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Before I say anything else, I first have to issue huge thanks to Stopquitdont, who helped and encouraged me throughout the writing of this story. Without her help and support and nagging, this story might never have seen an ending--much less the message boards or the archive! I also have to thank Julie Stars, who also added to the nagging, and allowed me to IM her bits of this story at all hours of the night when she probably should have been sleeping!
This story takes place during season 1. This story comes with a major WHAM warning. It contains some serious content, and this happens fairly quickly (right in this section). I can assure you that it *does* get better if you hang in there with me!
Feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading.
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Hide and Seek
by Wanda Detroit
Rated: PG-13
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The crisp November air made her wish she’d worn a coat. It wasn’t as bad during the day, but here it was, pitch black at two in the morning, and she was missing her overcoat.
As a result, she welcomed the stagnant warmth that the subway station offered as she descended to the platform. The wee hours of Thursday morning were apparently not a busy time to take the train. She found herself alone and was glad because Suicide Slum was a bad area. She knew better than to be there alone, at any time.
And for that same reason, she had left her precious Jeep Cherokee safely in its garage. She feared leaving her silver baby parked in this neighborhood would only result in finding it propped on cinder blocks with all four tires removed. So she’d opted for public transportation instead.
Tonight had been very productive, despite her misgivings about venturing--alone--into a less-than-safe part of town. With her partner on vacation for Thanksgiving, she didn’t have much of a choice. Two reluctant sources had come forward with information, confirming a lead she’d been chasing all along. They had been eluding her all week, so when they finally agreed to meet with her, she wasn’t going to say no.
Still, she’d been all too aware of the dangers involved in venturing into the area at this time of night. There she’d been, a lovely, young, well-dressed woman wandering around in the middle of the night. She was propositioned twice during her brief two-block walk to the subway.
“Hey, Lady... How much?” She’d kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, ignored the insulting comment, and quickened her pace. Her high heels pounded a fast rhythm into the pavement until she finally arrived at the station.
She shuddered, watching a sizable rat scurry across the train tracks. She could hear the hollow echo of water dripping somewhere, leaking from the street level to a puddle below. A flourescent lightbulb was in the process of wearing out, and it flickered and hummed above her head making her wait for the train all the more disconcerting.
Satisfied and exhausted, she was relieved when she heard the shrill scream of the train coming her way. The thrill of getting the goods for her story was fading, leaving her anxious over being alone in the heart of Suicide Slum. She sighed thankfully when the train slowed to a stop. Strangely enough, fate was on her side because the car she stepped into was completely empty. She talked herself out of being nervous; it was silly to be scared. She was perfectly safe.
Her tired feet thanked her when she sat down. She smoothed her tweed skirt over her lap and peered into her bag. She withdrew a steno pad and reread her notes. As much as she hated to admit it, she was too sleepy to concentrate. Instead, she resorted to scribbling absentmindedly in the margin.
The train screeched to a halt at the Hyde Street platform, jerking her hand across the page. The hard line crossed over her notes. Frustrated, she put the pad away. She could not take the chance of destroying this evening’s work.
She looked up briefly as a man entered her subway car, and averted her eyes again. Anxiously, she hugged her bag closer to her body. The man was still standing when the car jerked forward. Clumsily, he grappled for the nearest pole to steady himself, then he took the nearest seat which was right beside hers.
It was then that she lost track of time. There were vivid fragments. The rocking of the train on its tracks was lulling her to sleep. She felt something sharp prick her arm. She was numb. Things went in and out of focus. What came first? The man knelt down in front of her. He was trying to help her, wasn’t he? *Wasn’t he?* It was like she was instantaneously drunk. Things were spinning. She tried to focus on the stranger’s eyes, his words. But she couldn’t hear him! She was briefly terrified. What followed was more confusion.
She tried to move, but her limbs were like dead weights. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but no words came. The stranger had tried to help, hadn’t he? Taking her by the shoulders he was able to lift her to an almost-standing position.
Just as suddenly, she realized she must be laying on the floor. Colorful advertisements spun overhead. She couldn’t read them, though she tried. She could not focus on a single one. The effect was even more dizzying. To bring herself relief, at last she shut her eyes.
The last thing she saw was the stranger’s clear blue eyes hovering over her.
He was trying to help her, wasn’t he?
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Ian Johnson had collected enough spare change to ride the subway that night. He worked his dark, weathered hands together, warming them. It was a cold night to be sleeping out on the streets, and Ian knew how nice he would feel on a warm train.
Three in the morning. No one was ever around at this time. Especially not on a holiday. ‘Happy Thanksgiving,’ he thought to himself grimly.
The train slowed to a stop, and Ian started toward the nearest car. It was empty, or so he thought. Upon entering the car, he realized he was mistaken. There were two passengers.
Ian was friends with all sorts: gamblers, drug addicts, drunks, prostitutes, other homeless people. Not many things surprised him. This was one of those special cases.
There was a woman lying on the ground. She appeared to be unconscious. Her pantyhose and underwear were rolled down around her ankles. There was a man straddling her, trying to unbutton his pants.
“*Hey!*” Ian shouted, upon entering the car. The man jerked his head upward at the sudden interruption. He’d been caught! Before the subway doors could close again, he bolted out the door. Ian rushed to the victim’s side.
“Hey lady,” he said, shaking her shoulders. She was completely unresponsive, but Ian could tell that she was breathing. The blouse under her jacket was torn open, leaving her bare and exposed. Ian tucked the jacket across the woman’s body. “Lady, wake up,” he tried again. Nothing.
Ian instinctively grabbed the handbag that was laying nearby. He took out a cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.
“Yes. My name is Ian Johnson. I’m calling from the G train, just past the Hyde Street stop. I just got on this train and there was a man trying to rape a woman. The man got away but the woman’s still on here unconscious... Her name? I don’t know,” Ian continued to search her bag, finally withdrawing her press pass. “Hold on, I found some I.D. Her name is Lois Lane. She works over at the Daily Planet.”
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