Fake Fan Fiction ❯ From the Ashes (Series: What If, Story 1: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust Trilogy) ❯ Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own FAKE or Sanami Matoh's wonderful characters.

Rating: NC-17 OT+16 (Yaoi, Violence, Arson, Character Death)
Pairings: J.J./Drake
Timeframe: Approximately 2005
Series: What If?

Series Summary: The 'What If' is an alternate universe series where I explore various alternatives to the standard story. These can range from character deaths to characters never coming to the 27th in the first place. In other stories, I may deal with changing emotions in relationships and the affects they might have on those relationships. So far, my Dee-muse has been the main inspiration for these stories; so, blame him if you don't like them. ~_^* Whatever else he is, he's very creative and sadistic.


Trilogy: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Story 1: From the Ashes

Warning: Character Death!

Summary: An arsonist has targeted the men and women of the 27th Precinct, how will they deal with the death of one of their own and the horrific burning of another. Can the survivors push forward and prevent additional tragedy? Or will everyone's dreams go up in flames?

 

 

Chapter 2

 

“Mercy General,” A woman answered on the first ring.

 

“This is Chief Smith of the 27th Precinct. We sent a burn victim to you. I need to know his status.”

 

“One moment, Sir, I'll transfer you to the trauma desk.”

 

The chief swallowed hard as the command truck was maneuvered through the heavy traffic. “The trauma desk. Does that mean he survived the trip to the hospital?”

 

“Trauma.” This voice was male and a little brash.

 

“This is Chief Smith of the 27th Precinct. I need an update on a burn victim who was coming to your hospital.”

 

“Patient's Name.”

 

“Berkley Rose.”

 

“One moment.” The paused seemed to stretch into eternity. “There's a burn team in with him now. The last update has him as critical. Do you want me to get someone for you?”

 

“There was an officer who rode in with him. If I could speak to him?”

 

“One moment.”

 

“He's listed as critical and they brought a burn team in. He's evidently still in the ER.” The chief relayed the information to the rest of the men in the truck.

 

“He should be in surgery by now,” Ted said. “The commissioner was shot in the chest; that needs to be repaired immediately.”

 

“Unless they think his burns are too severe, that surgery will kill him.” Drake's quiet voice made them all shudder.

 

“Chief?” J.J. asked over the phone. When no one answered immediately, he followed up with, “Agent Spacey?”

 

“No, it's Chief Smith,” Chief Smith spoke up. “You still haven't gotten hold of Spacey?”

 

“No, Sir. The FBI keeps telling me she's in a meeting.”

 

“Okay. I'll handle them. How's he doing?” The chief switched him to speaker phone.

 

J.J.'s sigh rushed through the vehicle. “Not good. They've got a burn specialist in with him now. I think they're evaluating him for surgery.”

 

“Have they given you any trouble because you're making medical decisions for him?”

 

Drake looked at the chief's question and realized the implications if J.J. wasn't able to have a say.

 

“They haven't even asked me anything yet. I filled out the forms the best I could; but, I didn't know most of it.”

 

“It's all right, J.J.; you filled in what you knew, that's the best anyone can do.” The chief looked at the other men.

 

Ted cleared his throat. “What have they done for him so far?”

 

“Well, they started an IV and gave him blood. They also put a tube in his throat. He was having trouble breathing. He's hooked up to a machine that's breathing for him. The burn doctor was doing something as I left.” J.J.'s voice hadn't cracked at all and for that he was thankful.

 

“Is he conscious?” Drake asked the question everyone was afraid to ask.

 

“He's in and out. When he's awake, he claws at the bed and wants someone to hold his hand. He's scared like any of us would be.” The detective sighed. “They removed his glasses. It was horrible. The skin around his eyes is charred and what isn't charred is blistered. When they looked at his eyes, they said something about no response; his eyes looked weird. You know the commissioner has blue-violet eyes; but here, they looked cloudy like they were filled with cotton balls. Someone said they thought he was blind.”

 

“Damn,” Ted said quietly. When he'd seen the commissioner's glasses, he'd had a feeling there was a lot of damage under them.

 

“Yeah.” J.J. paused thinking about what else he'd overheard. “The burn doctor was talking about taking him to the OR. They need to repair his chest. That's the one good point; the bullet didn't hit a major vein or artery and didn't enter his abdomen. I guess that would have been a lot worse. The x-ray showed the bullet stopped just under the skin of his back. It shattered a couple of ribs and tore up his lung and they had to put a tube in his chest to drain the blood.”

 

“We're heading to the emergency room now,” Chief Smith told J.J..

 

“You can't do anything here, Sir. I feel useless and having more people here isn't going to help.”

 

“We don't have a choice. The warehouse did have chemicals in it. We were exposed to a mild blistering agent, at least according to the guy on the hazmat team, and we need checked out.”

 

“Sir?” J.J. started to ask. “How's Ryo holding up?”

 

“I'm here, J.J.,” Ryo's voice broke through. “I'm surviving.”

 

“I'm sorry about Dee.” J.J. knew how hollow those words sounded but they were all he could offer over the phone.

 

“I am, too.” Ryo's voice faded into silence.

 

“They want me. I'll see you when you get here.” J.J. hung up the phone leaving the five men to their own thoughts.

 

“You should try Spacey,” Drake prompted. “She needs to get here, now.”

 

“I'll try her.” The chief opened the personnel file on the mobile command's computer system. A minute later, he was looking at Berkley's contact information. He dialed the FBI switchboard, which picked up on the first ring. “This is Chief Smith of the 27th Precinct, New York City. It's urgent that I contact Agent Diana Spacey.”

 

“She's in a meeting. I can take a message.”

 

“There's no message because it's a matter of confidentiality. I must speak with her immediately as it's a matter of life or death. She's the medical contact for one of my officers and without her clearance he won't be able to get proper medical care.” He hoped his lie would net him something.

 

“One moment, Sir. I'll connect you to her Washington office.”

 

The phone clicked over and a man answered the phone. “FBI, Washington, Agent Manning speaking.”

 

“This is Chief Smith, 27th Precinct, New York City. I'm attempting to reach Agent Diana Spacey.”

 

“She's in a meeting.” Before the chief could go into more details, the agent continued. “I'll see if she can be disturbed.”

 

“Maybe,” The chief didn't want to get his hopes up.

 

“Chief Smith?” Agent Spacey asked in a confused voice.

 

“Agent Spacey.”

 

“Diana.”

 

“Diana,” The chief corrected. “Berkley Rose was injured in the line of duty this afternoon. We've been attempting to contact you for several hours since you're his medical contact.”

 

Several minutes passed as Diana processed the information. The chief hadn't said next of kin so she knew Berkley was still alive. “What happened?”

 

In as few words as possible, Chief explained.

 

“God,” Diana whispered. “I'm in Washington so I can be there in a few hours. Should I contact the hospital immediately? Or is someone with him?”

 

“J.J.'s with him. We don't think the hospital's giving him any problems; let me give you J.J.'s cell number. I'm not sure he'll have it on; but, it's worth a try. Please call him. He'll know more.”

 

“Okay. Thanks.” Spacey immediately hung up the phone. “Graham, get me on the next flight to New York City.” She quickly dialed J.J.'s number as she called out additional orders.

 

“Hello?” J.J. asked over the phone.

 

“J.J.? This is Agent Spacey. How's Berk?”

 

J.J. broke down upon hearing the agent's voice. “He's in bad shape. They asked me to sign a DNR. I wouldn't because I didn't know what he would have wanted.”

 

“Don't sign it. We never talked about it either. He's in that bad of shape?” She was talking as she left the building. When the security guard ordered her to put her cell phone through the exit scanner. She flipped him off and left. “I'm on my way to,” She looked at Graham who was right behind her. “National.” She gave him the thumbs up after he'd mouthed the airport name to her. “I should be there in a couple of hours, just stay as close to him as they let you. If he can hear you, tell him I'm coming.”

 

“I'll tell him. Thanks.”

 

The pair hung up their phones and J.J. returned to Berkley's side.

 

“Graham, I don't know how long I'll be gone. You know what I've been working on, just stay on track with it. If there are problems call me. I'll have my cell with me and I'll e-mail you when I determine where I'll be staying. I might stay at the hospital but more than likely, I'll stay at a friend's house or hotel.” She shook her head in irritation when she realized her hands were empty. “My damn laptop.”

 

“Right here.” Graham handed her the heavy case. “Your purse.” That was pressed into her hands as he spoke.

 

“Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you,” She said with a hint of a smile.

 

“Let me know how your friend is.” He'd heard enough of the conversation to know what was happening. He could sympathize. He'd received a similar call from his brother-in-law on 9-11. His sister had been one of the people injured in the attack on the pentagon. At the time, he'd been working in the Dallas office and hadn't been able to get back into town for two days. He'd driven almost straight through, only stopping when he'd fallen asleep behind the wheel, thankfully waking when he'd hit a rumble strip. “I'll hold down the fort here until you get back.”

 

“Thanks,” Diana Spacey gave him a quick peck on the cheek and ran for the subway entrance. “I'll call when I get there.” She reached the tracks in record time and immediately caught the train that stopped at RRI.

 

~~~~~

 

“Diana's on her way, Sir,” J.J. whispered as he stroked Berkley's hand. He looked at the machines hooked up to the damaged man. “The doctor said you'll go to the operating room as soon as one opened up.” He paused and listened to the respirator inhale and exhale. “Sir?” He asked as Rose squeezed his hand. “Are you awake?”

 

Rose squeezed his hand again.

 

“You are. You can't talk with the tube in your mouth.” He realized that was unnecessary since Rose had squeezed his hand. “You're in the emergency room. They had to help you breath. You were shot and badly burned. Are you in pain?”

 

Berkley's jaw trembled and he squeezed J.J.'s hand.

 

“Let me get someone. They have medicine.” When Rose refused to release his hand, J.J. was confused. “I can get someone to give you something for the pain. You have to let me go so I can help you.”

 

The commissioner shook his head and choked as he tried to swallow around the tube. He jerked his hand away from J.J and started clawing at the tape holding the tube in place. Between the unfamiliar surroundings, the discomfort of the tube down his throat, and the assorted sites of pain, panic settled into Berkley's mind. He struggled against J.J.'s grasp causing even more pain to flair up; but, in his terror, even a friendly touch seemed threatening.

 

“Sir, don't do that. No, you can't take that out. It's helping you breath.” J.J. fought to gain control of Rose's hand; he said a word of thanks that the left hand was wrapped, braced, and restrained. “Please, Sir, don't do this. We can't lose you.” He was relieved when he was not only able to catch the commissioner's hand; but also, move it to the bed. “Everything's going to be all right.” He gently pressed the tape back into place and took a moment gently brush some of the remaining blond hair away from Berkley's face. “If you lay quietly, I'll get someone to give you something for the pain.” Silently he added, “Or a sedative so you won't try hurting yourself any more.”

 

Rose squeezed J.J.'s hand several times. A small shudder ran through his body as he fought against his fears to concentrate on something important, something he couldn't allow himself to forget. Someone else was in trouble and needed help.

 

“What? How do we communicate,” He asked as he realized the older man was trying to say something, his lips moved around the breathing tube. “One second.” J.J. pulled his notepad from his pocket along with the pen. He scribbled a little to make sure the pen wrote easily then put it in Berkley's hand; then he positioned the page so Berkley could write. He patted the now still hand in reassurance. “Try to write it.”

 

Did you find Dee?

 

“Yes,” J.J. whispered. His voice caught in his throat preventing him from saying anything more.

 

How is he?

 

J.J. swallowed hard as the question appeared on the page. Berkley's beautiful script was easy to read so he couldn't plead that he couldn't read it. “I don't know,” He lied. He couldn't bring himself to tell the commissioner that Dee was dead; that he'd sacrificed himself for nothing. “Not nothing,” J.J. corrected himself. “He tried saving one of his officers and that's something.”

 

He's on the catwalk.

 

J.J. blinked at the statement. He realized Berkley was disoriented and either didn't hear his answer to the first question or forgot it. “He thinks we're still looking for Dee.” He removed the pen from the commissioner's grasp and gently squeezed his hand. “We'll find him, Sir. Just rest, now. You need to concentrate on staying strong.”

 

The doctor entered the room. “We're ready to take him to the OR now. Is he conscious?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Mr. Rose, can you hear me?” The doctor asked.

 

Rose nodded.

 

“You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?” When Rose's lips began trembling, he quickly continued. “It's okay if you don't remember. We'll take good care of you.” The doctor read the notes Berkley had written. “What are these?”

 

He didn't seem interested in an answer as Rose's body seemed to slump even deeper on the bed and one of the machines let out a series of chirps.

 

“His blood pressure just dropped. He's bleeding again.” He looked at J.J. and held up the notepad.

 

“He wanted to talk. He wanted to know how Dee was.”

 

The doctor thought. “Dee's the officer who died at the scene?” J.J. nodded. “I take it you didn't tell him?”

 

“No, I didn't think it would be a good idea. He doesn't need to know right now, does he?”

 

With a sigh, the doctor shook his head. “No, I guess not. But, he's not going to stop asking. How long do you think you can keep it from him.”

 

“Hopefully long enough for him to regain some strength. He got injured trying to save him.”

 

“Understood. However, think about this, why are you keeping the information from him? Do you think he would have still gone after the detective if he'd known the outcome?” The doctor waved the orderlies into the room. “We need to get to the OR. You can ride up with us.”

 

“He'd have still gone in,” J.J. said as the elevator doors were closing. “He wouldn't have given up hope.”

 

“Then tell him the truth when you get the chance.” J.J. could only nod.

 

~~~~~

“We're releasing all of you,” The resident said to Chief Smith. “There doesn't seem to be any lasting damage. Take the complete cycle of the antibiotics and if you have difficult breathing or swallowing or start cough up blood, come to the emergency room or see your personal physician.” He glanced over the charts and frowned. “I haven't seen anything like this since I got back from Iraq. I hate seeing it in my country.” He finished a few notations and flipped the chart closed. “You can get dressed and check out at the front desk.”

 

“Thank you.” Chief Smith was already gathering his clothes together. “Oh, one moment.”

 

“What else do you need?”

 

“One of my officers could use a change of clothes. Where can I get some?”

 

The doctor frowned. “The nurses usually handle these things. Would a set of scrubs work?” When the chief nodded, he continued. “I'll be back in a couple of minutes.” The young man was true to his work and quickly returned with a full set of scrubs. “Is there anything else?”

 

“No.” The chief gathered the scrubs and went to the curtained area where Ryo was. “Ryo.” He touched the young detective's shoulder. “Here's a change of clothes. Do you need any help?”

 

“We'll give him a hand,” Drake said as he walked in with Ted. “Marty is getting us something to drink. Why don't you find J.J. and see if he has an update on the commissioner. Please, we're all worried?”

 

The chief set the scrubs on the end of the bed and nodded. “I'll be back.”

 

~~~~~

 

“J.J.,” The chief whispered. He didn't want to startle the small detective who was intently staring into an operating room. “J.J.,” He repeated a little louder.

 

“Oh, Sir. I didn't hear you come in.”

 

The chief stepped to the window and looked at the scene. The room seemed in chaos, which was actually quite organized to the people involved. “Is that?”

 

“Yeah. That's the commissioner.” J.J. pressed one hand against the glass and watched as another bag of blood was hung. “They've been working on him continuously for almost two hours. I don't know how they can do this job.” He turned to face the chief.

 

“Geez, J.J., you look like shit.” Chief Smith looked the young man over. His eyes seemed sunken into his face and his eyes were red. “He looks exhausted. It's only been five hours since the warehouse.” The full-force of what had happened finally hit home. “What a mess.” He sat down in one of the comfortable chairs. “Why are you allowed to watch? And, what is this place?”

 

“It's a teaching hospital. None of the operating rooms were open so they opened this one for the commissioner. Since it's in a separate area from the main OR's, it doesn't have a waiting area. This room,” He waved his hand to emphasize his words, “Is usually used for medical school classes. The students can sit here and watch an operation or, more often, an autopsy. The doctor wanted me close by in case there was a question about Berkley's medical care. As he put it, `he didn't want to chase me down on the other side of the floor.' So, I'm here.”

 

The chief hadn't taken his eyes off the activity in the operating room during J.J.'s explanation. “Does he have a chance?”

 

“I don't know. They said something about trying to save his fingers and legs; but, they weren't sure about it. Sir, I've never anything like this.”

 

“Neither have I.”

 

J.J. sighed and sat down. He could still see most of the activity; sitting just allowed some distance.

 

“Was he burned that bad? That he might lose his legs?” Now the chief was regretting not checking the commissioner's condition at the scene. He'd just felt overwhelmed by taking over sole command. It had been more than seven years since he'd had to handle everything himself and he now realized how much he'd come to rely on the stabilizing strength of the commissioner. “And another person to tap for information and options,” He admitted silently.

 

“You could see the bones in places. The weird thing is that it wasn't his legs causing him pain. Before they intubated him,” J.J. was happy to have learned the technical term for the tube that allowed the commissioner to breath. “He indicated his arm, hand, and face hurt. I think I would have been complaining about another area.” The lavender-haired detective shivered. “He was burned all over. After they gave him something to put him to sleep, they cut away most of his clothes.”

 

The chief nodded. That was standard procedure in the emergency room if the person was unable to change.

 

“The only stuff they had to cut away, were his shirt, vest, and undershirt.”

 

“What about his pants? Did they cut those away at the scene or in the ambulance?”

 

J.J. shook his head. “They burned away.”

 

“Damn. He was burned there?” The chief shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

 

“Ye…yeah. The doctor said something about second degree burns. He's got second and third degree burns over 45% of his body. His feet were protected by his shoes to some degree; but, even his feet were burned.”

 

“He was wearing a fire coat. That should have kept him from getting burned at least to his knees.”

 

“The coat wasn't that long. Remember the commissioner's tall. The coat came to mid-thigh on him; but, when I reached his side in the warehouse, it barely covered his groin. He always wears cotton pants.” J.J. was interrupted.

 

“Never could figure that out. What's wrong with polyester?”

 

“Polyester would have simply melted causing even more damage.” J.J. got back on track. “Cotton acts as a fuel source for the fire; it just burned away very quickly. It also worked like the wick of a candle, pulling the flames under the coat. The fire-retardant coat acted as an insulator and prevented the fire from going any further; but, it couldn't prevent the damage that did occur. His left arm and side only looked blistered, the skin wasn't black like his hand, legs, and face.”

 

“Is blistering worse?”

 

“No, the charring is worse although the blisters are more painful. I don't understand that part and the doctor didn't give me any more information. The commissioner should regain use of his left arm. His hand, ability to walk, and the rest of him are the question marks.” J.J. fell silent as the operating room became even more active and he tried to remember more of what he'd learned in the emergency room.

 

“Push an amp of epi, charge to 200,” The lead surgeon called out. The chief and J.J. watched helplessly as the team worked to restart Berkley's heart.

 

“Is he bleeding out?”

 

People checked the IV's, blood, and other equipment hooked up to the man on the operating table. “Where's the bleeder?”

 

“We've got to open him up. Chest tray.”

 

A tray was shifted to the table and the surgeon sliced into Berkley's chest.

 

“Damn,” J.J. whispered as blood poured from the table onto the floor and they heard the distinct noise of bones cracking, as the rib spreaders were slowly cranked open.

 

“What idiot missed this in the ER?” The surgeon's irritated voice easily reached the two men in the observation area via the speaker. “Clamp.”

 

The flurry of activity seemed to finish as quickly as it had begun. “So much for no more excitement on this case.”

 

The burn specialist shook her head at the chief of thoracic surgery. “Yeah. I wouldn't want to lack excitement in my life.” She went back to working on one of the man's damaged leg. She carefully peeled away charred flesh before covering the area it in artificial skin. This was a difficult case for her two residents; this burn victim had the most extensive damage of any they'd seen so far. “Look here,” She said to draw their attention to a particular deep area of charring. “The bone was actually charred. We really should amputate this leg.”

 

“Why don't we? It would eliminate the risk of infection.”

 

“He's a cop, Crystal. He needs both legs.”

 

“That's true, Garret. But, he's administrative so a missing leg wouldn't be a problem. I'm trying to save his legs because that's what we should try to do. People don't adapt very well to the loss of limbs and he's going to have a long road to travel even if we save them.”

 

“Doesn't the loss of his eyes eliminate him from being a cop?” Crystal, the other resident asked. “I mean; you need to see to shoot something, right?”

 

Doctor Hughes looked at the commissioner's face. “It's not certain that he's going to lose his sight. His eyes are damaged; but, we won't know anything until he's conscious and has had some time to heal.” She frowned sadly and sighed. “There's not much of a chance his eyes will heal. Maybe he'll be one of the lucky ones.” Her husband had called while they were in route and asked her to handle this case. “Garret, work on this area. Test out what you've been learning.” She watched as her very gifted resident worked his magic. She knew she'd eventually lose him to plastic surgery, that was where his passions rested; but, he would have been a very skilled doctor to keep in the burn ward.

 

~~~~~

 

“Honey, I'm bringing in a burn victim.”

 

“Give me the numbers,” Elizabeth prompted as she flipped open her message pad.

 

“Second and third degree burns on 42% of his body. Most of the third degree burns are focused in the leg area with some charring reaching to his groin, as well as his left hand. He has charring on his face, neck, and head. Second degree burns over his entire groin and lower abdomen and I suspect his left side and arm are covered as well.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“No, he wore glasses.”

 

“Are they fully embedded? To the bone?”

 

Jake paused a moment. “Not fully. They're deep though. The skin around the frames is charred from the heat and his lenses are still hot to the touch.”

 

“You weren't able to remove them in the field?” Doctor Hughes was reviewing cases mentally. She'd had several that dealt with facial burns that involved glasses. None of them had positive outcomes when it came to saving the victim's vision.

 

“No. The skin adhered.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“He's a cop. One cop was DOA.” Jake sighed over the phone. “This one wants to know what happened to the one that died and repeats that he's sorry. He went in after the other one when the fire department wouldn't enter the structure.”

 

“Chemical fire?”

 

“Negative. Conventional.”

 

“Why wouldn't they go in?” That confused the doctor. Firemen weren't timid; they went into burning buildings all the time, often at great risk to themselves.

 

“They were told it was a chemical fire initially.”

 

Elizabeth nodded her head. That explained things. New York City had strict rules about who dealt with chemical fires and who didn't. It was both a positive and a negative in her eyes. “ETA?”

 

“Twenty minutes.”

 

“I'll be waiting.”

 

~~~~~

 

Reviewing her conversation with her husband, Elizabeth had to wonder what had made him take such a personal interest in this case. She looked at the man's damaged face again. “I'll have to ask him later.”

 

“Do you want me to continue?” Garret asked.

 

“Yes. Crystal, you assist.”

 

She watched as her interns continued working on Rose's legs. She took over around an hour later when they finally reached his groin.

 

“What a mess,” Crystal said with a shake of her head.

 

“You probably say that to all the guys.”

 

“You're out of line, Garret.” Doctor Hughes used ultrasound to test each of the commissioner's femoral arteries again. “They seem intact. We're going to need to be extra careful during debridement.”

 

The trio continued to work in silence. Four hours later when they'd finished debriding the burned areas, Doctor Hughes knew they'd done the best they could. She mentally noted that she should place a note in Garret's file for recognition of the excellent work he'd done on the man's face. He'd have substantial scarring and would require reconstructive surgery in places but it could have been significantly worse. “We'll work on him some more tomorrow. These burns are deep enough to require daily treatment for a while.” With a final check of the gauze wrappings, she signaled the anesthesiologist to back off on the drugs keeping the man unconscious. “Crystal, monitor him in recovery. If he regains consciousness, page me. I'm going to deal with his family.”

 

“He doesn't have family here,” Garret said. “One of his cops signed the forms.”

 

“I'll see that person, then.”

 

“He's on the observation deck.”

 

Doctor Hughes glared at the young man before she shook her head. She wouldn't have done anything different had she known people were watching; however, she'd have gotten them involved. “They might have given clearance for amputation.” She frowned and thought about that. “Doubtfully.” She washed up and changed her scrubs so she would be presentable when she visited with the family, “Cop,” She corrected.

 

~~~~~

 

“There you are J.J.,” Diana Spacey said between pants. “I've been looking all over for you. How's he doing?”

 

Before J.J. could answer, Doctor Hughes stepped into the observation room. She was glad the patient had already been transferred to recovery. “He's in recovery. He made it through surgery which gives reason for hope.” She walked over to J.J.. “I'm Doctor Hughes and I'll be handling Mr. Rose's care until his burns have healed.”

 

J.J. reached out and shook her hand. “I'm J.J. Adams. This is Chief Smith and Agent Diana Spacey. She's Berkley's medical contact.”

 

The doctor shook each of the offered hands during the introductions. “Are you a family member, Agent Spacey?”

 

“No, just an old friend. Berkley's siblings are deceased, as are his parents. We've been close since college.”

 

“Let's go someplace we can talk privately.”

 

“No, J.J. and the chief should know what's happening. They're Berkley's co-workers and friends.” Suddenly the thought of being solely responsible for Berkley's health felt overwhelming.

 

“If that's what Mr. Rose would have wanted.”

 

“It is,” Diana said with certainty. “Even if he wouldn't, I need their help right now. I don't want to make a mistake.”

 

Doctor Hughes could see the agent was nervous and could assume the source of the anxiety. Being responsible for someone's health was always stressful; being responsible for the health of someone who wasn't your child, spouse, or other member of the family was even more difficult because few people had discussions dealing with what if scenarios that could lead to the removal of life support or a do no resuscitate order. “Okay. Have seats. After we go over what treatment has already been given, I'll call into recovery and see if Mr. Rose is ready for visitors.”

 

The trio sat down, each leaning forward anxious for any positive news on Rose's health.

 

Before they could get started, a call came over the intercom. “Chief Walter Smith, please contact the ER.” The call repeated.

 

“Where can I call from?”

 

The doctor pointed to the phone on the desk in the corner. “Extension 311.”

 

“Thank you.” Chief called to the desk. He hadn't realized how much time had passed since he'd left the emergency room and the worry his detectives had felt when he didn't return. He gave them directions to their location.

 

“Sir,” Ted started. “We called into the precinct. CSU has started working through the evidence they gathered. They got a lot out of the building so we didn't lose everything.”

 

The chief heard Drake in the background. “I wish we'd gotten Dillon's body. Bet there was a lot of evidence that we lost there.”

 

“One thing Jesse asked; I didn't know the answer. Was Dee carrying two primary weapons? Two .357's were picked up at the scene. The one Ryo picked up and identified as Dee's and a second one that looked identical. The serial number was cleaned off; ballistics is trying to raise it but they said it looked darn clean. `Like a professional job,' to be exact.”

 

“Dee was only authorized to carry one semi-auto. The commissioner never changed that order. Any other weapons he had on him would have been revolvers.” The chief frowned at the news. “I'll check with the doctor. Rose was shot; maybe it was a .357. The gun might have been Dillon's.”

 

“Okay. We'll be up in a few minutes. Marty's checking in with his wife and I want to get back with CSU. I told them I'd let them know about Dee's weapons as soon as I had any information.”

 

“Thanks, Ted,” The chief said. “You're all doing great work. Just remember to take a break.” It wasn't until he'd hung up the phone that he realized he hadn't asked how Ryo was doing. “He's probably a mess. I don't need to ask to know that.”

 

“Everything all right?” J.J. asked as the chief retook his seat.

 

“Maybe. CSU picked up a second .357 at the scene.” The chief turned to Doctor Hughes. “What type of bullet was taken out of the commissioner?”

 

“A 9 mm.”

 

“For certain?”

 

“The bullet will need to be measured and weighed; but, I'm pretty certain it was a 9 mil. A .357 would have caused a lot more damage as well as a larger wound path.” The doctor was thankful for her husband's interest in shooting sports. She knew her knowledge of guns and ammo would come in handy in New York City; it wasn't the murder capital of the world, that distinction belonged to Washington, D.C. and New Orleans; but, it wasn't far behind.

 

“She's right, Sir,” J.J. broke in. “The commissioner would have probably bled out at the scene if he'd been hit by a .357. He was shot about here.” He pointed to the lower right quadrant of his chest about two inches above the diaphragm. “I think a more powerful bullet would have taken out a larger vein or artery.” He might not have had training in medicine; but as a sniper, he had a wide knowledge of weapons, ammo, and kill zones.

 

“He's right. The shot entered slightly higher and traveled downward. The entry wound was about five inches above his diaphragm and the trajectory was around fifteen degrees from horizontal.” The trajectory was an estimate; she felt it was close.

 

“We'll get the bullet to CSU. If we eliminate that gun, we'll have to wait until the building is cleared for investigation.” The chief had no idea how long that could be. He hoped all evidence wasn't lost in the second fire.

 

Doctor Hughes cleared her throat. “Back on track. Mr. Rose suffered three broken ribs; two shattered from the bullet and another was broken by a piece of the other ribs. He had several blood vessels lacerated by bone fragments.”

 

“What caused his heart to stop during the operation?” J.J. asked. “In the ER, I was told there was little significant bleeding.”

 

“His heart was nicked by a bone fragment.”

 

“Oh, god,” Diana said with a grimace. “How do you fix that?”

 

“Open heart surgery. Initially the thoracic surgeon was working through a small incision because of the second degree burns on the patient's left torso. When he crashed, that option was no longer viable and they cracked his chest. Once inside, he easily repaired the heart and two minor lacerations in one of the major veins leading to the heart.” She frowned as the agent blanched. “The restroom's down the hall on the left.”

 

“Shit,” Diana raced out of the room.

 

“She wasn't bothered by the hatchet case we had here; but, this does?” J.J. shook his head. It was difficult listening to the details of the commissioner's case; but, he felt he owed it to his boss.

 

“It's different when it's someone you know and care about.” The doctor sighed and watched the hallway for the return of the young woman. “If she's not back soon, I'll check on her.” Elizabeth stretched out her shoulders and checked her watch.

 

“Are we keeping you?” The chief asked with sarcasm.

 

“No, I was checking the time so I know how long she's been gone. I'll start worrying after a couple of minutes.” Doctor Hughes's attention was pulled back to the hallway. She was relieved to see Diana walked back toward them. “Here she comes.” The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. She'd seen caretakers have enough problems that they needed to be monitored and sometimes hospitalized themselves. “Are you going to be all right, Ms. Spacey?”

 

“Yes. I'm sorry. I haven't eaten today and I just felt really strange.”

 

“After we're finished here, please go to the cafeteria and get something to eat. You won't do Mr. Rose any good if you require hospitalization.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I'll make sure they both eat,” The chief said as he glared at Diana and J.J.. “None of us can afford to be sick right now.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” J.J. said with a firm nod while Diana just frowned.

 

“As to Mr. Rose's other injuries. He was heavily burned. As I said before, he was burned over 45% of his body. This is a combination of second and third degree burns. J.J., I assume that was explained in the ER?” The lavender-haired man nodded. “Do the other two of you need that explained?”

 

“I do,” Diana said.

 

“J.J. explained it to me,” The chief answered. “However, I would like to understand it better.”

 

“I know I left a lot out.”

 

“All right, an elementary course in burns and burn therapy, then. There are three degrees of burns. A first degree burn would be along the lines of a mild sunburn or from very hot, not boiling water. The skin turns red, becomes tender to the touch, and is mildly painful. It's a superficial injury, only involving the outermost layer of the skin. Second degree burns go deeper but don't affect the underlying parts of the skin: hair follicles, sweat glands, etc. This type of burn can be extremely painful depending on the coverage area and the body part or parts involved. These burns are red and blisters usually form immediately or quite rapidly after the damage. Mr. Rose has these second degree burns on his torso, left arm, left shoulder, and parts of his face and groin. Even with prompt care, these burns can scar. His were extensive enough that I'm certain he'll have some scarring as well as residual stiffness.” The doctor paused in her descriptions to study how the trio was taking the news.

 

“Doctor, how much facial scarring is Berk going to have?” Diana's question surprised the chief and J.J..

 

“I'll address that in a few minutes. First, let me cover third degree burns. These burns extend through the entire thickness of skin and may involve underlying tissues. Instead of redness, these burns cause the skin to become pale and have a blackened or charred appearance. The skin can also appear brown or gray. These burns are also painless or mostly painless because the nerves in the skin are destroyed. They also tend to scar extensively.”

 

“Oh, god,” Diana said as she started to look sick again.

 

“These are the most damaging type and unfortunately for Mr. Rose, they cover the largest area. He has third degree burns that extend from the tops of his feet where they were unprotected by his shoes to some sections of his groin. Both his legs were involved. Some burns were deep enough that muscle tissue was burned away and in two places, the burns extended into bone.”

 

“Will he get to keep his legs?” J.J. asked in a voice only slightly above a whisper. “They said something downstairs about amputating his legs.”

 

“There's still a chance he'll require amputation. We're going to do all we can to save his legs. Keep in mind though, even if we save his legs, there's no guarantee he'll walk again.” She paused a moment before continuing. “If we can ward off infection and he heals completely, maybe with extensive rehabilitation he'll regain the use of his legs.”

 

“What's the course of treatment?” J.J. wanted to find out more. This was the first hope he'd felt since everything began. He knew how hard the commissioner would work; and if there was even the slightest chance, he would walk again.

 

“First, let's address Agent Spacey's question. Not necessarily the scarring; but, the extent of his injuries.”

 

“His glasses.” The lavender-haired detective seemed to deflate.

 

“Not just his glasses.” The doctor knew her next words would hit the trio hard. “The flames must have been right next to his face. He had a combination of second and third degree burns to the entire left side. The second degree burns cover his nose, the area around his eyes, top of his head, and portions of his forehead, jaw, and neck. Third degree burns cover the entire left side of his face, from here, to here,” She said as she traced the affected area on her own face and head. His left ear will require reconstruction since sections of it were burned away.”

 

Diana could only sit and shake her head as the doctor continued with her description.

 

“We won't know the full extent of the reconstruction that will be required for several days. Tissue will continue dying for days to weeks and in extreme cases, months, and daily debridement will be required.”

 

“What's debridement?” Diana needed something to listen to so she could avoid facing the extent of Berkley's injuries.

 

“It's where dead or damaged tissue is removed so healthy tissue underneath can come to the surface. In burn care, we remove skin and tissue: muscle, bone, even blood vessels in some cases, which have been damaged by the flames or heat.”

 

“It sounds worse when you describe it.”

 

“In comparison to whose description, J.J.?” Doctor Hughes asked.

 

“The EMT's. The guy who helped the commissioner at the scene.”

 

Elizabeth nodded but didn't say anything about the EMT.

 

“How long before I get my officer back?” Chief wanted to know what was in store for is precinct.

 

“He's in critical condition right now. Until he regains consciousness and we find out the extend of his injuries, including how much damage his eyes sustained, I can't begin to give you a timeframe.”

 

“What about his eyes?” Diana asked; a desperate tone entered into her voice.

 

“He has second degree burns around his eyes. These very severe second degree burns may eventually worsen to third degree status. His eyes were cloudy when checked in the ER. That hadn't changed in the OR. It's possible the damage can heal or, he might lose some or all of his vision.” The doctor paused and frowned at the woman across from her. “If he's going to survive this, he needs all the support he can get. I've dealt with numerous cases where a burn victim has lost his or her eyesight and the only ones that recover to have productive lives are those that have extensive support. Rehabilitation and occupational therapy can only do so much. These are all ifs right now. We won't know anything until after we wakes up and begins to heal. Don't give up on him now.” She added silently, “Don't give up on him later, either.”

 

“I won't,” J.J. whispered.

 

“A blind, no legged cop, talk about filling quotas,” The chief said between chuckles. “I'm sorry, totally inappropriate but I can't seem to help it.” He swiped at the tears in his eyes.

 

“It's a defense mechanism.” The doctor understood the chief's reaction. She didn't understand the woman's reaction. Agent Spacey seemed to be angry, not at the chief's reaction but instead at the commissioner's injuries. “I hope you don't abandon him.” Doctor Hughes prided herself on her judge of character and she really hoped her read was wrong in this case.

 

“Doctor, what is the commissioner's immediate future look like? What can we do to help him through the days and weeks ahead?” J.J. was worried about Agent Spacey and hoped that helping Berkley would help her deal with everything.

 

“He'll spend the next few hours in recovery; then he'll be transferred to the burn ward. The unit will monitor several things, how well his heart functions, circulation, blood loss, hydration, urinary output, etc. We'll monitor him for secondary shock. He'll stay intubated, on oxygen until he's been given hyperbaric therapy. Hyperbaric therapy will help with the carbon monoxide that has built up in his blood because of smoke inhalation. Mr. Rose was lucky that he didn't inhale any flames; I don't understand how he avoided that. Over the next several days, he'll have daily debridement of newly dead tissue. He'll be on intravenous antibiotics until further notice.”

 

“How long before we can see him?”

 

“The burn ward is an antiseptic environment. All visitors will be required to wear masks, gloves, and protective coverings. This isn't to protect you; it's to prevent you from transferring bacteria, viruses, etc to the patient. Burns heighten the risk of infections and any extraneous exposure to germs needs to be avoided.” Doctor Hughes watched as that information settled home.

 

“That makes sense. We won't be able to see him tonight?” J.J. asked.

 

“I'll take you to recovery. You won't be able to stay long.”

 

“But, it'll be something,” J.J. finished. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome.” She started to stand. “Are there any other questions?”

 

“None here.” The chief stood.

 

“Nothing that can't wait. You won't know the answers to them until he wakes up anyway.” J.J. stayed seated a moment longer before standing next to the chief. “Diana?”

 

“Do I have to see him?” She asked as she looked up from the floor.

 

“No, you don't.” The doctor's heart fell; her read of the woman hadn't been wrong. “This way.” She led the way from the room and hoped the agent would follow them, even if she didn't want to see her injured friend.

 

J.J. paused at the door and looked back at Diana. He was shocked to see her angrily punching her thigh. “It wasn't his fault he was burned, Agent Spacey. He was trying to save Dee's life.”

 

She jerked her head around. “What?”

 

“Dee died earlier today. The commissioner was trying to save him.”

 

“I'm sorry. It's just,” She said as she looked away. She searched for the right words. “It's just; I don't think he'd want to live as a blind, crippled monster.”

 

“Maybe. But, isn't that his choice to make? We need to help him because he was willing to give his life to help one of us.” J.J. turned away and hurried after the doctor and chief.