Thomas blinked, disoriented by the stark, white ceiling above him. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled his nose, dragging him back to consciousness.

He groaned, shifting slightly, only to feel a tug at his wrist. A metallic clink followed. He turned his head and frowned at the sight of handcuffs chaining him to the bed’s railing.

“What the hell?” he muttered, tugging at them. The cuffs rattled noisily, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the hospital ward.

The movement caught someone’s attention. Across the room, a male nurse—broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, with an expression that screamed, I don’t get paid enough for this—paused mid-check on another patient and glanced at him.

Thomas didn’t wait. He yanked at the cuffs again, making sure the sound echoed louder this time.

The nurse sighed and walked over, his hands tucked into the pockets of his scrubs. He stopped at the foot of Thomas’s bed, his face unreadable.

“Finally,” Thomas said, raising his cuffed wrist and giving it a little shake. “You planning on explaining why I woke up chained to the bed like a criminal, or is this some kind of avant-garde therapy?”

The nurse pulled a clipboard off the end of the bed and flipped through it, deliberately ignoring the question.

“Hey,” Thomas said, leaning forward as far as the restraints would let him. “I’ve been through some bad dates, but this? Waking up cuffed to the bed? This is a first.”

The nurse’s lips twitched, but his professional demeanor held firm. “You should lie back,” he said evenly, checking the monitors beside Thomas’s bed.

“Yeah, sure,” Thomas said with a smirk. “Let me just lie back and relax while I figure out why I’m suddenly starring in CSI: Hospital Ward.” He shook the cuffs again. “This part of the healing process, or is someone going to clue me in on what’s going on?”

The nurse finally glanced at him, his expression neutral. “You’re under observation,” he said.

“Observation? What am I, a science experiment?” Thomas quipped, arching a brow. “You know, I’ve got better places to be—like anywhere that doesn’t involve me being shackled to a bed. Mind telling me what this is about?”

The nurse hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “I think you should wait for the officers to explain.”

“Officers?” Thomas’s brows shot up. “Oh, great. Let me guess—someone thinks I did something stupid, don’t they? Typical.”

The nurse’s silence was confirmation enough.

Thomas let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “So that’s it, huh? Wrong place, wrong time, and now I’m the bad guy. Perfect. So, when do I get to talk to someone who actually knows what they’re doing?"

The nurse closed the clipboard with a snap and fixed Thomas with a steady look. “I’m just here to make sure you’re stable.”

“Stable?” Thomas tilted his head, feigning offense. “Buddy, I’m not the one cuffing patients to hospital beds. Pretty sure that says more about your operation than mine.”

This time, the nurse’s mask slipped, a small smirk breaking through. “Just stay put. I’ll let the officers outside know you’re awake.”

As he turned to leave, Thomas called after him, “Tell them to bring coffee. And maybe a lawyer while they’re at it. And you can call me Tom."

"Erik," The nurse responded as he disappeared into the hallway.

Left alone, Thomas slumped back against the pillow, his mind racing. For some reason, he felt something boiling deep in his mind. He knew what it was but didn't know why it was there.

Minutes later, Erik returned alone—no cops, no inspectors—just him with the same skeptical expression plastered across his face.

"Nobody was available," Erik said nonchalantly, standing at the edge of the bed. "Guess you’re stuck with me for now. But I've got bad news and worse news."

Thomas groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. "Perfect. Go with the worst."

Erik crossed his arms, his brow arched. "Well, I just got filled in on your situation, and you're a prime suspect of a cafe arson just a few blocks from here," with a long pause, he continued, "And you were found butt-naked in the burning café."

Thomas blinked, caught off guard. "Naked?" His voice cracked. "Wait, what café? What are you talking about?"

Erik’s smirk faded, replaced by a trace of unease. "You really don’t remember, huh?"

"No, I don’t!" Thomas snapped, his voice rising. "One second I’m—" He paused, his mind foggy. He couldn’t even remember the last thing he was doing before waking up here.

Erik studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Well, the cops think you torched the place. Found you lying next to a crispy corpse like some kinda pyromaniac Romeo."

Thomas stared at him, his chest tightening. "That’s insane! I didn’t—" He stopped himself, his hands curling into fists against the cold metal of the cuffs. "I’m a cop, for fuck’s sake!"

Erik snorted, pulling a syringe from his pocket. "Yeah, and I’m a cardiologist. Hold still while I jab you with this miracle shot."

Thomas growled, sitting up straighter despite the ache in his body. "Call the fucking supervisor! I don’t care who—just call the ones who brought me here! I am not sitting ducks while you people treat me like some goddamn criminal!"

The outburst hung in the air, and for a moment, Erik looked genuinely startled. But his expression quickly turned guarded again, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Y’know, you’ve got a hell of a temper for a guy in your position," Erik muttered, stepping back. "Maybe that’s why you’re cuffed."

Thomas glared at him, his breathing uneven. "I’m not some psycho—helllll!"

"Look, Tom—just try to relax. I’ll make sure they—"

The ward door burst open with a violent slam, the sound reverberating through. A heavyset officer strolled in, his belly straining against the buttons of his uniform. The man reeked of sweat and cigarette smoke, his gut leading the way as he sauntered toward Thomas with a cocky swagger. His unkempt mustache looked as unsightly as his uniform, which hadn’t been laundered in ages.

"So, this is our big-shot firebug," the cop sneered, his voice thick with disdain. His name tag read A. Monroe, but the smug look on his face told Thomas everything he needed to know: this guy didn’t play by any rulebook.

Thomas blinked, sizing him up. "And you are?"

"Your worst nightmare, fuckard!" Monroe sauntered closer, his meaty hands resting on his hips, one of them tapping the holster where his gun sat snugly.

"Yeah? You’re gonna have to get in line," Thomas muttered, trying to sit up.

Monroe didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached down, yanked a nearby chair, and dragged it with an obnoxious screech across the floor. He dropped into it like a sack of bricks, leaning forward, his breath hot and rank. "So why don’t you save us all the trouble and spill it, huh? You torch that café to cover up some drug deal gone bad? Or were you just bored and felt like playing roasting some marshmallow?"

Thomas smirked, “I wasn’t aware nudists were into pyromania. Or marshmallows.

Monroe jabbed his sausage-like finger toward Thomas’s chest. "Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. You were found butt-ass naked in the middle of a bonfire. Smells like guilt to me."

Erik cleared his throat, stepping in cautiously. "Officer, I don’t think—"

"Pipe down, Nurse Betty," Monroe snapped, waving him off without a glance. "This is police business. Go fluff some pillows, or whatever it is you do."

Erik clenched his jaw, but he didn’t respond.

Thomas let out a bitter laugh, drawing Monroe’s attention back to him. "Wow. A big guy with a badge and a gun. Must feel real powerful, eh?"

Monroe’s face darkened, and his hand moved instinctively to the gun. "You wanna test me, smartass? ‘Cause I’ve got a solution for that mouth of yours right here."

"Try it," Thomas shot back, his voice low and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. "Let’s see how that works out for you."

The tension crackled in the air like a live wire.

Thomas, however, wasn’t in the mood to play nice. "I wasn’t ‘roasting marshmallows’ anywhere, you sack of lard!"

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Monroe’s jaw clenched, and his hand shot out, grabbing Thomas by the front of his hospital gown. "What’d you just say to me?"

"Hey!" Erik stepped forward, alarmed. "Let go of him!"

"Stay out of this!" Monroe barked, his eyes locked on Thomas.

Thomas didn’t flinch. His lips curled on the corners as he stared Monroe down. "You heard me. SACK OF LA—"

Before Thomas could finish, Monroe’s free hand shot forward, slamming the side of his head with a meaty crack. The force of the blow sent Thomas’s head snapping to the side, his vision swimming.

"That’s enough!" Erik shouted, stepping between them and shoving Monroe back.

"Relax, Nurse!" Monroe barked, standing up. "This bastard deserved it."

Thomas groaned, shaking his head to clear it, his cuffs clinking against the bed rail as he moved. "You hit like a toddler," he muttered, his voice slurred. "Pig face!"

Monroe snapped, his face visibly turned red. He unholstered his pistol and brought the butt of it crashing down on Tom's head. Blood trickled down immediately from the wound, but Tom didn't flinch.

Instead, his free hand shot out, fast and deliberate, reaching for the weapon. He missed. His fingers closed tightly around the officer's collar instead, yanking him closer.

"Unhand me, you filthy cur!" The officer shouted, his voice trembling as he disengaged the pistol's safety. The cold barrel pressed firmly against Tom's forehead.

The room erupted into chaos. Patients screamed, some clutching one another, others bolting for the door. Erik froze momentarily, then instinctively moved between the fleeing crowd and the standoff, hands raised as he tried to intervene.

"Everyone calm down!" Erik said, his voice tight but steady. He stood at a careful distance, ready to dip if things escalated. "This is a hospital, please, stop!"

Tom's grip on the Monroe's collar tightened. His knuckles turn white as his gaze bore into Monroe's eye.

Monroe snarled, "I swear, I will blow your damn brains out if you don't let go right now!"

Tom exhaled slowly, his breath trembling as he forced himself to speak. "On what grounds?"

"Do I need a goddamn reason?" Monroe barked. His voice cracked, but his hand stayed steady, the barrel unmoving. "You are a filthy criminal, and I will put you down right here if I have to for assault!"

Tom clenched his jaw. He knew he was in the wrong. That he crossed the line when his temper flared uncontrollably. Slowly, reluctantly, his grip loosened.

"I am sorry, Officer Monroe," Tom muttered, his voice low and heavy.

But the gun stayed where it was.

Monroe's eye didn't waver, his finger hovering just a twitch away from the trigger. The tension grew suffocating.

"Officer," Erik said softly, stepping forward now. He raised his hands, palms outward in a show of calm. "Please. He is injured. Let me dress him. You can deal with him later—just put the gun away."

Monroe's gaze flickered to Erik for a split second. Then, back to Thomas, his jaw tightened, but slowly, he lowered the weapon.

Erik didn't waste any time. He pulled a tray close, the glint of sanitized cotton and disinfectant catching the light. "Lie down," he said firmly to Thomas.

Thomas hesitated but obeyed, slumping back on the hospital bed. Erik's hand moved quick in a steady manner as he started cleaning the wound.

Monroe stood over them. He lowered the gun to his side, finger on the ready. "This ain't over." His voice quiet.

Tom didn't respond. He just stared ahead as Erik worked silently to steam the bleeding.

“This might need a stitch,” Erik said.

“Just clean and wrap it up,” Tom grumbled. “And officer, are you supervising me alone? Where's your partner?”

“None of your fucking business, is it?” Monroe spat.

Well, Thomas took a deep breath, trying his best not to let his rage unhinge. “Well, officer, I need you to call your supervisor and look up for me. Badge n—.”

“You think I didn't look up for you?” Monroe cracked, threatening with his gun. “You are nothing but another third-rate arsonist.”

“What's my name, officer?”

“You tell me, scumbag!”

“Well, let me finish then?”

“NOoo!”

Thomas sighed, “At least get me a lawyer.”

Monroe flipped off his middle finger and took his phone out, scrolling through unbothered.

"Monroe!" A sharp, authoritative voice called out.

Kelly O’Hara walked in, her tall, lean frame radiating control. Her eyes darted from Thomas’s forehead and back to Monroe, cursing under her breath. She didn’t bother with pleasantries.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, cross-armed.

Monroe hesitated. He tried hiding his gun behind his back, "just trying to keep the suspect in check."

"By cracking his skull?" Kelly shot back, her eyes narrowing. "Gun. Now."

Monroe took a step back, grumbling. Kelly narrowed her eyes with an outstretched hand. Monroe offered it slowly. She grabbed it from his hand and stepped forward, kicking him on the shin.

AAckk~

Monroe glared at her, his face red, “You can’t just—”

“I can, and I am,” Kelly snapped, cutting him off. Monroe huffed and muttered something under his breath.

Kelly shushed Monroe, turning her attention to Thomas and Erik. "You okay?"

"Define ‘okay,’" Thomas said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I’m cuffed to a bed, bleeding from the head, and apparently, I’m a naked arsonist. How’s your day going?"

Kelly’s lips twitched, though she didn’t smile. "We’ll get to the bottom of this. Erik, how bad is it?"

"Not terrible," Erik said, finishing the bandage on Thomas’s forehead. "Could’ve used stitches, but he insisted on just wrapping it up."

Kelly nodded, then focused on Thomas again. "I’m Detective O’Hara. And you are?"

"Thomas Everly," he replied, locking eyes with her. "Badge number 12057. You can check."

Her brows lifted slightly at that. "We'll get the confirmation any moment now, detective or not." She pulled out her phone, already typing.

She nodded to Erik. "Can you give us the room? And let me know if he can be taken to the station."

Erik hesitated, glancing between Monroe and Kelly. "Are you sure?"

Kelly assured him.

With a reluctant nod, Erik stepped out.

Kelly waited until the door clicked shut before turning back to Thomas. She sat beside his bed on a stool, crossing her legs. "Now, let’s get a few things straight. Even if you are a detective, that doesn’t explain why you were found unconscious and naked in the middle of an arson scene. Care to fill in the blanks?"

Thomas opened his mouth, then closed it again. The fog in his memory still hadn’t cleared. "I… I don’t know," he admitted, frustration coloring his voice. "I don’t remember anything."

"Convenient, huh?" Monroe chimed in bitterly.

Kelly shot him a look, silencing him before turning back to Tom. "Isn’t it funny, Mr. Tom?"

Tom took a deep breath, fighting to keep his composure. "Officer," he said, calm but firm, "Just contact HQ. Tell them to look up badge number CP-12057. You’ll find my handsome face."

Monroe let out a harsh chuckle, his finger tapping the side of his hip. "Badge number? What’s next?"

Tom ignored him, his attention solely on Kelly. "Please!"

Kelly studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable.

"Let's just put him behind the bars, okay?" Monroe sneered.

"Monroe," Kelly hissed, “Your breath stinks!”

But Monroe wasn’t done. He raised his finger gun at Tom’s head. "Maybe I ought to make sure this fucker doesn’t crawl out of the bars this time, huh? One clean shot and solved. The law sucks anyway, doesn’t it?"

Tom stared at him. "Officer Kelly," he said evenly, "Please contact HQ. Look up CP-12057. I’m telling the truth!"

Monroe’s smirk faltered. Sweat glistened on his forehead, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "What nonsense? Is that the badge number of the guy you burned to ashes?"

Before Kelly could respond, her radio crackled to life. She turned away, speaking into it briefly. Moments later, her phone buzzed. She glanced down at the screen. Her eyes widened slightly, and she straightened up, tucking the phone back into her pocket.

Kelly studied Thomas for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. Captain Everly.”

She walked over to Monroe, eyes twitching. "Keys!"

Monroe blinked, confused. "What?"

"Keys! Now!" She snapped.

Monroe hesitated, but Kelly was tired of wiping his ass. She kicked him in the same place, way harder. He yelped in pain, stumbling back.

"Keys!"

Monroe fished them out seething and handed them over. Kelly uncuffed Thomas.

"Sorry for the treatment, Captain Everly," she said, stepping back, “But captain or not, you're still a suspect. Hope you understand.”

Monroe paled, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "C-Captain?"

Tom stood, pulling the IV catheter from his arm in a swift motion. His towering frame cast a shadow over Monroe, who looked comically small and inflated.

"What?" Tom said, his veins bulged.

Monroe swallowed hard. "I... I apologize for using excessive force, Captain."

"That’s all?" Tom asked, taking a step closer.

Monroe backed away, his eyes darting around the room. "I—uh—I’m sorry, sir. Deeply sorry."

Tom hardly kept the rage bottled, but Monroe's bearing pissed him off. His right fist shot forward in a blur on Monroe's solar plexus. Making him keel over. His mustache face contorted in agony as he doubled over, gasping for breath. He ended up puking all over himself and the floor.

"Ugh, this pig," Kelly pinched her nose in disgust, " I apologize again, Captain Everly. But I'll have to cuff you again if you pull out similar stunts.”

"Reasonable—I won't add insubordination to the charges." Tom walked towards the door. Erik was about to come in just then, but he stepped back and quickly scanned the room. “Don’t kill me!”

Tom laughed. He patted Erik’s shoulder, “Sure—if you lend me a set of your spare clothes.”

"What the actual fuck is going on?" Erik was still in disbelief.

"Nothing much," Tom pointed to Monroe, "He chewed more than he could digest."

Erik looked at Monroe, then to Kelly, and seeing her node, he calmed down. He looked back at Thomas. Tom smiled, "Don't worry, I'll buy you a new pair and dinner at a fancy place.”

He offered his hand, “Deal?”

Erik clasped it firmly, “If I don’t wake up cuffed?”

Both of them laughed at it.

“What did I miss?” Kelly joined them as the trio walked in the hallway.