Changes and Choices
Disclaimer: CBS owns Numb3rs. I don't.
Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience. Things kind of ran away from me with this chapter. Don't fret, I will finish this story. It's just going to take a bit of time to finish polishing it.
While Jasmine had reassured him that Terry's condition had not deteriorated during the night, Don was anxious to see his partner just the same. When the two agents exited the elevator on the fifth floor, the place had not changed much from the day before. There was none of the chaos that engulfed the first-floor emergency room or the orderly haste that dictated the operating rooms on the second floor. Here medical personnel moved with a soothing calm between hospital rooms, checking in on patients with a smile and a quiet greeting. The morning sunshine cast a soft glow against the rose-colored hospital walls. The gentle silence that permeated the atmosphere was interrupted only by the soft footfalls of orderlies and low conversations between patients and visitors. The only anomaly to this montage of peace was the armed guard sitting beside an open doorway.
The sentry had changed overnight. A woman in her mid-twenties sat outside the door now, her attention focused on a heavy textbook in her lap. She looked up at the two approaching agents, but did not get up to block their way. Instead, she waited until they were a few feet away from her.
"Good morning, Agent Eppes, Agent Lewis," she said quietly in greeting. He nodded back, not inquiring after how she knew his name.
"When will Meeker be around, Henderson?" asked Jasmine. Glancing at her watch, the young agent answered, "Two hours, I think. When he made his rounds earlier, he said that she's still critical, but she's stable and he thinks she'll be fine."
"Good," Jasmine nodded. She turned to him. "Don, if it's all right with you, I have to leave."
"It's fine," he replied.
"Lisa," began Jasmine, "if anything happens—"
"I know," the other woman said soothingly, "I will call you immediately."
Jasmine left the two of them just outside of Terry's room. The young agent smiled tightly at him before returning her attention to her Forensics book. Don entered the hospital room and sat back down in the same seat he had occupied the day before. He allowed himself one anxious glance at the myriad of monitors surrounding Terry before he turned his concentration to the case notes that Jasmine had given him in the car.
He tore his attention away from studying the front windows of the local grocery store when she gently cleared her throat. Jasmine waited until the car came to a full stop at the traffic lights before she turned to look at him solemnly, having come to some unspoken decision.
"Don," she said quietly, "last night I told you I couldn't go into details about the investigation. I think that you deserve to know a little more than that." Don held up his hands in a gesture that asked her not to go on. They both knew the rules governing on-going investigations and the risk she was taking if she was going to give an uninvolved agent details pertaining to the case, especially an agent with personal ties. She shook her head.
"No, I know I can trust you on this and… She's your partner. I think you should know the facts." Jasmine returned her attention to the road, but not before adding, "Fiction is worse than facts sometimes."
Don thought about his nightmares and silently agreed. She went on, "I've written out a basic summary of the case. It's in there." Jasmine nodded toward the plain white envelope on the dashboard in front of him. "There's nothing vital that could damage our case if it got misplaced."
"Don't worry," he replied, knowing her unspoken preference, as he took the packet and tucked it into his inner coat pocket, "I'll take care of it." She smiled slightly in relief, "Thanks."
He opened the sealed envelope. Jasmine apparently had a taste for understatement because what she had given him was hardly a basic summary. Inside were several sheets of paper, covered in semi-loopy handwriting or censored photocopies of someone's notes. Flipping through the sheaf, there was one photocopied page of handwriting that Don recognized at a glance: Terry's. He glimpsed through it; it was notes for a day of interrogations. He sighed, 'How much do I really want to know about what she's been doing? What risks she's been taking without me to watch her back? She doesn't need a knight-in-shining armor to protect her.' Don chided himself gently. 'Terry can take care of herself, has taken care of herself for years without me and done a damn good job of it…' His eyes drifted to her still form, '…most of the time.' He shuffled the papers back into order. As he began to read, Don slipped one hand into her lax grip, a part of him still needing reassurance she was alive.
"Don?" He barely heard her weak voice call his name, but he immediately sat up straighter and put the notes in his lap. She turned her head towards him. A relieved smile spread across his face as he met her eyes. "Hi there, s-Terry," he said gently, just barely catching his slip-of-the-tongue. He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. The papers fluttered to the floor when he shifted his weight forward, but he didn't care. She blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the light and her mind registering her surroundings.
"I thought you were in L.A," she said softly, confused by his presence. Terry was tired, he could tell, and was fighting to stay awake to talk with him. He needed to coax her back to sleep. 'Not that it's going to be difficult. I wonder how many painkillers or sedatives she's on.'
"I was," he replied, his hand still holding hers. "I came here to see you."
"Oh," she whispered, her eyes closing against her will.
"Get some rest," he said, tenderly running a hand against her cheek. "I'll still be here later." She nodded slowly, a slight smile on her lips, before sleep welcomed her back into its restful embrace. With a murmured thankful prayer, he slumped back in his chair. As she slept this time, Don was able to enjoy sitting by her bedside, watching her slumber, grateful that she would be all right. They would have their chance to talk. They would have their chance to work things out. Relieved, he allowed his eyes to close of their own accord. Soon he too drifted off to sleep.
He didn't hear Henderson inform the nurse that Terry had woken up briefly or stir when the nurse entered the room and removed several pieces of medical equipment. It was nearly an hour later before the young agent came into the room and reluctantly tapped Don gently on the shoulder, waking him. She waited until he was fully conscious before speaking.
"Excuse me, Agent Eppes," said Henderson softly, "the surgeon wants to talk to you for a few minutes. I'll stay in here with her while you're gone." He nodded and unfolded himself from the chair, reluctantly letting go of Terry's hand. The young agent took his place, turning the chair so she could keep an eye on both Terry and the doorway at the same time. Don went out into the corridor and nearly ran into the tall chestnut-haired man in surgeon's scrubs standing just outside the door. The man promptly closed the medical chart he was reading.
"Dr. Meeker," the surgeon introduced himself, "You're Agent Lake's husband?"
"Don Eppes. A friend," Don replied shortly. The doctor took the correction in stride as they shook hands. He motioned for Don to step away from the open hospital room door.
"I understand that she regained consciousness for a few minutes," stated Dr. Meeker, though his look told Don that it was a question. Don nodded and replied, "She was awake for about a minute."
"Did she seem lucid?"
"Yes, but she didn't say much."
"That's all right," said Meeker, nodding. Seeing Don's unspoken question, the medical expert explained, "I was worried that she might have suffered a concussion when she didn't wake up yesterday, but from what you've just told me, she seems to be perfectly fine. The next time she wakes up, see if you can keep her awake and talking until I get there. I've already instructed the nurses and her guard to page me when that happens."
"Um, Doctor…" Don wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the details, but he steeled himself for the other man's answer as he asked, ""How — how bad was it?"
"She's a fighter," Meeker replied, which were all the answers Don wanted. "However, it's highly unlikely that she'll be fit for active field duty in the near future. She's lucky enough as it is to have survived.
"With the proper care and therapy, I see no reason why she shouldn't recover enough to lead a fulfilling life. Now whether that would include a career as a FBI agent remains to be seen. There shouldn't be any permanent damage, other than some scarring, but every person recovers differently. If she continues to improve, we should be able to upgrade her condition to serious but stable by the end of the day."
"When can she get out of here?"
"We'll probably be able to discharge her in a few weeks without too much worry. I would advise that she spend at least another week at home before even returning to desk duty. What she needs is to avoid stress or any situation that might raise her heart rate. We put in firm sutures, but she can't rupture them."
Meeker saw how his words had caused Don's face to drain of color and hastened to reassure him. "Ms. Lake will be fine. She just needs some time to heal completely. Once that happens, she'll be in no danger. But until then, she needs to take it easy on herself and I know, from past experience, that 'taking it easy' has a different definition when it comes to FBI agents. When she wakes up, I'll talk to both of you and explain in precise terms what you need to do in order to ensure her best recovery."
Don nodded and, after parting ways with Meeker, reentered the hospital room. Henderson stood up from the bedside chair. While she was waiting for Don's return, she had taken the time to pick up the scattered papers from the floor. As she handed them to him, she said quietly, "Agent Lake didn't stir while you were gone." He nodded his thanks, replacing the envelope inside his jacket, and Henderson returned to her post, leaving the two senior agents alone.
Don reclaimed his place by Terry's side again and took her hand in his. Now, he took the time to study her fingertips, slightly callused from years of firmly gripping handcuffs and drawing her weapon; the faint vanilla scent of moisturizer on the back of her hand, the skin surprisingly soft; her slightly swollen knuckles, bruised from the punch she had dealt in the struggle. Turning her wrist, he idly traced the creases and old scars that crisscrossed her palm, recalling memories as he did so: that scar came from a suspect's knife during a hostage situation, this cut occurred during a particularly nasty arrest. He found the faint white mark on the edge of her palm where a particularly idiotic classmate of theirs in the Academy had nipped her skin with the metal latch of handcuffs during a practical lesson. Don vaguely recalled that the classmate had suffered a nervous breakdown and been dismissed a few weeks later.
His eyes came to rest on her fingers. There was a slightly whiter band of skin at the base of her fourth finger, but her gold wedding band was nowhere to be seen. Now that he had some time to think about it, Don couldn't remember when he had last seen the sole remaining relic of Terry's marriage. He gently rubbed his thumb over her fingers, wondering if he would one day feel the smooth curves of two cool metal bands underneath his touch.
"Don?" He felt her fingers curl around his as she returned to the waking world.
"Right here, Terry." He pulled the chair closer to her bedside as she turned her head towards his voice.
"I thought I was dreaming," she whispered. Don shook his head, "No, you weren't."
"How long?" she asked, struggling to sit up. Don quickly put his free hand gently on her shoulder, warning her to stay still. "Take it easy," he told her. At her glare, Don quickly answered, "It's Sunday."
"Oh," she looked away from him, toward the window. Don waited, knowing that she was sorting out what she remembered. Terry looked back at him.
"What happened?" she asked softly. "How much did Lewis tell you?"
"She told me that you were interrogating a suspect," he replied, managing to keep his voice steady. "There was a struggle and you were shot." He didn't go into the details, not wanting to worry her with what he knew, not wanting to frighten her with how close she came to dying. Jasmine had enclosed an incident report with the notes she had given him, a single piece of paper that detailed the events of that night with words like "assault," "broken ribs," "gunshot wound," "heavy blood loss," and "nicked artery." The papers explained the armed guard outside her room and the secrecy surrounding the case. Terry had involved herself in a risky operation, one that was still incomplete, which put her in possible danger. Unconsciously, his hand tightened on hers and she returned it. When Don noticed how firmly he was gripping her hand, he forced himself to relax. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable or, Heaven forbid, give her the impression that he thought she couldn't take care of herself. 'She's not going to die now and leave me. She's not going to leave me.'
"I'm sorry," she finally said.
"For what?" he asked, surprised.
"For getting hurt," she replied, keeping a grip on his hand. Don shook his head, "It's okay. It isn't like I haven't been busy in the office while you've been gone. The manhunt almost ended in a shoot-out."
"I know; Jasmine told me."
"Yeah," Don looked down at their intertwined hands, "I saw Coop again."
"Billy Cooper?" asked Terry, "Your old partner from the Fugitive Unit? You didn't mention it."
"Yeah," he replied. "Well, neither of us had much time to talk on Wednesday." Don felt her study him. She knew that Cooper's appearance had stirred up a lot of old feelings and she waited for his decision whether to talk or not. When he didn't say anything, she moved on, "How are Charlie and your dad?"
"Doing well," he answered. "Dad took us out for a round a few days ago. Charlie's having a helluva time learning how to golf." Terry started to laugh, but quickly stopped, her free hand pressing gently against her ribs. Don waited for her call whether or not she wanted the nurse to give her a dose of painkillers. She shook her head at the question written in his expression and he nodded in reply, understanding her wishes. His eyes fell back on their interlocked hands. There was a long silence, so long that Don thought Terry had fallen back asleep, but when he checked, she was just looking at him steadily.
"What's on your mind?" she asked quietly. Don wondered briefly if this was the right time to come clean, before dismissing it. He chose to discuss another minor topic before taking his chance. "It was good to see Coop again," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "brought back a lot of memories…"
His thoughts drifted back to his father's somewhat brusque, but mostly concerned demand that he not immerse himself into his work again. He had been slightly hurt that his father could even think that he would abandon them again, even though it was a logical fear on Alan's part. Because that was what he had done when he was with Fugitive Recovery. It had been a time of his life when he just focused on his career and nothing else. Looking back, Don still didn't quite understand why he had almost severed all ties with his family, but he knew that he needed the time to work out whatever issues were bothering him. Once that was out of his system, he had asked for a transfer and ended up in Albuquerque.
She waited patiently. During the years they were apart, she had heard about bits and pieces of his life from her coworkers or just through the grapevine gossip. She knew that he had excelled in Fugitive Recovery, but had requested a transfer out of that task force. He had ended up in Albuquerque, where his abilities, honed by months in Recovery, earned him multiple commendations from his superiors. When Terry learned about his promotion to head of the Albuquerque field office, she wasn't as surprised as some of her colleagues. Don was just that good at his job, honest and reliable. He was a natural leader who, despite all his claims to the contrary, did care about the cases he worked.
As for his private life, the water cooler gossip had been scandalized by his engagement to Kim Hall, a fellow FBI agent and in the same office to boot. That had caught Terry completely off-guard. Yes, the two of them had drifted apart after graduation, but to her, Don hadn't seemed like the type to marry and settle down. During their years together, he seemed…restless. There was an edge of discontent in his life. She had put it down to living in the shadow of his younger genius brother, but perhaps it had resolved itself somehow. Back then, she had just accepted the facts and wished him the best of luck in his impending matrimony. For her, the emotional scars of her failed marriage still stung three years after the divorce became final. It was too soon for her to entertain romantic notions about anybody.
Terry had been shocked when she learned that he was transferring to Los Angeles as her new partner after McClellan's retirement. It was a step down from his position in New Mexico. While she was grateful that she would have an experienced partner, it didn't seem like Don at all. Even in the Academy, she knew the FBI would be his career, and like her, his life. She didn't understand why he would request a transfer so suddenly into a demoted position. Sadness set in when she learned why. Their shared past together allowed her to help him open up slightly about his family, especially about his relationship with his mother. The night after his mother's funeral, she had answered a knock on her apartment door in the middle of the night and let him in. Nothing happened between them, just two friends grieving together. He left for his childhood home early the next morning and they never spoke of that night again.
She didn't know when she had crossed the boundary between 'friends' to genuine feelings for Don. But the night when she realized that she did, she had immediately slammed the door shut on her emotions in a panic. The majority of her was terrified of making a slip, especially at a time when Don didn't seem to be ready to enter into a romantic relationship. 'All he needs at this time in his life is a friend and partner,' she had told herself, 'not a life partner. Not yet anyway.' So day in and day out, she worked alongside him and struggled to not give anything away. She had always been able to maintain that blank façade, concealing her true feelings. It was what made her a great interrogator; it unnerved suspects when she gave the impression that she wasn't quite human, lacking emotions such as disgust or horror. But it was difficult then to tear down those walls to let someone in at night before erecting those same protective walls the next day. It was what partially doomed her first marriage to failure.
When Kim's letter arrived in the mail, along with the engagement ring and some of his old belongings, Terry had felt a degree of fury toward the other woman. How could she do this to Don, especially at this time in his life? He needed someone who would support him through the anguish of losing a parent, not someone who left him at the first signs of trouble. But, as time passed, Terry realized that it had been a mutual agreement between the couple to end the relationship. (She never knew the details of the breakup; she hadn't asked and he hadn't volunteered.)
She hadn't been too thrilled when the Secret Service agent had shown up at the office a few months ago, but what could Terry have done about it? They needed Kim's expertise in the matter, but that didn't stop Terry from watching the other woman like a hawk for the duration of the case. She knew it was completely irrational on her part, but she couldn't help herself. David had watched her flighty behavior with some degree of curiosity, but he never said a word. Well, other than the fact that he hated when she profiled him. Sometimes, it was fun to tease the young agent a little, get David to understand the fact that it was all right to laugh when things were unbearable.
As a rule, Don rarely talked about his personal life before he returned to L.A. Terry had gathered up little bits and pieces of information he had dropped during idle stakeout conversations to piece together a vague picture of the nature of his breakup with Kim. But he had never talked about his time in the Fugitive Recovery, only mentioning it briefly enough for her to know the names of his colleagues and a few cold cases that he still tracked, but nothing more. Maybe it was a cold trail that went hot with a new lead or a failed attempt to close a case that put the pensive look on his face.
"What's bothering you?" she asked.
"Dad… he—I don't know how to put this," Don stumbled over the words, "he basically accused me, well, no, he warned me not to distance myself from him and Charlie again and I don't understand, well, I do understand, I just don't… How could he think I could do that to him and Charlie now? I mean, I'm past it, at least, I'm fairly sure that I don't want to return to Recovery. Coop was a good partner, it's just… I've changed, he's changed and back then, things were different. Sure, it was exciting during some of the chases, but…" Don sighed before he clammed up about his past.
"Don, as far as I know, you've never opened up to anyone about that time," said Terry quietly, "not to your father, not to Charlie, not to me. Maybe you should talk to your father about it," she suggested, "get him to understand that you're past that now, that you're not planning on leaving them."
Don nodded slowly as he thought back on his choices and the chain of events that had brought him to this point in his life, including, yes, his feelings for the woman sitting in front of him. The woman of his affections continued to wait patiently, watching his expression as he tried to put his emotions into words.
"What is it?" she prodded gently, seeing there was something he wanted to say.
"I wouldn't trade what I have now to go back there again," he told her as he thought, 'It's nice to be with you again.' "I mean, it's nice to be back home with Dad and Charlie," he continued, "Yeah, it's still hard sometimes dealing with Charlie when he's in his own world and I wish Mom was…,"—Terry squeezed his hand in sympathy— "but you know, Charlie's grown up a little while I was away. Sometimes I can still see him as a little kid and other times…" Don smirked slightly.
"What?"
"You know that Amita's almost finished with her degree, but she's staying at CalSci for another in astrophysics…"
"…which will mean that Charlie will no longer be her thesis adviser and professor-student rules don't apply," concluded Terry with a smile on her face. "It's about time." Don gave her a questioning look. "You can't tell me you've missed the looks that they give each other?"
"No," he answered, "I just didn't realize that you noticed it too." 'Have you noticed how I've hovered over you these past few months? How relieved I was to see you, safe and unharmed, after we arrested the CharmSchool Boys? How I try to keep you close during raids? How I still let you go off alone sometimes because I know you can take care of yourself, even though that causes my heart to beat a little faster with fear? Did you notice my anger and frustration when I tried to send you away in the train yard because I wanted to protect you and you refused? Did you see how much I wanted to give you a kiss after David disarmed the bomb, because, clichéd as that is, I was relieved beyond belief that we were still alive? Have you noticed how I smile more often when you're around? Sometimes know what you're thinking just by listening to your voice? Caught one of those looks that I try so hard to conceal? Glimpsed the expression on my face when you're sitting at your desk doing your paperwork? Have you seen? Do you know?'
"Don," her voice was playfully stern, "It's my job to notice things like that." Don drew in a deep breath. 'This is a perfect time to ask her.'
"So Terry," he said, sternly reminding himself to sound casual, not looking at her, "have—"
The young nurse entered the room at that precise moment, a broad smile on her face. Don quickly hid his relief and disappointment at the woman's timing.
"Good morning, Ma'am," she chirped, carrying a few fluffy pillows in her arms. "Let's get you more comfortably situated before Dr. Meeker comes." With Don's help, the nurse managed to put the pillows behind Terry's back and raise the bed, allowing her to sit up without straining any muscles.
"Agent Lake," said Dr. Meeker pleasantly from the doorway, "it's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Sore," she replied softly. He walked into the room, his footsteps surprisingly quiet for someone as imposing as he was. He picked up her chart and glanced through it briefly. After a few murmured words, the nurse bustled out of the room.
"That's not surprising," he remarked. "Any difficulty breathing?"
"It hurts, like the time I broke a rib."
"All right, that's not unexpected since you did break several ribs," he frowned, notating something down. "How much pain are you in right now? And, please, I don't want you to grit your teeth and say you're fine. I know you might have a high tolerance for pain, but for my own peace of mind, be honest with me."
"It's numb right now," she confessed. "I don't feel much of anything at all. Just a dull ache when I breathe." At Don's look, she added reluctantly, "And it hurts when I move too much."
"I'll ask the nurse to set something up for you. Are you sure you're not in serious pain?"
"Quite. When can I get out of here?"
"You're from L.A., correct?" He jotted something down on her chart.
"Yes," Don answered for her.
"Well," he looked up as he shut the chart and replaced it, "I would feel comfortable discharging you in about two weeks, but I wouldn't advise you to travel for at least three months."
"Three months? Doctor —" Terry began to protest.
"Agent Lake, you were nearly shot in the heart," said Dr, Meeker in a stern, gentle voice. "You were very fortunate to have survived as it is. I would not advise you to fly anywhere until you are fully healed. It would be too risky otherwise." Terry swallowed hard and Don gripped her hand tighter as if he could pull her back from the events of the last few days. Meeker waited a few minutes for her to process what he had said. When her color returned slightly, he continued in a calming voice, "I know you're eager to get out of here, but I need you to listen to me carefully first. After we discharge you, you'll need to find a place to stay and relax for a week. When I say 'take it easy,' I mean take it easy. I don't want you doing yard work or jogging or anything that might increase your heart rate. I want you to be resting, as in sleeping or reclining, to regain your strength. When you're awake, you should be sitting as often as possible. I would prefer it if you were not alone," his eyes looked at Don, asking a silent question. Don shook his head.
"I'll see if Outpatient Services has someone who can stay with you." After he finished writing a note to himself on a small notepad he carried in his breast pocket, Dr. Meeker continued with his precise instructions, "After a week, if you feel up to it, then you can return to desk duty only. No field work," he said firmly, catching the defiant look on Terry's face. "I'm sorry Agent Lake, but I'm not going to budge on that, so don't try arguing with me. And if I find out that you went out into the field, I will readmit you immediately and confine you to bed rest. Is that understood Agent?" he asked with a severe look. With a grimace, she nodded. Don saw that Meeker had played his cards with experience. Who knew how many graduating classes of FBI agents had come under his care? The doctor would have had plenty of practice dealing with irritated agents who didn't want to stay at home and rest while the trail was hot or the case was active.
In general, officers did not like enforced inactivity, much less bed rest. They were restless when there was work to be done and there never truly was a time when there wasn't work for them. From firsthand experience, he knew that Terry was capable of being a very recalcitrant patient. With so rapid a capitulation from her, Don figured that she was in a lot more pain than she was letting on since she usually argued fiercely against being sidelined.
During the Hughes kidnapping/counterfeiting case, she had suffered a hairline fracture to her forearm, but brushed it off as a bruise. Terry had gone straight back to work and it was only a day later when he noticed the white bandaging on her arm that she told him that she had an appointment with a radiologist. He had chided her gently for not telling him that she was hurt, to which she had responded that she was perfectly able to take care of herself and that David was always with her if she did need help. Don had let the issue go, but forbid her to join him on the raid, sending her off to arrest Zakarian instead. He had never told her about the heart-stopping panic that had seized him when she didn't answer, nor the look that Kim gave him at the fear in his voice as he urgently called her name. Back then, he told himself that it was because Terry was a longtime friend and his partner that caused the sudden level of alarm in him; not any unprofessional or romantic feelings. He had hovered anxiously over Terry and David that night, relieved beyond words that they were unharmed in the drive-by shooting that had killed Blanchard. He had eventually convinced himself to let David stay behind to question witnesses and LAPD, but he didn't let Terry out of his sight for the rest of the night.
Don pulled himself back into the present, reminding himself to pay attention. Meeker's tone had softened once he received Terry's acceptance, "After a few weeks, we'll start you on physical therapy. Once we contact your primary physician and when I feel that you're strong enough to travel, then we'll decide when to let you go home to Los Angeles."
"Three months…" she echoed faintly and Don also felt his heart sink. It would seem like forever for him. Meeker continued on, apparently unaware of their reactions, either because he didn't see past the bland expressions on both of their faces or because he chose to be courteous and become temporarily blind.
"I've spoken with Agent Lewis and she's offered to let you stay with her for the duration of your recuperation or arrange lodgings for you at Quantico." He waited until Terry's attention was focused on him before saying, "And she told me to tell you that you, and I quote, 'need to get some rest and leave the worrying to us.' I'll give you a few prescriptions for antibiotics that you'll need to take for about three weeks. You need to take them punctually and without skipping. It will further reduce the chances of you ending up in here again because of a post-op infection. Now, any questions?"
After answering a few questions from Terry, Dr. Meeker left the two of them to eat lunch together. The hospital food was decent; not extremely appetizing, but edible. Don wondered if it was because he was a) suddenly hungry, b) relieved that Terry was all right, c) happy that Terry was awake. The other reason could be that the hospital employed a particularly dedicated cooking staff, but it seemed to be a little out there.
As the two of them ate, Don and Terry discussed the little things. If either of them cared to take note (and they were), they would have realized that they were both carefully avoiding any talk about the phone calls that had flown back and forth between them for about a month and the kiss the two of them had shared just before she left. Instead, the two agents talked about arrangements that would have to be made, both in Virginia and in L.A., for the foreseeable future. Terry would stay with Jasmine for as long as she needed to recuperate. (This was accomplished by Don's firm insistence that was backed up by a phone call to supportive Jasmine.) A new agent, preferably one with experience and a profiler's background, would take Terry's place in Don's team. Someone (and Terry did not specify who) would need to pack up her belongings and close up her apartment. She would also need someone to take in her calico kitten for duration of her recovery. Surprised that she even had a pet, Don asked who had been taking care of her cat for the past month.
"Oh, I left her with my next-door neighbor," answered Terry, "but she doesn't really like pets in general."
'I've known you for over a decade and yet you still are full of surprises,' Don thought. He said aloud, "I'll ask around the office, maybe David's sister can take your cat in. What's his name?" When she didn't reply immediately, he looked at her. Terry was frowning slightly in thought and then she asked, "Don, before Dr. Meeker came in, you were going to say something. What was it?"
He had hoped she had forgotten that he did not have a chance to finish his sentence. His mind fluttered back and forth, fiercely debating if this was the time to tell her and how. Realizing that he was letting the silence go on too long, Don parted his lips even though he had no idea what to say, "Uh, I was—"
A sudden knock startled both of them. 'Interrupted again,' Don thought, not sure if it was a blessing or a curse that someone always managed to interfere at that crucial moment.
"Um, excuse me, Agent Lake, Agent Eppes," Henderson poked her head into the doorway. "There's a call for you down at the nurses' station, sir. It's an Agent Merrick from Los Angeles."
Don exchanged a look with Terry. They had been expecting the call, but it was still unwelcome. He stood, his hand slipping out of hers, and repressed a sigh. Another case had probably come up and he would have to fly out tonight or even this afternoon. 'But Terry's all right and I have the time I need to ask her…if I can find the nerve and the right timing…'
"Excuse me," began Don, standing in front of the nurses' station where three women were crammed into the confined workspace. One of the nurses looked up from her paperwork and smiled, "Oh, Agent Eppes?"
"Yes," he said, but she was already reaching for the phone. She offered it to him, "Here."
"Thanks," he accepted it from her, "Eppes."
"Eppes, how is she doing?" asked Merrick in his customary abrupt manner.
"She's fine, sir."
"Good. I've been told that it's unlikely for her to ever work in the field again, so you'll be one agent short in the office. I have already sent several candidates' files for you to look over. When you get back here, you'll find their personnel files on your desk. Agent Lewis can give you a list of their names if you want to interview them at Quantico before you make a decision."
"Thank you sir," Don replied, even though there was no doubt in his mind that Terry would one day return to the field. Among other things, she would want to prove Merrick wrong.
"Unfortunately, a case has come up. Miller's handling it until you get back. Since Lake seems to be on the mend, I've asked Agent Lewis to book a Monday flight for you."
Don wasn't quite sure how to reply to that, but he made a sound that Merrick apparently took as consent.
"I'll see you tomorrow then. Oh and tell Lake that everyone's thoughts are with her."
"Will do," said Don just before Merrick hung up. For a reason that Don had yet to completely fathom, the Assistant Director was always very abrupt with him. Terry suggested it was because Merrick felt threatened by his presence in the office. He thought it might have something to with Charlie and the scene that had taken place between his younger brother and Merrick during the LA rapist case. Don shrugged, either way… At least Merrick stayed out of the way most of the time and didn't interfere with cases which meant that Don didn't have to play intra-office politics.
"You're Ms. Lake's next-of-kin, correct?" the same nurse asked as she accepted the phone back from him. Don nodded, not bothering to specify the relationship. The nurse opened a cabinet and took out a sealed brown bag, handing it over to him. "These are her personal effects that we took off of her when she came in," the nurse said. "I'm afraid her clothes are in evidence, so you'll need to get her a change of clothes before we discharge her." He thanked her and turned away, bag in hand.
As Don walked down the hospital corridor, he heard Terry's voice drifting out of her room. When he got to the doorway, he saw that she was in the middle of a phone conversation. Offering to give her privacy, he refrained from stepping into the room, but she nodded at him, asking him to come in. He complied, quietly setting the bag next to his chair. She returned her attention to her conversation.
"Look," she said firmly to whoever was on the other end of the line, "You're in South Korea; even if you could get furlough and book a flight, that's still at least twelve hours. And that's not counting the time you'd have to spend convincing your CO to give you leave. And both of us know there's no way that Mom and Dad could fly out at a moment's notice and Angie's nervous enough about me already. She'd have a breakdown the moment the Bureau called. When I cited—" She paused, listening to the strident protests from her older brother, William. Terry sighed, leaning back into her pillows, "Yes, Bill, I know, I know. I'm going to be fine, all right? I can take care of myself, so don't worry about me." That apparently was the wrong thing to say because it set off another burst of brotherly worry.
When that burned itself out (or shrunk down to dire threats), Terry said soothingly, "I'm okay, William. There's no need to worry Mom and Dad or Angie with the full details. And there's no need for you to fly out here. I'm not dying, all right? I'm fine and I have friends looking after me." She suddenly glanced toward the windows, a slight blush spreading over her face.
Don couldn't resist thinking of how beautiful she looked before mentally smacking himself upside the head. He wanted to make sure he really loved her, that he wasn't just infatuated with her.
'You've put your emotions on hold for ten years,' his inner voice reminded him. 'Isn't it time to explore what you do feel for her?' He replied to himself, irritably, 'You can't analyze ten years of repressed feelings just like that.'
'Well,' said the pesky voice (who sounded, oddly enough, like Charlie when he was being patient with one of his students), 'Do you love her?'
'I'm fairly sure I do.'
'Fairly sure?' the voice echoed, as if asking for evidence or proof of his answer. It was like a defense attorney during cross-examination, trying to find the smidgen of hesitation in his testimony to create reasonable doubt.
'What do you think that kiss was about!' he argued back in annoyance. 'That wasn't a random act. It was deliberate, kind of. Yes, it was spur of the moment, but I do love her. I don't go around kissing random women.' A part of Don could not believe he was having this conversation with himself.
'What about Kim?'
'What about Kim?' he asked defensively.
'Well, the two of you were engaged for several months, lived together for more. You were planning to be married!'
'Kim…I thought Kim would understand me and let me be myself. When Mom… When I moved back to LA, I really thought she would come, find some way to transfer with me. But things just didn't work out and…Well, we're both very career-oriented people.'
'What about Terry? She's pretty career-oriented.'
'I need to know. I just need to know. If she doesn't want to pursue this, I'll drop it. Besides, she has been married once before.'
'And then got divorced,' the voice reminded him. 'Do you think the two of you are compatible?'
'Yes. And don't ask me to explain it; I just know. Since when did you become the one that needs convincing that I should ask her?'
'Hey, I'm just helping you analyze yourself.' Don mentally shook his head. He needed to get some more sleep.
When Terry spoke again, her voice was still calm, "Bill, a lot of people are going to — Yes," her voice warned of thin ice ahead before her deadly sweet tone told her brother that he had gone too far, "Bill, do you remember when—" She listened while her brother made his hasty apologies or other comments, before she asked him to be careful and stay safe since this was his last tour, and hung up the phone. She groaned quietly and then waved off Don's concern.
"Do you have my cell phone?" she asked him. Don nodded and, fishing it out of the bag, gave it to her. She turned it on and scrolled through a few numbers before she hit dial. Terry spoke to her parents and younger sister, assuring them that she was fine and downplaying the severity of her injuries. Each call and the subsequent conversations seemed to drain her store of energy. After bidding her sister Angie goodbye, Terry closed her eyes and sank back into her pillows with a sigh. Don quietly removed the phone from her hand and placed it on the bedside table.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," she sighed before she opened her eyes, "Bill just wasn't happy that I didn't list him or Mom and Dad or Angie as my next-of-kin. He wanted to argue about it." It was a good point. One of the many questions that Don had so firmly shoved to the back of his mind since Friday wiggled loose and popped out of his mouth before he had time to think it through, "Why?"
Terry looked at him, confused. Don hurried to clarify, "I mean, um, why did you specify me as your next-of-kin?" Somehow, while Terry had been calling her family, their hands had naturally interlaced themselves again.
"Well…" Terry seemed a little nervous. "A next-of-kin needs to be available to make any medical decisions that might arise and I, well, I didn't think that my ex would be that receptive to the idea. And you know my family: Mom and Dad panic easily, Bill's overseas with the Marines and Angie's still distant. You just — seemed like a logical choice. I mean," Terry shifted slightly, "we've known each other for so long and, in LA, you were perfect for a next-of-kin. But I —" she cut herself off, "It's okay with me if you want me to change it…" She looked away from him. Don squeezed her hand gently as he said quietly, "It's fine with me the way it is. I don't mind."
She turned to look at him, careful to keep her emotions off of her face. He had seen that schooled expression so many times in the past, especially before an interview with a suspect or when the verdict in a case came in. It gave nothing away to the world at large; but for him, it gave everything away. He knew it was how she protected herself emotionally if things proved to be disappointing.
"This probably isn't the best time to bring it up right now," Don began, studying their clasped hands as he spoke, "but… I wanted you to know. Just before you left, in the garage… That wasn't an accident, you know."
"I know," her voice sounded so frail. It was as if he had the power to make or shatter her hopes with a single word and it was a scary thought. He could not afford to make a mistake. Don thought carefully before he spoke.
"Terry… when Jasmine called me, I was… terrified." He swallowed hard; that confession had been difficult to make. He was too used to keeping his feelings to himself. But he couldn't turn back now. "I've been stubborn, I know. I was afraid that if I said anything, if anything happened to you afterwards… I couldn't live with not being able to protect you." A wry smile touched his lips slightly, "Not that you can't throw me to the floor in hand-to-hand, but still." He started rubbing his thumb against her fingers again, "After she called, I realized that—that I couldn't stay quiet. You deserve better. You know that we can't go on like this, not knowing for sure. So," Don drew in a steadying breath before he asked softly, "do you love me?"