We've taken different paths and traveled different roads
I know we'll always end up on the same one when we're old
And when you're in the trenches and you're under fire
I will cover you
- Brother, Kodaline
Juliet
It was an interesting thing to be witness to the human condition. To see the ripple effect one person could have on many. Often, an impact such as the one she was seeing isn't observed or appreciated until an individual is gone—and it's captured in a tearful eulogy or etched in an epitaph.
But with these men, she was watching it play out before her eyes, and it quite took her breath away.
As though sensing Rick and TC were walking a very thin thread of control, Katsumoto hurried ahead of them to the nurse's station, flashed his badge, and asked about a patient brought in by ambulance roughly ten minutes ahead of their arrival.
"He's in the ER," Katsumoto reported. "They don't know much yet."
"One of us needs to be in there with him when he comes to," Rick told the police detective.
"I don't know if that's—"
"He's not trying to be difficult," TC interjected. "We just know from experience what that man is like when he's hurt and scared."
Katsumoto lifted a hand, nodding. "I understand, but it's not my call. They will come get us when they know more."
Juliet watched Rick and TC exchange an unreadable glance, then turn toward the comfortably appointed waiting room. She saw that it had couches and broader-based chairs and included a coffee bar. Nice. Now if it just had a sweater; the air conditioning was rather unforgiving.
"I'm so sorry to trouble you," Juliet turned back to the nurse's station. "But you wouldn't have a spare scrub top I could borrow?"
The dark-haired nurse smiled at her sympathetically, careworn lines crinkling around her eyes. "Sure, honey. Come with me."
Juliet followed the older woman around a corner and paused outside of a large window while the woman went to get her a warmer shirt. As she watched through the window, she realized she was seeing into the exam bay where they were treating Magnum.
She watched, transfixed as they hurried around him, adding an IV in his other arm, pulling the filthy, make-shift bandage away from his bloody side. She winced as she saw them palpate his chest and belly and saw Thomas' neck arch, his head pressing back against the pillow in pain.
They kicked a wheel brake on the bed free and began to wheel him hastily down a short hallway.
"Friend of yours?"
Juliet jumped at the unexpected voice. She turned to see the older nurse standing next to her with a scrub top in her hands. Juliet nodded as she took the top and slid it on over her head.
"Do you know where they're taking him?"
"My guess would be x-ray or CT," the nurse replied, her brown eyes soft as she studied Juliet. "I could keep tabs on him, if you like?"
Juliet smiled. "Thank you…."
"Alani."
"Thank you, Alani," she said, holding her hand out for the other woman to shake. "I'm Juliet. And I'm going to be waiting with a few men over there. They're Thomas'…brothers," she tilted her head, offering a version of the truth she hoped the nurse would accept, "and they're…scared for him."
Alani nodded. "I'll let you know as soon as I find out anything."
Returning to the waiting room, Juliet saw that Katsumoto had helped himself to a cup of coffee, but Rick and TC were sitting next to each other, staring into the middle distance. TC leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and Rick was bent over, his elbows on his knees. Sighing, Juliet fixed two cups of coffee and carried them over to the men. At this point, they all had been up over twenty-four hours and the toll was beginning to show.
Handing the men the coffee, she said softly, "It seems they're taking him back for x-rays."
Rick's head bounced up so fast Juliet winced in sympathy of his neck muscles. "They told you this?"
"I befriended a nurse," Juliet explained, gesturing to her attire. "She promised to keep us updated."
"Holy shit," Katsumoto suddenly whispered from the corner of the room near the coffee machine.
"What?" TC asked, coming alive and pulling away from the wall.
Katsumoto crossed the room to them, holding out Magnum's phone. "Looks like we were wrong on multiple counts."
Rick stood up, taking the phone from Katsumoto and Juliet peered at the screen across his arm. He was thumbing through pictures. Of…them? Rick at the club, TC fixing his helicopter, Juliet doing yoga.
"What is…I don't understand," Juliet replied, confused.
"Look at the last one," Katsumoto told them.
Rick thumbed the image forward and suddenly Juliet saw herself once more, only this time Magnum was also in the shot—as were the crosshairs of a rifle.
"Holy shit," Rick murmured in agreement with the detective.
"Seems Iona was sending Magnum a message," Katsumoto stated.
Juliet felt the blood drain from her face; she stepped back, covering her mouth with a suddenly very cold hand. Rick looked at her over his shoulder.
"You said he was acting like you were under fire," he reminded her.
She nodded shakily. "Yes…he," she swallowed, pulling her hand away from her mouth and squaring her shoulders. She was a big girl. She could take this hit. "He tackled me from the pagoda as though there was a—"
"Sniper rifle trained on you," TC finished.
"Yes, quite."
Katsumoto dragged a hand down his face. "I was so off on this one," he muttered. "And if he doesn't—"
"Do not finish that sentence," Rick growled.
Katsumoto nodded, regarding Rick solemnly. "I need to get to the station, get Meghan Iona and her sons in protective custody—"
"And Kumu," Juliet interjected.
"And Kumu," Katsumoto agreed. "And make sure I've rounded up all of Iona's minions. There's enough on that phone to put him away for a very, very long time." He sighed, rolling his neck as he plucked the phone from Rick's hand. "Five-O is going to have a field day with this one."
"We'll keep you informed, Detective," Juliet promised.
"Thanks," Katsumoto replied, his gaze glancing off her and landing on TC and Rick.
"Thanks for carrying him out of the jungle," TC said, holding out a hand for Katsumoto to shake.
Rick didn't offer a hand, but he did shift his posture to a less defensive stance. "And for not letting him die on that table."
"Pretty sure straddling Thomas Magnum was the strangest thing I've ever done," Katsumoto said with a half-smile, a desperate attempt at levity. He turned to leave when Rick's voice stopped him once more.
"Hey, Katsumoto," Rick called, stepping forward, his arms wrapped around his chest. "See what you can find out about Aaron Shepherd's murder, will ya? Thomas is going to want to know."
Katsumoto nodded, then saluted them with Magnum's cell phone and left the room. Everyone sat down for a moment and Juliet watched with a bit of numb detachment as more worried-looking people filtered in, some being called back to the exam area, some consulting with a doctor or nurse off to the side.
The activity of an emergency room was never predictable, she'd learned. There was no constant ebb and flow—it was more of an all or nothing feeling. When the doctor came in with Alani at his side, they were alone in the waiting room once more.
"Family of Thomas Magnum?"
As one, all three of them stood up. The doctor frowned slightly, but Alani stepped forward.
"These are Mr. Magnum's brothers," she stated without guile.
The doctor's sharp eyes darted to Rick's face, then TC's and something about his demeanor shifted. "I'm Dr. Yeats. Let's sit down over here," he said, guiding them to a more private corner.
The trio followed, silently, and Juliet found her heart fluttering against her ribs in anticipation.
"Mr. Magnum is very ill," Yeats began without preamble. "He's suffering from hypovolemic shock, and the gunshot wound is infected—not only from exposure, but the bullet nicked the outer wall of his small intestine and the infection was building internally as well. Do you know how long he went without aid?"
"We estimate approximately fourteen hours," Juliet replied promptly, slightly amazed that her voice was steady.
Yeats nodded. "He also appears to have sustained quite a beating, though the bruising indicates it was longer ago than fourteen hours." He paused. "Do you know the circumstances of this…damage? Was Mr. Magnum tortured?"
"Not this time," TC muttered.
Yeats' frown deepened.
"What he means is," Rick clarified, "the bruises…the beating, it wasn't from torture. Thomas is a Private Investigator and day before yesterday he tangled with the guys who ended up shooting him and leaving him for dead in the jungle. He was on a case."
Yeats was not willing to let TC's comment go. "But he has been tortured."
Juliet watched Rick and TC as they shifted once more—TC leaning back against the wall, Rick leaning forward, braced against his knees.
"There are several scars that could have been from his time in the service," Yeats said, revealing he'd at least given Magnum's chart a cursory view. Juliet had no idea how much detail was included in the medical records available in Hawaii. "But some are…rather vicious."
"A little over three years ago," Rick finally spoke up, "the three of us and one other buddy were captured by the Taliban. We were held for eighteen months before we escaped. And yeah, Thomas was tortured."
Yeats nodded slowly, absorbing this information. "We are prepping him for surgery now," he told them. "We're going to attempt to clean out the wound and the infection. He's getting volumes of blood, antibiotics, and fluids. He's young and strong, so I am hopeful about this surgery, but his body has been severely traumatized. Recovery is not going to be easy."
Rick nodded, straightening up. "We need to be with him, Doc," he said, a determined glint in his blue eyes. "We won't get in the way; we'll let your medical staff do their job. Be we can't let him wake up alone."
Yeats looked down, pulling on his lower lip, as though considering Rick's words.
"He was…they kept him away from us for long periods of time," Rick continued. "In a dark hole, exposed to the elements. And with his head all messed up right now, it's just…."
"Is he a danger to himself?" Yeats asked. "Or to my staff?"
"No," TC spoke up, his low voice a punch of sound in the quiet corner. "Not if we're with him."
Yeats looked over his shoulder at Alani, who nodded.
"I'll work out the specifics," she reassured them. "My sister works up on ICU; she'll help us out, don't worry."
"Thank you," Juliet replied for the three of them.
"My advice to you would be to go home, shower, eat, sleep, then come back," Yeats told them. "The surgery is going to take a while, and he won't be awake for several hours when it's done."
They nodded, but Juliet's gut told her they were going to ignore him. When the doctor left, she regarded Rick and TC for a moment before speaking.
"I will go get us some new clothes, and some food," she offered. "You two look like you just walked out of a war zone."
Rick looked down at himself as though only realizing his pink pants and Hawaiian shirt were smeared with mud and blood. TC didn't move. She couldn't read them in this moment. The exhaustion was real and palpable, but there was something else there. An invisible wall that set her firmly on the outside.
"Thanks, Juliet," Rick accepted, finally.
It wasn't until she stepped out into the mid-day sun that she realized she didn't have a car available. Sighing, she dug into her pocket for her cell phone when the officer who was at the house with them walked up to her.
"Miss Higgins?" he smiled. "Detective Katsumoto asked me to wait for you. Said one of you was going to need a ride."
"Did he?" she smiled back. "Seems your boss is a pretty good detective."
"He's a good man," the officer nodded. "I was, uh…I was surprised to see how worried he was about Mr. Magnum, though."
"And why's that?" Juliet asked as she followed the young man to the police cruiser.
"Always thought he hated the guy," the officer opened the passenger door for Juliet. "He's pretty constantly running him down at the station. But then…when he was giving him CPR, the look on his face…." The officer shook his head.
"I suppose there's room for all of us to change our minds, when given the right details," Juliet replied.
Thomas
Something was wrong.
He was burning, the air pressing against him with barbed hands. He couldn't find his breath and holy shit his side hurt. Someone was stabbing him, repeatedly. He wasn't so much regaining consciousness as he was compiling a crescendo of pain and over-stimulation.
Taking a sharp breath, he tried to reach for whatever was suffocating him, his arms heavy and sluggish, the movement uncoordinated and painful. A hand—like a heated brand—clasped his and his senses were hit with a new barrage of disconnected, disjointed information.
He could smell the damp, mildewed air of the cave, the weighted dust from the hole, the dank mud of the jungle. There was a dull roar—like white noise or the sound of rain—tamping down his eardrums and he could taste the metallic tang of his own blood. He felt like he was falling and caught in a too-tight grip at the same time—his body rapidly shifting between being set on fire and bathed in ice.
A scream—like a high-pitched machine—sounded off to his right and Thomas' breathing hammered through his dry, parted lips. Whatever was on his face caught his panting breaths and shoved it back at him so that he felt he was choking on air.
He'd felt this sensation before. In the cave. When they waterboarded him. Before throwing him in the hole.
And they were going to do it again, they were going to do it again, they were going to do it again.
He couldn't go back there, not there, not now, they'd gotten out, they were out they were out they were out—
Hands pressed on his shoulders, voices swam around him with meaningless words and Thomas' body shook. He couldn't fight them. And his friends were going to die.
They were going to die.
Because of him.
Juliet
By the time she returned, hours had passed. She'd taken the doctor's advice, showered, eaten, gathered a change of clothes for all, and picked up water and protein bars for Rick and TC. She was informed by Alani that Thomas was out of surgery and in a room in ICU, but it didn't look good.
"What does that mean, exactly?" Juliet asked, needing to ground herself in facts before confronting the two soldiers who stood guard over their friend.
Alani consulted a hand-written note. "Dr. Yeats said that his heart stopped once on the table but were able to resuscitate him. The infection was bad and while they were able to repair the damage from the bullet, they couldn't get it all. He has a very high fever and his heart is weak from the blood loss."
She looked up from the note, her eyes soft once more. "I'm sorry, Juliet. I will say a prayer for him."
Juliet swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Thank you, Alani."
She stepped onto the lift and leaned against the wall as she watched the numbers light up. He had to survive this. There was no other option. He had to at least offer her the courtesy of changing her opinion of him.
Facts slipped through her mind on a disjointed reel and as the door opened, she felt slightly lightheaded when they landed on the memory of Thomas pulling her from the pagoda to the ground, covering her with his body because he thought they were under sniper attack. He'd saved her life.
And she'd treated him like shit in return.
"Oh, you're surviving this, Magnum," she muttered as she stepped out to the ICU floor. "I won't hear of any other outcome."
She was directed by Alani's sister, Lili, to a room at the far edge of the nurse's station. Each room was private, with a wide glass door that slid aside or could be pulled free to allow space for a crash cart and team. A privacy curtain was pulled to on the inside of the door and Juliet paused at the nurse's station before approaching.
"How is he?"
Lili grimaced and Juliet was struck by the family resemblance between the two nurses when they showed sympathy.
"He shouldn't be awake yet, but he's fighting the sedatives," she revealed. "He's had some pretty rough reactions."
"Allergic reactions?" Juliet asked.
Lili shook her head. "Nightmares, more like. He's disoriented, combative. But his body is so weak, he can't really do much damage. And having his brothers close seems to be helping."
Juliet nodded, and smiled her thanks before moving to the door and pausing just outside. She could hear the various steady beeps from the monitors she imagined to be flanking either side of Thomas' bed. Her face pulled into a pained frown when she heard Thomas' voice.
"We got out…we got out…."
God, he sounded wrecked, the usual lilting timber ragged and stretched.
"Easy, Tommy," Rick soothed. "You're okay, man. You're safe."
"Don't let 'em die…."
"Jesus, TC," Rick croaked. "He's shaking so much right now."
"I know, man," TC replied.
"My fault…'s my fault…."
"I'll get the nurse," TC offered. "Maybe they can up his pain meds."
"No, wait," Rick said. "He's calming down. And I think it's the pain meds that do this to him. Remember Germany?"
"Not like I can forget."
Juliet almost reached out to part the curtain and step inside when a sound stopped her. It was a sob, pulled from a place so private that it froze her in her tracks. For a moment she couldn't tell which man had made the sound until she heard TC's voice.
"I got you. I got you, man."
"Shit, I'm sorry," Rick gasped, his voice thick with emotion and Juliet could hear as he tried to swallow the tears and regain control. "Sorry, TC, man. I just. I'm tired is all."
"And you're scared and you're hurting," TC filled in, his voice low, soft, steady. "It's like you got a limit on your tears, man. You let a few go, and then you pull all that pain back inside and hold it tight so it can't escape."
"You don't need to deal with this," Rick protested.
"Maybe I do," TC replied, and Juliet heard the soft huff as he sat on something—possibly the edge of Thomas' bed. "Maybe I need to know you're still as messed up as me. As Thomas. Maybe I need to see that guy who cried and held onto him all night every time they brought him back to us, man. Maybe I need to know it's okay I feel that way, too."
"It is," Rick returned quickly.
"So, what?" TC challenged. "It's okay for me to cry, and it's okay for Thomas to be scared, but you gotta hold it all together? Thought we said Thomas was our glue, not you."
Rick was silent a moment and then Juliet heard him utter a wet laugh. "Thomas said I was our heart."
"He's not wrong there," TC muttered.
"He was half out of his mind with exhaustion—it was after Higgins guilted him into washing the Ferrari."
Juliet winced at that. They were right. She had layered on the guilt.
"Rick, man," TC sighed. "Sometimes…pain cuts so deep that you need to cry every single tear that's inside you. There's nothing wrong with that. If you don't, you end up with a backlog and it chokes up your whole system."
"You make me sound like a helicopter engine."
"It's not that much different."
There was a quiet beat. There were two kinds of pain in the world, Juliet realized. The kind that hurts and the kind that alters. And both were caught inside that small ICU room.
"Looks like he's sleeping now," Rick observed. "Sure doesn't like that oxygen mask, though."
"Well, I'd prefer he keep breathing, so it stays," TC declared.
Juliet decided to stop her voyeuristic behavior and parted the curtain, stepping quietly inside.
"Gents," she greeted them. "I have clothes and food."
"Oh, you beautiful Brit," Rick stood from where he'd been perched on the only chair in the room.
She smiled at him, handing over the bag and watched as they silently communicated who would go change first. She didn't look at Magnum quite yet, instead allowing her eyes to take in the room—a broad window seat next to an oversized square window, curtains pulled. A sink in the back of the room with cabinets on either side. One chair that very obviously pushed into a make-shift bed. Monitors, IV poles, subdued lighting…and Magnum.
"Oh my," she breathed as took in the sight of him.
The blood and mud had been cleaned away, the cuts on his face had been stitched and bandaged, and he did indeed have an oxygen mask on, but it was the pallor, the sunken eyes, the way his dark hair spun around his head.
He looked ancient and young at once, and she felt something pang in her chest at the way his body seemed to tremble even as he lay unconscious under the blankets with wires snaking beneath the hospital gown at all angles.
TC seemed to take pity on her and moved closer to rest a hand on her shoulder.
"He's going to be okay, Higgy," he tried to reassure her. "He's strong."
She nodded and allowed TC to maneuver her to sit on the chair.
"He should sleep for a while," TC told her. "Or so they said. He keeps trying to wake up, though." He chuckled. "Our boy's a fighter."
"That much has been made very clear over the last forty-eight hours," Juliet murmured. "Why does he insist it's his fault you were captured by the Taliban?"
TC took a slow breath, then sank down on the window seat. "That's not really my story to tell," he said. "Basically, someone Thomas trusted—someone we all trusted, but Thomas most of all—betrayed us. And we found out when we were at the first camp location. After that, Thomas made it his mission to try to keep us as safe as he could."
Juliet quietly watched the man she thought to be nothing more than a playboy and free loader breathe shakily, on the bed before her, the heart monitor alternately spiking and steadying.
"When Robin…informed me that there would be someone living in his guest house, he gave me some words of caution," she told TC. Handle with care. She'd had no idea what he'd meant at that time, but she was starting to get a glimpse of it now. "I'm afraid I ignored him."
TC chuckled. "Yeah, well, Robin says a lot of shit. Half the time you don't know if it's a line from one of his damn stories, or if it's really him talking to you."
"You knew him well?" She asked. "Before now, I mean."
TC nodded. "As much as anyone can really know Robin. We were on his protection detail whenever he was downrange. He took a liking to Thomas and the two of them were pretty much inseparable. Nuzo watched them like some kind of freaking Italian mother hen. He knew Robin was going to get Thomas hurt one day."
Juliet half-turned in the chair to face TC. "Why is that?"
"Because Robin was—"
"Reckless," Rick interjected as he returned to the room, looking human once more.
"I was going to say fearless…but yeah, reckless is better."
"Thanks for the threads, Juliet," Rick smiled at her. He'd clearly had a make-shift shower and now that he was dressed in clean clothes, seemed almost back to his old self. "You're up, buddy." He tossed the duffel to TC and took up his post at the side of Thomas' bed.
Juliet smoothly shifted from the chair to the window seat and gestured for Rick to take the chair. When TC left the room, Juliet pressed forward.
"So, Robin was reckless?"
Rick huffed. "And singular minded. When he got an idea in his head, he couldn't let it go until he made it a reality. Even if that idea was an article on how war impacted the women and children in Taliban-controlled areas of Afghanistan."
Juliet's eyebrows bounced up. "And he'd have to have first-hand information, I imagine."
Rick nodded. "And Thomas watched his back. Every step of the way."
"Who watched Thomas' back?" Juliet asked, lips quirking into a smile.
"You can see a lot from the site of a sniper rifle," Rick replied enigmatically.
"Nuz…," Thomas muttered, brows pulled together across the bridge of his nose.
Rick leaned forward and collected Thomas' limp hand, folding his fingers around the pulse oximeter on the other man's index finger.
"Yeah, Nuzo watched your back, too, buddy," Rick replied. "He didn't let you out of his sight, did he?"
"Sorry…." Thomas whispered. "'m so sorry…."
Rick sighed, brushing Thomas' short hair back from his forehead. "I wish you could let that go."
Lili stepped through the curtain with a tray of needles and bottles of clear liquids. "Dr. Yeats wants to try a different pain med and a new antibiotic. Mr. Magnum needs to rest to heal, and he's not getting there like this."
Rick and Juliet nodded and watched as Lili injected the medication into Magnum's IV. The result was almost instantaneous. Thomas visibly relaxed into the bed and the heart monitor picked up a steady, calm beat rather than the erratic cadence of before.
"Wow," Rick commented, blinking.
Lili smiled. "Dr. Yeats pulled Mr. Magnum's full file and saw the different treatments he'd been given when you were in Germany. He thought this might do the trick."
"If he sleeps through the night, tell Yeats he's my new hero," Rick grinned.
"I'll make a note of it," Lili replied.
When TC returned, Juliet bid both men goodbye and told them she'd be back in the morning—she knew they wouldn't want her lingering all night. They promised to update her if anything changed. As she left the hospital, though, she found she was too wound up to return to the estate. She ended up at the police station, making her way to Detective Katsumoto's desk.
He blinked, surprised to see her, and she saw the instant the fear that the worst had happened cross his features.
"He's alive," she hastened to reassure him. "He made it through surgery, but…he's having a tough go of it. Rick and TC are with him."
Katsumoto tried to shrug off his reaction, but she saw his shoulder sag in relief.
"I wanted to see if there was any news about Mr. Shepherd?"
Katsumoto blinked again. "I thought you'd be checking on the Iona case, quite frankly."
Juliet lifted a shoulder. "With the amount of evidence Magnum provided you, and the skill of your team, I trust you have that well in hand."
"Well…I do," Katsumoto replied. "And thanks to an anonymous tip received earlier today, we're also building a case against Greg Pulawa, Meghan Iona's father."
Juliet glanced to the side. "Anonymous tip, you say?"
Katsumoto studied her another moment, then pointed at a file. "Here's everything we have on the Aaron Shepherd murder. I'm going to refill my coffee."
Juliet smirked, opening the file as he walked away, and studied the information carefully, knowing she couldn't bring it with her. Before Katsumoto returned to his desk, she departed, heading to Shep's Automotive. The Ferrari had been taken to impound and she was welcome to retrieve it, she'd been told, but she decided to leave it there for now.
As she stood outside the autobody shop, the yellow police line do not cross tape snapping in the wind of an oncoming storm, she considered how to help Magnum accept that this murder was not his fault. She could connect the dots as easily as anyone—if he'd not sought refuge and help from the man, Iona would never have had reason to look him up.
But by that token, if she weren't such an uptight wanker about the condition of the Ferrari, perhaps Magnum would have just made his way back to the estate rather than try to get the car fixed before she found out. By that logic, Shep's murder was on her. And she needed to make Thomas believe that.
It would be better for him to hate her than to put further blame on himself.
She wasn't sure his soul could handle much more guilt.
Thomas
For the first time in what felt like days, Thomas felt his body shift to awareness naturally and without the sharp stab of pain and heat.
He ached—a bone-deep pain that told him it was planning on hanging around for a while—but the alternating sensations of fire and ice, of suffocation and darkness, where gone. And in their place was a weariness he hadn't felt in a long, long time.
His eyelids were weighted with reality. He'd woken before and Rick had been next to him. He'd been coherent enough to ask about Meghan, about the bad guys, to want reassurance that everyone was intact, in one piece, alive.
And while his brothers had made it out of that jungle after trekking in to find him and literally carry him out, another friend had fallen victim to Iona's need to find and punish Thomas. Shep hadn't deserved that. And Thomas slept heavy with the knowledge that the man's death was on him.
This time, when he opened his eyes, Juliet Higgins sat curled up in the chair next to his bed. She was reading a paperback novel and had a sweatshirt that was clearly not her own wrapped around her slim body. When he'd woken up before, Rick had told him two days had passed since they carried him out of the jungle.
He wondered how long it had been this time.
"Higgy," he croaked, his rough voice making her jump.
"Magnum!" she exclaimed softly, blinking owlishly at him as she uncurled her legs and sat forward. "It's so good to see you awake."
"Water," he pleaded.
She grabbed a plastic cup with a straw and helped him take a small sip before pulling it away. "They said not much—your GI track can't really take it quite yet."
"How long?" he asked.
"You've been in ICU for four days," she informed him. "Your fever broke yesterday."
"Rick?"
Juliet smiled. "He's taking a break, getting some sleep. He's just downstairs, though, I can call—"
"No," Thomas shook his head. His throat was on fire, but he didn't want to go back to sleep yet.
Juliet tucked her book into the pocket of the too-big hoodie she wore. "Are you in pain? Do need anything?"
Thomas looked past her to the curtained window. "'s it raining?"
"Yes," Juliet smiled at him, then stood to pull the curtain slightly away from the glass, revealing the water-slicked window and gray world outside. "It's been storming for two days."
She started to drop the curtain again, but he shook his head. "Want t'see."
Juliet nodded, then drew the curtain back a bit so that he could see the outside. She sat down next to him again and he felt her sigh. It seemed to fill the room with her guilt.
"Magnum, I need to tell you…I am sorry about your friend Shep."
He didn't look at her, choosing to keep his eyes on the rain. The rain washed everything away. Started it fresh. He was able to soak it into his skin, feel clean again if only for a moment. No matter how cold it got, no matter how hard he shook with the chill of it, rain was freedom and peace and escape all in one.
"I know it's because of me," she continued. "And I am so very sorry for that."
Thomas blinked. She was taking this away from him. This responsibility. This guilt. But she couldn't; not when he was the one to blame. Not when people died because of him.
"They do not," Juliet snapped, and he dragged his gaze back to her, surprised. He hadn't realized he'd said anything out loud. "You are no more responsible for what happened to Shep than you are to…to Nuzo—"
"Don't," Thomas snapped, his voice like a broken guitar string. "Not him."
Juliet swallowed, looking down, almost contrite, as though realizing she'd taken her argument a step too far. Thomas let his eyes wander back to the window and the rain.
"Thomas," she said softly. "You can…you can feel guilty. But you are not guilty. Don't misidentify that you are what you feel. Emotions are not reality."
He didn't look at her. Even if he had the energy to explain to her, she wouldn't understand. He didn't know if he even understood. It was simply a feeling. One so wrapped in edges it cut him with its very existence.
"I believe I'll go let Rick know you're awake," Juliet said, standing slowly as if she were afraid sudden movements would startle him.
And as much as he hated that, he needed it. Because right now it felt like he was sitting in a box filled with glass shards and the lid was closing. If she left, he'd be alone. And he could feel the air pressing close around him.
"Don't," he said again, but this time he looked at her. "Please?"
Juliet regarded him solemnly and he willed her to understand just by his looking at her. For a moment, he poured every doubt, every fear, every need he'd carried with him from the Taliban caves into his expression and simply willed her to understand he could not be alone right now.
He didn't think he'd survive it.
"I'm going to stand in the doorway," she told him carefully. "You will see me the whole time."
He nodded shakily, keeping his eyes on her hands, her shoulders, anything that meant there was another human in the room with him. He needed that reassurance to remind himself of where he was. When he was. He watched as she held onto the door, keeping the curtain pushed back so that he could see her profile, and called out to the nurse standing at the station.
After a moment she nodded, then ducked back into the room, pull the curtain behind her.
"They are going to let Rick know you're awake," she told him. "He should be here soon."
"TC?" Thomas asked, feeling his throat close. He struggled for a moment before she helped him take another quick drink.
"He's home getting some rest," she told him. "They both wanted to be here the whole time, but after a bit…they started to take shifts."
It reminded him of the weeks after they escaped the Taliban. When they were apparently in Germany, though he wasn't aware of that for some time. As weak and beat up as they had been, someone had always been by his bedside. Grounding him. Reminding him. Keeping him close to them.
"Magnum," Juliet tried again. "It's important that you know…Meghan and her boys are safe because of you."
He slid his eyes away from her, focusing on the rain. Pain meds gave him an easy excuse for detachment. They were the good ones, he could tell. The bone-deep ache would be so much worse without them. But they also gave him a retreat from dealing with the reality of her words.
He couldn't seem to find peace in the safety of his client and her sons. Shep had been killed. Nuzo was still dead. And Rick and TC carried wounds on them that would never heal.
"Magnum?"
He didn't reply to her, simply stared at the rain. He could deal with the rain. He couldn't deal with absolution. Not now. Not…yet.
"I'll just sit here then," she sighed, sinking into the chair and drawing out her book, "while we wait for Rick."
It took Rick less than fifteen minutes to be found, woken, and come up to ICU.
"Hey, buddy," he greeted, entering the room.
Thomas felt his whole being relax at the sight of him. Rick knew. He understood. He wouldn't ask Thomas to accept truths that wouldn't matter in the long run. Part of him registered Juliet's reaction to his relief at seeing Rick, but he couldn't find the energy to care—and he wasn't really able to talk in any case.
Juliet smiled at both, then touched Rick on the arm as she left, leaving the chair vacant for Rick. Thomas tracked his friend with his eyes, keeping his gaze pinned on the familiar roll of Rick's shoulders, the way his hands were held carefully at his sides in case he needed to grab something or steady something at a moment's notice. He watched Rick sink into the chair with a loud sigh, his whole body seeming to descend into the curve of the faux leather.
"So, how are you feeling?"
Thomas swallowed hard, glancing at the cup of water.
"You know you're not supposed to have much right now," Rick said. "Just enough to wet your mouth, okay? Don't think you want to be getting sick when you still have a hole in your belly."
Thomas shook his head but eyed the water in any case.
"Okay," Rick sighed, grabbing the cup, then helping Thomas sip some of the water. "Okay, that's enough bud. You've been down this road before."
"Pictures?" Thomas asked as he leaned back.
"Yeah, we got the pictures to Katsumoto," Rick replied, sounding as if he'd answered this question before. Thomas wondered how many times he'd repeated himself over the last week. "Right now, all you gotta do is worry about healing up so you can get outta here, okay?"
"Fuckin' hurts, man," Thomas grumbled, closing his eyes.
"Yeah, well, getting shot will do that to you," Rick replied.
They sat still for a moment, Thomas' eyes straying to the window behind Rick, the rain a soothing reminder of a world beyond all of this pain. All of this uncertainty.
"How bad?" he suddenly heard himself asking.
Rick looked down at the palm of his hand, his eyes masked—and that made Thomas nervous. He always knew what to think when he could see Rick's eyes. He always knew where he stood.
But now….
"Where's Nuzo, Tommy?" Rick asked suddenly.
Thomas went cold. He blinked, feeling his body shudder in response to that question.
"What?"
Rick looked up at him and Thomas saw something sharp and cold in his friend's gaze.
"Is Nuzo alive?"
The question hit the air like an audible strike, shattering against him and filtering around the room like dust from an old battle.
"What…?"
"I need you to answer me right now," Rick said, his eyes level, his voice low.
And as though it was happening all over again, Thomas felt that panic and the pain that was seeing the abandoned ambulance, stolen by the same people who'd ripped Nuzo from his home and family. He felt his heart pound as it had when he approached the door—the monitors picking up his anxiety and projecting it around the room. He caught his breath, unable to keep it steady, feeling his lungs press painfully against broken ribs.
He saw Nuzo sitting slumped in the back of the ambulance, blue eyes staring sightlessly back at him, blood smeared over his face and hands. He saw those same eyes grounding him, steadying him, challenging him over a year and half trapped in Hell. He saw those hands holding him up, saving him, carrying him from the cave and torture.
Tears filled Thomas' eyes and he blinked, sending them careening down his bruised cheeks. He couldn't quite catch his breath because he knew. He knew, but he didn't want to say. Because if he said, it was all real.
Everything he saw was real.
"Tommy?" Rick's voice broke, and he leaned forward, his hand going to the back of Thomas' neck in a solid grip that spoke of brotherhood.
Rick's fingers dug into the sore muscles along his neck and Thomas broke.
He heard it build up at the back of his throat and shatter as it hit the air, the sound drawing Rick closer in shared misery. The other man hitched a hip on the bed, mindful of the wires leading to and from Thomas' body and pulled Thomas close to him, burying his face in his shoulder. Thomas clutched at him, gripping his shoulders, his back, holding on for dear life as he wept.
"No," Thomas choked out through his tears. "No."
No, he wasn't alive. No, he wasn't with them. No, he hadn't saved him.
"It's not your fault, man," Rick whispered, arms wrapped around Thomas, bracing him, holding him. As he'd done so many times before. As Thomas so desperately needed him to do now. "It's not your fault, Tommy."
"He's gone, Rick," Thomas gasped. "I can't…I can't…."
He couldn't keep going, living like everything was going to be okay because it wasn't okay. It never would be okay. He lost his balance and he was never getting it back.
"Yes, you can," Rick told him, holding him tighter until Thomas found he was desperate for a breath. "You can. You just put it back in that box and you close that lid and you put it up on a special shelf saved for times when it's right to remember. You keep him locked up inside of you, away from the world."
Thomas felt Rick's hand slide up from his neck to the back of his head, his fingers pressing deep into his scalp as though to brand his words there.
"You put it back in a box and you close that fucking lid, man."
Thomas nodded weakly against Rick's shoulder.
"You close the lid, Tommy," Rick repeated. "You can do that."
"I can," Thomas said, his breath hitching.
"You can," Rick encouraged.
After a minute, Thomas sagged a bit in Rick's arms, lacking the strength to hold himself up any longer. Rick helped him ease back against the pillows, then gripped his hand. Neither spoke. It was as though all their words had been used up.
"Get some rest, Thomas," Rick said, carefully releasing his hand.
Thomas felt panic well up in his throat. "Don't leave."
"Not going anywhere, man," Rick smiled at him. "You're my priority right now."
Thomas smiled wearily at him. He was exhausted. This was the longest he'd been awake for days. With Rick's hand on his arm he let himself slip from awareness to sleep, eyes on the darkening skies through the window.
He didn't mean to let himself fall back to the hole, but it was waiting for him. He could feel the momentary surprise of relief as he was hauled—a bag over his head—from the cave's interrogation room to the outside, the burst of fresh air, chilled or otherwise, just before he was dropped unceremoniously into the hole, barely avoiding breaking his ankles as he landed.
It was so dark in there. And there were so many monsters in the dark. Monsters of people he'd killed in battle, of people he'd not saved, of his father, his family, his friends. They came at him as he slept, while he was awake. They spoke to him with the scurry of the rats and the heat of the sun. They called to him and cursed him and taunted him and he felt their screams in his heart.
He woke with a start, jackknifing forward in the bed, unable to catch his breath. The room was dark around him and he couldn't seem to clear his blurred vision to reorient himself to where he was—the hole? The cave? His room?
He pulled his legs up, trying to tuck them close to his body, make himself as small as possible so the space around him grew larger, his breath hammering from his dry lips like a freight train. Where the hell was he?
"Easy, Magnum," came a voice from the dark.
He jerked violently as a hand landed on his arm, a machine screaming near him.
"Where—" he tried to ask, but his throat closed, his instinct shutting down any sound he'd make before a hit could come at him out of the dark.
He lifted a hand as though to ward off a blow and he felt the air around him change, softer lights coming on to illuminate a hospital room and a confused Asian man standing at the foot of his bed. A woman in hospital scrubs stood next to him, adjusting something on a machine.
"You're safe, Mr. Magnum," she said. "Your friend will be back soon; I need you to try to straighten your legs, can you do that?"
He could, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. The smaller his space the safer he was. Although this position was making his side weep in protest.
"Magnum," the man at the foot of his bed said, "you're going to open up your stitches, and you really don't want to do that."
Katsumoto, that was his name. Police detective. Not exactly a fan, but he was wearing him down. Thomas straightened out his legs slowly, feeling his body release a breath of gratitude at the change in position.
"Where's Rick?" Thomas rasped as the nurse handed him some ice chips.
"He'll be right back," she said. "You were sleeping so well, we thought it would be safe for him to leave for a moment."
Thomas blushed, rubbing at his face where the oxygen cannula rubbed at his bruises. He wasn't making life very easy on his friends right now. He looked over at Katsumoto and wondered what he thought about all of this.
"Hey," he greeted the detective. "What are you doing here?" He took the ice chips from the nurse, trying to steady his own hand without the aid of her support.
Katsumoto came cautiously closer to the bed, nodding at the nurse as she moved back through the opened curtain toward the station just outside his door.
"Came to let you know that you're not being charged for killing Iona's man," Katsumoto began.
Thomas gaped at him. "Wait…what?"
Katsumoto closed his eyes briefly, then lifted his chin and squared his shoulders as though centering himself before continuing. "Just before we found you, one of Iona's guys got to you first. You…survived. He didn't."
Thomas reached up instinctively and touched the bandaged burn on his chest, staring at the white blanket around his legs. No one had said a word to him. Of course, it wasn't until recently that he'd really been coherent enough to understand anything they'd said anyway…. But somehow, he still knew. It felt like remembering a stranger's dream.
"Also, we were able to charge Iona with your friend's murder—on top of about four other counts of drug, weapons, and human trafficking."
Thomas blinked, impressed. His eyebrows bounced up. "That's some nifty police work."
"We uh…," Katsumoto looked down at the floor, then back up, regarding him solemnly. "We couldn't have done it without you."
Thomas let the cup of ice chips rest in his lap. "Wow. That must have been hard to say."
"You have no idea," Katsumoto smiled at him. "Meghan Iona is safe, too. We've moved her and her boys to WITSEC. She wanted me to give you this," he shifted his hip so that he was leaning against Thomas' bed. He handed Thomas an envelope, saying, "She never meant for you to get hurt; she had no idea what her husband was doing. She was just trying to escape."
Thomas nodded. "She's a good woman," he said, taking the envelope. Hefting it, he could tell it was the rest of his payment, in cash. "She just needed a second chance—away from the people who made her afraid all the time. I'm just glad she's safe."
He frowned down at the envelope. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Depends," Katsumoto replied, peering at him warily.
Thomas handed the envelope back to him. "Shep has a son. He's in his twenties, lives on Oahu. Can you give this to him? He'll need it for funeral costs."
Katsumoto stared at him a long moment. "It's possible I may have misjudged you, Magnum."
"I won't hold it against you," Magnum replied, feeling himself relax once more when Rick and TC entered the room. "Hey," he greeted.
"Hey, bud," Rick replied. "Thought you were going to sleep more."
Thomas started to reply with a quip about Katsumoto waking him up, when he suddenly found himself confessing, "Bad dreams."
Rick nodded, dropping a hand on his leg. "I hear you."
"I'll head out," Katsumoto said, standing up and nodding at Rick and TC. "Just wanted to let Magnum know Devlin Iona was going away for a long time."
"And here I thought you were going to make him thank you for saving his life," Rick teased.
Thomas saw Katsumoto give the blond man a narrow-eyed glare.
"Wright," Katsumoto warned.
"Know why your ribs are so sore, Tommy?" Rick asked.
"Because Devlin's goons beat the hell outta me?" Thomas replied.
Rick tilted his head. "Yeah, okay, that…and…."
Katsumoto shook his head, looking once at Thomas. "I'm glad you're going to be okay. Heal up," he said, departing quickly before Rick was able to finish his sentence.
"That, and…?" Thomas prompted when Katsumoto was out of the room.
"He gave you CPR until the ambulance showed up," TC told him, nodding at Thomas' incredulous expression. "You were in rough shape, man. We got you back to the house, but your heart stopped, and Katsumoto climbed up on the table and kept you going until the paramedics got to you."
Thomas sat with that a minute. "Katsumoto…saved me?"
Rick nodded, clapping a hand gently on Thomas' leg. "Maybe he's not such a bad guy, huh?"
Thomas nodded slowly, rubbing his tender sternum. Between Juliet apologizing for Shep, and Katsumoto saving his life, he was starting to wonder if he'd made the right assumptions about the people in his life. Rick planted himself on the chair next to Thomas' bed while TC perched on the window seat. He started to pull the curtain closed, covering the window when Thomas made a small noise.
TC paused, attuned as always. "No?"
Thomas licked his lips, trying to think of the right way to explain. "I like being able to see outside."
He sensed Rick go still next to him, but TC just nodded. "I get that, brother," he said, keeping the curtain opened.
They settled into what had apparently become routine for them—Rick reading out of one of Robin's books as TC added color commentary—and Thomas found himself drifting. The minute he felt the pull of sleep, however, he startled himself awake, worried that he'd end up back in that hole.
The third time it happened, Rick paused in what he was reading and leveled his bright blue eyes on Thomas.
"Don't worry, Thomas," he said softly. "We're not going anywhere; you can rest."
"Kind of afraid to," Thomas confessed.
"Bad dreams," Rick repeated.
"Yeah," Thomas dropped his head back, trying not to focus on the many, many places his body hurt.
TC chuckled. "You remember how Nuzo got us past those?"
Thomas blinked, glancing over at where the big man filled the window seat. "Wasn't it…a cartoon?"
"Scooby-Doo," Rick grinned. "The man knew every single episode."
"And he would tell it to us, frame by frame, too," TC chuckled again. "Every sway of Daphne's cartoon hips."
Thomas let his eyes drift shut as he smiled, then forced them open once more.
"How about I see if Scooby's on TV?" Rick offered, and Thomas felt his eyes resting on him.
"I'm sorry, guys," Thomas said softly. "This is…ridiculous."
"There is nothing ridiculous about finding clues and solving mysteries, my friend," Rick protested, collecting the TV remove from where it was tucked into the side of the bed. "I mean, it's basically what you do for a living."
"I meant this…whole not being able to be alone thing," Thomas confessed. "I don't know why…it's just…stupid."
"Hey," TC spoke up, turning so that he faced his two friends. "There is nothing stupid about needing people, Thomas. You're there for us, man."
Thomas huffed, thinking of something Juliet had said to him before all of this started. "Yeah…to ask favors."
Rick narrowed his eyes, mirroring TC's posture. "You don't think we know why you do that?"
Thomas looked over at him, confused.
"You don't ask us for favors because you need them," Rick said, leaning back in the chair and resting one ankle across the opposite knee. "You do it because we need them. We need to be needed, relevant, connected. We need to have something to unify us and keep us focused on a singular effort. Turns out…that's helping you."
Thomas glanced down, his face heating up, chagrined. He hadn't meant it to be obvious.
"In the Teams," he said softly, "there's always this moment. Like a line in the road. And something inside of you knows that if you step over that line, there's no going back. Whoever you were before…they're gone. Replaced by the person on the other side of that line."
He felt Rick and TC go quiet. He knew they knew—it wasn't the same in the Marines, but it was close enough. They had their own shit, their own stories. But they knew this one was his, and this one was why.
"Sometimes the other side of that line is surrender, sometimes it's resilience. Sometimes it's darkness and sometimes it's light. But it's always a choice."
He rubbed at the back of his neck, a mannerism he'd picked up in the caves to stave off anxiety. He knew Rick recognized it—there wasn't much that man didn't see. He felt his friend shift—the movement so subtle he had to be looking for it to notice—and lean an arm against Thomas' leg. Just a small pressure, but enough to say I'm here…you're not alone.
"In BUD/s, Nuzo kept me on the right side of that line. Then there were some missions where he knew I would cross it and he just had to…let me. Robin was usually the reason then," he glanced over at the other two and saw them nod in unison. "But in the caves…it was like I could see that line. Like it…swam in front of me. It would be painted on your faces, cutting through the center between those damn cages. It was in that interrogation room, every time their questions echoed. It was in that hole."
He felt emotion building at the base of his throat, threatening to spill over and coat the three of them in pain and memories. But he couldn't stop now. He needed them to know this.
"And I knew I had to keep you guys from crossing it," he continued, his voice breaking. He looked down, unable to meet their eyes, unable to keep his tears at bay. They bounced from his lashes, skipping through the scruff of beard that had grown over his jaw over the last week. "I had to keep you from seeing who waited for you on the other side. So…I crossed it. And it changed me. And then we're home and we're…we're s-safe…," he wiped at his eyes, but didn't let himself look at them. "And I don't know how to stop. There's nothing that's going to hurt you here. But…I still see that line. And I just…I keep thinking I have to keep you on this side."
He sniffed, clearing his throat, then looked up at his friends, surprised to see the tears on Rick's face and to see TC holding his bridge of his nose between two fingers.
"So, you ask us for favors," Rick said, his voice thin but steady, "to keep us focused on you instead of whatever pain we're in. Just like you did in the Valley."
Thomas gave them a half-grin. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Tommy," Rick started, then shook his head and looked down.
Thomas felt himself tense, his battered abdominal muscles clenching as he braced for whatever Rick was going to say. When his friend looked up, tears turning his blue eyes bright, Thomas caught his breath.
"Thank you," Rick concluded.
Thomas felt his chin tremble and he smiled.
"You can rest now, Thomas," TC said softly. "We'll be here when you wake up."
Thomas let himself relax back against the pillows, drying the tears from his face, and listened as Rick started reading once more, the steady cadence of his voice carrying the dry amusement of Robin's interpretation of their exploits.
Thomas felt himself fading once more, but this time allowed it, knowing that if he did slip over that edge into the hole in the darkness of his dreams, he had someone to pull him back.