Journey into Darkness

His breathing was still ragged, but at least Michael was breathing, and not gasping for air. Caitlin tucked the emergency blanket around him and relieved the frightened prisoner who had been holding the bandages to his shoulder, taking over the job herself. The bleeding had nearly stopped, and she had taped an occlusive dressing over the other wound. There was little more that she could do.

Michael was horribly pale, and she could feel him tremble; she didn't need Marella's expertise to know that he was going into shock. While it might be oppressively hot on the floor of the jungle, as they gained altitude, the temperature fell. Their distance from the ground combined with the wash from the rotor blades to bring a sharp bite to the air. Caitlin slid closer. Laying down beside him, she wrapped herself around him as a shield from the wind. She prayed that Marella could get them out of Cambodia in time. "Don't you die on me, Michael," she whispered, her lips close to his ear. "Damn you, don't you die on me."

The flight seemed to stretch into eternity. By the time they reached the makeshift airstrip just across the border into Thailand, Caitlin's fingers were cramping from tension. At first, she didn't realize they had landed; Marella had to coax her away from Michael. Knowing he was finally in more capable hands than her own, Caitlin raced to the waiting plane and did a quick preflight. Marella had flown the plane in, and the plan had been for her to also fly them back out, but the agent was the one with the medical training. Locals that Marella had enlisted helped transfer Michael and the men into the back of the aircraft.

Afterwards, Caitlin had no real memory of having flown the Citation to the American military base in Manila. There were jumbled, surreal images of Marella hanging an IV bottle and hovering over her patient. Clearances granted and headings taken. An ambulance waiting to take them directly from the runway to the base hospital when they landed.

Marella went into surgery with Michael, leaving Caitlin alone to pace the waiting room. An Army officer came in, and she explained in halting, confused words about the rescue of the prisoners. He promised her that they would be taken care of. Someone else, a woman, came and brought her clean clothing, leading her to a shower room that she could use. As she began to strip, she caught her reflected image in the mirror.

She didn't remember crying, but tears had streaked the camouflage makeup that Michael had applied to her cheeks that morning. Drying blood caked her sleeves, coated her hands. Reeling away from the gruesome reflection she ripped off her clothes, shoving them deep in the trash bin. Naked, she reached in to turn on the shower.

Abruptly, Caitlin remembered the ring. She dragged the fatigues back out of the trash, rummaging through the pockets until she found it. She slipped it on her finger, trying not to see the dried blood.

Caitlin stepped into the shower, turning the water up as hot as she could stand. Lather swirled pink as it collected at her feet and ran down the drain. She could smell the metallic tang of the blood, she was certain she could even taste it. Slowly, she let her back slide down the shower wall until she was sitting on the floor of the enclosure, her face cradled in her hands. He had lost too much blood, far too much, and she knew how easily blood loss could kill. The carefully built wall around her feelings crumbled, and the tangled emotions Caitlin had fought so hard to contain over the course of the preceding week rolled over her with the force of a tidal wave. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and became great, wracking sobs.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, head down, her arms wrapped around her knees, water beating down on her back. Eventually, no more tears would come, and she rose and finished her shower, soaping away the last traces of the jungle from her body. It would take longer to banish them from her mind. She toweled off and dressed quickly, putting on the set of scrubs the nurse had loaned her. Caitlin blew her nose, and examined her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, but otherwise, she would do. Raking her hair out with her fingers, she went back out into the waiting room.

It was a long wait. A nurse's aide offered her coffee, which she gratefully accepted. Her stomach was too unsettled to eat, instead she paced, sure that she would wear a hole through the carpet. Eventually she perched on one of the chairs, restlessly thumbing one of the hospital magazines before tossing it back onto the stack. It was hours later when Marella finally emerged, untying the surgical mask as she stepped through the swinging doors. Caitlin jumped to her feet. "How is he?"

"Lucky." Marella smiled tiredly, crossing to take a seat. Caitlin sat down beside her. "As you know, his lung collapsed. That bullet went on to lodge in his shoulder blade. The other one shattered his collarbone and nicked a vein. Either one of those wounds could have killed him, but barring complications, he'll make it. You saved his life."

"Thank God." Caitlin saw that the agent was exhausted. She could only imagine how helpless Marella must have felt, stuck at the controls of the Huey and unable to come to Michael's aid. "What about you? Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that," she observed, reaching out to give Caitlin's arm a reassuring touch. "Yeah, I'm fine." She looked up, searching for a clock. "It will be at least an hour before he's out of recovery. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Shall we go see if this place has a cafeteria?"

"That sounds good."

A nurse at the desk directed them to the staff cafeteria, and they both selected sandwiches and coffee, then sat down at one of the small tables. Caitlin hung her head. “We didn't get St. John. One of the men told me he'd been moved some time ago.”

“I know. At least you did rescue the others.”

"An officer came by shortly after you went in with Michael. I tried to explain to him about the prisoners, but I'm not exactly sure what I told him," Caitlin admitted, a bit sheepishly.

"Doesn't matter. We'll clean it up however we need to later. The important thing is that they're safe, that you and Michael are safe." The agent sipped her coffee. "Thanks."

Caitlin looked up from her sandwich. "For what?"

"For being there when I couldn't. For risking your life for him. I saw him go down, and there was nothing I could do."

"He would have done the same for me." Caitlin hesitated, considering. She had always wondered exactly what the relationship between the two of them was. At one time, she had thought it might be romantic, but the more she learned, the more she doubted it. "Michael means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

Marella met her eyes, and raised one eyebrow, a slight smile crossing her lips. "We're not a couple, if that's what you're asking." She turned serious, letting out a sigh as she folded her hands around her coffee cup. "My step-father --”

Caitlin interrupted her. “Michael told me how you met. I hope that you don't mind.”

The agent shook her head. “It's not a secret. Michael... Michael was more of a father to me than either my own father or my step-father ever was. He found me a safe place to stay, and the Firm put me through school.”

Caitlin reached out and covered Marella's hand with her own. "I'm sorry. What your step father did... inexcusable."

"Agreed."

Curious, but afraid she was prying, Caitlin tried to gauge the other woman's mood. "Was your he ever arrested?"

Marella shook her head. "No. There was no real evidence. He made sure of that. But, oddly enough, shortly after Michael rescued me from the streets, someone blew Marvin away." A smile crossed her lips. "They never did find out who did it." The agent paused, looking across the table at her companion in a way that left Caitlin with the vaguely uncomfortable feeling she was being judged. She gave a slight, unconscious nod, as if a decision had been made. "Caitlin, can I ask you a favor?"

"Certainly."

"I need to see about making the arrangements to have Michael medevaced back to the States, and I want to check on the men you liberated. I don't intend to give the Firm an opportunity to pull something like they did the last time. Would you mind staying with Michael? He detests hospitals, and I don't like the idea of him waking up without a familiar face around. He can be downright impossible. Normally, I'd stay with him, but..."

"I'd be glad to," Caitlin interrupted her. She had wanted to see him, to make sure he was really all right. "Will they let me in? I'm not a doctor, and it's not like I'm family."

Marella hesitated. “Michael – Michael doesn't have family, at least none that he'd want --”

“I know.” She saw the surprise on the other woman's face. “I saw what his father did to him.”

“Then you know that we're the closest thing to family that he has.” The agent glanced down at Caitlin's hand, then reached out to touch the ring. “I'll clear it with the doctors. Leave the ring on. We'll let them think that you are his fiancée.”

-*-

Caitlin sat with her knees pulled up to her chin, arms wrapped around them. The coffee beside her had long grown cold. She closed her eyes, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the machines.

*Beep...beep...beep...*

Her mind counted the seconds between each sound, as her breathing matched itself to the beat of the respirator.

She looked up as she heard the door open behind her.

*Marella.* The agent's suit was uncharacteristically wrinkled, her coffee hued complexion pale. Her makeup was mussed, and if the crumpled tissue clenched in her fist was any indication, she had been crying. Marella stood silently for a time, her gaze locked on the figure lying on the hospital bed.

She reached out, touching Caitlin's arm. “Would you come out to the lounge for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stiffly, Caitlin rose from the chair and leaned over the bed. He was unconscious, heavily sedated, in all likelihood totally oblivious to anything going on around him. She wasn't willing to take that chance. “I'll be right back, Michael.”

She followed Marella out the door to the ICU waiting room, only a few doors away. The agent's demeanor wasn't encouraging. Caitlin dreaded the question, but asked it anyway. “He's getting worse?”

Marella shook her head. “No. He's no better, but he's no worse, either.”

Caitlin released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. “Thank God for that much.” The infection had set in suddenly during the medevac flight home from Manila. *Sepsis, the doctor had told them.* Michael's temperature had spiked, and they had diverted to the nearest hospital. That was how she had ended up in Hawaii, watching him get sicker and sicker as one by one his organs shut down. The machines were already breathing for him; if the antibiotics didn't kick in soon they would have to start dialysis.

Marella's hand on her arm led her to a chair and silently urged her to sit. She did, and Marella sat down beside her. The agent drew a deep breath. “This isn't about Michael.”

Caitlin found herself growing impatient. She wanted – *needed* – to be back in the ICU. “What, then?”

Marella hesitated, looking down at her hands. “I've been in touch with Sam, back at Thousand Oaks.”

Samantha, Michael's assistant. “And?”

The agent took a deep breath. “There's been an accident at Santini Air.”

“An accident?” Her first thought was a stunt gone wrong. “What happened? Was anyone hurt?”

“There was an explosion. I don't have all the details yet, but it appears to have been a fuel leak. Dominic... I'm sorry, Cait. Dominic was killed instantly.”

Caitlin sat for several moments in stunned silence. *There's more.* She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was certain of it. “What about String?”

Marella shook her head. “He survived the initial blast. He lived long enough to see his brother again.”

“St. John? But we didn't...?”

“It's a long story. Michael's replacement – a man named Locke -- and some Air Force pilot he enlisted went into Burma with Jo Santini and got him out. St. John is back, he's safe.” Her voice grew quiet. “He took his brother home to die.”

Caitlin sagged into the chair. String and Dom both gone. Michael fighting for his life. She'd been gone just over a week. *It had only been a matter of days, but somehow the world had fallen apart.*

“I've booked you a flight back to LAX. Sam is going to come out and sit with Michael. I'll stay until she gets here.”

It was a long moment before Caitlin answered. “No. I'm staying here.”

“Are you sure? Michael would understand.”

“No,” Caitlin repeated. “If they're both gone, there's nothing I can do for them. I need to be here.” Here, there was still something she could do. She stood, planning to go back to the ICU.

Marella rose as well. “He's tough, Cait. If anyone can survive this...”

“I know.” She had seen the proof of just how tough and resilient he was.

The agent stopped her. “You're sure? You don't want me to get you a flight?”

Caitlin nodded. “I'm sure. I need to get back to Michael.”

She stopped outside the door to his room, looking in through the window. Unconscious, surrounded by machines, connected to the IVs and and monitors, he was neither the dapper agent nor the commando assassin she had followed into Cambodia. He was... *human.*

Caitlin slipped into the room, crossed to his bedside. “I'm back,” she told him, reaching out to touch his forehead. Too warm, but maybe not quite as hot as it had been. She remembered the nights on the river. *Darkness and silence were at the heart of Michael's nightmares.* Darkness wasn't an issue in the ICU. She pulled the chair closer to the bed. “Let me tell you about my sister, Marie,” she began. “She's two years older than I am, and she got married last year. Big event. My folks had the ceremony outdoors...”

-*-

She had lost all track of time. It might have been only three days, or as long as a week. She absently rubbed at her neck, stiff from long nights spent dozing in the chair. The staff had tried to make her comfortable, offering her a cot in the lounge, but she had been reluctant to stray. Instead, she had only slipped away for a few minutes at a time, just long enough grab something to eat or to shower.

Caitlin felt as much as heard the stirring from the bed. A moment later his eye flicked open, a beautiful deep blue. His gaze slowly focused on her with a clarity she hadn't seen since before he'd been shot. "Cait?"

She rose and leaned over him. "Hi there. How you feeling?"

"Like I was hit by a train." Michael's voice was hoarse. Caitlin knew that his throat must still be raw from the tubes that had been forced down it. "Damn, I must be getting old. Red Star didn't take this much out of me."

”Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah. Bastard shot me.”

"It was a lot more than that. On the medevac flight back from Manila you developed a raging infection. By the time we could get you to a hospital, you were spiking a horrendous fever and your entire system was trying to shut down. The doctors went through every antibiotic they had before they finally found something that would stop it." Instinctively, she brought the back of her hand to his forehead, confirming for herself what the nurses had told her. "Your temperature is almost back to normal. You should start to feel better before long."

“I suppose that beats getting old. How long have I been out of it?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I've kind of lost track of things myself. I think it's been about five days." Caitlin bit her lip. "Do you remember any of it?"

Michael closed his eyes. "I remember someone cursing at me and telling me that I'd better not die on them. After that it starts to blur." His eyes blinked open, and grimaced. "I called you Maria, didn't I?"

"A couple times." Delirious from the fever and the drugs they were pumping into him, Michael had thought she was his East German lover. He had begged her to defect. "It's all right, Michael. You called me Marella, too. I think at one point you thought I was Zeus."

He chuckled at that, wincing as the motion shot pain across his chest. Michael turned serious. "I thought I said no heroics?"

“I wasn't being heroic. I just did what you would have done if I'd been the one hit.”

"You shouldn't have done it, but thank you.” Michael hesitated. "We got the prisoners out?"

"Yeah. They're safe, and being taken care of."

"But not St. John?"

"No, I'm afraid not." No. *They* hadn't rescued St. John.

"Does his brother know?"

The question hit her like a fist. She wouldn't lie to Michael, and yet she couldn't tell him the truth, either. Not yet, not until he had been allowed some time to recover. Caitlin fought to keep the quiver out of her voice, knowing he would hear it. "I haven't talked to anyone at the hanger. As far as anyone knows, I'm still in Texas." That much was true. Caitlin prayed that he wouldn't ask any more.

"Just as well. I don't quite feel up to explaining to Hawke why I dragged you into a combat zone." Her prayers were answered as he changed the topic. "Where's Marella?"

"Overseeing the return of the prisoners. I have a number where she can be reached if you need her."

"So she left you here to put up with me?" There was just a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Something like that," Caitlin answered warmly.

"You don't have to stay."

"I'd like to, unless you want me to leave?"

"No. Stay. Please. I hate hospitals. I certainly don't mind having someone around to help take my mind off of where I am." He reached across his chest with his left hand, tentatively exploring the thick bandages. "How bad was I hit?"

It was the other question she had been dreading. She had hoped that he would remember what the doctors had told him the morning after his surgery, but he didn't, and now he would have to face that realization again. "The first shot tore a hole in your lung, they had to crack your chest..."

"Cait," he cut her off, the sharp edge of panic rising in his voice, "I can't feel my right arm. I can't move my fingers."

She tried to keep the fear out of her own voice. "I know. Michael, your collarbone was shattered.. The vein was torn and it bled heavily. There's a lot of internal bruising. The doctors think that the swelling is pressing on the nerves, and that once it goes down, the paralysis will improve."

He was silent for a long moment. "They're not sure, are they?"

Her hands tightened around the steel rails surrounding the bed, fingernails biting into her palms. She might be able to evade his questions about String, but not this. "They didn't see any nerve damage when they did the surgery, and they don't think there is any. But, no. They can't be absolutely sure."