A fictional work based on the tv series 'Without a Trace'
Rating: PG-17 (Language, violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show or characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, without profit or gain of any kind.
Samantha and Vivian approached with the man of the hour. Sam walked ahead of her partner and made her way to the door that led to the immediate area inside of the warehouse. Jack was standing with two other SWAT cops. She caught his eye and he excused himself.
"How's it going?" she asked.
"They're both alive and that's more than I had when I woke up today." Jack's eyes skirted the window and he saw the priest approaching. "I need you topside, keep an eye on that monitor. Talk to Danny if you can, keep him awake, okay?"
"Sure," she replied, taking off for her post.
"Hey, Padre," Jack greeted, shaking Father Masiak's hand. "I know this is your busy day, I sure appreciate this."
"Not a problem, how is he?"
"Not good," Jack replied. "He's in the back, holding two guns on anyone with a badge. Danny's hurt and he won't let anyone near him. He's protecting him." He paused, slipping his coat off. "That's where you come in."
"Why don't you let me talk to him?" Father Joe suggested. "Saving lost souls is my specialty, comes with the collar."
"Thanks, Father, I really mean that." Jack shucked his suit jacket off and slipped the badge inside his pocket. "But I'm a trained negotiator and you're a civilian. I can't let you inside. The shirt, collar and sweater are what I need."
"Here," the gray-haired priest handed over the items previously requested on the phone. "I'd like to wait, if that's okay."
"Sure, just stay outside with Agent Johnson. Vivian?"
"You sure about this?" Johnson asked, stepping forward.
"He went to Catholic schools for twelve years," Malone recalled of Fitzgerald's past. "He'll trust a priest. Right now anything wearing a badge is the enemy."
"Father Malone?" Vivian found a smile at the new uniform. "I'm not so sure..."
"What?" Jack feigned being hurt. "I've saved a few souls in my day."
Vivian smiled and straightened the collar out, then buttoned the remaining button on the black cardigan. He looked the part at least. "Go find those lost lambs, Father Jack."
"Danny?"
Martin's head snapped up when a woman's voice entered the room. He blinked his stuper away and peered around the entire room. He looked behind and saw Taylor stirring. His inner alarm went off; this was a trick of some kind to distract him. He moved outside a little further to make sure he wasn't missing any movement. Those few steps brought the burning pain in his side to increase and he doubled over, cradling the injured area and gasping loudly. The floor seemed to be moving and he staggered, nearly dropping his gun.
"God," Sam whispered, seeing how badly injured Martin Fitzgerald was. Yet he was dogged in his stance and that only made him more dangerous. She couldn't see past him to Danny Taylor. "Danny!"
Danny jerked awake and his eyes went unnaturally wide. He coughed several times and reached for the water bottle. After taking a large gulp, he blinked and furrowed his brows. He knew that voice. He tried to see around Martin but couldn't.
"Sam?"
"Yeah, it's me," Spade's voice didn't hide her relief. "Hold on a little longer, Danny. We're almost there. How's he doing?"
"I'm worried, Sam. Those bastards worked him over last night, something is wrong with his ribs. I think his lung... I hope..."
"It's okay, Danny, just save your breath. Keep awake, okay?"
"Try...ing..." he slurred, then his eyes caught movement. "Who's there?"
"Father John Michael," Jack stated. "Martin? Can I come a little closer and talk to you?"
Martin's head was screaming in pain, making hearing anything very difficult. Every breath was an effort and the priest in front of him looked like a reflection in the funny mirrors in the fun house at the carnivals. The body was long and distorted and he narrowed his eyes, pressing the gun to his pounding skull. Why wouldn't the pain go away? He didn't know what to do. He took a quick look back at Taylor who was blinking rapidly and struggling to look back.
"Let... him... in..." Danny managed and saw Martin nod. "He's a priest... a good guy."
"Thank you," Jack offered, slowly walking towards the very unstable rookie. The closer he got the more his heart clenched. From the pain rippling off the injured man and the fever present in the bright eyes, he was a testimony to stamina.
"He's in," Hand updated. "Everybody on alert. Agent Spade? Do you have a visual?"
"Roger," Sam replied. "I can see all three of them."
As the priest approached, Martin moved backward, his legs wobbling badly. He sank to the floor and crawled backwards, his left arm snaking out until he hit Taylor's chest. His right hand remained with the other gun trained on the dark-haired priest. As he got closer, a sharp pain shot through his head. A flash of this same man in a black suit behind a desk made an unwelcome appearance. He wasn't sure if he could trust this man. He pressed his left hand harder onto Taylor's chest.
Danny felt the metal of the gun on his neck and opened his eyes. That blood encrusted hand now sitting over his heart brought a lump to his throat. The unflagging loyalty and defiance shining in the blue eyes overwhelmed him. He saw Jack moving to the right, which allowed him to see him fully. He nodded, relief masking him. He knew Jack would get through to Martin and this hellish ordeal would finally be over.
"There are two teams of paramedics outside. You've been injured and you both need help. I promise, Martin, I promise," Jack emphasized, "I won't let anyone hurt you."
Martin shook his head and pointed to the windows, lined with heavily armed police. Every window had the face of the enemy. They were all part of the plot to kill. He still felt that blade on his throat and heard the chilling voice. He began to cough, causing red hot pokers to stoke his chest.
"Did that man hurt you?" Jack nodded to the corpse lying between them to one side.
Martin eyed the blond man on the floor and flinched, as the mists of time parted. Snow fell, it was cold and he was unable to breath. Two strong hands holding something hard to his throat to choke him and then a blade appeared. The glint of it held his eye until it pressed to his exposed throat. The voice came then... and the other man's badge caught the light.
"He can't hurt you, he's dead. I know he tried to hurt you before and his partner will pay for that, I promise. But you have to have faith in me son. I won't hurt you or Danny Taylor."
With every word, Jack drew a little closer. The stench was overwhelming and he could see crude bandages on Danny's arm and side. The dark slit eyes regarded him and a crooked smile formed on the scruffy face. Jack smiled and nodded, then saw Danny's smile fade and his eyes shift to the window.
"...get... away..."
Jack turned halfway and saw a beam of red light from a scope hit Martin's chest. He moved in front of it his eyes glowing like coals. He had his radio tucked under his sweater and put it close to his lips.
"You son-of-a-bitch, stand the hell down. Hand, I want them out of sight now. They're scaring him. I got this under control, you can leave one. You don't need an army around that glass."
The growling order brought a crease to Martin's already troubled brow. He cocked his head and his eyes lit up. He heard that same gruff voice and other words came out like fragments into his tender skull.
"...don't let me down..."
The same face in a dark suit, a warm handshake, a grip that told him a lot about the man that used it. He was confused. How could he know this priest? Was the priest a family friend? He had seen him before and his gut told him to 'trust'. He saw the police had disappeared from the windows and he sighed hard. It was so confusing. He leaned his aching head against the crate and his face screwed up in pain and loss. Could he trust this man with Taylor's life?
"You look like you got hurt too," Jack pressed, baring his wrist so it would be visible. "It's about time you let me help you, okay? You and your partner, he's your partner right?"
Jack knew he struck a chord with that word when the shaggy head shot up and the blue eyes glowered at him. "Partners take care of each other. You partner wants us to help you. You trust him, don't you?
Martin was transfixed by the voice and nodded his head. Then he saw the wrist watch and a sharp pain hit him square in the temple. He gasped and his whole body stiffened up in pain.
"Jack? What's wrong?" Danny felt the change, the left hand guarding him was trembling, doing a dance on his chest. "What ... did you... do..."
"Easy, tiger, I won't hurt him," Jack soothed. He saw Martin's anguished gaze on the watch. He didn't realize viewing it would cause this much pain and he almost regretted the decision to wear it. "You recognize this? It's your grandfather's, he was a Navy man, remember?"
Flashes of a kind face with blue eyes like his own under a cap of white hair greeted him. Walks by the ocean, tales of the sea and building miniature replicas of old sea going vessels greeted him. The images came so face he lost his breath. He needed the watch... he had to hold it. The desire to have it became overwhelming. He grunted and pointed to it, pouting when it was pulled back.
"Jack, be careful," Sam whispered into the radio, knowing the earpiece allowed him to hear her.
"You want this?" Jack asked, unbuckling the watch and dangling it like forbidden fruit in front of a starving man. "You give me one of the guns. You can have the watch. You still have a gun left. No harm done."
Martin's eyes narrowed and he frowned; he didn't know what to do. It was all so very confusing. He was so tired of being tired and every inch of him hurt so badly all he wanted to do was go to sleep. But he had to protect Taylor. Yet the priest with dark eyes and the gruff voice was someone he did trust. He was riveted to the watch being suspended before him. He needed to have it; he needed it but didn't know why.
"It's easy, Martin, just slide the gun over to me and I'll give you the watch." Jack saw the flicker of hope appear in the dazed gaze and acted on it. He held the watch closer.
"Go... on... man..." Danny encouraged when the left hand on his chest twitched. He sighed in relief when Martin moved his left hand and shoved the gun towards Jack.
"Good, that's a good choice, here," Jack tossed the watch and saw the hand dart out like a rat and snatch it. He winced when Martin held the watch against his chest and began to rock, his eyes wide with confusion. "Can I come and check on your partner? I won't hurt him, I just want to see if he needs some help."
Martin's head jerked up and his body went rigid. He shook his head and leveled the gun on the priest. His left hand held the watch pressed against his face, hoping it would quell the unrelenting waves of ripping pain shooting through his head.
"You need help, son," Jack used a calm tone and zeroed in on the agonized eyes. "You've got a head injury. There are people here who can help both you and your partner. He's injured and needs a hospital. You don't want him to die do you?"
'Great, Jack," Sam hissed. "Don't push him that hard."
Die?
Martin's lip twitched and he turned to eye his fallen partner. The face was ashen and his breathing worse. Was the priest right? Was Taylor going to die because of him? He moved his left hand and gently laid the watch on Taylor's neck, then touched his cheek. Two eyes opened halfway, dulled by pain and fever.
"Hey... " Danny managed a small glare at Jack. He'd heard the threat and didn't like the guilt it had caused. "I ain't checkin' out yet... 'kay..."
Martin nodded and tapped the face gently, then picked up the watch. He held it up before his friend to see.
"...your grandpa's? That's... nice... must be... special..." Danny saw the head nod and held his hand out. Martin started to put the watch in his palm but Danny shook his head and nodded to the gun. "...time to... ride... partner..."
Martin shook his head and shoved the watch in his pocket. His frantic eyes darted between the man who he thought was a priest and his partner. Why did he 'see' this man in a suit? Was this a trick too? How come Taylor knew the priest? How did the priest have his grandfather's watch? Keeping the gun trained on the dark haired man, he crawled backwards on his butt towards the letter board at Taylor's feet. Fumbling with his left hand, he found a long piece of slim wood and tapped out the word.
"Trick?" Jack read and shook his head. "No, Martin it's not a trick. I only want to get you and Taylor to the hospital. He's very sick, look at him. Look at him, Martin, now!"
Martin jumped at the extra loudness and cringed at the pain it caused. He saw that Taylor was fading fast and the weakness consuming his own body was winning. It was all so confusing; he didn't know what to do. He leaned his head against the board and began to rock slightly, the gun hand trembling. The pain was so bad, he couldn't stand much more. The fire in his chest was making every breath like breathing through hot nails. Then a calm voice interrupted his trauma, two cool words that lanced his wound and drove home.
"Trust me..." Danny whispered, crossing his first two fingers in the partnership gesture and waiting. He saw the sky eyes painfully transfixed by the fingers and then slowly the gesture was repeated. Only then did he flip his hand out, palm extended.
Martin did trust him and although still plagued by fear and uncertainty, he hurt badly. He wanted so much to sleep but was fearful of shutting his eyes. Every time he did, bad things happened. But he kept his gaze fixed on Taylor's and felt his fears diminish. The only thing he saw in the dark eyes was hope.
Jack didn't utter a sound; the silence in the room was deafening. He was nearly transfixed and watched in muted awe as Taylor made some mystical connection with Fitzgerald. Somehow, those two words, a pair of crossed fingers and the faith they were issued with penetrated every protective layer of fear and defiance that Fitzgerald had built up. His eyes widened in shock when the injured agent moved. Unable to stand, he inched over on his butt, the left hand protecting what he assumed was broken ribs. The right hand still shaking badly, housed the gun that was still aimed at him. But then once he got close enough, he dropped the gun into Danny's hand. Danny immediately shoved the gun to him and he kicked it out of harms way
"It's okay, brother, I got you. I'll watch your back this time. You did good... I'm proud of you." Danny whispered, gripping the back of Martin's neck. His voice was choken with the same deep emotion that his chest was constricted with. The matted head was on his hip, Martin's entire body was shuddering badly. "It's okay, you're not alone. You're safe, partner, I'm right here."
"I need medics, now!" Jack ordered, moving in and dropping down next to Danny and Martin. "Nice work, Agent Taylor."
"All ... in... a... day's... pay..." Danny managed, biting his lip in agony. "Jack, he's on my bad arm... it's killing me..."
"Martin?" Jack eased the quaking body upright and like an animal cornered, he began to fight. Jack heard the paramedics entering the room along with Johnson and Spade. "They won't hurt Danny, I promise. Let me help you move over. You can still watch him, but they need room to work." Jack managed to move Martin over several feet away but as soon as the first paramedic began to cut away Taylor's clothes to inspect the wound in his side, Danny cried out. That was all Martin had to hear. "Whoa!" Jack used both hands to keep Martin pinned to the back of a box. He had to keep moving his head as Martin was frantic to get at Danny. "He's fine. They're medics, they're helping him." He cupped Martin's squared jaw and found the troubled ey es. "You did a great job, you saved his life." He saw the crooked letters scratched on the board behind the lost soul. "You protected your partner. Now it's time for both of you to get help. We're going to move a little ways over, so they can look at you, okay?"
Martin shook his head and pointed to Taylor. No, it wasn't okay. They were hurting him. He was twitching and crying out in pain. But as he struggled to move forward, the whole room began to spin and he collapsed into the strong arms that held him.
"Jesus," Jack sighed, nodding to two medics who had been waiting. "Gimme a hand, here. Be careful with him, he's got something wrong with his ribs."
"I hope he didn't pop a lung," the first medic stated when they stretched the injured man out.
Jack walked over to Danny then, keeping an eye on Martin as they assessed his condition and called orders in over a small radio.
"I'm fine," Danny whispered to relieve the concern on Malone's face peering down at him. "Just a ... few... more... bruises... and scars... to... impress... the... the... ladies..." He winked at Vivian and Sam who had come over. Both smiled at him and Sam bent down to tap his cheek before leaving to check on Martin.
"Yeah," Jack chuffed, finding a smile.
"Jesus, this is a mess!" the paramedic cutting away the crude bandages muttered. Then found his wrist caught by the patient and two hot eyes bearing up on him.
"Watch... your... mouth...." Danny warned, incensed that this stranger would criticize the work done by Martin.
"Okay, buddy, sorry," he apologized and threw the bandages away so he could treat the wound.
"Jack?"
"Right here, Danny," Jack squatted down so the injured man could see him.
"That dirty cop and his partner, they're the ones... they tried... to... kill... him." Danny hissed and his hand snapped out and was gripped by Malone's. "Aw... God... aw....."
"Easy," Jack soothed, eyeing the wounds being treated. A C-collar was put in place and a back board ordered. Danny told them about his legs and back.
"Jack... Mar...tin... ribs... head... and... sick... bad... diarrhea... they... beat... him... again... last night... tried to... kill... he... he...'scaped..."
"Okay, okay, just save your breath."
"Martin... saw... them... last... Friday... night... do something... illegal... they... they... tried..."
"Jesus, would you shut up already?" Jack kept the grip on the hand as the body was eased onto a gurney. He saw the heavy eyes fighting to find Martin.
"Don't... leave him... 'kay?" Danny whispered. ...he... can't... remember... when... he... wakes... up... it's... it's... terrifying... so... lost...."
"I understand. I'll make sure he's not alone."
"...next time... you... go... under... cover..." Taylor teased and heard a chuckle.
"You scared ten years off of me, Agent Taylor," Jack lauded, "But you did one helluva job."
"No..." Danny corrected, flinching as Martin's terribly bruised chest was revealed.
"We... did... my... partner... and I..." He crossed his fingers and tapped his heart proudly.
"Yeah," Jack smiled, wondering about the hands of Fate and how they'd moved this time. "Sam, ride with him?"
"Okay, I'll see you at the hospital." She followed the gurney bearing Taylor through the warehouse.
"Danny, you like giving me gray hair, don't you?" Vivian teased and gave the wounded agent a smile. "Jack, I'll update Father Joe and see you at the hospital."
"Thanks, Viv." Jack dropped down by Martin's side and put a hand on the bared shoulder. His eyes were full of disgust when the multiple scores of bruising were revealed.
"Christ, somebody really worked this guy over," the paramedic commented.
"How's the side? Did he pop a lung" Jack quizzed, not liking the horrible breathing.
"I don't think so, but he's full of congestion and running a good fever, just over 102. The ribs feel like they're broken and his kidney looks bruised." He probed the purple and scarlet lower back and the patient twitched and jerked, his body wracked in agony.
"Hey... hey... take it easy!" Jack barked and grabbed Martin's hand. "Look at me, Martin, right here. It won't be too much longer."
It hurt more than he was prepared for and tears ran down his cheeks as the strange hands probed him. But he kept a grip on the hand and never let his eyes stray from the dark ones. Even as a needle was inserted and a plastic IV line attached along with oxygen, he kept finding the dark eyes. He trusted them, he didn't like the strangers who were hurting him. He pointed to the jacket, his eyes full of worry.
"Okay," Jack read the fear and rummaged, finding the watch and a notebook. He started to hand them over and Martin shook his head then pointed to him. "You want me to hold these for you?"
Martin nodded, his eyes falling fast. He kept fighting the black curtain, his hand reaching blindly until the strong one grabbed it. It was so hard to breathe and his chest hurt. He pressed his head against the stretcher and jerked in agony.
"I'm right here, Martin, I won't leave you," Jack vowed and that was what the blue eyed warrior was waiting for. With a single sleepy nod, he sighed once and faded away.
Jack kept his vow, remaining by Martin's side in the ambulance. As the sirens wailed and they drove off, his exhausted shoulders sagged in relief. The brutal ordeal was finally over. But as he eyed the all too still figure on the stretcher, and the beeping monitors kicked in, he wondered if that was true. What if Martin didn't regain his memory? What if he remained trapped in a silent world forever lost? Would the coming days bring a cure? Would the troubled rookie awake as Martin Fitzgerald? Or would he be forever lost?
Jean Fitzgerald heard the baggage bay hum as luggage began to spill onto the conveyor. But her eyes were directed across the room. She didn't like the fact that Miles Cavendish had met them alone or the fact he pulled Victor away to speak to him privately straight away. She'd watched as her husband's face morphed into a curious mix of anger and deep concern. Then a phone was in his hand and he was dialing frantically. She left the baggage area and made her away across the room.
"What's wrong?" she asked and saw Miles look at Victor. "Miles? What is it?" Before she could reply, her husband's growl was born.
"It's Victor." His eyes grew wide and his face flushed with anger that quickly blossomed into rage. "Missing? Why the hell wasn't I notified?" He put a hand up when his wife's face paled and her hand covered her mouth. Miles moved in to support her.
"Victor, you were the first call I made last Monday," Jack replied, squinting at the numbers on the clock at the Days Inn. It was just after four p.m.
Chris Boone had called earlier with an update on Martin's parents. Miles Cavendish had called stating that he'd heard from Victor. The blond team leader directed the Englishman to have Victor Fitzgerald call Jack as his hotel. He was on his way there to shower, eat and change. He'd left Sam and Vivian at the hospital to keep an eye on things.
He'd just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. He dried quickly and tied the towel around his waist and ran for the phone. He sat on the bed and sighed hard, rubbing his weary eyes.
"I want you to know that Margaret did everything humanly possible to reach you. She made several trips to the White House Special Ops office to follow up on last Monday's initial message. She was so upset that Chris Boone went to Washington to visit with her. It wasn't her fault or mine."
The silence on the other end of the phone spoke volumes. Victor Fitzgerald was a force to be reckoned with and Jack didn't envy the unsuspecting pair of idiots who'd made the fatal mistake of not telling him his son was missing. He envisioned them being transferred to a primitive office in Guam without air conditioning.
"Those bastards ran interference," Victor seethed.
"Yes they did and poor Margaret got caught in the crossfire. I know you got a lot to wade through, Victor, but she could use a call. She's frantic. I spoke to her this morning and she's really upset."
"Not to worry, I'll reassure her, no fault on her part," he stated, "Jack, what happened?"
"Uh... let's see. Martin and Danny Taylor went to Hartford last Friday to help the local F.B.I. in finding a suspected child rapist and murderer. It was during that assignment that Martin became ill late on Friday and started for home. They were already in the train station, so he opted to take the train. He never made it. He was mugged in an alley next to the train station. Later on Friday night, he woke up and staggered into a snow storm. He had amnesia. He didn't know who he was or where he was. He got jumped again, his clothes were taken."
"Oh my God," Victor managed, his voice cracking.
"Look, there's a lot of stuff to cover, I can fill in every piece later. Right now, all you have to know is that he's safe. Danny went undercover and found him. They're both at Hartford Hospital. Martin is in ICU, he's got a head injury, broken ribs, bruised lungs and a severe upper respiratory infection. He's having more tests done on his skull. He still has amnesia and he can't speak."
"What do you mean he can't talk?" Victor repeated.
"Just that, from the time he was taken in last Saturday morning at 6 a.m. in a men's shelter in Hartford, he hasn't uttered a word. The doctor's aren't sure why but the initial report from the ER doctor was that it wasn't due to his concussions."
"Alright... alright..." Victor ran a hand over his skull. "Jean and I will get the first flight out. We'll go right to the hospital. How's the other agent?"
"Danny hurt his back and had a bad infection from two wounds. He's having tests done to determine the severity of his back injury. When we found him this morning, he couldn't move."
"Okay, thanks, Jack," Victor shook his head to clear it. "He's... Martin... uh... is he... stable?"
"Yes, the last report I had was he's guarded. His fever is high; they were worried about that and his breathing. He's on a ventilator." Jack paused, not able to erase the picture of a scraggly, bearded, blue eye warrior who held off a SWAT team protecting his partner. "The kid's got guts, you have no idea how much."
"You say you found them this morning? He was missing over a week. Why didn't the shelter report him? How did a week go by?"
"It's complicated. I'll fill you in tomorrow when you arrive. His amnesia was a big factor, he left the shelter and then lived on the street. Look, he's safe now, in the best place he can be with round the clock help. "
"Yes... yes..." Victor mumbled, waving again at his frantic wife. "I have to fill Jean in, Jack. You have my cell phone? Can you call me first thing in the morning and update me on Martin's condition. If there's any change tonight, call right away."
"Alright," Jack agreed, "I'm sorry about this Victor, it's a helluva way to find out."
"Not as sorry as those pricks in the Special Ops office are going to be. I want their names, understood? I want dates and times of every report."
"Chris has that information, I'll have him fax it to you. Will you be going back to the Cavendishes?"
"Yes, just as soon as we book a flight for the morning."
"It'll be there by the time you get home later."
"Alright, Jack, thanks again."
Victor put the phone away and Miles let go of Jean's shoulders. She ran to him, her eyes wide with fear. Martin eyes... they were so like his. He painfully recalled his last conversation with his son and the heated words exchanged. He embraced her and got his scattered thoughts together.
"What's happened to Martin? How bad is he hurt? Why didn't anyone tell us?"
"He's alive and safe in a hospital in Hartford, that's the important thing, Jean. He went missing last Friday during an assignment. Another agent, Taylor, went undercover and found him I guess, this morning in Hartford. They're both in the hospital"
"Why can't he talk? I heard you ask that."
"I'm not sure, Jean, the doctors are still doing tests."
She held his gaze a moment and slowly shook her head. Her baby was hurt and broken, not able to speak. Or was there something more? "You're not telling me something. Oh God, Victor, is he dying?"
"No, no, of course not!" He gripped her shoulders and emphasized that. "He's in ICU but he's stable. Come on, now. We need to get the first flight to the States we can arrange."
Jack followed the numbers of the rooms until he came to Danny's. He stepped inside quietly, nodding to Vivian who was sitting beside the bed. Danny was asleep, his knees flexed with what looked like a pillow of some kind under them. His face flushed and turned to the left. His left arm was in a sling and his right arm had an IV line running into it. Jack motioned for Vivian to step outside the room.
"You look better," she commented, eyeing the new jeans and sweatshirt from a nearby Walmart.
"I ran out of clean clothes," he answered. "The shower and food helped. How's Danny?"
"No change, the doctor was in," Vivian replied, pulling out a small notepad. "The CT and MRI were negative, he has a severe strain of the lower back. That's why they have that pillow under him, along with ice packs and compression. She said he has inflammation of the soft-tissues resulting in a painful and debilitating lumbar strain."
"Nothing broken, his spine is okay?" Jack pressed, his dark eyes darting to the bed again and watching the injured body.
"No, in a few weeks he'll be up and around like normal. After resting a few days, they'll start him on some motion and range activity, then use the pool for hydrotherapy and eventually some weight bearing exercises. He's getting some kind of anti-inflammatory drugs and non-narcotic pain killers."
"What about the other wounds? His fever..." Jack inquired.
"The arm wound was badly infected, they had to open it up and debred it, he has some muscle damage, but nothing that therapy won't fix. The side was cleaned out and dressed. She's not sure if the fever is from the infection that's he caught, whatever Martin has, but they are giving him antibiotics for that in the IV."
"He come around yet?"
"No, and she doesn't think he will, he needs to rest and she's pretty sure he'll sleep at least through until tomorrow sometime."
"Okay, I'll be back, I want to check on Martin, ICU visiting starts at five." He moved through the room and paused by Danny's bed.
"Sam's down there now, she left just before you came up."
"Anything new on Martin?" he asked, tugging Danny's blanket up a bit.
"No... not really."
"What?" Jack turned at the hesitation in her voice. Vivian walked towards the hallway and he followed. They headed for the elevators at the end of the hall.
"The good news is that the CT scan didn't show any fractures to the skull and the MRI didn't show any bleeding."
"But..." Jack frowned.
"The doctor wouldn't tell me too much, but she did make a call to Martin's doctor and relayed that he has a severe cerebral contusion."
"Shit..." Jack hissed then a hand gently tugged on his arm.
"It's a bruise, just like when you hit your leg or side and it turns blue and purple from blood pooling. It's a bad one, but eventually it'll heal. He'll be confused, have memory lapses, dizzy spells even passing out. But those symptoms will go away as the bruising heals in his brain but, there isn't any indication that his inability to speak is coming from that."
"So why can't he talk?" Jack watched as the door opened.
"They're not sure... also his fever is climbing and his breathing isn't getting better. They are a little concerned about his stamina. He fought so hard all week that now there isn't much left."
"Bullshit!" Jack growled. "He's not gonna let some germ convention beat him, he's got too much balls for that. I'll be back later when ICU visiting hours are done."
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