Title: Witness Marks
Fandom: Magnum P.I. (2018 reboot)
Author: gaelicspirit
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Thomas Magnum, Orville "Rick" Wright, Theodore "TC" Calvin, Juliet Higgins, Det. Gordon Katsumoto, and some bad guys - GEN

Summary: Set after Episode 1x09, Ties That Bind. For Thomas Magnum, compartmentalizing traumatic events keeps him steady. Until he's forced to recall the worst moments of his life in order to help a kidnap victim. After that, memories become harder to sequester into the nice, safe boxes in his mind. And when a seemingly-routine case turns sideways, putting Magnum—and everyone he cares about—in the sites of a killer, those memories may be the difference between life and death.

Disclaimer/Warning: Nothing you recognize is mine. Including the odd movie line. I like to work in quotes now and again. And…the characters swear in my hands. Quite a bit, actually. Lastly, don't try any of the medical stuff in this story at home, kids. Most of it I learned from TV and movies, so.

Title is in reference to repair marks on antique clocks. Basically, scars on the gears of the clock that tell the story of what it had been through over the years. Chapter openings are lyrics from songs that I have playing on my writing playlist.

Author's Note: Okay, confession time (this is kind of a long note, just a word of warning).

For those of you familiar with my name, this is for you. For those of you who've never read any of my stories before, you can scroll down to the 'Important Point', below.

I was planning to take a bit of a hiatus from writing fanfic to focus my energy on my original fic and seeing if I could make a legitimate go of this writing thing. But then, my world was shifted back in June when I lost a sister and I haven't really found my balance yet.

I really wanted to write a story—and I'd been playing with this idea set within the reboot of Magnum, P.I. The '80's version of the show had always been a favorite of my childhood, something I shared with my dad, and I found myself romanced by the changes Lenkov made to the characters and their background. Season 1 is more my speed than Season 2 has been so far—and the characters I've put on paper here won't fit in the S2 framework of the show. But it's still fun to watch.

Anyway, I worried I was going backwards, somehow, if I allowed myself this release of storytelling in this genre. Then, I got an email from a friend, K. Hanna Korossy, who said, "…please allow yourself to enjoy the pleasure and comfort of fanfic writing…writing should be food for the soul, because it's not worth the sweat and tears otherwise."

She's right. I love writing these stories. I love sharing them with you. I love seeing what you like, what resonates, what entertains. I love all of it. So, while I'm not giving up on my original fic, I'm going to allow myself to sink into fanfic and see what the world of this Magnum, P.I. reboot has to offer us.

Important Point: I've been heavily influenced by IceQueen1's (or disappearinginq on tumblr) vision of the boys' time in the POW camp (see her amazing WIP, "Wrong Side of Heaven"). If something seems familiar, it's probably because you read it there, first. Many thanks to you, my friend, for allowing me to share your sandbox—and for not only giving this a sanity check but also cheerleading me along to finishing and posting it.

With that, I give you my first attempt at a Magnum fanfic. I hope you all enjoy.

Here stands a man at the bottom of a hole he's made
Still sweating from the rush, his body tense, his hands, they shake
Oh this, this is a mad war…
- The War, SYML

Thomas

It was late enough he knew the dogs would be sleeping peacefully in the main house with Higgins. He cannily avoided the security lights and cameras—a simple enough exercise as he'd placed each one personally. No need to alert or alarm anyone inside the main house.

He left the Ferrari parked outside the gate. Higgins was going to have a field day when she saw it—but that was a battle for a later time, with caffeine on board.

Lots and lots of caffeine.

Stumbling a bit as he crossed the threshold between the lanai and the living room, Thomas checked the face of his watch, narrowing his eyes to focus on the semi-illuminated hands. It had been his father's watch—one of the only things he owned that belonged to the man. It would probably make sense to upgrade at some point to something he could easily see in the dark—especially considering how much of his professional life was spent in the shadows—but he couldn't bring himself to part with it.

Somehow wearing it felt as though his father was still with him, and there were more moments in his life than he'd care to recount where that sensation was the only thing that kept him grounded long enough to survive to the next moment.

Blinking hard, he focused: three a.m. Not a decent time for man or beast.

"Or hyper-vigilant, British ex-intelligence agents," he muttered to himself, wincing as the whisper pulled at his dry throat.

He was a mess; this last job had required a bit more stealth and physicality than usual. He'd completed the task and would thankfully be paid—this time with none of his friends adding skin in the game—but he was wrung out.

Standing in the living area of Robin Masters' guest house, Thomas looked from the couch to his bedroom and back, his vision wavering with exhaustion. He hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours, hadn't been back at Robin's estate in nearly seventy-two. There would be questions to answer and excuses to give, but at the moment he was having a really difficult time keeping his vision from tunneling.

He pulled in a slow breath, noting with some consternation that the muscles along his ribcage whimpered in retaliation. He needed a shower, some food, and a lot of sleep—in that order.

Taking a step forward, he realized with sudden and alarming clarity that his body wasn't going to cooperate with his agenda. His knees seemed to evaporate beneath him, and he reached clumsily for the couch, narrowly missing the coffee table as he hit the ground between the two. A part of his mind admonished him for not being able to muscle through to even just get off the floor—he was a Navy SEAL, for Christ's sake.

But the other part of his mind—the louder part—told him to just stay down. Stay still. Let the darkness win.

He listened to the second part.

Juliet

She absolutely was not monitoring the security cameras watching for his return. That might indicate she was worried—and she was most definitely not worried. She was simply ensuring the safety of the estate.

It was her responsibility to keep everything running smoothly—and if that meant checking up on wayward security consultants who apparently felt it necessary to disappear completely for three days without a word, well, then. So be it.

"Come on, lads," Juliet muttered to the two alert Dobermans flanking her and walked out into the perfect Hawaiian morning.

Trade winds picked up her short, blonde curls and tossed them across her face as she made her way to the exterior pergola where she enjoyed her morning yoga. Her eyes skimmed the waterline, hoping to see the tell-tale sign of that blasted Tigers ball cap and an outrigger cutting through the surf. The sea was an inviting, brilliant, turquoise blue…and utterly devoid of watercraft.

"Enough," she scolded herself. "Acting like a bloody idiot," she unfurled her mat. "He is a grown man, quite capable of getting out of whatever trouble he's in on his own."

As she stretched to plank position, it wasn't lost on her that a week ago she would have been celebrating having three Magnum-free days on the property. But since observing how he helped Amanda Sato cope with the after-effects of being kidnapped and hearing him open up to the young girl about his time held prisoner in the Korengal Valley, something had shifted within Juliet.

She stretched up, elongating her spine, a frown pulling her brows low as she thought about Magnum teasing Amanda via Facetime as she, Magnum, and Rick cut their way through the leeward side of the island in search of where she'd been kept prisoner. The smile Magnum had tossed over his shoulder at them, turning his face into nothing but lashes and laugh lines, was entirely incongruous to Rick's reveal of his time as a prisoner.

The man was still insufferable, but…there was something else there. Something she wasn't quite yet willing to pin down with a label.

"When we were there, they liked to put Thomas in solitary confinement for long stretches…we didn't know if he was dead or alive."

Rick's words ghosted through her memory as she stretched and balanced, working to empty her mind of disarming grins and lost expressions in dark brown eyes. So focused was she on centering her thoughts, it took her a moment to register the sound of Zeus and Apollo growling over the steady rhythm of the surf.

Rising to her knees, she looked in the direction the dogs were staring: the front gate.

"What is it, lads?" she asked, uncoiling and stepping down from the raised platform. She rested a hand on Apollo's head, and felt the shift in his attention as he glanced from the front gate up to her, then back again. "Right, then. Let's see what the fuss is, shall we?"

With the dogs leading the way, Juliet marched to the front gate, a sense of uncertain anxiety curling around itself in her belly. She hadn't been truly afraid in some time—but there was a sense of vulnerability about being alone on such an expansive estate that kept her alert, at the ready. She would never admit out loud—and certainly never to the man in question—but there was a sense of peace that came over the place when Magnum was around.

As former MI6—and a functioning adult—she was quite capable of managing the responsibility of maintaining Robin Masters' estate entirely on her own. She had quite vehemently resisted the concept of a security consultant—live-in, no less. Thomas Magnum's skill set was, in Juliet Higgins' mind, rather superfluous. But then…she started to realize as she'd grown accustomed to his presence, his purpose became secondary.

Reaching the gate, Juliet felt her brows automatically fold over the bridge of her nose. It appeared Mr. Masters' Ferrari was parked at the side of the road, just outside the gate.

"What the actual hell, Magnum?" Juliet grumbled, punching the code into the keypad just inside the gate and swinging through the opening, closing it behind her so that the dogs didn't escape.

It was indeed Robin's Ferrari, though it looked as though someone had taken it on an off-roading excursion. Mud splattered both sides and up into the interior, caking the wheel wells so much it was amazing the car had made it this far. A cursory exam didn't reveal any body damage—to the car, at least. When she peered inside, she saw blood and what looked to be grease paint smeared on the steering wheel and edges of the driver's seat.

"Was he drunk?" she wondered aloud, anger turning her voice to steel.

How dare he take such advantage of their employer's possessions? Magnum had absolutely zero appreciation for the allowances offered him—and to leave a $300,000 automobile in such condition on the bloody side of the road—

"It's unconscionable," she snapped to the air. She climbed inside, kneeling on the driver's seat and searching the back and beneath the seats for any evidence of what had transpired. "If I find one shred of alcohol…or a woman's undergarments, or anything else…unseemly…I will take him apart."

Continuing to mutter threats and words of warning, Juliet finished her search of the vehicle, finding nothing other than the mud, blood, and grease paint, of all things, to give her an idea of what Magnum had been up to. He'd apparently taken the keys with him, as well.

"Which means, he's somewhere in that bloody guest house," she said, with a pointed look at the dogs. "You're faster than me. Go find him," she jerked her chin forward, punching in the code once more to let herself back onto the grounds as the dogs took off toward the guest house.

As Juliet made her way behind them, each step added to her ire. The worst part was, she was just starting to see the man as an actual human being. A colleague, perhaps. Someone who could be leaned on, trusted, maybe even valued as a friend.

"Handle with care, indeed," she muttered to herself as she crossed the close-cut grass from the entry lane toward the guest house. What could Mr. Masters have possibly been referring to when he offered those words of advice prior to Magnum moving in? The man was a child, a playboy, who valued nothing as much as himself.

Juliet was a reasonable person and a highly trained operative; she understood when emotions were high, they over road logic in most situations, and she was usually able to syphon her own emotions away to focus on action and reality. On some level, she knew that the anger she was allowing herself to build toward Magnum was fueled by a sense of worry she wasn't interested in exploring quite yet.

But she chose to turn a blind eye to that level. It felt better to be angry with him than worried for him. Anger, she could handle; she had no idea how to process worry.

She halted her heated advance when she saw the dogs had stopped just inside the lanai, not entering the opened doorway toward the living area. That was odd. Why weren't they intent on invading Magnum's privacy, as per usual?

"Lads, come," she ordered, pointing to her side. They instantly obeyed and parked themselves on the grass outside of the guest house. "Stay," she held up the flat of her hand, and they both sat, eyes on her.

Moving cautiously forward, Juliet made her way across the lanai then into the living area, eyes scanning the full room. It took her a moment to see Magnum's muddy shoe canted to the side on the ground between the couch and the coffee table.

"Oh, for God's sake, Magnum, really," she huffed, moving toward him, intending to jostle the man awake. She pushed the coffee table to the side and reached for his shoulder, pulling up short when she saw his profile.

Shades of green and black grease paint covered his face and neck in camouflaged patterns. A cut had been opened above his eyebrow; blood having dried there to seal the wound. A black, long-sleeved shirt was twisted around him, as though his sleep had been anything but restful.

"Well, that explains the grease paint," she sighed, reaching down to shake his shoulder. "Magnum, you idiot, wake—"

The abruptness of his shift between unconsciousness and awareness at her touch startled her into pulling her hand back. Every line of his body was taut, his eyes staring straight ahead. Instinctively, Juliet moved back, putting the coffee table between herself and the man on the floor.

"Magnum?"

He flattened a hand against the floor and with enviable precision, pressed up into a crouch, the caked mud on his shoes and legs cracking and sloughing to the floor in small tufts. Juliet caught her breath at the look on his face. Gone was the light-hearted, almost youthful light she so often interpreted as irresponsibility. Before her was the soldier she'd heard the others speak of.

This was the man who survived a POW camp.

"Magnum, are you with me?"

His eyes were on her, but they were so black she could tell he wasn't seeing anything in front of him—certainly not anything here, now. His right hand was curled tightly into a fist, his left pressed against the couch as a brace, and he stayed in a crouch, poised to spring toward a threat…any threat.

Juliet's pulse beat a heavy tempo at the base of her throat. She'd spent time in the field long enough to know the effects of PTSD, to know how not to wake a soldier, how to be careful when a flashback was triggered. She'd ignored all of those, choosing instead to see Magnum as nothing more than the playboy he often portrayed when she knew…she knew he'd survived more than any human should have to.

"Thomas, it's Juliet," she said slowly, pitching her voice low and soothing, not wanting to signal the two Dobermans waiting at the wings for a sign from her that all was not right. "You're safe."

Magnum's eyes shifted quickly from Juliet's figure to the open door, then back. She could see by his bearing that he was debating the likelihood of escape.

Bugger it all, how would Rick and TC handle this?

"Thomas, just…take it easy…."

Magnum pushed to his feet in one fluid motion and she saw the tremble of his arms, as though he were wrestling with both instincts to fight or run. She could see his pulse beat in his throat, but not the flex of his shoulders as he breathed. He was holding his breath, she realized, bracing himself.

She stretched out a hand to him. "Take a breath, Thomas," she implored gently. She could hear a low growl of warning just outside and was a bit amazed that the dogs had held off approaching thus far. "You run, and you know damn well those dogs will chase you."

At that, he blinked, a ragged breath pulled in as though he was surprised his lungs still worked. Grabbing onto that tactic, she pressed forward.

"They're just outside—and they're just looking for an excuse to add another of your shirts to their collection."

Blinking again, Magnum swayed on his feet, his fist relaxing. Juliet stepped carefully forward, reaching out to balance him. She could feel the tremble of his muscles beneath her touch. The motion of his body pressed his weight into the hollow of her hand, and she flexed her fingers around his bicep, hoping it grounded him rather than alarmed him.

"Are you with me?" she asked again, watching as slow blinks became rapid and awareness returned to his gaze.

"Higgy?"

The break in his voice almost had her heart tripping over itself. Almost.

"There you are," she allowed a small smile to relax her mouth. "I was beginning to think you actually wanted to see how far you could test my patience today."

Magnum swallowed, his tongue darting out to wet dry lips, and he slid his gaze around the room as if just bringing it into focus.

"Test…?"

She didn't like how dazed he still sounded; she wanted to make him sit down before he came apart in her hands, but she was a little afraid of forcing him into any action in that moment.

"The mud, Magnum," she over-exaggerated her displeasure, trying to bring him around. "It's absolutely everywhere—not to mention the status of Mr. Masters' Ferrari. It's a disaster! And then I find you all made up as if you're prepping for some sort of…Rambo cos-play."

He looked at her then, and she saw awareness take a front seat in his gaze once more.

"Cos-play?" His voice still broke slightly, but it now sounded less traumatized, more sleep rough. "How do you even know what that is?"

Gently pressing against his arm, Juliet used her posture and position to subtly encourage him to sit on the edge of the couch. "I do read, you realize. And watch television. On occasion."

Magnum sat, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbed at his filthy, short hair with the edges of his fingers. He pulled his hands back, staring at them with confusion and disgust.

"Yes, you're quite a sight, I'm afraid," she huffed a sigh and made a bit of a show flopping to a seated position on the coffee table. "It's going to take you some time to detail the Ferrari."

Magnum was still staring at his hands. "I parked it outside the gate," he said, swallowing hard.

She wondered how long it had been since he'd had anything to eat or drink. He looked gaunt beneath the grease paint—and his lips were so chapped they were cracking.

"Didn't want you to see," he finished, still not looking at her.

"Yes, well, bang-up job on that front," she crossed her legs and clapped a hand on her knee to emphasize her point. He was still moving a bit too groggily for her liking. "The lads alerted me to it almost right away."

Magnum glanced up at her. "The lads," he repeated, then looked around the room and out toward the lanai. "Where are they?"

"Just outside. Waiting to see if you're going to give them a morning run."

He chuffed slightly, the side of his mouth tugging upward in an anemic impression of his usual grin—and in no way did that unclench something inside of her.

"Don't know that I'm up for that just yet," he confessed, finally starting to sound more like himself.

She frowned. "What have you gotten yourself into this time, Magnum?"

He gingerly touched the cut above his eye. "Nothing I couldn't get myself out of."

She tilted her head in concession at that. He had, in point of fact, not once called on her for a 'favor' in the last three days. That in and of itself should have alerted her to something being amiss.

"And should I be worried about some rival gang member—or perhaps the Predator—coming onto the estate looking for you?"

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes dancing slightly. "That's two movie references inside of five minutes, Higgy. What's gotten into you?"

She lifted a shoulder. "Perhaps it's finding our security consultant passed out cold on the living room floor."

He grimaced, looking at the floor. "Yeah, I'm…uh. I'm sorry about that."

The quiet sat between them like a presence, heavy and dark. Waiting to pounce on the vulnerable gaps in their armor with malice. She saw him shudder slightly and yielded.

"You know, Magnum," she said carefully. "There are people you can talk to, if you need to."

"Rick and TC don't need to know about this," he said quickly, his words clipped as he rubbed his hands against the folds of his dirty cargo pants.

She looked down. "I wasn't referring to Rick and TC," she clarified. Though, she would be calling them straight away after this.

"I'm fine," Magnum said softly, look at her through his lashes. "You don't need to worry about me."

Like hell.

"Oh, I'm not," she was quick to assure him. "I'm worried about the estate. Can't have our security consultant disappear without a word for three days, now can we?"

"I was on a job," he defended.

She nodded. "Right, well, let's hope the next one isn't located in the middle of a mud pit."

"I'll wash the car," he offered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I know you will," she stood, not missing his flinch at her abrupt shift in position. "But not until you take a shower and get some food."

"I'm fi—"

"Oh, do give the machismo a rest, will you?" She turned her back to him, offering him a moment to gather himself. "I'll expect to see you with a bucket of suds in the lot before noon."

She started to walk out toward the dogs.

"Uh, Higgy?"

She paused, looking over her shoulder at him and trying desperately not to see a lost boy in his expression.

"What time is it now?"

"It's nine in the morning," she revealed. She noted his look of surprise, then started forward once more.

"Juliet?"

Sighing, she turned back around. "What is it now, Magnum?"

"Thank you," he said, his voice low and serious.

He held her eyes for several seconds before she tipped her chin down in an abbreviated nod. "You're welcome, Thomas."

With that, she gestured to the dogs, leading them away from the guest house with her. When she was certain she was out of earshot, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Rick's number.

"Rick? Hello, it's Juliet. Yes, I believe it would be in your best interest to come to Mr. Master's estate for lunch today…."

Thomas

He let the water beat down on the back of his neck, one hand pressed against the tiled wall of the shower, the other sluicing the water from his face and with it the blood, grease paint, and grime. He felt shaky, like he'd narrowly missed stepping on a land mine, or being hit by a car.

For several minutes, he simply focused on the immediate sensations wrapping around him: the smooth tile beneath his palms, the grouted edges at his fingertips, the textured no-slip flooring beneath his bare feet, the sound of the water splashing against the glass door as it tripped off of his skin.

Blowing out a breath, water dancing from his lips, he straightened slightly and raised his face to the rainfall of hot water.

He couldn't even remember the dream, not clearly. It was now simply a jumble of images, sensations, voices and screams.

His, theirs, too many, too often.

It was about the Korengal. It was always about the Korengal. But the only thing he could really pin down was Nuzo.

Sebastian Nuzo had been at his side since BUD/s, since they got their orders, since they met up with two Marines who became his brothers. Nuzo had pulled him out of more near misses than Thomas could really remember; the fact that the raucous Italian was gone left an imbalance in his life Thomas hadn't quite figured out how to set right.

The best way—the only way, really—he'd been able to keep moving forward after the pit-falls and bear traps life had seen fit to slip into his path was to put the ugly stuff, the scary stuff, the stuff that made him want to stop breathing because the mere act felt like knives in his chest, into a box inside his mind and close the lid.

Not thinking about something wasn't the same as forgetting it.

He simply didn't focus on it. When he lost his father as a kid, he focused instead on baseball. When he realized they'd been betrayed to the Taliban, he focused on escaping. When he learned his mother had died while he'd been a prisoner, he focused on moving to Hawaii with the guys.

It worked, for the most part. It kept him whole, kept him sane, kept him present.

Kept him light-hearted, unfettered in life. Able to do his job, be there for his guys, breathe in the morning and release the night.

However, his last two jobs seemed tailor-made to crushing the locks on those boxes inside of him and spilling out every dark, horrible memory until he was choking on them. With Amanda Sato, it had been a necessity—he knew that, he walked into it with open eyes. She needed a path to follow, someone to trust who had been through a similar trauma. Talking about the camp with her—even knowing Juliet heard—was important for her recovery.

He just hadn't anticipated how painful it would be to expose that still-deep wound inside of him when those memories weren't locked up quickly enough.

The mud and paint and blood washed down the drain in a swirl of green and gray, the scent of the soap and shampoo replacing the smell of jungle and dirt. Thomas leaned both hands against the tile and hung his head low, closing his eyes and simply breathing in the steam from the shower.

He'd taken this latest job with little research or regard to the specifics. He'd simply needed to move. To act. To be useful.

There were no memories to hash out, no recollection to wade through with this one. It had been a simple matter of discovering a mole in a prominent banking company; however, the only way to be certain he had the right man was to track his suspect through the rainforest, and around one of the volcanos, without being seen.

Thomas was damn good at stealth when he wanted to be. Nuzo had taught him well, how to blend with the shadows, breathe with the night.

Which was another thing he hadn't anticipated: slipping back into that skin rattled him.

All the times before, he'd been part of a team, had someone watching his back. Anchoring him. Pulling him from the edge. Doing so alone, without his Overwatch, without his friend…it cracked something inside of him.

Something that had been way too fragile to start with.

Turning off the water, Thomas stepped out of the shower and wiped a hand across the steam-clouded mirror. The cut above his eye had been reduced to a slim line of red, but his eyes looked sunken and bruised. Juliet had been right: he looked terrible.

"Nothing a hot meal and eight straight won't cure, huh, Nuzo?" he murmured to his reflection.

A deep melancholy seemed to hollow out his chest as he stared at himself. Nobody was every really done living…life just sort of ends before everything is said, before life is put right. And everyone left behind has to just accept that and find a way to navigate a world so changed simply because one person once existed.

Sighing, Thomas filled the sink with water and reached for his razor; the dark scruff he kept trimmed around his chin had spread along his jaw line in the last three days. He shaved, examined the bruising long his ribs, assessing it to be survivable, and ignored the knotted scar on his flank left behind from the moment Nuzo saved his life with some gunpowder and a stolen lighter.

Stepping from his bathroom to the coolness of his bedroom, Thomas rolled his shoulders.

He needed to box this shit up, pull it inside, give himself room to believe the grin he shared with everyone else. He couldn't afford to allow his old self to return, and he could feel it happening. A shell reconstructing in the face of a possible enemy.

Dressing in a T-shirt and shorts, he padded barefoot toward the kitchen, frowning when he heard voices slipping around the corner through the quiet of the house.

"I'm tellin' you, man, you're doing it wrong."

"I'm doing it just fine; you need to relax."

Thomas closed his eyes briefly with a helpless smile. He should have suspected she'd call them.

"I'm lookin' at the cookbook right here, and it says two teaspoons salt for the dressing. Two. You put in like…four. At least."

Thomas rounded the corner just as Rick drew his head back with a scoff. "TC, everyone knows cookbooks are more like…guidelines."

"Uh, guys?" Thomas called as he approached his small kitchen. "The stove's on fire."

"Oh, shit!" TC exclaimed, turning quickly and whipping the towel off his shoulder to beat at the burgeoning flame until it was extinguished.

"Why'd you have the stove on?" Rick asked, look up at his taller friend. "We're making a salad!"

"For the chicken!" TC protested. "Our boy needs protein, man!"

Thomas swung his leg over the nearest stool and sat down, feeling gravity pull on him more strongly than it had a week ago.

"Higgins called you, huh?"

Rick turned away from TC and his singed towel to regard Thomas with a seldom-seen solemn expression that made him look infinitely older than the rest of them. His blue eyes were sharp, seeing more than he ever gave away. Thomas found he couldn't meet his friend's gaze for long.

"You could have called, y'know," Rick pointed out. "Before you looked like someone wrung you out and then rolled you in sand."

"Yeah, man," TC said, throwing his ruined towel in the garbage can at the side of the counter. "What's going on with you?"

Thomas just shook his head, gratefully taking the glass of water Rick offered and downing the whole thing before he spoke. Moving with an almost choreographed grace, Rick handed Thomas' empty glass to TC, who refilled it and handed it back to Thomas while Rick plated the chicken and salad they'd been putting together for him.

"Nothing," Thomas replied, picking up his fork and cutting the chicken with the side of the utensil. "I just had a job."

"A job," Rick repeated in a dead-panned voice. "A job that takes you away for three days and returns you rough enough you pass out on your living room floor, then wake up to flashback city."

"Jesus, she didn't waste any time," Thomas muttered. "She tell you about the car, too?"

"Thomas," Rick sighed, leaning his elbows on the counter so that his face was close enough avoiding his gaze meant simply not looking up at all. Thomas kept eating. "This isn't about Higgins, and you know it."

"You've been off for a while," TC commented.

"Oh, and you're just a perfectly balanced picture of sunshine," Thomas countered, intentionally mean.

Rick straightened at that, putting himself between Thomas and TC. "None of us are, you know that," he countered, "but you're usually the one…."

"One what?" Thomas challenged, pushing back the empty plate.

Too much salt or no, the food had been damn good. And as soon as they were done hashing out his latest mistakes, he'd make sure to let them know.

Rick pulled the empty plate toward him and put more chicken on it, shoving it back in front of Thomas as though they weren't cleaving open a box full of secrets and threatening to spill them all over the floor of the guest house.

"The one holding it all together, man," TC completed. "You're our glue, T.M. Always have been."

Thomas finished the second helping of chicken, shaking his head. "You got that wrong. It was never me. It was Nuzo."

At the mention of their lost friend, Rick took a step back, bumping against TC's larger frame.

"And there it is," he said quietly.

Thomas frowned, finishing a third glass of water. "What is?"

Rick moved around the counter to stand in the open doorway between the living area and the lanai.

"You can't let go of Nuzo," Rick said, his back to the both.

Thomas looked over at TC with a scoff, but it swept from his face as TC leveled a heavy gaze on him, his dark eyes serious. He frowned back at the big man, then looked toward Rick's back.

"What, and you can?"

"It's different, Thomas," Rick half turned, his profile toward them, but not yet looking his way. "You take it all on—just like back in the Valley. You pull it in like you caused it, like you could have stopped it," he turned the rest of the way, facing Thomas, his blue eyes bright in the dimly lit room, "and it happened to you just like it happened to us."

Thomas was shaking his head before Rick stopped speaking. "Not exactly…."

Rick advanced so quickly, Thomas flinched. It was easy to forget how dangerous Rick could be; most saw only the floppy blond hair, the bright blue eyes, the crazy outfits and tendency to be the life of the party. But the man was lethal, and Thomas felt his entire being tense in an automatic response at his approach.

As though sensing Thomas was still straddling a very thin line of control, Rick pulled himself up short, staring at his friend.

"It happened to you, Thomas. You didn't kill Nuzo any more than you got us captured."

Thomas looked down, then away. They didn't get it—they couldn't. They didn't want to see that he was at fault, because if they did, they'd have to accept their friend—their brother—was the cause of all their pain, of the worst moments of their lives.

And he knew these men—they wouldn't be able to live with that.

He took a slow breath. "Look, I get that you're concerned," he lifted his eyes, forcing himself to meet Rick's gaze. "But I'm okay."

"Brother," TC interjected from behind him, "you're so far away from okay, you'll need to jump through hyperspace to get back there."

Thomas glanced at him. "Maybe so, but…unless you got a Millennium Falcon back in your hanger, we're just going to have to go with my version of the story."

Rick huffed, dropping down onto the couch, a small cloud of dust wafting up around him from where Thomas sat earlier, and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"You know what Robin always says," he shrugged, stretching his arms across the back of the couch. "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story."

Thomas looked away. He loved these guys, he really did. They were his constant, his true north, his gravity. And it was because he loved them that he couldn't let them see his darkness. They'd seen too much already in those eighteen months in the Korengal. They'd seen him come close to breaking, as close as he'd ever been or, God willing, would ever be again.

Even losing Nuzo hadn't taken him that close to the edge, to the end. And it should have.

It really should have.

"So, what, we're not going to get any tea?"

Thomas pulled his eyebrows close, looking confusedly over at Rick, then back at TC. "Tea?"

"Yeah, y'know, the scoop, the dirt, all the gossip," Rick rotated his wrist, his hand splayed as if to say and so on. "It's what the kids are calling it these days, Thomas. You gotta keep up."

Thomas grinned, rotating on his stool to face the living room as TC moved around the counter to perch on the arm of the couch.

"Is that right?"

"He has to keep up with the lingo, so he knows what the girls he dates are talking about," TC grinned.

"Hey, now," Rick protested good-naturedly. "Okay, so it's a little true. But they keep me young."

Thomas chuckled shaking his head. "What tea are you looking for?"

"Whatever you got into that had Higgins talking about Rambo," Rick elaborated, then tilted his head. "Although I don't think I can put quite the level of distain on the word she did."

Thomas laughed. "Yeah, I doubt it."

He planted himself on the easy chair across from them, allowing his spine to curve into the cushion and his head to drop back against the edge. His body ached. He felt every one of his thirty-six years. And then some. Both of his friends were looking at him expectantly, so he gave in, recalling the case and his method of tracking the mole as though telling them about a television show he watched the other day.

"So, wait…are you saying you didn't climb outta the jungle for two days?" TC broke in at one point.

Thomas shook his head. "I couldn't break cover and risk them seeing me."

Rick's eyebrows went up. "No wonder you've just downed about a gallon of water since we've been here."

"And ate half a chicken," TC chimed in.

"And what's with the…," Rick gestured to his own eyebrow, indicating the cut above Thomas' eye. "You wrestle with a monkey out there in the jungle?"

Thomas winced. He wasn't looking forward to their reaction to this one.

"Would you believe a wild boar?"

Rick stared at him, a lag to his facial expression as though he was cycling through options and trying to find one to fit the moment. He did that often, Thomas realized. Finding subtle ways to blend in like a chameleon, supporting a protective coloration to hide in plain sight—seen while unseen.

He finally landed on incredulous.

"You…fought…a boar?"

Thomas lifted a shoulder. "Well, fight is a strong word," he amended. "I kinda…ran from one."

"Into a tree?" TC asked, eyes on his cut.

"More like," he winced pressing a hand to his bruised ribs, "down a hill and, uh…across some rocks. And stuff."

"And stuff." Rick shook his head. "So, let me guess…concussion, which would explain you passing out and probably helped trigger whatever happened when you woke up."

"Looks like sore ribs, too," TC observed.

Thomas nodded, shifting unsteadily in his chair.

"Why you keep doin' this to yourself, man?" TC asked, sounding almost disappointed in him.

Thomas looked over, puzzled. "What do you mean? I'm just doing my job, TC."

TC frowned, looking an awful lot like a disapproving older brother who'd just caught him sneaking out of school. "Your job doesn't require you pushing yourself so hard you forget where you are," TC countered. "Your job doesn't mean you end up looking like you just got rolled for your last dollar."

Thomas simply stared at the other man, trying to find an equitable comeback.

"What our big friend is trying to say," Rick interjected, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes up on Magnum, "is that you matter, Tommy. And you need to start remembering that. Nuzo would've kicked your ass for letting a job get you this strung out, and you know it."

Thomas sat still absorbing Rick's words, eyes on the floor. For a long stretch no one moved, the silence gathered around them so thick, Thomas could almost reach out and gather it up in his hands.

"I miss him," Thomas suddenly found himself confessing. "Like…all the time. I can't…." He closed his mouth with a click, shaking the rest of the thoughts around in his head.

"I know, man," Rick said, softly. "I can't get over the tragedy of him surviving that camp only to be taken out by a couple of punks."

Thomas felt the hollow inside of him surge up until it was a living thing, choking the breath from him. He felt the backs of his eyes burn and kept them focused downward. Maybe he couldn't have stopped those guys from taking Nuzo, but he damn well should have been fast enough to save him.

"I wouldn't have survived that place without him," Thomas managed.

He heard the emotion turn his voice rough, his words thin. He wanted to fold in on himself, disappear. He wanted to sleep for days. He wanted to run out into the ocean and swim until his shoulders burned and the waves carried him away.

"I'd have died there."

"We got each other out, Tommy," Rick reminded him. "You saved us just as much as Nuzo saved you."

Thomas shook his head. "I just keep thinking something should…stop, y'know?"

He looked up at his two best friends, his brothers, and felt the burn shift from the backs of his eyes to the front, suddenly not caring if they saw the emotion. It was stark on Rick's face, swimming in his eyes as he stared back at Thomas. It was bowing TC's shoulders, pulling the big man into something of a ball.

"Something should stop…but we just…keep going. I just keep going," Thomas continued, a tear tripping over his lashes and drawing a line of moisture down his cheek to the scruff at his chin. "It's the only way, I…."

He paused, not ready to confess the next part. Not even sure how to put it into words.

"Only way you, what?" TC prompted.

Thomas dragged a hand down his face, banishing the tears with that motion. "Nothing, man. Don't worry about it."

He could tell TC wanted to push, but Rick saved him by stepping in. "How 'bout we get out of here for a minute, huh? Go surfing for a bit?"

Thomas swallowed. He was exhausted, his muscles quivering as he sat there, but he didn't think he'd be able to sleep without nightmares right now anyway. Maybe the ocean would help to settle him as it had in the past.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed.

"And then maybe you take a break from the crazy-intense jobs for a bit, huh?" TC suggested, pushing to his feet. "Get a nice, easy…cheating husband or lost cat."

"No cats," Rick waved off, leading the way to the lanai where the surf boards were kept. "He's allergic."

"Oh, right," TC nodded. "Cheating husband it is, then."

As Thomas made his way behind his two friends, his phone buzzed. Pulling it out of his pocket, he skimmed the text and grinned. "Looks like you're in luck, TC. One cheating husband, coming up."

"God bless the philandering bastard," Rick grinned back over his shoulder.

TC clapped a hand on Thomas' shoulder, dragging the smaller man out into the sunshine. As they stepped out into the lawn, however, Thomas saw Higgins standing in the car lot, two buckets at her feet.

"Oh shit," he muttered, pulling up to a stop.

"What is it?" Rick called out, reaching for a spare surfboard.

"No surfing for me, fellas," Thomas informed them. "I got a Ferrari to detail."

He caught TC and Rick exchange an unreadable glance.

"To hell with surfing." Rick abruptly changed directions. "Let's all do that!"

Thomas headed back inside to grab the keys from where he'd dropped them on the living room floor early that morning, then headed toward the front gate across the grass in a slightly wavering jog. Rick quickly caught up to him.

"How 'bout I get the car, you go fill up the buckets."

"But—" Thomas began to protest.

"Tommy, the way you're weaving all over this yard, you'll be lucky if you get that thing in through the gate."

Thomas stared at his friend a moment, then relented, handing Rick the keys. He and TC joined Higgins in the car lot and he smiled at her when she handed him a sponge.

"Have fun, Gents," she sing-songed, then turned back around to the house, calling the dogs to follow her.

"She's enjoying this a bit too much," Thomas muttered.

TC chuckled and clapped him on the back once more. As they waited for Rick to pull the car into the lot, they filled the buckets with water and soap from the garage work bench.

"You're gonna need a heavy-duty sponge to get through this mess," Rick called out as he turned off the engine. "What were you doing with her, Tommy? Donuts in a mosh pit?"

Thomas blinked in surprise at the condition of the car in the daylight. "I didn't actually think it was this bad."

"If the car looks like this, how did you look?" TC wondered.

Thomas tilted his head. "Worse."

As a team, they got to work on the car, spraying and scrubbing until every inch of mud, blood, and grease paint was gone. By the time they were done, Thomas was swaying on his feet once more. He didn't even notice Rick pull TC aside to suggest putting the car in the assigned stall while he hauled Thomas back to the house. He simply stood still and stared at the cobble stoned car park.

"Hows about we head on back to the house, yeah?" Rick suggested, pulling Thomas' eyes forward simply by his proximity.

"Thought you wanted to go surfing?" Thomas asked, confused. He was dizzy, unsteady, and felt oddly detached form the world around him.

"Yeah, kinda not all that excited about watching my best friend fall asleep on his board and drown," Rick said with a shrug.

Thomas nodded. "I am kinda tired."

"Really? I had no idea."

Thomas let Rick grip his shoulder and lead him back to the guest house. He felt almost drunk with exhaustion. And there was something trembling inside of him. As if his lungs were trapped.

"Haven't felt this tired since BUD/s," he confessed suddenly. "Got so tired…forgot who I was for a bit."

"Yeah, but you remembered, didn't you?" Rick reminded him.

"Nuzo told me," Thomas sighed, shuddering a bit in memory. "Told me who I was so I didn't get lost."

"He was a good friend, Tommy," Rick agreed.

Thomas looked over at the taller man. "You're a good friend, Rick."

Rick smiled. "That's the exhaustion talking."

"You are, though," Thomas reached up and patted the hand still on his shoulder, guiding him. "You're like…our heart. All of us. Together. You're our beating heart."

"I forgot; sleep deprivation turns you into a poet," Rick chuckled, navigating through the front door of the guest house and into Thomas' small bedroom.

Thomas would have smiled at that if the effort hadn't been so great.

"Dude," Rick exclaimed, kicking a path through several discarded clothes strewn across the floor. "Your room looks like you're losing a game of Jumanji."

"Been busy," Thomas tried to explain. "Lots…lotsa hours in the jungle."

"Yeah, yeah, all work and no play," Rick muttered, and suddenly Thomas felt himself half lifted up onto the bed. "How about you just worry about getting at least eight solid hours, okay, buddy?"

"Yep," Thomas readily agreed because holy hell his bed was comfortable. He didn't ever want to leave. He rolled to his side, pulling whatever covers he was able to grip with him and buried his head in his pillow.

"Sleep well, Tommy," Rick said softly…or at least Thomas thought that's what he heard.

Everything was muted and soft and in moments the silence was no longer heavy but something that wrapped around him and carried him gently into the darkness.

Juliet

She watched as the Island Hoppers rather garish, multi-colored van pull away from the estate and felt her shoulders ratchet up with tension. While the two former Marines were on the property, she knew someone was looking after a decidedly out-of-sync Magnum. With the men gone, a pressure erupted center mass of her chest.

Regardless of his blatant and frequent irresponsible behavior since he'd arrived at the estate, Magnum was a human being, and—based on what she'd witnessed that morning—one in need of minding, at least on a basic level. She may not want to, but she was none-the-less compelled to ensure his well-being.

Especially as she could not get that lost look in his eyes out of her mind.

Leaving the Dobermans in the main house, Juliet headed toward the guest house, the late afternoon light slanting shadows across the manicured lawn. It was quiet enough she could hear the echo of her own breathing. She closed her mouth, stifling even that sound, listening instead for the cry of the gulls.

Something typical. Something normal.

Because for reasons she couldn't yet surmise, this entire day had felt decidedly abnormal.

Juliet reached the edge of the lanai and paused, listening. Silence ruled the interior of the small house. She entered cautiously, eyes darting instinctively to where she'd first seen Magnum lying unconscious on the living room floor. The room was empty.

She exhaled slowly, eyes traveling across the vacant chairs, the quiet kitchen. Making her way further into the space, she began to uncoil from the irregular and unnamed anxiety that had wrapped around her since the moment Rick and TC had left the property. She paused at the edge of the couch, debating if she dared enter Magnum's room to check on him, when the sight of sandy hair and a pink shirt startled her into gasping and bringing her hand to her mouth.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" She exclaimed, dropping her hand to the base of her throat.

Rick Wright looked up at her with heavy eyes, blue irises catching the fading daylight that filtered through the opened doorway and turning the color rather electric. He was sitting on the floor just outside of the closed door leading to Magnum's bedroom, his back against the wall, knees pulled up and arms draped over them. He looked spent, wrung out, his eyes bruised by memories if not circumstance.

"Rick?" She moved cautiously forward, for the first time truly appreciating that these light-hearted men she'd taken for granted were not simply surfer jocks out for the perfect wave. "What—"

"I'm waiting," he said, his voice low and rough.

"For…?"

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall. "Him."

Juliet frowned, moving around the edge of the couch. She slid carefully to the ground, her back against the couch, across from him. "I saw TC leave a bit ago."

The side of Rick's mouth pulled up in what some might have called a smile. "Not TC."

Juliet let the breath slip from her lungs slowly, assessing the situation. She'd observed Rick and TC helping Magnum detail the Ferrari earlier in the day, saw that the job had been finished, then several hours later watched the Island Hoppers van drive away as if all was as it should be. Nothing in the ensuing hours gave her any indication that Rick would have reason to look this…beaten.

"You're waiting for Magnum?" she deduced.

Rick pointed to his nose with his index finger. "Atta girl."

"Are you expecting a…a relapse?" She remembered how empty Magnum's eyes had looked, how tightly wound he'd appeared when she'd woken him earlier.

"Of sorts," Rick admitted.

Juliet frowned. "In all the time Magnum has lived here," she shared, "I've never once heard any indication the man suffered from…from nightmares, or…."

"PTSD?" Rick pulled his head away from the wall, blue eyes sharp and calculating as they hit her.

"Well…yes," she nodded.

She had seen the ways death and war changed people. She had felt it change her. She knew a body bore evidence of its journey through scars, movement, strength or weakness. But such evidence was inadmissible in the courtroom of the mind; all that mattered was how the journey was remembered, and how those memories capture each personal truth. And the truth she'd seen in Magnum was a man who cared selectively and who had no interest in engaging in the world beyond the pro bono pleasures offered to him by her employer.

"Until this morning, Magnum has shown no sign of any distress from your past experiences," she stated.

"Distress," Rick repeated, still looking at her with a level gaze that gave the impression he was sizing up the distance between them—for what, she wasn't sure. "You mean like, what. Screaming? Panic attacks?"

Juliet shrugged slightly. "Yes, I suppose."

Rick nodded, finally looking down. "If he made noise, they beat him."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You haven't seen anything because you haven't heard anything…and you don't hear anything because he doesn't make any noise," Rick revealed. "He spent…weeks, sometimes more than a month at a time alone, in the silence, in the dark. And if he made any noise—cried out, called out, resisted…they beat him. So, he learned…he learned not to make any noise."

Juliet felt suddenly cold, her mouth dry.

"When I was held captive, I wasn't exactly a model prisoner. I tried to steal a radio, I tried to steal a gun. So, the guards, they threw me in the hole. It was dark and lonely, and I felt like any day could be my last. I was scared…."

"He, uh…," she shifted her head slightly, searching for the best posture that didn't put her in a defensive position in his eyes. "He told Amanda Sato that he wasn't a model prisoner."

At that Rick huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, that's about right."

"Why would he—"

Rick looked at her again. "Steal things? Cause trouble? Keep their attention focused on him? For us." His eyes drifted, his gaze turning inward. "It was all for us."

"For all I knew, my friends could've been worse off than me, so I decided that those guys were more important than my fear. If I could just survive, I could help them escape. And we did."

"Supplies for your escape?" She guessed.

"Among other things," Rick nodded. "It wasn't easy on any of us when we broke out. We were…well, a mess. Sick, malnourished, TC had a broken arm." He paused, shaking his head. "But Thomas was…bad. I almost…we almost lost him. A few times. Before we even got to the hospital in Germany." He looked toward the bedroom door. "And that's when the real fun began."

Juliet felt a weight in her chest at his words. Who was this man living so near her? Who was behind the disarming smiles, the frequent requests for favors, the seemingly blatant disregard for boundaries and ownership?

It suddenly occurred to her that everything she'd seen so far had been a façade. Like looking at a person through frosted glass. Magnum was rain-spattered windowpanes. Almost afraid of being seen clearly, seen in his entirety. And she wanted to know why.

Rick brought his hands up, elbows braced on tented knees, and dropped his face into his palms.

"I wouldn't have made it out of there if it wasn't for Thomas," he confessed brokenly. "He thinks it was Nuzo, but…," he shook his head, his hair rasping as it rubbed against calloused hands. "It was Thomas. He pulled me through. Without him, I have—had—nothing. And when he…." Rick paused, pulling his head up and grabbing air like a drowning man. "If he hadn't made it, I didn't want to either."

Juliet stayed very still. This sort of honesty was raw, brutal, unnerving. It wasn't what someone shared on a whim, or to just anyone. She knew she must handle this man's words with the utmost care.

"What are you waiting for him to do?" she asked carefully.

"We all have nightmares," Rick said quietly. "I mean, we'd be pretty fucking crazy not to."

Juliet nodded; her own nightmares left her with sweat-soaked sheets and trembling limbs too often for her liking.

"But Thomas, he…," Rick huffed, and a sad sort of smile twisted his features, "he just sort of rolls with it. Acts like it's no big deal—or worse, like he deserves it. Deserves to be hollowed out and gutted by…by misplaced guilt."

"Misplaced?" Juliet asked.

Rick waved a hand in her direction, as though banishing the words he left to balance between them. She decided to change tactics.

"The human mind is incredibly powerful, but…it gets hurt like any other body part. Healing the brain is a lot more complex than…plates and screws or stitches and sutures. Perhaps Magnum's method is simply his way of protecting the wound as it heals."

"It'd be great if that were true," Rick muttered. "But I—"

Just then they heard a soft thump from the bedroom and Rick was on his feet so quickly Juliet would almost believe the man had been pulled up by a string. She scrambled to her feet as Rick wrapped long fingers around the doorknob.

"Thomas?"

There wasn't a sound from the room. Juliet frowned as Rick turned the handle and opened the door a crack.

"I'm coming in," Rick warned. "Don't shoot me."

At that, Juliet blinked and took a step to the side so that she wasn't directly in front of the door. She had no idea if Rick were kidding with those last words but decided not to take the chance. Rick opened the door all the way and stepped inside. She was surprised to see the bed empty and glanced around the dimly lit room.

She saw him at the same time Rick did.

Magnum had pressed himself back into the far corner of the room, sitting against the wall in much the same position Rick had just abandoned, the shadows from the curtains hiding all but his bare legs. She couldn't tell if he was armed, but she could see the tension in him from where she stood; it was the same as when she'd woken him earlier that day, caught between fight and flight, his entire bearing nothing but a thin, protective layer over an open wound.

And Rick was right: he was completely silent.

"Hey, buddy," Rick said softly. "You with me?"

Magnum remained where he was. Juliet moved closer to the doorway, trying to keep out of his line of sight in case the presence of someone other than Rick would be a trigger point. Rick moved slowly forward, rolling his feet on the tile floor so that the sound of his steps didn't break the quiet. Juliet followed, only stopping when Rick held a hand behind him, wordlessly holding her back.

She slipped into the shadows of the room where she could observe but not intrude. She could see now that Magnum was unarmed. His hands were clenched into trembling, white-knuckled fists at his sides, his eyes on Rick.

"Quiet," Magnum whispered, his voice a ghost of his usual tone.

The barely-there sound of it raised goosebumps on Juliet's skin and she bit down on her bottom lip to ground herself.

"It's okay—" Rick started.

Magnum shook his head once, his fists trembling as though struggling against an unseen pressure. "They'll hear you."

"It's just us here, Thomas," Rick reassured him. "You can come on back to me."

Juliet remembered how her acerbic tone and threat of dogs attacking him had brought Magnum out of the haze earlier. She almost stepped forward to once more offer that solution but paused when Rick crouched down across from Magnum. She watched as Rick lifted his hand, hesitating a moment. She could understand why—it was exactly the reason she hadn't wanted to touch Magnum earlier: the man was a clenched fist, a lit fuse, and it wasn't clear how he would react to unfamiliar contact.

Easing his hand forward, Rick carefully gripped the back of Magnum's neck in a hold that looked as though it was practiced, familiar. An anchor in the storm. Magnum's trembling fists stilled, and Juliet watched as his posture immediately eased, recognizing Rick's touch in the midst of his darkness.

"There's blood…," Magnum whispered. "Blood in the sand."

"I see it, too," Rick confessed, softly.

At those words, Magnum's eyes shifted from the middle distance to his friend's face. Rick nodded when they made eye contact and for a moment Juliet could see what Rick was referring to in between Magnum's sluggish blinks. Horrors beyond her comprehension. Dark holes filled with rats. Sand and fleas and hunger and heat and cold. Heavy fists, fiery bullets. Loneliness, hopelessness, brotherhood. Fear and rebellion creeping like tentacles down their throats, breaking their bones.

Death waiting for them…and then denied.

"I…put it away," Magnum said suddenly, and Juliet flinched at this new sound in his voice—rough, broken. "I keep…putting it away."

"But it comes back, doesn't?" Rick said, shifting to his hip so that he sat next to Magnum, their shoulders touching.

"Box won't stay shut," Magnum murmured. "Keep closing it…keep putting it away…."

"It's okay, Thomas," Rick said, carefully sliding an arm around Magnum's shoulders. "Sometimes the monsters get out."

He tugged gently and Magnum seemed to slump, leaning against Rick's shoulder and chest, and it struck Juliet how much smaller he was than the other man. Magnum had never seemed small or slight. He'd always appeared strong, capable, cocky even. But in this moment, he looked…fragile. Breakable.

Someone to be guarded, protected.

She wondered how he'd managed to resist for so long, how he'd managed to help them escape. She watched as Rick put a hand on top of Magnum's dark hair, tucking his friend's head against his shoulder, and held him there.

Waiting.

After several moments where Juliet felt she could literally count her own heartbeats, Magnum stirred, pulling up and pushing slightly away from his friend.

"Rick?"

"Hey, man."

"What…?"

She watched as his dark eyes tracked the space of the room, not quite hitting on her. She could see awareness creep back in just as before, and with it…was that, shame?

"Son of a bitch," Magnum muttered, curling in on himself and putting his head in his hands.

Rick pulled his arm away, giving his friend a moment to collect himself.

"I'm sorry, man," Magnum said behind his hands.

"Got nothing to be sorry for," Rick informed him. "At least you didn't try to shoot me this time."

"I locked my gun up," Magnum revealed.

Rick huffed. "You had a feeling this might happen, didn't you?"

Magnum said nothing. Juliet held completely still. Rick rubbed the top of Magnum's head affectionately.

"When are you going to believe that you don't have to go through this alone, man?"

"When are you going to believe you don't have to pull my ass out of the fire every time?" Magnum countered.

Rick held up his hand and Juliet saw the Cross of Lorraine ring that each of them wore glinting in the soft daylight.

"Never, brother," he reminded him. "We survived together. We got out together. We keep going…together."

"'cept Nuzo," Magnum mumbled, dropping his hands away from his face.

Rick sighed. "Yeah, man. Except Nuzo."

Juliet frowned. She knew that the rowdy Italian had been an important figure in Magnum's life but hadn't truly appreciated the impact his death had on the private investigator. In her defense, Magnum hadn't really been all together open and honest about much of anything in his life. He didn't appear to want her to know how much the man's death had impacted him.

But now, it seemed, the memories he'd allowed to bubble to the surface when talking with Amanda Sato had sent him in a tailspin. The business of life is that acquisition of memories. In the end, that's all there is. And when those memories are so full of pain and darkness, what sort of life is one left with?

"You want to sleep again?" Rick asked finally.

Magnum made a noise low in his throat, something caught between a sob and a growl. "What I want doesn't really much matter at the moment."

"How 'bout I hang out for a while?" Rick offered.

"Doesn't appear I can stop you," Magnum pointed out with a casual wave of his hand.

Rick's head thunked against the wall behind him. "Okay, dumbass, how about I hang out on this side of the door and you decide to understand what I'm saying?"

Magnum was quiet for a moment. "You don't have to do that."

"I know."

"I can handle this, Rick," Magnum insisted, though he still hadn't moved. "I'm fine."

"You will be," Rick agreed. "After some actual sleep."

"It's not fair to you," Magnum pointed out, still half-heartedly resisting whatever it was that Rick was offering.

"Thomas," Rick sighed, his voice infinitely tired. "How many times did you hold onto me in that place, reminding me that I wasn't alone? That the monsters weren't going to eat me."

Magnum was quiet for another minute. Then, with a decided smile in his voice, he said, "They can kill us, but they can't eat us—"

"—that's against the law," Rick finished, and Juliet could see a smile relaxing his features.

She had no idea what they were talking about, but it seemed to calm Magnum enough that he nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

Rick nodded once and pushed to his feet, his back to her as he reached for Magnum's hand. Juliet chose that moment to slip around the corner, decidedly out of sight.

"Is anyone else here?" Magnum asked groggily.

Juliet held her breath. What would he think about her having witnessed this moment of vulnerability, this moment of realness?

"Just you and me, brother," Rick replied.

Magnum sighed and Juliet heard the bed creak and shift. "Good. I'd hate for Higgy to hold this over my head."

There was a pause and she heard Rick asked, "You really think she would?"

Magnum yawned. "Who knows, man…. Half the time…I think she hates me…then sometimes…she's…."

Juliet strained to hear the next word.

"Tommy?" Rick called softly.

When there wasn't a reply, Juliet realized that Magnum had once again fallen asleep. She peeked around the corner of the opened bedroom door and saw that Magnum lay curled on his side under the sheets, Rick sitting up next to him on the bed, leaning against the headboard, a hand on his friend's shoulder, grounding and solid.

She met Rick's eyes and the older man nodded at her. Nodding back, she turned and crept from the guest house and back across the lawn to the main house, head spinning and world once more tilted off its axis because of one Thomas Magnum.