Mickey's POV
October 1988

My first day back to work after my trip to the hospital was pleasant. My work-aholic tendencies made it so hard to not be able to go to work, but I did enjoy my time off to recover. I was able to get some stuff done that I have otherwise put off because I had work, like cleaning my apartment and running some errands I was dreading. Sometimes I forget how much I deserve a vacation.

Everyone on the team made sure I was comfortable for my return. They made my desk tidy, made a clear path in case I was still in a wheelchair, and would occasionally bring me treats and cups of water throughout the day so I would not have to get up. My team is the sweetest, but I had to remind them multiple times that I wasn't helpless.

One of the bullets from the shooting from my last assignment went through my leg, so I was forced to use crutches for a while. Like Tiny Tim. I was able to talk my way out of using a wheelchair. I was under strict orders to not physically exhaust myself at all for a few months, but I was bugging Fuller to let me back into the field. He never caved, so I was put on paperwork duty until my doctor could clear me. I even tried to make Fuller let me be background for an assignment at North Shore High School. They were recently receiving bomb threats, and Judy was assigned with Tom to figure out who was making these claims. Again, he did not cave. I was stuck with the job that no one wanted: paperwork.

I watched my entire team leave for their assignments for the day, leaving me in the quiet chapel with our janitor Blowfish, and Fuller in his office. My leg was in a thick black brace, which Blowfish had pulled an extra chair for me to set my leg on, and my crutches were leaning against the wall behind me.

I was feeling glum about my situation, until I started feeling a sharp pain in my leg. I looked at my purse and saw the bottle of my prescription pain medicine to relieve the pain, and realized that Fuller was right for not letting me into the field just yet. I quickly popped one in my mouth and took it with water, finding that the pain was mildly distracting me from filling out boring reports. It was my last one in this bottle, and I had more up in my locker.

The only sound in the entire chapel was the white noise of a fan by my desk, and Blowfish sweeping the floor. He made his way over to me and said, "hey, Mick, look," and pressed his face against a clear plate. He completed his gag of puffing his face against the transparent material that made him look like a Blowfish. Hence, his nickname.

I chuckled softly at his little joke, "nice, Blow."

He put the plate down and knitted his eyebrows together and tilted his head as he asked, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I shrugged and shuffled some papers together. "I am doing everyone's paperwork and reports so they can focus on their busts."

"That don't sound fun," he said.

"It isn't," I said and put the papers down.

"Awe... cheer up, kiddo. You'll be back out fighting crime in no time," he said. He put the plate down and picked up his broom again.

I chuckled again, "I just wish it was now. I never realized how quiet it is in the chapel during the day."

"I usually listen to music from my Walkman because Fuller doesn't really leave his office," Blowfish said.

We heard the doors to the chapel click open and my head snapped to look over my shoulder and see who it was. My stomach had launched up into my throat and the sting in my knee and my heart told me that my first instinct was to run. It took me a second to realize that my hand was at my hip, trying to grab a gun that wasn't there. It was just a moment of pure fear that coursed through my veins, and I discerned that the shooting had really gotten to me. I really wasn't ready to go back out on the field. I didn't realize just how much I needed to recover from this, mentally and physically.

I leaned back in my chair just as Tom was walking through the door, holding a white plastic bag from a local sandwich shop in his hand. His eyes met with mine and he gave me a smile.

I asked Tom, "what are you doing here?"

Tom closed the door behind him and walked over to me before he fished through the bag and placed a sub sandwich on my desk. "It's your first day back, I figured that you would want lunch."

I smiled warmly at him and said, "you didn't have to."

"I know. I wanted to," he said and looked at me with a smile.

"That was super nice of you. Literally the sweetest thing," I said as Tom pulled a nearby chair for him to sit and eat with me at my desk.

Blowfish tapped Tom's shoulder and asked, "hey, Hanson, do I get a sandwich?"

"Did you get shot?" Tom asked, raising his eyebrows.

Blowfish frowned. "No."

"Then you don't get a sandwich," Tom said casually as he took a bite from his sub.

Blowfish shook his head and walked away to keep cleaning. Then he said over his shoulder, "you just lost your toilet paper privileges. Have fun getting creative."

I laughed and I unwrapped the sandwich and saw that it was my favorite: steak and cheese.

"I've only got a half hour for lunch," Tom said with his mouth full.

I looked up at him through my eyelashes as I hovered my sandwich over my legs, trying not to let any of the spinach fall out between the thick slices of wheat bread and get on my black jeans. I took a bite and asked him with a mouthful, "any leads on your case?"

Tom shrugged and swallowed. "No, not yet. There are a few students we have kept our eyes on, but nothing drastic. Judy found a kid who checked-out a suspicious book the other day, so I think we are going to follow that string. How are you holding up?"

"She's been talking my ear off," Blowfish called out from across the room. He had his Walkman on the outside of his pants, and black foam headphones over his ears.

"You've been that bored?" Tom asked me with a chuckle.

"I have not!" I yelled back to Blowfish so he could hear me over his music. I faced Tom and lowered my voice, "I'm bored but not that bored. Don't tell Fuller. He might give me something else horrible to do."

"I won't," he laughed. He bit into his sandwich without his eyes leaving mine. While he was chewing, I saw him try to hide his growing smile by looking away. He tried to play it off by asking me a question about filling out reports, that he and I both knew that he already knew the answer to.

We work together, so I could never tell Tom how attractive, funny, and smart I know he is. Maybe someday, when one of us are retired, I can finally tell him my true feelings. Every day he does something a little nicer than the day before. He brings butterflies to my stomach, and a flutter to my heart. He's one of my best friends, but it's gotten to the point where I almost feel nervous when I see him. I haven't told a soul about how I feel, and it is going to stay that way.

I readjusted my sitting position in the chair which made a lightning bolt of pain shoot through my knee. I hissed and scrunched my face to try to avoid screaming out from the pain, and it made Tom tense up with worry.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" He asked, putting his sandwich down to give me his full attention.

"Y-yeah," I breathed out.

"No you're not."

"It's fine, I'm fine." I settled back into the chair and bit my lip until the pain from my attempt to move went away.

Tom glanced over at the clock and said, "it's almost one o'clock. Do you need to take your meds?"

"Probably." I noticed a wobble in my voice.

"Where are they?" He asked.

"Up in my locker. Fuck, this hurts."

"Hey, Blow!" Tom shouted.

"Yeah?" Blow's voice echoed.

"Can you do me a favor?" Tom called out, unsure of where Blowfish was in the chapel.

Blow waited a beat before he answered, "no."

"Can you go up to the lockers and grab Mick's pills?" He asked anyways.

"Tom, no," I said firmly.

"Blow, I swear to god if you don't go and get her pills, I'm gonna hurt you and I'm gonna like it!" Tom called out.

"Where are they?" Blowfish asked.

"Her locker!"

"Tom, it's fine," I said, looking up at him. "I'm feeling better, really."

I could hear Blowfish heading up the stairs as Tom lowered his voice and said, "you are stubborn, and luckily so am I. I'm not gonna let you be voluntarily in pain."

I sighed softly, but I smiled at him close-lipped. He is too nice. I hated feeling dependent on anyone, because I always get let down. But I have a good feeling about Tom.

We spent the rest of our lunch break discussing his case, and my thoughts on how to help. Tom was teasing me about how I was itching to get back out there, but he reminded me that I had to take it easy if I wanted to get back into the field sooner. Our talk gave me the motivation to stay on track with my recovery, and to not push myself farther than I was capable of.

I accidentally got some mayo on my black shirt, which is from Alice Cooper's name printed at the top, dripping in blood from the 70s. I was going to wear more lounge-friendly clothes to work today but I've been wearing that for my entire recovery, so I opted for the classic big t-shirt and jeans for comfort. Tom gave me a napkin, and I wiped it away.

Tom left to go back to school, and after I tossed our balled up wrappers like basketballs into the waste basket, I avoided procrastinating and managed to focus on reports for the rest of the day. It was difficult, because I couldn't get Tom out of my brain. I had significant motivation though. I was very much looking forward to getting back to my favorite part of the job, with one of my favorite people.