Retrospect 5/7 (Without a Trace)
Retrospect
5/7
The whole world had gone quiet and still for a while, as if time held its breath. But then things started moving again. Started waking up.
He woke up.
And had no idea what the hell was going on.
He saw dim lighting in what was clearly a hospital room. The small space housed his bed, a chair, a clock and a small table to his right. As he surveyed his surroundings, he registered the deep hurt that had lodged in his skull and rattled his brain. He hadn’t had a headache like this since Bart had used him for batting practice on his first case with the team.
But that had been years ago, hadn’t it? Why was he here now? What had happened? He tried to remember, but nothing made sense amidst the pain and grogginess. His heart began thumping hard, and his breathing quickened.
The door opened with a soft creak, and a short, slender nurse with large emerald eyes and glossy red hair in a sleek French braid entered. Her lips curved up when she saw him. “Well, look who’s awake.”
Martin’s heart raced as he tried to place the woman, who looked close to his own age. Her nametag said “Colleen,” but nothing about her struck him as familiar. Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on the bed sheet, he took a shaky breath and tried to gain some control over the panic that was creeping over him.
The nurse’s smile faded as she approached him. “Are you all right?”
“I ... I don’t know. I’m kinda confused here.”
Colleen’s expression softened. “Do you know where you are?”
“A hospital.”
“Do you know which one?”
Martin’s lips parted as he considered the question. Thinking hurt, exacerbated the pain that wrapped around his brain like steel bands, and so he was relieved when the answer came quickly. “St. Vincent’s.”
Smiling encouragingly, the nurse nodded. “And your first name?”
“Martin.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
His breathing hitched and his brow furrowed as he realized he didn’t know the answer to her question.
She squeezed his arm once. “It’s okay, Martin,” she soothed. “We’ll take it slow. Let’s just concentrate on the year first. What year is it?”
It was like putting a jigsaw puzzle together, the pieces all looking the same size and shape until he forced himself to calm down. To really see what was before him. “Umm … 2005.”
“Uh huh. Now, what month is it?”
Only a second ticked by this time. “April.”
“And the exact date?”
Another puzzle piece slid into place, interlocking with the others. “April 18.”
The nurse’s lips curved into an approving smile. “Very good. Now, can you tell me why you’re here? How you got hurt?”
“Umm … ” Martin found and moved another piece where it belonged, relieved that the memories were returning. “The doctor said I slipped and fell. In a driveway. I don’t remember it, but … that’s what he told me.”
“That’s right.” The nurse rewarded him with another warm smile. “You’re doing great. I know the confusion can be extremely frustrating, but it really is perfectly normal for concussion patients.”
Martin closed his eyes as Colleen checked his vital signs. “I just hope it passes soon,” he murmured.
“Just try to be patient.”
While his head hurt less with his eyes closed, he forced them open to consider the nurse again. He remembered waking up in the ER and being moved up to this room, but he still couldn’t place her. “Have we met?”
“Nope.” Colleen wrote a few things on his chart before tucking it under an arm. “I just came on duty an hour ago, and you were already asleep.”
That’s right … Once he’d arrived at his new room, he’d been awake only a few minutes before the Tylenol had finally kicked in and he’d relaxed enough to drift off. Martin drew in a deep breath and let it out, glad that he hadn’t lost another chunk of time.
“How’s your head?”
“Better,” he allowed. “Not great, but better.” The pounding had eased, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to give him hope that it would eventually go away. More importantly, the sadistic jackass who’d been beating him with what used to be one of his favorite books had apparently gotten bored and left.
“Is your stomach up for some food?”
Martin frowned. “Umm, I don’t know.”
“Do you feel queasy?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m not exactly hungry, either.”
“Well, you haven’t eaten in several hours, and an empty stomach will eventually make you feel queasy, which isn’t a good combination with a concussion. Why don’t I bring you some chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers? You don’t have to eat them, but I’d like you to try.”
Martin nodded and then swore at the resulting spike of pain.
Frowning sympathetically, Colleen shook her head. “You should try not to do that.”
“I know,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I keep forgetting.” He let out a shaky breath. “My head didn’t hurt this bad the last time I had a concussion.”
“Well, your brain obviously doesn’t like having multiple concussions,” the nurse lectured good-naturedly. “So let this be a lesson to you.”
Smiling wryly, Martin recalled Dr. DuMont’s earlier admonition. “Maybe I should start wearing protective headgear at work.”
Colleen chuckled. “I’m going to get that soup. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
**
A few minutes grew into almost fifteen, not that Martin minded. While he waited, he used the time to get his bearings. He checked the clock and saw that it was a bit after 7 p.m. Normally, he’d be at home now, or on his way there. A few weeks ago, he might have been headed over to Sam’s.
Cutting off that train of thought before it got too far, he reached for the remote control attached to his bed. The largest button had a nurse’s hat symbol, and below it were smaller buttons to raise and lower the bed, turn the TV on and off, and adjust the volume up and down. Keeping the volume low so as not to inflame his headache, he searched through the five stations available to him, quickly going past the maternity station. He had no interest in learning about the various breastfeeding positions, thank you very much.
Failing to find anything worth watching, he shut the TV off, turning his attention to how he’d gotten this damned concussion. He pictured how ridiculous he must have looked as his feet went out from underneath him and he landed on the concrete. Just how many of his fellow agents had witnessed that stellar move?
A few minutes later, Colleen returned with the promised soup and crackers. She helped him raise the bed into a sitting position, which triggered dizziness and a white-hot flash of pain. After he regained his equilibrium, she swung the table over his lap and deposited the soup and crackers on it, then left him alone to ponder the mysteries of hospital food. How patients were supposed to get better when the meals sucked so bad was beyond him. The crackers were slightly stale, and the soup tasted like a watered-down version of Campbell’s, replete with soggy noodles and vegetables and whitish, spongy lumps that resembled chicken. He poked one of the lumps with his spoon, face screwing up in disgust.
The door opened and Danny strode in, smiling broadly and holding a small paper bag in one hand. “Hey, man!”
Resting the spoon in his bowl, Martin smiled back. “Hey.”
“How you doin’?”
“So far, so good.” he replied, deciding not to share the details of his earlier confusion. He curiously eyed the paper bag. “What’s in there?”
Danny lifted the sack, pointing to it with his best Vanna White impersonation. “In this bag, we have a large serving of Mrs. Katz’s matzo ball soup, steaming hot and ready for your enjoyment.” He peered into his partner’s bowl. “Unless you’d rather eat that.”
“Don’t tease an injured man,” Martin chided, mouth watering at the smell of his favorite matzo ball soup. Not even his relentless headache could deter his lust for Mrs. Katz’s house specialty. “I might feel like crap, but if you don’t give me that soup right now, I swear that when I’m feeling better, I’ll kick your ass.”
The other man snickered. “You don’t scare me, Fitzgerald.”
“Oh yeah? Well how about I tell Gina in accounting that you canceled your date with her so you could wine and dine that lingerie model in your apartment building?”
Danny paled. “You play dirty, you know that?”
“Soup. Now.”
A few minutes later, Martin was happily downing Mrs. Katz’s liquid gold as his partner sat next to him, jaw resting on his hand, eyes twinkling.
“Martin.”
“Mmm hmm?”
“What’s up with the noises?”
“What noises?” he asked around a mouthful of matzo ball.
“You’re doing this weird humming thing. It’s almost like … like little moans.” Danny grinned mischievously. “It’s like you’re having a food orgasm.”
Lowering his spoon, Martin scoffed. “Shut up, Danny.”
“No, really. I think you’re having a food orgasm.”
“There’s no such thing, you moron.”
Danny laughed. “There is now.” He closed his eyes and started moaning. “‘Mmm. Ohhh. Souuuuup. Yes, yes, yes!’”
Martin’s lips twitched, and a chuckle escaped before he could stop it. “You’re an ass.”
The other man opened his eyes and pointed at his friend. “Hey, you leave my ass out of it. My ass is sensitive, and adored by legions of hot women. Show it some respect.”
Chuckling again, Martin realized how lucky he was to have Danny as a partner. And a friend. Although fatigue was starting to pull hard on him, and his head ached so much his teeth hurt, his heart was light. Putting the spoon back into the bowl, he studied the other agent, reflecting on how much their relationship had changed over the years. They’d gotten off to a tough start, and not just because he’d messed up on the Maggie Cartwright case. When OPR had investigated the way the team had handled the Anwar Samir investigation, Danny had accused him of getting preferential treatment because he was Victor Fitzgerald’s son.
“Ask your father why we’re under this scrutiny,” Danny had said. “About the free ride you get around here.”
The words had stung. He’d worked hard to prove himself, to make people stop gossiping that he’d been hired simply because his father was the deputy director. But in that moment, looking at the fire in Danny’s eyes, he’d felt like it had all been for nothing.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Danny murmured.
Blinking, Martin realized his partner was studying him intently. He hadn’t meant to get lost in the past, and flushed slightly. “Sorry, man. I was just thinking about some stuff.” He paused, considering his next words. He wanted to thank Danny for the friendship they’d built over the last few years, but they weren’t prone to sappy moments. He didn’t want to say anything that would make either of them squirm. “I uhh … I really appreciate you bringing the soup over, and hanging out for a while. It’s nice to have someone here to take my mind off things.”
The other man’s lips curved up. “Glad to be of service.” He chuckled. “You know, this is a lot different than the last time I visited you in the hospital. You remember?”
Martin groaned. “How could I forget? You were pretty pissed.”
“And rightfully so, considering what happened.” Danny’s expression sobered. “I have to admit, I had some serious doubts about you working out on the team after that whole thing went down. But you really proved yourself. And not just as an agent.” Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees. “I don’t know that I really thanked you for helping me out last month when Rafie was missing.”
“You don’t need to thank me, man,” Martin dismissed, grimacing at the pounding headache that stubbornly refused to ease and wishing it was time for some more Tylenol. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m saying it anyway. Thanks.”
Danny extended his hand and Martin took it, shaking firmly before releasing it.
They engaged in some small talk for a while before the injured agent let out a jaw-popping yawn.
“Sounds like Sleeping Beauty needs some rest,” Danny teased, swinging the table out of the way so the other man could get settled.
Smiling wearily, Martin reclined the bed and adjusted his pillow, a long sigh issuing from his lips. A yawn followed. He craved a few hours of shut-eye, but wondered if the persistent headache would deny him slumber. Would torture him by keeping him awake and hurting …
“Martin?”
Opening his eyes, he realized he’d actually drifted away for a moment. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
Danny shrugged. “No biggie. The doctor said you’d be pretty wiped out.” He got to his feet. “ I’m gonna take off. Call me tomorrow when you know what time I should pick you up, all right?”
“Mmm hmm,” Martin murmured, eyelids drooping. Just before he slipped away, he heard the other man whisper, “Take it easy, Fitz,” and felt the sheet eased up a bit higher over his chest.
**
Part Six
5/7
The whole world had gone quiet and still for a while, as if time held its breath. But then things started moving again. Started waking up.
He woke up.
And had no idea what the hell was going on.
He saw dim lighting in what was clearly a hospital room. The small space housed his bed, a chair, a clock and a small table to his right. As he surveyed his surroundings, he registered the deep hurt that had lodged in his skull and rattled his brain. He hadn’t had a headache like this since Bart had used him for batting practice on his first case with the team.
But that had been years ago, hadn’t it? Why was he here now? What had happened? He tried to remember, but nothing made sense amidst the pain and grogginess. His heart began thumping hard, and his breathing quickened.
The door opened with a soft creak, and a short, slender nurse with large emerald eyes and glossy red hair in a sleek French braid entered. Her lips curved up when she saw him. “Well, look who’s awake.”
Martin’s heart raced as he tried to place the woman, who looked close to his own age. Her nametag said “Colleen,” but nothing about her struck him as familiar. Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on the bed sheet, he took a shaky breath and tried to gain some control over the panic that was creeping over him.
The nurse’s smile faded as she approached him. “Are you all right?”
“I ... I don’t know. I’m kinda confused here.”
Colleen’s expression softened. “Do you know where you are?”
“A hospital.”
“Do you know which one?”
Martin’s lips parted as he considered the question. Thinking hurt, exacerbated the pain that wrapped around his brain like steel bands, and so he was relieved when the answer came quickly. “St. Vincent’s.”
Smiling encouragingly, the nurse nodded. “And your first name?”
“Martin.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
His breathing hitched and his brow furrowed as he realized he didn’t know the answer to her question.
She squeezed his arm once. “It’s okay, Martin,” she soothed. “We’ll take it slow. Let’s just concentrate on the year first. What year is it?”
It was like putting a jigsaw puzzle together, the pieces all looking the same size and shape until he forced himself to calm down. To really see what was before him. “Umm … 2005.”
“Uh huh. Now, what month is it?”
Only a second ticked by this time. “April.”
“And the exact date?”
Another puzzle piece slid into place, interlocking with the others. “April 18.”
The nurse’s lips curved into an approving smile. “Very good. Now, can you tell me why you’re here? How you got hurt?”
“Umm … ” Martin found and moved another piece where it belonged, relieved that the memories were returning. “The doctor said I slipped and fell. In a driveway. I don’t remember it, but … that’s what he told me.”
“That’s right.” The nurse rewarded him with another warm smile. “You’re doing great. I know the confusion can be extremely frustrating, but it really is perfectly normal for concussion patients.”
Martin closed his eyes as Colleen checked his vital signs. “I just hope it passes soon,” he murmured.
“Just try to be patient.”
While his head hurt less with his eyes closed, he forced them open to consider the nurse again. He remembered waking up in the ER and being moved up to this room, but he still couldn’t place her. “Have we met?”
“Nope.” Colleen wrote a few things on his chart before tucking it under an arm. “I just came on duty an hour ago, and you were already asleep.”
That’s right … Once he’d arrived at his new room, he’d been awake only a few minutes before the Tylenol had finally kicked in and he’d relaxed enough to drift off. Martin drew in a deep breath and let it out, glad that he hadn’t lost another chunk of time.
“How’s your head?”
“Better,” he allowed. “Not great, but better.” The pounding had eased, not as much as he would have liked, but enough to give him hope that it would eventually go away. More importantly, the sadistic jackass who’d been beating him with what used to be one of his favorite books had apparently gotten bored and left.
“Is your stomach up for some food?”
Martin frowned. “Umm, I don’t know.”
“Do you feel queasy?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m not exactly hungry, either.”
“Well, you haven’t eaten in several hours, and an empty stomach will eventually make you feel queasy, which isn’t a good combination with a concussion. Why don’t I bring you some chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers? You don’t have to eat them, but I’d like you to try.”
Martin nodded and then swore at the resulting spike of pain.
Frowning sympathetically, Colleen shook her head. “You should try not to do that.”
“I know,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I keep forgetting.” He let out a shaky breath. “My head didn’t hurt this bad the last time I had a concussion.”
“Well, your brain obviously doesn’t like having multiple concussions,” the nurse lectured good-naturedly. “So let this be a lesson to you.”
Smiling wryly, Martin recalled Dr. DuMont’s earlier admonition. “Maybe I should start wearing protective headgear at work.”
Colleen chuckled. “I’m going to get that soup. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
**
A few minutes grew into almost fifteen, not that Martin minded. While he waited, he used the time to get his bearings. He checked the clock and saw that it was a bit after 7 p.m. Normally, he’d be at home now, or on his way there. A few weeks ago, he might have been headed over to Sam’s.
Cutting off that train of thought before it got too far, he reached for the remote control attached to his bed. The largest button had a nurse’s hat symbol, and below it were smaller buttons to raise and lower the bed, turn the TV on and off, and adjust the volume up and down. Keeping the volume low so as not to inflame his headache, he searched through the five stations available to him, quickly going past the maternity station. He had no interest in learning about the various breastfeeding positions, thank you very much.
Failing to find anything worth watching, he shut the TV off, turning his attention to how he’d gotten this damned concussion. He pictured how ridiculous he must have looked as his feet went out from underneath him and he landed on the concrete. Just how many of his fellow agents had witnessed that stellar move?
A few minutes later, Colleen returned with the promised soup and crackers. She helped him raise the bed into a sitting position, which triggered dizziness and a white-hot flash of pain. After he regained his equilibrium, she swung the table over his lap and deposited the soup and crackers on it, then left him alone to ponder the mysteries of hospital food. How patients were supposed to get better when the meals sucked so bad was beyond him. The crackers were slightly stale, and the soup tasted like a watered-down version of Campbell’s, replete with soggy noodles and vegetables and whitish, spongy lumps that resembled chicken. He poked one of the lumps with his spoon, face screwing up in disgust.
The door opened and Danny strode in, smiling broadly and holding a small paper bag in one hand. “Hey, man!”
Resting the spoon in his bowl, Martin smiled back. “Hey.”
“How you doin’?”
“So far, so good.” he replied, deciding not to share the details of his earlier confusion. He curiously eyed the paper bag. “What’s in there?”
Danny lifted the sack, pointing to it with his best Vanna White impersonation. “In this bag, we have a large serving of Mrs. Katz’s matzo ball soup, steaming hot and ready for your enjoyment.” He peered into his partner’s bowl. “Unless you’d rather eat that.”
“Don’t tease an injured man,” Martin chided, mouth watering at the smell of his favorite matzo ball soup. Not even his relentless headache could deter his lust for Mrs. Katz’s house specialty. “I might feel like crap, but if you don’t give me that soup right now, I swear that when I’m feeling better, I’ll kick your ass.”
The other man snickered. “You don’t scare me, Fitzgerald.”
“Oh yeah? Well how about I tell Gina in accounting that you canceled your date with her so you could wine and dine that lingerie model in your apartment building?”
Danny paled. “You play dirty, you know that?”
“Soup. Now.”
A few minutes later, Martin was happily downing Mrs. Katz’s liquid gold as his partner sat next to him, jaw resting on his hand, eyes twinkling.
“Martin.”
“Mmm hmm?”
“What’s up with the noises?”
“What noises?” he asked around a mouthful of matzo ball.
“You’re doing this weird humming thing. It’s almost like … like little moans.” Danny grinned mischievously. “It’s like you’re having a food orgasm.”
Lowering his spoon, Martin scoffed. “Shut up, Danny.”
“No, really. I think you’re having a food orgasm.”
“There’s no such thing, you moron.”
Danny laughed. “There is now.” He closed his eyes and started moaning. “‘Mmm. Ohhh. Souuuuup. Yes, yes, yes!’”
Martin’s lips twitched, and a chuckle escaped before he could stop it. “You’re an ass.”
The other man opened his eyes and pointed at his friend. “Hey, you leave my ass out of it. My ass is sensitive, and adored by legions of hot women. Show it some respect.”
Chuckling again, Martin realized how lucky he was to have Danny as a partner. And a friend. Although fatigue was starting to pull hard on him, and his head ached so much his teeth hurt, his heart was light. Putting the spoon back into the bowl, he studied the other agent, reflecting on how much their relationship had changed over the years. They’d gotten off to a tough start, and not just because he’d messed up on the Maggie Cartwright case. When OPR had investigated the way the team had handled the Anwar Samir investigation, Danny had accused him of getting preferential treatment because he was Victor Fitzgerald’s son.
“Ask your father why we’re under this scrutiny,” Danny had said. “About the free ride you get around here.”
The words had stung. He’d worked hard to prove himself, to make people stop gossiping that he’d been hired simply because his father was the deputy director. But in that moment, looking at the fire in Danny’s eyes, he’d felt like it had all been for nothing.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Danny murmured.
Blinking, Martin realized his partner was studying him intently. He hadn’t meant to get lost in the past, and flushed slightly. “Sorry, man. I was just thinking about some stuff.” He paused, considering his next words. He wanted to thank Danny for the friendship they’d built over the last few years, but they weren’t prone to sappy moments. He didn’t want to say anything that would make either of them squirm. “I uhh … I really appreciate you bringing the soup over, and hanging out for a while. It’s nice to have someone here to take my mind off things.”
The other man’s lips curved up. “Glad to be of service.” He chuckled. “You know, this is a lot different than the last time I visited you in the hospital. You remember?”
Martin groaned. “How could I forget? You were pretty pissed.”
“And rightfully so, considering what happened.” Danny’s expression sobered. “I have to admit, I had some serious doubts about you working out on the team after that whole thing went down. But you really proved yourself. And not just as an agent.” Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees. “I don’t know that I really thanked you for helping me out last month when Rafie was missing.”
“You don’t need to thank me, man,” Martin dismissed, grimacing at the pounding headache that stubbornly refused to ease and wishing it was time for some more Tylenol. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m saying it anyway. Thanks.”
Danny extended his hand and Martin took it, shaking firmly before releasing it.
They engaged in some small talk for a while before the injured agent let out a jaw-popping yawn.
“Sounds like Sleeping Beauty needs some rest,” Danny teased, swinging the table out of the way so the other man could get settled.
Smiling wearily, Martin reclined the bed and adjusted his pillow, a long sigh issuing from his lips. A yawn followed. He craved a few hours of shut-eye, but wondered if the persistent headache would deny him slumber. Would torture him by keeping him awake and hurting …
“Martin?”
Opening his eyes, he realized he’d actually drifted away for a moment. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
Danny shrugged. “No biggie. The doctor said you’d be pretty wiped out.” He got to his feet. “ I’m gonna take off. Call me tomorrow when you know what time I should pick you up, all right?”
“Mmm hmm,” Martin murmured, eyelids drooping. Just before he slipped away, he heard the other man whisper, “Take it easy, Fitz,” and felt the sheet eased up a bit higher over his chest.
**
Part Six