Chapter 31
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"What does that mean?" Fiona asked the physician's assistant.
Nothing good, Jesse knew. Nothing good at all. He watched Sam hold Fiona's shoulders so she wouldn't collapse. He doubted she was even aware of his presence or the trembling in her body.
He'd watched two teams of medical personnel work on Mike's inert form. Physicians and nurses reacted with the same methodical, frantically controlled, life-saving mode he'd seen a different group use for Dani, but it was clear Mike was teetering on the edge of life and death.
The gunshot wound was severely infected. Jesse had been right behind the gurney and watched from the ER doorway as a physician removed the bandage on his stomach; the putrid stench told its own frightening story of infection.
Right now, Mike was being race-wheeled to a surgical suite a few steps away while the PA answered Fiona's questions.
"Yes, it is very serious. Respiratory distress is a manifestation of severe sepsis or septic shock. Resuscitation and supporting his cardiac and respiratory functions are-"
"Are you trying to keep his entire body from shutting down?" Fiona asked suddenly. "Is that what you're saying?"
The PA looked at Fiona and paused a breath "Yes. We are. We'll do our best. There's a family waiting room behind you to the left."
Jesse looked as Sam caught Fiona's limp form. She hadn't fainted; it was as if her life force abandoned her for a moment. He held her steady before they all walked to the room they'd been directed to.
Twenty minutes later, Madeline Westen arrived because Sam had called her. Jesse noticed Maddie's arrival infused Fi's posture with her spine again. Nate arrived shortly after that.
"Go, both of you," Maddie directed. "Michael is in surgery and I understand that's going to last at least an hour, then he'll be in recovery. It'll be hours before anyone can see him, and you know the only person they'll let in is Fi, so you two go take care of yourselves. We'll be right here. And bring Dani back with you, Jesse, so I can congratulate you two together."
He smiled, kissed her cheek and left. Sam sat down next to her. "You'll just have to put up with mission stink, Maddie."
She sniffed. "Oh no, I won't. Go clean up then you can come back. You need to be fumigated."
Sam was pleased that got a smile from Fiona. He guessed it could be a long time before he'd see another one.
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When Jesse left the hospital his only thought was to get to SecuriCorp to see Dani. He found Raines ordering her to go home and rest. He was happy to help her comply. It had seemed like months instead of days since he had seen her, and he was desperate to be with her again. Jesse hoped he didn't appear as desperate as he felt, at least to Raines.
Since the moment she'd nearly died for him, he'd been magnetized by her. He could not stay away from her. Knowing she was his for the rest of his life only strengthened the magnetic bond, and knowing she shared it equally had turned his heart into her servant.
Jesse nodded to Raines and held the door for Dani. "You going to be here long?"
Raines had already told Dani he could finish without her help. "No, Dani's done all the hard work but I need to touch base with Langley about a couple of things and then I'm going home."
Raines watched them leave and blew out a breath. He was thankful nothing had happened to Porter, because he had the sense, if something had, he would have lost Dani, too.
He'd recovered from the desperation he'd experienced when the ops began. The thought that he might lose his wife shut down every critical thinking skill he possessed when he learned she'd collapsed and was being taken to the hospital.
She was no longer in the hospital, but back at their residence. She'd suffered a slew of wicked side effects from the new cancer treatment-back pain, nausea, cramping, high blood pressure, anxiety and kidney problems, and, she'd suffered them all at once. Briefly, she lost sensation to her arms and legs and could not move. He wasn't sure who was more frightened, him or her, but now that she had pushed through the overall weakness, she was herself again, and he was thankful.
She shooed him out the door to see what his operatives had been doing.
What they'd done was nothing short of incredible.
With the exception of Westen's medical situation, Raines was astonished by what 10 highly skilled, highly trained, highly capable individuals had accomplished in removing the nastiest of long term clandestine sabotage of American intelligence.
After the operation to free Michael from the Russians concluded and Michael was taken to the hospital, Dani methodically conducted clean-up tasks.
Carnahan and Peterbaugh had been debriefed and were now on leave. Axe, Porter and Westen would be adding to the layer of reports as soon as they were able, at least, he hoped Westen made it through and could report.
Sophia Valdez had also been debriefed in her hospital room. The topical environment that aggravated Westen's infections had also affected her, however she had improved and should have been released by now.
More than 150 individuals in the CIA, the DEA, the FBI and several individuals in the DIA had been arrested and were incarcerated. Raines was under no illusion that they had arrested everyone who should have been arrested, but network that linked them together no longer existed, and the financial resources within Buller Senior and Buller Junior's grasp had been confiscated.
Buller Senior would be bound for Guantanamo as soon as all the legal kinks were unkinked. The fishing and yacht companies he and his son operated had been stripped of arms and drugs of such an enormous quantity that it provided a unique photo opportunity for the DEA office in Miami.
The DEA generously thanked the US Coast Guard for their assistance on the op. Neither the CIA or the FBI were mentioned. Raines' former partner and his family had returned to Virginia; his status was unclear currently, but Raines believed when his case was examined as a body of work, his loyalties could not be questioned.
The Sinaloa cartel operative had interjected herself in their operation with the DEA's unknowing assist. She'd arranged the swap with the Russians for Michael Westen, while the Russians delivered Buller Junior who was last seen in the capable and lethal hands of one of the most notorious Sinaloa sicarios and his equally vicious assistants. The CIA would be watching to see where various parts of his body might appear over the next six months to a year.
Hector Oaks had committed suicide; his parents' coerced assistance in the Valdez's children's kidnapping was being looked at by legal. His emailed confession tied together individuals previously unidentified in the conspiracy. He expected those arrests had happened several hours ago.
George Anders, banker extraordinaire in the Caymans, had disappeared with a lot of money that had been tracked to various individuals in south Florida with Russian surnames. Raines was of the belief Barry Burkowski alerted him to the CIA interest but that couldn't be verified. Oswald Patterson had disappeared with someone named Sherry.
The Russian Spetsnaz black ops team that was part of a larger Russian group operating in Mexico was currently held at the US Penitentiary II in Coleman, while those with larger paychecks than Raines tangled with the Russians about their disposition. Ivan Boskov and Oscar Markov had disappeared, he suspected, back to Russia or Mexico.
There were still some details to be attended but those could wait. For now, it was time to thank SecuriCorp for its support and assistance in the operation and deal with personnel issues with Langley.
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Jesse was already in bed when Dani joined him. She slid in next to him and stretched, cat-like, along his warm, smooth, solid, muscular length. He responded immediately as did she, but the moment blanketed by exhaustion from more than 60 hours of adrenaline highs and lows took its toll on desire.
Their bodies were not willing to go where they wanted. She nuzzled his lips with hers and he sighed against her cheek. "Tomorrow, Dan," he promised. She could only agree with a quiet "mmmm."
When she woke in the darkened room she glanced at the ceiling where one of Jesse's gadgets illuminated the time. It was after 1 p.m. She'd slept for nearly 16 hours. As she stretched, he turned to see him watching her, and turned to kiss him. She promptly forgot what had been on her mind a second ago when she'd been looking at the ceiling.
He raised up and tenderly caressed her cheek and teased her with soft kisses, kisses that moved down her neck to her collarbone with its fresh pink scars, but then he cupped her breast and she felt her heart thud in her chest at she saw the look in his eyes.
"You are . . . so beautiful," he whispered against her lips, leaving a kiss there before he moved to taste the sweetness he held so carefully. She thought she might shatter, but he was there to make sure they shared the luscious moment together, one body in complete harmony with the other.
"I do not know," she said much later, "how you can do this to me every time."
"I thought it was you, doing this to me."
And so they conducted the delicious experiment again and the only thing they could agree on was they should keep trying to figure it out.
From somewhere across the room a phone chirrped. "That's mine," Jesse said. "They can leave a message."
"We should check on-"
"I already did. He's still in ICU."
"Then . . ."
He smiled. "I'll get it if you agree we need a vacation. Or a honeymoon."
"I agree," she smiled back.
"So the perfect . . .?"
"A secluded beach? Privacy, definitely. And far, far away."
"Is the South Pacific far enough away?"
"Mmhhhmm."
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It had been seven and a half weeks since Michael's surgery, and he was to be released today. The lengthy stay was the result of several relapses, including a bout of pneumonia that seemed more frightening than Fiona could have imagined.
The hospital care service wanted him to move to a rehab facility for at least another three to work with physical therapists to regain his strength and agility, but he'd been quietly, firmly and adamantly against that.
She wouldn't argue with him; she was so thankful he was alive and healing, but there was something wrong. She could see it when she watched him. And she'd spent hour upon hour watching him.
He didn't return the gesture. He stared into space. She would kiss him hello and he would smile but the emotion behind it never reached his eyes. She would say "I love you, Michael," and he would say it, too, but he couldn't say her name. He would have basic conversations, expressing needs or wants but nothing more.
If the television was on in the room, he stared out the window and away from it, so she turned it off and left it off. She brought him books and he thanked her,but they remained unopened.
He dealt with those around him by sleeping. He escaped from whatever had taken hold of him by closing his eyes. This was more than just being in a recovery phase; it was as if he'd removed himself from those around him even though his scarred and bandaged body remained with them. All was not well with Michael; she couldn't identify it, but she knew it existed. He was too calm. Too quiet. Too muted. He was someplace else, and she wanted him back.
Raines had quietly spoken to her and Madeline after he'd interviewed Michael for the final debrief. His analysis? PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder.
Madeline listened and remained quiet, but Fiona could see she agreed. "He acted like this after you turned yourself into the FBI," her mother-in-law said. "I hated it, and then we got him back. Like it never happened."
The typical course of treatment, Raines explained, was to talk to a psychiatrist, but they all knew that would never happen.
It troubled her that Michael did not look healthy or look like himself.
There was an explanation, his surgeon explained to her. After his final visit with Michael, she'd followed him out of the room and asked to speak to him. That afternoon, she was sitting in his office, learning more than she'd expected. Michael had coded, nearly died, three times during his surgery. They had gotten him back, and he had survived, but many who had that experience had similar responses, he explained. He also urged her to have Michael seek psychiatric help, and she could not explain why that would never happen.
She'd explained what she learned to Maddie, Sam, Jesse, Dani and Nate last night.
Michael had lost weight, muscle mass and coordination following the surgery that had removed not only a bullet but the infected flesh that surrounded it that poisoned his system. For several weeks, they had been seriously concerned with his kidney function, and Fiona had learned, painfully, to leave the room when the renal specialist came to speak with him.
She walked into the room as a nurse was handing Michael a pile of release instructions. When the woman left, Fiona walked over to give him a kiss. "I brought the Charger. I thought you might like to ride in it."
"Oh, yeah?"
By the time a hospital volunteer reappeared with the wheelchair required for all patients upon discharge, Fiona had gathered up his personal possessions. She'd brought a pair of his jeans and a polo shirt for him yesterday and nearly gasped when she saw how much he'd had to cinch up the belt on the jeans. He'd lost so much more weight than she'd believed he had.
He didn't like getting into the wheelchair, but he did. At least that much seemed like the old Michael, she thought.
After he got seated in the passenger seat in the Charger, she looked over at him. "You'll be feeling much better as soon as we're home."
"I missed the loft."
She glanced back to him and waited a heartbeat. "Not the townhouse?"
"No. Can we go to the loft?"
She turned the key and the Charger roared to life. "Sure."
By the time she had driven them to the loft, then unlocked the gate and opened it so she could drive the car in, Michael had dozed off. She touched his arm. "We're here."
He straighened up and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, we're here." He had an amazingly difficult time opening the passenger side door by himself, and it had been agonizingly painful for her to watch him take a step at a time to climb to the top step by the loft door. She unlocked it and went in to open the doors to the deck.
No one had been here in a long time. Sam had left; he'd been playing boy toy again. The loft was dusty. The bed was empty except for the bedding and pillows wrapped in dry cleaning plastic that had been left there.
Fiona sighed. All of this was . . . a lifetime ago.
At the end of the counter, a crisply preserved orchid sat, dry and yellow. The refrigerator was empty. When she turned back around she found Michael sitting in his green chair, looking at the upstairs office.
"What do you want to do?" she asked.
He didn't hesitate this time. "I want to stay here."
"Don't you want to come home with me to the townhouse?"
"Can't I stay here?"
"Of course. But . . . I . . . need . . . to get you some yogurt." She tried out a smile on him, but it didn't result in a response.
When her phone vibrated in her pocket, she reached for it. It was Sam. "So are you guys home? Can I come over?"
"We're at the loft."
"The loft?"
"I need to get Michael some yogurt."
"Be right there, Fi."
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Yogurt was in the fridge. Bread. Milk. Eggs. Peanut butter. Raspberry jam. Apples. All things Michael liked. And a 12 pack for Sam.
Michael was still sitting in the green chair when she returned from buying supplies. Sam helped her put them away and grabbed a beer. He was standing at the counter next to the fridge watching as Fiona finished making the bed.
"Thanks, Fi," Michael said.
She turned and looked at him and smiled. It was the first time he'd used her name in two months. "Sure."
"Are you going back to your place now?"
She froze then looked at Sam. He closed his eyes briefly, then walked to the loft door and left, closing the door behind himself to give them privacy.
"My place?"
"Yeah. I'm kinda tired."
"Do you want me to go away?"
"Yeah. I'm tired now."
"All right."
She walked over and leaned down to kiss his lips; he barely responded. Then she kissed his cheek and his forehead before she turned and left. Grabbing the bag she'd left by the door, she was relieved to find Sam sitting on the top step.
She sat down next to him and let the tears roll down her cheeks as she turned her wedding ring in circles around her finger. He put his arm around her and gave her a hug then kissed her forehead.
"I'm staying with him. I won't leave, okay?"
She nodded and swiped at her tears.
"Fi, do you trust me to take care of him?"
"Of course."
"Then give me a couple of weeks before you come back."
"You've thought about this."
"Yeah, I've seen this. I've dealt with it myself. I've got a friend here who can help, and Jesse and Nate. But you and Maddie need to stay away for now. OK? And you need to take care of yourself."
She nodded. "I know."
"Here." He dug into his pants pocket and retrieved his car keys. "Take my car, use the AC. We don't need you getting sick, and that baby needs his daddy."
She smiled and handed him the Charger keys. "His daddy? That could be her daddy."
"What do you want? Girl or boy?"
"Michael's child. And Michael."
"Okay, then you be his wife, and I'll be his friend."
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Father Hector Famosa Garcia came to the priesthood through his military service.
He'd been a Navy SEAL, had served with Sam Axe, and whether it had been a combination of his childhood experiences or his adult life that had led to the seminary, he was thankful. In the early days of his priesthood, he discovered his unique background had provided him with spiritual ability to help those returning from wars, and there were so many, many men and women in this area who had served.
Because his parish was small, it allowed him the freedom, with his bishop's blessing, to work with those suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome. There were so many varieties, but in the end the suffering was the same.
He volunteered three days a week at the VA, and worked with individuals when their families, at the end of their emotional tethers, requested it.
Several years earlier, he and Sam renewed their friendship, but this request of Sam's was dear to his heart. Sam had a number of issues in his personal life that he'd never dealt with; he hoped his desire to help his friend would open a door or a window to that.
The residence was not what he'd expected, but he understood the loft was safe place for Sam's friend.
The door at the top of the stairs opened and Sam looked down with relief on his face and good cheer in his voice.
"Hey, good to see you, Hec. Come on up."