Don flipped on his lights and siren and drove full out. He could hear Amita gasp, sitting in the seat beside him, unused to the thrill that is driving too fast in LA with everyone required to make way for you. Don just tried to concentrate on getting there, as quickly as possible.
As he pulled up in front of the parking garage, he could hear other sirens coming. He jumped out of the car and began suiting up- vest and weapons- with all speed. Alan didn't need to have both his boys in the hospital today.
Amita was already out of the car and standing awkwardly to one side of him, as though uncertain what she ought to be doing now.
"Charlie's out of surgery now," Don told her, not meeting her eyes. "David said. I don't know if you'll be able to see him yet, but... you should go to him. Stay with my Dad, if nothing else." Don finished fastening his vest on.
Amita nodded, slowly. "Be careful," she said. Don couldn't- or didn't want to- read her expression. Biting her lip, she turned to go. "Let me know," she said turning back, briefly, "if I can help. Please."
"We're over here," Don heard Megan call, weakly. "I think she's gone, but you'd better- better make sure..." she trailed off.
Don nodded at the police officers, directing them to search the area. He called the medics in. His gun still out, he stalked towards Megan's voice, looking for signs of her assailant. Someone stood suddenly in front of him, and he swung his gun around to aim at the man on reflex, his heart beating fast. A moment later, he identified the person in front of him and relaxed marginally. "Jesus, Larry- are you trying to get shot?" he snapped. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"
"Tryin' t'get shot," he heard Megan put in. There was laughter in her voice, but it still sounded really shaky. Don moved quickly towards Larry. Megan was leaning up against a car, looking shocky and close to unconsciousness.
"Aw, hell," Don said, kneeling down next to Megan, putting his service revolver away. "That's a lot of blood." He bit his lip. "We got medics on their way, okay?" He said to her.
"Hi, Don," Megan said, smiling at him. She relaxed suddenly, the tension going out of her. Don suspected she'd been using her strength, trying to keep it together for Larry's sake. "S'a crazy…"
"Hey, hey," he told her, taking her hand. "Don't worry about it. We got it, okay?"
"No, I mean… she's crazy. Wants t'kill the brother, n'the… servant. S'me, the servant." She rolled her head around, looking up at Larry. "Talionic law, 'kay? Look for… for… yeah." She turned her head back to Don. "M'tired."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised," he said. "But you're not going anywhere yet. Just stay with us, sweetheart, okay? Me and Larry are right here." He heard the medics come in the doors. "You just stay with us."
A moment later, he stood to the side while the EMTs worked on Megan, preparing her for transport back to the hospital. Larry stood next him him, arms folded across his chest, staring intently and unhappily over at Megan.
Don cleared his throat. "Talionic law?" he said, questioning. "Do you know what that means, Larry? I've never heard of it."
"The Lex Talionis, Don," Larry answered, not taking his eyes off of Megan. "Reciprocal justice. Outlined most famously in the Bible, and the Code of Hammurabi, I think. Commonly known as, 'an eye for an eye'."
Don nodded. "Yeah," he said, urgently, "the shooter mentioned that, when she called me in the hospital."
"Megan was telling you," Larry continued, "that the shooter was seeking revenge specifically for the death of someone's brother- presumably her own- and also for the death of someone's servant. Maybe the brother's? You should check recent cases."
"Yeah, yeah. Of course." Don said. He paused. "Thanks."
"It was elementary knowledge, Don. A few moments at a search engine would have yielded it to you." Larry's continued to focus on Megan.
"No, I mean-" Don paused, searching for words. "Thanks for calling me. I'm not sure how much more time Megan had, so- so, you know. Thanks."
"Since Megan is important to me in her own right, I would have done it regardless." Larry sounded slightly tetchy. "But nevertheless," he said, more quietly, "you're welcome."
Amita walked into the waiting room again to find Alan standing off to one side, alone, staring out a window. He started a little when he saw her, and turned. She walked over to him, and he embraced her. "Amita," he said. "Charlie's in recovery now, they tell me, but we can't see him until he's through there."
Amita nodded. "Don told me David told him- anyway. Do they have any idea how long?"
"They told me maybe an hour, hour and a half to be safe, but who knows. They're not saying much else, but I think this is a good sign, isn't it? That he's in recovery now?"
"I hope so," she said, but her face was tense. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned to stare out the window herself. It was a terrible view- all grey sky and the ugly tops of other buildings in the medical complex.
Alan cleared his throat. "Hey, Larry told me about that phone call. Were you able to help Donnie find the guy who shot Charlie?"
"I found out where the shooter was calling from," she said, shortly. "I don't know if he's managed to track from there. He sent me back here to stay with you." She was leaving out the call from Larry, the news that Megan was wounded. She told herself that she didn't want to worry Alan any more than he already was, especially since she had no details. Truth to tell, she just didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it would make it real, and today had already been enough of a nightmare.
She found herself crying, suddenly. She sank down into a chair, cradling her head in her hands. She'd been trying not to break down ever since she'd stood on those steps and seen Charlie lying there, and now it all came rushing out whether she wanted it to or not. She sobbed raggedly, digging her fingers into her skull.
And then Alan was there, pulling her hands gently away from her face. Amita wanted to apologize, to pull herself together and to be strong. She opened her mouth, but when she tried to speak, she just dissolved into sobbing again. She leaned into Alan, her face turned down in embarrassment, crying uncontrollably.
Alan put his arms around her. "Shhh," he said, gently, kissing the top of her head. "He'll be okay, little one. He'll be okay." Amita shook, wishing that she knew that was really going to be true.
"It's Begad, doo," she gasped, finally. She knew she must look terrible, and she couldn't breathe through her nose. "Do't dow how bad id is. The shooter god Begad, too. The shooter was here, righd here. Probably wads to bake sure Charlie's dead."
Alan, still holding her, was quiet. Amita pulled away, suddenly. "I'b sorry," she said. "I- id's your sod, and I did't bead to- I'b ad idiot." She began searching in her laptop case, dropped next to her feet, for something to blow her nose with.
"Megan's hurt?" said Alan, quietly. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white, rumpled handkerchief. "Here," he told her, holding it out.
She took it, embarrassed, and blew her nose. "I'm sorry," she said, finally. "This isn't helping." She looked despondently down at the handkerchief. "I'll… um, wash this. And give it back to you."
Alan nodded, looking out the window again. "Donnie will find whoever this sick person is," he said, slowly. "Before he can do more damage. Don't worry."
