This Dark Hour (closed)

[Dr. James Campbell]

"Our Father, who art in heaven"

James hated hospitals. He kept his house as sterile as he could--But with a cat, a child, and Chase for a husband, it wasn't as sterile as he wished.--and as quiet, but hospitals still freaked him out. He hadn't entered one willingly since the day Ginny had been morn, which seemed all too long ago now. She was grown up, and adult, and he was going to have to tell her...something. He would have to tell her something about why his husband, the loving, gentle, if somewhat goofy husband was lying between sterile white sheets, with his face drained of blood and emotions.

"Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven"

One word had stood out from the rest of the phone call: Assault. A warning was in there somewhere, but what Sean said didn't matter to him so much as what he'd heard. Chase was hurt. Sean had rushed him to the hospital.

Sean had said that he didn't think the injuries were life threatening, and James didn't want to expose their son to whatever had happened without seeing it first himself. Niko didn't need to see this. He was just a little kid.

James had tried to stay calm, for the boy's sake. "Nikki, get your coat. Chase was hurt and is in the hospital. Dr. Neville is with him now. I'm going to take you to Dr. Prideaux's house, and I'm going to call you as soon as I know more, okay?"

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us"

James had never driven so fast in his life, but even for him, a man who always played by the rules, speed limits became mere suggestions put forth by people who didn't have their husband in the hospital from an assault. As he drove, the word assault echoed through his head. What was this, an anti-meta attack? He knew the blond man hated using his powers against anyone... James felt particularly queasy when the thought occurred to him that it might be because of them. He wished he'd asked for more details on the phone, but he was afraid of what he might have heard. From the sound of it, Sean hadn't known much more himself.

The woman at the front desk had been efficient, and he'd burst into Chase's room a bit faster than he'd intended, slamming the door hard and brushing past Sean.

"Deliver us from evil. Amen."

"God, Sean, what happened to him?" He was bandaged, and perhaps most disturbing was the brace around Chase's neck. Or at least it, and the cuts on Chase's face, drew attention away from the heavy cast on his foot. His gray eyes were open, but unfocused. "Chase, I'm here. I'm right here."

James was afraid to touch him. He didn't know what might hurt; he didn't even know what all the injuries were. He settled for stroking Chase's arm, where the skin was exposed, carefully skirting the bandages covering....cuts? lacerations?

"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."

"Does he need anything? He's on pain meds, right?" The recruiter looked to Sean, desperate for some kind of reassurance. "Where did this happen? He told me this morning you were going to be working on your car. Has he spoken to the police yet? Have you? Where's the doctor? Who could do this?"

James felt tears well up, but he couldn't cry now. Later, alone, it would be okay. Now he had to be strong. "His neck isn't...broken, right?"

"Hallowed be thy name."

((Continued from Sign Is Vital, Hands Are Cold))

[Chase Campbell]

Chase could remember very little since he’d entered the hospital. Everything before that was almost crystal clear in his memory, including the ride from the mansion. Including the blood on his hands. The murder. All of it.

When he’d arrived, he’d been beyond the point of caring about the pain. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, berating himself for letting things turn out this way, he felt like he was going numb. Or perhaps that was the drugs they were giving him. His eyelids felt so heavy. He just wanted to sleep. But what if James came? He couldn’t miss that. He fought to stay awake, but in the end, the chemicals won, and he slipped under.

Upon awakening, the world seemed... different. Dull. He couldn’t feel the pain anymore. He couldn’t feel... anything anymore. There was a sense that nothing really mattered anymore. His gaze roamed aimlessly around the room, taking it in. He recognized it as the hospital. Where Sean had promised to take him. There was something his mind was grasping at. Something skirting the edges. Something had happened. Something bad. But he couldn’t remember what.

The slam of the door should have alerted him to something happening. It was the same with the voices. He knew them. They were familiar, and one was important. It took a monumental amount of effort to make himself look at the two men. Sluggish as his mind was, he had no trouble identifying James.

... But he was scared. Why was he scared? James loved him. He always loved him. So why was he scared? He’d wanted James here with him. This didn’t make sense. He wanted to say James’ name. He wanted him to come closer, to stop the tirade of questions nobody could actually answer. It was so James, to keep talking like that. He wanted to tell him to knock it off. He wanted to pull him close and tell him he loved him.

Instead, all he could do was watch in a drugged haze. He’d take the pain again, if it could give him a clear head. This wasn’t even the fun sort of haze, like getting drunk. It was just... blank. There was nothing he felt, except the vague notion he should be afraid of James being here. He just didn’t know why. He wanted to know.

James touching him was nice. It brought back some semblance of feeling, and that was nice. The trainer was already tired of feeling numb in every way possible. Slowly, he brought his gaze up to look at his husband.

... He almost wished he hadn’t. The fear in James’ eyes was almost too much. His breathing hitched for a moment, not from pain, but from emotion. This was what he’d been wanting to avoid. He hated that look. It took him a few moments to arrange the words in his mind, and even longer to actually get them to work properly. “Jamie. I’m sorry.” He knew it was important to say. He just couldn’t remember exactly why. “I love you.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Say what one would about Sean Neville – and undoubtedly there was much to be said in the day’s aftermath – but he kept calm under pressure. He managed to drive Chase to the hospital without getting pulled over and without using his abilities to achieve that outcome. Once there, Ethan had brought them into that same back room where he’d worked on Josh those months ago. Yet again, the psychiatrist had grabbed the clipboard of patient information to fill out the necessary details and nothing further.

Chase had been given an immediate sedative, and once he was safely unconscious, Sean had assisted with the mending process, serving as promised, as Ethan’s nurse. He’d been less than forthcoming on the precise circumstances surrounding the injuries, pulling out the “assault” excuse again. Although he mentioned the fall from the two-story window because it was medically necessary information. He’d also made Ethan promise not to mention it to anyone, not even James should he ask.

Once Chase was out of danger and had been adequately treated – and while he still slept – Sean took the next responsible course of action and had called James to alert him of the situation; he deserved to know. As for what he would know...that was Chase’s department. Chase hadn’t wanted him to disclose what had happened, and Sean didn’t feel it was his place to divulge what had happened, since those were the younger man’s burdens to bear and his secrets to reveal. That assault excuse was as handy as it was accurate, and he explained the situation in vague terms over the phone, giving the room number in anticipation of James’s arrival.

After that it had been a waiting game. With the telepath still in crisis mode, he ran possible outcomes in his head as he waited, to prepare himself for what was to come.

When James finally arrived, Sean was prepared. He stepped out of the way to give the younger man access to Chase’s bedside, and he began providing medical information mixed with vague descriptions which were not quite lies. “Morphine at the moment. He’ll get a prescription to take home with him, and I’ll refill it so you both don’t have to come back out here when it runs out.” Standard procedure wouldn’t allow for the strong pain medications to come with automatic refills, but the psychiatrist could play intermediary without violating professional ethics. “He’s just waking up now, and he hasn’t had the ability to speak to anyone. And I wouldn’t get the police involved.” Police intervention was not an option, not given the parties involved and the circumstances. “I haven’t had good experiences the past months trying to file police reports, and Chase isn’t in any condition to give a statement.” That was true, all of that was true, even if those weren’t the primary reasons.

The telepath understood James’s need for answers, and he wished to give him what minor comfort he could: as a friend, as a colleague, as a psychiatrist, and because he was withholding information. “Cruel, irrational people did this.” While he understood the gestalt pair’s loyalty to Gabriel – in the abstract as well as more practically given his charisma – he also absolved them of nothing. While Chase had harmed Gabriel, Josh had harmed no one and they had treated him the same way. They were violent, hate-filled individuals. “But the important part is that he’ll recover, and his neck isn’t broken.” He understood how off-putting the brace could be, but it was for a different type of injury. “It's soft tissue damage. He’ll get to go home with you.”

[Dr. James Campbell]

In the farthest corners of his mind, James was aware that asking a bunch of questions and then not really listening to the answers was very, very rude, but he cared about something else more right now. Namely, Chase was awake, and talking. "Chase, Chase, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. I love you too, and I am so happy to see that you're okay."

Okay was a bit of an exaggeration, considering the shape his husband was in, but he was breathing and talking and even if he was drugged up on morphine--See, James was paying attention a little bit.--he was alive. Finally, James's heart rate began to slow, and he stroked Chase's arm again.

"He's going to have to file a report eventually. Whoever did this could do it again." So what if the police hadn't found out anything about the attack on him? This was much, much worse. And the attack on him had been mostly mental, and it was so hard to prove that. Chase was in the hospital looking like he'd been beaten. "People? There were more than one? Where did it happen? When?" Instantly, his fears about a hate crime came back. "Was it because he's meta? Or because we're..." Years ago, James had convinced Chase that it was okay for them to be openly together. Was that really naive? In another place, being a gay, meta couple was an invitation for trouble. But not here. Not in Pilot Ridge.

He sighed, but then James realized that he was again talking about Chase when he could be talking to him, and really, that's all he wanted right now. "Hear that, Chase? Sean says you're going to go home." He reached over and gently brushed some blond hair off of his husband's forehead. "Nikki will like that. He's pretty worried about you." Chase's eyes were still a bit unfocused, but James knew he was listening, and that was enough. "I'm going to call him in a little bit, and let him know how you're doing. Is there anything you want me to say to him for you?" Again, that was probably too many questions, but Chase probably wasn't expecting anything else from him.

Already, James was planning how they would manage when Chase got home. Unless he'd be able to get up the stairs with that cast on his ankle, Ginny would be regulated to the couch. He'd probably be out of work for a while, and James wouldn't be able to travel on recruitment trips--and Mii had already moved to desk duty--so he was going to owe his soul to the other recruiters for a while longer. But Chase was okay, so everything was going to be alright. Right?

[Chase Campbell]

Chase didn’t care if James was being rude. Not now. Under different circumstances, he’d tell him to pay attention to the answers he was being given. Those same answers Sean was giving to James, the trainer might have been interested in. Had the drugs not turned his mind into a hazy, sluggish thing. Something in there might have been important. He’d have to ask later.

Didn’t do anything wrong? That struck a chord with Chase. It wasn’t right. He had done something wrong. That was why he was here, trapped in the railed bed when he would give anything to be home. “N-no,” he managed to protest, but that was as far as that went. It was pointless to argue when the drugs were making it impossible to recall details with any sort of clarity.

Instead of relaxing, like he suspected he should be doing, what James was saying was making Chase anxious. He didn’t want the police involved. That was important too. “No,” he repeated, with at least some form of reasoning behind it this time. “No cops.” He didn’t bother to pay attention to James’ reasoning for the attack. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t just because he was meta. It was because he’d done something wrong, and it was frustrating him that he couldn’t see through the fog well enough to remember properly. Bits and pieces teased his mind, but the moment he tried to grasp them, they fled like mice.

He closed his eyes at a twinge in his ribs, breathing in slowly. He didn’t keep them closed, however. James’ voice made him open them again. “Yeah,” he drawled. “I wanna go home.” He wanted to be back with James and Nikki and away from the godawful drugs. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, this time more for Niko’s sake than James’. “Say I’m sorry. An’ I love him. And you. I love you.” He was sorry. He was so sorry to be putting James and Nikki through this. But he knew there was a good reason for it. He was hoping that the more he let the drugs wore off, and the longer he could postpone another dose, he’d figure this mess out.

Chase shifted in the bed, letting his gaze wander to Sean. He was grateful to him, for so many reasons. At the moment, he was just grateful that whatever he’d said to get James here, it hadn’t been panic inducing. He moved his hand to attempt to grasp James’. “Don’t be mad,” he said softly. “Please don’t be mad.” ... God he wanted the drugs to wear off.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Unfortunately, James didn’t understand the circumstances which made filing a police report nigh impossible. The only protection that Chase had was that he and Gabriel’s group were at a legal standstill. They were a terrorist organization that regularly engaged in assault and other violence, which made it impossible for them to file a police report against Chase. But if Chase were to file, it would come out soon that there was blood on his hands. Then there would be an arrest and a trial, and it was impossible to explain to a human jury how meta-human psychic powers worked, particularly one like mind control or puppetry to claim self-defense. Sean wouldn’t be much of a witness since he hadn’t been there for that part of matters. Since they couldn’t have anyone from Hammel on the jury, Chase would undoubtedly be convicted and that would only destroy his life, James’s life, and their family. No, filing a police report wasn’t an option. But if James continued to focus on the injuries, Sean wouldn’t have to argue about that, and once home, Chase could put his foot down there.

“It happened a little while ago; I called as soon as his injuries were tended to.” That was true. The telepath was trying to put as much truth as possible into the omissions he provided. He then shook his head, denying the latter part, and honestly the former as well. “It wasn’t homophobia.”

Although it was likely cold comfort, that much Sean could promise the other man. It also hadn’t strictly been because he was meta – not with Underwood’s crew. This had been revenge. Twice over, this had been revenge, and what had it gained them? A dead man and Chase’s injuries. And whatever fallout would result, because those women did not strike Sean as bastions of self-restraint.

He pushed that last thought from his mind. There would be time aplenty to plan for the aftermath once Chase was safely back home with James, and once Sean had a bottle of wine in one hand and the piano keys under the other.

He watched the two men interact, not wanting to interrupt them. However, for James, he added, “I can handle the discharge paperwork, and help him out to your car, as soon as he feels up to it.” Whatever Chase eventually disclosed to James was his own affair; it wasn’t for Sean to decide for him. That was the nature of secrets; they rarely belonged to the telepath, he was merely privy to them.

[Dr. James Campbell]

He would have to argue the "No cops" sentiment later. It wasn't like Chase could give any sort of report on what had happened to him at the moment anyway. James could read faces pretty well in general, but he knew Chase. They'd been together for five years and James could tell that the blond man was having a difficult time getting the words out.

"Chase, this isn't your fault." James smiled down at his husband, thinking that his apologies were over making him worried. Them worried. "I'll tell him that, but you don't have to be sorry. We love you and we just want you home with us."

"That's a relief." At least they didn't have to worry about Nikki potentially being targeted as their son. Putting a target on their kid's back was the last thing either of them wanted. Random violence was enough to keep James up at night, but if Chase had been hurt

James gently--ever so gently, as he was worried that if he put even the slightest pressure on Chase's head, it could hurt his neck more--ran his fingers through blond hair, noticing that there were a few spots with dried blood still stuck. "I'm not mad, Chase. I'm not mad." He pulled his hand from Chase's hair and twined their fingers together instead.

"But he's not going anywhere right now. I'd like a Biomanipulator to see him, if you have any recommendations." Meta healers were expensive, but they could afford it. The letters after James' name were for English literature, so he wasn't really a doctor, but he was going to insist on a few things anyway. "Can someone walk on crutches with broken ribs?" And the neckbrace was still scaring him too. Soft tissue damage meant he wasn't going to be paralyzed or anything, but that image still scared him. "And honestly," James squeezed Chase's hand, reassuring him that he was here, and he wasn't going anywhere. "I'm not sure he could manage crutches if his meds are like this."

Also, James would pay anything so Chase didn't have to be on pain meds at all.

He squeezed Chase's hand again, reassuringly, then let go. "I'm just going to go down to the lobby now and talk to Nikki. I'll be back in a few minutes. I love you, Chase."

((Phone conversation is: Here.))

[Chase Campbell]

Chase would admit that, regardless of why he didn’t want the police to come sniffing, he was glad that Sean was reinforcing it too. That meant it was definitely important. Fucking hell, he wanted a clear head. He couldn’t think like this. He couldn’t remember. But Sean attempting to deter the police interference told him that it was the right thing to do. Even if James didn’t agree.

The contact with his husband was nice, however. When James was close, it made it easier to focus. Or perhaps that was the medication finally starting to let up. If the dull ache he was beginning to feel in his ribs was anything to go by, it was probably the latter, but it was nice to think it was the former. It was still bothering him that James insisted it wasn’t his fault, but if it was going to comfort him, he’d go with it. For now. Until he could say different, anyway. “I want to go home too, Jamie.” He didn’t have the same aversion to them as his husband. Hell, he’d spent enough time in them as a kid, with all the moronic stunts he’d pulled with his friends. They weren’t scary. Just inconvenient when all he wanted was to be home with his family.

No. It wasn’t homophobia. The trainer knew that. It was... retaliation. Things were getting clearer. He knew he knew what happened, but the drugs were making his thoughts tangle and it was just confusing. Idly, he wondered how long the doctors might let him go before forcing another dose into him. He could handle physical pain, he’d done it before. Just long enough to be lucid again. “Okay. I hate it when you’re mad. Even when I deserve it.” Like when he left his wet towel on the floor after a shower, or got busted mid-mess making. He knew how to get out of most trouble, but something told him that this was much more serious than a damp towel, or flour on the counters. He touched his fingers to James’ and gripped him tightly. He didn’t want him to leave.

His grip faltered, however, when a biomanipulator was mentioned. He tried to pull himself up a little, wincing in the process. “Please don’t,” he managed to get out. It wasn’t about the money. It was something else entirely. He didn’t want a biomanipulator because he didn’t want to be magically fixed. He was hurt for a reason, and his logic at the moment dictated that they were his link to the memories he needed to unravel. He’d stay an extra day in the hospital, agree to (beg for) a lower dose of medication, and he’d learn to use the crutches. He just didn’t want to be fixed.

But he wasn’t sure his protests were heeded, as James went to make his phone call. As soon as he was safely gone, Chase looked at Sean and reached up to rub his forehead. “Fucking hell... Sean. What does he know?” Had he asked him that before? He couldn’t remember. “What... even happened. It’s like I remember it, but I can’t.” It made no sense, and he knew it, but it was the only way he could explain it. Like the information he wanted was behind a door, and he didn’t have the key. “... I did something terrible, didn’t I?”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The telepath would let the two men work out whether they sought out a bio manipulator for Chase’s injuries. If they did, the telepath would encourage a home visit, because the longer they were there, the longer Sean had to be there, and the longer Ethan had to cover for them. He didn’t like putting his friend in this situation, particularly not having to call on him for this favor twice in only a few months.

He watched as James left to call Niko; only after he and Chase were left alone did the psychiatrist breathe a small sigh of relief. That had gone as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. James had accepted most of his advice, and he also hadn’t called the telepath out on the questions he’d deliberately chosen not to answer.

“Easy does it,” Sean warned the younger man as he began to sit up. It wouldn’t do for Chase to hurt himself further while attempt to make himself mobile. And given the circumstances, his automatic correction for profane language was forgotten; Chase had earned the right to use that word. The telepath repeated what he had told James aloud, since Chase had asked him verbally. “You were assaulted. By more than one person, of an unspecified number. Two, I presume. You’re on morphine and I gave him a quick rundown of your injuries. It wasn’t a hate crime.”

With that, Sean switched to mental communication. Given James’s enhanced senses, he couldn’t rule out that the other man might overhear him; he also couldn’t control for the duration of that phone call. Additionally, he thought the other man would appreciate the break from the spoken word; it took less effort, preciously so when one was on morphine. I told the doctor that you’d been thrown from a two-story window because he needed that to treat you, but I didn’t tell that to James. This is in your hands, not mine.

The other two questions gave him pause. It was natural for Chase not to remember fully; he’d suffered a concussion, and the experience itself was psychologically – as well as physically – traumatic. Although showing the memory was a simple feat, Sean didn’t do so. When Chase was feeling better, they could compare notes. Yes. There was no sense denying that, certainly not when retribution was a strong possibility. I wasn’t there for all of it, so I can’t say exactly what happened, but when you’re feeling better, I’ll find us some alone time, and we can talk. For now, just concentrate on recovering.

[Dr. James Campbell]

"Chase, I'm not mad at you, and you don't deserve it." It was frustrating, trying to argue with him when he was drugged. Usually their little arguments were at least half intended in jest. But now, when his husband was struggling against the morphine to speak and wrapped up in bandages, there was no fun in it. "You don't deserve it, ever."

It was reassuring to have the blond man hold his hand tightly, though. He managed a genuine smile and squeezed back, a solid reminder of I'm here. We're together. It's okay.

James had been expecting an argument when it came to the biological manipulator, so he was ready when Chase flinched. "Chase, love, at least your ribs and your concussion." He gently ran his thumb over the back of his husband's hand, still trying to be reassuring. The thing was--though he wasn't going to say it while Sean was in the room, this was private--they were married, and he had the right to make medical decisions like that when Chase was drugged. That argument would come later, when they could be alone, but someone was going to take care of the concussion at the very, very least. Everything else could be fixed with time and patience, but James didn't know if there were statistics on the effects of brain injuries for psychics, and he didn't really want to know at the moment. "Now lie down while I go call Nikki, okay?"

The phone call didn't last too long, just long enough to make Nikki cry. He'd never had to do something like this with Ginny, so it was new to him. He almost wished he had brought the boy with him, so he could see for himself that his other foster father was alive, and talking. Well, tomorrow Niko would be here for all of visiting hours, and Chase would be home soon.

When he came back into the room, he could tell that Chase was more awake, and more aware. Good. Hearing from Nikki might cheer him up some. "Niko misses you, and he said he loves you too." James smiled and took up his post next to Chase's bed again, holding his hand. "I'll bring him here tomorrow so you can see him."

[Chase Campbell]

“Not even when I leave a mess in the kitchen?” His attempt at humor was pitiful, and deep down, he knew it. But he didn’t like seeing James so upset, and it didn’t occur to him that this wasn’t the best time to be cracking jokes, bad or not. “Or forget about the laundry?”

Unlike James, he hadn’t been prepared for a rebuttal against his protests. He hadn’t expected it, and didn’t know what to say, how to convince him otherwise. It seemed like such a silly, trivial thing to fight about. Why couldn’t he have a biomanipulator fix him? It seemed like a good idea. Sort of. Which was why he mumbled a semi-agreement to his ribs. And the concussion. If those were fixed, he’d have a better chance of remembering what had happened, and he could get the hell out of here. “Okayfine. But just those.” If it would make James that much happier, and would get him out faster, he’d agree to it. It might be nice to breathe again without having that odd sensation of knowing they should hurt, and knowing they would hurt once the medication fully wore off. He had a feeling that the dull ache he was beginning to feel was nothing compared to what they would feel like without the meds.

He wasn’t looking forward to that.

“Okay,” he agreed, settling back down again. “Remember to tell him I love him.” He missed their son.

The quiet was welcome, and not having to see James so worried seemed to relax the trainer a little. At least until he started questioning Sean. Whatever had happened, it didn’t seem that James knew the whole story. For some reason he couldn’t explain, that seemed to bring relief to the blond man. “Thank you,” he managed. For exactly what, he couldn’t really say. But it seemed appropriate.

For a moment, the voice in his head was a little worrying, but that worry was quickly forgotten. It would be so much easier to just think. The words were coming together so much more easily now in his mind. It was just the transition from thought to speech that was difficult. I remember that. I think. I remember falling. And the girls – the twins. I remember them. Gestalt pair. That much, at least, was clearing up for him. He closed his eyes, trying to continue along that train of thought. Pieces of the puzzle were aligning, but it wasn’t enough.

If James lets me out of his sight. If I did something bad... he’ll know. He’ll know that all that time I spent with you, that I lied the whole time. He remembered the planning sessions. He remembered –

Gabriel.

He remembered. And the look on his face was enough to tell the tale. Just in time for James to walk in. The trainer was pale, like he’d just seen a ghost. He barely even registered what James said for a moment. Oh my God. I killed him. I killed him.

It finally registered that James was speaking to him, and he turned his head as best he could, ignoring the ache that came with the motion. “Good,” he managed, but the word was strained. Would James even want to bring Nikki here, if he knew what he’d done? He realized now why he’d been afraid of James being here. Sooner or later, his husband would find out.

He was married to a murderer.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Everything Chase described of his memories - remembering only patches, remembering the fall but not the landing or the cause – was in line with violent trauma. Although Sean had studied this and worked with patients in the past, he was quickly becoming an expert through his personal life, knowledge that he would happily live without in exchange for the end of these attacks. They would have killed you, he informed the young man. It was necessary for Chase to be aware of that. Then they turned on me. They didn’t see where we went. That he could guarantee, because he’d been scanning for coherent thoughts and had heard none. Then again, a gestalt pair was smart enough to assume that they’d gone to a hospital, and Maddock was the only one in the area. And this gestalt pair knew him by name, and had been working with Gabriel, undoubtedly aware that all of them worked for Hammel.

Chase’s lament was understandable, but he needed to keep focused; he could not wallow, not at this point. Eventually he’ll know, yes. Sean’s tone was patient, bereft of any judgment despite the grave implications and the obvious consequences. Depending on what Chase told James, the other man would know that his husband had lied for the past months, and that Sean had been a party to it. Such was the risk of trying to pull off a clandestine operation. Then the moment of realization came, and Sean’s expression became one of sympathy. They would both need time to process this, and as a pacifist, it was a horrifying development, but Chase also demonstrated how he differed from Gabriel. Chase had killed a man – a horrifyingly evil man – and regretted it; Gabriel had killed for the pleasure of taking life. Yes, he confirmed, his mental voice still patient. You did, and we will have to cope with it.

The psychiatrist was all the more justified that he had chosen telepath communication over verbal when James returned so soon after leaving. Telephone conversations with young children rarely lasted longer than it took to relay carefully-edited information and to give reassurances that everything would be fine. He waited a moment while James passed on the love of their child, and then he addressed James again.

“If you decide on getting a bio manipulator, I know one who does topnotch work. I can get her in from Stamford.” Technically, Sean knew two in the area, although he couldn’t speak for Riley’s skills with human beings – having never seen him heal – and besides, he wasn’t going to get another person from his social circle involved in this. Bad enough that Josh had been pulled into this through the attack, and that Cobalt, as a result, was also involved. Bad enough what Elaine had told him. This last incident had to remain completely under wraps, going no further than Sean and Chase...and James after he learned whatever Chase needed him to know.

[Dr. James Campbell]

"Even if you set the oven on fire again, it's okay. I'm going to be right here for you." James was, unfortunately, not joking at all. It didn't matter to him how many fires they had to put out or how many last-minute pizzas were ordered. It would be worth it.

But when he got back from his phone call, there was something different about the room. He had always been good at reading situations, and it was like walking into a solid wall of tension.

"I'll bring him..." James repeated, squeezing slightly on his husband's hand, watching Chase's face. He was paler, and it looked like he'd just had a shock. "Chase, Chase are you okay? What happened?" He was close to heading out into the hall and flagging down a nurse so they could give Chase more of whatever he was on. It was easier to talk to him when he was lucid like this, but he'd prefer a dazed or sleeping man to him being in any pain. "Just tell me what you need." He'd give anything to make it better for him.

Part of him was still processing what Sean was saying, but Chase's distress was taking up a lot more of his attention. "I was hoping for someone closer. I know someone out of Nashua who could get here in a few hours. I've worked with her before, when Lizzy shocked her teacher." He had a pretty good relationship with a lot of powerful metas across the country who had helped out in recruitments before. And Nashua was a lot closer. "She'll come and make sure you're alright to come home, Chase. It's going to be okay." Though the more he said it, the less he actually believed it now. Not with whatever he wasn't being told still hanging over their head.

[Chase Campbell]

Chase managed a weak smile at James. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” Joking or not, it was a relief to see his husband like this again. Silly, loving. Like he was before Underwood had ever gotten his hands on him. But the feeling that things were going to be okay only lasted as long as James was in the room.

They would have killed you. That echoed in the trainer’s mind. Killed. He could be dead. He could be dead, and James would be all alone, and who knew what would have happened to Nikki, and... God, he had to stop before he drove himself insane. None of it had happened. He was alive. And so was Sean. But it didn’t stop the fear. He hadn’t realized he’d been so close to the end. You’re okay? They didn’t hurt you? If he was hurt, he was hiding it well. Much better than Chase was doing.

He didn’t want James to know. He didn’t want to know about the lies, about the trips to Sean’s house that didn’t actually involve cleaning. Why had he even believed that in the first place? His husband knew his attitude towards cleaning. He was starting to feel the panic well up. James was going to find out everything, and then he was going to take Nikki and want a divorce because he didn’t want to be married to a liar and a murderer. He felt ill. And, as always, James had impeccable timing.

Chase didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t even really register James’ hand on his. He was trying to come up with something, anything, to say to reassure him. But all he could thing was ’I’m a murderer.’ “N-nothing. It’s okay. I’m fine.” That wouldn’t placate James for long, but it would buy him time. Sean. What do I do? What can I tell him? If I tell him, he’s going to leave me. I won’t blame him, but... I don’t want him to go. I need him. What can I say to make him stay?

He was well aware he was pleading, but at this point, he was grasping at straws. He needed to find a way to keep James with him, and he needed to do it fast. “I just... need you to stay with me. Just tell me you’ll stay, no matter what.”

He didn’t even argue the biological manipulator.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Even if Sean had been injured, he would have had the time to treat his own injuries at the hospital in the time between treating Chase and calling James, and then the latter’s arrival. Fortunately, he was fine.

They didn’t hurt me, the telepath assured the other man. He thought quickly on his feet, and he’d managed to dash out the room and lock them in before they could touch him. That was also the benefit of staying calm under pressure; he often had an advantage there because rage didn’t blind him, hate didn’t make him careless. Thankfully, he’d walked away without a scratch. The only physical effect had been his increased heart-rate and the adrenaline – and the pain in his knees but that was only because he was aging and not quite gracefully.

That wasn’t to say that they were out of the woods yet, but he wouldn’t dump that on Chase while the other man lay in a hospital bed. He wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to discuss possible backlash. And unsurprisingly, Chase was beginning to panic as the reality of what happened hit him like a ton of bricks. You’re on painkillers right now that are affecting your clarity of mind, and so you don’t have to do anything right now. Eventually, you’re going to have to talk to him, and then you tell him whatever feels right. But you need to be clear-minded first. Sean had to emphasize that last point to make sure that Chase understood and didn’t say anything incriminating at this moment. And didn’t say anything he couldn’t explain due to the haziness from the painkillers.

Nashua was closer and Sean conceded that. “Fair enough. But if you need anything or anyone from my end, just let me know. I’m available.” He was always available. That was what led to his participation in this in the first place.