Chapter Twenty-Seven

Natasha

The warehouse is almost silent save for the clicking of Ripper's keyboard and the beating of Doc's heart under my ear. He's exhausted, and every time he moves, lines of pain tighten around his eyes.

We sit on the love seat together, his arm around my shoulders and my head on his chest. I wish I knew what to say to him. How to make all of this okay—or at least make sense.

"I wasted so much time." I slide my hand under his shirt, needing to feel the warmth of his skin. "If I'd listened to Gladys a year ago, we would have gotten together, and…I know you, Doc. You would have pushed and demanded and made me open up. If Bastian hadn't gotten out, if those drunk assholes hadn't come to my door…maybe we could have had a chance."

Doc presses his lips to the top of my head. His entire body tenses, until he releases a heavy sigh. "Tessa called me the night she died. I was working a double shift, and I didn't answer right away. I was tired, and when the phone rang, I'd just stretched out on one of the beds in the lounge to catch an hour of sleep."

Sorrow and regret ooze from his every word.

"She'd seen her ex outside her apartment building. I was going to ask her to move in with me that weekend. I'd made her a key—even put it in this little velvet bag I was carrying around in my pocket. As soon as I got her message, I found another doctor to cover for me and I left. But…I was too late."

I hold him tighter. Nothing I say will take his pain away. And I get the sense he's not done.

"I moved to Seattle a month later. I'd started drinking—a lot. But what did it matter? I was alone, and I was going to stay that way. If I didn't let myself get close to anyone, I couldn't lose them. If I didn't care, I couldn't be hurt. If I didn't try, I couldn't fail. Life is full of ‘ifs,' baby. And wasted time. We can't go back and change the past. All we can do is hold on to what we have now."

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting against another wave of tears. For days, I've been bouncing between the highest highs and the lowest lows. Between despair and joy. Sadness and peace. Anger and passion.

I'm alive again for the first time in forever. But for how long?

Doc shifts so his tired blue eyes meet mine. "I'm holding on, Natasha. Please promise me you'll hold on too."

If I could, I'd promise him forever. But I'm not that naive. Neither is he.

Before I can find the right words—or any words—the warehouse door opens with a loud whine. A tiny woman with fiery red hair stops after three steps, looks around, and grins. "Good gravy, I've missed this place."

Ryker ambles in behind her, a diaper bag over his shoulder and a baby carrier in his hand. "You were here last month, little bird."

"For all of five minutes. Installing a new hard drive in one of our servers doesn't count as ‘work.'" She shakes her head and stares up at him like he hangs the moon. With his height, he probably could. "You can't tell me you haven't missed it."

"No, I can't." Ryker stares down at the sleeping baby. "But I can't leave the two of you either. Not now. Maybe not ever again."

She reaches up to touch his cheek. "We'll talk about that later. When we don't have an audience."

Ryker nods, and the two of them move almost as one toward the couches. He sets the baby carrier down in the center of the rug. "I'll get the Pack ‘n Play."

The redhead drops a cross-body bag next to one of the fancy, overstuffed recliners. "Hey, Doc. Natasha? I'm Wren." Her firm handshake comes with a smile. "That's Harlow."

The baby stares up at her mother, cooing and balling her tiny fingers into fists.

Doc leans closer, a look of wonder on his face. "She has Ryker's eyes. Heterochromia isn't always passed down."

I scoot to the edge of the cushion to get a better look at the little one. Her irises are mostly green. The left has a bright blue streak, while the right also has flecks of hazel.

"They just started to change color a few weeks ago," Wren says. "Ry almost gave me a panic attack when he noticed it. He was just staring at her, frozen. Like she was some sort of alien." She laughs, then drops to her knees to unbuckle all the straps holding the baby in place.

"She is," Ryker mutters, almost under his breath. "At least she was until those two teeth came in. Now, she's an angel again." Ryker unfolds the bright blue Pack ‘n Play next to the recliner and glances around the warehouse. "Where's Graham? I thought he'd beat us here with the food."

Inara calls from the kitchen, "It took him almost half an hour to get through the line at Northwest SmashBurgers. He'll be here in a few minutes."

"Doc? Want to hold Harlow?" Wren asks.

My heart squeezes at the look on his face when he cradles the little girl in his arms. She squirms, stretching out her tiny hand. Her fingers brush his trimmed beard, and she smiles up at him.

"She's beautiful, Wren," he says, smoothing one hand over her wispy curls.

Ryker drapes his arm around his wife's shoulders. "She's perfect."

With a delicate snort, Wren tips her head up. "You might be a little biased, Ry."

"I'm a lot biased." He drops a kiss to her lips. "You have a problem with that?"

"Never."

Watching the two of them interact is almost mesmerizing. They're so in sync. The moment Ryker came into view with the Pack 'n Play, Wren shifted slightly, a hint of a smile curving her lips. Now, he lets his hand drift up and down her arm, the motion so casual I'm not sure he realizes he's doing it.

"Food's here!" Graham calls, and the warehouse door bangs shut behind him. He's laden down with three huge takeout bags and two drink trays. "West got caught at the light. He'll be here in a minute."

Doc passes Harlow to Ryker, who lifts her high in the air, then presses a kiss to her belly. "Nap time, baby girl. Go down easy, okay?"

Wren is already halfway to the long table where Graham is unpacking the food. "There better be a strawberry shake in there."

"Two of them," the young man says as he slides one of the drink carriers toward her. "And I got you extra pickles."

"Oh, thank God. I thought the cravings would go away after I gave birth, but now, I think I just really love pickles."

I don't think I can eat, but Doc's stomach has been growling for half an hour, so I follow him to the table. Wren and Ripper carry their food back to the sitting area, and the petite redhead pulls out a laptop. In minutes, the two of them are so buried in geek-speak, I don't understand a single word.

Ryker, Inara, and Graham join us at the table, everyone but me digging in to their meals in companionable silence. I can't pull my gaze away from the phone in front of me. Why hasn't Bastian called? What is he doing to Gladys? Where is he taking her?

Doc nudges a bag of fries closer to me. "Eat something, Natasha. Please."

"They took Gladys three hours ago. What if they've already killed her?" I press my hand to my mouth. If I don't hear something soon, I'm going to be sick.

"Sergeant, you will eat those french fries. That's a goddamn order," Ryker says in a tone I know all too well. The response is automatic, even after eight years. I grab a handful and start to chew.

"That was a low blow," I mumble through a mouthful of potato.

Ryker nods. "Damn straight. But it worked, didn't it?" He unwraps a second double cheeseburger. The first one disappeared in under two minutes. "I've been where you are, Natasha." He drops his voice to a whisper. "I almost lost Wren a few years ago. She was taken in Russia, and…"

"Ry, don't go back there." West sinks down across from me and snags a chicken sandwich from the pile of food. "When Inara and I got to the safe house outside of St. Petersburg, I don't think he could have told you our names, he was so wrapped up in how he'd ‘failed' Wren. Like one man going up against a Russian drug czar with more than thirty goons on his payroll was ever going to be a fair fight."

"Well," Inara adds, "the three of us, plus Wren, going up against Kolya and his men wasn't a fair fight either. For Kolya anyway."

The three share a look—like they can reach each other's thoughts. It's scary, but also reassuring.

"The two things you have to do—above all else—are eat and sleep." West pins me with his steely gaze. "You'll think it's impossible. But if you don't try, when the call comes in and we have to make a plan to get Gladys back, you'll be compromised. We need you at your best. You're the most valuable asset in this room."

I choke on another fry. "I've been out for eight years. You're wrong."

West sets his sandwich down slowly, picks up a napkin, and wipes his hands. Every movement is deliberate. No energy wasted. And he does it all while staring right at me.

No one else says a word. Even Ryker holds his breath.

"This is what I do, Natasha. It's what we all do. You served with Bastian and the others for years. You know how they think. And you might not believe me now, but you know how to get in their heads. So you'll eat—at least a little—and you'll sleep when you can. Because soon, Gladys is going to need you. And so will we."

After West's "pep talk," Natasha managed half a cheeseburger, and we shared a chocolate milkshake. Now, she's stretched out on one of the sofas with her head in my lap. Her fingers trace patterns on my thigh, though her eyes are closed.

"Got ‘em." Ripper's shout wakes the dog napping at his feet. Charlie leaps up in front of his human, paws braced for a fight with a low growl. "Whoa, buddy. Calm down. I'm good."

The dog plops back down, and Ripper scratches him behind the ears. "A car left the underground garage in Bella's building at 8:23 a.m. I have the same car entering Boeing Field parking at 9:08. Can't see who's in it, but a Gulfstream C-37A took off at 9:53 a.m. bound for Davison Airfield in Fairfax, Virginia. If that's not them…"

"Shit." Inara gracefully rises from her cross-legged position on a yoga mat next to the boxing ring. "At average speed, they'd land around…"

"Now," Rip says. "But there's no fucking way I can get into the traffic camera network around Davison in time to confirm."

"Have a little faith." Wren threads her fingers together, flips her hands palms out, and stretches her arms in front of her. Her knuckles crack one by one. "Let mama work her magic."

"Magic?" Natasha asks, her voice rough with exhaustion. She pushes up to sitting and rubs her eyes.

Ryker sets a bottle of water on the table next to his wife with a smile. "Rip can track a dollar, ruble, afghani, or yuan through a hundred transactions without breaking a sweat. And he's a damn good hacker in his own right, but Wren's the best in the world."

"Well, I used to be." Wren stifles a yawn. "Until I spent thirteen weeks so exhausted, I could barely remember my own name. But Harlow cut two teeth yesterday, and I slept five hours last night. I feel like a whole new woman. So let's see where these wing nuts are going."

Natasha rubs her eyes again. "Wing nuts? God. Now I know I'm tired. I'm hearing things."

Ryker chuckles. "Sweetheart, I think we need to get you a t-shirt with all of your swear words on them. Otherwise, we're going to keep having this conversation again and again and again…"

Wren's fingers fly over the keys as she lets out a delicate snort. "Anyone who spends time with me learns pretty darn quick. Raelynn figured out C. Jacks." She gets a gleam in her eye and peers over at me. "Cracker Jacks. And you and Natasha are staying in an apartment leased to H. Pucky Barnes."

I shake my head. "H… Pucky Barnes? I don't get it."

"Horse Pucky," Ryker supplies.

Wren is still typing away, so I glance up at the man. "And Barnes?"

"Bucky Barnes." Ripper pushes up, but sways on his feet. His fingers flex, a slight tremble to them until he balls his hands into fists. Charlie steadies him by pressing his big body to Rip's thighs. "The Winter Soldier? From Marvel Comics. It's one of Graham's favorite movies. And since that used to be his apartment, we went with it."

The man shuffles off to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and I squeeze Natasha's hand. "I'll be right back, baby."

She nods and draws the blanket up to her shoulders. We should have gone back to the apartment. At least there, we'd have a bed. And some privacy. Having her head in my lap for the past hour was pure torture. I'm sporting a near constant hard-on, despite the worry beating like a drum against my skull.

"Ripper?" I stop a good ten feet from him. The man spooks at the slightest unexpected sound—probably why Charlie never leaves his side.

"I take it you noticed?" He doesn't look at me as he refills his mug and adds a single spoonful of sugar.

"The tremors? The dizziness when you stand? Yes." Now that he knows I'm here, I put my back to the counter only a foot away. He still won't meet my gaze. Charlie wriggles his sleek body between the two of us, his focus locked on Ripper.

"Not worth talking about, Doc. We got so many TBIs in Hell, I lost count. In the six years after…" He shrugs. "I'm fucked in the head. In a lot of ways. When I remember to stand up slowly, I'm all right. Usually."

"Did you have any serious infections…where you were?" I ask. "Especially ones that caused nerve pain? Or neurological symptoms? Hallucinations, seizures, numbness…"

Ripper turns to me slowly, the fingers of his right hand brushing over a single spot on his chest. Charlie tenses, whines, and starts licking Rip's other hand until the man shakes off whatever memory he was momentarily trapped in. "More than one, yeah. Why?"

"Because this might not be related to all those TBIs. It could be POTS."

His brows knit together. "What the hell is POTS?"

"Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. Basically, it's a circulation issue. When you stand, your heart rate shoots up and your blood pressure bottoms out. POTS also causes tremors, sweating, chest pain…"

"Is it…terminal?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Fuck, no." I almost reach for the man before I stop myself. "It's not curable, but it's absolutely treatable."

The spark of hope in his eyes is heartbreaking. "You can treat it?"

"You'd have better results if you went to a neurologist?—"

"No." Ripper almost snarls the word, then curses under his breath. "I don't… Doctors… No. I trust you, Doc. It has to be you."

I nod. "Okay. When Natasha's safe, we'll talk about it. For now…drink a little more water with all that coffee. It'll help."

He almost smiles. "I'll try."