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Zoe was used to not having all the information about her current situation. That was the nature of working at the FBC: if something wasn’t classified, then it might just be so crazy that even the people who needed to know didn’t have any data. What she wasn’t used to was not having enough information to do her job. They’d given her all the information she needed about the AWE itself, but she was pretty damn sure they weren’t giving her all the information she needed about Dylan.
And like, she got it, kind of. The FBC was a mess at the moment. Upper leadership was still MIA, and the interim leadership was working on what the survivors had told them and the few files they’d been able to retrieve. There were definitely gaps in everyone's knowledge. But people knew more about Dylan than they were letting on. She could see by how scared people were of him. They treated him like he was an especially volatile Altered Item, not any kind of human.
Take now, for instance. They were in a general staff meeting, trying to get everyone up to speed. Zoe would’ve preferred to sit next to Dylan, since they were technically a team and all, but he’d ended up in a chair in the corner (out of sight, out of mind) with at least two Rangers hovering nearby. They looked at him like they expected him to run.
That lends some weight to the paracriminal theory. Throw in the prison number alias he’d reacted so strongly to, the “control failsafe” they’d put on him (they didn’t tell her what that was either), and she could see him being a paracriminal they’d dragged out of lockup with the promise of a reduced sentence or something. But if that’s it, what the hell did he do that has everyone so spooked?
Zoe risked tuning out the meeting to observe Dylan. He was hunched over in his chair with the heel of his palm pressed against one eye. He’d been rubbing that side of his face since he got back. He’d claimed he wasn’t hurt, but he was being exposed to shit that could have all kinds of side effects.
Is someone gonna get him to the medical team, or…?
Neither Ranger seemed to care about how bad he looked, not until he started scratching at the device. “Don’t,” snapped one of the Rangers, just loud enough to sound threatening without disrupting the meeting. Dylan ignored him and kept scratching. “P6, enough.” Dylan mumbled something in reply. “I don’t care. You can’t interfere with the – “
Dylan abruptly stood up. The room went silent, aside from the Ranger barking at him to sit back down. Zoe was worried for a second that an actual fight would break out, until she saw the panicked look in Dylan’s eyes and the greenish tint to his cheeks.
Shit.
“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down.” Zoe got up and speed-walked to Dylan’s side. “I’ve got this one, guys.”
“Agent De Vera, you should stand back.”
“I’m his handler, right? So, I’ll handle.” She slung an arm around Dylan and nudged him towards the door. He didn't protest at all. “See? We’re fine. He just needs some air.”
“Ma’am…”
“I will throw up on you,” Dylan interjected.
From the thickness of his voice and the barely-holding-it-together look in his eyes, that was a promise, not a threat. The Ranger must have recognized that, because he finally got out of the way. That was one crisis down. Now she could focus on the fact that she was in the danger zone of getting puked on. Zoe speed-walked Dylan out of the conference room and towards the nearest trash can. “Okay, easy, deep breaths, you’re gonna be fine…’
Dylan gagged, pulled away from her, and ran the last few steps.
That was how Zoe found herself hovering next to the most feared guy in the Bureau, holding his hair out of his face and rubbing his shoulders like he was one of her drunk college friends. At least the lobby was basically empty. No one to see his indignity but her.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Zoe kept her eyes fixed on the back of Dylan’s head to avoid seeing whatever was coming back out of him. His hairline was wonky behind his right ear, as if someone had shaved off a chunk and it had never grown back. Some of the hair at the base of his skull was lighter than the rest; the white-blond whisps framed the failsafe, drawing even more attention to an already pretty ugly device. The bright-yellow upside-down triangle with P6 right in the center evoked dangerous machinery more than it did a person.
What the hell did you do?
That was the problem: unless this guy was going to spontaneously combust without the failsafe (and to be fair, that could be the case), she couldn’t think of a single thing that would deserve this kind of treatment. Her mind ran through the worst paranatural cases she’d heard about in the last few years. None of them had really involved people, outside of the Bright Falls AWE, and all parties of interest in that shitfest were accounted for. He was being treated worse than most prison inmates…for what?
Who the hell are you?
Zoe was once again overwhelmed by the urge to ask questions, but she shoved it down. Wrong place, terrible time, and she didn’t think she’d get an answer, anyway. Dylan had given her his name, but clammed up every time she asked him other personal details. Honestly, she was a little surprised he was okay with her being standing so close. He’d stopped puking, but he hadn’t pulled away. He kept hovering over the trash can like he was scared he’d start back up again. “Maybe we should get you to a doctor…?” Zoe said. Dylan shook his head immediately. “O-kay. Will you at least tell me what’s up?”
“…head hurts.”
The pieces all clicked together. Rubbing one side of his face. Nausea. Vomiting. “Migraine?” Zoe guessed. Dylan nodded. “That sucks. I think I have some stuff in my office, if you want to try that. It’s that or the med team.”
Dylan glanced up at her with a bitter look. “Am I allowed?” he said.
“I’m fine with it. If you mean them…” Zoe glanced over her shoulder. It looked like one of the Rangers was watching her through a window. She smiled and waved cheerfully before turning back to Dylan. “…they probably want you in working order. I don’t think they get to be picky about how you get treatment.”
“Right.” Dylan tried to wipe his mouth off on his sleeve and slowly straightened up. “Yeah. Okay. Your office.”
Dylam pulled away at first as they started for Zoe’s office, stepping just far enough away to indicate that he didn’t want to be touched anymore. That was fine; she’d expected that. She also wasn’t too surprised that he was unsteady on his feet. Between the pain and the sleep deprivation they were all feeling, it was probably a miracle he was upright. At one point, he misjudged a corner and stumbled into her. Zoe caught Dylan’s arm to help him keep moving, and…he didn’t pull away again. He didn’t quite lean on her, but he did lean into her grip, hovering near her like a scared kid hiding behind a bigger family member.
Okay, yeah, he needs painkillers. If he was letting himself be that vulnerable, or being that vulnerable without meaning to, then he could not have been feeling good.
Zoe didn’t bother turning on the lights in her office when they finally entered. The one window let in enough sunlight to see by, and she didn’t want to make Dylan’s headache worse. He curled up on the floor while she grabbed her bag and started digging through it. There were upsides to being the Designated Mary Poppins of every friend group she’d been in. She usually prepared for every situation.
Not today, it seemed.
“Okay, so, I gave my regular painkillers to the medical team,” she said apologetically. “But I do have Midol? I knew a guy who took it for headaches. It’s got…” She pulled out the box to check the ingredients. “…acetaminophen and caffeine and something for bloating. Are you allergic to anything?”
Dylan shook his head and stared intently at the packaging. Zoe thought at first that he was put off by the pink packaging—he hadn’t struck her as being one of those guys, but you never knew—but it looked more like he was checking to see if the box had been opened before. “It’s a brand-new bottle.” Zoe demonstrated by opening up the box, fumbling with the childproof cap, and showing him the intact safety seal. “Got it on my way over here. You can keep the whole thing if you want. I got two.”
That earned her the look of someone who couldn’t tell if she was messing with him or not. The pain from his headache must’ve won out over his distrust, because he finally took the bottle. He cracked it open and downed two before Zoe could even offer him water. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he pocketed the rest.
“You’re welcome. Let me know if that doesn’t do anything and I’ll see if I can get you something stronger.” Zoe wasn’t sure her chances were so good with all the injuries they’d been dealing with, but it was worth a shot. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini fridge she’d stolen from an unused break room and sat down next to him. “Does this happen a lot?”
Dylan shrugged. He seemed intent on making himself as small as possible: knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, head tucked down but tilted just enough that he could still see her from behind a few wayward strands of hair. He didn’t look dangerous; he looked miserable. “Hiss set it off worse, I think,” he mumbled.
They had been throwing him into Hiss-infected areas a lot lately. This must have been building for a while. Poor guy. “Do you think an HRA would help? I know they said you don’t need one…” Another thing they refused to explain to her! So much shit they wouldn’t tell her. It was starting to piss her off, honestly. “…but if it helps with the pain…”
“Don’t bother. They won’t give me one. Other people need them more.”
Zoe couldn’t keep the skepticism off her face. “I mean, you’re not levitating and chanting, but you don’t seem like you’re doing so good. That should matter?”
“It’s…I really don’t want to talk right now, okay?” Dylan winced and looked away from her. “Sorry. I just don’t…I don’t feel great.”
Two things could be true at once. Dylan was definitely trying to dodge questions, and that was annoying. But he was also in pain, and probably not up for giving answers even if he did want to, and she knew she had to respect that. “Fair enough. Here.” She put the water next to him and got back up. A big more rummaging around the space unearthed a cardigan and a blanket (because while this office wasn’t too bad, she’d been in one too many that they kept at sub-zero temps for some reason). She set those next to him, too. “You can take a nap if you want. I’ll make sure everyone leaves you alone.”
Dylan looked at the blanket as if there was a snake in it. He reacted to most things with that level of wariness, so Zoe didn’t take it personally. He did end up reaching for it, first tracing his hand over the surface, then pulling it up to his chest. The juxtaposition of the fabric—fuzzy, pale blue with white rabbits—and Dylan’s appearance—scruffy, dark military-style clothes, tired eyes—was pretty jarring. The longer he held it, though, the younger he looked.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome. Gotta look after each other in this shitshow, right?” She tried to smile encouragingly, but the ache in her chest made it hard. “I’m gonna make sure they know we’re still alive. Be back in a bit.”
It was a good thing she did leave, because the Rangers waiting in the hallway looked like they’d been getting ready to kick her door down. “Seriously?” Zoe sighed.
“Are you all right, Agent?” one of them asked.
“I’m fine. Jeez, you act like he’s in a perpetual state of bloodlust.”
“He threatened to rip your throat out.”
“It was my voice box and that was one time.” Granted, she probably should’ve been more afraid of the threat, but at the time she’d been more focused on the desperation in his voice. He wasn’t lashing out to be a dick; he was lashing out because the P6 title hurt. It felt like she was the only one who noticed or cared. “He’s got a migraine. He’s resting. If you really have to follow him around, you can wait outside. Okay?” The Rangers exchanged glances before one of them grunted in agreement. “Super.”
She had to go back to the conference room for her stuff, but she tried to be quick about it. The mental image of Dylan holding that blanket was haunting her. She couldn’t leave him alone, not when everyone else couldn’t see what she saw.
Or refused to.
I’ve got to get some answers about him.
Zoe had already submitted an information request for Dylan’s file. They’d been slow to get it to her. She’d thought at first it was because of everything else going on, but she was starting to think it was for other reasons.
Maybe I should start getting persistent about that.
The Rangers had taken up position outside her office when she got back. Dylan was fast asleep when Zoe opened the door, wrapped up with the blanket over his head, so they must have left him alone.
Thank God for that. He didn’t need more shit on his plate.
.
Dylan had never been more annoyed to feel consciousness start creeping back into his skull. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t be waking up until the headache and everything that came with it were long gone. But he didn’t get a say; his body demanded that he wake up. His mouth was dry, one arm had gone numb, and the floor was really not that comfortable.
He was warm, though. He was wrapped in something soft, with something else soft under his head that smelled like…coconut, maybe? And a crisp laundry detergent smell. Zoe’s sweater, he remembered, and her blanket. The painkillers she’d given him rattled slightly in his pocket as he shifted his weight off his arm. He could swear he still felt her hand rubbing his shoulder, her body near his, supportive and completely unafraid. Embarrassing as it was, Dylan wished there was some way he could isolate the feeling of that touch from the context of him puking his guts out. And from the utter confusion the memory gave him.
What is her deal?
Dylan risked opening his eyes. The office was a bit darker than before. Zoe was back, sitting at her desk and digging through a stack of papers. Her head bopped along to a beat Dylan couldn’t hear. She glanced Dylan’s way as he sat up, slowly and carefully. “Still dying?” she asked.
“We’re all dying,” Dylan replied.
“Okay, witty comeback. That’s a good sign.” She spun her chair around to face him. She had one earbud in while the other one was draped around her neck. “Seriously, how do you feel?”
Dylan took stock of his body. He’d somehow been able to sleep through the headache proper (he must’ve been exhausted if he’d pulled that off), but that still left him with the achy, weary dregs that always followed. Only had one alcoholic drink in my life, but I can still get a hangover without it. Fucking bullshit. “Like I could sleep another twelve hours,” Dylan admitted as he picked up and opened the water she’d left near him.
“Well, the situation hasn’t devolved since you conked out, so maybe tonight will be kind to us.”
“I’m not gonna hold my breath. What are you listening to?”
Wait. Shit. I didn’t mean to… It was an innocent question, but people in the FBC didn’t really do small talk. Well, except for the Panopticon guy, Fred. He did nothing but talk. But even then, he had a habit of getting skittish whenever Dylan was around. There was no way Zoe would…
“Oh, it’s TWICE. Want to hear it?”
…okay, apparently there was. What the fuck is her deal?
“Sure,” Dylan said. It felt rude to say no, and he was curious. It seemed like the satellite office guys actually stayed caught up on current music instead of being stuck in the 80s or earlier. He might hear something new for a change.
Zoe scooped up her phone—right, phones could play music now, any music you could think of—tapped at the screen, and unplugged her headphones. Dylan didn’t really have any expectations as to what TWICE might be. Could be anything; with everyone in uniform and his interactions with people still mostly confined to mission talk, it was hard to judge what Zoe’s tastes might be.
It was still a bit of a shock to hear a poppy, upbeat song that he would’ve heard in one of those girl stores at the mall come out of the phone.
“Got you on my radar, soon you’re gonna be with me, my strategy, strategy, will get you, get you, baby.”
It wasn’t bad: not his usual, but not ear-gratingly awful, either. It was just probably not the best song to be listening to when he still felt disconnected and dizzy. Now the hangover felt like a straight up fever dream.
“New York is falling apart and that’s what you’re listening to?” he said, confused.
Zoe grinned and leaned back in her chair. “I like to add a little zest to my AWEs with contrasting music,” she said as she twisted the chair back and forth to the beat. “’Toxic’ has been in rotation, too.” Her smile slipped as Dylan’s expression grew more confused. “You know, Brittany Spears?”
The name finally clicked, drawing out another memory. The mall again. Being dragged around for back-to-school shopping. “Oops, I Did It Again” blaring over the speakers while Jesse flatly rejected another one of Mom’s attempts to get her to wear a skirt. “Brittany Spears in the middle of an AWE?” Zoe’s grin came back; the expression drew a startled, unpracticed bark of laughter from Dylan. “Fucking…sure. Okay.” He rubbed his face, more to cover up his smile than out of real pain. “You’re gonna give me a headache again.”
“Well, shit, we can’t have that.” Zoe turned her attention back to the phone. “I’ve got a chill playlist. Maybe that will help.”
“We have time to just…sit? Shouldn't I be reporting in?”
“Like I said, situation hasn't devolved. There’s nothing going on that needs you. Besides, you look like garbage and running off now might get you killed. I’m not gonna let that happen.” Zoe glanced up at him. “We're in this shitshow together, remember?”
That's a very loaded sentence, Agent. “Yeah.”
“So, we look out for each other. You've been pulling your weight, this is me pulling mine.”
You're doing it again. Dylan wanted to push back, ask her why she really cared, what her deal was, who assigned her to him and what she was reporting back to them. Is it Pope? Is she picking up where Darling left off? But what came out of his mouth instead, as his fingers tightly gripped the blanket she'd given him, was, “Okay.”
Simple acceptance, because he was a fucking pathetic idiot.
Dylan tried to rationalize his reaction. He really didn't want to believe he was that stupid, and there was something about this that felt uniquely off. They've tried being nice before, he realized as the song started playing, but it wasn't the same. Research’s fumbled attempts at connecting with him were transparently self-serving; they treated him more like a stupid, easily-bribed child than a person. He’d never felt seen by a single person in that House, but he felt seen by Zoe. She was either trying a lot harder than the usual crowd of idiots, or she was being genuine.
“How’s this?” Zoe asked.
“Moved out to a new city, June is dawning down on me and all that I can find’s…”
Dylan pushed aside his confusion and tried to focus on the song. It was slower paced, almost beachy with the guitar and drums. The lady’s voice was lower and smoother, comforting even though the words were sad. “It’s nice,” he said quietly. Still a contrast to the chaos outside, but less so than the bubblegum-pop fever dream of before. “I like it.”
Zoe smiled at him briefly before turning back to her paperwork. Dylan wrapped the blanket back around his shoulders and closed his eyes. He tried to focus on willing the tension from his body and riding out the post-migraine hangover. Confusion and doubt crawled right back. His eyes drifted back open to focus on Zoe. She kept looking at her files as if he weren’t sitting a few feet away. No fear, no wariness, no judgmental glances. Either she was a hell of an actor, or…
Could she just be genuine? Had they handed him off to the one normal person in the damn Bureau? What were the odds that he’d finally gotten lucky, even in a small way.
“I'm only getting older, I've never had a shoulder to cry on…”
For the hundredth time, Dylan wished Jesse was here. She’d always been better with people. But she was gone, for now. Dylan had to figure this one out on his own. He wouldn’t be able to now, not with his brain still mushy and strange, but he’d have to do it eventually.
It was strange, feeling so lonely when a potential way out of it was right next to him. If only he could determine whether or not it was a mirage.
If only he could be brave enough to risk reaching back.
“Everybody’s falling in love and I'm falling behind.”