Hank thought that would be it until the next day, and he was right. Nothing happened that evening, but in the morning, before he'd even made his first cup of tea, there was a knock at the door. His brow furrowed as he opened it to find two suited men standing on his doorstep and an expensive-looking black SUV parked at the end of his driveway. One man was approaching middle age, with slicked back hair and an almost entitled air. The other was a little younger, probably still in training if his nervous nod of greeting was anything to go by. Hank didn't even need to ask to know who they were. He'd worked in law enforcement long enough to know FBI agents when he saw them. They flashed their badges, confirming his suspicions.

"Lieutenant Anderson?"

"Retired." Hank corrected with a frown. The use of his old title was probably some sort of manipulation tactic. An act of politeness to get on his good side. Since he'd spoken, he gave his attention to the older of the two men. He had sharp steely eyes and glossy black hair, just a shade darker than his suit. "What's this about?" He was pretty sure he knew. It couldn't be a coincidence he'd found Richard two days ago, and these guys turned up the day after the police were called.

"Agent Bower, Agent Clarke. Can we talk inside?" There were two reasons they would have asked that. The first was, obviously, that they didn't want to draw attention to themselves standing outside and risk nosy neighbours listening in. Not that there were any around Hank's isolated house. The second was to check the inside of his house so they could work out if he'd had anything to do with whatever happened to Richard before they met. Hank shrugged. He had nothing to hide. Nodding into the house, he led the way through to the kitchen, where he made a pot of tea. "We were informed you found a man out on the road the day before yesterday."

"Well, it was night really, but yeah. I found Richard." Hank poured the tea, unconcerned as the younger of the two men, Clarke, slipped out of the kitchen with the excuse of finding the restroom. There was no question he was going to go snooping. Hank had been on the force long enough to know it was pretty standard. Although they weren't supposed to open doors, if they headed to the restroom and accidentally opened the wrong one, they might spot some evidence. Even if they couldn't collect it then, they could note it down and come back later, or at least confirm any suspicions they had. Hank and Bower settled around his kitchen table, where Hank nursed his hot cup and waited for further questions.

"Richard Perkins." Hank nodded. "The hospital says he has amnesia. How do you know his name?"

"He had one of those fancy card holders with him, opens with a thumbprint. That was the name on all the cards." Bower nodded, though his expression didn't give away anything he might have been thinking. Whatever he was thinking, Hank wasn't worried. It wasn't a crime to find someone stumbling in the road and take them home. He'd even taken him to the hospital the next day. He'd done them a service!

"Did you find out anything else about him?"

"Nothing concrete...I thought he might be some type of law enforcement. He was wearing a standard issue holster, and he wasn't exactly dressed like a hiker." Bower didn't seem surprised by any of this, nor by the rest of his story. Hank hid his amusement behind his cup as a yelp sounded in the hallway, followed by a low woof. Clarke returned, flustered but apparently satisfied he wasn't hiding anything. It turned out Richard was one of their men. Richard Perkins, an experienced and decorated agent, had been undercover on a case when they'd lost contact. They'd started a manhunt across the state, but never imagined he'd turn up here. They were miles from where he'd last been seen.

"Have you seen anyone else? Any strangers passing through?" Hank shook his head. In towns like theirs, you noticed when someone new came around.

"I don't exactly keep track, but I haven't noticed anyone." Besides Richard. Fuck, he'd given him a heart attack! It was lucky he was driving below the speed limit in case a deer jumped out. If he'd been careening around like some of the youngsters, Richard would have been roadkill. He'd barely had more than a few seconds to notice him stumbling in the road and slam on the brakes. Seeing him tumbling across the tarmac was one of the worst things he'd ever seen. As a police officer, he'd seen some shit, but this was different. This was his fault. He was the one in the driver's seat. It was his car hitting what he'd first thought was a kid. It was only once he got up close he realised Richard was closer to his own age. He was a pretty small guy. "What will happen now?" Hank asked as he saw his guests to the door.

"We'll stop by the hospital to interview Agent Perkins and take things from there. I'm not sure how the hospital will feel about moving him just yet since his treatment has already started there, but..." Bower paused at the door as Clarke hurried out to get the car started. If Hank had to guess, he'd say he was a junior agent. He didn't talk much, and seemed to do what Hank considered the grunt work. Taking notes, answering calls, keeping a lookout, scouting the area, and driving the car.

"I told him I'd stop by today. Would it help if I went with you? If he hasn't remembered anything yet, he might feel more comfortable with a familiar face." Though slightly sceptical, Bower agreed it might ease introductions, so Hank found himself once again at Richard's door. He was certainly in better spirits that afternoon. According to the nurse, he'd managed to eat and keep down both dinner and breakfast, and he'd slept all night. Happy as he was to see Hank, there was a marked stiffness in his demeanour as the other two agents entered. He didn't seem to recognise them at all. In fact, he tensed as if he thought he might be in trouble.

"Hank." There was something almost cute about the way he smiled in greeting, but his smile dropped somewhat as Bower and Clarke circled the bed. "Um...It's nice of you to stop by." He continued shooting him wary glances, so Hank approached the bed on the other side and stood at his elbow. Though Bower kept up his stony demeanour, Clarke cracked a little and offered Richard a small smile and raised his hand in greeting.

"You're looking better...Richard, these are two of your coworkers. They're with the FBI." Though he didn't remember who he was, he seemed to remember everything else. He knew what hospitals were, understood different job roles and things like that. Despite understanding what the FBI was, he seemed surprised to learn that he was part of it. Who wouldn't be surprised? How many people would believe that? Bower took the introduction in his stride and held up his badge to confirm his identity.

"Agent Bower, Agent Clarke. We've spent the past few weeks tracking you down...Do you remember anything about the case you were working on?" Hank knew at this point he was probably in the way. There were only so many details Bower could give while he was standing there, but Richard still seemed uncomfortable. He shook his head in answer to the question, still shocked by what he'd already heard.

"Nothing...I don't remember anything before the forest."

"And how much of that do you remember?" Bower leaned a little lower, probably trying to seem less intimidating. He was a pretty tall guy. Richard shrugged, his face screwed up in concentration. It was hard to recall how long he was stumbling around in there before finding the road. It felt like days. Perhaps it had been days. It was a bit of a blur as the grey light of day turned to black, leaving him stumbling blindly through the trees.

"I couldn't say...Days? Hours? It felt like a long time." Bower nodded his understanding, hoping the details might come back over the next few days. Since Richard was clearly uncomfortable, and didn't remember much so far, Bower and Clarke excused themselves for a few minutes. They needed to see the doctor about his condition and having him moved, if possible. Richard was certainly relieved as he gave Hank an awkward half-smile. "Guess I'm not just a random junkie then..."

"I never thought you were. A suit like that? You had to be making dime! Still, Agent Perkins...Has a nice ring to it." Hank smirked as Richard scoffed. He still didn't believe it. It had to be some sort of joke. Him? An agent? What were the odds? Then again, he didn't know anything about himself. Maybe he was pretty smart when his brain was intact. He'd like to say he felt smart, but what did smart feel like? "Still not coming back to you, hm?" Richard shook his head. Hard as he'd tried to remember, all he had were small flashes of pain and trees. Sometimes there was a small wooden hut or something, but that didn't explain anything about who he was.

"What if I'm stuck like this?" A dull feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. There were probably worse things that could happen, but what would he do? How could he live? Would he be able to go back to whatever life he had before? How could he if he didn't even know where he went to school? Did he even remember everything he'd learned? Would he have to start all over again? He seemed to have a certain amount of base knowledge, so maybe his education was intact.

"Wait for the doctors to figure it out before you panic. This might just be temporary, you know?" Richard nodded, slightly comforted at the thought. He'd had a few flashes. That must mean it was in there somewhere, right? "Maybe now your friends are here, you'll remember a bit more." Friends? Richard eyed the door sceptically. The younger one seemed friendly enough, but the other one? He hardly seemed the friend type. Hank chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder, still surprised by how small it felt. He was skin and bone under there! "Are you sure there's nothing?"

"Not...exactly." Hank raised an eyebrow at that. "I've had...flashes. Nothing concrete! I don't think it means much." Hank perched on the edge of the bed, listening intently. Richard squirmed a little under the scrutiny. It probably wouldn't help them find out where he was. He didn't even know if it was real. Maybe it was a disjointed nightmare. "I think I was strapped down...and I remember pain in my arm." It didn't seem like much.

"Well, hold on to that. It might jog something else." Richard seemed less than enthused. If what he remembered so far was anything to go by, he wasn't sure he wanted to remember more. "Until then, just relax. You're here now, and you're safe." That was probably true enough. As far as he knew, no one besides Hank, the hospital, and law enforcement knew he'd been found, and it hadn't been reported. Since he worked for the FBI, his disappearance probably hadn't been mainstream either. If he was working on something classified, they wouldn't want his face splashed all over the media.

It wasn't long before the doctor stopped by to talk about the results of their scans. Richard didn't follow much, but the long and short of it was that they believed the damage was temporary. Things should come back gradually, though they couldn't say for sure there wouldn't be any long-lasting damage. He might suffer headaches more often for at least the next few months. There were also the withdrawals to consider. He'd been pumped with a high dose of Dilaudid for a prolonged period. So far they were using other drugs to ease the symptoms, but he would start to feel them. Muscle spasms and shaking, itching, chills, fatigue, a short temper, headaches, and stomachaches.

"The worst of it should only last for around two weeks. After that you should be in the clear, but let us know if any of the symptoms persist." Richard nodded as he listened along. Two weeks didn't sound too bad, though he knew the symptoms would be less than pleasant. He was already suffering skin irritation along his arm, though he did his best not to scratch too much. The only good thing about his memory loss was that he couldn't remember how it felt to be on the drug. If he remembered, maybe he'd feel more inclined to get more of it. "We'll prescribe you some medication to help you along, and we'll need you to return for regular checkups and dressing changes over the next month or so, but you can be checked out of the hospital this evening." To most people, that would probably sound like good news, but to Richard, it was a nightmare. Where would he go? They wanted him to stay in the area for a month, and it didn't sound like he lived around here.

"Those other agents said they'd try to get him transferred to a hospital closer to home. Is that possible?" Hank asked, perhaps thinking along the same lines. The doctor pursed his lips, clearly reluctant to answer.

"It's generally easier to keep treatment in one hospital, so long as it's possible. It would also depend on staff availability in the other hospital." That sounded like it was probably a no. Hank met Richard's troubled gaze for a moment before turning back to the doctor to argue.

"But you're discharging him and he doesn't live around here! Where is he supposed to go for a month?" The doctor, who was a lot younger than Hank, gave an apologetic shrug. There wasn't much he could do in that regard. They needed him to stay in the area for checkups, but the hospital wasn't a hotel. Richard's physical injuries weren't life threatening, and his withdrawals could be managed outside the hospital. That meant his bed could be freed up for someone else who really needed it.

"I-I'm sure I'll find somewhere!" Richard didn't want to cause the doctor any trouble. The hospital policies weren't his responsibility. He was just doing his job. I was an FBI agent before. That probably meant he had money. Perhaps enough to get a hotel for a month. But how was he to get the money? Would muscle memory be enough to figure out his pin number to pay? He could probably walk into the bank if those agents could bring him some form of ID and explain the situation. Surely the bank wouldn't hold his amnesia against him and withhold his savings!

Hank could almost see the thoughts running through Richard's head. He probably didn't realise it, but his dark eyes were shifting back and forth as he weighed up his options. At first he seemed anxious but not that worried. However, his brow slowly furrowed and his head drooped as all the worst-case scenarios ran through it. Hank groaned internally as the thought occurred to him. It was utterly improper. A terrible idea. He was already way more involved than he should be. If he was still on the force, he'd be taken off the case for such impropriety. It wasn't right to be so involved with a victim. Still, he couldn't help himself.

"You can stay at my place." Richard's dark eyes widened at that, unsure what to say. "It's close to town and I have room." That much was true, but Richard still couldn't imagine putting Hank out like that for an entire month. He wouldn't be able to drive either, so he'd have to inconvenience him with asking for rides to and from the hospital.

"I couldn't do that! You've already done so much!" Yeah, I hit you with my truck and everything...Maybe it was the guilt that made him offer. Whatever the case, Hank waved it off and insisted. He was retired. It wasn't like there was anything else he had to do. With that decided, the doctor started the process of discharging Richard. Within two hours he'd been taken off his IV and a bundle of pills was pushed into his hands with various instructions, which Hank listened to with keen interest. There were various pills to manage various symptoms, some to be taken daily and others only when the symptoms cropped up. Some were to be taken before meals, and some after. Some were two times a day, others three times. Luckily, each bottle had instructions printed on the side. Unless symptoms worsened or other problems cropped up, Richard was to return in a week for another examination to make sure there were no unexpected problems, such as swelling. They didn't expect any, but it was always a possibility with severe head injuries. They'd also change the dressings on his feet then since they didn't need changing every day.

Bower seemed less than pleased with the arrangement when he returned later to hear about it, but perhaps it was better that way. At least the FBI wouldn't have to fork out for a hotel. With that in mind, he left his contact details along with the demand to be called if Richard remembered anything. They were still working on the case, and had teams scouring the woods around where Richard was found. They had no idea which side of the road Richard had come out on, but knowing it was the forest in that area was better than nothing.

Richard literally had nothing, so before they returned to Hank's small town, they stopped by a few stores to get enough clothes for a week. Hank paid, saying Richard could reimburse him when he was back on his feet. Either that, or he'd bill the FBI. They could certainly afford it, and this was sort of an emergency. Hank also picked up more groceries so he definitely had enough for dinner. Walking around the shops took a little longer than usual. First, Richard needed shoes. The bandages made closed shoes impractical, so Hank popped into the first suitable store and grabbed some sandals. Walking was painful, even with Hank offering his arm for support. He winced with each step, almost whimpering at the stinging burn. He'd take painkillers, only that would interfere with the withdrawals and risk him getting hooked on something else, so he'd turned them down.

Hank let him sit as often as possible and helped him change when he had to try things on. He just grabbed loose clothes that were easy to slip into. Loungewear. Richard wouldn't be going anywhere, so he didn't need more than that. By the time they got back, Hank having left Richard in the car while he grocery shopped, Richard's feet were throbbing. Seeing how much it hurt, Hank carried him into the house. Being lifted almost gave Richard a heart attack, and he babbled protests all the way to the sofa, where he was set down with a thick cushion beneath his head.

"Stop your mithering! Are you always this difficult?"

"I-I...don't know." Hank sighed and stopped his teasing to ruffle Richard's hair with a reassuring air. The most amusing thing by far was the look on Richard's face as Sumo appeared at his elbow and started sniffing him. He pushed himself right back into the cushions, looking absolutely terrified. This only seemed to draw Sumo more as he heaved himself up and settled on his smaller body. "I guess you forgot about meeting Sumo...He stayed with you all night, you know." Richard had been sleeping most of his first visit, and half asleep for the rest. He did vaguely remember feeling weight on his chest, but he didn't recall the dog being so big.

"H-he did?" Well, if he didn't bite him the last time, he probably wasn't that dangerous. He certainly didn't look like he was about to bite. His huge fluffy head was resting on his chest, dark eyes staring up at him as he wagged his tail. With that in mind, Richard slowly reached out and touched Sumo's floppy ears. Besides moving his eyes to watch his hand, Sumo didn't react. Taking that as permission, Richard relaxed and continued stroking. It was actually sort of comforting. Hank seemed to understand as much as he chuckled and left them to it.

He headed through to the spare room. It wasn't exactly set up for guests. The double bed was bare, the furnishings covered with a light layer of dust. Hank set this right straight away. It didn't take long to run a duster over everything, vacuum, and make the bed. Within an hour, he'd carried Richard through and settled him down to rest. With his feet the way they were, resting was all he was likely to do for a few days. To keep him busy, and his mind active, Hank brought through an empty notebook and a pen.

"What's this for?" Richard asked, huffing softly as Sumo heaved himself up on the bed. Hank perched on the edge by Richard's legs while Sumo took the spare half for himself. He would have ordered him down, only his presence seemed to comfort Richard, who'd already laced a hand in his thick fur.

"I think it'll help if you keep notes of what you remembered so far...You can jot it down whenever you think you remember something, so you can read over it later. Maybe you'll find something important." Whether that would be something to help him remember who he was or something to help the FBI investigation, Richard wasn't sure, but it seemed like a good idea either way. He opened the book with a small nod and wrote everything he had so far. As Hank watched, he decided his writing style was almost like a novelist. He added a lot of detail. Things he remembered seeing, how he'd felt, what he'd heard. Everything.

The flashes of being tied down were particularly unsettling. The straps holding him, how his heart pounded and his body quivered. He remembered being cold and the pain of the needle in his arm as well as the burning sting of his feet. That confirmed the foot issues had started before he got into the forest. The forest floor wouldn't have burned up his soles like that. It looked deliberate. Maybe that's why he was on Dilaudid in the first place. Either it was an accident, or someone had been torturing him for information. The painkiller would have eased the pain between sessions and kept him high and docile enough not to escape. Something had gone wrong at some point though. Richard was here, with no sign of his captor.

"You said the walls were wood. Do you think it was a shed? Or some sort of barn?" Richard winced as he tried to think back and focus. It was hard to hold on to those flashed images. Maybe his brain didn't want to remember. He could only imagine what happened in there.

"I-I think it was a shack...It was pretty small." Hank nodded thoughtfully, wondering if there was a place like that in the forest. Maybe whoever had him was keeping him there. It wasn't a bad idea. How often did people wander into the forest, especially around here? It was easy to get lost if you didn't know what you where you were going, and few people had reason to go in there. Even the local kids kept to the outer edges. "Trees...I could hear the trees!" That certainly sounded like it was in the forest.

"You're doing great! Keep at it, alright? Do you want me to bring you anything?" Richard shook his head as he settled against the headboard with the notebook resting on his knees. He tapped the paper softly, making gentle thudding sounds as he almost glared at the page. Hank left him to it, thinking he might have more luck with some peace and quiet.