A/N: Guh, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. Our hard drive CRASHED, and I couldn't use the computer for quite a while. Thank heavens I copied all my files on a CD before we reformatted the drive. Everything we didn't copy was lost. Anyway, thank you all so much for your reviews, even though some were fueled by burning rage and a desire to strangle me. Meh! No matter! It still feels good to hit the 100 mark on my number of reviews. I'm sorry I had to put you all - and my characters - through such torture. But this chapter is to make up for everything that happened in the last one. Seriously, it's going to be so sweet... you might even get cavities.
Oh, but hey, before I get started, I just wanted to clear something up for some of you guys, because I've noticed a little uncertainty in this matter: while many aspects of Rhodes' personality are modeled after the original Great Detective, he is by no means a carbon copy of Holmes. At first it might have seemed like that was where I was going, but as the story progressed, Rhodes somehow became an entirely unique character. I'm not sure how it happened, but there it is. So while he and Holmes do share a lot of similarities, Rhodes is not as... well, cold and cerebral as Holmes. Although he still has a hard time admitting his feelings. So! Now that that's cleared up, let's get this chapter on its way.
Disclaimer: Must I keep doing this? Rhodes and Bridges are mine; "A Study in Scarlet" is not.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A Perfect World
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche
by Wakizashi
Chapter Ten: Reluctant Hero
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
- John 15:13, New International Version
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Early morning sunlight filtered in through the venetian blinds of the east-facing windows, casting striped shadows across the beige decor of the hospital waiting room. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, and the faint sound of traffic could be heard even at five o'clock in the morning. Across the room, a mother kept a close watch on her adorable three-year-old boy as he sat on the floor playing with Tinker Toys, and the receptionist smacked loudly on a piece of gum.
I flipped through a dog-eared, out-dated issue of People magazine, my leg developing a nervous tic from being crossed for so long. Staring blearily up at the wall clock for the eight hundredth time, I sighed. My eyes were so sore, between the crying and the sleep deprivation, that I couldn't even see the words on the page. Not that I was dying to know what Ewan MacGregor was doing this Thanksgiving, anyway.
The double doors swung open, and a surgeon wearing rumpled scrubs and a faint layer of stubble walked into the waiting room. "Miss Bridges?" he inquired, pulling off his surgical mask. "Miss Nadia Bridges?"
My heart leapt up into my throat. Setting the magazine on the chair next to mine, I stood up and walked across the linoleum floor, the rubber soles of the hospital-issue slippers I had been given slapping loudly. "Yes?" I asked anxiously, taken aback by how tired my voice sounded.
The doctor looked up at me sympathetically. I could understand why; I probably looked like a train wreck. "I'm Dr. Weiss," he said, shaking my hand. "You'll be happy to know that your friend Mr. Rhodes will be just fine." My shoulders slumped in relief. "The good news is, the bullet hit him in the right side of his chest, which is far better than the left. The bad news is that it virtually shattered his fourth rib and punctured his lung. And he's lost quite a lot of blood."
*I can imagine,* I thought. The image of his crimson-stained shirtfront would be forever burned into my mind. "How is he now?" I asked.
"He's resting from the operation, and his condition has been upgraded from critical to stable."
"Thank God," I heard myself breathe. My brain was still trying to process all that had happened the night before, but it was still somewhat of a blur. Just as the police had arrived, Hu regained consciousness, and knew he had no hope of escaping. He was taken into custody, and the paramedics lifted Rhodes onto a stretcher and carried him up to the ambulance. Thankfully, they allowed me to ride in the back with him, but halfway to the hospital he had already become delirious. By the time we pulled into the emergency drop-off, he was fully unconscious.
And I had to sit in the waiting room the entire night.
Now I asked hopefully, "Can I see him?"
Dr. Weiss looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Miss Bridges, but I'm afraid only family members are permitted in this case."
"What!?" The receptionist stared at me, and I lowered my voice. "But that's ridiculous! You're saying I waited here all night to see if he would be okay, and now I can't even see him?"
"I'm really very sorry," he replied with that effortless bedside manner that doctors seem to have been born with. "I didn't make the rules. I only abide by them."
"But..." It didn't seem fair, especially in Rhodes' case. If I didn't visit him, who else was going to? "Look, Dr. Weiss. I know the rules say 'family members only'. But this is different. Everyone in his family - his parents, his sister - they're all dead. If anyone can be considered his family, it's me. And that's not saying much." Exhausted and emotionally drained, I basically pleaded with him. "Please, *please* let me see him."
Dr. Weiss wrestled with his conscience for a moment, unused to such ambiguity. Finally he sighed. "Very well. He's currently in room 117, on this floor. I'll take you there."
He led me through the sterile corridors, past the seemingly endless number of doors, until he stopped at a room that lay almost at the very end of the wing. As he opened the door and ushered me inside, I found that the blinds were drawn, and my eyes had to get used to the darkness before I could see anything more than the lights on the regulating machines. Then, after a few seconds, I was able to make out the prone figure on the bed.
Ethan Nicholas Rhodes lay on his back, dressed in a light green hospital gown and sleeping quite peacefully. His left hand rested on his chest, an IV drip hooked up to his wrist. His breathing was a bit shallow, his hair mussed more than usual, and there were dark smudges under his closed eyes, but other than that he might have been taking a nap. If his hospital gown had been white, he would have looked like an angel.
My eyes welled up yet again as I watched him, unable to think about anything but the brave thing he had done. Dr. Weiss noticed and cleared his throat. "I'll leave you alone," he said, standing in the doorway. "And I'll have one of the nurses bring you some coffee." With that he left, shutting the door softly behind him.
Making as little noise as I could, I pulled a chair up next to the hospital bed. The blankets didn't look like they would be warm enough, and I wished I could go get Rhodes' big, goose-down comforter. I would probably bring him something else to wear, as well, since it was quite apparent that he didn't like to wear colors. Shaking my head, I decided the people at the hospital knew what they were doing.
Once again, my mind played over the events leading up to our arrival at the hospital. I could see myself sitting next to Rhodes' stretcher in the back of the ambulance, tightly gripping his bloody hand. As we sped up the streets, bouncing over the potholes, he began mumbling feverishly; scattered memories from his childhood in Georgia. His voice was barely audible over the wailing of the siren, and even as I watched, his brilliant eyes had become cloudier and more distant.
Thank God he was resting now. Reaching out slowly, I brushed his tousled bangs out of his face. His smooth forehead wrinkled slightly, and then relaxed as he sighed in his sleep.
Smiling a little to myself, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Rhodes' jacket hanging from a small coat rack in the corner. I retrieved it and sat down again, draping it over myself. I was exhausted, but I really didn't want to fall asleep if Rhodes was going to wake up any time soon. But then I remembered that he had been given a general anesthetic to help him sleep, and he would probably be out for a few more hours.
*Hell with it,* I finally thought to myself, settling back and shutting my eyes. I would only sleep for a little while.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And a little while it was, for I had barely drifted off before the noises of the morning nurse checking up on her patient's vital signs woke me up. As my eyes fluttered open, she smiled at me, revealing - to my surprise - a mouth full of braces. "Good morning, Miss Bridges," she said pleasantly, setting a cup of coffee on the table beside me. Coffee. How many cups of that black sludge had I served throughout my lifetime? I made a mental note to find another massage instructor, and fast.
Straightening in my chair, I tilted my head to the side, wincing as it gave a loud pop. "It's eight o'clock already?" I asked in disbelief, looking at the clock. "I was hoping I wouldn't sleep that long."
The nurse gave a soft chuckle as she wrote on her clipboard. "When the body goes without sleep for a long time, it basically forces itself to shut down. You were going to sleep whether you wanted to or not."
"Guess so," I replied, setting Rhodes' coat on the bedside table. I looked at him, not surprised to find him still unconscious. "How much longer do you think he'll sleep?" I asked.
"It depends on how much he needed it," she answered. "In this case, his body has undergone quite an ordeal. He could be out for another six, seven hours. But feel free to make yourself at home, watch some TV. Don't worry, it won't wake him up."
I sighed. The only reason his body had taken such abuse in the last twelve hours was because of me. For all I cared, he deserved to sleep all he wanted.
"I'll be back to check on him again in a while," the nurse told me. "Oh, and I believe another visitor asked to see Mr. Rhodes a few minutes ago. I can't think of his name right now, but he was a short, kind of pudgy man. Thinning hair."
My eyebrows climbed toward my own hairline. "Ed Solomon?" I asked warily.
"That's what it was! Now why did I forget? He might still be in the lobby. Would you like me to get him?"
I felt my shoulders slump, but I nodded. He was probably here for a first-hand account of what happened down at the Wharf. "Sure, bring him on in," I said resignedly.
The nurse took her leave, and it was only a short while before the stout, plump form of Agent Edward Solomon appeared in the doorway, his hands in his coat pockets. He nodded his recognition toward me, then stopped abruptly. He looked as though he had just greeted a stranger and hadn't realized it.
"Miss Bridges?" he asked, lingering hesitantly in the doorway.
"Yes," I said slowly, wondering what his problem was. Then suddenly a bright red curl fell into my eyes, and I finally understood his reaction. I had removed my black-framed glasses, but hadn't yet bothered to take off the wig. "Sorry, still in disguise," I explained, pulling the mass of red hair off my head.
He nodded, still a bit uncertain.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and stood up, stretching. "Have a seat, Agent Solomon," I said, gesturing toward the chair. "I've been sitting long enough as it is."
As the construction of metal and plastic groaned in protest under his weight, I pulled the elastic band out of my hair and shook it, ignoring the agent's appreciative glance as the honey-brown locks fell to my shoulders. Some men were just so obvious.
"So," I prompted, forcing him to attention. "What can I do for you, Mr. Solomon? As you can see, Rhodes is pretty much indisposed at the moment."
"Yeah, I can see that," he replied, staring down at the sleeping detective. "Well, Miss Bridges, I already got the official story down at the station, so I'm not here to ask you to repeat your account. I just thought you'd want to know that we got a confession out of Hu."
Hearing my instructor's name still sent an unpleasant feeling down my back. "You did?" I said weakly.
"Yup. Heard his side of the story, naturally." Solomon rolled his eyes. "Suddenly the perfect image of Martin Chan ain't looking so spotless now, is it? Anyway, Hu's decided to plead guilty for his murder. Of course."
I nodded absently, my gaze fixed on Rhodes' peaceful face.
Solomon noticed my distraction. "So this crazy kid took a bullet for you, huh?" He shook his head at Rhodes in a reprimanding fashion. "He's got quite the brain in that head of his, but damned if he ever uses it. Still, he must really love you to do something nuts like that."
"Ed, I'm going to be honest with you," I said wearily. "Rhodes and I aren't going out. He just started the whole ruse so you wouldn't try to hit on me."
The agent blinked, and I couldn't tell if he was offended or not. He certainly didn't look that surprised. Finally he shrugged. "Whatever. Either way, it's still pretty obvious he cares about you. As more than a friend; or partner, or whatever the hell you two are. Why else would he throw himself in front of a gun for you?"
Despite my best efforts, I felt my cheeks grow warm. "I don't know about that," I replied quickly. "If the circumstances were different, I'd do the same for him. And I'm not in love with him or anything." I cocked my head at him. "Why do you care, anyway? What's the real reason you came down here? I know it wasn't just to tell me that Hu confessed."
Solomon shrugged again, looking uncomfortable this time. "Ah well, when I heard what happened, I just thought I'd see how the lanky little retard was doing. Seeing as how he got himself shot and all." His denim-blue eyes wouldn't meet mine.
A slow smile spread over my face. It all made sense now. "I see what's going on," I said, smugness creeping into my voice. "That whole 'I can't stand Rhodes' act you have going on is just a front, isn't it?"
"Oh, don't make it sound like you found life on Mars," he muttered irritably. "Yeah, okay. I admit it. He's a pretty good kid. Sometimes," he added hastily. He spun on Rhodes' slumbering form. "You better not be awake," he told him, pointing an accusing finger.
I crossed my arms over my chest in satisfaction. "I've heard all I needed to know," I announced.
Solomon glared at me from under his heavy eyebrows. Then he stood up, shifting his generous weight from one small foot to the other. "I'd better get back down to headquarters. I'm supposed to be on duty, and the director probably wouldn't be happy if he knew I was visiting freelance detectives with death wishes at the hospital. And their not-really girlfriends," he added pointedly, to my annoyance.
He stuck out a chubby hand. "Take care, Miss Bridges," he said with a bone-crushing handshake. "And not only of yourself. Take care of that idiot over there in the bed, too." With one last nod, he walked out the door.
I couldn't help but laugh to myself as I returned to the chair next to the hospital bed. Suddenly I didn't hate the chunky FBI agent as much as I had before.
After Solomon's departure, the hours went by slowly. The only time I left my steady vigil by Rhodes' side was to use the adjoining bathroom, and to call the coffee house and inform them I wouldn't be at work. I hadn't worked there long, but it was easy to make my boss understand when I told her that 'Mr. Impossible' had been shot while protecting me from a cold-blooded killer. As annoying a customer as Rhodes was, he was still a most faithful patron.
I didn't have much of an appetite as I waited for the young detective to regain consciousness. Nor was I in the mood for a rubbery slab of Salisbury steak, floating listlessly in a swamp of brown gravy. As I recall, the only thing I consented to eat was a cup of lime Jell-o, and even then I had to force it down.
So other than the aforementioned boring but necessary tasks, I did virtually nothing but sit there and listen to Rhodes breathe. Occasionally I surfed through the channels on the small overhead television, but I had trouble paying attention to the omnipresent talk shows and Ron Popeil infomercials. Not that I minded; they didn't get Comedy Central anyway.
At around two-thirty exhaustion was setting in once again. Three hours was definitely not enough rest for an aspiring masseuse/detective, after all, and the steady hum of the regulating machines was, absurdly enough, slowly lulling me to sleep.
Being extremely careful not to disturb Rhodes, I pulled my chair closer to the bed and laid my head on the sheeted mattress, my face buried in my arms. Almost immediately my eyes slid shut, and I waited impatiently for blissful sleep.
If I hadn't been so tired, I would have jumped three feet in the air when I suddenly felt a long, thin hand stroking my hair. Startled, I raised my head. My eyes quickly locked onto a pair of bright green ones, gazing at me fondly.
"You're not wearing that ridiculous wig anymore," said Rhodes softly.
I laughed, blinking back tears. "I told you," I replied, my voice hitching in my throat, "I'm not Irish enough."
He looked around the room for a while with an almost catlike curiosity, plucked at his green hospital gown with distaste. Then he tried to take a deep breath, wincing slightly. "Hurts to breathe," he said tightly.
I nodded sympathetically. "The bullet punctured your lung. It's going to take a while to fully heal." My hand came to rest on his arm. "I still can't believe what you did."
Oddly enough, he seemed not to hear this last statement - or if he did, he didn't show it. Instead, he stared down at my hand, my slight tan in contrast with his pale skin. He appeared to be deep in thought. Then, slowly, he took up my hand in his left one, using his right to run his fingers between my knuckles. My heart gave a leap, against my will.
"What nationality *are* you, Bridges?" he asked casually.
*Oh, we're still on that,* I thought. "Well, my mother's family is pretty scattered from what I can remember, but my father's side is Scottish." I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feel of his cool fingertips. No, this certainly wouldn't do. I had my defenses when it came to the attentions of an attractive man, but I wasn't totally immune.
Rhodes made a small sound of acknowledgement. "Scottish," he repeated thoughtfully. Unbidden, Solomon's words sprang to mind; his theory about Rhodes caring about me as more than a friend. Before, I had dismissed it as pure rubbish. But what if I was wrong? What if Rhodes *had* developed romantic feelings for me?
*Someone's got quite the ego,* I scolded myself. Rhodes hadn't known me long enough to feel anything for me more than friendship, and even if he did, two more weeks in my company would certainly cure that problem. *It's his love-starved childhood,* I told myself. *That's why he's so affectionate now.*
What I wasn't imagining, however, was his obvious reluctance to recognize what he had done for me the night before.
"Rhodes," I said, causing his fingers to halt briefly. "Don't you want to talk about what happened?"
He shrugged his gaunt shoulders slightly, and resumed his absent ministrations. "Why?" he asked.
I expelled a breath through my nostrils, exasperated. "Because," I said slowly, "you saved my life last night, and that's a pretty big deal. Why are you avoiding the subject?"
"I'm not avoiding it," he countered, getting a little defensive now. "We can talk about it if you want, Bridges. It's just that I, personally, don't think it was all that significant." He said it like he actually meant it.
I gaped at him in disbelief. "You're joking, right? You could have *died*, Rhodes! If the gun had been aimed any more to the right, you *would* have died! And you're saying you don't think that's significant?" I shook my head, as though I was in a nonsensical dream I couldn't wake up from. "This doesn't add up, Rhodes. You stepped in front of a bullet for me, and now you're acting like it was nothing. What's really bothering you about this?"
At this point he let go of my hand abruptly. "What's bothering me," he snapped, "is your ceaseless badgering, Bridges!"
His sharp retort hung in the air like an unseen presence. My lower lip began to tremble, and I bit down on it as I held his gaze angrily. Then I slowly nodded, pushed my chair out, and stood up. "Fine," I said evenly. "I sat in the waiting room all night, and here in your room half the day. Just to make sure you were all right. But if you want me to leave, then I'll leave."
I began to make my way toward the door, refusing to turn around as I waved my hand. "See you around, partner," I called over my shoulder. The last word sounded especially bitter.
"Bridges, please wait."
I swallowed a lump in my throat and continued walking. I wasn't going to give in to that upper-class southern voice so easily.
"Oh Lord, I am so sorry, Bridges. Will you please turn around?"
"Why should I?" I threw back at him. I didn't have to take this from such an ungrateful wretch.
There was a short pause. "Because if you stay, and let your moronic partner explain himself, he might just tell you what's really bothering him."
I halted in the doorway. He truly did sound apologetic. Reluctantly, I turned around and met his eyes once again. This time they held no irritation, but were filled with regret. I sighed and crossed my arms, and Rhodes knew he'd won. "All right," I said, defeated. "You have two minutes to explain your beastly behavior."
He smiled slightly, patting the mattress next to him. Crossing the room again, I hopped up onto the side of the bed and looked at him expectantly.
"First of all," he said, his arms falling to his sides. "I'm sorry I was so harsh with you, Bridges. It means a lot to me that you stayed here this whole time. And second..." He hesitated, looking almost ashamed. "I... I lied to you. When I said I didn't think that what happened was significant, I was lying."
I leaned forward, confused. "Why?"
He looked down at his hands, at the IV drip hooked to his wrist. "It's a little embarrassing, and I realize it doesn't make much sense. But I suppose I have to tell you everything, now that we're partners," he said wryly, his dark eyebrow raised. "When I saw Hu get ready to pull the trigger, all rational thought left my mind. All my instincts told me that I couldn't let anything happen to you, so I just... knocked you out of the way." He shook his head. "It even took *me* by surprise."
I smiled, and this time took his hand in mine. "I don't think that's embarrassing," I told him. "I think it's very heroic."
"That's because I wasn't finished," he muttered. "I really would rather not tell you this, Bridges, but..." As he raised his eyes, I unconsciously squeezed his hand. "Everyone I've ever cared about has been taken from me, as you well know. And I realize now how close I came to losing you tonight. I just didn't want to admit its significance because I thought that, if I allow myself to become too fond of you... I might end up losing you, as well." He lowered his eyes again, abashed. "I told you it was irrational," he finished lamely.
To say that I was shocked would have been an understatement. His words only confirmed what I had been suspecting all along: that Rhodes needed me, that he was almost dependent of me. Before, I had been daunted by the thought of such a commitment to someone as emotionally fragile as Rhodes.
But he had saved my life, without even thinking. Now I realized that I needed this friendship, this concrete relationship, as much as he did. I was hundreds of miles from any of the people I loved - before I had met Rhodes, I was virtually alone in this big city. I needed someone to care for me, to protect me. And who better than the man who had stopped a bullet for me?
It was true that I had no idea what was in store for our partnership, or whether we might encounter greater dangers. I didn't even have a clue what turn our personal relationship would take. But I did know one thing.
Gently, I lifted his chin up with my hand. "I'm not going anywhere," I said softly.
Rhodes took in these words, and their many meanings, with a simple nod of his head. Then he held out his arm, and I settled gingerly into his embrace, careful not to upset his wound. As I rested my head lightly on his left shoulder, he reached out and took his jacket from the bedside table. Pulling his keychain out of one of the pockets, he removed a brass key and handed it to me. "Here," he murmured.
I raised my eyebrows questioningly.
"The key to my condo," he explained. "For the love of God, *please* get me something else to wear."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Ahh, done. Finally. Took me long enough, right? Don't complain about it being short, it was a thousand words longer than the last one. But you'll be pleased to know that there's one more chapter after this. Yay! But don't think I'll go away after that, because I've got a whole new story involving our peculiarly named duo. I'll explain more in the next chapter, but in the meantime, be sure to leave me a review telling me what you thought. Believe it or not, but your opinion is very important to me. Ciao for now!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
Oh, but hey, before I get started, I just wanted to clear something up for some of you guys, because I've noticed a little uncertainty in this matter: while many aspects of Rhodes' personality are modeled after the original Great Detective, he is by no means a carbon copy of Holmes. At first it might have seemed like that was where I was going, but as the story progressed, Rhodes somehow became an entirely unique character. I'm not sure how it happened, but there it is. So while he and Holmes do share a lot of similarities, Rhodes is not as... well, cold and cerebral as Holmes. Although he still has a hard time admitting his feelings. So! Now that that's cleared up, let's get this chapter on its way.
Disclaimer: Must I keep doing this? Rhodes and Bridges are mine; "A Study in Scarlet" is not.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A Perfect World
a Sherlock Holmes pastiche
by Wakizashi
Chapter Ten: Reluctant Hero
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
- John 15:13, New International Version
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Early morning sunlight filtered in through the venetian blinds of the east-facing windows, casting striped shadows across the beige decor of the hospital waiting room. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, and the faint sound of traffic could be heard even at five o'clock in the morning. Across the room, a mother kept a close watch on her adorable three-year-old boy as he sat on the floor playing with Tinker Toys, and the receptionist smacked loudly on a piece of gum.
I flipped through a dog-eared, out-dated issue of People magazine, my leg developing a nervous tic from being crossed for so long. Staring blearily up at the wall clock for the eight hundredth time, I sighed. My eyes were so sore, between the crying and the sleep deprivation, that I couldn't even see the words on the page. Not that I was dying to know what Ewan MacGregor was doing this Thanksgiving, anyway.
The double doors swung open, and a surgeon wearing rumpled scrubs and a faint layer of stubble walked into the waiting room. "Miss Bridges?" he inquired, pulling off his surgical mask. "Miss Nadia Bridges?"
My heart leapt up into my throat. Setting the magazine on the chair next to mine, I stood up and walked across the linoleum floor, the rubber soles of the hospital-issue slippers I had been given slapping loudly. "Yes?" I asked anxiously, taken aback by how tired my voice sounded.
The doctor looked up at me sympathetically. I could understand why; I probably looked like a train wreck. "I'm Dr. Weiss," he said, shaking my hand. "You'll be happy to know that your friend Mr. Rhodes will be just fine." My shoulders slumped in relief. "The good news is, the bullet hit him in the right side of his chest, which is far better than the left. The bad news is that it virtually shattered his fourth rib and punctured his lung. And he's lost quite a lot of blood."
*I can imagine,* I thought. The image of his crimson-stained shirtfront would be forever burned into my mind. "How is he now?" I asked.
"He's resting from the operation, and his condition has been upgraded from critical to stable."
"Thank God," I heard myself breathe. My brain was still trying to process all that had happened the night before, but it was still somewhat of a blur. Just as the police had arrived, Hu regained consciousness, and knew he had no hope of escaping. He was taken into custody, and the paramedics lifted Rhodes onto a stretcher and carried him up to the ambulance. Thankfully, they allowed me to ride in the back with him, but halfway to the hospital he had already become delirious. By the time we pulled into the emergency drop-off, he was fully unconscious.
And I had to sit in the waiting room the entire night.
Now I asked hopefully, "Can I see him?"
Dr. Weiss looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Miss Bridges, but I'm afraid only family members are permitted in this case."
"What!?" The receptionist stared at me, and I lowered my voice. "But that's ridiculous! You're saying I waited here all night to see if he would be okay, and now I can't even see him?"
"I'm really very sorry," he replied with that effortless bedside manner that doctors seem to have been born with. "I didn't make the rules. I only abide by them."
"But..." It didn't seem fair, especially in Rhodes' case. If I didn't visit him, who else was going to? "Look, Dr. Weiss. I know the rules say 'family members only'. But this is different. Everyone in his family - his parents, his sister - they're all dead. If anyone can be considered his family, it's me. And that's not saying much." Exhausted and emotionally drained, I basically pleaded with him. "Please, *please* let me see him."
Dr. Weiss wrestled with his conscience for a moment, unused to such ambiguity. Finally he sighed. "Very well. He's currently in room 117, on this floor. I'll take you there."
He led me through the sterile corridors, past the seemingly endless number of doors, until he stopped at a room that lay almost at the very end of the wing. As he opened the door and ushered me inside, I found that the blinds were drawn, and my eyes had to get used to the darkness before I could see anything more than the lights on the regulating machines. Then, after a few seconds, I was able to make out the prone figure on the bed.
Ethan Nicholas Rhodes lay on his back, dressed in a light green hospital gown and sleeping quite peacefully. His left hand rested on his chest, an IV drip hooked up to his wrist. His breathing was a bit shallow, his hair mussed more than usual, and there were dark smudges under his closed eyes, but other than that he might have been taking a nap. If his hospital gown had been white, he would have looked like an angel.
My eyes welled up yet again as I watched him, unable to think about anything but the brave thing he had done. Dr. Weiss noticed and cleared his throat. "I'll leave you alone," he said, standing in the doorway. "And I'll have one of the nurses bring you some coffee." With that he left, shutting the door softly behind him.
Making as little noise as I could, I pulled a chair up next to the hospital bed. The blankets didn't look like they would be warm enough, and I wished I could go get Rhodes' big, goose-down comforter. I would probably bring him something else to wear, as well, since it was quite apparent that he didn't like to wear colors. Shaking my head, I decided the people at the hospital knew what they were doing.
Once again, my mind played over the events leading up to our arrival at the hospital. I could see myself sitting next to Rhodes' stretcher in the back of the ambulance, tightly gripping his bloody hand. As we sped up the streets, bouncing over the potholes, he began mumbling feverishly; scattered memories from his childhood in Georgia. His voice was barely audible over the wailing of the siren, and even as I watched, his brilliant eyes had become cloudier and more distant.
Thank God he was resting now. Reaching out slowly, I brushed his tousled bangs out of his face. His smooth forehead wrinkled slightly, and then relaxed as he sighed in his sleep.
Smiling a little to myself, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Rhodes' jacket hanging from a small coat rack in the corner. I retrieved it and sat down again, draping it over myself. I was exhausted, but I really didn't want to fall asleep if Rhodes was going to wake up any time soon. But then I remembered that he had been given a general anesthetic to help him sleep, and he would probably be out for a few more hours.
*Hell with it,* I finally thought to myself, settling back and shutting my eyes. I would only sleep for a little while.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And a little while it was, for I had barely drifted off before the noises of the morning nurse checking up on her patient's vital signs woke me up. As my eyes fluttered open, she smiled at me, revealing - to my surprise - a mouth full of braces. "Good morning, Miss Bridges," she said pleasantly, setting a cup of coffee on the table beside me. Coffee. How many cups of that black sludge had I served throughout my lifetime? I made a mental note to find another massage instructor, and fast.
Straightening in my chair, I tilted my head to the side, wincing as it gave a loud pop. "It's eight o'clock already?" I asked in disbelief, looking at the clock. "I was hoping I wouldn't sleep that long."
The nurse gave a soft chuckle as she wrote on her clipboard. "When the body goes without sleep for a long time, it basically forces itself to shut down. You were going to sleep whether you wanted to or not."
"Guess so," I replied, setting Rhodes' coat on the bedside table. I looked at him, not surprised to find him still unconscious. "How much longer do you think he'll sleep?" I asked.
"It depends on how much he needed it," she answered. "In this case, his body has undergone quite an ordeal. He could be out for another six, seven hours. But feel free to make yourself at home, watch some TV. Don't worry, it won't wake him up."
I sighed. The only reason his body had taken such abuse in the last twelve hours was because of me. For all I cared, he deserved to sleep all he wanted.
"I'll be back to check on him again in a while," the nurse told me. "Oh, and I believe another visitor asked to see Mr. Rhodes a few minutes ago. I can't think of his name right now, but he was a short, kind of pudgy man. Thinning hair."
My eyebrows climbed toward my own hairline. "Ed Solomon?" I asked warily.
"That's what it was! Now why did I forget? He might still be in the lobby. Would you like me to get him?"
I felt my shoulders slump, but I nodded. He was probably here for a first-hand account of what happened down at the Wharf. "Sure, bring him on in," I said resignedly.
The nurse took her leave, and it was only a short while before the stout, plump form of Agent Edward Solomon appeared in the doorway, his hands in his coat pockets. He nodded his recognition toward me, then stopped abruptly. He looked as though he had just greeted a stranger and hadn't realized it.
"Miss Bridges?" he asked, lingering hesitantly in the doorway.
"Yes," I said slowly, wondering what his problem was. Then suddenly a bright red curl fell into my eyes, and I finally understood his reaction. I had removed my black-framed glasses, but hadn't yet bothered to take off the wig. "Sorry, still in disguise," I explained, pulling the mass of red hair off my head.
He nodded, still a bit uncertain.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes and stood up, stretching. "Have a seat, Agent Solomon," I said, gesturing toward the chair. "I've been sitting long enough as it is."
As the construction of metal and plastic groaned in protest under his weight, I pulled the elastic band out of my hair and shook it, ignoring the agent's appreciative glance as the honey-brown locks fell to my shoulders. Some men were just so obvious.
"So," I prompted, forcing him to attention. "What can I do for you, Mr. Solomon? As you can see, Rhodes is pretty much indisposed at the moment."
"Yeah, I can see that," he replied, staring down at the sleeping detective. "Well, Miss Bridges, I already got the official story down at the station, so I'm not here to ask you to repeat your account. I just thought you'd want to know that we got a confession out of Hu."
Hearing my instructor's name still sent an unpleasant feeling down my back. "You did?" I said weakly.
"Yup. Heard his side of the story, naturally." Solomon rolled his eyes. "Suddenly the perfect image of Martin Chan ain't looking so spotless now, is it? Anyway, Hu's decided to plead guilty for his murder. Of course."
I nodded absently, my gaze fixed on Rhodes' peaceful face.
Solomon noticed my distraction. "So this crazy kid took a bullet for you, huh?" He shook his head at Rhodes in a reprimanding fashion. "He's got quite the brain in that head of his, but damned if he ever uses it. Still, he must really love you to do something nuts like that."
"Ed, I'm going to be honest with you," I said wearily. "Rhodes and I aren't going out. He just started the whole ruse so you wouldn't try to hit on me."
The agent blinked, and I couldn't tell if he was offended or not. He certainly didn't look that surprised. Finally he shrugged. "Whatever. Either way, it's still pretty obvious he cares about you. As more than a friend; or partner, or whatever the hell you two are. Why else would he throw himself in front of a gun for you?"
Despite my best efforts, I felt my cheeks grow warm. "I don't know about that," I replied quickly. "If the circumstances were different, I'd do the same for him. And I'm not in love with him or anything." I cocked my head at him. "Why do you care, anyway? What's the real reason you came down here? I know it wasn't just to tell me that Hu confessed."
Solomon shrugged again, looking uncomfortable this time. "Ah well, when I heard what happened, I just thought I'd see how the lanky little retard was doing. Seeing as how he got himself shot and all." His denim-blue eyes wouldn't meet mine.
A slow smile spread over my face. It all made sense now. "I see what's going on," I said, smugness creeping into my voice. "That whole 'I can't stand Rhodes' act you have going on is just a front, isn't it?"
"Oh, don't make it sound like you found life on Mars," he muttered irritably. "Yeah, okay. I admit it. He's a pretty good kid. Sometimes," he added hastily. He spun on Rhodes' slumbering form. "You better not be awake," he told him, pointing an accusing finger.
I crossed my arms over my chest in satisfaction. "I've heard all I needed to know," I announced.
Solomon glared at me from under his heavy eyebrows. Then he stood up, shifting his generous weight from one small foot to the other. "I'd better get back down to headquarters. I'm supposed to be on duty, and the director probably wouldn't be happy if he knew I was visiting freelance detectives with death wishes at the hospital. And their not-really girlfriends," he added pointedly, to my annoyance.
He stuck out a chubby hand. "Take care, Miss Bridges," he said with a bone-crushing handshake. "And not only of yourself. Take care of that idiot over there in the bed, too." With one last nod, he walked out the door.
I couldn't help but laugh to myself as I returned to the chair next to the hospital bed. Suddenly I didn't hate the chunky FBI agent as much as I had before.
After Solomon's departure, the hours went by slowly. The only time I left my steady vigil by Rhodes' side was to use the adjoining bathroom, and to call the coffee house and inform them I wouldn't be at work. I hadn't worked there long, but it was easy to make my boss understand when I told her that 'Mr. Impossible' had been shot while protecting me from a cold-blooded killer. As annoying a customer as Rhodes was, he was still a most faithful patron.
I didn't have much of an appetite as I waited for the young detective to regain consciousness. Nor was I in the mood for a rubbery slab of Salisbury steak, floating listlessly in a swamp of brown gravy. As I recall, the only thing I consented to eat was a cup of lime Jell-o, and even then I had to force it down.
So other than the aforementioned boring but necessary tasks, I did virtually nothing but sit there and listen to Rhodes breathe. Occasionally I surfed through the channels on the small overhead television, but I had trouble paying attention to the omnipresent talk shows and Ron Popeil infomercials. Not that I minded; they didn't get Comedy Central anyway.
At around two-thirty exhaustion was setting in once again. Three hours was definitely not enough rest for an aspiring masseuse/detective, after all, and the steady hum of the regulating machines was, absurdly enough, slowly lulling me to sleep.
Being extremely careful not to disturb Rhodes, I pulled my chair closer to the bed and laid my head on the sheeted mattress, my face buried in my arms. Almost immediately my eyes slid shut, and I waited impatiently for blissful sleep.
If I hadn't been so tired, I would have jumped three feet in the air when I suddenly felt a long, thin hand stroking my hair. Startled, I raised my head. My eyes quickly locked onto a pair of bright green ones, gazing at me fondly.
"You're not wearing that ridiculous wig anymore," said Rhodes softly.
I laughed, blinking back tears. "I told you," I replied, my voice hitching in my throat, "I'm not Irish enough."
He looked around the room for a while with an almost catlike curiosity, plucked at his green hospital gown with distaste. Then he tried to take a deep breath, wincing slightly. "Hurts to breathe," he said tightly.
I nodded sympathetically. "The bullet punctured your lung. It's going to take a while to fully heal." My hand came to rest on his arm. "I still can't believe what you did."
Oddly enough, he seemed not to hear this last statement - or if he did, he didn't show it. Instead, he stared down at my hand, my slight tan in contrast with his pale skin. He appeared to be deep in thought. Then, slowly, he took up my hand in his left one, using his right to run his fingers between my knuckles. My heart gave a leap, against my will.
"What nationality *are* you, Bridges?" he asked casually.
*Oh, we're still on that,* I thought. "Well, my mother's family is pretty scattered from what I can remember, but my father's side is Scottish." I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feel of his cool fingertips. No, this certainly wouldn't do. I had my defenses when it came to the attentions of an attractive man, but I wasn't totally immune.
Rhodes made a small sound of acknowledgement. "Scottish," he repeated thoughtfully. Unbidden, Solomon's words sprang to mind; his theory about Rhodes caring about me as more than a friend. Before, I had dismissed it as pure rubbish. But what if I was wrong? What if Rhodes *had* developed romantic feelings for me?
*Someone's got quite the ego,* I scolded myself. Rhodes hadn't known me long enough to feel anything for me more than friendship, and even if he did, two more weeks in my company would certainly cure that problem. *It's his love-starved childhood,* I told myself. *That's why he's so affectionate now.*
What I wasn't imagining, however, was his obvious reluctance to recognize what he had done for me the night before.
"Rhodes," I said, causing his fingers to halt briefly. "Don't you want to talk about what happened?"
He shrugged his gaunt shoulders slightly, and resumed his absent ministrations. "Why?" he asked.
I expelled a breath through my nostrils, exasperated. "Because," I said slowly, "you saved my life last night, and that's a pretty big deal. Why are you avoiding the subject?"
"I'm not avoiding it," he countered, getting a little defensive now. "We can talk about it if you want, Bridges. It's just that I, personally, don't think it was all that significant." He said it like he actually meant it.
I gaped at him in disbelief. "You're joking, right? You could have *died*, Rhodes! If the gun had been aimed any more to the right, you *would* have died! And you're saying you don't think that's significant?" I shook my head, as though I was in a nonsensical dream I couldn't wake up from. "This doesn't add up, Rhodes. You stepped in front of a bullet for me, and now you're acting like it was nothing. What's really bothering you about this?"
At this point he let go of my hand abruptly. "What's bothering me," he snapped, "is your ceaseless badgering, Bridges!"
His sharp retort hung in the air like an unseen presence. My lower lip began to tremble, and I bit down on it as I held his gaze angrily. Then I slowly nodded, pushed my chair out, and stood up. "Fine," I said evenly. "I sat in the waiting room all night, and here in your room half the day. Just to make sure you were all right. But if you want me to leave, then I'll leave."
I began to make my way toward the door, refusing to turn around as I waved my hand. "See you around, partner," I called over my shoulder. The last word sounded especially bitter.
"Bridges, please wait."
I swallowed a lump in my throat and continued walking. I wasn't going to give in to that upper-class southern voice so easily.
"Oh Lord, I am so sorry, Bridges. Will you please turn around?"
"Why should I?" I threw back at him. I didn't have to take this from such an ungrateful wretch.
There was a short pause. "Because if you stay, and let your moronic partner explain himself, he might just tell you what's really bothering him."
I halted in the doorway. He truly did sound apologetic. Reluctantly, I turned around and met his eyes once again. This time they held no irritation, but were filled with regret. I sighed and crossed my arms, and Rhodes knew he'd won. "All right," I said, defeated. "You have two minutes to explain your beastly behavior."
He smiled slightly, patting the mattress next to him. Crossing the room again, I hopped up onto the side of the bed and looked at him expectantly.
"First of all," he said, his arms falling to his sides. "I'm sorry I was so harsh with you, Bridges. It means a lot to me that you stayed here this whole time. And second..." He hesitated, looking almost ashamed. "I... I lied to you. When I said I didn't think that what happened was significant, I was lying."
I leaned forward, confused. "Why?"
He looked down at his hands, at the IV drip hooked to his wrist. "It's a little embarrassing, and I realize it doesn't make much sense. But I suppose I have to tell you everything, now that we're partners," he said wryly, his dark eyebrow raised. "When I saw Hu get ready to pull the trigger, all rational thought left my mind. All my instincts told me that I couldn't let anything happen to you, so I just... knocked you out of the way." He shook his head. "It even took *me* by surprise."
I smiled, and this time took his hand in mine. "I don't think that's embarrassing," I told him. "I think it's very heroic."
"That's because I wasn't finished," he muttered. "I really would rather not tell you this, Bridges, but..." As he raised his eyes, I unconsciously squeezed his hand. "Everyone I've ever cared about has been taken from me, as you well know. And I realize now how close I came to losing you tonight. I just didn't want to admit its significance because I thought that, if I allow myself to become too fond of you... I might end up losing you, as well." He lowered his eyes again, abashed. "I told you it was irrational," he finished lamely.
To say that I was shocked would have been an understatement. His words only confirmed what I had been suspecting all along: that Rhodes needed me, that he was almost dependent of me. Before, I had been daunted by the thought of such a commitment to someone as emotionally fragile as Rhodes.
But he had saved my life, without even thinking. Now I realized that I needed this friendship, this concrete relationship, as much as he did. I was hundreds of miles from any of the people I loved - before I had met Rhodes, I was virtually alone in this big city. I needed someone to care for me, to protect me. And who better than the man who had stopped a bullet for me?
It was true that I had no idea what was in store for our partnership, or whether we might encounter greater dangers. I didn't even have a clue what turn our personal relationship would take. But I did know one thing.
Gently, I lifted his chin up with my hand. "I'm not going anywhere," I said softly.
Rhodes took in these words, and their many meanings, with a simple nod of his head. Then he held out his arm, and I settled gingerly into his embrace, careful not to upset his wound. As I rested my head lightly on his left shoulder, he reached out and took his jacket from the bedside table. Pulling his keychain out of one of the pockets, he removed a brass key and handed it to me. "Here," he murmured.
I raised my eyebrows questioningly.
"The key to my condo," he explained. "For the love of God, *please* get me something else to wear."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Ahh, done. Finally. Took me long enough, right? Don't complain about it being short, it was a thousand words longer than the last one. But you'll be pleased to know that there's one more chapter after this. Yay! But don't think I'll go away after that, because I've got a whole new story involving our peculiarly named duo. I'll explain more in the next chapter, but in the meantime, be sure to leave me a review telling me what you thought. Believe it or not, but your opinion is very important to me. Ciao for now!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
