fic: I open my eyes and exist
Title: I open my eyes and exist
Author: dreamingwriter
Rating: T
Warnings: Language, but barely
Characters: Dani Reese, Charlie Crews, Ted Earley
Disclaimer: I love this show, but it's not mine.
Summary: Dani is taken.
A/N: AU as of "Initiative 38" and "One". Thanks to jennypowers007 for betaing and assuring me that I wasn't killing the characters. Also, thanks to my grammar wiz friend in real life.
None of the FBI agents will talk to her - which, ironically enough, is exactly what assures her that she's being kidnapped by agents, not smoking, bitter, pacing ransomers out for her partner’s money. Well, that and the badges embellished with FBI lettering, shining in the sun streaming through the windshield of the van. They wear suits and scan traffic for suspicious vehicles and double back more than once and it's oddly comforting in the face of government corruption.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark, she thinks and stifles most of a bitter grin. She hated Hamlet in high school.
x
There are no blindfolds, no handcuffs, or orders, only a building heaviness behind her eyes. Blearily she remembers being handed an open bottle of water at the last meeting in the cramped FBI office where the details of her new job had been laid out in full.
Leaving that building had never been an option, then. Relief pushes at the edges of her sleepy mind; she got to say no. She made the choice.
A stoplight turns green and, with one last blink in defiance, Dani falls asleep to the hum of a smooth acceleration.
x
They give her time to think it over.
A lot of time.
She also receives a lovely cell to live in until she changes her mind. Everything is white, white, white, except for the chair and several grayish stains on the mattress pushed against the back wall that she'd rather not think about. The walls are painted cinderblock and the light is a cheap bulb that casts a yellow tint over the blank space.
The door swings open, and a tray of what looks like food, though nothing she would have even considered eating before walking into a trap, is shoved through the space, the scrape of metal on concrete and the slam of the closing door making her head throb. She winces, feeling the after-effects of the drugs.
x
Thinking about Crews is her assignment (And now the orders begin. Assignment, she laughs, and the suit frowns. She can see his gun holstered at his waist when he crosses his arms. ), and she does, but really her mind whizzes past fruit, and the big empty house he has to match his big, almost empty, newly returned life, and settles squarely on denying her captors everything.
It's only the third day, and she's determined to be as much of a stubborn ass as possible. This is not an encouraging sign.
x
Sometime's it's like he's right there, like he's chattering about fruit color and purpose and cases in her ear, asking her if she can see how it's all connected.
Her ears ring from his noisy silence.
x
Agents in too expensive Prada suits and shiny shoes enter and exit her cell at the most inconvenient times of the day, most often in the seconds before she can fall asleep, out of some perverse desire to see her cranky and sleep deprived. Maybe they think that she'll crack if it'll earn her a whole night's sleep.
"Have you changed your mind?" they ask, some standing by the door, some bothering to appear sympathetic by sitting in the chair, reaching her level as she lies on the bed, closing her eyes in an attempt to ignore their patient smiles.
The answer is yes, but not in the ways that they want or can understand.
x
Two thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight black specks freckle the ceiling above her mattress and she is angry that she has had the time to count them. Rage rushes through her veins, white and hot, and she clenches her hands into fists and glares at speck ninety-four.
She holds her breath, heart pounding, and hears, "If I overcome anger, I will be delighted and loved by everyone."
She wonders if hearing Charlie's voice makes her Zenish or if it’s insanity in its simplest form.
x
"Have you changed your mind?"
"Nagging is really not helping your case here."
"We've got time and we've got you."
She doesn't have a response to that.
x
The door slides open softly, a tiny click the only acknowledgement of its movement. Polished shoes do not step through the door to ask again her decision. Heels don't clack into the enclosed space, bringing feminine voices of persuasion.
An "Oh, hey!" reaches her ears, and she sits up, amused. Ted stands awkwardly in worn tennis shoes, holding the door open with one hand while the other moves between waving to her and towards something in the hall. It is not the rescue she expected and she laughs, low in her dry throat. He blinks and hesitates again, uncertain of the humor and understanding too well the sense of freedom she feels, but she stands so he continues. "Charlie's a few doors down."
(She’s curious about his intentions, whether he volunteered to find her or if he’d have rather waited in the car; whether Crews wanted his help or needed someone to hold him back. His face gives nothing of importance away and she’s beginning to get why he and Crews are such good friends.)
Ted points to her left, towards more cells and opened doors and the sense of a hurried search. Nodding in thanks, she walks to the furthest door and waits for red hair to pop out of the abandoned space.
"Reese," he says, steadying himself against the door frame, sliding quickly into the Crews she knows, and abandoning the look of anger and desperation he'd held for a moment. (If she hadn't seen it, if she had blinked, this would be much easier.)
"Crews," she returns, and she's out of things to say because, I would have talked, back when you first got out, when I didn't understand, and only had pieces of an unconventional personality to grasp onto, isn't a great thank you.
Now, now she wants to see how he fills his life and comes to terms and finally figures it out. I trust you, she sighs, the words caught up in her mouth and throat.
He seems to get it anyway.
Author: dreamingwriter
Rating: T
Warnings: Language, but barely
Characters: Dani Reese, Charlie Crews, Ted Earley
Disclaimer: I love this show, but it's not mine.
Summary: Dani is taken.
A/N: AU as of "Initiative 38" and "One". Thanks to jennypowers007 for betaing and assuring me that I wasn't killing the characters. Also, thanks to my grammar wiz friend in real life.
None of the FBI agents will talk to her - which, ironically enough, is exactly what assures her that she's being kidnapped by agents, not smoking, bitter, pacing ransomers out for her partner’s money. Well, that and the badges embellished with FBI lettering, shining in the sun streaming through the windshield of the van. They wear suits and scan traffic for suspicious vehicles and double back more than once and it's oddly comforting in the face of government corruption.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark, she thinks and stifles most of a bitter grin. She hated Hamlet in high school.
x
There are no blindfolds, no handcuffs, or orders, only a building heaviness behind her eyes. Blearily she remembers being handed an open bottle of water at the last meeting in the cramped FBI office where the details of her new job had been laid out in full.
Leaving that building had never been an option, then. Relief pushes at the edges of her sleepy mind; she got to say no. She made the choice.
A stoplight turns green and, with one last blink in defiance, Dani falls asleep to the hum of a smooth acceleration.
x
They give her time to think it over.
A lot of time.
She also receives a lovely cell to live in until she changes her mind. Everything is white, white, white, except for the chair and several grayish stains on the mattress pushed against the back wall that she'd rather not think about. The walls are painted cinderblock and the light is a cheap bulb that casts a yellow tint over the blank space.
The door swings open, and a tray of what looks like food, though nothing she would have even considered eating before walking into a trap, is shoved through the space, the scrape of metal on concrete and the slam of the closing door making her head throb. She winces, feeling the after-effects of the drugs.
x
Thinking about Crews is her assignment (And now the orders begin. Assignment, she laughs, and the suit frowns. She can see his gun holstered at his waist when he crosses his arms. ), and she does, but really her mind whizzes past fruit, and the big empty house he has to match his big, almost empty, newly returned life, and settles squarely on denying her captors everything.
It's only the third day, and she's determined to be as much of a stubborn ass as possible. This is not an encouraging sign.
x
Sometime's it's like he's right there, like he's chattering about fruit color and purpose and cases in her ear, asking her if she can see how it's all connected.
Her ears ring from his noisy silence.
x
Agents in too expensive Prada suits and shiny shoes enter and exit her cell at the most inconvenient times of the day, most often in the seconds before she can fall asleep, out of some perverse desire to see her cranky and sleep deprived. Maybe they think that she'll crack if it'll earn her a whole night's sleep.
"Have you changed your mind?" they ask, some standing by the door, some bothering to appear sympathetic by sitting in the chair, reaching her level as she lies on the bed, closing her eyes in an attempt to ignore their patient smiles.
The answer is yes, but not in the ways that they want or can understand.
x
Two thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight black specks freckle the ceiling above her mattress and she is angry that she has had the time to count them. Rage rushes through her veins, white and hot, and she clenches her hands into fists and glares at speck ninety-four.
She holds her breath, heart pounding, and hears, "If I overcome anger, I will be delighted and loved by everyone."
She wonders if hearing Charlie's voice makes her Zenish or if it’s insanity in its simplest form.
x
"Have you changed your mind?"
"Nagging is really not helping your case here."
"We've got time and we've got you."
She doesn't have a response to that.
x
The door slides open softly, a tiny click the only acknowledgement of its movement. Polished shoes do not step through the door to ask again her decision. Heels don't clack into the enclosed space, bringing feminine voices of persuasion.
An "Oh, hey!" reaches her ears, and she sits up, amused. Ted stands awkwardly in worn tennis shoes, holding the door open with one hand while the other moves between waving to her and towards something in the hall. It is not the rescue she expected and she laughs, low in her dry throat. He blinks and hesitates again, uncertain of the humor and understanding too well the sense of freedom she feels, but she stands so he continues. "Charlie's a few doors down."
(She’s curious about his intentions, whether he volunteered to find her or if he’d have rather waited in the car; whether Crews wanted his help or needed someone to hold him back. His face gives nothing of importance away and she’s beginning to get why he and Crews are such good friends.)
Ted points to her left, towards more cells and opened doors and the sense of a hurried search. Nodding in thanks, she walks to the furthest door and waits for red hair to pop out of the abandoned space.
"Reese," he says, steadying himself against the door frame, sliding quickly into the Crews she knows, and abandoning the look of anger and desperation he'd held for a moment. (If she hadn't seen it, if she had blinked, this would be much easier.)
"Crews," she returns, and she's out of things to say because, I would have talked, back when you first got out, when I didn't understand, and only had pieces of an unconventional personality to grasp onto, isn't a great thank you.
Now, now she wants to see how he fills his life and comes to terms and finally figures it out. I trust you, she sighs, the words caught up in her mouth and throat.
He seems to get it anyway.