Ben heard the conversation only from afar, but didn’t need to understand what was going on anyway. He trusted Kieran to keep the old hag distracted long enough. Once she was out of sight, the man slipped into the bedroom. All windows had been closed, curtains drawn to keep nosy neighbors out. Then, he saw the two kids. His steps quickly carried him toward the girls that sat on the carpet of the unfamiliar room. He wouldn’t remember what he told them as he fell to his knees and pulled his daughter to his chest, a hand on the back of Sidneys head to do the same. Maybe he shouldn’t have sat there for that long, asked if they were alright. Because as he stepped aside to check the hallway after sounds of struggle came through, he found himself tackled by a middle aged woman. The girls screamed, cowered against the wall once again.
His hands reached for the womans wildly clawing ones, wrists quickly grabbed. She was screaming profanities at them, voice shrill and full of hatred. And he honestly never wanted to clock someone more than in that moment. A hiss escaped the man as a nail scratched along his jaw in his attempt to immobilize the struggling woman. Who seemed to either be tripping on some serious shit or be pumped on adrenaline. He wouldn’t even question a combination of both. “Sparrow, call Jesse and the PI!” Ben hissed, hands losing grip on her as she managed to wriggle away from him. Hands lifted, he briefly glanced at Kieran before his eyes were back on the heavily panting woman, taking a step back to where the tall actor stood. “Listen - we’re not going to call the police if you let us walk out of here with the girls. We’re not going to press any charges.” Hell, that’d be the first thing for them to do once the girls were safe. That woman was a danger to the public. “Just…calm down. Let’s talk about this like adults.” Even when he’d have loved to punch her right in the kisser, they couldn’t. Not when she was so obviously mentally ill…and unstable as shit.
He should’ve seen it coming. Shouldn’t just tackled her to the ground and knocked her out. But he didn’t. All he saw was her turning, far too late to step in for him. From afar, he could hear the footsteps as they closed in - Jesse and the PI. But no one could’ve stopped her.
Somewhere in the struggle, Kieran’s jacket had come unzipped. Somehow, he’d ended up on the othr side of the door where the girls were still screaming and crying. He didn’t know how any of it had happened. The chaos was still happening. The woman was tackling Ben, but now she was tackling him. Or trying to. Or it seemed like she was.
He was at least a foot taller than her, but she lunged at his chest like a feral cat. He pushed her away. And that was when he saw it. In her hand. Like deja-vu.
“Stay back!” he shouted, to Jesse and the PI and Ben and the girls. Everyone.
He couldn’t be sure she even knew how to use it. She was, after all, a tiny suburban middle aged housewife. But underestimating anyone was dangerous. He looked in her eyes and recognised the fear behind them. She believed she was doing the right thing. It was insane, of course, but it was real for her. They were the bad guys.
“Please...” he said gently, “We’re not here to hurt you. We just love these kids, and we want to take them back home. Their parents miss them very much-”
‘Don’t patronise me, boy!’ she shouted, aiming the gun at his face with her shaking hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other men moving forward to stop her, but he held out his hand. ‘These girls need me. Their parents are not worthy of them. They’ve been brainwashed and traumatised. They’d be better off dead than with their parents!’
He realised what she meant by that almost too late. The barrel of the gun seemed to move without her, away from Kieran, focusing on the door between them, onto the girls.
In a split second, his mind was back in Afghanistan. With Dorian. His own gun firing ear-splittingly, killing someone he loved. The only thought in his mind was never again, as he dove in front of the girls, just as the gun was fired.
He was vaguely aware of the girls’ screams, and the mens’ shouting, and the woman being tackled to the floor, but his vision was fading in and out, as warm blood pooled from the wound below his ribs.
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