Work Text:
Squeeze My Hand
By Asa Meda
*Squeeze my hand*
Shouting... Screaming... Orders... Counter orders... Nearly suffocating acrid smell of burning plastic mixed with the dust of what had been...
The boy strained and shook. His eyes were dull... confused... pained. His chest...
Squeeze my hand
Lifeless eyes. He felt the soldier's spirit hover then leave...relieved... free...
Gone.
*Squeeze my hand*
In the midst of the chaos she called him on the cell. Told him she had gotten out... told him not to worry, to do his job... she would find her way home or somewhere safe.
As he guided a young child and his grandmother away from the scene eight blocks away he told his wife to be safe... that he would see her soon...that-
Thunder... the kind never to be forgotten... He looked back as he heard his wife's gasp through the wireless connection between them. Like a child's toy the Tower fell upon itself, floor after floor after floor...
"Claire!" A great cloud rose like a tsunami from the smoke and fire then rolled like a living thing, overtaking everything in its path. Without thought he lifted the child into his arms then pulled the older woman with him as he dropped to the ground and covered them both with his own body as the wave hit them, raining down dust... debris... the lives of thousands that ended in an eerie silence.
*Squeeze my hand*
Crushed... Broken....
Machines beeped and moved in an odd dance... monitoring... heralding... waiting...
"Claire," he whispered into her ear... one of few parts of her that wasn't touched by... what had happen... by what had been...
"Squeeze my hand," he ordered gently as he gingerly held her fingers, unwilling to cause her pain... unwilling to believe when they told him she could no longer feel anything. She was found two blocks away... under a chunk of mortar... buried in dust. She was found alive but within the hour, within the Emergency Room, her life signs failed... too much... too much...
"Please," he pleaded, uncaring of his tears that filled his eyes, causing added irritation as the salt water mixed with the thick dust still covering him. Desperately he now crushed her fingers in his fist... the bones seem to give way. Pain... maybe pain would give him what he needed. "Squeeze my hand."
But all remained as it was. Her bandaged face gave no acknowledgement. Her closed eyes did not move. Brain dead. They had told him... gently... too gently. But he had to be sure... very sure...
"Detective."
Quiet. Patient. There was a lot of that. So many injured... dying... space was at a premium for those who will or might survive.... yet they waited as if there was all the time in the world...
He kissed her fingers... still warm... then gathered himself and stood. The physician standing at his side was about his own age but look much older today. Yet his dark eyes were kind... moist...
Detective Mac Taylor gave him a small smile to show his gratitude. "I'll sign," he said directly as his grief... his guilt... plunged deep inside. There wasn't time. He was needed... but not here.
The doctor gave him the clipboard... he signed... it was done. "Thank you, Doctor," he told him then turned and left. He did not want to hear the sounds of the machines ending their delicate dance...
*Squeeze my hand*
Before he could stop him, Don ran forward and grabbed the guy who had not heard the warnings. The young detective threw the civilian back... away... before the thunder... the acrid smell... the smell of dust from what had been...
"I've never seen anything like this. You probably save his life, Detective."
Don's abdomen had been ripped open... though there wasn't a lot of blood. The heat of the blast had sealed the skin, leaving internal organs exposed, showing Mac that the aorta had been nicked. He had acted without thinking, with a knowledge he had gained so long ago... in another crisis...
*Squeeze my hand*
So young. He forgot how young Flack was. Fifteen years younger... sixteen really. Looking even younger now... deeply asleep... after surgery. He wanted to touch him, assure him... assure himself. He wanted...
A post-operative nurse passed within his view. Doing inventory of all surgical instruments and supplies to make sure nothing was left behind. Glancing back every few seconds to be sure the patient was still stable while what needed to be done was done.
Needed to be done. Mac stared at his camera. He had told the surgeon to wait after surgery, if possible. He needed to get pictures... of everything. Everything. If they ever found who did it... they needed to know what had been done... everything...
"We need to finish then take him up, Detective Taylor."
The nurse's voice was gentle... too gentle. Mac took a few more shots. Overkill, he knew. But he needed-
"Sir."
More firm... urgent. Mac stopped. They had to take care of Don. Make the young man wake up so he could talk to him... tell him...
"He'll be in ICU room 4, Detective."
Mac nodded. As two more people in surgical garb entered he began to back away. But before he could be out of reach... out of touch... he stole a touch. His fingers brushed strands of hair at Don's temple. One of the nurse's glanced at him, bright eyes understanding, then returned to his work... healing Don of his injuries...
*Squeeze my hand*
Tired. He was god awful tired. But he couldn't leave. In the little waiting area across from Don Flack's room he couldn't imagine himself anywhere else. Don was in a light coma, healing... hopefully. Concerns for brain damage from the concussion of the blast... the loss of blood. But otherwise he was stable... healing...
Stella came and forced time to move forward as she shared his space and provided the kind of support only she could give. Hawkes came after then left, assuring Mac that he would make sure the hospital staff did their best for Flack... not that they hadn't already. Danny and Lindsey came. Messer was nervous as he looked at Don. Mac could see the memories of not too long ago... when Danny's brother was in another room not too far away... but the result was different... there had been no hope then...
There was the suggestion to leave. Danny took the hint and offered a ride to their newest team member. Lindsey. She had been hurt too. Mild concussion, he found out. But she refused to rest, refused to be anywhere but on the case. Now it was time to go home and Danny would make sure she got there.
And that was all. Mac once thought there might be... something. But his gut told him it was nothing more than a sibling thing... much as it had been with Aiden... only different... as Lindsey was different but nothing romantic there.
Stella had left him but returned. Coffee.
"I'm glad you stayed," he said, too tired to express more than that.
"Mac... that's what we do." She glanced towards Don. "We take care of each other."
Silence followed. Comfortable silence. Supportive silence. Calming silence. After a time he could not determine, Stella rose. She had to go, make sure evidence was properly logged and filed so that Lessing's defense attorney would have nothing to argue about. She would be back in a few hours... hinted that Mac should be home by then, resting.
Mac smiled as they both understood that would not happen. Her eyes studied him closely then she leaned close to him. "You're not to blame for what happened... back then... for Claire... or for what happened to Don. But for once you have a chance to find out what it's like to be on the other side rather than always wondering what it might have been like."
Then she was gone and he was alone... to think... to watch the young man lying unconscious in front of him... to listen to the muted sounds of machines engaged in their delicate dance... monitoring... beckoning...
*Squeeze my hand*
He couldn't remember how long he sat... thinking. But his bladder warned him that it was nearly too long. He did his business and washed his hands then glanced at his own reflection, at the bandage stuck to the side of his neck. There was bruising visible now where the gauze didn't cover. There were bruises registering all over his body. He knew if he stood naked his skin would be mottled with splotches of red and deep purple. But pain was a relative thing and for the moment it didn't matter. Only Don mattered. Only his need to see him... to make sure he would have a chance to talk to him... tell him...
Harsh laughter escaped him as he wondered if the young man would even be interested in... Mac snorted at himself. Of course Don was interested. Over the years he had seen it in the bright blue eyes, the too long stare... the faint blush when caught. But Mac had avoided it, kept up that one barrier. He was too old... too damaged... too-
He walked down the hallway, giving a smile to the nurses at their station. They returned his smile. One, a young dark woman came forward. "Detective Taylor?"
"Yes." Always ready to help he paused. She had an expression on her face that alerted him. "Anything wrong?" Don? He only left for a moment...
"No," the woman... Angelita her name-tag told him... smiled reassuringly at him. "He's critical but stable. But-" She patted his arm. "You can go in... spend a few minutes... doctor said it was all right."
Mac gazed at her, surprised. Her dark eyes met his with understanding... too much understanding. Did everyone know what he felt?
*Squeeze my hand*
So young. Mac approached the bed, deaf to the sounds of the machines. He didn't want to hear them. But it was hard to miss the big screen that showed Donald Flack's vitals. All strong by the looks of them. Nothing minimal or flat-lined. For a moment he merely watched, afraid to touch... to make the connection.
But the urge was too strong. He had to know... had to find out...
He leaned close. "Don," he whispered hopefully.
The machines continued their dance. Mac swallowed hard... a knot formed in his gut. He was tempted to go... he didn't want to know. But instead he took Don's hand, careful of the IV taped around it. He had to know.
"If you can hear me... squeeze my hand."
No movement. Part of Mac's mind panicked, part of him realized it might be too early to expect a response. But his gut... his need won out. He squeezed a little tighter.
"Squeeze my hand, Don."
Command. Desperation. Plea. For a moment Mac expected nothing. It would be all the same... as it had before... the dust of what had been... or could have been...
Movement caught his attention. Weak pressure answered his own.
Tears, long denied tears, welled up in Mac's eyes as he understood. Not as it had been but what it would be...
END