Different kind of pain

A horn honking outside startles Scott out of his sleep and he jumps, looking around the living room a moment before realizing he was home on his own couch.

Giving a little groan, he lies back down, his head enveloped by the throw pillow. Domino crawls up next to him, readjusting and settling in again.

Scott sighs. He'd had one of his nightmares again. He could have sworn he'd wake up in that terrible cell. He wipes a bit of sweat off the side of his face before rolling over onto his back and looking at his watch. It was getting late in the day... he was still waiting to hear from Hope.


"Yeah, we took him down to the station." Con sets his hands casually on his hips, discussing today's outing in Reese's office.

Reese looks to him and Jason. "Good. Tomorrow I've got a job for you two again - I need you to go down to one of the clubs and gain someone's trust. I'll email you both the information tonight."

Jason nods. "Alright. I'm heading out then."

"I still want you to write up the report for today," Reese corrects.

"I'll do it tomorrow."

"I want it before you go home tonight."

Con lifts his eyebrows. "I can write it up for you, Reese, it's no biggie."

"I want Jason to do it," Reese states flatly. "You've got enough other things to keep you busy."

Jason's shoulders drop. "Well so do I! I got a concert in a couple days - I gotta meet with the band tonight - it's been on my schedule to leave early!"

"You still have half an hour," Reese retorts. "And if it takes you longer, I'm sorry. But we're shorthanded now, remember?"

Jason's look turns into on of disgust. Was Reese hinting that something was his fault here? "Yeah, I remember," he growls. Spinning on his heel, he stalks from the office.

Con glances down to Reese again. "Being a little hard on him, don't you think?"

"I'd rather have him busy and complaining than moping and not doing anything. TJY can't afford his pity party right now."

Con just shrugs. "Alright... see you later."


"Naw, get on home. You don't have to stay for me." Jeff sits up in bed, pulling a knee up to his chest. "Tell our worrywart sister not to worry... if that's possible."

Trent chuckles and shakes his head. "I can try. You sure you don't want anybody staying around?"

"I'm surrounded." Jeff gestures with his hand. "Two doctors and people in and out everyday. Besides that, I'm not planning on staying here much longer."

"Rick says you can go?"

"No, but..." Jeff shrugs, trying to keep a smile on his face. "If I'm gonna die one of these days, I'd rather do it at home."

Trent frowns. "Don't talk like that. You're not even close to dying."

Jeff's eyes shift down for a moment before looking back up at his brother. "Whatever this is I've been fighting it a long time... I'm tired."

"Don't give up," Trent orders sternly. "Don't. The rest of us need you, so... so... just don't."

Jeff manages a little chuckle. "Get out of here before I tell Rick you're bothering me."

Trent sighs and offers Jeff a handshake. "I'll see you soon."


JT picks up an empty pop can and tosses it into the kitchen trashcan just as he hears someone at the door. "Coming!"

Picking up bits and pieces of the living room on his way and straightening a few odds and ends, he finally makes it to the door. Seeing the peephole was covered up, he grins and opens the door. "One of these days I'm gonna install a security camera so I know who's here and your little trick won't do any good anymore."

Backing up, he lets Bree inside. "Saw your car earlier today down at Freddy's and I almost stopped but I was too exhausted to do anything but get home. How's your day been?"


Clint grits his teeth as he tries to turn the nut down inside the car engine. His fingers gripped the wrench tightly and he gave a little groan, using all his might, but it just wouldn't budge.

With Angel and his mom looking after Wendy and Chase, he'd slipped away for just a little time in the shop. The service for Cecilia had been yesterday.... everyone was tired. Normally it would have been several days, but no one wanted to endure the pain any longer than they had to.

The wrench gives way and Clint's hand slips inside the engine. Giving a cry, the tool clangs to the floor and he draws out an already-bloody hand. A curse slips out and he goes to the sink, immediately rinsing out the fresh gash on the side of his hand. He had plenty of other marks on is hands from working with the cars, but it had been a while since he'd been this clumsy.

His eyes stung as he cleaned the wound. He would have said it was only from the pain. But maybe it was just an excuse for a different kind of pain to be released.

Drying off his hand and fumbling with a bandage, he drops the roll of gauze on the floor. Giving a frustrated yell, he kicks at an empty oil can, sending it across the shop with a loud bang, knocking over a toolbox which sent tools scattering across the floor.

Sinking down beside the door to the office, Clint pulls up his knees and rests his head in his hands, not caring that the bleeding hadn't stopped yet.