Chapter 2: Shock.
"She was there, Rick," another pause, another breath. She realizes this isn't fair, that she doesn't get to be so upset by this information, she should just give it to him, but she can't. "She was rushed to St. Luke's. I'm outside in the car. Come down, I'll take you to her." She was a coward, choosing to tell him downstairs from the safety of her car, across a telephone line. She told herself that she did it for purposes of expediency, but she knows that's a lie.
She hears something that sounds like the phone has been dropped, but the call is still connected, so she holds her breath, listening. He's running around, frantic, stepping into pants, pulling on a shirt, tripping over himself, his vision already blurred with tears he has yet to cry. Then, the line goes dead, and her head falls forward on to the steering wheel. He's going to want answers, and she has none. She doesn't know why or how or who, just what she said: Shots fired. 911 call. Alexis hit.
She's pulled from her musings as the passenger door slams open, then quickly shut. She puts the car in drive, doesn't even look over at him, can't. Not with the heaviness of this situation, not with the pain he was obviously in before it, not when she seems to be the source of so much unhappiness.
She expected a barrage of questions, but what she gets is much worse: a silent, stoic shell. She risks a glance at him, finds him staring down at his hands, at his phone, as though he is willing it to ring and for this to have just been a cruel joke. She thinks she should say something.
"I don't know anything else," she blurts out. Well, that was a stupid thing to say, she thinks, then composes herself. "I mean, no one on our team was on call. Someone thought to call me when they saw her ID." She realizes that's an incredibly insensitive way to phrase it, but her mouth is not cooperating, not asking permission of her brain before it starts moving. She also realizes that there is no longer an our team, but chooses not to entertain that thought right now. One problem at a time, Kate. One at a time.
Still, he says nothing. As far as she can tell, he doesn't even blink. Stopped at a red light, and without thinking any further into it, she reaches out with her right hand, tries to find his left, but instead lands on his thigh. "Hey," she whispers, glancing at him again. "It's ok. It's going to be ok." He looks up at her, his eyes appearing to register her existence for the first time that night. He blinks at her, then looks down at her hand, but doesn't move. He doesn't want comfort from her, doesn't want anything from her. He just wants to see his daughter, alive, breathing. He just wants to remember the girl who used to be his whole world, who is slipping through his fingers, who he had apparently replaced with a woman who would never love him back.
He can't reconcile all his feelings – the worry, the anger, the sadness – so, instead, he looks back down at his lap, blinks, breathes, registering nothing at all.
The car is in motion, and then suddenly it isn't. They're at the hospital and he realizes he is running, out of the car, through the doors, and then shouting her name, over and over. People are staring, he thinks, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter, nothing does, except his daughter, where is his daughter, she has to be ok, she has to be.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, forceful, turning him. He comes face to face with Kate, who he thinks is talking, saying something over and over, but he can't hear her, can't hear anything except the blood rushing through his ears. So she shakes him, hard, and he finally makes eye contact with her.
"Rick, she's going to be ok. She's going to be ok. She's going to be ok." She says it over and over and over, until she sees some recognition register on his face.
"Ok?" he manages, barely a whisper.
"She got hit in the shoulder. They have her sedated while they remove the bullet and stitch her up. But she's ok. It's ok." He falls forward then, not intending to, collapsing in her arms. She's hugging him, running her hand up and down his back, soothing him, whispering "it's ok" over and over. He doesn't know how long they stay like that, but it feels like forever. And he hates himself for finding comfort with her, hates himself for even being glad she's touching him, hates himself for thinking about her when he should only be thinking about Alexis. So he straightens himself up, takes a deep breath.
"When can I see her?" He doesn't know who he is asking, doesn't think Kate is the person to ask. She leads him over to a chair, pushes down on his shoulders until he sits, then strides over to the desk, her cop persona on in full force, demanding answers from the receptionist. Moments later, she's crouched in front of him, forcing her head into his line of sight.
"Come on, you can see her now," she says, then stands, reaches out her hand to help him up. He doesn't take it, stands up on his own, and she looks pained, but quickly covers it and starts walking. He follows her through the hall until she stops suddenly. "Rick, she's sedated. They said she won't be up for a little while. But she's going to be ok." She's preparing him, he realizes, and he nods in response, the careful use of his first name jarring him once again. She takes a few more steps, then opens a door on her right, urging him to go in. He does, and she stays where she is, at the window, watching.