Collision chapter 2
AN: Thanks to all who reviewed and/or added this story to their alert/favorite list. Your support makes the writing worth it. Also good to know there are still some Cherri-lovers out there. This second installment is dedicated to all of you.
Disclaimer: Characters you're not familiar with, are mine. All others belong to CBS.
Spoilers: Set somewhere in the middle of season two, though not at all canon.
On with the story…
Chris:
You twist open a bottle of beer and put your feet up, as you watch the news on your widescreen TV. It's Sunday evening and after doing some necessary household chores, you're now enjoying your last quiet evening of the weekend. There's a report about a train crash in Mississippi and you send a prayer up the sky for the wellbeing of all those involved, including paramedics and local LEO's.
It takes some time for you to notice the buzz of your phone as it lies forgotten on your coffee table. Slightly annoyed, you grab the device. It's King. Duty calls apparently.
"Christopher, grab your gear and go-bag and drive to Merri's to pick up some of her stuff too. There's been a train crash near Jackson, Mississippi. Merri and her cousin were on that train."
Oh my God. One hand grabs the remote from the sofa's armrest to silence the blaring of the TV as you swallow convulsively. Did you really hear the words train crash and Merri in one sentence? Your eyes veer back to the TV. The news helicopter is giving you a clear view of the disaster area. The train looks to be completely derailed and it doesn't even seem possible anyone could have crawled out of there alive. Stupidly, hoping against hope you're merely dreaming, you ask for confirmation.
And get it. Oh shit. A cold sense of dread spreads through your body, making you shiver. Your voice sounds oddly harsh as you try to press the words around the lump in your throat, the Alabamian accent Merri loves to make fun of even more audible due to the added anxiety.
"What happened? Is she okay? Is she…? How do you know she was on that train? What was she doin' on a friggin' train anyway?"
Maybe he's mistaken. It wouldn't make any sense for her to be on a train. Surely she would have flown back home. King has to be wrong. Has to be.
"I got a call from Judd Cronin, remember him?"
You mumble a confirmation: you and Pride were called in to help the Jackson police department some time ago when a suspect who turned out to be a Navy Ensign, managed to escape from their custody after being arrested for being drunk and disorderly. He and his friend, whom he had gone to visit, had managed to cross the state line, trying to get the Ensign back to his ship which was docked in New Orleans, before the Captain would find out he'd gone AWOL. Judd and Pride are the same kind of hands-on old-fashioned law enforcers and the two men struck up an immediate friendship after successfully chasing down the two rowdy young men and getting them back into custody.
Pride continues his explanation. "Judd was on duty when they got the first passengers out. Merri was smart enough to identify herself as an NCIS agent. He says she's fine, except for a broken wrist and some cuts and bruises. Her cousin however is being hospitalized. Judd said it wasn't looking too good for her either. But Merri's stranded there without her luggage and a means to go home."
"I'm on my way. Have you tried calling Merri yet?"
"Tried several times, but I'm afraid her phone is either lost, broken or her batteries are dead, because there was no answer."
You ask for the address of the hospital the victims have been taken to and after getting all the necessary info, say a quick bye to Pride, and end the conversation, only to immediately make another call.
Thank God Loretta picks up. She's nothing if not used to being hauled out of bed in the middle of the night. Upon hearing your plea, she offers her help to go through Merri's things and get her everything she needs. All you need to do is stop by and pick up the bag.
Twenty minutes later, sirens blaring, you're on the highway. To the rescue of your partner.
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Merri:
He's here. You're safe now. Though you have no idea how he could have known so soon. Maybe he saw some news feature of the crash on TV or the internet, but unless Patton has told him and Pride you were taking the train instead of flying back, he couldn't possible know you were on there.
Yet, you're so extremely relieved to see him, it doesn't seem to matter at all. There's also a small tug of shame in the back of your mind. How dare you doubt him? Even though he still has a lot of healing to do when it comes to his tragic loss, he's as loyal to his makeshift NCIS family as ever. Doesn't resent Pride and would never think of abandoning you in your hour of need. The mere thought that he would, does not do this sweet man justice. So yeah, shame on you, Merri Brody.
He sees you wobble as you stand up from the uncomfortable plastic chair and a mere instant later, you find yourself wrapped up in his embrace.
Christopher LaSalle, you've noticed, is a tactile person. Loves the intimacy of a good hug and yes, it has taken you quite some time to get used to that, but oh, how you revel in in now.
His scent, the solidness of his body, his warmth, it's overwhelmingly soothing to your frayed nerves and if you could, you'd submerge in him even more. As it is, his arms are all that are holding you up as your bruised knee gives out. He manages to hold on to you though, as he finds himself a seat and pulls you onto his lap, not caring who's watching and what they're thinking.
Neither do you. You just cling to him.
He's your friend, your hero.
You're safe now.
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Chris:
She's not a really big girl in any circumstance (though she normally holds her own against much larger bad guys), but when you feel her body sag against yours, she feels positively fragile. Her arm is in a cast, she has a bandage on her forehead and her usually shiny hair is standing up at all angles, some strands sticking to her tear streaked face. Had you not known her so well, you would not have recognized her.
As an agent, this of course is not the first accident you've witnessed, nor is she the first victim, but, as you raced at breakneck speed over the highway to get to her, none of this mattered.
It's all so unfair. Hasn't she had enough to deal with lately? First she loses her sister, then the whole Moultrie incident gets recapped, now she has to cope with the trauma of being in a big accident and the possibility it might cost her cousin her life.
How can anybody be strong enough to cope?
Personal troubles set aside, you have to be there for her. All the way over here, you've been questioning your own actions, or rather, inactions toward her these past few weeks. You know she cares deeply for you, know she's hurt and confused that you haven't opened up to her so far, that you've found solace in nights filled with booze and meaningless, faceless women. Not that she has condemned you or anything, but you know she was and still is more than willing and able to help you get back on your feet.
And for the life of you, you know you can't explain why you never took her up on her unspoken but clearly heard offer.
How can you explain to her the doubts in your mind if they don't even make sense to yourself? These days, you doubt everything about yourself. Everything you used to be so proud of, is up for grabs. Your dedication to the job? Wavering; you're no longer convinced you're good at it. Your reputation as a Southern Gentleman? Bullshit. You ain't no gentleman, you're a hick. A hillbilly, who took sixteen years to find the balls to hook up with his high school sweetheart, only to lose her in one moment of unforgivable complacency.
How could you have forgotten to be alert? To protect and serve?
You wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Would protect those around you, those you still cared for. And the best way to do that was to stay well away from them, of not physically, than at least emotionally. Which meant that Merri was your partner and shall never be, can never be anything more. Maybe not even a friend.
It hurts like crazy, because you do like Merri a lot, (she's sweet and fun, smart and strong and compassionate) but it's no more than you deserve and the pain is enough of a reminder of what's at stake here.
However, now she needs you. Needs her partner and you're here for as long as it takes. Teetering on the edge of forgetting your intentions, but still reminding yourself that she's just your partner.
Nothing more.
Dragging yourself back to the present situation at hand, you very gently put a finger under her chin, lifting her head so she can look at you.
"Come, sweet Merri. Let's get you out of here and into a nice, warm bed. Okay?"
You see and feel her nod, but she's not convinced.
"Home?"
You shake your head. While you were doing your best impression of a Formula One driver to get here, King has come to the rescue, pulling some more strings to secure the two of you a room in a decent hotel. The confirmation came to you by text message just as you were parking the car at the hospital lot.
You're eternally grateful for it, not really looking forward to driving an exhausted Merri and yourself back home. You would get there some time after three and poor Merri would never make it into bed until three-thirty AM. Which is out of the question since she's dead on her feat already.
Plus, if you know her at all, she would never want to leave her friend behind in unfamiliar surroundings, especially if it's a hospital room.
"No, sweet Merri. King's booked us a hotel room. We can stay there for a few nights, so you can keep track of Courtney. He'll also inform the others in the morning. We got all the time it takes."
The relief is palpable and you're all the more determined to get her out of here. Thanking the nurse, you take Merri's purse from her and guide her to the car.
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Merri:
Still wobbling slightly, you're grateful Chris has his arm wrapped around you to steady you. With his help, you manage to get to his car. He chivalrously helps you inside and, muttering an apology as he leans over you, clasps your seatbelt for you. Good thinking; you're not sure if you could have done than by yourself. Or would even have remembered it.
Quickly, he checks King's message to make sure he knows where he's taking you, then puts the car in motion. As he sees you shiver, he's quick to adjust the central heating of the car.
"Is it warm enough for you Merri?"
As a lovely warmth is spreading through the small interior, you nod.
"Better. Thanks."
"Anytime. Now, let's see where this hotel is."
He finds it easily. It's not overly big or modern, but it seems nice enough. But truth be told, you probably wouldn't have noticed if it had been a dilapidated old barn. As long as it has a comfy bed with your name on it, you're happy.
You almost fall asleep leaning against the counter in the lobby as Chris checks in for the both of you. The elderly, bored, female desk clerk working the graveyard shift is a little reluctant to help you at this ridiculous hour, but after showing his badge and putting up his most charming smile, the woman practically swoons. His sweet Southern drawl, thick as molasses and just as sweet, does the rest. With renewed vigor, the lady beams back at him and gets to work. You would laugh if you weren't so dead on your feet. Soon enough, he's back at your side; some papers and a key card in hand.
"Let's go Merri."
He practically carries you to the elevator to the third floor, where he opens room 303 for you. It's not a very big room, but it has two twin beds and a bathroom. Whatever else it has, you don't really take in, but none of it is all that important.
Loretta has been smart enough to pack your toothbrush and toothpaste, but has apparently forgotten a nightgown or something else to sleep in. Normally, you'd be comfortable enough to sleep in your underwear, but sharing a room with your male partner means you have to keep some modicum of modesty, right?
Noticing your look, Chris's eyebrows shoot op in question.
"Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?"
He's so damn sweet! How lucky you are to have him here with you.
"Seems like Loretta forgot to pack me something to sleep in."
He nods and rummages through his own go-bag, extracting a slightly crinkled, but otherwise clean, black t-shirt from its confinements. It's gone soft with wear and age and his familiar scent has permeated into the fabric. He hands it to you with a smile.
"Will this do?"
You nod and accept the garment, taking a strange kind of comfort from it. The small smile on your face fades however as you wince in pain while trying to yank the shirt you're wearing over your head, momentarily forgetting about your injured wrist.
Seeing you struggle, Chris is immediately by your side.
"Let me help you."
A flash of embarrassment paints your cheeks red at the thought of needing his help getting undressed (though perhaps, in other circumstances…), but you swallow and force it down. It's either accepting the fact you need his assistance or hurting yourself even more by being stubborn. After all, it's not like the man hasn't seen his fair share of half (or entirely) naked women before and it's not like he feels anything but some form of camaraderie for you, if that.
So you obediently lift your arms so he can tug the shirt off of you. In the ultimate gesture of chivalry, he asks you to turn your back to him, unhooking your bra for you with strong, expert fingers. Quickly, you discard the thing and allow him to pull his own shirt over your head.
His hands linger for a moment on your hips and you feel his lips brush the nape of your neck, but you think you may have imagined that. Swallowing again, you turn to face him.
The soft pink hue on his own cheeks is too cute to be a mere figment of your imagination though and so is the hoarseness of his voice, somehow emphasizing his sweet Southern drawl.
"There. All done. You want to use the bathroom first?"
"Thanks, Chris."
Is your own voice quivering?
Best not think of it. As quickly as your tired mind and body allow you to, you make your escape. In the bathroom, you do whatever you can to fix yourself up a little. When you re-enter the room, you find that Chris has already pulled away the covers of one of the beds for you and is himself sitting on the other bed, waiting to use the bathroom.
Had you been less tired and more alert, you would have noticed the look of appreciation on his handsome face as you come in, but, ever the gentleman, he never says a word. Were he any other man, you would not have wanted to share a room with him. But this is Chris and you trust him explicitly and fully. His presence is a balm to you; a beacon of safety.
He won't let anything bad happen to you now.
You thank him with a small smile, before crawling in the unfamiliar bed, trying to get comfortable while not leaning too much on your wrist. Again, Chris is there to help. Like a doting father would do with his child, he tucks you in. He's so sweet. Kissing the top of your head, he wishes you sweet dreams. Then he disappears into the bathroom.
You hear him putter around, brush his teeth, rinse, spit and even use the toilet. It's oddly intimate and reassuring to you. When he comes out, it's your turn to look your fill. Partners or not, a beautiful male specimen is always worth watching. And Chris sure fits that description. So seeing him in nothing but boxers is a treat. One you take full advantage of, despite of your painkiller muddled brain.
As he turns to check on you, you quickly shut your eyes and pretend to sleep. For a moment, you think you got away with ogling him, but you think you hear him chuckle softly, so you're not sure. Oh well, best go on with your performance then.
He gets into his own bed and adjusts the covers around him. A moment later, the lights get switched off. Good. He must really think you're sleeping then. That's until you hear the teasing tone in his voice as he says a way too sweet goodnight.
Damn…
How are you supposed to sleep now?
You still wonder about that after over an hour of tossing and turning. It's not the bed. As far as hotel beds go; it's not too bad, with clean linen and a still fairly firm mattress. It's not the pain either. Your wrist and head are merely throbbing and your knee feels awkwardly stiff, but you're not in agony.
It's just the impact of this day. The screeching halt of the train, the panic and the sounds of people in pain. The image of your cousin's unconscious body. It's like a movie scene on constant repeat in a broken DVD player. And no remote to shut it off.
Deciding to get some water, you get up, careful not to wake Chris. Much as you could use his sweet, reassuring presence, he drove to you in the middle of the night and you can't just wake him up because you need him. He needs his sleep too.
The cool water helps a little, but you can't get back to bed yet. Now fully awake, you open the door to the small balcony and slip out. There's barely enough room to stand and it's way too cold to be standing there dressed in nothing but a thin t-shirt, but the wind does blow away some of the leftover headache. Yet, you'll freeze to death if you don't go back in soon.
Just a few moments longer…
Two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist and you startle a little. It takes a split second for you to realize it is Chris holding you and immediately you relax against his solid chest, reveling in his warmth and his calmness.
"What are you doing here, Merri? You feel like an icicle."
His whispered voice tickles your neck and you shiver a little extra.
"Couldn't sleep. Too much going on in my head."
Then, as an afterthought:
"Sorry for waking you."
"It's okay. Now, let's get back inside. It's only two-thirty AM."
You nod and allow him to guide you back in and close the balcony door. He gets back into his bed, but you feel reluctant to go back to yours, not really looking forward to another couple of hours of lying awake. You kind of wish he would have held on to you a bit longer. Perhaps…
"Chris?"
"What is it, Merri?"
"I…" How are you supposed to ask him for a favor like this? What will he think of you? Isn't it too soon after Savannah?
He gets it though. How, you don't know, but with the sweetest gesture, he lifts his covers.
"Come here."
It's an offer you can't and won't refuse, so you crawl in next to him. There's not much room for the both of you, but that was the point. Though it's a bit of a struggle to get comfortable, once you do, it's the best feeling you ever had. You're lying sprawled on this naked chest, the soft hairs tickling your cheek most pleasantly. Your plastered wrist is draped over his solid stomach. His arms are holding you close to him, warding off the cold and the demons of your dreams. They don't stand a chance against the bubble of protection he's created.
Christopher LaSalle radiates warmth, safety, love.
Soon enough, sleep dawns on you. 'Pity', you think, right before the darkness claims you whole.
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Chris:
This is partners taking care of each other. Nothing more. Merri needs you now, for strength and comfort and that's what you're giving her. It's nothing more than she would have done for you. Or what King would have done for her if he had been the one here with her. Though the thought of King being the one to hold her like this makes you cringe. Even if his intentions were as pure as anything and even if he would have comforted her in the exact same way he would have done Laurel, Merri's not his to touch. She just isn't.
But is she yours then Chris? And if even the most remote little thought or feeling affirms it, doesn't that go against anything you just promised yourself?
Yeah, but it's only for one night. Because she needs you and you don't have the heart to reject her. That would be unnecessarily cruel. She's finally sleeping and she could use all the rest she can get as the next few days will be hard enough on her.
This has nothing to do with you and your conflicting emotions; nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you've gotten tired of the endless routine of picking up a lady at the bar, using your charm to trick her into taking you home, only for you to have not even a full night of meaningless sex and leave before the sun comes up, feeling neither guilty nor satisfied, just…empty, restless, like a junkie trying to get his next fix and not caring if the next shot will be his last. These nights haven't even begun to fill the void in your heart, let alone silence the nagging voice that takes a sick joy in putting your guilt over losing your girlfriend on full display.
Not that you would ever want to use Merri in the same fashion, but dear God does it feel good to be this close to a person again, other than with the intention of having sex with them. To be needed, even if only for a moment, to be someone's center, their anchor, their guide. And for this time, to be there, at the right time and the right place, instead of being lured away by something as trivial as a bottle of wine.
You have no idea what this means in the long run, if anything at all and you're too tired to overthink it. So, selfish or not, this night, you, Chris LaSalle will take the comfort you so desperately need by being the knight in shining (if somewhat corroded) armor for your partner, your damsel in distress.
And if that's wrong, you don't care about being right.
TBC
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