Just talk to him, Jo had said. Mickey switched his cell phone off, and headed down the corridor to the small private room. Every step taking him closer to his former friend and colleague, Mickey paused, he didn't really want to do this. Zain had been tried and convicted and that was an end to it.
Only now he was beaten up and lying in a hospital bed, and it was Mickey's job to try to get through to him. Get the story of what had happened to Zain Nadir two nights ago. Jo thought Zain might find it easier to open up to Mickey, they'd been friends once.
Mickey took a deep breath and pushed the door open. A broken arm and a dislocated shoulder, how bad could it actually be?
Zain was slumped over sideways in the bed, apparently asleep; although how he could possibly sleep in the state he was in, Mickey couldn't have said. It was a lot worse than he imagined. The hospital gown was only partially wrapped around Zain's body, his right arm encased in some kind of splint, wrapped and pinned to his torso by a sling, what little of his right arm that Mickey could see covered in deep purple bruising.
He looked pale, and thinner than Mickey remembered.
Mickey swallowed. He thought he could despise his former friend for what Zain had done. But it wasn't that simple. He could not just walk away from the injured man, this was Zain. Whatever he had done, however much distance Mickey tried to put between them. This was still Zain.
Zain knew about Mickey, they had been close, and Mickey had shared a confidence. Even in the depths of his hatred for what Zain had done, Mickey's soul had cried out at what his proud and private friend was going through.
"Zain." Mickey pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. He would have to play it by ear.
"Zain." He put out a hand and gently touched Zain's left hand.
Zain flinched away from his touch, he jerked back in the bed, his eyes flew open and he stared at Mickey.
Oh god. In one touch of Zain's hand, Mickey had his answer, and he shook with the force of the pain of it, his mind replaying his own little horror movie as he stared into Zain's terrified dark eyes.
"Mickey." Zain just stared at his old friend, he tried to breathe slowly and evenly as the burning sensation behind his eyes intensified. This was Jo, he knew it, sending in the one person who could get behind the mask. He tried to hold on to his emotions, the three weary years of prison conditioning should have rendered him invulnerable.
He hurt too much, his body too damaged; he couldn't keep the agony from his shoulder and arm at bay and keep Mickey out of his head at the same time. He could see the pain in Mickey's eyes, suffering for what Zain was going through, and that was enough. Someone cared.
He slumped over again, his left hand reaching out. Mickey took his hand gently and held on as the tears came.