Marcus Keane

The hydrotherapy pool at the physical therapist’s was one of Daniel’s favorite places in the city, which was maybe a little strange, but it was also true. It was near the hospital in what Daniel thought of as the Medical District, which meant it was also close to their apartment, and it was usually open whenever the physical therapy practice was, which included Saturday mornings. The tub at his apartment was good, but this was larger and hotter, plus it had jets.

He was relaxing with his arms stretched out on the edge of the pool, breathing deeply and feeling the muscles in his lower back and hips slowly unwind from the spring they’d coiled themselves into over the course of the week.  He glanced up when the door from the changing room opened, though. The man who came in was shorter, older, and had lighter brown curly hair that was threaded through with grey. He had a right below knee amputation that looked well-healed and he moved fluidly on his crutches. He dropped them on a bench nearby, then hopped over to the edge of the pool and carefully sat down. A wedding ring gleamed on his hand when he braced himself on the edge.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he said, and Daniel waved an arm in welcome. The man was covered in freckles and was obviously someone who went to the gym and liked it. Daniel was physically fit, but he wasn’t “built” as they called it now. This man was. He slipped into the pool and sighed a little, then closed his eyes. There wasn’t much conversation in the pool, usually, and Daniel was fine with that. He would talk if someone else did, but didn’t usually start it. After a few minutes, the other man did speak, though.

“The name’s Jack Abbot.”

“Daniel Sousa. Nice to meet another member of the club,” he said with a friendly nod, since his right leg or lack thereof was visible under the water and his own crutches were on another bench nearby.

“Not a club I ever wanted to have a membership to,” Abbot said wryly, and Daniel chuckled.

“Same, but no one asked me. Bastogne, 1944. US Army.”

Jack simply nodded. Daniel hadn’t seen him before, but he’d clearly been here long enough to know that people arrived from different places, times, and entire worlds.

“Me either. Afghanistan, 2003, also Army.”

Daniel had read about that. It had been a hell of a situation, with improvised mines everywhere and an opponent that wasn’t helpful enough to wear uniforms like the Wehrmacht had.  They continued talking casually, and Daniel learned that Jack was a doctor in the emergency department at the hospital, worked nights, and he’d been a combat medic before he got hit. Since Daniel’s life had been saved by the quick actions of a medic when he’d been hit, he appreciated that and said so. Daniel, in turn, shared that he was a police detective and had been infantry.

By the time they both had to leave because the pool was closing, Daniel was pretty sure Abbot was going to be a friend. They’d watched the other to make sure there was no issue getting out of the pool, then chatted easily about their respective prostheses as they got themselves put back together again. Abbot had chuckled and shaken his head when Daniel mentioned that his first prosthetic was made of wood.

“Here’s my number if you ever want to get a drink and talk about the stupidest thing you ever saw a soldier do or the most idiotic order you ever got,” Daniel offered as they walked towards the exit. It was a business card for the precinct, but his personal number was written on the back. He kept a few of those in his card case. A doctor, especially one in the ER, might need a police detective’s business card at some point anyway, although he could hope not.

“You’re assuming they aren’t the same thing. Thanks, Sousa,” Abbot replied, since they’d fallen easily into the familiarity of using surnames.

Just outside the door, they walked into the grand opening of a “craft soda shop” named Fizzical Therapy. Daniel didn’t think it was run by the same people who ran the physical therapy practice, but maybe it was, since it was next door? It’d be quite the combination of businesses, if it was.

“Huh,” he said as he looked around at the balloons and people and … was that person wearing a giant inflatable soda glass costume?

“Never a dull moment around here," Abbot agreed.

[[As promised (threatened?), Fizzical Therapy has opened next to Darrow Physical Therapy. It's roughly at Parliament and O'Connell.  There is a stereo system playing Let's get Fizzical (Thank you Angel), deals on drinks, and please feel free to invent the most ridiculous soda you can think of as a Opening Weekend Special. Gathering post because why not, so tag Jack, Daniel, both, or neither. Just let me know if you want both in the same thread.]]