It’s never what you think it’s gonna be. Always worse, always tougher and as he aged, it was getting surprisingly more difficult than expected. The last time he dealt with getting an injury back to top performance was over three years ago. A difficult mission in Cairo; he took a bullet to the left hip, torn and damaged muscle was the battle then, but he worked through it. That took months. How the fuck long was this gonna bloody take?

Terry sat at the round table across from his new rehabilitation therapist, the best money could buy. Charlie Wolffer was a nice enough bloke; knowledgeable, articulate. He’d worked Terry pretty hard from the moment the cast came off … the man seemed to comprehend the military mentality that kept his client pushing through the pain. Quitting wasn’t a bloody option; at least Charlie understood that. He hung x-rays and perused them silently.

Terry flexed his hand repeatedly. It felt good to have it free of the heavy binding cast. What didn’t feel so bloody good was the irritating numbness radiating from the tip of his thumb to the center of his palm. He couldn’t even hold a fuckin’ tea cup.

“What is it you’d like to be doing with this hand?” the man asked quietly.

“Whack off, use a bloody fork … handle an M16.”

Charlie’s mouth twisted as he examined the films; the man was kidding, right? “Mr. Thorne, exactly what are you looking for here?” he asked without turning.

“Everything I can get.”

“You do realize,” he turned, one brow high, “this just might be all you’ll ever get from this hand, right?”

“No Charlie, I don’t. I don’t think we’ve gone nearly far enough to make that kinda deduction. It’s your job to get me as close to perfect as ya can. Not –”

Charlie cleared his throat, sufficiently cutting Terry off then sat at the table. “Tell me about your work.”

“My work? It’s work, mate.”

A scowl and Terry shrugged.

“The majority of it is negotiations, doing the deals, brokering freedom for a captive.”

“And?”

“Yeah, yeah, there’s field work. I’m a bloody soldier, Charlie. Often we need to go in and get the hostage free.”

“I understand you’re taking weapons re-training with your left hand,” Charlie flipped through the clipboard. “How’s that working for you?”

“Dandy,” Terry spat.

“And, are you able to clean and load your weapon well enough?”

“Not yet, that’s what you’re supposed to do. What the fuck does this have to do with the price of beans?”

Charlie chuckled, reached out a hand. “Give me your right hand.”

Terry stretched it out and the therapist fingered the muscles, the bones, rolled it over and pressed a thumb into the palm gently. The action was almost intimate.

“You lookin’ for a date?”

Another chuckle. “Lay your hands flat on the table, Mr. Thorne. Palms down, right next to one another.” Terry did as he was told. “Now, look closely. What do you see?”

Terry swallowed hard. His left hand looked great, perfect, like it always had. But the right was already a bit withered; a gnarled bump at the lower joint of his thumb. He didn’t speak.

“Here,” Charlie pointed to the x-ray. “Already you’ve got some arthritis in the right hand, have probably had a mild case for a while, but … the injury has aggravated it exponentially. Have you noticed pain in this hand before the injury?”

“Some, so what? There are wonderful over-the-counter meds for such things, mate. You should look into it.”

“Do you take meds during a case?”

Terry blinked.

“During the negotiation phase?”

“Yeah.”

“And … in the field?”

“Won’t need meds in the field,” Terry wanted to stand and leave but something locked him to the seat. Maybe it was Charlie’s straight forward approach, maybe it was because he needed to hear what the bloke had to say.

“How long are you in the field?”

Silence.

“On the average?”

Terry cleared his throat, shrugged. “Few days, sometimes a week … sometimes longer.”

“Days, weeks. Damp weather at times I would think. You can handle the increasing misery without meds for so long?”

“Not a nipper, mate. Handled worse. Are we getting down to this or do I find another fuckin’ therapist?”

“Be my guest,” Charlie continued to flip through the clipboard. “How’s your business structured?”

“Why?”

Finally a bit of frustration as the man slammed the clipboard down, drew in a calming breath then continued. “I’d like to understand your other responsibilities because the truth of this situation is very clear to me. Mr. Thorne, field work is probably out of the question, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Thought you weren’t looking for a date?” Charlie leaned back, anger painted in his eyes to match the brewing fire in Terry’s. “Listen to me and listen clearly. I can get your hand to the point where you can whack off and you can hold a fork like normal people … but the maintenance and assembly of a weapon?” he shrugged. “That’s never going to happen. You need to start considering your options.”

“I’ll find another therapist who’s willing to take the challenge.”

“You won’t. Your surgeon knows it, I know it … and eventually you’ll know it too. We’re wasting time here. I can schedule you for the required therapy or we can part ways. Your choice, Mr. Thorne.”

Terry was seeing red but also feeling an odd comfort at hearing someone tell it like it is. He stood, paced, sat and stood again. He glared at the hated x-rays and finally rubbed his eyes. “There’s a possibility it could turn out better than you think, right?”

“No,” Charlie said quietly. “What do you want to do?”

He lowered to the chair, an all new ache in his chest. “Schedule the sessions.” He’d just have to show the bloke, that’s all.

“One requirement.”

Terry’s eyes shot up as Charlie slid a business card across the table toward him.

“I want you to start seeing a psychologist.”

“What the bloody hell for?”

“Trust me, you need it. I know you’re not ready to face this now, but when your head gets clear and you can see it all, you’ll be ahead of the game if you start talking it through.”

Terry pressed a finger on the card and slid it back. “No thanks. The schedule?”

“Two hours, every day for the next two weeks then another evaluation. One to three o’clock, Tuesday through Saturday. I’m booked tight so don’t be blowing me off.”

Terry grunted and stood, shrugged into his jacket and turned to leave. “Fine.”

“I’ll make sure the surgeon refills your pain meds, you’ll need them. Oh … and I’ll email the shrink’s phone number.”

“Yeah, yeah,” and he was gone.

Charlie groaned. Terrence Ira Thorne wasn’t the first damaged soldier he’d faced in his career. This was not going to be an easy road. But there was something about the man that made him wish it could all be made right. Something imbedded in him that wouldn’t die easily. Thorne was not a man used to taking care of himself … he took care of the world. Just what Charlie needed on his roster, another saint with more drive than physical capability to reach impossible goals. Ah well, there was always the possibility of a miracle, right? Either way, he liked Thorne. If nothing else, it was going to be an interesting experience.

***

Terry stomped into his office and glared at Dino sitting at his desk. The redhead grinned, shrugged and stood, waving an elegant bow as Terry lowered into the big leather chair.

“How’d it go?”

“Fuck off, mate.”

“Oh-hoh, that good, huh? What’d he say?” Dino slouched in the guest chair.

“Nothin’ worth repeating. Where’s Zack?” It was too late for one of Grant’s long lunches, and too early to be chucking off work and slipping out for the day. Besides, the receptionist and love of Grant’s life, Debbie was sitting at her desk when Terry came in.

“I sent him off on a case,” Dino grunted, reaching to the desktop for a file that Terry snatched with his good hand.

“What case?”

“Nothing major. Proof of life is already received and we’d started negotiations before I dispatched him. Easy as pie. Looks like the swap will go down in the next few days.”

Terry scowled as he read through the file. He’d heard about this one, just hadn’t gotten his nose into it. Why was he poking around in it now? He finally sighed, closed the folder and handed it across the desk. “Good.”

“Terry,” Dino spoke quietly, aware that the office door was wide opened and Debbie was talking with Terry’s personal secretary just feet away. “What did the therapist say?”

“Shit I didn’t wanna hear, mate. What else have we got going on here? Is the lecture prepared for Monday at PPG?”

“Yeah, yeah. All done. I figured I’d do it. No reason for you to fly down to Pittsburgh just for a few hour lecture. Contracts are signed. No biggie.”

“I’ll go.”

“Okay … I’ll have the flight arrangements changed, unless you want to take the Cessna.”

“Just change the ticket. Don’t give a fuck what I fly down there in, just get me to Pittsburgh so I can feel …” he swallowed hard and blinked.

“Fuck,” Dino hissed, stood and closed the office door. “Don’t do this, man. Don’t fucking go there. You’re the most goddamn productive fucker in this place. You wanna go to Pittsburgh, go. But don’t do it just because you feel like you need to accomplish something.” Dino paced in front of the desk, glaring at Terry the whole time. “Don’t you have a fucking clue how important you are here? How fucking glad we are that you’re back here? In this office? Using the things we can’t imitate no matter how hard we try?”

Terry returned the glare.

“No fucking one has your instincts, buddy. No one at Thorne and O’Leary … no one in the entire damn industry. But, you know what I’m thinking right now, Tio?”

More silence and Terry wondered when he’d really started listening to people? Was it that very day? “What?” he croaked.

“I’m thinking your instincts are off on vacation at the moment. I’m thinking you need to focus on working that hand and seeing how much you’ll be able to get out of it. I’m thinking you don’t get your head out of your ass … you’re no good to anyone. What are you gonna do, Terry?”

Terry’s head shook slowly. He had no fuckin’ idea.

“I rest my case. I swear to fucking God, all these years I’ve known you … you never, ever didn’t know what you were gonna do. It’s fucking frightening, man.”

Terry chuckled. Yeah, frightening … on more levels than he was willing to admit. It certainly was his day for full verbal attack and he certainly wasn’t up for the challenge. Fuck all, he didn’t really wanna take the lecture. Truth be told, all he really wanted to do was rest and work the hand until it was perfect again. There, he’d made the decision.

 “You take Pittsburgh. I’m leaving for the day. I got a prescription to pick up at the pharmacy. I got sleep to catch up on. Debbie?” he called and the door opened. “Heading home, love. Keep me abreast on Grant’s progress. And please ask Andrea to keep this bloody freeloader out of my chair.”