Veronica slipped into the room, half-hoping that Don was still asleep. He looked pale, very pale – almost lifeless. At least three IV stands crowded around him on both sides – one of them was a red bag of blood. The nurse refused to disclose details on Don's condition to Veronica, even after the "My boyfriend will want her to tell his family what's up". However, the stern stickler to the policies did soften up, once Veronica's eyes welled up with tears. She had used crying as means of obtaining what she wanted, and however detestable she found it to be – it always worked. Sometimes a PI had to get their hands dirty, her dad said, even if that meant "turning on the sprinklers".
Still hesitant, the nurse did tell her that he tolerated the surgery pretty well, lost a lot of blood and was still weak from blood loss and the anesthesia. She said not to expect much "action", giving Veronica that "you crazy kids and your crazy libido" look. Veronica couldn't help but blush. She'd be lying, if she said that the thought of continuing "their job interview" hadn't crossed her mind. But first thing's first – Don had to stay alive, get better, and return to her as soon as possible.
Various wires and tubes were attached to the random parts of his body, stretching from the faintly-buzzing and beeping machines and under the blankets. She silently moved through the room, stepping closer to the bed. His chest rose and fell slightly – perhaps he was asleep after all. Strong smell of antiseptic tickled her nose, and after fighting it for a few moments – let out a silent sneeze. She saw a slight flash of blue between his half-closed eyelids.
"Hey, the nurse told me my girlfriend was itching to see me. Could you tell me when she is here?" – he said quietly, his words slurring a bit. Veronica's eyes narrowed, and she felt a hot wave of jealousy rise up in her throat. Then she noticed the slightest of smirks spread on his pallid lips. A long scratch decorated his cheek, accentuated by his pallor. She fought the urge to lean and kiss it. Suddenly, their "hot –n-heavy" get-together seemed to be a dream that she had. What am I even doing here? Why is his family, friends not here? Does he not have anyone? The thoughts that that could be the case made her cringe internally. It very well maybe that he is alone, but then again what did she really know about Don anyway? Just some conjecture, based on random encounters. She had a vision of him being a certain way, of course. But whether that was the reality – there was no way of knowing.
"I'm afraid I have taken some liberties, Deputy. A "potential filing clerk" didn't sound too convincing to the nurse. You could do worse, you know." – she smiled softly. She almost reached out to take his hand, reconsidering at the last moment. This new familiarity between them felt foreign. – "How are you?"
"High as a kite, actually. And not in a good way." – he said, following her with his eyes, as she pulled a chair closer to his bed and nestled in. – "Just so you know, I might throw up at any time."
Veronica looked at him quizzically for a moment.
"Morphine." – he explained. She nodded – of course. No doubt he was in a great deal of pain.
"But you'll be alright?"
"The doctors think so. They were able to sew me up pretty well, but they said that the bullet shattered and made a mess with my muscles. They are kind of up in the air…"
"In the air about what?"
"Whether they can save my leg." – he sounded casual about it. Veronica's head, on the other hand, started spinning.
"What do you mean?! It's just a gunshot wound to the leg. How did it come to this?!" – she exclaimed, her face hot and heart pounding. With great effort, he turned his head and reached out to grab her hand.
"Whoa, whoa, Mars. Please don't make me move – it makes me want to hurl." – he looked apologetic, as if whatever happened was his fault directly. – "That's what I said too. The doctor gave me a speech, using a lot of scary long words I didn't understand. Bottom line is – it's not a definite. They have to wait an see. I have a choice in the matter, you know. They won't cut off my leg in the middle of the night, without me knowing it."
"Right, sorry. " – she said, enjoying the feel of his warm (although clammy) hand on top of hers. His index finger was shackled to the cardiac monitor. – "I guess all the cop dramas made me think that you can just "walk it off". John McClain usually ignores bullet wounds until the end of the movie."
"That's kind of what I thought too. Haven't gotten shot before." – his smile was weak, but it made her feel a few times better.
"They are calling you a hero. It's all over the news. "
"I know. Couple of deputies stopped by. Even the mayor gave me a call earlier today." – he didn't sound enthusiastic. Understandable, Veronica thought, he is a hero, but two of his men are dead. No doubt after the media frenzy wears off, he will start drawing heat for that. She wanted to ask him about his family, but something told her to stay out of it. Instead, she tried a different approach:
"Do you need anything?"
"Desperately." – his eyes suggestively glided over her body. Wasn't it typical – even on his deathbed a guy's mind only yearns for one thing. Not that she would deny him, but not while he was strapped to more devices than the Borg Queen. Veronica had Mac to thank for the vivid associations with Star Trek. Her friend subjected her to hours of re-runs over the past year. Veronica didn't care for it, but it made Mac happy, so she suffered through the technobabble and silicone foreheads of various shapes and sizes. – "Actually, yeah. I could use a toothbrush, some clothes. A real blanket – it's freezing here. My razors. Something to read." - stopping him, Veronica dug in her bag for a pen and paper.
"Ok, so some regular stuff, you know. Oh yeah, some snacks, like potato chips." – Veronica stared at him blankly. It was unlikely the nurses will let him keep any snacks in his room. Hospitals were notorious for making sure that sick people were as miserable as possible, by forcing them to eat the worst flavors of jello in existence, instead of stuff they liked. Don, as if reading her mind, grinned.
"I'll hide it from nurse Ratched."
"Where, under your pillow? You are not exactly in any shape to walk" – Don nodded. She was right on that.
"Will you hide it for me?"
"Are you serious? You want me to sneak food and hide it somewhere in your room and come here and feed it to you in secret?"
"Aren't you good at sneaking around?" – he asked, his face deadpan serious.
"Well, you are not wrong. I am good. Ok, I'll see what I can do." – she conceded, and finished writing his rather extensive list. Any more items, and she would have to get her large suitcase. Then again, he might be staying here for a while.
"You can get a key to my place from the office – I'll give em a call. "
"You got it."
She stayed for a bit longer, but it was evident that he was forcing himself to stay awake. She didn't miss the fact that he pressed his morphine pump at least twice, as they engaged in an idle and safe chat about nothing. Finally, she used a lull in their conversation to tell him that she was going to get his things. He nodded, his eyes closing. He was dead asleep in the few moments it took her to move her chair back.
The prospect of getting a glimpse into Don's "bachelor's pad" always intrigued her, ever since she was very young. Ever since the handsome new deputy strolled into her heart, many years ago, she was always curious about what hid behind those gorgeous baby blues of his. She found that on the outside, very few people matched their intimate space, herself included. People hide and wear masks – the natural state of paranoia and distrust unifies the human kind on the global scale. But their nests rarely lied – they were like the blueprint to the man or woman's heart and mind. Every item, every placement of that item offered a glimpse into what was important to them. Veronica always wanted to know – what was on Don's pedestal? Will she find a neat freak, a slob, a party animal? A pervert? A saint?
She unlocked the door, stepping through. It felt like she was at the entrance of some treasure cave, filled with untold wonders. She hummed Indiana Jones' theme, moving towards the windows and opened the blinds. Sunlight bounced off the scant furniture, dust spect dancing a tango in the air. The apartment was of a decent size - it was in a fairly pricey complex. It smelled musty, but nothing too terrible. Veronica sighed – now that her wish was granted, and the treasure trove was hers to explore – where to begin? Right, the list. We'll snoop as we go along, I suppose.
The place was in a twilight state of cleanliness. Not really clean and not really dirty – Veronica decided that it was in an acceptable state for a single guy who had a rough year. It was obvious that Don neglected dusting and mopping, but a stack of clean laundry and pressed uniform shirts hanging in the closet, told her that he was still trying to keep some semblance of order in his life. She found a duffel bag in a closet in his bedroom and started filling it up with the requested items. Of course, it also allowed her to spread her snooping evenly across all of the closets and cabinets. Outside of the uniform, Don's wardrobe was rather spartan – a few plain T-shirts and a stack of blue jeans. A couple of suits – one gray and one black. He did have a generous selection of sport clothes, but most of the colors were white or gray.
The nightstand beside the bed held a predictable variety of reading material – Sports Illustrated, Guns & Ammo, People. She checked the top shelf in the closet – that's where people usually hid their most delicious secrets. She did find a thin stack of BustyBabez and some Maxims. Tucked in the corner she noticed a stack of books. They were Dungeons & Dragons manuals. A grin spread on Veronica's face. Why, deputy, you are just a big old nerd, aren't you? The books looked to be thoroughly used. She noted a handgun tucked between a folded comforter and a shoe box. The shoe box, upon opening, revealed some letters and greeting cards. Veronica paused – suddenly she felt that she was digging into Don's life and heart and it felt wrong. She was no stranger to snooping, in fact, working for her dad – it was a skill that she perfected over the years. But with Don, however tempting it was to paw through every single one of them, it just felt dirty and verboten. Her deft fingers, as if having a mind of their own, carefully fished out one of the cards from the middle of the pile. A simple greeting card with a picture of a cat in a football helmet. She opened it.
" Happy 12th Birthday, my sweet boy! Love, Mom."
Veronica blinked, tears spilling out. She wiped the droplet that got onto the card, and carefully tucked it back into the pile. Closing the box, she shoved it back in it's resting place. Maybe one day he will share this with her, but at this moment this was just plain disrespectful. She had no business digging through it with such a callous curiosity.
There were no pictures on the walls, save for a couple of himself with a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman and two small kids. The woman's smile was very much like Don's - slightly crooked and inviting. She was beautiful. A sister? I had no idea Don had a sister.
There was also a picture of Don with an older woman, who Veronica guessed was his mother - and that's about it.
The duffel bag was getting heavy and the requested blanked would not fit into it. She was going to have to carry it in her hand. She found no other luggage bags in the apartment. It dawned on her - he requested snacks. Veronica headed to the kitchen, to see what he had.
The small kitchen was in a worse shape than the rest of the place. The sink was overflowing with dishes and bowls. Empty beer bottles littered the counters. The fridge did not offer much hope either - a few slices of the American cheese, a half-eaten sandwich and more beer. Veronica sighed, setting down the bag. The least she can do, is to tidy up the place. She found a clean sponge under the sink, and started to wash the dishes. This gave her time to think, sort out the feelings and expectations. This was surreal - she was starting to believe the lie that she told "nurse Ratched" - Don's girlfriend. Isn't that what girlfriends do? Visit you when you are sick, bring you snacks, wash your dishes and watch TV, cuddling on the couch?
Through all of the snooping, Veronica found no indication that Don was involved with anyone. There were no loose articles of female clothing laying around, no love notes, no pictures of him in the arms of some babe. While her jealousy was relieved, it also made her feel sadder for him. He must have been so lonely, as no one should be. Her own dad, after the last unsuccessful relationship with a married woman was lonely too, and Veronica could feel it acutely. If she was going to be honest with herself, she wasn't sure if she was ready to be "a girlfriend" again. Her relationship with Logan was explosive, like a minefield of passion and disappointment. It wore her out. Dating Piz after that, however briefly, was safe and lovely, but that's all it was. Don was solid, but not necessarily safe. The last thing she wanted was to bring new drama into her life. But she didn't want "lovely". With Don - it was heart-pounding, lip-biting, "I want to rake my nails down his back and scream out his name" want and need. But over the years, they made sure to erect a wall between them. A wall made of poisonous remarks, betrayals, sarcasm. While just a couple of days ago, when he held her close - that wall seemed to have disappeared, in the light of today Veronica found herself to be pressed up against it.
There was no doubt in her mind, however, that she wants to stay at that wall, and wait for it to crumble. To be there, at his side, whatever happened. Crippled or not, she had him now, and he had her. She smiled, shutting off the water. The dishes sparkled in the light. Well then, lets get the "sweet boy" his snacks. She wanted to hurry back and see him, but his kitchen pantry was empty, which meant that she would have to stop on the way and get the "contraband" .
Carrying a puffy duffle bag on one arm, and a comforter under the other, she headed to her car.
