question or two. She really, really should have. But all of that stopped once Kate proposed (and fuck – Lucy’s eyes still get misty whenever she hears Make You Feel My Love ). Kate had turned down a big promotion back in D.C., once and for all had cut off all ties with her last firm and vowed to find a position with a small local firm that allowed her to divide all her attention between surfing and Lucy. The guilt she felt because Kate’s mind is far too brilliant to waste away in a small-scale local law firm lasted three seconds. Tops.

They got married in May the following year among a small circle of friends. They both have terrible relationships with their families and preferred not to have any relatives there on their special day. Lucy wouldn’t change a single thing about it. Except maybe to know beforehand where Kate knew the odd group of around eight people from that appeared last minute and stuck exclusively to themselves. Kate had claimed they were her surf-buddies and Lucy chose to believe her.

Since then, things have been going great. Kate’s odd hours stopped just like she promised, they moved to a small house in Nanakuli and somehow managed to survive the sheer endless time Lucy had been away during her Agent Afloat assignment (which was four months, but it might as well could have been an eternity). Lucy really thought that nothing could come between them, even considered bringing up the topic of children tonight that Kate has skillfully avoided in the past. 

And now this.

A knocked out, possibly dead woman, stretched out in the entrance of their hotel room. Kate covered in nasty cuts and bruises and bleeding from her nose, standing in front of her like she has no idea why Lucy just yelled at her. And Lucy – well Lucy is ready to lose her fucking mind.

“What the fuck, Kate?”

“This is not what it looks like,” Kate says calmly. Way too calmly.

“Oh yeah?” Lucy’s voice is unpleasantly shrill in her own ears as she gestures wildly and spills two hundred dollar champagne onto the floor. “That’s what they always say in the movies and… Shit… what does this even look like?”

“Listen, Lucy,” Kate says in the same eerily calm voice as before and comes closer, “Everything can be explained, and everything will be explained but there’s no time for that now. We cannot stay here.”

The shock and confusion Lucy so unceremoniously was dumped in five minutes ago makes room for a new emotion. She smashes the champagne bottle on the floor and glass shards and liquid splash against the hem of her dress (which was meant as a surprise for Kate but fuck that now). “I am your wife! Make time!”

Kate takes another step closer, reaches for her hands that Lucy snatches away, sighs. “Everything will be told to you. Every question you have will be answered. I promise. But we need to go.”

“Why?” Lucy asks with crossed arms. 

Kate’s eyes dart to the door then to the large glass front on her left. Lucy’s arms fall. They are in the tenth story in a waterfront hotel. No chance that someone will try to shoot them through a window (then again there was the case with the dead marine on the fishing boat who was shot by a 3-D-printer-gun hooked onto a drone). No, Lucy will not budge. It’s like someone pulled the rug from under her feet and now she’s free falling. She needs some answers.

“Who is that woman?” Lucy jerks her head to the unconscious brunette. “And why did she hurt you?”

Kate blinks as if she only just realized the state her body is in, picks some glass shards from her knuckles and shakes her head. “Not now, my love.”

“You do not call me that right now.” Lucy is seething. The longer they’re standing here the less she believes that whatever Kate offers as an explanation will make things okay (because things are so far from okay that okay is in another galaxy). “I want an answer.”

Kate puts a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles against the joint, saying. “I’m not sure she came here for me.”

“What?” Lucy frowns.

Kate keeps only looking at her, the brown in her eyes the softest Lucy has ever seen, with a wobbly smile.

(If the woman didn’t come for Kate…)

“Oh.”

Lucy’s head whips to the door. Only now does she notice how toned the woman is, remembers how she had tried to grab Lucy the second before Kate knocked her out. Like a flood the adrenaline is rushing into her bloodstream, she starts to shake. “Oh… oh fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“It’s okay, babe. You’re okay,” Kate whispers, first drawing her in by the hand on Lucy’s shoulder then pulling her closer for a tentative hug.

Lucy throws herself into Kate’s arms, shivering uncontrollably from the adrenaline (and quite possibly the fear). She is no stranger to violence that’s being directed at her. In her line of work she gets punched, kicked, thrown off roofs and once someone tried to drop her off a yacht. Having a gun pointed at her isn’t too terrifying either. But to know that a single person specifically decided to kill her (for whatever totally fucked up reason) sends chills down her spine. She burrows into Kate’s chest, claws at Kate’s shoulders, waiting for her wife’s familiar scent to calm her. Instead, she inhales a waft of sweat and blood and jerks back.

She glares up at Kate, her anger back in full swing and growls, “Nothing about this situation is okay.”

“You’re right…” Kate mumbles, jumping when loud voices can be heard from outside their room. “Can we go now?”

Lucy wishes she could stand her ground, throw a tantrum until they sit on the torn up couch and Kate explains every tiny little detail about this nightmare. To her chagrin she must admit that Kate is right, though. In this room they’re like sitting ducks and if someone is really after her (why though? why?) they better haul ass. So, Lucy puffs her lip out, rolls her eyes, says, “Yeah… Lead the way.”

Kate first leads the way to the hallway to grab the killer brunette and drag her to the bathroom. There, she quickly washes off the worst of the blood and buttons her suit jacket to hide her torn and dirty shirt as best as possible. Before opening the door, she grabs Lucy’s hand, “I know that you’re an NCIS agent and can hold your own but if we run into trouble, you must do exactly as I say, understood?”

Being underestimated because of her height is a common occurrence for Lucy (and she’s proven every single person wrong) but to be treated like this by her own wife is a low blow.

“Excuse me?” she scoffs, ready to wrench her hand free.

“Babe, I know you’re tough. You’re like Mighty Mouse,” Kate says with an urgent almost pleading tone. “But these people are really, really dangerous professionals and I cannot lose you.” She squeezes Lucy’s hand. Her eyes shine. “So, please do what I say.”

Lucy nods. “You owe me so many answers.”

Hand in hand they slip out of the room, Kate in the front. Her pace is quick, just shy of drawing any attention to them, and she keeps her back close to the wall. Lucy knows these movements. From tactical training at work. She recognizes more of them when Kate briefly pauses at every corner to check the other side and Lucy lets herself be dragged along. She’s still shaking from confusion and anger (and yes, yes okay, fear) and zones in on the weirdest details. Like the way Kate moves her head to avoid the cameras or that one of her earrings is missing and a clump of dried blood covers most of her earlobe or that she’s wearing a suit Lucy has never seen before and wishes she could have appreciated before it got destroyed.

On their way to the lobby (at least that’s where Lucy thinks they’re going) they don’t take the elevator but rush down twelve flights of stairs. Lucy stumbles a couple of times until Kate reaches for her waist (probably to hoist Lucy over her shoulder) and Lucy lets out in a dangerously low voice, “Don’t you dare.”

“Sorry… yeah… that was…” Kate apologizes frantically until a door above them bangs.

Lucy’s heart rate spikes. She’s ready to throw up. Grabs Kate’s hand and pushes blindly at her shoulder, “Go, go, go.”

While they run through the parking deck, Lucy can’t help but be struck by the absurdity of her day. Running for their life ( her life, she mentally corrects) like some lesbian version of Bonnie and Clyde was so not on her bingo card.

Kate reaches for her car keys mid-run, presses the button and her silver BMW pings some fifty yards in front of them.

Lucy pulls on Kate’s hand, “Gimme the key.”

Kate turns around, her brows indicating the protest she’s readying on her tongue, but Lucy doesn’t give her any chance to speak. “I’m the better driver and you know it.”

Letting out a disgruntled rumble of defeat, Kate drops the key into Lucy’s free hand. Then they’re inside the car and after cursing a couple of times because she has to adjust the seat, Lucy starts the engine and, “Where’re we going?”

“Home.”

(*)

On a normal day, the drive to Nanakuli takes half an hour. Today, Lucy makes it in twenty minutes (including a detour). Between take-over maneuvers that leave Kate pressed as hard into her seat as possible and extraordinarily pale, Lucy begins her interrogation (and yes, interrogation is the right word. she’ll give her own wife the third degree if she must).

“Who was the brunette?”

“I would love it if you could keep your eyes on the road, Luce.”

“Who was she and why do you think she’s after me?” Lucy repeats, pressing harder on the gas pedal to squeeze them between two trucks.

“Please concentrate on driving,” Kate says, growing another shade of white.

“I swear on Carrie Fisher – Allah al hafiz – if you do not start talking right fucking now, I will drive us over the next cliff and childlock the doors on the way down!”

Kate throws her a panicked yet doubtful glance. Lucy swerves hard to the left, cuts in front of a Corolla and does not slow down.

“Cara!” Kate yells. “Her name is Cara!”

A swift turn to the right brings them back to a safer course and while checking the mirrors to see if they picked up a tail, Lucy asks, “And who the fuck is Cara?”

Kate has sunken into her seat, her eyes briefly close as if she’s saying a quick prayer, then, “We used to work together.”

They fly past the exit for Kapolei. There’s no tail in sight. 

“At the law firm?”

Kate cringes, rubs at her face and hisses when she accidentally touches her nose (which really better not be broken. Kate’s too pretty for a crooked nose). “I kind of wasn’t a lawyer back then. That was just my cover story.”

“Your cover story for what?” Lucy asks. Her answer needs to wait because the next moment she catches a black Dodge RAM in the left side mirror that’s been there for a while now. It might just be her mind playing tricks (since there’s only one highway on the west coast leading north after all) but she will not take any chances.

“Shit.” Lucy presses the gas pedal down as hard as she can.

In the end, she takes them all the way to Maili and circles back through the uplands. When they’re finally in Nanakuli the RAM is gone. Their house is a modest one-story building like all the others in the street, though after moving in, Kate spent a substantial amount of money on renovations (to make up for the fact that Lucy has to live so close to the beach now). So, the gate to their driveway opens automatically when they approach with the car and the world around them turns darker under the broad palm trees and banana perennials that rise left and right.

Kate has thrown the door open before Lucy has time to turn the ignition off and talks in short, commanding sentences. “Pack one bag. Only essentials. I will grab our passports.”

“P-passports?” Lucy stutters, slightly swaying on her feet (honestly, the whole day is giving her some kind of whiplash).

“Hurry!”

Ten minutes later they’re back in the car. This time Kate is driving. Lucy is clutching an overstuffed duffle bag in her arms. The backpack Kate has thrown on the backseat doesn’t look like it contains any clothes and Lucy is glad to have taken some for the both of them. She thinks. She’s not really sure what she grabbed.

Kate drops a Glock into the cupholder between them and asks, “Where’s your phone?”

Lucy rummages through the duffle, awkwardly pats the pockets of the pants she’s changed into (because her dress might have looked phenomenal but was too impractical for this run-for-your-life-situation) and comes up empty. “It must be still in my purse. Let me go back, I’ll get it.”

“No!” Kate shoots an arm out to keep Lucy from opening the car door. “No, stay here. Is your phone on?”

“Yes… I think so…” Lucy’s brows crunch together. “Isn’t that bad?”

Kate answers her while turning halfway around in her seat and driving them backward out onto the street. “If you had it with you, yes. Since they’ll be after us anyway, it’s better to lure them here with the phone signals and buy us some time.”

“Are you finally going to tell me who they are?”

“That’s… uhm…” Kate licks her lips. “That’s complicated.”

Lucy rolls her eyes, “I solve murders for a living. Try me.”

“I’d rather not, right now.”

Lucy lets out another grunt of dissatisfaction (since her wife is the most stubborn person she knows, probing would be useless) and tries another angle, “Can you at least tell me then why that Cara person would try to kill me?”

Kate doesn’t answer for a while, her gaze locked on the road ahead of them (one that leads them back into the uplands), and Lucy is this close to losing her shit because being flat out ignored is not okay. When Kate does speak again her voice is very small, “I think it’s my fault.”

That is not as surprising as it could have been, and it is not the part that makes the rage simmer low in Lucy’s stomach (no, it’s the lies. five years’ worth of awful lies). Her next question is not accusing, not reproachful, just – she wants to understand what is going on. How it’s possible that her life has fallen apart in the span of two hours. That much she deserves (right?). “Why?”

Kate’s eyes find hers and they’re so warm and so soft that Lucy struggles to see the same person in her that overpowered Cara in the hotel with cold efficiency. Kate looks at her like she’s done countless times in the past. Like Lucy is the center of her universe. Like she loves Lucy with every last atom of her being. There can’t be any doubt to the sincerity of her words when she speaks, “Because I love you.”

After a moment she adds, eyes back on the road and her softness swiped for self-deprecation, “And my old employers didn’t take it well when I told them I’d quit because I was about to marry the love of my life.”

And that makes Lucy’s heart squeeze bittersweetly and has a blush creeping up her cheeks (and it’s unfair, really). To mask how much Kate’s comment has calmed her she leans forward to take a peek through the windshield. “By the way, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Kate says and steers them off a narrow pathed road and further uphill into the jungle.

(*)

It’s a safe house that Kate’s taken her to (if you can call the rundown hut in front of them a house). A long, long time ago it probably served as a hunter’s lodge albeit a small one. No matter what the hut’s intended use once was, its glory days are over. The three steps that lead up to a small veranda look so rotten that they probably collapse under the weight of a Coot and the floorboards of the veranda itself are holey and bent in impossible angles. The rest of the hut is in a similar state of decay and abandonment (and if this is Kate’s idea of a hideout, Lucy would rather take her chances in the thick jungle around them).

Kate parks up front, grabs her bag from the back and jumps out the car. Lucy is hot on her heels. “This place looks like hell with everyone out to lunch, Kate,” she complains while following her wife around the hut. “Why are we here?”

Kate marches up to a ramshackle open shed that is harboring something wrapped in a large green tarp (from the shape it’s impossible to tell what it is) and points toward the hut. “Inside there’s a hatch under the carpet. Grab a gun, mags, and money. Then meet me again out here.”

Lucy rolls her eyes at the bossy tone (something she only appreciates in the bedroom when Kate tells her to get on all fours) and trudges toward the back door. To her surprise the complete back of the hut is made of stone and the door is made of fortified steel. Instead of a handle there’s a small scanning surface and a number pad. Kate is busy unwrapping whatever is hidden under the tarp (for all she knows it could be the Ark of the Covenant), so Lucy decides to try her luck. She presses her thumb against the scanner and enters six digits into the number pad (the date of their wedding day). Something pings affirmatively and the door swings soundlessly open. Inside the hut is spartan, the few surfaces covered in a thin layer of dust, but in a much better state than the outside. In the middle of the room lies a threadbare rug in an unidentifiable color just like Kate said. Lucy pulls the rug aside to reveal the latch underneath. This time there’s only a scanner and Lucy crouches down to press her thumb against it. A little light flashes green, there’s another ping and Lucy pulls the latch open. Once the latch is all pulled up there’s a faint click. Call it experience, her instincts or whatever but Lucy gets the sinking feeling that that click means something sinister.

As fast as she can, she scrambles to her feet and runs outside. “Kate!” she screams and leaps off the veranda “Take cover!”

“What?” Kate shouts back without moving an inch.

“Get down!” Lucy yells, taking one more step before she throws herself at Kate in an impressive imitation of Bob Lilly (who was the best defense player the Cowboys ever had in her humble opinion).

They crash to the floor not a second too late. With a blast that leaves Lucy with a piercing ringing in her ears the hut explodes. She does her best to shield Kate from the debris that is raining onto them. Something hot lands on her shoulder, the smell of motor oil and burning plastic enters her nose and she struggles to remember how to breathe.

After a moment, Kate begins to wriggle under her and the ringing in her ears slowly subsides.

“-cy! Lucy, you’re okay?”

Kate has maneuvered them into a sitting position, eyes wide with panic as she pats Lucy down for any injuries.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Lucy coughs and holds her head. “I think.”

“You’re on fire, baby.”

Lucy is proud of her quick thinking and mad dash to the shed (if she thinks too long about what could have happened, she’s going to throw up), so she gives Kate a smug grin. “Thanks.”

“No… what?” Kate’s nose scrunches. “You’re literally on fire.”

“What?” Lucy shrieks but Kate has already patted out the smoldering spot on her shoulder.

“I think you might need a haircut,” Kate says, her expression swaying between sympathy and guilt while her fingers brush gently through Lucy’s hair.

Lucy picks a wooden splinter from behind her ear and says, “Great, I’ll book the appointment right after I arrested the people who’re trying to kill me.”

Kate drops her hand, bites her lip, and, “We should get going.”

“Sure, where to? Another secret safe house that’s booby-trapped?”

“Something like that,” Kate mumbles and helps Lucy up.

Lucy pats herself down, though it helps little to improve her appearance (her elbows and knees burn from her collision with the hard floor, there’re brown smudges all over her front and God knows how her back and hair looks). “And how are we gonna get there? We’re in the middle of nowhere and walking will take forever.”

“Let’s check on the car.”

The front of the hut has been literally blown out of existence, the feeble wooden walls no match against the force of a C4 explosion. All that’s left are gleaming stumps and rubble everywhere (some of it on fire). The BMW took on the full force of the explosion and was catapulted a couple of feet through the air. Now it’s lying on its side, with flames shooting up inside.

Lucy carefully steps through the contents of their car that are strewn in a semicircle on the floor (Kate’s favorite pair of sunglasses, Lucy’s Dixie Chicks CD, ChapSticks and emergency snacks) and picks up a molten, eggplant shaped piece of plastic from the floor. “Oh no! Big Fed, what happened to you?!”

Kate kicks at what’s left of their duffle bag, “I told you to pack only essentials and you pack the strap?”

“Big Fed is essential,” Lucy laments in a tearful moan because her favorite sex toy (out of many, many that reside in her bedside table) is currently resembling a sausage that’s been on the grill too long and that caught a nasty STD on top.

Kate comes closer, wraps an arm around her shoulder and tugs her into a hug, “Don’t be upset. When this is over, we’ll buy a new one and you can call him Bigger Fed.”

“It won’t be the same,” Lucy sniffles into Kate’s neck (which is true because Big Fed was once a Halloween joke, they year that Kate dressed up as an FBI agent and no new toy will be able to replace those memories).

“It will be better,” Kate hums before she presses a kiss against Lucy’s temple.

There’s something about the confidence with which Kate says that, something about the temporality of the statement (because it means they’ll live long enough to actually get around to buying a new strap), that stops Lucy from full on crying. She slugs the remains of what once was a star during their wildest sexcapades into the smoking ruins of the hut. “Goodbye, Big Fed. We’ll miss you.”

Kate grants her twenty seconds instead of a full minute of silence and pulls her back to the shed. Luckily the mystery under the green tarp has been mostly spared from the blast and the debris shower, revealing itself to be a black motorcycle in mint condition. Now, Lucy doesn’t know the first thing about motorcycles, but the name Ducati rings a bell even for her.

“You know how to drive that thing?” she asks, walking circles around the powerful machine.

Kate has emerged from a corner, helmet in each hand and shrugs, “Of course.”

“You owe me so many explanations.”

“Since our back-up plan was blown to bits, you might get them sooner than you want to,” Kate says. 

Lucy watches her roll the bike into the open, scoffs, “I wanted those answers like three hours ago. Why didn’t you give them to me then… or right now?”

Kate halts in her check-up on the bike and avoids Lucy’s expectant glance. “Kate…?”

Kate doesn’t react. Not at all. She becomes still like a statue, totally removed from the present moment (it’s every bit as unsettling as Lucy remembers it). Lucy approaches her until she’s close enough that Kate’s nose would brush her knee if she turned her head. Her voice is low but not threatening (she’s just stating a fact, okay). “You lied to me. For five years. For every second that we know each other. The only way that I will be ever even remotely okay with that is if I know that you had no other choice.”

That prompts Kate to rise out of her crouch by the front wheel. No matter that she’s almost two heads taller than Lucy she looks small and defeated. Lucy continues (but now there is an edge to her tone she never thought she would take with Kate). “So, give me one – just one – good reason for me to believe that you had no choice.”

Kate’s bottom lip begins to quiver. Her eyes are wet. “I can’t do that, Luce.”

Lucy’s heart shatters into a million tiny pieces as if Kate drove a sledgehammer into it. “What?”

The world is growing hazy around the edges, the sinking feeling from this morning is back only this time it is a hundred times worse (as if someone gutted Lucy with a blunt knife and is eviscerating her with bare hands). Her knees become too weak to hold the weight of her body and if it wasn’t for Kate’s hands supporting her, she would have sunk to the ground.

“Lucy… baby… baby, look at me,” Kate guides her head up gently and the touch is making her want to recoil. “I can’t tell you the reason, not because there isn’t one, but because I’m not authorized to do so.”

For the third time in thirty seconds, Lucy mumbles, “What?”

“The people who are after us… after you… they’re not some tiny little back room club that’s run by one mafia or another,” Kate says. “This is so much bigger than just me and Cara.”

Slowly, Lucy regains the ability to breathe, “Then take me to someone who is authorized to explain this to me.”

“I will,” Kate nods and holds out one of the helmets for her. “She’s an old friend of mine.”

(*)

During the ride, Lucy clings as tight to Kate as she can. The helmet blocks out most of the noise but the airflow on her naked arms is so cold that she has a good idea how fast they’re zipping down south on the highway. It’s as scary as it is exhilarating, the dip in every curve, the thrust every time they overtake someone, the roaring beast of an engine humming between Lucy’s legs (and Kate’s body pressed so close and deliciously into hers). It allows Lucy to forget for a while all the terrible things that have happened today, her worries blown away by the wind and she gets lost in a daydream about her and Kate celebrating their anniversary for real (in which Kate takes her to an intimate little place and they have sex on every surface in their house). 

Too soon they enter the busy streets of Honolulu and then a residential area that Lucy is not familiar with. The houses are bigger here than in Nanakuli, the gardens either open or surrounded by hedges and bushes, not mesh. Based on that and the cars, Lucy guesses that the families of Naval officers and Air Force pilots live here (which makes it surprising that Lucy has never been here in her role as an NCIS agent).

They come to a stop in the driveway of a pretty two-story house in some type of orange that matches well with the wooden beams protruding everywhere from its walls. Kate leaves her helmet hanging on the handle of the bike and strolls to the entrance like they’re expected. With the same nonchalance she opens the front door and enters the house.

Lucy is yanking on her hand, whisper-shouting, “What in Allah’s name are you doing?”

“It’s alright. My friend has an open door policy.” Kate lifts their joined hands between them and gives Lucy’s knuckles a quick kiss. “I’ll look for her in the garden. You go on looking for her up here.”

Lucy glances between a staircase leading presumably down to the garden and the long hallway in front of her. The house is completely still. “You really think splitting up is a good idea?”

“We’re safe here. She can be trusted.” Kate gives her an encouraging smile. “And remember – you’re Mighty Mouse. I know that you can handle yourself.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Lucy grumbles and begins walking toward what looks like a living room, past a sideboard and photographs on the wall she has no time to inspect.

“With you, flattery gets me everywhere, my love,” Kate laughs quietly behind her but when Lucy turns around to flip her the bird, she’s already gone.

As quietly as possible, Lucy advances further into the house. At the end, the hallway opens up into one large room, seemingly a crossover between the living and dining area. At first glance, it’s empty. There’s no sign of life on the large wooden dining table to the left, no blanket on the white couch to her right and the French doors leading out onto the huge balcony are closed (the only reason why they can’t be alone is that the front door was open. someone must be somewhere). 

Lucy is about to turn to the left where she expects the kitchen to be when her world is suddenly thrown off its axis. Something has hooked around her right ankle and pulled her legs from under her (literally). It happens so suddenly she has no time to scream (let alone react in any other way) and crashes chin first onto the hardwood floor. Pain shoots through her jaw like lightning. She’s blinking back tears. Something grabs hold of her ankle again and yanks her back. Lucy stares at a smear of her own blood on the floor before she gets roughly spun around. A figure is kneeling over her. There’s the flash of a knife. Then her vision gets blocked by a curtain of blonde hair.

“Tennant, enough!”

Kate has slid in between her and whoever the fuck is trying to kill her now, cradling Lucy against her chest with one strong arm. Lucy’s heart is racing and she’s dripping blood all over herself and Kate. Allowing herself three deep breaths in the safety of Kate’s arms, Lucy carefully leans back far enough to catch a glimpse of her newest killer. It’s a woman, at least a handful of years older than Kate and with skin a shade lighter than Lucy’s. She draws her hand back from Kate’s arm block and rests the large kitchen knife in her lap after kneeling back.

“Whistler… it’s been a while.” The woman – Tennant – has a nice voice, a round face (a friendly one, Lucy supposes, if her expression wouldn’t be quite so judgmental right now). “You look like shit.”

Kate keeps her arm protectively wrapped around her and only now does Lucy notice the Glock in her other hand. “Yeah, well…” Kate clicks her tongue, “we’ve had a bit of a shitty day.”

Tennant stands up. “Yeah, I can see that. What happened?”

Kate rises, too, hoisting up Lucy in the process by the waist. “Long story,” she says.

Lucy scoffs, then winces because of her busted chin, “Cara is trying to kill us… well… me.”

Tennant’s eyes widen. The look she’s sending Kate is unreadable. “Cara, hm?”

Kate shoves her gun into the waistband of her pants and throws her hands up, “I want her to know everything.”

“Everything? Are you sure about that, Whistler?”

“Yes, absolutely. Lucy is my wife. She deserves it.”

“I see,” Tennant says and moves to the kitchen where she puts down the knife on a cutting board with carrots, zucchini, and other vegetables.

Kate doesn’t follow her but tilts Lucy’s chin up with cool fingers. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Lucy grimaces. She thinks it’s merely a laceration (a fracture is like the last thing she needs right now) and she didn’t crack a tooth or bit her tongue because of the impact. Doesn’t change the fact that the wound is pounding like her head when she’s got a bad hangover. “Looks worse than it is.”

The clear worry in Kate’s eyes means she’s not convinced. Normally Lucy is the last person to mind a little intimacy in front of others but in front of Tennant it makes her somewhat uncomfortable. So, she brushes Kate’s concern off as much as she wants to bask in it. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Okay,” Kate nods and lets go of her chin, “then I’ll do a perimeter check. In the meantime… Tennant is the one with all the answers.”

Like in trance, Lucy sinks down on a highchair by the kitchen island across from Tennant. Neither of them speaks for a moment. It’s the first quiet she gets since she left the house this morning and with the adrenaline finally wearing off comes the inevitable crash. A wave of weariness washes over her and even though it can’t be later than the late afternoon, Lucy could sleep until the next morning (if the carousel of questions in her mind would ever allow her to sleep). Lucy is about to rest her heavy head in the palm of her hand, forgetting about the cut.

“Shit!” she hisses as fresh blood drips onto her fingers.

“There’s a bathroom down the hallway. First aid kit is under the sink,” Tennant says with a tilt of her head.

When Lucy comes back, she sports a huge band aid on her chin that has a pastel-colored unicorn printed on it. Luckily Tennant bites back any remarks (Lucy is aware that she’s looking like a three year old, thank you very much) and turns to the fridge.

“Drink?”

“Oh fuck, yes please,” Lucy says and retakes her place on the highchair.

Tennant puts a beer in front of her, “You must have a lot of questions.”

Lucy takes a sip, swallows, and grimaces slightly because the skin under the band aid strains. “You have no idea.”

“Well,” Tennant says and transfers the cut vegetables onto a baking sheet, “Whistler said to tell you everything. What do you want to know?”

Lucy spent the better part of her morning coming up with questions she’d demand Kate to answer. Now she can’t decide which one to ask first. After a long look at Tennant, she settles for, “You were at my wedding, right? One of Kate’s surf buddies.”

“Yes, I was there,” Tennant says with a light chuckle. “Though the last time I stood on a surfboard was over a decade ago.”

“Kate is not sociable enough to have such a large group of friends anyway,” Lucy says. “You’re her colleagues.”

“Sort of,” Tennant offers.

Silence settles over them for a while, only interrupted by Tennant’s continued dinner preparations. Lucy watches how she skillfully filets a salmon, before filling its emptied belly with herbs and pieces of butter. Lucy is dreading her next question because depending on the answer it just might break her. She needs to know, though, she owes that much to herself.

“On my wedding day,” Lucy starts slowly, her eyes boring into the simple gold band on her right ring finger, “did I marry a psychopath?”

“Why are you asking that? Because you don’t know what to be more afraid of? That she cannot love you because she’s a psychopath or that she made you believe she can, and you fell for it?”

Lucy mulls that over for a moment and another while taking a sip from her beer (it’s cold and delicious and damn). “Both options are pretty shitty, so I’m not going to answer that.”

“Fair enough,” Tennant shrugs, “but in my opinion you don’t have to worry.”

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“Kate is neither a psychopath nor a sociopath but the perfect example why all these neat little categories humans so love to put other humans into don’t work. At best she is sitting somewhere on the crossroad between several personality disorders and one of them might be psychopathy. That doesn’t make her a heartless monster, though.”

Lucy thinks back on their life and all the little and big moments that showed Kate is indeed capable of feelings (when Lucy went over the edge of a cliff and almost drowned during a case, when Kate proposed, their wedding night). Kate’s love is real. She thought that much (desperately hoped that much is closer to the truth) but hearing it from someone else doesn’t hurt. “No… she really isn’t. More like a marshmallow.”

“Or a hot pocket,” Tennant grins conspiratorially. She busies herself with dinner preparations until everything is in the oven, then tops off her wine and settles comfortably against the counter across from Lucy. “What else do you want to know?”

Lucy has only seen them interact a short time (and half of that she spent with her face pressed into Kate’s chest), but it was long enough to catch onto the familiarity between Tennant and Kate. A sense of ease in the way they touched and breathed around each other that Lucy has always thought Kate reserved for her alone. It’s really not her fault that she blurts out the next question, her glare scorching like a two-dollar pistol (yeah, yeah, her trust issues are to blame, leave her alone). “Did you sleep with her?”

That Tennant chokes a little on her wine should not bring her this much satisfaction. “Sometimes.”

Lucy’s eyes narrow.

“Kate had needs that she was very, very, very skillful in fulfilling and I needed a pretty distraction after my divorce.”

“One ‘very’ would have been enough,” Lucy mutters under her breath (that her wife is mind-blowing in bed knows everyone who passed by their house once on Sunday morning).

“What’s important, Lucy, is that I never stood a chance once she met you, even if I wanted to.”

Lucy sits up a little straighter, her sulk morphing into a pleased smile. “I do like the sound of that.”

After a short laugh, Tennant continues in a light, joking voice, “Oh, you should have heard her. Lucy here, Lucy there … She couldn’t stop talking about you for six months. Everyone was incredibly relieved when she decided to move here and win you over.”

Lucy smiles behind her beer (God, they did it like animals those first weeks after Kate’s move) but turns serious after she swallowed. “Who’s everyone, Tennant?”

Tennant draws in a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling through her nose, and the gaze she settles on Lucy leaves no room for discussion (it’s the kind of glare that can make tough men pee themselves and moves women to worship). “What I am about to tell you, you can never repeat to anyone except Whistler. If you do, I will have to kill you.”

“Sorry, but you aren’t the only one trying that. Y’all better form a line or something,” Lucy quips.

“I always finish the job, trust me, and if you sell us out, even Whistler wouldn’t be able to protect you – she’d only die trying. Is that what you want?”

“No… no, I don’t,” Lucy says in a suddenly small voice.

“Good… so, where was I… oh yeah… we are The Twelve.”

“That sounds underwhelmingly lame,” Lucy tuts.

Tennant shrugs, “Someone compared the group to Beethoven’s 3rd, and they originally had twelve members, so…”

“You weren’t twelve at our wedding.”

“We did a bit of a segregation. Killing in the name of state interests was always morally dubious but the last POTUS overdid it. So, five of us left around four years ago.”

“Not including Cara, I assume?”

“Oh, Cara,” Tennant shakes her head, shortly vanishing between the counter and the kitchen island to check on dinner. “She was always driven by blind ambition. I bet she was so happy she had to rub one out when she heard we left, and she got promoted.”

Lucy leans over the island, resting her face carefully in the palm of her hands and stares down at Tennant, “So, why is she after me now?”

Tennant stands up, glaring at Lucy until she slides back into her chair. “Kate was everybody’s darling. The best of the best. Management was not happy when she quit without a two weeks’ notice. And the reason for that was you.”

“They think if they kill me, Kate will come back to them?”

“It’s less absurd than you might think. Kate lived for The Twelve and would have died for them. After her brother’s death and having been estranged from her parents for years, she had no one else to turn to, The Twelve became her family.”

“Wait a hot minute… Noah was Twelve?”

Tennant nods, “That’s why Kate chose his name as her handle.”

“I see…” Lucy deflates into her chair (fuck, fuck shit, fuck this shit).

Tennant begins to take plates from the cupboards behind her and opens several drawers to take out cutlery and napkins. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

“Oh yeah… a lot… but,” Lucy plays with her mostly empty beer bottle, “I think I’d like to hear those answers from Kate.”

As if she was conjured by Lucy’s voice, Kate emerges from the hallway. She takes one look at Lucy then her eyes grow warm and soft and her lips twitch in the telltale way they always do before curling up into a half-smile.

Lucy’s cheeks grow warm, “Don’t say a word.”

At first, Kate heeds her wish. Only steps closer until she can cradle her face in her hands (a move she has shamelessly stolen from Lucy) and smiles and smiles like Lucy is a priceless treasure she just discovered. Then she mumbles, “You’re adorable.”

With a groan Lucy buries her face into Kate’s chest. “Shut up. She-Ra band aids were all I could find.”

“Hey lovebirds,” Tennant draws them out of their little bubble, “Dinner is almost ready but you two smell like an oil rig, so please go and take a shower. I will lay out some clothes for you in the guest bedroom.”

Lucy feels how Kate wraps her arms around her waist and rests her chin against the top of her head, “Alright.”

Lucy extracts herself from Kate’s koala hold to find Tennant leaning against the kitchen counter and there’s a fondness in her light brown eyes that Lucy thinks is more directed at Kate than at the both of them. It’s petty and she knows and five minutes ago doing this would have given her the shivers (then again, her jealousy tends to take on the force of a living thing) but Lucy pulls Kate down by the dirty collar of her shirt to kiss her.

It's short and hard and Kate is too stunned to react before Lucy pulls away, voicing her protest over that in a small whine.

“Let’s go shower, babe,” Lucy smiles up crookedly at Kate’s dazed expression and begins to tug her in the direction of the hallway.

“Please do so separately,” Tennant yells after them.

Once upstairs, Kate switches their roles and leads Lucy to the last room on the left, spinning her around and against the door the moment they’ve crossed the threshold. Kate’s grip on her is tight (in the possessive kind of way Lucy likes when she’s riding Kate’s face) and there’s a twinkle in her eyes splashed with curiosity. “What was that?”

Lucy avoids her eyes and keeps her wife’s advances at bay with both hands lightly resting on the inside of her elbows. Kissing Kate like that was the wrong move she realizes, now that her stomach is in knots and her mind reeling because technically, they still have to talk (and technically, Lucy is still madder than a wet hen). “What was what?”

“Kissing me like that?” Kate elaborates, free of anger or reproach (but still with that damn amusement dancing in her eyes).

Lucy takes her hand, swipes her thumb over the mat gold around her ring finger, states a fact, “You had sex with Tennant.”

“Yes,” Kate says without pause and Lucy wonders again if Kate’s lying is not pathological, not manipulative but something that was imposed on her (and shit, wouldn’t that be a nice way out). “We had sex,” Kate continues. “In the past. Before you.”

Lucy is neither dumb nor naïve (and she had her fair share of relationships, affairs and one night stands too) and, of course, they had a life before each other. It does nothing to keep the unbidden images of Kate with other women at bay and Lucy sucks in a harsh breath through her teeth. Then she remembers Tennant’s words about Kate and her needs and her stomach sinks and sinks. “You slept with Cara, too.”

“Lucy…”

It’s not a flat out no, no admittance either. Sometimes Kate doesn’t understand why certain things are upsetting or wrong, which is not a free pass for shitty, toxic behavior (it does make it harder to get mad, though).

“Why are you asking me that?”

Lucy isn’t completely sure about that. Part of her might be looking for another reason to smack Cara in the face should she still be alive and they meet again. Part of her might also be a masochist.

“Cause maybe that’s the reason she was after me.”

Kate frowns, her hands drop from Lucy’s waist (and Lucy is this close to putting them back because damn it she might be angry and upset but she loves Kate, so fucking much). “I… no… you think?”

Lucy’s mouth wants to morph into a nasty sneer and if Kate wasn’t so – ugh – she would have let it. “I don’t know all your ex fuck buddies, so yeah, maybe I do think that.” 

With that Lucy pushes past Kate to fall face first onto the bed. It’s all becoming too much – the threat on her life, all these revelations about Kate and her murderous past, fleeing to this stranger’s house. It threatens to overwhelm her. “Go shower, Kate,” Lucy mumbles flatly into the soft cushions.

While Kate is in the shower, Lucy remains exactly as she is on the bed. She’s so exhausted. Exhausted from running. Exhausted from the adrenaline. Exhausted of questioning whether the last five years of her life were a lie. What are the chances that she could fall asleep now and never wake up again? At least the falling asleep part she has covered because when she hears the soft click of a door the effort it takes to blink her eyes open is as strenuous as if someone glued them shut.

“Shower’s all yours.”

“Okay,” Lucy mumbles, voice hoarse from her comatose like nap. “Thank you.”

Without waiting for a response she drags herself into the ensuite bathroom. She strips unceremoniously in front of the large shower (ground level and with a rainforest head even in the guest room), rips her band aid off and wades through the steam that hasn’t dissolved yet from Kate cleaning herself up.

While she stands under the hot spray, washing the grime of the day away, she tries her hardest not to cry. In the safety of the steam and the sound of running water and being alone, she dares to let her mind wander to the darkest places possible (places she’s briefly visited last during her Agent Afloat assignment and never since). What if, against all odds and signs and Lucy’s prayers, Kate is nothing but a cold-blooded, manipulative murderer? What if she considers going back to The Twelve should they make the right offer? What if Lucy ends up alone and heartbroken and forever marked the biggest fool on top?

The unpleasant outcome of those thoughts is that they’ll only drive Lucy insane, unless she has a serious conversation with Kate. Which she will do right after dinner (Kate will have nowhere to run and no red tape to hide behind anymore). With newfound resolve, Lucy turns the shower off, towels herself dry and realizes that her clothes are gone from the bathroom floor.

“What happened to my things?” she asks Kate who is lounging in the same spot on the bed that Lucy vacated.

“Tennant offered to wash everything and I gave her our clothes,” Kate explains, grabbing some yoga pants a shirt from beside her. “She said this should fit you.”

Lucy pulls the shirt over her head that has a collage of Pedro Pascal plastered over it, squinting at Kate’s chest. “Is that a Packers’ jersey?”

“Is it?” Kate looks down at herself, tugging at the jersey that is half a size too large even on her.

“I’d notice that garish shade of green anywhere,” Lucy says through gritted teeth (not admitting out loud that it contrasts very nicely with Kate’s eyes).

Kate moves to stand at the edge of the bed, “Do you want me to take it off?”

Lucy is quick to pull Kate’s hands back down that were about to pull the offending merch of the Cowboys’ biggest rivals over her head (if she sees Kate’s boobs now, they’ll never make it to their much needed conversation, let alone dinner) and says, “I’ll let it slide this once and besides, the only one who gets to see you topless these days is me.”

Normally Kate would make some suggestive comment right now (about how Lucy loves her tits so much she just freezes like a Windows95 loading screen whenever she sees them unexpectedly) but she’s all earnest and cute when she takes Lucy’s hands. “Not just these days, my love. Ever since the day I came back to Hawai’i and found you outside the bar.”

It placates Lucy more than it should because while Cara was on a state sanctioned murder spree in France or China or Russia or God knows where, Tennant has been here all along – a potential booty call, just half an hour away from their marital bed. As hurt and confused Lucy is, she chooses to believe Kate (entirely disregarding that Kate has given plenty of reasons today not to).

She gives Kate’s hands a squeeze, “Okay… Should we go downstairs?”

“Let me do one thing?” Kate asks and pulls something from the pockets of her burrowed sweatpants.

Lucy doesn’t protest when Kate applies a fresh band-aid to her chin and doesn’t protest either when a feather light kiss is pressed on the (this time thankfully plain) band-aid.

Downstairs the table is set, and the air is filled with the aroma of lemon, fish and something Lucy can’t quite decipher. Whatever it is, it makes the food delicious, which is rounded up by a crisp white wine with tones of honey. While Tennant plates Lucy’s second serving she asks, “So, under which state banner do The Twelve fly? DOJ, NSA, CIA?”

At the last acronym, Tennant almost drops the serving spoon, and Kate clenches her jaw a tad too hard to just be chewing.  “CIA then,” Lucy leans back, a pleased grin on her face and stabs a carrot.

“The group was founded during the McCarthy-era for counter-espionage purposes against the Soviets and got disbanded in 1989,” Tennant admits freely between sips of wine.

“Unless Kate wielded a Glock as a baby for Uncle Sam, something doesn’t add up here,” Lucy remarks. The piece of salmon she chews on next is soft as butter and juicy as perfectly done ribs (and shit Lucy may hate Tennant a tiny bit but the woman can cook).

“Correct,” Tennant says, “The Cold War may have been over, but there was plenty of unrest in the world America wanted to meddle in – Iraq, Somalia, Yugoslavia, Afghanistan – basically that list is endless.”

“The Whistler’s have been serving in the military for four generations and worked for countless intelligence services,” is the first bit Kate adds to the conversation. Next her eyes glaze over into that detached tunnel vision she always gets when talking about her dead brother, “Noah was practically bred into The Twelve.”

If what she’s been told is true, Noah died twelve years ago, yet Kate’s grief is swallowing her up so thoroughly, as if he had died yesterday (and Allah forgive her but Lucy’s glad she wasn’t around that day). Lucy puts her knife down and reaches out to interlace their fingers.

“And after his death Kate took his place?”

“We wanted her before that but…” Tennant pauses. “Essentially, you’re right. We recruited her straight out of Northwestern, trained her while she was in Georgetown and the rest is so top-secret it even beats the nuclear codes.”

The rest of dinner they spend discussing more present things like whether Cara is still after them (most likely) and where they should go now (which leads to talk about a flush fund in Venezuela, decades old and hopefully forgotten) and what they can do to get The Twelve to back off (to which Tennant’s single comment is that there’s nothing, which is really not encouraging at all). While Lucy and Kate do the dishes they trade strategies back and forth, though in the end it all boils down to flight or fight (and Lucy’s always been the type of girl to fight tooth and nail). Kate is against taking a stand, which is unlike her, and Lucy’s suspicions tells her it’s because of her (sweet and gallant but no – she’s not some damsel in distress for fuck’s sake).

“Running away will not get us anywhere,” Lucy huffs and pulls the plug from the sink with extra vigor.

“It gets you to stay alive,” Kate says, the line of her mouth thin and crooked as if she’s biting back harsher words, “That’s all that matters to me.”

“Well, maybe I want more from the rest of my life than looking over my shoulder every damn second!” Lucy shouts and doesn’t care that they have an audience and doesn’t care about the flash of hurt in Kate’s eyes. 

She just stomps out of the kitchen, driven by the righteousness of her outburst, because – is it so wrong to want a life with the woman she loves? To want long summer nights in their garden waiting for shooting stars and missing them because they’re too busy making out. Or to want cold winter mornings that they pass cuddled up in bed with Lucy drinking coffee in one of Kate’s soft pastel sweaters while Kate reads the newspaper. Saturdays that they waste away at the beach (and since they’re together it’s not a waste at all) with Lucy remaining happily on shore while Kate is out conquering the ocean on her surfboard. What she wants is joy in the small and mundane with the love of her life. Not an endless chase that can only culminate in one of their deaths.

She’s lying on the bed in the guest room, facing away from the door when Kate enters. “I think we should talk.”

“Yeah…” Lucy says, slowly pushing herself into a seating position against the headboard, “I think you’re right.”

Kate settles on the other side of the bed, leaving so much space between them it is like an ocean, terrifying and insurmountable. 

“I’m sorry,” Kate says.

It’s the first time she apologizes today, Lucy realizes. While it sounds genuine it’s not going to cut it, not by far (not to make up five years of fucking lies, damn it). Lucy still has questions. And anger. And hurt.

She winds her fingers tightly around her wedding band, presses her words past the lump in her throat, “Why did you never tell me?”

“Would you believe me if I told you, I was scared that something like today would happen?”

“Maybe. But it did happen anyway,” Lucy says as her tongue is coated in bitterness, “didn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

And it’s not enough, not an explanation that is worth the betrayal that has settled behind Lucy’s sternum like a block of ice. For Kate it might be the only explanation necessary, a rational, calculated decision that has kept Lucy obliviously safe for five years, and that she sees nothing wrong with. Lucy desperately hopes Kate is not too far removed from the emotional plane of other human beings (please, please, please just this once let her get it) to recognize on her own that as far as apologies go, this one leaves much to be desired.

“It’s not the only reason why I didn’t tell you though,” Kate says slowly, her small smile tortured and false, “I’m not that altruistic, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve always known you’re an egoist because you don’t share dessert and always steal the last piece of food,” Lucy says way more teasingly than the situation permits (there’s just something about Kate’s sad face that she can’t stand).

Kate takes that in stride (instead of bringing up some of Lucy’s egoistical shortcomings), saying slowly and earnestly and real, “After our first weekend together, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I knew I should have because you could never find out about The Twelve and the murders I committed for them as Noah because it would put you in so much danger I…” Kate’s voice cracks. She sniffles.

“You’re the most amazing woman I ever met, and I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you,” Kate continues after a moment. “I should have stayed away from you and never come back to Hawai’i, but you see how well that worked out.”

Lucy makes a sound caught between a scoff and a snort and grabs Kate’s right hand between both of her own. Her gaze though, remains locked on a black and white photograph on the other side of the room and her mouth shut. Let Kate figure this one out by herself.

Kate clears her throat, gives Lucy’s hands a squeeze, “So, I decided to quit. I wasn’t the first who did it and I thought somehow everything would work out. I just had to see you again. When I finally did, I knew if I told you who I really am, you’d either think I was crazy, or you would arrest me.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Lucy concedes. 

Though, who knows what she would have done. Her past-self had just fallen harder in love than ever before in her life, her career with NCIS was barely more than a dip in with the big toe and Kate was hot (super, super hot with three exclamation marks) and a terrible flirt and laid the world at Lucy’s feet. Lucy can picture herself giving it all up for Kate. Or she would have dragged her to the FBI straight away, gotten her locked up, and by doing so she would have missed out on the incredible life she and Kate built.

Kate squeezes her hands again, dragging the pads of her fingers over Lucy’s wedding band over and over again while the rest of her has gone very, very still. It’s worrying. Enough so that Lucy lifts her gaze from their joined hands to find Kate silently crying.

“When all of this is over, I’ll sign the divorce papers.”

Lucy freezes solid, numbness spreading from her heart to the tips of her fingers. “W-what are you talking about?”

Kate’s laugh is wet and full of heartache. “I know that you don’t want to be with me anymore, Lucy, I could feel how angry you are with me all day. And I should have done this years ago anyway – letting you go, setting you free and I… I…”

“Who said anything about me not wanting to be with you anymore?” Lucy asks, completely baffled (if Tennant has anything to do with this, she is going to throw hands).

Kate’s face is turning red from crying and she’s blinking heavily against the tears. “No one but… I thought…”

Kate’s expression is so lost, so lonely as if Lucy already abandoned her (and she knows a thing or two about strict upbringings and parental neglect but to lose her own family was a choice, none of her siblings got ripped away from her in an act of violence), so Lucy does the only thing she can think of. 

She pushes herself up on her left hand and tugs on Kate’s jaw with her right. The kiss is softer this time. Less burdened because Lucy kisses Kate for all the right reasons. Kate’s mouth moves against hers slowly, fingers tangling in Lucy’s locks and splaying against her neck. It’s a terrible angle. For both of them (but Lucy doesn’t give a damn because kissing Kate is always worth any kind of discomfort).

Eventually, Lucy breaks the kiss, remaining close enough that their noses brush and she can taste the salt on Kate’s cheeks. “You really are hopeless.”

“Maybe” Kate whispers, keeping Lucy close, her touch so light against Lucy’s cheeks as if she’s afraid to be pushed away. “So, please tell me what you need because whatever it is, I will give it to you.”

“I need you,” Lucy says because it really is that simple.

“You’ve had me since the moment you sat closer to me in the bar.”

Lucy shakes her head, “No. I’ve only ever had parts of you. The ones you were willing to give me. I never had the Kate that went to Northwestern, or the Kate that had a brother, or the Kate before she became a part of The Twelve.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to know about those parts of me, no one else ever did.”

Lucy’s heart breaks and she covers Kate’s face in butterfly kisses. “I’m your wife, Kate. I want to know all of you. Tell me the most terrible thing you ever did and let me love you anyway.”

“Okay,” Kate whispers before tugging Lucy closer. 

Kate kisses her like she fears it might be the last time she gets the chance to. Deep and slow. Desperate in a way that makes Lucy’s heart ache. Her touch grows firmer the more often her mouth presses against Lucy’s. Becomes heavy with intention. A shiver runs through Lucy that pools hot in her abdomen and when Kate moves back and pulls on her hips she slides forward to straddle Kate without hesitation. 

Her breath comes out a little ragged, her hips pressing down into Kate’s lap in search of friction, but she stops herself from crushing their mouths together again. She forces her eyes open, finds Kate’s wide and dark in front of her, licks her lips. It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts, but she can’t do this (more like she shouldn’t) without making some things clear. 

“This doesn’t mean that I’ve forgiven you. What you did was fucked up and I’m pissed. But you are my wife, and I will not let a bunch of assassins take you away from me. When this is over, I expect you to do better, to put in work in our relationship. Be honest with me even if it’s hard, ya got that?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Good,” Lucy says and cradles Kate’s face in her hands, “cause what I need right now is you.”

The sex is the most intimate in a while. Lucy is unhurried, savoring every new patch of Kate’s naked skin like it’s the first time and undressing Kate with such care and attention it’s almost ritualistic. She is slow with every kiss, with every lick of her tongue into Kate’s mouth. She’s not teasing and doesn’t mean to be cruel (though when she bites down with her teeth on Kate’s nipple, she enjoys the little yelp a bit too much).

What Lucy does is an act of rediscovery. An act of relearning a body she thought she knew inside out. She nips with her teeth on the moles on Kate’s neck and licks across all the scars she finds while moving down Kate’s body with new understanding. Lucy is somewhat aware that she might be searching for something that Kate can’t give her (and, oh, it’s so hard to have a straight thought when Kate’s face contorts in desperate pleasure like that). She’s carefully observing every twitch of Kate’s brows, every little wanton noise, every arch of her body to find some sort of proof that this is real. That the woman that is melting under Lucy’s touch is the one she fell in love with. That Kate is giving herself over completely. And when Lucy leaves light purple bruises on the inside of Kate’s thighs and kisses a slow path up to where Kate is dripping wet and Kate is moaning her name in the sweetest pleas, she thinks she might have found her answer.

Lucy studies her face while she slowly drags her tongue through Kate’s folds (and fuck, she’s the most delicious thing Lucy’s ever tasted) and with every lick she becomes surer of that answer. Kate’s eyes flutter open, black and hazy. Their gazes lock. It’s so intense that Lucy forgets to breathe. Her whole body is filled with heat. Her heart grows and grows until she can feel it straining against her ribs, overflowing from affection.

“I love you,” Kate says firmly and clearly (which is a lot clearer than Lucy would have expected her to be capable of in her state of ruin).

Lucy lifts her head, just a little, tastes Kate on her tongue when she answers and has never been more sure of anything in her life, “I love you, too.”

Then she lowers her mouth again and tongues Kate until she asks her to stop.

(*)

Lucy stirs awake in the middle of the night from a deep and dreamless sleep. Kate’s hair is tickling her, and she rolls onto her back (but doesn’t get any further because Kate is glued to her side like a monkey). She yawns, wishing they had at least one phone to check the time. The next moment she freezes. Every last bit of exhaustion is swept away in a cocktail of adrenaline and fear. Something or someone made a noise in the house. Lucy has been a federal agent long enough to know the difference between someone sneaking to the fridge for a midnight snack and a black-ops team clearing rooms.

She’s about to shake Kate awake but she already is, her gaze calm and focused and she has a finger pressed against her lips. As quiet and fast as possible, they get dressed. Lucy really wishes she had the time to grab a second gun in the safe house before the whole thing blew up because she feels naked and useless while Kate creeps through the door, Glock ready in her right hand. Lucy hates it. She’s always excelled at chasing down the bad guys, paying a small price like a concussion now and then (except that one time with the yacht after which she woke up in a hospital to a crying Kate). Lucy knows that she’s good at this, that she can hold her own and make it out alive. Apart from when she knocked out Cara, Lucy has never seen Kate fight and right about now that makes her stomach churn as if she swallowed a hurricane. Arguing over the gun is no use though. They don’t have the time. Especially not because of the shadow gliding out of one of the rooms in front of them. 

In the dim green glow of a night light (probably a remnant from when her kids were younger), Lucy can make out Tennant. She’s carrying a semiautomatic rifle and a murderous expression. Together the three of them take position in the hallway behind the open doors. They’re waiting for the first henchmen to come up the stairs (since they have no idea how many enemies are downstairs, they have to take what they can get). Tennant crouches behind the door of her bedroom, eyes closed and body ready to spring into action the second it’s needed. Lucy and Kate are cowering across the hallway from her behind the bathroom door, pressed side by side and while Lucy can feel her heart hammering away in her chest, Kate appears as still as a statue. Before Lucy can upset herself more by feeling inadequate and useless in this whole situation, there’s movement on the stairs.

The first black-ops member rises like a ghost on the landing, his contours wraithlike in the green semi-darkness except for his night-vision goggles. Tennant takes him out with a single shot before his right foot can take another step. He crumbles in on himself and in doing so tips backward over the edge of the stairs (making enough fucking noise to alert the whole block). Then everything happens as if someone pressed the fast forward button on Lucy’s life. Gunfire explodes in the hallway. Muzzles flash up in the dark like the eyes of tiny demons. Tennant and Kate give as good as they get, and it doesn’t take long before a second body thuds to the floor. After that there’s only silence. Lucy blinks against the stinging gun powder residue that hangs  in the air. Her mind is reeling. Should she try to grab the gun of the second guy at the top of the stairs? Were there really only two operatives? If not, what are the others doing? Without thinking she grabs Kate’s arm, but Kate doesn’t react at all. Not until something lands with a dull thud on the carpet in front of them. 

“Grenade!” Kate shouts and springs into motion. In a flash, she has pushed Lucy away from the door and backward into the bathroom. The best place to hide is a big bathtub that Kate shoves her into before climbing on top of her and drapes herself over her like a shield. Lucy wants to punch her for it (because she needs no saving, especially not at the cost of Kate’s life). She is about to open her mouth to start an argument about heroic sacrifices and dumb bravery when the hallway explodes. Quite literally. Her eardrums protest against the shockwave, ringing worse than after the explosion of the safe house. Dry-wall parts rain down on them mixed with sharper broken tile pieces and the world has shrunken to the Packer’s green of that fucking jersey Kate is still wearing. Through the ringing and the roar of her own heartbeat it sounds like a faint echo when Kate shouts, “Stay here!”

It takes Lucy a second too long and when her arms want to tighten around Kate to keep her in the tub with her she’s already gone. Lucy staggers to her feet because the ringing is slowly interfered by the dull smacking and grunting noises of a fist fight.

The explosion ripped through the wall separating the hallway and the bathroom and tore out the toilet. Out of its white jagged stump shoots water like a fountain and in the spray, Kate is going toe to toe with a third operative. She’s good. She knows to keep her center low, when to dodge and to keep her feet moving. But when she swings, she leaves herself too open (which is a sign that she told Lucy the truth and has been out of the game since their wedding). Her opponent uses the opening Kate is offering them on a silver plate to shove her backward before grabbing her head and smashing it into the remnants of the bathroom cabinet. The glass of the mirror cracks under the force of the impact and Kate sags with a groan.

Lucy doesn’t wait any longer. She jumps out of the tub, reaches out with her hand and yells, “Hey, asshole!”

The operative whirls around right on time for Lucy to whack them with the shower tab. She brings the tab down twice more over their head, just to make sure. 

“Kate, you alright?” Lucy rushes forward to where her wife is spitting blood into the sink.

“I’m okay, not any worse than field hockey in senior year,” Kate dismisses the bleeding wound on her temple as if she scraped her knee. “That was impressive.”

“Thanks,” Lucy grins despite the danger they’re still in (or maybe exactly because of it. joking always helps her to alleviate tension).

“Could you two postpone your flirting?” Tennant asks from the ruins of her bathroom door. Her lip is split and her once white shirt is covered in stains in various shades of red. The way she’s standing there in the middle of all that destruction makes Lucy think of a survivor in a warzone and the sudden guilt over bringing all this violence into her home has her stomach dropping.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

“Whistler always flirted at the most inappropriate times. Don’t let her distract you,” Tennant says with an amused shake of her head.

“No… I mean…” Lucy bites her lip. “I’m sorry that we brought The Twelve here and that they remodeled half your first floor.”

Tennant takes a look around, gaze drifting over her broken toilet, Kate’s blood splattered against the mirror, the contents of several cabinets and shelves strewn all over the wet floor. “I wanted to remodel anyway,” she says eventually. “My ex-husband picked these tiles, and I’ve always hated them.”

“Tennant, I…” Kate starts and swallows.

“I know, Whistler,” Tennant interrupts her surprisingly softly. “It’s alright.” Then she reloads her rifle and tilts her head toward the hallway, “Let’s move out. I’m sure there’s more of them.”

Lucy picks up Kate’s Glock from under the shower curtain and passes it to her before she takes a Heckler & Koch from the knocked out operator’s thigh strap. “Let’s go.”

While they creep slowly in a fanned out formation through the hallway and down the stairs, Lucy wonders if this is how her life is going to be from now on (and if this is how Kate’s life was in the past, no wonder she quit. this sucks). The adrenaline rush might be the only positive thing right now because few things make Lucy feel so alive as being stuck in a life and death situation (except maybe when she and Kate have sex that catapults them into another dimension). Another absolutely absurd thing that Lucy notices is how incredibly hot Kate looks. Nothing could break her focus and while her body moves smoothly like water through the shadows it exudes a subtle strength. Even the way she holds her gun has Lucy tingling all over though that might just be the Texan in her. She shakes herself out of it right in time to hear Kate whisper, “How many did we take out so far? Three?”

“Four,” Tennant whispers back. “Another one is taking a long nap tied to my bed like a starfish.”

“Kinky,” Kate quips.

They made it to the end of the stairs and to a terribly exposed spot in the living room. Lucy squints into the shadows, “That leaves two?”

Sending in three duos on such a mission is not uncommon albeit a little over the top (then again Tennant says Kate was the best of the best and wouldn’t it be funny if The Twelve were just a tiny bit scared of her?).

Whatever Kate wanted to answer is drowned out in the crossfire that surrounds them out of nowhere. One shooter must be in the kitchen, the other somewhere to the right, perfectly positioned to encircle them. It’s a cacophony of gunshots, shouts and exploding wood Lucy is drowning in. The air turns dark and dusty (and everything smells like the 4th of July celebration her father held when Lucy was younger). 

After they all gave off some blind shots, they use the small pause it takes the operatives to take cover to get out of the line of fire, too. Tennant and Kate dive behind the couch. Lucy slides behind the turned over table a couple of feet further to the right. Neither piece of furniture is going to protect them long. Chipped off pieces from the table scrape across Lucy’s face and tangle in her hair. Behind her the couch erupts in a cloud of padding when the first operative opens fire again. While Lucy frantically searches for a way out, she can make out a shape in the semi-darkness above the operative closer to her. The first two shots she fires miss. The third one brings the large lamp crashing down over the operative.

Crouched low, Lucy leaves the safety of her cover, ignores Kate’s panicked shouting behind her and lunges forward to tackle the operative into a shelf. They go down under a shower of books. Before the operative gets the chance to bring an arm between them to push Lucy off, she smacks them in the face with a copy of Michelle Obama’s biography. Repeatedly.

Behind her the shooting stopped and someone lets out a low whistle. “You’re right, Whistler. She is good.”

Lucy’s heart is hammering in her chest while she scrambles back to her feet. She’s almost lightheaded from the relief of having survived this ambush and stumbles a little to meet Kate in the middle of the room. She’s breathing hard and there are new cuts in her face and on her arms, but her eyes are bright and so is her grin when she puts a hand against Lucy’s glowing cheek (and for fuck’s sake, Lucy is ready to jump her right there). 

“Yeah, she really is,” Kate murmurs and Lucy glows even brighter.

She is this close to throwing her arms around Kate’s shoulders and kiss her for all its worth. The only thing holding her back is that she doesn’t trust herself of counting properly. “Were that the last ones?”

The answer is coming from the gaping dark hole behind the staircase. “Not quite.”

It’s no use that Tennant lifts her rifle in the blink of an eye or that Kate takes a protective step in front of Lucy – Cara has her gun already pointed straight at them.

“If you pull that trigger, there is no way you’re making it out of here alive,” Tennant threatens in a voice that is cold and detached and leaves no room for doubt.

“Oh, fuck off, Tennant,” Cara spits, never taking her wild boring gaze from Lucy. “We both know you’re not that fast anymore and you’d never risk the life of your favorite like that.”

“Cara…” Kate tries carefully like she’s talking to a skittish animal. “What are you doing here? What do you want from us?”

Cara tilts her head and the snarl curling around her lip is so full of hate and disgust it’s unmistakable in the pale light of dusk creeping in from the balcony, “What do you think?”

Then she raises her gun a little above Kate’s shoulder. Right at Lucy’s forehead. Lucy’s knees start to shake, and she prays to whatever god is listening that no one can smell the fear that must be seeping out of her every pore. “Why do you want to kill me?”

“No one leaves The Twelve,” Cara says, and her mouth contorts further as if talking to Lucy is beneath her, “and they want their little darling back.”

Kate takes a barely perceptible step back until she’s so close in front of her that Lucy has to lean around her to still be able to see the unfolding shitshow (and fuck if this isn’t the most terrible outcome possible). “That’s bullshit, Cara. If you were here just by order of The Twelve, tell me why now? Why’d they leave me be for so long?”

“Because maybe things have changed. Maybe they were giving you a chance to come to your senses. And maybe they decided that five years is enough,” Cara shouts. The gun in her hand starts to shake and Lucy half expects that she loses it completely any second now.

Kate puts her hands in front of her, “I’m not coming back. I have a new life that I will not leave behind no matter what The Twelve offer or who they send. Go on and tell them that.”

Cara lets out a dissonant laugh, lowers her gun slightly, spits. “As if they care about your new life. We can take that away from you, leaving you with nothing and no one until you have no other choice but to come back,” then she rips her gun back up and snarls, “starting by getting rid of that cunt!”

Belatedly Lucy realizes that cunt is her. She sidesteps Kate and, “I have a name, you bitch!”

That was not the smartest move, admittedly, because Cara’s face distorts into an even more twisted grimace of hate. Her trigger finger jumps.

Kate puts an arm out in front of her chest and a shiver runs through Lucy because she’s never heard her wife sounding so murderous. “If you harm her in any way, I will hunt you down and every member of The Twelve and make you pay!”

Cara’s focus shifts back to Kate and somehow, she manages to look down on her despite being several inches shorter. “You know, after Noah, I thought you just weren’t capable of feeling anything for anyone anymore. I thought what we had was the best you could offer. And then you run away to her.” 

Cara chokes up the last word with sulfur and fire as if Lucy’s mere existence was the reason for everything that was wrong in her life. The look Cara is giving her is all disdain and scorn and a hint of curiosity. “What is so special about her anyway?”

“You want me to give you a list?”

If they weren’t held at gunpoint Lucy could have slapped Kate for making jokes right now (though if they weren’t held at gunpoint, Kate probably wouldn’t be cracking jokes anyway).

“Yeah, maybe I want you to give me a fucking list!” Cara shouts, wildly gesturing with the gun and becoming more unhinged with every passing second.

“Cara… you sure you want to hear that?” Kate tries to backtrack, which only enrages Cara more.

“I have a right to know,” she says and there’s venom dripping from every letter, “I have a right to know why you picked her. And not me.” Her eyes are spewing sparks while she levels her gun to Lucy’s head and works the slide. “Tell me or I swear I’ll put a hole through her right now.”

“You can still get out of this,” Tennant butts in at the worst moment possible, “just leave and we won’t come after you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Cara shrieks. Then she sends a bullet through the clumsy clay imitation of a dolphin that resided on a sideboard. Everyone in the room startles. Including Cara. Lucy has instinctively wrapped herself around Kate’s arm and her own heartbeat is loud as a roaring storm in the sudden silence.

Eventually, Cara wipes some sweaty strands of hair out of her face, trains the gun on Lucy again and says with a saccharine voice, “Katie was just about to tell me something. Weren’t you?”

“Yeah… yeah, alright,” Kate says slowly.

She turns briefly to raise her hand into a cradle against Lucy’s cheek, her expression so tender and so sweet. It makes Lucy question again how that same person can be a killer for hire.

“Lucy is the best person I know,” Kate simply says, her eyes not quite leaving Lucy’s. She slides her hand down between Lucy’s shaking fingers and squeezes (and all Lucy wants is to drag her far, far away and never let go).

“She’s kind and funny and I’ve never met anyone who loves as completely as she does,” Kate continues. No one has ever talked about Lucy with such devotion and warmth. Not even Kate until this moment but hearing these words now and not having to doubt their sincerity at all – it brings tears to her eyes. She squeezes Kate’s hand back.

“You were right when you said that what we had was all I could give, Cara, and let’s be honest – that wasn’t much. After Noah, I didn’t let anyone close to me anymore. I shut myself off. I didn’t want anything. I didn’t feel anything. My life was empty. I was empty. Lucy showed me that I didn’t have to be,” Kate says. 

The tears are freely spilling down Lucy’s cheeks by now. Kate has never told her any of this before. About her pain. Her trauma. Lucy wishes she had, so she could have loved her even harder. She isn’t the only one who is moved by Kate’s words. Cara’s eyes are glistening wet, and she sounds so hurt that Lucy almost feels sorry for her. “I could have shown you that. If you had let me.”

“No,” Kate says. She’s firm in that assertion and if Lucy didn’t know the soft, sensitive creature that hides behind all of Kate’s walls and compartmentalizing, she would’ve called her cruel. “Lucy saved my life. Not you.”

The gunshot rips through the silence in the house like a clap of thunder (the kind that goes off right above your head and makes your heart skip a beat or two). Deep down Lucy knows there’s nothing she can do. No dive. No roll. Nothing. Cara is too close. All that’s left is to hold on to Kate’s hand. Close her eyes. And wait for the pain.

At least Lucy always assumed there was going to be pain. It’s been close a couple of times, but she’s never been shot in the line of duty – thank fuck. When the pain doesn’t come, she thinks at first that she must be in shock. Her body is shutting down. It’s protecting her. Lucy cracks one eye open. Doesn’t see any leaking red hole in chest. Cracks open the other.

She finds Cara in front of her white as a ghost (which is so not the smug reaction she expected from the bitch after shooting Lucy and getting what she wanted but – hey) with the gun trembling in her outstretched arm and hand. 

Kate has gone eerily still. Like a statue. The only thing about her that is moving is a red smudge somewhere in the middle of her shoulder. It’s growing. Bleeding into the green of the fucking Pecker’s jersey.

Lucy opens her mouth to ask her where all that wet red is coming from. But someone has started screaming and she can’t get a single thought right enough in her head to say her question out loud. 

Finally, Kate starts to move, swaying first left then right then her legs give out and she falls backward.

“Kate! No!” Lucy shrieks, rushing forward to catch Kate in her arms (and realizing that the screaming must have been her because it suddenly stopped).

Kate’s slumps into her like a dead weight and Lucy might be strong but because of their height difference she can only slow their crash onto the floor.

“Baby, look at me,” Lucy says through her tears and the terror striking her heart as soon as she has pulled Kate into her lap. She cradles her wife’s face in her hands and repeats, “Eyes on me. Eyes on me, baby.”

But Kate’s eyes are shock-wide, her gaze zoned out while her hands flutter between her chest and holding onto Lucy. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

“Shh… it’s going to be okay,” Lucy says and grabs Kate’s hands before she presses them into the center of the red stain on her shirt. “Press tight here and you’re going to be okay.”

Kate does as she’s told to no avail. Blood seeps through her fingers in the weak pulse of a dying heart without any intention to slow down. Sweat is forming on her forehead. Her lips move a couple of times before she gets any sound out, “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I should have never come back. I should have never dragged you into this. I-”

Her sentence trails off into a strangled grunt of pain, her body bowing and shivering from what it must endure. Lucy’s tears fall before the first of Kate’s rolls down her pale cheeks.

“I know, my love,” Lucy whispers through her despair. “I know, so you can stop talking now. Tell me again when you’re better.”

The next moment, Tennant falls to her knees across from them, a couple of dish towels in one hand and duct tape in the other, “If we don’t stop her bleeding or slow it down at least, she’s not going to tell you anything ever again.”

In short precise movements Tennant rips Kate’s shirt open enough to expose the sopping mess created by the gunshot wound. “Wipe as much of the blood away as possible,” she instructs Lucy and thrusts one of the dish towels at her.

Lucy does so without asking questions (because her mind is falling in over itself already from the fear of losing Kate), wipes the blood away until a small, gurgling hole becomes visible in Kate’s chest.

While Tennant presses the second dish towel onto the wound and fixes it with the tape, she mumbles, “If we’re lucky this is only a flesh wound and all we need is getting her to someone who can stitch her up.”

“And if we’re unlucky?” Lucy asks, never breaking eye contact with Kate who is panting from the pain.

Tennant pauses and fastens the tape so tight that Kate lets out a garbled scream. “If we’re unlucky, her lung was perforated, and she’ll slowly drown in her own blood.”

“We have to call an ambulance,” Lucy says, inwardly cursing their lack of a phone again and she can’t make out any landline in the chaos that once was Tennant’s living room.

“We can’t do that,” Tennant says curtly.

Lucy stills, stares helplessly at her wife slowly bleeding out in her arms. “If we don’t take her to a hospital, she’ll die.”

Tennant tries to pry Kate from her which only makes Lucy hold on with more determination. “If we take her to a hospital, it’ll be her death sentence. The Twelve have people everywhere.”

“Lucy…” Kate croaks (and her fingers are clammy in Lucy’s hold and her eyes glassy like during a fever and it breaks Lucy’s heart). “You have to trust her.”

Lucy sniffles, wipes a strand of dark hair from Kate’s glistening forehead and asks, “Where are we taking her?”

(*)

Ten minutes later she still hasn’t gotten an answer to her question. Together they maneuvered Kate to Tennant’s car. Lucy is in the backseat with Kate draped across her lap who is flitting in and out of consciousness. Tennant is driving, disregarding every rule of traffic imaginable while taking them downtown. Her phone is connected to the car’s media system and she’s calling someone (someone, Lucy hopes, who will be able to save Kate’s life). 

“Detective Boone,” a man’s voice says from the speakers.

“Jesse,” is all Tennant offers as a greeting, “I need a clean-up team at my house.”

A surprised gasp can be heard through the line, then some shuffling and a door being closed. “What the fuck, Tennant,” Jesse hisses, “You can’t request a clean-up on this number. I’m at work. My official work.”

“It’s an emergency,” Tennant hisses back. “The Twelve came for Whistler. She came to me. We made a bit of a mess in my house.”

Jesse curses and Lucy can hear how much the news rattle him. It’s weirdly comforting. “Shit! Are you alright? Is Katie?”

“Katie’s been shot,” Lucy grits out (because she’s angry, so angry at Cara and it’s simmering below her fear like glowing embers ready to explode).

“Who’s that? Who’s with you, Tennant?” Jesse asks.

“That’s Lucy,” Tennant says.

“Her wife,” Lucy adds.

“Fuck,” Jesse curses again then adds in a much softer tone, “Your wedding was lovely by the way.”

Lucy’s eyes trace over Kate’s still face, the tips of her fingers following the same path while she remembers that day. Kate’s dress, her vows, her blinding smile. It all seems so far away from the horrors of today. Like a distant dream. Fresh tears spill over Lucy’s cheeks. “I know. It was perfect.”

“We have time for proper introductions some other day,” Tennant cuts in. “I need that clean-up, Jesse. The kids are coming home tomorrow.”

“Understood, boss.”

“And one more thing – is the Commander working today?”

Lucy’s questions about the Commander and Jesse remain just as unanswered as her question about their destination. She quickly forgets about them when Kate’s eyes close again and again and each time it takes longer for her to open them.

“You have to stay awake,” Lucy sobs quietly as her thumb moves softly over Kate’s sticky cold cheek. “You have to stay with me.”

“I’ll… always be with you,” Kate says under great effort.

“No, no, no,” Lucy shakes her head. Bites her lip. Is too scared to think. “Don’t talk like that. I need you to stay with me and be alive.”

Kate’s lips are beginning to turn purple, where her skin isn’t covered in smears of blood or grime it’s a sick shade of gray (and she’s cold, so cold) and yet she manages to smile). “I love you so much, Lucy Tara. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I love you too, Kate,” Lucy cries, sobs wrecking her body and voice breaking. “So, please don’t leave me… please…”

Kate’s smile is fading. Her eyelids droop. “I am so happy for every day I got to spent by your side, my sweet.”

After that Kate’s eyes remain closed. No amount of shaking or crying or screaming changes that. With the thought that Lucy might never get to see that shade of brown again (never gets to hear Kate say her name again, never gets to kiss her again) comes overwhelming numbness. If Kate is dead, the best part of Lucy died with her.

(*)

Whatever happens next passes by her in a blur. The only thing that is real is the weight of Kate in her arms. The feeling of her skin against Lucy’s. Her scent, which is faint beneath the metallic odor of blood but it’s there. Everything else is meaningless. Out of focus. She can’t see where they’re going, nor does she care about it. Doesn’t hear what Tennant is shouting at her. Only moves when Tennant reaches for Kate (and in the background someone starts screaming again or maybe it’s closer to a wail, but this time Lucy doesn’t give a shit if it’s her). The only thing that gets through the state of shock is Tennant saying, “She is not dead yet, Lucy, but if we don’t move right now, she will be.”

Reality shifts back onto its axis while they are stumbling down a narrow hallway that is bathed in harsh white light and their shoes squeak on a linoleum floor. Lucy is supporting Kate on one side and Tennant on the other and they’re slowly moving towards a door labeled Medical Examiner . It opens before Lucy can ask what the hell they want here (or where here even is).

A woman stands in the doorway dressed in purple scrubs. Her eyes are kind even with the creases around them that make her look deeply worried. “I felt a new presence coming down here. So much joy and love trapped behind all that grief. What a tragedy.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Lucy asks while tightening her grip on Kate in case the woman is a lunatic and they need to make a run for it.

“This is Commander Carla Chase,” Tennant introduces them and pushes forward into the autopsy room, “and she’s going to save Whistler’s life.”

“I used to be a commander,” Chase corrects gently and directs them to one of the empty metal tables. “Now I’m giving a voice to those who cannot speak for themselves anymore as the medical examiner for the great state of Hawai’i.”

Gently she pushes some hair from Kate’s face who’s now lying still and silent on the table (and oh, the imagery turns Lucy’s blood to ice). “What happened?”

“The Twelve happened,” Tennant grunts, leaning forward for a moment to catch her breath.

“No,” Lucy shakes her head, “I happened. This is my fault.”

Chase has been collecting several instruments and other things from countertops, drawers and closets on a tray that is just as shiny as any other surface in the room, which she now puts down right next to Lucy. “What of this is your fault? Did you pull the trigger? Did you force Kate to take that bullet for you?”

“H-how do you know that the bullet was meant for me?” Lucy sniffles and must suppress a gag when the coppery stench of blood fills her nose deeper.

“Kate has always gone to extraordinary lengths to protect the people she loves,” Chase smiles at her. “And now we shall do the same to save her.”

“How?” Lucy croaks, losing more hope with every passing heartbeat that Kate lies there and is dying. “What can I do?”

Chase is carefully peeling back the duct tape to reveal the sodden dish towel and doesn’t look at Lucy when she’s answering, “I will do anything in my power to give Kate more time but you both should know that will not be much. She has lost a lot of blood and if her lung got perforated or her heart, I do not have the necessary equipment here to treat those wounds. In the meantime, you can wait outside. This will take a while and I have to concentrate.”

“No way! No fucking way!” Lucy shouts and throws her smaller body over Kate’s. “I’m not going anywhere!”

“Time is of the essence, my dear,” Chase reminds her (as if Lucy needed to be reminded) and wraps an arm around her shaking shoulders.

“No! I’m not leaving her!” Lucy curls tighter around Kate, desperately shaking.

Tennant slings her arms around Lucy’s waist and starts dragging her backward, “Chase is right. You’re only going to distract her, and you don’t want to see this.”

“Get you fucking hands off me!” Lucy thrashes, kicks her feet, and tries to reach Tennant wherever it hurts. “I’ll stay here! I’m not gonna leave her!”

But Tennant is merciless (and Lucy is a fucking mess) and the last thing she sees of Kate is how Chase sticks a pair of long tweezers inside her.

(*)

After Lucy has let it all out in a supply closet, she is now sitting on a gurney right outside the morgue. Her eyes are fixed on the glass pane in the door through which she can see at least Chase’s head while she works. Her fingers are gripping tight around the edge of the gurney, so that it cuts into the soft flesh of her palms. Pain is the only tether to reality that is left for her. And the one in her heart far out wages the one from her busted chin or her numerous smaller wounds from the ambush at Tennant’s house. Her arms are covered in a crumbling sheen of Kate’s blood. Her shirt is stiff like leather for the same reason. Lucy tightens her grip and tries to focus on the sting, on that sensation, because without it, there’s only numbness. Only being lost.

Tennant leans next to her against the gurney and brings an arm around her in a motherly gesture (one that would have made Lucy incredibly uncomfortable a couple of hours ago, though now she wants to cry into Tennant’s shoulder like a baby). “If anyone can save Kate, it’s Chase. First time she patched me up was in Kandahar in 2010 and the conditions were way worse. She can do it. And I know you don’t want to hear this but all we can do is wait.”

“I can’t,” Lucy says, her voice flat and empty.

Tennant doesn’t react to that but her gaze bores into the side of her head hard enough that any verbal question is unnecessary.

“Cara is still out there. What if she finds me here? Finds us here… Kate is already fighting for her life in there and I can’t sit around and do nothing… I… I can’t…” The numbness spreads through her like ice-water, up her lungs, into her throat until it drowns her words.

Tennant lets out a long sigh, “I shouldn’t be even asking you this but… What is your plan?”

“I’m going to kill her.”

The statement hangs between them for a moment, uncommented and unchallenged. All that can be heard is the buzzing of the neon lights. Somewhere down the hallway a door bangs.

“Are you sur-” Tennant starts.

Lucy cuts her off with a scoff, “Don’t even try to ask me if I’m sure about this or if I know that there is no coming back from this or some other hypocritical bullshit like that.”

“Okay,” Tennant shrugs and backs off. “But you know that I have a point.”

“I don’t care,” Lucy says and means it. What Cara did is unforgivable. And Lucy has always been too impulsive to plan or strategize and waiting around here with her mind spinning one horror scenario after the other (and all of them ending with Kate dying on that autopsy table) is not an option. The numbness is slowly making room for one, all-consuming emotion – revenge.

“Cara will never stop coming after us, so I will take the fight to her to make her pay for what she did to Kate and to make sure that she won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

It’s good to have a goal like this. After being on the run for two days, always only reacting and being on the defense, it is good to have a sense of control back. If Lucy dies trying to get The Twelve off their backs, so be it (without Kate she has nothing left to lose anyway).

“I hear you,” Tennant says solemnly and slides her arm back until she can put a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, “and I’ll help you. I’ll come with you.”

Lucy jumps off the gurney, crosses her arms, “Absolutely not. You made it out and you have your kids to think of.”

Then she brings her arms around herself in what could be a hug but is only meant to keep her from falling apart. She throws a quick glance through the windowpane into the autopsy room, sees Chase still working (tries not to think about what she must do to keep Kate alive and fails). “If… w-when Kate wakes up, I don’t want her to be alone.”

Leaving is the last thing she wants to do, especially leaving without knowing whether Kate will make it to the end of the day. Everything inside her down to her marrow screams at her to remain here, to keep watch over Kate from right by her side. As long as there is the slightest chance that Cara could chase them down here though, Lucy must go against her instincts. And leave.

Tennant has stood up too, her expression showing her disagreement clearly. “Lucy…”

“This is not negotiable!” Lucy hurls at her and feels fresh tears springing to her eyes (tears of fucking rage and wrath that she’ll bring onto Cara like a biblical punishment).

Tennant holds her fiery gaze for another moment then her shoulders slump, “Alright. But let me do at least one thing for you.”

When Tennant leads her out back a while later to where the mortuary cars usually arrive, seeing a food truck is the last thing Lucy expected. Its lively paintings of Hawai’ian sea life and surf culture are in stark contrast to the muted colors of the coroner’s vans and the general depressing atmosphere of a morgue. While she follows Tennant down the ramp, Lucy mutters, “I’m not really in the mood for some Poké now.”

Tennant winks at her over her shoulder, “This is no ordinary food truck, trust me.”

As if on cue, the back doors of the truck open and a young man around Lucy’s age hops out of it. His dark eyes light up as soon as he notices them, and his smile creates dimples in his round cheeks even though it’s small. “Aloha, boss. It’s been a while.”

Tennant hugs him like Lucy imagines she’d hug her children and he makes himself smaller to fit in her embrace. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Kai.”

“Of course,” Kai gives Tennant another dimpled smile. “Anything for the ohana.” At the last word his dark eyes flicker to Lucy (with the kind of reckoning shining in them as if he knows exactly who she is).

Lucy doesn’t step closer, doesn’t dare intrude into this bubble of familiarity, and gives word to the impression she’s gotten of this Kai guy so far, “Of all of Kate’s surf buddies you’re the only one I can actually imagine on a surfboard.”

“We try to meet every other week at north shore with Jesse,” Kai inclines his head. “Had some good times at Sunset Beach.”

The loss of Kate’s presence by her side is suddenly crushing. Her cheeks are sensitive already from all the crying she did the past two days and she’s only aware that she’s crying again because her skin burns.

Kai softens more (if that is even possible) and his voice is warm as if they’d known each other for years, “I’ve never seen her happier than the day she married you. And I’m so sorry for what happened.”

The implication of his words, making it sound as if Kate is already gone, has left her forever, is jabbing at what’s left of her heart like a blade. Lucy swallows, “She’s not dead yet.”

“Of course,” Kai’s eyes widen, “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…”

She throws a hand up to cut him off (not to be mean but fucking hell, don’t they realize that Cara could storm in here any moment with an army of henchmen). “Why is he here?” she asks Tennant.

“I told you that I accept your decision to go alone but that doesn’t mean I have to let you go unprepared,” Tennant explains before turning to Kai. “Show her.”

Wordlessly he moves to the back of the truck. At first glance, the insides look like what any food truck is supposed to look like – lots of shining chrome, cooking utensils that are neatly stowed away, several fridges. But then Kai enters a code in a small keypad and a low but broad drawer slides out from under the floor. In neat individual slots it stores several firearms, cartridges and even some hand grenades.

“Kai is the finest arms dealer in all of Hawai’i, so I called him to help you out. You can pick whatever you want,” Tennant says and motions for her to step closer.

Lucy takes in the small but high-quality selection for a moment, pondering what she should choose. Cara has to suffer for what she did, and should she die, Lucy wants it to be at her hands (if there was ever a death that was meant to be personal, it is this one). “Do you have a Glock?”

(*)

It’s almost two hours later until Lucy drives through their neighborhood in Nanakuli. After she made her pick from Kai’s special menu, they returned inside to check if there was any news on Kate. Lucy didn’t dare to enter the autopsy room again out of fear that she couldn’t bring herself to leave Kate’s side a second time (and she had to – god damn it). The only update Commander Chase had for Tennant was that she could still feel Kate’s presence with her and that was all Lucy needed to hear. Outside in the hallway she shared her plan with Tennant (and – yes – she had one after all and she didn’t care that Tennant called it suicidal and reckless) then she burrowed Tennant’s phone and car and took off.

In the shimmering heat of noon, their street lies barren and desolate in front of her. The children are still at school, the adults at work and tourists only seldomly lose their way into their corner of the island. From the outside their house looks as ordinary as any other day but as soon as Lucy walks through the front door, she knows that The Twelve were here in the past two days. She takes one step into what used to be their living room and stops because seeing her home (the home she built with Kate) in such a state breaks her heart.

Bullet holes tell the story of how Cara (or any other fucker working for The Twelve) entered the house. There’s a horizontal line of destruction crawling over their walls. It’s roughly the same height as Lucy’s head (and obviously way too low that the shooter could have aimed for Kate), and she traces it with her fingers while she walks further inside. The floor is covered in dry wall and broken picture frames, the glass scrunching under Lucy’s feet. Gingerly, she picks up one frame, brushes it off and sinks down on the torn up couch. Her own face is staring up at her, pressed tight against Kate’s, and they are smiling blinding and wide, so wide. That the Lucy in the picture has tears in her eyes but is so unbelievably happy is because right in the center of the picture she’s holding up the ring Kate proposed to her with. 

Briefly, she brings the frame to her chest, wishing with all her heart to go back to that moment. To feel that flutter in her chest again when Kate dropped on one knee. To feel that rush of pure joy one more time when Kate asked Lucy to become her wife. To kiss Kate before she said yes amidst tears and laughter. Then she tries to imagine what they’d be doing today if her life hadn’t turned into this kind of Tv worthy drama.

She likes to think that they would continue their anniversary festivities first thing after waking up (because, oh how Lucy loves Kate in the morning). Later Lucy would make breakfast while Kate reads the news, and they would banter over coffee in the cool shade in their garden. If Lucy would be in a giving mood (and she always, always is with Kate), she would agree to a day at the beach after little to no protest. They’d take their bikes and Kate’s surfboard, and Kate would be wearing one of her summer dresses that floats lightly around her long legs in the slightest breeze (and it’s the most enticing thing Lucy has ever seen). Between Lucy complaining about the sand and Kate coming back from surfing with a few bleeding scraps it would be the perfect day. One they’ll never get to have. Not if either of them loses their battle today. 

Lucy takes one last deep breath through her nose. Lifts the picture frame from her chest to place it next to her on the couch. Leans forward to take something from the waistband of her pants and feels for something else in her pocket. The thing in her pocket is Tennant’s phone that she doesn’t need to check for any new messages (because her body is so tuned into any noises or vibrations coming from the phone, she wouldn’t miss any). The thing she pulled from her waistband and that now lies heavily in her lap is the Glock she got from Kai. Now Lucy waits.

(*)

Cara arrives with the dusk and the first cries of the nocturnal birds. Lucy doesn’t make her presence known, waits in the shadows and the ruin quiet like a ghost.

“Someone told me this was going to be a trap,” are the first words Cara says after spotting her. She doesn’t lower her gun and neither does Lucy, which leaves them at a bit of a stalemate. One that allows for a quick exchange of words before they will be at each other’s throats.

“And yet you are here,” Lucy says with icy coldness (after all revenge is a meal best served cold).

Cara makes a face as if that fact puzzles herself, “It seems so.”

Lucy’s mouth twists, the grip on her gun tightens, “Why? If you knew it was a trap…”

“I…” Cara licks her lips, brown eyes flickering to one of the few picture frames that remain hanging on the walls, “I never meant to hurt her. Only you. You are the one who was supposed to die.”

Lucy is not known to be hateful or cruel. Exactly the opposite in fact, always looking for the best in people regardless of whether she’s the only one (which has gotten her into trouble at work from time to time but in the end, she always had been right). But for Cara there’s not a single ounce of love or compassion in her big heart. Only the burning desire to make her hurt. So, Lucy’s lip curls into a snarl and her words are more spit than spoken, “Well, your aim was shit. Did you come to try finishing the job?”

“I always finish my jobs,” Cara says with her head tilted back slightly and her chin jutting out. The sense of pride leaves her as soon as it comes over her and with her next words, she crumbles in on herself. “But I’m here for…,” she hesitates, her bottom lip trembling, “I want to know… Is Kate alive?”

For a split second, Lucy thinks about lying to her. To bluntly say that Cara succeeded in her murderous mission. She imagines how satisfying it would be to see that kind of pain in Cara’s face when she realizes what she has done. In the end Lucy decides against it (maybe she can muster a crumb of fucking pity for Cara after all) and says instead, “Why do you care?”

“Because I love her.”

The worst part is that Cara sounds sincere (which is no surprise – loving Kate is easy, for Lucy it’s as easy as breathing) and the part of Lucy that’s always been a tad too quick to turn possessive and jealous wants to shoot her just for that. But she also wants to return to Kate in one piece (no matter in what state Kate might be in then). So, she keeps her gun trained where it is and doesn’t pull the trigger.

“You didn’t even know her. You chased after an illusion. A broken, grieving piece of her without ever knowing who she really is.”

Cara laughs but there is nothing good to it. It’s only to mock Lucy. “And you do? You didn’t know shit until two days ago.”

“Maybe,” Lucy concedes because there is no sense in denying that. “But I trust her judgment and I am here now to accept her for who she really is.”

“Not for much longer if I can help it.”

“Then do it,” Lucy taunts and lifts her gun a little higher. “Shoot and I’ll take you with me.”

Cara weighs her chances for a moment then her eyes narrow and her voice is cutting. “I think I understand now what Kate sees in you. You hide your actions behind your shiny badge and clean morals but in the end, you aren’t all that different from us.”

In the blink of an eye, Lucy rises from the couch, hissing like an angered snake, “I am nothing like you psychopaths from The Twelve!”

Cara grins, wide and wicked, as if she knows things about Lucy, impossible dark things, Lucy has never admitted to anyone (not even herself). “Keep telling yourself that, honey, but the very fact that you are here proves otherwise.”

Lucy lets out a scream from deep within her chest, one that carries all her rage and all her pain and throws herself at Cara.

(*)

The first time, Kate wakes up to a world of dull throbbing pain. It’s everywhere as if someone stuck needles into her but it’s worse in her chest. The last thing she remembers are muddled snapshots. It reminds her of that one time she got really drunk on some home-distilled clear schnapps with Tennant while on a mission in Croatia. Everything is out of focus and blurry. The only constant in those swimming memories is Lucy. A crying, begging Lucy. With a start, her eyes open, her hands pat the space around her, and she tells the rest of her body to move, too. If The Twelve have gotten to Lucy. If something happened to her. If she’s hurt. Kate must find her. Protect her.

But Kate can’t even get up because strong hands push her back into the cushions. A face swims into her line of vision. Dark hair. Dark skin.

“Lucy…”

“Shh… shh… it’s Jane. Lucy is fine. You got to rest.”

Kate blinks a couple of times until Jane’s face becomes clear and croaks, “Where is Lucy? What happened?”

Jane reaches for a glass of water that Kate greedily drinks from and explains in slow words, “Cara shot you. We had to take you to the Commander and your condition was critical for a while.”

Kate’s head falls back and only the simple motion of drinking took so much strength out of her that she has to regain her breath. “Where… where is Lucy?”

“I told you she is fine.” Jane repeats but she cannot meet Kate’s gaze and that coupled with her evasive answers sets off all the alarms.

The panic slams into her like lightning. Her pulse hammers under her skin. Her mind conjures up one terrible scenario after the other. Lucy is hurt. Lucy got kidnapped by The Twelve. Lucy was killed.

Kate rises up against the gentle pressure on her chest and musters the fiercest glare she can in her condition. “You owe me Jane Tennant. For that job in Lisbon. In Lebanon. In Lima. That one time you cuffed me to a kitchen post. If you ever meant to repay those debts, you tell me now where the fuck my wife is!”

(*)

Lucy is currently fighting off a knife-wielding Cara with a frying pan. They’ve been at it for a while, started throwing punches at each other in the living room and then slowly ended up in the kitchen. She hasn’t always been successful in keeping her guard up and apart from a nasty cut on her left side, she’s got a busted lip and her right temple is pounding up a storm. It’s sheer luck that Cara’s next step lands not on the solid floor and she slips for a moment. It’s all the time Lucy needs. As hard as she can, she smashes the frying pan against the hand in which Cara holds the knife. The knife clatters to the ground. Cara is cursing at her bruised fingers in agony and too slow to react when Lucy rams into her. They crash into the fridge. Cara’s head bangs against the door. She lets out a groan and another sharper one because of Lucy’s fist colliding with her jaw.

“This is for destroying Tennant’s house.”

Lucy takes another swing.

“This is for ruining my wedding anniversary.”

Her fist connects with Cara’s nose alongside a nasty crack and blood sprays onto Lucy’s face.

“This is for shooting Kate!”

She brings her knee up. Drives it deep into Cara’s side where it hurts. It’s exactly as satisfying as she imagined it would be while she sat on the couch and waited. Every punch she lands, every grunt of pain Cara lets out because of it, pleases and stokes the flames of Lucy’s revenge simultaneously. Cara must pay and Lucy draws out what is owed to her with punch after punch.

But Cara is not to be underestimated. She gives as good as she gets (and Lucy would rather bite her tongue off before admitting that but she’s good, fucking good) and ducks under Lucy’s next swing. She slings both arms around Lucy’s waist and forces her back. First out of the kitchen. Then into the remains of the couch table. Several large splinters bore into Lucy’s back and the pain is so overwhelming that black dots dance in front of her eyes. Which is the only reason why Cara manages to straddle her and wrap her hands around Lucy’s neck.

“I can accept that Kate doesn’t love me,” Cara says through blood and spit dripping from her mouth, “but if I can’t have her, you certainly won’t have her either, cunt!” Then she squeezes.

Lucy struggles with all her might against Cara’s weight on top of her, but her legs are pinned and her feet kick at thin air. She tries prying Cara’s fingers from her neck, but her grip is unyielding.

Real fear gets a hold of Lucy. She still doesn’t know if Kate is alive or dead, though something tells her that she can’t give up now. Whether it’s only to say good-bye or to begin the rest of their lives, Lucy knows (in her heart and down to her last fucking atom) that she must get back to Kate. Right now, her chances for that are utter and complete shit.

Lucy’s feet stop kicking. The only comeback to Cara’s crazy-talk she can muster are feeble gagging noises. Her fingers slip from Cara’s hands and wrists while her lungs scream louder and louder for oxygen.

“Kate will be so much better off once you’re gone,” Cara taunts and delights in it.

Lucy sifts her fingers through the destruction around them. Her palm glides over something cool. It has sharp edges that slice through her soft skin. Instead of jerking her hand back, Lucy curls her fingers around it.

Cara brings her face very, very close to Lucy’s, whispering, “And now you die.”

In one swift motion, Lucy rips her arm up. “No, you do,” she says and plunges the glass shard into Cara’s neck.

Cara lets out a yelp of surprise and immediately rolls off her. Lucy listens to the gurgling sound of her dying breaths while catching her own. Coughs rattle her and every swallow hurts like a bitch (but she’s alive, damn it, and that is the only thing that matters). She is still lying there, wondering if it’s really over now, when Tennant’s phone starts vibrating.

(*)

The second time Kate wakes up, the pain has retreated to a single spot. The gunshot wound pulses as if someone left a burning ember in her chest and she’s never felt so weak in her life. After assessing her new pain levels (and deciding that they’re still pretty fucking awful), Kate becomes aware of the different room she is in. And of the weight that rests on her right side. The hand covering hers is small and warm. Kate lets out a breath she wasn’t even aware of holding as a heavy weight is lifted off her shoulders.

Lucy is passed out next to her in deep slumber, half resting on the bed, her head bent at an angle that will leave her sore for days and half resting in a chair that looks uncomfortable to say the least. The most important thing is that she’s here. And that she’s alive. Kate’s so relieved it leaves her light-headed (and she’s pretty sure it’s not the painkillers) and she isn’t aware that she’s started crying again until the tears roll down her cheeks.

Talking still requires the biggest effort and Kate struggles against the scratch in her throat and the heaviness of her tongue, “Lucy…”

Lucy startles awake in a jolt, eyes wide and glassy for a moment before she realizes where she is and who said her name. Her gaze locks with Kate’s and a giant smile spreads on her face as if someone filled her with sunlight. “Kate,” she rasps, “You’re awake.”

Kate squeezes her hand, doing her best to match Lucy’s smile but her bottom lip trembles and she snags it between her teeth to refrain from sobbing. Because Lucy’s beautiful face is covered in purple and blue, her lip is swollen and that is only what she can see. The darkest marks wind around her neck and Kate can’t help but imagine the life and death fight that must have left those there. More tears spill on her cheeks from seeing the woman she loves in such pain. 

“I was so worried,” she sniffs, “when I woke up and you weren’t there, I thought…” Her voice cracks.

Lucy kneels on the bed and brings her free hand up to Kate’s cheek. She’s so soft in her touch, so loving. Kate turns her face against Lucy’s palm. Kisses her warm skin. When she opens her eyes again, Lucy is still smiling at her, despite how painful it must be.

“I’m alright, my love,” she murmurs between butterfly kisses that she places on Kate’s forehead and nose and cheeks. “Cara is gone, and I am here.”

Kate turns her head, her nose brushes against Lucy’s, she whispers, “Yeah… yeah, you are.”

Then finally, Lucy kisses her on the mouth. It’s impossibly soft and tastes like salt. Kate never wants it to end. She tilts her head, slides her lips against Lucy’s with more intention. Needs to feel her wife warm and whole against her. Kate’s fingers curl into the material of Lucy’s shirt to pull her closer. Lucy lets out a rumble from the back of her throat. And another. And a hiss. “Mmmhm… damn.”

Kate’s eyes flutter open. Lucy is prodding carefully at her discolored jaw and her already swollen lip puffs out more in an adorable pout. “Maybe we should take it easy,” she says, thumb rubbing circles into Lucy’s shoulder, “No kissing for a while.”

“But I like kissing,” Lucy whines.

“Me, too, Luce, but not when it causes you pain. Come here,” Kate scoots as close to the edge of the bed as possible and pats the empty space next to her.

Lucy climbs fully onto the bed and curls into Kate’s side, head resting on her uninjured shoulder. Her eyes are twinkling with promise and mischief when she tilts her gaze up, “Have you ever heard of kissing it better?”

Kate bites back a smile. Rolls her eyes (though not so secretly she adores how bold Lucy can become in trying to charm her). She makes sure her voice is low and her breath ghosts over the shell of Lucy’s ear and answers, “Just imagine all the places I can kiss you once you’re doing better.”

“Oh,” Lucy’s eyes darken and her breathing shifts. “Yeah… okay, okay. I like the sound of that.” She tucks her head under Kate’s chin and adds, “In the meantime I have so many questions for you.”

Kate could stay here for a while, with Lucy’s weight on top of her and a cozy warmth settling over them. They are safe (for now anyway) and all she wants is to give Lucy everything she asks for (after all these years it’s time). She places a featherlight kiss against Lucy’s forehead and mumbles, “I will answer them all as best as I can. I’m done keeping anything from you.”

(*)

Lucy Tara is having a good day. Partially because it’s her first day back at work after her extended holidays (officially because of her wedding anniversary, unofficially because she and Kate needed a couple more days together after the whole fiasco with The Twelve). Enough time has passed that she can cover up what remains of her bruises with make-up and the stiffness in her back is almost unnoticeable. On top of that, the day’s been slow so far (Reed and Alan prepare for a court hearing and Lucy catches up on long overdue paperwork). The other reason why she just can’t stop smiling is because today she gets to take Kate home from the hospital.

In the end, Commander Chase had pulled some strings and found a small team of doctors at Tripler that even Tennant was ready to trust and Kate had been in recovery there for several weeks. But now it’s time to go home, though where exactly home will be from now on is a question that remains to be answered.

Jesse (or Detective Boone, as he insists to be called) sent a clean-up team to their house in Nanakuli too, to make good on the destruction Cara caused and dispose of the body. If Lucy didn’t know better, she would never guess what took place in that house. But not only does she know better, she was in the thicket of it, caused some of that chaos and bloodshed herself and whenever she looks at that spot on the kitchen floor, she sees Cara’s lifeless eyes staring up at her.

She’s not as traumatized by it as she could be (or maybe should be), she supposes, doesn’t have nightmares in which she relives that fight in an endless loop. So, that’s good (or a sign that maybe Cara was right about her after all, that Lucy isn’t all that different from The Twelve). But it’s not like she can walk past the kitchen without having any reaction at all either and that is not something she wishes to experience in her own home. So, maybe it is time to move again. Maybe back to the city (because Lucy can’t sleep in Tennant’s guest room forever after all, especially not now that Kate is being released). Living closer to the other ex-members of The Twelve not only could come in handy but be nice. Because ‘surf-buddies’ might be the worst possible description for this group. The best Lucy came up with since being pulled into their midst is ‘found family’. Since turning her back on her own family many years ago (and to be honest even before that), Lucy hasn’t felt so safe and looked after. 

Tennant and the others always made sure that someone watched over Kate while she recovered from getting shot and they included Lucy in that act of vigilance as if she’d always been a part of their group. She met Tennant’s kids and everyone else’s partners. There was Commander Chase’s husband, Ernie, who Lucy took an instant liking to. Jesse’s wife, Heather, an ex-conwoman and now mother of three children. And lastly, AJ, Kai’s boyfriend, who ran the biggest money laundry operation on the island (who, in all honesty, gives Lucy the creeps but catching Kai’s heart-eyes once is enough to convince her to keep her mouth shut).

During long nights they spent with take-out in Kate’s private room in the hospital, they discussed their next steps regarding The Twelve. No one is so naïve to believe that with Cara’s death also died the interest the organization has in Lucy and Kate. The only concrete information all those discussions left Lucy with is that The Twelve have evolved since they were founded in 1952. What once was an elite group with little to no hierarchy and tightly interwoven has turned into an internationally operating cooperation with strict ranks that works based on isolated cells. No one knows who the head of The Twelve is today (or what exactly their goals are).

Today, none of that is important to Lucy, though. What’s important is that she’ll get to be with Kate in the comfort of their own home (of their own bed) again. And that it’s close to six and a good moment to decide that she’s finished with work for the day. Humming slightly, Lucy packs her things, her mind already leaving work behind. She has just switched her desk lamp off when a voice startles her.

“Having a good day, Lucy?”

“Creeping lizards,” she presses a hand against her chest, “you scared me, boss.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” her boss laughs. “And how many times did I tell you to call me Maggie.”

Lucy drums her fingers against the top of her desk, chews her lip. The SAC of the Pacific Rim, Maggie Shaw, was appointed shortly after Kate and Lucy got married. As an older agent, she has decades of experience and connections into every government agency in every nook and cranny around the world. From the first day on, she’s taken Lucy under her wing (as some kind of mentor with big plans for her). And Lucy is grateful for the attention, for the opportunities, but she’s never really taken a liking to the former CIA agent. There’s something shifty about her, a cloud of mystery that is shrouding her past and Lucy doesn’t do well with mysteries she’s not allowed to solve. Except that mystery is Kate. So, she’s kept her distance.

She clears her throat, “Sure… Maggie… What can I do for you? I was just about to call it a day.”

Maggie makes a dismissive gesture with her hand and rests her hip half on Lucy’s desk, “Nothing important, really. I just wanted to ask you how Katherine is doing and if you managed to enjoy your anniversary after all.”

Lucy frowns. Breaks out in cold sweat. “H-how Kate is doing?”

Maggie tilts her head, and her smile grows the slightest bit strained, “Yes. I heard she was in the hospital.”

“Where did you hear that?” Lucy asks, forcing herself to sound calm and nonchalant. In reality, her pulse is shooting through the roof.

“Oh, you know,” Maggie shrugs, “Reed or Alan must have mentioned it. Is she alright?”

Lucy musters a wobbly smile (while inwardly she is screaming fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck), “Of course, they did. They really like to gossip, don’t they?”

“We all have our vices,” Maggie nods solemnly (to which Lucy agrees but, fuck, some vices are worse than others).

“Well, uhm,” Lucy stutters because she wants to get the hell out of the bullpen and not make that too obvious, “Kate’s good. I’m about to see her now, actually.”

“Yes, of course. I don’t want to keep you,” Maggie says and stands up. She is still smiling and to anyone else she probably looks like a caring superior, but Lucy sees a glint in her eyes that makes the little hairs at the back of her neck stand up. “Send Katherine my regards and tell her that I wish her a speedy recovery.”

“I’ll do that, ma’am.”

Lucy manages to keep her composure all the way down to the lobby and outside the building. As soon as she reaches the parking lot, she starts running.

(Fuck. Her. Life.)

(*)

Both Tennant and Kate jump when Lucy bursts into the room at the hospital twenty minutes later. Tennant’s hand immediately goes to the gun in the waistband of her pants, “What happened? Were you followed? Is it The Twelve?”

Kate wordlessly stands up from the bed and draws her into a hug. Lucy buries her face in the crook of her neck, wraps her arms around Kate’s shoulders carefully and just breathes. Kate runs her fingers through her hair, nails softly scratching at her scalp while she whispers, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Lucy inhales a shaky breath, cursing herself for being so naïve as to think they would get one good day to themselves. Then she lifts her head, finds Kate’s worried gaze and, “I know who’s the head of The Twelve.”

Tennant lets out a noise of disbelief, “No one has been able to figure that out in years.”

Kate studies her (and while doing that her brows furrow and her bottom lip puffs out in that way that always makes Lucy’s heart melt). Then she asks, “Who is it?”

“Maggie Shaw,” Lucy says, “My boss.”

“Y-your boss? Why would you think that?”

Lucy doesn’t blame her for being skeptical (after all this is a long shot, she knows that herself). “Today in the bullpen she came to me asking questions about you. How you’ve been and if we had a nice anniversary.”

Kate’s lip juts out further, “So? As your boss, she must have known why you requested days off.”

“It’s not that,” Lucy shakes her head. “She said she heard you’ve been in the hospital. And when I asked her how she knew that, she said Alan or Reed told her.”

“So, where’s the problem?”

“The problem… the problem is…” Lucy must take a breath to keep herself from hyperventilating. “The problem is that I never told Alan or Reed or anyone else for that matter that you are in the hospital. So, how does she know that? Why the sudden interest?”

“Shit…”

“Fucking shit, indeed,” Tennant says from the other side of the room where she checked the street below through the window. “Maggie Shaw is a legend in the CIA. I actually worked together with her a couple of times. Of all the possible candidates for the head of The Twelve she’d be the best pick.”

“What are we gonna do?” Lucy asks with a tremble in her voice and looks between the two women.

Kate links their hands, brings them up between their chests until she can kiss Lucy’s knuckles. “Whatever is going to happen, we’re going to face it together.”

Lucy is swept away in a sudden rush of emotions (nervousness, gratitude, above all love). She rises to her tiptoes and presses a quick but firm kiss against Kate’s lips. Kate responds by letting go of Lucy’s hands to settle her own on Lucy’s hip and bring the other to the back of her neck. When the kiss ends, they stay close, foreheads resting together and holding onto each other tight. In contrast to how lost and overwhelmed Lucy felt when this whole thing started, she is filled with a fierce will to fight now. She knows they don’t have to face The Twelve alone, knows that Tennant and Commander Chase and the others are on their side. And with Kate right next to her, they are unstoppable.

So, Lucy squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and says, “Together then.”