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Got Riff; *FINISHED* Het James /OFC Smut. A lot. And a bit of angst
Topic Started: September 2, 2015, 4:19 pm (4,426 Views)
Dragonlove
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Getting tickets herebwas a bitch. Even in pre-sail & vying for them on 2 PC simultaneously it was a no go. Tried again in regular sale and the system really threw me for a loop. Kept pushing me back in the waiting line. And I was not the only one. So many complaints about the system. Not Metallica 's fault but still.
So there I was, no tickets.
But the husband of a cousin of mine works for the main sponsor of the venue and he got me 2 tickets!!!


Good for you!
I employed two colleagues and we had two laptops and a smartphone going ;) But I managed within 20 minutes of pre-sale.
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Dragonlove
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Again, sorry for the long wait. This looks to be the second but last chapter, and I'm really reluctant to let this go. But I need something fun and I guess so do we all. I hope you'll enjoy the end of the ride with me.




Tony, the tour manager, claps his hands and, raising his arm, points at his watch. Like Lars has predicted, the prolonged band meeting has fucked up the timetable and we have to hurry to get to the interview appointment on time. Ironically enough it's with the tabloid that's published the bloody pap pictures in the first place.
Bachmann takes his leave, reminding us again to call him if anything seems off and with a few chosen words to James that I can't hear but that obviously do nothing to improve James' mood.

We all gather our stuff and Tony hands out backstage passes. Then he consults his clipboard and appoints several of the securities to accompany us to the interview while he instructs others to head to the arena.

I lightly shake my head. Who would have thought that the one time I let my libido rule my head would land me with a bunch of top-notch lawyers and securities to take care of my trouble with Dara.

While the others file out of the room, I grab James' right hand in both of mine. "Thank you for doing all of this for me."

For a second, he seems surprised. "Of course. I..." he interrupts himself and caresses my cheek with his free hand. "I could never forgive myself, if something happened to you."
With a quick glance, he makes sure Bachmann has already left, then cups my cheek to gently kiss me.

It only lasts two or three seconds, yet the kiss leaves me breathless and dizzy with emotions. As our eyes meet, James blushes. I guess he's feeling it, too.
I've been in lust with Metallica's frontman since... well, forever, basically, and now it seems I can no longer deny I'm head over heels in love with the man behind the musician.

Damn, I think all this has just become even more complicated. And yet I'm bubbling over with happiness.

Somewhere along the corridor a door bangs and we jump apart. But whoever it was doesn't come our way so we share a sheepish grin and hurry to close ranks with the others.

As we all pile into the waiting cars, Tony thrusts his clipboard into my hand. "Here, just look busy and snotty when you get there and they won't give you a second thought," he advises with a wink.

I look down at the clipboard. The uppermost sheet is a To-do-list from 9 a.m. ("setlist fwd. 2 crew?") till 2 p.m. ("re-check caterer"). I look for the points "lunatic ex-husband business" or "deal with troublesome mistress", with no success.
"Won't you need this?"

Tony shakes his head with a grin. He reaches into his knapsack and produces another clipboard. "I always keep a duplicate - just in case."

"You're such a Boy Scout!" Lars teases, as if he would not have anyone's hide should they fuck up.

"And you love me for it," Tony states.

James pats his shoulder while squeezing past him into the car. "We do."

I'm grateful for Tony's little red herring, but as we arrive at the strange hybrid tower building that is half late 1960s and half early 2000s, the tabloid people are much too busy fussing around the band to pay the entourage any attention.

Finally, we are all settled into a lounge which today doubles as a mini studio with various cameras and spotlights. The sofa's too small for the guys to sit comfortably, so Kirk perches on one of the armrests and Lars looks more than a little crowded between the burlier James and Rob. Two women bustle about with powder brushes and make-up.
The rest of us settles down at the other end of the lounge so as not to get in the way of the two cameramen and what seem to be curious onlookers.

I lean towards Fran. "So... Quidditch?" I whisper.

She chuckles softly. "The kids used to love it when we read Harry Potter to them. So, when we were looking for a word, that's what James came up with. It's so silly it's easy to remember and you're not very likely to accidentally say or misunderstand it."

A young intern serves coffee and soda and suddenly there's a hubbub coming from the direction of the sofa.

James has managed to get Kirk off kilter, who is now taking his revenge by sitting in James' lap and obviously trying to miraculously double his weight.
James just laughs and bounces his legs, making Kirk as uncomfortable as possible.

Fran shakes her head with a smile. "The more time they spend together, the sillier they get, the lot of them."

Apart from that the interview seems to be pretty much routine and about half way through it, Fran closes her eyes to catch up on sleep.

I'm feeling a little tired, too. But there's much too much going on inside my head - and my heart - to think about sleep.

Twenty minutes later, I gently nudge her awake. "They're finished."

"Praised be the Lord," Fran yawns.


Thanks to Tony's clipboard I know sound check is next on the agenda. So we all pile back into the cars that take us to the arena.
To my surprise there are already a hand full of fans waiting at the main entrance. They cheer and throw some horns as they see the SUVs pass, even though they can only guess their heroes are inside the cars.

We park next to the huge trucks that transport the equipment. Some securities in high-vis vests stroll around, looking bored.
My heart races as I see a tall man with auburn curly hair leaning against one of the steel barriers that line the way to the stage entrance. My fingers trace the outline of the panic button inside my jeans pocket. I won't need it since Max and Steve are right behind us, but still it makes me feel a bit better. As I come closer I can see the guy has no freckles and is at least fifteen years younger than Dara.

He calmly checks our backstage passes and nods as he steps aside to let us pass.

We have to find our way through a real maze of corridors and staircases until we finally reach the backstage area.

"Gosh, Gio really put the fear of God into these guys," Kirk states as we have to show our passes for the third time since entering the arena. He opens a heavy steel door and instantly almost runs into Tony.

Unfazed, Tony looks up from his mobile. "Ah, good. Sound check in fifteen," he says and keeps on typing.

People are bustling about pushing large boxes full of equipment or uncoiling great lengths of cable. Everybody seems to know exactly what they're doing, though. We thread our way through this controlled chaos, the band shaking hands and exchanging friendly insults with their crew.

While the guys check their instruments with their respective techs, Fran and I make our way to the front of the stage to watch the sound check from the fans' perspective.

After a few minutes, Lars is the first to emerge on stage, followed quickly by Kirk and Rob.

James, however, appears in front of the stage. Lars throws a drum stick at him, which James deftly ducks.

"You wouldn't be able to hit a truck if it was two feet in front of you!"

"Stop bragging and get your sorry ass up here, Hetfield!"

James grins and flips him off. But he does quicken his steps as he comes over to us. "Almost forgot something..." he says, softly enough that only Fran and I can hear it.

As if making a point James kisses both Fran and me in front of everybody and as he turns back towards the stage, Fran does something she's never done before. She slips her hand into the back-pocket of my jeans. For a moment I'm surprised, but then I understand. It's her subtle as ever way to make clear she's not the poor cheated on wifey, but a consenting part of this. Somehow, I get the feeling I must prove my own point I'm not just somebody's sex-toy, so I mirror her gesture and add a tiny squeeze. Fran looks at me and laughs.

I can't help grinning back at her. I guess this unrestrained laugh is one of my favourite things about Fran and I'm pretty sure James feels the same way.



The one thing I learn about sound checks today: They're boring - for band and crew they are a necessity, for those uninvolved they are about as entertaining as watching paint dry. I'm glad when every note on every single instrument - I've never really noticed how many the guys actually use on stage - sounds *just so* and every spotlight is bright enough but not blinding, and everyone is convinced they know all the cues for the special effects.

I have a hunch though, if one of the techs hadn't walked in with a big slice of pizza in her hand, it would have gone on a bit longer.

"Come *on*, Lars, food!" Kirk whines.

"But that spot is not ... ah fuck it."

All we have to do is follow the mouth-watering smell and we end up in one of the bigger back stage rooms, where we find dozens of sliced pizzas.
One of the wardrobe girls is just searching through the boxes to find her favourite.

"Hi, Chrissie, nice tutu," Rob grins. The girl is indeed wearing a bright pink tutu and skin tight leather pants, topped off with a Sex Pistols shirt.

"Oh, come on, in our post-feminist era a woman can be dressing feminine again," James grins and Chrissie very elegantly curtseys.

Lars chortles. "Been reading Cali's girlie-magazines again?"

Kirk looks up from his pizza. "Any good make-up tips in there?"

Fran pushes her hardly touched slice of pizza over to James.

James glances at her. "Your head?" he asks gently and Fran nods with a sigh.

Now that I look more closely at her I can see that she looks a little pale and her eyes are slightly glazed over and unfocused.

James ghosts his hand over her hair. "Steve can take you back to the hotel. You'll be more comfy there."

"No, Steve is needed here. I'll just pop a pill and lay down. Then I'll be all right again after the show."

"'kay," again he smooths back her hair, "got your panic button? Good, come on. Tony usually has pain killers. You can lay down in my dressing room. And keep the door locked."

After Fran has laid down in the dressing room, James leaves me with Tony. As if the poor guy needs another thing to worry about.

"Just tell me where I won't be in the way," I ask and Tony seems relieved.

"Could you just wait in the green room? We've still got three hours to go and the guys will be tuning and warming up and stretching and stuff, and the support act will turn up any second and I need to keep an eye on them, too."

"Sure." Maybe I'll get to catch up on sleep, yet, too. Tony promises he will get me to a place at the side of the stage, where I can watch without being in anyone's way when the show starts.
Under Gio's watchful eyes I curl up on the sofa and watch the smoothly running clockwork of Metallica's roadcrew.

Shortly before eight in the evening, Tony gives me a sign and I follow him to the side of the stage.
The support act are about to start and for the next forty minutes they deliver an impressive set. The audience is clearly appreciative, but at the same time I can feel the energy that's starts buzzing as soon as the band leaves the stage again.

The buzzing swells until the first notes of "The Ecstasy of Gold" are played and the crowd goes nuts.

I turn around to look back into the corridor and I can see James, Lars, Kirk and Rob on their way to the stage.

They huddle together and I believe it's Kirk's turn to give the prep talk, but I don't catch the words.
James raises his head again and winks at me. They are all brimming with excitement and eager to hit the stage. I smile and give him a thumbs up.
Thinking back five months to that momentous night in May, I can't help feeling relieved there will be no fans onstage tonight. I know I have no claim on James, but still. My respect for Fran grows even more.

As Metallica enter the stage I realise something strange. During the last few days I've become so used to James' gentle and sweet nature that his stage persona gets me by surprise again.

Not being a part of the crowd I can still feel the energy feeding back between band and fans and all that rock-induced testosterone awakens the butterflies in my stomach.
They kick off the show with Broken, Beat & Scarred and I remember yesterday's argument between Lars and James. I guess James won. During Kirk's solo he moves to the back of the stage, making room for Kirk at the centre of attention. He turns towards the side, seeking and holding my gaze. His look sends a shiver down my spine. I slightly incline my head. Message received and understood. James gives me a small, private smile and a nod of his own, before he turns back to face the crowd.

Even though I'm standing in the shadow of the side stage, I can still tell that the fans love every second of the show, and Metallica do, too. They play for two hours, putting every ounce of energy into the music, working the crowd into a frenzy.

Before the encore, everyone takes the chance to get something cold to drink and something dry to wear.

"Fran still sleeping?" James asks while resolutely towelling his hair.
I nod and try not to stare too much as he peels his sweat-soaked shirt off and runs the towel over his chest. "Guess so. She locked herself in your dressing room and hasn't come out yet."

James nods, takes the water bottle Tony hands him and empties it with three large gulps before slipping on a fresh shirt.

I really have to fight the urge to run my hand over his chest and further down. I want to touch him - oh, who am I kidding - I want to devour him right here and now.
Patience I tell myself.
As the last note of Enter Sandman is played, all pics and drumsticks are thrown and exhausted but enthusiastic fans leave the arena, I finally see my opportunity.

"Hey," James chuckles as I open the door to the storage and push him inside, "what do you think you're doing? I'm all gross and sweaty."

"Excellent," I purr, pulling him deeper into the shadows, "that's just the way I want you. Dirty and sweaty and all fired up from the show."

Between two rows of floor-to-ceiling racks I shove James against the wall and he doesn't protest as I drop to me knees in front of him.
He does, however, put his hands on my shoulders. "You think that's a good idea? With everybody on the look-out and on edge?"

I hold his gaze and I can see how hard he tries to not just let his passion rule his head.

I reach for the waistband of his jeans. Conveniently he has already unbuttoned it and lowered the zip half-way. The blue elastic of his Calvin Klein-boxer briefs peeks out, the rough denim is moist from his sweat and clinging to his skin as I pull the zip all the way down.

I know what I'm doing is reckless, stupid even. But I'm feeling defiant. I want to prove, if only to myself, that Dara's mind games don't impress me anymore.

"I'm greedy and you'll be gone in two days. I'm going to enjoy this for as long as I can," I state.

James squeezes my shoulders. "About that. Erm... I know this is a weird moment. But... Have you ever thought about leaving Germany again?"

I sit back on my haunches and raise my brows inquisitively.

James tucks some stray hair behind my ear. "Lars knows Elon pretty well," he says and I don't even have to ask for the second name. "I guess he could make some calls," he gives an awkward half-shrug, "pull some strings, whatever..." I can feel my head swirl. Working for Tesla would be a dream come true, so much so that the idea is too much to handle right now.

"James Alan Hetfield, for a successful musician you've got a bloody awful timing," I sigh, "how am I supposed to think about something as life-changing as that right now?"

James gives me a sheepish smile as I lightly shake my head at him.

Instead I focus on my current self-set task. I kneel up again, tightening my grip on his waistband.

James gives in to me and leans against the wall, letting his head fall back. "God, you make me feel 25 years old," he whispers huskily.

"I hope that's a good thing."

"In this case? Yes. Hell yes, in fact." He lowers his head again so he can watch me as I push his jeans and underwear out of the way, freeing his already half-hard cock.

I smile up at him and run my tongue along the underside. James groans softly. His eyelids flutter, but he struggles to keep them open, determined to watch me. He cups my cheek in one hand as if he needs something to hold on to.
Forming a tight ring with my fingers I take him in my hand and lightly swirl my tongue around the head. The effect is instant. A shiver runs through James' entire body, his cock growing to its full size within seconds.
I keep stroking his hardness while kissing his abdomen, licking up the salty taste of his sweaty skin.

James lets out a long, deep breath. He's usually more vocal, but I guess he really doesn't want to attract the attention of the techs and roadies still bustling around.
I would smile if my mouth wasn't occupied otherwise. Let's see if I can make him lose some of that self-control.

Kissing and nibbling my way down his taut stomach I can feel his breath become ragged and then hitch as I close my lips around the tip of his cock, slowly sucking him into my mouth.

He's big and I have to be careful to not start gagging. Thankfully James doesn't push in but lets me set the pace. There's no way I can take all of him, so I keep my hand wrapped around the base of his cock and concentrate on pleasuring the sensitive tip with my lips and tongue. I've never been able to get past my gag reflex. Personally, I think that whole talk about deep throating must be a kind of urban myth.

"Fuck, you're good at that," James whispers, his voice so strained it's barely audible.

He cups my cheek tighter and as I sweep my tongue over the head of his cock I can taste the first droplets of pre-come. I look up but James has his eyes screwed shut and bites his lip to keep quiet. I guess I'm doing something right here. Struggling to take him deeper I straighten my back further, putting more weight onto my knees, which are already screaming in protest to the hard concrete floor. James' hand slips from my cheek to the back of my head and he can't suppress the small growl that escapes his throat.

"Fuck, yeah," he breathes, "just like that."
His fingertips dig deeper into my hair, but he keeps from thrusting into my mouth.

I know he's getting close now and I speed up a little, closing my fingers a bit tighter and keeping my tongue pressed against his hard flesh.

Moments later he comes with a suppressed growl, his fingers knotting into my hair, his other hand clutching at my shoulder. I swallow and wait until he's come down from his high before I release him from my mouth.

"Fucking hell..." he breathes.

I grin and lay a finger on his lips. "You can thank me back at the hotel."

James laughs, still a bit out of breath and straightens his clothes. "That I can."

I carefully open the door and peek out on the corridor. Two techs are wheeling a heavy looking box out of sight.

"All clear," I say and pull him with me out of our hideaway.



"Ah, look who's here now. Just the person I was looking for. "

We stop dead in our tracks as if frozen on the spot.

As Dara saunters towards us he casually flicks open a butterfly-knife.
"Looks like you've got something belonging to me, Hetfield. No, that's okay, 'cause actually, I got something belonging to you, too." As Dara raises his left hand we can see the bundle of blonde hair he's holding.












Edited by Dragonlove, November 25, 2017, 9:59 am.
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jaymzbabe
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First off, I hope everything is okay with you. 😊
Now onto that, wow the whole of the chapter just made my heart swell with happiness,
and them being so close to truly explain to each other on how they truly feel. And wow at the hot and dirty sex at the end, it makes me love them even more together. When fran said she wasn't feeling well, I thought she's pregnant or she has been drugged by dara and he was coming but I didn't expect him to have apart of her and a knife in his hand. By god I hope james kicks his ass!! Please don't let us wait too long but I also don't want it to be the end of the story 😫😫 ❤️❤️❤️
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Rockfan71
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OMG!! I so loathe cliffhangers!!! He cut of anchunk of Fran's hair??? Hope that it is all he did. How the hell did he get in??? PRESS THE DAMN PANIC BUTTON!!!! Puuuuuuuush!!!

That out of the way: I ADORED it. Romantic. Cute. Lovable. Passionate. Freaking hot and a whole lot more!!!

Does it really have to end??? Nooooo. It does NOT!!! Keep writing Hun. DANKE
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Dragonlove
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So here is the final chapter of what started as a PWP and turned into the longest fic I've ever written. Thanks to everyone reading and responding, especially to @jaymzbabe and @Rockfan - I don't think I would have finished it without your support :huggie: .






I feel as if I'm dumped into a pool of ice water and next to me I can sense James turning rigid. "Fran," his whisper half plea, half curse. It only takes a split second and James roars with anger, ready to jump.

I grab his hand and it takes all my strength to hold him back. Dara laughs.

"C'mere, Anni," Dara demands.

I'm still holding James' hand and this time it's him who tightens his grip. "Don't."

"No, James", I say and reassuringly squeeze his hand, trying to convey I know what I'm doing. "It's me he wants." And all of a sudden, time slows down so much it almost stands still.

I know James isn't thinking clearly in his blind rage and that's always dangerous. I can only hope he's got enough presence of mind to use his panic button now that Dara focuses on me.

I'm surprised how calm I feel. It's almost as if I've been waiting for this moment for the last six years. I know exactly what I need to do.

You will not hurt me this time, I think as I slowly walk towards Dara, this time I know what you're capable of. This time it's you who has no idea.

"So here you are," a female voice calls and Fran rounds the corner, completely unscathed.

Dara half turns around, furious. Knowing he won't get another chance now, he shoots forward and tries to grab me.

But I've been expecting exactly that and my body reacts automatically. I sidestep his charge, dig my fingertips painfully into the muscles of the arm holding the knife, pressing down on the pain point, while grabbing his neck right above his jugular with my right hand to squeeze his windpipe. His eyes bulge with surprise and the lack of air and I can hear the knife clatter to the floor.

I hear a scream and I guess it's Fran, but I don't dare taking my eyes from Dara. Quickly I let go of his arm to grab him by his hair and yank him off balance and down. Dara's making choking noises and I can still hear somebody yelling and then a voice booms: "Getouttaway!"

From the corner of my eye I can see Max running towards us. I release Dara from my hold right as Max crashes into him from behind. Both tumble to the floor, Max burying Dara underneath his body. There's a strange cracking and grinding sound and suddenly Dara is screaming on top of his lungs and there's an acrid smell in the air. Dara's struggling wildly to get Max off his back. I can see blood seeping out from underneath him.

More and more people come running. Some men of the security team are talking rapidly into their radios, but I can't catch the words as they close in on Max and Dara.

I see Kirk and Lars, still wet from their shower and wrapped in towels, remains of shampoo still visible in Kirks curls. Rob, dressed in only his shorts and socks, obviously hasn't even made it into the shower before all hell broke loose.

Some of the techs are there, trying to make sense of the situation. James has wrapped his arms tightly around Fran and it seems he never again wants to let go of her. Both are pale as sheets.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" Lars shouts and I guess that I'm the only one speaking German and probably the only one knowing that the number to call is 112 and not 911. "They're on their way," one of the guys from the venue's security says.
Right, they're German, too. Thank God. I feel relief flooding through me. I don't know if I could talk right now.

The puddle of blood is growing at an alarming speed and now I realise that Max has long got off Dara's back, but he's still not moving. Steve is inspecting Max' hand with a grim look on his face.

Now Steve's turning Dara over and the sight almost makes me sick. There are shards of brown glass in all that red and parts of Dara's clothing almost seem torched. Only know I realise he's wearing a high-vis vest and black cargo pants like the venue's security staff.

"Here, press that to the wound," Lars says in a subdued tone as he hands Steve one of his towels.

I look up again as I hear more heavy feet running down the corridor.

Three men, two paramedics and a doctor, come to a skidding halt. "Ach du Scheisse!" one of the paramedics curses. His colleague shoots him a glance and gestures to Steve to make some room. "We take over now," he says with a heavy German accent.

The doctor puts on a pair of gloves and feels for a pulse on Dara's neck. He shakes his head and gestures for the medic to take away the towel. The bleeding has stopped.

All of a sudden I feel dizzy. I stumble backwards, mumbling an apology. I dash into the nearest bathroom and, realising I won't make it to one of the cubicles, am violently sick over one of the basins.

I'm still dry heaving as the door opens again and Fran comes in. As the door swings close behind her I can see James standing in the corridor looking helplessly from the door back to where the rest is still gathered in the corridor, running both hands through his hair.
I don't turn around as I still feel my stomach churning, but look at Fran in the mirror.

"He's dead," she says quietly.

My hands clutch at the edge of the basin, the knuckles turning white.

"They've called the police."

I nod. In the mirror I can see that tears are running down my face, but strangely I don't feel a thing, except for my knees trembling.

She makes a move as if to hug me, but I hold up a warning hand as another wave of nausea hits me.

By now, I'm heaving up bile.

"Come on, darling, the doc's still here. I think he should have a look at you."
Fran wraps her arm around my waist and I gratefully lean into her. I'm trembling all over and for some absurd reason my teeth are chattering even though my palms feel sweaty.

As we leave the bathroom James instantly wraps his arm around my shoulder, supporting my trembling body. "Fuck, Annika, you look like shit!" he curses.

I look at him and try a smile. "You don't look your best yourself."

Suddenly it occurs to me that if I hadn't made it into the bathroom I would have thrown up another man's cum next to my ex-husband's dead body.
I bet the police would have loved that.

Together James and Fran manage to walk me down the corridor again. One of the paramedics is examining Max' hand while the doctor is filling out a form on his clipboard.

Raising his head as we approach, the doctor takes one look at me and indicates we should get into the green room.
"Okay sit her down on the coach," he says to Fran and James. Other than with the paramedic, the doctor's English is fluent, with no accent I'd recognise. Judging from his looks I guess he's either from Irani or Syrian origin. He squats down in front of me, shining his pen shaped torch light into my eyes. "You don't feel too well, do you?" he says kindly and I shake my head, which in turn makes him nod. He takes my hands in both of his. "Do you feel cold? Can somebody please bring a blanket?"

I've never seen longer lashes. The thought pops randomly into my head.

Suddenly Kirk is there, wrapping a soft, purple blanket around my shoulders that he must have conjured from thin air. The doc nods at him and lets go of my hands to tuck the blanket tighter. "There you go. Your pulse is very high and your hands feel clammy. I think you're suffering from an acute traumatic stress disorder - commonly known as shock," he explains, "this reaction is fairly common after what you've just witnessed. I'll give you a mild sedative to calm you down a little. And I want you to try and relax as good as you can. Don't dwell on it right now. Your friends here will keep an eye on you, you'll be perfectly safe with them," he looks up to include Fran, James and Kirk in the diagnosis.
They all nod their agreement.

"What about Max? What about his hand?" I try to touch my own hand to illustrate what I'm talking about and even though I don't seem to feel it I can see both my hands are shaking badly.

"He'll likely keep an interesting scar, but apart from that he'll be fine," the doctor tells me in a reassuring tone of voice.

"Maybe I can help," Kirk offers. He places a hand on my arm while the doc prepares the injection. "I could talk you through a breathing exercise to calm you down?"

"Wait," I say urgently, right as the doc wants to inject the sedative, "I need to know what happened, before you put that into my veins. I need to understand how... how he died."

The doc looks at me with kind eyes. "You're sure you want to talk about this right now?"

I nod vigorously and he sighs. "He had a glass bottle in one of his pockets. It broke as he fell on it. The glass cut open his femoral artery. He bled to death within minutes."

"But... But you've been here so quickly, he can't..."

I try to make sense of it, but I just can't believe that a grown man can bleed to death so quickly.

"We were at the arena within three minutes of the call, but it took another two or three minutes from the entrance through this maze until we got here. With an injury as severe as this, one can bleed to death within two and a half, three minutes," he shakes his head, "if the artery had been severed clean, it could have curled in on itself. That would have slowed the bleeding. But my guess is that it was just widely cut open. He was dead before we arrived."

Just outside the door I can hear Gio addressing Tony. He glances inside the room and pulls Tony a bit further along the corridor. Obviously he doesn't want us to hear, but his voice still carries. "McKenzie's missing."

"What you mean missing?" Tony asks, his voice sharp with instant worry.

"He didn't respond to Het's alarm. His mobile's switched off. We're searching for him."

"Have you told the cops?" Tony asks after a short pause.

Fran squeezes my hand and tries to give me a reassuring smile, but I can see the worried looks they're all exchanging.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, feverously wiping at my tears, "I can't seem to stop."

The doc again reaches for the syringe. "You'll feel better in a few minutes," he promises as he injects the shot.

Kirk drops down into a cross-legged seat in front of me and gives me that kind smile of his. "Never mind. Just focus on your breathing. Inhale deeply... One ... two... three..."

I try to follow his example, but only manage to start hiccupping.

"Here, let's do this together," James says gently.

He sits down right behind me and pulls me close so that he can wrap the blanket around both of us, moulding his torso to my back, stretching his long legs to either side, his hands resting lightly on my thighs. I guess we look like a couple in a prenatal class. Fran sits down next to me, threading her fingers through James'.

Maybe it's Kirk's soothing voice or James' and Fran's reassuring presence or just the sedative kicking in or the combination of all that, but gradually I can feel myself calm down, the tears stop and the hiccup subsides.

Not a minute too soon, too, as now Gio escorts Bachmann into the room. Instantly, James wraps his arms around my shoulders and Fran and Kirk scoot a little closer, while Lars and Rob place themselves between Bachmann and the rest of us.

Bachmann notices their protectiveness and smiles, making a soothing gesture with one hand.
"I've just spoken to Mr. Rosenbaum", he says and I've got no idea who he's talking about until James asks, suspiciously: "Is Max in trouble?" while Lars is already reaching for his mobile.

Again, Bachman raises his hand and slightly shakes his head. "No."
He looks at me and crouches down to meet my eyes. "He - your ex-husband - clearly fell into his own sword, so to speak. You know he carried a glass bottle in his pocket?"

I nod and he continues. "You know what was in it?"

I slowly shake my head, already dreading the answer. I remember the acrid smell all too well.

"Judging from what's left of the label it was some sort of industrial cleanser. I think we all know what he was planning to do."

I hear the others gasping for air but feel strangely unaffected myself.

"We also found this ..." Another bottle, this one unbroken and labelled "Chloroform", duct tape and a cloth. "And this." He produces an evidence bag with the blonde hair.
Up close - and in the safe knowledge that Fran is sitting here with not one hair missing from her head - it's easily recognisable as one of those hairpieces sold in every drugstore.

James groans, resting his forehead on my shoulder.

Fran reaches for the evidence bag. "What the..."

"It was a bait. He wanted us to believe he'd captured you."

For a moment, Fran looks at her husband in silent horror. "Thank God you didn't fall for that."

James shakes his head. "I did fall for it. If Annika hadn't held me back... I dunno...."

Bachmann reaches out as if to touch me, but then decides against it. "We've got specialists for these kind of things, you know. If you'd like to talk to somebody... About tonight, or other things he's done to you..." he hands me a business card and James squeezes my shoulder without saying anything.


In this moment, there's a commotion outside the green room. We all tense, but Bachmann holds up a warning hand, reaching for the gun under his jacket with the other hand while stepping out onto the corridor. A second later, he reappears with Gio and Tony.
"We've found McKenzie" Gio reports. "He's been drugged and bound, one of the venue's securities, too. The doc and the police are checking on them."

I instantly flash back to the young guy that reminded me so much of Dara in the afternoon. I guess once Dara relieved him of his clothes and security pass, the outfit worked as a kind of invisibility cloak.
Gio might have put the fear of God into the venue's securities but maybe he should have given them glasses, too.
The similarity between the two had been striking on first sight, but much less so on a closer look.

Bachmann stands up from his crouching position. "I'm going to talk to them myself," he says and, nodding his goodbye, leaves with Gio.

This is the fourth time somebody I used to call family died. But it's the first time I feel relief instead of despair.

"I'm so sorry," I say, placing my own hand on top of James' and Fran's entwined fingers, "I've never wanted to put you in any danger, I didn't know just how crazy he is... was."

Fran gently nudges my shoulder and smiles at me. "From what I understand, you risked your own safety when you thought I was in danger. I'll never forget that."
And she kisses me smack on the lips in front of everyone, while James turns his hand around so he can thread his fingers through both Fran's and mine.

Lars grins at me. "I guess that means welcome to the family, kid."

I smile at him and let my eyes wander over all the faces surrounding us. Some concerned, some puzzled, but all of them caring.
I've always thought that all that talk about the Metallica-family was a bit melodramatic, but I can see now all around me that it's the simple description of the true bond between all the people in this room.

Suddenly, Rob laughs. "Sorry," he chuckles as we all stare at him, "I just recalled that sentence from Ice Age: I don't know about you, but we're the weirdest herd I've ever seen."

While everyone joins the laughter, relieved to ease some of the tension, Fran leans towards me. "I don't want to sound cruel, but maybe it's for the best." She squeezes my hand. "You're finally free of him."

"And good riddance," James growls.

And as I think about that, realisation slowly dawns on me. Maybe, just maybe, the nightmare that began fourteen years ago is finally over.


Maybe I am ready to heal.






The End




Edited by Dragonlove, November 25, 2017, 3:26 pm.
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jaymzbabe
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OMG!!! I love it, I was worried that anyone of the was going to die, but I'm glad it was dara who died. I needed to know what happens with the three of them in the future. I loved this show pry and very quickly became one of my favourites on the whole board. I do hope that you write another story about james 😊😊😁😁 but very well done
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Rockfan71
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***Suddenly, Rob laughs. "Sorry," he chuckles as we all stare at him, "I just recalled that sentence from Ice Age: I don't know about you, but we're the weirdest herd I've ever seen."**

That line always made me smile, too. Very fitting.

So she stays, although not always together? A triad of James, Fran& Annika.
I LOVED it. And I hope it is not the last time we hear from you. This story is so going on my 'Too HOT to not read again' list.

Thank you so much *hugs you tight*
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