Disclaimer: Sadly, I still don't own it.
Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get this out. I couldn't get the scene with Spike and his dad quite the way I wanted it, probably because I watched NCIS instead of writing it down as soon as it came to me. It's only taken me about four rewrites to get it this far and it's still not quite what I envisioned. My 12-year-old even tried to help me with his suggestion that I try starting at the end and work toward the beginning. He got the idea from the movie 'The Lookout' in which, ironically, Sergio di Zio has a small part. Oh well. You'll just have to let me know what you think. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! - Psy
Spike thought back to the previous day. He had spent most of Monday evening catching up with Bridget, Vito and his niece and nephew before driving Bridget back to her apartment. It had felt a little weird with the boss being there, but he had to admit it had been kind of fun, actually. It was nice to slow things down and just breathe for a while. After he'd returned from taking Bridget home, his mother had told him that his father had asked about him at the hospital that day and that he wanted to see him. Spike had instantly become apprehensive again and his mother was quick to reassure him that it would be okay. She told him that she would be there, too, and that she thought his father felt just as badly about the way things were as he did. Perhaps they would finally be able to talk things out.
Tuesday found him helping his mother around the house and taking her to the hospital in the afternoon. His brother Dom and his sister were both there when they arrived and they, too, encouraged him to talk to their father and try to work things out. They both knew from talking to Mike and their parents how strained things had become. They were afraid their baby brother would not survive it if their father died before the two of them could make amends.
Mrs. Scarlatti stood by her husband's hospital bed, telling him that Mike was there to see him, if that was what he wanted. She saw a flash of pain flit across his face before he patted her hand and shook his head. Although he had stated the day before that he wanted to see Mike, he still had no idea what to say to him. As much as he wanted to fix things with his son, he didn't know how to do it. She took his hand and squeezed it, saying she would tell Mike to come in. Dominic pursed his lips and continued to shake his head vehemently. To the casual observer, he might have seemed angry, but she knew he was just afraid. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing, or maybe afraid of saying the right thing in the wrong way. It had been so long since he and Mike had spoken, she knew he feared what their son might think of him now. She felt the fear was misplaced, but still she understood it.
As she left to go get Mike, Dominic pressed the button that lifted the bed so that he was in more of a sitting position. He did want to talk to Mike, but he still wasn't sure how to start the conversation. What he didn't want was to fall back into the anger that had come so easily to him in the past. But, he was afraid that he didn't know how to talk to his son without the anger anymore and that he would end up making things even worse between them.
His wife returned shortly, telling him that Mike was on his way. She stepped up to his bedside and straightened up the covers. She was just as nervous as the two of them, she realized. She knew this could go one of two ways. Either the two of them would work things out, or their relationship would be further strained, possibly even to the breaking point. They were already so close to the breaking point, she could only hope it was the former.
Spike approached his father's hospital room hesitantly, his heart pounding in his chest. His father hadn't spoken to him in nearly a year, hadn't even looked at him in almost as long. He felt like the band that had finally unwrapped itself from around his chest yesterday was back, tighter than ever. A few steps from the doorway, he turned around and started walking back toward the waiting room. His brother saw him and moved quickly to intercept him. Holding Spike by the shoulders, Dom tried to turn him around, all the while telling his brother that he needed to do this and that it would be okay. Spike resisted, though, and Dom ended up slowly pushing him backwards until they reached the doorway. Dom turned his head and saw his father watching them from the bed. He looked almost angry. No, Dom thought, not angry… maybe disappointed. He turned his brother so that he was facing his father. Spike could see both anger and disappointment on his father's face and knowing he was the cause of it cut him to the quick.
Dom gave him a gentle push, sending him into the room. Just inside the doorway, Spike stopped to take a few deep breaths, or as deep as the band would allow, to calm his nerves. He was shaking as he slowly stepped toward the bed, keeping his eyes on the wall above his father's head. It forced him to keep his head up when all he wanted to look at was the floor. He didn't want to see his father turn away from him again. He didn't think he could take it.
His mother stood by his father's bedside, speaking to him softly as she motioned Spike to come closer. His father was sitting up in the bed. He looked a bit haler than he had on Sunday night and Spike was thankful for that. Still, the old man was having trouble keeping his eyes on him, Spike thought and he hesitated, waiting to see what his father would do.
His mother scowled before reaching out and taking his arm, practically dragging him the rest of the way. The fact that she had had to do so was not lost on his father who turned away angrily and stared at the window. He doesn't even want to be here, he thought bitterly. He couldn't easily get up and walk away, but he didn't have to look at the cause of all his pain and anguish.
Spike saw his father turn away, feeling as though a knife had been stabbed through his heart. He shook his head, and closed his eyes tightly, letting his head fall back. He almost started crying right then and there, but somehow he held off the tears.
His mother saw his reaction and her heart went out to her son. She knew just how much his father's silent treatment hurt him. At the same time, she knew her husband was just trying to protect himself from the thought of losing his son. Still, the drama was long past getting old and it was high time they dealt with their issues.
She looked at her husband. "Dominic!" she spoke sharply, causing him to turn and look at her. "Questo è troppo! Lui è Suo figlio. Guardi a lui e gli parli!"
Dominic Scarlatti looked at her for a long moment before turning to his son. He could see his own anguish mirrored on his son's face and he remembered the soft, pain-filled voice from his slumber two nights before. Could it be that Mike felt just as badly about all this as he did? He wondered.
But, when Spike finally opened his eyes and looked at his father again, Dominic reflexively looked away. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop the feeling of anger rising up in him.
Spike shook his head and turned to leave the room, but his mother took his hand and held on tightly, not letting him go. She looked at her husband.
"Dominic," she repeated plaintively, "Look at Mikey; talk to him!" Her husband just shook his head, his face screwed up against the pain and anger he felt.
Spike tried to break free from his mother's grasp. "Ma," he said, "he's not going to talk to me." His mother held tight and he threw his free arm up in frustration.
"He hates me so much now he can't even look at me, Ma!" Deep down, Spike knew that wasn't true. He knew his father loved him, that it was the fear of losing him that made his father turn away; still that was how it felt to him every time his father walked away from him or refused to look at him.
Upon hearing his son's words, Dominic Scarlatti started shaking his head. "No!" he said, his heart breaking at the thought. "No! I don't hate you, Michelangelo," he spoke sadly, knowing it was his own fault that his son felt this way. "You are my son! How could I hate you?"
"Then why can't you look at me?" Spike cried, losing the battle against the tears that now streamed down his face.
His father just shook his head again. He, too, felt tears welling up in his eyes, because he still couldn't bring himself to look at his son, even knowing how much it hurt Mike.
"Look at me!" wailed Spike. He was crying openly now, his hands curled into tight fists. His mother gasped as he nearly crushed the hand she still had wrapped around his, but didn't say anything.
Dominic turned to look at his son, the anguish in the voice too much to ignore. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife's pained expression and sought out the cause.
"Michelangelo!" he cried, nodding down at Mike's hand curled tightly around his mother's fingers. Spike looked down and realized he was hurting his mother.
He cringed. "I'm sorry, Mama!" Releasing her hand, he apologized to her again before looking back at his father. He could see his father was angry with him for hurting her. It's not like I meant to, he thought stubbornly, but didn't say anything. After all, he didn't think his father would appreciate it if he pointed out that it was the fact that his father wouldn't look at him that had made him do that. He tried to take another calming breath. Getting even more upset wasn't going to get them anywhere.
Mrs. Scarlatti waved off her son's apology saying it wasn't necessary. She knew he hadn't meant to do it. She assured both of them that her hand was fine.
Satisfied that she was all right, Dominic nodded to her and turned back to his son. He could see the resentment on Spike's face before his son closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He watched as Spike tried to school his features, looking back up at him somewhat more calmly.
Still, as soon as Spike looked at him, he found himself turning away again, this time looking down at his hands. The movement was so ingrained now; he didn't know how to stop.
Spike shook his head sadly as he watched his father look away yet again. "How are we ever going to work this out if you can't even look at me, Pa?" he asked softly. He sighed.
"I know you're scared, Pa," Spike said after a moment in that small, soft voice. "I know you're afraid that I'll be hurt or killed and I'm sorry, Pa. I really am sorry. But, I can't change who I am."
"Who you are?" replied his father with a tinge of anger. "You are my son! You are supposed to respect and honor your parents! Can't you see I don't want to lose you, Michelangelo?"
Spike could feel the anger and frustration building within him as well. "So, you think pushing me away is better?" he asked. "How is that better?
"Ah, you don't understand!" his father waved at him.
"I understand the fear, Pa," Spike assured his father. "I get it. I do. But, how is pushing me away better than dealing with it?" he asked.
"We've lost almost an entire year, Pa," he continued. "That's a year we're never going to get back."
Again, his father waved at him. "You know what you need to do!" he said angrily.
"I know what you want me to do," replied Spike. "You want me to quit my job. You want me to quit SRU."
"You're going to say, what? That you can't?" his father asked bitterly. "And, why? Because you can't change who you are?"
Spike bit his tongue, trying to quell his own anger and bitterness. "I suppose I could," he admitted, nodding his head. "I could quit my job.
"And, that would buy us a few months peace. Maybe," he said. "But, I'd just end up resenting you for making me do it," he continued calmly. "Don't you see that?" he asked. He thought about what he'd said the last time he was here, adding, "And then we'd be right back where we are now, except I'd be the one angry at you." He looked at his father dolefully. "And, I don't want that either."
He waited for his father to say something, but what he really wanted was his father to look at him. Even if he didn't say anything, Spike wanted his father to see him, to see that he felt just as badly as his father did. When his father still hadn't said anything after a few moments, Spike shook his head and looked at his mother who gave him a small, sad smile.
"I don't know what else to say, Pa," admitted Spike. "But, if you can't even look at me, what's the point?" he asked dejectedly. With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked slowly out of the room. He half hoped his father would call him back. But, he didn't. So, Spike walked back to the waiting room, waving off his brother and sister when he got there. He didn't feel like talking anymore and he didn't need to tell them how it had gone anyway. The look on his face said it all.
Sophie Lane awoke early Wednesday morning to find her husband sitting in the chair that he had scooted right up next to the bed, an IV stand and wheelchair next to it. She vaguely recalled Shelley and Wordy stopping by late yesterday, but she had fallen asleep and couldn't remember them leaving. They must have brought Ed up here after that, she thought.
Now, Ed leaned into the bed a little so that he could rest his head on her shoulder and he had taken her hand in one of his. Sophie leaned away from him a little to get a look at his face. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. He wore his bathrobe over the thin hospital gown and his slippered feet were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. She looked down at his chest where she could see the outline of the gauze bandages through the gown and the realization that she could have lost him for good hit her like a ton of bricks.
She looked back up to his face and noticed for the first time the gaunt features and pale skin, the dark circles and bags under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep. She wondered how long it had been since he'd had a decent meal and a good night's sleep. Probably not since Clark and I left, she thought to herself. She thought back to a couple of years before. They had been happy, she had thought. Maybe Ed wasn't around as much as she would have liked, but they had made it work once. She wondered if they could make it work again. She didn't really want to leave him. She loved him; that much she knew. And, she was pretty sure he loved her and she knew he loved Clark. She also knew he would fall in love with their daughter as soon as he saw her. He was just that kind of guy. She smiled at the thought of him playing the tough guy, only to be reduced to a big puddle of mushy goo at the sight of his little girl. Somehow, she knew he would be. If their daughter survived, that is. That was the first step.
Her smile faded as she thought of what could happen in the coming hours and days and she turned to look out the window. The sun was just starting to come up and she could only vaguely see the tree in the courtyard beyond. The doctor had told her that they were going to take her off the suppression medication today. Within twelve hours or so, they estimated, normal labor would start again and this time, they hoped, the baby's heart rate would be normal, or at least close enough not to pose a threat to her health. She silently prayed that her baby would be born healthy, that Ed would be okay and that they could be together and put all of this behind them once and for all.
Ed stirred, groaning a little as he stretched his legs. He hissed in pain as the stretch moved up to his chest and pulled at the stitches from the surgery. He had just opened his eyes when the pain hit him and he immediately closed them tight again as he struggled to breathe through it.
When the last wave of pain subsided, Ed opened his eyes again, blinking away the sleep and trying to remember where he was. He took in the institutional wall and window coverings before looking down at his attire. Oh, yeah, he thought, hospital. He turned to his left to find his wife looking at him intently.
"Soph," he whispered groggily as he lightly squeezed the hand he still held in his. "How're you feeling?" he asked as his thumb traced back and forth across the back of her hand.
She just continued looking at him for a long moment before answering, "I'll be fine." After another moment, she continued, "What about you?"
"Me?" he asked in mock surprise. "I'm good." He gave her what he thought was a winning smile.
Sophie smirked sadly at him, "Mm hmm," she murmured and then shook her head. "You couldn't just make up an excuse for why you couldn't be here?" she asked. "You had to go and get shot?"
At least he had the decency to look apologetic. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, Soph," he told her. "I wanted to be. You have to believe me," he tried to convince her. "I love you more than anything," he said, looking deep into her eyes.
Ed sat up carefully and placed a hand on Sophie's shoulder before letting go of her hand and placing his other hand on her protruding belly and tracing light circles on it. Her doctors had told him what was going on the other day and though he had wanted to come up to see Sophie then, his own doctors wouldn't allow it until he was stronger. So, when Wordy and Shelley had visited the night before, he had convinced Wordy to bring him up. It had taken some cajoling and he'd told the nurse that they were just going to walk around the floor a little. They had gotten as far as around the first corner when Ed had spotted an empty wheelchair and had slid into it despite Wordy's whispered protests. In the end, Ed had convinced his friend to bring him up here under the pretense of a short visit. But, when they got to Sophie's room, she was already asleep. Ed decided he was too tired to make the trek back to his own room and opted to stay with his wife. Since Wordy had no desire to go back to the cardiac wing empty-handed, he and Shelley got him squared away in the chair and left, notifying the night nurse on their way out that he was there just to be safe.
Ed now understood the dire straights their daughter was in. The potential for heart and lung problems were severe and the thought of losing the baby was too horrifying to consider. Ed wasn't exactly a religious man, but he found himself praying for his baby girl and his wife whenever he thought about what could happen when the labor started again. He was thankful that both his parents and his in-laws were around to look after Clark. He knew his son would need all the support he could get in the coming days.
He was almost glad he had been shot. It took some of the pressure off him having to choose between the job and his family. He would need plenty of time to recuperate, which meant plenty of time with Sophie, Clark and the baby before he would even have to think about going back to work. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, he thought.
Well, that's it for now. I should be wrapping this up pretty soon. Don't forget to review! Thanks again, Psy.
