Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Mister Larabee. You look like what the proverbial cat drug in.
Lying there with vacant eyes. Showing no emotions. No recognition of who or what is around you.
At this moment, you could be a world class gambler. You would make my mother proud.
And I hate it.
Your eyes should be showing something... anything. I see no reaction even as they one by one remove those God-awful mechanical devices from you. It was the same when they finally moved you out of the ICU to a room with a view... so to speak. It has an absolutely stunning view of the air conditioning units for the complex. It is quite breathtaking. It must be, otherwise why else would you lie there with those vacant eyes looking out into that waste land.
Granted, we are not much to look at. Not after a week of virtually no sleep, except for the few hours snatched when eyelids could no longer stay open. Trying to stay with you and yet keep the criminal element at bay. After all, we can hardly have the team's reputation tarnished just because you are temporarily absent. Still your eyes are vacant.
You have quite a treat waiting for you when you are finally able to partake in the delectable morsels from this establishment's so-called cafeteria. Absolutely the finest cuisine that can come out of a bag or box. Let me just assure you that, after a week, I have tried it all. Perish the thought.
Vacant eyes turn to me. I hate it. There should be something there. Anything. They say it is merely the pain medication. But I know different. You are not there.
Where has that indomitable Larabee spirit gone to? Why has it stayed away? Will it ever come back?
Will I ever again see all the things that show so plainly in your eyes despite your best efforts to hide them. The anger, the determination, the happiness, the humor, the shine of contentment, and yes at times, even the hollowness of despair.
Will I ever again see that expression in your eyes again? You know the one. The one that tells me you have a premonition of the man I can be... an anticipation of something more than what I have shown you... an expectation that I shall do better than I have ever done before in my life. Because you will accept no less from me.
Remarkably, I find myself rising to your challenge. Each time, I find the fortitude to excavate a little more... to find another small sliver of my humanity that I must confess, I never knew was there. It surprises me. I would never have contemplated that such a change in myself was possible.
But you want it. And I give it. A masterpiece in the making. Will you leave it unfinished? Will neither of us see the completion of your... no... our reformation?
Your eyes are vacant.
And I hate it.
Where is that damn form?
Write it all down they said. Every look. Every sound. Every detail. In case I forget...
I will never forget.
How do you forget the day you almost got your friend killed?
A routine meeting with an informant. That's all it was supposed to be. It wasn't even important enough for the whole team to be there. You and I going inside. Buck and JD on the out. That was enough. Yeah... the warehouse probably wasn’t the best place, but, hell, we've met people in worse places.
It was so quiet inside. That probably should of been our first clue. But it was Sunday. Even working slobs get a day off. I chalked the stillness up to that. Why wouldn't I? It was a routine meet.
Then bullets were flying from everywhere. And we were between stacks of crates... pinned down like ducks in a shooting gallery. You took out the man above me, I took out the one above you. Another sniper... up high... Look out Chris! Whew... good shot. I've got the one sneaking up on us. How ya doin’ you called out, your voice tight from the rush of the adrenalin pumping in your veins. Just fine, I snapped back between shots.
Silence descended as the last one fell. The only sound remaining was the ragged breathes we drew in. Cautiously looking around, our eyes met and grins began to spread over our faces. We had somehow made it. I know I am out of ammo and reach to reload. I see you have a similar thought as you reach for the clip in your back loop.
Then it happened. The sound of the clip sliding out of your gun and the sound of the gunman's foot as he slid around the last stack of crates not twenty feet from us.
Time stood still for a brief moment. I knew you would be the first target and there was nothing I could do to stop him. My gun was still empty. All I could do was go for my knife, knowing it could never reach him before he could pull that trigger. I would have done anything to be where you were.
You knew it, too. The look on your face told me that. You even smiled a little. What did it mean? Were you glad that it was you instead of me? Did you know that you were once again staring death in the face and that maybe this was your time to die? Or was it a calm acceptance of the inevitable you could see unfolding in front of you?
All I know is that I will never forget it.
Then you were in my arms. So much blood. All I could do was cradle you against me... one hand desperately moving from bullet hole to bullet hole to bullet hole. Trying in vain to stop the tidal wave of blood that rushed from each opening.
You looked at me and... God help me... I saw death in your eyes. You were slipping slowly away. Fight it Chris, I screamed at you. Damn you... fight it.
My hands are still shaking at the memory... even now... ten days after the fact. They tremble as they are poised over the keyboard waiting to type out the report. I'm not sure they will ever stop.
I know I will never forget.
Aah geez Chris...
I know its not your fault. It's just...
It's just I don't know how to do this... how to watch you when you're like this.
You have always been so strong... so self-sufficient. And now, you can barely feed yourself. It tears at me something awful.
I don't know what to do with the lump that catches in my throat when you arch in pain as they work your arms and legs trying to strengthen them so you can walk again. I don't know what to do when you snarl at the nurse or one of us to just leave you alone. Or when your eyes glitter with unshed tears as they force you to stand up beside the bed one more time.
I don't know how to make it better.
You have been so many things to me. Do you know I am always watching you? Learning from you? You always seem to know exactly what to do. You never falter... never hesitate. If there's a problem, you handle it. If someone needs help, you help them.... even if they don't want it. I wish I was like that.
Take now for example. If it was me in that bed, you'd know what to do. Take it easy... the pain will pass, you'd say in a quiet, calming voice. And I'd feel better. Cause I'd know the pain would go away because you said it would. I wish I could do the same for you. But I can't.
I don't know what to say.
And I don't know what to do with the empty hole in my gut every time I remember that first glimpse of you cradled in Nathan's arms. I don't think I've ever seen that much blood in my life. Nathan wouldn't let you go.
Then the medics showed up. Desperately, one of them started applying bandages while the other was sticking needles into you... so many IVs. He's flat lined, one snapped as he grabbed the paddles. It was then that the realization hit me... you were dying. I froze. Buck even grabbed hold of my shoulder so hard that it's still bruised. But it didn't matter... You were dying before my very eyes.
That couldn't be. You can't die. You're bigger than life... a hero. Heroes don't die... don't you know that? Heroes aren't supposed to be feeling pain either, but I know you are. You have to be.
I just wished I knew what to do to stop it. But I don't.
I don't know how to do any of it.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
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