Disclaimer: This story has been marked mature for some very difficult themes and graphic scenes. This chapter contains some content that may be unsuitable for some readers and may potentially trigger disturbing memories. Read at your own risk.

Chapter 27

FUBARed

Phoenix stood on his pedals to get the rest of the way up the rise, only to find a slope on the opposing side that pulled him along faster than he'd intended—still, no reason to waste momentum. The bus stop he needed was at the bottom of the hill, where the quiet residential street met with the busier thoroughfare. He hopped off of his bicycle just before reaching the bus stop and grimaced as the bus pulled up. He hooked his bike onto his shoulder and sprinted the rest of the way to the bus stop.

The bus driver was laughing at him and shaking his head, "I saw you coming Phoenix, you didn't have to run."

Phoenix stood there panting a moment, "Cool Amos—I'm gonna… my bike…"

Amos laughed, "You're good man, do what you need to do."

Phoenix perched his bicycle in front of the bus below the driver in a rack made for it—his was the only bike today—and then took the bike chain from around his neck and secured his bike. He managed to finally catch his breath as he stepped onto the bus and looked at Amos—grinning sheepishly.

"You in a hurry today, ain't you?"

Phoenix nodded emphatically and handed over his card, "Going to Princess Anne."

"It's pretty late, do you want to buy one for the whole day?"

"Yeah, unlimited," Phoenix frowned, "I might have to travel more today."

Amos handed him his card laughing, "What are you up to my friend?"

Phoenix grinned, "Oh you know, Amos—I'm solving mysteries…"

A few of the other passengers eyed him warily as he made his way back, but Phoenix didn't pay them any mind and was relieved when he found an empty pair of seats. He slid into the seat and slid up against the window.

The playful levity he'd shown Amos the bus driver faded completely from his face as he watched the bus rejoin the traffic moving on General Booth. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and thumbed through his text messages. Feeling the panic looming up in him—hoping that it wasn't too late.

U R my friend even after this

Thank you…

Laurence sent the text to several of them—Phoenix only recognized a handful of numbers in the group text.

I can live like it anyway…..

Phoenix glared, there was likely some autocorrect issues—but the message rang loud and clear. Laurence's messages had come around lunchtime, and Phoenix was stuck at work. It didn't help that he hadn't heard from Chief since he said he was going to sick call the day before, and he'd been visited multiple times since then by everyone from his Department Head to the Command's MAC—all wondering if he had any idea why a Chief with fourteen years in would suddenly go UA.

At least he'd brought his bike today. Yeah, doc had suggested he drive, at least until after he'd seen the orthopedist—but he didn't like being a burden on his friends. So Phoenix was able to hit the road only minutes after Pat had texted to tell him that Laurence was in the ER with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the face.

He stared fixedly as the city slid by, staring but not seeing the city slide into view. The cars racing around the bus. Laurence was charged on Monday, after being confronted by his Navy chain of command. The Navy wasn't going to bother with a court martial—he would be detached for cause, and left at the mercy of civilian law enforcement. Which meant he'd be prosecuted, and he'd be out of a job…

The slope had gone decidedly slippery for Laurence—and there was little any of them could do to save him. Phoenix thumbed through his messages absently and then his missed calls. It was only then he realized his voicemail was full—Miles had left something like seventeen voicemails on his phone Saturday morning. So that's why the phone was dead…

Phoenix swallowed. Too many things. Chief. Matt. Laurence. Miles…

He started listening to them—to have something to take his mind off of where he was headed and why. Most of them were short—Miles telling him he was sorry. Pick up the phone—Phoenix please answer the phone. He had to delete them to clear out his voicemail—but it was touching. This must've happened while he was sitting in the drunk tank with Laurence.

He put his phone away and stared out of the window as the bus slowed. It was the hub at Tidewater Community College—close now. Phoenix got up when the bus stopped and some of the passengers began to depart and claimed a seat closer to the door.

"Phoenix, you worried about something?"

Phoenix looked up to see Amos eyeing him in the rear-view mirror.

"My buddy's in the hospital," Phoenix said and turned his focus on the new passengers embarking the bus. He half-listened to the hushed conversations as they paid or gave their tickets or passes. Amos was always so polite to his passengers.

The bus continued on it's way through accumulating city traffic, and Phoenix eyed the lines of cars with a frown. Well, when it rains…

He left the hub at Princess Anne and booked it on his bicycle toward the hospital—the same one from the other night. After locking up his bike and making his way into the lobby, Phoenix was also dismayed to see Missus Wiggins who was eyeing him warily and side-long as he approached the counter.

"Oh it's you again, you spiky-headed mutha—"

"Nick!" Pat was already there, much to Phoenix's relief.

He smiled sheepishly at Missus Wiggins and went to join Pat in the waiting area.

Phoenix could only stare at Pat, unable to voice what had happened.

"He's alive," Pat shook his head, still looking a little dazed, "I guess he was drunk… so his aim was off…"

Phoenix swallowed, and sat beside him, and rubbed his face, it sounded like Pat was trying to be funny. But Pat wasn't laughing—neither was Phoenix.

"Damn…" Phoenix managed several minutes later, and Pat let out a sob.

"He asked me to go out with him on Friday," Pat shook his head, "I told him I was busy—because he's been such a downer lately… I didn't think…"

Phoenix stared at him a moment, but he wasn't sure what he should tell Pat. He sighed, staring at the door into the ER, several people were walking in and out—some wearing face masks, or sitting in wheelchairs….

None of them had shot their faces off…

"What the hell, Pat?" Phoenix said finally, the question was enough to startle Pat out of his distress. Pat wiped his face awkwardly with a sleeve and stared at Phoenix.

"I don't know, Nick…. I don't know…"

It was after ten that night, when D'Andre drove him into the apartment complex. Neither of them had anything to say when he parked, but neither of them moved when he did. D'Andre had come by to see Laurence too—because they were part of the same circle of friends—and he refused to leave Phoenix there in the middle of the night with his bicycle.

"Nick, you need a ride tomorrow?"

"If it's not too much—"

"It ain't no kind of trouble Nick…"

Still they sat in the car listening to the pinging of metal as the engine cooled, staring at the bugs hovering in the beams of the street lights. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

"Are you hungry, Nick?"

Phoenix looked over at him, surprised, and then shook his head.

"Let's go upstairs… I need to smoke, and I know you ain't wanna hotbox it in here with me…"

Phoenix didn't reply, but got out of the car and followed D'Andre upstairs. They both went into D'Andre's apartment and went straight out onto the balcony. D'Andre leaned over the railing and lit one of his narrow cigars while Phoenix leaned against the wall and ran his hands through his hair.

"You know that Matt guy—the refreshing breeze guy?"

Phoenix didn't move from where he was standing, "What about him?"

"He knows Willie too," D'Andre flicked his cigar tip away from the balcony, "I mean right?"

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "They were in the same squadron."

"So where's that dude at?"

"I don't know," Phoenix frowned, "He got picked up by NCIS a couple days ago… So he's either in restriction or the brig—maybe?"

"Did Celeste know Willie?"

Phoenix shook his head, "No I don't think she ever met him."

"Damn…" D'Andre said into the chill night air, "Ain't that some shit…"

The following morning, D'Andre got him to work early again and Phoenix hid in the locker room for some extra quiet. He'd changed but instead of going straight into the office he lay on one of the benches between the lockers; he had his knees up, back straight, and threw an arm over his face. So he startled suddenly and almost fell off the narrow bench when he heard the creak of one of the lockers in the other row.

He stood and looked around the side of the row of lockers and almost jumped again.

"Chief?!"

"Lieutenant Wright!" Chief was wearing civilian clothes and poking around the lockers—checking the ones that weren't locked. There weren't a lot of regular users, as the locker room was mostly a holdover from a time when Sailors were discouraged from traveling to and from base in their uniforms.

"Chief, everyone is looking for you—what?"

"I got in a bind, Sir," Chief gave him an innocent look and a shrug that seemed incongruent with the seriousness of his situation. Like he got caught kicking some trash behind the furniture where it wouldn't be noticed.

Phoenix planted his hands on his hips and leveled his gaze on Chief, "It's all right, Chief, I'm sure you have a reasonable explanation for all of this. Let's just go to—"

Chief Tigre turned suddenly and started to run in the opposite direction, almost instinctively Phoenix dashed to the other end of the row of lockers and cut him off. He was much faster than Chief despite being out of conditioning.

"Chief…" Phoenix tucked his chin and glared.

The burly chief responded with his predator grin, and then licked his lips. Then he sprinted back the way he'd come—Phoenix managed to beat him again.

"Don't do this, Chief," Phoenix said.

Chief was panting from exertion but then his ragged breaths coalesced into laughter, "Whatcha gonna do boyo? Are ya gonna tackle me? I can do dis all day…"

"This is crazy," Phoenix uttered through clenched teeth, already anticipating Chief's next attempt at escape, "Come on, before this escalates into something worse."

"Oh you have no idea how bad dis is kiddo," Chief grinned again, "Youse gots no idea…"

They stared at each other like wolves menacing one another over territory. Phoenix braced himself, anticipating another sprint, but this time, chief ran straight toward him. Chief had ducked low and rammed his shoulder into Phoenix's abdomen, driving him into the row of lockers behind him.

Pain, white hot, seared through him from where his spine had made contact with the wall of metal lockers. Phoenix gasped. He saw flashes of light.

And then nothing.

Screaming…

Just stop!

Red waves of pain.

Make it stop!

And then nothing.

Laurence lay against the glaringly white pillows. His head was swathed in bandages—like a mummy. The bright impossibly white pillows gave the gauze a gray cast. Except where blood had seeped through. Those places were red.

Phoenix gasped and opened his eyes. It was dark but he wasn't in his room. This wasn't his bed. That wasn't his IV line…

He roved the room with his eyes. Definitely a hospital room—but there was no indication of where. It was quiet. Blue light filtered in from a narrow window in the door.

His back hurt. Worse than it had in a while…. Was this from Physical Therapy? He had an appointment—did he make his appointment?

Phoenix tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. So he lay back and stared at the ceiling in frustration. Eventually, he dozed off.

When he awoke, gray morning light was filtering in through the windows. He was hungry. Phoenix picked up his head and stared helplessly at the door. It felt like an hour later when she walked in—a nurse wearing scrubs with the same pattern and color of the Navy NWU type III. She walked all the way up to the monitor beside his bed before she noticed he was awake.

"Oh, Good morning," she smiled sweetly at him.

"Where am I?"

She chuckled, "Portsmouth."

"Why?"

She paused to give him a puzzled look, "Well, I'm not sure, exactly—you had surgery."

Phoenix's eyes went wide, "What?"

She laughed outright and went to the foot of the bed to pull his chart, "Let's see… VBEMS, brought you to the emergency department yesterday morning, you were triaged and then brought here."

Phoenix's eyes darted around the room again, "So I'm not in the hospital?"

"You're in the Orthopedic Department—they examined you here, and you had some surgery on your spine."

"Wait what? What did they do?"

Her smile faded, suddenly, "You'll see the doctor later today, you'll have to ask him."

Then she turned and left him alone. Eventually Phoenix hunkered down in the bed, glaring at the wall. He watched the sun rise—sort of—he watched the light filtering through the window blinds behind him reflected on the wall change color and direction as time passed. Oh and he was still hungry too.

He'd dozed off again, probably from boredom, when a different nurse came in to check his machines and bring him his breakfast in a covered tray.

"How do you feel?" She asked, then smiled as he struggled to sit up and then showed him the buttons to adjust the bed.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Are you feeling any pain?"

Phoenix stared at her, but the doctor came in before he could answer.

He was a tall man with silver hair and wore a white lab coat over his camouflage, "Good morning, Lieutenant Wright!"

Phoenix startled again when two very young people, one male and one female came into the room behind him. The doctor had taken some hand sanitizer from a dispenser on the wall and was rubbing his hands together while staring at Phoenix.

"Eh, good morning, Sir," Phoenix replied belatedly then glanced at each of the civilian doctors and the nurse before returning his gaze to the doctor.

"I'm Doctor Grayson, and with me this morning is Doctor Harris and Doctor Adebayo from EVMS—I hope you don't mind—we are a teaching hospital."

Phoenix shook his head, "Uh, no, Doc, that's fine. How are you guys?"

Both young doctors smiled politely.

"So, Lieutenant Wright," The doctor opened his chart, "Phoenix?"

Phoenix nodded.

"How do you feel this morning?"

"Fine," he paused and realized he did feel fine, "Great…"

The doctor turned to his charges, "Last summer, Phoenix ejected from an F-18–is that right?"

Phoenix grimaced, "Yeah…"

"Well, there are a number of forces bearing down on the body when a pilot ejects," the doctor continued, "One of the more serious issues we've seen is telescoping of the vertebrae in the spine…"

The Doctor continued matter-of-factory explaining Phoenix's spinal injury, with enough detail to make Phoenix sick to his stomach. The nurse quietly finished what she'd come in to do and slipped out of the room unheeded. The Doctor tapped him on the shoulder, "Son if we could have you turn this direction—go ahead and point your legs out this way and slide on backward until—perfect."

Phoenix felt very self-conscious as he maneuvered into place—especially when he realized he only had on a hospital gown. Then the doctor started poking at his back. Cold fingers touched him along his spine.

"You got lucky," the Doctor was telling the medical students, "Phoenix was scheduled for surgery in January. But he came through the Emergency Department yesterday—what happened? Did you get in a fight?"

Phoenix just shook his head.

"Well, whatever happened—there was no serious impact to his spine—obviously he was in a lot of pain. So we took advantage of the situation to get him under the knife sooner, rather than later."

Phoenix groaned inwardly as he began to describe the procedure—which apparently the other two had had a chance to observe—cold fingers tracing a short line on his back parallel to the incision. It had been minimally invasive—oh and weren't they lucky Phoenix was thin enough that his spine was at least somewhat visible through his skin—"Can you lean forward, Son?"

He droned on about nerves and pain receptors, while Phoenix eyed his lonely neglected breakfast tray, it looked so forlorn on the other side of the room. He startled when fingers pressed into his lower back and listened to the doctor as he invited the students to poke him too.

He pulled the sheet over himself when the doctor allowed him to resume his seat, feeling embarrassed and very self aware. The students were invited to ask him questions and they did so with a lot of enthusiasm for anatomy and medicine and very little regard for his personal feelings.

Finally, he gagged. Just leaned to one side and dry heaved beside the hospital bed for a minute, before straightening and looked at the three doctors sheepishly.

"Are you all right?" Doctor Harris—the woman, asked him. She looked startled and actually concerned. Doctor Adebayo was staring curiously at him as if he were a chihuahua that just completed a perfect backflip.

"Sorry," Phoenix eyed them each in turn, "I'm just really, really hungry."

A/N: Woah...