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
She popped the passenger door open with a little kick, letting all of the heat out of Andy's car at once.
"Are you sure you wanna go in alone?"
Diane nodded quickly, her eyes glued to the hospital doors. I want as few people to witness this as possible... Either way. "Yeah, I'll be okay by myself." She tore her gaze from the lights inside the building and turned back to face Andy with a completely fake smile. "Thanks anyway."
He shook his head a little, straightening back up in his seat for a moment, then flopping back to the side. "You call me if you need somebody, okay?"
Diane nodded again, stepping back and swinging the car door towards shut. "I will." He grumbled something she didn't catch as she slammed the door and drove off with flavor, the revving of his engine making his comment about the situation clear.
Diane followed his taillights blankly, stuffing her hands in her pockets.
Nobody needs to know but me... but I need to know.
Slowly, she turned and trudged her way up to the trauma doors, just as she was instructed, and made her way inside, past the lobby full of people who just weren't traumatized enough and had to wait, coming up to the nurses' stand at the head of the room. A young thing who looked like she should be shopping for prom dresses somewhere popped a mouthful of gum at her and poked her in the ear with a sharp Queens accent.
"N'I help you?"
Diane's voice was coming too quiet for her tastes and she pushed her arms inward, physically forcing her outward breath. "I was told to ask for Dr. Clarence."
The girl looked her over like she was a bag of manure with legs and sighed heavily, picking up the PA mike. Hearing the girl's mangled whine amplified was like hearing the very voice of an oncoming stroke, but Diane supposed it got the attention of every last staff member every single time.
"Dr. Clarence to the trauma lobby. Paging Dr. Angela Clarence to the trauma lobby."
"Thank you," Diane offered, but she was already relegated to the ranks of the Utterly Ignored, just like everyone else in the room. She gave up, looking around the lobby, trying not to make too much eye contact with anyone else. Her trained eyes saw how many layers the truth of the injury lay under. The brave tears of a young boy in an athletic uniform, tucked unabashedly into his father's arm, nursing what looked like a broken wrist. The damaged confusion of a girl not any older, trying to avoid the flurry of attention from her mother, wearing the distinct marks of the woman's rage, both on her body and in her eyes. On the other end of the room, what looked to be the better part of a high school volleyball team, cooing and mothering over one of their own who had fallen to an ankle injury. And from the corner, a woman alone watched them jealously, cradling a broken arm, glancing up in terror at every pair of passing headlights as if she were waiting for the person who had done it to come and do it again.
All injuries are emergencies, Diane thought grimly. But some emergencies are chronic.
"Detective Russell?" A familiar voice pulled her around towards the ward doors.
"Yes?"
The lady doctor came up at her with hand outstretched. "I'm Doctor Clarence. Thanks so much for coming down here."
Diane shook the doctor's hand and cut through to the point, feeling almost physical pain at the prospect. "I want to see who you've got here."
Dr. Clarence held onto Diane's hand for just a moment too long, scanning her face carefully. "Okay."
Diane followed the shorter woman through a maze of halls and doors and stairs, feeling supremely out of place and looking at her walking feet every time another person came into view. Shortly, a door was pushed open and the pair of them came out into a clean, white-walled and floored hospital ward, rife with the quiet conversations of doctors and nurses, flanked with open counter labs and leading away into a hallway of doors. Diane actually felt comfortable enough to look up and around at the sterile comfort of the healing place around her. The last time she'd been in a hospital, she'd only seen the places where people got worse. This was definitely someplace where people were getting better.
"He's down here."
Diane followed the doctor's voice and form down the door-lined hall, noticing that most of the doors had at least one, if not more, folding chairs leaned up against the wall beside them. Chairs for family and loved ones to use while they helped the recuperation process. Dr. Clarence, however, stopped in front of a door with no chairs. Whoever the man they were going to see was, nobody seemed to care that he was alive.
Before the doctor could turn the handle, the door opened of its own accord from within and another woman in a white lab coat tiptoed out of the soft dim of the room into the florescent shine of the hallway.
"Kristin," Dr. Clarence said softly, catching the other doctor's attention with a whip of her dark ponytail.
"Angie," she said, immediately pleading as she closed the door with a firm but quiet click. "I just got him down. Please don't wake him up again."
To Diane, it sounded very much as if she were speaking about a child.
Dr. Clarence folded her arms with a little smile. "You still don't think we should give him anything to sleep?"
The other woman shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not. After all the cocaine he's taken, I'd worry too much about stroke right now." She pushed a few dark strands of hair that had frazzled their way out of her braid out of her face and noticed Diane. "Oh... I'm sorry." She put out a hand. "Dr. Uhrig, detox."
Diane shook her hand, unable to keep from smiling at the woman's appearance. If anyone could make a doctor look like that, it would have to be Harry. "Diane Russell, Fifteenth Precinct."
Dr. Uhrig took some notice of her name, but didn't pursue it. Instead, she jabbed a thumb at the door behind her. "I've been working with Dr. Clarence on Mister Amnesia, here." She blew out a little sigh. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was afraid to go to sleep. He just..." Dr. Uhrig lifted her hand and made rapid talking motions as she rolled her eyes. As the two other women relaxed and grinned, she folded her arms and continued. "And the mouth on him... I don't know how he made it to adulthood without a permanently tanned behind, because he almost made it over my knee more than once in just the last hour." She shook her head. "His mother must have been a saint."
Dr. Clarence laughed quietly. "How did you finally get him to go down?"
"I think I bored him to sleep."
"How's that?" Diane broke in. Boredom and Harry were seldom seen together.
Dr. Uhrig watched her for a moment, then offered her a polite smile.
"He couldn't shake my faith."
Diane blinked at the woman for a moment, thinking, Ma'am, if you're talking about Harry Denby, you didn't bore him. You knocked him out.
Dr. Uhrig held her smile through Diane's reaction, then shook herself with a little start, returning her attention to Dr. Clarence. "Well, I've got more at home waiting to hit the hay, so I'm clocking out. Page me if you need to... but try not to wake him up. He really does need to rest."
Dr. Clarence nodded. "Okay. We're just here to I.D. him, then we'll be out."
Dr. Uhrig nodded. "Fine. 'Night, Angie," turning back to Diane. "A pleasure to have met you, Detective Russell."
Diane nodded, but she was already feeling the waters close over her head at what was about to happen. "Same here. Good night." She watched the doctor's braid swing in rhythm with her steps as she walked away, then heard Dr. Clarence's voice from behind her.
"Are you ready?"
Diane spun back, her eyes fixing on the doctor's hand at the doorknob. She opened her mouth to speak her affirmation, but could only bring herself to nod.
What if it's not him? What will I do then?
The door slung silent on well-oiled hinges, pushing the air aside with a bulky whisper. Diane stepped into the room, keeping her eyes focused on the ceiling over the bed, trying to figure out why she was afraid to look down.
The doctor made no comment, offered no prompting. She simply closed the door and stood against it, waiting.
A soft, rolling purr came over and over like seawaves from the bed below Diane's gaze, soothing and rhythmic, with a quiet, breathing lull between each sound. And each time the sound came, she wanted to look. She wanted to know that this peaceful predictability came from the same thing that had made her life such chaos. She needed to know. Slowly, she dropped her eyes to the bed.
And there he was. Tired, drawn, pale, looking thin and sickly like a world-stormed pup. But something was missing. Diane looked back through her memories at all the times she'd seen that face before, trying desperately to put her finger on what made this time different. She could still see the anger and panic and fear and lines of too much seen, too much known. Even in his dreams, his thoughts pressed between his eyes, marking his face with confusion and exhaustion, and his eyes searched wildly beneath their shields, looking for... dodging from... but Diane couldn't shake her feeling that something was missing entirely. She was looking at the face of a ghost.
She cornered it. Fear. This man's face was without fear. And suddenly it was no longer the face of a ghost.
It was the face of an angel.
"Harry..."
At her whisper, he stirred slightly.
Diane was out of the room as fast as she could go, hearing the doctor try to keep up with her. She didn't care, only wanting to leave. She had to. She had to get out of there, away from him. She would come back another time. She knew she would. But not now. Not now that she had seen what she had done, knowing that this man had called her name even when he didn't know his own. Knowing that once he saw what she had become, Harry Denby would no longer be the angel sleeping.
He would be the angel avenging.
Continued in Part 4.
