Chapter Text
I will take your pain
and put it on my heart.
I won't hesitate,
just tell me where to start.
The moment that Adam Karadec’s foot hit the pavement outside the building where he’d just processed and booked Lucia, he exhaled an entire day’s worth of emotions.
And then, before he could fully mentally work through the notion that his former fiancee turned current — no, former now again — girlfriend was involved in criminal activity, his phone buzzed in his back pocket. When he noticed the time (after 10 p.m.) and the caller (Soto), his throat constricted involuntarily and he felt a drop in his stomach. He answered immediately, a statement and a question rolled into one: “Soto?”
Without so much as a greeting, she calmly noted: “She’s fine.”
A breath Karadec hadn’t realized he was holding rushed out between his teeth. And a small voice in the back of his mind nudged him to think about the fact that Soto knew she didn’t have to clarify the pronoun “she.”
Soto paused for a beat, swallowed, and then stated very simply: “The captain. He’s dead.”
Karadec frowned out into the dark parking lot. “Wagner’s dead?” He strained his ears and picked up noise in the background of Soto’s call. “What happened?”
Soto began walking — Karadec could hear her feet crunching over what sounded like leaves and gravel — as she said: “We don’t know exactly. All I know is that he got some intel from his father about a person connected to Roman. He was apparently meeting this person out in Rancho Park.” She paused in her steps: “He called Morgan.”
Karadec’s jaw clenched involuntarily and he deduced: “She was there?”
Soto continued: “Wagner told her a different time — a half hour later than his meet up was scheduled. My guess is he knew something might go wrong and didn’t want Morgan there. But…” Here, Soto sighed heavily. “It was too late when Morgan got here. She found him. He’d been stabbed. They pronounced him at the scene.”
“God,” Kardec breathed, keys in hand, already walking to his car. “Morgan.”
“Yeah,” Soto said quietly. He could hear the emotion in her voice. “No one should have to experience that.”
Karadec thought back to early in his working relationship with Morgan — the fear in her eyes when she discovered a victim had been murdered. The panic and emotion of being too late to do anything to help. The way he tried to reassure her, and the way she didn’t want to meet his gaze. She didn’t want him to see how much death affected her.
As he sat down in the driver’s seat and started his car, Karadec asked: “Where is she now?”
“She’s still here with the paramedics,” Soto said. “I dropped you a pin.”
“Already on my way,” Karadec stated. His GPS said it’d take him 20 minutes. He bet he could make it in closer to 15 if he ignored all the rules of the road. And state laws. And every screaming alarm bell in his head that told him to be cautious when operating a motor vehicle this late at night.
He was about to hang up the call when Soto shifted her voice from problem-solving mode to something softer, more concerned: “Adam, there’s something else.” His eyes snapped down to the phone he’d placed on speakerphone in his center console as Soto explained: “I pieced together what happened at the scene from one of the first responders and information on Wagner’s phone.”
Karadec frowned in momentary confusion before Soto stated: “She is not herself, Adam. She hasn’t said a word since I got here. When you look in her eyes, it’s like… it’s like she’s completely shut off. She’s basically catatonic.”
Maybe he could make it in 10.
The swarm of red and blue lights was overwhelming enough when Karadec swung into the parking lot. But as he stepped out of the car, he noticed dozens of people milling around, making noise — talking on their phones, processing the scene. The coroners and first responders and cops.
Soto raised a hand from near a picnic table with crime scene tape surrounding it, beckoning him over, and Karadec practically jogged to meet her. “Hey,” he said, eyes scanning the area. “Where is she?”
Soto pointed wordlessly over his shoulder to an ambulance and his heart sank at the sight. Even from a distance, he could see she was hunched over, staring at the ground. He vaguely remembered what she’d been wearing earlier — denim and sparkles, he thinks — but that traditional Morgan Gillory attire was nowhere to be seen now, her body swallowed up by a too-big fire department sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. A female paramedic had her hand placed on Morgan’s back and seemed to be speaking to her slowly while taking her vitals.
Karadec’s eyes returned to Soto and by her reaction — placing her hand gently on his forearm for a brief moment, dark eyes brimming with emotion, and squeezing gently, reassuringly — he wasn’t sure what she saw reflected in his gaze. Whatever it was, it was concerning enough that she’d switched into friend mode.
Soto cleared her throat and sniffed once, batting the moment away and snapping back into a problem-solving voice: “I’ve got officers headed over to Ludo’s.” Karadec’s eyes widened slightly so she elaborated: “Just as a precaution to check in on him and Elliot and Chloe.” Soto exhaled and continued: “After everything tonight and Willa mentioning them by name, I thought it was best if we’re cautious.”
Karadec nodded wordlessly, the panic bile that had bubbled up in his throat settling back down for now. Then he remembered: “Ava’s at her art show. Someone should —”
“Already sent Daphne over to her,” Soto said, finishing his thought. With a small smile, she added: “Apparently they’ve spent some time together recently, so Ava knows and trusts her. Daphne will bring her back to the house after. Speaking of…” Soto looked around Karadec to where Morgan was still sitting on the edge of the open ambulance. “I’m assuming you’ll —”
“I’m taking her home,” Karadec replied, placing a hand on Soto’s shoulder. The woman looked up at him as he finished: “And I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
A brief sad smile passed Soto’s lips, and she brought a hand up to her shoulder, patting Kardec’s hand. “I know you will.” With one lingering look at Morgan, Soto exhaled and shook her head. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, but when I find out anything about who did this, I’ll let you know. Whoever it is, they’re still out there.”
“And they’re connected to Roman’s case so they could know about Morgan,” Karadec deduced. With a nod, he sighed and took a step toward the ambulance. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do. Be safe, Adam.”
Karadec nodded once. “You too, Selena.”
Karadec had catalogued Morgan’s silences. He didn’t remember when he started doing it — or when exactly he even began to notice that there were different ways she got quiet — but what started as an extension of his detective training or a fun little game became something much more profound.
Morgan fascinated him. She compelled him. And while she frustrated him, she also amazed him. It wasn’t just the way that her brain worked either — it was the way she existed in the world and navigated it as someone so incredibly brilliant and perceptive but also kind. And blunt. And funny. And beautiful. And empathetic.
She was a force of nature rolled into short skirts and bold jewelry and vibrant patterns. She was a person who loved her kids fiercely, who cared about others. And she was also someone whose bright blue eyes could piece through his every resolve.
In a lot of ways, she was like the sun: so bright and bold and compelling, you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her and absorbed into her orbit.
So when Karadec walked up to the ambulance, it was like seeing a sun that had collapsed in on itself. A dying star. He could feel Morgan’s pain in the center of his chest. Her head was tipped down toward the ground, eyes trained on her feet. She didn’t move a millimeter, even as he approached.
The paramedic who’d been by Morgan’s side since he arrived (and much longer before that, he soon learned) looked up at him with a sad smile. “Hi,” she greeted. “I’m Sara. I’ve been looking after Miss Gillory here for a little bit.”
“Thanks for taking care of my partner, Sara,” he said appreciatively. And he was grateful that Morgan had been cared for by someone. The thoughts he didn’t say aloud were: I wish I had gone to Ava’s art show with Morgan. I wish I had been with her when Wagner called. I wish I could absorb her grief like a sponge.
Karadec stared at the top of Morgan’s head for a second before he crouched down to her level. “Hey, it’s me,” he said softly. Morgan continued to stare at her feet.
“Morgan?” he asked. No response or movement. Briefly, Karadec thought back to when Morgan had her panic attack. He’d hugged her then because his heart was breaking and couldn’t stand to see her in pain. And she’d said his first name so achingly, so scared.
He hugged her because he knew at that moment that she needed physical touch to ground her. He had remembered years ago seeing weighted blankets at a department store and asking a salesperson what they were for. They’d said that a weighted blanket helped people with anxiety feel a calming pressure, sort of like a hug.
So the thoughts he had when he hugged her — the thoughts he refused to unpack because of what they might mean — were, I want to be your weighted blanket. I need to make you feel safe. I want to take all of your pain and put it on me.
Those same thoughts ran through his head now as he, still crouched down (his knees would reprimand him later), slowly reached out a hand toward Morgan’s knee. He placed his warm palm over her sweatpants and rubbed his thumb back and forth, eye level with the crown of her head, her face still pointed at the ground. No movement.
Sara watched Karadec for a moment before she said, “I’ll give you two some space,” and walked off.
Karadec kept slowly rubbing circles around Morgan’s knee cap for a minute more. But he wanted to see her face, wanted to know exactly what he was dealing with. So he lifted his hand toward the side of Morgan’s head, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her right ear. He trailed his thumb over her earlobe, tracing a path down her jaw until he reached her chin. Slowly, he tipped her face upward.
And Karadec felt his chest constrict as he looked at her face. Soto was right. Morgan’s usually expressive eyes were hollow, the blue looking pale and gray even though he knew it was impossible for her eyes to have changed colors. She blinked at him slowly, rhythmically. But it was like her body and brain were on autopilot. It was like she was a million miles away.
“Morgan,” he breathed as he gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. He thought briefly about how just a few hours ago he’d wiped away a tear before it could fall all the way down her face. He was oddly consumed with the idea of that tear and had stared at it even when he’d wiped it away. How odd, he’d thought, that all I want to do is comfort her when she’s supposed to be comforting me.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, though he didn’t quite know what he was apologizing for. And she just stared at him, through him, while he felt emotion sting his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
And then for half a second, maybe less, Morgan’s eyes flickered briefly to his and Karadec saw a glimpse of his partner — his brilliant and lively partner — in there. It was gone again before he had the chance to process it, but he exhaled deeply.
Karadec heard the distinct crunch of feet over leaves behind him and turned to see Sara staring at him with such tenderness and knowingness that it made him feel utterly exposed. So he cleared his throat and stood up. With a worried glance over his shoulder at Morgan, who was now back to staring blankly ahead of her, he beckoned Sara to the side.
“Is she… is she going to be okay?” he asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure what to do with them if they weren’t comforting Morgan.
Sara stared at Morgan for a beat before she answered. “Yes, I think so. But it’s impossible for me to tell you what that looks like. She might start talking tonight, acting more like herself, and then… bam, shut down again or scream or burst into tears.”
She studied Karadec’s face and continued: “This would be a normal trauma response for anyone in her situation. Your lieutenant told me that Morgan has HPI, and so if you think about it, it’s kind of like… it’s like every bit of energy right now in her brain and body is being redirected for survival. Her brain is shutting down to protect her from what it knows she will ruminate on. Our brains know that dissociation is a powerful protective mechanism — like a door it locks all of the bad thoughts behind so you can continue to exist in the world. In my line of work, I’ve seen it countless times. And her body is just… exhausted from the trauma. When her brain can process that she’s safe — that the danger has passed — her body might begin to follow.”
Sara bit her lip and glanced over at Morgan. Karadec followed her gaze. For a moment, the two were silent. Then Sara quietly revealed: “She held the victim as he bled out, you know.”
Karadec felt like someone knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t know. But the idea that she had been present for Wagner’s last breath, unable to do anything… it would be enough to send anyone into this state.
Sara cleared her throat slightly before continuing: “I got a little information out of her before she… you know.” She sighed. “It was the sight of the victim’s blood on herself that ultimately did it, I think. When she finally noticed it on her hands, on her clothes, in her hair… that was it. Her brain and body just stopped as if to say, ‘No more.’ So I cleaned her up, helped her change into an extra sweatsuit we had in the truck, and tried to comfort her as best as I could, but…”
“You did everything right,” Karadec said. And he truly meant it.
They locked eyes for a moment and Sara finished her sentence: “She asked for you when I first arrived. She just kept saying, ‘Call Adam.’ But her phone was… sorry, but it was bloody and I wasn’t sure if it was evidence. I couldn’t use it to try and figure out who ‘Adam’ was. When your lieutenant got here though, I made sure she called you right away.”
For the first time that night, out of Morgan’s sight, Karadec let a few tears escape his eyes and he brushed them quickly away. With a slight waver in his voice he said: “Thank you. For being here for her when I couldn’t be.”
Sara took a long look at his face and simply nodded.
Daphne texted Karadec a minute later that she’d made it to the art show and was talking to Ava, reassuring her that Morgan was okay, but preparing her for the state her mom might be in when they arrived home. We’ll be heading back to the house in a little bit. ETA is around a half hour or so.
Karadec checked his watch and guessed that if he left soon, he and Daphne would arrive at the house about the same time. He texted her quickly, pocketed his phone, and walked slowly back to Morgan. Sara was sitting next to her now silently, their shoulders touching.
“Hey,” Karadec said softly, crouching down again so he was eye-level with Morgan. “Daphne went to pick up Ava at the art show and is bringing her home now.” At the mention of her daughter, Morgan’s eyes flickered over and held Karadec’s gaze. He delicately took both of her hands in his and said: “I’m going to take you home so you can be with her. Is that okay?”
Morgan’s nod was barely perceptible, but Karadec gently squeezed her hands in his as he stood and said: “Okay, let’s get you home to your daughter.”
Sara placed a hand in between Morgan’s shoulder blades, gently pushing her into a standing position as Karadec pulled her to her feet. The paramedic encouraged her: “There you go, sweetheart. You’ve got this. You’re going to be okay.”
Morgan turned her head slowly to look at Sara whose eyes — much like Morgan’s — were brimming with unshed tears. Sara looked between Morgan and Karadec, eyes finally landing back to Morgan when she emphasized: “I promise you, Miss Morgan Gillory of the LAPD, you are going to be okay. You are safe. You are safe now.”
And even though Morgan didn’t say anything as Karadec put a comforting hand on the small of her pack and led her to his car, he could feel her body shake with sobs.
At a red light, Karadec turned his head to really look at Morgan for the first time since they left the crime scene. Morgan wasn’t a short woman but in profile now, she just looked so small to him. He scrubbed a hand over his beard as the light changed.
She’d cried all the way back to the car. He’d opened her passenger door and helped her into his SUV before shuffling around to the driver’s side. Even those brief seconds away from her made him anxious. By the time he’d pulled out of the parking lot, her sobs had subsided into sniffles and shallow hiccupy breaths, and she had returned to staring blankly ahead of her. Neon lights of long-closed shops blurred past them.
At the next red light, Karadec looked over at her and studied her again. His eyes raked over her strawberry blonde hair pulled high up and away from her face. The ends of her ponytail were slightly curling and Karadec deduced that was where Sara had helped her wash blood out. He took note of her smudged makeup, the oversized sweatshirt, and her hands which were fiddling with the drawstring of her borrowed pants. It was an encouragement to him, at least, that her hands were moving.
But something about her hands raised a flag in his mind, though he couldn’t quite figure out what he was supposed to be observing. Sometimes this happened at work where he’d study a photo, knowing that he was missing something. In those instances, Morgan usually figured it out right away.
“It’s my nails.”
Karadec didn’t hide his surprise at the sound of Morgan’s voice, his eyes snapping over to her, though hers were still trained ahead of her, out the front windshield. Her voice was rough and a lower register than usual. She sounded like someone who’d just woken up from a long, complicated surgery.
“Your nails,” Karadec repeated. And then it clicked. He glanced down at her hands and the natural, short nails on them that were now clasped on her lap.
For a minute, there was just silence as the streets of Los Angeles flew by and Karadec tried his hardest to look at Morgan while still watching the road ahead of them. He slowed at a yellow, though he could have made it, just so he could turn his body more fully toward her.
She wet her lips and spoke slowly. “I wear press-on nails. Can’t afford a weekly salon trip on a consultant salary with three kids.” Morgan paused. “I liked the ones I wore tonight.”
Karadec searched his memories of earlier in the evening. They were bright blue, he recalled to himself, like your eyes.
As the light changed green, Morgan continued. “But then…” She paused again and exhaled a shuddering breath. Karadec desperately wished he wasn’t driving so he could look at her more fully, rub her back, do something — anything — to comfort her.
“There was so much blood.”
He’d never heard Morgan’s voice so soft and ragged and small. She sniffed a few times, wiping away tears that fell down her cheeks. “Sara,” she began, voice wobbling with emotion as it took her a while to form the rest of her words, “didn’t even have to ask. She must have seen how bad I looked. She rinsed it out of my hair. She washed my hands for me. And when she…” Morgan took another shuddering deep breath to cry, furiously wiping at her face.
And Karadec decided that road rules be damned, he couldn’t let Morgan endure the pain alone anymore. His eyes flickered over to her and he gently reached out his right hand and covered her left shoulder with his warm palm to get her attention. “Hey,” he reassured, voice just above a whisper, “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re safe now.”
The touch seemingly brought her out of her memories and back to the car. Karadec rubbed his thumb back and forth from her collarbone to her shoulder. And Morgan exhaled slowly. Karadec kept his hand there as he drove, sneaking a glance every few seconds until Morgan’s breathing seemed to steady again.
But when he retracted his hand to return it to the steering wheel (and his proper 10 and 2 driving protocol), Morgan frantically grasped at his hand with both of hers, tugging it gently back toward her. Karadec was momentarily startled, his heart thrumming in his chest, but let Morgan lace the fingers of her left hand with his right hand. She covered their entwined hands with her right one and set them in her lap.
When she spoke again, she spoke to their hands. “Sara is an angel. She tried to clean the blood off my nails. But there was too much. It was… ” Karadec squeezed his hand lightly in Morgan’s and she reciprocated. “Most people never think of how many creases and crevices their hands have. How much skin there is under their nails, in their cuticles, in their nail bed folds.”
Morgan swallowed as she and Karadec turned down a street close to her house. She stared out the passenger window and lifted her free hand to wipe her cheek. “You never really think of how blood gets everywhere until it’s on you.” Morgan exhaled and continued: “Sara’s coworker gathered what we needed, and then Sara sat with me. She removed each of my nails. She washed my hands until they were completely clean.” Morgan shook her head slightly in disbelief. “Who does that for a stranger?”
Karadec looked over at Morgan and replied: “Someone who wanted to take care of you in the only way they could.”
In response, Morgan squeezed his hand one more time and then untangled her hands from his. Karadec felt the loss immediately but didn’t have time to process it because he’d pulled up to the Gillory house.
Karadec cut the engine and looked over at Morgan who was staring at her home with both fondness and trepidation. “C’mon,” he encouraged, unbuckling his seat belt. “Ava should be here soon.”
Morgan nodded and opened her door, stepping out into the cool evening air. When she turned around, her brow wrinkled in confusion, and she just pointed at the gym bag that Karadec gripped in his left hand.
Karadec casually explained: “A change of clothes. I always have clean gym clothes in my car. I was planning to crash on your couch tonight to make sure you’re okay.” When Morgan’s eyebrows rose, he clarified: “As long as that’s all right.”
Morgan sighed in mock irritation. “The couch isn’t going to be comfortable for you, you know.”
“I’ll manage.”
“You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to take care of you. Will you please let me?”
Morgan’s face softened from irritation into something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. So instead, she nodded her head and walked with Karadec to the front door.
Ava arrived less than five minutes after Karadec and Morgan, and as Morgan tearfully embraced her daughter, stroking her hair, Karadec and Daphne decided to step outside to give them space.
“How’s Morgan holding up?” Daphne asked as they closed the front door behind them.
Karadec exhaled through his nose. “A little better than when I first saw her. But it’s a lot for anyone to process. And for Morgan, even more so.”
Daphne nodded wordlessly and then studied Karadec’s face before asking, “And what about you?”
Karadec frowned ever so slightly, Daphne’s earnest gaze pinning him to the spot. “I mean, it’s been… a lot. But Morgan is safe and that’s what matters.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes in a way that suggested whatever she was about to say would be blunt in a way that only a friend could be. “Right,” she drawled, “but I asked how you were doing. First, you had all the stuff with Lucia. And now this? On the same night?” Daphne’s gaze softened as she said: “You’ve gone through a lot too, you know.”
Daphne was right. And if Morgan’s brain was dissociating to protect her, then maybe his was compartmentalizing to protect himself. He rubbed a hand over his face and beckoned Daphne a few steps away from the house. “When Soto called me tonight, I was terrified something had happened to Morgan,” Karadec admitted. “I know I have to process what happened with Lucia. I know it’s going to take me a while to figure out how to make sense of that betrayal. But…” Karadec trailed off and looked at the house, the living room softly glowing with light as someone turned on a lamp.
Daphne’s face studied Karadec’s as he continued: “None of that mattered when I thought Morgan was in danger. I don’t know how to explain it but it’s just that…. If she’s okay, I’m okay. And if she’s not okay, I can’t stand it. I feel her pain like it was my own, and my own pain doesn’t even hurt that much. And that’s partnership, right?”
Daphne’s eyebrow raised. “That’s… something.” When Karadec furrowed his brows in confusion, his friend simply rolled her eyes. “This seems like a conversation for another time. Maybe with alcohol.” She placed a hand on Karadec’s forearm and squeezed once. “But I am really glad Morgan has you, and I am glad you are all safe, and I am also glad you care about her enough to squeeze yourself onto that tiny living room couch.”
Karadec huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well.”
Daphne smiled and patted Karadec’s arm, then jutted a thumb toward her car. “I’m going to take off for the night. I told Ava to text me if she needs anything. Obviously please tell Morgan the same.”
“Thanks, Daph. I will.”
The woman nodded once and departed, leaving Karadec frowning as he considered what Daphne had been alluding to with her “that’s something” remark. But before he let his mind dwell, he shook the thought off and turned back toward the Gillory house to try and get some sleep.