FanFic - Holding On (Part 3)

Her face was still hot and throbbing. McCall absolutely dreaded going through what she knew was in store for her. She shuddered at the thoughts of being combed and photographed for evidence. Hunter reassured her that they were going to take care of her, and that she was safe. But she didn't trust a single soul right now . . . except him.

She lay on the cold table, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried not to pay attention to what they were doing to her. They asked her if she had been using birth control, and tears came to her eyes at the thought. "No," she choked out. Hell, that was a thing of the past, since Steve died. She hadn't even come close to needing any in the past year and a half. Until now. And the realization that the creep could have already impregnated her, and there was nothing she could do about it, repulsed her beyond words.

She shut her eyes against the flash bulb as she let the yellow gown drop over her shoulders. The bruises on her neck, chest and thighs were tell-tale signs of a vicious rape. Her face was purple and swollen, the cut on her eyebrow stitched in a way that wouldn't scar.

Armed with a prescription for antibiotics and pain killers, she slowly walked out the door on mostly her own power after what seemed like a lifetime later, tightly gripping Hunter's arm.

How she would ever repay Hunter for coming to her aid, she hadn't the slightest idea. "I owe you one," she told him after he got into the Monaco and revved the engine.

"You don't owe me a thing, Dee Dee," he told her, gripping the steering wheel tightly, his lips pursed into a tight line. It was then that she realized that he was silently plotting revenge on her behalf. Perhaps it was a sense of responsibility that he felt for her, either as her partner or as her good friend, but she didn't care what his motives were. She wanted Mariano to pay.

---------------------

The aroma of fresh cut roses in her living room nauseated her as Hunter unlocked her front door and let her in. She was grateful that he was with her, scurrying around to dump the flowers into the trash can as she pondered what to do next. Frankly, she just wanted to close her eyes on the day and never open them again.

She knew Hunter was a man of action, not words. Just his nearness was comforting. She didn't ask him to stay with her. And he didn't offer. It just was. They had a remarkable ability to silently read and understand each other's minds and body language in the short time they had been partnered together.

She had never counted on Hunter becoming her best friend. It just happened. And it happened easily. And she was thanking her lucky stars that he was there for her right now, for as long as she needed him.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked as she gingerly sat on the couch. The pain between her legs was almost unbearable. "Is there anything you want, or need?"

"Just for this day to be over."

The thoughts of what could still be happening to her as a result of Mariano's assault plagued her thoughts, over and over. "I could get VD," she thought, out loud, as Hunter sat in a nearby chair. And then she involuntarily closed her eyes at the next thought. "Or pregnant."

Hunter tried valiantly to keep her mind off things. He helped her get comfortable on her couch and offered to get her something to eat. She decided the best thing for her would be sleep, so he ventured to the guest room and she remained on her couch. There was no way in hell that she was ever setting foot in her own bedroom again. She'd burn the place, first.

But closed eyes only brought the attack back into her mind, playing vividly like a black-and-white movie over and over again. Sleep was impossible. She could still smell him. She could still feel him, not only pummeling her with is fists, but inside of her. Her skin crawled as if covered with a bazillion bug-like creatures. She sat in her bathtub for hours, the water so unbelieveably hot that she was surprised her skin wasn't melting off of her bones.

And nothing she did could get the feeling of him away.

She absolutely hated to cry. But for some reason, the tears came so easily. She couldn't even cry quietly, she realized, after feeling Hunter's arm venture gently around her, pulling her close as he sat with her in the semi-darkness.

"I know some women . . . who never get over this," she sobbed. "I don't want that to happen to me."

"You're gonna be okay."

"What? Are you going to stay with me every night because I'm afraid to be alone?"

"If I have to, I will."

She looked up at him in surprise, seeing a man she had never seen before. A man who she realized was hurting probably just as much as she was . . . in a different way, perhaps, but he was hurting for her. She felt him pull her against his chest in a gesture of comfort, safety and security. She knew then he would always be there for her, and he wouldn't steer her wrong. And that was when she placed her entire trust in him alone.

------------------

"Hello?" she asked as she answered her telephone.

"Do you feel well enough to drive?" came Hunter's voice on the other end.

Honestly, no, she didn't. But she didn't tell him, because she realized quickly something was wrong. "Why? Where do I need to go?"

"I need you come down to Wilshire Memorial and pick me up."

"Why? What happened?"

"I'll tell you about it when you get here." And he hung up. She looked at herself in the long mirror. Her face was black and blue, still swollen. She was moving around a bit easier, but she was still sore. She was wearing a skirt because frankly, it was easier to put on than pulling on pants.

So she grabbed her long coat and headed out to her Dodge Daytona, trying valiantly to ignore the feeling of panic as she set out in the wide open spaces.

She pulled into the parking lot and found him in a room inside the ER. He was easy to find, since there were some uniforms standing around outside the door. She dropped her gaze as she walked past the officers, hearing them whispering behind her, feeling their stares. "That's Hunter's partner . . . the one who got raped," she heard. McCall winced. Obviously, nothing was sacred any more.

McCall pushed the door open and saw her bare-chested partner seated on an exam table, his right shoulder swathed in white sterile bandages.

"What's under there?" she asked, annoyed that he hadn't told her over the phone what was wrong.

"A hole." He was being a wisenheimer.

She felt her heart drop to her stomach. He didn't have to tell her who did it, and she didn't have to ask.

"Prognosis?"

"I'll live," he said dejectedly. "How about you?"

"I'll live." She heard his lighthearted chuckle.

"Cute couple, huh? He rapes you and then he shoots me." He leaned back and looked at her. "And he's still out there, free. And that makes me sick."

"Hunter, if anything happens to you . . ." she began, her eyes filling with tears. But the tears quickly stopped as Hunter's left hand reached out for hers and held it, not letting it go. It was the best feeling she had all day -- all week, even.

She gulped, thinking of her earlier telephone conversation with the Curuguayan government. "I think he's gonna get away with this."

He grunted in response. "Don't bet on it."

This was what true friendship was, she realized. And she knew she would treasure it close to her heart forever.

--------------------

McCall didn't know what pissed her off more . . . the fact that Hunter blatantly lied to her or the fact that he decided to seek revenge without her at his side. She silently cursed him under her breath as she drank a club soda and lime in the coach section of American Airlines on her way to San Pablo, Curaguay.

It had been about a month since the rape, and although she had a long way to go, she was starting to see the clouds start to break in her mind, allowing just a bit of sunshine in from time to time. Hunter had worked his ass off, recovering from his GSW to the right shoulder. And while he spent his afternoons in physical therapy, she paced back and forth in mental therapy.

She declined the offer of anti-depressants as well as sedatives. Drugs were not the answer, and all she needed was a prescription like that permanently on her medical file. No, she decided to work through her fear, anger and depressed desolation by attacking it with a ferocity that matched Hunter's. The only medicine she would even consider taking was the kind that would erase her memories and get rid of the nightmares that plagued her, and the flashbacks that sprung out of nowhere. And that kind of medication didn't exist.

She would have been fine at work if Hunter hadn't lied about the fishing trip. At first, the stares of her coworkers unnerved her, but very quickly, they approached her kindly and asked how she was. They were good-hearted people, wanting her to know they cared. Since Wyler had become their captain, the atmosphere at L.A. Metro Homicide had been much better. Wyler was a hard-nose, but underneath that mop of blonde hair, the man had a kind mind and heart.

"No here, senorita, no here!" she was told after sneaking into Wyler's office to use his telephone. Did Hunter forget that she was a detective? He was smart, but she'd like to think she was a little smarter. A smile played at her lips at the thought before it turned upside down. He was going to kill Mariano, she knew. And she had to stop him.

----------------------

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hunter asked McCall as she stared into the firing end of a mammoth gun she had never seen before. He was furious, but she figured they'd be furious together.

He tried to talk her into going back, and she tried to talk him into going with her. The stalemated argument was going absolutely nowhere, and she was proving that she could be as stubborn and hard-headed as he was.

They drove in silence from their surveillance of the Mariano hacienda to the hotel where Hunter was holed up. He strode into the one-bed hotel room and she followed him, trying to get him to understand that he was better than Mariano. That he had to let it go. She was unprepared about how personally he had taken this. Granted, the son-of-a-bitch shot him, but she knew that it was her rape that was fueling his fire.

And he gave in too easily after she pointed out that he couldn't kill Mariano in cold blood. Something was up. Sure, he'd hang loose at the embassy while she rattled a few cages as General Mariano's headquarters. But her desire to find his ulterior motive and plans diminished after dinner when they went back to the hotel room. She was exhausted from travel and Hunter looked just as tired. But there was only one bed.

He lay down on one side and looked at her expectantly. "Come on, you're tired," he told her, gesturing to lie down next to him. She was apprehensive at first, but the look in his blue eyes was purely honorable. And she was so tired. Hesitantly, she climbed into the bed and lay on her left side, facing out. She felt her eyes begin to close involuntarily as she drifted off.

But it was a short-lived respite, as she found herself sitting straight up in the bed, a strangled scream in her throat as the nightmare she had seen a thousand times reared its angry head. She felt Hunter's comforting arm reach around her shoulders and pull her toward him. She took it easily, leaning her full weight into his warmth, resting her head on his shoulder and chest. "You're all right, it was just a nightmare," he told her quietly, slowly running his hand soothingly down her arm. He finally rested his hand on her hip and reached around with his other arm, pulling her even closer to him. "See? I've got you."

For the first time in a month, she slept heavily and easily, secure in his embrace, with no demons chasing her through the darkness.