12 Days, Day 11; Fanfiction: Days Go By
Title: Days Go By (And Still I Think of You)
Author: WHIZ
Characters/Pairing: Mary/Marshall, Stan, Eleanor, Bobby D
Rating: R for subject matter
Summary: In the wake of tragedy, everyone must adjust.
Warnings: Angst, descriptions of mental illness, mention of character death
Author’s Note: I had plans for a different 12 Days fic, but it refused to write, and I got this idea late Tuesday night, so I figured I’d go with it. The title is from Dirty Vegas’ song, Days Go By.
Author’s Note 2: Major thanks to Kitty for sending me her inspiration and motivation, as well as cheerleading me on for a good chunk of this afternoon. Thanks, baby! =D
“So, how ya feeling, Doofus?” Mary asks him two days after he regains consciousness.
He turns in her direction. “Pain’s pretty bad, but at least I can feel my leg again. But, I still can’t see. They said my eyesight probably won’t come back at all.”
“See, that’s what you get when you get phosphorous burns across your face,” Mary tells him.
Marshall sighs. “Yeah, well, at least I didn’t get shot in the abdomen.”
“At least I can see.”
“There is that...” Marshall says. “But hey, at least I can get a seeing eye dog.”
Mary laughs. “Always looking on the bright side of things, aren’t you, Marshall?”
“Somebody has to, otherwise, how would I survive working with you?”
Mary laughs and in a moment, he feels a hand on his arm that doesn’t belong to Mary.
“How are you feeling this morning, Marshall?” Doctor Saunders asks.
Marshall turns his head toward the sound of the voice. “Like I was telling Mary a minute ago, Doctor, the pain’s gotten worse, but I’ve got some feeling back in my leg.”
“I see.” There’s something in the doctor’s voice that Marshall can’t place. He feels a little fuzzy, like he’s missing something, but he doesn’t know what it is, and he doesn’t know how to get it back. The doctor clears his throat, derailing Marshall’s train of thought. “Perhaps...it might be better for us to discuss this alone. I’m sure Inspector Shannon can wait outside for a few moments.”
Mary scoffs. “Whatever. I’m gonna go get coffee.”
“Bring me back some pie!” Marshall begs her.
“Yeah, you wish, Doofus.”
“Which leg is bothering you, Marshall?”
“The left,” Marshall tells him.
“Well,” the doctor coughs surreptitiously. “That’s...to be expected at the moment.”
“Also...” Marshall pauses. “The thing is, I don’t really...remember what happened.”
“Retrograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon in situations like this, Marshall. Your memory of the events may return, but...not necessarily,” the doctor explains.
“So, when do you think I’m gonna get out of here?” Marshall asks.
“Well, you still...need physical therapy...” the doctor tells him hesitantly.
Marshall’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “There’s something...what aren’t you telling me, Doctor?”
The doctor clears his throat again. “Perhaps it would be best if I wait until Doctor Monroe is available.”
“Wait, aren’t you my doctor, though?” Marshall asks.
“One of them...” He gently touches Marshall’s shoulder. “Now, I’m going to check your eyes to see if there’s any pupil reaction.”
Marshall feels the doctor opening his eyelid. “Didn’t Doctor Conners say the phosphorous burned my retinas?”
“Um,” the doctor clears his throat awkwardly. “Yes. Well. It’s routine. There is, of course, a chance that your sight may improve.”
“Well, everything’s still completely black, so...” Marshall tells him.
“And there’s no pupil reaction at all. I’m afraid we were right. It seems highly unlikely your eyesight will return. Now, as I said, Doctor Monroe will be in later to speak with you some more.”
Marshall frowns. “Right. Of course.”
“I’ll just...let Inspector Shannon know she can come back in.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Marshall listens to the sound of the doctor closing the chart and discreetly walking out of the room. He’s alone now, the only sounds are the steady beeps of the monitors. He doesn’t even hear Mary’s approach, and has no idea she’s there until she touches his arm.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, Marshall,” Mary tells him apologetically.
“I guess I’ll just have to get used to it. Or suddenly evolve to have sonar hearing,” Marshall chuckles.
“How are you so cheerful right now?”
“Morphine?”
“You’re not even on morphine, Numbnuts,” Mary reminds him.
“Oh.”
“So, what’d your doctor say?”
“Actually, weirdly, he was pretty cagey about it,” Marshall says. He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Mostly, he just checked my eyes and danced around how long I was gonna be staying here. And explained retrograde amnesia to me.”
“Sick of the Jello already, Doofus?” Mary asks, laughing.
“I want pie,” Marshall whines.
“You can’t have any.”
“But pie makes everything better!”
“I don’t think pie will make this better,” Mary whispers.
Marshall sighs. “I know. You know, it’s true what they say...all your other senses are heightened when you lose one.” He reaches out toward her, and Mary tangles their fingers together. Marshall rubs his thumb across her knuckles. “I’ve done this before, when you were--” He stops, not wanting to bring up the subject of her near-death experience. “But it never felt quite like this...like--I can’t even explain it. God, Mer, I wish more than anything I could see you again. Your eyes are beautiful, you know.”
Mary squeezes his hand. “Yeah, you said that after I came out of the coma.”
“Well, it’s still true, even if I can’t see you.”
Suddenly, Marshall groans in pain.
“Marshall?”
“I’m okay, it’s just--” Marshall groans again, this time reaching for the morphine drip.
“You okay there, Doofus?” Mary asks as Marshall presses button for the morphine.
“Soon as this kicks in, I’ll be better,” Marshall says. He yawns sleepily and leans back into the pillows. “’m tired.”
“Get some sleep, Marshall.”
“Be here when I wake up?” Marshall asks.
“Yeah, numbnuts, where else would I be?”
“Love you, Mer,” Marshall mumbles.
Mary kisses his forehead gently. “I know.”
----
When Doctor Saunders walks into the waiting room, he heads over to the group of very official looking people.
“How is he, Doctor?” Stan asks.
“It’s...bad. First, there’s his eyes. There’s no pupil reaction at all. I’d like to have an ophthalmologist take a closer look to see what kind of damage there is. And he still has no memory of the incident, but considering what happened, that’s not entirely surprising. There are a few much larger problems, however,” he explains.
“Is he still--” Eleanor starts.
“Yes. That’s one of the problems. And that’s why Doctor Monroe is going to check on him later. We were hoping it was a reaction to coming out of the coma and that it would go away, but it hasn’t. There are some other problems that I just noticed earlier.”
“Such as?” Bobby asks.
“He doesn’t know about his leg. He can still feel it, so he doesn’t know they amputated it nearly a month ago. That’s not the biggest problem, though,” Saunders tells them.
“What is the biggest problem?” Stan asks.
“He mentioned a Doctor Conners,” Saunders starts. “But we don’t have a Conners on staff here. And...he told me that Conners explained his injury was from phosphorous burns.”
Stan, Eleanor and Bobby all exchange worried glances.
“Phosphorous?” Bobby says in surprise. “Okay, um, do you know how much he remembers from before the accident?”
Saunders shakes his head. “Not yet. Honestly, Detective, this isn’t my area of expertise. That’s why I sent for Doctor Monroe to examine Marshall. If it’s as bad as we’re thinking...well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Bottom line, Doctor,” Stan asks. “Will he recover?”
“Physically? No. He’ll never be able to see again, and on top of that, he’ll have to learn how to walk with a prosthetic leg. Now, emotionally and mentally? I have no idea. Doctor Monroe will be able to give you a better answer.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Eleanor says. “We appreciate you talking to us about him.”
“Of course.” Saunders pauses, looking slightly awkward. “What about his family?”
Stan shakes his head. “We’re his family.”
Saunders nods. “I understand. Um, I have to get back to my rounds.”
Saunders leaves the waiting room while Stan, Eleanor and Bobby just look at each other.
“He’s not going to get better, is he?” Eleanor whispers.
Bobby shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I mean...you saw him afterward. He was...I’ve never seen anyone that bad before. And I’ve seen a lot during my time as a cop...”
“Yeah,” Stan sighs. “It’s bad.”
“Shouldn’t we...talk to his parents, at least?” Eleanor asks.
Bobby scoffs. “Christ. Seth Mann? I’ve known Marshall for a couple of years now, and his father...they don’t really get along very well. Seth would be here in an instant, badgering and berating Marshall...and he doesn’t need that. And his mother...she’s sweet, but she’d tell Seth and that’s basically the same. It’s pretty clear Marshall doesn’t want them around him when it comes to medical matters.”
Stan nods. “Yeah. That’s why I have Power of Attorney now...”
“Although, we should still probably keep Ben up to date on everything,” Bobby suggests.
“You wanna call him or should I?” Stan asks.
“I’ll do it,” Bobby tells them. “How much should we tell him?”
“Enough, but...” Stan stops.
“Maybe just that there was an accident last month, but he’s conscious now?” Eleanor suggests.
“Yeah, I suppose that’s enough for the moment...seeing as we don’t really know more right now,” Bobby says. “All right, I’m gonna go call him.”
“Thanks, Bobby,” Stan says.
Bobby nods reassuringly as he takes his cell phone out of his pocket and heads out of the waiting room, looking for somewhere more private to call Ben Mann.
Stan sighs as he sinks into a chair. “God. This is just--”
Eleanor sits down next to him and puts a comforting hand on his arm. “I know.”
“I can’t keep losing people,” he whispers brokenly.
“Why don’t you go in and talk to him?” Eleanor suggests.
Stan nods. “That’s probably a good idea. Only--” Stan rubs his hand across the top of his head. “I’m not sure I should until after Monroe has spoken to him...I’m afraid I might say something I shouldn’t...”
“Are you sure?” Eleanor asks.
“Yeah,” Stan says. “I’ll talk to him once we’ve heard from the doctor.” He stands up abruptly. “I think I’m gonna take a walk or something. Call me when we hear anything?”
Eleanor nods as Stan walks out of the waiting room.
----
Marshall wakes up again, but he isn’t sure how much time has passed since he took the morphine.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice to his left says. Suddenly, there’s a hand on his arm. “Relax, I’m Doctor Monroe.”
Marshall relaxes a little. “So, are you an orthopedist or an ophthalmologist?”
“Neither, actually,” Monroe tells him. “I’m a psychiatrist.”
Marshall frowns. “I don’t really need a shrink...”
“Why not?” Monroe asks.
“Because my problem is that I can’t see. And my leg is killing me. But I’m sure that’ll go away soon,” Marshall tells him defiantly. “My head is fine the way it is.”
“Okay,” Monroe says patiently. “Well, it’s...hospital policy, so...humor me?”
Marshall sighs. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“What do you want to talk about?” Monroe asks, and Marshall can hear the smile in his voice. Marshall groans, knowing he should have seen it coming.
“I don’t know,” Marshall tells him.
“Do you know what day it is?” Monroe asks.
“It’s...early November, I think, maybe late October. Not sure what day, though. Being in a coma for almost a month does that. And...I still can’t remember what happened,” Marshall says.
“You may never remember what happened. Traumatic events like this...the mind has to find its own way to cope.” Marshall can hear Monroe click a pen and begin writing. For a moment, the only sounds are of the monitors and the scratch of pen on paper. “Prior to waking up a few days ago, what’s the last memory you have?”
“Uh,” Marshall pauses to think. “Mary’s doctors were finally letting her go home, so I picked her up and we went back to her place, and I stuck around, helping out with things like cooking and other stuff.”
Marshall hears more scratching. “I’m sorry...Mary is...?”
“Mary Shannon. My partner? Blonde, kind of a firecracker. She was here when I went to sleep...” Marshall says.
There’s more scratching, followed by, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen her before.” Marshall frowns, but doesn’t say anything, so Monroe continues. “Now then, what do you know about your injuries?”
“Doctor Conners told me the phosphorous burned my retinas, so I probably won’t be able to see again. And...I know my left leg hurts like crazy,” Marshall tells him.
Monroe sighs. “So you don’t know...”
“Know what?”
“The reason your left leg hurts is because you’re suffering from phantom limb syndrome...” Monroe says.
“Wait. You mean--”
“They couldn’t save your leg, Marshall. I’m sorry.”
Marshall reaches down toward his leg with his hand. Past his knee, there’s nothing there. He recoils in shock. “Oh God.”
Monroe pats Marshall’s arm awkwardly. “I’m sorry to have sprung that on you, Marshall...”
“No, it’s--I needed to know. So, when Doctor Saunders said I needed physical therapy?”
“They have to fit you for a prosthetic and then there’s physical therapy, and then you have to learn to walk again. While learning to do it blind,” Monroe explains. “And, as I’m sure you understand, this is part of why you need to talk to a psychiatrist.”
Marshall nods. “Yeah. I guess that makes a lot more sense now that it did five minutes ago...”
“Well, I hate to shrink and run, but...” Monroe starts. “I have plenty of other patients I have to see today.”
“Yeah, no problem. I think I need to sit with this for awhile, anyway...” Marshall says.
“Probably for the best,” Monroe says, reassuringly. “If you happen to need to talk before I plan to come back, just ring the nurse, they’ll find me.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Marshall says, reaching for Monroe’s hand to shake it.
Marshall listens to the sound of Monroe walking out of the room and after a moment, he’s alone with his thoughts and the machines.
“Hey, Doofus. What’s going on in that head of yours?” Mary asks a few minutes later.
Marshall tenses, startled. “Jesus, Mer! How do you keep doing that? I can never hear you coming.”
“Dunno,” Mary says.
“You might have told me my leg wasn’t there...” Marshall says petulantly.
Mary squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry, Marshall. The doctors didn’t want us telling you. I think they were trying to see how you would react to the blind thing first.”
Marshall sighs. “I guess that makes sense.”
“So...now that you know, you maybe wanna be alone for awhile?” Mary asks him.
“I think--yeah. Maybe.”
“Okay,” Mary says. She leans over and kisses Marshall on the forehead. “I’ll be around. If you want me, the nurse can probably find me.”
“Thanks, Mer.”
Marshall doesn’t hear Mary leave.
----
By the time Doctor Monroe makes his way to the waiting room, Bobby is back, sitting with Eleanor, but Stan is still out.
“Should we wait until Chief McQueen is back for me to tell you what’s wrong?” Monroe asks.
“I can call him,” Eleanor says, reaching for her cell phone.
“No, wait,” Bobby holds up a hand to stop her. “I saw Stan just before I came back. He was headed into the chapel.”
Eleanor nods. “I’ll go find him, then...I don’t think he’ll be too long.”
“Do you have time to wait, Doctor?” Bobby asks.
Monroe nods. “I’m finished with rounds for the time being.”
“I’ll be back shortly,” Eleanor tells them.
Eleanor steps out of the waiting room and makes her way to the chapel. When she gets there, she finds Stan, who is the only person there. He’s in the front, kneeling at the altar. Eleanor tip-toes in quietly and goes to sit in the second row pew closest to the altar. After a moment, she can hear Stan praying.
“Relying on Thy goodness, O God, we humbly ask Thou by intercession of Thy servant, St. Lucy, to give perfect vision to our eyes, that they may serve for Thy greater honor and glory, for our salvation and that of others, and that we may come to the enjoyment of the unfailing light of the Lamb of God in paradise. St. Lucy, virgin and martyr, hear our prayers and obtain our petitions. Blessed St. Lucy, we implore your assistance on behalf of Marshall Mann, that he may be healed. Amen.” Stan crosses himself and stands up, lighting one of the candles on a small table next to the altar.
When Stan turns around, he doesn’t seem very surprised to see Eleanor sitting in the chapel. “Monroe?”
Eleanor nods as she stands. They walk out of the chapel silently and start toward the waiting room. On the way, Stan suddenly says, “Lucy is the patroness of the blind.”
Eleanor smiles. “I know.”
Stan smiles back. “And today’s her feast day, so any prayers to her today must be extra likely to be answered, right?”
Eleanor doesn’t have a chance to answer, as the doors to the waiting room swing open and they walk in.
“What can you tell us, Doctor?” Stan asks.
“He’s obviously gotten quite a bit worse since I last saw him,” Monroe says. “He thinks it’s either late October or early November...and the last memory he has before coming out of the coma is taking Inspector Shannon home from the hospital.”
There’s a collective shocked intake of breath from Stan, Eleanor and Bobby.
“I thought--” Bobby stops, sinking into a chair. “I thought he’d been getting better. That’s why you let him go home in the first place.”
“He had been, Detective,” Monroe says. “We’d been making progress. But, his break from reality was far worse than any of us knew. His mind has constructed an entire reality in which Inspector Shannon is still alive, and his injuries were work-related.”
“Have you told him what really happened?” Stan asks.
Monroe shakes his head. “I only told him about his leg. He’s still convinced the blindness is due to phosphorous burns. He believes someone named Conners told him that. Is there anyone in his life named Conners? Someone he would trust?”
Stan sighs. “The only Conners I know of was the pilot of the AC-130 Marshall served on during the Gulf War, but he, along with the rest of the crew, save for Marshall, were all killed in ’91.”
Monroe frowns. “Then until we can convince him there is no Doctor Conners, we won’t be able to tell him he drank himself blind and nearly killed himself in the process.”
“Well, we’re at a bridge now. How do we cross it?” Stan asks.
“I’m afraid...” Monroe sighs. “You may have to commit him. And the VA doesn’t have a resident psychiatric ward, and none of the public hospitals in the area do either. So, unfortunately, it will most likely have to be a private facility, which means--”
Stan holds up a hand. “Money’s not an issue. It’s taken care of.”
Monroe nods. “Desert Palms is probably our best bet, then. It’s not far from here, only about ten miles or so out of the city. And they employ some of the best in the field. They specialize in dealing with patients suffering from severe psychosis brought on by traumatic events, and major depressive episodes...and Marshall is suffering from both at the moment. Hopefully, with the right combination of anti-psychotics and therapy, his condition will improve.”
Stan looks between Eleanor and Bobby, an entire conversation occurring with just their eyes. They nod and Stan does too, turning back to Monroe. “All right. When it’s time...” He sighs, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Give me the paperwork. I’ll sign it.”
“He’ll have to stay here for some time, considering all the physical therapy he needs, but I’ll need your permission to consult with the doctors at Desert Palms...and they’ll need it before they can start treating him,” Monroe explains.
Stan nods. “Okay. Do what you need to do to get him ready for this. Although, before we put him into their care, I’d like to meet with whoever would be the primary on his case at Desert Palms.”
“Naturally. We’ll do the consult tomorrow, and after they’ve gone over the case, they’ll know better which one of their psychiatrists is best suited to help Marshall. Once we’ve decided on that, we’ll talk with you about everything,” Monroe says.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Stan says, shaking his hand. “We appreciate everything you’re doing for him.”
“I wish this were easier, but...” Monroe sighs, shaking his head. “I think this...this is going to be one of those cases that haunts me...” At that, Bobby flinches, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Detective, I shouldn’t--”
“It’s not your fault,” Stan tries to tell him.
“It’s just...Mary’s dead because...I couldn’t save her,” Bobby whispers.
“Bobby,” Eleanor reaches out to hold his hand gently. “Honey, she’s dead because a gangbanger shot her in the abdomen and there was nothing the surgeons could do to save her. It wasn’t your fault. And if Marshall...were himself, he would tell you the same thing.”
“I know, but he isn’t,” Bobby says.
“If you ever need to talk, Detective...” Monroe starts.
Bobby smiles at him. “Already seen the department shrink. Several times. But thanks.”
Monroe nods. “All right. I should go set this up, then.”
After he leaves, Stan and Eleanor sit down on either side of Bobby. None of them say anything, each lost in their own thoughts.
Eventually, Stan says, “I suppose I should start praying to St. Dymphna...”
----
Endnotes:
St. Lucy is the patroness of the blind and of eye sight. Her feast is on December 13.
St. Dymphna is the patroness of the mentally ill, and her shrine is in Gheel, Belgium.
Eventually, I'm going to finish writing my original 12 Days fic, so you'll get to see that, too. =)
Author: WHIZ
Characters/Pairing: Mary/Marshall, Stan, Eleanor, Bobby D
Rating: R for subject matter
Summary: In the wake of tragedy, everyone must adjust.
Warnings: Angst, descriptions of mental illness, mention of character death
Author’s Note: I had plans for a different 12 Days fic, but it refused to write, and I got this idea late Tuesday night, so I figured I’d go with it. The title is from Dirty Vegas’ song, Days Go By.
Author’s Note 2: Major thanks to Kitty for sending me her inspiration and motivation, as well as cheerleading me on for a good chunk of this afternoon. Thanks, baby! =D
“So, how ya feeling, Doofus?” Mary asks him two days after he regains consciousness.
He turns in her direction. “Pain’s pretty bad, but at least I can feel my leg again. But, I still can’t see. They said my eyesight probably won’t come back at all.”
“See, that’s what you get when you get phosphorous burns across your face,” Mary tells him.
Marshall sighs. “Yeah, well, at least I didn’t get shot in the abdomen.”
“At least I can see.”
“There is that...” Marshall says. “But hey, at least I can get a seeing eye dog.”
Mary laughs. “Always looking on the bright side of things, aren’t you, Marshall?”
“Somebody has to, otherwise, how would I survive working with you?”
Mary laughs and in a moment, he feels a hand on his arm that doesn’t belong to Mary.
“How are you feeling this morning, Marshall?” Doctor Saunders asks.
Marshall turns his head toward the sound of the voice. “Like I was telling Mary a minute ago, Doctor, the pain’s gotten worse, but I’ve got some feeling back in my leg.”
“I see.” There’s something in the doctor’s voice that Marshall can’t place. He feels a little fuzzy, like he’s missing something, but he doesn’t know what it is, and he doesn’t know how to get it back. The doctor clears his throat, derailing Marshall’s train of thought. “Perhaps...it might be better for us to discuss this alone. I’m sure Inspector Shannon can wait outside for a few moments.”
Mary scoffs. “Whatever. I’m gonna go get coffee.”
“Bring me back some pie!” Marshall begs her.
“Yeah, you wish, Doofus.”
“Which leg is bothering you, Marshall?”
“The left,” Marshall tells him.
“Well,” the doctor coughs surreptitiously. “That’s...to be expected at the moment.”
“Also...” Marshall pauses. “The thing is, I don’t really...remember what happened.”
“Retrograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon in situations like this, Marshall. Your memory of the events may return, but...not necessarily,” the doctor explains.
“So, when do you think I’m gonna get out of here?” Marshall asks.
“Well, you still...need physical therapy...” the doctor tells him hesitantly.
Marshall’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “There’s something...what aren’t you telling me, Doctor?”
The doctor clears his throat again. “Perhaps it would be best if I wait until Doctor Monroe is available.”
“Wait, aren’t you my doctor, though?” Marshall asks.
“One of them...” He gently touches Marshall’s shoulder. “Now, I’m going to check your eyes to see if there’s any pupil reaction.”
Marshall feels the doctor opening his eyelid. “Didn’t Doctor Conners say the phosphorous burned my retinas?”
“Um,” the doctor clears his throat awkwardly. “Yes. Well. It’s routine. There is, of course, a chance that your sight may improve.”
“Well, everything’s still completely black, so...” Marshall tells him.
“And there’s no pupil reaction at all. I’m afraid we were right. It seems highly unlikely your eyesight will return. Now, as I said, Doctor Monroe will be in later to speak with you some more.”
Marshall frowns. “Right. Of course.”
“I’ll just...let Inspector Shannon know she can come back in.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Marshall listens to the sound of the doctor closing the chart and discreetly walking out of the room. He’s alone now, the only sounds are the steady beeps of the monitors. He doesn’t even hear Mary’s approach, and has no idea she’s there until she touches his arm.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, Marshall,” Mary tells him apologetically.
“I guess I’ll just have to get used to it. Or suddenly evolve to have sonar hearing,” Marshall chuckles.
“How are you so cheerful right now?”
“Morphine?”
“You’re not even on morphine, Numbnuts,” Mary reminds him.
“Oh.”
“So, what’d your doctor say?”
“Actually, weirdly, he was pretty cagey about it,” Marshall says. He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Mostly, he just checked my eyes and danced around how long I was gonna be staying here. And explained retrograde amnesia to me.”
“Sick of the Jello already, Doofus?” Mary asks, laughing.
“I want pie,” Marshall whines.
“You can’t have any.”
“But pie makes everything better!”
“I don’t think pie will make this better,” Mary whispers.
Marshall sighs. “I know. You know, it’s true what they say...all your other senses are heightened when you lose one.” He reaches out toward her, and Mary tangles their fingers together. Marshall rubs his thumb across her knuckles. “I’ve done this before, when you were--” He stops, not wanting to bring up the subject of her near-death experience. “But it never felt quite like this...like--I can’t even explain it. God, Mer, I wish more than anything I could see you again. Your eyes are beautiful, you know.”
Mary squeezes his hand. “Yeah, you said that after I came out of the coma.”
“Well, it’s still true, even if I can’t see you.”
Suddenly, Marshall groans in pain.
“Marshall?”
“I’m okay, it’s just--” Marshall groans again, this time reaching for the morphine drip.
“You okay there, Doofus?” Mary asks as Marshall presses button for the morphine.
“Soon as this kicks in, I’ll be better,” Marshall says. He yawns sleepily and leans back into the pillows. “’m tired.”
“Get some sleep, Marshall.”
“Be here when I wake up?” Marshall asks.
“Yeah, numbnuts, where else would I be?”
“Love you, Mer,” Marshall mumbles.
Mary kisses his forehead gently. “I know.”
----
When Doctor Saunders walks into the waiting room, he heads over to the group of very official looking people.
“How is he, Doctor?” Stan asks.
“It’s...bad. First, there’s his eyes. There’s no pupil reaction at all. I’d like to have an ophthalmologist take a closer look to see what kind of damage there is. And he still has no memory of the incident, but considering what happened, that’s not entirely surprising. There are a few much larger problems, however,” he explains.
“Is he still--” Eleanor starts.
“Yes. That’s one of the problems. And that’s why Doctor Monroe is going to check on him later. We were hoping it was a reaction to coming out of the coma and that it would go away, but it hasn’t. There are some other problems that I just noticed earlier.”
“Such as?” Bobby asks.
“He doesn’t know about his leg. He can still feel it, so he doesn’t know they amputated it nearly a month ago. That’s not the biggest problem, though,” Saunders tells them.
“What is the biggest problem?” Stan asks.
“He mentioned a Doctor Conners,” Saunders starts. “But we don’t have a Conners on staff here. And...he told me that Conners explained his injury was from phosphorous burns.”
Stan, Eleanor and Bobby all exchange worried glances.
“Phosphorous?” Bobby says in surprise. “Okay, um, do you know how much he remembers from before the accident?”
Saunders shakes his head. “Not yet. Honestly, Detective, this isn’t my area of expertise. That’s why I sent for Doctor Monroe to examine Marshall. If it’s as bad as we’re thinking...well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Bottom line, Doctor,” Stan asks. “Will he recover?”
“Physically? No. He’ll never be able to see again, and on top of that, he’ll have to learn how to walk with a prosthetic leg. Now, emotionally and mentally? I have no idea. Doctor Monroe will be able to give you a better answer.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Eleanor says. “We appreciate you talking to us about him.”
“Of course.” Saunders pauses, looking slightly awkward. “What about his family?”
Stan shakes his head. “We’re his family.”
Saunders nods. “I understand. Um, I have to get back to my rounds.”
Saunders leaves the waiting room while Stan, Eleanor and Bobby just look at each other.
“He’s not going to get better, is he?” Eleanor whispers.
Bobby shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I mean...you saw him afterward. He was...I’ve never seen anyone that bad before. And I’ve seen a lot during my time as a cop...”
“Yeah,” Stan sighs. “It’s bad.”
“Shouldn’t we...talk to his parents, at least?” Eleanor asks.
Bobby scoffs. “Christ. Seth Mann? I’ve known Marshall for a couple of years now, and his father...they don’t really get along very well. Seth would be here in an instant, badgering and berating Marshall...and he doesn’t need that. And his mother...she’s sweet, but she’d tell Seth and that’s basically the same. It’s pretty clear Marshall doesn’t want them around him when it comes to medical matters.”
Stan nods. “Yeah. That’s why I have Power of Attorney now...”
“Although, we should still probably keep Ben up to date on everything,” Bobby suggests.
“You wanna call him or should I?” Stan asks.
“I’ll do it,” Bobby tells them. “How much should we tell him?”
“Enough, but...” Stan stops.
“Maybe just that there was an accident last month, but he’s conscious now?” Eleanor suggests.
“Yeah, I suppose that’s enough for the moment...seeing as we don’t really know more right now,” Bobby says. “All right, I’m gonna go call him.”
“Thanks, Bobby,” Stan says.
Bobby nods reassuringly as he takes his cell phone out of his pocket and heads out of the waiting room, looking for somewhere more private to call Ben Mann.
Stan sighs as he sinks into a chair. “God. This is just--”
Eleanor sits down next to him and puts a comforting hand on his arm. “I know.”
“I can’t keep losing people,” he whispers brokenly.
“Why don’t you go in and talk to him?” Eleanor suggests.
Stan nods. “That’s probably a good idea. Only--” Stan rubs his hand across the top of his head. “I’m not sure I should until after Monroe has spoken to him...I’m afraid I might say something I shouldn’t...”
“Are you sure?” Eleanor asks.
“Yeah,” Stan says. “I’ll talk to him once we’ve heard from the doctor.” He stands up abruptly. “I think I’m gonna take a walk or something. Call me when we hear anything?”
Eleanor nods as Stan walks out of the waiting room.
----
Marshall wakes up again, but he isn’t sure how much time has passed since he took the morphine.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice to his left says. Suddenly, there’s a hand on his arm. “Relax, I’m Doctor Monroe.”
Marshall relaxes a little. “So, are you an orthopedist or an ophthalmologist?”
“Neither, actually,” Monroe tells him. “I’m a psychiatrist.”
Marshall frowns. “I don’t really need a shrink...”
“Why not?” Monroe asks.
“Because my problem is that I can’t see. And my leg is killing me. But I’m sure that’ll go away soon,” Marshall tells him defiantly. “My head is fine the way it is.”
“Okay,” Monroe says patiently. “Well, it’s...hospital policy, so...humor me?”
Marshall sighs. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“What do you want to talk about?” Monroe asks, and Marshall can hear the smile in his voice. Marshall groans, knowing he should have seen it coming.
“I don’t know,” Marshall tells him.
“Do you know what day it is?” Monroe asks.
“It’s...early November, I think, maybe late October. Not sure what day, though. Being in a coma for almost a month does that. And...I still can’t remember what happened,” Marshall says.
“You may never remember what happened. Traumatic events like this...the mind has to find its own way to cope.” Marshall can hear Monroe click a pen and begin writing. For a moment, the only sounds are of the monitors and the scratch of pen on paper. “Prior to waking up a few days ago, what’s the last memory you have?”
“Uh,” Marshall pauses to think. “Mary’s doctors were finally letting her go home, so I picked her up and we went back to her place, and I stuck around, helping out with things like cooking and other stuff.”
Marshall hears more scratching. “I’m sorry...Mary is...?”
“Mary Shannon. My partner? Blonde, kind of a firecracker. She was here when I went to sleep...” Marshall says.
There’s more scratching, followed by, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen her before.” Marshall frowns, but doesn’t say anything, so Monroe continues. “Now then, what do you know about your injuries?”
“Doctor Conners told me the phosphorous burned my retinas, so I probably won’t be able to see again. And...I know my left leg hurts like crazy,” Marshall tells him.
Monroe sighs. “So you don’t know...”
“Know what?”
“The reason your left leg hurts is because you’re suffering from phantom limb syndrome...” Monroe says.
“Wait. You mean--”
“They couldn’t save your leg, Marshall. I’m sorry.”
Marshall reaches down toward his leg with his hand. Past his knee, there’s nothing there. He recoils in shock. “Oh God.”
Monroe pats Marshall’s arm awkwardly. “I’m sorry to have sprung that on you, Marshall...”
“No, it’s--I needed to know. So, when Doctor Saunders said I needed physical therapy?”
“They have to fit you for a prosthetic and then there’s physical therapy, and then you have to learn to walk again. While learning to do it blind,” Monroe explains. “And, as I’m sure you understand, this is part of why you need to talk to a psychiatrist.”
Marshall nods. “Yeah. I guess that makes a lot more sense now that it did five minutes ago...”
“Well, I hate to shrink and run, but...” Monroe starts. “I have plenty of other patients I have to see today.”
“Yeah, no problem. I think I need to sit with this for awhile, anyway...” Marshall says.
“Probably for the best,” Monroe says, reassuringly. “If you happen to need to talk before I plan to come back, just ring the nurse, they’ll find me.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Marshall says, reaching for Monroe’s hand to shake it.
Marshall listens to the sound of Monroe walking out of the room and after a moment, he’s alone with his thoughts and the machines.
“Hey, Doofus. What’s going on in that head of yours?” Mary asks a few minutes later.
Marshall tenses, startled. “Jesus, Mer! How do you keep doing that? I can never hear you coming.”
“Dunno,” Mary says.
“You might have told me my leg wasn’t there...” Marshall says petulantly.
Mary squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry, Marshall. The doctors didn’t want us telling you. I think they were trying to see how you would react to the blind thing first.”
Marshall sighs. “I guess that makes sense.”
“So...now that you know, you maybe wanna be alone for awhile?” Mary asks him.
“I think--yeah. Maybe.”
“Okay,” Mary says. She leans over and kisses Marshall on the forehead. “I’ll be around. If you want me, the nurse can probably find me.”
“Thanks, Mer.”
Marshall doesn’t hear Mary leave.
----
By the time Doctor Monroe makes his way to the waiting room, Bobby is back, sitting with Eleanor, but Stan is still out.
“Should we wait until Chief McQueen is back for me to tell you what’s wrong?” Monroe asks.
“I can call him,” Eleanor says, reaching for her cell phone.
“No, wait,” Bobby holds up a hand to stop her. “I saw Stan just before I came back. He was headed into the chapel.”
Eleanor nods. “I’ll go find him, then...I don’t think he’ll be too long.”
“Do you have time to wait, Doctor?” Bobby asks.
Monroe nods. “I’m finished with rounds for the time being.”
“I’ll be back shortly,” Eleanor tells them.
Eleanor steps out of the waiting room and makes her way to the chapel. When she gets there, she finds Stan, who is the only person there. He’s in the front, kneeling at the altar. Eleanor tip-toes in quietly and goes to sit in the second row pew closest to the altar. After a moment, she can hear Stan praying.
“Relying on Thy goodness, O God, we humbly ask Thou by intercession of Thy servant, St. Lucy, to give perfect vision to our eyes, that they may serve for Thy greater honor and glory, for our salvation and that of others, and that we may come to the enjoyment of the unfailing light of the Lamb of God in paradise. St. Lucy, virgin and martyr, hear our prayers and obtain our petitions. Blessed St. Lucy, we implore your assistance on behalf of Marshall Mann, that he may be healed. Amen.” Stan crosses himself and stands up, lighting one of the candles on a small table next to the altar.
When Stan turns around, he doesn’t seem very surprised to see Eleanor sitting in the chapel. “Monroe?”
Eleanor nods as she stands. They walk out of the chapel silently and start toward the waiting room. On the way, Stan suddenly says, “Lucy is the patroness of the blind.”
Eleanor smiles. “I know.”
Stan smiles back. “And today’s her feast day, so any prayers to her today must be extra likely to be answered, right?”
Eleanor doesn’t have a chance to answer, as the doors to the waiting room swing open and they walk in.
“What can you tell us, Doctor?” Stan asks.
“He’s obviously gotten quite a bit worse since I last saw him,” Monroe says. “He thinks it’s either late October or early November...and the last memory he has before coming out of the coma is taking Inspector Shannon home from the hospital.”
There’s a collective shocked intake of breath from Stan, Eleanor and Bobby.
“I thought--” Bobby stops, sinking into a chair. “I thought he’d been getting better. That’s why you let him go home in the first place.”
“He had been, Detective,” Monroe says. “We’d been making progress. But, his break from reality was far worse than any of us knew. His mind has constructed an entire reality in which Inspector Shannon is still alive, and his injuries were work-related.”
“Have you told him what really happened?” Stan asks.
Monroe shakes his head. “I only told him about his leg. He’s still convinced the blindness is due to phosphorous burns. He believes someone named Conners told him that. Is there anyone in his life named Conners? Someone he would trust?”
Stan sighs. “The only Conners I know of was the pilot of the AC-130 Marshall served on during the Gulf War, but he, along with the rest of the crew, save for Marshall, were all killed in ’91.”
Monroe frowns. “Then until we can convince him there is no Doctor Conners, we won’t be able to tell him he drank himself blind and nearly killed himself in the process.”
“Well, we’re at a bridge now. How do we cross it?” Stan asks.
“I’m afraid...” Monroe sighs. “You may have to commit him. And the VA doesn’t have a resident psychiatric ward, and none of the public hospitals in the area do either. So, unfortunately, it will most likely have to be a private facility, which means--”
Stan holds up a hand. “Money’s not an issue. It’s taken care of.”
Monroe nods. “Desert Palms is probably our best bet, then. It’s not far from here, only about ten miles or so out of the city. And they employ some of the best in the field. They specialize in dealing with patients suffering from severe psychosis brought on by traumatic events, and major depressive episodes...and Marshall is suffering from both at the moment. Hopefully, with the right combination of anti-psychotics and therapy, his condition will improve.”
Stan looks between Eleanor and Bobby, an entire conversation occurring with just their eyes. They nod and Stan does too, turning back to Monroe. “All right. When it’s time...” He sighs, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Give me the paperwork. I’ll sign it.”
“He’ll have to stay here for some time, considering all the physical therapy he needs, but I’ll need your permission to consult with the doctors at Desert Palms...and they’ll need it before they can start treating him,” Monroe explains.
Stan nods. “Okay. Do what you need to do to get him ready for this. Although, before we put him into their care, I’d like to meet with whoever would be the primary on his case at Desert Palms.”
“Naturally. We’ll do the consult tomorrow, and after they’ve gone over the case, they’ll know better which one of their psychiatrists is best suited to help Marshall. Once we’ve decided on that, we’ll talk with you about everything,” Monroe says.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Stan says, shaking his hand. “We appreciate everything you’re doing for him.”
“I wish this were easier, but...” Monroe sighs, shaking his head. “I think this...this is going to be one of those cases that haunts me...” At that, Bobby flinches, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Detective, I shouldn’t--”
“It’s not your fault,” Stan tries to tell him.
“It’s just...Mary’s dead because...I couldn’t save her,” Bobby whispers.
“Bobby,” Eleanor reaches out to hold his hand gently. “Honey, she’s dead because a gangbanger shot her in the abdomen and there was nothing the surgeons could do to save her. It wasn’t your fault. And if Marshall...were himself, he would tell you the same thing.”
“I know, but he isn’t,” Bobby says.
“If you ever need to talk, Detective...” Monroe starts.
Bobby smiles at him. “Already seen the department shrink. Several times. But thanks.”
Monroe nods. “All right. I should go set this up, then.”
After he leaves, Stan and Eleanor sit down on either side of Bobby. None of them say anything, each lost in their own thoughts.
Eventually, Stan says, “I suppose I should start praying to St. Dymphna...”
----
Endnotes:
St. Lucy is the patroness of the blind and of eye sight. Her feast is on December 13.
St. Dymphna is the patroness of the mentally ill, and her shrine is in Gheel, Belgium.
Eventually, I'm going to finish writing my original 12 Days fic, so you'll get to see that, too. =)