Title: Back to Me

Warnings: Slash, angst, violence, language.

Chapter Seven: Somewhere Far Away

The sound of the machines around him was like a lullaby he would never forget. He knew their individual beeps and hums inside and out. He knew the familiar smells, the squeak of shoes on the tiled floors. He probably knew this hospital better than the staff that worked at it. To him it seemed as though he was spending more and more time in one of the damned uncomfortable hospital beds. How long would this stay be for? A day? A week? Last time it had been two weeks and before that it had been nearly a month. He hated the damn white walls and the white ceiling. The food was nasty and he was didn't enjoy having people poke and prod him day after day. It was nearly enough to drive him insane. Yet, he made no attempt to get up and leave. There weren't any important machines hooked to him, no IV drips. All he had to do was climb out of the bed and put his clothes on. The thought was actually entertaining. What would the doctors do then? They'd probably call Horatio. Good ole Lieutenant Caine. The man who was there for everybody when they needed him.

So why did Speed feel like he was out in the cold and the dark, alone without his best friend?

The older man had become such an important part of his life over the years they worked together. They had seen so many horrible things, experienced a lot of life changing events. And yet, he couldn't find it within himself to talk with Horatio about what was going on his mind. He couldn't talk to any of them. Not sweet and caring Calleigh. Not the concerned and loving Delko. No one.

How would they react if they knew why he went home every night? What would they do if he told them about the thoughts that ran through his mind day in and day out? Would they say he was crazy? Would they pity him?

He closed his eyes. He just wanted everything to go back to the way it was. But it never would. The nightmares kept him up at night. Having been secluded in that damn basement he was too afraid to turn all the lights out, afraid that he would find himself right back there on that cold concrete floor. His paranoia almost always got the best of him. He locked the door to his apartment the minute he closed it. He no longer left the house with his gun, and even when he was home safely behind a locked door he kept the pistol within easy reach. Just in case. It was beginning to ware on his nerves. He jumped at the slightest sound. One of his neighbors could be walking down the hall to their own home and the beat of his heart would pick up.

All the talks with the psychologist were phony. He never told her the real truth for having become withdrawn and distant. As far as she knew he was doing fine, just a little quiet. He couldn't let anyone know that he was falling apart. Physically and mentally.

He hated wearing a knee brace just so that his leg had the proper support it needed. It made him feel like an invalid. He could only imagine the thoughts that would flow through the minds of victims and family members as they same him standing there with it on. Did they think he was incapable of his job? Did it make him look weak? Last weekend he had tried going without it only to be in pain by lunch time on Saturday. Apparently the muscle in his leg wasn't fully healed.

Now he was lying in the hospital once again with new cuts and bruises, new wounds that would fade physically but remain mentally. All he had wanted to do was reclaim his life. He wanted to try turning things around and getting back to the person he once was. Now he wished he had never set foot out of his apartment to go for that walk. Why those two thugs thought he had a load of money was beyond him. They way they just jumped him out of the dark, knocking his gun free, slashing his arm. He tried fighting them but everything happened so quickly. He remembered one of them trying to choke him, or was he just using it as a method to hold him down? Even now he could still feel the hands around his throat. And just like that, as suddenly as they had come, they were gone, leaving him lying on the sidewalk, bleeding, gasping for air.

He gave the room one more look over before sitting up in the bed. The blanket fell around his hips. There was no way he was going to stay in the hospital and think about what had happened. He threw the blanket aside, pulled the one wire that was attached to him free, and eased out of the bed when he didn't hear any sudden alarms go off. The brace for his knee was on a counter across the room, his clothes neatly folded beside it. On slow measure steps he crossed the room. He pulled on his pants, fixed the brace on his knee and reached for his shirt. It was harder to get on than he thought. The bandage on his lower left arm was slightly stained with blood. He didn't want to pull it off and risk getting an infection. It took him a good three minutes just to get his shirt on. He slipped his feet into his sneakers. He was actually going to do this.

Peeking out the door he made sure that the coast was clear before he left the room behind. It took him another twenty minutes before he found a door that let him out into the humid Miami night. By now the nurse was probably alerting Dr Samson to his disappearance. All hell would break loose. He didn't care in the least. He just wanted to get away. Somewhere far away. Going home wasn't optional; they would look for him there. So he walked the streets thinking of where he could go. He walked passed the police station and the lab, pausing momentarily in front of both before continuing. It was nearing midnight when he sat on a bench at a bus stop. His leg was sore and his neck hurt. He was tired, thinking it would have been best to just head home.

He felt his eyes closing as his consciousness began to slip away. The day had been long and trying. He just wanted to sleep. Even if it meant sleeping on the bench like some bum. Someone settled on the bench beside him. He could feel their presence. They spoke before he could open his eyes to see who it was.

"They're all running around town worried about you and here you are, a block or two away from the crime lab. Why did you leave the hospital, Timothy?"

Only one person called him Timothy without being mad at him. "Why are you here, Danny?" He asked, looking down the road in the opposite direction. Delko was leaning against his truck looking at the two of them.

"Because I miss you," Danny answered him. "We have a lot of talking to do. You know that your boss cares a lot about you. He called both Nick and I down here. For you."

Speed turned to finally look at the man he once loved. And possibly still loved. "Go home."

"No can do," he shook his head. "I'm not leaving until I know what's wrong with you. Plus, I've been put on probation. Mac is tired of dealing with my attitude. At this point, I'm probably about two notches away from turning into you, or so I've heard."

He looked back down the road toward Delko, who was absently shuffling his feet along the sidewalk now, trying to look somewhat innocent. Then he turned his eyes to the road. He didn't say anything, slipping back into the role of the quiet, sullen, and lost man he had become. Danny put a hand on his arm. "Come on; let's get you off the street. You look dead tired."

If only Danny knew how true those words were.