(This Fragment will be retitled and all the chapters combined into its own episode. Stay tuned for Chapter Six: Alex's Thoughts on the Shooting. All Team members will express their thoughts on Frank's shooting...so there are many more chapters to come!)
Another Frank Fragment, Part Five: The Team Sees Frank
Alex was pacing. This was a private hospital room, and spacious at that. Alex had been amazed at the level of personality this room provided. Instead of the bright fluroescent lights, there was track lighting. Over the bed, naturally, there was fluorescent lighting controlled by a switch, in case the patient needed emergency services.
There were plants in the room, big tropical plants for which Alex had no name. The walls of the room were painted a soothing green, a calming color, she knew, from her surreptious reading of Frank's psychology books. She knew Frank would admonish her upon his return to the Nest: she'd been reading his psych books in his absence, trying to make sense of this horrible situation.
Frank knew when someone had been in his office. He noted the precise location of everything on his desk and he could tell if someone had moved anything on his desk even a fraction of an inch.
But Alex desperately needed to lick her wounds. She'd lost Keller in a situation like this--to gunshot wounds--and she needed to know how to handle the situation for she was hopelessly out of her league.
Cody, Jake and Monica looked anxiously on, knowing what Alex was going through. Though it had only been a few short months, each member of the team, in their own way, had become dependent upon Frank Donovan to guide them, to be there for them, to solve the problems they found themselves in.
And the desperately needed for him to reassure them he was all right.
"Is he being examined?" Jake asked, his dark eyes flashing back and forth from Monica to Alex. "I mean, he had surgery yesterday to repair the breached artery."
Monica, being the closest in training to Frank's background, was looking at him steadily.
"Doubt it. Frank, as you know, would want us to wait. He will say he is fine," Monica said.
This did nothing to alleviate Jake's feeling of anxiety. "Well, then, where is he?" Jake queried. "What could he possibly be doing in this hospital? There's nothing here!"
Alex had continued pacing. "He's gone to see the boy to whom he gave the blood to," she said softly, in awe of herself for guessing the motives of the very elusive Frank Donovan.
"What's boy? What are you talking about?" Cody asked.
Alex was momentarily confused. Then she slapped her hand to her head. She hadn't told her teammates about Frank's actions of the day before. She paused to consider her words.
"Frank. Well, he..." she trailed off as Frank's voice came up behind her.
"Frank what?" his voice asked from behind her. Alex turned around, not able to hide the relief in her face.
"Frank!" she virtually squealed. The rest of the team looked at her in surprise but they too were unable to conceal their joy at seeing Frank alive and quite well, albeit in a wheelchair.
"Hospital policy," Frank said, explaining the wheelchair.
Nurse Romano cut in, "patients are allowed to walk on their own floors, but going between floors they are required to use wheelchair assistance," she said cheerfully as she set the wheelchair's brakes and Frank levered himself out of the wheelchair. Earlier that morning he'd requisitioned a surgical outfit--light green and quite complimentary to his colouring--to replace the hospital johnny he'd woken up and found himself in. Too drafty, he'd told the day nurse, smiling at her. She'd smiled back and told him she'd requisition one, especially if he was going to see Danny Montalto.
Frank hid his grimace of pain. The surgery on his shoulder had taken more out of him than he wanted to freely admit. He was feeling the same way he knew Alex was feeling: he desperately needed to lick his wounds, and lick his wounds in private. But he was not the type to display his emotions in public.
Standing now, he turned and addressed Nurse Romano. "Thank you for assisting me," he said as he looked Nurse Romano full in the eyes. His dark brown eyes--just the color of cognac amber, Nurse Romano thought--twinkled at her. For her part, Nurse Romano blushed slightly and smiled.
"Not at all," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow? Danny will be expecting you to tell the rest of your story," she said as she unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair and looked Frank in the eyes.
"Absolutely. I'll come down same time tomorrow," Frank said as Nurse Romano smiled and turned with the wheelchair to the door of the hospital room.
At the door, she turned and said softly, "You know, I know Danny appreciates what you told him about his condition. It isn't my place to tell patients their prognosis, but I felt Danny should know...and I didn't know how to tell him," she said.
"It's hard to relay that kind of information. But Danny's a good sport, he'll pull through," Frank said as the rest of his team exchanged quizzical glances at each other. Of the four members of the team, only Alex had any inkling of what Frank was talking about.
But Frank wasn't about to let his good deed go noticed. He was the strong, silent type and he was determined not to let his team look at him in awe regarding his actions concerning Danny Montalto.
In high school, Frank had studied genetics a bit. He'd become interested when taking a high school psychology course. At the time, he'd thought the course to be appropriate--for how better to teach kids about themselves than to let them explore themselves? Psychology courses were packed in the high school curriculum; it was the one course that was guaranteed to have full enrollment, and even the many-times stressed Chicago high school teachers (who were forever striking their employers) couldn't keep up with the demand.
Frank had not been surprised to learn that sometimes, genetics is a crap shoot. At times, a child might be expected to be a perfect blend of his parents: a 50-50 mix. But Frank was a male replica of his mother: dark haired, eyes that could convey depth, happiness, sadness, or any emotion he wanted to convey. His continental good looks had won him the admiration of women, and his intelligence had won him the admiration of men.
There was nothing in Frank of his father, except his ambition to excel at the game of chess--be it psychological chess or the real thing. For Frank's father had been a master chess player, and from him Frank had inherited his intelligence.
In this, Frank now mused, he'd inherited the best of his parents: his mother's dark, good looks and his father's intelligence.
This intelligence he used now to discern his team's mood.
"As you can all see, I'm in good condition," he said, looking at each of his team in turn, his brown eyes seeming to pierce each team member's soul.
"You were saying, Alex?" Frank's voice held an edge of something sharp, telling Alex he wasn't in the mood to have his good deeds noted by the rest of the team.
"I, uh, was saying, that you look remarkable for someone who's been shot. You do know John Upton was captured. He's in the hospital in Peoria, and erhm," her voice trailed off.
Frank knew what she meant and he voiced it. "His privates aren't going to be working," Frank said. The four members of the team gasped.
"How did you know that?" Cody asked.
Frank glanced at him. "I was not so far gone that I couldn't hear what was being said to me. You should know by now I remember everything that's said to me," Frank said.
Cody looked guilty. He stammered, "Uh, sir, about what I said to you when I was, uh, trying to stanch the blood..." his voice also trailed off.
"I know what you meant," Frank said and gave Cody a look which was at the same time forgiving and understanding. Cody's face relaxed a bit, and Frank noted Cody was in need of a vacation--all the team needed a vacation. But right now, what they needed most was reassurance. The team needed reassurance that Frank Donovan wasn't going to be six feet under in a few days time.
The artery in his shoulder had been nicked. Despite the smallness of the gunshot wound, Frank had bled internally, losing three pints of blood--nearly half his supply. Nurse Romano had told him the story had gone round the hospital (there were even jokes about how Frank was half-robot making the rounds as well, she'd whispered into his ear) about how Frank had managed to stay conscious for so long after losing that much blood.
Frank also knew what each of his team was going through--the emotions, the turmoil in their minds. They needed to come to terms with this event: their very nearly losing a second boss to death in almost the exact same way as Keller had died. As Frank had guessed, Alex was having the most difficult time with her emotions. No doubt, she'd been at the nest last night after leaving the hospital, and no doubt she'd been at the punching bag.
Keller and her had started a romantic relationship shortly before Keller had been gunned down in a warehouse. He'd died in Alex's arms and despite Alex's feelings for Carlos, Frank knew that she had attached herself to Keller...and to himself in an older brother sort of way.
The strained look in Alex's face and the darkish smudges under her eyes testified to Alex's stress. The fingernails on both her hands were bitten down and Frank could see red marks on the back of her hands where she'd wrung her hands out of frustration and turmoil.
Frank noted this and made a mental note to talk to her after he got out of the hospital.
Frank now stood and looked at each of his team members in turn. Each seemed relieved that Frank was okay.
"I'd like to thank you, Cody, for the suggestion of the small ice packs strapped to my chest and shoulders. Had you not stocked them in the first aid kit, I wouldn't have use of my arm," Frank said.
Cody looked surprised--and grateful--at Frank's compliment. "Uh, it was nothing," he said as he turned his head slightly and just as slightly blushed.
"It is something," Frank said. "It went against all convention to strap those ice packs on. Even thin as they are, and they barely made a bulge under the bullet proof vest I was wearing, it went against all my training to strap those ice packs on. As you know, bullet proof vests are supposed to be worn securely strapped to bare flesh," Frank finished with just a slight emphasis on the words 'bare flesh'.
Cody continued to blush slightly. "I, uh," he stammered, knowing that Frank wanted him to explain just why he'd suggested--insisted, Cody's racing mind thought--of using the ice packs in the first place.
"Uhm, sir, well, I," Cody started but trailed off.
Frank looked at him, his glance full of understanding at having put Cody on the spot but Frank wanted Cody to explain his actions to the full team. Frank's team needed to know (especially Alex) that his life was also dependent on each of their actions, and now was as good a time as any to get the message across.
Cody picked up on the glance. Swallowing a bit harder than he should have, he said, "Well, sir, I noticed in the surveillance report that two of the drug-runners consistently used needle bullets. I, uh, did some research on those bullets and I didn't like what I saw," Cody said and risked a glance at Frank, who nodded slightly.
Cody let out a small sigh that he didn't know was in him. He continued. "My research showed that needle bullets are heat sensitive and tend to explode just before impact. The body's normal temperature is 98.6 degrees and I thought that if a particular body part was cooled sufficiently, the bullet would just pass through the body. Hopefully leaving as little damage as possible," Cody said.
"I will admit, I am impressed by your initiative, Cody. Your insistence at having my each of my shoulders and my chest covered by the ice packs in the van's medical kit was ingenius. And it very well saved my life," Frank said, looking at Cody, then looking at each of the team individually.
Monica put in, "We know the bullet didn't fragment. We found the bullet in your beamer. But what if the bullet had fragmented?"
Frank looked at her. Monica's face was strained, like the rest of them, a bit grey, indicating a lack of sleep on her part.
"Needle bullets are slippery, and medical personnel have a difficult time extracting the fragments. Sometimes, fragments from needle bullets slip into an artery or blood vessel and travel to the heart, where they lodge and can cause death," Frank said to her.
Monica just grew greyer in the face. Alex looked shocked as did Jake, who was valiantly trying to hide his distress.
"As you can see," Frank reminded them, "I'm going to be all right. I did lose a lot of blood--three pints--but Bloom's idea of helicoptering blood in from Lansing carried me through this crisis," he finished.
He looked at each of them in turn, and smiled. He could see relief in their faces, but their minds, he knew, were still in turmoil after the events of the past 48 hours.
He raised his left arm to the height of his shoulder. It hurt, badly, but he didn't let the pain show on his face. "When the stitches come out, and I've had physical therapy," he now told his team, "this arm will be as good as new," he finished.
His team looked at each other and they seemed to be reassured. A small cough from the doorway interrupted their conversation. A candy striper, Ann-Marie Hanson (or so said her name badge) stood there with a tray carrying a few half and half creamers, a small plate of rugalach, and a small steaming pot of hazelnut coffee.
"Excuse me for interrupting," her throaty voice told the team. "But it's time for afternoon snack!" Ann-Marie said cheerfully, coming into the room and placing the tray onto the small rolling table.
Monica couldn't quite hide her small grin. With Frank's continental dark looks, women were easily entranced by him and Monica was sure that "snack time" was not for all patients--just Frank Donovan and she was equally sure Frank had charmed her into providing his favorite flavored coffee, along with one of his favorite sweet foods.
Monica looked at Frank, who was now looking steadily at her. His eyes held something, a twinkle? No! A knowing look, Monica thought. Frank had arranged this snack time. He'd wanted to have his team see him eating and drinking like nothing happened. He was reassuring his team, which was why he'd also gone off to see the boy this afternoon, just a day after his emergency surgery. He was telling them he was all right.
Another nurse came into the room on Ann-Marie's heels. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it's also time for Frank to have his bandage changed. You four will have to wait in the waiting room." The team looked at Frank, who nodded. "I'll be fine," he said. "And you need not come back tonight. Take time off tonight and do something relaxing." Coming from Frank, this was not a simple request. This was a direct order and each of the team knew that while Frank wanted to reassure them, he also wanted them to relax a bit and get some of the stress off their shoulders.
"And Alex? Thank you for being there when I first woke up."
Alex looked a bit startled, but she nodded. "You're welcome. You had me worried."
"I know. But this job doesn't come without its dangers. And one of those dangers is that any member of this team might lose their life--especially those on the front lines," Frank said.
Alex nodded again. "It's so soon..." she started to say but trailed off.
"So soon after Keller's death, and almost in the same circumstances," Frank said. Alex could do nothing but nod again, an indication she was in sore need of working out her feelings.
"But this time, I lived and our quarry was captured," Frank told her bluntly. The nurse was beginning to look impatient at Frank's delaying her rounds.
He nodded at Alex and the rest of the team. They filed one by one out the door. Jake was last. "Jake?" Frank's voice, soft, called to him. Jake paused by the door.
"Sir?" he looked a bit apprehensive.
Frank looked at him, with a soft look in his eyes, knowing Jake thought he was about to be reprimanded. "You performed quite well, Jake. An impressive shot you did, taking out Alain Dubois but leaving him alive."
"You remember that?" Jake asked, surprised but quite pleased. Frank was not readily forthcoming with praise and Jake knew he had really earned Frank's respect with his actions.
"Yes, I did. The last thing I remember was being in the ER."
"About three hours after you were shot," Jake supplied. "What surprised me, and everyone else, was that you stayed conscious for that long. You were bleeding out badly despite the small bullet wound."
"I know. Took them hours to find blood for me," Frank said. "But you did what you had to do, and you did it without questioning my orders," Frank smiled at Jake. "I'm putting in a commendation for you and I'm granting you leave to take the advance munitions course at the Academy," he finished.
Jake let out a small gasp. "Sir! Uh, I meant, thank you."
"You're welcome," Frank said. "If you would excuse me," Frank glanced at the nurse's badge and saw her name was Chilton, "Nurse Chilton is holding out new bandages for my wound."
Jake nodded, and turned to the door. "Nice shooting, took him down but let him alive," he heard Frank say softly.
He turned back and gave a thumbs up to him. Frank smiled at him and made a goodbye motion with his hand. Jake turned back to the door and walked out. He heard the swish of the curtain as Nurse Chilton cordoned off the area around Frank's bed to change his bandages.
With his team's emotions temporarily attended to, Frank allowed Nurse Chilton to help him remove the light green surgical top he'd requisitioned from the day nurse. She'd washed her hands and had donned surgical gloves while he was talking to his team and she now fretted over him, clucking as she gently pulled off the bandages.
Her scent was warm--a body lotion Frank couldn't place--but the smell was pleasant and mixed with the smell of the hazelnut coffee he'd had Ann-Marie bring him.
As Nurse Chilton leaned over him concentrating on cleaning his wound, Frank was overwhelmed with joy at being alive and he smiled a small Mona Lisa smile. Yesterday, in the ER, when he'd was wavering on the edge of unconsciousness, he'd not hesitated for a moment when he'd realized there was a blood dilemma and he was one of two patients who were needing the last of the hospital's O type blood.
At that time, lying on the gurney, the sound of scissors neatly clipping off his clothes, Frank had somehow known what to do. His mind was whirling, fading in and out to greyness and he'd had trouble thinking. But he'd also known the boy needed the blood more than he did. He had been ready to give his life for the boy's. He'd also known that he could survive until fresh blood was brought in. A coma, he'd thought at the time, being surprised as the thought of the little boy from Florida being attacked by an alligator then losing a lot of blood. That little boy was still in a light coma, months after the attack.
And this afternoon, he'd talked to Danny. Frank had been a bit miffed when he'd been requested to use a wheelchair but his irritation had smoothed over as he realized Danny was paralyzed. Seeing someone who could actively contribute to society while in a wheelchair was something Danny had needed to see.
Danny's liver had been injured in the car crash. The force of the seat belt had crushed his liver much in the same way the model Nikki Taylor had been injured the previous summer. Although the doctors had taken out half his liver, Frank knew that organ could regenerate and inside of a year, Danny's liver would be whole again.
His legs were a different problem. The accident had completely severed his spine and Danny was paralyzed from the waist down. Danny was a bit too young for the doctors to determine if every function from his waist down was impaired, and if that was so, Danny would have an extremely difficult time in dealing with two disabilities.
Which was why Frank had chosen to tell Danny he was a psychologist with the Justice Department. Young boys were interested in cops and robbers--Frank had played the game himself in kindergarten--but he'd also known Danny needed a role model. Something he could pin his hopes on. He would never be able to walk. And so Danny needed to know that despite his paralysis, he would be able to contribute to society in a positive manner.
And a psychologist working for the Justice Department helping to catch the bad guys would be intriguing enough to pique Danny's interest, and help Danny get through these first dismal days after learning he was paralyzed. Frank was determined to talk to Danny on a daily basis, telling him about the cleaner parts of his job, i.e., how he caught the bad guys using criminal psychology. Danny would need a distraction and his interest in Frank's job would possibly provide Danny with the kind of distraction he would need.
But there was also Danny's father. Danny's father had been hospitalized with a broken leg and severe facial lacerations. Frank had taken it upon himself to tell Danny of his condition--the boy was old enough to be told (he was ten) but Frank knew as he'd looked into Danny's brown-flecked green eyes that he would have to deal with Danny's father at some point. Quite possibly, an angry Mister Montalto.
As Nurse Chilton finished up bandaging his shoulder, Frank was surprised to hear her clucking softly.
"Everything all right?" Frank asked softly.
"Hmm? Oh, yes! It's going to heal quite nicely. The surgeon used very fine surgical thread to close this wound. You'll barely have a scar--a thin white line," she said as she finished taping the bandage, stood back and pulled off her gloves. Dropping them into the smaller second compartment of her portable bandage station, she smiled at him, then went to wash her hands again.
Frank sat up. Ann-Marie came behind the curtain and helped Frank put on the surgeon's top he'd requisitioned. After fluffing the pillow for him, she rolled the cart over to the bed as Frank leaned back.
"Here you go, Mister Donovan," she said.
"Frank. It's Frank," he told her, and smiled at her. Ann-Marie blushed a little. "Thank you for getting me hazelnut coffee. I can't stand the hospital issued coffee," he said.
"Isn't it gross?" Ann-Marie asked, blushing again, for using the word 'gross' indicated her young age and she very much wanted to be older than her 19 years.
"Gross is an understatement," Frank said, to alleviate her worries about the usage of the word.
She giggled. Frank smiled. Nurse Chilton turned from the sink and admonished, "Now you two, giggling too much will only pull at his stitches, so stop it!" But she, too, giggled. Laughter was infectious and soon the three of them were laughing.
After a minute, the laughter died down and Frank took up the coffee cup which Ann-Marie had helpfully filled for him.
"Get some rest before dinner, Frank," Nurse Chilton said, her blond hair shining in the track lighting of the hospital room.
"Yes ma'am!" Frank said, giving a mock salute. Nurse Chilton giggled again along with Ann-Marie. She waved to Ann-Marie. "We've got other patients to attend to," she said as the two women went out the door.
Frank leaned back into the fluffed up pillows and gave a small sigh despite his best efforts not to sigh. He sipped the hazelnut coffee and thought about what he was going to tell Danny tomorrow. He'd re-tell about the sailboat drug runners and he'd tell Danny about how he'd figured how the drugs were being brought into the country.
Finishing the small pot of coffee and the plate of rugalach, Frank leaned back deeper into the pillow and closed his eyes. A small smile played over his face as his thoughts slowed down. His breathing began to even out and in a few minutes, he was asleep.
Another Frank Fragment, Part Five: The Team Sees Frank
Alex was pacing. This was a private hospital room, and spacious at that. Alex had been amazed at the level of personality this room provided. Instead of the bright fluroescent lights, there was track lighting. Over the bed, naturally, there was fluorescent lighting controlled by a switch, in case the patient needed emergency services.
There were plants in the room, big tropical plants for which Alex had no name. The walls of the room were painted a soothing green, a calming color, she knew, from her surreptious reading of Frank's psychology books. She knew Frank would admonish her upon his return to the Nest: she'd been reading his psych books in his absence, trying to make sense of this horrible situation.
Frank knew when someone had been in his office. He noted the precise location of everything on his desk and he could tell if someone had moved anything on his desk even a fraction of an inch.
But Alex desperately needed to lick her wounds. She'd lost Keller in a situation like this--to gunshot wounds--and she needed to know how to handle the situation for she was hopelessly out of her league.
Cody, Jake and Monica looked anxiously on, knowing what Alex was going through. Though it had only been a few short months, each member of the team, in their own way, had become dependent upon Frank Donovan to guide them, to be there for them, to solve the problems they found themselves in.
And the desperately needed for him to reassure them he was all right.
"Is he being examined?" Jake asked, his dark eyes flashing back and forth from Monica to Alex. "I mean, he had surgery yesterday to repair the breached artery."
Monica, being the closest in training to Frank's background, was looking at him steadily.
"Doubt it. Frank, as you know, would want us to wait. He will say he is fine," Monica said.
This did nothing to alleviate Jake's feeling of anxiety. "Well, then, where is he?" Jake queried. "What could he possibly be doing in this hospital? There's nothing here!"
Alex had continued pacing. "He's gone to see the boy to whom he gave the blood to," she said softly, in awe of herself for guessing the motives of the very elusive Frank Donovan.
"What's boy? What are you talking about?" Cody asked.
Alex was momentarily confused. Then she slapped her hand to her head. She hadn't told her teammates about Frank's actions of the day before. She paused to consider her words.
"Frank. Well, he..." she trailed off as Frank's voice came up behind her.
"Frank what?" his voice asked from behind her. Alex turned around, not able to hide the relief in her face.
"Frank!" she virtually squealed. The rest of the team looked at her in surprise but they too were unable to conceal their joy at seeing Frank alive and quite well, albeit in a wheelchair.
"Hospital policy," Frank said, explaining the wheelchair.
Nurse Romano cut in, "patients are allowed to walk on their own floors, but going between floors they are required to use wheelchair assistance," she said cheerfully as she set the wheelchair's brakes and Frank levered himself out of the wheelchair. Earlier that morning he'd requisitioned a surgical outfit--light green and quite complimentary to his colouring--to replace the hospital johnny he'd woken up and found himself in. Too drafty, he'd told the day nurse, smiling at her. She'd smiled back and told him she'd requisition one, especially if he was going to see Danny Montalto.
Frank hid his grimace of pain. The surgery on his shoulder had taken more out of him than he wanted to freely admit. He was feeling the same way he knew Alex was feeling: he desperately needed to lick his wounds, and lick his wounds in private. But he was not the type to display his emotions in public.
Standing now, he turned and addressed Nurse Romano. "Thank you for assisting me," he said as he looked Nurse Romano full in the eyes. His dark brown eyes--just the color of cognac amber, Nurse Romano thought--twinkled at her. For her part, Nurse Romano blushed slightly and smiled.
"Not at all," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow? Danny will be expecting you to tell the rest of your story," she said as she unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair and looked Frank in the eyes.
"Absolutely. I'll come down same time tomorrow," Frank said as Nurse Romano smiled and turned with the wheelchair to the door of the hospital room.
At the door, she turned and said softly, "You know, I know Danny appreciates what you told him about his condition. It isn't my place to tell patients their prognosis, but I felt Danny should know...and I didn't know how to tell him," she said.
"It's hard to relay that kind of information. But Danny's a good sport, he'll pull through," Frank said as the rest of his team exchanged quizzical glances at each other. Of the four members of the team, only Alex had any inkling of what Frank was talking about.
But Frank wasn't about to let his good deed go noticed. He was the strong, silent type and he was determined not to let his team look at him in awe regarding his actions concerning Danny Montalto.
In high school, Frank had studied genetics a bit. He'd become interested when taking a high school psychology course. At the time, he'd thought the course to be appropriate--for how better to teach kids about themselves than to let them explore themselves? Psychology courses were packed in the high school curriculum; it was the one course that was guaranteed to have full enrollment, and even the many-times stressed Chicago high school teachers (who were forever striking their employers) couldn't keep up with the demand.
Frank had not been surprised to learn that sometimes, genetics is a crap shoot. At times, a child might be expected to be a perfect blend of his parents: a 50-50 mix. But Frank was a male replica of his mother: dark haired, eyes that could convey depth, happiness, sadness, or any emotion he wanted to convey. His continental good looks had won him the admiration of women, and his intelligence had won him the admiration of men.
There was nothing in Frank of his father, except his ambition to excel at the game of chess--be it psychological chess or the real thing. For Frank's father had been a master chess player, and from him Frank had inherited his intelligence.
In this, Frank now mused, he'd inherited the best of his parents: his mother's dark, good looks and his father's intelligence.
This intelligence he used now to discern his team's mood.
"As you can all see, I'm in good condition," he said, looking at each of his team in turn, his brown eyes seeming to pierce each team member's soul.
"You were saying, Alex?" Frank's voice held an edge of something sharp, telling Alex he wasn't in the mood to have his good deeds noted by the rest of the team.
"I, uh, was saying, that you look remarkable for someone who's been shot. You do know John Upton was captured. He's in the hospital in Peoria, and erhm," her voice trailed off.
Frank knew what she meant and he voiced it. "His privates aren't going to be working," Frank said. The four members of the team gasped.
"How did you know that?" Cody asked.
Frank glanced at him. "I was not so far gone that I couldn't hear what was being said to me. You should know by now I remember everything that's said to me," Frank said.
Cody looked guilty. He stammered, "Uh, sir, about what I said to you when I was, uh, trying to stanch the blood..." his voice also trailed off.
"I know what you meant," Frank said and gave Cody a look which was at the same time forgiving and understanding. Cody's face relaxed a bit, and Frank noted Cody was in need of a vacation--all the team needed a vacation. But right now, what they needed most was reassurance. The team needed reassurance that Frank Donovan wasn't going to be six feet under in a few days time.
The artery in his shoulder had been nicked. Despite the smallness of the gunshot wound, Frank had bled internally, losing three pints of blood--nearly half his supply. Nurse Romano had told him the story had gone round the hospital (there were even jokes about how Frank was half-robot making the rounds as well, she'd whispered into his ear) about how Frank had managed to stay conscious for so long after losing that much blood.
Frank also knew what each of his team was going through--the emotions, the turmoil in their minds. They needed to come to terms with this event: their very nearly losing a second boss to death in almost the exact same way as Keller had died. As Frank had guessed, Alex was having the most difficult time with her emotions. No doubt, she'd been at the nest last night after leaving the hospital, and no doubt she'd been at the punching bag.
Keller and her had started a romantic relationship shortly before Keller had been gunned down in a warehouse. He'd died in Alex's arms and despite Alex's feelings for Carlos, Frank knew that she had attached herself to Keller...and to himself in an older brother sort of way.
The strained look in Alex's face and the darkish smudges under her eyes testified to Alex's stress. The fingernails on both her hands were bitten down and Frank could see red marks on the back of her hands where she'd wrung her hands out of frustration and turmoil.
Frank noted this and made a mental note to talk to her after he got out of the hospital.
Frank now stood and looked at each of his team members in turn. Each seemed relieved that Frank was okay.
"I'd like to thank you, Cody, for the suggestion of the small ice packs strapped to my chest and shoulders. Had you not stocked them in the first aid kit, I wouldn't have use of my arm," Frank said.
Cody looked surprised--and grateful--at Frank's compliment. "Uh, it was nothing," he said as he turned his head slightly and just as slightly blushed.
"It is something," Frank said. "It went against all convention to strap those ice packs on. Even thin as they are, and they barely made a bulge under the bullet proof vest I was wearing, it went against all my training to strap those ice packs on. As you know, bullet proof vests are supposed to be worn securely strapped to bare flesh," Frank finished with just a slight emphasis on the words 'bare flesh'.
Cody continued to blush slightly. "I, uh," he stammered, knowing that Frank wanted him to explain just why he'd suggested--insisted, Cody's racing mind thought--of using the ice packs in the first place.
"Uhm, sir, well, I," Cody started but trailed off.
Frank looked at him, his glance full of understanding at having put Cody on the spot but Frank wanted Cody to explain his actions to the full team. Frank's team needed to know (especially Alex) that his life was also dependent on each of their actions, and now was as good a time as any to get the message across.
Cody picked up on the glance. Swallowing a bit harder than he should have, he said, "Well, sir, I noticed in the surveillance report that two of the drug-runners consistently used needle bullets. I, uh, did some research on those bullets and I didn't like what I saw," Cody said and risked a glance at Frank, who nodded slightly.
Cody let out a small sigh that he didn't know was in him. He continued. "My research showed that needle bullets are heat sensitive and tend to explode just before impact. The body's normal temperature is 98.6 degrees and I thought that if a particular body part was cooled sufficiently, the bullet would just pass through the body. Hopefully leaving as little damage as possible," Cody said.
"I will admit, I am impressed by your initiative, Cody. Your insistence at having my each of my shoulders and my chest covered by the ice packs in the van's medical kit was ingenius. And it very well saved my life," Frank said, looking at Cody, then looking at each of the team individually.
Monica put in, "We know the bullet didn't fragment. We found the bullet in your beamer. But what if the bullet had fragmented?"
Frank looked at her. Monica's face was strained, like the rest of them, a bit grey, indicating a lack of sleep on her part.
"Needle bullets are slippery, and medical personnel have a difficult time extracting the fragments. Sometimes, fragments from needle bullets slip into an artery or blood vessel and travel to the heart, where they lodge and can cause death," Frank said to her.
Monica just grew greyer in the face. Alex looked shocked as did Jake, who was valiantly trying to hide his distress.
"As you can see," Frank reminded them, "I'm going to be all right. I did lose a lot of blood--three pints--but Bloom's idea of helicoptering blood in from Lansing carried me through this crisis," he finished.
He looked at each of them in turn, and smiled. He could see relief in their faces, but their minds, he knew, were still in turmoil after the events of the past 48 hours.
He raised his left arm to the height of his shoulder. It hurt, badly, but he didn't let the pain show on his face. "When the stitches come out, and I've had physical therapy," he now told his team, "this arm will be as good as new," he finished.
His team looked at each other and they seemed to be reassured. A small cough from the doorway interrupted their conversation. A candy striper, Ann-Marie Hanson (or so said her name badge) stood there with a tray carrying a few half and half creamers, a small plate of rugalach, and a small steaming pot of hazelnut coffee.
"Excuse me for interrupting," her throaty voice told the team. "But it's time for afternoon snack!" Ann-Marie said cheerfully, coming into the room and placing the tray onto the small rolling table.
Monica couldn't quite hide her small grin. With Frank's continental dark looks, women were easily entranced by him and Monica was sure that "snack time" was not for all patients--just Frank Donovan and she was equally sure Frank had charmed her into providing his favorite flavored coffee, along with one of his favorite sweet foods.
Monica looked at Frank, who was now looking steadily at her. His eyes held something, a twinkle? No! A knowing look, Monica thought. Frank had arranged this snack time. He'd wanted to have his team see him eating and drinking like nothing happened. He was reassuring his team, which was why he'd also gone off to see the boy this afternoon, just a day after his emergency surgery. He was telling them he was all right.
Another nurse came into the room on Ann-Marie's heels. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it's also time for Frank to have his bandage changed. You four will have to wait in the waiting room." The team looked at Frank, who nodded. "I'll be fine," he said. "And you need not come back tonight. Take time off tonight and do something relaxing." Coming from Frank, this was not a simple request. This was a direct order and each of the team knew that while Frank wanted to reassure them, he also wanted them to relax a bit and get some of the stress off their shoulders.
"And Alex? Thank you for being there when I first woke up."
Alex looked a bit startled, but she nodded. "You're welcome. You had me worried."
"I know. But this job doesn't come without its dangers. And one of those dangers is that any member of this team might lose their life--especially those on the front lines," Frank said.
Alex nodded again. "It's so soon..." she started to say but trailed off.
"So soon after Keller's death, and almost in the same circumstances," Frank said. Alex could do nothing but nod again, an indication she was in sore need of working out her feelings.
"But this time, I lived and our quarry was captured," Frank told her bluntly. The nurse was beginning to look impatient at Frank's delaying her rounds.
He nodded at Alex and the rest of the team. They filed one by one out the door. Jake was last. "Jake?" Frank's voice, soft, called to him. Jake paused by the door.
"Sir?" he looked a bit apprehensive.
Frank looked at him, with a soft look in his eyes, knowing Jake thought he was about to be reprimanded. "You performed quite well, Jake. An impressive shot you did, taking out Alain Dubois but leaving him alive."
"You remember that?" Jake asked, surprised but quite pleased. Frank was not readily forthcoming with praise and Jake knew he had really earned Frank's respect with his actions.
"Yes, I did. The last thing I remember was being in the ER."
"About three hours after you were shot," Jake supplied. "What surprised me, and everyone else, was that you stayed conscious for that long. You were bleeding out badly despite the small bullet wound."
"I know. Took them hours to find blood for me," Frank said. "But you did what you had to do, and you did it without questioning my orders," Frank smiled at Jake. "I'm putting in a commendation for you and I'm granting you leave to take the advance munitions course at the Academy," he finished.
Jake let out a small gasp. "Sir! Uh, I meant, thank you."
"You're welcome," Frank said. "If you would excuse me," Frank glanced at the nurse's badge and saw her name was Chilton, "Nurse Chilton is holding out new bandages for my wound."
Jake nodded, and turned to the door. "Nice shooting, took him down but let him alive," he heard Frank say softly.
He turned back and gave a thumbs up to him. Frank smiled at him and made a goodbye motion with his hand. Jake turned back to the door and walked out. He heard the swish of the curtain as Nurse Chilton cordoned off the area around Frank's bed to change his bandages.
With his team's emotions temporarily attended to, Frank allowed Nurse Chilton to help him remove the light green surgical top he'd requisitioned from the day nurse. She'd washed her hands and had donned surgical gloves while he was talking to his team and she now fretted over him, clucking as she gently pulled off the bandages.
Her scent was warm--a body lotion Frank couldn't place--but the smell was pleasant and mixed with the smell of the hazelnut coffee he'd had Ann-Marie bring him.
As Nurse Chilton leaned over him concentrating on cleaning his wound, Frank was overwhelmed with joy at being alive and he smiled a small Mona Lisa smile. Yesterday, in the ER, when he'd was wavering on the edge of unconsciousness, he'd not hesitated for a moment when he'd realized there was a blood dilemma and he was one of two patients who were needing the last of the hospital's O type blood.
At that time, lying on the gurney, the sound of scissors neatly clipping off his clothes, Frank had somehow known what to do. His mind was whirling, fading in and out to greyness and he'd had trouble thinking. But he'd also known the boy needed the blood more than he did. He had been ready to give his life for the boy's. He'd also known that he could survive until fresh blood was brought in. A coma, he'd thought at the time, being surprised as the thought of the little boy from Florida being attacked by an alligator then losing a lot of blood. That little boy was still in a light coma, months after the attack.
And this afternoon, he'd talked to Danny. Frank had been a bit miffed when he'd been requested to use a wheelchair but his irritation had smoothed over as he realized Danny was paralyzed. Seeing someone who could actively contribute to society while in a wheelchair was something Danny had needed to see.
Danny's liver had been injured in the car crash. The force of the seat belt had crushed his liver much in the same way the model Nikki Taylor had been injured the previous summer. Although the doctors had taken out half his liver, Frank knew that organ could regenerate and inside of a year, Danny's liver would be whole again.
His legs were a different problem. The accident had completely severed his spine and Danny was paralyzed from the waist down. Danny was a bit too young for the doctors to determine if every function from his waist down was impaired, and if that was so, Danny would have an extremely difficult time in dealing with two disabilities.
Which was why Frank had chosen to tell Danny he was a psychologist with the Justice Department. Young boys were interested in cops and robbers--Frank had played the game himself in kindergarten--but he'd also known Danny needed a role model. Something he could pin his hopes on. He would never be able to walk. And so Danny needed to know that despite his paralysis, he would be able to contribute to society in a positive manner.
And a psychologist working for the Justice Department helping to catch the bad guys would be intriguing enough to pique Danny's interest, and help Danny get through these first dismal days after learning he was paralyzed. Frank was determined to talk to Danny on a daily basis, telling him about the cleaner parts of his job, i.e., how he caught the bad guys using criminal psychology. Danny would need a distraction and his interest in Frank's job would possibly provide Danny with the kind of distraction he would need.
But there was also Danny's father. Danny's father had been hospitalized with a broken leg and severe facial lacerations. Frank had taken it upon himself to tell Danny of his condition--the boy was old enough to be told (he was ten) but Frank knew as he'd looked into Danny's brown-flecked green eyes that he would have to deal with Danny's father at some point. Quite possibly, an angry Mister Montalto.
As Nurse Chilton finished up bandaging his shoulder, Frank was surprised to hear her clucking softly.
"Everything all right?" Frank asked softly.
"Hmm? Oh, yes! It's going to heal quite nicely. The surgeon used very fine surgical thread to close this wound. You'll barely have a scar--a thin white line," she said as she finished taping the bandage, stood back and pulled off her gloves. Dropping them into the smaller second compartment of her portable bandage station, she smiled at him, then went to wash her hands again.
Frank sat up. Ann-Marie came behind the curtain and helped Frank put on the surgeon's top he'd requisitioned. After fluffing the pillow for him, she rolled the cart over to the bed as Frank leaned back.
"Here you go, Mister Donovan," she said.
"Frank. It's Frank," he told her, and smiled at her. Ann-Marie blushed a little. "Thank you for getting me hazelnut coffee. I can't stand the hospital issued coffee," he said.
"Isn't it gross?" Ann-Marie asked, blushing again, for using the word 'gross' indicated her young age and she very much wanted to be older than her 19 years.
"Gross is an understatement," Frank said, to alleviate her worries about the usage of the word.
She giggled. Frank smiled. Nurse Chilton turned from the sink and admonished, "Now you two, giggling too much will only pull at his stitches, so stop it!" But she, too, giggled. Laughter was infectious and soon the three of them were laughing.
After a minute, the laughter died down and Frank took up the coffee cup which Ann-Marie had helpfully filled for him.
"Get some rest before dinner, Frank," Nurse Chilton said, her blond hair shining in the track lighting of the hospital room.
"Yes ma'am!" Frank said, giving a mock salute. Nurse Chilton giggled again along with Ann-Marie. She waved to Ann-Marie. "We've got other patients to attend to," she said as the two women went out the door.
Frank leaned back into the fluffed up pillows and gave a small sigh despite his best efforts not to sigh. He sipped the hazelnut coffee and thought about what he was going to tell Danny tomorrow. He'd re-tell about the sailboat drug runners and he'd tell Danny about how he'd figured how the drugs were being brought into the country.
Finishing the small pot of coffee and the plate of rugalach, Frank leaned back deeper into the pillow and closed his eyes. A small smile played over his face as his thoughts slowed down. His breathing began to even out and in a few minutes, he was asleep.