Monday: 1/22/07: 8:49 a.m.
Emily visited Matt for as long as they'd allow over the next six days, the last of which she as allowed to stay four hours before they took her back to her room. Today was the seventh day, and she probably wouldn't get the chance to visit him. She had insisted to Cheryl and Frank that she was going to this court date, even if they had to drag her in a wheelchair. The doctors consented, writing a note to the Judge requesting that he hear the case as soon and as quickly as he could. She'd been shot almost two weeks ago, and they wanted her in the hospital, in a bed, where they could monitor her. The less she moved the quicker she'd heal, and the less chance of her bleeding internally again.
Her mother brought her a suit to wear, and with a struggle she dressed herself, pride preventing her from accepting her mother's offer to help. Into the wheelchair she went, and after another brief struggle, she got from the wheel chair to the car with Frank's assistance. He was trying to be helpful, but was slightly awkward. She was his friend and coworker in a vulnerable spot, and he had to be careful when he offered his assistance, and where he put his hands. He also knew how hard the dependency must have been for her, and simply wasn't used to an Emily that was anything but independent.
Leaving her mother and father back at the hospital, Emily left with Frank and Cheryl to begin the process of being sued. She said very little along the way, choosing to stare out the window blankly, and let her thoughts drift to the man still unconscious in the room next to hers. Two weeks and he hadn't woken up; two weeks that grew longer and less hopeful as each day passed. The doctors spoke of hope while their eyes held doubt and that goddamned sympathy. They were contradicting themselves and didn't even realize it. They didn't want her to give up, but they already had, and she hated them for that.
Soon they would be informing Cheryl that she had to make a decision. Yes, Cheryl was listed as his emergency contact, and had been not long after they became partners. After the feud began with his brother, she was his closest friend, and he'd never gotten around to switching it to Emily. Cheryl had been surprised, she'd evidently forgotten Matt had put her down, and was less than thrilled at the prospect of making that decision. She'd immediately looked toward Emily, silently informing her that it was her decision to make. Emily was relieved to not be listed on that blank; she couldn't make that decision. If it came to it, she couldn't decide to kill him.
"Emily?" Cheryl called louder the second time.
"Yeah?" She turned and realized they were at the courthouse.
"Are you ready to do this?"
"We didn't do anything wrong."
"I know that. Who are you trying to convince?" Emily hadn't been defensive the entire time, and Cheryl didn't believe she was now.
"I have to go in there and pretend I actually believe that." She looked down at her hands, bearing shame she didn't deserve.
"Do you really think you and Matt did something bad in this?"
"We lost six out of eight hostages, all four HTs, half of our own people, and…and….and maybe Matt. I think it's pretty clear we screwed this one up bad." She bit her lip, guilt and fear weighing heavily over her.
"Maybe things could have gone better, but if you're going to blame yourself and Matt, you have to blame me too. I sent you down there without HRT, and I left you there with a bunch of cowboys who hadn't even handled a purse-snatching, and without some of the equipment you needed. If you had had what you needed, this wouldn't have gone down o badly."
"You don't know that."
"Sure I do. Frank is the best tactical commander in the States, rookie couldn't screw up with him around."
Emily remained silent, still unable to believe the carnage from nearly two weeks ago wasn't their fault.
"Besides, I sure as hell know that you two wouldn't have been acting unprofessionally. You enjoy the adrenaline and challenging each other too much to not completely focus yourselves on it."
"If that's all true, then why do I feel like I killed them all?"
"Because guilt is a bitch, but this isn't your cross to bear."
Emily was silent for another few moments, staring blanking into space once again, before suddenly coming back to herself and declaring, "alright, let's do this."
"Case number 225647 Cannon, Evans, and Gable versus Flannery, Lehman and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Judge presiding the Honorable Edward Marquez," the bailiff droned at the court in front of him, while the judge looked mildly bored at him.
"What have we got Tony?" Judge Marquez asked his bailiff.
"William Cannon, Patricia Evans, and Elizabeth Gable are suing the Federal Bureau of Investigation as a whole, and Agents Mathew Flannery and Emily Lehman for the wrongful deaths of Meredith Cannon, wife of William, Henry, Gale and Bobby Evans, son, daughter-in-law and grandson of Patricia Evans, and Michael John Gable son of Elizabeth Gable. The four adults and one minor four-year old child were shot to death Thursday, January 11th of 2007 during a hostage situation in which Agents Flannery and Lehman were the negotiators."
The judge looked first to Emily and the army of FBI lawyers beside her, and then to the plaintiffs, seemingly confused. "Well, I hate to sound callous, but these things happen. On what grounds are they laying these charges?"
"Your Honor, Malcolm McKeown, attorney for Bill Cannon, and lead attorney for the Plaintiff." A fifty-something man stood and introduced himself.
"Go ahead counselor."
"My client and his fellow plaintiffs will show that the sexual relationship that Agents Flannery and Lehman were engaged in caused them to neglect their professional responsibilities and caused the deaths of these five people."
"And the defense says?"
"Eric Strantum, lead counsel for the defense, your honor. My client, the FBI wasn't aware of the relationship between it's two negotiators, and though they don't dispute it now, or argue it's effect on the situation either way, they plead ignorance. They didn't know about the relationship and can't be held accountable." Strantum sat down after his summary, never looking at Emily.
"Agent Lehman, do you have counsel?"
"Um, no your Honor. I've been in the hospital, I haven't been able to, so I'm representing myself." Emily didn't get up, she remained in the wheelchair the doctors had confined her to.
"The FBI isn't providing you with one?"
"Not that I'm aware of sir."
"Well, Mr. Strantum, is the Bureau providing it's agents with a lawyer?"
"No your Honor, to my knowledge the Bureau is relying on them to find their own counsel."
"Of course they are. CYA right Mr. Strantum?"
"I'm sorry sir?" Strantum was completely lost to what he meant.
"Cover Your Ass, counselor. Something I think you'd be familiar with."
"Oh, right, yes sir."
"Alright, this case is very high profile, I want to get it over with as soon as possible. Do we know when Agent Flannery might be healthy enough to leave the hospital?" The majority of the court turned toward the defense table, who turned toward Emily.
"Your Honor, Matt has been unconscious for the last two weeks. He may never get out of that hospital."
"I'm very sorry Ms. Lehman. In the interests of expediting this, will you be able to sit through a trial in another week?" The judge was completely focused on her, his eyes were filled with sympathy, but never wavered in their strength.
"I think so, yes."
"Alright then, the trial will begin with jury selection next Tuesday, the 30th at 9:00 a.m." He smacked the gavel down, not giving the lawyers any chance to object.
The courtroom began clattering out the door as Frank and Cheryl picked their way through the throng of people toward Emily. She was sitting still in her wheelchair, staring at the plaintiff's table with an expression that spoke of sadness and guilt. The families of the hostages were nearly out the door when Emily pushed the little lever on the arm of her chair and followed them out the door.
"Excuse me!" She called, trying to catch up with her adversaries as they walked briskly out of the courthouse.
"My clients can't speak with you Miss Lehman." Mckeown scolded her and motioned his clients forward.
"I just need a minute. Please?" She implored them, stopping her chair as they stopped.
"This is really inappropriate Miss Lehman." He scolded her again.
"I just want to talk to them for a minute."
"Miss Lehman-"
"It's fine. Let her talk." Bill Cannon raised a hand, silencing the lawyer.
"Thank you." She told him, finally managing to slow her heartbeat, speeding after the chase and even still with just the thought of speaking to them.
He simply glared at her.
Emily swallowed, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
"Do you really think any of us care if you're sorry?"
"No, I know you don't. But you need to hear it. You need to hear that we did everything we could have to try and get everyone out of there safely. You need to hear that hostage takers are unpredictable, and that sometimes these things just go bad, that we can't always save the day. That the faces of your families, and those state troopers will haunt me forever, that I already see them in my dreams. That I can't get the image of a little boy covered in blood, laying dead beside his mother, out of my head. That I laid with them and watched them as they died and will never forget it. That I might lose the most important person in my life to the disaster in the barn."
The group looked at her, not happy, not sad, not angry, but seemingly unaffected by her words. They watched her a moment longer, before turning one by one and walking away. They didn't care what she had to say, they were in too much pain right then.
Cheryl and Frank had slowed their pursuit of Emily when they saw her talking to the hostages families, but moved forward now. Frank grabbed the handles of the chair and steered it toward the handicapped ramp, taking her toward the car.
Emily was silent the rest of the ride back to the hospital, and unsurprisingly asked to see Matt as soon as they got back. Somewhat reluctantly (she'd been in the chair three hours by then), they allowed her to sit with him for awhile.
She brushed some hair from his head, kissed his temple, and rested her head beside his, relaxing easily with the now familiar rhythm of the ventilator. She held his hand, still clutched in hers, and simply watched him sleep.
Okay, next step after setting down the shovel, set the foundation to rebuild, or aka, skip time so I can move the story along. It had to be done. Thanks for reading and reviewing!