Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Delicate ❯ Ave Maria 1996 ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: Lyn and Andrew and their beautiful family are mine, must have expressed written consent to use, fanfic or whatever. Dee and Ryo etc. are not mine. Don't sue, I'm poor ^_^;

Delicate

Chapter Six:

Ave Maria 1998

By: Irish

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"NYPD! Open up!" Dee shouted pounding in the door hard enough to shake it in its frame. Drake stood back watching, waiting to see what happened. When there wasn't even a sound a movement from inside. Dee whirled to him, taking out his gun. "We're kicking her in. You ready?"

"Yeah, lets give this hunk of wood a little NYPD lovin'." Drake nodded in agreement. They back against the far wall, and charged simultaneously, bouncing off when the door gave not an inch.

"Shit, it didn't even budge. We aren't getting through!" The frustration in Dee's voice was audible, not only to his partner, but to those who were standing in the hallway staring on.

"We need to wait for backup with a ram." Drake shrugged, it was just another call, another domestic.

"No way, Drake, what the hell! When did you stop caring? Some one is dying in there. Come on.' Dee holstered his gun and charged down the hallway ignoring the questions by the various tenants who had come out to stare.

"What the hell are you doing Dee?" Drake called after him, moving just as quickly behind his partner, a note of panic in his voice. Dee wasn't known for doing things by the book.

"There is a fire escape out here… this is the last apartment on this end, the fire escapes should either connect or be a close hop." Dee shot back over his shoulder as he levered the window open, some of the sill crumbling to wood pulp in his grip.

Outside it was raining like a hapless angel had left a hose on, but Dee didn't pause as he climbed out onto the rusting iron safe-scape. He squinted, gauging the distance over to the next fire escape. It was less then five feet, but more then three. It would be a hard jump to make with no running start, and running wasn't an option, they would have to stand on the narrow railing…

"Drake, give me your belt, the one that holds up your pants, not your utility belt." Dee called, already whipping his off.

"Are you insane Dee?! Neither you or I is Indian Jones, we need to wait for backup!" Drake called over the pounding water, even as he removed his belt, prancing impatiently as Dee lashed the two of them together. Drake wasn't about to let some one die… just because it was bad weather and bad traffic and the NYPD didn't give a flying fuck about one more domestic. He and Dee had been partners for two years now, and they both believed they were in this job to help.

"I will make the jump first. We've got less then six feet of belt here… the jump is what… four feet? I'm gonna tie our belts to the railing here, so just in case… I have a chance to not fall. You come second, so I can catch you, alright?"

"If you think I am going to argue, you picked the wrong partner." Drake shot back, giving Dee a hand as the man climbed up onto the wet, slick railing of the fire escape. Dee took a deep breath as he looked down, fallowing the tumble of the raindrops to the sidewalk, four stories below. Hey, he might not die.

"Hail Mary, full'a grace… keep this fucknut alive for another call." Dee muttered under his breath, and leapt, holding onto the leather of his own belt and praying that he wouldn't need to find out just how strong the buckle really was.

His feet hit the rail on the other side, and scrabbled for purchase, the leather slipping from his hand as he flailed desperately, trying to fall forward, not back. He heard Drake gasp… and then his face was being mashed against the grating of the fire escape.

"Holy hell Dee… you are one lucky sonofa bitch!" Drake called, nervous laughter clearing the rain.

"Your turn jackass, come on hurry up, easy as your mother." Dee called back getting up, his uniform now soaked through. Drake climbed up, gripping their belts, taking a deep breath… and leaped.

Dee stepped forward, seeing Drake couldn't possible make it, grabbing him as Drake managed to wrap his fingers around the railing. Neither said anything as together they managed to get drake over the railing, tumbling onto the narrow 'scape.

"I'm going to kill you, you fucking bastard!" Drake panted, knees wobbling as he got to his feet.

"Hey now, this is why you wanted into the NYPD isn't it?" Dee hid his own shakes at the near miss by yanking out his magpie.

"NYPD! Open the fuck up!" He didn't actually give anyone inside time to respond as he rammed the butt of the flashlight through the window, shattering out the glass. Drake scrambled for his gun to cover his partner, as Dee reached inside and unlocked the window, throwing it open so hard that another pane of glass shattered.

"NYPD! We're coming in!" Dee drew his gun as he climbed through the window, scanning what looked to be the bedroom.

There was a suitcase against the wall, sprawled open as though it had been thrown, a litter of clothes adding to the idea. The bedclothes were ripped apart; a mirror on a vanity was broken.

"Get on the floor! Who ever is here get on the floor!" Dee shouted, his voice echoing like a shot in the silent apartment.

"This is fucking eerie." Drake muttered following Dee, his gun sweeping the room.

When they stepped out into the hall they saw a heavy trail of blood smeared over hard wood floor… someone had been dragged, or had dragged themselves, down the hallway. It ended at a shut door… with a knife buried in it.

"Be on your toes." Dee whispered, as he rounded the corner quickly, gun out into the kitchen. "GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!"

Drake whirled around the corner to cover his partner, expecting… well Freddy Kroger or the Lawn Mower Man, the way Dee had shouted. But as he trained his gun on the suspect, he saw that it was simply a man, standing around six feet tall, with roguish dark hair, dressed in khakis and a sweater…. Completely covered in blood.

"Good evening officers, can I help you?"

Drake wasn't sure how Laytner knew this man was the suspect, not the victim, but Drake didn't second-guess him, his gun not wavering.

"Get on the fucking floor! Right now. Put your hands where I can see them and get on the floor." When the suspect complied Drake darted forward to cuff him. "You got him buddy I'm going to find his partner…"

"Go, go." Drake waved a hand as he started to read the man his rights.

Dee followed the trail of blood down the hallway, pounding on the bathroom. "NYPD, open up!" He called, his heart pounding, feeling near frantic. He sensed who ever it was still alive… but with all this blood it wouldn't be long. Getting no answer, he backed down the hall, taking a deep breath before he charged the door, feet slipping in the blood before he gained friction. He threw himself against the door with all the power his lithe form possessed, falling into the bathroom with the door, grunting.

The bathroom looked like it had survived a tornado, part of the mirror had been broken, and was scattered across the floor, on what remained of it was a bloody handprint that slid slowly into oblivion. The shower curtain and rod had been pulled down and were filling the tub, and there was blood, everywhere. He saw no one.

"Hello?" His voice shook as he scanned the small room. He had been sure the victim was in here.

There was a soft moan; a twitch of movement… then Dee saw a hand among the pile of shower curtain. "Holy fuck." Dee moaned, not wanting to see what damage had been inflicted to the owner of that hand… because it looked like a dead fish. He swallowed as he crept across the bathroom floor, taking a deep breath before flinging the shower curtains and rode out of the tub and onto the floor.

The white porcelain of the tub was coated and smeared with blood, so was the china of the man's skin. His eyes were wide open, and Dee barely bit back a scream. He was no rookie, but he had never had a corpse look at him, not like this one was. The eyes were like two gems, a sapphire and an emerald set in broken porcelain. The eyes weren't just open; they were alive and staring, as cracked lips moved silently. Dee could see no wound. He felt frozen for a moment, pined by the man's gaze, by his surreal beauty. Then the man moaned.

"Holymarymutheragod." Dee whispered. "Hang on buddy, your going to be okay, I'm the NYPD.' Dee crouched down taking the mans hand, getting the limp arm around his shoulders, ready to hoist the man out of the tub so he could find where he was bleeding from.

"He…. has…knife." the victim whispered as Dee lifted him.

"Don't worry my partner has him secured." Dee pivoted, and laid the long body of the man out on the shower curtains, so he wasn't laying face down in his own blood. Dee couldn't restrain his groan this time as the movement caused the flesh of the mans back to separate, so Dee could see the knobs of his spine. The man didn't make a noise. "Holy hell… hang on buddy… Drake we need EMS right the FUCK now!" Dee shouted to his partner, pulling some thick towels from a shelf placing them on the man's back, then kneeling on him, trying to stop the flow of blood.

The man under him didn't even groan, and Dee looked down alarmed, pinching the man's bruised cheek hard. "Stay the hell awake, you aren't gonna die on me. No way in hell. You've got help, don't make me regret giving it." Dee growled. "What's our name?"

"Dying…. will…and testament." He moaned. "My…partner…. Joshua Miller…. Attacked me…when I tried…tried to leave…. after… years…or abuse… used a knife…"

"Nope, I'm not accepting it, because you aren't going to die. You hear me? What is your name?" Dee asked again, his heart still pounding, this man was too far gone to live… there was no way… but Dee wouldn't give up, not yet. He was still talking… if he could keep him talking.

The hand like a dead fish rose off the shower curtain, touching the golden crucifix that had fallen free from Dee's shirt, where he bent over the John Doe to look him in the eyes when he spoke.

"You…Catholic?"

"Yeah, raised by nuns. Don't get much more Catholic then that.' Dee replied quickly, smoothing dark, bloody hair back from a translucent brow.

"Know…last rites?"

"Yeah, but the fuck if I am performing them. I am not going you an excuse to die. If you die on me you deserve to wait in purgatory for a while." Dee replied, pressing his knee into the mans back harder, leaning over further, his forearms on the curtain, framing both their heads, where their foreheads almost touched like lovers. "Don't give up yet. You had the balls to leave him, you were leaving him, you must have nuts the size of basketballs. I saw the rest of the apartment; you did everything you could. What's your name?"

"John Doe." Black lashes fluttered as his eyes closed again.

"No! Stay awake! You will not die on me." Dee whispered, his own green eyes never leaving the mismatched ones across from him. "You are way to handsome to die. Man, if I wasn't holding your spine in with my knee I would ask for your phone number." Dee teased desperately, smiling a little. And he could see it, under the swelling, the lumps on the man's angular face, under the blood.

"What's…name…?"

"What's my name? Officer Dee Laytner."

The man nodded and took a wet breath. Dee sat up a little. "Drake where the FUCK are the paramedics, I'm loosing him!"

"Him?" Drake called back from the next room, keeping an eye on the suspect. "They are held up in traffic!"

"You hear that beautiful? Helps on the way. You just need to hang in there a little longer. You got any family we need to get a hold of?"

There was a slight shake of his head, a gray tongue slipped out to try and wet equally gray lips. "No…no…no one."

"Fuck that, everyone has some one. Hell I've been a fucking orphan my whole life and even I have someone. Hey, stay awake, keep talking."

"No one."

Dee swallowed, closing his own eyes, trying to regain professional distance. What was it about this man that had just…sucked him in…on a very personal level…he felt like he was sustaining a friend, or a partner… a real person… not…not just a victim. He leaned down again so he was practically forehead-to-forehead with the man.

"Why won't you give me your name? It won't be hard for me to find out anyway." Dee asked softly, taking the man's hand in his own when he reached out again, folding icy fingers in his own.

"Because I am going to die."

"Nope. Not gonna let ya.' Dee shrugged. "Sorry, it's just not in my agenda for the night. I got stuck with the fucking third shift; you are not going to make my night worse by croaking on me. You know how much more fucking paper work there is when someone dies?"

The John Doe sighed, and then started to shiver uncontrollable. Dee wasn't sure if he was cold or going into convulsions. He grabbed more towels, placing some over the soaked through ones under his knee, the rest he draped over his body as he finally, finally started to hear sirens in the distance. "You hear those handsome? You just need to hang on a little longer." Dee cajoled. He couldn't let this man die.

"Pray with me…?" The John Doe croaked, his fingers spasming in Dee's.

"That I can do… you know the rosary, handsome?" Dee smiled a little as the man nodded weakly. He fished his rosary from his pocket, and put it in the man's cold hand, helping him finger the beads. "Hail Mary full of grace the lord is with thee. Bless art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus Christ, Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

John's lips moved along with Dee's but he made no sound. The sirens were pulling up in front of the building. Dee prayed desperately, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Please God, please… Mary… protect this man, I know he can make it, with just a little help, please."

"Sé do bheath' a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhruinne losa. A Naomh Mhuire, a mháthair Dé, guí orainn na peacaithe, anois is ar uair ar mbás. Amen." Johns voice was barely audible, and Dee recognized the cadence if not the words, the man was still praying. Maybe he had found a will to live, Dee could only pray it was true.

It took another two Hail Mary's before the medics careened into the bathroom with a stretcher. "In here you slow ass bastards, Jesus Fucking Christ on a Cracker! Do I need to light your Asses on fire to get you moving this man is dying!"

"No, I figured it was a tea party we were being called out to. What's the deal?" Dee got off the man's back.

"He's been sliced straight down his back, his fucking spine is showing." Dee got his hands under the man's arms, helping lift him onto the stretcher. 'He won't give a name. He has lost a lot of blood." Dee knelt down so he was eye level with John Doe again, taking the hand that held the rosary. "Take it with you there beautiful, I think Mother will understand." Dee bent and kissed the man's forehead, before making the sign of the cross on it. "God bless…. I will pray for you." Dee whispered.

"What is he, your fuck bunny? Christ, Laytner! all you fags are alike." One of the medics mumbled. Dee ignored it, watching as they rushed the John from the bathroom and down the stairs on the stretcher, praying he would live.

Authors Note: Sorry that this chapter is short, but again I felt it was appropriate. Bear with me, the next chapter will come out in a few days and it will all make sense. Sorry if this isn't as well betaed as the last I was to impatient to go through the proper channels ^_^;