Chapter 2
"Male, mid-thirties, GSW, upper-left abdomen, unresponsive . . ."
As soon as she sees her patient, Christie worries for Diana. She recognizes the tattered remains of the blouse used as a bandage and knows she must be nearby. As she works to assess her patient, her brain demands: How did this happen?.
"Did he come in with anyone?" she asks the triage nurse.
"No. FDNY brought him in solo."
Diana must have come with someone else.
"I need their report!" Christie calls out as an alarm sounds and she must deal with Neal's plummeting blood pressure.
A nurse hurries in with the paramedic's notes.
"We need to find where he's bleeding from," Christie orders her team. They work feverishly over Neal's limp and bloody body.
I hope she isn't waiting by herself.
Another alarm sounds as Neal coughs and gasps for breath.
Neal isn't an agent; he doesn't carry a gun.
"We need to intubate!"
Something had to have gone horribly wrong.
"Did the bullet hit his lung?"
Neal laughs and jokes; he's a great cook.
"Can we do an MRI?"
The anklet isn't there; they must have been undercover. I can't remember Di talking about a new assignment.
"No time! Do an ultrasound."
Neal shouldn't be in her ER bleeding out.
"Read me what you've got," Christie orders the nurse with the report.
The nurse calls out the information as Christie watches the ultrasound.
"Name is Neal Caffrey, works with the FBI." Christie already knows this, of course, but she says nothing. "He was shot maybe 30 minutes before they got to him," the nurse continues. "Paramedic says another agent, Berrigan, slowed the bleeding. He was conscious for about 10 minutes after the injury."
The floor is slippery with Neal's blood. A tiny part of Christie wishes she could cry for her friend, but the doctor keeps working.
"There it is," she calls out. "Bullet nicked the spleen. Blood in the cavity is pressing on the lung. We need a chest tube!"
The trauma team works to insert the tube. As soon as it's placed, Neal's breathing improves.
Diana was right there with him, she helped to save his life. How brave she was. How scared she must be now.
"We need to push fluids," she directs. "He needs to be stable enough for surgery. Let them know he's coming."
Christie and her team work. Neal's blood pressure stabilizes, he's intubated and whisked upstairs to surgery. With relief, she strips off her gloves and bloodstained scrub shirt. She grabs a fresh shirt for herself and another for Diana, just in case, and heads out to the ER waiting room.
She spies Diana, leaning against the wall near the ER entrance, watching the doors as if she stares hard enough she can make herself see through them. She's wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the NYPD logo.
"Di?" Christie says gently, touching her partner's arm.
Diana turns, a frightened look on her face. "Is he . . .?" She stops, changes the question. "How is he?"
"Let's go sit down," Christie suggests, guiding Diana to one of the doctor/patient conference rooms off the main ER waiting room. This is where they take you when they give you bad news, Diana thinks.
"It was rocky there for a while," Christie explains. "He lost a lot of blood." Diana looks down at her hands, remembering the feel of Neal's blood oozing over them. "You did good, slowing the bleeding the way you did." She gives Diana a reassuring smile. "We got him stable enough for surgery. When they open him up they'll know more." Diana cringes at the doctors choice of words; Christie tries to soften the tone. "They'll be able to see and repair the damage," she concludes gently.
"Is he going to be alright?"
"He's got the best surgeon in this hospital. I made sure of that." Christie gives Diana's hand a hard squeeze. "I think he's going to be just fine."
Diana heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"It's what I do," Christie says simply. She hears noise out side the door. A nurse sticks her head in.
"Doctor, we need you in room two."
Christie stands, gives Diana a gentle kiss and heads for the door. "Someone will be here as soon as we know anything. Do you need anything?"
"A phone. I've got to make some calls."
ooOoo
Jones arrives before Diana has a chance to make her first call. She shoots him a startled look; he's here awfully fast.
"I was in the office when Hughes found out," he explains. Diana nods in understanding.
"So, how is he?" Jones asks cautiously.
"In surgery." The answer is short and flat. Clinton can tell Diana is avoiding the pain.
"He's going to be okay." Jones sits down in a chair near Diana. She nods in response.
"Was Peter in the office?" she asks.
"He was having dinner with Elizabeth."
Diana opens the cellphone Christie gave her, resignation clear on her face. She really doesn't want to make this call, not to Peter. Jones reaches out his hand to stop her.
"Don't worry. I called him before I left the office. I imagine he'll be here soon."
"Is he . . .?" Diana stops, mid-thought. Is he upset? Worried? Of course – it's only natural. He and Neal are friends. She looks across the small room at her friend.
"I didn't trust him," she says, so quietly Jones can hardly hear her.
"What?"
"Neal. I didn't trust him, Clinton." Her voice is louder now, filled with self-reproach. "He was late. He convinced Markus that he didn't care what happened to me – and he convinced me, too. I thought he was pulling something. I thought he was going to steal the manuscript for himself."
Jones holds up his hands, stopping her before she can continue. "It's understandable. He's a con man; a good one." He smiles, almost in spite of himself. "And his track record isn't the greatest."
"You trust him," Diana says bitterly.
Jones looks at her, apparently at loss for words. He can't explain how or why he trusts Caffrey. It's complicated.
"Neal kept Markus from killing me on the spot," Diana continues, needing to tell the whole story now. "He got me out of a locked room. He found a safe place for us to hide." There is no stopping her now. "He stayed behind me the whole time. I thought he was trying to get away with something, hide something. He was protecting me. He . . ." She stops, unable to go on. She looks at her hands, remembering the feel of Neal's icy skin – and of his warm blood.
"He had your back."
Peter Burke is standing in the doorway. The look on is face is anxious, worried, and yet so comforting Diana can barely hold back the tears that once again threaten to ruin her carefully built facade.
"Diana, tell me everything that happened, exactly as it happened," he directs her.
Diana regains her equilibrium as she methodically reports the events leading up to this moment. By the time she is through, she is once again the cool, collected FBI agent Peter knows she is.
"So, Timmerman let it all go to hell," Peter states. He paces across the small space to expend the nervous energy building inside him. "I am going to see he catches hell for this!"
"Boss," Diana begins.
"No!' Peter is emphatic. "He lost control of the whole thing," he continues. "Diana, you did what you had to; Neal did what he had to."
He stops as the door opens; Elizabeth and Mozzie have arrived. Elizabeth goes straight to her husband, enveloping him in a supportive hug.
"Hon," is all she says, it's all she needs to say.
El pulls away from her husband to look sympathetically at Mozzie, who hovers by the door, uncomfortable and uncertain. She reaches out her hand and tugs him into the room, into the circle of friends.
"So, how is he? Do we know?" El keeps holding Mozzie's hand.
"I talked to the nurse when I came in," Peter begins. "I guess it was pretty serious, but they got him to surgery. We should know more soon."
"Christie thinks he's going to be fine." Diana comes to Mozzie's other side.
"Christie's here?" Jones asks.
"She was on duty when they brought him in." Diana smiles. "I think she's still on, poor thing."
"Doctor Lady Suit is here?" Mozzie's look is piercing.
"Yeah, she took care of him," Diana says with pride.
"Good." Mozzie sits next to Jones.
Peter and Elizabeth sit side by side on the sofa across from Diana. The small room is now full.
"How long has it been?" Peter checks his watch, as if it might answer his question.
Diana looks at the clock on the wall. "About an hour," she says.
A knock startles them all. An aide sticks his head around the partially open door.
"Mrs. Burke?"
"Yes?" Elizabeth feels all eyes focusing on her.
"I found a bigger room for your group to wait in," the aide explains. "There's a room you can use off the surgical waiting area."
"I made a few calls before Mozzie and I came," El explains. "I thought we'd need a bigger room.
ooOoo
Hour two brings no news. Diana pages through one magazine after another; she seems unreasonably interested in an article titled 5 Easy Meals for Busy School Days. Jones has taken control of the television remote, flipping monotonously from one station to the next, never staying on one for very long. Peter seems unable to stay still for more than a few minutes; he always needs another cup of coffee or to make one more phone call. Elizabeth stays close to Mozzie, occasionally they talk – most of the time they say nothing at all.
Sara Ellis quietly enters the room. Standing immobile, surveying the people gathered, she looks as elegant and sophisticated as ever in a designer suit and towering heels. Yet, somehow she looks lost and awkward, like she doesn't belong here among Neal's friends. Elizabeth smiles as Diana walks quickly to the other woman and speaks a few soft words. Soon they are seated next to one another. They don't talk – they wait.
Hour three, and time is suddenly the enemy. Frightened and fertile imaginations picture disaster in the surgical suite. Jones gives up the television to stand and stare out the window at the cityscape, watching the first gray hints of dawn on the horizon. Peter gives up both coffee and phone calls; instead he sits close to his wife. Tension fairly vibrates off him. Sara moves near Mozzie, they speak quietly together; she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. Diana stares at the stubbornly closed door, willing someone with news, any news, to come in.
The door opens. Blake and another agent stand frozen by the sets of eyes focused on them, like deer in headlights. Jones invites them in with a wave of his hand. The three move to a far corner of the room and, for lack of any more pressing topic, discuss basketball.
Hour four is fast approaching when Christie enters the room, followed by a short, dark man who resembles a cross between Cheech Marin and Danny DeVito. From the white coat and surgical scrubs, this must be the "the best surgeon in the hospital." Not quite what Diana pictured, she thinks.
"This is Dr. Mendes," Christie introduces. "He's Neal's surgeon. I'm just here to interpret what he says into language you might actually understand." Christie smiles at Diana. If she's joking, maybe the news isn't horrible, Diana thinks.
"Do you mind if I sit down?" the surgeon asks with a tired smile. "It's been a long night." He finds a vacant chair and drops wearily into it. Looking around the room at the people gathered he smiles again. "There sure are a lot of you," he comments, "but law enforcement always stands vigil for one of their own."
Law enforcement? Diana actually has to hold back a chuckle. If he only knew.
"Doctor," Peter prods impatiently, "how is Neal?"
"Mr. Caffrey is one very lucky man. Once we stopped the bleeding and were able to see things clearly . . . Well, except for some muscle and soft tissue damage the bullet missed most everything but the nick in the spleen. I fixed that," the doctor says proudly. "I believe he should make a full recovery."
The relief sweeping the room was tangible.
"When can he have visitors?" Elizabeth asks hopefully.
"Not for a few hours, and then I'd like to limit it to family." Dr. Mendes looks thoughtfully around the room.
Christie does chuckle. In this room they are all Neal's family. "We'll sort it out," she assures the surgeon.
ooOoo
Peter and Mozzie are Neal's first visitors. They are as close to family as Neal appears to have. The visit is short but satisfying – Neal, even in his weakened and drugged state, is already flirting with the nurses.
Slowly their waiting room begins to empty. Blake and the other agent head to the office to share the good news about Neal's condition. Jones heads home to shower and change. Elizabeth needs to go home and let the dog out, though she promises she will be back as soon as she can. Sara explains that she needs to be in court that morning, but will be back the minute she is through testifying.
Peter, Diana and Mozzie are left alone. For a few minutes they just look at one another.
"Don't you think you should go home, get some sleep?" Peter suggests to Diana. "It looks like the worst is over."
"And I'd really like to put on some clean clothes," Diana agrees. "Christie should be off duty now."
On cue, the door opens and Christie comes in. "You can't go yet," she informs Diana. "I was just in to see our patient and he wants to see you. He was pretty insistent."
"Me?" Diana is flabbergasted. "Why does he want to see me?"
"He didn't tell me. But you really better go on up there, I don't think he's going to rest until he talks to you. And he needs to rest."
ooOoo
Diana is glad she knows Neal is doing well, because to her he looks awful. The room is filled with machines and IV's and they all seem to be attached to him. Surrounded by all this Neal seems pale and fragile – diminished somehow.
The smile, however, is all Caffrey.
"Hey, Neal!"
"Hey, Diana!" His voice is raspy and hard to hear. She pulls a chair up close to his head.
"How are you feeling?" Diana assumes he feels like crap.
"I feel," he draws a shaky breath. "I feel like I'm not dead. Thanks for that."
Thanks? That was the last thing Diana expected. Or wanted. If she had just trusted him . . .
"I didn't steal it," he continues.
"What?" She can't believe they are having this conversation, not now.
"I know you thought so."
"No, I . . ." His knowing look stops her. "Well, maybe it crossed my mind," she amends.
"I understand," he says quietly. He looks so exhausted, Diana just wants to end this .
"I would have thought so, too." Neal obviously isn't through yet.
"Neal," she says firmly, "you saved my life, too. I'm really sorry I didn't trust you. You were there when it mattered."
He is silent for so long, Diana wonders if he's fallen asleep. She gets up to leave.
"I guess I did save your life," he says with a grin. "So we're even?"
She smile back. "We're even," she agrees. "Now I'm going home. Go to sleep."
His eyes are already shut.