Tristan's Decision [COMPLETED]

The Lobby

Trusting them, Tristan turned away from the door.

"I'm on it," he said.

He darted through the backstage, twisting around moving obstacles and avoiding collisions with harried dancers. Outside the hallways were empty, and Tristan raced across the red-carpeted balcony and down a flight of stairs, his shoes pounding away at the steps. When he burst through the door to the lobby, he skidded to a halt.

The place was empty. In the open space, the sound of Rachmaninoff's piano concerto no. 6 could be heard drifting from the auditorium.

About to tell them they had been wrong and retrace his steps, Tristan spotted a hooded figure appear from behind a bar and slip into a side door.

"I think I see him," he said.

Tristan took off after the figure, feeling the gun strapped to his ankle and the weight of the knives in his jacket. Yanking the door open, he dove inside. The figure was heading towards the balcony. Before he made it, Tristan sprinted forward and caught hold of his arm. A surprised yelp leapt from the man's throat. Preparing for a fight, Tristan spun the man around.

What he found was a guy that barely looked older than a boy. It was one of the servers, a black hoody draped over his white button down. The guy stared wide-eyed at Tristan caught between shock and disbelief.

"Are you-"

"My apologies," Tristan said, releasing him and backing away.

"I'm a huge fan of your work," the guy called out as Tristan ducked back into the lobby.

"False alarm, it wasn't him," Tristan said. "I think I spotted him-"

"Tristan," Keller said, his voice urgent. "Link says a facial recognition detected Victor in the scaffolding. The Secret Service's comms are down, I need you to get to the President now!"

Tristan didn't bother replying, instead, he took off towards the stairs.

"What box number is he in?" he said, as he slammed through the doorway and raced up the stairs.

"Number five," Owens said. "We're on our way to take down Victor."

"Copy that."

Blood pounded in Tristan's ears and his heart seemed to be galloping inside his chest. Every nerve was screaming for him to move faster, push himself harder. When he broke through the door on the third floor, an usher shrieked in surprise and dropped her arm full of playbills. Tristan trampled the stack as he ran for the President's box. An armed Secret Service came alert at his frantic approach.

"Don't come closer," he said.

"The President's in danger," Tristan said.

The agent looked about ready to argue and Tristan realized he had no time to explain, it might already be too late. So instead of saying anything, he punched the Secret Service agent in the jaw and slipped into the box. A trio of agents started at his abrupt appearance, but Tristan ignored them. Catching the light glinting off of a muzzle in the scaffolding, he acted.

Diving forward he tackled the President out of his seat right as a loud crack rang out.

A sharp pain cut through Tristan's arm and his head hit the edge of the railing. Collapsed beside the President, he felt as blood soaked his shirt.

As the world began to dim, he was aware of the shouts of the agents and the feel of the President being hurried away. A sense of relief filled him right before the world went black.

******

The sound of beeping pulled Tristan from a void of darkness. As he regained consciousness he picked up the sounds that were humming around him. The shuffling of feet. A shout from somewhere far off. A muttered comment and a sarcastic reply. A muffled laugh.

When Tristan opened his eyes, he found himself in a hospital bed in a clean room. The lights were dim, but he could make out the three figures that were positioned on chairs and the two agents that murmured to each other across the way.

When he raised his hand to see if his arm was still working, the room stirred and everyone converged on his bedside. Before Marilyn, Cece or Elliot could say anything, Keller spoke.

"Mr. McKenzie," he said. "It's good to see you're awake."

Owens smiled at him, looking relieved. "We wanted to offer you a final word of gratitude before we left. And let you know we caught the man who did this."

"What you did was brave and we owe you a lot."

"Does this mean he'll get knighted?" Elliot asked, leaning on the railing at the end the bed.

"We're not in England, you idiot," Cece said, slapping her sister's arm.

"Fine," she said. "Does this mean he gets to be President? Cause I'm not sure he would actually have my vote."

Though it was hard to tell, Tristan was certain he saw Keller's lips twitch.

"We will be in contact, Mr. McKenzie," he said, ignoring Elliot and Cece. "It will be a simple debriefing. Until then rest."

Tristan nodded at them and they left. When the door had slid shut, Elliot turned to Cece.

"Is it just me or do you think they are together?" she asked.

"They are, or will be." She cocked her head. "I feel like they would be that couple who would finally get together during an attack or when they were being shot at."

"Yeah, I had that feeling as well."

Marilyn had taken a seat beside Tristan and was holding onto one of his hands, her smile quiet.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"I've had better performances," Tristan said.

Both Cece and Elliot laughed. They settled onto the bottom of his bed, their presence comforting.

"Only you could go to a ballet and end up shot," Cece said.

"What were you even thinking?" Elliot asked.

Tristan shrugged but then winced at the pain in his shoulder.

"There's a gun, I should stop this."

Cece shook her head and crossed her arms. "See this is why no one lets you make the decisions."

**********************************************************************

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