One of Those Days
A Magnum P.I. Fan-Fiction by Emachinescat
Summary: There are days when the pain makes it nearly impossible for Thomas Magnum to get out of bed. Today is one of those days.
A/N: Hiya! So I'm off the beaten path here. Instead of an episode AU or a full-fledged story, we've got a character study with a little plot and a whole lotta angst. This is an exploration of Thomas's struggles with chronic pain after the injuries he sustained in the POW camp. I've drawn on my own experiences, and the accounts of others who suffer from chronic pain. It also deals with depression and PTSD, as well as dissociation, so it gets pretty heavy at times. It was pretty cathartic to write, though. Oh, and I did do some medical research as well, though it's important to know that I'm not a doctor, nor am I an expert on burn-related neuropathic pain, so bear with me if there are any inaccuracies. I did my best with what I had. :)
I may eventually do a follow-up with a bit more plot and more comfort, if you're interested. I hope you enjoy; I'd love to know your thoughts!
One of Those Days
There are days when Thomas Magnum finds it nearly impossible to get out of bed.
It isn't laziness, like Higgins believes. It isn't even late nights or exhaustion or bad dreams that keep him awake all night – though he has had plenty of those. No, Thomas has become an expert at shaking off the sleepless nights and nightmares and the bone-deep tiredness that comes with them. He might be a little dazed first thing in the morning, but put a cup of Joe in his hand, and he'll be up and running in no time.
It's the pain.
The pain isn't always there, mind you. Often it isn't. And when it does rear its ugly little head, it's usually manageable. Thomas Magnum is used to pain. Has to be, with his past, and in his line of work. There's not a week that goes by that he doesn't get punched or kicked or otherwise beaten to hell. He's been shot a couple of times, too, and there was the time with knife in the ocean –
Suffice it to say, Thomas is no stranger to the concept of pain.
This pain is different, though. On those days when it digs its claws into his flesh and sets his nerves on fire, on the days it soars past manageable and eats away at his soul and drains his strength, it takes everything Thomas has just to put his feet on the floor.
Today is one of those days.
The first time he realized he could be burdened with this recurring pain for the rest of his life was in Germany, right before he and his buddies were shipped back to the states. The understanding that the knife that had nearly stolen his life would keep on cutting, and the gunpowder that had saved him would keep on burning, was nearly enough to drive him mad. The nerve blocks had helped for a time. After a while, though, the gaps between episodes had widened, and he'd settled into a routine in Hawaii, built a new life for himself on the ashes of everything he'd lost overseas. He'd stopped treatment, moved on. And, for the most part, he'd been okay.
Today, he isn't okay.
It's not just the actual pain that's the problem, though. It's what it does to his head. The sharp, stabbing waves of agony overlaying the steady burning is enough to sap him of his energy and his good nature. Thomas has always been a very mellow person; he prides himself on being easy to get along with. He cherishes his friends – knowing all too well what it is to lose one – and always tries to see the best in people. But this particular brand of pain, well, it strips him of all of that. It replaces his easy nature with a quick temper, turns tiny inconveniences into worst-case scenarios, takes the glass half-full and drains it completely until all that's left are the dregs of who Thomas used to be.
Thomas hates the person he becomes when the pain attacks. He finds himself snapping at his friends over things that he'd normally laugh about. Sometimes, he feels the heat of tears pressing at the back of his eyes when someone makes a good-natured joke at his suspense. During his worst episodes, he's like a sponge, soaked through with the pain and then wrung out until there's nothing left. He doesn't even paddleboard on the really bad days.
Thankfully, those days are few and far between.
Today, however, is one of those days.
Perhaps the worst part of an attack is the memories it forces to the surface, of dirt floor and stone walls and metal bars. Of the stench of sweat and death and waste and illness, of dark holes and solitary and waterboarding and knives. Of his friends suffering. Of his own suffering.
And memories of blood, so much blood, too much blood. The shadowy fingers of death, the mingled fear and relief at the realization that this would soon be over. The only good thing about the memories is that he gets to see Nuzo again.
He doesn't actually remember the pain of the cauterization itself. He's actually tried, but his mind has built a wall around the memory, to protect him. That's what the therapist in Germany had told him. But it's okay. As disconcerting as it is to see his scar and remember the fear and the terror but not the actual physical torment itself, he doesn't need to remember exactly how it felt. He's become well-acquainted with its ghosts over the years. He knows that the original agony has to have been incomprehensible if even its echoes are enough to bring him to his knees.
Thomas Magnum hasn't felt hopeless in a long time. He hasn't bailed on a client meeting, ever. He's also never yelled at Higgins, who probably thinks he's possessed. He knows how important this case is, and understands why Juliet's upset. He is also aware that she feels owed an explanation for his behavior. Maybe she is – they are partners, after all, and this is affecting their cases. Beyond that, they're friends.
But Thomas just can't find it within him to explain. Explaining means acknowledging that the pain that has haunted him for so long is back. It means digging up parts of his past that he has to keep buried if he doesn't want to be buried himself. It means letting Higgins see him at his most vulnerable.
And so he heaves himself off the bed, the pain stealing his breath and leaching his soul. He breathes in, breathes out. He gets dressed, moving like an eighty-year-old man. And he makes his way out of the guest house, into the sunlight, out of the past, into the present.
He knows this won't last forever. It never does. It ebbs and flows like the tides, but without rhyme or reason. Here today, gone tomorrow.
He prays it will be gone tomorrow.
Thomas Magnum has a way of looking at the positive nine times out of ten. He has an easy smile and infectious laugh. He jokes with his friends, teases his partner, paddleboards early in the morning, saves lives, plays poker, and drinks beer. Most days, Thomas Magnum loves life, despite all of the suffering it's thrown at him.
Today is not one of those days.
Today, the victory is getting out of bed at all, even if he's missed the meeting and Juliet's pissed and hell is raging in his scar tissue. He dresses, glances in the mirror, at the heavy bags under his eyes, the wrinkled clothes, the tight lips and eyes drained of life and humor and fun.
"You got this, Thomas," he tells his weary reflection, but neither of them can quite believe it.
Later, he'll apologize to Juliet. He'll play pool with T.C. and laugh at Rick's jokes and plaster on a smile. He has no delusions that his friends won't catch on to what's happening – particularly Rick and T.C., but he holds on to the hope that they won't push the matter, because they've been down this road with him before and they know all he can do is push until he breaks through to daylight. They might bring up the nerve blocks again, or insist he go home early and rest, or ask if he needs to talk. And Thomas will appreciate the gesture, but the answer to all three will be no , and they'll purse their lips but leave it at that.
And then he'll come home, worn to the bone, and he'll fall into bed like he's greeting an old friend. The pain will keep him up until the wee hours of the morning, when he'll finally drift into a restless sleep.
Eventually, the attack will fade, the pain will scurry back into hiding with the nightmares. Thomas Magnum will return. He'll joke and tease and surf with his friends and needle Higgins. He'll find himself again.
Maybe tomorrow will be that kind of day.
A/N: Please do consider letting me know your thoughts, and if you'd like me to expand on this concept in the future, maybe write a whole story around it, or if you think I should leave it as is.
Thanks so much for reading!
~Emachinescat ^..^
