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Panic and a wave of memories rooted Rick to his place, completely forgetting the director’s instructions for what to do if Dante died. He lost ten critical seconds staring at Dante’s very dead body, trying to neither vomit nor break down into a blubbering pile of tears. Then his training kicked in and he scrambled to reclaim the time limit the director had given him. He wasn’t even remotely convinced Dante would resurrect, and the horror of losing his new partner so soon tormented him at the back of his mind, but he knew he had to keep it together to secure the area, like any gunfire situation.
He assessed the area quickly. The director said Dante needed ten feet clearance, but dragging him to an open space would expose Rick to the gunman that took out Dante, a gunman Rick couldn’t actually see right now. His only option was to leave Dante and seek a different shelter from both the gunman and Dante’s resurrection fire.
Firing in the general area of the shooter, Rick darted to the trash can, sat with his back against the metal cage surrounding it, and dialed the director.
“Director Leon, Dante is down.” He risked a glance over at where Dante’s body still lay. “A sniper got him.”
“How long has it been?” Director Leon didn’t even sound fazed.
“Twenty seconds?” Was it thirty? What if he didn’t get up? Rick found himself hoping the paranormal was true for the first time in his life.
“You’ve cleared the resurrection radius?” The director stressed, “You’re clear of the resurrection radius?”
“Yes.” It had to be thirty by now. This was horrible. He was a worthless partner. He was absolutely turning in his resignation the moment he got back. Forget law enforcement. He’d go make pizzas before he did this again.
“Has the threat been neutralized?”
“It’s a sniper, Director. I can’t even see him!” Rick shouted. What was that smell? He glanced back over at Dante to see a spiral of smoke rising from his partner’s body.
The director kept talking – something about watching for the sniper to pop up when Dante resurrected – but Rick didn’t hear. The smoke had turned into a full blaze, then a blast of fire engulfed the body and lapped at the water surrounding the fountain where they’d been sitting. Rick raised an arm to shield his face from the heat, still uncomfortably hot even from this distance.
The fire died back to a cloud of steam and a ring of blackened cement with Dante standing in the center. He looked around in confusion, then at his missing clothes in dismay.
And a second shot took him out like before.
With a cry, Rick turned and fired in the direction of the shot, getting a satisfying shout in return. It felt like everything he thought he knew had been flipped and it was all he could do not to scream and run. Dante had been standing there, only moments before. He shouldn’t have been. He was dead before. There was no question. He was dead again. Rick counted down from thirty, even as his hands shook. This was too much. Keeping his mind on the mission was nearly all he could handle. Take out the sniper and protect Dante. You can regroup later.
The countdown ended, and the blast of heat hit him again. This time he didn’t flinch, keeping his eyes out for the sniper. There! The flash of Dante’s resurrection fire glinted off a rifle barrel poking from the third story of the building across the street. Rick fired twice and the rifle fell to the street with a clatter. He holstered his gun, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and turned to face his partner.
The confusion on Dante’s face faded quickly to irritation. “What just happened?”
“You got sniped. Twice. Don’t worry I got him.” Rick ran his hand through his hair. “You died. Graphically. How am I supposed to get those pictures out of my head? How are you even standing there?”
“Yes, yes. I do this, rather frequently unfortunately.” Dante glared. “I need someone to back me up so I don’t get sniped and graphically murdered twice in one day. That is why you’re here, no?”
“I... I just can’t. You’re lucky I’m even still around now and not halfway back to New York.” Rick turned to go. “I’m going back to the hotel. I just need a bit of space.” And a shrink.
“I see.” Dante’s tone softened. “Is there any way you can bring me my clothes before you go?”
Rick shook his head. How could a flame throwing immortal be so incredibly helpless? He walked back to where they’d parked, pulled Dante’s case from the trunk, and carried it back to where his partner stood in humiliation. He sighed. Like it or not, this guy needed a partner. Rick just wasn’t sure he was the right man for the job. “Get dressed. I’ll at least take you back to the office before I make up my mind.”
🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
Rick hit the punching bag again. After he’d dropped Dante off at the office, he’d given his resignation to the director and immediately went to the gym. Gracie had texted, then called twice, but he ignored her. The director had offered him a shrink attached to PNI. He probably should have taken him up on it, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was talk about what happened. Right now, all he wanted to do was punch things.
He hit the bag until his hands hurt and sweat soaked his tee shirt. His partner had died. Twice. And they expected him to accept this as normal. Tyee had bled out in his arms. When Dante had gone down, Rick had nearly come undone. He couldn’t take an assignment where watching his partner die was literally part of the job description. He’d lose it.
He was losing it now. He barely noticed when his knuckles started to bleed, and ended up staring too long at the rusty smears on the white bag. He stopped to bandage his hands and kept going. Vampires. Werewolves. Flaming phoenixes in the form of men that resurrect when killed. None of that was real. It couldn’t be real. Admitting mythical creatures were real went against what he believed about reality.
If he was honest, that was really what was under his skin at the moment. He could adapt to an immortal partner. Knowing Dante would get back up no matter what kind of hit he took would be a relief – once he could get past the gore. Meshing the paranormal with his faith... that would be a bigger hurdle to leap. Making pizzas in Indiana wouldn’t create an existential crisis.
Shaking out his hands, he decided to quit before he actually hurt himself. He toweled the sweat from his face and threw the towel across his shoulders. He wasn’t in the mood for shower thoughts, though the rank smell from his sweat-saturated shirt warned him he couldn’t put it off for long. He’d go back to the hotel, pay-per-view tonight’s big UFC fight, order Doordash, and shower when he was too exhausted to think deeply about anything. The fact that the only spiritual counsel he could get on the topic was a Catholic priest didn’t help his mood at all. Imagining placing the call back to his home pastor to ask, “what do I do if I see a man rise from the dead,” nearly sent him back to the punching bag to finish turning his hands to pulp.
It was dusk when he left the gym, and the outline of a man leaning against the hood of his Jeep was highlighted by the setting sun.
“Yeah, nope,” Rick muttered as he recognized the flaming red hair and tailored suit. Fist pulp it was. He briefly wondered if they’d be playing the fight in the ER as he turned back toward the gym.
“Rick please.” Dante’s soft, lyrical voice followed him. “I’ll just take a moment of your time.”
Rick stopped, his back to Dante. The last thing he wanted right now was to talk to him. What he wanted was to go back to his hotel and pretend he’d never even met the other man.
“Charles told me you resigned. It is not easy to be my partner, and I understand.” Dante’s voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “I would just prefer the agency not lose a good agent. I asked Charles to give you the transfer you wanted, if I could persuade you to stay.”
Did he even want to stay? A week ago, a transfer sounded like a dream come true. Now Dante’s death and resurrection would be haunting his nightmares.
Dante sighed, took one of Rick’s hands, and stuffed something into his fist. “Thank you for your trouble. May God bless you wherever your path leads.”
Rick looked down at the envelope Dante had left in his hand as the other agent’s quiet footfalls retreated. He lifted the flap to see two tickets to the fight.
“Dante, wait.” Rick blew a long slow breath through his lips and turned to face the immortal. “How did you get these? They’ve been sold out for months.”
“One cannot live in the city as long as I have without making some friends in high places. After our conversation at Chick’s, I thought you’d enjoy the match.” Dante flashed him a wide grin. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a box with Senator Perez.”
Rick gasped and looked at the tickets again. He’d totally missed the box on the printout.
“You might want to shower before you go. I’m fairly certain they’d prefer you didn’t smell like the fighters you were going to watch.”
“Th-thank you.” Rick felt like his life was reeling again.
“All I ask is that you reconsider your resignation, if not as my partner, then at least from the agency at large.”
“You’d want me back as your partner? I got you killed. Twice.” Rick scoffed. “And nearly left you standing naked in the middle of the street.”
“Yes, the latter would have been unforgivable.” Dante chuckled softly. “You should ask Charles about his first time. If he will even tell you.”
“You’re serious. Are all your partner’s first times like this?”
“No. Few had the skill to take out a sniper at the distance you did.” Dante sobered. “I rarely make the wrong choice for my partner and I don’t believe I did now. I would be honored if you accepted the job, but would be satisfied if you at least stayed with the agency.”
“I’ll think about it.” Rick looked down at the tickets. If he hurried, he could shower and change before taking an Uber to the stadium. He certainly wouldn’t have time to think about anything at all until after the fight. “You know, Dante. There are two tickets, and you’re about the only other person I know here in DC. You wouldn’t want to come along, would you?”
“I would enjoy it.” Dante rounded Rick’s car to the passenger side. “There are rumors the challenger is half yeti, and I’m curious to see if that’s true.”
“Dante?”
“Hmm?”
“Not helping.”
“Right.”