Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed
Chapter Two
"Don, maybe you should go home," Megan said hesitantly.
"I'm fine," Don snapped, glaring at her and scribbling his signature on yet another form.
"You look terrible," she responded flatly. Don caught Colby and David sneaking glances over at them and he stared them down before turning back to Megan.
"Thanks for the opinion, but I didn't ask. I'm fine." He realized just a second too late how rude he actually sounded as Megan raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I just didn't get enough sleep last night. Nothing serious." He forced a smile and stood up, muttering something about getting some more coffee.
Once he made it to the safety of the break room, he slumped into a chair. He did not actually want coffee – his stomach was already roiling and despite eating Tums like candy it still felt like acid was eating its way through his insides. Not to mention he had already had about six cups today because that line about not getting enough sleep was not just a line. It had been a good six weeks since he had slept more than about three hours in a night and it was starting to make him slightly upset. Not only that, but his head was pounding, his throat was aching, and everyone in the office kept asking if he was all right because he was pale as death, and it was making him angry. And if that weren't enough, Megan was hovering over him and he had a very solid suspicion that she had already placed a call to his dad or Charlie. Somehow, just because Charlie occasionally worked with them and they had all been to his house and met his dad, they all thought they could tell on Don to his family whenever they wanted. But he was not a child and he didn't have to listen to his dad or Charlie either.
Sighing, he dragged himself out of the chair and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, carrying it back to his desk. He had at least three more reports to get through before he could even think about going home, and that was only if nothing else urgent called, paged, or ended up on his desk. He hadn't had a day off in two weeks, which was starting to feel like an eternity. Don was not one to complain, but a guy could only be shot at so many days in a row before he started to get a little testy. And he had crossed that line about six days ago.
He would take a couple days off, he decided. He was clearly coming down with something – he was not naïve enough to think all of his symptoms meant nothing, though he did resent the fact that everyone in his office seemed to think they could invade his personal, medical issues at a whim. Maybe after a couple days he would have kicked whatever this was and he could get back to working at full effect. Because if he was being honest with himself, he hadn't been working that well today, or really any time lately. At least right now he was only doing desk work. His reports were basically complete driveling crap, but at least no one really read those things anyway. But when it came to hunting down suspects, clearing a scene or anything involving pointing a gun in the appropriate direction, he was feeling less and less inclined to trust himself.
He swung by the ADIC's office on his way back to his desk via a very circuitous route. He explained he seemed to be coming down with something and before he could insist that it wasn't just an excuse, the ADIC waved him out of the office with an approved day off, already reaching for a can of Lysol. Don surmised that he must look even worse than he had initially thought.
Settling in behind his desk with the prospect of twenty-four hours of work-free time in front of him, the reports were significantly less daunting. Perhaps the words were swimming on the page just a little, but he powered through, signing off paperwork from his team and writing his own reports until his hands began to cramp from typing. He paused briefly, leaning back in his chair and stretching, the tense muscles in his back and shoulders declining to cooperate.
"Here." A sandwich wrapped tightly in plastic was set in front of his keyboard. He blinked up at Megan who crinkled her brow worriedly at him. "You missed lunch and I haven't seen you eat all day."
He wanted to tell her that it wasn't really any of her business if he ever ate again, but he recognized his own crankiness in time to hold his tongue and convince himself she was just concerned. He smiled at her. "Thanks. Guess I didn't realize, with all that was going on today." He looked around, realizing it was dark outside the office, that it was already dinner time and his team was still there. "Guys, go home," he commanded. "Good work today." He almost grinned as David and Colby simultaneously stood up, things already packed up and ready for Don's order.
"See you, Don," Colby said, keys in hand as he and David headed towards the elevator. Don glanced over at Megan where she lounged at her own desk.
"I didn't mean to exclude you when I said 'guys,'" he said.
"I know. I thought I'd stick around here, see if I could help out at all, and make sure my sandwich doesn't go to waste." She looked pointedly at it. Maybe eating would settle his stomach; soak up some of the coffee. He unwrapped it and set to work on the last report, choking it down as he typed, finishing both almost simultaneously. He tossed the plastic into the trash and scribbled his signature on the printed report.
"There," he said with finality. "Now we can both leave."
"See you tomorrow, boss," Megan said, patting his shoulder as they parted ways in the parking garage.
"I'm taking tomorrow off," Don replied. "So I'll see you the day after."
"Good for you," Megan said approvingly, heading for her car.
Don swung himself into his SUV, turning it on and hesitating for a moment. It had been a while since he had been over to Charlie's, but he didn't really want them to fuss over him, and based on one cursory glance in the rearview mirror, he realized if he set foot in that house, his dad would have him quarantined on bed rest before he could even take off his jacket. Home it was.
By the time he dragged himself up the stairs and into his apartment, Don was cursing the day sandwiches had been invented. It was all he could do not to double over in pain as his stomach protested. He shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it haphazardly in the direction of the couch, already unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. He shucked his shoes, socks and slacks and left them in a heap by the door, headed to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment, taking in the purple smudges under his eyes and the unhealthy pallor to his sweaty skin. No wonder Megan had been hovering. He shook his head and immediately regretted it as he lurched for the toilet and vomited.
When it was over he lay on the floor for a few minutes praying this was just some twenty-four hour bug and that he'd be good as new after a day of sleep. When he thought God had probably heard enough of his complaining, he hauled himself off the floor and collapsed onto his bed, pulling the covers over his head as he began to shiver. He peeked one eye out from under the blankets just enough to locate the remote and turn on a hockey game, just enough to peer blearily at the screen as he cursed sandwiches, the flu, and whomsoever was responsible for his current condition. He mentally composed a list of possible candidates and resolved that he hated all of them. Everyone in his office except his own team, everyone at crime scenes this week, all of Charlie's students who could have passed the germs to Charlie and then to him.
But most of all he cursed the fact that he was alone. A few weeks ago, he would have had someone here to sit with him, and she probably would have complained about hockey but she would have stroked his hair and asked if there was anything she could do. And he would have told her that she should use his gun and just shoot him, but he would have been joking and she would have laughed and said "poor baby" and offered to do something else instead.
As it was, he laid in his bed, body aching in every place it touched the mattress and he kept shivering even though he was certain this room was probably not cold, and he watched a full hockey game and a couple of crime show reruns before he drifted into uneasy, lonely sleep.