Chapter Thirteen
The Plight of Kings
Ryder Trauma Center
"Remember, upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all."
"Sir, excuse me, sir."
At the sound of the young nurse's voice, Rios turned from the closed elevator doors. Then, he pressed the heels of his hands forcefully into his eye sockets to clear away the image of Nala flanked by Giddy and Heckler, with the three holding hands. A united front, he thought. United, but to exactly what end. He shivered. The hospital was cold, and now that he'd stripped off his tactical gear, and handed it off to Giddy, he felt naked and very exposed. The armor kept them safe from bullets and physical attack, but he was smart enough to know, and humble enough to admit that it also provided an emotional wall of security as well.
"I can take you to ICU waiting now, sir."
"Thank you."
As they traversed the hallways toward the ICU, the young woman rattled off the rules, and detailed what Tyson might expect to see. She then informed him that she would also be his contact for any questions concerning what he saw once they arrived and for the duration of Elliot's care.
"I studied his chart, sir, and I saw that this is not his first incidence of suffering trauma care or bullet wounds."
"No, ah I'm sorry your name again?"
"Abrial and it's perfectly alright."
"Yes, he's been wounded before."
"Okay, here we are, and there he is. They're still getting him situated, but it won't be much longer. Unfortunately, you have to wait until you have showered, and donned clean clothes before going in. I know that one of the others is returning with them. In lieu of that, I can arrange for you to have some scrubs. I know that you are anxious to see him."
Rios wanted to answer her, but he was fixated upon Elliot. No matter how many times he'd endured Salem's frequent injuries, he'd never become accustomed to seeing someone he loved in such dire shape.
"Yea, thanks I'd like that. He needs me. Where's the shower? Oh, and call me Guy."
"Okay, Guy it is, and thanks. Sir tends to get a bit stuffy after a bit. Come with me, right this way."
Forty-five minutes later, showered and dressed in a set of dark green scrubs, Abrial led Tyson to Salem's bedside. After she checked her new patient's vitals and various fluid collection vials she nodded for Rios to sit at the bedside.
"Our policy is a bit forward thinking as far as ICU visitation philosophy, but not until he is out of this actual recovery area. So, I'm afraid that I can only allow you ten minutes per hour, I'm sorry. I'll be back then."
Once the door swished closed behind Abrial, Tyson leaned forward, and grasped Salem's left hand. The bandages protecting his shattered shoulder blade held his right arm tight to his thickly bandaged chest. He kissed Elliot's knuckles, and then pressed the back of his hand against his own left cheek, while looking down at his taped eyes. The taped lids were, for Tyson, the worst part. The breathing tube was bad, the I.V.'s were bad, but seeing Salem's eye lids held shut with the thin strips of tape frightened him beyond rational. The best he'd come to figure was that it reminded him of when folks placed coins on the closed eyes of dead people. He forced down the unwanted anxiety churning in his chest, and squeezed Salem's hand a bit tighter.
"Hey, Ellie, I don't have a long time. I'm here. We're all here. We love you. Nala can't be here just yet, but she sends you hugs and kisses. You're gonna be okay. I can't lose you just yet, I need you."
Then, the tears began all over again, and he tried in vain to hold them back. While he cried, he brushed his fingers through what little bit of Salem's bangs shot out from beneath the bandage round his head. Words would come later, but right now he just needed to have physical contact with the wounded man. He needed to feel his fevered skin beneath his course fingers. He needed to see the rise and fall of his chest, and to be able to press his fingers against the thumping flow of blood along the side of his stubble shadowed neck. That was what he needed, and he knew intuitively that Salem, despite his un-consciousness, would feel his knowing touch, and be soothed and made secure by it. Then, all too quickly, Abrial called his name, and after placing a final kiss on Elliot's forehead, he slipped from the room.
On his third trip out of Salem's room, he was relieved to see Giddy and Heckler waiting for him in the little conference space the hospital had assigned as their waiting area. The trio embraced, and Rios felt better having the men around him.
"Here Tyson, clothes, phone, laptop, wallet etcetera."
Rios took the proffered bag from Giddy and nodded.
"Thanks Phil, Secour and Pedro?"
"Pedro's doing ballistics on the rounds Yarborough snatched from 110, and the ones they collected from the Swatty's guns."
"How's that possible?" Rios asked, kicking free of the snug fitting scrubs.
Giddy frowned and watched him struggle with the borrowed clothing, while setting a second laptop on the heavy cherry conference table, and opening the lid.
"Seem's Y-boob's not such a boob after all. When they realized the Swatty's were the shooters, he immediately figured Dade I.A. would try for a cover up. They fired a round from each of the fuckers' weapons into Winslet's vest, and turned all of the shit over to Pedie. Dade can run all of their tests, but we'll have our own. We don't need some bureaucratic chain of evidence. We just need proof. While he's on that, Secour's trolling though comms trying to see if the fuckers told anyone else about their plan, or if any higher chain of command dicks are involved, he's also hacking 110's security cams for pics."
"Jesus, Rios, un-dress much? You're stuck in the damned thing." Heckler cut in as Rios fought to take off the shirt.
"You ever see a fucking doctor as big as me you prick. Gimme a hand."
"Tyannikov comes damn close." He stated, tugging at the tail, trying to pull the scrub top over Tyson's hulking shoulders, "Hmph, and about that, Fifty does seem to have a thing for docs. There's Tyannikov and Cielia, hell Tyson, maybe wearing this shit'll sway him over into your…"
"Heckler don't start your…"
"What's that? You're all muffled. I only read you three by, repeat your last."
"When I…"
Heckler sniggered, and jerked hard on the shirt again, finally yanking it over Tyson's head.
"Tell me I'm lying, Boss. Proofs in the pudding, as they say." He quipped, throwing the green top at Tyson's head, and buying a few seconds for his retreat while Rios untangled himself.
Tyson slapped the small garment aside, and glared at the smaller man. They were a team and they all played their rolls. Heckler's was to do just as he was doing. Break the ice. Get them moving. Salem was the jester and Giddy, their anchor, but it was Heckler that poked and prodded when they needed it. Sometimes, he tended to push too far, but typically he was spot on and his jibes worked.
"Fuck you, Vinnie. They okay?"
"None of us are okay, but we've been through this shit before. It's just so fucked up that it's gone down like this, and at the hands of one of our own, Tyson. Where at home, doing good for a change. He should have been safe."
Tyson sat down on a chair, and tied his sneakers. Heckler was right. Elliot should have been safe. That was, for the team, a difficult fact to get around. What concerned him more though was that they had no way to avenge him. They couldn't just re-group, counter attack and wipe out Elliot's assailants. Here, civilization, if you could call it such, bound them to legal constraints, which he knew all of them were quite willing to, and adept at tossing aside if need be. They had all made such concessions in the past, and would do so again, especially when the situation involved one of their own.
Heckler worried him, but it was Giddy that garnered his greater concern. He was too quiet, too focused on the laptop, and his earlier outburst at Gwen fueled Rios' concern.
The older man had a strong and very private relationship with Elliot. What the pair shared stayed nearly exclusively between them, it always had. That private bond, Rios knew, made him capable of spinning out, and doing something foolish.
"Heckler, give us the room. Go round up some chow, and see if we can't get a coffee maker brought in here. Talk to Abrial. Do a recon on their so called security too. I don't want anybody sneaking through, like the press."
"Copy that."
Then, as Heckler passed through the door Rios grasped his shoulder, and spoke into his right ear quietly.
"We're gonna make this right by him, Vince. You just need to trust me."
Heckler locked eyes un-waveringly with the bigger man. They were all hyper-sensitive to one another's feelings and moods, and he read the message implied in Tyson's firm grasp and piercing black eyes. It was the conformation that the entire team needed to hear, and would hear, one by one, each in their own time and directly from the man they called leader. It was promise, an oath that would bind them tight during the coming weeks. He nodded in understanding, embraced Rios, and set off to complete his mission, glad to have one.
NOTE: Introductory quote: Alexander the Great