One-Shot: Apocalypse


Fandom: Awake (TV)
Summary: Apocalypse, the lifting of the veil. Michael Britton is not the only one who can understand.
Credits: Awake belongs to NBC and its creators. Please do not offer me any donations because of this fic. It is a derivative, noncommercial work of fanfiction.
Prompt: from lithiumlaughter on Tea-Time at Ficlet o'Clock, "very few people know that the original Greek translation of 'apocalypse' means 'lifting of the veil' or 'revelation'...a disclosure of something hidden."
Author's Notes: Scrapped two excellent starts on this because it refused to resolve, and this writer needs a bit of resolve. So here goes. From the top. Pulled together with the assistance of "I Am Brave," a lovely song from the unofficial Divergent soundtrack, Factionless by Sam Cushion.


"You have a visitor." The words initiate Michael Britton's journey from a prison cell his own friend had put him in down the hallways and into the small room on the other side of the glass from...

"Hannah," he breathed.

She was holding it together. Barely. He knew that inner strength on her face, the one she always denied she had, always felt he had so much of when he didn't.


She gave him a weak smile. "Hey," she greeted him through the phone without any of the uncertainty he had expected.

He wished he could touch her through the glass, but he couldn't. He couldn't. "I'm sorry," he told her and meant everything, from Rex to where they sat this very moment.

She choked on a laugh and sob combined. "You always... knew things. Things you shouldn't have." His eyes widened, but she went on regardless. "I talked to Effrem. I know you wouldn't have killed him."

Michael's breath went dry. "I can't prove it." She didn't answer. He had to get it out, tell her the truth like he once had. "I'm... I'm crazy, Hannah, but I just can't—"

"Let go," she finished. A pause, a breath, a heartbeat. "But neither can I."

They stared at each other for a long moment, husband and wife, the veil between them lifted at last.

"Tell him I love him," she whispered. "And maybe you can dream up some more evidence while you're at it." She smiled weakly. "Then tell me. Tell Effrem."

He stared at her, smiled back, held his hand over the glass as if he really could touch her. "Yeah."

She reached out and pressed her palm to the glass over his. "I love you."

"I love you too."


"You're crazy." Bird stepped away abruptly, didn't look back. How many times had they come to this point before? Talk to me, don't act like everything's the same, you're my partner.

Yeah, well, reality's sometimes hard to take.

"Maybe," Michael admitted. "Maybe I am. But if it's be crazy or lose them..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. And he didn't need Bird to explain the pity and compassion mingled in his eyes.


"I'm not crazy in any of the ways that count," he said. "Look at it. There's always evidence. What we did is real."

And it was. The police officers Michael had attacked, directly or indirectly, had been implicated and convicted in real felony. The cases they had solved using Michael's personal brand of mental instability were undisputed and filed. Their relationship was still built on trust.

Bird set his jaw and stared at his partner. "And you never could say anything?"

Michael looked at him. "You think I'm crazy." After everything they had been through.

Silence settled between them and stretched. At last, Bird stepped forward and closed the distance between. "From now on, tell me what we're working with, and promise me if I think you're going too far, you'll go see your therapist or... something."

Another hesitance, then Michael smiled slowly, nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay," Bird told himself. "Okay."


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