Relations

"Master Chief!"

Jack paused before getting into his SUV. One of the instructors was jogging toward him from the gym. Damn, what now? He was trying to go home to get some much needed sleep, then call his cousin Marla in Galveston, about her upcoming wedding. Everyone had returned from SERE training the night before and Jack was just finishing up his paperwork and reports...12 nonstop hours later. This better not be about a bunch of bullshit and his rigid expression told the instructor as much.

"Uhh...Chief?" The young instructor read Jack's expression correctly and slowed his approach. Boy, was he glad this class was near graduation. Only another ten days of working under Urgayle. He wasn't the warm, fuzzy type and word had it, he was only here to pass time until he went back to his team in Coronado. "One of Lee's people left this in the gym. I know they're not coming back until the next group of trainees gets settled in. Wasn't sure what to do with it."

Jack recognized the nylon warm-up jacket. Of course, it belonged to Gigi. He hesitated before taking it with him. "I'll get it back to her, Peterson. Thanks."
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He sat in his truck for ten minutes, staring at the cottage before getting out. Jack hadn't come close enough to speak to Gigi in over a month. Before SERE, he stayed clear of the gym and now that would be unnecessary. Lee and his assistants held their last class, with the current group of recruits, a week ago. There really wasn't anything to say to Gigi. She had her life...her boyfriend and she thought he had Sheila. What a joke! What the hell was he thinking anyway? Any interest Gigi had in him didn't go beyond friendship; she surely didn't think much of his common sense after Sheila's little stunt. Still, he thought about Gigi, hoped her boyfriend was taking care of her. It would have been nice to discuss the books she had given him. He read them all and marveled at her perception of him. She knew exactly what he would enjoy. That was a better feeling than he had ever expected.

Gigi's Mustang was in the driveway, so Jack finally got out of his truck and went to her front door. He rang the bell several times. After no answer, he opened the screen and knocked heavily on the door. There was no way she didn't hear that pounding. With a deep frown, he glanced at the car, an obvious indicator that Gigi should be at home. The Mustang wasn't what kept him there. Jack knew she was in the house, could just...sense her nearby. He tossed the jacket over his shoulder and wandered around to the back of the house, keeping his disquiet in check.

The stairs of her deck led right down to the sand. Jack took them two at a time, until he got to the first landing. That was when the explosion threw him back wards, tumbling in the sand like a piece of debris. It took a moment to catch his breath before Jack pulled himself to his feet. He stared at the little burning cottage in shock. Gigi was in there! He was sure of it.

Without a second thought, Jack ran to the cottage and hauled himself onto the deck; the stairs had been completely blown away. He covered his nose and mouth with his shirt and braved the heat and flames inside. On hands and knees, Jack searched blindly within a house he had never entered and had no clue what the floor plan was. But Gigi was in there...somewhere.

"Gigi! Gigi!" He called out desperately. "Gigi!" A blazing beam crashed down and struck Jack in the shoulder. With a roar of pain, he rolled onto his side to douse his flaming shirt.

Undeterred, his search continued, singed flesh forgotten. But God, the smoke was stifling! Jack coughed and hacked, then managed to force his burning throat and lungs to function. "Gigi! Gigi!"

Then, beyond a curtain of flames, he saw her lying on the floor. Gigi wasn't moving, had probably been unconscious for some time. As quickly as he could, Jack crawled to her, deftly evading more incinerated beams. He got to her, his coughing out of control, and turned Gigi onto her back. Jack felt for a pulse and found none; listened for breathing and heard none.

"Oh God, no!" He had to get her out. She needed air more than he did. Jack scooped up her limp body and carried her through the hellish maze. Something tripped him up and brought him back to his knees; a shard of glass impaled itself in Jack's shin. Covering Gigi's body with his own and fighting for another breath, he dragged them both to the opening he used to get inside. Their bodies rolled off the edge and hit the ground hard, Gigi on top of Jack. In the fresh air he heaved and gagged, pulling her along, away from the devastation that was once her home.

Carelessly, he ripped the glass out of the gouge in his leg and began giving Gigi CPR. He pumped her chest, then gave her whatever breath he had left. "Come on Gigi...you can't be gone." Jack whispered, trying to detach himself personally, but found it impossible. "Please...baby...Gigi, don't die. Come on!" He continued mechanically until she gagged and coughed into his mouth.

Someone tried to pull Jack away from Gigi and he pushed back whoever it was, but the pulling became more insistent. He hadn't heard the fire trucks and ambulances that just arrived on the scene. The paramedics needed to get to Gigi, but had to get the burned man off her first.

"Sir," a middle-aged medic took Jack by the shoulders, "we need to get this woman to the hospital and get you checked out."

"I'm not leaving her!" Jack was hoarse and adamant despite his own injuries.

"You don't have to," a female medic assured him as she began to work on Gigi, "but she's gonna need you to be all right, sir." She slipped an oxygen mask over Gigi's face. "you're injured."

"I'll check your injuries right here," a younger male attended to Jack's leg and shoulder after putting an oxygen mask on him, which Jack promptly removed. They stayed near Gigi, but gave the other medics enough room to work.

Jack didn't feel the stinging antiseptics used on his wounds, his attention riveted on Gigi. She was breathing. Her eyes were open and glazed. Jack blinked back tears of relief. Gigi would make it. Eventually, she was going to be okay. "Thank God."
*********************************************
"Sir, please sit still," the ER nurse at Sinai Medical Center admonished Jack, "I have to bandage your shoulder."

"I'm fine," Jack mumbled, scowling at the stitches in his leg. "I need to see Gigi."

"The young lady that came in with you? She's in a room upstairs. She'll recover soon," the nurse cared for him efficiently. "You've got to worry about yourself now. Heard you were a hero," she smiled, "pulled her out of that fire."

Jack frowned, pursed his lips, "not a hero...just lucky."

"Yeah, well not just anybody would have run into a fire like a fool. You must love her very much. She's the lucky one. There," the nurse admired her work, "all patched up. I'll let the doctor know. Stay put."

Jack watched the nurse waddle away. He must love her very much? That was an odd thing to say. Couldn't do anything for other people anymore unless you were madly in love with them? Stupid. Jack shook his head and reached for his shirt when the first police officer appeared.

"Mr. John Urgayle," the short, buff officer queried.

"Yeah." Jack eyed the man before putting on his shirt. "You're here to take a statement?"

"Actually a detective is going to talk to you," the cop replied carefully. "How are you doing, sir?"

Jack ignored the question. "A detective? Why?"

"All the circumstances aren't clear, sir. We just want to make sure all bases are covered." He nodded in assurance.

You've gotta be shitting me! The cop was there to make sure Jack didn't wander off...was sent to guard him. Jack was about to voice the accusation when a tall woman caught his eye. The officer followed his gaze.

"That's Detective Velazquez. She'll be speaking with you today, Mr. Urgayle."

Jack's attention was locked on the Amazon approaching him. She was dressed like most female detectives...black slacks, button-down shirt, black, rubber-soled shoes. Her sidearm was a SIG Sauer and she walked with a confidence that assured she could use it...would use it, without hesitation. Her gold eyes weren't flirty and friendly that day. That day, she was working. Who the hell would have ever imagined that Sheila form the poetry slam and Detective Velazquez could be one and the same?