Topic: Kindred Spirit

Kaylee Bennett

Date: 2014-04-07 13:12 EST
((Linked with Lucky Number 7.))

Days went by in the hospital too slowly for Kaylee. There was too much routine, too many hours spent inside her own head. Her family had been visiting, in dribs and drabs - first Correy, then Jon and Vicki, then Caroline, Des, Cian, cousins who seemed to have worked out a rota to visit by so she didn't get overwhelmed. Psychiatric assessments and sessions took up her mornings here, but the afternoons were reserved for visitors. But not today. She'd asked for people to leave her alone today. Her bruised and cut fingers painfully navigated a pen across paper. Forty-two names. Forty-two lives. And she was the only one who remembered them all.

There was one person who had somehow managed to get past the security guards and the constant rounds of doctors, nurses, and aides. There was good reason for that, as he was, in a way, one of them, a familiar face here at Rhy'Din General. He was wearing a dark blue uniform, the Star of Life on his shoulder declaring him a medical professional of some sort, but not a doctor or a nurse, and certainly not a shrink. There was a reason he was there, but it wasn't quite what it seemed, not entirely anyway. A soft rap of knuckles against the door announced his arrival outside of the girl's room. He was trying to think of her simply as "the girl". The survivor. The last one left standing. Lucky - or unlucky - Seven.

The knock made her jump, the pen flinching against the paper, tearing a small hole as she looked up, toward the door. Every light in the room was on, banishing even the merest hint of shadow, the window wide open to let in the city smells and sounds, a constant reminder that she was home. "Come in."

He pushed the door open, poking his head in to let her see his face before he stepped inside. "Hey," the visitor greeted her with a soft smile, long dark hair framing a face that looked like it hadn't been shaved in a few days, green very human eyes taking her in. He moved slowly and carefully, his hands always in view, as if any quick, jerky movements - however non-threatening - might startle or frighten her. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm the one who brought you here." He didn't need to point out the patch on his shoulder that declared him an EMT; that much was obvious. His face was a friendly one, warm and sympathetic, if a bit serious.

The girl sitting up in the bed looked almost nothing like the Kaylee Granger Rhy'Din City knew. Half-starved, she was painfully thin, bruises and cuts standing out starkly on her pale skin. The yoga pants and long-sleeved t-shirt she wore seemed far too big on her frame, though thankfully some kind nurse had helped her to wash her hair thoroughly, leaving it to wave about her shoulders and hide some of the sunken shadows on her face. But he'd seen her far worse. "I remember," she said quietly. "Figures someone would ignore me asking for no visitors, right?" She clenched her fingers around the paper on her knee, hiding what was written with absent-minded suspicion.

He smiled again, trying to seem as non-threatening and reassuring as possible. "I'm not exactly a visitor. I kind of work here. I just wanted to come by and check on you. You were in pretty rough shape." And still was, by the look of her. "I can come back another time if you want to be alone," he added, leaving the choice completely up to her. His gaze darted briefly to the pen and paper, but he said nothing of it, maintaining what he hoped was a safe distance.

"No, it's okay." She nodded, making an effort to at least seem normal. She knew she'd been worrying her family when they'd come visiting, but she also knew the sooner she seemed better, the sooner she could get out of here. She frowned then, looking at him a little more closely. "You ....you were the one who brought me in, weren't you? I-I'm sorry, I don't remember your name. I was kind of ....out of it."

He'd just told her as much, but he knew it was going to take a while before she got it all straight in her head, if she ever did. If she was lucky, her mind would protect her by burying most of it in some deep recess of her brain. If not, well....That's what shrinks were for. It would either destroy her or make her stronger, and it was hard to say which way she might go. "Yeah, I'm Taylor," he offered his name, without offering a hand or closing the distance between them. "How are they treating you?" he asked what he deemed to be a safe question.

"Taylor," she repeated, realising belatedly that she'd asked a question he had already answered himself. "I never thanked you. So ....thank you. Doesn't seem like enough, but thank you." She bit her lip, wincing as the splits there stung in the action, and cleared her throat. "You can come further in, you know. I only go psycho when the lights go out."

Then leave the lights on seemed the logical response to that statement, though he knew that wasn't what she needed or wanted to hear. "You don't have to thank me. I was just doing what any decent human being would do. Besides, it's my job." His interest was a little more than professional, but she didn't need to know that just yet, if ever. He stepped a little closer, lowering himself slowing into a chair, but remaining far enough away that she wouldn't feel threatened. "You were in pretty rough shape. I know you don't think so right now, but you're pretty....fortunate to be alive." He avoided using the word lucky, for some reason.

Her eyes widened as he spoke, haunted suddenly with remembered fear as her bruised hands clenched in the sheets. Her lips moved, but she didn't seem aware of the words that escaped her in a low whisper. "Lucky number seven ....embrace the darkness." With a jerk, she pulled herself out of that memory, dark and harrowing as it was, and twisted to face him where he sat. "Fortunate isn't the right word," she told him in a shaken voice. "I don't think alive is, either."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees and clasping his hands in front of him as he watched her reaction, recognizing the fear in her eyes. He didn't have to strain his hearing too much to hear what she whispered, whether she was aware of it or not, stifling a shudder at a long-repressed memory that he refused to surrender himself to. He needed to know what had happened to her, but he wasn't a cop, and he wasn't there to question her. At least, not yet. He straightened as she seemed to remember herself, drawing back, stifling the urge to reach out and touch her hand. Though a human touch might just be what she needed, she had family for that. People who loved her and cared for her, even if they could never truly understand. "You've been through a lot," he started, once again gentling his voice, but not coddling her or minimizing the situation. "It's gonna take some time, but you will feel better."

Kaylee Bennett

Date: 2014-04-07 13:14 EST
The look Kaylee leveled on him was not the friendliest. "You have no idea how many people have already told me that," she said tightly. "They don't know. You don't know. Nobody knows. Just hold on, Kaylee. Be patient, Kaylee. Everything will be all right, Kaylee. You're safe now." She let out a bitter laugh. "How the hell can I be safe anywhere" You can't get away from shadows and darkness, no matter where you are, and they're always there!"

The look on his face changed from sympathetic and caring to something deeper, understanding, empathetic even. He broke his own rules and reached out to touch her hand, a brief but gentle reassurance to let her know she wasn't alone. "I understand more than you can imagine, Kaylee." He hated himself for saying it; hated himself for even calling her by name, but this wasn't just about him. It was about her, too, and if he wanted to end this nightmare - truly end it - he was going to need her help.

A warm hand on her chilled fingers startled her out of her bitter anger at how helpless everyone was to help her deal with this. That hostility faded as she gathered the hand he had touched to her chest, cupping it in the other - not because she had disliked the touch, but because it meant so much more coming from a stranger. Her family could be relied upon to touch, to embrace, to hold her until she calmed down, but a stranger wasn't required to offer her comfort. She hadn't offered any one of forty-two strangers any comfort. She swallowed, looking into his eyes with quiet suspicion that slowly cleared. "Do you? Do you really know?"

He searched her eyes, his heart lurching awkwardly at the pain and confusion and terror he recognized in her eyes, so like his own seven years earlier. He hadn't wanted to tell her his secret - a secret he shared with so very few - not yet, but he had no choice. If he wanted to gain her trust, if he wanted her to help him, then she had to understand that he was the one person - perhaps the only person - who truly understood what she had experienced and what she was going through. "You can't give in to the darkness, Kaylee, no matter how much you want to," he replied, hoping she'd understand what he meant by that, hoping that answer her question in a way that proved he wasn't lying. They were both survivors, chosen for some reason to witness what had been done to them and to those who'd been imprisoned with them. He'd be damned if he was going to let her go through this alone, if he could help it.

For a long time, she simply stared at him, trapped in that broken down old house once again, listening to the death screams of forty-two people over seven months. Feeling the pain of hunger and cold, and claws ripping into her flesh. Reliving the fear and despair that had dogged her for so long. And seeing it there, in his eyes, older but still there. Very slowly, her hand uncurled from her chest, reaching out to lay a single fingertip over his heart. "Lucky number seven."

A wry smile touched his face as she realized he was not so very different from her. He'd had seven years to heal, but the nightmares still woke him in the middle of the night. He'd sworn he'd never let anyone go through what he'd gone through again, but he'd failed. Never again. He'd dedicate the next seven years of his life to finding whoever had done this to them, if it killed him. "That's debatable," he replied. He'd often thought those who'd died were the lucky ones. They were at peace now, and he was left with the horrific memory of all their deaths.

She moved suddenly, thrusting her crumpled piece of paper toward him. He knew, in a way no one else ever could, what that list of names was; why she had taken the time and trouble to write down what little she knew about the people whose deaths she had witnessed. One question rang from her lips, tremulous and heartbroken. "How do I tell their families?"

He took the list from her, already knowing without looking what was written there, but he had to look. He had to know what he already suspected. He unfolded that crumpled piece of paper, his expression changing again as his eyes moved over the names written there, heart sinking. He recognized some of them or parts of them, but how could that be? How were they chosen" They weren't random victims then" He made no reply as he read over the names, his memory traveling back seven years earlier, remembering their names, their faces, their screams as they died. He folded the paper in half and handed it back, trying hard to keep his hand from trembling. "I'm not sure. There are no easy answers, Kaylee."

He glanced away a moment, as if he couldn't meet her gaze or didn't want to meet her gaze. He hadn't wanted her to know this about him yet, if ever. He didn't want her to know that he was just like her in the only way that really mattered.

She nodded, her lips trembling as she struggled for a moment to keep her tears under control. Tears for the people who had died, for the families who had lost them. Tears for herself, the survivor who had done nothing to save them. She took back her piece of paper, hugging it against her chest with a shuddering breath. "I hate it in here," she said, her voice low and harsh in the quiet of the room. "They won't let me out, they won't let me go outside. They keep trying to turn the lights out at night. They won't let me lock the door. They won't even let me eat anything that doesn't taste like someone else has chewed it over first."

She just about took the words out of his mouth. He'd promised not to let anyone else go through what he'd gone through, but it was too late. He'd failed in solving the mystery and saving her and the other forty-two names on her list. Their blood was on his hands as much as the killer's, whoever or whatever that was. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes a moment to draw a slow breath and regain his composure, though his chest was tightening like a vise. Sympathetic eyes turned to her again, seeing her struggling even harder than him. "What can I do to help?" he asked, going against his own rules, letting his guard down for once.

"Tell them I'm better," she said softly. "That I'll recuperate faster if I'm allowed to look after myself." She hesitated, looking down at her trembling hands. "I know my family want me to move in with one of them, but I can't take that. I won't hurt them by letting them see the nightmares and talking to myself and the jumping at shadows that aren't even there. I've been locked away for seven months. I'm dying in here."

He understood what she was asking him for, but he wasn't a doctor and didn't have the authority to have her released. He could talk to them though and maybe sway them one way or the other. There was another problem though, and once again, he found himself willing to get more deeply involved than he'd planned. "You shouldn't be alone right now," he told her, understanding her desire to be free and on her own again, but also understanding how dangerous that could be. "Is there anyone you can stay with' Anyone you trust to keep you safe?"

Kaylee Bennett

Date: 2014-04-07 13:14 EST
Understanding flashed in her eyes easily at his question. Keeping her safe was a major issue for a lot of people right now, but no one really got what they wanted to keep her safe from. No one but the EMT who had brought her in and was asking her, to her face, if she could name anyone who would know what they were looking for. She hugged herself tightly as she shook her head. "No one."

There was that serious frown again, remembering his own recovery and how difficult it had been. There had only been one person he'd trusted, one person who'd understood enough to take him in, one person who would understand his screams in the night, and for that, he would be forever grateful. Maybe he could be that person for her. "You can stay with me, if you want. I have a spare room. It isn't the Ritz, but I can promise you a roof over your head and food in your stomach, and no one will freak out if you wake up screaming or need to sleep with the lights on."

"I can pay," she offered quickly. "I mean, I can pay rent and-and-and I can buy groceries, and ....pay the electricity bill." Swallowing hard, her hand snapped out suddenly, gripping his wrist tight for a long moment. "Thank you for - just, thank you." She released him, hugging her arms about herself once more. "Think they'd release me into your custody' You gotta be trustworthy, you're one of them."

It wasn't about the money. He didn't care about her money, even if she was a Granger. In truth, that hadn't even occurred to him. All that was important was that she had a place to stay where she could feel relatively safe. It had been seven years since his own ordeal, and no one had tried to hurt him since, except the demons in his head. "Maybe. It's not like you're a prisoner here, Kaylee," he reminded her, not flinching from her grasp. Apparently, seven years was enough to heal some things. "I'll talk to someone and see what I can do."

She nodded again, seeming to fold in on herself with a promise that when she finally got out, she would have somewhere to go that wasn't family or alone, or tainted with memories. Somewhere offered by someone who seemed to understand. "Wh-why are are you trying to help me?" she asked him suddenly, confusion taking center stage amid the maelstrom of emotion in her eyes.

From the look on his face, the question seemed to have surprised him and taken him off guard. The answer seemed so obvious, he wasn't sure why she was asking. "Because..." Even so, he hesitated a moment before answering, for the first time since he'd stepped through the door, looking as wounded and confused as she was. "Because we're the same." He could have explained further, but did he really need to"

Again, the haunted fear came back into her eyes, but again, it was only a memory, for now. "How did you do it?" she asked him, her voice barely more than a whisper. "How did you stop the pieces falling apart everywhere in your head" Can you teach me how to make it stop?" She shook, a reflexive action tied directly to the shock she was still feeling, the trauma she had gone through mentally and physically. "I hear them, all the time. The screaming, and pain, and the voices. I can't make the voices go away, always with me, always talking to me, always ....embrace the darkness ....embrace the darkness ..." She began to rock back and forth, trying to comfort herself as she drew her knees to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut against the memories that suddenly crowded in.

He wasn't a doctor. He didn't know how to heal the mind or the body. It had taken years of therapy to get him this far, but what had finally done the trick was his own little secret - something he'd never told the doctors, never told anyone, not even those he trusted with his life. His heart went out to her again, lurching in his chest, almost feeling her pain and confusion, and despite his own fears and uncertainties, he leaned forward to wrap his arms around her, slowly, gently, carefully. "That's the secret, Kaylee. They don't go away. They never go away. They get quiet sometimes, but they're always there. I can't forget them. I don't want to forget them. They're all that keep me going sometimes," he whispered, sharing that secret with her. He wasn't schizophrenic. He wasn't crazy. But he needed those voices to help him, to remind him that he needed to stop it, that he was the only one who could stop it, once and for all.

She stilled as his arms wrapped about her, holding her breath for a painfully long moment as she firmly told her muscles that he was not going to hurt her. He had no reason to hurt her. He wasn't one of them. Slowly, inch by inch, she relaxed, her muttering fading away into silence until she could finally take a long slow breath inward, tilting her head until it rested against his chest, closing her eyes for a long moment. "Thank you," was whispered softly to him, gratitude audible in the tremble of her voice. She'd freaked out and he hadn't watched her in horror, or tried to tell her she was safe. He was just there. He couldn't know how much that meant to her.

He held her close for long moment, letting her decide when she was ready to break free, when she felt safe enough to let go of the only other human being who had any inkling of what she was going through. There was one other, but that was a story for another time. He felt compelled to apologize to her. If it wasn't for his failure to find those responsible, she wouldn't have had to suffer through this living nightmare, but he wasn't sure she was ready to hear it yet. Or maybe he just wasn't ready to say it. He had blamed someone else once for something that wasn't really their fault and still felt the weight of the guilt for it, though he'd been long-since forgiven. "I should go talk to the doctor. Fill out the paperwork," he told her softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You'll want to tell your family where you are and that you're safe." He wondered what they'd think of her agreeing to stay with a man she'd only just met.

She didn't draw away until he spoke again, opening her eyes to look up at him. She knew she was still half-starved, physically weak, recovering from the wounds inflicted on her back and arms, but those would heal with time. It was the state of her mind that was going to keep a lot of people worried for a lot longer. "Can't do that until I know where I'm going," she pointed out in a quiet voice, surprised to find that the cacophony of screams inside her mind had quieted while he held her. Still there, yes, but bearable.

As reluctant as he was to admit it, he was in no hurry to let go of her. She was the first person he'd felt any connection to in a very long time and, he would realize later, the first woman he'd touched since before his own ordeal seven years earlier. Her question, however, required an answer, but before he could tell her, he needed to ask her something else. "Do you trust me, Kaylee?" he asked, as gently as he could.

Kaylee Bennett

Date: 2014-04-07 13:15 EST
What a terrible question to ask her in that moment. Trust was something that would have to be earned now, where before she had always given it without much thought. But hadn't he already earned her trust' He obviously knew what she'd gone through, and just as obviously hadn't told anyone in authority the details. He'd been the first to help her, to bring her home. He'd offered her a place to stay. Brown, haunted eyes rose to meet his once again as she made the decision. "Yes," she told him, nodding, drowning out the voice in her head that wanted her to scream and run away. "Yes, I trust you."

He met her gaze, knowing he would need that trust in the days to come - or she would. She hadn't even started to heal yet, and there would be days when trust was the only thing between herself and insanity. He knew it would take time to heal. The physical wounds, though painful, were nothing compared to the mental and emotional scarring. It could take months, maybe even years. He refused to think she'd be like one other survivor who'd never healed at all. There had been someone who had helped him seven years ago - someone he had trusted. He could be that someone for her. He had to - she needed him. He had no other choice. He smiled that warm, reassuring smile of his again and slowly lifted a hand to touch her cheek, very gently. "You're gonna be okay, Kaylee. I promise."

She tried very hard not to flinch as he reached up to her face, somehow managing only to sway a little way backward before he made contact with her sunken cheek. Holding herself stiff and tense, she swallowed hard. It would take time for her to relax when anyone touched her, but this was a good beginning. "No claws," she said very softly, a reminder to herself more than words for him. "Do ....do you have a garden" Or a park close to where you live?" Somewhere outside where she could spend days as she recovered. Somewhere with no roof or walls to enclose her and remind her of her captivity.

He frowned a little at her reaction, though he wasn't surprised by it. His hand didn't remain there long, just long enough to reassure her before pulling away. "There's a garden, but it's not mine. And a park nearby." Like her, he needed open space and a little room to roam when the nightmares came and he started feeling claustrophobic. "Like I said, it's not the Ritz, but it's safe." He pulled away then and reached for a pen and paper someone had left on the bedside table. "I'm going to give you my address and someone your family can contact if they need to make sure I am who I say I am." He scribbled something on the piece of paper and handed it back. On the paper, he'd written his full name, address, and cell phone number, as well as another name and phone number - someone by the name of Rufus Bennett.

The relief on her face was obvious when he reassured her that there was open space nearby.She'd never been claustrophobic before, and it wasn't quite that, even - it was more a sense of being trapped with the shadows she couldn't quite escape. Taking the paper from his hand, she scanned the writing, and felt a fresh wave of relief at the name he had added. Of all the news she'd received from her family over the past few days, some things had stuck. "Rufus," she said softly. "He married one of my cousins while I was ....a while back. Are-are we family?"

"One of your cousins?" he echoed, searching his memory for a face and a name before it clicked. No wonder her name had seemed familiar. It wasn't just the fact that her family was well known in Rhy'Din, but one of them had married his uncle. "Miranda, isn't it?" he asked, almost relieved to have remembered her name. He'd only met her once and the meeting had been very brief. He wasn't one for socializing much, and Rufus wasn't one to push him.

Kaylee nodded swiftly. The movement was jerky, as though she wasn't quite in control of it, but at least it was appropriate to the question asked. "She's a fashion designer," she offered hesitantly. "Does she know you?"

"She probably doesn't remember me. We only met once," he replied with a small frown. He didn't really care whether she remembered him or not, so long as Rufus knew who he was. Another name and face came to mind, another member of her family who was associated with his uncle. Though he wasn't sure if he should divulge such secrets, she was more than likely going to find out sooner or later anyway. "My uncle has been training a Desmond Granger. You know him?"

The mention of Des brought with it memories of the night of his first date with Piper, an evening Kaylee herself had spent babysitting Lyneth, and for the first time, the barest hint of a smile flickered in her eyes, if not on her face. "Yeah, I ....I used to babysit his daughter," she told Taylor softly. A belated understanding came to her that he was sharing information only Rufus knew, to cement her trust in him, and her expression softened. "He's a good guy."

Even Rhy'Din was a small world, it seemed. He wasn't sure why he hadn't connected the dots earlier. Maybe he'd been too distracted by his own memories, or maybe he'd just been distracted by her. He blinked out of these thoughts just in time to catch a brief smile flicker across her face, like a ray of sunshine peeking through rainclouds. Maybe there was hope for her yet. He mirrored the smile, just as briefly. "Yeah, he is. I owe him a lot. If it wasn't for him, I..." He didn't finish the rest, hoping she could fill in the blanks on her own. Rufus had been the one who'd helped him get through his own ordeal seven years ago.

She didn't need him to finish. Her thoughts already had a worrying trend in that direction, a trend she doubted her family had realized was so very strong, so difficult to ignore. But it was her family that had kept her from trying thus far, and she thought that maybe Taylor could complete the circle to keep it from happening altogether. "I don't want to hurt them," she confessed, very soft, very vulnerable in the grip of her own unfocused fears. "Don't let me."

"What doesn't destroy you makes you stronger. Rufus told me that once. I didn't believe it at the time." He found himself reaching for her hand, almost without realizing it. Knowing she had gone through the same horrors he had almost made him want to cry. No one should have to suffer like that, certainly not someone as fragile and gentle as her. Like a bird with a broken wing, he thought to himself. Had he ever been that fragile" He had been broken in mind and body, but they had never broken his spirit. If nothing else, maybe he could at least help her through this, help her learn to live again. God, he hoped so.

Bruised and cut fingers curled into his hand with a startlingly hard grip, after only a bare moment of hesitation. Holding onto something other than the loving ignorance of a family who just wanted her well again. Holding onto the certainty that if he could do it, so could she. "How did it make you stronger?" she asked him, unnervingly staring into his eyes with haunting intensity.

Kaylee Bennett

Date: 2014-04-07 13:17 EST
He shrugged lightly, unsure just how to answer that question in a way she could understand. "You have two choices. You can let it destroy you, or you can choose to fight back. You can choose not to let the darkness win. I made my choice. I'm not gonna lie to you. It isn't easy. Some days are harder than others. The nights are the hardest, but I refuse to let the darkness win. Otherwise, what was the point of all those deaths" There's no one to remember but me, and I refuse to have let them die in vain. I've spent the last seven years trying to figure it all out so I can stop it. I refuse to give up. I won't rest until I put an end to it forever. I only wish I could have stopped it sooner. Before....Before you..." He broke off, his voice breaking, turning his head aside so she couldn't see his face.

Her grip, apparently so fragile, tightened as he trailed off, understanding that he felt guilt for what had happened to her, for what had happened to the others who hadn't survived. "It isn't your fault," she heard herself say harshly. "The people who put us in there - it's their fault. And-and I want to help. I want to put them down and I want to burn that house to the ground with those monsters inside it." The determination burned in her eyes, anger and pain mixed together to form pure, unadulterated vengeance, a hatred that no one should ever have to feel. "Let me help."

She could tell him it wasn't his fault, but they were only words, after all. In time, she might come to hate him for not having stopped it before she'd become part of it. He'd had seven years, after all. Seven years that had led to a dead end, and now they had seven more. He drew a slow breath to steady his voice before turning back to her, struggling to control the emotions that were threatening to spill forth. He nodded his head in agreement. They were monsters. There was no question about that, and he knew he had to face them again, if only to put an end to it once and for all, but he wouldn't have to do it alone. Not this time. "We will," he promised, as he found his voice again. "But first, you have to heal and regain your strength. Then we can think about vengeance."

"I'll be better than new," she promised fiercely. "I'll be stronger and faster and harder. They won't get me again." Finally, she released his hand. Her grip had been so hard that her own skin tingled with the rush of blood back to the tips of her fingers, and she realized she might have hurt him, looking down at his hand. "Sorry."

He'd been so lost in his own amalgamation of conflicted thoughts and feelings, he'd hardly noticed the tight grip she'd had on his hand until she mentioned it. "We can't let it happen again, Kaylee. I won't let it happen again," he told her, that same fierce determination, rage, and hatred mirrored in his own eyes, if only for a moment before he regained control. Suddenly, he seemed to remember where they were - in a hospital room where anyone could step into the room at any moment and overhear them discussing retribution when she was supposed to be healing. "First things first. We can talk about it later." A thought came to mind and he smiled a little. "How do you feel about solid food?" he asked, knowing they'd probably had her on a diet of bland soft food that was easy to digest but not very appetizing.

The echo of her own feelings in his eyes was all the reassurance she needed. To know that she was not alone in needing to end whatever had been done, to know it would never happen again. It took her longer to take control of those feelings and set them aside, but his smiling change of subject helped. "You know what? I think I'm close to committing murder for a burger."

"I know a place," he said with a smile, though he wasn't sure if she was quite ready for burgers or people, just yet. There was always take out, and indigestion was nothing compared to what she'd just been through. "I'm a medical technician, you know. Almost as good as a doctor without all the fuss."

"Wait, are you saying you can break me out of here?" she asked, suddenly amazed and more than willing to do anything just to be able to walk in sunshine for a few minutes. "Seriously' I would promise you my first child if you could do that. If I had any intention of ever having children."

For the first time since walking through the door, he actually laughed, his whole face lighting up. "Whoa," he said, raising a hand in the air to slow her down. "Slow down, Speedy. We haven't known each other long enough for that kind of commitment yet." The yet sort of hung in the air, coming out of his mouth purely by accident. He had no romantic expectations where she was concerned. He had, in fact, avoided romantic entanglements of any kind for the last seven years, but he couldn't deny that he felt a certain attraction toward her. Or maybe it was just their shared experiences that connected them. "One thing at a time." He moved to his feet, not quite as slowly or carefully as he had when he'd first arrived, confident he'd won her trust, at least, for the time being. "Let me talk to the doctor and get the paperwork going. I'm not exactly next of kin, but it might help that our families are related."

Romance was not high on her list of priorities anymore. It didn't even occur to her that what she'd said might be taken that way. She just wanted out of the hospital, to have some control back over her own life. Anything to begin feeling just a little bit normal again. "Okay," she conceded, the frustration clear, but held passive by her understanding of the system. She'd had enough family members in hospital, after all. She knew how that side of it worked. "Count down to getting out of here begins now."

"Call your family while I work on softening up the hospital staff," he said as he started toward the door. "They'll worry if they don't know where you are." He paused as he reached the door, turning back around, as if he needed to tell her one final thought before he broke her out of here. "You're gonna be okay, Kaylee. I promise." He wasn't sure how he knew it or why he'd said it. It was just a feeling, but he'd seen victims of trauma before, plenty of times in his line of work and could almost predict which ones were going to make it and which weren't.

She wasn't so different from him, after all. She was a survivor, just like him, but more importantly, she was a fighter. All he had to do was give her a reason to live, and it seemed he'd done that. The rest she'd have to do herself, but he'd be there to help her every step of the way.

((Broken but not destroyed, there's hope for her yet! Many thanks to Taylor's player for going along with my most recent bout of nuttiness!))