"John?" Lachlan piped up as he watched the sheriff clean for ten minutes the same area on the bar surface, his mind obviously elsewhere. "Hey - John!" Biebe stopped, looking up at him. "Mate, if you rub that any longer, you're gonna put a hole clear through it."
Embarrassed, John sighed, tossing the white cloth to one side. "Yeah, well, sorry, Lachlan. I don't seem to be much help tonight." Seeing that his evening with Tina had been ruined, he volunteered to assist behind the bar. However, watching some of his brothers with their respective companions, or beginning to form new relationships, only deepened his depression. He should be with *her*: having dinner, afterwards perhaps taking a pleasant walk in her beloved gardens or down by the beach...making passionate love to her as they shared the precious time of being in the Crowes' Nest with one another. Those moments were rare enough considering the ladies' real world lives, and now tonight was going to waste because he screwed up.
"You don't have to do this, John," the pilot said, patting him on the back. "Andy's free tonight; so's Jeff Wigand. I can ask one of them to help out. It's not real busy this evening." The rumors about his falling out with the evidence technician had already spread through the Crowes' Nest. In fact, this was the day for rumors. Not only were John and Tina a point of sad discussion - Andy's details having spread through the Crowes' Nest faster than wildfire, but the Michelle/Colin/Bud situation had everyone buzzing too. And there was other talk, about O'Brien's unfortunate and insane encounter with the front end of a train.
"I'd like to help. I just...I...*need* to get my mind...."
"I know you do, mate, but wiping one spot on the counter and breaking glasses isn't going to help you much." The Alaskan nodded. He had already broken two martini glasses, an old-fashioned, and two beer steins in the course of three hours. "Besides, you break one more and Liz'll clobber you," he chuckled.
"No doubt about that," Biebe admitted, attempting a smile. "Okay...Okay, I give, Lachlan." He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. "Honestly, I don't think I could have done this anymore."
"No problem, Sheriff," Lachlan smiled. "Just sorry to hear 'bout...well, you know. It'll blow over, mate; I'm sure it will, and you and the lovely Tina will be a couple again. You two care about each other too much to stay apart."
"Hope you're right," John managed, recalling the tears in her eyes as she left him in the parking lot. "I don't know."
"Well, I do, John. I've watched you and her together. You have...*something*, Sheriff, something extraordinary. This tiff won't keep you apart forever."
John shrugged. "I hate to say it, Lachlan, and I know you mean well, but..." He hesitated, not completing the thought. He was afraid if he did, it might come true.
"All right then, mate, you find yourself a table over there, kick back, and let us wait on you a bit. You deserve it right now...Hey, now no buts. Get a table and try to relax. I'll have a beer to you in two shakes."
Not long afterwards, Biebe was in a booth - their booth - staring vacantly at his mug, the head beginning to dissipate under his glare. He smiled sadly. He remembered when Andy was getting prepared to deliver it as John watched the proceedings. It would have been humorous had he been in a better mood. Andy's eyes grew wide with something akin to horror when Lachlan told him for whom the order was intended. The young man was seen shuffling his feet and offering some minor argument, but the pilot was having none of it. Eventually, Lachlan shoved the tray into Andy's hands, was heard to say "Just do it, mate -- now!" and he pushed the latter out from behind the bar.
Andy approached the booth like he was going to his own execution, setting the mug down at almost arm's length. John had sighed and attempted a small smile. "Andy?"
The boy kept his eyes down, still recalling the expression John had shot him earlier that day. "John?"
"Andy...it's all right," John whispered. He heard the swallow that coated the young Aussie's throat.
"It's all--" His voice became excited and he spoke quickly, his sentences running on. "Oh, John...John I'm so -- I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry about everything. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Peaches sent me to find you because of Colin's accident and the General needing you, and I saw you and Tina, but before I could talk to you,...well, all that happened, and I wasn't sure if I should approach you or not, and then when we got back here, and Steve asked me what was up today, I just started talking, first about Colin and then I started talking about you and Tina and--"
"Andy?" John said calmly. "I accept your apology. What's done is done."
"I am sorry, John."
Biebe bowed his head. "I know you are, Andy. It's okay." He rubbed his eyes, a sob in his chest again. "Everybody was going to find out eventually anyway." He just never intended for them to find out that way.
"John?"
"Yeah, Andy?"
The boy nodded towards the empty space across from Biebe. "I...I miss seeing Tina there. Tina and those Champaign Mimosas she loves so much. Tina ought to be there. Hope it won't be long before she's back."
"Same here, Andy. Thanks."
A few minutes had now passed. The kid meant well, John considered, swallowing hard. They all did, but being under the sympathetic gaze of not only some of his brothers, but the ladies as well, was getting more difficult to take.
After realizing that the incident was now public, then going to his room, John had spent the next few hours wavering in emotion. He spent long moments in tears, retracing the scene between him and Tina, then would take out his frustrations on a small punching bag he kept. He paced so much at one point, he was afraid he would develop a trench between his living room and bedroom. He couldn't sleep; barely wanted to eat. Stef had brought her beloved "Tio" a bowl of soup, then - along with Trisha and Kath - sat and made sure he ate it. Thankfully the women had talked about everything but -- despite the fact they were friends with her. John appreciated the company, and the three eventually got him to come back downstairs. As Stef told him, "Tio...you can't hide out here forever. It's not gonna help."
So there he was, volunteering to help Lachlan, and only making himself feel worst in the end. Each time he went to a table, he knew the conversation would suddenly stop. Around the bar itself, he would occasionally hear words like "parking lot", "in her dreams", "said she started crying", "he looked miserable" -- but those talks would also come to an abrupt end if the sheriff drew near. Even if no one said it aloud, it was in their eyes when they looked at him, and he knew they were thinking "Poor John. Poor Tina," or "Poor John and Tina."
He had no desire to become a recluse in his room, but it might come to that if one more person said how sorry they were. Yes, they cared about him and Tina, but none of it was bringing them closer to reconciliation. He was here, and Tina--
Gulping, Biebe shut his eyes. "Sweetheart," he whispered, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm so sorry." He wasn't even certain how he would make it up to her. This time, simply singing their song to soothe her fears would not be enough. He tossed back the mug, draining it quicker than usual, then motioned towards Andy and Lachlan, indicating he wanted another.
By his third, the contents didn't go as quickly. John was slowly feeling the effects of the alcohol, and it wasn't something he liked. His brain was sorting a dozen simultaneous thoughts, fuzzily combining his life in Mystery with his CrowesNest existence. His moments with Tina were most prominent: their first meeting -- when they barely took their eyes off one another, and he felt he could have held her hand forever; the first time they had made love; the morning he asked her to become his companion and she happily accepted. Their souls had sought out one another and connected, so it couldn't be over. He refused to accept that. John massaged his forehead. How the hell could he possibly win her back?
He was so deep in thought, he never heard Colin O'Brien approach the booth. It was only the smell of Scotch and bourbon reeking off the Aussie's flesh that caused Biebe to wearily raise his head, looking with tired eyes at the younger man. Colin looked awful, standing there with a drunken grin on his lips. John supposed, however, that O'Brien was lucky to be standing period, considering the earlier run-in with the train.
"Colin," John softly greeted, before returning his attention to the empty seat across from him. Andy was right: it seemed funny not seeing her there.
"John Biebe -- my favorite lawman," came the slurred words as O'Brien leaned close. Biebe's nose turned up before he could stop himself, but Colin never noticed. "My very favorite Alaskan too. Course shit...you're the only Alaskan I know," and he chuckled at his own supposed joke. John didn't respond, then his eyebrows furrowed when he saw Colin place a hand to his own forehead as though seeking out something. For some reason, the Aussie was scouring the area. John almost asked what he was doing, then decided against it. He figured he'd find out soon enough, and the sheriff was right. "Just...Just looking...for your shadow, mate."
John looked puzzled. "What?! My what?!" he practically snapped.
"Your lady friend, my brother in arms." In a singsong he repeated, "Tina, Tina, Tina -- lovely Tina, also called Et-tea-in. I call her your shadow cause you two are hardly ever a foot away from each other. Where's she at, mate? After that little..." He paused as he held his breath for a moment, his complexion starting to pale a bit. John caught himself involuntarily scooting towards the wall. The way his luck was running today, O'Brien would end up getting sick all over him! Instead, Colin swallowed and laughed. "Where was I? Oh yeah...after that little scolding she gave me last night...I'd like to tell her what a bad boy I've been today...So, where's she at, huh?" John sighed, refocusing his eyes. "Well, you're fucking pissed about something aren't you? You're usually beaming when Tina's...." Belching, his smile widened. "But maybe you ain't got reason to beam, eh, Sheriff?" Colin now noticed the two empty and one half-empty mug on the table. "Uh-oh...You don't usually drink like that," he continued, staggering a bit. "Oh...I see. What's the matter, John? Trouble in paradise?...Tina decide to throw aside her scruffy, chubby sheriff for one of the other Boyz?"
John's head jerked about so quickly, he was almost afraid he'd given himself whiplash. Staring coldly at Colin, he growled, "Why don't you go fuck yourself, O'Brien?"
The Aussie's laugh cut through him like the proverbial warm knife through butter. He almost perfectly imitated Biebe's voice: "'Why don't you go fuck yourself, O'Brien?' I don't have to. I've been fucked enough today to last me a lifetime."
"Then WHY..."John almost shouted, but he lowered his voice. "Then why don't you go crawl back under your rock, take your bottle with you, and leave...me...ALONE."
"Because you told me not to speak to you for the rest of the day, Johnny Boy. THAT...was yesterday." Colin was practically falling onto the tabletop. "I just had to come over and tell you..." He stopped, then laughed almost hysterically. "I don't remember... Oh wait...yes I do..."
"O'Brien...I'm NOT in the fucking mood," John stressed to him again.
"I don't know why not, John. Your 'companion'," and he practically spat out the word, "isn't here...Come on. We can be miserable together." He was nearly down in the Alaskan's face, when Biebe grabbed him by the arm, moving him back a few inches.
"I said...I'm not in the mood to mess with you. Not tonight; not tomorrow. Do you speak English?"
"Barely," Colin chuckled.
"Well, maybe this will be enough. Leave me the fuck alone! Understand?"
Colin gave a half-hearted salute. "Oh...yes SIR, Sheriff Biebe. Anything you say, Sheriff Biebe...You think you're so goddamned special, don't you? You're no better off than I am -- John!...I overheard them talking about you and pretty Tina."
John's eyes narrowed as his pulse quickened, the adrenaline starting to kick in gear. He stood up, staring his 'brother' in the eyes. "Leave Tina out of this, Colin," he muttered.
"I wouldn't think of it -- you know why? All I ever hear from everyone is how perfect the two of you are together. John and Tina; Tina and John. The newcomers think they'll get the same mother-fucking thing if they come here, too. Well you can quit fantasizing Sheriff Biebe. You know why? Because there's no such thing as soul mates. That's just something else dreamt up by the greeting card companies for suckers like us. All this shit about these women being drawn here by some fucking connection to us, and we're stupid enough to believe it."
That was it, Biebe decided. If O'Brien wasn't going anywhere, then he would. His head was already throbbing enough; he really didn't need to hear drunken ramblings on top of it. "Good-night, Colin," John said half-heartedly, starting to walk past him.
"Well you and Tina weren't so goddamned perfect were you? You know why? Because they used to say the same thing about me and Chelle!" John stopped, his body trembling as he slowly turned to look back at Colin. Those words had come at him like some sort of blasphemy, and he saw the Aussie grinning at him. "Hit a nerve didn't I -- John?!"
"Colin...you'd best just leave it alone. You're skating thin ice here."
"No shit, Sheriff." O'Brien no longer seemed to care what he said, or to whom, and hurting John -- for a moment, he wanted to see exactly how many pegs he could bring down the Alaskan. So, he thought his relationship with Tina was special. Colin laughed to himself. Yeah, he used to think the same about himself and Michelle, and look where that ended up. "Well, your Tina and my Chelle...Course she ain't my Chelle no more, and I'm not sure she's *your* Tina anymore...but doesn't matter. As far as they're concerned, we're all the same guy, and you know who I mean."
"Don't go there, O'Brien!"
"They'd fuck any of us thinking we're Rus...."
He never finished the thought. John covered those few feet he had moved away in a matter of seconds, slamming the Aussie in the chest so hard, Colin fell backwards into the booth. He had barely landed, when John picked him up by both arms, only to toss him even harder onto the leather seat, his back striking the woodwork of the wall behind him. His reflexes slow, O'Brien barely reacted when Biebe shoved him down and placed one knee on his chest. A few of the others started to move towards them, but John raised one finger indicating he had the situation under control. The sheriff was just thankful the comment was soft enough to be heard only between them. "Leave the ladies out of it, Colin! Do you fucking hear me? Leave the ladies out of it!...You say one more thing - just one more - about either Tina or Chelle, and I'll rip you a new ass! Do you hear me?! I said, do you fucking hear me?!"
Colin only laughed. "John...John...you're such a sap. No wonder you never knew they were gonna kick you off your own team."
"Leave Tina and Chelle alone, Colin!"
"I think we'd both be happier without our soul-mates." He said the next words as loudly as he could. "I think we'd be better off without any of these bitches!" Under most circumstances his last comment would have been prominent, but because the jukebox's volume was almost at the maximum, very few thankfully heard it. Before he could say more, John backhanded him, then pulled him forward into a sitting position. O'Brien was still laughing, but now, John was shocked to see that tears had been thrown into the mix. Surprised at this turn, the Alaskan tossed him back to the seat, leaving Colin to sob even harder.
The door opened, casting a ray of light over them, and a doctor came in quietly. Hando sat up and pushed his chair back to allow the doctor access to the equipment at the head of the bed. The doctor was tall, his sandy blond hair streaked with grey, and his face was friendly and lined with care. He worked quickly, checking the IV drip and the monitors, and removed the oxygen tube before turning to Hando who sat watching with a concerned expression. The doctor pulled a wheeled stool from the corner beside the door and sat down, leaning back against the wall and stretching out his long legs. He smiled warmly at Hando for a moment before speaking. "She's going to be fine, son," his voice was deep and reassuring, and Hando found himself returning the smile tentatively. "We had to give her Brevital, a sedative, to put the shoulder joint back in place. She suffered an anterior dislocation of the humerus, and her rotator cuff was strained. She's lucky it didn't tear, or she'd have to have surgery to repair it. As it is, she'll have to wear a figure eight sling for a few days to immobilize the shoulder while it heals."
Hando nodded and cleared his throat. "I... is there anything I can do?"
"Just make sure she gets plenty of rest and doesn't take off that sling. She'll have to start some exercises in a couple days, but until then, her shoulder should remain fully restrained. She'll be awake soon, and she should be ready to go home as soon as the Brevital wears off, in an hour or so." He stood slowly, unfolding his long limbs, and Hando stood to thank him. "If she needs anything, just press the button there on the side of the bed. I'm Dr. Tanner, and I'll be on call until midnight."
Hando took the doctor's hand in his, shaking it firmly. "Thank you, Dr. Tanner."
"No problem, son. She's been a patient of mine since she was fifteen--haven't seen her in the emergency ward in almost as many years. You take good care of her, now," he smiled and rested his free hand on Hando's shoulder for a second before leaving the room and letting the door swing closed once again.
Hando stood staring at the door for some time, lost in thought, when his reverie was interrupted by a light moan as Syrena began to awaken. He rushed to her side and slid his hand underneath hers. The warmth of her skin on his made his heart pound, and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his wrists beneath the bandages. She moaned again and murmured something incoherent. "Sy? I'm here, Sy. Everything's okay," he leaned forward to whisper into her ear, and her eyelids flickered open for a second before closing again as she came out of the drugged stupor.
"Te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma," she breathed the words into his ear and squeezed his hand softly. He heard one more word, barely audible as she drifted back behind the curtain of drugs that still held her. "Hando." He sat back, confused by the foreign words obviously directed at him, and watched her as she struggled to rise to consciousness. Her eyelids flickered again, and her grip on his hand tightened slightly. He smiled down at her, leaning forward once again. She swallowed and opened her eyes to look tiredly into his. "Hando," she said again, her voice a little stronger now, and she smiled up at him. "Thanks."
He reached up to lay his hand on her cheek, unable to speak and shook his head sadly. Why thank me, love? It's my fault you're here. If I weren't such a jerk this wouldn't have happened. Don't thank me. You'd be better off without me. The skin of her face felt warm beneath his hand; her fingers tightened around his other hand, and his heart felt as if it would burst. He shook his head more vehemently and let out a choked sob before laying his head on the bed beside her and closing his eyes against her gaze.
"Oh God, John," Colin mumbled, turning a little so that his knees were drawn towards his chest. Biebe noticed that he winced when he did. It suddenly dawned on the Alaskan that - were it not for the heavy alcohol content - Colin would likely be in abject pain. At this point, the Aussie was physically and mentally numb. Colin continued to whisper: "Oh God. What have I done? What the fuck have I done?"
John sighed, collapsing beside him. He had seen this performance before, in Mystery, from a drunken Chuckie-Boy, whose only thoughts were of himself. "Colin...why the hell don't you grow up?"
"Why the hell don't I-- Why don't *you* quit moaning around like some lovesick schoolboy? We're both a couple of losers, Sheriff. We're boo-hooing and crying over these women, and they're off...lusting after somebody else."
Biebe shook his head, disgusted. "Give me a break."
"No. No," Colin tried unsuccessfully to sit up, only to fall onto his back, thankfully still in the booth. He groaned just a little as pain hit his lower spine. "Why don't you give me a break, John Biebe -- Sheriff Perfect. She ain't no more special than Chelle. They all come here for one reason and one alone: to fuck whomever they please and break our hearts. Do they care? Do they fucking care?"
John had returned to his original seat, tired of smelling O'Brien too intimately. "I know I'm sick of hearing you feel sorry for yourself. And I'm real sick of you badmouthing our ladies."
Colin's voice took on a mocking, squeaky tone. "Our ladies, our ladies." He pointed a finger. "Think about it. Chelle's probably crying on Bud right now, right before they fuck. Who knows how long they've been carrying on while she whispered that she loved me."
Closing his eyes against a blinding headache, John tried to ignore O'Brien's words. Not that he believed them; no, his greatest fear was that he'd end up really hurting his 'brother' for all the things he said. "Colin--" he growled.
"And your innocent Tina...Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't she fuck Max first?"
"Don't you ever give your mouth a rest? I told you before: leave Tina and Chelle out of this." Biebe was on his feet again as he stared daggers at O'Brien.
"Oh, and let's not forget my 'kissing cousin,' Laura. She's caused more problems than anyone has. She broke two hearts: Max's and Sid's."
"Holy Mother of God. Colin...you are such a sick fuck. Whatever shred of decency you had--"
"I threw up in the garbage a day or two ago," he laughed, curling up in the seat even more. "I don't have anything to lose anymore, John. Take my advice. Fix yourself a strong drink and forget all this bullshit about companions, and soul mates, and connections. You'll be better off when you do...I know...I..." He tried to laugh again, but each time it became a sob, and John realized that tears were mingling with the cavalier attitude.
"Colin...will you quit feeling sorry for yourself just once? Think about Michelle. Think how you and Bud hurt her yesterday and almost killed her. You remember that, eh, or does your memory need more than a nudge this time. How about a sledgehammer?" Colin's laughter faded, replaced by more tears as the realization of the words hit him. John secretly wondered how in the world he could knock some sense into him. Then again, why should he take it on himself to be the one to educate the Aussie? That's your problem, John. Why is it you feel like *you* always have to be the one? If the stupid son-of-a-bitch wants to drink himself into a coma, let him. Hell, you might even join him. It'd definitely feel better than this. "You know what, Colin? If Michelle has any sense, she'll drop you."
O'Brien grew quiet, looking at Biebe with a stunned expression. "What?" Hearing his 'brother' - particularly this one - say such a thing was almost unbelievable.
"Don't make me repeat it, Colin," John practically growled at him. "You're a fucking fool. You don't deserve a woman like her, and if she had any sense at all, she'd tell you to go take a flying leap. Chelle's never hurt you, and you know it, so don't be lumping her, or Tina, or Laura, or any of these other ladies into some category of perfection you've set up for yourself." O'Brien watched him in stunned silence, and although the sheriff didn't realize it, he had struck a chord. Biebe still had no idea about the little scene from around dawn, when Colin and Bud were in another fight, and Michelle had witnessed it. "You're lucky she's stuck with your ass for this long...Hell, we're all lucky considering some of the stupid things we've done, especially to them. All we do is mess up and expect them to forgive us, but one of these days, they're gonna get sick of that. And they'll either switch up, or leave. And if they leave...I'm...we're screwed."
John flopped back down, dejected as he looked off to one side. He could see some of the others and their own partners, and his shoulders slumped. When he looked back at where O'Brien was now, all he could imagine was Tina: her laughter - whether soft and feminine or quite hearty, a roll on the floor type; her warm smile; the glow in her eyes when they talked....
"Looks like you could use a drink," O'Brien muttered, watching as John squeezed his eyes shut so no one would see the tears. The Alaskan was actually wobbly as he reached for the handle on the mug, hesitated, then finished off what was left. He drank it so quickly, he was almost dizzy when he nearly dropped the glass back to the tabletop. "See...you'll be feeling better in no time, Sheriff."
John slowly shook his head. "I don't feel any better." He didn't understand why he kept feeling so cold. A chill was permeating his body like nothing he'd ever known in Mystery, and it was all he could do to keep his teeth from chattering. He told Michelle he had been having chills, and now he worried he might have caught a cold while sleeping on the beach. That was the last thing he needed on top of everything else. Plus that, he wondered if Tina might be sick, too. He hoped not, and the concern started to gnaw at him as Colin spoke up again, diverting his thoughts.
"That's because you're not drinking the right drinks, mate. You need something to numb that pain real quick." Colin was able to motion at Lachlan, who seemed rather annoyed. "Little SOB. He's trying to ignore me. Probably thinks I'm trying to get you drunk...See, here he comes."
Lachlan walked over to them. "John," he said, not even acknowledging Colin, "think you better slow down, mate?"
"Nah...I'm okay," but he could hear the slight slur in his speech already. Beers didn't normally affect him that way, but he wasn't drinking normally either. "I just think...I think..." He lowered his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. What did it matter if he got so drunk he'd end up under the table, probably with this idiot across from him sharing the floor with him. She wouldn't be around to see him make an ass of himself.
"I think, John," Curry said, giving a sideways glance at O'Brien, "that maybe you ought to call it a night. You're wound tighter than--"
"'Maker's Mark'," Biebe finally announced. "I'd like 'Maker's Mark'." He looked over at O'Brien. "That's the best bourbon in the world...or so I've heard. Jeff Wigand ought to know it -- they make it in...."
"Kentucky, I know John, I know. I'm just wondering if you really ought to be...."
"Lachlan," John firmly told him, "I'm not the designated driver tonight, okay? Just bring us some 'Maker's Mark'. And I want the whole bottle, okay? I want to share it with my brother over here," he said, nodding at O'Brien.
"There you go, Biebe," Colin said, clapping his hands. "I always said you were too tight assed."
Curry finally sighed and returned behind the bar as John added, "I...I just need...something to warm me up."
"Well, a good shot of bourbon ought to do the trick," Colin almost grinned, glad to see that Biebe - to his drunken way of thinking - was actually loosening up. "That's what you need Johnny Boy. A little warmth without all the bother of these women. It doesn't give you as much pain either."
"No," John mumbled, eyes narrowing. "G-Guess it wouldn't." He could not believe he was actually agreeing with O'Brien on this, but in his confused thoughts there was truth to Colin's sick logic. One might have a hangover in the morning, but it was nothing like the heartache he felt at having hurt Tina.
The bottle arrived moments later, Lachlan ceremoniously removing the distinctive red wax seal protecting the contents. He placed two shot glasses beside it, then looked at John, the Alaskan's expression a mixture of mild intoxication and the start of self-pity. That was the last thing he desired, Curry considered, to see the gentle sheriff transform into another version of this new, disgusting, and unrecognizable Colin. A few beers were one thing, but now.... "John, are you sure this is what you..."
"Hell yeah this is what I want! Just...Just leave the bottle here, Lachlan. Me and Colin will recycle it when we're done." The two laughed as the pilot shook his head and left them alone. The sheriff poured the shot glasses full, then after a couple of tries, finally lifted one.
"A toast," O'Brien announced very seriously. "To no soul-mates, no companions. To being men again instead of wimps."
John's usually sweet, lopsided smile had a leer to it. "No soul-mates, no companions," he repeated as the glasses were clinked and he downed the contents. The mellowness of the fine liquor coursed through his bloodstream, but it burned his belly as it combined with the beer. He belched vulgarly as Colin snorted, then he joined in. "Fuck...that felt good," he muttered, throat nearly raw, smacking his lips. This was a side of himself quite foreign to him, so it felt odd. He wondered if he could get used to it -- and what everyone would think of the new John Biebe. He grinned stupidly. What would Tina think if she saw him belching and quite tempted to scratch himself? Hell, what did it matter anymore? "That felt..." He purposefully belched loudly again. "That felt fucking good, Colin -- mate."
"Told you, Johnny Boy. You'll feel better in no time. Trust me. Bet you're getting warm now, aren't you?"
John shivered. "Not...Not really."
"Then we'd better see to that right now." He poured them another. "We'll forget both of 'em. They've probably forgotten us already. Chelle's probably already with Bud, and Tina...who knows who she's with. She been giving the eye to anybody lately?"
John squinted as the lights penetrated his mind. Never in his life had he drank like this, even during the emotional transition to the Crowes Nest world. A couple of beers, that was all he was going to have before heading to his room to work out some strategy. Now he was getting drunker than ever in his life as he listened to O'Brien's words. His voice dropped so only the Australian could hear him. "Yeah, I'll bet she has traded up her scruffy, chubby sheriff. I've got a pretty good idea for who, too." His reddening blue-gray eyes stared suspiciously at the bar, where a busy Lachlan was performing a few fancy moves with two cocktail shakers, to much applause. John grunted, his features becoming ugly. Curry and Tina liked to talk World War II; he was often her dance partner. So, Lachlan just knew John and Tina would reunite. He had tried to soothe Biebe's feelings with honeyed words, when he knew very well he was moving in on her. Sneaky little bastard. Yeah, we'll forget 'em, Colin. I-I-I don't get it anyway. I didn't do nothing wrong. All I did...All I did was ask her to go back and see how badly off Hando was. She took it the wrong way."
"Sure she did, mate. They always do."
"And I...uh...I...uh...I just made a little joke. A little itsy bitsy joke, and... and she blows it all out of propor-proportion. I didn't know...." He hiccuped. "I didn't know she'd be so damn sensitive over a little joke."
"And *you're* the one expected to apologize." Colin shook his head. "Always our fault. Hey, you haven't touched your drink. I just poured you some more."
John, however, was on his own tirade. "Always our fault. So damn sensitive. I didn't do anything. She keeps this up, I won't be able to say a damn thing without being scared I've insulted her."
"That's what they want anyway, mate, for us to keep our mouths shut. You know what they're doing, don't you?" John wearily shrugged. "They're trying to pussy-whip us, that's what."
"Yeah...Yeah, that's it. Pussy-whip us."
"Make us less than men. We speak when told and service when told. Well no more, Johnny Boy, no more. You know what we're gonna do? When they come crawling on their knees back to us...and you know and I know they will, then you know what we're gonna tell them?" John shook his head, puzzled. "Well I'm gonna say 'Fuck you Michelle! Fuck you, bitch!'" John's head jerked upward, his eyes meeting Colin's angry ones. What had O'Brien just said? It couldn't have been. "And you're gonna say 'Fuck you Tina, you bitch! I'll say whatever I damn well please, when I please.' That'll teach both of them to think they can run over us." Colin finished off his second glass of 'Maker's Mark' and poured himself a third. He looked at the Alaskan, who was fingering his own shot glass, a tentative expression on his face. "Ah come on, John - don't be getting all shy on me. Tell me what you're going to tell Tina when she begs your forgiveness? You want to be a man again, don't you?" John weakly nodded. "Fine...so whatcha gonna say, eh, mate?"
Syrena opened her eyes slowly to see a dimly lit room. Around her torso she could feel the tightness of a sling, holding her right arm immobile. A twinge in the back of her left hand alerted her to the presence of an IV drip, and she knew that Hando had succeeded in finding the hospital. The last few hours were dim in her memory--she remembered catching him, the pain of finishing the climb, and the walk back to the truck in the raging storm, but more than that she could not recall. Her eyelids drooped, and she knew she was still under sedation, though she could feel the effects slowly wearing off. Her shoulder throbbed persistently, but the pain hadn't returned.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn't come, rather a moan escaped her lips. Hando was suddenly at her side, pushing his hand carefully into hers, and she felt his breath on her cheek before her brain registered his words. I know everything is okay, love, and I know that you're here watching out for me. Her tongue refused to form words in English, confused by the drugs, and the only thing that she had the strength to say was a line of a Pablo Neruda poem. She whispered into his ear, willing her voice to carry the gratitude and love she felt for him at the moment, and squeezed his hand. He moved back, but she didn't release his hand from her grip. The world went dark again, and she felt the pull of the sedatives.
She rose again, crawling out of the dark crevasse of drugs, and opened her eyes. The room appeared slightly brighter than before, and she could see a square of light through a small window in the door. Hando sat beside her, his face drawn and his brow furrowed, and she tightened her grip on his hand. "Hando, thanks." His hand touched her cheek, a gentle though calloused caress, and she longed to lift her right hand to cover it, but the sling that bound her arm to her side was unyielding. She felt him shake his head, attempting to deny her gratitude, and she squeezed his hand. He shook his head harder, and in the weak light of the room she could see the anguish in his eyes for a moment before he let out a choked sound and laid his head on the bed.
She lay there, wishing she could reach out to him but unable, wondering what words she could utter to make clear to him what she felt. Her heart pounded in her chest so she could feel its fervor through the sling in her arm. To hell with the Nightengale syndrome, she told herself. I think I love the sod, and if loving him breaks my heart, so be it. She released his hand, placing her good hand on the bed and forcing her body into a sitting position. "Hando." His hand fell from her face as she sat up, and he left it resting on her lap with his face pressed against the edge of the bed. "Hando, come on, please." She laid her hand against the back of his head, stroking him softly, feeling his stubble and the heat rising from his skin. Insistent, she moved her hand beneath his chin and raised his head to look at her. "Hando, come on. I'm okay, I've never been more okay," she whispered, leaning forward to set her lips on his. She drew back, looking into his eyes, and grinned at the expression on his face, "Now let's get outta here, love, before they tell me I've gotta stay."
She reached for the button purposefully and was about to press it when his hand shot out to take hers. "Wait, Dr. Tanner said you should rest."
"Right, Hando, rest means go home, or anywhere but here, and relax. I'm not planning on getting any rest here."
"But--"
"No buts, now. Let me call the nurse to get this damn IV out, get my sweater back on and we'll bug outta here, okay?"
"I... okay." He released her hand and sat back against the back of the chair.
Marnie came quickly, and Syrena told her plainly that she was ready to leave. Marnie explained that there was still paperwork to be done whilst she remove the IV and bandaged Syrena's hand. The thin open back gown provided by the hospital was dropped to the floor, and Marnie helped Syrena into her t-shirt and sweater, leaving the right arm hanging empty. Hando's jaw dropped when the gown did, but he remained sitting in the chair. Syrena reached for Hando's hand, "Come on, let's go get this paperwork taken care of," and the two of them followed Marnie back into the waiting room hand in hand.
At length they were making their way over the small rise to the truck, and Syrena did not relinquish her grip on Hando's warm hand until they were at the passenger door. "I guess it's kinda late, Hando, and I've got to admit that today's been a bit tiring. I say we head back to my place then we can go back to the nest in the morning. What d'you think?"
"Sounds good, Sy."
"Right, you drive, I'll direct."
Hando helped her get into the truck, waiting by the door in case she needed help buckling the seat belt, then went around to the driver's side. The motor hummed in the night, and he turned to her with a smile. "Direct away, love."
Within an hour, they were climbing the stairs to Syrena's apartment. She had dozed slightly on the drive down, but she was feeling tired again. The call of her bed was loud in her ears. "Come on in, make yourself comfortable. You hungry?" He shook his head in the negative. "Right, well I'm beat. I don't know about you, but I'm going to sleep. There's movies in the drawers if you want to watch them, the remotes are there by the couch, there's wine and stir fry in the fridge. Help yourself to anything." She turned and disappeared into her room. She sat on the bed, thinking about taking her boots off and peeling off her still damp jeans, but the thought of such exertion was too much for her to bear. Hando found her asleep half an hour later lying back on the bed with her boots resting on the floor.
John raised the glass to his lips, then stopped. "I'm gonna say... I'm...gonna...."
He paused, lowering the glass to the table, his mind having flashbacks to the moment he first met Tina. Bud had brought her to the table - it seemed like ages ago - introduced them, and it was in that moment that Biebe understood what some of the guys had meant when they discussed soul mates and the connections. Up until then, he didn't think such a possibility existed, for he had loved Donna passionately. The idea that he would or could love someone determined by destiny, and that it was not Donna only confused him. He heard people speak of soul mates in terms of romance novels, something he never read. And while John considered himself a romantic at heart, the idea of soul mates, even when told this by his brothers, made him laugh. He had never believed in love at first sight. Hell, it had not even been that with Donna (although, he thought, smiling to himself, it might have been love at *second* sight).
Tina though; lonely, pretty Tina who thought never to love...God in Heaven, he knew it that second. It had taken her a little longer, but he knew at once they were linked. He looked down at his trembling hands, then back at Colin's gruff face, seeing a faint reflection of himself. O'Brien was slowly self-destructing from jealousy, little realizing he was hurting his beloved, faithful Michelle as well. Few could love a man as devotedly as Michelle did Colin, unless, Biebe considered, it was Tina's own love for her sheriff. Colin was throwing it all away and trying to get *him* to do the same, and for what? So they could both turn into drunken fools with only each other for company?
"John," he heard Colin grumble, "I said, what are you gonna tell that bitch?"
Eyes staring hard at O'Brien and licking his lips, John pushed the glass away, and with great effort, climbed to his feet. "I'm going to tell Tina," and he emphasized her name, "that I'm sorry I hurt her."
Colin sat there a moment, then burst out laughing. "John - John. You are such a pussy. How somebody as wimpy as you ever got on a hockey team is beyond me. Fine, let Tina walk over you. I'm not going to let Michelle...."
"Colin...why don't you shut the hell up? Shut up and listen to yourself for a second."
"Oh, here comes the defense of our ladies. You can give that a rest, Biebe, I'm not interested."
"I don't care if you're interested in hearing this or not. I'm going to tell you anyway."
"And I thought you'd loosened up, Johnny Boy." Colin made a "tsk" sound before tossing back the third glass. "Thought I had myself a new drinking buddy."
John shook his head, chuckling hollowly. "Yeah, well, you know what? I'm going to pass on being your drinking buddy, O'Brien, cause I've got better things to do than rot my insides and talk drunk talk with you." Colin gave the Alaskan the finger as both of them realized that perhaps John wasn't as intoxicated as originally believed.
"Fuck you, Biebe."
"I'd expect you to say that." The sheriff looked away for a moment then back at O'Brien. "But I still have a word of advice for you, so listen up and then I'm ought of here...I don't care what you do with yourself, Colin, but I always thought you had some sense. And one thing I was always certain about was that you loved Michelle, because God knows - and I don't know why - she sure as hell loves you."
"Well, you didn't see her with Bud...."
"I saw her with Bud dammit, and nothing happened! You know it and I know it. Bud was drunk...just like you are right now, but Michelle was trying to keep things calm. It's just that you and Bud White with your damn tempers..." John gave a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his beard. "Michelle got caught in the middle of it, and Michelle almost died you fucking idiot!" Colin looked away, and John shouted, "Don't look away from me Colin - I'm talking to you!" The Aussie returned his gaze as Biebe's voice lowered and calmed. "I know right now you don't give a damn about what happens to yourself. Quite frankly, the way I'm feeling right now, I don't care what happens to you either...and...that would be a lie. As stupid as it may seem to you, you *are* my brother," O'Brien started laughing, "and I don't want to see you kill yourself, or hurt Michelle. Or has hurting her even occurred to you?" That silenced him.
"Are you done, Biebe?"
"Almost...I can't believe I was dumb enough to sit here as long as I did, and go along with what you were saying. You just caught me at a bad time, Colin. I was out of it; I'd had too much to drink - I was stupid. Fine. But if you think I'm going to sit and listen to that nasty shit you were saying about Tina and Michelle, you're crazier than I thought...You want to call it being pussy-whipped, be my guest. I don't. You want to call Chelle and Tina obscenities, go ahead, but don't do it in front of me anymore. I wouldn't advise you use them in front of the other guys either. Cause I swear Colin...if I ever hear you use that nasty, ugly word to describe any of the ladies around here, not just Tina and Chelle, I'll kick your ass into the real world. Understood?"
O'Brien mumbled something under his breath until he got the Biebe look. He swallowed hard, not certain he could take on the sheriff in his condition. The way he was feeling right now, if John did beat the crap out of him, it wouldn't matter. "Whatever."
"Whatever. Okay, be a smart-ass."
"Aw...go on Biebe. I thought you were going to be a real man for once."
"Colin, take my advice. Wake up before it's too late and you lose Michelle for real instead of in your sick imagination. Just keep pushing it, and pushing it, and before you know it, she really will have found someone more deserving of her than a man who fell to pieces and turned into a lush. You're not like this for real, Colin and you know it."
"Done, Sheriff Perfect?" O'Brien asked, pouring his fourth glass of bourbon.
"Yeah I'm done. Good-night, Colin," and as John turned to walk away, he saw the Aussie give a half-hearted salute before drinking from the glass. The sheriff shook his head and with great care, managed to move away from the booth. He stopped at the bar, where Lachlan was smiling so much, he looked as if he might burst.
"John," the pilot greeted.
"Lachlan." Even filled with beer and one shot of bourbon, Biebe still felt as if he had stepped into fresh air.
"I'm glad to see you come to your senses."
"Yeah," he said, glancing back at the booth, where Colin was singing 'Waltzing Matilda' to an invisible audience. "Glad to be back." Recalling the jealous suspicions he'd briefly harbored about the pilot, he felt he needed to apologize, even if Lachlan didn't understand why. "And hey, if I said anything to you which was out of line...."
"It's already forgotten, John. I understand completely."
"Well, I need for you to do me a big favor, buddy."
"Anything."
John leaned on the counter for support, afraid his legs might give out. "Would you...Would you fix me two large thermoses of hot, strong coffee, and have someone bring them up to my room as soon as you can?" Lachlan laughed, as did the Alaskan. "I've got a long night ahead of me."
"I'll bet you do, mate. Sure...I'll have them up to you in two ticks."
"Great, Lachlan, thanks. I've...I have a lot of thinking to do." And with that, John made his way up the staircase and to his room. He was right - he did have a great deal to think about, and a lot of making up to do for a very special lady....
