Chapter 7 – And You Know They're Gonna Use Things You Love Against You

Bobby remembered every detail about the first time he held his children.

The moment the tiny, wriggling bundles were placed in his arms was so deeply ingrained in his heart and mind that all he needed to do was close his eyes and the scene would replay before him. Light dustings of bright blonde hair and steel grey eyes stared up at him from within the folds of the crisp, white hospital blanket, and both times, Bobby swore he'd never touched anything more fragile or more perfect. His wife, Marcy, had watched from her hospital bed as Bobby had crooned over their newborn children, uttering words of devotion and whispered promises of the things he'd teach them and the adventures they'd have.

He had stood at the window as the sun rose, cradling Robert Jr against his shoulder as he introduced him to the city of St. Paul, pointing out his favorite landmarks. Two years later he had done the very same with Brooke.

Bobby also remembered every detail about the last time he held his children.

The lights in the morgue had been dimmed, the soot washed from their tiny bodies, skin cold, eyes, and chests still beneath crisp white sheets in a cruel parallel to their first minutes on earth. His heart had felt like it was trying to crawl out of his chest to find a metal slab of its own to lie on. He had lied to Marcy, told her the kids were fine, that they were safe.

Maybe it wasn't really a lie, they were safe. Safe from him.

Drowning himself in alcohol and drugs had numbed the pain but it couldn't erase the image of his dead children. Even now, all these years later, the scene danced in his brain like a photograph, frozen in time.

There was no escaping it.

And now, another of his children was hurt.

Buck's eyes held his, his forehead creasing, Bobby could see him working the words over in his head, trying to make sense of them. When the silence had stretched for too long Bobby gave his fingers a gentle, prompting squeeze.

"Buck," He spoke as softly as he had to his newborn babies. "Do you, do you understand what I just said?" He remembered Dr. Woods' concern about cognitive damage, either from the drugs or the concussion and he contemplated pressing the button, calling for the doctor. He thought about Dr. Hines' previous attempt to get Buck to respond and decided to hold off, he didn't want a stranger delivering this damning blow.

"No." Buck uttered after another short silence and Bobby's heart lurched. He didn't understand.

"You were drugged and, uh, pretty, pretty banged up. The doctors found some injuries, they…" He stumbled over his words. "I had to give permission; they did a rape kit. They found evidence you'd—"

"No."

"Buck?"

"I…" Buck's gaze finally left his and his eyes swooped over the room. They fell to the crook of his left elbow when the IV was inserted into the vein just above the top of his cast. The fingers of his bandaged hand reached for it with more speed than Bobby would have thought possible given his current condition and ripped the needle from under the skin. "I wanna go home." Buck croaked.

He pulled at the leads attached to the sticky pads on his chest and the heart monitor let out a whine as it lost track of Buck's heart rate. He began attempting to push himself up from the bed, his face contorted in pain as his limbs failed to co-operate with him.

"Buck!" Bobby's hands flew forward to stem the flow of blood now trickling down his arm from the torn vein. His movements seemed to spur Buck on as he rolled to his side away from Bobby and his legs dropped heavily off the mattress to swing in mid-air. He let out a howl of pain as he heaved his torso off the bed and made to stand, the nasal cannula stretched to its limit and slipped from his ears.

Bobby lunged for the call button before rounding the bed and making to grab the kid before he could move too far. Buck tensed and his eyes flew wide in fear stopping Bobby in his tracks.

"Buck?" He held his hands up, palms out, trying with all his might to show he meant him no harm.

"I wanna go home." Buck repeated, his voice a little louder.

"You can't go home, Buck, not yet. You're hurt." The man went to stand but his legs gave out and he crashed to the floor with a sickening thud, Bobby moving too late to catch him. The door of the private room opened behind him and he heard Dr. Hines yelling for assistance. Bobby slipped his hands under Buck's arms to try and raise him from the cold tiled floor.

"NO!" Buck lashed out with his casted arm and Bobby's head snapped to the side as it connected with his cheekbone. "NO! NO!"

Turning back to the kid he saw his eyes blown wide with terror and his arms and legs thrashing as Dr. Hines and two nurses pushed past Bobby to seize the flailing limbs.

"Mr. Buckley, I need you to relax." Dr. Hines called above Buck's repeated cries. "Please, Mr. Buckley, I need you to calm down!" The doctor dodged the arm that swung at him as it slipped out of the grip of one of the nurses.

"NO! PLEASE!"

Buck's pleading cries hit like a knife to the gut and Bobby made to intervene, yearning to pull the boy into his own arms.

"Mr. Nash, I need you to step away!" Dr. Hines ordered before turning to the nurse to his left. "Get me 10mg of haldol." The nurse nodded, relinquishing the firm hold of Buck's arm to Dr. Hines, and darted from the room. Buck continued to struggle against them wriggling from their grip and the doctor looped an arm over his chest pulling Buck back against him whilst pinning his arm to his side.

"Please! He's scared, just let me talk to him." Bobby urged them; all the while Buck's pained cries echoed through the room. Tears flowed from his eyes as they darted wildly back and forth looking for an escape.

"Mr. Nash" Dr. Hines shouted over the noise. "If you cannot control yourself I will have you removed!" The nurse returned, syringe in hand, and he traded it for Buck's arm. The doctor pulled the cap off with his teeth and jabbed the needle into the flesh of Buck's upper arm. Bobby watched as he slowly began to slump against the hands restraining him, his cries growing quiet and his eyes rolling back as his lids closed and he was finally still.

"What happened?" Dr. Hines demanded. The medical staff moved in unison, sliding their arms underneath Buck's limp form and lifting him between them. His head lolled back before Dr. Hines caught it in his hands and together they maneuvered him onto the bed.

"He…he woke up," Bobby said simply as he pushed himself off the floor, his knees cracking in protest. "I told him what happened. He didn't seem to understand at first and then he just kept saying no and that he wanted to go home."

"You should have waited and called me." The doctor chided. He pressed the button to recline the bed and slipped on some gloves.

"I wanted to tell him myself. I…I thought it would be better."

The nurses arranged his limbs, lying them straight against the sheets and Dr. Hines said something to the nearest nurse that Bobby didn't catch. The nurse left and he watched as Dr. Hines pressed a handful of gauze to the inside of Buck's elbow, stemming the flow of blood.

"You didn't have to sedate him, I could have talked to him, calmed him down."

"He was agitated and combative." The doctor argued, his tone was cold. "He was a risk to himself and others around him."

"He's not violent. He was just scared!"

"You weren't going to be able to reason with him whilst he was in that state. It was the best option."

The nurse re-entered, his arms full of a series of leather straps. Bobby watched on in horror as they proceeded to fasten them to Buck's wrists and ankles before stretching them to meet tethering points on the side of the gurney.

"No, please! There's no need to restrain him." Bobby protested.

"We'll re-assess him when he wakes and we'll organize a psych consult." Dr. Hines informed him curtly. The straps were tightened and the man looked Bobby dead in the eye. "If you make any attempts to remove the restraints without express permission you will be removed from this room. Do I make myself clear?"

Bobby was not a vengeful man. He had always believed everyone had some sense of good in them. The events of the last twenty-four hours, however, had started to chip away at that belief. He didn't think it possible to dislike anyone more than he disliked the man in front of him.

"Crystal." He replied, sourly. Dr. Hines stalked out of the room with a final instruction to the nurse to call him if there were any further issues and Bobby stepped into his place by Buck's bedside. He stroked a hand over Buck's head muttering apologies and placations that he knew the kid couldn't hear but it helped to assuage his guilt slightly.

A fresh IV was inserted into the opposite arm and the EKG leads reattached and then suddenly they were alone. The room was silent save for the renewed beeping of Buck's heart and Bobby's labored breathing, his own heart pounding in his chest.

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to Buck's.

"I'm sorry, son." With Buck unconscious he allowed himself to break. A tear fell from his eye and landed on Buck's cheek. "I'm so sorry."

His fist ricocheted off the door of his locker and he swore into the empty room. Shaking his hand, he checked over his knuckles, stretching and bending the fingers, nothing was broken but it was going to hurt for a while.

He rested his head against the cool metal of the now dented door and he closed his eyes willing this to all be over. None of his messages had been returned and it was getting harder to act like everything was normal. He was in way over his head and he couldn't see a way out.

The phone in his pocket rang loudly in the quiet and he nearly dropped it in his rush to pull it from his pocket.

"About damn time!" He barked into the handset immediately after answering the memorized number.

"Watch your tone!" The voice on the other end snapped. "What the hell do you want?"

"We need to talk," Bret told him. "I want out." The line was silent and Bret pulled the phone away from his ear checking the call hadn't been disconnected. "Hello?"

"I heard you. Meet me downstairs in twenty, we'll have a little…chat." The man said coldly before hanging up.

Bret swallowed at the ominous instruction. Suddenly terrified he considered calling the man back, telling him to forget what he'd said but he just couldn't be involved in this any longer, consequences be damned.

"Cindy." He called out as he left the locker room, hiding his bruised hand in the deep pocket of his lab coat. "I'm just running down to the cafeteria. Page me if there are any more issues with room eight." The nurse at the station nodded. Not waiting for the elevator he entered the stairwell and flew down them, his coattails flapping behind him. He passed the ground floor and kept going to the basement level.

The hospital was split over two campuses. The ER, radiography, surgical and main wards were housed together, the maternity unit and children's ward along with their own surgical unit resided on the second campus across the street. The basement level joined the two buildings together with a long tunnel, it branched off in places, numerous store cupboards, offices, electrical and boiler rooms gave ample places for discreet meetings. The med students, in particular, favored one disused storage room. It was full of outdated equipment that hadn't been used in years, it was piled high gathering dust and completely forgotten about, meaning horny visitors wouldn't be disturbed.

Bret turned off the main tunnel and walked past a series of closed doors before stopping outside of one. Reaching for his belt, Bret pulled on his retractable keychain and selected a small silver key. Casting a quick glance behind him to make sure he was alone, he inserted the key into the lock and slipped in through the door pushing it quickly closed behind him.

The room was pitch dark and smelled of damp. He had acquired the key from an elderly janitor before he had retired, he had gotten to know him over cups of terrible hospital cafeteria coffee during his first years working here. He'd spun him a sob story about being in love with a fellow intern but their rendezvous kept getting interrupted. The old man had laughed and slipped him the key along with scribbled directions on a slip of paper. 'It's not quite a suite at the Four Seasons' he'd chuckled, 'but you'll have the place to yourself'.

Only one other person had a copy of the key.

Bret grasped at the wall beside the door searching for the light switch. Before his fingers found it he was grabbed by two strong hands, they spun him around and slammed him against the closed door, his head connecting with the wood with a dull thud. A large thick arm pressed across his throat as the light flicked on.

Bret squinted against the brightness as his eyes adjusted and he pulled on the man's arm, his breath rasping in his throat. The man was too close, his smirking face mere centimeters from his own.

"Hello, Bret."

Bret pressed himself back against the door attempting to loosen the pressure on his throat. The man towered above him by several inches, an imposing presence at the best of times, even more so when he was as pissed off as he seemed right now.

The man released him and stepped back folding his arms across his chest and fixing him with an intense stare.

"You wanted to talk." He said pointedly. "So, talk."

Bret straightened his coat and fumbled with his cuffs nervously. "There's this patient upstairs, nearly overdosed on K. I recognise him from the bar last night. It was you, wasn't it?"

"Could have been anyone." He said with a shrug.

"I don't want to do this anymore." Bret tried to hide the quiver in his voice but failed, miserably.

"Oh, really?" The man quirked an eyebrow at him, amusedly. "And why is that?"

"This has gone too far. It was never supposed to…it wasn't supposed to be like this. People are getting hurt."

"More people are going to get hurt if you don't keep up your end of the bargain." The man told him and there was no mistaking the threatening tone. "Or are you forgetting what I have on you?"

Bret shook his head. "You never said—"

"I never said what?" Bret jumped as the man took a sudden step toward him, he knew how to use his height to his advantage and glared down at him.

"You, you said it was just…recreational, a sex thing." He stammered. "This isn't sex, it's rape! How many others have you—"

The man lunged for him, seizing fistfuls of his shirt and coat, and threw him back against the door again.

"Listen here, you little shit!" The man spat, shaking him as he spoke. Flecks of spittle hit his face and Bret closed his eyes in fear as his legs threatened to give way. "Your job is to get the drugs and make sure no one catches you. That's it. What happens after that is none of your concern."

"But I—"

"No!" Bret winced as he was shoved into the solid wood again, his shoulders and back taking the full brunt. "You are going to keep your mouth shut and you are going to get me the drugs. If you don't, the hospital board will find out how you cheated on your MCATs." Bret swallowed down the burn of acid in his throat as he felt his stomach clenching. "If that's not enough of an incentive for you then maybe I should pay a visit to that sister of yours? That baby's due any day right? I'd hate for something to go wrong during delivery."

Ice-cold fear settled in Bret's veins. This man was pure evil.

"P-please, don't…"

"I'm glad we have an understanding." The man released him and patted him firmly on the cheek. "See you tomorrow, Bret." Pushing at his shoulder he shoved Bret away from the door and strode out of sight.

Bret stood frozen for a moment before a rush of bile made its way up his throat and he lunged for the trash can abandoned in the corner. By the time he was finished, he was a sweaty mess and his mouth felt as rancid as his conscience. He was trapped and could see no way out. The threat to his sister and the baby scared him more than the prospect of losing his job and his medical license. He knew he had made a huge mistake cheating on the MCATs and an even bigger mistake in drunkenly admitting it to the man. He had thought he'd found a confidant, someone who would have his back, but that man had seized at the opportunity instantly and now he was stuck, blackmailed into stealing vials of ketamine, diazepam, haldol, whatever he could take without arousing suspicion.

There was no way out.

His head swam as he stumbled back to the tunnel and trudged his way up the stairs to the ground floor heading for the cafeteria. The hospital coffee was terrible but he would drink gallons of it just to get rid of the taste of vomit. As he waited in the short queue he looked around at the near-empty seating area. This late at night it was mostly hospital staff on breaks with an odd smattering of relatives. How many of them were here because of him?

"What can I get you?" Bret started and turned his attention back towards the girl behind the counter.

"Uh, black coffee, please." The girl placed a paper cup under the spout of the automatic dispenser and ran the machine. "Actually, can you make it two, please?" He fished his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled stack of bills and placed them on the counter. When the two coffees were set down he took them and left without waiting for his change. He headed for the elevator, his body feeling too heavy to take the stairs. Two police officers stood waiting for the next car and Bret stared at their backs. It would be so easy, to say something and end this all, but the man's threat echoed in his head and he bit his lip. When the doors opened he stepped into the elevator behind them.

"Which floor?" One of the officers asked him.

"Oh, uh, four please." He mumbled. She pressed the fourth button followed by the sixth and he nodded his thanks. What was barely a minute's journey felt like an hour and he rushed through the doors before they had finished opening and sped down the critical ward corridor.

Stopping outside the door to room eight he took a series of deep breaths and pushed slowly through. His patient was still out cold, the restraints in place, his father sat hunched over next to the bed cradling his head in his hands.

"Mr. Nash." Bret called softly. The man looked up and Bret winced at the sheer exhaustion and pain on his face and waves of guilt and shame washed over him.

This was all his fault.

He held out the coffee. "I'm sorry. I don't have much experience with rape victims." He admitted. Mr. Nash took for proffered cup with a polite nod. "Try and get some rest." He instructed. "Mr. Buckley will be out for a few hours. We'll try again when he wakes."