John hadn't sounded good. Rather, he sounded like he was trying to sound like he was fine, but it hadn't come off well.
Dorian knew better.
After their call, he had triple-checked the footage on his internal camera from yesterday so as not to miss anything crucial—even though his programming made such an error impossible. Then, he had waited on bated breath for John to arrive.
"Anything?" His friend had gone straight to business the minute he set foot in the lab.
"Good morning to you, too, John." The banter was his only defense against the rising anxiety. If John had been hit with the serum somehow, it would change everything.
Up until that point, the attacks were supposed to be isolated to one building, but then again, Dorian supposed it had still occurred in that building...
Except for the single mom. Don't forget about her.
And he hadn't, he'd just been... a bit more focused on his friend than the others since that phone call.
John had rolled his eyes, the smallest hint of a grin capturing his face. "Morning. Find anything?"
"You actually came in contact with several different people yesterday," Dorian had explained as John furrowed his brow. "My camera angle made it difficult to tell if you made physical contact with any of them."
"Great. So, back to square one again. That means reviewing more security footage. Just what I've always wanted." With a sigh, John had massaged his forehead. "Well, let's have a look at them, I guess. Were there any matches to the ones we found yesterday?"
Dorian shook his head, hating to be the bearer of more bad news. The only light on the horizon had been Rudy's completed analysis.
Now, as he stood with his partner, listening to the scientist make his explanations, Dorian studied John.
If the man had slept at all last night, his face certainly didn't show it, and the slightly distant look in his eyes reminded Dorian of when John's pills and memory flashes had landed them in a car crash.
"It is one of the more complex substances I've seen over the years," Rudy said, still marveling at the analysis even after spending most of the night and morning with it. "Actually, I don't think I've ever seen anything like it."
"We get it," John interrupted. "It's cool and you love it, but how does it work?"
"Right." Rudy wet his lips. "Well, from what I've been able to gather, the memory loss isn't random but intentional."
John looked as though it was practically killing him to keep from rolling his eyes. "That's the whole reason we're on this case—because what's happening is intentional."
"What I mean," Rudy corrected, "is that someone is choosing which memories to take and which ones to leave intact."
To say this information was shocking would be a gross understatement. Dorian watched as John's brows nearly disappeared into his hairline.
"How is that possible?" Dorian asked, noting the way his partner folded his arms across his chest, fingers digging into his bicep.
"Like I said, this is unlike anything I've ever seen before, but there are components in this sample that could allow for outside control. How they're controlling it or where they're controlling it from are still unknowns, however," Rudy went on, "whoever's behind this could, in theory, choose which memories they want to erase."
John shook his head. "This is boggling my mind. How on earth would they even be able to see which memories are which? How can they tell one from the other?"
"In theory..."
"Of course," John added.
Rudy cleared his throat. "Once the substance enters the bloodstream, it makes its way to the brain where it transmits... something... to whoever is in control that... allows that person to view certain memories. See, this is where it gets fuzzy. Since I've never seen anything like this before, I have nothing to go off of. I know the substance allows for some sort of control, but after that, it's all guesswork."
"Great."
Dorian glanced at John, who had finally indulged himself in an eye roll. "Well, at least that's something, isn't it?"
"Sure. We know how they use it, sort of, but we don't know who or why, or how to stop it." This seemed to spark an idea in John's mind because he turned back to Rudy. "Hey, is there any way we can stop it? Once it's infected someone, I mean. Any way we can flush it out?"
"That's..." Rudy hesitated. "... Also where it gets tricky. It's transmitted by touch, sinking in through the skin and releasing itself into the bloodstream. The components used are 'programmed,' for lack of a better term, to travel directly to the brain. As far as I know, only the one who did the infecting can remove it. That, or we create some sort of antidote that will kill the serum before it can do any more damage."
"Excellent." John's grin was clearly forced as he clapped a hand on Rudy's shoulder. "We should get on that, then."
"No, there's no 'we,'" Rudy said somewhat indignantly. "'We' won't spend hours upon hours trying to craft an antidote, just me."
"Well," John kept up his grin, brushing off the scientist's protestations, "then we'll leave you to it." With a nod, he beckoned Dorian toward the exit.
But Dorian kept his feet rooted to the floor.
"Rudy, before we go, can you take a quick blood sample?"
Though obviously confused, Rudy nodded. "Of course. I can analyze it here, too, no problem."
Now, it was Dorian's turn to beckon John, who had made it halfway to the door.
And who was already shaking his head. "No. We don't have time for that. Come on, we have footage to review and leads to follow."
"It'll only take a few seconds," Dorian pressed, "but, it'll take even longer if you keep standing over there with your arms crossed, afraid to get poked with a little needle."
The taunt was working, Dorian could tell by the way his partner scoffed and took a few steps forward.
"I'm not afraid of needles, so quit trying to spread lies. It'd just be a waste of time, that's all."
And yet, John meandered back over to Rudy, holding out his arm.
"You… You think you're infected?" The way Rudy said it, tone hushed and hesitant, made it seem like they were discussing the biggest conspiracy the City had ever seen instead of John's health.
John gave another shake of his head. "I'm fine, he's just paranoid."
Even as he said it, Dorian heard a hint of anxiety coat John's practiced annoyance. Irritation, Dorian had come to learn, was his partner's best line of defense against unwelcome emotions—the one's he considered to be a sign of weakness. Anxiety, fear, confusion, sadness, vulnerability...
Rudy worked fast and, just as Dorian had predicted, the whole thing was over after a few seconds.
"Great. Can we go now?" John rolled down his sleeve, his impatience palpable.
"Let me know what you find," Dorian told Rudy, who gave a vigorous nod.
"Oh, and if you guys ever have, you know, any more field work that requires a certain set of skills," Rudy added as the two cops began making their exit, "you know where to find me."
John shot him a finger gun and a smile. "Right. You know, I think we're good on this one, but I'll keep you in mind."
They had barely started driving when Dorian glanced at John, the question that had been burning on his tongue since last night floating easily off his lips.
"John, what happened? And if you try to tell me you're fine, I'll stop this car."
John's mouth moved as he contemplated his next words, and Dorian could tell he was debating which path to go down: sarcastic evasion or a soft version of the truth.
In the end, all Dorian got was an I don't know that rode out on a sigh.
"Captain Maldonado tried calling you three times before you finally picked up." Dorian furrowed his brows and waited, hoping his prompting wouldn't have been for nothing.
Though John's lips remained tightly pursed for a long moment, he ended up sighing once more and shaking his head.
"It was... weird. I went to bed and forgot to turn off the TV, but that's just normal, even though I swear I thought I turned it off. Then, my alarm went off this morning and I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was for, so I shut it off and fell back to sleep." John's knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel. "It wasn't even a fuzzy 'I know I'm supposed to do something with this but I can't remember what.' There wasn't even a hint of a memory tucked in the back of my mind, just a blank space... Almost like someone took a pair of scissors and cut it out completely."
Dorian didn't shiver, that wouldn't be helpful to the situation, but he couldn't stop the feeling of dread from creeping into his chest.
Maybe he didn't quite know exactly what was happening to his friend, however, Dorian knew John already struggled with old memory issues. Adding a new problem to the mix could be catastrophic.
And he had just managed to convince John to stop seeing a recollectionist, too.
He's been making progress. Now someone's trying to mess him up again.
"So far, everything I've been forgetting has to do with my job," John continued, the forced levity of his tone not fooling Dorian for a second. "The question is: why? Because I took this case? If so, I'm not the only one handling this investigation, so why me?"
"Maybe you were right," Dorian suggested. "Maybe we're simply dealing with a serial scrubber of some kind."
But John was shaking his head again. "That doesn't feel right anymore. There has to be a reason. Some sort of common thread. If whoever's behind this is picking his victims with purpose, then we need to find that thread and snap it. And if they really are just serial crimes, then we're back to square one, but I don't think that's the case."
"Neither do I." He'd only suggested it as a way to ease John's nerves. If the man squeezed the steering wheel any tighter, Dorian feared his knuckles might burst from the strain. "We'll find them, John." I promise.
"I know we will." The we have to went unspoken, but Dorian heard it anyway; saw it in the determination blazing in his partner's dark eyes. "It's funny..." And yet, John's chuckle was devoid of any trace of humor. "I thought this case was going to be quick and easy. One of those one-and-done cases that end with you watching me drink at a bar—which is still sort of awkward, by the way. And now..."
John blinked as the road ahead stole both his focus and the rest of his sentence. Dorian gave him a moment, waiting for the predictable topic switch, the kind that meant John was done discussing hard things.
It never came.
Instead, his partner's grip on the wheel loosened, hesitation taking the detective as its new captive.
"John...?"
Without even sparing him a glance, John sucked a breath through his nose and Dorian did a quick scan of his vitals. Elevated heart rate, rising blood pressure, an increased tightness in the chest cavity...
"Dorian..." John took a shaky breath. "Where are we even going right now?"
Calm. It was important to remain calm. Panicking wouldn't help John...
"The precinct," Dorian said, waiting on bated breath as John nodded, one hand coming up to massage his temple.
As if that one simple action would bring his memories back.
"Right." Dorian graciously ignored the way John's voice cracked. "Right, I knew that. Didn't I know that...?"
It was all Dorian could do to nod, to keep his face passive. "Yes, John, as of five minutes ago at the most, you knew that."
"Okay," John said, more to himself, it seemed, than to Dorian. "Okay, I knew that. As of five minutes ago... Damn it."
John shot a glance his way and the gravity of their situation hit Dorian at full-force when his partner said, "I think you should drive. I... I need you to drive."
Because John had made it very clear he would rather crash into a dozen construction zones than let Dorian take the wheel.
"Are you sure?"
"Just do it, all right?" John snapped, so Dorian quickly transferred the vehicle controls to wireless and took over as driver.
And John slid his hands off the wheel.
"It's happening again." John's voice was barely audible.
Dorian swallowed, keeping his gaze fixed on the road.
"The same damn thing is happening again."
"We're going to find them, John." Yet, even as he said it, the words felt hollow; the promise empty.
Because it was a promise Dorian wasn't one hundred percent certain he could keep.