"You don't have to do this…" Colby mumbled, slightly annoyed by the fact that Don was now insisting that he be driven to all of his appointments and therapy sessions.
Don tightened his grip on Colby's shoulders at the words. He had been trying for weeks to make it up to his agent. He had been helping get places, anywhere he needed to go. He had even helped in an especially difficult therapy session and saved Colby some major trouble. Colby was finally getting better. He might actually be okay.
"Yeah, I kind of have to. Come on, we're almost there." They were slowly making their way down the sidewalk to the SUV. Very slowly.
The drive to the doctor's office was awkward and quiet. Colby was pouting as usual, especially hating this doctor, who was strict about walking without a walker. Colby was under the age of eighty! He wasn't even supposed to need one until he got so old that he couldn't walk anymore. It was these times when he got in trouble for 'straining himself' or 'overworking the injured muscles' that he really wished Baycliffe had not been armed.
He would never wish he hadn't done it, though. He couldn't have saved Don if it had been the other way around, done the brave thing and stopped the bleeding and call an ambulance. He would have freaked out. And he needed Don, as much as he hated to admit. Yes, it was because of the shot that he was dependent, but his boss had been so trustful in that few weeks that Colby had been officially a single agent. No secret spying. Those weeks had been really great. But now he had almost forgotten what being an agent was like.
They waited a while until the doctor finally called him back. "Just stay. I'll be back soon," were the words that Colby left with Don, who was always too eager to join him wherever he went. Like someone would pull a gun on Colby, and he needed to be there to take the bullet and repay him.
The doctor had him remove his shirt and lay on his stomach on the examining table. There was some painful poking and prodding and then he was sent in for an x-ray to make sure the back bone was re-forming properly. There was some scolding at the still strained back muscles that ached so much. And then the question that Colby had wanted to avoid:
"So, now you're off the pain meds, correct?" The doctor waited patiently until the silence became unnatural. "You are off of them, right?"
"Uhh… not exactly. It still hurts… I should still be using them if it hurts, right?" Colby couldn't look at the harsh brownish-black eyes of the doctor.
"How much is 'not exactly'?" The tone was harsh and the cold eyes were no longer scanning the clipboard with the files on it.
"Once a day. Maybe not even. Hardly as much as I used to…" The silence was piercing after the statement.
The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I was really hoping the pain to be gone by now. Maybe if you rested as you were supposed to, we wouldn't have this problem. I guess you'll need a refill on the medication, then?" The disapproval in his voice was almost tangible.
"Yes…" It wasn't fair. He was being made guilty for something he had no control over.
"Okay… Here's the prescription. It's only good for one refill, though. Please let me know if the problem persists and you still need them. There might be a larger problem if you are, something I'm not seeing." There was obvious frustration in that statement, his shaggy eyebrows sunk lower down onto his generally stern face and he finally made eye contact with Colby. There was a soft pity that Colby thought he saw for a second and then the hardness returned.
Colby swallowed. He cursed the stupid kid for putting him through this, for making him feel like a druggy on the pain killers all the time. But the pain was hardly bearable at some points, although he would never admit it. He rose slowly and pulled his shirt back on, trying to hold back a grimace, and followed the doctor out the door and back to where Don was patiently waiting.
"Am I taking you straight home?" Don looked eager to escape the boredom of an empty waiting room in a sterile-smelling doctor's office as they exited the building to the parking lot.
Colby sighed. He didn't really want Don to know his weakness, too. But he really needed to stop by the pharmacy to get the pills before he went home. "Could we…" he paused, measuring Don's mood. "Could we stop by the drug store on the way?" He waved the new prescription in his hand and Don frowned.
There was only the sound of their footsteps, and then "Sure, no problem." It certainly sounded like a problem.
"Sorry… you can just drop me off. I'll do it some other time. Have my neighbor do it for me…" Colby turned away and pretended to be distracted by a tree. He didn't want to meet Don's eyes. He seemed to be avoiding people like that lately.
"No, no. It's no big deal, really." Don now had his mask on, the professional one he used when they were dealing with a death case or something so serious that a smile wouldn't be appropriate, the mask that scared Colby when they weren't involved in a case at all, the mask that hardly ever went away when Colby was around anymore.
"Jesus, Don…" Colby sighed as he was helped into the big SUV and the door was slammed in his face. The stupid bullet was ruining not only his life, but Don's. Don's bad mood affected David and Megan, and certainly Charlie and Alan too. He was really beginning to hate guns. To hate Baycliffe. To hate pain.