[Amnesty Day] [Perry Mason and Bonanza] Various

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Three assorted hurt/comforty blurbs, each one featuring a different character of Wesley Lau's. There were a lot of themes I liked this month, but gah, I couldn't fit in the time for all of them.

Title: Through the Refiner's Fire, part 5
Day/Theme: September 24th - He said: "Here's the keys to heaven."
Series: Bonanza-related (based on the episode Her Brother's Keeper)
Character/Pairing: Carl Armory, Claire Armory, James Jeffers (from an episode of The Wild Wild West)
Rating: T/PG-13


By Lucky_Ladybug

Claire was wide awake.

She had stumbled into the living room some time ago, weakened, her head throbbing. She had discovered both that there was nothing to eat in the house and that Carl was not there.

Instantly that had started her worrying. Had Carl left to try to find something to eat? What would he do for money?

Unable to walk far without growing dizzy, Claire had sunk into a chair in the living room to worry and wait. When at last the key was inserted into the front door’s lock, she perked up and looked to it with expectance.

What would she say to Carl when he came in? Demand to know where he had been? Scold him for not leaving a note?

Maybe it depended on the manner of his entrance. If he was blustery and nonchalant, she would be upset and furious. If he was apologetic, she would listen and be patient, as she had always been.

What was the most likely?

With Carl it could go either way, depending on his luck that night.

Claire chewed on her lip. It had been fractions of seconds, but it felt so much longer. The knob was turning now. “Carl?” she called.

There was no answer. She stiffened. Was he going to come in shamed and guilty? Had he gotten them into more trouble?

Could she even deal with that now, while she was still injured? She was not even sure she could get out of the chair. The dizziness had increased. She should not have left the bed.

When two strange men entered, supporting a bruised and battered Carl between them, the color drained from Claire’s face. She was a strong woman and always had been, but this complete shock, coming right at this time, was not something she could easily take.

“Carl!” she choked out, trying to rise. “Oh, Carl! What happened?!” She reached for him, her hands shaking. Vertigo overwhelmed her and she collapsed back in the chair, her heart pounding.

Carl looked to her, the fear and regret in his eyes. “Claire,” he rasped. “You . . . you shouldn’t be up. . . .”

“You shouldn’t be hurt!” Claire weakly exclaimed.

The tall man on Carl’s right gave her a look of sympathy and concern. “My driver and I found him like this at the side of the road, Miss Armory. He’s having some trouble breathing. Is there a doctor near here?”

“Y-Yes,” Claire stammered. “Doctor Burns.”

“I’ll get him,” the driver volunteered.

He and the tall brunet laid Carl on the couch. Then the driver straightened, looking to Claire instead of departing. “It looks like you need him too, Ma’am,” he exclaimed.

“Oh, don’t worry about me! It’s Carl.” Claire looked to her semi-conscious brother in horror.

“Get going, Charleston,” the other man ordered.

“Yes, Mr. Jeffers.” Charleston hurried out, shutting the door behind him.

Carl wheezed in pain as he tried to even his breathing. “Claire?” He looked towards her, his eyes bleary. “Claire, I . . . I know you can’t believe me, but . . .” He caught his breath in pain. “It was for you. I swear, I wasn’t trying . . .”

“Carl, Carl, please don’t try to speak!” Claire begged. She held a hand to her head, willing the dizziness to pass. “Just lie still until the doctor comes.”

What a sight they must be for this Mr. Jeffers! Carl lying injured on the couch and Claire unable to so much as get up and help. . . . But Mr. Jeffers did not seem to mind, other than for the fact of being concerned about them both.

And Carl sounded so agonized and pitiable. Of course, it wasn’t the first time, but somehow . . . considering how he had acted when Claire had first regained consciousness, and how worried he had been since, she believed that he was sincere. Maybe she was just a fool, but she couldn’t help it. Maybe he had been trying to get money or food to help her and something had gone drastically wrong.

Mr. Jeffers straightened, turning his attention to Claire. “Miss Armory, is there anything I can do for you?” he asked. “I know it’s irregular, when we’ve only just met, but I’m afraid your brother is right. You shouldn’t be up.”

“No.” Claire shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll stay.” She brought a hand to her forehead. “I could never relax now, not with Carl like this.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t, Miss Armory, but . . .” Mr. Jeffers went a bit red. “You realize the doctor will have to undress him. . . .”

Claire managed a half-smile. “I’ve taken care of Carl since we were children, Mr. Jeffers. A lot of times I’ve been the doctor, when there wasn’t anyone we could get.”

Mr. Jeffers blinked in surprise. “I see.”

Claire tried and failed to rise. Sighing, she resigned herself to sinking back into the chair. “Please, Mr. Jeffers, do you know what happened to Carl? Was he able to tell you anything?”

“I’m sorry, no.” Mr. Jeffers frowned. “But a lot of people end up beaten along that road. It’s out of the way when . . . when gamblers’ enforcers are trying to collect.”

Claire shut her eyes. “Oh no.”

“Claire . . .” Carl looked over again, reaching for her in vain desperation. “It . . . it isn’t what you think. I mean . . . it’s not . . .” He gasped in pain, his hand going to his throat.

“Carl, please don’t talk,” Claire begged. “Save your strength.”

Mr. Jeffers looked back and forth between them. “Miss Armory, I don’t mean to upset you. But do you know if your brother has been having problems with gamblers?”

Claire drew a shaking breath. “He has, in the past,” she said. “But I’m afraid I know what happened tonight. I haven’t been well, Mr. Jeffers, and Carl was probably trying to get some money to help me.”

She managed to sit up straight and look over at the couch from the chair. Carl was staring at her in disbelieving amazement. Claire smiled, again weak and also sad.

“You . . . believe me, Claire? After . . . after everything, you . . .”

The plaintive awe in Carl’s voice only stabbed Claire in the heart all the more. She had never heard that tone and those words from him before. He meant what he said.

“Yes, Carl,” she assured him. “I believe you.”

A new light came into Carl’s eyes. He sank back into the couch, his breathing easing at last.

Claire relaxed too. “You’ll be alright, Carl,” she said. “I promise, you’ll be alright.”

“I think he will be,” Mr. Jeffers spoke, surprised. “I haven’t seen him this calm since we found him.”

“Emotional upsets always make his condition worse,” Claire said quietly.

She was both sobered and relieved. Carl had been terribly worried over how Claire would handle what had happened. She had recognized the fear in his eyes in the last few minutes—fear that Claire would have a setback, fear that she would not understand why he had been hurt and think he was up to his old tricks, fear that she would leave him. . . . He honestly was trying to change, but that fear, that intense, overwhelming, agonizing fear of being left alone, was still there. Now that such fears had been quelled once more, he could be at peace.

And if he could relax at long last, so could Claire.
****
Within the hour, both Carl and Claire had been tended to. Doctor Burns was alarmed that Claire had gotten out of bed so soon, and without anyone around to help her. And although he was tempted to scold Carl for whatever he had been up to, he refrained. The last thing Carl needed tonight was another upset.

Once both siblings were resting peacefully, the physician stepped into the living room, where James Jeffers was waiting for news of their conditions. He looked up the moment Doctor Burns entered.

“Well? How are they, Doctor?” he asked in concern.

Burns sighed as he removed his stethoscope, placing it in his bag. “They’ll both be alright,” he said. “They’re dozing now. But Claire shouldn’t have gotten up and Carl shouldn’t have been out gambling.”

Jeffers frowned. “Was Miss Armory right, that he was trying to get money for her?”

“That was what he told me, when he could finally breathe easier,” Burns admitted.

“Don’t they have anything?” Jeffers gasped.

“Carl didn’t have access to anything except a quarter he’d found in the couch,” said Burns. “He’s terrible with money, so Claire keeps her savings away from him. She wrote me a check tonight, to pay for my expenses and the medicine she needs.” He shook his head. “But she doesn’t have anywhere near enough to pay off Carl’s gambling debt. And Carl can’t do anything about it. What’s worse, those enforcers will probably be coming around tomorrow to try to force Claire to pay.”

Jeffers glanced back at the hallway and then to the doctor. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “I’m a stranger to these people. I just found Mr. Armory on the walk and brought him home.”

Doctor Burns heaved a tired sigh. “I don’t know why I told you, Mr. Jeffers,” he said. “I suppose I just feel bad for these people and wish they had a friend or two. Claire, especially. She’s looked after her brother since they were children. And, well, he’s always been a bit of a bad penny. He’s tried to pull himself together to help his sister, but everything he touches turns into a disaster. As you can see.”

Jeffers slowly nodded. “Doctor, just how bad is his lung condition? That is, is he able to work at all?”

Burns considered the query. “Physical labor is out of the question. Just lifting too many heavy things out of one wagon is more than enough to trigger an attack. But he’s not skilled at many things for a desk job, either. He likes money, but even though he’s good at adding it up it would be a disaster waiting to happen to give him access to any. He can’t stay away from the gambling tables. He has some obsession about multiplying the money, even though all he can do is subtract it.”

“Has he ever had any of his own?” Jeffers wondered. “Or has he always borrowed from his sister?”

“I don’t know that,” Burns admitted. “But I don’t imagine he’s had much, if any, money of his own.”

Jeffers looked thoughtful. “Maybe all he needs is a firm hand to help keep him on the right path. You said he was trying to turn his life around to help his sister.”

“Yes,” Burns said slowly. “Yes, I did. And he is. But I wouldn’t expect him to stick with it when she’s well again. He’s never been able to stick with any attempt to better himself. He keeps slipping over and over into that rut and dragging poor Claire in with him.”

He reached for his hat and headed for the door. “Well, I won’t keep you, Mr. Jeffers. You’ve already spent a good deal of your time here. And I know how busy you are, even though we’ve never met.”

Jeffers snapped to. “Yes,” he said. “I sent Charleston home with a message for my daughter Betsy, to let her know I’d be even later for dinner than I thought.” He opened the door. “Thank you for coming, Doctor.”

Burns stepped outside and looked back. “Thank you for caring, Mr. Jeffers,” he replied. “Some people would have left Carl where he was. And if anything worse befell him, well, I hate to think what that would do to Claire. They’re terribly close, in spite of all the antics Carl gets them into.” He headed down the steps. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Jeffers looked after him for a long moment before following. Charleston was back and he needed to get home. And he did not want to bother the Armorys, if they were finally falling asleep after this ordeal.

Besides, he had a lot to think about.

“Home, Sir?” Charleston asked from the driver’s box.

Jeffers glanced up at him. “Not just yet, Charleston,” he said as he climbed into the carriage. “Not yet. There’s one other stop I need to make first.”

“Where’s that, Sir?” Charleston queried in surprise.

“The gambling house Mr. Armory was at last night,” Jeffers declared.
****
Claire could not sleep for very long. She was still worried about Carl, even though Doctor Burns had assured her he would recover. In the middle of the night she shakily sat up, pushing back the comforter quilt and fumbling into her slippers. Easing herself up, and lighting a candle, she used the furniture and the wall for support as she made her way to the door and into the hall.

She could not tell if Carl was asleep or awake when she silently opened his door. The only light was from the moon through the window, and Carl had turned his head away from it. She could see that he was steadily breathing, much to her relief. Not wanting to wake him, she started to close the door.

“Claire?”

She stopped. Carl was looking to the doorway now, sleepy but awake. Giving up, she moved slowly inside, setting the candle on the table near the bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“Oh Carl. . . .” Even in the dim light, she could see his bruised and cut skin. It broke her heart, especially with the realization of why it had happened.

Carl looked back at her. “Claire, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice tortured and filled with regret. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. Well, I never am, but I mean . . . I wasn’t trying to get you into trouble or leave you with another of my messes to straighten out. I only wanted to help you, to get the money we need for food and medicine. I tried everything else I could think of! But I couldn’t get a job, and I couldn’t get the bank to let me have any of your money, and . . .” He shook his head. “It just happened again. I fell back on the only way I’ve ever been able to make any money at all. But I lost, miserably. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll keep you out of it, somehow I will, but . . .”

“Carl, shh.” Claire placed a finger to his lips. “It’s going to be alright. Somehow it will be.”

“How?” Carl moaned.

“. . . I don’t know,” Claire confessed. Fear was already knotting in her stomach, but she pushed it back. “I’ll find a way. Tomorrow I’ll wire the girls in Europe and see if they can lend me the money.”

“No . . .” Carl shook his head. “You can’t have to keep bailing me out, Claire. I caused this. And if we get right down to it, it’s my fault you’re hurt in the first place. You were angry with me, and you had every right to be. You wouldn’t have . . . left, otherwise.”

Claire looked away. “I shouldn’t have done it,” she berated. “I know you don’t mean to do anything wrong, Carl. You never do. But I couldn’t keep holding my feelings in. Suddenly I just snapped. I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” Carl said. “I’m sorry, Claire. I’m sorry for everything.”

“I know you are.” Claire tried to smile. “And I know you’ve been trying to change. I didn’t believe it at first, but it’s true. You’re different than before, Carl.

“But even if it wasn’t true, you’re still my brother. And I . . . I realized something, when I was lying there in bed the night I was hurt.” Claire took a deep breath before continuing.

“I could never leave you, Carl, no matter what you’ve done. And it isn’t just because of . . . of the fire.” She laid a gentle hand on his, cringing at how sore it was from being deliberately trampled upon. “You need me, Carl, but . . . I need you, too.”

Carl’s eyes widened. He stared up at her, awestruck. “Claire,” he gasped. “You mean that?”

“Yes!” Claire assured him. “Every word. Carl, I . . . I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

A new light flickered in Carl’s eyes. “Then maybe . . . maybe everything will be alright,” he breathed. “Somehow.”

“It will be,” Claire insisted. “I promise.”

She wasn’t sure how she would keep that promise. She only knew that somehow she had to.


Title: October
Day/Theme: September 30th - Baskets filled with autumn
Series: Perry Mason-related (characters from the episode The Impatient Partner)
Character/Pairing: Amory Fallon/Edith Fallon
Rating: K/PG

This is possibly part of something bigger, either a follow-up to the current mystery I'm writing at FF.net or something occurring in a later chapter of that.


By Lucky_Ladybug

“Amory?”

Amory Fallon, agonized and only semi-conscious in the bed, barely heard the voice at first. His wife Edith bent over him, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Amory, please answer me,” she begged. “I’m here. I’m alive!” She brushed the loose hair away from his eyes. “I know they made you think I’d been killed. Lieutenant Tragg told me when he brought me here.

“He told me how you came home and found me and all of my clothes in the closet gone, and that horrible note about me leaving you because of the scandal with Virginia, and you seeing blood on the floor and thinking I’d been dragged off and killed instead. . . .”

Amory stared blankly at the opposite wall, his eyes glazed over and unresponsive. Edith bit back a sob.

“That terrible woman, driving you closer and closer to the point of a nervous breakdown when she kept deliberately running into you and trying to make it look like you were having an affair with her . . . !”

It had been going on for weeks. Virginia, the mysterious woman claiming to be a distant cousin of the Petersons, had continually stumbled across Amory and tried to make it seem a coincidence. But so many coincidences did not happen. Especially when there was almost always someone present who could report the incident to the news or twist it around and think Amory was at fault when he was innocent.

Amory had been terrified of losing Edith over the mess at first, particularly considering his own prior belief that Edith had been having an affair with his now-deceased business partner. But Edith had assured him that she still believed in him and knew that he was being cruelly framed.

On the hills of the scandal had come the phone calls, people sneeringly asking Amory if he had had enough and if he was ready to tell them the secrets his partner Ned Thompson had passed along before his death. Amory was convinced that Virginia was working for those mysterious parties, but he had no way of proving it.

And now, for Edith to have vanished and the wretched note left behind, Amory had found it all too much to handle. He had not believed the note, but instead had felt sure Edith had been not only abducted but killed, due to the amount of blood on the floor. He had collapsed, and had been found semi-conscious and running a fever by the officers who had responded to the call from a worried neighbor.

Some unknown party had managed to get into the hospital and torment him in his room, making an already dire situation worse by telling him Edith had been tortured to death crying out for him. It had broken him, leaving him in the catatonic state in which Edith had found him.

Now she sank onto the chair beside him, too overwhelmed to stand and anguished over what had happened to him. “Oh, Amory,” she choked out. “What have they done to you? Where are you? Come back, Amory. Oh please, come back to me.”

She reached out a shaking hand, laying it on top of his motionless one. Her other hand she slid underneath his. It was so cold, so still. The only real indication that he was alive was his slow, methodical breathing. Even his eyes were so vacant that they showed no real signs of life.

“I’m not dead, Amory,” Edith pleaded. “I’m here, I’m right here!” She brought his hand up to her cheek, longing, praying, for some movement, some acknowledgement of her presence.

Did he not hear her at all? Did he, but believe it was all in his head? Or did he realize what was happening but could not so much as move or speak to let her know? Was he a prisoner in his own body?

Her falling tears splashed on his fingers. They jerked, briefly but definitely. Edith perked up, looking to his eyes. “Amory?!” she exclaimed. “Amory, are you here? Can you hear me?!”

Amory’s eyes flickered. “Edith? . . .” He looked to her, slowly, painfully, unable to comprehend.

“Yes!” Edith tried to assure him. “Yes, Amory. It’s me. They didn’t kill me; the police found me and arrested them. I’m alright, Amory. Or at least . . .” She hesitated. “I will be, when I know you’ll be alright.”

He clutched at her hand, weakly at first but then stronger. “You’re alive,” he whispered in awe. “You’re alive! If this is real . . .”

“Yes, it’s real, Amory,” Edith whispered back, unable to speak louder for the joyous lump in her throat. “It’s all real.”


Title: Another Chance
Day/Theme: Bonus - The difficult habit of staying alive
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Lieutenant Anderson, Officer Jimmy Anderson
Rating: T/PG-13

This is also possibly part of something bigger. If it comes to pass, it will be a sequel to the massive Halloween fic I'm writing this year....


By Lucky_Ladybug

“Andy?” Words seemed to echo through the eerie silence, magnified beyond their normal volume. “Andy, come on. Say something! Speak to me!” The agonized voice caught before choking out the rest of the despairing plea. “Let me know you’re going to be alright. Wake up.”

Jimmy Anderson crawled across the floor on his hands and knees to where the body was sprawled, supine, on the floor. The young man reached out, crushed, as he touched the battered and bruised shoulder. Through the torn clothing, he could see the discolored skin.

All of his begging and desperate touches were in vain. Andy would not answer him. He could not.

Jimmy stared with blank, listless eyes at his cousin’s body. Andy’s head was turned to the side, his blond hair falling away from his face and spreading on the floor. He was breathing, weak and pained, but showed no signs of awakening.

“They were just too much for you, Andy,” Jimmy whispered. “You’re not James West. You couldn’t take them on all by yourself.”

Not that Andy had wanted to. They had ganged up on him, not leaving him any choice. He had fought back with all of his might and all of his police training. And he had landed more than a few good blows; Jimmy had seen many of the brutes limping away or rubbing body parts in pain. Nevertheless, they had still overpowered Andy in the end, beating him to the ground before calling it quits.

Jimmy had placed several blows himself. He had screamed and yelled and even leaped on their backs to drag them away from Andy. But despite his best efforts, they had refused to be moved until they had beaten Andy senseless. Jimmy had been of little to no consequence to them.

When the cruel throng had parted at last, Jimmy had seen Andy’s lifeless form slipping to the hard floor, unconscious before the final impact. Then his attackers had laughed and left, kicking him as they went. Andy had not flinched, not so much as feeling those last blows.

Jimmy had felt them. He had recoiled at each one, as though the heavy feet had been striking him in the ribs instead of Andy. They might as well have; they could not have hurt Jimmy nearly as bad if they had beaten him.

His hands shaking, Jimmy felt across Andy’s still body in search of broken bones. There were none that he could locate, but that did not do much to ease his mind. He was not sure that Andy had not sustained a head injury. He had hit the floor hard. And before that, he had been thrown into the wall and the attackers. Some of them had even hit him hard in the head with their beefy fists.

Carefully and gently, Jimmy maneuvered Andy onto his side in the recovery position, hoping that the change would not cause him increased pain upon reviving.

If he revived.

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set. What was he thinking? Of course Andy would revive. If Jimmy was not concerned about the possibilities of a head injury, he would not question it at all. The very idea that Andy would not survive struck terror in his younger cousin’s heart.

They had been so close for years. Their whole family had been that way, gathering for meals and outings and every other event they could think of. Andy and Jimmy had grown up together, playing, laughing, and sometimes seriously talking. And it had continued that way right up to the present day.

Jimmy had always idolized Andy. When Andy had become a police officer, Jimmy had known he wanted to follow in his footsteps. The road had certainly been rocky for a while; getting the money for college and then the police academy had not been easy. He had wanted to make it on his own, without relying on Andy for monetary help. For the most part, he had succeeded.

Andy had been so proud of him ever since he had announced his determination to become a police officer. When Jimmy had graduated near the top of his class at the Academy, Andy had positively beamed.

Jimmy had enjoyed his time walking a beat. He had met so many interesting people and felt that he had really connected well with some of them. What had happened when he had first transferred to squad car duty, however, still made him shudder when he thought about it too much.

He tried not to. It was all a horrible nightmare now, something that had happened long ago in the past. Jimmy had been restored to his status as a respected police officer in the years since then. Perhaps someday he would move to the detective division, like Andy, but for now he was content with his current position.

“Andy, come on,” Jimmy said under his breath. “Wake up, please.”

He reached and took the limp wrist, again checking Andy’s pulse. It was a bit slow, Jimmy noted with a frown, but thankfully steady.

Maybe continually talking to him would bring him around. It was worth a try, at least.

“. . . Lieutenant Tragg must be really worried about us by now,” he said. “Lieutenant Drumm and Sergeant Brice too. And my partner. They’re probably tearing Los Angeles apart looking for us.” He tried to smile, weakly.

Would they be found any time soon? Or would they need to try once more to engineer their escapes?

Andy had tried to get their captors to take him as a hostage and let Jimmy go free. They had responded simply by madly cackling and mocking and leaving Andy in the state he was in now.

Bitterness rose in Jimmy’s heart. Andy had not deserved this. He never could have deserved this. If only Jimmy could have done more to help!

Andy would not blame him, of course. But Jimmy blamed himself. How many of these cruel blows would have fallen if Jimmy had been able to do better against those thugs in the fight? Would Andy even be lying unconscious at all?

“Andy, I’m sorry,” Jimmy could not refrain from whispering. “You’ve always been there for me, ever since we were kids. But I haven’t been able to be there for you, not when it really matters. I couldn’t stop Vivalene from shooting you in the past. And I couldn’t stop this.”

He rocked back forlornly. What a pitiful sight they probably made—Andy so still on the floor and Jimmy kneeling beside him, discouragement and guilt in his eyes.

Andy let out a weak moan, his fingers abruptly jerking and curling as some semblance of consciousness began to return. Jimmy perked up, hopeful now. “Andy?” he exclaimed. “Andy, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

Blue eyes flickered and opened halfway. “Jimmy . . .” Andy looked up at his cousin. “Are you . . . alright?”

Jimmy regarded him in disbelief. “Am I? Andy, you’re the one they were thrashing. And you gave some of them what for, too.”

Andy groaned, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “I thought they killed me,” he mumbled.

“They couldn’t kill you, Andy,” Jimmy returned. “But they’ve left us alone in this rotten place.”

Andy recognized the Victorian bedroom he had been fighting in. He sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. “After all the trouble we’ve had here so far, they probably decided that there wasn’t much likelihood of our being able to escape. Whatever’s infested this house won’t let us leave.”

“It probably hasn’t let them leave, either,” Jimmy returned.

“Probably not. Which may be poetic justice,” Andy said with a shaky smirk.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the pain. He slumped back against the bed. Something chilled him as he did.

“The worst part about being in this house,” he said grimly, “is that we’re not alone. Not at all.”

Jimmy shuddered. “At least we’re facing it together.” His voice lowered. “Andy . . . I was really worried about you.”

Andy laid a bruised hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I know.”