Author's Note/Trigger Warning: this chapter is a flashback to the London Bridge Terror Attack in 2017 (a real event). While I have changed little bits and pieces to fit this plot (and Fletcher is fictional) I have based most of it on actual events I've researched from that night and changed timings a little. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

3 Years Ago - 3rd June 2017

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

    Having been in London for a week, I've seen many sides of it, but the one thing that will always remain the same is how busy it is. Busyness is one of the personality traits of London, and it'll never change. But there are definite changes in the atmosphere of that hubbub of the city depending on the day of the week. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday will always be slower, sluggish and bland. A sea of suits and posh clothing that pours down the streets I've been staying around. Then Thursday is like the ascension of a roller coaster; the excitement and anticipation in that sea of suits and more tourists come around. Friday is airy, light, and happy, but still serious. The weekend across London Bridge and surrounding areas is just light-hearted, thrilling and full of excitement.

The football being on tonight is creating a certain excitement, too. It's crazy the number of bars and pubs around Borough Market right now as they're playing – or about to finish, I think. The internship I've been doing with a publishing house is finally at an end – as much as I enjoyed it, part of my student interior is just gagging to get back to campus and drink myself stupid before rocking back up to lectures hungover. I want to go home and fall into Adelaide's arms and kiss her stupid. London is cool for a while, but I would not want to live here.

As if she can hear my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my pocket. No one else would be messaging me at ten at night, so I know it's her instantly.

'Miss you. Can't wait to have you back home. I'll pick you up from the train station. Just let me know what time.' Adelaide's usual kiss emoji is at the end of the message. I grin and make a mental note to reply once I'm at London Bridge station.

The time is 22:05 when I put my phone away. I'm nearly at the end of the bridge—

A blood-curdling scream, followed by a smash that reminds me of metal, and a screech of brakes make my blood drop in temperature.

I turn around as another female scream rings out like nails on a chalkboard.

"Oh my god!"

"Help!"

"What the fuck? Call an ambulance!"

A white van comes off the pavement of the bridge, as what looks like a human is hurled off the side of the bridge—

Did he jump?

Why is the van dismounting the pavement—

My eyes fall on a red double-decker bus stopping at the edge in front of me as the white van speeds and a blonde woman is screaming under the chassis of the van.

My hand falls on my phone to start phoning emergency services, but a black haired man appears at the door of the bus in front of me.

"Get in! It's safest in here!" He's dressed like a bus driver, but he's not yelling at me.

A man's voice from further down is howling like a wounded wolf.

"Get in here! Quick!"

"I'm phoning the ambulance now!"

"Help!"

Screams everywhere, different pitches, tones. Screeching, brakes, horns, metallic scratching.

The whole bridge is spinning, turning, bile swishing in my throat as I see the woman trapped fall loose and the van... reverses over her.

The vomit overwhelms me, but I swallow that toxic metallic taste; no time for that right now. I need to get out of here or help or something.

"Get in here!"

"Someone call the police!"

"Help!"

My hand loosens from my phone. Three people around me are screaming into their phones as the van hurls towards my side of the bridge.

A woman lying on the floor is being attended to by someone.

My legs heat up, but my spine is chilling me like ice, and I'm running.

The white van zooms past.

Smash.

Hurtling past the edge of the bridge, turning right towards Borough Market, which I know is near a quieter station.

My phone is buzzing in my pocket, but it stays in there as I run. My eyes see the van, crashed and smoking into railings. The driver's door is open—

Which means the driver is around here somewhere.

Fuck.

A scream erupts, gurgling, blood curdling.

Someone in trouble, someone who needs help.

"She's been stabbed!"

"Shit," I hiss. My legs come to a halt, but another yell erupts.

It's a massacre.

This is a coincidence, though, surely?

There was something merely two weeks ago in Manchester, a few months ago near Westminster... a terrorist attack.

No way.

My phone vibrates again, but there's no way I can answer it. I know it's Adelaide... my Ades. Blonde hair, gorgeous smile, and despite our issues at the moment with money and arguments over it, I just want to be at home with her, arguing. That would mean I'd be out of this shit show.

Sirens.

Sirens blare in the distance. They're far away, but they're there.

"Help!"

"Run!"

"Run. Run. They're stabbing everyone!"

A woman stops in front of me, her hands quivering on my shoulders. "You need to run. Are you okay?"

My eyes hover over her. No knife on her in sight. I nod. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Thank you."

She nods and flees towards the right. This isn't the way to the train station I was aiming for, but I know Waterloo is this way. I suppose that's my destination now. Waterloo. A train. Home.

It seems like a distant dream now. Home. Adelaide. My degree. Our stupid little tiny flat isn't big enough for anything, let alone the two of us.

That's when I see three men approaching a group to my right. The group start screaming and running faster.

The men are holding bloodied knives – kitchen knives – that glint in the street lamps.

"Shit."

My legs power me forward, towards the direction of freedom. Sirens start getting louder, and screams fill my ears, but get blocked out as my breathing heaves. The energy is running low, but the drum of my heart and pumping pulse take over. The adrenaline is surging; flight or fight is absolutely a real thing right now, and as much as I've always thought myself a fighter, right now I know better. Flight wins.

A woman to my left starts screaming as one of the attackers squares in on her. My feet slow as I notice her cradling her swollen stomach. She's heavily pregnant.

Shit.

No way.

They don't get to do that today.

"Oi! Fuck off!" I scream.

Her head turns towards me at the same time as the knife-wielding coward does.

Fletcher, you are going to die.

I just hope they alert Adelaide and tell her I was helping someone rather than giving up.

My heart threatens to burst through my ribs and out of my skin just as my pulse starts a heavy metal beat in my ears. Black stars prickle in my vision. The ground is spinning as the knife gets closer to me.

The guy's face and arms have splatters of blood on them, and he doesn't look injured, meaning someone else's blood is decorating his body like a show of art. Except for everyone but him, it's a declaration of war.

Why are you thinking about analogies right now, Fletch? Not the time to be a writer.

I wish I was at home, lying beside Adelaide in bed, inhaling her lavender scent and her hands over my body.

My eyes focus on the woman, who's now standing, cradling her baby bump, wide doe-eyes towards me in shock.

"Run," I whisper.

She doesn't make a move as the guy's eyes twist, expression contorts and his whole expression drops to... nothing.

His jacket slightly moves away to reveal a blue t-shirt and his belt...

Full of bombs.

Holy motherfucking cunt.

My legs move. I need to get away from here. I need to get the woman away, but the red-hot slice in my arm stops me in my tracks.

A sharp, quick slice in my chest follows, but something hits the guy on the head.

It's a chair from one of the bistros around us. A guy launched it and yells, charging for the guy in front of me.

"Come on, let's run!" the pregnant lady grabs my good arm as my warm, sticky red blood drips to the floor, down my hands and staining my fucking good pair of jeans.

Ades is going to kill me for staining these – blood is hard to get out.

I suppose she won't care, really. As long as I'm alive, and that's all I care about right now. But this cunt doesn't get to prey on a fucking pregnant woman. Fucking coward.

My body blindly follows her, my legs turning to quivering jelly beneath me, but between her and me, we manage to slightly jog forward.

"In here!"

My head turns up slightly and see a pub door open. A man and woman are ushering people in.

"Quick! I know it'll hurt, but not far!" the lady whispers.

I nod, and we quickly hobble through the doors of the pub.

"Quick!" the guy who threw the chair screams.

More sirens in the distance, getting closer.

The guy who saved my life dives through the doors, blood coming from a gash on his face.

"Thank you, man, so much. You saved my life," I whisper.

"No problem. Name is Adam," he says.

The man and woman at the door of the pub barricade us in; some metal crowbars or something through the handles and a few chairs and tables in the way.

"I need some first aid kits!" the pregnant woman says beside me. She moves me to the floor behind the bar where everyone is hiding.

"Here," an Irish woman whispers.

"Sit down, it'll be okay. I'm a nurse, okay? My name's Leanne," the pregnant woman – her accent is Welsh, I think – says as she looks into my eyes. They're blue, and really comforting in this moment; no wonder she's a nurse.

"Is he... is anyone else hurt?" the Irish woman asks.

"I've got a gash on my face, but it's literally a graze. Fucking pricking cunt," the guy who threw the chair hisses. "You okay, man?" He's definitely from around here with that London accent.

My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket.

The doors rattle.

"Shit."

"We should be fine. Keep quiet," an Irish man whispers.

There are around twenty people stuffed together like sardines here. The oozing from my arm and chest doesn't stop, and it renders my body flushing cold. Ice is running up and down my spine as the doors rattle even more. The doors are royal blue, just like the guy's t-shirt.

More screaming, more shrieks, sirens, yelling...

Leanne piles pressure on my chest with a towel. It stinks like sticky beer down here, and that towel smells like alcohol, but at this point, I'd rather smell it than the blood covering my legs.

"It'll be okay. Just stay awake, okay? What's your name?" she asks.

My mouth opens, but I'm interrupted by yelling just outside the doors.

Bang.

Bang.

"Holy shit."

Bang.

"What the fuck?"

"Everyone quiet, okay?"

The stench of iron and copper fills my nose, mixing with the alcohol and... is that salt?

"Stay awake for me, okay?"

The ice slithers and skims down my spine, around my chest as the warm blood seeps out.

I wish Adelaide was with me, but I'm glad she's not. Her lavender scent with that coconut shampoo she uses swims around my brain. I wish I could smell it.

I hope she knows how much she means to me in this moment, and isn't worrying about me.

She'll be proud, though. The woman is safe.

Bang.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

    The first thing to come into focus is my hearing and the white and blue fuzz in my eyeline.

Beep, beep, beep.

Rhythmic, stabilised beeps.

There are blue curtains, white tiles, and a hubbub of calming speech around me. Whispers, a few calls. A few longer beeps.

"Fletch?"

An angel from above. The blonde hair, blue eyes and familiar lavender scent overwhelm anything else. It's heaven, and she's the welcoming angel standing over me.

My eyes take it in as she comes into focus. Adelaide Barnes; my angel, my love.

I open my mouth to speak, but my lips are sandpaper, and my throat is as dry as the dead grass in a heatwave.

"Here, have some water," Ades whispers. She puts a plastic straw in my mouth.

It's heaven in my mouth now as well as the room temperature liquid hydrates my insides.

"It's one in the morning," Ades says. "You're in King's College Hospital."

I finish the water. She returns the cup to the side and sits back on the blue plastic chair to my right. Her hand pokes through the railings of my hospital bed, and our fingers tangle with each other under the scratchy blue blanket.

"What the hell's going on?" I ask. My eyes hover over the various lines and blood pressure machines and how I'm in a hospital gown. "I was... walking across London Bridge, and there was a van... and then I was stabbed—fuck, the pregnant lady. Name's Leanne—"

"Calm down, babe. It's... I'll explain, all right, just lie back and relax," Ades says. She sighs before launching in with a sad and tense frown. "They're saying it was a terror attack. Three guys, claiming to be Islamic State, I think. But they drove a van into people, then stabbed and killed some more people. The police killed all three of them. I heard you protected a pregnant lady. She's absolutely fine, and so is the baby. They discharged her an hour ago; she came to find you, but you were still out. She left a message with her number – said she wants to meet you after you're better."

I process that: the lady and the baby are okay. They're okay because I stepped in.

Thank fuck for that.

"How... what's happening? Like... I... a terror attack?" I question.

She pours me another water; half a glass this time. I sip it when she puts the straw in my mouth.

"Yeah. So far, five people have died. Quite a lot are injured, including you. Not much really is out in the news. They're planning to set off the suicide vests to test them soon. They have evacuated everywhere around the place. The Underground stations are closed, and some extra police are looking for more survivors or attackers right now. They've closed London Bridge mainline train station as well. I drove up here as soon as I got the call from the paramedics. You passed out in the pub, just as they killed the idiots. Paramedics came in, saw my phone calls to you, and called me immediately."

"You drove all the way here from Southampton?" I ask.

She scoffs jokingly. "Of course I did, you idiot. Two hours, and a ton of diversions, but I made it. I'd drive to fucking Scotland for you. Not the best way to see you after a week apart, but here we are."

I laugh, but the wounds pull.

"Yeah, you needed some blood, but the wounds didn't need surgery. I think they're just waiting on some more tests before you can come home," Ades says. "If you wanted me to come pick you up from London, you should've called, Fletch. Not this."

I smile at her. "Damn, now I know that..."

Her lips quirk up into a smile. She sips a coffee. "You have no fucking idea how worried I've been. I was scrolling Facebook when stuff started coming in about a traffic accident on London Bridge, and then stabbings, and I just... you weren't answering, and I know why now, but I... yeah. Fletch... I'm so fucking relieved. I just can't imagine the shit you saw. If you wanna talk about it—" She stops. "Your mum's been on the phone. She wanted to come with me, but I told her to stay put. Already phoned her to tell her you're okay."

I shake my head. "I'll speak to her, tomorrow—well, later on this morning. Part of me just wants to forget it right now, but I know that's not gonna happen. I just... wanna get home."

She nods and squeezes my hand. "We will get you home. You might not feel like it right now, but, Fletcher Ward, you are a fucking hero. I love you."

I throw her a smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. My insides cannot seem to relish the fact I'm alive right now.

"I love you too," I whisper.

"It'll be okay."

Despite the worst being over, somehow her words aren't quite registering with me, because it's not okay and I don't think it ever will be. Last night changed everything for the worst, and despite the ultimate fate being death, somehow I wish it had been me because then at least it would be over.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶