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
Harry came back from his blue-sky daydream as he heard the door click and swing open.
"Oh, Detective Denby... I didn't know you were up."
I hate that. I hate the fear in their eyes. You would think I murdered five people in cold blood or something... "No, Divinia. Come in."
The pleasant-looking Filipino nurse lit up with a wide grin and came fully into the room, setting the bag she carried onto the empty bed. "Detective," she chided gently, "I've asked you to call me Neyney."
"Divinia," he returned her tone perfectly, "I've asked you to call me Harry."
She blushed a little. "I couldn't do that. You're a police officer."
He circled the bed to unzip and paw through the bag she'd brought him. "Then we have reached something colloquially known as a stalemate." Harry began lifting out items of his clothing carefully, knowing full well that they hadn't been neatly folded like that before they left his apartment. He rolled his eyes a little, hiding his smile, and started another conversation.
"How much trouble did you get from my super going in?"
"Not too much," she replied. "I think he thought I was there to get something to bury you in."
Harry pulled out a battered hockey sweater and flapped it open, looking first at it, then down into Neyney's upturned eyes. "And so you explained this exactly how?"
She shrugged, batting her eyes a little mischievously. "He didn't ask too many questions."
"No, I guess he wouldn't," Harry sighed, draping the jersey over the bed. "Why did you bring it?"
"It looks like it's been worn a lot. I thought you'd like to have it... although it's gonna fit like a tent now that you're so skinny."
He glanced at her again, hearing the note of worry in her voice. "Will someone please tell me why I've got a squadron of health care professionals devoted to stuffing food down my throat?"
Neyney took a step back, but wasn't thrown at all by the sudden question. "Maybe you should try eating on your own, then."
He turned on her. "Maybe I don't want to."
Neyney put her hands up and shook her head. "Don't yell at me. I'm not the one who put you here."
He went back to emptying his bag again with a little snarl. "No, you didn't, which is why I fail to see why you even care."
"Really," she bit back. "Why did you become a police officer?"
He dropped his hands and stared out the window for a second, then faced her with a tight, false smile. "You know, I don't even think I have an answer to that anymore."
She folded her arms, nodding her head knowingly. "Yeah, well when you do, you'll know why I care."
Harry started again on unpacking his bag, moving in short, angry bursts. "Oh, let me guess... You think I'm a cop because I have some deep-seated need to help the lost, poor, lonely souls in my community?" He gave a humorless snort. "Think again."
"Okay, one," Neyney flapped a finger at him, "it's not the lost, poor, lonely souls we need cops to help, it's the rest of us... and two," she added a second finger, "no, I don't think it's deep- seated. I think it's right out in front with all the other stuff you think nobody cares about. You're just the only one who can't see it."
He finally turned to her fully, leaning his hip against the bed and folding his arms. "I don't get it. Why is everyone telling me I'm such a great guy? If I'm really so wonderful, why am I here? Why would such a great guy make Diane..?" He tripped on the statement, impaling himself on the severity of what he had done.
Neyney watched him, letting him stand in his own silence for a moment, then replied, "If you're so horrible, why does it bother you?"
He didn't have an answer for her.
"What are you doing here? Go home!"
Dr. Clarence smiled grimly, still wearing the remnants of the flight she just got off of in the wrinkles of her clothes. "I will, Kristin. I just need to check on Amnesia Boy."
Dr. Uhrig shook her head. "Try again."
Dr. Clarence's eyes came wide and she leaned across the post-trauma desk. "He came back?"
"Completely." Kristin put her hand out to stop Angela as she reached across for the phone. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I have to page Shay. She's gonna want to know about this."
Kristin's braid whipped frantically as she shook her head. "No, no, no, no... not if you don't want her to lose an eye you won't."
Angela withdrew her arm. "What do you mean?"
Kristin stepped around the desk and led Angela back to Harry's room. "Come on."
As she pushed the door open, a fully dressed Harry Denby turned away from the window and tossed a little leer into his greeting smile. "The redoubtable Dr. Uhrig. Come to make false promises to the hellbound again?"
She caught him too quickly. "I didn't make the promise, Harry. I just keep it."
He snorted a little. "Then I guess I'm talking to the wrong person."
Dr. Uhrig folded her arms. "Yes, you are. Maybe you should try talking to the right one for a change."
Harry turned his back on her, looking again out the window. "Waste of time."
"Then waste it all, Harry. He'll make more."
The room fell silent except for the solid little thud of Harry's forehead coming to rest against the window.
Dr. Clarence cleared her throat and stepped around Dr. Uhrig. "Harry?"
He didn't look back from the window. "How was the conference, Doctor?"
"Stupid," she replied, taking long strides around the bed and over to his side. "How's things over here?"
"Stupid."
"So I hear. Will you let me check you out?" He turned on her with a pleading look. She put a hand up. "Just so that I can get to sleep tonight... please?"
He puffed out a sigh and slung himself away from the window, flopping his narrow frame down onto the bed. "Fine. Go get all your... stuff."
She laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "Thank you."
Dr. Clarence trotted out of the room, leaving Harry and Dr. Uhrig staring at each other in challenging silence. He pointed his jaw at her a little.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"No attitudes? Platitudes? Beatitudes?"
She cocked her head a little at him. "Is there anything I could say that you don't already know?"
"Probably not."
Dr. Uhrig dropped her arms, taking a step back towards the door on her way out. "Good. You're halfway there."
As she turned away, Dr. Clarence came back in with an armful of doctor implements and Kristin closed the door behind her.
"Alright, can I get you out of that shirt, please?"
"Are you aware that it took me fifteen minutes to get into it?"
But in her exhaustion, she'd slipped into 'doctor' mode. "What I'd like to do is check your heart and lungs..."
"Sounds like a plan." He folded his arms, not moving at all.
"... and then we can talk about any problems you're having..."
"People don't seem to be paying attention to me."
"... pain, blurred vision, stiffness..."
"Martians, pink elephants, little men in funny hats..."
Finally, with her stethoscope in place, she looked up at him with a little start. "Why are you still wearing your shirt?"
He mimicked her little start. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware we were on the same planet."
Angela dropped her head into her palm. "I'm sorry. I don't think I've slept in the last thirty-odd hours. I'm a little out of it." As she spoke, she began going through her diagnostic routine on autopilot. "The whole conference was a wash for me. I had to go because it's a residency requirement that I do at least one of these things, but this was mental health. Shay knew what was going on, but it was mostly watching movies of mentally disturbed rats running into things and seventeen letter words for drugs that make people think they're glasses of orange juice... deep breath... good. Again... good. Anyway, Shay said these things were like the social event of the season for seaboard mental health care professionals, although I can't imagine why I would want a man who can analyze me..."
She stopped abruptly, freezing in place as she realized she had both hands stuck up his shirt, was talking right into his chest, and was being paid very close attention to. She stepped back gently, taking her hands from him and carefully keeping her eyes over his left shoulder.
"I am incredibly sorry."
"Why?"
"None of this is anything you need to be bothered with."
He tilted his head to meet her eyes with a gentle look. "Unless you're aware of actual clinical cases involving someone being talked to death, I don't think I'm in any real danger."
"That's not the point. It's unprofessional."
His eyes fell shut. "Yeah, I'm not anyone I would trust much either."
"That's not what I said, Harry."
"And why not, hm?" he was suddenly bitter and angry, left with no choice but to feel all the things he'd quelled with liquor and narcotics for so long. "I certainly don't trust myself. I don't know what I'm feeling, I don't know what I'm thinking..."
"Harry..."
"And I know... I just know that nobody cares, you know? That's what this was. I always..." He clapped a hand over his mouth, not wanting to go on any further.
"You always what, Harry?" Angela prompted him gently.
He glared at her, then dropped his hand. I don't care what she thinks anymore. I don't care what any of them thinks anymore. One of them is finally gonna hear me for a change.
"I wanted to see if anyone would notice if I died."
Continued in Part 7.
