Page 14 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

The word conjures faint, fragile memories of what that means—hot water, soap, steam wrapping everything in warmth. The idea is achingly foreign, almost too abstract to feel real, but the thought of scrubbing away the layers—layers that don’t just sit on my skin but feel fused into who I’ve become—makes my chest ache.

“Yes, sweetheart. Hot water, clean clothes… all on a plane. It’s practical, not optional,” Gabe says, reading my hesitancy without me having to utter a word.

Beside him, Hank leans back, his arm stretched casually along the back of my seat, though there’s nothing casual about his glance in Gabe’s direction.

The intercom continues, explaining things I half-hear. Mrs. Chen stands, and someone escorts her to the back of the plane.

The others shuffle back one by one, disappearing into the space beyond the curtain at the rear of the main cabin. Those emerging come back almost renewed, their movements a little less stiff, their breathing a little less shallow. The transformation isn’t miraculous, but it’s unmistakable.

Time becomes blurry, spilling over itself, moving both too slow and too fast to keep track. At some point, I blink myself awake—or lift my head from something warm and solid.

Hank.

My head rests against the broad frame of his shoulder. His hazy warmth settles beneath my skin. Sometime later, I rouse again, only to find myself leaning against Gabe this time. He shifts and drapes an arm around my shoulder, pulling me tight against him. When I stretch out a hand to the other side, Hank’s seat is empty.

Between blinks, there’s noise again. Muffled chatter. A shuffle of movement. The smell of food—something simple, warm, savory—reaches me first. When my eyes fully open, someone slides a tray in front of me.

“Time to eat, luv.” Hank sits, leaning close to ensure the tray doesn’t topple. “Need a hand with it?” The question is casual, but his hand lingers around the edge, ready to steady it.

I shake my head. “I…” The words stubbornly knot together before they can escape, but I force them through. “I’ve got it.”

My stomach churns at the smell, even though part of me aches with hunger. It’s been … I don’t know how long it’s been since I last ate anything real.

Hank grunts, stretching slightly before leaning back into his chair. “Looks like you and Malia are next in line for the showers,” he says, glancing back at the dimly lit tail section of the jet.

Gabe glances over at Malia, snuggling with Walt.Her chin tips faintly toward me—not a comment, not really a gesture, but a subtle acknowledgment.

“You’re up,” Gabe murmurs, his usual restrained warmth laced with a flicker of humor. Something softer. “Time to strip and get cleaned up.” His lips twitch upward, the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen from him.

I shift as my face flushes. “I’m… I don’t think I?—”

“You’re going,” Hank interrupts, voice flat and firm. “And we’ll help you. It’s not a suggestion.”

Gabe snorts, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. His gaze flicks toward Hank. “You’re getting the full Hank experience, sweetheart. Everything’s orders and commands with him.”

Hank glances at Gabe, his eyes narrowing. It’s more playful than harsh. “Does the job, doesn’t it?”

They leave no room for argument, but I don’t feel the urge to try. The way they talk to me—pulling me into this strange rhythm—makes obeying them feel natural. Not forced. Just… normal.

“I don’t…” My voice sounds too weak to argue, but I try anyway. “I can’t…”

“Like I said. Not a discussion. You’ll feel tons better after.” Hank cuts me off in that steady, unmovable way of his. His gaze sharpens as it dips to mine—not unkind, but absolute.

“Come on. We’ll help you.” Gabe’s tone is softer, more coaxing, like gentling a skittish animal.

When Hank stands, I move before my brain processes the decision. My body obeys him without question.

Steam spills from the back of the plane into the aisle. The fresh, invigorating scent of soap—that warm, clean kind that lingers like an embrace—flares in the air.

I have no energy for a shower, the promise of it is almost enough to make me weep. Hank and Gabe guide me back.

“It’s all yours,” Gabe says as he ushers me into the spacious shower facility.

I glance around at the impossibly clean space. The mirror gleams under the soft overhead light, and the shower stall—a realshower on a plane—is still fogged from its previous use. On the counter, a folded shirt, loose pants, and socks await me.

But I freeze. My limbs refuse to cooperate.

“I can’t…” I murmur, hands trembling as I reach for the buttons on my grimy shirt. No matter how hard I try, they feel foreign and disconnected from me. My exhaustion weighs everything down, turning simple movements into insurmountable tasks.

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