#pottery barn code | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 1 month ago

Text

BREAKING POINT - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?

AN: Deep breaths, friends. It's about to be another angsty fun time. 😅

Song Inspo: “Come in From the Night” by Chicago

Posted on Patreon: 4/04/2025

Word Count: 8K

Tags/Warnings: 2x02 events, perilous situations, blood and violence, injuries, protective Russell, another Shaw sibling reunion, secrets and confessions come to light, major angst, but also major hurt/comfort…

⌖ Series Masterlist

Part 2: One Chance

You still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Russell. All your texts had been going unanswered. You grabbed your phone and began to find Reenie in your contacts, but you paused. You were reminded of something you forgot to do when you walked in the door.

Along with the coded door lock, there was an app on your phone where you could monitor the cameras strategically placed outside the house. However, when you checked the app, you realized that the camera feed said Unavailable. For every single camera.

Your brows furrowed. That’s weird…

Seconds later, the first bullet broke through your impact windows.

You flinched at the fracture of glass, the splintering corner of your Pottery Barn coffee table. Shock made your entire body stiffen.

But when the second and third bullet became lodged in your couch and finished shattering two windows, you screamed and dove for the ground. You crawled on hands and knees across the hardwood floor, no doubt cutting your palms on broken glass. The coffee table only somewhat protected your body, but seeing the edge of something black in the corner of your eye, you managed to grab one of Russell’s Glocks taped under the wood that typically held your empty wine glasses and lavender candles.

Your mad scramble took you across the living room and into the bathroom, where you locked the door and backed away from the door, to the farthest corner beside the tub. Your path on the white tile was streaked with your own blood.

You clutched Russell’s gun with shaking hands, your thumb just barely managing to pull back the safety. When you tried to shift your body away from where the bottom of the sink hung over your head, you whimpered at a sharp twinge in your side. Looking down, you realized that blood had plumed through your shirt, right along the curve of your waist.

You took one trembling hand off the gun to lift the hem of your shirt, and a shaky breath escaped you.

Fuck. You’d been hit.

You didn’t see the bullet, or even a hole puncture. You prayed that you had just been grazed.

But! You still had your cell phone. It was lodged in the back pocket of your jeans. Your hands were occupied though, so you had to make a choice—keeping your weapon at the ready, stopping yourself from bleeding out, or calling for help.

You heard the front door splintering open at a distance, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Holding in a whimper, you heeded your instincts and reached for your phone. You tried calling Russell first, but it just went to voicemail. Goddamn it…

You considered calling 9-1-1, but in your manic desperation, all you could think of was reaching your boyfriend.

So you called Reenie next.

While the phone rang, tucked between your shoulder and your ear, you were forced to set down the gun. You quietly rifled through your medicine cabinet for gauze or an ace bandage. Fuck, yes! Okay. This could work. You found the big square bandages that stick on. Russell bought them the last time he came home with a couple of nasty abrasions from a job.

Still, the phone rang.

Come on, come on, come onnnn!

“Hello?” The lawyer’s voice was smooth and retaining a note of exasperation.

“Reenie! Where’s Russell?” you whisper-hissed. You forgot about the bandage for the moment.

“I have him right here. What’s wrong?” she asked. Immediately, her tone shifted to concern. You’d never met Reenie in person, but you knew she worked with Colter and, according to Russell, was damn good at what she did.

You didn’t give a shit about any of that right now.

“Put him on the phone, please!”

In a few seconds of shuffling, you finally, finally heard his voice.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

A breath of relief escaped you in a rush.

“Russell,” you sobbed.

The raw panic in your voice made his spine stiffen. Every muscle in his body coiled in alarm. Russell sat up straight in the backseat of the SUV with Colter right beside him, along with the retired Scott Palmer, the conspiracy theorist they saved from a government black site. Reenie looked back in concern from the front seat.

“Someone’s in the house,” you said on the line. Every word was ragged, like you were trying to stay quiet, but crying all the same. “I got hit, bleeding a lot. I’m locked in the bathroom…”

In a beat of a second, Russell processed the words, I got hit.

The fucker was armed. You were shot. He wasn’t there to help you.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. A nightmare. A waking nightmare.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Russell said, immediately hiding what he felt under calm reassurance. His dark brows became a knitted line. “Were you able to get to one of my guns? Under the bed, under the—”

“Coffee table,” you said, in a tremulous voice. “Russ, what do I—”

Your scream was shrill in his ear after a gunshot went off, even making him flinch. His eyes never blinked though. He could hear the door ripping open, and a rustle of clothing preceded your sharp yelp. Someone manhandled you to your feet.

Russell’s jaw clenched tight. His heart hammered under his ribcage as he followed every sound. He yelled at the driver of this SUV to fucking floor it.

The sounds reaching him on the phone fuzzed over then, like someone was grabbing the phone out of your hand. You screamed and struggled, but a man’s grunt and a sharp hit echoed in the phone speaker. Russell’s teeth ground together so hard, he could feel them creaking with strain. He shouted your name.

The call ended abruptly.

Russell felt every minute, every second that clipped by.

Another half hour would pass before he reached his car. In that time, Colter had to explain to Reenie why calling the police right now was a bad idea.

“The police are going to trigger them to react. It’s more likely they’ll take her and move her than leave her behind,” Colter said, sharing a grim look with his brother. “Worst case…”

Russell shook his head and stared out the window, his lips pursing tight. He didn’t need to hear that said out loud. He was already thinking it, his mind shooting off sparks of one scenario after another. Each and every one of them shredded his insides to ribbons. His fingers clenched around the interior door handle of the car.

“Okay, but who’s doing this? The shady-ass government operatives you just pissed off?” Rennie asked.

“That’s my bet,” Russell said gruffly. He could picture that blue-eyed smarmy dick in his mind’s eye too—the shadow government stooge who took his brother captive, and thought he could get the drop on Russell at that lab.

He was probably still salty about the way Russell broke his goddamn nose.

“This one’s coming out of their ass,” he groused.

“We can’t underestimate them,” Colter said. His tone wasn’t censuring, but a reminder. “They got to Dr. Blair.”

Dr. Blair was an astrophysics professor who had taken special interest in some of Scott Palmer’s theories, particularly into the idea of extraterrestrial life. The professor had been found dead in her own car that afternoon, barely a couple of hours after Russell and Colter questioned her about the missing Scott’s whereabouts and her involvement with him. The police had ruled it a suicide.

Russell did glare at Colter this time. What happened to that professor wasn’t going to happen to you. You weren’t directly involved in this mess…

Russell’s fists clenched at his sides. He slid a hand over his bearded face and thought hard. Whoever had you was going to answer to him. Anything they’d done to you was going to be a mercy, compared to what he had in mind for them.

Colter parked his truck and airstream just behind Russell’s Chevy in your neighborhood. They hadn’t parked directly in front of your house, however. They wanted to retain the element of surprise, just in case your captors were still here.

Looks like they are, Russell noted by the dark gray SUV parked on the street, right next to your mailbox.

If they hadn’t moved, it was because they wanted Russell to go into the house. They wanted to make a show of this, drag this out.

Russell could just see that arrogant fuck in his mind’s eye already, waiting for him, smirking at him when he walked in.

“Like your father, Ashton Shaw. You have a long family history of getting in the government’s way,” he’d said, while holding Russell at gunpoint.

Then Russell proceeded to talk a little shit, as was his specialty, followed by a thorough ass-kicking. Also his specialty.

But he was interrupted from that satisfying recap by Colter’s subtle tap on his shoulder. He pointed toward the house with two fingers. Russell nodded and signaled back, leading him in.

Both of them had suited up with bullet-proof vests and proper weapons, with Russell favoring his usual .45 caliber M1911. He called her Betsy. She’d take your kneecaps off if you weren’t careful, and Russell was always careful. Especially about kneecaps.

He and Colter cased the house and veered to the left, where they caught sight of the carnage that wrecked the living room. Whoever broke in must’ve used silencers on their guns, because surely in a residential neighborhood like this, someone would’ve heard the commotion and called the cops themselves. All three windows at the front of the house were shattered, littering glass across the floor. The couch was a Swiss cheese rendering of fabric and stuffing, with picture frames, candles, books and bookshelves, and other keepsakes battered, ruined, and scattered.

Russell was sorry to see it, feeling an angry twinge, but it only got worse when he saw who was sitting on the edge of the couch. The man was flanked by four other men in solid black uniforms and guns, their faces obscured by masks.

Russell’s eyes widened in shock at first. And then in anger, and steely determination. After giving his brother a nod, he and Colter split up without needing to speak or signal. Colter went around the back and stirred the men’s attention. Three of them split off and went toward the diversion of the back door caving in.

Meanwhile, Russell shot out the window near the kitchen. It allowed him to tumble into the house, protecting his head from glass as he went. By the time he rolled to a crouch, he had his gun at the ready to shoot the remaining two men—headshot for the first one, arm and neck for the second one.

Adam Brody stood ready to shoot him next. He wore tactical gear as well, but he didn’t bother to mask up his face.

“Hey, Russ,” he said, with a humorless smile. There was something melancholy in his blue eyes.

“It’s simple. Start fucking talking, or I start shooting,” Russell snapped. Inside, he raged at the betrayal. It roiled like acid deep in his gut and solidified like a stone.

Adam sighed heavily. “Trust me, this wasn’t an assignment I wanted.”

He shifted the aim of his gun away from Russell…and directly to the ground, just a few feet away from him. Russell followed the trajectory with his eyes, and his throat constricted.

You were lying there on the cold floor, half twisted onto your side. Your arm was bent at the wrong angle beneath your cheek. The left side of your face that Russell could see was bruised and bloody, and there were shards of glass in your hair. But the sight that stopped him cold was the large patch of blood staining your waist and stomach through your shirt. It was slowly getting worse.

Russell’s gaze flicked back to Adam, and it sharpened, his fingers tightening a fraction on his gun.

“Let her go,” Russell demanded.

“We got what we came for. I don’t think we need to take it any further than this,” Adam said. “Just consider tonight as a warning. And word of advice? Stay off of the fucking black sites. You could get into some real trouble out there.”

“That’s not fucking good enough," Russell seethed through clenched teeth. "Why this? Because I quit?”

Adam gave him a look that was slightly pitying. Like a teacher who secretly thought you were the dumbest kid alive.

“No,” he replied. “That gig was just our way of keeping an eye on you.”

Russell blinked, a new layer of shock rattling down his spine.

“What, Horizon wanted to keep tabs on me?" he said. "Before I fucking joined up?”

Adam didn’t answer him, but there was more there in his silence than his slimy words could’ve spoken. He slowly leaned over and grabbed up an old white shoebox from where it was placed on the arm of the couch.

“I’m here for this,” he said. There seemed to be real conflict in his eyes when he looked back at his friend, a man who once was his brother in the deepest of fucking trenches. “Look, Russ, I had a job to do and I did it. It’s really all just business.”

Russell’s eyes narrowed with cold fire.

“It’s never just business, you stupid fuck.”

Adam’s mouth twitched at a frown. He knew the look in Russell’s eye. It held a deadly promise, marked right here and now. And as Adam knew better than anyone, Russell never forgot to make good on a promise.

Adam’s fingers slowly flexed over his gun. Before he could make a decision about Russell, he saw Colter coming out of the corner of his eye. Adam moved fast, shooting off a clip at Colter first. Colter manage to dive back behind the wall that led to your bedroom. Then Adam ducked and dodged Russell’s aim at his head, all while still holding onto the box.

Adam threw himself through the last remaining window in the living room to make his escape. Russell moved to follow him, but he spared a second to lock eyes with his brother and gesture at you.

“Stay with her!” Russell barked.

Colter nodded and was already kneeling by your side to check your pulse. It tore at Russell’s heart, but he couldn’t just let Adam go. Russell ripped the front door open and sprinted outside. Dawn was just approaching over the horizon, with rays of orange-gold peeking out behind rows of suburbia and picket fences. Adam was half a shadow getting into the black SUV parked out front.

Russell fired off a shot that somewhat made its mark. He couldn’t aim for the heart; Adam was wearing a bullet-proof vest. Couldn’t aim for the head; he was moving too quick. But when Adam opened the car door, the bullet caught him under the arm, where the vest couldn’t cover. The projectile could rip through the chest cavity and at least knick an artery, if not a lung.

Adam cried out in pain and grabbed at the bleeding wound, but he still managed to climb into the passenger seat and shut the door as the car sped off. The windows were tinted, so Russell couldn’t see inside. It didn’t stop him from emptying his clip at the car’s windows and tires as he ran into the street.

Russell’s dark brows knitted in anger as he watched the SUV drive on and turn the corner, even with a blown tire. 2Y5-M20 read the license plate. Russell muttered the number to himself over and over while he ran back inside.

There he found you and Colter in the same place in the living room, except that he had carefully turned you over onto your back and moved your broken arm into a more stable position. He also grabbed your favorite throw blanket off the back of the couch; he had the corner of it crumpled in his hand to put pressure against the wound in your side.

“She was grazed, no bullet entry,” Colter said, hearing his brother’s boots approaching. “I need to grab some stuff from the car to help stabilize her arm before the ambulance gets here. Police are on their way too.”

Russell’s knees hit the ground beside you, where he carefully took control of keeping pressure on your wound. He then gathered you into his arms. He stroked your bruised cheek with a gentle, half-gloved hand.

“Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me? Huh?” he said.

When you didn’t respond, still unconscious, he had to check your pulse for himself. It was weaker than it should’ve been, but it was there.

You were alive.

While Colter ran back out to the car, Russell’s thoughts led him in exhaustive circles, questioning every word that had come out of Adam’s mouth, questioning himself and his choices, worrying for you, and what you would say when you opened your eyes.

It was good that Colter called the police too though. There would be no other way to explain your injuries at the hospital than a break-in, else they might suspect Russell himself as the culprit. Always the boyfriend, as they said.

Maybe that was the case in civilian life, but not in Russell’s. In his, it was much crueler than that.

A couple of minutes later, Colter returned with the supplies he needed. He found his brother holding you as tightly as he dared, his face deep and brooding as he rested his cheek against the side of your head. Between the brothers, they were able to stem the bleeding on your wounded side and stabilize your broken arm. Russell tried to rub some warmth back into your bare arms.

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can hear me,” he murmured into your hair. There was a subtle shake growing in his voice.

Colter glanced up and met his gaze. There Russell saw the weight of concern, for you and for him.

The hospital room was tense from all angles while you slept.

Russell sat in a chair on your right side, Dory to your left. Again, he silently brooded with his hands folded under his chin, elbows resting on his thighs. Dory was slumped in her seat, head in hand; tear tracks remained on her pale skin. Colter leaned against the wall by the door.

None of them spoke, because they all knew what each other was thinking. All of them wore shades of guilt, along with underlying anger. Colter had some measure of a grudge at Dory for giving you a burden you weren’t meant to have. He thought she should’ve given that damn box to him or Russell directly. Dory carried that guilt in hindsight, but she was also angry at Russell, and to some extent Colter too, for exposing you to this kind of danger.

Russell could harbor resentment for both of his siblings right now, but mainly, he was angry at himself.

“So Adam doesn’t really work for Horizon?” Colter asked, keeping his voice quiet. The question was aimed at his brother, who glanced up at him.

“Not sure,” Russell replied after a moment. “Could be. Or could be that whoever he works for does business with Horizon. Either way, I think he might’ve been planted there to recruit me, then watch me, keep me occupied.”

To keep him from looking into his father’s death.

Colter nodded. He directed his attention to Dory. “We’re going to have to do a sweep of your apartment for bugs. Likely they were watching you too.”

Dory’s eyes widened. “That’s how they knew I had Dad’s stuff, that I gave it to her. But why did they want it so bad?”

“Dad must've been into some shady shit,” Russell replied, shaking his head.

“The question is what,” Colter said.

“Check…m’ cloth-s,” you interrupted.

All three Shaw siblings stirred to attention with concern, their heads swiveling toward you.

You finally clawed your way through the anesthesia to keep your eyes open. It hurt, even to speak. The bruising around your throat betrayed Adam’s iron grip, choking you halfway to unconsciousness. The left side of your face was one mottled, ugly bruise all the way to your eyebrow, your lower lip split near the corner.

Russell stood quickly, his chair scraping the floor. He drew closer to you and sat at the edge of your bed so he could gently take up your hand. Dory came up on your other side and touched your shoulder—the one not currently wrapped in a sling. The doctor told them you’d broken your arm in two places. Not only would you need surgery, but you would also be in a cast for several weeks. The bullet wound had been a graze, for which you’d still lost a decent amount of blood. You would need to stay at the hospital for a week, at least.

“What, baby?” Russell asked. But then he thought better of it. “Don’t worry about it, just take it easy.”

“Check…m’clothes,” you repeated, with slightly more strength. You blinked your weary eyes open and found Russell. Your lips twitched when he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles and threaded your fingers together.

Then he shot Dory an imploring look. He’d rather it be her sorting through your bag of bloody clothing than Colter, and Russell didn’t want to let go of your hand.

With a small sigh, she grabbed it from under the hospital bed and sorted through, finding just your jeans, shoes, and underwear, since the Emergency Department has cut through your shirt and bra.

“I don’t…” Dory began to say, but she cut herself off short when she found a small, old-fashioned film tube mixed in with your panties.

You hadn’t just taken the box with you into the house. On the way home last night, you’d stopped at a red light. Your curiosity was insatiable at the best of times, and you couldn’t stop yourself from having a look inside the box.

You found a short stack of essays and a couple of small wood carvings, but you also found that film tube. It reminded you of the disposable Kodak cameras you used to buy as a kid, complete with a little container for undeveloped rolls of film.

You took out the little canister and examined it. When you popped it open, you found rolled up papers inside.

And then the light turned green, a car honking behind you. You shot the black SUV behind you a narrowed look of annoyance. Instead of tossing the thing back into the box, you folded the papers back up into the little canister, secured the lid, and slipped it into your pocket on reflex.

Later, when you sat huddled and terrified and bloody on your bathroom floor, you set down the gun and took out the film tube from your pocket. If this thing was important, if it had anything to do with Ashton Shaw’s death, then you didn’t want to give it up so easily.

You stuffed it behind the waistband of your jeans, hopefully for safe keeping. The thought was dubious at best, but it was still worth a shot, you thought.

Now, Dory stared at the tube with the cap popped open. She saw the papers rolled up inside, but didn’t bother to unfurl them. She didn’t want to know what they were, but she knew instinctively that this was what you almost died for.

She bit her lip and gazed back at you in apologetic sorrow. Handing the item off to Colter, she went back to you and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she said tearfully. “I should’ve never given…”

Her tears sparked your own, welling up in your eyes. You managed to shake your head a little.

“Y’didn’t know,” you replied.

Dory tried and failed to stifle her weeping. Colter came up to your bedside as well.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he said. You managed to roll your head somewhat in his direction, your gaze reflecting some wryness.

“Why? ‘S not like you work…for Horizon,” you said, glancing over at Russell. He pursed his lips, lowering your hand to the bed.

Colter picked up on the vibe that you and Russell had things to talk about. Sharing a nod with Dory, he helped her up out of her chair and subtly led her out of the room with him. After the door clicked closed, Russell sighed, hanging his head.

After a moment, he drew enough courage to look up at your beaten face. His eyes were full of devastation, and the remnants of self-loathing.

“Sweetheart, I’m so—”

“Don’t you sweetheart me,” you warned. Your eyes stung all over again, and you sucked in a shaking, painful breath. “The world you’re a part of…you and Colter…it’s dangerous. I knew that full well when we got together, but…I naively thought you knew you what you were doing.”

Russell’s shoulders sunk. His gaze fell to his hands, resting on his thighs.

“You said you wouldn’t bring your work home with you,” you accused.

“I’m gonna protect you, I swear,” he vowed.

“From what? Horizon? Your friend? Whoever he works for? You don’t. Have. A clue,” you said. You still struggled for breath, for every word. “Regardless, you’re not breaking out of this life anytime soon. And I…I can’t do this anymore.”

Hot tears slid down your cheeks. They stung over cuts and nicks in your skin. But the distressed look on Russell’s face was what threatened to break you. His jaw worked as he processed your words. He looked away for a moment to gather himself, but he soon met your gaze again.

“I was just starting to turn things around, wasn’t I? Please, give me a chance to fix this,” he said.

You shook your head wearily. “Russell, there are parts of you that I’m never going to know. There are things that you either can’t or won’t let go of, things you can't control. I’m tired of getting caught in the crossfire.”

You didn’t know if you were being fair, but you couldn’t help how you felt. And yet, you also felt shredded from the inside just looking at him, knowing that you were breaking his heart as well as your own. But how else could you protect yourself at this point? It was all just too much.

“I need you to go,” you said.

Russell’s eyes widened. That was the one thing you’d never asked of him, no matter how pissed off you got. You might’ve wanted a little space in bed, but you never told him to sleep on the couch, never told him to go find a motel, or sleep in his truck. There was space, and there was space. This was fucking it.

“Baby, come on. I’m not leaving you,” he said. His hand itched to take hold of yours again, but you moved it away from his grasp, resting carefully over your bruised ribs.

“No,” you said more firmly, even though it hurt to strain your voice. “Just go.”

Everything within him protested. But, at that hard, angry, broken look on your face, he rose to his feet. He forced himself to head for the door, briefly hesitating there. He cast you one last look, his jaw and his heart clenching in tandem at the sight of your watery eyes, your swollen face, your pained attempts for even breaths.

He left your hospital room.

But, of fuckin’ course, the man he ran into in the hall was Charlie.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Charlie asked, grabbing Russell’s arm. “What happened? You barely told me anything on the phone—”

Russell sighed. He led your brother a little further away from your door so you hopefully wouldn’t overhear, but he tried to explain it all in its simplest terms, avoiding any talk about his father’s death. He understood Charlie’s anger. It mounted and mounted in your hothead brother, until he was gripping Russell’s jacket in half a threat.

“It was my fault,” Russell said. He didn’t even bother to grab Charlie’s wrist. He fucking deserved the hit if it was coming. “They were using me, and I didn’t know. Just waiting for an opening to grab something they thought was important.”

“Did they get it?” Charlie asked. “What even was it?”

Russell hesitated. “It doesn’t matter. But I’m going to make sure she’s safe.”

Charlie made a sound of frustration and shoved at Russell’s chest.

“I fucking trusted you!” he shouted. “I thought you’d be the last one to let some shit like this happen to her!”

“I know,” Russell said, swallowing his shame. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Charlie paced in the hall like an agitated animal. He seemed to be warring with his instincts to throw that punch, maybe more than one. But Charlie knew what kind of guilt was on Russell’s shoulders. Charlie still bore the weight of that guilt, even today. It would never leave him for as long as he lived.

So, Charlie simmered down, pressing a fist against the wall to try and calm himself.

“I’ve, uh…I’ve gotta go,” Russell said.

Charlie frowned and glared back at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Russell met his gaze, but he couldn’t hold it. Otherwise, his shame would break through the cracks.

“She asked me to,” he said.

Charlie shook his head. “Do you love her?”

“Charlie.” The look on Russell’s face warned him not to ask stupid questions. There was only so much he could handle right now.

“Okay,” Charlie nodded. “So are you gonna make good? Are you gonna protect her, or not?”

Russell didn’t know why, but he felt pinned to ground by that question. His heart, his soul, and his mind were all at war, pulling in different directions of what he should do, what he wanted to do, and what he knew he couldn’t.

Charlie’s frown deepened, with a spark of his anger returning.

“Make a fucking decision, Russell,” he snapped, and made the last few strides over to your room.

It left Russell in the hall, contemplating his next move. His fingers twitched at his sides. He stared hard at the linoleum, until the tiny blue patterns became smudges in his vision.

Then, he kept walking, even took the elevator downstairs. You’d told him to leave after all, but to go where? Back home?

That was your house. Hadn’t you broken up with him? All his stuff was still there though. Not to mention, your house was a mess. He wouldn’t leave it like that for you to come home to.

Even with all those thoughts swirling like angry coils of snakes through his mind, he stopped short of leaving the hospital. He stood in the way of the lobby’s glass double doors, his fingers flexing at his sides and nearly closing into fists. His jaw clenched and ticked with strain.

He turned back and took a seat in the lobby. He sat there for an hour, and then two. He passed time on his phone, but really, he was watching every single person who walked in through the double doors. He made a note of each face and scanned the way they walked and what they were bringing in the building with them. He checked each of them off as not a threat.

He couldn’t be certain that Adam would keep his word about backing off for now. If he realized that you took something important from that damn box…

Every muscle in Russell’s body wanted to go back up to your hospital room. He wanted to tell you again that he was sorry. Matter of fact, he’d be content if you just let him sit there beside you in silence.

Okay, maybe he’d try to crack a joke or two, see if he could make you smile. Extra brownie points if he could make you laugh.

Yeah, don’t bet on that one.

Russell sighed and rubbed at his face with both hands.

Colter came around to find him, first asking how you were. The look on Russell’s face was good enough of an answer.

Colter let him know that he’d just dropped off Dory at her place. He was going to stick around for a couple of days to keep an eye on her, just in case Adam came poking around.

“For the record, I don’t think he will,” Colter said. He took out the film tube you recovered from the box. Russell’s gaze fell to the little black canister.

“I had a look, and—” Colter began, but Russell raised up a hand.

“I don’t care,” he said. He slowly stood and met his younger brother’s gaze. “Look, if you wanna go chasing ghosts, that’s your prerogative, but count me out. I don’t wanna know about it, don’t wanna hear about it. As far as I’m concerned, Dad’s dead, and he ain’t coming back no matter what the fuck we find at the end of that tunnel.”

For once, Colter looked taken aback. It wasn’t a big expression, but it was enough to make his eyes widen a little, his mouth parting with almost nothing to say.

“You’re saying you won’t help me?” he asked.

“I’m saying if you open that door, you’re on your own. I’m not losing anything more to this,” Russell said. His eyes burned with his determination, and perhaps other emotions he wasn’t willing to let fly in front of his brother.

He lowered back down into his seat and crossed his arms. Colter watched him with a measure of dismay. But ultimately, he respected his brother’s choice.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am,” Colter said. He hesitated, and even drew closer to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Then, he left.

Out in the parking lot as he headed over to his pickup truck, Colter’s hand tightened on that film tube. In his mind’s eye, he already saw the map that was hastily scrawled on the curled-up page inside.

As for Russell, he spent the rest of the evening there in the waiting room.

A security guard eventually came over to tell him that visiting hours were over. Russell only pretended to leave. He waited until the guard was distracted, flirting with the receptionist, and Russell snuck back into the stairwell.

He found his way up to the second floor, then the third. He slipped down the empty halls. He didn’t intend to check in on you in your room, but that was where his feet ended up, stopping just outside of the door. It was open a crack.

When he peeked inside, he saw that you were sleeping after your surgery on your arm. Charlie was watching over you, so Russell pulled back. He stayed in the hospital all night, ducking nurses and doctors on the night shift. He retained some of his peace of mind, knowing you weren’t alone.

In the morning, Russell headed back home just to shower. He felt all right about it, knowing Dory was at the hospital with you today after relieving Charlie. Russell arrived at the house, just to remember that it was still an incredible mess after the police had cleared out.

Russell took the time to sweep up the glass, and mop up your blood from the hardwood floors in the living room and the bathroom tiles. He righted picture frames and whatever else he could. The rest, he stored in a big black garbage bag in case you wanted to sort through it later. Then he finally ate a sandwich and showered up. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours, but he kept pushing himself.

He took measurements of every window that got busted, and he went to the closest hardware store to buy replacements. He installed them himself.

Finally, Russell allowed himself to sleep for just a few hours. Afterward, he returned to the hospital. He resumed his seat in the lobby, and he subtly monitored who came in and out while looking busy on his phone. He never forgot a single face.

The cycle repeated itself. Three days.

He didn’t let himself see you.

Your voice was still weak and muffled, being that half your face was swollen, but you had enough energy to argue with your brother.

“Saving Private Ryan is more historically accurate than Jurassic Park is scientifically accurate,” you said, more than a little testy already.

“You’re giving me a stats-based argument,” said Charlie, “when all that really matters is the dinosaurs still look real! The CGI holds up—”

“Oh, please,” you huffed. “Lincoln, War Horse, Schindler’s List—Spielberg movies that actually matter.”

“Hey, tell my eight-year-old self that dinosaurs don’t matter,” he said. “Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, Close Encounters, fucking Jaws—these are the staples of Hollywood, my friend. Those are the movies people actually remember when they think of Spielberg and his Steve Jobs glasses.”

“Raiders is all right,” you grumbled, after a moment of deliberation. “At least it’s rooted in some real history.”

Charlie snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

Your smile weakened. “That’s Russ’s favorite.”

Charlie perked up in attention, noticing your shift in demeanor.

“What, Raiders?” he asked. When you merely nodded, seeming lost in thought, Charlie smiled a little. “It’s a classic.”

You knew that it was one of the few movies Russell remembered watching before his father moved the Shaw family to that compound in the Sierra National Forest.

You tried to take in a deep breath. Letting it out was painful though, a sharp twinge in your side making you wince. Goddamn stitches.

“You okay?” Charlie asked. He was coiled and ready to spring into action, whatever you needed. “Want me to adjust your pillow? Or you want to lay on your side again?”

“‘M fine,” you managed. You both knew they were empty words.

The room fell quiet, save for the movie playing on your small TV screen that was mounted against the wall. Laura Dern was limping on one foot away from a velociraptor.

After lowering the volume, you turned your head on your pillow toward Charlie, even though you couldn’t quite hold his gaze.

“He’s still here, isn’t he?” you said. There was a knowing gleam in your eyes.

Charlie feigned innocence. “Who?”

You just gave him a look. Your brother’s lips twitched at a smile, and he leaned back in the recliner seat, folding his hands over his chest.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Your Mountain Man’s still here.”

You blew out a sigh of exasperation. “I told him to go home.”

“To an empty house that isn’t his, not knowing how long he’s gonna be able to stay there?” Charlie pointed out. “Did you break up with him for sure?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You knew you weren’t all that specific when you told Russell to leave, but…maybe it was because your heart hadn’t totally decided on the matter.

“You know, he finds a way to dodge security every night, just so he can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay when I’m not here,” Charlie said. “Hell, even when I am here. Don’t know whether I should be insulted by that one.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting a swell of emotion. Looking back on that conversation after you woke up, you’d felt so raw and frayed. You knew what happened to you wasn’t exactly Russell's fault. He’d needed to help his brother. His own friend had likely sold him out as well as betrayed him.

You just couldn’t help the deep well of insecurity lying far underneath your skin, a bone-deep thought…

“He’s never going to be happy with a boring, normal life,” you said, with tears burning behind your lids. “I’m never going to be enough.”

Charlie frowned in sadness. For once, he felt bad for Russell. He opened his mouth to reply, but someone else beat him to it.

“Sorry,” Russell said from the doorway. “But that’s just categorically untrue, baby.”

Your eyes widened at the sight of him. Your breath stilled in your lungs. He entered the room cautiously, waiting for you to throw him out. When you just stared back at him with those weary, uncertain, glassy eyes, he tried to give you a smile.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

After a beat of hesitation, you nodded. It was barely a movement of your head, but he’d take it.

And Charlie took his cue to stand up, rubbing his hands together.

“Think I’ll get myself a burger or something,” he said.

On his way out, he and Russell shared a look. On Charlie’s end, it was imbued with a cautious trust.

One chance.

Russell understood full well. He nodded in agreement.

The door shut behind Charlie. Russell lowered himself into a chair and tugged it over to your bedside, resting his hand on the mattress. You still didn’t know what to say, but despite your reluctance, your heart swelled just to see him. You missed him beyond belief.

You slowly moved your hand toward his on the bed. Russell noticed, and he smiled. He took your hand with both of his big, calloused ones, and he laid a tender kiss across your knuckles.

You trembled inside as your tears spilled over, hot and unfettered. Your breathing shallowed with it, your emotions bubbling up and over the surface. On your first hiccupping sob, Russell moved. He got up to sit on the edge of your bed, and he cupped your uninjured cheek, so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your hand, still clasped in his, he pressed over his heart. He was sure you'd be able to feel the uptick beating of it.

Once chance.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. It was a confession from the very depths of him, laden with grit. “This is on me. But I’m done, you understand? I’m done with all that shit.”

You pulled away a little. “What do you mean?”

“I’m more than ready to be my own boss,” he said, grinning some. “When you’re feeling better, I’m gonna need your help tasting the menu for the brewery. Plus, the décor. You know me, I’m shit at figuring out what kinda lamps go with beige walls.”

You uttered a weak laugh through your tears. You raised a trembling hand to cup his cheek. Your thumb brushed tenderly there. All too soon though, your smile dimmed.

“Look, I know what I said, but understand if you want to find your father’s killer,” you whispered.

Russell released a sigh through his nose. He appreciated you for that, and even kind of marveled that you could say that to him from your hospital bed. But this was enough.

What he couldn’t tell you, not just yet, was that he planned to track down Adam Brody. Russell could care less who the man worked for now, but once he dealt with that unfinished business, he fully intended to devote the rest of his attention toward building a steadier life, that firm foundation. He wasn’t about to take this second chance with you for granted.

“I’m done with contract work, and with anything having to do with my father,” he said firmly, grasping your hand. “It’s not worth losing you.”

Your lips trembled. You were still a hint uncertain, trying to figure out if he was being sincere. You knew he wanted to protect you, to be with you, but could he really give up all the rest of it?

“Are you sure?” you asked.

Russell sobered further. He licked his lips, debating something in his mind. He could be honest about one thing, at least.

“When I was a kid, I saw a man up on that cliff with my dad,” he said. “You know that part. Now, I didn’t see what happened. Maybe they argued, scuffled. Maybe that guy was a part of what my dad was running from all those years. But when I got up there and I looked over that cliff, even in the rain I saw his body down below, mangled up…”

He shook his head. You squeezed his hand. Even now, you let him know that you were listening, that he had an anchor. He let out a slightly shaky breath.

“Colter was there,” he admitted. “He was just a kid. All he could do was try to connect the dots on what he saw, and that was me on the top of that cliff.”

Your eyes widened. “No, he…he thought you did it?”

Russell nodded. “When I got back to the house, my mom told me it’d be best for the family if I got gone. So, I left. And I stayed gone. Wasn’t ‘til last year that I could get Colter to hear me out, let alone believe me.”

“God, Russ,” you said in dismay. His mom told him to leave? How could she do that? What the hell was in her head?

Questions, too many questions…and you wondered if Russell had those same ones. How could he not? The more you learned about his parents, the more you understood his and Dory’s decision to try to bury it, and leave the past behind.

“My dad was a paranoid son of a bitch. You know, he even pulled a fucking knife on me once,” Russell said, earning your gasp. “Yeah. One of his little episodes. Mom calmed him down, but…"

He thought better of diving into that one, considering what you'd just been through. He met your gaze.

"No, the line for me was when he started going off again on his bullshit, grabbed my little sister and pinned her to the wall," he said. "I saw fucking red then. Pulled him away, made him snap the fuck out of it. That was the night he took off.”

Your lips pursed in shock. Russell shook his head at the old memory, though it still got to him. He rolled his shoulders and forced himself to relax.

“Man, I was fucking relieved when he did,” he said, an edge of anger lacing his words. “But I didn’t kill him.”

You nodded. There was conviction in every word, and your heart ached terribly for him. You tugged him closer by his shirt, so you could slip your good arm around his broad shoulders and pull him in for as good of a hug as you could give him. His long hair tickled your cheek and your neck, but you didn’t care. You sucked in a breath, your eyes glistening with tears, and you kissed his cheek. It was a weak press of your lips, but he felt it.

Russell couldn’t believe that you were the one comforting him right now. Grateful, relieved, those words didn’t even cover what he felt. His chest swelled with warmth, allowing him to let go of some of that bitterness. Some of that hurt, buried deep. His arms slipped around you, strong, secure, but gentle.

Eventually he pulled away, just so he could stroke your cheek and smile down on you. He took in the bruising around your eye. Your right arm, too, was still in a sling. The doctor would probably fit you for a cast next week, after the swelling went down.

“This is probably a stupid question, but how’re you feeling?” he asked, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m okay,” you replied. “Pain meds are awesome, when they want to give them to me.”

“They’re being fucking stingy, huh?” Russell gave you a conspiring look. “Want me to break into the pharmacy, grab you a couple of the little blue pills? They’re fun, I promise.”

You snorted a laugh, even though it hurt your side and your face. You winced in pain. Gotta stop doing that.

Russell slipped a hand over your hip in concern, and to try and soothe you.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” you said.

He wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t press you either.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you asked, your lips tugging at a smile. “Legally I mean, in this room. We can let Charlie go home.”

Russell met your gaze and held it.

“Sweetheart, I’m not leaving you. Not if you don’t want me to.”

Slowly releasing a deep breath, you nodded.

“I believe you,” you said.

Again, you tugged him closer with your hand on his cheek. He read the imploring request in your eyes.

Russell leaned in, carefully brushing his lips against yours. You felt bold enough to meet him a second time with a better kiss. It hurt your cut lip, just a little, but it was worth it.

You finally felt safe again.

AN: 🥹 whew! Okay, so perhaps a lot to unpack there, some 2x02 stuff, some plot stuff from the book cheekily making its way in here. I will say that this is an end to Breaking Point...for now.

I will probably continue this as a mini series within the ESC word, but I want to wait for the show to catch up to see what they do with certain book plotlines. Or, I might just get impatient and write my own spin on things. We'll see! 😂

Until then, what did you think about Russell's decision? How do you think he could settle his "unfinished business" with Adam, considering it might mire himself deeper with Horizon/the "mystery" employer Adam really works for? Or should Russ leave well enough alone on that one? 🤔

(Hint: We both know he won't.)

Join My Patreon 🌟 For early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories; send me requests, and more!

Every Second Counts Masterlist

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell Shaw Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @roseblue373 @rizlowwritessortof @brianochka

@branj19 @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @lamentationsofalonelypotato @chevroletdean

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @grilledcheeseandtomato @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak

149 notes · View notes