Disclaimer, spoilers, etc: Not mine. Artie is on my Hanukkah wish list, though, if anybody needed a shopping idea. Spoilers for Vendetta.
A/N: I was intending not to post this until it was complete, but it's my birthday, so I'm handing out party favors. This one's for MagellinaFluffQueen, who gave me this challenge a couple months back. This was my first time ever writing based on somebody else's prompts (seriously, I even refused to do it for teachers). The challenge was to write a story based on the quote, "This is neutralizer. Don't ask me how it works, because I have no idea. Oh, and don't ingest it, it'll make you see... things." I had to modify the quote slightly to make it work within the dialogue, but it's in there, yay! Yep, it's a story that starts with a flashback. Much as I despise the concept in my TV shows, it really was the best way to make the writing prompt work in my brain.
"Pete, why don't you give Agent Wells a quick summary of the rules around here?" Artie asked. He'd spent the better part of a week being enraged, but Leena had talked him into at least trying to accept reality, since anger wasn't having any effect on the powers that be, other than pissing them off.
"What?" Pete asked, whirling around in shock. "Why me? It's not like she's a total newbie, and anyway Myka's the one who's read the manual!" Artie let a small smile come to the normally stoic surface.
"Exactly why you're the one for the job. Myka would take all month, and you have maybe, 15, 20 minutes of downtime in which to impart the most useful bits of knowledge you've picked up the hard way." He grinned as he made his way back upstairs to read for a little while, letting Pete's animated words float over him, only touching him now and then.
"Well... this is neutralizer. Don't ask me how it works, because I have no idea," he heard Pete say. "Though... I suppose you probably already knew that much. Anyway, there's usually a canister or two under Claudia's desk. Don't knock them over, and whatever you do, don't drink it. It makes you... see things." Artie chuckled to himself as his memory suddenly whisked him back to the day, when Pete learned that little detail about life in the warehouse...
Artie rolled his eyes as he rushed down the stairs. Sure, he knew Pete would be annoyed with him, but the kid had practically asked for it. His half-baked idea to put dye in Myka's bubble bath might have been funny if he'd been sure of which bottle was which. But apparently all women's bath products look alike to Pete, and he'd ended up tinting Leena's pricey facial cleanser with his green dye – green dye to which, it turned out, Leena was fairly allergic. The poor dear wasn't badly hurt, and she did try to be in good spirits. It was an accident, after all, and it would have been just a little amusing if it hadn't raised red welt-like hives everywhere it touched Leena's skin. But she had refused to leave the house for three days, until the marks began to subside. Artie had put Pete to work on this glorious Saturday morning, doing the tedious housekeeping tasks in the office while the girls went into town for a movie since Leena finally felt up to venturing into public again.
So he wasn't terribly surprised to find Pete slamming around the office in frustration. Artie even accepted it, at least in that he wasn't going to tell the younger man to calm down. Pete had no problem, in principle, with accepting the consequences of his actions; it was probably doing good things for the guilt that he'd been carrying ever since he realized what he'd done. But Pete was still frustrated at missing the movie, and losing his day off for the week, especially when the last of the snow had finally, this week, melted and given way to crisp spring days. But Artie cringed just the same, wondering if the office would survive the younger man who was moving angrily about the room. Artie immediately took note of a canister of neutralizer sitting on the corner of Claudia's desk, and in that sudden way that everybody sometimes experiences, he foresaw what Pete was about to do to it.
"Pete, stop!" Artie shouted as he leaped over the last couple stairs to the office floor, shouting just a little too loudly apparently, since it caused Pete to startle and spin around. Artie cringed as he watched Pete's hand nudge the canister that last little bit to tip it over. He could see it coming, but there was just no way to stop it. Purple goo pooled all over Claudia's desk, dripping onto the floor, making a huge mess of the files Artie had left there for the teen to enter into the computerized database on Monday. Pete, to his credit, grabbed the electronics and shuffled them off onto Artie's nearby work surface before they got wet, but Artie could already tell the files would have to be peeled apart and left to dry before Claudia could begin putting the data into the system. Pete nearly screamed in frustration when he saw the mess.
"It's all right," Artie said quickly, not his usual reaction, but he knew that guilt and frustration had really done a number on the younger man over the past few days. And anyhow, nobody else was around to witness him being uncharacteristically nice. He jumped into action, grabbing an old towel out of a file cabinet drawer. The towel had, once upon a time, been there for a reason but Artie could no longer remember what that reason might have been. Now, its purpose was to stand ready in case of coffee spills... or neutralizer spills, he thought as he began to mop up the mess. "Here," he said to Pete, handing him a spool of twine that had also been in the drawer. "Make a clothesline out of this, grab some paper clips, and start hanging these files up to dry before the pages all get stuck."
"But, Artie, won't they drip all over–"
"More important things right now, Pete. We can clean the floor, but those are old files. We don't have a computer copy yet; that's what they were on Claudia's desk for."
"Oh geez, Artie, I'm sorry, I... hang up the files, got it." Artie nodded to himself, satisfied, as he watched the younger man tie off the twine to a pipe near the door, before he turned back to his own cleaning. Once Claudia's desk was clean, and the papers were hung to dry, he allowed himself to really look around the room. It was actually pretty clean, other than the spill. He smiled at that.
"You know, besides the, the neutralizer, the office actually looks good," he said, getting the words out just as he caught sight of Pete, and began to laugh. "You have..." he said, gesturing at his own cheek to indicate the neutralizer that had gotten onto the younger agent's face. His amusement quickly turned to horror when Pete wiped the back of one hand across his entire face in childlike fashion, smearing the purple goo over his lips in the process. This was about to get so much worse. "Pete, no, don't–" he began, hoping to stop the inevitable, even though he knew that wasn't going to work. And sure enough, before Artie could even form the words in his mind, Pete had done it. He licked his lips.
"Whoa, neutralizer tastes like red velvet cake batter," Pete said with a grin. Artie leaped across the room but Pete managed to lick a little more from his finger, like frosting, before the elder agent could grab him and stop him.
"Yeah well, it doesn't behave like any kind of cake," Artie grumbled. "Well... maybe a certain type of brownie, but..." Artie blew out a sigh. This was going to be a long day. "Pete, listen to me, ingesting neutralizer is, is... you're going to... it causes a bad reaction."
"How bad?" Pete asked, looking suddenly nervous.
"Muscle aches, weakness, trembling, and... and you'll relive every traumatic moment in your life in auditory and visual hallucinations, until it's fully digested and broken down. You'll survive... probably... but it's going to get rough. Now, what did you eat today? It'll go faster if you haven't eaten... too much because then–"
"Today, um, couple hot dogs... Leena made french toast for breakfast.. and I scrambled the leftover egg mix and ate that too, when she was done dipping bread in it... Myka's ribs from the other night, in the fridge.. few Twizzlers, and a hot ham and cheese." Artie rolled his eyes at the list. "At least I didn't eat lunch yet?" Pete asked hopefully, causing the older man to do a double-take.
"Are you playing with artifacts that raise metabolism or something?" he asked. "If I ate... anyway. Let's get you on the couch upstairs before it gets too... too bad." He watched closely as Pete made his way to the stairs, already frowning in pain as the muscle aches began to set in. Yes, it was going to be a rough day, and probably a rough night as well. He wondered briefly if he should call the doctor, but Artie also knew that there wasn't much she could do about neutralizer ingestion. The stuff had a way of turning caustic the second time through the esophagus. No, the best thing Artie could do for the young agent now was to watch and wait.
Artie glanced at Pete several times as he cleared off an old reading chair that he hadn't used in quite some time, since Leena had buried it in a few old storage boxes he someday planned to sort through. Once he got it unearthed, he dragged it over near the sofa, setting it close enough that he could reach out and grasp Pete's hand when needed, before he scurried back downstairs to fetch the electric kettle and tea set he kept there. If ever there was a time for a good chamomile tea, this was going to be it. When Artie climbed the stairs, already he could see the neutralizer affecting the younger man. Pete moaned quietly, fear filling unseeing eyes. He was trapped in a memory.
"Pete," he said softly. "It's Artie. I'm right here. Whatever you're seeing, remember that it's already in the past. You aren't living through it. You're just having a very vivid memory."
"Feels pretty real, Artie," Pete muttered as his body began to twitch responding to some unseen force.
"Where are you, Pete?"
"I'm on your couch in the warehouse, but my mind... is stuck in the second grade, getting beat up by a fifth-grader for lunch money that I don't even have because I brought my lunch... and already ate it, because I got hungry early." Artie chuckled in spite of the seriousness. So Pete had always been the kid who could pack away an obscene amount of food without ill effects. He hoped that meant he would burn through the neutralizer effects faster than... Artie's train of thought was interrupted by Pete suddenly jerking nearly off the couch, and screaming in pain. What the... in a flash, he knew what was happening.
"Pete, quit trying to change the past. It's a memory, not time travel. You gotta roll with it." The younger man whined in frustration. Artie took his seat and rested a hand on Pete's head. It wasn't very helpful, but it was all he could do, and he remembered how much simple touch helped, when he'd gone through this himself. He continued like that for some time, using touch and murmured comments to remind Pete that he wasn't alone, that this would pass in time.
Before Artie realized how much time had passed, he heard the door open downstairs.
"Artie?" Leena's voice rang out. "Pete?" Artie moaned in frustration. Pete wouldn't want to be seen like this, even though he'd finally begun to doze lightly. Artie hurried to the stairs, meeting her halfway and blocking her view. He decided to explain that Pete was off doing chores and he'd been reading. Leena listened to the whole thing before she raised one delicate eyebrow. "I brought lunch, but Artie, what's really going on?" Leena held out the tray of sandwiches, a pointed look bordering on accusation focused on her colleague. Artie's shoulders drooped slightly. He never could keep anything from Leena.
"There was an accident this morning," he began.
"I can see that," Leena groused, looking around. "Do you know how long it's going to take me to get dried neutralizer out of that rug?"
"I'm sorry, Leena, I didn't... I'll clean it up myself, but we have a more serious problem right now." He could see her fixing to ask what the serious problem was, when suddenly a loud thump and a shriek of terror filled the room and echoed through the warehouse. Artie and Leena bolted up the stairs to find Pete on the floor, clutching one arm to his chest. "Pete, where are you?" he asked.
"I've gotten to the night Mom told me Dad died." The pain in Pete's voice was enough to break anybody's heart, Artie mused as he began helping the younger agent back onto the sofa. "I'm guessing I fell off the couch when I tried to turn and run up the stairs and into my bedroom in the memory instead of just standing there," Pete continued. Leena shot a look at Artie that could only be described as one demanding answers, and immediately.
"Yeah, Pete, you can't... changing the memory doesn't work, trust me," Artie told him before turning his attention back to the concerned woman at his side. "Like I said, we... accidental neutralizer ingestion." Leena gasped as Artie explained.
"Oh great, Leena's here?" Pete asked, then cringed. "Well, we just hopped forward to active-duty Marines... man, this is why I took up drinking in the first place," he said, drawing a shaky breath as memory after torturous memory paraded before his eyes in a display only he could see. "I don't suppose you have any–"
"No," Artie responded, with a quiet fierceness as he sat back down, laying a hand on Pete's shoulder. "You don't... you think you want to go there, but you don't. Leena's going to make you some tea, but... but you can't... I'm not going to let you invite that memory into your present life."
"I'll make tea," Leena told Artie in as much a sarcastic tone as the gentle woman could muster. "But there's no way I'm going to be able to keep this from Myka and Claudia. They're going to notice when another hour or so's passed, and you don't come back to the B&B. Claudia's already coming a little... unhinged." Leena glanced over at the pair while she waited for the water to heat. Artie sat wearily on the floor next to the sofa, his back to Pete. Pete's hand rested on his shoulder, and Artie's hand had crept up to grasp it. She smiled gently at the scene, the crabby introvert comforting the fearless thrill-seeker. They had stepped so completely out of character, and yet they were being themselves in a way that they rarely allowed themselves the luxury of experiencing.
Leena was shaken from her thoughts when the teapot's bubbling sounds changed slightly in pitch. The water had reached that perfect almost-boil, warm enough to brew tea quickly but cool enough not to burn the leaves. As she handed over two cups of steaming tea, the sound of the office door once again drifted up towards them. Artie rolled his eyes, while Leena only smiled knowingly. "They worry because they care," she reminded him, her own way of telling Artie to refrain from blowing a gasket before she slipped down the stairs. Sure enough, a moment later, two worried faces appeared in the stairwell. Artie groaned softly, even as he reached out with one hand, giving the women permission to enter.
"Artie, what's wrong with Pete?" Myka asked, never taking her eyes off her partner.
"He's fine," Artie said, beginning at the most important part of the story, rather than at the traditional beginning. "There was a bit of... of an accident this morning in the office, but Pete will be all right. It's just, um... just going to be a rough couple hours." Pete half-groaned, half-laughed at that. "Well, a rough day," Artie amended himself.
"Who drowned my files in goo?" Claudia asked, irritation evident but overshadowed by concern for her surrogate brother.
"That was part of the accident. Pete knocked over a canister of... by the time I saw what was about to happen it, it was just too late. While we were cleaning up, he got some neutralizer on his face, and, well..." Artie twisted his hands around, looking for the least-sarcastic words to explain the idiotic thing Pete had done next, when he suddenly realized, he didn't need to. Myka gasped and looked at Artie, wide-eyed.
"He ingested a little of the neutralizer," she surmised. Artie nodded in answer to Myka's statement. "And... neutralizer tastes kind of like cake batter... deceptively sweet, like antifreeze, which Pete doesn't know, because he hasn't gotten to that part of the manual yet. So he probably licked more off his fingers."
"Red velvet cake," Pete said almost exuberantly. "I have the worst craving now for red velvet cake, but I think I'm going to have flashbacks every time I eat the stuff now, after this." Artie chuckled silently at that.
"So, what does neutralizer do?" Claudia asked, wide-eyed. Myka having likened neutralizer to antifreeze didn't set too well with her.
"It makes you... see things," Pete answered, tension practically dripping from each word. Artie didn't have to look to know another memory was coming on. He turned slightly to take the teacup from the younger man's hands before it hit him at full force. Artie drew a breath and grasped Pete's hand, before he turned back toward the girls, to explain further. This part wasn't in the manual; only the warning was included.
"Neutralizer ingestion causes the person to experience his most traumatic memories as a series of auditory and visual hallucinations, while remaining more or less awake and aware of one's surroundings," Artie said, trying not to sound too serious and worry the girls any further, but there was just no way to avoid that.
"I actually can't see half the time," Pete piped up, "and the other half, it's kind of... just a blur of color. Like Timothy Leary's glasses, only way crappier."
"What do we do about it?" Myka asked. "Don't you... you know... induce vomiting with poisons?"
Artie shook his head in reply. "Neutralizer," he began, "has something of a mind of its own. If you try to do that, it turns caustic and it's, it's not good. But if we leave it be, it's relatively inert, aside from the one side effect. All I can do is sit here and wait it out, and all you can do is make yourselves scarce and give Pete some privacy. I know you want to be supportive but trust me, he doesn't need an audience."
"But shouldn't you... can't you do something?" Claudia asked, her tone clearly suggesting she expected Artie to be able to fix this, like he so often did. "We have, like, a billion artifacts here. One of them has to be able to counteract this!" Artie almost laughed at that, in spite of the seriousness.
"And what do you suggest I use to neutralize neutralizer, Claudia?" He watched as the obviousness dawned on the teen, and a slightly sheepish look crossed her face. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I really am doing everything I can for him. Now please, go before one of these memories gets... Pete needs his space. This isn't an easy thing to go through." Artie didn't want to explain to his girls that sometimes these memories could provoke the person to react physically, or that what he knew of Pete's military history suggested that it could get quite dangerous if Pete started to act out the memories. They were worried enough without that information, and were he to be perfectly honest with himself, Artie was worried enough about that for all of them. Artie watched as both Claudia and Myka eyed Pete warily, their sense of loyalty to him warring with the need to obey their boss. They would do as he asked, he knew, but he could tell this situation called for the extension of an olive branch.
"I'll contact you when he gets through the worst of it," Artie said, verbally handing over the proverbial olive branch. "Pete will need somebody to bring dinner." There, he thought, that's what the girls needed. Two calmer, slightly sunnier faces nodded their agreement as the girls left the warehouse.
"Where are you?" Artie asked again, once he was sure they were alone. He knew Pete had to be in a pretty bad place. If the way Pete's grip was nearly crushing his hand hadn't given it away, then the feelings of guilt and rage would have. Artie blew out a frustrated sigh as he waited for Pete to formulate an answer. Artie had no idea how he'd managed to forget that holding Pete's hand would forge a link between them, but forget it he had, until the feelings began flooding through his own mind. He counted himself fortunate that he didn't have to see Pete's memories. Mrs. Frederic had not been so fortunate when it had been her sitting by this same sofa so many years ago.
"I'm at war," Pete finally answered, returning Artie's mind to the present. "I just.. oh, God... Artie, I just watched..." Artie waited, but Pete didn't finish his sentence.
"I've read your file," the elder agent said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. In truth, he'd only gotten the highlights from Mrs. F, and he knew what happened because the memories were beginning to seep through their clasped hands into Artie's mind. "I know what happened to you when you were on active duty. I... I know about it already."
"Nobody knows this part," Pete shot back. "Nobody knew I... that he died because..."
Artie would have laughed if it hadn't been so serious. "Pete, I'm not screwing with you. I know you violated orders, you went to try to save your buddy, your lifelong best friend. I know you think it was your fault because you called out to him and he turned at the wrong moment, but Pete, you know that there was no way he could have seen that round coming, or gotten out of its way, no matter what. Survivor's guilt is a powerful thing, but intellectually, you know better." Artie watched as Pete's unseeing eyes flew open in shock.
"How did you know that?" Pete asked, looking thoroughly shaken and uncertain. Artie frowned for a moment, searching for words to explain, before a thought came to him. The elder agent let his own eyes drift closed as he drew from his own memory the happiest, funniest, most peaceful memories of his own life. He was about to ask Pete if the feelings changed at all, when the younger man chuckled warmly. "Okay, this is really freaking weird," he muttered.
"That's how I knew," Artie answered, finally finding words. "When a person ingests neutralizer, it, it somehow forms a link with anybody else who's ever... had that experience before. Holding your hand is allowing me to drain off some of the pain and trauma, and exchange that with my own feelings, but I'm also gaining knowledge of some of the memories themselves." Artie chuckled as Pete jerked his hand back, breaking the physical connection, then gasped at the sudden worsening of symptoms, and reached blindly for Artie's hand again.
"So..." Pete began, then fell silent. "So, this is... wow. Um... how did you–"
"A rat had somehow gotten into the pipeline," Artie answered, already having anticipated the question. "It burst as I was trying to avert... avert disaster. Next thing I knew, I was fighting just to keep from drowning. Mrs. Frederic sat by and helped me fight my demons for a day and a half."
"How did Mrs. F... you know, nevermind, I don't want to know." Artie chuckled at Pete's half-question. He, too, had wondered how the keeper of the warehouse had managed to have such an accident, but he didn't have the nerve to ask the question, either. "So are you... seeing..?" Pete began, unable to formulate the whole question.
"I haven't yet," Artie replied. "It's strengthened from vague feelings to understanding the details of the underlying memories, so I wouldn't rule it out, but.." Artie paused when Pete blew out a tremendous sigh. "Everyone has things they don't want others to know about, Pete. I understand you most likely feel violated, but you need me right now, and I understand your need for confidentiality."
"It's not that... well, it's kind of that. I don't know how I can get through this again, Artie. It nearly killed me the first time. I can't... I can't do this."
"You can and you will," Artie shot back, without even having to think about it. "I know PTSD is serious business, but you overcame it once. It'll be easier this time; you and I have done it once before already. This is a hole we both know how to climb out of, and we're not doing it alone this time."
"Both?" Pete asked, perplexed. "What have you..."
"Not right now," Artie snapped, cutting him off. "You don't need any more nightmares to contend with today."
"Okay, well at least tell me how I'm supposed to get through seeing my buddies... seeing..." Pete gave up trying to find the words when Artie squeezed his hand gently, then let go briefly. A moment later, a pill was being pressed into his hand.
"Over-the-counter sleep aid," Artie said before he was asked. "It'll lengthen the duration marginally but you need a break." Artie had been catching glimpses of the horrors Pete was viewing, and he'd noticed Pete's hands twitch and tremble, as if the hallucination was trying to suck him physically into it. He knew he had precious little time before Pete would start trying to act out, or react to, the memories. And that was a dangerous enough thing on its own, let alone in a warehouse full of artifacts. He sighed as he watched Pete turn the pill around in his fingers.
"How do I know you're you, and not some..." Artie sighed at Pete's words. Paranoia was setting in. Artie turned to lean more fully over the younger man, resting his free hand heavily on Pete's shoulder.
"Peter Lattimer," he began in a gentle but firm and unbending tone, "you know me. You know my voice, and you know my hands. You know this is more than a job, you know that I care about you and everything I do is to enable you to do your job while keeping you out of harm's way. You trust me with your life; don't let the hallucinations take that from you." Artie had more in mind to say, but before another word came, Pete had tossed the pill into his mouth and slurped the last of his tea. Artie smiled, breathing just a little easier now. The day was wearing on, and he and Pete both desperately needed a break.
Okay, I have the next couple of chapters written so I'll get them up as soon as I'm sure they're how I want them. But I'm really stalled on how to finish it (and also two in-progress chapters of Weekly Tradition that are kicking my hindquarters quite efficiently) so don't expect me to get to this too quick. I always come back to projects and finish them, but sometimes it takes a while. And the end of the year is not exactly the calm season around here!