Chapter Text
The ropes are no less secure than they were when he woke up, nearing what must be an hour ago, but that doesn’t stop Malcolm from trying.
He strains, pulling and twisting his body, but when he once again has to take a break—because he can barely breathe with duct tape wrapped again and again around his head and mouth—his wrists are still firmly bound behind him, his ankles still stuck together.
He’d really like to rescind his prior comment to Gil about how thrilling this case was turning out to be. He’s not having fun anymore. Not at all. Not even a little.
There’s a groan from behind him, and he immediately rolls himself to Dani’s side, bending his knees in order to prod at her with his toes. It hasn’t worked yet, no matter how many sounds she’s been letting out that make him think she’s about to wake, but this time Dani’s eyes flicker open, face half-obscured by curls he wants desperately to brush away, bruises across the cheek he wants desperately to cup his hand against.
Urgently, he grunts. She makes a sound, in response instead of at random, and finally, finally looks up at him. Malcolm is so damn relieved that he groans, tilting his head with another softer, questioning sound.
Are you okay?
Dani rolls her eyes and then fixes him with a glare, and okay, stupid question, but at least it’s a satisfying enough answer that he knows yes, she’s fine.
As fine as one can be after having been captured and tied up, thrown in a room with their future left uncertain.
So...probably not very fine at all.
She starts to pull at her restraints, but he doesn’t have much confidence that they’re any looser than his own. He grunts to draw her attention again, and then jerks his head pointedly towards the corner. Her gaze follows his, finally settling on the camera settled on a tripod, and she blinks, startled. He hadn’t noticed it either, for far too long, but he’s been glaring at it long enough to have seen the red light blinking, a steady reminder that they’re being watched.
He figures they've waiting for them both to wake up, and he doesn’t think they’ll be alone much longer.
He needs to get free, he knows he does, he has to get them out of here, but there’s nothing either of them have to help do that. Her holster is gone, her pockets as empty as his. Their shoes are gone, their belts, his tie, even her necklace. No cell phone, no knife, nothing they can even use as a makeshift weapon. No hope to defend themselves, when he’s tied so tightly he's long lost the ability to feel his fingers.
Keys jingle in the hall, and Malcolm feels his heart start to pound, hears Dani’s breathing pick up just the same as his own. The door unlocks, the knob twists, and then the man who's been behind the operation but never getting his hands dirty enough for an arrest, Joseph Cohen, along with two of his men, strolls into the room. One of them is dragging a chair, and the awful way the metal legs screech along the tile, grating in their ears, makes both of them flinch and cringe.
“Well, now!” Cohen takes the chair from his cohort, sets it right in front of them, and then plops himself down with a sigh. “Was startin’ to think we’d never get to talk!” He tilts his head, looking at Dani, and smiles at her. “How’s the head, darlin’? Let me see...”
He reaches out towards her, and Malcolm will be damned if he lets him touch her, if he lets any of them get near her. He takes a breath and slams his head down against the man’s arm, knocking it off course, the best he can do. The pain is startlingly intense thanks to the blow he’s taken recently, and he feels blood start trickling down from a split somewhere above his eye, but it successfully spares Dani from whatever he’d been about to do, and that’s all that matters.
Instead, Cohen's attention goes to him. He wraps a hand around Malcolm's neck, thumb and index finger pressing hard into his jaw. Malcolm wasn't at all prepared for the frighteningly predatorial way Cohen suddenly looks him over, and it sends a shiver straight down his spine.
“You’re a tough little guy, huh?” Cohen asks, tilting Malcolm’s head to one side and then the other, and Malcolm jerks back, away from him. He grunts, makes it clear that he’s trying to speak in hopes the man takes the tape off, but Cohen only chuckles.
“No, no, Malcolm. I think you’ve said enough, haven’t you? If you’d kept your mouth shut, kept your little nose—” He flicks the tip of Malcolm’s nose, and Malcolm flinches despite himself. “—out of where it didn’t belong, you wouldn’t be here. Neither would she. And you’re really gonna wish she wasn’t here in a second.”
“Mmh…?” Malcolm shakes his head hard, as if that’s going to dislodge it in the slightest, and Cohen smirks.
“You’re both pretty when you sleep. When you’re quiet. And well, you gotta know neither of you are gettin’ out of here alive, right? Not with what you know. What you saw. Hell no. You’d go tell your little friends, and ruin the shit we’ve got goin’, and that’s just not gonna happen.”
It's...good, in some way, that he doesn't know their team already knows. It's the reason they aren't already buried six feet under, that they haven't packed up the warehouse and left no evidence behind. They don't have the advantage they think they do.
That means, though, that they're going to take their time with them.
Malcolm does his best to speak again, but Cohen ignores him. He's never felt more helpless than the times he can't use his one skill to change minds, to at the very least distract. He's not just helpless, he's useless, only able to watching as Cohen's eyes go to Dani again, his tongue pressed against his lower lip in a way that leaves his intention in this all impossible to misinterpret.
“My boys here got quite the handful of the little missus before...I think they’d like to get a better one. I'd really like to get one myself.”
Dani breathes out shakily, hands curling into tight fists behind her. Malcolm doesn’t take his eyes off Cohen, ready to lash out again, to fight until his last breath to protect her, because he cannot allow that to happen. He can't, not when it's his own damn fault they're here at all.
Gil had told them to survey, not confront. He’d told them to stay in the car, to pull up outside the warehouse and just watch.
Malcolm hadn’t. He hadn’t, because he never fucking does. He’d seen an open door, gotten out, and slid his way inside. He’d found boxes of drugs, hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drugs that they’d murdered someone to keep safe.
He’d made Dani come after him, and that’s when they’d seen her, grabbed her as she tried to follow him through. He’d heard her gun go off, heard scuffling and then her crying out, and then someone had struck him over the head, too.
He's concussed, likely, the way he kept dipping in and out of consciousness. He’d felt a few things here and there; being lifted, thrown over someone’s shoulder, then dropped somewhere else and tied up. He’d heard speaking, gruff and angry voices, but not what was being said. And when he’d finally come to fully in the room beside Dani, he'd temporarily thought she was dead.
She might be soon. She might wish she was before that. And all of that is his fault, too.
“You’re scared,” Cohen murmurs, addressing her. He slams a hand out into Malcolm’s chest, sends him sprawling, and with him out of the way he grabs Dani by her shirt and pulls her forward.
“Don’t be scared, baby. We’re gonna make you feel real nice before you die.”
She grunts furiously. Malcolm struggles to wheeze in air, to force himself to sit up again, but then one of the others is kneeling behind him and dragging him back against his chest.
“You watch," the man says into his ear, reaching down to squeeze his hip. "Stay still, pretty boy…you'll get yours."
Malcolm protests and struggles anyway, and the man covers his nose with his other hand, leaving him unable to get any oxygen at all.
Dani chokes. Malcolm shuts his eyes, but then has no choice but to open them again because he’s not going to let her suffer while he hides. Cohen’s hand has disappeared up under her shirt, and the sight makes Malcolm’s blood boil, makes him squirm and swear and fight even as his lungs burn and the man holds him tighter.
“He’s not happy, is he?” Cohen asks, pulling her even closer. “No, I don’t think he is. He cares about you…but he ran his mouth. Got the police lookin’ into what should’ve been ruled a suicide. Snuck onto our property. Naughty, the both of you. Aww, you’re gettin' pale there, tough guy! What's wrong?”
Malcolm bucks forward, then back, his self-control and even his guilt overwhelmed by the need to breathe, and the man still holds onto him a few seconds longer before letting him go. Malcolm sucks in the deepest breath he can, coughing, and then the hand returns, and no matter how much he fights he still can’t shake it off.
Dani slams her head into Cohen's, while he's distracted, with another snarl. He shouts in pain and curses, and then punches her hard enough she falls back, reeling, blood gushing from her nose. Cohen yanks her closer by her ankles and then straddles her hips, taking out a pocket knife, and Malcolm forces himself to still, blinking hard to try and clear the black spots from his vision because he needs to know what’s happening, he needs to know, he can’t focus on anyone but Dani, he has to stop them—
Slowly, deliberately, Cohen flips out the blade, and runs the cold silver along Dani’s cheekbone with just enough pressure to leave a red line behind. Again, and blood beads to the surface, dripping down her skin.
“So pretty,” he says, twisting the sharp tip into her hair. “Beautiful. I’m really gonna take my time with you. And the noises he’s makin’ over there? Hell, I think I might just take him, too. And then I’m gonna leave you both to my boys here. And when they’re done, they’ll put a bullet in your brains, and you’re gonna be grateful for it.”
He grabs the collar of her shirt and pulls, ripping it so it falls off her shoulder, a threat of worse to come as she kicks out. Malcolm heaves in another desperate breath as it’s allowed, and this time he doesn’t waste a second before he's screaming.
It gains all of their attentions, and Cohen tilts his head. “You don’t like that idea, tough guy?”
Malcolm can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he's going to pass out—but he can’t take the time to catch his breath when he needs them to listen, when he needs to do anything he has to to make this stop. He kicks his legs, struggles and screams and throws his head about until the man behind him fists his hair to still him and suddenly Cohen has his knife pressing into his throat.
“What,” Cohen hisses, “the fuck do you want, huh? Shut up before I knock you out again, bitch.”
Malcolm doesn’t. He stops moving, but he’s urgent and persistent in voicing what he can’t actually put words to until finally Cohen clicks his tongue, sitting back on his heels. “Should we see what the tough guy has to say? Huh?”
“Let him suffocate,” the other says, and the one behind Malcolm nips the shell of his ear.
“He’s pretty all red like this, isn't he?"
Cohen purses his lips, thoughtfully, and then finally hooks one finger into the tape, raises the blade, and slices through it. It nicks his chin, but the pain is nothing compared to the relief he feels as he finally gulps in a full breath, and his voice is hoarse and shaky as the rest of him as he pants out, “Wait.”
Reaching out to wipe the blood away with his thumb, Cohen seems to humor him. And every second that passes is a second more that the others have to find them, to find Dani; Malcolm will take whatever he can get.
“Wait for what, huh? Hurry up...got somethin’ I really need to take care of over there, if you know what I mean.”
Malcolm stretches out towards him, as much as he can. He tilts his chin up, offering it for the man to grasp again.
“Me,” he says. “T-take me.”
Dani lets out an enraged shriek. She thrashes about, trying to move forward, to fight, but Cohen spares her nothing more than a glance.
“Take you?” he asks, and Malcolm nods. His body starts to twitch and tremble, the horror of what he’s doing settling in now that the words are coming out clear and audible, but he ignores it.
He won’t let her suffer for his failure, for his mistakes.
“Yes. Yes. Take me.”
Cohen doesn't look convinced. “Thing is, I want her.”
“Then take me first. Fuck.” He rolls his hips up, leans back against the man. He licks his lower lip and bites it, and then says, “I’ll make it good.”
“Oh?” Cohen asks, looking him over, and there it is, there's his interest, finally caught by the movement, the promise. And though Malcolm had offered himself he still can’t hold back his flinch when Cohen actually touches him, sliding his hand up Malcolm’s inner thigh. It's instinct to bring his knees together, to try to protect himself, but then Cohen’s eyes flick up to meet his again.
“Tease...doesn’t look like you really mean it." And he looks annoyed. He looks like, with one more wrong move, he's going to decide to ignore Malcolm again.
“No. I do, I-I do, just...ah…” Malcolm grits his teeth, and slowly, inch by inch—for Dani, for Dani—forces them apart again.
“Good boy...” Cohen murmurs, and moves his hand up a little further. He hears Dani shout again, and then the man palms him through his pants, and the pang of sheer fear and humiliation that shoots through him makes him cry out, makes him hurt, turns his ragged breathing into harsh, uncontrolled panting no matter how much effort he puts into steadying himself.
Cohen seems to like him more for it. "Mmm. Can’t say I’d hate it…”
“N-no…?” It’s hard to make conversation when he’s being touched like this, when he suddenly is consumed with wanting nothing more than to die, but he has to remember it’s his fault, it’s his fault, and it’s he who deserves the consequences, not Dani. Not her. No, no, not her. “I’ll m...make sure you don’t.”
Cohen smirks, squeezing him gently. “You will, will you?”
He nods. He lets his body go limp, closing his eyes, doing everything he can to resist kicking the man away, because he knows the second he does, it's going to fall back on Dani.
“No, Malcolm... keep those open for me. They’re so beautiful…I want to see them.”
Malcolm obeys. He looks up at him again, shaking so badly now that his teeth are chattering, and Cohen smiles.
“You’re brave, you know that?” He slides his hand up, under Malcolm’s shirt, and though it’s cold and makes him jump out of his skin it’s far better than where it was. Cohen moves closer, tilting his head to hover his lips over Malcolm’s neck, humming. “Thought you were just playin’ the part. But you’re really gonna take us for her, aren’t you?”
Malcolm wets his lips, tilting his head, flinching as the man's mouth touches his skin. “Y-yeah…”
“Yeah?” He kisses one spot, then another. “Hmm. You know what? I admire that. I really do. You’re so...little. Expected you to be weak. Cryin', even. Beggin' for your life. I love bein' surprised. Turns me on a little, actually...”
His thumb finds one of Malcolm’s nipples, rubbing over it, and Malcolm chokes, swallowing back tears and fighting the urge to curl into himself.
No choice, there’s no choice but this. He can distract them. He can. He has to. If he does, if he—God—makes it good, makes them all want him instead of her, then Dani can remain untouched for a while longer.
Gil knows where they are. Gil has to be coming. He has to be. Malcolm just has to make sure Dani survives, unharmed, until he does. That’s his goal, his only goal, and he’s going to have to do what he can to focus on it.
Far easier said than done. Cohen takes the knife to his shirt, ripping it down the middle, and pulls it apart. It becomes more real by the second, the tear of every thread ringing in Malcolm’s ears with his heartbeat. Cohen voices his appreciation, calls him beautiful, and sets to exploring about his chest and belly with his fingers before finally they reach his fly.
Don't, don't, don't, stop—
Malcolm looks over Cohen's shoulder. The other man has abandoned being close to Dani at all in favor of coming to watch them, and that’s the only relief he feels, trying to hang onto it. She's still writhing on the floor, but she freezes when they make eye-contact.
He smiles weakly. Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head frantically, but it would be too late to turn back now even if he wanted to. Cohen pops open the button, and he sucks in a breath and whimpers it out.
"Don't be scared…" Cohen murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss to the center of his chest, and Malcolm groans in despair. Cohen breathes out a laugh over the spot, glancing up at him. "Don't be. Can make you feel good, too, if you let yourself enjoy it."
Nearly hysterical, Malcolm laughs, too. It comes out as a choked sob, and Cohen gives him a wicked grin.
"You know what? Maybe...since you're just so good…"
He pulls back, reaching into his pocket, and then brings his hand back in front of Malcolm’s face. Malcolm flinches, turning away, and then slowly lets out his breath and dares to look.
It’s...a little glass vial, half the size of his finger. He doesn’t understand, for a moment, until Cohen shakes it, offering it.
“It’ll take the edge off,” Cohen says. “C’mon. Take a bump. Just one.”
Malcolm shakes his head. Cohen only brings it closer.
“You’re too tense to make it good for anyone, baby. ‘less you want me to give it to her, first. Thought you said you were gonna be good, but if—"
“No.” Nothing is more important. Nothing. If it keeps Dani safe…he has no choice. And...maybe if it makes him forget...if it makes this all easier…it’s more than he deserves.
Malcolm tilts his chin up, gesturing his compliance. Cohen smirks, and sticks the tip of it into one of his nostrils, pressing the other closed. Malcolm holds his breath on instinct, but Cohen doesn’t give him a second chance. He keeps it there, and finally, Malcolm closes his eyes and sniffs.
He doesn’t remember Cohen taking it away. He suddenly doesn’t remember much of anything, and it’s not until he reaches up to rub at his itchy, tingling nose that he realizes his hands are free. He stares at them a moment, fingers blurring strangely in the lighting, and then looks down to see if his ankles are, too, only to find Cohen between them, laughing as he says something Malcolm can’t quite comprehend, as he works Malcolm’s pants down and then off completely.
It doesn’t scare him like it should. He’s relaxed, watching with the most distant, detached feeling of something like horror as he’s manipulated, as they touch over him, until the stimulation is enough that he tilts his head back and groans.
“Does that feel nice?” someone asks, and Malcolm can’t reply. He can’t do anything at all, can’t control the whines that start spilling out or the way he starts to move around that makes them coo at him.
“You’re so good, Malcolm. That’s it. Bein’ so good for us.”
He doesn’t want to be. He’s with himself enough to know that, but not much else. Feels like he’s floating...
“She’s gonna fight, and I’m gonna enjoy that, but you...Jesus, you’re pretty as hell, all limp like this. All hard. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
He doesn’t want it to, but it does. It starts sending little shivers and shocks throughout his nerves until he’s panting, hands scrabbling for purchase against the slick tile beneath him.
“That’s it. Told you it would if you just let yourself go…but hey, that’s what the drugs are for. And you two with your cop friends, tryin' to shut us down...selfish. You’re a selfish little boy. Don’t you want everyone to feel like this?”
It sounds wrong...he doesn't know why, though. He doesn't know why there's so much he thinks he needs to care about, but none of it actually registering. He's so...he just...he feels...
Whoever’s behind him cups his chin, tilting it back until they can suck at the corner of his mouth, and he whimpers. A hand wraps around him, and it's automatic to gasp, “D-don’t…”
“Don't do what, baby? This?" He twists his hand, and Malcolm's back arches, a cry wrenched out of him.
"Sounds like you want me to do it again…"
No. No, he doesn't want...does he? No...or, or maybe, he...no, that...doesn't sound right, but...he...
More touching, the same and different, so much, and it all feels so strangely, unexpectedly intense, and he's so exceptionally conflicted and confused that he starts to weep. "Oh...oh… "
"That's it. Let's get the rest of this tension out…"
He writhes, aware of nothing else but the three sets of hands on him, his world reduced to colors and pleasure and uncertainty. They pinch and grope every part of him, praise him with words that fade away from his memory the moment he hears them, all slowly but surely bringing him closer and closer to an end.
He doesn't want that...does he? It feels so good…it shouldn't feel so good. It shouldn't suddenly feel like the only thing he wants, and he shouldn't be rocking up into every touch and stroke, moaning out every breath as tears stream down his face.
"Mmm…aah…aah..."
"Fuck...I don't even think she's gonna sound this good," Cohen purrs, grabbing Malcolm's throat with his free hand to keep him still while he kisses him hard, and Malcolm's so goddamn lost that he opens his mouth wider and gets even louder.
"Fuck...listen to you...little slut...gonna fuck you so good, baby. Fuck, you're so pretty...come for us. Show us how loud you can be."
A finger suddenly pushes into him, burning terribly, and he wails in pain and in something else, something deeper, all nothing he understands. But the hands keep touching, and they keep finding places to focus on to make him weep, and then the finger inside him is being thrust in and out and in too deep—
"Oh—fuck—fuck—"
He sucks in a ragged breath and shouts as he falls apart, as he thrashes against them and empties into the hand around him and over himself—no, no, wrong, something is so fucking wrong—and then…
And then mercifully, nothing.
x
Dani has never felt more helpless in her entire life.
From the moment Bright had offered his body in place of hers, her fighting had tripled in effort. She’s given it her all, everything she possibly can, and it doesn’t do a thing. She can’t slip free. She can’t help him, can’t stop them from running their hands over him and saying things she'll surely hear in nightmares for the rest of her life.
They stop paying attention to her. No matter how she yells, she’s left practically forgotten, and she's furious about it. Even as she looks around the room, again and again, there’s nothing. Not a loose nail on the floor, not a sharp edge, nothing to cut through the ropes and certainly nothing to attack.
Bright whimpers, and she focuses back on him, terror flooding through her veins as she finds Cohen holding a bumper to Bright's nose. She cries out in warning, but it doesn’t matter. Bright has no choice. It’s him or her, and he’s just goddamn Bright enough to allow it to be him.
The way Bright's body goes entirely limp the moment he sniffs is enough to make tears start to run down her face. His eyes roll back to the ceiling, lids fluttering as he lets out his breath in a long, relieved sigh.
God, she remembers that feeling. That moment, that very second, was the high she'd chased again and again.
To see him forced to experience it makes her nauseous. It makes her wonder if she'll ever crave it again, and makes her hate herself to know, deep down, she still will.
But the things that happen next…
She's grateful for his altered consciousness. He would be, too. He understands a bit of what's happening, enough to whine protests, but it doesn't hurt like it would if he wasn't high. It doesn't matter now like it will later.
She can't fucking watch. Cohen and one man are blocking her sight of all but Bright's kicking feet and curled toes anyway. She presses her face down against the floor and silently sobs as she listens to them tease and assault him, praying for Gil and JT to find them.
He doesn't deserve this. He'll think he does, because he always thinks that, but it's not true, and the goddamn moron should have never done something so stupid—
"Oh—fuck—fuck—"
She cries out, forcing herself to look up. She's a coward, trying to escape any way possible when Bright can't —
Bright lets out the weakest sound she's ever heard, and his legs go still. Cohen laughs, and the one beside him asks, "Did he just pass out?"
“We wore him out. Adorable."
"Goddamn...look at him…”
Cohen leans over, kissing at Bright's chest, and the other man moves. It gives Dani a horrifically clear view of Bright's pale, limp, naked body, covered in red marks and forming bruises. He's so fucking small, surrounded by them, and she starts to swear and curse again.
Cohen stands, turns, and kicks her in the stomach. It silences her, forces every bit of air from her lungs and leaves her unable to replace it.
"Wait your fucking turn," he says, and unbuckles his pants, taking himself out and getting to his knees again.
No...no, no, please...
"Jesus," the one holding Bright says. "He's still whimpering. Real quiet…"
The other runs his hand over Bright's body and says, "Maybe we should keep him around a while."
No. No, no, no.
Cohen grunts, pulling Bright's legs apart, and Bright's head rolls from one side to the other as he groans, almost too quiet for Dani to hear over her own wheezing. "They both have to go."
"He'd sure make a pretty pet…"
"Mmm. Depends how good he takes my cock, I guess."
"Hurry the fuck up, then! I want him bad… "
"Take the girl."
" Him."
"Then take his mouth. Looks pretty empty to me."
"Not a bad idea…"
"Just careful when he's waking back up." Cohen yanks Bright closer, and Bright starts to move again, to shake his head and whine in a terribly ill-timed return to awareness.
" Dani," he whispers, the clearest thing he's said, and Dani sobs, calling out his name, letting him know she's there the only way she can. She inches forward, desperately, but there's nothing she can do. One shove and she's helplessly on her back again, and Bright shouts, "No!" as he realizes what's about to happen, and she screams her anger, her fear, from the goddamn unfairness of it all. The last, hopeless memories of their lives will be their own assaults— this isn't how it should have ended, this is never, ever how she thought things would end—
There's a sudden, deafening boom. It startles the hell out of everyone in the room, and through dust now clouding the air from the busted down doorway she watches as Cohen pulls back, as Bright is shoved and dropped down, his head bouncing off the tile from how hard it hits.
His limbs jerk, just once.
And then he's horribly, deathly still.
"Hands up! Up! Now!"
There's suddenly so much movement, so much yelling, but Dani can only see Bright. A dozen pairs of feet enter her peripheral, but she can only focus on him, frozen in fear, holding her breath as she tries to see if Malcolm’s even breathing himself.
She can't tell. She can't tell—
There are hands on her, and instinct, nerves and muscles coiled so tight they ache, makes her shriek and struggle against whoever owns them.
" Dani!"
JT's voice. JT. Not a stranger. Not any of the three.
The completion of the relief that overcomes her makes her body go limp. JT peels off the tape, frees her from the ropes with a few quick swipes of his own knife, and then she's pushing herself up before he can say anything else.
Bright isn't on the floor anymore. Instead he's cradled in Gil's arms, wrapped in Gil's jacket, but still far too motionless, too limp. Gil is pale, and there's nothing but fear in his eyes as he looks at her.
"Dani—" he chokes, but Dani couldn't care less about herself because Bright looks dead in his arms, head lolled back, mouth open, limbs flopping about as Gil lifts him. She rushes over to them, staggering noticeably enough that JT stays close beside her, arms out to catch her if she needs it.
But she only needs one thing right now. She shoves two fingers against his pulse point, and then nearly sobs.
Faint, too fast, but there. He’s alive.
“He was drugged,” she whispers. “I—I don’t know with what. Coke, or—or maybe ketamine. He took it through his nose.”
Gil swears. There's tears down his face, and her vision is blurred by her own. “Buses’re outside. Can you walk?”
“I can,” she says. “Go. Please.”
Gil doesn’t need to be told twice, rushing off, cupping the back of Bright’s head to keep it in place against his chest.
“Can you?” JT asks, and she tries to say yes, only before she can her knees are buckling, and JT’s having to catch her before she falls.
“Whoa, whoa. I gotcha. Hey! Dani. Dani. Look at me."
Her eyes are suddenly so heavy, but she forces them open at his request. JT squeezes her shoulder, offering a smile, and nods. "There you go. Good. Stay awake, okay? Come on. I can carry—"
"Nuh," comes her barely comprehensible reply, and while JT scoffs, he knows her too well, knows damn well that while she's still conscious, she's not going to let anyone see her like that.
Especially not...not after...
"Alright. Hold onto me, then."
That she can do. That she needs. Hell, she probably does need more than that, and her legs are weak enough that not having to walk seems like a dream, but she refuses. He wraps one of her arms around his shoulders, and together, slowly, they’re able to get outside to the waiting ambulances. She feels them wrap a blanket around her as she lays upon the stretcher, and hears something about how she’s in shock, but not much else.
Shock makes sense. A concussion, too. She’s cold, numb, and frightened. The way Bright's head hit the floor replays in her mind, and anxiety, the fear of him dying now or later when she can't be there to know threatens to overtake her. The memory of how Cohen had touched her follows, and then the shame does.
She doesn't want any of it. She can't handle—
JT takes her hand. She doesn't have any idea when the ambulance started moving, or how long it's been, but she feels his hand squeezing hers, warmth against ice cold skin, and it’s that touch, only that, that keeps her grounded as the vibration of the vehicle—or maybe something in the IV she has no recollection of anyone ever getting close enough to put into her hand—lulls her into the first sense of peace she's had, and then, eventually, into sleep.