The Persuaders!
A World Gone Crazy
By Lucky_Ladybug
Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! I had the extreme urge to write shameless angsty, hurt/comforty, friendshippy Persuaders! fic. And this happened. The episode Angie, Angie was a large part of the inspiration behind the plot and the conflict. The title is based on a line from the song It's Probably Me, which amazingly and awesomely fits the characters' complex friendship.
Danny wasn't sure what had gone wrong or how or why. It should have been a case they could solve easily enough, just like all the others.
They had pursued the judge's latest pet projects into the English woods. Brett had been driving. Typical, since he was the one who had tried to start a career in race car driving. And he had proved along the way just how good he would have been as a race car driver. Danny had just clutched the seat and screamed at him in terror most of the time.
The bad guys, desperate to get away, had gone around a sharp mountain curve too fast and crashed. When Brett had zoomed around the curve, thankfully going at a more reasonable pace, the junked car had been in his way before he could figure out how to swerve around it. He had slammed on the brakes, but the road was slick and wet and the car had veered around, crashing into the criminals' car before flipping over.
Danny woke up with rain pounding on the upsidedown car and on the road and blood running in his eyes. Grateful that he had been wearing his seatbelt, he shakily unhooked it and dropped to the inside roof of the car. "Brett?" he mumbled.
The last sight he wanted to see was Brett half-out of the car despite the seatbelt, blood and glass all around him as he lay motionless on his side. But Danny was seeing it and he was definitely awake and aware. This was not a sleeping nightmare; it was a waking nightmare, the kind he couldn't escape from.
"Brett!" he screamed.
He struggled to turn around in the car. The windows had been rolled down and he crawled out of his before dizzily staggering around to the other side of the car.
Brett still hadn't moved. He was breathing, but it was slower than normal. Danny collapsed next to him, growing increasingly panicked and anxious. "Brett, come on! Wake up!" he cried in desperation.
He checked for neck and back injuries before attempting to carefully lift Brett's upper body into his arms. Considering what they had just been through, it was something of a miracle that there were no such injuries. But when Brett still didn't react, Danny's hopes steadily dropped.
"Brett, please! If anybody comes by and sees this, they're gonna start to talk!"
He didn't really mean it, of course; right now he really couldn't care less what anyone might think of the scene and of their relationship. Nor did he think there would be a question at all when Brett was clearly hurt. But he hoped that if Brett could hear him, it would prompt some kind of a reaction.
While with one arm he continued to balance Brett close to him, with the other hand he reached to brush Brett's hair away from a wound in his forehead. It looked superficial, caused by flying glass, but on the other hand maybe that was why he was unconscious. Perhaps he had bumped his head as well as cut it.
He was just about to lay Brett down again and grope for a handkerchief he could use on the injury when Brett stirred at last and groaned. That immediately brought Danny to attention. "Brett! Thank God you're awake; I thought maybe you'd gone and hurt yourself bad. . . ."
Brett grunted. "Daniel?" He grimaced. "What happened? . . . Oh. Nevermind." He squinted through the rain as he reached up to rub his head. "I crashed the car, didn't I."
"Oh, crashed the car. That's an understatement!" Danny retorted. He wondered if Brett could hear the shaking in his voice as clearly as he could. "This is really a beaut. No wonder you didn't make it as a race car driver!" The crash hadn't been Brett's fault, and Danny didn't really mean his words, but he couldn't take them back now.
A cloud passed through Brett's already-glazed eyes. "Yes. I've made that fatal mistake that so many have made before me. I totaled the car and killed the driver."
"What?! No!" Danny burst out. "What are you talking about? You're not dead! You're going to be fine! I'll call an ambulance and they'll patch you up and you'll be back at your place in no time."
Brett just gave him a sad, serious look. "No, Danny." He turned his head, coughing in pain. A bit of red came to his lips. "I've had it."
Danny's stomach began to constrict. "You're just delirious!" he snapped. "You don't know what you're saying. Stupid British lord who's never got in any real scrapes before! You feel a little pain and you think you're dying!"
"Correction: I never got in any real scrapes until we started working for the judge." Brett's eyes fluttered shut. After a moment he fought to open them again.
"I knew we should've got out of the business!" Danny cried. "What was it all for, Your Lordship?! You said it was the right thing to do. Was this the right thing to do?! Crashing the car and saying you're dying and leaving me to pick up the pieces?!"
"Daniel, I'm sorry." Brett weakly tried to grip Danny's coat. "I don't regret any of our cases. I only regret that yes, now you'll have to pick up the pieces. I won't be here to . . . help you. . . ." He trailed off, gasping and coughing again.
Frantic now, Danny laid him down and bent over him. "Come on, you don't want me doing artifical respiration, do you?" he said.
Brett gave a faint smile. "I'd prefer you didn't, but if it has to be done, you'll do it. You may never admit it out loud, but that's why you've stuck things out all this time. You could have walked away from the judge and me any time you wanted, but you didn't."
"I joined up because he was hanging a jail sentence over our heads!" Danny snapped. "After that was over with, I stayed for kicks and because I didn't have anything better to do. I'm not in it for any heroics. That's not me."
"Whatever you say . . . Danny Boy." Brett's eyes closed again. This time they didn't open.
Terror struck Danny in the heart. "Brett!" he yelled. "Brett, come on, wake up!" He shook the other man on the shoulder, to no avail. This time there was no coughing, choking, groaning or any other motion. Brett wasn't breathing now.
"Oh, come on!" Danny cried. "You're doing this on purpose. You want to put me in an awkward position!"
He didn't waste any time turning Brett's head to the side and allowing the rest of the blood in his throat to trickle out. Then, after wiping it away with a cloth, Danny leaned down and pried Brett's mouth open. "You'd better not make this be in vain," he threatened. Taking a deep breath, he commenced performing artificial respiration.
He wasn't sure how long he had been at it when he heard the sirens in the distance. Brett still wasn't responding, but Danny had read not to stop until help arrived. He wasn't going to stop. He had to get Brett back.
He was still going at it when the paramedics finally pulled up and climbed out, hurrying over to the scene. Judge Fulton was right behind them, worried, staring in disbelief and horror. "Danny!" he exclaimed.
Danny looked up with a jerk. The judge coming right now was making him see red. Even though he had apparently called the ambulance, it was too little, too late. "This is all your fault, you know," he snarled. "You got me and Brett working for you. You put us into this situation. We're not vigilantes. What, you think we're Batman and The Saint or something? Well, we're not. We're just two ordinary playboys, for crying out loud. And now Brett's dead."
Only when the word was out of his mouth did he realize he'd used it. The paramedics had taken over trying to revive Brett, but Danny could see they weren't having any luck. The defibrilator was causing Brett's body to jerk from the entering electricity, but then there was only silence and stillness. They couldn't get him back.
Danny stumbled to his feet, his heart and his head pounding as he watched them frantically try one last, desperate attempt. It wasn't working either. He turned away, running his hand over his face and up into his hair.
This was still a nightmare; it wasn't real. He wanted to believe that with all his heart. It couldn't be happening. How could Brett be lying there dead? How could he be standing here alive, watching it?
How could they have gotten into the mess in the first place that had kicked off this disaster? Brett's life had been ended and now it felt like Danny's life had turned upsidedown and spiraled out of control. The only things still in place were his businesses, and they seemed so far-away and unimportant right now. Brett was dead. What besides that could be important now?
"Danny . . ."
He spun around at Judge Fulton's sorrowful voice. Right now he needed someone to blame and the judge was right there. He seemed like the perfect target. After all, it really was at least partially his fault.
"Just shut up!" he screamed, pointing a finger at the older man. "I'm sick of working for you. This is it, do you hear me?! No more of this! I've had two friends die in my arms because of you! First Angie and now Brett! I'm not waiting around to find out who gets it next!"
Fulton flinched, but said, "Danny, you're upset and saying things you don't mean. If you'll just take a moment to calm down . . ."
"No!" Danny interrupted. "No calming down. You, you're obsessed with this little quest of yours to put crooks away that you couldn't get when you were on the bench. And that's all well and fine, but not when you drag other people into it! You've deliberately endangered Brett and me more than once to get us to take on cases for you! That's not right; that's sick! You're sick! You indoctrinated Brett with your crazy ideas and now you got him killed for it!" He spun around, heedless of the rain that had been pelting him all this time. His voice cracked as he added, "I've had enough, Judge. Don't you get that? I've had enough."
Now Fulton was silent. "Alright, Danny," he said at last, his voice sobered and quiet. "I won't bother you about it anymore. But you're injured too. Let the paramedics examine you."
"What do you even care?" Danny said morosely. But then he remembered the blood going down his face and knew the judge was right, at least about that. He turned around to find the paramedics, just in time to see two of them lifting Brett into the ambulance. His heart caught in his throat and he looked away again, shaking.
"This is wrong, all wrong," he whispered in anguish. "And the worst part is that you're right, Brett. For crying out loud. I did think it was the right thing to do, just like you did. But I don't know if I think it is anymore."
Then a paramedic came to him and he snapped to attention, setting his hopeless conversation aside for the time being.
xxxx
Danny's injuries were superficial and not serious, but because he had passed out when the car had flipped over, the paramedics wanted him to come to the hospital and be examined for a possible concussion. He went, but could barely stand the ride in the ambulance when Brett was lying dead in front of him. He looked away, refusing to turn back until they reached the hospital.
During the ride and then the examination, he had plenty of time to be alone with his thoughts. At this point he didn't think he would never not be angry at how the judge had actually placed him and Brett in danger to get them to accept certain cases. But, he supposed, it had been their choice to keep staying even after that. And perhaps the biggest irony of all was that they never would have met if not for the judge's manipulations. Or if they had, they at least certainly never would have started working together and even ended up as friends. The judge had set all of that into motion.
But was it worth it now that Brett's life had been so tragically cut short? If they had never met, he would still be alive.
And both of them would probably still be living their lives in a directionless manner, gambling, womanizing, and partying. They had both grown from what they had been doing for the judge, and Brett especially had felt it was worthwhile. Despite the danger, he had been happy.
"I guess that's why he's the one who's dead," Danny mumbled sadly as he was allowed to leave the examination room. "It's always the idealists and dreamers who get cut down too soon. All us cynics are the ones left to go on." Not stopping to think that sometimes he assumed the role of idealist while Brett was the cynic, he slung his drenched coat over one shoulder and shuffled back to the waiting room.
Judge Fulton was there, somewhat to his surprise. He was standing over by the window, staring out at the London night. If he knew Danny was approaching, he gave no indication of it.
Sighing to himself, Danny plodded over. "Hey," he said awkwardly.
Fulton slowly turned, not looking surprised. Perhaps he had been aware of the approach after all. "Danny," he said. "Are you alright?"
"No concussion or anything else potentially serious," Danny said without humor. "I got off pretty much with just a scratch."
"I'm glad of that," Fulton said quietly yet sincerely.
"What happened about the creeps we were chasing, anyway?" Danny suddenly asked.
"Two of them are dead," Fulton replied. "The other two are alive, but critically injured."
"Well, at least they didn't get off scot-free," Danny muttered.
The tension hanging over them seemed almost palpable. For a moment neither spoke, instead processing and absorbing the uncomfortable feeling.
". . . Danny, I've been thinking about what you said."
Danny immediately snapped to at the judge's words. "I know," he said. "Look, Judge. I don't agree with your methods, but I guess I have to give you credit for bringing me and Brett together. And I know he felt like you gave him something important to do with his life. If there's anything after this life, he probably still feels that way. So I can't say that everything you did with us was messed-up."
"No, I suppose not," Fulton replied, but he sounded sobered and saddened. "But I realized that some of it was, very much. I set out only wanting to do good, to protect the people who would suffer from these criminals being loose. That's still my motivation. Above all, I believe in the greater good. I endangered you and Brett because I felt that what I wanted you to do was just that important and I had to get you to help me at all costs. I never wanted something like this to happen."
"Yeah. Now you've lost one of your agents," Danny said.
"Two, if you're still quitting."
Danny couldn't miss the slightly hopeful look in Fulton's eyes. "I don't know, Judge," he frowned. "I don't see how I could handle cases all on my own. Originally you figured you had to have two guys. And I don't feel like I could just jump in and start working with someone new, either. I need some time to think."
Fulton nodded. "Of course."
Danny ran a hand over his face. "And I'll need to call Brett's family too, unless the hospital's taken care of that."
"They have," Fulton assured him. "Some of them are on their way now."
"Great." Danny slumped back. He really did not feel up to talking to any of them tonight, but he would need to. They knew he and Brett had been friends; perhaps he could soften the blow a little by talking to them himself instead of letting the hospital do it. In any case, he was the one who knew the most about Brett's final moments. He would have to tell about that at least somewhat.
"Danny," Fulton spoke again, "you won't have to bear this burden alone. I will help you explain matters to Brett's family."
Danny looked to him in surprise. "You're not going to tell them what Brett and I have been doing for you," he wondered.
"No, I'm afraid that must be kept secret. But I'll make sure they know that Brett wasn't just being reckless with the car. I'll simply say that when he went around the curve, the other car had already crashed and he was unable to keep from crashing into it."
Danny nodded sadly. "That was pretty much it, alright. Everything except what he was doing going around that curve in the first place. They're gonna want to know that, and that's what we can't tell them."
"We'll think of something that won't cast him in a bad light," Fulton replied kindly.
"We'd better," Danny frowned. "I'm not going to have his family think he was just being an idiot playboy at the last." He turned away. "I'm going to be outside for a while, maybe take a walk or something."
"Alright," Fulton nodded, his voice and eyes sad. "Take all the time you need."
Danny slipped into his coat as he stepped outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the late autumn night air was cold. Everything seemed cold and lonely now.
It was strange how close he and Brett had become. Danny had certainly disliked him at first, and Brett hadn't been that keen on him, either. But even during that first case, there had been a connection between them. The banter had happened naturally, changing from dislike to friendly almost without them consciously realizing it. And they had ended up enjoying hanging out even when there wasn't a case to solve. Danny had been at Brett's apartment pretty much every day.
Now, he supposed, he would pour more attention into his businesses again. Being a playboy held no joy for him now. Although he thought he might occasionally go nightclubbing, he was sure it would remind him too much of Brett. Maybe that would fade in time; he would have to see. Right now he didn't see how he could take any pleasure in such superficial things.
The feeling that he wasn't alone abruptly pricked up the hair on the back of his neck. He spun around, facing the hospital, and the color drained from his face. Brett was standing near the corner, watching him. "Daniel."
Immediately Danny ran forward, shocked and stunned and in disbelief. "Brett?! What the heck?! What are you doing?!"
The apparition was gone before Danny could get over that close.
Shaking, Danny slumped against the wall. "Oh . . . man, I must be losing it." He ran a hand over his face. "Am I going to be haunted by your ghost wherever I go now? I can't think even you'd be that sadistic."
But then he frowned, pushing himself away from the wall. What was on the other side of it? An office, a break room? The morgue?
He turned, hurrying back inside the hospital. Without even looking to see if Judge Fulton was looking his way, he started off in the opposite direction and didn't stop until he came to the end of the corridor and the corner room. Much as he had figured, it was the morgue.
Well, that was certainly eerie. He had half a mind to turn right around and go back to the waiting room or outside. But this discovery combined with Brett's sudden appearance seemed a little too coincidental, especially considering he'd had no idea the morgue was here until now. Without even really being sure of what he was doing or why, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.
It was empty; the pathologist had probably gone home for the night. Or rather, it was empty as far as living people were concerned. A body was lying on a metal slab near the outside wall, covered by a sheet.
Danny's stomach dropped. He knew it was Brett, but he also knew he wouldn't have any peace now until he went over to see for sure. The slab was right where the spectre had appeared to him on the outside part of the wall. That was getting too weird and creepy. Why the heck would Brett pop up like that out of nowhere?
He frowned as he crossed the room and came to stand over the form. Steeling himself for what he knew he would see, he yanked the sheet back.
Brett's hair flew up in response, as though from static cling. He looked just as he had lying dead on the ground when Danny had struggled so hard to revive him. That was not what Danny needed. Chilled, he started to pull the sheet back up.
Jostled by the movement, Brett's left arm fell from the edge of the slab and hung out limply from the sheet. Abandoning the task of pulling the sheet back over Brett's head, Danny paused to take hold of the arm and lay it back on the slab. Again he was chilled; he had never held a dead man's hand before.
Nor had a dead man's hand ever started to move within his before. Danny let it fall, jerking backwards in shock. That could not have happened. Brett's fingers couldn't have moved. Danny must have bumped them by accident.
Still, he had to try again. He had to know for sure. What if . . . what if the hand really had moved?
Danny swallowed hard as he reached for it. Even if it had moved, that didn't mean anything. He'd heard horror stories about bodies rising off of slabs and then falling down again. It didn't mean the person was alive; it was just a normal function of a body as death concoursed throughout it.
"You'd better not let your body do that to me, Your Lordship," he muttered under his breath. He didn't know if he would ever get over a horror like that.
He hadn't replaced his gloves yet, which was just as well right now. Instead of trying to prod the fingers into moving another time, he placed a finger on Brett's wrist, seeking for what he knew he wouldn't find.
He found it anyway.
Now he went as pale as the sheet. "Brett?!" He dropped the hand and bent over the other man, searching for breath. He found that too. "Brett, you're alive?!"
Giddy and dizzy and dazed, he ran for the door and flung it open. "Hey!" he called. "Help! You put someone in here who doesn't belong in here! He's still alive and he needs help now!"
His yells brought out every doctor and nurse in hearing range, as well as everyone from the waiting room. Judge Fulton stared in disbelief. "Danny, what are you doing in there?!"
"Nevermind that! It's a good thing I came in here!" Danny shot back. "Brett's tougher than we even thought." He looked back to his friend as the doctors rushed past him to find what he had found. "It's not every guy who dies and lives to tell about it."
xxxx
Discovering Brett was alive was only the first hurdle. The way he had coughed up blood after the accident, he very likely had internal injuries. He was rushed into surgery while Danny and Fulton stood by and began their long vigil. When Brett's family started to arrive, they were greeted with the fantastic story. Stunned, they joined the vigil.
Danny spent much of the time pacing up and down the floor. There was no guarantee that Brett would survive. Who knew how bad his injuries had been? They were bad enough to have killed him, or at least, to have made him appear dead.
And yet, Danny couldn't make himself believe that Brett would die. Brett's spirit must have come to him to get him to go into the morgue and discover that he was alive. If he was this determined to live, he was going to. Danny had to believe that or he would go nuts.
He wasn't even sure how much longer it was before the surgeon came out at last, tired and exhausted but with a light in his eyes. When Danny saw the man's expression and gait, he knew. "He's going to make it, isn't he?" he exclaimed.
The surgeon nodded. "We've patched him up as best as we can. He's breathing on his own and he's even semi-conscious." He looked to the amazed and hopeful family members. "You can see him for a moment."
It was the Duke who stepped forward and laid a hand on Danny's shoulder as he said, "Danny should be allowed to see him too. He's become like family to Brett in the time since they met."
Danny looked at him in surprised gratitude. He doubted the doctor would agree even then, but to his further surprise the man grunted and said, "Oh, alright then, if the family sanctions it."
Danny waited until the family members had finished stopping in to see Brett. Then, taking a deep breath, he went in himself.
It was amazing to see Brett not only breathing on his own, but sleepily looking to him. "Daniel. I have to thank you," he mumbled. "I understand you saved my life."
Danny came over to the bed. "I couldn't have done it if you hadn't gone all ghosty on me and got me to investigate and find the morgue."
Brett's eyes flickered. "What?"
Danny frowned. "You don't remember? You showed up and said my name, just like you did now. Only then you disappeared."
"I'm afraid I don't remember," Brett slurred. "Maybe when the anesthesia completely wears off."
"Well, it doesn't really matter if you don't remember," Danny said. "Just as long as you're going to be okay."
"I'm going to be fine, Daniel," Brett insisted. "And what about you? Will you be alright?"
"Me?" Danny retorted. "You're the one who died."
Brett fell silent. Perhaps death wasn't a subject he wanted to broach. ". . . We'll need to discuss what to do about Judge Fulton," he said instead.
Suddenly Danny wondered if Brett had somehow heard all of his anguished rantings. "Later," he said gruffly. "When you're not loopy from the drugs."
"Alright," Brett consented. "Later."
Danny could see he was wearying and was probably fighting sleep. "Look, I'm gonna let you drift off now, okay? Being deliberately knocked out isn't the same thing as getting a good night's sleep. We'll talk tomorrow or something."
Brett looked agreeable to that. "Then, goodnight, Daniel." His eyes were already closing.
"Goodnight." Danny hesitated, then briefly laid a hand on Brett's shoulder before turning to leave.
xxxx
Brett's recovery was not as long as Danny had feared. He rallied quickly over the next days and soon was able to go home to finish out the rest of his recovery there.
They had not discussed the Judge Fulton matter; Danny wasn't sure if Brett was avoiding it because he wanted to recover more first or because he didn't want to take a side-trip into discussing death. Danny had seen how much it had bothered him that first night, and since it bothered him too, he had been silently agreeable to not talking about it until Brett was feeling much better.
It was Brett who ended up bringing up the first matter at last, when he and Danny were alone the first night he was back in his apartment. "Well, Daniel," he said suddenly, following a stretch of silence between them, "have you given any more thought to what you're going to tell the judge?"
"I've given it a lot of thought," Danny replied, somewhat surprised and yet not really; he had known the topic was coming eventually. "I guess I'm kind of waiting on your decision."
"My feelings haven't changed. I still feel that we're doing something worthwhile." Brett reclined on the couch, covered in a blue robe. He watched Danny carefully, waiting for his reaction or reply.
Danny slapped his hands on his knees and stood, beginning to pace the length of the room. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid you were going to say," he grumbled. He stopped pacing in front of the couch, glowering at his friend. "Brett, you died! You know that, right? You weren't almost dead, or barely alive, you were stone-cold dead!" He smacked the back of his hand against his palm to emphasize the final three words.
"Yes," Brett said quietly. "I know that, Daniel." For one brief moment, a haunted look passed through his eyes.
"Then why the heck do you still want to do this?!" Danny burst out. "I don't know how to even explain how I'm standing here talking to you right now. Did you fight and claw your way back from the afterlife? Were you sent back?"
Brett's eyes clouded over more. If he knew the answer, he still didn't want to talk about it.
Recognizing that, Danny lowered his voice slightly and said, "I just know that I don't want to see you tempt fate again. No one gets lucky like this twice."
Brett sighed quietly. "If you don't feel the same way, I don't know how to explain it to you. The best way I can think of is that when a police officer or a soldier is wounded, many of them still believe in what they're doing and still want to keep working in that capacity when they've recovered."
"And some of them would rather throw in the towel," Danny came back immediately.
"Alright, I'll ask you this," Brett said without missing a beat. "If I tell the judge I'm still in, what will you do?"
Danny threw up his hands and turned away, starting to pace again. "I'd come back too," he admitted in resigned frustration. When he was almost across the room, he stopped and turned back. "You were right, you know, about what I thought of helping the judge. Yeah, I found it worthwhile. But I'm not trained to be a crime-fighter and I don't like seeing my friends die around me!"
"I don't like that either," Brett answered. "I hope we won't get into any situations like this again."
"But not even the threat of it is enough to make you stop." Danny shook his head and walked away from the wall. "You're crazy. And so am I, for getting ready to go along with it again!"
"You don't have to come back, Daniel," Brett told him.
"And leave you to deal with things all by yourself or break in a new guy? Nah. Not happening!" Danny came over and sat on the edge of the couch. "Face it, Your Lordship. You're stuck with me."
Brett smiled a bit. "Well then. Shall I phone the judge and give him the news?"
"Might as well," Danny sighed.
He helped himself to Brett's liquor while Brett placed the call. When it was done, Danny turned back to face his friend. "So what really happened when you died?" he asked.
Brett's eyes flickered as he set the phone aside. "To be perfectly honest, not much."
"What?" Danny said in disbelief. "How could 'not much' happen?"
"Mostly I fell completely out of awareness," Brett answered. "It was as though I was asleep." But he didn't face Danny when he said it. Instead, he poured himself a glass and leaned on the counter, staring off at the wall.
"I don't believe it," Danny insisted.
"Believe what you like," Brett retorted. "That won't make it any more true."
Danny took note of how much of the drink Brett downed in one gulp. "You made sure we talked about my problem," he said. "But what about yours?"
"I don't have a problem, Daniel." Brett swallowed the rest of the drink and slammed the glass on the counter.
"Oh yeah? Then why are you not sipping your drink like a proper English lord and almost breaking your glasses?" Danny countered. "Oh, you've got a problem, alright. You just don't know how to deal with it. What, was there never anyone around to talk about things with? Or were you expected to just never have anything you needed to talk about with someone?"
Brett spun around so fast, the hair fell in his eyes. "And who do I talk about something like this with?!" he snapped. "Shall I call up the Duke and tell him what it was like to be dead? Shall I tell the judge when we show up for our next assignment? Shall I tell you, when you already have a burden on your shoulders? Shall I decide I'm completely mad and try to forget the whole wretched affair?" He gripped the edge of the counter, his hand trembling and his knuckles white. "I vote for the latter."
"Why?" Danny shot back. "Why does it have to be that you're crazy? I could think I'm crazy for seeing your ghost!"
Brett flinched. "There must be some other explanation for that."
"Only there's not. And you really have to believe in it because it happened to you!" Danny yelled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if the neighbors were going to start calling and coming over to complain about the noise.
"I don't want to!" Brett cried.
"Well, too bad. I didn't want to believe you were dead, but I had to believe that!" Danny slammed his palm against the counter. "You'll just have to as well! Tell me what happened!"
"I can't open up about something like that!" Brett insisted.
"It's eating you up inside. You've got to open up to somebody!" Danny countered, his voice rising. "Why not me? I'm with you every day. We go on these crazy assignments together. I'm the one who was with you when you died. I'm the one who saw your spirit when you showed up to signal me to go to the morgue. I waited around the hospital for hours to find out if you were going to be okay! Yeah, why not me? As much as we might still hate to admit it, I'm probably the guy closer to you than anyone else!"
Brett stared at him for a long moment. Then, at last, he turned away and walked across the room, debating with himself. "Alright, Daniel," he finally said, subdued and sobered. "What happened to me was that I stayed right where I was. There was no Heaven, no Hell, only standing by and observing everything that happened without being able to intervene or be heard! Yes, I saw your grief-stricken rage at Judge Fulton. I heard every word you said. I saw you at the hospital and I watched you try to make peace with the judge." He took several steps closer. "I don't know why I was finally able to get through to you or why I was able to get back in my body after that happened. All I know is that what I experienced wasn't anything like what I've always been told death is like and I don't know what to make of that! It was closer to Hell than Heaven, and to be honest, I never thought I did anything so terrible that I would be slated to go down instead of up!"
Now Danny was the one staring. After a moment Brett stormed away in frustration. "You see? It sounds outlandish to you, too! How could I ever tell it to anyone else?! They'd lock me up! A Sinclair in the insane asylum. . . . That's never happened before and I don't intend to be the one to make it so!"
Danny shook himself out of his daze. "Hey, just a minute," he retorted, chasing after Brett and grabbing his arm. "It's not that. You're not going to any funny farm. If you heard and saw everything that happened, I can back you up on it. That proves right there that you haven't lost it."
Brett looked at him in surprise. ". . . That makes sense, I suppose," he conceded.
Danny gave a firm nod. "Of course it does. Actually, I've heard something about these near-death experiences people have had, and some of them say that if your ties to Earth are strong enough, you stay here for a while after you die instead of moving on in either direction."
Brett froze. "What?"
"Yeah! It doesn't mean you're getting stuck with going to Hell. It means you figure your business on Earth isn't finished and you can't go anywhere because of that." Danny slowly released Brett's arm.
Brett carefully processed that. "Well, I suppose that would fit my feelings at the time," he said. "I couldn't think of going anywhere when I saw how you were handling things."
Danny sighed. "So don't go thinking you're nuts or anything, okay? I thought I was loony when I saw your ghost outside the hospital. Just be glad I didn't keep thinking it!"
"I am glad," Brett said, still completely serious. "I meant it when I said you saved my life, Daniel."
"I just hope you're not going to need me to do it again," Danny grunted.
"That makes two of us," Brett said.
"But you know it's possible either of us could need saving if we're going back to work for the judge," Danny pointed out.
"Yes, I know," Brett said quietly.
"And we're still going through with it."
"I know I am."
Danny sighed heavily. "And I am too."
"Then let's drink to that, shall we?" Brett went back to the counter to pour another round. As he finished, he said, "Here's to our next round of cases. May they not involve any more experiences like this one."
"I'll second that," Danny said firmly. "But are you feeling any better now?"
Brett paused. "You've given me something new to think about, at least. It may take a while for me to fully be able to accept it and feel alright about what happened to me."
"Or maybe you never will feel alright about it," Danny said. "That's okay too. I don't think I'm going to get over it any time soon."
Brett sighed. "No, I don't suppose anyone really could." He took up his glass. "To our continuing health."
Danny raised his. "Ditto."
Brett stopped again, giving him a strange look. "'Ditto'? . . . Oh nevermind."
Danny smirked a bit.
They clinked glasses and started to drink.