CHAPTER 12—REUNIONS & RELUCTANT RECONCILIATIONS
Donovan fell into a fitful sleep. The knife wound throbbed sickly, and almost made it impossible to sleep. However, he needed sleep. There was no way he would heal without rest. He intended to do whatever was necessary to get out of here as soon as possible. He didn't want to be separated from Loralei any longer than necessary, especially with her being ill. Her due date drew nearer, seemingly by the hour. Extreme guilt attacked his heart, and he wondered if he would even be there when his daughter was born. Don't even think that way. When Loralei discovered that he had lied to her about the stabbing, she would probably kill him. Honestly, he deserved it. While he slept, a lone figure entered his room and took a seat in one of the visitor's chairs near the bed.
* * *
Jesus Ortiz was nervous. His shipment was due at any time. He hadn't heard anything from Dominguez. Where was his man when he needed him? The coke couldn't be moved without his best trafficker. Miguel was relatively new, and he wasn't sure how well he could handle such a large shipment. Of course, they would warehouse the largest portion of it, and then send a little out at a time. Ortiz paced crazily as he waited and waited. Miguel and his mujer (woman) would arrive soon. Ortiz hadn't wanted his new hermano to bring the woman along, but Miguel insisted that she was confiable (trustworthy). Besides, he had seen her shoot. She was almost as good as a man. Almost. Where the fuck was his hermano?
* * *
Meanwhile, Farron sat down with the UC team and gave them every tidbit of information they would need to keep Ortiz's attention off Dominguez and on to something else. Farron knew the psychology of Jesus Ortiz. He would worry about his hermano for a while, but then his attention would easily become drawn away as soon as the shipment came in. He gave the agents the location of Ortiz's secret warehouses where he typically stored every drug that came to him. He told them that his former jefe was a greedy fuck, and he would only let a bit of the coke out of his grasp for petty dealers until he found a heavy hitter. Of course, since the coke was fairly pure la mierda del partido (party shit), it would move fast. Ortiz would probably score multi-millions from just one shipment. If the gang were to be stopped at all, tonight would be the night to move in on them. They would face huge problems if Ortiz discovered that Dominguez had been taken out.
* * *
Jake and Alex pulled up to the abandoned shipyard where Ortiz's men waited to unload the coke that was due to arrive at any time. In order to save their hides, they arrived not strapped for sound. Their only communication with Monica and Cody was through the bug Cody had jerry-rigged in the SUV. He had also installed an amazingly small camera somewhere in the interior [he had refused to tell them where, but he assured them that no one would ever find it] that would record what it could. Jake had instructed Cody to call in the troops no more than one hour after the shipment arrived. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was a little tense and worried. There would definitely be gun action tonight, and he hoped that both he and Alex could get out alive. They had been very lucky thus far. He wished he could say the same for Donovan. It seemed as if every time the man turned around, he was hurt or maimed in some way. ****
Taking deep breaths and steeling themselves, Alex and Jake left the comfort and safety of the SUV and began their slow approach to the hideout. They only needed just a couple of hours to do this job, and it would finally be over.
Ortiz glanced over in the direction of the man and woman. He approached them with a warm smile. "Miguel, que tu oyó de Pablo," Ortiz asked. ("Miguel, have you heard from Pablo?")
"No. Pienso que él está con alguna ramera." ("No. I think he's with some bitch.")
"La ramera? Qué ramera?" ("Bitch? What bitch?")
"Yo no sé. Algún polluelo denominó Susan. El la reunió una pareja de noches hace." ("I don't know. Some chick named Susan. He met her a couple of nights ago.") This was a story supplied directly by Farron. Dominguez had been with a woman named Susan before, and she would make a nice cover.
A look of recognition came over Ortiz's face. "Ah, Susan. No era ella la ramera fea con tetas grandes?" ("Ah, Susan. Wasn't she the ugly bitch with big tits?")
Miguel nodded. "Y con un igualmente grande como. Sí, eso la es." ("And with an equally big ass. Yeah, that's her.") Another tidbit supplied by Farron.
Ortiz shook his head. What would he do with Pablo? "Llámelo. Obtenga su como sobre aquí, Miguel. Tenemos mucho en hacer esta noche." ("Call him. Get his ass over here, Miguel. We have a lot to do tonight.")
"Tu lo obtuvo, el jefe. Venga en, el bebé, permitió's va." Miguel took his girl's hand and led her away. ("You got it, boss. Come on, baby, let's go.")
* * *
For more than an hour, the lone figure sat in Donovan's room and watched him sleep. He didn't make a sound or move a muscle. He wasn't sure how Donovan would react as soon as he saw him. He was in a weakened condition and wouldn't last long if he tried to struggle and fight. He leaned his tall frame back in the increasingly uncomfortable chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Farron Donovan wanted to make amends once and for all. Dominguez was the first man Farron had ever murdered, and he had done so to save his brother's life. Years ago, he had left his twin to die, and Donovan had never fully recovered from that betrayal. He had carried it with him throughout his life. Farron had been an opportunist all his life, and he had to admit that his 'good deed' involving Loralei was meant to be more of a hurtful thing than a good thing. He had been smug, and he had clearly rubbed his brother's face in his victory. He had to be right about something. Yet, what had he sacrificed to best his brother? What had he sacrificed his entire life to best his brother? Anything, everything, and nothing. What did it mean, if anything? Of course, he didn't expect his brother to wake up and hug him, to simply forget the past for just one act of attrition. He had not only done it to save Donovan, but he had also been thinking of his wife as well. Regardless of what happened between him and his brother, regardless of anything, he didn't want to see Loralei suffer needlessly. He didn't want Donovan's child to grow up without her father. He didn't want to see any of these horrors take place. Would his twin understand? Would he consent to mending the fence? He closed his eyes and kicked back for a bit. As soon as Donovan woke up, he would try to straighten out their relationship before he was sent away. He would face a prison sentence this time; the federales had made that no secret. Farron didn't intend to fall asleep, but he did.
Donovan felt an intense twinge of pain that seemed to drive into every part of his body. If it didn't relent, he might have to beg for painkillers. When he turned his head, he noticed that he had a visitor. He fixed his eyes on Farron's face for an undetermined amount of time. The swelling in his eye had all but vanished, but the bruises were still vivid and extensive. He probably needs a hospital bed as much as I, he thought. After beating his twin senseless, he had wondered what his true motivation really was. Of course, he had taken after Farron because he had attacked Loralei, but that wasn't all of it. Was it? Be honest with yourself. Probably ninety percent of his rage had to do with his wife, but the other ten percent was a different story altogether. He was trying to pay Farron back for his shooting so long ago. Back then, he had loved his twin deeply. He would have literally died for him [and he almost did]. However, when Farron ran off and left him to die, a part of him had actually died. It was an intense, horrifying feeling, and he couldn't deal with it. He had held his feelings at bay for many years. It had been easy enough. Farron hadn't shown his face in a long time, and when he did, their meetings were brief and perfunctory. Although he had resisted the idea of inviting Farron to his wedding, deep down inside, he had wanted his twin to attend. He had wanted to share his happiness with the entire family. He was still hurt, still tender, but he had been willing to give it a try. Yet, Farron had done a stupid misdeed that triggered the rage and the hatred. Did he really want to cut his twin out of his life? Did he? Did he want to cut Farron off from knowing his niece? What if he and Loralei were to give their daughter a sibling? Did he actually want to have and express such negative feelings for his brother? What kind of an example would that be to his children? What if they were to have twins? What would he do? How would he deal with it?
He groaned a little against the pain and confusion. After everything that had happened, Donovan was more confused than ever. He had been stunned to see the gun in Farron's hand, and even more so when he realized that he had killed Dominguez, subsequently saving his life. Something had crept into his heart, something that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge, not then or now. He had felt gratitude and…love. Yes. Love. He turned his head away and focused his eyes on the window opposite him. It was too much. It was all too much. The case, his brother, the separation from his wife, and the impending birth of his first child had all swirled in around him in a suffocating wave. He could never do one thing at a time. Everything had to attack him at once. It always did. He wanted nothing more than to leave this infernal hospital, pick up his wife, and then disappear for a couple of years. He didn't want to do anything other than maintain a role as husband and father.
"Are you all right, Frank," Farron suddenly asked.
For a moment, he didn't want to speak, he didn't think he could speak. "I'm fine," he spat stubbornly. "What are you doing here?"
"Checking up on my baby brother. Someone needs to look out for you. Your el equipo (team) is busily trying to solve this case for you. They're tied up. Your wife cannot come to you. You need somebody, even if it is me."
"You can leave whenever you want," he said gruffly. "I don't need a keeper."
"Frank, can we not get past this? Can we not straighten out this mess we made? I want to start my life over, and part of that includes finally making amends to you, and now to your wife. I miss the way it was when we all were kids. I miss that closeness, that sense of family. I miss you."
Donovan refused to make eye contact with Farron. He honestly didn't want to see the look on his face. If he did, he might see sincerity, and he didn't know if he was ready for that yet. "I can't deal with this right now. Too much is going on, too much needs to be repaired. I need time. I can't simply forgive and forget within moments. It has to be on my terms, or it won't be at all."
It wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, but it also wasn't a rejection. Some ground had been gained. It was only a little ground, but it was better than nothing. "I can agree to that."
* * *
The sound of yipping and yelling drew the immediate attention of Alex and Jake. Apparently, the shipment had arrived. Ortiz began shouting orders in Spanish, demanding that the men move and move quickly. If the federales were to arrive, hundreds of arrests would be made, and an equal amount of lives would be lost. Jake stood back with the jefe and watched as the men began unloading the 'cargo.' Jake had never seen so much cocaine in his life. He wondered how much this shit was worth on the street. Amazing. Beside him, Alex whistled. He could see by the look on her face that she was just as blown away as he. Incredible. Ortiz seemed very proud of his load, and he strutted around like a proud father after the birth of his baby. However, this stuff was one expensive baby.
"La cocaína colombiana pura, Miguel. Nada podría ser más dulce. Seremos hombres ricos, mi amigo. Los hombres muy ricos," Ortiz cried triumphantly. ("Pure Colombian cocaine, Miguel. Nothing could be sweeter. We're going to be rich men, my friend. Very rich men.")
"Quizá usted será presos rico," Jake said loud enough for only Alex to hear. ("Maybe you'll be rich inmates.")
"Ah, hombre de amante, puede tomamos algún hogar," Alex asked excitedly. ("Oh, lover man, can we take some home?")
Alex and Jake waited patiently for backup to arrive. Any moment now, they expected every anti-drug group, anti-crime task force, anti-everything to descend upon the warehouse and break up the entire operation. Both of them were anxious to see it happen. This case, this whole place, sucked to high heaven. Plus, they were all worried about their fearless leader and his wife. There was so much going on. They heard the vibrating thump of an approaching helicopter. Neither of the UC agents knew if it was friend or foe. Their answer came when a booming voice announced in English and then in Spanish: "FEDERAL AGENTS. DROP YOUR WEAPONS." The air was suddenly filled with bursts of gunfire.
* * *
"So, Mr. Donovan, in about a week, we'll release you. But you must have at least three more weeks of bed rest. I don't want you moving around any more than necessary, which includes riding or driving. I don't want you making trips any more than three or four miles. Anything longer than that is strictly forbidden. You need this time to heal properly. That wound of yours is pretty bad."
Donovan stared at the doctor incredulously. "Three weeks," he spat. "I cannot be confined to bed for three weeks. I have to leave. I have to go to my wife."
"Mr. Donovan, I have the option of keeping you here for that entire time, you know. You need the time to heal," he repeated. "If you were to reopen your wound, the healing time would double. There is also the possibility of infection. Maybe you can send for your wife?"
"Not possible," he said offhandedly. She was sick herself, and there was no way he wanted her to see him like this. Three weeks.
* * *
The federales dropped in and seized the cocaine and arrested as many people as they could, including Jesus Ortiz. The grand drug and arms dealer went down quietly, vowing to return. Of course, he wouldn't return for thirty or forty years. Alex and Jake left the scene virtually unscathed. They returned to the makeshift office and began packing up their gear.
Donovan had been released from the hospital by the time they were ready to leave, and he literally ordered them to go. He settled back into his hotel room and followed his doctor's orders to the letter. However, he wasn't a damn bit happy about it. He called Loralei almost every day, and almost every day, he found himself spinning some horrible lie that she would never forgive [and rightfully so]. She was tired almost all the time now. He could hear it in her voice. His sister kept pretty good tabs on her, and said that she would start feeling better when he came for her. However, at that point, it was very likely the baby would be born in Florida. Ironically, Loralei, too, was advised to stay in bed as much as possible.
As it turned out, Farron was once again granted immunity for aiding the federales with the drug bust and taking out Dominguez. He actually hadn't wanted immunity. He expected and wanted some type of punishment, perhaps as another way to redeem himself. He visited Donovan frequently, had even snuck down to check out Loralei for his brother. It wasn't something that Frank had asked of him, it was something he just did. The relationship between Farron and Frank wasn't necessarily smooth and peachy. Frank had basically begun to tolerate Farron's presence more than anything. There was still a lot of hurt and a lot of shit to work through. However, Donovan's heart had begun to heal right along with his knife wound.
* * *
Loralei was fast asleep. She was so deeply asleep that she probably wouldn't have felt a strong earthquake. She wasn't even aware of the bedroom door creeping open, nor could she see the light from the living room flooding into the quiet darkness. Anya stood in the opened doorway. She had led Donovan to the room. He hadn't even been inside her new house yet. He stood gazing at his wife for a long time before he even made one move toward the bed. There was so much he had missed, so much time had passed, and he hated himself.
"She'll be happy to see you. I think your presence will do her a world of good," Anya whispered with a smile.
He nodded and kissed Anya's cheek. "Thank you for everything you have done."
"Don't waste your kisses on me. She needs them."
Donovan entered the room as quietly as possible. His sister only lingered a few seconds before stepping back and closing the door behind them. He walked over to the bed and gazed at her calmly sleeping face. Dear God, she was beautiful. Nothing had ever been more beautiful to him. Carefully, he slid into bed beside her [mindful of his wound] and pressed his lips to her forehead. Loralei felt the gentle kiss, and of course, thought she was dreaming. There was a body in bed with her. The body felt and smelled like Donovan's. Surely not. This was some cruel dream, and once she opened her eyes, she wouldn't see anything more than an empty pillow. Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes opened and focused on Donovan's face. He was smiling down at her gently.
"Oh God, oh Frank," she said softly, her voice breaking with tears [hormones be damned].
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her body against his. "Shh, hey, it's okay. You don't have to cry."
She buried her face into his chest and held onto him for dear life. "No, you don't understand," she said. "I thought I was dreaming. It's been so long, and I've missed you so much. Don't ever let me go again. Ever. Ever. Ever."
"I won't, and I'm sorry I had to, Loralei."
She raised her head and began planting soft kisses all over his face, his eyes, his lips, and his neck. He returned every kiss in kind and tightened his hold on her body. Her hand slid down his side, and he drew in a hissed breath as it made contact with his wound. Without a word, she drew away and lifted his shirt. Her eyes immediately saw the wound.
"What happened to you," she asked, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "What?"
"Just an accident, Loralei. I'm fine, baby, don't worry about me," he said softly.
"No," she insisted stubbornly. "Is this what you were hiding from me? Is this why you stayed away?"
Incredibly ashamed of himself, he nodded. "Yes. I'll understand if you hate me, if you want to hit me, or kick me out, but I couldn't tell you. Not like this. I did it to protect you from further harm. When I heard you were ill, there was no way I wanted you to come to me. I couldn't risk it. I love you, and I hope you can forgive me."
She kissed him again and then buried her face into her favorite secure place. "I don't care," she said. "You're here. Nothing else matters. Nothing else is more important to me right now than having you in my arms. I love you, baby, I love you so much. Don't leave me. I need you to stay for a while. Can you? Please?"
He closed his eyes tightly and caressed her soft, soft hair. "You couldn't beat me away. Not now. Not ever."
* * *
ONE MORE CHAPTER. THANKS FOR ALL YOUR PATIENCE AND FEEDBACK.
**** I put this comment in the fic due to a conversation I have had numerous times with other UC fanfic writers. We muse about all the injuries, pain, anguish, and heartache we put Frank through. Just thought I'd sort of throw that in there as an inside joke! Once again, thanks! Thanks also goes out again to Ardeths Lover [Deana] and TheDreamyOne [Shelley] for their assistance, advice, and for reading my sappy sneak peeks!