Just a little piece of introspective fic written for the Angst vs. Schmoop challenge at Numb3rsWriteOff on LJ. This was training, of some sort, for the next installment of "Bitter Harvest". Which I'm working on right now.

Words Left Unspoken

by Jules

He'd been awake a couple of times before, in various levels of consciousness and comfort, but whenever awareness had returned and pulled him back out of the darkness, Colby had just kept his eyes closed. There had been voices, touches of hands that made his nerves scream in protest, but most times there was nothing but the beeping of the heart monitor echoing what he felt in his own chest. Mostly.

He didn't exactly feel like joining the world of the living just yet. Lying here, barely out of limbo and granted a reprieve for now, was good. His memory wasn't without gaps, but the highlights of the hours leading up to the showdown on the Chinese trailer were there, vivid and detailed. His chest ached with every breath he took, reminding him of how close a call it had been.

Tubocurarin, quinuclidynil benzilate and potassium chloride. He had to hand it to Lancer, the man definitely knew how to torture. He was so lucky to be alive, so lucky that his team had been there just in time. Although... he wasn't really sure they were his team anymore. Or if he'd actually be able to go back to the start and pretend those last two years hadn't happened.

The muscles in his right leg cramped involuntarily and Colby sucked in a breath as the pain danced through his body. The doctor had explained to him that it would take some time before the drugs were flushed out of his system, before his body wouldn't feel like he was falling apart anymore. Aside from the occasional residual twitches, it was okay though. Moving wasn't exactly high on his priority list right now. Or thinking. His brain was still firmly packed in cotton wool anyway.

He slowly released the breath he'd been holding while the pain ebbed away, trying to relax his body as much as he could when he became aware of a second presence in the room. There was movement to his right and Colby tried to lie still and feign sleep because the mere thought of having to talk was anything but enticing right now.

"I know you're awake." Don's voice, while soft, startled him and he almost chuckled before he remembered that it would probably hurt more than he'd like.

"Was worth a shot," he whispered after a while and blinked his eyes open, turning his head slightly to bring Don into his blurry field of vision.

Don was standing beside the bed, his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets, his expression unreadable beyond the tiredness that dominated his features. Colby could see a chair by the window, a jacket thrown haphazardly over its back and suddenly he realized that Don had been watching him. He closed his eyes again and exhaled in a soft sigh.

All those months he'd been doing this, he'd known the day would come when he had to come clear. And he knew it would be hard and every day more with the team made him realize how hard. He couldn't expect them to simply forget and move on. He wouldn't be able to either if the roles were reversed.

"Dwayne?" he whispered and pried his eyes open again, remembering the shot he'd heard when Lancer had stabbed that needle into his chest, not quite sure if he'd imagined it or not. Don's face seemed to soften and he shook his head, but his eyes didn't shift and a wave of sorrow washed over Colby.

This was so screwed up on so many levels and he wondered why it had been him to be caught in the middle of this mess. Couldn't have Dwayne pulled someone else out of the fire?

He looked straight at Don, knowing full well that his inner agony was showing in his face and was surprised to meet nothing but open understanding. He'd lied to all of them, putting up a façade, betraying their trust. And given how hard Don had come down on him that first time his position had nearly been disclosed and how much of an acting job he'd pulled with him then, he was pretty sure that the bond they'd had was beyond repair.

But Don just stood there, his hip leaning against the side of the bed and his shoulders squared, radiating support. Colby hadn't lied to Don on the phone when he'd told him he was the only person he could trust right then, but he'd also chosen those words wisely. Don had told him that losing the trust of his people scared him more than anything else and Colby had simply hoped that he would get the message across by pushing the right buttons.

He swallowed against the unwelcome constriction in his throat and shifted his glance to the figure on the other side of the observation window that had been watching all along. David didn't meet his eyes but turned away and Colby pressed his eyes close to keep the pain that caused private. He wasn't sure if everything that was broken could ever be fixed.

The hand on his arm surprised him and he tried not to flinch, even though the sensation still was uncomfortable. "Give him time," Don said and Colby swallowed, hoping that it was just that simple.

He listened to Don's retreating footsteps and followed them through the room. "Don?" His voice was rougher than he liked but he forced his eyes to open again, trying to find words to express what he felt. If he didn't say it now, he probably would never and something told him he owed Don that much.

The older agent had turned around by the door and their eyes met over the distance, brown on blue, empathy against agony, and Colby realized that he didn't need words after all.

"Get some rest," Don said with a smile and Colby nodded, feeling the exhaustion already tugging at him.

He exhaled, closed his eyes and dove back into the awaiting darkness.

The End