Happy Thanksgiving everyone! And here we are… the final chapter. This chapter and the previous chapter were originally split into four different chapters but as I was splitting them up into their respective separate documents for posting, I looked back on them and thought… I didn't want to be that cruel. I've left you guys waiting long enough. That being said, I do have ideas for other Fillmore! fanfics, but I'm not gonna make any promises about posting any time soon because I don't want to set myself up for failure once again… so keep an eye out in the next few weeks or months; hopefully we'll all be pleasantly surprised and I'll have something new for you guys.

Review response to guest Nyeh: Thank you so much for reviewing! It means the world to me. I have anxiety and have had plenty of panic attacks that have sent me to the ER. I tried to capture my experiences along with experiences from some of my friends all in one go and I was afraid that I either under- or overdid it so thank you for telling me that. I really needed that reassurance! Keep an eye out for me in the future. I really hope I won't disappoint everyone again by not publishing ANYTHING EVER AGAIN haha xD

Also, S/O to Queen S of Randomness for being such a faithful friend, reader, and reviewer. You've been here since literally the beginning and I feel like you were one of the sole motivators to get me to update. Like I remember last week I was like, "Nah, it's like way too late" but then I remembered that you were waiting… Didn't want to disappoint. So thank you for motivating me to stay on time haha!

xXxXx

Chapter Five – Between Heartbeats

xXxXx

Screams and shouts erupted throughout the school from students and teachers alike as the building shook around them. The brute force of the blast deactivated the fire alarms and threw X High School into darkness; every source of light was replaced by the emergency lights glowing ominously at the end of each hallway and in each classroom. Fillmore barely registered the sounds of the far away cries of fear and panic as he pushed himself up off of Ingrid's desk and ran towards the window. His jaw dropped in sync with his stomach. There was a crater in the east side of the building where the abandoned gym was – rather, had been. Fillmore's stomach churned and nausea swept over him as he watched smoke billow from the hole and rise in the sky. Flames flickered in between the wisps of smoke.

"Everybody, don't panic!" Vallejo shouted as the patrollers helped each other to their feet and started to feed off of the fear settling over the thousands of people in the building. Every officer looked to their leader who was standing in the front of the room, peering over them. "We follow the safety protocol. Grab your belts and stay in groups. Be smart, stay safe, and regroup on the quad." Vallejo met Fillmore's eyes. "No heroics." Officers were already banding together and making their way out the door before the Commissioner had even finished, while Fillmore stared speechless at their superior.

"Ingrid's still out there, Vallejo," Tehama stated simply, moving to Fillmore's side at the window and touching his arm comfortingly. He looked down at her, silently thanking her for speaking for him when he couldn't.

Anza stepped up. "This is all about her, boss." Fillmore watched him approach and stand at his other side. "Chances are, that blast was meant for her." A sharp pain struck Fillmore in the chest at his words and his mind flew to the worst possible scenario… He squeezed his eyes shut tight to clear that from his mind. Not Ingrid. She's okay.

She had to be.

"I said, 'no heroics'," Vallejo repeated sternly, stepping aside to let other patrollers pass. He walked to the shelf closest to the door which held all the walkie talkies, which probably hadn't been used in weeks. They watched him grab four of them and set them down on Fillmore's desk in front of them. "So don't do anything stupid." He shot Fillmore a sympathetic nod. "Especially you." Fillmore silently nodded at him, still struggling to find words to say, while Vallejo picked up one of the walkies and switched it on.

"I'll be on emergency channel three so keep me posted," he said, pointing the antenna at each one of them as he spoke. "Put your belts on and watch each other's sixes. Ingrid's one of us, but so are each of you. I want all of you safe on the quad within the hour. Got it?"

The three of them nodded. Karen and Anza each grabbed a walkie and rushed towards their desks to get their bright orange belts, which were now only used for special events: drills, fights, chaperone duties, or… worse. Neither Vallejo nor Fillmore budged, eyes locked as Fillmore tried to find words to say.

"Vallejo, I-" Vallejo interrupted him by holding up his hand.

"Don't worry about it, Fillmore," he assured him. Fillmore set his jaw and took a deep breath. "Go find your partner." Fillmore nodded as Vallejo turned on his heel and retreated out the door.

"You okay, man?" Fillmore looked over at Anza, donning his belt with his walkie attached to his hip. His gaze shifted over to Karen who walked up next to her partner and was watching him sympathetically. He looked between them and a part of him ached. Would he and Ingrid ever be standing side by side again?

Don't do that, Fillmore. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and reached into his bottom drawer, pulling out the orange piece of fabric and stared at it for a brief moment.

"Fillmore?" Karen asked softly, stepping towards him.

Go find her. He told himself as he pulled the belt over his head. It felt foreign to him… it had been months since he had worn it. It was the night of A Christmas Carol - his last security detail with Ingrid – where he'd been knocked unconscious trying to get the actors out of the way of the backdrop. He had woken up in the ambulance with Ingrid at his side, who masked her worry with seasoned wisecracks. She squeezed his hand as he started to wake back up. "You just had to steal the show, didn't you?"

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Bring her back safe. He switched on his walkie talkie, clipped it to his back pocket, and looked up at his two friends who watched him carefully.

"Let's go get her."

xXxXx

Pounding. Ringing. Pain.

But pain is good. You're alive. The air was thick; it coated her lungs as she struggled to breathe, causing her chest to tighten. Ingrid winced and peeled her eyes open, but everything was blurry. Her vision pulsed along with the throbbing of her head. She saw her right arm stretched away from her and she lifted her hand, trying to find the source of her pain. Well, the source of some of it. She brought her fingers to her temple but she could hardly feel her fingertips against her skin.

She coughed violently, turning her face into the rubble-covered floor beneath her, pain shooting through her chest and stomach. Blood spurted from her mouth onto the ash-covered tile floor and she cringed as the pressure increased in her skull. That can't be good. Turning her face into the ground again, ignoring the fact that it felt like someone were using her head as a drum, she put her arm underneath her and started to push herself up when she felt the full weight of something heavy pinning the bottom half of her body down. She struggled to turn her body enough to see what it was.

Her head pounded harder and harder with each movement, eyes clouding, but she felt whatever it was shift as she adjusted. She tried to put her left arm underneath her to push herself up when pain shot down her arm from her shoulder and she cried out. She dropped back to the ground as she fell into another violent coughing fit. Ingrid groaned in agony as the coughing subsided once more and she buried her face in the rubble.

Suddenly, after shifting once more, she felt something stabbing the top of her leg close to her hip. With a shaking hand, she reached for it and pulled it out of her pocket. Her fingers stopped working momentarily and she dropped it, barely registering the sound of it jingling as it hit the ground. Keys? She flicked them weakly with her fingers to confirm their existence. To what? On cue, her photographic memory kicked in to fill in the blanks.

She took a shaky breath before making her decision. She snatched her keys from the hook at the back of the locker and shoved them in her pocket before slamming her locker shut and running off.

Car. She felt around for the keychain and brought it close to her face, squinting at it carefully in effort to bring it into focus. Where is my car? She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to jog her photographic memory once more. East lot. Always. She opened her eyes.

And where am I?

Fragments came back to her: the letter in her locker; running; the dusty gym. East wing.

The bomb.

Fillmore had to be worried sick. Her mind swam with memories and guilt. All my fault.

She swallowed dryly and brought the key fob towards her face, running her thumb over the buttons. Maybe I'm close enough… She pressed down on what she hoped was the red panic button and waited to hear the alarm from her trusty Monte Carlo, but all she could hear was the relentless ringing in her ears. She let go of her keys and slowly brought her hand, trembling with effort, to her ear and felt something wet.

Gotta get out of here. She tried to kick away whatever was pinning her legs down, but gave up as the corners of her eyes started to blacken. She squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach leapt and churned with nausea, making her gag. Maybe I'll just rest for now, she thought as the darkness closed in on her. I'll move that later.

xXxXx

"We don't even know for sure that she was near the blast, Fillmore," Anza tried to reassure him. The three officers weaved their way through the myriad of students and teachers who were all doing their best to stifle their panic – Fillmore included – as they rushed towards the nearest exits. He wordlessly led the couple forward through the crowd.

"He's right, Fillmore," Tehama agreed, trailing behind the both of them. "She could have just gone somewhere to clear her head." Fillmore shook his head. Despite that small voice in his head that had been trying to convince him of that same thing, Fillmore knew deep in his gut that the universe wasn't that fair.

"Ingrid's too reprehensive and Canton knows that," he explained, dodging a group of crying freshmen. "He knows the second she realizes that she's to blame, she'll throw herself in the line of fire before she'll let anyone else get hurt." The came to the end of the hallway and Fillmore burst through the doors, leading them down the empty staircase. "He led her there. I'm sure of it."

"But she was only out of your sight for what? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes?" Tehama asked, passing her partner on the stairs and joining Fillmore in front of them in the now empty hallway. "How could he have gotten to her between the last you saw her and the explosion?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he snapped, not at her, but at himself. He should have sensed that something was wrong when she hadn't walked in after him. He should have gone to look for her. It couldn't be a coincidence that Ingrid had disappeared within the time it took to set off a bomb. His gut churned at the thought. "She's there. I can feel it."

Anza spoke up, "You don't know-"

"Stop trying to convince me I'm wrong!" Fillmore shouted, stopping dead in his tracks and turning to face him. They both froze midstep at his sudden outburst. Fillmore threw his arm in the direction of the gym, "The only person that Canton is after is her! He knew he only had one shot to get even so he sure as hell wasn't gonna set that bomb off without her near it!" His throat tightened as the devastating possibility of Ingrid being dead started to settle like a boulder in his stomach.

Karen lifted her hand to his arm, hoping to bring him some comfort, but he pulled his arm away and started to take off in the opposite direction. "Fillmore-"

"The longer we sit here the longer it's gonna take to find her," he spat without meeting their eyes. He pushed through the door and left the stairwell with the two hot on his heels. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air; they were getting close. "And the longer it takes to find her, the more likely we are to find her dead." Those words tasted sour on his tongue and he bit back the urge to gag. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream.

"Hey!"

Fillmore spun around and watched helplessly as Karen marched towards him and slapped him across the face. Anza stepped forward as Fillmore brought his hand up to his cheek and stared down at the enraged teenager in front of him in shock; she had never slapped anyone before, let alone one of her friends.

"Don't you dare talk like that Cornelius Fillmore!" she shouted, pointing an accusing finger in his face. Her voice was strong but heavy with emotion as her eyes welled with tears but she continued speaking forcefully. "I know that you're scared and I know that she's your best friend but if you start talking like she's dead then you really don't know her at all." Fillmore scowled down at her but didn't – rather, couldn't – speak. A lump had returned in his throat preventing him from saying anything.

Anza tried to step in between them, grabbing her by the arm to try and stop her. "Karen-"

She pulled her arm out of his grasp and continued, "Canton wouldn't set off the fire alarm if he wanted to make sure Ingrid was around when the blast went off," she continued, her voice softening as she looked into Fillmore's burdened eyes which were watching her warily. "It had to have been Ingrid."

It hadn't even occurred to Fillmore that it could very well have been his partner who set off the alarm in a futile attempt to warn everyone. The thought hit him square in the gut like a bowling ball and he felt a small spark of hope ignite in his chest.

"She might be hurt, but she got out," Karen continued, grabbing his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure of it."

Outside of the building, a car alarm started blaring, making the three officers look around in confusion. Anza picked up his walkie and hit the talk button. "Vallejo, it's Anza. Do you copy?"

There was a pause before the talkie crackled to life. The car alarm sounded louder through the walkie talkie. "Loud and clear," Vallejo answered. "I take it you found her?"

"No, but we're almost to the gym," Anza denied. "What the hell is that noise?"

Another pause. "That's Ingrid's car alarm. You didn't set it off?"

The three officers shared a sigh of relief and a weight was lifted off their chests. Fillmore picked up his walkie and spoke into it.

"Ingrid must have."

The three took off towards the gym. They turned the corner into the long, narrow hallway leading to the gym and bolted towards the end; all three were wary of a thin layer of smoke seeping through the doors at the end and gathering at the ceiling.

Fillmore's heart pounded in his chest as they got closer to the doors. She's okay. She's alive. She's going to be okay.

He burst through the doors into oblivion.

Smoke billowed past him and burned his eyes and he slowed down, taking in the surroundings. Ingrid's car alarm sounded louder now but hardly loud enough to be heard over the faint crackling of fire. Two lights flickered to life behind him – Anza and Tehama's flashlights – illuminating the destruction under their feet and he pulled his own flashlight off his belt and turned it on, pointing it up. A part of the ceiling had caved in a few feet in front of them and the floor around them was littered with ash and rubble. Fillmore looked for the entrance to the gym; about a hundred feet in front of them on their right. One of its large red doors had been blown off its hinges and was lying near the wall across from it. A stale breeze was floating through the space where the door used to be.

Karen called out Ingrid's name while they scanned the area with their flashlights, looking for any sign of their pale-skinned colleague as her name echoed off the walls. Ingrid's car alarm silenced in the distance, sending chills down Fillmore's spine. The corridor was thrown into an eerie silence. He coughed to clear out the coating of smoke in his lungs and headed towards the gym entrance and he started to head toward it when Anza grabbed him by the arm.

"Did you hear that?" he asked. The three went silent as they tried to listen for the sound that grabbed his attention. A pregnant pause engulfed them before they heard it again: a quiet gasp. Fillmore's head shot over to his left and his eyes fell on a pale hand in the ashes.

"Ingrid."

His partner, his best friend, lied face down in the rubble, unmoving. He rushed over to her and, with a renewed strength, pulled the entrance door – which was pinning her to the floor from the waist down – up and off of her. It landed flat on the linoleum ground behind her with a reverberating crash and Anza joined him at his side, running his hands over Ingrid's body to look for any obvious injuries.

"Vallejo, we found her," Tehama called out on her walkie talkie. "Send an ambulance to exit H."

Fillmore brushed Ingrid's raven hair from her face with a shaking hand and fear struck him in the chest as he watched blood seep from a cut just above her left eye and pool into a small puddle on the floor under her head. Another small trail of blood trickled from her mouth which he wiped away with his thumb before holding her face gently in his hands.

"Come back to me, mama," he whispered to her, resting his forehead softly against the side of her head, wiping away the blood that trailed from her ear. He tapped her cheek with his fingers, silently begging her to open her eyes.

"They've got an ambulance coming to meet us at the exit," Tehama said, approaching Fillmore's side and watching Anza. "Let's get her out of here." Her partner had his fingers to Ingrid's left wrist, which was resting, bent, at her side, and his eyes grew wide. He spoke quietly.

"I can't find her pulse."

Fillmore's heart shot out of his chest and his head snapped up at the boy next to him, a wild look in his dark eyes as he met Anza's. Tehama gasped behind them and took a step back, covering her mouth in shock. The severity of that statement sucked what little was left of the air out of the hallway, blanketing the trio in a moment of silent panic.

Fillmore stared back down at his broken partner with tears burning in his eyes; at her burned black t-shirt, her matted hair, her bleeding forehead, then at the wrist which apparently lacked a pulse. In one fluid moment, he snaked his arm around her and turned her over towards him and onto her back, much to the protests from his friends. She was limp in his arms like a tattered rag doll but he held her chest close to his ear, desperately listening for the beat of her heart.

"Fillmore, is she breathing?" Karen whimpered behind him. He kept his ear against her chest and tried to separate the rapid beating of his own heart from hers. Don't leave me, Ingrid. A tear fell from his eyes and onto her chest.

"Is she breathing?" she repeated.

They heard a muffled voice behind them as the sound of sirens approached from the exit at the end of the hallway.

"I wouldn't count on it."

Fillmore stiffened, while Anza's eyes widened and he heard Tehama cry out and back away with fear. Anza shot up from his spot on the floor and pulled her behind him. With a hand behind her head, Fillmore slowly lowered Ingrid down to the floor and stood up.

Upon turning around, he faced the barrel of a gun held by none other than Wade Canton himself. Fillmore's jaw clenched with a mixture of adrenaline and rage as they stared each other down. Canton pulled the damp bandana down from his nose and mouth to reveal a vengeful snarl.

Without breaking eye contact, Fillmore spoke to his friends: "You two get Ingrid out of here."

Anza stared at him incredulously. "Fillmore-"

"Get her out of here," he repeated while Canton shook his head and smirked at the boy, the red scar above his lip where Fillmore punched him months prior turning white as his smile grew.

"It's too late, belt," he growled, taking a step closer to Fillmore as Anza scooped Ingrid up carefully into his arms, despite Karen's faint protests. Fillmore heard him ordering Karen to get in front of him, followed by their retreating footsteps. Canton held the gun directly to Fillmore's chest. "They can't save her now." He heard Karen speaking frantically at the far end of the hall and the sirens grew louder.

"No one can save you either," Fillmore threatened, his voice dangerously low.

Canton scoffed. "Save me from what, prison?" He cocked the weapon and pushed it harder into Fillmore's chest. "You think I'm afraid of prison?"

"Not from prison." Fillmore shook his head. "From me."

Tehama and Anza, who was carrying an unconscious Ingrid in his arms, neared the exit just as the emergency unit pulled up outside of the doors. Karen burst through them, trembling with fear, now face to face with the EMTs exiting their ambulance with a stretcher. Anza followed close behind her and she pulled one of the EMTs aside.

"You have to get the police down here," Tehama blurted, her voice shaking with adrenaline as Anza laid Ingrid down on the stretcher. The man stared down at her incredulously and tried to pull away to attend to Ingrid, but she held on tightly to his arm. "The bomber is here, and he has a-"

A single shot rang out.

Everyone instinctively ducked and panic erupted. The EMTs strapped Ingrid down onto the gurney and rushed her into the ambulance while Anza grabbed Tehama and pulled her away from the entrance, kicking and screaming. Vallejo's voice was shouting from the walkie talkie on Anza's belt. More sirens approached and two more shots rang out from inside. Karen screamed.

"Fillmore!"

xXxXx

The light above the doors jumped from the number one up to number two, a heavy silence falling on the couple in the elevator. He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets and was staring at he and his friend's warped reflections in the metal doors in front of them. His signature leather jacket suddenly felt like a weighted blanket as the number changed again and they neared the holding cell block where the investigators were waiting for them.

"Are you sure you want to do it this way?" he asked tentatively, looking down at his partner, who didn't meet his eyes. "You got discharged less than an hour ago. Don't you think you should be taking it easy?"

Ingrid shrugged as best as she could with her left arm in a sling; the result of a dislocated shoulder. "And what about you?" she countered dryly, shooting Fillmore a sideways glance but not turning her head away from the doors. "You're the one who got shot."

Fillmore raised his eyebrow. "In the arm. You're the one who got blown up," he explained. "Besides, I shot him back and I've got better aim." She struggled to keep her breathing under control – partly because any level of heavy breathing made her chest throb, partly because she didn't want to lose her composure… at least not yet. A part of her knew there would be no holding back her emotions once this was all over, but she needed him to see her.

He needed to know that he lost.

"Ingrid?" Fillmore said softly, growing slightly concerned at her silence.

She gulped as the elevator dinged their arrival to the fourth floor and the doors slid open to reveal a bustling office space of badge-wielding officers much like their own at the school.

"I just want him to see me," she admitted. This confession shook her – she hated the idea of seeing him again – so she took Fillmore's hand in her own, who in turn gave it a comforting squeeze. They walked out of the elevator together and looked around for Detective Lyons, who was leaning against a desk and rose at their entrance. She nodded towards Ingrid and sent her a comforting smile.

"I'm glad you're healing up well," she said and held a hand out to her right. "The observation room is this way." Fillmore and Ingrid followed close behind her as she led them to the room. An observations tech sat at the control panel directly to the right of the door, who nodded at them as they entered. The room was completely dark, only dimly lit by the light from the empty room on the opposite side of the glass. It wouldn't be empty for long.

Lyons shut the door behind them and Ingrid stood in front of the two-way mirror. "Are you ready for this, Ingrid?" she asked. Ingrid paused, took a deep breath and then nodded, not removing her eyes from the other side of the glass. Lyons nodded and took her phone out of her pocket, typing a few words in. Fillmore looked down at his partner, who had paled significantly since they stepped out of the elevator. She may seem ready on the outside, but he knew by the iron grip she had on his hand that she was nowhere near truly ready for what was about to come. He began to wonder if she ever could be.

"They're coming in," Lyons said.

Ingrid's chest tightened as door in the other room opened and a man in a suit stepped aside to let him in. In a moment of pure panic, Ingrid squeezed her eyes shut. She heard the them shuffle in and her breath hitched tightly in her chest. Fillmore squeezed her hand tighter and didn't take his eyes off of her.

"You can do this, mama," he whispered to her.

She held his hand tighter, fighting the panic in her chest. Maybe she wasn't ready for this. Maybe it was too soon. But you need to do this, Ingrid. He can't hurt you from in here. She heard the clanking of locking handcuffs as the detective on the other side spoke to him, warming him up for the shock of his life. You can do this.

She opened her eyes.

Wade Canton stared blankly at the mirror in front of him, not knowing that he was staring straight through the girl he thought he killed. His short blond hair was greasy and unkempt. A white bandage peeked out from the collar of his orange jumpsuit, no doubt hiding the bullet hole Fillmore put in his shoulder. His eyes were dull, but he seemed satisfied… content.

Not for long.

"I'm ready."

Fillmore ran his thumb along hers in a final attempt to comfort her as Lyons nodded and tapped on the window twice with her knuckles. Canton looked up at the window in curiosity while the detective behind him smirked mischievously. "You've got someone who wants to see you," he quipped. He was enjoying this way too much. Ingrid's heart pounded uncontrollably in her chest and she squeezed Fillmore's hand even harder. Lyons paused to give Ingrid one final moment to prepare herself before switching the light on.

Canton's green eyes grew wide like saucers when he saw the pair behind the glass before a scowl formed on his face. A vein suddenly popped out of his forehead and he shot up from his chair, but the cuffs chaining him to the table prevented him from lunging.

Ingrid didn't even flinch. But while she kept a straight face, her grip on Fillmore's hand strengthened and her teeth punctured her cheek.

"No," Wade snarled, malice dripping from his teeth. His entire body shook with rage as he fought his restraints, unnerving the detective standing guard behind him. A small circle of blood appeared on his jumpsuit on his shoulder, slowly growing as he fought to break free. "I killed you." The table, which was bolted to the floor, creaked in opposition. Ingrid's entire body went rigid with a mix of adrenaline and fear at the sound. He can't escape. You're safe.

Ingrid's eyes snapped to the control panel to her right, just past her partner. She let go of Fillmore's hand, she stepped over to it, and pressed the talk button, despite the protests from the observation tech.

"Better luck next time, bitch."

Canton screamed obscenities as he fought against his restraints in unadulterated rage. Fillmore stepped towards Ingrid defensively but she stoically backed away towards the door, not removing her eyes from the flailing boy on the other side of the glass. She sucked on the source of the copper taste filling her mouth as she opened the door, keeping the unaffected fa?ade plastered on her face. But the moment she was out of his sight, she bolted. A mixture of panic and relief washed over her like a tidal wave as she fled. But the contradictory emotions overwhelmed her, causing her to stop dead in her tracks just a few feet away from the elevators she and her partner had taken to get up here only minutes ago.

Canton's hands simultaneously beat the hell out of her and groped her lustfully as she heard him off in the distance shouting vile threats in her direction. Her palm stung. Her head throbbed. Her chest ached. His voice sounded too far away to warrant any worry of danger, but every violent memory blurred together on the elevator door in front of her. He'll always come after you, the rational side of her brain convinced her. He's relentless. Driven. You'll never be safe.

Tears cascaded freely down her face and she backed away from the elevator as the doors opened and freed the people inside. They all poured out, completely disregarding the trembling girl in front of them. You have to run, her thoughts swirled. He's going to come for you.

Panic surged through her once more and she turned to run towards the staircase when a strong hand grabbed her firmly by the waist. She gasped – a mixture of shock and pain – as it quickly led her to the open elevator. Too late too late too late- She tried to pull away from his grip as he guided her into the elevator and backed her into the corner, holding her by the shoulders.

"Ingrid stop."

Fillmore stood before her, staring intently down at her with pleading brown eyes. She moved her mouth to speak, but when her eyes met his, no sound came out. She didn't notice people entering the elevator with them or the stares she received when they noticed the two friends in the corner or the pain pulsing through her as she held back sobs. She looked into Fillmore's warm, reassuring eyes and the world around her fell away, but the fear in her chest remained.

"He's-" she started to say weakly, and Fillmore brushed her hair out of her watery eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat which was threatening to choke her with every fleeting moment. Canton's hands made their way to her throat, but she managed to mutter: "He's never going to stop."

Fillmore didn't hesitate to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. Her still-healing body screamed in protest but she grabbed a handful of his shirt in her uninjured hand and held on tight, burying her face into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head and she focused on his heart beating steadily in his chest. The memory of Canton's hands violating her began to fade away as she listened thump-thump. Thump-thump.

"Ingrid, I know you're scared," he whispered to her, bringing his head down close to her ear. His breath was warm on her cheek and she relished the wave of warmth it sent through her body. He pressed his cheek firmly to the side of her head. "And I know that…" he paused and she felt his Adam's apple shift as he swallowed hard against her forehead. When he spoke up again, his voice was much softer… and his words were much heavier, dripping with guilt. "I know I failed you once." His hand ran through her hair and lingered at the base of her neck. "But I swear to you, he won't hurt you again."

She shook her head in denial against his chest, but all of the words she wanted to say to him escaped her. She wanted to say, Don't you dare, Cornelius Fillmore. You came for me. You fought for me. You risked your life for me. You have never failed me, not once. But those words never reached her lips. Instead, she focused again on his heartbeat, trying to match hers with his as she forced herself to keep breathing.

Fillmore had held her in his arms more times than she had cared to count through the entire time they had known each other… And the majority of those moments happened within the span of the past few weeks. After initially waking up and learning Fillmore had been admitted into the hospital for smoke inhalation and a superficial gunshot wound of all things, she had woken up from the sedative to find him asleep next to her in the ICU, clad in an oxygen tank and scrubs of his own with his arm around her. He was next to her every moment that he'd been able to. And each moment that he held her close, she grew increasingly aware of how much she had grown attached to him. She counted on him for his strength, his comfort, just as he did for hers. She knew that whenever she was with him that she was safe – he had proven that to her over and over again. She gripped his shirt tighter in her fist and buried her face further into his chest, begging herself to say something, anything, to reassure him that she didn't blame him. He squeezed her a little tighter in his arms and she found herself dreading the moment when he would let her go. Her heart ached as she remembered how close she had come to living a life without him – a life where he wouldn't be there to hold her – as he planted a long, tender kiss to her temple.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. They had shared more intimate moments in the past few weeks than they had throughout their entire time together. She turned her head to rest her ear over her best friend's heart, listening to it softly beat to her. In between each heartbeat, her photographic memory played back every embrace; the way her chest fluttered every time they made eye contact; how her stomach dropped every time he walked into the squad room wearing that damn leather jacket of his; and how, every time he softly spoke her name, she forgot how to breathe. And for the first time in two months, she was thankful for a memory that remembered every moment… because those were the memories she never wanted to forget.

Fillmore's hand stroked her back and she drew in a wavering breath, savoring the feeling of his hand gliding across her skin. She silently begged him to never let him go, but only three words wanted to cross her lips.

But she remained silent; now wasn't the time to say how she felt, even if she did know how to say it. She just knew that she couldn't imagine going back to being "just partners", because she finally knew where she belonged: in between his heartbeats.

xXxXx xXxXx xXxXx

THE END

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Thank you so much for reading! I'm sorry that it took so long for me to get this finished and out there for you guys. I appreciate your patience. I hope that I made up for it! I really enjoyed diving into this plot and all the nights staying up until three a.m. perfecting it for you all. Stay tuned! You never know what might show up in the Fillmore! archive ;)

Much much love,

Ellameno

P.S. Also I hope the ending wasn't too cheesy. This entire sequel was inspired by that last sentence… the moment I just so happened to string those words together, I instantly knew I had to write more. I'm cheesy af and I don't care who knows it… so fight me.