A/N
Sorry for the long delay. However, I have been working on this and parts of the next three or four chapters almost simultaneously, so they should start dropping sooner rather than later. I promise it will be worth it.
Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Thursday, Early Evening
When Cullen reentered Booth's room he found the agent dozing. Poor bastard. However, all things considered, he looked pretty damned good considering he'd been hit four times. Although his vest had failed to completely stop the rounds only one wound had been truly life threatening. He imagined that this incident would spark a review of the decision not to rush HRT the latest military style armor with the heavy ceramic plate insert. But for the vest, however inadequate as it had proven to be, Cullen would have been certainly looking at a casket instead of a hospital bed.
The Spartan hospital room was barren except for the flower arrangement sent by his office and the Get Well card made by Booth's son. Cullen had been in contact with Rebecca, and he'd had an agent pick up the card. The kid would not have been allowed into ICU anyway, a good policy in his opinion… no point seeing your dad looking half dead and stuck full of tubes. They would visit some time tomorrow.
There was also just one other card, one for which he had absolutely no idea how it had got here. Booth's identity and location were being kept secret for now, but it was just a matter of time before it leaked. It was going to be a matter of public record shortly anyway.
As soon as Booth had been released this morning from ICU over at GWU Medical Center the Bureau had him transferred here to Walter Reed, both for the better security and the top notch experience in helping soldiers recover from gun shot wounds. After Booth had a couple of well deserved naps bracketing a late lunch, Cullen had accompanied the team that took his initial statement about his actions on Monday. It had taken a personal appeal to get special permission to grill him this soon, but fortunately the Chief of Surgery, a full bird Army colonel, understood the urgency of needing to gather every bit of intel of his observations of the terrorists while it still might be useful.
Other than his color still being a little off and clearly being dog tired, Booth didn't look too bad, at least with the sheet pulled up to his armpits. The only visible wound was the gash in his cheek. The fact it was held closed by those little adhesive steri-strips instead of proper stitches just seemed wrong to Cullen, but it was supposed to help minimize scarring.
He certainly looked a hell of a lot better in the plumbing department, with significantly fewer tubes coming out of him than when he was still in ICU.
Cullen had been able to gradually brief Booth on what was now known about the attack, but only after his untainted testimony had been recorded at each step. In one sense his statement was window dressing as the assembled and digitized audio and video feeds from cameras inside and out, as well as radio traffic, was pretty damned definitive. The Bureau's crime scene A/V guys had worked around the clock and tricked out one of the conference rooms in the Hoover building with about twenty big plasma monitors controlled by a computer lash-up. Only a few very short sequences were missing. In conjunction with some of the higher quality video taken by tourists outside, and even a little inside the building, it practically looked like a Tom Clancy movie. But it was all too real.
Booth's beauty sleep would have to wait. Now there were a few things that needed to be settled once the cameras and microphones had been put away and the extra sets of ears gone. Booth clearly had a few questions he was saving, and Cullen himself had a couple things that had to be handled.
"Booth." Nothing. "Booth, wake up." Must be out harder than he thought. Just as Cullen was about to touch a blanketed foot his best agent finally stirred.
Booth blinked his eyes a few times then wiped the gunk from them with a hand, grimacing as the I.V. line tangled and tugged painfully at the catheter and ports taped to the back of his hand. He carefully shifted his position on the bed, mouth tightening with the effort before clearing his throat and speaking.
"Can you hand me that water?"
"Sure." Cullen pulled closer the wheeled tray table that the videographer had pushed aside earlier, and then he poured some more ice water from the larger jug into a small cup. He held the cup and the straw so Booth could sip.
"Thanks."
"Sure." However, at his nod Booth had to get in a shot.
"My other nurses are a helluva a lot cuter."
Cullen smiled briefly but didn't rise to the lame crack. He wanted to be gone before Brennan and her squints arrived. Their visit should cheer all of them up.
"Colonel Barrett is going to have my ass if we don't get out of here and let you take a nap. Here's our chance to talk, so ask away." He knew where at least some of this was probably going based on the earlier interview.
Booth nodded himself before quietly asking his first question. Instead of looking at Cullen's face it appeared he was looking at his sheet covered toes.
"Forty-two dead and at least that many seriously injured…" He looked up, catching him squarely in the eye. "How many of those were killed by the first bomb?"
Cullen sighed, and pulled one of the shitty chairs closer to the agent's bed. The real part of Booth's question was the unspoken flip side – how many had died from the actions of the group which slipped past him. Cullen turned the chair around backwards and straddled it before answering...
But Booth wasn't finished. "And how many of them might have made it if they'd got help right away?"
Crap. Cullen knew this was going to be a sore subject. Booth was still beating himself up for not having been Superman and whacking the second bomber and the first batch of shooters before they'd made it inside. He needed to snap him out of it.
He shook his head. "Not now. You'll be able to read the report yourself soon enough."
But Booth was having none of it. "Don't give me that crap. There must already be a preliminary estimate." Booth's anguished eyes bored into his, "I have to know."
Cullen wasn't going to help him play that game. "Sure…" He hardened his voice, "But I'm not going there, not today, and I'd suggest you do the same."
Booth opened his mouth to object, but Cullen barreled right over him.
"You need to cut this crap out before you drive yourself crazy with second guessing. You did everything humanly possible. It may not seem like it to you now, but there just really wasn't any time. The video doesn't lie." He softened his voice again, "I know you don't believe me at the moment, but when you're ready let me know and you can see the video for yourself. Maybe I can get an edited copy brought over here tomorrow afternoon."
The other man only nodded reluctantly, but at least he nodded instead of arguing. It would have to do for now. He knew Booth would keep picking at that scab, but with the right help, perhaps from a two-by-four, he'd leave it alone and give it a chance to scar over.
It was time to change the subject, but Cullen wasn't quite ready to go where he needed to just yet…
"Any other questions I can answer?"
"Yes. What about Gregory?" Booth was looking him straight in the eye again, his features composed but wary as he cut to the chase.
Damn. It was before he intended. May as well get it over with…
"As you might expect, the man is a little pissed. And he is a vindictive SOB. It'll be another week or so before the preliminary report is released, but the handwriting is on the wall. It's all over but the shouting as far as the essentials and the primary conclusions. You're in the clear, totally exonerated by everything we've learned, and I don't think there was anything in your statement to derail that. The guy you wounded in the van cracked pretty easily, and there were detailed diagrams in their gear showing their exact plans for rigging the theater, which doors their guy inside Maintenance had jammed, and where they would post their sentries. Even a copy of the IMAX schedule. It was going to be every bit as ugly as you guessed."
Booth nodded without saying anything, but he relaxed slightly. Cullen continued.
"Now as to precisely what happened when you went inside… well rumor has it the guys in the tactical community have practically come to blows arguing over it, but I don't have a dog in that fight. As far as I'm concerned all that counts at the end of the day is that you didn't lose a hostage. That seems to be the general consensus at the top, and I do mean the top."
Booth's expression became pained again, "'Didn't lose any…'? What about the woman and her son? I… I think they may have been killed as bait… just for me." He grimaced and looked away.
Cullen was grateful to have one more bit of good news for him, sad as it was.
"You can rest easy about that one. That was definitely not your fault; one of the security cameras caught all of it."
Booth looked right at him again expectantly. "So… what did happen?" he asked softly.
Cullen scratched his scalp and wiped his mouth. "They had just rounded one of those corners in that hallway when that woman you found actually jumped on one of the terrorists as a distraction so her son could make a break for it. Tough lady"
Now it was his turn to grimace. "But apparently she must have telegraphed her move because he caught her in the teeth with his rifle butt and had time to shoot the kid too. Then he pulled the woman to her feet and executed her as an example to the others." He sighed. "God rest their souls."
Booth agreed "Amen." It was clear that he was torn by his sense of relief coming at the expense of someone else's tragedy.
Cullen knew better. He knew Booth did too, but it was worth saying out loud anyway. "I know it sucks, but sometimes you just have to accept your breaks… regardless of how they come." Not that that really made it any better.
Booth nodded reluctantly, but his expression lightened somewhat.
Cullen gave him something else to ponder.
"For what it's worth, at least they were the last ones to die. The other SWAT elements took out the last terrorist in the Gallery, taking their cue from you. They moved in aggressively while he was still dribbling out hostages to serve as cover for your two terrorists, so he never had a chance to shoot any of the last ones like you warned about. Our guys only wounded him, and since he's a Saudi national our friends from Langley flew him back to the Kingdom where he's singing like a canary."
They sat together in silence for a moment before Cullen stirred again, shifting awkwardly on the crappy chair. He loved the FBI. Hell, his wife said only half in jest that she sometimes felt like number two after it. And, truth be told, after all his years of hard work he loved being one of the big dogs as a Director. He liked being in charge, and he knew he was good at it. He wasn't counting on it, but he might even have a shot at FBI Director Mueller's chair in a few years under the next Administration.
But this was one of those times he hated his fucking job. It was time for the other shoe to drop.
He cleared his throat. "Booth…"
The agent looked at him again, waiting.
"I said you were exonerated… but I didn't say you were off the hook."
Booth kept his poker face, but his eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"Like I already said, the official narrative of the attack and the response is shaping up even though the investigation into the larger conspiracy continues. As to your set-to with Gregory, well the fix is already in with regard to that too. Everybody knows Gregory fucked up with a bad call in telling you to stand down, made worse by forcing you into insubordination instead of listening to you. But you did disobey a direct order, however justified you were, so that presents a problem that's hard to completely sweep under the rug. Believe me, with the knives already coming out in Congress over the CIA and the Bureau's own Counter-Terror side both missing this plot, Director Mueller would love nothing more than to make this sordid little sideshow go away. It's the only thing marring what's otherwise the only positive aspect of this entire mess."
He paused and checked Booth's expression. Totally focused. He continued…
"Gregory's org chart is being reshuffled and a new slot being created under him specifically to insulate him from operational details. It's being done in a way that he can save face, hell, almost call it a promotion for himself, but he, and everyone who's anyone, know he's actually being de-nutted. Problem is he's connected, and won't take it quietly unless he gets his pound of flesh, namely your ass."
"So… what's the damage?" Booth asked quietly.
"Well I'm sure the bastard would love to get your badge, after all you publicly embarrassed him…"
Booth interrupted with a bitter laugh, "Ha. I think he'd be more embarrassed if I'd listened to him."
Cullen merely acknowledged that obvious truth with a nod. "…but the man's savvy enough to know he can't argue with success, so don't worry, that's not gonna happen."
Neither Mueller nor the President would allow the hero of the hour to get knee-capped that way. They knew the people wouldn't stand for it.
He responded to the face Booth made when he'd said 'success'. "Yes, I said 'success' and I meant it. I'm not going to argue about that again." He gave Booth a stern look, "Are we clear on that?"
Booth sighed, "Ok."
"Good. But I'm not quite done yet." This next part was where he had the urge to hold his nose…
"Some time in the next several weeks you are going to receive the FBI Medal of Valor, probably in the Rose Garden…" He ignored Booth's muttered "I don't want a damned medal" and continued himself. "… and at the photo op you are going make nice with Gregory and shake hands with him for all the cameras to prove there're no hard feelings, it was all a big misunderstanding, and that we're all one big happy fuckin' FBI family."
"Like hell!"
Cullen had to nip that sullen shit in the bud for everyone's sake, as much as it pained him. He shook a finger at Booth.
"Now you shut up and listen to me. You don't know the stakes involved, all the back room politics." Hell, he wished he didn't. "That's the price you pay for dodging the 'insubordinate' and 'loose cannon' charges that would have effectively ended your career."
Surprised by his forceful response, Booth lost most of his defiance. But that wasn't quite all of it...
"There's one last thing. The arms locker in your SUV has already been cleaned out, and all of your special weapons secured as evidence for the continuing investigation. However, even once you're back in the saddle you won't be getting them back."
"Why?" Booth was more subdued now, resigned even. Ah shit...
"Because you won't be needing them any more. A few weeks after you get your medal, once the press attention has died down, you will quietly and 'voluntarily' resign from the HRT program for 'personal reasons'."
There, it was done. Now he felt the need to go take a shower.
For a long moment there was silence. Booth's jaws clenched and unclenched, and his eyes wouldn't quite meet Cullen's.
"I'm really sorry, son. It was the best I could do for you."
Booth looked at him again. "I guess I know that. I knew there would have to be a price, and it's sure as hell better than being officially reprimanded or fired, but still…"
Still… it had to hurt. It stunk to high heaven. "Yeah… I know."
Silence dragged out again until Booth broke it this time.
"You know, getting a medal somehow just doesn't feel right, like I'm a fraud. So many people still died…"
Cullen jumped right on that.
"You're going to be gracious accepting that medal because people need to honor their heroes." He continued before Booth could argue, "Like it or not, the younger agents really look up to you now, and, for that matter, likely the next generation of potential new recruits as well. You are not going to let them down. You single-handedly made the Bureau look good, almost in spite of itself, so that instead of all the focus being on us getting caught with our pants down around our ankles you've given them, hell, make that all of us, something to be proud of. And don't be so damned stubborn – in your ass-backwards way that's actually the opposite of modesty."
Booth looked thoughtful as he digested this last, until he finally nodded reluctantly. But he had one more protest.
"Still…when it comes down to it, I just feel like I had a lot of luck."
"Bullshit!"
The agent looked startled by his vehemence. Good.
"I don't remember exactly who said it, but somebody once said 'good 'luck' is nothing more than preparation meeting opportunity.'" He continued without pause, "Why were you there on the Mall near the Jeffersonian?" He answered the questions himself. "You were there because that's where you work. Why did you have a sniper rifle and know how to use it? Because you volunteered and then proved yourself good enough to carry one precisely because you wanted to be able to do something when the shit hit the fan. As far as I'm concerned, that all applies equally as well to Dr. Brennan and Officer Travis. When good people rise to the occasion I'll be damned if that is just 'luck'."
He softened his expression. "The only real 'luck', or outright miracle if you ask me, was the fact that the terrorists' inside man forgot to verify if the film was running on schedule."
Booth nodded at that. They'd already discussed how poor timing had lead to the IMAX being nearly empty instead of full to its capacity of 750 people and ripe for the taking.
Cullen finished, "…and the other bit of luck was your decision to take an early lunch." He winked at that, finally feeling like he could smile properly again.
But there was one more bit of sensitive business to attend to. He hoped Booth wouldn't be too damned touchy about it…
"Booth, as you know, before you get back out in the field after an incident like this, not only do you have to have a medical release, you also have to pass a routine psych eval, even for a righteous shoot."
Booth merely grunted an acknowledgement, the look of distaste on his face speaking volumes.
"Speaking as a friend, not your boss, I'd strongly suggest that in the meantime you avail yourself of whatever counseling you want, to talk it all out. You want to be able to pass that eval with flying colors." He could make it mandatory if he had to, but it was much better all around if he didn't.
But Booth balked. "I don't need to see a shrink." He said it quietly but resolutely.
Shit. "Now, dammit, don't be so hardheaded. I need you to be absolutely sure your head is screwed on right." Booth tried to speak, but he held up a hand. "Don't argue! I need you back on the job, but there's more to it than that. This is not all about you. Don't forget you have a partner who's seen the elephant for the first time. She's been through hell, and chances are she's going to need a strong shoulder to lean on. You can't provide that if you don't have your own shit straight. Comprende?"
"Believe me, I haven't forgotten about her." Booth's expression was downcast, suitably chastened.
Good. So much for the stick, now for the carrot…
"Well that's a good thing because she's going to be here in a few minutes to see you."
"Yeah?" Booth's face brightened up until he was wearing a big grin.
It warmed Cullen's heart to see him finally, truly perk up. He'd deliberately saved that bit of good news for after all the shit they'd had to wade through.
But Booth's grin slowly faded, replaced by a more thoughtful look.
"Back to the shrinks… I really don't need to see one because Father Jenkins is coming to see me first thing in the morning."
The priest served as the semi-official chaplain for the DC Bureau, which was still disproportionately Irish Catholic just like Cullen himself, a legacy from the Hoover era.
Cullen nodded slowly, "Oh. Ok."
Booth apparently had more to get off his chest. He spoke slowly, "No matter what you say, or even what I know, I still feel like I let a lot of people down."
Crap. Booth still insisted on feeling guilty over things that couldn't be helped. Cullen had to step in at that. He overstepped his bounds as Booth's boss, and instead answered him as a fellow agent who also happened to be Catholic. "Booth, not batting a thousand according to some impossible standard is hardly a sin by anyone's definition, certainly not the Lord's."
Booth's jaw still jutted out obstinately. "That's not all. Before Monday I was… afraid… that when it came down to it I wouldn't be able to get the job done because I couldn't make myself just see them as targets." Cullen said nothing as Booth paused. "I had a little trouble with that, but the opposite turned out to be the case the longer it went on. I was pretty cool for the most part, but just beneath the surface I hated them and killing the bastards felt good. I killed nine men on Monday, and I wish more than anything else in the whole world that I could have killed me six more…"
Cullen sighed. "But you know it was the right thing to do in the circumstances. You were saving lives. It was hardly 'murder'." In spite of confusion about 'turn the other cheek,' Catholics weren't expected to be pacifists.
"Oh, I know that, believe me," Booth answered. His voice dropped as he looked down, "But too much of me enjoyed it. I thought I'd left that behind a long time ago."
Cullen objected, "I think the Lord knows the difference between a justified, righteous anger and true hatred."
But Booth wasn't quite buying it. "Maybe. I used to laugh at it, old school mumbo jumbo, but I think I understand why Wrath is one of the Seven Deadly Sins now." He looked at Cullen again, "Did you know I've been going to Mass every Sunday these last few years, but I haven't been to Confession in ages?" He continued without waiting for an answer, "I think I'm going to fix that tomorrow."
Cullen understood after all. He knew that accepting God's grace in order to forgive one's self was just as big a part of the sacrament as asking Him for his forgiveness.
"I think that would probably be a good thing," he said gently.
Cullen let the companionable silence last a minute before he broke it this time. He did have one final bit of good news he could share before he left. Well, perhaps interesting was a better word. "Remember the big blonde woman hostage with the Asian daughter?"
"It's not like I could forget."
"It turns out she's five months pregnant, and…" He let the word drag out, enjoying the puzzled look he was getting.
"And what?" Booth demanded impatiently.
"She has asked for the identity of the agent who saved their lives. She just had the first ultrasound, and she and her husband are looking for a boy's name."
Cullen laughed at the priceless look of what could only be described as horror on Booth's face as that registered.
"Don't worry, your name hasn't been released. Yet. But it's just a matter of time until there's a little Seeley running around somewhere."
He chuckled again as Booth groaned, and he rose to go. Damned knee was stiffening up again. He flexed it a couple times while holding on to the back of the chair.
"Oh, one last thing, Booth…"
"Yes sir?"
"If you ever violate one of my orders like that I'll have to kick your ass." He said it with another wink. "Now you make sure you do as your doctors say and hurry up and get well. I can't afford to have one of my best agents lying around on his ass all day."
He was almost out the door when Booth spoke again.
"Hey, Boss…"
He stopped and turned around in the doorway. Booth never called him that.
"Yes?"
"Thanks. For everything."
He nodded, but then he waved it off, "No… no. Thank you, Seeley."
He left the hospital room without looking back.
On the way out he collected the agent serving as his driver from the waiting room and sent him ahead to fetch the car. While waiting under the covered entrance outside a decision gelled about something he hadn't even known he was considering. Booth had proven himself to be too good in a crisis to leave him sitting on the bench next time it hit the fan.
Cullen could do it. It fell totally within his authority, something he could do on his own on his side of the fence. He had some discretion with his agents. He'd wait six months or a year to let Booth settle down then he'd spring it on him.
For now he just made another mental note to himself: have Alice find eleven thousand dollars or so in one of the miscellaneous slush fund accounts hiding in the budget… enough to go shopping for a fancy rifle.