Work Text:
The house was quiet, a stark contrast to chaos and noise that marked Hudson’s life since he left Canada to search for his brother. It had been just over three months since he had been rescued, they told him – all he remembered was that one minute he was stuck in a tiny, windowless room, his misfortune of stumbling into the wrong people at the wrong time, trying to follow his brother’s tracks, and in the next, he was awake at a hospital, a flurry of doctors around him. The next time he woke up afterwards, he was in a hospital he was all too familiar with, Sarah by his side.
Sarah.
Frankly, he didn’t think he’d see her again.
Rex pattered into the room, clearing his mind of thoughts.
“Hey, buddy,” he got out, rubbing his eyes.
Sleep still rarely came to him without a fight, the nightmares and the pain from the shopping list of injuries each taking turns – but more recently, combining their forces – to bother him at night, and many a night cause him to wake Sarah up too.
He forced himself out of bed and into the living room, trying to make his coffee one-handed without spilling any on the counter, before setting himself down on the sofa, watching the afternoon sun cast long shadows into the living room. Rex curled up beside him, his furry friend emitting the occasional soft sigh, bringing him back into the here and now.
He shifted his weight, wincing when he pressed his back awkwardly against the rigid back of the sofa.
He was nowhere near being cleared for duty, and Charlie feared that he never would be.
Physically, he was recovering, sure. His malnourishment had caused him to lose about thirty pounds, but Sarah’s cooking was slowly bringing him back. The scars, a slowly whitening webwork across his back and torso were fading. His broken arm and fractured ribs were slowly becoming less of a concern too.
But it wasn’t the wounds that everyone saw that he was worried about, no.
Charlie feared that his time away had broken him irrevocably. He’d jump at the sound of a car backfiring. He couldn’t be in a crowded room for more than five minutes without feeling the walls close in. He’d tried to go to the precinct last week, but he’d only made it to the front entrance before he turned back around, asking Sarah to drive him home.
Joe had been more than understanding, leaving the door wide open for Charlie to come back at his own pace, but Charlie felt the distance between where he was now and his old life like a phantom limb.
He was a detective who couldn’t stomach a crime scene, a cop who instinctually sought survival, not investigation, and man who was afraid of every sound in the night.
Rex lifted his head, ears perked, letting out a soft whine as he nudged at Charlie’s good arm with his wet nose.
“I’m okay pal, I am,” Charlie murmured. Ever since Charlie had been back, Rex had refused to leave his side, shadowing him every step he took in the house.
“He missed you. We all did. I… I…”
The shrill tone of his phone cut through the silence, making Charlie flinch and causing Rex to perk up.
“Rex, bring me my phone,” he asked, and Rex jumped off the sofa and pattered towards the noise, bring the phone back down to Charlie.
No name, just a number. A Canadian number.
Probably some telemarketers, he thought, declining the call, trying to get back into some semblance of peace before the night tore into him.
His phone rang again, and he reached for it, taking note of the fact that it was the same number as before.
Before he could choose differently, he answered.
“Detective Hudson speaking,” he said, instinctually, even as the title Detective felt like a relic of a life he couldn’t get back.
Not yet.
“Hello?” he questioned, the silence growing. He was about to drop the call when he heard someone breath down the line.
“Detective Hudson.”
No question, just his name. Just two words, but it was all it took for the minimal progress that Charlie had been convinced he had managed to make to be swept away.
That voice.
Charlie’s blood ran cold as he recognised the voice. It was a voice that came to him every night, that on some nights still made him wish he were dead, rather than suffering and tearing apart what seemed to be his friends, and Sarah’s, new normal.
“You still there?
Charlie’s hand tensed around his phone, Rex now up and staring right at him, head cocked to the right.
“Who is this?” Charlie asked, certain he knew the answer, but asking anyway – he needed to be sure his mind was hearing things.
A humourless chuckle cracked over the line.
“Did you not hear me enough in our months together, Detective? Well, perhaps I should call you more often. Anyway, I just wanted to check in. I was a bit disappointed with how you left us; your exit could have been a bit more, graceful, you know.”
The floor seemed to tilt underneath his feet.
This wasn’t possible.
Didn’t they say that everyone was either dead, or captured?
“Say something, Charlie. Or did I go a little too hard on you?” he taunted.
The room was shrinking, walls pressing in. His heartrate spiked, and he could feel himself struggle to take a deep breath in.
“Perhaps I did. Well, don’t get too comfortable, Charlie,” the voice said, and Charlie froze in his space.
He had never been called Charlie, ever. Always Detective Hudson, or just one of the other. Never Charlie, not by that man.
“Enjoy your dog. Enjoy your friends. Enjoy your girlfriend. Savour every moment. Try and reclaim the life you had.”
There was a pause; Charlie heard his heart hammer incessantly against his ribs, threatening to claw its way out.
“Because when we come to you this time, you won’t be breathing when you leave us.”
Click.
The call disconnected, and Charlie’s phone slid out of his hands, bouncing off the floor. He stumbled away from the sofa, hitting the wall and finding no energy to make it to the bathroom, instead sliding down the wall, trying to steady his breathing the way Sarah had been talking him through it.
Everything was a lie.
His freedom, the safety of his home, all of it.
Rex was frantic, trying to get Charlie out of his spiral, but nothing worked; Charlie could see or hear nothing but his own body betraying him, his mind repeating the threats and taunts he heard every time the owner of that voice made his way down to him, leaving with a piece of him each time.
He wasn’t sure how long he was there, lost in the terrifying memories, unable to distinguish what had actually happened and what was just an exaggeration. He didn’t hear the keys rattle against the front door, or Sarah’s voice call out for him as she entered.
“Charlie? You up? I’ve got dinner.”
She kicked off her shoes, dropping off the groceries, heading into the living room and expecting to see either Charlie and Rex cozied up on the sofa, or Charlie sitting on the small bench outside, enjoying some fresh air.
Instead, her smile faded as she spotted Charlie shaking in the corner, Rex distressed at Charlie’s state.
“Charlie?” she approached, kneeling down in front and slightly to the side, trying her best not to spook him.
“Charlie,” she repeated, extending a hand and placing it softly on his shoulder, watching as his eyes shot up to meet hers, his face frozen in terror.
“Are you… are you hurt?” she questioned, the doctor in her spurring into life.
“No, no, nothing new,” he informed her, shaking his head.
His voice broke as he got out the only three words he could right now, the words that circled in his mind.
“It’s not over.”
It’s not over.