Our Stories
Random Story
Art Gallery
Guest Book
Favorites
 Title: More Waiting for Jack Author: Su Freund Email: su_freund@ficwithfins.com Website: http://www.ficwithfins.com/ Category: Angst/Romance/Drama/Whumping Content Level: Age 13+ Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language. Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete Season: 8 Spoilers: None Summary: "Between the wish and the thing, life lies waiting" Proverb Sequel/Series Info: Sequel to Part 11 of Jack/Catherine series: Waiting For Jack Status: Continuing series Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright 2008 Su Freund Author's Note: Eternal thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) who beta read this story and whose suggestions unerringly make my writing better. Also thanks to those people who are reading this story, and sending me the encouraging feedback that keeps my muse alive. More Waiting for Jack Pete Shanahan was slightly perturbed. He knew there might be a number of reasons why someone had attacked Jack O'Neill. It could be aliens, or a shady outfit in league with aliens, or something equally top secret. Therefore, strictly speaking the attack was none of his concern because of the national security implications. The FBI or NID or some other equally irksome organization would take the investigation out of his hands. Or, it could be an aggrieved subordinate, past or present. O'Neill, after all, could be a very annoying man, he thought with amusement. Seriously, though, he figured the general had probably made many enemies during his career, as well as friends. If it was Air Force related, however, the attack was probably in the remit of military police rather than Colorado Springs PD. No matter what the reason, or who investigated, the detective knew something that none of these other people knew. O'Neill's girlfriend's ex had beaten up on her and the man was out for revenge. No matter how long and hard he thought about it, the coincidental timing of the subsequent attack on O'Neill was just a little too much to be a fluke for his suspicious cop's mind. Only a couple of days before, Pete had passed on information to O'Neill that allowed him to locate his girlfriend's ex, and then this happened. Duh! So, the apparent happenstance nagged at him, which was one reason he had argued with his captain that he should take the case. The two men had bickered about conflict of interest, the detective being Colonel Carter's fiance and all, but eventually Shanahan had persuaded his boss he was the best man for the job. His contacts in the Air Force, and inside Cheyenne Mountain, were an advantage to the investigation. Or it had seemed that way to his captain once Pete made his pitch. Apart from that, Pete Shanahan was one of the best detectives they had down at the precinct. He knew it, and so did his captain. So he used that fact to his advantage. Shanahan felt a little bit guilty in some ways. If his suspicions about this not being mere chance were right, he figured O'Neill might not have got himself into this situation if not for the role he had played in this whole mess. Pete had, after all, provided the general with information about his namesake's whereabouts. If Rodgers was not going to get justice through a court of law, there were other ways in which to serve justice. Pete had no problem with that and had trusted O'Neill to do a good job and be careful. The man was trained to do harm, and covertly. Pete did not know much about the general's background, but he observed things. To the cop's sharp eyes, his demeanor told him a lot about the man - and his position as leader of SG-1 and then commander of the SGC certainly gave him a few clues. Not that Shanahan was into vigilante type activities as such, but cops sometimes do favors for non cops. Quid pro quo. It could pay a cop huge dividends to hold a few markers and turn the occasional blind eye. But for Shanahan, doing O'Neill the favor he asked was not simply about the debt he now owed. His motives were far more complex. Until now, he had not felt too guilty about stretching, if not breaking, the rules. Particularly as it meant O'Neill owed him a big one. Catherine's ex deserved a beating of his own and Pete supplied the information that would let Jack O'Neill carry out a fitting punishment. Sure, it was wrong but life is both a bitch and a bastard. Often, you had to be one or both of those things to beat the criminals of this world, and Pete so hated it when bad men got away with doing bad things. The notion that O'Neill was seeking revenge on an abusive ex-husband had seemed okay because he hated those guys. They were sick violent bullies who preyed on those weaker than them because they could, and because they were those kinds of people. The detective saw a lot of crap almost each and every day. Sometimes he felt like he was swimming against the tide, getting virtually nowhere fast. The bad stuff was endless, and cops tried hard but were unable to stem the flow. Okay, so Colorado Springs was hardly up there with the big cities of crime, but there was some dark stuff going on in its streets. Then there was Sam. She was a ray of sunshine that lit that darkness for him. He loved her and felt obligations toward her friends. If they needed help, he would give it if he could. In O'Neill's case, he could so he did. Frankly, he admired the man's nerve in asking him for help in the first place. The more he learned about the general and got to know him, the more remarkable and intriguing he became. Someone worth having on your side. Now the tables had turned and O'Neill was in hospital Pete kept pondering his decision to give O'Neill that information. He hoped to get the nasty pieces of work that had done it without also getting either himself or Jack O'Neill into trouble. Sam would so kill him if she knew he was involved, and that was just for starters. On top of all that, Pete was surprised to find himself actually liking O'Neill. He was the kind of man who could grow on you - like a wart, perhaps, but that did not necessarily make him less likeable. So, the cop almost took this attack as a personal affront on someone who had the potential to be a friend, or a pal at least. He wanted to see the general get through it, and he wanted to get the people responsible. Lock 'em up and throw away the key. Despite the role he had played, Shanahan's personal guilt about these events did not extend too far. He knew O'Neill would have found out about the ex anyway. He was a stubborn and determined man, and far from dumb. So if the ex was behind this, the attack probably would have happened anyway. Especially if O'Neill had been a target from the word go, as he speculated was possible. The cop already knew a lot about the assault. More than most people, and enough to start putting two and two together. He knew more because the police had a witness. Young Johnny James. 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 Shanahan took a perverse kind of pleasure from the initial reactions to his arrival in the waiting room, particularly Sam's. She looked happy to see him, and that was something that would give him pleasure forever, he believed. The cop was not there to see Sam, not unless she had something she could reveal about O'Neill's attack, which he doubted. But he knew she would be upset and worried about O'Neill, so he was not averse to the fact that his job and private life collided. "Pete!" Sam exclaimed, moving toward him. "Hi babe," he said, greeting her with a big smile. "Wha...?" she asked. Her fiance was the last person she had expected to see tonight, but she was pleased he had come. His arrival made her feel slightly better, and the comfort of his arms around her while she was distressed about her CO could be a sanity saver right now. "I'm sorry about O'Neill," he said. "I wouldn't have intruded, Sam, but I'm here on business. Though I guess that doesn't stop me from kissing my favorite girl, does it?" His grin broadened and he closed the gap between them, kissing her briefly on the lips. Even more briefly, his arm enfolded her and squeezed soothingly, but he quickly pulled back. "You okay?" he asked, searching her eyes. "I'll feel much better when we get some good news about General O'Neill." She looked strained and worried. Pete wanted to pull her in his arms for a long reassuring hug, but it seemed inappropriate while he was there to investigate a case. "Me too." He leaned into her ear and whispered so no one else could hear. "Sorry, honey. I wish I could stick around and talk, but duty calls. Talk later?" She nodded. One thing Sam knew plenty about was duty. So, although she longed for him to cuddle her, she did not resent his need to press on with work. She understood. "I'm looking for O'Neill's girlfriend. That her?" He indicated Catherine and Sam nodded again. "So this is your case?" she asked, and Pete confirmed it, a fact that Sam found reassuring. She knew Pete was good at his job. One of the best. "I'll introduce you," she offered, leading him over to the others. Although, Catherine's heart had leapt erratically at the mention of the name Pete, she quickly calmed down. She knew about Sam's fiance. Jack had filled her in. Now, as he approached, she figured she might have some things to tell him if he was investigating this case. "Pete, this is General O'Neill's, um, girlfriend, Catherine Fellowes. Catherine, this is my fiance, Pete Shanahan. He's a police officer," said Sam. "I know. Jack and I met during your engagement party." While they shook hands, the detective acknowledged the presence of Daniel and Teal'c with a short glance and bob of his head. The two men stood, approaching, and he noticed the expectant looks on all of their faces. They wanted answers. Mostly, they wanted to know O'Neill was okay, but other answers might help until they got news. Pete could not give them any. At least for now. The detective was in a difficult position. His fiance's involvement meant this was a more personal case than usual, but he was a cop. Unless and until he needed to, he would not share the details of his investigation with anyone, not even Sam. He sighed heavily, knowing what he was about to say would please no one. Especially the woman he loved. "I can't tell you anything. Not yet." O'Neill's three friends gave him varying looks of irritation. "I need to speak to Ms Fellowes alone." "Pete, we need to know what's going on!" Sam objected. He looked at her sharply with a steely expression. "Sam, I promised not to interfere with your work again unless you asked. Please don't interfere with mine." His rebuke took her by surprise, but she nodded agreement and backed off, feeling suitably chastised. Sam did not have to like it, but at heart she knew her fiance was right. He was a cop and she had to live with that, just as he had to live with her career choices. If they had not been able to agree about that, Sam would never have agreed to marry him. Pete knew she loved her job, and that it would come first for now. He moved toward Catherine, planning to lead her out of the waiting room to a small room Jesse Ellis had found for him to use. As he opened his mouth to say something, Catherine spoke up before he uttered a single word. "I bet the son of a bitch planned this," she said, not making her allegation very clear. "Ma'am?" Pete queried, guessing she was referring to her ex but pretending he knew nothing about the background. Catherine appeared a little wobbly on her feet and he gently steadied her with a hand on her elbow. The three team mates said nothing and listened, letting the detective do his job, at least for now. "Who are you talking about?" "Pete, my ex husband. He's behind this, I'm sure of it." Catherine clarified, the accusation endorsing Shanahan's working supposition. She started to sob, the bottled up emotions getting the better of her. "This is my fault." "I think we need to discuss this elsewhere, ma'am," he replied and she eyed him hesitantly, then nodded acquiescence. Sam glanced at Daniel, who could see the frustration on her face plain as the strip lighting overhead. Like the rest of them, Daniel knew she would wish to be a fly on the wall during this exchange, but it was not to be. Her team mate smiled faintly and moved to her side supportively, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze as they helplessly watched her fiance steer Catherine out of the room. "Come on guys," Sam said with a calm she obviously did not feel. "Let's get some coffee." Daniel chuckled. Her tone implied that coffee would fix everything and even an outright addict like him knew it would not. Then again, a small dose of caffeine never did anyone any harm, right? 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 Johnny James might be a young boy, but he was a mine of useful information, supplying invaluable intel about the vehicle used by the perps, and its number plate. It turned out the truck belonged to local muscle for hire, Dave Shaw. Down at the precinct they called him Shady Shaw, rather than Sandy like the criminal's friends, and Shanahan's colleagues were trying to find him right now. Shaw's arrogance was staggering. Shanahan was astonished that the man used his own vehicle while committing this crime. A lucky break. Some criminals were just so incredibly dumb they made catching them seem easy. His fellow cops would find Shaw and all the men responsible sooner or later - probably sooner as a result of young Johnny's perfect recall. The boy's mug shot identification of Shaw was a clincher. Johnny was a great kid with a child's ambition to become a cop. Sure, he had some overly romanticized notions about the job. Go figure, he was a kid and watched too much TV. Even so, he observed things other people might overlook, so Shanahan hoped this youthful desire would materialize into reality. They could do with more people like that on the force. His mother, however, obviously did not want that for Johnny and the detective guessed he could not blame her for this. There were easier, less dangerous and better paid jobs in abundance. Mrs James was pissed with her son for going out alone while she was at work, and for getting himself involved with the police. She was particularly annoyed that her son was a key witness to a crime. Pete sympathized to some extent, but had to point out that she should not be leaving her son on his own in the first place. The boy was far too young to be fending for himself. The cop knew Johnny's mom had little choice, was a single parent bringing a kid up alone. His comment, however, shut her up and stopped her interfering with Shanahan and Johnny. The boy, on the other hand, lapped it all up. Pete humored, encouraged and befriended him by escorting him around the precinct and showing him things young boys of his tender years did not normally get to see. It was the least he could do for the kid, he thought. What he had not prepared himself for was a small case of hero worship. By the time his mother took him home, Pete Shanahan had become the cop Johnny wanted to emulate. To Johnny, this was way better than anything he had ever seen on TV. This was real. He was an excited little boy who would sleep very little that Saturday night, despite anything his mom said. His little chats with Johnny and his mom made Pete ponder. Why did anyone want to become a cop? In fact, why had he become a cop? If he was honest, Pete was not entirely sure anymore, about either why he started or why he continued. He was good at it, and maybe he even liked it from time to time, but he wondered if that was enough. Kids like Johnny gave him hope. That helped. A chink of light in the ever increasing darkness. Pete had to hang onto stuff like that because sometimes his work was just so darned disheartening. Shanahan had one small problem with Johnny as an eyewitness. He had not seen the perps lay a finger on O'Neill, only dump him amongst the trash. He needed more than this because he figured the attackers could weave some sort of fabrication around this fact - with the help of clever lawyers, possibly hired by the wealthy Peter Rodgers. Not that they would necessarily get away with their crime, but this was always a possibility. Any case tried through a court of law benefited from solid facts. The more evidence the better. This was all assuming his suspicions were correct, of course - that Rodgers had paid these men to seize and rough up O'Neill. Shanahan was confident they would find proof that was more conclusive. And if they found the men responsible, there were smart ways of making them talk and turn against each other. Local forensic guys were going over the ground in the alley in minute detail, and had O'Neill's clothing to examine too. But, the alley was not the location of O'Neill's attack. They had dumped him there but beat the living daylights out of him elsewhere. It would help to find the crime scene. All in good time, he hoped. He would get the bastards who had done this! 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 Now they were alone, Pete Shanahan was able to turn his full attentions to Catherine and he spoke encouragingly, in hushed and sympathetic tones. "Did your ex do this to you, ma'am?" he asked indicating her bruises, as if he did not already know. "Yes," she confirmed through her sobs, emphasizing the verification with a nod of her head. Pete waited patiently until she was ready to continue. "He-he used to do it a lot when we were married... Then, a few days ago, in my apartment... He wrecked some stuff too." When she failed to continue, Shanahan prompted her. "And?" "I don't want to get Jack into any trouble," she stated. Catherine was thinking she should say less about her theory than she had started out to. Could she inadvertently cause problems for Jack? "You think O'Neill did something I should be worrying about?" Pete asked innocently. "I don't know," she replied with a sigh. "He was pretty pissed about what Pete did, although he tried not to show it for my sake. Maybe he was looking for revenge, or maybe Pete was looking for him. Hired some thugs and..." She shrugged helplessly. "It's the kind of thing Pete might do. Poor Jack!" Catherine sniffed, then she started crying again and Shanahan gave her hand a compassionate squeeze of support. Looking at Catherine's swollen blackened face, he wondered what other damage her vicious ex had done. Then, he began to think he had been right to help O'Neill after all, in principle anyway. Perhaps he could now use this situation to his advantage. Peter Rodgers deserved to go down for committing violent crimes against both Catherine Fellowes and O'Neill. At least he was guessing this is what had happened to O'Neill. Right now, this genuinely was mere guess work. A hunch. Catherine Fellowes' conjecture supported Shanahan's gut feelings but her theories were no more than intuition either. They had a witness, sure, but the James boy did not know names, only faces, and he was just a kid. If Catherine Fellowes would file a complaint against Rodgers' abuse, and testify, he thought it might go a long way toward helping them get this guy. He knew from what O'Neill had said that she had not wanted the police involved, but if Rodgers really was responsible for hurting her boyfriend, he might persuade her. "What makes you think this was down to your ex, ma'am? This could all be a coincidence. Isn't it a bit of a leap?" he asked in a soothing rather than confrontational manner, reaching into a pocket for the tissues he always carried for such circumstances and handing her one. Catherine snuffled, wiped her eyes and nose and looked him squarely in the eyes. "He's done this kind of thing before," she confessed. "Beat you up?" "That too." She was calmer now, gaining confidence and feeling better able to speak out. "But I mean hiring men to do his dirty work. Occasionally. When we were married, he hated men who looked at me in any way he didn't like. More than one of them ended up getting assaulted. Pete is a thug himself, but a cowardly one. He might watch and join in, but that's why he pays other thugs to do what he is too afraid to do himself. The bastard would gloat about it sometimes and then push me around. As if it was my fault someone looked at me like that. Apparently, I encouraged them." She eyed Shanahan with a wry expression. "I was an easy target. A possession he could do whatever he wanted to. I let him, that's the stupid thing. I let him. Then, one day, I stopped letting him. People who can fight back scare him. That's how I got out and stayed out. But he used to be a jealous and sick man. That hasn't changed I guess." Catherine faltered briefly, pulling her eyes away from Pete's, apparently to study her feet studiously. "He doesn't really want me anymore, even though he says he does," she continued. "In truth, I'm spoiled goods as far as he's concerned. But no one else can have me. He's that kind of guy. I thought he was over that, but don't think so now. Not after this. Too much of a coincidence." Pete, of course, agreed, but said nothing. "I think maybe he came after Jack because he hated me being with him or the thought that I might be happy. Maybe used me to bait a trap, like he's done before. That's the way I figure it." "Did you ever tell O'Neill about these, um, other men your husband assaulted?" Pete queried, wondering if the general had known what he might get himself into. If Ms Fellowes knew this about her husband, she probably should have warned O'Neill, so why hadn't she? Catherine slowly shook her head. "That's why it's my fault, don't you see?" Her tone held a large measure of self-rebuke. "He knows about Pete beating up on me, but not the rest. Perhaps I should have told him, b-but..." She sighed and paused, apparently brooding. "We're both pretty good at keeping secrets. Too good, maybe. I don't like talking about my past much. And to be honest, I didn't think the bastard would do that to Jack." This time her pause was so lengthy Shanahan thought she had stopped talking, so he urged her on. "Why not, ma'am?" "As far as I know, he's never done that to any other, um, man friend I've had since moving to the Springs. I thought he'd given up on me altogether until recently. I guess when Jack and I bumped into him in New York... well, it might have made him mad." Shanahan knew nothing about their trip to New York, so had to ask, and Catherine quickly explained. About the dinner, about how her ex had behaved toward her. "Did O'Neill and your husband have a fight?" Pete asked. "They had a few words. Nothing I'd call a fight." To be honest, Catherine did not know what had really happened during their confrontation in the men's room, and she did not want to. Mentioning it might get Jack into trouble for all she knew, so she didn't. She was wishing they had never gone to New York. If they hadn't, she and Jack would probably be safely tucked up in bed at home. Catherine dearly wanted Jack safe - well and whole again. She longed for that more than anything. "Why Jack and not your other boyfriends?" "Good question, detective," she looked up at him and smiled faintly then shrugged as if she did not know. "Perhaps he figured out Jack is special to me, more serious than the others. Maybe seeing me again sparked him off. Maybe both. Wish I knew. But, after what happened in my apartment, I thought he was after me, not Jack. Just to remind me of his power. Just to keep me looking over my shoulder. If I'd known this might happen I would have warned Jack. You think I wouldn't have?" Pete did not reply, thinking she had to work that guilt out for herself. From what he surmised about the general, it probably would not have made any difference if she had warned him. That, however, was for O'Neill to say, not him. "But you have no proof he was behind O'Neill's attack?" She shook her head ruefully. "I wish I could help, but I can't." "You might be able to help more than you think," he said, but she did not respond, so he continued on a different tack. "The kid who found O'Neill clearly saw the faces of the men who dumped him. We assume these men were his assailants. He identified one of them from mug shots. Local muscle who hires out his services. We're looking for him now. The kid says there were four of them. One of them watched over the others so might be the person who hired them, which sounds like your ex's MO. The kid might be able to ID the rest of them too, including your ex. I guess you will have a photo at home we can show him?" He coaxed her gently and kindly, providing lots of time for her to cry, recover, think and then answer his questions. By the time they had finished, Catherine was ready to make a formal complaint against her ex husband, and testify. She wanted to get the man who had arranged to hurt O'Neill even if she was unwilling to take that step for her own benefit. Shanahan was pleased with the result. Truth will out, he thought, or most of it anyway. But he was still bothered about O'Neill. The cop had seen people die from internal bleeding before - too many times for his liking, actually. In fact, even once was too many times as far as he was concerned. He strongly disliked death, particularly when a bunch of no good bad guys dealt the fatal blows. This was one of the reasons he had become a cop in the first place, he remembered - to even up the odds a little. Pete sincerely hoped it was not too late for O'Neill but, simply put, he knew it was not possible to save everyone. People die. So, the wellbeing of Sam's commanding officer continued to trouble him. In fact, it troubled him quite a lot. Meanwhile, as they continued to wait for news, he had a job to do. And so far, he figured he was doing okay with that. 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 Walter Harriman stretched and yawned. He had been awake most of the night but only now was he beginning to feel that lack of sleep. He was not the only one. Everyone remaining at the SGC had been living off coffee to stay awake. Coffee and cakes from the commissary, so mostly they had been hyperactive for much of the night. But caffeine and sugar fixes were not enough, however delicious the cakes were. They were literally that, fixes. What they all really needed was sleep. "How you feeling sergeant?" Colonel Eastman asked, eyeing him with suppressed amusement as Harriman tried to stifle his yawns and feign alertness. Their long vigil had started in the gateroom but, apart from the duty gate technician, most of the remaining SG staffers had decamped to the commissary to await any news. Walter had patched the colonel's telephone through so they did not miss any important calls from the hospital or elsewhere. And they continued to wait. Their numbers had grown through the night, and their commissary take-over had become informal in nature, with the normally overly serious Eastman relaxing his stick up the ass attitude to suit the occasion. Good for morale, he thought, something O'Neill himself might have done - and he was right. Colonel Eastman had gone up in Harriman's estimation that was for sure. Everyone else's too, it seemed. The colonel had positively encouraged them to raid the cake supplies illicitly and joined in with the banter. The atmosphere varied between the heavily laden could not cut it with a knife kind to the lighthearted loosen up the mood type, swinging wildly from one hour to the next. Walter could have sworn it was Eastman who started the paper plane wars, which raged childishly for at least half an hour. So, when staff arrived for the new duty shift they were taken aback to find the paper missiles flying around the commissary and the occupants seemingly high on something - Lord knows what. One might never have guessed that these people had been waiting anxiously all night for news about O'Neill. It was like being greeted by a bunch of overgrown and rowdy kids in kindergarten, all running wild on a sugar high. They had calmed down now, exhausted, in need of a nutritious breakfast and a few hours sleep. A number of off duty personnel huddled in small groups, whispering in hushed tones more befitting to the seriousness of their thirst for news. "Tired, sir," Walter responded honestly to his CO's question. Eastman stared at him momentarily. "When's your shift start, Walter?" Harriman glanced at his watch, way more relaxed in the presence of his acting CO than he had ever imagined he could become. "An hour ago, sir." Shit! He promptly stood up, readying himself to go splash water in his face and attend to his duties. Lt Baker would be waiting for him to take over in the gateroom. Eastman held up a halting hand. "Sit down sergeant," he said. "Someone else can take your shift for a while." "Sir?" Walter eyed the colonel dubiously. "You need sleep, Walter. Can't have you falling asleep on duty now, can we?" The colonel's tone was kindly and understanding. "Lt Baker, sir..." Eastman waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "I'll handle it. You go get some shut eye in one of the VIP rooms." Walter appreciated the offer, but the uncertain look remained. "Um, I think I'd rather stay awake for now if it's all the same to you, sir." His CO nodded slowly. "I'm not sure if it is all the same to me, sergeant," he replied in the kind of acid tone that sent shivers down Harriman's spine, reminding him this was the man in charge. The same man he had been so wary and uncertain of last night. Then Eastman sighed. "I'm sure we'll hear something soon," he added in a low whisper. The sergeant looked at him hesitantly, uncertain what he should do. Then the phone rang. Its ring seemed loud and intrusive, instilling fear and dread into the room's occupants. Fear and dread of bad news. The whole room fell silent and turned their attention to Eastman, who looked slightly diffident and nervous about picking it up. After a few seconds, he got up and went to answer, speaking in muted tones to whoever was on the other end. The others strained to hear, but could not, and they gleaned no hints from the colonel's demeanor or tenor. Eastman replaced the receiver on its cradle and slowly turned to face his men, a serious expression on his face. The room's occupants seemed to draw in one collective breath and hold it while they waited for him to speak. "Colonel Ellis from the hospital. He has some news..." TBC |