Bud gripped Colin's wrist tightly, but Colin didn't relinquish his hold on Bud's lapel. Michelle put one hand on each man's chest, pushing firmly but not making any difference in their stance. "When I say hands off the girl, mate, you bloody well better take your hands off her," Colin growled.
"Easy there, Colin. No harm no foul," Bud responded. Still gripping Colin's wrist, he took Michelle's wrist in his other hand and lowered her arm, pushing her slightly back and away from the standoff. She stepped back reluctantly and transferred her now free hand to Colin's forearm near where Bud gripped it.
"Colin, love, come on, it's okay."
"It's not okay, 'chelle. He's overstepped the bounds here," he intoned, his voice grating ferally. He gave Michelle a look out of the corner of his eye that said, Step back, honey, it's going to get rough, and she obeyed, dropping her hands to her sides and taking a single pace back. Colin pulled Bud's lapel, pulling him slightly off balance even though he had been braced against this contingency, and swung his free arm around to catch Bud in the jaw.
Bud reacted and drew his fist back to return the shot. Colin released Bud's jacket and swung his other fist in an uppercut just as Bud's fist connected with the ridge of his cheekbone. The brawl had begun.
Michelle screamed as Colin stumbled backwards, falling hard against the bar, his head making contact with the counter top. He struggled to stand, but after a shake of his head he leap forward again, fists swinging. Bud counteracted every move and soon, inbetween punches, the two of them were wiping at their bloody noses and cut lips.
"Colin!! Bud!! Please?!" Michelle covered her eyes as Colin received another right hook to the jaw.
"Alright!!" Maximus's voice shouted over the ensuing brawl. "What's going on here!?!?" Michelle glanced up to see Maximus standing in one of the side doorways. "Gods!! I leave for a few minutes and all hell breaks loose!" Maximus charged across the bar pulling the two brawlers apart like small children.
"Get your hands off me, Gladiator!" Bud shoved Max roughly, but the grip didn't lessen. Bud punched Maximus hard with a left hook to the stomach, but the gladiator barely flinched.
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The moment the fists started to fly, John jumped from the bar stool. He glanced back at Tina, seeing the concern in her eyes. This was *not* exactly how the sheriff had planned to spend his evening. First Sid and Hando, now this. He heard Tina whisper "Be careful" as he hurried to where Colin, Bud and Maximus were.
"Are you all freaking nuts?!" John screamed as he leaped between Bud and Max, hoping he didn't get body slammed by the two when he did. Bud gripped his shirt, shoving John backwards. A tear of clothing was heard, but John held his ground. "Just hold on a second -- calm down!"
"He started it," Colin hollered, but John managed to step between them, his soothing voice acting like an antidote.
"I said hold it a second!" Finally, they all seemed to calm down. "I really don't care *who* started it, but I'm going to finish it."
"Now Bud...back off. Max -- okay pal, we're not in the Arena any more, okay? Ease off." Maximus sighed, his temper seeming to subside as he nodded. "And Colin...Colin... maybe you'd better let Michelle take a look at that. Now...if you guys are done...I'd like to get back to my own business. Okay?" The three nodded as Michelle - her arms about Colin - eased him away, and Bud sat back on his own stool.
The Tavern began to quiet again as John looked over the blooded men, sighing with relief that he had managed to calm things down.
As Maximus moved away as well, John walked the few feet back to where Tina was waiting. She glanced down at his torn shirt and ran a finger over his exposed chest.
"Good job, Biebe," she commended him, kissing him on the cheek. "You deserve a reward."
"I'm going to hold you to that," John said, giving one of those lopsided grins she loved.
Syrena gathered up as many clean towels she could find. These won't make the best bandages, but they'll have to do. Don't they have a decent first-aid kit around here? In the kitchen there was a large stainless steel bowl that would do for hot water to wash the wounds; she slung the towels over her shoulder, filled the bowl with steaming water and made her way precariously back to Hando's side.
His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell steadily under the weight of the blankets. The aftereffects of shock were beginning to wear off, and now he needed sleep more than anything. His quick recovery was propitious, not to mention very lucky. With continued luck, he'd make a full recovery without having to visit the hospital. She smiled at his sleeping form, looking so peaceful in repose, and set the steaming bowl on the small table beside the cot with the towels next to it.
She knelt beside the cot and smoothed the furrows in his brow. Sleeping with such consternation, hon, she thought. His forehead was warm now, an omen that boded well for his recovery, and she gently pulled the stack of blankets back from his form. His right hand still rested on his chest where it was when he let her go, and a small rivulet of blood had begun to run down toward his waist and blend with the red ink of his tattoo. She reached for a towel and blotted the blood off his pale skin then folded the towel under his wrist to soak up additional seepage.
She washed the wounds fastidiously, noting their depth and size. He could use stitches on this one, but no veins or arteries are severed. That's a good thing. Amazing how much he bled without cutting something major. She wrapped his now clean wrists securely with towels and covered them with masking tape to hold the makeshift bandages in place.
"We'll talk about stitches when you wake up, Hando," she whispered, covering him again.
He sighed deeply and shifted slightly in his sleep as she sat on the floor and leaned her back against the cot.
"What do you mean you all are nursing Hando?"
John winced some at Tina's words. He wasn't used to seeing her this nervous or upset, emotions bordering on anger. "Sweetheart, you had to be there."
"No, I didn't! We're talking about Hando, John! Hando!" Her whisper was nearly filled with tears as she looked away momentarily. "Remember how you and Maximus warned me about him my first night here?...And remember why?" She took several of John's fingers and laid them against her wrist. "What did you say about his feelings about dealing with...a person of color?...And especially with *me* being bi--"
"Tina...darlin'...I realize that...but if you saw him...if you saw him back there right now. I think that tender side of yours would kick in."
"I may have a tender side...but I don't have a tender head, John." Her voice was still a whisper, but John could tell how visibly upset she was.
"Sweetheart--"
"No John...I don't get it. Just explain to me *why* you all are doing this?"
Michelle led Colin up the stairs and into one of the side rooms. He followed mutely, his face still showing his anger. Michelle had never had two men fight over her before. She was shocked at what Bud and Colin had done to each other, and grimaced as she gazed at Colin's bloody face. She pushed him down onto one of the two small beds in the room and walked into the bathroom, grabbing a damp cloth from the sink. She came back and began cleaning the blood from his face, wiping gently at his mouth. He winced as she touched a sore spot.
"Sorry..." Michelle stopped and looking to his eyes, then she smiled. "What happened to Mr. Tough Guy?"
Colin chuckled, and lay back on the bed, groaning. Michelle ran a gentle hand over his black T-shirt, feeling his warm skin underneath. "That was nothing down there..."
"It didn't look like nothing, to me..." Colin looked away.
Michelle touched his chin. "Look at me..." Colin turned back slowly, gazing up at her as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Bud is a good man... and yes, he and I were together before... when I first arrived, before you and I connected." She felt Colin take a deep breath, "BUT... He is not you." She ran a gently hand over his mouth, and then stroke his cheek. "He's not you..." She smiled and leaned over, kissing Colin ever so gently.
Colin reached an arm around her, pulling her on top of him. He kissed her harder, ignoring the pain that pulsed in his sore lips.
Hando opened his eyes to see a strange room and wondered how he'd arrived there. He took a deep breath, assessing the pain he felt in his muscles and the weight of the blankets pressing into his chest, and began to look around. His wrists were wrapped tightly with towels and masking tape, and he slowly began to remember what had happened. Sid, damn him, what the hell did he get me in to? He moved his arm to push the blankets down and groaned aloud at the shooting pain that ran up into his neck. The sound echoed darkly in the small room, and the figure leaning against the cot moved slightly.
With great difficulty, he ignored the shooting pains from his wrists and rolled over in the cot to look at the person beside him. He tentatively reached his hand out to touch her hair, running his fingers through the short dark locks, and smiled. The bandages on his wrists were slipshod but very fuctional, and he knew that Sy had used her expertise to make do with what was available. He gazed at her fondly as she dozed until the discomfort of his position forced him to lie down on his back again. He draped his arm across her form, running his fingers gently along her collar bone and rested his hand on her shoulder.
He licked his lips, watching her sleep peacefully in spite of the awkward position, and tried to understand why she was helping him. He'd never felt such unconditional kindness from anyone, and the gratitude he felt confused him--he didn't know what to do. In his confusion he tightened his grip on her shoulder, and she awoke, sitting up with a start and torquing his arm painfully. He groaned and slowly pulled his arm back to his side, smiling benevolently though the pain.
"Oh, Hando, you're awake," she turned to face him. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, babe, fine," he raised his hand to run his fingertips along the ridge of her cheekbone, tracing the contour of her face. "I... what can I say? Thanks, I guess."
"That's a good place to start, Hando," Syrena grinned and moved to stand up. "Can I get you anything? Water? Peanuts? Anything else they might have in this place?"
"No, just stay here," his voice dropped to a whisper. "Just stay."
John stared at her, unspeaking. In all the months he had known her, this was the first time he had seen Tina this upset.
How the hell could he ask her to set aside what would rightly be called her best instincts? After all, she was in a situation even *he* could never completely comprehend, no matter how much he empathized.
And he realized deep down, that this was possibly the beginning of their first big disagreement.
"Tina I...look...Think about it in your heart. You've told me you have cried about wounded animals. If you have to, think of Hando the same way."
"As a wounded animal?" She chuckled, but there was a hollow quality to it. "He's an animal all right! He's an animal that wouldn't think twice about slitting my throat if he had a chance...Or calling me *every* nasty epithet his dirty little mind could think of!"
"Darlin'," John whispered, trying to pull her nearer, but he felt her body tighten as she eased away. Seeing those tears brimming in her eyes was the last thing he wanted. "Just walk back there with me for a moment, okay."
"No," was all she could manage, slipping down off her bar stool. "I don't think so. And I don't know *how* you could ask me something like that."
The expression on Hando's face grew far away, as if he were deep in thought and filled with regret. I almost died, he thought. Why did these people help me? Why did Sy help me? I never did anything to deserve such unconditional care. Is this what I've been missing? What am I doing with my life?
"Hando? Are you okay?" His reverie was broken by Syrena's concern laden voice, and he looked up to meet her gaze then averted his eyes, unsure of what to do or say. "Hey," she reached out and took his chin in her hand, turning his head to face her. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Hey, Hando, what's wrong?" He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, causing crow's feet to appear, and a single tear appeared at the corner of his eye. "Hando, come on." He shook his head angrily and his lips formed a tight line. Syrena reached up and wiped his eye, "It's okay, everything's fine now, eh? Come on, Hando."
He grimaced with pain as he pushed the blankets off and reached up to pull Syrena down to his chest. She leaned down awkwardly as his arms encircled her, holding her tight. He took a deep halting breath, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I... I'm..." He shook his head and pressed his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder, concentrating on breathing. I'm such a jerk. How can I apologize for that? "Wh... Why'd you help me?"
Syrena pushed back and looked him in the eyes. "Hando, you're human, and you needed my help. I know...," she pressed her hand to his chest, square on the centrepiece of the cross tattooed there. "I have faith, Hando, that you've got a good heart in here. You needed my help, my experience, and I gave it freely. No worries, mate?"
He nodded silently, gratefully, and pulled her down to him again. They stayed there for a long while, just holding on, comfortable in the human contact, until Hando's breathing steadied and he drifted to sleep again.
Michelle pulled away from Colin, planting a kiss on his chin. She smiled as he reached for her. "I have to inspect the rest of your injuries." Pushing away his hands, she lifted up his black T-shirt. Colin nuzzled her neck as she helped him out of the sleeves. Michelle bit her lip as she saw a small amount of blood gathering at his pant line, it was clearly visible through the muscle shirt he still wore.
She settled Colin back on the pillow and gently lifted the material off his skin. He winced as the cotton grazed his wound. "Sorry..." Michelle whispered. Craving the feel of her, Colin ran a gentle hand through her hair, savoring its softness. She slowly unbutton Colin's jeans and pulled them back to reveal a small but bloody cut. She reached for the damp cloth and pressed it against the wound. Colin gasped in pain, bucking slightly as the cool cloth touched his skin. Michelle persisted and cleaned the wound gently , allowing herself to get a better look at the damage done.
"Just let me get some peroxide... I don't want it to get infected." She disappeared into the bathroom again, returned with a small brown bottle and a first aid kit. She cleaned it carefully and covered it with clean bandages. Once done she sat back and surveyed her handiwork, smiling up at him. "I think you'll live..."
Colin rested a hand on her leg, stroking it gently. "Michelle, I'm sorry... I should have..." Michelle shushed him by placing a finger on his lips.
"Don't... It's okay." She kissed him gently... "We can talk later... just rest for a bit."
Hando moaned in his sleep, his eyelids flickering rapidly, as his subconscious went back over some of the things he had done in his life. It was as though he were looking at his life from the outside, something that he was surprised to achieve, and seeing just what he had been doing. His dreams jumped from incident to incident, from persecuting the Asian community to almost killing a man when he didn't step aside for Hando and his men to pass. He shook his head as these images flashed by behind his eyelids on the movie screen of his mind, hoping with some part of his subconscious mind that shaking his head would make it all go away.
His subconscious meandered on, and he walked along a familiar Melbourne street--though he fought it, he couldn't stop his feet from carrying him closer. The sensation of the cracked pavement of the walkway beneath his feet brought memories of being thrown down; skinned knees; the deep voice of his father, drunk again, bellowing for all the neighbourhood to hear. He shook his head again as he was propelled up the steps, beside the rickety handrail and peeling paint, onto the darkened porch. The light was still broken; a rock from one of his mates had broken it, and his father had never seen fit to repair it. He suffered the punishment for that every time the old man came home after dark, which was nearly every night. The door swung open to reveal the litter of an alcoholic lifestyle: bottles lining the table, dishes filling the sink, soiled socks strewn on the floor. He closed his eyes, but his subconscious continued broadcasting the images.
His room was small and sparsely furnished. On the dresser there sat a faded picture of the woman he knew to be his mother, beautiful and strong, holding a bouquet of daisies and gazing lovingly at the infant in the bassinet at her side. A tear rolled down his cheek as he wished she were still alive--he knew she would have loved him in spite of his faults. The angry roar of his father thundered down the hallway and rattled the thin walls. He cowered in the corner behind the bed, trembling in fear. He was ten again, and the school had sent another poor progress report--his marks were down again this year, and his father's method of encouraging learning was the belt.
The door swung open on its hinges, and the old man's dark gaze alit on the cringing form in the corner. He crossed the room in two strides, reached across the bed and grabbed Hando by the collar, forcefully lifting the boy to eye level. He raised his hand, palm out, and moved to strike the boy--
--Hando screamed and lifted his arms in protest, and woke abruptly to find Syrena gently shaking him. The blankets were damp with persipration; his muscles protested loudly at the influx of adrenaline. He struggled to sit up on the narrow cot and reached out to take Syrena in his arms. "Hold me," he breathed. "I'm sorry, Sy, just hold me."
A single tear began to drift down her cheek, and John heard himself groan as his stomach tightened. Tina's voice was barely above a whisper. "Maybe I don't know you as well as I thought I did, John Biebe," was all she said before rushing towards the front door.
"No," he muttered, before calling out, "Tina...wait!" With the band playing again though, he doubted she even heard him,...and if she had, he wondered seriously if she would have stopped. He watched the door close behind her, the bang making him shudder. Swearing to himself, John started moving through the crowd. He bumped into Bud White as he tried to maneuver himself between one dancing couple.
"John, what's happened? I just saw Tina..."
"I've got to catch her Bud. I have to try to make her understand."
Bud looked back towards the room where he knew Hando and Syrena were, then back at the sheriff. "Well I know one thing, John. Don't force anything down her throat. She's stubborn, but in this case..."
"I know, I know...It's not like she doesn't have good reason." Biebe started moving again, his footsteps anxious.
"Well just remember," Bud practically had to scream to him, "it's not worth losing her over!"
John heard the cop's words as he ran outside, looking left towards the parking lot, then to the right, in the direction of the hotel. He saw her on the winding footpath, easing her way uphill to the lodgings, and he thanked God she had not decided to head home. She was no longer in a hurry, for her steps were halting, and at one point, she paused, and glanced behind her. When she realized she was being followed, she quickened her pace, but John tore out after her. He needed to speak to her before she went to her room, and perhaps shut him out forever.
"Tina!" John screamed on seeing that she was picking up her pace, attempting to get away. He caught up with her about halfway up the path, and on turning her about, saw that the tears had increased since leaving him. "Oh sweetheart..." he started to say, but she tried to push away, not wanting to be held.
"No," she whispered. "I...I need to be alone. Just leave me alone for a while." Briefly her hand touched the area of his torn shirt, and she almost flinched, her fingertips caressing the firm muscles revealed underneath. These were the arms that had held her on so many wonderful nights. She remembered him saying the shirt had been damaged during the initial fight. And she had even laughed on telling him that someone would have to pay - - after all, the pullover had been a gift from her to John during their Brooks Brothers excursion at the mall. Tina looked into John's troubled features. Gazed into those eyes... She shook her head. Part of her wanted to hear his words, but her survival instinct had understandably kicked into gear.
"Just give me a chance to explain...."
"You've already explained. You've explained enough. And like I said, I don't know if I really know you as well as I thought."
"You know that's not true," the sheriff firmly said. "I know exactly where you're coming from, darlin'."
"Do you?!" Her voice was not only tearful, but also challenging. Realizing she had come across more bitter than intended, she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it that way. But John...think about it. Do you honestly understand where I'm coming from?" She shook her head. "My father's parents were Alabama sharecroppers, the children of slaves. Can you imagine how hard it was for a man of color to own property in the Deep South? In *those* days - I'm talking the early part of the century. I heard them tell stories of men being lynched by scum like Hando. They saw it; they were there! And one of my great-grandfathers was a Russian Jew who emigrated to this country because there were those in power who didn't think a Jew was good enough to live. It's sickening; it's disgusting, but it happened. Unfortunately, some of it hasn't changed." Tina paused, realizing she had often sounded bitter, but she could tell John's attention was hers. Sighing, her words softened. "Okay, I'm in a position you can empathize with, yes,but can you ever...."
"I know what you're going to say and you're absolutely right. I *can* have compassion for your situation, but...no, no...I can't stand here and say I comprehend *everything*. But that doesn't mean...." He stopped, gently caressing her cheeks. When Tina did not pull away again, he silently thanked God. "Sweetheart...the first night I laid eyes on you, I didn't think 'here's a lovely young African-American woman' or 'here's a lovely young biracial woman'. I thought 'here's a *lovely young woman* I want to know better'. Race never came into it with me. I never cared."
"But there are people out there that do care. People like Hando and his ilk, and others who aren't as openly violent as he is, but think the same spiteful, sadistic garbage." One hand drifted to his shoulder, and she tenderly stroked the bruise that was starting to appear. Her feelings for him were beginning to surface. "John....John I'm sorry...I don't mean to lay this on you like this. This...is just so hard for me."
He smiled. "You can't believe how hard it is for me, darlin'. I'm just glad you're talking to me. I was so worried...."
Her face was sober as she held up a hand to stop him. "It's still hard for me to understand. I mean, Hando. You're one of the last people I expected to hear talk sympathetically about someone like him."
"Honestly darlin'...so am I. And if this stuff hadn't happened tonight, I'd still think of him as a repulsive little bastard who doesn't deserve to live. But...But something happened...I don't know... Something.... Syrena saw it; so did Michelle. And geez, so did I. I never, *never* thought to hurt you, Tina. I would never do that to you."
She nodded. "I know."
"Then come back with me. Just for a few minutes - come back with me."
"John...."
"I'm not trying to make you do something against your will. If you want to head on up to the hotel, that's fine. I won't stop you...But..." He fondled her arms. "Tina...sweetheart...I've heard you say in the past, that you believe people can change sometimes. You've told me you even believe in prayer. I know you base your faith on that, don't you?" Her brown eyes shut when John said that, because she knew that was true. She had been brought up in a Pentecostal household in which prayer was an essential element of her beliefs. He was surprised when she laid her head against his chest, her arms suddenly reaching up to embrace him. The sheriff returned her affection as he placed one cheek alongside the top of her head, enjoying the feel once more of her passion for him.
"Promise me," he heard her begin.
"Anything Tina. Anything."
"I'll go with you. I'll see what you've told me. But if Hando...."
"I swear, Tina...If Hando so much as says anything derogatory to you; or even looks at you the wrong way... I'll never let him hurt you, darlin'. That's a promise."
"Thank you," she replied, her voice choking again with emotion.
"This might be the chance we need to rescue him. I know that sounds extreme, and maybe I'm being overly optimistic...but Syrena thinks this may be our chance."
Tina nodded. Syrena had always been levelheaded, and of course, so was John. Perhaps.... "Okay...Okay, I'll give it a chance, too."
John's smile increased, and he bent her head back, leaning in to kiss her quite passionately. Once they parted, they gazed into one another's eyes momentarily until he whispered, "Bud was right. None of this is worth me losing you over."
"You're not going to lose me. Just understand where I'm coming from."
"Absolutely," and taking her hand, they made their way back towards the Tavern.
Colin's gaze followed her as Michelle left the room. She sighed as she closed the door and glanced over the balcony to the dance floor below. Half of the crowd had disappeared and the band was jamming on stage. Michelle descended the stairs and crossed to the bar.
"You look like you could use a drink?" Cort smiled at her from the other side of the counter.
"Yes please..." She sighed as he poured her a glass of white wine. She found herself a empty booth and sat down, drinking her wine slowly, savoring the feeling of it as it ran down the back of her throat.
"Mind if I join you?" Bud's voice interrupted her thoughts. She set her glass on the table, raising an eyebrow as Officer White seated himself across from her.
"You've got some nerve, haven't you?" Michelle chuckled, shaking her head. "If Colin sees you with me again..."
"Just listen, would you?" Bud touched her hand, his eyes focusing on hers.
"Bud... don't you realize what happened about 10 minutes ago?" She stared at him, moving her hand away from his. "You and Colin almost killed each other."
"It wasn't that bad..." Bud glanced away.
"Oh really? And if Max and John hadn't stepped in?? You two would have been a bloody mess."
Bud chuckled, "It's what guys do, 'Chelle."
"Uh-huh... that's fine, I just don't want to be stuck in the middle of it." She downed the rest of her wine in one gulp. "I've got to get back upstairs...."
