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A Tangled Web (27)
Somewhere at the back of her mind, Sharon was aware that she was in a hospital. She knew, because she vaguely remembered the EMTs asking her questions, and the nurses affixing electrodes to her skin. Someone telling her to stay still while they took her blood, and the mechanical whirr of a CT scan. She remembered trying really hard to be coherent as a variety of medical staff asked her more questions, though she had no idea what she'd actually told them.
She remembered all those things in a strange chronology, like flashes in her memory with no time between them, but she did remember, and so when she woke up to silence and an odd grey light and completely unfamiliar surroundings, part of her knew where she was and what was happening.
Another part of her was completely confused. And then there was a big part that inexplicably went into panic mode, which was a little strange, because panic mode was hardly her first reaction to anything… but seeing how her head felt woozy and her body about ten times too heavy, anyway, the unexpected panic sent her heart racing, but didn't really spur any abrupt physical flight responses, or anything.
She lay there quietly, getting her breath under control and making sure that she could move all her limbs and fingers, and that there were no significant body parts missing.
At her age, and after two children and thirty years on the police force, this was hardly the first time that she'd woken up in a hospital. Granted, all those times before, she'd had a much better idea of how she'd ended up there, but…
Her throat closed up a little, unexpectedly again, as flashes of a dark room and stale air and the sensation of being trapped encroached upon the edges of her consciousness.
Involuntarily, she jumped, trying to propel herself backwards in a millennia-old gesture of self-preservation.
Of course, there was nowhere to go backwards, so she just pushed her shoulder blades against the pillow and somehow managed to send a stab of pain up her left arm, and after a confused moment and a dry gasp, she made herself settle down again. The room was quiet. A vitals monitor beeped somewhere to her right, and she could hear the AC from the ceiling. It was all very… peaceful.
That edge of panic lurked there, heavy in her limbs, like the sensation of near-immobility after waking up from a bad nightmare.
Sharon pushed it back. This was fine, it was a hospital for God's sake, she was fine.
Okay – her head was already spinning, a bit, and there was an uncomfortable ringing in her ears… but, well… people didn't end up in hospitals because they were feeling good, she reminded herself. All things considered, she was fine.
'All things considered.'
Her breath hitched a little.
Outside, the sun was still rising, and the welcome sight of its grey early-morning rays seeping in through the window nearly brought her to tears. Her right hand moved, almost as if trying to feel the sunlight between her wriggling fingers.
Her eyes were drifting shut again.
Sharon let out another slow breath, and thought about her children.
The next time she woke up, the light was a little too strong. She blinked a couple of times; her eyes felt so impossibly dry, that no amount of blinking was helping. She was exhausted, and it looked like one of those days when she woke up with a slight headache. Her ears were still ringing.
She blinked again against the way her eyelids felt like sandpaper.
Something smelled odd.
She startled as awareness dawned and she realized again that she was not at home. Bits and pieces of what happened rushed back, and her eyes opened wide, her heart picking up the pace.
"Sharon. It's okay. You're in the hospital." She turned her head left, to the sound of the familiar voice. "Everything's fine."
She cleared her throat. Okay – yes, she was in the hospital, that's right. She'd ascertained that the previous night, too. Her surroundings still looked a little fuzzy, but she was also missing her glasses, so that might've been why.
She blinked another couple of times – how was it possible for eyes to feel this dry? – and then focused on the silhouette a few feet away.
Lt. Flynn stood against the door-side wall, and there was a dark blue brace on his shoulder. That definitely hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him.
The last time she'd seen him – God. She saw dim flashes of pushing that cabinet, her hands cramping against the metal. Hearing his voice. The bright beam of a flashlight hurting her eyes.
She swallowed.
"How are you feeling?"
Tired, Sharon thought. She was ready for a nap again. She winced as she moved her neck, and tried to think of an appropriate answer that wasn't a total lie. "Better." That seemed like the most diplomatic option at the moment. "Thank you," she remembered to add after a second.
Taking a deep breath, she instinctively made a move to reach for her glasses on the nightstand, but not only was she not in her own bedroom – so obviously the nightstand wasn't where it was supposed to be – but her left hand throbbed when she moved it. Sharon glanced over to notice a white bandage wrapped around it.
That didn't seem entirely like news, either. But really, everything was a bit of a blur.
She blinked again, and shifted to a slightly more elevated position. Not an easy feat, with her left hand uncomfortably stiff and an IV line running out of her right…
She glanced up the line – she remembered something about antibiotics and fluids, and given how she was feeling that sounded about right – then back at Andy. He hadn't moved, watching her with a concerned quirk to his lips.
Sharon frowned. "The mall – did we –" It was hard to think of what to ask. What to ask first.
"We got that bastard Jensen," said Flynn. "He's in custody now, Provenza and Hobbs are gonna deal with him this morning."
Without her? Sharon's eyes arched a little – but alright, they probably couldn't wait around for her to be released, either. She expected that Provenza would update her.
This morning… Instinctively, she glanced at her wrist, but her watch was gone.
Andy read her mind. "It's just over nine a.m.. Monday." A beat, then he added, "St. Patrick's Day – you didn't hear it from me, but if you comment on the nurses' shamrock buttons, it'll get you some extra perks."
She pressed her lips together in an amused smile. "I will keep that in mind."
Her smile faded soon though, and she frowned again. "I don't…" Her voice suddenly sounded too hoarse; she cleared her throat once more. It felt dry, too. Just – the air around was impossible.
"Here." Andy had a water bottle, and there was a small stack of plastic cups on the bedside cabinet. Taking a couple of steps closer, he pulled the top cup and filled it, offering it to her.
Sharon wiggled to a higher sitting position again, propping herself up on one elbow. It was a little difficult to grab anything, what with her left hand wrapped up and her right currently hosting an IV line and a finger sensor, but the cup was small and he hadn't filled it all the way, so it was okay. "Thank you."
After a few sips, her throat at least felt considerably better. But the exhaustion was still there, settled deep in her bones.
What were they saying?
Resting back against the pillow, she looked at Lt. Flynn over the rim of her cup. "What happened to your shoulder?"
He glanced at the brace. "This? Nothing." At her arched eyebrows, he amended, "You know, just some pulled muscle or bruised joint or something… doctors were being totally unreasonable. Now I gotta wear this for two weeks." He rolled his eyes. "It's ridiculous."
Sharon hummed, a little amused, before concern settled in her expression again, "That happened when you were apprehending Erik Jensen…?"
"Uh, no… no, actually… I fell off a ladder." Andy saw her doubtful glance, and managed a one-shouldered shrug. "I did. Not my finest moment. I mean it was a bad ladder…"
She was trying to smile at his attempts at humor, but… "Is everyone else…" Her voice trailed off as memories flared up again, and – God – "Rusty! Andy – " She shook her head, "I… Rusty was with you …?" She could hear the way her voice had risen in pitch.
"He's fine," he hurried to say. "Kid's fine. He's at your condo, Buzz drove him home last night to get some sleep and some food, he's fine. Everyone's fine," he added. "You don't have anything to worry about, okay? Seriously – Sharon, just… don't worry about anything. Just stay there. Get better."
Her eyebrows arched again, involuntarily. Hadn't the roles been reversed, once? Her head may have been a little fuzzy, but she remembered just fine how he'd taken that suggestion. "That sounds like double standards, lieutenant," she murmured.
But she was getting really tired again.
Sitting there not worrying about things didn't sound like such a terrible idea at all…
But… "Tell me what happened," she asked softly.
Andy took a deep breath, hesitating a long moment before responding. "Uh… there's not that much to tell, really….we had a long search action… turned up a few possible hide-outs for Jensen... But in the end, uh, Provenza came up with a plan to use that psycho's grudge against his ex-wife to smoke him out…"
It took Sharon a few seconds to realize that he'd fallen silent. She blinked her eyes open again. "And…?" It felt like a lot of details were missing – but she was so tired. Too much so to analyze what was being left unsaid, if anything… "Are you sure that everyone's alright? Andy – "
"I'm sure." He rubbed his neck with his unrestrained hand. "Yeah, I swear, everyone's fine. Everyone else," he amended darkly, and Sharon looked at him again.
"Oh…I'm sure this looks worse than it is," she offered.
She wasn't certain, because her eyes kept drifting shut, but she thought that she might have seen him roll his eyes.
The doctor woke her up next, around ten-thirty, on the morning rounds. The disorientation on finding herself in unfamiliar surroundings lasted less, this time, and her mind caught up a lot faster. Yes, yes, hospital, tired, Monday, she'd gotten the idea.
It was a good opportunity to ask all the questions that had probably been answered for her the night before, but whose answers she didn't remember. Assess the damage, so to speak. She shifted higher on the pillow again and suffered through a few routine checks, while hearing about the long list of things that were wrong with her.
'All things considered', it could've been worse.
There was no permanent damage as far as the doctors could tell, which was a good place for her young doctor to start the update.
The gash on her left hand had taken a few stitches to close, and it was also the main reason for the antibiotics in her IV. Left unattended for two days, it had developed an infection, and once it healed it was probably going to leave a small scar. Sharon wasn't vain enough to really be sad about that; it wouldn't be her first scar. Her bones and tendons were fine, so as soon as the swelling went down, she'd be able to use her hand without the need for PT, and that was good enough in her book.
The explosion had left her with a variety of other cuts and bruises, none of which were serious and all of which would heal within a couple of weeks. Surprisingly, there was no evidence of serious head trauma – the doctor suspected that she'd gotten a mild concussion in the blast, but the CT scan hadn't shown any swelling or bleeding, and she could now pass a score of neuropsychological checks of coordination and cognitive function, so it was likely that her head, at least, was fine. Sharon had to admit that the blinding headache she'd had for nearly two days had receded to a vague discomfort.
The reasons behind her brief loss of consciousness the previous night, they thought, lay instead in the combination of her other injuries, moderate-to-severe dehydration, and the traces of benzodiazepines in her blood. The nausea and dizziness she'd experienced were probably because the explosion had punctured her eardrums.
That, Sharon had known long before she'd gotten to the hospital. Her ears had been ringing and painful for two days. It came as absolutely no surprise to learn that there was damage.
It would heal, said the doctor, within a few weeks, on its own. There was the option to get surgery to fix it, but the medical consensus was that the rupture wasn't large enough to warrant that, and whatever hearing loss she was experiencing wasn't 'major', so she'd just have to wait it out.
Great.
Sharon was starting to lose focus by the time the doctor got near the end of the list. Slight irritation to her respiratory tract – probably from the dust and smoke she'd inhaled, and from being trapped in an underground room with questionable ventilation for two days. Very mild swelling in her joints from the cold and long periods of immobility. Minor issues, apparently, that would resolve within a day or so. The fluids and antibiotics were dealing with the rest, and the reason she was still so exhausted now was because her body was using all her energy to restore its balance and fight the infection.
Rest would take care of it, the doctor assured.
And then she asked if Sharon wanted to talk to one of their counselors.
For a moment, the question took Sharon by surprise – why would she…? Then she became a little worried – was she behaving strangely, making the doctor think she needed psychiatric help…? She didn't think she was, but…
It was a little hard to trust her own judgment.
She said 'no' to the counselor, anyway.
It didn't feel like something she needed. She didn't know what she needed, but… that didn't seem to be it.
The doctor let her know that she could change her mind anytime, those services were available – which only made Sharon wonder again if she was really acting so out of it and didn't even realize it…?
No, it was probably just protocol... Who knew what her chart said.
God. The realization crept icily along her skin. Who knew what her chart said…! What did everyone think had happened to her?
What did she think had happened to her…?
She'd tried not to think about it, too much.
All in all, she supposed, it could have been a lot worse. Danny Murray had saved her life. He'd saved her life, and he'd done his best – however terrible and misguided that was – to help her. Parts of their conversations were hard to remember, now, but Sharon felt convinced that helping her had genuinely been his intention, at every step of the way.
It hadn't really worked out that way.
It hadn't really worked out at all. For either of them.
But she was alive, at least. Danny…
She hadn't asked Lt. Flynn about that. She hadn't asked a lot of questions that she should've asked.
There was time, she guessed, for the other things. Though Sharon wasn't even sure that she wanted to know all those other answers. Part of her just wanted to go home and forget this had ever happened...
" – done here, everything looks really good, okay? But I'd like to keep you here under observation for another day, just to make sure that…"
Sharon found herself, oddly, not minding – she was so tired, that the thought of not having to get out of that bed was surprisingly welcome…
" – going to let him back in, now, if you're up for staying awake for another couple of minutes I'm sure he'll be happy to see you…"
What? She forced herself back to alertness, at that.
Something in her chest tightened a little. There was something she needed. She had no idea what had changed in her expression, but the doctor smiled and said,
"Thought so," and she put her pen back in her pocket. "Okay – I'll be back again tomorrow, for one last check-up. Now give me a minute, I'll find your young man and send him back in."
Sharon leaned back against the pillow again, her lips curling in a small smile even as her eyes closed once more.
God.
The door clicked again, and though it took her a few seconds to register the sound, she looked over.
She couldn't help the way her eyes welled up when she finally saw Rusty.
" – this bastard kidnapped the Captain, and he drugged her and did God. knows. what to her, and then he left her to die in that hole! If Lt. Flynn hadn't found her – "
"That doesn't change the fact that he has the right to confer with his lawyer for as long as he needs to!" DDA Hobbs was getting a migraine. Her morning had gone terribly so far, and all the shouting wasn't helping. "Look, detective, I don't like this guy any more than you do –"
"Then why are you considering that ridiculous deal!"
"I'm not!" She nearly threw her hands up in exasperation. "Look, it's my obligation to listen to what the suspect's attorney has to say, if he's trying to make a deal that involves his client confessing. But I'm not going to take him up on arson and one count of second-degree attempted murder, no –"
"He tried to kill hundreds of people!"
" – and if we manage to prove that he actually intended to do that, I'm going to make sure he spends the rest of his life in prison," she retorted. "But he set off both of those bombs in places that didn't have any people – I am aware that that's where Captain Raydor was," she pre-empted Sanchez's next growl, "I'm just saying, that from a legal perspective, right now we can't prove that he meant to kill all those people – and your only two accomplices who could tell us that are dead!"
"Yeah, because he killed them!"
Hobbs sighed. "We have video of one of them jumping off a bridge. And for the other one, there's no physical evidence tying Erik Jensen to the murder. I believe that he killed them, yes, but right now? I couldn't prove it in front of a jury, and his lawyer knows that. So get me. some more. evidence, before I have to go in there again."
"When SID processed the Sixth Street control room," said Tao, "they found evidence of a struggle, and traces of the tree frog toxin in a broken container on the floor. We think James Donnell may have gotten exposed to an overdose during that fight – the toxin is absorbed through the skin – and that's why he became delusional and eventually jumped off that bridge."
Andrea shook her head. "That's manslaughter at best. He could even argue self-defense. I need something more serious."
"He kidnapped Captain Raydor! That's assault on a police officer, during the commission of a felony!"
"But he says that he didn't!"
"Who cares what he says?"
"We do." Provenza was just returning to the murder room, carrying a cardboard box with a pile of papers on top. "Unless you want Hobbs to put Raydor on the stand, in a trial," he told Sanchez, "we're going to need other ways to convince Jensen to confess and agree our deal."
"The only deal that son of a bitch deserves is death row," muttered Julio, and Provenza gave a lopsided nod:
"Yes… but we'll settle for life in prison."
"Life in prison is the worst we can do to him," said Tao. "Why would he ever agree to it instead of going to trial?"
"It's not the worst," countered Provenza. "Like Sanchez here points out, there's pursuing the death penalty."
"Uh… there's nothing to hold him on, for that."
"There's first-degree murder with special circumstances." Hobbs crossed her arms and glanced at Provenza, who gave her a small nod. "Okay, here's the thing," she said. "This guy may or may not have murdered that frog toxin kid, but we definitely think that he killed that other one… Danny Murray." She pointed to Danny's picture on the board, then to the box that Provenza had carried up from Evidence. "Get me proof, irrefutable proof, that he murdered Danny, with intent, and in concert with the bombs and the assault on Captain Raydor, I'm going to present it as first-degree with special circumstances, and threaten him with the death penalty."
For a few seconds, they all stared at the box of evidence, and the case notes on the murder board. The map with the possible project sites was still pinned up, red tacks marking the spots of interest that they'd spent such long, tense hours searching.
"Otherwise… we've only got him for seven to nine years, or we go to trial and I put Captain Raydor on the stand." Hobbs grimaced. "Which I'd really rather not do."
Sharon's face had lit up when she'd looked at him, and Rusty didn't understand how he felt about that.
When he and Buzz had first arrived around nine-thirty, she'd still been asleep. Lt. Flynn had told them that she'd woken up, for a bit, and that she was fine – but Rusty had really needed to talk to her himself, and though he obviously wasn't going to hold it against her that she was sleeping, frustration had curled his hands in his pockets and made him want to pace a hole in the floor.
But he also hadn't wanted to wake her, so he'd contented himself with taking just the quickest peek inside her room to make sure she was there, and… and then he'd decided that maybe he could just stay there for a little while, because that hospital room had suddenly become the safest place on Earth, because that was where Sharon was. Even if she was sleeping.
He'd sat against the door-side wall, cross-legged, and felt more at peace than he had in days.
But anxiety had a death grip on his chest still, and even as he'd breathed easier just by being near Sharon, he'd also not forgotten that things were about to come crashing down around him.
It was weird, but even knowing that hadn't made him want to run. Two years before – and a year before, even just a few months before, he'd have thought about how he wished he could just flee and leave it all behind and not deal with any of it. He'd probably not have done it, but he'd have thought about it.
Now, the thought didn't even enter his mind anymore.
He'd stay and take Sharon yelling at him a hundred times, over going anywhere else that didn't have her.
And so, even knowing that sooner or later things were going to go badly for him, Rusty had sat there, curled up by the wall, and even as he'd felt about two inches tall there had just been something about Sharon's mere presence that had brought him comfort.
When the doctor had arrived and kicked him out so she could examine Sharon, he'd paced the corridor outside, walking one end to the other, wondering what would happen to him, and what would happen to Sharon, and if she was okay – she really, really had to be okay – and if life would ever just give him a break.
But life had already given him a break, hadn't it, when someone had written 'Attention: Major Crimes' on a folder and dumped it – and him – in Sharon's hands.
And now his break was ending.
And it was awful.
He didn't want to leave.
He didn't want Sharon to be mad at him, either.
The doctor came back out again about half hour later, and signaled him over. He'd thought Sharon was sleeping again when he'd gone back in.
And then she'd turned her head and opened her eyes and her face had just lit. up., when she'd seen him – when she'd seen him – and Rusty hadn't known whether to be immensely happy, or hopelessly miserable.
She had to blink a few times, to clear her vision and make sure the tears wouldn't spill over.
She hadn't realized just how much she'd missed Rusty, until he'd walked in and she'd set eyes on him, and she'd remembered that just two days before, she'd thought that she might never see him again.
She'd thought she would die without ever getting to say goodbye, and the last things said between them had been part of some stupid fight. The last things he might remember about her would be that she'd yelled at him over the phone and sent a patrol car to pick him up like a common criminal. That thought had tormented her in those long, terrifying hours alone; the knowledge that his last memories of her would be her angry words and how he thought she was unreasonable and didn't trust him.
A silent sob rose in her throat.
She was so, so grateful that that wouldn't be it.
She didn't even know what to tell him.
"Rusty." Her voice felt too dry again. But she tried to keep a calm expression, and smile at him.
"Hey, Sharon…" His voice was low, lower than usual…or maybe it was that she couldn't hear well. He'd stopped a few steps away from the bed, fidgeting on the balls of his feet.
His shirt was buttoned crookedly.
Her lips pressed together in a painful smile, and she tried not to tear up again. She was probably scaring him…
Sharon looked so happy to see him, and he thought maybe his chest really would cave in on itself, because it was literally, physically hurting him right now.
He couldn't understand why she looked at him like that. Obviously Lt. Flynn hadn't told her about – anything. But…
When she'd said his name, his heart had probably stopped beating. He'd been so afraid that he'd never hear her voice again, so afraid.
And she was looking right at him, and not through him in that frightening way that she had back in that bunker, and she looked so much better – still more drawn and tired than he'd ever seen her, but … her face didn't have the frightening grey tinge to it and her eyes were focused on him and he couldn't even look away because he'd thought that he'd never see her look at him again.
"How..." After about ten seconds, he realized that he had to actually finish his sentences. "How are you feeling?"
She smiled a little and said, "Better," and that was such a Sharon thing to say, because obviously she was feeling better, but that didn't mean that she was feeling good. "Thank you," she added, and then she asked him how he was feeling, and somehow that didn't surprise Rusty in the least.
"Better," he told her back, and he saw the way her lips pursed imperceptibly, and then he felt awful because he was just worrying her all over again for no reason – "I mean, good. I'm good. Fine. Great. I'm great, Sharon, it's… all good."
She tilted her head, and gave him another one of those looks of hers, and Rusty wanted so much to rush over to her, those last few steps, but – but she looked so tired, and he could see her eyes trying to close…
"I'm good, Sharon," he said again, quietly. "Don't worry, okay? Just… get better." That word again. "…More better." He saw her smile, and swallowed hard.
That strange need bubbled in his chest again, just like when he'd kneeled by her in that awful dark room and he hadn't known what to say or do but he'd wanted so badly to just… something.
"Rusty," she murmured, eyes half closed. "Are you missing school right now…?"
"Yes," he agreed.
Sharon turned her head fractionally and managed a wry expression in his direction. "We are going to discuss that."
"Okay."
They were probably going to have to discuss… a lot of things. He swallowed hard again.
But not now.
Now, all the other stuff could wait.
He felt like he was getting a reprieve. Maybe one that he didn't deserve, but he was happy for it anyway.
He was still scared to touch Sharon, especially now when it seemed that she'd fallen asleep again and he didn't want to wake her, so he settled for hovering awkwardly for a few seconds, then finally adjusting the light blanket about half an inch to the right. Then he walked back over to the wall and sat down again, and when Buzz and Lt. Flynn came back up from the cafeteria and, in low whispers, offered to get him a chair, he just shrugged and waved them off, perfectly content where he was.