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The gently cascading plume of dust created a swirling, winter wonderland-like atmosphere as the particles reflected brilliantly in the sunlight that pierced through the cracks in the large, newly-formed hole in what used to be the foundation. It was almost mesmerizing as Omar focused on breathing through the excruciating pain in his left shoulder. Well, his entire left side was in agony, but the shoulder was the most vocal in its protest.
Of course, this was not the best time to be mesmerized by anything.
Instantly, the ringing in his ears seemed to mute itself as the sound of creaking and tumbling wood infiltrated his mind. OA winced against the intrusion as it stirred up a stabbing headache behind his eyes.
He needed to get his wits about him again.
He needed to figure out what had happened and if there were any other imminent threats that he needed to be aware of.
And he needed to find Scola.
That final thought helped push away the remaining fog from his mind as he coughed out some dust from his lungs. OA groaned involuntarily as he pushed against the debris around him in an attempt to sit up. His shoulder and ribcage sent stabbing, searing pain through him that temporarily had him seeing spots.
“Hey, y’good?”
Omar perked up at the sound of Scola’s voice and shifted as best as he could with his right hand as the brace until his back was resting against a moldy looking wall.
“Damn,” he grunted as he fought to catch his breath against the pain and fatigue, sheets of sweat rolling down his face from the exertion. “I’m good, I’m good. You? You ok?”
Using a shaky hand to wipe away grime and dust from his eyes, OA blinked hard until he could finally make out the dark figure lying in a heap not far from him.
“Scola?”
OA leaned slightly to the side to get a better view of the man’s face in a patch of light and was stricken by what he saw; blood. So much blood and it was covering almost all of Scola’s face. A deep gash along his forehead appeared to be the culprit from what OA could see. It was an eerie sight, in and of itself, and while some relief was felt when Stuart’s eyelids finally lifted, the contrast of white against the vibrant crimson red was unsettling to say the least.
“Hey man, you with me?” OA questioned, fear beginning to grip him even tighter. Head wounds were scary and unpredictable.
“I’m fine,” Scola mumbled, sounding slightly frustrated. “Just can’t seem… to sit up without feeling nauseous. And puke probably wouldn’t improve the feng shui of this little rabbit hole we’ve stumbled upon.”
Omar chuckled, always amused by the ex-Wall Streeter’s use of the English language.
“Fair enough but, with a gash like that, you probably won’t have much of a choice before too long,” OA replied truthfully.
Scola offered a half-shrug from his place on the ground.
“I’ve been told I can be stubborn so…”
“So you’ll just fight off the nausea that comes with what looks to be a decent concussion?”
“Decent concussion,” Scola parroted in a mocking tone. “I’d roll my eyes at your choice of wording if it wouldn’t make the room spin.”
“Oh, you’re a little more feisty when concussed. Noted,” Omar quipped as he tried to shift his sore leg to another position. “But we need to focus on getting out of here. Do you have your phone.”
“Busted.”
OA sighed and used his right hand to pat at his pockets, to no avail. He then chanced a look upwards and, sure enough, at the edge of the hole they’d fallen through, he saw the corner of his phone just barely hanging over the side.
“That sucks.”
OA looked over at Scola and saw that he had followed OA’s gaze upwards.
“Yeah,” Omar conceded, “it does. I may be able to throw something up there and get it down.”
“You play football?”
OA frowned at the only slightly related question but didn’t give it much thought. “But if my phone breaks, too, it may take longer for them to find us.”
“Not good.”
“Not good,” he agreed, trying to focus his mind on the last thing he remembered. “Okay… we got sent out here to check on a lead from the homeless guy. He heard a scream… we’re on the outer edge of the city and they probably won’t expect us to check in for, I don’t know, another thirty minutes maybe?”
“At least.”
Omar nodded, knowing that Isobel and Jubal didn’t usually stay on their backs for updates and constant check-ins, especially since it was around lunch time and they usually stopped to grab a quick bite if out in the field.
“You okay?”
OA frowned and looked at Scola again, noting that the man had managed to push himself up on one elbow. Unfortunately, the movement didn’t seem to be sitting well with him.
“Take it easy, Scola,” Omar said quickly, not wanting his friend and partner to make himself worse. “I’m okay. I think… maybe a broken collarbone and a rib or two? Nothing serious. I’m more worried about you.”
“Eh, I’m fine. But I may lay back down for a minute.”
He then returned to the floor like a ragdoll, this time on his back. Glazed eyes pointed upwards towards freedom and Omar took a moment to observe it closer as well.
They seemed to have fallen into an old holding tank or vat of some sort. Given that this was an abandoned factory, it could have once been used for any number of things that Omar didn’t want to think about. With both of them having open wounds, this was the last place they wanted to be.
“Know what this reminds me of?” He heard Scola say absentmindedly and in a tone that was unfamiliar to Omar.
“What?”
“9/11.”
OA felt his stomach do a quick flip as the infamous date was muttered. For everyone in the country, at least those who were alive and old enough to remember it, September 11th would be forever etched in their brains. For those who were in the city that day… it would forever be a recurring nightmare, occasionally popping up during otherwise peaceful nights or a moment of terror anytime a plane and a skyscraper were in eyesight together.
“9/11?” OA questioned, uncertain if this was the normally tight-lipped-about-personal-things Scola speaking, or if it was the concussion.
“Yeah,” he breathed, glossy eyes still wandering above him. “The dust. The blood. The confusion and not knowing what to do next or when help would come. The smell. It was so much worse that day… but this. This reminds me of it.”
Omar stayed quiet for a moment, feeling uneasy at the haunting look in his friend’s eyes, especially when coupled with the blood and dust-covered face.
OA had been eleven and in school during the events of that day. He remembered the plume of smoke from the initial blast and the eventual blanketing effect the collapses had created across the city, even though his school was on the other side of town. But from the look on Scola’s face, he had been much closer to the chaos.
“You look like one of them,” Stuart said softly as his head rolled towards OA. “You okay?”
OA felt his breathing increase as he listened to Scola relive this moment from his past. It was haunting. And while OA knew a little about what 9/11 meant to the man, he had never seen this side of him.
“Yeah, man, I’m okay. Are you?”
“I think I’m concussed.”
“I think you are, too,” OA repeated, concern building within him. It thankfully looked like the bleeding had slowed down significantly as the deep dark red was turning brighter. But when Omar looked at Scola’s eyes again, he noticed that they were now closed.
“Hey, hey, Scola,” he said quickly, “you have to stay awake, right? Um… were you there that day? Like… close?”
His eyes opened and focused on OA for a moment as though he were thinking hard.
“Yeah,” he sighed, and OA inwardly chided himself for not attempting to change the topic. “Was supposed to meet my brother that morning for a tennis match but partied the night before and overslept. I was heading there with his favorite coffee as an apology, hoping he would agree to lunch and an afternoon match instead.”
OA listened, wondering if he was taking advantage of Stuart’s altered mental state, even though his intent was to keep the man talking, not to pry. Regardless, it was working. So OA worked to gently move debris aside with his right hand so that he could make his way over to Scola.
“You can be charming when you want to be,” OA added lightly, trying to keep the memories from turning too heavy.
Scola chuckled.
“You didn’t know me at nineteen years old,” he joked. “I was effortlessly charming.”
Omar sometimes forgot that Scola had about a decade on him in terms of age; you’d never really know it with how well he could keep up with the best of them in the field. Not that he was old in the first place, but when examining 9/11, OA and Scola had been in very different seasons of their lives at the time.
“Oooh, is that a fact?” OA laughed back, wincing at how it pulled on his injured ribcage. “What happened, then?”
“September 11th,” he replied quietly, his eyes wandering back to the ceiling. “I didn’t know it was happening until right after the second plane hit. I walked out of the coffee shop and saw the smoke. Doug… his office was right there. I took off running… I don’t even remember what I did with the coffee… I just ran.”
Omar bit his lip and looked down. What could he say? He just focused on slowly, safely, closing the distance between the two of them. Besides, he was fairly certain Scola was in his own little world now. Regardless, he was awake and lucid. That was good enough for now.
“I saw it,” Scola said eventually, his voice cracking and his eyes far away. “The tower just… it started to collapse. It was Doug’s but I just kept running. It got hard to fight all the people running in the opposite direction and, eventually, I realized I wouldn’t make it far either. I ducked into a bodega and it was like the day turned to night in an instant.”
OA swallowed hard as he imagined a young Stuart Scola running fervently down the streets of New York, as he’d watched Agent Scola do so many times while in the field, trying to get to his brother. It was heartbreaking, especially knowing how it ended.
“After the second one fell and it was obvious the dust wouldn’t clear anytime soon, I tried getting as close as I could. But I could barely even tell where I was or which direction I was going. I just kept passing people who looked like we do now. Dazed. Hurt. In shock. Dust and blood. The smell… the smell was so bad. Burning rubble… decades of grime. And death. We were breathing it in.”
Omar nodded solemnly. “I remember.”
He had never gotten the extreme concentration of it that Scola had, but he would also never forget that scent that lingered around the city for weeks.
“After that day,” he continued in a small voice and OA wasn’t even certain that Scola was aware OA was still present. “The charm was mostly gone. The joy… it was gone. All I had left was hatred.”
Hatred.
And just that quickly, Scola’s trauma morphed into Omar’s. He was old enough to know that the terrorist attacks were one of the worst things to happen to their country but never could have guessed how that very country could begin hating him - and everyone who looked like him - overnight.
“So much hate and anger.”
“Towards Muslims?”
“Yeah.”
OA’s stomach dropped. He loved this country and he loved his people. And he also was painfully aware that some terrible people had attacked this country in the name of his religion. But it still kind of hurt hearing that Scola, even a much younger version of him - fell into that blind hatred.
“Wasn’t just Muslims, though,” he said, now looking at OA again as if reading his mind. “I hated everyone and everything. Anger and drowning myself in school and work felt safer than risking the pain of loss again, or so my therapist has since explained. Either way, eventually I realized it was just myself that I hated. It took years and a lucrative - but empty - Wall Street career to realize it, of course.”
Omar nodded slowly, remembering that he was trying to get to his friend. Somehow that explanation made him feel better. He knew Scola wasn’t always the man he knew today but he could also never picture him being outright cruel. Besides, that misplaced and unfair anger and hatred was understandable in the aftermath of an event like 9/11. What mattered was whether or not you stayed in that dark place.
Stuart Scola had climbed out of that rabbit hole many years ago and Omar had been honored to watch a good portion of that ascent.
And eventually, they would get out of this rabbit hole as well.
“I’m sorry.”
OA frowned. “For what?”
“I… I don’t know why I said all of that,” he replied, looking genuinely bewildered.
“It’s okay, man. You’re a little jumbled in the brain right now but we’ll be out in no time.”
“You were just a kid,” he said softly, his eyes glossy and far away again. “Innocent. New York… the whole country came together after that. But not for you. Just not fair. People like me hated people like you. It wasn’t fair.”
OA felt his eyes burning at his own painful memories along with seeing his normally stoic friend bloody, injured and showing far more emotion than Omar was accustomed to.
“Nah man, it’s okay,” OA responded quickly, not wanting to give Scola any more reason to be upset. “What happened… it never should have happened but it did and I think we’ve both used it to make positive changes in this world, right?”
“Yeah… you think either of us would have been agents if not for the attacks?”
Omar stopped moving the debris for a second and considered the question. It was one that had danced around his mind for years but he had never given it the thought it deserved. In a broader sense, he knew that joining the military and then law enforcement were both subconscious attempts to prove himself worthy of being an American citizen, even though he now knew his own country should have never made him feel that way, subconsciously or otherwise. But it had all fueled by the unfair hatred he’d been hardwired to accept as reality the moment the hijackers’ identities were announced.
But specifically… the FBI.
Honestly, September 11th did play a major part in it because he knew how pivotal a role they played in stopping attacks like the one that changed everything for him and everyone he knew.
And since joining, they had stopped far more terror plots than he would have ever imagined possible.
“I don’t know, man,” Omar finally answered after seeing Scola’s eyelids becoming heavier. “Probably not. I, uh, I think I spent so much of my life after that trying to prove that I’m a “good guy” and trying to stop anything like that from ever happening again. To stop the unnecessary deaths and the pain they left behind and to stop the unnecessary hatred of an entire group of people based on the extreme and heinous acts of a handful of evil men.”
“I probably would have stayed in Wall Street.”
OA examined the bloodstained features and couldn’t get a read in him.
“Is that what you wish would have happened?”
He was silent for a moment, his eyes still glued to the opening above them.
“I wish my brother was still here,” he said simply. “But no. I love what I do.”
OA smiled and looked down. “You’re pretty damn good at it.”
“I was good at being an asshole financial know-it-all, too.”
“You still are,” OA quipped, watching as a grin spread across his friend’s face.
“Fair enough,” Scola responded eventually, his eyes sliding shut. Omar waited a few moments but when they didn’t reopen, he started clearing debris a little faster.
“Hey, Scola, you’ve got to stay awake,” he ordered as finally made it close enough to gently shake his partner’s shoulder, the movement painfully jarring his own injuries. “Come on, man, stay awake.”
“Why?” came a sleepy response, his eyes still closed. “So I can keep accidentally over-sharing? Sleep sounds better and less embarrassing.”
Omar inwardly sighed, hating that Scola felt that way but also glad to see an extra level of cognition.
“Don’t worry about,” OA said nonchalantly, trying to make it sound like Scola reliving arguably one of the most traumatic moments in recent American history while concussed and bleeding at the bottom of some old, germ-infested vat was no big deal. “What happens in the rabbit hole, stays in the ribbit hole.”
“Are you hitting on me?” The other man asked with a straight face and superb comedic timing that had Omar coughing out an audible laugh.
“Nah, you’re not my type.”
“Ouch,” Scola breathed, his eyes still closed.
OA bit his lip and grimaced at the fading light of a slowly setting sun. This was certainly not a place he wanted to be but it was even more unappealing to be there in the dark.
“Nothing against you, Scola,” OA said, trying to keep the man awake, sure, but also trying to return to the slight comfort that the lighthearted banter offered while they waited. “I just like my romantic partners to be… a little less manly.”
Where there was no wise remark in return, OA frowned and leaned in closer to his friend despite the deep protests from his sore body.
“You still with me?” He questioned, his adrenaline beginning to surge again at the sight of the relaxed, slightly-open mouth that alluded to possible unconsciousness. Or sleep. Maybe he was just sleeping. “Stuart! Buddy you’ve got to try to stay awake, okay?!”
Nothing.
Silence.
Without thinking, Omar went to clear the remaining debris that separated them with both hands and instantly regretted that decision as searing pain shot through his shoulder and left side. Darkness gathered in his vision and threatened to close him off completely but OA knew he had to fight it.
He had to remain conscious and get to Stuart.
He couldn’t let this conversation be their final one. He just couldn’t.
“OA! Scola!”
The darkness cleared as the familiar - and angelic - voice of Maggie cut through the pain-induced fishbowl effect that had previously drowned out the world around him.
She had come for them.
“Here!” OA coughed out, his heart pounding fiercely against his battered ribcage, making each blood-filled pump both exhilarating and excruciating. “Maggie, we’re here! We need help!”
“Ambo’s already on its way,” Maggie called back, clearly not far from the hole above him but likely keeping her distance until stability could be established. “Scola’s with you?!”
OA glanced back down at the man and felt bile rise in his throat by the deathly appearance that greeted him.
“Yeah, but he’s hurt. Head wound… might be bad, Maggie. He’s unconscious.”
There was a slight pause. “What about you?”
Omar swallowed hard, “Left side hurts… maybe broken collarbone and ribs but I’m okay. I’m okay…”
“Get a second ambo en route,” he heard her call out to someone else. Of course, she and/or Jubal and Isobel would have somehow known to send the calvary. “So you both had to show out this time, huh? Well we have some specialists coming to check the structural integrity and to figure out the best way to hoist you two out of there, okay?”
OA chanced a quick smile that no one could see and then glanced at the still-unconscious Scola.
“We’re getting out of here, Scola. Wake up, already.”
Nothing.
OA sighed and tried to keep his nerves at bay as he gently reached out and pressed two fingers to Stuart’s neck. Relief flooded his veins when he felt a slow - but fairly strong and steady - beat against his fingertips.
“So how did you know to come find us?” Omar called out, trying to distract himself from the situation and the pain. “Did Lassie tell you?”
“Try my growling stomach,” Maggie yelled back, mock annoyance dripping from her tone. “You were supposed to call me with the daily special at Maurice’s.”
Oh yeah.
In just about any other circumstance, OA would have laughed at the irony of lunch - the very thing that he was sure was going to delay rescue - was actually the reason their absence was missed sooner than it normally would have been. When Maggie had heard he and Scola were being sent to the outskirts of the city, she had specifically asked to hear what the daily special was at one of their favorite - but not as accessible - lunch haunts. They were supposed to bring her back food.
“Sorry about that,” he called back lightly, wishing he had the wall or some debris to lay back against again. He felt exhausted.
“Oh, no, totally fine. Just add famished and hangry to my growing list of woes,” she yelled out, making OA chuckle again. “But I’ll tell you this much: as soon as I’m done getting Timmy and Tony out of the well, I’m getting some Maurice’s take out.”
“Fair enough,” OA replied, knowing that his partner was trying to keep the tone light and his mind busy. “Grab me some, too, okay?”
She barked out a sarcastic laugh, “Yeah right! You can enjoy the bland hospital food, thank you very much. I could’ve been enjoying Maurice’s right now but no. You two had to find a well to fall down.”
“Someone say Maurice’s?”
A smile spread across as the weak voice joined the conversation. Omar looked down and, sure enough, was thankfully greeted by the surprisingly clear eyes of Stuart Scola.
“Yeah, Maggie’s here. We were supposed to bring her food, remember?”
Scola sighed and closed his eyes for a minute.
“Oh no,” he breathed. “Is she hangry?”
“What’s going on down there?” Maggie asked suddenly, likely hearing a conversation taking place but not able to make out what was being said.
“Scola is asking if you’re hangry.”
“Extremely hangry,” Maggie called back, but OA could hear the relief in her voice. Knowing both of her partners were currently awake had to feel pretty good. “Okay, someone wants to talk to you guys.”
“Agents Zidan and Scola, I’m Roger and I’m a part of the rescue team. The structural engineers are almost done assessing but once it’s cleared for entry, they will be sending me down first to assess you two and determine the safest way to get you out of there. While we wait for that, I want to get a better idea of your needs so I can bring the right equipment with me. We are going to lower down a screen to make communication easier, okay?”
OA took solace in the knowledge that a full-blown rescue effort was clearly underway. A glance at Scola revealed a similar expression of relief.
“OA, can you see the tablet?” Maggie asked, causing OA to look up and find what appeared to be a well-reinforced iPad or tablet of some sort being held over the side of the opening.
“Yes.”
“Will you be able to get to it fairly easily if we lower it here?”
“Yeah, that should be fine.”
The next couple of hours passed in a haze of pain-filled events. The tablet made two-way video communication possible which made everything easier. It wasn’t too long after that before Roger was being lowered down by a sophisticated hoist system, carrying a duffle bag full of supplies. One of which was a sling that immobilized OA’s left arm against his chest, as well as an IV for each of them to help replenish fluids.
“I can give you some of the good stuff to ease the pain,” Roger had explained.
“And him?” OA asked, glancing at Scola who was currently unconscious again (he was in and out basically the whole time). Despite his current state, however, pain lines were still etched into his features.
“Unfortunately, just fluids for him until the docs can get a better idea of what’s going on.”
Omar nodded. He had been taught basic field triage in the military and knew that pain meds, even in low dosages, could be dangerous for certain conditions.
It took another hour or so before Maggie informed them via tablet that the rescue team was about to lower a basket down for the first retrieval.
“Okay, I’ll help you strap you in when it gets here but be sure to hold on with your right arm.”
OA frowned at Roger’s instructions.
“Wait, no,” OA rebuffed. “He’s worse off. He goes first.”
“Don’t be a hero,” Scola mumbled, choosing a particularly annoying moment to regain consciousness. “I’m tougher.”
Roger chuckled but Omar was finding it difficult to appreciate the more seriously injured man’s attempt at humor.
“I’m serious, he needs help more than I do.”
“I’m fine,” Stuart mumbled again while offering the weakest attempt at an eye roll that OA had ever witnessed.
“You’re not wrong, sir,” Roger replied gently, ignoring Scola’s rebuttal and keeping his tone calm and reassuring. “But you can take the basket up. I’ll need a full bed for him and, you know, it’s a little snug in here.”
OA looked around quickly, imagining a stretcher in the small space and understanding why it would be beneficial to get OA out of the way.
“I’ll take good care of him and he shouldn’t be more than ten to fifteen minutes behind you, anyway.”
“Stop being problematic and let them do their jobs, okay?”
Omar looked down at the screen to see Maggie pointedly staring back up at him from the tablet screen.
“What she said,” Scola added before trying to roll onto his side, only to have Roger gently push him back down. “I won’t die in the fifteen extra minutes I’ll be down here, ok?”
“You better not.”
Omar frowned and looked at the screen again as the unmistakable voice of Nina came through the speakers. Sure enough, she and Maggie both filled the screen with their concerned, but serious expressions. Grinning, he turned the tablet to face Scola so Nina could fully address him.
“Oh, hi,” he said, wincing slightly, though OA didn’t know if it was in pain and due to embarrassment. “They called you here? I’m…”
“Oh my, God,” Nina interrupted, reminding OA that Scola’s appearance was extremely off-putting.
“It’s probably not as bad as it looks,” Roger interjected quickly, his hands raised as a basket appeared above them on the hoist system and slowly began making its way towards them. Head wounds are notorious for bleeding a lot and I’ve already stopped the bleeding. I just didn’t have the supplies to clean him up much.”
The conversation then came to an abrupt end as the rescue basket touched the debris-littered floor. A flurry of movement later and OA found himself secured into the contraption as it gently lifted off the ground. And while he was thankful for the painkillers, the ascent from the rabbit hole was not a pleasant one.
Physical discomfort aside, a glance back down to the bottom had Omar’s stomach twisting in knots. There was something so desperately wrong about leaving Scola down there, bloody and lying prone on the disgusting floor.
For a moment, Scola’s recollection of 9/11 popped into OA’s head and instantly broke his heart. If he felt this bad leaving his teammate behind in such a manner, he could only imagine what it must have been like for Scola all those years ago, desperately trying to get to his brother… but ultimately having to leave him behind.
OA could tell the man was clinging to consciousness again but just before the basket cleared the top of the foundation and was pulled away, Omar was pleased to see a thumbs up from Stuart.
He was going to be okay.
They both were.
“You owe me Maurice’s,” Maggie joked lightly as she and the awaiting medic helped him to his feet. The pain meds barely seemed to dull the intense protest from his entire left side and had him taking another moment to get his vision straight again.
“And down you go,” the medic stated as OA felt hands guiding him to an awaiting gurney. He couldn’t even fight it… the dizziness was fairly overwhelming.
“Can we wait?” OA asked. “Just… I wanna make sure, you know?”
The medic looked hesitant but before he could answer, Nina came walking towards them in mid conversation with the tablet.
“You’re almost out, okay? Just a little longer.”
“That’s not the problem,” came the voice of a very frustrated Stuart Scola. “I saw the way OA was spinning around on the way up…”
Scola groaned and OA looked at the others, each of them sharing expressions that ranged from confused to concerned and maybe even a little curious. Was Scola afraid of heights?
“Hope you brought an umbrella in your duffle, Roger, ‘cause I may be puking the whole way up.”
Nina winced in sympathy while OA and Maggie couldn’t help but share a light grin. Scola was one of a kind.
“Sir, why don’t we…” the medic began, clearly having decided that waiting until Scola got out wasn’t going to be the best idea.
But OA nodded before he could finish the suggestion as he reached out for the tablet. Nina immediately handed it over.
“Don’t give them too much trouble, Scola.”
The dark, grainy image of the still-bloodied FBI agent offered a sly grin in return. “You know me.”
“Effortlessly charming,” OA quipped, recalling the conversation from earlier. OA chucked and handed the tablet back to Nina as he felt the stretched move towards the awaiting ambulance.
“I’m going with him but please let us know the second he’s out or if anything changes,” Maggie stated seriously from somewhere behind him.
“You got it.”
OA smiled as he felt a bit more of the good drugs push through his veins. Nina was good for Scola and, having been partnered with her quite frequently during Maggie’s absence, OA knew that Scola was good for her, too.
So as long as Nina was on the scene, Omar knew Scola was in good hands and would have the best possible advocate, not that he didn’t trust Roger and the rest of the rescue team.
As they finally made it outside, OA relished the warmth of the sun against his skin, even though it was quickly disappearing as dusk approached . Being stuck in a poorly lit hole would make you appreciate the simpler things in life.
He was vaguely aware of the transfer into the ambulance and voices, but OA realized that sleep - or unconsciousness - was finally demanding to have its well-earned turn.
With one last reminder that they had all but overcome their adventure down the rabbit hole, Omar welcomed the demanding darkness that was gathering at the corners of his vision and drifted off into oblivion.
———————————-
The muffled sound of steady beeps slowly edged their way into his mind, growing ever louder with each passing second. Omar winced as the antiseptic smell flooded his senses and his mind began to race through all the different scenarios of why he was clearly in a hospital.
“Is he waking up?” someone asked from nearby him. He fought against the frustratingly heavy eyelids but still had managed to win the battle.
“I think so… he’s doing that wrinkly nose thing he does sometimes.”
“I don’t stink, right? They didn’t let me have a proper shower last night.”
“Oh, because you just hate sponge baths, huh? I saw your nurses… they’re super cute and have those little southern accents.”
“Humph. Sponge baths are only hot in theory… in reality they’re just awkward.”
Finally Omar forced his eyes open and confirmed his suspicions: sitting in a recliner and wheelchair, respectively, was Maggie and Scola. Maggie sported joggers and a sweatshirt, clearly not on duty, while Scola had on sweats and a large swatch of gauze along his forehead.
Apart from slightly bruised eyes, a couple of small cuts and a paler-than-normal skin tone, the man looked a hundred times better than when OA had last seen him. And with that acknowledgment came the rest of the memories of their harrowing experience.
“There he is! It’s about damn time, sleepy head.”
OA sighed in amusement at Maggie’s excitement.
“What happened?”
A moment of panic was shared between the room’s other two occupants before OA realized his mistake.
“No… I remember falling through the floor,” he clarified, earning instant relief from his partners. “I mean why am I the one just waking up in a hospital bed while you’re up and about?”
Scola shrugged nonchalantly and responded with a smirk, “Like I said. I’m tougher.”
“Oh yeah?” Maggie challenged playfully, “you didn’t look so tough when you first woke up, if I recall correctly.”
“That’s because you told me they had to shave my head in order to relieve the intracranial pressure.”
Maggie chuckled slightly and OA couldn’t help but laugh some himself. “In all fairness, Nina gave me permission - albeit reluctantly - and we only let you think that for ten whole seconds before reassuring you that your precious hair was still as spectacular as ever.”
“Anyway,” Scola stated pointedly after giving Maggie his signature deadpan expression. “Unlike me, you had to have surgery to set your collarbone.”
“Plus you managed to pick up a nasty little infection that had your brain sort of fried with fever. But they were able to clear it up rather quickly.”
Omar lifted his eyebrows in surprise, finding it surreal to hear about things that happened to him but have no recollection of them.
“How long have I been out?”
“Oh, not long,” Maggie clarified quickly, her tone reassuring as she evidently picked up on his slight discomfort. “You guys were brought here yesterday evening. You had a rough night and it’s, what, almost dinner now?”
She glanced at her watch before happily springing upwards.
“Speaking of which, I’m going to run to the cafeteria and grab something. I’m starving. You two want anything?”
Both men shook their heads.
“Okay, well I’ll take you back to your room when I get back, okay?”
Scola nodded gently and they watched as she left the room.
“She seems high strung,” OA commented lightly a moment later.
Scola chuckled and nodded, “You have no idea. I think she was awake all last night and hanging around the hospital so I’m sure she will crash before too long.”
“Oh yeah, probably so.”
A brief - but heavy - silence fell over the room. There was something about going through hell with someone that changed the dynamic. Usually for the better.
“Um, so…” Scola began, clearly burdened with things he wanted to get off his chest. “You know… it’s weird because I remember everything and I was there when it was happening but it was like I had no filter. Whatever I thought just… came out.”
OA but his lip and tried to get a read on how Scola was feeling about all of this. Embarrassed? Nervous?
“I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about…?”
“What? No. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just… I haven’t really ever talked about some of the details I shared with you. You know… we’re New Yorkers. We all have a 9/11 story but for the most part, we just keep living and moving forward.”
Omar shrugged slightly, unsure of how to respond about such a sensitive subject. “I don’t think any differently about you. If anything, it added a little perspective.”
Scola’s eyebrows furrowed as if urging OA to elaborate, so he did.
“September 11th, for me, is the event that made me painfully aware of how my religion and culture separates me from most others in this country. Sometimes it’s helpful to hear reminders of what caused such a knee-jerk reaction towards the Muslim community and proof that we’ve come a long way since then.”
“Not far enough.”
OA lowered his head and nodded, “True, but if one event can lead two people to become FBI agents - one who lost a family member that day and one who is a part of the same religion that was used to justify such an act - and they can even be friends… there’s still hope for society.”
Scola watched him closely with uncharacteristically weak eyes before nodded, seemingly satisfied with Omar’s answer. It came as a relief because he knew neither of them were outwardly emotional people and didn’t often share deeply held memories and such. At the same time, OA was thankful they had reached a place of mutual respect and understanding.
Their job made them consider the events of September 11th rather frequently and for so long, the two of them had seemingly been running parallel to each other on that topic: both negatively impacted by the terrorist attack but in very different ways. They had never addressed it with each other; only tried to stay respectful in relation to the subject.
So finally, after doing that little dance for over six years, Omar felt like they had both reached a place of peace.
“You think Maggie is going to call us Alice from now on?” Scola asked, pulling OA from his thoughts.
“Huh?”
“You know, like Alice in Wonderland? Since we fell down a rabbit hole.”
Omar laughed and shook his head.
“She’ll probably call you Alice.”
“Right, because all you guys do is pick on the third wheel.”
“Well, it was Goldilocks with the way you’ve been trying out new partners, so maybe Alice would offer a nice reprieve from your most recent fairy tale character.”
Scola rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
Omar smiled again and took a moment to appreciate the moment. Neither of them were dead or permanently maimed from their fall. Both were okay and in good spirits. And, if anything, they had emerged with an even stronger friend and partnership in the aftermath.
Because as they had discussed the previous day, sometimes bad things happened. That was just life. All anyone can do is either accept victimhood or choose, instead, to overcome the trials. To let the hard times push them to rise above and improve.
So maybe rabbit holes sucked, but they sometimes made for some pretty great stories.
OA could live with that.