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my brain has claimed it’s glory over me

fallen hero: rebirth fanfiction with crow and dr. mortum. this is coming out of rewriting the hospital scene to try and get a better feel for both crow’s puppet morrígan and for dr. mortum as a character.

~4.2k words, rip me

title taken from [the mind electric]

–

You gasp awake and the pain hits you like a door slammed open in your face. Something grabs your hand while the black drains from your vision, only to be replaced with the harsh glare of overhead lighting blinding you in the opposite direction. You flinch as you flutter your eyes. You’re laying down on something, a bed? A cot? The walls are white, no not exactly. A ghost of someone else’s panic shoots through you. A hospital. Of– of course.

It’s just a hospital.

You’re fine. You don’t have anything to fear about hospitals. Why were you panicking?

You tilt your head and there’s the good doctor sitting next to you on a chair, attention engrossed in her phone. Concern written into the lines of her face. Huh. That’s a surprise. You didn’t really believe she would care about you. Well. Crow had been banking on it, to be fair. But… You feel something tight and warm, and not altogether unpleasant in your chest as you flash her a weak smile. “…s’up.”

Dr. Mortum glances up to you with a start, undisguised relief on her face. That’s… wild. “Ma chérie, you’re awake.”

“What–” You wince, coughing up something unpleasant. Your mouth feels dry, lungs hurt like you’ve inhaled cement.

Mortum springs from her chair to get you a cup of water, pressing the plastic cup in your hands as you pull yourself up into a sitting position. “Here.”

“T-thanks.” You flinch then down the cup in one go, swishing the water in your mouth before swallowing. You look down at your body. Everything hurts but you don’t see anything worse than some bruising. From your fall, or…? The events of the night after you left Morrígan feel hazy, melding together.

You find another cup pressed into your hands and you give Mortum your first back and down the second. You rub at your eyes with your free hand. “What the hell happened? Where are we?”

“The Memorial Hospital, ma chérie–”

Panic grips your chest again. “What? Why would you–?”

“Calm down…” She leans in to you to gently pry loose the plastic cup you’ve crushed in your hands. “If it’s money you’re concerned about, don’t be. This is a favor from a friend of mine…” Mortum watches your face carefully. “I was more than a little worried about you.”

What does that mean? “I’m… look– look, I’m fine?”

A slight smile cracks Mortum’s face and she pats your arm for you to lay back down. “You must have hit your head quite hard, ma chérie. I couldn’t wake you. Dr. Halabi even thought that you might have slipped into a coma.”

You can feel the heat on your face. How much did they know? Did Dr. Mortum know? What happened while you were out? “Well… I’m glad he was wrong.”

“She,” Dr. Mortum smiles, “And so am I. Your brain showed signs of past trauma when they scanned you.

“They… they scanned me?” You suck in your breath, biting your lip. No part of that sentence was something you wanted to hear.

“They did,” Mortum answers, she still has her hand on your arm. It feels warm to your skin. “When you did not wake. I would urge you look into the matter further. Brain injuries can be… unpredictable.”

“I’m fine…” You force a smile on your face. “Well. I’m mostly fine, considering. What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Huh? No, no, I do, I do!” You raise your voice, you don’t need her thinking you’ve gotten amnesia on top of everything else. “I remember the party. It’s just.. you know, everything after that’s a blank.” You rap your head with the knuckles of your hand and instantly regret the headache you’ve just given yourself.

The good doctor breathes out an “I see..” and relaxes. She shifts in her seat to lean in closer to you. “I suppose congratulations are in order. And a raise for you, I hope.”

Seriously? You glance around the room, “Sssh!”

“Oh, it’s perfectly safe here.” Mortum pats the pocket where she had put away her phone. “I activated the jammers a while ago. I don’t want to risk being overheard.”

A nervous smile slides up your face. “Of– of course you did.” What a relief to be working with someone on the same level of paranoia as you. You knew there was a reason you wanted her here. “So…” You take a breath. “Was it the explosion then?”

“Well, either you misread the timer, or it was stronger than you expected.”

“I didn’t misread anything.” You grit your teeth. “I set those charges exactly as instructed.”

Dr. Mortum’s smile shrinks into a frown. “That’s interesting. Those explosives were made to order. Your boss provided the specifications. It… was those which you used, yes?”

“I… I followed the instructions. To the letter.” Where are you going with this? There’s a pit of dread in the base of your stomach threatening to boil over you. “Their instructions. I didn’t– you don’t think?”

“That your boss might be trying to get rid of you? Tying up loose ends?” Mortum’s voice has gone hard. You flinch away from her gaze, the way her eyebrows have narrowed in a cold regard. Not for you of course. For the other you: for Crow.

You’ve got to get a handle on this conversation fast. “I– I did my job perfectly.” The implication that he might kill you off just to cover his tracks… You feel the knot in your stomach twist. No. This is crazy. This whole line of thought is crazy, right?

You’re here– Morrígan’s here because you put her here. Yourself here. This was part of the plan. To– to keep her– you safe. Not… not kill her– you.

Her?

What?

Fuck.

You press the tips of your fingers into your face, drag the skin down, try to massage the tension out.

You’re not… you’re not Morrígan. You’re… you? Right?? You’re Crow. Or maybe you’re both Morrîgan and Crow now?

And now Macha too?

Are you one person wearing three different masks, or three different masks swapping around one set of memories? How many identities do you need to create before you can find one that feels real? That feels like you?

What will you do about the ones that don’t make the cut?

Mortum watches you, waiting until you let your hands drop back to your sides before speaking up again. “I am sure it was just a mistake.” You don’t need to be a damn mind reader to know she’s lying to try and make you feel better. “But–” There we go. There’s always a ‘but.’ “If I were you, I would still be careful.”

You look up at her, you feel drained. “I will. I promise.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you as you look at and then past one another. When did it stop being a simple game of prediction? Prod the egghead with a shiny toy, show a little skin to flush her face, let her dance to your tune. She knows you too well for it to be that simple anymore.

No.

No, she doesn’t know you.

She knows Morrígan. Morrígan is your refuge. The one place in your life were you don’t feel… wrong. Wrenched out of alignment with the universe.

But… Morrígan isn’t you. Or… isn’t the whole you anyway. But if you think that way, then not only does know one know you, but no one is even capable of ever knowing you. An empty void spanning not just before you, but of you. The veil you’re trapped behind swallowed in the hollow black.

No. No. No. No. No.

“Ma chérie?”

Morrígan jumps in her cot, jostling the blanket covering her, her heart pounding against her ribs. “Y-yes!?”

Dr. Mortum holds her hand. She’s real. Morrígan’s real. You’re real. “I don’t think it is safe for you to go back to work again after this… Trust me. I know a bad deal and a bad boss when I see one. They. Are. Using. You.”

The concern in her voice. It hurts.

“I– I can’t.” You try to swallow, your throat tight, panic thrumming in your chest. Why? Why? “I really… really can’t.”

“Why, ma chérie?” Mortum’s leaning in close now, her voice low, worried. For you? Why? This was all just a game right? Why does she care? Her hand on yours is gentle, ready to retreat at the slightest hint. You just want to grab her tighter. What is wrong with you?

“You don’t– you don’t understand.” You have to swallow the words in your throat. “I can’t– I’m afraid– If I leave…”

“You think they’ll kill you.”

You leap on her words like a life preserver. “Or– or worse.” You can feel the pounding of your heart in your chest. You’re getting too close Or Morrígan is. Or somebody is. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “He… he can be dangerous.”

Crow… this is Crow’s fault. Should have left Morrígan in the hospital. Where you were safe. Or… no. Something about that doesn’t feel right either, but then what was Crow –no, you– what were you supposed to have done, then?

Mortum is talking, you have to pull yourself out of your head to focus, to listen. “–of course he can be dangerous. So can I.”

The way she says that. Shivers down your spine.

“You– you don’t understand…” You shut your eyes tight, force yourself to swallow. Yeah those are… those are tears. Tears? Crying? Why?

When you open your eyes again, Dr. Mortum is still there. Still holding your hand. “Then explain it to me.” She doesn’t mention the tears. The borderline panic attack you’re struggling to hold in. Her voice is even. Clinical if not for the warmth of her concern.

“He.. he can get into your mind…” You grit your teeth. “He’ll know.” You need to stop this line of conversation. This is dangerous.

Dangerous? To who?

Stop.

Please.

“I already know that,” her voice is soft, subdued. “Or, rather, I suspected. You have to be at least psi-sensitive to use the armor. He just might be stronger than I had thought.”

You want to laugh at that. You don’t want to laugh at that. “You really have just… no idea.” No one does. And Crow– Macha?– You will keep it that way until it’s too late for them to stop… him? No… You? Fuck.

“I will tell you what I do know then. There are ways around that. I have experience with these things, which… I suppose is why he sought me out.”

“Yeah…” You take a deep breath, will your heart to slow down, your hands to relax. “Look, I’ll.. I’ll think about it… okay?”

“That is all I ask.” The doctor lets go of your hand as she sits back. “Bide your time if you need to; just do not trust him.”

That gets a half smile from you. “I don’t trust anybody.” You wince, cough again, covering your mouth. Dr. Mortum starts up to get another cup of water and you raise a hand to stop her, shaking your head. “It’s– I’m fine. So…” You clench your hands, unclench them. Repeat a couple times until your heart rate calms down. “What happened once…” You gesture helplessly.

The good doctor can’t help the pleased smile on her face. “Oh, there was a fight, of course. I have to say, the armor performed splendidly. The Rangers were no match.”

You try to smile. “Good. I… I hope my boss feels the same.”

“If there are any issues, at least we’ll have another excuse to meet.”

“I’m just…” You break her gaze, look down at your body. Prone. Helpless. You shake your head. No. Not this body. Not you. You’re safe here. Don’t forget. “I’m more worried they’d think I’ve done a bad job.”

“I doubt you capable of doing a bad job, ma chérie.”

You bite at your thumb, let the sharper pain of your teeth on skin call away from the broader ache of your whole body. “It worked, didn’t it? They got what they wanted. I hope.”

“Check the headlines first, ma chérie. They can reveal the mood of any villain.” She sighs. You suppose she would be an expert on the question. “So many do it for the thrill of having people quake in fear.”

Did Crow? –You mean you? Macha needed to make an impact. Get some solid cred. It… it wasn’t really about terrorizing people in itself right? Just a means to an end. What did he do? Are you forgetting something?

“Now,” Mortum pulls back you attention. “Why don’t we see about getting you out of here before there are questions to answer?” She glances back towards the door. “I could drive you home, if you wish.”

Again, the extra step. It feels weird. Wrong. But– Morrígan can have this, can’t she? Just because Crow can’t… it’s not fair to her. “Thank you… I’d like that.”

“I could call you a cab?”

You pull yourself up, feel the ghost of your usual confidence on your face already. “Backing out already?” Under the blanket you’re still in your dress. A little scuffed, but whatever, hey? You can just buy another.

“Not at all, ma chérie.” Her smile widens, eyes lighten. “I am at your service.” There’s the ghost of a memory there. Another time, another woman, another body, another life. Deja Vu. Or Presque? One of those damn french words. The doctor would know if you could ask her. The past always happening again for the first time.

Morrígan flinches and she slides to her feet, “We’ll see about that, hey?” She smirks, then snaps her fingers, hand held up in thought as she glances around. It takes a little work for the doc and Morrígan to gather her things, shoes, purse. Make sure she’s steady enough to walk. It’s tempting, Morrígan finds, to play up how out of it she feels. To lean on her a little more than strictly necessary.

Out of the private room, the dull roar of a hospital in crisis. Hallways packed with stretchers, men and women in mint scrubs and masks rushing through the hallways. Amazing what a block of wood could hide. Crow wouldn’t be able to take this chattering, you’re sure. The anxious faces of family members, the rows of triaged patients. Fewer serious injuries than Morrígan might have expected. It’s not like Macha went out of her way to protect people.

How much worse might it have been if Herald hadn’t rushed the bomb out of the building?

It doesn’t matter. These people can take a little worry. A small taste of what Morrígan– Crow– no damnit, you. A small taste of what you have had to deal with.

—

Why are you here? Why are you letting her drive you home? Letting her know where home is? Not like she almost certainly hasn’t had Morrígan tailed, but–

Just… just shut up, for once, Crow. Take in the city at night. So calm now, here winding out towards the edges of the reclaimed urbanization. Little lighthouses of streetlight blinking through the haze. You’d never think there was a still ongoing emergency. That there are people huddled in a hospital waiting to hear if their mother or brother, uncle, grandparent, is going to be okay. That there’s a hospital room where a broken Ortega is asleep, willing herself to pull together faster just so she can throw herself against the wall again. Idiot woman.

None of it feels real. Like it happened to someone else.

You bite your lip, that feels real. You’re real. This car is real. This– “This is a nice car you’ve got… why the limo earlier?”

You can see the white of her smile even as she keeps her focus on the road. “Because, ma chérie, a limousine makes for a more impressive entrance.” There’s a pause and then she adds, as if confessing, “And you never know when you might need a fast getaway.”

You giggle at that, hand over you mouth. “Looks like your instincts were right.”

“Oh, they usually are.” That flash of white smile again. “You need to trust them. The kind of business I do.”

You shift in your seat, watching her behind the driver’s wheel. “So…” Curiosity’s got you now, the killer. “What do your instincts tell you about me, hey?”

Mortum doesn’t respond at first, then: “That you are a deeply conflicted woman. –and, while you are… a very dangerous woman it would also be an interesting prospect to get to know you better.”

There’s that weird feeling in your chest again. “Conflicted? Me?” You try to laugh, but maybe it sounds a little too hollow. Maybe all of Morrígan’s words sound a little hollow. “I think you’ve got a bit of wishful thinking there.”

“Perhaps, It’s just a feeling I get. That… perhaps you feel a little bit trapped by fate.”

Morrígan fixes the good doctor with a stare. “No one… I am in control of my own destiny.”

“If you say so, ma chérie, if you say so.”

Morrigan frowns, doesn’t like how she says that.

Instead of pushing the issue, she taps her shoulder and gesture. “That way.” Almost home. Almost safe. Then it’ll be time to collect her other half. Oh. Oh she doesn’t like how she just phrased that to herself. Gross.

She shakes her head. Stop it. “Look, just– you can drop me off anywhere you can find a parking spot.”

“No car? How do you survive in this city?”

“I am a… very resourceful girl, my good doctor.” She can’t help the smile slipping across her face as Mortum pulls the car into an open spot along the street. Who would Morrígan even trust to teach her how to drive? In Los Diablos traffic no less.

“I can imagine.” The locks on the doors click up as Dr. Mortum puts the car into park. “Well, we’re here. Go, get some rest ma chérie. You look like you need it.”

“I will.” Morrígan’s throat is tight, painful. “Look… are you sure you don’t want to come up for some… uh, coffee?” It’s been a long night. Surely some caffeine is the least she can do for the doctor. For… For everything.

Dr. Mortum glances at you, then smiles. “I would not say no to that offer.”

“G-good!” Morrígan covers her mouth as she tries not to giggle again. “My, uh, my legs are still wobbly from that blast. And… there are a lot of stairs.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason they are wobbly?”

Oh. You bite your lip. “I walked right into that one, hey?”

“You sure did. But I will give you your hand up as a peace offering.” She gets out of the car, moving to your side of the car to offer you a hand as you step out. Her movement is a little stiff. Unsure? But she always seems so sure of herself, even when you knock her off balance.

You don’t let go over her hand, pull her along with you. “Right, follow me.” The stairs aren’t far. Just a single round. You… may have exaggerated the number.

The doctor follows behind you, the stairs too narrow to let you climb side-by-side. “I can’t say i expected to be allowed to see where you live just yet.”

You glance back at her as you stop before your door. “What? You haven’t had me under surveillance?”

“Maybe… If I had considered you a threat.” She leans against the railing as you search through your bag for your keys.

“Well, did you?” You shoot her a smile as you unlock the door.

“You can not truly expect me to answer that.”

“Well, not honestly.” You push the door open, invite her in with a swing of your arms.

Mortum winks at you. “And how would you ever know?”

You follow her inside, and shut the door. Kicking off your flats into a pile beside the door, you watch her as she looks around your apartment. Nerves running through your stomach. “Good talk.”

“Paranoia can be a helpful trait.” Dr. Mortum smiles at you.

“Can be your downfall as well,” You meet her gaze. “People need allies.” You wish that wasn’t true. Your life could be a lot simpler otherwise.

“Do you trust me then, ma chérie?”

“M-maybe. I’m taking a risk here. I just–”

“We both are… But some risks are worth taking.”

That gets a laugh. “I’ll drink to that.”

You walk to the kitchen, and Dr. Mortum follows behind you. Eyeing things but not touching, prying. “This looks like a nice place to live.” She says. Diplomatic.

“It’s small. But it gets the job done, hey?” You gesture a hand towards the kitchen table. Small, unused. You don’t have a lot of time to actually cook. “Go, go have a seat, don’t mind things gettin’ dirty. S’what they’re for.” You brush some of the remaining cement dust off your dress to underline your point.

“Thank you.” She takes a seat, still taking in the room, the space. You feel exposed. You’ve never put your hollow little life through a stress test quite like this before. “I wouldn’t have pictured you living like this.”

“Why?” Focus on making coffee. The thrum of water filling the pitcher.

“It’s too ordinary. You are anything but.”

You crack up. “Being that smooth can be dangerous, sweetheart.” You flip a button and turn back to see the sly grin on her face.

“Maybe I am dangerous.”

You watch her. No one else has sat where she’s sat. In any life of yours. Nothing about Morrígan’s life is real. Or Crow’s for that matter. Hollow artifice to fool the neighbors. This is… why did you…?

“Are you alright, ma chérie?”

“I’m– I’m fine.” Morrígan pinches the bridge of her nose. Rubs her face. “A little overwhelmed actually. A lot’s happened tonight.”

“If you’re too tired, just let me know. I’ll leave you alone for the night.”

Morrígan looks at her. She can feel the void stretching out between the two of them. That impossible chasm. “I… I really don’t want to be alone right now.” She flinches, that sounds pathetic. “I– I mean… I invited you here. For a reason. I want you here.” She pulls at the skin of her face. How bad is her make-up at this point? A wreck probably. Well, that’s fitting.

“I will trust you to tell me otherwise then.” Dr. Mortum visibly relaxes in her chair. You relax against the counter top. You didn’t– you didn’t fuck up then, saying that. “I do confess,” the doctor adds getting your attention again. “I sometimes have a hard time reading people’s intentions. Yours especially ma chérie.”

You smile politely. “I can’t believe that.”

“My secret is out.” She laughs. “i try to stick to business dealings. A… personal life is not something I have bothered with for a long while.”

There’s a tired weight to those words. Too familiar. “I feel that.” How long has it been since you even tried? Since you thought you could fake your way into humanity? There’s always been something wrong with you, with Crow. Even before Heartbreak ruined his life, ruined yours, you mean. A circuit not quite closed. Something defective in the core your being.

You’re making the same mistake Crow did over half a decade ago. Reaching out. Getting attached. You know how this bet will play out for Morrígan. It’s the height of foolishness to think that somehow, this time, it’ll be worth it.

“Luckily we…” Her words die in her throat as you kiss her, hands on her head to tilt her upwards. It’s quick, barely a more than a brushing of lips. Mortum stares up at you, her previous train of thought gone as she tries to collect herself “Well. Well!” She swallows. “And here I thought we were having coffee.”

“It’s brewing.” You smile back at her, take a step back. Heart pounding. What were you thinking? “So impatient. I should have made instant.”

“Heresy, ma chérie.” She covers her mouth in a mock gasp. It’s cute. “Don’t tell me your hiding decaf up there.”

“Look,” You raise your eyebrows at her, teasing. “Gotta keep those skeletons somewhere, hey?”

“And I thought I knew you.”

“Oh did you now?”

“Well. I would like to.” She stands up to her feet. It’s weird. Crow would almost certainly be taller than her, you think, and yet she has what must be a good half foot on you. “You are a fascinating woman.”

She reaches for you and you let her. Her hands on your shoulders. Not your first time like this, but Morrígan’s certainly. The thrum in your gut feels familiar but different. You feel different. But in a pleasant way. In how your body reacts, pulses? In how you want her to touch you – press against her. More holistic, an aperture brought into wider focus rather than zeroed down.

You keep expecting the brush of her hands, the press of her lips, to turn sour – alienating. That’s how it always works. The spines come out and you disengage and the other party spends weeks stressing over what they did wrong until the pain fades and you collide together again. Over and over in ablative, willful, stupidity. Trapped in swiftly decaying orbits.

Maybe it will be different this time.

So much else is.

Dr. Mortum isn’t… well…

And… You aren’t Crow, after all.

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