Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: New Orleans or its characters...

Author's Note: I liked Bruised as a stand-alone, but my imagination being what it is, it just wouldn't let go of a twisted (somewhat cliché) little sequel plot… Sorry. But maybe someone will enjoy?

WARNING: REFERENCES TO DARK/SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTER. NOTHING REMOTELY EXPLICIT. RATED 'T' FOR NOW.

It was a dreary sort of night, with the rain pouring down, soaking his t-shirt so that it clung to his skin in the few seconds it took for him to exit his truck and make his way up the walk to the door, where he presently stood with his fist raised. The hand fell to his side. He took a quick pace of the porch, stopping in front of the door once more, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath.

Chris LaSalle knocked.

He was surprised a little to see Loretta Wade's worried face appear as it swung open. But it did make complete sense, he supposed. She was the one who had called him with the disturbing news that his partner was not doing well.

That was an understatement.

The compassionate and patient coroner, whose guest house Brody happened to rent, had sounded as worried as hell over the phone, relating how she'd woken to what sounded like distant screams, eventually rising from her bed and going out into her yard to determine if the police needed to be called, or if there was someone in need of medical attention. Apparently, it was lucky the police hadn't been called. For it was Meredith Brody, suffering from the worst sort of night terrors. Loretta knew the woman's troubles, and had used her spare key to let herself into the small cottage, discovering Merri thrashing on her bedroom floor, waking her, trying to comfort her in any way she could. But all Brody had asked for was her partner, speaking Chris' name with a desperate sort of pleading.

He'd been able to imagine the scene all too clearly, for it was one he'd paid witness to numerous times over the past few months, but she'd been getting better. He no longer spent his nights at her place in case she needed him.

"Come in," Loretta said, and Chris entered the residence that was now as familiar to him as his own apartment. He could walk it in his sleep.

"How is she?" he asked quietly, as he dripped onto the entryway rug for a moment, setting his (thankfully) waterproof overnight bag down on a drier part of the floor. He used to have some things tucked away in a closet here. But they'd decided that they were through the rough patch, that they could both move on with their lives... He wasn't sure it would ever truly go away.

Loretta only gave him a sad shake of the head.

"I made her a cup of tea. She's in the living room." She opened her mouth, paused, closed it. And then seemed to rethink her decision to remain silent. "I'll leave you two alone, shall I?"

"If you don't mind," Chris said. He knew Brody would already be doubly upset when she came around to discover that another colleague and friend had witnessed her in a 'bad moment' when she lost all control over her thoughts and feelings. He knew there was nothing Meredith Brody hated more, independent and private creature that she was.

Loretta nodded, gave his shoulder a pat and left him to it.

He pulled a dry shirt out of his bag, unsure of the specific nature of this night's episode, whether he'd need to hold her tight to him, and not wanting to get her soaked and shivering. Then he took off his boots and unfortunately wet socks, leaving them by the door so as to not track in. Finally, he steeled himself for what was going to be an exhausting remainder of the night.

She was sitting on the couch in the living room, with her legs tucked up beneath her, a mug of tea spouting trails of steam into the air above the coffee table where it was placed, apparently untouched, before her. Her eyes were focused -well, unfocused- on a bare patch of wall opposite. He'd found her like this a couple times before. And to be honest, he dreaded it worse than when she woke screaming in the night. Then, at least, all he had to do was gather her to him, rocking her gently, stroking her head and back, whispering comforting words to her, and eventually she calmed. When she went near-catatonic, it took a lot of tender poking and prodding to coax her back out into the world.

But she hadn't gotten like this (that he knew of, anyway) since that horrendous first week. She hadn't even needed him at all in the past three weeks.

"Merri?" He crouched down in front of her, looking up into her blank face. There was no reaction. His mouth went dry with nerves and he absently licked his lips. One of these days, she wouldn't respond to him at all, and he'd regret not forcing her to see a psychologist. She'd been cleared for duty easy enough, since as soon as they'd resumed work, she seemed just the same as she ever was. It had made him severely angry at first, how unaffected she appeared during the day, even as she came apart in his arms at night. He himself had been edgy for weeks, short-tempered and snappish. Brody had had the worst of it, but no one would've been able to tell from her behavior. So, of course she'd fooled the therapist. Hell, she'd probably even have managed to fool Pride if the older man hadn't been able to read from Chris' behavior that something was very wrong with his other junior agent.

Watching her face for an adverse reaction, he gently took one of her hands, and began to stroke his thumb across her knuckles, softly repeating her name.

She blinked, and he nearly sighed in relief, until her whole body jerked and stiffened, her hand tearing away from his to fly to her mouth. Jumping up, he followed her as she raced to the bathroom, doubled up over the toilet bowl and vomited. He could only stand there in shock, damn him, as she heaved and wretched, until finally, she collapsed onto her side, curling up into a ball and sobbing.

Cursing himself, he quickly went to fetch her a glass of water, setting it on the tile floor beside her convulsively weeping form. He wet a washcloth with warm water, and then kneeling beside her, coaxed her hands from her face, gently washing the red, raw-looking, tear-streaked skin. Her sobs seemed to lessen as he cleaned her up, and he was eventually able to coax her to a sitting position to rinse her mouth and drink some of the water.

The woman was definitely more present, but not yet fully herself. That much was apparent in her big, dark eyes as she finally looked at him. She'd begun to shiver, and no wonder. Her thin flannel robe was open, and she only wore a short cotton camisole and panties beneath. Her legs were covered in goose bumps.

"Let's get ya off this cold floor and ya can tell me what's botherin' ya." He tried to urge her up with his hands on her arms, but she refused to budge.

"I'll just be sick again," she said.

"Is it the flu or somethin'?" Chris wondered if maybe physical illness, a fever, could've triggered her nightmares. "Want me ta get Loretta? Maybe she can-"

"I think I'm pregnant." She moaned, a wail as forlorn as a forgotten ghost's. And then the tears began to fall down her cheeks once more. Her fingers dug into her thighs, and she refused to look at him as she sobbed. "I can't do it, LaSalle. I can't have a piece of murdering psychopath inside of me still, sucking the life out of me like a parasite."

Oh, shit, no.

"They gave you an emergency contraceptive at the hospital, didn't they?" He tried to keep his voice calm. There was no need to panic. Brody was panicking enough as it was. He needed to keep a calm head.

"Yes." She pinned him with a gaze that was pure terror. "But I haven't had my period since... And I've been sick a lot."

"That could all be from stress, Mere." Sound confident. Be confident. There's nothing to worry about. Except... But only cross that bridge when or if they got there. "Have you taken a test? Seen a doctor?"

He rubbed her arms soothingly as she shook her head 'no'.

"There's no need ta panic. It might not be what ya think." Closing her robe and tying it, he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her as he stood, forcing her off from the cold floor and onto her feet. He guided her back to the living room and sat her on the sofa, picking up the now merely warm tea and placing the mug in her hands. He could think of only one thing to settle her mind.

"I'm goin' ta go to the market down the street and get you a test," he said. Then they would know either way. Hopefully it would be negative and put her mind at rest. If not... well, they could tackle the next step together, whatever it may be. "Will you be okay until I get back?"

Seeming much calmer, she nodded at him, sipped her tea. It was difficult to say if she was truly calm, or if she'd simply donned her mask of 'the cool and collected federal agent' once more. But if she possessed the control to put on her facade, then she would be okay alone, at least for the few minutes it would take to run his errand.

As Chris quickly put his unfortunately damp boots back on and walked briskly to his truck, he took a deep breath of the fresh, rain-tinged air in an attempted to quell his own queasiness. Like Brody hadn't had enough to deal with over the past few months… Fate (the old hag) sure seemed to be in a mood for battering his poor partner about.

A/N: Oh, there's more… obviously…