She pressed against the wall, weapon at the ready as she cracked open the door as far as the chain would allow.
"Can I help you?" Diana asked the man standing in the corridor. He was tall, 6'4" or 5" at least and solidly built… his bulk appeared slim on his long frame. His skin was a shade darker than her own, lined slightly around the eyes and his hair bearing just a hint of grey at the temples. He appeared calm, his expression polite, but there was a tension in his posture that suggested not only tremendous strength but remarkable speed and agility as well. She had a feeling he was one of the very few men she had ever met who could disarm her before she got a shot off. His dark brown eyes met hers with a cool unruffled gaze.
"Diana Berrigan?" He asked, clearly already knowing the answer.
"Who's asking?" she responded, her voice calm though her heart thudded wildly. He smiled as if he could hear the organ pumping wildly.
"Who I am is not important Miss Berrigan…"
"It is to me, when you come knocking on my door at three o'clock in the morning." He lay a hand flat against the door easily preventing her from closing it in his face.
"You can call me Donavan. May I come in, please?" At her disbelieving glare he added "Miss Berrigan if I intended to harm you I would not have knocked." He moved as though to push the door open.
"Don't move." she warned darkly and twitched the hand gun into his view. "You think I'm dumb enough to let a strange man into my home in the middle of the night?" she was regaining some of her equilibrium. "You come one inch through that door and I will put a bullet in you before you can open your mouth." He smiled, cool… unconcerned, like a father amused by his toddler's threats. It was disconcerting, she thought. He did not however move forward and she considered that a win.
"Ok…" the man nodded reluctantly "We'll do it your way." She heard the unspoken "for now" that hung in the air. "I understand you have been asking questions regarding Michael Scott."
"Maybe…"
"Why? What is your association with Scott?"
"I don't have one."
"I'm sure there is a reason for your…questions." When she didn't answer he suddenly sighed "Michael works under my supervision Miss Berrigan… his safety is my responsibility. He is excellent at what he does and I cannot allow that to be compromised." He pressed more firmly on the door "So I will ask again, what is your association with the young man?" for a strange moment she could picture Peter in those eyes, could see him standing there ready to go to bat for his team, a sterner… harder Peter certainly, but the carefully controlled concern reflected in the man's eyes eased some of the tension from her shoulders.
'I don't have anything to do with Mr. Scott…I'm sure you are aware I am FBI, a co-worker of mine was mistaken for Scott…" she hesitated still unsure how much to tell this man. "He was given something intended for your man…" she waited for a reaction but the man's cool gaze remained unmoved.
"I see… and this co-worker, he still has the item in question?"
"No" she swallowed quickly "We pulled him out of the Hudson yesterday afternoon." The tremor in her voice was real. She drew a slow steadying breath, allowing Donavan to draw the obvious conclusion.
"I see …that is regretful." His gaze might have held a flicker of sympathy "and the item?"
"Is safe." She straightened her shoulders with resolve… in the badly written spy novel that had become their life she didn't know who to trust… and men that arrived unannounced at three am were not good prospects. "Mr. Donavan… the person who gave my friend the item is dead… she entrusted it to a man she believed was Michael Scott… I will give it Mr. Scott as soon as he is available, no one else." She held her breath waiting for him to force his way in… to pull a weapon and start shooting. For a long moment nothing happened.
"Are you sure it's safe?"
"It's secured." She said confidently
"Understood." He seemed to hesitate for the first time. "I am sorry about your friend…I really am." the man said softly before he turned and strode away…
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A soft click brought him back to awareness as the door swung open. The lights came up and Peter's eyes met the gentle grey eyes of tall man with salt and peppered hair in a white lab coat. He seemed to be studying the agent as well…taking in the flannel pajamas and the hospital bracelet not quite hidden by his sleeve.
"Good morning." The doctor smiled at him. "How is he doing this morning?" Leaning forward he pressed his stethoscope against the battered chest, listening intently, a frown playing across his somber face.
"You tell me…" he glanced at his friend, the young man lay exactly as he had before the agent went to sleep, silent and far to still. "I know it's not good but…" he looked worriedly at the grave eyes that remained intent on Neal.
"Good is relative…" The doctor said absently as he moved confidently around the bed, checking catheters and incisions, "Mr.…?" his gaze flicked to the agent, clearly waiting for a name.
"Burke… Peter Burke" he sighed "I know you can't tell me much but… I just need to know…"
"Melvin Wilson" he extended a hand offering a firm shake "Under less grave circumstances I would tell you he was in bad shape. In his case… he is doing quite good, considering..."
"I guess…" the agent shifted to look at his friend again.
"Burke… Burke" the doctor muttered flipping through the chart in his hands. "Ahh there you are." He smiled again. "Since you are listed as a medical contact, what would you like to know?" Peter looked up at that information with a small smile of surprise.
"Does he have a chance?" Peter asked the most pressing question first. He glanced at the bed again, not sure he really wanted to know.
"He's alive, Peter… can I call you Peter?" he didn't wait for the nod before he continued "He's alive and at this point, given the situation as I understand it, that is nothing short of miraculous."
"I know that." he forced the words out quickly, afraid of the answer "But is he really?" he gestured to the equipment surrounding his friend "he was in the water so long and he… it took so much time to revive him… he trailed off and tried again "Is there anything left… or is he…?"
"I can't assure you there is no brain damage but…I can tell you he was showing signs of responsiveness to external stimuli while he was in recovery last night."
"He was? He's so… still."
"Well yes. While it is a good sign he was beginning to respond, we… the rest of the surgical team and I felt it best to sedate him at this point… his injuries are… substantial. He does not need any additional stress."
"I can see that." He drew in a breath "so he was responding…?"
"He was not awake of course," The older man qualified "but he was startling when moved, reacting to pain, soothing at gentle touch and soft words… all very encouraging that he is still with us"
Knowing the young man was really still fighting brought to mind other questions, Peter really studied his friend for the first time. "His arms…"Peter hated to admit that in the chaos yesterday he hadn't even noticed injuries on his arms.
"Sustained second and third degree burns as did the soles of his feet and his ankles, the main concern there is infection, of course, particularly after his dip in the river. He suffered nine rib fractures affecting five ribs, his right lung was punctured…bleeding heavily into his chest cavity and partially collapsing both lungs."
"Nine?" Peter blinked, nearly frozen in horror at the thought of the young man trying to save Will with nine rib fractures and a punctured lung. The doctor nodded gravely.
"He also has multiple facial fractures, a broken clavicle. The three fractures to his sternum as well as three separated ribs… are most likely the result of the efforts to revive him." met with Peter's wide eyed silence the doctor continued "There is still residual fluid in his lungs… I hesitate to call it water… considering the source. His body temperature on arrival was below 85 but we have managed to raise it to normal, though due to the severity of the hypothermia he is not yet able to maintain his own temperature …"
"That's why the heating pads are still there?"
"Yes" the older man sighed looking between the agent and the young man in the bed "The gunshot wound is very troubling… high caliber weapon and it was close enough to leave burns on his skin…it caused severe bleeding of course, fortunately the angle was downward allowing the bullet to miss his heart by a tiny margin, damaging only the outer membrane around the organ… it tore through his diaphragm… the muscle wall separating the chest and abdominal cavities…instrumental in breathing." He took a breath slowly "Your friend's respiratory system has taken a tremendous beating…" Peter nodded wordlessly trying frantically to keep up with the growing list of damage "the bullet also partially severed his esophagus, allowing stomach acid and river water to leak into his abdominal cavity… It finally lodged in his spine… fracturing two vertebra."
"You mean he's paralyzed?" The agent found his voice as a new horror flooded his mind, thinking of the way he handled Neal as he swam to shore, of agents awkwardly lifting him from the river, more concerned with getting him out of the water than spinal injuries. The doctor shrugged and shook his head gravely
"I don't know…the spinal cord was not severed, but the swelling and heat… and the broken bones causing pressure… it could add up to substantial damage to the nerves… only time will tell…"
"Does that mean he has time?" he didn't dare hope until he heard the words
"The next few days will be extremely critical… the odds of a patient surviving after a cardiac arrest are not good… seventy percent die within the first twenty four hours, the number goes up to ninety percent by the end of seventy two hours…"
"I know, I remember reading something like that." he lay his hand on the young man's head gently…
"When we also consider the brutal beating he endured, the serious burns, the gunshot wound and the high risk of infection from several sources…I'll be honest, his chances aren't good"
"So…" Peter began struggling to keep his voice under control "you are what… making him comfortable?"
"His chances may be slim, son, but we haven't given up on him. As long as there is life there is hope. We will continue to do everything we can for him."
"I appreciate that."
"The good news is he is young and was healthy before this ordeal started… he has almost eighteen hours of the first twenty four down and so far he is doing as well as we could hope." The doctor smiled encouragingly "and he's putting up a heck of a fight."
When the doctor left a few minutes later Peter nervously lifted the cool hand before him.
"He's right you know…" he told the silent man "you're almost through the hardest part." He chuckled bitterly "of course it would be just like you to defy the odds the first few days and then a week from now…"he swallowed the rest of the sentence. With a sigh he let himself drop back into the chair. His thoughts relentlessly returned to the previous afternoon… to the despair… the absolute certainty his friend was no longer in that shattered body. Watching the slow, even, mechanical breathing and the flashing numbers on the monitor screen he still wasn't entirely sure he was wrong. His thoughts drifted lazily… still weary, he slumped half asleep against the bedside table and let them go, hoping for something about this mess to make sense.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts… and Elizabeth slipped into the room, a reproachful look in her eye as she spotted her husband.
"You are supposed to be resting." Worry tinted her blue eyes "I came in this morning and they told me you disappeared over night."
"Hon …I'm sorry," he sighed "I didn't mean to worry you."
She smiled gently "I thought I would probably find you here."
"I probably should have waited but…"
"You were making sure he didn't run." She smiled softly, teasing him. Peter didn't even attempt to smile. She followed his solemn gaze to the bed.
"No, I wanted to…" he trailed off when she gasped softly, staring at the young man in shock. Rising on legs that felt like putty he gently took her hand… slid his arm around her waist. "The doctor says he's doing as well as can be expected." He said softly.
"He looks terrible." Peter didn't disagree…
"He looks much better than yesterday"
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"The little guy is livelier today," Jones thought ruefully watching the nurse trying to convince the toddler to eat the bland oatmeal. The little boy blew a raspberry just as the spoon reached his lips sending the lumpy cereal all over the pretty woman. The agent hid his snicker when she shot him a reproving look. The child sat on the edge of the bed kicking his feet and squirming. A pout firmly in place on his small features, the toddler made a grab for the spoon.
"No, no buddy" the woman instructed with a big smile "I'll handle the spoon. Open wide"
"Can do it." the child insisted petulantly shaking his head.
"I'm sure you could" the nurse didn't look like she believed him at all." But I want you to eat good for me, ok." The bottom lip edged out farther in stubborn refusal.
"Un-uh" Jones grinned openly despite the woman's glare
"Come on… just one bite." The girl pleaded.
"NO!"
She tried to push a bite into his mouth when he yelled. The child clamped his lips shut with a look that reminded Jones so much of Neal it was disturbing.
"Just let me feed you Billy…please"
"Not Billy! I do it!" the boy grabbed for the spoon again. Then looking at the door his eyes brightened "Wizbet!" he extended his arms for the familiar figure. Jones nodded a greeting to his boss's wife.
"Hi Will, how are you."
"She not let me do it." the little boy pouted. "I'm big boy"
"I know you are Will." She smiled at the child.
"Are you his mother? He is refusing to eat." The nurse reported her tone annoyed and accusing.
"Lindsey," reading the name tag, Elizabeth smiled at the younger woman "Why don't I give it a shot… see if I can get Will to eat something." The nurse sighed handing over the spoon
"Good luck." She muttered as she left the room. "He needs to eat at least half of the oatmeal."
"Come on sweetie," Elizabeth sat down in the chair the young woman vacated "I know you are hungry."
"I can do it?" he reached for the utensil. With a soft smile the woman handed it over. A moment later, the small boy happily shoveling food into his mouth, she glanced at Jones.
"Good morning." she greeted him "You look exhausted. Have you been here all night?"
"After everything he's been through, I didn't think little man should be alone." He hesitated "Peter doing alright?"
"He snuck out of his room in the middle of the night to check on Neal." She smiled sadly "so I'd say he's back to his normal self." Jones chuckled a bit stiffly.
"Caffrey still… with us… this morning?" Jones ask quietly, her face tensed but she nodded
"Holding his own for now, I think. The doctor spoke to Peter… I got the feeling my husband isn't telling me all he said." Her eyes drifted back to Will. The toddler was watching them intently the cereal bowl nearly empty "Sweetie do you want to eat your oranges?" he nodded enthusiastically. She absently peeled back the plastic wrap on the bowl and opened his milk. Elizabeth wore a worried expression when she looked back at the agent. "Jones, what happened? Peter isn't ready to talk about it and I don't know what to do if I don't know what happened."
"It's complicated" he shook his head "It's probably better if you don't know." He held up his hand in a placating gesture. "Elizabeth it's probably better if I don't know, either… This whole thing is a mess and I'm pretty sure Peter would have my head if I brought you into it."
"Probably, but whatever it is nearly got Peter and Neal killed."
"Even more reason for him to want to protect you." He smiled when Will, milk mustache across his lip, crawled off the bed and into Elizabeth's lap. "Peter will tell you when he's ready" She nodded reluctantly running her fingers though dark curls and gently kissing the head that fitted under her chin.
"I don't want to be involved… I just want to know how my husband ended up in the river in twenty-four degree weather."
"He went in after Neal."
"Obviously" she sighed "Why was Neal in the water?" the young agent shook his head.
"He was taken… four days ago…" he drew a breath his thoughts drifting to the image of his friend covered in bandages the night before. Tried not to think of what he had endured in the previous three days. "They were dumping him … and Will." At her soft gasp he hesitated, then continued "he was laying there on the dock. I thought he was dead when we came around the corner. The suspect was holding William over the water. Then Neal…" he shook his head again. "I don't know how he found the strength. He was in bad shape but he saved the little guy… but he went under. Of course Peter went after him."
"Of course he did." Her voice held a trace of exasperation.
"Elizabeth… What did you expect him to do, just let him die? That's not Peter. He takes care of his people and Caffrey didn't do anything to deserve this. Any of this."
"I know" she sighed, her face pensive "I know." After a moment she continued "You really do look beat. Why don't you go get some rest? I'll stay with Will for a while."
As the door closed behind him Jones heard her humming softly to the toddler, her face thoughtful.
