The sound of gunfire exploded with deafening bursts around them, echoing off the rows of townhouses. Iris barely had a chance to so much as gasp before a solid, heavy body was wrapped around her, nearly shoving her to the ground while crushing her within the tight grip. An involuntary shriek did manage to tear from her throat as that very body shuddered with a pained grunt, the high-pitched, metallic sound of bullets ricocheting off metal painfully loud as she clapped her hands over her ears.

And then it was over.

As the sound of tires screeching broke through the last couple shots, she felt her protector shift, his head lifting to track the car as it peeled away. It was only then that Iris lifted her own head, her chest heaving as terror and adrenaline was suddenly surging through her system. James still had his right arm curled protectively around her, keeping his body between her and the now fleeing threat, his other arm still raised as though to shield them both. As the dark sedan roared away she could feel his tensed body trembling, ready—eager even—to pursue their attackers. Iris' fingers tightened where they had grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, steadying herself as he straightened, her grip and his arm pulling her upright with him.

An expression of cold rage flashed in his steel-blue eyes, the blankness brought on by the emotion sending a shiver through Iris.

She'd never seen anything like it in his face before. She'd always had the feeling he was dangerous, right from that first day when he'd knocked on her door. But now she knew it. She could see it in the terrifyingly blank expression on his face and the purposeful, powerful way he moved, his frame no longer tensed but loose and predatory.

Then her eyes latched onto his other arm where he still had it half-raised in front of them and she froze, drawing his attention back to her as her legs threatened to give out from under her in shock. The left sleeves of both his navy plaid button-up and his dark long-sleeved shirt were littered with holes—they were all but shredded. But that's not what had drawn her stare.

It was the bright glint of mirror-bright metal shining beneath the ragged fabric. She could feel his right arm tighten around her the instant he noticed her staring.

"Iris?" It was a choked sound, barely more than a whisper, but it drew her attention away from his arm—his metal arm. The blankly murderous expression was gone, leaving him looking pale and stricken, though that didn't diminish the hard set of his jaw or the concern in his face as he looked down at her. When he spoke again his voice was stronger, but there was a note of despondency to it that Iris almost missed. "Are you hurt?" She didn't register what he said at first, forcing him to ask again before she managed to shake her head emphatically no. And then a shuddering breath rushed out of her, and before she could stop it, she was pressing herself back against him, burrowing into his side as what just happened sank in, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist, renewing her deathgrip on his shirt as she clung to him.

Someone had been shooting at them. As she forced in breath after deep, quaking breath to try and calm herself, a pair of solid arms encircled her as James pulled her closer, his cheek pressed into her curls.

For a split-second, she wished they could stay like that.

But as the first sound of sirens grew in the distance it was as though the more practical side of her switched back on. Pulling away, she looked in the direction the sirens were coming from, her mind whirring. She looked up to James again. He was also glancing toward the approaching police cars, the flashing lights illuminating the cross street in the distance. That wary, calculating look was back on his face.

"Go," she breathed, her hands pressing against his chest to push him away from her. It drew his gaze back to her. He looked at her without comprehension, his brow furrowing deeply as his lips parted to question her. But she didn't let him say anything.

"Someone will have already called the police. You're running from something." His face closed off for a moment before he understood what she was saying, "I know you are. Go. Get inside." He glanced back in the direction of the sirens once last time before taking a firm hold of her shoulders.

"Iris, I—you don't have to—" She shook her head, pushing at him again, not that she managed to shift his bulk in the slightest. Nevertheless, he got her point, taking a small step toward the front door.

"I'll be fine. They'll just want a statement. Besides, I know that car. They weren't after you." More emotions than she could categorize flashed across his face before one of doubt laced with hope settled over his features. He wanted to believe her.

Iris' expression darkened, her own anger beginning to thread through her voice, "One of Chris—or whatever his name was—Chris' friends used to park it outside all the time when he still lived here. You don't have to get involved." He looked like he was about to object again but Iris shushed him, glancing toward the end of the street where the first cop car was just about to turn the corner. She tugged his jacket from around her shoulders in an uncoordinated rush and shoved it into his hands. "You can't show up on a police report if you want to stay hidden, James, not even as a witness. You can't. Go!" With a final apologetic look he obeyed, slipping in through the front door as Iris turned to watch the appearance of a convoy of police cars.

All things considered, things were handled thankfully quickly. Police flooded the neighbourhood, questioning witnesses—Iris included—cordoning off the area where bullets had sprayed the fronts of four different houses and taking pictures. Since the front façade of Iris' house had taken the brunt of the assault, she was lucky enough to have two officers talking to her at first. She gave her version of the event, fighting not to glance toward the window that she suspected James was watching anxiously from too often, lest one of the cops get the impression she was hiding something. She told them she'd managed to duck down fast enough that none of the bullets had hit her and that she recognized the car the shooter had been driving. She also admitted that she had kicked out the man who she suspected was behind the shooting, telling the detective everything she knew about Chris, his activities and the variety of sketchy friends he often had over when he'd still been a tenant.

She also found out from the detective that they already had a very drugged out Chris—which evidently was his actual name—in custody along with his equally high accomplice. Apparently they'd all but driven right into the line of approaching police cars. Iris couldn't hide her satisfaction at that, earning a hearty chuckle from the older detective taking her statement.

As he put the finishing touches on his report, Iris weighed whether or not to ask the question that was on her mind.

"What are the chances that I'm going to have to testify," she finally asked as the detective, eying the two other officers still interviewing her some of her neighbours, "I mean, I will if I have to, but I'd really rather not." She wasn't terribly interested in the idea of perjuring herself in court; as that thought crossed her mind she realized she would if she had to, if it meant protecting James. If that wasn't a sobering thought...

The detective glanced up at her from tucking his notebook away, an amused yet sympathetic look on his face as he gave her a quick once over. She suspected she knew what he saw; she knew she was trembling again. It was more from her fading adrenaline and the cool evening air than fear, but the cop seemed to interpret it otherwise. She was okay with that. He smiled kindly at her before glancing around at his comrades, many of whom were beginning to pack up.

"I can't imagine you'll have to. No one was hurt and we've got more than enough on him and his pal from the car alone for multiple charges, and not just for the drive-by or the intoxication. Add to that the bullets we're pulling from the buildings—it's pretty open and shut. Nah, he won't be getting off easy, that's for sure. No promises, of course, it's up to the lawyers and the judge, but I imagine your statement will do." Fighting back a relieved sigh, she thanked him as the officer bid her goodnight and left her at the bottom of the steps, reminding her to use the back door for the next couple days until they could finish up with processing the scene.

As soon as the cars began pulling away, Iris was dashing around through the skinny alley between her house and the next batch to the back and all but running up the stairs of the fire escape. After a moment of fumbling with the lock on the door she was inside. It was then that it hit her again. She'd been shot at. Her legs beginning to renew their trembling, she fell back against the door she'd just shut. Her bag fell with a dull thud to the floor as her head likewise fell into her hands, a new wave of tears and shakes threatening to overwhelm her.

And then his arms were around her again—James having abandoned his watch at out the front window the instant she'd darted around the side of the house—his real hand burying itself in her hair as he pulled her tight against him. In moments he had her sitting curled into his side on her couch, letting the residual shudders from the stress of the evening run their course. Eventually the tremors eased and Iris was able to get herself back under control. She looked up at James, who, while still holding her close, was staring off into the distance again, his face unreadable.

"Thank you," she finally managed to murmur, drawing him back from wherever he'd disappeared to. "For saving me." The tugging at the corner of his mouth reappeared, though there was still a tightness around his eyes. After a moment he nodded, leaning down briefly to brush his cheek against the crown of her head. It felt almost like there'd been a fleeting kiss there too.

"I had to."

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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