A/N:

i) I thought the season finale was a pretty lousy outcome but since I'm a stickler for the rules, I previously went along with what the good people at CBS thought best.

ii) Flack crying and Angell being disposed of quite so cruelly bugged me though, so, given that they are fictional people and live in a fictional universe, I decided I could play with them a little bit more.

iii) My thinking is that the final chapter of my previous 'Fan Fiction' effort, along with say the last forty minutes of 'Pay Up', could be replaced with this...how well it works, if at all, is up to you...

iv) As alway, the usual suspects apply; I don't own anything, I'm not a writer, I'm using Flack and Angell for my personal entertainment while I'm bored/need a break from the actual task in hand/awake at 4am, songs are all owned on my MP3 player etc.

v) I should probably also note that I'm not a medical doctor, nor have I ever been shot (for which I am very thankful!) so nothing will be 'technically' correct.

ALL OF THE NIGHT

I won't leave

I can't hide

I cannot be

Until you're resting here with me

Dido – Here With Me

He paced.

As he waited in the corridor, as Danny arrived, as her Father and brothers arrived, as Ali McGregor arrived, as Mac and Stella arrived.

As Ali gently explained "...she's suffered huge blood loss and the bullet's seriously damaged her liver and stomach; there's massive trauma. Even if she makes it through surgery there's risk of further bleeding, sepsis, respiratory problems, pneumonia, obstruction...Don, you need to be prepared for the worst."

As the surgeon reported that she'd been moved from the OR to critical care, somberly advising "…the next six hours are crucial".

As dusk began to fall over the city they fought to serve and he watched her through the glass wall, covered in tubes and wires with monitors beeping.

As "…the next six hours are crucial" was replaced with "…the next twelve hours".

As she was suddenly surrounded by a barrage of alarms and then doctors; then rushed back to the OR.

As she was once more returned to him and a new dawn broke.

He paced.

:-:-:

Five days had passed; Connor Dunbrook had been found, the Captain had allowed him to cuff her shooter but drawn the line at any further involvement and her doctor had hesitantly pronounced that she was 'cautiously optimistic'. She remained in critical care, attached to all sort of machines; breathing for her, feeding her and caring for her. He lived between the Precinct and her bed side, stopping at his apartment only to shower and collect clean clothes. He rarely slept and barely ate. He held her hand, prayed to his God and talked to her quietly; promising everything he could think of if she'd just squeeze his hand or let him know she could hear.

:-:-:

He was late leaving the Precinct that afternoon; an old case had broken and whilst he resented the new developments, he did what had to be done. Leaving the Precinct late meant he arrived at the hospital late, his hair still wet from the shower in the locker rooms and scrubbing his hands over his exhausted face.

Her room was empty, her things had been cleared.

"Where is she?! Jessica Angell?! She was in room five-ten last night!" He knew he was shouting but was filled with terror and anger and dread. The young RN glared at him, tersely explaining that she had just started her shift so wasn't yet fully up-to-date with the unit's current patient list. The moment the tears welled in his eyes and he pleaded, "Please, just tell me where she is" her demeanor softened, taking him by the arm and leading him to the nurse's station.

The pretty Southern doctor that had been caring for Jess appeared, face kind and gentle as always, explaining that they'd just finished settling her in a new room. That the ventilator had been removed that morning, she was breathing on her own and the sedation was wearing off; that while Jess still wasn't out of the woods, it was a big step.

"Talk her; she needs to know you're there" Dr Jackson advised, smiling.

:-:-:

He was always amazed by the way his hands could span around her waist with ease and how light she felt in his arms but looking at her in the hospital bed, engulfed by equipment, he was terrified by how tiny she seemed. But with the tube removed from her mouth she looked more like 'his girl' and he tenderly traced his finger over her features; her cheek bones, the rounded tip of her nose, the dimples that appeared when she smiled; before pressing his lips to her forehead and collapsing into the chair at her side.

Taking her hand in his, he worked his finger across the ink on her wrist; "Jess, I know you can hear." His early memories of the office block bomb aftermath were hazy but he did remember hearing. Mac telling him to squeeze his hand, his sister-in-law telling him that he was going to be an Uncle again and Stella smugly telling him that she'd seen Danny and Lindsay making out in the corridor. "Just let me know you can hear me. Please."

Almost a week with little sleep or food, coupled with the rhythmic beep of her machines finally lulled him into restless slumber. His head resting on her bed and fingers entwined with hers; stirring each time someone entered the room and to regularly whisper words of love and promise.

:-:-:

Her fingers closed around his and she murmured a little moan, barely above a whisper.

Cupping her face in his hands he peered at her, his nose almost touching hers. "Jess? Can you hear me? It's Don." Her eyes flickered a little and his heart raced. "Baby, can you open your eyes?"

Her eyes flickered again and her head nodded slowly, croaking garbled sounds.

As the tears formed in his eyes once more, he brushed a soft kiss to her forehead, firmly instructing "Open your eyes Jessica, I know you can. Open your eyes and use your words."

Her brow knotted into a pained frown and then after swallowing, her eyes opened enough for him to see the deep chocolate pools.

"Hey! Hey beautiful girl!" he crooned, brushing the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand.

She allowed her eyes to close, before swallowing again and opening them widely; brown and blue meeting once more. "Hi…" she whispered.

His face crumpled and all he could do was helplessly smooth a hand across her hair. Squeezing his hand again she continued, "The diner…"

Shaking his head fiercely, heart wrenched that her first thoughts were of the location she was gunned down; he soothed, "No, you don't need to worry about that now; all that matters is you."

"Tillery Diner," she repeated; her voice a little stronger but frown deepening as her eyes closed, "I hate it."

He laughed, and cried, through relief and happiness and amusement and a hundred other feelings he couldn't comprehend; "I know Jess, I know; I hate the Tillery Diner too."