Compromised: Broken

Broken. The fucking thing is broken. I know it's broken. Don't fucking tell me again that it's broken. I know that. I'm laying here, looking at it. Motherfucker. This was a goddam gift. I died REPEATEDLY for this fucking arm. And all it takes is a friggin' tumble down the mother fucking stairs and it's all worthless. First, they cut my arm off in Tunguska, then the rebels give it back, then, I break it.

Shit, the last thing I needed was to pick myself up off the floor and call a cab. You have to see the way the thing is hanging. Well, laying. Never mind, don't look. It's not pretty. God, I hit my head and bled all over the floor. Walter and Shannon are gonna see that before they get to the voicemail I left that I'm in Manassas General getting my fucking ulna set. Where's that bitch with the drugs?

"Where the hell is he?" I hear him scream at someone. Soon enough I hear the crying, and I know it's my little girl, scared and upset with Walter's yelling. They burst through the door of my room and Shannon starts to scream as she sees my arm, swollen and laying kinda oddly.

"Walter! Take her for ice cream or something! I'll call your cell when you can come get me."

Shannon buries her face in Walter's shoulder. They leave the room. Alone again, until the doctor comes in and she smiles. "Mr. Krycek, you're very lucky. It's a clean break and there are no torn ligaments or muscles. I can set it and we'll get a fiberglass cast on it. The bump on your head is just a bump, you're not concussed so I can give you some pain meds, OK?"

Hooray! Blessed drugs!

Shannon is asleep in my arms. I was getting her from dancing school when it happened. We walk in and she sees the blood first. It's a small puddle, but we both know exactly what it is when we see it. My heart is in my throat as I tear the house up looking for Alex until I hear the message. Shannon started the machine. He sneezed and fell down the steps and broke his arm. He's at the hospital.

I race there, waved on by Artie and Marshal; Stuart has been promoted. They must have gotten the word from the dispatch, or something. We burst into the emergency room, and Shannon clings to my chest. Oh, God! I love her, but sometimes...

Now, I sit here and hold her as she sleeps. She cried so hard, missing her mother, hoping to God Alex wasn't dying the way her mother did. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, he broke his arm. I, for some reason, find that ironic. It's the same arm he lost once. Well, he didn't lose it, it was taken from him.

The orderly wheels him out and I stand up to greet them. The doctor walks over and she gives me the instructions for him. He looks stoned. "He's had some morphine. He should sleep, no walking around, and try to keep his hand elevated or it will swell. Come back in three weeks and we'll take an x-ray and another look at it." She hands me a bag with a bottle of pills for him. Percocet, the lucky bastard.

And I can take him home. I lead the orderly to where I parked the Range Rover and as I get Shannon into the back, Alex climbs into passenger seat. I get in and he smiles at me. I used to look like that, in 'Nam, after a party night. Great, two sleepy babies for me to deal with. I look up at the sky. Thank you, God, I love you, too. We head for home.