trashchildren | For Joan

Joan had the same thought, wanting to hold him and let him hold her. When he moves over she carefully climbs into the hospital bed with him and wraps her arms around him. She kisses him tenderly, careful with his split lip, then just holds him close.

"Do you want to lie down?" she murmurs.

He shakes his head a little. "No, it's alright.." he answers, voice hoarse. He just leans against her, holding onto her arm, and closing his eyes. Taking a deep breath.

He's safe. He knows it, and he feels it while in her arms. He's out of that place, they've got the guy, Joan is here, and he's all patched up. He's going to get better, and he's going to be alright.

It's like the barricades on the doors have been lifted, or maybe more accurately the floodgates. All that fear and pain and loneliness and hurt that he's been trying to keep under control, trying to make sure he would either find a way out or survive until someone else found him, suddenly it's not important anymore.

It's just a small silent sob at first, a hitching of his shoulders. And then another one, followed by another deep breath. Soon enough he's fully crying, shaking in her arms. He doesn't wail, barely making a sound beyond the occasional whimper, and the irregular breathing and small gasps and sobs. He just sits there, clinging to her arm, letting it go on for as long as it will, until he runs out of tears.

It's a relief when he lets go and begins to cry, because she knows that he's hurting so badly, and keeping it all inside will cause him so much more pain that just letting go, allowing himself to truly feel. She holds onto him tightly, rocking a little, gently rubbing his back. "It's okay," she whispers, turning her head to press a kiss into his hair. "I've got you. You're safe."

Joan has her own pain, of course, but she can't show it now. Perhaps later, when Ted is feeling better. Or perhaps she'll cry at 221B, with Sherlock awkwardly standing guard and stiffly patting her back. Whatever she does later, she needs to be strong now.

Eventually he calms down, slowly, not because he isn't still upset, but because the exhaustion starts to win out. He's so tired. He hasn't really slept, and his body's been through a lot. He doesn't feel better, exactly, but he doesn't feel like there's something fighting to get out of him anymore.

He sniffs and wipes at his face, taking deep breaths, slowly but surely steadying himself, with her whispering little reassurances.

"I think I'm ready to go on," he says finally, looking over at her.

She rubs his back as he calms, whispering "that's it...just breathe...you're okay..." When he looks at her and says he's ready, she nods, and leans forward to press a gentle, chaste, protective kiss to his forehead. Then she lets him go and gets up, first finding a box of tissues and setting it down next to him to use or not as he pleases, then going out to the hall. McCoy and Rudd are there, waiting patiently.

"We're ready," she says.

They follow her back into the room, and she sits next to the bed, taking his hand again.

"Would you like to continue, Mr. Lasso?" McCoy says.

Ted blows his nose while she fetches the detectives. It's probably pretty obvious from his face why he wanted to stop, but he doesn't mind that. These guys seem like decent fellas, they obviously understand.

He nods at the question but doesn't go on immediately, instead taking a deep steadying breath.

"So, uh, as I was saying... He told me this story, about his friend's dog," he continues, his voice hoarse from all the crying, but calmer now.

He could skip this part, it's not a vital part of events, but to him it was the first real clear sign of how things were going to go, what the guy-- what Turner's mindset was like. And he thinks that's important to get across.

"And he - Turner - it was like he was telling a friendly story, except he was very obviously trying to make a point with it. Being real evocative, you know?" he explains. "So this dog, he tells me, bit his friend. So he took it outside, chained it up."

At this point he glances over at Joan, giving her a warning look. Letting her know this is about to take a turn for the worse.

"He said his friend kicked the dog around. And then left it there, chained up. No food, no water, and badly hurt. The dog died after three days." Ted clears his throat a bit. His voice is a little shaky, but not weak. It's still upsetting to him, and he doesn't try to hide that, but at least now he doesn't have the weight of everything hanging over him as much anymore.

"It was... pretty obvious that I was supposed to be the dog in the story."

Ted gives her that look, and she understands. She also appreciates it greatly, once again amazed at how he can be going through all sorts of hell, and his first instinct is to protect those around him. She gives him a small nod and squeezes his hand, reassuring him that she'll be fine.

And it's bad. It's really bad. Joan has encountered a lot of psychopaths in her time as a detective. She's tracked down hitmen, been in the same room as serial killers, stood toe to toe with criminal masterminds. But this...this disturbs her deeply. The casual cruelty to animals, the clear parallel being drawn between the dog's fate and Ted's, and the clear glimpse it gives into the mind of the man who kidnapped, tortured, and clearly intended to murder Ted. The man she loves.

"Jesus," she swears under her breath.

"Yeah..." he answers, nodding in agreement, giving Joan's hand a squeeze. And as horrible as that experience was, as scary as it was, he can't help but feel bad for the guy. To be that broken.

"I, uh... At this point I started to realize I wasn't gonna talk my out way out of it. I'd been trying to reason with him, trying to.. trick him into calling Joan or something, trying to get him to relate to me, anything like that," he explains with a frown, rambling a little and letting himself do so. Not completely emotionless, but still trying to keep himself slightly detached, just enough to not get overwhelmed by reliving it.

"He said, uh, he wasn't going to kill me, because all he had to do was leave me there. And he... he didn't seem to have a problem with that, you know?"

It's still so baffling to him. He just can't wrap his mind around it.

"Then he left, and I tried to find a way to get loose, but I couldn't, so I just tried to dry myself and stay warm, you know? At least make it hard for the guy, so you guys could find me."

Joan squeezes his hand again, a little non-verbal sign that she's so glad they were able to find him.

"Scotland Yard was able to trace your phone to about a mile radius of your last location. Sherlock had gotten a list of owners of that particular white van. Only one of them lived in that mile radius. That's how we found you."

McCoy looks at his notes. "So...the suspect left you alone at that point?"

Ted's surprised about the information about the phone. He thought it would stop working once it was smashed, and he hadn't been gone by that long yet. But he's very glad to be wrong in that regard, that they could track it anyway.

At the question, he gives a humorless little laugh.

"For a while. I dunno how long, I couldn't really tell, maybe a few hours, I guess?" he answers. Mostly going off now knowing how long he was gone, and how many times he was visited.

"I think he came down... four more times? Or three. I was pretty out of it by the end. He'd basically do the same thing... Dump a bucket of ice water on me, mock me, kick me around..." he explains tiredly.

"My sides, mostly, but I guess mostly whatever part of me was easiest to hit. I don't remember most of what he said, it was just..." He shrugs a bit. "How I was a worthless loser, I let the team down, no one loved me, no one was gonna find me, saying I deserved it, that sort of crap."

He sounds more irritable the further on he gets into that, but also not really hurt by it. Almost like he's disappointed in the guy, and annoyed by that fact.

He sighs tiredly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Look, I'm really tired, do you guys have enough?" he asks. It's obvious his patience is wearing thin with having to do this.

Edited (icon) 2021-07-05 08:03 (UTC)

Joan can see his patience waning, and she squeezes his hand, a reminder that she's still there, that this is temporary. When he asks to call it quits Joan glances up at the men, her expression telling them that they need to wrap it up. McCoy catches that look and nods.

"Just one more question, Mr. Lasso. Did this man at any time mention another person might be involved?"

Joan glances at Ted. It's something she needs to know.

Ted frowns, thinking back carefully for several long moments, until he finally shakes his head.

"No, I don't think so," he says. "He mentioned his friend in the story, and he thought he was doing this on behalf of Richmond, but that's it. I never saw or heard anyone else."

Well that's a relief. Maybe it all was just a crazy football fan after all, and not the result of his relationship with Joan having put a target on his back.

"That's all we have," McCoy said, closing his notepad. "Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything more..." He nods at Joan. "Let Miss Watson know and she'll know how to contact us."

"Thank you both," Joan says sincerely, grateful for them having been gentle with Ted.

Ted nods in response to promising to contact them. Ted knows there's more he could go into detail, mention all the little things he remembers, what he was thinking, and so on... but it doesn't seem vital to the investigation, and he'd rather do so after he'd had some rest.

When Joan thanks then, Ted nods affirmatively in agreement. "Yeah, thanks guys, I appreciate you."

When they leave, he sighs heavily and sinks back against the pillows.

Joan sighs as well, also glad that's done. It wasn't nearly as hard for her as for him, of course, but it still hurt to see him hurt, to hear what had been done to him. She's also weary, the events of the day having taken their toll. She squeezes his hand and leans against the bed.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly.

He nods gently, closing his eyes. "I will be..." he answers quietly, giving her hand a reciprocal squeeze.

He looks over at her. "Wanna lie down with me now?" he asks. He desperately wants to get some rest, but he'd rather feel her against him at least for a bit while he does so.

"Yes please," she says.

She slips off her shoes and climbs into bed next to him. She curls an arm gently around him, gazing into his eyes.

Ted carefully shuffles some pillows around, lying down as much as possible. He has very limited ways of sleeping, between the broken leg and the broken ribs, but he's so tired that he doesn't think it will matter.

He smiles softly at her once she's climbed in, and gives her a small kiss, putting a hand on her arm.

"I look like a real mess, don't I?" he asks, with a smile that might actually qualify as amused.

She smiles back at him, amused and fond. "Pretty bad, yeah," she agrees.

She touches his bruised and swollen cheek, ever so gently, and leans in to kiss him just as gently.

"You're always beautiful to me," she whispers against his lips.

"Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna keep this look, though," he quips tiredly, giving a soft chuckle.

He gives a long sigh, turning his head to look up at the ceiling, then closing his eyes. "I think I might pass out now, if that's alright with you," he says quietly.

"Fair enough," she responds to the quip with a soft laugh of her own.

She nods and curls her arm around his waist again. "Go ahead. I'll be right here."

She wouldn't be surprised if he has nightmares, and she wants to make sure he knows he's safe.

It's a pretty solid bet. He does at least fall asleep really quickly, his body in desperate need of some rest. And for the first bit he doesn't dream at all, too tired and too deeply asleep to do so.

Unfortunately his body's also already been conditioned to expect a wake-up call pretty frequently.

It's only been a few hours when he wakes up with a start, the feeling of burning ice hitting him, and he pushes himself up then immediately regrets it, falling back against the pillow with a pained groan.

Joan had drifted off, her arm around him and her head on his shoulder. So when he sits bolt upright she only barely keeps from falling to the floor.

"Hey," she says softly, regaining her balance and putting a hand in his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here, you're safe."

It takes a few moments for him to properly register her presence, and then to calm his panicked breathing. His body really hurts. In way too many places.

He groans a little, screwing his eyes shut. "Sorry. I'm sorry," he apologizes, not specifying what for. Probably for waking her up or scaring her.

The apology pains her, and she wonders how much he might blame himself for what happened to him. "It's okay," she says, taking his hand and squeezing it as she runs his shoulder. "You don't have to apologize. You haven't done anything wrong."

She touches his cheek, then strokes his hair.

"It's okay," she murmurs. "You're okay."

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