A/N: For disclaimers, see chapter 1. Thanks for the review, Kierana:) Sorry I haven't updated here in a while. More to come post-exams. Thanks for reading, I hope folk are enjoying.

Chapter XVI: Lilywhite

Simon had fallen asleep long before CJ reluctantly left his bedside. She flicked the TV off, before placing a kiss softly on his forehead: he had stirred for a moment. Gently prying her hand from his, she remembered leaving Hogan like this a few times when she was small. Safe in the knowledge that the occupant of the bed would sleep soundly was the only comfort against knowing that they would wake alone. There would be a day CJ promised herself, that she and Simon would fall asleep together, only this time with the promise to remain in one another's life past 4AM. The promise would be for life. For now, she collected her coat and purse and softly let herself out of his room. Debbie was sat behind the nurse's station, scribbling diligently at some paperwork, looking up at the visitor when she sensed her presence in front of the desk.

"I'm sorry about tonight." The Press Secretary started.

"What happened?" Debbie cut to the chase, quite frankly it still was not OK.

"He... I..." CJ blinked hard under the nurse's unrelenting stare. With her eyes closed, she carried on, images of his contorted face running through the darkness. "I just put my hand on his," her eyes opened, moist with tears, "he thought it was... just pity." Suddenly, the younger woman's eyes softened. It happened a lot, especially with people in Eric's position; her heart went out to the woman before her.

"I had the suspicion that he's not dealing well with the prognosis." CJ didn't really hear the words, instead she looked, teary eyed over to the sleeping man in the adjacent room.

"He knows now though, it's OK."

"Eric isn't going to be OK for a long while Ms Cregg."

"Will he get better?" CJ finally turned back to the nurse, who's tone had still been cautionary – she took a deep breath.

"I'm not the best person to talk to, but I can tell you that there is severe damage that may or may not mend." CJ's eyes begged for a more thorough explanation – and although she wasn't strictly next of kin, Debbie couldn't deny her the truth. "Fractures normally start to mend in six weeks, if it were his arm he'd get a cast off in that time. Now remember that his scapula was actually shattered. Still, there are plates and pins so the bone itself is not that much of a problem. Even the muscle bulk that tightly surrounds the scapula that was torn by shards of bone aren't a long term problem. The real problem is the damage to his nerves, of which there was plenty; even when the bone and muscle structure heals, he may not be able to recover full use of the arm."

"What does that mean?"

"The major nerve that controls the rotator cuff muscles, that's the bit at the top of the arm, has been damaged – we know that much. He's got definite reduced ability in abducting the arm... but he has good movement in the fingers."

"I... I don't know what to say to him – is there a chance he'll regain...?"

"The odds are not in his favour. All that said, Ms Cregg, I don't know if he's mentioned it but there is a new procedure for nerve rehabilitation Eric would be an excellent candidate, fit, strong..." CJ nodded numbly, causing the nurse to stop, both knowing that this was neither of their place to be discussing. "You should get some sleep, it's been a tough night for the both of you."

"Yeah... and thanks – could you tell him I'll come by as soon as I can get away from work?"

"Sure."

"Good night."

CJ felt drained as she reached her car. Unlocking the driver's side door, she wondered how her stranger – the angel – was doing. Silently, she thanked God again for that moment of human kindness; she asked that he, whoever he was, might be comforted tonight. His words came back to her: ' If you didn't love him you'd have never sat down with me'. Was it that obvious? Being in love this time around had been so different to every other time before. This was a love for someone she barely knew, yet someone who she couldn't bear to leave. Maybe they could date when he got out of hospital. Perhaps they could go for late night walks and she could walk closest to the road. When they stopped under the moonlit sky, the stars visible through a soft green canopy of leaves, he wouldn't have to step away. All these things were a dream she had held for a long time. The longest time she could remember. Starting her car, she smiled warmly to herself. Thanks to Simon, she knew how to fit the spark plugs in her car. Damn that man!

Waking, Simon felt oddly at peace. He knew CJ would be gone, yet the feeling of her hand still lingered on his skin. His chest was as sore as hell. Again, he cursed himself for being so short-sighted in his outburst the night before. For all of the pain he had endured since he caught that glimpse of Ron Butterfield in her New York hotel room, there was now some hope. Maybe he would listen to what Professor Khan had to say about rehabilitation today. Perhaps he would actually smile at the physiotherapist. Somehow, he didn't care about his career right now – he had found a future; that future was CJ Cregg. Had there not been a deep-rooted feeling that had tugged so hard on his soul every day since meeting her, he might have passed the urge of as dependence or selfishness. There wasn't an ounce of that feeling though, only of the need to somehow be with her. His mind was buzzing with schemes of ways to make her smile.

Professor Khan swept into the room, beaming as he saw his patient looking so vital after hearing the report of the previous night's complications. For the first time, his warm smile was returned by the patient. They had their usual discussion, and to further surprise on the doctor's part, the patient asked about the nerve damage. Before, they had skirted around the issue, Eric had seemed to depressed to handle the full details, and had closed off or interrupted every time Khan had tried to explain.

"There is minor damage to the bulk of the nerves in the shoulder area I'm sorry to say, Eric. Our major concern, though is the branch of the cervical nerve, C5. It is largely responsible for motor innervation in the scapula region, and in turn, a number of functions of the arm itself." The patient took a deep breath, he knew which had been the frustratingly hard movements during the light physio sessions – he knew the actions he had not been able to make his arm perform at all. Khan went on: "As you may have realised from your treatment, the difficulties lie in any movement that originates from the manipulation of the scapula itself, predominantly, the abduction of your arm." Eric nodded slowly, keeping his concentration. "There is a new surgical procedure that you can put yourself forward for. Of course, you would have to wait for a while, let your body recover from this round of surgery. It will be a long and hard road ahead, I can't tell you otherwise, but there are ways to help it all along... I would be more than happy to refer you to the specialist."

There was hope, real hope. He had a referral and would meet one Dr Mortiz Bauer in a month's time. The late Autumn sun seeped warmth into his room, into his life. The week would go along faster. CJ would visit. Before he knew it, it was Friday and the Miles' would be visiting the following day. The thought brought him briefly back down from his newly elevated position. What would he say to Jodie and the kids? This was one confrontation he had honestly forgotten about – so focused had he been the past few days on recovery and his new favourite project: getting to know CJ Cregg.

Saturday morning came with bright sunshine and cool, crisp air. Danny basked in the warmth of the sun as he noticed a return of that 'je ne sais pas' to the Press Room The sparkle that CJ had been sorely lacking in the past year and a half had slowly returned over the course of the week. It brought a contented smile to his face to see her eyes shine despite the ever-present dark circles. Carol returned his playful grin as he slid past the door after her boss at the end of the Saturday morning briefing. There had been days when he had backed off at the warning in the Press Secretary's Assistant's eyes. Something had changed, and he was dying to know how Eric Orson, or Simon Donovan – he didn't care which – was doing. He burned to know if his favourite member of the Senior Staff was being loved in a way he had once yearned to.

The red-headed reporter found the full frame of CJ Cregg standing still in her own doorway, her hands obviously somewhere in the vicinity of her face. Peering past her slender figure, he caught an eyeful of the cause of her clear shock, or joy... or both. There was a massive arrangement of flowers in the middle of her desk. CJ didn't notice Danny's presence behind her, and advanced over to the beautiful sculpture of fresh, vibrant blooms.

In a simple, elegant hand-made heavy glass vase stood a beautifully arranged collection that must have cost the sender a small fortune. A careful selection of elegant white Leucadendron, scented ivory Lilies, and long-stemmed gold roses, all nestled among tender-looking foliage had filled the room with a delicately sweet perfume and an aura of sunshine.

CJ, clearly stunned, had crossed the room and picked up the small, thin envelope that had been standing against the vase. The reporter watched from her doorway as she removed the card from its sheath with almost trembling hands. Completely white to Danny's eyes, he was surprised by the plain nature of the card, until he saw the flush that came over her cheeks. The message inside was obviously special enough not to need a fancy introduction, or a printed sign as to what the sender's intentions were. He watched her some more: it was clear that her eyes had already skimmed through the whole note, and were going back through – she was taking in every word.

CJ,

I'm no good with words – maybe you've guessed that about me already. All I want to say is thank you, but those two words will never fully express the depth of my gratitude. There is a phrase in Ephari that translates literally as this: 'for all my days I am warm in heart to you' – it is their most reverent form of thanks, perhaps theirs is more accurate of my feeling.

Yours always,

Simon.

The handwriting was neat, perhaps surprisingly so. CJ smiled as light tears spilled from her eyes. They were not the heavy, sorrow-filled tears she had become so often acquainted with; they were the most intimate streams that emanated right from her soul. Danny watched the pearly water glistening over her cheeks. He suddenly felt as if he were intruding on this very intimate and personal moment. There was no doubt in his mind as to who those flowers were from, or the weight of meaning that they carried between sender and recipient. He shrunk back from her doorway, leaving her to savour her joy alone.

Simon sat propped up in the cot, leaning back into a wall of pillows. Although his recent enthusiasm had helped, even just getting dressed with the help of a nurse and a light physio session had tired him out. The gentle exercises were getting moderately easier and less painful, but it would be a long time before he would be able to do them for himself – if he would be able to do them himself.

It was good to be in his own clothes, even if it was limited to an over-sized black Oxford shirt and sweat pants; that Ron had kindly brought him. He had allowed Debbie, on duty for the first time in a few days, to give his rough cheeks a shave, leaving a short moustache and beard over his chin – not yet feeling ready to fully embrace Simon Donovan: Eric was still an easier person to be for now.

He had the TV on, watching the pre-game show for the evening's football. Nervous wasn't even the half of it. To add to his anxieties, he had arranged with Ron for flowers to be sent to CJ – Ron was completely accommodating and had refused to take a message, insisting Simon write it himself – a gesture for which Simon was presently glad. Now, the morning of their delivery, he realised it was playing on his mind equally as hard as figuring out what he would say to his potentially estranged surrogate family. He had hoped the football would take his thoughts from it.

The unmistakable sound of Tori's voice floating out of the elevator set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. For a moment, his mind was filled with memories of the girl. For as long as he can remember, Ferdinand's daughter, Tori wanted to be a ballerina; Simon remembered with a warm fondness, going to one of her first ballet exams. The little girl had been so nervous, and not wanting to let her down, Simon and Ferdinand had rushed from their shift at the Chicago P.D. in the back of a squad car with full blues to make it there on time. She'd been about four then. The brief skip into his past brought up the memory of a feeling that had hit him deep inside that day. The smile on his face had been so broad, and the sight of tears brimming in his eyes had caused the mother of another little girl to congratulate him, as if Tori was his. The brief, but deep pride before the instant heartbreak of admitting he was just a family friend lifted him up then slapped him back hard, even to this day. The yearning for a family of his own slipped into his mind... all the emotions quickly had his eyes well up.

"Hi!" - "Uncle Simon!" - "Hey!" Three greetings simultaneously lit up his room, and the moisture in his eyes was blinked away in a moment. The little girl, who wasn't nearly as little any more rushed over to his bedside, leaning over his lap to plant a kiss on his now smooth cheek. The twelve year old smiled adoringly at her uncle. She recalled only fond memories and was thrilled to see him.

"How are you feeling!" She gasped, her warm hazel eyes beaming at him as her parents peered over her locks of a rich brown.

"Fine, Tori – just fine! How about you, I mean look at you, you've grown up so much!" The girl blushed and smiled bashfully.

"Thank you." She cooed, moving to her mother's side so her parents could get in.

"You're gonna be beautiful just like your Mom there!" The girl turned an even deeper shade of crimson as Jodie stepped in, lightly tapping Simon on the arm:

"Simon!" She greeted her friend with a vigorous kiss on the same cheek as her daughter had placed her tiny peck, holding his face tight in her hands. He was the elder brother she never had. They had all been through rough times together; Jodie walked in on the lives of the two men as they were slowly rebuilding from their respective lows that landed them in Chicago. She looked at him for a long moment, studying his face, searching under the tan and all-too familiar beard: looking for that man – the shattered character she'd met all those years back. There were the tell-tale cracks. Jodie saw right through him, seeing the fear and the apprehension, the raw, open emotional scars that had never really completely healed. He looked different, but somewhere, even deeper under it all, she was greeted by the spirit of the Simon she and her family loved so dearly. Finally, satisfied, she spoke – her tone brimming in jest:

"You grew a beard again?" She questioned, fuzzing his chin before letting him go.

"Hey!" He ducked out of range as she withdrew, "you like it?" The woman chuckled, the same throaty laugh that his friend had immediately fallen for washed over him in a refreshing wave, soothing his wounds.

"It's a bit of a throw back, Simon!" They both giggled, "but yeah... reminds me of Chicago, you were young and handsome then!" Beneath the humour, there was a deeper dialogue between the two. Jodie was reminding him of the darker days when they had first met, and of Simon's fragile temperament back then – she was warning him not to slip back, and at the same time, offering him the flame for a lamp should the darkness start to return. The words hung in the air for a second as Simon realised why she had looked at him so hard.

Pete kicked his feet and sighed on the other side of the room, both unimpressed by the display of affection his mother was showing, and the depth of the gaze they were currently sharing. Mention of Chicago had been the last straw. The smiles faded as everyone turned to the well built teen.

"Hi Pete." Simon made the first step. The kid lifted his head in the most slight acknowledgement. All he wanted to do was kick his uncle's ass, he felt the bile rise in his stomach and hated it. There had been so many times this year he'd wanted – needed – to call his uncle up; in fact he did, only to be greeted with a curt answer phone message. There were things he had always only spoken to his uncle about; things that he never felt comfortable discussing with his parents. While Pete had become used to not seeing Simon come through the door with his Dad when he returned from work, or on the touchline at football practices – the memory, expectation and longing never faded.

"You just gonna stand there?" Simon tried to say it playfully, masking the deep disappointment he felt in himself while they were in front of the rest of the family. Joking like this had always been a vice of his, hoping a laugh would take away from the fact that he was an utter jerk.

Pete shoved his hands in his pockets and said nothing, turning to the window, thinking of just how much of a jerk his uncle was being. Ferdinand was often on the receiving end of these moods, which had come on only since Simon had become more and more involved at work in D.C. It was time he did his fatherly deed and intervene:

"Hey, Tori, let's go and get your uncle a cup of coffee, I bet he's thristy," Pete made no move to join them. "Can you remember how Uncle Simon takes his coffee?" Tori thought long and hard about it, her brown furrowed in concentration. She eventually shook her head, not really bothered that she couldn't remember, but eager to find out.

"Right then, we'll come with you." Jodie offered, the little girl nodded enthusiastically and the three person convoy left for the vending machines three floors below.

Pete looked at the floor. Simon sat on his bed patiently waiting for the eruption. When the boy spoke, however, his tone was quiet, firm and brimming with emotion; his resolve was strong as he locked eyes with the man he held so high.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Pete... please understand that I couldn't."

"Took Dad months to really figure you were gone... I thought you were just being more of a jerk than usual since you got that promotion," he huffed, shaking his head and turning away again, "you totally flipped us for your job." Finally he turned on his uncle, taking firm strides towards him. "Dad was cussing like I've never heard when he called Mom from D.C. - and when he came home... I've never seen him... I had never seen my Father cry!"

"I... I can't defend myself Pete. But I had no choice!"

"But you did!"

"No, I didn't! I wanted to leave your Dad something more to go on, but it all happened so fast!"

"Yeah, that kid, Anthony – great clue, Simon!" Pete had never called his uncle just by his given name; it had always been Uncle Simon, or Foxy... an old nick name from the Chicago P.D. that had solved the problem of toddling Pete not getting his mouth around the complexities of 'Simon'.

"We had agreed about that a long-"

"You tell that chick you were goin?" The change of tac really threw Simon, the teen's words harsh, yet his tone thick with hurt borne of rejection.

"No." Simon's face was open and honest.

"Dad found out for sure when he spoke to her."

"Well, I don't know what she said – all she knew was that I left her high and dry!" Pete's stare was unrelenting, Simon continued: "The night her stalker was caught we..." he took a deep breath, realising that the sordid details would not help. "Pete, I swear all she knew was that I walked out of her hotel room without an explanation, the day I left." In that moment, the pain and shake in Simon's voice melted away some of the resentment Pete held for him. He had never seen hurt in the older man. Pete cut his losses and gave into love; his face softened and he smiled cautiously.

"That can't have been too fantastic, Mr Fox." The smile that broke under the beard at the use of his buddy name was wide and of unbound joy. His smile faded though,

"It was the most terrible feeling, Pete – the way she..." he stopped himself, the boy's eyes not asking him to go back down that avenue of hurt.

"Dad said she was nice too... man that must suck for you?"

"What?"

"Just sucks, y'know, if she was that nice..." Pete thought for a long second, looking his uncle in the face, wondering hard if this was the right thing to be said, and taking the bull by the horns out of concern and curiosity as to the character of this woman. "So she still around?"

"Uh..." Simon scratched his chin, "kinda, yeah"

"Kinda? Kinda how! Jesus, I thought chicks totally hate guys for doing that... come on then Foxy, what d'you say man?"

"I said that I was sorry."

"Sorry? That's it?"

"I said I was sorry, and that I was..." Scared. He couldn't bring himself to say it again, "hell – why am I telling you all this?"

"Cos I have SO crashed and burned in this department, you're meant to be my coach, remember!" They both laughed hard, both relieved to be back to something approaching normality. Simon sobered up, feeling he owed his God-son something more.

"I was scared, Pete." The teen's hazel eyes widened. "I told her the truth. Now I'm telling you."

TBC-