AN: Thank you to everyone who read this whole thing!
"What? You're sure?"
"Yeah. The note on his chart—it's not mine."
What's…where?
"See? The handwriting doesn't belong to any of the trauma doctors on shift."
Who's pinching my arm?
"I know this writing. He was my clinical supervisor!"
"They make the kind of story you wouldn't believe unless you see it. Thought the detective was pulling my leg when he brought them in."
"Should we wake him? Wahlund treated him but she's a pathologist."
"Nah. We'll check back later. He was demanding Jello so he's alright."
Gerard was inordinately irritated to pry his lids open and realize he'd missed the two male doctors by a hair. They faded down the hall just as the source of the "pinching" materialized into an IV line.
Insistent beeping was due to a heart monitor on his right index. Everything smelled funny. Darkness shrouded Chicago outside the window.
Wasn't it pre-dawn just a minute ago…?
Squinting at the clock, Gerard was speechless to see seventeen hours had passed. At least his side felt worlds better. There wasn't even any pain. He hoped they'd replaced the sewing kit stitches.
Sam's next exploration was to his right. The squint softened.
For there, chin slumped to his chest, ankles stretched out and crossed, sat Richard. His right arm was in a sling. He'd been given a clean denim shirt Sam recognized as his own. He kept it at the marshal's office in a spare set. Peeking out the neck of the collar were tape strips and the shine of liniment.
He looked small.
He looked like he could take on Muhammad Ali himself.
Lots of really heartfelt and moving things came to Gerard's mind. What escaped his lips, however, was:
"You could go home, you know."
Richard didn't stir at Gerard's croak. Some colour had returned to his cheeks. The flush carried a feverish tint. They'd given Richard the good drugs. That or this latest adventure had taken more out of him than he could deal with at the moment.
Doctors came and went over the next hour. An older black nurse brought him a massive bowl of blue Jello with a wink.
"Is he okay?" Sam asked.
The nurse smiled. "Doctor Wahlund did a good job on his shoulder. He was a little dehydrated after the adrenaline crash, probably from the extreme bruising, but your boys wrestled some juice into him. Should replenish his electrolytes."
"I think he changed my medical chart."
The nurse looked surprised Gerard knew this. "He wouldn't let us take a blood sample without supervising. He only crashed when you did."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Please." She petted his hand. "It's the least I can do. You'll be released sometime tomorrow morning."
She left, humming, and quiet resumed. The heart monitor ticked on.
"You can stop pretending, Richard."
Richard cracked one eye. "I really was asleep. Until you two started complaining about my 'supervising.' Be glad I did. That young doctor almost gave you Dilaudid. Codeine was better, considering your medical history."
Sam's eyes twinkled. "Does that make his mistake your mistake? Since you trained him?"
"How do you know that?"
"I have my sources. Wait a minute." Gerard went bug eyed. "How do you know my medical history?"
Richard leaned back. "Wouldn't you like to know. I have my sources."
Gerard rolled his eyes but his smile hadn't been so broad since he'd spotted Richard by that old truck.
Richard read his mind again. "Cosmo and Poole took care of everything. They drove my truck home and I, in turn, will drive your car when you're released. All charges were dropped and they're…they even offered compensation but I turned them down. Kathy fought tooth and nail about going home to sleep. Biggs and I convinced her in the end."
Sam just reclined and watched Richard gesture with his free hand. While rattling off about tire alignment and sending Newman to the library to get a copy of The Sound of Music they could watch, Richard spooned Jello into his mouth. It was comical watching him doing it with his left, non-dominant, hand.
He circled the spoon in that signature tic, sending blue globs onto the floor. Some landed in his lap.
Amusement bubbled up and over, shaking the hospital gown and sheets. Gerard's laughter ended in a groan. He massaged the bullet swipe. "Doctors really are hazardous to health."
The echoing sound was so unexpected, so abnormal in Sam's world, that he didn't notice it at first. It carried a husky quality, the underlying staccato report of stifled mirth.
Richard's laughing.
Gerard stared at his friend. The busted purple lips were turned up in something easy.
Something free.
Richard's laughing.
Even around Sam's beloved kids, Richard didn't really laugh. A snort or snicker around the poker table, maybe. The wry smile attesting to his sharp wit, sure. Never laughter. Never the open mouthed sounds he was making now.
Richard misread this silence. He lurched forward. "Sam? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?"
They have me on the good stuff too. It was Sam's only explanation for the reason he was the one now fighting a burn behind his eyes.
"You could go home," he gasped out again.
Richard laughed again like this was the greatest joke. The sound made Gerard dizzy. "As if I'd leave you to these sharks. No, if you're here, so am I. You can rest easy knowing your crazy doctor's got everything covered."
He said it as a joke, but the words rang true. Kathy's challenge came back: it's scary, isn't it?
Not anymore, it wasn't.
"Besides," Richard added. "Treating gunshot wounds beats water polo any day."
Gerard began to laugh too, loud and swelling. Richard looked gob smacked for two point five seconds before it became contagious. He snickered into his fist, leaning on the mattress. It was uproarious. It was messy.
It was perhaps the most vulnerable both had been in front of each other.
And in that moment, this laughter was interest on the past two years. A buildup of everything neither had let out.
It released now in a flood of something unstoppable, something that hit Sam in a breath—he lay in a hospital bed and this protective doctor was the one he'd hunted for months only to become the closest friend he'd had in his life.
They'd saved each other tonight.
They'd saved each other every day for the past year.
Cosmic irony.
They were still in stitches—literally, in Sam's case—when Cosmo, Poole, Newman, and Biggs walked into the room. The four halted, Cosmo's brandished Wendy's takeout bag lowering with his arm.
"Uh oh," said Biggs. "We knew this day would come: they've lost it."
"What did they give you?" Poole yelled over the din. "Laughing gas?"
Newman simply joined in. Maybe his sensitive soul understood better than all of Sam's kids. He popped a movie in the DVD player mounted underneath the corner television. Richard stood, still hoarse with laughter, to check HDL readings on Sam's heart monitor.
Gerard only stopped laughing because his stitches threatened to pop, growing warm.
Richard stopped out of shock when Cosmo gave him a hug.
"You're the best, Doc."
The others hummed their agreement around mouthfuls of fast food. Sam broke into his own bacon cheeseburger. Chairs were pulled up, Julie Andrews crested the hilltop to begin singing, and Richard broke away from the embrace red faced and a looking thousand pounds lighter.
"Those are my fries!"
"No," Biggs argued with Cosmo. "These came with mine."
"Then you only ordered five fries, not six!"
The bickering continued to cover Gerard's still moist eyes. He cocked his head at Richard, now seated with his good elbow propped on the mattress.
"You broke our deal."
Richard put down his salad fork, eyes clouded in thought.
"You told them I like musicals!"
Richard's lips twitched. "It wasn't my suggestion. I think Noah was already on to you."
"Totally not a secret, boss."
Gerard threw a fry at Newman. It bounced off his head. The homey sounds lulled Sam. He felt…himself…for the first time in years.
"Richard? I'm glad it happened."
You're on the really good drugs. That didn't make any sense.
Sam said it sotto voce, so the others wouldn't hear. Being so close, Richard did. He stilled, head bowing again for a split second. Then he tilted to see Gerard, nodding, eyes big and sincere.
He spoke nonverbal better than all of them.
When no one was looking, Sam feathered a hand over Richard's head. It was brief. Sam hoped he could blame it on the medications later.
Right now, though…he needed to feel the very alive presence of a man history said he should have shot or put behind bars. This profound, innocent man. Innocent in every sense and yet wiser than most.
That's when Sam noticed the scarf. Richard had hidden it under his shirt, tied in a loop around his neck. It fluttered in tandem with Richard's heartbeat.
And at that sight, Gerard knew he was safe to close his eyes. He trusted Kimble to have his back.
"Don't worry." Richard's whisper followed Sam into a doze. "I won't tell them you can knit."
Cosmo fumbled with the remote. It paused on a bunch of nuns.
He whirled around. "You can what?"
FIN
Written in 2017.