p a t r o c l u s

Even just those brief moments of consciousness, just those few words, are enough to relieve about ninety percent of Mortimer’s stress. He woke, he talked, he was cognizant of his surroundings. 

He spends the next day practically walking on air, doing away with the grim thoughts of Levi never getting out of that bed, never waking up. It’s not to say that all issues have been resolved. Levi will still have a long recovery ahead of him, to say nothing of the giant, glaring issue of this all being Mortimer’s fault. 

But it’s a start.

The next time Levi wakes, Mortimer’s off getting coffee – and he nearly drops it when he walks back in the room to see Levi’s eyes open. This late at night, it’s quiet and still, even the beeping of machines seems hushed, if not the snoring of various other patients.

“You’re awake,” he says, stupidly, from the doorway, seemingly not quite sure what to do.

Thankfully, muscle memory kicks in, and it’s a moment’s work to get from there to Levi’s side, perching gingerly on the side of the bed, taking care not to jostle him.

“You’re in the hospital,” he fills in gently. “It’s been four weeks, you’ve been out for most of it. Everybody else is fine.” Sort of. “The mission’s over. And you’re still healing from that giant bloody hole in your middle.”

Christ. He’s had nightmares about that. Every night he watches that spear sink into Levi’s belly while he watches on uselessly, every night he wakes up in a cold sweat and a plea for mercy on his lips. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the bloody smear left behind after Levi’s body was dragged out of the arena.

“You’ve made a habit of this,” he jokes weakly. “I don’t know how much more my heart can take.”

Levi breathes slowly. Memories trickle in. A colosseum. A spear. Bobby. 

“How—” he starts. His voice fails him and he clears his throat. He doesn’t even know where to start. It’s not like there’s anyone to debrief him, in the traditional sense. “I never would have thought...” he says, shaking his head. It’s difficult to form a complete thought, he realizes. It’s probably just the painkillers...

He brings his hand up and gently runs his fingers down Mort’s jaw, the uncustomary scruff scratching his fingers. There are a lot of things to say. He doesn’t know where to start.

“I’m out for a month and you decide to try out a new look?” he asks after a moment with a hint of a grin.

“Oh please tell me you’ve been dreaming of this since you were a little boy. I need to know if all the details match. Or what you decided to change.” 

Levi scrubs his hand through his hair and ducks his head. “I never...” he says quietly. He shakes his head a bit. “It never even crossed my mind. That this would ever happen.” He knows Lena will understand.

The doctors weren’t even startled at the sight of Mortimer when he’d turned up at the hospital, wild-eyed, spattered with blood, ranting and raving about how he needed to see Levi. After all, they’d just been dealing with a man who’d taken a spear to the chest and a man who’d had his leg cut off. Some asshole with a bit of blood on him didn’t compare.

Safe to say, Mortimer rarely leaves the hospital during those following weeks.

He does, once, get escorted out, after nearly punching a doctor who had been trying to fill him in on his options. On Levi’s options. Whether he’d ever wake up. Mortimer knew the statistics, he knew once a coma passed a week then the chances were astronomically low of ever waking up, but he didn’t care to hear them said out loud.

Other than that, he sits. He holds Levi’s hand. He waits. He tries desperately not think about the very real possibility that Levi will never wake up. He quietly thinks over plans for Noah, building a leg for him, as a small way he might be able to make up for his wrongs. Some days he tries gently bidding Levi to wake, other days he curses a blue streak at him. It’s the latter that seems to have a result, a spike in brain activity before it’s gone.

It’s normal, the doctors tell him. Coma patients have spikes in activity due to external stimulus. Don’t get your hopes up.

But one day, when Mortimer’s in the middle of reciting King Lear in hopes of waking Levi out of sheer spite, Levi’s eyelids flutter, then slowly part.

“Holy– fuck, Levi, oh my god,” Mortimer sputters, jumping to his feet, heart going triple-time. “Jesus, don’t try to talk, you’re intubated. There’ll be a doctor here in a moment, I promise.” All he can do is lean over and press a shaking hand to Levi’s cheek, then further up, brushing back hair that’s grown a little too long. “You’re in the hospital, you’re fine. Well, you’re not fine, but– you’re better, you’re healing.”

Doctors and nurses swarm into the room before Mortimer’s even finished talking, directing him away so that they have access to Levi. He fights the intubation a bit, but he’s still a bit too fuzzy to be truly anxious about it.

He knows that voice, remembers how it sounds when it’s yelling and murmuring and everything in between. He knows those hands, knows they’ve carded through his hair just like that countless times.

As the doctor efficiently extubates him, Levi struggles to remember the man’s name.

Even through his cotton-cloudy thoughts, panic pierces.

Levi coughs and someone hands him a glass of water; he drinks it because...when was the last time he’d actually drank anything, again?

“How long?” Levi manages, his voice rough from disuse. He coughs again, takes another sip of water. 

“Four weeks, give or take,” a person in a white coat says, jotting something down on a clipboard. “You’re a fighter, Mr. Mercer.”

Levi bites back a bitter laugh. Even just that action sends ripples of pain through his body.

Distantly, Levi knows the doctor keeps talking, but Levi’s focus fades rapidly. Just before he begins to doze, he has a thought.

Mortimer. Of course. Mortimer.

///

When he wakes up again, he feels present. Grounded. He shifts and winces. It’s hard to pinpoint where the pain is, because it feels like it’s everywhere. It’s night time, he thinks, because the hallway seems quiet.

The room is empty save for him, but a jacket slung over the back of a chair tells Levi someone can’t be too far.

There is only so much trauma a human body can take.

Levi dies once in the ambulance and twice on the operating table. Or, his heart stops anyway. The blood loss alone was critical, let alone the organ damage, the shattered ribs, the punctured lung.

He was in a coma, afterward. It was impossible to tell, the doctors said, the extent of the brain damage. There had been a significant lack of blood flow and oxygen to the brain, after all. His ribs would heal, and his leg too—as long as the sepsis or brain damage didn’t kill him first, of course.

It was a long four weeks.

After the infection passed, it was largely a lot of sitting around and waiting. Doctors and nurses were in and out, quietly counseling Mortimer on what his options were. Levi’s body, worn down after years of abuse, fought on.

\\\

With his first shreds of consciousness, Levi feels the scratch of a tag on the nape of his neck. It’s itchy, he thinks absently. Then, he is gone.

\\\

He is conscious again and more aware of his surroundings this time, though he cannot quite move or open his eyes. He hears voices—both strange and familiar. His head hurts. His stomach hurts. There is pressure on his palm, like…like someone is holding his hand. It’s nice, he thinks. I had this, once, didn’t I? Someone who held my hand? He doesn’t dwell on it long as the dark drags him under.

\\\

The third time, Levi’s grasp on reality is much stronger. He can feel his fingers and his toes. He can hear the beep of machines, tugging him further awake. He knows that time has passed but he doesn’t know how much. He remembers…he remembers blood. And pain.

Wake up, a little voice tells him. Wake up.

codanpc‌:

‘Unknowingly’ targeting the right arm was not necessarily the case. Marion was tactical before all else and having read Mortimer’s file she knew more information on him than he would care to divulge. But she was playing dumb… at least in the sense of how much she was pretending to know him. Knowledge is power, but information purposefully withheld is even more so. 

She laughs again, smaller and lighter, a sound tinny and hollow. “I should hope that I’m in to solid state electronic. I do make my living creating prototype integrated circuits.” 

She can see the taller man seething with repressed anger and maybe even worry. Marion can’t help but genuinely beam at the thought of being in control. 

“I really wish I didn’t sound like a fangirl right now but I do have a habit of finding what people try to hide from me. My siblings never let me play hide and seek with them for exactly that reason,” she crooned, “And it was just the one photo. But I have to say it does not do you justice.” 

Levi’s got his thinking face on – it’s not obvious, and in fact looks like his regular face, but Mortimer can tell. Levi’s probably thinking up all sorts of plans, but Mortimer’s kind of stuck on please, miss, please take your hand off my arm, oh my god.

Finally, he draws his arm back, tucking it a little behind his side. There. That’s significantly better.

But then sets in the panic about exactly what photo she saw. Did he take a drunken photo at some point that he doesn’t remember? His memory is impeccable, except for when he gets drunk, then it’s a little shaky. But he’s fairly certain there’s no embarrassing photos out there – other than his CIA ID photo, which, yes, is terrible, courtesy of little sleep and grouchiness at the photographer.

“Oh, really? Let me guess, you’re either with Bells Labs or Fairchild. The self-aligned gate was an incredible breakthrough. We’re already integrating that technology into the Apollo program, it’ll be an enormous time saver.” It comes out slightly distracted, because… has she seen his CIA photo? How? “Er, I’m forgetting my manners. You know who I am, it seems. Miss…?”

He doesn’t offer his hand to shake. There’s been significantly too much touching already.

The more the woman talks the more unsettled Levi gets. He hides it well, obviously, but his drink is forgotten as his attention is acutely elsewhere.

There is only so much Levi knows about the fineries of Mortimer’s work, but it seems that whatever the woman is saying seems to pass his muster in terms of validity, so she certainly knew her stuff.

He arches an eyebrow slightly as he waits for the woman to properly introduce herself.

codanpc‌:

She laughs at Mortimer’s words throwing her head back joyously, her flaming red hair catching the light. It wasn’t even meant to be funny, she knew that, but she was trying her best to perform joviality. “Immensely? I’m so glad to hear that!” 

Her eyes turn to the other man, much taller and more intimidating. But she looks undaunted, her smile fixed on her face, “No mishaps at all thus far!” she said, “I mean the occasion drunk causing mayhem. But I bought extra ice sculptures just in case someone knocked one over. I’m ready for any eventuality. Otherwise, everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be.” 

She places a hand on Mortimer’s arm, “Really Mr. Redford, it’s such an honor to have such a brilliant mind here with us tonight. I have to admit, and this is a little embarrassing, one might consider me a geek for your MANIAC work.” 

Levi, of course, is Mr. Smooth. Mortimer’s been keeping half an eye on the amount of alcohol he’s consuming, even though he’s fully aware that Levi isn’t going to be stupid and mix pain medication with too much booze, but attempting to calculate precise blood alcohol content takes his mind off the dreadfully boring party.

But now his eye is drawn downward, where the woman has a hand on his arm. He can’t feel it, because she’s unknowingly targeted the right one, but–

Mortimer stares blankly. He can’t jerk away and make a scene. He has to be composed. Composure is very important here, no matter how much he can’t abide being touched by strangers.

“Um.” Oh, Christ, she knows who he is. “Thank you. I was particularly proud of the associative 16-deep lookup memory. Are you… into solid-state electronics?”

God. That sounded like a pick-up line! Abort! Abort!

“I’m surprised you recognize me.” It’s said through grit teeth. “I don’t exactly have a habit of allowing people to take photographs of me, much less publish them.”

There is not a single part of this that Levi likes.

Not the oily slick way the woman talks, not the way she knew exactly who Mortimer was, especially not the way her hand settled on Mortimer’s arm.

This is bad. Levi doesn’t know how bad, but his mind has begun to whir with contingencies.

His grip tightens minutely on his champagne flute and he takes a sip, pausing to see how the woman responds. Because how does she know Mort or, perhaps more importantly, how will she say she does?

“Oh, really, maybe I ought to get by a bus, it might do wonders for my chronic anxiety,” Mortimer mutters sourly, eyeing the people around them. Do these people really have nothing better to do with their money than spend it on solid gold and diamonds? Christ. 

As they get in line for the door, Mortimer does his best to not glower at Mr. Stone’s back. They’re going to have to follow him and make sure he doesn’t try to start something, which Mortimer is very much not looking forward to.

Until then, though, Mortimer can do one thing: he can channel the attitude of his parents as they reach the door man checking tickets, and hands his ticket over with barely a glance toward him. He’s not good at acting, but this is one thing he can do. Because no stupidly wealthy person would deign to notice the help. “Do you think they have any decent wine here tonight?” he asks Levi, projecting absolute boredom. “Because the rumors I heard about last year, gosh. Barely fit to touch the lips of the middle class, I was told.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Levi replies lightly.

He falls quiet as they approach the door, taking a final moment to center himself before he flashes his invitation to the doorman.

“Oh, did you hear that from the Faradays? They’re always so overdramatic,” Levi says, rolling his eyes and, when the doorman doesn’t make any move to stop them, sauntering on.

Step one complete.

Levi sets his shoulders back and smiles faintly. “Let’s get you some wine to try out, yeah?”

Some of them, Mortimer can deal with. He understands Levi’s reluctance to take a full dose – he doesn’t want to be doped up in case anything happens, and with the way this case is shaking out, something just might happen. Who the hell knows?

“Oh, shut up,” he snorts, gently tugging on Levi’s hair. “I’m the furthest thing from action film material and you know it. I’ll leave that to Steve McQueen, thank you very much.”

Still. Mortimer is sort of pleased that he actually managed to survive scaling a building. Considering that he only has the one working arm, it was something to be proud of. Which is an entirely new feeling, given that Mortimer’s usually only proud of his intellectual feats.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Lena,” he admits. “I got– distracted, briefly, and slipped. And she held my entire bloody weight with one arm for a good few seconds. She’s a good deal stronger than she looks. I’d forgotten about that.”

Levi goes through several emotions in rapid succession. 

First, there’s a shock of...fear? Anxiety? It’s not an emotion Levi is familiar with. It’s not something he’s particularly fond of.

Anger, for having Mortimer go through with it in the first place.

Relief that he is okay. 

Gratitude that Lena had been there. He’d have to thank her, spy to spy.

A separate, complicated tangle of emotions that is a wash of protectiveness immediately followed by a conscious reminder that there were limits they set going into this. They’d known it would get intense, but this was next level.

“She is,” Levi says weakly. “Let’s try to keep your feet on the ground for a while, hm?”

guilt once again pulled at her heart as levi so quickly believed her. she hated lying to him and to the rest of the team. but she had to just keep telling herself that it was all for the best. that this all was going to be for the best. once the mission was done she could tell them and maybe they’d be happy for her. but for now, she couldn’t risk being let go from the team. “come sit then. i think you deserve some rest. i promise i won’t tackle you from the couch this time.” she said smiling, as she got him the water. getting some of her own, damn not being able to drink,  she took a seat next to him. “so…the files. did you read them yet?”

Levi is quick to laugh, brought back to so many years ago in an instant.

He’s still stiff in his movements, but settling carefully onto the couch brings welcome relief. Who knew standing could be so exhausting?

“Thank you,” he says quietly. He takes a sip of water before answering. “I’ve read through a couple of the ones Mort typed up. They’re...I’ve never seen anything like them, to be honest.”

“Slowly,” Mortimer admits. “It turns out that climbing is a strenuous activity and my arm aches. But I should be done in a few hours.”

He tuts in the aftermath of Levi’s attempted move, leaning over to rearrange the pillows under his head so he’s more comfortable. The doctor had said that Levi should take at least a few days of bedrest to give his leg a chance to heal, but since Mortimer knows Levi isn’t going to make that happen, he’ll just have to make sure Levi rests while he can.

Bloody stubborn bastard.

“We’re flying out tonight,” he adds, and because he needs to have at least one hand on Levi to reassure himself he’s alright, Mortimer ruffles through the short hair behind Levi’s ear, an absent light stroke. “Sadly I think your high will have worn off by then, but the doctors have provided you a veritable treasure chest of opiates.” He puts on his best stern face. “Are you actually going to take them? Because I won’t stand for any unnecessary macho business.”

Levi laughs. “Still can’t believe you scaled a building,” he says. “You’re a proper spy now, you know. That’s a right of passage,” he teases. “Something out of an action film.”

He lets Mortimer fuss. It’s familiar and it reminds him of home, of coming back to their flat after a mission and finding Mort up, even if it was the middle of the night, tinkering or writing code or reading something that looked exceedingly dull.

The idea of getting on a plane sounded horrid—Levi didn’t like flying on a good day—and neither did the idea of the drugs wearing off if he was being honest, but he knew it was better that they did sooner rather than later. Already the floaty feeling was beginning to lose its edge, no matter how Levi tried to cling to it.

“I’ll take some of them,” Levi allows because though it’s nice to feel distant and floaty, it makes him a pretty useless spy, especially going into a high danger situation like they’re about to. He needs to be firing on all cylinders; he can’t afford any sort of brain fog. Besides, he worked better under a bit of pain anyway.

klara watched levi shuffling into her room, certainly not what she was hoping to happen from the diversion. sure they needed to find a way to get everyone’s attention but she had hoped it would result in levi not getting hurt. but she knew he was tough and would be back up on his feet in no time

deep down klara knew why he was here, even if she hoped it might be something more formal. something to do with the mission and nothing to do with her personal life. “no…no it won’t be a problem. i can solve it with lena.” she hoped. she was still here to do a job, she needed to be able to do that still. “i…i got it handled. you can just focus on getting better.” klara smiled. “come on, would you like something to drink?”

Levi frowns but he nods. “All right,” he says. The last thing he wants to do is get into personal issues, but he has to keep a tight ship and if there’s any sort of tension he needs it gone before it’s started. He has no choice but to take Klara’s word for it—and he does believe her, he does—but he can’t help but wonder what had been going on in the first place.

“Sure,” he says, relaxing a bit. “Some water would be lovely.”

               “  indeed,  please take a seat,   ”   he offers,   closing the door and breezing by levi to dig up what he set out to look for this morning.   it’s not much,  pills will do more for levi than this ever will,   but it’ll help the Man Who Got Hit By A Bus move about while his leg improves.   not that charlie wants him to use it often,   but by levi’s reaction to his small prod,   he can tell that he’s facing a stubborn patient. 

      “  you willingly got hit by a bus so what the hell can i tell you about pain,  but this will certainly ease some of your troubles.   just try not to use it too much,   i’d rather you not walk around until you really must,   but this whole time-sensitive mission thing makes it impossible and i,   personally,   find it more useful to redirect my energy.   ”    charlie turns around with a crutch in his hand,   placing it next to levi to begin adjusting its height. 

Levi frowns but his shoulders slump after a moment. As stubborn as he was, he wasn’t about to purposefully ignore every single one of the doctor’s orders just to prove some kind of point. If he needed to check in on people he was going to check in on people, but using a crutch to do so wasn’t out of the question.

"Thanks,” Levi says simply, accepting the crutch and testing it out for size.