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Free for a Second
by Vicki Lew
June 2002

Part Fourteen

Oh God, I didn’t tell Diane I loved her before I left this morning, It was the one coherent thought that ran through Dr. Wayne Benson’s mind as he stared down the barrel of a gun.

The woman had burst into his office just as he was about to leave for home. There was no one to help him; his nurse had left early today. Now, all there was to do was tremble in fear and hope that the insurance was enough for his wife and son. The intruder locked the door and shut the blinds, then dragged him to his feet.

Wayne managed to say, “T-take the cash, just please d-don’t hurt me!”

He let out a little sigh of relief when the woman pointed the gun away from his head, and dropped heavily into his chair. A drizzle of blood spotted the pristine white floor, and Wayne realized then just how deathly pale the woman was.

“Don’t want money. Patch me up and you’ll live. Get to it, Doc,” she emphasized by cocking the gun as she shrugged the ratty coat off one shoulder. Quietly, Wayne helped to hoist the stranger onto the examining table. Piece by bloody piece, he removed the soggy rags carefully, gasping at the chunk of metal embedded in her ribcage.

“This is bad. Really bad, miss,” he whispered as he cleansed the area around the large wound. “You should go to a hospital,”

“No.” she snapped and waved the gun in warning. “Mind your fuckin’ business and jus’ do what you can. Ya can start with that bullet in my leg, doc,”

The frightened man moved to ready a syringe of tranquilisers, but she grabbed his wrist roughly.

“No sedatives or painkillers. Ah can take it,” she stated flatly.

“But--”

Her green eyes flashed angrily as she snarled for him to start working. He wasn’t going to argue with an enraged woman with a loaded gun, so he obeyed. Slicing the wound open further, he dug into the flesh as gently as he could with a pair of pincers and extracted the bullet. He was pressing more gauze into the bleeding wound and preparing to stitch it up when he heard the blaring police sirens, getting louder by the second. His patient snapped out of her pain-induced daze and bolted off the table, grabbing an armful of medical supplies as she fled through the back door.

“You’ll need to stop the bleeding,” he shouted after her as his nurse, who was visibly shaken, appeared in the doorway.

She had come back for her purse to find the scenario and called the cops. As the first policeman appeared, Wayne couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before the mysterious woman bled to death...

Rogue knew she was in trouble as she drank thirstily from the glass of juice. Pushing the now-empty container aside, she pulled the coat tighter around her battered body. She’d managed to intimidate another doctor into removing the shrapnel -- that had been less than pleasant, definately.

But still the wound refused to stop bleeding.

It looked as if she was still going to die like a stuck pig. Not right now, though, she hoped. No, she didn’t want to do that in a diner out in the middle of dusty desert country. She hadn’t stolen a car and driven all this way just to die here. At least let me get across ta Mexico, she thought drowsily as she sank deeper into the booth. Her eyes threatened to close and her head dipped as her thoughts drifted. She was so, so tired. A nap would be such heaven right now, but she was afraid to do so. With her medical situation, it might well be her last.

“Mind if’n I join you?” a masculine voice asked.

Her head snapped to attention instantly; her hand clutched the gun under her coat. A rush of emotions flooded her as Sabine realised who her visitor was.

“Remy...” she whispered, but caught herself and replaced the hopeful tone with a harsher one. “What the fuck are ya doin’ here?”

Removing his sunglasses, the dishevelled man glanced at her darkly with his devil eyes and slid into the seat opposite her. Rubbing the dust out of his hair irritably, Remy LeBeau spat back, “Lookin’ for vous, dat’s what de fuck I’m doin’ here,”

“Ah disappeared for a good reason, LeBeau,” Sabine shifted uncomfortably and glanced around nervously. “Portman was lookin’ for me, and he was gonna massacre you and your entire family if ah didn’t turn myself in.”

He nearly growled, “My family can take care of demselves. You underestimate us, Rogue. Come wit’ me, we can lose Portman!”

He looked at her, at her expressionless face. Her green eyes gleamed with defiance and resolve.

“And then what, LeBeau? You and ah can live happily ever after in a house with goddamn white picket fences?” she cajoled cruelly as she leaned closer to him. “It was just a good fuck, Cajun...Get over yourself!”

Remy LeBeau’s eyes glowered angrily as her words struck home. Reaching over the table, and grabbing her roughly by the arm, the man dragged Sabine to her feet. She hissed as she tore away from his grasp and pulled the gun out on him. Almost immediately, a murmur of alarm fluttered through the neighbouring patrons as they saw the weapon, some already making a hasty exit from the diner.

“Merde...” Remy swore as he caught sight of where her coat parted enough to reveal the blood-soaked mess that lay beneath. He looked at her with pleading eyes and whispered, “Ya gotta come wit’ me, Rogue. You know how bad it is,”

The assassin stood there unresponsively with the firearm still directed at him.

“What, you gonna shoot me if I grab you, girl?”

In response, she cocked the gun. More squeals of fear escaped from the remaining people in the diner. In her head, a mantra chanted, Don’t make me do this ... Just leave ... please ... please...

“Dis is fuckin’ ridiculous,” the Cajun ground out as he lunged at her.

He heard the ear-splitting bang and the next thing he knew, he was on the grubby linoleum floor, clutching his right thigh. Through his rage and disbelief, he felt the pain searing through his leg. She stooped down to look at him. She wanted to help him, wanted to tell him how sorry she was for hurting him. But she didn’t. Instead, she just stared and repeated, “It was just a good fuck.”

With that, she knocked Remy out with the butt of her gun, stepped over his prone form and headed straight for his car.

The pristine white laboratory was unusually crowded, with labtechs swarming all over like ants in a nest. The tinkling of glass tubes was a common occurance, as was the bubbling of unknown liquids.

Portman took in the sight of all this activity from the observation tower, filled with strange pride. All this, from his Sabine. His heart was oddly heavy at having lost his protege, but it was probably just professional pride. He had, after all, invested a good deal of time on her.

“Everything going well, Dr Svensky?” Portman heard Stark ask the professor via intercom.

“Unbelievable, Mr Stark ... These samples are perfect, just perfect. I do not forsee any problems, sir.”

Taking a long drag on his cigar, Portman smiled at the thought of losing one to gain a hundred. Perfect.

To be continued.

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