Nixie
Disclaimer: Don't own them, although if I did things would definitely be more…interesting…(Evil Grin Here)
A/N: Once again, all official processes and procedures: I'm making them all up. Yup that's right, they aren't accurate. Just wrote whatever sounded good. Flame at your own pleasure.
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Chapter Four: Zombie (The Cranberries)
Don felt refreshed after get a few more hours of sleep—he had wanted to just stay in the hotel but it had been nearing seven thirty and he knew that he needed to get the whole thing over with.
He walked to the front desk of the New York FBI office, noticing that it wasn't as well kept as the LA office. A few recent bullet holes in the wall that had yet to be repaired spoke of some occasion where some bold criminals had made a direct attack on the FBI. Don had heard of things like this happening, but he hadn't really believed it. Now he was extremely glad he worked in LA.
A blond secretary greeted him at the desk.
"Hello, can I help you?" She looked bored, clicking her neon orange fingernails on the desk.
"Uh yes," Don showed her his badge, "I was asked to come out here by an Agent Jack Wilson…I'm from LA." The secretary nodded and picked up the nearby phone, dialed a few numbers, then gave Don the 'just a sec' smile that all secretaries seem to possess as she waited for an answer.
"Ya, Jack—the guy from LA is here—you wanna come down here and sign him in?" She paused, and Don leaned forward expectantly.
"No, Jack, I can't just let him come up—you have to come sign him in—I know he's an FBI agent—he's from a different office though and you have to come and confirm its him or whatever. Yes. Alright." She hung up the phone and looked at Don, "He'll be down in a minute—sorry I can't let you wander around the building or anything."
"It's ok, I don't mind waiting." Don stood off to the side of the desk, his hands in his pockets, and wondered whether he should have dressed so casually. He wore a white button-up dress-shirt and jeans—he left his gun back at the hotel room—he knew he wasn't going to need it.
A few minutes later, a middle-aged man appeared out of the elevator and headed towards the desk. The man had on a full-suit, was of a middling weight, and had sandy blond hair that topped a craggy face. The man spotted Don and faltered in his steps for a second then recovered and strode up to Don extending his hand.
"Hello, Agent Eppes I presume—I'm Agent Jack Wilson—You can just call me Jack though." Don shook the man's hand.
"Nice to meet you, you can call me Don." The man nodded his head.
"Alright Don, how about instead of messing around with signing you in, since there's not too much you can do, well, yet—why don't we go ahead and go to the hospital where they're keeping the girl." This guy doesn't waste any time, Don thought, and approved.
"Lead the way."
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The whitewashed hallways of the hospital were obnoxiously bright, like trying to stare into the sun. The air smelled of disinfectant and illness. Don wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he stepped into the place.
"Do you want to meet the girl?" Jack asked him.
"Uh," Don hesitated, did he want to meet her just yet? "No not yet…I uh, don't want to go in there…not knowing…" Don gestured helplessly with his hands. The other agent gave him a sympathetic nod.
"This way," Jack spoke, and moved down one of the glaring hallways. "They'll go ahead and take a blood sample—they have the proper lab equipment to test DNA here—it'll take awhile but they get the job done." Don nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Soon, Don was sitting on the edge of one of the hospital beds, alone in a private room. Jack had left shortly after he had gotten situated. He'd said that he had to go do a few things back at the office, but he'd be back in the time that it would take to get the results of the test back.
A nurse walked into the room, and Don looked up expectantly. She was a pleasant looking brunette dressed in basic green surgical scrubs.
"Hi there," She spoke softly as she began to set up the tray next to the bed and Don fidgeted. He hated needles. Always had. "Ready?" she asked, noticing Don's pale appearance. Don nodded and held out his right arm. She swabbed it and then held up the syringe. Don watched her as she punctured his skin with the needle. He felt the needle go in and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
"Don't like needles much?" The nurse asked.
"Hate 'em." Don spoke curtly and briefly glanced at the syringe before closing his eyes again. The sight of his blood filling up the syringe was enough to make him feel woozy.
"There," The nurse spoke kindly, "All finished." She bandaged the puncture and Don looked at the syringe filled with his blood. Whether or not he had a daughter all depended on the information his blood contained. The nurse noticed what he was looking at and more importantly, how he was looking at it.
"The results will take about two hours, you can wait in here if you'd like…" Don nodded numbly.
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An hour and a half later, Don still sat in the room, staring blankly at the wall—utterly lost in thought—he felt like some sort of zombie; not really all there but still alive in some respect. He didn't know what he was going to do if the test came back that the child was his. If she wasn't his, he had no worries—it wasn't his responsibility. But if it was his daughter…what was he going to do? Don thought about each and every one of the options. Foster care was terrible. Most orphanages were terrible. The thought of him raising a child was terrible and frightening. Don couldn't win. He couldn't find an easy way out of it. Serves me right, Don thought, I shouldn't be able to get off easy—my own damn fault I got into this mess. What would he tell his father? His brother? He couldn't see himself finding any way out of telling his father and brother the whole story. If he called them up and said, Hey guess what? I have a daughter now…He knew the first question out of their mouths would be 'what about her mother?' or 'who is her mother?' Those questions meant Don would have to admit his mistake. His terrible, disappointing mistake—for the thousandth time Don wondered, what was I thinking?
Suddenly Jack Wilson entered the room, startling Don from his loathing thoughts.
"Hey, they got the results back." Once again, Jack didn't beat around the bush—he got right to the point. Don looked at the other agent and shifted uncomfortably under the other man's intense gaze.
"And?" Don spoke nervously, hoping and dreading at the same time.
"She's yours." Don sucked in a huge breath—he felt like his world was spinning out of control. He stared down at his hands. This was the hardest thing Don had ever faced. What was he going to do?
"Damn." Don muttered under his breath. He looked up at Jack, "I'd like to meet her—now that I know." Don's voice was soft and worn, any energy he had, had fled his body leaving him feeling like he'd been run over by a semi-truck. Jack just nodded, pretending to be oblivious to all of Don's inner-anguish, although his compassionate eyes said that they knew what the other man was feeling.
" This way…"
Don followed Jack out of the room—he was lost and confused and no one could save him from his problems except himself.
He just didn't know how.
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