WriterMonkey0626: Yay! Thank you!
Hoodoo: Mmm, yes, B.A. does have the tendancy to get sht in the leg, doesn't he? ;)
dramagoddess202: Y'know, it worried me at first, but then I thought: if Murdock can pull himself together for his team (when they're on missions) it only makes sense that he'd be able to do the same fr his own child.
MadTeaLady: I'm glad you think so! And don't worry, snivilus is off the name list!
danang1970: Thank you! And I do beleive any child of Murdocks and Shannons will certainly be different...mmm...*scribbles something on 'Ideas' list*
By the way, I've decided to start using actual dates where flashbacks are concerened, simply to make it easier for me.
September 11, 2001
It's just a day, just another day; morning, breakfast, work, in that order. She doesn't expect anything different when Murdock kisses her goodbye, doesn't know what lies ahead when she sits down at her desk and picks up her sketchbook; but when the phones start wringing and the crying breaks out she knows something's wrong. She's just about to ask Johnny what the hell is going on when his voice comes crackling over the intercom—and if she wasn't suspicious to begin with, that certainly would've set her alarms sounding, because the man hates to use the intercom—announcing that everyone can leave early, to be with their loved ones.
Shannon, her stomach folding in on itself with dread, turns to the woman in the adjacent cubicle.
"Hey, Brayden, do you know what's going on?" Brayden stares at her, green eyes swimming.
"You mean you haven't heard?" Shannon has to literally bite her tongue to keep back a sarcastic retort as she shakes her head, "There was a terrorist attack in New York. Two planes flew into the World Trade center." The two women stand there for a moment, staring helplessly at each other, before Shannon's body goes on autopilot; her legs carry her down the stairs and outside, her numb brain barely registering the fact that she left her purse at her desk as she starts the car. The deepest, most selfish part of her mind—the only section that's actually functioning—prays that Murdock has yet to turn on the T.V.; she can only imagine the buried horrors this event will bring to the surface.
(^.^)
He's nearly bitten off his fingernails by the time she gets home; the T.V. is as loud as it can get, the echoing screams filling the house as she goes to him and tenderly takes his hands in her own, barely seeing the blood.
Then she catches sight of the smoke filled screen and it's all she can do not to shriek as a man throws himself out of one of the top floors of the burning building; she stares, transfixed, at the flames licking up the twin towers like greedy tongues, the plummeting bodies and when the voice from the T.V. announces the death toll so far-a number she doesn't want to think about-she can't take it anymore, can't listen to it any longer so she presses the power button on the remote and puts her head on Murdock's shoulder.
They cry together, him weeping for the past and her for the present.
(^.^)
She comes around in the night, gasping from her own nightmare; it's the whimpering that wakes her—it always starts with a whimper—and she rolls over to see him curled into a ball on his side, the blankets creating a twisted, sweaty barrier between them. She double checks for any blood—once, she found him in a similar position, crimson streaks staining the sheets as he clawed at his ears, trying to block out Voice—and when she sees none she stands up and turns on all the lights—the dark will only make it worse—and crosses to his side of the bed.
"Murdock." She whispers, kneeling down; he's pulling out his hair, his eyes blank with horror—he can't see me, she realizes—so she says his name again, and again, trying to bring him back, as the whimpers turn to half strangled moans, "Murdock. James, James, James!" She screams the last syllable, but he doesn't react, can't pull himself out of whatever cruel world his mind has locked him in.
She knows not to touch him—learned that the hard way—so she slowly draws the remaining sheet off of him and turns on the A.C.; usually the cold is enough to drag him out of whatever fresh Hell he's in. And then she positions herself on the floor near his head and waits for him to return.
(^.^)
January, 2001
She's making pancakes—the only thing she can cook without setting off the smoke alarm—when he walks in, the exhaustion that always accompanies an attack evident in the deep pits underneath his eyes; he glances at the batter sitting next to the stove, then at her, standing with a dripping whisk in her hand and his purple heart-dotted apron around her waist and he knows.
"It happened again, didn't it?" when she nods he exhales and closes his eyes, the buzzing aura of energy around him dissipating, "Did I hurt you?" she shakes her head, before remembering that he can't see her.
"No." He's at her side in an instant, his emerald gaze—half Murdock, half Voice—analyzing her face, "Murdock, I'm ok." He leans against the counter, relieved.
"That's the third one this week." His voice is low, almost defeated; he's always had attacks, but for the past month they have become more and more frequent.
"I know." She goes to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder, "It's ok. We'll figure it out."
"Shannon…I don't..." He puts his hands on her biceps, pushes her away, as his eyes drill holes into the wall behind her, "I don't know what's going on…every time the lights go out…they try to drown me, Shannon, they want to bury me…" His hands go to his hair, alternating between pulling it out and smoothing it down, "…I don't know…I don't know why, but I can't push them away anymore, I can't…can't…ignore them…"
"Is it your meds?" she asks after a moment, "Are the pills not working anymore? 'Cause if you need new ones I can get them…"
"No." The word is so final, so solid, that she automatically goes on the defensive.
"Why not? I can do it, Murdock, I mean I got the Clorazepate when you needed it, didn't I?"
"Yeah, and you almost couldn't pay Auntie J's medical bills after that." He suddenly starts pacing, shaking his head and his hands, as if there's something on them, "I can't ask you to do that again, I…I won't." There's silence for a few minutes.
"Then what do you want to do?" he stops and stares at her; he's barely opened his mouth before she knows what he's going to say, "No. No, you are not leaving, no sir, most certainly not."
"Shannon…"
"Nope. We've been through this and it's not happining, it's just not happening."
"I can't keep doing this to you!" He shouting, why is he shouting? His chest is heaving and she can see from his wild eyes that his fingers are breaking, that's how hard he's holding on to himself, "Don't you see? I'm hurting you, Shannon."
"Murdock, you've never touched me."
"But I almost did." He can't seem to look at her, "Remember? I almost did. A lot of times."
"But you didn't. You always woke up."
"What if I hadn't? What if…what if I hurt you?"
"Murdock." His name slips out as she takes a few steps towards him, "Murdock, that's not you. When you have a…a nightmare, it's not you. You're gone and…I know you, and that's not you, damnit. And you won't ever hurt me. You'll always come back."
"You don't know that." He's tired, so very tired, she can see that, and the horrible truth is that he's right, she doesn't know, but she has to hope, because the alternative is almost too agonizing to think of, but she can tell, she knows that that's what he's thinking of doing...
"Don't leave!" The words are pulled from her before she can stop them, "Please, please, Mom left and so did Auntie J and I couldn't bear it if you left me to." She's begging, she knows she's begging and it's pathetic, absolutely miserable, but she can't bring herself to stop as she crosses the room and buries her wet face in his shirt, "Please." It's so wretched and weak, that word, but somehow it works, because he's rubbing gentle circles on her back and soothing her with that maple-syrup voice of his.
"Ok, Shannon. Ok." It's not a promise, not the certainty that she wants, but for now it's enough.
I felt that the dark, scary part of Murdock's illness was not shown properly in the previous chapters, and I wanted to tie the events of 9/11 into the story, as a way of acknowledgeing and honoring those who died that day.