A/N: Since somebody asked - in all the hospitals I've visited, it's standard procedure that only the barest bones of information be given out by any other than the attending physician - I assume in response to both HIPAA requirements and the ever-present threat of malpractice suits. This is especially true in the case of administrative/non-medical personnel. Maybe it's different elsewhere, but my experiences have been pretty consistent, so I drew on those.

Chapter 12

"Dad!"

Alan was trying to decide if another cup of vending machine coffee was worth the subsequent indigestion when he heard the familiar voice. He stood without even realizing it, wove his way through the waiting room chairs and their dozing occupants. When he reached Charlie, he almost hugged him, but a mutual reticence held him back and he gripped him by the upper arms instead, relieved to be able to physically grasp at least one of his sons.

"Dad. How's - how's - what happened?"

Alan let go of Charlie's arms and put a hand between his shoulder blades to guide him toward David and Megan and the ugly little seats. "Um - he had a car accident - probably caused by his appendix, it seems…he's in surgery right now."

"Appendix." Charlie stopped dead to look at him. "Well, that's - I mean, that's not too bad, right? I mean, they fix those everyday."

"I guess so." Alan gestured to indicate the seats. "It's hard to say. They won't tell me anything - you know how that goes." It occurred to him that Charlie wouldn't, actually, know how that went, and he cleared his throat to cover any awkwardness. "Anyway, have a seat. Want some coffee? It's not good, but it's warm." He spotted the trim figure standing slightly behind Charlie and flushed. "Oh, I'm - you must be…? The Agent? Megan's friend?"

"Jill Ayckburn." She extended her hand. "And you must be Mr. Eppes. Why don't I get that coffee? I could use a cup."

He took the hand, embarrassed and protesting. "No, no - you've done enough. I can't thank you - "

"There's no need to thank me." Jill Ayckburn's smile was warm. "It's my job and it was my pleasure to help. Now, how do you take your coffee? Anyone else?"

"Eppes?"

Alan blanched, twisting so abruptly that he nearly overbalanced. He saw the receptionist scanning the room with her clipboard in hand and, forgetting everyone else, hurried toward her, Charlie trailing at his heels.

"Eppes?" she called again, just as he reached the desk. She looked at him. "Are you here for Don Eppes?"

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. Is he - "

She jerked her head toward a doctor with a white coat pulled over surgical scrubs standing nearby, holding a binder. "Dr. Gillworth." He gave Alan a terse smile. She returned to scanning her clipboard.

The doctor approached and offered a hand. "I'm Dr. Gillworth. You're - ?"

"Alan Eppes. Don is my son. This is my other son, Charlie - Charles."

Dr. Gillworth nodded a greeting at Charlie then pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Why don't we go over here, where we can talk in private?" He led them down a side corridor and pushed open the door to a small office.

Alan shifted his shoulders, trying to dispel a nervous itch that crawled between them.

Dr. Gillworth gestured to a couple of chairs in front of a battered desk. "Have a seat."

Alan hesitated, then sat on the edge of one. He saw Charlie slump into another one next to him.

"How much do you know about your son's condition?"

"Well, I don't know a lot - " Alan burst out, exasperated. "His partner told me a car accident, then the receptionist told me an appendectomy, so I can't say I feel like I really know anything."

Dr. Gillworth nodded. "Don had a ruptured appendix, which we removed. The assumption is that it's what caused his accident. His injuries from the accident are of somewhat less concern: he has a pretty nasty laceration in one leg that required some messy extraction - but the bone's intact and we expect it to heal well. Given his lifestyle - as an athlete and with a physically demanding job - we'll probably recommend some physical therapy. He also sustained a moderate concussion."

"So, when can we take him home?" Charlie spoke for the first time. "I mean, appendix - that's not that serious, right? Kids get appendectomies all the time."

"They do…" Dr. Gillworth smoothed a hand down the binder on the desk in front of him. "But appendicitis is still considered a serious medical emergency that calls for immediate treatment to avoid further complications. Since Don's treatment was delayed, well, inevitably, there are complications."

"Complications." Alan rolled the word around on his tongue. It had a familiar, bitter taste to it. "Doctor, please just tell me - how is my son?"

"At the moment, he's not good," the doctor answered bluntly. "The ruptured appendix triggered peritonitis. Complications from peritonitis develop very rapidly, so as a result of that, combined with the blood loss from the leg wound, he was severely dehydrated when he came to us, and we're watching him for any signs of organ shutdown. We've drawn fluid from the area to analyze for the appropriate antibiotic to contain the infection and right now he's stabilized, but it's a lot to fight in a depleted condition. Still, your son is strong and fit and I can promise you that we're doing everything we can for him. I'll know more in a few hours."

Alan's mouth worked. "Can I see him?"

Dr. Gillworth paused. "Once he's out of recovery and settled in a room. About another hour, I think."

"Peritonitis," Charlie interjected. "What - what kind of prognosis does that have? I mean, usually? I mean, do people - ?" His voice faded.

Dr. Gillworth sighed. "Almost any medical condition can kill, given the right circumstances, but obviously, some have a higher likelihood of mortality than others. Where peritonitis has already led to shock, as in your brother's case, the survival rate is probably - "

"I don't want to hear it!" Alan stood so abruptly that his chair fell over, startling the other two men into silence. "I don't want to know what the odds are: betting on my son's life as if it was a - a horse race!" He saw their faces and struggled for a measure of control. "Tell it to him," he continued more quietly, jerking his chin in Charlie's direction. "He loves that kind of thing. I think I'm going to take a walk."

Alan emerged from the office feeling shaken and angry and humiliated at the same time. He stopped dead, blinking around as the quiet of the small hallway disappeared into the muted noise and crowds of the waiting room. He glanced over to where Megan, David and Jill were sitting. A minute ago, their presence had seemed comforting. All of a sudden it was suffocating instead. Still - he saw Megan spot him and catch his eye hopefully. He sucked in a breath. They were worried too, had been through the whole ordeal with Don, cared about him. They deserved whatever information he could give them.

He moved slowly in that direction, scrabbling for some semblance of rational thought. Megan stood to meet him.

"So how's Don?"

"Um - they removed his appendix." The details had already abandoned him, blotted out by the dark implications that lurked beneath the doctor's sterile words. No doubt they would all come back to haunt him in some dim hour of the night . "He - has a concussion." That's right - he remembered that. "And - they repaired a laceration in his leg?" He looked questioningly at David, who nodded.

"Yeah. That's the only injury I could see."

"But he's um - he has peritonitis. I guess that's the real problem. I guess that's the worry right now." Worry. What a small word for what he was feeling.

"Peritonitis," Megan repeated.

"Mm hm. It's a common problem, he said, when there's a delay in treatment for appendicitis." He heard the underscoring note of accusation in his voice and hated himself for it, but he couldn't seem to stop. "I thought you people looked out for each other."

Well, there it was - out on the table. He wasn't proud of it, but he had seen Don run himself ragged when an agent was hurt or killed, and it had always been a chief source of comfort to him to think that, should Don's turn ever come, they would do the same for him. But looking at Megan's and David's faces, full of guilt and self-blame, he wanted to rip his tongue out.

"Mr. Eppes - Alan - " Megan hesitated, obviously trying to move past her own feelings to the bare facts. "We got Don help the very first minute we could. But it wasn't possible to get it immediately. The situation was - complicated."

"Complicated." Alan nodded knowingly. "Funny, that's what my son always says. 'You don't understand, Dad - it's complicated.' Trust me - I've come to understand that 'it's complicated' is FBI code for 'I don't want to tell you something'." Megan and David exchanged a look. "I know it's hard to believe," Alan continued relentlessly, "but my mind actually is capable of grasping a complicated concept."

David rose to stand next to Megan. Alan expected him to be angry, wished he was, actually - damn it, why should he be the only one who was angry? But David's eyes were only compassionate. "Don was pinned by a car, Mr. Eppes. It took a while to get him free, and before that it took a while to get TO him. We had a hostage situation…"

"And everything had to be pushed aside for that." Alan nodded, savagely smug to have his worst suspicions confirmed. "Believe me, I know the drill."

"No, I don't think you understand." Megan looked acutely uncomfortable. Her eyes drifted to the television mounted from the ceiling, broadcasting some kind of news program with the closed captions on and the sound turned off. She caught David's eyes questioningly and something passed between them. He shrugged slightly, and she turned her eyes back to Alan, worried and apprehensive. "We didn't neglect Don for the hostage," she explained gently. "Mr. Eppes, Don was the hostage."

Alan would have said that he had no more room for shock or horror that day, no more limits to be reached. He was wrong. He stared, trying to grasp this new thought, mind veering desperately away from the sea of disturbing images it provoked. He swayed for a second, steadied himself against a pillar, and, mouth suddenly arid, struggled to swallow.

"I - need a walk," he finally managed in a hoarse whisper. "I - " But his legs were already carrying him away.

TBC