A/N: This is a missing scene between the last scene on the freighter and the hospital. I know this is waaaay behind on Trust Metric but... Hey, better late than never!
Summary: He let Colby go. He was right. It only mattered if Colby lived.
Don watched grimly as the Coast Guard secured the rescue basket to the helicopter's winch. Seconds later, Colby was hoisted up and into the cabin, the door closed and the helicopter sped away towards the city.
"He has to be okay," Megan said beside him. "He has to be."
Don sighed, feeling himself shaking slightly with the fading adrenaline. "Yeah. Ship's secure?"
"Yes. Port police are ferrying a pilot to take it back to the docks and we can go back with the zodiacs as soon as they get here. Prisoners are being loaded up into the Coast Guard cutter right now. DoJ brass is gonna be waiting for you at the office."
"Okay. I'll be right there."
"Right."
Don kept his eyes over the water, watching the horizon sway gently. He shivered despite the warmth of the sun on his back. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, wishing he had something to drink, to wash away the taste. He'd done rescue breathing before. This time though, the bitter taste left in his mouth was one of failure. He'd known, deep in his gut and from the beginning, that Colby's confession had been wrong, forced, unnatural somehow. And yet, when Granger had proven him right, given him the proof he'd been searching for, unverifiable as it turned out to be, he'd doubted him. With reason, he tried to tell himself. Oh, he'd held his shot in the subway tunnel all right, but in his mind there was a huge difference between not shooting Colby and trusting him.
And now, Colby might just die because of it.
He walked to the bow section of the freighter, scanning the scene in front of him. Bodies still strewn across the upper deck were being wrapped up, blood dripping down the metal steps, contrasting starkly with the peeling white paint, mixing with the rust. The prow itself was clear and free of people. He closed his eyes, grateful. He needed a minute to pull himself together. The crisis was over but his day certainly wasn't. There were going to be a lot of difficult questions to address, questions to which he had no real answer, at least until Colby could provide them. If he ever could.
He watched the last of the SWAT team clear the foredeck, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Don went to the railing and leaned on it, grasping it with both hands, willing them to stop shaking. He shifted the rifle strap so the weapon rested on his back, took his ball cap off and scrubbed a hand through his hair before resting his forearms onto the railing, peering over the water. He shook his head and winced, feeling a massive headache coming on.
The shaking in his hands translated up into his arms and down into his legs, the adrenaline crash hitting him full on. He held on to the railing as his knees went weak, a rush of dizziness making his stomach churn. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, slow breath, swallowing hard. The deck swelled under his feet as the ship caught in the changing tide currents. He exhaled in a rush.
A gust of wind stirred up the scent of diesel and rotting seaweed and suddenly it was all too much. He curled over the railing and threw up, bile and bitter coffee burning his throat, over and over again.
He hung over the railing long after he was done, breathing hard, trying to gather himself.
"Don? You okay?"
He felt Megan's small hand on his back as she spoke. He nodded fractionally, wiping a hand over his mouth.
"Yeah... tend to get... seasick," he lied, his voice rough. He stayed over the railing, not sure his legs would hold him if he tried to stand straight.
"Zodiac's here. How about we leave this place?"
Don sighed and flexed his calf muscles, getting the blood flowing before he pushed off the railing. "Let's go."
He sat in the zodiac, elbows on his knees, keeping his head low. Someone, possibly Megan, shoved a bottle in his hands and he drank without looking at it. The sharp sweetness of the Gatorade almost had him heaving his guts up again but he managed to curb the urge this time. Shore was fast approaching. He rubbed his face hard, willing the chaos in his head to settle.
Time to face the music.
He got through the debriefing from hell, managed a shower and a change of clothes before making his way into the hospital and to Granger's room. He found Megan sitting in with Colby, David conspicuously absent.
"Hey, Don! They finally let you go!" Megan said, a wide smile on her lips. It was answer enough but he still needed to hear the words.
"How is he?"
"He's gonna be okay. Should be awake by morning."
Don's eyes closed and he sank into the nearby chair, his knees suddenly weak. "Good," was all he was able to say. Relief, residual fear and exhaustion robbed him of the ability to speak for a moment. Again, he felt Megan's soft hand on his shoulder.
"You knew from the start, didn't you? That's why you kept watching that tape over and over again."
"I didn't know. Not for sure. Deep in my gut, though... Or maybe it was just my ego speaking. Charlie says it's gigantic. Ginormous is the term he used."
Megan chuckled. "Yeah, well, he's not wrong. But in our field, ego and balls pretty much go together. You've always had very good instinct. You're not a profiler but I've never known you to misjudge anyone's character, including Colby."
Don leaned back in his chair. "Yeah well, he did a good job of fooling all of us."
"For the most part, yeah. Still, you knew. And he knew just how far he could trust you."
Don tossed his head, rolling his eyes. "Hell of a measure of faith, Megan."
Megan smiled, patting his knee. "Go home. Get some sleep. I'll call you when he's awake."
Don wearily stood and headed for home and a few hours of sleep. Charlie had left a voicemail about an invite to dinner with Larry and his dad for the early evening. A celebration, he'd said.
He smiled. That sounded good to him. Maybe it would help to put the demons to rest and restore his faith in himself and those around him.
Fin