Page 89 of Under Cover
Garcia gave a tired smile. “Or I could always talk to him.”
“Yeah, hey. You could always talk to him!”
They both laughed, and Harm let himself out after telling Garcia he’d be back in a few hours to take out the IV.
Well, it was just as good he had to leave it in; it meant Crosby was a captive audience for a little while longer.
Garcia paused at the doorway for a moment before he walked into the room. Crosby was leaning back, eyes still closed, only the restless flexing of his IV hand revealing that he was still awake.
“What?” he asked irritably, eyes still closed, and Garcia had to smile.
“I was letting some of the mad out, papi.You really made a mess of yourself for me.”
“Wasn’tforyou, exactly,” Crosby grumbled. “I’m just mad you have to clean up the mess.”
“Not have to,” Garcia said, moving to sit in the chair Harm had recently vacated. He picked up the soup, still warm, and said, “I want to be here for you. Don’t freak out. I think it means it’s serious.”
“Only bang this year I care about,” Crosby murmured. “That way,” he corrected, grimacing. “Iliana’s been a stand-up friend in the last two months.”
Garcia grunted and said, “Open up, papi.Both your hands are out of commission for the moment. Gonna feed you some soup.”
“Gah!” Crosby’s open mouth was the perfect opportunity to pop in a spoonful. He swallowed and glared and then said, “You will never respect me again after this. I’ll have to move out and change my name.”
But Garcia wasn’t having any of that. “As. If. With all the trouble we went to getting you here? For fuck’s sake, you’re lucky you’re not cuffed to the bed. Now open up again.”
Crosby did, scowling, but this time he took a moment to really taste the soup. “This’s good,” he said reluctantly. “Where’d you get it?”
“Deli around the corner. Just one more thing to look forward to when the op’s over. Incentive enough?”
Crosby moved his IV hand, putting it on Garcia’s knee. “Youare incentive enough. I promise.”
Garcia smiled a little. “Sweet talk gets you more soup.”
Crosby opened his mouth and ate, and after he swallowed he said, “So Harding’s boyfriend’s something, isn’t he?”
Garcia paused before scooping out another spoonful. “How’d you know?”
“I heard him cussing Harding out in the ambulance when I was being treated. I didn’t remember until he came in and talked to me. Sounded like you when I’ve pissed you off.”
“Like now, when you’re hurt and your stomach’s ripping itself apart and my heart hurts looking at you?” Garcia asked.
Crosby’s expression was hard to read, but his hand on Garcia’s knee squeezed gently. “Yeah.”
“How’re we gonna get you out of this?” Garcia asked, setting the soup down and covering that hand.
“I think we gotta trust the team,” Crosby murmured. “I think… I think Harding recruited us all for different reasons. I know that Harman’s a doctor, but he’s also a profiler. He’s the one who helped me nail Brandeis. I remember those conversations—he told me to trust Harding.” A corner of his mouth pulled up. “Called him Clint. Told me to trust Clint. Repeatedly. I remember once when we were both really frustrated, he said—and I’ll never forget this—that Harding had this vision of what law enforcement should be. And that if he had his way, it would never be just one guy trying to figure something like this out.”
Garcia frowned. “Why didn’t the feds get called into that, anyway?”
Crosby grunted. “’Cause I was the only one who saw the connection—the only one who didn’t write those kids off ’cause they were from the wrong neighborhood. I think Harding had some words with the higher-ups to even send feds down after I made the collar.”
“Baby,” Garcia murmured, finally feeling the words instead of the fear and the worry. “My fear here—and I can see it so clearly—is that you were alone for so long. And not just when you were a flatfoot in Chicago, and not only when you got to New York and only knew Toby and nobody else. I think all of it—from liking boys to not following the crowd even in school—I think you have never felt… safe.”
Crosby swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “I have,” he whispered. “For two days. Here.”
Garcia took a deep breath. “Here. We gotta get you back here for a while.”
Crosby nodded, and as worried as Garcia was about his stomach, he sat there, the soup on the nightstand, holding Crosby’s hand until he fell asleep.
