Name: Black Shades

Rating: PG

Summary: The gang of Bus 2525 has yet to move on from their horrifying experience. Lives were lost, nightmares were born, and a mad man was recognized. Yet a powerful bond was sparked between a protector and a captive. Today, on the day of an honorable funeral, Jack and Annie say good-bye to a brave friend.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.

Authors Note: Has anyone else heard that Keanu and Sandra are interested in doing a Speed 3?

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I finally learned to say
Whatever will be will be
I've learned to take
The good, the bad and breathe
'Cause although we like
To know what life's got planned
No one knows if shooting stars will land
–Whatever Will Be, Vanessa Hudgens

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He wasn't a man that favored wearing his emotions on his sleeves. He didn't like people to know exactly what he was thinking; he didn't like being vulnerable in that sense. He kept a straight face and shouldered a calm and collected exterior because that was the only thing he knew. It was the only thing he knew. It had been taught to him by his father and his father had been taught by his father, layered back as far as the family tree had extended.

There were moments of emotional desperation that the static blurred the lines between these two sides. There were moments when he'd lost complete control, when he'd found himself throwing angry punches, crying too hard, or lying in bed without a will. He was human; it was nature. He was bound to break because even the most invincible objects have their shattered point.

For the past week those emotions had become harder and harder to keep in check. He knew people were watching, knew that everyone was waiting for his melt down. And who could truly blame them? Not only had he lost his best friend, he'd managed to save a busload of people from a bomb and found a woman that he never let out of his grasp. All in one day. It was bound to be overkill. It would've been too much for an average man.

Yet he took everything in stride. He walked the halls of the prescient, badge gleaming on his chest, donned in his blue uniform. He pretended life was normal. He was as talkative as ever, was as hands on as ever. He even had started meeting the survivor's daily. He needed the air of normalcy; otherwise he didn't know if he could get through the day.

He took on more work than usual. He went on more ride alongs and visited more cases, all in a vain attempt to relinquish some of the anger building in his chest. He couldn't be mad at anyone, but he was mad at everyone. At Harry for dying. At Howard Payne for plunging him in a cat and mouse game. At himself for choosing to shoot the hostage.

Whether it felt real or not yet was left open for much discussion. He still found food in the prescient's fridge with Harry's name on it. He swore he could still hear Harry's voice. He thought he was going crazy, told Annie he was, but people told him it was his way of dealing with the loss. Yeah right, he always wanted to say.

Jack Traven scurried around his small, probably too-messy apartment. Gun parts were scattered over various tabletops. Magazines were sloppily stacked in cabinets. A jar of keys sat on top of the fridge. Clothes were strewn over chairs in his bedroom and on the shower rod in the bathroom. A string of watches were lined on the dresser. And a fairly beautiful redhead was decorating his kitchen counter.

He hurried around his bedroom, rummaging through various drawers, hands frantically moving for the object of desire. Spinning on his toe, he did a quick sweep of the room one final time before hastening down the long hall, passing the bathroom and entertainment room, and easing into the living room. Annie Porter craned to look under the cabinets to watch his actions.

Dressed only in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, a nine-millimeter handgun hugged his hip, secure in its holster. Annie rolled her eyes and brought the mug back to her lips, sipping the seething coffee, careful not to get any droplets on her black dress.

Jack paused his frisk of the living room then migrated to the next room over. His figure peaked out through the single window in the study, his foot hanging in the air as he leaned over his desk. "Annie," he called. "Have you seen my handcuff keys?"

Annie smiled, smothering a laugh with her hand. Only a cop would ask such a question. She set the coffee mug next to her and hopped off the counter, smoothing the dress. Her heels clinked on the hardwood floor. She leaned on the doorframe, resting her head, and curled a lock of red hair behind her ear.

She looked him over. His shirt was wrinkled, the cuffs still unbuttoned, and no tie adorned the collar. His black hair was still closely shaven, but his face was as pale as she'd ever seen it, though that didn't add up to much since they'd only met a week ago. She knew he hadn't been eating healthily or even sleeping. She'd noticed this within the third day after, when they'd been out for lunch and he'd barely touched his meal, opting for conversation instead of food. Since then she'd found herself making up every excuse in the book to be around him for any breakfast, lunch, or dinner possible.

Sighing conspicuously, she hugged her arms. "Sorry, haven't seen it. Did you check by the front door?"

He cast a look under his arm, mouth open in that expression of incredulous she had become so accustomed to. He shook his head, shaking off her suggestion. She took no offense to his attitude. Instead, she continued, "Go finish getting ready. I'll look for the keys. They're the small silver ones with the crooked end, right?"

"Yeah." Jack said in one heavy breath, straightening so she could ease under him.

As she resumed his search, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking the lace fabric of her dress. Then he deposited a kiss in her hair, whispering a soft, "Thank you," before exiting the room.

He breezed back down the hall and into his bedroom, not bothering to shut the door, crossing to handle the black tie lain upon his dresser top. He stared down at the simple piece, lips crinkling, running his fingers over it. He was used to wearing ties, whether it been work related or socially related, but for some reason this tie looked darker than the others.

Hesitating at first, he picked the tie up and fondled the edges, carving his finger over the corners, staring down at it, chastising it. Then he turned it over in his hands. He traced his thumb over the initials engraved in lime green at the bottom. JT. He almost had to stop himself from smiling at the irony from such a lucid present.

Harry had given it to him on his twenty-eight birthday. The first time he had ever worn it had been as best man at Harry's wedding. Now he was going to wear it as a pallbearer at Harry's funeral. The ring of significance was agonizingly outstanding.

Jack looked at himself in the mirror, cocking his head to the side. He barely recognized himself. Though, he supposed that was what loss did to a person. Looping the tie around his neck, he popped the collar and tucked the black underneath the white, fingers beginning to work the intricate process. He watched his nimble fingers in the mirror; he hadn't ever been really good with tying these damn things.

Suddenly he couldn't look at himself. The thought of why he had lived doing something so dangerous and why Harry had died trying to save him reflected in what he saw. He couldn't stop blaming himself, though people told him not to. But what did they know?

He collapsed on the edge of the bed, hanging his head to his chest, lacing his hands together. The task at hand was forgotten. He took several breaths, collecting himself once again. He didn't understand why it suddenly was so hard to not get emotional. He didn't want that, didn't want any of it. For the most part he could probably contain himself, he hoped.

Yet, as he drew his hands back to his neck, he found his hands shaking. They trembled in mid air, completely forfeiting any possibility of function. He groaned angrily then cursed under his breath.

"Do you need any help?" inquired a voice from a distance.

He glanced up to see Annie standing off to the side, hands folded in front of her, trying to smile. He hadn't even heard her come in; he must have really been out of it. As much as he wanted to take her up on her assistance, in a split second he had declined and was fumbling with the tie again.

Annie, taking none of his manly pride today, knelt down in front of him and stilled his hands, squeezing encouragingly married with her quivering eyes. He dropped his hands into his lap, licking his lips and uttering another accolade of thanks. She really was an incredible woman. To have been through so much and shove all that away to be with him. Truly amazing.

He watched her face, how she bit her lip in concentration while she focused on her hands hurriedly tightening the knot, and wondered for a brief second why he deserved her. Why she was staying with him.

As she pushed the knot up to clench at his throat, tightly but not suffocating, he brushed her red hair back and kissed her deeply, passionately, gratefully. She smiled into the kiss, cradling his arm, then covered her lips when they drew apart, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips, tempting him.

He was already falling more in love with her.

"Ready to go?" she asked, standing and grabbing his jacket that was thrown on the corner chair.

"Yeah."

He shrugged the jacket on, adjusting it several times before he was comfortable, as he followed her to the front door, snatching the keys from the table and opening the door open for her. She dug through her own pockets while waiting for him to lock the door, migrating from pocket to pocket for whatever misplaced item she needed at the moment. Then she extracted a small ring of two glistening keys.

When Jack turned around, he found them held up to his face. She was smiling. "Handcuff keys."

He took them, stuffing them in a back pocket, then wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hugging her close to him. Together they traipsed down the long hall to the stairwell, steps in stride, leaning on another for support.

They now knew one myth to be true: survivors share a special bond.

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Harry once told him that he wanted to be buried wearing shades. They'd been wasting time at the prescient, playing cards with a few other officers on a lazy day, talking about random things. He hadn't thought of it then, merely laughed at what he thought then was funny and agreed to the standard, as long as he could be buried without any corny organ music.

But when the somber day came that the memory came flooding back with more meaning, he decided to respect his friends wishes, whether it had been said in a joking manner or not. It was Harry's wife, Sherri, who had decided upon a closed casket. The decision was the only one that made sense; he was unrecognizable otherwise.

Jack stood in a cluster of his fellow officers on one side of the casket. The family stood on the other. Sherri's figure appeared in his line of view repeatedly, not that he was trying to stare at her. In truth, the sight of her was gratifying. She held her and Harry's five-year-old son in front of her, her hands deathly gripping his shoulders, sniffing hysterically to not cry. The boy's sandy locks shadowed his eyes, head bowed, motionless.

The priest slowly droned on, reading the text behind his spectacles, reciting the words all too familiar to the land around them, so littered with graves that had heard the same speech. Jack tore away from Harry's casket, leaving the scent of the white lilies covering the smooth mahogany with it, and scanned the crowd. It was a respectable turnout. A multitude of close friends and family, along with colleagues and a calvary of men holding guns. Even the twenty-some odd people that had survived the bus ordeal, including Ortiz, Stephens, and Sam, were among the gathered crowd.

He slipped the shades off his eyes, dismantling himself from the other officers wearing the same pair as a tribute to the man they lost, and ran his hand over his cropped head. He was beginning to get restless. He kept reminding himself that it was almost over; then he could just go home and crash for who-knew how long. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed. And just lay there. Except, another part of him nagged that there was a reception after this and he was encouraged to attend. Annie may make it mandatory.

The lovely woman squeezed his hand at that exact moment, as if hearing her name cross his mind, laying her head on his shoulder. He mimicked her, resting his cheek against her soft, lavender-scented hair. Usually he wasn't the type of person that enjoyed public displays of affection, but in this instance he made an exception. He couldn't do this without her, nor did he want to. It was almost as if he'd saved her on that bus, but the aftermath was her way of saving him.

She left a kiss on his shoulder, hand running up his arm, the white rose she held obscuring the black jacket. He replaced the shades on the bridge of his nose, staring straight ahead. He remained stoic.

Just then, the priest closed the book in his hands and prayed. The assembly copied him. A ring of amen chorused amongst them. The funeral was almost over; just one tradition left. Jack fidgeted in anticipation. The file of uniformed men handled their guns, moving like robots to their commander's orders, bringing them to their chests then to their faces.

Fingers clenching the trigger, they fired once, twice, three, four times, one by one. Annie flinched each time, hiding her face in his shoulder, gripping his hand tightly. He released her hand and wound his arm around her waist, bringing her close to him, hugging her reassuringly. When she looked up at him, he smiled for her. Under his touch she relaxed. By now she knew that nothing could happen to her when he was with her.

As the shots rang in the warm summer day, Capt. McMahon stood and moved over to a sniffling Sherri. He handed her a folded American flag, the gold stars open to the sky, and she stared up at him in shock. It was the final puzzle piece, the final realization that her husband was, indeed, never coming home again.

Then the ceremony was over. Just like that. No procession followed, no escorted entourage, nothing but disbanding people. They individually flocked back to their cars, having paid their last condolences, huddled together in hushed talk. Jack and Annie stood in silence for a minute, until Ortiz and Stephens migrated over to them, wearing sad smiles and pitied hugs. Jack conversed with them for a minute, tenacious to keep Annie near him as she fought to place the white rose on the casket. McMahon came out of nowhere.

"Will you be going to the reception?" he asked, voice hitched with hope.

Jack shrugged. He really wasn't thinking past the option of going home. It was Annie who came to his rescue, curling back her hair as a breeze waved over her. "We'll be there."

McMahon nodded. His wife tugged on his hand and he was whisked off, trailing after the others. Ortiz and Stephens stuck around just long enough so that Jack and Annie bid them farewell first. Hugging good-bye and setting up a new meeting time, the couple filtered through the rolling hills, between the dozens of trees, to Jack's truck parked on the dark road.

Annie swirled the key ring on her finger, having stolen them earlier, and climbed into the car, Jack taking the passengers seat. He stared ahead, not really focusing on anything in particular, just dazed. It was like everything suddenly came violently crashing down on his shoulders. His whole body went numb, his heart quickened, and an incredible weight pushed on him. He was emotionally checking out.

His body swayed slightly, almost invisibly unless looked for. Annie, noticing, watched him, eyes sullen in concern. "Jack." she said, reaching over to take his hand.

He finally snapped back and looked over at her, mouth open a little. "Huh?" Not his most intellectual response, but the most he could muster.

"Are you sure you want to go to the reception? We don't have to."

He shrugged. "We already said we would."

Annie nodded. "Okay."

With that, she started the car with a ghostly smile and pulled away from the curb, leant forward in the seat. Her hand was intertwined with his, lending support in one of his darkest days. And all he could do was stare adoringly at her for caring so much.

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FIN

A/N: Too campy? I'd love for you to review.