by Martin, Indi
Parker let out a low whistle. “Really? You really want it? You?”
He nodded again. “I do,” he said, his voice faltering slightly.
“Look, I'll be honest. I was surprised as hell when Gina said you called about a job. Hanagawa wasn't, but he's better at these things than I am.”
“Yeah, where is he?” asked Morgan, trying to sound only vaguely curious. “I figured he'd be here.”
She shrugged. “He's on a job. Anyway, I don't know if you're really right for the organization. You're sort of a...” she rolled her eyes up and searched for the right word. “...straight-shooter. Square.” She shrugged again. “You know?”
Morgan twisted his mouth to the side. Yes, he knew.
“So I was against it from the start.”
Gina smiled at him, and Morgan braced himself to feel her voice invade his head again. But her smile was tired and her eyes slightly dull.
“..But,” continued Parker. “Gina was adamant that you two can work well together, though I still have my doubts. Regardless, Hanagawa insisted.”
'It hurts them,' he realized, studying Gina, and remembering both her and Parker's collapse at the scene. Using their... talents? He searched for a word that didn't sound too strange to his ears. Sure, talents. It seemed to drain them.
Parker frowned slightly. “So somebody wants you around, for some reason.”
“Maybe it's because I don't have any of those sort of... talents. So I won't be drained when I have to use them. I can look after Gina. Or you.” Morgan had turned back around and was watching the last of the coffee drip haltingly into the pot, both hands on the counter to steady them. He concentrated very hard on keeping his voice conversational, as if he was imparting sure-fire wisdom instead of a half-baked idea.
No one responded. He wasn't ready to see their reactions, in case he was stupidly wrong.
The silence sat in the apartment. Morgan poured all three of them their cups, with a considerable amount of sugar and milk in Harwood's.
Remembering how much his ex-partner liked in hers, he poured slightly more milk in the cup and delivered it to her. Harwood looked very tired. Without being asked, Morgan walked back to the cabinet and retrieved two Ibuprofen tablets, and delivered them to her.
Parker accepted her cup and watched Morgan curiously. “Did she tell you to do that? In your head? To get her medicine?”
“No,” answered Morgan, leaning back against the counter and sipping his coffee. He decided his one-word answer was safest, and left it at that.
Parker looked back and forth between them for a moment, before smoothing her face back out. “Well remembered,” she said thoughtfully. “Although she's getting better at it, doesn't hurt as much now.” Harwood's face didn't reflect that assertion at all, but Morgan didn't contest it. “So, do you want the job or not?”
“Absolutely,” he answered, forcing his mind to still. Dozens, hundreds of questions were running through his mind, but he didn't want to voice them. He wanted to enjoy the moment of spontaneity. They came rarely for him.
The three of them completed their coffee in silence.
Setting her cup down, Parker nodded at Gina, and ever-so-slightly, at him. Without a word, the two women opened the front door and walked out, heading toward the elevator. Morgan grabbed his wallet, his laptop, and his leather-bound planning calendar in the few seconds he had, and jogged after the women, entering the familiarly strange elevator with the double sets of doors just before the doors closed.
Morgan tilted his head back and grinned at the ceiling. 'Absolutely,' he repeated to himself.
The doors opened to an unfamiliar, but busy office.
“Welcome to Unit 12,” announced Parker, as the three of them swept through the doors together.
Epilogue
“You two are always late to the party,” commented Marcus as the two detectives walked into the room, accompanied by the nice blonde woman, who apparently wasn't dead. That made Marcus happy. He'd been concerned about her.
“Hey, Marcus,” said Harwood. “How are you doing?”
Marcus' wry smile widened. “How do I look like I'm doing?” he asked, averting his eyes. He'd seen a mirror twice, and didn't want to again until the doctors were completely done with anything and everything they could do. His face was at least recognizable as his own, after countless reconstructive surgeries, but almost all of his skin was a map of mottled scar tissue. “Jake fucked me up pretty good,” he laughed. “But I forgive him.”
Detective Harwood sat on the chair next to his bed. The detective he could never remember the name of stood next to her. “His name's Detective Snyder,” she informed him. “And that's Agent Parker.”
Marcus blinked. “Uh, thanks. I've met Snyder before.”
Harwood just smiled sweetly back at him. Parker sat down on the other side of his bed, and Morgan moved his head a little closer to her. She smelled like fresh flowers. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, smiling.
“Why do you forgive Jake?” asked Agent Parker, and Marcus was happy to hear her voice. It was lovely.
“He talked to me after it happened. When I passed out. After he died.” Marcus frowned, recalling that night. “He apologized over and over. He said he had to seal me to that thing inside him, because it could only stay in prison as long as some of its tribe still lived. He said I counted because he thought of me as a brother, too. Just like I did.” Marcus eyes glistened. “I miss him a lot.”
Parker reached out and held his hand. “Does this hurt?” she asked softly.
Marcus smiled, bravely, he hoped, and shook his head. “No,” he sighed. “But there was a catch,” he continued, trying to remember exactly what Jake had said. It had been so awesome seeing him again, seeing him normal, real. “I had to stay alive, and I had to have heirs, a family line.” Marcus screwed his mouth up and looked up to the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. The saltwater still hurt his tender flesh, for one, and also he didn't want to cry in front of Parker. “But come on. Nobody's gonna marry me looking like this. And I don't even know if I wanna get married anyway. And who'd run with me?” He noticed their confusion. “Oh, yeah. Jake said I had to keep running. Not get comfortable anywhere. Bounce around like his parents did. He thinks that will help, too.” He sighed heavily. It didn't sound like a life he wanted at all. Marcus stared challengingly into each of their faces, daring them to call him nuts. Call in a psych. Put him in a ward. He half-wanted it; keep him drugged up and in a tiny room. At least no one would look at his scars there.
Parker looked thoughtful. “Did he say anything specifically about getting married?”
“No, he...” he started, but then stopped abruptly. Surprised, Marcus stared at her. “You believe me? You don't think I'm crazy?”
Parker shook her head. Marcus looked to Harwood, and she and Snyder shook their heads too.
Marcus blinked and looked back at Parker, mainly just because he wanted to remember what she looked like in case he never saw her again. “No, he didn't,” he finished belatedly. “But I have to have heirs.”
“Well, technically you don't have to be married for that,” pondered Parker aloud.
Marcus frowned. “I don't want to just bring single-mom kids into this world left and right. That ain't right. No way.”
She looked abashed and nodded her agreement, seemingly reluctant.
“What about potential heirs?” asked Snyder, and all eyes in the room turned to him. He blushed slightly. “Well, if you've got a bunch of potential heirs out there, it makes your line potentially eternal, right?”
“What the hell are you talking about, Morgan?” snapped Parker. Marcus twisted his head back over, surprised at her tone. She was pretty when she was angry, he thought to himself, pursing his lips.
Harwood laughed. “No, I get what he's talking about. It's brilliant.”
Marcus chuckled nervously. “Well, I don't. What?”
Parker didn't look like she understood either, and it didn't appear to
sit well with her.
“Well, uh,” stammered Snyder. “Potential heirs, you know. Potential. In vitro. Sperm donation.”
Marcus laughed, great long guffaws that left him almost breathless.
“Oh,” said Parker, blinking. “Well, yeah. That's logical. Well done.”
Marcus wiped tears of mirth out of his eyes and sighed contentedly. He loved to laugh, and it had been a while. Although there was one nurse who had some pretty great jokes, he thought, and smiled. “Yeah, okay, great. As soon as I get out of here, that's priority one,” he laughed.
“I hate to say it, but we have a bit of business, too...” started Harwood, but Parker took over, withdrawing a clipboard out of her briefcase.
“Aw, you guys didn't just come to chat?” sneered Marcus, feeling disgusted. “I thought maybe you actually wanted to check up on me. But I guess that might have happened in the first month I was here, huh?”
Harwood and Snyder both looked chagrined, but Parker was unaffected. “We kept close tabs on your situation, I assure you. It was very important that you did not die.”
He snorted, but she continued as though not having heard him. “This is a gag order, Marcus. I need you to sign it.”
“Why?” he asked, still pouting.
“Because we have to make sure you can't talk to anyone else about what really happened that night. Bad things could happen. To you and to other people. It's best that the official version of the story is the only one that's told,” she explained.
“Bad things? To me? Have you looked at my FACE?” he argued, upset.
“There are far worse things in this world than burns, Marcus. And there are...agents...that listen for certain phrases you might let slip. It's not something we can leave to chance. I'm sorry to have to ask, but it's very important. You might even thank me one day.”
“What happens if I talk then?” Marcus peered at the paperwork. Silvery lettering scrawled its way across the paper.
“No, you don't understand. I didn't say you wouldn't talk about it. I said you can't. If you sign this, you won't be able to talk about it to anybody except those that were present for the events... so, us. If you try... well, you simply won't be able to speak. Or write. Or type. Or communicate about it in any way.” Parker smiled primly, but her eyes were fiercely gleaming. Watching him expectantly.
Marcus grinned and fanned the papers. “You expect me to believe that?”
“You expected us to believe you about Jake, and we did. Why do you think it was so easy for us to believe that? It's pretty incredible, isn't it?” Parker withdrew her hands from his. She considered him for another moment, and an inscrutable expression crossed her face. “I tell you what...if you sign it,” she bent over to his ear and whispered her counter-offer softly.
Marcus' eyes widened. “Uh, really?” he asked, astonished.
She nodded primly.
“Well, uh...sure, then. Can't hurt.” He accepted the pen from her well-manicured hand and signed his name at the bottom. “When?”
Parker smiled widely at him. “Soon. I promised. I won't forget.” She accepted the papers from him and put them back in her satchel. “Bye, Marcus. Take care.” She walked out of the room.
Hurriedly, Harwood and Snyder gathered their things and waved goodbye. As they walked out the door, he heard Snyder whisper “What did she promise?” to Harwood. Harwood shook her head - “It doesn't work like that,” she hissed, then waved goodbye again and slid his door shut.
Wonderingly, Marcus watched them go. His first and only visitors in over a month, and they only stayed for a few minutes. Still...
His favorite nurse slid the door open and waltzed in. “Hey Owens,” she greeted him.
“Hey, Nurse Ratched,” he responded. As usual, she chuckled at the nickname and started preparing her phlebotomy cart. Deciding to test Parker's assertion about the gag order, he started to tell her about what caused his burns. “So, a little over a month ago, I had an encounter with some delicious ice cream, and my best friend played Frisbee in the park with some viciously adorable dogs.” Marcus' mouth formed a small 'o' in astonishment when he realized the words that were spilling out of his mouth. They weren't what he'd told his mouth to say at all, other than a few words here and there and the general sentence structure. It was like an internal mad lib, replacing words randomly and with abandon. He frowned.
“That's nice, Owens,” replied the nurse, drawing close with the needle.
FIN