I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. Peter Gunn and Edie Hart own each other. My profit consists of the fun I have with them.

A Lifetime in Eight Days

Chapter 19: Questions and Confessions

Edie Hart stopped reading as the chapter came to an end, the door to Peter Gunn's room coincidentally opening to admit Dr. Carson with Miss Miles trailing behind by a couple steps. Pete's lashes fluttered as his eyes opened. He had been awake for a while, listening to his girl's velvety voice as she read aloud, wondering if what he was hearing was real or part of another dream and not wishing to spoil it should it be the latter. He stared at the two visitors with eyes that didn't seem to want to focus properly, the beginnings of a throbbing ache stirring around in his head. The PI's gaze moved from the man and woman to another figure seated by the foot of the bed, arms resting on the short railing, his gaze locked on Pete's face. He looked the man up and down with confused blue eyes.

"Pop?"

"Hello, son."

Frank Gunn smiled, glad to see his son looking a little more lucid than he had been the previous evening. He had awoken a number of times during the night, usually just long enough to swallow a few more sips of water but not saying anything, slipping quickly back into sleep as soon as his head came in contact with the pillow again. On a couple of occasions he stayed awake long enough to recognize the people who happened to be in the room, each time asking Pop what he was doing here and asking Edie if she was okay.

"What are you doing here?" Pete tried a smile of his own, grimacing and raising a hand toward his face at the pain the simple act produced, wincing and hissing in further pain as his fingers came in contact with his bruised and broken bottom lip. He allowed his hand to be taken and held securely by the woman at his side. He could see her in his peripheral vision but had so far refused to look at her, afraid she might turn out to be a figment of his imagination. But the warmth of her hand was obviously real. Turning his head on the pillow, he missed the concerned glance Frank tossed the doctor's way, and instead met the soft blue gaze of the blonde sitting beside the bed. His eyes drank in her features, basked in the pretty smile that lit her face, admired the soft hair that fell to her shoulders, before drifting restlessly toward the corner of the room to once again become confused at the riot of flowers and plants and cards he saw there.

Pete slowly returned his gaze to Edie and then Pop and then to the two people on the opposite side of the bed that he finally determined to be a doctor and a nurse. A covered bowl had appeared on a tray that seemingly came from nowhere, the aroma of whatever lay beneath the cover tantalizing the man's senses. He raised his head from the pillow and looked down at the tray, the ache in his head continuing to throb, his eyes diverted by the hospital gown drooping from his shoulders and chest to reveal black and purple bruising as far as he could see. Curiously he used a finger to lift the gown further to get a better look at himself. A tiny glint of humor crossed his face as he released the gown and raised his eyes.

"Must've been some fight." His voice was raspy but the words were clear. "I'd hate to see what the other guy looks like."

Frank Gunn threw another quizzical glance at Dr. Carson, who simply shook his head and answered his unspoken question by saying it wasn't an unusual reaction and that things would return to normal slowly. Pulling his stool from the corner Carson sat down and looked at his patient and asked Pete if he remembered him or Miss Miles, who he indicated with a motion of his hand. He received a careful shake of the head after Pete gave both of them a squinty look. Carson assured him that was fine then reached out and lifted the cover from the bowl on the tray, telling Pete he had been doing so well getting water down that it was time they tried him on some real food. Pete looked at the bowl and tried to grimace through a twinge of discomfort.

"Since when has chicken broth been considered real food?"

Carson smiled and told Pete he was going to ask him a really silly question. He asked him if he was in pain.

"I know you must be. We lowered your morphine dose so you wouldn't sleep so much and I don't want to raise it again. I can give you something else that's not quite as strong and won't make you sleepy but will keep the pain in check."

Pete stared at the doctor curiously, some thought and some question trying to form at the back of his mind at the man's words but not able to fight its way past the muddle inside his brain. Instead he just told him he had a headache and asked if he could have some aspirin. What he received appeared to be something much stronger than regular aspirin but he didn't ask. He got the big pills down with a little difficulty and a couple swallows of water and then was encouraged by Carson to try the broth. Picking up the spoon he managed to scoop up some broth but by the time he got it half way to his mouth he was seeing double. He held the spoon where it was and stared at it with a frown trying to decide which way to go with it until Edie reached out and gently guided it in the right direction. A few more spoonfuls reached their target with less difficulty before he laid the spoon down.

Something the doctor had said continued to niggle at Pete's brain and his eyes were once again drawn to the flowers and cards in the corner of the room. Before he could get his question out though the doctor told him he needed to ask him a few more questions of his own and that he might once again consider them silly questions but he'd like Pete to answer them to the best of his ability. The detective nodded.

"Can you tell me your age?"

"Thirty-three." Pete lifted his hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. His headache wasn't any worse but it wasn't getting any better either.

"Can you tell me what color Miss Hart's eyes are?" The doctor glanced across the bed at Edie and winked. "Without looking."

"Blue." Pete frowned. "Why would I have to look?"

"Can you tell me her age?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What kind of job did your dad have when you were growing up?" Carson was still smiling at his patient's previous answer.

"He chased after bootleggers."

Dr. Carson raised an eyebrow at that answer and glanced at Frank Gunn.

"What can I say?" Pop shrugged his shoulders. "A job's a job." He looked over at Pete. "That was only until '33 anyway. You were too young to remember any of that."

"It's still fun to say it."

"Who is the President of the United States?" Carson continued.

"Dwight Eisenhower."

"What month is this?"

"September."

"Do you know today's date?"

Pete's forehead creased in a frown as he gave that question some consideration. Based on a couple of things he thought he remembered – a visit to his insurance agent and a trip to the dry cleaners – he chose a date and mentally added two days, figuring he might have been in the hospital that long. He immediately knew he had given the wrong answer but no one corrected him.

"You've suffered a very severe concussion." The doctor's voice took on a serious overtone. "Do you understand what a concussion is?"

Pete nodded.

"Your headache is a result of your concussion. You're going to have to put up with it for a while, along with the double vision and problems with depth perception. You may also have other problems – lack of sleep, sleeping too much, irritability, restlessness. Your brain was banged around. It will take a little while for it to get back to normal."

"How did it get banged around?"

Dr. Carson took a while to consider that one, his expression thoughtful.

"I can't give you a precise answer to that. I wasn't there," he finally said. "Your friend Lieutenant Jacoby might be able to provide you some sort of clue but only you know for sure, and that's your biggest issue right now – remembering. The memories will eventually come back. We just don't know when or how."

The bag was calling to her. The gray cloth bag sitting in the corner between the bureau and the wall. Pop had returned to Pete's room with it following his talk with Lieutenant Jacoby the previous evening. Edie had asked neither about the discussion nor the bag. She could imagine how the first one went and she knew without asking what the second one contained. She glanced at Pete. He had dropped off to sleep a few minutes after the doctor and nurse left the room, his broth half eaten, and Frank Gunn had stepped out to stretch his legs, so he said. She knew he had gone to get some further information from the doctor and had left him to it.

After sitting a while longer, her eyes on Pete's chest as it steadily rose and fell, Edie fetched the bag and propped it against her chair as she sat back down. She studied it for a few minutes before reaching down and drawing out the smaller bag on top. She opened it and removed Pete's wristwatch and wallet and laid them on the bedside table before tossing the bag in the wastebasket. She did the same thing with the rest of the items in their various bags until she reached the black suit jacket folded near the bottom. She unfolded it and draped it across her lap then retrieved the final items in the bag, Pete's favorite pair of black leather shoes. Then she reversed the process. Everything went back into the bag except the wallet, the contents from the wallet, the wristwatch, Pete's comb (for reasons no one but she would understand), the laundry ticket and insurance receipt, the cuff links, Pete's keys, his cigarette lighter and his revolver, which she left in its separate sealed bag. Everything else could go, she wanted no part of any of it. If the police wanted it then Jacoby could take it back. If not she would trash it or burn it or throw it in the river. She told Pete's dad as much when he came back. He left again with the bag in hand and returned a few minutes later without it. He didn't tell her what he did with it and she didn't want to know.

"You need to go home."

"What?" Edie glanced up from setting and winding Pete's watch. Frank watched as she wiped the crystal face and leather band and placed the watch on the the table next to the telephone.

"You need to go home and get some sleep, take care of things you've been ignoring. I'll be here with Pete." Frank smiled gently. "He'll be all right without you for a while."

She stared at him as he said those final words. He'll be all right without you for a while.

No. She would never do that again.

"I'll go home when Pete is able to remember I'm coming back. Not before."

Pete slowly set the spoon down in the bowl of half-eaten soup, watching bits of rice and noodle swirl around at the bottom of the dish. The bland mishmash seemed to stare right back up at him through the ripples made by the settling spoon. It was a strange reminder of his life over the past seven or eight weeks. A half-lived, bland, swirling mishmash of an existence. He looked to the woman at his side, his gaze touching on the blonde softness of her hair, the pretty iridescent blue of her eyes and the tender curve of her lips. She had been missing from his life for far too long.

"If I'd realized getting myself beaten up would get you to talk to me I would have had somebody do it long before now." His voice was low, still scratchy, but carried a wealth of emotion.

"Pete-" Unable to get any words past the sudden lump in her throat she abruptly leaned toward him, her right hand grasping at the back of his neck to pull him close as her lips sought and found his. He winced as sharp pain shot through his sore bottom lip, at the same time wrapping his right arm around her shoulders and pulling her as near to him as physically possible, regardless of shouts of pain from other parts of his body, unwilling to release her once he felt the touch of her lips on his. His fingers dug into the soft fabric of her light blue sweater as he held on tight. Their lips continued to cling once the kiss ended, Edie lifting her hand to examine Pete's face with a gentle touch of her fingers.

"I hurt you." She outlined the edges of his lips with her index finger, hovering over the still tender split in the bottom one. He innately knew she wasn't referring to the physical pain he had just experienced. He wet his lips and closed his eyes as her hand drifted first to his hair, weaving through its mussed blackness, then down the side of his neck to his throat, lingering at the quickening pulse she found there. Pete turned his face from hers to find that sweet spot in the curve of her shoulder, his head resting there as he inhaled her unique aroma mingled with that of soap and shampoo and perfume.

"I took you for granted," he parried, his breath warm against the her neck, the short stubble of his beard scratching her soft skin in a wonderful way. "I took what we have for granted. I won't ever do that again. I promise." He felt a warm moisture on his cheek and couldn't tell whether it was Edie who was crying or if it was him or maybe both of them.

Neither of them heard the almost silent opening of the door nor did they see the man who stood there, quietly watching them, afraid to move lest he interrupt their moment. He remained holding the door so it wouldn't make the noise it always did as it closed.

"You're the most important thing in the world to me. Nothing else even comes close." Pete's words were almost a whisper next to her ear. "There's a reason I was working so much, taking all those jobs-" She felt him smile. "But it wasn't something that was supposed to come between us. I want you to know that."

"I know," she soothed, hearing the weariness creeping back into his words. "You can tell me about it later." Her hand moved back to his hair and drifted soothingly to the nape of his neck.

"We'll be all right." His voice had dropped to below a whisper.

"We are all right." The woman's voice was barely higher than his. "More than all right. Always."

Pete took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh as he opened his eyes. He blinked at the man standing in the doorway, half turned away, staring at the floor as he tried to give them the privacy he had unknowingly invaded. Pete moved his head so that his chin rested on Edie's shoulder but he didn't remove his arm from around her. He found a smile and directed it toward the man.

"Hi, Pop."

"Son." Frank Gunn tried to look elsewhere. At least this time Pete didn't ask him what he was doing there. He figured that was a step in the right direction. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Edie pulled away, her face averted as she looked toward the bedside table for a tissue. Realizing she had been the one who was crying, Pete reached out and wiped at her face with the palm of his hand. She found a Kleenex and blew her nose.

"You look tired, honey." Pete's head dropped back to the pillow as he felt his own weary body react to just the little bit of activity it had experienced over the last few minutes.

"She is." Frank took the opportunity to seize on his son's words. "That's why she's going home to get some sleep." He gave Edie a pointed look as he moved further into the room to stand next to her chair and place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Pete watched some sort of silent exchange take place between his girl and his dad. He would have grinned if he could figure out which muscles to use and if he knew doing it wouldn't hurt. The irresistible force versus the immovable object. It was difficult to tell which was which but he knew both of them with their own separate intimate knowledge. Though he was curious as to which one would back down first he wouldn't be surprised either way.

"Fine." It was Edie. She didn't sound happy. And she continued her eye battle with Frank Gunn, staring up at him as she spoke. "But I won't be long."

Pete's gaze held the smile he couldn't force his lips to produce. A stubborn Edie Hart was a picture to behold.

"You can come back in the morning."

Her eyes widened and she began to respond as Pete interrupted.

"You look tired too, Pop. You should both go. I'll probably just sleep all night anyway."

"No." Edie quickly stood up and began to gather her things together. "I'll go home and get some sleep and come back in the morning." She locked eyes with Frank Gunn but spoke to Pete as she continued. "When I get back Pop can go home and do the same."

Pete's dad gave her one of Pete's stares along with one of Pete's jaw twitches. Then he gave her one of Pete's best smiles and slowly nodded, his blue gaze holding the same gleam of admiration Pete's always did. Pete himself was already asleep.