Axiom Ch. 06

The next attempt saw her fingers locked on the windowsill in a tight claw, her whole body burning with determination. Either do this or die, she told herself. Again she strained, trying with all her might to pull herself up. The muscles of her upper body felt like they were going to tear, and she could have sworn that her arms were going to get ripped out of their sockets. She winced as she forced herself to forge ahead, opening her mouth in a silent scream of agony.

God, it hurt, and her arms were trembling from the effort. Her feet scrabbled against the wall, trying to gain as much leverage as possible. Every muscle cried out in pain, and she was just about that close to giving up. No, a little voice in her said. No, Gwyneth, no. This isn't you. You don't give up. You don't fail. Do this, even if it hurts like hell. Even if it seems impossible. Make the impossible happen. You know you can.

Inch by inch she managed to heave herself up so that her torso was level with the window. Slowly and painfully, she managed to maneuver her body through the small space, wincing in pain as she struggled to extricate her lower half through the small space in a controlled fashion. If she wasn't careful, she could fall headfirst down onto the ground outside. Just as she tried to yank a foot free, she lost her balance and tumbled outside with a crash, landing on her side. Fuck.

Pain. She'd landed on some empty plastic paint buckets, but she wasn't cut or bleeding. Although pain throbbed through her body, there wasn't any time to sit and tend to her aches. She could hear noises coming from inside. The men had heard the racket and were definitely going to investigate. With a groan she struggled to her feet and tried to run, limping a little because of the pain stabbing in her side.

The gravel was rough beneath her feet, biting into the soft skin of her naked soles. It wasn't until she heard angry voices behind her that the full-blown panic kicked in, and all semblance of pain was lost. Gwyneth glanced backwards and broke into a full sprint, running as fast as her legs could take her.

Cold air rushed around her as she flew through the barren night. Only now did she realize where she was - the cargo bay area of a shipping port. Massive blocks of shipping containers were stacked and lined up in neat rows around her like a maze of giant steel boxes.

"Help!" She just ran blindly, not knowing where she was going, never stopping to look back. At times she cut into a corner here and there, hoping to shake them off, but to no avail. She could hear their voices growing closer and closer. Gwyneth was a proficient runner, but definitely not a match for these men. Still, she pushed ahead, pumping her legs in determination. The wind burned her eyes, and she knew that she was losing speed. If these men were as fit as they looked, it wouldn't be long before they caught up with her.

"Help!" Her shaky voice broke through the still night. "Somebody, please, help!"

That was when she heard it - the sweetest reply she could ever dream of. Salvation.

"Gwyneth!"

The sound of her name sent a tsunami of exuberance crashing over her, infusing her with new hope, renewing her strength. She recognized that voice. She would recognize it anywhere. Help was here - Aidan was here. He called out her name again, the anger thick and turgid in his voice and she yelled back, crying out his name as a plea. They were calling out to each other in some sick, twisted game of Marco Polo - Aidan, Gwyneth, where are you? I'm here.

Her head whipped around as her eyes flitted from side to side, trying to figure out where he was. She could vaguely decipher the direction where his voice was coming from, but the endless rows of identical shipping containers distorted her orientation. Never slowing down, she ran through the small lanes in between the steel boxes, weaving around while the footsteps behind her grew louder and louder. Sometimes she could've sworn that he sounded like he was right around the corner, but as soon as she took the turn the voice resonated like a distant echo.

Tears were streaming freely down her hot, sticky face, the fear finally manifesting in its full potential. Her feet were probably bleeding and the pain was beginning to come back, but the furious voices behind her compelled her to keep moving forward. Run. Run for your life.

Contact.

One of them leaped and tackled her to the ground, pulling her violently downwards and she cried out in alarm as she fell. He loomed over her, wanting to pin her down on the ground with his weight but she acted fast, spitting into his face and forcefully crashing her elbow into his nose. He flinched in reflex, allowing her the brief few inches and seconds to wiggle out from underneath him and crawl to her feet.

She was still half-stooped, not yet fully upright when the man she hit grabbed her from behind, locking her arms behind her back. She writhed savagely, trying to shrug him off until the second man caught up with them and tried to grab her by the feet. He managed to lock onto her left ankle, pinning it under his right arm. Fresh panic exploded inside her, triggering a massive spurt of adrenaline and she found herself delivering a swift kick to his neck. Bad move.

He easily caught her other leg in his hands and now she was trapped between them in an almost horizontal position. With nothing firmly planted on the ground she could only thrash around helplessly while the man at her feet drew out a syringe from his pocket. There was no malicious smile on his face, only the cold determination of a man out to get a job done - and she screamed anew when he yanked off the plastic cap covering the needle with his teeth.

There was only one thing her body knew - that if he stuck that thing in her, she would probably die. In a sudden paroxysm of superhuman strength she managed to pull one leg out from underneath his arm and kick him as hard as she could in the face. Her foot connected with his chin in an upward motion, making his head snap back as she heard the dull crunch of bone on bone.

Caught off guard, the syringe slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Horror flooded her when she realized that he still stood steady, apparently still more than capable of standing upright. He knew that bending down to pick up the syringe might compromise the lock they had on her now. So he just reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a knife, the silver blade glinting sharply in the moonlight.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Aidan's voice could be heard in the near distance . Gwyneth turned her head towards the source and through the blurry tears she could just about make out his frame running towards her. Too bad he was still quite far away.

The two men acknowledged that they had very little time left to finish a job. Everything happened so quickly, she could barely even comprehend what was going on. Natural self-preservation kicked in - everything was pure reflex and instincts. Her actions weren't governed by active thought, each movement was like blinking in response to something flicking in your face, or withdrawing a hand from a hot object - completely involuntary. As soon as her mind registered the knife held above her, coming down at her with great speed, her body knew what to do.

Protect the thorax. Protect the chest. If these men really were professionals, they would literally have her heart carved out in no time. Using the last vestiges of her energy, she continued arching wildly, attempting to throw off their aim. She actually watched the blade plunge into her, the cold metal slipping easily into her flesh as if she were made of warm butter. At that very same moment she heard Aidan holler, his footsteps approaching but still too far away. To think that he was watching this, to know that he was seeing her being attacked with his very own eyes, just a stitch too late to stop it...

She didn't know how many stabs they took. The blade came down repeatedly, fast and furious, but she continued twisting her body, even as the pain crackled through her spine. All of this happened in a flash. Milliseconds? Microseconds? She couldn't tell. And then suddenly she was falling, dropped onto the cold, rough gravel. Her face was frozen in a mixture of horror and torment, the pain so intense she couldn't even cry out. She wanted to scream but nothing came. Nothing was left inside her to expel.

Strong arms scooped her up, cradling her close to a familiar chest. Aidan's face came into view, the usually phlegmatic blue eyes now wide with terror. His lips were moving but she couldn't hear a sound, everything else silenced by the dull roar in her ears. Shock. She was going into shock. Neither from fright nor terror, but from the crimson tide that poured from gaping slits in her belly, spurting gushes of blood with every breath she took. Gwyneth could vacantly feel someone slipping a jacket around her shoulders, and with the welcoming warmth came a familiar scent - that aftershave. Aidan's jacket.

Her head bobbed unsteadily and she tried to look down at her abdomen, from where the pain was searing like she'd been branded by a white-hot poker. Aidan stopped her in time, cupping her chin in his hand and tilting her face up to look at him. Again, she could see him talking, but she still couldn't hear a thing. Everything was moving around her in mute, her field of vision blurry and jerky like a lagging motion picture.

"Please," oddly enough she could hear her own disembodied voice, weak and thready. "Please, let me see," she croaked.

Aidan shook his head vehemently, his gaze boring into hers. He kept repeating something, but she couldn't hear him. He was mouthing it over and over and she had to read his lips to figure out what he was trying to tell her - stay with me, Gwyneth. Stay with me. She nodded up at him but flicked her eyes downwards, only catching a brief glimpse of the damage done. A large dark stain soaked through the fabric of her white shirt, glistening wet, almost black in the dim light of the night.

A fresh crack of pain corroded through her brain, acute enough to squeeze tears out of her eyes and send her head reeling. As it throbbed in agony she recognized that it was because of Aidan's hand firmly pressing something on her abdomen, trying to staunch the bleed. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her limbs began to tremble violently, her vision blurring, focus slipping.

Dizzy. She felt so dizzy, so sleepy, so tired. Cold. Somewhere in her brain, a pinpoint prick of consciousness was fully aware of what was going on. At a deeper level she knew that she was bleeding badly, and the drowsiness was definitely due to blood loss. But for the most part she just felt very sleepy, like she usually did on his bed. That marvelous, ridiculously comfortable bed - full of plush comforting goodness and endorphin-rich sex.

She wasn't in the present anymore, she was back in a minimalistic bedroom, a duvet pulled up over her shoulders, all the warmth in the world sending her off into somnolence. Wednesdays and weekends. Scrumptious breakfasts. Riding on a Ducati. Castor and Pollux - one brother divine, the other a mortal. Immersed in these memories, she was cradled in an otherworldly cocoon of gossamer silk.

As her eyes began to close she could faintly make out Aidan screaming at her, but to her everything felt like a dream. The loud roar in her ears was changing, evolving into a series of loud whoop-whoop-whoops before finally her eyes crashed shut. She just wanted to rest. Too much exhaustion. Too much pain. Time to sleep.

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When he heard the sound of the chopper approach them, hope swelled in Aidan's heart. The distinct sound of rotor blades grew louder and louder, drowning out the words he was trying to tell Gwyneth. He yelled in panic as he saw her eyes close despite his pleas for her to stay with him. She had been looking up at him in a blank, glassy stare - he didn't even know if she heard or understood him. The air ambulance raced them to Mt. Sinai, where a team of emergency doctors were already waiting.

He ran with them, following the stretcher through the corridors as they hurtled towards the operating theatre. Aidan's hand gripped one of hers tightly, unwilling to break contact. He couldn't bring himself to let go. Lying there, she looked so pale, her face and lips as white as the sheet she lay on. A group of nurses actually had to hold him back as he attempted to walk past the double doors of the OT.

"Listen, you can let me in. I'll go through all the necessary procedures, just let me see her..." Despite his strong protests the light in his eyes were dead, his voice lacking its usual confidence.

Michael arrived, after rushing from his post at the pediatric ward to see his brother trying to push aside a group of people, demanding entrance in a raised voice. There were bloodstains on Aidan's shirt, and from the hollowness of his gaze he could to tell that Aidan was in a very fragile state right now. Michael placed an arm across his brother's shoulder and steered him away from the door, subduing him with promises of exclusive information about Gwyneth's condition.

In a reassuring voice he tried to appeal to Aidan's rational side, explaining that he would go in, have a quick talk with the surgeons and come out with a proper, unbiased report on her chances. When Aidan insisted on being in there with her, Michael put him him down smoothly with a brief argument about the increased possibility of contaminating the theatre with an infection. That did it. Aidan accepted his brother's offer and sank into a chair nearby, his face still fraught with worry. "Sit here," Michael instructed. "I'll be out in ten minutes."

Those were the longest ten minutes of Aidan's life. He spent each second staring at the door expectantly, waiting for news about Gwyneth. Half of him was still in shock, and the other half didn't even know how to feel. Everything felt too surreal, like a bad dream he was supposed to wake up from. Yet time ticked on and the bitter scent of hospital air felt so clear, so tangible, so real around him. His heart felt like it was going to explode and his head was a mess. Scenes from the chase replayed in his head over and over again like a broken record. When Michael reappeared he snapped from his trance, leapt to his feet and rushed towards him.

"How is she?"

Michael grimaced slightly. "She's hemorrhaging pretty badly. They got her rather deep in quite a few places - the intestines and stomach especially - but the good news is that they missed the heart and lungs. Also, she's anemic, which means we're extra cautious, but they're patching her up right now. It's a good thing you brought her in as soon as possible, because that usually gives us an excellent prognosis. She's in good hands, Aidan. She'll be fine, don't worry."

Aidan seemed to absorb in the information with a great deal of wariness. He didn't quite know how to interpret that statement. What, did they really think that he would be pacified just like that? He'd seen all that blood. All of it, oozing out of her with every breath she took, spreading across her shirt in an expanding stain. All of his thoughts were in a jumble now. He could barely think straight.

"You should call her family," Michael advised his brother gently. "They should be here."

Aidan's heart almost stopped in alarm. "Why? Is there something wrong I ought to know about?" Paranoia got the better of him.

"It's just standard procedure," Michael soothed. "She's been seriously injured, Aidan. Her family has the right to know. They'd want to be here with her."

Aidan eyed his brother in silence, unsure of what to think. The inner tumult was whipping around like a tornado in his heart. This was point blank terror. But no, he told himself, no. He chose to steel himself and forcibly reverted back to lawyer mode, stilling the storm that was brewing in his chest. Right now, there was a woman who needed him. She'd been grievously injured, and the last thing she needed was a man who couldn't get a grip on himself. The fear drew back as he asserted total control, shifting back into the persona he knew so well. No emotions, pure logic - unshakable, untouchable. Much better. Aidan calmed himself down in record speed and acknowledged his brother's advice cooly.

"I'll give them a call." He gave a curt nod. "Also, do you have a spare shirt somewhere?" He gestured at his dirty one which was dappled with dark red splotches. "I don't want to be wearing this when her family shows up."

"Follow me, I'll get you sorted." With every step Aidan took, he felt sturdier. Or at least, that's how compelled himself to feel. He had watched her fight - literally watched her throw punches and kicks around, never allowing herself to just accept defeat. And she'd done it so wonderfully, every bit as ferocious till the end. How could he ever forget that beautiful violence? That defiant spirit, the refusal to succumb to fear. She was being strong, and so would he. They could pull through this together, and he had no doubt of that.

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The surgery took almost three hours to complete. As luck would have it, most of Gwyneth's family was over in Chicago to visit her brother who was currently studying there. The conversation with her mother was difficult and painful for Aidan. It tore him up inside to know that he was responsible for all this. She'd sounded so anguished, unable to stop the sobs when she heard the news.

He assured her that Gwyneth was getting the best medical care the country had to offer, and also chartered a private plane to fly in the family, but still it all seemed inadequate. It wasn't easy, staying on the line and listening to her cry, but he didn't ever want to hang up. He could only imagine how difficult it was for her - to have first lost a husband, and now hear of her firstborn and only daughter in grave danger.

By the time they were wheeling her into the ICU, his father and Julian made their appearance at the hospital. Aidan decided that this was going to end tonight. He was going to take these fuckers down this very night, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. These were the disgusting lowlifes who were more than happy to sell poison for profit. These were men and women who had no qualms about having people killed, as long as they didn't get caught. Of course, he'd already suspected that the Ceres scandal would only be the tip on an iceberg - everything about it reeked of politics and underhand dealings - but that was a matter for later.

He peered into the observation room that housed her unconscious body. All of the walls were made of glass, allowing for easy visual surveillance. Monitors surrounded her, and an oxygen mask on her face helped with her breathing. An i.v. bag full of blood hung on a pole beside her, infusing the life-giving liquid back into her battered body.

Her face was a little bruised and abraded because of how she'd fallen when they tackled her, but otherwise she looked serene. His throat tightened every time he looked at her lying there helplessly. This was all his fault. All he needed to do was protect her, and look how that had turned out - now she was lying there with multiple stab wounds, fighting for her life in some critical care unit.

That only served to fuel his resolve. Now, Ceres was more than just some petty project - this one hit close to home. To his surprise, his father quietly revoked his objection against their plan. Aidan suspected that it was because he had been close friends with Marty, and this, too, was turning into a personal vendetta for him - but at any rate, Nicholas still hadn't said anything directly to his son. Aidan was still too raw to talk to his father right now. Rather, the three men busied themselves with making calls all night, orchestrating the final act and tuning it to perfection. Everything was lined up - all it needed was one flick of the finger for the dominoes to fall. The time had come.