Title: Thoughtcrimes: Pushed
Author: Snow'sLuckyCat aka johnsheppardluv (Me!)
Fandom: Thoughtcrimes
Categories: Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: Pre-Brendan/Freya
Summary: What happens when you're pushed to your limit? Agent Brendan Dean finds out. In more ways than one.
Note: Italicized words are Brendan's (or Brendan's conscience's) thoughts. Italicized words with a period and colon in front of the words or sentences are Freya's thoughts.
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"You two all right?"
"We're fine…we'll be fine."
I step away, satisfied with Freya's answer. I can't imagine what they're really feeling right now though. 'Cuz I know that I'm shaken up. And I've been here before. Except…
"Brendan?"
The voice breaks into my train of thought easier than normal. My head's a mess if jumbled thoughts anyway, so I welcome the verbal intrusion. At least I can focus on something else for a while, rather than dwell all my faculties upon the bloody "masterpiece" that is my first confirmed victim of a kill shot.
Normally, I'd be proud, but recent events have turned pride into nausea and happiness into mere relief…
"Brendan."
Again, her voice settles me attracts me, further out of my head and into the outer world of verbal communication.
"Yeah, Freya?" I manage to finally reply back.
"Have you ever shot anyone before?"
Her question turns my stomach even more than the actual act did, if that is even possible.
I can answer this…
No, no I can't tell her.
She'll think you're a coward…
Why is it still so hard to trust her with all of this?
"Brendan, please don't shut me out."
Just like that, she knows what I'm about to do. So, I do as she commands instead.
"No," I say flatly, truthfully, while still trying to keep my warring thoughts at bay.
There. I said it."I don't think you're a coward, Brendan."
She said it softly, quietly, and sincerely. I am relieved.
The pressure building from before, the headache gotten from getting bashed over the head with a frying pan, was not so relieving, however. It was pounding its way back into my skull, trying to get my undivided attention, now that the danger was over, and the adrenaline was at last wearing off.
Most people had fled upon seeing me and the gun. I recalled them screaming as I screamed past them. But, some were still standing in shock behind me, having been unable to get to the exits in time.
Looking from me to the dead man down on the ground with a new hole in his forehead in front of me. I'd put my gun away after confirming that he was dead and my job was done, but I could still feel their eyes on me, pinning my aching body into the guarded stance of a wary gunfighter.
Flat-footed and deadly.
Freya was standing near me still, holding her sister, and she holding Freya, in the throes of a tearful hug. Maybe some good would come out of this after all, and Freya's sister would finally be proud of her little sister or at least accepting of her.
Tired…exhausted, I waver, vaguely feeling myself collapse before I actually know exactly what's happening to me.
An odd lightness, a distant tingling begins in my feet, then works its up into my legs…
Falling to my knees in response to the pooling of numbness in my lower extremities, I distantly hear someone shouting. Freya? I feel hands…many hands…grabbing at me, slowing my descent. I feel the strange sensation of pulling for a few seconds more, until I come to a stop, and find myself lying against something soft and warm.
Freya?.:What's wrong?
My head hurts.
In response to my unspoken complaint, a fresh spike of pain shooting through my brain makes me close my eyes tightly.
.:That ice pack that the coroners tossed you at Zora's apartment didn't help?
I snort at this, laugh, then groan, as the laughter makes my headache worsen a bit more.
No. And don't make me laugh.
.:Honestly, I'm not surprised, Brendan. You really didn't keep it on very long…
But, it wasn't helping!
.:It was keeping the swelling down though, which is probably how you were able to drive, shoot straight, and save my sister all in the same day that you managed to get beaned on the head by a frying pan. I take it, that that's a new one for you?
I chuckle and ride the resulting wave of pain into near-oblivion.
I thought I told you to stop…making…me laugh…
Those are my last thoughts for a while, as I let someone's soft singing voice carry me away and into the encroaching darkness.
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Disinfectant spray. Hate the smell of that stuff. And in hospitals, there's an abundance of it. Mingling together with other odors, of which I care not to mention the names, it becomes a cocktail of sheer nastiness for any unsuspecting nostrils that are forced to smell the recycled air.
This is the first thing any of my senses notice. Before my eyes open and find Freya asleep in a chair beside me. Before my fingers brush up against the IV tube that's dripping fluids into me. Before my nose starts tickling from something plugged partway into my nostrils. A nasal cannula, I belatedly realize.
No more pain greets me though, which could mean one of two things. Either the doctor has got me on the good stuff, or I've been here for far too long to be healthy…
"Freya…" I whisper, when my eyes fully fall upon her.
She looks tired. I also could be seeing things, but there seems to be trails of pinkened skin just below her closed eyes. Crying? Now, I'm really worried. Did someone die? Was her sister okay? I can remember…
Her mocha eyes fly open suddenly and immediately focus my own drowsy, forest green pair.
"Brendan? Brendan. You're awake!" she shouts, upon finding that our gazes are locking familiarly.
"Looks that way," I whisper.
Her answering smile dazzles in its wideness.
"I'll go and get the doctor," she says, hurrying away before I can stop her.
"I'm not going anywhere," I call after her quickly retreating figure.
Minutes later, an extremely tall, rangy, sand-and-sun-colored man with piercing yellow-green eyes, a head full of black hair, and a toothy grin upon his face, comes into the room. He is closely followed by Freya, who gladly resumes her post, which includes her sitting at my bedside, with her right hand absently draped over my right arm.
"Well, hello there, Agent Dean," the big man says to me in greeting, once Freya is again comfortably settled. "It's a pleasure to finally see you awake and aware. I'm Dr. Moana. Do you know where you are?"
That's an easy one. "Hospital. New York," I say softly, grimacing at how gutteral, raspy, and weak my voice sounds at a normal speaking level.
"That's right, Agent Dean. Do you know why you're here?"
"Headache. Everything right before I collapsed and after is still kinda fuzzy though."
"I'm not surprised, Agent Dean."
"Please. Call me, Brendan."
"Well, then…Brendan…You gave your partner and I here quite a scare."
"Sorry 'bout that," I manage to mouth at Freya, who readily gives my arm a slight, painless squeeze of acceptance geared towards my apology.
.:Just don't do it again, okay?
Got it.
Dr. Moana continues on, completely oblivious of our exchange, physical or otherwise.
"…Anyway, you appear to have let your cold get the better of you over the last few days. It quickly developed into pneumonia…which might have had a factor in the headache you suffered just before blacking out."
"Hence the cannula?" I hazard, brushing a finger up against my nose pointedly.
"Hence the cannula," the good doctor nods. "…Of course, not helping out matters any was your unfortunate accident, which resulted in some slight brain swelling. What did your suspect hit you with? A nine-iron?"
"Close. A frying pan," I reply, cringing at the laughter that is surely about to come.
"A what?" Dr. Moana gasps in surprise at this. But, thankfully, there is no laughter.
"We went to her apartment and she was cooking when we got there, and…" I trail off, unable to recall what happened next.
Seeing my lost look, Freya worriedly eyes me before filling in the blanks for the curious doctor. I retreat inwardly, letting myself drift off into semi-consciousness. Already tired again. After just talking.
At least I know why I'm so run down now. The concussion was no surprise really. After what Freya said, I'm just glad I wasn't our longer. I easily could have been.
When I open my eyes again, I notice that Dr. Moana has gone and Freya's sitting next to me, eyeing me.
"Did you hear anything the doctor told you, Brendan?"
"Something about a concussion and pneumonia. Did he happen to also mention when I can go?" I ask, trying, but failing, to keep the impatience from my voice.
"What's your hurry?"
"I hate hospitals."
"Well, he said that he'd need you to stay here for another couple of days at least. It seems that you really ran yourself into the ground, Brendan. Is this a habit with you too though? With the prolonged hospital visits, I mean?"
"Not if I can help it," I mutter, closing my eyes again.
"What does that mean?"
Now, Freya should know what I'm feeling. After all, she was stuck in one, complete with the bonus addition of padded walls, for years. Rotting away amongst some very true crazies. When she herself was perfectly sane. So, this present attitude of hers is a bit unexpected. I figured she's back me up on at least the sentiment, if not the action.
"…Well," I try to start tactfully. It's just that you were in one yourself for so long. And they weren't really helping you, you know?"
"The silence was. They gave me books and left me alone. But – even then – I wasn't really alone," she muses quietly, pointedly pointing at her forehead.
"Then, you should understand how I feel! Being stuck here in this bed when we've got a case to close up…when I'm not sick…when…"
"Look…Brendan. Listen. We are not the same. You'll be stuck here…what…a couple days more and you'll feel a hundred percent better. I, on the other hand, was in Brookridge for eight years. Nearly a decade of my life has gone the way of the dinosaurs, never to be reclaimed. The doctors there...They didn't really make me better. They just separated me from the world for supposedly just a little while. Completely. This is why we are not the same; this is what separates us; so don't go on pretending that we are the same and that those eight years don't change things. Not even for a second."
"But, Freya…" I protest, startled by her passionate, angry declaration.
Abruptly, however, she snatches her hand away from my arm, as if scalded by my clammy skin, and stands. "Listen. I'll be back later. I got some…things…I need to take care of, okay?" she says, by way of explanation. "But, that does not mean it's okay for you to leave too. You need to get better, stronger, Brendan, before they'll let you back out into the world. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I nod numbly, tongue-twisted once more. She turns to go.
"Sorry about the comparison, Freya. I had no right to make it," I finally say just before she goes through the open doorway and out into the hall.
"That's okay, I really shouldn't have expected you to get the entire version of what happened from Michael. I'm lucky he told you anything at all about me. I'm sorry that I snapped at you," she says, calm once more.
As quickly as it'd come barreling in, her anger has faded into the background.
"Will you stay then? Keep me company?"
"I really have to go. My sister and I have a date. To talk about certain new developements..."
"Oh," I say, trying to not let my disappointment show.
"Like I said, I'll be back. Just rest up and try to get some more sleep, okay?"
"I'll try."
"That's a good boy."
She smiles once more and leaves.
And pushed to my limits though I may be, I also realize that I'm no longer alone and it looks like I won't again be so for a while yet. Which is a nice change. And I smile to myself. And do as she commands. I genuinely start resting up for the days and other cases that are, no doubt, just up ahead for me...for us…
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THE END?
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End Note: Okay. I need your help, readers. Should I go on with this a chapter or two longer, or should this really be 'the end' and I quit while I'm ahead?