Braided Lives

by A. R. Moler

  "Feel… sick."

  "Yeah, I'm not surprised. Craig thinks you're apt to feel like you got hit by a bus for the next couple days. Your blood glucose tanked down to forty-six. You've been unconscious for more than three hours."

  "Couldn't… tried… couldn't save… tried so hard…" Peter's voice was a tight hoarse whisper and Jennifer could feel the grief and frustration churning his tiny amount of emotional control into near hysteria.

  "Shh, it's okay. You risked yourself trying to save her. You did everything possible. I don't want to lose you, too," Jennifer murmured and hugged him a little tighter. His eyes squeezed shut and a few tears seeped from the corners. She lovingly brushed them away with her thumb. She knew if he had had enough energy he would have cried. Instead, he slowly went limp in her arms again. Trevor's hand circled Peter's wrist, checking him.

  "It's okay. He's in normal sleep now. Flat out exhausted but just sleeping," Trevor

  assured her.

  Jennifer brushed Peter's hair back off his forehead and placed a careful kiss there. Belatedly, she thought of Danny. It was five thirty in the morning and Danny was in Chicago, where it was an hour earlier. Would it do any good to wake him up and tell him Peter was injured, for lack of better description? Probably not, she’d be better off waiting a couple of hours.

  ***

  Carefully easing away from the spot where she was curled beside Peter in the hospital bed, Jennifer stood up to stretch. He had woken just briefly, an hour after the first time, fingers weakly clutching at her arm. She saw the little flits of memory of Peter watching Craig trying to shock Isabelle back to life, and felt the anguish. Peter sank back into sleep with Jennifer cradling him in her arms.

  He still looked incredibly pale. It was morning and Craig and Trevor were satisfied that Peter was stable. They had shooed Sandra off to bed and Trevor was napping sprawled across another bed. Craig was on the far side of the room near the desks, talking to Stephen Benford.

  Jennifer noticed that it was now almost eight and as she began to consider calling Danny, the phone vibrated in her pocket and she dragged it out. The display said D. Valentine.

  "Hello," she said with a little apprehension. Delivering bad news was hard.

  "Hey Jen, have you seen Peter this morning? I tried his number a couple of times and even tried the phone in his room via the switchboard. No luck."

  "He's in the infirmary."

  "I tried that number too, but all I got was voice mail."

  "No, he's in the infirmary as a patient," Jennifer said. There was silence at the other end.

  "What happened?" Danny asked.

  "Really late last night, a helicopter brought some lady named Isabelle here. I heard that she'd been hurt really badly on an assignment. Peter was bent out of shape that they were transporting her here rather than sending him there. I don't really understand the details but she died. Craig, Trevor and Sandra, they were all working on her but… nothing. Peter was doing his thing. As best I understand from what Craig told me, he burned out. Something like used up so much energy he collapsed. He was unconscious for three hours. He's hooked up to IVs and monitors and stuff now, but for a little while even Trevor and Craig seemed pretty worried."

  There was such a long silence from the phone that Jennifer almost thought they'd been disconnected.

  "Fuck," Danny said softly.

  "Craig thinks Peter's stable now. He regained consciousness for a few minutes around five thirty, and then he woke just briefly an hour later. I don't know if he's totally out of danger, but everybody seems to be pretty calm and just keeping an eye on him now."

  "Please… Are you with him?" Danny asked. His voice sounded tight.

  "Less than two feet away. I spent a couple hours holding him. Craig seemed to think it was helpful."

  "God. My plane doesn't leave until eight tonight. I can't get back there until the early hours of tomorrow morning."

  "Try not to worry too much. Like I said, he seems to be stable. I really should have called you last night, but I was so focused on him. And it was oh-dark-thirty, I didn't think it would be helpful to wake you and tell you about all this when you were so far away."

  "It… it would have been okay, but I see your point. Damn… What exactly does stable mean?"

  "From me, the art teacher, whose medical knowledge is kind of minimal, he's exhausted and sleeping. They've got him hooked up to IVs and monitors and Trevor and Craig are checking his vitals every hour. I got the impression they expect Peter to sleep most of the rest of the day."

  "When he woke up, was he coherent?" Danny asked.

  "Sort of. He was a little disoriented and then really upset about the woman's death."

  "If he wakes… When he wakes up… If he's feeling okay enough, can you have him call me?" asked Danny. The sheer stress in the man's voice made Jennifer wish she could reach through the phone and comfort him.

  "I will. I'll call back in a couple hours anyway, and let you know if anything's changed."

  "Thanks."

  "We'll be waiting for you when you get back."

  ***

  It might have been a voice that woke him, or maybe just a sound. Peter felt his body jerk and his first thought was that he should be trying to pour more energy into Isabelle's failing nervous system. There was nothing left to give, and his breathing hitched unevenly. A warm hand cupped against his cheek. It was soft and familiar.

  "You're okay. Just try to relax," said a female voice. Jen.

  Peter opened his eyes slowly, trying to sort reality in manageable chunks for his brain. His body felt leaden and weak. He could feel the IV line in his arm and the pulse-oximeter clipped to his finger. Jennifer was curled on the edge of the hospital bed beside him, looking tired and concerned.

  Little flits of memory waged war in his head and he remembered feeling Isabelle dying under his hands. Peter squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing hitched again and he felt torn between wanting to pound his fists against a wall and wishing he could curl into a ball and try to forget the sensation of feeling Isabelle die. In the background, one of the monitors was stuttering with the erratic rhythm of his pulse. A hand closed on his wrist, and he felt the sharp analytical prod of Trevor's mind push against his. In combination with being pulled into the worried, almost frantic embrace of Jen's arms, Peter's body began to calm.

  "Peter, look at me. Let me know you're holding it together at least a little bit," said Trevor. Forcing his eyes open, Peter met Trevor's gaze. "Do you know where you are?"

  "Infirmary," whispered Peter.

  "Do you remember what happened with Isabelle?'

  "Yeah."

  "Count to a hundred for me by fives."

  "Huh? Oh…" Peter slowly realized Trevor was trying to make sure there was no obvious cognitive damage, and so he counted.

  "Beyond feeling absolutely wiped out, anything else strike you as off or bad?"

  Peter sluggishly drew on his healing senses and let them skim down through his body.

  "Just… so weak. Doubt I could stand up," Peter answered. He was probably missing something, but couldn't place it.

  "Don't even think about it. Last thing you need is a face plant on the floor. Are you up for some food?"

  "Maybe one of the protein shakes."

  "Mmm, yeah that's probably a good idea." Trevor left, undoubtedly to dig through the infirmary fridge where Peter usually kept them. Peter curled against Jennifer's body a little closer, one hand tightening in the fabric of her shirt.

  "I wish you'd stop scaring the crap out of me. Are you having the whole psi-shock syndrome thing? Trevor said he thought it might happen," she said. Her lips brushed along his temple in a soft kiss.

  "Yeah… a little," he admitted reluctantly. He could feel his body feebly rebelling against his attempt to stay calm. It was grief and frustration and an alarming sense of being lost. Without Jennifer there anchoring him, he wondered if he would be swept under by the chaos. He wished Danny was there, too.

>   Trevor returned with a plastic bottle and a bendy straw. Peter managed to drink maybe half the contents before his stomach threatened to rebel.

  "No more," he murmured.

  Jen's fingers were gently carding through his hair. "I talked to Danny on the phone. He's… well, freaked is probably the best description. If you think you can handle it, calling him would be a good idea." She fished the phone out of her pocket.

  "I need to talk to him," replied Peter. "Even if it's only for a couple minutes."

  Jennifer dialed the phone and handed it to him.

  "Jennifer, is he any better? Is he conscious?" answered Danny without any prelude.

  "Yeah, I'm conscious," responded Peter.

  "What the fucking hell happened?" demanded Danny. "Jennifer told me an agent named Isabelle died. Does she mean Isabelle Rea?"

  "Yes."

  There was a good thirty second silence, then Danny muttered, "Shit."

  "It was an all around cluster fuck by the ATF. I don't know but half the details. By the time she got here it was already probably too late."

  "Okay, over and done. What about you? Are you okay?"

  "I overdid it, and passed out," Peter said.

  "Bullshit. Jennifer said you were unconscious for at least three hours. How bad, Peter? How close did you come to going with her?"

  "I… don't know."

  "Are you still in the infirmary?" Danny asked.

  "Yes."

  "Stay there. Keep Jennifer close. I'll be back as soon as I can. My flight doesn't leave until eight. I tried to see if I could switch to an earlier one, but so far I haven't had any luck."

  "I'll get by." Peter's voice was beginning to sound thick, he was so tired.

  "Let me talk to Jen." Peter passed the phone back.

  "I think he's going to fall asleep again," said Jennifer. Whatever Danny said to Jennifer in response made her smile. "I will," she said and thumbed off the phone.

  Peter was almost asleep; the tiny exertion of talking and drinking had drained away what little energy he had.

  "Danny wants me to kick your ass if you don't behave and take it really easy," she whispered.

  Peter managed a slight chuckle.

  ***

  His watch read oh-one-thirty-five as Danny walked down the hallway toward the infirmary. The obligatory security people had been on duty at the main gate to Division P and he had seen one of the guards who patrolled the grounds at night. Otherwise the whole place was very quiet.

  He expected Peter to be asleep, Jennifer too, but he needed to lay eyes on Peter and reassure himself that his lover was okay. Well, maybe that should be 'was going to be okay'.

  He tread softly as he went into the infirmary. There was a small light on at one of the desks at the side of the room. Sandra was playing some game on the computer, one ear bud in. She nodded at Danny and pointed toward the middle of the opposite side where curtains had been partially drawn around a bed.

  Danny walked toward the indicated area. Two hospital beds had been zip-tied together, which was actually pretty normal around there where touch was often crucial in treatment of psi shock. Peter was wound tightly around Jennifer, spooned against her back. Danny stood motionless, just watching them sleep, then his gaze wandered to the steel door at the far end of the room. Isabelle was one of their own. She'd been brought onboard before Danny had been given his current position. He hadn't known her well, but he had known her.

  He crossed to that door and pulled it open, a rush of cold hitting him from inside the tiny room. It held a single gurney covered by a sheet. He walked inside and stood by the covered form. He wasn't certain he really wanted to do this, but he felt honor bound to face her.

  Danny drew the sheet back. Isabelle's features were relaxed, her skin the grayish white of cold and death. He had been the one who'd sent her on that assignment. Just one more agent, one more assignment. There was no way to predict when things were likely to go horribly wrong. The whole fiasco in Meridian was ample evidence of that. Unless someone like Reed Sawyer with precognitive Talents snagged a glimpse, everybody else was pretty much doomed to live with reality as it played out. There could have been a second body. It could have been Peter.

  Hands shaking, Danny pulled the sheet up. Outside the walk in refrigerator, he leaned back on the closed door, chest so tight he felt like he could barely breathe. Sandra came toward him.

  "Are you okay?" she asked quietly. He nodded. "I can get you a cup of coffee," she said.

  He knew she was only trying to offer him a little solace and normality. Before he could respond, Danny sensed the presence he so deeply wanted. Peter was coming toward him, padding quietly across the tile barefoot. Danny held out a hand and pulled Peter into his arms, sliding down the length of the door until Danny's butt hit the floor. Peter's legs straddled his and they sat chest to chest with Danny's arms wrapped around his lover as tightly as he dared. Sandra quietly left them alone.

  The little undercurrent thrum of energy that Danny always associated with touching Peter was barely present. The man felt fragile in his arms, not a word he would have generally associated with Peter.

  "Love you," whispered Danny. "Love you so much."

  "I love you, too. I'm glad you're back." Peter's face nestled against Danny's shoulder and blissfully he could feel the warm flow of Peter's breath against his neck. Not like Isabelle. Danny swallowed hard and hugged Peter a little tighter. They sat there for maybe ten minutes, before Peter spoke again.

  "No offense, hon, but I need to take a leak," Peter whispered.

  Danny slowly let go and Peter got up off his lap. Worry crept back again when he realized how shuffling and unsteady Peter's steps were. Danny's long legs allowed him to catch up to his lover in just a few steps. Peter gave him an irritated sideways glance.

  "You plan on holding my dick for me?" Peter groused.

  "Not unless you want me to. Mostly I was trying to make sure you didn't end up face down on the bathroom floor. You can barely walk."

  "I'll be fine."

  Danny hovered outside the bathroom for the couple of minutes it took Peter. Coming out of the bathroom, Peter's steps were even slower, and Danny slipped an arm around his lover.

  "Come on, you need to be in bed," Danny said, expecting more complaints. Peter was silent. In some ways Peter’s silence was more disturbing to Danny than Peter's shambling steps toward the bed.

  Jennifer was sitting up in the neighboring bed now, arms hugged loosely around her knees, unbound hair a dark waterfall around her shoulders in the faint shadowy light from across the room.

  "I'm glad you're back," she said to Danny as Peter crawled into the bed beside her. Danny thought she looked almost as worn out as Peter. "I'll leave the two of you some privacy." She began to slide out of bed on the opposite side. In the middle of his concern for Peter, Danny was shocked. He leaned across Peter and grabbed her wrist.

  "Where are you going?" he demanded. She hesitated. Danny suddenly realized she assumed she was a stop gap measure in a crisis. He glanced at Peter, who appeared to be on the verge of tears.

  "Having you here was not just making do until Danny got home. I need you as badly as I need him," Peter whispered. Danny sensed emotional pain bordering on hysteria from his lover.

  "Please, please don't go," Danny begged. "He wants you here… I need you too."