"This is going to take time," Wick said, staring at his partners.
They in turn nodded.
The electronic alert went off.
"Station 77, L.A., person trapped 356 Crawley Apt. 7 Cross Woodrow. Time
out 6:04,"
Bell hit Wick playfully on the arm, then put his other arm around Ryan.
They gathered in a group hug then trotted off to the ambulance.
The drive was quiet, with the occasional joke from Wick, or a wry remark
from Ryan. They were each lost in their own thoughts, contemplating the
effects of the chemical explosion. When they pulled up, the sight that met
Ryan's eyes puzzled and scared her. There, on the lawn, stood a frantic
woman jumping up and down and clamoring, pointing wildly. The woman was her
mother.
She jumped out of the ambulance and ran over to her. "Mom! Mom, calm down!"
the older woman was in hysterics. She had tears streaming down her face.
"David! It's David!" she screamed. "He fell in a hole!" she cried, her
knees buckling. Ryan grabbed her and steadied her.
"Where is he, ma'am?" Wick asked. she pointed to the house.
"Oh, that helps," Bell muttered. He started walking around the house.
"Stay here, Mother," Ryan commanded. Her and Wick took off after Bell, who
had begun shouting that he'd found him. They ran through a thicket of trees
and into a clearing where a sinkhole had formed. A man was sitting down
inside, cradling his ankle. "I'll go on down," Ryan volunteered.
The hole wasn't deep at all and Ryan slowly lowered her long body down. She
quickly assessed the man's injuries. "Skull's good. Heart rate's good.
Breathing's normal. Only injury is sprain to left ankle," she yelled to
them. "I'm gonna need a roll of gauze, and the shears!"
"Ryan!" Bell yelled, laying on his stomach and handing her the supplies.
Standing on tip-toe, she grabbed them and turned back to the man.
"Hi, David. I'm Erica's daughter, Kathleen. I'm going to get you out of
here," she told him. He nodded. "Can you speak?" she asked.
"Yea—yeah," he said shakily.
"Good," she smiled. "Now why don't you tell me who the hell you are, and
why my mother has never mentioned you before?" she snapped.
"Ryan," Bell said sharply. "Now is not the time," he warned. She grumbled,
but gave in.
"Come on," she said. "Can you extend your leg for me, please?" he extended
the injured leg, squinting in pain. She carefully cut away the jeans from
below the knee and gently wrapped the gauze around the injured area. "I'm
going to need your help," she told him. "I know this is going to hurt, but
you have to stand up," he protested for a moment, but eventually did as he
was told. The pain in his ankle was white hot as he collapsed onto Ryan. She
stumbled a little under the weight of the man, but quickly regained her
balance. They began to walk, but he quickly fell. Aggravated, she stooped
over and picked him up. Slinging him easily over her shoulder she grabbed
Michael's hands and he pulled her and the man up. Wick had gone to the R.A.
and returned with a backboard.
"One, two, three," he counted as they lifted him. Bell and Ryan each
grabbed an end.
"1, 2, 3," Ryan counted. They lifted the stretcher and carried him to the
R.A. "Mom," Ryan said gently to her mother. "Come to the hospital with us.
Ride along. You'll see that he's fine," she said. Erica nodded and Ryan
helped her into the back of the R.A.
"Now, Mom. Can you please tell me who this man is?" she asked once they
were loaded up.
"He's going to be your step-father. We're getting married,"
§*§*§*§*§*§
Wick and Bell were sitting on the couch in the living room watching "The
Woman Attacks". A ten foot blond woman came parading across the screen and
began doing a striptease. Wick laughed.
"Man, I know I'm gonna sound awful, but that woman made me think of Ryan,"
Bell let out a little laugh.
"I know, pal. The same image came into my mind," he snickered.
"I'm kinda worried about her, ya know, hearin' ‘bout her Mom and that guy,"
he stood. "I think I'm gonna give her a call," he stood and walked over to
the phone. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone and punched in her
number. He let it ring and ring and ring. When there was no answer, he
slowly put the phone back on the hook. Rubbing the back of his head he
walked back into the living room. "There was no answer. I . . . I'm gonna
head on over,"
"What?" Bell asked, standing. He really didn't see any need for that.
"Why?"
"Somethin' aint right. I'll call you when I get there," he grabbed his keys
and headed out the door. He could feel Bell's questioning stare as he
slammed the door behind him.
Jumping in his car, he sped down the highway, his mind not on the road. He
knew her. When she was overthrown by someone, it was almost certain that she
would take the matter into her own hands, one way or the other.
He pulled up in her driveway and shut off the engine. Her jeep was still
there. He hurried up the walkway, breathing in the scent of her garden that
she put so much loving care into. He knocked on the door, but got no answer.
He turned the knob and the door swung open. He stepped inside.
The house was cool and smelled of her subtle, flowery perfume. He breathed
in deep. God, how he loved that smell. He found her on the couch, asleep.
But a more thorough evaluation of her and he realized that she had passed
out. He could clearly smell alcohol on her breath when he tilted her head up
and checked the color of her tongue. He looked on the table by the bed and
discovered an empty liquor bottle. His mind drifted back to a conversation
they'd had a few months ago . . .
// "It's hereditary," she had told him. "If I even drink one drop of
liquor, I'll be hooked . . . and with my pre-existing liver problems . . .
I'll be in deep trouble,"\\
****
"She's, uh . . . asleep," Wick told Bell over the phone in Ryan's kitchen.
He had such an iron grip on the receiver that his knuckles turned white.
"See, man, I knew everything was okay," Bell told him.
"Wick didn't want to worry him, so he said, "Yeah. You were right. I . . .
I think I'm gonna just wait with her for awhile until she wakes up," he
commented.
"Why?" Bell asked, his voice confused. Wick knew he couldn't worry his
partner. Not yet, anyway. He didn't exactly know how to say that, if not
watched drastically and hourly, Ryan could become an alcoholic.
"I just wanna be here when she comes to—uh, wakes up," he quickly
corrected. He could hear Bell sigh deeply.
"All right, man. Whatever. If the girl of the hour calls, what should I
tell her?" he said, annoyance creeping into his voice. This was not the
first time Wick had done this to him. He was playing secretary for his
family already. He didn't need to play receptionist to Wick, too.
"Just tell her somethin' came up," Wick hung up the phone. He paced the
floor, his acrimony level rising. Why had she done this? Why did she have to
pick up that damn bottle? He seriously needed something to hit. Anything
would do.....
Just then he heard Ryan moan from the couch. He hurried over and saw her
struggling to sit up. He pulled her into a sitting position. She looked at
him confused. "Wick?" she asked in a weak voice. Her face suddenly turned a
brilliant shade of green, and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Standing
shakily, she rushed to the bathroom. Wick followed, his hands steadying her
waist. She kneeled over and retched violently, until she was dry heaving.
Wick sat patiently, holding her hair back and wiping the sweat from her
forehead.
She stumbled to her feet and unsteadily made her way out of the bathroom.
Wick followed, steadying her shoulders and walking behind her. She collapsed
back onto the couch and curled up into a ball.
"God, who boxed in my stomach?" she complained from the couch. Wick
sympathetically smiled at her. "Wick, will you please stop spinning around?
My head hurts bad enough," she looked up at him and he met her gaze.
"Just close your eyes," he told her. She obeyed and sank down into the
couch. "I'm going to make you the famous Wick Lobo hangover remedy," he went
off into the kitchen. Ryan, who was still laying on the couch, felt her
stomach heave again.
"Wick?" she called weakly. He couldn't hear her over the roar of the
blender. Her own voice was a whisper, but it made her head pound. She
carefully stood and made it to the bathroom just in time.
§*§*§*§*§*§*§
It was around eleven o' clock that night before Wick finally came home.
"Gee, I wonder what you and Ryan have been doing all this time?" Bell said
sarcastically. He didn't know why, but the thought of them together just got
under his skin.
"Man, don't start with me, right now," Wick warned, rubbing his tired eyes.
"What? Were you finishing what you guys started back at the chemical
plant?" he demanded, getting angry.
"Look, dude, we already discussed this. What happened between us in there
was toxically induced. We had no control over that!" he shouted. He really
didn't want to rehash the moment where Ryan had kissed him.
"Well, it had to come from somewhere!" Bell accused. Deep down, Wick knew
that was true. He didn't really even like Ryan . . . anymore. There had been
those first few couple of weeks after he had been introduced to her. In
typical Wick Lobo style, his hormone regulator had gone on overload, and he
had become obsessed with her. Every part of her . . . and he did mean every
part . . .
But that was then, and this was now. Maybe she was attracted to him, but he
doubted it. The way she looked at Bell sometimes made him wonder . . .
"Man, look. We have to work tomorrow, and I just want to get some sleep.
Okay? Can we save the third degree for later?" he asked. Not waiting for an
answer, he headed off to bed. All he could see when he closed his eyes was
Ryan throwing up, again and again. Then he'd see himself softly wiping the
sweat off her face, and massaging her shoulders to relax her.
// "Wick?" she mumbled quietly. He snapped his head up and stared at her.
"Do you think you could help me to bed?" he stood and took her hand. Smiling
gratefully, he helped her to her room. He pulled the covers up to her
shoulders and clicked off the light. Don't tell anyone about this," she told
him. "Please. I . . . promise this won't happen again," her voice was
getting softer, and was clouded with sleep. He kissed her forehead gently.
"You got it," he promised. She mumbled something incoherently, and then she
didn't make another sound. On his way out, he checked the kitchen for
alcohol. He found three bottles of liquor and poured them down the sink. \\
Settling down in his bed, Wick clicked off the light by his bed and allowed
his eyes to drift close . . . his mind still replaying the incident at
Ryan's . . . .
