CHAPTER THREE
THERE WAS an itch right between Arthur's shoulder blades that he couldn't scratch because it was a mental itch instead of a physical one.
Martin's cubicle was empty and not in an arrived early then went off for meetings kind of way. Martin hadn't been in at all. There were subtle things he hadn't noticed when he walked into the wrong cubicle his first day on the floor, but everything about Martin was subtle. Now he noticed the way the Ethernet cable was still coiled away. His chair was tucked against his desk, the way he did when he left for the night as opposed to getting up for a cup of tea.
Martin's rigid schedule and habits had worked their way into Arthur's mind and the sudden lack of them was bugging him. He drummed his nails on the plastic mouse and contemplated asking his supervisor about Martin, except that wasn't the kind of thing you did in the Agency. People get promoted, demoted, shifted, fired and no one says a word. They are just there, then gone.
He glanced at the clock on the corner of his screen. It was after noon, but he didn't feel like eating. The discomfort at lack of routine was falling into worry.
"Fuck it."
He locked down his computer and decided he needed to get out of the building. He'd pop across the street and get something fast and fried for lunch. It would be nasty, but at least get him some non-recycled air and a bit of sunshine.
HE STROLLED through the parking garage instead of going through the front door. He got less of a hairy eyeball about going out for lunch from the parking guards than the ones at the front desk. He strolled up the row where Martin usually parked. He'd discovered it completely by accident and only remembered because the most immature part of his brain had snickered a little at it being spot 69.
A car was in the spot and that little tangle of worry that had been building over the morning spiked. He took a few long steps towards it then ran as he saw Martin slumped against the driver's side window.
"Hey!" he shouted banging on the window and testing the door handle. "Martin!" he yelled louder pounding harder on the window. He jiggled the handle a bit more, hoping to set off some sort of alarm. Still banging on the window with one hand, he checked his phone but he knew there would be no signal to call security and he had nothing on him that could break car window glass.
"Help!" He yelled as loud as he could, hoping his voice might echo through the large underground lot getting someone's attention. "Help!" He heard a car coming down the row and rushed to jump in front of it. The driver slammed on the breaks and rolled down his window.
"Get an ambulance and security. Someone is passed out in their car, I can't tell if they're breathing." He didn't wait for acknowledgment from the driver but did hear the car speed off as he ran back to Martin's spot.
He tried all the other doors knowing in his heart they would be locked. He pounded on the window some more. "Come on. Just move. Come on."
Security arrived first. The guard looked over the situation and with one quick movement, shattered the back-seat window with a small pointed hammer. It took a few more seconds to knock away the safety glass, the car alarm blaring, before he reached around and unlocked the door. Arthur yanked it open and Martin fell out into his arms. He was burning up. He coughed once and a fine mist of blood covered Arthur's face.
AFTER THE initial panic subsided, quarantine was incredibly boring. Arthur wasn't sure how long he'd been in the quarantine unit in the sub-basement of Central hospital. Probably hours, but it was feeling like days. They'd taken everything off him, a good deal of blood out of him, and hosed him down. He was chilly in his paper dress and tired of the beep of the monitoring systems he was hooked up to.
The airlock door hissed open and a doctor walked in, free of all the quarantine equipment. "Agent Drams?"
"Yes?"
"You are free to go. I'll have a nurse bring your pants." The doctor turned to leave.
"Wait, what, I'm fine?" Arthur heard his heart rate speed up and took the monitor off his finger.
"You are perfectly healthy. Actually, good odds you'll come down with the flu in the next couple of weeks. Drink plenty of fluids, get some rest, take Tylenol if the fever gets above a hundred." The doctor made to leave again.
"Wait, that was the flu? Martin just has the flu? He coughed blood on me."
"I can't discuss another patient."
"Can I see him?"
The doctor looked tired, annoyed, and like he was about to simply walk out. Arthur thought as fast as he could. He'd spent a good deal of his life lying to important people about one thing or another. He was good. He stepped up close to the doctor and lowered his voice. "Look, Agent Grove and I are... involved. Just recent. It's against office policy but... Can I just, I just want to know if he's okay. Please?" He tried putting on sad puppy eyes but didn't know if it would work on doctors.
The doctor sighed. "He has the flu. He passed out in his car, ran a very high fever, had a bloody nose which dripped into his lungs, which is why you got covered in blood when he coughed. We're keeping him until tomorrow evening to make sure there's no complications from the fever and to get a vitamin drip and three meals in him."
"Vitamin drip?"
The doctor looked him up and down. "I'll take a guess you haven't made it past second base. Go out for dinner more often. He's about twenty pounds down on where he should be, but not so bad I can keep him here."
Arthur made the decision right then and there that he was going to be a little more insistent about lunch. "Okay. Absolutely."
The doctor gave a little huff. "Try to make him take a couple of days off work. Plenty of fluids and rest. He's on the seventh floor. I'll tell the nurses you're coming up."
"Thank you."
IT WAS another hour before Arthur got his pants back and managed to get out of the labyrinth that was the quarantine unit and into the main hospital lobby. It was nine and the gift shop was closed or he would have gotten Martin a book. From there he managed to find the seventh-floor nurses station.
"Hi, I'm here to see Agent Grove."
The nurse looked over her shoulder at the large clock on the wall then leveled a hard look at him.
"I'll just peek in really quick and if he's asleep I'll leave right away. Please."
"Room fifteen." Her voice was flat and she went right back to her charts.
"Thank you."
He peeked through the window of room 15. There was only one bed, but he couldn't tell if Martin was awake.
Slowly he pushed open the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. He wasn't sure if he woke up Martin or if he was already awake, but his eyes were open as he crept in.
"Hi," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice low. Martin's complexion was sallow and his hair matted with dried sweat. An IV ran into his arm. It was the first time Arthur had ever seen him without a suit on. His wrists were obviously thin and his collar bones prominent.
"I was told my boyfriend would be coming to visit."
Arthur's stomach dropped. "I had to think up something and I didn't think the doctor was going to believe 'It's a Matter of National Security' for the flu. Sorry."
Martin just nodded slightly. The silence hung a little too long.
'What the fuck are you doing here?' Arthur yelled at himself. 'Just because you sometimes eat lunch with the guy, you think he wants you standing in his hospital room? He's probably got family or something that is going to check him out tomorrow.'
"I'm told you saved my life."
Arthur shrugged. "I was just walking by and saw you. It was security that broke open your car window."
Martin frowned slightly. "My window?"
"Yeah. Security had to break open the passenger window. I also think they might have pulled some wires to shut the alarm off."
Martin closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, seemingly sinking into himself. It was the most emotion Arthur had ever seen come from him.
"I can make some calls if you like, get the window fixed."
Martin shook his head. "I can handle it."
"I've been cleared, so is there anything you need? Anything I can bring you or someone I can call?"
Martin stared at him and he felt like he was being coldly analyzed.
"I have some library books that need to be returned by tomorrow."
"Sure."
Martin rolled over, reaching for his phone, wallet, and keys from the rolling hospital tray. Arthur saw his jaw tighten slightly as the IV line pulled but he didn't wince. He removed a key from the ring then a library card from his wallet and held them out. "The books are on my bedside table. I will send you my address."
Arthur squeezed the key tight, his heart speeding up. The man who talked to no one for three years and had probably spoken less than two hundred words to him had just handed him his house keys. It was a heady feeling.
"They need to be returned to the Erikson library on eighth street at exactly 11:55 tomorrow. They must be returned to the special circulation desk. Tell the woman at the desk that they are from me. Do you understand all that?"
For the first time since joining the Agency, Arthur felt like he had a mission. What kind of library books required that much detail to return? "Erikson Library, 11:55, special circulation."
"Thank you."
Arthur figured since he was being let into Martin's home he might as well push his luck a little further. "Do you have anyone picking you up tomorrow?"
Martin glanced away. "I will take a cab."
"I'll come get you. I have orders from your doctor to make sure you rest, eat, and take plenty of fluids."
"I will be perfectly well by tomorrow evening," Martin said as if he planned on glaring the flu germs into submission.
"You'll still need a lift home. I'll come get you."
IT WAS only when he got back down from the hospital room, still excited about receiving a mission, did he realize he needed a ride home as well. It was close to eleven when he finally made it home after an expensive cab ride back to the office. He checked his phone and noticed a strange little icon in the corner of the screen that he didn't recognize. He tapped it and the Agency messaging app came up and asked for a fingerprint. No one had ever sent him a message with the ultra-encrypted app, ever. He pushed his finger to the scanner on the back of the phone then scrambled to find a pen and paper before Martin's home address was automatically erased.