Carter's Recourse - 20. Chapter 20

The pain was his first sensation, the burning pain across his back that crashed in on his consciousness like a wave. He came awake with a start, almost jumping up, but the pain in his back sent him back to the soft mattress with an audible groan.

"You're awake, then," Jane's voice said from beside him, and he turned his head to look at her, blinking a couple of times to adjust to the harsh hospital lights. It took him a moment to register he was in an Emergency Room.

"W-what?" he croaked trying to sit up, this time a bit more cautiously, feeling the lancing pain in his back as he moved.

"Shit," Jane said trying her best not to laugh at him and failing miserably. "You got shot and you fainted."

Andrew winced as he gently reached up to touch his back. "You mean I passed out..." he said, gingerly feeling the bandage on his back.

"No," Jane snorted. "Bullet clipped you and you fainted." She was taking too much delight in her partner's suffering.

"I-I'm okay?" he said still not quite believing it.

"I don't know who was luckier--you or that cat you nearly shot," she said getting up from her chair. "Doctor said the bullet grazed your scapula and did some soft tissue damage." She leaned around to glance at his back, "They stitched you up and said nothing was broken, just looks worse than it is."

He winced at the pain again; for nothing being broken it sure hurt a lot. He tried to move his arm, and felt the wave of pain rush through him. He gritted his teeth and tried again.

"Careful or you'll break the stitches," Jane admonished. "Honestly, you're worse than my eight-year-old."

He breathed a couple of times and tried to stand; finding his footing took him a moment and Jane watched him carefully to make sure he was okay to stand on his own. She reached to hand him his shirt, a bloodied and torn mess. "They said you could keep the gown," she offered.

"Thanks," he murmured looking about for his leather jacket. It was tucked under the chair, his service pistol wrapped in it. He tried to bend and pick it up, but Jane rushed to do it for him. He looked at the jacket and swore again, poking his fingers through the large hole in the shoulder and feeling the sticky blood inside it.

"Oh, that's just great," he murmured.

"Stop your complaining," Jane said sternly. "Could have been far worse--you could be dead."

He grunted shifting upright again, and wrapping the jacket around the pistol he stuck both under his arm and sighed. "Did they clear me to go?" he asked.

"The doc wanted to run a few checks once you were awake in case you hurt anything else." She flagged the doctor down.

A half-hour later Andrew was discharged with a prescription for a bottle of painkillers and a promise to come back to have the wound examined in a couple of days. He felt like crap, and didn't complain when Jane sat him in the passenger seat of his car and climbed behind the wheel.

He leaned forward a bit, loathe to put any weight back on his shoulders; it hurt like hell and he felt every bump in the road. He made a mental note to yell at Will to pressure the minister of public works to fix the damn roads once the whole mess was over and done with.

He rubbed his tired eyes, "Did they...?"

"They found the kids," Jane confirmed. "Pulled them out of a transport truck making a run for the border; official credit is going to the RCMP ERT, but they sent JTF-2 in."

"That's good," Andrew said tiredly. "And Johnson?"

She shook her head, turning the car into the police station. Andrew blinked as he noticed where they were and looked at her questioningly.

"The DG wants to see you," she said quietly; there was something in her tone that said the DG wouldn't wait. And Andrew knew full well he was going to get an earful for disobeying orders.

"Don't I even get to change?" he asked, picking at the ugly hospital gown he was still wearing. Thankfully a shoulder injury hadn't required them to remove his trousers. Right then he was thankful for small miracles.

"You know him," she said shaking her head, and Andrew knew full well it wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

The Director-General had commandeered a watch sergeant's office and was waiting for him when they arrived. The old man had a pissed-off look painted upon his face, one that said he wasn't pleased, and Andrew wondered if he really was lucky the bullet only grazed him.

He swallowed and knew what was to come wouldn't be pleasant, as he braced himself wondering if the Director would take pity on a wounded man.

The Director didn't.

The yelling started the moment the door closed and didn't stop until he had screamed himself hoarse. Andrew tried his best to look sheepish, and knew what the Director was saying made sense.

Charging in to an armed situation was reckless, dangerous and stupid. There had been a full ERT team on scene, if he had waited they would have been able to sweep in and do the job right. Instead he had run off half-cocked, into a situation he had no business being in the first place. In CSIS 'hero' was a title often awarded posthumously, people didn't join CSIS to be heroes, they joined it to make a difference.

Andrew appreciated what he was being told. He had put himself and his partner at risk, not to mention potentially putting Carter at risk as well all because of his ego and his 'need to see it through'.

Andrew stood in front of the Director, swallowing against the pain in his shoulder, nodding as he looked up. "I screwed up," he said simply.

"Your damn right you did," the Director replied with a heavy sigh as he sat down. "And by all rights I should fire you." He let that hang in the air a moment before continuing, "But right now I need you." He met Andrew's eyes and nodded, "Yes, against my better judgment I still need you." He gave Andrew a look that said he would tolerate no more screw-ups, "You're still the only one I have that can stay the closest to Carter."

Andrew swallowed and winced at the pain again, "Why don't we just tell him what's going on?"

"Because chances are nothing is going to happen; Johnson's operation is over, he's on the run and the likelihood of him going after Carter is remote. Not to mention the fact that I can't justify the expense of a permanent protection detail. But I'm not about to take a risk; you're going to stay close to him..." he stared at Andrew meaningfully, "and I mean that, Highmore, you don't let him out of your sight. Feed him whatever bullshit reason you want, but you are not to let him out of your sight."

Andrew nodded. "Yes sir," he said with a nod.

"Go," the Director-General said, not looking up as Andrew exited the office. Once the door was closed the Director allowed himself a sigh and shook his head. The young Intelligence Officer had been stupid, but then they all were when they first started out. Too many James Bond movies as kids and they thought they had to be heroes. The Director wasn't about to throw away a damn good officer on a single mistake; Andrew was smart enough to learn from it.

He just hoped he was right.

* * *

The van that brought the two kids back to the police station pulled up to the flashing lights of the reporters snapping pictures and the video cameras eagerly trying to catch the first glimpses of the two kids that had been brought home safe and sound.

Will hung back, waiting in the lobby, watching Peter's mother embrace her shell-shocked son as he got shakily out of the back of the van and looked about him at all the attention fixated upon him. She clamped her arms around him tightly as the police escorted them back into the sanctuary of the station lobby. Cameramen and photographers continued to take pictures through the glass after the doors had closed.

Peter looked shaken, the tuxedo grimy and his face bruised. He fended off his mother's kisses as he tried to get a grip on what was going on and his eyes settled on Will standing off to one side and he smiled weakly.

Will swallowed standing there, feeling his regrets beginning to overwhelm him. It was his fault, Peter had been hurt because of who he was. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks that Peter was safe. He opened them again and locked eyes with his sprog, the young man that was the closest thing to family he had left, and he was grateful that he was still in his life.

Peter looked tired, unable to fend off his mother's attention. And he looked about him for Becky who was receiving the same from her father. Bob Hesston checked his girl over to make sure she was really okay, worry still evident on his face. Right then it wasn't about appearances, it wasn't about power, it was about a dad thankful that his daughter was alive.

Peter managed to slip out of his mother's tight embrace, stumbling on weak legs over to Will. And Will's own face crumbled as he wrapped his arms around the young man, drawing him close and reassuring himself that Peter was really there. He closed his eyes and breathed a couple of times, fighting the wave of pent-up emotion that sought release. He blinked back a few tears as he stepped back. Stiff upper lip and all, he had to keep it together.

"You know, I know a good dry cleaners," he commented with a slight smile.

Peter stared at him blankly for a moment and looked down at his dirty appearance and back up at Will, emitting a small laugh before he was back with his arms around Will burying his head into Will's neck and finally breaking down into sobs.

Will gestured to Mrs. McCormick who was watching from a few steps away; the older woman appreciated the special bond that was between her son and Will--a bond of friendship that made them brothers--and she in turn embraced her boys.

* * *

Jane was waiting for Andrew when he finally got out of the meeting with the DG. One look at her face said she had heard every word of the reprimand, and likely would hear more when it was her turn to be subjected to one. She shrugged her sympathy as she tossed him a borrowed white shirt.

He glanced at it and up at her. "Where did you...?" he asked in confusion, wondering how she had managed to wangle him something to wear aside from the hospital gown.

"Oh, I asked the desk sergeant, they keep a supply on hand," she said with a smile. "Besides, I don't think pea green is quite your colour," she said touching the ugly gown.

Andrew gratefully stopped and changed, wincing again as Jane helped him pull the dress shirt on over his injured shoulder. Jane looked him over appreciatively as he buttoned up the shirt.

"Mmm, shame," she said, admiring how the uniform shirt looked on him a moment, her fingers brushing over the police patches, before shaking her head to clear it, and looked away.

Andrew laughed; Jane always did that, it was her way of protesting the fact that he was gay, another waste of a good man in her opinion. He smirked as he tucked the shirt in and looked about him. "So where's Carter?" he asked, changing the subject.

Jane smiled as they walked back through the halls of the station. "He's in the lobby; they just brought the kids back," she explained, "and they should be allowed to go home once their statements have been taken."

Andrew smiled in relief, at least there was something good coming out of the night. They both started down the stairs. "And JTF-2," he asked, "did they take any prisoners?"

Jane shook her head, "There were two hostiles, and both were shot and killed after they opened fire on our men." She shrugged, "There's still no word on Johnson; he slipped through the net, but there are surveillance teams on the airport, bus and train stations. He's going to find getting out of the city tough."

"I feel safer already," Andrew murmured sarcastically as they both entered the far end of the lobby. Andrew could see Will embracing Peter and he sighed worriedly; he wanted it to be a happy ending, but that's not the way the world worked. They were stuck waiting to see what Johnson had planned next, if he had anything.

Smart money would be on Johnson getting the hell out of Canada, limping back to the US with his tail tucked between his legs. But that was wishful thinking; Andrew had come to learn that desperate men did desperate things. His shoulder was a painful reminder of what Johnson was capable of when cornered. He wasn't about to put Carter at risk again.

He left Jane with a promise that he would keep her updated as he walked to join Will. His thoughts were confused, the stresses of the past few days, the pain in his shoulder. It was conflicting with his emotions. He'd been shot; the realization was dawning on him, as his brain caught up to him at last. If he hadn't turned, if the cat hadn't been startled...

He stopped, a frown spreading across his face. Will noticed him and turned. The scruffy British politician with his swept back hair, those sparkling Irish eyes and his unassuming mannerisms. The man that looked so awkward trying to be prim and proper, trying to do what was expected of him. It all reminded Andrew of what he had allowed to slip by him for all those years.

There had been times since their break up, when he was alone, and the light had caught a pane of glass in just the right way, or snow had fallen on a cold winter day, that he had remembered the time he had shared with Will. Flashes of memories that all jumbled together and caused him to smile; they had shared a strong love, one that stuck with Andrew even after they had separated.

It was a moment of realization that caused him to stop. How precious was life? How important were those stolen moments of time that left memories you recalled when you were completely alone? Was he really content just to let things be as they were?

Will caught him watching him and frowned. There must have been something on Andrew's face that had given him away, and he forced a smile, coming over to join his friend.

Will looked a little puzzled. "Are you all right?" he murmured, giving Andrew a look of concern. "You look sick."

"I'm fine," Andrew lied and decided to change the subject. "They found him?" he asked as he nodded down at Peter.

Will nodded, not quite buying the lie, "They're going to let him go home after he leaves a statement. Which is good, I don't think his mother's going to let him out of her sight anytime soon."

Andrew nodded. "Right, so are you staying or do you need a lift home?" he asked carefully.

Will took a deep breath and seemed set to refuse, but as he turned back to Andrew he caught a look into those sapphire eyes, and he stopped and nodded, "Peter's okay, and his mother's with him. If I stay, I'd only be in the way. If you wouldn't mind giving me a lift?"

Andrew straightened up and nodded, "Actually, I was wondering if you'd mind driving?"

"Mmm," Will replied, flashing Andrew another concerned look. He wasn't stupid; he knew when something was wrong, and the pale look on Andrew's face concerned him. He glanced down at the uniform shirt Andrew was wearing and the balled-up jacket under his arm. But didn't say anything, merely nodded, "All right, but your car, Lisa has my Jeep."

"Sure," Andrew agreed readily.