Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
Breathe through the pressure that seems to settle on lungs as the scene is set and played out. Three are outsiders, pillars and unconscious guardians to the two who hover in their midst. Of the two, the male stands soldier steady, patient and warm. The last, the supernova, burns cold, trapped still by the claws none of them can see.
But all can sense.
There's a demon in the room.
Sam can hear it cackling, just beneath the sounds of his breathing.
"Alright," Nick's exclamation breaks the trance that has settled upon the room. "Let's get you out of here," he tells Andy quietly, lightly encircling her wrists to help her up. He carefully avoids the red stained bandage and doesn't comment. Sam gets the sinking feeling that Nick has grasped some piece of crucial information that continues to dance out of reach.
"You shouldn't have to do this," Andy mumbles distractedly, not quite able to focus on anything in particular.
"Would you let anyone else?" Nick asks, glancing back over his shoulder to offer a pained smile. You should go, he mouths to Gail and Traci, not bothering to even acknowledge Sam. The suggestion is more of an implied order, that all of them allow to wash over their. A flicker of anger crosses the soldier's face; Sam can almost see his restraint as he fights not to growl at them.
Instead, he turns back to Andy just as she mumbles something unintelligible.
"What was that?"
"I said you were right," Andy snarks, fire snapping to life. It quickly dies, but its there and a small amount of relief seeps into everyone's bones.
What they don't see is Nick's smirk as he tugs once more, insistently, on Andy's arms.
Andy slowly uncurls from herself and sets her feet tentatively on the floor. It hits Sam then what he is seeing, as he watches her meet Nick's steady gaze. Her eyes gleam in the harsh lights, not with the calculations and clarity of a cop, or the happiness and kindness that encompassed this woman, but with the simple fear and tortured innocence of a child.
Sam feels sick again. He has lost count how many times this has happened already.
Tentatively pushing to her feet, Andy watches Collins solely, entirely unaware that Sam, Traci and Gail are even in the room. Out of the fog that hovers, Sam hears Traci gasp once, softly, when the terrycloth towel Andy is wrapped in begins to slip and there is no move to stop it.
A haze clouds.
Without a hitch, Nick releases the bandaged arm and carefully fixes the fabric with practice ease, and it occurs to Sam them, that this has happened before. When this strikes home, details begin to knit together, and he wonders how he missed it. How could he possibly have missed something so broken inside the lion heart?
Nick's movements break some of the trance like intensity hovering about Andy and she blinks, clarity shimmering into reality.
She stumbles once, and for an instant when her bare feet skid on the cold linoleum, Sam is reminded of Bambi.
"Oh," she murmurs, catching herself and peering around. Leaning heavily against Nick's chest, she stares for a long moment at the three others that ring them. That stand useless.
Then something clicks and fear, pure and undiluted, crosses her face.
"Nick, they can't be here," she hisses, shrinking away. "They can't see!" There is panic now, blooming to life off inside an already overwhelmed soul.
"Easy, easy, Andy," Nick soothes. "They found you in the shower. I got here after. Calm down," he waits until her flight response slows before he pulls her into a hug, where she burrows her face into his shoulder.
Now, this time when Nick turns to regard Sam, Traci and Gail, he speaks aloud and there's no questioning the order this time around.
"I've got this. Go. Tell Frank we won't be there for Parade."
Sam opens his mouth to argue, but Nick levels him with a glare that holds nothing but warning.
So his mouth snaps shut with a click and he strides from the room, even as a piece of him is left behind. Vaguely, he hears Gail and Traci follow, but doesn't bother stopping as he leaves behind the locker rooms. He aims himself toward the Parade room, hopes he'll make it there, and walks.
Then suddenly, he's spinning backwards and away, the impact of shoulder to shoulder entirely unexpected. Blinking, he flails slightly for balance, stumbling as he sees Marlo in an equally, if more graceful, dance like quickstep to stay upright. Not Bambi. So far from a baby deer.
"Oh," he says blankly. "Sorry."
She opens her mouth to say something, but by then, gets a good look at his face. Her jaw snaps shut. Pale face, tense lines, sweaty brow. Tortured eyes. Wild eyes. Angry and snapping wolf eyes.
So she holds. Impasse.
Gears churn and pieces click but don't quite mesh together the way they should.
She tells him only this, "you look like shit. Go home."
It's the only warning she can give him because, despite so much belief to the contrary, she knows him enough to understand that with wolf eyes, this man cannot be at work, not today. It will only lead to bad police work and, more than likely, an explosion of some sort that could destroy him.
However, what she fears the most and what is the most probable, is an implosion.
Put wild feelings in a bottle, add a splash of whatever had put that look in Sam's eyes, and shake it up, the internal reaction will fizzle and bubble until, fizz, frozen solid. Worse than dynamite dependent on how you look at it.
Those wolf eyes sharpen as her words register but he doesn't acknowledge them. Instead, he nods once and walks away.
He forgets to aim and finds himself standing in the biting wind at the mouth of 15 Division. He can't bring himself to turn around.
Back at the woman's locker room entrance, Marlo fights the urge to chase after the man and turns just as Gail and Traci emerge. She nods to the officer and detective and makes go in. Oddly, she is stopped by a hand on her arm.
"Don't go in there, uh, someone was just sick and they're trying to clean it up. Give them a minute," Nash tells her, but there is something more there. None of this rings as the truth, at least not the whole truth.
That's when the pieces that have clicked start to mesh.
"I have these… episodes sometimes," comes the quiet voice, echoing metallically through the air of the art gallery. It is unexpected and startling, which causes curious and wary eyes to find the tiny and hunched up form of McNally.
"What?" is asked, cautious, possible dangerous ground.
The face of the younger woman turns and all Marlo can see is a battleground etched into her features.
"You asked for a secret. Secret for a secret. I have bad days where I remember things I shouldn't."
The olive branch extends further.
"Okay," Marlo breathes quietly. She is enough cop and woman and person to know that this is not something to push for. This is a show of faith, of possibility, that cannot be severed by rashness.
She waits.
McNally puffs out a breath, shifting the hair that has fallen across her brow. It dances softly, briefly, in the yellow glow cast upon the room. Their containment chamber.
"When I was eight, something happened to me that I didn't remember. Couldn't remember I guess. My mind just didn't want to accept it. And that was good. Good that I didn't know. But not that long ago, I think my brain decided to fix itself. And I remembered. And so I have days where I don't particularly … enjoy life."
Silence booms.
"Okay," Marlo repeats.
Then.
"Thank you."
Neither secret is further discussed.
Marlo grimaces as she peers past Peck and Nash into the maw of the locker room. She can only guess what's happened, trying to form a picture with only half of the details, but she knows that there is little she can do.
And from what she saw in Sam (Sam who still loved McNally even when he tried so hard not to, Sam that Marlo knew was in love with another woman but was oddly unruffled by such, Sam that would never face up to his feelings until too late), nothing anyone else could really do.
The surprise of the day will continue to be Collins.
But Marlo will be the only other who understands, to the best she can, what occurred. At least she will be today.
"Alright," she tells the two women who stand guard and walks away. Gail and Traci look at each other, confusion evident in both their frames, before they break away, Traci to speak to Frank in the mere minute remaining before Parade begins and Gail to slip into the back of the meeting room before anyone starts to look for her.
Frank and Traci slip in seconds later, one with focus touched with a sliver of sympathy for his officer suffering from the stomach flu, and the other with worry as she scans the room for her partner and finds him missing.
Sam doesn't show for Parade.
This is unsurprising for two people. Only concerning.
Unbeta'd. If you see errors, I'd love it if you point them out.
I was a day off of my self imposed deadline; sorry.
THANK YOU all so much for the overwhelming response to the first chapter! Wow!
The chapter I believe all of you are waiting to see is next; parts of it were originally in here, but I had to cut it down after I changed it up a bit.
I'm a bit nervous about throwing in some Poison Pill references; wasn't my original intention but it worked really well. Please, do let me know what you think about the flashback bit.
As always, thanks for reading.
