"It's a vice I've been meaning to get rid of, but I just never got around to it…" Baycliffe gave a smirk that inadvertently tightened Don's death grip on the table. This was the eleventh time he reviewed this scene from the interrogation, the eleventh time he had nearly broken the desk with his strong hands, the eleventh time he had seen those almost black eyes light up when he talked about his killing habit. It had been almost a week since the shooting and Colby was still in the hospital. Don held that against Henry Baycliffe and was glad to see him shipped off to prison.
It had been hard to contain David when the comment had been emitted from Baycliffe. David, who was the most upset about the whole ordeal. David, who had met Don at the hospital after the phone call with Nikki trailing a few minutes later after parking.
"Don?" He heard his name and picked his head up off of his hands to see David walking wearily towards him. The mangled expression on David's face told Don that the blood looked bad on his shirt. David simply shook his head.
Don wanted to say something, anything, but found he was afraid to speak. He returned his head into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. The uncomfortable waiting room chairs went unnoticed by all three agents, who sat in them while they waited the long while to find out if their agent, their friend would even make it.
It was David's voice that brought Don back from his brooding. "Hey, I'm gonna head to see Colby. You in?" The voice was strained, holding back the emotion flowing just behind the surface.
"Yeah…" He opened his mouth, but then stopped himself when he realized he had nothing else to say. "You drive."
The drive to the hospital was short and quiet, leaving not too much time for awkward silence. The two agents found that they had the worry for Colby in common, but David wasn't experiencing the guilt that Don was.
Colby was awake when they arrived, looking rather green and pale. A nurse was messing with one of the many tubes hooked into him, and he looked quite dismayed at the fact. "Guys," came his choked greeting. The ventilator had been rough on his throat.
The nurse turned promptly when David sat down in one of the chairs next to the bed to address them. "Agent Granger should not have visitors for too long today." She solemnly gave them a look, daring them to protest. Don made his way to the window, crossing his arms and looking out at the quickly graying sky.
David glanced questioningly at her but she just shook her head and walked away, leaving the three men alone. "How are you feeling, Colb?" David scooted his chair closer and grabbed Colby's un-needled hand.
"I've been better." A cough, and then: "How are you doing?" His question was obviously aimed at both men.
David glanced cautiously at Don, whose eyes were still not visible as he looked out the window. He turned back to Colby and smiled as encouragingly as he could. "We're great. Don't even worry about us. You just concentrate on getting better. Megan's coming into town tomorrow. She heard about your little accident and decided to pay you a visit. And kick Baycliffe's butt." David threw a smile at Colby, but it quickly faded when he saw the look on his face. "Hey, man, what's up? Are you okay?"
Colby was wincing now, eyes shut and hand tightening around David's. Don quickly took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of Colby's bed, hovering worriedly. A monitor started to beep faster. Seconds later, two nurses entered and began to hurriedly poke and prod Colby. One turned to Don and addressed him.
"You both need to leave, now." She turned back to Colby, blocking him from Don's view. David gave him a look and nodded. They stood up and left the room, both giving a quick goodbye to Colby, who they could no longer see.
David thought he heard Don curse under his breath on their way out the door, but he couldn't be sure. He dropped Don back at the office before heading home himself, wondering what was wrong with Colby. He knew it wasn't anything too serious or they wouldn't have let them in at all. He had been shot, after all. The outlook hadn't even been good in the beginning when he wasn't waking up after surgery. It was a miracle he was even alive.
"We removed the bullet and repaired the organs that were damaged. He should have been awake about four hours ago, but it's okay that he's still nonresponsive. The damage was incredible for one bullet. We will wait until he wakes up to give a more certain prognosis." The doctor had given Don, David, and Charlie a pitied look before returning to his emergency shift.
Charlie and David watched as Don sat incredibly still in that waiting room until Colby woke up thirteen hours later.
Colby groaned. He wasn't even on solid food yet. How could he be sick?
It wasn't really even that he minded being sick, just the process that hurt so much. The stomach aches he could handle, but when he moved at all, pain shot up his back and stomach. It was impossible pain, not even remotely dimmed by the many sedatives he was under.
Don and David had come in earlier for a few minutes until he had the pain again. The nurses had noticed the high heart rate and came in to give him yet some more medicine. By the time they were finished, he couldn't even see straight. Not that he needed too. But now it had worn off and he was in more pain than he had started with. And to make matters worse, Don was guilty.
He knew, even though Don had only said a select few words to him. He knew, because of the standoffish attitude that was so unlike his boss. He knew, because of the pain that clouded the familiar, brown eyes and the dark circles that loomed beneath them. He knew, because David was being touchy around Don, careful almost. He knew, because he had taken the bullet. Don was beating himself up.
And what was to beat up about? He was alive. He wasn't the one stuck in the bed with a hole in his back. He shouldn't be beating himself up. He should be happy, partying for his life. Because there had been one moment when Colby didn't even know if he would continue having a life…
"It's okay, man, you'll be fine." Don kept repeating those words. But Colby knew he wouldn't be fine. The blood that was dripping out of his mouth proved that. He kept trying to tell Don, that it was okay. He could just let him go. Stop trying to save him, it was his time. He wanted to tell Don not to be guilty, not to beat himself up about it. He would find another agent. He would be okay.
And then the medics had come and the real pain had started when they moved him. It was only here that he blacked out, slowly though, remembering the medic's name on the nametag and the brand of stretcher that they used to move him into the ambulance. He remembered the screaming of the heart monitor almost immediately after they connected him to it. Most of all, he remembered the cold feeling, the feeling of losing blood, of being empty.