Page 72 of Shrapnel

Harvey nodded grimly. “A few upper Mesa members are calling for Noah’s head. They’re using this, and his inability to catch the killer, as kindling for their fire. And it’s working.”

Noah isn’t safe in White Sand Mesa.

He couldn’t process this. Politics of the gangs were always something Elijah struggled with.

Harvey didn’t say anything else while they walked to Noah’s room. The door was closed, but light spilled out from the gap at the bottom.

“Grab me a first aid kit. Then dismiss all staff except those you know are loyal.”

With a nod, Harvey moved off to do as Elijah had asked.

“And Harvey?” Elijah tried to muster up a smile. “Thank you for being there for him. Get yourself looked at.”

Elijah found Noah standing beside the board they had made. His back was to Elijah but even from the doorway, he could see Noah chewing on his fingernails. It had been a few days since Elijah had been to White Sand Mesa, but in his absence, the amount of information, papers, folders, and other evidence seemed to have tripled.

At the sound of the door opening, Noah turned to look at Elijah. His eyes were wide but distant. Like he was looking right through him. There were burns on his hands, and his suit was torn and blackened. Somewhere along the way his tie had come loose, crooked around his neck and hanging low. Noah’s normally copper hair was grey with soot.

“I’ve looked into the Lego manufacturers, there isn’t anything there. Most Legos are produced in Denmark, Hungary, Mexico, and China. Fifty-seven stores in the county sell them. I’ve got people looking into them—”

Elijah didn’t wait for him to finish. He took three long steps and wrapped Noah in his arms. The strong smell of destruction clung to his hair. Noah struggled for a moment, complaining about work before his knees gave out and he began sagging.

“Shh, love.” Elijah stroked his back, supporting Noah as he buried his face in his neck. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s my fault, Elijah. I killed them.” Noah’s words were watery and muffled by Elijah’s neck, his fingers clenched into the back of Elijah’s jacket almost painfully.

“No, no you didn’t. Noah. Stop. You didn’t set that bomb.”

“It was meant for me!” Noah wailed, hands slapping at Elijah’s back to let him go. “There were Legos! He tried to kill me and instead s-she…she was the flower girl.” Noah tried to pull away, but Elijah wouldn’t let him.

They wrestled for a moment before Noah’s strength gave out and he collapsed to the ground, falling onto Elijah’s lap.

“Noah, look at me. Hey,” Elijah grabbed Noah and brought his vacant gaze from the floor. “This killer is smart. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. He wanted to shake you.”

“He succeeded,” Noah croaked. “Do you know what they’re saying? That I have too much Beckett blood. Or that I was adopted, or worse, a fake. My mother was a whore who spread her legs for someone else…anyone but the great Michael Elliott.”

Elijah wiped the tears from his eyes. They left streaks in the dirt on his face. He didn’t know what to say. That his people were wrong? Of course they were. One look at Noah and anyone could tell he was his father’s son. He may have Ellie Beckett’s heart, but his face was all Elliott.

None of that mattered though. Not in gang politics. Noah’s enemies would say anything to get what they wanted. The logical part of Elijah’s brain knew they might be right. Not about Noah’s parentage, but about his ability to lead. Noah never wanted this, had never prepared for it, and now he was faced with something even Grant would struggle with.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re the son of an Elliott or the son of the mailman. I was born a Vega, but I chose to be a Weaver. Family is achoice. Who you are is a choice. You areNoah. Stop trying to be who they want you to be, or who they expect you to be."

The tears stopped and Noah dropped his head to Elijah’s shoulder. He didn’t know if Noah just didn’t want to be seen, or if he was too tired. Either way, he didn’t force it.

Scooping Noah up, he carried him to the bathroom. Sitting him on the side of the tub, he began running the water. While the bath filled, he peeled off the ruined suit. Ash and debris fell in piles as he got Noah naked.

A large ugly bruise covered his right thigh. Blood was pooling just under the surface, and it felt hot to the touch. The rest of his injuries were superficial. Nothing compared to the wound in his heart.

Noah seemed to deflate once he got into the tub. Elijah left him to soak, retrieving the first aid kit Harvey had set just outside Noah’s door.

The water was brown by the time he returned, so he drained and refilled the bathtub. Noah was silent as he scrubbed his hair and body, gently working over all the scrapes and bruises. He would like to soak that bruised leg in Epsom salts, but he didn’t think Noah would allow him.

Shirt soaked, he pulled Noah out and carefully brushed his hair. He worked the tangles out with fingers more accustomed to throwing knives than wielding a comb. More than once he was tempted to cut the knots out, but the thought of slicing some of that beautiful chestnut hair seemed like a sin.

Noah didn’t say a word. Elijah wasn’t sure if he was too tired to feel anymore, or if he was shutting down.

He wrapped Noah’s burned hands, slathering cream all over the blistered skin. “Are you hungry?”

Noah shook his head.