![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Black Edelweiss
Series: Zeitgeist
Follows: One Giant Leap
Wordcount: 1,305
Summary: Two weeks after Claire Bennet's televised leap from the Ferris wheel, the 12th handles it's first case delving into the strange world of specials. Evidence points the investigation toward a former Company Agent, a man Noah Bennet would swear up and down doesn't exist.
Details: Minimal details due to inflation. Full warnings and details in main post.
PREV: Interlude 12 // MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Twelve
Konrad—Manhattan, New York; September 11, 2001
Dust choked his lungs as Konrad drew in another ragged breath. He had been wearing a mask when they first arrived, but he had long since let it fall down onto his chest. He didn't know how long he had been there, kneeling in the rubble, insensible to the heat, the dust and the danger.
At that moment it was beyond his capability to care.
He was aware of the movement going on around him, but the frantic sounds of activity were dulled, distant. Here and there a few scraps of sensation managed to penetrate—the smell of smoke, of burned flesh; the sharp, nagging persistence of pain in his hands—but the voices and sirens all fell away from him, muffled and indistinct.
It was the solidity of fingers gripping his arms that first began to draw him out of the state he had found himself locked in. He felt the mask being shoved back over his face, a tug as he was drawn to his feet. The feel of his arm being dragged over a pair of slim shoulders, his weight being supported by the solid presence beside him. His steps were unsteady, sliding in the litter of debris at this feet—ash, and plaster, and shattered concrete. While his vision was already blurred by the tears and grit that caked his stinging eyes, the daylight nearly blinded him.
By the time things started to regain some measure of coherency Konrad was sitting on the ground beside one of the response vehicles, propped against the wheel. A flashlight was being shone in his eyes by a man he didn't recognize. The uniform was hard to distinguish underneath the dust, but Konrad's dazed thoughts supplied that he was probably an EMT. The man turned his head, and Konrad couldn't make out any words or see his mouth behind the face-mask, but he thought the man might have been answering someone's question. And then he stepped away, replaced by a face Konrad did recognize.
"Ryan, what the everliving fuck?" Maxwell asked, her voice finally managing to carry through to him.
As plain as the words were, it was hard for Konrad to make any sense of them. His partner's tone was sort of frustrated and disapproving, but all he saw in the eyes staring down at him over her mask was concern. Then again, he couldn't quite understand his own words either as they came spilling out to answer her—a chaotic and rambling sort of nonsense forming whenever the air in his tortured lungs managed to escape as anything but a damaged sob.
"Alles...alles tot...broken. Burned." Konrad swallowed around his words, tasting ash. "Mutti..."
Maxwell squatted down next to him, gripping his shoulders again and shaking him a little. His head swayed, thudding gently against the hard metal behind him.
"Ryan? Focus, for me, okay? Damn it, you're not making any sense..."
Konrad closed his eyes, trying to do as she asked and piece his thoughts together.
"Dead," he choked out, finally. "They're all dead and— God, I can't, I just— I can't."
His face felt hot inside the filtered mask—he could barely breathe. He couldn't breathe without it, but he felt stifled and wound up fighting his partner as she tried to stop him from tearing it from his face. It was only once he succeeded that he realized the problem wasn't the mask or even the dust surrounding them, just that he was breathing far too rapidly for any of the air to reach his lungs. He tried to slow it down, using an ability he had acquired long ago to dial back the adrenaline, to regulate the pace of his heart and try to place the grief and horror he was feeling at a safer distance.
"Who, Kevin? Who is dead?" Maxwell asked once he had managed a few productive breaths.
She seemed to have given up putting the mask back on him, but was kneeling in front of him, eyes intent.
"My mother," Konrad answered her, brokenly. He leaned forward and spat out a mouthful of grit onto the ground between his legs, dragging an arm over his face. "God, my mother and father, my sisters...all of them. There's nothing left."
Maxwell stared at him for a few moments before capturing his face in her hands so that his eyes met hers. With the insanity going on in the background she seemed unnaturally solid, like she was the only thing in the broken landscape around them that was real. Part of the problem, Konrad realized, was that he wasn't sure where he was—when he was. He couldn't quite remember. He had to focus...
"Kevin, your mom lives in Buffalo," Maxwell said. "She's fine. Your sister Stacey...didn't you just tell me the other day about that kid of hers? Baltimore, right? They're fine too. They're all fine."
Konrad tried to shake his head—none of what she was saying was true—but her hands held him firmly in place.
"Say it Kevin," Maxwell said. "Say it with me. They're all fine."
Konrad knew that he was confused, that his family wasn't here—had never been here—but something was wrong, and he felt like he was breaking inside. It was just so hard for him to focus. He needed something to hold to, to keep him anchored against the black sink of past despair that had come flooding up when his barriers had broken. It had all been spilled out in front of him, and even his attempts at using that old ability to put things back in the dark where they belonged couldn't seem to shut it all away fast enough...
Maxwell was all he had. And as she begged him to repeat the pretty lies he had been feeding her for as long as Kevin Ryan had been her partner, for a moment Konrad wished with all his heart that he could believe those lies himself.
"They're fine," Kevin said finally, shutting his eyes as he repeated her words obediently. "They're fine, they're fine, they're all fine, they're home, they're safe..."
He felt Maxwell let go of his face, hand dropping down to squeeze his shoulder gently. Kevin finally managed a shaking breath, opening his eyes to look up at her, nodding vacantly.
"They're... God, they're fine. Jesus, Max, I don't—"
And the confusion was still there, his thoughts all running crossways from each other, but finally Kevin's panic was beginning to die away.
"What happened?" he asked her, breathlessly.
"You scared the shit out of me, rookie, that's what happened," Maxwell said harshly, though more than anything she sounded relieved.
Then Maxwell was prying his fingers open, and Kevin let out out a pained hiss. For the first time he realized that his hands were balled into fists, clutching the stems of some battered flowers. Roses. Only a few petals remained clinging to the heads, but he knew they were roses from the sting. His hands shook as they finally opened, and he stared for a moment at the ragged holes the thorns had left in his palms. They bled lazily, blood mixing with ash and dust, and he stared. He thought he must still be in shock—or whatever it was—because he stared at them with a detached surprise.
As if he had never seen himself bleed before...
"Jesus, Ryan, where were you?"
Closing his hands carefully Kevin tried to remember what had set him off. There was something there, like a word on the tip of his tongue, but it was receding quickly. Something about the heat and the dust, the blood and the burning roses. It had to have been the roses, he realized distantly. The petals were a soft, deep yellow that was almost orange, like the ones his mother grew back home...
And there was something else there, but it was so faint, and Kevin failed to get a grip on it before it was gone completely.
Shaking his head dazedly, Kevin looked up at Maxwell who was looking at him with guarded care. He knew she had a protective streak a mile across, but was terribly careful not to show it. Seeing it now, Kevin couldn't help the faint smile that ticked at the corner of his mouth. Unfortunately, that only seemed to worry her more.
"Kevin," she told him levelly. "If you need to get out of this shit and get your head straight...no one's going to look down on you for that."
Kevin shook his head before he even took the time to consider it. Things were still broken. It was hell out there, and there were people who needed help. His own bullshit—whatever it was—would honest to God have to wait.
"No," Kevin told her, fighting more strength into his voice. "No. I'll...I'll be okay. Head on the job."
Nodding to himself, Kevin repeated the words, believing it.
"I'll be okay."
Kevin—Manhattan, New York; September 11, 2001
PREV: Interlude 12 // MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Twelve
Author's Note: This is the last interlude for a while. We return to the present after this. Also, it's never going to matter, but in my head Officer Maxwell looks like Deputy Kenya from True Blood. Don't ask me why.
Series: Zeitgeist
Follows: One Giant Leap
Wordcount: 1,305
Summary: Two weeks after Claire Bennet's televised leap from the Ferris wheel, the 12th handles it's first case delving into the strange world of specials. Evidence points the investigation toward a former Company Agent, a man Noah Bennet would swear up and down doesn't exist.
Details: Minimal details due to inflation. Full warnings and details in main post.
PREV: Interlude 12 // MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Twelve
Konrad—Manhattan, New York; September 11, 2001
Dust choked his lungs as Konrad drew in another ragged breath. He had been wearing a mask when they first arrived, but he had long since let it fall down onto his chest. He didn't know how long he had been there, kneeling in the rubble, insensible to the heat, the dust and the danger.
At that moment it was beyond his capability to care.
He was aware of the movement going on around him, but the frantic sounds of activity were dulled, distant. Here and there a few scraps of sensation managed to penetrate—the smell of smoke, of burned flesh; the sharp, nagging persistence of pain in his hands—but the voices and sirens all fell away from him, muffled and indistinct.
It was the solidity of fingers gripping his arms that first began to draw him out of the state he had found himself locked in. He felt the mask being shoved back over his face, a tug as he was drawn to his feet. The feel of his arm being dragged over a pair of slim shoulders, his weight being supported by the solid presence beside him. His steps were unsteady, sliding in the litter of debris at this feet—ash, and plaster, and shattered concrete. While his vision was already blurred by the tears and grit that caked his stinging eyes, the daylight nearly blinded him.
By the time things started to regain some measure of coherency Konrad was sitting on the ground beside one of the response vehicles, propped against the wheel. A flashlight was being shone in his eyes by a man he didn't recognize. The uniform was hard to distinguish underneath the dust, but Konrad's dazed thoughts supplied that he was probably an EMT. The man turned his head, and Konrad couldn't make out any words or see his mouth behind the face-mask, but he thought the man might have been answering someone's question. And then he stepped away, replaced by a face Konrad did recognize.
"Ryan, what the everliving fuck?" Maxwell asked, her voice finally managing to carry through to him.
As plain as the words were, it was hard for Konrad to make any sense of them. His partner's tone was sort of frustrated and disapproving, but all he saw in the eyes staring down at him over her mask was concern. Then again, he couldn't quite understand his own words either as they came spilling out to answer her—a chaotic and rambling sort of nonsense forming whenever the air in his tortured lungs managed to escape as anything but a damaged sob.
"Alles...alles tot...broken. Burned." Konrad swallowed around his words, tasting ash. "Mutti..."
Maxwell squatted down next to him, gripping his shoulders again and shaking him a little. His head swayed, thudding gently against the hard metal behind him.
"Ryan? Focus, for me, okay? Damn it, you're not making any sense..."
Konrad closed his eyes, trying to do as she asked and piece his thoughts together.
"Dead," he choked out, finally. "They're all dead and— God, I can't, I just— I can't."
His face felt hot inside the filtered mask—he could barely breathe. He couldn't breathe without it, but he felt stifled and wound up fighting his partner as she tried to stop him from tearing it from his face. It was only once he succeeded that he realized the problem wasn't the mask or even the dust surrounding them, just that he was breathing far too rapidly for any of the air to reach his lungs. He tried to slow it down, using an ability he had acquired long ago to dial back the adrenaline, to regulate the pace of his heart and try to place the grief and horror he was feeling at a safer distance.
"Who, Kevin? Who is dead?" Maxwell asked once he had managed a few productive breaths.
She seemed to have given up putting the mask back on him, but was kneeling in front of him, eyes intent.
"My mother," Konrad answered her, brokenly. He leaned forward and spat out a mouthful of grit onto the ground between his legs, dragging an arm over his face. "God, my mother and father, my sisters...all of them. There's nothing left."
Maxwell stared at him for a few moments before capturing his face in her hands so that his eyes met hers. With the insanity going on in the background she seemed unnaturally solid, like she was the only thing in the broken landscape around them that was real. Part of the problem, Konrad realized, was that he wasn't sure where he was—when he was. He couldn't quite remember. He had to focus...
"Kevin, your mom lives in Buffalo," Maxwell said. "She's fine. Your sister Stacey...didn't you just tell me the other day about that kid of hers? Baltimore, right? They're fine too. They're all fine."
Konrad tried to shake his head—none of what she was saying was true—but her hands held him firmly in place.
"Say it Kevin," Maxwell said. "Say it with me. They're all fine."
Konrad knew that he was confused, that his family wasn't here—had never been here—but something was wrong, and he felt like he was breaking inside. It was just so hard for him to focus. He needed something to hold to, to keep him anchored against the black sink of past despair that had come flooding up when his barriers had broken. It had all been spilled out in front of him, and even his attempts at using that old ability to put things back in the dark where they belonged couldn't seem to shut it all away fast enough...
Maxwell was all he had. And as she begged him to repeat the pretty lies he had been feeding her for as long as Kevin Ryan had been her partner, for a moment Konrad wished with all his heart that he could believe those lies himself.
"They're fine," Kevin said finally, shutting his eyes as he repeated her words obediently. "They're fine, they're fine, they're all fine, they're home, they're safe..."
He felt Maxwell let go of his face, hand dropping down to squeeze his shoulder gently. Kevin finally managed a shaking breath, opening his eyes to look up at her, nodding vacantly.
"They're... God, they're fine. Jesus, Max, I don't—"
And the confusion was still there, his thoughts all running crossways from each other, but finally Kevin's panic was beginning to die away.
"What happened?" he asked her, breathlessly.
"You scared the shit out of me, rookie, that's what happened," Maxwell said harshly, though more than anything she sounded relieved.
Then Maxwell was prying his fingers open, and Kevin let out out a pained hiss. For the first time he realized that his hands were balled into fists, clutching the stems of some battered flowers. Roses. Only a few petals remained clinging to the heads, but he knew they were roses from the sting. His hands shook as they finally opened, and he stared for a moment at the ragged holes the thorns had left in his palms. They bled lazily, blood mixing with ash and dust, and he stared. He thought he must still be in shock—or whatever it was—because he stared at them with a detached surprise.
As if he had never seen himself bleed before...
"Jesus, Ryan, where were you?"
Closing his hands carefully Kevin tried to remember what had set him off. There was something there, like a word on the tip of his tongue, but it was receding quickly. Something about the heat and the dust, the blood and the burning roses. It had to have been the roses, he realized distantly. The petals were a soft, deep yellow that was almost orange, like the ones his mother grew back home...
And there was something else there, but it was so faint, and Kevin failed to get a grip on it before it was gone completely.
Shaking his head dazedly, Kevin looked up at Maxwell who was looking at him with guarded care. He knew she had a protective streak a mile across, but was terribly careful not to show it. Seeing it now, Kevin couldn't help the faint smile that ticked at the corner of his mouth. Unfortunately, that only seemed to worry her more.
"Kevin," she told him levelly. "If you need to get out of this shit and get your head straight...no one's going to look down on you for that."
Kevin shook his head before he even took the time to consider it. Things were still broken. It was hell out there, and there were people who needed help. His own bullshit—whatever it was—would honest to God have to wait.
"No," Kevin told her, fighting more strength into his voice. "No. I'll...I'll be okay. Head on the job."
Nodding to himself, Kevin repeated the words, believing it.
"I'll be okay."
Kevin—Manhattan, New York; September 11, 2001
PREV: Interlude 12 // MAIN // NEXT: Chapter Twelve
Author's Note: This is the last interlude for a while. We return to the present after this. Also, it's never going to matter, but in my head Officer Maxwell looks like Deputy Kenya from True Blood. Don't ask me why.
