by Abigail Roux
Shawn’s jaw clenched and he sat back down with a thump.
They sat staring angrily at one another for several minutes. Shawn had a
right to be angry, and that made Thiago enjoy it all the more. Let the bastard suffer.
Let the bastard realize just how much he’d thrown away by being a stubborn ass.
Thiago knew he’d give up everything he knew for the person who loved him like
Remy loved Shawn, but Shawn was clinging to his goddamn loyalty like there was no tomorrow. Pedazo de pelotudo.
“Wasn’t my idea, Shawn,” Thiago said maliciously. “He begged me to fuck
him. He said, and I’m quoting, ‘I wanna be fucked into next week before the
execution.’ Made me glad I was the one to go check on them.”
“I checked on them, too,” Nikolaus grumbled. “He was still drugged when I
went in there.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t exactly coherent, come to think of it. Kincaid said he’s
been talking to his motorcycle,” Thiago said distantly as he looked at Nikolaus
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closely.
Shawn was up and gripping Thiago’s shirtfront from across the table before
Thiago even registered the movement. Shawn pulled him out of his chair and
practically dragged him across the table, cursing and growling and threatening to dismember him.
Thiago grabbed at Shawn’s wrists, trying to stop his forward motion, but it
was no use. Shawn pulled him completely across the table and dumped him
unceremoniously onto the floor before laying into him.
“Brandt!” Nikolaus called in a panic as he ran around the table and threw his
arms around Shawn’s shoulders, trying to restrain him. “Shawn’s trying to kill
Thiago!” Nikolaus shouted as Shawn landed a stinging blow across Thiago’s chin.
Thiago swung his fist blindly in retaliation for the blow and connected with
something, but since Shawn continued trying his damnedest to throttle him, Thiago assumed he had hit Nikolaus.
Great. He had just knocked out the only assistance he was likely to get.
“You fucking bastard! What did you do to him?” Shawn snarled.
Thiago understood. He didn’t blame Shawn for trying to kill him. If Remy
really had been drugged and not simply faking in order to escape, Thiago would never have touched him. But the evil part of Thiago needed Shawn to suffer for being a
bastard, and so he carried on with the charade.
“What’s wrong, Shawn?” he said in his best sneer. “You’re gonna kill him
anyway, right? Besides,” Thiago added with a little smirk as he forced his knee
between Shawn’s legs. “I think he probably enjoyed it.” Shawn’s eyes went black
with rage and Thiago gave the man his best shit-eating grin. “What I did is no worse than breaking his heart,” he added, whacking the last nail into the coffin.
‘Suffer, punta, suffer!’ Thiago thought maliciously as he saw the pain flash through Shawn’s eyes. He was about to ram his knee into Shawn’s groin when two
large hands entered Thiago’s vision and grabbed them each around the neck.
Thiago had never been lifted into the air by his neck, and he decided that it
was an experience he never wanted to have again. Brandt squeezed Thiago’s throat
until he thought his head might just pop off, and Thiago cringed submissively on his knees as Brandt bent over them. Shawn didn’t seem to be faring much better, and
Thiago held onto Brandt’s wrist and tried to pry his fingers loose in order to get air.
“Bad!” Brandt yelled at them both, shaking them until Thiago thought his
brains would simply leak out of his ears.
“You hit me,” Nikolaus stated accusingly as he sat up and rubbed his cheek
gingerly.
“You hit Gizmo?” Brandt asked in disbelief. He dropped Shawn and Thiago
like lead weights and reached to grab something from the top of the table. “Which one
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did it?” he roared, and when he turned around Thiago saw that he was holding a
magazine in his hand and rolling it into a tight roll. Nikolaus pointed at Thiago, and Thiago turned his head to look at Shawn disbelievingly just before Brandt whacked him in the head with the magazine roll. The blow sent him toppling sideways, and he remained on the ground, staring up at Brandt with wide eyes. “That’s for hitting
Gizmo! Now who started it?”
Thiago pointed at Shawn, and Shawn glared at him angrily.
“He–”
“Shut up! If you wake Trigger up, you’ll both be sorry,” Brandt said, adding
a whack to Shawn’s head for good measure. “And that’s for starting it!”
“Jesus,” Thiago muttered as he rubbed his stinging ear gingerly. “That thing
fucking hurts,” he mumbled.
“I know it hurts, that’s why I did it! Now, I don’t give a fuck what you’re
fighting over!” Brandt hissed.
“But he–”
“Shut it, Beignet! You’ve been a dick and I hope you get a nosebleed! Now
you, go to your room!” Brandt shouted at Shawn as he pointed to the dark hall.
“Are you fucking pissing me?” Shawn said in disbelief as he finally got to
his feet and stared at Brandt. Brandt whacked him in the head again.
“That’s for being a dick,” he said. He then dropped the magazine and dug
around in his pocket until he pulled out an object, yanked at it, and thrust it into Shawn’s horrified face.
Shawn backed away a few steps as Thiago finally got to his feet, and
Thiago’s heart stopped when he realized Brandt had just pulled the pin out of a
grenade.
“I’ll stick this so far up your ass, the smoke will come out your ears,” Brandt
growled.
“Holy hell!” Nikolaus exclaimed. “Can you put that thing back in that?” he
asked as he scooted backward on the ground.
“We won’t find out unless Beignet moves his ass!” Brandt said gleefully.
“Zed, you too! Move it! And if I hear any more fighting I’ll make you sit on the sofa and hold hands all fucking night!”
Thiago and Shawn scrambled away, leaving Nikolaus alone to discover if a
pin could be reinserted into a grenade.
XVI.
CARL groaned and rolled to shield his eyes against the sudden burst of light, but the
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movement caused a bolt of burning pain to shoot up his ribcage and he groaned again.
Fucking hell. Being shot was a bitch. Carl cracked his eyes open and looked
up at Brandt.
“Sorry,” Brandt whispered as he pushed the door shut and stepped closer to
the bed. “How you feeling, Trigger?”
“Been better,” Carl mumbled. “What was all the yelling about?”
“Oh, nothing. Beignet was trying to kill Zed, I think. No big deal,” Brandt
said as he sat carefully on the side of the bed and leaned over, placing a hand on the mattress next to Carl’s other side and looking down at him affectionately.
Carl’s eyes widened in alarm. “Why? What happened?”
“I dunno,” Brandt answered with a shrug. His free hand came to rest on
Carl’s forehead and Carl closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the tender touch.
“What did Zed do to Dixie?” Carl asked as he struggled against sleep.
“What makes you think he did anything to Dixie?” Brandt asked curiously.
“Never seen Shawn lose control unless it was over Remy,” Carl said
“Hmm. Guess I should have asked, huh?” Brandt said nonchalantly as he got
up and went to the bureau.
“Probably,” Carl said with a slight smile. “What are you doing?”
“Time to change the dressing.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“No no, I know what I’m doing this time,” Brandt insisted as he walked back
over and turned on the lamp at the side of the bed.
“But… but why don’t you call Zed, yeah? We can find out what happened
while he’s dressing it,” Carl suggested desperately as Brandt pulled the covers back off his body. Carl tried to scoot away, but he was too weak and tired and slow.
“Nah!” Brandt said as he ripped the tape away from Carl’s skin and yanked
the bloody dressing from his body. It not only tore away hair and skin, but also the dried blood that had attached to the open wound. Carl whimpered and bit his lip.
Brandt grinned winningly. Sadistic bastard. “We’ll find out what happened in the
morning,” Brandt added absently as he fiddled with a roll of gauze. “Did I get all that tape?”
“If you do that again, I may piss myself,” Carl mumbled weakly.
“Well, can you stand up then? Don’t want to get the bed wet,” Brandt
requested distractedly as he put the gauze down and took the little brown bottle he had retrieved and opened it carefully.
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“Fucking hell, Wally. Go get Thiago,” Carl pleaded miserably.
“It’s just disinfectant,” Brandt said defensively. “I can’t pour it on you when
you’re laying in bed.”
The hurt brown eyes staring down at Carl almost convinced him to go ahead
and let Brandt change the dressing. He was so protective and caring and almost
gentle, and he so wanted to help. Carl almost decided to let Brandt go ahead and
change the dressing again. Almost.
“It’s not disinfectant, Wally! It’s rubbing alcohol!” he yelled desperately.
“But–”
“Go get Thiago!”
XVII.
Shawn stared up at the dark ceiling and fumed. Remy had betrayed him. He’d
trampled all over Shawn’s trust and practically laughed in his face afterwards, trying to use him as an excuse for the betrayal.
Shawn was so angry that he was disregarding several facts about his and
Remy’s relationship. The whole goddamn thing was based on a betrayal. Shawn’s
betrayal. But Shawn was conveniently pushing that to the far reaches of his mind and holding desperately to his anger. The anger was his safe mode. He knew how to be
angry.
There was a light scratching at the door, but Shawn barely moved when the
door cracked open and then closed again.
“Did you get the pin back in?” he asked his new companion.
“Brandt took care of it,” Nikolaus said as he slipped out of his shoes and sat
on the edge of the bed to remove his socks. “Does it bother anyone else that Brandt always looks confused when someone else is terrified? I mean, he doesn’t seem to
understand that normal human beings don’t like the prospect of being blown up.”
Shawn hummed noncommittally and Nikolaus turned to look at him as he
stripped off his T-shirt.
“I thought you might want company,” Nikolaus said softly. “If not I can
leave you alone. Sleep in there with Thiago.”
Shawn looked at Nikolaus then and scowled in the moonlight.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company tonight,” Shawn responded
gruffly, and Nikolaus nodded.
“I hate to tell you, Shawn, but you’re never very good company,” he said
with a smile.
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Shawn glared at him, but he had to give the young German credit for being
brave enough to say it.
“Thiago would never hurt Remy, y’know,” Nikolaus said assuredly.
Shawn shot into a sitting position on the bed and took Nikolaus by the throat,
pulling him closer and growling when their faces almost touched.
“You heard what he said,” Shawn snarled.
“And you know Remy better than that,” Nikolaus stated with difficulty.
Shawn frowned as his grip loosened. He didn’t follow. “You know that one, Remy’s
never as drugged, oblivious, helpless, tied up, lost, confused, or clumsy as he acts.
And two, that if Thiago had wanted to fuck him, Remy wouldn’t have refused him,
drugged or not.”
Shawn growled again and shoved Nikolaus backwards, but the younger man
caught himself before toppling over the edge of the bed and he turned around on his knees to face Shawn angrily.
“You’re being a stubborn fuck,” he spat.
Shawn gaped at him. Wow. Nikolaus was angry. Shawn had never seen him
angry before.
“He loves you, Shawn. And you’re not only willing to throw that away for
some fucked up sense of loyalty, but you’re willing to take his life over it. And you love him! That’s the worst part of it! If there were any doubts before, seeing you fucking pull Thiago across that table was enough to convince me. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“This is the way it is, Niko,” Shawn said sternly. “Once trust is lost in this
game there’s nothing left.”
“This isn’t a fucking game, Shawn! Will you actually be able to point a gun
at Remy and pull the trigger? Because none of us will do it for you, that’s for fucking certain! Can you squeeze that trigger and know that you’ll never see him again?”
“Nikolaus–”
“Know that you’ll never hear his voice again? Never hold him close to you
and feel his body next to yours? Never–”
“Stop it!”
“No! Because you have to think about those things! You have to think about
what the rest of your life will be like without him! And you’ll have to think about the look in his eyes when he looks at you that last time. You’ll have to see those
heartbreaking, pleading eyes every time you close your own. He’ll haunt you ’til your dying day, Shawn, and you’ll be miserable and empty for it.”
Shawn had been angry. He’d been fuming. Seething, even. But as Nikolaus’s
words sank in, a knot formed in Shawn’s throat and he couldn’t breathe. He could
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picture it just as surely as if he had done it already. Remy on his knees, bound hand and foot, looking up at him with those deep brown eyes. Shawn knew what he’d see
in those eyes as he pointed the gun. He would see pain and betrayal. He would see hope and supplication. He would see despair and regret. Worst of all, though, he
would see love and forgiveness.
Shawn slumped back onto the mattress and covered his face with his hands.
“What do I do, Niko?” he asked miserably
“That’s easy,” Nikolaus said immediately. “You have to talk to him. Get his
side of the story.”
“Right,” Shawn said after a moment of silence. “Right,” he repeated quietly
as he let his hands fall to his sides and he looked up at Nikolaus. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Nikolaus nodded and settled down cross-legged on the bed. “You want to be
left alone tonight? You wanna go talk to him now?”
“No. We’ll give him the night to calm down, get those fucking drugs out of
his system. Give me the night to calm down, too.”
“Fair enough,” Nikolaus said softly, and he
swung his legs around to hang
off the side of the bed and made to get up.
“Niko?” Shawn ventured as he put out his hand to stop Nikolaus from
leaving. “Keep me company?”
XVIII.
NIKOLAUS knew if he didn’t stay with Shawn tonight, no one would. He also knew
Shawn didn’t need to be alone. He needed to have company to keep him from
brooding, because in a man like Shawn, brooding was dangerous. Nikolaus suspected he was the only one who actually felt sorry for Shawn right now. But he could
understand where Shawn was coming from. Nikolaus felt betrayed, too.
All that time and Remy had been working against them. Or had he? Had it
been John who turned him? Nikolaus didn’t know, but he knew how Shawn felt.
Angry. Betrayed. Lost. He was definitely in need of a commiseration. Why not share in the misery?
XVIV
BRANDT didn’t get what the problem was. He could change a dressing. A little burn from the alcohol, a little gauze, a lot of tape. Ta da! You had a dressing!
Carl was being a pansy.
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Nevertheless, Brandt had gone and gotten Thiago, as requested. He sat on the
end of the bed, watching like a hawk to make sure Thiago didn’t hurt Carl. But
Thiago’s movements were quick and gentle, and Carl didn’t cry out once, so Brandt reckoned he was okay.
“There,” Thiago said finally, and he rested his hand on Carl’s forehead
briefly before sitting back into the chair he’d dragged over to the bed.
Thiago looked tense and drawn, and every sound that issued from the outer
rooms, whether it was big or small, made him glance at the closed door worriedly.
“Beignet wouldn’t hurt Dixie,” Brandt told him confidently, and Thiago
glanced at him and nodded. “Did you hurt Dixie?” Brandt asked calmly, though his
eyes flashed in warning, and Thiago swallowed with difficulty when he looked at
him.
“Of course not,” Thiago said softly. “But I’m afraid I made Shawn think I
