Chapter Text
[- Chapter I: Prelude- ]
<<Relax! You’re panicking.>>
<<Right, nothing makes tension vanish like screaming at yourself to relax.>>
<<He needs to function.>>
<<No, he needs to feel his emotions. You’re not Vulcan, no one can function without properly feeling emotion.>>
<<Emotion is sentiment and sentiment is a weakness.>>
<<You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Sarek?>>
<<He’s not going to get that joke.>>
“Sir? Sir, are you okay?”
A shadow bobbed in front of his vision, followed by the bright shine of a flashlight.
“...Yeah.” He heard his own voice, vibrating from his throat and his head, but there was some kind of disconnect. His body seemed too large- at the same time, it felt too small. The different influences mouthing off in his head weren’t helping.
I am panicking, He agreed. It’s just adrenaline, and adrenaline leaves the body in…
He felt a gentle touch on his eyelids as they were tugged up a little.
“Can you tell me what day it is?” The flashlight was shined directly into his eyes.
“Adrenaline.”
“What?”
“Adrenaline” He shook his head, recognizing her professional tone and eventually her professional expression when the vivid colors from the bright light’s gaze floated away. “I’m panicking. I can’t remember how long adrenaline stays in the system.”
<<Stupid, little mind.>>
“You mean stress hormones?” She arched a thick, dark brow. “Several hours, but no longer than a day I would think.”
“I had forgotten,” He grimaced as she shined the light in his other eye. “I never forget..”
“Well why would you know something like that off the top of your head?” She chuckled a little.
“...I don’t know,” He laughed a little in response.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“What? No…” He finally looked around himself, noting the cool air on his face and the smell of the ocean. He was wearing pleated trousers, a belt around his waist, but his shirt was open and unbuttoned, out of the corner of his eyes he saw an untied bowtie laying around his neck.
Black Oxford shoes.
Tight, thick socks.
But he was on the beach, sitting on the sand.
“You just found me like this?”
“Yeah,” She frowned with concern. “You were just sitting here, staring at the waves. You didn’t answer me for at least fifteen minutes. Do you want me to call an ambulance? I was about to.”
Western-American accent.
Long hair.
Darker honey blonde.
Roots darker than ends.
Mole on her chin.
Thick, brown eyebrows, acne scars on left cheek.
Mild rosacea or psoriasis.
Darker blue eyes.
Right-handed.
No make up.
Calluses between the fingers and ink stains on the hands- steady writing habit.
Non-smoker.
Old clothes, dark circles under eyes.
Black t-shirt, wolf, “Be Were”
Professional student/starving artist?
“You’re not a doctor.” He stated, confused.
“No, I’m not- do you need one?” She asked eagerly, shifting from her knees to sitting on the sand as she fished out her phone.
“I thought you were a doctor.”
Cheeks flushed-
Humility
Admiration for medicine, medical careers
Shoulders tensed.
High level of anxiety.
Mid-twenties.
“I’m alright,” He assured her, trying to rub warmth back into his legs. “Nothing is broken.”
“Do you know what day it is? Your name? Who’s the..” She hesitated briefly. “..queen?”
“The queen?" He gave a funny expression.
“I’m sorry- my mom always said if you could answer your name, the date, and the current president, your brain couldn’t be terribly damaged,” She laughed at herself. “I’m just a giddy tourist- I should have asked about the Prime Minister, I’m sorry...”
The stranger took a black gadget off his finger.
“Sorry,” She said again, looking at the red letters it displayed then putting it back in her purse. “I got you hooked up like some sort of experiment…”
“Normal oxygen level?”
“Oh- yes, it’s normal. Pulse too. I was afraid you were having a stroke,” She explained. “I have asthma so I tend to carry this around. You’re not feeling any numbness? Tingling in the arm?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” Her large eyes looked at him with a childlike sense of worry but the mother-like sense of resolve.
Sensitive
Temperament-
especially sensitive to emotion.
Too sensitive to be a doctor.
“No.” He could feel his mind slowing to a more natural pace. Coming back to familiarity with his body.
“A lot of anxiety?”
“Yes, but it’s leaving. What time is it?”
The moon was fairly high in the sky but that didn’t tell him much.
“It’s almost 10,” She answered, turning on her cell phone to look. “Do you want to call someone? A relative or a friend? I don’t have a car with me but I can look up a bus station or directions…”
<<You need to call someone. Anyone.>>
<<I agree, get context for what has happened.>>
<<Ridiculous. You can’t remember how you got here, what circumstances you are in. Why would you remember any contacts? Find a road, follow it, gather reconnaissance.>>
<<This isn’t a bloody war, he’s not a criminal. You have friends, use them. Don’t hide.>>
<<It’s the 21st century, find your trail of breadcrumbs: security footage, receipts, train tickets.>>
<<You should wait to retrace your steps, what if you’re hurt?>>
“Maybe a roommate?” She suggested after a few moments of silence.
<<Sherlock, this is a rock-climbing exercise. Look for handholds and footholds. Where can you move next? Where can you start?>>
“How far am I from London?” He asked, buttoning his shirt and checking his pockets.
Lint, dust, sand?
Rubber band
Phone- ?
He pulled out his pockets completely.
Phone case, empty.
Plastic, black, right side cracked
Paper business card- old, worn, purple text illegible.
<<Dead end.>>
<<No, coded message. It could help you remember when you figure out how to translate it.>>
“Damn,” He sighed, slipping the card back into his pocket.
“London you said? There- is that the last place you remember?”
Stuttering.
Concern intensified.
“...Are we far from London? How far?”
“You’re in Scotland, Isle of Harris. Are you sure you don’t want an ambulance?”
<<Stay calm.>>
<<You’ll figure out how you got here. Trail of breadcrumbs.>>
<<Here’s the advantage of being accustomed to being alone, little brother.>>
The voices were so familiar, like parental influences, but he couldn’t name them.
They were probably just projections of his ego, super-ego…
<<“Id” is the third one.>>
<<Everyone has internal dialogue. A home inside their head filled with people, influences, memories.>>
“No, I’m…” He paused, carefully standing but ignoring her offer for help. “..I was coming here. I remember now.”
“Yeah?” She was holding her keys. He recognized pepper spray on her key chain.
“I was coming..to visit.”
She followed his gaze and explained hastily, “Nervous habit- I wasn’t going to spray you. I mean, unless you turned out to be some kind of freak.”
FREAK.
That plucked a passionate and sensitive string inside him but there wasn't time to analyze it now.
“I’m Wrenne,” She put out a hand to shake, using her other hand to place her keys in her purse. He shook her hand out of instinct. “I swear I wasn’t going to spray you! A girl by herself after dark, you know?” She chuckled a little nervously. “You thinking a little more clearly? Do you remember your birthday, who’s the prime minister?”
“Are you sure you don’t mean the queen?”
Wrenne laughed, a loud, care-free American laugh.
The sound helped him anchor more securely to reality. It was like a glass of water on a summer day.
“I’m Benedict,” He smiled. “Thank you for your help. I truly appreciate it.”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright? Do you have a place to go?”
The broch, he could remember it now, the eastern side of the Isle of Harris. A long-awaited vacation after working as hard and as manically as he had been during the last year.
Stupid anti-nausea medicine always made him sleepy and light-headed. He had gotten off the ferry, nauseous, so he took a pill. He had been waiting for the car when he decided to see the beach because...well, it’s the beach. He had sat down to let his head clear. The medicine must have kept him pretty out of it.
<<What kind of nausea medication has such a side-effect? Think about it. Observe.>>
<<You avoid pills like the plague now that you’re clean.>>
<<Especially ones that would get you high. Why would you be taking something like that?>>
<<Falling of the wagon, are we, little brother?>>
<<No, you can feel that isn’t true.>>
“Yes, I have a place,” Benedict finally answered, rubbing his lips together as the two of them made their way up the beach, back to the streets. “I think I know what happened...damn side-effects..” He chuckled a little nervously, running a hand through his hair. He felt so stupid, scaring her like that. She must have thought he was cracked for sure.
“Oh,” Wrenne nodded, sighing with relief. “Yeah, that can be bad. I’d definitely call the pharmacy.”
“Thank you, ‘Dr.’ Wrenne,” He smiled, giving her hand a brief squeeze in gratitude.
<<Why so familiar? Is she someone you know?>>
<<You would recognize someone you know.>>
<<Why would she approach a strange man on the beach? You’re not observing.>>
“No problem!" She waved his gratitude aside. “Be careful, I hope you keep feeling better. Do you need directions?”
<<You have a map.>>
<<You are a map!>>
<<When do you ever admit you need directions? You won’t even let me drive the bloody car.>>
<<He does have control issues.>>
<<You should talk, Secret-Service-Vulcan!>>
“Perhaps a heading, yes. I was waiting for a car service.”
Wrenne handed him her phone.
The map application was already opened to Isle of Harris with the custom marker, “Exchange”.
<<It’s right under your nose, brother dear. Even you can’t be so stupid as to ignore that.>>
“Oh! You know what, I have your phone!” Wrenne suddenly plucked hers from his grasp, replacing it with a familiar white iPhone. “I almost completely forgot! It was just sitting on the sand beside you…I don’t think it’s hurt, it isn’t wet or anything.”
<<Pause and hold. Observe her, she’s changed.>>
<<Why is she so enthusiastic?>>
<<What happened to her air of professionalism?>>
<<She’s acting with surgical precision. Why did she seem like a doctor?>>
Foothold, Ben thought, gripping his phone in his hand.
But what was he doing? He was on vacation. He wasn’t some sort of private investigator, he was an actor for hell’s sake!
--
Wrenne watched him walk away as she made it across the street.
That was that then. He was alive.
She sighed, putting her phone to her ear.
Her heart was tight in her chest, sending pinpricks of anxiety all through her body.
"Hi," She spoke into the receiver. "I got him… He’s fine but- No, not the slightest. I got him though, and I’ll be watching now. There’s no escape."
[-Continued in Chapter II: Broch . Thanks for reading!-]