Magnum fell asleep while waiting to see if Jack Sparrow's unsavory associates would succumb to the trap he and Spock had laid using C4 bricks disguised as crates of rum. He had to admit that Rick was just as good at the game of Chauffeur as its inventor, and, unlike Nuzo, Rick refused to be led astray by overly-technical debates concerning the blast radius of plastic explosives, which actually made the game a more effective distraction.

Unfortunately, his pounding head and aching stomach weren't about to be upstaged by a game, so although he managed to fall asleep he only stayed that way for a short time. The remnants of the morphine tried to hold him under, but he kept surfacing every few minutes to barely-dulled pain and jumbled thoughts of Nuzo and his attackers, which was worse than just being awake. Hard as he tried, though, he couldn't seem to find the energy to break free of the fog.

More time passed, and he surfaced again when he heard a door sliding open and then Rick's tired voice addressing someone in surprise. Latching onto the sounds a little desperately, Magnum used them to slowly claw his way toward wakefulness.

"Mickey?"

Pause.

"Ricky? Ricky Wright?" Slightly-gravelly female voice. Equally surprised.

"How the hell are you?"

Footsteps. An elaborate high-five?

"No complaints. Yourself?"

A heavy sigh. "Not if you'd asked me yesterday. We lost Nuzo this morning."

"Oh, Rick. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Uh...not that I'm not glad to see you, Mick, but what are you doing here?"

"What's it look like? ER attending, going on six months now. You were probably expecting Dr. Connor, though. Sorry about that. He's occupied with another patient at the moment. I'm picking up his slack."

"I'm guessing you do that a lot."

A quiet chuckle. "Connor's just green. He'll get on fine when I'm through with him, but don't tell him I said that. I hope he hasn't given you and..." Keyboard keys clicking. "...Mr. Magnum too much trouble. Wait...Magnum? This is Thomas?"

Another sigh. Probably a nod.

"Dare I ask about TC?"

"He's hopefully at home asleep by now. I should call him, though. Haven't had a chance to let him know about Tommy."

"You certainly have had a day, Ricky."

Long pause.

Curiosity and substantial effort finally got Magnum's eyelids open to slits, and he searched the room, finding Rick embracing a thin, middle-aged woman in scrubs with short, graying hair. Mickey. Did he know that name? She obviously knew of all of them, but Magnum couldn't place her. He craned his head slightly, trying for a better look at her face, but his neck wouldn't have it. Pain shot through his head and down into his shoulders and his vision blurred. He must have made some sort of sound as well, because they both turned toward him.

"TM, you awake? The doc's here."

"Yeah," he whispered, and eventually managed to get his eyes open a little more. Looking carefully from his friend to the doctor and back again, he asked, "Have we met?"

Rick raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to assume you mean her, not me. And no. Thomas Magnum, this is Dr. Mickey Jenkins, an old friend of mine from the service. She saved my ass a couple of times back before I met you knuckleheads, and I ran into her again in Germany when we were all there."

"I'm like a bad penny, I just keep coming back," Mickey said, a glint of mischief in her hazel eyes. "It's good to meet you, Thomas. I'm sorry it's under these circumstances. How're you feeling?"

"Been better," he admitted with a half-smile. "What's the damage, Doc?"

"To the point. I like that." She returned the smile as she perched on a stool next to the bed and consulted her laptop. "The Cliff Notes version consists of a moderate concussion, contused spleen, cracked left floating rib, multiple cuts and scrapes, and you're mighty bruised up. I think most of the abdominal pain you've been experiencing is due to the rib injury and the bruising, though. There was no sign of active bleeding on your CT, but we're going to need to keep an eye on that for a bit to make sure. Your pressure's still on the low side."

Magnum nodded. It was like half a dozen flash-bangs going off inside his skull simultaneously. His vision tunneled, and he thought he was going to pass out. If the doctor was still speaking to him, he didn't notice. He had only one immediate concern, "Gon' be sick…"

He gagged, and barely heard Jenkins' warning that she was going to turn him on his side before he was being rolled to the right. More flash-bangs ignited, completely washing out his vision. Then...nothing. He lay perfectly still as the storm washed over him, breathing heavily, beyond dizzy, hurting everywhere, but somehow he didn't throw up. In fact, the nausea began to recede little by little. That was normal. It usually went away first. The ringing in his ears would take longer, assuming the flash-bangs didn't keep coming. Once, they'd set off so many in a row that he hadn't been able to hear anything for two days afterward. This time, though, it looked like it was just going to be the strobe lights. The youngest interrogator preferred that method. Honestly, so did Magnum if he had to choose. He could handle the bright lights better than the loud sounds, but he knew Nuzo couldn't. Through the painful flashes and flares in his vision, he tried to check on his friend.

Nuzo was lying across from him on the ground, hands bound tightly in front of him with zip ties. His face was bloody, and Magnum froze when he met his eyes - wide open, lifeless, unseeing. No. Nonononono!

Thomas blinked furiously, willing the image away, and barely noticed the moisture running down his face as the cell morphed into an ambulance around Nuzo. Damn them. Damn them. A hand squeezed his shoulder, startling him, and suddenly the ambulance was gone, Nuzo was gone, and Dr. Jenkins was looking down at him with concern as she tucked a penlight back in her pocket. He ignored her, still stuck on the part where Nuzo was gone.

Her hand squeezed more insistently. "Thomas, can you hear me? I really need you to answer."

The realization that he couldn't hear her, at least not with any significant volume, was enough to jolt his attention back to the present. Somewhere beneath the persistent throbbing in his head, he noticed an odd sensation of pressure in his left ear. He frowned at the doctor, puzzled, and gingerly reached to touch it. She nodded, apparently already on the same page, and held up an otoscope to indicate her intent before nudging his hand aside.

The pressure in his ear ramped up momentarily, crossing the threshold to pain, and as she completed her exam and stepped out of his field of vision, Magnum started to wonder if he should be alarmed by the hearing loss. He wouldn't be of much use as a deaf P.I., but hell, it wasn't like he was of much use as a hearing P.I., either. Nuzo's face flashed before his eyes again and it was all he could do to hold his composure. He sniffled a little in spite of himself, the tears from before having caused his nose to run, and to his utter confusion (and horror) Jenkins reappeared and swabbed some of it into a vial before handing him a Kleenex.

Magnum wrinkled his nose and fought the urge to sneeze. Okay, seriously, gross. She began to step away once more, and this time he automatically rolled onto his back to find out what was going on. At least, he tried to. Pain and vertigo immediately crashed over him again and he gasped, his whole body going rigid. Distantly, he felt hands on his shoulder, his hip, halting his motion and keeping him still for a time before eventually guiding him the rest of the way down. He heard something beeping loudly then, along with a low, moaning sound that he discovered was coming from him.

"It's all right, buddy. You moved too fast is all."

Magnum wanted to tell Rick how all right it wasn't, but he supposed his friend already knew that if the light touch smoothing back his hair was any indication. It was the only part of his head that didn't hurt, though, so he allowed it to be his focus until the pain ebbed enough that he was able to unclench his jaw.

Slowly, the outside world began to reassert itself around him. Blankets and sheets and wires shifted, untangling themselves. A blood pressure cuff inflated noisily, squeezing his bicep, then releasing. Something rubbery was clipped back onto his index finger. Disconcerted by the amount of activity, Thomas cautiously opened his eyes. He was rewarded when the room spun only a little, but he contented himself for several minutes by staring at the gentle twist and turn of the ceiling, unwilling to tempt fate by moving even slightly.

His surroundings had yet to completely settle when something began tapping at his ankle. Very, very slowly he risked sliding his eyes to the left and found Dr. Jenkins watching him closely. "Hey there. Welcome back. Can you rate your pain for me, zero to ten?"

Now that his right ear was no longer pressed against the pillow, he could hear her well enough, but the off-center quality of the sound was a nagging reminder that he was half-deaf, and he needed answers. "What were you doing with the...that...swab-thing?" he blurted, gesturing to his face and the Kleenex that was still balled up in his hand.

She continued to regard him for a moment longer before answering, "Just a precaution. You've got some blood behind your eardrum and I need to run a couple more tests."

"Is that why everything sounds muffled?"

"Most likely. The fluid should dissipate on its own in a few days."

"So the hearing loss is temporary," he said with relief.

Mickey nodded. "I'm optimistic."

"Wait...does that mean there's a chance it's not?"

"I'd be lying if I said no, but I think you'd have a better chance of getting up and doing a cartwheel right now," she said with a wry smile.

Magnum grimaced at the thought. "Point taken."

"Your turn to answer my question, then. How's your pain?"

He shrugged slightly, and Jenkins gave him a dubious look. "Don't kid a kidder, Thomas. You were in a bad way a few minutes ago, and I've already admitted you so you've got nothing to lose."

Magnum tried to scowl at her, but his body protested even that minor rebellion and the swollen split in his left eyebrow set half of his face throbbing. He flinched and closed his eyes against the pain as it localized to his temple and sharpened. "Seven?" he whispered uncertainly.

"Mmhmm, I'd even hazard nine from the look of you," Mickey sympathized, patting his shin. "Poor boy. I'm going to order some stronger pain meds so you can sleep for awhile, and I think we should get some ice on that eye. Do you need anything for nausea while I'm at it?"

"Not the worst idea."

Jenkins nodded. "On the way. Hang in there for a few more minutes and we'll have you comfortable. Until then, I want you to just rest easy. No sudden moves, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered a little sheepishly.

"Good. I'll check back later." A smile and another pat, and she was gone.

Rick followed her out, promising to only be a minute, and Magnum knew that he was about to become their topic of conversation. That didn't bother him, until his sluggish brain realized that Jenkins hadn't actually answered his question about what his snot had to do with the hearing loss. She'd wanted to run more tests, but for what? The missing puzzle piece nagged at him, but his eyelids seemed to be gaining weight by the second, and despite the relentless throbbing in his head he fell into a restless sleep before he had a chance to pry any answers out of Rick.