Author's Note: I promised I'd be back, and I kept it. Please review!
Adam, Brock, and Danny were reeling at the news of Diana Reid's moving to Virginia. Danny was thrilled, but Adam and Brock were less than excited. They sat down at the table, with Adam starting the conversation.
"This isn't good."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"We have to do something now. If we don't he might remember, and that can't happen."
"You know she wasn't herself when she did that to him."
"I know, but that doesn't take the memories away. If Spencer even gets a glimpse of that, he'll never look at her the same way again."
"How do you know?" Brock countered.
"Because I have all of his memories. Do you really want him to know that during her first schizophrenic episode without William she locked her son in a closet for three days after threatening him with a knife? He had no food, no water, and no way out. He was left there to sit in his own filth until he figured out how to unlock the door. Even if you give her excuse of thinking he was a spy a second glance, it doesn't excuse the behavior. Would that really make him any better?
Brock lit a cigarette, filled with anger at the truth in Adam's words, but tried to keep his head on straight. He puffed smoke out, which made Adam roll his eyes in disgust. "No. I don't. But he'll figure it out eventually, with or without our help."
"We both know he couldn't handle it." Adam said, glowering.
"Maybe not before, but he's a man now. He don't need us protecting him no more."
"And what do you think will happen if he figures it out, huh? He won't need us anymore. And do you know what will happen then?"
Brock raised an eyebrow.
"He'll start picking us off one by one."
"Spencer wouldn't kill us!" He said slamming his fist on the table. Adam got up out of his chair and got right in Brock's face.
"If he won't do it personally, then you can bet his mind will make someone else to do it for him. And with all the killers he's seen... He could be killed himself, and the new personality would take over the body. And if Spencer was dead... There wouldn't be anything we could do to save him before we got picked off."
Brock's face was unreadable, but it was clear he'd heard what Adam said. Silence stretched over them for minutes before Brock responded.
"What if we all told him together?"
"Think about it Einstein, if he knows, we go. Do you really want him to stop you from going bar hopping or going to strip clubs?"
Brock mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. "No..."
"Exactly."
Brock exhaled, leaving a layer of smoke act as a curtain between Adam and himself. He was so tired all the time. Deep down, he wanted to be laid to rest. Or at least go down fighting. However, he couldn't ignore Adam's statement. If Spencer knew the truth, would it really help anything? More to the point, Diana wouldn't have any memory of the incident that pushed things too far. And if she were to find out that she was responsible for fracturing her son's psyche, the results could be disastrous. Still, Brock felt a sense of duty to Spencer. He couldn't let him live his life oblivious to his ailment. If there was a way to help, he had to find it.
The smoke cleared, and Adam's stern face was close up in his own.
"Listen good, Brock. I make the rules around here. I decide what goes and what doesn't. If you step out of line, I won't hesitate to take you down. So keep your mouth shut. That's an order."
Fury blazed up in Brock like a forest fire. No one told him what to do. He slammed his hands on the table and got right back up in Adam's face.
"You listen here, you tight-ass pussy- I don't take orders from nobody, especially conservative narcs like yourself. I ain't afraid of you. I done killed a man with my bare hands before, and I ain't afraid to do it again. You got two options right now- you let me be and I'll leave you alone, or you keep badgering me and Miss Allie will have some unscheduled shooting practice. Got it?"
It was a stalemate. Neither one would back down. They glared at one another for what seemed like hours. The friction between them was sparking the possibility of a huge falling out. Only when Danny came in did they calm down. He sensed their anger, and his lower lip began to tremble. They were quick to distract him.
Meanwhile, Spencer was driving home after another successful mission. Once he got home, he kicked off his shoes, hung up his belt, and got ready for bed. After a long day, he was excited for the sweet arms of sleep to envelop him so that he could relax at last. As he got under the covers, he felt at peace with himself.
He began to dream.
It was dark. Almost pitch black. The only light was from the crack under the door. He looked around, hoping to see something comforting, but there was nothing. Only darkness, only silence. The stench was revolting. After ten hours of holding it, he lost control and wet himself. There was embarrassment, and shame, but more prevalent was his hunger and thirst. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His stomach rumbled, screaming for food, but there was none to be found. Even though he was hungry, his stomach didn't dare make a sound. And he didn't intend to. Tears streaked down his face. The most poignant thing, though, was the fear. It was fear beyond anything he had ever felt. He trembled as though naked in a blizzard. He thought he had known fear before, but this was so primal. Suddenly, a shadow crossed the floor. He stopped breathing and made himself as small as possible.
Before anything else could happen, he bolted up in bed, panting. Brock sat on the other side of the bed, putting out his cigarette.
"We need to talk."
