"How you feeling, Commander?"
Ignoring the beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, Harm forced himself to smile. The physiotherapist crouched on the exercise mat beside him didn't smile back. With an effort he dragged up what he knew Mac referred to as his Flyboy grin. "I'm okay."
It was only the second day he'd been working with this physiotherapist but already he was learning to read her body language. To start with his Flyboy grin didn't work on Elizabeth, or Liz as she preferred to be called. Fifteen years working with Navy personnel probably explained that he decided, dropping the grin as she admonished him with a raised eyebrow. She was straightforward – from her simple, short haircut through to her no-nonsense attitude - and he appreciated that. In two days she hadn't lectured to him once. If he did well she told him. If he did badly he knew about it. That was all. And he'd been left in no doubt that when it came to physiotherapy she knew what she was talking about.
With a sigh he conceded the battle of wills. Shaking his head, he met her gaze. "It aches," he admitted, carefully flexing his left shoulder.
His admiration for her grew as she refrained from commenting and just nodded instead. Leaning forward she gently flexed his arm, her brow creasing in concentration. Finally she rocked back on her heels. "You're doing fine," she replied briskly, the accompanying quirk of her lips giving her words a final seal of approval. "Let's go through the exercise twice more so I know you've got it right. Then we can work on a plan for the next week."
Harm stifled another sigh, knowing the reaction he'd get. The exercises, as Liz had explained to him, weren't really that difficult – or at least they wouldn't be if he had full movement in his shoulder. During their first session together it had taken her only minutes to prove to him just how limited his movement was. For weeks he'd been compensating for it, fooling himself that nothing was wrong. Now no one was sure they could put the damage right. Lying down, he angrily swatted that thought away and concentrated instead on the exercises.
Concentrating wasn't easy though. It wasn't just his shoulder that ached. Everything hurt. Whatever he moved, from his head down to his legs, his left-hand side protested, reminding him the bullet hadn't just damaged his shoulder. The lightweight sweats he was wearing were sticking to his body. He was forty-two years old but he felt twice that age as his previously fit body betrayed him with every movement.
"Whoa. Slow down."
Liz's command cut through his thoughts like a knife. Blinking, he focused on her.
"Slowly," she repeated, the sharp note in her voice replaced by a much softer one that he couldn't remember hearing before. "Remember what I said about your breathing."
Harm glared at her for a moment then swallowed the fiery retort that was on the tip of his tongue. She was right: he was pushing too hard, allowing the pain and frustration to take control. He didn't want to go slowly though: he wanted to go fast. He wanted this over and done with. There were people he wanted to go and see, problems he had to solve. He needed to be back on his feet and working at JAG and he needed to be there now. There were so many things running around in his head at top speed, screaming for his attention. And here was Liz calmly telling him to slow down as if all he had to do was put the brakes on and all his problems would go away. The absurdity of it hit him full on and suddenly he was laughing.
"Want to share the joke?"
Shaking his head Harm closed his eyes, blanking out the image of Liz's concerned face. She had good reason: there was a note of hysteria in his laughter. With an effort, he got himself under control and opened his eyes. Liz was still crouched beside him, her relaxed posture not fooling him for a second. Flashing her a wan smile he rolled over onto to his good side then slowly sat up. "Sorry. Not sure what happened-"
With a wave of her hand she dismissed his apology. "Don't worry. I have that effect on my patients all the time." Getting to her feet she offered him her hand. "How about we call it a day? You know how to do the exercises now. I'll schedule you back in for two days time and we'll see how you're doing then."
Torn between relief that they'd finished and frustration that he hadn't made more progress, Harm hesitated. Liz made the decision for him. Tucking her arm under his injured one she supported him as he struggled to his feet. She didn't let go until he was settled in a comfortable chair by her desk. Handing him a bottle of water to drink, she sat down and attacked the paperwork that Harm had come to realise was the mainstay of the medical profession.
Despite the fact that the office area was next to the gym they'd been working in, it was surprisingly quiet. Sipping gratefully at the water, Harm felt exhaustion slowly creeping through his limbs, leaving him feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. To make matters worse his eyelids were drooping too. He'd spent the previous two evenings looking for Robinson's colleagues, hoping they'd give him information about the man who had murdered him, Chief Petty Officer Shayler. He'd found them – eventually. But what he'd discovered had just dragged him down further into the black fog that was enveloping him. Now his body was punishing him too. Concentrating on keeping his eyes open, it was a moment or too before he realised Liz was watching him, a deep frown on her face.
"Are you getting enough sleep?"
Harm looked down at his hands, giving him precious seconds to control the hysterical laughter that was threatening to bubble over again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had more that a few hours sleep. But no matter how much he trusted Liz, a little voice in his head was telling him that confessing to her that a dead man had been invading his dreams amounted to career suicide.
"You need to rest."
Again the hysterical laughter bubbled its way to the surface and for a second he let it go, not caring how it sounded. "I can't get much more rest," he shot back, balling his hands into fists as he fought to stay still against the torrent of pent-up emotion that was threatening to wash him away. "I'm not allowed to work. I can't fly. I can't do any of the things I've been trained to do. I've got people watching every move I make. If I cough they go running to the Admiral. They took away the case I was working on and now I can't help Robinson…" Too late he realised the information he was giving away. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to compose himself. Listening to the harsh sound of his own breathing he waited for Liz to say something. When she didn't, he looked up.
What he saw surprised him. She wasn't watching him. Her attention was on her pen as she fiddled with it in her hands. It was, Harm realised, the first time he'd seen her unsure of herself. When she finally met his gaze his stomach twisted nervously. He could sense a lecture looming.
"They're concerned, it's natural that they're looking out for you."
Tiredly he rubbed his hands over his face. His rant had sucked what little remaining energy he had left out of him. Ironically he felt like he could sleep for a week. The last thing he wanted to do was talk. Still, she had a way of talking that didn't make him feel like he was being judged. And he'd confessed more to her in five minutes than he had to any of his friends. What else did he have to lose?
"I don't want their concern," he sighed, staring blankly at his hands. "I want everything to be back to how it was." Back to when Robinson was still alive and he had no idea Shayler was a murderer. When he and Mac were still talking. When it looked like he – they – had a future. It seemed like a long time ago.
"Before you were injured?"
He allowed himself a sad smile, acknowledging the inevitability of the answer. "Yeah. But it's not going to happen is it?"
She matched his smile with one of her own. "Does it ever?"
He managed a weak laugh. "No."
Silence fell again and Harm forced himself not to twitch as Liz fiddled with her pen again. "Don't give up," she replied eventually, fixing him with a steady gaze. "The body is an incredible machine. You'd be amazed what it can recover from. I'll do everything possible to get you back on active duty. But you have to want it up here." She tapped the side of her head with the pen.
Harm snorted. "There's a lot going on up there."
Liz nodded. "So I gathered. But I'm not a psychiatrist-"
"Could have fooled me."
He hadn't meant to sound so harsh. She didn't take it that way. "I can help you but you need to rest. And I mean proper rest. You need to sleep."
"I am sleeping," he shot back defensively, looking away as she shot him a piercing glare.
"Are you taking pain medication?"
"Sometimes," he admitted grudgingly, not happy with the direction of the conversation.
"Sleeping tablets?"
"No."
She looked surprised at him adamant tone. "Why not? They might help."
"They make me drowsy." Recognising the inanity of that statement he tried again. "They make it difficult to think."
"And you've got a lot to think about?"
"Are you sure you're not a psychiatrist?"
Liz sighed and shook her head. "Okay. I'll make a deal with you. If your doctor agrees to prescribe something to help you sleep, will you take it for a couple of days? If it doesn't make a difference then you can come back and say 'I told you so'."
Despite himself, Harm smiled. "I'd like that."
She shut the file in front of her, effectively closing the conversation. "Figured you would. So it's a deal?"
His head spinning at the speed with which she'd changed his mind, Harm thought it over. Maybe she was right. And it was still up to him whether he took the pills or not. With a nod he agreed. He waited as she dialled a number. When it rang for a while with no answer she gave up.
"I need to go to upstairs," she explained as she got up. "Don't go anywhere."
Laughing to himself, Harm watched her go. He was in no fit state to make a run for it and she knew it. Even if his legs would carry him – which he doubted – the pain in his shoulder would stop him after a few hundred yards.
Settling down to wait, he rubbed his shoulder gingerly as he considered what he'd just agreed to. He hated taking medication, hated feeling like he was losing control. But the idea of sleep was too alluring to be refused. He was exhausted. He couldn't think straight. If the medication could help him escape just for a few hours… With a clear head he could make things up with Sturgis and Mac. And he'd make things right for Robinson by proving Shayler was a murderer…
Assuming he ever found witnesses willing to testify against Shayler of course, the little voice in his head taunted. With a groan he slumped further into the chair and finally gave in to his drooping eyelids. He'd been up until 2am, sitting in a bar talking to three of Robinson's colleagues but despite his much vaunted abilities as an investigative lawyer he'd come away with nothing. Maybe he was past it. He'd always prided himself on his ability to understand human nature. The men he'd met in that bar had proven how wrong he was.
Perhaps he was being naïve but he'd assumed they'd want to talk to him. Robinson had been their colleague, maybe their friend. He'd suffered a violent death and it was possible they had information that could bring his killer to justice. If that had been Sturgis or Mac instead of Robinson… His mind balked at the unbearable image the last thought conjured up. The image of Robinson bleeding to death would haunt him forever. But if it had been Sarah…
He shivered and opened his eyes. The nightmare images began to fade but the taste of bile still lingered in his mouth. Concentrate, he told himself, dragging his mind back to the bar and Robinson's colleagues. Think about it. Why had they been so hostile towards him?
That wasn't actually true he decided, running the encounter through his mind. Only one of the men, their unofficial spokesman, had been hostile. The other two had been…surly. At the time he'd been too troubled to notice. Now the difference in their attitudes was obvious.
It was the second night he'd been searching for them and he'd been on the verge of giving up. Walking into the fourth bar of the evening and barely able to keep his eyes open, he'd convinced himself there was a huge conspiracy going on. Automatically heading for the bar it took him a moment to register the three men sitting in the corner.
He really must have been tired he realised. Otherwise there was no way he could have missed them. Rogers, their 'leader', was holding court, his voice loud enough to be heard over the jukebox that was pumping out something with a heavy bass. From his position Harm couldn't get a good look at him but his silhouette marked him out as Navy. Following his gut instinct he took a deep breath and went over to introduce himself. Instantly he knew he'd struck gold. Conversation stopped and three pairs of eyes stared at him. Mentally framing his opening line, Rogers beat him to it.
"Rabb. You're the guy who was defending Robinson."
The man was sneering. Bristling at the display of insubordination Harm drew up to his full height and moved closer, towering over the seated men. "That's Commander Rabb, sailor."
Slowly the three men got to their feet. Harm faced them down, not blinking until they were standing, their eyes fixed firmly to the front. He'd dealt with insubordination before; it was an occupational hazard for a JAG lawyer. He hadn't expected it here though and it put him off balance, forcing him to retreat behind his military persona. It wasn't the way he'd planned for the meeting to go.
The situation didn't improve as the evening changed into the early hours of the morning. Rogers remained civil: barely. The other two men, whose names he'd struggled to remember, never spoke more than a few words at a time. No matter how many times he reminded them exactly what Shayler had done they stayed tight-lipped. With the image of Robinson's bleeding body driving him on he'd never been so passionate about an argument before. It didn't work. His shoulders slumped in defeat he'd given in.
Getting up from the table he hesitated, unable to leave without one final plea for help. "If you change you mind just give me a call," he suggested, scribbling down his apartment phone number and offering it across the table.
Rogers snorted and pushed the piece of paper back. "You don't get it do you, Commander? Robinson told us what happened. We told him he was nuts but he wanted to do it for his wife and kids. He said you were gonna help him. Look what happened - who's gonna look after his kids now?"
The words struck Harm like a physical blow. Shayler had said something similar to him moments after he'd shot Robinson and seconds before he'd pulled the trigger on Harm too. As the blood drained from his face he headed out of the bar, desperate to get some fresh air. The last thing he heard as he left was the sound of the three men laughing as Rogers lit the piece of paper with a match.
With a groan, Harm opened his eyes. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting in Liz's office but his sweatshirt had dried, leaving him feeling cold. A quick glance at the wall clock told him it had only been five minutes since she'd left. Debating whether to go and get changed or sit and wait he was saved from making a decision when she reappeared.
"Sorry," she explained, rolling her eyes, "Doctor was on a call." She reached in her pocket and handed him a piece of paper covered in spidery handwriting. "But she did agree to our plan. Go and get changed then someone upstairs will sort out this prescription." When he hesitated she edged it closer, an encouraging smile on her lips. "Just two days. I promise it'll make a difference."
With a sigh, Harm took it. "I hope so."
Sitting in the locker room a while later he took the piece of paper out of his pocket, squinting at the scrawled writing. Was this two steps forward or one step back? He couldn't decide. But right now he had nothing to lose. Once he got home that evening he'd follow Liz's advice and try the sleeping tablets.
First though, he had to visit Mrs Robinson and apologise for her husband's death.
