Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews! They make me keep wanting to write! I have to admit, it feels great to be back into this. Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter as well!
In the darkened room, Alan Eppes peered up at the fluorescent light on the wall, which backlit an x-ray of his son's ribcage. Strangely, it wasn't the first time he'd see an x-ray of Don's ribs. In fact, he'd seen more than just ribs. Don had been a typical boy. He'd broken a few bones. The two cracked ribs and one broken rib had been a result of a collision at third base when Don was twelve. Alan couldn't picture the event, because he hadn't been there. He had been with Charlie, at a math meet, and had arrived home later that evening to find the house still dark and the table empty. There had been a somewhat frantic message on the machine from Margaret regarding their whereabouts – the hospital.
Alan had been so grateful that Margaret had been there – they'd almost both gone with Charlie, but at the last minute, no doubt filled with motherly intuition, Margaret had disappointed Charlie by going to Don's game. It seemed that the older both Charlie and Don got, the less of Don's baseball games they made it to and the more of Charlie's needs they attended to. But Margaret had been there that day – an older boy, thirteen, who was a bit bigger than Donny had been running the bases, and Don had been on third. Of course, collisions happened all the time, but this time, the slightly larger boy and Don had ended up in a heap as the umpire declared the runner out. Only when Don didn't get up right away, even as the other boy reached for his hand did Margaret begin to worry. She'd said later that she just always assumed he got back up.
Alan snorted at that thought, startling the doctor standing beside him.
"Mr. Eppes? Is everything all right?" Dr. Wild asked.
Alan hesitated before speaking. Was everything all right? She was a very nice woman, but had she lost her mind? No, everything was most decidedly not all right. His eldest son was down the hall, lying in a coma, which he'd been in for five days. Prior to that, he had been shot and abused all in the line of duty. To top it off, Don was showing absolutely no sign of waking up and all the tests the doctors had run on his brain were inconclusive. But that wasn't the only issue. There was his youngest son – who was emotionally traumatized from having been witness to his brother's injuries while being forced to try to prevent them. Charlie was emotionally tortured, and was now blaming his father for the chain of events that led them to where they were today. And Alan himself was facing the facts that Charlie was right – that he'd been as much a party to this as anyone else. Sure, he hadn't been there in the bank – hadn't been the one to shoot Don and taunt Charlie. He hadn't even been the one to insist that Don do something productive with his life – to put his life on the line every day for people who either didn't know or didn't care – he hadn't pressed for Donny to join the FBI and offer his life for the lives of others. What he had done was to create a situation where a young boy was forced to be self-sufficient while being taught to put the needs of his younger brother before his own. What he had done was to teach both of his sons wrong from right and to instill in them a strong sense of justice. What he had done was ignore the signs that Don was just dying to be paid attention to – dying to be recognized for the bright and successful young man he was. What he had done was drive Don to the FBI – then to Fugitive Recovery – only to yank him back home to then put a dying family back together. No, everything wasn't all right.
But he could hardly say all of this to his son's doctor. So instead, he tried to smile at her, even though he could tell instantly that she saw it was faked, so he tried a bit of honesty without spilling the whole truth.
"I was just remembering something his mother said about him – something that I bought into. Just didn't realize until now that what she said could ever be wrong."
"Let me guess – she said something about how he must think he's invincible?" Dr. Wild said, a small smile on her lips.
"Very close," Alan admitted.
Her face softened. "Mr. Eppes, I've treated more than one law enforcement officer – I've dealt with police officers, DEA officers, a few ATF officers and one other FBI agent. I hate to generalize, but they're all the same. They're all surprised that someone got them. They all think they're invincible."
Somehow, it made Alan feel better to know that Don wasn't the only moron out there walking around like he thought he was bulletproof.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "You've probably seen far worse. And, I'm not as naïve as a look. I know that Donny's been injured before – bullet grazes, knife wounds – even another gun shot wound – but he hides that kind of thing if he can – always worried about me worrying. I don't know when he got to thinking that he was the father and I was the child – talk about switching rolls!" he complained in mock irritation. Somewhere inside of him, it touched him that Don worried so much about him – that he wanted to protect his father from the harsh realities of not only his job, but life in general.
"You know," Dr. Wild said, squeezing his arm, "I've heard that federal agents are more likely to die in car crashes or from natural causes than they are to die on the job." Her words were meant to be soothing – and strangely, they were – not that Alan wanted to imagine his son dead from any cause. Parents shouldn't bury their children. It just wasn't right.
"Yet, here we are," Alan said with a heavy sigh, scrubbing his hand over his face.
"Yes," Dr. Wild allowed. "But, this is good news." She turned her attention to the x-ray. "As you can see, the cracks in these ribs are healing nicely, and this," she indicated the area where three of the bones had been broken and then set at the hospital, "…this is all very positive. You can actually see the bones knitting themselves back together. It's really quite amazing what the body can do with some rest. Of course, this is still going to be pretty painful – coughing is going to hurt – but when I say this is a good sign, I mean it. It's also a good indication of why he's still in a coma. His body needs as much energy as possible to deal with the trauma he's been through. I'm not surprised that he's not awake yet."
Alan regarded her carefully, wondering how much of the positive talk was to keep him from breaking down. For once, he wished he had Don's skills of observation. Sure, he could normally read people pretty well, but Don was different. Don saw through people like no one else did. Part of it was the job training – the rest – Alan knew came naturally – he'd gotten it from his mother. Margaret had always been able to see deeper – into people and around things. She'd always been a great champion of details and often noticed what others did not. To Don it certainly seemed to come naturally.
"Do you give this kind of speech to everyone?" he finally asked.
She looked surprised. "Mr. Eppes, I promise that I will be nothing less than honest about your son's condition. I take my job very seriously – even more so when I deal with law enforcement officers – it's kind of like an unwritten rule when they come in for care."
Alan flushed, suddenly feeling bad. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't be so cynical, it's just that I'm used to Don always trying to keep things from me, and Charlie and the team trying to gloss over the more edgy things – and there are lies sometimes, and platitudes. I didn't mean to imply that you were anything less than honest."
She laughed. "I'm getting the feeling that he's been quite the handful."
Alan sobered further. "That's part of the problem – he's always trying not to be a handful. Half the time, it's me being the handful. When did it happen that children parent their parents?"
Dr. Wild just shrugged. "That's a mystery that the world has yet to reveal Mr. Eppes. Do you want to see the x-ray of his shoulder?"
Here, Alan hesitated. Did he want to see what kind of damage a bullet through the shoulder would cause? "Is it…bad?" Alan asked.
"Actually, like I told you before, Don was pretty lucky. The bullet passed through mostly muscle, just clipping the back part of his shoulder blade, which, incidentally, angled the bullet up and probably saved Charlie from getting the bullet in his chest, instead of his arm if I understand right where he was standing behind Don."
Alan blinked at her in surprise. "So, because the bullet his Donny's bone, it's angle changed, and prevented it from hitting Charlie in the chest?" Dr. Wild nodded in assent. Alan had to fight down an inappropriate urge to laugh. "How typical," he said instead, sounding half angry. The doctor looked at him in surprise.
"I don't understand… Isn't that a good thing? If Charlie had been hit in the chest, his wound would most likely be far more painful and cut down his range of motion quite significantly. And a bone chip is nothing serious. Dr. Welker just wants to remove it in the next few days so it doesn't cause any damage, but there has been no effect to the integrity of the rest of his bone…"
"You must think I've lost my mind," Alan said, scrubbing at his face again. "I'm just having a hard time dealing with all of this – and if you knew my son, then you'd find it ironic too that even while taking a bullet for his brother, even that was not enough, and he should further damage himself to ensure that Charlie was not injured any worse than necessary." He waved his hand at her when she opened her mouth to protest, obviously about to say that Don could have had no idea what the trajectory of the bullet was, nor that it would hit his shoulder blade. "I know, I know – it would be totally impossible for him to really impact the outcome of the bullet – but like I said, if you knew Donny…you'd think it was suspicious too. Trust me."
To his great relief, she laughed. "Like I said, it sounds like you have your hands full."
Without asking him again, she switched the x-rays so he was looking at Don's shoulder blade. Just as she had said, there was an almost half-moon shaped chip, only slightly ragged. "You said more surgery?" Alan hated that word.
"Yes," she responded, stepping forward to point out the small chip of bone. "We don't want this working its way into something important. It would be very minor – and we can wait. He's in no danger right now of it going somewhere it shouldn't be while he's in bed, not moving around. We can wait until later to do the surgery."
Alan nodded. "What's one more procedure?" he said, trying to joke. Dr. Wild smiled at him sympathetically.
"Forgive me if I'm intruding, but I noticed that you and Charlie have been ignoring each other. It's none of my business, but I'm a strong believer that negative feelings around someone as badly injured as Don is can't be helping him. Can I suggest burying the hatchet…for Don's sake? He's going to need all the support and love that he needs – which means both of you there, not taking shifts awkwardly avoiding each other. People in comas often say, after they wake up, that they remember people being there with them and talking to them. If he senses that something's not right… Well, it may be less than convincing for him to try to come out of it."
Alan gaped at her, feeling like he'd just gotten a lecture from his mother. He couldn't remember the last time that someone had reduced him to feeling like an unruly child, but somehow, the doctor that was providing his son with the finest care, had managed to do just that.
For a moment, he thought she might try to apologize, thinking she'd gone too far, but instead, the petite woman just stood there, hands on her hips, waiting for him to respond in some way.
Alan wanted to be angry – wanted to yell at her, to ask her how dare she interfere in his relationship with Charlie – how dare she insinuate that they were causing Don more harm than good – that because they had fought that Don would continue to hide away. He wanted to argue with her – to tell her that because he and Charlie were at odds, that it would be all the more likely that Don would wake up. After all, Don was, at heart, a peacemaker. Alan knew that. So despite the guns and the big heavy SUV, the posturing and the dark side of his nature, Alan knew that Don wanted peace – and that was why he'd joined the FBI – not to live a dangerous, highly volatile life, but to succeed in protecting those that couldn't protect themselves and make the world a better, safer place. He was a fixer. So if he and Charlie were at odds – the Don would surely want to wake up to tell them both to cut it out. In fact, he could almost hear Donny saying that to both of them, a sound of irritation and love, all mixed up in one. But he had doubts – doubts that she was right. Doubts that Donny was too tired to keep going – too tired to keep fixing things. Granted, he rarely had to mediate between his father and Charlie, and Alan certainly spent more time mediating between Don and Charlie, but still – it might just be too exhausting.
"I…." All of the steam seemed to blow right out of him. "You're right. It's not good for Donny. I'll talk to Charlie."
This seemed to please her. "Good, then I'll be able to stop having these little information meetings twice." Alan ducked his head in slight embarrassment. How had he not known how childish he and Charlie were being? They needed to be a united front – they needed each other desperately. If Don never woke up, they'd need each other even more.
"Besides, Don's cute little girlfriend is here, I'm sure she can sit vigil while you two talk."
This time, Alan laughed. "Don't let her catch you saying that, I think she might die of embarrassment."
Dr. Wild looked confused. "But, I thought… You mean, she's not his girlfriend? Sitting in there all that time, holding his hand, reading to him? Trying to keep you two civil?"
Alan just laughed again. It was the first time his heart felt light, despite the fact that he worried about what Charlie might think of the brewing romance between his ex-girlfriend and his older brother.
"She's not his girlfriend yet," he said, stressing the last word, merriment in his eyes. "But I intend to see it go that far – I need grandchildren after all."
Now it was Dr. Wild's turn to gape, but she managed to pull herself together and nod with a grin.
"I'll take a few more x-rays in a few days – but I think it's safe to say that internally, he's well on his way."
Alan nodded gratefully, and made his way back down the hall towards Don's room. His normal pattern the last few days would be to listen when he got close, to see if he could hear Charlie's voice, and therefore avoid any further confrontation, but now he knew he could no longer do that. He had to face Charlie – but more importantly, he had to face his own demons.
When he got close, her could hear familiar voices – Don's team. He smiled. They were nothing if not loyal.
For a moment, he hovered outside the door, trying to calm his suddenly nervous stomach, and then he stepped in the room. At first, no one noticed.
Colby was telling some anecdotal story about Don when Colby had first joined the team – some kind of practical joke Don had seen fit to play, while Megan grinned ear to ear, as if she remembered every juicy detail. Charlie was sitting on the window ledge, listening in rapt attention, and although he was probably unaware, Alan caught the ghost of the hero worship on his face that Alan had seen so often when Charlie was a boy. David, who seemed amused by the story, was leaning in the corner, calm and cool – in a stance he'd learned from Don. Amita, having never left Don's side, was perched on the edge of the armchair that someone had dragged in the room from the waiting area down the hall, and was clutching Don's uninjured hand.
As for Don, he looked much the same. Too still and too pale to really be his son, but there, nonetheless, the respirator assuring Alan that oxygen was still reaching his son. Someone, no doubt Amita, had rearranged the blankets again, covering Don's exposed skin to keep out the chill.
If it hadn't been for Don's dire condition, it all would have been a heartwarming sight.
"What did I miss?" he asked as the room dissolved in laughter, with Colby's hands held about a foot apart, his story ending in the word "rat."
Charlie looked up instantly, like a deer caught in headlights and Alan caught his son clutching a small black rectangular box like his life depended on it.
"Dad…" he said, standing as the room elapsed into silence. Alan was oddly reminded of catching Don and Charlie, wading in the Koi pond like they weren't supposed to, being caught red handed.
"I just came from talking to Doctor Wild," Alan said, pressing on, offering Charlie a genuine smile. "She says that Don's ribs are starting to heal just fine. She seemed very encouraged."
The volume in the room went from zero to ten in a moment as everyone began talking at once, clearly pleased with the news. The distraction gave Alan just what he needed, he took the final few steps to Charlie.
"Son, I'd like to apologize to you – but can we go someplace a bit more…private?" he asked. Charlie didn't respond right away, and Alan felt fear clutch his heart – like Charlie might actually say no, but then he saw tears glittering in Charlie's eyes, and the mathematician nodded vigorously. Alan took his free hand, wondering again at the black box, but he led Charlie from the room, squeezing his hand tightly, hoping that this would be the start of recovery for all of them – he and Charlie included.