Lying back on the pillows, Jim Brass stared at the ceiling for the umpteenth time. He'd had a steady stream of visitors since they moved him out of ICU two days ago and he was dead tired but he couldn't seem to sleep. Every time he tried one of the nurses appeared with something to either stick in him or squeeze out of him.
It was good to see the guys though: Nick and Warrick from the Crime Lab, Vega, O'Riley and several of the guys from PD. It was nice to be missed. But what really got to him the most had been when Catherine told him that Ellie had been by for a brief visit. Even though his daughter hadn't made another visit, that bit of news cut through all the pain, the discomfort and the fatigue, and left him feeling optimistic. Maybe there was hope for Ellie and him after all.
Still, one person remained conspicuously absent.
Grissom had assured him that Sara was okay but Jim had his doubts. Physically, she might be fine but Sara always buried her emotions deep, choosing instead to immerse herself in her work.
His thoughts were interrupted by a light knock at the door and for a moment, he'd hoped it was Ellie. However, the sight of Catherine Willows managed to make him smile anyway.
"You spending so much time here, people are going to start talking."
Catherine came around to the side of the bed and leaned on the rolling table. "What, you getting tired of me?" she asked, noticing that, although he was still pale, the brightness had returned to his eyes. She also noticed that he was freshly shaved and that he wasn't wearing the usual hospital gown, leaving his chest and the nasty surgical scar to the left of his sternum exposed.
Oblivious to the scrutiny he was getting, he said, "Nah, I like the company. It's nice having someone around who's not trying to poke or prod me."
"Now there's a mental image I didn't need." Catherine glanced around the private room, checking out the array of flowers. "You're a popular guy."
"Must be my overwhelming charm and good looks."
"Uh, huh." One large garish arrangement caught her attention. Stepping over, she read the card aloud, "Rory Atwater? Didn't know he cared."
"Nothing but the best for Las Vegas' finest. He spell my name right?"
"Yeah, Jim Brash."
"I was kidding."
"So was I." Smiling, she wandered back to his bedside. "Well, here's some news for you. They were able to get a couple of prints off that note—besides yours, of course," she said in mock consternation.
"I did think about that after I read the note but getting you guys outta there seemed more important at the time."
"And I never said thank you." Catherine held the cup of water while he sipped from the straw.
"I should be the one thanking you."
"Why?"
"Well, for not calling my mother for starters. She's in one of those assisted care facilities back in Jersey and it probably would have killed her to find out something happened to me. She and my dad, they never wanted me to be a cop."
"Oh, yeah?" Catherine sat down in the chair next to the bed.
He was shaking his head. "My dad was a longshoreman. Never went to college. I was the first one on either side to go. Got a hockey scholarship but knew I wouldn't make it professionally. I wasn't physical enough."
Catherine raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Yeah, I know," he smirked. "Anyway, I graduated with a degree in history and then I decided to be a cop. It was my idealistic phase or something, I don't know. My mom and dad were disappointed in me though. My dad told me I threw my education away being a cop." He shrugged his right shoulder.
"No disrespect to your father, but he was wrong. You're a damn fine detective, Jim."
"Thanks," he said with an embarrassed little smile. "But I got off on a tangent. I really wanted to say thank you for being here." He looked at her intently as he said it, almost daring to look away, pleased when she didn't.
"It's the least I could do."
There was a palpable quiet between them that left him uneasy. "Hey, how's Sara been? Haven't seen her."
Catherine looked away for a moment then took a deep breath before once again meeting his expectant gaze. "She's had a hard time dealing with this."
"Poor kid. Had to be fairly traumatic for her. Sure as hell was for me."
"I don't mean the explosion so much as she's had a hard time dealing with what happened to you."
"Me?"
"She blames herself."
"She blames herself for me getting hurt?" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "She had nothing to do with it!" He winced as his outburst caused a sudden sharp pain in his chest.
"Go easy." She stood up quickly and put her hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"
He nodded, taking a minute to catch his breath before continuing. "Sara can't be living with that kind of guilt. She didn't know what was going on. She was just being Sara."
"You know how stubborn she is."
He was still adamantly shaking his head. "You gotta get her to come and see me. I'll set her straight."
"I don't know if it'll help. I can just imagine what sort of images are still running through her head. She was sitting right there, watching them work on you…"
"It was that bad?" Jim had very little recollection of anything after the explosion. He'd been told that his heart had stopped at one point but other than that, he hadn't gotten too many details and truthfully, he didn't really want to know. He knew he'd come precariously close to dying and that was already more information than he needed.
Catherine nodded. "It was that bad."
"What hit me?"
"A lot of the shrapnel but what did the most damage was a chunk of wood—most likely a piece of 2x4. The surgeon said that your shoulder blade and your ribs probably saved your life."
Swallowing hard, he shifted his gaze to hers and for a brief moment saw the pain in her eyes. Quickly, he decided he didn't want to talk about it any more. "You get a hit off those prints?"
"Not yet but we're all hopeful. You know the FBI is heading up the investigation, right?"
"Yeah, Grissom mentioned it when he stopped by the other day. He said they think the bombing and the murders are related to a hate crime."
"Well, someone certainly had a grudge against Shabibi and his family. Looks like whoever's responsible knew something about explosives."
"Were they able to gather any bomb fragments?"
"I think so but you know how cooperative the Feds are."
Jim nodded, understanding what she meant. He'd clashed with Rick Culpepper, a special agent for the Las Vegas FBI, more than once.
"Hey, I have a question for you." Catherine leaned on the table again."How come you don't have an emergency contact?"
"I do have one."
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"You." He cocked his head and smiled. "Didn't I mention it?"
She crossed her arms and gave him her best stern look. "Uh, no, you didn't."
"I guess maybe no one mentioned it since you were already here."
"Maybe." She looked at him skeptically but didn't argue. She knew he did it because he valued and trusted her as a friend and for that she felt a little flattered. Besides, apart from her and Grissom, there wasn't anyone else he was particularly close to in Vegas. No one she knew about anyway.
A knock on the door preceded the entrance of a short, East Indian man in a white coat—Jim's doctor, Catherine presumed.
"Good morning, Mr. Brass," he said in voice nearly devoid of an accent.
Seeing Catherine, the man smiled, displaying an impressive mouth full of straight, white teeth. "Hello, I'm Dr. Kapoor, Mr. Brass's attending physician. You are?"
"Catherine Willows." She took his hand and gave it a firm handshake, noticing, not for the first time, what soft hands doctors always seemed to have.
"You are family?" As the doctor spoke, he fingered a button above Jim's head, slowly lowering the bed so that his patient was now flat on his back.
"No, just a friend. Look, maybe I should wait outside?" Catherine wasn't sure what he was about to do but somehow she suspected it might be embarrassing for either her or Brass. Besides, watching the cop so obviously in pain made her feel more than a little uncomfortable.
The doctor gently rolled Jim onto his right side. "That's not really necessary. I'll be finished in a moment. Let's just see how everything is progressing."
She couldn't see what was happening but Brass was alternating between wincing and gritting his teeth until finally he let out a long, low grunt that sounded almost like a growl.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Brass," the doctor said, as Jim was once again prone. "I know that was very painful." He pressed the button and watched as the bed returned to an upright position, taking some of the pressure off Jim's injured back.
Still trying to recover, his thumb hitting the PCA button, Jim couldn't muster a reply—probably a good thing considering that what he was thinking about Dr. Kapoor at the moment wasn't very nice.
Catherine could see his white-knuckled grip on the bed and suddenly felt as if she were intruding on something very personal. It was hard seeing someone in pain, harder when that someone was a good friend. Thankfully, the worst seemed to be over.
The doctor did a quick exam of the scar on Jim's chest then checked the chest tube. Reading over the nurse's notes, he frowned as his eyes wandered over the clipboard. "Your temperature is a little high."
"Does that mean more infection?" Catherine had moved closer to Jim, her hand resting against his arm.
Dr. Kapoor tilted his head, regarding her in earnest. "Infection is always a concern but in a wound like this, there is a good possibility for a recurrence." He returned his attention to Brass. "I'm going to start you on a stronger antibiotic. If your temperature continues to climb, I'm afraid we'll have to schedule you for another trip into surgery."
Catherine had a hard time hiding her concern. "So this is in addition to the post operative infection he had?"
Jim glanced over at the doctor, waiting for an answer while silently worshipping whoever had invented the Patient-Controlled Analgesia. The pain was nearly gone now, replaced by an altogether pleasant numbness.
"Mr. Brass was hit by a piece of wood that splintered inside his chest." Trying to put it into laymen's terms, Dr. Kapoor explained, "Whenever a foreign object enters the human body, it introduces bacteria. Sometimes the body is able to resist the bacteria but in this case, when the system has had a serious shock and sustained a good deal of badly damaged tissue, infection is likely to occur and an already taxed system has to work a little harder.
"We try to help the body with antibiotics but sometimes the infection is much more established. In that case we must back in, open up the wound, and drain off the fluid or cut away the dead tissue, which is what we did a few days ago. Unfortunately, with this type of wound it is not uncommon to see a recurrence so we will continue to monitor it closely. A low-grade fever is normal under these circumstances, but if the temperature spikes, then we might have reason to be concerned." The doctor glanced from one to the other, satisfied that he'd answered her questions, then spoke to Brass: "All right then, I'll see you later."
Jim nodded his thanks hesitantly as the doctor left the room. Somehow he couldn't help but think of Doc Robbins's recent attempt to explain to him how fabric had ended up deep in the tissue of a gunshot victim. That explanation had made Jim feel slightly queasy. This one made him feel downright sick, particularly since it pertained to his insides.
Catherine touched his arm, reminding him that she was still at his side. "You okay?"
"I am now."
Amused by the slightly dopey look on his face, she could tell that the pain meds had kicked in and he was on his way out. "I'll see you later," she said but his eyes were already closed.
oooooo
Sitting in the parked car, hidden amongst the rows of other cars, Sara Sidle stared at the healing cut on the back of her right hand. The scar left behind would be a constant reminder of what happened but right now it kept her from getting out of the car and walking the short distance to the entrance.
She couldn't explain why it had taken her this long to gather up her courage and make the drive to the hospital or why she couldn't make herself go any further.
Jim Brass was a good guy, a bit paternal sometimes but she figured that was more because of what had happened to Holly Gribbs than a desire to be some sort of father figure to her. Even before the explosion, she knew Brass would be looking out for her. He always did. And maybe that was the root of her guilt: he'd been trying to protect her while she nearly managed to get him killed.
In many ways Jim was the lucky one. According to Catherine, he had very little recollection of what happened. But Sara remembered. She saw it all, replayed it over and over in her mind, felt it all in painful detail. For her the physical wound would heal but the mental scars would linger.
Turning the key in the ignition, she put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. No, today wasn't the day.
Maybe tomorrow.
xx
To be continued in chapter 6.