Title: Unknown

Chapter 4

Warnings: Slash, domestic abuse. This is the chapter in which we meet Mark.

Author's Notes: Again, Speed is in a fragile state of mind. Much of his logic regarding his situation is flawed.

-----

"Tim, let me in." Mark knocks softly on the bathroom door. "I know you're bleeding."

Whose fault is that?

I'm sitting on the bathroom floor with my back pressed up against the locked door. Glancing down at the already-darkening bruise on my right wrist, I gingerly twist it around to make sure it's not broken. Slowly, my gaze drifts to my other arm. A small but bleeding gash on my forearm is throbbing pretty good now. I should probably put something on it, but I don't have the energy to move.

After a few moments, Mark knocks on the door again. "Tim, say something so I know you're okay."

I'm not okay. How can I say I'm okay?

"I'm okay, Mark," I mumble.

I hear Mark let out a sigh of…relief? "Let me in so I can see your arm," he says quietly.

"Just need a minute," I say, "Gotta…figure some things out."

"Tim."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, Tim," Mark says, his voice shaking. "I never meant to hurt you."

I want to tell him to get the hell out of my apartment, but instead, I hear myself say, "I know. It's not your fault."

Almost against my will, I drag my body into a standing position and open the door.

Mark immediately reaches out, scoops me into his muscled arms, and squeezes me tight. "I'm so sorry," he says, burying his face in my neck. "I didn't mean to do this."

I let myself go slack against Mark's body. I'm so tired. It's like I don't have an ounce of energy left. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. I don't care about my arm, or Mark, or my career. I just want to sleep.

Releasing me from his embrace, Mark nudges me into the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

"Okay," I mumble.

I stand completely in a daze while Mark cleans my wound. He washes the cut, puts some kind of cream on it, and then rummages around my closet for some gauze. As he wraps my arm, he yammers on about how we're both overworked and he only gets jealous because he loves me.

Whatever.

I don't know. Maybe Mark's right. I just came off a rough case, and he works long hours. We're bound to be on edge. Besides, I know I'd get jealous if I found out Mark was having dinner with a good-looking co-worker.

"You know, Tim," Mark says, "I think we're going to have to go to the ER. This cut's bleeding pretty bad. You're gonna need some stitches."

I nod, "Okay."

Mark pulls a tissue from the box sitting on the hamper and dabs at his eyes. "Tim, I'm so sorry. I know I have a temper—"

I cut him off, "It's all right. You were hurt."

Taking a step forward, Mark places a hand on each of my shoulders. "It's not going to happen again, Tim," he says, his voice cracking. "This is the last time."

And I believe him.

---

Mark and I were at the ER most of the night. They were packed, so we had to wait for what seemed like days. Finally, Mark went over to the receptionist and got in her face. He told her that his boyfriend was bleeding, and someone needed to get it in gear and do something before he bled to death.

That must've rattled their cages, because they ushered me into back and sewed up my arm.

I got the usual array of questions. How did I hurt my arm? Where did all the bruises come from? Did I want Mark to leave the room?

Mark told them I'd been working on my bike when it tipped over on me. Or something. I don't remember. The whole thing seems surreal.

We finally got home about an hour ago. Mark made me a bite to eat while I vegged out on the couch.

Now, we're just sitting here, neither of us saying anything. I hate it when it's like this.

"Mark," I say, shattering the uncomfortable silence, "I have to get ready for work."

"You're exhausted," he says, "We were at that damn hospital all night."

"Yeah. Yeah, but we started a new case. I gotta go in, y'know?"

"Listen," Mark says, kissing me on the cheek, "Why don't we play hooky from work today? We can get some sleep, and then hit a few bookstores, eat at that BBQ place I was telling you about."

H will kill me if I call off work again. "I don't know. We just started a case."

Mark nudges me. "C'mon," he coaxes, "We need to spend some time together. I'm sorry about last night. I just…" He trails off.

I stare a Mark's puppy-dog eyes and finally let out a breath. "Okay. Hand me my cell."

After Mark hands me my phone, I dial the number for headquarters. The new girl at the front desk—Meg?—answers.

"Yeah," I say, "This is Tim Speedle. I want to leave a message for Horatio Caine."

"Would you like me to transfer you?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Ah, I don't think so. Just tell him I'm not feeling well today, and I won't be coming in."

"Umm…" she says cautiously, "I'm going to have to transfer you."

Damn. I can usually get away with just talking to whoever's at the desk.

After a moment's silence, H picks up. "Caine," he says.

"Hey, it's me," I say, wincing at the sound of H's voice.

"Hey, Speed," he says pleasantly. "What's up?"

I glance at Mark, who's staring hopefully at me. "I won't be in today."

"What's up?" H asks. His tone of voice is gentle, but I detect a note of disappointment.

"I'm not feeling well," I say. Which isn't untrue. I feel like crap.

"Well, I really need you here, Speed."

"I know," I say. "But…I'm nauseous and I have a fever."

I hate lying to H.

"How high?"

"103."

H clears his throat. "Have you been to a doctor?"

"Yeah," I say. That's true. I just didn't see him for a fever. "Actually, I went to the ER."

"What did the doctor say?"

Licking my bottom lip, I say, "That I need to rest. And I should drink lots of fluids."

"Okay," he says, sounding unconvinced. "Do you want someone to stop by? Go to the pharmacy for you or anything?"

"No," I say, "I'm good. I went there after I went to the ER."

"Good," H sighs, "Well, I'll call later. See how you're doing."

-----

After we got some sleep, Mark and I rummaged around several Miami-area bookstores, finally winding up at one of my favorite used book shops. Mark bought me a biography and an old archeology textbook. "What? Changing careers?" He laughed.

Mark can be a lot of fun. And he can be the gentlest person in the world. Most of the time.

Now, Mark and I are at a BBQ place near the beach. He's been telling me about this place for a while. It's cool. It's got those beamed ceilings and the chairs are comfortable. No verdict on the food yet. We're still waiting.

"Are you glad we did this?" Mark asks.

I smile. "Yeah. It's been fun."

Just then, I feel my phone vibrate. I figure it's H, checking up on me.

"Hey, Speed," the voice on the other end says, "How are you feeling?"

I was right. It's Horatio.

"I'm feeling kind of sick," I say. "Headache."

"Maybe I should come by," he says, "Bring you something."

"Uh…no," I say quickly, "I'm just gonna see if I can sleep. I'm feeling better than I was."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be at work tomorrow?" H asks.

"Oh, yeah," I say.

Why wouldn't I? By then, I'll be magically cured of my nausea and fever.

"Okay," H says, "Well, I'll see you then. Try and get better."

-----

The next day, I race into headquarters, nearly colliding with Valera.

"Sorry," I yell, as I barrel toward the locker room. I overslept; consequently, I'm twenty minutes late. If I keep this up, H is going to fire me.

When I finally make it to the lab, H is sorting through stack of papers. He glances up when I burst in.

"Sorry I'm late, H," I say.

"It's okay," he says, gazing at me. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"Fever gone?"

"Yeah." I sit down beside him. "So what's going on?"

H cocks his head. "What kind of antibiotics did the doctor put you on?"

Damn.

"Uh, none. I just stayed in bed. It was a bug."

H lets out a breath. "Really? I thought you went to the pharmacy after you went to the ER."

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Right," I say, searching my mind for a believable lie, "I bought a few sports drinks. Fluids."

"Oh," he says. "Good thinking. So, you just stayed in bed all day yesterday?" H's tone is conversational, but I've seen him corner a lot of criminals with that tone. I can't shake the feeling that he's trying to trap me.

Licking my lips, I decide to play it safe. "Pretty much," I say, staring at the counter. Trying to sound casual, I add, "I went out once. A friend of mine dragged me back to the pharmacy. Said I needed something to bring the fever down."

"That must've been when I called," H says.

I'm avoiding H's eyes, but I can still feel the intensity of his gaze. It's that look he usually saves for perps who he knows are lying to him.

I shrug, clenching my fist in a hopeless attempt to stop my hand from shaking. "Maybe. I was pretty out of it." As an afterthought, I say, "Get this. While we were there, this dude cut right in front of us in this big, yellow car. It looked like a big banana pulling out in front of us."

Wow. Now I'm even embellishing my lies.

H's expression softens a bit, and I think I hear him release a breath. Smiling, he says, "That kind of thing always seems to happen when you're sick doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Actually, I dropped by your apartment yesterday. You must've been out then."

I feel my chest tighten. "Yeah, must have." I take in a breath. "Did you think I was playing hooky?" I ask.

H shrugs, looking a little guilty. "I've just been concerned. It's not like you to call off so much."

"I know," I say, "I haven't been sleeping much. I think I let myself get rundown."

H nods. "It's very easy to do, Speed." Glancing at his watch, he stands up. "I'm going to run to DNA. They're testing a hair Alexx found on the boy's body. Why don't you check out the autopsy report? It's there on the table. I'll fill you in on the case when I get back."

Swallowing, I nod. "All right."

Before he leaves the lab, H turns to me and says, "You need to start taking care of yourself."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, the last thing you need is to start getting sick."

After H leaves the room, I sit in stunned silence, my cheeks beginning to burn. He fell for it. H thought he'd caught me being dishonest and I not only lied my way out of it, I made him feel guilty. And what's worse, the lies seemed to flow from my mouth like water. I added color and texture to them, not only making them more believable but more appealing, as well. Part of me feels dirty, and part of me feels empowered.

I'm a terrible person.