Tired of staring up at the all to familiar plain white ceiling tiles, Jim Brass closed his eyes and tried to recall how he ended up at Desert Palm yet again.
He'd been back in the hospital for more than 48 hours hooked up to an IV and getting pumped full of antibiotics. He hadn't quite understood everything they told him; he'd only regained some semblance of clarity within the last eight hours or so, but he understood enough to know that his fever broke a few hours ago and if his all his tests came back negative, there was a good chance they'd let him go home soon.
He still hadn't seen the doctor so he wasn't sure if he should be worried about the lack of news or just continue to be bored.
"You ready to go home?"
He looked over to see Catherine entering the room and then it hit him. Catherine. She had been the one at his house; the one who had kept him from fading into oblivion, the one who'd been with him in the ambulance, holding onto his hand and assuring him he was going to be all right.
Jim swallowed, finding his voice. "You busting me out of this joint?"
"I am as soon as they release you." She tossed his clothes onto the bed. "I stopped by your house and grabbed these. Figured you might want something more than what you were wearing when you came in." Leaning her hip against the bed, she looked at him seriously. "What happened?"
"I remember feeling dizzy and then boom, the lights went out." His right hand went to his head, gingerly fingering the tender lump and coarse stitches. "I guess my head broke my fall. What did I hit?"
"One of the glass doors to entertainment center. It only required a couple of stitches but you'd have thought you split your head wide open judging by all the blood. What were you doing in the living room?"
"I don't remember. It was hot and that pain medicine was messing with my head. I kept thinking I was back in Jersey."
"You also thought bugs were crawling all over you." It had happened in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Brass had been calm one minute and then convinced he was covered in bugs the next. Despite the efforts of the two EMTs, it was Catherine's soothing voice and gentle caress that finally settled him down.
"Yeah, well, I was hoping that was a nightmare. Guess it wasn't." The fact that Catherine had witnessed his little hallucination only added to his embarrassment. Trying to cover up his uneasiness, he said with a forced laugh, "I guess it's probably a good thing I passed out in the living room and not in the bathroom, huh?"
"Yeah," she joked, trying to alleviate some of his discomfort. "I've already seen more of you than I ever needed to see." Catherine decided against telling him what he'd mentioned when he'd been out of his head. She knew he hadn't intended for her to hear it and it would only upset him more if he found out.
"And here I thought you liked my…"
She held up her hand quickly to stop him before the conversation went any further. She was supposed to be alleviating his embarrassment, not adding to her own. Clearing her throat, she deftly changed the subject. "I spoke to the doctor. He said you had a bad reaction to the pain medication." She took a seat in the chair next to the bed. "Well, that and you were dehydrated and had an infection that out-muscled the antibiotics."
"You know a hell of a lot more than I do. They haven't told me much."
She dropped her gaze to her hands. "I know I owe you an apology."
"What for?"
"I should have been there earlier. We got a call and…"
He interrupted before she could finish. "It's okay. You got nothing to apologize for."
"No, I do. I promised I'd be by to check on you and after one friggin' day, I dropped the ball."
He waved her off, this time staring at her intently. "Cath, you have been great this past week and a half. You've been," he paused and shook his head, obviously at a loss for words. "I couldn't have gotten by without you. Hell, I'd still be kissing the carpet if it weren't for you. But you got work and Lindsey to worry about without having to play nursemaid to me."
Shaking her head, she said, "And look where my attempt to help got you: right back in the hospital." Even as Catherine spoke she had to wonder why it upset her so much, why she'd been so damn worried or why her heart had skipped several beats when she saw him lying on the floor. "Jim, look, in case you haven't noticed, I've worried a great deal about you lately. And for the record, it was my choice, not yours."
"Yeah," he was saying, looking out the window, "and why is that? It's not like I'm usually at the forefront of your mind."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Lindsey, Grissom, Warrick, Nick, Sam Braun, that city engineer guy you were seeing for a while."
Catherine cocked an eyebrow, surprised that Brass knew about Paul Newsome.
"You want me to go on cause I think there's a lot more people I'd put before me. I've never been too high on your radar, so why would I expect to be now?"
Catherine didn't answer; she couldn't. Brass had every right to be confused and yes, angry. Until the explosion she never really worried about him, never gave him much thought outside of work for that matter. Sure they'd had lunch together, met a few times after shift for drinks and dinner and made light conversation about their personal lives, but for the most part she'd never really regarded Brass as anything other than a good friend.
So why now?
She tried not to think of Jim that way, as anything more than a friend and occasional protector. But she did feel something. God, she didn't even want to think about it but she had to face the reality: she cared about Jim Brass and ever since that day at his house, ever since that kiss, he'd been occupying her thoughts in a very disturbing way. What unnerved her the most though was that it wasn't entirely a bad thing.
Shaking off the feeling, she put it down to his present state. Jim needed her. Sure people needed her on a daily basis but this kind of need was different. This kind of need played upon her emotions and exposed a side of Brass she never seen before. This kind of need made her feel useful and necessary and caring in a way that being a mother didn't. She hadn't had a man to look after in such a long time, she hadn't realized until now how much she'd missed it.
Much to Catherine's relief, her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened and the familiar face of Doctor Kapoor entered with X-Rays in hand.
"I had hoped I wouldn't see you back, Mr. Brass," he said as he held the films up to the light from the window.
Still feeling a little surly, Jim frowned. "Yeah, well, I really didn't want to see you either."
"All things considered, everything looks good. The bones have knitted together well enough that the fall didn't cause any additional fractures. You had a pleural effusion—a build-up of fluid between the layers of the membrane that lines the lungs and chest cavity. We performed a thoracentesis—a procedure to remove the fluid—and found the source of the infection. Luckily, we caught it early so you might look at what happened as a blessing in disguise because it certainly saved you from a much longer hospital stay." Setting the films down, he picked up Jim's chart, his eyes scanning the data. "You've responded well to the antibiotics and your blood pressure is still a little low but since it's up from where it was, I expect that's due to the medication."
Jim didn't care about any of that. For him there was only one question that mattered. "So I can go home?"
"You can go home. And please," he said, his hand resting on the door handle and a hint of a smile on his lips, "don't come back again."
"Not planning on it." Jim responded, motioning with his hand in a not so subtle hint that Catherine should follow the doctor out the door.
"You sure you don't want my help?" Her tone was playful, hopeful that he'd gotten past his exasperation with her.
His glaring frown spoke volumes. Apparently, he hadn't.
"How about I send someone in to help you?"
As much as his pride wanted him to say no, he wasn't stupid. "I guess you better."
Catherine started for the door then stopped. "Jim, I wish I could tell you why, but I don't know myself."
Studying her honest expression, seeing the same confusion that he felt, he believed her. Offering up an apologetic smile, he said sheepishly, "Go on, get me some help." Then as an afterthought, "And not that big guy. He's got cold hands."
1422 Holland LaneLeaning against the passenger door of the Denali, Brass squinted into the sunshine, wishing he had his sunglasses. The entire structure was gone, reduced to rubble and looking like something he'd expect to see in Kosovo or Baghdad, not Las Vegas. Much of the debris had been cleared from the streets and neighboring yards but houses on either side had suffered some sort of collateral damage as well and now had bright red "condemned" signs plastered on each front door.
Getting out of his car, the rent a cop at the scene ambled towards them, his hands out in a warning gesture. "Nothing to see here folks. You need to move along."
Catherine started to flash her ID but the man pointed a finger at Brass. "Hey, I know you. You're that cop that almost got blown up."
It never occurred to Jim until now that his name and his picture might have been all over the papers. "Yeah, that's me," he answered uneasily.
"You doing okay?"
Brass studied the ground then looked up and nodded. "I'm doing fine—thanks."
"Well, look around all you want but be careful." The man nodded then walked back to his car.
Jim slowly crossed the street, aware that Catherine was beside him, and stopped at the curb. "I have this hole in my memory," he said in a quiet voice. "Tell me what happened."
He had asked to come back to the scene and Catherine had hesitated at first. But he needed closure and until he saw the place, until he knew what happened, until his mind could piece together what was missing, he feared the nightmares would always be with him. This was no guarantee they would end but at least he would know.
Standing next to him, Catherine fixed her sunglasses in place. "How much do you remember?"
"I remember going into the house and running up the stairs to find Sara. I know she was in front of me and we made it to the front door. After that, it's nothing but a blank."
Catherine took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Brass was trying to remember; she was trying to forget.
"Nick and I were over there." She pointed across the street and down a little way. "We saw Sara come out first with you right behind her. And then the place exploded. I covered my head and when I looked up, you and Sara were gone. You both were buried under quite a bit of debris and when they found you…"
Jim caught the crack in her voice and turned to look at her. Her eyes were hidden behind the dark glasses but he could see it in the tight, thin line of her lips. Taking her hand in his, he gave it a gentle squeeze. "It's okay. I think I know the rest."
But she had to say it; she had to say what they both knew if only to get it out in the open once and for all. "You almost died over there."
Brass looked down, suddenly finding the tip of his right shoe very interesting. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a great idea after all. He really wasn't any closer to gaining closure but a couple of things had become a little clearer—like how the explosion had affected those not physically hurt and why Catherine felt compelled to help him.
He was all too familiar with survivor's guilt. In his line of work he'd seen it more times than he could remember. From what he knew, Sara's guilt lay on the surface, apparent for all to see, but Catherine's had manifested itself much deeper, less obvious. He hadn't truly understood until now.
They stood in silence for a long time, neither letting go of the other, before Jim finally said, "Let's get outta here."
xx
To be continued in Chapter 11