"Hi, dad. Mom's awake? … Can I talk to her? … Yes, I'm home … Yes, I'm fine … No, I don't know when I'll be able to come. Why? … Dad, how's mom? … Mom? … How do you feel? … Yeah, Yeah, I'm home and I'm fine … You seem in pain, mom … Bobby's with me … Yes, he's a good friend … Mom? Can't you take something for the pain? … Maybe you should go back to the hospital … No? What does it mean no? They could help you … What do you mean they can't? … Is it for this reason that you went back home? … I'm coming home, mom. Tomorrow I'll book the first flight and come there … I really don't care, mom … You can't, you can't tell me you're dying and expect me to stay put! … I don't want to calm down, mom! I want to be there! … I know perfectly well my situation … I'm not in danger! … No, I don't think you're stupid. It's just that … Yes, I'd be there with you if I could, you know it. You do know it, don't you? … I know … I know … Mom, please, remember our deal. I'm fighting. You keep fighting too … I love you too, mom. Bye … "

#

Breakfast was a very quiet affair that got Bobby quite worried.

"It's just that …" the Australian started after having prodded Jack for answers about his gloomy disposition for the last half hour.

"What?" Jack snapped. "It's just what?" He didn't miss Bobby's big deep breath there.

"I read all those brochures yesterday…"

"I suggest a change of genre, mate. Try Patrick O'Brian. Way better." Jack interrupted dryly.

Other big deep breath.

"I read what those things say, Sparky, and I'm worried about you. Depression can be a frequent reaction to traumas like yours."

"I'm not depressed, Crash."

"Did you have any nightmares?" Bobby prodded again.

"And I don't suffer from PTSD either."

"Then what is happen…"

"My mom's dying, Crash. This is what is happening to me. My mom went home from the hospital not because she was better but to go die in her house. And I'm stuck here thanks to a lunatic. That's why I'm such a bad company today and I will be for the next weeks, supposing my mom has that long to live. Now, please, excuse me."

That said he wheeled away from the kitchen to go sitting by the window in the living room, his gaze fixed on the closed shutters that were supposed to protect him from the outside world.

The morning in general was a quiet affair.

###

At lunch the whole team arrived bringing shopping bags and absolutely no news about Capono.

"D, I need to go to my mother." Jack pleaded for the second time already, not caring how undignified or out of character it could seem.

"Jack, we have already discussed it. The AD doesn't approve it. Too dangerous for you and for your family."

"Yes, I know and he's right. I don't have much of a choice, though. I have to go. Now. We could provoke Capono. We need a trap so that then I can be free to move around. I could go to the hospital, to take a stroll in the park, to the church. Whatever you think better suited for our situation so that the operation goes as smoothly as possible."

"Jack, I can't guarantee ..." D started.

"No, you can't. You can, though, promise me you'll take my suggestions to the AD as soon as possible. You can assure me that you'll do your best to sell my idea to the boss. Please, don't tell me what you can't do when you can do so many things."

"Ok, Jack. I'll try." D promised.

"That's all I ask. Thank you."

###

Two hours later the no of the AD reached Jack and poor Manny and poor Jack's body had paid the price. Again. At the end of the therapy the rage had left Jack's body to be replaced by weariness and soreness. Part of this success was due to Manny who, at Jack's greeting "This really is a bad day", had unusually kept quiet and supportive, intervening only when strictly necessary. Good boy. The physiotherapy had left him drained and he accepted Many's help to get situated in the shower. Not like it was the first time.

"Dinner in thirty minutes!" Bobby yelled from the kitchen just before Jack turned the shower on.

"How domestic." Jack muttered relaxing under the warm spray.

He staid under the shower for what felt like forever, letting the water loose the strained muscles and soothe his nerves. When he turned the water off he realised he had a big problem. The water had done its job all too well and now his arms felt like lead weights. He tried to lift his body from the shower seat using the proper bars but realised that at the moment his trembling limbs really couldn't support his weight.
He took a deep breath that pulled a little at the healing wounds. Ok. He could do this. He had just to wait a couple of minutes and try again...
Bad idea. The situation had gone worse.
He took another deep breath that begged to be released as a sob so he held it until he managed to let it go quietly albeit through trembling lips. He would not break down in the shower. He would not break down for a shower! It would be too pathetic. Then again, he was pathetic and this shower was just another thing hammering the point home, another evidence of the impossibility for his life to go back to what it was, another thing going wrong in his life. So, why not break down in the shower where every evidence of his weakness would be erased? He reached for the handle with a trembling hand and turned the shower back on, letting the water hide his tears and muffle his sobs, letting himself think about his mom, his life, his job and then drown in his misery, letting himself ignore the frantic shouts coming form the other side of the door.

A/N: Patrick O'Brian rocks!

A/N2: Sorry for the cliffhanger...