Bruised Boys and Redemption

by Ursula

Pairing: Anson Green and Cory Raines, Maloney and Highlander

Rated: A, just to be safe, language and the like...

Summary: Due to the earthquake, certain events slid down the continent and took place in Seattle instead of the original location.

Disclaimer: I did not create the original characters. Cory Raines is a lost treasure, created by Panzer and Anson Green escaped from a home for wayward boys owned by the writers of Maloney.

Warning: Reference to child sexual abuse, bad language,

Author's notes: For Sue on her birthday: I think I never saw the character the way someone else wrote it. I was looking for Sue's Anson the first time I saw the show and, you know, I like him that way.

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The earth itself had rebelled as he was crossing the courtyard on his way from the police van to the courthouse. When the ground shook and everyone froze, Anson was the only one still moving. Glass and plaster rained briefly down startling the guard, but not the man who had nothing to lose. Anson hit the guard a stunning blow, grabbed the keys and ran off through falling plaster as if the gods themselves guided every step.

He was a lost soul, a madman and a thief, on his way from here to there, two steps in front of the law. He'd been on his way to trial, a lost cause with an attorney whose claim to fame was that he was cited in a Supreme Court capital punishment case as having slept through the majority of a trial. Now he was free as long as he kept moving, as free as his damaged being could make him.

A water main had burst and water poured across the street. Pigeons circled crying in alarm over his head. Anson's tennis shoes sans strings spattered through the puddles as he ran, hearing the siren behind him. Ducking down a narrow alley, Anson saw a bike and leapt upon it, pedaling it madly down the street. The street was jammed with cars and the earthquake had caused several fender-benders, which further slowed traffic.

It felt so good to move, to feel his powerful legs working in this way. The skyscrapers quickly yielded to a hodgepodge of other building styles. Now the people in the streets were mostly Asian, speaking more than one language. The older ones seemed to be in a panic, clinging to each other in fear and weeping. Anson parked the bike by a store whose windows were filled with dangling bunches of dried leaves and which had been full of jars, many of them now lying on the floor. The owner was already going back in the store, shaking his head, a tiny wry smile on his face as if this was not the first time God had played such a joke on him.

A block further on, Anson spotted clothing hanging from a fire escape and jumped up atop a dumpster to reach the bottom rungs of the ladder. After hastily changing his jail overall for an old pair of jeans and a faded tee shirt, he sniffed the air, finding something smoky which penetrated even the pungency of the trash below.

Shit, the building was on fire.

Agilely leaping down, Anson joined the crowd below as smoke poured from the building along with an amazing number of tenants. They milled around, holding odd bits of household goods. A young man carried a computer. An old woman clutched a cage of birds. Most of the adults dragged children, who bawled or clung silently to them.

The building, old and weary, red paint fading on the ornate molding was going up like the fireworks it resembled. Smoke billowed out upper story windows. Anson couldn't even hear fire engines, which was too bad. He still liked to watch firemen and to imagine that his father was among them.

The wail that punctuated the crowd noise hardly needed to be translated. A young woman had run from one of the stores, her neat apron askew as she tore through the crowd, calling "Anna? John? Bruce?"

Finally, that soul-piercing cry screamed at the top of her lungs. "My babies! My babies are in there."

People were holding her back from going in. Anson heard them saying that it was an old building that she would be trapped, and his feet carried him forward happily. He felt his father near in that moment and could almost see his smile as Anson shook the woman and asked her, "What floor? What's the number?"

"Five-C!" she screamed, "Three of them, one girl, two boys, babies, they're only babies. I only went to get bread. I was only gone a moment."

"I'll get them," Anson promised, and he knew he could. It was his moment, his shining moment when nothing could go wrong, not this time, not when God himself had shaken the earth and guided him here just so he could save the children, one of them a little girl just like his beautiful daughter, Annabelle.

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Grabbing a blanket from an unwilling donor, Anson shielded himself with it as he pelted into the dim lobby. Neither smoke nor fire was in evidence here although Anson heard the alarms ringing and he could already smell smoke even if he couldn't see it. Ignoring the elevators just like they taught you in school, Anson ran up and up the flights of stairs. There was stuff abandoned on the stairs, getting in his way, pissing him off. He may have been mad, but he knew things weren't important. Life wasn't about that at all.

Counting the steps, one, two, three, and then twelve, Anson's strong legs drove him upwards. His body was a tribute to pushups, jogging in place, and weights when he could get to them. Things to drug his strong body to rest, to the sleep, which had been the only other escape until nature had intervened. The air held a tang of smoke, greasy acrid stuff, as if the miasma of poverty and despair was burning too.

Sure that he had counted five flights, Anson went through the door low as his papa used to say he had to do, the blanket was over him to give him some protection from the flames which might be sucked into the draft that he created.

There was a lot of smoke, it curled everywhere as if it were so many ghosts drifting about, gloating over what was soon to be only theirs. Anson read the numbers on the doors. A few hung open so hastily abandoned that TVs blared and water splattered in sinks. Five-C's door was closed, locked. Anson didn't care. It was a thin door with a cheesy lock. He didn't need any tool but his strong shoulders to break inside. Almost immediately, he heard a baby crying and then another, "Mama, mama, mama..."

Following the voices, Anson slammed the door behind him, remembering the fire escape outside. A toddler rocked back and forth in the crib, face screwed tight and red in protest as he called to his mother. The baby was bellowing too. Anson couldn't see the little girl although he called her, "Annabelle? Annabelle?"

No, that was wrong! What was her name? Oh, yeah, Anson remembered, and he yelled, "Anna, Anna? I've come to take you to your mommy!"

There was no answer and the little boys were heavy and squirming. Okay, Anson, this was no time to be crazy. Get moving. Do what you gotta. Thinking has never been your strong point anyhow.

Fucking windows were nailed shut. The woman was probably more frightened by inner city boogiemen than of fire. Well, now she knows. Anson put the babies down on the couch and swung a chair through the glass. Cool air rushed into the room and intermingled with the smoke, teasing it outside to play. Anson laid the blanket over the shards, picked up the babies again and ran down the rickety fire escape ladder. His eyes grew wide as he saw a man with his face climbing up on the dumpster. Still, if God let papa out of heaven to help, Anson wouldn't quibble. He thrust the toddler and the little baby at the man before yelling, "I got to go get Annabelle. There's a little girl still in there."

The apartment was so small. Where the hell could she be? Finally, Anson realized there was no way that she could be hiding inside. She must have tried to go to a neighbor for help.

Now, the smoke was thick and heavy. You could feel the heat and the building was creaking and moaning like it was feeling itself die. Anson had grabbed another blanket and wet it. Now, he crept beast-like feeling for a tiny figure, listening for a small voice. Finally he heard a cough, almost too low to hear. He was coughing now himself, lungs rasping, rejecting the foul thickness in the air.

Following the dimly heard sound, Anson crawled on his hands and knees until he reached the doorway of another apartment. He fumbled until he touched something that moved. Annabelle, he had found Annabelle. Coughing violently now, he staggered up with her in his arms. Just a few moments longer, just let him hold on long enough to save her, and then he could die content.

Her weight was so heavy in his arms. He walked hunched over, pregnant with her small life. He knew he couldn't make it down all the stairs. His goal was that open window, the fire escape, and the hope that he would be strong enough. God, that's all I'm asking of you, Anson thought, just one decent chance out of all the bad turns you've given me.

Falling to his knees, Anson fought for strength, fought for one breath more, courage got him up again to stagger a few more steps before falling again. Dizzily, he looked through the thick smoke and gasped, "Papa, papa, please! Just this time..."

His father had never come when he'd begged before. Not when mama left him alone and came home, laughing shrilly with some strange man. Not when one of those men came to stay. Not when the man came into his room at night, holding his hand across Anson's mouth as he did strange things that scared Anson and made him hurt, and made him want to die. Papa had not come back when Mama washed his mouth out with soap when he tried to tell her what the man had done.

Now, as Anson begged for another chance to do one thing right in his life, suddenly Papa's face, his face hovered above his. Strong hands took the child from his arms, grabbed him and dragged him out into the cool air, away from the smoke and Anson closed his eyes, surrendering his life to his Papa's arms.

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There was a long time when things were not clear. Anson remembered the smell of smoke lingered, making him cough until he gagged. When he opened his eyes, Papa was always there, giving him water, stroking the hair out of his eyes, smiling at him. They were moving, going some place and Anson was content to lie in the back of the van and listen to the radio play.

When the movement stopped, Anson waited quietly, tired from coughing and wondering why heaven, if that was where he was, smelled like ketchup and fries?

The face was not Papa's after all. It was even more like his own than Papa's had been. Green eyes danced happily and the mouth had faint smile lines that Anson would never have.

"Who the hell are you?" Anson demanded.

"Cory Raines, at your service, " the man said, his hand described a sort of play actor's bow.

"Well, what do you want with me?" Anson snarled. The smart asses always wanted to use him, make him a patsy, and leave him to get caught.

"Hell, if I know!" Cory said. "Hey, there I was trying to find a birthday present, something unique, for one of my friends and the earth started pitching a fit. I stopped to see if anyone was hurt and heard the yelling about those kids. I got a soft spot for kids. Used to be one myself, you know. So when I went to help, some guy with my face is handing me a couple of babies, wet babies I might add. I like 'em better all powdered and fed, sleeping or maybe nursing on some nice round breast. When I went in to see what was taking you so long, you were struggling along with that little girl, calling me papa and begging for my help. I couldn't let the cops take you after all that..."

"What do you mean?" Anson asked, sitting up and freaking.

"Some cops were looking for you when the medics still had an oxygen mask on your face. Rousted me instead, but I showed them my ID and they gave up on the notion. Then that gal whose kids you saved said that she saw someone who looked like the cop's picture running toward the waterfront."

"I told the medics that I'd take you to the hospital myself and loaded you in my van and headed the hell out of the city before they could shut it down. I figure we'll use a spare set of my ID and we can be twins, just heading up to BC for a little kinky fun. Got a new play palace opening up and, baby, we can be the stars. But first, babe, we got a birthday to attend..."

Cory smiled at him, big toothy grin, but he wasn't making fun of Anson. His smile was inviting, making Anson feel warm inside, like things were going to take a turn for the better.

Sleepily, Anson nestled back into the nest of blankets. Somehow, he felt very safe with Cory. Drowsily, he said, "Where's the birthday? Where the hell are we anyway?"

Climbing back in front, Cory said, "Birthday's in Vancouver BC and that's where we're going. Right now we are on...let me see? Oh, just a little back door I use when I want to get into Canada incognito... which come to think of it is most of the time."

Cory leaned around the seat and threw Anson a ribbon, a big red ribbon and said, "I think you should wear that. I mean it's her birthday and all. Somehow I think she might like you better than the teapot I picked out."

None of it made sense, but Anson trusted his newfound friend. He draped the ribbon over his chest and went back to sleep.

Cory took one last look at his pretty mortal double and thought, you know, I bet she likes him twice as much as the teapot. Hope she can afford the upkeep...but if not, well, banks were open all night for Cory Raines...

Finis

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