After three days, Mac was transferred to a veteran's recovery hospital. Since he was a veteran, he would stay there for his recovery. Mac lay on the stretcher in the ambulance and just stared at the ceiling. He wondered how long he would have to lay on his back. He knew if they had not given him that pain medicine before they got him onto this stretcher, it would have been very painful. He had never been so uncomfortable in his life, and he hated that catheter too. He looked at his right arm. He could not even write anything. He remembered the time he had fallen over that balcony. It had been the same arm, but this time it was worse. He supposed it was because this was the second time it was broken. He thought his life was getting too dangerous. Maybe he would go on a vacation somewhere and relax after all this…then again, he might not get a vacation for a long time after this.

Soon, they arrived at the hospital and took Mac inside. Mac thought it smelled like disinfectant and he hoped he would not have a roommate but when he got into his room, he found that he was in the room with an old man. Why could he not have a private room? He did not want to put up with another person. He felt so helpless. He could not get up, he could not turn over off his back, he could not go to the bathroom, and he had not even sat up in a chair yet. He thought this was probably going to be a long stay.

Mac lay there while they prepared to move him over to his bed…or prison. He frowned as he thought he was not going to enjoy this. He dreaded when they started putting him through rehab. This was a long-term care hospital and he would be in this bed at least three weeks, he supposed. Finally, they were ready to put him into the bed and then they lifted him into it. Mac sighed as he was glad that was over even though he hated to be in this bed.

When Mac was situated, the nurses came in and got his IV fixed. He would have to have it a while longer. Then everyone was gone and he was there in the room with a person he did not even know. They had told him the man's name: Arthur Olson. Arthur walked with a cane and he walked over to Mac's bed. "Howdy there, young man," he said. "What are you in for?"

Mac looked at him. "I have two broken legs and a broken arm," he said.

"Ouch. What'd you do, fall off a ladder?"

"No."

"Don't want to talk about it, huh?"

"Not really."

Arthur talked loud, Mac supposed, because he had a hearing aid. He had thin gray hair and blue eyes. He wore glasses and was wearing an old robe that looked like it was faded, although he had on sweat pants and sneakers. "What did they say your name is?" he asked.

"Mac Taylor…and you're Arthur Olson."

"Right! I guess your memory isn't affected."

Mac was glad it was not. He sure did not want to go through that again. "And what are you in for?" he asked.

"I fell and broke my hip," Arthur said. "I've been here two months. Took me that long to get up on a cane."

Mac frowned. He hoped he would not be here that long. "Were you in the service?" he asked.

"Sure I was!" Arthur replied. "I wouldn't be here otherwise. I was in the Marines in Vietnam. It wasn't a pretty sight."

"I was in the Marines too. I went to Beirut and Desert Storm."

"Oh, the more recent wars. What do you do now?"

"I'm a detective. I'm the head of the crime lab in New York City."

"Hey, that's an important job, isn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it is to a lot of people."

"You are one of those CSI's aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm a criminalist."

"You go to crime scenes?"

Mac nodded. "Yes."

"It's terrible, isn't it? You have to figure out how that person died?" Arthur leaned back in the chair. "When we found 'em, we didn't have to wonder how they died."

Mac frowned and looked at Arthur. He knew Arthur probably still had dreams about it all. It never went away. "We found 'em in pieces and every other way you can find a person," Arthur said.

Mac thought he wanted to go to sleep but he figured Arthur was going to keep talking. "When do they feed us around here?" Mac asked.

"Oh, around five o'clock," Arthur answered. "I go down to the dining room. I guess you'll be taking yours in here."

"For a while, at least."

"I'll be getting out soon. Now that I can get around on the cane pretty well, I can go home. Then I guess you'll have a new roommate."

Mac felt exhausted after all that activity of getting to this place. His back ached and he was bored stiff. For a person who was used to a lot of activity, this was like torture. He had tried to get his mind off lying in bed all the time but it just did not work. Don had even brought him magazines and word puzzles, but he had not had much desire to do them since his right arm was in a cast. It hurt his arm to try and hold a pencil.

The next thing Mac knew, he was waking up again. He was very hungry now and realized that Arthur was not in the room now. He pressed the nurse button and waited for someone to answer. "May I help you?"

"When is dinner?" Mac asked.

"Just a minute."

Mac thought he was tired of having to wait on everything and he sure was tired of lying in that bed. Soon the nurse came with his tray. "When will I get to sit up?" Mac asked. "When will I get a wheelchair?"

"I'm not sure," the nurse said as she put the tray on his table. "You can have your bed sitting up further."

Mac just sat there while she raised his bed up. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just not used to lying around."

"You're not feeling claustrophobic, are you?"

"I don't know, I just feel miserable."

"You're not in pain, are you?"

"Just that dull ache."

"Don't worry, you'll get better soon."

Mac sighed. He supposed he would have to accept it as just that. "Your therapy starts tomorrow," the nurse said. "Just let us know if you need anything."

Mac nodded and looked at the food on his tray. He hated eating with his left hand. He felt like he was learning to do everything again. He might as well eat. He picked up the fork with his left hand and took a bite of his carrots. He liked carrots, but he thought he would rather have potatoes. He wished he could go down to the dining room. At least he would be around other people.

Mac finished eating and then just lay there and stared at the wall. He did not have the remote for the TV. He felt trapped in this room and it would soon be night again. Tomorrow would be different maybe. At least he would be doing some sort of therapy. Being bedridden was full of embarrassing situations when one could not get up at all.

Soon, Arthur came back into the room. "That was a good supper," he declared. "They have good food here. Did you get yours?"

"Yes," Mac said.

"You don't look very happy."

"I'm not."

"Don't worry. They take good care of you here. They are very good to you and make sure you have what you need."

Mac thought that was easy for him to say. He could get up and walk around. "How long was it before you could get up?" he asked.

"Oh, about two weeks. I had to go through a lot of therapy before I could just walk around."

"I mean, getting up at all."

"You mean in a chair? Probably a week. I had to let that hip get settled in."

"I don't know how long I'll be laying here."

"Don't get depressed about it." Arthur got the remote to the TV. "Watch anything you want. I don't mind at all."

Mac looked at the TV. He supposed it would be better than just lying here aching all over. His legs ached, his arm ached and his back ached. He turned the TV on. He realized his feet even ached but there was nothing he could do about it. Any movement of his legs sent pains all through them. He flipped the channels on the TV with boredom. He did not think anything could make him feel better in this room. Maybe Don would bring some reports for him to sign. He would rather do that than to just lay here doing nothing. Everyone thought he needed rest. How much can a person rest? He wanted something to do. He wanted out of this bed…but that was ridiculous. He was getting claustrophobic again. He tried to get interested in the TV.

Arthur got into his bed and lay down. "Well, what do you usually do when you have a day off at home?" he asked.

"I don't usually take days off," Mac said.

"Oh, you're one of those, huh?"

Mac looked at him. "One of those?"

"Yeah, one of those people who never stop working. No wonder you're so miserable in here."

"I didn't say I was miserable."

"You don't have to say it."

Mac frowned. Was it that obvious? "Well, I'm sorry if I bother you with my boredom."

"You're not bothering me. I'm just glad to have some company."

Mac looked at the old man. "Doesn't your wife come to see you?" he asked. He had seen the wedding ring on the man's hand.

"My wife died…a long time ago," Arthur said.

"I'm sorry. I just thought…"

"That's alright. I never took it off."

Mac remembered when he still wore his wedding band. He thought maybe he would have been better off if he had not taken his wedding ring off. He should have just done what he wanted and not listen to everyone around him saying he needed to get out. He sighed. It had done him no good to get out.

Arthur sat up in bed and looked at Mac. "My wife died on nine-eleven," he said.

Mac looked at Arthur, clearly shocked by that statement. "In the towers?" he asked.

"Yeah. She was there at a business meeting. She never wanted to retire."

Mac did not know what to say. "And you never took your ring off," he said.

"I didn't see any reason to. We had been married forty years. I didn't want anyone else. Besides I had my kids."

Mac was bombarded by all his regrets and horrors of that day. "My wife died that day too," he said wondering if she had met Arthur's wife.

"Oh, so that's why you're not married then."

Mac nodded. "I guess I don't want anyone else either."

"Well, when you're married to the woman you love and you lose her, what else is there out there?"

"Nothing."

"But you're not as old as I was. You must have been quite young when she died."

Mac frowned. "I was thirty-nine."

"That's the prime of life. Any kids?"

Mac shook his head. "No." How did he wind up in this room with someone who shared the same story he did?

"Kids take some of the pain away because I can see her in them."

Mac thought of Reed and how much like Claire he was. Even though he was not his son, he had wanted to have a relationship with him because he was all of Claire that he had left. "I understand that."

"Why didn't you have any kids?" Arthur asked.

Mac sighed. He was not sure now. "I thought I wasn't ready and thought we had…time."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, we take time for granted, don't we?"

"I did take time for granted."

"You think you have all the time in the world and then suddenly, it's gone." Arthur looked at Mac. "Was she waiting for you during your wars?"

"She was but we didn't get married until I came back."

"How old were you then?"

"Twenty-six."

"I was twenty when we got married. Then I shipped out. I had something to dream about though while I was laying over there in a fox hole or trekking through jungle or water so deep I barely had my head above it, and rain falling so hard you wondered if it was going to pound you into the ground."

Mac had not had to worry about rain where he was. He wondered what was worse…water or sand. He had thought he ate more sand than food while he was over there and he thought he had washed off a pound of sand every time he took a shower. "Sand is terrible too," he said. "It gets everywhere and you wonder how it gets in some places."

Arthur laughed heartily. "Well, leeches do too," he said. "I found leeches in places that I sure didn't want them." He shivered. "It was a jungle out there."

"But you just keep on going."

"Yep. You know it can't last forever."

"That desert seemed to last forever. Nothing but sand and the smell of those oil wells burning…I can still smell it now, and the smoke was black and I just wondered why anyone would be so cruel as to do something like that and all the other things he had done."

"Kill their own. It's definitely a mystery to me."

Just then, the nurse came in with their medications. "How are you two doing this evening?" she asked.

Mac realized he was not feeling so depressed now but his legs and arm were aching as well as his back. "I'm feeling better," he said.

"Good." The nurse checked his vitals and then gave him his medication.

Mac watched as the nurse gave Arthur his medicine. Mac thought he was glad Arthur was in there. He was from a different generation and Mac always liked talking to older people. They were full of wisdom and knowledge.

When the nurse was gone, Arthur looked at Mac. "How was sleeping over there?" he asked.

Mac looked at him. "Well, you know you have to sleep light, and there was always sand around."

"We usually slept wet. I don't think there were any days when we didn't get wet," Arthur said. "I remember sleeping in the jungle and one morning I woke up and there was a cobra staring at one of my men. I knew if he woke up and started moving, that cobra was going to strike. I had a machete with me and I knew I could cut that snake's head off before he moved cause those machetes were sharp enough to cut through anything. Just as I was about to cut his head off, my friend started moving. I yelled for him to stay perfectly still and he was like a statue and it didn't take a second for him to see that snake. I swiped that thing and beheaded him. You never saw such coiling and squirming but that was a tense situation."

"I can imagine. We had to deal with scorpions and snakes over there. Those snakes would crawl into the tent at night and curl up in your bed if you didn't have the covers under the mattress. And the scorpions…they would crawl into your boots or clothes." Mac almost shivered thinking about it. "I almost put my foot in on one once, but I saw him. From then on, I knew why they told us to shake out our boots and clothes."

"Always those simple little orders that you don't need to overlook."

Mac started to feel his medicine. He thought it always started acting fast. "So, what was your final rank?" Arthur asked.

"Lieutenant."

"I was a sergeant. I got to yell at people."

Mac laughed but it almost hurt to laugh even though he was starting to feel numb again. "I guess I did too," he said.

"That medicine just knocks you out, doesn't it?"

Mac nodded but he had his eyes closed. If Arthur kept talking, he did not hear him…