My Split Conference

Dr. Taylor looked at the sedated face of Perry Cox. She had read the report from Dr. Baker already, detailing Dr. Cox’s earlier outburst when Dr. Turk had entered the room.

Dr. Taylor frowned as thoughts niggled in her mind when she skimmed over Dr. Dorian’s apparent similar reaction. She had known they had been held together (though she still doubted Thomas Andrews’s existence in the plot). After all, held in captivity, even the sanest of men did crazy things.

She looked again at the sleeping man in the bed. He was restrained again, not because he had hurt anyone, but because he had managed to break another bone in his already severely-injured right wrist. That would be another problem later for Dr. Cox upon returning to work, she made a note of.

Dr. Taylor looked up to find a dazed but still intense glare staring at her. "Are you going to talk to me today?"

Perry looked away from her to stare out the window in response.

"Then I don’t suppose you’ll mind if I observe. Would you like to see if I can have Dr. Dorian brought in here?" She noted with interest that Perry did look over at her for that.

The man nodded at her.

Dr. Taylor made a note of it with growing interest. She hadn’t yet been able to observe the two of them together because of the restraint problems they’d had with Perry, but from what she’d heard from the hispanic nurse, it was interesting.

A few minutes later, Dr. Taylor was beginning to see why.

The two interacted, perhaps not as freely as they might have if they’d been in front of someone else, without sound at all.

Dr. Taylor wrote things down as she watched. It wasn’t uncommon for mutual victims to cling to each other once out of the situation. Even the lack of sound wasn’t completely uncommon, but still enough for her to wonder if she might do a case study on the two of them.

They had been held together; of that, Dr. Taylor finally had little doubt. She noted at one point that they had actually smiled at each other, though it had come after Dr. Dorian had tapped his fingers quickly against Dr. Cox’s leg.

Dr. Dorian settled at one point for simply holding Dr. Cox’s hand in a gesture that seemed familiar to both of them. He jerked his head in Dr. Taylor’s direction, face changing with bare movements here and there.

Dr. Cox’s face performed similarly, but each expression they gave each other seemed to mean something different.

Dr. Taylor wondered how long it would take one of them to give up the silence to speak. There was no way they could work like that, though they wouldn’t be working for a while.

Dr. Taylor frowned now as she studied the way their hands moved within each other’s like a fluid dance that only they seemed to understand. It held a very intimate tinge, and Dr. Taylor found herself second-guessing Thomas Andrews’s existence again.

The younger man showed the more obvious signs of clinging to Dr. Cox, but whether it was because of shared trauma or something else, she couldn’t be certain.

With more to think about, Dr. Taylor rose (she knew they wouldn’t speak to her) and motioned for a nurse.

Carla approached her reluctantly, wanting to be involved somehow. "Yes, Dr. Taylor?"

"Keep an eye, would you? I’ll be back in the morning." She left the option open deliberately for Dr. Dorian to stay in the room that night.

Carla nodded slowly, not quite understanding the eagerly thoughtful look on the older woman’s face. She entered Perry’s room again, where JD and Perry were once again exchanging quiet hand gestures and expressions.

She took a seat so they could both see her this time. "You two are going to have actually talk about it eventually."

JD looked at her with another "how stupid are you" look on his face; Perry shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

Perry looked back to JD stubbornly. The silence had its benefits even more so now.

Not talking meant no exposing.

XXXXXXXXXX

Elliot met Carla at the bar that night. They'd had to cancel their plans yesterday on account of the blonde woman receiving a shortly delivered note that she would be on-call for the night.

Carla nursed a beer in annoyance as Elliot sat down and signaled the barkeep. "Heard anything about Jordan yet?"

Elliot nodded, and tossed back the shot of vodka. She took a quick swallow of beer, staring at the countertop of the bar.

"She can't feel anything below her waist," Elliot finally said dully. "And she's not talking much about what happened; she just wants to know when she can get out of the hospital and if she'll get any of the feeling back."

"What's the prognosis?" Carla asked, though she knew how dim it would be. Turk had already commented that nerve damage was probable because of where the bullet had torn through in Jordan's neck.

"Not good." Elliot took another swallow of the yeasty, slightly watery-tasting beer. "What about JD and Dr. Cox? Are they talking yet?"

Carla shook her head, frustrating lining her face. "No. Unless you count whatever it is they're saying to each other." She ran her fingers over the cold glass bottle in front of her. "Bambi's going in for orthopedic surgery on his ankle tomorrow, but Dr. Yancey wasn't optimistic about bringing it back to where it used to be."

"And Dr. Cox?"

Carla paused at that, remembering the shattered bones in Dr. Cox's wrist and the grimace that had come over Dr. Yancey's face. She hadn't quite been able to overhear the conversation the orthopedic specialist had quietly had with Dr. Wen, but the looks on their faces hadn't been good.

"I don't know," Carla finally decided for saying, since she wasn't sure she was ready to admit what the possibility was.

"And they haven't caught the guy yet either," Elliot muttered bitterly.

"What's happening for Jack then?"

"Staying with Jordan's mother," Elliot relayed. "And I don't think he's happy about it." A chuckle escaped her mouth weakly. "Can you blame the kid?"

Carla shrugged with a weak smile of her own. "No. I can't."

"So they still haven't spoken?"

"No." Carla pulled on her beer hard. "I don't know if Dr. Taylor should be encouraging them to talk to each other like that though."

"You can't split them up." Elliot frowned. "Every time they've done that, one of them starts flipping out."

"Leave them together and they'll never talk." Carla sidled a glance to Elliot's thoughtful frown. "And you know how important it is for them to talk about what happened and accept it."

"They may never talk about it anyway."

"Would you let it go if it were Jordan?"

Elliot stiffened slightly, wondering how much Carla really knew about the whole sordid situation.

"Jordan's different," Elliot finally edged out, shifting uncomfortably on her stool. "She just needs time to deal with her paralysis."

"And JD and Dr. Cox don't have things to deal with too?" Carla snapped her empty bottle back to the counter. "You were there when we bandaged them up, you saw what that psycho did, how many staples and stitches we had to use." She looked down quietly then, anger and frustration building in her weary bones. "I just don't know if we should be letting them only talk to each other, especially when no one else can understand them."

"Are you saying that because you're worried or because you want them to talk to you?"

Carla rolled her eyes at that. "That's not it, and you know it." A small part of her agreed with Elliot, but she declined to say so. "How are they supposed to get better if they don't get help?"

"It just takes time," Elliot sighed reluctantly, and held a hand up for another beer. "The attending psychologist doesn't seem to be helping much."

Carla snorted as the bartender handed her another beer. "I have about much use for her as I do for a hole in the head." She frowned. "I'm not sure she believes them."

"They haven't told her anything."

The words wouldn't come to Carla's mind to voice her concern over the psychologist's agenda and theories.

"I don't think she thinks all of the injuries were inflicted by one man," Carla finally tried.

Elliot looked at her. "That's stupid."

Carla shrugged. "She's the psychologist; we're not. I think she's got her own things to take care of though. Hard to say."

"How's Turk holding up?"

"He's being a man," Carla sighed. "He keeps lashing out at Dr. Cox because he doesn't have anyone else to blame for his best friend being in the hospital."

"Again, that's stupid."

"That's Turk."

Elliot chuckled weakly and sighed as she let her shoulders slump. "God, this guy did…so much…to everyone."

"And they haven't caught him yet."

Elliot shivered at Carla's words, wishing they weren't true but knowing they were. "Creepy."

Carla nodded in response, silence falling over them as they went to their own private minds.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jordan touched her neck gently. It was still sore where the incision had been stapled shut, but a doctor had already been in to give her pain medication for it. She had smartly responded that she'd given birth; wasn't everything else supposed to be less painful by comparison?

Her neck held a dull ache still, but it wasn't quite the harsh pain it had been earlier. She propped herself up on pillows, eyeing her quiet mother, who quietly read the newspaper.

"I already asked our own private doctor about the injury," her mother said suddenly in an even tone that belied no emotion. "He has a few recommendations for other hospitals that might be able to help somewhat more…" Her mother's face took on the slightest hint of distaste. "Efficiently."

Jordan resisted the urge to roll her eyes, wishing Danni would bring Jack back. "There might not be anything anyone can do." It hurt to say and it made her chest ache tightly at the prospect.

Her mother's eyes snapped up at that. "Not with that attitude. You have to want it."

It was a familiar speech Jordan had heard from both of her parents at one time or another growing up. She always had to want it harder, want it more, sacrifice this, give up that to get where she was expected to.

"Mom, why don't you go home and take a break?" Jordan finally said tiredly. "You've been here all week."

"Have you been in to see Perry yet?" her mother asked on as if Jordan hadn't spoken.

"No, Mom." Jordan leaned her head back, not sure if she was ready to see either of the two men yet after having seen the visible wounds a week prior. "I don't think he's up to seeing anyone."

Jordan's mother scoffed a bit. "No doubt it was that boy's fault that this whole thing happened. Isn't he a doctor here?"

"Not right now, he's not. And it wasn't the kid's fault. They don't know much about what happened yet."

"I'm not sure I'd want a doctor here of that sort of foolery." Jordan's mother snapped the paper to straighten the pages.

"Mom, I'm kind of tired. Can you just leave me alone until Danni brings Jack back in?"

Her mother eyed her suspiciously, but nodded tersely. "I have some business to take care of that I've been pushing off this week."

It was unspoken that her mother clearly blamed her scheduling issues on Jordan's medical problems.

"I'll see you later then."

Her mother kissed her forehead and left quietly.

Jordan rolled her eyes when the older woman had left, and rubbed her temples tightly. The dull ache in her neck was growing sharper and traveling to her head. She glared down at her legs, and concentrated hard on trying to move them.

Nothing happened beneath the sheets, and Jordan hit the bed with a weak fist. Elliot hadn't been in to see her much at all, and Jordan reluctantly gave into her annoyance at the fact.

Jordan pushed away the hurt that came with the annoyance, throwing it into the pile of emotions she didn't want to feel right now. She pushed her blankets from her legs, grimacing at the polka-dot hospital gown they'd put her in.

Her legs looked as normal as ever, if a bit prickly from lack of shaving. They looked the same way they had for her entire life, as if they still worked.

Jordan experimentally touched her own knee, feeling much like she was touching something else fleshy and spongy beneath her hand. She spread her fingers over the cap of bone, still having that eerie sense of feeling skin that wasn't her own.

She glared at the offending kneecap, and hit it gently. Still nothing. She slid her hands beneath the knee now, drawing it up to bend it to a right angle.

Jordan stared hard at the leg, and slowly let go of it. It slid back to the bed without the support of her hands underneath it. Tears pricked at her eyes, struggling to move the limbs underneath her, and feeling nothing as she ran her hands over them.

It was an odd sense of knowing that she was supposed to feel something there, but it was a dead weight with no sense of touch or pain. The repercussions of that made her cheeks turn red in humiliation and frustration.

She was still punching her thigh lightly when Elliot entered the room and gave her a disapproving frown.

"That's not going to make the feeling come back any faster," Elliot said lightly as she sat down in a chair.

Jordan glared at her. "You think?" She looked at her thigh where a light bruise had begun to bloom under the pale skin. She yanked the blankets back over her legs. "What do you want?"

Elliot sighed with a shrug as she leaned back, sliding her hands over a hip. "I'm sorry I haven't visited much. Your mother's sort of scary."

"Tell me something I don't know." Jordan crossed her arms, still sitting up. She didn't want to lay back down; that only made the paralytic feelings worse. "You heard anything about whether…this is going to get better?"

Elliot shook her head reluctantly. "I can give you a professional opinion based on your post-op notes."

"Don't bore me with the same crap the neurosurgeon already gave me."

"What'd he have to say then?"

"Something about it was still up in the air." Jordan balanced her elbows on her lap, ignoring the shudder that wanted to run through her when she touched the numb skin.

"You're still pretty lucky. That bullet could’ve hit the carotid and you wouldn’t have had time for the EMT’s to show up."

"Last time I checked, luck meant hoping the canary didn't die in your coal mine that day."

"It didn't kill you," Elliot pointed out. "And the neurosurgeon didn't say you'd never walk again. And they may still be able to repair the cord of nerves that were damaged beneath your cervical vertebrae."

"Unlikely," Jordan remarked. "My mom's probably going to ship me to a different hospital as soon as the doc gives the okay though."

"You're leaving this hospital? What about Jack? And Perry and JD? Have you even seen the guys yet?"

Jordan gave a bitter laugh, even though the thought of leaving the hospital did make her vaguely ill.

"What about me?"

"What about you, princess? I've been here all week; where the hell have you been?" Sharp anger lashed through her as she clenched her fists over her legs. "You could've come to see me; you've been spending all your time outside of that godforsaken window, doing absolutely nothing but watching because you were scared?"

Elliot sputtered a bit. "But…I didn't know…"

"You can't know," Jordan spat at her, furious tears rising in her eyes again. This time, she let them fall. "I've been in here listening to my mother and Danni ramble on while Jack asks where the hell his father is and why I can't get out of bed, and you want to know what about you?"

Elliot glared at her. "Yes, I want to know what about me. I care about you, I care about Jack. And you've been sitting in this bed all week, feeling sorry for yourself because you've already accepted that nothing's going to change about your condition!"

"Nothing is, precious. Have you seen my chart or are you just letting yourself drift to Ditzy-Land again?"

"I don't have to stand here and take this from you. Everyone else might feel sorry for you because you can't walk, but I sure as hell don't." Elliot slammed the door behind her.

Jordan glared after her, cheeks wet and stomach churning. She burst into sobs, and flung her face back into the pillow. Even Elliot thought her mother was scary.

Jordan couldn't blame her. Long-forgotten memories of Perry's first meeting with her still made her grin a little, despite the situation.

You just have to want it more.

Wanting didn't matter when she'd wanted to write though. Instead, she'd gone on to receive the financial degree with the backing of business as a minor just like her parents had told her to, just like Danni was finishing up now, just like Ben had finished before Jordan.

For Ben, it had been photography.

Danni, however, seemed content. Jordan smiled bitterly at that; they'd finally had one child who actually liked the numbers and scientific art it took to understand how they worked.

Still, Jordan stared at the door, chest aching. She'd never wanted anything so badly as to move her legs and forget anything had happened. Even she knew that was impossible, and a hopeless wish.

Elliot had fallen in and out of her life with an alarming rate, and Jordan turned her face into the pillow again, grasping her shoulders tightly.

Wanting wasn't going to matter there either.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Perry sat under a dull fuzz of sedation and sleepiness. JD wasn't in the room yet, and he hadn't been able to lull himself into blissful unawareness. He looked at his bandaged wrist and arm.

They'd taken him in for surgery yesterday to place two titanium pins in his shin where it had been broken and splintered by the bullet. The jury was still out on what they planned to do with his wrist.

That had begun to grate on him. He'd finally caught sight of the x-ray an hour ago and had felt his very existence tip to the side of himself. The bones had looked ugly in their spiderweb shatters, like someone had placed a clear kaleidoscope over the x-ray as a joke.

But Perry knew it wasn't a joke. If he'd seen gunshot wounds ruin bones before, he'd seen it a million times. The likelihood of him being able to return to medicine was looking grim at best.

He leaned back, glad that at least the stupid psychologist had released his restraints. His leg was beginning to hurt, and he'd already taken a look to make sure the stitches were done to his satisfaction. He'd darkened the room again, and though it was actually a little warm, he'd slipped on JD's jacket.

JD seemed to be spiraling downwards in the memories, but Perry couldn't keep a straight face and say that he wasn't either. He knew the needs were growing greater, and if he had his way, JD would be staying in the room with him soon.

Carla seemed to have guessed that, and had begun making excuses to delay bringing JD by.

Like she was now.

"Dr. Cox, I've got some other things to do," Carla mumbled, feeling bad when he shot her a hurt, angry glare.

Perry raised his hand and jerked his fingers to the side in a motion that JD would've understood to mean she was full of it.

Carla seemed to get the idea from the annoyance of the motion. "Look, you've got to start talking or they'll never let you out of here. Don't you want to get better?"

He only stared at her in reply for that, and then gestured deliberately to the door.

"You haven't spoken in a week; Dr. Taylor's making noises about putting you two in a case study. That'll take longer then what you're required to be here for. Please, Perry…talk to me."

Perry looked at her for a moment, as if he were debating his answer. He finally shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

Carla sighed, hurt racing through her heart unexpectedly. "I'll go get JD for the afternoon."

Perry nodded his thanks to her as she left the room, shielding his eyes when she flipped half the lights on. He grumbled mentally at that; didn't she get it? He wanted the lights out.

But she returned a few minutes later, and JD had flipped them back out on his way.

Carla blew an exasperated sigh out of her mouth, and flipped them back on.

JD glared at her, and began to reach for them again, but Carla was still wheeling him away from it.

"Look," she said in a hard, stressed voice. "I know you two have some stupid secret language between the two of you. But I've got other work that I can't push off anymore, so I'm going to leave you two alone. Please talk to each other."

JD and Perry exchanged a quick look before they looked at her concerned, worried face.

"If not for me, I know you're both worried about each other," Carla went on, and began to reach for one of them, but pulled back at the last minute. "No one here's going to hurt you. I'll be back later." She turned and left.

Perry watched her go and snorted once she'd left.

JD shrugged at him, and gave a so-so hand motion. The least they could do was try.

Perry shook his head, fear running through his chest. He didn't want to talk; he was just fine like this.

JD tapped on his good hand then, eyes searching along Perry's expression. When Perry didn't respond, JD's face slipped to one of questioned worry, and he opened his hand to point at Perry.

Perry looked at him, and then past him to make sure Carla had really left. Then he settled back in the pillows of the bed, tapping his fingers into the sheets.

"I'm scared."

JD looked up at the sound of Perry's voice, realizing how much he'd missed the sound of it.

"Me too," JD finally replied after a minute. "I hate it here."

"Join the club, Melissa."

JD wheeled away for a minute and flipped out the lights again. When he came back, a dark show of relief was across his pale, bruised face.

"I wish they'd let me stay in here," JD finally said hesitantly. They hadn't broached this part of the problem yet, but JD felt it suddenly so much easier then talking about what had already happened.

Perry didn't reply to that.

JD searched his face for a minute, realizing quite suddenly how well he could read the expression. The older man felt the same, that much JD could derive, but something was making his hands shake.

JD declined to ask.

"How are you holding up?" Perry finally asked, voice hoarse from disuse.

JD rolled his shoulders out of instinct and habit.

Perry nodded his assent without thinking either.

"What about you?" JD replied.

Another shrug was the answer from Perry.

"Have you heard anything about Jordan yet?" JD asked after a quiet minute of finger taps.

"Barbie was in here for a few," Perry said quietly. "She didn't want to say much anything."

"Carla will tell you if you ask her."

The fear was back again at the idea of talking to anyone but the man in front of him, so Perry settled for a shrug.

"Maybe."

JD sat back in his wheelchair a little, fingers never leaving Perry's hand. "I keep having nightmares."

"I can't sleep unless you're in here."

They'd spoken at the same time with such earnest honesty that Perry was clenching his fists and JD was scrubbing at his face.

Perry slowly watched his knuckles turn whitish. "Hey."

JD looked up. "Yeah?"

"Do you ever…" Perry paused a minute, eyes looking down at the blanket with an intensity that had JD grabbing his hand in concern and habit. "Miss that room?"

JD sighed in the dim room, heart aching and chest swirling with shame. "Yeah. I do. Everyone here's just…too much. All they want to do is help and when they can't, they look at me like I'm just some poor crazy guy."

"Pity," Perry spat out quietly. "They don't get it."

JD nodded his head in agreement. "They weren't there."

Perry wondered if he'd have been able to get out of this alone. The what-ifs had been running through his head again. If JD had died in that tiny room far away, he'd have been alone in this hospital room.

JD felt Perry's hand tighten on his suddenly, but was still inexplicably glad that he didn't have to do this alone. He didn't have to relay what had happened to him to anyone; he could just talk to Perry about it.

Perry understood.

Perry looked at the kid. "I'm sorry for what happened back there."

JD cocked his head to the side, surprising Perry with the calmness that was there. "You had to do it," JD finally decided for saying, the guilt making him feel nauseous and ashamed again. "It wasn't so bad."

Perry thought back to Thomas, but shoved it away when his chest tightened and his throat went cotton-dry.

"Not like when…he did it."

It was unspoken who JD was talking about at the male pronoun, and Perry didn't reply to the statement. He concentrated on the feel of JD's cool fingers touching his hand and the darkness of the room.

The kid was bringing him out bit by bit, but not to anyone else. Perry wondered if it was selfish of him to want it to stay that way. He didn't think even after all the therapy someone was going to shove him through, that he'd ever be able to open up to anyone but JD again.

JD smiled at him in the darkness lightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Really."

Perry seemed to relax then. It never crossed his mind anymore to try and hide his expressions from JD. Something had shifted in those long weeks in the bathtub, something huge. Perry had the feeling suddenly that it had been building the whole time, and this was only a minor catalyst.

JD looked at the thoughts crossing over Perry's face, understanding that the other man was still as scared as ever to be in a lit room. JD wondered if the sounds of the opening doors were scaring him too.

JD leaned his head to the side at that. He'd had trouble sleeping, hearing the doors opening day and night. Sitting in the room with Perry, it was still a horrifying sound that he wasn't sure he'd be able to cope with.

His arms itched beneath the bandages, but he'd been too afraid to look under them. The longer he kept the gauze on, after all, the longer he could pretend it wasn't there at all.

Perry watched JD study his arms. He hadn't been able to lift his bandages either, though a nurse had come in to change them the other day. Perry had pitched a fit about the pain in his hand until someone medicated him enough that he didn't remember them being changed.

He didn't want to see the ugly burn scars and raised cuts all over his tanned skin. That meant it really had happened, and if it really had happened, then the subtle shift between he and JD would have that negative tinge to it. The longer he didn't have to see the wounds, the longer he could pretend for a little while that everything was okay.

JD seemed to agree and tugged at his sleeve for a minute before returning his hand to Perry's.

Perry glanced at him then. "I don't want to talk anymore." Ever.

"I don't either." JD didn't think he'd want to talk to anyone else for a while except Perry.

In the end, they settled for that old silence that had always comforted them in the darkness of the bathroom. If it was silent, dark, and motionless, that meant nothing was in there to hurt either one of them.

There was a slight draft in the room, and rain pattered against the window softly.

JD undid the brake on his wheelchair suddenly and scooted forward as much as he could, pulling Perry to a sitting position. He'd wanted to do this since he'd first woken up, having always been able to sleep to it when he was scared in the tub.

Perry seemed confused, but then JD pressed his head against his steady heartbeat. Biting back a harsh sound of sorrow, Perry let him do it, raising his good hand to slip over JD's cool neck.

The older man leaned his head down to JD's ear.

JD felt wild curls tickle against his cheek and neck, and he raised an eyebrow in question.

"It's just me and you, JD. We'll be alright."

Perry felt the hand against his side tighten, and then felt JD's shoulders shake against him. He raised the injured hand carefully to slip an arm over JD's trembling body, wrists coming together.

For all the world, they simply looked like they were hugging in a dark hospital room, one victim helping another.

To them, they were back in the comfort and safety of that dark bathtub where Thomas was quiet, and no one looked at them like defected, injured victims. No one treated them differently there, and no one questioned their odd hand gestures and intimacy.

JD finally pulled away, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve and pointed at the hoodie.

"I thought you didn't like those."

Perry shrugged in the blue, hooded zipper-jacket. "It's warm."

JD took his hand again, and the silence settled again. It was only temporary, he knew, but he kept his eyes back on Perry's.

"I do miss that room," JD finally said after a minute. "You're not alone."

"Neither are you, Alice."

Perry finally let the ghost of a smile drift over his face. He didn't have to worry about JD telling anyone, at least not about this or anything that had happened to them. It was just he and JD, and they both understood each other, had understood each other for years.

Perry leaned back, almost asleep when he felt JD push something into his hip. It was that familiar okay sign. With a slight chuckle, Perry returned the thumbs-up and drifted to sleep with JD's head in his lap and the younger man's hand over his heartbeat.

XXXXXXXXXX

"What is this about, Carol?"

Dr. Carol Taylor had the eagerly thoughtful look on her face again. "I’m telling you, Alex, this is a perfect case study. There’s so much that’s happened to these two men, and their reactions are fascinating."

"Why should it be any different? We study trauma victims all the time, victims of rape, torture…why are these two any different?"

"They haven’t spoken to anyone in over a week, Alex." Dr. Taylor tapped her own fingers against the desk in a poor miming of Dr. Cox’s hand. "I haven’t quite figured out the more…grisly details of their captivity. I’m getting shorted there from the police."

"It’s interesting; I’m not sure why I should be caring overly much about your patients though."

"They’ve formed some sort of sign language with each other. I’ve been observing them for the better half of today."

"They were abducted?"

Dr. Taylor frowned, ceasing the movements of her fingers. "I do know that. I’ve read over their physiological reports already. Severe mutilation to the arms and torso, signs of rape, definitely some residual psychological trauma on one of them, but they’re not talking. The level of understanding these two seem to have with each other is phenomenal. Come out here and look at them; you’ll see what I mean."

Dr. Alexander Stojanovich frowned. His friend had always been a bit overzealous in trying to find the next big research case, but it sounded like she might actually have one this time.

Still, it paid to know the facts. "Have they found the abductor?"

"I’m not sure the abductor really played a big part in the physical affects of one of them," Dr. Taylor edged out, not entirely certain of her theory yet. "One of them seems vastly unaffected by much of what happened; though he has had sudden outbursts."

"It sounds more like a case of Stockholm’s then a cause for a case study."

"I’m not so sure," Dr. Taylor retorted. "Come observe them."

Dr. Stojanovich sighed, and looked at his calendar. "The earliest I can be there is a few days from now. I’ve appointments that I simply can’t move around."

"Whenever is best for you, of course," Dr. Taylor replied, excitement edging her tone. "I’m telling you, Alex…I’ve been here for over ten years. If my theory is right and it is Stockholm’s, the depth of understanding these two men have is nothing short of incredible."

"We’ll see, Carol. Just keep in mind what’s best for the patient." Without saying anything else, Dr. Stojanovich hung up the phone.

Dr. Taylor slid the phone back down, and reviewed the two charts again. She supposed it might have been easier to work with the theories if she could speak with someone over their abductor’s mental history as well.

It didn’t quite change her theory however. After all, she knew enough about Thomas Andrews to know he was also a severe abuse case, bounced from foster home to foster home, and suffered more by the time they had sent him home. After that, it was back to the system of becoming the state’s newest lab rat for new therapies after the murder of his family.

It was uncommon, however, for a patient with Thomas’s disorder to lash out so deeply upon strangers, not to mention the brutal physical ramifications that had resulted.

However, as she looked at Perry Cox’s previous history and charts, it only began to solidify her theory that Thomas Andrews had played little in the way of harming either man. Perry Cox’s record at the hospital was littered with patient complaints of a harsh bedside manner, remarks from both interns and residents alike about his brusque method of teaching and his sometimes harmful nicknames, and comments from colleagues about the difficulty of working with him.

Not to mention his problem with alcoholism, which indicated both self-destructive and potentially harmful behavior.

Dr. Taylor frowned; yes, it did make much more sense to her by putting Dr. Perry Cox at the cause of the abuse case instead of the skinny, black-haired man she’d seen a photo of. The hospital in Arizona seemed to be having "technical difficulties" in getting Thomas Andrews’s file to her.

Dr. Taylor reviewed Dr. Dorian’s chart and history next. A few marks here and there during his early internship, but nothing she didn’t expect to see from a young doctor’s record. The glowing remarks and recommendations from both his mentor, Dr. Cox (another mark against the man in Dr. Taylor’s mind), Dr. Kelso, and colleagues only boosted the fact to her that Dr. Dorian had been a relatively normal young man before this.

She sat back, steepling her fingers against her chin as she thought. There wasn’t much motive behind why the older doctor would lash out in such a terrible way, but then again, there wasn’t much rhyme or reason behind the insane.

Insanity made even the most normal unpredictable.

Continues with Chapter 13