Title: Worst Fears
Author: AlDaKaSa
Pairing: Goren/Eames
Spoilers: Blind Spot (S06E01)
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, I'm just playing with them, please don't sue, I have nothing to give.
Summary: Nightmares reveal his worst fears.
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A/N: Another insomnia inspired one-shot.
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Bobby walked into the bleak, cold, grey room, and there she was, her unmistakable blond hair catching his eye. Her petite frame loomed before him. He stopped breathing and broke out in a sweat. It took everything he had to stop his knees from caving in and to choke back the sob that clenched at his throat.
"Detective, perhaps…" He cut Ross off with a raise of his hand and took a determined step toward her.
He walked around her to face her, and he couldn't hold back the tears as he stared at what Joe had done to her. Her arms were above her head, which had fallen forward, resting on her chest, her hands bound with duct tape and hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Her clothes had been cut open, the material hanging loosely like a shroud around her. Her beautiful skin had been shred by hundreds of tiny cuts, split open and red. The wounds seeped blood slowly, rivulets of red running down her body, the blood gathering on her feet and dripping to the cold, hard cement floor from immaculately painted toes.
His blood ran cold, his hands clammy, and his heart pounding in his chest and ears. "Oh God, Eames, I'm so sorry," he choked before his knees gave way, and he crumbled to the ground, inches away from the pool of blood, the only colour on the stark grey floor.
As he sobbed, the walls disappeared, morphing into open space. He was kneeling on a patchy piece of grass, rubbish strewn around him. The breeze coming from the water beyond the fence line ruffled his hair. The helicopter circling above was eerily quiet, and all he could hear was his ragged breathing as he stared at the body lying prone at the base of the tree. The body was covered in cuts, red blood bright against the white skin, bloody hair covering the face. He leaned over the body to move the dark hair, expecting to see Jenna but revealing Eames' face, mouth taped shut, eyes staring up at him in horror.
He stumbled back, bumping into something. Still reeling from the shock, he turned around to find himself leaning against the boot of a car. The open space was replaced by the parking garage of 1PP, the car he leaned against was Eames'.
He was brought out of his shock when an officer approached the vehicle with a crowbar. He snatched it from the man and stood there frozen, staring at the metal coffin of his partner.
"Detective?"
It was all he needed to get his body working again. He pried the lid open and started to breathe rapidly, heart pounding in tandem as he removed the blanket from the body. He let out a strangled cry when her bloody face came into view, dead eyes staring straight through him. He backed up from the car, shaking his head, "No, no, no, no, no," he started to hyperventilate, his breaths becoming louder and louder, drowning out all other noises, her eyes never leaving him.
He heard a muffled sound but couldn't figure out where it came from. He looked around the room and heard it again. The room slowly started to spin, there it was again. He was sure, a muffled "detective." Someone was calling him, the room began spinning faster and faster, and he was starting to feel sick.
"Detective!" A shout, and he jolted, springing up from the chair. He was confused about where he was, the steady beeping of machinery reminding him he was at the hospital. Eames was safe. She was safe. He scrubbed his hands across his face and took a deep breath. It did nothing to stop the nausea that clawed at him.
"Detective," the voice soft, concerned. He turned to face his captain. "Captain," he acknowledged the man with a nod.
"Perhaps you should go home and get some sleep. It's been a long day."
"No, it's fine, sir. I-I want to stay until she wakes up, make sure she's okay. Then I'll go home." Ross looked at him sceptically. "I'll go as soon as I know she's okay." He reassured him.
"Alright. Goodnight Detective."
"Night, sir."
He watched as his captain left and then rushed into the bathroom, unable to keep the nausea at bay any longer. He rinsed his mouth, splashed water onto his face and then resumed his vigil in the chair next to her bed.
He took her hand in his, his arm resting on the bed next to her, and laid his head down on his arm. "She is safe, she is here, and she is safe," he reminded himself as exhaustion tugged at him. "But will she ever forgive me?" were the last words that echoed in his mind before sleep overcame him once again.
FIN