Wonderful
AUTHOR: Lucky.
DISCLAIMER: Except for the creations of the author, all characters, characterizations, situations, and locations described in this unsolicited and not-for-profit work of fiction are the property of ABC Television, Capitol Cities, Inc., Steven Bochco Productions, the many talented people who created the world of NYPD Blue, and the actors who have made that world such a lively place. The author would also like to extend her personal gratitude to Mr. Scott Cohen for his light, his vitality, his inspiration, and for being such a compelling muse. Thank you, sir.
FEEDBACK: To Lucky
White. Track lighting. A steady, flowing, digital noise in his left ear, a fluid rush of people-noises just off his right.
Numbing confusion.
Voice. Female.
"He's coming around."
A face in his. "Detective Denby? Harry, can you hear me?"
He broke the dry seal of his lips. "You're right in front of me."
She ignored him entirely, choosing instead to pry his eyes open and flash a bright light directly into first one, then the other. He gave a snarly little groan and tried to turn his head away.
She put her light away. "Can you see okay?"
"Not anymore."
She continued to ignore him. "Can you say the alphabet for me?"
"Yes, I can. Thank you."
She picked up a clipboard and started writing things down in scribbles, then stopped, pen poised, apparently waiting. After a few seconds, she prompted him. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"I asked you to recite your A-B-C's."
"No, you didn't."
She dropped her jaw, staring at him, bewildered at the occurrence of being in a semantic argument with someone who was as good as a vegetable five minutes ago. "Yes, I did."
"No, you didn't," he repeated, letting his dark lashes fall against his too-pale skin. "You asked me if I could. I said yes."
She sighed loudly. "Will you recite the alphabet?"
He rumbled with quiet laughter. "Being as 'utterly moot' is not my preferred state of existence... no."
Her mouth flapped for a moment, then she stammered, "I ... I don't understand."
"So the question now becomes; can you recite the alphabet."
The doctor slammed her clipboard down. "That's about enough." She came at him with a quick step, leaning over him and sliding her hand beneath his neck and lifting carefully, checking the back of his head with her other hand.
He breathed in a mindful of her bosom and murmured, "I'm gonna take this personally in a second, miss."
"Doctor," she corrected him roughly. "And I doubt you'd have the stamina right about now. You have two cracked ribs from taking fire in a vest, a pretty nasty bump on the back of your head, and you've been in a sleeping coma for the last ten days, Detective Denby."
Something in his now fully-woken mind cracked like it had been flung into a brick wall. He could almost touch the physical disconnect between the name she'd just called him and what it was supposed to mean, but he couldn't get over it. He couldn't get past it. And no matter how many times he threw his consciousness at it, a consciousness he knew and felt and tasted, he wasn't getting through. He imagined it was the metaphysical equivalent of what a severed head sees in the moments before complete death. It was terrible and terrifying. He was. He knew he was. There was just nothing to tether it to. Before he could think, his hand had wrapped around the sleeve of the doctor's white labcoat, tugging at her like a frightened child.
"Who?"
"You," she retorted, double-taking on his expression, flashing regret at her too-quick response. "Whoa..." she started again in a gentle voice. "Do you know where you are?"
"Probably a hospital," he rasped, just starting to hyperventilate, his brain running and cycling like a skipping record as he tried again and again to hook himself back together.
"Do you know how you got here?"
"No." His eyes popped open, racing wildly as he scanned through the vast chunks of white in his head where his life should have been. He still found nothing and let out a thin little cry, panicking completely.
The little monitor to his left began to make erratic noises and the doctor threw a yell over her shoulder. "Somebody get in here! I need help!"
Even as she turned back to face him, he clutched at her, hissing and pleading in wild, random bursts. "No! No don't go..."
"Calm down, Harry."
"Don't leave me! Don't hurt me again!" His jaw set and he began to spit his words. The first orderly on the scene was given a pointed look and the key to the bedside IV cycler box.
"What of and how much?" the orderly muttered.
"Benzo and as little as possible," the doctor replied, trying to draw her patient's shaking hands into hers to keep him from ripping her coat. "He just came around."
A little beep, and the drip at the top of the IV tube slowed to a crawl.
The lost man in the bed continued to babble and kick. "Don't walk away from me! He doesn't love you! He doesn't..." All at once, his eyes fluttered and he shook his head with a wobble, his hoarse shout closing into a hoarse whisper. "He doesn't love you, Diane... only me... I..." Even as he drifted back into a mildly stunned twilight, the doctor had to peel his fingers from her clothing. She pushed her hair back from her face with a sigh, listening to the beep that represented his heartbeat slowly return to something approaching normal.
On the other side of the bed, the orderly gave a rough chuckle. "What was that about?"
The doctor shook her head, reaching down to push a few dark locks from her patient's flushed forehead. He turned his head in a helpless little flop, bringing his cheek against her palm, mumbling weakly.
"No... no, please... no..."
Her maternal instincts clicked and she had to reply. "Go to sleep, Harry."
He gathered up a shaky breath and nodded a little, obeying immediately with a tiny whisper. "I love you."
The orderly chuckled again. "He's wasted."
The doctor tossed him a dirty look, carefully sliding her hand from under Harry's head. "Was there anything about a 'Diane' in the paperwork that came in with him? A wife... girlfriend?"
The orderly thought for a second. "No, I don't think... wait a minute. Wasn't the cop who shot him named Diane?"
The doctor blinked at the young man for a moment, then turned back to Harry with quietly sorrowful eyes.
"Oh, dear..."
Continued in Part 2.
