A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the nice reviews! I'd give you all cookies if I could, haha. :) After this part, the damage can really begin on Tom!

Chapter Fourteen

It was supposed to be like any other visit to the hospital, but when Doug neared Tom's room a week after last having seen him, he spotted a sign taped to the window of the door.

Please consult with a physician or nurse before entering.

The statement quirked Doug's eyebrow as bafflement settled in on him. He glanced around for the nearest hospital employee and, soon, he was able to stop a female nurse he had seen in the past.

"Why is this sign up?" he asked quizzically.

"You're a friend of Tom's, right?"

"Yeah."

"He's, um….He's been having a tough time lately. It might be best if you not come see him for a couple of weeks."

"What? Why?"

"He won't let anyone near him. He's become very defensive, highly emotional, and grows terrified whenever someone is close. Sedatives have to be given, and sometimes we have to strap him down because he gets so wild. That's why we have this notice so that anyone who is here to see him has a nurse or doctor present in the room since the outbursts have become frequent. We don't want him or someone else to get hurt."

Doug's mouth fell open as he digested the words. Was Tom really so hysterical about his ordeal that he would act out so drastically? "Are you serious? He's that bad?"

"Yes, sadly. Seems like more pieces are coming together for his memory. It's understandable why he would act like this, considering all he went through, but it is a bit more extreme and dramatic than what we usually see in rape victims. Though, of course, that wasn't all that happened to him, so that could contribute to his fears."

"Is he seeing the psychologist yet? It's procedure," he added quietly.

"It's procedure here too. Dr. Hawkins, our resident psychologist, came down yesterday to try and have a session with him, but Tom just got incredibly worked up to the point where he actually lashed out that nothing was discussed. He doesn't speak at all unless he feels threatened or you talk very, very gently – almost as if you would talk to a child."

Doug rubbed his face and muttered in disbelief, "Jesus Christ." He turned his gaze to peer through the window, witnessing his partner squirming underneath the leather restraints, looking worn out but determined. The younger man's eyes were closed as his head turned from side to side, and it was evident that he was constantly mumbling to himself. Doug could only watch for a minute before he felt the urge to break down entirely. Quickly, he averted his eyes back to the nurse, swallowed, and tried to find his voice to speak.

"Is he….Is he going to get better?"

She smiled sadly and shrugged. "I don't know, to be honest. I believe he will, but….he's in an incredibly bad place at the moment, emotionally and physically. I don't see him getting better anytime soon in the near future, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah….Right….Can I go in? Just for a second."

"It's not a good time," she said regretfully. "I'm sorry. It'd be best if you didn't."

"I understand," he voiced after a slight pause. He gave a faint smile and nodded. "Thank you for telling me this."

"We'll take good care of him. I promise."

With another nod, he headed down the hallway to the elevator, droplets of water teetering on the edge of his eyelids as he headed out.

" 'Despite the vicious concussions he received, it has been confirmed that he is not paralyzed as most believed he would be. He is still slowly recovering at St. Joseph's hospital, though sources say he is making it harder on himself. It has been reported that he is prone to fits of anger, which are impeding physical improvement and mental stability.

Even after knowing Hanson's situation, there are some who worry that it will make him turn to a path of violence and become a danger to the public.

'I think he should just be put away in a mental institution,' states an officer who is involved in the case. 'From what I've seen and heard, it seems highly unlikely that he'll be able to go back to living a comfortable life or take care of himself.'

A neighbor of Hanson's worries that having the officer back in the apartment complex will have a negative impact on others in the building, including her children. "The fact remains that he had relations with men, and that's something I don't want my kids exposed to, that [homosexual] lifestyle. Even if he isn't, people are going to see him that way.' " Judy shook her head in disbelief and lowered the newspaper to lie flat on her desk. "Can you believe this article? How can people say things like this?"

"It's a real shame," Ioki added. "Poor Hanson. I think that guy's right about him having a hard time adjusting back to real life, though."

"I do too. Everybody knowing who he is for the wrong reasons, getting wrong impressions…."

"What are you guys looking at?"

Judy and Ioki turned, startled, to see Doug approaching them. Ioki stood from where he had been sitting on the edge of Judy's desk, and she frantically attempted to hide the paper in the top drawer.

"Uh, nothing," she lied quickly. "Just some….paperwork."

"We're on a case together," Ioki offered. "We were just discussing it. Continue later?" he asked Judy.

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds good."

Ioki strayed off in the opposite direction, leaving Doug to scrutinize Hoffs, who was edgier now that the other cop was gone.

"Let me see it," he said firmly, though not angrily.

"Doug, it's nothing. Really."

"Let me see it, Jude."

"I really don't think it's a good idea-"

"Judy."

The tone in his voice was sterner now, and she knew she was not going to dissuade him. Reluctantly, she retrieved the newspaper from the drawer and handed it over. Doug glanced over the front page until he found the article in question at the bottom of the page. A picture of Tom before the abduction was printed next to the text, along with a photo of him after – eyes closed and head encased in the contraption Doug had seen him in after the head surgery – making it very easy to view the extreme difference in appearance he had gone through.

Hoffs watched her friend solemnly, noting the immense melancholy in his expression and how upset he was. There was nothing she could do but utter a soft apology. When Penhall was finished reading, he threw the newspaper in the trash and walked away. Once he was gone from her sight, she pulled it out and put it in the bottom drawer of her desk.

It was yet another one of many articles about Hanson to add to the ever growing pile.

He had been so oblivious; he wondered how he was capable of not noticing the publicity Tom was getting. After seeing the article Judy had, Doug was now aware of what else was around him with related texts – magazines, local and national newspapers, news broadcasts, and online at various websites that had plucked the pictures and video files off Danny Benton's original website. He thought of Mrs. Hanson and how she was possibly reacting to hearing and viewing more about her son's kidnapping and incapacitation, along with peoples' reactions.

But then he thought of Tom. What if he were to find out what was being published about him? It would tear him apart, Doug knew.

With a heavy sigh, Doug closed the site he had been looking at, dragged himself to the couch, and flopped onto it. Tom did not have to be aware of it all to be torn up over it; he already was.

Three weeks went by before Doug made the choice of returning to the hospital. The sign that had been posted on the door was gone, which he took as a good thing, and without hindrance, he quietly stepped into his friend's room. The teenager in the first bed seemed to be doing better, for he did not have the oxygen mask on, and he was asleep as far as Doug could tell. Tom, however, was an entirely different matter. The young cop was curled up on his left side, though his right leg remained straight in its brace, and was entirely motionless. Doug walked to the other side of the bed to see his face and sat down in a chair in front of him. Hanson's eyes were vacantly staring ahead, his right hand was tucked under his head, and he made no effort to even acknowledge his partner. There was no reaction from him whatsoever.

"Hey Tommy," Penhall offered sweetly.

Nothing.

"How are you feeling? Better? Worse? The same? Any good news?"

Silence complimented by a blink.

Penhall sighed and simply gazed at the other officer with great concern for a long moment. Hanson did not seem at all phased by this. "Hey, um, they told me you're not eating much anymore," he at last said. "Why is that? Tom? You can talk to me. Open up. I'm not here to cause you any sort of discomfort."

If there was a cricket in the room, it would probably be the only thing to hear; Tom was not taking the bait.

Deciding to pose another question, Doug ventured, "How's physical therapy going? I heard you started that, right? Get you back up on your feet and all."

For a lengthy period, another heavy silence filled the room. Doug looked around uninterestedly, inwardly deciding that if Hanson did not say a word within ten more minutes, he would leave. As it was nearing the mark to go, Doug turned his full attention back to Tom and frowned from what he saw.

Tom was crying.

"Hey, Tom," Doug spoke tenderly as he moved to sit on the edge of Hanson's bed. He rubbed the younger man's back soothingly, feeling just how thin his friend was getting. "What's wrong? Was it something I said?"

Doug was taken aback when he received a shake of the head as an answer.

"Then what is it? Tell me. Maybe I can help."

"You can't," Tom forced out despondently.

"How come?"

"You just can't. It's not possible. I'll never be able to use my stupid fucking hand again or my stupid fucking legs. I can't even stand on my good leg because of my fucking foot."

"How often do you have therapy sessions?"

"Every other day. There's been no improvement. I can't even get my god damn fingers to work. And it's not just that. I must've dropped a thousand IQ points when they hit me with that bat."

"That's not true-"

"There are days when I can't even remember my fucking name. And yours. Or anyone else's name. I'm useless. I'm a worthless piece of shit, Doug."

"No, you're not. You're not. You can still recover from all of this. You can do it; I know you can. You're so strong, Tommy. So strong. You've survived this far, I know you'll be able to get up and walk around or make a fist with your hand because you're a fighter, Tom. Don't give up. Please, don't give up."

Tom exhaled a number of shaky breaths before he said in a constricted voice, "I don't even know if I can trust you."

"Of course you can," Doug assured gently. "I'm your best friend. I'll never hurt you. I swear to god."

"I can't believe that. What if you're just like them? I can't go through that again!" Suddenly rationalizing that Doug was an enemy who would have no qualms about abusing or raping him, Tom shoved his partner's hand away and shouted, "Don't touch me! Get out! Get out! Leave me alone!"

"Tom, I-"

"Get out!" the hysterical patient practically shrieked. "Go! Leave me alone!"

Doug swallowed down the knot in his throat and rapidly blinked away the tears that had formed in his eyes. As he made for the door, a handful of nurses and doctors rushed into the room and flocked to Tom, who was convulsing wildly and screaming the words continuously.

It was not until Doug reached the end of the hallway when the loud yelling finally died away.

For his last month at the hospital, Tom was transferred to the psychiatric ward due to his frequent outbursts and mood swings. The rage he demonstrated made some think that he would physically harm himself if not closely monitored. The change in location made Doug more uncomfortable to visit his friend because of him being in the "crazy ward." The times he did, Tom was either one of two extremes: mellow and somewhat talkative or terribly distraught and upset, in which case the visit was abruptly ended by Tom screaming defensively and hurling his pillows at the older cop.

When the day finally came for Tom to be released, Doug found him to be eerily quiet and solemn. The young officer was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in pastel blue scrubs. His head was bowed, looking as if he was staring at the bootie covering his left foot and the special Velcro, cushioned sandal on his right, big enough to cover the base of the brace.

"Hey Tom," Doug greeted softly as he took a seat next to his friend and set aside the hoodie he had brought for Tom to wear.

"Hi, Doug," was the murmured response.

"You ready to go home?"

Hanson shrugged. "I guess."

"You don't seem very excited."

Another indifferent shrug.

"What's going on? What's wrong?"

"I'm not. I'm not….excited. I'm….kind of scared, Doug. Going back to being alone, hobbling around on my own…."

"I can stay with you for a couple of weeks if you want. Help you out, get settled in again."

Hanson smiled and lifted his head. "You don't have to. I'll be okay. Besides, I can't ask you to do something like that.

"Come on. What are friends for?"

"Are you still my friend?"

"Of course! Why would you ask that?"

"Because of how I've been acting. I'm sorry, Doug."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's fine. I can understand."

Several minutes later, Doug had Tom's Mustang parked in front of the hospital entrance and had crutches, a cane, and the few personal possessions Tom had had in his room packed onto the backseat. While he was away, Hanson put on Doug's sweatshirt, loving how it seemed to swallow him up and protect him. When Penhall returned, Hanson pulled up the hood to cover his head and allowed his partner to sweep him into his arms. He did not want to be rolled out in a wheelchair; it would only make him feel even weaker and helpless than he already was.

As Doug carried him down to the main floor and made his way to the front doors, news reporters with cameras and camcorders started bombarding them with questions as if Tom were a celebrity. Tom kept his face shrouded by the hood and turned away towards Doug's chest. A number of nurses and doctors worked to keep the press back to let Doug through, and at last, they had reached the car. Gingerly, Penhall set his partner down into the passenger's seat and hurriedly made his way around to the driver's side to get in.

In less than a minute, they were out of the frenzy.

Doug glanced over at his friend, though he could not see any part of Hanson's countenance. Hesitantly, he cautiously took Tom's left hand in his and massaged it delicately. Tom winced, for it had not healed completely to the point of not causing him pain, but he was glad he could at least bend his fingers enough to grasp things now due to the many physical therapy sessions. He laced his digits with Doug's, which brought a cheerful grin to his friend's visage.

"Welcome home," Doug said thirty minutes later.

Tom gazed out of the door's window to view his apartment building. With a sigh, he mumbled, "Yeah, home. Finally."

"Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Eat? A blanket?"

Tom settled himself on the couch, grimacing in mild agony from his throbbing feet. Though he was able to get around on his own with the help of crutches, he could not be up for long without causing severe pain and discomfort. "No thanks. I'm fine."

"You sure you won't be more comfortable lying down in your bed?"

The mention of his bed made Tom seize up for a moment. He glanced to his room, spotting the disarrayed sheets and previously flung pillows on the floor. "Uh, yeah," he said after a pause. "I'm sure."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You got all weird there for a second."

"Oh. Sorry. I just can't sleep in there until I change the sheets."

Doug was about to ask why, yet he quickly thought up the reason. The last people to have rolled around on the covers were the ones that had forced themselves on Tom for the first time. "Do you want me to do it?"

"No, I'll get it. Sometime."

"Where are some clean ones?"

"Doug," Tom said with a small laugh, "You don't have to."

"I want to. Now where are they?"

"Um…." His mind was utterly void of any sort of answer, for he had no idea where he kept them. "In….They're…." He closed his eyes tightly, trying exceptionally hard to remember. "In the…."

"Don't worry. I'll find them."

Doug began strolling about the apartment in search of the bed linens, while Tom turned on the television and started flipping through channels absentmindedly. He stopped when he came to a news channel, frowning when he heard the words "cop" and "kidnapped" in the same sentence. Doug heard them too, and he ran to snatch the remote out of Tom's hand and frantically changed the channel.

"What was that about?" Tom asked, somewhat annoyed.

"Oh, nothing. Just thought it'd be best if you didn't watch anything depressing, and you know the news is nothing but depressing," he answered as he punched in two numbers to turn it to a network station that was playing some movie.

"I guess. You don't have to be so abrasive though."

"Yeah, sorry."

He gave the changer back to the younger man and, having found a pair of clean sheets, shuffled into the bedroom to begin stripping and making the bed.

"God, that was close," he whispered to himself, relieved. "What are you going to do to keep him from watching that stuff, Penhall? Can't break his TV. Damn it."

When Hanson fell asleep two hours later, Doug decided on simply fiddling around with the knobs and buttons on the front and back of the television until he was successful in getting the screen to become nothing but static no matter what channel he turned it to.

"You are a genius, Doug," he said in accomplishment. "It'll do."