Collision part 3

AN: Sorry it took me so long to update, but as I'm moving house, a lot of stuff is going on and I kinda forgot. I still hope you like this next chapter, all from Merri's POV as she tries to come to terms with the situation she's in.

Disclaimer: Any names you recognize, I just borrowed from CBS. Any other names are mine.

On with the story…

When you wake up, for a moment you're confused. Your head is fuzzy, the room is spinning and once it stops, you're none the wiser. Where are you? What happened? Where's Courtney?

Yawning and stretching, you lift your arms and are thus reminded of the presence of a cast on your wrist.

And everything comes crashing back.

The accident. Courtney being taken to the hospital. Chris coming to the rescue. Spending the night wrapped in his arms…

Speaking of…where is he? You're still in his bed, but somehow he must have managed to crawl from underneath you and disappear without waking you in the process.

Just when you start to panic a little, the door opens and he comes in, fully dressed and smiling warmly when he sees you've woken up.

"Mornin', Merri. How ya feelin'?

"Okay I guess. Still a bit of a headache. Didn't know where I was when I woke up alone though."

Does that sound desperate? Or accusatory? You hope not, but Chris is quick to apologize anyway.

"Sorry 'bout that. But I got a call from King, wanting an update and then one from Patton. He managed to automatically have all calls made to your broken phone put forward to mine. So we won't miss a thing."

His explanation is interrupted by a knock on the door. He quickly walks over to the door and after a quick glance through the spy hole, opens it. A young man is standing in front of him, carrying a full breakfast tray.

"Room Service, Sir."

"I'm sorry, we didn't order any room service."

The boy shrugs and quickly glances at the note taped to the tray.

"Compliments of a Dwayne Pride, Sir. Called especially this morning to have this delivered."

With a smile, Chris takes your boss's offerings and after tipping the young servant, closes the door and sets the tray down on the small table on the far side of the room.

There's a thermos of freshly brewed coffee, a pitcher of juice, some donuts and a selection of fresh fruit. You were just about to say you aren't hungry, but the smell of the delicious looking food makes your stomach grumble, reminding you that the last thing you've (half) eaten is the beignet on the train hours ago.

Hearing your insides react, Chris smiles and pours the dark, strong drink in two mugs, adding cream (a little) and sugar (a lot) until yours is just as he knows you like it. Eagerly, you stretch your uninjured arm and take it from him, humming softly in pleasure at the first sip and not caring it's still quite hot. God, you needed this! The bite you take out of the donut he hands you next is equally satisfying.

Clearly happy you've slept well and haven't lost you apatite, Chris sits down on the edge of his rumpled bed and bites into his own breakfast.

"These are good," he mumbles around a mouthful of pastry. You grin. Sometimes, when he forgets to be a gentleman, he's the cutest man-child you've ever hung out with. He has no idea how it boosts your mood.

And you're going to need it too. There's so much to do. Inform Mark (and Adrian, you suppose), go visit Courtney, try and figure out what happened to your stuff (though that's not a priority); getting in touch with insurance companies, finding out what the hell caused the accident (you just know Pride is interfering with the investigation, jurisdiction issues notwithstanding)…your head's spinning just thinking about it.

So in tune with your emotions is Chris, that he immediately detects the change in you.

"Merri, you okay?"

You manage a small smile.

"Yeah, I guess. Just thinking about everything I have to do. It's kind of overwhelming."

"I know. But I'm here for you. Let me take care of things, okay?"

So sweet. You put your small, uninjured hand in his and he squeezes yours gently.

"Thank you Chris. For everything."

"We're partners, Merri. We have each other's back. Always."

The look he gives you is of such a burning intensity, you feel a blush coming up. You want to look away, but like a deer caught in the headlights, you're transfixed and unable to move. Just when he seems to be leaning in closer, his phone rings. Startled and red faced, he pries the device from his jeans pocket, breaking your connection and therefor, the spell woven around you, leaving you shivering in the sudden cold and confusion.

Was he about to kiss you?

And even if he was, what would it have meant? Just some pressure relief? A pity kiss? Or something more? Are you ready for that? With Chris? Is he? With you?

Maybe it was nothing. Most likely. Just a spur of the moment thing, fueled by leftover adrenaline and gratitude, combined with the sheer relief you've made it out alive and relatively unharmed. You dare a glance in his direction. Chris has put his serious face back on as he's listening intently to whoever is on the phone. After a while, he ends the call with a 'thank you' and puts the device back on the table.

"That was the hospital. They've moved your cousin to a regular room. She's slept well through the night without any complications and they'll try and wake her up this afternoon. If all goes well, you can visit her in the evening."

You nod in thanks, completely back to reality. One that has no place for any semi-romantic thoughts of Chris and what will probably never happen between you. You should really stop overthinking stuff like this.

"I should call her ex. He has to inform their son. They need to know how she's doing."

"Want me to do that?"

With your contempt for the man who betrayed Courtney still fresh in your heart, you nod again.

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. You just finish your breakfast."

Having gotten all phone numbers he needs from your cousin's cell phone (she had it in the pocket of the jacket she was wearing when the accident happened and the paramedic had given it to you just before she was being taken aboard of the medivac helicopter), he starts dialing the number of her ex-husband.

From the look on his face, it's not a pleasant conversation, but even on the phone, it's pretty clear who's in charge. One thing you really admire in Chris as an agent is that he doesn't take anyone's bullshit, whether witness or suspect, whether cooperating or not. He'll give it to you straight, doesn't pull punches, at least if he suspects someone's not honest with him.

He disconnects the call and gives you a smirk.

"Pleasant fellah."

"Yeah. At least he was. But that was a long time ago. What did he say?"

"Nothing much. Told me he'd track down his son and let him know what was going on and asked me to inform him when she was coming home. That's all."

"Oh God, poor Mark. He'll get the scare of his life and his dad won't even try to soften the blow."

"I know, Merri, but there ain't nothin' we can do 'bout that. Does Mark have your phone number?"

Does he? You try to remember…

"Wait, he does. I gave him my calling card. He thought it was pretty cool."

Chris smiles. "That's because you are, Merri. And if he needs to, he can always give you a call, right? I'm sure the people in charge of the summer camp will allow him to call you if he needs to."

"I guess you're right. Though I don't feel particularly cool today."

"Nobody expects you to. That's what I'm here for. Now, why don't you go take a shower and maybe, after that, we can get you some basics to wear. I don't know how long we'll be stuck here, but since we still have to figure out what happened to your luggage, you may want to buy some new stuff. It could take days before they get every single item on that train sorted and returned."

You shrug.

"Well, I guess there goes the rest of my savings account."

He shakes his head.

"Nope. Discussed it with Pride this mornin'. He said to use the company card. As long as you don't buy designer outfits, he'll smooth it over with the Director."

"I can't accept that!"

"Yes you can. And you're gonna. We've all had our clothes damaged or personal stuff broken on the job before. Comes with the territory."

"Yeah, but this didn't happen on the job."

"Technicality, Merri. Just take the offer. It's made in kindness. Don't insult King or any of us by not accepting."

Insult? What does he mean? The confusion must be clearly written on your face, because he gives you another smile.

"Merri, we just want to help. In any way we can. So just let us. Please."

You nod. "Okay."

Speaking of needing help.

"Eh…Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you help me tape up my hand? The cast can't get wet."

"Sure…let's see what I can find to use…"

He digs up a plastic grocery bag and rips it to pieces, wrapping it around the cast and taping it all up.

"There, that should hold okay."

"Yeah, I think so too. Now would you..."

You turn your back to him and lift your arms.

"Oh…"

He catches on and quickly lifts the shirt over your head, tossing it on the bed. He quickly averts his gaze and remains standing with his own back turned to you until you're in the bathroom.

"Don't lock it Merri, please. Just for safety's sake."

"Okay, I won't."

He's right. You are clumsy, your knee is stiff and your head is still buzzing quite a bit, so he needs to be able to come to your rescue should you slip and fall in the shower. Plus, he's too much of a gentleman to do anything inappropriate.

More's the pity.

Wait, shame on you Meredith Brody! He's your partner and nothing more! Quickly, try changing the subject. Ask him something businesslike.

"Do you want to take a shower too?"

His warm, deep chuckle fills the room as well as your heart.

"Are you offering to share, Merri dear?"

Oh blast! That was so not your intention…no, really, it wasn't.

"You wish, LaSalle! I just want to know if I should save you some hot water."

"If we share, we both save hot water. It's really eco-friendly, come to think if it."

"Yeah, well, think of other ways to save the planet, my friend. I'm taking this shower alone."

A deep, exaggerated sigh.

"Have it your way, spoilsport. Hog all the hot water. I'll just shower tonight."

"Better make it a cold one."

"Cruel, Merri. After all I've done for you."

Sticking your head around the bathroom corner, you wink at him.

"You can have the last donut."

"That was mine anyway!"

"And I let you have it."

"That's not how gratitude usually works, Brody."

"Works for me."

He groans and throws a pillow in your direction.

"Go, go shower, you…"

Giggling, you shut (but don't lock) the door, not letting him finish his sentence. The warm spray of the shower helps you relax a little and after you scrubbed the dirt and the blood and the hospital smell from your skin, you feel a lot better, even a bit optimistic.

Drying yourself off as best as you can one-handed and wrapping the soft, white terrycloth towel tightly around you, you exit the bathroom, to find Chris sitting on the bed with the local News Channel on, which is showing footage of the train wreckage. Upon seeing you enter, he zaps away, considering the possibility that you're not ready to be confronted by the sight of the accident only the morning after.

But something tells you you need to see. If only to make it real. Securing the towel tighter around you, you sit down next to him

"Please, turn it back on."

"You sure? We can watch something else if you like."

"No, I…I want to see."

"Okay."

He zaps back and you watch the features, the interviews with law enforcement officers, the highlights of the public official press conference held last night and the interviews with witnesses and other victims, read the repeating news bar and try to reconcile yourself with the fact you were there when it happened. A victim, just as much as the young man standing in front of the camera with three microphones pressed underneath his nose, dried up blood stains eerily visible on his bright blue t-shirt and the fear still in his eyes.

Just as much as the nineteen casualties, where last night there were only(!) twelve.

Nineteen dead. So far. With twelve more people still in ICU and their condition considered critical, the death toll could end up being thirty-one. Most of them were in the first wagon, right behind the driver, who's amongst those who are critical. The first two wagons derailed completely and you were just lucky you booked your tickets so late, meaning you were in one of the last wagons, which remained upright and relatively undamaged. The fact you were bending over, rummaging through the contents of your purse, saved you. It was all just a coincidence.

And it sure feels wrong. Why are you only mildly injured, while Courtney had to be hospitalized? Why are nineteen people (and counting) dead, including a ten-year-old boy and a 14 months old baby? Why didn't you stay to help? And why doesn't anyone know what exactly caused this horrible accident to happen?

Speculations run wild. Was it the driver's fault? Was he drunk? Did he ignore any signals or warning signs? Did he hit something or someone, unable to brake in time? His entire service record is already being perused and discussed by the so-called experts; the train company so far standing behind their driver and reluctant to condemn the comatose man for faults not in evidence.

And if it wasn't his fault, what could then be the cause? Was there any technical failure? Something in the older equipment that gave out? A mechanic sleeping on the job or failing under pressure? A direct result of the train company cutting costs and therefor risking the safety of the passengers? Should heads start to roll? How about those suing for damages?

Even the option of a terrorist attack is mentioned, though so far nobody has put in any claims…

As the commentators drone on, the features again take you to the scene of the accident. You feel yourself start to tremble, whether from shock or because you're still only 'dressed' in a towel, you can't say, but you suspect it's a bit of both.

Chris immediately takes charge and turns off the TV.

"That's it. We've seen plenty for today. No more upsetting yourself. And let's get you into something more comfortable than just a towel."

Too drained to object, you let him fuss around, taking some soft yoga pants and a t-shirt out of your go-bag, along with some clean underwear and a pair of socks.

Okay…this is going to be interesting. How are you…

"Merri, let me help you."

He takes the panties (thank God Loretta picked some generic, anything but sexy, black boy-cut shorts) and holds them out, so all you have to do is step into them, wobbling a little and holding on to his shoulder because of your stiff, bruised knee. Averting his eyes, he quickly yanks them up, his big warm hands briefly grazing the soft bare skin of your bottom. You swallow convulsively and avert your gaze as well, heat rising again and tainting your cheeks.

This means nothing. This is no groping, nothing remotely sensual. You need his help and he's giving it. Like a partner. Nothing else.

It doesn't help much.

Panties on, he helps you step into the yoga pants and shimmies them up too, tying the strings in front of them. He then grabs your bra and, turning your back to him, you drop the towel and put your arms through the holes, allowing him to fasten the clasps on your back. You hear him chuckle softly.

"What's so funny LaSalle?"

"Just figured that this was the first time I put a girl's bra back on, instead of just off."

"Must be a whole new experience for you. I mean, dressing a woman without…"

Why? Why did you have to go there? Out loud too? What's wrong with you?

"Without the sex before, you mean? Well, I did offer and it's not too late…"

His hands still their movements, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave it off.

"Just help me get dressed, LaSalle."

Chuckling again, he mumbles something sounding suspiciously like 'don't know what you're missing', but at least obediently fastens the clasps and pulls the shirt over your head. His hands rest on your waist again and, just like the night before, he brushes his warm lips over the nape of your neck.

"There you go. All decent."

You turn around, looking into his deep, warm blue eyes.

"Thanks Chris. For everything."

"Anytime, sweet Merri."

Suddenly a little shy, a pink hue tainting his ears, he picks up the thermos.

"There's still some coffee left. Want a refill?"

You don't really feel like it, but you hope that sitting down for a drink will be mundane enough to subdue (or drown) the critters doing the boogie-woogie in your stomach, so you nod and accept another full cup of the hot liquid.

Silence settles down over the two of you, but it's not an awkward one and for that, you are extremely grateful. Chris is toying with his phone, seemingly satisfied with what he's found. Just when you want to ask him what he's looking for, he breaks the silence.

"Found us a small shopping mall nearby. It should have everything we need for a few days stay here. Wanna go check it out?"

Not overly enthusiastic, you nod, thinking of all the pretty shirts and the cute new dress you bought while shopping with Courtney, wondering if you'll ever see any of your luggage back at all. Yet, after he's taken his last sip of coffee, you allow him to help you up and into the jacket Loretta thoughtfully packed as well, grabbing your purse on the way out.

"Come on, pretty woman. This'll be fun. You get to be the Julia Roberts to my Richard Gere."

You raise you eyebrows in skepticism and mock insult.

"Saying I'm a hooker now?" After all, Julia did play one in that movie.

He unabashedly gives you a thorough once-over, then shakes his head.

"I'd hire you over Julia Roberts any day. She's got nothing on you."

Well, that's sweet. Kind of.

"Thanks, Chris."

"You not gonna return the sentiment?"

Pacifying him, you add.

"Richard Gere can't hold a candle to you, very Special Agent LaSalle."

"Why thank you, Lovely Agent Brody."

He gallantly offers you his arm and linked like that, you leave the room to go and explore the mall of Jackson, Mississippi.

Next up: Shopping and a hospital visit. How's Courtney doing?

Thanks again for reading. Reviews are always welcome.