Fic: Grant Me Asylum (ch 2)
Title: Grant Me Asylum
Author: casy_dee
Rating: T (for now)
Characters/Pairing: Connor/Abby
Spoiler: minor s4
Warning: none, yet
Genre: action/adventure/romance
Chapter: 2/3?
Summary: This is written as a Birthday fic for my good friend evenstar_estel. I'd give you her prompt, but I don't want to give it away, so how about a teaser instead? Connor finds himself in dire straits when he realizes his trust might have been misplaced. Can he survive what he's done to himself this time?
Chapter 1 is Here
Chapter 2
"Would you fancy any more jelly, Gordon?" the nurse asked.
Connor shook his head, "No, thank you."
This was his first day in an actual room, and he was not about to spoil it by insisting they call him Connor. He'd made that mistake the second day, and all it had earned him was another day in isolation. The doctor had said he'd grown disruptive and then violent, but Connor didn't remember that part. He remembered being sedated, and that was all. The doctor had promised that he could have some of his things today, and he was desperate to wear something other than hospital clothing. He'd already been fed a surprisingly good breakfast, watched the telly for a few hours, and then attended group therapy before lunch. It seemed that a rousing game of Scrabble was the most exciting option available. If this was what his days were going to entail, he needed to get out, and quickly, before he went stir crazy. He was so bored.
True to the doctor's word, a nurse brought in a small bag with some of his things. He'd been packed some underpants, a brush, basic toiletries… no razor, though, a couple of pair of jeans and several of the t-shirts he liked to wear in layers, a hoodie and some trainers. The clothes had come from his wardrobe, which meant that Abby had either packed them for him or someone had taken his things whilst she was away. Oh god, what if Abby was in the same situation? Or…what if they all thought he was dead? He couldn't expect rescue, could he? He might have to get himself out of this. He'd play along with the therapy so they'd stop watching him so closely, and he'd sort something out.
Matt had been watching Burton closely since the day Danny Quinn had told him that he was not to be trusted. Privately, he'd agreed with that assessment since the day he'd met the man. Danny Quinn, on the other hand, he'd instinctively trusted, and Danny trusted Abby and Connor as much as he could trust anyone. He'd recruited Abby to help him spy on Burton because she shared his distrust for the man… and because she was close to Connor. He thought Becker could be trusted as well, but he wasn't sure how far he'd be willing to extend himself. Soldiers followed orders, as he well knew, so he settled on using Abby until he could be more certain of him.
Abby hadn't liked the thought of keeping something of that magnitude from Connor, but she had agreed that Connor could likely not keep such a secret and continue to act normally. He was simply too honest and too open, and far too trusting. She had agreed to help Matt, but only on the condition that if she felt it became necessary to clue Connor in for his own safety, that she would do so. It was a fair compromise, and truly Matt didn't want to see Connor hurt.
When Connor went missing, Matt was immediately suspicious. When Abby came to him and voiced her own trepidation, he was certain that something was not quite right about Philip's story. Connor would never work for the man if he knew what he was doing could harm others, nor would he stay silent. Matt suspected that Connor had found out that Philip's motives were suspect, and Philip had taken steps to ensure that Connor did stay silent… though hopefully not permanently. So he watched, and he paid attention, and when Burton let something slip, he would be ready for it.
Connor was right when he'd figured he would be bored, but he'd had no idea that he was going to be quite so insanely bored. He had read everything in the small library, watched more television than he ever wanted to, and played more card and board games than should be legal. It was no wonder these people were mentally ill, it was likely a direct result of the environment. Everything was to be calm and Connor had never felt less calm in his entire life. Every waking second, he was on the edge of losing control of himself, and he was not entirely sure what would happen if he did. Some days he wanted to find out, if only for it to be something different.
This day began like so many others, boredom, group therapy, lunch, hypnotherapy and more boredom, save for one very important event. On this day, he had a visitor. When he was first told that someone had come for him, for one horrible moment he thought it might be Abby. Horrible, because a millisecond later he knew it couldn't be her. Couldn't be. He wished for it though… he tried to kill the hope welling up inside of him.
According to the doctors, she didn't exist. He knew better, but he was beginning to question himself more and more. All the people in the hospital were quite convinced that he was someone other than Connor Temple, and he sometimes wondered if he was crazy and perhaps they were right. He wasn't sure who his visitor could be, but he suspected they weren't there to break him.
Two security guards led him to a room he'd never seen before. A man waited at the opposite end; he knew him immediately. It was Philip Burton. The bastard had the nerve to show up here? He fumed. For what? To gloat at how he'd managed to keep Connor locked up against his will?
"What the hell do you want?" Connor asked, his voice shaking with rage.
"Come now, Gordon. Please tell me you remember your Uncle Philip? I'd been told you were making such progress."
Connor took an aggressive step forward, intent on planting his fist firmly into Philip's face; the hospital escorts laid restraining hands upon him. Mindful of how quickly they could administer a sedative in this place, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He wanted answers, and a needle full of Thorazine wouldn't get them for him.
"Why am I here? Why didn't you just end me when ya had the chance, eh?" Connor asked.
Philip smiled, silken and smarmy, "Gordon, you're my nephew. Why do you think I mean you harm? You are my family."
"What have you done with Abby? How did you get my things from her? If you hurt her, I'll-"
"Gordon," Philip interrupted with another smile, "I don't know any Abby, and the clothes were in your room. I packed them and sent them to you, just as you asked me to last time we spoke.You answered to Gordon, then."
Connor shook his head, "No. You're lying."
"Believe me, I am only doing what is best for you. I just want you back, working in the lab side by side, as we've always done. You can finish up your latest project," Philip added as if it was an afterthought.
Connor wasn't fooled. He gritted his teeth, "I'll never work for you again. On anything," he ground out.
Philip's smile compressed into a tight line, "You are going to stay here until you are better. I have the resources to guarantee that. I hand-picked your doctor… he's a specialist of sorts. The hospital was thrilled to add him to the staff for the duration of your stay. When you are Gordon again, and you will be, make no mistake… you will come work for me, and you will finish what you started."
Connor swallowed hard. The note of finality on the last word had been crystal clear. He'd been threatened, in no uncertain terms. Philip meant to brainwash him, and he'd be a prisoner here until he succeeded.
"You won't get away with this. They'll come for me."
Philip turned to leave, "Goodbye… Gordon."
"You'll pay for-" Connor's voice trailed off as the shot of Thorozine took effect.
But I didn't do anything, was his last thought as the drug took hold.
Had Connor not been missing for the past month, Matt probably would have never stopped to listen to the telephone conversation, but he could hardly ignore any potential clue now. He was beginning to think that Connor was dead, and from Abby's despondence he thought she felt much the same. She wouldn't say it, though. She maintained that Connor was alive and out there waiting for them to find him, and for both their sakes, he hoped she was right.
Matt had been stood near Philip's office when a call came in for him and so he'd quickly slipped into an alcove to listen in. Philip had answered the call, and then had said 'I can pay whatever it takes, Dr. Horton. Money is no concern whatsoever. Keep my nephew until I say he is ready to come home.' Matt knew Philip's file better than he knew his own. Philip Burton had no nephew, nor family of any sort for that matter. Now he just had to find out where this Dr. Horton had called from… simple enough for Jess to do, provided he could trust her. He sighed deeply and dialed Abby on his mobile. She'd not care that it was early morning, not when he might have found something to finally give her hope.
Connor was sat in front of the Scrabble board, pondering his next move. His medicine made him sleepy and slow, and it was hard to concentrate. In the beginning, he'd hidden the pills under his tongue. He wasn't sure why, exactly. His therapist said that people with his condition often resisted getting better by refusing to take their medication because it made them feel as if they were being controlled, but it was just to help with the anxiety. He'd been told he suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder; he had episodes where he would insist that he was another person. The goal for his treatment was for him to bring the two aspects of his personality together. The hypnotherapy was helping.
He hoped his uncle Philip would come to visit him again. Last time, he'd treated him poorly. His uncle said that he wanted him to get better so that he could come home and work for him again. He said he'd have his own flat and a private lab when he was well enough to be released. Unfortunately, he'd been having one of his episodes and insisted that his name was Connor Temple. His doctor said he'd shouted at Philip, had gotten violent and he'd even managed to belt him in the jaw before he'd been tranquilized and restrained. Uncle Philip had been so good to him; he felt terribly for treating him like that. He didn't remember any of it, save waking up from the shot. Supposedly that was normal for his condition.
The therapist said that Philip had raised him after he'd been taken away from his parents. They had been drug addicts and had done bad things to him as a child. Dr. Montague said that it was probably why he'd developed the disorder, so that he could survive the trauma. He hadn't been able to remember much of it, except for memories of being locked in a small dark place. He'd not wanted to think on it much, even if it meant it was progress. He knew he'd have to eventually, if he wanted to go back to a normal life someday. He stuck his hands further into the pockets of his hoodie, fingering the inside seams. For some reason it seemed to comfort him, and he'd take comfort where he could get it.
Abby missed Connor desperately. She knew he was in danger, and he needed her. She had to make herself believe that, because the alternatives were too painful to contemplate. Niggling worms of doubt whispered to her in the dark. What if he had left voluntarily without as much as a goodbye or… what if he was dead? She blamed herself. She should have told him that Matt suspected Burton. She should have told him that Danny had found a connection between Burton and Helen Cutter. She should have- she stifled a sob and wiped the tears that had escaped to trail down her face with the back of her hand and turned her head into her pillow. It didn't matter. It was done. She'd lost him and she was no closer to finding him than she'd been a month prior. She hoped he'd found the message she'd sewn into the pocket of his hoodie. At least he'd know she knew something was wrong, that is, if he'd actually received the clothing she'd packed for him and it hadn't been part of Burton's scheme to make her think he was alive and working elsewhere on assigment.
She'd asked Jess to help, but she hadn't been able to find anything. She'd adamantly refused to try to hack into the ARC or Prosporo files. She said that there were too many tripwires and fail safes. She'd likely not find a thing, and Philip would know what she'd done. All she'd been able to get from her was her promise to listen for any possible connection to Connor's disappearance. Matt was doing the same, and she'd spoken with Becker despite Matt's reservations. He promised if she found a way for him to help, he'd be there for Connor. Cold comfort, but at least she knew her friends wanted to help. She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep. It was four in the morning already; this would be a rough day.
Her mobile rang, startling a small scream from her. She blinked blearily at the clock. It was six in the morning and she'd just barely dropped off after a fitful night of bad dreams broken by periods of staring at the ceiling and worrying about Connor. She thumbed the screen on and answered the call. Matt ringing her this early in the morning had to be important, else he would have waited the few hours until she came to work. Could it be about Connor? She was afraid to hope.
Connor felt he was making progress; most often he was Gordon Taylor now, but in his dreams he was someone different. In his dreams he was Connor Temple and he loved a beautiful fierce woman named Abby Maitland. She loved him too, and he heard her say it in his dreams. He remembered fantastical things, like running from dinosaurs and living in a cave and secret government agencies and time travel. That's how he knew it wasn't real. It was all a figment of his shattered psyche. He had to give himself credit for his creativity; it was an exciting life his other self lived. Still, when he woke in the middle of the night with her image burning in his brain, the memory of her scent and her taste on his tongue, he couldn't help but think that Connor Temple's life was more real than the one the doctors told him was his. Else, why would his chest ache when he thought of her? Why would he wake with tears tracking down his face because he missed her? How could he love a dream more than life itself?
TBC
A/N: Just FYI, I am away from home in a training school so updates are somewhat slow. My internet comes and goes. Grrrrrr. Comments help motivate me though… *wink wink nudge nudge* Feed my hungry muse?
Author: casy_dee
Rating: T (for now)
Characters/Pairing: Connor/Abby
Spoiler: minor s4
Warning: none, yet
Genre: action/adventure/romance
Chapter: 2/3?
Summary: This is written as a Birthday fic for my good friend evenstar_estel. I'd give you her prompt, but I don't want to give it away, so how about a teaser instead? Connor finds himself in dire straits when he realizes his trust might have been misplaced. Can he survive what he's done to himself this time?
Chapter 1 is Here
Chapter 2
"Would you fancy any more jelly, Gordon?" the nurse asked.
Connor shook his head, "No, thank you."
This was his first day in an actual room, and he was not about to spoil it by insisting they call him Connor. He'd made that mistake the second day, and all it had earned him was another day in isolation. The doctor had said he'd grown disruptive and then violent, but Connor didn't remember that part. He remembered being sedated, and that was all. The doctor had promised that he could have some of his things today, and he was desperate to wear something other than hospital clothing. He'd already been fed a surprisingly good breakfast, watched the telly for a few hours, and then attended group therapy before lunch. It seemed that a rousing game of Scrabble was the most exciting option available. If this was what his days were going to entail, he needed to get out, and quickly, before he went stir crazy. He was so bored.
True to the doctor's word, a nurse brought in a small bag with some of his things. He'd been packed some underpants, a brush, basic toiletries… no razor, though, a couple of pair of jeans and several of the t-shirts he liked to wear in layers, a hoodie and some trainers. The clothes had come from his wardrobe, which meant that Abby had either packed them for him or someone had taken his things whilst she was away. Oh god, what if Abby was in the same situation? Or…what if they all thought he was dead? He couldn't expect rescue, could he? He might have to get himself out of this. He'd play along with the therapy so they'd stop watching him so closely, and he'd sort something out.
Matt had been watching Burton closely since the day Danny Quinn had told him that he was not to be trusted. Privately, he'd agreed with that assessment since the day he'd met the man. Danny Quinn, on the other hand, he'd instinctively trusted, and Danny trusted Abby and Connor as much as he could trust anyone. He'd recruited Abby to help him spy on Burton because she shared his distrust for the man… and because she was close to Connor. He thought Becker could be trusted as well, but he wasn't sure how far he'd be willing to extend himself. Soldiers followed orders, as he well knew, so he settled on using Abby until he could be more certain of him.
Abby hadn't liked the thought of keeping something of that magnitude from Connor, but she had agreed that Connor could likely not keep such a secret and continue to act normally. He was simply too honest and too open, and far too trusting. She had agreed to help Matt, but only on the condition that if she felt it became necessary to clue Connor in for his own safety, that she would do so. It was a fair compromise, and truly Matt didn't want to see Connor hurt.
When Connor went missing, Matt was immediately suspicious. When Abby came to him and voiced her own trepidation, he was certain that something was not quite right about Philip's story. Connor would never work for the man if he knew what he was doing could harm others, nor would he stay silent. Matt suspected that Connor had found out that Philip's motives were suspect, and Philip had taken steps to ensure that Connor did stay silent… though hopefully not permanently. So he watched, and he paid attention, and when Burton let something slip, he would be ready for it.
Connor was right when he'd figured he would be bored, but he'd had no idea that he was going to be quite so insanely bored. He had read everything in the small library, watched more television than he ever wanted to, and played more card and board games than should be legal. It was no wonder these people were mentally ill, it was likely a direct result of the environment. Everything was to be calm and Connor had never felt less calm in his entire life. Every waking second, he was on the edge of losing control of himself, and he was not entirely sure what would happen if he did. Some days he wanted to find out, if only for it to be something different.
This day began like so many others, boredom, group therapy, lunch, hypnotherapy and more boredom, save for one very important event. On this day, he had a visitor. When he was first told that someone had come for him, for one horrible moment he thought it might be Abby. Horrible, because a millisecond later he knew it couldn't be her. Couldn't be. He wished for it though… he tried to kill the hope welling up inside of him.
According to the doctors, she didn't exist. He knew better, but he was beginning to question himself more and more. All the people in the hospital were quite convinced that he was someone other than Connor Temple, and he sometimes wondered if he was crazy and perhaps they were right. He wasn't sure who his visitor could be, but he suspected they weren't there to break him.
Two security guards led him to a room he'd never seen before. A man waited at the opposite end; he knew him immediately. It was Philip Burton. The bastard had the nerve to show up here? He fumed. For what? To gloat at how he'd managed to keep Connor locked up against his will?
"What the hell do you want?" Connor asked, his voice shaking with rage.
"Come now, Gordon. Please tell me you remember your Uncle Philip? I'd been told you were making such progress."
Connor took an aggressive step forward, intent on planting his fist firmly into Philip's face; the hospital escorts laid restraining hands upon him. Mindful of how quickly they could administer a sedative in this place, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He wanted answers, and a needle full of Thorazine wouldn't get them for him.
"Why am I here? Why didn't you just end me when ya had the chance, eh?" Connor asked.
Philip smiled, silken and smarmy, "Gordon, you're my nephew. Why do you think I mean you harm? You are my family."
"What have you done with Abby? How did you get my things from her? If you hurt her, I'll-"
"Gordon," Philip interrupted with another smile, "I don't know any Abby, and the clothes were in your room. I packed them and sent them to you, just as you asked me to last time we spoke.You answered to Gordon, then."
Connor shook his head, "No. You're lying."
"Believe me, I am only doing what is best for you. I just want you back, working in the lab side by side, as we've always done. You can finish up your latest project," Philip added as if it was an afterthought.
Connor wasn't fooled. He gritted his teeth, "I'll never work for you again. On anything," he ground out.
Philip's smile compressed into a tight line, "You are going to stay here until you are better. I have the resources to guarantee that. I hand-picked your doctor… he's a specialist of sorts. The hospital was thrilled to add him to the staff for the duration of your stay. When you are Gordon again, and you will be, make no mistake… you will come work for me, and you will finish what you started."
Connor swallowed hard. The note of finality on the last word had been crystal clear. He'd been threatened, in no uncertain terms. Philip meant to brainwash him, and he'd be a prisoner here until he succeeded.
"You won't get away with this. They'll come for me."
Philip turned to leave, "Goodbye… Gordon."
"You'll pay for-" Connor's voice trailed off as the shot of Thorozine took effect.
But I didn't do anything, was his last thought as the drug took hold.
Had Connor not been missing for the past month, Matt probably would have never stopped to listen to the telephone conversation, but he could hardly ignore any potential clue now. He was beginning to think that Connor was dead, and from Abby's despondence he thought she felt much the same. She wouldn't say it, though. She maintained that Connor was alive and out there waiting for them to find him, and for both their sakes, he hoped she was right.
Matt had been stood near Philip's office when a call came in for him and so he'd quickly slipped into an alcove to listen in. Philip had answered the call, and then had said 'I can pay whatever it takes, Dr. Horton. Money is no concern whatsoever. Keep my nephew until I say he is ready to come home.' Matt knew Philip's file better than he knew his own. Philip Burton had no nephew, nor family of any sort for that matter. Now he just had to find out where this Dr. Horton had called from… simple enough for Jess to do, provided he could trust her. He sighed deeply and dialed Abby on his mobile. She'd not care that it was early morning, not when he might have found something to finally give her hope.
Connor was sat in front of the Scrabble board, pondering his next move. His medicine made him sleepy and slow, and it was hard to concentrate. In the beginning, he'd hidden the pills under his tongue. He wasn't sure why, exactly. His therapist said that people with his condition often resisted getting better by refusing to take their medication because it made them feel as if they were being controlled, but it was just to help with the anxiety. He'd been told he suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder; he had episodes where he would insist that he was another person. The goal for his treatment was for him to bring the two aspects of his personality together. The hypnotherapy was helping.
He hoped his uncle Philip would come to visit him again. Last time, he'd treated him poorly. His uncle said that he wanted him to get better so that he could come home and work for him again. He said he'd have his own flat and a private lab when he was well enough to be released. Unfortunately, he'd been having one of his episodes and insisted that his name was Connor Temple. His doctor said he'd shouted at Philip, had gotten violent and he'd even managed to belt him in the jaw before he'd been tranquilized and restrained. Uncle Philip had been so good to him; he felt terribly for treating him like that. He didn't remember any of it, save waking up from the shot. Supposedly that was normal for his condition.
The therapist said that Philip had raised him after he'd been taken away from his parents. They had been drug addicts and had done bad things to him as a child. Dr. Montague said that it was probably why he'd developed the disorder, so that he could survive the trauma. He hadn't been able to remember much of it, except for memories of being locked in a small dark place. He'd not wanted to think on it much, even if it meant it was progress. He knew he'd have to eventually, if he wanted to go back to a normal life someday. He stuck his hands further into the pockets of his hoodie, fingering the inside seams. For some reason it seemed to comfort him, and he'd take comfort where he could get it.
Abby missed Connor desperately. She knew he was in danger, and he needed her. She had to make herself believe that, because the alternatives were too painful to contemplate. Niggling worms of doubt whispered to her in the dark. What if he had left voluntarily without as much as a goodbye or… what if he was dead? She blamed herself. She should have told him that Matt suspected Burton. She should have told him that Danny had found a connection between Burton and Helen Cutter. She should have- she stifled a sob and wiped the tears that had escaped to trail down her face with the back of her hand and turned her head into her pillow. It didn't matter. It was done. She'd lost him and she was no closer to finding him than she'd been a month prior. She hoped he'd found the message she'd sewn into the pocket of his hoodie. At least he'd know she knew something was wrong, that is, if he'd actually received the clothing she'd packed for him and it hadn't been part of Burton's scheme to make her think he was alive and working elsewhere on assigment.
She'd asked Jess to help, but she hadn't been able to find anything. She'd adamantly refused to try to hack into the ARC or Prosporo files. She said that there were too many tripwires and fail safes. She'd likely not find a thing, and Philip would know what she'd done. All she'd been able to get from her was her promise to listen for any possible connection to Connor's disappearance. Matt was doing the same, and she'd spoken with Becker despite Matt's reservations. He promised if she found a way for him to help, he'd be there for Connor. Cold comfort, but at least she knew her friends wanted to help. She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep. It was four in the morning already; this would be a rough day.
Her mobile rang, startling a small scream from her. She blinked blearily at the clock. It was six in the morning and she'd just barely dropped off after a fitful night of bad dreams broken by periods of staring at the ceiling and worrying about Connor. She thumbed the screen on and answered the call. Matt ringing her this early in the morning had to be important, else he would have waited the few hours until she came to work. Could it be about Connor? She was afraid to hope.
Connor felt he was making progress; most often he was Gordon Taylor now, but in his dreams he was someone different. In his dreams he was Connor Temple and he loved a beautiful fierce woman named Abby Maitland. She loved him too, and he heard her say it in his dreams. He remembered fantastical things, like running from dinosaurs and living in a cave and secret government agencies and time travel. That's how he knew it wasn't real. It was all a figment of his shattered psyche. He had to give himself credit for his creativity; it was an exciting life his other self lived. Still, when he woke in the middle of the night with her image burning in his brain, the memory of her scent and her taste on his tongue, he couldn't help but think that Connor Temple's life was more real than the one the doctors told him was his. Else, why would his chest ache when he thought of her? Why would he wake with tears tracking down his face because he missed her? How could he love a dream more than life itself?
TBC
A/N: Just FYI, I am away from home in a training school so updates are somewhat slow. My internet comes and goes. Grrrrrr. Comments help motivate me though… *wink wink nudge nudge* Feed my hungry muse?