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
Good lord, I'm an idiot.
She'd flashed her badge at the ancient security guard, betting that he was more confused by the sparkly thing than impressed by her legitimate rank, and now she was sneaking around the hospital in the dead of night.
Okay, post-trauma was on the fourth floor, so... Diane rounded the landing for the third floor and gathered herself upright, trying her best to look like she knew exactly where she was going.
She spared a glance at the sign on the ward door before pushing it open. Pediatrics... that should be pretty quiet in the middle of the night.
But as she pushed the door open, she was met with a very bizarre sight, indeed. A young, dark haired man dressed in street clothes and bearing a hospital volunteer tag sat crosslegged on the floor in front of the nurses' desk, in the middle of a makeshift play area, surrounded by children in various stages of sleepiness, and frowning very disapprovingly at a battered copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
"That can't be right!"
A little girl in a faded blue nightgown stood up and planted her pudgy little hands on her hips, shaking out her messy dark blonde curls as she spoke. "No, that's the way it is."
The volunteer cocked an eyebrow at her, matching her unselfconscious dramatism. "Oh, yeah?"
The girl nodded firmly, folding her little arms and staring the young man down. "Wolfs are bad guys."
He gasped roundly, looking taken aback and just a little personally insulted. "Who told you that?"
At that moment, a little boy with a body touched by leukemia hopped up and stood just off the volunteer's shoulder, leaning against him as he took up the cause. "Wolfs are not bad guys!"
"Yeah!" the volunteer crowed, taking a playful little snap at the little girl.
The girl rolled her eyes. "Are too," she countered skillfully.
"Are not!" the boy came back.
"Yeah!" the volunteer repeated, grinning broadly and putting a friendly arm around his new comrade's narrow shoulders.
Diane watched the three of them argue, watching as the other children picked sides and chimed in on the argument, and it looked very much as though something of a coup had been scored on behalf of fairy-tale wolves everywhere, as most of the children seemed quite taken with the young volunteer. As she stood, hiding an undeniable smile behind her hand, Diane became aware of a presence at her side and looked over.
The nurse beside her shook her head, trying not to laugh at the growing donnybrook in front of her. "You know, used to be that the night nurses were the only ones to take care of them when they couldn't sleep. Then he showed up out of nowhere and..." She sighed a little, folding her arms with an easy grin. "He's made my life better all the way around."
Both women winced slightly as the argument took a turn for the rowdy and the sounds of children bounced off the walls like pyrotechnic butterflies.
"Excuse me..." the nurse said to Diane. "It's been nice talking, but... he's a great guy, really, but he has no concept of 'quiet'. If I don't step in soon, he'll have them all howling." Diane laughed aloud. "Oh, you laugh," the young woman cocked a knowing brow, "but it's happened before." She left Diane behind and took a few long strides towards the group of people on the floor in front of her, all of whom had managed for the moment to forget that they were anything but happy little kids, including the grown-up one.
Until he caught the carefully disciplinary eye of the nurse.
"Oh, oh, oh..." he panted with guilty excitement, making little 'settle down' motions with his hands at the children. "Everybody... everybody be quiet. She's on to us..." The children came down around him like bouncy snowflakes, turning giggly faces up towards the nurse.
"Okay, everyone," the nurse began to explain in a reasonable voice. "We're gonna be quiet because it's nighttime and there are some of your friends who have to sleep, okay?"
"Yes, Miss Lucky," the children chorused, the baby-high pitch of their voices underpinned by the low, masculine purr of the volunteer, and every last face in the group wore a perfectly winning smile.
"Okay," she agreed, sounding just a little wary of such perfect complicity. As she walked away, the group began to giggle, then wiggle, then return to normal childlike chatter. Diane watched for one last moment, then went on her way, hearing the volunteer's voice ring behind her.
"Alright, alright, alright... I know! We can play a... a quiet game. How about... you all be bunnies, and I'll be the wolf!"
A chorus of high-spirited squeals followed, echoing past Diane as she walked away, printing her with a smile she couldn't help but show on her face. And she was thankful for it, because in a few short minutes, she found exactly what she was looking for.
The utility stairs. This would be what took her up to the post- trauma ward and dropped her right in front of Harry Denby's door unnoticed. She pushed open the heavy door and stepped silently into the vertical cinderblock rectangle. The cool night outside seeped into this box that capped the building, and her steps were too loud as they rang out against the metal stairs. She tried to keep the children's voices in her head, tried to keep the image of youthful joy she had seen, both in body and in spirit. She tried to avoid thinking about what she was going to do, and instead found herself with an even odder thought.
I hope that little girl believes him... if the wolves can be good guys, there's hope for the rest of us.
It was this thought she held as she looked into the flat, white blank of his hospital room door.
Always hope...
She pushed the door open slowly, closing it behind her as soon as she was in, more to hide from herself in the darkness than to hide from anyone else in the light. As her eyes grew accustomed to her surroundings, they fell into the pool of moonlight on the bed. And there he was.
He lay as a study in black and alabaster, breathing, pale, his body barely etching itself in the lines of the blanket that covered him. That silent, almost motionless face fell again into her mind's eye, but there it wasn't surrounded by clean, linen white. In her memory, he still lay among dirt and black and blood.
She remembered looking. Everywhere her eyes fell when she was trying to tend to Officer Manuel she saw something of Harry. The tread of his blunt-toed boots, the way the faded-soft denim bent with his slack knee, the tiny black flickers of hair that fanned over the circle of his ear. She couldn't have helped but look at him.
If only she'd touched him. If she would have just put out her hand and laid it on his forehead, felt for the rhythm of blood through his throat herself.
She took silent steps to stand beside him, listening to the echoes of whispers and office gossip that hadn't thought itself overheard.
"She can't keep a man alive."
"At least she didn't shoot the last one."
"Sorenson better watch his back."
Giggling.
But she had killed this one, hadn't she? If the man in front of her didn't know who Harry Denby was, wasn't Harry just as dead as if she'd aimed for his head instead of his heart? As she thought, she could feel herself getting warm in the cool light, getting angry as she addressed her thoughts to the sleeping man.
Why were you in that vest? Why did you ask for me? Why did you trust me? You knew... you knew, didn't you. You knew I would fire into your soul and not your eyes. You knew. And now I'm the only one who remembers you...
Standing over him now, she could see the slow ebb and flow of sleeping breath in his body, see his eyes move beneath his lids, see his face register the shades and shadows of dreamt emotions. Still, she was compelled. Even with the obvious evidence of life in the man before her, she saw death.
She had to touch him this time.
Before her fingertips could slide all the way down his cheek, he turned his face to her with a sigh, gathering up a whisper in his slumber.
"Diane..."
She snapped her hand back. Did I wake him up?
Harry's breath caught on the new turn of his throat and he began to purr in slow cycles, but his sleep was undisturbed.
Diane shook herself a little. He's dreaming... She watched his eyes move, saw his jaw twitch and his brow crease as he spoke to the specters in his head. Without thinking, she reached out to lay her hand over his forehead, wanting to calm him.
As her hand fell on his too-warm skin, he jerked violently and stopped breathing.
Diane pulled her hand away again, startled by his reaction. Slowly, she counted to five.
Ten.
Fifteen.
"Harry?"
Twenty.
"Harry!" Diane put a rough hand into his shoulder, getting no response at all. Panicking, she leaned down over his body and cupped his jaw in her palms, shaking him a little. "Harry, wake up!"
She could feel the rush of air like water past her ears as he gasped, tossing his weight up against her. He fell back onto his pillow, staring at her with wide, wild eyes, panting like a terrified animal.
Before she could say anything to him, he lifted his hand and put it to her face, feeling her presence as if he couldn't see. His mouth began to move, but nothing was coming out.
"Shh..." Diane stroked his face, brushing his dark hair away from his forehead. "It's okay."
As she whispered, he put his fingers over her lips, feeling her breath and her words.
"It's okay, Harry," she whispered again. "It was just a dream. You're awake, now."
He watched her with an open mouth for a moment, and as his expression shattered, his eyes filled.
"I'm awake, now" he finally echoed, barely able to breathe out the words. Everything about him began to tremble as he rocked his head back and forth on the pillow.
"... but it wasn't a dream... And it's not okay."
Continued in Part 8.
