A/N: Me again, sorry for the wait. I won't say much about this but I'm sorry it's so short. Dedicated to SarahDoll165.
Many thanks to Sanctuaria, ncat95 and DarknessAndDeath (x9!) for taking the time to leave a review, and to those who followed and added this story to their favourites lists.
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TRY NOT TO BREATHE
11
MAD WORLD
Of course it isn't his fault.
How could it be his fault?
None of these reassurances in fact do anything to stop the crushing flood of guilt that boils up through him when he sees how still and broken she looks, but it's nice to at least have one piece of information. It's been months since Lincoln left, and he had all but forgotten about SHIElLD, the Afterlife and all the other crap that went down - just not Daisy. Never Daisy.
He still thinks about her, thinks about how she changed her name and how he likes it and probably likes Daisy more than Skye ... she hasn't been in touch, and he's glad, because however much he's dying to see her again he doesn't want to go back to the dangerous life. He has a job, colleagues, friends ... No matter how much he enjoyed the company of Daisy's friends, he doesn't want to constantly be looking over his shoulder.
(Of course, he does enough of that anyway.)
The morning has been relatively normal but then Daisy stumbled in and collapsed during his lunch break. He went to his supervisor saying that he'd just received news of a family emergency and if he didn't leave now he might not make it in time, dragged her unconscious body into his car and left. Now they're at home, she's slumped on his bed and every door and window is locked with the curtains drawn.
"Daisy," he says, shaking her gently. She mumbles incomprehensibly. She has some bumps and bruises, a concussion and not much else, but the concussion is worrying enough. In retrospect, it was not perhaps the most intelligent idea to remove her from the hospital, but he doesn't have a clue how ordinary tests will react to her Inhuman abilities (or indeed how her Inhuman abilities will react to ordinary tests) and doesn't think he can risk exposing her, not without her knowledge.
What the hell happened here? Where are Simmons and all her science friends or whatever they're called, and why haven't they helped her? Are they dead? Was Daisy the only survivor?
"Daisy," he repeats, firmer this time, and she still barely reacts. He gets out the small torch on his keychain and shines it in her eyes, one by one. Definitely concussed.
Slowly and carefully, he patches up the cut on her temple, and then goes to wash his hands. There is a sharp edge on his tap, one that he usually avoids (he's not got the money to fix it at the moment). His hands are shaking, and he cuts his finger. The tap water runs pink. His blood mingles with hers and he struggles to remember which is which and then, all at once, it starts happening. He remember the feeling well, from countless nights as a teenager, and then later, after the drinking and the accident, and when he was learning to control his powers. It isn't important. It isn't even a fully fledged anxious disorder, really. The attacks aren't serious; the doctor told him to eat healthily, exercise regularly and avoid triggers; it isn't anything to worry about. Everyone goes through phases, and this is his.
But his whole body is shaking. He's sweating, his vision focusing in on his hands, unable to refocus ... his heart is pumping fast, too fast. There is a faint roaring in his ears, more of an echo than anything else. The air conditioning in here is broken and he suddenly registers how suffocatingly hot it is in the tiny bathroom. It's hard to breathe.
Lincoln staggers back out into the bedroom, where Daisy still lies. Of course it's his fault. He's the one who left. She was always reckless, but he stayed there and kept her in check and now -
(He doesn't want to think it, but what if she dies?)
(What if she dies and it's his fault?)
Everyone has their solutions to the attacks. Lincoln creates sparks. He holds his palms out facing each other and plays catch with them, sending one burst of electricity to be absorbed into one hand before sending it back again, watching the flashes of blue, watching the regular pattern until his breathing slows down again and he relaxes.
It seems to take hours. Perhaps he blacks out for a while, because as he blinks himself back into awareness, Daisy is stirring and she's looking over at him and smiling and croaking apologies and asking where she is. And he finds himself standing and smiling back and asking how she feels and checking on her, and maybe he doesn't have to hide any more. Maybe he can go back.
And then he curses himself for wanting that life back, and busies himself inspecting her head wound, and prays she doesn't notice the tremor in his hand that he can't seem to force away.
