This story contains intense action sequences, including a train hijacking, gun violence, and a character sustaining a gunshot wound. If you are sensitive to themes of violence or medical distress, please proceed with caution.
The steady rhythm of the train gliding along the tracks mixed with the soft hum of conversation. Sunlight filtered through the large windows, casting a golden glow on you and OA as he rested his arm around your shoulders, keeping you snug against his side.
“For someone who’s been ridiculously secretive about this trip, you look pretty damn pleased with yourself,” you teased, tilting your head up to meet OA’s smirk.
“Maybe because I am pleased with myself.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then—because he knew it would make you laugh—one to your nose.
You huffed playfully. “So, you’re really not gonna tell me where we’re going?”
OA grinned, his fingers tracing idle circles on your arm. “Nope.”
“Unbelievable.” You shook your head, but your smile gave you away.
Across from you, a young couple—two men in their late twenties—watched with amused smirks. One of them, the brunette with bright green eyes, leaned forward.
“He’s really making you wait, huh?”
“Oh, he thinks he’s being all mysterious and romantic,” you said, casting OA a pointed look. “Meanwhile, I’m just wondering if we’re headed somewhere chill or if I should’ve packed a bulletproof vest.”
The other man, his boyfriend—a guy with curly dark hair and an easy grin—chuckled. “We had the same argument this morning. He,” he nudged his partner, “refused to tell me where we were going for our anniversary trip. Three years together, and he still pulls this crap.”
The green-eyed man rolled his eyes. “It’s called building anticipation, babe.”
“Yeah? Anticipation’s gonna get you sleeping on the couch when we get back.”
You laughed, nudging OA. “See? You better not be dragging me into some mystery mountain survival situation.”
OA smirked, his warm brown eyes twinkling. “You love a challenge.”
“Not when it involves potential bear attacks, Omar.”
He chuckled and kissed you again, just because he could. The playful banter with the couple continued, interspersed with occasional comments from an older woman a few seats away, who found the whole conversation hilarious. The train ride was peaceful, filled with easy laughter and the kind of stolen moments you rarely got anymore with work and parenting.
Then OA’s body tensed.
His fingers, once lazily tracing your arm, stopped. His gaze sharpened, scanning the train car with quiet intensity.
You felt it immediately. “What is it?” you asked, voice dropping into work mode.
OA didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to a group of men a few rows ahead—four of them, stiff, scanning the train as if they weren’t passengers but watching passengers.
Something was wrong.
You followed OA’s line of sight, your gut twisting. The men weren’t traveling together, but they moved like a unit. Then, just as your phone buzzed with a message from Maggie confirming Sawyer was safe, one of them stood up.
And pulled a gun.
“Nobody move!”
Screams erupted. People ducked, pressing against their seats, hands raised in submission. The young couple across from you froze, gripping each other’s hands. The older woman nearby clutched her book to her chest.
Instinctively, OA shifted, his body angling protectively in front of you. Your hand slipped discreetly into your pocket, fingers flying over your phone as you sent a single message to Maggie.
Hijacked.
One of the passengers—a guy in his early thirties—panicked and lunged toward the nearest gunman.
“NO!” OA barked, but it was too late.
The hijacker turned, gun swinging up—
OA moved fast, tackling the man before he could fire. You bolted toward the emergency brake, fingers barely brushing the handle when—
BANG.
A fiery, searing pain ripped through your side, knocking you off balance. The force sent you crashing to the floor, a cry wrenching from your throat as you clutched your bleeding side.
OA’s head snapped toward you, his face breaking as he saw you on the ground.
“NO!” His voice was raw, pure panic clawing through him.
A cold barrel pressed against his back before he could move.
“Hands up.”
You forced your head up and saw her—a woman you hadn’t noticed before, her expression unreadable as she aimed a pistol at OA.
The hijackers moved fast. OA was yanked back, his wrists forced behind him as a zip tie tightened around them. Your vision blurred with pain, but through the chaos, you felt OA’s desperation, his frantic need to get to you.
“Stay with me, baby. Just stay with me.”
Your breathing hitched as you forced out a weak, “I’m not going anywhere, idiot.”
One of the hijackers—the one who shot you—paced nervously. He hadn’t expected this. None of them had.
OA pounced on that hesitation.
“You don’t want this to get worse,” he said, his voice steady despite the fire raging inside him. “You shot a federal agent. If you let her bleed out, you’re looking at a death sentence.”
The guy hesitated.
“I can help her,” OA continued. “But you have to let me.”
The gunman clenched his jaw.
“Check my back pocket,” OA ordered. “Go ahead. Check it.”
The man did—and when he pulled out OA’s FBI credentials, his hands shook.
Murmurs rippled through the train car. Passengers started pleading, urging the hijacker to let OA go.
But the woman—the real leader of this operation—watched it all unfold with a calculating gaze.
Then, without hesitation, she turned and shot one of her own men.
A beat of stunned silence.
The hijackers turned on each other.
“What the hell are you doing?!” one of them shouted.
“You think I’m letting you idiots ruin this?” she sneered before locking herself in the control room.
OA took his chance. “You don’t have to die for her plan,” he told the remaining hijackers. “Help me stop this before it’s too late.”
Tension crackled in the air.
Finally—finally—the remaining three hesitated, then nodded.
—
The plan unfolded in minutes. OA got you and the passengers into the last train car, ready to detach it. But as you staggered toward safety, you turned back, your heart dropping.
OA wasn’t coming with you.
“No. No, no, no, we do this together.”
He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You need to go.”
You shook your head, gripping his jacket. “You’re not doing this alone.”
His jaw clenched. “Sawyer needs at least one of us—”
Your breath hitched. “Don’t you dare say that. She needs her father, OA.” Your voice cracked. “Come back to me. Promise me.”
His lips ghosted against yours. “I promise.”
With a final look, OA turned and detached the train cars.
And you watched through the window, praying to everything in the world that he would come back.
—
He did.
But later, as you slept in the hospital, OA crumbled outside your room.
Maggie caught him before he hit the floor, pulling him into a hug.
“She’s okay,” she whispered. “And Sawyer’s waiting for you at home.”
And for the first time since the train ride, OA let himself break.
Just a reminder requests are open, I'm working on part 3 of Beyond the Lens but I still like to work on random stuff! Here's a list of what/who I will write for, feel free to send in requests! Love you all!
