Title: Forgotten
Author: Titan5
Summary: Freya almost loses Brendan, only to discover that Brendan may have lost a part of himself.
This was a response to a challenge at the Thoughtcrimes community at livejournal, but I can't post it there yet because it's apparently too long and I haven't figured out how to do chapters over there. There are brief references to my previous stories (Assassination and The Price of Honor), but you shouldn't be lost if you haven't read them.
Thoughtcrimes: Forgotten – Part 1
"Darrell is the key to this whole thing, I guarantee it," said Brendan as he popped up out of his chair and began pacing back and forth. He rubbed his chin a few times as he walked and then turned to Freya, waving his index finger in her general direction. "All we need is a little more evidence and we can get him and his rich friends off the streets for good. I just need that one . . . something . . . that ties everything up in a neat package." What am I missing?
Freya rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, purely for Brendan's benefit. "Who said you missed anything? I somehow doubt that's even possible, considering how you led us to them in the first place." Freya shook her head as she watched Brendan start pacing again. He was driving himself crazy over yet another case. She was pretty sure he'd been up here all night sifting through the evidence gathered so far. He didn't look as if he'd shaved or slept and he'd barely eaten three bites at lunch. She'd noticed that his face was thinning out again and his pants beginning to sag, even with the belt. The case had drug on for over a month, so it was inevitable.
It had actually begun almost six weeks ago with the kidnapping of a twelve-year old girl. Her parents were well off, but far from the richest people around, and the ransom had been moderate at $250,000. The family had paid and gotten her back before they contacted the authorities. Most of the evidence was obliterated or worthless by the time the FBI had been brought in. The NSA got involved because the father of the girl worked for a sensitive government office.
A bomb threat followed about a week later, targeting the convention center where several international speakers were attending a diplomatic conference. Brendan was the reason they connected the two occurrences. The partial description one of the security guards at the convention center gave of a young man he tried to confront in a back hallway just before the threat was called in matched the partial description the kidnapped girl had given. Neither of them had seen the man long enough for a real identification, but the similarities seemed to indicate a possible connection. There hadn't been a bomb in the convention center, leading authorities to wonder if it had been a prank or a scouting mission.
A second kidnapping came fifteen days after the bomb threat. The sixteen-year old daughter of a real estate guru worth millions was snatched from a classmate's birthday party at the local country club. The parents called in the FBI immediately, who then called the NSA since it seemed to be connected to the other cases. The attempted ransom drop was a disaster, but the girl was dropped off at a bus station anyway. She was alive, but had been gang-raped and roughed up pretty badly. Brendan had taken that one personally. Freya refrained from commenting on Brendan's visit to the bathroom to empty his stomach after interviewing the girl. He'd refused to let Freya near the girl, not wanting his partner to have those particular memories trapped in her head.
But the second kidnapping had also provided some evidence. From talking to the girl, they had eventually pieced together the area where the girl had been held. When they found the old, abandoned house that had been used, most of it had been destroyed in a fire the day before. The only thing of any use was a watch that had ended up behind the old refrigerator in the kitchen. Protected by the huge appliance, it had received minimal damage. The watch was relatively rare and very expensive, not something you'd expect to find in a falling-down house in one of the poor districts.
Once again, Brendan's memory had provided the lead. He'd studied the watch for twenty minutes, turning it over time and time again while he mumbled to himself. Freya had been fascinated, listening to his inner musings about why the thing looked so familiar. Then, he'd jumped up and announced to anyone around that he remembered. He'd seen it on the son of an executive they had interviewed almost a year before when his company had been involved in smuggling weapons to drug dealers in South America. The family had, of course, insisted the watch had been stolen while pointing out there was no way to be sure the watch in evidence had ever belonged to BJ McDonald. Although the father, Terrance McDonald, had immediately hired a fancy lawyer when they went to question the boy, it had at least given them a starting place.
The following investigation had revealed that BJ McDonald, a student at the local university, was part of a group of rich college buddies that ran wild according to the other students. They were rude and disrespectful to their teachers, terrorized students that were alone, and cheated on just about everything. They had been caught vandalizing school property once, but a sizable contribution from some of the parents resulted in the charges being dropped. The more they studied the group, the more convinced they became that the group nicknamed the four Diablos was not only responsible for the string of crimes they were investigating, but also for a rash of burglaries in the area. Freya had gotten close enough to gain some good information linking them to the series of crimes, but nothing they could use in court. The circle of lawyers now surrounding them kept the NSA from learning more.
Brendan maintained there was a giant hole they hadn't plugged yet. A leader. He was convinced that none of the boys were smart enough or organized enough to have made the detailed planning necessary for the kidnappings. He followed and studied and had Freya try to get close enough on campus to pick something up. They had finally uncovered the one member of the group that wasn't rich and kept a low profile. Darrell Griffith. He was a year older than the other boys and a Criminology major. Classmates described him as being smart, quiet, and very creepy. Unfortunately, they had been unable to locate Darrell so that Brendan could talk to him while Freya eavesdropped on his thoughts.
"Brendan?"
Brendan and Freya both looked up at Merriweather as she approached and handed him a piece of paper. "Another bomb threat was just called in, this time at the Galloway Office Center."
Brendan and Freya were already headed for the door when he called, "Thanks," over his shoulder.
oOo
They were waved past the police cars blocking off the street and straight into what Brendan could only describe as a three-ring circus, no matter how cliché it sounded. Scattered in front of the twenty story building were fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars, both marked and unmarked. To the right of the building was a five story parking garage and to the left was an old empty office building slated for demolition. The old building was only five stories and more space was needed, so they were tearing it down to build a new forty story building in its place.
As they got out of the car, Agent Kunzel handed Brendan a Kevlar vest. Pulling off his jacket and throwing it in the back seat of the car, he grabbed the vest and began securing it, firing questions at Kunzel the whole time.
"How did you guys get here so fast and what do we know so far?"
Kunzel motioned toward the chaos around them. "We were on our way back to the office when the call came in and just happened to be close. Fire department is clearing out the last of the people in the building and they've started their sweep of the upper floors."
Brendan nodded as he finished with the vest and began checking his weapon. "What did the threat say?"
Kunzel sighed. "Attwell is here and being very large and in charge, so you'd better talk to him." George Attwell was head of the local city precinct and didn't like anyone trying to take jurisdiction in his part of town.
"Great," muttered Brendan. "Tell me he doesn't have that stupid cowboy hat on."
Kunzel grinned and nodded. "Oh, yeah, and the boots too."
Brendan groaned. Attwell was originally from Texas and was convinced if you wore a cowboy hat and boots, that meant you were a man to be reckoned with. He only put on the hat in public when he wanted to make a statement. Brendan thought the statement he actually made was 'look at the redneck sheriff trying to be a big city cop'. Brendan turned to Freya. "Maybe you should stay back here, in case this gets ugly."
"Attwell's involved, so it's already ugly."
Brendan grinned at her. That was good, and accurate too. "You know what I mean. I don't want to have to worry about you."
Freya's smile turned quickly into a scowl. "We'll discuss how chauvinistic that was later, but for now my answer is then don't worry. I'm a big girl, Brendan, you should know that by now, and I can take care of myself. Besides, I have to worry about you all the time, so why shouldn't it work the other way?"
Brendan sighed and looked up at the building, then back to Freya. "Fine, why do I even try with you?"
Freya shrugged her shoulders as they began to walk toward the man in the cowboy hat who seemed to be the center of attention. "I have no idea, but it wastes a lot of time."
What do you mean you worry about me all the time? Never mind, tell me later.
Attwell was five feet five if he stretched, with a large round belly and skinny legs. Most of the law enforcement community referred to him as Mr. Potato behind his back, or sometimes Sheriff Potato. He was rude and abrupt and took credit for work that wasn't his, which explained his current position of authority. That and he had a reputation for brown-nosing surpassed by none.
Attwell glared at Brendan as he drew closer. "Dean."
Brendan returned the sentiment. "Attwell. What did the caller say?"
"You can go home now, Dean, we have this under control."
Brendan took a deep breath, remembering Harper's speech about trying to get along with the locals. "We think this is related to a case we've been working on for over a month. If it is, the violence level has been steadily escalating and these guys are under the gun. There's a very real chance this isn't a hoax. Did they ask for money?"
Attwell's second in command was a seasoned cop named Jerrod Valinsky. He was about a foot taller than his boss and slender without being skinny. His broad shoulders spoke to his strength and the excellent shape he kept himself in. Valinsky was a likeable guy who thought all cops should work together to keep the bad guys in check and not worry about who got the glory. Which meant he'd gone as far up the ladder of political success as he was going to go.
"I don't give a rat's ass what you think, Dean, this is our case." Attwell was working up to a full blown red-in-the-face shout out when Valinsky interrupted.
"Sir, what will it hurt to share information with the NSA? Maybe they could help us keep from getting the building blown up. The brass won't be very happy if people are killed and we had a chance to avoid it and turned it down." Valinsky had been at this a while and he knew just what to say.
Attwell stuttered for a moment and then began to sulk. "Fine, but you handle coddling the Feds. I have important business to attend to."
Valinsky nodded and led Brendan and Freya several feet away.
"Thanks," said Brendan.
Valinsky shrugged his shoulders. "If you guys know something that can help, I don't see any reason to shut you out. The caller said that a bomb had been planted and would go off sometime before dark, at his discretion, so if we didn't want people killed, we'd better evacuate. He wanted two hundred thousand dollars wired to an out of country account before," Valinsky used his fingers to make air quotes, "he got bored."
Freya and Brendan exchanged a look. "Sounds like our guys," she said.
"Jenny!" The shrill panicked voice cut through the surrounding noise like a beacon. They all looked around to see a young woman trying to break away from two police officers, sobbing and screaming as she struggled. Brendan immediately dodged through the cluster of emergency personnel to get to the woman just as the police partially calmed her down.
"What's the problem?" he asked sharply.
The distraught woman grabbed the front of his vest. "Jenny is missing. We got separated on the way out and I thought she was with my mother, but she isn't. I think she's still inside. Please, you have to get her out. She's only six."
Valinsky got on his radio, trying to determine if the girl was with the people that had been evacuated but separated from her family. Brendan made his way to the front of the crowd, studying the front of the building. He stepped out of the crowd and moved closer to the building, particularly focusing on the door. Not sure of why, he stopped and glanced next door, to the building slated to be brought down in a few days. A child came stumbling out of the doorless front of the building and she looked like she was crying. Brendan ran.
Brendan didn't know why he felt the sense of urgency that he did, but he ran as fast as he'd ever run before. He scooped the child up, spotting movement from the back of the building in his peripheral vision. Not feeling like he had time to investigate, he wheeled around and ran toward the crowd in the street with the crying child cradled in his arms, his lungs beginning to burn. He was halfway between the building and the safety of the emergency equipment when something struck him in the head and everything went immediately black.
oOo
Freya watched as Brendan took off across the open space in front of the buildings and was surprised when he headed toward the empty one. It had been too fast to get a reading on what he was thinking. It was almost as if it had been a reflex action. The speed with which he was covering ground made her nervous, almost as if he knew something she didn't. She didn't see the girl until he had almost reached her.
"Jenny!"
The panicked woman was jumping up and down and screaming just two feet away. She grabbed Freya by the arm and shook her soundly. "That's Jenny, he has my Jenny."
Freya took a firm hold on the woman's wrist and tried to still her. "Brendan won't let anything happen to her," she said, hoping to calm the woman.
The sudden and sharp crack that echoed through the air was followed by an eerie silence. She watched in shock as Brendan's body jerked back at an angle and fell lifelessly to the ground. She stood frozen to the spot, waiting on him to move. After a few seconds, people around her began to move forward as the now screaming girl rolled off Brendan's still form and began running toward her mother, who had also surged forward.
"Brendan," she finally whispered roughly, shaking the numbness away. She took a few steps, intending to follow the emergency personnel that were ducked low as they ran toward Brendan and the girl. The next thing she knew, the ground rocked violently and it sounded like the world had exploded. She was thrown to the pavement along with those around her as a series of boom, boom, booms threatened to shatter her eardrums. When the shaking finally stopped, she looked up to see that the abandoned building was now a smoking pile of rubble. The paramedics and police officers that had started for Brendan had now reached him and began moving some of the smoldering and burning rubble that landed around him. Freya couldn't tell if any of it had hit him or not.
Sounds shrieked all around her. Alarms, sirens, people screaming, debris still fluttering down to hit things. Smoke and ash billowed out, making it seem like she was in a dense fog, one that burned the lungs. Her head was filled with the panicked thoughts of fear and pain from those around her, bringing her to her knees when she tried to stand. There were too many and she was too rattled to block them all out. She couldn't think and she couldn't breathe. She looked up again, trying to see Brendan, but all she could see was heavy, black smoke in the direction where he'd been lying motionless on the ground. She wondered if he was alive as the cloud of darkness overtook her and the chaotic sounds faded away.
oOo
A coughing spell woke Freya and she was immediately aware of hands helping her sit up, supporting her as she tried to breathe with lungs that felt full of hot ash. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled and she felt something pressing against her face. When she took a swipe at the offensive object, hands shifted to pull her arms down. She faded for a few moments and then realized that she could breathe again. It still felt a little like someone was sitting on her chest, but at least she was getting some much needed air.
"Freya, can you hear me?"
She recognized the voice. Michael. What was Michael doing in her room? She fluttered her lids, working to pry her eyes open. "Michael?" Her voice was rough and gravely and her throat felt raw.
A relieved smile crossed his face. "Yeah, it's Michael. Just take it easy, the doctor says you're going to be fine."
Freya's mind finally caught up to the fact that she was lying on a gurney in an emergency room. The head of the bed was elevated, no doubt to help her breathe, and an oxygen mask was the intrusive apparatus she'd felt on her face. Looking around, she took in the fact that she had on a hospital gown and was connected to a cardiac monitor. Another monitor was clipped to her finger and someone had started an IV in her other arm.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice sounding odd and muffled under the mask.
You don't remember?
Freya frowned and tried to settle her thoughts. Her eyes suddenly shot open as she pictured Brendan being thrown to the ground by some invisible force. "Brendan!" she cried as she tried to push back the covers and sit up. Michael pushed her back down, holding her shoulders.
"Freya, you need to lay still. Calm down." Another set of hands joined in as Michael pleaded with her to settle down. A nurse had entered the room and was also trying to keep her in bed. Her strength finally gave out and Freya relaxed back against the thin mattress. Michael and the nurse let her go and stood back up.
"Miss McAllister, you really need to stay still," the nurse admonished as she checked the monitor connections and the IV line. "You took in quite a bit of smoke."
"Sorry . . . I need to check on my partner, Brendan Dean. Something happened . . . he went down like . . . was he shot?" She had no other answer for the way his body had been propelled backward.
The nurse paused for a moment. I wonder if that's the poor man in three? Was he shot in the head? He'll be lucky if he makes it through the night. "Uh, I'm not really sure . . . but maybe I could check for you." I hope that's not him, sweetie.
Freya focused on controlling the rising panic, but the heart monitor was giving her away. Michael reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. "Please, could you see if he's . . . okay?"
The nurse glanced at the racing monitor and then back to Freya. "I will if you'll try to calm down. No use panicking before we know anything, right? But before I go, let me switch you off this mask so you'll be more comfortable. You're oxygen levels are much better now." The nurse removed the mask and replaced it with nasal cannula, adjusting the placement around Freya's head. "There, now you just rest and I'll check on your partner."
Freya watched as the nurse left and then looked up to find Michael watching her. "Do you know anything?" Her mind immediately picked up an image of someone being rushed through the halls of the hospital, their face covered with an oxygen mask and bloody dressings hiding most of the rest of their head. A small patch of spiky black hair stuck out of the top of the mess. The chest was bare, with heart monitor pads and some bruising visible, the ribs countable on the thin frame. As the gurney disappeared through some swinging doors, the sound of the monitor alarms began blaring over the shouts of the doctor running along side the stretcher.
Freya gasped reflexively, sitting bolt upright in bed as Michael winced. "Is he . . . "
"I don't know," he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping his arms protectively around her. She leaned against his chest, burying her face in his shoulder, thoughts of Brendan possibly dying filling her with tremendous grief. She was shaking and crying and terrified. Brendan had filled a gap in her life that had threatened to swallow her up and she didn't think anyone else would ever be able to take his place. Once they had gotten over the initial awkwardness of her telepathy, they had clicked, becoming comfortable with each other with stunning ease.
She pulled back as the nurse entered the room, Dr. Crenshaw right behind her. She was almost relieved at the sight of the familiar face, remembering the physician from when Brendan had been injured in an explosion several months earlier. What she didn't like was the serious expression on his face.
"Dr. Crenshaw, how's Brendan?" she asked as Michael eased her back against the pillows.
Crenshaw checked her monitor readings and lines as he spoke. "I'm glad you to see you awake, Miss McAllister, I was becoming concerned." When he seemed satisfied with her readings, he stilled to face her. "I'm afraid Agent Dean's injury was very serious. I wasn't the doctor that treated him, but I know he suffered a bullet wound to the head and that they've taken him to surgery. I haven't seen the x-rays, so I can't even make a guess about the prognosis."
Freya sighed and closed her eyes, wishing she would open to find this had all been a horrible dream. "He's tough, Freya," said Michael, taking her hand and squeezing it.
She opened her eyes and wiped the tears that continued to well up in her eyes. "I know."
Crenshaw pulled his stethoscope from around his shoulders and moved them to his neck. "I need to take a listen to those lungs of yours." Freya sat silently as he moved the stethoscope bell around her chest and side and then had her lean forward so he could listen at her back.
"Sounds much better, but I'd still like to keep you overnight for observation. You were pretty out of it when they brought you in and I'm told you were pretty close to ground zero."
Freya frowned and shook her head, stopping as the movement sent sharp pains through her temples. "No, I don't need to stay, I'm fine. I need to be with Brendan."
Crenshaw let out a breath and shook his head. "No, you need to be in a room being monitored. When Agent Dean comes out of surgery, I'm sure they'll put him in ICU, which has very limited visiting hours. And they are very strict about keeping them. I'll have the surgeon come talk to you as soon as they finish up, but I need you to stay in bed."
Michael placed a hand on Freya's arm. "I'll make sure she stays put, doctor."
oOo
Shortly after Freya was settled into a room, Michael's cell phone rang. He talked for a moment and then hung up as he turned back to Freya. "That was Harper. He's on his way up."
Freya nodded, relieved that maybe she could finally find out exactly what had happened. Harper entered a few minutes later, looking more disheveled than she ever remembered seeing. He studied Freya as he walked across the room. At least Freya looks like she's going to be okay. What a mess.
"Miss McAllister, how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, just a little too much smoke. What . . . what happened out there?"
A disaster, but it could have been worse. Harper rubbed his forehead a couple of times as he took a deep breath. "Kunzel and Patel have been working with the local guys for the past few hours and we think we have most of it pieced together. It was our college gang, the one you and Dean have been investigating. We caught BJ McDonald and Matt Roberson trying to slip out of a building across the street with a rifle and scope. We think one of them shot Agent Dean, but so far neither one of them is talking."
"Why would they do that?" asked Freya.
Harper shrugged his shoulders. "We aren't sure if they were really gunning for Dean or just trying to stir things up and he made a good target. They had the explosives set in the abandoned building next door to confuse us, which worked spectacularly."
Freya suddenly sat upright. "The girl. What about the girl Brendan went after?"
"She's going to be fine," said Harper. "Scratches and bruises and a few minor burns, but nothing serious. I think they're keeping her overnight for smoke inhalation as well, but the doctor said she would be released tomorrow." Harper's expression tightened, his jawline stretching taunt. "She was bait. She said a man grabbed her during the evacuation and took her to the abandoned building. He waited until just before we saw her to release her. Told her to go to the front of the building and call out and someone would come for her."
Freya clenched her hands in anger and felt her heart rate climb with her increasing tension. How could anyone use a child like that? "Do you know who it was?"
Harper nodded. "Based on her description, we showed her a picture of Darrell Griffith and she positively identified him as the man who took her." Harper smiled. "She even noticed a scar on his thumb that only serves to validify her identification."
"Were you able to arrest him?" asked Michael.
"No, unfortunately he slipped out the back of the building just moments before it exploded and escaped during the ensuing chaos. He must have left on foot and had a vehicle hidden a few blocks away, because that whole area was cordoned off. I just got a call from Kunzel, though. They picked up Tony Pickens and Mitch Raines at Tony's house. They found materials used in making bombs in his car and house and were able to collect their clothes to test for explosives residue. I think we've got them nailed this time."
"Everyone but Darrell," said Freya forlornly.
"Him too when we catch him," said Harper. "When we catch him."
Freya smiled at his optimism, even thought she didn't feel it. Brendan had been convinced that Darrell was the brains of the operation, so she felt him the most likely to hide himself away.
The door to the room opened and a woman in scrubs with her dark hair pulled up in a bun walked in. "I'm Dr. Gibson and I'm looking for Freya?" she said inquisitively.
Freya raised her right hand a few inches. "I'm Freya? Did you operate on Brendan?"
The woman smiled warmly as she approached the bed to stand beside the worried woman. "Yes, I did, and I think I may have good news. As you know, Mr. Dean was shot in the head. The bullet struck in the left temple region about here," she said, pointing to the area about an inch left of her eye. "It hit at about a thirty degree angle to the bone instead of a ninety degree angle, so it actually glided along the surface of the temporal bone for a time before the bone curves back out in a more spherical shape as it goes to connect with the parietal bone. It then met enough resistance to fracture the skull. By that time, the momentum had been sufficiently reduced so that it didn't penetrate the brain very far, minimizing brain damage."
At that moment, Freya actually began entertaining hope that she hadn't lost Brendan. In spite of her best efforts to remain optimistic, she had been almost convinced he would die up until this point. "So, does that mean he'll be okay?"
The doctor gave a small, half-hearted smile. "It isn't a guarantee, but he's got a good chance. We've debrided the area, removed the bone splinters, and sewn him back up. A small fragment went too deep for us to retrieve without possibly causing more damage, so we left it there. He'll need to know that for future reference, especially if he ever needs an MRI."
Freya's mouth dropped open. "You left part of the bullet in his brain?"
Harper smiled down at Freya. "We have war veterans all over the country with bullet fragments or shrapnel in their head. Sometimes it's less dangerous to leave it be."
The doctor nodded. "The main danger of leaving it is infection. We've started him on antibiotics already. The piece is very small and I doubt it will cause him problems. He was lucky. An injury like this rarely presents with as little brain damage as he's experienced. We won't know anything for sure until he wakes up and we can do a neurological evaluation, but I think the prognosis is relatively good."
Freya sighed and nodded. She was getting a good, hopeful feeling from the doctor and she tried to trust in that. "When can I see him?"
"I understand you're probably going to be released tomorrow. I've been told that you two are pretty close. He'll be in ICU and you may be aware of their limited visitation times. I'll make a request that you be allowed to take a peek if you end up getting out between regular visiting periods. After that, you'll have to abide by their set times." She smiled and patted Freya's hand. "Don't worry, they take very good care of their patients."
Freya nodded. "I know, I just . . . don't want him to wake up and be alone."
oOo
Freya was nervous as she followed the nurse to Brendan's bed in the Intensive Care Unit. She couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her when she first saw him. She could barely see any of him beyond the bandages covering the top of his head and the assortment of wires and tubes that seemed to converge all around him. If the nurse hadn't told her it was Brendan, she would never have known. Cautiously, she approached the bed, listening to the sound of the monitors doing their job.
"He's improved some since last night," offered the nurse. I wish I could give her more encouraging news. Head wounds can be so difficult.
Freya tried to squeeze out a small smile for the woman's effort. "Thank you. Has he regained consciousness at all?"
"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I'm afraid not. That happens sometimes with head wounds like this. We're monitoring his intracranial pressure pretty closely. The doctor drained off some fluid and blood during surgery, but there's a still a chance of more swelling."
Freya nodded. "I appreciate you letting me see him. I just . . . after seeing him shot, I needed to see for myself that he was . . . " She almost said okay, but then realized that he wasn't okay. Alive was a more accurate term. She had needed to see that he was still alive because every time she had dozed off last night, she'd had dreams to the contrary.
"It's okay, I understand."
A slight groan caught both their attention, bringing them closer to the bed. Brendan moved his mouth in what looked like an aborted attempt at licking his lips. His upper lip twitched beneath the nasal cannula.
"Brendan, it's me, Freya. I'm here, Brendan, you aren't alone." She reached out, only to encounter a frightening mix of pain, confusion, and fear. The whir in his mind almost made her dizzy, so she pulled back, leaning heavily against the bed railing.
"Miss, are you all right?" The nurse was looking at her with concern in her face.
"Fine, I just got a little dizzy." She squeezed Brendan's hand. "Brendan, can you hear me? It's Freya, I'm here."
Brendan's eyelids fluttered a moment and another slight groan escaped his lips. He almost seemed to sigh before going still, both in body and in mind. Freya looked up at the nurse, who smiled at her. "Well, it's a start," the girl said.
oOo
Freya stayed for the rest of the ten to twelve visiting period, after which she was ushered out to the waiting room. There she stayed until time for the two to four visit and then the seven to nine period. The only reason she succumbed to the prodding to leave for the night was that Brendan had shown no further signs of waking. His mind was frighteningly still and that scared her more than his appearance. Michael had also come by to be sure she had no plans of camping out in the ICU waiting room for the night, almost bodily dragging her to the elevator. After that, she just didn't have the energy to fight him.
You need to get some rest or you won't be there for him when he's awake enough to need you. You know I'm right.
"I try not to admit when you're right," she said testily as he escorted her from the building.
Michael chuckled. "Now that, I've noticed. Go home and get some rest. Brendan's in good hands."
Freya sighed. "I know." And she did know. She'd made sure of that every chance she got. Everyone she had reached out to had genuinely seemed to care about the patients in their ward and that had eased her mind. A couple of the nurses had seemed particularly concerned about Brendan, replaying news accounts they had seen about Brendan being shot as he rescued the little girl. She knew they would be keeping an extra close eye on him and she'd made sure they had her number if he needed anything.
Michael saw her home, still admonishing her to get some rest. She was surprised when she actually did sleep rather soundly. Apparently smoke inhalation, huge amounts of coughing, and having nightmares all night while you worried about a friend took a lot out of you. She was back at the hospital by nine a.m., an hour before the first visiting hours started.
From ten to twelve, she sat beside Brendan, holding his hand and talking to him as he slept. She repeated the cycle from two to four and again from seven to nine, without so much as a flinch from him. She had begun to wonder what she would do if he never woke up. The nurse that came to tell her it was time to leave caught her wiping the tears with the hem of her shirt.
"Honey, I hate to tell you, but it's time to leave. I'm sorry."
Freya just nodded, not trusting her voice. She started to let go of Brendan's hand when she felt it tighten against hers momentarily. Her breath hitched as she shot to her feet and leaned over him. "Brendan, I'm here. Brendan, can you hear me?" She looked up at the nurse, who had come over to start checking the monitors. "He squeezed my hand."
Brendan coughed a little and shifted his head slightly, stopping almost instantly and squeezing his eyes tight as he grunted.
"Brendan, it's Freya, can you hear me?"
His thoughts were muddled and confused, but they were there. Freya almost cried with relief. She could feel him fighting to get past the pain, to make some sense of what was going on.
"It's okay, Brendan, I'm here. Just hang in there."
Freya flinched away when the nurse touched her arm. "I'm going to get the doctor, I'll be right back." Freya nodded and went back to talking softly to Brendan. After a few moments, he finally got his eyes open. He blinked drunkenly, his eyes rolling a second before they focused on her, making her smile.
Who are you? "What . . . happened?"
Freya felt like her stomach had taken a three story fall. She watched as Brendan's eyes roved the room and landed back on her. He didn't have any idea who she was. He seemed to know who he was, but not her. She barely noticed when the nurse returned with Dr. Smothers until they were right across from her.
"Mr. Dean," the doctor said brightly. "Nice to see you awake." She watched in fascination as the doctor checked his patient's pupil reactions and had him follow his finger. He checked the monitors and asked Brendan about his pain level and what his name was. Brendan's answers were sluggish and slurred, but the doctor didn't seem concerned. She finally could stand it no longer.
"He doesn't know me," she said quietly.
The doctor frowned at her a moment and then looked down at Brendan. "Agent Dean, do you know what day it is?"
Brendan's face clouded and she could feel him struggling for an answer. "Not . . . sure."
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.
Brendan closed his eyes as he tried to process the question. Freya was disturbed by the chaotic flashes running through his mind and she could feel his frustration building as he tried to understand it. The flashes finally slowed until they solidified into a viable memory. "Going . . . to arrest . . . Simeon Gaddy." The memory cut off abruptly at Brendan knocking on the door of an apartment.
Freya had to think. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she was pretty sure it was a case Brendan had worked before she came to the NSA. She found the doctor looking at her and she shrugged her shoulders. She opened her mouth to reply and he shook his head slightly, nodding toward the door. Don't say it, not in front of him. Not yet.
Freya nodded and they both looked back down at Brendan, who seemed to be drifting off again.
"Agent Dean?" prodded the doctor. Brendan made a slight groaning noise before returning to the even breathing of sleep. Dr. Smothers took another look at the monitors and then looked at the nurse. "Stay with him a few minutes." Freya then followed the man into the hall outside the unit.
"Do you know what he was talking about?"
Freya sighed. "Not exactly, although the name is familiar. I can find out more pretty quickly."
The doctor nodded. "I need to check on another patient and then I'll get back with you to see what you've found out. How long have you been his partner?"
"Almost a year and a half . . . and he doesn't remember me. This isn't permanent is it? I mean, it'll come back to him, right?"
Dr. Smothers chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. I hate these kind of questions. They're so hard to answer. "Miss McAllister . . . "
"Freya. It's just Freya."
Dr. Smothers smiled at her as he gave her a small nod. "Freya, then. It's hard to tell at this stage. A certain amount of memory loss after a severe head injury is not unusual. Patients often lose several hours up to several days immediately before the injury, sometimes continuing into several days after the injury."
"This is more like amnesia than short term memory loss. We're talking at least a year and a half, maybe longer."
Dr. Smothers nodded again, his easy manner and gray hair reminding her of distant memories of her grandfather. "I know and I understand that you're upset that he doesn't remember you. Many times the memories come back as the patient's condition improves. I'll be honest with you, though, there's no way to predict exactly what will happen. He may regain everything back, or only bits and pieces, or nothing. Anything in between is possible as well."
The impact of knowing Brendan may never remember her or the things they had shared the past 18 months hollowed her insides out, leaving her empty and scared. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that it was still better than losing him entirely, which she had almost done. They could rebuild . . . if the NSA would give them time.
"How long? If he'd going to remember, how long will it take?"
The doctor gave her his patent kindly smile again and she sighed even before he verbally answered her. If the voice in his head hadn't given it away, his body language would have. "There is no timetable for this kind of thing. Things will happen when they happen." Then he shrugged his shoulders once. "Although it usually begins fairly shortly after the injury. The important thing is to be patient and don't push. Don't make him feel like he's doing something wrong because he can't remember. This isn't his fault."
Freya nodded. "I know." She suddenly looked up with concern. "What about his memory after he heals. I mean he won't suddenly not be able to remember things that happen day to day or anything like that will he? He's usually got this almost scary memory about things and it's . . . a very important part of him."
The doctor frowned and pursed his lips a moment. "It's possible there could be some long term effects due to his injury, but I have no reason to particularly expect it. Let's not create more things to worry about. The main thing is to be supportive at first because he's going to be confused and frustrated."
Freya nodded again. She was beginning to feel like a bobble-head in a car on a gravel road. "Can I stay with him? I know you have the hours and stuff, but . . . he's so confused and scared and . . ."
The doctor shook his head and put one hand on her shoulder. "Not tonight, but if he continues to improve, perhaps tomorrow you can stay with him. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have someone there when he wakes up since he's so disoriented. But I'm wondering if it should be someone he remembers."
"There really isn't anyone," said Freya. "I mean, there's no one who's really close to him that can do that right now, but me. We have a pretty strong connection. I think he'll pick up on that quickly."
The doctor looked skeptical, but seemed to accept it. "All right. Try to give him a chance to remember you before announcing he has amnesia. You need to be careful what you tell him and how, try not to upset him any more than necessary. I wouldn't tell him anything until he's lucid enough to really start asking questions."
"Don't worry," she said with a small, knowing smile. "I can read him like a book."
TBC