New Fic!! Thoughtcrimes--The Silent Twins, Part Two
Title: The Silent Twins
Author: katstale
Rating: PG-13 or Older Teens
Fandom: Thoughtcrimes
Category: Gen
Word Count: 7500 even
Challenge: The Random Title Generator Challenge at ana-grrl's journal.
Characters: Freya and Brendan, with a bit of Michael near the end
Warnings: Some violence and very slight language. (Yes, I did whump Brendan. :D)
Summary: Brendan and Freya travel upstate to look for clues in the disappearance of a rich businessman. Only things don't quite go according to plan. Whumping ensues.
Notes: I was originally planning to write an SGA story for this challenge, but when I saw the second title in the list, it turned sideways on its head and started jumping up and down, screaming "BRENDAN!!!" at the top of its lungs in my ear. So really, how could I not do a Thoughtcrimes fic after that happened???
The Silent Twins
No sooner had the warning left his mouth than the window behind them shattered, glass spraying the sofa they'd just vacated. "Where's the light switch in here? We need to kill the lights so they can't see us." If the shooter has night vision or infrared, we are royally screwed here!
Jennings' eyes were wide with fear, her breathing fast and erratic. "O-on th-the wall where we came in. B-b-but the lights on the artwork are on...automatic timer--can't turn them off...from in here." She coughed, closing her eyes tightly as a trail of red trickled from her mouth.
"Damn it!" Brendan scanned the room, quickly calculating how many lamps there were. Must be a couple of dozen lights along those walls alone, and that doesn't even count the statues or busts. Way too many to shoot out and Jennings here is in serious trouble.. Damn it! This is not good, B. Not good at all.
"I think I can get to the light switch, Brendan," suggested Freya.
"No! You stay put. I'll get it. When I give the word, I want you to crawl on your stomach to the doorway. We have to get away from these windows--we're sitting ducks in here." Pulling himself off of the nanny, he gasped and grabbed at his shoulder, only then realizing he'd been wounded himself.
"Brendan, what's wrong?" Freya started to crawl over to him, terrified that the only thought she could read in his mind was pain. Overwhelming, debilitating, intense, mind-numbing pain.
"Stay back," he ordered through gritted teeth. "I'm okay. I'm going for the lights now--be ready." Damn that hurts. Nice and easy, B. Nice and easy. After a moment to gather his strength, Dean pulled the nanny to safety behind the sofa and set off through the maze of furniture and art, dragging himself with his good arm. Gotta get to the wall switch. Ignore the pain, don't think about how your shoulder is on fire and leaking all over Mr. Carrington's fancy expensive floor. Keep moving, just don't stop. You're almost halfway there.
A large plaster statue exploded next to him, showering him in dust and chunks of white debris. Brendan coughed, groaning loudly as the motion set off a firestorm in his injured shoulder.
Freya heard the bullet destroy the statue and her fear for her partner soared to new heights. "Brendan! Are you all right? Brendan, answer me!"
Dean remained silent, his thoughts once again nothing but a fiery pain consuming his chest and left shoulder. She couldn't stand it any longer and prepared to crawl over to him. "Brendan, answer me or I'm coming over there right now!"
Her words finally penetrated the haze of pain, and he called out. "No, stay down and stay put! He's still out there. That goes for both of you," he warned.
Jennings whimpered loudly, which again set off a coughing fit; it was the only response she offered. Freya managed to keep a cool head, though it wasn't easy knowing her partner had been wounded and was in such extreme pain. "Brendan, you've been shot. Let me do this. I'll stay low, I swear."
"No!" Although injured, Dean's reply was emphatic. "Stay put; I'm almost there." Slowly, painfully, he started off once more. Come on, B, you can do this. Just keep going. Nanny needs doctor. 'S up to you. Keep 'em safe. Gotta get there. Get help. Nanny needs...help. Focus, B, focus.
Intent on remaining conscious and reaching his destination, Brendan didn't hear the crunching of glass on the other side of the room. But Freya did. She stayed close to the floor, peering under the sofa she had sought refuge behind when the first shot rang out. She could see the would-be assassin's black boots, methodically checking behind each piece of furniture, art, or potential hiding place he encountered. Come out, come out wherever you are. You shouldn't have let the feds in, Sarah baby. Boss didn't like hearing that you were cooperating with them at all. Ah, so there you are, sweet-cheeks. Still with us, huh? No matter, I'll finish you later--gotta find me some prime official US government bacon first.
She had to warn Brendan. Calling out would lead the shooter straight to her, but was her partner in any shape to be able to save her? Wait--maybe a diversion. Think, Freya! She slowly sat up, careful to keep her head below the back of the sofa and out of sight. Quickly taking in her immediate surroundings, she spied a ceramic figurine on the end table and carefully made her way over to it. She held her breath as she grabbed it and pulled it down, clutching it to her chest and waiting for any sign that the shooter had seen or heard her. Bingo! At the man's triumphant declaration, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, bracing for the bullet she knew would come.
Intense pain flooded her mind, but she was surprised to find it coming not from herself but from Brendan. "Agh!"
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Federal Agent Man himself." Freya's eyes widened in horror as she realized that Brendan had been discovered. "Nice of you to leave such a pretty red trail for me to follow." She peeked over the edge of the seat back and was dismayed to find a tall man, garbed in hunter's gear, standing over her partner and pointing a high-powered rifle at him. "Shame this has to go down so quick, but I got orders. Gotta take care of you--then I'm gonna hunt down that pretty little thing you brought with you and have me some real fun before I leave."
Freya swallowed hard, blocking the sickening images of what the monster had planned for her. Think about Brendan, Freya--you've got to help Brendan!
Her partner's thoughts filtered in, breaking through the sick images of their attacker. Wait for it, B. He hasn't taken your gun, so wait for the opening. Focus, damn it! You cannot lose consciousness now, not yet.
Sensing her opening, Freya stood and quickly exchanged the small statuette with a larger, heavier one. Silently, carefully, she raised it over her head and crept up behind the man with the rifle. "Say good night, Mr. Fed-er-al A-gent." When his finger began to tighten on the trigger, she swung with all her might, bringing the heavy bust down on his head. To her dismay, she hadn't been close enough and the blow glanced off the side of his head. He staggered, but didn't fall, instead swinging the rifle around to point at her. She stood there, her eyes wide, waiting for him to pull the trigger.
She flinched as a loud bang rang out and again squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the pain to blossom any moment from the impact of the bullet. When it didn't come, she opened them to find a look of stunned disbelief on the assassin's face. The rifle dropped, followed almost instantly by the intruder. Shocked at the turn of events, Freya turned to find Brendan, his revolver still in hand and pointed. Got him, but is he dead? Her eyes went back to the downed attacker and she started to bend down to check when Dean stopped her. "No! Kick...kick the...rifle...away...first," he warned.
After doing as instructed, she carefully bent down to check for a pulse. "He's dead, Brendan. There's no pulse--he's dead."
Dean's sense of relief flooded her mind. Good, 's good. Call...help. Nanny...needs... His thought trailed off as his head rolled to the side, his eyes closing.
"Brendan!" Freya screamed his name even as she scrambled over to him. Fighting panic, she placed her fingers on his neck, alarmed at the rapid and erratic beat she found. Frantic, she fumbled to pull out her cell phone and dial. Propping the phone to her ear, she grabbed a throw off a nearby chair and balled it up, pressing it to the hole in Dean's shoulder.
After what seemed an eternity, her call was finally answered. "This is Freya McAllister. Agent Dean is down. I repeat, Agent Dean is down--he's been shot. Hurry!"
******
"Freya?" Michael Wells' voice was quiet, even tentative as he called to her.
Standing by the window of the small hospital room, she sighed. She didn't want to have the same argument yet again, but she knew it was inevitable. Raising her eyes to the cloudy skies, she didn't turn to face him as she answered him. "I'm not leaving him, Michael."
Wells sighed, knowing the battle was already lost, but needing to try anyway. It's been a week now, Freya. You can't keep this up. You heard the doctor--she said she'd call if he wakes up. Go home, Freya. Get a good night's sleep for once. He wouldn't want you to push yourself like this.
She turned around to face him, crossing her arms as she leaned back on the closed window. "I'm not going to let him wake up here alone. He doesn't have anyone else, Michael. I can't leave him. I won't."
I assumed as much, but I had to try. We're worried about you. I'm worried about you. I know it's not easy blocking out all the voices in a place like this. You need a break, Freya. Wells moved forward as he 'thought' at Freya, his expression both earnest and concerned.
She rolled her eyes and moved over to the bed where Brendan lay. Taking her partner's still hand in hers, she spared a quick look at Michael. "You can stop worrying--I'm fine."
Freya...
Before he could even think another word, she stopped him cold. "I said I'm fine and I'm not leaving. In case you hadn't noticed, a lot of things in my life haven't exactly been easy--but some things are worth the effort, Michael. This is one of them."
A faint groan interrupted the argument, as Brendan tried to fight his way to wakefulness. Freya reached out to brush several errant locks of hair from his forehead. "It's all right, Brendan. You're in the hospital. You were shot and you've been running a fever, but you're getting better now."
Is he still delirious? Michael approached the injured agent's bedside, but still kept his distance.
She shook her head. "His fever finally broke. They said he could wake up anytime." She leaned forward again, stroking his forehead as he spoke. "Can you hear me, Brendan? You need to wake up and talk to me."
Her only answer was another groan, though louder this time. She was about to try calling to him again when Wells interrupted.
That's good news. I'm happy to hear that he's out of the woods now. I suppose this means you'll be going home for awhile after you've spoken with him? There's no reason to stay and run yourself into the ground if he's out of danger. Though his eyes held a look of complete sympathy, the tone of his thoughts was firm.
"I'm not having this discussion again, Michael. I think it's time for you to leave. I'll be certain to give Brendan your best." Having dismissed her mentor, she turned back to her partner.
Michael shook his head and started for the door, hesitating before exiting the room. I do wish him a speedy recovery, you know. I just don't want to see that come at your expense. Take care, Freya. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Without waiting for her reply, he left.
She rubbed her temples, massaging them in an attempt to alleviate the headache brewing just below the surface. Michael had been right about it being difficult to block all the voices. But Brendan was worth the annoyance of the headache and she didn't regret her actions for a single moment.
Another moan from the man in the bed, this one followed by a sharp hiss. She took hold of his free hand, mindful of the IVs it was sporting and gently squeezed. "Brendan?"
"Fr'ya?"
The voice was weak and raspy, but it was music to her ears. She quickly pressed the call button and reached for the glass of ice chips next to his bed. "Yeah, it's me. Do you need some ice chips?"
Though his nod was barely noticeable, she saw it and fished a small spoonful out of the cup. Holding it to his lips, she smiled as she watched him savor the frozen bits as they melted on his tongue. "Thanks," he whispered.
"You're welcome." She set the cup aside and returned to holding his hand. "How are you feeling?"
His thoughts were confused and only a few disjointed images of the drive to the estate were discernable to her. "Happened?" he asked, his voice still weak.
She gently squeezed his hand. "You were shot, remember? We were at the Carrington estate to question the twins."
He nodded, attempting to shift in the bed and quickly discovering that it had not been a good idea. By the time he finally recovered the ability to speak, the fog in his mind had cleared and he was able to recall every detail of the shooting--right up to the point where he lost consciousness. "Was anyone...else hurt? The Nanny?"
She again stroked his forehead as she provided the information. "No one else was hurt, only you and Ms. Jennings. I'm sorry, Brendan, she didn't make it."
"Damn it." He breathing quickened, his teeth clenching with the pain of the effort to get air into his lungs. "How long...have I...been out?"
Before she could provide any further details, the door opened and the doctor hustled into the room. "Well, Agent Dean. It's good to see you back with us. I'm Doctor Cullen. Think you could answer a few questions for me?"
"Brendan Dean, hospital...somewhere, George Bush. That about cover it? Because my partner here...was just about to fill me in...on what I missed...while I was in...surgery."
Oooh, a bit cranky there are we, handsome? Is that from the pain you aren't going admit you're in or is this just your normal sunny disposition when you wake up? The doctor was taken aback by his abrupt reply, but didn't let it get to her. "Excellent start. Now I need to check your vitals and have a peek at your wound." She grabbed the chart from the end of the bed and quickly read over the latest entries before placing it on the table. "You forgot one, by the way."
Brendan sighed, wincing as the action pulled on his injured shoulder. "Look, just cut the crap...and get this over with...will ya?"
Cullen ignored the sharp rebuke and began her examination of his wound. Let's see how you handle this one, Hot Shot. "You didn't tell us what day it is," she said, giving the appearance of being totally absorbed in her poking and prodding of the injury.
Brendan rolled his eyes. "Fine," he ground out through clenched teeth. "It's Friday." He hissed as she hit a particularly sensitive spot. "And this is NOT...how I planned...to spend my...weekend. There, happy now?"
She finished the exam, not commenting further. When she was ready to leave, it was Freya she spoke to rather than Brendan. "Five more minutes, Miss McAllister. Then I'll have to insist you leave and let Mr. Dean get some rest. His body has been through a lot these past few days." Wait for it...
"What do you...mean, "these past few days"? How...would you know...?" He turned to Freya, eyes flashing. "What's she...talking about?" Okay, B, you are definitely missing something here. What the heck is going on?
Before Freya could answer, the doctor jumped in. "You're wrong, by the way. It's not Friday. Or even Saturday, if that's what you're thinking. It's Wednesday, Mr. Dean. You lost a tremendous amount of blood before we got a hold of you and then you developed quite an infection. You've been delirious and running a very high fever for several days."
Her tone and expression softened. "We almost lost you. Your wound appears to be coming along nicely now, so provided you follow instructions and get plenty of rest, I don't see any further complications for your recovery. I know you're anxious to hear about your case, but again, I must insist that Miss McAllister keep it to no more than five minutes for now. There will be plenty of time to catch up on what's happened later." After a nod to them both, she turned and headed for the door.
Pausing at the exit, she made one last parting comment. "The nurse will be in with something to help with your pain shortly. Rest well, Agent Dean. I'll be by to check on you again tomorrow."
Five days? Still stunned, he looked to his partner. "Five days?"
Her expression somber, she nodded. "She's right, Brendan. We almost lost you." She struggled to keep her emotions in check as she recalled the events of that horrible night. "The paramedics said you came very close to bleeding out. And then the fever started before you'd even come out of the anesthesia, despite the fact that they were already giving you antibiotics."
"Oh." Still in shock over the news, he was having a hard time coming up with the words he wanted. Wow. I can't believe this. It didn't even hurt that bad when I got hit. Well, not until I moved anyway.
Freya quickly brushed the moisture from her eyes and took hold of his uninjured hand one more. "So we don't have much time here before I get myself evicted. Are you ready for the short version of events?"
Though he refused to admit it even to himself, Brendan's strength was quickly waning. Pulled from the whirlwind of his thoughts by the sound of her voice, he nodded. "Yeah, please."
Still looking worried, she began her story. "The man who shot you was an old boyfriend of Sarah Jennings. He found out about her being the Carrington's nanny and saw it as a way to impress his new friends, who just happened to be looking for a way to get their illegally-acquired top secret defense technology out of the country and into the hands of their overseas associates."
I knew she was in on it--that was just too convenient sending the kids out of the room right before the shooting started.
Freya shook her head. "She wasn't a willing participant. She didn't know anything about it until he contacted her after Carrington disappeared. She thought he was there to take her and the girls to see Carrington. He told her they just wanted Carrington to see the girls, so that he'd get scared and cooperate. He said no one was going to get hurt. He promised her."
A far away look came over her as she continued. "She loved them, Brendan. Mr. Carrington and the girls. She really loved them. She thought she was keeping them safe by cooperating."
He sighed, his eyes growing heavy. "They always do," he mumbled, beginning to nod off. He almost instantly jerked back awake, needing the answers to a few more questions before he could rest. "What about Carrington? Any word?"
She smiled at that one, finally able to impart some good news. "They found him about five miles from the toy factory we were watching. He was being held in one of the outbuildings in an abandoned industrial park. One of the guys they picked up in the raid cracked and they've now got the entire gang in custody."
"He 'kay?" Brendan's words slurred as he fought to stay awake.
She frowned in concern, but quickly provided the answer. "He was a little dehydrated, but none too worse for wear, all in all. They kept him overnight for observation, but he's already safe and sound at home with his daughters."
"'S good." Losing the battle for consciousness, he offered one final thought on the matter. "Weird kids, though. Creepy."
Freya smiled, smoothing an errant lock of hair from his forehead. "Go to sleep now, Brendan. We'll talk about it later."
"Pr'mise?" The slur worsened as the battle was all but over.
She chuckled at that, crossing her heart. "I swear. We'll talk about creepy kids to your heart's content as soon as you wake up. Now *sleep* for heaven's sake."
"'kay." Smiling, his breathing quickly evened out into the hypnotic rhythm of sleep.
******
"Pleasant dreams, my sweet angel." J.D. Carrington leaned over and kissed his daughter Hailey on the forehead, adjusting her covers before moving over to repeat the process with Bailey.
The girls accepted the gesture, each hugging their father before he moved away from their bed. He paused at the door, a huge smile on his face as he bid them a final good night. "I love you." Waving, he flipped the switch, plunging the room into darkness as he pulled the door shut behind him.
They waited until his footsteps had faded completely as he headed downstairs to his study. Once Hailey was certain he'd gone, she turned to her sister, giggling. "How soon do you think he'll hire a new nanny?" she whispered.
Bailey shrugged. "Not long. I heard him on the phone with the agency earlier," she whispered back.
"You think the new one will be easier to control?" Hailey chewed her lip, already worried about the replacement.
Her sister rolled her eyes, even though it was too dark for her twin to see the gesture. "Well if she's not, we'll just get rid of her, too. We even got rid of Mom, didn't we? Old boyfriends are never hard to find. Grownups are so stupid."
Hailey was quiet then, but only for a moment. "What if the new one can hear our mind-talking, like that lady from the NSA? You don't think she can hear us this far away, do you?"
Bailey sighed. "No, you idiot. She has to be able to see us, just like we have to see the other person for it to work. Now shut up and go to sleep before Daddy comes back to check on us."
The silence last mere moments. "Bailey? Are you sure the NSA lady doesn't know?"
Heaving another long-suffering sigh, Bailey propped herself up on her elbows. "No, stupid. She thinks we only talk to each other using our special language, like all those stupid shrinks they keep dragging us to. She doesn't know anything."
"But...what if she figures it out?"
"She's not going to figure it out," hissed the annoyed sister. "And if she does, we'll take care of it, just like always. Now SLEEP!"
"Okay. Night, Bailey."
"Good night, Hailey."
The room was silent then as the two settled into their beds. Moments later, Hailey was at it again, this time sending a mental message to her sister's mind. That Brendan guy was really cute, though.
Stifling a giggle, Bailey responded mentally. Yeah, I thought he was gonna be some ugly, fat old man, like in the movies. I almost felt bad when I saw him.
Hailey's eyes shone in the darkness. Wasn't it cool? All the blood and everything, I mean? Think there'll be a permanent stain?
No, stupid. Daddy will have it removed, even if he has to put in a whole new floor. They all think we'll be traumatized by it. Stupid grownups.
They both froze at the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside and immediately settled down to feign sleep. The door creaked open as their father's shadow appeared in the doorway, remaining for short time and then disappearing.
Once the footsteps had again retreated into nothing, the girls shared a look. Neither said a word to the other, mentally or physically, as they communicated on a whole different level. Abruptly, the pair simultaneously erupted into a fit of giggles.
They held the stare, as the giggling slowly tapered off and eventually stopped. Each smiling broadly, the two angelic-looking little girls snuggled deep into their covers and drifted off to sleep, content that all was again well within their world.
~The End~
Author: katstale
Rating: PG-13 or Older Teens
Fandom: Thoughtcrimes
Category: Gen
Word Count: 7500 even
Challenge: The Random Title Generator Challenge at ana-grrl's journal.
Characters: Freya and Brendan, with a bit of Michael near the end
Warnings: Some violence and very slight language. (Yes, I did whump Brendan. :D)
Summary: Brendan and Freya travel upstate to look for clues in the disappearance of a rich businessman. Only things don't quite go according to plan. Whumping ensues.
Notes: I was originally planning to write an SGA story for this challenge, but when I saw the second title in the list, it turned sideways on its head and started jumping up and down, screaming "BRENDAN!!!" at the top of its lungs in my ear. So really, how could I not do a Thoughtcrimes fic after that happened???
The Silent Twins
No sooner had the warning left his mouth than the window behind them shattered, glass spraying the sofa they'd just vacated. "Where's the light switch in here? We need to kill the lights so they can't see us." If the shooter has night vision or infrared, we are royally screwed here!
Jennings' eyes were wide with fear, her breathing fast and erratic. "O-on th-the wall where we came in. B-b-but the lights on the artwork are on...automatic timer--can't turn them off...from in here." She coughed, closing her eyes tightly as a trail of red trickled from her mouth.
"Damn it!" Brendan scanned the room, quickly calculating how many lamps there were. Must be a couple of dozen lights along those walls alone, and that doesn't even count the statues or busts. Way too many to shoot out and Jennings here is in serious trouble.. Damn it! This is not good, B. Not good at all.
"I think I can get to the light switch, Brendan," suggested Freya.
"No! You stay put. I'll get it. When I give the word, I want you to crawl on your stomach to the doorway. We have to get away from these windows--we're sitting ducks in here." Pulling himself off of the nanny, he gasped and grabbed at his shoulder, only then realizing he'd been wounded himself.
"Brendan, what's wrong?" Freya started to crawl over to him, terrified that the only thought she could read in his mind was pain. Overwhelming, debilitating, intense, mind-numbing pain.
"Stay back," he ordered through gritted teeth. "I'm okay. I'm going for the lights now--be ready." Damn that hurts. Nice and easy, B. Nice and easy. After a moment to gather his strength, Dean pulled the nanny to safety behind the sofa and set off through the maze of furniture and art, dragging himself with his good arm. Gotta get to the wall switch. Ignore the pain, don't think about how your shoulder is on fire and leaking all over Mr. Carrington's fancy expensive floor. Keep moving, just don't stop. You're almost halfway there.
A large plaster statue exploded next to him, showering him in dust and chunks of white debris. Brendan coughed, groaning loudly as the motion set off a firestorm in his injured shoulder.
Freya heard the bullet destroy the statue and her fear for her partner soared to new heights. "Brendan! Are you all right? Brendan, answer me!"
Dean remained silent, his thoughts once again nothing but a fiery pain consuming his chest and left shoulder. She couldn't stand it any longer and prepared to crawl over to him. "Brendan, answer me or I'm coming over there right now!"
Her words finally penetrated the haze of pain, and he called out. "No, stay down and stay put! He's still out there. That goes for both of you," he warned.
Jennings whimpered loudly, which again set off a coughing fit; it was the only response she offered. Freya managed to keep a cool head, though it wasn't easy knowing her partner had been wounded and was in such extreme pain. "Brendan, you've been shot. Let me do this. I'll stay low, I swear."
"No!" Although injured, Dean's reply was emphatic. "Stay put; I'm almost there." Slowly, painfully, he started off once more. Come on, B, you can do this. Just keep going. Nanny needs doctor. 'S up to you. Keep 'em safe. Gotta get there. Get help. Nanny needs...help. Focus, B, focus.
Intent on remaining conscious and reaching his destination, Brendan didn't hear the crunching of glass on the other side of the room. But Freya did. She stayed close to the floor, peering under the sofa she had sought refuge behind when the first shot rang out. She could see the would-be assassin's black boots, methodically checking behind each piece of furniture, art, or potential hiding place he encountered. Come out, come out wherever you are. You shouldn't have let the feds in, Sarah baby. Boss didn't like hearing that you were cooperating with them at all. Ah, so there you are, sweet-cheeks. Still with us, huh? No matter, I'll finish you later--gotta find me some prime official US government bacon first.
She had to warn Brendan. Calling out would lead the shooter straight to her, but was her partner in any shape to be able to save her? Wait--maybe a diversion. Think, Freya! She slowly sat up, careful to keep her head below the back of the sofa and out of sight. Quickly taking in her immediate surroundings, she spied a ceramic figurine on the end table and carefully made her way over to it. She held her breath as she grabbed it and pulled it down, clutching it to her chest and waiting for any sign that the shooter had seen or heard her. Bingo! At the man's triumphant declaration, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, bracing for the bullet she knew would come.
Intense pain flooded her mind, but she was surprised to find it coming not from herself but from Brendan. "Agh!"
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Federal Agent Man himself." Freya's eyes widened in horror as she realized that Brendan had been discovered. "Nice of you to leave such a pretty red trail for me to follow." She peeked over the edge of the seat back and was dismayed to find a tall man, garbed in hunter's gear, standing over her partner and pointing a high-powered rifle at him. "Shame this has to go down so quick, but I got orders. Gotta take care of you--then I'm gonna hunt down that pretty little thing you brought with you and have me some real fun before I leave."
Freya swallowed hard, blocking the sickening images of what the monster had planned for her. Think about Brendan, Freya--you've got to help Brendan!
Her partner's thoughts filtered in, breaking through the sick images of their attacker. Wait for it, B. He hasn't taken your gun, so wait for the opening. Focus, damn it! You cannot lose consciousness now, not yet.
Sensing her opening, Freya stood and quickly exchanged the small statuette with a larger, heavier one. Silently, carefully, she raised it over her head and crept up behind the man with the rifle. "Say good night, Mr. Fed-er-al A-gent." When his finger began to tighten on the trigger, she swung with all her might, bringing the heavy bust down on his head. To her dismay, she hadn't been close enough and the blow glanced off the side of his head. He staggered, but didn't fall, instead swinging the rifle around to point at her. She stood there, her eyes wide, waiting for him to pull the trigger.
She flinched as a loud bang rang out and again squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the pain to blossom any moment from the impact of the bullet. When it didn't come, she opened them to find a look of stunned disbelief on the assassin's face. The rifle dropped, followed almost instantly by the intruder. Shocked at the turn of events, Freya turned to find Brendan, his revolver still in hand and pointed. Got him, but is he dead? Her eyes went back to the downed attacker and she started to bend down to check when Dean stopped her. "No! Kick...kick the...rifle...away...first," he warned.
After doing as instructed, she carefully bent down to check for a pulse. "He's dead, Brendan. There's no pulse--he's dead."
Dean's sense of relief flooded her mind. Good, 's good. Call...help. Nanny...needs... His thought trailed off as his head rolled to the side, his eyes closing.
"Brendan!" Freya screamed his name even as she scrambled over to him. Fighting panic, she placed her fingers on his neck, alarmed at the rapid and erratic beat she found. Frantic, she fumbled to pull out her cell phone and dial. Propping the phone to her ear, she grabbed a throw off a nearby chair and balled it up, pressing it to the hole in Dean's shoulder.
After what seemed an eternity, her call was finally answered. "This is Freya McAllister. Agent Dean is down. I repeat, Agent Dean is down--he's been shot. Hurry!"
******
"Freya?" Michael Wells' voice was quiet, even tentative as he called to her.
Standing by the window of the small hospital room, she sighed. She didn't want to have the same argument yet again, but she knew it was inevitable. Raising her eyes to the cloudy skies, she didn't turn to face him as she answered him. "I'm not leaving him, Michael."
Wells sighed, knowing the battle was already lost, but needing to try anyway. It's been a week now, Freya. You can't keep this up. You heard the doctor--she said she'd call if he wakes up. Go home, Freya. Get a good night's sleep for once. He wouldn't want you to push yourself like this.
She turned around to face him, crossing her arms as she leaned back on the closed window. "I'm not going to let him wake up here alone. He doesn't have anyone else, Michael. I can't leave him. I won't."
I assumed as much, but I had to try. We're worried about you. I'm worried about you. I know it's not easy blocking out all the voices in a place like this. You need a break, Freya. Wells moved forward as he 'thought' at Freya, his expression both earnest and concerned.
She rolled her eyes and moved over to the bed where Brendan lay. Taking her partner's still hand in hers, she spared a quick look at Michael. "You can stop worrying--I'm fine."
Freya...
Before he could even think another word, she stopped him cold. "I said I'm fine and I'm not leaving. In case you hadn't noticed, a lot of things in my life haven't exactly been easy--but some things are worth the effort, Michael. This is one of them."
A faint groan interrupted the argument, as Brendan tried to fight his way to wakefulness. Freya reached out to brush several errant locks of hair from his forehead. "It's all right, Brendan. You're in the hospital. You were shot and you've been running a fever, but you're getting better now."
Is he still delirious? Michael approached the injured agent's bedside, but still kept his distance.
She shook her head. "His fever finally broke. They said he could wake up anytime." She leaned forward again, stroking his forehead as he spoke. "Can you hear me, Brendan? You need to wake up and talk to me."
Her only answer was another groan, though louder this time. She was about to try calling to him again when Wells interrupted.
That's good news. I'm happy to hear that he's out of the woods now. I suppose this means you'll be going home for awhile after you've spoken with him? There's no reason to stay and run yourself into the ground if he's out of danger. Though his eyes held a look of complete sympathy, the tone of his thoughts was firm.
"I'm not having this discussion again, Michael. I think it's time for you to leave. I'll be certain to give Brendan your best." Having dismissed her mentor, she turned back to her partner.
Michael shook his head and started for the door, hesitating before exiting the room. I do wish him a speedy recovery, you know. I just don't want to see that come at your expense. Take care, Freya. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Without waiting for her reply, he left.
She rubbed her temples, massaging them in an attempt to alleviate the headache brewing just below the surface. Michael had been right about it being difficult to block all the voices. But Brendan was worth the annoyance of the headache and she didn't regret her actions for a single moment.
Another moan from the man in the bed, this one followed by a sharp hiss. She took hold of his free hand, mindful of the IVs it was sporting and gently squeezed. "Brendan?"
"Fr'ya?"
The voice was weak and raspy, but it was music to her ears. She quickly pressed the call button and reached for the glass of ice chips next to his bed. "Yeah, it's me. Do you need some ice chips?"
Though his nod was barely noticeable, she saw it and fished a small spoonful out of the cup. Holding it to his lips, she smiled as she watched him savor the frozen bits as they melted on his tongue. "Thanks," he whispered.
"You're welcome." She set the cup aside and returned to holding his hand. "How are you feeling?"
His thoughts were confused and only a few disjointed images of the drive to the estate were discernable to her. "Happened?" he asked, his voice still weak.
She gently squeezed his hand. "You were shot, remember? We were at the Carrington estate to question the twins."
He nodded, attempting to shift in the bed and quickly discovering that it had not been a good idea. By the time he finally recovered the ability to speak, the fog in his mind had cleared and he was able to recall every detail of the shooting--right up to the point where he lost consciousness. "Was anyone...else hurt? The Nanny?"
She again stroked his forehead as she provided the information. "No one else was hurt, only you and Ms. Jennings. I'm sorry, Brendan, she didn't make it."
"Damn it." He breathing quickened, his teeth clenching with the pain of the effort to get air into his lungs. "How long...have I...been out?"
Before she could provide any further details, the door opened and the doctor hustled into the room. "Well, Agent Dean. It's good to see you back with us. I'm Doctor Cullen. Think you could answer a few questions for me?"
"Brendan Dean, hospital...somewhere, George Bush. That about cover it? Because my partner here...was just about to fill me in...on what I missed...while I was in...surgery."
Oooh, a bit cranky there are we, handsome? Is that from the pain you aren't going admit you're in or is this just your normal sunny disposition when you wake up? The doctor was taken aback by his abrupt reply, but didn't let it get to her. "Excellent start. Now I need to check your vitals and have a peek at your wound." She grabbed the chart from the end of the bed and quickly read over the latest entries before placing it on the table. "You forgot one, by the way."
Brendan sighed, wincing as the action pulled on his injured shoulder. "Look, just cut the crap...and get this over with...will ya?"
Cullen ignored the sharp rebuke and began her examination of his wound. Let's see how you handle this one, Hot Shot. "You didn't tell us what day it is," she said, giving the appearance of being totally absorbed in her poking and prodding of the injury.
Brendan rolled his eyes. "Fine," he ground out through clenched teeth. "It's Friday." He hissed as she hit a particularly sensitive spot. "And this is NOT...how I planned...to spend my...weekend. There, happy now?"
She finished the exam, not commenting further. When she was ready to leave, it was Freya she spoke to rather than Brendan. "Five more minutes, Miss McAllister. Then I'll have to insist you leave and let Mr. Dean get some rest. His body has been through a lot these past few days." Wait for it...
"What do you...mean, "these past few days"? How...would you know...?" He turned to Freya, eyes flashing. "What's she...talking about?" Okay, B, you are definitely missing something here. What the heck is going on?
Before Freya could answer, the doctor jumped in. "You're wrong, by the way. It's not Friday. Or even Saturday, if that's what you're thinking. It's Wednesday, Mr. Dean. You lost a tremendous amount of blood before we got a hold of you and then you developed quite an infection. You've been delirious and running a very high fever for several days."
Her tone and expression softened. "We almost lost you. Your wound appears to be coming along nicely now, so provided you follow instructions and get plenty of rest, I don't see any further complications for your recovery. I know you're anxious to hear about your case, but again, I must insist that Miss McAllister keep it to no more than five minutes for now. There will be plenty of time to catch up on what's happened later." After a nod to them both, she turned and headed for the door.
Pausing at the exit, she made one last parting comment. "The nurse will be in with something to help with your pain shortly. Rest well, Agent Dean. I'll be by to check on you again tomorrow."
Five days? Still stunned, he looked to his partner. "Five days?"
Her expression somber, she nodded. "She's right, Brendan. We almost lost you." She struggled to keep her emotions in check as she recalled the events of that horrible night. "The paramedics said you came very close to bleeding out. And then the fever started before you'd even come out of the anesthesia, despite the fact that they were already giving you antibiotics."
"Oh." Still in shock over the news, he was having a hard time coming up with the words he wanted. Wow. I can't believe this. It didn't even hurt that bad when I got hit. Well, not until I moved anyway.
Freya quickly brushed the moisture from her eyes and took hold of his uninjured hand one more. "So we don't have much time here before I get myself evicted. Are you ready for the short version of events?"
Though he refused to admit it even to himself, Brendan's strength was quickly waning. Pulled from the whirlwind of his thoughts by the sound of her voice, he nodded. "Yeah, please."
Still looking worried, she began her story. "The man who shot you was an old boyfriend of Sarah Jennings. He found out about her being the Carrington's nanny and saw it as a way to impress his new friends, who just happened to be looking for a way to get their illegally-acquired top secret defense technology out of the country and into the hands of their overseas associates."
I knew she was in on it--that was just too convenient sending the kids out of the room right before the shooting started.
Freya shook her head. "She wasn't a willing participant. She didn't know anything about it until he contacted her after Carrington disappeared. She thought he was there to take her and the girls to see Carrington. He told her they just wanted Carrington to see the girls, so that he'd get scared and cooperate. He said no one was going to get hurt. He promised her."
A far away look came over her as she continued. "She loved them, Brendan. Mr. Carrington and the girls. She really loved them. She thought she was keeping them safe by cooperating."
He sighed, his eyes growing heavy. "They always do," he mumbled, beginning to nod off. He almost instantly jerked back awake, needing the answers to a few more questions before he could rest. "What about Carrington? Any word?"
She smiled at that one, finally able to impart some good news. "They found him about five miles from the toy factory we were watching. He was being held in one of the outbuildings in an abandoned industrial park. One of the guys they picked up in the raid cracked and they've now got the entire gang in custody."
"He 'kay?" Brendan's words slurred as he fought to stay awake.
She frowned in concern, but quickly provided the answer. "He was a little dehydrated, but none too worse for wear, all in all. They kept him overnight for observation, but he's already safe and sound at home with his daughters."
"'S good." Losing the battle for consciousness, he offered one final thought on the matter. "Weird kids, though. Creepy."
Freya smiled, smoothing an errant lock of hair from his forehead. "Go to sleep now, Brendan. We'll talk about it later."
"Pr'mise?" The slur worsened as the battle was all but over.
She chuckled at that, crossing her heart. "I swear. We'll talk about creepy kids to your heart's content as soon as you wake up. Now *sleep* for heaven's sake."
"'kay." Smiling, his breathing quickly evened out into the hypnotic rhythm of sleep.
******
"Pleasant dreams, my sweet angel." J.D. Carrington leaned over and kissed his daughter Hailey on the forehead, adjusting her covers before moving over to repeat the process with Bailey.
The girls accepted the gesture, each hugging their father before he moved away from their bed. He paused at the door, a huge smile on his face as he bid them a final good night. "I love you." Waving, he flipped the switch, plunging the room into darkness as he pulled the door shut behind him.
They waited until his footsteps had faded completely as he headed downstairs to his study. Once Hailey was certain he'd gone, she turned to her sister, giggling. "How soon do you think he'll hire a new nanny?" she whispered.
Bailey shrugged. "Not long. I heard him on the phone with the agency earlier," she whispered back.
"You think the new one will be easier to control?" Hailey chewed her lip, already worried about the replacement.
Her sister rolled her eyes, even though it was too dark for her twin to see the gesture. "Well if she's not, we'll just get rid of her, too. We even got rid of Mom, didn't we? Old boyfriends are never hard to find. Grownups are so stupid."
Hailey was quiet then, but only for a moment. "What if the new one can hear our mind-talking, like that lady from the NSA? You don't think she can hear us this far away, do you?"
Bailey sighed. "No, you idiot. She has to be able to see us, just like we have to see the other person for it to work. Now shut up and go to sleep before Daddy comes back to check on us."
The silence last mere moments. "Bailey? Are you sure the NSA lady doesn't know?"
Heaving another long-suffering sigh, Bailey propped herself up on her elbows. "No, stupid. She thinks we only talk to each other using our special language, like all those stupid shrinks they keep dragging us to. She doesn't know anything."
"But...what if she figures it out?"
"She's not going to figure it out," hissed the annoyed sister. "And if she does, we'll take care of it, just like always. Now SLEEP!"
"Okay. Night, Bailey."
"Good night, Hailey."
The room was silent then as the two settled into their beds. Moments later, Hailey was at it again, this time sending a mental message to her sister's mind. That Brendan guy was really cute, though.
Stifling a giggle, Bailey responded mentally. Yeah, I thought he was gonna be some ugly, fat old man, like in the movies. I almost felt bad when I saw him.
Hailey's eyes shone in the darkness. Wasn't it cool? All the blood and everything, I mean? Think there'll be a permanent stain?
No, stupid. Daddy will have it removed, even if he has to put in a whole new floor. They all think we'll be traumatized by it. Stupid grownups.
They both froze at the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside and immediately settled down to feign sleep. The door creaked open as their father's shadow appeared in the doorway, remaining for short time and then disappearing.
Once the footsteps had again retreated into nothing, the girls shared a look. Neither said a word to the other, mentally or physically, as they communicated on a whole different level. Abruptly, the pair simultaneously erupted into a fit of giggles.
They held the stare, as the giggling slowly tapered off and eventually stopped. Each smiling broadly, the two angelic-looking little girls snuggled deep into their covers and drifted off to sleep, content that all was again well within their world.
~The End~