Home truths…

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Jack…

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"Is the suspect ready to be interrogated?" I ask the doctor grimly as he leaves the medical wing. "I mean, has he been made comfortable enough for me to, well.. hurt him, I guess?"

He looks at me a little surprised, "Agent Bauer, Geoff Harper has just sustained serious injuries and has multiple gunshot wounds. The morphine is probably the only thing keeping him from passing out with the pain at present. You can't seriously expect me to let you interrogate him in his current condition?"

I fold my arms, unfazed by his bewildered expression, "that's exactly what I expect, Dr Cassidy. This man is a suspect in the failed transportation system bombings, as well as the believed leader in a Los Angeles based terrorist cell. Not to mention he's tried to take down two of our own agents, oh and…"

Each time I drop in another of Harper's crimes, the doctor squirms a little more. Finally he concedes defeat and nods, looking stricken. I always win.

I eye Harper's still form through the window as he's strapped to the gurney in the medical wing. He's not staying in there for much longer, I'm determined he's going to be sat up and be made as uncomfortable as possible within a matter of minutes.

"Ok Agent Bauer, you can talk to him," Cassidy says with a sigh. "But if he becomes distressed in any way, then I need you to take a step back. Alright? I'll be watching you from the monitor with Mr Buchanan and--"

"Yeah, yeah," I agree impatiently, trying to hide my incredulity. Step back? Is he serious? Those words just aren't in my vocabulary.

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Chloe…

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Jack has that familiar glinty look in his eyes again. That one where I know he's about to get all 'torturey' and heavy-handed with a suspect as he consults something on Morris's system. Boy, I wouldn't want to be in Harper's shoes right now for anything.

Morris and I are working on all known affiliates of Harper and Nina Myers and cross-referencing them with people assumed to be in Frankfurt at the same time when they worked there with Fletcher. Needless to say, it's quite a list. Jack's going to be busy for a while. He's pulling up names now that he can throw in Harpers face, no doubt.

Bill is up in his office, pacing as he talks on the telephone to someone, and there is a look of measured concern on his face. I know he called the hospital to check on Agent Doyle's condition- it's been hours now and none of us have heard anything as to his status, other than he was alive, but just barely when Jack saw him go into that chopper. I just hope he and Nadia are going to be ok.

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Nadia…

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The surgeon's speaking to us, but my brain isn't really processing what he's saying and its like we're moving in slow motion or something. He's telling us the extent of Mike's injuries and I'm having a hard time processing what he's subtly telling us.

Because I basically refuse to accept it.

"Brain damaged?" Ben whispers, finally. His eyes fill with tears of pain, but I can't cry. Not now. I won't accept this. I can't.

"It is a possibility," the surgeon explains gently and I can tell he's well-practiced in the verse of delivering bad news, "the close proximity of the shot meant the bullet lodged in his middle cerebral artery. It's a penetrating injury and part of his skull has been damaged by the blast. We managed to get the bullet out, but as with all brain injuries and such drastic surgery there are risks. If he wakes up there could be problems with his memory, spatial awareness and his behaviour."

My heart lurches; "if he wakes up?"

That was the one thing I didn't want to think about.

"Miss Yassir, we've put Mike into a coma for his own good, to put it quite bluntly: his body needs time to heal. We won't be bringing him out of it at any time soon; he's been through too much. To be quite frank, he might just… give up; I need you to be aware of that."

"He—what's going to happen to him?" Ben asks, his voice breaking. His skin is a sickly shade of white, and his brow looks clammy.

"I'm afraid you need to prepare for the worst," the doctor says softly, "even if he lasts the night, there's likely to be severe complications from the shooting. There may be intracranial hemorrhaging, which is bleeding inside the skull and most common after this kind of injury and something we need to keep a look out for. Tomorrow we can start looking at ways of treating him and gauging how his brain is operating by giving him an EEG."

"What?" Ben and I ask at the same time.

"An Electroencephalogram," the doctor explains, "it records electrical impulses produced by any brain activity and measures how his brain function is working."

"He's not going to die," I say firmly, smoothing my fingers over his still palm. "He's a fighter. He'll still be here tomorrow, I know it."

Ben looks at me like I'm reaching, being overly optimistic, but deep down, I know I'm right.

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Three hours later, neither of us has moved from his bedside. "You should eat or drink something," Ben says quietly, his eyes never leaving his brothers face.

"I'm ok."

"You look exhausted."

"I'm ok," I repeat stubbornly. "Besides, you haven't eaten or drank anything either."

He chuckles a little at this; "what?" I ask, not releasing Mike's hand as I turn to face him.

"I can see why you got under my brother's skin so much. You're fiery.. I guess he won't have appreciated someone challenging him all the time this past week. He's not used to people who argue back, especially women."

"I got under his skin?" my face falls a little and I bite my lip.

"In a good way," Ben corrects me, "I could see that right off, after his...accident months ago."

"He talked about me?" I ask slowly, a little surprised.

"He didn't have to. When I gave him those CD's you sent him when he was in the hospital, some goofy expression went right across his face."

"It did?" my heart thuds a little more quickly at Ben's statement. Oh Mike.

"I could see then that he was a gonner," Ben says; "and when I tried to ask him about you he got all defensive and shut up."

"Yeah," I smile a little sadly, "he's like that."

"He's not as big an asshole as he pretends to be," Ben assures me kindly. "Sometimes his bark tends to be worse than his bite, is all."

"I know," I admit, gently stroking Mike's arm, seeing the bruises on his pale skin. "I think I figured that out a while ago. It's just… he never lets anyone in, you know? I've tried my best to get him to open up to me, and well, I thought he hated me or something. We spend to seem most of our time arguing… and now this."

"He's spent most of his life evading relationships," Ben confides, "our parents got divorced when we were kids, which messed him up pretty bad. He went off the rails for a while- well, we both did actually. Our dad walked out on us and we haven't seen him since. Mike prefers to throw himself into work, I think it's because he likes to be in control. It's a necessity with him. In a relationship I think he'd be scared of his feelings leading him. He never lets his guard down." He smiled at me softly, "well, not up until now anyways."

I look at Ben, remembering something Milo told me months ago. "What happened in Denver? Why did he and Milo not get along so well?"

Ben shifts in the chair, looking unsure as to whether to tell me or not. "Um, there was a professional altercation between them, I guess that's what you could call it, considering they actually used to be friends," he sighs and bites his nail; "Milo really didn't approve of the force Mike sometimes used to use to get suspects to break.." he frowns a little at this like he's not really sure either; "once Mike went too far- with an Israeli guy, three or four years back. It was a pretty serious situation- the guy was accused of kidnapping a US senator and his family and using the senator's political influence as a bargaining tool in order to release Israeli terrorist suspects that were held in Guantanamo Bay. Mike was kind of desperate for results I guess. There were kids involved- young kids. One of them had been shot to prove a point. Mike was furious but he went too far."

"Did he..?" I swallow; "was the suspect.. hurt?" I want to say 'killed' but for some reason can't even comprehend Mike could do that, even if he was under pressure and seeking some kind of revenge. I know there was a major incident in Denver in his personnel file, but the details are kind of glossed over.

With a pang I remember the time I accused him of enjoying hurting people, making reference like I was aware of something about him when I didn't even know the half of it. I was just so steamed and humiliated that people thought I was a traitor and could commit treason. How could I think that about Mike? That he got off on pain? Look how he's looked out for me this past week…

Tears brim in my eyes at the memory. He looked so hurt that day, so upset that I'd accused him of such a thing, much as he tried to mask it. I'd give anything to take that back, but now I may never get the chance. No. Stop it. Stop thinking like that!

"No. The person was ok, thankfully. Mike wanted answers and the whole choke-hold thing wasn't working, so he injected him with scopolamine and he had some kind of reaction to it, his heart stopped beating for a couple of minutes. They managed to resuscitate him though. I think the whole episode kind of freaked Mike out a little. He backed right away from the interrogation thing for a while.. I think he was scared of going overboard again and really losing control. Milo made some snide comments about it- maybe a few home truths that kind of hurt him, and from what I remember I think that was kind of the end of their friendship."

"Oh," I whisper, my voice faltering, stroking Mike's hair.

"You love him, don't you?" Ben asks me clearly.

I just look at him, and I can tell that by the expression on his face that he already knows the answer.

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Jack…

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Harper is cuffed to the chair in the interrogation room, flanked by two burly Field Ops guys. He's wincing like he's in a little pain, as I eye him speculatively and kick out the chair opposite him, sitting myself down.

"Say Harper, you look a little uncomfortable there, I hope those wounds aren't troubling you too much."

He grunts at me looking belligerent, but doesn't comment.

I fold my arms. "Nadia certainly had fun playing target practice with you. For her it was clearly some kind of retribution for you taking down one of our best agents- someone she cares about," I narrow my eyes, assessing him. "So I'm making this personal too. I figure I might as well."

He lifts his head and I see the glint of fear in his eyes at my somewhat blasé attitude, "w—what?"

"Your sister," I say curtly, "your unhinged sister. I finished her off, but I didn't make it hurt enough for what she did to me and my family." Anger flares in his eyes at the mention of Nina.

I nod at the Field Ops guys who take this as their cue to leave. They do so, and I see Harper flinch as I push back my chair and stand up, towering above him.

"Your sister," I repeat almost softly now, "killed my wife. She terrorised my daughter. People I loved and cared about died or were messed up because of her. When I killed her, I wanted to make it hurt but as far as I'm concerned, she never suffered enough for her crimes-she got off easy," I smile with satisfaction at the evident look of terror that flashes across his face then, "…but with you its like I finally get a second chance to right all the wrongs."

Ashen, he looks down, struggles a little in the cuffs as I step even closer.

"So tell me, Harper," I say coaxingly, "you seemed pretty eager to talk in the parking lot when I had a knife in your leg and was ripping through your tendons—I want you to tell me everything."

He shakes his head mutinously, jamming his lips together.

"No?" I sneer, "you know, your men are a lot braver than you are. Fletcher by the way, to cite an example- he's been a pretty good ally of yours. It took a lot to break him. You chose well there. His dedication to your cause is almost commendable, but I guess the allure of enough money can do that to a person. Hell, I'd even admire his resilience- if you all weren't such fucking psychopaths."

He shifts in his chair, as I lean over right in his face, taunting him. He flinches even further. I guess home truths can be hard to take sometimes, though I know that better than anybody.

"You know what? Even your sister was more dedicated to your pathetic cause than you are. She was willing to sacrifice herself for it. You have other people to do your dirty work, feeble really. Cowardice. So tell me, why the transportation system? Why was that your first target? Was it all about promoting as much panic as possible in Los Angeles? How long have you been planning this? Did you start your little group at CTU Frankfurt?"

Each time I ask a question, my voice is getting louder and louder. He inches away from me, still silent, though sweat is beading on his brow and I smile inwardly with satisfaction as I punch him hard in the face, and feel his nose crumple like paper under my fist.

Oh yeah. Payback can be a bitch.

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Bill…

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"How's Agent Doyle?" Jack asks grimly, as he leaves the interrogation room, rubbing his swollen fist, little spatters of blood staining his shirt and Dr Cassidy hurries in there, looking concerned. I near as damn it had to hold him back to stop him from racing in there when Jack got a little… agitated but luckily he managed to get a little more intel from Harper right after he broke his nose, and Division are on it. "Have we heard anything?" He meets my eyes and stills at my expression.

"I just spoke to the doctors at Fort St John. He's in a controlled coma," I say regretfully, "one of the bullets pierced his temporal lobe. Even if he wakes up there's no knowing what he'll be like."

"Christ," Jack's face is white.

"His brother's with him now," I tell him, as Chloe and Morris join us carrying a thick stack of folders, they're on their way to a de-briefing with Division, "and Nadia's there too. The doctor's told me they're devastated."

"What does that mean, a 'controlled coma?'" Morris asks, "I mean, will he wake up?"

"They're not holding out much hope," I admit grimly, my stomach sinking even as I speak at the realisation that after everything he's done, Mike Doyle might die; "and even if he does, that part of his brain might be damaged. It controls memory, speech and vision. They're keeping him unconscious to give his brain a chance to rest and for the swelling to go down."

"So, he might never be normal again?" Chloe asks, looking pensive. There's no bluntness in her speech or anything, she just sounds shocked. Like we all are.

"No," I say quietly, half to myself, "he might never be normal again."

"Nadia's going to blame herself," Chloe mutters, as Morris squeezes her hand. "Because he did it to save her."

"She already was blaming herself," Jack adds, "when I left there. She looked completely shell-shocked."

I slip away and in the shadowy confines of my office, I bite back my own guilt, and then dial my wife.

She answers on the first ring like she's been waiting for my call. I briefly spoke to her a couple of hours ago to let her know we had the main suspects in custody, but we didn't get much of a chance to elaborate on the circumstances surrounding it. "Karen Hayes."

"Sweetheart, it's me," to my horror my voice cracks.

"Bill.." her voice is concerned, she knows right off that something's not right; "honey, are you ok?"

"Agent Doyle—he might be brain damaged," my voice breaks a little, "Karen, it's all my fault."

"What happened?" she sounds shocked, justifiably so. The last time we spoke she was elated we had the main suspect in custody.

"He got shot—in his temporal lobe.. he was trying to protect Nadia in the parking lot. Harper shot him."

"Oh god," she responds, and I can tell she is trying to process the information in her usual analytical way.

"It's my fault for letting them get found in that way—"

"Stop saying that Bill!" she orders me, but her voice isn't unkind, "honey, you have done everything you could to protect Nadia and Doyle the past week and you know it. There was nothing else you could have done. You had to draw the terrorists to them, and by doing what you did, you got them. Even the President agrees with your decision and it's because of that that we have the suspects in custody."

I close my eyes wearily; "I'm resigning."

"What?" she sounds shocked.

"After this day is over, I'm resigning," I say simply, "it's too hard, Karen. I should have resigned six months ago. I need to be with you. I'm moving to Washington."

She doesn't argue with me, and I hadn't expected her to. My wife knows when my mind's made up.

"Bill?"

"Yes?"

"I love you sweetheart," her voice catches a little; "I'm coming on the next plane out there, ok? I can't be away from you any longer and I don't want you facing this whole thing on your own anymore."

"I love you, too," relief floods me at her decision- I hadn't wanted to ask but thank Christ she's on her way; "I'll see you soon honey."

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