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Hospitals remind Charlie of prison. Also of death. He avoided them if he could, but now he can't because three police officers are wounded and one is dead. He knows Bobby is not dead, he made Reese check four times, but he got a bullet in the gut and that's not good for anyone.
Charlie is powerless, so he does what cops do. He goes and stands in the line to donate blood. The line is long, all blue, except for the plain clothes. It's somber, there's no joking, no pushing, no cutting that would normally occur in a line of this size. Reese stands beside him, still in the hush.
It takes them an hour to get to the front of the line and there are plenty of people behind them. The nurse hands them each a clipboard and a pen; there are always forms. Charlie is initialing with all his might until he stops, staring at the clipboard.
Reese turns to stare at him while trying not to look like she is. "What is it?" she hisses, not wanting to draw the attention of the officers behind them.
Charlie hands her his clipboard. "I can't donate blood."
"You chickening out, Crews?" she gently teases, but the smile falls from her face as she looks at his form. Looks at the line he left un-initialed. Are you a male who has had sexual contact with another male, even once, since 1977?
"Shit, Crews," she says, and shoves the piece of paper in her pocket. Reese hits the ring tone button on her cell and pretends to answer it, while Charlie stands there looking blank. She hangs up, already grabbing Charlie's arm, and drags him out of there, muttering over her shoulder to a line of cops about needing to return to HQ.
Reese gets him in the car, but that's as far as they go. Charlie is not going anywhere, just in case Bobby needs him, and Reese is still processing. "Prison sucks, Crews," she says.
"That it does," he replies, and then falls silent. It's cold in the car, but Reese doesn't put the keys in the ignition, instead they just sit there, each breath fogging the windshield more.