Chapter Text
Patton throws on his clothes without thinking and ends up with only one sock and his baby blue polo shirt inside out, but he couldn't care less even as he climbs clumsily after Deceit into the waiting black car. Its sleek interior would make him feel out of place at the best of times, but it doesn't even register now.
Less than ten minutes have passed since he opened his eyes to Deceit standing in his bedroom at two in the morning but already Patton is more awake than he has ever been. He feels as though he has downed at least ten cups of coffee and cannot keep still, fidgeting constantly in his seat. His leg bounces jarringly and he taps his finger on the doorframe in time with its staccato rhythm, radiating impatience.
It doesn't seem real, and part of Patton 's mind keeps telling him that it isn't, and he's still asleep. The rest knows better. His slumber never offers him anything like this, only nightmares and replays of hellish memories, but he still can't accept it. Not until he sees Logan with his own eyes. Something is holding back relief until he does, but he can feel it pressing in on him. It's suffocating; terrible and wonderful at the same time because he daren't believe it, but he is desperate to.
Deceit, by contrast, is so utterly still that Patton can barely see him breathing.
He's awake.
No more talk of necessary decisions, no more avoiding dreams to push himself into exhaustion, no more choking back memories of Logan's blood – no grey, monotonous streets. Even now in the mid-December pre-dawn darkness, everything is so much more alive than it has been in weeks. The decorations no longer look garish and ugly, but tasteful; the dancing colours cast a soft glow over his face as he peers out of the window at them. The ice is not bleak and black, but glitters like crystals under the twinkling decorations.
Awake, awake, Logan is awake, asking for him - he is most insistent –
His manic, chaotic train of thought judders to a halt abruptly. His chest constricts with guilt like a physical pain; Logan, asking for him, Logan waking; alone in the hospital. Logan confused or disoriented or just plain annoyed to find himself confined to a single room; angry or afraid or any number of things. Suddenly, Patton realises that Deceit has not given him any idea what to expect, and worry coils itself uncomfortably inside him.
'Deceit ,' he starts – it comes out as more of a croak and Patton clears his throat before trying again. 'How is he?' he manages to ask uncertainly, feeling that he probably should have spoken before now. They are almost at the hospital, and fear is overtaking relief in its battle to permeate Patton 's defences.
Deceit turns to face Patton , his face unreadable, and affects his own version of a tiny shrug, which he manages to make appear as neat and carefully planned as everything else about his person. 'There seems to be no permanent damage, if that is what you're asking. He began to show signs of waking up not long after you left yesterday afternoon –' he forestalls Patton 's indignant interruption with a raised hand. 'You were not called because at that point it was far from certain he would regain full consciousness, which he has now had for just over an hour. His speech and movement are rapidly improving though still causing him some frustration. His memory seems almost intact, excepting a few understandable lapses. He's very irritable, though I have assured the doctors that this is hardly something to be concerned over.'
'That's it?' asks Patton, finding himself smiling – a little muddled, a little clumsy? He feels bad for the relief the news causes, knowing how infuriating these normal human inadequacies will be for Logan, but he can't help it. 'That's all?' His logical brain is demanding how how how? In a voice that sounds rather like Logan. His heart is screaming I don't care! So loudly he's surprised Deceit can't hear.
'That is all, Doctor,' Deceit replies, his expression softening, 'Logan is as stubborn as ever, and I doubt he is going to let something like this keep him incapacitated for long.'
Deceit 's pace is quick, but to Patton every step seems to take an age. He forces himself not to start sprinting, maintaining a speed that keeps him level with the elder man as they move through the near empty corridors of the hospital. Patton does not spare a glance for the few people they do pass, does not even register whether they are patients or doctors. He has to concentrate to keep his breathing level and prevent himself marching ahead of Deceit.
After what feels like hours, Patton sees the now all too familiar door to Logan's room (a private one; Deceit 's doing, presumably. Why has it never occurred to him before?). He doesn't realise he has broken into a run until he feels his palm make contact with it, hard, and hears it crash open, bouncing off the wall. Even now he doesn't slow down, doesn't even stop to really see Logan properly, he doesn't even think. He just rushes forwards and crushes his lips against Logan's.
'You – if you –' he mutters between kisses, both hands tangled in Logan's hair and pressing him closer. Logan's right arm curls automatically around Patton 's back as he reciprocates, the left one squashed between them strapped in a sling. Patton relishes the feeling of warmth the touch causes; the sheer, overwhelming reality finally washing over him in waves so that his knees literally go weak. He has to sit on the edge of Logan's bed to prevent himself collapsing. It's real, it's real, it's real – he's awake; he's here, alive and breathing for himself, moving, pulling Patton towards him...
It's with enormous reluctance that they eventually give in to the need for oxygen and break apart. Patton keeps the distance between them to no more than a few inches as he whispers urgently, 'don't you ever – don't you dare – do that again. Do you understand?' and God he's alive – not just Logan, but Patton , he's alive, he's awake, he's not drowning anymore –
'I'll do my best,' replies Logan in a low voice. It sounds like forming the words is an effort, as though it costs him more concentration that it ought to. His eyes are clear and focused, though; there's no confusion in his expression, and so what if his speech is mildly slurred? The sound of it, the sight of his smile, almost causes Patton to lose the last of his composure.
There's a noise behind them, and Patton glances around to see Deceit nod politely at them as he pulls the door closed, after ushering the doctor out in front of him. Patton turns back to Logan and opens his mouth, but Logan gets there first.
His eyes travel intently over Patton 's face, taking in every detail and cataloguing them, drinking them in hungrily. 'Oh, don't be so predickable. Predickable. Pre – dic – ta – ble.' He corrects himself slowly, scowling his displeasure at the mistake. Patton 's brow creases in confusion.
'I'm sorry?'
'Guilt,' Logan clarifies, 'it's pointless, un – unfounded and boring.'
'Sorry,' says Patton , and means it. Logan rolls his eyes, but there's no real malice in the expression. There's a long, uncomfortable pause, before Patton mutters 'I just kept thinking...you know...if I had been sat in your place, then –'
'Don't,' Logan interrupts forcefully, forgetting to concentrate on the word so it comes out even sharper than he intended, 'just don't.'
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He wants to tell Patton , he needs Patton to know – he doesn't even understand why Patton should know, he simply ought to...that now Logan has worked out what the sound was. The one that kept him tethered to reality and drew him back across whatever veil kept him lost before. He doesn't know why he never realised because the answer is so painfully, completely obvious. Because of course it was Patton. It is always Patton.
But he cannot think how to phrase it, so he settles instead for raising his eyebrows and saying slowly, so very carefully, determined not to mess up any of the words; 'did you know that there are eight planets in the Solar System?'
And he can tell, by the look on Patton 's face, that he understands, even when his only reply is to smile and tell Logan, 'nine, if you count Pluto.'
It's a day since Logan woke up. Despite their apparent lenience when he first regained consciousness, the doctors are being frustratingly insistent about visiting hours. Much as he is loathed to accept Deceit 's help most of the time, Logan wishes his brother would intervene.
It's dark. And quiet; Logan doesn't like it.
He can see vague shapes around him, but his surroundings are split into varying shades of grey, broken only by the little blinking lights of the machines that sit either side of the bed. One bleeps constantly. He can hear distant voices from outside of his room, but they are little more than murmurs. He can't make out individual words, though he entertains himself for a while trying to work out what the conversations are about by the tones used.
Of course, it isn't a very useful experiment, as he has no way of testing his conclusions, but it keeps him reassured that he isn't slipping back into the nothingness again. It's foolish, he knows, but every time he closes his eyes and feels the darkness pulling at the edge of his senses...it's uncomfortably similar to before. He can't even focus on improving his speech or dexterity; though he has been assured both will come in time he has never been very good at waiting, and why should he have to?
Blink. Bleep. Muffled footsteps; a hurried conversation. A phone ringing and something squeaking – a wheel? Someone in a wheelchair, then, or on a gurney, being taken past...a wheelchair, Logan decides, based on the pattern of the sound. It takes him much too long to work out, and his mind drifts vaguely in the meantime. He can't quite seem to concentrate. One person accompanying them, elderly, judging by the slightly shuffling, slow pace – someone small, the footsteps are not heavy...
Blink. Bleep. More indistinct voices. A question; an answer. Buzzing silence...
Blink. Bleep. Laughter, somewhere. Clicking heels. An exclamation. Another phone call. A lull in activity then a baby crying, quickly soothed. The squeaking wheelchair on its return journey. A door opening nearby, then closing sharply. Hurried footsteps, and quiet again...
Blink. Bleep...
Darkness deepening...twisting somehow, shadows taking shape around him...
Blink...bleep...
Swirling...the noises of the hospital seem to fade, still there, on the fringe of his senses, but not registering as strongly as before...a drifting feeling; light, and not unpleasant...
Blink...
Emptiness.
He can't take stock of his surroundings, because there are no surroundings. He doesn't appear to be touching anything, even...doesn't even appear to be a thing himself, he just...exists...as thought, or as...he doesn't know.
Logan looks down, except he isn't entirely certain what down is anymore, and sees...nothing. He tries to turn upwards, but might not move at all, his eyes are greeted by the same all around...not even shapes and outlines, not even darkness, just...a void.
He tries to move his arms and only now realises that he does have a physical body, and that it's trapped, though he can't feel anything binding him in place. There are no cuffs, ropes or restraints; he simply can't make himself move. He tries to call out but his voice won't work either and when he attempts to remember how he got here, he finds his memory a confusing jumble of images and sounds that don't make sense.
He strains his eyes and still sees nothing, so listens hard instead...
There – there! There is something, there must be something, he can hear it – a murmur, somewhere close...but no, it's too far away at the same time. Distance means nothing here, but Logan knows now that there is something there. If it's there, he can find it, and if he can find it, he can get out of here –
Then the sound becomes louder, stronger. Still Logan cannot identify the words, but he feels warmer now...he hadn't even realised he was cold. Suddenly the sound brings meaning with it, wafts through the non-space like wind and bathes Logan in the feeling of a presence, neither sight nor sounds nor smells but knowledge of a familiar identity. He latches onto it desperately, trying to call out, trying to scream for help…but he's still trapped, stuck here. Stuck again. The presence is leaving – but no, it can't leave, it mustn't leave, he needs it, he needs it, he needs Patton ...
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When Patton walks into the room and sees Logan sleeping, he smiles, knowledge that it is natural sleep quickly dampening the familiar heavy feeling that has accompanied the sight of the detective for the past six weeks. It's good to see Logan rest and know that he will wake up.
But as he draws closer, concern rises in his chest – Logan is not twisting or crying out, but his features are set in a deep frown and a thin sheen of sweat coats his forehead. Belatedly, Patton notices the vice-like grip Logan's right hand has on the sheets. Without pausing to think he rushes forwards to ease the cloth from Logan's fist and replace it with his own hand, using the other to nudge the detective's shoulder sharply.
'Logan! Wake up, it's okay –'
Logan's eyes open abruptly and dart around the room for a split second before resting on Patton 's face. His whole body seems to relax, and his painful grip on Patton 's fingers loosens.
'Are you –?'
'I'm f – fine,' Logan assures him quietly, stumbling a little over the words.
'You were dreaming...'
'And now I'm 'wake – I'm awake.' He pushes himself clumsily into a sitting position, blinking and squinting against the light.
'What were you dreaming about?' Patton asks tentatively. Logan scowls.
'Nothing,' he replies,
'Logan –'
'Really, nothing,' Logan assures him. Oddly he is being entirely literal, and yet Patton does not believe him, though he lets the subject drop with an exasperated sigh and sits down heavily in the plastic chair beside the bed.
'So how are you feeling?' Patton tries, deciding that the topic is best left alone for now.
'Bored,' Logan answers immediately, giving the door a venomous glare as though in the hope that a doctor might come through it and discharge him if he only wills it hard enough. 'Hosp – hospitals are dull.'
'And necessary,' Patton interjects, failing badly at hiding his smile before sobering up and continuing quietly, 'you've no idea how close you came to...' he trails off, unable to complete the sentence. Logan sniffs impatiently,
'Yes, well, I'm 'wake now, and I do wish the doctors would re – realise that I am perfeckly fine so I can get out of here and go back to the – to – go home,' he finishes, frowning.
'The flat,' Patton tells Logan gently, well aware that he treads a fine line between being comforting and being patronising. It's painful to see Logan, normally so articulate, struggling like this, but the knowledge of how much worse it could be keeps him from feeling too bad. Logan looks thoughtful. Or irritated – or both, it's difficult to tell, then abruptly changes the subject.
'So did Chief catch Epps, or not?'
It takes Patton, wrong-footed by the sudden change of topic, a moment to catch up, and the impatience in Logan's face should irritate him but instead he welcomes it, revelling in its return.
'What? Epps – oh! Not yet, no. But there haven't been any more deaths either; he's well and truly disappeared.'
'Nobody just disappears...' Logan mutters slowly. The chase on the ice seems a lifetime ago now. Patton finds himself watching Logan with a mixture of concern and the child-like fascination he still can't help but feel every time he sees the deductive process in action. Concern overrides fascination.
'Don't even think about getting involved in a case this soon,' Patton commands firmly, 'you've barely woken up.'
'I might just slip un – un – con – scious again from boredom if I don't have work. Is that what you want?' he whines petulantly,
'Oh, I'm sure you'll find something to do,' a gleam enters Patton 's eyes, 'I haven't decorated the flat for Christmas yet.'
Logan groans.
Despite his many obvious social inadequacies, it's surprisingly easy to laugh with Logan. This is exactly what Patton is doing when Deceit pushes the door of the hospital room open, but as much as his smile is contagious, so is the lack of it, and Patton 's face falls almost as quickly as Logan's. Their hands are still causally linked, though – until Chief follows the Logan's brother into the room and Patton pulls away. Logan doesn't stop him, but a tiny crease appears on his forehead.
Deceit raises his eyebrows, and Patton, hoping he is not being nearly as obvious as he feels like he is, shoots him a look that says very firmly not to comment on it.
'Chief,' says Logan, pointedly ignoring his brother, who rolls his eyes.
'Good to see you awake,' the Chief Inspector nods politely, a small, genuine smile on his face. Logan is more interested in whatever he is holding, whether by chance or on purpose, behind his back.
'Thank you – but what are you really here for?' Patton and Chief exchange a look that lacks its usual exasperation as the latter moves forwards and hand Logan a thin, official looking file. Logan's speech is even slower and more careful than has become usual, now someone other than Patton is listening.
'Thought you might be interested in this,' Cheif says, 'it's the report on the crash. Nothing in there to suggest anything more than an accident, there's no mystery or anything, but I figured you'd appreciate something to look over while you're in here anyway.' He casts a sideways glance at Deceit, which if Logan catches, he ignores. Judging by the slightly wary expression on Chief's face, Patton assumes the offering was Deceit 's idea.
Logan is already flicking through the few pages present with an air of complete indifference. Patton can't help but wince at the sight of the crushed, twisted metal in the photographs and averts his eyes, but glances towards Chief and mouths thank you all the same. He is fairly certain that for however short a time this keeps Logan occupied, it will be at least a few minutes less of them both being driven insane by the detective's incurable boredom. Besides, Logan will probably demand to see it eventually anyway. They might as well get it over with.
'And Deceit, why are you here?' Logan asks finally without looking up from the file, as though realising that simply refusing to acknowledge his brother's presence is not going to make him disappear.
'Merely to enquire after your well-being,' Deceit replies coolly, a mild expression on his face,
'Why don't you just ask one of your s – your surv – your people watching us?' Chief's eyes flicker momentarily to Patton, who widens his own in a silent plea not to mention the slip. Logan's free hand grips the sheets tightly in frustration, but he gives no other outward sign of distress.
'I am concerned, Logan. Why is that so difficult for you to believe?'
Logan huffs moodily in reply, still not looking up from the file on his lap.
'I'll – err – be going, then?' Chief interjects uncomfortably, gesturing towards the door. Logan waves a hand impatiently and Patton smiles in gratitude as Chief starts towards the door, then pauses. 'I am glad you're recovering, Logan,' he adds, almost as an afterthought. Logan glances up, seems uncertain what to say in response, and nods tightly. Deceit stays for several moments more, then with a small sigh of frustration, follows suit and leaves the room. Logan doesn't seem to notice their exit and remains focused on the file, having found a photograph apparently of particular interest to him, which he is now rotating and squinting at.
Patton knows better than to interrupt and waits instead for Logan to speak. After ten more minutes of closely scrutinising the file, he does.
'Why did you do that?' he asks absently, with only a quick glance upwards. His tone is off-hand, but Patton detects the genuine curiosity behind it.
'Do what?'
'Move your hand.'
For some reason, the question is unexpected; he had not thought about the action, and though he knows why he did it, explaining seems to be another matter. He frowns.
'Are you embarrassed?' Logan asks, still apparently only half interested, though the care with which he forms the words gives him away.
'What – no!' Patton exclaims, suddenly horrified. Surely Logan can't think that he regrets –?
'Ashamed, then?' Logan looks up at last, with a guarded expression on his face. Patton shakes his head imploringly,
'Logan, no, I just – I didn't – look, Deceit knows. Apart from the fact he probably worked it out weeks ago anyway, he was there yesterday when I saw you after you woke up –'
'Yes,' Logan interrupts, smirking, 'not your most subt – subtle move, I must admit.'
'Well, you weren't complaining,' Patton retorts defensively,
'Did I say I was?'
Patton shakes his head, but he is smiling. 'If I was going to change my mind I would have done it already. I've had plenty of time to think. And anyway, Chief doesn't know and I wasn't sure if – oh, I don't know, I wasn't thinking. I didn't know if you wanted him to know, or...' Logan shrugs, a glint in his eyes that is almost mischievous as he reaches forwards and takes Patton 's hand firmly once more.
'I wish you'd stop worrying what other people think,' he says.
'Yes, well, some of us have a little thing called social skills. I know!' he exclaims before Logan can reply, and then they both speak at the same time, and laugh, 'boring.'
'Well that makes two new things on the list of what Chief doesn't know. It's really getting quite long,' Logan says, somewhere between thoughtful and incredulous.
'What's the second thing?' Patton asks. Logan gestures to the crash report awkwardly with his strapped arm.
'This wasn't an accident.'