Ambition 2: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Driven)

W
hen Mark called
Sophie while out on patrol, I knew something was wrong. He never used his phone while on a mission, not without coordinating it beforehand. If he had to talk with her, he preferred to use two way secure radios or a constant open microphone using a VOIP system. During those times, Sophie was always in the bell tower or in the home office, where she could access communication systems that the two of them had set up. I'd watched her a few times, and she was always intense, focused, with her headset on and her eyes constantly roving over the multiple screens. It was like watching an android at work.

This time though, we were chilling out in the entertainment room. When Mark went out on patrol, we would often hang out there, mostly trying to distract ourselves from anything but the fact that her husband, and the man that I considered a brother, was out risking his life. It was the sort of thing that would drive you crazy if you let it. I could understand why police and firefighter spouses age prematurely.

We were watching a DVR'd day old edition of
The Daily Show
when Sophie's cell phone rang. Her conversation with Mark was short and to the point, and when she hung up, her face had changed. It wasn't quite the look she sported when she was in the bell tower, but it was getting there quickly. "Mark's bringing a wounded man here," she said simply. "Follow me."

Following her into the bedroom, Sophie pulled open a drawer and tossed me some clothes. "They're a bit big for you, but they'll work. We can dispose of them later if we need to."

We stripped out of our pajamas and into clean light pants and shirts quickly. Sophie led me to the bell tower, where she and I set up the foam rubber mattress. Sophie got out her surgical kit and handed me a mask. "We may have to conceal who we are," she explained. "Leave it on."

The room set up, we headed down to the garage. The wait wasn't long, but in the few minutes between when we got down there and Mark came in, I could see the tremble in Sophie's hands. She was muttering to herself, most of it too low for me to hear, but in the cavernous silence of the four car garage, I could hear some of it. She was wishing, or perhaps praying would be a better term despite her professed atheism, that Mark was unhurt. Mixed in were some reminders to herself, like she was psyching herself up for what was to come. I understood, it’d been a while since she had done any serious medical treatment. I'd watched her keep her knowledge up to date with online simulators or other sorts of study materials, but that wasn't the same as the real thing.

Mark arrived with his passenger, who was hanging on his back loosely. For a few moments I thought perhaps he was awake until I realized that the reason his arms were so secure was because Mark had taped his hands together over his shoulders. Sophie and I helped Mark off his cycle and up the stairs, where we laid him down on the mattress.

"Genius boy over there started shooting the Gangster Disciple donut shop with a goddamned hopped up air gun," Mark said, telling us about the incident, "not knowing their tactics. But he didn't complain, took one in the back as I drove us off."

"He's been shot in the right lung. It's still inside, I need to get it out," Sophie stated, her voice eerily calm and filled with command. I'd never seen her when she was doing her internship at University Hospital, but knew instantly where she got it from. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it came back to her in an instant.

She used her scissors to cut open the man's shirt, and as she peeled the cloth back, I felt like I'd been hit in the stomach. The hole in his back wasn't that big, it looked like something I could plug with my little finger, but as she and Mark worked together to clear the space for her to work, they exposed his upper body. An upper body I'd felt and explored very recently. I'd felt those muscles, and had run my fingers around the two little moles there on the lower back near the waistband, so close together that you could loop them in a figure eight if you wanted to.

I didn't want to believe it at first, but when his right arm was visible in the light, my brain went into panic mode. There, I could see the designs I'd traced after we'd made love, and I was sure if he was turned over I'd see the gryphon on his right pec. I lost all sense of time, paralyzed. I heard Sophie ask me to do something, but I couldn't move, could barely breathe as I watched her and Mark work.

I've said before I love Sophie, she's my sister, but I've never been in awe of her before. I'd seen her do some pretty cool stuff, but never anything awe inspiring. For example, she was great in the gym, but she wasn't on the level of an Olympic athlete. Her skill in martial arts and stick-fighting were impressive, but I was pretty sure Ronda Rousey could still kick her ass. What made me love Sophie was her mind and her soul, which while amazing, isn't exactly awe inspiring.

Those forty minutes though, she was a goddess, a primal force of nature that could not be denied. She was as forceful as the lightning that tore the sky apart when I was a little girl in Florida, as calm as an iceberg. She was Artemis, Apollo the Healer's sister. She was Eir, the Norse goddess of medicine. She was unstoppable, unflappable. She held life and death in her hands, and commanded both with the pure force of her will and her skill. In my entire life, I'd never both loved, feared, and revered a person as much as I did for those forty minutes. She held his life in her hands.

Finally, she was done. "He'll make it."

I felt like the entire world crashed on me with those three words. Tears and sobs tore from my chest, racking my body. Mark and Sophie looked over at me, Mark getting up while Sophie finished up her work. He pulled me into an embrace, his blood stained surgical gloves quickly marking the t-shirt I was wearing.

"Tabby, what's wrong?" he asked quietly, his voice full of concern and comfort. He was another rock, a strong rock that lent me quiet strength, enough that I could at least form an answer.

"It's him. It's him," was all I could say, burying my face in Mark's chest and sobbing like a child. I heard Sophie cutting with her scissors some more, and a gasp from Mark.

"Oh, shit."

They understood now, too. Lying on the mat was the man I'd made love with just the night before. Lying on the mat was Patrick McCaffery.

W
e were still
in the bell tower, Sophie downstairs showering after cleaning up her ad-hoc surgical area. We'd transferred Patrick onto a cot, still lying on his stomach to keep pressure off the wound. She'd given him a shot of a broad spectrum antibiotic to ward off infection, and then went off to shower. He didn't need a ventilator, as the bullet had just nicked a lung, not collapsing it. He'd almost bled to death however, and was taking another bag of blood that Sophie and Mark kept on hand for such an emergency. I was getting a first hand inventory of just what all the two of them had prepared for, and was shocked while at the same time thankful. If not, Patrick could’ve died.

Sophie was almost staggering herself, the stress and exhaustion finally overcoming her. Mark told her to get some sleep, he'd watch Patrick while she did. She kissed him on the cheek and headed downstairs, leaving the two of us up there.

I was too wired to sleep, as all I could do was look at the still unconscious Patrick. He looked like he was sleeping, and Sophie said she’d given him a mild sedative to let him rest through the night. I looked over at Mark, who was sitting on top of a footlocker that contained some of the bell tower's arsenal. He said something, and I shook my head.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you knew," Mark repeated, concern in his eyes. "Did you even suspect?"

I shook my head. "Mark, how can you suspect someone of something like this? I mean, the odds of this are.... astronomical, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Mark replied, sighing. "I guess so. But still, you didn't suspect him of anything?"

"No," I said. "He's been a good couple of dates, and well, yes, we had sex. But while he's not been too forthcoming with his past, considering what he told me, I can see why. Did you brag to Sophie when you were first dating about your past in the Confederation? How long did it take for her to know most of the gory details?"

"Months," Mark admitted. "Some details that, well, I don't even tell myself happened sometimes. Over eighty deaths, even more injured…. you don't tell people about it unless you have to."

We sat in silence, watching Patrick, both of us lost in our heads. As I watched, I thought. Why did I panic and freeze up? Was it because of the sight of the blood? Was it because of the surprise that Patrick was the other vigilante? Or was it because of how I felt about him? I could deny it publicly, and I wouldn't be willing to say anything to Patrick yet about it either, but in my heart I knew I cared for him. The days we weren't able to see each other, I was filled with a pleasant ache thinking about him, his smile and his wit. I missed him, and even talking to him over the phone helped. Even still, if this revelation would’ve been before I met Mark, I would have told Patrick to get lost. But my life has been opened to a world I never knew existed, and all this craziness has almost become
normal
to me.

It wasn't just the sex with Patrick, either. While amazing, the best in my life actually, we'd only had that one night. My memories of him were filled with other things, little details like how his green eyes sparkled in the evening lights, or how he had been like a little kid enjoying the Spartans game we'd gone to.

Was I in love with him? At that time, I honestly would say no. Was I falling in love with him? There was a niggling voice in my head that insisted yes, despite all the problems that could arise from that fact.

"So what now?" I asked Mark. "I assume you've been thinking about that."

"On which front?" he asked. "Patrick's public life side or this new side of him that we’ve discovered?”

"Both, I guess," I said. "And us, too. When he wakes up, what are we going to tell him? I doubt you can transport him back to his apartment right now, and I don't know his address."

"He lives in The Playground, I know that," Mark said, "but you're right, I don't know his exact address right now either. Not off the top of my head. On the vigilante side, not much is going to need to change. He's stirred up a hornet's nest in Filmore Heights, but with the sight of me there and the evenness of his attacks, we won't see a cook off in gang warfare, at least I don't think so. The Latin Kings might try to take some advantage, they weren't hit like the others were, but they've always been slow moving compared to the others. The 88s and GDs are both hurt, but not to such an extreme that it would invite invasion from the others. I'll probably do a surveillance run Monday night, just to see what's going on. The cops will be heavy around there too after this, but since I don't think anyone died, I suspect they'll be there to keep the gangs away from each other more than to try and arrest anyone."

"What about Patrick?"

"It depends on his personal schedule, and if he has an assistant yet. If he does, he can give them a call tomorrow, tell them he got food poisoning or a nasty cold or something. I've worked with people who've had gun shots to the chest before, he'll be able to talk as soon as he wakes up. He's not going to be able to leave here though for close to a week, not unless there’s an emergency. Which leaves us with the big problem."

"What do we do with him here in the bell tower," I said, looking around. While there was nothing inside the tower loft itself to identify us or where we were, the slatted sides where the bell sounds used to go out were a big hint, along with the vaulted ceiling that clearly showed the massive beams that used to support the bells. It was enough that a smart man could piece together where we were, even if we wore masks and full sleeves the entire time.

"Exactly. Tabby, I'm going to ask you a very simple question, but one that's not simple at all," Mark said. He looked at Patrick, then at me. I thought he was going to ask me about my emotions for him, but he surprised me. "Do you trust him enough to reveal yourself to him?"

I understood Mark's point. If I revealed who I was, it was the first domino in a chain. There'd be no way we could prevent Patrick from learning about all three of us, and who we really were. I was risking more than just myself. I was risking all three of us, and honestly Mark and Sophie stood to lose far more than me. I thought for a long time, about the consequences if we were wrong, and about the man I'd come to know in the past few weeks. Finally, I looked back at Mark and nodded. "Yes. Despite it all, despite what I don't know about him yet, I trust him enough for that."

"Okay," Mark said simply. "I'll talk with Sophie, but if that's how you feel, then we'll go with it unless she objects."

I sat there, stunned. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Mark replied, giving me a bit of a grin. "What, you didn't think I trust your judgment?"

I shook my head, then shrugged. "Well, after Pressman, and since you guys are the ones with the money and expertise, I guess I've always felt like Alfred to you two being Batman and Batgirl. A sidekick, a minor character. Maybe quirky, and sometimes gives good plot points, but not vital."

Mark shook his head. "You've never been minor to me, Tabby. Not to Sophie either. You're the reason she wanted to come back to the city after Sal Giordano sent men after us. We could have disappeared, you know. Marcus Smiley and Sophie Warbird were clean identities, we could have gone anywhere. We could have disappeared into the South Pacific, lived on Fiji and sipped coconut smoothies for the rest of our lives. But Sophie wanted to come back. She talked a bunch of stuff about the city, about making things right, but she wanted to come back because of you, and how much you mean to her. After we got you out of that nightclub and I got to know you, I understood why."

"You... I didn't know," I said softly. "I mean, I know you guys care about me, but I didn't know."

"We're a team, Tabby. A triangle, three people who are all equal. You're just as important to this team as I am or Sophie is. If you trust Patrick enough, that’s all we need to know.”