A Grief Observed
LA
Two years ago
two weeks after being released from Jarod's dungeon
Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. - C.S. Lewis - A Grief Observed
"How could you not help me?"
"It is your fault I'm dead."
"He wants to play games."
"You hurt me, Eric."
"It's your fault."
"It's your fault."
"It's your fault."
"NOOOOOOOOOO," Eric shouts, and tries to get his breathing under control. His legs are tangled in the blankets, and he can hear his heart pumping blood desperately in his chest.
Another nightmare plagued night. He looks at the clock on the bedside table, and the numbers glare back at him. Three twenty in the morning.
He was able to get what, two hours of sleep.
He leaves the bed, and gingerly goes to the bathroom. Once the lights are on, he studies the reflection in the mirror, and sees a stranger looking at him.
Very skinny, because of the loss of body mass during their captivity and undernourishment, he still has some bruises of the beatings he received for not being a willing participant in that bastard's games.
His wounds were minor, compared to the mental anguish and torture endured by the the other three victims who survived months, some even years in captivity. And then there's Joy…
He leans down, and feels bile coming up, even though he had nothing for dinner the previous evening. The doctors were carefully optimistic, but had ordered the family to say their goodbyes, as the shot had punctured the pleural lining of her lung, and even though they drained off the fluids from her lung, she developed an inflammation in it, which greatly debilitated her already fragile body.
She had been in a coma for two weeks, and it was his fault.
He opens the bathroom cabinet on the wall, and studies the antidepressant pills and the pain meds he was prescribed. He had been through therapy with a licensed psychologist at the Bureau, and he has been working through some issues with her.
He had been cleared for light desk duty, until further notice, no field trips.
He puts the pain meds back in the cabinet, and takes one of the antidepressants dry. The pain meds had a very strange effect on him, and he had to work the following morning.
At least the antidepressants wouldn't give him more nightmares, not that he needed more than he already had.
NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS
"Hey man, how are you doing?"
Eric looks around to see who is talking to him, and sees his Quantico colleague Warren Burns standing right behind him in the line for the buffet. He had already gotten his things, but was waiting like a puppy for the breadcrumbs of attention Eric would show him sometimes.
"Hey Burns."
"You look better than last time I saw you, was it what, three days ago?" Eric always thought that Burns was like an overgrown puppy, or a restless Chihuahua, running after a bone. He never really figured out that Eric did not consider him his friend, he just accepted his presence as part of the job.
"Thanks I guess." Eric moves down the line and starts putting food on his plate.
"I was going through the forensic evidence of your case, and I have to say that I was right, he kept the earlier victims as trophies indeed, and the detailed workmanship he used to inflict pain without …"
"Burns," says Eric between his teeth.
"What?"
"I'm going to eat, and I have no wish to revisit that particular case. So, if you don't mind…" he waves his hand, indicating that Burns should move and leave him alone.
But Burns is not someone who is easily dissuaded, and keeps talking.
"Have you heard the latest news?"
"No, but I'm sure my ignorance will not last much longer," he says, his voice laden with irony, but Burns doesn't really notice the unwillingness of his colleague and keeps talking.
"They are saying that Garnett's lawyers are going to plead insanity, trying to save him from the Gas Chamber."
Eric puts a bottle of water along with his food on his tray. He opens it and takes a deep gulp of it.
"Really?"
"Yes."
He starts walking towards the pay line, but Burns is still following him. He stops and Burns bumps with him, almost sending his tray to the floor and his bottle of water falls on the floor. The lid wasn't properly closed, and the water starts flowing out of it.
Eric looks pissed at Burns, who looks properly chagrined at the older agent.
"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, here take mine," he gives him his own bottle of water, "I've opened it but I didn't drink any of it."
Eric stares at Burns, grabs the bottle and leaves to pay for his food. He, unfortunately, didn't see the maniac glee on Warren Burns' eyes when he saw the agent drinking from the bottle.
"Drink, drink more, my friend." He mutters, darkly.
NCIS NCIS NCIS NCIS
Dimitri watches the erratic behavior from his desk bound agent worriedly from his office. Since the abduction and subsequent torture by Garnett's hands, his young profiler hasn't been the same. After the traumatic rescue and the mandatory debriefing, he was submitted to some mandatory counselling sessions with one of the Bureau's approved psychologists, and reinstated to desk duty only one week after their rescue.
However, Dimitri wasn't sure that the sessions were resulting in any positive outcome. If anything, Eric tried to transmit self-control and indifference towards what happened to him, but Dimitri could see the cracks beginning to appear in his polished mask. His tired looks and dark circles around his eyes were silent witnesses of sleepless nights, and he was still losing weight, despite the medical warnings that he should eat more.
Never profile a profiler, thinks Dimitri. He looks down at the report given to him by the Bureau assigned psychologist, and the sycophant idiot gave his agent's recovery glorious praise. He wasn't able to see the fading light in his eyes, the hunched manner of his shoulders whenever he was alone, the absence of inappropriate jokes in inopportune times, and the restless staring at the empty chair of his partner, who right now lingered between life and death, unfortunately more dead than alive, in a hospital a couple of miles away.
Dimitri slowly returns to his desk, and moves the mouse, stopping the screensaver and opens a new email addressed to AD Klein. He pauses for a moment, and looks out at the bullpen through the glass walls, where his agents are silently working through the evidence of their latest case.
He sighs, and starts typing.
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