"I wish you'd stop scaring the crap out of me. Are you having the whole psi-shock syndrome thing? Trevor said he thought it might happen," she said. Her lips brushed along his temple in a soft kiss.
"Yeah… a little," he admitted reluctantly. He could feel his body feebly rebelling against his attempt to stay calm. It was grief and frustration and an alarming sense of being lost. Without Jennifer there anchoring him, he wondered if he would be swept under by the chaos. He wished Danny was there, too.
Trevor returned with a plastic bottle and a bendy straw. Peter managed to drink maybe half the contents before his stomach threatened to rebel.
"No more," he murmured.
Jen's fingers were gently carding through his hair. "I talked to Danny on the phone. He's… well, freaked is probably the best description. If you think you can handle it, calling him would be a good idea." She fished the phone out of her pocket.
"I need to talk to him," replied Peter. "Even if it's only for a couple minutes."
Jennifer dialed the phone and handed it to him.
"Jennifer, is he any better? Is he conscious?"
answered Danny without any prelude.
"Yeah, I'm conscious," responded Peter.
"What the fucking hell happened?" demanded Danny.
"Jennifer told me an agent named Isabelle died. Does she mean Isabelle Rea?"
"Yes."
There was a good thirty second silence, then Danny muttered, "Shit."
"It was an all around cluster fuck by the ATF. I don't know but half the details. By the time she got here it was already probably too late."
"Okay, over and done. What about you? Are you okay?"
"I overdid it, and passed out," Peter said.
"Bullshit. Jennifer said you were unconscious for at least three hours. How bad, Peter? How close did you come to going with her?"
"I… don't know."
"Are you still in the infirmary?" Danny asked.
"Yes."
"Stay there. Keep Jennifer close. I'll be back as soon as I can. My flight doesn't leave until eight. I tried to see if I could switch to an earlier one, but so far I haven't had any luck."
"I'll get by." Peter's voice was beginning to sound thick, he was so tired.
"Let me talk to Jen." Peter passed the phone back.
"I think he's going to fall asleep again," said Jennifer.
Whatever Danny said to Jennifer in response made her smile. "I will," she said and thumbed off the phone.
Peter was almost asleep; the tiny exertion of talking and drinking had drained away what little energy he had.
"Danny wants me to kick your ass if you don't behave and take it really easy," she whispered.
Peter managed a slight chuckle.
***
He expected Peter to be asleep, Jennifer too, but he needed to lay eyes on Peter and reassure himself that his lover was okay. Well, maybe that should be 'was going to be okay'.
He tread softly as he went into the infirmary. There was a small light on at one of the desks at the side of the room. Sandra was playing some game on the computer, one ear bud in. She nodded at Danny and pointed toward the middle of the opposite side where curtains had been partially drawn around a bed.
Danny walked toward the indicated area. Two hospital beds had been zip-tied together, which was actually pretty normal around there where touch was often crucial in treatment of psi shock. Peter was wound tightly around Jennifer, spooned against her back.
Danny stood motionless, just watching them sleep, then his gaze wandered to the steel door at the far end of the room. Isabelle was one of their own. She'd been brought onboard before Danny had been given his current position. He hadn't known her well, but he had known her.
He crossed to that door and pulled it open, a rush of cold hitting him from inside the tiny room. It held a single gurney covered by a sheet. He walked inside and stood by the covered form. He wasn't certain he really wanted to do this, but he felt honor bound to face her.
Danny drew the sheet back. Isabelle's features were relaxed, her skin the grayish white of cold and death. He had been the one who'd sent her on that assignment. Just one more agent, one more assignment. There was no way to predict when things were likely to go horribly wrong. The whole fiasco in Meridian was ample evidence of that. Unless someone like Reed Sawyer with precognitive Talents snagged a glimpse, everybody else was pretty much doomed to live with reality as it played out. There could have been a second body. It could have been Peter.
Hands shaking, Danny pulled the sheet up. Outside the walk in refrigerator, he leaned back on the closed door, chest so tight he felt like he could barely breathe.
Sandra came toward him.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. He nodded. "I can get you a cup of coffee," she said.
He knew she was only trying to offer him a little solace and normality. Before he could respond, Danny sensed the presence he so deeply wanted. Peter was coming toward him, padding quietly across the tile barefoot. Danny held out a hand and pulled Peter into his arms, sliding down the length of the door until Danny's butt hit the floor. Peter's legs straddled his and they sat chest to chest with Danny's arms wrapped around his lover as tightly as he dared. Sandra quietly left them alone.
The little undercurrent thrum of energy that Danny always associated with touching Peter was barely present. The man felt fragile in his arms, not a word he would have generally associated with Peter.
"Love you," whispered Danny. "Love you so much."
"I love you, too. I'm glad you're back." Peter's face nestled against Danny's shoulder and blissfully he could feel the warm flow of Peter's breath against his neck.
Not like Isabelle. Danny swallowed hard and hugged Peter a little tighter. They sat there for maybe ten minutes, before Peter spoke again.
"No offense, hon, but I need to take a leak," Peter whispered.
Danny slowly let go and Peter got up off his lap.
Worry crept back again when he realized how shuffling and unsteady Peter's steps were. Danny's long legs allowed him to catch up to his lover in just a few steps.
Peter gave him an irritated sideways glance.
"You plan on holding my dick for me?" Peter groused.
"Not unless you want me to. Mostly I was trying to make sure you didn't end up face down on the bathroom floor. You can barely walk."
"I'll be fine."
Danny hovered outside the bathroom for the couple of minutes it took Peter. Coming out of the bathroom, Peter's steps were even slower, and Danny slipped an arm around his lover.
"Come on, you need to be in bed," Danny said, expecting more complaints. Peter was silent. In some ways Peter’s silence was more disturbing to Danny than Peter's shambling steps toward the bed.
Jennifer was sitting up in the neighboring bed now, arms hugged loosely around her knees, unbound hair a dark waterfall around her shoulders in the faint shadowy light from across the room.
"I'm glad you're back," she said to Danny as Peter crawled into the bed beside her. Danny thought she looked almost as worn out as Peter. "I'll leave the two of you some privacy." She began to slide out of bed on the opposite side. In the middle of his concern for Peter, Danny was shocked. He leaned across Peter and grabbed her wrist.
"Where are you going?" he demanded. She hesitated.
Danny suddenly realized she assumed she was a stop gap measure in a crisis. He glanced at Peter, who appeared to be on the verge of tears.
"Having you here was not just
making do
until Danny got home. I need you as badly as I need him," Peter whispered. Danny sensed emotional pain bordering on hysteria from his lover.
"Please, please don't go," Danny begged. "He wants you here… I need you too."
Jennifer slowly stretched out beside Peter again.
Danny relaxed a little. He toed off his shoes and laid down facing Peter's back. It was a bit of a tight fit, three adults in the space of two hospital beds. Sliding an arm under Peter's neck, he wrapped it down over Peter's torso, then he reached across and curled his fingers around Jennifer's hand. Peter was practically wedged between them, but it must have been a good thing, because Danny felt some of the tension begin to leave his lover's body.
***
A meeting was scheduled for the afternoon to discuss the events leading to Isabelle Rea's death. Jennifer wondered how hard reviewing those events was going to be for Peter, or Danny.
Jesus, she wished she could sort out her feelings for them. Here she was back to the same set of problems she'd been thrashing through her brain for days now. No, make that weeks. She was still volleying back and forth between wanting to actively be part of their lives and feeling like a third wheel.
Danny had begged her to come back to Peter's quarters after she was done showering and changing.
Peter was supposed to be resting and Jen wondered if he was likely to be as bad a patient as Danny had been.
***
Peter had given momentary thought to offering to perform that sad task, but when even walking across the room left him with muscles shaking so hard he could barely remain standing, jumping on a plane was not an option.
Danny was hovering, making phone calls, checking email, staying within sight of his lover. Peter's concentration was crap, and he didn't seem to be able to string more than about three words together in the report. He felt numb, hollowed out, like all the energy he'd poured into Isabelle's body had left some sort aching void. Danny came to settle on the sofa beside Peter.
"Talk to me," prompted Danny. Peter just shook his head. There weren't any words that worked. Danny slid an arm around Peter's shoulders, pulling him close. Peter felt the intimate brush of Danny's mind against his own, and promptly shut his shields. Danny frowned.
"Keeping me out is not going to help," Danny said.
Peter set the laptop on the table. He didn't want Danny's help. He didn't want to feel better, he wanted to hurt, to bleed… to feel something!
"Leave me the fuck alone," Peter snapped and stalked out of his quarters.
***
***
"Peter!" Someone shouted his name. He glanced back. It was Danny, jogging toward him.
"Leave me alone! I don't want to talk about it! And I don't want your help!" Peter raged.
Danny laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. That was it.
***
Danny blocked the punch fairly easily, but then missed the second one. It hit his mouth and he immediately tasted blood amidst the pain. Shit. He took Peter to the ground, trying to tread the fine line between restraining the man and defending himself. Peter thrashed and struggled for a minute or more before going still.
His breathing was a series of ragged uneven gasps in Danny's arms, where they lay sprawled on the floor of the hallway.
"Are you through?" Danny asked.
"Uh-huh," Peter mumbled.
Danny untangled himself and got to his feet. He held out a hand to Peter to help him up. The look that Peter gave him was raw, but the shields were still firmly in place, and Danny couldn't decipher any good starting place for helping his friend.
Peter got up on his own, but then stood in the center of the hallway, shaking.
"Will you please come back inside and sit down at least?" Danny pleaded.
Peter gave a tiny nod and they both went back into the apartment.
***
Jesus God, leave two guys alone in a crisis that didn't involve guns and they'd be sure to screw it up. When Jennifer arrived at Peter's quarters, hair in a long damp braid and clean clothes on, Peter was sleeping in a tight ball on the sofa and Danny was in the bathroom cleaning blood off his face.
"What the hell happened?" Jennifer demanded. "I thought you two were going to hang out and let Peter rest."
"I tried to get him to talk about what happened. First he clammed up, then he went stomping down the hall.
We ended up in a fist fight -- well sort of, anyway. He started swinging and I… I took him down as carefully as I could," Danny explained.
"Why on earth would you expect him to talk to you?"
"I know what he went through was really hard. I thought it would help." Danny leaned back on the bathroom sink, hands in his pockets. Jennifer could tell he was both mad and upset. "He shut me out, shields up and all…"
"Danny, it's been less than forty-eight hours since he got an up close and personal glimpse of death. He hasn't even begun to reach the talk about it stage. I'm actually surprised he's functioning
at all.
" Jennifer dragged Danny into the kitchen and fished some ice cubes from the freezer, wrapping them in a dish towel. She put them in his hand.