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LAPD Detective Mark Meachum lay on his couch. He had made a nest for himself- cozy blankets, pillows behind him, the remote to his TV in easy reach on the coffee table next a bottle of water, a hospital adult sippy cup of electrolyte drink, a can of ginger ale, and a couple bottle of pills. A bucket was near by as the meds of his treatment had made him sick to his stomach more than a few times in the last couple of days. Today had been so far one of the good days.
There was a knock on the door. Mark took a few deep breaths and levered himself up. He staggered to the door and opened it. There stood FBI Special Agent in Charge Nathan Blythe. Mark stepped back to let the other man in, who held a brown bag that smelled like Mark’s favorite Thai food.
“Sir?” Mark asked as he led the way back to his couch. “Sorry about the mess.”
“It’s ok, Mark,” Blythe said.
“Have a seat,” Mark said gesturing to the chair at right angles to the couch.
Blythe sat and placed the take out on the coffee table. He took a good look at the Dectective. The once robust and tanned pain in the ass he knew was now paler and looking a bit gaunt. But he was probably still a pain in the ass.
“How’s the treatment going?” Blythe asked.
“I’m not going to lie,” Mark answered. “It’s been rough. But I think I’ve turned the corner. The Doctors seem pleased that the tumor is shrinking.”
“That’s good,” Blythe said.
The sat in silence for a minute.
“Actually,” Mark started. “I think I owe you an apology.”
“You do?” Blythe raised an eyebrow.
“I should have told you about the tumor,” Mark said not meeting Blythe’s eyes. “I actually started to, but I should of pressed on and actually said something.”
“That’s what you were wanting to talk to me about before the Postal truck,” Blythe said.
“It was,” Mark agreed.
“So tell me,” Blythe said. “At that time, how long had the doctors given you?”
Mark looked at his former boss. He knew that Blythe was quick to put things together but it was new having it applied to him.
“Six weeks, Six months,” Mark said evenly. He wasn’t entirely sure that his lifespan had improved yet. “The doctors weren’t sure. They still aren’t.”
Blythe absorbed that news. Meachum had always been a bit of a cowboy. But the had been more so on this last case.
“Is that why you didn’t want to leave the area when there was possibly a dirty bomb?” Blythe asked.
“I knew the bomb tech would be busy defusing the bomb and if Volchek was there, I could take care of him,” Mark said.
“You had a death wish,” Blythe said evenly.
“Not so much a death wish,” Mark tried to explain. “But I figured if anything happened to me, my life wasn’t cut too short. I’d rather go out saving someone than let the tumor kill me.”
Blythe thought for a moment. He would want to go out with his boots on as they say.
“I get that,” Blythe agreed. He looked at the other man trying to read him. “How was the tumor killing you?”
Mark ducked his head to hide a blush. He didn’t embarrass easy but remembering all he’d kept from his boss did.
“Uh, massive headaches,” Mark admitted. “Some so bad I either got nauseous or blacked out.”
“Oliveras knew, didn’t she,” It was a statement not a question.
“Yeah,” Mark admitted. “She thought I was using drugs. At first I told her it was headaches. Then she came over to confront me about the pain management and I told her it was a tumor.”
“That was what you were discussing in the bathroom that time,” Blythe said as the pieces fell into place.
“She did urge me to tell you,” Mark said to not completely throw his former partner under the bus.
“Things happened before you could,” Blythe simply stated.
“Yeah,” Mark agreed.
Blythe thought for a bit. He was angry. One of his team had hidden such a serious health condition. It bothered him because Mark hadn’t trusted him. And because it had put the team in danger. But then he, Blythe had checked out against Doctor’s orders and had returned to work when he was in no condition after being knifed. But being knifed and having a tumor that could cause you to blackout were too different things.
“I should be angry with you,” Blythe said evenly. “You endangered the team. I should have been told.”
“Yes, sir,” Mark agreed. He looked a little paler than when he’d answered the door. The conversation was taking a lot out of him, but he owed Blythe to see it through. “I should have made more of an effort to tell you.”
“But you came through when I needed you,” Blythe said. “You were the one to fire the shot to take out Volchek after all.”
“Yeah,” Mark agreed. “The flashing lights and the sirens in the hall started to trigger a headache and I barely got the shot off with the glaring sun.”
“Damn,” Blyhte said, impressed despite himself. “That’s the kind of shot you do with a headache, the mind boggles what you could do clear headed.”
“You’ve seen my military file, sir,” Mark said, relieved that he wasn’t getting chewed out.
“That I have,” Blythe agreed. “Distinguished Expert.”
Mark smiled tightly. The tiredness was coming back. There was a rolling in his stomach. He reached for the can of ginger ale and took a sip.
“You ok?” Blythe asked.
“No,” Mark said right before he leaned over and lost the contents of his stomach into the bucket.
Blythe didn’t say anything as he handed Mark the bottle of water. Mark took a sip and swished it around before he spit it in the bucket too.
Blythe stood up and went to the kitchen. He opened drawers and closed them looking for clean kitchen towels. He finally found the right drawer and took out two. One he wet with cool water in the sink. The other he kept dry. He returned to the living room.
Mark had reclined on the couch instead of sitting up, but not fully laid down. Blythe handed him the wet cloth and he wiped his forehead and settled it on his neck. Blythe then handed over the dry towel and Mark wiped his face.
“I don’t think you’re in any shape to eat this,” Blythe said as he picked up the food he’d brought.
“No,” Mark agreed. “But in a couple hours, I will be.”
“Then I’ll put it in the fridge,” Blythe said as he moved to do just that. When he came back into the living room, he removed his suit jacket, laid it on the chair he’d been sitting in, and rolled up his sleeves.
“You need this again?” Blythe asked gesturing to the bucket.
“No,” Mark said weakly shaking his head.
Blythe picked up the bucket. He walked down the hall and found the bathroom. He took care of emptying it and rinsing it out. He returned it to it’s previous spot.
“You didn’t have to do that, boss,” Mark said.
“Nathan,” Blythe invited. “I’m not your boss now. I’m your friend.”
“Thank you, Nathan,” Mark nearly choked on the words, so touched was he by what Blythe had done.
“You’re welcome,” Blythe said. “Now lay down and take the nap you’re trying to put off.”
Mark inched until he lay flat on the couch. Blythe helped cover him with the blankets.
“You’re good at that,” Mark murmured.
“I’ve helped out when my son has been sick,” Blythed explained. “Now you rest up, and when the Docs give you the all clear I’ll have a spot for you on whatever task force I’m leading.”
“Why? Even after I kept this,” Mark pointed vaguely at his head. “From you.”
“Because even playing handicapped,” Blythe said. “You’re a hell of a cop. I’ll take you any way I can get you when you’re up for it.”
“Thanks Boss,” Mark said as he drifted off to sleep.
Blythe looked around and straightened a few things around the room. Then he rolled down his sleeves and picked up his suit jacket. He quietly left the house. He hated seeing Mark Meachum like that. The Detective was usually a larger than life pain in the ass so seeing him not at his best made Blythe sad. But if anyone was going to be able to withstand this treatment, it would be Mark Meachum. SAC Nathan Blythe looked forward to the day when Meachum was back to his regular pain in the ass. Blythe had meant it, any task force he led would have a space for the Detective and he hoped the day they would work together again would come soon.