Disclaimer: I do not own any canon characters; those rights belong to CBS and the producers.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to those who read this, and many many thanks to those who review and let me know how each chapter turns out.
"The anger swells in my guts, I want so much to open your eyes, 'Cause I need you to look into mine"
-Snow Patrol-
Cedars-Sinai Medical Center
Los Angeles, California
7:52 a.m.
Waiting.
Waiting was always the hardest thing to do. She had never liked to waste time and sit around. The endless stretch of minutes keeping you from your goal had never appealed to her.
As a young child waiting had seemed like endless torture. Sitting on the stairs waiting until they could go down on Christmas morning to see what was under their tree with all five of her siblings, Sam and Eric jostling against her, Cassie snuggled against her pajama clad knee, Luke struggling over her shoulder to keep a hold on little Jacob who only wanted to tumble down the steps. Or when she had had to wait for her acceptance letters from Yale and Harvard, circling the days on her calendar in bold red and keeping her fingers crossed.
Now Kathryn's fingers beat out an erratic rhythm on the top of the steering wheel as she waited in the line designated for those wishing to park in the visitors section of the hospital. The word 'visiting' didn't quite seem to fit the situation in her mind. She mused as she released the brake and moved the car to take her turn, Could coming to see your near sister be termed visiting if you didn't know if she was even alive?
Fixing the plastic card that would keep her from being towed, Kathryn eased through the garage, finally finding a spot and whipping the wheels of the Lexus around, slamming on the brakes; the car jerked as she shoved it into park, the tires screeching at the abrupt halt.
Slamming her door closed, she ignored the meter asking for her quarters. They could bite her and get over it. Certainly the situation could excuse her from not paying the fees to park.
Her flats slapped against the pavement and the tile of the entrance to the emergency room, the cold from the inside floors seeping through the thin material of her shoes. She looked down and realized for the first time that she had been wearing the same clothes for two days now.
But then she hadn't left the FBI office since Don and the others had left for Wilmington. She had paced the floor, living off of cold coffee and some stale food out of the refrigerator in the lounge. Don's brother hadn't left either, choosing to remain and go over his numbers in the war room. So Kathryn had chewed her fingers with worry and Charlie had silently sat off to one side, staring off at the screen on the wall and the pictures on it. Neither of them had moved until the call had come over at five in the morning, alerting them of what had gone down and even then the message had been terse and short, details obviously needing to be filled in.
Ignoring the shooting looks from a woman holding a wailing toddler and an older man, Kathryn cut her way straight to the admittance desk, not caring that she was fronting. She didn't have time to wait.
"Excuse me? Excuse—" She called, trying to gain the attention of the harassed and underpaid nurse as she rushed by. She even threw in some hand motions.
Time slowed and she was left waiting again. Patients were wheeled by. Doctors bumped into her, intent on their own paths. Hysterical people screamed out their wants to the nurses at the admit desk and Kathryn couldn't help but become slightly annoyed at their whining insistences over allergies and the common cold. None of their loved ones had been held captive by a raging Neo-Nazi madman for three days or had been killed. What did they have to bitch about?
"Kathryn?"
At the sound of her name over the din of the crowded emergency room, she spun on her feet. Colby, still clad in his heavy vest and body armor, pushed and squeezed his tall frame between a man and a stroller, making his way to her.
Her feet moved and her body followed suit and they met halfway. "What happened? Where is she at? What's going on?"
The sandy haired agent shook his head and her heart dropped in her chest. He placed a hand on her elbow, guiding her away to a corner where she saw David sitting in a chair, looking just as bit as uncomfortable in his gear in this place as his partner.
David stood and they both eased her down into the chair, which happened to be the only one available in the room. Kathryn blinked, the lights dimming and the room suddenly spinning on its axis; she looked down and was surprised to find that her hands were shaking.
People were blurring and her stomach was rolling. Her head fell faint and any moment now she was going to fall backwards. It couldn't be…
A hand clamped down on her shoulder, squeezing hard and she opened her eyes to see Colby holding her down and two worried faces peering down at her.
"Kathryn, are you okay?" David asked, looking over his shoulder for a nurse or someone.
She nodded and swallowed hard, forcing her mind to focus. The room was spinning less now, thanks to Colby's grip keeping her firmly grounded. After a moment she began again, "What…Where is she?"
David turned his head back to look at her, seeing that she was better now. "We don't know. They took her back there when we arrived. Don's been back there with the doctors, waiting for something, but no one's come back out here to tell us anything."
Kathryn closed her eyes again, trying to digest what his words meant.
"She was still alive when we found her," Colby murmured, his hand remaining.
"Still? What does that mean?" she looked up at their faces, "Tell me."
Colby looked over at David and then back down at her. His eyes studied her, judging her for what she knew must be bad news. Finally he sighed and said, "She was pretty bad, Kathryn. She wouldn't wake up. Not for anything or any of us. The medics couldn't even get her to open her eyes."
Her chest constricted and her heart did that flip-flopping drop again. She inhaled sharply and let it out shakily, standing and gently pushing Colby's hands away and David's worried looks. "You said she's back there?"
They nodded and Kathryn pushed off from the chair and away from them, joining the fray once more. This time she didn't bother with going to the admittance desk, instead making straight for the double doors and slipping through, ignoring the protests by an orderly.
Her grip tightened on the strap of her purse, the buckles biting into her skin as she spotted the dark haired man with the navy body vest emblazoned with F.B.I. in large yellow letters.
Cedars-Sinai Hospital
Room 057
9:45 a.m
The even beep of the monitor sounded throughout the small private room, the green line pulsing steadily against the black backdrop. Early morning sounds of the busy traffic of the city filtered in through the cracked window. Sunlight was kept to a minimum, hidden behind thick white drapes. The room was silent, the only noise being the constant beep and the near silent inhale and exhale of the room's sleeping occupant.
A long, lean, finger followed the line on the monitor and then returned to the clipboard. Michael Dunn, the nurse assigned to watch over this room, clicked the top of his pen and began the process of filling in the correct information in the appropriate spots. He moved around the stand and lifted the IV bag, checking the drip and watching the clear liquid move down the tube.
Replacing the bag on the stand, Michael moved the clipboard underneath his arm and gently picked up his sleeping patient's hand. Carefully, mindful of the woman's injuries to her wrist, he checked the spot where the IV had been inserted. It was clean and showed no signs of causing distress to her body.
A sudden fluctuation in the even rhythm of the monitor alerted him to a change in her status and he briefly looked back at the green line, which was now moving faster than before. Her heart rate was picking up; over the last two hours it had been steady at around seventy five beats per minute. Now the green numbers showed one hundred beats and climbing.
Michael grabbed the clipboard and reached over to press the call button, but stopped when the rate suddenly stopped climbing and began dropping slowly back down. Satisfied that everything was alright after she evened out at ninety, he let his hand drop away.
Peyton Huntzberger. Thirty two year old female. Michael looked at her for the first time since coming in. She was a pretty woman, with an aristocratic face complete with high cheekbones and an ever so slightly upturned nose. Hair the color of an African lion lay around her head, the sun catching the different tints. She had the type of beauty that not even the cuts and broken wrist could detract from. The only problem was that she hadn't woken up since arriving, remaining unconscious and only moving briefly when the doctors had reset her right wrist.
Finished with his report, Michael moved around the foot of the bed, sliding the chart back into its home. He made it to the door when a sound reached his ears, causing him to turn back. Walking backwards, his feet moved until he reached the foot of the bed again.
The sound came again and he flicked his eyes to the monitor. No immediate alarm there. His patient, Peyton Huntzberger let out another small whimper, twisting one hand and turning her head.
"Ms. Huntzberger? Ms.?" Michael walked to the left side of the bed, moving closer to her. Her breathing was no longer shallow and soft, coming longer and faster.
The nurse jumped back as her eyes snapped open and she bolted straight up in the bed, moving to a sitting position, her hair moving to fall down her back and frame her face. Her eyes were wide, the green deep emerald and the pupils dilated.
Michael waited to speak, allowing her the chance to take in the room and her surroundings. After a moment he asked, "How are you feeling, Ms. Huntzberger?"
She blinked owlishly at him, and spoke warily, "I hurt. Everywhere. Hell, does it hurt." Her voice was sore and raspy, and he offered her the cup of water from the nightstand.
She took it, drinking greedily and licking her cracked lips. This time her voice was slightly less raspy, but he could still tell that it was painful for her to talk. She laid herself back against the pillows, not quite lying completely back down underneath the covers.
Her eyes swept over him, and Michael found her gaze forward, making him fidget. She cut her eyes back to examine the room again. "Where am I?"
"Cedars-Sinai, Ms. You were brought in this morning."
"Un-hunh…. And who brought me here?" She asked with confusion in her voice and face, struggling to remain awake.
He found it easier to talk when she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes fluttered once, closing and then opening again. She must be fighting the urge to fall back asleep. "You were brought into the emergency room sometime around five this morning. I believe it was federal agents that worked with…"
Michael trailed off and quit talking as she tried to move her right arm, noticing for the first time the cast that was on it. The room grew silent and she lifted her other arm, inspecting the bandages wrapped around the ends of each finger.
Those wild eyes cut back to his face after she had taken full stock of the bruises, cuts, stitches, and other assorted injuries to her body. Her voice this time bordered on full blown hysteria. "Why am I here?"
He looked at her confusedly and gently answered her question, moving forward to try and ease her discomfort. "Ms. Huntzberger you were brought in this morning with severe injuries. As to the manner in which they happened…"
Moving closer to her only further added to her panic. Causing her body even more pain, he noticed as she winced, she pushed herself away from him and he stopped.
The bandaged fingers and cast covered wrist were held up for him to inspect. She was shrieking now, "What are these and where did they come from?"
The heart rate was climbing on the monitor again. "Ms. Huntzberger, please calm down. Just relax and breathe deeply," he grimaced as she didn't comply, her breaths coming in short pants. "Don't you know what happened?" He asked the last, confused as to why she didn't know what had happened to her.
"No, I don't. I don't know where any of this came from. I don't know why my head feels like its about to split wide open. I don't know why it is so hard for me to focus to see you and hear you speaking. I don't know why my entire body feels like it's been crushed and beaten multiple times. And most importantly I don't know why I'm here, at a hospital!" Her lungs ran out of oxygen and it took her several gasps and pants to regain the ability to speak.
"I don't remember anything at all that's about this. The last thing I do remember is driving home after work. I don't remember."
She looked up at him, her eyes boring into his, tears shining like glassy reflecting pools. "Why can't I remember?"
Cedars-Sinai
Hallway/Main Floor
Outside of Room 057
10:57 a.m.
She was pacing again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Five steps this way, about turn, and five steps that way.
Don lifted a hand to the base of his neck, rubbing the muscles and letting his hand slide up through his hair and down over his face. Giving him more room to stretch his legs out, he slid farther back in the chair, his left foot bumping into his discarded gear next to him on the floor.
"I need to call her father."
His hand fell back to his lap and Don looked up from the floor. Kathryn had paused in her pacing, stopping halfway in the hall with a far away look on her face. The woman was out of her mind, more so than any of the rest of them.
Along with her pacing, she had taken to muttering to herself about the people who needed to be called; Don now knew everyone that they still associated with back in D.C. There was Damin Huntzberger, Peyton's father; Sebastian and Amelia Huntzberger were the grandparents; Mat and Rebecca were close childhood friends and Perry was another childhood friend. Not to mention Kathryn's entire family as well.
The oak colored door brought Don to his feet and Kathryn back to the now. Dr. Funk, as the stitching on his coat showed, closed the door slowly. He stopped when he saw both of them, taking in there faces and the way they had been hanging around the hallway there. The clipboard motioned them to move back to where Don's chair had been, out of the way of the gurneys and other hospital workers out and about.
"And you are who? I can't disclose any information about Ms. Huntzberger unless it's to an immediate family member." Dr. Funk was an average looking man, late forties to early fifties, thinning dark hair and bright blue eyes.
Kathryn jumped to the man first, speaking in a rush, "I'm Kathryn Nost. I'm her emergency contact in Los Angeles. Her other relatives are in D.C. I have the power of attorney over any decisions regarding her life. I can get the form if you need it, but it would be wasting time and I really need to know what is going on."
The man nodded and turned to him. "And you?"
Don reached and held out his badge. "Special Agent Don Eppes. Dr. Huntzberger is part of an open and ongoing investigation. I'm like her," he nodded to Kathryn, "I don't leave till I know what's going on."
Dr. Funk studied each of them for a moment and Don set his face, his jaw clenching and the muscles working. Finally the man nodded again, sighing before lifting the chart in a defeated gesture. "Ms. Huntzberger's injuries are not my most immediate concern. They will heal overtime. She lost a tremendous amount of blood, but we have been able to remedy that and stabilize her. I can say that if the medics hadn't brought her in when they did, it would have been worse. Despite the rough treatment she obviously endured, the only broken bone is her right wrist. She suffered a distal radius fracture…"
That would be from the lead pipe. Don shook his thoughts; the man was in custody now. At least they had found the two underlings and had them. The boss himself had disappered.
Dr. Funk continued speaking and Don jumped back in on the conversation, "I reset the joint and placed it in a cast. Thankfully, no surgery was required. It will take three weeks to heal and an additional four to five weeks of lying off from any strenuous activity that would stress the area. The incision on the right side of her chin will need to be monitored for infection. With the place the EMT's described finding her in, I am worried that the razor could have had bacteria or such on it. But for now it has been stitched up, though likely it will leave a faint scar, deep as it was. The tearing of the skin around her nails has been bandaged and heavily wrapped. Likely it will hurt for quite some time. I placed her on a Lactated Ringer's solution to re-hydrate her and to speed up the process of regenerating her blood, bringing it back up to where it needs to be. I've hesitated to put her on anything else, simply because I want to wait until all of the toxins that were put in her system have been flushed out."
The clipboard dropped, and Dr. Funk relaxed, done with his speech. Don looked him in the eye. There was something about his face that said the doctor was holding something back. Something else was wrong.
"But she's alive?" Kathryn asked from his right.
The doctor nodded an affirmative, and Don said, breaking the moment of relief, "Dr. Funk, you said that her injuries were not your immediate concern."
Don watched in trepidation as the man looked over his shoulder, waiting until the orderly had passed their little spot before saying slowly, "When Ms. Huntzberger was brought in this morning we could not get her to regain consciousness. It was only a little over an hour ago that she finally did wake up. I've just finished interviewing her and her nurse. Ms. Huntzberger does not remember anything that happened to her. She does not know why she is here and she does not know where her injuries have come from."
Kathryn paled next to him and Don thought she would faint for a moment. Shakily she said, "I... I don't understand."
"Ms. Huntzberger does not remember anything after three days ago. The last thing she can recall is driving home from work. She has no trouble remembering things now; I tested her for that. Because she can still remember everything up to that point, I believe she is suffering from dissociative amnesia. It is when a person cannot recall what happened during an event or a certain period of time due to stress or a traumatic and violent attack. From what I have gathered from the medics who brought her in, whatever happened to her was traumatic."
Don shifted his stance, swallowing hard. "Does that mean she'll never remember what happened?"
Dr. Funk shook his head. "It's hard to say. For the time being, her mind is simply blocking what happened to her from herself, more than likely because she cannot deal with it at the time. She could regain those three days in a week or it could take months. Or she may never regain what happened to her. The recall of her memories may be triggered by something as simple as a word or phrase that she heard while she was there. I just don't know at this point."
"Can I see her? Please?" Kathryn pleaded softly.
Dr. Funk gently led her over to the door, leaving Don in the hall to watch as he said to her, "Sure. She's gone back to sleep now, which is the best thing for her for the time being. But it may be good to have a familiar face when she wakes up who can help keep her calm and relaxed."
The door shut behind the two of them, closing with a thud. He waited for a moment, collecting his thoughts. She was okay for right now. Safe in that room where nothing could get her again. There was something they still needed to do.
Slowly and then picking up speed, Don retrieved his gear from the floor and made his way back through the double doors and out into the waiting room. Spotting David and Colby in the corner, he headed towards them.
"She's okay for right now. Alive. Sleeping. Doctor says she doesn't remember what happened, but that she'll be okay," he said before they could ask.
They both nodded and Colby said, "So what do we do now, Don?"
He stared at the cars outside for a moment, letting the noise of the room and its people wash over him.
Don turned back to his agents, looking them in the face. "Now? Now we find the son of a bitch who started all of this and get him for good."
See I haven't forgotten about everyone's favorite CreepyMan...
Everything medical I tried my best to represent to the facts that I could find. They are real; I did not make them up.
Dissociative Amnesia: No, she was not hurt in the same way that the victims were (tortured and experimented on), but the evils that she saw and what she heard and saw have caused her mind to block them and store them away for right now. The reason why will play a role in the chapters leading to the end. By the way, there are only six chapters left in this one after this.
Also: Just saw the long version of the Season 4 premier trailer, and all I can say is Holy Crap, does it ever make me want Friday so bad! Megan has shorter hair, Charlie has facial hair... and the fate of Colby is decided!