trashchildren | For Joan

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."

He doesn't blame himself nearly as much as others might... but definitely still a little bit. There's some doubt niggling at how trusting he is. How his insight won't always protect him in time.

After the combination of the loss and kidnapping, he's also felt the return of that doubt that Richmond would in fact be better off with a different coach. A part of him wondering if he'll ever feel ready to return to the team. He always gets back up when he gets knocked down, but he's never been knocked down as hard as this, and it may take some time.

He leans into her, calming down little by little, but still in quite noticeable pain, that frown staying on his face.

She would totally understand that doubt. She knows he's swam upstream in Richmond for so long. It must be tiring, but he was making terrific headway, convincing the players and the fans. To have a sudden, catastrophic flood like this mentally wash him back to the beginning? It can't be easy to pick himself up again and go forward. Luckily he has the people around him to hold him and help him. Beard and Rebecca and his teammates. And Joan herself.

She wraps her arms around him, kissing his hair. She can tell he's in pain.

"Do you want me to call the nurse? They can give you more painkillers. It might help you sleep."

He just nods a little at the question. They mentioned they might give him an IV later on, after assessing how bad the pain was, and also making sure that they were drugging away pain that might be a sign of something worse being wrong. But hopefully by now, they can do that.

She strokes his hair and kisses his temple, then reaches for the call button.

The nurse arrives fairly quickly, and doesn't say anything about Joan being in bed with Ted, which Joan appreciates greatly.

"What can I do for you, love?" she asks Ted.

"Hey," Ted greets, lifting his head a little bit not sitting up properly. "Sorry for not getting up, but I'm quite a bit of pain here," he says with a strained smile. That apology is a joke though.

She smiles at him and promises they're going to fix that in a minute, but first she wants to ask him some questions. And he gets to describe where the pain is and how bad it is, whether it's constant or just when he moves, all of that. His leg is probably the worst by now, but the headache has lessened a lot, which is apparently a good sign.

Eventually they get him hooked up, and she explains this will also help him keep hydrated, but he should still drink water, which he promises to do. He thanks her and lets her know he appreciates her - and her find medicine - and the pain starts going away again. With it also goes the tension in his shoulders.

Joan holds him the whole time, listening to him describe his pain, knowing what the nurse is screening for with each one. She feels for him, because the sort of pain he's going through sucks, but she's also reassured, because the descriptions tell both her and the nurse that Ted's injuries are probably not life threatening. The pain in his head subsiding reassures Joan that his brain, while bruised, isn't bleeding.

Joan holds his hand and strokes his hair as the nurse inserts the IV. As he relaxes against her she kisses his head.

"I'm right here," she whispers. "You can sleep. I've got you."

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