A/N: well, i can pretty much guess that by now, whichever of you have been with this puppy since the first chapter are just about ready to kick me in the face for taking so long to update -- however (and i'm not going into details) circumstances and events over the past few months kind of put my fanficions at the very bottom of my list of priorites, unfortunately. so, hopefully you all can forgive me, and be willing to stick with me for the rest of this :)
Warning: not only is this chapter exceedingly long, but it all is centered around hospital-time, so don't be sending me complaints about not enough happening -- (i would have continued it on to when they brought charlie home, but it was getting so friggin long that i figured i'd submit what i've got so that people won't be too tired to leave a review by the time they actually finish reading the chapter ;P)
and please don't forget R&R people! -- i live off reviews:) -- enjoy!
Chapter 10 - Friday, The Fifth Day (11:40 A.M)
The silence following Megan's account of what she had guessed happened from what she'd seen and heard at Charlie's house was deafening, and it was with a certain amount of apprehension that she briefly looked away from the road that they were speeding down to Alan's face, trying to gauge his reaction. Throughout the entire time while she had been speaking, he'd done a remarkable job of keeping it together, managing to bite back most inadvertent gasps as the terror experienced by his sons that morning poured over and into him, so much so that Megan had been somewhat impressed with how well he seemed to be receiving it all. Now however, as she took in the paleness of his face, his wide, disbelieving gaze, and his lightly shaking hands, she wondered if perhaps she should have withheld some of the more gruesome aspects, such as the details behind the untimely demise of Charlie's and Don's attacker, until things had had a chance to calm down some. She imagined that the expression on her face would have been around the same level, were she in his shoes. After all, this was the second time in as many days that he'd come terrifyingly close to loosing both of his sons, a fact which was noticeably taking a toll on his fraying nerves.
It was a long moment before he gave his head a sharp shake to bring himself back to his senses, closing his previously gaping mouth and blinking to wet his dried-out eyes as he quickly looked back out at the traffic, watching it blur as they sped past, still unable to really believe what it was that he was hearing; Charlie, his Charlie, ever innocent and caring, then gentlest soul he'd ever encountered, someone who hadn't so much as lain a finger on another person in his entire life... and now, he'd been forced to kill, inadvertedly taking a life while trying to save Alan's, as well as his own... it was almost too much to bear. His lower lip began to tremble, but he hid it with a well-timed scrubbing of his face, taking a moment afterwards to close his eyes and attempt a few deep breaths to calm himself a little. It probably would have worked better if the second his eyes shut, the scene that he'd come home to didn't play out with sickening detail, allowing him to relive over and over the terror of seeing the coroner's van parked in front of Charlie's house, the pain that threatened to overwhelm him as he made his way towards the body-bag he'd thought held his son... the relief in finding out that he was alive only to have it dashed by the sinking feeling at the pain and sadness he'd seen in his youngest's eyes...
Abruptly Alan went rigid, opening his eyes to stare at nothing as another detail of that scene suddenly brought itself to his attention, a detail that concerned not Charlie, but this time the eldest Eppes brother... the startling detail of the blood dripping down Don's face, the deep bruise that covered his neck, and the way he'd held himself with a slumping posture, as though the effort that it was taking to remain on his feet was becoming too much, even for someone as resilient as him. He found himself frowning deeply, shaking his head at himself while his own furious voice resounded through his head, demanding to know how he couldn't have noticed sooner that not one but both of his sons had been freshly injured, that they'd both been viciously attacked, both of them quite possibly by the man in the black bag, and both in dire need of his comfort while he'd stood there and focused all of his attention on just the one.
Resisting the urge to slap himself upside the head for such a foolish mistake, he finally turned back to Megan who, like the mind-reader she'd proven herself to be, seemed to be awaiting his inevitable question, her tense posture and iron grip on the steering wheel testament to just how hard her answer was going to be for him to hear.
"Megan... what happened to Don?" His quiet question, though anticipated, still sent her pulse racing as vivid memories of the attack at Don's apartment resurfaced in her mind, bringing with it a cold sweat that enveloped her body, making the hands that gripped the wheel clammy and slippery. She swallowed several times before finally finding the right words for her answer.
"It happened after we left a crime scene this morning," she started, trying to keep any wavering out of her tone for Alan's sake. "Since he'd managed to get a look at the suspect's face during pursuit -"
"Don was chasing a murderer? In his condition?" His sharp interruption made Megan flinch, and he quickly ducked his head in embarrassment. "Sorry - please continue." She was becoming more and more sure that she would do just about anything to not have to be the one to tell him what had happened, but was just as sure that there was no way that Alan would allow her to keep silent for the entire drive to the hospital, and so she obeyed and continued, her voice low.
"Like I was saying - since he managed to get a look at the guy's face, we stayed out long enough for him to describe the suspect to a department sketch artist, then I agreed to take him to his apartment for a quick stop to pick up a few of his things, after which I had had every intention of bringing him back to yours and Charlie's house." She didn't react to the nod of approval that her intentions had earned her, but merely focused on plowing on - the hard part was coming up. She swallowed hard, her grip tightening noticeably on the wheel, so much that Alan was becoming worried that she'd either split the skin on her knuckles, or break the knuckles themselves. However, her next sentence blew his worry for her hands out of the water. "As it turns out... the suspect was waiting for Don inside the apartment - attacked him probably a few minutes before I went up to check on him. He'd left his gun in my car... I - I almost didn't make it in time..."
Her voice trailed off, and she found herself oddly tongue-tied, but Alan had no need for her to finish, for right then the deep, dark bruise on Don's throat resurfaced in his mind, causing his eyes to squeeze shut as he unwillingly pictured Don pinned down, the other man's hands wrapped tightly around his throat, squeezing tighter by the second, cutting off his air...
It took quite the amount of effort to quell the choking sensation that the image instilled in him and even once he did, it was a while longer before he'd recovered his voice from where it'd sunk with his heart down into his stomach, and managed to force out a final question.
"How fast can this car go?" he whispered, staring intently out at the road through tear-filled eyes as though trying to see ahead of them to wherever the ambulance was by then, carrying both of his battered sons.
Megan's response was to push the gas pedal all the way down to the floor, and Alan clung tight to the armrest as they shot forward, weaving in between the other cars at practically break-neck speed. Even so, thinking about the condition, inside and out, that Don and Charlie were in, Alan couldn't help but think that they weren't going nearly fast enough.
12:00 P.M
If it hadn't have been for the two nurses and doctor that had intervened, nothing could've stopped Don from staying with his still unconscious brother as they wheeled him through the double doors in the ER and off to one of the curtained-off treatment cubicles. As it was, they almost didn't succeed in keeping him in the waiting room, even with the doctor gripping his shoulders in a gentle but unshakable grip while each nurse picked an arm to hold on to. For five minutes Don tried to get around them, first actually trying to push past them, using his FBI identification to try and get some pull, then trying whole-heartedly to tell them that with what his brother had just been through, there was no way that he should be without someone he knew when he woke up again. Their assurances that he probably wouldn't be awake for a little while anyways, considering the drugs administered on scene and the copious amount of blood lost did little by way of actually reassuring him, but in the end, he found himself finally giving up his efforts, deciding to unconsciously move his right arm back up to guard his left side.
Observing this movement, the doctor had blinked, then refocused his gaze with more intensity as he took in the rest of the agent's condition. It had taken him all of ten seconds to send one of the nurses off in search of a portable X-ray machine and to order the other nurse to follow as he brought Don through the double doors, causing Don to scowl once he realized that he wasn't in fact finally allowing him to go to Charlie, but was instead bringing him to an examination area of his own. Gently, the man had forced Don to sit on the gurney and had just as gently pushed Don's arm aside and had unbuttoned his dress-shirt, lifting up the bottom of the T-shirt underneath as nurse number one glided over with a tray carrying cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, a small packet of bandages, and stitching materials. Just looking at the needle and thread had made Don wince openly as the vivid memory of being hit not once, but twice with the butt of their dead suspect's gun resurfaced in his mind, the wince immediately followed by an outright grimace as the doctor had carefully probed on and around the old bruises marking broken ribs, and fresh bruises marking the possible need for re-setting.
By the time nurse number one had finished cleaning the gash on his head and had begun stitching, the doctor had started scrutinizing the ugly image that was his neck, and nurse number two had returned at a fast walk, wheeling with her the sought-after X-ray machine, which the doctor had used right away to confirm his suspicions about Don's ribs, after which he'd moved on to his neck. The slight frown that had creased the graying man's face had done nothing to reassure Don, who had decided that he was done simply letting himself be looked after without being consulted about the results. Before he could tiredly demand an explanation though, the doctor, seeming to have read his frustration, had spoken up, his eyes never leaving the screen that had been positioned in front of Don's neck.
"Well Agent Eppes, it looks to me as though whoever is responsible for this might not have had to wait long enough for you to suffocate; the amount of pressure needed for this kind of result could have very well broken your neck before you could entirely run out of air," he'd said solemnly before turning a somewhat curious gaze on him. Ignoring the obvious inquiry as to what had happened that was in the man's eyes, Don had grunted out a question of his own, trying his best to ignore to constant stinging of the nurse's needle and thread.
"How bad is the damage?" Studying the screen for a moment longer, the doctor had finally straightened himself out and moved the machine aside, talking as he went.
"Well, clearly your neck wasn't broken, but you did come a little close - your windpipe, and obviously the tissue around it, have been severely bruised, your windpipe very nearly crushed, and the C1 and C2 bones in your spinal column just at the base of your skull have endured slight hyper-extension, with the beginnings of a stress fracture on C1." Don had blinked and remained silent at the doctor's report, not entirely sure of what the last part had meant, knowing only that whatever it was, it was going to keep him stuck on desk duty for even longer than he already was. Just great.
Seeing his slight apprehension, the doctor had offered forth a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry Agent Eppes - such an injury, though potentially serious if ignored, is painlessly remedied, and quickly enough at that," he'd said, dismissing nurse number two as he moved off to a wall cabinet and nurse number one finished stitching and taped a padded square of gauze over the wound. Returning to Don's side, he'd dismissed nurse number one and had held up what it was that he'd been retrieving, causing Don to sigh inwardly.
"Now, this C-collar is just a precaution to guard your neck against further damage, but all the same, I advise you wear it for at least twenty-four to forty-eight hours." As he'd secured the collar around his patient's neck, he'd given him a knowing look. "And since you strike me as the type that would only return here willingly if you were either dead, dying, or being held at gun-point..." Despite the morning's events, Don couldn't help but snort at the doctor's choice of words. "...then I will have a nurse describe to you in full detail what you should keep an eye out for in the days to come once you've removed the collar, such as any abnormal cracking, popping, or over-extension." Once he'd finished, he'd given Don a sympathetic look. "And I'm going to have to re-set your ribs." Even though Don had been expecting it, that didn't make him dread it any less, though he did a remarkable job of hiding it as he wordlessly laid back on the gurney that the doctor had straightened out, grinding his teeth together at the pain that made it past the small dose of morphine he'd been given while the doctor prodded and massaged the bones back into precise alignment before helping Don to sit back up so that he could tightly rewrap his chest with a fresh tenser bandage.
When at last he'd finished, he'd asked Don if they'd gotten all of his injuries taken care of. Though he'd wanted to nod, for it still hurt his throat to speak, he'd been inconveniently unable to accomplish more than a slight twitch downwards, and so swallowed a few times, preparing to bite the bullet. Luckily for him, the doctor had seemed to pick up on the meaning of the twitch, and so merely gave a warm smile, patting him on the shoulder before leading the way down the hall to a more private waiting room, promising to come and get Don himself once he was allowed to see Charlie and pausing only long enough to finally introduce himself as Dr. Keany before once more disappearing into the busy hallway. Don hadn't been sure if he'd secured the room because of his high law-enforcement status, or merely because Dr. Keany had felt pity for the man whose brother had been shot, and whose own collection of bruises and injuries made it look like he himself had been run over by a car - twice.
So that was how Don found himself presently alone in the quiet room, sitting almost too comfortably in the cushioned chair and trying not to fall asleep so that he'd be awake when his father or Dr. Keany arrived, whichever came first, for he had the suspicion that if he fell asleep, no one would be able to wake him for at least a day. Said task was becoming exceedingly difficult as his drained body battled against the side-affects of the morphine as well as the accumulated exhaustion from almost a week with hardly any sleep at all, and any sleep he did get entirely unsatisfying as it was usually gotten with him sitting at his computer chair, his head resting on his desk beside his keyboard. Glancing wearily at his watch, he found he couldn't believe he'd only actually been waiting for ten minutes, feeling as though he'd been waiting there alone for hours. He supposed he had his exhaustion, combined with the whirlwind of thoughts speeding through his head to thank for that.
Carefully avoiding touching the bandage on the side of his head, he scrubbed both hands over his face in an effort to keep himself alert, his thoughts inevitably bringing him back through the morning's horrors, seeming to enjoy parading one terrible image after another in front of his mind's eye: the sight of the deceased officer's slain widow and her young son, having just lost a husband, a father, two days ago only to loose their own lives today; the intense look of concern on Megan's face that he'd woken up to after nearly being strangled to death on his apartment floor; the trails and smears of his Charlie's blood scattered all through a house that had once been considered safe, a haven, a place where only good memories were formed, a place where evil should never be able to enter; Charlie's hands and body shaking, still holding the bloody knife - and the look in his eyes...
Unwillingly lost in his thoughts, Don didn't even hear it when the door to his waiting room was opened.
By now, Alan was frantic to see his boys, although he did his best to appear calm, cool and collected on the outside as he strode down the hallway towards the room he'd been directed to, Megan having to practically jog in order to keep up with him.
By the time they'd come to a screeching halt outside the ER's entrance, the ambulance that had brought in his sons was being parked back in the garage at the far end of the curb and so the two of them had immediately raced inside and towards the reception desk. Much to their increasing edginess, the line that was ahead of them had seemed to be moving at little more than a snail's pace, and so it was with little hesitation that Megan pushed her way to the front of the line, shoving her badge in the face of the protesting receptionist before demanding the room numbers of both Eppes brothers.
In all likelihood, had it not been for the government credentials, the woman would have shot back a less-than-kind remark to her demands, but even so, the FBI badge had done nothing to keep her from leveling Megan with an icy glare before searching for a minute and reporting to her that one Don Eppes had already been treated and released, while a Charles Eppes was still in with Dr. Truman. At that point, Alan had placed his hand calmingly on Megan's arm to keep her from snapping out any more requests, and had politely inquired as to which room Charlie was in and if she could possibly tell him where to find his other son, knowing perfectly well that Don would have remained close by while waiting for news on his brother. His politeness earned him a somewhat softer gaze, but before the woman could answer, someone had tapped him on the shoulder and so he had turned around, Megan following suit, to find himself facing a middle-aged man in a white lab coat who introduced himself as Dr. Keany. He had wasted no time in telling them that he had treated Don himself, after which he'd left him in a private waiting room and, telling them which room they could find Don in, he'd left them, telling them he'd meet them in said room once he'd caught up with Charlie's doctor.
Finally reaching the closed door labeled simply "Room 12", Alan paused only for a second to take a deep breath, leveling his breathing before turning the knob and slowly pushing the door open, allowing himself and Megan to enter, stopping just inside. As promised, Don was already there, slumped forward in a comfortable-looking chair up against the wall opposite the door, his chin resting half-enveloped by his loosely closed fists as he stared unblinkingly at the floor in front of him. In that moment, he seemed to be taking after Charlie in the fact that he clearly hadn't heard them come in, didn't seem he was likely to notice them on his own any time soon, and so the two of them approached him cautiously, sitting on either side of him in silence.
Only when they were seated beside him did they finally notice the C-collar secured around his neck that his hands and arms had hidden from their view when they first entered, the plexi-glass collar keeping his neck ramrod-straight and succeeding in completely covering the horrible bruises that Alan knew were there. At the sight of it however, he couldn't hold in a quiet but sharp intake of breath, the small sound being enough to draw Don's attention as he jerked in his seat, his hands falling away from his chin as his eyes found first Megan then his father, whose anxious features made him look quickly back to the floor; he'd felt almost more anxiety of his own than he could take that morning without taking on his father's as well. Still looking at the floor, Don finally broke the silence, his voice still more hoarse than he would have liked.
"It's not as bad as it looks Dad." The comment drew an incredulous sniff from Alan as he looked to his son's partner, the expression on her face as she stared at the collar clearly indicating that she too was caught a little off-guard at the apparent severity of Don's newest injury. He turned back to Don.
"Not as bad as it looks? I seriously doubt that... have you seen you Donnie?" Sighing, he responded, still refusing to look at either of them.
"Doc says that it's not too serious - this thing's only got to stay on for around a day, two at the most, so don't worry too much. Besides, I'm not the one you should be worried about." The last part was said in a whisper, his already quiet voice nearly becoming inaudible. He couldn't hide it when his eyes filled with moisture, but he stubbornly blinked it back, swallowing several times just to make sure that all of his fear, all of his uncertainty and distress would stay where they belonged: buried.
Alan couldn't help but shake his head at him, marveling at the fact that a man who could be such a brilliant investigator and agent could be so clueless when it came to the workings of a family.
"I do worry about your brother Donnie, but you know... I do have two sons, both of whom seem to have a serious knack for getting hurt lately, and I am perfectly capable of dividing any worry and attention I feel inclined to give between them both." Still feeling drained from the first half of the day, Don found he couldn't come up with anything good to use as a response to that at the moment and so chose instead to say nothing at all, moving instead to replace his chin on his fisted hands.
It didn't take a profiler to figure out that these two needed a moment to themselves, and so Megan stood and left the room, telling them over her shoulder that she was going outside to give David and Colby a call to fill them in on what had happened before she closed the door behind her, leaving them alone at last. There was a long stretch of silence where neither one of them spoke, until Alan finally had had enough and grabbed firm hold of Don's wrist, one of the only parts of him so far that hadn't been bruised and/or broken, successfully drawing his clearly exhausted gaze. The firmness on his face softened as he regarded him for a brief second before finally speaking once more.
"Megan told me what happened, to you as well as to Charlie," he started, his tone quiet, cautious as he waited to see how Don would react, if he would react.
Nothing.
He pressed on. "And I realize quite clearly that despite the fact that the man responsible for this morning has been, as Charlie would say, taken out of the equation, you're still beating yourself up about not protecting your brother, about not being there for him when he needed you, when you feel you should have been, no matter what was going on." At that Don looked up at him sharply, and Alan couldn't help the short chuckle that escaped his lips. "Don't look so surprised - I did raise you from birth after all. Wouldn't you think that I'd know how your mind works by now?"
Once more lacking an answer, Don sighed, again rubbing a hand over his face in a weak attempt to battle the tiredness that was burning his eyes and causing his eyelids to droop a little. Man, I really should've slept in this morning, get a little extra sleep while I still could; all getting up early did was give me and Charlie another near-death experience a-piece.
"You won't be able to convince me not to be mad at myself for not being there with him, because that is exactly where I would've been had I just let my team take over until tomorrow like I was suppose to - I would've been at home, I would've been able to keep that monster from hurting him," Don whispered. Alan didn't miss the fresh bought of swallows and rapid blinking. "Me not being there not only led to him being shot but it... I forced him to take a human life, Dad. Can you imagine what that's going to do to him?"
It was then that Don finally decided to face him, the look in his eyes speaking volumes to Alan of the emotions that he refused to bring up: he was scared - he had been hurt, and his brother had been hurt in his absence, and now he was down-right terrified of the consequences that would come because of it... and in the end, he just needed his dad to tell him that it was all right, that things could still be fixed, that he wasn't too late. Alan allowed a comforting, warm smile to be displayed on his face as his other hand joined the first on Don's arm, proceeding to make gentle rubbing motions with his thumbs. The combined effect was instantaneous and he watched as a little bit of that fear was eased away.
"I won't lie to you Donnie, it's going to be far from easy for Charlie to cope with all of this, but you are forgetting two very important things: firstly, that no matter how terrible the moments leading us here have been, both of you are still alive and with no permanently scarring injuries - a blessing that should not be ignored; secondly, your brother knows just as well as I do, maybe even better, that you were merely following your instincts in leaving this morning, and that the odds were completely against you ever being able to get back in time, no matter how badly you wanted to or how hard you tried... and he's already forgiven you, probably didn't even think there was anything to blame you for in the first place, knowing him. At this point, you just need to forgive yourself." This brought a small, sad smile to his son's face - a small improvement to the previous despair, but an improvement none-the-less.
"I'll work on that Dad," he whispered, and Alan returned the smile as he pulled Don into a gentle yet supremely comforting hug. Don allowed himself to relent to the warmth being offered, and they stayed like that for a long moment, both ignoring the awkwardness of hugging whilst one was sporting a C-collar and simply allowing themselves to both be soothed by the other's touch for as long as the hug would last.
Several minutes went by before they finally separated, Don sitting half slumped in his seat while Alan left a hand on his shoulder, as though still reassuring himself that he was in fact actually there, still living and breathing of his own accord. Not long afterwards, the door to their waiting room was opened once more, and this time it was to admit the man they'd been waiting so anxiously to see. Both of them were on their feet immediately, all previous wariness forgotten as Dr. Keany waited for them to reach his side, after which he led them back out into the hall and to the left. Aiming the three of them towards the bank of elevators, Dr. Keany lead them to one which was being held open for them by another white-clad man who he introduced as Dr. Truman, who'd been seeing to Charlie since he was first brought into the ER. Wishing them the best, Dr. Keany took off back towards the ER's treatment cubicles, and after they'd boarded the elevator and Dr. Truman had hit the button for the third floor, he turned to face them.
"First off, I'd like to ensure you that Charles is going to be just fine." Two almost inaudible releases of held breaths briefly brought a kind smile to Dr. Truman's face, though his voice remained professional. "I will say though that he did loose a somewhat alarming amount of blood, which is the main reason why we've gotten him settled into a room for the day. The bullet graze on his right shoulder was considerably deep, nearly going down to the bone, just barely classifying as a graze rather than a full-fledged GSW - it took two layers of stitches to close it up, and might require a third layer or a row of surgical staples if it fails to heal properly in the next few weeks."
Neither Don nor Alan were sure whether or not they should be grateful for the man's brutal honesty or if they should flinch away from it, but they weren't given the time to decide as the elevator doors opened and Dr. Truman led the way out and down yet another hall, finishing his report.
"So for the moment, we're giving him blood-transfusions to replace what he's lost, along with a hefty dose of electrolytes via an I.V line, and have given him a small dose of morphine to keep him comfortable until he is conscious to receive oral painkillers." He paused in his talking as they came to a halt outside the closed door that presumably stood between them and Charlie, Don taking this opportunity to voice the question that had occurred to him after what they'd heard in the elevator.
"You said that the blood-loss was the 'main reason' for why he's here for the day - what's the other reason?" Dr. Truman raised an eyebrow, the look he was giving him clearly questioning how it was that he even needed to ask.
"Charles is suffering from extreme exhaustion, and semi-severe mal-nutrition," he said matter-of-factly, hands stuffed casually in the pockets of his lab-coat. "These symptoms, combined with the after-effects of his recent injuries have him running a low-grade fever as well."
Don and Alan exchanged a pained glance; they'd both thought that since Don had first talked to Charlie that night in the garage at the start of the week, Charlie had started taking better care of himself again, had calmed down enough to remember that he was indeed still human, and not just a super-computer that had no need for food and rest in between working. Apparently they'd thought wrong.
Dr. Truman seemed to disregard the expressions on their faces as he continued.
"We've put him on anti-bodies for the fever, started an intravenous line for nutrients, and have given him a little something to help him sleep at least until this evening. If all goes well and his fever doesn't get any higher and/or drops, then you may be able to take him home tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest." He didn't wait for his prognosis to be acknowledged before he turned the handle and let them into the slightly darkened room, stepping aside to let them inside while he remained in the doorway. "If you have any further questions or concerns, press the call-button or go to the nurses station and have one of the nurses page me, and I'll come as soon as I can." Offering up one last kind half-smile, Dr. Truman left once more, closing the door quietly behind him.
Unable to dredge up the energy to try and figure out the estranged doctor's constant shift from compassionate to impersonal and back again, the two Eppes men turned back towards the bed that was located on the other side of the room by the window and slowly made their way over to sit in the chairs positioned on either side of it by Charlie's head. Once they'd both settled in for the duration, getting as comfortable as they could in the inhumanely uncomfortable chairs, they both sat in silence, studying Charlie's appearance with equal intensity, seeing that there were several I.V lines running into both of his arms, just as Dr. Truman had promised, three of said I.V's snaking down from bags of clear fluid that were each indiscernible from the next. It was the last I.V that caught their attention, its red contents easily identifiable and making Don's shoulders slump just that little bit more as the full reality of the morning's events came crashing down on him all over again and he sat staring morosely at Charlie's slackened, pale features, remembering in vivid detail the trail of blood running through the house, his feeling of helplessness as they'd waited for help to arrive, Charlie bleeding and shaking on the ground between them.
Idly smoothing back the curls from his youngest's bruised face, Alan looked back up at Don and could tell immediately when his thoughts returned to all that had happened earlier, his emotions as easily read as they had been in the waiting room downstairs. Considering it for a moment, he at last came to a decision and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Charlie's forehead before standing and moving around to Charlie's left side to stand beside Don, his hand moving to a slumped shoulder.
"Let's go grab something to eat Donnie - I haven't eaten since early this morning, and I have a feeling you haven't eaten today at all, so we could both do with some lunch." When Don looked up at him, he sighed inwardly at the stubbornness and defiance that still shone there, no matter how tired and worn-out he had become.
"I'm not leaving; I want to be here for him when he wakes up," he said adamantly, returning his gaze to Charlie's face as he carefully picked up his brace-clad left hand. He was glad to see that someone had already exchanged the blood-stained brace for a clean one, and even more relieved that they had done so before they'd arrived for he would do quite well with not having to see such a sharp reminder of their most recent run-in with the serial murderers. Sighing out loud this time, Alan crouched down beside Don's chair, using one hand to gently turn Don's face towards him so that he could be sure he had his full attention.
"I understand why that is important to you Don - I feel the same way. But his doctor told us that he'll be asleep until tonight anyways, so we might as well be well-fed when that time comes."
"But -"
"No 'but's," he said firmly, carefully removing Charlie's hand from his and placing it down on the mattress before just as carefully pulling Don up from his seat and towards the door. "The longest it will take us to find some food and eat it is half-an-hour - and I'll take this opportunity to remind you that it is only..." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "...twelve-thirty, which means that the evening is a long way off yet, and you've got more than enough time to ensure that you're taking good care of yourself." When Don still looked hesitant, Alan allowed a little of his hidden anxiousness to trickle into his tone as he fell back on something that Eppes men usually tended to avoid like the plague: honestly expressing how he felt. He normally didn't like resorting to guilting people into doing something, but in this case, he felt it was justified. "Donnie... I really wouldn't like it very much if I ended up having to see both of you in a hospital bed because you wouldn't take the time to eat and rest - just seeing one of you like this," he whispered, shooting a glance over at Charlie, "is almost more than I can stand."
By the look that immediately settled over Don's face, he could tell that his words had served their purpose perfectly and effectively, and he felt a twinge of guilt at having used them but pushed it down as he and Don made their way back downstairs towards the cafeteria, telling himself that it had had to be done, for Don's own good.
The two of them, after standing in line for food for the better part of ten minutes, sat down at one of the many tables and ate in complete silence, the air filled only with the faint scratching of their plastic spoons against their ceramic plates as they each dug into their helpings of macaroni and cheese, each appreciating the sparse energy it gave them despite its undercooked residual taste. Alan couldn't tell if Don had eaten so quickly because his hunger wouldn't let him go any slower, or if he was aiming to get back to Charlie's bedside as soon as possible, but in under five minutes, he'd cleared off his plate, downed the rest of his stale coffee, and was waiting for Alan to finish, trying his best to hide his impatience as his fingers fidgeted restlessly with his spoon.
After he'd continued eating for another few minutes, Alan began to worry that Don was just about ready to snatch away his plate and empty the rest of it into the garbage so that they could leave, and so quickly shoveled the remaining spoonfuls into his mouth and followed his eldest over to the dish counter. Don practically threw his dishes at the poor woman behind the counter and walked as fast as he could manage back towards the elevators, leaving Alan to hastily apologize to the woman for the scare before taking off after him, practically running into the elevator Don was holding open if only to appease his openly urgent need to get back to Charlie's room. It wasn't long before the doors opened again, and Don all but jumped off and sped-walked back down the hall, skidding to a halt outside the room's door as he heard suddenly heard Colby's voice off to his left.
"Excuse me; we're with the FBI - Special Agents Granger, Sinclair and Reeves." He turned in the direction of the nurses' station in time to see each of his team-members flash their I.D at the elderly nurse sitting behind the desk, who seemed to be at least mildly impressed as she paused in her paperwork. "A bureau consultant by the name of Charles Eppes was brought in not too long ago, and we were directed to this floor. Could you tell us which room he's in?" Before she could answer, Don called out to them.
"Down this way guys."
The sound of Don's weary voice just barely made it to their ears, and they turned almost as one to see their boss practically slumping against the wall beside a closed door they assumed to lead to Charlie's room. Without sparing the nurse a second glance, the team rushed down the hall towards him, reaching his side not long after Alan, who had decided to walk rather than run off the elevator. Though Megan had told both Colby and David her account of all that had happened that morning and of the neck brace that Don now sported, seeing his whole appearance in person was another story, and brought open concern to their faces.
"How long do you have to wear it?" Colby asked, eyes shifting between the collar and the thick bandage on Don's head.
"About a day or two," he muttered in response, clearly not thrilled at the prospect. All four smiled slightly at his tone, even that small action doing wonders to ease a little bit of the stress that had been building steadily all week, and was probably due to sky-rocket by the next day.
"What about your ribs?" David asked, eyeing the way he was leaned carefully against the wall, still slightly bent.
"The ER doctor re-set them after the stitches and the C-collar," he said, wincing at the mere memory off it. Deciding that - although they were well intended - he couldn't take any more sympathetic looks, he abruptly changed the subject. "We were just coming back from lunch -"
"Running back, is more like it," Alan interjected, crossing his arms over his chest and giving him a pointed look. Don continued, ignoring both the statement and the look.
"- and were just about to settle in to wait for Charlie to wake up, if you wanted to hang out for a few minutes," he said as he opened the door and led the way inside.
David and Colby, neither having yet seen Charlie, were clearly taken aback by just how battered their friend had become since they'd last seen him, the split lip and dark bruise covering his cheekbone contrasting sharply with how pale he'd become. Looking back and forth between the brothers, the rest of the room's occupants couldn't help but marvel at just how alike the two of them looked now, bruises and all. Colby looked back over at Don, surprised to see him staring at him intently.
"Did you get an I.D on the suspect at Charlie's house?" he asked, as he crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back against the wall beside the window. Colby met his gaze.
"Not at first," he admitted. "We ran his prints through the F.B.I and P.D database and didn't get any hits." He paused and glanced over at Charlie's sleeping form hesitantly. Catching on to his concern, Don was quick to reassure him.
"Don't worry about waking him up, his doctor gave him something to help him sleep - turns out he hasn't been doing that enough lately." His jaw clenched, and he nodded at Colby to continue, the younger agent doing just that.
"But then I remembered the statement you gave about that night when you were attacked outside the office, how fast you and Agent Quinn said he moved, and the type of moves he pulled on you to take you down..." Don expression darkened noticeably at the memory. "...and I thought that it sounded a helluva lot like some of the stuff I learned in week one of basic training when I was in the military. So, on a hunch, I ran his prints through the army's database and came up with this." He pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his jacket's inside pocket, stepping closer and handing it to Don.
"'Sergeant John Baker, age thirty-four'... born and raised right here in L.A," he read out loud. David spoke next.
"Apparently Baker went MIA from his unit about nine months back, hadn't been seen or heard from since."
"What about his family? Does he have any here in L.A?" Megan asked, walking over to stand beside Don and look at the printed page herself. David shook his head.
"No, not any more." He pulled out a printed sheet of his own, also handing it over for Don's inspection. "At one point, he did have a wife and daughter here in town, but according to hospital and morgue records, both were killed around four months before he disappeared."
"How'd they die?"
"Fatal gunshot wounds; wife died on scene, daughter bled-out in the ambulance." Don's brow furrowed.
"Drive-by shooting?" Colby stepped back in.
"It didn't say, but we're still looking into it." Glancing at the pages he held one last time, Don finally shook his head, handing both sheets over to Megan.
"Let me know what you guys find out, 'cause I've got a wild hunch that their deaths have a lot to do with his involvement in this thing." Both men nodded and headed out, promising to drop by after shift that night before they left the room. Once they'd left, Don followed his father's example and reclaimed the left hand seat beside Charlie's bed, already wishing that he'd hurry and wake-up; his complete and total stillness and silence was seriously unnerving, unnatural. He almost didn't hear Megan speak, despite the room's absolute quiet.
"When did his doctor say he'd be discharged?" she asked, speaking quietly instinctively. Don answered without looking away from Charlie's face.
"He said he'd probably be ready to leave by tonight, after he's woken back up that is." Megan nodded her acknowledgement before starting for the door.
"I'm going to head back to Charlie's house and put a rush on the clean-up crew," she said. "Since the attacker is dead, and the attacked still alive, there isn't much for the crime-scene techs to process anyways - I'll make sure everything's done by tonight." Both Don and Alan thanked her, earning a reassuring smile before she too was gone, leaving the room silent once more, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor and the quite breathing of the room's three occupants.
A quick glance down at his watch told Don that it was only five minutes after one, and he sighed wearily as he once more picked up his brother's hand and settled in for what was going to be a long wait.
The house was quiet, had been for hours. His bedroom was almost pitch black, save for what little light was coming from the alarm clock on his night table. His heart was beating a little too slow to be considered normal, and somehow he knew that that was not a good sign though he couldn't say exactly why, aside of course from the fact that with it's slowness, he should be unconscious at this point - but he wasn't; he was standing there, in the middle of his floor, very much conscious, and he was holding something in his right hand, something with a long, solid grip that felt warm... sticky.
His brow furrowed in confusion and slowly, he lowered his gaze at the same time as he lifted his hand, bringing it close enough so that he could see what it was. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared in horror at the knife whose handle his fingers were wrapped securely around, the sickening coppery smell of the sticky substance wafting up to suffocate him - it was covered in blood.
He wanted to scream but the scream caught in his throat and suddenly he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think past the fact that he was holding a knife that was coated in somebody's blood. He wasn't aware of the tears cascading down his face, didn't notice the silent sobs that sent his body shaking or that his heart had finally sped up and was pounding painfully in his chest. What he did suddenly become aware of however was that he wasn't alone in the room, there was someone else there with him... but he couldn't hear them breathing.
Suddenly light from the hall flooded the room and he wished more than anything that he was blind, that he didn't even have eyes - anything would have been better than having to look at this.
It wasn't only the knife, but both of his hands that were painted red, that horrible acrid stench filling his mouth and nose despite the fact that he still hadn't taken a breath. With wide, disbelieving eyes he looked past his raised hands and finally saw him, the man that he was in the room with - he was sprawled out on the floor facedown, his blood pooling around his motionless body. No...
Shaking uncontrollably, he finally turned, wanting to see who it was that had opened the door in the first place. Oh God...
There, standing motionless in the doorway, expressions of anger, horror, and resentfulness etched into their once kind faces were Don and his dad; his dad was staring unblinkingly at the body while his brother's eyes locked with his. When Don spoke, his voice was a low hiss, any love that had once been there and directed at him completely erased from existence.
"What have you done Charlie?" Ignoring the burning of his lungs that demanded he take a full breath rather than the sparse gasps he was managing, Charlie's left hand reached out and he stepped towards them, needing their comfort and consoling more than ever. His actions only made Don's eyes narrow and he took a large step back from the doorway into the hall, pulling their father with him as he spoke again, his voice still low, now containing a silent warning. "Stay away from us Charlie." He obediently froze, looking desperately to his father, hoping that maybe he would still want him, even if his big brother didn't. To his dismay, the expression on his father's face matched that on Don's as he shook his head slowly.
"No son of mine is a murderer." And with that, they both turned and left, the door to his room slamming shut, sending the room once more into darkness. Something inside Charlie shattered then, and his tears doubled as he dropped to his knees, finally finding it in him to let loose one long, sorrowful cry.
He had lost his family.
-----
8:30 P.M.
It took more energy than Don was willing to admit for him to be able to stand from the chair that he'd barely left for the past seven-and-a-half hours, deciding that he was due for a good stretch as he shuffled over to the window and stared out at the setting sun. It took a lot of willpower to resist the urge to walk once more down the hall to the nurses station and ask - for the eleventh time in the last few hours - why it was that Charlie hadn't woken up yet. Probably the only thing that was keeping him from doing just that was that the condition his father had set when he relented to not forcing Don to come eat supper with him in the cafeteria had been that he stop bothering the nurses so much and stop worrying; Charlie would wake up when he was ready.
Don shook his head impatiently. How was he not suppose to worry? They had just endured what was probably the worst day of their lives - second only to the day their mother had died - and now his baby brother wasn't waking up like they'd said he would, even after he'd slept through the entire afternoon and early evening without so much as a twitch, not when Megan returned at six to report that Charlie's house was as good as new, not even when the quiet of the room was disrupted as Charlie received a six-year-old roommate shortly after until the hospital could find a room for him in the pediatrics ward.
The final time that someone had been in the room aside from Don or Alan had been at seven-thirty when Larry and Amita had shown up, a small but colorful bunch of potted flowers cradled in her hands. By the look on her face, Don had been sure she'd been on the brink of tears for the entire half-hour they were there, but she'd successfully held them in, settling instead for biting her lip while she held Charlie's uninjured hand tightly between hers. Don couldn't figure out why those two could never get it together when they obviously cared so much about one another... one of life's great mysteries, evidently.
With a tired sigh, Don finally turned away from the window, returning once more to 'his' seat on Charlie's left side. He wished that he could rub away the tension he felt building in his neck muscles, silently cursing the C-collar that was guarding them as he leaned back in the chair, draping both arms over the armrests in an attempt to get comfortable. Despite how impossible it had seemed, he actually found himself drifting off, his own lack of sleep and over-abundance of activity finally catching up to him and making his eyelids droop. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to nap a little, even if it is in this damned chair - I guess I don't have to worry about getting a kink in my neck... He smiled a little at the thought, and allowed his eyes to close.
The sound of a quiet shift on the bed's paper-like sheets was all it took for his eyes to snap open, all tiredness forgotten in an instant as he leaned forward excitedly, gripping the edge of the bed as he looked to his brother's face. He was disappointed to see that his eyes were still closed, and found himself wondering if his mind had been playing tricks on him when suddenly Charlie's lips formed a slight frown, his brow furrowing as his head lolled to the left, allowing Don to see that his eyes were darting back and forth underneath the lids. Don smiled broadly as he realized that if he was dreaming, it meant that the sleep-inducing drugs were wearing off, and he would be waking up soon.
Still smiling as he planned out teasing Charlie about sleeping late, Don was just reaching for the call button so that the nurses could alert the doctor as well as his father when a short, strangled gasp drew his attention back to the bed where he was surprised to see that the frown on Charlie's face had morphed into what resembled a silent cry, his mouth open slightly, his forehead scrunched. Temporarily putting off calling someone, Don moved back over to the side of the bed, sitting back down on the edge of his seat, staring at him.
"Charlie?" No response was forthcoming, but at that moment the previously slow and steady beep of the heart-monitor rapidly increased to an alarming speed, and he felt a lump form in his throat as tears began streaking down Charlie's face, his panic spiking when his brother suddenly started to shake, just like he had done that morning on the walkway in front of his house, his breaths coming out in gasps. Don leapt to his feet, and placed both hands on Charlie's left shoulder and started to gently shake him, wary of using too much force when he was injured like he was. "Charlie? Common Charlie, wake up, wake up for me bro, it's time to wake up." Not only did Charlie not wake up, but he seemed to worsen, the shaking consuming his entire body and he sounded more like he was choking than breathing.
"Donnie? What's going on?" His father's sudden appearance in the doorway made Don jump a little and he turned to watch him hurry over, concern etched into his every movement as he stared with wide eyes down at Charlie. Don allowed himself to be comforted with the extra help as he answered.
"Well, good news is that the drugs are wearing off - bad news is that now he's having one helluva nightmare." His choice of words may have seemed light, but his tone openly displayed his anxiety as he stared at the tears that just kept on coming. Alan forced aside the anxiety he too was feeling - for the moment at least - and moved to the opposite side of the bed, moving up close to Charlie's head, looking down at him as he alternated between thumbing away some of the tears and running his fingers soothingly through his matted hair.
"Son... Charlie... wake up... it's alright, it's just a nightmare, wake up for us... open your eyes," he said in the most gentle tone he could manage, while Don resumed his light shaking of Charlie's shoulder, contributing his own quiet reassurances.
Suddenly a cry tore its way up through Charlie's throat and past his lips, its pitch melding in with the frenetic beeps of the heart-monitor. The sound was unlike any they'd ever heard, one filled with such pain and loss and sorrow that it made both of them freeze in their actions, the color draining from their faces as they exchanged a desperate look, wondering what in the world Charlie was dreaming to bring forth this kind of reaction, but on the same token, almost afraid to find out. Then Don's mouth set itself in a determined line, and he quickly positioned himself right beside Charlie's ear, knowing that he needed to put a stop to whatever nightmare his little brother was having - if the soaring heart-rate and full-bodied tremors were any indication - and was done being gentle about it; desperate times called for desperate measures.
"CHARLIE - WAKE UP!" His booming yell echoed loudly through the room, making even Alan want to cover his ears, and he hadn't been the one whose ear had been right next to it.
Charlie's reaction was instantaneous. With a loud, explosive gasp he shot up in his bed, immediately scrambling frantically backwards along the horizontal frame, pushing himself up against the wall as his chest heaved with his pants and his eyes blinked rapidly, trying desperately to clear them so that he could face whatever new threat he'd come across. Don and Alan waited semi-patiently for him to calm down a little, knowing that touching him now, even if it was for comfort, would only set him off and make his current state worse - and the last thing either of them wanted was for the doctor to walk in and sedate him when he'd just woken up after being unconscious for the day.
It took him a little while - a time period filled only with the sound of his breathing and that of two others as his vision gradually focused - but eventually the beeping on the monitor gradually slowed until it was almost back to its optimal range, and his eyes finally adjusted to the odd lighting of the room. Seeing his family standing there staring at him sent mixed emotions seeping through his still lightly shaking frame, and he wasn't sure whether to be ecstatic beyond words that there were there, or mind-numbingly terrified instead, as his most recent nightmare suddenly had the potential to come true.
Both of the elder Eppes men watched him cautiously as he slowly looked back and forth between them and slowly, they started walking towards him, unsure of how to react when Charlie's wary expression suddenly crumbled, leaving only visible torment and anguish in its wake. Neither could keep their mouths from dropping open at the first sentences to leave Charlie's mouth in close to nine hours.
"I - I'm sorry I k-killed him. Please... don't hate me," he whispered brokenly, his tone and dark eyes pleading with them as much as his words had. There was a brief moment where the two were shocked into silence and they allowed what was being said to truly sink in.
"Charlie..." Alan breathed, and Don shook his head fiercely.
"Don't you even dare start thinking that way Charlie, I won't let you," he said, moving towards him and pulling him into a gentle but secure hug. "You did what you did because you had no choice, and I would never even dream of hating you for it." After a moment, Alan sat down on his side, enveloping both of his sons.
"Don's right Charlie: you were forced into a position where you had to defend yourself, and it took a turn for the worst, even though you would've never wanted for it to happen that way - it was an accident, and one that saved your life, and mine as well as Megan tells it," he whispered, hugging them both tighter while being careful to still avoid Charlie's right shoulder. "In short: we will both love you no matter what, and after all is said and done, myself and your brother are more thankful than we can say for what you did."
For a minute Charlie didn't react to their hug, just remained stiff, shaking, and silent as the tears continued to fall, almost like he still wasn't sure if what they had said was true, if they'd actually meant it. Then slowly, gradually, he pressed forward into them, pushing his head into the crook between his father's and his brother's heads, squeezing his eyes shut as he allowed himself to be overrun with sobs, at the same time as letting the comfort that having both of them there caused course through him. Without enough energy to actually return their hugs, he settled simply for weakly gripping the front of both their shirts in his hands, as though he wanted to make sure that they wouldn't change their minds and leave him after all. If he could've seen the look that his two family members exchanged over his head, he would have known that that was one thing that was never going to happen.
TBC