OUT THERE

Chapter Eleven

"A tangled forest and the feeling of hidden eyes watching." (James Christensen, 'Voyage of the Basset, 1996')

They gave him something for the fire in his shoulder. It dulled the pain but it also skewed his thoughts and that made him panic. Trapped in a cubicle with strangers who poked and pulled at his body, he found this second assault far more intimate. He knew that they were only doing their job, but there was a thrill of fear inside him that would not go away, no matter how hard he fought against it.

He had woken up in the ambulance, still at the scene, to find Lindsay collecting trace from beneath his nails. It disturbed him even more to learn that she had already run through the rest of the process - pictures and all. At the hospital, a nurse and a smart-looking female doctor had taken his clothes and bagged them; sliding him into a backless gown instead. After that, they took his dignity, their gloved hands roaming across his skin as they spoke clichéd words of reassurance that meant nothing to him. He had heard them all before. Enduring in silence, he was painfully aware of the man who lingered beyond the curtain, and could only imagine what he must be thinking.

At long last, the doctor stepped back and peeled off her gloves. "Um... are you done?" he ventured.

"For now," she said briskly.

"You've patched up the wound on my back, right?" He kept his voice steady, but it was an effort. Catching the look in his eye, the doctor stiffened as though she had already sensed his intention.

"Yes, but Mr. Ross..."

"And the rest? It's all just bruises - no broken bones?"

"I believe so, yes, but a series of x-rays would confirm..."

Adam shook his head, cutting her off mid-sentence. Climbing down from the bed, he put all of his strength into standing up straight and not falling over. "Thanks for your help, okay," he said sincerely. "I feel much better now and I don't want to waste your time. Detective Flack can take me home. He's a cop, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Because cops are trained in medicine these days?" The doctor folded her arms, clearly preparing for a battle of wills. At the same time, hearing his name, Flack lifted the curtain and peered into the cubicle, grinning.

"Just one problem," he offered, to Adam's dismay. "You don't have a shirt." Or pants, his eyes added silently, flicking downwards.

Adam flushed. In his haste to leave, he had not considered this vital fact. Turning his back to the wall, he tugged at the ugly blue gown and thanked his lucky stars that at least they had left him his boxers. "Oh..."

"Maybe I can help with that," a familiar voice interceded.

Flack whirled round and Adam peered past him. "Boss!" he cried, torn between happiness and sheer embarrassment.

"Nice save," Flack said, as he noticed the black canvas bag in Mac's arms.

The doctor huffed at this new invasion of her territory yet Mac was undeterred. Giving her a nod that hovered on the very edge of politeness, he stepped into the cubicle and laid his offering on the bed. Adam opened the bag and stared in astonishment.

"I can't wear those," he whispered urgently.

Mac's eyes bored into him. There was... something behind his steady gaze. Anger, tightly controlled; but it wasn't directed at him, or Flack, or even the scowling doctor. "Lindsay told me about your shirt. I didn't have time to swing by your apartment."

"But... they're yours."

"From my locker." He nodded. "We're roughly the same size, Adam. Or is there some other problem? Don't you like my fashion sense...?" A wry smile forced its way onto his lips. Adam knew that this was gentle teasing, meant to stir him into obedience - but still! To wear his boss's clothes? Unthinkable...

"Hey - you want to get out of here, don't you?" Flack hinted, making the doctor frown even more. "Let's give the man some privacy," he continued, turning to include her in the conversation.

She threw up her arms in defeat. "On your own head be it," she warned Adam, scrawling a hasty prescription and shoving it into his hand before stalking out. The young nurse followed, winking at Flack in shared amusement. Adam felt a stab of guilt. His decision was reckless; he knew it, but the urge to escape was even stronger. Too many people. Too many eyes.

"Do you need any help?" Mac said quietly, letting his gaze travel from Adam's face to his trembling hands.

God, no. He couldn't believe that they were actually letting him go through with this - but then, when had Mac Taylor or Don Flack ever relished spending time in hospital? "Got it, thanks," he breathed, and the two men slipped out of the cubicle, dragging the curtain shut behind them. Finally, Adam was alone.

He stared at the neat pile of clothes inside the bag. Mac's shirt sat on top. Dark blue and sharply pressed, it was part of the boss man's daily persona. Stretching out his fingers, Adam touched it nervously. "Wonder if this one stops bullets," he murmured to himself. A snigger from outside the cubicle told him that Flack had not gone far.

Adam's shoulder was taped up so much that the bandages crackled and, whilst there was no pain right now, movement of any kind was restricted. Dropping the gown with some difficulty, he stood in the cubicle feeling cold and vulnerable, clad in nothing more than his boxers. The ghost of an ache ran down his arm and his chest was tight. He knew the cause of that. Stop panicking, he told himself crossly. No one's watching...

The thought mocked him and he shivered. Goosebumps flared across his bare skin.

Oh, how he wished that he had seen the wound before they covered it. Nothing could be worse than the image that burned through his imagination, red like fire. The Eye of Sauron, forever at his back.

"Get a grip," he hissed, reaching for the shirt. "It's a couple of scratches, alright? Someone's idea of a bad joke."

And yet...

Stubbornly, Adam refused to follow that thought. He slipped his good arm through one sleeve and then wrestled with the other side until the shirt was on. Buttoning the front, he grabbed the pants and went through a similar clumsy routine. Last of all came a pair of dress shoes that were only one size too small. Squeezing into them, Adam looked down at himself. "I'm Mac Taylor," he joked - yet the thought gave him courage.

"Done," he offered simply, stepping out of the cubicle with the empty bag.

Flack gave a smile. "Very smooth. Very 'head-of-the-crime-lab'."

"In my dreams," Adam shot back, looking around for his boss.

"Really? That's what you want? 'Cause I dream of owning the Knicks."

The two men stared at each other. We're both lying, Adam thought suddenly, knowing full well that his dreams were darker and guessing that Flack's were too.

Just then, Mac appeared beside them with a wheelchair. "No way," Adam breathed. "I don't need one of those. I can walk; I'm..."

"Fine?" Mac said pointedly. "Hop in. Enjoy the ride. How often do you get the chance to be pushed around by your boss?"

"Don't answer that," Flack whispered in his ear, making Adam splutter. He turned the noise into a cough and sat down quickly.

They left the hospital in companionable silence. When they reached the SUV, a meaningful look passed between his two rescuers, followed by Mac's keys, hand to hand. Adam clambered into the back seat, only to be joined by Mac from the other side. Flack settled into the driving seat. He started the engine and they pulled away.

"Now," Mac said. "How are you - really?"

Adam thought about lying. He thought about pretending that everything was okay. But this was Mac, and Mac deserved the truth. "They pinned me down and carved an eye into my back," he sighed. "How would you feel?"

"Good point," Flack commented. Mac's face was unreadable.

"Why do you think they did that?"

"What? Boss, if I knew the answer to that, I really would be bucking for your job, okay? They're crazy. If Jade hadn't saved me..." He paused. Once again, that nasty worm of doubt was crawling through his gut.

"And Jade's your friend, right?" Flack queried from the front seat.

"Not exactly. Friend of a friend - well, cousin, anyway. I think..." He wriggled uncomfortably. "I think she likes me. 'Like' likes - if you know what I mean?"

"Not always," the detective murmured. Mac sent a frown in his direction through the rear view mirror.

"You watched the CCTV footage. Were these the same guys who mugged Conrad Valens and killed Marissa Kelly?"

"Girls," Adam said softly. "Not guys. I... I don't know. I think so, boss."

"Any reason why they'd pick you as their next victim?"

"I'm sorry - I really don't know." His head was spinning as he tried to remain coherent. Unable to answer, he ventured a question of his own. "Does the... okay, do you think the eye means that they're watching me?"

Mac fell silent and Adam could tell that he was searching for the right answer. "I think they want you to believe that," he admitted finally. "Doesn't mean it's true."

Or false, Adam thought, but he didn't say as much. "Great. Thanks."

"If you're worried," Flack said, "I can post a uni on your six for a couple of days."

The offer was kind, but the very thought of someone following him around only served to fuel his paranoia. "Oh! Um... no, that's not... I'll be okay, detective; thank you."

Flack shrugged. "I'm just sayin'. There's no shame in bein' afraid."

But there was; there really was. Here he sat, with the two bravest men he knew - and this was what they thought of him? Poor little Adam Ross, can't protect himself. Shakes with fear at the first sign of trouble. Jello Man... He closed his eyes and sank down further in his seat.

"Still tired?" Mac said with open sympathy.

"Mm," he mumbled. "I slept, boss. Honest I did..."

Mac reached out and laid a hand on his arm to reassure him. "It's not a criticism, Adam." Sighing, he leaned forwards. "Look, Don, I need to see the crime scene; talk to Lindsay. You think you could stay with him for a while? Make sure he's okay? Look around...?"

"Already cleared it." Flack sounded smug. "I'm off the clock till morning."

Got my own bodyguard. Adam tried to wrap his head around the thought of Detective Flack in his apartment.

Oh, no! His apartment...

He hoped that Flack was not a fussy man.

-xx-

"Nice building," the detective offered casually as they rode up in the elevator. Adam resisted the urge to slump against the side of the car.

"Um - thanks." He swallowed. "Look, you don't have to do this, okay? I'm just gonna sleep. I'll be fine."

Flack pulled a face. "You don't look fine."

Neither do you, Adam thought, but he held his tongue. The door slid open and he stepped through, followed by his new best friend. It was only when they reached his apartment that he spotted the flaw in their plan.

"My keys," he said dolefully. "They were in my pants."

"And your pants..."

"Are evidence now," they finished together.

"Wait there - I'll go fetch your super."

"No need." Adam shook his head. "There's a better way." Shuffling along the corridor, he knocked on Elma's door instead. "My neighbour," he explained as they waited. "I have her keys and she has mine. You know, for emergencies."

"Like this one," Flack grinned.

"Kinda..." Adam's sharp ears picked up the rattle of the chain and he frowned. Clearly, Beth-Anne's accident had unnerved Elma far more than he realised. The door cracked open and a pair of brown eyes peered out warily.

"Hello...?".

He waited as she took in his appearance, making no attempt to remove the chain. Flack stood nearby, looking puzzled. "It's me," Adam offered at last. "You know - Adam? Elma, are you okay?"

The brown eyes blinked.

"Of course I am. Adam; how silly of me. For a moment there..." Elma shook her head. "Never mind. Let me get this off."

The chain was released and the door flew open. "Come in," she told him. "I was just boiling the kettle for a pot of tea. You can join me if you like." Her gaze slipped past him. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh! Elma Bryce, meet Detective Flack. And... I don't mean to be rude, okay, but I can't really stay. I just need my keys. The spare set," he added. "I'm locked out."

She pouted. "Why not come in anyway? I've made cookies..."

He could almost hear the saliva pooling in Don Flack's mouth - and all at once he was struck by another embarrassing truth. There was still no food in his apartment. The milk, the bread; even the poor chrysanthemums were probably sitting in the back of the Avalanche right now, bagged and labelled - and useless.

"Great smell," Flack hinted. Was it Adam's imagination, or was the detective actually pleading with him; blue eyes wide and hopeful?

"I can't," he sighed, trying to ignore the vibes that Flack was sending out. If he sat down for even a second in one of Elma's cosy chairs, he would be lost. His own bed; that was what he needed. And... "Milk," he blurted, suddenly. "Do you... could you lend me some milk? I'm fresh out."

Which was how, ten minutes later, the two men entered Adam's apartment, laden with goodies and sharing a look of stunned amusement.

"That's some neighbour you've got there," Flack said, sounding more than a little jealous. "All mine gives me is earache. You get cookies."

"And cake." As they dropped their burdens on the kitchen counter, Adam glanced around cautiously. Yes. It really was as bad as he remembered. "Look," he began - but Flack folded his arms and shook his head.

"Don't go there," he said. "I'm not judgin'."

"Okay." Gratitude mingled with weariness in Adam's voice. "Um..." He wanted to be a good host but there was a block in his mind and all at once he could not seem to force his way past it. With far more sensitivity than he would have expected from the detective, Flack saw his problem and came to the rescue.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to the couch. "You hungry? Let's see how good those cookies really are."

-xx-

The sun went down and shadows swelled around them. Adam had nibbled his way through just one cookie - raisin and oatmeal, with a strong hint of Elma's favourite spice. The effort was enough to finish him off. Worn out, he curled up quietly on his side. Flack stuck a cushion beneath Adam's head and settled back into a nearby chair, long legs sticking out beneath the coffee table. Beside him was an empty, crumb-filled plate. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "See that stain up there?" he said absently. "Looks like Yoda..."

Adam forced his eyes to swivel upwards. "Star Wars? I didn't think..." He tried to tone down his surprise.

"Oh, yeah." Flack grinned. "I may not be a science geek like you, Ross, but I've got taste. I'm right, though, aren't I?" he added.

"Yeah," Adam murmured. "It kinda does. Thanks for that. Now I'm gonna feel like some nine hundred year old Jedi Master is watching every move I make..."

The comment had started out as a joke, but his voice died away as his mind flew straight back to that terrifying place he'd been trying so hard to avoid.

"No one's watching you," Flack said firmly. Then he blinked and shook his head. "Okay, maybe they are, 'cause I am, right now... but you're smart, right? You knew what I meant?"

"I knew. And thank you." Adam dropped his head once more and silence settled over the room - broken only by a strange sound that he couldn't quite identify. Peering round, he saw that Flack was moodily kicking the table, his own eyes still staring at the ceiling.

"You okay?" Adam ventured.

At first, he thought that Flack was ignoring him. There was no sense of connection between them until, quite suddenly, the detective began to speak. His voice was low. "They watch me, sometimes. I can feel 'em. Mac and the others; don't think I don't know it. You know it. Seems like you're this crazy lab guy, always crackin' jokes and actin' weird, right? Ask me, we've got more in common than they suspect."

Adam held his breath, afraid to interrupt. He did know it. Flack wore a mask these days, just like him. Was he about to take it off? Spill his guts to a man that he barely knew?

"You ever been in love, Ross?" Flack asked suddenly.

"No," Adam whispered, and it was only half a lie. He had fancied himself in love on several occasions - but he had also seen the way that Flack looked at Jessica Angell when she was alive and he knew that there was no comparison.

"Heaven and hell." The phrase was cryptic. Flack closed his eyes and a shudder passed through him. When had his mood grown so dark? The room felt cold to Adam and the shadows closed in even further as he waited for an explanation that never came. Whatever compulsion had loosened Flack's tongue now turned around and sealed it up completely.

Long before Adam managed to fall asleep, he heard gentle snores drifting across the room - a definite end to all conversation. Sorry, Mac, he thought, feeling strangely guilty at the lost opportunity. The feeling stayed with him, haunting his dreams all night like a restless blue-eyed spirit.

-xx-

A/N: For all of your reviews/favourites/follows - thank you! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.