Andi gave a soft laugh.
"Subtle but effective." She agreed, tightening her own seatbelt and experimentally shifting her legs to try to find room,
any room at all, for them and having little luck. She imagined it was worse for Hector but he also appeared to be
handling it better. Apparently part of his 'special forces' training, she thought with a wry inward chuckle. Curious, she
glanced around.
Most everyone was on the plane by now and a small older woman was getting into the seats in front of them. Andi
thought she was dressed rather dapper. She rested one of her small, warmly wrinkled hands on the top of the seat in
front of Andi to steady herself as she moved. And Andi made a sudden noise as if she were coming up for air and in
the process of drowning, her own long hands sudden claws as they clamped down.
Hector was rifling through the papers in the seat in front of him, looking for the menu, hoping he had one, when he
heard Andi make that sound. His eyes cut to her, his search for the menu forgotten, and saw her hands and put one
of his over hers.
"What's up?" He asked quietly, heard only to her in the bustle of the boarding process.
Andi made a quiet, choking noise. Suddenly finding she couldn't breath right. Part of her still aware she was on a
plane but another part of her was still in a camp in the middle of the African jungle. Hearing throat tearing screams.
And Hector's voice.
"Hands." She gasped it, flinching backward hard as the one on the seat in front of her lifted. Expecting it to come
flying off and land in her lap again. But it only disappeared on the other side of the seat. Along with the rest of the
woman. The jungle in her mind sank back down again but Andi found she still couldn't breath right or get her hands to
unlock their grip.
Oh boy. He wasn't an expert on how to calm people down who were having flashbacks. If anyone in his chalk started
freaking, his idea of calming them down was to tell them to get a grip and act like men. Somehow he was sure that
approach wouldn't work.
So instead he dislodged her hands from the arm rest and held them tightly, turning in his seat to look at her. "It's
okay. They're still there." He said, hoping that would help. At least a little. Mike had given them the lowdown of what
had gone on in that camp. And he should have expected something like this, to say the least.
But he'd been wrapped up in his own feelings of gratitude that she was back, and physically fine.
The air was choking into her in short gasps. She couldn't get enough of it in. Medically, she should be able to figure
out how to fix that. If she could get her mind to settle down enough. But she kept feeling the brush of those hands that
had been hanging in the doorway. Seeing the shrunken hands shake as the shaman rattled the staff he hung them
all from. Feeling the warm, sticky weight of Ada's hands landing in her lap. She was sitting in an airplane. She could
see the seat in front of her. But she could see the rotting hands too.
Her fingers wound through Hector's. Hands surprisingly strong in their grip. Realizing with the front of her head that
he'd have no idea what she was talking about because she hadn't told anyone. Hadn't told anyone about any of it.
But his grip on her own hands was strong. An anchor. Like his voice. A line to pull her back. Out of the jungle. Again.
She pressed her own hands, tangled around with his, against his chest. Where they were warm. And safe. Shifting in
her seat so she could rest her forehead against his shoulder, eyes wide open as she choked in air. Air that smelled
like him. Air that held his warmth. His strength. Focusing on him. Just him. Just Hector and the feel of him and the
warmth of him and the sound of him.
Once the captain (or who ever actually did it) turned off the seat belt sign, he undid his, and reached over the arm
rest to undo hers. Then he wrestled with the armrest, trying to get it to go up and away, and finally got it to, only to
belatedly realize it wasn't supposed to. Oops. Well, they could bill him for it (and probably would).
He turned a bit and forced her off his shoulder. "Andi. Andi, look at me." He said as her eyes flew to his face and he
nodded. "You're not there anymore. We're going far far away from the jungle, remember? It's okay. You're okay now."
She made a strange, humming, protesting noise when he moved her from the safe haven of his shoulder but she
didn't fight him. Knowing, deep down, it was Hector's hands touching her. She had most of the jungle under control.
But she kept hearing Ada's screams and feeling those hands - seeing those hands - flying through the air at her.
Again and again. She knew where she was and yet - she could see them clearer than the seat she was staring at.
She found Hector's face and didn't think she'd ever felt such bone loosening relief before in all her life. She swallowed
hard and nodded, a stiff jerk of her head. It was hard to see the hands with Hector's face in the way so she
concentrated on him, dark eyes fierce as they focused desperately.
Not in the jungle. Far, far away. She focused on that. On sucking air into her lungs through her nose. On Hector's
dark eyes. And then a sudden, jerking, shuddering inhale moved through her. And she started to shake again. But
that was better. She was familiar with shaking. Swallowing convulsively she shifted over to burrow hard against
Hector, hands still tangled like claws in the fabric of his shirt. But breathing again. Shaking but the hands were gone.
He was right. It was okay. She felt a bit sick, and she couldn't stop shaking, but - okay. It was okay.
"Oh God." It was a whisper and the extent of the prayer she could get out but it would do. It would do...
Hector exhaled and held her, hearing her prayer and echoing it silently. He had a healthy respect for God, Jesus, the
saints and angels, the whole works, but was himself a far more grounded in reality and tangible person. If he could
touch it, or see it, he believed it.
So he believed in Andi. He could see her, he could hear her, and he could feel her.
He felt the plane cruise along at its altitude, they had more than a few hours on board this contraption with the
uncomfortable seats and probably bad food. But she was calming, he knew that somehow, even if she had gone into
the shaking stage. He waved away a stewardess, flight attendant, whatever they were calling themselves this week.
Last thing he wanted to explain was why she was upset. Or have to lie. Better to just avoid.
She eventually loosened up enough to shift over into his lap and tuck her legs close on one side of him while she
wound her arms around him. Suddenly lack of leg room didn't really matter so much to her. Cold, she tucked her face
up under his jaw, against his throat, feeling the scratch of his stubble, the smooth of his skin, the warmth and clean
smell of him. Good things. Grounding things.
A part of her felt as if she should apologize. But another part of her thought that apologizing would be more insulting
to him than anything. As if she would be apologizing for letting him into her life, even the weak, not so attractive sides
of it. So she didn't apologize.
"I love you." She whispered it instead. Whisper soft touched the bruises on the other side of his throat with her
fingertips. "And I'm sorry. About these." There was no question as to who had given the marks to him or when. She'd
seen everything else that had happened to him up to that point. And hidden during the last part. She didn't have to
see to know. She knew the marks those hands left. "I should have done something."
"There was nothing you could have done." He said, softly, but firmly. "I had it under control." At least in retrospect he
was able to say that. Because he had 'won' the hand to hand combat event. And Wekesa hadn't. A few bruises and
scrapes were nothing compared to a knife through the throat after all. He had indeed come out of it lucky.
He shifted his legs, now with her on his lap, he could take advantage of her abandoned 'leg room' for himself and his
own long legs.
"There's nothing to apologize for, except for maybe me for not getting there sooner." He said. "But just keep thinking
that you're not in the jungle. I know that for fact because I took you out."
"You did." She agreed softly. Her hero as odd as that sounded. But he had. He'd come for her. Just as he'd promised
he always would. She would have taken rescue in any form - but she was so glad it had been him that dark night. A
nightmare of her own to match the nightmares that had forced their way into her world. The women had thought he
was a demon at her call that night. Something darker and terrifying and stronger than the shaman's demons that
she'd so recently challenged. They'd lived long enough that just because it wore flesh they didn't believe that
everyone they saw was human. Even seeing him in the daylight, they'd thought he wasn't quite a man but that he was
hers and nothing of hers would hurt them. But she knew better. He'd been her angel. And not the fluffly cherub kind
either. But she also knew he was a man. Completely and entirely a man. And that he loved her.
He loved her.
She gave a soft sigh at that thought. Calming and down to just trembles that moved deep in her muscles. He loved
her. He loved her. She'd loved the thought before. Now it set something powerful and good rumbling inside her. That
- he loved her. Despite everything. Because of everything. And he still loved her.
"I didn't expect anyone to come so soon." She confided softly. "I didn't see how you could find me." She'd
exaggerated her limp so they wouldn't try different ways of keeping her from running. But truly she'd had no idea
where she could have run to. She still didn't even know which country she'd been in. And that was all right. "I didn't
even know how you'd know where to begin looking."
"Well, I had a lot of help in that area." He said, and wove the tale of the rescue operation, Mike's phone call, the
reception with the SAS, him and Baker, Jet, Swanson coming on board, the different villages they had gone to, even
the people they had talked to.
Of course he left out the incident with Bug Eyes and the burned corpses, but she got a pretty complete tale. Enough
so that he had to shift her back to her own seat when they arrived at their next lay over, distracting her with the
mundane details in the meanwhile.
She hadn't said much during his story but her face and particularly her eyes and eyebrows had been reactionary
enough. She couldn't believe... all that... she wouldn't have known the first thing about where to begin... Granted,
Hector did this kind of thing - if not all the time - at least often enough. But it gave her an entirely new insight into the
process. And the mind set. When she looked at it clinically it was fascinating. And when she looked at it personally -
so much effort just for her... She cupped his cheek warmly as he finished. Having heard the things that moved in the
depths of his voice as well as the words. Glad he'd told her. It made things - easier to face when she knew what had
been going on on the other side of her world while she'd been - away.
"You're amazing." She smiled as she leaned over and kissed him. "And stubborn beyond belief." The plane touched
down with a familiar bump and she made sure she kept her eyes on him instead of seat backs. "I can't believe you do
this for a living." Among other things. She knew she should be afraid of some of those 'other things'. She'd seen a bit
of it after all. But that would mean being afraid of Hector. And there was no spot in her soul that had room for that.