A/N: My apologies. I was 'off the grid' so to speak. Updates were nigh on impossible. This chapter is loosely based on events of a personal nature. A little insight into 'enigste'.

Chapter 8:

Present

Don was snapped out of his reverie by the abrupt arrival of Assistant Director Merrick. His loud voice caused Don to jump slightly in his chair, effectively shattering whatever kept him from feeling the effects of his injury. He was suddenly drenched in sweat, and his vision blurred.

"Gentlemen," Merrick boomed. "This interview is over."

The man on Don's left stood. "This is an Internal Affairs investigation, sir! You can't just…"

"I can, and I just did. Special Agent Eppes is in the middle of a highly sensitive operation and cannot be interrogated right now.'

The second man spoke. "Agent Eppes has been in an Officer Involved Shooting. Policy dictates that we…"

Merrick interrupted again. "You can interview him later on this. Right now, Agent Eppes is unavailable for questioning. Dismissed." Both IAD agents exchanged long looks before gathering their files and departing. Merrick leaned on the table and stared at Don for several seconds before speaking softly. "Don… you look like hell. Are you alright?"

Don closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead with shaking fingers. "I'll be okay." He looked at Merrick. "How are they?" he asked.

"Who? Reeves and Granger?" Don nodded. "They're fine. Bumps and scratches. They'll be good as new in a week. You, on the other hand…" he trailed off and headed for the open door. "Sinclair!" he called. David Sinclair trotted up. Quietly, Merrick said "Take Eppes to the hospital. Discreetly." David nodded and moved to enter the room. "Make sure that's where he goes, David," he added before walking away. David moved next to the table. "Man," he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. "You look rough. How do you feel?"

"About that good, thanks," Don replied. He placed his palms flat on the tabletop and pushed slowly out of his seat. His knees felt as though they were about to give way. Once to his feet, Don felt a wave of nausea wash over him that made him gasp. He felt David grab his elbow.

"Don! Are you okay?"

He swallowed hard before responding through clenched teeth, "Gimme a minute." He felt David's hand fall away as the other agent acceded to his request. It took several long moments before Don was able to regain mental control. As he straightened up, David said, "I've always wondered how you did that." Don shook his head without speaking and turned toward the door.

Several of their fellow agents made as if to ask Don what had happened, but were abruptly warned off at a glance from David. He walked slightly behind and to the right of his friend, ready to catch him if he should falter. Only once did Don stumble slightly on the way to the elevators, his head held high. He stopped David from grabbing his arm with a frosty look. David understood. Don wasn't going to let anyone see how vulnerable he was. No matter how badly he was hurt.

Once inside the elevator with the doors shut, Don leaned gently against the handrail and let David push the button for the garage. David looked intently at his friend. Don's skin was a sickly greenish-grey and shone with perspiration. "Don, are you going to be able to do this?" he asked.

Don nodded, his eyes closed. David didn't press the point but inside he was certain Don should be in an ambulance. When the elevator reached the correct floor, Don stood erect and waited for the doors to slide open. Due to careful maintenance there was only a small jarring sensation as the elevator halted, but it was enough to cause a groan to escape Don's lips. David poked his head out of the doors and looked around. "The coast is clear," he told his friend. "No one there. You can lean on me now, if you want." Don reached blindly for David's arm and allowed himself to be steered out of the elevator towards Sinclair's FBI-issue Suburban. At one point, when he stumbled rounding the back of the SUV, David wrapped an arm around Don's waist to steady him, causing the older agent to cry out in pain. Quickly shifting his grip, he said, "What is it, Don?"

Don shook his head. Reaching for the door handle he gasped, "I don't… know. It's… getting worse." David watched as he climbed slowly into the truck and collapsed against the headrest.

"Maybe we should call…" David began, but halted when Don shook his head weakly. After swallowing a couple of times and wiping moisture from his brow, Don replied, "You heard Merrick – discreetly." David nodded and carefully shut the door. He ran to his own door and climbed into the drivers' seat, careful not to cause the vehicle to rock too much. He stole a glance at Don as he did up his lap belt. "I don't suppose you're in any shape to do up your seatbelt, huh?" he asked. Don grinned weakly. "Didn't think so," David added. "Hang in there, Don. Help is on the way."

During the drive to the hospital, David asked, "Did you get shot? I don't see any blood."

"Shot at," Don amended. "I was wearing my vest." He was breathing easier now he wasn't trying to move, but his skin was much paler and he seemed to be fighting to stay conscious.

David stole another glance at his friend. "Stay with me, Don," he warned. "We're almost there. Tell me what happened."

Don was silent for a moment before responding softly, "Twice. Close range."

"Where?"

He gestured weakly. "Chest. Then lower."

David thought about the implication. "Did you get tapped in the chest first?" he asked. At Don's weak nod, he said, "Then the plate in your vest was compromised."

"Felt okay." Don referred to the usual practice of testing ballistic plating by running your hand over it. If you could feel it, the plate wasn't going to help you stay alive. If he'd already been hit, however, his chest would've been desensitized.

David said, "You've probably got internal injuries." When Don didn't respond, he looked over. Don's head was lolling against the headrest. David reached over and shook his arm. "Don!" he called. "Don, stay with me."

No response. Throwing caution to the wind, David flipped on the lights and siren and floored the accelerator.