Amnesia (Nico x Hahvoc)

[Nico]

" I had always been frightened of him.

There was something strange, something foreign in him that lurked beneath a flawlessly executed facade.

I knew he was dangerous. I knew it from the start.

It's the truth, when I say I thought I hated him. Those eyes. Those damn arrogant eyes! They saw my every mistake, my fear, and brought them to the surface without sympathy, or remorse. Hmh. I'm very self conscious, you should know. Always second guessing myself, stumbling over my insecurities in private... Ah.

I had success keeping that part of me out of my work, until he was assigned to me. The people who brought him said he was a part of a counseling service, they told me to get him to talk, find out anything I could. I had courage at first; I thought I could find his weaknesses, his hopes and fears. But not even a glance into his mind was awarded to me; I couldn't get past cold, observant eyes. He made me feel pathetic.

The reason being, I could never read him. His face didn't give anything away and my probing questions bounced like pebbles on a lake, only to slip beneath his cool surface before I could retrieve them. It made me question myself and my training. He liked that, making me scramble. Bastard.

We'd sit like this for hours, a verbal tango. Myself, Trying to remain professional and calm, going around in desperate circles, and he, seemingly laughing at me. I hated that most. I hated that he was so damn intimidating; his sharp eyes, sharp tongue, and the fact he could weed out an understanding of me. It was my first year of formal practice, and I got stuck with his case. I've never had a harder client than him... He was complex- as if his very skin was made of secrets. I could not understand why.

That was, until he let me in. Just that once. "



Oliver Tell woke to the sound of his alarm, before slamming his hand down on the button with a groan and slowly sat up to rub the dream from his head. He hadn't had it in a year... Why was it back? Always the same: The replay of his former cases' admission. The sick look on the man's face as he confessed. Groping in the dark, Oliver found the light switch for a lamp, illuminating his sparse, tidy bedroom. It was large, but also largely empty, like the rest of his home. He wasn't a very materialistic person.

4:45 AM.

"Shit." There was no way he'd get back to sleep. It had been three years since he 'd condemned that man, yet the memories were back. He had been obligated to do something.. The man was dangerous. He could hurt someone, he... Oliver's thoughts tapered off there, settling into a familiar guilt. It had been a Friday, the day his mentor had other clients and wouldn't stay to critique him. He was alone with the client. Oliver had listened in stunned silence, and then pressed the buttons for 911. In the entirety of his prospective career he had never betrayed a client; yet, he had handed over that one to the authorities like something poisonous. Oliver shook his head, trying to rid himself of the imprinted look the man gave him as he was dragged none too gently from his office. The same look as he testified in court... Then the man's sentence. Just forget him.. Three years, and he still had those dreams.

Shuffling half-awake to the shower, he let the water warm, then stood beneath the hot torrent as it ran over his neck and back. Oliver leaned his head on his arm against the wall, letting the warmth melt his thoughts away and relax his muscles. Heat he couldn't resist. In that respects he was akin to a cat; he was always seeking warmth, and without a source he cloud be found bundled in layers of sweaters. It was just too damn cold here. He wouldn't have stayed and rented this small house on the edge of the city limits if not for the job opportunities offered to him here. Almost finished with his Master's, and he was doing well for himself, working closely with his mentor and various clients. The twenty-four year old ran hands haphazardly through short brown locks, massaging the soap into his scalp and wiping it out of green eyes. Showers seemed to be the only thing he had a real fondness for nowadays.

Certainly, he wasn't one to openly seek "adventure," but it was as if something was missing. His life had washed into a dull grey, like the clouds here that blocked the sun from darkening his pale brown skin. The abundance of vitamin D was what Oliver missed most about Arizona. Part Native American, part white trash, the boy had grown up amongst the culture, as well as the casualties of the slums. There was a reservation near by his school, but they scorned him. They weren't of his tribe. His family had moved down from Idaho to settle there before he was born. Something about better access to drugs, drug trade, probably... He knew he had to leave his home if he wanted to make a life for himself. There was nothing back there for him with his alcoholic father and his abusive mother. They had five other kids to worry about, to beat. He sent money every month, but not a phone number or a return address. Oliver had learned his lesson when they tried to get access to his scholarship money that was awarded to him to help with his psychology degree. He wanted his own life. It wasn't hard, but it was dull. Turning his thoughts away from depression and insecurity, he focused on his stomach. Breakfast sounded good. He dressed quickly in jeans, socks, and a green sweater, cranking up the heater as he did.

Soon eggs were on a pan, sausages bubbling beside them, and coffee brewing in a press. He watched faint car lights pass lazily outside his window, looking up at the horizon still dotted with stars. It was almost pitch black outside, the light shed from his kitchen window only illuminating the side of the house up until the edges of the woods. Turning back to the warmth of his stove, Oliver flipped the eggs.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

He had been sentenced to live out his days in a mental hospital.

The verdict had never surprised him but then again, most people would have been surprised if they were right in the head. He was smart, smarter than most, but he knew that something was disconnected from what should have made him a human being. And yet he had never been able to make himself care. He had indulged a secret, wondering how his handsome little therapist would have been able to handle himself. He had been cocky, impulsive, and because of his confession he had been arrested and sent to this hell-hole where he was surrounded by the insane that screamed at invisible demons and were scared of things like bunnies to the point that they would piss themselves at the very mention of the things.

Pathetic.

Lowell Kerrigan sat in the common room, fiddling with a chess piece. He was holding the queen in his hands, his fingers running over the facets cut into the little plastic piece. He had a chess set at home that had been made of glass and was much more elegant and regal than the piece he held in his hands but he felt powerful just holding it and knowing that he was saner than most of the people in this place. He wanted out of here. Looking at his arms, he counted the cuts, one for every month he had been here. The combination of cuts on his arms showed him he had been here for three years. Three years was long enough to him. They thought he was cutting because he was insane but no, he was cutting to keep himself sane and keep track of time. They didn’t care to tell you how long you had been in this place. They didn’t care to let you know what time it was unless it was relevant to their little programs that he despised. His favorite pastime was to point out all the flaws of the orderlies and the crazies. He spilled the secrets of their fears and sent them back in their therapy by months if not years. It was the only game he ever enjoyed.

Yet here he was, treated like an insane criminal because he had divulged to his therapist that he wanted to know what it would be like to cut someone open while they were still alive and take out their organs. To make them look like a marionette with their strings cut off, head and hands removed and then rearranged inside their chest cavity. It had been a fantasy that had plagued him and when he had spilled that secret, he had felt the sickness that was inside him well up and spill over his faculties. Maybe he was crazy. The thought just made him grin. He knew he hadn’t always felt this way but something in him was lost long ago and even now he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps a wire in his brain just had never fully connected.

Well, he would just be an ordinary little moronic thing if it had, now wouldn’t he? But he would get out. He would.

------------

Where was he? Lowell stumbled around in the rising dawn, wondering where the hell he was. He honestly had no clue. Hell, he didn’t even know who he was much less where he was. But he felt that he needed to hide to disappear, to do something besides walk around in the coming daylight. His feet hurt from his lack of shoes but why wasn’t he hearing shoes? And what kind of clothes was he even wearing? There were too many questions with no answers. He was lost somewhere in this city, at least, he believed this was a city. And it was cold. Wrapping his arms around himself, he knew instinctively he had been walking for a long time and he had blood on his arms. Yet that blood wasn’t his, he knew that. What had he been doing? Where was he? Why was he even out here? Shouldn’t he be somewhere else? The more he thought about it, the more his head hurt, a cut on his head causing blood to get into his eyes. He wiped it away quickly, as if afraid the blood would do something to him. He was lost. He had to be. Why else couldn’t he remember where he was?

“What happened to me..?” He asked no one but the trees that surrounded him. They had no answer and so he leaned against one, white clothes bright in the darkness. Why couldn’t he remember anything? Had he fallen down? Wincing, he put his hands to his head, cradling it as he forced himself to relax. Someone would help him, right? Someone just…had to help…right? But help him with what? It was too confusing to think.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

Oliver hummed a tune, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the press. It was some sort of old Russian sailor's dance that he'd heard on the radio. Despite his dislike of classical music, folk music was a welcome alternative. It was amazing how two different styles could transform the sound of the same instruments so dramatically.


Plating the his breakfast, he turned off the stove and reached over towards the window to turn the radio on. He always listened to NPR as part of his morning ritual, but this time his usually deft finger's slipped on the volume dial, making the noise blast through his small kitchen.

Oliver stumbled back, until his lower back collided with the counter. It was a good thing he had set down his plate before reaching over, otherwise his food would have been scattered across the floor. His was heart thumping like crazy in his chest, throat tight, adrenaline aflame. Just as he'd reached for the radio, Oliver's eyes had caught movement out in the yard; the sight of what looked to be a man dressed in white startled his nervous system into overdrive. Quickly regaining himself in a panic, he rushed to shut off the loud racket coming from the radio, but not before a reporter voiced the impossible,


"-male, brown hair, blue eyes, last seen on foot near freemont, has broken out of Emallry Mental Hospital. Visit our site online for more information and for a picture. I repeat, for the area of Bethel, If you see this person, do not approach him. Alert the authorities. He is extremely dangerous and highly unstable. With more details on the report of the scene of the crime is-"


Shaking fingers drew the blinds closed in one swift motion, knowing he'd given himself away. That figure in white, just that glimpse, was that-? No. No way. There was no way that asshole could get past that level of security- they told him when he testified that Kerrigan was given a life sentence. They told him that he wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. B-besides... How the fuck could get all the way out here on foot? I mean- I am… a two hours drive from Emallry! Unless the mad man had walked all night. Fear clenched in his gut. It's not him, you coward. Just go and tell the druggie to leave. It's just some kid… Still, Oliver's hand shook on the door nob as he twisted it and stepped out into the freezing morning air.

Oliver cursed quietly, sticking his hands under his armpits. Shoes starting to get wet with the dew of the grass, he made his way around the side of the house. His heart almost stopped again when he saw the white-clad figure slouching at the edge of the woods. He was still there. "Hey!" Oliver yelled, trying to sound intimidating, though he took halting steps forward. It was as if some sort of sick curiosity drove him to see more. It can't be him… It's not him… "Who are you? What are you doing on my property?" He demanded, scowling as he drew closer. The shadows around the figure started to recede. Oliver wondered if he should just stop now and tell him off, but he kept walking.

Red. Oh shit… There were big red splotches on the white clothes. Most of it looked dark and dried, some of it looked fresh. The person cradled his head in his hands, which, like his arms, were stained red as well. He couldn't see the man's face, but that wasn't his biggest worry anymore.

Blood. "Are you okay?" Oliver squeaked out after the initial shock, then cleared his voice, embarrassed. The fear was making his legs shake. Why was he still walking forward? He must be insane. Oliver wanted to run like mad, but his concern rooted him in the spot, eyes traveling over the shadowed figure. The man looked like he was critically hurt. He wasn't wearing any shoes. Oliver's toes were starting to freeze, even within his shoes and socks. "Hey- hey, look- come inside and I'll help you okay? Come on," Oliver said automatically, his voice falling to it's normal, gentle timbre, though none the less frantic. It looked like there was a lot of blood, was the man's head bleeding? Oh shit shit shit- He'd need to call an ambulance, and- wait, no- take him inside first, so he wouldn't freeze, then call an ambulance. Yeah.

"Come on, I'll help you walk, it's just over there, you can make it." He encouraged, stepping up to the man. Now that he was closer, the clothes looked odd. Hastily, Oliver wrapped an arm behind the bleeding man's back trying to help support his weight. "Lean against me, and put your arm over my shoulders. Do you understand?" He asked again, hoping the man would allow him to take him away from the woods and into the warmth of his house. What happened to him? Was he attacked by a wild animal or something? No, he didn't look like a hiker or a hunter, and it was way too early for anyone to be out, much less barefoot. Maybe a mugging, or a victim of abuse? Horrific scenarios played out in his head. He wouldn't know until he could get a look at the wounds. "Don't worry, I'll help you," he said softly, hoping the stranger wouldn't pass out.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

The only thing Lowell could focus on was the pounding his head and that there was blood all over his hands in the cold air. His feet were aching and cut up, but his head- oh, his head!- hurt so much worse than any of his body aches. He had the feeling that he had been hit really hard on the head or maybe even fell down or something. He didn't know but the pain was almost unbearable. Where was he? The tree supported his back as he almost double-over, the pain suddenly punching him in the gut as he threw up whatever was in his stomach. He only ended up spitting. When was the last time he had eaten anything? Why didn't he have shoes- A voice managed to get past the pain in his head and startle him, eyes wide as he almost tripped, using the tree to stop himself from falling. Panic raced through his bloodstream, his breath picked up as he looked for the person who had yelled at him. The bombardment of questions made him even more frightened and he backed up from the man who was talking to him.

"I don't know! I don't know!" He put his hands in front of himself as if to ward off the man and hide. It almost didn't feel right to want to hide but he didn't have a real choice. He was injured and this man wasn't and could hurt him. What else was he to do? Then the man's voice changed and seemed concerned, Lowell remembering that he was covered in blood. That made him even more panicky. What had he been doing? Who was he? He couldn't properly see the man's face but he still didn't want to be here. The man stepped up closer and his voice changed again, softening as if to keep from frightening him. Was this man a good person? He didn't know why he thought that but he had the feeling that he was even though he was still confused and uncertain about why this person would help him. It didn't seem right but he couldn't just turn the person away. He was far too hurt and his thoughts hurt.

When the man put an arm behind him, he tensed up before doing as the man asked, nodding his head slowly and putting his arm around the man's shoulder. He felt so heavy now and put his weight on the other man. Why was it so cold out? He had been warm before, he could remember that. But where had he been that was warm? He just couldn't remember and the more he pressed, the more it hurt.

"C-c-cold...It's c-cold..." He stammered out, teeth chattering as he leaned on the other man. He felt so tired and his vision was showing black dots that winked in and out. What had he done? He kept blinking his eyes to try to clear his vision and keep himself away. He had to keep himself awake. He had to get wherever they were going.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

"Alright- Hold on, almost there-" Oliver huffed. It was a relatively short walk from the woods around the side of the house to the front door, but it felt like the length of a marathon with the weight of another on his legs. He couldn't afford a tumble, if the man was hurt badly, it might be already too late. Being situated along the edge of the city of Bethel, his house was in a area that was made up of cheep housing, relatively for the young working class. The nearest hospital was farther away than he would have liked. Oliver tried to recall his health class, and the lessons about emergency aid.

Throwing open the front door with relief, he helped the man shuffled the last few steps towards his couch, lowering him as gently as possible onto it- which ultimately failed, as the stranger was heavy- bigger than him by quite a bit of muscle mass. Oliver had already untangled himself, rushing to the kitchen and calling back over his shoulder, "Just stay there, try not to move! I'm going to try to stop your bleeding." He needed to stop the bleeding first, then call an ambulance, otherwise the stranger might die from blood loss before the medics could arrive. He rushed back with scissors and bandages, a long strip of a towel for a tourniquet, as well as a dampened one. Kneeling in front of the man, Oliver set to work cleaning away the blood on the man's hand's and arms first- where it looked like the most blood had accumulated. It smeared away, sticky, as he brushed it over the man's skin, mumbling to himself, "Don't worry, I'll find it." But he didn't. Past the dried blood was old scars... but no gaping wounds. He frowned, then hastily scrubbed away at the other arm. The same.

"What?" Oliver muttered, staring at the bloodied towel in his hand and the scarred, but whole arms before him. Where.. did all the blood come from..? He glanced up at blue eyes, searching them, when reality hit. It's not his. He should run. He should really just fucking book it right now... Instead, Oliver raised a shaking towel up to the bloodied face, wiping away the smears of caked blood. His chest tightened like a vice as he finally recognized the features revealed from under the gore. There was a gash on the man's forehead that oozed blood, trickling down to his chin. A deep purple bruise peeked out from the left side of the man's head, the rest of it hidden by his hairline. Oliver pressed the towel against the bleeding wound, eyes flicking to the door, trying to contain himself. Should he run? Or try to knock him out? Maybe stab him with the scissors- No! Fuck, this is SO messed up! He'd come to kill him hadn't he? Lowell Kerrigan. Somehow, he'd found him.

Oliver bit his lip, glancing back up after his breathing had slowed. He really needed to get a hold on his panic attacks. That wasn't easy considering his worst nightmare had just come true. He felt like lead, rooted in the spot. Easy prey. Yet, there was something strange about this whole scenario. Kerrigan hadn't spoken yet. No annoying nicknames, no haughty jibes to rile him. Nothing. He recognized the face, but the eyes... There was something different about his eyes. Wide, almost like they didn't recognize him. If anything, he didn't look anything like the man he had known three years ago, Lowell looked... lost.

Oliver cleared his throat, grabbing a bandage. "You won't need stitches," He said quietly, cutting two large bandages to size and sticking them over the head wound. His hands shook more than he'd like. Fuck. Now Lowell would know he was afraid of him. But who wouldn't be? He was going to die tonight wasn't he... Strangely, the thought calmed him enough to speak, at least without meeting the other's eyes. "Mr. Kerrigan, I'm- I just want- I.." He stumbled over the words, putting his hands back in his lap. "I'm sorry-" The words just spilled out. He hadn't been expecting them himself, Oliver shut his mouth in surprise. He was about to die at the hands of a lunatic, and he was apologizing? Years of guilt came flooding back as he sat on his heels, warring with himself. He clenched his fists in his lap, wishing he was anywhere, anyone else.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

The walk felt like it took forever and yet didn't seem very long. His sense of time was screwed up and he didn't exactly remember how they got into the house but soon was being laid down on a couch, the soft and warm cushions making him groan. His back hurt, too, he came to realize and wondered if he had fell down. He felt bruised all over and just in pain. He was told not to move and it wasn't a hard task for him. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to do anything. Was he going to die? It felt fitting to die here for some reason. But his head- he shut his eyes, hoping that if he did, it might lessen the throbbing pain that ripped through him. It helped in the slightest but everything seemed so loud when he did. Maybe closing his eyes was a bad idea. A warm and wet softness hit his hands and arms, making him open his eyes as he watched the man start to clean his arms. He saw line after line of scars revealed, making his eyes widen. Had he really done that to himself? The word time circled around in his head but he wasn't sure what it meant. And then the towel was against his face, making him wince and try to pull away but soon the blood was gone, his vision more clear. His blue eyes looked at the young face before him and he felt like maybe...maybe he knew him? But it was a blank. He didn't know this man. However, this man seemed to know who he was for there was fear in his eyes that made Lowell swallow. That fear was...he shook the thought away.

Bandages were pressed against his head wound, making him wince once more before the man started speaking and said a name - supposedly his name- and so he had to conclude that this man knew him. But how did he know him? What was their connection? Why did he seem so afraid of him? Had he hurt him before? And then he said sorry. Had they...had they been...lovers? He looked at the man questioningly before speaking yet nothing came out. Clearing his throat, he tried again, voice rough.

"Is Kerrigan my name? I don't remember. Do you know me?" He said, eyes searching for answers on the other man's handsome young face. He almost reached out a hand, but instead brought his arms up, inspecting the scars. They looked so precise that they scared him. Why had he done this to himself unless it had been someone else who had done it? But why would they? What had he been doing out in those woods? It was driving him crazy and the pain, the pain was almost unbearable.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

Oliver flinched. The rough voice brought back too many memories. There, now he sounded like the person he knew, but the words made no sense. Oliver glanced up wondering if Lowell was playing with him. Blue eyes searched his with the same intensity as his own green pair. "Yes," He said carefully, glancing back up to the livid bruise on side of the man's head. "Your name is Lowell Kerrigan. My name is.. Oliver Tell." He wondered vaguely why he was telling him the truth. The way Lowell inspected his own arms with a look of disbelief confirmed Oliver's suspicions. He'd lost his memory. It gave the therapist pause. Was that a gift… or a curse? It left the decision up to him. He wasn't sure if he had the courage to deal with it.

The scars were horrific, and agonizingly perfect. Kerrigan had obviously done them to himself… Again, shame struck him in the chest. He'd visited that "hospital." It was… reprehensible. Patients were treated inhumanely. He had known he was sentencing Kerrigan to a fate worse than death for someone like him, but he did nothing to adjust it. He did not argue on Lowell's part for more intensive therapy, or for medicine treatment. He simply had condemned him, wanting the man shut away as fast as possible. If anything, he had probably made the his psychosis worse.

"I do know you. I was your... therapist. Three years ago. I'm sorry." He repeated, quieter. If felt wonderful, and horrible, letting the words out. The guilt was somehow stronger, now faced with the man's obvious amnesia. Oliver shook his head. He was still a psychopath. The way his brain worked hadn't changed, he had just forgotten who he was. "I'm going to get you something warm to drink and eat okay?" He asked, slowly rising. Careful, precise movements so not to startle the man. "When you're feeling stronger, you can take a shower and change into some…" he glanced down at the bloodied, soiled, damp clothes the man wore, "clean clothes. They might be a little tight, but I'll find you something." With that, he scooped up the bloodied towel, leaving his lost former client to his thoughts.

Does he really not remember? What if he was just playing with him? Was Lowell that good of an actor though? In the years he had spent with him, he hadn't seen any hint of vulnerability pass the man's face. That was why it threw him now to have Kerrigan so… dependent on him. His hands hesitated over the phone, then passed to his cooling breakfast. No, he wouldn't call the cops just yet. This was a chance to make things right, no matter how fucked up he was, Lowell Kerrigan was still a person and Oliver had wronged him. The therapist set his resolve. It was morally right to straighten out the past. He wanted his demons gone. His shoulders dropped somewhat. It might be slightly easier to do so without the piercing, judging eyes of the old Lowell staring into his soul and picking him apart. He would try.

"Here you go." Returning, Oliver set the warm coffee, eggs and sausage on the table before him. He placed two pills beside the coffee, "Ibuprofen, if you need.." he said tapping his own head, then stood awkwardly, opening his mouth like he wanted to say more, before shutting it. He looked down at his hands. There was traces of blood on them too now. Oliver shivered. "I'm going to take a shower." He said quickly. "You can too, when you're stronger, then I'll bandage you.. Call for me if you need help." He looked away from the blood-splattered man, compassion and disgust canceling out into a base confusion. Oliver ran a hand through his hair. "Tell me… Tell me if you remember anything that happened before you ended up in my back yard." He added hesitantly, a hint of fear behind tight-set lips, then swiftly pivoted and left the room so he could breathe.

Under the warmth of the shower, he scrubbed his hands viciously, although they were already clean. Someone else's blood… If I let him stay, I'll be in the same boat as him. But, did he really want to send him back? Back there? He didn't know if he could.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

Lowell couldn’t help but frown but it was a light frown since the pain in his head made it hard for him to have any real expressions that caused him to stop relaxing his face. It really made him wonder what he had fallen onto or what might have hit him. He probably looked like crap but at least he was alive, right? Did that suddenly make things okay? He tried to figure it did. Oliver Tell. He wanted to say that the name seemed familiar but he honestly didn’t remember but there was something…he could feel it crawling beneath the surface…some distant memory.

“’Tell’? Are you related to William? Do you like apples, Mr. Tell?” He felt the words resonate through his mind in a voice so filled with confidence and sarcasm that he wondered if he had said it or if someone else had said it and he just remembered them talking about it. Even though the words repeated a few times, he felt no attachment to them and wondered if it had been someone he had known talking about his…therapist. Well, at least that drew away some of the potential awkwardness of them possibly being lovers, not that he would have minded. He wouldn’t have minded at all…even with the nervousness and the guilt that resonated in the man’s voice. It was almost…sensual. Shaking himself mentally, he listened to the man speak before he went and got him something to eat. He was patient, inspecting the scars on his arms. They meant something, right? Didn’t they? Hell, how was he supposed to know? He didn’t even know how old he was or why he was even here or where here was. It was a bit overwhelming.

“Do you…like apples?” He couldn’t help but want to ask, but soon the man had dropped everything off including some pain medication and seemed so uncomfortable that he left. What had he done to this man? He was awfully curious as to what it could be. What had him so on edge? Was it because he had an old patient in his home? Probably. He supposed that would be a problem. Some people liked their privacy. Or maybe he had a lover and was worried about what his lover would think of a strange man being in the house? Something about that bothered him but he decided not to dwell on it. Thinking too much hurt his head. Swallowing down the pills with a grimace, he soon dug into the food carefully so as not to jog his brain too much. He sipped at the dark liquid and almost spat it out, sticking his tongue out.

“What is this nasty stuff?” He said to no one but seeing as he had nothing else to drink, he managed to drink that stuff down along with his food. It wasn’t the best thing to eat, probably because some part of him remembered that he didn’t like half this stuff, but he needed to eat and it was warm. He chewed everything slowly before he set the plate and drink aside, wanting to curl up on the couch but he didn’t want to get any blood on it. Frowning a bit, he just sat there, resting his head on his arms, closing his eyes as the pain very slowly started to ebb. He had the feeling it would be awhile before the pain stopped but at least it was one its way out.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

Oliver stood under the rush of water, staring at his hands, which by now had been almost rubbed raw. He wondered if he'd ever feel clean. It didn't feel right, even with his fear of Lowell, to have thoughts of brushing him away again. Like Lowell was old garbage, the way he had done the first time. Oliver set his jaw. No, he was younger and less experienced then. He could help Lowell with his… "problems" now. Couldn't he?

Then there was the problem of the amnesia. His brain probably functioned the same way, he had just simply lost his memories… making him vulnerable, but nonetheless unstable. Oliver let out a shaky breath. The old Lowell, if he had been the one to find him, would have killed him. The rage he had seen in those pale blue eyes during the trial were still burned into his concious. It was hard to look into them again, even after three years. No, especially after three years. What happened to him in that time…? More importantly, how had he escaped? People were looking for him. Oh god, what if they found out-

Scrunching his eyes closed, Oliver did something he never, never, would have done if it wasn't for the panic he knew was eating him alive. He yanked the shower dial all the way to freezing. Yelping, he jumped from the shower, shivering uncontrollably. Padding quickly to his room and mumbling curses under his breath, he dressed then steeled his resolve. What had he been doing, taking care of himself before the injured man in the next room? Suspect or not. I can do this. He's lost his memories.

Oliver's eyes alighted on the hunched form sitting on his couch, head hung in his hands. A pang of sympathy mixed with his guilt. Compassion rose, despite his former apprehension, and Oliver made his way carefully in front of his old patient. He looked pitifully lost, and confused… and no doubt tired. "Mr. Kerrigan?" Oliver said quietly, trying not to startle him. He rubbed his hands together, still shivering slightly, and cheeks tinged pink from the freezing water he had dumped over himself. "I can help you to the shower… If you'd like," He added hastily. "I also have a clean set of clothes for you and a bed where you can rest, but you need to get off that b..blood." Oliver looked down and away, silently kicking himself for stuttering at the end and ruining the calm he had been able to keep in his voice.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

As time passed, the pain started to dissipate, but there was still enough to make him dizzy and weak. Lowell couldn’t remember anything but he had been trying in the time that Oliver had been taking his shower. There was such a vagueness that he wondered how he was ever going to remember what had happened to him. Would he remember? However, his eyes opened when he heard footsteps and felt his body on high alert though he seemed relaxed. His hands had clenched and his expression had hardened until he saw it was just Oliver. He relaxed and that confused look came back. Why had he reacted that way? Like someone was going to cause him harm? He didn’t know but lifting his head, he looked at the other man, those green eyes looking so regretful.

“Yes, I would like some help…Do you like apples?” He tacked on, not sure why he felt compelled to ask that question. He frowned even after he had asked it, rubbing the side of his head that wasn’t bruised as if he was trying to convey physically how confusing the question was to him. There was no malice, no teasing in those blue eyes as they looked over Oliver. His cheeks were all pink and he looked cold, the man’s lips a bright color…almost red like the blood that was on him. He found himself leaning towards that mouth until he caught himself, shaking himself physically. What was wrong with him?

“Yes…need to get rid of…the blood…” He said softly, looking at the cuts on his left arm. There were sixteen cuts on his forearm and a flash of a hand dragging something metallic over once virgin skin until the line was clean and bleeding freely went through his mind. He continued to stare before the fingers of his right hand moved along the lines almost reverently. The image of the cutting kept replaying as if it had some ritualistic significance. He was entranced until he heard a soft voice murmur in his mind that there was no need to keep time. He grinned before he suddenly just snapped out of it, looking up at Oliver with a frown.

“A shower sounds…really nice.”

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

Oliver's smile froze in place on his face. "Therapy, I suppose, is about as effective as attempting to shoot an apple off a child's head," Fear, panic, and a hint of anger flashed over Oliver's features as the memory of his own words came back. It had been their first meeting. "you would believe that, Lowell, but I am here to prove you wrong. Just let me help you..-" The memories faded, and he unclenched his hands. Oliver breathed out slowly through his nose, calming his heart rate as he looked down at the eyes that harbored no resentment, or any of the dark wit he remembered. They were empty of everything Lowell used to be. He was just… repeating smudges of old conversations. Or... Or were the memories coming back?

"I.. I don't like them. Not anymore." Oliver mumbled quietly, more to himself than to Lowell. No. Lowell had been sickeningly right. He had taken an aim at this patient, and missed the apple. The thing that ate away at him was… Had he done it on purpose? Not maliciously... Oliver had never wanted Lowell to be shut away because he enjoyed seeing him writhe with the same hatred he had for him all that time, locked away behind a therapist's exterior. Right? Right?

Tortured eyes rose and widened as he realized Lowell's face was inching closer, before Lowell pulled away and shook himself. Oliver cursed himself and his re-awakened thumping heart. Why did Kerrigan always catch him off guard! And if he didn't catch him that way, he definitely threw him. Calm down. He can't hurt you, he doesn't really remember- Just then, a grin lighted on Lowell's face. Oliver almost stumbled backwards. Sharp, white teeth bared in happiness… Oliver swallowed thickly, remembering the smiles he used to receive during Lowell's therapy. The same sort of sick grin, whenever the rookie had made a crucial mistake.

Nodding, Oliver stuck out a hand. "Here, I'll help you. It's just down the hall.." He helped pull Lowell to his feet, ignoring the fact that he was taller and more well-set. A predator. He'd always thought that of Lowell, but now the former patient was just in pain. They made it to the bathroom, Oliver releasing Lowell, then turning so that he could lean over the tub to turn on and test the hot water for a bath. He can't stand on those injured feet.. "My bedroom's across from the bathroom, and that's where I've laid out clothes for you. After you're done, I can bandage your wounds."

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

"I'm sorry...if...if I've upset you," Lowell said, as if the words were foreign on his tongue, but the reason was more of why he might of upset the other man. He didn't understand why he would have upset him but something was definitely off between them, as if there was some force purposely keeping the other man on his toes. It was curious but Lowell didn't bother to indulge in his curiosity. It also seemed...cruel. Taking Oliver's hand, he let himself be helped to his feet but not putting all of his weight onto the other man. His balance was still off because of his head and injured feet, but he wasn't as bad as he used to be. He didn't feel as off-center as he had before. However, he couldn't help but shuffle down the hall, trying to put as little strain on his feet as he possible could. They felt stiff but he could still feel his toes so he knew the muscles weren't dead or anything. They were just cold and hurt. He sat down on the toilet once Oliver let go of him, watching the man bend to turn the bath water on. A bath...when was the last time he had a bath? His mind remained blank and he felt like he might start panicking. Why wouldn't he remember? Taking a deep breath, he allowed himself time to let himself remember. He would stop trying to force it.

"Okay, I'll let you know..." Lowell said, nodding slowly. Moving his hands, he tugged his shirt off, wincing at the strain on his joints and muscles. He had to have fallen or else he wouldn't hurt so badly. Looking at his now bare left shoulder, he saw some deep purple bruises and wondered how far down they went. As he looked down his torso, he saw that he had two tattoos: one red and black pentacle on each pectoral. It made him wonder if he had any others. Something in his mind said that he did but they weren't on his front. Rubbing his arms, he saw that the tub was about half full and just needed a few more minutes to fill up to his liking. As he looked at Oliver, he couldn't help but ask him the one question he hadn't been wanting to ask.

"Are you afraid of me? Was I that bad of a patient?" His eyes looked almost sad, as if he was banking on the answer to not be what he expected. But he knew. Instinctively, he knew the answer - that he was scary- and part of him didn't want to hear the words from those lips. Still, he had to know. The man was on egg shells even though Lowell hadn't done anything to scare him...right? At least, that's what he thought. Rubbing the back of his neck with his right arm, he glanced at Oliver before looking away. He didn't feel like he should look at him and hear the answer. It felt like he was waiting for some condemning words to spill over him like acid.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

"I..." Oliver hesitated, before turning back around, straightening, to dry his hands on a towel. When he looked back to Lowell, he was surprised to see the blue eyes locked on him with a sadness. Oliver didn't speak. The look had thrown him. Kerrigan never showed emotion. The only time he saw real feelings were during that trial… when he had shown Oliver anger. Anyone would have been rightfully angry, but when Lowell was angry... If looks could butcher.

Lost in his thoughts, Oliver hadn't noticed his eyes wandering over Lowell's body. His torso was cut nicely, though a little thin… He needed to eat more. Two fearsome tattoos on his chest, standing out against the white skin. At first, Oliver was simply curious about the inkings, then he realized he was appreciating the lines of Lowell's powerful body as well. Despite his bruising and coloring, he still looked.. Really se-. Flushing slightly, Oliver looked away, horrified with his own thoughts. Damn, he had been paying too much attention to his work. He needed to get a girlfriend if all it took was a old terror to show up and mess with his head to make him start thinking in that direction. But he wasn't so terrible now… Lowell actually looked.. kind of cute, sitting there lost. But he knew better. He knew what Lowell was capable of. Oliver shook his head, turning off the water so that the only sound in the room was the "plopping" of droplets into a still bath.

"Yes." He said slowly, forcing himself to look at Lowell. "You scared me, back then." His hands unconsciously fiddled with the bottom of his shirt, giving away the obvious truth that Lowell still scared him, being here, with no guards or shackles between them. "I was learning then.. from a mentor, and studying under him. He left one day, he was busy, and you…" Oliver turned away, biting down hard on his tongue. He didn't want to relive the nightmares. "You described things to me, in such vivd detail, and all the while you were looking at me with such a-" He stopped, realizing his voice had risen, a large lump growing in his throat.

Oliver took a couple of breaths, then walked to stand in front of Lowell. A hand reached out, gently brushing away some strands of hair concealing the bruise on his head. "You weren't a bad patient. I just.. I couldn't help you. I should have done more, I should have tried-" He swallowed, "but I got scared. I'm sorry." Oliver's hand dropped from the bruise, green eyes searching blue. His voice fell, quieter, "Do you really not remember?" Then, to almost a whisper,

"How did you end up with someone else's blood all over your hands?"

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

The plopping sound of the water in the silence arrested his attention.

"I don't need to be watched by a miscreant like you."

"Just get in the bath, Kerrigan."

"I'm not like those mindless meat sacks, so step off and leave me be. Or do we want another incident like last time?"

Drawing himself up with a breath, he looked at Oliver, watching his lips move until the words finally hit his ears, obliterating the silence. His brows furrowed as the other man looked so frightened, confused, and just terrorized. What kind of things had he said? But his thoughts drifted when Oliver got close and his hand brushed his hair. He went stiff as stone, analyzing the touch. It was soft and gentle, almost enough to blot out the words that filtered through the silence. Part of him wanted to lean into it, to own that touch, and yet he didn't want it. He didn't want any of it. Once the hand dropped, he felt his body relax to a small degree, eyes locked on that gaze. Such regret. Lowell felt himself frown in the slightest before nodding.

"I really just...have no idea. I hear...bits and pieces but...I don't feel like they are me." He admitted, glancing down at his hands. There was still some blood that had managed to get into the contours of his palms and under his fingernails, but otherwise it hardly fazed him. He didn't really register it or even take any emotion from it. There was just blood there but he tried to remember when he heard the question. Why was there blood? And who's? His mind circled around the word escape and the words just left his lips, hard yet teasing.

"They were going to stop me from leaving and I wanted to go out. I wanted out." Squinting a moment, he soon just shook his head and then looked up at Oliver, feeling that all over ache from the bruises on his back.

"I'd like to take a bath now...can I take one without being watched?" He sounded like it was plea, as if begging for the privacy. Not many at an institute were allowed to take baths or even showers without being watched. Lowell hadn't been gifted with that sort of thing either. It was like being in a prison rather than an institute that was supposed to "help." Yet he felt like that was something he remembered. All the watching. He was only left alone when he was in his room that he shared with no one. It was almost unheard of.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

Oliver stared for a while more, then nodded, warring with himself, "Yes, I understand. I can try to help you remember, it might be better for you later if you did..."

He bit his lip. It was the truth, if he was very careful, perhaps he could pull out memories for Lowell without it being a traumatizing experience. Plus, it wasn't like he could really stay here with him. The real Kerrigan was temperamental and dangerous, not to mention he hated him, and therefore this amnesia was a risk Oliver couldn't take. First, he needed to know what… What Kerrigan had done to arrive so bloody in his yard. Memories were fickle things, linked closely to emotions. Scientists still didn't understand them. Who knew what would surface and what reaction it would be? He hoped it was nothing more than grandmother's apple pie on a sunday afternoon, but knowing Kerrigan... it wouldn't be easy. However, helping him gently coax out memories in a safe environment would definitely be better than letting them sneak up on him all at once. The old Kerrigan, confused and overwhelmed with emotions, wasn't something Oliver wanted to be privy to. But he couldn't just turn him in... No, not yet.

"Yes, yes of course! Sorry!" He stumbled, suddenly embarrassed to be in the small bathroom alone with Lowell. He had sounded so pitiful... it pulled on Oliver's sympathy. "uh- soap and shampoo is on the shelf behind you, beside the towels. You can leave your clothes outside the door, I'll come by later to pick them up-" Oliver paused, looking back, "I hope you don't mind.. I'm going to have to throw them away. I- ah, I don't think the stains will come out." Damn. That sentence sounded so convicting... Oliver quickly exited the bathroom after receiving an answer, cursing himself. He already knew he was in deep shit. If the authorities found out he was harboring that guy.. No, I'm just sheltering him until he is-… What? Himself again? Yeah, great idea.

Head hurting, Oliver went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He cleaned off Kerrigan's uneaten food and washed the dishes, trying not to think to much about what to do next. Green eyes every so often flicked to his phone, before they dropped away again. It almost seemed surreal, all of this, all at once.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia

As soon as Oliver left, Lowell felt himself relax more. He sat there a moment, just staring at the bath water before he finally moved to grab the things he needed to wash himself off. He grabbed a small hand towel and used that to get the blood out from under his fingernails before scrubbing himself down. He scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin was raw before washing his hair and making himself completely clean. His back was tender to the touch and so he had to be careful about how he moved in the bath. Plus, he was a tall guy and didn't quite fit but managed to do what was necessary to get himself clean. Eventually, the water grew cold and he got out, draining out the water and just standing there a moment. His mind was blank and he just looked at everything in the room, taking in the small size and order of things. Grabbing a towel, he dried himself off before wrapping it around his waist.

Watching over to the mirror, he looked at himself and frowned a bit. He looked scraggly and not at all clean cut and sharp like he wanted to. He had far too much facial hair and that needed to be taken care of. Finding a razor, he went to the task of shaving away a lot of the excess until it was a light scruff. That was better and felt better on his face, despite the bruising along his jaw. He could feel better sensation in his feet but his legs were sore. He didn't like this feeling of weakness. He really didn't like it and he felt a rush of feeling slide up along his spine and harden it. He wanted to break the mirror but managed not to. It wouldn't solve anything. He had to be tough, to be calm.

"We must always keep our composure, Lowell. It doesn't matter if the entire world hates you, you must keep your composure for weakness will be what kills you."

The woman's voice made his brain hurt with sharp pain but it soon wore off. He didn't like these voices. He didn't like the pain that went with them or the sudden drifting his eyes did that made him forget what was going on. Whatever this phase was, he wanted it over soon. He just wondered how long it would take. Shaking his head, he exited the bathroom, looking around to see if Oliver had disappeared. No, he could hear subtle movement and he eventually drifted into the bedroom like he was told to do in order to get clothes. He wondered briefly if they would fit and didn't really mind as long as they were warm. There was a pair of sweat pants and a sweatshirt so they would probably fit. He shut the door but it didn't quite close all the way, but he didn't pay it any mind as he used the towel to get rid of the extra water and walked around the room, looking at Oliver's things. He didn't touch anything but something about the room seemed too organized and pure. But the bed...

The bed seemed all too inviting and it wasn't long before Lowell was sprawled out on top of the covers, just laying there and staring at the ceiling. It was warm here, in this particular spot, and he wanted to hold onto that warmth. Plus, the comforter felt good on his back and even better on his stomach when he rolled over, feeling his spine pop and loosen. Now that felt good. However, part of him realized this was a little weird and so he pushed himself into an upright position and slid off the bed. Fiddling with the clothes, he soon pulled them on and zipped the hoodie up half-way. This was much warmer than what he had been wearing. Stretching a bit, he grimaced before making himself relax. As much as he wanted to find Oliver, he kind of just wanted to stay in this room. He didn't...want it to be so pure.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia

Oliver walked past the bathroom after a while, picking up the clothes that had been left just outside the door. Throwing them into a pastil bag, he tied it tight, then threw the bloody package into the trash outside. Damn it Lowell. If I get charged with assisted murder… He couldn't help but chuckle as he hurried back inside. As grim and fucked up as the thoughts were, everything had been so messed up until now, he couldn't help but soften it a little with humor. It was the only way he was going to stay sane with a possible murderer and convicted felon in his house.

Standing in the kitchen, Oliver debated turning on the radio again. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know exactly what Lowell had done. After a few moments of warring with himself, the choice was made for him as he heard the bathroom door open. No, he couldn't turn on the radio. Not with Lowell here. He didn't want to shock him with any information at such a unstable time. Trudging towards the bathroom, Oliver saw it was empty, and the door to his room was slightly ajar. Good. Lowell would find the clothes then. Oliver cleaned the bathroom, spraying down the tub with caustic shower-cleaner, just in case, and decided to trash the faintly-pink washcloth as well. Opening the cabinet above the sink for bandages, he noticed that his razor was a little out of place, and wet. Lowell had shaved? Oliver frowned.

He stopped in front of his bedroom door, not entirely sure why he was hesitating. Instead of entering, he peered through the crack, and immediately wished he hadn't. The sight of Lowell's nude, wet body met his eyes; he had his back to him, perfectly sculpted. The only thing that marred Lowell's presence and poise was the slight limp and the big livid bruises that were dark against the pale skin of his shoulders and lower back. Oliver's mouth went dry and his eyes wide. Turning immediately away from the sight, he recognized the familiar feeling of blood pooling down to his stomach.

Shit shit shit, what the hell is wrong with you?! He thought furiously, trying to calm himself and his embarrassment. Putting a hand to his forehead, he dragged it down his face slowly. Get a hold on yourself. This is just stress. He waited a few minuets, staring at the ceiling. Suspicion rose in him as he stood in the hall, trying to breathe quietly. Wait. What was he doing? Had he been looking through his things? Annoyed, Oliver snuck another peek, only to be met by Lowell's completely bare, sexy backside as his old patient pulled on the sweatpants. GUAH! Cursing his reaction in ernest now and completely frustrated with himself, Oliver waited two extremely long minutes before he pushed the door open and walked inside.

"I hope you feel better," he said, putting the bandages and hydrogen peroxide on the nightstand next to the bed. He paused, frowning only a slight bit as he looked away from Lowell's face. He looked far too familiar now that his short beard was gone. "Do you mind laying back so I can disinfect your cuts?" Oliver tried to ignore how he could easily see Lowell's chest as he hadn't zipped up the hoodie all the way. Turning sharply, he kept his eyes on his own hands.

He made sure Lowell had his feet proper up on the bed, before dabbing a bit of peroxide onto the cut on his forehead and setting to work on the lacerations on his feet. He was careful to clean away the pieces of dirt and little bits of gravel that had stuck to dried blood. It was a little awkward, but from what he had seen, Lowell would do well to rest and recover, not to strain himself. He smiled, trying to be friendly. "They're scabbing up, that's good. You heal quickly," He said, as he reached over Lowell for the bandages. Oliver wrapped them gently around his feet, before looking up at him, "unfortunately, there's nothing I can do for the bruising on your back-" Shit! He stopped, dropping his head immediately in embarrassment and blushed fiercely, trying to think of anything to cover up what he just said. It had been a slip- Lowell hadn't shown him his back.

"Um, anyway, I know you're tired, so you should just crash for now. You can use my bed, I don't mind sleeping on the couch. Plus, I have to go into work soon-" He lied. It was saturday, and he didn't work until monday.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

Lowell had been only mildly surprised when Oliver had walked in, making him blink before giving him a half-hearted smile. Seeing all the bandages, he couldn't help but sigh and then settle on the bed. Something about being taken cared of didn't sit well with him even though he liked being doted over even if he got the distinct feeling that Oliver was afraid of him. He watched him, he couldn't help it, and took in all his features. He was an attractive man, something worth...keeping and yet some niggling part of him said he wanted to keep him pure unlike all the things in his apartment. It was a strange feeling, to want to ruin something and yet keep it whole. It was like chess: not knowing where to move your queen even if you had all the power. It was too easy to lose it. His brows raised when Oliver mentioned the bruises on his back. He hadn't stripped down when Oliver was around so- Blushing the tiniest bit, he couldn't help but give a small smirk at Oliver.

"Did you like what you saw?" He couldn't help but ask, he didn't know where exactly the confidence came from but sitting up from his laying down position, he gave Oliver a brief but analytical once-over until his eyes rose to Oliver's gaze. He was lying, something told Lowell that Oliver was lying but he decided to let him have the lie. People deserved to keep some sanity. Moving a hand over his hair, he felt like he needed a haircut but would make due with what he had. He couldn't risk going outside and his body inwardly cringed at the thought of being in the cold. Stuck in the cold.

Too much white. Not enough black. Not enough color. Not enough differences. Too much white.

His mind murmured feverishly until the voice settled down into the vastness that was Lowell's mind. It was rough and made his head hurt, causing his eyes to wince. The burst of confidence was gone and left him shrugging lightly as he looked up at Oliver, frowning the slightest bit.

"Why don't I lay on the couch? It is your house and I don't want to impose even more than I already have..."

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

Oliver's hands froze on the bandages, wide eyes flicking up to meet Lowell's briefly, before they dropped again.

"N-no! W-what? No."

His puff of exclamation came out slightly higher pitched than he wished, and Oliver winced. He quickly stuffed the gauze and bandages into the medical kit. He shut his mouth, keeping his lips pressed tightly closed in a thin line as he packed up. Such a fuck-up. He couldn't even deal with his own head, much less the stress of a convicted felon -- the man who had been plaguing his nightmares for months -- living beside him in his house! He must be going crazy. So much for becoming a qualified therapist. "Liking what he saw?" Pah! Now way. He would diagnose himself as marching on mental.

Oliver's eyes snapped back up to his Kerrigan's at the next comment, settling this time with a shameless determination on the grey eyes.

"No way. I won't allow that." Oliver's tone was final. Making someone injured sleep on that small, uncomfortable couch? No. He couldn't let him. Even if… Lowell was "imposing" in more than one usage of the word.. Even if he wanted Lowell gone as soon as possible. He couldn't allow that.

"You sleep here. You'll heal faster, and it will be better for your…" He coughed the next word slightly, speeding over it, "back. Don't worry, I'll be fine." He gave Lowell what he tried to pull off as a reassuring smile, but it probably looked more like he was being strangled. He needed to get out of the room. He couldn't breathe.

After a few seconds, Oliver quickly stood, "I really have to go. I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you get hungry, there is food in the fridge…" He paused, looking down at the man in his bed, so familiar and yet so foreign, and then turned on his heel to leave.

----

Oliver sunk onto the bench silently, not caring that the cold dew soaked through the bottom of his jeans. The middle of the park was deserted. Here he could be alone. Oliver looked around, taking in deep breaths-- which seemed to be getting steadily shallower. The trees were beautiful today. Oh look… was that a squirrel? How cute-

"Ahhhhh-…" The desperate, sobbed moan escaped his throat with a rip as his head sunk heavily to his hands. Elbows balanced on his thighs, Oliver stared down at the wet blades of grass between his shoes.

I … am SO fucked.

What the hell was he DOING? His head throbbed. He needed to call the police. Right now. RIGHT- but he couldn't. He couldn't move. He had stood for a good thirty minutes in front of that pay phone… beeping receiver in his hand, but his finger's hadn't moved. Finally, he had put it back in it's slot… cutting off the sound of possible connection to anyone that could save him. Somehow he now found himself on this bench, probably looking just as miserable as any of the vagrants that lived within the park.

"For fuck's sake, Oliver." The hissed sentence ended there. Great, now he was talking to himself out loud. Definitely mad. Hands ran through his hair, and he sat back, watching the morning sun climb higher. It wasn't too late. It wasn't too late… Not too late…

I can't turn him in.

The truth of the thought froze him in place. I can't. He wanted to. Oh, so badly… but he knew somehow… he wouldn't be able to. There was something in his chest, a weight, that would not allow him to call for the cops. Guilt. So this is what that felt like. Those types of decisions. It was so much easier to sit on the other side of the glass and judge someone for their choices. In person, these decisions became something that was harder by tenfold than what he ever had written down on paper.

What do I do? That was the maddening question. He felt hopeless and trapped. I have to make this... all better. And how would he do that? Oliver thought with a chagrined smile. Lowell was by far, his greatest nightmare. It only made it worse that he was actually real, and now he was sleeping in his room.

Shit.

Oliver stood, stuffing his hands far down into his pockets. He needed to walk this off. He didn't look down at his watch. He wouldn't return home for a couple of more hours… and from there… he wasn't sure what he'd do.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

Lowell blinked in surprise at the outburst, wondering why Oliver was so flustered. It had been a...kind of innocent question, right? And his suggestion wasn't terrible, but it seemed it had struck a nerve. Flattening his palms on the sheets of the bed, he just watched Oliver pack up all of his supplies, looking like an animal trapped in a cage. He was jittery and paranoid, from what he could tell. It was...kind of cute...in a weird but attractive way. His head supplied a random burst of pain as he heard someone speak that almost sounded like him but cruel and almost sexual in his mind.

"What's the matter? Can't deal with a man who wants to fuck the innocence out of you? It's almost cute. Maybe I'll just keep teasing you. It's more fun that way than if you could play my game on equal footing...Besides, you asked what I thought of you. I'm just being honest."

Rubbing his temples with his index fingers, he watched Oliver and listened to him as he said he wasn't allowed to sleep on the couch as it would impede on him healing. He frowned more, staring up at him with an almost blank expression. This was becoming a pain to be told what to do. He just wanted to feel useful and not in the way. However, he felt that arguing wouldn't solve anything and would result in yelling that he didn't want to listen to. Not with where his head was at. It was frustrating being in a state of uncertainty. As Oliver got up and said he would be back in a couple hours, Lowell watched his retreating back, feeling like there was a weight in his chest, almost like a chasm of yearning. But what was he yearning for?

-----

After making himself some pasta, simple and uncomplicated like he felt food should be, he sat on the bed in Oliver's room. He made sure to keep everything clean and neat, and organized, something that was just natural to him. He was messy, he knew that, but being in someone's space kept him OCD. OCD...OCD.

"Why do you feel you must keep everything clean in someone's house?" The familiar voice asked yet muffled and uncertain of their own question.

"It's easier not to leave evidence behind. Besides, can't get caught if you keep everything clean." This other voice was smirking.

"So you think of committing these acts often?"

"Of course, especially when there are tasty morsels like yourself walking around, unawares, and vulnerable."

"Enough. Just answer the questions without straying."

"Can't help it...you're distracting me, Doctor."

Lowell rubbed his forehead, wanting to stop these voices that kept popping up. The sequences were so out of whack, like a reel of film that had been cut and random strips added and pasted together. He just knew nothing was in order like it was supposed to be. None of it made sense. Who was the cruel voice? Who was the scared voice? Who was the sweet voice? And who was the...voice that terrified him? Squinting up at the ceiling, he sighed before finishing his meal, putting away his mess until sleep started to impede on any thinking processes. He slipped under the covers of the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest until sleep finally overrode his cortex.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

Oliver typed the numbers in quickly. The phone rang once… twice.


A familiar lackluster voice answered, "Yes? This is doctor Breden's office. How may I help you?"

"Hey Jean, it's Oliver," he coughed awkwardly, "I've… had some family matters come up that I have to sort out, so I won't be able to make it to work this week. Is that a problem?"

There was the sound of a pen scratching on the other side, and a curt answer. Oliver furrowed his brows.

"No? Oh good. I'll try to get out of it, but if I can't I just wanted to call to let you know. Tell Jacob he can have my slot too this week. He needs the practice anyway. Oh… ok. Bye. Have a good da-"

The connection cut off. Oliver placed the receiver back in the phone both with a sigh.


Stepping off the sidewalk, he noticed only now were people arriving at the park. It was about noon. He cursed himself again for the upteenth time for not having a cell phone… But he believed the benefits of that outweighed the consequences. No one could call him to bother him every second of the day, and whenever they wished. They had to call his home phone. However, he was slightly anxious about checking up on Lowell. It had been a while since he had left. He hoped he was ok.

Did I really just have that thought? Shaking his head, Oliver quickened his strides. It would take him about twenty minutes to get home.

----

They keys paused before the doorknob. Oliver felt his heart was racing a little too fast. He had the faint thought that it might be safer to go in through the back entrance, before he pushed it away with an annoyed grunt. How pathetic to feel like an intruder walking into your own home.

Setting down some groceries, he looked around. Everything was as he left it. That was strange. Did Lowell get to eat? Oliver shook his head and chuckled. How's that. What am I, his nanny? However, he couldn't shake nagging the desire to go and check on his… "guest."



The door to his bedroom was ajar, and opened with a slight creek. Oliver peered in. It was dark. All the curtains were drawn closed. The only light emitted from his bedside alarm clock. With a frown, Oliver realized it was slightly hot and muggy as well. It was past midday, and his house had poor ventilation. Slowly, he crept inside, his eyes fixed on the lump in the bed.

Walking up to the bed stand, Oliver reached up and turned off the heater and on the AC. Then he looked down at Kerrigan. A mix of emotions crossed over his face. His old patient was sleeping soundly, breathing even, and was… hugging a pillow. It was a pure pose, like something a lost child seeking comfort would do. He wondered if the old Lowell had slept like this too. It was a funny thought, and Oliver couldn't keep from smiling.

He continued to stare at the sleeping face, ignoring the nagging in the back of his mind that told him this wasn't exactly kosher. It was curious and… almost exciting to be able to see Lowell's face without Lowell looking back at him. It looked so relaxed. He tried to match it's softened contours up with the dark eyes and sharp, witty mouth that he remembered. Awake, Lowell had commanded his space effortlessly, and had left little unguarded. Asleap, his face was softened and his mannerisms child-like. This wasn't the face of someone haunted by their past. Perhaps, in that way, the amnesia was a blessing.

He really is handsome. Oliver's smile slipped from his face. Memories of all of the things that slightly parted mouth had said to him ran through his head. He remembered the distinct whiplash of their conversations, but never had he believed any of it was genuine. Lowell liked throwing his opponents off their tracks, and then scavenging the rubble for anything he could use. He was smart, and at times, Oliver's professionalism slipped. In Dr. Breden's office, Oliver was the therapist and Lowell was his patient. It was supposed to foster sterile, clean relations… yet Kerrigan always warped things to his liking and somehow ended up in control.


After growing uneasy under Mr. Kerrigan's gaze, his own exasperated tone filled the long pause, "Will you please just let me get through this?"

"What is stopping you?" A level voice answered.

The question had confused him. "Well- You. You are. I just need you to answer the questions simply."

A laugh echoed in his ears.

"Simply? That would be a blessing for any vapid, hopeless case, wouldn't it? To be ignorant enough to believe that their mind could be chalked out by a shrink's- forgive me, no, a child's- pen."

Grey eyes cut him down from over his clipboard.

"Nothing will ever be simple. None wish for it to be, either."



Oliver shook his head, ridding himself of the memory. Somehow, Kerrigan's voice made anything he said sound like it had multi-facets. He was… fascinating... Fascinating and terrifying.
Turning away quietly, Oliver made his way to the door. Opening it, and stepping out into the light of the hall, he shut the memories behind him away with a click.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

His dreams were filled with sequences and snippets of conversations that made no sense. They went on forever before exhausting themselves and giving Lowell the peace of mind to rest. His mind focused on one thing: A small house in a yard with a dog.

The fence was old and falling apart, the dog was sitting as if hopeless. The house sagged on one side and the paint was chipped but something about it made him feel...safe yet anxious. There was snow on the ground and the dog looked cold so he stepped through the yard and bent before the dog, he looked up at him. It was then that Lowell noticed the ribs showing, the tired and starving eyes, the lack of energy. He felt then that he always had a soft spot for animals but strangely, he knew it was only certain kinds. This dog was special to him for some reason. It had scars all over it's face and body, probably from fights. The collar around it's neck looked like it weighed more than the dog and the chain attached was thick and heavy. Somehow, he managed to get the collar off and the dog sagged forward as if the weight had been holding him in place instead of his own body. It made him angry. He carried the dog back to...to a car? He had a car. It was a red SUV that was at least a couple years old. It didn't matter. It was a ride. Strangly, he had left the car running and the heat blasting. Taking the dog, he put him in the front seat and swathed him in blankets. He didn't have any food but at least he could provide warmth. He'd done this before....was this a memory? Or a dream?

Looking back at the house as he closed the door, he heard the distant hum of voice. Some were loud and some were soft and desperate. It didn't matter. There was something digging into his thigh and as he reached down, he realize it was a knife. A big one. Like a hunting knife that big game hunters used. How did he get it? It didn't matter. He found that what happened until he got into that house didn't matter.

All of them were going to die.

Jerking awake with his lips closing on a gasp of fear, Lowell looked around and found himself in a bed that wasn't his in a place that wasn't his. He wasn't at the institute and he wasn't in jail so that was best. Yet he still couldn't remember everything. The institute kept running through his head but he couldn't determine exactly what that meant either. His thoughts were jumbled and all he could see before him was blood coating everything and hearing that dog cry. That savagely beaten dog that hadn't deserved anything but love and food and a home. He'd been in that dog's position....he knew that. He felt it in his bones that he'd been left to suffer in cruel silence...until he'd started fighting back. But that was where his memories ended. He couldn't get past them without his head aching and his eyes burning. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax on the bed. His memory was coming back in small increments. He'd lost most of it however long ago that was. How long had he been in this place? It felt like days. He had lost his concept of time. Was it days? Weeks? Even hours? He wasn't sure. He hated not knowing. But the bed beneath him was soft and warm and he finally settled into it, staring at the ceiling. He needed to relax and have patience. He would remember, eventually. His eyes finally found their way to a clock. It was dark outside so the clock that said 8, meant 8pm. Great. He liked night better.

Standing up, he trekked out into the hall and then into the bathroom to relieve himself before venturing back towards the kitchen. Someone else was here, he realized and his memory shook up as it spat out the name and face of Oliver. He knew Oliver somehow. How? Something about being a client? No....a patient? That was it. Blinking his eyes to clear away the drowsiness, he looked around for Oliver, wondering where the man could have disappeared to. The house was dark and he couldn't figure out where the light switches were.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

The T.V in the living room was still on. It shed light on the figure slumped on the couch.

Oliver's eyes creaked open as he slowly came to. Spread-eagle on the small fake-leather thing, with one leg propped up on the coffee table, and the other hanging off the side, he wasn't in the most comfortable position. He frowned as he groggily gathered his surroundings and noted the shadow of a man standing in the hall. Wait...

"SHIT! Fuck-- shit!" Oliver jolted awake, thrashing out of the pillows on the couch, sending some flying, and bashing his knee rather nastily against the edge of the coffee table.

"f-h.." WIth a hand to his forehead, Oliver slowed his racing heart. A couple of deep breaths later, he straightened and hobbled towards the shadow figure, muttering under his breath. Oliver passed Kerrigan, flipping on the light switch in the hall, then turned to squint up at his house guest in the light.

"You're awake," Oliver remarked with a grunt, running a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyes. He needed a haircut.

He stared into Kerrigan's eyes, but there didn't seem to be any cold-blooded intention to kill him there. Instead, there was just a base confusion. Oliver let out a groggy sigh. He was a morning person himself, but Kerrigan had slept all day, which meant he'd probably be up all night. Great.

"You hungry?" He asked after a moment, finding the silence in the hall to be a little awkward, "I bought some stuff today. Some chicken and pasta-"

A gravely serious woman's voice jerked him fully awake, and Oliver spun quickly.

"-And we come back to our main headline story. A man by the name of Lowell Kerrigan has escaped from Emallry Mental Hospital."

A picture of Kerrigan, clad in the hospital's patient uniform appeared on screen next to the blond announcer.

"Citizens of Bethel are urged not to approach him. He is highly dangerous and mentally unstable. He may be armed. With more on the story is our correspondent, Lina-"

The T.V went dark. Oliver's hand fell from the T.V. As she had spoke, he had rushed around the furniture to push off the power button. Slowly he rose and turned, looking back at Lowell, standing in the hall.

 

[Hahvoc The Decepticon]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

"That's supposed to be me, isn't it?" Lowell asked softly, since he was still a bit unnerved by Oliver's dance around the room and the lights were harsh on his eyes. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats as he took in Oliver's look. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. Rubbing a hand over his hair and face, Lowell didn't really know what to say or how to process it. So he was an escapee from a facility, that seemed right to him somehow. But the rest? He had seen the picture, just a glimpse and he still didn't exactly feel like it was supposed to be him, especially when he looked at Oliver and felt like eating him up. Like the Big Bad Wolf... Shaking that thought aside, he backed up a little, feeling as though if he just went to bed he could forget about the picture he'd seen and that he was a convict...or something. A fugitive? That was probably the correct word to use for this situation. Yet something was nagging him.

"Why are you protecting me?" He asked at last, staring at Oliver and his rumpled appearance. It made him hungry in a way he hadn't felt before. He wanted to ravish him, push him up against the wall and devour him. It was carnal, the feeling that sifted through his blood, but he couldn't deny whatever attraction this was to Oliver. He didn't understand it and didn't bother to question it, just that he probably shouldn't go through with it.

 

[Nico]

RE: Amnesia [Nico x Hahvoc]

"That's supposed to be me, isn't it?"

Oliver stayed still, like any movement would set Kerrigan off and suddenly he'd have a rabid animal on his hands. Lowell's movements were slow, and he simply looked tired. Oliver relaxed slightly and watched him run a hand over his face. When he backed up, looking like he was about to flee, Oliver raised a hand in an attempt to stop him. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. Don't worry? It will all be A-O.K? Like hell it would be.

"Why are you protecting me?"

Huh. Why indeed… Oliver must have looked like a fish; his mouth dropped slightly open and closed a couple of times as he struggled to find the words. He glanced around, as if he would find the answer just sitting on the couch waiting for him.

Finally he found his voice, "I don't really know."


The pause was palpable, and Oliver had to bite his tongue not to leave it at that. He felt something rise in him, perhaps it was the stress, or how unfair everything felt at the moment, oh the irony, but he found he didn't want to hold back.

"You were my patient. Maybe I feel… a responsibility for you. Granted, I was barely out of my degree when we met, and I was working under a PHD, but, I don't know, I guess I felt like I was doing something right with you."

Oliver kicked one of the couch pillows on the ground, sending it bouncing towards the door, then turned and sat on the coffee table, facing Lowell. His hands rested on his knees, fiddling.

"You were… A hard case. No offense-" He raised his hand, green eyes flicking up to see if Kerrigan was still listening, "I just think you want the truth." So far so good. His voice was level and his hands weren't shaking.

"You were rather vicious with the other mentored psychiatrists in our office. I think you cycled through three before you were dropped- I mean, came to me. Dr. Breden decided to change our focus for you from therapy to diagnosis. He thought you had a diagnosable mental illness. I thought different. We clashed."


"Long story short, he gave me a couple of weeks to talk to you as my patient alone. And boy, let me tell you- we hit it off from the start."

Oliver gave a strained awkward laugh, his eyes looking back at Kerrigan, then away just as quickly.

"Anyway, like I said, I thought I was making progress. You barely spoke to the others, and when you did, you spoke strangely or mocked them. With me, you did the same," Oliver coughed, having called up some embarrassing memories, "but you would also tell me stories."

Here, green eyes met grey, "Some of them were innocent, others were… not so innocent."


Oliver paused, his hands gripping his knees through his jeans, "I simply wanted enough to go on to show them that you were human. Too often diagnosing a mental illness is used as the easy way out of having to treat a disturbed or distraught patient long-term, and I didn't want you to be another of those that ended up drugged out of their mind, or shunned from participating normally in society. I didn't want you to feel any more detached and forsaken than you already were." Oliver hung his head, running his fingers through his hair, "I fucked up there, definitely," he mumbled softly.

Raising his head after a while, Oliver stood, picking up the scattered pillows and throwing them back on the couch, "That's the first part of the story anyway, the second half isn't all that… appetizing."

Walking back towards Kerrigan, Oliver squinted up at him, "Would you like to eat now? I think I'd feel better about all… this if I have something in my stomach."

He turned towards the kitchen, trying to hide his nervous energy. Why was it that now that Kerrigan was awake and fully coherent, he couldn't find the voice to tell him all that had happened, or that he was sorry? The guilt that ate at him seemed to have devoured his vocal cords as well.