"Lieutenant Commander Gilbert,

I've been in the hospital for one hundred and twenty days now. My strength has almost recovered. Movement is still a little difficult, but I can perform my duties. Please let me return to my post soon-"

The pen spiraled out of your hand from how hard it was being gripped, and you failed to catch it as it landed on the white sheets before rolling onto the tiles. As if summoned by the clacking of plastic against linoleum, the nurse stepped in. Hearing your name pulled your gaze away from the writing utensil. You didn't answer, only watch her as she set a tray on the over-bed table, your letter ignored in place of toast, a few cubes of assorted fruits, and a cup of water.

"Thank you," you said flatly.

By now, the young woman was accustomed to your monotonous speech pattern, giving you a small smile before exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

You finished breakfast whilst staring out the window to the right of your bed. A few blocks away, you saw Toronto's HTO park. Today, there was- to your confusion- a yellow rubber duck floating in the lake, about the size of a small hotel.

Frowning at the idea of your vision failing you, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, feet flat on the cold tiles. If your vision was impaired, the Lieutenant Commander may have no use for you. You stood.

"Are you alright?!"

You had collapsed. Looking up, you saw the nurse's worried expression and the face of an equally concerned man.

"Lieutenant Commander... Is he with you?" you asked the man, turning your head and pulling yourself up to sit on the bed to look behind him.

"He's... not here."

"Where is he? Did he return home? How are his injuries?" You paused, glancing down at the floor for a moment before locking eyes once more with the dark-skinned man. "Is he alive?"

Discomfort settled on his face, "He's-"

"You're being discharged from the hospital today," the nurse interjected cheerfully, "Captain Fowler came all this way to pick you up, you know."

You stood quickly, realizing your mistake. Your vision blackened for a few seconds from the sudden rise, but you kept your feet planted. "Master Sergeant Fowler. I had forgotten you were a Master Sergeant. I apologize."

"Sit down," he said, lightly pushing a hand down on your shoulder. "I'm surprised you remember me."

"We met twice in the past: during training and the week prior to the Lieutenant Commander's deployment to the Arctic."

"Yeah, you're right." Fowler coughed and scratched the back of his neck. He took a seat beside you and looked to the table, noticing the corner of a piece of paper sticking out underneath the grey breakfast tray. Curiously, he moved the tray onto the bed sheets behind him, picking up the letter. He hadn't seen a letter in too long- one not in type, that is. "You were writing?"

"The physical therapist advised writing to improve my condition, but you still haven't answered me. Where is the Lieutenant Commander?" You repeated.

He huffed. "Don't worry, he's just fine... He's the one who told me to come get you."

"What post is he assigned to now? When will I be able to join him?"

Standing, he walked towards the door. "Get changed. We'll talk more in the car." Fowler gestured to a suitcase at the foot of your bed that you hadn't noticed before. He must have brought it. "Your things from the base are in there."

You dug into it immediately, rifling around the books and clothing. Your naval uniform was gone, but that wasn't your main concern. "I'm missing an emerald brooch."

"That's everything from your quarters at the base," Fowler frowned.

"It isn't here." Your breathing quickened. "He gave it to me. I have to look for it. It isn't here, it isn't-"

He grabbed your arm and locked eyes with you for a moment. The nurse took this as her cue to leave. "Calm. Down." He spoke slowly. You smelled the coffee on his breath. "I'll find it. Right now, you need to get dressed. I'll be in the hall."

After he closed the door behind him, you did as you were told, calming your breathing as you changed. You pulled on black pants, thinking of where the brooch could be. He had said that was everything from your room? It took longer than usual to button up your white shirt, but after writing everyday for hours on end, your fine motor skills were admittedly improving. But I never used the dresser assigned to me. I got things from my suitcase as necessary. You scowled at the open suitcase as you tucked in your shirt, then looped a black belt into your pants. I never unpacked. It should be here. Pulling on the blazer, you considered dumping the contents of the suitcase but decided against it. Fowler was waiting.

"I'm supposed to take care of you... or find someone to, at least. His orders." Fowler reassured you as he drove.

You sat in the passenger seat with your hands folded in your lap. "I understand, Master Sergeant."

He scoffed. "You can stop with that. I'm not in the Air Force anymore, but if you insist on titles, you can call me Captain." You tilted your head at this. "I'm in charge of a precinct."

"Oh," you said quietly. So quietly, you wondered if you had only mouthed it.

"Detroit is still another three hours from here. You can go ahead and sleep, I won't mind."

"I'm alright." Fowler looked at you for a moment, studying the design on your blazer. Thinking back to the letter from Gilbert, he bit his tongue and refrained from asking any questions. It was none of his business, and although he'd become used to knowing near everything at the station, he would respect his old friend's wishes.

For the next three hours, you sat in silence, thoughts torn between your future as an asset and the whereabouts of the Lieutenant Commander.