Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Jack was ready to launch himself at the wall and tear down the clock and smash it into a thousand tiny, non-ticking pieces.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Listening as each second was counted off one by one was going to drive him insane.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Jack had his leg propped up on a chair, a bag of ice slowly melting on top of his knee. The ER doctor gave him his third set of crutches and told him to see his regular doctor as soon as possible. The stitches in his side had also torn a bit, but doctor said they were okay and put a new bandage on them. He'd also managed to add a new injury to his roster, a bad burn on his arm that was wrapped tightly.
Jerry wandered into the waiting room and Jack almost slumped to the floor in relief.
His brother looked like crap, but other than the sling on his arm and the bandage wrapped around his bicep, he was in one piece. He raised his arm and winced. "Took the bullet out, couple of stitches. No big deal." He looked pale and shaken and Jack didn't believe him for a second that he thought getting shot, however minor, was "no big deal".
"Camille?" Jack asked, his voice raspy from smoke.
"Might need to come back for more stitches after she gets a hold of me." Jerry practically collapsed onto the chair next to Jack. "I called her."
"And …"
"And I'm surprised all of Michigan didn't hear her screaming at me, telling me how she knew I was gonna get hurt, and how the whole thing was Bobby's fault." Jerry's gave a small laugh, shaking his head. "It's like the woman has it pre-recorded and presses play whenever she's pissed now."
Jack grinned and fidgeted with the bandage wrapped around the burn on his wrist. "Angel?" he asked quietly, hoping there was a good reason only one brother had come up from the Emergency Room.
"He took in a lot of smoke." Jack knew that; Angel couldn't catch his breath when he'd escaped from the club, coughing and hacking up a storm. "They have him on oxygen and are waiting to see if they're going to admit him. Sofi's with him, making up for not talking for the last few days."
"Can't shut her up?" Jack asked with a grin.
"Nope. And Angel is stuck." Jerry leaned his head back and gave a tired laugh. "The look he gave me when I said I was going to come check on you …"
"Trapped?"
"With no way out."
"Their marriage should be fun," Jack said dryly.
"Nah," Jerry said with a shrug, "they're gonna last, mark my word." He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. He looked like he was ready to pass out and Jack wished he could shut his brain off long enough to do the same.
The room grew silent again and the clock was still ticking and Jack slumped back in his chair, wishing he could fast forward through the next few hours of his life.
Jack sucked at waiting. Everyone figured he was good at it because he was so quiet, but his mind was in overdrive, playing out every possible outcome he could come up with. His breathing was ragged from his nerves and he wanted a cigarette more than anything, but given the fact he'd inhaled a few thousand cigarettes worth of smoke that night, he figured he should steer clear of them for at least a few hours.
His damn knee made pacing a pain in the ass, so all he could do was sit and stare at the wall and listen to the clock and remember everything as he tried so hard to forget it.
XxXxXxXxXx
Jack couldn't tell if it was only a few minutes or hours that had passed since the restaurant had burst into flames. It felt like forever before he saw any sign of life.
Jerry and Marcus stumbled threw the front door, dragging Angel between them. It was hard to tell with all the soot just who was hurt and how badly, but they all looked like they'd been drug to hell and back. Bobby was nowhere to be seen and Jack gut clenched at the thought that he was still inside.
Gasping for breath, Angel told him where he'd last seen Bobby, but that he couldn't be certain because it was such a mess inside.
Jerry had lunged for Jack as he headed to go inside, trying to stop him. Jack didn't even give it a second thought. Bobby needed him and there was no way in hell he wasn't going to do everything in his power to get him out. He didn't even think for a second that he wouldn't find him.
"Bobby!" he shouted through a cough, but the roar of the flames drowned him out. He couldn't see shit and he flinched as parts of the ceiling started to drop from above. His limp was bad, the leg brace left somewhere in the hotel room he and Sofi had been ambushed in – he'd taken it off the second they entered the room since it looked like they were in for a long night of TV and takeout. At least the adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain – he'd pay for it in the morning, but he didn't give a shit at that moment.
Just when he thought he'd failed and would either keep stumbling around in the flames and smoke until he succumbed or he'd have to go back outside and face his brothers with the fact he failed, he tripped over something and fell to the ground. He fumbled around, trying to figure out what it was, sickened to feel cloth beneath his fingers and a sticky, warm wetness he had a feeling was blood. He reached out blindly, trying to get a feel for who it was and if they were still alive, but all he could feel was more blood and gore that made him gag. He couldn't see shit and he prayed the body didn't belong to his brother.
He put his hands on the floor, trying to get some leverage under him to get up and resume his search. More blood had pooled beneath the body and it took all of Jack's willpower not to throw up right there. He managed to push himself away and staggered further into the inferno. It was another ten steps or so before he tripped over another body.
"Fuck," a familiar voice cried out and Jack had never been so happy to hear Bobby curse in his life. Jack practically collapsed on the ground next to him, hoping to reach some fresh air closer to the floor.
Bobby was crouched back by the kitchen door. He was holding a gun and looked pissed as hell. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he bit out.
Jack glared at his brother, covering his face as a round of couching seized his chest, reminding him that his lung had healed not too long ago. "What the fuck to you think I'm fucking doing? Getting you the hell out of here."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "You came to rescue me?"
"That was the plan."
"Thanks, but no thanks. Get your fairy ass out of here before you get yourself killed."
"Not without you." Jesus, Jack thought, he sounded like he was in the middle of some goddamn chick flick, and he was the chick.
Bobby nodded toward the kitchen door and motioned with his gun. "This ain't over yet."
Jack tugged on his jacket, trying to drag him toward the exit before the whole ceiling collapsed. "Jesus Christ, Bobby, this is over. It can't be more over if you tried."
"Sweet is still alive. This ain't over until he's dead."
"Pretty sure the fire will take care of that."
Bobby shrugged off Jack's hand. "Never fucking leave it to chance, Jack. The motherfucker's not dead until I put a bullet between his eyes. You either get the fuck out of here or you're coming in there with me."
"He's in the kitchen?" Jack asked and Bobby sneered.
"Yeah, Einstein, he's in the kitchen."
"What do I do?" He didn't even have a tire iron with him this time.
"You stay out of the fucking way and then we get out of here." Bobby checked the clip on his gun and pulled back on the slide. "There's an exit back there, so we have a way out once I take care of this."
Jack nodded. He understood. Stay out of the fucking way, don't get shot, pray Bobby didn't get shot, watch some creep die, and then escape. He was going to take the longest nap in the history of naps when this thing was finally over.
XxXxXxXxXx
He looked up when a nurse stepped into the waiting room. He remembered her from his hospital stay – her name was Mary and she'd shared her Christmas dinner with him when he was lonely and wallowing in self pity.
"Hi, Jack," she said softly, sitting on the coffee table across from him. Jerry was oblivious, snoring in the chair next to him. Jack had tried to take a nap, but settled for paging through countless issues of People Magazine and Better Homes and Gardens instead. The way Mary was looking at him suddenly made him very nervous.
"Did you hear something? Is Bobby -" he started but she shook her head.
"No update, as far as I know." She gave him a sympathetic smile, one he was sure they were all trained to do in nursing school. "I heard you were down here and just thought I'd stop by and say hi, see if you needed anything."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks. I'm fine."
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow and he realized how he must look, covered in soot, exhausted, seconds away from the world's worst nicotine fit.
"Really." He nodded, hoping she couldn't see that his hands were shaking.
Of course he was fine; he wasn't in the operating room, fighting for his life.
XxXxXxXxXx
The fire wasn't as bad in the kitchen. Jack figured Bobby must not have poured as much gasoline around this part of the restaurant.
"Stubborn man, Mr. Mercer," Roy Sweet said from somewhere in the long room. There were lots of places to hide and the guy could be a hundred feet away or right behind them.
"The same could be said about you," Bobby answered as he started to look around, gun at the ready, walking slowly through the kitchen. Jack grabbed the only weapon he could find on the sink, a rolling pin. Bobby laughed when he saw it and Jack just shrugged.
Flames flickered against the stainless steel surfaces of the counters and appliances and it made the whole room look alive, jumping around them. It also made it hard as hell to focus on what was going on. Sweet could be anywhere.
A shadow moved in the corner and Bobby swung his gun in its direction as Jack took a step back and ducked a bit.
"It's a shame. You could have come to work for me if things had turned out differently." Jack felt a shiver run down his spine and he could sense someone standing behind him, like a darkness had settled in the room, swallowing the smoke and flames.
He spun around just as Bobby did the same, pushing Jack onto the ground, pointing his gun and firing in one fluid, graceful motion.
Roy Sweet was standing there, a gun in his hand, a calm grin on his face and Jack watched in stunned silence as he wavered slightly on his feet. It was only as his head tilted forward that Jack could see the bullet wound in his forehead, illuminated by the flames that were growing increasingly stronger in the stifling room. He collapsed to the ground – dead and Jack fell back on his elbows, deflated as the adrenaline of the moment seemed to rush out of him.
Bobby wasn't moving and Jack struggled to get to his feet. "Let's get out of here," he said, grabbing Bobby's arm. Bobby didn't immediately respond, but instead turned slowly, a stunned look on his face as he raised his hand to his chest and the blood that was spreading across his sweatshirt. Time had stopped and Bobby fell to his knees in slow motion, pulling Jack down with him as he grabbed onto his shoulders.
"Oh, fuck, no," Jack said with sob.
XxXxXxXxXx
When the next person to come into the waiting room was Green and not the surgeon, Jack was ready to scream. He wanted to know about Bobby – he didn't give a shit about anything else other than his family.
"They salvaged the recorder," the FBI agent said.
Big fucking deal. "That's nice," Jack said, not looking up from last month's In Style.
As far as he was concerned, Green was just as much to blame for Bobby being shot as Sweet was. He'd left that restaurant, abandoning Bobby to God knows what. He wasn't coughing his brains out like Angel or shot like Jerry. As far as he could tell, Green came through the whole ordeal unscathed and with a fucking gold star to pin to his record with the FBI. He'd used them and worst of all, they'd let him.
"Sorry about Bobby."
Jack's grip tightened on the magazine. "He'll be okay," Jack said. Liar. You don't get shot in the chest and then waltz on home the next day, he was proof enough of that.
He kept flashing to the gunfight in the snow and Bobby above him, begging him to stay, to hold on.
The last hour or so, his brain had thought it would be fun to play a rousing game of "What if?" What if he'd given up and just died right then and there? Would Sweet have bothered to come after them for revenge? Would his dying had been payment enough? Would Bobby be perfectly fine, probably sitting on the couch at home, bitching at Sofi about her cooking and making fun of Angel and Jerry? Would his family be in one piece?
Guilt was stupid and pointless. He wished he could be more like Bobby and just get pissed off at everything. But he remained silent as he sensed Green staring down at him, waiting for him to start a conversation, make small talk, shoot the shit with the guy who left his brother to die. Eventually Green gave up and mumbled something about coffee and the cafeteria.
Jack threw the magazine across the room when he left.
XxXxXxXxXx
For someone so short, he sure weighs a fucking ton, Jack thought as he dragged Bobby toward the exit at the back of the kitchen. The fire had gotten exponentially worse in the few minutes it had taken for Bobby's plan to go disastrously wrong.
"We're never doing the gas thing again," Jack ground out as his shoulder burned beneath the strain of his brother's dead weight.
"Deal," Bobby gasped and Jack almost dropped him, not realizing he was conscious. He lost his momentum and steered into a metal rack. "Ow," Bobby yelled out.
"Sorry," Jack said with a grunt. "This ain't easy, you know." The fire had moved to the ceiling and Jack couldn't keep from glancing up at the burning timbers. They didn't have much time left.
Bobby decided to get dramatic. "Just leave me. Get the fuck out of here. Save yourself."
"Sure thing, Scarlet O'Hara," Jack mumbled.
"Who?"
"Never mind." Jack grinned, happy to have Bobby talking to him, not ready to admit how much he dreaded getting out the door, only to realize he'd been too late.
Only a few more feet and …
The ceiling started to creek and the first pieces that fell came dangerously close. Jack tried to speed up, but his knee buckled beneath him and he cried out in pain and frustration.
He had no choice but to crawl backwards, pulling Bobby inch by agonizing inch toward the door. A huge chunk of flaming debris landed on his arm and he shook it off, but not before it burned through his jacket. He felt the skin blister, but he didn't feel any pain. He tried his best not to lose his grip on Bobby.
Only a few more feet. His arms and back ached with the strain and his lungs felt he'd been shot a hundred more times. His body wanted to give up and it took all his strength to keep going.
Suddenly, everything turned black and red and orange and hotter than he could ever imagine as the world exploded around him. He lunged over Bobby, trying to protect him from whatever was descending upon them when he felt someone grab him from behind, pulling both him and Bobby the last few feet to safety.
XxXxXxXxXx
Camille had shown up and taken one look at Jack and started fussing over him. Jerry was a little miffed that his wife had passed him over but he realized Jack could probably use a little mothering. The girls were still at her mother's, but she couldn't wait until the next day to come back to Detroit like she'd promised Jerry she would. Jack noticed the way Jerry couldn't take his eyes off her, following every move his wife made, like he wanted to burn her image onto his brain and he figured Camille had made the right decision.
Angel and Sofi had made their way to the waiting room, despite orders from the doctor for Angel to go home and sleep.
Green wandered back in and Jack ignored him. Jerry leaned over and whispered, "He's the one who pulled you guys out of there, you know."
Jack shrugged.
Green cleared his throat. "Any word?"
Everyone just stared at him.
Before the silence moved beyond awkward into downright uncomfortable, a man in bloodstained scrubs walked in.
Jack, Jerry and Angel all sat up a little straighter. Jack could hear his own heart pounding in his ears, the slightly smoking rasp in his chest as he drew in a deep breath.
"I'm the doctor who operated on your brother."
"And …" Jerry said.
"And it was touch and go there for a while."
"Doc, we don't need the play by play right now," Angel interrupted. "Is my brother still alive?"
The doctor's shoulders relaxed. "Yes."
Jerry shifted in his seat, wincing as he jarred the wound in his arm. "Is he gonna stay that way?"
The doctor paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. Jack wondered if he realized stalling would only get him a face full of pissed-off Mercers.
"Barring any complications, he will make a full recovery."
Jerry stood up and shook the doctor's hand. "See, Doc, that wasn't so hard, now was it?"
XxXxXxXxXx
Jack was leaning on his crutches in the dark room. The only light was above the bed and cast everything in a creepy green shade. The sound of the respirator was oddly calming and Jack found himself breathing in time to it – in and out, in and out.
He got a weird sense of déjà vu, as though he could remember watching his brothers standing around his hospital bed, watching him breathe, worried that if they looked away he'd stop.
Jerry walked over to him and threw his good arm over his shoulders. "Time to go home, kiddo."
Jack looked at the bed, at his brother, hooked up to machines, not breathing on his own, all kinds of tubes and wires and shit running every which way. "We can't be sure."
"He's going to be okay, Jack. Let's go home before we all wind up in the hospital." Jack shook his head and Jerry ruffled his hair like Bobby sometimes did.
Jack let Jerry lead him to the door, but paused to take a look back before leaving. He felt something brush against his cheek and a soft voice whispered in his ear. "Go home, Jackie. I'll keep him safe."
"Thanks, Ma," he said quietly as he closed the door.