A/N: I've been struggling with this one for a while, because it just didn't go where I expected and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. But stories do what they want, and they never stop to ask me.

Chapter 27

"Mr. Eppes."

A woman's voice. Which would normally induce some pleasant speculation, except that 'Mr. Eppes' seemed kinda too formal to take that one very far…

"Mr. Eppes? Don?"

A light shake at his shoulder now. And that smell…oh, yeah. Right - the hospital. That place where they woke you up the minute you finally got to sleep. Come on, give me a break here, do you know how long it's been since I had a full night's sleep…? He felt his hand twitch involuntarily, tried automatically to make a fist.

"That's better…are you with me?"

Sigh. He tried to make a fist again. They had given him something to squeeze, to help with that…he must have lost it in the sheets somewhere…

"You were moaning in your sleep. Can you tell me what hurts?"

Oh. He had no idea…not his chest, at least. That had been on fire, disjointed and sharp-edged as shattered pottery, tamping down his lungs, but now the pain seemed - distant. Two steps away, barely felt at all. In fact…

"…where'd my…legs go…?"

"That's the epidural." There was smile in her voice. "They're there - I promise - but that's the reason we don't want you getting up on your own for a while."

Oh. Oh, yeah. He remembered now. That block thing with the really long name. It had brought such relief from the tooth-grinding, breath-stealing pain in his chest that he had almost hugged the doctor who administered it and asked her to marry him. Just as well he hadn't. Would have…been…hard to explain later…

There were cool hands on his face, turning it gently. "How about your head? How's that doing?"

His head. He really wished she hadn't mentioned that, because, now that she had, he couldn't help noticing that it seemed to be splitting apart - as if someone had inserted the jaws of life into the center and were forcing them open. He licked his lips, then worried the lower one with his teeth, groping for a light answer.

"Ah hah! Head it is." She didn't have to sound so darned amused about it. "We'll have to do something about that."

"…opiads…depress…respir…ation…" Just in case they thought he hadn't been paying attention.

"Then we'll just have to use a nice analgesic, hm? Can you open your eye for me, just for a minute? Then I'll let the nurse put fresh dressings on your wrists."

He peeled his lid back, then immediately slammed it shut with a strangled curse as a bright beam of light pierced his eyeball. "…dirty…trick…" he complained breathlessly.

"Oh, come on, a tough guy like you? FBI Agent?" She coaxed the lid open with her thumb. "That's better. How's your vision?"

Don was silent, trying not to pull away. "…assuming…there's one of you…?"

She chuckled. "Yup. Concussion will do that. How's your hearing?"

"…fine." More's the pity. If he couldn't hear, maybe he'd be able sleep in peace.

"Nauseous?"

He blew out a slow breath, considering, longing to return to the fuzzy world of insensibility. "…only if I…sit up…"

"Then don't sit up."

"…good…advice."

She smiled. "I'll prescribe something for it." Don made a face. "Oh, come on…last time I dosed you, you seemed happy enough about it - you actually proposed to me."

Don reached up to rub at his forehead, found the bandage and fingered it instead. "…did that…out loud…?"

"Mm hm. Of course, I'll have to check with my husband first, but…"

Don rubbed his eye this time, trying to make the black spots lingering from the light go away. At least, he hoped they were from the light. "…always… the good ones…"

He could hear her soft laugh. "Flirting will not keep me from medicating you. But I'll admit, it's a fresh approach."

"…what else…did I say…?" Damn, he hated the drugs - hated not knowing what he was saying or doing. Once when he was in college, he had gotten so drunk that he couldn't remember a thing about the entire evening. Seemed like all the next day, people kept coming to him and telling him about things he'd done. It was the last time he'd ever drunk that much - figured if he was going to make an idiot out of himself, he'd prefer not to be the last one to know about it.

"No State secrets, I promise." She gave his hand a squeeze and he couldn't decide if she was trying to reassure him, or just testing his grip. "You take it easy. The nurse will take care of you and I'll be back to check on you tomorrow." She laid the hand across his chest and gave it a pat. "By the way, I'm thinking a small wedding…"

Don still hadn't finished framing a smart retort before he felt a different grip, snipping at the gauze on his wrist. He shifted to peer at this new pair of hands, but the light in the room was dim, and flickering oddly. Felt like his brain was trying to function underwater… "…nurse…?"

"That's right. You can call me Angie." He choked on a cry before he could stop himself as the gauze was ripped away. "Sorry." A brighter, steadier pool of light focused on his wrist.

The brighter light made his head hurt, so he closed his eye again. "I…pr'pose to you too…?"

"Sadly, no. This is going to sting a little…"

Sting, she says. Don clenched his teeth to keep himself from yanking his hand free. And his Dad thought HE down-played things…then something cool sank into his skin, and he puffed out a breath. That was more like it.

"The left one is going to be a little more uncomfortable, because the damage is more extensive…"

Translation…you're going to want to chew it off to escape…he nodded to show he understood and braced himself.

"You still haven't told me what happened to that one…"

As distractions went, it was perfect…he tried to turn his head, squinting painfully through the bouncing aureole of brilliant light. It dawned on him now that the flickering light was the television, muted, with the closed captions on. And it was showing…okay, not all that clear, but if the figures dashing around were anything to go by, it was probably some sort of sporting event…"…you still here…?"

"Mm."

His father appeared on his right side, no doubt trying to keep his attention away from what the nurse was busy with. He wanted to tell him that he was busted, that he knew damn well what he was up to, but as he contemplated the number of words required, he abandoned the idea as not worth it. "'S late," he settled for instead.

"Not really. Early evening, is all. I think your sense of time is a little skewed."

That's the least of what's skewed, but okay…his heart suddenly thudded leadenly in his chest. Wait…"Where's…Charlie…?"

"Charlie…had other plans."

Don tried to turn a little, to get a better look at his face, stopped at the nurse's gentle pressure on his arm. His father seemed to understand what was going on and seated himself, leaning forward on his elbows so that they could see each other face to face, clearly.

Clearly, Don reflected wryly, being a relative thing in his case.

"He's not in the hospital."

Don let that settle.

"He's out with your team. They were all going out for…well, I forget what they called it, but it more or less translates to 'since I wasn't taken out by a volley of bullets today, I might just as well go ahead and destroy my liver instead'."

Don smiled. "Oh." So his team was looking out for Charlie, since he couldn't do it himself right now. Damn, that was…well, it was just as well they weren't here, because he felt a distinct urge to hug again. That oughta scare them to death. Somebody'd better unplug him from this stuff pretty soon, or his reputation would be shot all to hell. In the meantime, he should come up with something nice to do for them - something to express his appreciation. Just as soon as his brain kicked back in, he was going to do that.

"Oddly enough, I find I prefer to have at least one of you within sight at all times right now, so I thought I'd sit with you for a while, then head home in time to be with Charlie."

"Oh," he repeated, then jerked suddenly at an explosion of fiery needles in his hand, tried to turn and see what was going on there, but his father tapped his good arm to get his attention back.

"So - what did happen there? Charlie told me you came home last night with it already damaged."

Charlie - the human font of information - of course he had. He breathed carefully around the mounting anguish in his hand, held just out of his sight. "- something - stupid."

He saw his father hitch up slightly to watch the nurse for a minute.

Oh, sure, he thought bitterly - YOU get to see, but I can't - and it's my hand.

"Well, 'something stupid' seems to have left it twice its normal size, with…how many stitches is that?"

Like he could remember. "…a few…" he admitted crossly.

"Twenty-two," Angie-the-nurse contributed pleasantly.

Traitor. Don gave her a wounded look. "…ganging up on me?" he queried plaintively.

Angie smiled. "Not me. I'm just supplying medical information. It's my job."

"Twenty-two?!" Alan rose all the way to his feet, craning his neck for a better look. "You put it through a window or something?"

"Mirror," Don mumbled. Then, when that was clearly not going to be adequate, "Punched it."

"Oh." Alan sank back into the chair, his face expectant.

Great. Just what he didn't want to…"There was this…kid…" Don closed his eye for a second. Was that really only last night? And man, he would really rather have a better lock on his emotions before he talked about this…

"At the crime scene?" Alan prompted gently.

"No - I mean….yeah…but…it didn't start out…" Oh, great. If you make me bawl in front of the nurse, Dad, I will never forgive you…he gulped a breath. "He's dead." Might help if he could just rush his way through it. "Soames - killed him."

"I see."

Don was sure his father was going to reach out to him then, but he didn't, and he felt a surge of intense gratitude: the smallest act of tenderness at this point would overturn his delicate control for sure, and the only thing he knew of worse than throwing up with broken ribs was sobbing with broken ribs.

"You mean like he almost killed you."

"No." Don shook his head, swallowed as the room spun, even with his eyes closed. Dad didn't get it, and he wasn't really sure he wanted him to. How did you admit that you had set out to save lives, and ended up costing them instead? What would it mean to a man like his father, a man dedicated to peace, to know that an innocent boy had died, just because his son did what he did for a living? It had been inadvertent, of course, but that didn't change things for J.D., didn't change things for J.D.'s mother.

"He…killed him…just…" God. "…as a message." Salt and water burned behind his eyelids and he ground impatiently at the one not hidden by bandages. "To me."

Silence hung in the air, and Don was afraid to look at his father's face, afraid of what he might see there. Then something else occurred to him and, suddenly uneasy, he squinted his swollen lids apart. "…where did you say…Charlie was…again…?"

"Donnie - "

"…Look, I'm sorry…sorry for…I mean, I know…it's…how it would be for you…if anything happened to Charlie…" Oh, man. Hot dampness puddled in his ear and he pressed down fiercely on his eyelid, daring his father to notice, to comment on it.

"Yes. Well." This time he did feel a steadying hand on his arm. "Charlie is evidently in a bar filled with FBI Agents, at a table of FBI Agents, and will be driven home by FBI Agents, no doubt in official armored vehicles. He's so well protected right now that it's a wonder he can breathe."

That's right. And Soames is in lock up. Would really help if he could keep an idea in his head for more than…then again, maybe not, because right now, ideas were not his friends. His mind skipped back over the events of the last few days, and he yearned for that vague greyness to return, that place where thoughts seemed to float harmlessly by. And here he went again…he scrubbed irritably at the chilling streaks on his cheeks.

"You know, I saw your x-rays."

Okay, he had to admit that that was one hell of a non-sequiter. Certainly nothing like what he'd been expecting.

"So I probably know the extent of the damage even better than you. I can't really seem to wrap my head around it - what he did to you. That some man could intentionally and systematically do that to another. I mean, I read the papers, I'm not an innocent, but it's…different when it's…you know."

That? That was nothing. You have no idea.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is - I'm sorry about the kid. I truly am. It's - unconscionable, really. But - I - I can't help feeling that - this - Soames - has done enough damage - brutalized you enough for one day. Please don't let him do it any more." The grip on his arm tightened. "Please."

Don sniffed, rubbing the back of his hand over his nose. He hadn't thought of it that way. Tearing himself up inside wouldn't help J.D. The only one it would please was Soames - and he was damned if he was going to do that. After a second, he gave an abbreviated nod.

The grip turned into a pat. "That's my boy."

Whew. Well, there was one from the way-back machine.

"And, just out of curiosity - " Don felt a tissue pushed unobtrusively into his fist. "How is it, exactly, that you think 'it would be for me' if anything happened to you?"

"I didn't - mean it like that."

"Glad to hear it." Alan reached for the television remote and bumped up the sound. "I'd hate to have to smack a wounded man."

TBC