#TeaserTuesday: "When did you know?"

Today's teaser is a bit of a spoiler for Lord Have Mercy Part 3, so if you haven't been reading along as the installments release and are waiting for the whole version, turn back now! I'll put it under a cut so it won't show on the blog home page automatically.

Here we go...

He thought back to that night in the farmhouse kitchen, before a Boyle-sent intruder had shattered their afterglow. When Emmie had sat at the island in one of his shirts – not her plush and warm and comfy robe, no; one of his shirts, because it was comforting to her. Because he was comforting to her. Even though he hadn’t known himself capable of comforting anyone before she’d come into his life. And she’d pleaded with him with big eyes, and asked him not to lock things away, not from her.

Self-reliance had been a strength his whole life.

And now it was drowning him.

A figure filled the doorway, suddenly, silently.

Walsh was too spent to be startled by it.

It was Michael. It was funny, Walsh reflected, all the ways his face had never softened in the time he’d known him. Not even after Holly and Lucy. Not even after Mercy started kidding him, and including him, and his shoulders had relaxed a noticeable fraction. That was just his face, Walsh supposed. A blue-eyed blank wall, inscrutable and unscalable.

He stood a moment, staring down at Walsh without a shred of social grace: which was to say, he held awkward eye contact without flinching. “You good?” he said, after a while. Voice as flat as his expression.

Walsh’s voice came out croaky and unsteady. “Potassium’s low.” Among other things. “You bring me one of those banana bags in the chest freezer?”

Michael reacted neither with surprise nor censure, merely nodded and moved off. He returned less than a minute later, toting the IV bag, a length of medical tubing, and a needle.

“Thanks,” Walsh said, and hitched himself up higher against the tub. Standing was beyond him at the moment, but he rolled up his right sleeve and reached for the needle. When it became apparent he couldn’t manage to hit the vein without going through, the way his hands were trembling, Michael knelt and did it himself. A fast pinch, then the stickiness of the tape. With deft movements, he attached the bag, then stood to hang it off the shower rod, and released the clip to start the fluids going.

“Thanks,” Walsh said again, and tipped his head back once more.

Though it had taken one of Ratchet’s many shady connections to procure them, keeping the hydration IV bags on hand had been Walsh’s idea. They had Narcan and an assortment of other emergency supplies, too. An overdose or case of alcohol poisoning wasn’t the sort of thing they could afford to wait around for an ambulance crew to handle. More of that self-reliance.

He'd never had to hook himself up to one before.

Well. Michael had done it, but it was the principle of the thing.

He closed his eyes, and waited. Michael could move like a cat, but Walsh could feel his presence lingering in the room, that vibration of another heartbeat, like a TV left on just out of hearing range.

He expected Michael to say something, eventually. That humming energy of his was that of a man with a piece to speak.

But he was in no way prepared for what Michael would say.

“Ghost’s not dead, is he?”

Walsh slitted his eyes open to peer up at him, searching for a trace of judgement, even contempt, that of course wasn’t there. Or at least wasn’t visible. He was too woozy to deny it. Swallowed and said, “When did you know?”

“Immediately.”

“Jesus. There goes my convincing side.”

“I think Aidan believes.”

“Yeah. That’s going to be a big problem.” When Michael nodded, and continued to peer at him without anger, Walsh volunteered, “He went with Fox to Virginia.”

“How’s that going?”

“Fox said to watch the news tonight.” He blearily checked his watch. “Or this morning. Whatever.” He could feel the fluids perking him up a little, but only in a way that served to remind him how badly his head hurt.

“Can you stand?” Michael asked.

“Maybe.”

Michael held out a hand, and Walsh knew it wasn’t merely an offer of physical help.

He took it, and let himself be hauled to his feet.