Chapter 24

"Throw your phones inside the house."

That voice…it didn't sound like Boyce, but that was because it was obviously being manipulated. It wasn't supposed to sound anything other than deep and intimidating, which it was doing a good job of. Sawyer had to fight down his panic when the bulky, indistinct form of the man stalking them came into view in the broken doorframe.

It had to be Boyce. He didn't remember the man being that damn big , but layers could cover up a myriad of tells.

"Phones," the man said, sounding annoyed. "And keys. Now." He raised an arm, and now Sawyer could make out the handgun—it was big, the kind that would put a hole in someone that couldn't be fixed by the best doctor.

And they had no gun—Sawyer had seen Bashir's fly out of his hand. It could be anywhere now. Even if Sawyer saw it, he was in no condition to dive for it. And Bashir didn't have the kind of garage where everything doubled as a weapon. There were no hammers hanging on the walls, no random handsaws or prybars or even a screwdriver that Sawyer could see. They had no weapon at all…except for th e obvious one. Or maybe it wasn't so obvious, since Boyce hadn't even mentioned it yet.

Fuck it, it was worth a try.

"Give us a second," Sawyer said as calmly as he could manage. He pulled the key out of the ignition, turning the car off, then fiddled with the fob for a moment. Come on, get off, get off…

"Hurry the fuck up!"

"I'm sorry." Sawyer knew better than to antagonize the man with the gun. "I'm moving slow since my accident." He finished his little modification then got out, holding his phone and the car key up in his good hand. "I'm going to toss these into the house."

"Do it." The enormous gun swung his way. "And if you try to throw them at my face, I'll shoot you in yours."

"Don't," Bashir gasped from behind them, and he wheezed as he struggled to get to his feet. Sawyer just nodded, resisting the urge to turn and make sure Bashir was all right.

Of course he's not fucking all right, his house has been invaded and he took a weight to the chest and fell down on concrete. He's probably still seeing stars.

But there was nothing Sawyer could do about that; all he could do was draw Boyce's attention to himself.

"It's okay," he said, not specifying to either of them who he was speaking about. He tossed his phone and the car key through the door back into the kitchen, and then Bashir was beside him and trembling so hard Sawyer worried a little that he was going to fall down.

Of course he was nervous. This was so far outside everything he had ever trained for, how could he not be? Sawyer was lucky he was just too fucking tired for his nerves to be in control. "Where's your phone?" he asked Bashir gently. Bashir looked at him, clearly not wanting to say, but that wasn't going to get them anywhere good.

"Hang on," Bashir finally said, reaching back and—

SMASH!

The bullet hit the windshield of the car just beside Bashir's face, shattering the glass into thousands of pieces that thankfully held together instead of spraying all over the floor. The noise was deafening though, and they clung together for a few seconds in the aftermath of the gunshot. Sawyer took the opportunity to shove the thing he'd separated from the key into Bashir's back pocket as he took his boyfriend's phone out, then threw it into the house as well. "He was just getting his phone."

"He was trying to be smart," the man replied, his eyes vicious behind his dark, full-face mask. "The two of you think you're so clever, don't you. Ramin with his big degree and you with your little theories, huh, detective? But that's where both of you fucked up. You didn't realize that you weren't the smartest people in the room anymore." His grip on his gun tightened. "And after today, everyone else will realize it too." He stood a little straighter. "I'm not even sure who I want to kill first, but—"

Sawyer gripped Bashir as hard as he could with his good hand as Bashir jerked forward, horror and rage fighting it out on his face. "Me," Sawyer said before Bashir could speak. "You want to kill me, of course. Finish what you started. Besides, how is Bashir going to really understand just how badly he's been outplayed if you don't leave him to suffer the consequences?"

"You can't kill Sawyer," Bashir said almost as quickly. "Police officers are already on their way here. They could arrive at any second. You need to get out of here while you can. "

No, that wasn't going to work. If they made Boyce desperate, then he would just kill the both of them and be done with it. "It's okay," he said to Bashir, smiling, hoping that he understood what Sawyer was trying to convey. "It's going to be okay, let me just…I'll talk to him, okay?" He turned back to Boyce, who was glancing between the two of them like he was watching tennis. His eyes were moving too fast, his pupils were dilated—was he on something? "Let's talk inside, just you and me. He doesn't have to see this."

"What if I want him to watch?" Boyce asked in his metallic voice. "What if I want him to suffer right along with you?"

"Then you'll make it too easy for him to figure out the puzzle," Sawyer said. "You like puzzles. You're good at them. Don't make my death that easy for him."

Boyce stared at him for a few interminable seconds before motioning at the door with his gun. "Inside, then. And you, stay here." He waggled the gun again. "If I see your face in that fucking frame, I'm going to blow his off."

"Sawyer." Bashir wasn't even looking at Boyce. His gaze was all for Sawyer. "Don't do this. Please, don't—"

"It's okay," he said again, hoping Bashir got it this time. "We'll be right inside the door." He risked a quick kiss to Bashir's lips, patting him gently with his good hand, then turned fast and headed into the house. He stepped through the busted frame, wincing at the sight of the destruction that had already been wrought. It was fixable, though. This was all fixable, if they got lucky enough.

Boyce followed him in, his eyes still darting to the door even as he finally moved past it and into the kitchen. Sawyer stood as close to the exterior wall as possible, silently urging Boyce to move in a bit. "How do you want to do it?" he asked, hoping—praying—that Bashir didn't do something rash like follow them in. "Just shooting me would be so dull."

"I already had my fun with you," Boyce pointed out, but there was a note of interest in that awful voice.

"You did, and that was…it was a pretty incredible ride," Sawyer admitted. "I was so scared. I don't think I've ever been that scared in my whole life."

"I could tell," Boyce said. "You tried to take the easy way out, but there's no easy way now, detective. If I had enough time…" His eyes went a bit glazed. "If I had enough time, I'd drug you…maybe just give you a paralytic, so you're awake for it, and then throw you into the junkyard lot off Sixty-Third. The guy there has a whole pack of mongrels watching the place at night, and they're absolutely savage to intruders. Even if they didn't outright kill you, you'd be unrecognizable after a little bit.

"Or maybe…" He took a step closer, and Sawyer had to resist the urge to tell him to stop moving in. A few more feet and this wouldn't work. "Maybe I'd bury you alive somewhere. Leave you with a camera that showed the outside world what you were going through, but without any hope that they'd be able to find you before you suffocated to death."

"I think Quentin Tarantino did that already," Sawyer said, his voice shaking a little.

"Yeah, but the person lived when he did it," Boyce said. "You wouldn't." He took another step. Shit. "Maybe a different kind of poison. Something agonizing, something that left you bleeding on the inside, and then a mundane death like running you over with your own car. Whoops, he was doing maintenance and forgot the parking brake." He chuckled, then shook his head. "But there isn't time for that, I'm afraid. I'm just going to have to make the most of shooting you and knowing that it's going to be Bashir who has to scoop your brains off the wall."

Fuck. Fuck , Sawyer had been counting on drawing this out longer. "But don't you think—"

"No," Boyce snapped, raising his gun. "I don't. And after this, you won't either, detective." Sawyer's mouth went dry, and he readied himself to lunge even though he knew it was going to be hopeless, there was no way he could cross the distance between them before Boyce had time to shoot him. He was going to be murdered in Bashir's kitchen and then Boyce would go after Bashir, and holy shit he couldn't let that happen, he couldn't, fuck —

A roar from the garage turned both their heads. Boyce brought his gun up, but a second later the wall between the kitchen and the garage collapsed inward as Bashir rammed his SUV through it. A piece of drywall smacked into Sawyer and knocked him off his feet, but the car hit Boyce and threw him onto his back in a shower of plaster and insulation before he was caught under the front right wheel.

"Back up!" Sawyer shouted as blood burst out of Boyce's gaping mouth. "He's being crushed!" He looked at the driver's seat and saw Bashir sitting there, gripping the wheel tight, staring straight forward like he wasn't really seeing anything. "Bashir!" Sawyer staggered to his feet and tripped over the debris to where his lover sat. "Babe, you've got to back up," he panted. "You're killing him."

Bashir turned and stared at him. "You have plaster in your hair."

"Bashir! You need to—"

"Are you okay?"

"Honey." Sawyer reached in through the window and pressed his good hand to Bashir's cheek. "You're amazing, you just saved my life and I love you so fucking much, but you've got to back the car up. Right now, before he dies." If he wasn't dead already. "We need him alive."

"We—" Bashir looked down and swore. "Fuck, right, hang on." He put the car into reverse and backed up, and a second later he was out and crouching down beside Boyce, who appeared to be unconscious. He ripped off the face mask, and—

Sawyer breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was Andy Boyce behind the mask. He'd known it ought to be, it had to be, but there had been just enough doubt in his mind to make him wonder whether they were doing the right thing. Now, though…

Now he wasn't wondering anymore.

His ears rang as he sank down next to Bashir, forcing his fatigue back in an effort to help Bashir keep this worthless asshole alive. They rang and rang…and then the room was filled with cops, and there was Nan, and Sawyer realized that it wasn't ringing in his ears, it was sirens.

"What the fuck, " Nan exclaimed, and Sawyer chuckled as he let her pull him away from Boyce.

Then the room went dark, and he sank into that darkness gratefully.

Sawyer opened his eyes, focused on a familiar water stain on the ceiling, and groaned. Shit, he was back in the hospital again .

"We ought to just put your name on this door from here on out," Nan said from somewhere close by. Sawyer grimaced as he turned his aching neck to look her way. She was sitting in a chair beside his bed, a cup of water with a bendy straw in her hands. She held it out to him. "Drink. Slowly, though."

Sawyer did so, grateful to get the taste of dust out of his mouth. Dust…plaster, the kitchen, Boyce, Bashir , oh shit —

"Whoa, it's okay!" Nan put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down onto the bed when Sawyer made to get up. "You need to calm down. You've still got an IV attached, Sawyer."

"Is Bashir okay?" he demanded. "What happened to Boyce? Is he alive?"

"Dr. Ramin is fine," Nan assured him. "He's a little bruised from the confrontation in the house, but he's going to be just fine. He's actually here in the hospital, but he's filling out paperwork in the cafeteria."

Paperwork? What paperwork? "I'm so confused," Sawyer confessed.

"Yeah, I bet." Nan sighed and sat back. "The short version is this: Dr. Boyce is alive, but in critical condition. It's too soon to say whether or not he'll live. And Dr. Ramin isn't under any sort of arrest, so get that look off your face," she added. "The evidence against Boyce is overwhelming now that we got a warrant to search his home, not to mention he tried to kill the two of you and is undoubtedly responsible for killing the cops we had stationed outside Dr. Ramin's place." Nan closed her eyes for a second. "The son of a bitch cut their throats."

"I'm sorry," Sawyer said softly.

"Me too, but we're not the ones who did it, so." She stared blankly at the wall for a second, then refocused on Sawyer. "Anyhow. We've got Tami Glen back in interrogation, only she refuses to talk until she can see Bashir, and Bashir refuses to leave the hospital until he can see you , which you'd think we'd be able to argue about but the man is vicious when it comes to hitting soft spots. So, we called a compromise: as soon as you wake up he gets to see you, and then it's back to the station to talk to Glen."

"I can go with him," Sawyer said.

"Bullshit you can."

"I'm fine!" Her glare could have peeled paint. "I'm not perfect, but I'm no worse off than I was before."

"You collapsed on the scene, and you expect me to believe that?"

Sawyer sighed. Sure, he might have gotten a little dehydrated, maybe a little out of balance with electrolytes or woozy from compounded head trauma, but he really didn't feel worse now than he had the last time he was let go from the hospital. And there was no way he was leaving Bashir to handle seeing Tami on his own, especially after what Boyce had done to them. "I'll check myself out if I have to."

"Sawyer…"

"Don't tell me not to. I don't care. I'm going with Bashir." He smiled. "In fact, if you could let him know I'm ready to go, that would be great."

Nan rolled her eyes but got to her feet. "Fine, but when he tells you you ought to stay here, I hope you listen to him. "

"I will." I absolutely won't.

Sawyer managed to detach the IV and monitoring equipment, use the bathroom, and soothe his irate nurse in the time it took Bashir to join him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed brushing tiny remnants of plaster out of the nooks in his cast when Bashir came in, looking like he'd just run up from the cafeteria. He'd changed into different clothes, but judging from the dark circles beneath his eyes, he hadn't gotten any sleep in the—Sawyer glanced at the clock on the wall—four hours since his home had been invaded by a maniac .

"Hey."

Bashir blinked at him. "You're up."

"Yes."

"Ah."

That was too many monosyllables for Sawyer. He walked over to Bashir and took his hand. "Are you okay?" he asked, squeezing gently.

"I—" The distance left Bashir's gaze, and he shuddered a little as he sighed. "No. I'm not, but I could be worse. I mean…"

"I get it." Sawyer nodded.

"What about you? Why are you out of bed?"

"I'm fine."

Bashir shook his head. "You exacerbated one of the breaks in your arm when you fell, and the doctor on call had to reset the bone. You've got to be in incredible pain. You should stay here."

Sawyer sighed. Yes, his arm hurt. Yes, it would be nice to lie down again, even if it was on a hospital bed, but the truth was… "I can't." He leaned his forehead against Bashir's shoulder. "I'm not going to be able to get any more rest without you. I know I won't, so please don't ask me to try. Just let me come with you to the station to talk to Tami—I don't even have to be in the room, I'll wait outside, but I want to be with you." It felt awkward, almost painful to let himself be so blatantly honest about what he wanted, but it was the truth. "Don't leave me in the same hospital as Boyce," he added, and that got a little chuckle.

"Okay," Bashir said. "Okay. But you have to take it easy, all right?"

"I will," Sawyer promised. "Uh…whose car are we taking? "

"Well, mine is officially evidence for the time being, so Nan will drive."

Great. Greeeeeat. Maybe if she was driving, she'd be less inclined to tell Sawyer he was an idiot.

Not likely.