Collision

A/N: Hi everyone, I'm back. With a good (hopefully) old-fashioned Cherri story. Why? Because this is fan fiction and if I want to be in denial about Brody's leaving, than I can.

Because seriously, I can't do it. I can't ship PerSalle. I don't really dislike the character of Sonja Percy but I just don't like her and LaSalle as a couple. I thought the hug between them at the end of season two was too contrived. They won't fit together in my mind the way he and Brody do.

So I'm a Cherri shipper all the way and after this multi-chapter story is done, I'm planning on starting yet another one I'm already working on.

But let's start with this one first. For all the die-hard Cherri-shippers out there.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters of NCIS: New Orleans. I would never have let Brody go if I did. I do own all characters you do not recognize.

On with the story…

"Want one?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Taking one of the beignets your friend and cousin just offered, you lean back in the seat of the train that's supposed to bring you back to New Orleans from a long week of shopping and sightseeing in Memphis. It was exactly what the doctor ordered, after months of setbacks and chasing bad guys and you can't be more grateful for Courtney's insistence that you come to visit her.

Your friendship goes way back, to where the three of you girls (your twin Emily, Courtney and you) shared the same playpen, with your cousin only being three weeks older than the two of you. Your father and Courtney's father were pretty close and lived only two blocks apart for a while. And even though your Uncle Greg took his family several states over to live in Tennessee when you were seven, he would gladly send his daughter over to stay with her twin cousins on most summer holidays. Other than Emily, she was your best friend and the three of you were an unbreakable trinity, especially when she temporarily moved to her home state to go to college with you, the three of you sharing your dorm room for the duration.

You were there for all subsequent highs and lows in life. She supported you when you decided to become a federal agent. You were her bridesmaid at her wedding to her high school sweetheart Adrian, only a month after your college graduation, witnessed her struggle to get children and are Godmother of her miracle baby (a healthy boy she named Mark) who was born exactly a year after she had decided to stop trying.

Everything life puts you through, you faced together, the three of you. Though, right after your twin sister's tragic death, you were in too much pain to have her around. Understanding you needed some time and space, Courtney left you to your own devices, only sending you the occasional post card or letter on dates that were important, always reminding you she was just a phone call or a quick text away.

So you spoke and called occasionally, but with your move to New Orleans and your busy life settling in, visits were often mentioned, but few and far between in practice. Only a month ago, things changed. She sent you a lengthy and quite disturbing email, telling you that her marriage to Adrian was over. That she had caught him cheating on her with a younger woman (an intern at his bank; God how cliché) and that he had gotten her pregnant. Remembering her own struggle with her pregnancies, Courtney had felt even more betrayed and had kicked him out, immediately filing for divorce and sole custody over now 12 year old Mark, who wanted nothing to do with either his dad or his new "family".

You called her immediately and decided it was time for a long overdue visit. With Mark on summer camp with his classmates for at least two weeks, you took your cousin out for some fun times. So you saw Graceland and all the other sites, depleted your bank account to go plunder the many boutiques and ate and drank all you wanted, and at the end of the week, extended the invitation to Courtney to come back to New Orleans with you.

She took the offer immediately, then reminded you of a problem you had forgotten about before: Courtney Brody-Philips hates to fly. Even as a child, she would prefer a two day Greyhound bus trip to an hour flight to come and see you. To say she was scared was putting it mildly. How could you have forgotten?

Oh well, you could do her a favor. The train wasn't that bad, even if it took hours. But you had already booked a return plane ticket. Perhaps…one phone call home saved your sorry ass as well as your depleted finances: Triple P was willing and able to cancel your plane ticket, so you could buy an Amtrak ticket instead without extra costs. It may not have been 100% legal and you're forever in debt to your resident computer genius, but you figure it was worth it if it means not going bankrupt on cancellation fees.

So now you're going home (by train!) and even though you still have a week's worth of vacation time to show your friend around your new beloved home town, you're not quite sure how you feel about it yet. Oh, it's certainly not the city, which you really do love. It's not really the job either, you love it also. It's just that…while you love your job and got as close as you've ever allowed yourself to be to the two incredible men (if not yet the newest addition to the team) working there, these past few months have shrouded your small team in a blanket of sadness and despair, ever since your partner, Christopher LaSalle, lost his beloved girlfriend Savannah.

You've never met the pretty redhead (or mermaid as Sonja likes to call her) in person, but that doesn't matter. She made Chris happy and a happy Chris meant a happy team, his generous grin rubbing off on all who are near him. Subsequently, when she was ripped away from him, his anguish and anger left their traces on your souls too.

For a week, you managed to forget about him and how the normally sweet, funny and good-natured man's now desolated features have haunted your dreams. Sure, he doesn't really blame anyone of you, unlike himself or so he says, but he's pulling away from you nonetheless. Doesn't open up like he used to do. Instead, he's looking for comfort in alcohol and long nights with anonymous women, but not coming to you or King. Or perhaps that's just a feeling, but you can't shake it either way.

And it hurts. A lot. More than you anticipated.

Getting closer to home with every mile and knowing you'll have to face him again in a few days' time does funny things to your stomach. The usual butterflies, those you've been trying to ignore since you noticed their presence for the first time (about a month after you started working with him) now quarrel heavily with the nervous jitters and all of them try not to drown in the (secret) tears you've cried in fear that your friendship is well and truly not enough this time.

When friendship is all you can offer, even though you really want to offer more, it had better be sufficient. And for a long time; it was. The butterflies, along with the casual flirting, added some spice to the great partnership you developed over the months and so you were quite happy with the status quo. You were never one to spill hot tears over unrequited love, never said or did anything that would give him reason to think you were trying to steal him away from his girlfriend. All you wanted from him was the trust and the partnership you shared. Anything else was a bonus.

But sadly, you haven't been the partners you used to be these last few weeks. You gave him your sister's necklace in an attempt to get him to open up to you; to get just a little bit closer, to let him know you were there for him, but he wasn't picking up on your signals. Not at all. So yeah, that's why it hurts you so freaking much.

Courtney shakes you out of you reverie by reminding you of something funny that happened during your trip and you smile at her gratefully. She knows you so well. You've told her quite a bit about your partner (actually; you could hardly stop yapping on about him) and without you having admitted out loud, she seemed to know how you really felt about him.

How he has turned out to be so much more than a work partner you occasionally flirt with, instead worming his way into your heart without warning and with the intent to stay there indefinitely, but sadly without allowing you to do the same with his.

As the train exits a long tunnel, which caused your phone to temporarily lose its connection, you bend over to take it out of your bag lying at your feet to check again, hoping for full bars. Perhaps part of you hopes too he would have left you a message. It's crazy, but there you have it. Why would he suddenly feel the need to contact you, unless it was some kind of emergency?

Concentrating for a moment on the messy insides of your bag to locate the device, you never notice the train hitting the breaks.

Before hitting something else.

The eerie sound of metal scraping against metal. The screams of other passengers. The lights blinking and flickering before falling out, leaving the interior only dimly lit by the setting sun.

Your head comes in contact with the seat in front of you. The last thing you think of before total darkness surrounds you, is Chris. And how he may have to mourn your loss too.

You wake up somewhat later to the feeling of something liquid and warm trickling down your nose. It's fully dark outside now, but as your bleary eyes adjust, you notice the slumped, still form of your cousin in front of you.

There's a bitter, metallic taste in your mouth; a combination of blood, bile and fear.

What has happened?

All around you, people are in a panic. Those who can scream, do so loudly, those who can't, moan softly and you honestly don't know which one you belong to, nor what makes you more scared.

Or perhaps it's the people who don't make any sounds at all and who don't move either that freaks you out the most.

And the fact poor Courtney is one of the latter.

Carefully, you try to get up, but as you lean on your left wrist, it gives out and with a small yelp of pain, you slump back again. Yet, the adrenaline has kicked in and all you want is to get up and out of here. On the second try, your put your right wrist down first and it stays put. Sweat of exertion breaking out on your forehead, you manage to grab onto something (a bench perhaps, or a luggage rack) and haul yourself up.

Time to do a quick inventory of your physical wellbeing. Blood is still dripping in your eyes, so that means you have a cut on your forehead or somewhere higher. Your ribs hurt a little and so does your left knee. Your wrist is swollen and you suspect it to be sprained or perhaps even broken. You have a few more cuts and bruises, but they aren't serious. You don't think you have a concussion or any kind of eternal injuries.

You'll live. But what about your cousin?

Stumbling over debris and whatever is lying strewn across the aisle, you manage to reach Courtney. In the dark you manage to find her wrist and with your good hand, try to get a pulse. You think you do, but you can't be sure.

Will someone come for you? Is help on the way?

With nothing left to do and not seeing enough to assess the situation of the other passengers, you sit down again, on the floor since you don't know if the seats are too damaged to sit on. A small girl crawls over. You've seen her and her mother get on and know where they were seated. Looking over at those seats, all you can see is the shape of a clearly unconscious body of a woman whom you can assume is her mother. With big, trusting eyes, the girl looks up to you, looking for shelter from an adult, anyone who's still somewhat awake and alert. You pull the child over and she settles against your body, only saying one word, constantly.

"Mommy?"

You say nothing, don't know what to say. You just shush the child as best as you can and try to keep it as safe as possible under the circumstances.

Somewhat later (you have no idea how much later), voices can be heard from outside. They are commanding voices and you sigh in relief, knowing that help is near. The moans of the still conscious people around you grow louder, as if they want to make sure they attract enough attention to be found.

Only Courtney, the girl's mother and a young man lying slumped against a cracked window are still not moving.

A flashlight suddenly shines through the compartment as two or three paramedics very carefully make their way in and you flinch when their beam hits you square in the face. After they quickly survey the area, they get to work, taking those who can walk by themselves out to the waiting ambulances first, so they have room to take care of the unconscious victims.

Or the dead ones…

In the hubbub, you lose sight of Courtney as you're being escorted out of the wreckage to an enclosed area, where the passengers with only minor injuries are getting their first treatment, while she gets carted off quickly to an open field, where Medivac helicopters are landing to take the more critically injured off to the nearest hospital. Your first instinct is to run after her, but the kind, patient paramedic reassures you that all victims will be taken to the same hospital in Jackson, the city you're now closest to. That it may not seem to be as bad as it looks and that she'll be well taken care of.

"Don't worry until you know if you should. Let me take care of you first and let my co-workers take care of your friend. They do know what they're doing."

"I know. And I'm grateful. It's just that…"

"This scares you? Of course it does. You just came out of a train accident. No laughing matter. Now let me take a look at your wrist."

It's not really what you wanted to say at all. You had wanted to state that you're a federal agent, but as the paramedic hushes you, you're too tired to try to explain again, so you succumb to her wishes and allow her to tend to you. Soon enough, your wrist gets taped up with a makeshift splint. It might be broken, but after you've been given some really strong painkillers, the pain is bearable. X-rays will be taken once you get to the hospital, but you understand that this is considered a minor injury and you'll just have to wait your turn.

You get a butterfly bandage for the cut on your forehead and then you're done with for the time being. Careful not to hurt your painful knee even more, you hop off the stretcher they put you on and wander off in search of your cousin.

The girl you held earlier, is reunited with her mother, who thankfully has regained consciousness and is being strapped onto a gurney and wheeled into another ambulance. You're glad she seems alert and hope they will both be fine.

It takes a few scary minutes before you find the still unmoving form of Courtney. Two paramedics are working on her, one of them fitting a collar around her neck to stabilize her, the other one holding an IV bag of fluids above his head and squeezing it gently. You take a few steps closer, but are forced to stay clear of them by a friendly, though sturdy police officer as not to disturb them in their efforts to keep your cousin alive.

Another gurney is being brought over and very carefully, she's being lifted onto it and strapped in. Desperately, you try to attract the officer's attention. You have to go with your cousin, can't he tell? But it's such a chaos, he doesn't seem to notice you at all.

So you just try and sneak your way underneath the taped off area. Only then does the officer address you.

"Ma'am, you're not supposed to come closer. Stay behind the tape, please, or else I'm gonna have to arrest you."

Crying out as he grabs your injured wrist, you try to get through to him.

"I was on the train with her. She's my cousin!"

He gives you a more scrutinized look and lets his gaze rest on the bandage on your forehead and the taped up wrist.

"Very well then. She's about to be taken to the hospital. You can join her if you want. Have you been checked out?"

"Yes. I need some x-rays for my wrist, but I'm okay."

He lifts the tape then and you expertly duck underneath.

"Thanks. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"Just trying to do my job, miss…"

"Brody. Special Agent Meredith Brody."

Automatically, your title falls from your lips and you show him your badge, which is stuffed in the purse you managed to grab as you were being taken from the train, though you know your status as a federal agent has very little standing in a situation like this.

"Special Agent? As in FBI?"

The older officer makes it sound like something dirty and you're quick to shake your head, which causes a dizzy spell you try to ignore.

"NCIS. New Orleans base."

His demeanor changes on the spot as a bright smile suddenly adorns his weathered features…

"Wait, New Orleans you say? You know Pride then?"

"Dwayne Pride? Sure, he's my boss."

"Why didn't you just say so in the first place? I owe the man. Get yourself on the chopper. And tell Pride Judd said hi."

In the helicopter, the paramedic explains Courtney's condition to you.

"Agent Brody, your friend has hit her head very hard. We have no idea how much damage was done until we get her to the hospital and into a CAT scan. At the very least she has a major concussion."

"And at the worst?"

He shrugs. You hear everything he's not saying and you're reluctant to ask for any more details. It's no use speculating. All you can do is hope and pray.

Hours later, around ten in the evening, you find yourself in the hospital waiting room. As with any other of its kind, this room does its very best not to appear impersonal and cold, and fails miserably at it. Or perhaps it's you. Either way, you can't suppress a shudder.

There's some more people with you. Some of them the uninjured or just mildly injured passengers of the train, some family members and friends of those badly hurt and some who have nothing to do with the train crash whatsoever.

You ignore them mostly, your thoughts with Courtney and Courtney only. After the helicopter landed, she was quickly being whisked away and you don't know what they've been doing with her since. You barely had time to sit down before you were taken to some other area by a nurse, where x-rays of your wrist and knee were taken. The knee is merely bruised and after being bandaged up; should get better by itself, but your wrist was indeed fractured and is now wrapped in a cast and resting in a sling. That was 90 minutes ago and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, it's only the caffeinated sludge keeping you upright.

There's a nagging pain and a dull fatigue in your body, which you ignore, because it's just not all that important. You need to stay awake and alert in case someone comes back to tell you what's going on with your cousin.

She needs to be okay. Please, God, let her be okay. Adrian may no longer care for her, but she has a teenage son who still needs his mother. Oh shit, you got to call Mark!

Just then, a doctor comes out, asking for the next of kin to Mrs. Philips. Upon hearing Courtney's last name, you look up. The doctor approaches you and leads you a little away from the waiting area, giving you some sense of privacy. He's reluctant at first to tell you anything since you're not a registered next of kin, though you are a blood relative, but he too understands the situation and after showing him your badge (and telling him your cousin is going through a divorce and wouldn't want her husband to show up), he tells you anyway.

"First of all, let me start with the good news: Mrs. Philips will be fine. She has a severe concussion and a collapsed lung, but no cerebral hemorrhage, which we initially feared. As it is, we haven't found more than the concussion. We will keep her in the ICU and under sedation for a day to fight this."

You exhale in relief.

"Can I go see her?"

"Yes, but only very shortly. May I suggest you try and get some sleep yourself?"

You nod as you follow him to the ICU where your cousin's lying still and pale in a stark white hospital bed. She looks so fragile against the pale sheets and surrounded by beeping monitors. You gasp and sit next to her, taking her hand in your uninjured one and talking nonsense, promising her you'll take care of her and to get Mark out here as soon as possible. You sit by her bedside for about half an hour, slowly drifting off, until a nurse comes over to send you away.

Standing in the hallway, your current situation hits home full force.

You're stranded. Because of the accident, there is no train service between Jackson, Mississippi and New Orleans. You only have your purse with you, but no clean clothes or toiletries since you weren't allowed to take any luggage from the scene of the accident. It's now almost midnight and you have no idea where you're supposed to go.

Who can help you now?

Another name pops in. But you hesitate. Sure, he was there for you before. But that was, like you just concluded, before. Before your friendship froze in between his guilt and your helplessness.

You have no guarantee he'll come. Besides, it'll take him at least three hours to get here. Can you manage to hold on until he gets here? If he does?

But still, he's the most chivalrous person you know, so he just might…

Well, there's no other way to find out than to call him. And since you don't have that many options left...

You fish out your mobile phone, but as soon as you do, a security guard gives you a stern glance, pointing to a sign that indicates you're not allowed to use it in the ICU area. You make it out into the hallway and, looking around for any other signs, grab your phone again.

And barely hold back a howl of frustration upon noticing the crack in the small screen. Your phone, your lifeline, is as dead as a dodo.

Okay, let's try the pay phone then. Hopefully you can recall his number.

The pay phone is out of order. There's no dial tone. Groaning and biting back a curse, you make it to the reception area, where another nurse notices you and your wobbly stance. She comes to the rescue.

"Please, sit down dearie."

Now normally, you're not too fond of people using these kind of degenerative terms of endearment, but you're tired, scared and in more pain than you care to admit, so you let it slide. In fact, you revel in this act of kindness.

"Are you a train crash victim?"

You nod, though said fact is still hard to wrap your head around. She gives you a smile and pours a glass of water from a jug on her desk.

"Here, take a few sips and then tell me how I can help you."

The water helps a little. You try to recall Chris's cell phone number when you remember you actually have it on you. His business card is in the leather folder of your badge. Relieved beyond measure, you hand her the card and ask her to place a call for you.

"Special Agent Christopher LaSalle. Very well, dearie. Who can I say I'm calling for?"

The sliding doors behind you open and you shiver in the draught it causes. It's nearly one AM and the night air is chilly. Plus, you have nothing but a t-shirt and jeans on, your jacket left somewhere in the wreckage. Thank God nothing of importance was left in any of the pockets.

"I'm Special Agent Meredith Brody. He's…he's my partner. Work partner. Could you…could you ask him if he wants to come pick me up here?"

"No need ma'am."