14 Valentines 9: Something Will Happen to You (Brendan/Emmett, R)
Title: Something Will Happen to You...
Rating: R
Word Count: ~6,300
Warnings: Contains violence and mentions of past character death in accordance to both the movie "Boa vs. Python" and "Thoughtcrimes".
Summary: "Why, Emmett, did you pick up a stalker?"
Notes: Beta-read by neevebrody and houseinrlyeh. There was some heavy editing after both betas, so strange comma placement, typos and/or wonky grammar are entirely my fault. Written to a picture prompt by smuffster. The pairing is Dr. Emmett (David Hewlett in the movie Boa vs. Python)/Brendan Dean (Joe Flanigan in the movie Thoughtcrimes).
14 Valentines Essay: Day 9: Politics
~~~
Picture Prompt by smuffster
Something Will Happen to You...
When Emmett took the first envelope out of his mailbox, there wasn't even a stamp on it. Just one line printed on in neat letters. 'Dr. Emmett Emmett' it read - he had forgiven his parents, eventually - and he turned it over curiously before walking back inside his small apartment.
Ever since the FBI had seen fit to kill his snake Betty in the name of national security almost nine months ago, Emmett had taken to spending a little less time at the Longreen Reserve. He still had quite a few samples of Betty's blood and her antibodies to various snake venom, plus the frozen stem cells he'd taken from what had been left of Betty's eggs, but his research simply wasn't the same anymore. Betty had been his best hope for creating a universal antivenom, and without her what little progress he made was slow and tedious. Still, he had no intentions of giving up, and perhaps in time he'd even be able to raise a new Scarlet Queen Boa, hoping that its immune system would be as unique as Betty's had been.
Emmett tossed the envelope on the kitchen counter and set the grocery bag down next to the ceramic stove top before he went back outside and got the other two bags out of his car. He stowed the most perishable stuff away in the fridge and the rest in various cupboards. It wasn't that Elkins didn't have more than enough opportunities to order take-out - for example, C.J. Maggie's had the absolute best chicken fajitas for only a $9.99 - but Emmett preferred to do his own cooking. He found it relaxing.
When all his purchases had been safely stacked and the bags folded and packed away for reuse, Emmett leaned against the counter and picked up the envelope. It still said 'Dr. Emmett Emmett' in its neat lettering, and he really didn't expect very much as he tore it open with his index finger. Probably an invitation for April's Ramp Festival, or maybe another one of those weird flyers for Crazy Harry's Country Market and Amish Furniture. That man sure loved to advertise.
What he found inside the envelope, though, was a Polaroid. Emmett blinked. It was a picture of himself standing on the steps in front of the Reserve, looking almost directly at the camera. On the white space beneath the image, someone had scrawled with black marker: 'something'. The handwriting looked awkward, some of the letters leaning to the left, others tilting to the right, their size varying wildly. Like the writer had used their non-dominant hand. Emmett turned the Polaroid over, but there was just the plain black backside.
"Huh."
Who would send him a picture of himself with 'something' written beneath it? He looked into the envelope again, but there was nothing else inside. It had to be an elaborate hoax that only made sense to the one who'd sent the letter. Emmett threw the envelope into the trash and the Polaroid into a drawer, and proceeded to forget about the whole thing.
~~~
The second envelope arrived two days later. It was hidden between several bills and funding rejections and a few Burger King flyers so Emmett didn't notice it right away, but when he did, he just held it for a moment, frowning at it. Again, there was no stamp, no return address; just his name printed on the front.
This time, Emmett sat down at the kitchen table before he opened the envelope. He wasn't terribly surprised to find that again, all it held was a Polaroid. This one showed him in the Reserve's main lab and okay, that was impressive. There should have been no way for anyone to get into the lab without his expressed permission, let alone to plant a Polaroid camera, and besides, he would have noticed the flash. There were cameras, yes, but they weren't hooked up to the internet, so this wasn't a cleverly faked screen shot, either.
The picture looked fairly recent, too, judging by his I-don't-have-underlings-so-why-bother haircut. Scribbled underneath, in the same black marker, was again just one word: 'will'.
Emmett frowned and got up, rummaging through several drawers before he found the first picture. He lay the Polaroids on the kitchen table as he sat down again, looking for clues. So both were shot at the Reserve, and in both he was wearing a black t-shirt. Only that didn't say much, because he wore those whenever he could, especially in the summer. The words on both Polaroids now held what might be part of a message: 'something will'. Or, 'will something', but for now he was going to assume that the order in which he'd received them was important. Apart from that, he had no idea what the pictures were supposed to tell him. He wasn't sure he cared, either, still half-convinced it was just a prank.
Still, he wondered how those pictures had come to be taken in the first place, so he called the only person who might know.
"Monica."
"Emmett, hi! How are you?" She sounded delighted to hear his voice, and Emmett smiled. They were both too married to their research to have made it work between them, but they remained good friends.
"I'm fine. How about you, how's the research coming?"
"It's great! We finally got the green light to move from bottlenose dolphins to orcas, and-" They chatted for a while, each describing their progress or lack thereof. Monica's research was a lot more likely to be granted government funding for its possible military applications, so it was usually her progress and his lack thereof. He didn't begrudge her the success, though. As long as he invested his money sensibly, he could afford to run Longreen Snake Reserve by himself, although there was talk of opening part of it to the public as a tourist attraction. As long as it got him the funding to employ a lab tech or two, perhaps even another herpetologist - he did have a reputation, after all, and many would be thrilled to work with him - he wouldn't mind conducting a tour every two or three hours.
"Oh god, tourists! The only thing they're good for is cheating them out of their money." Monica laughed. "Okay, that's enough prattling for one day. Did you want something?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Emmett wandered over to the kitchen table and picked up one of the Polaroids. "Did you take any pictures of me while you were here? In the lab?"
"Yeah, right, like you wouldn't have killed me for freaking out your precious snakes with the flash."
"Hmm." Emmett hummed his agreement.
"Why are you asking?"
Emmett flopped the picture back down on the table. "Oh, it's just a stupid prank. Someone keeps sending me pictures of myself with parts of a secret message scribbled underneath."
"Why, Emmett, did you pick up a stalker?"
"Looks that way. Well, it was good to hear your voice, Monica."
"Likewise. Call me when you've figured out your secret message."
"Will do. Bye."
"Bye, Emmett!"
Emmett put the phone back down and picked up the photographs. Frowning at them, he pulled the drawer for assorted nonsense open and let them fall inside. The 'will' picture landed on top and he studied it for a while, trying to figure out the camera angle for that shot. He'd check the lab tomorrow.
He shut the drawer, and went to prepare dinner.
~~~
Emmett didn't find any cameras in the lab except for the ones he'd had installed there. For almost a week, nothing else arrived, then he pulled another nondescript envelope out of the mail.
The third picture showed him in the lab again, this time wearing his lab coat as he pulled off a pair of thin surgical gloves. On the table in front of him was Betty, sensor electrodes freshly installed in her brain. The scrawled message read, 'happen' without elaborating.
Emmett pressed his lips together and threw the damn thing into the drawer to the others.
~~~
The fourth Polaroid seemed to finish the message, which was just as well because Emmett had had enough. He didn't need the other pictures to figure out what the message was, but he took them out anyway, spreading them on the kitchen table. Scribbled unevenly in black marker, the photos told him that 'something will happen to you...', but that wasn't what got to Emmett. As far as vague threats went it was rather lame and unoriginal, but the pictures themselves... they unsettled him.
The first one, with him standing in front of the Reserve, anyone could have taken. The second and thirds ones were of him in the lab, presumably shot during a time when nobody but him, a marine biologist and an FBI agent had been working there. Someone would have to had broken in there and installed a remotely operated Polaroid camera with a disabled flash, but again, it was doable. Worrying, but perfectly within the realm of possibility. The fourth one, though...
The fourth one was simply impossible. He recognised that scene: standing in a discotheque a few miles outside Philadelphia, pointing a gun at Broddick mere seconds before the maniac had aimed a flame thrower back at him. There had been next to no one left inside, certainly no one who would have taken a photo of him when there was an 80-foot-long python eating the party goers. And if that wasn't enough, there was a man behind him in the picture; someone who definitely hadn't been there because Emmett would have remembered that guy. He looked like another FBI agent, dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and a red tie, holding a cell phone to his ear. Emmett had never seen that guy in his life, but it was the first real clue he had and he wasn't about to let it slip.
Was it even possible to manipulate Polaroids, he wondered while he listened to the unending buzzing, willing Monica to pick up already. There was a light click and then, "Hello?"
"Monica."
"Emmett, hi! How are-"
"Do you still have your FBI contacts?" he interrupted her, for once not caring if he was rude. He knew she'd been friends with a few other agents besides the unfortunate Sharpe, but a lot could happen in nine months.
"Sure, why?"
"I need you to find someone for me."
"Who?" She sounded puzzled, then she drew the connection. "Your stalker?"
"I don't know." Emmett looked at the dark-haired guy in the last picture. "But I mean to find out."
~~~
"The guy is Agent Brendan Dean of the National Security Agency."
"NSA?" Emmett frowned. "Why would anyone fake a photo of me with an NSA agent?"
"I don't know." There was a gulping sound on the other end of the line, like Monica was drinking something. "He works in a field office in New York. Maybe you should take a trip."
"Yeah, right. In the meantime, all my snakes are going to die." Emmett had attended a conference exactly once since he'd come to live in Elkins as the owner and sole employee of the Longreen Snake Reserve. He'd asked Jimmy Hammond to take care of his snakes, but the redhead had been more preoccupied with his campaign for a place on the Monongahela National Forest Board. The rattlesnakes hadn't survived, and Emmett had stayed in Elkins from then on, except for that one short trip to Philadelphia.
"I can take care of them. I'm due for a few days off anyway."
"You hate snakes."
"Yeah, but you like them and you're my friend and I don't want to see you offed by some crazy stalker. Go meet that agent, Emmett."
"All right, fine. Give me his address." He wrote it down and then asked her, "You're not going to tap the aquariums again, are you?"
"No, but I was thinking... do you think I could bring my stereo? Snakes love AC/DC, right?" There was a cheeky grin in her voice, and Emmett wasn't entirely sure she was joking.
"Monica!"
"Relax, just kidding! Gee, Emmett, you really need to get out more."
"Well, I'm about to go to New York, aren't I?"
"That you are."
~~~
New York was a lot louder than Emmett remembered, full of smog and people. It wasn't that he thought the Heart of West Virginia was the most beautiful place on Earth, but it was green - well, not right now, but getting there - and calm and relaxing and he found himself missing the quiet. He also missed the Taco Bell on Harrison Avenue, but there were bound to be some Tex Mex places somewhere in Big Apple, right?
The hotel he'd booked turned out to be in the middle of nowhere and the taxi drivers were suicidal, the lot of them. After a twenty-minute trip that had involved cutting across lanes and turning off at the last possible second, Emmett was more than happy to stumble out of the taxi and resolved to walk back to the hotel, even if it took him all day. He was beginning to doubt the sanity of his decision to come here, but it was too late now to change his mind, wasn't it?
The NSA field office didn't look very impressive, but then again that was probably why they called it a field office and not their headquarters. There was some kind of reception desk inside, and he walked up to the young woman sitting behind it and asked politely, "Is it possible to speak with Agent Dean?" He'd tried to call the man, but had been told that Dean was working on a case and wouldn't be back before Monday. Well, it was Monday, so Emmett had decided to try his luck right at the field office - he didn't think he would have been able to explain the situation over the phone, anyway.
The receptionist regarded him over the rim of her glasses. Clearly unimpressed, she turned back to her computer monitor and clicked the mouse a few times. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"Then I can't let you speak with Agent Dean. Sorry."
"Well, can I make an appointment?"
"You'd have to see Agent Dean about that," she said dismissively, not even looking at him. Emmett blinked at her. Was she yanking his chain?
"Look-" he began, fully intending to explain - very slowly and using simple words - how what she was asking of him could only be deemed a paradox, but he was distracted by a petite brunette who had come up next to him and did a double-take when she saw his face. "Uh. Can I help you?"
She stared at him, her expression somewhere between surprise and intrigue. "Who are you?" she finally asked.
"Dr. Emmett," he replied. "Pleased to meet you." He had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that somehow she'd known that answer already, though he couldn't have said what made him think that. He frowned.
"My name's Freya McAllister." She held out her hand and he shook it. "What brings you here, Dr. Emmett?"
"I need to meet with Agent Dean." Emmett nodded at the receptionist. "Sadly, I don't have an appointment."
"That's okay, you can come with me," McAllister smiled, and before he could even thank her properly, he found himself following her through a series of doors that opened only after she'd pressed her hand against sensor pads. They went up some stairs and through a narrow corridor and entered some kind of open-plan office. Suits and skirts all around, and Emmett felt vaguely out of place in his cargo pants and black leather jacket.
"Brendan!" McAllister called out, waving across the room, and Emmett raised his chin when he spotted the reason he'd come to New York. He'd looked good in the photo, not that Emmett had really noticed, too distracted by the impossibility of the motif. But now, seeing the man in real life, Emmett was startled to realise that he was gorgeous. Long torso, lean limbs, asymmetric face that shouldn't have been pretty but somehow was. Agent Dean did the same double-take as his partner, then his features tightened into a dark glower which Emmett tried very hard not to find attractive as the man stalked over to where they were standing. Dear god, he even smelled good.
McAllister was blinking up at him, then she looked at her colleague and blinked again, before her lips twisted into an amused grin.
"Brendan," she said, "I'd like you to meet Dr. Emmett."
"This is a joke, right?" Dean demanded instead of offering his hand, and Emmett withdrew his own to search the outer pocket of his jacket.
"That's what I'd like to know." He pulled out the Polaroids and handed them to Dean, who raised an eyebrow as he quickly browsed through them. Without comment, he handed them over to McAllister, who gasped.
"They're just like yours!"
"Like yours?" Emmett looked from her to Dean, who now seemed slightly less glowering.
"Follow me." Dean turned around and started walking, without looking back to see if they were indeed following him. McAllister handed the Polaroids back to Emmett and motioned in the direction Dean had taken. Emmett hummed in acknowledgement and trailed after the agent, curious where this was leading.
It was leading to Dean's desk, located pretty much in the middle of the office, and Emmett felt his eyes widen as the agent opened a drawer and pulled out a similar set of Polaroids, handing them to Emmett.
The first one showed Dean in his car, but that wasn't what drew Emmett's attention. He stared at the word scrawled into the white space underneath the picture with cheap black marker: 'someone'. He would have recognised that awkward, messy handwriting anywhere. The second and third pictures showed Dean during what looked like a raid or some kind of operation. In one of them, he was peering around the corner of a brick building, in the other he had his hand raised to the radio in his ear. The words scribbled on them were 'will' and 'need'.
Emmett could kind of see where this was going, but the fourth Polaroid still creeped him out. Dean was aiming his gun at someone out of the picture, and in the background...
In the background, Emmett was feeding a ball python to Betty. The rest of the message read, 'your help...' and, okay, this was getting decidedly eerie.
He handed the photos back to Dean and commented, "This is weird." Mostly because he didn't know what else to say. Dean snorted.
"You're telling me."
~~~
Dean turned out to be kind of fun in a dorky way, once he relaxed enough to make the occasional joke. He and McAllister - who apparently was his partner, in a strict work sense as she'd hurried to assure him - seemed to believe Emmett's story that he had no idea where the Polaroids had originated from, which was something of a relief. Dean was cranky when he was suspicious, and Emmett wasn't exactly in the mood to be on his best Canadian behaviour, or what Americans seemed to regard as such anyway. Something would happen to him, and someone would need Dean's help, and it all was just vague enough to be as annoying as it was unsettling. It was obvious that whoever had fabricated the Polaroids intended to draw a connection between the agent and Emmett himself, but why and how was a mystery.
Dean had already had run his Polaroids through every test the NSA could possibly think of, but he was more than willing to repeat the procedure on Emmett's set. Emmett handed over his pictures and the last envelope he'd kept, even though he knew that the chance of finding any clue pointing to their origin was remote at best. He, Dean and McAllister spent hours putting together a list of everyone Emmett had met, everywhere he'd been, trying to find the common denominator that would tie him to Dean. There was none.
Finally, they decided to take a break. McAllister apparently had a date with her sister, and Dean invited Emmett to lunch. Emmett agreed promptly: he was hungry and Dean was easy to look at, so why not? After all, not every attraction had to lead somewhere and he was perfectly content to look, not touch, and perhaps they would make a breakthrough over lunch.
They left the building together, Dean waving at the receptionist who flashed him a bright smile and frowned at Emmett. Emmett suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and followed Dean outside, taking a moment to try and get used to the noise that was New York City at noon. The pavement virtually disappeared under the mass of people all moving in one direction, and Emmett had to take a fortifying breath before he stepped into what looked like barely controlled chaos. Dean was no more than a few steps ahead, but the crowd made it hard to catch up with him. Emmett barely took notice when a black van jolted to a halt at the curb barely three feet from him. Suddenly the side door flew open and several guns were pointed straight at him.
"There! That's him!"
"Dean!" Emmett called, starting toward the agent, trying to make his way through the crowd.
"What the-" Dean reached for his holster, but he was too slow and couldn't have fired his gun in a crowd anyway. Something hit just below Emmett's left shoulder like a hard punch. He stumbled backward and went down. The air was forced from his lungs as he landed on the dirty pavement, feeling something warm and sticky spreading out over his chest. Someone screamed, someone else kicked his ribs in their haste to get away, and he could hear Dean curse. "Shit, Emmett!"
"Get up." Hands were reaching for him, yanking at his left arm and he thought he might have shouted out as the pain pierced him, hot and bright and leaving him dazed and nauseated. He half-stumbled, half-fell into the back of the van, his ears ringing; and then the van lurched forward with screeching tyres and Emmett bumped his head on the hard edge of the seat, and then he knew nothing.
~~~
When he woke up, he was lying on his back on the floor of what seemed to be some kind of factory. The machines looming into his field of vision were silent and he thought he could smell dust, but it all faded against the pulsing pain in his left shoulder. He tried to sit up but the agony was too much, paralysing his entire left side, and he sank back against what he had to assume was concrete.
"Ah, Dr. Emmett. How good to see you awake."
The voice was scratchy, as if the speaker either had a bad cold or was a lifelong smoker. Emmett bit lightly down on his tongue, hoping to get some moisture back into his dry mouth, and turned his head. A man was sitting on a chair a few feet from where Emmett lay, legs crossed in a deliberate display of relaxation. He was wearing a black suit and expensive shoes, and though he was smiling slightly, his eyes were hard. He was smoking a cigar, chewing on it like that made the tobacco taste better, and for one insane moment Emmett had a vivid flashback to Broddick and his flame thrower.
"What-" Emmett coughed and the movement sent waves of pain through his body. He moaned.
"What happened?" The man sounded satisfied as he calmly explained, "You were shot, Dr. Emmett. But don't worry, your pain will be over soon. With the amount of blood you've already lost, it shouldn't take much longer for you to die."
Emmett stared at the man, his mouth working but no sound coming out. "Why?" he croaked finally, and it was about all he could manage.
"My daughter died because of your fucking snake!"
Snake? What snake? All he could think of was Betty, his beautiful Betty, but, "Betty nev'r killed 'nyone." Except for maybe a hunter or two, but they'd started it. So there. Emmett chuckled weakly. God, his head hurt.
"You think this is funny?" The man was up from his chair before Emmett could so much as blink, and the next thing he knew was the sharp, sickening burst pain that rolled through his body as the man brought his foot down hard on Emmett's shoulder. Emmett let out a hoarse scream. For a moment his vision greyed out, dark spots blurring his sight as he tried to breathe through the agony. Slowly - god, far too slowly - the pain receded to the steady throbbing of something seriously broken. Still bad, but better.
"Look at this!"
Emmett blinked the tears out of his eyes only to find the man crouched next to him and a picture shoved in front of his face. A puff of cigar smoke made his eyes tear up again and he moved his head a little, only to have the man grab his chin and force his head back to face the picture.
"Look at this, I said!"
Emmett's eyes crossed as he tried to make out the details. It looked like a crime scene photo, with a pretty brunette lying next to... oh.
The expression on Emmett's face must have betrayed him, for the man pulled back and sneered.
"Coming back to you, is it? Your snake killed my girl, and now you're going to pay." He sounded satisfied, smiling slightly around his cigar as if he'd been waiting to see Emmett die in front of him for months. And yet there was a deep pain in his expression, of a father losing a child. Emmett could relate - hell, he might even feel sorry for the guy once his own pain had dulled down a bit more - but still...
"Accident," Emmett rasped, staring up at him and trying to get through to the man. He remembered her, the unfortunate girl who had to have been part of Broddick's hunting party. She'd gotten too close to Betty's nest, maybe even touched one of the eggs, and the snake had defended her offspring. The girl's ribcage had been crushed, several other bones broken by the force of Betty squeezing her to death. "Sc'rlet Queen Boa's... matern'l... instinc's..."
"Nonsense!" the man... the girl's father yelled. "You let that fucking beast roam free, and I'm going to-"
"Freeze, right now!" The voice was cold and vaguely familiar, and Emmett turned his head. His vision was still blurry - or maybe again - but he could make out Agent Dean, hands steady and sure as he pointed his gun at the man whose daughter had been so tragically stupid. Emmett wanted to sob with relief, but settled for a soft sigh.
"Now, back away from him. Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them." The girl's father raised his hands and inched away from Emmett, and Dean took a few steps closer. "Are you okay?" he asked, and Emmett shook his head feebly. He could tell from the pinched look on Dean's face that the question had been mostly rhetorical.
A movement in the corner of his eye made him turn his head, his eyes widening as he spotted one of the man's goons coming up on Dean from behind. 'Look out!' he wanted to yell, but all that came out was a garbled croak, and it was too late anyway. The butt of the gun hit Dean's head hard and he collapsed without a sound, his own gun clattering to the ground as it fell from his slack fingers. Emmett let out a hoarse scream as the agent landed heavily on top of him, pain exploded in his side, and everything went black.
~~~
Emmett edged toward consciousness, moaning softly and turning his head to escape the light slaps on his cheek. His entire body ached like he'd been in a prize-fight... and lost. The centre of pain was just below his left shoulder, and he felt strangely light-headed. Then he remembered: he'd been bleeding for some time now. He smiled at the explanation.
"Emmett. Hey, come on, wake up."
He didn't want to. His arms were comfortably numb and he couldn't entirely feel his legs, either. If he slept a little longer, perhaps the rest of his body would go numb, too. That would be nice.
"Emmett!"
This slap was harder than the others had been, making his cheek sting. Emmett blinked his eyes open, blearily trying to focus his gaze on the man leaning over him. The blurry face turned into Agent Dean's impossibly attractive features as Emmett blinked again. Dean's expression was grim, his right cheek streaked with dirt, a disturbingly large patch of drying blood on his white shirt.
"Y're hurt," Emmett mumbled, and Dean looked down at himself before grinning humourlessly.
"Nah, that's all yours."
"Oh." Emmett frowned in concentration. "'s good?"
"Not really, no."
"Hmm." All out of words, Emmett fell back on his default hum. He stared at the low ceiling for a while, drifting, then he cocked his head. "Diff'r'nt room."
"Yeah, they locked us into some kind of closet. I guess watching you bleed to death wasn't as much fun as the guy thought it would be."
Emmett hummed again and let out a slow breath. He was calm, the pain almost bearable. Probably from the blood loss, but he wasn't complaining. He was starting to feel kind of good, actually. Woozy, but good.
"Hey, stay with me, okay?" Dean's voice sounded kind of tense despite his attempt to keep it light, and Emmett turned his head to look at him. There was a lot of blood on Dean's shirt.
"Y're hurt?" He remembered how Dean had gone down. Had there been blood then?
"Well, maybe my pride," Dean said dryly. "Other than that, no."
"Good." Emmett tried to radiate reassurance. "Y're gonna get out 'f here."
"We'll both get out of here."
Emmett didn't think so, but he nodded gamely. "S're."
"Hey." Dean's hand closed around Emmett's right wrist as the agent leaned down, staring at him. "We'll both get out of here, got it?"
Emmett nodded again. Dean took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I asked you out for lunch."
"No sh't." It wasn't what Emmett had in mind, either. For one thing, they'd never even gotten around to any actual food. Then again, he didn't think he could eat now. His eyes drifted closed on their own accord.
"Hey. Hey, don't fall asleep on me," Dean insisted, which was sort of a strange thing to say because Emmett was fairly sure he didn't have a concussion. Dean probably had though, so he should be the one to stay awake. Before Emmett could point that out, though, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock and the door swung open. The girl's father stepped into the closet, holding a gun. Now we're all in the closet together, Emmett thought inanely, and snorted. Closet but no cigar, because there was none this time.
Dean scowled at the man and stood, positioning himself between the gun and Emmett. Nice, but completely redundant.
"Still not dead, I see."
"What do you want?" Dean demanded, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Emmett couldn't see the girl's father anymore - Dean was standing in the way - but he heard the sneer in his voice when he answered, "Oh, rest assured, Agent Dean, I'm getting what I want."
Emmett never really knew what happened next. He just blinked and Dean was slamming the man against the wall. Another blink and the man was down, and that was good, wasn't it… except then things got all quiet and when Emmett tried to focus on what was going on, he saw Dean half-crouched over the fallen man with his hands raised. Dean licked his lips as he stared at the goon standing in the doorway pointing a gun at him. "We can talk about that, right?"
The goon sneered and Dean tensed. Waiting for the shot, Emmett realised, and no. He wasn't going to let that happen.
The other gun was lying two feet away from him. Emmett took a deep breath. Then he pushed himself forward, crying out as the pain that had been so peaceful slammed into him again. He closed his clumsy fingers around the gun, picking it up, pointing it and firing all in one agonising movement. He fired again even as he keeled over, dark spots taking over his vision.
He thought he had hit someone. He thought it was the goon. But he had no idea, no idea, and then everything was gone and all that was left was blessed silence.
Pain-free. Darkness.
Sleep.
~~~
The next time Emmett woke up - really woke up - he was lying in a bed and his shoulder was only throbbing slightly. That was the upside. The downside was the strong antiseptic smell that had been making him nauseous ever since he was a kid, the one that said hospital with a capital H. There was a slight rustle next to his bed: perhaps a nurse who could tell him when he'd be free to go. When he opened his eyes, though, Emmett saw that it was Agent Dean, sitting on some kind of stool close to his bed, leafing through a comic book.
"Uh..." what are you doing here, Emmett wanted to ask, but his throat was dry and he ended up coughing. Dean looked up and grinned.
"So. Welcome back among the living." He offered him a plastic cup of water, which Emmett sipped gratefully. "How's the shoulder?"
"Better," Emmett replied. "How did we-"
"-get out of there? You shot that guy. Then the backup arrived." Dean grimaced. "Look. I screwed up back there. And I'm sorry."
"What are you talking about? You saved my life," Emmett said incredulously.
Dean shook his head. "No. You saved mine. You shouldn't have had to."
"How about we just agree that it was a mutual thing?" Emmett suggested, and Dean smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
Emmett nodded and leaned back into his pillow, closing his eyes. Then he remembered something and sat up straight, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. "Wait. What about the Polaroids?"
"The NSA's going to write that one off as a prank." Brendan shrugged. "It's out of my hands, sorry."
"But-"
"Freya's trying to get her Doctor Welles to launch an independent investigation. She thinks it was a thoughtographer."
"A what?"
"Some kind of 'mind photographer'." Dean even made the air quotes. "Trust me, if you'd been doing my job for the last year or so, you'd start believing in that kind of stuff, too. Oh, by the way, the connection we were looking for, the one between you and me?"
"Yes?" Emmett cocked his head, curious.
"Turns out that girl that was killed by your snake was the sister of an Alan Matthews."
"And you were after him?"
"Yeah." Brendan nodded. "Weird, isn't it?"
"I've seen stranger things," Emmett said honestly, and Brendan smiled at him.
"Yeah, I guess you would." He slapped his thigh with his comic book and stood up. "Okay, I have to get back to work, my boss has enough ammunition already. See you later?"
"It's not like I'll be going anywhere," Emmett pointed out. Dean nodded, but didn't leave, the fingers of his left hand tapping the back of the chair as he licked his lips.
"Freya said you think I'm hot," he said finally, studying the far wall with what seemed like intense concentration. His cheeks were slightly flushed; he looked cute.
It took Emmett a moment to remember that Freya was McAllister, then he chuckled even as he felt his own blush creep up his neck to warm his cheeks. "She's very perceptive."
"Yeah, she is." There was a pause, then Dean cleared his throat. "So, uh, when you get out of here… how about dinner?"
Dinner. With Agent Dean. Who had saved his life and was now fidgeting like a little boy.
"Yeah. That'd be nice."
Dean grinned, a mischievous smirk that made him look surprisingly young. "Cool."
With that, he was gone. Emmett stared thoughtfully at the closed door, his lips slowly twitching into a smile.
So he'd probably never know where the Polaroids had come from, or why they'd been sent to him, or Dean. But it looked like his trip to New York hadn't been entirely in vain.
He recalled Dean's little-boy grin and leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes.
No, not in vain at all.
~~~
Several weeks later, Emmett pulled an envelope out of the mailbox. One with no stamp and no address, just one line printed on the front in neat letters. 'Dr. Emmett Emmett', it read. Emmett grimaced, but took it inside, sitting down at the kitchen table. He took a fortifying breath before opening it.
Inside was a Polaroid, of course. It showed two men, one with a wild shock of dark hair that was beginning to show streaks of silver, the other with lighter hair that had been cut short and generally appeared to be in retreat. They were staring at each other, each wearing identical goofy grins, their hands brushing together. In the white space beneath the picture, a word was scrawled in familiar black marker: 'someone'.
Emmett gaped. Blindly, he reached for the phone, hitting the same number on speed dial he called every night. After a few rings, there was a click on the other end.
"Dean."
"Brendan? Have you gotten your mail yet?"
~~~
End.
Rating: R
Word Count: ~6,300
Warnings: Contains violence and mentions of past character death in accordance to both the movie "Boa vs. Python" and "Thoughtcrimes".
Summary: "Why, Emmett, did you pick up a stalker?"
Notes: Beta-read by neevebrody and houseinrlyeh. There was some heavy editing after both betas, so strange comma placement, typos and/or wonky grammar are entirely my fault. Written to a picture prompt by smuffster. The pairing is Dr. Emmett (David Hewlett in the movie Boa vs. Python)/Brendan Dean (Joe Flanigan in the movie Thoughtcrimes).
14 Valentines Essay: Day 9: Politics
~~~
Picture Prompt by smuffster
Something Will Happen to You...
When Emmett took the first envelope out of his mailbox, there wasn't even a stamp on it. Just one line printed on in neat letters. 'Dr. Emmett Emmett' it read - he had forgiven his parents, eventually - and he turned it over curiously before walking back inside his small apartment.
Ever since the FBI had seen fit to kill his snake Betty in the name of national security almost nine months ago, Emmett had taken to spending a little less time at the Longreen Reserve. He still had quite a few samples of Betty's blood and her antibodies to various snake venom, plus the frozen stem cells he'd taken from what had been left of Betty's eggs, but his research simply wasn't the same anymore. Betty had been his best hope for creating a universal antivenom, and without her what little progress he made was slow and tedious. Still, he had no intentions of giving up, and perhaps in time he'd even be able to raise a new Scarlet Queen Boa, hoping that its immune system would be as unique as Betty's had been.
Emmett tossed the envelope on the kitchen counter and set the grocery bag down next to the ceramic stove top before he went back outside and got the other two bags out of his car. He stowed the most perishable stuff away in the fridge and the rest in various cupboards. It wasn't that Elkins didn't have more than enough opportunities to order take-out - for example, C.J. Maggie's had the absolute best chicken fajitas for only a $9.99 - but Emmett preferred to do his own cooking. He found it relaxing.
When all his purchases had been safely stacked and the bags folded and packed away for reuse, Emmett leaned against the counter and picked up the envelope. It still said 'Dr. Emmett Emmett' in its neat lettering, and he really didn't expect very much as he tore it open with his index finger. Probably an invitation for April's Ramp Festival, or maybe another one of those weird flyers for Crazy Harry's Country Market and Amish Furniture. That man sure loved to advertise.
What he found inside the envelope, though, was a Polaroid. Emmett blinked. It was a picture of himself standing on the steps in front of the Reserve, looking almost directly at the camera. On the white space beneath the image, someone had scrawled with black marker: 'something'. The handwriting looked awkward, some of the letters leaning to the left, others tilting to the right, their size varying wildly. Like the writer had used their non-dominant hand. Emmett turned the Polaroid over, but there was just the plain black backside.
"Huh."
Who would send him a picture of himself with 'something' written beneath it? He looked into the envelope again, but there was nothing else inside. It had to be an elaborate hoax that only made sense to the one who'd sent the letter. Emmett threw the envelope into the trash and the Polaroid into a drawer, and proceeded to forget about the whole thing.
~~~
The second envelope arrived two days later. It was hidden between several bills and funding rejections and a few Burger King flyers so Emmett didn't notice it right away, but when he did, he just held it for a moment, frowning at it. Again, there was no stamp, no return address; just his name printed on the front.
This time, Emmett sat down at the kitchen table before he opened the envelope. He wasn't terribly surprised to find that again, all it held was a Polaroid. This one showed him in the Reserve's main lab and okay, that was impressive. There should have been no way for anyone to get into the lab without his expressed permission, let alone to plant a Polaroid camera, and besides, he would have noticed the flash. There were cameras, yes, but they weren't hooked up to the internet, so this wasn't a cleverly faked screen shot, either.
The picture looked fairly recent, too, judging by his I-don't-have-underlings-so-why-bother haircut. Scribbled underneath, in the same black marker, was again just one word: 'will'.
Emmett frowned and got up, rummaging through several drawers before he found the first picture. He lay the Polaroids on the kitchen table as he sat down again, looking for clues. So both were shot at the Reserve, and in both he was wearing a black t-shirt. Only that didn't say much, because he wore those whenever he could, especially in the summer. The words on both Polaroids now held what might be part of a message: 'something will'. Or, 'will something', but for now he was going to assume that the order in which he'd received them was important. Apart from that, he had no idea what the pictures were supposed to tell him. He wasn't sure he cared, either, still half-convinced it was just a prank.
Still, he wondered how those pictures had come to be taken in the first place, so he called the only person who might know.
"Monica."
"Emmett, hi! How are you?" She sounded delighted to hear his voice, and Emmett smiled. They were both too married to their research to have made it work between them, but they remained good friends.
"I'm fine. How about you, how's the research coming?"
"It's great! We finally got the green light to move from bottlenose dolphins to orcas, and-" They chatted for a while, each describing their progress or lack thereof. Monica's research was a lot more likely to be granted government funding for its possible military applications, so it was usually her progress and his lack thereof. He didn't begrudge her the success, though. As long as he invested his money sensibly, he could afford to run Longreen Snake Reserve by himself, although there was talk of opening part of it to the public as a tourist attraction. As long as it got him the funding to employ a lab tech or two, perhaps even another herpetologist - he did have a reputation, after all, and many would be thrilled to work with him - he wouldn't mind conducting a tour every two or three hours.
"Oh god, tourists! The only thing they're good for is cheating them out of their money." Monica laughed. "Okay, that's enough prattling for one day. Did you want something?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Emmett wandered over to the kitchen table and picked up one of the Polaroids. "Did you take any pictures of me while you were here? In the lab?"
"Yeah, right, like you wouldn't have killed me for freaking out your precious snakes with the flash."
"Hmm." Emmett hummed his agreement.
"Why are you asking?"
Emmett flopped the picture back down on the table. "Oh, it's just a stupid prank. Someone keeps sending me pictures of myself with parts of a secret message scribbled underneath."
"Why, Emmett, did you pick up a stalker?"
"Looks that way. Well, it was good to hear your voice, Monica."
"Likewise. Call me when you've figured out your secret message."
"Will do. Bye."
"Bye, Emmett!"
Emmett put the phone back down and picked up the photographs. Frowning at them, he pulled the drawer for assorted nonsense open and let them fall inside. The 'will' picture landed on top and he studied it for a while, trying to figure out the camera angle for that shot. He'd check the lab tomorrow.
He shut the drawer, and went to prepare dinner.
~~~
Emmett didn't find any cameras in the lab except for the ones he'd had installed there. For almost a week, nothing else arrived, then he pulled another nondescript envelope out of the mail.
The third picture showed him in the lab again, this time wearing his lab coat as he pulled off a pair of thin surgical gloves. On the table in front of him was Betty, sensor electrodes freshly installed in her brain. The scrawled message read, 'happen' without elaborating.
Emmett pressed his lips together and threw the damn thing into the drawer to the others.
~~~
The fourth Polaroid seemed to finish the message, which was just as well because Emmett had had enough. He didn't need the other pictures to figure out what the message was, but he took them out anyway, spreading them on the kitchen table. Scribbled unevenly in black marker, the photos told him that 'something will happen to you...', but that wasn't what got to Emmett. As far as vague threats went it was rather lame and unoriginal, but the pictures themselves... they unsettled him.
The first one, with him standing in front of the Reserve, anyone could have taken. The second and thirds ones were of him in the lab, presumably shot during a time when nobody but him, a marine biologist and an FBI agent had been working there. Someone would have to had broken in there and installed a remotely operated Polaroid camera with a disabled flash, but again, it was doable. Worrying, but perfectly within the realm of possibility. The fourth one, though...
The fourth one was simply impossible. He recognised that scene: standing in a discotheque a few miles outside Philadelphia, pointing a gun at Broddick mere seconds before the maniac had aimed a flame thrower back at him. There had been next to no one left inside, certainly no one who would have taken a photo of him when there was an 80-foot-long python eating the party goers. And if that wasn't enough, there was a man behind him in the picture; someone who definitely hadn't been there because Emmett would have remembered that guy. He looked like another FBI agent, dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and a red tie, holding a cell phone to his ear. Emmett had never seen that guy in his life, but it was the first real clue he had and he wasn't about to let it slip.
Was it even possible to manipulate Polaroids, he wondered while he listened to the unending buzzing, willing Monica to pick up already. There was a light click and then, "Hello?"
"Monica."
"Emmett, hi! How are-"
"Do you still have your FBI contacts?" he interrupted her, for once not caring if he was rude. He knew she'd been friends with a few other agents besides the unfortunate Sharpe, but a lot could happen in nine months.
"Sure, why?"
"I need you to find someone for me."
"Who?" She sounded puzzled, then she drew the connection. "Your stalker?"
"I don't know." Emmett looked at the dark-haired guy in the last picture. "But I mean to find out."
~~~
"The guy is Agent Brendan Dean of the National Security Agency."
"NSA?" Emmett frowned. "Why would anyone fake a photo of me with an NSA agent?"
"I don't know." There was a gulping sound on the other end of the line, like Monica was drinking something. "He works in a field office in New York. Maybe you should take a trip."
"Yeah, right. In the meantime, all my snakes are going to die." Emmett had attended a conference exactly once since he'd come to live in Elkins as the owner and sole employee of the Longreen Snake Reserve. He'd asked Jimmy Hammond to take care of his snakes, but the redhead had been more preoccupied with his campaign for a place on the Monongahela National Forest Board. The rattlesnakes hadn't survived, and Emmett had stayed in Elkins from then on, except for that one short trip to Philadelphia.
"I can take care of them. I'm due for a few days off anyway."
"You hate snakes."
"Yeah, but you like them and you're my friend and I don't want to see you offed by some crazy stalker. Go meet that agent, Emmett."
"All right, fine. Give me his address." He wrote it down and then asked her, "You're not going to tap the aquariums again, are you?"
"No, but I was thinking... do you think I could bring my stereo? Snakes love AC/DC, right?" There was a cheeky grin in her voice, and Emmett wasn't entirely sure she was joking.
"Monica!"
"Relax, just kidding! Gee, Emmett, you really need to get out more."
"Well, I'm about to go to New York, aren't I?"
"That you are."
~~~
New York was a lot louder than Emmett remembered, full of smog and people. It wasn't that he thought the Heart of West Virginia was the most beautiful place on Earth, but it was green - well, not right now, but getting there - and calm and relaxing and he found himself missing the quiet. He also missed the Taco Bell on Harrison Avenue, but there were bound to be some Tex Mex places somewhere in Big Apple, right?
The hotel he'd booked turned out to be in the middle of nowhere and the taxi drivers were suicidal, the lot of them. After a twenty-minute trip that had involved cutting across lanes and turning off at the last possible second, Emmett was more than happy to stumble out of the taxi and resolved to walk back to the hotel, even if it took him all day. He was beginning to doubt the sanity of his decision to come here, but it was too late now to change his mind, wasn't it?
The NSA field office didn't look very impressive, but then again that was probably why they called it a field office and not their headquarters. There was some kind of reception desk inside, and he walked up to the young woman sitting behind it and asked politely, "Is it possible to speak with Agent Dean?" He'd tried to call the man, but had been told that Dean was working on a case and wouldn't be back before Monday. Well, it was Monday, so Emmett had decided to try his luck right at the field office - he didn't think he would have been able to explain the situation over the phone, anyway.
The receptionist regarded him over the rim of her glasses. Clearly unimpressed, she turned back to her computer monitor and clicked the mouse a few times. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"Then I can't let you speak with Agent Dean. Sorry."
"Well, can I make an appointment?"
"You'd have to see Agent Dean about that," she said dismissively, not even looking at him. Emmett blinked at her. Was she yanking his chain?
"Look-" he began, fully intending to explain - very slowly and using simple words - how what she was asking of him could only be deemed a paradox, but he was distracted by a petite brunette who had come up next to him and did a double-take when she saw his face. "Uh. Can I help you?"
She stared at him, her expression somewhere between surprise and intrigue. "Who are you?" she finally asked.
"Dr. Emmett," he replied. "Pleased to meet you." He had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that somehow she'd known that answer already, though he couldn't have said what made him think that. He frowned.
"My name's Freya McAllister." She held out her hand and he shook it. "What brings you here, Dr. Emmett?"
"I need to meet with Agent Dean." Emmett nodded at the receptionist. "Sadly, I don't have an appointment."
"That's okay, you can come with me," McAllister smiled, and before he could even thank her properly, he found himself following her through a series of doors that opened only after she'd pressed her hand against sensor pads. They went up some stairs and through a narrow corridor and entered some kind of open-plan office. Suits and skirts all around, and Emmett felt vaguely out of place in his cargo pants and black leather jacket.
"Brendan!" McAllister called out, waving across the room, and Emmett raised his chin when he spotted the reason he'd come to New York. He'd looked good in the photo, not that Emmett had really noticed, too distracted by the impossibility of the motif. But now, seeing the man in real life, Emmett was startled to realise that he was gorgeous. Long torso, lean limbs, asymmetric face that shouldn't have been pretty but somehow was. Agent Dean did the same double-take as his partner, then his features tightened into a dark glower which Emmett tried very hard not to find attractive as the man stalked over to where they were standing. Dear god, he even smelled good.
McAllister was blinking up at him, then she looked at her colleague and blinked again, before her lips twisted into an amused grin.
"Brendan," she said, "I'd like you to meet Dr. Emmett."
"This is a joke, right?" Dean demanded instead of offering his hand, and Emmett withdrew his own to search the outer pocket of his jacket.
"That's what I'd like to know." He pulled out the Polaroids and handed them to Dean, who raised an eyebrow as he quickly browsed through them. Without comment, he handed them over to McAllister, who gasped.
"They're just like yours!"
"Like yours?" Emmett looked from her to Dean, who now seemed slightly less glowering.
"Follow me." Dean turned around and started walking, without looking back to see if they were indeed following him. McAllister handed the Polaroids back to Emmett and motioned in the direction Dean had taken. Emmett hummed in acknowledgement and trailed after the agent, curious where this was leading.
It was leading to Dean's desk, located pretty much in the middle of the office, and Emmett felt his eyes widen as the agent opened a drawer and pulled out a similar set of Polaroids, handing them to Emmett.
The first one showed Dean in his car, but that wasn't what drew Emmett's attention. He stared at the word scrawled into the white space underneath the picture with cheap black marker: 'someone'. He would have recognised that awkward, messy handwriting anywhere. The second and third pictures showed Dean during what looked like a raid or some kind of operation. In one of them, he was peering around the corner of a brick building, in the other he had his hand raised to the radio in his ear. The words scribbled on them were 'will' and 'need'.
Emmett could kind of see where this was going, but the fourth Polaroid still creeped him out. Dean was aiming his gun at someone out of the picture, and in the background...
In the background, Emmett was feeding a ball python to Betty. The rest of the message read, 'your help...' and, okay, this was getting decidedly eerie.
He handed the photos back to Dean and commented, "This is weird." Mostly because he didn't know what else to say. Dean snorted.
"You're telling me."
~~~
Dean turned out to be kind of fun in a dorky way, once he relaxed enough to make the occasional joke. He and McAllister - who apparently was his partner, in a strict work sense as she'd hurried to assure him - seemed to believe Emmett's story that he had no idea where the Polaroids had originated from, which was something of a relief. Dean was cranky when he was suspicious, and Emmett wasn't exactly in the mood to be on his best Canadian behaviour, or what Americans seemed to regard as such anyway. Something would happen to him, and someone would need Dean's help, and it all was just vague enough to be as annoying as it was unsettling. It was obvious that whoever had fabricated the Polaroids intended to draw a connection between the agent and Emmett himself, but why and how was a mystery.
Dean had already had run his Polaroids through every test the NSA could possibly think of, but he was more than willing to repeat the procedure on Emmett's set. Emmett handed over his pictures and the last envelope he'd kept, even though he knew that the chance of finding any clue pointing to their origin was remote at best. He, Dean and McAllister spent hours putting together a list of everyone Emmett had met, everywhere he'd been, trying to find the common denominator that would tie him to Dean. There was none.
Finally, they decided to take a break. McAllister apparently had a date with her sister, and Dean invited Emmett to lunch. Emmett agreed promptly: he was hungry and Dean was easy to look at, so why not? After all, not every attraction had to lead somewhere and he was perfectly content to look, not touch, and perhaps they would make a breakthrough over lunch.
They left the building together, Dean waving at the receptionist who flashed him a bright smile and frowned at Emmett. Emmett suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and followed Dean outside, taking a moment to try and get used to the noise that was New York City at noon. The pavement virtually disappeared under the mass of people all moving in one direction, and Emmett had to take a fortifying breath before he stepped into what looked like barely controlled chaos. Dean was no more than a few steps ahead, but the crowd made it hard to catch up with him. Emmett barely took notice when a black van jolted to a halt at the curb barely three feet from him. Suddenly the side door flew open and several guns were pointed straight at him.
"There! That's him!"
"Dean!" Emmett called, starting toward the agent, trying to make his way through the crowd.
"What the-" Dean reached for his holster, but he was too slow and couldn't have fired his gun in a crowd anyway. Something hit just below Emmett's left shoulder like a hard punch. He stumbled backward and went down. The air was forced from his lungs as he landed on the dirty pavement, feeling something warm and sticky spreading out over his chest. Someone screamed, someone else kicked his ribs in their haste to get away, and he could hear Dean curse. "Shit, Emmett!"
"Get up." Hands were reaching for him, yanking at his left arm and he thought he might have shouted out as the pain pierced him, hot and bright and leaving him dazed and nauseated. He half-stumbled, half-fell into the back of the van, his ears ringing; and then the van lurched forward with screeching tyres and Emmett bumped his head on the hard edge of the seat, and then he knew nothing.
~~~
When he woke up, he was lying on his back on the floor of what seemed to be some kind of factory. The machines looming into his field of vision were silent and he thought he could smell dust, but it all faded against the pulsing pain in his left shoulder. He tried to sit up but the agony was too much, paralysing his entire left side, and he sank back against what he had to assume was concrete.
"Ah, Dr. Emmett. How good to see you awake."
The voice was scratchy, as if the speaker either had a bad cold or was a lifelong smoker. Emmett bit lightly down on his tongue, hoping to get some moisture back into his dry mouth, and turned his head. A man was sitting on a chair a few feet from where Emmett lay, legs crossed in a deliberate display of relaxation. He was wearing a black suit and expensive shoes, and though he was smiling slightly, his eyes were hard. He was smoking a cigar, chewing on it like that made the tobacco taste better, and for one insane moment Emmett had a vivid flashback to Broddick and his flame thrower.
"What-" Emmett coughed and the movement sent waves of pain through his body. He moaned.
"What happened?" The man sounded satisfied as he calmly explained, "You were shot, Dr. Emmett. But don't worry, your pain will be over soon. With the amount of blood you've already lost, it shouldn't take much longer for you to die."
Emmett stared at the man, his mouth working but no sound coming out. "Why?" he croaked finally, and it was about all he could manage.
"My daughter died because of your fucking snake!"
Snake? What snake? All he could think of was Betty, his beautiful Betty, but, "Betty nev'r killed 'nyone." Except for maybe a hunter or two, but they'd started it. So there. Emmett chuckled weakly. God, his head hurt.
"You think this is funny?" The man was up from his chair before Emmett could so much as blink, and the next thing he knew was the sharp, sickening burst pain that rolled through his body as the man brought his foot down hard on Emmett's shoulder. Emmett let out a hoarse scream. For a moment his vision greyed out, dark spots blurring his sight as he tried to breathe through the agony. Slowly - god, far too slowly - the pain receded to the steady throbbing of something seriously broken. Still bad, but better.
"Look at this!"
Emmett blinked the tears out of his eyes only to find the man crouched next to him and a picture shoved in front of his face. A puff of cigar smoke made his eyes tear up again and he moved his head a little, only to have the man grab his chin and force his head back to face the picture.
"Look at this, I said!"
Emmett's eyes crossed as he tried to make out the details. It looked like a crime scene photo, with a pretty brunette lying next to... oh.
The expression on Emmett's face must have betrayed him, for the man pulled back and sneered.
"Coming back to you, is it? Your snake killed my girl, and now you're going to pay." He sounded satisfied, smiling slightly around his cigar as if he'd been waiting to see Emmett die in front of him for months. And yet there was a deep pain in his expression, of a father losing a child. Emmett could relate - hell, he might even feel sorry for the guy once his own pain had dulled down a bit more - but still...
"Accident," Emmett rasped, staring up at him and trying to get through to the man. He remembered her, the unfortunate girl who had to have been part of Broddick's hunting party. She'd gotten too close to Betty's nest, maybe even touched one of the eggs, and the snake had defended her offspring. The girl's ribcage had been crushed, several other bones broken by the force of Betty squeezing her to death. "Sc'rlet Queen Boa's... matern'l... instinc's..."
"Nonsense!" the man... the girl's father yelled. "You let that fucking beast roam free, and I'm going to-"
"Freeze, right now!" The voice was cold and vaguely familiar, and Emmett turned his head. His vision was still blurry - or maybe again - but he could make out Agent Dean, hands steady and sure as he pointed his gun at the man whose daughter had been so tragically stupid. Emmett wanted to sob with relief, but settled for a soft sigh.
"Now, back away from him. Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them." The girl's father raised his hands and inched away from Emmett, and Dean took a few steps closer. "Are you okay?" he asked, and Emmett shook his head feebly. He could tell from the pinched look on Dean's face that the question had been mostly rhetorical.
A movement in the corner of his eye made him turn his head, his eyes widening as he spotted one of the man's goons coming up on Dean from behind. 'Look out!' he wanted to yell, but all that came out was a garbled croak, and it was too late anyway. The butt of the gun hit Dean's head hard and he collapsed without a sound, his own gun clattering to the ground as it fell from his slack fingers. Emmett let out a hoarse scream as the agent landed heavily on top of him, pain exploded in his side, and everything went black.
~~~
Emmett edged toward consciousness, moaning softly and turning his head to escape the light slaps on his cheek. His entire body ached like he'd been in a prize-fight... and lost. The centre of pain was just below his left shoulder, and he felt strangely light-headed. Then he remembered: he'd been bleeding for some time now. He smiled at the explanation.
"Emmett. Hey, come on, wake up."
He didn't want to. His arms were comfortably numb and he couldn't entirely feel his legs, either. If he slept a little longer, perhaps the rest of his body would go numb, too. That would be nice.
"Emmett!"
This slap was harder than the others had been, making his cheek sting. Emmett blinked his eyes open, blearily trying to focus his gaze on the man leaning over him. The blurry face turned into Agent Dean's impossibly attractive features as Emmett blinked again. Dean's expression was grim, his right cheek streaked with dirt, a disturbingly large patch of drying blood on his white shirt.
"Y're hurt," Emmett mumbled, and Dean looked down at himself before grinning humourlessly.
"Nah, that's all yours."
"Oh." Emmett frowned in concentration. "'s good?"
"Not really, no."
"Hmm." All out of words, Emmett fell back on his default hum. He stared at the low ceiling for a while, drifting, then he cocked his head. "Diff'r'nt room."
"Yeah, they locked us into some kind of closet. I guess watching you bleed to death wasn't as much fun as the guy thought it would be."
Emmett hummed again and let out a slow breath. He was calm, the pain almost bearable. Probably from the blood loss, but he wasn't complaining. He was starting to feel kind of good, actually. Woozy, but good.
"Hey, stay with me, okay?" Dean's voice sounded kind of tense despite his attempt to keep it light, and Emmett turned his head to look at him. There was a lot of blood on Dean's shirt.
"Y're hurt?" He remembered how Dean had gone down. Had there been blood then?
"Well, maybe my pride," Dean said dryly. "Other than that, no."
"Good." Emmett tried to radiate reassurance. "Y're gonna get out 'f here."
"We'll both get out of here."
Emmett didn't think so, but he nodded gamely. "S're."
"Hey." Dean's hand closed around Emmett's right wrist as the agent leaned down, staring at him. "We'll both get out of here, got it?"
Emmett nodded again. Dean took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I asked you out for lunch."
"No sh't." It wasn't what Emmett had in mind, either. For one thing, they'd never even gotten around to any actual food. Then again, he didn't think he could eat now. His eyes drifted closed on their own accord.
"Hey. Hey, don't fall asleep on me," Dean insisted, which was sort of a strange thing to say because Emmett was fairly sure he didn't have a concussion. Dean probably had though, so he should be the one to stay awake. Before Emmett could point that out, though, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock and the door swung open. The girl's father stepped into the closet, holding a gun. Now we're all in the closet together, Emmett thought inanely, and snorted. Closet but no cigar, because there was none this time.
Dean scowled at the man and stood, positioning himself between the gun and Emmett. Nice, but completely redundant.
"Still not dead, I see."
"What do you want?" Dean demanded, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Emmett couldn't see the girl's father anymore - Dean was standing in the way - but he heard the sneer in his voice when he answered, "Oh, rest assured, Agent Dean, I'm getting what I want."
Emmett never really knew what happened next. He just blinked and Dean was slamming the man against the wall. Another blink and the man was down, and that was good, wasn't it… except then things got all quiet and when Emmett tried to focus on what was going on, he saw Dean half-crouched over the fallen man with his hands raised. Dean licked his lips as he stared at the goon standing in the doorway pointing a gun at him. "We can talk about that, right?"
The goon sneered and Dean tensed. Waiting for the shot, Emmett realised, and no. He wasn't going to let that happen.
The other gun was lying two feet away from him. Emmett took a deep breath. Then he pushed himself forward, crying out as the pain that had been so peaceful slammed into him again. He closed his clumsy fingers around the gun, picking it up, pointing it and firing all in one agonising movement. He fired again even as he keeled over, dark spots taking over his vision.
He thought he had hit someone. He thought it was the goon. But he had no idea, no idea, and then everything was gone and all that was left was blessed silence.
Pain-free. Darkness.
Sleep.
~~~
The next time Emmett woke up - really woke up - he was lying in a bed and his shoulder was only throbbing slightly. That was the upside. The downside was the strong antiseptic smell that had been making him nauseous ever since he was a kid, the one that said hospital with a capital H. There was a slight rustle next to his bed: perhaps a nurse who could tell him when he'd be free to go. When he opened his eyes, though, Emmett saw that it was Agent Dean, sitting on some kind of stool close to his bed, leafing through a comic book.
"Uh..." what are you doing here, Emmett wanted to ask, but his throat was dry and he ended up coughing. Dean looked up and grinned.
"So. Welcome back among the living." He offered him a plastic cup of water, which Emmett sipped gratefully. "How's the shoulder?"
"Better," Emmett replied. "How did we-"
"-get out of there? You shot that guy. Then the backup arrived." Dean grimaced. "Look. I screwed up back there. And I'm sorry."
"What are you talking about? You saved my life," Emmett said incredulously.
Dean shook his head. "No. You saved mine. You shouldn't have had to."
"How about we just agree that it was a mutual thing?" Emmett suggested, and Dean smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
Emmett nodded and leaned back into his pillow, closing his eyes. Then he remembered something and sat up straight, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound. "Wait. What about the Polaroids?"
"The NSA's going to write that one off as a prank." Brendan shrugged. "It's out of my hands, sorry."
"But-"
"Freya's trying to get her Doctor Welles to launch an independent investigation. She thinks it was a thoughtographer."
"A what?"
"Some kind of 'mind photographer'." Dean even made the air quotes. "Trust me, if you'd been doing my job for the last year or so, you'd start believing in that kind of stuff, too. Oh, by the way, the connection we were looking for, the one between you and me?"
"Yes?" Emmett cocked his head, curious.
"Turns out that girl that was killed by your snake was the sister of an Alan Matthews."
"And you were after him?"
"Yeah." Brendan nodded. "Weird, isn't it?"
"I've seen stranger things," Emmett said honestly, and Brendan smiled at him.
"Yeah, I guess you would." He slapped his thigh with his comic book and stood up. "Okay, I have to get back to work, my boss has enough ammunition already. See you later?"
"It's not like I'll be going anywhere," Emmett pointed out. Dean nodded, but didn't leave, the fingers of his left hand tapping the back of the chair as he licked his lips.
"Freya said you think I'm hot," he said finally, studying the far wall with what seemed like intense concentration. His cheeks were slightly flushed; he looked cute.
It took Emmett a moment to remember that Freya was McAllister, then he chuckled even as he felt his own blush creep up his neck to warm his cheeks. "She's very perceptive."
"Yeah, she is." There was a pause, then Dean cleared his throat. "So, uh, when you get out of here… how about dinner?"
Dinner. With Agent Dean. Who had saved his life and was now fidgeting like a little boy.
"Yeah. That'd be nice."
Dean grinned, a mischievous smirk that made him look surprisingly young. "Cool."
With that, he was gone. Emmett stared thoughtfully at the closed door, his lips slowly twitching into a smile.
So he'd probably never know where the Polaroids had come from, or why they'd been sent to him, or Dean. But it looked like his trip to New York hadn't been entirely in vain.
He recalled Dean's little-boy grin and leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes.
No, not in vain at all.
~~~
Several weeks later, Emmett pulled an envelope out of the mailbox. One with no stamp and no address, just one line printed on the front in neat letters. 'Dr. Emmett Emmett', it read. Emmett grimaced, but took it inside, sitting down at the kitchen table. He took a fortifying breath before opening it.
Inside was a Polaroid, of course. It showed two men, one with a wild shock of dark hair that was beginning to show streaks of silver, the other with lighter hair that had been cut short and generally appeared to be in retreat. They were staring at each other, each wearing identical goofy grins, their hands brushing together. In the white space beneath the picture, a word was scrawled in familiar black marker: 'someone'.
Emmett gaped. Blindly, he reached for the phone, hitting the same number on speed dial he called every night. After a few rings, there was a click on the other end.
"Dean."
"Brendan? Have you gotten your mail yet?"
~~~
End.