Animus Anonymous

A/N: The last chapter of this story. It wasn't really going anywhere, so that's why I stopped writing. I haven't uploaded anything in forever though, so, if you're insane enough to actually read this story, I hope you enjoy this update.

Chapter Four

Shaun could hear people talking, though he couldn't make anything out. It was all a big, white blur. When he reached up to rub his eyes, and he was met with no obstructions, he realized that he didn't have his glasses on, and that was why everything was blurry. He sat up, patting his hands around his bed, looking for his glasses that had probably fallen off sometime in the night. He could make out a nightstand to his right, and after feeling around for a moment, he came up with his glasses.

And then he remembered the fire.

"What the hell happened?" Shaun exclaimed to an empty room as he put on his glasses, feeling panic rise in his chest. Bright orange flames were leaping in front of his eyes, heat was searing his skin, his legs were screaming…

"Hey! Hey!" Someone shook Shaun out of his mini panic attack.

It was Desmond. Apparently, the room wasn't as empty as it first seemed.

"Desmond?" Shaun blinked rapidly, trying to focus. "What… What happened? I remember the fire… I remember thinking I was going to die, and that I didn't know where you were, I didn't even know where the door was…"

"It's okay now." Desmond assured him, sitting in the hard metal chair next to Shaun's bed. "The fire is out and everyone is okay. Your office, on the other hand…"

Shaun groaned, thinking of his leaning tower of papers that he would never get a chance to file properly. He thought of all the time he spent in that office, all the things he had defined himself by, gone. Ashes.

Desmond was wringing his hands nervously, and chewing on the inside of cheek, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" Shaun asked, still in shrink mode. It took more than a blazing office fire and multiple injuries to throw Shaun Hastings off his game. Though, on his off days, -when he willingly turned off- he could be as mean as anyone, and as cutting as a freshly sharpened butcher knife.

Desmond took a moment to wring his hands a little tighter, then said quietly,

"I don't know how I'm going to pay you back."

Shaun was quiet, waiting for his companion to elaborate.

Desmond put a hand behind his neck, his face turning red. "I mean, obviously there was tons of shit in your office that was important to you, and all those documents that you can never get back because your computer melted, and your notes and files and… shit. Only half of that stuff has monetary value, and I can't even afford to pay you that. I mean, I could-"

"Wait, wait, what?" Shaun was having trouble following Desmond's train of thought. He watched the nervous man with wary eyes, feeling like he was missing something.

"The fire was my fault, Shaun." Desmond said softly, looking at Shaun with dark, sincere eyes. "If you hadn't wanted to make me coffee, if I hadn't slept on the couch, if I hadn't let Lucy drag me to your office so late at night... All of this could have been avoided."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's not go pointing fingers here. It was an accident. Accidents happen all the time." Shaun responded.

"No. It was my fault. I'll find a way to pay for the damages. I don't want to seem like I'm playing you for sympathy or anything, so I better get out of here before I say something even more stupid. I'll come back as soon as I get the money, okay? It'll be soon, I promise."

Desmond hastily made his way to the door, and was just about to bolt, when Shaun yelled his name.

"Desmond! Desmond!"

Looking like a small furry animal caught in the clutches of a hungry wolf, Desmond turned around, guarded. "What?"

"Don't be a twat!" Shaun exclaimed, feeling some of his "off day" personality creeping into his demeanour. "It wasn't your fault! You didn't do anything!"

Desmond tensed up, and looked like he was about to bolt again.

"It was my fault. I asked for coffee…" He mumbled, staring at the floor.

Shaun felt his eyebrows raise five inches higher than they normally could.

"Right…" He muttered, and flung back the sheets he was laying under, ready to get up and…do something to make Desmond understand.

However, he had momentarily forgotten that his leg was severely burned and not very willing to oblige to movement of any kind. It took a moments for his nerves to respond, but as soon as he pushed himself off the bed, what felt like a thousand pricks off a needle came rushing down his leg, jabbing sharply into the seared flesh.

He gasped, and Desmond looked up to find him sitting on the floor, his face contorted in pain.

"Fuck, Jesus, fuck," Shaun exclaimed, unable to touch his leg without sending another truckload of needles throughout his leg.

"Shaun!" Desmond rushed over and bent down. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" Shaun trailed off as Desmond reached down and helped him back onto his bed. He then proceeded to put his hands on Shaun's shoulders and ask, "Are you sure you're okay? Do you need more painkillers or something?"

Completely and utterly embarrassed at Desmond's sincerity and kindness, Shaun merely shook his head.

Desmond sat back in the chair with a sigh and covered his face with his hands. For a while, the two sat in a silence that was always on the precipice of awkwardness, but never actually lost their balance enough to fall. The shadows in the room grew longer as the watch on Shaun's bedside table seemed to tick louder and louder. They sat together in quiet for hours, one sighing intermittently every few minutes, and one staring forlornly at the floor and ceiling- and wall, if he was feeling adventurous. Every once in a while a nurse would come in and check Shaun's meds and give him new ones, and Desmond never moved a muscle.

Once the sun had completely disappeared from the sky, Shaun snuck a look at Desmond. He was still awake, and staring at the wall with tired, puffy eyes. His posture made him look like his spine was made of sponge. He almost disappeared beneath his huge, ratty brown sweater and ripped up jeans.

He was still wearing the shoes. Shaun felt a small smile cross his usually stoic face. Almost as if he could sense it, Desmond looked up too quickly for Shaun to resume his default expression.

"What?" He asked shyly, his voice thick. Shaun could tell he didn't like being scrutinized.

"You're wearing the shoes." Shaun stated matter-of-factly.

Desmond looked down at his feet like he didn't know what Shaun was talking about.

"…Oh, right. Thanks." He muttered.

Shaun was quiet for a second, waiting for Desmond to ask how they got on his feet in the morning, or where they came from, or anything, but he just stared at Shaun with such damn sincerity that Shaun couldn't doubt how thankful he was, but how he vocalized it and how he was looking at Shaun were two very different things.

"Why did you stay with me all day?" Shaun asked, and carefully watched for Desmond's reaction. He watched for more than the words. He watched for the truth, and it was all in the eyes.

"Umm…" Desmond scratched the back of his head, flushing. "I just feel really bad about all this." He told Shaun, turning his head to the floor.

Shaun grimaced, not pleased with not being able to get a clear view of Desmond's face.

"Is that why you spent six hours not saying anything to me? You know, I'm not even that badly injured. I won't die whether you are here or at home or with your girlfriend or-"

"Girlfriend?" Desmond asked, perplexed.

"That pretty blond thing who dragged you in here! She's not your girlfriend?" Shaun replied, surprised.

"Lucy? God, no. She's my best friend. She's like my sister." Desmond quickly clarified, looking queasy at even the slightest thought of any romantic interactions between him and his friend.

"That's probably better…" Shaun mused, staring at the foot of his bed. "A girlfriend can complicate things in the recovery process."

"Whoa, what?" Desmond questioned, his eyes wide. "Recovery process?"

"Yes…" Shaun answered like he was talking to a two year old. "You still want help, right?"

"I… yes, but-"

"Not buts about it," Shaun interrupted him, metaphorically putting his foot down. "If you need help, my job is to make sure you get it."

Desmond set his lips, thought about his next move, then stood up. He looked at Shaun with almost-anger in his eyes, but Shaun doubted he was really mad.

"Fine."

Chapter Five

Two weeks later, Shaun walked out of the hospital with a caution from the doctor and a cane at his side. The tissue wasn't fully healed, but if he was careful, he would be fine. It wasn't like he would be off to play soccer professionally the second he was given the okay. In fact, he struggled to remember the last time he did anything more cardiovascular than walking up a flight of stairs. Then again, he hardly ever ate, just because he was always so busy with other, more important things than food and exercise.

A horn blasted through the chilly autumn night, and Shaun walked -hobbled- towards the sound. He teetered a few times, and almost fell over at one point, but was able to right himself before totally making a fool of himself.

He finally made it to the car that could have been blue, green, or even black depending on how Shaun's eyes felt like perceiving darkness that night. The driver leaned over from the passenger's side and opened the door for him, and he braced himself on the car's roof with one hand, and slid into it, keeping balance with his other.

"How are you feeling?" Desmond asked, his eyes catching the glare of a passing car.

For the last two weeks, Desmond had shown up at Shaun's hospital room everyday at exactly nine AM, not exactly chipper, and not exactly depressed, but very Desmond. Very go-with-the-flow. At first, Shaun had rolled his eyes childishly, but Desmond's devotion eventually made him soften up to the guy. He mellowed Shaun out in a way that was difficult to pigeonhole. They had formed a shaky foundation of an acquaintanceship over the past few weeks, and hadn't even scratched the surface of Desmond's problem. In fact, he seemed to forget about any sort of problems when he was visiting Shaun, a sign that Shaun wasn't sure how to read.

"I'm okay," Shaun sighed, as Desmond started the car and headed out of the parking lot.

"So where do you live?" Desmond asked, catching Shaun's gaze in a sideways glance.

"At the other end of town. We'll be driving a while," Shaun grimaced as they went over a bump, his leg hitting against the door of the car.

Desmond slowed the car down marginally.

"Sorry about that."

Shaun frowned.

"You don't need to apologize, Desmond. It wasn't your fault the car hit a bump."

"Sorry."

"You're doing it again."

"Sorr- nevermind."

A chuckled escaped Shaun.

End Note: So there you go. It wasn't great, but if you read all this, I hope you enjoyed it!