Dane's POV:
"I don't understand—what do you mean this is good for me?"
Her voice rises with every word, agitation creeping in, sharp and fast.
It cuts through the sterile quiet of the east wing like a blade.
"This is not what I do," she snaps.
"I treat. I diagnose. I heal. I don't clear people and take vitals—that's for… students."
I don't answer right away.
I knew this would happen.
Rain doesn't bend when it comes to her work. She never has.
She gives herself to whatever she believes in—completely, stubbornly, without compromise.
That fire is what made me fall for her.
It's also what makes this impossible.
And that, unfortunately, is exactly who I am too.
Sorry, Rain.
"You aren't safe," I say finally, lowering my voice, forcing calm where none exists.
"You just...Listen this is temporary. You've been through a lot. Your injuries haven't healed either, baby. Maybe you need to take a step back."
I hear it even as I say it—the way it sounds rehearsed. Weak.
"You don't get to decide that, Dane!"
There it is.
The anger flashes fully now, bright and unrestrained.
People nearby stop what they're doing. Heads turn.
Conversations die mid-sentence. No one ever raises their voice to a captain here.
No one ever dares.
She doesn't notice.
She doesn't understand. She can't.
If Stocciani is even thinking about her—if that photo was a message—then she can't be near violence, near trauma, near anything that makes her visible.
Anyone can get through her.
Anyone can get to her.
Here, tucked into a quiet corner, unseen, unnoticed—she's safe.
At least until I figure out which bastard thought it was smart to send that picture.
"Danny—no," she says, breath tight, eyes glassy.
"I want to go home. Are you going to take me, or should I just walk it up?"
Come on, Dane.
One more time.
"Baby—"
"That's it."
She turns and starts walking.
For a split second, the room freezes. People stare openly now—some shocked, some confused.
A few look almost offended on my behalf.
They don't understand.
With her, I'm not Captain Dane.
I'm just Danny.
The boy who once spat gum in her hair after a fight.
I curse under my breath and rush after her.
"Okay—okay," I say quickly. "Let's go home."
I'm going to have to find another way to get this woman to listen to me.
She's already at the car when I reach the lot. She yanks the door open and slams it shut hard enough that the sound echoes.
"Danny, I have had it," she seethes.
Her hands shake as she folds them into her lap.
"You bring me here, in the middle of nowhere, and I say nothing—because I don't want to stress you out. You've been so tired these past few days, and I didn't want to make it worse." Her voice cracks, then steadies.
"But where are we? What's BL? Who's Hawk? Are you Hawk? Why? What do you do? When do I get to go back? When do I talk to my mom?"
Each question hits like a bullet.
Why is it so hard for her to understand that this is for her benefit?
I press the accelerator harder than necessary, the engine responding with a low growl.
I keep my eyes on the road, jaw tight.
If I look at her, I'll either break—or say something I can't take back.
"Dane," she shouts,
"Are you even listening to me?!"
"YES I AM" I snap, louder than I mean to.
"There's nothing I can say or do that will get through right now, okay? I'm doing this for you."
The words hang there.
And instantly, I know I've fucked up.
Because they aren't entirely true.
And she knows it too.
She doesn't yell again.
Doesn't argue.
She just starts crying.
"Rain, I—" I reach for her, then stop.
The way she looks at me—it's like I'm the problem.
Like I'm the one who's trying to hurt her.
The rest of the drive is unbearable.
Silence stretches thick and suffocating between us, broken only by the hum of the tires against the road.
When we pull in, she opens the door without looking at me.
Before stepping out, she turns back once.
"I want to speak to my mom," she says flatly. "And I miss my friends. Make it happen—or you won't like what happens next."
She doesn't wait for my response.
Maybe I can let her talk to them.
From one of the base phones.
Secure. Untraceable.
"You can't tell them you're here," I call after her.
"Rain—listen to me. You can't."
She pauses at the door, glancing over her shoulder.
"Hm," she hums. "I'll think about it."
Then she walks off, hips swaying like nothing in the world is wrong.
She's a sight to behold.
As soon as we're inside, I hand her the phone.
She dials her mom first.
Tries to escape to her room, but I step into her path without thinking.
It's been a long time since I've heard Mary's voice.
She picks up on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Mom—it's me." Rain's face lights up instantly, relief pouring through her like sunlight.
"Rain?!" Mary's voice sharpens.
"Where have you been? Where's your phone? Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you? I called Matt—he said you were fired. What happened?"
Now I know exactly where Rain gets it from.
"Mom, I'm okay," Rain says quickly.
"I'm good. Here—speak to Danny. He'll explain." She says saccharinely.
I press my fingers to my temple.
"Danny?" Mary's voice cools instantly.
"Why are you with Danny?"
The wariness in her tone makes something pinch painfully in my chest.
"Hi, Mary," I say carefully. "She's with me."
"Why?" she asks bluntly.
Maybe she still hasn't forgiven me.
Why would she?
"She's here for a while," I say.
"We bumped into each other. She's safe. There's nothing to worry about."
It's the truth.
Or at least the version I can offer.
Mary is more than Rain's mom.
She was family to me once.
She never made me feel like I was missing anything.
Did my school projects. Fed me.
Even if she doesn't like me anymore, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about her in the last six years.
There's a pause.
Then I hear her sigh.
"How have you been, Dane?"
And she still cares enough to ask.
"I'm good, Mary," I say softly.
"I hope you are too. Hope your knees aren't killing you."
I try to joke.
I don't miss the surprise on Rain's face.
"I'm alright," Mary says. "Where are you two?"
"Mary—I have to go," I say suddenly.
"Rain will call you as soon as she can."
And before she can stop me, I hang up.
Rain stares at me.
"Call Matt and Natalia later," I say firmly. "Not now."
I leave before she can argue.
For the rest of the day, I stay in my room. Hiding.
Because if I see her again, she'll demand answers—and I'm not ready to give them.
This is better.
I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, running through contingency after contingency.
Every way I can protect her. Every way this could go wrong.
Eventually, exhaustion wins.
—
It's dark when I wake.
The house is too quiet.
The door creaks.
I'm upright instantly, gun raised, instincts sharp and unforgiving.
"Danny?" Her voice trembles in the darkness.
I lower the weapon just as she runs toward me, nearly slipping before she crashes into me, knocking us both onto the bed.