DISCLAIMER: "Bionic Woman," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of NBC-Universal and Jerry Eick. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Bionic Woman," NBC, or any representatives of the actors.
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It's a fire in my brain.
Hotter and fiercer than fever, the heat feels like it outlines every wire and circuit that bastard implanted beneath and among the bones of my skull. Half blind and completely enraged like an animal with a paw in a trap, I rail incoherently, angry and frustrated with the whole damn world.
I don't even feel the jab of the needle in my skin, only the blissful wave of coolness that radiates out from the spot. Like an icy flood, it washes over the heat, driving me to my knees, sobbing and crying out at the conflict of emotion and sensation.
Gasping and panting, press my head to what I abruptly realize is some kind of steel cabinet. There are a pair of hands that come to rest on my head and neck and I haven't the strength to shrug them away.
"Hey, hey," she whispered softly and I register the voice with some surprise. "You're okay, I've got you."
And the completely unexpected tenderness has an effect I would have never expected. I burst into tears. In an instant, I'm gathered up to a warm, soft body, the muscles beneath trim and firm, my face pressed to a smooth neck where short blonde hair tickles my nose. Something is holding my bionic hand hostage, but I cling with the left, the one that is still mine.
Gasping and wheezing with the toll my cascading emotions are taking on me, I cling to my unexpected lifeline and try not to drown. In time, the storm begins to calm and I eye my emotions a bit more coherently. I've been through so much in my recent past and letting some of those high water emotions loose makes me feel lighter than I have since that truck loomed up and destroyed my ordinary life.
Panting with effort, I am limp as a rag against Ruth Treadwell's cushioning body. "God, I needed that," I muse softly, glancing up to notice that my right fist is thoroughly embedded in the stainless steel medical storage cabinet. "Oops," the giggling doesn't surprise me, just one more loop on my emotional rollercoaster.
"Can you get out?"
Ruth's calm question makes me lean back to get leverage against the shining wreckage, wrenching out my entrapped wrist with a squeal of metal. "Ouch," I comment at the sensations that now mean pain from my electronic limb and watch the bionics frantically start repairing the damage. "That really hurts."
The whining note in my voice annoys me, but I'm lucky that I'm not facing this alone. Once more holding me close, Ruth helps me ride it out, murmuring soothing nonsense while my nervous system, wires and neurons alike, blaze with stimulation.
It takes awhile for reality to really to reassert itself across the terrain of my mind and I flex my left hand to finish the process. In reclaiming my link to the electronics, I settle back to myself.
And notice for the first time exactly where I am. Specifically, I'm straddling one of my bosses, boots tucked up to my rear end, completely limp from scalp to toes. Poor Ruth is trapped between me and the bent up storage lockers I'd obviously been abusing earlier. Too exhausted to be embarrassed, I murmur a quiet thank you.
"You're welcome, Jamie. I'd say that you needed it."
Thoroughly caught up in the visceral pleasure of just being held after so much trauma all I can think is that the woman has no idea.
No idea at all.
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