Chapter 4
By the time Don got to Pasadena to pick up Alan, and the two of them fought traffic back to Cedars-Sinai, it has been almost two hours since Charlie had been taken from FBI headquarters. On the way, Don filled his father in on as much as he knew, and Alan called the hospital several times. He was disconnecting again as they finally hit hospital parking.
"We should go right to the surgical waiting room," he said, opening the door almost before Don had the SUV at a full stop. "They sent him to surgery."
Don's throat tightened and he rounded the SUV at a full gallop, grabbed his father's elbow to negotiate the halls. He had to keep forcing himself to slow down, so that he wouldn't push the older man over. All their rushing came to a dead halt when they were directed to surgical waiting, "waiting" being the operative word.
Alan and Don stood and looked at each other, neither wanting to sit.
"I still don't understand," Alan spoke quietly. "How could this happen at FBI headquarters?"
Don ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Dad. I should be there right now, helping figure this out."
Alan bristled. "Please. Feel free to leave. Thank you for the ride."
"G-d, Dad." Don hung his head for a moment, then looked back at Alan. "That's not what I mean. That didn't come out right."
Alan saw the look in his son's eyes. The scene he had described to Alan in the car was horrific. He couldn't imagine what it was like to live through a thing like that, to see your friends and colleagues cut down like that…then to find out your own brother was one of the victims. His own eyes softened, and he reached out to grasp the back of Don's neck, bring his head to meet his own. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sure you're needed back there."
Don let himself feel his father's touch for a long moment, then drew back. "I'm staying here," he said firmly. "This is more important, right now." He was suddenly very tired, as adrenaline drained out of his system, and he dropped into a chair. "He took me to Orlando's."
Alan sat next to his son. "Orlando's?"
"Great little Italian place. I'd never heard of it either, but he took me there for lunch. I shouldn't have sent him down there, he could have given me the information. He wanted to give me the information."
"Don." Alan's voice was low, soothing. It reminded Don of when he'd been sick, as a child. "Donnie. You did nothing to endanger Charlie. He was there because he wanted to give his brother a nice birthday lunch. You said…you said he was on the ground floor, when it happened. He would have been there on the way out of the building, anyway — like any other civilian."
"I didn't even think about him." Don's own voice was lower than Alan's. "When I heard the Code Black, understood that the building was under attack. I just hit the stairwells with all the others. When I got there, I even saw Megan in Central, and talked to her, and I still didn't make the connection. I knew he'd been in the elevator with her. What happened to my powers of observation? My understanding of the obvious?"
Alan was silent for a moment.
"I'm an educated man," he finally said. "I have my degree, my years of experience in engineering…I'm well-read."
Don looked at him, not understanding where he was going.
"But when the doctor showed us that chest x-ray," Alan continued, "my eyes refused to register what they saw. My brain would not accept the truth. For months. I made your mother…I made your mother endure experimental 'treatments' and 'cures'…" He sighed. "Donnie, sometimes our hearts get in the way of our heads."
They sat in silence for another half hour, until a man in scrubs materialized before them. "I'm Dr. Kildaire," he said, and waited for the requisite jolt to hit his listeners. "I know. You're here for Charles Eppes?"
Alan started to stand, but the doctor pulled over another chair and sat down wearily. "Long day," he mused, then noticed the ID badge Don still wore. "Incredible tragedy," he said. "So many victims."
"My brother?"
The doctor smiled. "Your brother will be fine. He was in mild hypovolemic shock by the time the paramedics reached him, from blood loss. Rapid heartbeat and breathing, cool and clammy skin…he had a fairly low blood oxygen level when he arrived. Shock is often more serious than what precipitated it, but his levels are already rising. He was intubated in the ER, and that endotracheal tube remained in place for surgery, but we're fairly certain now that we'll be able to maintain his blood oxygen level with extra oxygen alone. We'll be extubating him in a few hours, before he regains consciousness. It's very frightening to wake up intubated."
Alan looked confused. "I'm sorry," he said. "We didn't know all this. About shock." He looked at Don. "At least I didn't. I was expecting to hear about a gunshot wound."
The doctor smiled again. "The GSW looks good. The bullet was successfully removed, and wound debridement completed. We were happy to see there was no bone involvement, your son was very lucky in that regard. Doppler pressures and an angiogram confirmed that there is no vascular damage. Some antibiotics, a few weeks on crutches, then a cane, and your son should be fine."
Don wasn't buying it. Yet. "Nerve damage?"
The doctor stopped smiling. "That's always a possibility, although we really don't anticipate that in this case. Charles will be the best judge of that, as he heals." He looked again at Alan. "He's been unconscious since before we got him, so no one's been able to talk to him. But I'm sure this was very traumatic. There may be…emotional issues."
Alan nodded. "I'm sure. When can we see him?"
"He's in recovery now. Give us a few hours. We'll extubate him, and then you can see him."
Don shifted in his chair. "He's really in no danger?"
The doctor stood to leave. "None. Someone will come to get you in a few hours."
Don stood, touched the doctor's arm. "I'm…" He looked down at his father. "I'm sorry. I'm a senior agent, I need to be back at the scene. I need to see him, first." He looked at Alan again. "I'm sorry, Dad."
Alan stood and ran a hand over Don's back. "It's all right," he murmured. "He's all right. I'll stay here with him. I'll call you if anything changes."
Don handed his keys to his father. "I'll leave the car with you, I'll catch a cab back." He was looking at Dr. Kildaire again. "He's really not in any danger?"
"I can let you step into recovery for a minute, to look at him only. He's still on the ventilator, and that may encourage you to forget everything I'm saying now, but Charles is fine. He'll go home in a few days."
Alan was pressing some keys back into Don's hand as he left the room. He looked at him. "My set to Charlie's car," explained his father. "It's still down at headquarters."
Don started to nod and follow the doctor, then stopped. "Wait a second, please," he said, and he turned back and crossed the few steps to Alan. He wrapped him in his arms, felt his father's arms surround him in return. "It's gonna be okay, Dad," he whispered into Alan's ear. "It's gonna be okay."
