A/N: Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it! We hope you have a lovely holiday :).
Disclaimer: We own nothing.
Warning A: Bit of some questionable language in this chapter. Just saying.
Warning B: I happen to be a bit of a Yankees fan (Please hold the tomatoes). It may be a bit off topic now, but when you reach my little scene at the end of the chapter please keep in mind I mean no offense for either mentioned team. Really. wink
Enjoy!
Jack groaned as he poured himself a cup of stale, lukewarm coffee from a small coffee room in the hospital. It was nice that the hospital offered families free coffee and pastries as they waited for word on their loved ones but it would be even nicer if they refilled the damn thing every once and awhile. Jack grimaced at the bitter taste as he drank the whole cup in one gulp.
He needed the caffeine so he poured himself another cup. He had spent about thirty minutes in Luke's room before deciding he needed some fresh air. The office had paged him twice but Jack hadn't bothered to call back yet.
He was sure his answering machine at home was full of concerned messages from the captain. Jack slowly sipped the coffee this time and headed back towards Luke's room. He'd finish this cup and then head to the office.
At least there the coffee would be warm.
Jack noticed that the boy from before, Zack, was sitting in the hallway outside of Luke's room in pediatrics. Zack looked up at Jack and smiled a little.
"Hey," greeted Zack.
"Hello. Our communication skills are improving. We're no longer crashing into each other," replied Jack with a tired smirk. Zack laughed.
"So what brings you to pediatrics?" asked Jack.
"My brother had surgery," answered Zack.
"That's too bad. For what?"
"Had his appendix taken out."
"Ah. I know a guy whose son had that last year. Pretty straightforward operation. I'm sure your brother will be okay."
"I'm think he will, too. He should be done in, like, in an hour." Zack agreed casually. "So is your son sick or something?" Jack sighed as he took a sip of coffee.
"You could say that." Jack motioned towards Luke's room. Zack sat up and looked through the little window on the door. He frowned as he looked at the little boy lying motionless in the bed.
"Did he have a big operation or something?"
"He got hit by a car a month ago. A few days after that he fell into a coma. And here we are, a month later." Jack finished with a long sigh
"That sucks." said Zack genuinely. "What's his name?"
"Lucas. No one really calls him that. We call him Luke. "
"We meaning you and your wife?"
"Ex wife."
Zack nodded, knowing it wasn't his place to ask. He liked Jack and felt sorry for him. Poor guy was watching as his son struggled to stay alive.
"My parents are divorced, too," he said quietly, suddenly feeling tired.
"Yeah? Must be rough," Jack answered with a touch of bitterness. "You still see your father sometimes, or…?"
"Yeah. My brother and I see him on a weekend once a month."
Jack sighed. Zack swallowed thickly.
"I hope your son wakes up soon." he said sympathetically.
Jack smiled despite everything. He liked this kid; he was sincere. "Thank you, Zack. So do I." Jack suddenly didn't feel like going back into Luke's room. He'd just get depressed and need to go home for some more pills.
"Mind if I finish my coffee out here? It's too quiet," inquired Jack.
"Sure." Zack shrugged. "It's a free country," Jack sat down next to him.
"So what do you do for a living?" asked Zack politely.
"I'm a cop," replied Jack with a touch of pride.
"Really? Cool! Like a regular cop?"
"No, detective." said Jack with a nod. "Mostly narcotics. Sometimes homicide."
"Sweet!" Zack grinned. "What's it like? I used to wanna be one."
"Well, I love my job," started Jack slowly, wondering how to word it. "But I will tell you that sometimes all the crime and hate I see is a lot to handle. It can get to you if you're not careful." He shook his head wisely. "The streets are mean, Zack."
"I know." Zack said seriously. Jack smiled a little at the kid's intensity. "My friend Max almost got mugged last month. Right outside my school and everything."
Jack nodded and ran a hand through his hair. He liked this part of his job. If only he could just do this part…"Junkies sometimes mug kids so they can buy a quick hit." He said informatively. "It's stupid, though because then they have a lot of angry cops looking for them." Jack said as his pager went off again. He checked the number and sighed. It was his partner Jerry Williams, one of the few people he trusted.
"Okay, this I have to respond to." He looked apologetically at the boy. "I'll see you later, Zack," said Jack, standing up and walking down the hall for some privacy.
"Yeah. Nice talking to you," Zack called after him. He blew out his breath and leaned back in his chair. His mom was still trying to get health insurance to cover the medical costs, and Cody's surgery was going to be a bit more than they could handle. Zack had decided to forgot the concert and use what money he got from work to help pay for the surgery. Do the right thing and all that.
If only he knew where that money was coming from.
Alex blew smoke rings out of his mouth as he waited for his usual dealer to show up. He finished his cigarette and tossed it down. The rundown section of the waterfront was basically deserted at this time of night. No one came around here for fear of being shot by anyway who was out looking for some fast cash. Two of Alex's most loyal men were leaning against the car he was sitting on. They sighed as they both checked their watches again.
"Where the hell is this guy, Alex?" asked Freddie, a mid-level dealer who Alex had saved from some serious jail time.
"He'll be here. Stop bitching about it," growled Alex.
"It's cold, man," said Kit, another mid-level dealer who had joined Alex after being screwed over by his old boss. Both Freddie and Kit owed Alex big time for taking them on as dealers so Alex knew he could trust them not to turn on him. Don't bite the hand that feeds you. Smart advice for a low level dealer. Alex stood up as a convoy of black sedans rolled up. An ice truck was slowly following them.
"Freddie, get the money," ordered Alex, walking over to greet his dealer. Freddie nodded and popped the trunk of the car. He hated that Alex used his reputation as security. If anyone wanted to screw him over in a deal, it'd be easy because Alex never brought a lot of men with him. He trusted that people would fear retaliation from Alex's more powerful clients if they ripped him off. Remy Pascal, a French dealer who had been in Boston for ten years now, got out of the lead sedan, followed by two bodyguards.
"Good evening, Mr. Robbins," greeted Pascal. Alex nodded at him.
"How are you, Remy?" asked Alex.
"Ready to make some money," grinned Pascal. Alex nodded ad Freddie walked up with a suitcase. Freddie put it on the ground and opened it.
"1.5 million dollars. I take it that truck is full of the merchandise," said Alex. Pascal nodded, ogling the money like it was the elixir of life.
"Pierre will follow you to the drop point," explained Pascal, closing up the suitcase. Alex nodded in agreement. He motioned for Freddie and Kit to get the car ready.
"Pleasure doing business with you," announced Pascal. He and Alex shook hands.
"As always," replied Alex.
Cathy and John were in Luke's room when Jack returned from calling his partner. Another courier had been killed and it appeared to be drug related. Boston was turning into a typical crime filled metropolis. Jack sighed as he stood in the doorway.
"Afternoon," greeted Jack. John didn't even glance at Jack. Cathy gave him an annoyed look.
"What are you doing here?" asked Cathy.
"He's my son too, Cath'," defended Jack.
"Don't call me that, Jack. We're not married anymore," snapped Cathy. John leaned in close to his wife. Jack fought back the urge to go over and break John's jaw. John brought out Jack's violent side.
"Why do you call him Jack? Call him by his real name. Right, Jonathan?" sneered John.
"Actually, John, my real name is Jack. It's on my birth certificate. Not like I care what a scheming little dickweed like yourself thinks," retorted Jack smugly. John's face went red. Damn you for doing this here, thought Jack violently.
"Just you wait, Jack. By the time I'm done you won't even be able to look at Luke," announced John, grinning. Jack narrowed his eyes. They wanted full custody and no visitation rights for Jack.
"You ruthless fuck!" exclaimed Jack, pounding the wall and leaving a dent in it. John stumbled back in surprise. He had the power of an attorney but that wouldn't stop Jack from kicking his ass. Two security guards showed up. Jack flashed his badge.
"Take this asshole out of here," growled Jack. Not wanting to argue with a detective, the guards escorted John out of the room.
"I'm calling your captain," threatened John.
"Oh yeah? Why don't you just go fuck yourself, then," snapped Jack childishly. Cathy was shaking her head.
"You can be such a jerk, Jack," groaned Cathy. Jack stepped closer to Cathy. His eyes were flaring. He willed himself not to knock Cathy into the wall.
"This isn't over." he said passionately. "Don't mess with me, Cathy. I have connections too," warned Jack. He pushed past Cathy and went over to Luke's bed. He leaned down and gave his son a light kiss on the forehead.
"Sorry about that, pal. I'll see you later," whispered Jack. He turned to leave.
"I won't…let John do that," whispered Cathy. Jack paused. He turned his head towards the woman he had once loved with every fiber in his being.
"You're Luke's hero." She sighed helplessly. "I can't deny him the right to see you," explained Cathy slowly. Jack sighed. He did miss her. He missed waking up every morning with her lying next to him. He messed talking and joking with her.
And he missed being in love with her.
"I'll talk to you later," said Jack quietly. And with that he left, leaving Cathy to silently cry next to their son's bed.
"Eat more beans, Ty, they're good for you."
The eleven-year-old groaned and made a face at his plate. The chicken and grapes had long since disappeared, and all that remained was a rather unsightly lump of watery-green mush that remained (perhaps wisely) intact.
"But mom…" Tyler whined, casting a longing look at the warm brownie sitting next to his half-empty glass of milk. "I already ate my grapes…"
Carson tutted and began clearing her own empty plate. "Vegetables build strong bones," she reminded her pride and joy as he sat, slouched over his plate and glaring at what was waiting to be digested. "I bet Derek Jeter eats his beans…"
Tyler straightened with a scowl. "Mom!" he said, outraged. "Derek Jeter is on the Yankees!"
Carson blinked as she washed off the silverware. "Your Uncle Tom lives in New York," she reminded him. "There's nothing wrong with it-,"
"-I'm not taking about New York!" Tyler said exasperatedly. "I'm talking about the Yankees!" He cast his brown eyes at her as though his words made complete sense to everyone else in the world, and his own mother didn't follow…
"I'm not sure I'm following you-," Carson starting, purposely leading him on. Baseball was his one true passion thus far in his young life, and she'd be darned if he didn't know everything there ever was to know about his favorite sport.
"It's like this, mom," he said, twisting around in his chair to face her. "We live in Boston. We got the Red Sox and they're really, really, really, really good, you know?" He stopped until she nodded her understanding. "Okay, well, the Red Sox and the Yankees don't like each other. It's a huge rivalry."
"Oh, I see," Carson smirked as she feigned solemnity. "So the Red Sox are better?" she asked her son innocently.
Tyler's eyes grew wide and he snorted loudly. "Yeah!" he said loudly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the entire world. "Yankees suck!"
"Tyler!" Carson scolded him. "Don't say suck. And if I remember correctly, didn't the Yankees beat the Red Sox this year?"
"It's 'cuz they cheated!" Tyler shouted, outraged. He continued his tirade for a full seven minutes as Carson bustled around getting everything ready for the next day. When she had finally coaxed him into eating his vegetables ("If you were really a Red Sox fan you'd eat them, Ty,") and he'd gobbled down the brownie, she sent him off to brush his teeth, promising to meet him up there.
Ten minutes later she found him in bed and sat down quietly in the chair next to him. He turned his head towards her on the pillow and grinned, dimples popping out adorably. She messed up his hair affectionately.
"You think Uncle Tom's a Yankees fan?" he asked her worriedly.
Carson laughed. "I don't know," she said, mystified. "Maybe you should give him a call and ask him?"
Tyler nodded gravely. "I hope he's not," he said lowly, wincing slightly.
Carson frowned. "You okay?" she asked him quickly.
He sighed and nodded. "Just a little stomach ache," he said.
Carson snapped to attention. "Does your stomach hurt? Where? Do I need to go get the medicine?"
He raised a brow at her frantic demands and shook his head. "No, mom," he said calmly. "I probably just ate the beans too fast, that's all."
She looked at him suspiciously.
"Really," he assured her.
Carson settled back down but looked at him sternly. "Tell me if it gets any worse. Any worse at all, promise?"
Tyler rolled his eyes but his mother pressed. "Okay, okay," he said in annoyance. "I promise."
"Good," she said, leaning down to kiss him despite his immediate protests. "Sleep good, then, sweetie,"
"Good night!" he waved, and Carson left the room with a faint sigh.
Outside, a million stars twinkled in the blackened sky.
To Be Continued
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