Bombshell
By Mady Bay - mbay@binghamton.edu
March 1, 2002
Disclaimer - If I owned them, they'd still be on the air, with episodes based on all this fanfic!
Author's Note - No action or adventure, just something I used in a different fandom and switched to SOT… Loosely based on a true story…
Bombshell
Trent and Walker were in the dojo, sparring with each other. It was Tuesday evening, their regular night to meet each other to practice their skills. Walker was getting the upper hand, as usual, when the phone rang. Trent smiled as Walker let him up off the mat, muttering something like, "Saved by the bell."
"Thunder Karate," Trent answered, wiping the sweat from his brow as he did so. "Trivette?"
Walker looked up from his position on the mat to stare at his friend upon hearing his partner's name. Why would Trivette be calling? Could only mean bad news, he thought, rising to go to the phone. He frowned however as he listened to Trent's side of the conversation and wondered why he wasn't being called to the phone. Then he heard more of the conversation.
"No, Jimmy, don't worry. I'll take care of it. I'm glad you called me. Yeah, I'm sure he'll be alright. Yeah, I'll head over there right now. Thanks again."
When Trent hung up the phone, Walker spoke up. "Who'll be alright?" he asked.
"Carlos. Jimmy said Carlos was in a minor car accident." Trent raised his hand, stopping Walker from interrupting. "Jimmy said Carlos seemed fine, that the EMT talked him into going to the hospital, to play it better safe than sorry."
"Somebody talked Carlos into going?" Walker asked, surprised. "He must have been about six feet six!" he laughed.
"Jimmy said Carlos knew the woman, called her Annie," Trent replied.
"Well, I just gotta meet this gal, Annie," Walker continued. "If she can talk Carlos into something, then she must be something else!"
The two men quickly changed clothes, gathered their jackets and locked up the dojo. Trent looked at his watch before getting into Walker's truck. They'd probably beat Carlos to the hospital.
+ + + + + + +
As it turned out, Trent and Walker got stuck in traffic and wound up getting to the hospital about ten minutes after Carlos. Trent immediately went to the Admissions desk and asked about him. The nurse surprised him and escorted him into the Emergency Room, to a small cubicle near the back. Trent stood where the nurse told him to and watched and listened as the doctor examined Carlos.
Despite the backboard he was still strapped to and cervical collar he still wore, Carlos didn't look too bad, Trent thought. Then the doctor moved and Trent saw the dark red bruise that was Carlos's left cheek. He winced in sympathy. That had to hurt. Carlos seemed to be answering the doctor's questions just fine. He knew where he was, what the date was, who the president was, etc. Trent even heard Carlos tell the doctor something about that EMT harassing him at work if he hadn't agreed to going to the hospital.
"Well, Mr. Sandoval," the doctor spoke up, "that EMT was just doing her job. And we're going to do ours by x-raying that head of yours, make sure it's all in one piece. I'll let your friend here keep you company until the x-ray techs come for you, alright?"
"My friend?" Carlos asked, straining to look around, move his head.
"Right here, Carlos," Trent called, moving over to stand next to the bed. He laid a reassuring hand on Carlos's shoulder.
"Trent? What the hell are you doin' here?" Carlos asked tiredly.
"Jimmy called me. Told me you had an accident. Figured you'd need a ride home."
"Yeah, Jimmy's a worry-wart. Figured he'd call you."
Trent watched as Carlos closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he didn't open his eyes again right away, Trent squeezed his shoulder and called to him.
"Carlos? You still with me?" he asked.
"Hmm? Trent?" he mumbled.
"Carlos?" Trent began to worry now, himself.
Before he could say Carlos's name again, Carlos began to tremble and then, shake violently.
"Help! Somebody! Help!" Trent shouted desperately.
Medical personnel soon surrounded Carlos, coming so quickly that Trent was shoved back against the wall of the cubicle. He found himself climbing up and over several of the machines and then the low wall of the cubicle just to get out of their way. He managed to get to the other side and watched and listened as they fought to stabilize Carlos and stop the convulsions. He heard one of the doctors calling for drugs and then yell for someone to hold Carlos down. This second order came after another doctor cried out in pain, having, apparently, gotten in the way of one of Carlos's flailing limbs.
After several especially long minutes, things quieted down and Carlos's body became still. Another minute went by and the second doctor came out, cradling his hand and obviously broken thumb. One of the nurses saw Trent standing there and put an arm around his shoulder, gently guiding him towards the waiting room, telling him that the doctor would be out as soon as she could to talk to him. As he walked away from the cubicle, he took one more look at his friend. He winced as he watched another nurse place a tube down Carlos's throat. He felt the gentle tug on his arm and followed the woman to the waiting room. Walker took one look at Trent and rushed to his side.
"Trent? What happened? Carlos? Is he?"
"He was fine... he was talking to me... then he just... he just started shaking... seizing. God, Walker, he was fine!"
Walker closed his eyes and dropped his head, letting his chin touch his chest. "Is he...?"
"No, he's not," a female voice replied. "He's still very much alive."
Walker opened his eyes and looked up at the doctor that had entered the waiting room and answered his question.
"I'm Doctor Mullen," she said, introducing herself. "I understand you're friends of Mr. Sandoval's?"
"How is he?" Trent asked quickly, needing to know.
Walker, ever the polite one, took the doctor's outstretched hand and shook it. "I'm Ranger Cordell Walker and this is Trent Malloy. We're good friends of Carlos's," he said. "Now, how is he?"
"Why don't we have a seat over here," she said, pointing to a couch in the waiting room.
"That doesn't sound too good," Trent muttered to himself as he followed the doctor.
After they sat down, Dr. Mullen began. "Like I said, Carlos is very much alive."
"I sense a 'but' coming here," Trent spoke up, trying to keep the fear from his voice.
The doctor nodded. "But, he is still in very critical condition. His family should be notified."
"But he seemed fine!" Trent exclaimed, interrupting, standing up and beginning to pace.
"I understand that," Mullen replied. "But head injuries can be tricky. And until we're through with the tests and x-rays, we won't be sure just how extensive the damage will be. According to the ambulance crew's pre-hospital care report, Mr. Sandoval's head hit the steering wheel pretty hard. He could have a number of possible conditions at this time."
"Shit," Trent whispered. "And the seizure was because of the head injury?" he asked.
"As far as we know. Unless you know of any other condition he might have. Epilepsy? Previous head injury? Recent illness?"
"No, none that we know of," Trent replied sullenly.
"What kind of work does Carlos do?" Dr. Mullen asked, marking the previous negative answers onto Carlos's chart.
"He's a police detective," Walker replied.
"Well, I guess that would explain the bullet wound scars, huh?"
Both men nodded.
"Listen, it's going to be several hours before all the blood test and radiology results are in and he's settled in up in ICU. Why don't I call you when I know more?"
Trent took a deep breath and let it out, finishing with a breathy "Yeah." "Here's my business card," he said, handing it to the woman. "It's got my office and cell phone numbers on it."
The doctor took the card and clipped it to Carlos's chart. "I'll talk to you later," she said before returning to the ER.
Trent slumped down into the couch's soft cushions, rubbing his hands down his face. "So what do we do now?"
"I don't know, Trent," Walker replied. "Pray?" He was about to continue, when his cell phone rang.
It was Trivette, telling Walker that he'd have to leave the ER for a while. He and Trivette, along with several other members of their team were in the midst of a large scale sting operation. They'd been working closely with the Dallas PD, with Carlos's detective unit in particular, to shut down a large moonshine operation. Trivette had called him not only to ask about Carlos, but to also update him on the sting. Walker told Trent that there were some details he needed to attend to, and that he'd stop back later.
Walker returned with Trivette and Alex about three hours later, and found Trent in the ICU waiting room. They saw the empty expression on Trent's face.
"You talked Dr. Mullen," Walker said. He knew it must have been bad news.
"Yeah," Trent whispered.
+ + + + + + +
"Is he alright?" Alex asked
"No, he's not," Trent replied, shaking his head.
"So, tell us," Trivette said, a little unsure if he really wanted to hear the news.
"The head injury he sustained gave him a severe concussion," Trent began ignoring the tremors in his voice as he stood up and began to pace the waiting room.
"Heck, who hasn't had a concussion? A concussion isn't so bad," Trivette put in, trying to be optimistic.
"Well, when you combine it with a brain tumor, it is, Jimmy," Trent answered, anger now creeping into his voice.
"What?!" "A tumor?" "How?" They spoke at once.
"But how is he?" Walker asked.
"He's on full life support. Critical condition," Trent replied. "The doctors had to put him into a drug-induced coma to stop them. As of right now, he hasn't shown any indications of possible improvement or change."
"Did the concussion cause the seizures or was it the tumor?" Walker asked.
"They don't know. They say it's possible that the tumor may have caused his accident, and then the concussion just compounded the symptoms," Trent said, finally collapsing back onto the couch.
"How big is the tumor? Do they know if it's benign or malignant yet?" Alex asked.
"I don't know," Trent replied tiredly, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.
+ + + + + + +
Trent sat next to the bed, watching Carlos. Watching and listening to the machines keeping his best friend alive. For what? So that he can die from brain cancer? So he can get sick from the cancer treatments? Or become so brain damaged that he can barely function anyway? God, Carlos, what the hell happened? You were fine! Or what if the cancer's gone, but you still have the seizures? Can't work that way, not as a cop.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his palms into them, recalling the meeting he'd had with Dr. Mullen.
"The CAT scan shows a tumor," she said, pointing to a round shadow on the printout on her desk. "It's right about here," she added, pointing to the right side of her head, just above her ear, for reference. And it's just smaller than a golf ball."
"But the good news," said Dr. Peritz, the neurosurgeon called in for Carlos's case, interrupted, "is that I think it is operable. It shows no signs of being malignant. It's just its size and placement that are causing problems."
"Like the seizures," Trent spoke up.
"Possibly," Dr. Peritz replied. "He still took quite a nasty blow - he did sustain a concussion, which put additional pressure on his brain."
Trent nodded his head. "So where do we go from here? You say that the tumor is operable, but will that bring him out of the coma? Will that stop the seizures?"
"We're going to take this slow, Mr. Malloy," Dr. Mullen spoke up. "We'd like to keep him sedated for another day or so, give his body a chance to calm down, let the swelling go down."
"And then, we'll start weaning him slowly from the sedative and anti-seizure meds, to see how he does," Dr. Peritz continued.
And so Trent watched and waited. Two agonizingly slow days went by, with the others making occasional appearances, checking on Carlos's condition, which didn't change. At least not by looking at him. They'd tried tracking down Carlos's family, but his mother was in Mexico for the month, staying with relatives. Trent had gone to Carlos's apartment to try to find an address or phone number, but couldn't locate anything in the mess that was his best friend's apartment.
They'd done more tests, had more meetings with other specialists. The swelling had gone down, so therefore today was the big day, according to Dr. Mullen, when they'd try to wake Carlos up. They'd already started reducing the dosages of meds Carlos had been receiving. Dr. Peritz had told Trent that it might be over twenty-four hours before Carlos was fully awake and cognizant.
Trent stood up from his chair and stretched. With his hands high in the air and his back arched and cracking, he almost missed the slight movement on the bed. He took the two steps necessary to reach the side of the bed and reached over the rail to put a calming and restraining hand on Carlos's arm.
"Easy, Carlos, easy," he spoke quietly, continuing to hold onto Carlos's arm, preventing the injured man from dislodging the tubes and wires still attached to him.
After a few moments, the muscles of the furrowed brows and tightly closed eyes relaxed and Carlos returned to sleep. Trent looked up to see Dr. Mullen and one of the nurses approaching the bed.
"He's starting to wake up a little," Trent said, stepping back.
"That's good," the doctor spoke, checking on some of the monitors next to the bed. "Sooner than we thought. Are you going to be around today?" she asked Trent when she was satisfied with what she'd seen.
"Yeah, closed both the office and dojo," he replied, sitting back into the chair. "Why?"
"It'll be good for him to have a familiar face to wake up to. He seemed to calm down hearing your voice," she replied.
"That's why I'm here," Trent said.
"Good. I'll see you later, then. Dr. Peritz should be stopping up soon, too," she added before leaving.
Trent sat reading a book for a few more hours before Carlos stirred again. He reached over the side rail and put his hand on Carlos's arm just as he had done the last time. And this time he was met with tired and confused brown eyes.
"Hey, welcome back, buddy," he said with a smile.
The eyes blinked, rolled and crossed before finally focusing once again on Trent, questioning him with his gaze.
"You had an accident," Trent responded. "Hit your head pretty good."
Carlos closed his eyes and Trent was barely able to hear the raspy "don't remember" that he whispered.
Trent squeezed his hand gently around Carlos's arm, reassuring him as he spoke, "Don't worry about it, buddy. Just gotta get you feeling better now. Okay?"
Carlos nodded his head slightly, wincing as the dull pain he'd been feeling since he woke up sharpened. It was then that Dr. Peritz entered the room and nodded to Trent.
"I see our patient is finally awake," he said quietly. When Carlos opened his eyes to look at him, the doctor introduced himself, saying, "I'm Dr. Peritz, I'm one of the doctors working with you. I'm sure you've got a hell of a headache, so I'll try to make this quick, okay?" When Carlos acknowledged him, the doctor went on, "I'm just going to check you over, make sure all the body parts are working and all. Can you tell me your name?"
"Carlos Sandoval," Carlos replied, somewhat painfully.
"Trent, why don't you get him a little water, that'll help."
Trent did so while Carlos responded to the doctor's questions and prompts, wiggling toes and fingers, squeezing hands, taking deep breaths, looking up, down and all around...
"Do you know what year it is?"
"Two thousand two."
"What month?"
"March."
"What's the last thing you remember?"
After a few minutes, Carlos finally responded, "I had an accident. Someone called the ambulance. Jimmy. Annie from evidence was there..." He stopped then, becoming confused.
"Okay, that's good, Carlos," Dr. Peritz said, patting Carlos's leg. "We'll talk some more a little later when you've rested up some." He made some notes on Carlos's chart, giving the nurses some new medication orders and left, motioning to Trent with his head, signaling him to meet him outside.
"I'll be right back, Carlos," Trent said, rising from the chair. "Just gonna ask the doctor a few questions."
Out in the hallway, Trent met Dr. Peritz.
"So?" he asked right away.
"So far, so good," the doctor replied. "His motor functions are good, he's oriented to time, knows what happened."
"But..."
"But I'd like to take this slow. He's still a little confused, tired and in pain," Dr. Peritz went on. "I'd like him to be completely coherent and awake when we tell him about the tumor."
"I understand," Trent said, nodding his head. "I'm having a hard enough time dealing with it, without a concussion or it being me..."
"I'll stop up a little later. In the meantime, we're going to drop down the dosage just a little more on the anti-seizure med, to see if he'll tolerate it."
"Okay, thanks, Dr. Peritz."
"Trent," the doctor spoke up, stopping Trent before he could turn around. "He's awake and aware. Half the battle's won."
Trent smiled and nodded before returning to Carlos's room to check on him. Carlos was asleep again. He took the opportunity to go down the hall to the visitors' lounge then, to call Walker and update him on Carlos's condition. Before he got near the payphone, though, he stopped in front of a large, soft looking couch and sank down heavily onto it, letting out a loud sigh. Dr. Peritz says half the battle's won.... and seeing Carlos awake is one heck of a victory, that's for sure... but does he have a chance to win the other half of the battle?
+ + + + + + +
"Hey," came the soft-spoken greeting.
"Hey, yourself, Carlos," Trent replied. "How ya doin'?"
"Okay, I guess," he said tiredly.
Actually, he was far from okay. He was getting tired of waking up and falling asleep and waking up and falling asleep. At least Trent was there, that made it easier, but even being sleepy, dizzy and in pain, he was able to discern the lines of worry on Trent's face, so he tried to downplay his feelings.
Trent had nodded before sitting down in the chair next to the bed.
"What's going on, Trent? What aren't you telling me? Can't be me, I've got too hard a head to be too bad. Is the Durango totaled?"
"Why don't we wait for Dr. Peritz," Trent answered quietly. "He's gonna be here soon to explain things."
"Explain things? Explain what, Malloy?"
Trent was about to remark on the reply when Dr. Peritz entered the room.
"Ah, Mr. Sandoval, you're awake."
"Dr. Peritz, right?" he asked, testing his memory.
"Very good. Your short term memory is working well," he said with a smile before bringing a chair over to Carlos's bed.
Carlos took in the doctor's body language and demeanor. He looked at Trent then, saw something in his eyes...
"What's going on, boys?" he asked warily. "I hit my head, got a concussion. Nothing new. Right?"
"Carlos, there's a little more to it," Dr. Peritz began.
"What? I've done your tests; I know where I am and who I am. I can wiggle all my fingers and toes..."
"I'm afraid we're dealing with more than just a concussion, Carlos. Something else turned up on your x-rays and CAT scan," the doctor continued.
"I don't understand. I just got a headache and I'm still a little tired. So I bumped my head yesterday. Nothing I haven't done before. Trent could tell you that."
Carlos said all this trying to dismiss the doctor's information, but Trent still heard the slight tremor of fear that entered his voice. He tried to quell his own fear, raging inside him. He needed to be strong for Carlos.
"Carlos, I'm sorry, but that was three days ago," Dr. Peritz said.
"Three days?"
"Like I said, Carlos, we're dealing with a little more than just a concussion," the doctor repeated.
Carlos looked at Trent then, knowing that he knew what was going on, would know just how serious things were. What he saw on Trent's face, what he saw before but only recognized now, fear, scared him. Trent looked right at him then, and while the fear was still there, Trent nodded to him, telling him that they were in this together, that they'd somehow fight whatever it was together.
"Tell me."
"You came into the ER presenting with a head injury," Dr. Peritz began. "The EMTs and ER staff suspected a concussion. You were alert and oriented. They were just going to run some tests, take some x-rays, to make sure, when you began having seizures."
Carlos nodded, motioning the doctor to continue. But he did not miss the pain-filled expression that came over Trent's face then. He realized that Trent must have been there. Seen it happen.
"With the aid of some medications, we were able to get them stopped, but unfortunately, that left you on full life support for two days, until you woke up this morning."
"Okay, so that explains why I feel like shit," Carlos interrupted. "But there's more, isn't there?"
Dr. Peritz nodded his head slowly. Trent looked down at the floor.
"I've got good news and bad news, Carlos," the doctor said, trying not to singsong the cliché. "The bad news, is, that your test results showed a large tumor on the right side of your brain." He reached over and lightly touched the side of Carlos's head, showing him where the growth was located.
Carlos tried to hide the shock of the news, but was unsuccessful. "No. Can't be. I'm fine. Just hit my head, that's all." But then he looked again at Trent. "Trent?" he called, whispering the name.
"It's true, Carlos." They were three of the hardest words Trent had ever said. Confirming his fears, admitting that Carlos's life would never be the same. "But hear the doc out," he continued, hoping that he could believe this part, too.
"Like I said, there's good news, too. All the tests results lead me to believe that the tumor is benign, and operable."
"Cutting a hole in my head is good news?"
"Considering the alternatives, yes," Dr. Peritz answered.
"Alternatives?"
"Those seizures you were having," the doctor began. "We think that they may be a result of the tumor, not the concussion. Which means they'll only continue if you do nothing. Not to mention what could happen if the tumor continues to grow."
Carlos rubbed his hands over his head, wincing slightly when they hit his cheek. "There's gotta be some mistake. The wrong x-rays or something..."
"Carlos," Trent whispered, again giving him a reassuring look that promised that he was not alone.
"I know this is a lot to take in, and believe me, we'll have plenty of time to talk about it some more," Dr. Peritz assured him, breaking the silence in the room. "But listen to me. It is benign and it is operable. I have every confidence that we can beat this."
Carlos just nodded absently, not looking at the doctor anymore. Taking this cue, Dr. Peritz made his exit, promising to visit again in the morning.
"Thanks, Doc," Trent said, shaking his hand before he got to the door. He looked back at the figure in the bed, then, and realized that he'd never seen Carlos look so vulnerable, or so scared, in all the time he'd known him.
+ + + + + + +
The next few days passed quickly for Carlos. If he wasn't sleeping, he was being moved from one place to another for one test or another. The doctor had ordered new CAT scans and blood work in addition to other tests that made sure that Carlos hadn't had incurred any damage from the seizures or head injury. And all the while, Trent or one of his other friends were with Carlos, reassuring him, making sure that he was not alone in this ordeal.
+ + + + + + +
How are you feeling, Carlos?" Alex called, sweeping into the dark hospital room.
"I feel like shit."
She gave him a sympathetic look before asking, "Your head still feel like it's going to explode?"
She took a closer look at her young friend, trying to decide whether or not she should call a nurse in.
"It's not that, Alex, and you know it."
Alex opened the curtains, then, brightening up the room, before claiming the chair next to the bed.
"Well, I've got to tell you," Alex went on, now ignoring Carlos's sullen mood, "you got the whole place in a twitter wondering what's going on with you and Annie from Evidence!"
"What?"
"She called looking for you Friday afternoon, wondering how you were. And seeing as how she saved your life and all, I think it's about time you call her back!"
"Alex, what the hell are you talking about?" Carlos asked.
"She was the one that talked you into coming to the hospital, according to Jimmy. He said you kept saying, "I'm fine, I'm fine," and all, but Annie didn't take any of your crap. Heck, according to Jimmy, you let her put you on a backboard and you two made some lewd remarks about her straddling you while you were tied down! You been holding out on us, Carlos!" she said, giving him a wink.
Carlos didn't know what to say to his excited friend. He remembered seeing Annie at the accident, and agreed that she probably was the only reason he went to the hospital, but... that was all he remembered.
When Alex saw the painful confusion on Carlos's face, she softened her tone. "It's alright, Carlos. It'll come back. I talked with Annie. She was all broken up at first, when she heard you'd seized and all. Thought she'd missed something, thought she'd messed up somehow."
"But she didn't. I remember telling them that I was fine. I wouldn't have gotten here if she wasn't there."
"I told her that, Carlos. She knows, now."
"I would've started seizing at home, alone..." Carlos whispered, fully realizing just how close he'd come to dying. "I gotta call her," he said aloud.
"When you get outof here, Carlos," Alex said and added, "Which'll be when?"
"Doc said I can get out in a couple of days. They've got the surgery set up for two weeks from Thursday."
Alex saw and heard the fear in Carlos at the mention of the surgery. "It'll be just fine, Carlos. I've heard nothing but good things about Dr. Peritz. And you know we've checked up on him. If he says you've got a ninety-nine percent chance of success, then you better believe him!"
"I do, Alex," Carlos replied. "But the thought of somebody messing around in my head like that... just kinda scares me, ya know?"
"I know, Carlos."
+ + + + + + +
"You all set, Carlos?"
"Yeah, I think so," he replied, looking around the hospital room. "Got my meds and instructions, Walker's magazines, Jimmy's Gameboy, Alex's CD player..."
"Yeah, we got everything," Trent agreed with a smile and hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder as Carlos got into the wheelchair.
Carlos continued to talk as the orderly wheeled him down the hall, toward the elevator.
"Appreciate you driving me home, Trent. Glad you're okay with me not staying at your place."
"You'll be on your home turf at the apartment, Carlos," Trent replied. "And you'll be closer to the doctors' offices and hospital for your appointments, too."
"And closer to work," Carlos added.
"Not that you'll be setting foot there, Carlos. You heard what Dr. Peritz said about driving. Not until..."
"I know, I know," Carlos grumbled. "Not until after the surgery and then, not until the meds are down low enough."
"I still don't understand why you won't call your Mom or sister," Trent remarked. "Don't you think they'd want to know? That they'd be here to help you out?"
"I don't want to worry them," Carlos replied. "Besides, my Mom's had enough to worry about over the years. She's down in Mexico visiting family, taking a vacation. She's saved her money for a year just so she could take the month off and go. I'm not going to ruin it for her."
They had gotten out to the hospital entrance then, and Trent pointed out his Corvette to the orderly pushing Carlos in the wheelchair.
"Don't you think you'd be ruining it more for her if something happened and she wasn't here to help? I don't want to be in your shoes when she comes back and finds out what happened and know that you didn't want to bother her!" He helped Carlos into the passenger seat and looked at him again, raising an eyebrow.
"Who says she's gonna find out?" Carlos replied.
Trent let out a loud sigh as he put the duffel bag into the back seat. He thanked the orderly before getting into the driver's seat.
The two drove through the streets of Dallas, talking about current events, office goings on and current cases. Trent didn't miss the look of sadness that overcame Carlos though, when they talked about work.
"What's up, Carlos?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Come on, Carlos, talk to me."
"Just thinking... what if?"
"What if, what?" Trent asked.
Carlos shook his head before looking over to Trent. "What if the surgery doesn't work? What if I still have seizures? What if I can't ever stop taking the meds? What if I can't go back to work?"
"Carlos, Dr. Peritz said-"
"I know what Dr. Peritz said!" Carlos exclaimed harshly. "Hell, I've been out of work for almost two weeks already and I'm going stir crazy. What the hell am I gonna do for the next six months if the surgery works, let alone what the hell am I gonna do if it don't?"
"Carlos."
"I already had to turn in my service weapons..."
"Carlos."
"Can't drive to the grocery store..."
"Carlos."
"Can't have a beer to relax and watch a game..."
"Carlos!"
Carlos stopped then and hung his head down low. "Sorry, Trent. Didn't mean to dump all this on you. Just had a lot of time on my hands to do nothing but think, you know?"
"Yeah, buddy, I do. I've been right there, with you," Trent replied softly. "But lets just take this one step at a time, alright? Please?"
Carlos nodded his reply.
+ + + + + + +
"Shit! Shit, shit and double shit! Dammit, Carlos!"
Trent swore up and down as he exited the apartment building, something he very rarely did. He'd come to pick up Carlos for lunch and had found the place empty. And if that wasn't bad enough, Carlos's neighbor said that she'd seen Carlos carrying a duffel bag down to his rental car. Since Carlos hadn't told his neighbors about his condition, no one knew that he wasn't supposed to be driving. Trent pulled out his cell phone.
"Dammit, Carlos, answer the phone," he muttered.
He was just about to get into his Corvette when the ringing stopped.
"Whatta ya want, Trent?"
Carlos answered."What do I want? I want to know where the heck you are, Carlos," Trent replied tersely.
"I need some time alone, Trent. Need to sort things out a bit."
"Carlos, you're not supposed to be driving. What if you have a seizure or something?"
"I've been taking my meds. And I haven't had a seizure since I was first brought into the ER. I'm fine, Trent. Like I said, I just need a couple of days to myself."
"You're scheduled for surgery in a couple of days."
"If I decide to have the surgery, I'll be back in plenty of time, don't worry."
"IF you decide?! What do you mean, IF you decide, Carlos?!" Trent exclaimed. "Carlos, we've discussed this! We agreed."
"You agreed, Trent. You're not the one getting a hole cut in his head."
"Where you headed, Carlos?"
"Trent, I gotta go now, traffic's too heavy to be talking on the phone. I'll keep in touch."
"Carlos?"
Trent stared at the quiet phone in his hand before finally turning it off. How could you do this, Carlos? How could you risk your life like this?
+ + + + + + +
Carlos sat on the bed of the motel room, propped up against the pillows. I knew I'd piss Trent off by leaving. But I just couldn't take all the attention anymore. I needed to be alone, to think about life and the shitty hand it's dealt me. About whether or not to let some doctors go messing around inside my head. Hell, it's bad enough when the shrinks try to mess with your head. But these guys actually want to cut a hole in mine!
He dropped the remote down onto the bed, satisfied that he'd found the Cartoon Network on the unfamiliar cable system. A little mindless Scooby-Doo should help me relax.
He'd found the little motel on a small side road just south of Dallas. He didn't want to go too far away, he still had some fears for his well being, the constant headaches he had were reminders enough, but he still needed to be far enough away from the rest of his life to try and get an objective handle on things. Far away enough from his friends and doctors, so he didn't have to hear their speeches, see the looks of pity in their eyes. And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed to be far away from Trent. The look of fear he'd seen in Trent's eyes in the hospital room still haunted him. He hated being the cause of it. He didn't want Trent to have to lose another person in his life.
He grabbed the bottle of beer off the nightstand and turned it in his hands. He knew he wasn't supposed to have it with his meds. All kinds of weird side effects could happen, the doctors said. "Fuck it," he whispered and opened the bottle. He washed down a couple of the painkillers and leaned back against the pillows. "That's right, Uncle Walt. If it weren't for them damn pesky, meddling kids, you'd have had the treasure all to yourself..."
+ + + + + + +
"Any word from Carlos?"
"Nah," Trent replied with a heavy sigh. "But he'll be okay, Walker. You know Carlos, he's just been smothered so much lately. Bound to need to get away for a bit."
Walker looked at Trent and grinned, agreeing with the other man's reasoning, but knowing that he was just as worried as the rest of them.
"I know, Trent. He'll be fine," Walker went on. "Heck, he's probably got himself a nice room with cable and room service. Maybe even some really good cable..."
Trent looked up sharply at the comment and seeing the humor in Walker's eyes, smiled and laughed, shaking his head at the same time.
Then Walker sobered and looked at Trent again. "How about you? How are you holding up?"
"I don't know anymore, Walker," he admitted, slumping back to lean against the office wall. "I thought he'd settled things, agreed on the game plan Dr. Peritz set out."
"It's a scary position to be in, Trent," Walker responded, leaning down to put his elbows onto his desk. "And you know, Carlos, probably better than anybody else on earth. He's gotta think things through, figure out every detail before he takes action. And he usually does it best when he's alone. Maybe this is just what he's doing."
+ + + + + + +
Carlos rolled off the bed with a groan. His head was killing him. If he hadn't already caught a glimpse of himself in the motel room's mirror, he would have sworn there would have been a knife sticking out of the right side of his skull. Grabbing onto the dresser to keep himself from falling into the spinning spiral that took the place of the floor, he made his way, hand over hand, to the wall and then to the doorway of the bathroom. Then he crawled, as fast as he could to the toilet, making it there just in time to get rid of the pizza and beer he'd consumed for dinner.
"Oh, God," he moaned, clutching the side of the toilet, resting his head on the seat. "They weren't kidding when they said not to mix alcohol and meds..."
He sat there for a few minutes more, waiting to see if his stomach was done with him yet and contemplated his situation. He'd felt pretty good a little while earlier. The six-pack had let him relax more than any of the medications had in the past two weeks. It had let him stop thinking. Stop worrying. Stop...fearing.
Fear. That is the word of the day, Sandoval. Hell, of the past two weeks. Fear of the unknown. Of the known, too. How the hell can I be so afraid? I'm a goddamn cop for Chrissakes! I've faced down gunrunners, drug dealers, gang bangers. I've been shot, stabbed, beaten. I've shot, stabbed and beaten right back. I've lost friends to the job, having them die right in my fuckin' arms. But have a certified, tried and true, been there, done that with a ninety-nine percent success rate surgery scheduled, and you fall apart, Sandoval. How fucking brave is that? Brave enough that you gotta hide out in a motel away from all your friends only to drink yourself silly and wake up with the world's worst brain tumor induced hang over. Shit.
Determined to change the situation he was in, if only to stop hugging the toilet, Carlos levered himself off the floor and grabbed onto the sink. And promptly fell back onto the floor.
"Shit," he muttered, grabbing onto his throbbing temples. "Guess we gotta go out the same way we came in, Sandoval."
He crawled back into the bedroom area of the motel room and climbed back onto the bed. He let out a relieved sigh when his head finally hit the pillow. Looking over to the nightstand, he saw the bottles of pills lined up. He grabbed each of the bottles and looked blearily at the labels. He opened one up and shook out a couple of the pills before swallowing them dry.
Sure hope those were the pain meds
, he thought, closing his eyes again.+ + + + + + +
Trent woke to the ringing of the phone. He moaned aloud as he caught sight of the alarm clock and the time on it. Four seventeen. A.M.
"This better be good," he groused tiredly, reaching for the offending device. "Malloy."
"Trent?"
he heard in the background, before another voice interrupted. "Will you accept a collect call from Carlos?""Yes!" Trent answered quickly. He'd already heard the desperate tone of Carlos's voice. When the operator left the line, Trent called out to his friend. "Carlos? You alright?"
"Trent, you there?"
Carlos called."I'm right here, Carlos. Where are you?"
"Motel. Need ya."
"Carlos? What's wrong, Carlos? What's going on?" Trent heard the tremors in Carlos's voice. He was worried. "Carlos, tell me where you are."
"Motel. Trent?"
"Carlos? Read the number on the phone to me. Can you do that? Or how about the name on the stationery on the nightstand?" he coaxed.
"Everything's all mixed up. I don't feel good, Trent. I'll talk to ya later."
"Carlos! Listen to me, Carlos," Trent urged. But then the line went dead. "Damn!" he shouted, hanging up the phone.
He immediately picked it back up, dialing the operator.
+ + + + + + +
Carlos groaned aloud and rolled over in the bed. The sirens he heard outside on the road were like knives piercing his eardrums. He put a pillow over his head and crushed it to his skull, trying to keep the noise out. Oh, for cryin' out loud, go away already! Shit! He had no idea that the ambulance and police car emitting the sirens were coming for him. He burrowed even deeper underneath the pillow, adding a second one on top. And then the banging started. Carlos screamed as the noises continued to assault his senses.
"Go away!!" he shouted.
"Mr. Sandoval? Mr. Sandoval, can you hear me?" a voice called.
"Leave me alone!" Carlos shouted back.
"Mr. Sandoval, we got a call that you weren't feeling well," the voice explained. "Can you let us in to check?"
"I was fine until you started making all this racket. Now leave me alone!"
"Mr. Sandoval, we need to make sure. And if you're fine, we have no problem, but you'll have to let us see for ourselves. Legal stuff, you know."
Carlos let out a deep sigh. He knew all about that legal stuff. But he had no energy and no desire to go open the door to let these people in.
"Just go away, please?" he cried to himself.
"Carlos?! Carlos, open the door, buddy!"
"Trent?" Carlos tried to understand how Trent had found him, he hadn't told anyone where he was. Then he remembered the phone call he'd made. Or part of it, anyway. "Trent, tell them to go away," he called.
He heard the doorknob jiggle and then, the next thing he knew, someone was lifting the pillows off his head.
"Carlos? You with me?" Trent whispered.
"Trent, I don't feel too good. It hurts. Take me home, please, Trent?"
"I'm right here, Carlos," he replied, gently rolling Carlos onto his back, pushing the tangled hair out of his face. "And I'm gonna take you home. Just let the paramedics here take a look at you first, okay?"
Trent hadn't missed the sight of the beer and medicine bottles mingled together on the floor next to the bed. Nor did he miss the smell and sight of vomit on and around his best friend. He thought Carlos was smarter than that. He knew Carlos was smarter than that. When Carlos nodded his head, to assent to the attention of the paramedics, Trent stepped back to stand next to Walker, who'd accompanied him.
"Ranger Walker?"
Walker met the sheriff's deputy by the doorway.
"I know you said Detective Sandoval was sick," the deputy began. "But looking at the beer and the pills, I gotta ask if this is going to be a mental health arrest."
Walker had asked himself the same thing. But the fact that Carlos had called Trent, and now said that he needed a ride home, told him that no matter what Carlos's reasoning for mixing the alcohol and meds were before, he was not feeling that way now.
No, it's just a case of temporary stupidity
, Walker wanted to reply. "He's got some heavy health problems to deal with. It's been a bit much. But he called for help. We don't have to go that other route," he replied instead.He looked back at Carlos on the bed and the paramedics tending him. They were trying to get him to agree to go to the hospital. Carlos did not look agreeable.
"Carlos, let them take you. You're supposed to go in tomorrow morning anyway," Trent said as he approached the bed. "You are going in tomorrow, right?"
Carlos looked at Trent. Saw the worry lines on his friend's face. Knew that he'd put them there. He nodded his head. "Just no fuckin' siren," he said to the paramedics. "My head feels like it's gonna explode already."
The paramedic laughed and said, "No problem," before pulling the stretcher up next to the bed.
Carlos let out a loud groan as he was transferred from the bed to the stretcher.
"You comin'?" he asked Trent.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Trent replied.
+ + + + + + +
"To be honest, I think it's just the world's worst hangover," Trent told Walker as they sat together in the ER waiting room. They'll probably going to admit him, seeing as he's due to be here tomorrow anyway."
"Especially since he agreed to be here," Walker added.
They were interrupted as Dr. Peritz made his appearance.
"He's going to be just fine," he replied to Trent's unasked question. "We're going to admit him, just to keep an eye on things. He's still not feeling too good, he's nauseous, dizzy and has a hell of a headache."
"Your basic hangover, right?" Trent asked with a wry smile. When the doctor nodded his head, Trent asked, "Will this affect his surgery?"
"As long as he's feeling better and the effects have worn off, I don't think so," the doctor replied. "That's another reason for admitting him. We can make sure his system gets cleaned out and control what's going to get in afterwards."
"Okay, thanks, Doc," Trent said, shaking the man's hand. "Mind if we go see him?"
"Why don't you wait until he gets to his room," Dr. Peritz replied. "They're cleaning him up a bit. He'll be more comfortable then."
+ + + + + + +
"Hey," Carlos greeted his friends from the hospital bed.
"How ya feeling, buddy?" Trent replied, walking into the room.
"I'm feeling stupid," Carlos finally answered.
"No, this wasn't one of your finer moments, Sandoval," Walker agreed with a smirk. "But I'm glad you called Trent. Glad you're here."
"I'd just gotten so damn frustrated. So closed in," Carlos began. "I couldn't turn around without one of you guys being there, pitying me, nursemaiding me, reminding me of what I was losing."
"What you were losing?" Trent asked, confused.
"What can I say, I was being the ultimate pessimist, Trent," he clarified. "I believed that my life was over, not just on the job, but every part of it. I wouldn't even be myself anymore. I'd be Carlos, the guy with the brain tumor, Sandoval." He sat silently for a moment, his hands toying with the blankets.
"So what changed your mind about the surgery?" Walker asked.
"Scooby-Doo."
"What?!!" they asked, incredulous. They couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Scooby-Doo?!"
"Okay, so not Scooby-Doo, exactly," Carlos ceded, rolling his eyes. "But the concept. He and the gang just don't give up. And neither do I. I found myself giving up the fight before it even began. I realized that I didn't like that. So now I aim to see this thing to the end."
"Good for you," Trent replied with a smile. "And we'll be with you every step of the way."
+ + + + + + +
"Guess it's too late to change my mind, huh?" Carlos asked, meeting Trent's gaze as Trent entered his hospital room.
"You and Scooby quitting on me?" Trent asked, coming around to squat in front of Carlos, who was sitting on a chair next to the bed. He rested his hands on Carlos's knees.
"No. Guess I'm just getting cold feet, is all," Carlos replied.
"And that's completely understandable, Carlos," Dr. Peritz spoke up.
Trent stood up and Carlos turned to watch the doctor enter the room, followed by a nurse.
"I'd think there was something wrong if you didn't have a little fear going into this, Carlos," the neurosurgeon remarked, sitting on the bed, opposite Carlos.
"Now he tells me this," Carlos muttered.
"Everything still a go, Doc?" Trent asked.
"Better be, after I got my haircut and all," Carlos responded, running a shaky hand over his head while he looked at the doctor.
"Yes, everything's still a go, Carlos," Dr. Peritz replied with a smile. "I just wanted to stop in first, see how you were doing and let you know what was going to happen." When he was sure he still had Carlos's attention, he continued. "We're going to give you a sedative to begin with, Carlos. It'll calm you down a bit; make you feel a little drowsy. All in all, we should be in surgery in about forty-five minutes or so, Carlos."
"How long will the surgery last?" Trent asked.
"I'd say at least four hours or so, Trent," the doctor replied. "While we've gotten some good images from the CAT scans and all, we still won't know the exact location - and how involved or connected it may be - until we get inside."
Trent looked quickly at Carlos then, and saw the fear in his eyes. He moved to stand next to him and put his hand on Carlos's shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he did.
"We've talked about this before, Carlos," he whispered. "All part of the territory. Dr. Peritz says he can do this, you gotta have faith in him."
"I know Trent," he replied as he met Dr. Peritz's gaze. "I'm not backing out."
"Alright then, Carlos," the doctor said, standing up. "I'll see you upstairs."
"Thanks, Doc," Carlos replied before giving himself up to the nurse's ministrations.
+ + + + + + +
Trent sat in the surgical waiting room, swirling the remains of his cold coffee in the bottom of the Styrofoam cup. Carlos had been in for just about an hour already and Trent didn't think he could wait any longer. He's going to be fine. Dr. Peritz is the best. You've seen the data. You've heard other opinions. He's going to be fine. Ninety-nine percent success rate. He's going to be fine... He kept repeating the thoughts in his mind, almost as a mantra, willing them to be true. Knowing that the results of the surgery Carlos was undergoing were going to set the precedence for Carlos's future.
He stood up and stretched, walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself another cup of the hot liquid. He shook his head as he reread the small metal plate on top of the machine. Donated by the family of Dr. Jack O'Neill, it said. Whoever the heck that was. Must have been a doctor that spent a hell of a lot of time here. Or died here. No, don't go there, Malloy. He still had to chuckle at the absurdity of it though, a Mister Coffee machine with a dedication plaque. Wonder if they had a ribbon cutting ceremony?
He paced some more around the room, taking quick sips of the coffee, fresh and hot from the official Dr. Jack O'Neill coffee machine. Instead of worrying over Carlos, he turned his thoughts towards Walker. He knew the sting they had been planning was going down as he paced around the waiting room. And he knew that Walker and the rest of his team were good at what they did. He still wished Walker was here with him. Even Alex was unable to be around, for she was busy with the sting, too.
Walker's probably got things perfectly in hand.
Grabbing his paperback copy of John Grisham's latest thriller off the end table, Trent sat down on the couch and began reading Chapter Two. Again. Hopefully, I'll actually remember what I read this time, he thought.+ + + + + + +
Trent looked at his watch. It was three twenty-three in the afternoon. Carlos had been in surgery for over five hours already and still he'd gotten no word. I guess I'm gonna have to go with the "No News is Good News" rule and hope for the best, he thought with a sigh. He put his book down onto the table, nodding with satisfaction that he'd read and comprehended five chapters, and stood up. Stretching his hands overhead as he arched his back, he let out another sigh.
"Trent?"
He turned to see Dr. Peritz walk into the waiting room. He was happy to see a smile on the neurosurgeon's face.
"He's okay?" Trent asked.
"Carlos is just fine," the doctor announced. "The surgery was a complete success," he added.
"It worked? You got it out?" Walker, Alex and Jimmy called from the other entrance to the waiting room.
After getting a nod from the doctor, Walker let out a loud sigh, pulled Alex into his arms and twirled her around in a circle.
"That's the best news we've heard in too long!" he exclaimed, finally letting Alex go.
"So he's gonna be alright." Trent tried to sound confident, saying the words as a statement, willing the doctor to agree with him.
"Like I said," Dr. Peritz began, "The operation was a success. We were able to remove about ninety-nine percent of the tumor."
"Only ninety-nine percent? What about what's left?" Jimmy interrupted.
"The last part was attached to his optic nerve," the doctor replied. "We didn't want to risk damaging it. And I think we can irradiate the rest of it, without further risk," he added.
"But Carlos's okay?" This from Alex.
"He's going to have a hell of a headache for a while, and he'll have to take things slow and easy while he recovers, but yes, Carlos's okay."
"When can we see him?" Trent asked.
"He'll be in recovery a little while longer, he wasn't quite oriented yet, still quite groggy from the anesthesia, then he'll be set up in the surgical ICU for a bit," Dr. Peritz replied, then quickly added, "just as a precaution," when he saw the concerned looks on the group. "I'm sure in a day or so, we'll be able to settle him back to a regular room."
When he got no more questions from them, the doctor headed back into the surgical area, leaving them in the waiting room.
"Boy, that sure is a relief," Walker said with a sigh as he sat down.
Sensing that Walker wanted to be alone with Trent, Alex pulled Jimmy towards the door, saying, "Let's go get something to eat. We'll be back in a bit."
After they were gone, Walker turned to Trent. "How you holding up, Trent? You're still looking a might shaky."
"Better than this morning," Trent conceded, sitting down next to Walker.
"I bet," Walker replied. "How was Carlos going in this morning? I wanted to stop by, heck, we all did, to wish him luck and all," he added.
"A little nervous," he answered. He paused then and met Walker's gaze. "I think we were both scared shitless, Walker," he admitted, shaking his head.
"You'd be fools not to be. Wasn't a one of us not thinking about Carlos and feeling just as scared this morning."
"You gonna stick it out here? Wait for Carlos to wake up?"
"Yeah, I think so," Trent replied.
+ + + + + + +
Trent found himself in the familiar position of sitting next to a hospital bed, watching his best friend sleep. Only this time his thoughts weren't completely clouded by fears, wondering if Carlos would wake up, recover, survive. Dr. Peritz had assured him that Carlos would do all three. And he believed the good doctor. He had no reason to doubt the man. But until I see those brown eyes of yours open up and focus on me, I'm not going to believe it, am I, Sandoval?
Taking another look at the thick white bandaging wrapped around Carlos's head and the various tubes supplying Carlos with oxygen and fluids, he had to again remind himself of the doctor's reassurances. It was just too hard to believe that someone could come out of a surgical procedure like Carlos had and be unchanged by it. Shaking away his negative thoughts, he sat back in the chair and propped his feet up onto the bed's frame. Grabbing his paperback, he opened it up to chapter seven.
+ + + + + + +
"Is it me or the book that's boring?"
Trent startled awake at the raspy whisper and almost lost his seat as his feet hit the floor.
"Carlos?" he called, finally gaining his balance and looking at the man in the bed.
"Who the hell else is here?" Carlos replied tiredly.
Trent smiled and laughed at the sarcasm, glad that Carlos did indeed seem alright. "Thought it might've been Scooby over there," he answered, pointing to the stuffed Scooby-Doo character sitting on the bedside table.
Carlos tried to turn his head to see what Trent was pointing to, but stopped, biting back a groan of pain.
"Sorry about that, buddy," Trent said, wincing in sympathy. He reached over and grabbed the stuffed toy and put it into Carlos's line of sight. "Found it in the gift shop downstairs. Couldn't resist."
Carlos smiled and reached out for the toy. "Gonna ruin my reputation, Malloy. Being seen with a kid's stuffed animal."
"I thought I heard voices in here!" Dr. Peritz exclaimed entering the room. He glanced quickly at the chart he carried as he approached the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got a hole cut in my head?"
"Good, good, that's exactly how you should be feeling."
"I got a comedian for a doctor," Carlos muttered. "Did it work? Was it worth it?" he asked, serious now.
"Yes, Carlos, it worked."
Trent listened in as the doctor filled Carlos in on the surgery's success and what was in store for him in the future.
"So I gotta stay on the meds, get some radiation..." Carlos began to reiterate.
"And hopefully, a few months from now, we'll be able to give you a clean bill of health," Dr. Peritz finished. "But one thing at a time. Right now, you need to rest and relax and give yourself a chance to recover from the surgery."
Carlos nodded his head slightly, wary of any movements and bid the doctor farewell for the night.
Trent noticed that Carlos was still holding onto the stuffed toy. "You want me to take it back? I don't want to ruin your reputation, you know," he chided, reaching to grab the toy back.
"Not on your life," Carlos replied, tightening his hold on the toy. "Me and Scooby've been through a lot together. Not gonna give up on him now."
+ + + + + + +
The following afternoon, Trent met Walker, Alex and Jimmy in the hallway outside Carlos's room.
"What's going on, Trent?" Walker asked, motioning to the activity inside Carlos's room.
"They're just cleaning up," Trent replied. "The headaches and dizziness are making Carlos nauseous. He can't keep anything down," he explained, wiping a napkin over his sleeve.
"Aren't they giving him anything for it?" Alex asked.
"Doctor Peritz is making up the orders now," Trent answered.
He was going to say more, but was interrupted by one of the nurses exiting the room.
"You can go back in now, but I wouldn't stay too long," she said. "He's not feeling too well."
The group replied in the affirmative all at once before quietly entering the room.
"Hey," Carlos called from his bed. "'Bout time you came and visited me. Figured you screwed up that sting and couldn't face me."
"Who, them??" Alex spoke up, taking the cue from Carlos that despite how lousy he was feeling, he was glad to see his friends.
The men told Carlos all about the sting's success for about a half an hour, until Carlos, claiming exhaustion, had asked them to come back another time. Trent hung back as the others left the room.
"Thanks, Trent," Carlos said. "I needed that."
"Well, I think we needed that, too," Trent replied. "We've all been kinda strung out and worried about you. And even though you're still feeling lousy, at least we know you're on the mend," he continued.
Carlos nodded his agreement. "See you later?" he asked.
"Count on it, buddy," Trent replied.
+ + + + + + +
"Trent?"
"Yeah, Carlos?" he replied, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to meet Carlos's gaze.
"Mind if we head out to your place, instead of my apartment? Mind if I stay with you for a bit?"
Trent heard the uneasiness in Carlos's voice.
"Sure, we can go there. You can stay with me - you know you don't even have to ask," he replied.
Carlos just nodded his head and looked out the window. Trent wondered at the change in plans. Up until then, Carlos had insisted on staying at his apartment. On his own turf, he'd said. And Trent understood. When his life was in turmoil, when things couldn't look worse, familiar surroundings grounded him. Gave him a foundation to build on. He figured it was the same for Carlos, just like when he'd left the hospital the first time, before the surgery.
"Why the change, Carlos?" he asked.
"Don't know. Just something different, I guess. Been cooped up too long in the city. Need to get away from people for a while, maybe," Carlos rambled, unconsciously rubbing the top of his bandana covered head.
It was the unconscious gesture that gave Trent his answer.
"Sounds fine to me, Carlos," he replied. "Good thing I stocked up on Scooby-Doo fruit chews last time I went to the grocery store," he added with a smile.
That brought a smile to Carlos's face as well.
"You really know how to take care of a guy, Trent."
+ + + + + + +
"Oh, fuck…shit!"
"Easy, Carlos, easy," Trent soothed, grabbing onto his arm to prevent him from falling.
"Yeah, walking used to be easy," Carlos muttered, putting his hand out to the wall for balance.
"The Doc said that this fatigue is just one of the side effects of the radiation. That as soon as your treatments are done, you'll get your strength back," Trent reminded him.
"I know, Trent," he replied, sullenly, getting into the Corvette. "Just feels like I haven't been stronger than a kitten since before this all began. I'm tired of being sick. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired-"
"-of being sick and tired" Trent finished. Not for the first time.
"Shit."
Trent sat on the curb next to the open door of the car, facing Carlos. He took Carlos's chin into his hand and made Carlos look at him. After a few minutes of silence, words of understanding unspoken, Carlos nodded.
"How much longer?"
"One more week, Carlos," Trent replied. "Five more days of radiation."
"And another couple of weeks to get back in shape…"
"And then we'll see about getting your lazy butt back to work!"
+ + + + + + +
"Well look at what the cat dragged in!"
Jimmy and Alex lifted their heads at Walker's exclamation and looked towards the office door.
"Hey! Carlos!"
"Carlos!"
Carlos smiled and shook the outstretched hands of his friends. It had been over three long months since his surgery and though he'd been to his and Walker's offices many times during those months, this day was different.
"So? How'd it go?" Jimmy asked first.
"Clean bill of health," Carlos announced with a grin. "Doc says the last CAT scan was clear. I am officially cancer free."
"Woo hoo!!" Alex shouted with glee, going to Carlos and giving him a big hug. "Well if that isn't the best news we've heard all day!"
The others were just as happy and as soon as Alex released her hold on him, they converged on Carlos to give him pats on the back, handshakes and congratulatory hugs, too.
They'd each taken turns helping Carlos out during the past few months. Driving him to doctor appointments, the grocery store, or wherever he'd needed to go. They'd been with him during his radiation treatments, giving him the moral support he needed to get through the treatments and their side effects.
Each had been affected by Carlos's illness, having to face and come to terms with their own fragile mortalities. Jimmy and Walker, especially. It was one thing to sign up for a law enforcement job such as theirs - to knowingly face danger, to take the offensive. But when Kevlar can't protect you, when no amount of back up can prevent your body's betrayal... none of them had been prepared.
But Carlos had won his battle. With them and for them.
"When can you go back to work?" Walker asked.
"He's on desk duty this week. And as soon as he requalifies at the range, he can start active duty," Trent answered.
"And since I've got an appointment with Officer Smith down at the range Monday, that means I'll be back on the job Tuesday," Carlos added.
"Just in time, too," Walker put in. "We just hit a snag on the Corrigan case."
"That rich guy accused of smuggling dope?" Carlos asked.
"Yes, that's him," Alex replied. "Somehow he came up with an alibi."
"Well, have no fear, Carlos is here! I'll be solving that case for you, Walker," Carlos announced, taking a seat at Jimmy's desk, propping his feet up.
"Uppity little punk you've turned into," Trent chided, leaning against the desk. "What makes you think you can do better than Walker and Jimmy?"
"Because I'm the one with the brains around here, that's what."
"Excuse me?" Jimmy balked.
"I think that that's a little uncalled for," Walker added.
"What makes you so smart?" Alex put in.
"Like I said, I'm the one with the brains," Carlos repeated, tapping his head. "Can any of you prove to me that you've got a brain? Hmmm? I can," he added, holding up a videotape cassette.
"What the heck is that?" Jimmy asked.
Trent grabbed the tape out of Carlos's hand and read the label. "It's a tape of his surgery," he said with a laugh.
"And here I thought it was because you didn't have all that pretty, long hair weighing down your thoughts anymore," Walker put in with a wink.
"See, I got proof," Carlos said loftily, before sticking his tongue out at Walker.
"How long have you been waiting to spring that one on us?" Trent asked with a smirk.
"Since the day after my surgery," he replied quickly, before succumbing to laughter.
The rest of the group started laughing along with him.
"Well, Carlos," Walker said, clapping his friend on the shoulder, "Since you're all fired up about solving this case, you might as well get a head start then. Jimmy?"
Responding to the call with a smile on his face, Jimmy dumped a pile of case folders two feet high onto the desk.
"Start reading!"
"Hey!"
"Don't worry, Carlos, Scooby'll help you," Walker added, tossing one of the many Scooby-Doo figurines and toys they'd been collecting his way.
The End