Chapter Text
Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as Ransom squeezes his hand, cutting off your airflow and making it nearly impossible to breathe. He raises his arm, lifting you into the air until your toes are just brushing the ground. You let out a choked sound, lifting your hands and desperately trying to pry his hand away from you.
There's a lot of sound around you, someone calling your name, but you can't hear anything past the noise of your blood pumping in your ears. Ransom snarls at you, his teeth bared as he shakes with fury. His piercing blue eyes stare straight through, filled with fury and hatred. There's a gleam in them that tells you all you need to know.
He will kill you. He isn't afraid to.
In for a penny.
"Ransom, let her go," Blanc's voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. He sounds angry, livid, like he's ready to tear into something with his teeth.
Ransom chuckles darkly, not taking his eyes off of you. "Why? As soon as I let her go those two dickwads over there are going to tackle me, or worse, shoot me. So, no, I don't think I will."
His hand tightens and you let out a small whimper at the pain of it. You feel as though your eyes are going to start bleeding at any second from all the pressure that's being pushed through your body.
"Ran...som..." You gasp, and even though you're trying desperately to appear threatening, the dimming of your vision and lack of mobility is truly making it hard to do so.
Ransom finally looks away from you and over to his right for a brief moment. He grits his teeth for a moment, though even that is hard for you to make out as your eyes begin to flutter closed.
"Blanc..." your voice is barely a whisper, hoarse as it is, as you plead for any help. You feel as though you're truly going to die at this moment. Your vision is dark, your eyes are fluttering closed and you've gone so long with so little air that you're surprised you haven't fallen unconscious already. Too long without oxygen isn't good for the brain.
Just as you begin to feel yourself fading away, the hand is suddenly gone from your throat. The air flowing back into your lungs comes all at once and you gasp, choking on it in the process. Your feet slam back down onto the floor and your knees buckle, causing you to fall back towards the ground.
Someone wraps their arms around your waist and catches you halfway to the ground, slowing your descent and cushioning your fall. You crumple in their hold, your limbs loose and all your strength gone.
When your vision clears and you can see what's happening, everything seems so slow. Ransom yanks one of the knives off of the wheel and you're forced to watch, helpless, as he lunges for Marta. Lieutenant Elliot and Trooper Wagner were thrown off guard by him tossing you to the side that they're slow to stop him from attacking Marta as well. Marta's mouth opens in a silent cry as he grabs her and shoves the knife directly into her chest, the two of them falling to the ground with him on top of her.
"Marta!" You sit up with a cry, your voice weak. The arms around your waist hold you in place, supporting you when you lose your strength and slump forward. They tug you back and against their chest, and considering you can see everyone else in the room it's not hard for you to deduce that it's Blanc who has you leaning against him.
The room goes silent as Ransom pulls away from Marta just the slightest bit, a look of frustration on his face. Marta stares up at him, wide-eyed and otherwise appearing unharmed. There's no blood, no screams of pain. Ransom pulls the knife back the slightest bit, and that's when you see it.
It's a theatrical knife.
Ransom comes to the same realization. He blinks down at her.
"Shit."
Elliot and Wagner don't waste another second in moving forward and grabbing him, yanking him off of her. You slump back as you finally see that Marta's no longer in danger, the pain of your throat coming to the front of your mind.
Blanc is moving you around, twisting so that you're now able to look up at his face. His eyebrows are pulled together deeply, his face etched with concern. His eyes are wide and his mouth is moving, but you can't quite focus on what he's saying.
You let out a shaky breath and that stirs something in your lungs, making you sit up and start coughing. The burn in your throat is painful and makes your eyes water. You take deep breaths in, trying to make up for the time when you were hardly breathing at all.
Blanc places one hand on your back and the other on your jaw, gently tipping your head up and forcing you to look at him. He looks down and his mouth hardens for a brief moment.
"It's okay, you're okay now. Try to calm your breathin', all right?" You can finally make out what he's saying and he's clearly trying his best to get you to stop coughing, but it's not really doing any good.
You force yourself to stop, face nearly turning red in the effort to hold in your hacking. Once the feeling manages to pass you let out a deep breath and lean forward, managing to press your forehead to Blanc's shoulder in the process. You're surprised when he doesn't push you away but instead moves his hand to cup the back of your head, holding you in place.
"How is she?" Lieutenant Elliot's voice sounds somewhere to your right, out of breath but still in control.
"Haven't asked her yet," he murmurs, "she needs to be checked over by a medic."
Elliot walks away. You distantly hear some racket and stern voices as you're guessing Ransom is led out of the room.
Marta.
You sit up suddenly, startling Blanc. Black spots swim briefly in your vision before fading away. He focuses on you, briefly glancing down at your throat before looking you in the eye.
"What's wrong?"
"M-Marta," you say quietly, turning to look over where you last saw her. She's sitting up now, leaning back against the couch with her knees pulled up to her chin and her arms wrapped around them. She glances over at you and you see her tear-stained face. She moves forward at the same time you move away from Blanc--albeit reluctant as he is to let go of you--and the two of you meet in the middle, wrapping your arms around each other.
Marta immediately starts crying into your shoulder. You should be crying. You feel like crying. You want to cry. But you can't. While Marta allows herself to let go in your embrace, you sit there, stony-faced and numb. It's finally all over. Marta didn't kill Harlan, Ransom has admitted to killing Fran on tape and will now go to prison for the rest of his life, and even though your throat is feeling a little raw at the moment, you're both alive. You're swimming with emotion that refuses to be let out, building up inside you.
"The ambulance will be here in a few minutes." Blanc's calming voice says from just behind you. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"
You shake your head, leaning back as Marta does the same. Her eyes are red and there are tear streaks on her cheeks.
"Blanc, do you mind taking those two out of here while we deal with this?" Elliot looks over his shoulder to where Wagner and the other police officer now have Ransom on the ground with his arms handcuffed behind his back. They're talking to him but he's facing the other way so you can't see how he's feeling.
"Of course," he says, standing to his feet quickly and moving to the front of you. He holds a hand out to Marta first, helping her to stand and then doing the same to you.
You're momentarily caught off guard by how easily he pulls you up. You sway on your feet, still trying to get all your air back and stop your head from being so floaty. He clamps down on your hand and steadies you with the other, waiting until you nod that you're fine. He lets go of your hand but simply moves it around to your back, to the area you're sarcastically beginning to call 'Blanc's space'. Whenever Blanc leads you somewhere--which as of late has been quite often--his hand is always on the small of your back, his fingers spread and seeping warmth into your spine. It's comforting and nice, and for that reason, you never step out of his touch.
The three of you move out of the library with Marta trailing behind since you all can't fit side-by-side in the doorway. Blanc leads you into the living room over to a chair by the window. Marta sits in the one beside you while Blanc seats himself across from the two of you.
Your throat is on fire, throbbing and making it painful to even swallow. Maybe something to drink would help. Just to soothe the ache a little bit.
You stand up and immediately Blanc is on his feet as well. You pause as he looks at you with a frown.
"Do you need to go somewhere?"
You shake your head. You clear your throat and immediately regret it, wincing at the raw sensation it envokes. You lift your hand up and rub your neck, delicately trying not to press too hard on the marks you're sure are forming there. "Drink."
Blanc nods, watching you with concern. "I'll be more than happy to get you one once the medics have checked you over. Can you wait that long?"
You nod, moving back and sitting down once more. Blanc hesitates before doing the same. The silence from before settles over the three of you again. It's not awkward, but there is unspoken tension.
Marta places her hand on your knee and squeezes comfortingly. You smile weakly at her, and she leans over, looking at your throat.
She frowns. "I think it's going to bruise."
You let out a sigh. "I'll get my scarves out." You still sound like you had just spent the past three hours screaming your lungs out. Marta lets out something that sounds like an attempt at a laugh but it doesn't cover the concern on her face.
"Are you in much pain?" Blanc's quiet question floats over. He's leaning forward, hands clasped together and elbows resting on his knees. His face is pinched with worry as his eyes flicker from your neck to your eyes.
The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before you look down at your lap. "I've definitely felt better."
"Yes, I can imagine," he murmurs, "any man who lays his hands on a woman is no good man."
The urge to scoff is so strong that it actually hurts you more to hold it back than if you had just let it out.
Marta answers for you. "Y/N has known for a while that Ransom was no good. She tried to warn me, but I just...I was blind."
Blanc raises a brow. "How did you reach this conclusion about Mr. Drysdale, if you don't mind me askin'?"
You're unable to keep the frown off his face but you refuse to meet his eye.
"I apologize if that's intrusive. I shouldn't be makin' you talk anyways, what with how you must be feelin' right about now."
You wave a hand, schooling your features once more. "It's okay."
Blanc nods, but you can tell he isn't convinced. Marta's lips are thinned and you can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn't. If you want Blanc to know about your past with Ransom then you'll be the one to tell him.
Time passes quickly and before you know it Lieutenant Elliot is leading two paramedics into the living room and over to your side. They're two men, one young and one a few years older than you.
"This is Jameson and Andy. They just want to check to make sure you don't need to go to a hospital, okay?"
You nod, prepared to stand up but the younger one, Andy, steps forward and holds a hand out. "We can do everything we need to with you seated, ma'am."
Andy, probably in his early twenties, is a scrawny kid with fiery red hair. He has a serious look on his face and his cheeks are flushed, the medical bag clutched tightly in his right hand.
"So, you're Miss L/N?" Jameson asks, stepping forward and crouching down so that he's below you. He's tall with dark hair, brown eyes, and a white-toothed smile. He reaches into his own bag and pulls out a blood pressure meter.
Blanc clears his throat, making his presence known as he stands and moves around to stand behind your chair. "It's actually Dr. L/N."
Jameson pauses and glances at him briefly before nodding at you, his smile on his face growing minutely. "Doctor? That's mighty impressive. What kind of doctor?"
You try to smile, though you're sure it can't look too convincing. "Psychologist."
Jameson stops halfway through wrapping the cuff around your upper arm. He loses his smile and frowns, moving one hand to your throat and gently pressing his fingers into it. "Does it hurt to speak?"
You nod, not wanting to say anything more.
Jameson starts with the pump on the blood pressure cuff, and you begin to feel the tightening sensation on your arm. "Okay, I'm going to ask you some questions. You don't have to say anything, just nod or shake your head, all right?"
A nod.
"You already said you have a sore throat. I'm assuming this includes neck pain." Nod. "Any difficulty swallowing?"
Nod.
"You sound hoarse. Judging by the way I can see where a hand was on your neck--" he skates his fingers across my skin, sending a small shiver down my body that he has the decency to pretend he doesn't notice, "--but your eyes aren't bloodshot, at least enough to be concerning. Can you stick your tongue out?" You do. He pulls out a penlight and shines it, checking it over. "No discoloration. Do you have any ringing in your ears?"
You pause. You did have some right after Ransom let you go, but not anymore. You shake your head.
"No drooling...Andy can you listen to her lungs?"
Andy moves forward quickly and pulls a stethoscope out of his bag, crouching on your other side and waiting for Jameson to pull the blood pressure monitor off before checking you over. The diaphragm is cold and you shiver when he presses it to your skin. He does this for a few seconds before removing it.
"She sounds pretty clear."
Jameson acknowledges him. "Good, good. BP is 125 over 87, so it's a little elevated but after all that's happened, I'm not surprised. I imagine it will go back down in a little while. You seem like a relatively healthy person."
"Have you lost consciousness at all?" Andy asks, standing back up after packing his bag back up.
"Almost," you say quietly. Ransom would have made you pass out if he had strangled you for any longer.
"Any nausea, vomiting?" Jameson turns your attention back on him. You shake your head. Marta coughs beside you.
"Okay, well, other than some pain and soreness, I think you're fine. I would just watch to make sure that your throat doesn't swell up any and make you choke or stop your airflow, okay? If that happens you need to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Here," he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a business card, "this is my card, if you have any questions that you think don't constitute a hospital visit."
You would think that his intentions were entirely pure, except for the fact that as you take the card from his hand he winks at you. You blink at him in surprise.
"Will that be all? I'd like to get Dr. L/N here something to drink if I can." Blanc moves around to stand by the armrest, subtly putting himself between you and Jameson. You look up at him with a frown, confused as to why he's acting like he is.
Jameson pushes up to his feet, straightening until he's standing a few inches taller than Blanc. But what Blanc doesn't have in height he makes up for in confidence. He pushes his hands in his pants pockets and assumes a relaxed pose, confident in who he is.
You don't know what is going on right now, but whatever it is, it needs to stop.
You stand up as well, gaining the attention of the two men in the process. You reach out and shake Jameson's hand, who takes it with a slightly smug look directed in Blanc's direction.
"Thank you," you say, trying not to show how much pain it causes you to speak, "I appreciate it."
"Of course," he squeezes your hand once more before dropping it. "Just stay warm and take it easy for a few days."
You smile back. Blanc steps to the side and allows you to walk around him. You leave as the paramedics speak with Marta and you head towards the kitchen. When you hear footsteps behind you it startles you. A glance over your shoulder shows that it's Blanc who is following you, a sheepish look on his face. You stop and wait for him until he's beside you before you continue walking.
"I did say that I would bring you a drink," he explains. The corner of your mouth turns up.
"You don't know how I like it." You murmur, slightly teasing with him. He smiles at that.
The two of you walk silently into the kitchen. He leans against one of the cupboards while you move over to the stove and pick up the teapot, moving to fill it with water. Once that's done you set it on the stove and turn the heat on so it can boil. Maybe some hot tea will help.
Harlan is the one who was addicted to black coffee and black tea. He made you and Marta drink the tea with him as he understood your aversion to coffee. He didn't put anything in it but you and Marta at least put a little milk. Since Fran is the one who made it you know she also put sugar in yours.
You sigh, moving over to the tall standing cabinet and looking for the tea bags. Everything is so nicely organized that you find it quickly. You pull the sugar out as well and set them on the counter. Fran made sure that everything was easy to find for when Harlan wanted to get something himself.
Poor Fran. She didn't deserve what happened to her. Neither did Harlan. This whole situation happened because Ransom was angry about being cut out of the will because he's a reckless and egotistical human being.
Because Harlan changed the will to only include you and Marta.
You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to stop yourself from sinking into this hole of dark thoughts again.
Does this mean that everything--Fran's death, Harlan's death, the family turning on you, Marta's mother's immigration status being threatened--is you and Marta's fault? Could you have stopped something? Could you have prevented Fran's death, prevented Harlan's death if you had just stayed at his birthday party a little longer that night?
Two people died because of you.
And that's when the dam bursts.
A sob escapes you before you have a chance to stifle it with your hand. You place one hand on the counter to hold yourself up as the grief and anger over the last few days finally comes out and lets you feel. Tears stream down the sides of your face as you let everything out. Some of it is relief--relief that it's all over now and things can start to be on the mend.
Someone gently takes hold of your shoulders and spins you around, pulling you into their embrace and tucking your head into their shoulder. You go willingly, enjoying the feel of their arms around you. You can tell by the now-familiar smell that it's Blanc who's holding you. He rubs one hand up and down your back soothingly while the other is pressed to the back of your head.
He doesn't say a word, just continues to hold you while you experience your first mental break down in...in forever. You don't think you've felt so confused since your senior year of college.
You finally calm down and quit crying, but even then Blanc doesn't release you, he continues to hold you, being the firm rock you need to lean on at the moment.
The whistling of the teapot startles you and you jump back away from Blanc. He doesn't force you to stay against him but he also doesn't completely remove his hold on you. You wipe the tears from your face and try to compose yourself.
"Oh no," you whisper, frowning as you reach forward and try to remove the tear stains on his shirt. He chuckles.
"Don't worry about it, Y/N." He says gently, and when you look at him he's watching you with a mixture of amusement and worry. "Why don't you head back into Miss Cabrera? I can manage bringin' you your cup of tea. Just tell me how you like it."
You give him a wobbly smile. "A little milk and some sugar, please."
He smiles. "Of course. Just leave it to me."
You nod and start heading out of the kitchen while he walks over to turn the stove off. You hesitate in the doorway, looking back at him. You want to thank him, for holding you, for catching you, for being there for you, but you don't know how.
And then you get an idea. But should you do it? Would he push you away? What if he was only being nice like that because he felt sorry for you?
Screw it. You're going to do it anyway.
"Blanc?" You call, ignoring the pang in your throat. He turns from where he's holding two teabags in his hands, giving you an expectant look.
You walk over and before he has the chance to move you lean up and kiss him on the cheek, in the same place that you did when he was asleep in his apartment, lingering for just the barest of breaths before pulling back and looking up at him.
His eyes are wide and his cheeks are quickly turning red as the two of you stare at each other.
"Thank you," you say, barely loud enough for him to hear. And then you turn and head out of the kitchen, leaving him frozen in his spot and staring at you as you walk away.