CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE LAST time Arthur's phone had rung, it was to be informed of his father's death. It was after two in the morning as Arthur yanked it from its charger on the bedside table.
"Hello," he kept his eyes squeezed shut, the light from the screen blinding.
"Is this Arthur Drams?"
"Yes."
"I'm Doctor Keith calling from Central Hospital, you're listed as the contact for Martin Grove."
Arthur shot up in bed. "He's there? He's alive? Please tell me he's alive, please don't let it be one of these calls, please-- "
"He's alive," Dr. Keith cut off his panicked ramble. "He is, however, severely injured and is trying to check himself out. Get down to the emergency room and talk him out of it."
THE DRIVE to Central hospital was forty minutes, except at two in the morning while running red lights and speeding. Then it could be done in fifteen.
He sprinted into the emergency room. "I'm looking for Martin Grove? Is he still here? I got a call."
"Let me check." The nurse at the desk did not seem to be in a huge rush. She probably saw panicked friends and relatives every night of the week. She put down the phone after about thirty seconds of conversation, which felt like an hour to Arthur. "You can go in."
Arthur sprinted through the double doors, only to be stopped by a doctor.
"Agent Drams."
It took Arthur a second to recognize the doctor as the same one from Martin's flu scare. He didn't look any less annoyed than their last meeting. "You called me?"
"Yes. When is the last time you saw Agent Grove?"
"It's been almost four months. Where is he? Is he okay?"
"No." The doctor snapped. "He has what I'm sure is a broken arm, probably broken ribs and toes. He has lacerations that need stitches and infected lacerations that are being held together with what I think is dental floss. All the capillaries in one eye are completely blown, which is a sign of about fifty different things, none of them good. He's gone from skinny to emaciated. And normally when people are chucked out of cars with tinted windows into our ambulance bay, they are kids who've been stabbed in drug deals, not professional adults wearing suits and carrying their keys, phone, and wallet with a government agency ID card. Now he needs medical attention, lots of it, and if you give even a tiny shit about him, you are going to walk into his room and make him stay." There was a hard hiss in the doctor's voice and he looked about ready to hit someone himself.
"Okay," was all Arthur could think to say. The doctor pointed him to some closed curtains at the end of the row.
Where before he had been sprinting, now he stepped with slow trepidation unsure what he might truly find. He pulled the curtain back slowly. Martin turned his head slightly and looked at him. Half his face was green and yellow with old bruises. The white of his left eye was a deep pink, and from where he was standing, he could see the heavy black bruises and swelling in his right wrist. Arthur had spent months rehearsing all the things he wanted to say but now he had no words.
"I got your messages." Martin's voice was weak and rough.
A sob broke from Arthur's chest. He knelt and the bedside and took Martin's left hand into his. It was thin like an old man's. "I was so worried."
"I'm fine." Martin smiled just a little.
"You are so far from fine it is not even funny and I am not... You are going to stay here. I won't leave your side, not for a second, I promise, but I need you to stay here. I need you to let the doctors take care of you. Please." Arthur didn't try to keep the begging from his voice or the tears from his eyes. "Please."
Martin closed his eyes. "Okay."
"Thank you."
Martin smiled again and his whole body seemed to relax.
The curtain was pulled open and Dr. Keith stepped in. He looked to Arthur. Arthur nodded.
"Okay, let's deal with all the bits that need to be stitched up then I'm going to stick you in a full MRI because god only knows what all is broken or bleeding inside." He looked back to Arthur. "You might want to wait outside for this bit."
"No. I have to stay."
"Fine, whatever." The doctor didn't even try to argue. "Let me get the nurse and we'll get started."
Arthur didn't look away once, despite fighting to keep from being sick. Martin was covered in bruises, though most were faded to yellow and green. There were cuts held together with basic band aids insufficient to the job. For others, the doctor had to pull out makeshift stitches and put in fresh ones. And he was so damn thin.
After that, it was the waiting, no different from any other emergency room visit. Every so often a nurse would come in to check his vitals or the IV bag dripping saline, antibiotics, pain killers, and about a dozen other things into his body. As they waited, Arthur began to talk. He talked about the kids, about papers they had written comparing Jules Verne's From the Earth to the Moon and the actual moon mission. He talked about fluffy dinosaurs, and bits of gossip and work. His sister's dessert bistro was doing well and The Academy cinema was going to start a whole season of spaghetti westerns. There were times Martin's eyes would close and he was sure he was asleep but Arthur kept talking, making sure that even in sleep Martin would know he was there.
In between car accidents and old people having strokes it was almost six by the time they got Martin into the MRI. Arthur called in sick, even able to hold out his phone and prove he was at a hospital. He didn't mention he was at Martin's bedside. If the Agency knew, then they knew. If they didn't, then fuck them.
Doctor Keely stood at the foot of the bed flipping through reports. "Arm broken, three cracked ribs, torn knee ligaments, bruised internal organs, concussion, three different infections, I'm worried about you coming down with pneumonia, and massively underweight. But you probably knew a lot of that. I'll get someone down here to get your arm in a temporary cast, we'll do a long term one once the swelling goes down. Also, wrap up your knee. That's going to be in a brace for a while and later you will probably need surgery to repair those ligaments, and then we are getting you a room and you are staying for at least one more day. You do not get to argue. I'm off shift an hour ago, and you will be here when I get back on this evening, understand?" Martin and Arthur both nodded. "I don't suppose I could get a cop in here and get you to name names and press charges."
Martin gave the doctor a very confused look. "That would not be of any use."
"Worth asking. I'll see you this evening."
"You should get some sleep," Arthur said once the doctor had left. "It'll probably be an hour before anyone comes and looks at your arm."
"You should sleep as well."
"I'll try to doze in this chair if you attempt to sleep in that bed. Deal?"
Martin smiled a little. "Deal."
IT WAS two hours before anyone came to deal with his arm, another hour for the knee and an hour after that before an orderly wheeled Martin upstairs, Arthur following. By that time, he was hungry and trying to find someone who would sign off on a meal for the beaten, emaciated guy. He was very close to waving around his ID badge with the scary Agency logo on it.
Martin reached out and touched his arm. "Go downstairs and get yourself something to eat."
"No."
"You're hungry."
"So are you."
"I'm used to it."
Arthur sat on the edge of Martin's bed. "If I leave, how do I know you won't vanish again? How do I know you won't get a phone call, vanish for four months, and the next time I get a call from the morgue?"
"I'm not going anywhere. Not again. There were..." Martin cut himself off then took a deep breath. "I will never again be required or even asked by the Agency to set foot outside the office."
"Did they promise that?"
"Yes. And I will make them keep it."
"How?"
Martin said nothing, just smiled.
Arthur wanted to cry again. "Promise me you'll be here when I get back."
"I promise."
ARTHUR SPENT the afternoon mostly watching Martin doze in-between checks by the nurses and various specialists. A temporary cast was replaced with a long-term one. Neuro specialists gave him cognitive tests and tracked his eye movements. Physiotherapists and nutritionists stopped by to check and make arrangements for follow ups. Arthur was sure someone must have rattled a cage somewhere for Martin to be getting this much attention in a busy hospital. During one trip downstairs, he picked up a cheap paperback political thriller from the gift shop, the type neither of them would ever read. He read outrageous passages aloud, doing over the top voices, until Martin finally laughed, a rare and proper one. He winced putting his hand over his cracked ribs but continued to smile.
"Have you been doing voices for the children?"
"Sometimes. They're a tough audience."
"Yes." Martin's smile softened but remained. "I missed them."
"They miss you." More than Arthur would ever be able to explain. Every week there had been questions about when Merlin was coming back and the children had quickly seen through his smiles and assurances. "You might freak them out a little if you show up all bruised.
"I shall tell them I was slaying dragons."
Arthur chuckled. He was exhausted. "Is that what you were doing? Slaying dragons?" He knew he shouldn't ask. You don't ask anyone what exactly it is they do when you work for the Agency.
"I was arranging a last-minute event for individuals with disparate personalities. It did not go well."
Arthur chuckled again, then laughed. He felt the laughter try to shift into sobs and hissed, sucking air hard through his teeth, trying to keep it all together. "Maybe you should stick to funeral planning. Maybe branch out into weddings."
"I'm not sure if I have the required personality."
"Get a bubbly receptionist and no one will notice."
Martin smiled broadly and winced at the pull on his bruised flesh, but didn't stop.
ARTHUR WAS half-dozing again in the hard guest chair of Martin's room when Dr. Keith walked in flipping through notes.
"Well look at this. You're still here and have not put up too much of a fuss according to the nurses. Good boys."
Arthur stood up, wincing against the protest of his stiffened muscles.
The doctor ignored him. "I want to keep you here one more day," he said to Martin.
"Why?"
"Because you have bruised kidneys and we're pumping you full of antibiotics. I want to make sure your kidneys don't shut down. I'll make a note that as long as you can still pee by tomorrow evening and all the other specialists are okay with it, you can go." Then he turned to Arthur. "You need to go home, take a shower, and get yourself some rest."
"I'm fine."
"We're going to let him out, that doesn't mean he can be on his own. Since you've been glued to his side all day, I'm going to assume you're taking him home. That means you need rest now. Go voluntarily or I'll have the nurses chuck you out."
Arthur was going to start objecting when he felt Martin's fingers on his wrist. "You should get some proper rest. I will be here when you return. Promise."