By
Tru False
A/N: Thanks for the reviews and sorry for the long wait. I've had a job change and it's just murder. I promise I will finish this story!
Chapter 13Charlie came to awareness by measures. First there was a dull buzz around him, and then the blackness lifted ever so slightly. Slowly he tried to open his eyes. Sounds came to him in waves, building and then fading, like someone was trying to tune in a radio. Eventually the sounds became more constant…there was banging and clattering, and shouted instructions. But with semi-consciousness also came intense pain, and his half-opened eyes immediately filled with water, forcing any discernible shapes into hopeless blurs of color that moved above him. None of it made any sense to him. He moved his left hand, searching for the weight of Don's cuffed to it—but there was nothing. Don was gone. These were strangers around him. For the first time since the ordeal had begun, Charlie felt truly afraid. He was alone. He was lost.
"He's coming around," a female voice said urgently.
There was more talking then…a man asking him questions which he couldn't even process let alone respond to. A moment later, there was a sharp pain in his right thigh. Mercifully, darkness pulled at him again, and as it came, it took the pain with it.
123123123
Terry watched from across the room as Dr. Kenner did her best to give Don, who was sitting on the exam table, a thorough inspection. She was getting no help from the agent of course…he remained non-responsive and kept his gaze fixed on the wall. Terry worried over that for a time, but then she realized what he was doing; if you could have bored a hole through about five walls, he would have been staring straight into the Emergency room.
"Agent," Dr. Kenner tried again sounding mildly exacerbated, "I need you to follow this light with your eyes."
When he still made no response, Terry called his name sharply. That snapped him out of his trance and he turned his gaze to her. "She's talking to you," Terry explained gently, indicating the doctor.
Don looked at Dr. Kenner and this time he followed her directions obediently, albeit distractedly.
"You're clearly concussed," she informed him afterwards. "We'll need to monitor you for the next 24 hours." She scribbled something on his chart and put the pen back into the pocket of her white coat. "You've got two broken ribs," she continued, "but there's not much we can do for them other than have you rest. Obviously the biggest concern is your hand," she said nodding down at it in his lap. "We'll take X-rays and have a surgeon come down to do a consult, but as I told you already, I'm sure it will require surgery."
"I can't have surgery right now," Don replied, surprising both women—it was the first time he had spoken since Terry had arrived.
"Agent Eppes," the doctor began, "Best case scenario, you have a dislocation of the metacarpophalangeal joint. It is possible—likely, in fact—that you have associated fractures as well. If you want to retain feeling and full mobility in your hand, which given your line of work I would imagine you do, then you are going to have to have surgery to correct this."
"I understand that," Don stated evenly to her, "but I can't have it right now."
"Well that may not be up to you," Dr. Kenner replied.
"It is if I decide to walk out of here," Don returned with more strength than he has shown in a while.
Terry decided to step in then. She approached Dr. Kenner and asked her to speak with her outside. The doctor looked perturbed but went out into the hallway with Terry.
"Why don't you call for that consult?" Terry suggested, doing her best not to sound condescending. "I'll get him settled down."
"If he refuses treatment, he's going to have a permanent disability to that hand," she repeated, obviously worked up.
"I understand that. And Agent Eppes does too—really. He's under a tremendous amount of stress right now."
"We all are," Dr. Kenner replied bluntly.
"I know. And thank you for everything you've done," Terry added in her warmest voice. She saw the irritation beginning to dissipate in the woman's eyes. Mission accomplished.
"I'll have Dr. Gregg come down and examine him as soon as possible," she conceded. "But let me tell you," she warned, "that kind of attitude isn't going to fly with the surgeon."
"I understand," Terry assured her. "Thank you."
Dr. Kenner nodded and headed officiously down the hall. Terry decided to take the opportunity to check in with the front desk about Charlie again. There was still no news, and yes, they knew where to find them when there was. She returned to the exam room. Don looked up at her expectantly when she entered.
"Well, I think you've made a new friend there."
He didn't respond to that.
"Hey," she said smiling gently at him, "maybe we'll have more luck with the surgeon." Her face became semi-serious. "Just remember Don, go easy… these people don't know what's been going on with Charlie."
At that he started to open his mouth but she cut him off as she already knew what he was going to ask. "I just checked with them, and there's no news yet. They know where to find you."
Don nodded and held her gaze for a moment. "Thanks Terry."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know that. But thank you anyway." He looked down at the floor and added quietly, "You're always there for me."
She was about to say something more when the door opened again and Dr. Gregg entered.
123123123
Dr. Gregg was older than Dr. Kenner, probably in his late forties with hair that was just starting to silver in places. Don was looking extremely tired again and sensing this, Terry stepped in early to advocate on his behalf for a delayed operation. Given the situation, Dr. Gregg was at least open to the idea but said they would have to consult the X-rays to see the feasibility of it.
When the X-rays were finally taken, they revealed that there were no associated fractures. Dr. Gregg agreed to reduce the dislocation and put Don in a cast for two days, after which time he would have the surgery. He numbed Don's arm with a local anesthetic and eventually managed to push the joint back into place. It seemed to go fairly smoothly, although it was impossible to get any kind of a read from Don…with the threat of being rendered unconscious gone, Don had turned back in on himself. He was practicing non-responsiveness again, and staring at the wall.
Dr. Gregg handed Terry several prescriptions for Don and told her an intern would be in soon to put a cast on him. She thanked him and he left, assuring her that he would check to see if he could find out anything more about the agent's brother.
Terry looked over at Don and wanted to ask him if he was feeling better now that he was out of pain, but she knew it wasn't worth it. She wouldn't have gotten any response.
123123123
Alan was driving badly, and he knew it. His friends had been adamant about letting them drive him, but he had refused them all. He didn't need other people around him; this was a time for family. By hindsight though, a Taxi might not have been a bad idea.
He ran yet another red light as the phone conversation with Terry replayed in his head. He still couldn't believe it. He had always feared getting that call from her…had known almost immediately when he had answered and it had been her that something was terribly wrong. He was prepared for a time when something might happen to Don…he hated it, yet even though the thought still kept him up nights, he had come to accept it on some level. But Charlie? It was such a total shock. He had been caught completely off guard.
He tore around a corner and slammed on the brakes just short of clipping a pedestrian on a crosswalk. Focus, he thought. He had to focus—it wasn't going to do Charlie any good for him to hurt someone else or get into an accident himself. He realized how quickly he was breathing when he tried to consciously slow it down. It's okay, he told himself, trying to relax. After all, Don was there with Charlie—he would look out for him. But the closer Alan got to the hospital, the harder his heart hammered in his chest. By the time he had parked his car and was rushing into the hospital, he felt like he was going to explode.
123123123
The hospital doors slid open and Alan struggled to get his bearings as quickly as possible. He scanned the people in the chairs…no Don, no Terry. His eyes fell onto the admitting station and he hurried over to it.
"I need to find out about my son," he said slightly out of breath. He hated the tone of panic that he heard in his own voice.
"Okay," a lady responded and looked up from what she was working on. She must have seen the distress on Alan's face because her eyes softened immediately. "What's his name?"
"Eppes. Charles Eppes."
"Eppes…let's see…" she scanned a list, "Okay…exam room one. If you want to take a seat—"
"—Exam room one," Alan repeated quickly. "Where's that?" he asked, looking around. He wasn't about to sit down and wait. He kept hoping to see Don. One look at his eldest, and he would know—better than what any nurse could tell him.
"Sir, The doctor is still in there. If you'll just take a seat, we'll…"
But Alan had already located his target and was weaving his way through the aisles of chairs towards the hallway and the exam rooms. An orderly appeared beside him and put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Sir, you can't go in while he's being treated. If you'll just wait a moment, we'll get a status report for you, and—"
Alan pulled free of the younger man's grasp and continued stubbornly forward, entering the exam room amid a torrent of objections from the orderly.
He froze in surprise when he saw Don sitting on the table instead of Charlie.
"Donny?" he asked, obviously shaken.
Don didn't say anything, but he looked up and that was enough. Alan held his son's gaze and read everything there. Oh, God. It was worse than he had thought
123123123
"I'm sorry," the orderly apologized to the intern, clearly concerned about the break in protocol and what the repercussions might be.
"It's okay Edmund," the intern replied kindly, "we're almost done here. He can stay."
Edmund looked relieved and left quickly, sparing one disdainful glance for Alan. The intern nodded in greeting to Alan and went back to work on Don's cast. Alan stood rooted for a second or two more, but then came back to himself.
"Donny?" he said again. He approached them slowly, like if he moved too suddenly some other terrible surprise might jump out at him. "They didn't tell me you were hurt too."
"I'm okay Dad," Don assured him. He sounded tired and looked worse.
"Your arm's broken?" Alan asked with a mixture of concern and despair.
"No, it's my thumb again. I'm okay Dad, really." He paused for a moment. "But Charlie—" Don's voice broke slightly, "he's…"
Don had planned this moment in his mind, and it had always played out with him calmly informing their dad of the situation and reassuring him that everything would be okay. But now, with his dad standing there in front of him, clearly shocked, clearly dismayed, looking sick even…everything seemed to break apart, and his words tumbled out in disarray as guilt crushed him again. "I'm sorry Dad. I tried. I tried to watch out for him," he promised, shaking his head, "I really did. I tried to help him. There was…I couldn't, I don't—"
"Donny, Donny…shh," Alan interrupted him and closed the small space between them. If the intern hadn't still been working on the cast, he would have pulled him into his arms. Instead, he put his hand on the back of his neck and looked deeply into his son's eyes. "Listen to me." He held his gaze until he was sure Don's mind had slowed down and he was with him. "This is notyour fault. Do you understand?" Don gave no indication and Alan squeezed his neck gently. He knew Don better than anyone else, and he knew what he was doing to himself. "Donny, there was nothing you could have done to stop this, or to change it in any way. It happened—and that's all."
Don stared at his father, desperately wanting to believe him. As he read his eyes, he found nothing but truth there and he nodded slowly, feeling relieved and grateful. Satisfied, Alan let go of him gently and stood up straight again. He looked Don all over then, inventorying his son.
"Donny—are you sure you're not hurt worse?" he asked with concern. "What's all this…" his voice trailed off as he realized what the reddish brown stains that covered Don's shirt and pants were. His eyes widened slightly.
"Oh God, Donny," he said, his voice a mixture of sympathy and dismay.
Don realized with horror what was happening. "Dad—"
Alan took a step back from him and drew a slightly trembling hand up to rub his face. "I'm going to check with the nurses," he explained, backing slowly away, "to see if they can tell us anything. I'll be right back," he promised. He turned then and made his way out quickly.
Terry looked at Don knowingly. She immediately started out after Alan.
Don dropped his gaze back down to the tiled floor, disgusted with himself for not thinking more clearly, for not being more careful, for making a terrible situation even worse for their dad.
"It's okay man," the intern offered quietly, "We'll get you cleaned up before he comes back."
Don shook his head sadly. What little energy had come back to him was now gone. He drug his head back up and stared at the wall.