Jack McCoy had been afraid to go back to work at Central Park again, after being discharged from Bellevue Psych…
Dr. Emil Skoda understood. He, himself, had seen things he couldn't explain.
He had seen a tree that screamed when its roots were stabbed, when it was burned.
A tree that…bled…
It's not sap…
A scientist had told him in the immediate aftermath.
It's…blood, Emil. Red and white blood cells, and everything else you can find in mammalian blood.
So…a tree with nerve endings to experience pain, and blood…
It made the other issue Skoda was struggling with seem almost…normal.
I saw Jack McCoy bleed green not all that long ago…
The man had been abducted in the mid-nineties, and Skoda still had the results from the brain scan tucked away in his files.
The tiny scars were no longer visible now, but they were clearly visible on the scans taken when McCoy had been returned from…wherever it was he had been taken.
That, and the green blood…
I must be catching Munch's paranoia…
How else explain what Skoda was preparing to do?
This…violation of Doctor/Patient confidentially…
There was a knock on Skoda's office door, and Detective John Munch, lately of Baltimore, now employed by Manhattan's SVU, walked in.
"Dr. Skoda," the man said. "You wanted to see me?"
Skoda sighed as he stood too.
In for a penny, in for a pound…
"I need your help, Detective Munch."
…..
Assistant Director Dirk Bentley was a decent, rather kindly man; a fact for which Jack McCoy was profoundly grateful.
McCoy had pretty much recovered from the psychological and emotional trauma from the encounter with John Curren, and that ungodly tree.
But, he still got nervous if he had to work under trees; even the ones that looked normal.
So Bentley detailed him to look after all the flower beds.
I still have over a years of this to go…
Skoda's question of a while back haunted him.
After the Community Service is done, what do I do? Where do I go?
Claire Kincaid had made it perfectly clear to him.
I'll take you as you are, in any way I can…
McCoy sighed as he planted a bed of roses.
His license to practice Law was gone, and he knew that part of his life was gone too, beyond recall.
I'm not a lawyer anymore…
Bed of roses planted, he stood.
Maybe I can ask Dirk Bentley for a job here when my term of Community Service is done…
…..
Detective John Munch walked into his small apartment. His head was spinning from what Dr. Emil Skoda had told him.
He's risking his career…everything, for Jack McCoy…
Certainly, if the AMA ever found out what Skoda had done, they would take his license in a heartbeat.
But Skoda was looking for ways to help his patient.
And this is really the only way he can…
Munch sat at his desk, picked up his phone, the one with the scrambler, and dialed a number he knew by heart.
Someone picked up on the third ring.
"The Lone Gunmen," Frohike's voice rasped over the line. "How the hell did you get our number?"
"It's me," Munch spoke dryly.
"John! Long time no hear. What's up, my man?"
"I've got a friend…" Munch sighed again. "He needs help, the kind of help only you guys can give."
