A Heavy Heart 11/20
Chapter Eleven:
Once Alan is delivered into Terry's capable hands, Don steels himself to go see Charlie in the ICU.
He's afraid. Afraid like he's never been in his entire FBI career. More afraid than when he first learned his mother was dying. More afraid than when he was shot at in the line of duty.
Despite the doctor assuring them that the odds are in their favor, he's convinced Charlie's going to die. Illogical as the thought is, the 24 hour period feels like a death sentence to Don, the maximum amount of time he has left with his brother. The thought terrifies him.
Somehow, going to see Charlie makes it all real. That if he goes to see him it might well be the last time he sees his brother alive.
Don hesitates outside the door. The nurse standing near him tells him it's okay and he wants to tell her 'no, it's not, because my brother is in there dying.' But he says nothing.
He has no idea how much time passes before he actually opens the door. As soon as he walks inside and catches a glimpse of the motionless form surrounded by machinery, his breath catches and he feels a panic well up in his chest that he can't fight down. Suddenly there's not enough oxygen in the air. A nurse appears and forces him to sit down, telling him to breathe slowly. Don doesn't even realize he's hyperventilating and barely acknowledges her presence.
He can't take his eyes off the figure in the bed. His brain tells him it's Charlie but he can't bring himself to believe it. He's deathly pale and so... inanimate, Don could easily be convinced he's looking at a corpse and not a living being.
The only proof of life is the heart monitor and Don watches the pulses go across the screen, hypnotized but not comforted by their regularity.
His head finally clears as his breathing starts to return to normal. The nurse helps him to his feet and into the chair next to Charlie's bed.
Rather than take Charlie's hand, Don places his hand over his brother's heart. He feels it beat as he watches the pulses go across the screen. Time seems to have no meaning and Don loses track of how many beats he's watched. It could be a hundred, it could be a thousand. The only one that means anything is the one that comes next.
They keep coming. Don should be reassured by this but he's not. He's waiting. He's waiting for when they stop coming.
He doesn't think he'll have to wait long.