Chapter 2:
*"I know math is full of absolutes; unfortunately, the rest of the world isn't." – Charlie Eppes.
Season 4, Episode 1: Trust Metric*
Sighing tiredly, Charlie pulled the thick duvet over his head in rebellion as he twisted round to reach the still buzzing alarm clock, before setting it back to snooze for the second time that morning. Five more minutes, that was all he was asking for. Just five more minutes before having to get up and face the new day, was that really too much ask for? He just needed five more minutes…
Groaning loudly, Charlie rolled back onto his front as he stretched his hands out before him, tucking them under the pillow his head was resting on. It was funny, six weeks later and he was starting to get used to sleeping with a gun under his pillow…which was odd for a guy who had never believed in them before. Smiling crookedly he remembered Ian's disbelief when Charlie had told him as much back when they had first met. "Believe in them? It's not like they're ghosts," Ian had laughed arrogantly at Charlie's naiveté and ignorance. He had taught Charlie a lot about factoring the human element into his equations on that case, though at the time Charlie had been loathed to admit it. Sometimes it surprised Charlie how even back then there had been a glimmer of a spark between them, he only wished that he had acted on it sooner rather than waste the last six years.
"What are you thinking about?" Ian smiled affectionately from where he was leaning against the door frame with his sniper rifle and cleaning kit in his large hands.
"The human element…" Charlie smiled back shyly, suddenly aware that he was semi naked beneath the sheets as Ian propped the rifle up against the wall before drifting into the small bedroom.
"Eh?" Ian laughed in response as he sat down next to Charlie on the bed, pinning the duvet beneath him.
"Nothing," Charlie yawned, still tired from his restless night, which he might as well just call night as they all seemed to be restless of late. How was he expected to sleep though when his partner was always shutting him out? They never talked…about any of it. It had gotten to the point where Charlie wasn't even sure if Brian had really died that night or if he'd dreamed the whole thing…
"Ah," Ian smiled knowingly as the lines around his small sharp eyes crinkled with supressed laughter.
"Wait…where have you been?" Charlie asked suddenly confused as he took in Ian's loose fitting shirt and jeans for the first time. Ian wasn't eating enough and Charlie was at a loss for how to help him. He wasn't sleeping either, not that you could tell. Ian could be a machine when he needed to be.
"I had an early session with Dr Telford," Ian frowned as he turned his face away from Charlie's to look out the open window and pulled his long legs up defensively to rest under his chin-a defence mechanism from his time in foster care that he hadn't entirely out grown.
"Did he say anything about signing you off?" Charlie asked carefully as he lifted himself up into a sitting position, letting the covers pool in his lap as the cold air attacked his naked torso. Ian had been seeing the FBI appointed therapist for five weeks now-ever since they had moved to Quantico Virginia to teach a few lessons while Ian was out of action. He would have gone out of his mind with boredom otherwise and Charlie had thought it best follow Agent Chase's example and get out of LA for a while.
"Charlie…I've been signed off for the last week…" Ian grimaced guiltily as he hugged his legs closer until they were pressed flat against his solid chest. Biting his lip, Ian turned his face back to Charlie's to face the mixture of concern, worry and fear that he knew would be there and was devastated instead to find betrayal and grief in the way that Charlie clenched his jaw angrily and crossed his arms across his small chest.
"A week?" Charlie threw the duvet away as he twisted to place his feet against the cold wooden floorboards-his back to Ian. "I don't understand…"
"I just needed a little more time before going back to LA," Ian replied weakly but his response sounded pitiful even to his own ears. He had lied and seeing the hurt in Charlie's eyes he really wished he hadn't. Sometimes fear could even get the best of someone like Ian, though he was also loathed to admit as much.
Getting up, Ian moved around the soft bed to kneel before Charlie. "I'm sorry Charlie," Ian replied softly, his voice cracking on Charlie's name as he placed his hands on Charlie's bare thighs and slid them up towards the hem of his boxers. "I should have told you. It's just…these past few weeks alone with you have been as close to perfect as I could have hoped for…is it so wrong that I wasn't ready for it to end?"
"Yes… no…it's just…you should have told me," Charlie sighed sadly as he placed his hand on Ian's left cheek and stroked the long scar that the LA Child snatcher had left there six weeks ago. Charlie wondered if it still hurt…it certainly looked like it did. "You know we can stay as long as you need," Charlie added as he leaned in and kissed Ian roughly.
"Thank you for understanding," Ian whispered hoarsely, relief flooding his tense body as his hands snaked their way up into Charlie's soft brown curls before drawing Charlie's lips to his once more.
"Don't think that's the end of it though. We need to talk about it Ian. I'm worried about you…" Charlie replied sternly, an edge to his voice he hadn't intended that made Ian flinch with guilt.
"I know," Ian sighed forlornly, his face resigned. He had hoped that he could protect Charlie from his nightmares…but he could see now that he'd been a fool to think he could. "Dr Telford's been telling me as much since he signed me off." He whispered, his hot breath teasing Charlie's ear.
"I've always said he was a smart man," Charlie grinned, finding it impossible to stay mad at Ian when he nibbled at his ear like that. "Are you doing anything later?"
"I have to meet an ATF agent and help him test some recruits," Ian moaned with pleasure as reaching down, Charlie pulled the shirt from Ian's trousers before making his way underneath.
"ATF?" Charlie sucked in confused, his back arching from pleasure as Ian's hot mouth trailed lazily from Charlie's jaw to his flat chest as Ian gently pushed Charlie back against the soft duvet until he was on top and kissing him once more.
"Some attempt at repairing interagency relationships," Ian smiled mischievously, his mouth breaking apart from Charlie's as Charlie's fingers raked at Ian's back hungrily beneath his shirt.
"What about you? How long do we have?" Ian moaned against Charlie's mouth, his eyes serious as Charlie's fingers moved between them to make quick work of Ian's shirt buttons.
"Five minutes," Charlie laughed as he flipped Ian over so that he was straddling him before hitting the now buzzing alarm clock once more.
*Break*
Sitting awkwardly in the Burn Unit's small waiting room, Don Eppes rubbed tiredly at the growing pain behind his temples as Robin's younger sister Lila paced furiously back and forth like a caged animal as a young officer, probably new to the force, stood watch outside on Elliott's orders. It felt like it had been hours since any of them had last seen a doctor or a nurse and the endless waiting was causing Don's stomach to twist into a tight knot of despair.
Where was Robin? He needed to see her. He needed to be with her…
"It's been too long!" Lila shouted, or at least that was how it sounded to Don's fragile head. He had a migraine and the harsh light of the waiting room wasn't helping. Neither was the tranquil beach/country theme of happy families and animals that was painted on the wall opposite.
Please God…don't let her be dead! Don prayed silently as Lila resumed her pacing because…damn it, Lila was right. It had been too long!
Crossing his arms, legs, fingers…everything, Don continued to ignore the clipboard in the chair next to him. A nurse had asked for Robin's name, address, history and insurance some time ago…but no one had come to collect it since.
Just don't let her be dead, he pleaded again. They could deal with and overcome anything…just don't let her be dead…
"Don?" Don's dad, Alan Eppes asked worriedly as he came storming into the small waiting room trailed by the flustered looking rookie, stopping Lila mid stride. "I got your message," He added lamely, deflating a little as he took in his son's stricken expression. "Is she…?" He couldn't even finish the sentence.
Please God don't let her be dead…Don pleaded again as he squeezed his eyes shut tiredly.
"We don't know," Lila replied hysterically as she dropped down into the plastic, and equally uncomfortable looking, chair next to Don's, knocking into him in the process. "Nobody will tell us anything!"
"What nothing?" Alan repeated shocked as he looked at his unreactive son to the over reactive Lila and back again. "Donnie?"
"They took her into the admission room over two hours ago," The rookie spoke up for the first time since Don had arrived.
He was young, that was all Don had noticed before but now, opening his eyes and giving the man a proper look over Don realised that he'd been wrong. The rookie was really young…practically green. He probably thought standing guard by a waiting room was boring or beneath him. Don wouldn't have blamed the rookie either; he would have felt the same in the boy's shoes…
"You saw her then?" Alan asked hungrily for any kind of update.
"Well…err…" the boy stammered under Alan's intense gaze.
"What aren't you telling us?" Alan demanded frustrated, causing the young officer to step back a pace.
"What he isn't saying is that it's bad…" Lila's voice wobbled as she also seemed to shrink before Alan, lifting her legs up to her chest as she scrunched herself into a small ball, resting her head on Don's strong shoulder for support. "I saw her as they pulled her from the wreckage…her shoulder…her neck…" Lila added before breaking down into hysterical sobs next to him.
Without saying a word, Don wrapped his arm around Lila and held her small shuddering frame against his strong chest until she had no tears left to give. Curling her fingers into his wrinkled shirt, Lila held onto Don as he gently cradled her in his arms. There was so much of Robin in Lila that it made Don's heart ache to look at her.
It's bad…pulled from the wreckage…neck and shoulder…two hours…Rob…God damn it he needed to be with her. Where was everyone? Why wasn't anyone telling him anything?
"There, there," Alan whispered comfortingly as he handed Lila his handkerchief and squeezed her shoulder in support. "I'll go and get some coffee and while I'm gone I'll see what I can find out."
His Dad always knew the right thing to say, Don couldn't help but notice as both Lila and the rookie seemed to almost calm in his presence... When Don's mother had died he'd known the right thing to say…unlike Charlie…Charlie had crumbled. Would that be him? Would he crumble?
Just don't let her be dead…he willed silently as his dad and the rookie slipped back out of the room mumbling as they went, leaving Don and Lila alone in the suffocating waiting room. He needed to get out of here, he needed to find Robin. Rob…come back to me…he whispered sadly to himself as Lila continued to cling to him for support. I need you…
*Break*
Scrubbing tiredly at his strong jaw with his large calloused fist, Special Agent Marcus Denam watched with disproval as the pitiful group of recruits he was supposed to be 'teaching' turned up fifteen minutes late and without apology. Shaking his head crossly, Marc took a prolonged drag of his dying cigarette before flicking it away. He didn't know how the FBI usually ran things but Marcus knew that if these recruits had tuned up fifteen minutes late to an ATF training session they'd already be on the next bus home because training at Glynco, Georgia is fiercely competitive. Of all the applicants that start the course, less than five per cent actually get hired. Tardiness wasn't accepted and as such these recruits wouldn't have even lasted a day. They were soft, they were undisciplined…they were already trying his bloody patience! And annoyingly they had been dumped on him for a whole week!
Picking up his camouflaged cane, a gift from his old team, from the hood of his rental jeep, Marcus picked his way across the gravelly parking lot until he was behind the small group of twenty recruits. Considering how laboured his movement was, Marc was surprised that none of the recruits had seen, or heard, him coming. He wasn't small either, at six foot six, Marc was at least two foot taller than the tallest recruit and the most physically defined of all of them. He had a large barrel chest, broad shoulders, slim hips and thick thighs. His hair was dusty brown with grey at the temples and was cropped close to his head-he was an ex-marine and had grown to prefer it short.
He was also dressed conservatively in a navy blue long sleeved t-shirt with golden 'ATF' letters scrawled on the back, ripped jeans that covered all but the tips of his black biker boots and his badge and gun on either hip with a sniper rifle strapped across his large chest so that it was pressed flat across the width of his back. He had just come from the airport and despite it being only a short flight from Washington DC, he still felt pretty tired, his leg was cramping up in pain and his patience had well and truly worn thin.
"Listen up!" Marc growled loudly as the recruits snapped their heads with shock, yes he really had snuck up on them and yes unfortunately he had been standing there long enough to hear their gross exaggerations of skill based on the correlation to the size of their junk and no, he didn't want to be there either. Unfortunately he hadn't been given a choice.
It had been a year since he had saved the British Consulate from blowing up and a year since the bomb he'd managed to contain to the basement had taken a piece of him in return in the form of second and third degree burns up his right hand and arm and a career ending piece of shrapnel to the leg. He was just lucky that he'd managed to avoid amputation even if it did mean that his leg was in constant pain, anything had be preferable to the alternative! Besides he was tough…he needed to be to survive a year of riding a desk whilst he recuperated!
Before the explosion that had ended his career, Marcus had been a leading weapons and explosions expert. Now he had been reduced to glorified babysitter because some bureaucrat decided he could be utilised as a good will gesture towards inter departmental cooperation after some jurisdictional fuck up on the east coast. Only it wasn't them that actually had to turn twenty hopeless idiots into decent agents, he did!
"You ladies think you you've had it hard until now?" Marc asked the recruits rhetorically, taking a year's worth of frustration out on them as they made a narrow alley of bodies for him to walk down to get to the front of the shooting range. "Well I'm here to say that you haven't. You think you've put up good numbers in the shooting range? I'm here to say your attempts were pathetic!" Marc shouted dispassionately as the recruits all mumbled irritably under their breaths.
"Speak up when addressing your training officer!" A voice shouted sternly from behind, making the recruits jump once more as they all shuffled uncomfortably on the spot-pinned between their gruff training officer and another tall angry stranger, "Or shut the fuck up!"
"Ah," Marc smiled grimly as the group parted once more to let the stranger through. He was wearing a battered old leather jacket over a light blue shirt and jeans that were loose on his slender frame. Physically the stranger was striking. He had mysterious almond shaped eyes that squinted and glowered with supressed anger and short black hair that had been slicked back with obvious care. He also had an angry red scar that split his left eyebrow and snaked its way down his left cheek and jaw. The scar was fresh, maybe a few weeks old, and painful looking from where Marc was standing. There was also a certain grace about the way the other man walked. Careful…whilst seemingly carefree as a scoped rifle hung jauntily from his right shoulder as if it was just another limb to him. There was also a cat like agility to the way the man moved, his toned muscles rippling from the effort as he made no sound as he walked despite wearing heavy hunting boots. He reminded Marc of himself before his accident and couldn't help but feel slightly envious in the man's presence. "Special Agent Ian Edgerton I presume? I'm glad you changed your mind and decided to join us today."
"Well I was in the neighbourhood," Ian shrugged casually as he shook hands with the tired looking instructor before him.
"Let me introduce you to today's guest," Marc smiled cruelly at the now silent recruits. "Agent Ian Edgerton here is Ex Special Forces and Ex CIA. Until recently he has hunted and captured some of the biggest named fugitives in FBI history. His latest being the child murdering bitch that the press nick named the LA Child Snatcher. More importantly to today's lesson he is the number two shot in America. No ladies, he doesn't wear the rifle for show."
"Trust me…you don't want to know how I moved up a spot," Ian laughed, but there was no humour behind it. "Agent Denam here is wearing an M40A5, this is a Remington, model 700 PSS-a." Swinging the rifle around with one fluid motion, Ian held out the scoped rifle for all to see. "A personal favourite," He winked at one ginger headed recruit that was looking on with a kind of awe in his bright blue eyes that unsettled Ian underneath the over played cockiness. "You will get to pick which you use today. Choose wisely."
"The test," Marc barked, "Is to hit the target. You have one round, meaning one shot. To complete this challenge you'll need patience, you'll need skill and looking at you…a whole lot 'a luck."
"Who's first?" Ian smiled crookedly as he rested the rifle over his shoulder and the back of his neck. After a second of non-response, the fully chastised recruits threw their hands eagerly into the air.
"You," Marc pointed at the one recruit to not put his hand in the air. "You're up first," He smiled cruelly as the recruit followed them to the door of the shooting range. "Test starts the second you enter the room." Marc warned as the recruit took the rifle and round from Ian before nodding dumbly at Marc.
"Yes sir," Ian whispered helpfully in the frightened recruit's ear.
"Yes sir," The recruit squeaked as Ian and Marc took their seats to one side of the range as the lad laid down on the mat, loaded the rifle and missed the target.
Sighing audibly, Marc put a cross next to the first recruit's name. "NEXT!" He shouted loudly as the lad handed the rifle back to Ian, head bowed in shame.
"This is going to be a long day," Ian whispered out of the side of his mouth as the next recruit laid down, loaded the rifle and missed the target.
"NEXT!" Both Ian and Marc shouted together in irritated chorus.
*Break*
It had taken a few hours but eventually one by one crowd had slowly begun to dissipate as they all remembered that they either had work, family, or lives to get back to. The excitement and the drama had worn off by the time the sun had begun its tired decent in the masked sky and the cold had crept in. Even over half the film crews had moved on after the fire-fighters had packed up and gone home declaring the courthouse as 'structurally sound'.
Not long after the bomb squad had arrived to sweep the scene for any hidden or remaining explosives because safety at the scene was always the primary focus. Meanwhile the courthouse had been surveyed from the sky and the ground before finally it was declared safe.
Now it was the turn of the crime scene investigators and despite the fact that it was a long process, and Elliott was freezing his balls off, he'd stayed to oversee it all; surprisingly, so had his young partner and new shadow.
"Geez, fire-fighters really know how to trash a crime scene," CSI Samantha Wilkes growled irritably as she and her supervisor CSI Gary Knolls approached the crime scene for the first time.
"Their job is to think victim first Sam, they saved countless lives today," Gary scolded gently. He was used to her rants by now, they were like storms; you just had to ride them out.
"How big do you think it was?" She whispered in awe at the mess at their feet. Walls had caved in exposing pipes and wires and inhalation. Fixtures had been ripped from the ground and tossed around like a child having a tantrum and black, so much black that it coated everything making the rubble seem endless.
"It's not the size of the bomb, it's the over pressure and air around it," Gary sighed as he placed his metal kit on the ground and pulled a pair of latex gloves from his overall pockets. "The murder weapon is in here somewhere, we just need to find it."
"Yeah it's here," Samantha grumbled as she too dropped her kit and put on a pair of gloves. "In about a thousand pieces!"
"Exactly, everything goes back to the lab, we'll reconstruct it there." Gary explained as a couple more CSI's turned up to help take part in the scavenger hunt. "Bombs explode," He told them all as they scattered out and began picking through the debris. "But their components survive. The sooner we know the bomb the closer we are to finding who did this."
Who did this? It seemed like such a loaded question. Who would want to do this? Seemed more appropriate to Elliott. Motive…who had the most to gain.
"Detective Hayes? ...El?" Chris asked worriedly, breaking into Elliott's scattered thoughts as he joined El, who was standing to one side out of the way of the CSI's who carried on as if he wasn't there.
"Yes?" Elliott replied without turning to look at his partner because moving, thinking, even breathing caused his stomach to churn and the vomit to rise once more. Strangely he was growing accustomed to the acidic burn on the back of his throat but that didn't make the memories of the day any less haunting. How was she? Was Robin even alive? Elliott hated to think what he would have done if it had been his wife instead...what Don had to be going through…what they still had to go through if she survived…
"There is nothing more we can do here tonight," Chris told him kindly, his eyes swimming with concern even though Elliott had been a prick to him on more than one occasion, hell more than once that day!
"Don't," Elliott shook his head sadly, his gut twisting with guilt. "Don't be nice to me…"
"It's been a long day," Chris continued as if Elliott hadn't spoken, "Why don't you go to the hospital. Check on your friends."
"I never said they were my friends," Elliott snapped angrily as he turned his ghostly gaze upon Chris's, making the young detective in training gulp with apprehension, nevertheless he held his ground. Brian would have liked Chris. Worse, he would have definitely found El being lumbered with him hilarious, which somehow made Elliott hate the young detective that bit more; he represented everything that El had lost.
Damn it! Brian was his partner…not this kid and as far as Elliott was concerned he never would be. He couldn't forgive Don or his team for what had happened either and he didn't know if he ever could. He just didn't have it in him right now. He was still too angry for that. "Just drop it kid, ok."
"O…k then," Chris replied eventually as he finally looked away from Elliott's haunting gaze, "Go home El. There's nothing more for us to do here tonight and the Captain wants us fresh for the briefing tomorrow. The CSI's will have finished their preliminary report by then and we'll have a better understanding of what happened here…tomorrow."
"I don't need you telling me my job," Elliott replied grouchily as he pushed his fists into his pockets and walked away, not because the kid was right but before he had the chance to say something he couldn't take back in the morning.
"I never said you did," Chris shook his head sadly as the detective he'd admired most when he had joined the force a year ago, and who had taken an instant and irrational disliking to him the second they had been partnered together, walked away, his hunched frame melting into the surrounding darkness.
*Break*
Lying prone on the ground, Oliver Burnett pressed his eye to the large scope as he pointed the rifle at the human shaped target at the end of the range and tried his hardest to regain control of his cramping body. One round, one shot…one chance. That was all, just one shot standing between him passing his weapons handling test and graduating as an agent of the FBI. No pressure then, he told himself sardonically as he took several deep breaths to slow his rapidly beating heart as he raked his fingers through his long fringe to brush the ginger tendrils from his eyes.
How long had he been laying there for? Ollie couldn't tell anymore. Surely not long or either agent would have failed him by now…although…agent Denam had told him he would need patience and skill to pass the test…was that why the others had all failed? They had all taken their shot too quickly? Or because skilled marksmen they were not? All he knew was that he was the last one to take the test and failure wasn't even an option. He needed this and if that meant he had to lie there all night to make the shot he would, although he had a feeling both agents would draw the line at all night…damn it he was getting distracted. Focus Ollie…focus.
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, hold…shoot…at what? Taking his eye away from the scope, Ollie looked down the range at the only partially visible target. It was a shot that the number two shot in America could probably make in his sleep…but for anyone else, especially Ollie? The target might as well be in England because he would never make the shot from this angle…
Could he move? Looking around him Ollie took in the rest of the shooting range for the first time that afternoon. He was lying on the only mat to have been set up but did that mean he had to take the shot from there? The rifle hadn't been placed there…he had been the one to make the unconscious decision to lie there…
Getting up, Oliver tried his hardest to ignore the curious way agent Edgerton regarded him with mild amusement whilst agent Denam took another long drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground next to the others and stubbed it out with his toe, oblivious to the fact that Ollie had even moved. Focus, Ollie told himself sternly as he removed the scope from the rifle and used it to find the best vantage point from which to hit the target.
There, he smiled grimly as he lay down flat and reset the scope, the target was easily visible now. Body tense, Oliver levelled his breathing once more before flicking the safety catch off and curling his right index finger around the rifle's trigger until he could feel the tension in the spring. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, hold…one…two…release! Pulling the trigger the rest of the way, Ollie watched with pleasure as his round sailed through the air, making the wood splinter as it hit the target.
"Well done," Agent Edgerton told Ollie when he finally dared to move. "It's a common misconception that because you hold a scoped rifle you'll automatically make the shot when there is a whole lot more to consider, such as finding the right vantage point. Did you even realise that when you moved you concealed yourself from the other end of the range? Invisibility first, remember that because it's a sniper's greatest strength."
"But it's the ability to make the shot that will get him paid," Agent Denam teased as he also came over and shook Ollie's hand in congratulations.
"True," Edgerton laughed as agent Denam smiled genuinely for the first time that day. It was a shooting range miracle but then Edgerton's presence did have a sort of calming effect…you know, when you aren't a petrified recruit one shout away from passing…then his presence was just nerve wracking as hell! "That's the end of your training right?" Agent Edgerton asked as he turned back to regard Ollie curiously once more.
"Yes sir," Ollie nodded as the inspiring, albeit slightly frightening, agent took out his wallet and pulled a business card from the back and handed it to Ollie.
"Give me a call after you've graduated," He added before moving away to answer his ringing cell phone. "Edgerton…ah Charlie…sorry I'm late, I was just about to leave…" Smiling into the receiver, agent Edgerton moved too far away for Ollie to catch anymore but whoever this 'Charlie' was he didn't seem to have good news because within minutes Ian seemed to shrink a couple of inches as if some invisible weight had just landed back on his square shoulders.
"Here," Ollie turned around and handed agent Denam the rifle as he pocketed the business card for later, when he turned back agent Edgerton was gone.
*Break*
"This was your floor right?" The young nurse asked kindly as Assistant Director Nick Callaghan watched the elevator doors slide open but forgot to move. "Sir?" She asked confused when he didn't respond immediately.
"Right…yeah I guess it is…" Nick nodded slowly because everything seemed to be in slow motion at the moment, even him. "Yes…thank you," He smiled absently as she held the lift door back, preventing it from closing until he'd gotten off into yet another generic corridor. The walls were white washed and devoid of any pictures or random paintings of expressive art, with a mud brown skirting board that matched the double doors at the end of the hall.
Making his way towards them, Nick's expensive loafers squeaked impossibly against the bland linoleum flooring, making him cringe with guilt. He hated hospitals and he felt like every passing person was judging him, like they could see how badly he wished he could be anywhere else. But then again who didn't wish to be anywhere else? Hospitals were strange places with unnatural sounds, colours and smells. Everyday people would come in that would never walk out again…if you were in hospital then there was something either wrong with you or someone you loved…who would ever look at a hospital and go 'now that looks a great day out…'
"Nicky?" Alan Eppes asked in surprise as Nick rounded a corner and bumped right into Don's father, literally.
"Shit," Nick swore loudly as the polystyrene coffee cup that Alan had been holding caved against Nick's solid chest, burning him as it dribbled and dripped down onto his tan suit trousers. "I guess I'm in the right place then," Nick smiled grimly as Alan dug into his pockets for a handkerchief that wasn't there.
"I'm really sorry!" Alan shook his head frustrated. "I wasn't looking…"
"Neither was I," Nick shrugged as Alan threw the empty cup into the trash can by the nurses' station.
Taking a deep breath, Nick regarded Alan's pinched expression. Shit…was he too late? "How is she?" He just about squeezed past his clenched jaw as he ground his teeth in preparation. 'Expect the worst' that was what Nick's grandfather had always told him. 'That way you'll never be disappointed'. He'd died in a hospital not too dissimilar to this one…but then again Nick supposed that once you'd seen one hospital you'd pretty much seen them all…
"She's stable," Alan replied hesitantly as Nick folded with relief.
"Thank God!"
"But she's not out of the woods yet…"Alan added as he dug his hands into his coat pockets, not entirely sure what to do with them. "They wouldn't tell me anymore as I'm technically not related yet…"
"Really?" Nick shook his head with disgust. "Nothing else?"
"Just that a doctor would be by shortly," Alan nodded solemnly.
He looked lost and Nick wished he knew what to say to make things better but he'd never really had much success in the past and the last thing Nick wanted to do was hurt Alan more than he already was… "What about Don? How's he holding up?"
"He isn't…I don't know," Alan sighed tiredly. "It's like he isn't really there…"
"How so?" Nick asked confused. He'd known Don since they had trained at the academy together. Hell, Don had been the best man at Nick's wedding and Nick couldn't think of a time when Don hadn't been the one to keep a straight head whilst the others went crazy around him.
"He didn't say a word…it's like he's shut down…I've never seen him like it," Alan replied after some time as if he was afraid to say it aloud. "Not even after his mother died…"
"I'm sure he's just processing," Nick replied lamely in an attempt to placate him but knew it sounded weak; they were just empty words…perhaps there were no right words for a situation like this. If there were those definitely weren't them…
"We should get back," Alan pointed down the hall to where a uniformed officer was chatting to a man in a white coat. "Looks like the doctor's finally here."
"How is she?" Lila demanded as Alan and Nick drew nearer, she was holding Don's hand as if she had dragged him with her like a rag doll.
"Ms Brooks has suffered extensive second and third degree burns to the left side of her body, particularly on the back side of her jaw, neck and shoulder to chest region." The doctor replied un-phased as he pointed to the affected areas in turn. "It's a huge trauma for her body to process and she was having a lot of difficulty breathing as we cleaned the wound so we gave her some medication to make her sleep and have put her on a ventilator for the time being."
"Is she going to be alright?" Alan asked hoarsely, the only one brave enough to ask the question.
"She's stable for the time being but obviously we're concerned about her breathing. I'm afraid Ms Brooks still has quite a battle ahead of her. We'll keep her under close watch though and keep you apprised of any change," The doctor answered smoothly.
"Can we see her?" Lila asked quieter this time as she dropped Don's hand. She was alive; Nick couldn't help but think to himself, that was the main thing.
"There's something else…" The doctor replied hesitantly as he turned to address Don in particular, his expression grave. "Because of the seriousness of the wounds and the trauma sustained...I'm really sorry Mr Eppes but your fiancée miscarried as we were cleaning the wound and removing the dead skin."
"Miscarried?" Don asked shocked, his voice high and rough with confusion as everyone else looked on with varying degrees of shock and horror. It was the first time he had spoken since he'd gotten the call and all he wanted was to be alone with Robin, kissing her, hugging her…comforting her. He just wanted everyone to go away and for everything to just stop. He just wanted all of it to go away; he wanted to see her smile again, to hear her voice telling him that she loved him. He wanted to feel the weight of her in his arms, the smell of her so intoxicating that it drove him insane with want, with need. She'd needed him…and he hadn't been there. "I don't understand…she was pregnant?"
"I'm really sorry for your loss," The doctor replied uncomfortably, head bowed with regret as Lila began to sob once more, this time cradled against Alan for support.
"My loss…" Don shook his head violently with supressed rage, his voice thick with grief as he choked on the word 'loss', loss didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling. All those hours that he'd been forced to sit in that stupid plastic chair while Robin had been fighting for her life and losing a baby Don hadn't even known they were going to have. Had she? Did she know their unborn child was dead? Ignoring the sucker punch to his heart and the pit that had opened up in his stomach, Don looked back at the doctor with raw grief crackling behind in his stony gaze. They'd had him waiting long enough, "Take me to her. Now."