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The rest of the journey back to Los Diablos flickered in and out of Richard’s mind, giving him just enough time to wave goodbye to any of the conversation that happened before he was whisked back into the hazy world of painkillers for the next few days.
They were back in his apartment, he and Daniel. And Edith. Chen had been thoughtful enough to go and pick her up and watch her while they had been gone. Creeping dandelions of terror were growing from the pavement cracks at that notion. In the spaces that still lingered in his shattered pelvis and spine. Daniel had a key to the apartment. Which he knew. Had known. Of course he had a key, he lived there too. And Daniel had given it to Chen in case. In case it took longer than expected to do whatever it was Richard needed to do.
In case they didn’t make it back. Neither of them. Daniel had been prepared to go to the farm and potentially not come back because Richard needed.
Richard needed a drink.
Something stronger than the 2% beer he had in the fridge.
Chen had been inside his apartment. Unrestricted access to every nook and cranny. What was there to find? Too much, even with Chen knowing who and what he was now, there was still too much. He didn’t keep plans at the apartment, but there was still. It still felt. What plans did he even have now? All of it had been leading up to this. To going back. There was still so much to do, but there had always been. There was always going to be more time to plan out those parts, the lie assured him. Always going to be no time at all, whispered something far more painful. Honest.
He'd always planned on dying there, even with the sudden additions of Daniel and Ricardo. Then something had reached in deep, twisting its hands around the puppet strings and yanked. And there was a gap in his mind where the rotting tooth had been. Where something from Heartbreak had festered for years and slithered into the hairline fractures whenever and wherever it could. Termites and black mold and now the place had been fumigated and left to steep in healing poison.
There simply hadn’t been a need for plans. For what to do afterwards. How to handle or guide Mia through dealing with all of the information he’d suddenly exposed her to in those emails. How to deal with Senator Carmichael, who, according to Chen, was pitching fits. Or the Mayor. He was supposed to be ash and blood stains by the time those bills came due. Supposed to be dead, so that he wouldn’t have to face the world feeling so. So.
But he didn’t feel that way, not entirely. The dread was there, tap tap tapping its long, broken nailed fingers on the clouded glass. Behind it, waiting their turn in the queue were anxiety and regret and a myriad of other familiar faces. And there was still a nagging clanging, ringing the bell for service, understanding that it would be easier for everyone if he just died. The urge to do it, though. That had been shuffled out and was now pacing in the hallways, jiggling door handles and finding so many more of them locked. Heartbreak had taken the keys with it.
Instead, he was back in his apartment. With his fiancé. And their dog.
And now he was going to have to pay for all of this with an empty bank account and shit credit.
The receipt was a mile long and contained all of the aftermath of a series of knee jerk decisions and hasty gut punches.
Regina was dead and the farm had oodles of evidence that it had been Mad Dog and Charge and Herald who had killed her.
Mia Ochoa now had several emails containing enough information to take her months to sort through it all. An invitation to come calling on Mad Dog for interviews. His secret identity. Regina’s back-ups. A chance to jettison her career into the stratosphere at the risk of real, actual death. A chance to break a story that other reporters would have given their first born to have a crack at.
The Catastrofiend was back. He horribly, selfishly, hoped it was making itself content at the Farm for a good long while. Slaughtering. Devouring innocents. Richard could feel their blood on the palms of his hands. Not. He couldn’t kill that thing, no one could kill that thing.
Well. No. Maybe Argent could kill that thing.
But there was a creature from the depths of his chest hoping that her violence could be saved for him when the time came for it. As far as he was aware, she still didn’t know he was the one who had hijacked her body. And she deserved to know. And if she decided to kill him for it, then…
His mind rotated back to the Catastrofiend.
He still should have tried harder. Should have. Couldn’t have. Did he really manage to rip part of its jaw off? Could it regrow that? How many people had it killed by the time it had come across the three of them? What had it been up to? He didn’t have the energy to waste on that particular razor blade of guilt. It could come for his throat later.
Senator Carmichael was apparently asking Alvarez to let a group other than the Rangers investigate Regina’s kidnapping. Did she have any actual evidence that the Rangers may have been involved? She was federal though, and her request to Alvarez had been made in private and then apparently denied. She had wanted an investigation launched…once the Mad Dog suit was functional, Richard could afford to pay her another visit. If she was still in town. If the suit could be repaired.
Another bullet point was added to the list. Talk to the good doctor.
Another. Check on Mitzi’s body.
Ah, beans.
Another. Talk to Danny about. About the nightmares. About the fact that he was still willing. Not just willing. That he was excited to marry Richard.
That knowledge was digging itself a lovely home in the center of Richard’s heart, snuggling in tight and pulling the warmth of the earth around itself. Not only was he not dead, not trying to die, but there was someone that he loved that wanted to have a life with him. Was willing to do the symbolic thing and the ritual and.
For God’s sake there was even a dog.
At least Edith had enjoyed herself while they were gone. Richard could feel the easy pleasure at having made fast friends with Spoon and getting a chance to throw herself at Chen and his, and this pivotal fact was highlighted by canine excitement, expert belly rubs.
A new point. Ricardo had agreed to go get himself checked out by the Ranger’s physicians. A name with an H? A mental note was jotted down to look into them was carefully folded into the top drawer of a mental filing cabinet. Even if Richard suspected it was a lie to keep him complacent, it was better than nothing. There was more than a minute part of Richard hoping that Chen would be able to actually ensure that he went. He’d still want to check in, even if it was a lie.
Another point. One that made him want to stomp his feet and cross his arms and throw a tantrum. But. It had been three days and there was no change at all. Richard needed to go to physical therapy. His right arm was still mostly paralyzed from the shoulder down. He could feel it, at least. Enough to know when he had banged it against something, and pain rocketed through his system in a dizzying carnival ride. A nauseating pulse. He couldn’t move it without extreme effort and even then, the most he had been managing was swaying it limply at his side. A nervous voice pointed out that he couldn’t even fully tell if his arm was managing that, or if he was using momentum from his shoulder. Couldn’t even make a fist without so much cracking musculature that it forced a tight gasp out of his chest.
Sub-point. The muscles in his chest were beginning to heal but it was still agony to breathe. To speak. But to keep pneumonia at bay, he had to force himself to cough and breathe deeply and. Apparently. According to the internet. The dry heaving sobs that he still found himself slipping into when the pain rose up was actually good for healing the injury. So. There was that.
Point. Set. He had to go see Doctor Finch, too.
Busy, busy. And where to start?
Daniel was. He took priority as the most important bullet point to bite down on. He was still out of the apartment, back on active duty since the cut to his face was healing easily. Richard still didn’t know what story they had given to headquarters, but Danny’s thoughts had still been pointed in the direction of mostly honest. They had been asked by Regina’s staff to accompany her to the Farm. They arrived and were attacked by the Catastrofiend.
It was a lie that didn’t stand a chance of surviving anything stronger than a stiff breeze, but. But there wasn’t wind that Richard could feel. Yet.
Another bullet point. He was stalling. Both of them were. Richard had already made a weak in the knees attempt to bring it up and Daniel had chosen to ignore it. And Richard had let him. The nightmares about Mad Dog had been dying down before this recent escapade. Softening and becoming easier to redirect into absurdities. Not able to prevent the terror entirely but at least able to shift it into Mad Dog’s pants falling down or beginning to monologue about mozzarella sticks. Stupid and jarring enough to usually get Daniel’s subconscious to reset itself into a more acceptable dream. Or empty sleep. Or.
But in the few days since they’d been back, Daniel’s sleep had been gripped tight by something cruel and pushed far beyond the creaking crackling breaking point. Multiple times in the past two nights Richard, awake with pain and guilt, stared at the ceiling and tried to coax Daniel through it. Tried to slip in only to see himself. Worse than himself. Mad Dog through Daniel’s eyes without the thin veneer of Danny’s forgiveness. Without Richard’s guilt. Twisted and deformed and coming to kill. Ten feet tall and bullet proof. Coming to grind his bones into dust, to clench a gauntlet around Daniel’s throat until the dream space was nothing but wheezing struggles and Mad Dog’s manic laughter.
Richard’s usual tactics had failed, intentionally humiliating this nightmare of himself had only resulted in Daniel’s mind doubling down on the horror it was determined to make him feel. The last time Richard had pantsed himself had resulted in Daniel’s mind grafting massive, fluid filled burn wounds all over the legs. Joshua’s legs. Blisters bursting onto Danny’s pinned to the car wreckage frame, while Mad Dog had spat it back in his face just how much it shouldn’t have been Joshua who had died and. Richard had to resort to coming back into the physical world to shake Daniel awake from that one.
He'd dodged a reactive punch and done his best to pull Danny in close to his chest without taking a knee to his groin until Daniel realized he was awake and went limp. Shivered. Panting hard enough for the air to whistle through his nose.
Richard couldn’t even hold the other man properly while he shook, not with his arm the way it was and it made something in Richard’s abdominal cavity begin sobbing.
But he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Not then, Daniel had asked. Needing time and space to calm down. But it was rapidly becoming apparent that there wasn’t going to be a better time to talk about it. Either it got dealt with or it got worse, no matter how good Daniel was at shifting his trauma around. Eventually the bill would come due for him, too.
Richard could feel that Danny would want to confront the Mad Dog armor again. He’d handled it himself when Richard had been stuck in Regina’s body and although he still hadn’t found the time to ask…hadn’t gone looking for it either. Had Daniel managed it alright? Had forcing Richard’s empty body into its shell brought something sinister and molting hideously home to roost? Was—
His phone pinged. Not Ricardo, not the little zipping zapping sound that was only ninety nine cents to add on as a text tone indicator. The little windchime one. Speak of the devil.
Richard grabbed for it and clumsily maneuvered it with his left hand, thumb flicking up the passcode and opening up a photo message. The Los Diablos city skyline. Electric lights on a sea of dark blue and the sun setting behind, bathing it in orange and gold and pink. “This place has a great view. They rent for small gatherings—less than fifty people,”
Richard's thumb moved slowly over the keys, not used to typing with his off hand. “Aren’t you at work? Stop location scouting lover boy,”
“They’re dog friendly,” followed by the tongue sticking out emoji. “Finishing up. Should be home in half an hour,”
Half an hour. Plenty of time to get a script ready right? To. To plan it out. To have something to start from.
We need to talk about your nightmares.
We need to talk about how you’re still terrified of me.
About how you’re right to be.
About how what I did is still so deeply, fundamentally fucked up and you deserve every feeling of fear and mistrust and.
Richard breathed in. Held it. Slowly tapped out. “See you soon. Fly safe. Love you,”
“Love you too,”